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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4707-h.zip b/4707-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..53a1512 --- /dev/null +++ b/4707-h.zip diff --git a/4707-h/4707-h.htm b/4707-h/4707-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c7fadb --- /dev/null +++ b/4707-h/4707-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10369 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Valley of Silent Men, by James Oliver Curwood +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Valley of Silent Men, by James Oliver Curwood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Valley of Silent Men + A Story of the Three River Company + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: July 1, 2009 [EBook #4707] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 5, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +[Updater's note: an illustrated version of this etext can be found at<BR> +<A HREF="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29407/29407-h/29407-h.htm">www.gutenberg.org/files/29407/29407-h/29407-h.htm</A>] +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +[Frontispiece: From the girl's revolver leaped forth a sudden spurt of +smoke and flame.] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +A STORY OF THE THREE RIVER COUNTRY +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF "THE RIVER'S END," ETC. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">CHAPTER I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">CHAPTER II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">CHAPTER III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">CHAPTER V</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">CHAPTER X</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">CHAPTER XX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> + +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> + +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> + +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> + +</TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN +</H1> + +<BR> + +<P> +Before the railroad's thin lines of steel bit their way up through the +wilderness, Athabasca Landing was the picturesque threshold over which +one must step who would enter into the mystery and adventure of the +great white North. It is still Iskwatam—the "door" which opens to the +lower reaches of the Athabasca, the Slave, and the Mackenzie. It is +somewhat difficult to find on the map, yet it is there, because its +history is written in more than a hundred and forty years of romance +and tragedy and adventure in the lives of men, and is not easily +forgotten. Over the old trail it was about a hundred and fifty miles +north of Edmonton. The railroad has brought it nearer to that base of +civilization, but beyond it the wilderness still howls as it has howled +for a thousand years, and the waters of a continent flow north and into +the Arctic Ocean. It is possible that the beautiful dream of the +real-estate dealers may come true, for the most avid of all the +sportsmen of the earth, the money-hunters, have come up on the bumpy +railroad that sometimes lights its sleeping cars with lanterns, and +with them have come typewriters, and stenographers, and the art of +printing advertisements, and the Golden Rule of those who sell handfuls +of earth to hopeful purchasers thousands of miles away—"Do others as +they would do you." And with it, too, has come the legitimate business +of barter and trade, with eyes on all that treasure of the North which +lies between the Grand Rapids of the Athabasca and the edge of the +polar sea. But still more beautiful than the dream of fortunes quickly +made is the deep-forest superstition that the spirits of the wilderness +dead move onward as steam and steel advance, and if this is so, the +ghosts of a thousand Pierres and Jacquelines have risen uneasily from +their graves at Athabasca Landing, hunting a new quiet farther north. +</P> + +<P> +For it was Pierre and Jacqueline, Henri and Marie, Jacques and his +Jeanne, whose brown hands for a hundred and forty years opened and +closed this door. And those hands still master a savage world for two +thousand miles north of that threshold of Athabasca Landing. South of +it a wheezy engine drags up the freight that came not so many months +ago by boat. +</P> + +<P> +It is over this threshold that the dark eyes of Pierre and Jacqueline, +Henri and Marie, Jacques and his Jeanne, look into the blue and the +gray and the sometimes watery ones of a destroying civilization. And +there it is that the shriek of a mad locomotive mingles with their +age-old river chants; the smut of coal drifts over their forests; the +phonograph screeches its reply to le violon; and Pierre and Henri and +Jacques no longer find themselves the kings of the earth when they come +in from far countries with their precious cargoes of furs. And they no +longer swagger and tell loud-voiced adventure, or sing their wild river +songs in the same old abandon, for there are streets at Athabasca +Landing now, and hotels, and schools, and rules and regulations of a +kind new and terrifying to the bold of the old voyageurs. +</P> + +<P> +It seems only yesterday that the railroad was not there, and a great +world of wilderness lay between the Landing and the upper rim of +civilization. And when word first came that a steam thing was eating +its way up foot by foot through forest and swamp and impassable muskeg, +that word passed up and down the water-ways for two thousand miles, a +colossal joke, a stupendous bit of drollery, the funniest thing that +Pierre and Henri and Jacques had heard in all their lives. And when +Jacques wanted to impress upon Pierre his utter disbelief of a thing, +he would say: +</P> + +<P> +"It will happen, m'sieu, when the steam thing comes to the Landing, +when cow-beasts eat with the moose, and when our bread is found for us +in yonder swamps!" +</P> + +<P> +And the steam thing came, and cows grazed where moose had fed, and +bread WAS gathered close to the edge of the great swamps. Thus did +civilization break into Athabasca Landing. +</P> + +<P> +Northward from the Landing, for two thousand miles, reached the domain +of the rivermen. And the Landing, with its two hundred and twenty-seven +souls before the railroad came, was the wilderness clearing-house which +sat at the beginning of things. To it came from the south all the +freight which must go into the north; on its flat river front were +built the great scows which carried this freight to the end of the +earth. It was from the Landing that the greatest of all river brigades +set forth upon their long adventures, and it was back to the Landing, +perhaps a year or more later, that still smaller scows and huge canoes +brought as the price of exchange their cargoes of furs. +</P> + +<P> +Thus for nearly a century and a half the larger craft, with their great +sweeps and their wild-throated crews, had gone DOWN the river toward +the Arctic Ocean, and the smaller craft, with their still wilder crews, +had come UP the river toward civilization. The River, as the Landing +speaks of it, is the Athabasca, with its headwaters away off in the +British Columbian mountains, where Baptiste and McLeod, explorers of +old, gave up their lives to find where the cradle of it lay. And it +sweeps past the Landing, a slow and mighty giant, unswervingly on its +way to the northern sea. With it the river brigades set forth. For +Pierre and Henri and Jacques it is going from one end to the other of +the earth. The Athabasca ends and is replaced by the Slave, and the +Slave empties into Great Slave Lake, and from the narrow tip of that +Lake the Mackenzie carries on for more than a thousand miles to the sea. +</P> + +<P> +In this distance of the long water trail one sees and hears many +things. It is life. It is adventure. It is mystery and romance and +hazard. Its tales are so many that books could not hold them. In the +faces of men and women they are written. They lie buried in graves so +old that the forest trees grow over them. Epics of tragedy, of love, of +the fight to live! And as one goes farther north, and still farther, +just so do the stories of things that have happened change. +</P> + +<P> +For the world is changing, the sun is changing, and the breeds of men +are changing. At the Landing in July there are seventeen hours of +sunlight; at Fort Chippewyan there are eighteen; at Fort Resolution, +Fort Simpson, and Fort Providence there are nineteen; at the Great Bear +twenty-one, and at Fort McPherson, close to the polar sea, from +twenty-two to twenty-three. And in December there are also these hours +of darkness. With light and darkness men change, women change, and life +changes. And Pierre and Henri and Jacques meet them all, but always +THEY are the same, chanting the old songs, enshrining the old loves, +dreaming the same dreams, and worshiping always the same gods. They +meet a thousand perils with eyes that glisten with the love of +adventure. +</P> + +<P> +The thunder of rapids and the howlings of storm do not frighten them. +Death has no fear for them. They grapple with it, wrestle joyously with +it, and are glorious when they win. Their blood is red and strong. +Their hearts are big. Their souls chant themselves up to the skies. Yet +they are simple as children, and when they are afraid, it is of things +which children fear. For in those hearts of theirs is superstition—and +also, perhaps, royal blood. For princes and the sons of princes and the +noblest aristocracy of France were the first of the gentlemen +adventurers who came with ruffles on their sleeves and rapiers at their +sides to seek furs worth many times their weight in gold two hundred +and fifty years ago, and of these ancient forebears Pierre and Henri +and Jacques, with their Maries and Jeannes and Jacquelines, are the +living voices of today. +</P> + +<P> +And these voices tell many stories. Sometimes they whisper them, as the +wind would whisper, for there are stories weird and strange that must +be spoken softly. They darken no printed pages. The trees listen to +them beside red camp-fires at night. Lovers tell them in the glad +sunshine of day. Some of them are chanted in song. Some of them come +down through the generations, epics of the wilderness, remembered from +father to son. And each year there are the new things to pass from +mouth to mouth, from cabin to cabin, from the lower reaches of the +Mackenzie to the far end of the world at Athabasca Landing. For the +three rivers are always makers of romance, of tragedy, of adventure. +The story will never be forgotten of how Follette and Ladouceur swam +their mad race through the Death Chute for love of the girl who waited +at the other end, or of how Campbell O'Doone, the red-headed giant at +Fort Resolution, fought the whole of a great brigade in his effort to +run away with a scow captain's daughter. +</P> + +<P> +And the brigade loved O'Doone, though it beat him, for these men of the +strong north love courage and daring. The epic of the lost scow—how +there were men who saw it disappear from under their very eyes, +floating upward and afterward riding swiftly away in the skies—is told +and retold by strong-faced men, deep in whose eyes are the smoldering +flames of an undying superstition, and these same men thrill as they +tell over again the strange and unbelievable story of Hartshope, the +aristocratic Englishman who set off into the North in all the glory of +monocle and unprecedented luggage, and how he joined in a tribal war, +became a chief of the Dog Ribs, and married a dark-eyed, sleek-haired, +little Indian beauty, who is now the mother of his children. +</P> + +<P> +But deepest and most thrilling of all the stories they tell are the +stories of the long arm of the Law—that arm which reaches for two +thousand miles from Athabasca Landing to the polar sea, the arm Of the +Royal Northwest Mounted Police. +</P> + +<P> +And of these it is the story of Jim Kent we are going to tell, of Jim +Kent and of Marette, that wonderful little goddess of the Valley of +Silent Men, in whose veins there must have run the blood of fighting +men—and of ancient queens. A story of the days before the railroad +came. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +In the mind of James Grenfell Kent, sergeant in the Royal Northwest +Mounted Police, there remained no shadow of a doubt. He knew that he +was dying. He had implicit faith in Cardigan, his surgeon friend, and +Cardigan had told him that what was left of his life would be measured +out in hours—perhaps in minutes or seconds. It was an unusual case. +There was one chance in fifty that he might live two or three days, but +there was no chance at all that he would live more than three. The end +might come with any breath he drew into his lungs. That was the +pathological history of the thing, as far as medical and surgical +science knew of cases similar to his own. +</P> + +<P> +Personally, Kent did not feel like a dying man. His vision and his +brain were clear. He felt no pain, and only at infrequent intervals was +his temperature above normal. His voice was particularly calm and +natural. +</P> + +<P> +At first he had smiled incredulously when Cardigan broke the news. That +the bullet which a drunken half-breed had sent into his chest two weeks +before had nicked the arch of the aorta, thus forming an aneurism, was +a statement by Cardigan which did not sound especially wicked or +convincing to him. "Aorta" and "aneurism" held about as much +significance for him as his perichondrium or the process of his +stylomastoid. But Kent possessed an unswerving passion to grip at facts +in detail, a characteristic that had largely helped him to earn the +reputation of being the best man-hunter in all the northland service. +So he had insisted, and his surgeon friend had explained. +</P> + +<P> +The aorta, he found, was the main blood-vessel arching over and leading +from the heart, and in nicking it the bullet had so weakened its outer +wall that it bulged out in the form of a sack, just as the inner tube +of an automobile tire bulges through the outer casing when there is a +blowout. +</P> + +<P> +"And when that sack gives way inside you," Cardigan had explained, +"you'll go like that!" He snapped a forefinger and thumb to drive the +fact home. +</P> + +<P> +After that it was merely a matter of common sense to believe, and now, +sure that he was about to die. Kent had acted. He was acting in the +full health of his mind and in extreme cognizance of the paralyzing +shock he was contributing as a final legacy to the world at large, or +at least to that part of it which knew him or was interested. The +tragedy of the thing did not oppress him. A thousand times in his life +he had discovered that humor and tragedy were very closely related, and +that there were times when only the breadth of a hair separated the +two. Many times he had seen a laugh change suddenly to tears, and tears +to laughter. +</P> + +<P> +The tableau, as it presented itself about his bedside now, amused him. +Its humor was grim, but even in these last hours of his life he +appreciated it. He had always more or less regarded life as a joke—a +very serious joke, but a joke for all that—a whimsical and trickful +sort of thing played by the Great Arbiter on humanity at large; and +this last count in his own life, as it was solemnly and tragically +ticking itself off, was the greatest joke of all. The amazed faces that +stared at him, their passing moments of disbelief, their repressed but +at times visible betrayals of horror, the steadiness of their eyes, the +tenseness of their lips—all added to what he might have called, at +another time, the dramatic artistry of his last great adventure. +</P> + +<P> +That he was dying did not chill him, or make him afraid, or put a +tremble into his voice. The contemplation of throwing off the mere +habit of breathing had never at any stage of his thirty-six years of +life appalled him. Those years, because he had spent a sufficient +number of them in the raw places of the earth, had given him a +philosophy and viewpoint of his own, both of which he kept unto himself +without effort to impress them on other people. He believed that life +itself was the cheapest thing on the face of all the earth. All other +things had their limitations. +</P> + +<P> +There was so much water and so much land, so many mountains and so many +plains, so many square feet to live on and so many square feet to be +buried in. All things could be measured, and stood up, and +catalogued—except life itself. "Given time," he would say, "a single +pair of humans can populate all creation." Therefore, being the +cheapest of all things, it was true philosophy that life should be the +easiest of all things to give up when the necessity came. +</P> + +<P> +Which is only another way of emphasizing that Kent was not, and never +had been, afraid to die. But it does not say that he treasured life a +whit less than the man in another room, who, a day or so before, had +fought like a lunatic before going under an anesthetic for the +amputation of a bad finger. No man had loved life more than he. No man +had lived nearer it. +</P> + +<P> +It had been a passion with him. Full of dreams, and always with +anticipations ahead, no matter how far short realizations fell, he was +an optimist, a lover of the sun and the moon and the stars, a worshiper +of the forests and of the mountains, a man who loved his life, and who +had fought for it, and yet who was ready—at the last—to yield it up +without a whimper when the fates asked for it. +</P> + +<P> +Bolstered up against his pillows, he did not look the part of the fiend +he was confessing himself to be to the people about him. Sickness had +not emaciated him. The bronze of his lean, clean-cut face had faded a +little, but the tanning of wind and sun and campfire was still there. +His blue eyes were perhaps dulled somewhat by the nearness of death. +One would not have judged him to be thirty-six, even though over one +temple there was a streak of gray in his blond hair—a heritage from +his mother, who was dead. Looking at him, as his lips quietly and +calmly confessed himself beyond the pale of men's sympathy or +forgiveness, one would have said that his crime was impossible. +</P> + +<P> +Through his window, as he sat bolstered up in his cot, Kent could see +the slow-moving shimmer of the great Athabasca River as it moved on its +way toward the Arctic Ocean. The sun was shining, and he saw the cool, +thick masses of the spruce and cedar forests beyond, the rising +undulations of wilderness ridges and hills, and through that open +window he caught the sweet scents that came with a soft wind from out +of the forests he had loved for so many years. +</P> + +<P> +"They've been my best friends," he had said to Cardigan, "and when this +nice little thing you're promising happens to me, old man, I want to go +with my eyes on them." +</P> + +<P> +So his cot was close to the window. +</P> + +<P> +Nearest to him sat Cardigan. In his face, more than in any of the +others, was disbelief. Kedsty, Inspector of the Royal Northwest Mounted +Police, in charge of N Division during an indefinite leave of absence +of the superintendent, was paler even than the girl whose nervous +fingers were swiftly putting upon paper every word that was spoken by +those in the room. O'Connor, staff-sergeant, was like one struck dumb. +The little, smooth-faced Catholic missioner whose presence as a witness +Kent had requested, sat with his thin fingers tightly interlaced, +silently placing this among all the other strange tragedies that the +wilderness had given up to him. They had all been Kent's friends, his +intimate friends, with the exception of the girl, whom Inspector Kedsty +had borrowed for the occasion. With the little missioner he had spent +many an evening, exchanging in mutual confidence the strange and +mysterious happenings of the deep forests, and of the great north +beyond the forests. O'Connor's friendship was a friendship bred of the +brotherhood of the trails. It was Kent and O'Connor who had brought +down the two Eskimo murderers from the mouth of the Mackenzie, and the +adventure had taken them fourteen months. Kent loved O'Connor, with his +red face, his red hair, and his big heart, and to him the most tragic +part of it all was that he was breaking this friendship now. +</P> + +<P> +But it was Inspector Kedsty, commanding N Division, the biggest and +wildest division in all the Northland, that roused in Kent an unusual +emotion, even as he waited for that explosion just over his heart which +the surgeon had told him might occur at any moment. On his death-bed +his mind still worked analytically. And Kedsty, since the moment he had +entered the room, had puzzled Kent. The commander of N Division was an +unusual man. He was sixty, with iron-gray hair, cold, almost colorless +eyes in which one would search long for a gleam of either mercy or +fear, and a nerve that Kent had never seen even slightly disturbed. It +took such a man, an iron man, to run N Division according to law, for N +Division covered an area of six hundred and twenty thousand square +miles of wildest North America, extending more than two thousand miles +north of the 70th parallel of latitude, with its farthest limit three +and one-half degrees within the Arctic Circle. To police this area +meant upholding the law in a country fourteen times the size of the +state of Ohio. And Kedsty was the man who had performed this duty as +only one other man had ever succeeded in doing it. +</P> + +<P> +Yet Kedsty, of the five about Kent, was most disturbed. His face was +ash-gray. A number of times Kent had detected a broken note in his +voice. He had seen his hands grip at the arms of the chair he sat in +until the cords stood out on them as if about to burst. He had never +seen Kedsty sweat until now. +</P> + +<P> +Twice the Inspector had wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He was +no longer Minisak—"The Rock"—a name given to him by the Crees. The +armor that no shaft had ever penetrated seemed to have dropped from +him. He had ceased to be Kedsty, the most dreaded inquisitor in the +service. He was nervous, and Kent could see that he was fighting to +repossess himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you know what this means to the Service," he said in a hard, +low voice. "It means—" +</P> + +<P> +"Disgrace," nodded Kent. "I know. It means a black spot on the +otherwise bright escutcheon of N Division. But it can't be helped. I +killed John Barkley. The man you've got in the guard-house, condemned +to be hanged by the neck until he is dead, is innocent. I understand. +It won't be nice for the Service to let it be known that a sergeant in +His Majesty's Royal Mounted is an ordinary murderer, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Not an ORDINARY murderer," interrupted Kedsty. "As you have described +it, the crime was deliberate—horrible and inexcusable to its last +detail. You were not moved by a sudden passion. You tortured your +victim. It is inconceivable!" +</P> + +<P> +"And yet true," said Kent. +</P> + +<P> +He was looking at the stenographer's slim fingers as they put down his +words and Kedsty's. A bit of sunshine touched her bowed head, and he +observed the red lights in her hair. His eyes swept to O'Connor, and in +that moment the commander of N Division bent over him, so close that +his face almost touched Kent's, and he whispered, in a voice so low +that no one of the other four could hear, +</P> + +<P> +"KENT—YOU LIE!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is true," replied Kent. +</P> + +<P> +Kedsty drew back, again wiping the moisture from his forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"I killed Barkley, and I killed him as I planned that he should die," +Kent went on. "It was my desire that he should suffer. The one thing +which I shall not tell you is WHY I killed him. But it was a sufficient +reason." +</P> + +<P> +He saw the shuddering tremor that swept through the shoulders of the +girl who was putting down the condemning notes. +</P> + +<P> +"And you refuse to confess your motive?" +</P> + +<P> +"Absolutely—except that he had wronged me in a way that deserved +death." +</P> + +<P> +"And you make this confession knowing that you are about to die?" +</P> + +<P> +The flicker of a smile passed over Kent's lips. He looked at O'Connor +and for an instant saw in O'Connor's eyes a flash of their old +comradeship. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Dr. Cardigan has told me. Otherwise I should have let the man in +the guard-house hang. It's simply that this accursed bullet has spoiled +my luck—and saved him!" +</P> + +<P> +Kedsty spoke to the girl. For half an hour she read her notes, and +after that Kent wrote his name on the last page. Then Kedsty rose from +his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"We have finished, gentlemen," he said. +</P> + +<P> +They trailed out, the girl hurrying through the door first in her +desire to free herself of an ordeal that had strained every nerve in +her body. The commander of N Division was last to go. Cardigan +hesitated, as if to remain, but Kedsty motioned him on. It was Kedsty +who closed the door, and as he closed it he looked back, and for a +flash Kent met his eyes squarely. In that moment he received an +impression which he had not caught while the Inspector was in the room. +It was like an electrical shock in its unexpectedness, and Kedsty must +have seen the effect of it in his face, for he moved back quickly and +closed the door. In that instant Kent had seen in Kedsty's eyes and +face a look that was not only of horror, but what in the face and eyes +of another man he would have sworn was fear. +</P> + +<P> +It was a gruesome moment in which to smile, but Kent smiled. The shock +was over. By the rules of the Criminal Code he knew that Kedsty even +now was instructing Staff-Sergeant O'Connor to detail an officer to +guard his door. The fact that he was ready to pop off at any moment +would make no difference in the regulations of the law. And Kedsty was +a stickler for the law as it was written. Through the closed door he +heard voices indistinctly. Then there were footsteps, dying away. He +could hear the heavy thump, thump of O'Connor's big feet. O'Connor had +always walked like that, even on the trail. +</P> + +<P> +Softly then the door reopened, and Father Layonne, the little +missioner, came in. Kent knew that this would be so, for Father Layonne +knew neither code nor creed that did not reach all the hearts of the +wilderness. He came back, and sat down close to Kent, and took one of +his hands and held it closely in both of his own. They were not the +soft, smooth hands of the priestly hierarchy, but were hard with the +callosity of toil, yet gentle with the gentleness of a great sympathy. +He had loved Kent yesterday, when Kent had stood clean in the eyes of +both God and men, and he still loved him today, when his soul was +stained with a thing that must be washed away with his own life. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry, lad," he said. "I'm sorry." +</P> + +<P> +Something rose up in Kent's throat that was not the blood he had been +wiping away since morning. His fingers returned the pressure of the +little missioner's hands. Then he pointed out through the window to the +panorama of shimmering river and green forests. +</P> + +<P> +"It is hard to say good-by to all that, Father," he said. "But, if you +don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it. I'm not afraid of it. And why +be unhappy because one has only a little while to live? Looking back +over your life, does it seem so very long ago that you were a boy, a +small boy?" +</P> + +<P> +"The time has gone swiftly, very swiftly." +</P> + +<P> +"It seems only yesterday—or so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, only yesterday—or so." +</P> + +<P> +Kent's face lit up with the whimsical smile that long ago had reached +the little missioner's heart. "Well, that's the way I'm looking at it, +Father. There is only a yesterday, a today, and a tomorrow in the +longest of our lives. Looking back from seventy years isn't much +different from looking back from thirty-six WHEN you're looking back +and not ahead. Do you think what I have just said will free Sandy +McTrigger?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is no doubt. Your statements have been accepted as a death-bed +confession." +</P> + +<P> +The little missioner, instead of Kent, was betraying a bit of +nervousness. +</P> + +<P> +"There are matters, my son—some few matters—which you will want +attended to. Shall we not talk about them?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"Your people, first. I remember that once you told me there was no one. +But surely there is some one somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +Kent shook his head. "There is no one now. For ten years those forests +out there have been father, mother, and home to me." +</P> + +<P> +"But there must be personal affairs, affairs which you would like to +entrust, perhaps, to me?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent's face brightened, and for an instant a flash of humor leaped into +his eyes. "It is funny," he chuckled. "Since you remind me of it, +Father, it is quite in form to make my will. I've bought a few little +pieces of land here. Now that the railroad has almost reached us from +Edmonton, they've jumped up from the seven or eight hundred dollars I +gave for them to about ten thousand. I want you to sell the lots and +use the money in your work. Put as much of it on the Indians as you +can. They've always been good brothers to me. And I wouldn't waste much +time in getting my signature on some sort of paper to that effect." +</P> + +<P> +Father Layonne's eyes shone softly. "God will bless you for that, +Jimmy," he said, using the intimate name by which he had known him. +"And I think He is going to pardon you for something else, if you have +the courage to ask Him." +</P> + +<P> +"I am pardoned," replied Kent, looking out through the window. "I feel +it. I know it, Father." +</P> + +<P> +In his soul the little missioner was praying. He knew that Kent's +religion was not his religion, and he did not press the service which +he would otherwise have rendered. After a moment he rose to his feet, +and it was the old Kent who looked up into his face, the clean-faced, +gray-eyed, unafraid Kent, smiling in the old way. +</P> + +<P> +"I have one big favor to ask of you, Father," he said. "If I've got a +day to live, I don't want every one forcing the fact on me that I'm +dying. If I've any friends left, I want them to come in and see me, and +talk, and crack jokes. I want to smoke my pipe. I'll appreciate a box +of cigars if you'll send 'em up. Cardigan can't object now. Will you +arrange these things for me? They'll listen to you—and please shove my +cot a little nearer the window before you go." +</P> + +<P> +Father Layonne performed the service in silence. Then at last the +yearning overcame him to have the soul speak out, that his God might be +more merciful, and he said: "My boy, you are sorry? You repent that you +killed John Barkley?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm not sorry. It had to be done. And please don't forget the +cigars, will you, Father?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I won't forget," said the little missioner, and turned away. +</P> + +<P> +As the door opened and closed behind him, the flash of humor leaped +into Kent's eyes again, and he chuckled even as he wiped another of the +telltale stains of blood from his lips. He had played the game. And the +funny part about it was that no one in all the world would ever know, +except himself—and perhaps one other. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<P> +Outside Kent's window was Spring, the glorious Spring of the Northland, +and in spite of the death-grip that was tightening in his chest he +drank it in deeply and leaned over so that his eyes traveled over wide +spaces of the world that had been his only a short time before. +</P> + +<P> +It occurred to him that he had suggested this knoll that overlooked +both settlement and river as the site for the building which Dr. +Cardigan called his hospital. It was a structure rough and unadorned, +unpainted, and sweetly smelling with the aroma of the spruce trees from +the heart of which its unplaned lumber was cut. The breath of it was a +thing to bring cheer and hope. Its silvery walls, in places golden and +brown with pitch and freckled with knots, spoke joyously of life that +would not die, and the woodpeckers came and hammered on it as though it +were still a part of the forest, and red squirrels chattered on the +roof and scampered about in play with a soft patter of feet. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a pretty poor specimen of man that would die up here with all +that under his eyes," Kent had said a year before, when he and Cardigan +had picked out the site. "If he died looking at that, why, he just +simply ought to die, Cardigan," he had laughed. +</P> + +<P> +And now he was that poor specimen, looking out on the glory of the +world! +</P> + +<P> +His vision took in the South and a part of the East and West, and in +all those directions there was no end of the forest. It was like a +vast, many-colored sea with uneven billows rising and falling until the +blue sky came down to meet them many miles away. More than once his +heart ached at the thought of the two thin ribs of steel creeping up +foot by foot and mile by mile from Edmonton, a hundred and fifty miles +away. It was, to him, a desecration, a crime against Nature, the murder +of his beloved wilderness. For in his soul that wilderness had grown to +be more than a thing of spruce and cedar and balsam, of poplar and +birch; more than a great, unused world of river and lake and swamp. It +was an individual, a thing. His love for it was greater than his love +for man. It was his inarticulate God. It held him as no religion in the +world could have held him, and deeper and deeper it had drawn him into +the soul of itself, delivering up to him one by one its guarded secrets +and its mysteries, opening for him page by page the book that was the +greatest of all books. And it was the wonder of it now, the fact that +it was near him, about him, embracing him, glowing for him in the +sunshine, whispering to him in the soft breath of the air, nodding and +talking to him from the crest of every ridge, that gave to him a +strange happiness even in these hours when he knew that he was dying. +</P> + +<P> +And then his eyes fell nearer to the settlement which nestled along the +edge of the shining river a quarter of a mile away. That, too, had been +the wilderness, in the days before the railroad came. The poison of +speculation was stirring, but it had not yet destroyed. Athabasca +Landing was still the door that opened and closed on the great North. +Its buildings were scattered and few, and built of logs and rough +lumber. Even now he could hear the drowsy hum of the distant sawmill +that was lazily turning out its grist. Not far away the wind-worn flag +of the British Empire was floating over a Hudson Bay Company's post +that had bartered in the trades of the North for more than a hundred +years. Through that hundred years Athabasca Landing had pulsed with the +heart-beats of strong men bred to the wilderness. Through it, working +its way by river and dog sledge from the South, had gone the precious +freight for which the farther North gave in exchange its still more +precious furs. And today, as Kent looked down upon it, he saw that same +activity as it had existed through the years of a century. A brigade of +scows, laden to their gunwales, was just sweeping out into the river +and into its current. Kent had watched the loading of them; now he saw +them drifting lazily out from the shore, their long sweeps glinting in +the sun, their crews singing wildly and fiercely their beloved Chanson +des Voyageurs as their faces turned to the adventure of the North. +</P> + +<P> +In Kent's throat rose a thing which he tried to choke back, but which +broke from his lips in a low cry, almost a sob. He heard the distant +singing, wild and free as the forests themselves, and he wanted to lean +out of his window and shout a last good-by. For the brigade—a Company +brigade, the brigade that had chanted its songs up and down the water +reaches of the land for more than two hundred and fifty years—was +starting north. And he knew where it was going—north, and still +farther north; a hundred miles, five hundred, a thousand—and then +another thousand before the last of the scows unburdened itself of its +precious freight. For the lean and brown-visaged men who went with them +there would be many months of clean living and joyous thrill under the +open skies. Overwhelmed by the yearning that swept over him, Kent +leaned back against his pillows and covered his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +In those moments his brain painted for him swiftly and vividly the +things he was losing. Tomorrow or next day he would be dead, and the +river brigade would still be sweeping on—on into the Grand Rapids of +the Athabasca, fighting the Death Chute, hazarding valiantly the rocks +and rapids of the Grand Cascade, the whirlpools of the Devil's Mouth, +the thundering roar and boiling dragon teeth of the Black Run—on to +the end of the Athabasca, to the Slave, and into the Mackenzie, until +the last rock-blunted nose of the outfit drank the tide-water of the +Arctic Ocean. And he, James Kent, would be DEAD! +</P> + +<P> +He uncovered his eyes, and there was a wan smile on his lips as he +looked forth once more. There were sixteen scows in the brigade, and +the biggest, he knew, was captained by Pierre Rossand. He could fancy +Pierre's big red throat swelling in mighty song, for Pierre's wife was +waiting for him a thousand miles away. The scows were caught steadily +now in the grip of the river, and it seemed to Kent, as he watched them +go, that they were the last fugitives fleeing from the encroaching +monsters of steel. Unconscious of the act, he reached out his arms, and +his soul cried out its farewell, even though his lips were silent. +</P> + +<P> +He was glad when they were gone and when the voices of the chanting +oarsmen were lost in the distance. Again he listened to the lazy hum of +the sawmill, and over his head he heard the velvety run of a red +squirrel and then its reckless chattering. The forests came back to +him. Across his cot fell a patch of golden sunlight. A stronger breath +of air came laden with the perfume of balsam and cedar through his +window, and when the door opened and Cardigan entered, he found the old +Kent facing him. +</P> + +<P> +There was no change in Cardigan's voice or manner as he greeted him. +But there was a tenseness in his face which he could not conceal. He +had brought in Kent's pipe and tobacco. These he laid on a table until +he had placed his head close to Kent's hearty listening to what he +called the bruit—the rushing of blood through the aneurismal sac. +</P> + +<P> +"Seems to me that I can hear it myself now and then," said Kent. +"Worse, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +Cardigan nodded. "Smoking may hurry it up a bit," he said. "Still, if +you want to—" +</P> + +<P> +Kent held out his hand for the pipe and tobacco. "It's worth it. +Thanks, old man." +</P> + +<P> +Kent loaded the pipe, and Cardigan lighted a match. For the first time +in two weeks a cloud of smoke issued from between Kent's lips. +</P> + +<P> +"The brigade is starting north," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Mostly Mackenzie River freight," replied Cardigan. "A long run." +</P> + +<P> +"The finest in all the North. Three years ago O'Connor and I made it +with the Follette outfit. Remember Follette—and Ladouceur? They both +loved the same girl, and being good friends they decided to settle the +matter by a swim through the Death Chute. The man who came through +first was to have her. Gawd, Cardigan, what funny things happen! +Follette came out first, but he was dead. He'd brained himself on a +rock. And to this day Ladouceur hasn't married the girl, because he +says Follette beat him; and that Follette's something-or-other would +haunt him if he didn't play fair. It's a queer—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped and listened. In the hall was the approaching tread of +unmistakable feet. +</P> + +<P> +"O'Connor," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Cardigan went to the door and opened it as O'Connor was about to knock. +When the door closed again, the staff-sergeant was in the room alone +with Kent. In one of his big hands he clutched a box of cigars, and in +the other he held a bunch of vividly red fire-flowers. +</P> + +<P> +"Father Layonne shoved these into my hands as I was coming up," he +explained, dropping them on the table. "And I—well—I'm breaking +regulations to come up an' tell you something, Jimmy. I never called +you a liar in my life, but I'm calling you one now!" +</P> + +<P> +He was gripping Kent's hands in the fierce clasp of a friendship that +nothing could kill. Kent winced, but the pain of it was joy. He had +feared that O'Connor, like Kedsty, must of necessity turn against him. +Then he noticed something unusual in O'Connor's face and eyes. The +staff-sergeant was not easily excited, yet he was visibly disturbed now. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what the others saw, when you were making that +confession, Kent. Mebby my eyesight was better because I spent a year +and a half with you on the trail. You were lying. What's your game, old +man?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent groaned. "Have I got to go all over it again?" he appealed. +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor began thumping back and forth over the floor. Kent had seen +him that way sometimes in camp when there were perplexing problems +ahead of them. +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't kill John Barkley," he insisted. "I don't believe you did, +and Inspector Kedsty doesn't believe it—yet the mighty queer part of +it is—" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"That Kedsty is acting on your confession in a big hurry. I don't +believe it's according to Hoyle, as the regulations are written. But +he's doing it. And I want to know—it's the biggest thing I EVER wanted +to know—did you kill Barkley?" +</P> + +<P> +"O'Connor, if you don't believe a dying man's word—you haven't much +respect for death, have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the theory on which the law works, but sometimes it ain't +human. Confound it, man, DID YOU?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor sat down and with his finger-nails pried open the box of +cigars. "Mind if I smoke with you?" he asked. "I need it. I'm shot up +with unexpected things this morning. Do you care if I ask you about the +girl?" +</P> + +<P> +"The girl!" exclaimed Kent. He sat up straighter, staring at O'Connor. +</P> + +<P> +The staff-sergeant's eyes were on him with questioning steadiness. "I +see—you don't know her," he said, lighting his cigar. "Neither do I. +Never saw her before. That's why I am wondering about Inspector Kedsty. +I tell you, it's queer. He didn't believe you this morning, yet he was +all shot up. He wanted me to go with him to his house. The cords stood +out on his neck like that—like my little finger. +</P> + +<P> +"Then suddenly he changed his mind and said we'd go to the office. That +took us along the road that runs through the poplar grove. It happened +there. I'm not much of a girl's man, Kent, and I'd be a fool to try to +tell you what she looked like. But there she was, standing in the path +not ten feet ahead of us, and she stopped me in my tracks as quick as +though she'd sent a shot into me. And she stopped Kedsty, too. I heard +him give a sort of grunt—a funny sound, as though some one had hit +him. I don't believe I could tell whether she had a dress on or not, +for I never saw anything like her face, and her eyes, and her hair, and +I stared at them like a thunder-struck fool. She didn't seem to notice +me any more than if I'd been thin air, a ghost she couldn't see. +</P> + +<P> +"She looked straight at Kedsty, and she kept looking at him—and then +she passed us. Never said a word, mind you. She came so near I could +have touched her with my hand, and not until she was that close did she +take her eyes from Kedsty and look at me. And when she'd passed I +thought what a couple of cursed idiots we were, standing there +paralyzed, as if we'd never seen a beautiful girl before in our lives. +I went to remark that much to the Old Man when—" +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor bit his cigar half in two as he leaned nearer to the cot. +</P> + +<P> +"Kent, I swear that Kedsty was as white as chalk when I looked at him! +There wasn't a drop of blood left in his face, and he was staring +straight ahead, as though the girl still stood there, and he gave +another of those grunts—it wasn't a laugh—as if something was choking +him. And then he said: +</P> + +<P> +"'Sergeant, I've forgotten something important. I must go back to see +Dr. Cardigan. You have my authority to give McTrigger his liberty at +once!'" +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor paused, as if expecting some expression of disbelief from +Kent. When none came, he demanded, +</P> + +<P> +"Was that according to the Criminal Code? Was it, Kent?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not exactly. But, coming from the S.O.D., it was law." +</P> + +<P> +"And I obeyed it," grunted the staff-sergeant. "And if you could have +seen McTrigger! When I told him he was free, and unlocked his cell, he +came out of it gropingly, like a blind man. And he would go no farther +than the Inspector's office. He said he would wait there for him." +</P> + +<P> +"And Kedsty?" +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor jumped from his chair and began thumping back and forth across +the room again. "Followed the girl," he exploded. "He couldn't have +done anything else. He lied to me about Cardigan. There wouldn't be +anything mysterious about it if he wasn't sixty and she less than +twenty. She was pretty enough! But it wasn't her beauty that made him +turn white there in the path. Not on your life it wasn't! I tell you he +aged ten years in as many seconds. There was something in that girl's +eyes more terrifying to him than a leveled gun, and after he'd looked +into them, his first thought was of McTrigger, the man you're saving +from the hangman. It's queer, Kent. The whole business is queer. And +the queerest of it all is your confession." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's all very funny," agreed Kent. "That's what I've been telling +myself right along, old man. You see, a little thing like a bullet +changed it all. For if the bullet hadn't got me, I assure you I +wouldn't have given Kedsty that confession, and an innocent man would +have been hanged. As it is, Kedsty is shocked, demoralized. I'm the +first man to soil the honor of the finest Service on the face of the +earth, and I'm in Kedsty's division. Quite natural that he should be +upset. And as for the girl—" +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his shoulders and tried to laugh. "Perhaps she came in this +morning with one of the up-river scows and was merely taking a little +constitutional," he suggested. "Didn't you ever notice, O'Connor, that +in a certain light under poplar trees one's face is sometimes ghastly?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I've noticed it, when the trees are in full leaf, but not when +they're just opening, Jimmy. It was the girl. Her eyes shattered every +nerve in him. And his first words were an order for me to free +McTrigger, coupled with the lie that he was coming back to see +Cardigan. And if you could have seen her eyes when she turned them on +me! They were blue—blue as violets—but shooting fire. I could imagine +black eyes like that, but not blue ones. Kedsty simply wilted in their +blaze. And there was a reason—I know it—a reason that sent his mind +like lightning to the man in the cell!" +</P> + +<P> +"Now, that you leave me out of it, the thing begins to get +interesting," said Kent. "It's a matter of the relationship of this +blonde girl and—" +</P> + +<P> +"She isn't blonde—and I'm not leaving you out of it," interrupted +O'Connor. "I never saw anything so black in my life as her hair. It was +magnificent. If you saw that girl once, you would never forget her +again as long as you lived. She has never been in Athabasca Landing +before, or anywhere near here. If she had, we surely would have heard +about her. She came for a purpose, and I believe that purpose was +accomplished when Kedsty gave me the order to free McTrigger." +</P> + +<P> +"That's possible, and probable," agreed Kent. "I always said you were +the best clue-analyst in the force, Bucky. But I don't see where I come +in." +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor smiled grimly. "You don't? Well, I may be both blind and a +fool, and perhaps a little excited. But it seemed to me that from the +moment Inspector Kedsty laid his eyes on that girl he was a little too +anxious to let McTrigger go and hang you in his place. A little too +anxious, Kent." +</P> + +<P> +The irony of the thing brought a hard smile to Kent's lips as he nodded +for the cigars. "I'll try one of these on top of the pipe," he said, +nipping off the end of the cigar with his teeth. "And you forget that +I'm not going to hang, Bucky. Cardigan has given me until tomorrow +night. Perhaps until the next day. Did you see Rossand's fleet leaving +for up north? It made me think of three years ago!" +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor was gripping his hand again. The coldness of it sent a chill +into the staff-sergeant's heart. He rose and looked through the upper +part of the window, so that the twitching in his throat was hidden from +Kent. Then he went to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see you again tomorrow," he said. "And if I find out anything +more about the girl, I'll report." +</P> + +<P> +He tried to laugh, but there was a tremble in his voice, a break in the +humor he attempted to force. +</P> + +<P> +Kent listened to the tramp of his heavy feet as they went down the hall. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<P> +Again the world came back to Kent, the world that lay just beyond his +open window. But scarcely had O'Connor gone when it began to change, +and in spite of his determination to keep hold of his nerve Kent felt +creeping up with that change a thing that was oppressive and +smothering. Swiftly the distant billowings of the forests were changing +their tones and colors under the darkening approach of storm. The +laughter of the hills and ridges went out. The shimmer of spruce and +cedar and balsam turned to a somber black. The flashing gold and silver +of birch and poplar dissolved into a ghostly and unanimated gray that +was almost invisible. A deepening and somber gloom spread itself like a +veil over the river that only a short time before had reflected the +glory of the sun in the faces of dark-visaged men of the Company +brigade. And with the gloom came steadily nearer a low rumbling of +thunder. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time since the mental excitement of his confession Kent +felt upon him an appalling loneliness. He still was not afraid of +death, but a part of his philosophy was gone. It was, after all, a +difficult thing to die alone. He felt that the pressure in his chest +was perceptible greater than it had been an hour or two before, and the +thought grew upon him that it would be a terrible thing for the +"explosion" to come when the sun was not shining. He wanted O'Connor +back again. He had the desire to call out for Cardigan. He would have +welcomed Father Layonne with a glad cry. Yet more than all else would +he have had at his side in these moments of distress a woman. For the +storm, as it massed heavier and nearer, filling the earth with its +desolation, bridged vast spaces for him, and he found himself suddenly +face to face with the might-have-beens of yesterday. +</P> + +<P> +He saw, as he had never guessed before, the immeasurable gulf between +helplessness and the wild, brute freedom of man, and his soul cried +out—not for adventure, not for the savage strength of life—but for +the presence of a creature frailer than himself, yet in the gentle +touch of whose hand lay the might of all humanity. +</P> + +<P> +He struggled with himself. He remembered that Dr. Cardigan had told him +there would be moments of deep depression, and he tried to fight +himself out of the grip of this that was on him. There was a bell at +hand, but he refused to use it, for he sensed his own cowardice. His +cigar had gone out, and he relighted it. He made an effort to bring his +mind back to O'Connor, and the mystery girl, and Kedsty. He tried to +visualize McTrigger, the man he had saved from the hangman, waiting for +Kedsty in the office at barracks. He pictured the girl, as O'Connor had +described her, with her black hair and blue eyes—and then the storm +broke. +</P> + +<P> +The rain came down in a deluge, and scarcely had it struck when the +door opened and Cardigan hurried in to close the window. He remained +for half an hour, and after that young Mercer, one of his two +assistants, came in at intervals. Late in the afternoon it began to +clear up, and Father Layonne returned with papers properly made out for +Kent's signature. He was with Kent until sundown, when Mercer came in +with supper. +</P> + +<P> +Between that hour and ten o'clock Kent observed a vigilance on the part +of Dr. Cardigan which struck him as being unusual. Four times he +listened with the stethoscope at his chest, but when Kent asked the +question which was in his mind, Cardigan shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"It's no worse, Kent. I don't think it will happen tonight." +</P> + +<P> +In spite of this assurance Kent was positive there was in Cardigan's +manner an anxiety of a different quality than he had perceived earlier +in the day. The thought was a definite and convincing one. He believed +that Cardigan was smoothing the way with a professional lie. +</P> + +<P> +He had no desire to sleep. His light was turned low, and his window was +open again, for the night had cleared. Never had air tasted sweeter to +him than that which came in through his window. The little bell in his +watch tinkled the hour of eleven, when he heard Cardigan's door close +for a last time across the hall. After that everything was quiet. He +drew himself nearer to the window, so that by leaning forward he could +rest himself partly on the sill. He loved the night. The mystery and +lure of those still hours of darkness when the world slept had never +ceased to hold their fascination for him. Night and he were friends. He +had discovered many of its secrets. A thousand times he had walked hand +in hand with the spirit of it, approaching each time a little nearer to +the heart of it, mastering its life, its sound, the whispering +languages of that "other side of life" which rises quietly and as if in +fear to live and breathe long after the sun has gone out. To him it was +more wonderful than day. +</P> + +<P> +And this night that lay outside his window now was magnificent. Storm +had washed the atmosphere between earth and sky, and it seemed as +though the stars had descended nearer to his forests, shining in golden +constellations. The moon was coming up late, and he watched the ruddy +glow of it as it rode up over the wilderness, a splendid queen entering +upon a stage already prepared by the lesser satellites for her coming. +No longer was Kent oppressed or afraid. In still deeper inhalations he +drank the night air into his lungs, and in him there seemed to grow +slowly a new strength. His eyes and ears were wide open and attentive. +The town was asleep, but a few lights burned dimly here and there along +the river's edge, and occasionally a lazy sound came up to him—the +clink of a scow chain, the bark of a dog, the rooster crowing. In spite +of himself he smiled at that. Old Duperow's rooster was a foolish bird +and always crowed himself hoarse when the moon was bright. And in front +of him, not far away, were two white, lightning-shriven spruce stubs +standing like ghosts in the night. In one of these a pair of owls had +nested, and Kent listened to the queer, chuckling notes of their +honeymooning and the flutter of their wings as they darted out now and +then in play close to his window. And then suddenly he heard the sharp +snap of their beaks. An enemy was prowling near, and the owls were +giving warning. He thought he heard a step. In another moment or two +the step was unmistakable. Some one was approaching his window from the +end of the building. He leaned over the sill and found himself staring +into O'Connor's face. +</P> + +<P> +"These confounded feet of mine!" grunted the staff-sergeant. "Were you +asleep, Kent?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wide-awake as those owls," assured Kent. +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor drew up to the window. "I saw your light and thought you were +awake," he said. "I wanted to make sure Cardigan wasn't with you. I +don't want him to know I am here. And—if you don't mind—will you turn +off the light? Kedsty is awake, too—as wide-awake as the owls." +</P> + +<P> +Kent reached out a hand, and his room was in darkness except for the +glow of moon and stars. O'Connor's bulk at the window shut out a part +of this. His face was half in gloom. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a crime to come to you like this, Kent," he said, keeping his big +voice down to a whisper. "But I had to. It's my last chance. And I know +there's something wrong. Kedsty is getting me out of the way—because I +was with him when he met the girl over in the poplar bush. I'm detailed +on special duty up at Fort Simpson, two thousand miles by water if it's +a foot! It means six months or a year. We leave in the motor boat at +dawn to overtake Rossand and his outfit, so I had to take this chance +of seeing you. I hesitated until I knew that some one was awake in your +room." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad you came," said Kent warmly. "And—good God, how I would like +to go with you, Bucky! If it wasn't for this thing in my chest, +ballooning up for an explosion—" +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't be going," interrupted O'Connor in a low voice. "If you +were on your feet, Kent, there are a number of things that wouldn't be +happening. Something mighty queer has come over Kedsty since this +morning. He isn't the Kedsty you knew yesterday or for the last ten +years. He's nervous, and I miss my guess if he isn't constantly on the +watch for some one. And he's afraid of me. I know it. He's afraid of me +because I saw him go to pieces when he met that girl. Fort Simpson is +simply a frame-up to get me away for a time. He tried to smooth the +edge off the thing by promising me an inspectorship within the year. +That was this afternoon, just before the storm. Since then—" +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor turned and faced the moonlight for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Since then I've been on a still-hunt for the girl and Sandy +McTrigger," he added. "And they've disappeared, Kent. I guess McTrigger +just melted away into the woods. But it's the girl that puzzles me. +I've questioned every scow cheman at the Landing. I've investigated +every place where she might have got food or lodging, and I bribed +Mooie, the old trailer, to search the near-by timber. The unbelievable +part of it isn't her disappearance. It's the fact that not a soul in +Athabasca Landing has seen her! Sounds incredible, doesn't it? And +then, Kent, the big hunch came to me. Remember how we've always played +up to the big hunch? And this one struck me strong. I think I know +where the girl is." +</P> + +<P> +Kent, forgetful of his own impending doom, was deeply interested in the +thrill of O'Connor's mystery. He had begun to visualize the situation. +More than once they had worked out enigmas of this kind together, and +the staff-sergeant saw the old, eager glow in his eyes. And Kent +chuckled joyously in that thrill of the game of man-hunting, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Kedsty is a bachelor and doesn't even so much as look at a woman. But +he likes home life—" +</P> + +<P> +"And has built himself a log bungalow somewhat removed from the town," +added O'Connor. +</P> + +<P> +"And his Chinaman cook and housekeeper is away." +</P> + +<P> +"And the bungalow is closed, or supposed to be." +</P> + +<P> +"Except at night, when Kedsty goes there to sleep." +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor's hand gripped Kent's. "Jimmy, there never was a team in N +Division that could beat us, The girl is hiding at Kedsty's place!" +</P> + +<P> +"But why HIDING?" insisted Kent. "She hasn't committed a crime." +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor sat silent for a moment. Kent could hear him stuffing the bowl +of his pipe. +</P> + +<P> +"It's simply the big hunch," he grunted. "It's got hold of me, Kent, +and I can't throw it off. Why, man—" +</P> + +<P> +He lighted a match in the cup of his hands, and Kent saw his face. +There was more than uncertainty in the hard, set lines of it. +</P> + +<P> +"You see, I went back to the poplars again after I left you today," +O'Connor went on. "I found her footprints. She had turned off the +trail, and in places they were very clear. +</P> + +<P> +"She had on high-heeled shoes, Kent—those Frenchy things—and I swear +her feet can't be much bigger than a baby's! I found where Kedsty +caught up with her, and the moss was pretty well beaten down. He +returned through the poplars, but the girl went on and into the edge of +the spruce. I lost her trail there. By traveling in that timber it was +possible for her to reach Kedsty's bungalow without being seen. It must +have been difficult going, with shoes half as big as my hand and heels +two inches high! And I've been wondering, why didn't she wear +bush-country shoes or moccasins?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because she came from the South and not the North," suggested Kent. +"Probably up from Edmonton." +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly. And Kedsty wasn't expecting her, was he? If he had been, that +first sight of her wouldn't have shattered every nerve in his body. +That's why the big hunch won't let loose of me, Kent. From the moment +he saw her, he was a different man. His attitude toward you changed +instantly. If he could save you now by raising his little finger, he +wouldn't do it, simply because it's absolutely necessary for him to +have an excuse for freeing McTrigger. Your confession came at just the +psychological moment. The girl's unspoken demand there in the poplars +was that he free McTrigger, and it was backed up by a threat which +Kedsty understood and which terrified him to his marrow. McTrigger must +have seen him afterward, for he waited at the office until Kedsty came. +I don't know what passed between them. Constable Doyle says they were +together for half an hour. Then McTrigger walked out of barracks, and +no one has seen him since. It's mighty queer. The whole thing is queer. +And the queerest part of the whole business is this sudden commission +of mine at Fort Simpson." +</P> + +<P> +Kent leaned back against his pillows. His breath came in a series of +short, hacking coughs. In the star glow O'Connor saw his face grow +suddenly haggard and tired-looking, and he leaned far in so that in +both his own hands he held one of Kent's. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm tiring you, Jimmy," he said huskily. "Good-by, old pal! I—I—" He +hesitated and then lied steadily. "I'm going up to take a look around +Kedsty's place. I won't be gone more than half an hour and will stop on +my way back. If you're asleep—" +</P> + +<P> +"I won't be asleep," said Kent. +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor's hands gripped closer. "Good-by, Jimmy." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by." And then, as O'Connor stepped back into the night, Kent's +voice called after him softly: "I'll be with you on the long trip, +Bucky. Take care of yourself—always." +</P> + +<P> +O'Connor's answer was a sob, a sob that rose in his throat like a great +fist, and choked him, and filled his eyes with scalding tears that shut +out the glow of moon and stars. And he did not go toward Kedsty's, but +trudged heavily in the direction of the river, for he knew that Kent +had called his lie, and that they had said their last farewell. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<P> +It was a long time after O'Connor had gone before Kent at last fell +asleep. It was a slumber weighted with the restlessness of a brain +fighting to the last against exhaustion and the inevitable end. A +strange spirit seemed whirling Kent back through the years he had +lived, even to the days of his boyhood, leaping from crest to crest, +giving to him swift and passing visions of valleys almost forgotten, of +happenings and things long ago faded and indistinct in his memory. +Vividly his dreams were filled with ghosts—ghosts that were +transformed, as his spirit went back to them, until they were riotous +with life and pulsating with the red blood of reality. He was a boy +again, playing three-old-cat in front of the little old red brick +schoolhouse half a mile from the farm where he was born, and where his +mother had died. +</P> + +<P> +And Skinny Hill, dead many years ago, was his partner at the +bat—lovable Skinny, with his smirking grin and his breath that always +smelled of the most delicious onions ever raised in Ohio. And then, at +dinner hour, he was trading some of his mother's cucumber pickles for +some of Skinny's onions—two onions for a pickle, and never a change in +the price. And he played old-fashioned casino with his mother, and they +were picking blackberries together in the woods, and he killed over +again a snake that he had clubbed to death more than twenty years ago, +while his mother ran away and screamed and then sat down and cried. +</P> + +<P> +He had worshiped that mother, and the spirit of his dreams did not let +him look down into the valley where she lay dead, under a little white +stone in the country cemetery a thousand miles away, with his father +close beside her. But it gave him a passing thrill of the days in which +he had fought his way through college—and then it brought him into the +North, his beloved North. +</P> + +<P> +For hours the wilderness was heavy about Kent. He moved restlessly, at +times he seemed about to awaken, but always he slipped back into the +slumberous arms of his forests. He was on the trail in the cold, gray +beginning of Winter, and the glow of his campfire made a radiant patch +of red glory in the heart of the night, and close to him in that glow +sat O'Connor. He was behind dogs and sledge, fighting storm; dark and +mysterious streams rippled under his canoe; he was on the Big River, +O'Connor with him again—and then, suddenly, he was holding a blazing +gun in his hand, and he and O'Connor stood with their backs to a rack, +facing the bloodthirsty rage of McCaw and his free-traders. The roar of +the guns half roused him, and after that came pleasanter things—the +droning of wind in the spruce tops, the singing of swollen streams in +Springtime, the songs of birds, the sweet smells of life, the glory of +life as he had lived it, he and O'Connor. In the end, half between +sleep and wakefulness, he was fighting a smothering pressure on his +chest. It was an oppressive and torturing thing, like the tree that had +fallen on him over in the Jackfish country, and he felt himself +slipping off into darkness. Suddenly there was a gleam of light. He +opened his eyes. The sun was flooding in at his window, and the weight +on his chest was the gentle pressure of Cardigan's stethoscope. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the physical stress of the phantoms which his mind has +conceived, Kent awakened so quietly that Cardigan was not conscious of +the fact until he raised his head. There was something in his face +which he tried to conceal, but Kent caught it before it was gone. There +were dark hollows under his eyes. He was a bit haggard, as though he +had spent a sleepless night. Kent pulled himself up, squinting at the +sun and grinning apologetically. He had slept well along into the day, +and— +</P> + +<P> +He caught himself with a sudden grimace of pain. A flash of something +hot and burning swept through his chest. It was like a knife. He opened +his mouth to breathe in the air. The pressure inside him was no longer +the pressure of a stethoscope. It was real. +</P> + +<P> +Cardigan, standing over him, was trying to look cheerful. "Too much of +the night air, Kent," he explained. "That will pass away—soon." +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to Kent that Cardigan gave an almost imperceptible emphasis +to the word "soon," but he asked no question. He was quite sure that he +understood, and he knew how unpleasant for Cardigan the answer to it +would be. He fumbled under his pillow for his watch. It was nine +o'clock. Cardigan was moving about uneasily, arranging the things on +the table and adjusting the shade at the window. For a few moments, +with his back to Kent, he stood without moving. Then he turned, and +said: +</P> + +<P> +"Which will you have, Kent—a wash-up and breakfast, or a visitor?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not hungry, and I don't feel like soap and water just now. Who's +the visitor? Father Layonne or—Kedsty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Neither. It's a lady." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'd better have the soap and water! Do you mind telling me who it +is?" +</P> + +<P> +Cardigan shook his head. "I don't know. I've never seen her before. She +came this morning while I was still in pajamas, and has been waiting +ever since. I told her to come back again, but she insisted that she +would remain until you were awake. She has been very patient for two +hours." +</P> + +<P> +A thrill which he made no effort to conceal leaped through Kent. "Is +she a young woman?" he demanded eagerly. "Wonderful black hair, blue +eyes, wears high-heeled shoes just about half as big as your hand—and +very beautiful?" +</P> + +<P> +"All of that," nodded Cardigan. "I even noticed the shoes, Jimmy. A +very beautiful young woman!" +</P> + +<P> +"Please let her come in," said Kent. "Mercer scrubbed me last night, +and I feel fairly fit. She'll forgive this beard, and I'll apologize +for your sake. What is her name?" +</P> + +<P> +"I asked her, and she didn't seem to hear. A little later Mercer asked +her, and he said she just looked at him for a moment and he froze. She +is reading a volume of my Plutarch's 'Lives'—actually reading it. I +know it by the way she turns the pages!" +</P> + +<P> +Kent drew himself up higher against his pillows and faced the door when +Cardigan went out. In a flash all that O'Connor had said swept back +upon him—this girl, Kedsty, the mystery of it all. Why had she come to +see him? What could be the motive of her visit—unless it was to thank +him for the confession that had given Sandy McTrigger his freedom? +O'Connor was right. She was deeply concerned in McTrigger and had come +to express her gratitude. He listened. Distant footsteps sounded in the +hall. They approached quickly and paused outside his door. A hand moved +the latch, but for a moment the door did not open. He heard Cardigan's +voice, then Cardigan's footsteps retreating down the hall. His heart +thumped. He could not remember when he had been so upset over an +unimportant thing. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<P> +The latch moved slowly, and with its movement came a gentle tap on the +panel. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in," he said. +</P> + +<P> +The next instant he was staring. The girl had entered and closed the +door behind her. O'Connor's picture stood in flesh and blood before +him. The girl's eyes met his own. They were like glorious violets, as +O'Connor had said, but they were not the eyes he had expected to see. +They were the wide-open, curious eyes of a child. He had visualized +them as pools of slumbering flame—the idea O'Connor had given him—and +they were the opposite of that. Their one emotion seemed to be the +emotion roused by an overwhelming, questioning curiosity. They were +apparently not regarding him as a dying human being, but as a creature +immensely interesting to look upon. In place of the gratitude he had +anticipated, they were filled with a great, wondering interrogation, +and there was not the slightest hint of embarrassment in their gaze. +For a space it seemed to Kent that he saw nothing but those wonderful, +dispassionate eyes looking at him. Then he saw the rest of her—her +amazing hair, her pale, exquisite face, the slimness and beauty of her +as she stood with her back to the door, one hand still resting on the +latch. He had never seen anything quite like her. He might have guessed +that she was eighteen, or twenty, or twenty-two. Her hair, wreathed in +shimmering, velvety coils from the back to the crown of her head, +struck him as it had struck O'Connor, as unbelievable. The glory of it +gave to her an appearance of height which she did not possess, for she +was not tall, and her slimness added to the illusion. +</P> + +<P> +And then, greatly to his embarrassment in the next instant, his eyes +went to her feet. Again O'Connor was right—tiny feet, high-heeled +pumps, ravishingly turned ankles showing under a skirt of some fluffy +brown stuff or other— +</P> + +<P> +Correcting himself, his face flushed red. The faintest tremble of a +smile was on the girl's lips. She looked down, and for the first time +he saw what O'Connor had seen, the sunlight kindling slumberous fires +in her hair. +</P> + +<P> +Kent tried to say something, but before he succeeded she had taken +possession of the chair near his bedside. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been waiting a long time to see you," she said. "You are James +Kent, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'm Jim Kent. I'm sorry Dr. Cardigan kept you waiting. If I had +known—" +</P> + +<P> +He was getting a grip on himself again, and smiled at her. He noticed +the amazing length of her dark lashes, but the violet eyes behind them +did not smile back at him. The tranquillity of their gaze was +disconcerting. It was as if she had not quite made up her mind about +him yet and was still trying to classify him in the museum of things +she had known. +</P> + +<P> +"He should have awakened me," Kent went on, trying to keep himself from +slipping once more. "It isn't polite to keep a young lady waiting two +hours!" +</P> + +<P> +This time the blue eyes made him feel that his smile was a maudlin grin. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—you are different." She spoke softly, as if expressing the +thought to herself. "That is what I came to find out, if you were +different. You are dying?" +</P> + +<P> +"My God—yes—I'm dying!" gasped Kent. "According to Dr. Cardigan I'm +due to pop off this minute. Aren't you a little nervous, sitting so +near to a man who's ready to explode while you're looking at him?" +</P> + +<P> +For the first time the eyes changed. She was not facing the window, yet +a glow like the glow of sunlight flashed into them, soft, luminous, +almost laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"No, it doesn't frighten me," she assured him. "I have always thought I +should like to see a man die—not quickly, like drowning or being shot, +but slowly, an inch at a time. But I shouldn't like to see YOU die." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad," breathed Kent. "It's a great satisfaction to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Yet I shouldn't be frightened if you did." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" +</P> + +<P> +Kent drew himself up straighter against his pillows. He had been a man +of many adventures. He had faced almost every conceivable kind of +shock. But this was a new one. He stared into the blue eyes, tongueless +and mentally dazed. They were cool and sweet and not at all excited. +And he knew that she spoke the truth. Not by a quiver of those lovely +lashes would she betray either fear or horror if he popped off right +there. It was astonishing. +</P> + +<P> +Something like resentment shot for an instant into his bewildered +brain. Then it was gone, and in a flash it came upon him that she was +but uttering his own philosophy of life, showing him life's cheapness, +life's littleness, the absurdity of being distressed by looking upon +the light as it flickered out. And she was doing it, not as a +philosopher, but with the beautiful unconcern of a child. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, as if impelled by an emotion in direct contradiction to her +apparent lack of sympathy, she reached out a hand and placed it on +Kent's forehead. It was another shock. It was not a professional touch, +but a soft, cool little pressure that sent a comforting thrill through +him. The hand was there for only a moment, and she withdrew it to +entwine the slim fingers with those of the others in her lap. +</P> + +<P> +"You have no fever," she said. "What makes you think you are dying?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent explained what was happening inside him. He was completely shunted +off his original track of thought and anticipation. He had expected to +ask for at least a mutual introduction when his visitor came into his +room, and had anticipated taking upon himself the position of a polite +inquisitor. In spite of O'Connor, he had not thought she would be quite +so pretty. He had not believed her eyes would be so beautiful, or their +lashes so long, or the touch of her hand so pleasantly unnerving. And +now, in place of asking for her name and the reason for her visit, he +became an irrational idiot, explaining to her certain matters of +physiology that had to do with aortas and aneurismal sacs. He had +finished before the absurdity of the situation dawned upon him, and +with absurdity came the humor of it. Even dying, Kent could not fail to +see the funny side of a thing It struck him as suddenly as had the +girl's beauty and her bewildering and unaffected ingenuousness. +</P> + +<P> +Looking at him, that same glow of mysterious questioning in her eyes, +the girl found him suddenly laughing straight into her face. +</P> + +<P> +"This is funny. It's very funny, Miss—Miss—" +</P> + +<P> +"Marette," she supplied, answering his hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +"It's funny, Miss Marette." +</P> + +<P> +"Not Miss Marette. Just Marette," she corrected. +</P> + +<P> +"I say, it's funny," he tried again. "You see, it's not so terribly +pleasant as you might think to—er—be here, where I am, dying. And +last night I thought about the finest thing in the world would be to +have a woman beside me, a woman who'd be sort of sympathetic, you know, +ease the thing off a little, maybe say she was sorry. And then the Lord +answers my prayer, and YOU come—and you sort of give me the impression +that you made the appointment with yourself to see how a fellow looks +when he pops off." +</P> + +<P> +The shimmer of light came into the blue eyes again. She seemed to have +done with her mental analysis of him, and he saw that a bit of color +was creeping into her cheeks, pale when she had entered the room. +</P> + +<P> +"You wouldn't be the first I've seen pop off," she assured him. "There +have been a number, and I've never cried very much. I'd rather see a +man die than some animals. But I shouldn't like to see YOU do it. Does +that comfort you—like the woman you prayed the Lord for?" +</P> + +<P> +"It does," gasped Kent. "But why the devil, Miss Marette—" +</P> + +<P> +"Marette," she corrected again. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Marette—why the devil have you come to see me at just the moment +I'm due to explode? And what's your other name, and how old are you, +and what do you want of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't any other name, I'm twenty, and I came to get acquainted +with you and see what you are like." +</P> + +<P> +"Bully!" exclaimed Kent. "We're getting there fast! And now, why?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl drew her chair a few inches nearer, and for a moment Kent +thought that her lovely mouth was trembling on the edge of a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Because you have lied so splendidly to save another man who was about +to die." +</P> + +<P> +"Et tu, Brute!" sighed Kent, leaning back against his pillows. "Isn't +it possible for a decent man to kill another man and not be called a +liar when he tells about it? Why do so many believe that I lie?" +</P> + +<P> +"They don't," said the girl. "They believe you—now. You have gone so +completely into the details of the murder in your confession that they +are quite convinced. It would be too bad if you lived, for you surely +would be hanged. Your lie sounds and reads like the truth. But I know +it is a lie. You did not kill John Barkley." +</P> + +<P> +"And the reason for your suspicion?" +</P> + +<P> +For fully half a minute the girl's eyes rested on, his own. Again they +seemed to be looking through him and into him. "Because I know the man +who DID kill him," she said quietly, "and it was not you." +</P> + +<P> +Kent made a mighty effort to appear calm. He reached for a cigar from +the box that Cardigan had placed on his bed, and nibbled the end of it. +"Has some one else been confessing?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head the slightest bit. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you—er—see this other gentleman kill John Barkley?" he insisted. +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I must answer you as I have answered at least one other. I killed +John Barkley. If you suspect some other person, your suspicion is +wrong." +</P> + +<P> +"What a splendid liar!" she breathed softly. "Don't you believe in God?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent winced. "In a large, embracing sense, yes," he said. "I believe in +Him, for instance, as revealed to our senses in all that living, +growing glory you see out there through the window Nature and I have +become pretty good pals, and you see I've sort of built up a mother +goddess to worship instead of a he-god. Sacrilege, maybe, but it's a +great comfort at times. But you didn't come to talk religion?" +</P> + +<P> +The lovely head bent still nearer him. He felt an impelling desire to +put up his hand and touch her shining hair, as she laid her hand on his +forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"I know who killed John Barkley," she insisted. "I know how and when +and why he was killed. Please tell me the truth. I want to know. Why +did you confess to a crime which you did not commit?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent took time to light his cigar. The girl watched him closely, almost +eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"I may be mad," he said. "It is possible for any human being to be mad +and not know it. That's the funny part about insanity. But if I'm not +insane, I killed Barkley; if I didn't kill him, I must be insane, for +I'm very well convinced that I did. Either that, or you are insane. I +have my suspicions that you are. Would a sane person wear pumps with +heels like those up here?" He pointed accusingly to the floor. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time the girl smiled, openly, frankly, gloriously. It was +as if her heart had leaped forth for an instant and had greeted him. +And then, like sunlight shadowed by cloud, the smile was gone. "You are +a brave man," she said. "You are splendid. I hate men. But I think if +you lived very long, I should love you. I will believe that you killed +Barkley. You compel me to believe it. You confessed, when you found you +were going to die, that an innocent man might be saved. Wasn't that it?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent nodded weakly. "That's it. I hate to think of it that way, but I +guess it's true. I confessed because I knew I was going to die. +Otherwise I am quite sure that I should have let the other fellow take +my medicine for me. You must think I am a beast." +</P> + +<P> +"All men are beasts," she agreed quickly. "But you are—a different +kind of beast. I like you. If there were a chance, I might fight for +you. I can fight." She held up her two small hands, half smiling at him +again. +</P> + +<P> +"But not with those," he exclaimed. "I think you would fight with your +eyes. O'Connor told me they half killed Kedsty when you met them in the +poplar grove yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +He had expected that the mention of Inspector Kedsty's name would +disturb her. It had no effect that he could perceive. +</P> + +<P> +"O'Connor was the big, red-faced man with Mr. Kedsty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my trail partner. He came to me yesterday and raved about your +eyes. They ARE beautiful; I've never seen eyes half so lovely. But that +wasn't what struck Bucky so hard. It was the effect they had on Kedsty. +He said they shattered every nerve in Kedsty's body, and Kedsty isn't +the sort to get easily frightened. And the queer part of it was that +the instant you had gone, he gave O'Connor an order to free +McTrigger—and then turned and followed you. All the rest of that day +O'Connor tried to discover something about you at the Landing. He +couldn't find hide nor hair—I beg pardon!—I mean he couldn't find out +anything about you at all. We made up our minds that for some reason or +other you were hiding up at Kedsty's bungalow. You don't mind a fellow +saying all this—when he is going to pop off soon—do you?" +</P> + +<P> +He was half frightened at the directness with which he had expressed +the thing. He would gladly have buried his own curiosity and all of +O'Connor's suspicions for another moment of her hand on his forehead. +But it was out, and he waited. +</P> + +<P> +She was looking down, her fingers twisting some sort of tasseled dress +ornament in her lap, and Kent mentally measured the length of her +lashes with a foot rule in mind. They were superb, and in the thrill of +his admiration he would have sworn they were an inch long. She looked +up suddenly and caught the glow in his eyes and the flush that lay +under the tan of his cheeks. Her own color had deepened a little. +</P> + +<P> +"What if you shouldn't die?" she asked him bluntly, as if she had not +heard a word of all he had said about Kedsty. "What would you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to." +</P> + +<P> +"But if you shouldn't?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose I'd have to take my medicine. +You're not going?" +</P> + +<P> +She had straightened up and was sitting on the edge of her chair. "Yes, +I'm going. I'm afraid of my eyes. I may look at you as I looked at Mr. +Kedsty, and then—pop you'd go, quick! And I don't want to be here when +you die!" +</P> + +<P> +He heard a soft little note of laughter in her throat. It sent a chill +through him. What an adorable, blood-thirsty little wretch she was! He +stared at her bent head, at the shining coils of her wonderful hair. +Undone, he could see it completely hiding her. And it was so soft and +warm that again he was tempted to reach out and touch it. She was +wonderful, and yet it was not possible that she had a heart. Her +apparent disregard of the fact that he was a dying man was almost +diabolic. There was no sympathy in the expression of her violet eyes as +she looked at him. She was even making fun of the fact that he was +about to die! +</P> + +<P> +She stood up, surveying for the first time the room in which she had +been sitting. Then she turned to the window and looked out. She +reminded Kent of a beautiful young willow that had grown at the edge of +a stream, exquisite, slender, strong. He could have picked her up in +his arms as easily as a child, yet he sensed in the lithe beauty of her +body forces that could endure magnificently. The careless poise of her +head fascinated him. For that head and the hair that crowned it he knew +that half the women of the earth would have traded precious years of +their lives. +</P> + +<P> +And then, without turning toward him, she said, "Some day, when I die, +I wish I might have as pleasant a room as this." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you never die," he replied devoutly. +</P> + +<P> +She came back and stood for a moment beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"I have had a very pleasant time," she said, as though he had given her +a special sort of entertainment. "It's too bad you are going to die. +I'm sure we should have been good friends. Aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, very sure. If you had only arrived sooner—" +</P> + +<P> +"And I shall always think of you as a different kind of man-beast," she +interrupted him. "It is really true that I shouldn't like to see you +die. I want to get away before it happens. Would you care to have me +kiss you?" +</P> + +<P> +For an instant Kent felt that his aorta was about to give away. "I—I +would," he gasped huskily. +</P> + +<P> +"Then—close your eyes, please." +</P> + +<P> +He obeyed. She bent over him. He felt the soft touch of her hands and +caught for an instant the perfume of her face and hair, and then the +thrill of her lips pressed warm and soft upon his. +</P> + +<P> +She was not flushed or embarrassed when he looked at her again. It was +as if she had kissed a baby and was wondering at its red face. "I've +only kissed three men before you," she avowed. "It is strange. I never +thought I should do it again. And now, good-by!" She moved quickly to +the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait," he cried plaintively. "Please wait. I want to know your name. +It is Marette—" +</P> + +<P> +"Radisson," she finished for him. "Marette Radisson, and I come from +away off there, from a place we call the Valley of Silent Men." She was +pointing into the north. +</P> + +<P> +"The North!" he exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is far north. Very far." +</P> + +<P> +Her hand was on the latch. The door opened slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait," he pleaded again. "You must not go." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I must go. I have remained too long. I am sorry I kissed you. I +shouldn't have done that. But I had to because you are such a splendid +liar!" +</P> + +<P> +The door opened quickly and closed behind her. He heard her steps +almost running down the hall, where not long ago he had listened to the +last of O'Connor's. +</P> + +<P> +And then there was silence, and in that silence he heard her words +again, drumming like little hammers in his head, "BECAUSE YOU ARE SUCH +A SPLENDID LIAR!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<P> +James Kent, among his other qualities good and bad, possessed a +merciless opinion of his own shortcomings, but never, in that opinion, +had he fallen so low as in the interval which immediately followed the +closing of his door behind the mysterious girl who had told him that +her name was Marette Radisson. No sooner was she gone than the +overwhelming superiority of her childlike cleverness smote him until, +ashamed of himself, he burned red in his aloneness. +</P> + +<P> +He, Sergeant Kent, the coolest man on the force next to Inspector +Kedsty, the most dreaded of catechists when questioning criminals, the +man who had won the reputation of facing quietly and with deadly +sureness the most menacing of dangers, had been beaten—horribly +beaten—by a girl! And yet, in defeat, an irrepressible and at times +distorted sense of humor made him give credit to the victor. The shame +of the thing was his acknowledgment that a bit of feminine beauty had +done the trick. He had made fun of O'Connor when the big staff-sergeant +had described the effect of the girl's eyes on Inspector Kedsty. And, +now, if O'Connor could know of what had happened here— +</P> + +<P> +And then, like a rubber ball, that saving sense of humor bounced up out +of the mess, and Kent found himself chuckling as his face grew cooler. +His visitor had come, and she had gone, and he knew no more about her +than when she had entered his room, except that her very pretty name +was Marette Radisson. He was just beginning to think of the questions +he had wanted to ask, a dozen, half a hundred of them—more definitely +who she was; how and why she had come to Athabasca Landing; her +interest in Sandy McTrigger; the mysterious relationship that must +surely exist between her and Inspector Kedsty; and, chiefly, her real +motive in coming to him when she knew that he was dying. He comforted +himself by the assurance that he would have learned these things had +she not left him so suddenly. He had not expected that. +</P> + +<P> +The question which seated itself most insistently in his mind was, why +had she come? Was it, after all, merely a matter of curiosity? Was her +relationship to Sandy McTrigger such that inquisitiveness alone had +brought her to see the man who had saved him? Surely she had not been +urged by a sense of gratitude, for in no way had she given expression +to that. On his death-bed she had almost made fun of him. And she could +not have come as a messenger from McTrigger, or she would have left her +message. For the first time he began to doubt that she knew the man at +all, in spite of the strange thing that had happened under O'Connor's +eyes. But she must know Kedsty. She had made no answer to his +half-accusation that she was hiding up at the Inspector's bungalow. He +had used that word—"hiding." It should have had an effect. And she was +as beautifully unconscious of it as though she had not heard him, and +he knew that she had heard him very distinctly. It was then that she +had given him that splendid view of her amazingly long lashes and had +countered softly, +</P> + +<P> +"What if you shouldn't die?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent felt himself suddenly aglow with an irresistible appreciation of +the genius of her subtlety, and with that appreciation came a thrill of +deeper understanding. He believed that he knew why she had left him so +suddenly. It was because she had seen herself close to the danger-line. +There were things which she did not want him to know or question her +about, and his daring intimation that she was hiding in Kedsty's +bungalow had warned her. Was it possible that Kedsty himself had sent +her for some reason which he could not even guess at? Positively it was +not because of McTrigger, the man he had saved. At least she would have +thanked him in some way. She would not have appeared quite so adorably +cold-blooded, quite so sweetly unconscious of the fact that he was +dying. If McTrigger's freedom had meant anything to her, she could not +have done less than reveal to him a bit of sympathy. And her greatest +compliment, if he excepted the kiss, was that she had called him a +splendid liar! +</P> + +<P> +Kent grimaced and drew in a deep breath because of the tightness in his +chest. Why was it that every one seemed to disbelieve him? Why was it +that even this mysterious girl, whom he had never seen before in his +life, politely called him a liar when he insisted that he had killed +John Barkley? Was the fact of murder necessarily branded in one's face? +If so, he had never observed it. Some of the hardest criminals he had +brought in from the down-river country were likable-looking men. There +was Horrigan, for instance, who for seven long weeks kept him in good +humor with his drollery, though he was bringing him in to be hanged. +And there were McTab, and le Bete Noir—the Black Beast—a lovable +vagabond in spite of his record, and Le Beau, the gentlemanly robber of +the wilderness mail, and half a dozen others he could recall without +any effort at all. No one called them liars when, like real men, they +confessed their crimes when they saw their game was up. To a man they +had given up the ghost with their boots on, and Kent respected their +memory because of it. And he was dying—and even this stranger girl +called him a liar? And no case had ever been more complete than his +own. He had gone mercilessly into the condemning detail of it all. It +was down in black and white. He had signed it. And still he was +disbelieved. It was funny, deuced funny, thought Kent. +</P> + +<P> +Until young Mercer opened the door and came in with his late breakfast, +he had forgotten that he had really been hungry when he awakened with +Cardigan's stethoscope at his chest. Mercer had amused him from the +first. The pink-faced young Englishman, fresh from the old country, +could not conceal in his face and attitude the fact that he was walking +in the presence of the gallows whenever he entered the room. He was, as +he had confided in Cardigan, "beastly hit up" over the thing. To feed +and wash a man who would undoubtedly die, but who would be hanged by +the neck until he was dead if he lived, filled him with peculiar and at +times conspicuous emotions. It was like attending to a living corpse, +if such a thing could be conceived. And Mercer had conceived it. Kent +had come to regard him as more or less of a barometer giving away +Cardigan's secrets. He had not told Cardigan, but had kept the +discovery for his own amusement. +</P> + +<P> +This morning Mercer's face was less pink, and his pale eyes were paler, +Kent thought. Also he started to sprinkle sugar on his eggs in place of +salt. +</P> + +<P> +Kent laughed and stopped his hand. "You may sugar my eggs when I'm +dead, Mercer," he said, "but while I'm alive I want salt on 'em! Do you +know, old man, you look bad this morning. Is it because this is my last +breakfast?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope not, sir, I hope not," replied Mercer quickly. "Indeed, I hope +you are going to live, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks!" said Kent dryly. "Where is Cardigan?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Inspector sent a messenger for him, sir. I think he has gone to +see him. Are your eggs properly done, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mercer, if you ever worked in a butler's pantry, for the love of +heaven forget it now!" exploded Kent, "I want you to tell me something +straight out. How long have I got?" +</P> + +<P> +Mercer fidgeted for a moment, and a shade or two more of the red went +out of his face. "I can't say, sir. Doctor Cardigan hasn't told me. But +I think not very long, sir. Doctor Cardigan is cut up all in rags this +morning. And Father Layonne is coming to see you at any moment." +</P> + +<P> +"Much obliged," nodded Kent, calmly beginning his second egg. "And, by +the way, what did you think of the young lady?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ripping, positively ripping!" exclaimed Mercer. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the word," agreed Kent. "Ripping. It sounds like the calico +counter in a dry-goods store, but means a lot. Don't happen to know +where she is staying or why she is at the Landing, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +He knew that he was asking a foolish question and scarcely expected an +answer from Mercer. He was astonished when the other said: +</P> + +<P> +"I heard Doctor Cardigan ask her if we might expect her to honor us +with another visit, and she told him it would be impossible, because +she was leaving on a down-river scow tonight. Fort Simpson, I think she +said she was going to, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"The deuce you say!" cried Kent, spilling a bit of his coffee in the +thrill of the moment. "Why, that's where Staff-Sergeant O'Connor is +bound for!" +</P> + +<P> +"So I heard Doctor Cardigan tell her. But she didn't reply to that. She +just—went. If you don't mind a little joke in your present condition, +sir, I might say that Doctor Cardigan was considerably flayed up over +her. A deuced pretty girl, sir, deuced pretty! And I think he was shot +through!" +</P> + +<P> +"Now you're human, Mercer. She was pretty, wasn't she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Er—yes—stunningly so, Mr. Kent," agreed Mercer, reddening suddenly +to the roots of his pasty, blond hair. "I don't mind confessing that in +this unusual place her appearance was quite upsetting." +</P> + +<P> +"I agree with you, friend Mercer," nodded Kent. "She upset me. And—see +here, old man!—will you do a dying man the biggest favor he ever asked +in his life?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should be most happy, sir, most happy." +</P> + +<P> +"It's this," said Kent. "I want to know if that girl actually leaves on +the down-river scow tonight. If I'm alive tomorrow morning, will you +tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall do my best, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Good. It's simply the silly whim of a dying man, Mercer. But I want to +be humored in it. And I'm sensitive—like yourself. I don't want +Cardigan to know. There's an old Indian named Mooie, who lives in a +shack just beyond the sawmill. Give him ten dollars and tell him there +is another ten in it if he sees the business through, and reports +properly to you, and keeps his mouth shut afterward. Here—the money is +under my pillow." +</P> + +<P> +Kent pulled out a wallet and put fifty dollars in Mercer's hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Buy cigars with the rest of it, old man. It's of no more use to me. +And this little trick you are going to pull off is worth it. It's my +last fling on earth, you might say." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, sir. It is very kind of you." +</P> + +<P> +Mercer belonged to a class of wandering Englishmen typical of the +Canadian West, the sort that sometimes made real Canadians wonder why a +big and glorious country like their own should cling to the mother +country. Ingratiating and obsequiously polite at all times, he gave one +the impression of having had splendid training as a servant, yet had +this intimation been made to him, he would have become highly +indignant. Kent had learned their ways pretty well. He had met them in +all sorts of places, for one of their inexplicable characteristics was +the recklessness and apparent lack of judgment with which they located +themselves. Mercer, for instance, should have held a petty clerical job +of some kind in a city, and here he was acting as nurse in the heart of +a wilderness! +</P> + +<P> +After Mercer had gone with the breakfast things and the money, Kent +recalled a number of his species. And he knew that under their veneer +of apparent servility was a thing of courage and daring which needed +only the right kind of incentive to rouse it. And when roused, it was +peculiarly efficient in a secretive, artful-dodger sort of way. It +would not stand up before a gun. But it would creep under the mouths of +guns on a black night. And Kent was positive his fifty dollars would +bring him results—if he lived. +</P> + +<P> +Just why he wanted the information he was after, he could not have told +himself. It was a pet aphorism between O'Connor and him that they had +often traveled to success on the backs of their hunches. And his +proposition to Mercer was made on the spur of one of those moments when +the spirit of a hunch possessed him. His morning had been one of +unexpected excitement, and now he leaned back in an effort to review it +and to forget, if he could, the distressing thing that was bound to +happen to him within the next few hours. But he could not get away from +the thickening in his chest. It seemed growing on him. Now and then he +was compelled to make quite an effort to get sufficient air into his +lungs. +</P> + +<P> +He found himself wondering if there was a possibility that the girl +might return. For a long time he lay thinking about her, and it struck +him as incongruous and in bad taste that fate should have left this +adventure for his last. If he had met her six months ago—or even +three—it was probable that she would so have changed the events of +life for him that he would not have got the half-breed's bullet in his +chest. He confessed the thing unblushingly. The wilderness had taken +the place of woman for him. It had claimed him, body and soul. He had +desired nothing beyond its wild freedom and its never-ending games of +chance. He had dreamed, as every man dreams, but realities and not the +dreams had been the red pulse of his life. And yet, if this girl had +come sooner— +</P> + +<P> +He revisioned for himself over and over again her hair and eyes, the +slimness of her as she had stood at the window, the freedom and +strength of that slender body, the poise of her exquisite head, and he +felt again the thrill of her hand and the still more wonderful thrill +of her lips as she had pressed them warmly upon his. +</P> + +<P> +AND SHE WAS OF THE NORTH! That was the thought that overwhelmed him. He +did not permit himself to believe that she might have told him an +untruth. He was confident, if he lived until tomorrow, that Mercer +would corroborate his faith in her. He had never heard of a place +called the Valley of Silent Men, but it was a big country, and Fort +Simpson with its Hudson Bay Company's post and its half-dozen shacks +was a thousand miles away. He was not sure that such a place as that +valley really existed. It was easier to believe that the girl's home +was at Fort Providence, Fort Simpson, Fort Good Hope, or even at Fort +McPherson. It was not difficult for him to picture her as the daughter +of one of the factor lords of the North. Yet this, upon closer +consideration, he gave up as unreasonable. The word "Fort" did not +stand for population, and there were probably not more than fifty white +people at all the posts between the Great Slave and the Arctic. She was +not one of these, or the fact would have been known at the Landing. +</P> + +<P> +Neither could she be a riverman's daughter, for it was inconceivable +that either a riverman or a trapper would have sent this girl down into +civilization, where this girl had undoubtedly been. It was that point +chiefly which puzzled Kent. She was not only beautiful. She had been +tutored in schools that were not taught by wilderness missioners. In +her, it seemed to him, he had seen the beauty and the wild freedom of +the forests as they had come to him straight out of the heart of an +ancient aristocracy that was born nearly two hundred years ago in the +old cities of Quebec and Montreal. +</P> + +<P> +His mind flashed back at that thought: he remembered the time when he +had sought out every nook and cranny of that ancient town of Quebec, +and had stood over graves two centuries old, and deep in his soul had +envied the dead the lives they had lived. He had always thought of +Quebec as a rare old bit of time-yellowed lace among cities—the heart +of the New World as it had once been, still beating, still whispering +of its one-time power, still living in the memory of its mellowed +romance, its almost forgotten tragedies—a ghost that lived, that still +beat back defiantly the destroying modernism that would desecrate its +sacred things. And it pleased him to think of Marette Radisson as the +spirit of it, wandering north, and still farther north—even as the +spirits of the profaned dead had risen from the Landing to go farther +on. +</P> + +<P> +And feeling that the way had at last been made easy for him, Kent +smiled out into the glorious day and whispered softly, as if she were +standing there, listening to him: +</P> + +<P> +"If I had lived—I would have called you—my Quebec. It's pretty, that +name. It stands for a lot. And so do you." +</P> + +<P> +And out in the hall, as Kent whispered those words, stood Father +Layonne, with a face that was whiter than the mere presence of death +had ever made it before. At his side stood Cardigan, aged ten years +since he had placed his stethoscope at Kent's chest that morning. And +behind these two were Kedsty, with a face like gray rock, and young +Mercer, in whose staring eyes was the horror of a thing he could not +yet quite comprehend. Cardigan made an effort to speak and failed. +Kedsty wiped his forehead, as he had wiped it the morning of Kent's +confession. And Father Layonne, as he went to Kent's door, was +breathing softly to himself a prayer. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<P> +From the window, the glorious day outside, and the vision he had made +for himself of Marette Radisson, Kent turned at the sound of a hand at +his door and saw it slowly open. He was expecting it. He had read young +Mercer like a book. Mercer's nervousness and the increased tightening +of the thing in his chest had given him warning. The thing was going to +happen soon, and Father Layonne had come. He tried to smile, that he +might greet his wilderness friend cheerfully and unafraid. But the +smile froze when the door opened and he saw the missioner standing +there. +</P> + +<P> +More than once he had accompanied Father Layonne over the threshold of +life into the presence of death, but he had never before seen in his +face what he saw there now. He stared. The missioner remained in the +doorway, hesitating, as if at the last moment a great fear held him +back. For an interval the eyes of the two men rested upon each other in +a silence that was like the grip of a living thing. Then Father Layonne +came quietly into the room and closed the door behind him. +</P> + +<P> +Kent drew a deep breath and tried to grin. "You woke me out of a +dream," he said, "a day-dream. I've had a very pleasant experience this +morning, mon pere." +</P> + +<P> +"So some one was trying to tell me, Jimmy," replied the little +missioner with an effort to smile back. +</P> + +<P> +"Mercer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He told me about it confidentially. The poor boy must have fallen +in love with the young lady." +</P> + +<P> +"So have I, mon pere. I don't mind confessing it to you. I'm rather +glad. And if Cardigan hadn't scheduled me to die—" +</P> + +<P> +"Jimmy," interrupted the missioner quickly, but a bit huskily, "has it +ever occurred to you that Doctor Cardigan may be mistaken?" +</P> + +<P> +He had taken one of Kent's hands. His grip tightened. It began to hurt. +And Kent, looking into his eyes, found his brain all at once like a +black room suddenly illuminated by a flash of fire. Drop by drop the +blood went out of his face until it was whiter than Father Layonne's. +</P> + +<P> +"You—you don't—mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, boy, I mean just that," said the missioner, in a voice so +strange that it did not seem to be his own. "You are not going to die, +Jimmy. You are going to live!" +</P> + +<P> +"Live!" Kent dropped back against his pillows. "LIVE!" His lips gasped +the one word. +</P> + +<P> +He closed his eyes for an instant, and it seemed to him that the world +was aflame. And he repeated the word again, but only his lips formed +it, and there came no sound. His senses, strained to the breaking-point +to meet the ordeal of death, gave way slowly to the mighty reaction. He +felt in those moments like a reeling man. He opened his eyes, and there +was a meaningless green haze through the window where the world should +have been. But he heard Father Layonne's voice. It seemed a great +distance off, but it was very clear. Doctor Cardigan had made an error, +it was saying. And Doctor Cardigan, because of that error, was like a +man whose heart had been taken out of him. But it was an excusable +error. +</P> + +<P> +If there had been an X-ray—But there had been none. And Doctor +Cardigan had made the diagnosis that nine out of ten good surgeons +would probably have made. What he had taken to be the aneurismal +blood-rush was an exaggerated heart murmur, and the increased +thickening in his chest was a simple complication brought about by too +much night air. It was too bad the error had happened. But he must not +blame Cardigan! +</P> + +<P> +HE MUST NOT BLAME CARDIGAN! Those last words pounded like an endless +series of little waves in Kent's brain. He must not blame Cardigan! He +laughed, laughed before his dazed senses readjusted themselves, before +the world through the window pieced itself into shape again. At least +he thought he was laughing. He must—not—blame—Cardigan! What an +amazingly stupid thing for Father Layonne to say! Blame Cardigan for +giving him back his life? Blame him for the glorious knowledge that he +was not going to die? Blame him for— +</P> + +<P> +Things were coming clearer. Like a bolt slipping into its groove his +brain found itself. He saw Father Layonne again, with his white, tense +face and eyes in which were still seated the fear and the horror he had +seen in the doorway. It was not until then that he gripped fully at the +truth. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I see," he said. "You and Cardigan think it would have been better +if I had died!" +</P> + +<P> +The missioner was still holding his hand. "I don't know, Jimmy, I don't +know. What has happened is terrible." +</P> + +<P> +"But not so terrible as death," cried Kent, suddenly growing rigid +against his pillows. "Great God, mon pere, I want to live! Oh—" +</P> + +<P> +He snatched his hand free and stretched forth both arms to the open +window. "Look at it out there! My world again! MY WORLD! I want to go +back to it. It's ten times more precious to me now than it was. Why +should I blame Cardigan? Mon pere—mon pere—listen to me. I can say it +now, because I've got a right to say it. I LIED. I didn't kill John +Barkley!" +</P> + +<P> +A strange cry fell from Father Layonne's lips. It was a choking cry, a +cry, not of rejoicing, but of a grief-stung thing. "Jimmy!" +</P> + +<P> +"I swear it! Great heaven, mon pere, don't you believe me?" +</P> + +<P> +The missioner had risen. In his eyes and face was another look. It was +as if in all his life he had never seen James Kent before. It was a +look born suddenly of shock, the shock of amazement, of incredulity, of +a new kind of horror. Then swiftly again his countenance changed, and +he put a hand on Kent's head. +</P> + +<P> +"God forgive you, Jimmy," he said. "And God help you, too!" +</P> + +<P> +Where a moment before Kent had felt the hot throb of an inundating joy, +his heart was chilled now by the thing he sensed in Father Layonne's +voice and saw in his face and eyes. It was not entirely disbelief. It +was a more hopeless thing than that. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not believe me!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"It is my religion to believe, Jimmy," replied Father Layonne in a +gentle voice into which the old calmness had returned. "I must believe, +for your sake. But it is not a matter of human sentiment now, lad. It +is the Law! Whatever my heart feels toward you can do you no good. You +are—" He hesitated to speak the words. +</P> + +<P> +Then it was that Kent saw fully and clearly the whole monstrous +situation. It had taken time for it to fasten itself upon him. In a +general way it had been clear to him a few moments before; now, detail +by detail, it closed in upon him, and his muscles tightened, and Father +Layonne saw his jaw set hard and his hands clench. Death was gone. But +the mockery of it, the grim exultation of the thing over the colossal +trick it had played, seemed to din an infernal laughter in his ears. +But—he was going to live! That was the one fact that rose above all +others. No matter what happened to him a month or six months from now, +he was not going to die today. He would live to receive Mercer's +report. He would live to stand on his feet again and to fight for the +life which he had thrown away. He was, above everything else, a +fighting man. It was born in him to fight, not so much against his +fellow men as against the overwhelming odds of adventure as they came +to him. And now he was up against the deadliest game of all. He saw it. +He felt it. The thing gripped him. In the eyes of that Law of which he +had so recently been a part he was a murderer. And in the province of +Alberta the penalty for killing a man was hanging. Because horror and +fear did not seize upon him, he wondered if he still realized the +situation. He believed that he did. It was merely a matter of human +nature. Death, he had supposed, was a fixed and foregone thing. He had +believed that only a few hours of life were left for him. And now it +was given back to him, for months at least. It was a glorious reprieve, +and— +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly his heart stood still in the thrill of the thought that came +to him. Marette Radisson had known that he was not going to die! She +had hinted the fact, and he, like a blundering idiot, had failed to +catch the significance of it. She had given him no sympathy, had +laughed at him, had almost made fun of him, simply because she knew +that he was going to live! +</P> + +<P> +He turned suddenly on Father Layonne. +</P> + +<P> +"They shall believe me!" he cried. "I shall make them believe me! Mon +pere, I lied! I lied to save Sandy McTrigger, and I shall tell them +why. If Doctor Cardigan has not made another mistake, I want them all +here again. Will you arrange it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Inspector Kedsty is waiting outside," said Father Layonne quietly, +"but I should not act in haste, Jimmy. I should wait. I should +think—think." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean take time to think up a story that will hold water, mon pere? +I have that. I have the story. And yet—" He smiled a bit dismally. "I +did make one pretty thorough confession, didn't I, Father?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was very convincing, Jimmy. It went so particularly into the +details, and those details, coupled with the facts that you were seen +at John Barkley's earlier in the evening, and that it was you who found +him dead a number of hours later—" +</P> + +<P> +"All make a strong case against me," agreed Kent. "As a matter of fact, +I was up at Barkley's to look over an old map he had made of the +Porcupine country twenty years ago. He couldn't find it. Later he sent +word he had run across it. I returned and found him dead." +</P> + +<P> +The little missioner nodded, but did not speak. +</P> + +<P> +"It is embarrassing," Kent went on. "It almost seems as though I ought +to go through with it, like a sport. When a man loses, it isn't good +taste to set up a howl. It makes him sort of yellow-backed, you know. +To play the game according to rules, I suppose I ought to keep quiet +and allow myself to be hung without making any disturbance. Die game, +and all that, you know. Then there is the other way of looking at it. +This poor neck of mine depends on me. It has given me a lot of good +service. It has been mighty loyal. It has even swallowed eggs on the +day it thought it was going to die. And I'd be a poor specimen of +humanity to go back on it now. I want to do that neck a good turn. I +want to save it. And I'm going to—if I can!" +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the unpleasant tension of the moment, it cheered Father +Layonne to see this old humor returning into the heart of his friend. +With him love was an enduring thing. He might grieve for James Kent, he +might pray for the salvation of his soul, he might believe him guilty, +yet he still bore for him the affection which was too deeply rooted in +his heart to be uptorn by physical things or the happenings of chance. +So the old cheer of his smile came back, and he said: +</P> + +<P> +"To fight for his life is a privilege which God gives to every man, +Jimmy. I was terrified when I came to you. I believed it would have +been better if you had died. I can see my error. It will be a terrible +fight. If you win, I shall be glad. If you lose, I know that you will +lose bravely. Perhaps you are right. It may be best to see Inspector +Kedsty before you have had time to think. That point will have its +psychological effect. Shall I tell him you are prepared to see him?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent nodded. "Yes. Now." +</P> + +<P> +Father Layonne went to the door. Even there he seemed to hesitate an +instant, as if again to call upon Kent to reconsider. Then he opened it +and went out. +</P> + +<P> +Kent waited impatiently. His hand, fumbling at his bedclothes, seized +upon the cloth with which he had wiped his lips, and it suddenly +occurred to him that it had been a long time since it had shown a fresh +stain of blood. Now that he knew it was not a deadly thing, the +tightening in his chest was less uncomfortable. He felt like getting up +and meeting his visitors on his feet. Every nerve in his body wanted +action, and the minutes of silence which followed the closing of the +door after the missioner were drawn out and tedious to him. A quarter +of an hour passed before he heard returning footsteps, and by the sound +of them he knew Kedsty was not coming alone. Probably le pere would +return with him. And possibly Cardigan. +</P> + +<P> +What happened in the next few seconds was somewhat of a shock to him. +Father Layonne entered first, and then came Inspector Kedsty. Kent's +eyes shot to the face of the commander of N Division. There was +scarcely recognition in it. A mere inclination of the head, not enough +to call a greeting, was the reply to Kent's nod and salute. Never had +he seen Kedsty's face more like the face of an emotionless sphinx. But +what disturbed him most was the presence of people he had not expected. +Close behind Kedsty was McDougal, the magistrate, and behind McDougal +entered Constables Felly and Brant, stiffly erect and clearly under +orders. Cardigan, pale and uneasy, came in last, with the stenographer. +Scarcely had they entered the room when Constable Pelly pronounced the +formal warning of the Criminal Code of the Royal Northwest Mounted +Police, and Kent was legally under arrest. +</P> + +<P> +He had not looked for this. He knew, of course, that the process of the +Law would take its course, but he had not anticipated this bloodthirsty +suddenness. He had expected, first of all, to talk with Kedsty as man +to man. And yet—it was the Law. He realized this as his eyes traveled +from Kedsty's rock-like face to the expressionless immobility of his +old friends, Constables Pelly and Brant. If there was sympathy, it was +hidden except in the faces of Cardigan and Father Layonne. And Kent, +exultantly hopeful a little while before, felt his heart grow heavy +within him as he waited for the moment when he would begin the fight to +repossess himself of the life and freed which he had lost. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<P> +For some time after the door to Kent's room had closed upon the ominous +visitation of the Law, young Mercer remained standing in the hall, +debating with himself whether his own moment had not arrived. In the +end he decided that it had, and with Kent's fifty dollars in his pocket +he made for the shack of the old Indian trailer, Mooie. It was an hour +later when he returned, just in time to see Kent's door open again. +Doctor Cardigan and Father Layonne reappeared first, followed in turn +by the blonde stenographer, the magistrate, and Constables Pelly and +Brant. Then the door closed. +</P> + +<P> +Within the room, sweating from the ordeal through which he had passed, +Kent sat bolstered against his pillows, facing Inspector Kedsty with +blazing eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I've asked for these few moments alone with you, Kedsty, because I +wanted to talk to you as a man, and not as my superior officer. I am, I +take it, no longer a member of the force. That being the case, I owe +you no more respect than I owe to any other man. And I am pleased to +have the very great privilege of calling you a cursed scoundrel!" +</P> + +<P> +Kedsty's face was hot, but as his hands clenched slowly, it turned +redder. Before he could speak, Kent went on. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not shown me the courtesy or the sympathy you have had for +the worst criminals that ever faced you. You amazed every man that was +in this room, because at one time—if not now—they were my friends. It +wasn't what you said. It was how you said it. Whenever there was an +inclination on their part to believe, you killed it—not honestly and +squarely, by giving me a chance. Whenever you saw a chance for me to +win a point, you fell back upon the law. And you don't believe that I +killed John Barkley. I know it. You called me a liar the day I made +that fool confession. You still believe that I lied. And I have waited +until we were alone to ask you certain things, for I still have +something of courtesy left in me, if you haven't. What is your game? +What has brought about the change in you? Is it—" +</P> + +<P> +His right hand clenched hard as a rock as he leaned toward Kedsty. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it because of the girl hiding up at your bungalow, Kedsty?" +</P> + +<P> +Even in that moment, when he had the desire to strike the man before +him, it was impossible for him not to admire the stone-like +invulnerability of Kedsty. He had never heard of another man calling +Kedsty a scoundrel or dishonest. And yet, except that his faced burned +more dully red, the Inspector was as impassively calm as ever. Even +Kent's intimation that he was playing a game, and his direct accusation +that he was keeping Marette Radisson in hiding at his bungalow, seemed +to have no disturbing effect on him. For a space he looked at Kent, as +if measuring the poise of the other's mind. When he spoke, it was in a +voice so quiet and calm that Kent stared at him in amazement. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't blame you, Kent," he said. "I don't blame you for calling me a +scoundrel, or anything else you want to. I think I should do the same +if I were in your place. You think it is incredible, because of our +previous association, that I should not make every effort to save you. +I would, if I thought you were innocent. But I don't. I believe you are +guilty. I cannot see where there is a loophole in the evidence against +you, as given in your own confession. Why, man, even if I could help to +prove you innocent of killing John Barkley—" +</P> + +<P> +He paused and twisted one of his gray mustaches, half facing the window +for a moment. "Even if I did that," he went on, "you would still have +twenty years of prison ahead of you for the worst kind of perjury on +the face of the earth, perjury committed at a time when you thought you +were dying! You are guilty, Kent. If not of one thing, then of the +other. I am not playing a game. And as for the girl—there is no girl +at my bungalow." +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the door; and Kent made no effort to stop him. Words came +to his lips and died there, and for a space after Kedsty had gone he +stared out into the green forest world beyond his window, seeing +nothing. Inspector Kedsty, quietly and calmly, had spoken words that +sent his hopes crashing in ruin about him. For even if he escaped the +hangman, he was still a criminal—a criminal of the worst sort, +perhaps, next to the man who kills another. If he proved that he had +not killed John Barkley, he would convict himself, at the same time, of +having made solemn oath to a lie on what he supposed was his death-bed. +And for that, a possible twenty years in the Edmonton penitentiary! At +best he could not expect less than ten. Ten years—twenty years—in +prison! That, or hang. +</P> + +<P> +The sweat broke out on his face. He did not curse Kedsty now. His anger +was gone. Kedsty had seen all the time what he, like a fool, had not +thought of. No matter how the Inspector might feel in that deeply +buried heart of his, he could not do otherwise than he was doing. He, +James Kent, who hated a lie above all the things on the earth, was +kin-as-kisew—the blackest liar of all, a man who lied when he was +dying. +</P> + +<P> +And for that lie there was a great punishment. The Law saw with its own +eyes. It was a single-track affair, narrow-visioned, caring nothing for +what was to the right or the left. It would tolerate no excuse which he +might find for himself. He had lied to save a human life, but that life +the Law itself had wanted. So he had both robbed and outraged the Law, +even though a miracle saved him the greatest penalty of all. +</P> + +<P> +The weight of the thing crushed him. It was as if for the first time a +window had opened for him, and he saw what Kedsty had seen. And then, +as the minutes passed, the fighting spirit in him rose again. He was +not of the sort to go under easily. Personal danger had always stirred +him to his greatest depths, and he had never confronted a danger +greater than this he was facing now. It was not a matter of leaping +quickly and on the spur of the moment. For ten years his training had +been that of a hunter of men, and the psychology of the man hunt had +been his strong point. Always, in seeking his quarry, he had tried +first to bring himself into a mental sympathy and understanding with +that quarry. To analyze what an outlaw would do under certain +conditions and with certain environments and racial inheritances behind +him was to Kent the premier move in the thrilling game. He had evolved +rules of great importance for himself, but always he had worked them +out from the vantage point of the huntsman. Now he began to turn them +around. He, James Kent, was no longer the hunter, but the hunted, and +all the tricks which he had mastered must now be worked the other way. +His woodcraft, his cunning, the fine points he had learned of the game +of one-against-one would avail him but little when it came to the +witness chair and a trial. +</P> + +<P> +The open window was his first inspiration. Adventure had been the blood +of his life. And out there, behind the green forests rolling away like +the billows of an ocean, lay the greatest adventure of all. Once in +those beloved forests covering almost the half of a continent, he would +be willing to die if the world beat him. He could see himself playing +the game of the hunted as no other man had ever played it before. Let +him once have his guns and his freedom, with all that world waiting for +him— +</P> + +<P> +Eagerness gleamed in his eyes, and then, slowly, it died out. The open +window, after all, was but a mockery. He rolled sideways from his bed +and partly balanced himself on his feet. The effort made him dizzy. He +doubted if he could have walked a hundred yards after climbing through +the window. Instantly another thought leaped into his brain. His head +was clearing. He swayed across the room and back again, the first time +he had been on his feet since the half-breed's bullet had laid him out. +He would fool Cardigan. He would fool Kedsty. As he recovered his +strength, he would keep it to himself. He would play sick man to the +limit, and then some night he would take advantage of the open window! +</P> + +<P> +The thought thrilled him as no other thing in the world had ever +thrilled him before. For the first time he sensed the vast difference +between the hunter and the hunted, between the man who played the game +of life and death alone and the one who played it with the Law and all +its might behind him. To hunt was thrilling. To be hunted was more +thrilling. Every nerve in his body tingled. A different kind of fire +burned in his brain. He was the creature who was at bay. The other +fellow was the hunter now. +</P> + +<P> +He went back to the window and leaned far out. He looked at the forest +and saw it with new eyes. The gleam of the slowly moving river held a +meaning for him that it had never held before. Doctor Cardigan, seeing +him then, would have sworn the fever had returned. His eyes held a +slumbering fire. His face was flushed. In these moments Kent did not +see death. He was not visioning the iron bars of a prison. His blood +pulsed only to the stir of that greatest of all adventures which lay +ahead of him. He, the best man-hunter in two thousand miles of +wilderness, would beat the hunters themselves. The hound had turned +fox, and that fox knew the tricks of both the hunter and the hunted. He +would win! A world beckoned to him, and he would reach the heart of +that world. Already there began to flash through his mind memory of the +places where he could find safety and freedom for all time. No man in +all the Northland knew its out-of-the-way corners better than he—its +unmapped and unexplored places, the far and mysterious patches of terra +incognita, where the sun still rose and set without permission of the +Law, and God laughed as in the days when prehistoric monsters fed from +the tops of trees no taller than themselves. Once through that window, +with the strength to travel, and the Law might seek him for a hundred +years without profit to itself. +</P> + +<P> +It was not bravado in his blood that stirred these thoughts. It was not +panic or an unsound excitement. He was measuring things even as he +visioned them. He would go down-river way, toward the Arctic. And he +would find Marette Radisson! Yes, even though she lived at Barracks at +Fort Simpson, he would find her! And after that? The question blurred +all other questions in his mind. There were many answers to it. +</P> + +<P> +Knowing that it would be fatal to his scheme if he were found on his +feet, he returned to his bed. The flush of his exertion and excitement +was still in his face when Doctor Cardigan came half an hour later. +</P> + +<P> +Within the next few minutes he put Cardigan more at his ease than he +had been during the preceding day and night. It was, after all, an +error which made him happier the more he thought about it, he told the +surgeon. He admitted that at first the discovery that he was going to +live had horrified him. But now the whole thing bore a different aspect +for him. As soon as he was sufficiently strong, he would begin +gathering the evidences for his alibi, and he was confident of proving +himself innocent of John Barkley's murder. +</P> + +<P> +He anticipated ten years in the Edmonton penitentiary. But what were +ten years there as compared with forty or fifty under the sod? He wrung +Cardigan's hand. He thanked him for the splendid care he had given him. +It was he, Cardigan, who had saved him from the grave, he said—and +Cardigan grew younger under his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you'd look at it differently, Kent," he said, drawing in a +deep breath. "My God, when I found I had made that mistake—" +</P> + +<P> +"You figured you were handing me over to the hangman," smiled Kent. +"It's true I shouldn't have made that confession, old man, if I hadn't +rated you right next to God Almighty when it came to telling whether a +man was going to live or die. But we all make slips. I've made 'em. And +you've got no apology to make. I may ask you to send me good cigars now +and then while I'm in retirement at Edmonton, and I shall probably +insist that you come to smoke with me occasionally and tell me the news +of the rivers. But I'm afraid, old chap, that I'm going to worry you a +bit more here. I feel queer today, queer inside me. Now it would be a +topping joke if some other complication should set in and fool us all +again, wouldn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +He could see the impression he was making on Cardigan. Again his faith +in the psychology of the mind found its absolute verification. +Cardigan, lifted unexpectedly out of the slough of despond by the very +man whom he expected to condemn him, became from that moment, in the +face of the mental reaction, almost hypersympathetic. When finally he +left the room, Kent was inwardly rejoicing. For Cardigan had told him +it would be some time before he was strong enough to stand on his feet. +</P> + +<P> +He did not see Mercer all the rest of that day. It was Cardigan who +personally brought his dinner and his supper and attended him last at +night. He asked not to be interrupted again, as he felt that he wanted +to sleep. There was a guard outside his door now. +</P> + +<P> +Cardigan scowled when he volunteered this information. It was sheer +nonsense in Kedsty taking such a silly precaution. But he would give +the guard rubber-soled shoes and insist that he make no sound that +would disturb him. Kent thanked him, and grinned exultantly when he was +gone. +</P> + +<P> +He waited until his watch told him it was ten o'clock before he began +the exercise which he had prescribed for himself. Noiselessly he rolled +out of bed. There was no sensation of dizziness when he stood on his +feet this time. His head was as clear as a bell. He began experimenting +by inhaling deeper and still deeper breaths and by straightening his +chest. +</P> + +<P> +There was no pain, as he had expected there would be. He felt like +crying out in his joy. One after the other he stretched up his arms. He +bent over until the tips of his fingers touched the floor. He crooked +his knees, leaned from side to side, changed from one attitude to +another, amazed at the strength and elasticity of his body. Twenty +times, before he returned to his bed, he walked back and forth across +his room. +</P> + +<P> +He was sleepless. Lying with his back to the pillows he looked out into +the starlight, watching for the first glow of the moon and listening +again to the owls that had nested in the lightning-shriven tree. An +hour later he resumed his exercise. +</P> + +<P> +He was on his feet when through his window he heard the sound of +approaching voices and then of running feet. A moment later some one +was pounding at a door, and a loud voice shouted for Doctor Cardigan. +Kent drew cautiously nearer the window. The moon had risen, and he saw +figures approaching, slowly, as if weighted under a burden. Before they +turned out of his vision, he made out two men bearing some heavy object +between them. Then came the opening of a door, other voices, and after +that an interval of quiet. +</P> + +<P> +He returned to his bed, wondering who the new patient could be. +</P> + +<P> +He was breathing easier after his exertion. The fact that he was +feeling keenly alive, and that the thickening in his chest was +disappearing, flushed him with elation. An unbounded optimism possessed +him. It was late when he fell asleep, and he slept late. It was +Mercer's entrance into his room that roused him. He came in softly, +closed the door softly, yet Kent heard him. The moment he pulled +himself up, he knew that Mercer had a report to make, and he also saw +that something upsetting had happened to him. Mercer was a bit excited. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg pardon for waking you, sir," he said, leaning close over Kent, +as though fearing the guard might be listening at the door. "But I +thought it best for you to hear about the Indian, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"The Indian?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir—Mooie, sir. I am quite upset over it, Mr. Kent. He told me +early last evening that he had found the scow on which the girl was +going down-river. He said it was hidden in Kim's Bayou." +</P> + +<P> +"Kim's Bayou! That was a good hiding-place, Mercer!" +</P> + +<P> +"A very good place of concealment indeed, sir. As soon as it was dark, +Mooie returned to watch. What happened to him I haven't fully +discovered, sir. But it must have been near midnight when he staggered +up to Crossen's place, bleeding and half out of his senses. They +brought him here, and I watched over him most of the night. He says the +girl went aboard the scow and that the scow started down-river. That +much I learned, sir. But all the rest he mumbles in a tongue I can not +understand. Crossen says it's Cree, and that old Mooie believes devils +jumped on him with clubs down at Kim's Bayou. Of course they must have +been men. I don't believe in Mooie's devils, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I," said Kent, the blood stirring strangely in his veins. "Mercer, +it simply means there was some one cleverer than old Mooie watching +that trail." +</P> + +<P> +With a curiously tense face Mercer was looking cautiously toward the +door. Then he leaned still lower over Kent. +</P> + +<P> +"During his mumblings, when I was alone with him, I heard him speak a +name, sir. Half a dozen times, sir—and it was—KEDSTY!" +</P> + +<P> +Kent's fingers gripped the young Englishman's hand. +</P> + +<P> +"You heard THAT, Mercer?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure I could not have been mistaken, sir. It was repeated a +number of times." +</P> + +<P> +Kent fell back against his pillows. His mind was working swiftly. He +knew that behind an effort to appear calm Mercer was uneasy over what +had happened. +</P> + +<P> +"We mustn't let this get out, Mercer," he said. "If Mooie should be +badly hurt—should die, for instance—and it was discovered that you +and I—" +</P> + +<P> +He knew he had gone far enough to give effect to his words. He did not +even look at Mercer. +</P> + +<P> +"Watch him closely, old man, and report to me everything that happens. +Find out more about Kedsty, if you can. I shall advise you how to act. +It is rather ticklish, you know—for you! And"—he smiled at +Mercer—"I'm unusually hungry this morning. Add another egg, will you, +Mercer? Three instead of two, and a couple of extra slices of toast. +And don't let any one know that my appetite is improving. It may be +best for both of us—especially if Mooie should happen to die. +Understand, old man?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I think I do, sir," replied Mercer, paling at the grimly smiling +thing he saw in Kent's eyes. "I shall do as you say, sir." +</P> + +<P> +When he had gone, Kent knew that he had accurately measured his man. +True to a certain type, Mercer would do a great deal for fifty +dollars—under cover. In the open he was a coward. And Kent knew the +value of such a man under certain conditions. The present was one of +those conditions. From this hour Mercer would be a priceless asset to +his scheme for personal salvation. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<P> +That morning Kent ate a breakfast that would have amazed Doctor +Cardigan and would have roused a greater caution in Inspector Kedsty +had he known of it. While eating he strengthened the bonds already +welded between himself and Mercer. He feigned great uneasiness over the +condition of Mooie, who he knew was not fatally hurt because Mercer had +told him there was no fracture. But if he should happen to die, he told +Mercer, it would mean something pretty bad for them, if their part in +the affair leaked out. +</P> + +<P> +As for himself, it would make little difference, as he was "in bad" +anyway. But he did not want to see a good friend get into trouble on +his account. Mercer was impressed. He saw himself an instrument in a +possible murder affair, and the thought terrified him. Even at best, +Kent told him, they had given and taken bribes, a fact that would go +hard with them unless Mooie kept his mouth shut. And if the Indian knew +anything out of the way about Kedsty, it was mighty important that he, +Mercer, get hold of it, for it might prove a trump card with them in +the event of a showdown with the Inspector of Police. As a matter of +form, Mercer took his temperature. It was perfectly normal, but it was +easy for Kent to persuade a notation on the chart a degree above. +</P> + +<P> +"Better keep them thinking I'm still pretty sick," he assured Mercer. +"They won't suspect there is anything between us then." +</P> + +<P> +Mercer was so much in sympathy with the idea that he suggested adding +another half-degree. +</P> + +<P> +It was a splendid day for Kent. He could feel himself growing stronger +with each hour that passed. Yet not once during the day did he get out +of his bed, fearing that he might be discovered. Cardigan visited him +twice and had no suspicion of Mercer's temperature chart. He dressed +his wound, which was healing fast. It was the fever which depressed +him. There must be, he said, some internal disarrangement which would +soon clear itself up. Otherwise there seemed to be no very great reason +why Kent should not get on his feet. He smiled apologetically. +</P> + +<P> +"Seems queer to say that, when a little while ago I was telling you it +was time to die," he said. +</P> + +<P> +That night, after ten o'clock, Kent went through his setting-up +exercises four times. He marveled even more than the preceding night at +the swiftness with which his strength was returning. Half a dozen times +the little devils of eagerness working in his blood prompted him to +take to the window at once. +</P> + +<P> +For three days and nights thereafter he kept his secret and added to +his strength. Doctor Cardigan came in to see him at intervals, and +Father Layonne visited him regularly every afternoon. Mercer was his +most frequent visitor. On the third day two things happened to create a +little excitement. Doctor Cardigan left on a four-day journey to a +settlement fifty miles south, leaving Mercer in charge—and Mooie came +suddenly out of his fever into his normal senses again. The first event +filled Kent with joy. With Cardigan out of the way there would be no +immediate danger of the discovery that he was no longer a sick man. But +it was the recovery of Mooie from the thumping he had received about +the head that delighted Mercer. He was exultant. With the quick +reaction of his kind he gloated over the fact before Kent. He let it be +known that he was no longer afraid, and from the moment Mooie was out +of danger his attitude was such that more than once Kent would have +taken keen pleasure in kicking him from the room. Also, from the hour +he was safely in charge of Doctor Cardigan's place, Mercer began to +swell with importance. Kent saw the new danger and began to humor him. +He flattered him. He assured him that it was a burning shame Cardigan +had not taken him into partnership. He deserved it. And, in justice to +himself, Mercer should demand that partnership when Cardigan returned. +He, Kent, would talk to Father Layonne about it, and the missioner +would spread the gospel of what ought to be among others who were +influential at the Landing. For two days he played with Mercer as an +angler plays with a treacherous fish. He tried to get Mercer to +discover more about Mooie's reference to Kedsty. But the old Indian had +shut up like a clam. +</P> + +<P> +"He was frightened when I told him he had said things about the +Inspector," Mercer reported. "He disavowed everything. He shook his +head—no, no, no. He had not seen Kedsty. He knew nothing about him. I +can do nothing with him, Kent." +</P> + +<P> +He had dropped his "sirs," also his servant-like servility. He helped +to smoke Kent's cigars with the intimacy of proprietorship, and with +offensive freedom called him "Kent." He spoke of the Inspector as +"Kedsty," and of Father Layonne as "the little preacher." He swelled +perceptibly, and Kent knew that each hour of that swelling added to his +own danger. +</P> + +<P> +He believed that Mercer was talking. Several times a day he heard him +in conversation with the guard, and not infrequently Mercer went down +to the Landing, twirling a little reed cane that he had not dared to +use before. He began to drop opinions and information to Kent in a +superior sort of way. On the fourth day word came that Doctor Cardigan +would not return for another forty-eight hours, and with unblushing +conceit Mercer intimated that when he did return he would find big +changes. Then it was that in the stupidity of his egotism he said: +</P> + +<P> +"Kedsty has taken a great fancy to me, Kent. He's a square old top, +when you take him right. Had me over this afternoon, and we smoked a +cigar together. When I told him that I looked in at your window last +night and saw you going through a lot of exercises, he jumped up as if +some one had stuck a pin in him. 'Why, I thought he was sick—BAD!' he +said. And I let him know there were better ways of making a sick man +well than Cardigan's. 'Give them plenty to eat,' I said. 'Let 'em live +normal,' I argued. 'Look at Kent, for instance,' I told him. 'He's been +eating like a bear for a week, and he can turn somersaults this +minute!' That topped him over, Kent. I knew it would be a bit of a +surprise for him, that I should do what Cardigan couldn't do. He walked +back and forth, black as a hat—thinking of Cardigan, I suppose. Then +he called in that Pelly chap and gave him something which he wrote on a +piece of paper. After that he shook hands with me, slapped me on the +shoulder most intimately, and gave me another cigar. He's a keen old +blade, Kent. He doesn't need more than one pair of eyes to see what +I've done since Cardigan went away!" +</P> + +<P> +If ever Kent's hands had itched to get at the throat of a human being, +the yearning convulsed his fingers now. At the moment when he was about +to act Mercer had betrayed him to Kedsty! He turned his face away so +that Mercer could not see what was in his eyes. Under his body he +concealed his clenched hands. Within himself he fought against the +insane desire that was raging in his blood, the desire to leap on +Mercer and kill him. If Cardigan had reported his condition to Kedsty, +it would have been different. He would have accepted the report as a +matter of honorable necessity on Cardigan's part. But Mercer—a toad +blown up by his own wind, a consummate fiend who would sell his best +friend, a fool, an ass— +</P> + +<P> +For a space he held himself rigid as a stone, his face turned away from +Mercer. His better sense won. He knew that his last chance depended +upon his coolness now. And Mercer unwittingly helped him to win by +slyly pocketing a couple of his cigars and leaving the room. For a +minute or two Kent heard him talking to the guard outside the door. +</P> + +<P> +He sat up then. It was five o'clock. How long ago was it that Mercer +had seen Kedsty? What was the order that the Inspector had written on a +sheet of paper for Constable Pelly? Was it simply that he should be +more closely watched, or was it a command to move him to one of the +cells close to the detachment office? If it was the latter, all his +hopes and plans were destroyed. His mind flew to those cells. +</P> + +<P> +The Landing had no jail, not even a guard-house, though the members of +the force sometimes spoke of the cells just behind Inspector Kedsty's +office by that name. The cells were of cement, and Kent himself had +helped to plan them! The irony of the thing did not strike him just +then. He was recalling the fact that no prisoner had ever escaped from +those cement cells. If no action were taken before six o'clock, he was +sure that it would be postponed until the following morning. It was +possible that Kedsty's order was for Pelly to prepare a cell for him. +Deep in his soul he prayed fervently that it was only a matter of +preparation. If they would give him one more night—just one! +</P> + +<P> +His watch tinkled the half-hour. Then a quarter of six. Then six. His +blood ran feverishly, in spite of the fact that he possessed the +reputation of being the coolest man in N Division. He lighted his last +cigar and smoked it slowly to cover the suspense which he feared +revealed itself in his face, should any one come into his room. His +supper was due at seven. At eight it would begin to get dusk. The moon +was rising later each night, and it would not appear over the forests +until after eleven. He would go through his window at ten o'clock. His +mind worked swiftly and surely as to the method of his first night's +flight. There were always a number of boats down at Crossen's place. He +would start in one of these, and by the time Mercer discovered he was +gone, he would be forty miles on his way to freedom. Then he would set +his boat adrift, or hide it, and start cross-country until his trail +was lost. Somewhere and in some way he would find both guns and food. +It was fortunate that he had not given Mercer the other fifty dollars +under his pillow. +</P> + +<P> +At seven Mercer came with his supper. A little gleam of disappointment +shot into his pale eyes when he found the last cigar gone from the box. +Kent saw the expression and tried to grin good-humoredly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to have Father Layonne bring me up another box in the +morning, Mercer," he said. "That is, if I can get hold of him." +</P> + +<P> +"You probably can," snapped Mercer. "He doesn't live far from barracks, +and that's where you are going. I've got orders to have you ready to +move in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +Kent's blood seemed for an instant to flash into living flame. He drank +a part of his cup of coffee and said then, with a shrug of his +shoulders: "I'm glad of it, Mercer. I'm anxious to have the thing over. +The sooner they get me down there, the quicker they will take action. +And I'm not afraid, not a bit of it. I'm bound to win. There isn't a +chance in a hundred that they can convict me." Then he added: "And I'm +going to have a box of cigars sent up to you, Mercer. I'm grateful to +you for the splendid treatment you have given me." +</P> + +<P> +No sooner had Mercer gone with the supper things than Kent's knotted +fist shook itself fiercely in the direction of the door. +</P> + +<P> +"My God, how I'd like to have you out in the woods—alone—for just one +hour!" he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +Eight o'clock came, and nine. Two or three times he heard voices in the +hall, probably Mercer talking with the guard. Once he thought he heard +a rumble of thunder, and his heart throbbed joyously. Never had he +welcomed a storm as he would have welcomed it tonight. But the skies +remained clear. Not only that, but the stars as they began to appear +seemed to him more brilliant than he had ever seen them before. And it +was very still. The rattle of a scow-chain came up to him from the +river as though it were only a hundred yards away. He knew that it was +one of Mooie's dogs he heard howling over near the sawmill. The owls, +flitting past his window, seemed to click their beaks more loudly than +last night. A dozen times he fancied he could hear the rippling voice +of the river that very soon was to carry him on toward freedom. +</P> + +<P> +The river! Every dream and aspiration found its voice for him in that +river now. Down it Marette Radisson had gone. And somewhere along it, +or on the river beyond, or the third river still beyond that, he would +find her. In the long, tense wait between the hours of nine and ten he +brought the girl back into his room again. He recalled every gesture +she had made, every word she had spoken. He felt the thrill of her hand +on his forehead, her kiss, and in his brain her softly spoken words +repeated themselves over and over again, "I think that if you lived +very long I should love you." And as she had spoken those words SHE +KNEW THAT HE WAS NOT GOING TO DIE! +</P> + +<P> +Why, then, had she gone away? Knowing that he was going to live, why +had she not remained to help him if she could? Either she had spoken +the words in jest, or— +</P> + +<P> +A new thought flashed into his mind. It almost drew a cry from his +lips. It brought him up tense, erect, his heart pounding. Had she gone +away? Was it not possible that she, too, was playing a game in giving +the impression that she was leaving down-river on the hidden scow? Was +it conceivable that she was playing that game against Kedsty? A +picture, clean-cut as the stars in the sky, began to outline itself in +his mental vision. It was clear, now, what Mooie's mumblings about +Kedsty had signified. Kedsty had accompanied Marette to the scow. Mooie +had seen him and had given the fact away in his fever. Afterward he had +clamped his mouth shut through fear of the "big man" of the Law. But +why, still later, had he almost been done to death? Mooie was a +harmless creature. He had no enemies. +</P> + +<P> +There was no one at the Landing who would have assaulted the old +trailer, whose hair was white with age. No one, unless it was Kedsty +himself—Kedsty at bay, Kedsty in a rage. Even that was inconceivable. +Whatever the motive of the assault might be, and no matter who had +committed it, Mooie had most certainly seen the Inspector of Police +accompany Marette Radisson to the scow. And the question which Kent +found it impossible to answer was, had Marette Radisson really gone +down the river on that scow? +</P> + +<P> +It was almost with a feeling of disappointment that he told himself it +was possible she had not. He wanted her on the river. He wanted her +going north and still farther north. The thought that she was mixed up +in some affair that had to do with Kedsty was displeasing to him. If +she was still in the Landing or near the Landing, it could no longer be +on account of Sandy McTrigger, the man his confession had saved. In his +heart he prayed that she was many days down the Athabasca, for it was +there—and only there—that he would ever see her again. And his +greatest desire, next to his desire for his freedom, was to find her. +He was frank with himself in making that confession. He was more than +that. He knew that not a day or night would pass that he would not +think or dream of Marette Radisson. The wonder of her had grown more +vivid for him with each hour that passed, and he was sorry now that he +had not dared to touch her hair. She would not have been offended with +him, for she had kissed him—after he had killed the impulse to lay his +hand on that soft glory that had crowned her head. +</P> + +<P> +And then the little bell in his watch tinkled the hour of ten! He sat +up with a jerk. For a space he held his breath while he listened. In +the hall outside his room there was no sound. An inch at a time he drew +himself off his bed until he stood on his feet. His clothes hung on +hooks in the wall, and he groped his way to them so quietly that one +listening at the crack of his door would not have heard him. He dressed +swiftly. Then he made his way to the window, looked out, and listened. +</P> + +<P> +In the brilliant starlight he saw nothing but the two white stubs of +the lightning-shattered trees in which the owls lived. And it was very +still. The air was fresh and sweet in his face. In it he caught the +scent of the distant balsams and cedars. The world, wonderful in its +night silence, waited for him. It was impossible for him to conceive of +failure or death out there, and it seemed unreal and trivial that the +Law should expect to hold him, with that world reaching out its arms to +him and calling him. +</P> + +<P> +Assured that the moment for action was at hand, he moved quickly. In +another ten seconds he was through the window, and his feet were on the +ground. For a space he stood out clear in the starlight. Then he +hurried to the end of the building and hid himself in the shadow. The +swiftness of his movement had brought him no physical discomfort, and +his blood danced with the thrill of the earth under his feet and the +thought that his wound must be even more completely healed than he had +supposed. A wild exultation swept over him. He was free! He could see +the river now, shimmering and talking to him in the starlight, urging +him to hurry, telling him that only a little while ago another had gone +north on the breast of it, and that if he hastened it would help him to +overtake her. He felt the throb of new life in his body. His eyes shone +strangely in the semi-gloom. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to him that only yesterday Marette had gone. She could not be +far away, even now. And in these moments, with the breath of freedom +stirring him with the glory of new life, she was different for him from +what she had ever been. She was a part of him. He could not think of +escape without thinking of her. She became, in these precious moments, +the living soul of his wilderness. He felt her presence. The thought +possessed him that somewhere down the river she was thinking of him, +waiting, expecting him. And in that same flash he made up his mind that +he would not discard the boat, as he had planned; he would conceal +himself by day, and float downstream by night, until at last he came to +Marette Radisson. And then he would tell her why he had come. And after +that— +</P> + +<P> +He looked toward Crossen's place. He would make straight for it, +openly, like a man bent on a mission there was no reason to conceal. If +luck went right, and Crossen was abed, he would be on the river within +fifteen minutes. His blood ran faster as he took his first step out +into the open starlight. Fifty yards ahead of him was the building +which Cardigan used for his fuel. Safely beyond that, no one could see +him from the windows of the hospital. He walked swiftly. Twenty paces, +thirty, forty—and he stopped as suddenly as the half-breed's bullet +had stopped him weeks before. Round the end of Cardigan's fuel house +came a figure. It was Mercer. He was twirling his little cane and +traveling quietly as a cat. They were not ten feet apart, yet Kent had +not heard him. +</P> + +<P> +Mercer stopped. The cane dropped from his hand. Even in the starlight +Kent could see his face turn white. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't make a sound, Mercer," he warned. "I'm taking a little exercise +in the open air. If you cry out, I'll kill you!" +</P> + +<P> +He advanced slowly, speaking in a voice that could not have been heard +at the windows behind him. And then a thing happened that froze the +blood in his veins. He had heard the scream of every beast of the great +forests, but never a scream like that which came from Mercer's lips +now. It was not the cry of a man. To Kent it was the voice of a fiend, +a devil. It did not call for help. It was wordless. And as the horrible +sound issued from Mercer's mouth he could see the swelling throat and +bulging eyes that accompanied the effort. They made him think of a +snake, a cobra. +</P> + +<P> +The chill went out of his blood, replaced by a flame of hottest fire. +He forgot everything but that this serpent was in his path. Twice he +had stood in his way. And he hated him. He hated him with a virulency +that was death. Neither the call of freedom nor the threat of prison +could keep him from wreaking vengeance now. Without a sound he was at +Mercer's throat, and the scream ended in a choking shriek. His fingers +dug into flabby flesh, and his clenched fist beat again and again into +Mercer's face. +</P> + +<P> +He went to the ground, crushing the human serpent under him. And he +continued to strike and choke as he had never struck or choked another +man, all other things overwhelmed by his mad desire to tear into pieces +this two-legged English vermin who was too foul to exist on the face of +the earth. +</P> + +<P> +And he still continued to strike—even after the path lay clear once +more between him and the river. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<P> +What a terrible and inexcusable madness had possessed him, Kent +realized the instant he rose from Mercer's prostrate body. Never had +his brain flamed to that madness before. He believed at first that he +had killed Mercer. It was neither pity nor regret that brought him to +his senses. Mercer, a coward and a traitor, a sneak of the lowest type, +had no excuse for living. It was the thought that he had lost his +chance to reach the river that cleared his head as he swayed over +Mercer. +</P> + +<P> +He heard running feet. He saw figures approaching swiftly through the +starlight. And he was too weak to fight or run. The little strength he +had saved up, and which he had planned to use so carefully in his +flight, was gone. His wound, weeks in bed, muscles unaccustomed to the +terrific exertion he had made in these moments of his vengeance, left +him now panting and swaying as the running footsteps came nearer. +</P> + +<P> +His head swam. For a space he was sickeningly dizzy, and in the first +moment of that dizziness, when every drop of blood in his body seemed +rushing to his brain, his vision was twisted and his sense of direction +gone. In his rage he had overexerted himself. He knew that something +had gone wrong inside him and that he was helpless. Even then his +impulse was to stagger toward the inanimate Mercer and kick him, but +hands caught him and held him. He heard an amazed voice, then +another—and something hard and cold shut round his wrists like a pair +of toothless jaws. +</P> + +<P> +It was Constable Carter, Inspector Kedsty's right-hand man about +barracks, that he saw first; then old Sands, the caretaker at +Cardigan's place. Swiftly as he had turned sick, his brain grew clear, +and his blood distributed itself evenly again through his body. He held +up his hands. Carter had slipped a pair of irons on him, and the +starlight glinted on the shining steel. Sands was bending over Mercer, +and Carter was saying in a low voice: +</P> + +<P> +"It's too bad, Kent. But I've got to do it. I saw you from the window +just as Mercer screamed. Why did you stop for him?" +</P> + +<P> +Mercer was getting up with the assistance of Sands. He turned a bloated +and unseeing face toward Kent and Carter. He was blubbering and +moaning, as though entreating for mercy in the fear that Kent had not +finished with him. Carter pulled Kent away. +</P> + +<P> +"There's only one thing for me to do now," he said. "It isn't pleasant. +But the law says I must take you to barracks." +</P> + +<P> +In the sky Kent saw the stars clearly again, and his lungs were +drinking in the cool air as in the wonderful moments before his +encounter with Mercer. +</P> + +<P> +He had lost. And it was Mercer who had made him lose. Carter felt the +sudden tightening of his muscles as he walked with a hand on his arm. +And Kent shut his teeth close and made no answer to what Carter had +said, except that Carter heard something which he thought was a sob +choked to death in the other's throat. +</P> + +<P> +Carter, too, was a man bred of the red blood of the North, and he knew +what was in Kent's heart. For only by the breadth of a hair had Kent +failed in his flight. +</P> + +<P> +Pelly was on duty at barracks, and it was Pelly who locked him in one +of the three cells behind the detachment office. When he was gone, Kent +sat down on the edge of his prison cot and for the first time let the +agony of his despair escape in a gasping breath from between his lips. +Half an hour ago the world had reached out its arms to him, and he had +gone forth to its welcome, only to have the grimmest tragedy of all his +life descend upon him like the sword of Damocles. For this was real +tragedy. Here there was no hope. The tentacles of the law had him in +their grip, and he could no longer dream of escape. +</P> + +<P> +Ghastly was the thought that it was he, James Kent, who had supervised +the building of these cells! Acquainted with every trick and stratagem +of the prisoner plotting for his freedom, he had left no weak point in +their structure. Again he clenched his hands, and in his soul he cursed +Mercer as he went to the little barred window that overlooked the river +from his cell. The river was near now. He could hear the murmur of it. +He could see its movement, and that movement, played upon by the stars, +seemed now a writhing sort of almost noiseless laughter taunting him in +his folly. +</P> + +<P> +He went back to his cot, and in his despair buried his face in his +hands. In the half-hour after that he did not raise his head. For the +first time in his life he knew that he was beaten, so utterly beaten +that he no more had the desire to fight, and his soul was dark with the +chaos of the things he had lost. +</P> + +<P> +At last he opened his eyes to the blackness of his prison room, and he +beheld a marvelous thing. Across the gloom of the cell lay a shaft of +golden fire. It was the light of the rising moon coming through his +little, steel-barred window. To Kent it had crept into his cell like a +living thing. He watched it, fascinated. His eyes followed it to the +foot-square aperture, and there, red and glorious as it rose over the +forests, the moon itself filled the world. For a space he saw nothing +but that moon crowding the frame of his window. And as he rose to his +feet and stood where his face was flooded in the light of it, he felt +stirring within him the ghosts of his old hopes. One by one they rose +up and came to life. He held out his hands, as if to fill them with the +liquid glow; his heart beat faster in that glory of the moonrise. The +taunting murmur of the river changed once more into hopeful song, his +fingers closed tightly around the bars, and the fighting spirit rose in +him again. As that spirit surged stronger, beating down his despair, +driving the chaos out of his brain, he watched the moon as it climbed +higher, changing from the red of the lower atmosphere to the yellow +gold of the greater heights, marveling at the miracle of light and +color that had never failed to stir him. +</P> + +<P> +And then he laughed. If Pelly or Carter had heard him, they would have +wondered if he was mad. It was madness of a sort—the madness of +restored confidence, of an unlimited faith, of an optimism that was +bound to make dreams come true. Again he looked beyond the bars of his +cell. The world was still there; the river was there; all the things +that were worth fighting for were there. And he would fight. Just how, +he did not try to tell himself now. And then he laughed again, softly, +a bit grimly, for he saw the melancholy humour of the fact that he had +built his own prison. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down again on the edge of his cot, and the whimsical thought +struck him that all those he had brought to this same cell, and who had +paid the first of their penance here, must be laughing at him now in +the spirit way. In his mental fancy a little army of faces trooped +before him, faces dark and white, faces filled with hatred and despair, +faces brave with the cheer of hope and faces pallid with the dread of +death. And of these ghosts of his man-hunting prowess it was Anton +Fournet's face that came out of the crowd and remained with him. For he +had brought Anton to this same cell—Anton, the big Frenchman, with his +black hair, his black beard, and his great, rolling laugh that even in +the days when he was waiting for death had rattled the paper-weights on +Kedsty's desk. +</P> + +<P> +Anton rose up like a god before Kent now. He had killed a man, and like +a brave man he had not denied it. With a heart in his great body as +gentle as a girl's, Anton had taken pride in the killing. In his prison +days he sang songs to glorify it. He had killed the white man from +Chippewyan who had stolen his neighbor's wife! Not HIS wife, but his +neighbor's! For Anton's creed was, "Do unto others as you would have +others do unto you," and he had loved his neighbor with the great +forest love of man for man. His neighbor was weak, and Anton was strong +with the strength of a bull, so that when the hour came, it was Anton +who had measured out vengeance. When Kent brought Anton in, the giant +had laughed first at the littleness of his cell, then at the +unsuspected strength of it, and after that he had laughed and sung +great, roaring songs every day of the brief tenure of life that was +given him. When he died, it was with the smiling glory in his face of +one who had cheaply righted a great wrong. +</P> + +<P> +Kent would never forget Anton Fournet. He had never ceased to grieve +that it had been his misfortune to bring Anton in, and always, in close +moments, the thought of Anton, the stout-hearted, rallied him back to +courage. Never would he be the man that Anton Fournet had been, he told +himself many times. Never would his heart be as great or as big, though +the Law had hanged Anton by the neck until the soul was choked out of +his splendid body, for it was history that Anton Fournet had never +harmed man, woman, or child until he set out to kill a human snake and +the Law placed its heel upon him and crushed him. +</P> + +<P> +And tonight Anton Fournet came into the cell again and sat with Kent on +the cot where he had slept many nights, and the ghosts of his laughter +and his song filled Kent's ears, and his great courage poured itself +out in the moonlit prison room so that at last, when Kent stretched +himself on the cot to sleep, it was with the knowledge that the soul of +the splendid dead had given him a strength which it was impossible to +have gained from the living. For Anton Fournet had died smiling, +laughing, singing—and it was of Anton Fournet that he dreamed when he +fell asleep. And in that dream came also the vision of a man called +Dirty Fingers—and with it inspiration. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<P> +Where a bit of the big river curved inward like the tongue of a +friendly dog, lapping the shore at Athabasca Landing, there still +remained Fingers' Row—nine dilapidated, weather-worn, and +crazily-built shacks put there by the eccentric genius who had foreseen +a boom ten years ahead of its time. And the fifth of these nine, +counting from either one end or the other, was named by its owner, +Dirty Fingers himself, the Good Old Queen Bess. It was a shack covered +with black tar paper, with two windows, like square eyes, fronting the +river as if always on the watch for something. Across the front of this +shack Dirty Fingers had built a porch to protect himself from the rain +in springtime, from the sun in Summer time, and from the snow in the +months of Winter. For it was here that Dirty Fingers sat out all of +that part of his life which was not spent in bed. +</P> + +<P> +Up and down two thousand miles of the Three Rivers was Dirty Fingers +known, and there were superstitious ones who believed that little gods +and devils came to sit and commune with him in the front of the +tar-papered shack. No one was so wise along those rivers, no one was so +satisfied with himself, that he would not have given much to possess +the many things that were hidden away in Dirty Fingers' brain. One +would not have suspected the workings of that brain by a look at Dirty +Fingers on the porch of his Good Old Queen Bess. He was a great soft +lump of a man, a giant of flabbiness. Sitting in his smooth-worn, +wooden armchair, he was almost formless. His head was huge, his hair +uncut and scraggy, his face smooth as a baby's, fat as a cherub's, and +as expressionless as an apple. His folded arms always rested on a huge +stomach, whose conspicuousness was increased by an enormous watch-chain +made from beaten nuggets of Klondike gold, and Dirty Fingers' thumb and +forefinger were always twiddling at this chain. How he had come by the +name of Dirty Fingers, when his right name was Alexander Toppet +Fingers, no one could definitely say, unless it was that he always bore +an unkempt and unwashed appearance. +</P> + +<P> +Whatever the quality of the two hundred and forty-odd pounds of flesh +in Dirty Fingers' body, it was the quality of his brain that made +people hold him in a sort of awe. For Dirty Fingers was a lawyer, a +wilderness lawyer, a forest bencher, a legal strategist of the trail, +of the river, of the great timber-lands. +</P> + +<P> +Stored away in his brain was every rule of equity and common law of the +great North country. For his knowledge he went back two hundred years. +He knew that a law did not die of age, that it must be legislated to +death, and out of the moldering past he had dug up every trick and trap +of his trade. He had no law-books. His library was in his head, and his +facts were marshaled in pile after pile of closely-written, +dust-covered papers in his shack. He did not go to court as other +lawyers; and there were barristers in Edmonton who blessed him for that. +</P> + +<P> +His shack was his tabernacle of justice. There he sat, hands folded, +and gave out his decisions, his advice, his sentences. He sat until +other men would have gone mad. From morning until night, moving only +for his meals or to get out of heat or storm, he was a fixture on the +porch of the Good Old Queen Bess. For hours he would stare at the +river, his pale eyes never seeming to blink. For hours he would remain +without a move or a word. One constant companion he had, a dog, fat, +emotionless, lazy, like his master. Always this dog was sleeping at his +feet or dragging himself wearily at his heels when Dirty Fingers +elected to make a journey to the little store where he bartered for +food and necessities. +</P> + +<P> +It was Father Layonne who came first to see Kent in his cell the +morning after Kent's unsuccessful attempt at flight. An hour later it +was Father Layonne who traveled the beaten path to the door of Dirty +Fingers' shack. If a visible emotion of pleasure ever entered into +Dirty Fingers' face, it was when the little missioner came occasionally +to see him. It was then that his tongue let itself loose, and until +late at night they talked of many things of which other men knew but +little. This morning Father Layonne did not come casually, but +determinedly on business, and when Dirty Fingers learned what that +business was, he shook his head disconsolately, folded his fat arms +more tightly over his stomach, and stated the sheer impossibility of +his going to see Kent. It was not his custom. People must come to him. +And he did not like to walk. It was fully a third of a mile from his +shack to barracks, possibly half a mile. And it was mostly upgrade! If +Kent could be brought to him— +</P> + +<P> +In his cell Kent waited. It was not difficult for him to hear voices in +Kedsty's office when the door was open, and he knew that the Inspector +did not come in until after the missioner had gone on his mission to +Dirty Fingers. Usually he was at the barracks an hour or so earlier. +Kent made no effort to figure out a reason for Kedsty's lateness, but +he did observe that after his arrival there was more than the usual +movement between the office door and the outside of the barracks. Once +he was positive that he heard Cardigan's voice, and then he was equally +sure that he heard Mercer's. He grinned at that. He must be wrong, for +Mercer would be in no condition to talk for several days. He was glad +that a turn in the hall hid the door of the detachment office from him, +and that the three cells were in an alcove, safely out of sight of the +curious eyes of visitors. He was also glad that he had no other +prisoner for company. His situation was one in which he wanted to be +alone. To the plan that was forming itself in his mind, solitude was as +vital as the cooperation of Alexander Toppet Fingers. +</P> + +<P> +Just how far he could win that cooperation was the problem which +confronted him now, and he waited anxiously for the return of Father +Layonne, listening for the sound of his footsteps in the outer hall. +If, after all, that inspirational thought of last night came to +nothing, if Fingers should fail him— +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his shoulders. If that happened, he could see no other +chance. He would have to go on and take his medicine at the hands of a +jury. But if Fingers played up to the game— +</P> + +<P> +He looked out on the river again, and again it was the river that +seemed to answer him. If Fingers played with him, they would beat +Kedsty and the whole of N Division! And in winning he would prove out +the greatest psychological experiment he had ever dared to make. The +magnitude of the thing, when he stopped to think of it, was a little +appalling, but his faith was equally large. He did not consider his +philosophy at all supernatural. He had brought it down to the level of +the average man and woman. +</P> + +<P> +He believed that every man and woman possessed a subliminal +consciousness which it was possible to rouse to tremendous heights if +the right psychological key was found to fit its particular lock, and +he believed he possessed the key which fitted the deeply-buried and +long-hidden thing in Dirty Fingers' remarkable brain. Because he +believed in this metaphysics which he had not read out of Aristotle, he +had faith that Fingers would prove his salvation. He felt growing in +him stronger than ever a strange kind of elation. He felt better +physically than last night. The few minutes of strenuous action in +which he had half killed Mercer had been a pretty good test, he told +himself. It had left no bad effect, and he need no longer fear the +reopening of his wound. +</P> + +<P> +A dozen times he had heard a far door open and close. Now he heard it +again, and a few moments later it was followed by a sound which drew a +low cry of satisfaction from him. Dirty Fingers, because of overweight +and lack of exercise, had what he called an "asthmatic wind," and it +was this strenuous working of his lungs that announced his approach to +Kent. His dog was also afflicted and for the same reasons, so that when +they traveled together there was some rivalry between them. +</P> + +<P> +"We're both bad put out for wind, thank God," Dirty Fingers would say +sometimes. "It's a good thing, for if we had more of it, we'd walk +farther, and we don't like walking." +</P> + +<P> +The dog was with Fingers now, also Father Layonne, and Pelly. Pelly +unlocked the cell, then relocked it again after Fingers and the dog +entered. With a nod and a hopeful look the missioner returned with +Pelly to the detachment office. Fingers wiped his red face with a big +handkerchief, gasping deeply for breath. Togs, his dog, was panting as +if he had just finished the race of his life. +</P> + +<P> +"A difficult climb," wheezed Fingers. "A most difficult climb." +</P> + +<P> +He sat down, rolling out like a great bag of jelly in the one chair in +the cell, and began to fan himself with his hat. Kent had already taken +stock of the situation. In Fingers' florid countenance and in his +almost colorless eyes he detected a bit of excitement which Fingers was +trying to hide. Kent knew what it meant. Father Layonne had found it +necessary to play his full hand to lure Fingers up the hill, and had +given him a hint of what it was that Kent had in store for him. Already +the psychological key had begun to work. +</P> + +<P> +Kent sat down on the edge of his cot and grinned sympathetically. "It +hasn't always been like this, has it, Fingers?" he said then, leaning a +bit forward and speaking with a sudden, low-voiced seriousness. "There +was a time, twenty years ago, when you didn't puff after climbing a +hill. Twenty years make a big difference, sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sometimes," agreed Fingers in a wheezy whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty years ago you were—a fighter." +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to Kent that a deeper color came into Dirty Fingers' pale +eyes in the few seconds that followed these words. +</P> + +<P> +"A fighter," he repeated. "Most men were fighters in those days of the +gold rushes, weren't they, Fingers? I've heard a lot of the old stories +about them in my wanderings, and some of them have made me thrill. They +weren't afraid to die. And most of them were pretty white when it came +to a show-down. You were one of them, Fingers. I heard the story one +Winter far north. I've kept it to myself, because I've sort of had the +idea that you didn't want people to know or you would have told it +yourself. That's why I wanted you to come to see me, Fingers. You know +the situation. It's either the noose or iron bars for me. Naturally one +would seek for assistance among those who have been his friends. But I +do not, with the exception of Father Layonne. Just friendship won't +save me, not the sort of friendship we have today. That's why I sent +for you. Don't think that I am prying into secrets that are sacred to +you, Fingers. God knows I don't mean it that way. But I've got to tell +you of a thing that happened a long time ago, before you can +understand. You haven't forgotten—you will never forget—Ben Tatman?" +</P> + +<P> +As Kent spoke the name, a name which Dirty Fingers had heard no lips +but his own speak aloud in nearly a quarter of a century, a strange and +potent force seemed suddenly to take possession of the forest bencher's +huge and flabby body. It rippled over and through him like an +electrical voltaism, making his body rigid, stiffening what had seemed +to be fat into muscle, tensing his hands until they knotted themselves +slowly into fists. The wheeze went out of his breath, and it was the +voice of another man who answered Kent. +</P> + +<P> +"You have heard—about—Ben Tatman?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I heard it away up in the Porcupine country. They say it happened +twenty years ago or more. This Tatman, so I was told, was a young +fellow green from San Francisco—a bank clerk, I think—who came into +the gold country and brought his wife with him. They were both +chuck-full of courage, and the story was that each worshiped the ground +the other walked on, and that the girl had insisted on being her +husband's comrade in adventure. Of course neither guessed the sort of +thing that was ahead of them. +</P> + +<P> +"Then came that death Winter in Lost City. You know better than I what +the laws were in those days, Fingers. Food failed to come up. Snow came +early, the thermometer never rose over fifty below zero for three +straight months, and Lost City was an inferno of starvation and death. +You could go out and kill a man, then, and perhaps get away with it, +Fingers. But if you stole so much as a crust of bread or a single bean, +you were taken to the edge of the camp and told to go! And that meant +certain death—death from hunger and cold, more terrible than shooting +or hanging, and for that reason it was the penalty for theft. +</P> + +<P> +"Tatman wasn't a thief. It was seeing his young wife slowly dying of +hunger, and his horror at the thought of seeing her fall, as others +were falling, a victim to scurvy, that made him steal. He broke into a +cabin in the dead of night and stole two cans of beans and a pan of +potatoes, more precious than a thousand times their weight in gold. And +he was caught. Of course, there was the wife. But those were the days +when a woman couldn't save a man, no matter how lovely she was. Tatman +was taken to the edge of camp and given his pack and his gun—but no +food. And the girl, hooded and booted, was at his side, for she was +determined to die with him. For her sake Tatman had lied up to the last +minute, protesting his innocence. +</P> + +<P> +"But the beans and the potatoes were found in his cabin, and that was +evidence enough. And then, just as they were about to go straight out +into the blizzard that meant death within a few hours, then—" +</P> + +<P> +Kent rose to his feet, and walked to the little window, and stood +there, looking out. "Fingers, now and then a superman is born on earth. +And a superman was there in that crowd of hunger-stricken and +embittered men. At the last moment he stepped out and in a loud voice +declared that Tatman was innocent and that he was guilty. Unafraid, he +made a remarkable confession. He had stolen the beans and the potatoes +and had slipped them into the Tatman cabin when they were asleep. Why? +Because he wanted to save the woman from hunger! Yes, he lied, Fingers. +He lied because he loved the wife that belonged to another man—lied +because in him there was a heart as true as any heart God ever made. He +lied! And his lie was a splendid thing. He went out into that blizzard, +strengthened by a love that was greater than his fear of death, and the +camp never heard of him again. Tatman and his wife returned to their +cabin and lived. Fingers—" Kent whirled suddenly from the window. +"Fingers—" +</P> + +<P> +And Fingers, like a sphynx, sat and stared at Kent. +</P> + +<P> +"You were that man," Kent went on, coming nearer to him. "You lied, +because you loved a woman, and you went out to face death because of +that woman. The men at Lost City didn't know it, Fingers. The husband +didn't know it. And the girl, that girl-wife you worshiped in secret, +didn't dream of it! But that was the truth, and you know it deep down +in your soul. You fought your way out. You lived! And all these years, +down here on your porch, you've been dreaming of a woman, of the girl +you were willing to die for a long time ago. Fingers, am I right? And +if I am, will you shake hands?" +</P> + +<P> +Slowly Fingers had risen from his chair. No longer were his eyes dull +and lifeless, but flaming with a fire that Kent had lighted again after +many years. And he reached out a hand and gripped Kent's, still staring +at him as though something had come back to him from the dead. +</P> + +<P> +"I thank you, Kent, for your opinion of that man," he said. "Somehow, +you haven't made me—ashamed. But it was only the shell of a man that +won out after that day when I took Tatman's place. Something happened. +I don't know what. But—you see me now. I never went back into the +diggings. I degenerated. I became what I am." +</P> + +<P> +"And you are today just what you were when you went out to die for Mary +Tatman," cried Kent. "The same heart and the same soul are in you. +Wouldn't you fight again today for her?" +</P> + +<P> +A stifled cry came from Fingers' lips. "My God, yes, Kent—I would!" +</P> + +<P> +"And that's why I wanted you, of all men, to come to me, Fingers," Kent +went on swiftly. "To you, of all the men on earth, I wanted to tell my +story. And now, will you listen to it? Will you forgive me for bringing +up this memory that must be precious to you, only that you might more +fully understand what I am going to say? I don't want you to think of +it as a subterfuge on my part. It is more than that. It is—Fingers, is +it inspiration? Listen, and tell me." +</P> + +<P> +And for a long time after that James Kent talked, and Fingers listened, +the soul within him writhing and dragging itself back into fierce life, +demanding for the first time in many years the something which it had +once possessed, but which it had lost. It was not the lazy, mysterious, +silent Dirty Fingers who sat in the cell with Kent. In him the spirit +of twenty years ago had roused itself from long slumber, and the thrill +of it pounded in his blood. Two-Fisted Fingers they had called him +then, and he was Two-Fisted Fingers in this hour with Kent. Twice +Father Layonne came to the head of the cell alcove, but turned back +when he heard the low and steady murmur of Kent's voice. Nothing did +Kent keep hidden, and when he had finished, something that was like the +fire of a revelation had come into Fingers' face. +</P> + +<P> +"My God!" he breathed deeply. "Kent, I've been sitting down there on my +porch a long time, and a good many strange things have come to me, but +never anything like this. Oh, if it wasn't for this accursed flesh of +mine!" +</P> + +<P> +He jumped from his chair more quickly than he had moved in ten years, +and he laughed as he had not laughed in all that time. He thrust out a +great arm and doubled it up, like a prizefighter testing his muscle. +"Old? I'm not old! I was only twenty-eight when that happened up there, +and I'm forty-eight now. That isn't old. It's what is in me that's +grown old. I'll do it, Kent! I'll do it, if I hang for it!" +</P> + +<P> +Kent fairly leaped upon him. "God bless you!" he cried huskily. "God +bless you, Fingers! Look! Look at that!" He pulled Fingers to the +little window, and together they looked out upon the river, shimmering +gloriously under a sun-filled sky of blue. "Two thousand miles of it," +he breathed. "Two thousand miles of it, running straight through the +heart of that world we both have known! No, you're not old, Fingers. +The things you used to know are calling you again, as they are calling +me, for somewhere off there are the ghosts of Lost City, ghosts—and +realities!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ghosts—and hopes," said Fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"Hopes make life," softly whispered Kent, as if to himself. And then, +without turning from the window, his hand found Fingers' and clasped it +tight. "It may be that mine, like yours, will never come true. But +they're fine to think about, Fingers. Funny, isn't it, that their names +should be so strangely alike—Mary and Marette? I say, Fingers—" +</P> + +<P> +Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. Both turned from the window as +Constable Pelly came to the door of the cell. They recognized this +intimation that their time was up, and with his foot Fingers roused his +sleeping dog. +</P> + +<P> +It was a new Fingers who walked back to the river five minutes later, +and it was an amazed and discomfited dog who followed at his heels, for +at times the misshapen and flesh-ridden Togs was compelled to trot for +a few steps to keep up. And Fingers did not sink into the chair on the +shady porch when he reached his shack. He threw off his coat and +waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves, and for hours after that he was +buried deep in the accumulated masses of dust-covered legal treasures +stored away in hidden corners of the Good Old Queen Bess. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<P> +That morning Kent had heard wild songs floating up from the river, and +now he felt like shouting forth his own joy and exultation in song. He +wondered if he could hide the truth from the eyes of others, and +especially from Kedsty if he came to see him. It seemed that some +glimmer of the hope blazing within him must surely reveal itself, no +matter how he tried to hold it back. He felt the vital forces of that +hope more powerful within him now than in the hour when he had crept +from the hospital window with freedom in his face. For then he was not +sure of himself. He had not tested his physical strength. And in the +present moment, fanned by his unbounded optimism, the thought came to +him that perhaps it was good luck and not bad that had thrown Mercer in +his way. For with Fingers behind him now, his chances for a clean +get-away were better. He would not be taking a hazardous leap chanced +on the immediate smiles of fortune. He would be going deliberately, +prepared. +</P> + +<P> +He blessed the man who had been known as Dirty Fingers, but whom he +could not think of now in the terms of that name. He blessed the day he +had heard that chance story of Fingers, far north. He no longer +regarded him as the fat pig of a man he had been for so many years. For +he looked upon the miracle of a great awakening. He had seen the soul +of Fingers lift itself up out of its tabernacle of flesh and grow young +again; he had seen stagnant blood race with new fire. He had seen +emotions roused that had slept for long years. And he felt toward +Fingers, in the face of that awakening, differently than he had felt +toward any other living man. His emotion was one of deep and embracing +comradeship. +</P> + +<P> +Father Layonne did not come again until afternoon, and then he brought +information that thrilled Kent. The missioner had walked down to see +Fingers, and Fingers was not on his porch. Neither was the dog. He had +knocked loudly on the door, but there was no answer. Where was Fingers? +Kent shook his head, feigning an anxious questioning, but inside him +his heart was leaping. He knew! He told Father Layonne he was afraid +all Fingers' knowledge of the law could do him but little good, that +Fingers had told him as much, and the little missioner went away +considerably depressed. He would talk with Fingers again, he said, and +offer certain suggestions he had in mind. Kent chuckled when he was +gone. How shocked le Pere would be if he, too, could know! +</P> + +<P> +The next morning Father Layonne came again, and his information was +even more thrilling to Kent. The missioner was displeased with Fingers. +Last night, noticing a light in his shack, he had walked down to see +him. And he had found three men closely drawn up about a table with +Dirty Fingers. One of them was Ponte, the half-breed; another was Kinoo +the outcast Dog Rib from over on Sand Creek; the third was Mooie, the +old Indian trailer. Kent wanted to jump up and shout, for those three +were the three greatest trailers in all that part of the Northland. +Fingers had lost no time, and he wanted to voice his approbation like a +small boy on the Fourth of July. +</P> + +<P> +But his face, seen by Father Layonne, betrayed none of the excitement +that was in his blood. Fingers had told him he was going into a timber +deal with these men, a long-distance deal where there would be much +traveling, and that he could not interrupt himself just then to talk +about Kent. Would Father Layonne come again in the morning? And he had +gone again that morning, and Fingers' place was locked up! +</P> + +<P> +All the rest of the day Kent waited eagerly for Fingers. For the first +time Kedsty came to see him, and as a matter of courtesy said he hoped +Fingers might be of assistance to him. He did not mention Mercer and +remained no longer than a couple of minutes, standing outside the cell. +In the afternoon Doctor Cardigan came and shook hands warmly with Kent. +He had found a tough job waiting for him, he said. Mercer was all cut +up, in a literal as well as a mental way. He had five teeth missing, +and he had to have seventeen stitches taken in his face. It was +Cardigan's opinion that some one had given him a considerable +beating—and he grinned at Kent. Then he added in a whisper, +</P> + +<P> +"My God, Kent, how I wish you had made it!" +</P> + +<P> +It was four o'clock when Fingers came. Even less than yesterday did he +look like the old Fingers. He was not wheezing. He seemed to have lost +flesh. His face was alive. That was what struck Kent—the new life in +it. There was color in his eyes. And Togs, the dog, was not with him. +He smiled when he shook hands with Kent, and nodded, and chuckled. And +Kent, after that, gripped him by the shoulders and shook him in his +silent joy. +</P> + +<P> +"I was up all last night," said Fingers in a low voice. "I don't dare +move much in the day, or people will wonder. But, God bless my soul!—I +did move last night, Kent. I must have walked ten miles, more or less. +And things are coming—coming!" +</P> + +<P> +"And Ponte, Kinoo, Mooie—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Are working like devils," whispered Fingers. "It's the only way, Kent. +I've gone through all my law, and there's nothing in man-made law that +can save you. I've read your confession, and I don't think you could +even get off with the penitentiary. A noose is already tied around your +neck. I think you'd hang. We've simply got to get you out some other +way. I've had a talk with Kedsty. He has made arrangements to have you +sent to Edmonton two weeks from tomorrow. We'll need all that time, but +it's enough." +</P> + +<P> +For three days thereafter Fingers came to Kent's cell each afternoon, +and each time was looking better. Something was swiftly putting +hardness into his flesh and form into his body. The second day he told +Kent that he had found the way at last, and that when the hour came, +escape would be easy, but he thought it best not to let Kent in on the +little secret just yet. He must be patient and have faith. That was the +chief thing, to have faith at all times, no matter what happened. +Several times he emphasized that "no matter what happens." The third +day he puzzled Kent. He was restless, a bit nervous. He still thought +it best not to tell Kent what his scheme was, until to-morrow. He was +in the cell not more than five or ten minutes, and there was an unusual +pressure in the grip of his hand when he bade Kent good-by. Somehow +Kent did not feel so well when he had gone. He waited impatiently for +the next day. It came, and hour after hour he listened for Fingers' +heavy tread in the hall. The morning passed. The afternoon lengthened. +Night came, and Fingers had not come. Kent did not sleep much between +the hour when he went to bed and morning. It was eleven o'clock when +the missioner made his call. Before he left, Kent gave him a brief note +for Fingers. He had just finished his dinner, and Carter had taken the +dishes away, when Father Layonne returned. A look at his face, and Kent +knew that he bore unpleasant tidings. +</P> + +<P> +"Fingers is an—an apostate," he said, his lips twitching as if to keep +back a denunciation still more emphatic. "He was sitting on his porch +again this morning, half asleep, and says that after a great deal of +thought he has come to the definite opinion that he can do nothing for +you. He read your note and burned it with a match. He asked me to tell +you that the scheme he had in mind was too risky—for him. He says he +won't come up again. And—" +</P> + +<P> +The missioner was rubbing his brown, knotted hands together raspingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," said Kent a little thickly. +</P> + +<P> +"He has also sent Inspector Kedsty the same word," finished Father +Layonne. "His word to Kedsty is that he can see no fighting chance for +you, and that it is useless effort on his part to put up a defense for +you. Jimmy!" His hand touched Kent's arm gently. +</P> + +<P> +Kent's face was white. He faced the window, and for a space he did not +see. Then with pencil and paper he wrote again to Fingers. +</P> + +<P> +It was late in the afternoon before Father Layonne returned with an +answer. Again it was verbal. Fingers had read his note and had burned +it with a match. He was particular that the last scrap of it was turned +into ash, the missioner said. And he had nothing to say to Kent that he +had not previously said. He simply could not go on with their plans. +And he requested Kent not to write to him again. He was sorry, but that +was his definite stand in the matter. +</P> + +<P> +Even then Kent could not bring himself to believe. All the rest of the +day he tried to put himself in Fingers' brain, but his old trick of +losing his personality in that of another failed him this time. He +could find no reason for the sudden change in Fingers, unless it was +what Fingers had frankly confessed to Father Layonne—fear. The +influence of mind, in this instance, had failed in its assault upon a +mass of matter. Fingers' nerve had gone back on him. +</P> + +<P> +The fifth day Kent rose from his cot with hope still not quite dead in +his heart. But that day passed and the sixth, and the missioner brought +word that Fingers was the old Dirty Fingers again, sitting from morning +till night on his porch. +</P> + +<P> +On the seventh day came the final crash to Kent's hopes. Kedsty's +program had changed. He, Kent, was to start for Edmonton the following +morning under charge of Pelly and a special constable! +</P> + +<P> +After this Kent felt a strange change come over him. Years seemed to +multiply themselves in his body. His mind, beaten back, no longer +continued in its old channels of thought. The thing pressed upon him +now as fatalistic. Fingers had failed him. Fortune had failed him. +Everything had failed, and for the first time in the weeks of his +struggle against death and a thing worse than death, he cursed himself. +There was a limit to optimism and a limit to hope. His limit was +reached. +</P> + +<P> +In the afternoon of this seventh day came a depressing gloom. It was +filled with a drizzling rain. Hour after hour this drizzle kept up, +thickening as the night came. He ate his supper by the light of a cell +lamp. By eight o'clock it was black outside. In that blackness there +was an occasional flash of lightning and rumble of thunder. On the roof +of the barracks the rain beat steadily and monotonously. +</P> + +<P> +His watch was in his hand—it was a quarter after nine o'clock, when he +heard the door at the far exit of the hall open and close. He had heard +it a dozen times since supper and paid no attention to it, but this +time it was followed by a voice at the detachment office that hit him +like an electrical shock. Then, a moment later, came low laughter. It +was a woman who laughed. +</P> + +<P> +He stood up. He heard the detachment office door close, and silence +followed. The watch in his hand seemed ticking off the seconds with +frantic noise. He shoved it into his pocket and stood staring out into +the prison alcove. A few minutes later the office door opened again. +This time it was not closed. He heard distinctly a few light, +hesitating footsteps, and his heart seemed to stop its beating. They +came to the head of the lighted alcove, and for perhaps the space of a +dozen seconds there was silence again. Then they advanced. +</P> + +<P> +Another moment, and Kent was staring through the bars into the glorious +eyes of Marette Radisson! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<P> +In that moment Kent did not speak. He made no sound. He gave no sign of +welcome, but stood in the middle of his cell, staring. If life had hung +upon speech in those few seconds, he would have died, but everything he +would have said, and more, was in his face. The girl must have seen it. +With her two hands she was gripping at the bars of the cell and looking +through at him. Kent saw that her face was pale in the lamp glow. In +that pallor her violet eyes were like pools of black. The hood of her +dripping raincoat was thrown partly back, and against the whiteness of +her cheeks her hair glistened wet, and her long lashes were heavy with +the rain. +</P> + +<P> +Kent, without moving over the narrow space between them, reached out +his hands and found his voice. "Marette!" +</P> + +<P> +Her hands had tightened about the bars until they were bloodless. Her +lips were parted. She was breathing quickly, but she did not smile; she +made no response to his greeting, gave no sign even of recognition. +What happened after that was so sudden and amazing that his heart +stopped dead still. Without warning she stepped back from the cell and +began to scream and then drew away from him, still facing him and still +screaming, as if something had terrified her. +</P> + +<P> +Kent heard the crash of a chair in the detachment office, excited +voices, and the running of feet. Marette Radisson had withdrawn to the +far corner of the alcove, and as Carter and Pelly ran toward her, she +stood, a picture of horror, pointing at Kent's cell. The two constables +rushed past her. Close behind them followed the special officer +detailed to take Kent to Edmonton. +</P> + +<P> +Kent had not moved. He was like one petrified. Close up against the +bars came the faces of Pelly, Carter, and the special constable, filled +with the expressions of men who had expected to look in upon tragedy. +And then, behind their backs, Kent saw the other thing happen. Swift as +a flash Marette Radisson's hand went in and out of her raincoat, and at +the backs of the three men she was leveling a revolver! Not only did +Kent see that swift change, but the still swifter change that came into +her face. Her eyes shot to his just once, and they were filled with a +laughing, exultant fire. With one mighty throb Kent's heart seemed to +leap out through the bars of his prison, and at the look in his face +and eyes Carter swung suddenly around. +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't make any disturbance, gentlemen," said Marette Radisson. +"The first man that makes a suspicious move, I shall kill!" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was calm and thrilling. It had a deadly ring in it. The +revolver in her hand was held steadily. It was a slim-barreled, black +thing. The very color of it was menacing. And behind it were the girl's +eyes, pools of flame. The three men were facing them now, shocked to +speechlessness. Automatically they seemed to obey her command to throw +up their hands. Then she leveled her grim little gun straight at +Pelly's heart. +</P> + +<P> +"You have the key," she said. "Unlock the cell!" Felly fumbled and +produced the key. She watched him closely. Then suddenly the special +constable dropped his arms with a coarse laugh. "A pretty trick," he +said, "but the bluff won't work!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but it will!" came the reply. +</P> + +<P> +The little black gun was shifted to him, even as the constable's +fingers touched his revolver holster. With half-smiling lips, Marette's +eyes blazed at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Please put up your hands," she commanded. +</P> + +<P> +The constable hesitated; then his fingers gripped the butt of his gun. +Kent, holding his breath, saw the almost imperceptible tensing of +Marette's body and the wavering of Pelly's arms over his head. Another +moment and he, too, would have called the bluff if it were that. But +that moment did not come. From the slim, black barrel of the girl's +revolver leaped forth a sudden spurt of smoke and flame, and the +special constable lurched back against the cell bars, caught himself as +he half fell, and then stood with his pistol arm hanging limp and +useless at his side. He had not made a sound, but his face was twisted +in pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Open the cell door!" +</P> + +<P> +A second time the deadly-looking little gun was pointed straight at +Pelly's heart. The half-smile was gone from the girl's lips now. Her +eyes blazed a deeper fire. She was breathing quickly, and she leaned a +little toward Pelly, repeating her command. The words were partly +drowned in a sudden crash of thunder. But Pelly understood. He saw her +lips form the words, and half heard, +</P> + +<P> +"Open the door, or I shall kill you!" +</P> + +<P> +He no longer hesitated. The key grated in the lock, and Kent himself +flung the door wide open and sprang out. He was quick to see and seize +upon opportunity and swift to act. The astounding audacity of the +girl's ruse, her clever acting in feigning horror to line the guards up +at the cell door and the thrilling decisiveness with which she had used +the little black gun in her hand set every drop of blood in his body +afire. No sooner was he outside his cell than he was the old Jim Kent, +fighting man. He whipped Carter's automatic out of its holster and, +covering Pelly and the special constable, relieved them of their guns. +Behind him he heard Marette's voice, calm and triumphant, +</P> + +<P> +"Lock them in the cell, Mr. Kent!" +</P> + +<P> +He did not look at her, but swung his gun on Pelly and the special +constable, and they backed through the door into the cell. Carter had +not moved. He was looking straight at the girl, and the little black +gun was leveled at his breast. Pelly and the wounded man did not see, +but on Carter's lips was a strange smile. His eyes met Kent's, and +there was revealed for an instant a silent flash of comradeship and an +unmistakable something else. Carter was glad! It made Kent want to +reach out and grip his hand, but in place of that he backed him into +the cell, turned the key in the lock, and with the key in his hand +faced Marette Radisson. Her eyes were shining gloriously. He had never +seen such splendid, fighting eyes, nor the birdlike swiftness with +which she turned and ran down the hall, calling him to follow her. +</P> + +<P> +He was only a step behind her in passing Kedsty's office. She reached +the outer door and opened it. It was pitch-dark outside, and a deluge +of rain beat into their faces. He observed that she did not replace the +hood of her raincoat when she darted out. As he closed the door, her +hand groped to his arm and from that found his hand. Her fingers clung +to his tightly. +</P> + +<P> +He did not ask questions as they faced the black chaos of rain. A +rending streak of lightning revealed her for an instant, her bare head +bowed to the wind. Then came a crash of thunder that shook the earth +under their feet, and her fingers closed more tightly about his hand. +And in that crash he heard her voice, half laughing, half broken, +saying, +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid—of thunder!" +</P> + +<P> +In that storm his laugh rang out, a great, free, joyous laugh. He +wanted to stop in that instant, sweep her up into his arms, and carry +her. He wanted to shout like an insane man in his mad joy. And a moment +before she had risked everything in facing three of the bravest men in +the service and had shot one of them! He started to say something, but +she increased her speed until she was almost running. +</P> + +<P> +She was not leading Jim in the direction of the river, but toward the +forest beyond Kedsty's bungalow. Not for an instant did she falter in +that drenched and impenetrable darkness. There was something imperative +in the clasp of her fingers, even though they tightened perceptibly +when the thunder crashed. They gave Kent the conviction that there was +no doubt in her mind as to the point she was striving for. He took +advantage of the lightning, for each time it gave him a glimpse of her +bare, wet head bowed to the storm, her white profile, and her slim +figure fighting over the sticky earth under her feet. +</P> + +<P> +It was this presence of her, and not the thought of escape, that +exalted him now. She was at his side. Her hand lay close in his. The +lightning gave him glimpses of her. He felt the touch of her shoulder, +her arm, her body, as they drew close together. The life and warmth and +thrill of her seemed to leap into his own veins through the hand he +held. He had dreamed of her. And now suddenly she had become a part of +him, and the glory of it rode overwhelmingly over all other emotions +that were struggling in his brain—the glory of the thought that it was +she who had come to him in the last moment, who had saved him, and who +was now leading him to freedom through the crash of storm. +</P> + +<P> +At the crest of a low knoll between barracks and Kedsty's bungalow she +stopped for the first time. He had there, again, the almost +irresistible impulse to reach out in the darkness and take her into his +arms, crying out to her of his joy, of a happiness that had come to him +greater even than the happiness of freedom. But he stood, holding her +hand, his tongue speechless, and he was looking at her when the +lightning revealed her again. In a rending flash it cut open the night +so close that the hiss of it was like the passing of a giant rocket, +and involuntarily she shrank against him, and her free hand caught his +arm at the instant thunder crashed low over their heads. His own hand +groped out, and in the blackness it touched for an instant her wet face +and then her drenched hair. +</P> + +<P> +"Marette," he cried, "where are we going?" +</P> + +<P> +"Down there," came her voice. +</P> + +<P> +Her hand had left his arm, and he sensed that she was pointing, though +he could not see. Ahead of them was a chaotic pit of gloom, a sea of +blackness, and in the heart of that sea he saw a light. He knew that it +was a lamp in one of Kedsty's windows and that Marette was guiding +herself by that light when she started down the slope with her hand +still in his. That she had made no effort to withdraw it made him +unconscious of the almost drowning discomfort of the fresh deluge of +rain that beat their faces. One of her fingers had gripped itself +convulsively about his thumb, like a child afraid of falling. And each +time the thunder crashed that soft hold on his thumb tightened, and +Kent's soul acclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +They drew swiftly nearer to the light, for it was not far from the +knoll to Kedsty's place. Kent's mind leaped ahead. A little west by +north from the inspector's bungalow was Kim's Bayou and it was +undoubtedly to the forest trail over which she had gone at least once +before, on the night of the mysterious assault upon Mooie, that Marette +was leading him. Questions began to rush upon him now, immediate +demanding questions. They were going to the river. They must be going +to the river. It was the quickest and surest way of escape. Had Marette +prepared for that? And was she going with him? +</P> + +<P> +He had no time to answer. Their feet struck the gravel path leading to +the door of Kedsty's place, and straight up this path the girl turned, +straight toward the light blazing in the window. Then, to his +amazement, he heard in the sweep of storm her voice crying out in glad +triumph, +</P> + +<P> +"We're home!" +</P> + +<P> +Home! His breath came in a sudden gulp. He was more than astounded. He +was shocked. Was she mad or playing an amazingly improper joke? She had +freed him from a cell to lead him to the home of the Inspector of +Police, the deadliest enemy the world now held for him. He stopped, and +Marette Radisson tugged at his hand, pulling him after her, insisting +that he follow. She was clutching his thumb as though she thought he +might attempt to escape. +</P> + +<P> +"It is safe, M'sieu Jeems," she cried. "Don't be afraid!" +</P> + +<P> +M'sieu Jeems! And the laughing note of mockery in her voice! He rallied +himself and followed her up the three steps to the door. Her hand found +the latch, the door opened, and swiftly they were inside. The lamp in +the window was close to them, but for a space he could not see because +of the water in his eyes. He blinked it out, drew a hand across his +face, and looked at Marette. She stood three or four paces from him. +Her face was very white, and she was panting as if hard-run for breath, +but her eyes were shining, and she was smiling at him. The water was +running from her in streams. +</P> + +<P> +"You are wet," she said. "And I am afraid you will catch cold. Come +with me!" +</P> + +<P> +Again she was making fun of him just as she had made fun of him at +Cardigan's! She turned, and he ran upstairs behind her. At the top she +waited for him, and as he came up, she reached out her hand, as if +apologizing for having taken it from him when they entered the +bungalow. He held it again as she led him down the hall to a door +farthest from the stair. This she opened, and they entered. It was dark +inside, and the girl withdrew her hand again, and Kent heard her moving +across the room. In that darkness a new and thrilling emotion possessed +him. The air he was breathing was not the air he had breathed in the +hall. In it was the sweet scent of flowers, and of something else—the +faint and intangible perfume of a woman's room. He waited, staring. His +eyes were wide when a match leaped into flame in Marette's fingers. +Then he stood in the glow of a lamp. +</P> + +<P> +He continued to stare in the stupidity of a shock to which he was not +accustomed. Marette, as if to give him time to acquaint himself with +his environment, was taking off her raincoat. Under it her slim little +figure was dry, except where the water had run down from her uncovered +head to her shoulders. He noticed that she wore a short skirt, and +boots, adorably small boots of splendidly worked caribou. And then +suddenly she came toward him with both hands reaching out to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Please shake hands and say you're glad," she said. "Don't look +so—so—frightened. This is my room and you are safe here." +</P> + +<P> +He held her hands tight, staring into the wonderful, violet eyes that +were looking at him with the frank and unembarrassed directness of a +child's. "I—I don't understand," he struggled. "Marette, where is +Kedsty?" +</P> + +<P> +"He should be returning very soon." +</P> + +<P> +"And he knows you are here, of course?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. "I have been here for a month." +</P> + +<P> +Kent's hands closed tighter about hers. "I—I don't understand," he +repeated. "Tonight Kedsty will know that it was you who rescued me and +you who shot Constable Willis. Good God, we must lose no time in +getting away!" +</P> + +<P> +"There is great reason why Kedsty dare not betray my presence in his +house," she said quietly. "He would die first! And he will not suspect +that I have brought you to my room, that an escaped murderer is hiding +under the very roof of the Inspector of Police! They will search for +you everywhere but here! Isn't it splendid? He planned it all, every +move, even to the screaming in front of your cell—" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—Kedsty?" +</P> + +<P> +She withdrew her hands and stepped back from him, and again he saw in +her eyes a flash of the fire that had come into them when she leveled +her gun at the three men in the prison alcove. "No, not Kedsty. He +would hang you, and he would kill me, if he dared. I mean that great, +big, funny-looking friend of yours, M'sieu Fingers!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<P> +The manner in which Kent stared at Marette Radisson after her +announcement that it was Dirty Fingers who had planned his escape must +have been, he thought afterward, little less than imbecile. He had +wronged Fingers, he believed. He had called him a coward and a +backslider. In his mind he had reviled him for helping to raise his +hopes to the highest pitch, only to smash them in the end. And all the +time Dirty Fingers had been planning this! Kent began to grin. The +thing was clear in a moment—that is, the immediate situation was +clear—or he thought it was. But there were questions—one, ten, a +hundred of them. They wanted to pile over the end of his tongue, +questions that had little or nothing to do with Kedsty. He saw nothing +now but Marette. +</P> + +<P> +She had begun to take down her hair. It fell about her in wet, shining +masses. Kent had never seen anything like it. It clung to her face, her +neck, her shoulders and arms, and shrouded her slender body to her +hips, lovely in its confusion. Little drops of water glistened in it +like diamonds in the lamp glow, trickling down and dropping to the +floor. It was like a glowing coat of velvety sable beaten by storm. +Marette ran her arms up through it, shaking it out in clouds, and a +mist of rain leaped out from it, some of it striking Kent in the face. +He forgot Fingers. He forgot Kedsty. His brain flamed only with the +electrifying nearness of her. It was the thought of her that had +inspired the greatest hope in him. It was his dreams of her, somewhere +on the Big River, that had given him his great courage to believe in +the ultimate of things. And now time and space had taken a leap +backward. She was not four or five hundred miles north. There was no +long quest ahead of him. She was here, within a few feet of him, +tossing the wet from that glorious hair he had yearned to touch, +brushing it out now, with her back toward him, in front of her mirror. +</P> + +<P> +And as he sat there, uttering no word, looking at her, the demands of +the immense responsibility that had fallen upon him and of the great +fight that lay ahead pounded within him with naked fists. Fingers had +planned. She had executed. It was up to him to finish. +</P> + +<P> +He saw her, not as a creature to win, but as a priceless possession. +Her fight had now become his fight. The rain was beating against the +window near him. Out there was blackness, the river, the big world. His +blood leaped with the old fighting fire. They were going tonight; they +must be going tonight! Why should they wait? Why should they waste time +under Kedsty's roof when freedom lay out there for the taking? He +watched the swift movements of her hand, listened to the silken rustle +of the brush as it smoothed out her long hair. Bewilderment, reason, +desire for action fought inside him. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she faced him again. "It has just this moment occurred to me," +she said, "that you haven't said 'Thank you.'" +</P> + +<P> +So suddenly that he startled her he was at her side. He did not +hesitate this time, as he had hesitated in his room at Cardigan's +place. He caught her two hands in his, and with them he felt the soft, +damp crush of her hair between his fingers. Words tumbled from his +lips. He could not remember afterward all that he said. Her eyes +widened, and they never for an instant left his own. Thank her! He told +her what had happened to him—in the heart and soul of him—from the +hour she had come to him at Cardigan's. He told her of dreams and +plans, of his determination to find her again after he had escaped, if +it took him all his life. He told her of Mercer, of his discovery of +her visit to Kim's Bayou, of his scheme to follow her down the Three +Rivers, to seek for her at Fort Simpson, to follow her to the Valley of +Silent Men, wherever it was. Thank her! He held her hands so tight they +hurt, and his voice trembled. Under the cloud of her hair a slow fire +burned in Marette Radisson's cheeks. But it did not show in her eyes. +They looked at him so steadily, so unfalteringly, that his own face +burned before he had finished what was in his mind to say, and he freed +her hands and stepped back from her again. +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive me for saying all that," he entreated. "But it's true. You +came to me there, at Cardigan's place, like something I'd always +dreamed about, but never expected to find. And you came to me again, at +the cell, like—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know how I came," she interrupted him. "Through the mud and the +rain, Mr. Kent. And it was so black I lost my way and was terrified to +think that I might not find barracks. I was half an hour behind Mr. +Fingers' schedule. For that reason I think Inspector Kedsty may return +at any moment, and you must not talk so loud—or so much." +</P> + +<P> +"Lord!" he breathed in a whisper. "I have said a lot in a short time, +haven't I? But it isn't a hundredth part of what I want to get out of +my system. I won't ask the million questions that want to be asked. But +I must know why we are here. Why have we come to Kedsty's? Why didn't +we make for the river? There couldn't be a better night to get away." +</P> + +<P> +"But it is not so good as the fifth night from now will be," she said, +resuming the task of drying her hair. "On that night you may go to the +river. Our plans were a little upset, you know, by Inspector Kedsty's +change in the date on which you were to leave for Edmonton. +Arrangements have been made so that on the fifth night you may leave +safely." +</P> + +<P> +"And you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall remain here." And then she added in a low voice that struck +his heart cold, "I shall remain to pay Kedsty the price which he will +ask for what has happened tonight." +</P> + +<P> +"Good God!" he cried. "Marette!" +</P> + +<P> +She turned on him swiftly. "No, no, I don't mean that he will hurt me," +she cried, a fierce little note in her voice. "I would kill him before +that! I'm sorry I told you. But you must not question me. You shall +not!" +</P> + +<P> +She was trembling. He had never seen her excited like that before, and +as she stood there before him, he knew that he was not afraid for her +in the way that had flashed into his mind. She had not spoken empty +words. She would fight. She would kill, if it was necessary to kill. +And he saw her, all at once, as he had not seen her before. He +remembered a painting which he had seen a long time ago in Montreal. It +was L'Esprit de la Solitude—The Spirit of the Wild—painted by Conne, +the picturesque French-Canadian friend of Lord Strathcona and Mount +Royal, and a genius of the far backwoods who had drawn his inspiration +from the heart of the wilderness itself. And that painting stood before +him now in flesh and blood, its crudeness gone, but the marvelous +spirit it had breathed remaining. Shrouded in her tumbled hair, her +lips a little parted, every line of her slender body vibrant with an +emotion which seemed consuming her, her beautiful eyes aglow with its +fire, he saw in her, as Conne must have seen at another time, the soul +of the great North itself. She seemed to him to breathe of the God's +country far down the Three Rivers; of its almost savage fearlessness; +its beauty, its sunshine, and its storm; its tragedy, its pathos, and +its song. In her was the courage and the glory of that North. He had +seen; and now he felt these things, and the thrill of them swept over +him like an inundation. +</P> + +<P> +He had heard her soft laugh, she had made fun of him when he thought he +was dying; she had kissed him, she had fought for him, she had clung in +terror to his hand when the lightning flashed; and now she stood with +her little hands clenched in her hair, like a storm about to break. A +moment ago she was so near that he had almost taken her in his arms. +Now, in an instant, she had placed something so vast between them that +he would not have dared to touch her hand or her hair. Like sun and +cloud and wind she changed, and for him each change added to the wonder +of her. And now it was storm. He saw it in her eyes, her hands, her +body. He felt the electrical nearness of it in those low-spoken, +trembling words, "YOU SHALL NOT!" The room seemed surcharged for a +moment with impending shock. And then his physical eyes took in again +the slimness of her, seized upon the alluring smallness of her and the +fact that he could have tossed her to the ceiling without great effort. +And yet he saw her as one sees a goddess. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I won't ask you questions, when you look at me like that," he +said, finding his tongue. "I won't ask you what this price is that +Kedsty may demand, because you're not going to pay it. If you won't go +with me, I won't go. I'd rather stay here and be hung. I'm not asking +you questions, so please don't shoot, but if you told me the truth, and +you belong in the North, you're going back with me—or I'm not going. +I'll not budge an inch." +</P> + +<P> +She drew a deep breath, as if something had greatly relieved her. Again +her violet eyes came out from the shadow into sunlight, and her +trembling mouth suddenly broke into a smile. It was not apologetic. +There was about it a quick and spontaneous gladness which she made no +effort at all to conceal. +</P> + +<P> +"That is nice of you," she said. "I'm glad to hear you say it. I never +knew how pleasant it was to have some one who was willing to be hung +for me. But you will go. And I will not go. There isn't time to explain +all about it just now, for Inspector Kedsty will be here very soon, and +I must dry my hair and show you your hiding-place—if you have to hide." +</P> + +<P> +She began to brush her hair again. In the mirror Kent caught a glimpse +of the smile still trembling on her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not questioning you," he guarded himself again, "but if you could +only understand how anxious I am to know where Kedsty is, how Fingers +found you, why you made us believe you were leaving the Landing and +then returned—and—how badly I want to know something about you—I +almost believe you'd talk a little while you are drying your hair." +</P> + +<P> +"It was Mooie, the old Indian," she said. "It was he who found out in +some way that I was here, and then M'sieu Fingers came himself one +night when the Inspector was away—got in through a window and simply +said that you had sent him, when I was just about to shoot him. You +see, I knew you weren't going to die. Kedsty had told me that. I was +going to help you in another way, if M'sieu Fingers hadn't come. +Inspector Kedsty was over there tonight, at his cabin, when the thing +happened down there. It was a part of Fingers' scheme—to keep him out +of the way." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she grew rigid. The brush remained poised in her hair. Kent, +too, heard the sound that she had heard. It was a loud tapping at one +of the curtained windows, the tapping of some metallic object. And that +window was fifteen feet above the ground! +</P> + +<P> +With a little cry the girl threw down her brush, ran to the window, and +raised and lowered the curtain once. Then she turned to Kent, swiftly +dividing her hair into thick strands and weaving them into a braid. +</P> + +<P> +"It is Mooie," she cried. "Kedsty is coming!" +</P> + +<P> +She caught his hand and hurried him toward the head of the bed, where +two long curtains were strung on a wire. She drew these apart. Behind +them were what seemed to Kent an innumerable number of feminine +garments. +</P> + +<P> +"You must hide in them, if you have to," she said, the excited little +tremble in her voice again. "I don't think it will come to that, but if +it does, you must! Bury yourself way back in them, and keep quiet. If +Kedsty finds you are here—" +</P> + +<P> +She looked into his eyes, and it seemed to Kent that there was +something which was very near to fear in them now. +</P> + +<P> +"If he should find you here, it would mean something terrible for me," +she went on, her hands creeping to his arms. "I can not tell you what +it is now, but it would be worse than death. Will you promise to stay +here, no matter what happens down there, no matter what you may hear? +Will you—Mr. Kent?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not if you call me Mr. Kent," he said, something thickening in his +throat. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you—Jeems? Will you—no matter what happens—if I promise—when +I come back—to kiss you?" +</P> + +<P> +Her hands slipped almost caressingly from his arms, and then she had +turned swiftly and was gone through the partly open door, closing it +after her, before he could give his promise. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<P> +For a space he stood where she had left him, staring at the door +through which she had gone. The nearness of her in those last few +seconds of her presence, the caressing touch of her hands, what he had +seen in her eyes, her promise to kiss him if he did not reveal +himself—these things, and the thought of the splendid courage that +must be inspiring her to face Kedsty now, made him blind even to the +door and the wall at which he was apparently looking. He saw only her +face, as he had seen it in that last moment—her eyes, the tremble of +her lips, and the fear which she had not quite hidden from him. She was +afraid of Kedsty. He was sure of it. For she had not smiled; there was +no flicker of humor in her eyes, when she called him Jeems, an intimate +use of the names Jim and James in the far North. It was not facetiously +that she had promised to kiss him. An almost tragic seriousness had +possessed her. And it was that seriousness that thrilled him—that, and +the amazing frankness with which she had coupled the name Jeems with +the promise of her lips. Once before she had called him Jeems. But it +was M'sieu Jeems then, and there had been a bit of taunting laughter in +her voice. Jim or James meant nothing, but Jeems—He had heard mothers +call little children that, in moments of endearment. He knew that wives +and sweethearts used it in that same way. For Jim and James were not +uncommon names up and down the Three Rivers, even among the half-breeds +and French, and Jeems was the closer and more intimate thing bred of it. +</P> + +<P> +His heart was thumping riotously as he went to the door and listened. A +little while ago, when she faced him with flashing eyes, commanding him +not to question her, he had felt an abyss under his feet. Now he was on +a mountain. And he knew that no matter what he heard, unless it was her +cry for help, he would not go down. +</P> + +<P> +After a little he opened the door a mere crack so that sound might come +to him. She had not forbidden that. Through the crack he could see a +dim glow of light in the lower hall. But he heard no sound, and it +occurred to him that old Mooie could still run swiftly, and that it +might be some time before Kedsty would arrive. +</P> + +<P> +As he waited, he looked about the room. His first impression was that +Marette must have lived in it for a long time. It was a woman's room, +without the newness of sudden and unpremeditated occupancy. He knew +that formerly it had been Kedsty's room, but nothing of Kedsty remained +in it now. And then, as his wondering eyes beheld the miracle, a number +of things struck him with amazing significance. He no longer doubted +that Marette Radisson was of the far Northland. His faith in that was +absolute. If there had been a last question in his mind, it was wiped +away because she called him Jeems. Yet this room seemed to give the lie +to his faith. Fascinated by his discovery of things, he drew away from +the door and stood over the dressing-table in front of the mirror. +</P> + +<P> +Marette had not prepared the room for him, and her possessions were +there. It did not strike him as sacrilege to look at them, the many +intimate little things that are mysteriously used in the process of a +lady's toilette. It was their number and variety that astounded him. He +might have expected them in the boudoir of the Governor General's +daughter at Ottawa, but not here—and much less farther north. What he +saw was of exquisite material and workmanship. And then, as if +attracted by a magnet, his eyes were drawn to something else. It was a +row of shoes neatly and carefully arranged on the floor at one side of +the dressing-table. +</P> + +<P> +He stared at them, astounded. Never had he seen such an array of +feminine footwear intended for the same pair of feet. And it was not +Northern footwear. Every individual little beauty in that amazing row +stood on a high heel! Their variety was something to which he had long +been a stranger. There were buttoned boots, laced boots, brown boots, +black boots, and white boots, with dangerously high and fragile looking +heels; there were dainty little white kid slippers, slippers with bows, +slippers with cut steel buckles, and slippers with dainty ribbon ties; +there were high-heeled oxfords and high-heeled patent leather pumps! He +gasped. He reached over, moved by an automatic sort of impulse, and +took a satiny little pump in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +The size of it gave him a decidedly pleasant mental shock, and, +beginning to feel like one prying into a sleeper's secrets, he looked +inside it. The size was there—number three. And it had come from +Favre's in Montreal! One after another he looked inside half a dozen +others. And all of them had come from Favre's in Montreal. The little +shoes, more than all else that he had seen or that had happened, sent a +question pounding through his brain. Who was Marette Radisson? +</P> + +<P> +And that question was followed by other questions, until they tumbled +over one another in his head. If she was from Montreal, why was she +going north? If she belonged in the North, if she was a part of it, why +was she taking all of this apparently worthless footwear with her? Why +had she come to Athabasca Landing? What was she to Kedsty? Why was she +hiding under his roof? Why— +</P> + +<P> +He stopped himself, trying to find some one answer in all that chaos of +questions. It was impossible for him to take his eyes from the shoes. A +thought seized him. Ludicrously he dropped upon his knees in front of +the row and with a face growing hotter each moment examined them all. +But he wanted to know. And the discovery he made was that most of the +footwear had been worn, some of it so slightly, however, that the +impression of the foot was barely visible. +</P> + +<P> +He rose to his feet and continued his inquiry. Of course she had +expected him to look about. One couldn't help seeing, unless one were +blind. He would have cut off a hand before opening one of the +dressing-table drawers. But Marette herself had told him to hide behind +the curtains if it became necessary, and it was an excusable caution +for him to look behind those curtains now, to see what sort of +hiding-place he had. He returned to the door first and listened. There +was still no sound from below. Then he drew the curtains apart, as +Marette had drawn them. Only he looked longer. He would tell her about +it when she returned, if the act needed an apology. +</P> + +<P> +His impression was a man's impression. What he saw was a billowing, +filmy mass of soft stuff, and out of it there greeted him the faintest +possible scent of lilac sachet powder. He closed the curtains with a +deep breath of utter joy and of consternation. The two emotions were a +jumble to him. The shoes, all that mass of soft stuff behind the +curtains, were exquisitely feminine. The breath of perfume had come to +him straight out of a woman's soul. There were seduction and witchery +to it. He saw Marette, an enrapturing vision of loveliness, floating +before his eyes in that sacred and mysterious vestment of which he had +stolen a half-frightened glimpse. In white—the white, cobwebby thing +of laces and embroidery that had hung straight before his eyes—in +white—with her glorious black hair, her violet eyes, her— +</P> + +<P> +And then it was that the incongruity of the thing, the almost sheer +impossibility of it, clashed in upon his vision. Yet his faith was not +shaken. Marette Radisson was of the North. He could not disbelieve +that, even in the face of these amazing things that confronted him. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he heard a sound that was like the explosion of a gun under +his feet. It was the opening and closing of the hall door—but mostly +the closing. The slam of it shook the house and rattled the glass in +the windows. Kedsty had returned, and he was in a rage. Kent +extinguished the light so that the room was in darkness. Then he went +to the door. He could hear the quick, heavy tread of Kedsty's feet +After that came the closing of a second door, followed by the rumble of +Kedsty's voice. Kent was disappointed. +</P> + +<P> +The Inspector of Police and Marette were in a room too far distant for +him to distinguish what was said. But he knew that Kedsty had returned +to barracks and had discovered what had happened there. After an +interval his voice was a steady rumble. It rose higher. He heard the +crash of a chair. Then the voice ceased, and after it came the tramping +of Kedsty's feet. Not once did he catch the sound of Marette's voice, +but he was sure that in the interval of silence she was talking. Then +Kedsty's voice broke forth more furiously than before. Kent's fingers +dug into the sill of the door. Each moment added to his conviction that +Marette was in danger. It was not physical violence he feared. He did +not believe Kedsty capable of perpetrating that upon a woman. It was +fear that he would take her to barracks. The fact that Marette had told +him there was a powerful reason why Kedsty would not do this failed to +assure him. For she had also told him that Kedsty would kill her, if he +dared. He held himself in readiness. At a cry from her, or the first +move on Kedsty's part to take her from the bungalow, he would give +battle in spite of Marette's warning. +</P> + +<P> +He almost hoped one of these two things would happen. As he stood +there, listening, waiting, the thought became almost a prayer. He had +Pelly's revolver. Within twenty seconds he could have Kedsty looking +down the barrel of it. The night was ideal for escape. Within half an +hour they would be on the river. They could even load up with +provisions from Kedsty's place. He opened the door a little more, +scarcely making an effort to combat the impulse that dragged him out. +Marette must be in danger, or she would not have confessed to him that +she was in the house of a man who would like to see her dead. Why she +was there did not interest him deeply now. It was the fact of the +moment that was moving him swiftly toward action. +</P> + +<P> +The door below opened again, and Kent's body grew rigid. He heard +Kedsty charging through the lower hall like a mad bull. The outer door +opened, slammed shut, and he was gone. +</P> + +<P> +Kent drew back into the darkness of his room. It was some moments +before he heard Marette coming slowly up the stairs. She seemed to be +groping her way, though there was a dim illumination out there. Then +she came through the door into the blackness of her room. +</P> + +<P> +"Jeems," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +He went to her. Her hands reached out, and again they rested on his +arms. +</P> + +<P> +"You—you didn't come down the stair?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"You—didn't hear?" +</P> + +<P> +"I heard no words. Only Kedsty's voice." +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to him that her voice, when she spoke again, trembled with an +immeasurable relief. "You were good, Jeems. I am glad." +</P> + +<P> +In that darkness he could not see. Yet something reached into him, +thrilling him, quickening his pulse with a thing to which his eyes were +blind. He bent down. He found her lips upturned, offering him the +sweetness of the kiss which was to be his reward; and as he felt their +warmth upon his own, he felt also the slightest pressure of her hands +upon his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"He is gone. We will light the lamp again," she said then. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<P> +Kent stood still while Marette moved in that gloom, found matches, and +lighted the lamp. He had not spoken a word after the kiss. He had not +taken advantage of it. The gentle pressure of her hands had restrained +him from taking her in his arms. But the kiss itself fired him with a +wild and glorious thrill that was like a vibrant music to which every +atom of life in his body responded. If he claimed his reward at all, he +had expected her kiss to be perhaps indifferent, at least neutral. But +the lips she had given him there in the darkness of the room were warm, +living, breathing lips. They had not been snatched away from him too +quickly. Their sweetness, for an instant, had lingered. +</P> + +<P> +Then, in the lamp glow, he was looking into Marette Radisson's face. He +knew that his own was aflame. He had no desire to hide its confession, +and he was eager to find what lay in her own eyes. And he was +astonished, and then startled. The kiss had not disturbed Marette. It +was as if it had never happened. +</P> + +<P> +She was not embarrassed, and there was no hint of color in her face. It +was her deathly whiteness that startled him, a pallor emphasized by the +dark masses of her hair, and a strange glow in her eyes. It was not a +glow brought there by the kiss. It was fear, fading slowly out of them +as he looked, until at last it was gone, and her lips trembled with an +apologetic smile. +</P> + +<P> +"He was very angry," she said. "How easily some men lose their tempers, +don't they—Jeems?" +</P> + +<P> +The little break in her voice, her brave effort to control herself, and +the whimsical bit of smile that accompanied her words made him want to +do what the gentle pressure of her hands had kept him from doing a few +moments before—pick her up in his arms. What she was trying to hide he +saw plainly. She had been in danger, a danger greater than that which +she had quietly and fearlessly faced at barracks. And she was still +afraid of that menace. It was the last thing which she wanted him to +know, and yet he knew it. A new force swept through him. It was the +force which comes of mastery, of possessorship, of fighting grimly +against odds. It rose in a mighty triumph. It told him this girl +belonged to him, that she was his to fight for. And he was going to +fight. Marette saw the change that came into his face. For a moment +after she had spoken there was silence between them. Outside the storm +beat in a fiercer blast. A roll of thunder crashed over the bungalow. +The windows rattled in a sweep of wind and rain. Kent, looking at her, +his muscles hardening, his face growing grimmer, nodded toward the +window at which Mooie's signal had come. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a splendid night—for us," he said. "And we must go." +</P> + +<P> +She did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"In the eyes of the law I am a murderer," he went on. "You saved me. +You shot a man. In those same eyes you are a criminal. It is folly to +remain here. It is sheer suicide for both of us. If Kedsty—" +</P> + +<P> +"If Kedsty does not do what I told him to do to-night, I shall kill +him!" she said. +</P> + +<P> +The quietness of her words, the steadiness of her eyes, held him +speechless. Again it seemed to him, as it had seemed to him in his room +at Cardigan's place, that it was a child who was looking at him and +speaking to him. If she had shown fear a few moments before, that fear +was not revealed in her face now. She was not excited. Her eyes were +softly and quietly beautiful. She amazed him and discomfited him. +Against that child-like sureness he felt himself helpless. Its potency +was greater than his strength and greater than his determination. It +placed between them instantly a vast gulf, a gulf that might be bridged +by prayer and entreaty, but never by force. There was no hint of +excitement in her threat against Kedsty, and yet in the very calmness +of it he felt its deadliness. +</P> + +<P> +A whimsical half-smile was trembling on her lips again, and a warmer +glow came into her eyes. "Do you know," she said, "that according to an +old and sacred code of the North you belong to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have heard of that code," he replied. "A hundred years ago I should +have been your slave. If it exists today, I am happy." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you see the point, Jeems, don't you? You were about to die, +probably. I think they would have hanged you. And I saved your life. +Therefore your life belongs to me, for I insist that the code still +lives. You are my property, and I am going to do with you as I please, +until I turn you over to the Rivers. And you are not going tonight. You +shall wait here for Laselle and his brigade." +</P> + +<P> +"Laselle—Jean Laselle?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. "Yes, that is why you must wait. We have made a splendid +arrangement. When Laselle and his brigade start north, you go with +them. And no one will ever know. You are safe here. No one will think +of looking for you under the roof of the Inspector of Police." +</P> + +<P> +"But you, Marette!" He caught himself, remembering her injunction not +to question her. Marette shrugged her slim shoulders the slightest bit +and nodded for him to look upon what she knew he had already seen, her +room. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not uncomfortable," she said. "I have been here for a number of +weeks, and nothing has happened to me. I am quite safe. Inspector +Kedsty has not looked inside that door since the day your big +red-headed friend saw me down in the poplars. He has not put a foot on +the stair. That is the dead-line. And—I know—you are wondering. You +are asking yourself a great many questions—a bon droit, M'sieu Jeems. +You are burning up with them. I can see it. And I—" +</P> + +<P> +There was something suddenly pathetic about her, as she sank into the +big-armed, upholstered chair which had been Kedsty's favorite reading +chair. She was tired, and for a moment it seemed to Kent that she was +almost ready to cry. Her ringers twisted nervously at the shining end +of the braid in her lap, and more than ever he thought how slim and +helpless, she was, yet how gloriously unafraid, how unconquerable with +that something within her that burned like the fire of a dynamo. The +flame of that force had gone down now, as though the fire itself was +dying out; but when she raised her eyes to him, looking up at him from +out of the big chair, he knew that back of the yearning, child-like +glow that lay in them the heart of that fire was living and +unquenchable. Again, for him, she had ceased to be a woman. It was the +soul of a child that lay in her wide-open, wonderfully blue eyes. Twice +before he had seen that miracle, and it held him now, as it had held +him that first time when she had stood with her back at Cardigan's +door. And as it had changed then, so it changed now, slowly, and she +was a woman again, with that great gulf of unapproachableness between +them. But the yearning was still there, revealing itself to him, and +yet, like the sun, infinitely remote from him. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish that I might answer those questions for you," she said, in a +voice that was low and tired. "I should like to have you know, because +I—I have great faith in you, Jeems. But I cannot. It is impossible. It +is inconceivable. If I did—" She made a hopeless little gesture. "If I +told you everything, you would not like me any more. And I want you to +like me—until you go north with M'sieu Jean and his brigade." +</P> + +<P> +"And when I do that," cried Kent, almost savagely, "I shall find this +place you call the Valley of Silent Men, if it takes me all my life." +</P> + +<P> +It was becoming a joy for him to see the sudden flashes of pleasure +that leaped into her eyes. She attempted no concealment. Whatever her +emotions were they revealed themselves unaffectedly and with a simple +freedom from embarrassment that swept him with an almost reverential +worship. And what he had just said pleased her. Unreservedly her +glowing eyes and her partly smiling lips told him that, and she said: +"I am glad you feel that way, Jeems. And I think you would find it—in +time. Because—" +</P> + +<P> +Her little trick of looking at him so steadily, as if there was +something inside him which she was trying to see more clearly, made him +feel more helplessly than ever her slave. It was as if, in those +moments, she forgot that he was of flesh and blood, and was looking +into his heart to see what was there before she gave voice to things. +</P> + +<P> +And then she said, still twisting her braid between her slim fingers, +"You would find it—perhaps—because you are one who would not give up +easily. Shall I tell you why I came to see you at Doctor Cardigan's? It +was curiosity, at first—largely that. Just why or how I was interested +in the man you freed is one of the things I can not tell you. And I can +not tell you why I came to the Landing. Nor can I say a word about +Kedsty. It may be, some day, that you will know. And then you will not +like me. For nearly four years before I saw you that day I had been in +a desolation. It was a terrible place. It ate my heart and soul out +with its ugliness, its loneliness, its emptiness. A little while longer +and I would have died. Then the thing happened that brought me away. +Can you guess where it was?" +</P> + +<P> +He shook his head, "No." +</P> + +<P> +"To all the others it was a beautiful place, Montreal." +</P> + +<P> +"You were at school there?" he guessed. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the Villa Maria. I wasn't quite sixteen then. They were kind. I +think they liked me. But each night I prayed one prayer. You know what +the Three Rivers are to us, to the people of the North. The Athabasca +is Grandmother, the Slave is Mother, the Mackenzie is Daughter, and +over them watches always the goddess Niska, the Gray Goose. And my +prayer was that I might go back to them. In Montreal there were people, +people everywhere, thousands and tens of thousands of them, so many +that I was lonely and heartsick and wanted to get away. For the Gray +Goose blood is in me, Jeems. I love the forests. And Niska's God +doesn't live in Montreal. Her sun doesn't rise there. Her moon isn't +the same there. The flowers are not hers. The winds tell different +stories. The air is another air. People, when they look at you, look in +another way. Away down the Three Rivers I had loved men. There I was +learning to hate them. Then, something happened. I came to Athabasca +Landing. I went to see you because—" +</P> + +<P> +She clasped her two hands tightly in her lap. "Because, after those +four terrible years, you were the first man I found who was playing a +great, big, square game to the end. Don't ask me how I found it out. +Please don't ask me anything. I am telling you all you can know, all +you SHALL know. But I did find it out. And then I learned that you were +not going to die. Kedsty told me that. And when I had talked with you I +knew that you would play any game square, and I made up my mind to help +you. That is why I am telling you all this—just to let you know that I +have faith in you, and that you must not break that faith. You must not +insist on knowing more about me. You must still play the game. I am +playing mine, and you must play yours. And to play yours clean, you +must go with Laselle's brigade and leave me with Kedsty. You must +forget what has happened. You must forget what MAY happen. You can not +help me. You can only harm me. And if—some day, a long time from +now—you should happen to find the Valley of Silent Men—" +</P> + +<P> +He waited, his heart pounding like a fist. +</P> + +<P> +"I may—be there," she finished, in a voice so low that it was scarcely +above a whisper. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to him that she was looking a long way off, and it was not in +his direction. And then she smiled, not at him, but in a half-hopeless +little way. +</P> + +<P> +"I think I shall be disappointed if you don't find it," she said then, +and her eyes were pure as the blue flowers from which they had stolen +their color, as she looked at him. "You know the great Sulphur Country +beyond Fort Simpson, westward between the Two Nahannis?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. That is where Kilbane and his patrol were lost. The Indians call +it the Devil Country. Is that it?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. "They say no living thing has ever been through the Sulphur +Country," she said. "But that is not true. I have been through it. It +is beyond the Sulphur Country you must go to find the Valley of Silent +Men, straight through that gap between the North and the South Nahanni. +That is the way YOU must go if you should ever find it, Jeems, for +otherwise you would have to come down from Dawson or up from Skagway, +and the country is so great that you would never come upon it in a +thousand years. The police will not find you there. You will always be +safe. Perhaps I shall tell you more before the Brigade comes. But that +is all tonight. I may never tell you anything more. And you must not +question me." +</P> + +<P> +Speechless he had stood, all the life of his soul burning like a fire +in his eyes as he looked at her and listened to her, and now, quietly +and unexcitedly, he said: +</P> + +<P> +"Marette, I am going to play this game as you want me to play it, +because I love you. It is only honest for me to tell you in words what +you must already know. And I am going to fight for you as long as there +is a drop of blood in my body. If I go with Jean Laselle's brigade, +will you promise me—" +</P> + +<P> +His voice trembled. He was repressing a mighty emotion. But not by the +quiver of one of her long lashes did Marette Radisson give evidence +that she had even heard his confession of love. She interrupted him +before he had finished. +</P> + +<P> +"I can promise you nothing, no matter what you do. Jeems, Jeems, you +are not like those other men I learned to hate? You will not INSIST? If +you do—if you are like them—yes, you may go away from here tonight +and not wait for Jean Laselle. Listen! The storm will not break for +hours. If you are going to demand a price for playing the game as I +want you to play it, you may go. You have my permission." +</P> + +<P> +She was very white. She rose from the big chair and stood before him. +There was no anger in her voice or gesture, but her eyes glowed like +luminous stars. There was something in them which he had not seen +before, and suddenly a thought struck his heart cold as ice. +</P> + +<P> +With a low cry he stretched out his hands, "My God, Marette, I am not a +murderer! I did not kill John Barkley!" +</P> + +<P> +She did not answer him. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't believe me," he cried. "You believe that I killed Barkley, +and that now—a murderer—I dare to tell you that I love you!" +</P> + +<P> +She was trembling. It was like a little shiver running through her. For +only a flash it seemed to him that he had caught a glimpse of something +terrible, a thing she was hiding, a thing she was fighting as she stood +there with her two little clenched hands. For in her face, in her eyes, +in the beating throb of her white throat he saw, in that moment, the +almost hidden agony of a hurt thing. And then it was gone, even as he +entreated again, pleading for her faith. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not kill John Barkley!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not thinking of that, Jeems," she said. "It is of something—" +</P> + +<P> +They had forgotten the storm. It was howling and beating at the windows +outside. But suddenly there came a sound that rose above the monotonous +tumult of it, and Marette started as if it had sent an electric shock +through her. Kent, too, turned toward the window. +</P> + +<P> +It was the metallic tap, tap, tapping which once before had warned them +of approaching danger. And this time it was insistent. It was as if a +voice was crying out to them from beyond the window. It was more than +premonition—it was the alarm of a near and impending menace. And in +that moment Kent saw Marette Radisson's hands go swiftly to her throat +and her eyes leap with sudden fire, and she gave a little cry as she +listened to the sound. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<P> +In ten seconds, it seemed to Kent, Marette Radisson was again the +splendid creature who had held the three men at bay over the end of her +little black gun at barracks. The sound of Mooie's second warning came +at first as a shock. Accompanying it there was a moment of fear, of +fear driven almost to the point of actual terror. Following it came a +reaction so swift that Kent was dazed. Within those ten seconds the +girl's slender body seemed to grow taller; a new light flamed in her +face; her eyes, turning swiftly to him, were filled with the same fire +with which they had faced the three constables. She was unafraid. She +was ready to fight. +</P> + +<P> +In such moments as these it was the quiet and dispassionate composure +of her voice that amazed him most. It was musical in its softness now. +Yet in that softness was a hidden thing. It was like velvet covering +steel. She had spoken of Niska, the Gray Goose, the goddess of the +Three Rivers. And he thought that something of the spirit of a goddess +must be in Marette Radisson to give her the courage with which she +faced him, even as the metallic thing outside tapped its warning again +at the window. +</P> + +<P> +"Inspector Kedsty is coming back," she said. "I did not think he would +do that—tonight." +</P> + +<P> +"He has not had time to go to barracks," said Kent. +</P> + +<P> +"No. Possibly he has forgotten something. Before he arrives, I want to +show you the nest I have made for you, Jeems. Come quickly!" +</P> + +<P> +It was her first intimation that he was not to remain in her room, a +possibility that had already caused him some inward embarrassment. She +seized a number of matches, turned down her light, and hurried into the +hall. Kent followed her to the end of this hall, where she paused +before a low half-door that apparently opened into some sort of a space +close under the sloping roof of the bungalow. +</P> + +<P> +"It is an old storeroom," she whispered. "I have made it quite +comfortable, I think. I have covered the window, so you may light the +lamp. But you must see that no light shows under this door. Lock it on +the inside, and be very quiet. For whatever you find in there you must +thank M'sieu Fingers." +</P> + +<P> +She pulled the door slightly open and gave him the matches. The +illumination in the lower hall made its way only dimly to where they +stood. In the gloom he found himself close to the soft glow of her +eyes. His fingers closed about her hand as he took the matches. +</P> + +<P> +"Marette, you believe me?" he entreated. "You believe that I love you, +that I didn't kill John Barkley, that I am going to fight for you as +long as God gives me breath to fight?" +</P> + +<P> +For a moment there was silence. Her hand withdrew gently from his. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I think that I believe. Good-night, Jeems." +</P> + +<P> +She went from him quickly. At her door she turned. "Go in now, please," +she called back softly. "If you care as you say you do, go IN." +</P> + +<P> +She did not wait for his reply. Her own door closed behind her, and +Kent, striking a match, stooped low and entered his hiding-place. In a +moment he saw directly ahead of him a lamp on a box. He lighted this, +and his first movement then was to close the door and turn the key that +was in the lock. After that he looked about him. The storeroom was not +more than ten feet square, and the roof was so close over his head that +he could not stand upright. It was not the smallness of the place that +struck him first, but the preparations which Marette had made for him. +In a corner was a bed of blankets, and the rough floor of the place was +carpeted with blankets, except for a two-or-three-foot space around the +edge of it. Beyond the box was a table and a chair, and it was the +burden of this table that made his pulse jump quickest. Marette had not +forgotten that he might grow hungry. It was laid sumptuously, with a +plate for one, but with food for half a dozen. There were a brace of +roasted grouse, brown as nuts; a cold roast of moose meat or beef; a +dish piled high with golden potato salad; olives, pickles, an open can +of cherries, a loaf of bread, butter, cheese—and one of Kedsty's +treasured thermos bottles, which undoubtedly held hot coffee or tea. +And then he noticed what was on the chair—a belt and holster and a +Colt automatic forty-five! Marette had not figured on securing a gun in +the affair at barracks, and her foresight had not forgotten a weapon. +She had placed it conspicuously where he could not fail to see it at +once. And just beyond the chair, on the floor, was a shoulder-pack. It +was of the regulation service sort, partly filled. Resting against the +pack was a Winchester. He recognized the gun. He had seen it hanging in +Dirty Fingers' shack. +</P> + +<P> +For a matter of five minutes he scarcely moved from where he stood +beside the table. Nothing but an unplastered roof was between him and +the storm, and over his head the thunder crashed, and the rain beat in +torrents. He saw where the window was, carefully covered with a +blanket. Even through the blanket he caught faintly the illumination of +lightning. This window overlooked the entrance to Kedsty's bungalow, +and the idea came to him of turning out the light and opening it. In +darkness he took down the blanket. But the window itself was not +movable, and after assuring himself of this fact he flattened his face +against it, peering out into the chaos of the night. +</P> + +<P> +In that instant came a flare of lightning, and to Kent, looking down, +was revealed a sight that tightened every muscle in his body. More +vividly than if it had been day he saw a man standing below in the +deluge. It was not Mooie. It was not Kedsty. It was no one that he had +ever seen. Even more like a ghost than a man was that apparition of the +lightning flare. A great, gaunt giant of a ghost, bare-headed, with +long, dripping hair and a long, storm-twisted beard. The picture shot +to his brain with the swiftness of the lightning itself. It was like +the sudden throwing of a cinema picture on a screen. Then blackness +shut it out. Kent stared harder. He waited. +</P> + +<P> +Again came the lightning, and again he saw that tragic, ghost-like +figure waiting in the storm. Three times he saw it. And he knew that +the mysterious, bearded giant was an old man. The fourth time the +lightning came, the figure was gone. And in that flare it was the bowed +figure of Kedsty he saw hurrying up the gravel path to the door. +</P> + +<P> +Quickly Kent covered the window, but he did not relight the lamp. +Before Kedsty could have reached the foot of the stair, he had unlocked +the door. Cautiously he opened it three or four inches and sat down +with his back against the wall, listening. He heard Kedsty pass through +into the big room where Marette had waited for him a short time before. +After that there was silence except for the tumult of the storm. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour Kent listened. In all that time he did not hear a sound +from the lower hall or from Marette's room. He wondered if she was +sleeping, and if Kedsty had gone to bed, waiting for morning before he +set in action his bloodhounds of the law. +</P> + +<P> +Kent had no intention of disturbing the comfortable looking bed of +blankets. He was not only sleepless, but filled with a premonition of +events about to happen. He felt impinging itself more and more upon him +a sense of watchfulness. That Inspector Kedsty and Marette Radisson +were under the same roof, and that there was some potent and mysterious +reason which kept Kedsty from betraying the girl's presence, was the +thought which troubled him most. He was not developing further the +plans for his own escape. +</P> + +<P> +He was thinking of Marette. What was her power over Kedsty? Why was it +that Kedsty would like to see her dead? Why was she in his house? Again +and again he asked himself the questions and found no answers to them. +And yet, even in this purgatory of mystery that environed him, he felt +himself happier than he had ever been in his life. For Marette was not +four or five hundred miles down the river. She was in the same house +with him. And he had told her that he loved her. He was glad that he +had been given courage to let her know that. He relighted the lamp, and +opened his watch and placed it on the table, where frequently he could +look at the time. He wanted to smoke his pipe, but the odor of tobacco, +he was sure, would reach Kedsty, unless the Inspector had actually +retired into his bedroom for the night. +</P> + +<P> +Half a dozen times he questioned himself as to the identity of the +ghostly apparition he had seen in the lightning flare of the storm. +Perhaps it was some one of Fingers' strange friends from out of the +wilderness, Mooie's partner in watching the bungalow. The picture of +that giant of a man with his great beard and long hair, as his eyes had +caught him in a sea of electrical fire, was indelibly burned into his +brain. It was a tragic picture. +</P> + +<P> +Again he put out the light and bared the blanketed window, but he saw +nothing but the sodden gleam of the earth when the lightning flashed. A +second time he opened the door a few inches and sat down with his back +to the wall, listening. +</P> + +<P> +How long it was before drowsiness stole upon him he did not know, but +it came, and for a few moments at a time, as his eyes closed, it robbed +him of his caution. And then, for a space, he slept. A sound brought +him suddenly into wide wakefulness. His first impression was that the +sound had been a cry. For a moment or two, as his senses adjusted +themselves, he was not sure. Then swiftly the thing grew upon him. +</P> + +<P> +He rose to his feet and widened the crack of his door. A bar of light +shot across the upper hall. It was from Marette's room. He had taken +off his boots to deaden the sound of his feet, and he stepped outside +his door. He was positive he heard a low cry, a choking, sobbing cry, +only barely audible, and that it came from down the stair. +</P> + +<P> +No longer hesitating, he moved quickly to Marette's room and looked in. +His first glimpse was of the bed. It had not been used. The room was +empty. +</P> + +<P> +Something cold and chilling gripped at his heart, and an impulse which +he no longer made an effort to resist pulled him to the head of the +stair. It was more than an impulse—it was a demand. Step by step he +went down, his hand on the butt of his Colt. +</P> + +<P> +He reached the lower hall, which was still lighted, and a step or two +brought him to a view of the door that opened into the big living-room +beyond. That door was partly open, and the room itself was filled with +light. Soundlessly Kent approached. He looked in. +</P> + +<P> +What he saw first brought him relief together with shock. At one end of +the long desk table over which hung a great brass lamp stood Marette. +She was in profile to him. He could not see her face. Her hair fell +loose about her, glowing like a rich, sable cape in the light of the +lamp. She was safe, alive, and yet the attitude of her as she looked +down was the thing that gave him shock. He was compelled to move a few +inches more before he could see what she was staring at. And then his +heart stopped dead still. +</P> + +<P> +Huddled down in his chair, with his head flung back so that the +terrible ghastliness of his face fronted Kent, was Kedsty. And Kent, in +an instant, knew. Only a dead man could look like that. +</P> + +<P> +With a cry he entered the room. Marette did not start, but an answering +cry came into her throat as she turned her eyes from Kedsty to him. To +Kent it was like looking upon the dead in two ways. Marette Radisson, +living and breathing, was whiter than Kedsty, who was white with the +unbreathing pallor of the actually dead. She did not speak. She made no +sound after that answering cry in her throat. She simply looked. And +Kent spoke her name gently as he saw her great, wide eyes blazing dully +their agony and despair. Then, like one stunned and fascinated, she +stared down upon Kedsty again. +</P> + +<P> +Every instinct of the man-hunter became alive in Kent's brain as he, +too, turned toward the Inspector of Police. Kedsty's arms hung limp +over the side of his chair. On the floor under his right hand was his +Colt automatic. His head was strained so far over the back of the chair +that it looked as though his neck had been broken. On his forehead, +close up against his short-cropped, iron-gray hair, was a red stain. +</P> + +<P> +Kent approached and bent over him. He had seen death too many times not +to recognize it now, but seldom had he seen a face twisted and +distorted as Kedsty's was. His eyes were open and bulging in a glassy +stare. His jaws hung loose. His— +</P> + +<P> +It was then Kent's blood froze in his veins. Kedsty had received a +blow, but it was not the blow that had killed him. Afterward he had +been choked to death. And the thing that had choked him was a TRESS OF +WOMAN'S HAIR. +</P> + +<P> +In the seconds that followed that discovery Kent could not have moved +if his own life had paid the penalty of inaction. For the story was +told—there about Kedsty's throat and on his chest. The tress of hair +was long and soft and shining and black. It was twisted twice around +Kedsty's neck, and the loose end rippled down over his shoulder, +GLOWING LIKE A BIT OF RICH SABLE IN THE LAMPLIGHT. It was that thought +of velvety sable that had come to him at the doorway, looking at +Marette. It was the thought that came to him now. He touched it; he +took it in his fingers; he unwound it from about Kedsty's neck, where +it had made two deep rings in the flesh. From his fingers it rippled +out full length. And he turned slowly and faced Marette Radisson. +</P> + +<P> +Never had human eyes looked at him as she was looking at him now. She +reached out a hand, her lips mute, and Kent gave her the tress of hair. +And the next instant she turned, with a hand clasped at her own throat, +and passed through the door. +</P> + +<P> +After that he heard her going unsteadily up the stairs. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +Kent did not move. His senses for a space were stunned. He was almost +physically insensible to all emotions but that one of shock and horror. +He was staring at Kedsty's gray-white, twisted face when he heard +Marette's door close. A cry came from his lips, but he did not hear +it—was unconscious that he had made a sound. His body shook with a +sudden tremor. He could not disbelieve, for the evidence was there. +From behind, as he had sat in his chair Marette Radisson had struck the +Inspector of Police with some blunt object. The blow had stunned him. +And after that— +</P> + +<P> +He drew a hand across his eyes, as if to clear his vision. What he had +seen was impossible. The evidence was impossible. Assaulted, in deadly +peril, defending either honor or love, Marette Radisson was of the +blood to kill. But to creep up behind her victim—it was inconceivable! +Yet there had been no struggle. Even the automatic on the floor gave no +evidence of that. Kent picked it up. He looked at it closely, and again +the unconscious cry of despair came in a half groan from his lips. For +on the butt of the Colt was a stain of blood and a few gray hairs. +Kedsty had been stunned by a blow from his own gun! +</P> + +<P> +As Kent placed it on the table, his eyes caught suddenly a gleam of +steel under the edge of a newspaper, and he drew out from their +hiding-place the long-bladed clipping scissors which Kedsty had used in +the preparation of his scrap-books and official reports. It was the +last link in the deadly evidence—the automatic with its telltale +stain, the scissors, the tress of hair, and Marette Radisson. He felt a +sensation of sudden dizziness. Every nerve-center in his body had +received its shock, and when the shock had passed it left him sweating. +</P> + +<P> +Swiftly the reaction came. It was a lie, he told himself. The evidence +was false. Marette could not have committed that crime, as the crime +had visualized itself before his eyes. There was something which he had +not seen, something which he could not see, something that was hiding +itself from him. He became, in an instant, the old James Kent. The +instinctive processes of the man-hunter leaped to their stations like +trained soldiers. He saw Marette again, as she had looked at him when +he entered the room. It was not murder he had caught in her wide-open +eyes. It was not hatred. It was not madness. It was a quivering, +bleeding soul crying out to him in an agony that no other human eyes +had ever revealed to him before. And suddenly a great voice cried out +in his brain, drowning all other things, telling him how contemptible a +thing was love unless in that love was faith. +</P> + +<P> +With his heart choking him, he turned again to Kedsty. The futility of +the thing which he had told himself was faith gripped at him +sickeningly, yet he fought for that faith, even as his eyes looked +again upon the ghastly torture that was in Kedsty's face. +</P> + +<P> +He was becoming calmer. He touched the dead man's cheek and found that +it was no longer warm. The tragedy must have occurred an hour before. +He examined more closely the abrasion on Kedsty's forehead. It was not +a deep wound, and the blow that had made it must have stunned the +Inspector of Police for only a short time. In that space the other +thing had happened. In spite of his almost superhuman effort to keep +the picture away from him, Kent saw it vividly—the swift turning to +the table, the inspiration of the scissors, the clipping of the long +tress of hair, the choking to death of Kedsty as he regained +consciousness. Over and over again he whispered to himself the +impossibility of it, the absurdity of it, the utter incongruity of it. +Only a brain gone mad would have conceived that monstrous way of +killing Kedsty. And Marette was not mad. She was sane. +</P> + +<P> +Like the eyes of a hunting ferret his own eyes swept quickly about the +room. At the four windows there were long curtain cords. On the walls, +hung there as trophies, were a number of weapons. On one end of +Kedsty's desk, used as a paperweight, was a stone tomahawk. Still +nearer to the dead man's hands, unhidden by papers, was a boot-lace. +Under his limp right hand was the automatic. With these possible +instruments of death close at hand, ready to be snatched up without +trouble or waste of time, why had the murderer used a tress of woman's +hair? +</P> + +<P> +The boot-lace drew Kent's eyes. It was impossible not to see it, +forty-eight inches long and quarter-inch-wide buckskin. He began +seeking for its mate, and found it on the floor where Marette Radisson +had been standing. And again the unanswerable question pounded in +Kent's brain—why had Kedsty's murderer used a tress of hair instead of +a buckskin lace or one of the curtain cords hanging conspicuously at +the windows? +</P> + +<P> +He went to each of these windows and found them locked. Then, a last +time, he bent over Kedsty. He knew that in the final moments of his +life Kedsty had suffered a slow and torturing agony. His twisted face +left the story. And the Inspector of Police was a powerful man. He had +struggled, still partly dazed by the blow. But it had taken strength to +overcome him even then, to hold his head back, to choke life out of him +slowly with the noose of hair. And Kent, now that the significance of +what he saw began to grow upon him more clearly, felt triumphing over +all other things in his soul a slow and mighty joy. It was +inconceivable that with the strength of her own hands and body Marette +Radisson had killed Kedsty. A greater strength than hers had held him +in the death-chair, and a greater strength than hers had choked life +from the Inspector of Police! +</P> + +<P> +He drew slowly out of the room, closing the door noiselessly behind +him. He found that the front door was as Kedsty had left it, unlocked. +</P> + +<P> +Close to that door he stood for a space, scarcely allowing himself to +breathe. He listened, but no sound came down the dimly illumined +stairway. +</P> + +<P> +A new thing was pressing upon him now. It rode over the shock of +tragedy, over the first-roused instincts of the man-hunter, +overwhelming him with the realization of a horror such as had never +confronted him before. It gripped him more fiercely than the mere +killing of Kedsty. His thought was of Marette, of the fate which dawn +and discovery would bring for her. His hands clenched and his jaws +tightened. The world was against him, and tomorrow it would be against +her. Only he, in the face of all that condemning evidence in the room +beyond, would disbelieve her guilty of Kedsty's death. And he, Jim +Kent, was already a murderer in the eyes of the law. +</P> + +<P> +He felt within him the slow-growing inspiration of a new spirit, the +gathering might of a new force. A few hours ago he was an outcast. He +was condemned. Life, for him, had been robbed of its last hope. And in +that hour of his grimmest despair Marette Radisson had come to him. +Through storm that had rocked the earth under her feet and set ablaze +the chaotic blackness of the sky over her head she had struggled—for +him. She had counted no cost. She had measured no chances. She had +simply come—BECAUSE SHE BELIEVED IN HIM. And now, upstairs, she was +the victim of the terrible price that was the first cost of his +freedom. For he believed, now that the thought came to him like a +dagger stroke, that this was so. Her act in freeing him had brought +about the final climax, and as a result of it, Kedsty was dead. +</P> + +<P> +He went to the foot of the stair. Quietly, in his shoeless feet, he +began to climb them. He wanted to cry out Marette's name even before he +came to the top. He wanted to reach up to her with his arms +outstretched. But he came silently to her door and looked in. +</P> + +<P> +She lay in a crumpled, huddled heap on her bed. Her face was hidden, +and all about her lay her smothering hair. For a moment he was +frightened. He could not see that she was breathing. So still was she +that she was like one dead. +</P> + +<P> +His footsteps were unheard as he moved across the room. He knelt down +beside her, reached out his arms, and gathered her into them. +</P> + +<P> +"Marette!" he cried in a low voice. +</P> + +<P> +He felt the sudden quiver, like a little shock, that ran through her. +He crushed his face down, so that it lay in her hair, still damp from +its wetting. He drew her closer, tightening his arms about her slender +body, and a little cry came from her a cry that was a broken thing, a +sob without tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Marette!" +</P> + +<P> +It was all he said. It was all he could say in that moment when his +heart was beating like a drum against her breast. And then he felt the +slow pressure of her hands against him, saw her white face, her wide, +staring eyes within a few inches of his own, and she drew away from +him, back against the wall, still huddled like a child on the bed, with +her eyes fixed on him in a way that frightened him. There were no tears +in them. She had not been crying. But her face was as white as he had +seen it down in Kedsty's room. Some of the horror and shock had gone +out of it. In it was another look as her eyes glowed upon Kent. It was +a look of incredulity, of disbelief, a thing slowly fading away under +the miracle of an amazing revelation. The truth thrust itself upon him. +</P> + +<P> +Marette had not expected that he would come to her like this. She had +believed that he would take flight into the night, escaping from her as +he would have run from a plague. She put up her two hands, in the trick +they had of groping at her white throat, and her lips formed a word +which she did not speak. +</P> + +<P> +Kent, to his own amazement, was smiling and still on his knees. He +pulled himself to his feet, and stood up straight, looking down at her +in that same strange, comforting, all-powerful way. The thrill of it +was passing into her veins. A flush of color was driving the deathly +pallor from her face. Her lips were parted, and she breathed quickly, a +little excitedly. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought—you would go!" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Not without you," he said. "I have come to take you with me." +</P> + +<P> +He drew out his watch. It was two o'clock. He held it down so that she +could look at the dial. +</P> + +<P> +"If the storm keeps up, we have three hours before dawn," he said. "How +soon can you be ready, Marette?" +</P> + +<P> +He was fighting to make his voice quiet and unexcited. It was a +terrific struggle. And Marette was not blind to it. She drew herself +from the bed and stood up before him, her two hands still clasped at +her throbbing throat. +</P> + +<P> +"You believe—that I killed Kedsty," she said in a voice that was +forced from her lips. "And you have come to help me—to pay me for what +I tried to do for you? That is it—Jeems?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pay you?" he cried. "I couldn't pay you in a million years! From that +day you first came to Cardigan's place you gave me life. You came when +the last spark of hope in me had died. I shall always believe that I +would have died that night. But you saved me. +</P> + +<P> +"From the moment I saw you I loved you, and I believe it was that love +that kept me alive. And then you came to me again, down there, through +this storm. Pay you! I can't. I never shall be able to. Because you +thought I had killed a man made no difference You came just the same. +And you came ready to kill, if necessary—for me. I'm not trying to +tell myself WHY! But you did. You were ready to kill. And I am ready to +kill—tonight—for you! I haven't got time to think about Kedsty. I'm +thinking about you. If you killed him, I'm just telling myself there +was a mighty good reason for it. But I don't believe it was you who +killed him. You couldn't do it—with those hands!" +</P> + +<P> +He reached out suddenly and seized them, slipping his grip to her +wrists, so that her hands lay upward in his own, hands that were small, +slim-fingered, soft-palmed, beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +"They couldn't!" he cried, almost fiercely. "I swear to God they +couldn't!" +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes and face flamed at his words. "You believe that, Jeems?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, just as you believe that I did not kill John Barkley. But the +world is against us. It is against us both now. And we've got to hunt +that hidden valley of yours together. Understand, Marette? And +I'm—rather glad." +</P> + +<P> +He turned toward the door. "Will you be ready in ten minutes?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. "Yes, in ten minutes." +</P> + +<P> +He ran out into the hall and down the stair, locking the front door. +Then he returned to his hiding-place under the roof. He knew that a +strange sort of madness was in his blood, for in the face of tonight's +tragedy only madness could inspire him with the ecstatic thrill that +was in his veins. Kedsty's death seemed far removed from a more +important thing—the fact that from this hour Marette was his to fight +for, that she belonged to him, that she must go with him. He loved her. +In spite of whoever she was and whatever she had done, he loved her. +Very soon she would tell him what had happened in the room below, and +the thing would be clear. +</P> + +<P> +There was one little corner of his brain that fought him. It kept +telling him, like a parrot, that it was a tress of Marette's hair about +Kedsty's throat, and that it was the hair that had choked him. But +Marette would explain that, too. He was sure of it. In the face of the +facts below he was illogical and unreasonable. He knew it. But his love +for this girl, who had come strangely and tragically into his life, was +like an intoxicant. And his faith was illimitable. She did not kill +Kedsty. Another part of his brain kept repeating that over and over, +even as he recalled that only a few hours before she had told him quite +calmly that she would kill the Inspector of Police—if a certain thing +should happen. +</P> + +<P> +His hands worked as swiftly as his thoughts. He laced up his service +boots. All the food and dishes on the table he made into a compact +bundle and placed in the shoulder-pack. He carried this and the rifle +out into the hall. Then he returned to Marette's room. The door was +closed. At his knock the girl's voice told him that she was not quite +ready. +</P> + +<P> +He waited. He could hear her moving about quickly in her room. An +interval of silence followed. Another five minutes +passed—ten—fifteen. He tapped at the door again. This time it was +opened. +</P> + +<P> +He stared, amazed at the change in Marette. She had stepped back from +the door to let him enter, and stood full in the lamp-glow. Her slim, +beautiful body was dressed in a velvety blue corduroy; the coat was +close-fitting and boyish; the skirt came only a little below her knees. +On her feet were high-topped caribou boots. About her waist was a +holster and the little black gun. Her hair was done up and crowded +under a close-fitting turban. She was exquisitely lovely, as she stood +there waiting for him, and in that loveliness Kent saw there was not +one thing out of place. The corduroy, the turban, the short skirt, and +the high, laced boots were made for the wilderness. She was not a +tenderfoot. She was a little sourdough—clear through! Gladness leaped +into Kent's face. But it was not the transformation of her dress alone +that amazed him. She was changed in another way. Her cheeks were +flushed. Her eyes glowed with a strange and wonderful radiance as she +looked at him. Her lips were red, as he had seen them that first time +at Cardigan's place. Her pallor, her fear, her horror were gone, and in +their place was the repressed excitement of one about to enter upon a +strange adventure. +</P> + +<P> +On the floor was a pack only half as large as Kent's and when he picked +it up, he found it of almost no weight. He fastened it to his own pack +while Marette put on her raincoat and went down the stair ahead of him. +In the hall below she was waiting, when he came down, with Kedsty's big +rubber slicker in her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"You must put it on," she said. +</P> + +<P> +She shuddered slightly as she held the garment. The color was almost +gone from her cheeks, as she faced the door beyond which the dead man +sat in his chair, but the marvelous glow was still in her eyes as she +helped Kent with his pack and the slicker and afterward stood for an +instant with her hands touching his breast and her lips as if about to +speak something which she held back. +</P> + +<P> +A few steps beyond them they heard the storm. It seemed to rush upon +the bungalow in a new fury, beating at the door, crashing over their +heads in thunder, daring them to come out. Kent reached up and turned +out the hall light. +</P> + +<P> +In darkness he opened the door. Rain and wind swept in. With his free +hand he groped out, found Marette, drew her after him, and closed the +door again. Entering from the lighted hall into the storm was like +being swallowed in a pit of blackness. It engulfed and smothered them. +Then came suddenly a flash of lightning, and he saw Marette's face, +white and drenched, but looking at him with that same strange glow in +her eyes. It thrilled him. Even in the darkness it was there. It had +been there since he had returned to her from Kedsty and had knelt at +her bedside, with his arms about her for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +Only now, in the beat of the storm, did an answer to the miracle of it +come to him. It was because of HIM. It was because of his FAITH in her. +Even death and horror could not keep it from her eyes. He wanted to cry +out the joy of his discovery, to give wild voice to it in the teeth of +the wind and the rain. He felt sweeping through him a force mightier +than that of the night. Her hands were on his arm, as if she was afraid +of losing him in that pit of blackness; the soft cling of them was like +a contact through which came a warm thrill of electrical life. He put +out his arm and drew her to him, so that for a moment his face pressed +against the top of her wet little turban. +</P> + +<P> +And then he heard her say: "There is a scow at the bayou, Jeems. It is +close to the end of the path. M'sieu Fingers has kept it there, +waiting, ready." +</P> + +<P> +He had been thinking of Crossen's place and an open boat. He blessed +Fingers again, as he took Marette's hand in his own and started for the +trail that led through the poplar thicket. +</P> + +<P> +Their feet slopped deep in wet and mud, and with the rain there was a +wind that took their breath away. It was impossible to see a tree an +arm's length away, and Kent hoped that the lightning would come +frequently enough to guide him. In the first flare of it he looked down +the slope that led riverward. Little rivulets of water were running +down it. Rocks and stumps were in their way, and underfoot it was +slippery. Marette's fingers were clinging to his again, as she had held +to them on the wild race up to Kedsty's bungalow from the barracks. He +had tingled then in the sheer joy of their thrill, but it was a +different thrill that stirred him now—an overwhelming emotion of +possessorship. This night, with its storm and its blackness, was the +most wonderful of all his nights. +</P> + +<P> +He sensed nothing of its discomfort. It could not beat back the joyous +racing of the blood in his body. Sun and stars, day and night, sunshine +and cloud, were trivial and inconsequential to him now. For close to +him, struggling with him, fighting through the night with him, trusting +him, helpless without him, was the living, breathing thing he loved +more than he loved his own life. For many years, without knowing it, he +had waited for this night, and now that it was upon him, it inundated +and swept away his old life. He was no longer the huntsman, but the +hunted. He was no longer alone, but had a priceless thing to fight for, +a priceless and helpless thing that was clinging to his fingers in the +darkness. He did not feel like a fugitive, but as one who has come into +a great triumph. He sensed no uncertainty or doubt. +</P> + +<P> +The river lay ahead, and for him the river had become the soul and the +promise of life. It was Marette's river and his river, and in a little +while they would be on it. And Marette would then tell him about +Kedsty. He was sure of that. She would tell him what had happened while +he slept. His faith was illimitable. +</P> + +<P> +They came into the sodden dip at the foot of the ridge, and the +lightning revealed to him the edge of the poplar growth in which +O'Connor had seen Marette many weeks ago. The bayou trail wound through +this, and Kent struck out for it blindly in the darkness. He did not +try to talk, but he freed his companion's hand and put his arm about +her when they came to the level ground, so that she was sheltered by +him from the beat of the storm. Then brush swished in their faces, and +they stopped, waiting for the lightning again. Kent was not anxious for +it to come. He drew the girl still closer, and in that pit of +blackness, with the deluge about her and the crash of thunder over her +head, she snuggled up against his breast, the throb of her body against +him, waiting, watching, with him. Her frailty, the helplessness of her, +the slimness of her in the crook of his arm, filled him with an +exquisite exultation. He did not think of her now as the splendid, +fearless creature who had leveled her little black gun at the three men +in barracks. She was no longer the mysterious, defiant, unafraid person +who had held him in a sort of awe that first hour in Kedsty's place. +For she was crumpled against him now, utterly dependent and afraid. In +that chaos of storm something told him that her nerve was broken, that +without him she would be lost and would cry out in fear. AND HE WAS +GLAD! He held her tighter; he bent his head until his face touched the +wet, crushed hair under the edge of her turban. And then the lightning +split open the night again, and he saw the way ahead of him to the +trail. +</P> + +<P> +Even in darkness it was not difficult to follow in the clean-cut wagon +path. Over their heads the tops of the poplars swished and wailed. +Under their feet the roadway in places was a running stream or +inundated until it became a pool. In pitch blackness they struck such a +pool, and in spite of the handicap of his packs and rifle Kent stopped +suddenly, and picked Marette up in his arms, and carried her until they +reached high ground. He did not ask permission. And Marette, for a +minute or two, lay crumpled up close in his arms, and for a thrilling +instant his face touched her rain-wet cheek. +</P> + +<P> +The miracle of their adventure was that neither spoke. To Kent the +silence between them had become a thing which he had no desire to +break. In that silence, excused and abetted by the tumult of the storm, +he felt that a wonderful something was drawing them closer and closer +together, and that words might spoil the indescribable magic of the +thing that was happening. When he set Marette on her feet again, her +hand accidentally fell upon his, and for a moment her fingers closed +upon it in a soft pressure that meant more to him than a thousand words +of gratitude. +</P> + +<P> +A quarter of a mile beyond the poplar thicket they came to the edge of +the spruce and cedar timber, and Soon the thick walls of the forest +shut them in, sheltering them from the wind, but the blackness was even +more like that of a bottomless pit. Kent had noticed that the thunder +and lightning were drifting steadily eastward, and now the occasional +flashes of electrical fire scarcely illumined the trail ahead of them. +The rain was not beating so fiercely. They could hear the wail of the +spruce and cedar tops and the slush of their boots in mud and water. An +interval came, where the spruce-tops met overhead, when it was almost +calm. It was then that Kent threw out of him a great, deep breath and +laughed joyously and exultantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you wet, little Gray Goose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only outside, Big Otter. My feathers have kept me dry." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice had a trembling, half-sobbing, half-rejoicing note in it. It +was not the voice of one who had recently killed a man. In it was a +pathos which Kent knew she was trying to hide behind brave words. Her +hands clung to the arm of his rubber slicker even as they stood there, +close together, as if she was afraid something might drag them apart in +that treacherous gloom. Kent, fumbling for a moment, drew from an inner +pocket a dry handkerchief. Then he found her face, tilted it a bit +upward, and wiped it dry. He might have done the same thing to a child +who had been crying. After that he scrubbed his own, and they went on, +his arm about her again. +</P> + +<P> +It was half a mile from the edge of the forest to the bayou, and half a +dozen times in that distance Kent took the girl in his arms and carried +her through water that almost reached his boot tops. The lightning no +longer served them. The rain still fell steadily, but the wind had gone +with the eastward sweep of the storm. Close-hung with the forest walls, +the bayou itself was indiscernible in the blackness. Marette guided him +now, though Kent walked ahead of her, holding firmly to her hand. +Unless Fingers had changed its location, the scow should be somewhere +within forty or fifty paces of the end of the trail. It was small, a +two-man scow, with a tight little house built amidships. And it was +tied close up against the shore. Marette told him this as they felt +their way through brush and reeds. Then he stumbled against something +taut and knee-high, and he found it was the tie-rope. +</P> + +<P> +Leaving Marette with her back to the anchor tree, he went aboard. The +water was three or four inches deep in the bottom of the scow, but the +cabin was built on a platform raised above the floor of the boat, and +Kent hoped it was still dry. He groped until he found the twisted wire +which held the door shut. Opening it, he ducked his head low and +entered. The little room was not more than four feet high, and for +greater convenience he fell upon his knees while fumbling under his +slicker for his water-proof box of matches. The water had not yet risen +above the floor. +</P> + +<P> +The first light he struck revealed the interior to him. It was a tiny +cabin, scarcely larger than some boxes he had seen. It was about eight +feet long by six in width, and the ceiling was so low that, even +kneeling, his head touched it. His match burned out, and he lighted +another. This time he saw a candle stuck in a bit of split birch that +projected from the wall. He crept to it and lighted it. For a moment he +looked about him, and again he blessed Fingers. The little scow was +prepared for a voyage. Two narrow bunks were built at the far end, one +so close above the other that Kent grinned as he thought of squeezing +between. There were blankets. Within reach of his arm was a tiny stove, +and close to the stove a supply of kindling and dry wood. The whole +thing made him think of a child's playhouse. Yet there was still room +for a wide, comfortable, cane-bottomed chair, a stool, and a +smooth-planed board fastened under a window, so that it answered the +purpose of a table. This table was piled with many packages. +</P> + +<P> +He stripped off his packs and returned for Marette. She had come to the +edge of the scow and called to him softly as she heard him splashing +through the water. Her arms were reaching toward him, to meet him in +the darkness. He carried her through the shallow sea about his feet and +laughed as he put her down on the edge of the platform at the door. It +was a low, joyous laugh. The yellow light of the candle sputtered in +their wet faces. Only dimly could he see her, but her eyes were shining. +</P> + +<P> +"Your nest, little Gray Goose," he cried gently. +</P> + +<P> +Her hand reached up and touched his face. "You have been good to me, +Jeems," she said, a little tremble in her voice. "You may—kiss me." +</P> + +<P> +Out in the beat of the rain Kent's heart choked him with song. His soul +swelled with the desire to shout forth a paean of joy and triumph at +the world he was leaving this night for all time. With the warm thrill +of Marette's lips he had become the superman, and as he leaped ashore +in the darkness and cut the tie-rope with a single slash of his knife, +he wanted to give voice to the thing that was in him as the rivermen +had chanted in the glory of their freedom the day the big brigade +started north. And he DID sing, under his laughing, sobbing breath. +With a giant's strength he sent the scow out into the bayou, and then +back and forth he swung the long one-man sweep, twisting the craft +riverward with the force of two pairs of arms instead of one. Behind +the closed door of the tiny cabin was all that the world now held worth +fighting for. By turning his head he could see the faint illumination +of the candle at the window. The light—the cabin—Marette! +</P> + +<P> +He laughed inanely, foolishly, like a boy. He began to hear a dull, +droning murmur, a sound that with each stroke of the sweep grew into a +more distinct, cataract-like roar. It was the river. Swollen by flood, +it was a terrifying sound. But Kent did not dread it. It was his river; +it was his friend. It was the pulse and throb of life to him now. The +growing tumult of it was not menace, but the joyous thunder of many +voices calling to him, rejoicing at his coming. It grew in his ears. +Over his head the black sky opened again, and a deluge of rain fell +straight down. But above the sound of it the rush of the river drew +nearer, and still nearer. He felt the first eddying swirl of it against +the scow head, and powerful hands seemed to reach in out of the +darkness. He knew that the nose of the current had caught him and was +carrying him out on the breast of the stream. He shipped the sweep and +straightened himself, facing the utter chaos of blackness ahead. He +felt under him the slow and mighty pulse of the great flood as it swept +toward the Slave, the Mackenzie, and the Arctic. And he cried out at +last in the downpour of storm, a cry of joy, of exultation, of hope +that reached beyond the laws of men—and then he turned toward the +little cabin, where through the thickness of sodden night the tiny +window was glowing yellow with candle-light. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<P> +To the cabin Kent groped his way, and knocked, and it was Marette who +opened the door for him and stepped back for him to enter. Like a great +wet dog he came in, doubling until his hands almost touched the floor. +He sensed the incongruity of it, the misplacement of his overgrown body +in this playhouse thing, and he grinned through the trickles of wet +that ran down his face, and tried to see. Marette had taken off her +turban and rain-coat, and she, too, stooped low in the four-feet space +of the cabin—but not so ridiculously low as Kent. He dropped on his +knees again. And then he saw that in the tiny stove a fire was burning. +The crackle of it rose above the beat of the rain on the roof, and the +air was already mellowing with the warmth of it. He looked at Marette. +Her wet hair was still clinging to her face, her feet and arms and part +of her body were wet; but her eyes were shining, and she was smiling at +him. She seemed to him, in this moment, like a child that was glad it +had found refuge. He had thought that the terror of the night would +show in her face, but it was gone. She was not thinking of the thunder +and the lightning, the black trail, or of Kedsty lying dead in his +bungalow. She was thinking of him. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed outright. It was a joyous, thrilling thing, this black night +with the storm over their heads and the roll of the great river under +them—they two—alone—in this cockleshell cabin that was not high +enough to stand in and scarcely big enough in any direction to turn +round in. The snug cheer of it, the warmth of the fire beginning to +reach their chilled bodies, and the inspiring crackle of the birch in +the little stove filled Kent, for a space, with other thoughts than +those of the world they were leaving. And Marette, whose eyes and lips +were smiling at him softly in the candle-glow, seemed also to have +forgotten. It was the little window that brought them back to the +tragedy of their flight. Kent visioned it as it must look from the +shore—a telltale blotch of light traveling through the darkness. There +were occasional cabins for several miles below the Landing, and eyes +turned riverward in the storm might see it. He made his way to the +window and fastened his slicker over it. +</P> + +<P> +"We're off, Gray Goose," he said then, rubbing his hands. "Would it +seem more homelike if I smoked?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded, her eyes on the slicker at the window. +</P> + +<P> +"It's pretty safe," said Kent, fishing out his pipe, and beginning to +fill it. "Everybody asleep, probably. But we won't take any chances." +The scow was swinging sideways in the current. Kent felt the change in +its movement, and added: "No danger of being wrecked, either. There +isn't a rock or rapids for thirty miles. River clear as a floor. If we +bump ashore, don't get frightened." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not afraid—of the river," she said. Then, with rather startling +unexpectedness, she asked him, "Where will they look for us tomorrow?" +</P> + +<P> +Kent lighted his pipe, eyeing her a bit speculatively as she seated +herself on the stool, leaning toward him as she waited for an answer to +her question. +</P> + +<P> +"The woods, the river, everywhere," he said. "They'll look for a +missing boat, of course. We've simply got to watch behind us and take +advantage of a good start." +</P> + +<P> +"Will the rain wipe out our footprints, Jeems?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Everything in the open." +</P> + +<P> +"But—perhaps—in a sheltered place—?" +</P> + +<P> +"We were in no sheltered place," he assured her. "Can you remember that +we were, Gray Goose?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head slowly. "No. But there was Mooie, under the window." +</P> + +<P> +"His footprints will be wiped out." +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad. I would not have him, or M'sieu Fingers, or any of our +friends brought into this trouble." +</P> + +<P> +She made no effort to hide the relief his words brought her. He was a +little amazed that she should worry over Fingers and the old Indian in +this hour of their own peril. That danger he had decided to keep as far +from her mind as possible. But she could not help realizing the +impending menace of it. She must know that within a few hours Kedsty +would be found, and the long arm of the wilderness police would begin +its work. And if it caught them— +</P> + +<P> +She had thrust her feet toward him and was wriggling them inside her +boots, so that he heard the slushing sound of water. "Ugh, but they are +wet!" she shivered. "Will you unlace them and pull them off for me, +Jeems?" +</P> + +<P> +He laid his pipe aside and knelt close to her. It took him five minutes +to get the boots off. Then he held one of her sodden little feet close +between his two big hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Cold—cold as ice," he said. "You must take off your stockings, +Marette. Please." +</P> + +<P> +He arranged a pile of wood in front of the stove and covered it with a +blanket which he pulled from one of the bunks. Then, still on his +knees, he drew the cane chair close to the fire and covered it with a +second blanket. A few moments later Marette was tucked comfortably in +this chair, with her bare feet on the blanketed pile of wood. Kent +opened the stove door. Then he extinguished one of the smoking candles, +and after that, the other. The flaming birch illumined the little cabin +with a mellower light. It gave a subdued flush to the girl's face. Her +eyes seemed to Kent wonderfully soft and beautiful in that changed +light. And when he had finished, she reached out a hand, and for an +instant it touched his face and his wet hair so lightly that he sensed +the thrilling caress of it without feeling its weight. +</P> + +<P> +"You are so good to me, Jeems," she said, and he thought there was a +little choking note in her throat. +</P> + +<P> +He had seated himself on the floor, close to her chair, with his back +to the wall. "It is because I love you, Gray Goose," he replied +quietly, looking straight into the fire. +</P> + +<P> +She was silent. She, too, was looking into the fire. Close over their +heads they heard the beating of the rain, like a thousand soft little +fists pounding the top of the cabin. Under them they could feel the +slow swinging of the scow as it responded to the twists and vagaries of +the current that was carrying them on. And Kent, unseen by the girl who +was looking away from him, raised his eyes. The birch light was glowing +in her hair; it trembled on her white throat; her long lashes were +caught in the shimmer of it. And, looking at her, Kent thought of +Kedsty lying back in his bungalow room, choked to death by a tress of +that glorious hair, so near to him now that, by leaning a little +forward, he might have touched it with his lips. The thought brought +him no horror. For even as he looked, one of her hands crept up to her +cheek—the small, soft hand that had touched his face and hair as +lightly as a bit of thistle-down—and he knew that two hands like that +could not have killed a man who was fighting for life when he died. +</P> + +<P> +And Kent reached up, and took the hand, and held it close in his own, +as he said, "Little Gray Goose, please tell me now—what happened in +Kedsty's room?" +</P> + +<P> +His voice thrilled with an immeasurable faith. He wanted her to know, +no matter what had happened, that this faith and his love for her could +not be shaken. He believed in her, and would always believe in her. +</P> + +<P> +Already he was sure that he knew how Kedsty had died. The picture of +the tragedy had pieced itself together in his mind, bit by bit. While +he slept, Marette and a man were down in the big room with the +Inspector of Police. The climax had come, and Kedsty was struck a +blow—in some unaccountable way—with his own gun. Then, just as Kedsty +was recovering sufficiently from the shock of the blow to fight, +Marette's companion had killed him. Horrified, dazed by what had +already happened, perhaps unconscious, she had been powerless to +prevent the use of a tress of her hair in the murderer's final work. +Kent, in this picture, eliminated the boot-laces and the curtain cords. +He knew that the unusual and the least expected happened frequently in +crime. And Marette's long hair was flowing loose about her. To use it +had simply been the first inspiration of the murderer. And Kent +believed, as he waited for her answer now, that Marette would tell him +this. +</P> + +<P> +And as he waited, he felt her fingers tighten in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, Gray Goose—what happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't—know—Jeems—" +</P> + +<P> +His eyes went to her suddenly from the fire, as if he was not quite +sure he had heard what she had said. She did not move her head, but +continued to gaze unseeingly into the flames. Inside his palm her +fingers worked to his thumb and held it tightly again, as they had +clung to it when she was frightened by the thunder and lightning. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what happened, Jeems." +</P> + +<P> +This time he did not feel the clinging thrill of her little fingers and +soft palm. Deep within him he experienced something that was like a +sudden and unexpected blow. He was ready to fight for her until his +last breath was gone. He was ready to believe anything she told +him—anything except this impossible thing which she had just spoken. +For she did know what had happened in Kedsty's room. She knew—unless— +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly his heart leaped with joyous hope. "You mean—you were +unconscious?" he cried in a low voice that trembled with his eagerness. +"You fainted—and it happened then?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. "No. I was asleep in my room. I didn't intend to +sleep, but—I did. Something awakened me. I thought I had been +dreaming. But something kept pulling me, pulling me downstairs. And +when I went, I found Kedsty like that. He was dead. I was paralyzed, +standing there, when you came." +</P> + +<P> +She drew her, hand away from him, gently, but significantly. "I know +you can't believe me, Jeems. It is impossible for you to believe me." +</P> + +<P> +"And you don't want me to believe you, Marette." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I do. You must believe me." +</P> + +<P> +"But the tress of hair—your hair—round Kedsty's neck—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped. His words, spoken gently as they were, seemed brutal to +him. Yet he could not see that they affected her. She did not flinch. +He saw no tremor of horror. Steadily she continued to look into the +fire. And his brain grew confused. Never in all his experience had he +seen such absolute and unaffected self-control. And somehow, it chilled +him. It chilled him even as he wanted to reach out and gather her close +in his arms, and pour his love into her ears, entreating her to tell +him everything, to keep nothing back from him that might help in the +fight he was going to make. +</P> + +<P> +And then she said, "Jeems, if we should be caught by the Police—it +would probably be quite soon, wouldn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"They won't catch us." +</P> + +<P> +"But our greatest danger of being caught is right now, isn't it?" she +insisted. +</P> + +<P> +Kent took out his watch and leaned over to look at it in the fireglow. +"It is three o'clock," he said. "Give me another day and night, Gray +Goose, and the Police will never find us." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment or two more she was silent. Then her hand reached out, and +her fingers twined softly round his thumb again. "Jeems—when we are +safe—when we are sure the Police won't find us—I will tell you all +that I know—about what happened in Kedsty's room. And I will tell +you—about—the hair. I will tell you—everything." Her fingers +tightened almost fiercely. "Everything," she repeated. "I will tell you +about that in Kedsty's room—and I will tell you about myself—and +after that—I am afraid—you won't like me." +</P> + +<P> +"I love you," he said, making no movement to touch her. "No matter what +you tell me, Gray Goose, I shall love you." +</P> + +<P> +She gave a little cry, scarcely more than a broken note in her throat, +and Kent—had her face been turned toward him then—would have seen the +glory that came into it, and into her eyes, like a swift flash of +light—and passed as swiftly away. +</P> + +<P> +What he did see, when she turned her head, were eyes caught suddenly by +something at the cabin door. He looked. Water was trickling in slowly +over the sill. +</P> + +<P> +"I expected that," he said cheerfully. "Our scow is turning into a +rain-barrel, Marette. Unless I bail out, we'll soon be flooded." +</P> + +<P> +He reached for his slicker and put it on. "It won't take me long to +throw the water overboard," he added. "And while I'm doing that I want +you to take OFF your wet things and tuck yourself into bed. Will you, +Gray Goose?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not tired, but if you think it is best—" Her hand touched his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"It is best," he said, and for a moment he bent over her until his lips +touched her hair. +</P> + +<P> +Then he seized a pail, and went out into the rain. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<P> +It was that hour when, with clear skies, the gray northern dawn would +have been breaking faintly over the eastern forests. Kent found the +darkness more fog-like; about him was a grayer, ghostlier sort of +gloom. But he could not see the water under his feet. Nor could he see +the rail of the scow, or the river. From the stern, ten feet from the +cabin door, the cabin itself was swallowed up and invisible. +</P> + +<P> +With the steady, swinging motion of the riverman he began bailing. So +regular became his movements that they ran in a sort of rhythmic +accompaniment to his thoughts. The monotonous splash, splash, splash of +the outflung pails of water assumed, after a few minutes, the character +of a mechanical thing. He could smell the nearness of the shore. Even +in the rain the tang of cedar and balsam came to him faintly. +</P> + +<P> +But it was the river that impressed itself most upon his senses. It +seemed to him, as the minutes passed, like a living thing. He could +hear it gurgling and playing under the end of the scow. And with that +sound there was another and more indescribable thing, the tremble of +it, the pulse of it, the thrill of it in the impenetrable gloom, the +life of it as it swept on in a slow and mighty flood between its +wilderness walls. Kent had always said, "You can hear the river's heart +beat—if you know how to listen for it." And he heard it now. He felt +it. The rain could not beat it out, nor could the splash of the water +he was throwing overboard drown it, and the darkness could not hide it +from the vision that was burning like a living coal within him. Always +it was the river that had given him consolation in times of loneliness. +For him it had grown into a thing with a soul, a thing that personified +hope, courage, comradeship, everything that was big and great in final +achievement. And tonight—for he still thought of the darkness as +night—the soul of it seemed whispering to him a sort of paean. +</P> + +<P> +He could not lose. That was the thought that filled him. Never had his +pulse beat with greater assurance, never had a more positive sense of +the inevitable possessed him. It was inconceivable, he thought, even to +fear the possibility of being taken by the Police. He was more than a +man fighting for his freedom alone, more than an individual struggling +for the right to exist. A thing vastly more priceless than either +freedom or life, if they were to be accepted alone, waited for him in +the little cabin, shut in by its sea of darkness. And ahead of them lay +their world. He emphasized that. THEIR world—the world which, in an +illusive and unreal sort of way, had been a part of his dreams all his +life. In that world they would shut themselves in. No one would ever +find them. And the glory of the sun and the stars and God's open +country would be with them always. +</P> + +<P> +Marette was the very heart of that reality which impinged itself upon +him now. He did not worry about what it was she would tell him +tomorrow, or day after tomorrow. He believed that it was then—when she +had told him what there was to tell, and he still reached, out his arms +to her—that she would come into those arms. And he knew that nothing +that might have happened in Kedsty's room would keep his arms from +reaching, to her. Such was his faith, potent as the mighty flood hidden +in the gray-ghost gloom of approaching dawn. +</P> + +<P> +Yet he did not expect to win easily. As he worked, his mind swept up +and down the Three Rivers from the Landing to Fort Simpson, and +mentally he pictured the situations that might arise, and how he would +triumph over them. He figured that the men at Barracks would not enter +Kedsty's bungalow until noon at the earliest. The Police gasoline +launch would probably set out on a river search soon after. By +mid-afternoon the scow would have a fifty-mile start. +</P> + +<P> +Before darkness came again they would be through the Death Chute, where +Follette and Ladouceur swam their mad race for the love of a girl. And +not many miles below the Chute was a swampy country where he could hide +the scow. Then they would start overland, west and north. Given until +another sunset, and they would be safe. This was what he expected. But +if it came to fighting—he would fight. +</P> + +<P> +The rain had slackened to a thin drizzle by the time he finished his +bailing. The aroma of cedar and balsam came to him more clearly, and he +heard more distinctly the murmuring surge of the river. He tapped again +at the door of the cabin, and Marette answered him. +</P> + +<P> +The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing coals when he entered. +Again he fell on his knees, and took off his dripping slicker. +</P> + +<P> +The girl greeted him from the berth. "You look like a great bear, +Jeems." There was a glad, welcoming note in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed, and drew the stool beside her, and managed to sit on it, +the roof compelling him to bend his head over a little. "I feel like an +elephant in a birdcage," he replied. "Are you comfortable, little Gray +Goose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But you, Jeems? You are wet!" +</P> + +<P> +"But so happy that I don't feel it, Gray Goose." +</P> + +<P> +He could make her out only dimly there in the darkness of the berth. +Her face was a pale shadow, and she had loosened her damp hair so that +the warmth and dry air might reach it more easily. Kent wondered if she +could hear the beating of his heart. He forgot the fire, and the +darkness grew thicker. He could no longer see the pale outline of her +face, and he drew back a little, possessed by the thought that it was +sacrilegious to bend nearer to her, like a thief, in that gloom. She +sensed his movement, and her hand reached to him and lay lightly with +its fingertips touching his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Jeems," she said softly. "I'm not sorry—now—that I came up to +Cardigan's place that day—when you thought you were dying. I wasn't +wrong. You are different. And I made fun of you then, and laughed at +you, because I knew that you were not going to die. Will you forgive +me?" +</P> + +<P> +He laughed happily. "It's funny how little things work out, sometimes," +he said. "Wasn't a kingdom lost once upon a time because some fellow +didn't have a horseshoe? Anyway, I knew of a man whose life was saved +because of a broken pipe-stem. And you came to me, and I'm here with +you now, because—" +</P> + +<P> +"Of what?" she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Because of something that happened a long time ago," he said. +"Something you wouldn't dream could have anything to do with you or +with me. Shall I tell you about it, Marette?" +</P> + +<P> +Her fingers pressed slightly upon his arm. "Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, it's a story of the Police," he began. "And I won't mention +this fellow's name. You may think of him as that red-headed O'Connor, +if you want to. But I don't say that it was he. He was a constable in +the Service and had been away North looking up some Indians who were +brewing an intoxicating liquor from roots. That was six years ago. And +he caught something. Le Mort Rouge, we sometimes call it—the Red +Death—or smallpox. And he was alone when the fever knocked him down, +three hundred miles from anywhere. His Indian ran away at the first +sign of it, and he had just time to get up his tent before he was flat +on his back. I won't try to tell you of the days he went through. It +was a living death. And he would have died, there is no doubt of it, if +it hadn't been for a stranger who came along. He was a white man. +Marette, it doesn't take a great deal of nerve to go up against a man +with a gun, when you've got a gun of your own; and it doesn't take such +a lot of nerve to go into battle when a thousand others are going with +you. But it does take nerve to face what that stranger faced. And the +sick man was nothing to him. He went into that tent and nursed the +other back to life. Then the sickness got him, and for ten weeks those +two were together, each fighting to save the other's life, and they won +out. But the glory of it was with the stranger. He was going west. The +constable was going south. They shook hands and parted." +</P> + +<P> +Marette's fingers tightened on Kent's arm. And Kent went on. +</P> + +<P> +"And the constable never forgot, Gray Goose. He wanted the day to come +when he might repay. And the time came. It was years later, and it +worked out in a curious way. A man was murdered. And the constable, who +had become a sergeant now, had talked with the dead man only a little +while before he was killed. Returning for something he had forgotten, +it was the sergeant who found him dead. Very shortly afterward a man +was arrested. There was blood on his clothing. The evidence was +convincing, deadly. And this man—" +</P> + +<P> +Kent paused, and in the darkness Marette's hand crept down his arm to +his hand, and her fingers closed round it. +</P> + +<P> +"Was the man you lied to save," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. When the halfbreed's bullet got me, I thought it was a good +chance to repay Sandy McTrigger for what he did for me in that tent +years before. But it wasn't heroic. It wasn't even brave. I thought I +was going to die and that I was risking nothing." +</P> + +<P> +And then there came a soft, joyous little laugh from where her head lay +on the pillow. "And all the time you were lying so splendidly, Jeems—I +KNEW," she cried. "I knew that you didn't kill Barkley, and I knew that +you weren't going to die, and I knew what happened in that tent ten +years ago. And—Jeems—Jeems—" +</P> + +<P> +She raised herself from the pillow. Her breath was coming a little +excitedly. Both her hands, instead of one, were gripping his hand now. +"I knew that you didn't kill John Barkley," she repeated. "And—SANDY +MCTRIGGER DIDN'T KILL HIM!" +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"He DIDN'T," she interrupted him, almost fiercely. "He was innocent, as +innocent as you were. Jeems—I Jeems—I know who killed Barkley. Oh, I +KNOW—I KNOW!" +</P> + +<P> +A choking sob came into her throat, and then she added, in a voice +which she was straining to make calm, "Don't think that I haven't faith +in you because I can't tell you more now, Jeems," she said. "You will +understand—quite soon. When we are safe from the Police, I shall tell +you. I shall keep nothing from you then. I shall tell you about +Barkley, and Kedsty—everything. But I can't now. It won't be long. +When you tell me we are safe, I shall believe you. And then—" She +withdrew her hands from his and dropped back on her pillow. +</P> + +<P> +"And then—what?" he asked, leaning far over. +</P> + +<P> +"You may not like me, Jeems." +</P> + +<P> +"I love you," he whispered. "Nothing in the world can stop my loving +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Even if I tell you—soon—that I killed Barkley?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. You would be lying." +</P> + +<P> +"Or—if I told you—that I—killed—Kedsty?" +</P> + +<P> +"No matter what you said, or what proof there might be back there, I +would not believe you." +</P> + +<P> +She was silent. And then, "Jeems—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Niska, Little Goddess—?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to tell you something—now!" +</P> + +<P> +He waited. +</P> + +<P> +"It is going to—shock you—Jeems." +</P> + +<P> +He felt her arms reaching up. Her two hands touched his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you listening?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am listening." +</P> + +<P> +"Because I'm not going to say it very loud." And then she whispered, +"Jeems—I LOVE YOU!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + +<P> +In the slowly breaking gloom of the cabin, with Marette's arms round +his neck, her soft lips given him to kiss, Kent for many minutes was +conscious of nothing but the thrill of his one great hope on earth come +true. What he had prayed for was no longer a prayer, and what he had +dreamed of was no longer a dream; yet for a space the reality of it +seemed unreal. What he said in those first moments of his exaltation he +would probably never remember. +</P> + +<P> +His own physical existence seemed a thing trivial and almost lost, a +thing submerged and swallowed up by the warm beat and throb of that +other life, a thousand times more precious than his own, which he held +in his arms. Yet with the mad thrill that possessed him, in the embrace +of his arms, there was an infinite tenderness, a gentleness, that drew +from Marette's lips a low, glad whispering of his name. She drew his +head down and kissed him, and Kent fell upon his knees at her side and +crushed his face close down to her—while outside the patter of rain on +the roof had ceased, and the fog-like darkness was breaking with gray +dawn. +</P> + +<P> +In that dawn of the new day Kent came at last out of the cabin and +looked upon a splendid world. In his breast was the glory of a thing +new-born, and the world, like himself, was changed. Storm had passed. +The gray river lay under his eyes. Shoreward he made out the dark +outlines of the deep spruce and cedar and balsam forests. About him +there was a great stillness, broken only by the murmur of the river and +the ripple of water under the scow. Wind had gone with the black +rainclouds, and Kent, as he looked about him, saw the swift dissolution +of the last shadows of night, and the breaking in the East of a new +paradise. In the East, as the minutes passed, there came a soft and +luminous gray, and after that, swiftly, with the miracle of far +Northern dawn, a vast, low-burning fire seemed to start far beyond the +forests, tinting the sky with a delicate pink that crept higher and +higher as Kent watched it. The river, all at once, came out of its last +drifting haze of fog and night. The scow was about in the middle of the +channel. Two hundred yards on either side were thick green walls of +forest glistening fresh and cool with the wet of storm and breathing +forth the perfume which Kent was drawing deep into his lungs. +</P> + +<P> +In the cabin he heard sound. Marette was up, and he was eager to have +her come out and stand with him in this glory of their first day. He +watched the smoke of the fire he had built, hardwood smoke that drifted +up white and clean into the rain-washed air. +</P> + +<P> +The smell of it, like the smell of balsam and cedar, was to Kent the +aroma of life. And then he began to clean out what was left of the +water in the bottom of the scow, and as he worked he whistled. He +wanted Marette to hear that whistle. He wanted her to know that day had +brought with it no doubt for him. A great and glorious world was about +them and ahead of them. And they were safe. +</P> + +<P> +As he worked, his mind became more than ever set upon the resolution to +take no chances. He paused in his whistling for a moment to laugh +softly and exultantly as he thought of the years of experience which +were his surest safeguard now. He had become almost uncannily expert in +all the finesse and trickery of his craft of hunting human game, and he +knew what the man-hunters would do and what they would not do. He had +them checkmated at the start. And, besides—with Kedsty, O'Connor, and +himself gone—the Landing was short-handed just at present. There was +an enormous satisfaction in that. But even with a score of men behind +him Kent knew that he would beat them. His hazard, if there was peril +at all, lay in this first day. Only the Police gasoline launch could +possibly overtake them. And with the start they had, he was sure they +would pass the Death Chute, conceal the scow, and take to the untracked +forests north and west before the launch could menace them. After that +he would keep always west and north, deeper and deeper into that wild +and untraveled country which would be the last place in which the Law +would seek for them. He straightened himself and looked at the smoke +again, drifting like gray-white lace between him and the blue of the +sky, and in that moment the sun capped the tall green tops of the +highest cedars, and day broke gloriously over the earth. +</P> + +<P> +For a quarter of an hour longer Kent mopped at the floor of the scow, +and then—with a suddenness that drew him up as if a whip-lash had +snapped behind him—he caught another aroma in the clean, +forest-scented air. It was bacon and coffee! He had believed that +Marette was taking her time in putting on dry footwear and making some +sort of morning toilet. Instead of that, she was getting breakfast. It +was not an extraordinary thing to do. To fry bacon and make coffee was +not, in any sense, a remarkable achievement. But at the present moment +it was the crowning touch to Kent's paradise. She was getting HIS +breakfast! And—coffee and bacon—To Kent those two things had always +stood for home. They were intimate and companionable. Where there were +coffee and bacon, he had known children who laughed, women who sang, +and men with happy, welcoming faces. They were home-builders. +</P> + +<P> +"Whenever you smell coffee and bacon at a cabin," O'Connor had always +said, "they'll ask you in to breakfast if you knock at the door." +</P> + +<P> +But Kent was not recalling his old trail mate's words. In the present +moment all other thoughts were lost in the discovery that Marette was +getting breakfast—for him. +</P> + +<P> +He went to the door and listened. Then he opened it and looked in. +Marette was on her knees before the open door of the stove, toasting +bread on two forks. Her face was flushed pink. She had not taken time +to brush her hair, but had woven it carelessly into a thick braid that +fell down her back. She gave a little exclamation of mock +disappointment when she saw Kent. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you wait?" she remonstrated. "I wanted to surprise you." +</P> + +<P> +"You have," he said. "And I couldn't wait. I had to come in and help." +</P> + +<P> +He was inside the door and on his knees beside her. As he reached for +the two forks, his lips pressed against her hair. The pink deepened in +Marette's face, and the soft little note that was like laughter came +into her throat. Her hand caressed his cheek as she rose to her feet, +and Kent laughed back. And after that, as she arranged things on the +shelf table, her hand now and then touched his shoulder, or his hair, +and two or three times he heard that wonderful little throat-note that +sent through him a wild pulse of happiness. And then, he sitting in the +low chair and she on the stool, they drew close together before the +board that answered as a table, and ate their breakfast. Marette poured +his coffee and stirred sugar and condensed milk in it, and so happy was +Kent that he did not tell her he used neither milk nor sugar in his +coffee. The morning sun burst through the little window, and through +the open door Kent pointed to the glory of it on the river and in the +shimmering green of the forests slipping away behind. When they had +finished, Marette went outside with him. +</P> + +<P> +For a space she stood silent and without movement, looking upon the +marvelous world that encompassed them. It seemed to Kent that for a few +moments she did not breathe. With her head thrown back and her white +throat bare to the soft, balsam-laden air she faced the forests. Her +eyes became suddenly filled with the luminous glow of stars. Her face +reflected the radiance of the rising sun, and Kent, looking at her, +knew that he had never seen her so beautiful as in these wonderful +moments. He held his own breath, for he also knew that Niska, his +goddess, was looking upon her own world again after a long time away. +</P> + +<P> +Her world—and his. Different from all the other worlds God had ever +made; different, even, from the world only a few miles behind them at +the Landing. For here was no sound or whisper of destroying human life. +They were in the embrace of the Great North, and it was drawing them +closer, and with each minute nearer to the mighty, pulsing heart of it. +</P> + +<P> +The forests hung heavy and green and glistening with the wet of storm; +out of them came the tremulous breath of life and the glory of living; +they hugged the shores like watchful hosts guarding the river from +civilization—and suddenly the girl held out her arms, and Kent heard +the low, thrilling cry that came to her lips. +</P> + +<P> +She had forgotten him. She had forgotten everything but the river, the +forests, and the untrod worlds beyond them, and he was glad. For this +world that she was welcoming, that her soul was crying out to, was his +world, for ever and ever. It held his dreams, his hopes, all the +desires that he had in life. And when at last Marette turned toward him +slowly, his arms were reaching out to her, and in his face she saw that +same glory which filled her own. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad—glad," she cried softly. "Oh, Jeems—I'm glad!" +</P> + +<P> +She came into his arms without hesitation; her hands stroked his face; +and then she stood with her head against his shoulder, looking ahead, +breathing deeply now of the sweet, clear air filled with the elixir of +the hovering forests. She did not speak, or move, and Kent remained +quiet. The scow drifted around a bend. Shoreward a great moose splashed +up out of the water, and they could hear him afterward, crashing +through the forest. Her body tensed, but she did not speak. After a +little he heard her whisper, +</P> + +<P> +"It has been a long time, Jeems. I have been away four years." +</P> + +<P> +"And now we are going home, little Gray Goose. You will not be lonely?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I was lonely down there. There were so many people, and so many +things, that I was homesick for the woods and mountains. I believe I +would have died soon. There were only two things I loved, Jeems—" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty dresses—and shoes." +</P> + +<P> +His arms closed about her a little more tightly. "I—I understand," he +laughed softly. "That is why you came, that first time, with pretty +high-heeled pumps." +</P> + +<P> +He bowed his head, and she turned her face to him. On her upturned +mouth he kissed her. +</P> + +<P> +"More than any other man ever loved a woman I love you, Niska, little +goddess," he cried. +</P> + +<P> +The minutes and the hours of that day stood out ever afterward in +Kent's life as unforgettable memories. There were times when they +seemed illusory and unreal, as though he lived and breathed in an +insubstantial world made up of gossamer things which must be the fabric +of dream. These were moments when the black shadow of the tragedy from +which they were fleeing pressed upon him, when the thought came to him +that they were criminals racing with the law; that they were not on +enchanted ground, but in deadly peril; that it was all a fools' +paradise from which some terrible shock would shortly awaken him. But +these periods of apprehension were, in themselves, mere shadows thrown +for a moment upon his happiness. Again and again the subconscious force +within him pounded home to his physical brain the great truth, that it +was all extraordinarily real. +</P> + +<P> +It was Marette who made him doubt himself at times. He could not, quite +yet, comprehend the fulness of that love which she had given him. More +than ever, in the glory of this love that had come to them she was like +a child to him. It seemed to him in the first hours of the morning that +she had forgotten yesterday, and the day before, and ill the days +before that. She was going home. She whispered that to him so often +that it became a little song in his brain. Yet she told him nothing of +that home, and he waited, knowing that the fulfilment of her promise +was not far away. And there was no embarrassment in the manner of her +surrender when he held her in his arms, and she held her face up, so +that he could kiss her mouth and look into her glowing, lovely eyes. +What he saw was the flush of a great happiness, the almost childish +confession of it along with the woman's joy of possession. And he +thought of Kedsty, and of the Law that was rousing itself into life +back at Athabasca Landing. +</P> + +<P> +And then she ran her fingers through his own and told him to wait, and +ran into the cabin and came out a moment later with her brush; and +after that she seated herself at the fulcrum of the big sweep and began +to brush out her hair in the sun. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad you love it, Jeems," she said. +</P> + +<P> +She unbound the thick braid and let the silken strands of it run +caressingly between her fingers. She smoothed it out, brushed it until +it was more beautiful than he had ever seen it, in that glow of the +sun. She held it up so that it rippled out in shimmering cascades about +her—and then, suddenly, Kent saw the short tress from which had been +clipped the rope of hair that he had taken from Kedsty's neck. And as +his lips tightened, crushing fiercely the exclamation of his horror, +there came a trembling happiness from Marette's lips, scarcely more +than the whisper of a song, the low, thrilling melody of Le Chaudiere. +</P> + +<P> +Her arms reached up, and she drew his head down to her, so that for a +time his visions were blinded in that sweet smother of her hair. +</P> + +<P> +The intimacy of that day was in itself like a dream. Hour after hour +they drifted deeper into the great North. The sun shone. The +forest-walled shores of the river grew mightier in their stillness and +their grandeur, and the vast silence of unpeopled places brooded over +the world. To Kent it was as if they were drifting through Paradise. +Occasionally he found it necessary to work the big sweep, for still +water was gradually giving way to a swifter current. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond that there was no labor for him to perform. It seemed to him +that with each of these wonderful hours danger was being left farther +and still farther behind them. Watching the shores, looking ahead, +listening for sound that might come from behind—at times possessed of +the exquisite thrills of children in their happiness—Kent and Marette +found the gulf of strangeness passing swiftly away from between them. +</P> + +<P> +They did not speak of Kedsty, or the tragedy, or again of the death of +John Barkley. But Kent told of his days in the North, of his aloneness, +of the wild, weird love in his soul for the deepest wildernesses. And +from that he went away back into dim and distant yesterdays, alive with +mellowed memories of boyhood days spent on a farm. To all these things +Marette listened with glowing eyes, with low laughter, or with breath +that rose or fell with his own emotions. +</P> + +<P> +She told of her own days down at school and of their appalling +loneliness; of childhood spent in the forests; of the desire to live +there always. But she did not speak intimately of herself or her life +in its more vital aspects; she said nothing of the home in the Valley +of Silent Men, nothing of father or mother, sisters or brothers. There +was no embarrassment in her omissions. And Kent did not question. He +knew that those were among the things she would tell him when that +promised hour came, the hour when he would tell her they were safe. +</P> + +<P> +There began to possess him now a growing eagerness for this hour, when +they should leave the river and take to the forests. He explained to +Marette why they could not float on indefinitely. The river was the one +great artery through which ran the blood of all traffic to the far +North. It was patrolled. Sooner or later they would be discovered. In +the forests, with a thousand untrod trails to choose, they would be +safe. He had only one reason for keeping to the river until they passed +through the Death Chute. It would carry them beyond a great swampy +region to the westward through which it would be impossible for them to +make their way at this season of the year. Otherwise he would have gone +ashore now. He loved the river, had faith in it, but he knew that not +until the deep forests swallowed them, as a vast ocean swallows a ship, +would they be beyond the peril that threatened them from the Landing. +</P> + +<P> +Three or four times between sunrise and noon they saw life ashore and +on the stream; once a scow tied to a tree, then an Indian camp, and +twice trappers' shacks built in the edge of little clearings. With the +beginning of afternoon Kent felt growing within him something that was +not altogether eagerness. It was, at times, a disturbing emotion, a +foreshadowing of evil, a warning for him to be on his guard. He used +the sweep more, to help their progress in the current, and he began to +measure time and distance with painstaking care. He recognized many +landmarks. +</P> + +<P> +By four o'clock, or five at the latest, they would strike the head of +the Chute. Ten minutes of its thrilling passage and he would work the +scow into the concealment he had in mind ashore, and no longer would he +fear the arm of the law that reached out from the Landing. As he +planned, he listened. From noon on he never ceased to listen for that +distant putt, putt, putt, that would give them a mile's warning of the +approach of the patrol launch. +</P> + +<P> +He did not keep his plans to himself. Marette sensed his growing +uneasiness, and he made her a partner of his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"If we hear the patrol before we reach the Chute, we'll still have time +to run ashore," he assured her. "And they won't catch us. We'll be +harder to find than two needles in a haystack. But it's best to be +prepared." +</P> + +<P> +So he brought out his pack and Marette's smaller bundle, and laid his +rifle and pistol holster across them. +</P> + +<P> +It was three o'clock when the character of the river began to change, +and Kent smiled happily. They were entering upon swifter waters. There +were places where the channel narrowed, and they sped through rapids. +Only where unbroken straight waters stretched out ahead of them did +Kent give his arms a rest at the sweep. And through most of the +straight water he added to the speed of the scow. Marette helped him. +In him the exquisite thrill of watching her slender, glorious body as +it worked with his own never grew old. She laughed at him over the big +oar between them. The wind and sun played riot in her hair. Her parted +lips were rose-red, her cheeks flushed, her eyes like sun-warmed rock +violets. More than once, in the thrill of that afternoon flight, as he +looked at the marvelous beauty of her, he asked himself if it could be +anything but a dream. And more than once he laughed joyously, and +paused in his swinging of the sweep, and proved that it was real and +true. And Kent thanked God, and worked harder. +</P> + +<P> +Once, a long time ago, Marette told him, she had been through the +Chute. It had horrified her then. She remembered it as a sort of death +monster, roaring for its victims. As they drew nearer to it, Kent told +her more about it. Only now and then was a life lost there now, he +said. At the mouth of the Chute there was a great, knife-like rock, +like a dragon's tooth, that cut the Chute into two roaring channels. If +a scow kept to the left-hand channel it was safe. There would be a +mighty roaring and thundering as it swept on its passage, but that +roaring of the Chute, he told her, was like the barking of a harmless +dog. +</P> + +<P> +Only when a scow became unmanageable, or hit the Dragon's Tooth, or +made the right-hand channel instead of the left, was there tragedy. +There was that delightful little note of laughter in Marette's throat +when Kent told her that. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean, Jeems, that if one of three possible things doesn't happen, +we'll get through safely?" +</P> + +<P> +"None of them is possible—with us," he corrected himself quickly. +"We've a tight little scow, we're not going to hit the rock, and we'll +make the left-hand channel so smoothly you won't know when it happens." +He smiled at her with splendid confidence. "I've been through it a +hundred times," he said. +</P> + +<P> +He listened. Then, suddenly, he drew out his watch. It was a quarter of +four. Marette's ears caught what he heard. In the air was a low, +trembling murmur. It was growing slowly but steadily. He nodded when +she looked at him, the question in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"The rapids at the head of the Chute!" he cried, his voice vibrant with +joy. "We've beat them out. WE'RE SAFE!" +</P> + +<P> +They swung around a bend, and the white spume of the rapids lay half a +mile ahead of them. The current began to race with them now. Kent put +his whole weight on the sweep to keep the scow in mid-channel. +</P> + +<P> +"We're safe," he repeated. "Do you understand, Marette? WE'RE SAFE!" +</P> + +<P> +He was speaking the words for which she had waited, was telling her +that at last the hour had come when she could keep her promise to him. +The words, as he gave them voice, thrilled him. He felt like shouting +them. And then all at once he saw the change that had come into her +face. Her wide, startled eyes were not looking at him, but beyond. She +was looking back in the direction from which they had come, and even as +he stared her face grew white. +</P> + +<P> +"LISTEN!" +</P> + +<P> +She was tense, rigid. He turned his head. And in that moment it came to +him above the growing murmur of the river—the PUTT, PUTT, PUTT of the +Police patrol boat from Athabasca Landing! +</P> + +<P> +A deep breath came from between his lips. When Marette took her eyes +from the river and looked at him, his face was like carven rock. He was +staring dead ahead. +</P> + +<P> +"We can't make the Chute," he said, his voice sounding hard and unreal +to her. "If we do, they'll be up with us before we can land at the +other end. We must let this current drive us ashore—NOW." +</P> + +<P> +As he made his decision, he put the strength of his body into action. +He knew there was not the hundredth part of a second to lose. The +outreaching suction of the rapids was already gripping the scow, and +with mighty strokes he fought to work the head of his craft toward the +westward shore. With swift understanding Marette saw the priceless +value of a few seconds of time. If they were caught in the stronger +swirl of the rapids before the shore was reached, they would be forced +to run the Chute, and in that event the launch would be upon them +before they could make a landing farther on. She sprang to Kent's side +and added her own strength in the working of the sweep. Foot by foot +and yard by yard the scow made precious westing, and Kent's face +lighted up with triumph as he nodded ahead to a timbered point that +thrust itself out like a stubby thumb into the river. Beyond that point +the rapids were frothing white, and they could see the first black +walls of rock that marked the beginning of the Chute. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll make it," he smiled confidently. "We'll hit that timbered point +close inshore. I don't see where the launch can make a landing anywhere +within a mile of the Chute. And once ashore we'll make trail about five +times as fast they can follow it." Marette's face was no longer pale, +but flushed with excitement. He caught the white gleam of teeth between +her parted lips. Her eyes shone gloriously, and he laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"You beautiful little fighter," he cried exultantly. "You—you—" +</P> + +<P> +His words were cut short by a snap that was like the report of a pistol +close to his ears. He pitched forward and crashed to the bottom of the +scow, Marette's slim body clutched in his arms as he fell. In a flash +they were up, and mutely they stared where the sweep had been. The +blade of it was gone. Kent was conscious of hearing a little cry from +the girl at his side, and then her fingers were gripping tightly again +about his thumb. No longer possessed of the power of guidance, the scow +swung sideways. It swept past the wooded point. The white maelstrom of +the lower rapids seized upon it. And Kent, looking ahead to the black +maw of the death-trap that was waiting for them, drew Marette close in +his arms and held her tight. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + +<P> +For a brief space after the breaking of the scow-sweep Kent did not +move. He felt Marette's arms closing tighter and tighter around his +neck. He caught a flash of her upturned face, the flush of a few +moments before replaced by a deathly pallor, and he knew that without +explanation on his part she understood the almost hopeless situation +they were in. He was glad of that. It gave him a sense of relief to +know that she would not go into a panic, no matter what happened. He +bowed his face to hers, so that he felt the velvety smoothness of her +cheek. She turned her mouth to him, and they kissed. His embrace was +crushing for a moment, fierce with his love for her, desperate with his +determination to keep her from harm. +</P> + +<P> +His brain was working swiftly. There was possibly one chance in ten +that the scow—rudderless and without human guidance—would sweep +safely between the black walls and jagged teeth of the Chute. Even if +the scow made this passage, they would be in the power of the Police, +unless some splendid whimsicality of Fate sent it ashore before the +launch came through. +</P> + +<P> +On the other hand, if it was carried far enough through the lower +rapids, they might swim. And—there was the rifle laying across the +pack. That, after all, was his greatest hope—if the scow made the +passage of the Chute. The bulwarks of the scow would give them greater +protection than the thinner walls of the launch would give to their +pursuers. In his heart there raged suddenly a hatred for that Law of +which he had been a part. It was running them to destruction, and he +would fight. There would not be more than three men in the launch, and +he would kill them, if killing became a necessity. +</P> + +<P> +They were speeding like an unbridled race-horse through the boiling +rapids now. The clumsy craft under their feet twisted and turned. The +dripping tops of great rocks shot past a little out of their channel. +And Marette, with one arm still about his neck, was facing the peril +ahead with him. They could see the Dragon's Tooth, black and grim, +waiting squarely in their path. In another hundred and twenty seconds +they would be upon it—or past it. There was no time for Kent to +explain. He sprang to his pack, whipped a knife from his pocket, and +cut the stout babiche rope that reenforced its straps. In another +instant he was back at Marette's side, fastening the babiche about her +waist. The other end he gave to her, and she tied it about his wrist. +She smiled as she finished the knot. It was a strange, tense little +smile, but it told him that she was not afraid, that she had great +faith in him, and knew what the babiche meant. +</P> + +<P> +"I can swim, Jeems," she cried. "If we strike the rock." +</P> + +<P> +She did not finish because of the sudden cry that came to his lips. He +had almost forgotten the most vital of all things. There was not time +to unlace his boots. With his knife he cut the laces in a single +downward thrust. Swiftly he freed his own feet, and Marette's. Even in +this hour of their peril it thrilled him to see how quickly Marette +responded to the thoughts that moved him. She tore at her outer +garments and slipped them off as he wriggled out of his heavy shirt. A +slim, white-underskirted little thing, her glorious hair flying in the +wind that came through the Chute, her throat and arms bare, her eyes +shining at Kent, she came again close within his arms, and her lips +framed softly his name. And a moment later she turned her face up, and +cried quickly, +</P> + +<P> +"Kiss me, Jeems—kiss me—" +</P> + +<P> +Her warm lips clung to his, and her bare arms encircled his neck with +the choking grip of a child's. He looked ahead and braced himself on +his feet, and after that he buried one of his hands in the soft mass of +her hair and pressed her face against his naked breast. +</P> + +<P> +Ten seconds later the crash came. Squarely amidships the scow struck +the Dragon's Tooth. Kent was prepared for the shock, but his attempt to +hold his feet, with Marette in his arms, was futile. The bulwark saved +them from crashing against the slippery face of the rock itself. Amid +the roar of water that filled his ears he was conscious of the rending +of timbers. The scow bulged up with the mighty force beneath, and for a +second or two it seemed as though that force was going to overturn and +submerge it. Then slowly it began to slip off the nose of the rock. +</P> + +<P> +Holding to the rail with one hand and clinging to Marette with his +other arm, Kent was gripped in the horror of what was happening. The +scow was slipping INTO THE RIGHT HAND CHANNEL! In that channel there +was no hope—only death. +</P> + +<P> +Marette was squarely facing the thing ahead. In this hour when each +second held a lifetime of suspense Kent saw that she understood. Yet +she did not cry out. Her face was dead white. Her hair and arms and +shoulders were dripping with the splash of water. But she was not +terrified as he had seen terror. When she turned her eyes to him, he +was amazed by the quiet, calm look that was in them. Her lips trembled. +</P> + +<P> +His soul expressed itself in a wordless cry that was drowned in another +crash of timber as a jutting snag of the Tooth crumpled up the little +cabin as if it had been pasteboard. He felt overwhelming him the surge +of a thing mightier than the menace of the Chute. He could not lose! It +was inconceivable. Impossible! With HER to fight for—this slim, +wonderful creature who smiled at him even as she saw death. +</P> + +<P> +And then, as his arm closed still more tightly about her, the monsters +of power and death gave him their answer. The scow swung free of the +Dragon's Tooth, half-filled with water. Its cracked and broken carcass +was caught in the rock jaws of the eastern channel. It ceased to be a +floating thing. It was inundation, dissolution, utter obliteration +almost without shock. And Kent found himself in the thundering rush of +waters, holding to Marette. +</P> + +<P> +For a space they were under. Black water and white froth fumed and +exploded over them. It seemed an age before fresh air filled Kent's +nostrils. He thrust Marette upward and cried out to her. He heard her +answer. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm all right—Jeems!" +</P> + +<P> +His swimming prowess was of little avail now. He was like a chip. All +his effort was to make of himself a barrier between Marette's soft body +and the rocks. It was not the water itself that he feared, but the +rocks. +</P> + +<P> +There were scores and hundreds of them, like the teeth of a mighty +grinding machine. And the jaw was a quarter of a mile in length. He +felt the first shock, the second, the third. He was not thinking of +time or distance, but was fighting solely to keep himself between +Marette and death. The first time he failed, a blind sort of rage +burned in his brain. +</P> + +<P> +He saw her white body strained over a slippery, deluge-worn rock. Her +head was flung back, and he saw the long masses of her hair streaming +out in the white froth, and he thought for an instant that her fragile +body had been broken. He fought still more fiercely after that. And she +knew for what he was fighting. Only in an unreal sort of way was he +conscious of shock and hurt. It gave him no physical pain. Yet he +sensed the growing dizziness in his head, an increasing lack of +strength in his arms and body. +</P> + +<P> +They were halfway through the Chute when he shot against a rock with +terrific force. The contact tore Marette from him. He plunged for her, +missed his grip, and then saw her opposite him, clinging to the same +rock. The babiche rope had saved her. Fastened about her waist and tied +to his wrist, it still held them together—with the five feet of rock +between them. +</P> + +<P> +Panting, their life half beaten out of them, their eyes met over that +rock. Now that he was out of the water, the blood began streaming from +Kent's arms and shoulders and face, but he smiled at her as a few +moments before she had smiled at him. Her eyes were filled with the +pain of his hurts. He nodded back in the direction from which they had +come. +</P> + +<P> +"We're out of the worst of it," he tried to shout. "As soon as we've +got our wind, I will climb over the rock to you. It won't take us +longer than a couple of minutes, perhaps less, to make the quiet water +at the end of the channel." +</P> + +<P> +She heard him and nodded her reply. He wanted to give her confidence. +And he had no intention of resting, for her position filled him with a +terror which he fought to hide. The babiche rope, not half as large +around as his little finger, had swung her to the downstream side of +the rock. It was the slender thread of buckskin and his own weight that +were holding her. If the buckskin should break— +</P> + +<P> +He thanked God that it was the tough babiche that had been around his +pack. An inch at a time he began to draw himself up on the rock. The +undertow behind the rock had flung a mass of Marette's long hair toward +him, so that it was a foot or two nearer to him than her clinging +hands. He worked himself toward that, for he saw that he could reach it +more quickly than he could reach her. At the same time he had to keep +his end of the babiche taut. It was, from the beginning, an almost +superhuman task. The rock was slippery as oil. Twice his eyes shot +down-stream, with the thought that it might be better to cast himself +bodily into the water, and after that draw Marette to him by means of +the babiche. What he saw convinced him that such action would be fatal. +He must have Marette in his arms. If he lost her—even for a few +seconds—the life would be beaten from her body in that rock-strewn +maelstrom below. +</P> + +<P> +And then, suddenly, the babiche cord about his wrist grew loose. The +reaction almost threw him back. With the loosening of it a cry came +from Marette. It all happened in an instant, in almost less time than +his brain could seize upon the significance of it—the slipping of her +hands from the rock, the shooting of her white body away from him in +the still whiter spume of the rapids, The rock had cut the babiche, and +she was gone! With a cry that was like the cry of a madman he plunged +after her. The water engulfed him. He twisted himself up, freeing +himself from the undertow. Twenty feet ahead of him—thirty—he caught +a glimpse of a white arm and then of Marette's face, before she +disappeared in a wall of froth. +</P> + +<P> +Into that froth he shot after her. He came out of it blinded, groping +wildly for her, crying out her name. His fingers caught the end of the +babiche that was fastened about his own wrist, and he clutched it +savagely, believing for a moment that he had found her. Thicker and +more deadly the rocks of the lower passage rose in his way. They seemed +like living things, like devils filled with the desire to torture and +destroy. They struck and beat at him. Their laughter was the roar of a +Niagara. He no longer cried out. His brain grew heavy, and clubs were +beating him—beating and breaking him into a formless thing. The +rock-drifts of spume, lather-white, like the frosting of a monster +cake, turned gray and then black. +</P> + +<P> +He did not know when he ceased fighting. The day went out. Night came. +The world was oblivion. And for a space he ceased to live. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + +<P> +An hour later the fighting forces in his body dragged Kent back into +existence. He opened his eyes. The shock of what had happened did not +at once fall upon him. His first sensation was of awakening from a +sleep that had been filled with pain and horror. +</P> + +<P> +Then he saw a black rock wall opposite him; he heard the sullen roar of +the stream; his eyes fell upon a vivid patch of light reflected from +the setting sun. He dragged himself up until he was on his knees, and +all at once a thing that was like an iron hoop—choking his +senses—seemed to break in his head, and he staggered to his feet, +crying out Marette's name. Understanding inundated him with its horror, +deadening his tongue after that first cry, filling his throat with a +moaning, sobbing agony. Marette was gone. She was lost. She was dead. +</P> + +<P> +Swiftly, as reason came, his eyes took in his environment. For a +quarter of a mile above him he could see the white spume between the +chasm walls, darkening with the approach of night. He could hear more +clearly the roar of the death-floods. But close to him was smooth +water, and he stood now on a shelving tongue of rock and shale, upon +which the current had flung him. In front of him was a rock wall. +Behind him was another. There was no footing except where he stood. And +Marette was not with him. +</P> + +<P> +Only the truth could batter at his brain as he stood there. But his +physical self refused to accept that truth. If he had lived, she must +live! She was there—somewhere—along the shore—among the rocks— +</P> + +<P> +The moaning in his throat gave way to the voicing of her name. He +shouted, and listened. He swayed back along the tongue of rock to the +boulder-strewn edge of the chasm wall. A hundred yards farther on was +the opening of the Chute. He came out of this, his clothes torn from +him, his body bleeding, unrecognizable, half a madman,—shouting her +name more and more loudly. The glow of the setting sun struck him at +last. He was out from between the chasm walls, and it lighted up the +green world for him. Ahead of him the river widened and swept on in +tranquil quiet. +</P> + +<P> +And now it was no longer fear that possessed him. It was the horrible, +overwhelming certainty of the thing. The years fell from him, and he +sobbed—sobbed like a boy stricken by some great childish grief, as he +searched along the edge of the shore. Over and over again he cried and +whispered Marette's name. +</P> + +<P> +But he did not shout it again, for he knew that she was dead. She was +gone from him forever. Yet he did not cease to search. The last of the +sun went out. Twilight came, and then darkness. Even in that darkness +he continued to search for a mile below the Chute, calling her name +more loudly now, and listening always for the answer which he knew +would never come. The moon came out after a time, and hour after hour +he kept up his hopeless quest. He did not know how badly the rocks had +battered and hurt him, and he scarcely knew when it was that exhaustion +dropped him like a dead man in his tracks. When dawn came, it found him +wandering away from the river, and toward noon of that day, he was +found by Andre Boileau, the old white-haired half-breed who trapped on +Burntwood Creek. Andre was shocked at the sight of his wounds and half +dragged and half carried him to his shack hidden away in the forest. +</P> + +<P> +For six days thereafter Kent remained at old Andre's place, simply +because he had neither the strength nor the reason to move. Andre +wondered that there were no broken bones in him. But his head was +terribly hurt, and it was that hurt that for three days and three +nights made Kent hover with nerve-racking indecision between life and +death. The fourth day reason came back to him, and Boileau fed him +venison broth. The fifth day he stood up. The sixth he thanked Andre, +and said that he was ready to go. +</P> + +<P> +Andre outfitted him with old clothes, gave him a supply of food and +God's blessing. And Kent returned to the Chute, giving Andre to +understand that his destination was Athabasca Landing. +</P> + +<P> +Kent knew that it was not wise for him to return to the river. He knew +that it would have been better for him both in mind and body had he +gone in the opposite direction. But he no longer had in him the desire +to fight, even for himself. He followed the lines of least resistance, +and these led him back to the scene of the tragedy. His grief, when he +returned, was no longer the heartbreaking agony of that first night. It +was a deep-seated, consuming fire that had already burned him out, +heart and soul. Even caution was dead in him. He feared nothing, +avoided nothing. Had the police boat been at the Chute, he would have +revealed himself without any thought of self-preservation. A ray of +hope would have been precious medicine to him. But there was no hope. +Marette was dead. Her tender body was destroyed. And he was alone, +unfathomably and hopelessly alone. +</P> + +<P> +And now, after he had reached the river again, something held him +there. From the head of the Chute to a bend in the river two miles +below, his feet wore a beaten trail. Three or four times a day he would +make the trip, and along the path he set a few snares in which he +caught rabbits for food. Each night he made his bed in a crevice among +the rocks at the foot of the Chute. At the end of a week the old Jim +Kent was dead. Even O'Connor would not have recognized him with his +shaggy growth of beard, his hollow eyes, and the sunken cheeks which +the beard failed to hide. +</P> + +<P> +And the fighting spirit in him also was dead. Once or twice there +leaped up in him a sudden passion demanding vengeance upon the accursed +Law that was accountable for the death of Marette, but even this flame +snuffed itself out quickly. +</P> + +<P> +And then, on the eighth day, he saw the edge of a thing that was almost +hidden under an overhanging bank. He fished it out. It was Marette's +little pack, and for many minutes before he opened it Kent crushed the +sodden treasure to his breast, staring with half-mad eyes down where he +had found it, as if Marette must be there, too. Then he ran with it to +an open space, where the sun fell warmly on a great, flat rock that was +level with the ground, and with sobbing breath he opened it. It was +filled with the things she had picked up quickly in her room the night +of their flight from Kedsty's bungalow, and as he drew them out one by +one and placed them in the sun on the rock, a new and sudden rush of +life swept through his veins, and he sprang to his feet and faced the +river again, as if at last a hope had come to him. Then he looked down +again upon what she had treasured, and reaching out his arms to them, +he whispered, +</P> + +<P> +"Marette—my little goddess—" +</P> + +<P> +Even in his grief the overwhelming mastery of his love for the one who +was dead brought a smile to his haggard and bearded face. For Marette, +in filling her little pack on that night of hurried flight, had chosen +strange things. On the sunlit rock, where he had placed them, were a +pair of the little pumps which he had fallen on his knees to worship in +her room, and with these she had crowded into the pack one of the +billowing, sweet-smelling dresses which had made his heart stand still +for a moment when he first looked into their hiding-place. It was no +longer soft and cobwebby as it had been then, like down fluttering +against his cheeks, but sodden and discolored, as it lay on the rock +with little rivulets of water running from it. +</P> + +<P> +With the shoes and the dress were the intimate necessities which +Marette had taken with her. But it was one of the pumps that Kent +picked up and crushed close to his ragged breast—one of the two she +had worn that first wonderful day she had come to see him at Cardigan's +place. +</P> + +<P> +This hour was the beginning of another change in Kent. It seemed to him +that a message had come to him from Marette herself, that the spirit of +her had returned to him and was with him now, stirring strange things +in his soul and warming his blood with a new heat. She was gone +forever, and yet she had come back to him, and the truth grew upon him +that this spirit of her would never leave him again as long as he +lived. He felt her nearness. Unconsciously he reached out his arms, and +a strange happiness entered Into him to battle with grief and +loneliness. His eyes shone with a new glow as they looked at her little +belongings on the sunlit rock. It was as if they were flesh and blood +of her, a part of her heart and soul. They were the voice of her faith +in him, her promise that she would be with him always. For the first +time in many days Kent felt a new force within him, and he knew that +she was not quite gone, that he had something of her left to fight for. +</P> + +<P> +That night he made his bed for a last time in the crevice between the +rocks, and his treasure was gathered within the protecting circle of +his arms as he slept. +</P> + +<P> +The next day he struck out north and east. On the fifth day after he +left the country of Andre Boileau he traded his watch to a half-breed +for a cheap gun, ammunition, a blanket, flour, and a cooking outfit. +After that he had no hesitation in burying himself still deeper into +the forests. +</P> + +<P> +A month later no one would have recognized Kent as the one-time crack +man of N Division. Bearded, ragged, long-haired, he wandered with no +other purpose than to be alone and to get still farther away from the +river. Occasionally he talked with an Indian or a half-breed. Each +night, though the weather was very warm, he made himself a small +camp-fire, for it was always in these hours, with the fire-light about +him, that he felt Marette was very near. It was then that he took out +one by one the precious things that were in Marette's little pack. He +worshipped these things. The dress and each of the little shoes he had +wrapped in the velvety inner bark of the birch tree. He protected them +from wet and storm. Had emergency called for it, he would have fought +for them. They became, after a time, more precious than his own life, +and in a vague sort of way at first he began to thank God that the +river had not robbed him of everything. +</P> + +<P> +Kent's inclination was not to fight himself into forgetfulness. He +wanted to remember every act, every word, every treasured caress that +chained him for all time to the love he had lost. Marette became more a +part of him every day. Dead in the flesh, she was always at his side, +nestling close in the shelter of his arms at night, walking with her +hand in his during the day. And in this belief his grief was softened +by the sweet and merciful comfort of a possession of which neither man +nor fate could rob him—a beloved Presence always with him. +</P> + +<P> +It was this Presence that rebuilt Kent. It urged him to throw up his +head again, to square his shoulders, to look life once more straight in +the face. It was both inspiration and courage to him and grew nearer +and dearer to him as time passed. Early Autumn found him in the Fond du +Lac country, two hundred miles east of Fort Chippewyan. That Winter he +joined a Frenchman, and until February they trapped along the edges of +the lower fingers of the Barrens. +</P> + +<P> +He came to think a great deal of Picard, his comrade. But he revealed +nothing of his secret to him, or of the new desire that was growing in +him. And as the Winter lengthened this desire became a deep and abiding +yearning. It was with him night and day. He dreamed of it when he +slept, and it was never out of his thoughts when awake. He wanted to go +HOME. And when he thought of home, it was not of the Landing, and not +of the country south. For him home meant only one place in the world +now—the place where Marette had lived. Somewhere, hidden in the +mountains far north and west, was that mysterious Valley of Silent Men +where they had been going when her body died. And the spirit of her +wanted him to go to it now. It was like a voice pleading with him, +urging him to go, to live there always where she had lived. He began to +plan, and in this planning he found new joy and new life. He would find +her home, her people, the valley that was to have been their paradise. +So late in February, with his share of the Winter catch in his pack, he +said good-by to Picard and faced the River again. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H3> + +<P> +Kent had not forgotten that he was an outlaw, but he was not afraid. +Now that he had something new and thrilling to fight for, he fell back +again upon what he called "the finesse of the game." He approached +Chippewyan cautiously, although he was sure that even his old friends +at the Landing would fail to recognize him now. His beard was four or +five inches long, and his hair was shaggy and uncut. Picard had made +him a coat, that winter, of young caribou skin, and it was fringed like +an Indian's. Kent chose his time and entered Chippewyan just before +dusk. +</P> + +<P> +Oil lamps were burning in the Hudson's Bay Company's store when he went +in with his furs. The place was empty, except for the factor's clerk, +and for an hour he bartered. He bought a new outfit, a Winchester +rifle, and all the supplies he could carry. He did not forget a razor +and a pair of shears, and when he was done he still had the value of +two silver fox skins in cash. He left Chippewyan that same night, and +by the light of a Winter moon made his camp half a dozen miles +northward toward Smith Landing. +</P> + +<P> +He was on the Slave River now and for weeks traveled slowly but +steadily northward on snowshoes. He avoided Fort Smith and Smith +Landing and struck westward before he came to Fort Resolution. It was +in April that he struck Hay River Post, where the Hay River empties +into Great Slave Lake. Until the ice broke up, Kent worked at Hay +River. When it was safe, he started down the Mackenzie in a canoe. It +was late in June when he turned up the Liard to the South Nahani. +</P> + +<P> +"You go straight through between the sources of the North and the South +Nahani," Marette had told him. "It is there you find the Sulphur +Country, and beyond the Sulphur Country is the Valley of Silent Men." +</P> + +<P> +At last he came to the edge of this country. He camped with the stink +of it in his nostrils. The moon rose, and he saw that desolate world as +through the fumes of a yellow smoke. With dawn he went on. +</P> + +<P> +He passed through broad, low morasses out of which rose sulphurous +fogs. Mile after mile he buried himself deeper in it, and it became +more and more a dead country, a lost hell. There were berry bushes on +which there grew no berries. There were forests and swamps, but without +a living creature to inhabit them. +</P> + +<P> +It was a country of water in which there were no fish, of air in which +there were no birds, of plants without flowers—a reeking, stinking +country still with the stillness of death. He began to turn yellow. His +clothing, his canoe, his hands, face—everything turned yellow. He +could not get the filthy taste of sulphur out of his mouth. Yet he kept +on, straight west by the compass Gowen had given him at Hay River. Even +this compass became yellow in his pocket. It was impossible for him to +eat. Only twice that day did he drink from his flask of water. +</P> + +<P> +And Marette had made this journey! He kept telling himself that. It was +the secret way in and out of their hidden world, a region accursed by +devils, a forbidden country to both Indian and white man. It was hard +for him to believe that she had come this way, that she had drunk in +the air that was filling his own lungs, nauseating him a dozen times to +the point of sickness. He worked desperately. He felt neither fatigue +nor the heat of the warm water about him. +</P> + +<P> +Night came, and the moon rose, lighting up with a sickly glow the +diseased world that had swallowed him. He lay in the bottom of his +canoe, covering his face with his caribou coat, and tried to sleep. But +sleep would not come. Before dawn he struck on, watching his compass by +the light of matches. All that day he made no effort to swallow food. +But with the coming of the second night he found the air easier to +breathe. He fought his way on by the light of the moon which was +clearer now. And at last, in a resting spell, he heard far ahead of him +the howl of a wolf. +</P> + +<P> +In his joy he cried out. A western breeze brought him air that he drank +in as a desert-stricken man drinks water. He did not look at his +compass again, but worked steadily in the face of that fresh air. An +hour later he found that he was paddling again a slow current, and when +he tasted the water it was only slightly tainted with sulphur. By +midnight the water was cool and clean. He landed on a shore of sand and +pebbles, stripped to the skin, and gave himself such a scouring as he +had never before experienced. He had worn his old trapping shirt and +trousers, and after his bath he changed to the outfit which he had kept +clean in his pack. Then he built a fire and ate his first meal in two +days. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning he climbed a tall spruce and surveyed the country +about him. Westward there was a broad low country shut in fifteen or +twenty miles away by the foothills. Beyond these foothills rose the +snow-capped peaks of the Rockies. He shaved himself, cut his hair, and +went on. That night he camped only when he could drive his canoe no +farther. The waterway had narrowed to a creek, and he was among the +first green shoulders of the hills when he stopped. With another dawn +he concealed his canoe in a sheltered place and went on with his pack. +</P> + +<P> +For a week he picked his way slowly westward. It was a splendid country +into which he had come, and yet he found no sign of human life. The +foothills changed to mountains, and he believed he was in the Campbell +Range. Also he knew that he had followed the logical trail from the +sulphur country. Yet it was the eighth day before he came upon a sign +which told him that another living being had at some time passed that +way. What he found were the charred remnants of an old camp-fire. It +had been a white man's fire. He knew that by the size of it. It had +been an all-night fire of green logs cut with an axe. +</P> + +<P> +On the tenth day he came to the westward slope of the first range and +looked down upon one of the most wonderful valleys his eyes had ever +beheld. It was more than a valley. It was a broad plain. Fifty miles +across it rose the towering majesty of the mightiest of all the Yukon +mountains. +</P> + +<P> +And now, though he saw a paradise about him, his heart began to sink +within him. It seemed to him inconceivable that in a country so vast he +could find the spot for which he was seeking. His one hope lay in +finding white men or Indians, some one who might guide him. +</P> + +<P> +He traveled slowly over the fifty-mile plain rich with a verdure of +green, covered with flowers, a game paradise. Few hunters had come so +far out of the Yukon mountains, he told himself. And none had come from +out of the sulphur country. It was a new and undiscovered world. On his +map it was a blank space. And there were no signs of people. Ahead of +him the Yukon mountains rose in an impenetrable wall, peak after peak, +crested with snow, towering like mighty watchdogs above the clouds. He +knew what lay beyond them—the great rivers of the Western slope, +Dawson City, the gold country and its civilization. But those things +were on the other side of the mountains. On his side there was only the +vast and undisputed silence of a paradise as yet unclaimed by man. +</P> + +<P> +As he went on into this valley there grew upon him a strange and +comforting peace. Yet with it there was a steadily increasing belief +that he would not find that for which he had come in search. He did not +attempt to analyze this belief. It became a part of him, just as his +mental tranquillity had grown upon him. His one hope of success was +that nearer the mountains he might find white men or Indians. +</P> + +<P> +He no longer used his compass, but guided himself by a cluster of three +gigantic peaks. One of these was taller than the other two. As he +journeyed, his eyes were always returning to it. It fascinated him, +impinged itself upon him as the watcher of a million years, guarding +the valley. He began to think of it as the Watcher. Each hour of his +progress seemed to bring it a little more intimately to his vision. +From his first night's camp in the valley he saw the moon sink behind +it. Within him a voice that never died kept whispering to him that this +mountain, greater than all the others, had been Marette's guardian. Ten +thousand times she must have looked at it, as he had looked at it that +day—if her home was anywhere this side of the Campbell Range. A +hundred miles away she could have seen the Watcher on a clear day. +</P> + +<P> +On the second day the mountain continued to grow upon Kent. By +mid-afternoon it began to take on a new character. The peak of it was +in the form of a mighty castle that changed as he advanced. And the two +lesser peaks were forming into definite contours. Before the haze of +twilight dimmed his vision, he knew that what he had seen was not a +whimsical invention of his imagination. The Watcher had grown into the +shape of a mighty human head facing south. A restless excitement +possessed him, and he traveled on long after dusk. At dawn he was on +the trail again. Westward the sky cleared, and suddenly he stopped, and +a cry came from him. +</P> + +<P> +The Watcher's head was there, as if chiseled by the hands of giants. +The two smaller peaks had unveiled their mystery. Startling and weird, +their crests had taken on the form of human heads. One of them was +looking north. The other faced the valley. And Kent, his heart +pounding, cried to himself, +</P> + +<P> +"The Silent Men!" +</P> + +<P> +He did not hear himself, but the thought itself was a tumultuous thing +within him. It came upon him like an inundation, a sudden and thrilling +inspiration backed by the forces of a visual truth. THE VALLEY OF +SILENT MEN. He repeated the words, staring at the three colossal heads +in the sky. Somewhere near them, under them,—one side or the +other—was Marette's hidden valley! +</P> + +<P> +He went on. A strange joy consumed him. In it, at times, his grief was +obliterated, and it seemed to him in these moments that Marette must +surely be at the valley to greet him when he came to it. But always the +tragedy of the Death Chute came back to him, and with it the thought +that the three giant heads were watching—and would always watch—for a +beloved lost one who would never return. As the sun went down that day, +the face bowed to the valley seemed alive with the fire of a living +question sent directly to Kent. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she?" it asked. "Where is she? Where is she?" +</P> + +<P> +That night Kent did not sleep. +</P> + +<P> +The next day there lay ahead of him a low and broken range, the first +of the deeper mountains. He climbed this steadily, and at noon had +reached the crest. And he knew that at last he was looking down into +the Valley of Silent Men. It was not a wide valley, like the other. On +the far side of it, three or four miles away, rose the huge mountain +whose face was looking down upon the green meadows at its foot. +Southward Kent could see for a long distance, and in the vivid sunlight +he saw the shimmer of creeks and little lakes, and the rich glow of +thick patches of cedar and spruce and balsam, scattered like great rugs +of velvety luster amid the flowering green of the valley. Northward, +three or four miles away the range which he had climbed made a sharp +twist to the east, and that part of the valley—following the swing of +the range—was lost to him. He turned in this direction after he had +rested. It was four o'clock when he came to the elbow in the valley, +and could look down into the hidden part of it. +</P> + +<P> +What he saw at first was a giant cup hollowed out of the surrounding +mountains, a cup two miles from brim to brim, the end of the valley +itself. It took him a few moments to focus his vision so that it would +pick up the smaller and more intimate things half a mile under him, and +yet, before he had done this, a sound came up to him that set aquiver +every nerve in his body. It was the far-down, hollow-sounding barking +of a dog. +</P> + +<P> +The warm, golden haze that precedes sunset in the mountains, was +gathering between him and the valley, but through this he made out +after a time evidences of human habitation almost straight under him. +There was a small lake out of which ran a shimmering creek, and close +to this lake, yet equally near to the base of the mountain on which he +was standing, were a number of buildings and a stockade which looked +like a toy. He could see no animals, no movement of any kind. +</P> + +<P> +Without seeking for a downward trail he began to descend. Again he did +not question himself. An overwhelming certainty possessed him. Of all +places in the world this must be the Valley of Silent Men. +</P> + +<P> +And below him, flooded and half-hidden in the illusive sun-mist, was +Marette's old home. It seemed to him now that it belonged to him, that +he was a part of it, that in going to it he was achieving his last +great resting place, his final refuge, his own home. And the thought +became strangely a part of him that a welcome must be waiting for him +there. He hurried until his breath came pantingly between his lips and +he was forced to rest. And at last he found himself where his progress +was made a foot at a time, and again and again he was forced to climb +back and detour around treacherous slides and precipitous breaks which +left sheer falls at his feet. The mist thickened in the valley. The sun +sank behind the western peaks, and swiftly after that the gloom of +twilight deepened. It was seven o'clock when he came to the edge of the +plain, at least a mile below the elbow which shut out the cup in the +valley. He was exhausted. His hands were bruised and bleeding. Darkness +shut him in when he went on. +</P> + +<P> +When he rounded the elbow of the mountain, he did not try to keep back +the joyous cry that came to his lips. Ahead of him there were lights. A +few of them were scattered, but nearest to him he saw a cluster of +them, like the glow that comes from a number of illumined windows. He +quickened his pace as he drew nearer to them, and at last he wanted to +run. And then something stopped him, and it seemed to him that his +heart had risen into his throat and was choking him until he could not +breathe. +</P> + +<P> +It was a man's voice he heard, calling through the twilight gloom a +name. "Marette—Marette—Marette—" +</P> + +<P> +Kent tried to cry out, but his breath came only in a gasp. He felt +himself trembling. He reached out his arms, and a strange madness +rushed like fire into his brain. +</P> + +<P> +Again the voice called, "Marette—Marette—Marette—" +</P> + +<P> +The cup in the valley echoed the name. It rolled softly up the +mountainside. The air trembled with it, whispered it, passed it on—and +suddenly the madness in Kent found voice, and he shouted, +</P> + +<P> +"Marette—Marette—" +</P> + +<P> +He ran on. His knees felt weak. He shouted the name again, and the +other voice was silent. Things loomed up out of the mist ahead of him, +between him and the glowing windows. Some one—two people—were +advancing to meet him, doubtfully, wonderingly. Kent was staggering, +but he cried the name again, and this time it was a woman's cry that +answered, and one of the two came toward him swift as a flash of light. +</P> + +<P> +Three paces apart they stood, and in that gloom of the after-twilight +their burning eyes looked at each other, while for a space their bodies +remained stricken in the face of this miracle of a great and merciful +God. +</P> + +<P> +The dead had risen. By a mighty effort Kent reached out his arms, and +Marette swayed to him. When the other man came up, he found them +crumpled to their knees on the earth, clasped like children in each +other's arms. And as Kent raised his face, he saw that it was Sandy +McTrigger who was looking down at him, the man whose life he had saved +at Athabasca Landing. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H3> + +<P> +How long it was before his brain cleared, Kent never could have told. +It might have been a minute or an hour. Every vital force that was in +him had concentrated into a single consciousness—that the dead had +come to life, that it was Marette Radisson, the flesh and blood and +living warmth of her, he held in his arms. Like the flash of a picture +on a screen he had seen McTrigger's face close to him, and then his own +head was crushed down again, and if the valley had been filled with the +roar of cannon, he would have heard only one sound, a sobbing voice +crying over and over again, "Jeems—Jeems—Jeems—" +</P> + +<P> +It was McTrigger, in the beginning of the starlight, who alone looked +with clear vision upon the wonder of the thing that was happening. +After a little Kent realized that McTrigger was talking, that a hand +was on his shoulder, that the voice was both joyous and insistent. He +rose to his feet, still holding Marette, her arms clinging to him. Her +breath was sobbing and broken. And it was impossible for Kent to speak. +He seemed to stumble over the distance between them and the lights, +with McTrigger on the other side of Marette. It was McTrigger who +opened a door, and they came into a glow of lamplight. It was a great, +strange-looking room they entered. And over the threshold Marette's +hands dropped from Kent, and Kent stepped back, so that in the light +they faced each other, and in that moment came the marvelous +readjustment from shock and disbelief to a glorious certainty. +</P> + +<P> +Again Kent's brain was as clear as the day he faced death at the head +of the Chute. And swift as a hot barb a fear leaped into him as his +eyes met the eyes of the girl. She was terribly changed. Her face was +white with a whiteness that startled him. It was thin. Her eyes were +great, slumbering pools of violet, almost black in the lamp glow, and +her hair—piled high on her head as he had seen it that first day at +Cardigan's—added to the telltale pallor in her cheeks. A hand trembled +at her throat, and its thinness frightened him. For a space—a flash of +seconds—she looked at him as if possessed of the subconscious fear +that he was not Jim Kent, and then slowly her arms opened, and she +reached them out to him. She did not smile, she did not cry out, she +did not speak his name now; but her arms went round his neck as he took +her to him, and her face dropped on his breast. He looked at McTrigger. +A woman was standing beside him, a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, and +she had laid a hand on McTrigger's arm, Kent, looking at them, +understood. +</P> + +<P> +The woman came to him. "I had better take her now, m'sieu," she said. +"Malcolm—will tell you. And a little later,—you may see her again." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was low and soft. At the sound of it Marette raised her head, +and her two hands stole to Kent's cheeks in their old sweet way, and +she whispered, +</P> + +<P> +"Kiss me, Jeems—my Jeems—kiss me—" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVI +</H3> + +<P> +A little later, clasping hands in the lamp glow, Kent and Sandy +McTrigger stood alone in the big room. In their handclasp was the warm +thrill of strong men met in an immutable brotherhood. Each had faced +death for the other. Yet this thought, subconsciously and forever a +part of them, expressed itself only in the grip of their fingers and in +the understanding that lay deep in their eyes. +</P> + +<P> +In Kent's face the great question was of Marette. McTrigger saw the +fear of it, and slowly he smiled, a glad and yet an anxious smile, as +he looked toward the door through which Marette and the older woman had +gone. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God you have come in time!" he said, still holding Kent's hand. +"She thought you were dead. And I know, Kent, that it was killing her. +We had to watch her at night. Sometimes she would wander out into the +valley. She said she was looking for you. It was that way tonight." +</P> + +<P> +Kent gulped hard. "I understand now," he said. "It was the living soul +of her that was pulling me here. I—" +</P> + +<P> +He took his pack with its precious contents from his shoulders, +listening to McTrigger. They sat down. What McTrigger was saying seemed +of trifling consequence beside the fact that Marette was somewhere +beyond the other door, alive, and that he would see her again very +soon. He did not see why McTrigger should tell him that the older woman +was his wife. Even the fact that a splendid chance had thrown Marette +upon a log wedged between two rocks in the Chute, and that this log, +breaking away, had carried her to the opposite side of the river miles +below, was trivial with the thought that only a door separated them +now. But he listened. He heard McTrigger tell how Marette had searched +for him those days when he was lost in fever at Andre Boileau's cabin, +how she had given him up for dead, and how in those same days Laselle's +brigade had floated down, and she had come north with it. Later he +would marvel over these things, but now he listened, and his eyes +turned toward the door. It was then that McTrigger drove something +home. It was like a shot piercing Kent's brain. McTrigger was speaking +quietly of O'Connor. He said: +</P> + +<P> +"But you probably came by way of Fort Simpson, Kent, and O'Connor has +told you all this. It was he who brought Marette back home through the +Sulphur Country." +</P> + +<P> +"O'Connor!" +</P> + +<P> +Kent sprang to his feet. It took McTrigger but a moment to read the +truth in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Good God, do you mean to tell me you don't know, Kent?" he whispered +tensely, rising in front of the other. "Haven't you seen O'Connor? +Haven't you come in touch with the Police anywhere within the last +year? Don't you know—?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing," breathed Kent. +</P> + +<P> +For a space McTrigger stared at him in amazement +</P> + +<P> +"I have been in hiding," said Kent. "All this time I have been keeping +away from the Police." +</P> + +<P> +McTrigger drew a deep breath. Again his hands gripped Kent's, and his +voice was incredulous, filled with a great wonder. "And you have come +to her, to her old home, believing that Marette killed Kedsty! It is +hard to believe. And yet—" Into his face came suddenly a look of +grief, almost of pain, and Kent, following his eyes, saw that he was +looking at a big stone fireplace in the end of the room. +</P> + +<P> +"It was O'Connor who worked the thing out last Winter," he said, +speaking with, an effort. "I must tell you before you see her again. +You must understand everything. It will not do to have her tell you. +See—" +</P> + +<P> +Kent followed him to the fireplace. From the shelf over the stonework +McTrigger took a picture and gave it to him. It was a snapshot, the +picture of a bare-headed man standing in the open with the sun shining +on him. +</P> + +<P> +A low cry broke from Kent's lips. It was the great, gray ghost of a man +he had seen in the lightning flare that night from the window of his +hiding-place in Kedsty's bungalow. +</P> + +<P> +"My brother," said McTrigger chokingly. "I loved him. For forty years +we were comrades. And Marette belonged to us, half and half. It was +he—who killed—John Barkley." And then, after a moment in which +McTrigger fought to speak steadily, he added, "And it was he—my +brother—who also killed Inspector Kedsty." +</P> + +<P> +For a matter of seconds there was a dead silence between them. +McTrigger looked into the fireplace instead of at Kent. Then he said: +</P> + +<P> +"He killed those men, but he didn't murder them, Kent. It couldn't be +called that. It was justice, single-man justice, without going to law. +If it wasn't for Marette, I wouldn't tell you about it—not the +horrible part of it. I don't like to bring it up in my memory. ... It +happened years ago. I was not married then, but my brother was ten +years older than I and had a wife. I think that Marette loves you as +Marie loved Donald. And Donald's love was more than that. It was +worship. We came into the new mountain country, the three of us, even +before the big strikes at Dawson and Bonanza. It was a wild country, a +savage country, and there were few women in it, but Marie came with +Donald. She was beautiful, with hair and eyes like Marette's. That was +the tragedy of it. +</P> + +<P> +"I won't tell you the details. They were terrible. It happened while +Donald and I were out on a hunt. Three men—white men—remember that, +Kent; WHITE MEN—came out of the North and stopped at the cabin. When +we returned, what we found there drove us mad. Marie died in Donald's +arms. And leaving her there, alone, we set out after the white-skinned +brutes who had destroyed her. Only a blizzard saved them, Kent. Their +trail was fresh when the storm came. Had it held off another two hours, +I, too, would have killed. +</P> + +<P> +"From that day Donald and I became man-hunters. We traced the back +trail of the three fiends and discovered who they were. Two years later +Donald found one of the three on the Yukon, and before he killed him he +made him verify the names of the other two. It was a long search after +that, Kent. It has covered thirty years. Donald grew old faster than I, +and I knew, after a time, that he was strangely mad. He would be gone +for months at a time, always searching for the two men. Ten years +passed, and then, one day, in the deep of Winter, we came on a cabin +home that had been stricken with the plague—the smallpox. It was the +home of Pierre Radisson and his wife Andrea. Both were dead. But there +was a little child still living, almost a babe in arms. We took her, +Donald and I. The child was—Marette." +</P> + +<P> +McTrigger had spoken almost in a monotone. He had not raised his eyes +from the ash of the fireplace. But now he looked up suddenly at Kent. +</P> + +<P> +"We worshipped her from the beginning," he said, his voice a bit husky. +"I hoped that love for her would save Donald. It did, in a way. But it +did not cure his madness, his desire for vengeance. We came farther +east. We found this marvelous valley, and gold in the mountains, +untouched by other men. We built here, and I hoped even more that the +glory of this new world we had discovered would help Donald to forget. +I married, and my wife loved Marette. We had a child, and then another, +and both died. We loved Marette more than ever after that. Anne, my +wife, was the daughter of a missioner and capable of educating Marette +up to a certain point. You will find this place filled with all kinds +of books, and reading, and music. But the time came when we thought we +must send Marette to Montreal. It broke her heart. And then—a long +time after—" +</P> + +<P> +McTrigger paused a moment, looking into Kent's eyes. "And then—one day +Donald came in from Dawson City, terrible in his madness, and told us +that he had found his men. One of them was John Barkley, the rich +timber man, and the other was Kedsty, Inspector of Police at Athabasca +Landing." +</P> + +<P> +Kent made no effort to speak. His amazement, as McTrigger had gone on, +was beyond the expression of words. The night held for him a cumulative +shock—the discovery that Marette was not dead, but alive, and now the +discovery that he, Jim Kent, was no longer a hunted man, and that it +was O'Connor, his old comrade, who had run the truth down. With dry +lips he simply nodded, urging McTrigger to continue. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew what would happen if Donald went after Barkley and Kedsty," +said the older man. "And it was impossible to hold him back. He was +mad, clean mad. There was just one thing for me to do. I left here +first, with the intention of warning the two brutes who had killed +Donald's wife. I knew, with the evidence in our hands, they could do +nothing but make a getaway. No matter how rich or powerful they were, +our evidence was complete, and through many years we had kept track of +the movements of our witnesses. I tried to explain to Donald that we +could send them to prison, but there was but one thought in his poor +sick mind—to kill. I was younger and beat him south. And after that I +made my fatal mistake. I thought I was far enough ahead of him to get +down to the line of rail and back before he arrived. You see, I figured +his love for Marette would take him to Montreal first, and I had made +up my mind to tell her everything so that she might understand the +necessity of holding him if he went to her. I wrote everything to her +and told her to remain in Montreal. How she did that, you know. She set +out for the North as soon as she received my letter." +</P> + +<P> +McTrigger's shoulders hunched lower. "Well, you know what happened, +Kent. Donald got ahead of me, after all. I came the day after Barkley +was killed. I took it as a kind fate that the day preceding the killing +I shot a grouse for my dinner, and as the bird was only wounded when I +picked it up, I got blood on the sleeves of my coat. I was arrested. +Kedsty, every one, was sure they had the real man. And I kept quiet, +except to maintain my innocence. I could say nothing that would turn +the law on Donald's trail. +</P> + +<P> +"After that, things happened quickly. You, my friend, made your false +confession to save one who had done you a poor service years ago. +Almost simultaneously with that, Marette had come. She came quietly, in +the night, and went straight to Kedsty. She told him everything, showed +him the written evidence, telling him this evidence was in the hands of +others and would be used if anything happened to her. Her power over +him was complete. As the price of her secrecy she demanded my release, +and in that black hour your confession gave Kedsty his opportunity. +</P> + +<P> +"He knew you were lying. He knew it was Donald who had killed Barkley. +Yet he was willing to sacrifice you to save himself. And Marette +remained in his house, waiting and watching for Donald, while I +searched for him on the trails. That is why she secretly lived in +Kedsty's house. She knew that Donald would come there sooner or later, +if I did not find him and get him away. And she was plotting how to +save you. +</P> + +<P> +"She loved you, Kent—from that first hour she came to you in the +hospital. And she tried to exact your freedom also as an added price +for her secrecy. But Kedsty had become like a cornered tiger. If he +freed you, he saw his whole world crumbling under his feet. He, too, +went a little mad, I think. He told Marette that he would not free you, +that he would go to the hangman first. Then, Kent, came the night of +your freedom, and a little later—Donald came to Kedsty's home. It was +he whom you saw that night out in the storm. He entered and killed +Kedsty. +</P> + +<P> +"Something dragged Marette down to the room that night. She found +Kedsty in his chair—dead. Donald was gone. It was then that you found +her there. Kent, she loved you—and you will never know how her heart +bled when she let you think she had killed Kedsty. She has told me +everything. It was her fear for Donald, her desire to keep all possible +suspicion from him until he was safe, that compelled her not to confide +even in you. Later, when she knew that Donald must be safe, she was +going to tell you. And then—you were separated at the Chute." +McTrigger paused, and Kent saw him choke back a grief that was still +like the fresh cut of a knife in his heart. +</P> + +<P> +"And O'Connor found out all this?" +</P> + +<P> +McTrigger nodded. "Yes. He defied Kedsty's command to go to Fort +Simpson and was on his way back to Athabasca Landing when he found my +brother. It is strange how all things happened, Kent. But I guess God +must have meant it that way. Donald was dying. And in dying, for a +space, his old reason returned to him. It was from him, before he died, +that O'Connor learned everything. The story is known everywhere now. It +is marvelous that you did not hear—" +</P> + +<P> +There came an interruption, the opening of a door. Anne McTrigger stood +looking at them where a little time before she had disappeared with +Marette. There was a glad smile in her face. Her dark eyes were glowing +with a new happiness. First they rested on McTrigger's face, and then +on Kent's. +</P> + +<P> +"Marette is much better," she said in her soft voice. "She is waiting +to see you, M'sieu Kent. Will you come now?" +</P> + +<P> +Like one in a dream Kent went toward her. He picked up his pack, for +with its precious contents it had become to him like his own flesh and +blood. And as the woman led the way and Kent followed her, McTrigger +did not move from the fireplace. In a little while Anne McTrigger came +back into the room. Her beautiful eyes were aglow. She was smiling +softly, and putting her arms about the shoulders of the man at the +fireplace, she whispered: +</P> + +<P> +"I have looked at the night through the window, Malcolm. I think that +the stars are bigger and brighter than they have been in a long time. +And the Watcher seems like a living god up in the sky. Come, please." +</P> + +<P> +She took his hand, and Malcolm went with her. Over their heads burned a +glory of stars. The wind came gently up the valley, cool with the +freshness of the mountain-tops, sweet with the smell of meadow and +flowers. And when the woman pointed through the glow, Malcolm McTrigger +looked up at the Watcher, and for an instant he fancied that he saw +what she had seen—something that was life instead of death, a glow of +understanding and of triumph in the mighty face of stone above the lace +mists of the clouds. For a long time they walked on, and deep in the +heart of the woman a voice cried out again and again that the Watcher +knew, and that it was a living joy she saw up there, for up to that +unmoving and voiceless god of the mountains she had cried and laughed +and sung—and even prayed; and with her Marette had also done these +things, until at last the pulse and beat of women's souls had given a +spirit to a form of rock. +</P> + +<P> +Back in the chateau which Malcolm McTrigger and his brother Donald had +built of logs, in a room whose windows faced the Watcher himself, +Marette was unveiling the last of mystery for Jim Kent. And this, too, +was her hour of triumph. Her lips were red and warm with the flush +brought there by Kent's love. +</P> + +<P> +Her face was like the wild roses he had crushed under his feet all that +day. For in this hour the world had come to her, and had prostrated +itself at her feet. The sacred contents of the pack were in her lap as +she leaned back in the great blanketed and pillowed chair that had been +her invalid's nest for many days. But it was an invalid's nest no +longer. The floods of life were pounding through her body again, and in +that hour when Malcolm McTrigger and his wife were gone, Kent looked +upon the miracle of its change. And now Marette gave to him a little +packet, and while Kent opened it she raised both hands to her head and +unbound her hair so that it fell about her in shining and glorious +confusion. +</P> + +<P> +Kent, unwrapping a last bit of tissue-paper, found in his hands a long +tress of hair. +</P> + +<P> +"See, Jeems, it has grown fast since I cut it that night." +</P> + +<P> +She leaned a little toward him, parting her hair with slim, white +fingers so that he saw again where the hair had been clipped the night +of Kedsty's death. +</P> + +<P> +And then she said: "You may keep it always if you want to, Jeems, for I +cut it from my head when I left you in the room below, and when +you—almost—believed I had killed Kedsty. It was this—" +</P> + +<P> +She gave him another packet, and her lips tightened a little as Kent +unwrapped it, and another tress of hair shimmered in the lamp glow. +</P> + +<P> +"That was father Donald's," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"It—it was all he had left of Marie, his wife. And that night—when +Kedsty died—" +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," cried Kent, stopping her. "He choked Kedsty with it +until he was dead. And when I found it around Kedsty's neck—you—you +let me think it was yours—to save father Donald!" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. "Yes, Jeems. If the police had come, they would have +thought I was guilty. I planned to let them think so until father +Donald was safe. But all the time I had here in my breast this other +tress, which would prove that I was innocent—when the time came. And +now, Jeems—" +</P> + +<P> +She smiled at him again and reached out her hands. "Oh, I feel so +strong! And I want to take you out now—and show you my +valley—Jeems—our valley—yours and mine—in the starlight. Not +tomorrow, Jeems. But tonight. Now." +</P> + +<P> +A little later the Watcher looked down on them, even as it had looked +down on another man and another woman who had preceded them. But the +stars were bigger and brighter, and the white cap of snow that rested +on the Watcher's head like a crown caught the faint gleam of a far-away +light; and after that, slowly and wonderfully, other snow-crested +mountain-tops caught that greeting radiance of the moon. But it was the +Watcher who stood out like a mighty god among them all, and when they +came to the elbow in the plain, Marette drew Kent down beside her on a +great flat rock and laughed softly as she held his hand tightly in her +lap. +</P> + +<P> +"Always, from a little child, I have sat and played on this rock, with +the Watcher looking, like that," she said in a low voice. "I have grown +to love him, Jeems. And I have always believed that he was gazing off +there, night and day, into the east, watching for something that was +coming to me. Now I know. It was you, Jeems. And, Jeems, when I was +away—down there in the big city—" +</P> + +<P> +Her fingers gripped his thumb in their old way, and Kent waited. +</P> + +<P> +"It was the Watcher that made me want to come home most of all," she +went on, a bit of tremble in her voice. "Oh, I grew lonely for him, and +I could see him in my dreams at night, watching, watching, watching, +and sometimes even calling me. Jeems, do you see that hump on his left +shoulder, like a great epaulet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I see," said Kent. +</P> + +<P> +"Beyond that, on a straight line from here—hundreds of miles away—are +Dawson City, the Yukon, the big gold country, men, women, civilization. +Father Malcolm and father Donald have never found but one trail to this +side of the mountains, and I have been over it three times—to Dawson. +But the Watcher's back is on those things. Sometimes I imagine it was +he who built those great ramparts through which few men come. He wants +this valley alone. And so do I. Alone—with you, and with my people." +</P> + +<P> +Kent drew her close in his arms. "When you are stronger," he whispered, +"we will go over that hidden trail together, past the Watcher, toward +Dawson. For it must be that over there—we will find—a missioner—" He +paused. +</P> + +<P> +"Please go on, Jeems." +</P> + +<P> +"And you will be—my wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, Jeems—forever and ever. But, Jeems"—her arms crept up +about his neck—"very soon it will be the first of August." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—?" +</P> + +<P> +"And in that month there come through the mountains, each year, a man +and a woman to visit us—mother Anne's father and mother. And mother +Anne's father—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is a missioner, Jeems." +</P> + +<P> +And Kent, looking up in this hour of his triumph and joy, believed that +in the Watcher's face he caught for an instant the passing radiance of +a smile. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Valley of Silent Men, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN *** + +***** This file should be named 4707-h.htm or 4707-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/0/4707/ + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Valley of Silent Men + A Story of the Three River Company + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: July 1, 2009 [EBook #4707] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 5, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: From the girl's revolver leaped forth a sudden spurt of +smoke and flame.] + + + + + + +THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN + +A STORY OF THE THREE RIVER COUNTRY + + +BY + +JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + + + +AUTHOR OF "THE RIVER'S END," ETC. + + + + + +THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN + + +Before the railroad's thin lines of steel bit their way up through the +wilderness, Athabasca Landing was the picturesque threshold over which +one must step who would enter into the mystery and adventure of the +great white North. It is still Iskwatam--the "door" which opens to the +lower reaches of the Athabasca, the Slave, and the Mackenzie. It is +somewhat difficult to find on the map, yet it is there, because its +history is written in more than a hundred and forty years of romance +and tragedy and adventure in the lives of men, and is not easily +forgotten. Over the old trail it was about a hundred and fifty miles +north of Edmonton. The railroad has brought it nearer to that base of +civilization, but beyond it the wilderness still howls as it has howled +for a thousand years, and the waters of a continent flow north and into +the Arctic Ocean. It is possible that the beautiful dream of the +real-estate dealers may come true, for the most avid of all the +sportsmen of the earth, the money-hunters, have come up on the bumpy +railroad that sometimes lights its sleeping cars with lanterns, and +with them have come typewriters, and stenographers, and the art of +printing advertisements, and the Golden Rule of those who sell handfuls +of earth to hopeful purchasers thousands of miles away--"Do others as +they would do you." And with it, too, has come the legitimate business +of barter and trade, with eyes on all that treasure of the North which +lies between the Grand Rapids of the Athabasca and the edge of the +polar sea. But still more beautiful than the dream of fortunes quickly +made is the deep-forest superstition that the spirits of the wilderness +dead move onward as steam and steel advance, and if this is so, the +ghosts of a thousand Pierres and Jacquelines have risen uneasily from +their graves at Athabasca Landing, hunting a new quiet farther north. + +For it was Pierre and Jacqueline, Henri and Marie, Jacques and his +Jeanne, whose brown hands for a hundred and forty years opened and +closed this door. And those hands still master a savage world for two +thousand miles north of that threshold of Athabasca Landing. South of +it a wheezy engine drags up the freight that came not so many months +ago by boat. + +It is over this threshold that the dark eyes of Pierre and Jacqueline, +Henri and Marie, Jacques and his Jeanne, look into the blue and the +gray and the sometimes watery ones of a destroying civilization. And +there it is that the shriek of a mad locomotive mingles with their +age-old river chants; the smut of coal drifts over their forests; the +phonograph screeches its reply to le violon; and Pierre and Henri and +Jacques no longer find themselves the kings of the earth when they come +in from far countries with their precious cargoes of furs. And they no +longer swagger and tell loud-voiced adventure, or sing their wild river +songs in the same old abandon, for there are streets at Athabasca +Landing now, and hotels, and schools, and rules and regulations of a +kind new and terrifying to the bold of the old voyageurs. + +It seems only yesterday that the railroad was not there, and a great +world of wilderness lay between the Landing and the upper rim of +civilization. And when word first came that a steam thing was eating +its way up foot by foot through forest and swamp and impassable muskeg, +that word passed up and down the water-ways for two thousand miles, a +colossal joke, a stupendous bit of drollery, the funniest thing that +Pierre and Henri and Jacques had heard in all their lives. And when +Jacques wanted to impress upon Pierre his utter disbelief of a thing, +he would say: + +"It will happen, m'sieu, when the steam thing comes to the Landing, +when cow-beasts eat with the moose, and when our bread is found for us +in yonder swamps!" + +And the steam thing came, and cows grazed where moose had fed, and +bread WAS gathered close to the edge of the great swamps. Thus did +civilization break into Athabasca Landing. + +Northward from the Landing, for two thousand miles, reached the domain +of the rivermen. And the Landing, with its two hundred and twenty-seven +souls before the railroad came, was the wilderness clearing-house which +sat at the beginning of things. To it came from the south all the +freight which must go into the north; on its flat river front were +built the great scows which carried this freight to the end of the +earth. It was from the Landing that the greatest of all river brigades +set forth upon their long adventures, and it was back to the Landing, +perhaps a year or more later, that still smaller scows and huge canoes +brought as the price of exchange their cargoes of furs. + +Thus for nearly a century and a half the larger craft, with their great +sweeps and their wild-throated crews, had gone DOWN the river toward +the Arctic Ocean, and the smaller craft, with their still wilder crews, +had come UP the river toward civilization. The River, as the Landing +speaks of it, is the Athabasca, with its headwaters away off in the +British Columbian mountains, where Baptiste and McLeod, explorers of +old, gave up their lives to find where the cradle of it lay. And it +sweeps past the Landing, a slow and mighty giant, unswervingly on its +way to the northern sea. With it the river brigades set forth. For +Pierre and Henri and Jacques it is going from one end to the other of +the earth. The Athabasca ends and is replaced by the Slave, and the +Slave empties into Great Slave Lake, and from the narrow tip of that +Lake the Mackenzie carries on for more than a thousand miles to the sea. + +In this distance of the long water trail one sees and hears many +things. It is life. It is adventure. It is mystery and romance and +hazard. Its tales are so many that books could not hold them. In the +faces of men and women they are written. They lie buried in graves so +old that the forest trees grow over them. Epics of tragedy, of love, of +the fight to live! And as one goes farther north, and still farther, +just so do the stories of things that have happened change. + +For the world is changing, the sun is changing, and the breeds of men +are changing. At the Landing in July there are seventeen hours of +sunlight; at Fort Chippewyan there are eighteen; at Fort Resolution, +Fort Simpson, and Fort Providence there are nineteen; at the Great Bear +twenty-one, and at Fort McPherson, close to the polar sea, from +twenty-two to twenty-three. And in December there are also these hours +of darkness. With light and darkness men change, women change, and life +changes. And Pierre and Henri and Jacques meet them all, but always +THEY are the same, chanting the old songs, enshrining the old loves, +dreaming the same dreams, and worshiping always the same gods. They +meet a thousand perils with eyes that glisten with the love of +adventure. + +The thunder of rapids and the howlings of storm do not frighten them. +Death has no fear for them. They grapple with it, wrestle joyously with +it, and are glorious when they win. Their blood is red and strong. +Their hearts are big. Their souls chant themselves up to the skies. Yet +they are simple as children, and when they are afraid, it is of things +which children fear. For in those hearts of theirs is superstition--and +also, perhaps, royal blood. For princes and the sons of princes and the +noblest aristocracy of France were the first of the gentlemen +adventurers who came with ruffles on their sleeves and rapiers at their +sides to seek furs worth many times their weight in gold two hundred +and fifty years ago, and of these ancient forebears Pierre and Henri +and Jacques, with their Maries and Jeannes and Jacquelines, are the +living voices of today. + +And these voices tell many stories. Sometimes they whisper them, as the +wind would whisper, for there are stories weird and strange that must +be spoken softly. They darken no printed pages. The trees listen to +them beside red camp-fires at night. Lovers tell them in the glad +sunshine of day. Some of them are chanted in song. Some of them come +down through the generations, epics of the wilderness, remembered from +father to son. And each year there are the new things to pass from +mouth to mouth, from cabin to cabin, from the lower reaches of the +Mackenzie to the far end of the world at Athabasca Landing. For the +three rivers are always makers of romance, of tragedy, of adventure. +The story will never be forgotten of how Follette and Ladouceur swam +their mad race through the Death Chute for love of the girl who waited +at the other end, or of how Campbell O'Doone, the red-headed giant at +Fort Resolution, fought the whole of a great brigade in his effort to +run away with a scow captain's daughter. + +And the brigade loved O'Doone, though it beat him, for these men of the +strong north love courage and daring. The epic of the lost scow--how +there were men who saw it disappear from under their very eyes, +floating upward and afterward riding swiftly away in the skies--is told +and retold by strong-faced men, deep in whose eyes are the smoldering +flames of an undying superstition, and these same men thrill as they +tell over again the strange and unbelievable story of Hartshope, the +aristocratic Englishman who set off into the North in all the glory of +monocle and unprecedented luggage, and how he joined in a tribal war, +became a chief of the Dog Ribs, and married a dark-eyed, sleek-haired, +little Indian beauty, who is now the mother of his children. + +But deepest and most thrilling of all the stories they tell are the +stories of the long arm of the Law--that arm which reaches for two +thousand miles from Athabasca Landing to the polar sea, the arm Of the +Royal Northwest Mounted Police. + +And of these it is the story of Jim Kent we are going to tell, of Jim +Kent and of Marette, that wonderful little goddess of the Valley of +Silent Men, in whose veins there must have run the blood of fighting +men--and of ancient queens. A story of the days before the railroad +came. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +In the mind of James Grenfell Kent, sergeant in the Royal Northwest +Mounted Police, there remained no shadow of a doubt. He knew that he +was dying. He had implicit faith in Cardigan, his surgeon friend, and +Cardigan had told him that what was left of his life would be measured +out in hours--perhaps in minutes or seconds. It was an unusual case. +There was one chance in fifty that he might live two or three days, but +there was no chance at all that he would live more than three. The end +might come with any breath he drew into his lungs. That was the +pathological history of the thing, as far as medical and surgical +science knew of cases similar to his own. + +Personally, Kent did not feel like a dying man. His vision and his +brain were clear. He felt no pain, and only at infrequent intervals was +his temperature above normal. His voice was particularly calm and +natural. + +At first he had smiled incredulously when Cardigan broke the news. That +the bullet which a drunken half-breed had sent into his chest two weeks +before had nicked the arch of the aorta, thus forming an aneurism, was +a statement by Cardigan which did not sound especially wicked or +convincing to him. "Aorta" and "aneurism" held about as much +significance for him as his perichondrium or the process of his +stylomastoid. But Kent possessed an unswerving passion to grip at facts +in detail, a characteristic that had largely helped him to earn the +reputation of being the best man-hunter in all the northland service. +So he had insisted, and his surgeon friend had explained. + +The aorta, he found, was the main blood-vessel arching over and leading +from the heart, and in nicking it the bullet had so weakened its outer +wall that it bulged out in the form of a sack, just as the inner tube +of an automobile tire bulges through the outer casing when there is a +blowout. + +"And when that sack gives way inside you," Cardigan had explained, +"you'll go like that!" He snapped a forefinger and thumb to drive the +fact home. + +After that it was merely a matter of common sense to believe, and now, +sure that he was about to die. Kent had acted. He was acting in the +full health of his mind and in extreme cognizance of the paralyzing +shock he was contributing as a final legacy to the world at large, or +at least to that part of it which knew him or was interested. The +tragedy of the thing did not oppress him. A thousand times in his life +he had discovered that humor and tragedy were very closely related, and +that there were times when only the breadth of a hair separated the +two. Many times he had seen a laugh change suddenly to tears, and tears +to laughter. + +The tableau, as it presented itself about his bedside now, amused him. +Its humor was grim, but even in these last hours of his life he +appreciated it. He had always more or less regarded life as a joke--a +very serious joke, but a joke for all that--a whimsical and trickful +sort of thing played by the Great Arbiter on humanity at large; and +this last count in his own life, as it was solemnly and tragically +ticking itself off, was the greatest joke of all. The amazed faces that +stared at him, their passing moments of disbelief, their repressed but +at times visible betrayals of horror, the steadiness of their eyes, the +tenseness of their lips--all added to what he might have called, at +another time, the dramatic artistry of his last great adventure. + +That he was dying did not chill him, or make him afraid, or put a +tremble into his voice. The contemplation of throwing off the mere +habit of breathing had never at any stage of his thirty-six years of +life appalled him. Those years, because he had spent a sufficient +number of them in the raw places of the earth, had given him a +philosophy and viewpoint of his own, both of which he kept unto himself +without effort to impress them on other people. He believed that life +itself was the cheapest thing on the face of all the earth. All other +things had their limitations. + +There was so much water and so much land, so many mountains and so many +plains, so many square feet to live on and so many square feet to be +buried in. All things could be measured, and stood up, and +catalogued--except life itself. "Given time," he would say, "a single +pair of humans can populate all creation." Therefore, being the +cheapest of all things, it was true philosophy that life should be the +easiest of all things to give up when the necessity came. + +Which is only another way of emphasizing that Kent was not, and never +had been, afraid to die. But it does not say that he treasured life a +whit less than the man in another room, who, a day or so before, had +fought like a lunatic before going under an anesthetic for the +amputation of a bad finger. No man had loved life more than he. No man +had lived nearer it. + +It had been a passion with him. Full of dreams, and always with +anticipations ahead, no matter how far short realizations fell, he was +an optimist, a lover of the sun and the moon and the stars, a worshiper +of the forests and of the mountains, a man who loved his life, and who +had fought for it, and yet who was ready--at the last--to yield it up +without a whimper when the fates asked for it. + +Bolstered up against his pillows, he did not look the part of the fiend +he was confessing himself to be to the people about him. Sickness had +not emaciated him. The bronze of his lean, clean-cut face had faded a +little, but the tanning of wind and sun and campfire was still there. +His blue eyes were perhaps dulled somewhat by the nearness of death. +One would not have judged him to be thirty-six, even though over one +temple there was a streak of gray in his blond hair--a heritage from +his mother, who was dead. Looking at him, as his lips quietly and +calmly confessed himself beyond the pale of men's sympathy or +forgiveness, one would have said that his crime was impossible. + +Through his window, as he sat bolstered up in his cot, Kent could see +the slow-moving shimmer of the great Athabasca River as it moved on its +way toward the Arctic Ocean. The sun was shining, and he saw the cool, +thick masses of the spruce and cedar forests beyond, the rising +undulations of wilderness ridges and hills, and through that open +window he caught the sweet scents that came with a soft wind from out +of the forests he had loved for so many years. + +"They've been my best friends," he had said to Cardigan, "and when this +nice little thing you're promising happens to me, old man, I want to go +with my eyes on them." + +So his cot was close to the window. + +Nearest to him sat Cardigan. In his face, more than in any of the +others, was disbelief. Kedsty, Inspector of the Royal Northwest Mounted +Police, in charge of N Division during an indefinite leave of absence +of the superintendent, was paler even than the girl whose nervous +fingers were swiftly putting upon paper every word that was spoken by +those in the room. O'Connor, staff-sergeant, was like one struck dumb. +The little, smooth-faced Catholic missioner whose presence as a witness +Kent had requested, sat with his thin fingers tightly interlaced, +silently placing this among all the other strange tragedies that the +wilderness had given up to him. They had all been Kent's friends, his +intimate friends, with the exception of the girl, whom Inspector Kedsty +had borrowed for the occasion. With the little missioner he had spent +many an evening, exchanging in mutual confidence the strange and +mysterious happenings of the deep forests, and of the great north +beyond the forests. O'Connor's friendship was a friendship bred of the +brotherhood of the trails. It was Kent and O'Connor who had brought +down the two Eskimo murderers from the mouth of the Mackenzie, and the +adventure had taken them fourteen months. Kent loved O'Connor, with his +red face, his red hair, and his big heart, and to him the most tragic +part of it all was that he was breaking this friendship now. + +But it was Inspector Kedsty, commanding N Division, the biggest and +wildest division in all the Northland, that roused in Kent an unusual +emotion, even as he waited for that explosion just over his heart which +the surgeon had told him might occur at any moment. On his death-bed +his mind still worked analytically. And Kedsty, since the moment he had +entered the room, had puzzled Kent. The commander of N Division was an +unusual man. He was sixty, with iron-gray hair, cold, almost colorless +eyes in which one would search long for a gleam of either mercy or +fear, and a nerve that Kent had never seen even slightly disturbed. It +took such a man, an iron man, to run N Division according to law, for N +Division covered an area of six hundred and twenty thousand square +miles of wildest North America, extending more than two thousand miles +north of the 70th parallel of latitude, with its farthest limit three +and one-half degrees within the Arctic Circle. To police this area +meant upholding the law in a country fourteen times the size of the +state of Ohio. And Kedsty was the man who had performed this duty as +only one other man had ever succeeded in doing it. + +Yet Kedsty, of the five about Kent, was most disturbed. His face was +ash-gray. A number of times Kent had detected a broken note in his +voice. He had seen his hands grip at the arms of the chair he sat in +until the cords stood out on them as if about to burst. He had never +seen Kedsty sweat until now. + +Twice the Inspector had wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He was +no longer Minisak--"The Rock"--a name given to him by the Crees. The +armor that no shaft had ever penetrated seemed to have dropped from +him. He had ceased to be Kedsty, the most dreaded inquisitor in the +service. He was nervous, and Kent could see that he was fighting to +repossess himself. + +"Of course you know what this means to the Service," he said in a hard, +low voice. "It means--" + +"Disgrace," nodded Kent. "I know. It means a black spot on the +otherwise bright escutcheon of N Division. But it can't be helped. I +killed John Barkley. The man you've got in the guard-house, condemned +to be hanged by the neck until he is dead, is innocent. I understand. +It won't be nice for the Service to let it be known that a sergeant in +His Majesty's Royal Mounted is an ordinary murderer, but--" + +"Not an ORDINARY murderer," interrupted Kedsty. "As you have described +it, the crime was deliberate--horrible and inexcusable to its last +detail. You were not moved by a sudden passion. You tortured your +victim. It is inconceivable!" + +"And yet true," said Kent. + +He was looking at the stenographer's slim fingers as they put down his +words and Kedsty's. A bit of sunshine touched her bowed head, and he +observed the red lights in her hair. His eyes swept to O'Connor, and in +that moment the commander of N Division bent over him, so close that +his face almost touched Kent's, and he whispered, in a voice so low +that no one of the other four could hear, + +"KENT--YOU LIE!" + +"No, it is true," replied Kent. + +Kedsty drew back, again wiping the moisture from his forehead. + +"I killed Barkley, and I killed him as I planned that he should die," +Kent went on. "It was my desire that he should suffer. The one thing +which I shall not tell you is WHY I killed him. But it was a sufficient +reason." + +He saw the shuddering tremor that swept through the shoulders of the +girl who was putting down the condemning notes. + +"And you refuse to confess your motive?" + +"Absolutely--except that he had wronged me in a way that deserved +death." + +"And you make this confession knowing that you are about to die?" + +The flicker of a smile passed over Kent's lips. He looked at O'Connor +and for an instant saw in O'Connor's eyes a flash of their old +comradeship. + +"Yes. Dr. Cardigan has told me. Otherwise I should have let the man in +the guard-house hang. It's simply that this accursed bullet has spoiled +my luck--and saved him!" + +Kedsty spoke to the girl. For half an hour she read her notes, and +after that Kent wrote his name on the last page. Then Kedsty rose from +his chair. + +"We have finished, gentlemen," he said. + +They trailed out, the girl hurrying through the door first in her +desire to free herself of an ordeal that had strained every nerve in +her body. The commander of N Division was last to go. Cardigan +hesitated, as if to remain, but Kedsty motioned him on. It was Kedsty +who closed the door, and as he closed it he looked back, and for a +flash Kent met his eyes squarely. In that moment he received an +impression which he had not caught while the Inspector was in the room. +It was like an electrical shock in its unexpectedness, and Kedsty must +have seen the effect of it in his face, for he moved back quickly and +closed the door. In that instant Kent had seen in Kedsty's eyes and +face a look that was not only of horror, but what in the face and eyes +of another man he would have sworn was fear. + +It was a gruesome moment in which to smile, but Kent smiled. The shock +was over. By the rules of the Criminal Code he knew that Kedsty even +now was instructing Staff-Sergeant O'Connor to detail an officer to +guard his door. The fact that he was ready to pop off at any moment +would make no difference in the regulations of the law. And Kedsty was +a stickler for the law as it was written. Through the closed door he +heard voices indistinctly. Then there were footsteps, dying away. He +could hear the heavy thump, thump of O'Connor's big feet. O'Connor had +always walked like that, even on the trail. + +Softly then the door reopened, and Father Layonne, the little +missioner, came in. Kent knew that this would be so, for Father Layonne +knew neither code nor creed that did not reach all the hearts of the +wilderness. He came back, and sat down close to Kent, and took one of +his hands and held it closely in both of his own. They were not the +soft, smooth hands of the priestly hierarchy, but were hard with the +callosity of toil, yet gentle with the gentleness of a great sympathy. +He had loved Kent yesterday, when Kent had stood clean in the eyes of +both God and men, and he still loved him today, when his soul was +stained with a thing that must be washed away with his own life. + +"I'm sorry, lad," he said. "I'm sorry." + +Something rose up in Kent's throat that was not the blood he had been +wiping away since morning. His fingers returned the pressure of the +little missioner's hands. Then he pointed out through the window to the +panorama of shimmering river and green forests. + +"It is hard to say good-by to all that, Father," he said. "But, if you +don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it. I'm not afraid of it. And why +be unhappy because one has only a little while to live? Looking back +over your life, does it seem so very long ago that you were a boy, a +small boy?" + +"The time has gone swiftly, very swiftly." + +"It seems only yesterday--or so?" + +"Yes, only yesterday--or so." + +Kent's face lit up with the whimsical smile that long ago had reached +the little missioner's heart. "Well, that's the way I'm looking at it, +Father. There is only a yesterday, a today, and a tomorrow in the +longest of our lives. Looking back from seventy years isn't much +different from looking back from thirty-six WHEN you're looking back +and not ahead. Do you think what I have just said will free Sandy +McTrigger?" + +"There is no doubt. Your statements have been accepted as a death-bed +confession." + +The little missioner, instead of Kent, was betraying a bit of +nervousness. + +"There are matters, my son--some few matters--which you will want +attended to. Shall we not talk about them?" + +"You mean--" + +"Your people, first. I remember that once you told me there was no one. +But surely there is some one somewhere." + +Kent shook his head. "There is no one now. For ten years those forests +out there have been father, mother, and home to me." + +"But there must be personal affairs, affairs which you would like to +entrust, perhaps, to me?" + +Kent's face brightened, and for an instant a flash of humor leaped into +his eyes. "It is funny," he chuckled. "Since you remind me of it, +Father, it is quite in form to make my will. I've bought a few little +pieces of land here. Now that the railroad has almost reached us from +Edmonton, they've jumped up from the seven or eight hundred dollars I +gave for them to about ten thousand. I want you to sell the lots and +use the money in your work. Put as much of it on the Indians as you +can. They've always been good brothers to me. And I wouldn't waste much +time in getting my signature on some sort of paper to that effect." + +Father Layonne's eyes shone softly. "God will bless you for that, +Jimmy," he said, using the intimate name by which he had known him. +"And I think He is going to pardon you for something else, if you have +the courage to ask Him." + +"I am pardoned," replied Kent, looking out through the window. "I feel +it. I know it, Father." + +In his soul the little missioner was praying. He knew that Kent's +religion was not his religion, and he did not press the service which +he would otherwise have rendered. After a moment he rose to his feet, +and it was the old Kent who looked up into his face, the clean-faced, +gray-eyed, unafraid Kent, smiling in the old way. + +"I have one big favor to ask of you, Father," he said. "If I've got a +day to live, I don't want every one forcing the fact on me that I'm +dying. If I've any friends left, I want them to come in and see me, and +talk, and crack jokes. I want to smoke my pipe. I'll appreciate a box +of cigars if you'll send 'em up. Cardigan can't object now. Will you +arrange these things for me? They'll listen to you--and please shove my +cot a little nearer the window before you go." + +Father Layonne performed the service in silence. Then at last the +yearning overcame him to have the soul speak out, that his God might be +more merciful, and he said: "My boy, you are sorry? You repent that you +killed John Barkley?" + +"No, I'm not sorry. It had to be done. And please don't forget the +cigars, will you, Father?" + +"No, I won't forget," said the little missioner, and turned away. + +As the door opened and closed behind him, the flash of humor leaped +into Kent's eyes again, and he chuckled even as he wiped another of the +telltale stains of blood from his lips. He had played the game. And the +funny part about it was that no one in all the world would ever know, +except himself--and perhaps one other. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Outside Kent's window was Spring, the glorious Spring of the Northland, +and in spite of the death-grip that was tightening in his chest he +drank it in deeply and leaned over so that his eyes traveled over wide +spaces of the world that had been his only a short time before. + +It occurred to him that he had suggested this knoll that overlooked +both settlement and river as the site for the building which Dr. +Cardigan called his hospital. It was a structure rough and unadorned, +unpainted, and sweetly smelling with the aroma of the spruce trees from +the heart of which its unplaned lumber was cut. The breath of it was a +thing to bring cheer and hope. Its silvery walls, in places golden and +brown with pitch and freckled with knots, spoke joyously of life that +would not die, and the woodpeckers came and hammered on it as though it +were still a part of the forest, and red squirrels chattered on the +roof and scampered about in play with a soft patter of feet. + +"It's a pretty poor specimen of man that would die up here with all +that under his eyes," Kent had said a year before, when he and Cardigan +had picked out the site. "If he died looking at that, why, he just +simply ought to die, Cardigan," he had laughed. + +And now he was that poor specimen, looking out on the glory of the +world! + +His vision took in the South and a part of the East and West, and in +all those directions there was no end of the forest. It was like a +vast, many-colored sea with uneven billows rising and falling until the +blue sky came down to meet them many miles away. More than once his +heart ached at the thought of the two thin ribs of steel creeping up +foot by foot and mile by mile from Edmonton, a hundred and fifty miles +away. It was, to him, a desecration, a crime against Nature, the murder +of his beloved wilderness. For in his soul that wilderness had grown to +be more than a thing of spruce and cedar and balsam, of poplar and +birch; more than a great, unused world of river and lake and swamp. It +was an individual, a thing. His love for it was greater than his love +for man. It was his inarticulate God. It held him as no religion in the +world could have held him, and deeper and deeper it had drawn him into +the soul of itself, delivering up to him one by one its guarded secrets +and its mysteries, opening for him page by page the book that was the +greatest of all books. And it was the wonder of it now, the fact that +it was near him, about him, embracing him, glowing for him in the +sunshine, whispering to him in the soft breath of the air, nodding and +talking to him from the crest of every ridge, that gave to him a +strange happiness even in these hours when he knew that he was dying. + +And then his eyes fell nearer to the settlement which nestled along the +edge of the shining river a quarter of a mile away. That, too, had been +the wilderness, in the days before the railroad came. The poison of +speculation was stirring, but it had not yet destroyed. Athabasca +Landing was still the door that opened and closed on the great North. +Its buildings were scattered and few, and built of logs and rough +lumber. Even now he could hear the drowsy hum of the distant sawmill +that was lazily turning out its grist. Not far away the wind-worn flag +of the British Empire was floating over a Hudson Bay Company's post +that had bartered in the trades of the North for more than a hundred +years. Through that hundred years Athabasca Landing had pulsed with the +heart-beats of strong men bred to the wilderness. Through it, working +its way by river and dog sledge from the South, had gone the precious +freight for which the farther North gave in exchange its still more +precious furs. And today, as Kent looked down upon it, he saw that same +activity as it had existed through the years of a century. A brigade of +scows, laden to their gunwales, was just sweeping out into the river +and into its current. Kent had watched the loading of them; now he saw +them drifting lazily out from the shore, their long sweeps glinting in +the sun, their crews singing wildly and fiercely their beloved Chanson +des Voyageurs as their faces turned to the adventure of the North. + +In Kent's throat rose a thing which he tried to choke back, but which +broke from his lips in a low cry, almost a sob. He heard the distant +singing, wild and free as the forests themselves, and he wanted to lean +out of his window and shout a last good-by. For the brigade--a Company +brigade, the brigade that had chanted its songs up and down the water +reaches of the land for more than two hundred and fifty years--was +starting north. And he knew where it was going--north, and still +farther north; a hundred miles, five hundred, a thousand--and then +another thousand before the last of the scows unburdened itself of its +precious freight. For the lean and brown-visaged men who went with them +there would be many months of clean living and joyous thrill under the +open skies. Overwhelmed by the yearning that swept over him, Kent +leaned back against his pillows and covered his eyes. + +In those moments his brain painted for him swiftly and vividly the +things he was losing. Tomorrow or next day he would be dead, and the +river brigade would still be sweeping on--on into the Grand Rapids of +the Athabasca, fighting the Death Chute, hazarding valiantly the rocks +and rapids of the Grand Cascade, the whirlpools of the Devil's Mouth, +the thundering roar and boiling dragon teeth of the Black Run--on to +the end of the Athabasca, to the Slave, and into the Mackenzie, until +the last rock-blunted nose of the outfit drank the tide-water of the +Arctic Ocean. And he, James Kent, would be DEAD! + +He uncovered his eyes, and there was a wan smile on his lips as he +looked forth once more. There were sixteen scows in the brigade, and +the biggest, he knew, was captained by Pierre Rossand. He could fancy +Pierre's big red throat swelling in mighty song, for Pierre's wife was +waiting for him a thousand miles away. The scows were caught steadily +now in the grip of the river, and it seemed to Kent, as he watched them +go, that they were the last fugitives fleeing from the encroaching +monsters of steel. Unconscious of the act, he reached out his arms, and +his soul cried out its farewell, even though his lips were silent. + +He was glad when they were gone and when the voices of the chanting +oarsmen were lost in the distance. Again he listened to the lazy hum of +the sawmill, and over his head he heard the velvety run of a red +squirrel and then its reckless chattering. The forests came back to +him. Across his cot fell a patch of golden sunlight. A stronger breath +of air came laden with the perfume of balsam and cedar through his +window, and when the door opened and Cardigan entered, he found the old +Kent facing him. + +There was no change in Cardigan's voice or manner as he greeted him. +But there was a tenseness in his face which he could not conceal. He +had brought in Kent's pipe and tobacco. These he laid on a table until +he had placed his head close to Kent's hearty listening to what he +called the bruit--the rushing of blood through the aneurismal sac. + +"Seems to me that I can hear it myself now and then," said Kent. +"Worse, isn't it?" + +Cardigan nodded. "Smoking may hurry it up a bit," he said. "Still, if +you want to--" + +Kent held out his hand for the pipe and tobacco. "It's worth it. +Thanks, old man." + +Kent loaded the pipe, and Cardigan lighted a match. For the first time +in two weeks a cloud of smoke issued from between Kent's lips. + +"The brigade is starting north," he said. + +"Mostly Mackenzie River freight," replied Cardigan. "A long run." + +"The finest in all the North. Three years ago O'Connor and I made it +with the Follette outfit. Remember Follette--and Ladouceur? They both +loved the same girl, and being good friends they decided to settle the +matter by a swim through the Death Chute. The man who came through +first was to have her. Gawd, Cardigan, what funny things happen! +Follette came out first, but he was dead. He'd brained himself on a +rock. And to this day Ladouceur hasn't married the girl, because he +says Follette beat him; and that Follette's something-or-other would +haunt him if he didn't play fair. It's a queer--" + +He stopped and listened. In the hall was the approaching tread of +unmistakable feet. + +"O'Connor," he said. + +Cardigan went to the door and opened it as O'Connor was about to knock. +When the door closed again, the staff-sergeant was in the room alone +with Kent. In one of his big hands he clutched a box of cigars, and in +the other he held a bunch of vividly red fire-flowers. + +"Father Layonne shoved these into my hands as I was coming up," he +explained, dropping them on the table. "And I--well--I'm breaking +regulations to come up an' tell you something, Jimmy. I never called +you a liar in my life, but I'm calling you one now!" + +He was gripping Kent's hands in the fierce clasp of a friendship that +nothing could kill. Kent winced, but the pain of it was joy. He had +feared that O'Connor, like Kedsty, must of necessity turn against him. +Then he noticed something unusual in O'Connor's face and eyes. The +staff-sergeant was not easily excited, yet he was visibly disturbed now. + +"I don't know what the others saw, when you were making that +confession, Kent. Mebby my eyesight was better because I spent a year +and a half with you on the trail. You were lying. What's your game, old +man?" + +Kent groaned. "Have I got to go all over it again?" he appealed. + +O'Connor began thumping back and forth over the floor. Kent had seen +him that way sometimes in camp when there were perplexing problems +ahead of them. + +"You didn't kill John Barkley," he insisted. "I don't believe you did, +and Inspector Kedsty doesn't believe it--yet the mighty queer part of +it is--" + +"What?" + +"That Kedsty is acting on your confession in a big hurry. I don't +believe it's according to Hoyle, as the regulations are written. But +he's doing it. And I want to know--it's the biggest thing I EVER wanted +to know--did you kill Barkley?" + +"O'Connor, if you don't believe a dying man's word--you haven't much +respect for death, have you?" + +"That's the theory on which the law works, but sometimes it ain't +human. Confound it, man, DID YOU?" + +"Yes." + +O'Connor sat down and with his finger-nails pried open the box of +cigars. "Mind if I smoke with you?" he asked. "I need it. I'm shot up +with unexpected things this morning. Do you care if I ask you about the +girl?" + +"The girl!" exclaimed Kent. He sat up straighter, staring at O'Connor. + +The staff-sergeant's eyes were on him with questioning steadiness. "I +see--you don't know her," he said, lighting his cigar. "Neither do I. +Never saw her before. That's why I am wondering about Inspector Kedsty. +I tell you, it's queer. He didn't believe you this morning, yet he was +all shot up. He wanted me to go with him to his house. The cords stood +out on his neck like that--like my little finger. + +"Then suddenly he changed his mind and said we'd go to the office. That +took us along the road that runs through the poplar grove. It happened +there. I'm not much of a girl's man, Kent, and I'd be a fool to try to +tell you what she looked like. But there she was, standing in the path +not ten feet ahead of us, and she stopped me in my tracks as quick as +though she'd sent a shot into me. And she stopped Kedsty, too. I heard +him give a sort of grunt--a funny sound, as though some one had hit +him. I don't believe I could tell whether she had a dress on or not, +for I never saw anything like her face, and her eyes, and her hair, and +I stared at them like a thunder-struck fool. She didn't seem to notice +me any more than if I'd been thin air, a ghost she couldn't see. + +"She looked straight at Kedsty, and she kept looking at him--and then +she passed us. Never said a word, mind you. She came so near I could +have touched her with my hand, and not until she was that close did she +take her eyes from Kedsty and look at me. And when she'd passed I +thought what a couple of cursed idiots we were, standing there +paralyzed, as if we'd never seen a beautiful girl before in our lives. +I went to remark that much to the Old Man when--" + +O'Connor bit his cigar half in two as he leaned nearer to the cot. + +"Kent, I swear that Kedsty was as white as chalk when I looked at him! +There wasn't a drop of blood left in his face, and he was staring +straight ahead, as though the girl still stood there, and he gave +another of those grunts--it wasn't a laugh--as if something was choking +him. And then he said: + +"'Sergeant, I've forgotten something important. I must go back to see +Dr. Cardigan. You have my authority to give McTrigger his liberty at +once!'" + +O'Connor paused, as if expecting some expression of disbelief from +Kent. When none came, he demanded, + +"Was that according to the Criminal Code? Was it, Kent?" + +"Not exactly. But, coming from the S.O.D., it was law." + +"And I obeyed it," grunted the staff-sergeant. "And if you could have +seen McTrigger! When I told him he was free, and unlocked his cell, he +came out of it gropingly, like a blind man. And he would go no farther +than the Inspector's office. He said he would wait there for him." + +"And Kedsty?" + +O'Connor jumped from his chair and began thumping back and forth across +the room again. "Followed the girl," he exploded. "He couldn't have +done anything else. He lied to me about Cardigan. There wouldn't be +anything mysterious about it if he wasn't sixty and she less than +twenty. She was pretty enough! But it wasn't her beauty that made him +turn white there in the path. Not on your life it wasn't! I tell you he +aged ten years in as many seconds. There was something in that girl's +eyes more terrifying to him than a leveled gun, and after he'd looked +into them, his first thought was of McTrigger, the man you're saving +from the hangman. It's queer, Kent. The whole business is queer. And +the queerest of it all is your confession." + +"Yes, it's all very funny," agreed Kent. "That's what I've been telling +myself right along, old man. You see, a little thing like a bullet +changed it all. For if the bullet hadn't got me, I assure you I +wouldn't have given Kedsty that confession, and an innocent man would +have been hanged. As it is, Kedsty is shocked, demoralized. I'm the +first man to soil the honor of the finest Service on the face of the +earth, and I'm in Kedsty's division. Quite natural that he should be +upset. And as for the girl--" + +He shrugged his shoulders and tried to laugh. "Perhaps she came in this +morning with one of the up-river scows and was merely taking a little +constitutional," he suggested. "Didn't you ever notice, O'Connor, that +in a certain light under poplar trees one's face is sometimes ghastly?" + +"Yes, I've noticed it, when the trees are in full leaf, but not when +they're just opening, Jimmy. It was the girl. Her eyes shattered every +nerve in him. And his first words were an order for me to free +McTrigger, coupled with the lie that he was coming back to see +Cardigan. And if you could have seen her eyes when she turned them on +me! They were blue--blue as violets--but shooting fire. I could imagine +black eyes like that, but not blue ones. Kedsty simply wilted in their +blaze. And there was a reason--I know it--a reason that sent his mind +like lightning to the man in the cell!" + +"Now, that you leave me out of it, the thing begins to get +interesting," said Kent. "It's a matter of the relationship of this +blonde girl and--" + +"She isn't blonde--and I'm not leaving you out of it," interrupted +O'Connor. "I never saw anything so black in my life as her hair. It was +magnificent. If you saw that girl once, you would never forget her +again as long as you lived. She has never been in Athabasca Landing +before, or anywhere near here. If she had, we surely would have heard +about her. She came for a purpose, and I believe that purpose was +accomplished when Kedsty gave me the order to free McTrigger." + +"That's possible, and probable," agreed Kent. "I always said you were +the best clue-analyst in the force, Bucky. But I don't see where I come +in." + +O'Connor smiled grimly. "You don't? Well, I may be both blind and a +fool, and perhaps a little excited. But it seemed to me that from the +moment Inspector Kedsty laid his eyes on that girl he was a little too +anxious to let McTrigger go and hang you in his place. A little too +anxious, Kent." + +The irony of the thing brought a hard smile to Kent's lips as he nodded +for the cigars. "I'll try one of these on top of the pipe," he said, +nipping off the end of the cigar with his teeth. "And you forget that +I'm not going to hang, Bucky. Cardigan has given me until tomorrow +night. Perhaps until the next day. Did you see Rossand's fleet leaving +for up north? It made me think of three years ago!" + +O'Connor was gripping his hand again. The coldness of it sent a chill +into the staff-sergeant's heart. He rose and looked through the upper +part of the window, so that the twitching in his throat was hidden from +Kent. Then he went to the door. + +"I'll see you again tomorrow," he said. "And if I find out anything +more about the girl, I'll report." + +He tried to laugh, but there was a tremble in his voice, a break in the +humor he attempted to force. + +Kent listened to the tramp of his heavy feet as they went down the hall. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Again the world came back to Kent, the world that lay just beyond his +open window. But scarcely had O'Connor gone when it began to change, +and in spite of his determination to keep hold of his nerve Kent felt +creeping up with that change a thing that was oppressive and +smothering. Swiftly the distant billowings of the forests were changing +their tones and colors under the darkening approach of storm. The +laughter of the hills and ridges went out. The shimmer of spruce and +cedar and balsam turned to a somber black. The flashing gold and silver +of birch and poplar dissolved into a ghostly and unanimated gray that +was almost invisible. A deepening and somber gloom spread itself like a +veil over the river that only a short time before had reflected the +glory of the sun in the faces of dark-visaged men of the Company +brigade. And with the gloom came steadily nearer a low rumbling of +thunder. + +For the first time since the mental excitement of his confession Kent +felt upon him an appalling loneliness. He still was not afraid of +death, but a part of his philosophy was gone. It was, after all, a +difficult thing to die alone. He felt that the pressure in his chest +was perceptible greater than it had been an hour or two before, and the +thought grew upon him that it would be a terrible thing for the +"explosion" to come when the sun was not shining. He wanted O'Connor +back again. He had the desire to call out for Cardigan. He would have +welcomed Father Layonne with a glad cry. Yet more than all else would +he have had at his side in these moments of distress a woman. For the +storm, as it massed heavier and nearer, filling the earth with its +desolation, bridged vast spaces for him, and he found himself suddenly +face to face with the might-have-beens of yesterday. + +He saw, as he had never guessed before, the immeasurable gulf between +helplessness and the wild, brute freedom of man, and his soul cried +out--not for adventure, not for the savage strength of life--but for +the presence of a creature frailer than himself, yet in the gentle +touch of whose hand lay the might of all humanity. + +He struggled with himself. He remembered that Dr. Cardigan had told him +there would be moments of deep depression, and he tried to fight +himself out of the grip of this that was on him. There was a bell at +hand, but he refused to use it, for he sensed his own cowardice. His +cigar had gone out, and he relighted it. He made an effort to bring his +mind back to O'Connor, and the mystery girl, and Kedsty. He tried to +visualize McTrigger, the man he had saved from the hangman, waiting for +Kedsty in the office at barracks. He pictured the girl, as O'Connor had +described her, with her black hair and blue eyes--and then the storm +broke. + +The rain came down in a deluge, and scarcely had it struck when the +door opened and Cardigan hurried in to close the window. He remained +for half an hour, and after that young Mercer, one of his two +assistants, came in at intervals. Late in the afternoon it began to +clear up, and Father Layonne returned with papers properly made out for +Kent's signature. He was with Kent until sundown, when Mercer came in +with supper. + +Between that hour and ten o'clock Kent observed a vigilance on the part +of Dr. Cardigan which struck him as being unusual. Four times he +listened with the stethoscope at his chest, but when Kent asked the +question which was in his mind, Cardigan shook his head. + +"It's no worse, Kent. I don't think it will happen tonight." + +In spite of this assurance Kent was positive there was in Cardigan's +manner an anxiety of a different quality than he had perceived earlier +in the day. The thought was a definite and convincing one. He believed +that Cardigan was smoothing the way with a professional lie. + +He had no desire to sleep. His light was turned low, and his window was +open again, for the night had cleared. Never had air tasted sweeter to +him than that which came in through his window. The little bell in his +watch tinkled the hour of eleven, when he heard Cardigan's door close +for a last time across the hall. After that everything was quiet. He +drew himself nearer to the window, so that by leaning forward he could +rest himself partly on the sill. He loved the night. The mystery and +lure of those still hours of darkness when the world slept had never +ceased to hold their fascination for him. Night and he were friends. He +had discovered many of its secrets. A thousand times he had walked hand +in hand with the spirit of it, approaching each time a little nearer to +the heart of it, mastering its life, its sound, the whispering +languages of that "other side of life" which rises quietly and as if in +fear to live and breathe long after the sun has gone out. To him it was +more wonderful than day. + +And this night that lay outside his window now was magnificent. Storm +had washed the atmosphere between earth and sky, and it seemed as +though the stars had descended nearer to his forests, shining in golden +constellations. The moon was coming up late, and he watched the ruddy +glow of it as it rode up over the wilderness, a splendid queen entering +upon a stage already prepared by the lesser satellites for her coming. +No longer was Kent oppressed or afraid. In still deeper inhalations he +drank the night air into his lungs, and in him there seemed to grow +slowly a new strength. His eyes and ears were wide open and attentive. +The town was asleep, but a few lights burned dimly here and there along +the river's edge, and occasionally a lazy sound came up to him--the +clink of a scow chain, the bark of a dog, the rooster crowing. In spite +of himself he smiled at that. Old Duperow's rooster was a foolish bird +and always crowed himself hoarse when the moon was bright. And in front +of him, not far away, were two white, lightning-shriven spruce stubs +standing like ghosts in the night. In one of these a pair of owls had +nested, and Kent listened to the queer, chuckling notes of their +honeymooning and the flutter of their wings as they darted out now and +then in play close to his window. And then suddenly he heard the sharp +snap of their beaks. An enemy was prowling near, and the owls were +giving warning. He thought he heard a step. In another moment or two +the step was unmistakable. Some one was approaching his window from the +end of the building. He leaned over the sill and found himself staring +into O'Connor's face. + +"These confounded feet of mine!" grunted the staff-sergeant. "Were you +asleep, Kent?" + +"Wide-awake as those owls," assured Kent. + +O'Connor drew up to the window. "I saw your light and thought you were +awake," he said. "I wanted to make sure Cardigan wasn't with you. I +don't want him to know I am here. And--if you don't mind--will you turn +off the light? Kedsty is awake, too--as wide-awake as the owls." + +Kent reached out a hand, and his room was in darkness except for the +glow of moon and stars. O'Connor's bulk at the window shut out a part +of this. His face was half in gloom. + +"It's a crime to come to you like this, Kent," he said, keeping his big +voice down to a whisper. "But I had to. It's my last chance. And I know +there's something wrong. Kedsty is getting me out of the way--because I +was with him when he met the girl over in the poplar bush. I'm detailed +on special duty up at Fort Simpson, two thousand miles by water if it's +a foot! It means six months or a year. We leave in the motor boat at +dawn to overtake Rossand and his outfit, so I had to take this chance +of seeing you. I hesitated until I knew that some one was awake in your +room." + +"I'm glad you came," said Kent warmly. "And--good God, how I would like +to go with you, Bucky! If it wasn't for this thing in my chest, +ballooning up for an explosion--" + +"I wouldn't be going," interrupted O'Connor in a low voice. "If you +were on your feet, Kent, there are a number of things that wouldn't be +happening. Something mighty queer has come over Kedsty since this +morning. He isn't the Kedsty you knew yesterday or for the last ten +years. He's nervous, and I miss my guess if he isn't constantly on the +watch for some one. And he's afraid of me. I know it. He's afraid of me +because I saw him go to pieces when he met that girl. Fort Simpson is +simply a frame-up to get me away for a time. He tried to smooth the +edge off the thing by promising me an inspectorship within the year. +That was this afternoon, just before the storm. Since then--" + +O'Connor turned and faced the moonlight for a moment. + +"Since then I've been on a still-hunt for the girl and Sandy +McTrigger," he added. "And they've disappeared, Kent. I guess McTrigger +just melted away into the woods. But it's the girl that puzzles me. +I've questioned every scow cheman at the Landing. I've investigated +every place where she might have got food or lodging, and I bribed +Mooie, the old trailer, to search the near-by timber. The unbelievable +part of it isn't her disappearance. It's the fact that not a soul in +Athabasca Landing has seen her! Sounds incredible, doesn't it? And +then, Kent, the big hunch came to me. Remember how we've always played +up to the big hunch? And this one struck me strong. I think I know +where the girl is." + +Kent, forgetful of his own impending doom, was deeply interested in the +thrill of O'Connor's mystery. He had begun to visualize the situation. +More than once they had worked out enigmas of this kind together, and +the staff-sergeant saw the old, eager glow in his eyes. And Kent +chuckled joyously in that thrill of the game of man-hunting, and said: + +"Kedsty is a bachelor and doesn't even so much as look at a woman. But +he likes home life--" + +"And has built himself a log bungalow somewhat removed from the town," +added O'Connor. + +"And his Chinaman cook and housekeeper is away." + +"And the bungalow is closed, or supposed to be." + +"Except at night, when Kedsty goes there to sleep." + +O'Connor's hand gripped Kent's. "Jimmy, there never was a team in N +Division that could beat us, The girl is hiding at Kedsty's place!" + +"But why HIDING?" insisted Kent. "She hasn't committed a crime." + +O'Connor sat silent for a moment. Kent could hear him stuffing the bowl +of his pipe. + +"It's simply the big hunch," he grunted. "It's got hold of me, Kent, +and I can't throw it off. Why, man--" + +He lighted a match in the cup of his hands, and Kent saw his face. +There was more than uncertainty in the hard, set lines of it. + +"You see, I went back to the poplars again after I left you today," +O'Connor went on. "I found her footprints. She had turned off the +trail, and in places they were very clear. + +"She had on high-heeled shoes, Kent--those Frenchy things--and I swear +her feet can't be much bigger than a baby's! I found where Kedsty +caught up with her, and the moss was pretty well beaten down. He +returned through the poplars, but the girl went on and into the edge of +the spruce. I lost her trail there. By traveling in that timber it was +possible for her to reach Kedsty's bungalow without being seen. It must +have been difficult going, with shoes half as big as my hand and heels +two inches high! And I've been wondering, why didn't she wear +bush-country shoes or moccasins?" + +"Because she came from the South and not the North," suggested Kent. +"Probably up from Edmonton." + +"Exactly. And Kedsty wasn't expecting her, was he? If he had been, that +first sight of her wouldn't have shattered every nerve in his body. +That's why the big hunch won't let loose of me, Kent. From the moment +he saw her, he was a different man. His attitude toward you changed +instantly. If he could save you now by raising his little finger, he +wouldn't do it, simply because it's absolutely necessary for him to +have an excuse for freeing McTrigger. Your confession came at just the +psychological moment. The girl's unspoken demand there in the poplars +was that he free McTrigger, and it was backed up by a threat which +Kedsty understood and which terrified him to his marrow. McTrigger must +have seen him afterward, for he waited at the office until Kedsty came. +I don't know what passed between them. Constable Doyle says they were +together for half an hour. Then McTrigger walked out of barracks, and +no one has seen him since. It's mighty queer. The whole thing is queer. +And the queerest part of the whole business is this sudden commission +of mine at Fort Simpson." + +Kent leaned back against his pillows. His breath came in a series of +short, hacking coughs. In the star glow O'Connor saw his face grow +suddenly haggard and tired-looking, and he leaned far in so that in +both his own hands he held one of Kent's. + +"I'm tiring you, Jimmy," he said huskily. "Good-by, old pal! I--I--" He +hesitated and then lied steadily. "I'm going up to take a look around +Kedsty's place. I won't be gone more than half an hour and will stop on +my way back. If you're asleep--" + +"I won't be asleep," said Kent. + +O'Connor's hands gripped closer. "Good-by, Jimmy." + +"Good-by." And then, as O'Connor stepped back into the night, Kent's +voice called after him softly: "I'll be with you on the long trip, +Bucky. Take care of yourself--always." + +O'Connor's answer was a sob, a sob that rose in his throat like a great +fist, and choked him, and filled his eyes with scalding tears that shut +out the glow of moon and stars. And he did not go toward Kedsty's, but +trudged heavily in the direction of the river, for he knew that Kent +had called his lie, and that they had said their last farewell. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +It was a long time after O'Connor had gone before Kent at last fell +asleep. It was a slumber weighted with the restlessness of a brain +fighting to the last against exhaustion and the inevitable end. A +strange spirit seemed whirling Kent back through the years he had +lived, even to the days of his boyhood, leaping from crest to crest, +giving to him swift and passing visions of valleys almost forgotten, of +happenings and things long ago faded and indistinct in his memory. +Vividly his dreams were filled with ghosts--ghosts that were +transformed, as his spirit went back to them, until they were riotous +with life and pulsating with the red blood of reality. He was a boy +again, playing three-old-cat in front of the little old red brick +schoolhouse half a mile from the farm where he was born, and where his +mother had died. + +And Skinny Hill, dead many years ago, was his partner at the +bat--lovable Skinny, with his smirking grin and his breath that always +smelled of the most delicious onions ever raised in Ohio. And then, at +dinner hour, he was trading some of his mother's cucumber pickles for +some of Skinny's onions--two onions for a pickle, and never a change in +the price. And he played old-fashioned casino with his mother, and they +were picking blackberries together in the woods, and he killed over +again a snake that he had clubbed to death more than twenty years ago, +while his mother ran away and screamed and then sat down and cried. + +He had worshiped that mother, and the spirit of his dreams did not let +him look down into the valley where she lay dead, under a little white +stone in the country cemetery a thousand miles away, with his father +close beside her. But it gave him a passing thrill of the days in which +he had fought his way through college--and then it brought him into the +North, his beloved North. + +For hours the wilderness was heavy about Kent. He moved restlessly, at +times he seemed about to awaken, but always he slipped back into the +slumberous arms of his forests. He was on the trail in the cold, gray +beginning of Winter, and the glow of his campfire made a radiant patch +of red glory in the heart of the night, and close to him in that glow +sat O'Connor. He was behind dogs and sledge, fighting storm; dark and +mysterious streams rippled under his canoe; he was on the Big River, +O'Connor with him again--and then, suddenly, he was holding a blazing +gun in his hand, and he and O'Connor stood with their backs to a rack, +facing the bloodthirsty rage of McCaw and his free-traders. The roar of +the guns half roused him, and after that came pleasanter things--the +droning of wind in the spruce tops, the singing of swollen streams in +Springtime, the songs of birds, the sweet smells of life, the glory of +life as he had lived it, he and O'Connor. In the end, half between +sleep and wakefulness, he was fighting a smothering pressure on his +chest. It was an oppressive and torturing thing, like the tree that had +fallen on him over in the Jackfish country, and he felt himself +slipping off into darkness. Suddenly there was a gleam of light. He +opened his eyes. The sun was flooding in at his window, and the weight +on his chest was the gentle pressure of Cardigan's stethoscope. + +In spite of the physical stress of the phantoms which his mind has +conceived, Kent awakened so quietly that Cardigan was not conscious of +the fact until he raised his head. There was something in his face +which he tried to conceal, but Kent caught it before it was gone. There +were dark hollows under his eyes. He was a bit haggard, as though he +had spent a sleepless night. Kent pulled himself up, squinting at the +sun and grinning apologetically. He had slept well along into the day, +and-- + +He caught himself with a sudden grimace of pain. A flash of something +hot and burning swept through his chest. It was like a knife. He opened +his mouth to breathe in the air. The pressure inside him was no longer +the pressure of a stethoscope. It was real. + +Cardigan, standing over him, was trying to look cheerful. "Too much of +the night air, Kent," he explained. "That will pass away--soon." + +It seemed to Kent that Cardigan gave an almost imperceptible emphasis +to the word "soon," but he asked no question. He was quite sure that he +understood, and he knew how unpleasant for Cardigan the answer to it +would be. He fumbled under his pillow for his watch. It was nine +o'clock. Cardigan was moving about uneasily, arranging the things on +the table and adjusting the shade at the window. For a few moments, +with his back to Kent, he stood without moving. Then he turned, and +said: + +"Which will you have, Kent--a wash-up and breakfast, or a visitor?" + +"I am not hungry, and I don't feel like soap and water just now. Who's +the visitor? Father Layonne or--Kedsty?" + +"Neither. It's a lady." + +"Then I'd better have the soap and water! Do you mind telling me who it +is?" + +Cardigan shook his head. "I don't know. I've never seen her before. She +came this morning while I was still in pajamas, and has been waiting +ever since. I told her to come back again, but she insisted that she +would remain until you were awake. She has been very patient for two +hours." + +A thrill which he made no effort to conceal leaped through Kent. "Is +she a young woman?" he demanded eagerly. "Wonderful black hair, blue +eyes, wears high-heeled shoes just about half as big as your hand--and +very beautiful?" + +"All of that," nodded Cardigan. "I even noticed the shoes, Jimmy. A +very beautiful young woman!" + +"Please let her come in," said Kent. "Mercer scrubbed me last night, +and I feel fairly fit. She'll forgive this beard, and I'll apologize +for your sake. What is her name?" + +"I asked her, and she didn't seem to hear. A little later Mercer asked +her, and he said she just looked at him for a moment and he froze. She +is reading a volume of my Plutarch's 'Lives'--actually reading it. I +know it by the way she turns the pages!" + +Kent drew himself up higher against his pillows and faced the door when +Cardigan went out. In a flash all that O'Connor had said swept back +upon him--this girl, Kedsty, the mystery of it all. Why had she come to +see him? What could be the motive of her visit--unless it was to thank +him for the confession that had given Sandy McTrigger his freedom? +O'Connor was right. She was deeply concerned in McTrigger and had come +to express her gratitude. He listened. Distant footsteps sounded in the +hall. They approached quickly and paused outside his door. A hand moved +the latch, but for a moment the door did not open. He heard Cardigan's +voice, then Cardigan's footsteps retreating down the hall. His heart +thumped. He could not remember when he had been so upset over an +unimportant thing. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The latch moved slowly, and with its movement came a gentle tap on the +panel. + +"Come in," he said. + +The next instant he was staring. The girl had entered and closed the +door behind her. O'Connor's picture stood in flesh and blood before +him. The girl's eyes met his own. They were like glorious violets, as +O'Connor had said, but they were not the eyes he had expected to see. +They were the wide-open, curious eyes of a child. He had visualized +them as pools of slumbering flame--the idea O'Connor had given him--and +they were the opposite of that. Their one emotion seemed to be the +emotion roused by an overwhelming, questioning curiosity. They were +apparently not regarding him as a dying human being, but as a creature +immensely interesting to look upon. In place of the gratitude he had +anticipated, they were filled with a great, wondering interrogation, +and there was not the slightest hint of embarrassment in their gaze. +For a space it seemed to Kent that he saw nothing but those wonderful, +dispassionate eyes looking at him. Then he saw the rest of her--her +amazing hair, her pale, exquisite face, the slimness and beauty of her +as she stood with her back to the door, one hand still resting on the +latch. He had never seen anything quite like her. He might have guessed +that she was eighteen, or twenty, or twenty-two. Her hair, wreathed in +shimmering, velvety coils from the back to the crown of her head, +struck him as it had struck O'Connor, as unbelievable. The glory of it +gave to her an appearance of height which she did not possess, for she +was not tall, and her slimness added to the illusion. + +And then, greatly to his embarrassment in the next instant, his eyes +went to her feet. Again O'Connor was right--tiny feet, high-heeled +pumps, ravishingly turned ankles showing under a skirt of some fluffy +brown stuff or other-- + +Correcting himself, his face flushed red. The faintest tremble of a +smile was on the girl's lips. She looked down, and for the first time +he saw what O'Connor had seen, the sunlight kindling slumberous fires +in her hair. + +Kent tried to say something, but before he succeeded she had taken +possession of the chair near his bedside. + +"I have been waiting a long time to see you," she said. "You are James +Kent, aren't you?" + +"Yes, I'm Jim Kent. I'm sorry Dr. Cardigan kept you waiting. If I had +known--" + +He was getting a grip on himself again, and smiled at her. He noticed +the amazing length of her dark lashes, but the violet eyes behind them +did not smile back at him. The tranquillity of their gaze was +disconcerting. It was as if she had not quite made up her mind about +him yet and was still trying to classify him in the museum of things +she had known. + +"He should have awakened me," Kent went on, trying to keep himself from +slipping once more. "It isn't polite to keep a young lady waiting two +hours!" + +This time the blue eyes made him feel that his smile was a maudlin grin. + +"Yes--you are different." She spoke softly, as if expressing the +thought to herself. "That is what I came to find out, if you were +different. You are dying?" + +"My God--yes--I'm dying!" gasped Kent. "According to Dr. Cardigan I'm +due to pop off this minute. Aren't you a little nervous, sitting so +near to a man who's ready to explode while you're looking at him?" + +For the first time the eyes changed. She was not facing the window, yet +a glow like the glow of sunlight flashed into them, soft, luminous, +almost laughing. + +"No, it doesn't frighten me," she assured him. "I have always thought I +should like to see a man die--not quickly, like drowning or being shot, +but slowly, an inch at a time. But I shouldn't like to see YOU die." + +"I'm glad," breathed Kent. "It's a great satisfaction to me." + +"Yet I shouldn't be frightened if you did." + +"Oh!" + +Kent drew himself up straighter against his pillows. He had been a man +of many adventures. He had faced almost every conceivable kind of +shock. But this was a new one. He stared into the blue eyes, tongueless +and mentally dazed. They were cool and sweet and not at all excited. +And he knew that she spoke the truth. Not by a quiver of those lovely +lashes would she betray either fear or horror if he popped off right +there. It was astonishing. + +Something like resentment shot for an instant into his bewildered +brain. Then it was gone, and in a flash it came upon him that she was +but uttering his own philosophy of life, showing him life's cheapness, +life's littleness, the absurdity of being distressed by looking upon +the light as it flickered out. And she was doing it, not as a +philosopher, but with the beautiful unconcern of a child. + +Suddenly, as if impelled by an emotion in direct contradiction to her +apparent lack of sympathy, she reached out a hand and placed it on +Kent's forehead. It was another shock. It was not a professional touch, +but a soft, cool little pressure that sent a comforting thrill through +him. The hand was there for only a moment, and she withdrew it to +entwine the slim fingers with those of the others in her lap. + +"You have no fever," she said. "What makes you think you are dying?" + +Kent explained what was happening inside him. He was completely shunted +off his original track of thought and anticipation. He had expected to +ask for at least a mutual introduction when his visitor came into his +room, and had anticipated taking upon himself the position of a polite +inquisitor. In spite of O'Connor, he had not thought she would be quite +so pretty. He had not believed her eyes would be so beautiful, or their +lashes so long, or the touch of her hand so pleasantly unnerving. And +now, in place of asking for her name and the reason for her visit, he +became an irrational idiot, explaining to her certain matters of +physiology that had to do with aortas and aneurismal sacs. He had +finished before the absurdity of the situation dawned upon him, and +with absurdity came the humor of it. Even dying, Kent could not fail to +see the funny side of a thing It struck him as suddenly as had the +girl's beauty and her bewildering and unaffected ingenuousness. + +Looking at him, that same glow of mysterious questioning in her eyes, +the girl found him suddenly laughing straight into her face. + +"This is funny. It's very funny, Miss--Miss--" + +"Marette," she supplied, answering his hesitation. + +"It's funny, Miss Marette." + +"Not Miss Marette. Just Marette," she corrected. + +"I say, it's funny," he tried again. "You see, it's not so terribly +pleasant as you might think to--er--be here, where I am, dying. And +last night I thought about the finest thing in the world would be to +have a woman beside me, a woman who'd be sort of sympathetic, you know, +ease the thing off a little, maybe say she was sorry. And then the Lord +answers my prayer, and YOU come--and you sort of give me the impression +that you made the appointment with yourself to see how a fellow looks +when he pops off." + +The shimmer of light came into the blue eyes again. She seemed to have +done with her mental analysis of him, and he saw that a bit of color +was creeping into her cheeks, pale when she had entered the room. + +"You wouldn't be the first I've seen pop off," she assured him. "There +have been a number, and I've never cried very much. I'd rather see a +man die than some animals. But I shouldn't like to see YOU do it. Does +that comfort you--like the woman you prayed the Lord for?" + +"It does," gasped Kent. "But why the devil, Miss Marette--" + +"Marette," she corrected again. + +"Yes, Marette--why the devil have you come to see me at just the moment +I'm due to explode? And what's your other name, and how old are you, +and what do you want of me?" + +"I haven't any other name, I'm twenty, and I came to get acquainted +with you and see what you are like." + +"Bully!" exclaimed Kent. "We're getting there fast! And now, why?" + +The girl drew her chair a few inches nearer, and for a moment Kent +thought that her lovely mouth was trembling on the edge of a smile. + +"Because you have lied so splendidly to save another man who was about +to die." + +"Et tu, Brute!" sighed Kent, leaning back against his pillows. "Isn't +it possible for a decent man to kill another man and not be called a +liar when he tells about it? Why do so many believe that I lie?" + +"They don't," said the girl. "They believe you--now. You have gone so +completely into the details of the murder in your confession that they +are quite convinced. It would be too bad if you lived, for you surely +would be hanged. Your lie sounds and reads like the truth. But I know +it is a lie. You did not kill John Barkley." + +"And the reason for your suspicion?" + +For fully half a minute the girl's eyes rested on, his own. Again they +seemed to be looking through him and into him. "Because I know the man +who DID kill him," she said quietly, "and it was not you." + +Kent made a mighty effort to appear calm. He reached for a cigar from +the box that Cardigan had placed on his bed, and nibbled the end of it. +"Has some one else been confessing?" he asked. + +She shook her head the slightest bit. + +"Did you--er--see this other gentleman kill John Barkley?" he insisted. + +"No." + +"Then I must answer you as I have answered at least one other. I killed +John Barkley. If you suspect some other person, your suspicion is +wrong." + +"What a splendid liar!" she breathed softly. "Don't you believe in God?" + +Kent winced. "In a large, embracing sense, yes," he said. "I believe in +Him, for instance, as revealed to our senses in all that living, +growing glory you see out there through the window Nature and I have +become pretty good pals, and you see I've sort of built up a mother +goddess to worship instead of a he-god. Sacrilege, maybe, but it's a +great comfort at times. But you didn't come to talk religion?" + +The lovely head bent still nearer him. He felt an impelling desire to +put up his hand and touch her shining hair, as she laid her hand on his +forehead. + +"I know who killed John Barkley," she insisted. "I know how and when +and why he was killed. Please tell me the truth. I want to know. Why +did you confess to a crime which you did not commit?" + +Kent took time to light his cigar. The girl watched him closely, almost +eagerly. + +"I may be mad," he said. "It is possible for any human being to be mad +and not know it. That's the funny part about insanity. But if I'm not +insane, I killed Barkley; if I didn't kill him, I must be insane, for +I'm very well convinced that I did. Either that, or you are insane. I +have my suspicions that you are. Would a sane person wear pumps with +heels like those up here?" He pointed accusingly to the floor. + +For the first time the girl smiled, openly, frankly, gloriously. It was +as if her heart had leaped forth for an instant and had greeted him. +And then, like sunlight shadowed by cloud, the smile was gone. "You are +a brave man," she said. "You are splendid. I hate men. But I think if +you lived very long, I should love you. I will believe that you killed +Barkley. You compel me to believe it. You confessed, when you found you +were going to die, that an innocent man might be saved. Wasn't that it?" + +Kent nodded weakly. "That's it. I hate to think of it that way, but I +guess it's true. I confessed because I knew I was going to die. +Otherwise I am quite sure that I should have let the other fellow take +my medicine for me. You must think I am a beast." + +"All men are beasts," she agreed quickly. "But you are--a different +kind of beast. I like you. If there were a chance, I might fight for +you. I can fight." She held up her two small hands, half smiling at him +again. + +"But not with those," he exclaimed. "I think you would fight with your +eyes. O'Connor told me they half killed Kedsty when you met them in the +poplar grove yesterday." + +He had expected that the mention of Inspector Kedsty's name would +disturb her. It had no effect that he could perceive. + +"O'Connor was the big, red-faced man with Mr. Kedsty?" + +"Yes, my trail partner. He came to me yesterday and raved about your +eyes. They ARE beautiful; I've never seen eyes half so lovely. But that +wasn't what struck Bucky so hard. It was the effect they had on Kedsty. +He said they shattered every nerve in Kedsty's body, and Kedsty isn't +the sort to get easily frightened. And the queer part of it was that +the instant you had gone, he gave O'Connor an order to free +McTrigger--and then turned and followed you. All the rest of that day +O'Connor tried to discover something about you at the Landing. He +couldn't find hide nor hair--I beg pardon!--I mean he couldn't find out +anything about you at all. We made up our minds that for some reason or +other you were hiding up at Kedsty's bungalow. You don't mind a fellow +saying all this--when he is going to pop off soon--do you?" + +He was half frightened at the directness with which he had expressed +the thing. He would gladly have buried his own curiosity and all of +O'Connor's suspicions for another moment of her hand on his forehead. +But it was out, and he waited. + +She was looking down, her fingers twisting some sort of tasseled dress +ornament in her lap, and Kent mentally measured the length of her +lashes with a foot rule in mind. They were superb, and in the thrill of +his admiration he would have sworn they were an inch long. She looked +up suddenly and caught the glow in his eyes and the flush that lay +under the tan of his cheeks. Her own color had deepened a little. + +"What if you shouldn't die?" she asked him bluntly, as if she had not +heard a word of all he had said about Kedsty. "What would you do?" + +"I'm going to." + +"But if you shouldn't?" + +Kent shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose I'd have to take my medicine. +You're not going?" + +She had straightened up and was sitting on the edge of her chair. "Yes, +I'm going. I'm afraid of my eyes. I may look at you as I looked at Mr. +Kedsty, and then--pop you'd go, quick! And I don't want to be here when +you die!" + +He heard a soft little note of laughter in her throat. It sent a chill +through him. What an adorable, blood-thirsty little wretch she was! He +stared at her bent head, at the shining coils of her wonderful hair. +Undone, he could see it completely hiding her. And it was so soft and +warm that again he was tempted to reach out and touch it. She was +wonderful, and yet it was not possible that she had a heart. Her +apparent disregard of the fact that he was a dying man was almost +diabolic. There was no sympathy in the expression of her violet eyes as +she looked at him. She was even making fun of the fact that he was +about to die! + +She stood up, surveying for the first time the room in which she had +been sitting. Then she turned to the window and looked out. She +reminded Kent of a beautiful young willow that had grown at the edge of +a stream, exquisite, slender, strong. He could have picked her up in +his arms as easily as a child, yet he sensed in the lithe beauty of her +body forces that could endure magnificently. The careless poise of her +head fascinated him. For that head and the hair that crowned it he knew +that half the women of the earth would have traded precious years of +their lives. + +And then, without turning toward him, she said, "Some day, when I die, +I wish I might have as pleasant a room as this." + +"I hope you never die," he replied devoutly. + +She came back and stood for a moment beside him. + +"I have had a very pleasant time," she said, as though he had given her +a special sort of entertainment. "It's too bad you are going to die. +I'm sure we should have been good friends. Aren't you?" + +"Yes, very sure. If you had only arrived sooner--" + +"And I shall always think of you as a different kind of man-beast," she +interrupted him. "It is really true that I shouldn't like to see you +die. I want to get away before it happens. Would you care to have me +kiss you?" + +For an instant Kent felt that his aorta was about to give away. "I--I +would," he gasped huskily. + +"Then--close your eyes, please." + +He obeyed. She bent over him. He felt the soft touch of her hands and +caught for an instant the perfume of her face and hair, and then the +thrill of her lips pressed warm and soft upon his. + +She was not flushed or embarrassed when he looked at her again. It was +as if she had kissed a baby and was wondering at its red face. "I've +only kissed three men before you," she avowed. "It is strange. I never +thought I should do it again. And now, good-by!" She moved quickly to +the door. + +"Wait," he cried plaintively. "Please wait. I want to know your name. +It is Marette--" + +"Radisson," she finished for him. "Marette Radisson, and I come from +away off there, from a place we call the Valley of Silent Men." She was +pointing into the north. + +"The North!" he exclaimed. + +"Yes, it is far north. Very far." + +Her hand was on the latch. The door opened slowly. + +"Wait," he pleaded again. "You must not go." + +"Yes, I must go. I have remained too long. I am sorry I kissed you. I +shouldn't have done that. But I had to because you are such a splendid +liar!" + +The door opened quickly and closed behind her. He heard her steps +almost running down the hall, where not long ago he had listened to the +last of O'Connor's. + +And then there was silence, and in that silence he heard her words +again, drumming like little hammers in his head, "BECAUSE YOU ARE SUCH +A SPLENDID LIAR!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +James Kent, among his other qualities good and bad, possessed a +merciless opinion of his own shortcomings, but never, in that opinion, +had he fallen so low as in the interval which immediately followed the +closing of his door behind the mysterious girl who had told him that +her name was Marette Radisson. No sooner was she gone than the +overwhelming superiority of her childlike cleverness smote him until, +ashamed of himself, he burned red in his aloneness. + +He, Sergeant Kent, the coolest man on the force next to Inspector +Kedsty, the most dreaded of catechists when questioning criminals, the +man who had won the reputation of facing quietly and with deadly +sureness the most menacing of dangers, had been beaten--horribly +beaten--by a girl! And yet, in defeat, an irrepressible and at times +distorted sense of humor made him give credit to the victor. The shame +of the thing was his acknowledgment that a bit of feminine beauty had +done the trick. He had made fun of O'Connor when the big staff-sergeant +had described the effect of the girl's eyes on Inspector Kedsty. And, +now, if O'Connor could know of what had happened here-- + +And then, like a rubber ball, that saving sense of humor bounced up out +of the mess, and Kent found himself chuckling as his face grew cooler. +His visitor had come, and she had gone, and he knew no more about her +than when she had entered his room, except that her very pretty name +was Marette Radisson. He was just beginning to think of the questions +he had wanted to ask, a dozen, half a hundred of them--more definitely +who she was; how and why she had come to Athabasca Landing; her +interest in Sandy McTrigger; the mysterious relationship that must +surely exist between her and Inspector Kedsty; and, chiefly, her real +motive in coming to him when she knew that he was dying. He comforted +himself by the assurance that he would have learned these things had +she not left him so suddenly. He had not expected that. + +The question which seated itself most insistently in his mind was, why +had she come? Was it, after all, merely a matter of curiosity? Was her +relationship to Sandy McTrigger such that inquisitiveness alone had +brought her to see the man who had saved him? Surely she had not been +urged by a sense of gratitude, for in no way had she given expression +to that. On his death-bed she had almost made fun of him. And she could +not have come as a messenger from McTrigger, or she would have left her +message. For the first time he began to doubt that she knew the man at +all, in spite of the strange thing that had happened under O'Connor's +eyes. But she must know Kedsty. She had made no answer to his +half-accusation that she was hiding up at the Inspector's bungalow. He +had used that word--"hiding." It should have had an effect. And she was +as beautifully unconscious of it as though she had not heard him, and +he knew that she had heard him very distinctly. It was then that she +had given him that splendid view of her amazingly long lashes and had +countered softly, + +"What if you shouldn't die?" + +Kent felt himself suddenly aglow with an irresistible appreciation of +the genius of her subtlety, and with that appreciation came a thrill of +deeper understanding. He believed that he knew why she had left him so +suddenly. It was because she had seen herself close to the danger-line. +There were things which she did not want him to know or question her +about, and his daring intimation that she was hiding in Kedsty's +bungalow had warned her. Was it possible that Kedsty himself had sent +her for some reason which he could not even guess at? Positively it was +not because of McTrigger, the man he had saved. At least she would have +thanked him in some way. She would not have appeared quite so adorably +cold-blooded, quite so sweetly unconscious of the fact that he was +dying. If McTrigger's freedom had meant anything to her, she could not +have done less than reveal to him a bit of sympathy. And her greatest +compliment, if he excepted the kiss, was that she had called him a +splendid liar! + +Kent grimaced and drew in a deep breath because of the tightness in his +chest. Why was it that every one seemed to disbelieve him? Why was it +that even this mysterious girl, whom he had never seen before in his +life, politely called him a liar when he insisted that he had killed +John Barkley? Was the fact of murder necessarily branded in one's face? +If so, he had never observed it. Some of the hardest criminals he had +brought in from the down-river country were likable-looking men. There +was Horrigan, for instance, who for seven long weeks kept him in good +humor with his drollery, though he was bringing him in to be hanged. +And there were McTab, and le Bete Noir--the Black Beast--a lovable +vagabond in spite of his record, and Le Beau, the gentlemanly robber of +the wilderness mail, and half a dozen others he could recall without +any effort at all. No one called them liars when, like real men, they +confessed their crimes when they saw their game was up. To a man they +had given up the ghost with their boots on, and Kent respected their +memory because of it. And he was dying--and even this stranger girl +called him a liar? And no case had ever been more complete than his +own. He had gone mercilessly into the condemning detail of it all. It +was down in black and white. He had signed it. And still he was +disbelieved. It was funny, deuced funny, thought Kent. + +Until young Mercer opened the door and came in with his late breakfast, +he had forgotten that he had really been hungry when he awakened with +Cardigan's stethoscope at his chest. Mercer had amused him from the +first. The pink-faced young Englishman, fresh from the old country, +could not conceal in his face and attitude the fact that he was walking +in the presence of the gallows whenever he entered the room. He was, as +he had confided in Cardigan, "beastly hit up" over the thing. To feed +and wash a man who would undoubtedly die, but who would be hanged by +the neck until he was dead if he lived, filled him with peculiar and at +times conspicuous emotions. It was like attending to a living corpse, +if such a thing could be conceived. And Mercer had conceived it. Kent +had come to regard him as more or less of a barometer giving away +Cardigan's secrets. He had not told Cardigan, but had kept the +discovery for his own amusement. + +This morning Mercer's face was less pink, and his pale eyes were paler, +Kent thought. Also he started to sprinkle sugar on his eggs in place of +salt. + +Kent laughed and stopped his hand. "You may sugar my eggs when I'm +dead, Mercer," he said, "but while I'm alive I want salt on 'em! Do you +know, old man, you look bad this morning. Is it because this is my last +breakfast?" + +"I hope not, sir, I hope not," replied Mercer quickly. "Indeed, I hope +you are going to live, sir." + +"Thanks!" said Kent dryly. "Where is Cardigan?" + +"The Inspector sent a messenger for him, sir. I think he has gone to +see him. Are your eggs properly done, sir?" + +"Mercer, if you ever worked in a butler's pantry, for the love of +heaven forget it now!" exploded Kent, "I want you to tell me something +straight out. How long have I got?" + +Mercer fidgeted for a moment, and a shade or two more of the red went +out of his face. "I can't say, sir. Doctor Cardigan hasn't told me. But +I think not very long, sir. Doctor Cardigan is cut up all in rags this +morning. And Father Layonne is coming to see you at any moment." + +"Much obliged," nodded Kent, calmly beginning his second egg. "And, by +the way, what did you think of the young lady?" + +"Ripping, positively ripping!" exclaimed Mercer. + +"That's the word," agreed Kent. "Ripping. It sounds like the calico +counter in a dry-goods store, but means a lot. Don't happen to know +where she is staying or why she is at the Landing, do you?" + +He knew that he was asking a foolish question and scarcely expected an +answer from Mercer. He was astonished when the other said: + +"I heard Doctor Cardigan ask her if we might expect her to honor us +with another visit, and she told him it would be impossible, because +she was leaving on a down-river scow tonight. Fort Simpson, I think she +said she was going to, sir." + +"The deuce you say!" cried Kent, spilling a bit of his coffee in the +thrill of the moment. "Why, that's where Staff-Sergeant O'Connor is +bound for!" + +"So I heard Doctor Cardigan tell her. But she didn't reply to that. She +just--went. If you don't mind a little joke in your present condition, +sir, I might say that Doctor Cardigan was considerably flayed up over +her. A deuced pretty girl, sir, deuced pretty! And I think he was shot +through!" + +"Now you're human, Mercer. She was pretty, wasn't she?" + +"Er--yes--stunningly so, Mr. Kent," agreed Mercer, reddening suddenly +to the roots of his pasty, blond hair. "I don't mind confessing that in +this unusual place her appearance was quite upsetting." + +"I agree with you, friend Mercer," nodded Kent. "She upset me. And--see +here, old man!--will you do a dying man the biggest favor he ever asked +in his life?" + +"I should be most happy, sir, most happy." + +"It's this," said Kent. "I want to know if that girl actually leaves on +the down-river scow tonight. If I'm alive tomorrow morning, will you +tell me?" + +"I shall do my best, sir." + +"Good. It's simply the silly whim of a dying man, Mercer. But I want to +be humored in it. And I'm sensitive--like yourself. I don't want +Cardigan to know. There's an old Indian named Mooie, who lives in a +shack just beyond the sawmill. Give him ten dollars and tell him there +is another ten in it if he sees the business through, and reports +properly to you, and keeps his mouth shut afterward. Here--the money is +under my pillow." + +Kent pulled out a wallet and put fifty dollars in Mercer's hands. + +"Buy cigars with the rest of it, old man. It's of no more use to me. +And this little trick you are going to pull off is worth it. It's my +last fling on earth, you might say." + +"Thank you, sir. It is very kind of you." + +Mercer belonged to a class of wandering Englishmen typical of the +Canadian West, the sort that sometimes made real Canadians wonder why a +big and glorious country like their own should cling to the mother +country. Ingratiating and obsequiously polite at all times, he gave one +the impression of having had splendid training as a servant, yet had +this intimation been made to him, he would have become highly +indignant. Kent had learned their ways pretty well. He had met them in +all sorts of places, for one of their inexplicable characteristics was +the recklessness and apparent lack of judgment with which they located +themselves. Mercer, for instance, should have held a petty clerical job +of some kind in a city, and here he was acting as nurse in the heart of +a wilderness! + +After Mercer had gone with the breakfast things and the money, Kent +recalled a number of his species. And he knew that under their veneer +of apparent servility was a thing of courage and daring which needed +only the right kind of incentive to rouse it. And when roused, it was +peculiarly efficient in a secretive, artful-dodger sort of way. It +would not stand up before a gun. But it would creep under the mouths of +guns on a black night. And Kent was positive his fifty dollars would +bring him results--if he lived. + +Just why he wanted the information he was after, he could not have told +himself. It was a pet aphorism between O'Connor and him that they had +often traveled to success on the backs of their hunches. And his +proposition to Mercer was made on the spur of one of those moments when +the spirit of a hunch possessed him. His morning had been one of +unexpected excitement, and now he leaned back in an effort to review it +and to forget, if he could, the distressing thing that was bound to +happen to him within the next few hours. But he could not get away from +the thickening in his chest. It seemed growing on him. Now and then he +was compelled to make quite an effort to get sufficient air into his +lungs. + +He found himself wondering if there was a possibility that the girl +might return. For a long time he lay thinking about her, and it struck +him as incongruous and in bad taste that fate should have left this +adventure for his last. If he had met her six months ago--or even +three--it was probable that she would so have changed the events of +life for him that he would not have got the half-breed's bullet in his +chest. He confessed the thing unblushingly. The wilderness had taken +the place of woman for him. It had claimed him, body and soul. He had +desired nothing beyond its wild freedom and its never-ending games of +chance. He had dreamed, as every man dreams, but realities and not the +dreams had been the red pulse of his life. And yet, if this girl had +come sooner-- + +He revisioned for himself over and over again her hair and eyes, the +slimness of her as she had stood at the window, the freedom and +strength of that slender body, the poise of her exquisite head, and he +felt again the thrill of her hand and the still more wonderful thrill +of her lips as she had pressed them warmly upon his. + +AND SHE WAS OF THE NORTH! That was the thought that overwhelmed him. He +did not permit himself to believe that she might have told him an +untruth. He was confident, if he lived until tomorrow, that Mercer +would corroborate his faith in her. He had never heard of a place +called the Valley of Silent Men, but it was a big country, and Fort +Simpson with its Hudson Bay Company's post and its half-dozen shacks +was a thousand miles away. He was not sure that such a place as that +valley really existed. It was easier to believe that the girl's home +was at Fort Providence, Fort Simpson, Fort Good Hope, or even at Fort +McPherson. It was not difficult for him to picture her as the daughter +of one of the factor lords of the North. Yet this, upon closer +consideration, he gave up as unreasonable. The word "Fort" did not +stand for population, and there were probably not more than fifty white +people at all the posts between the Great Slave and the Arctic. She was +not one of these, or the fact would have been known at the Landing. + +Neither could she be a riverman's daughter, for it was inconceivable +that either a riverman or a trapper would have sent this girl down into +civilization, where this girl had undoubtedly been. It was that point +chiefly which puzzled Kent. She was not only beautiful. She had been +tutored in schools that were not taught by wilderness missioners. In +her, it seemed to him, he had seen the beauty and the wild freedom of +the forests as they had come to him straight out of the heart of an +ancient aristocracy that was born nearly two hundred years ago in the +old cities of Quebec and Montreal. + +His mind flashed back at that thought: he remembered the time when he +had sought out every nook and cranny of that ancient town of Quebec, +and had stood over graves two centuries old, and deep in his soul had +envied the dead the lives they had lived. He had always thought of +Quebec as a rare old bit of time-yellowed lace among cities--the heart +of the New World as it had once been, still beating, still whispering +of its one-time power, still living in the memory of its mellowed +romance, its almost forgotten tragedies--a ghost that lived, that still +beat back defiantly the destroying modernism that would desecrate its +sacred things. And it pleased him to think of Marette Radisson as the +spirit of it, wandering north, and still farther north--even as the +spirits of the profaned dead had risen from the Landing to go farther +on. + +And feeling that the way had at last been made easy for him, Kent +smiled out into the glorious day and whispered softly, as if she were +standing there, listening to him: + +"If I had lived--I would have called you--my Quebec. It's pretty, that +name. It stands for a lot. And so do you." + +And out in the hall, as Kent whispered those words, stood Father +Layonne, with a face that was whiter than the mere presence of death +had ever made it before. At his side stood Cardigan, aged ten years +since he had placed his stethoscope at Kent's chest that morning. And +behind these two were Kedsty, with a face like gray rock, and young +Mercer, in whose staring eyes was the horror of a thing he could not +yet quite comprehend. Cardigan made an effort to speak and failed. +Kedsty wiped his forehead, as he had wiped it the morning of Kent's +confession. And Father Layonne, as he went to Kent's door, was +breathing softly to himself a prayer. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +From the window, the glorious day outside, and the vision he had made +for himself of Marette Radisson, Kent turned at the sound of a hand at +his door and saw it slowly open. He was expecting it. He had read young +Mercer like a book. Mercer's nervousness and the increased tightening +of the thing in his chest had given him warning. The thing was going to +happen soon, and Father Layonne had come. He tried to smile, that he +might greet his wilderness friend cheerfully and unafraid. But the +smile froze when the door opened and he saw the missioner standing +there. + +More than once he had accompanied Father Layonne over the threshold of +life into the presence of death, but he had never before seen in his +face what he saw there now. He stared. The missioner remained in the +doorway, hesitating, as if at the last moment a great fear held him +back. For an interval the eyes of the two men rested upon each other in +a silence that was like the grip of a living thing. Then Father Layonne +came quietly into the room and closed the door behind him. + +Kent drew a deep breath and tried to grin. "You woke me out of a +dream," he said, "a day-dream. I've had a very pleasant experience this +morning, mon pere." + +"So some one was trying to tell me, Jimmy," replied the little +missioner with an effort to smile back. + +"Mercer?" + +"Yes. He told me about it confidentially. The poor boy must have fallen +in love with the young lady." + +"So have I, mon pere. I don't mind confessing it to you. I'm rather +glad. And if Cardigan hadn't scheduled me to die--" + +"Jimmy," interrupted the missioner quickly, but a bit huskily, "has it +ever occurred to you that Doctor Cardigan may be mistaken?" + +He had taken one of Kent's hands. His grip tightened. It began to hurt. +And Kent, looking into his eyes, found his brain all at once like a +black room suddenly illuminated by a flash of fire. Drop by drop the +blood went out of his face until it was whiter than Father Layonne's. + +"You--you don't--mean--" + +"Yes, yes, boy, I mean just that," said the missioner, in a voice so +strange that it did not seem to be his own. "You are not going to die, +Jimmy. You are going to live!" + +"Live!" Kent dropped back against his pillows. "LIVE!" His lips gasped +the one word. + +He closed his eyes for an instant, and it seemed to him that the world +was aflame. And he repeated the word again, but only his lips formed +it, and there came no sound. His senses, strained to the breaking-point +to meet the ordeal of death, gave way slowly to the mighty reaction. He +felt in those moments like a reeling man. He opened his eyes, and there +was a meaningless green haze through the window where the world should +have been. But he heard Father Layonne's voice. It seemed a great +distance off, but it was very clear. Doctor Cardigan had made an error, +it was saying. And Doctor Cardigan, because of that error, was like a +man whose heart had been taken out of him. But it was an excusable +error. + +If there had been an X-ray--But there had been none. And Doctor +Cardigan had made the diagnosis that nine out of ten good surgeons +would probably have made. What he had taken to be the aneurismal +blood-rush was an exaggerated heart murmur, and the increased +thickening in his chest was a simple complication brought about by too +much night air. It was too bad the error had happened. But he must not +blame Cardigan! + +HE MUST NOT BLAME CARDIGAN! Those last words pounded like an endless +series of little waves in Kent's brain. He must not blame Cardigan! He +laughed, laughed before his dazed senses readjusted themselves, before +the world through the window pieced itself into shape again. At least +he thought he was laughing. He must--not--blame--Cardigan! What an +amazingly stupid thing for Father Layonne to say! Blame Cardigan for +giving him back his life? Blame him for the glorious knowledge that he +was not going to die? Blame him for-- + +Things were coming clearer. Like a bolt slipping into its groove his +brain found itself. He saw Father Layonne again, with his white, tense +face and eyes in which were still seated the fear and the horror he had +seen in the doorway. It was not until then that he gripped fully at the +truth. + +"I--I see," he said. "You and Cardigan think it would have been better +if I had died!" + +The missioner was still holding his hand. "I don't know, Jimmy, I don't +know. What has happened is terrible." + +"But not so terrible as death," cried Kent, suddenly growing rigid +against his pillows. "Great God, mon pere, I want to live! Oh--" + +He snatched his hand free and stretched forth both arms to the open +window. "Look at it out there! My world again! MY WORLD! I want to go +back to it. It's ten times more precious to me now than it was. Why +should I blame Cardigan? Mon pere--mon pere--listen to me. I can say it +now, because I've got a right to say it. I LIED. I didn't kill John +Barkley!" + +A strange cry fell from Father Layonne's lips. It was a choking cry, a +cry, not of rejoicing, but of a grief-stung thing. "Jimmy!" + +"I swear it! Great heaven, mon pere, don't you believe me?" + +The missioner had risen. In his eyes and face was another look. It was +as if in all his life he had never seen James Kent before. It was a +look born suddenly of shock, the shock of amazement, of incredulity, of +a new kind of horror. Then swiftly again his countenance changed, and +he put a hand on Kent's head. + +"God forgive you, Jimmy," he said. "And God help you, too!" + +Where a moment before Kent had felt the hot throb of an inundating joy, +his heart was chilled now by the thing he sensed in Father Layonne's +voice and saw in his face and eyes. It was not entirely disbelief. It +was a more hopeless thing than that. + +"You do not believe me!" he said. + +"It is my religion to believe, Jimmy," replied Father Layonne in a +gentle voice into which the old calmness had returned. "I must believe, +for your sake. But it is not a matter of human sentiment now, lad. It +is the Law! Whatever my heart feels toward you can do you no good. You +are--" He hesitated to speak the words. + +Then it was that Kent saw fully and clearly the whole monstrous +situation. It had taken time for it to fasten itself upon him. In a +general way it had been clear to him a few moments before; now, detail +by detail, it closed in upon him, and his muscles tightened, and Father +Layonne saw his jaw set hard and his hands clench. Death was gone. But +the mockery of it, the grim exultation of the thing over the colossal +trick it had played, seemed to din an infernal laughter in his ears. +But--he was going to live! That was the one fact that rose above all +others. No matter what happened to him a month or six months from now, +he was not going to die today. He would live to receive Mercer's +report. He would live to stand on his feet again and to fight for the +life which he had thrown away. He was, above everything else, a +fighting man. It was born in him to fight, not so much against his +fellow men as against the overwhelming odds of adventure as they came +to him. And now he was up against the deadliest game of all. He saw it. +He felt it. The thing gripped him. In the eyes of that Law of which he +had so recently been a part he was a murderer. And in the province of +Alberta the penalty for killing a man was hanging. Because horror and +fear did not seize upon him, he wondered if he still realized the +situation. He believed that he did. It was merely a matter of human +nature. Death, he had supposed, was a fixed and foregone thing. He had +believed that only a few hours of life were left for him. And now it +was given back to him, for months at least. It was a glorious reprieve, +and-- + +Suddenly his heart stood still in the thrill of the thought that came +to him. Marette Radisson had known that he was not going to die! She +had hinted the fact, and he, like a blundering idiot, had failed to +catch the significance of it. She had given him no sympathy, had +laughed at him, had almost made fun of him, simply because she knew +that he was going to live! + +He turned suddenly on Father Layonne. + +"They shall believe me!" he cried. "I shall make them believe me! Mon +pere, I lied! I lied to save Sandy McTrigger, and I shall tell them +why. If Doctor Cardigan has not made another mistake, I want them all +here again. Will you arrange it?" + +"Inspector Kedsty is waiting outside," said Father Layonne quietly, +"but I should not act in haste, Jimmy. I should wait. I should +think--think." + +"You mean take time to think up a story that will hold water, mon pere? +I have that. I have the story. And yet--" He smiled a bit dismally. "I +did make one pretty thorough confession, didn't I, Father?" + +"It was very convincing, Jimmy. It went so particularly into the +details, and those details, coupled with the facts that you were seen +at John Barkley's earlier in the evening, and that it was you who found +him dead a number of hours later--" + +"All make a strong case against me," agreed Kent. "As a matter of fact, +I was up at Barkley's to look over an old map he had made of the +Porcupine country twenty years ago. He couldn't find it. Later he sent +word he had run across it. I returned and found him dead." + +The little missioner nodded, but did not speak. + +"It is embarrassing," Kent went on. "It almost seems as though I ought +to go through with it, like a sport. When a man loses, it isn't good +taste to set up a howl. It makes him sort of yellow-backed, you know. +To play the game according to rules, I suppose I ought to keep quiet +and allow myself to be hung without making any disturbance. Die game, +and all that, you know. Then there is the other way of looking at it. +This poor neck of mine depends on me. It has given me a lot of good +service. It has been mighty loyal. It has even swallowed eggs on the +day it thought it was going to die. And I'd be a poor specimen of +humanity to go back on it now. I want to do that neck a good turn. I +want to save it. And I'm going to--if I can!" + +In spite of the unpleasant tension of the moment, it cheered Father +Layonne to see this old humor returning into the heart of his friend. +With him love was an enduring thing. He might grieve for James Kent, he +might pray for the salvation of his soul, he might believe him guilty, +yet he still bore for him the affection which was too deeply rooted in +his heart to be uptorn by physical things or the happenings of chance. +So the old cheer of his smile came back, and he said: + +"To fight for his life is a privilege which God gives to every man, +Jimmy. I was terrified when I came to you. I believed it would have +been better if you had died. I can see my error. It will be a terrible +fight. If you win, I shall be glad. If you lose, I know that you will +lose bravely. Perhaps you are right. It may be best to see Inspector +Kedsty before you have had time to think. That point will have its +psychological effect. Shall I tell him you are prepared to see him?" + +Kent nodded. "Yes. Now." + +Father Layonne went to the door. Even there he seemed to hesitate an +instant, as if again to call upon Kent to reconsider. Then he opened it +and went out. + +Kent waited impatiently. His hand, fumbling at his bedclothes, seized +upon the cloth with which he had wiped his lips, and it suddenly +occurred to him that it had been a long time since it had shown a fresh +stain of blood. Now that he knew it was not a deadly thing, the +tightening in his chest was less uncomfortable. He felt like getting up +and meeting his visitors on his feet. Every nerve in his body wanted +action, and the minutes of silence which followed the closing of the +door after the missioner were drawn out and tedious to him. A quarter +of an hour passed before he heard returning footsteps, and by the sound +of them he knew Kedsty was not coming alone. Probably le pere would +return with him. And possibly Cardigan. + +What happened in the next few seconds was somewhat of a shock to him. +Father Layonne entered first, and then came Inspector Kedsty. Kent's +eyes shot to the face of the commander of N Division. There was +scarcely recognition in it. A mere inclination of the head, not enough +to call a greeting, was the reply to Kent's nod and salute. Never had +he seen Kedsty's face more like the face of an emotionless sphinx. But +what disturbed him most was the presence of people he had not expected. +Close behind Kedsty was McDougal, the magistrate, and behind McDougal +entered Constables Felly and Brant, stiffly erect and clearly under +orders. Cardigan, pale and uneasy, came in last, with the stenographer. +Scarcely had they entered the room when Constable Pelly pronounced the +formal warning of the Criminal Code of the Royal Northwest Mounted +Police, and Kent was legally under arrest. + +He had not looked for this. He knew, of course, that the process of the +Law would take its course, but he had not anticipated this bloodthirsty +suddenness. He had expected, first of all, to talk with Kedsty as man +to man. And yet--it was the Law. He realized this as his eyes traveled +from Kedsty's rock-like face to the expressionless immobility of his +old friends, Constables Pelly and Brant. If there was sympathy, it was +hidden except in the faces of Cardigan and Father Layonne. And Kent, +exultantly hopeful a little while before, felt his heart grow heavy +within him as he waited for the moment when he would begin the fight to +repossess himself of the life and freed which he had lost. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +For some time after the door to Kent's room had closed upon the ominous +visitation of the Law, young Mercer remained standing in the hall, +debating with himself whether his own moment had not arrived. In the +end he decided that it had, and with Kent's fifty dollars in his pocket +he made for the shack of the old Indian trailer, Mooie. It was an hour +later when he returned, just in time to see Kent's door open again. +Doctor Cardigan and Father Layonne reappeared first, followed in turn +by the blonde stenographer, the magistrate, and Constables Pelly and +Brant. Then the door closed. + +Within the room, sweating from the ordeal through which he had passed, +Kent sat bolstered against his pillows, facing Inspector Kedsty with +blazing eyes. + +"I've asked for these few moments alone with you, Kedsty, because I +wanted to talk to you as a man, and not as my superior officer. I am, I +take it, no longer a member of the force. That being the case, I owe +you no more respect than I owe to any other man. And I am pleased to +have the very great privilege of calling you a cursed scoundrel!" + +Kedsty's face was hot, but as his hands clenched slowly, it turned +redder. Before he could speak, Kent went on. + +"You have not shown me the courtesy or the sympathy you have had for +the worst criminals that ever faced you. You amazed every man that was +in this room, because at one time--if not now--they were my friends. It +wasn't what you said. It was how you said it. Whenever there was an +inclination on their part to believe, you killed it--not honestly and +squarely, by giving me a chance. Whenever you saw a chance for me to +win a point, you fell back upon the law. And you don't believe that I +killed John Barkley. I know it. You called me a liar the day I made +that fool confession. You still believe that I lied. And I have waited +until we were alone to ask you certain things, for I still have +something of courtesy left in me, if you haven't. What is your game? +What has brought about the change in you? Is it--" + +His right hand clenched hard as a rock as he leaned toward Kedsty. + +"Is it because of the girl hiding up at your bungalow, Kedsty?" + +Even in that moment, when he had the desire to strike the man before +him, it was impossible for him not to admire the stone-like +invulnerability of Kedsty. He had never heard of another man calling +Kedsty a scoundrel or dishonest. And yet, except that his faced burned +more dully red, the Inspector was as impassively calm as ever. Even +Kent's intimation that he was playing a game, and his direct accusation +that he was keeping Marette Radisson in hiding at his bungalow, seemed +to have no disturbing effect on him. For a space he looked at Kent, as +if measuring the poise of the other's mind. When he spoke, it was in a +voice so quiet and calm that Kent stared at him in amazement. + +"I don't blame you, Kent," he said. "I don't blame you for calling me a +scoundrel, or anything else you want to. I think I should do the same +if I were in your place. You think it is incredible, because of our +previous association, that I should not make every effort to save you. +I would, if I thought you were innocent. But I don't. I believe you are +guilty. I cannot see where there is a loophole in the evidence against +you, as given in your own confession. Why, man, even if I could help to +prove you innocent of killing John Barkley--" + +He paused and twisted one of his gray mustaches, half facing the window +for a moment. "Even if I did that," he went on, "you would still have +twenty years of prison ahead of you for the worst kind of perjury on +the face of the earth, perjury committed at a time when you thought you +were dying! You are guilty, Kent. If not of one thing, then of the +other. I am not playing a game. And as for the girl--there is no girl +at my bungalow." + +He turned to the door; and Kent made no effort to stop him. Words came +to his lips and died there, and for a space after Kedsty had gone he +stared out into the green forest world beyond his window, seeing +nothing. Inspector Kedsty, quietly and calmly, had spoken words that +sent his hopes crashing in ruin about him. For even if he escaped the +hangman, he was still a criminal--a criminal of the worst sort, +perhaps, next to the man who kills another. If he proved that he had +not killed John Barkley, he would convict himself, at the same time, of +having made solemn oath to a lie on what he supposed was his death-bed. +And for that, a possible twenty years in the Edmonton penitentiary! At +best he could not expect less than ten. Ten years--twenty years--in +prison! That, or hang. + +The sweat broke out on his face. He did not curse Kedsty now. His anger +was gone. Kedsty had seen all the time what he, like a fool, had not +thought of. No matter how the Inspector might feel in that deeply +buried heart of his, he could not do otherwise than he was doing. He, +James Kent, who hated a lie above all the things on the earth, was +kin-as-kisew--the blackest liar of all, a man who lied when he was +dying. + +And for that lie there was a great punishment. The Law saw with its own +eyes. It was a single-track affair, narrow-visioned, caring nothing for +what was to the right or the left. It would tolerate no excuse which he +might find for himself. He had lied to save a human life, but that life +the Law itself had wanted. So he had both robbed and outraged the Law, +even though a miracle saved him the greatest penalty of all. + +The weight of the thing crushed him. It was as if for the first time a +window had opened for him, and he saw what Kedsty had seen. And then, +as the minutes passed, the fighting spirit in him rose again. He was +not of the sort to go under easily. Personal danger had always stirred +him to his greatest depths, and he had never confronted a danger +greater than this he was facing now. It was not a matter of leaping +quickly and on the spur of the moment. For ten years his training had +been that of a hunter of men, and the psychology of the man hunt had +been his strong point. Always, in seeking his quarry, he had tried +first to bring himself into a mental sympathy and understanding with +that quarry. To analyze what an outlaw would do under certain +conditions and with certain environments and racial inheritances behind +him was to Kent the premier move in the thrilling game. He had evolved +rules of great importance for himself, but always he had worked them +out from the vantage point of the huntsman. Now he began to turn them +around. He, James Kent, was no longer the hunter, but the hunted, and +all the tricks which he had mastered must now be worked the other way. +His woodcraft, his cunning, the fine points he had learned of the game +of one-against-one would avail him but little when it came to the +witness chair and a trial. + +The open window was his first inspiration. Adventure had been the blood +of his life. And out there, behind the green forests rolling away like +the billows of an ocean, lay the greatest adventure of all. Once in +those beloved forests covering almost the half of a continent, he would +be willing to die if the world beat him. He could see himself playing +the game of the hunted as no other man had ever played it before. Let +him once have his guns and his freedom, with all that world waiting for +him-- + +Eagerness gleamed in his eyes, and then, slowly, it died out. The open +window, after all, was but a mockery. He rolled sideways from his bed +and partly balanced himself on his feet. The effort made him dizzy. He +doubted if he could have walked a hundred yards after climbing through +the window. Instantly another thought leaped into his brain. His head +was clearing. He swayed across the room and back again, the first time +he had been on his feet since the half-breed's bullet had laid him out. +He would fool Cardigan. He would fool Kedsty. As he recovered his +strength, he would keep it to himself. He would play sick man to the +limit, and then some night he would take advantage of the open window! + +The thought thrilled him as no other thing in the world had ever +thrilled him before. For the first time he sensed the vast difference +between the hunter and the hunted, between the man who played the game +of life and death alone and the one who played it with the Law and all +its might behind him. To hunt was thrilling. To be hunted was more +thrilling. Every nerve in his body tingled. A different kind of fire +burned in his brain. He was the creature who was at bay. The other +fellow was the hunter now. + +He went back to the window and leaned far out. He looked at the forest +and saw it with new eyes. The gleam of the slowly moving river held a +meaning for him that it had never held before. Doctor Cardigan, seeing +him then, would have sworn the fever had returned. His eyes held a +slumbering fire. His face was flushed. In these moments Kent did not +see death. He was not visioning the iron bars of a prison. His blood +pulsed only to the stir of that greatest of all adventures which lay +ahead of him. He, the best man-hunter in two thousand miles of +wilderness, would beat the hunters themselves. The hound had turned +fox, and that fox knew the tricks of both the hunter and the hunted. He +would win! A world beckoned to him, and he would reach the heart of +that world. Already there began to flash through his mind memory of the +places where he could find safety and freedom for all time. No man in +all the Northland knew its out-of-the-way corners better than he--its +unmapped and unexplored places, the far and mysterious patches of terra +incognita, where the sun still rose and set without permission of the +Law, and God laughed as in the days when prehistoric monsters fed from +the tops of trees no taller than themselves. Once through that window, +with the strength to travel, and the Law might seek him for a hundred +years without profit to itself. + +It was not bravado in his blood that stirred these thoughts. It was not +panic or an unsound excitement. He was measuring things even as he +visioned them. He would go down-river way, toward the Arctic. And he +would find Marette Radisson! Yes, even though she lived at Barracks at +Fort Simpson, he would find her! And after that? The question blurred +all other questions in his mind. There were many answers to it. + +Knowing that it would be fatal to his scheme if he were found on his +feet, he returned to his bed. The flush of his exertion and excitement +was still in his face when Doctor Cardigan came half an hour later. + +Within the next few minutes he put Cardigan more at his ease than he +had been during the preceding day and night. It was, after all, an +error which made him happier the more he thought about it, he told the +surgeon. He admitted that at first the discovery that he was going to +live had horrified him. But now the whole thing bore a different aspect +for him. As soon as he was sufficiently strong, he would begin +gathering the evidences for his alibi, and he was confident of proving +himself innocent of John Barkley's murder. + +He anticipated ten years in the Edmonton penitentiary. But what were +ten years there as compared with forty or fifty under the sod? He wrung +Cardigan's hand. He thanked him for the splendid care he had given him. +It was he, Cardigan, who had saved him from the grave, he said--and +Cardigan grew younger under his eyes. + +"I thought you'd look at it differently, Kent," he said, drawing in a +deep breath. "My God, when I found I had made that mistake--" + +"You figured you were handing me over to the hangman," smiled Kent. +"It's true I shouldn't have made that confession, old man, if I hadn't +rated you right next to God Almighty when it came to telling whether a +man was going to live or die. But we all make slips. I've made 'em. And +you've got no apology to make. I may ask you to send me good cigars now +and then while I'm in retirement at Edmonton, and I shall probably +insist that you come to smoke with me occasionally and tell me the news +of the rivers. But I'm afraid, old chap, that I'm going to worry you a +bit more here. I feel queer today, queer inside me. Now it would be a +topping joke if some other complication should set in and fool us all +again, wouldn't it?" + +He could see the impression he was making on Cardigan. Again his faith +in the psychology of the mind found its absolute verification. +Cardigan, lifted unexpectedly out of the slough of despond by the very +man whom he expected to condemn him, became from that moment, in the +face of the mental reaction, almost hypersympathetic. When finally he +left the room, Kent was inwardly rejoicing. For Cardigan had told him +it would be some time before he was strong enough to stand on his feet. + +He did not see Mercer all the rest of that day. It was Cardigan who +personally brought his dinner and his supper and attended him last at +night. He asked not to be interrupted again, as he felt that he wanted +to sleep. There was a guard outside his door now. + +Cardigan scowled when he volunteered this information. It was sheer +nonsense in Kedsty taking such a silly precaution. But he would give +the guard rubber-soled shoes and insist that he make no sound that +would disturb him. Kent thanked him, and grinned exultantly when he was +gone. + +He waited until his watch told him it was ten o'clock before he began +the exercise which he had prescribed for himself. Noiselessly he rolled +out of bed. There was no sensation of dizziness when he stood on his +feet this time. His head was as clear as a bell. He began experimenting +by inhaling deeper and still deeper breaths and by straightening his +chest. + +There was no pain, as he had expected there would be. He felt like +crying out in his joy. One after the other he stretched up his arms. He +bent over until the tips of his fingers touched the floor. He crooked +his knees, leaned from side to side, changed from one attitude to +another, amazed at the strength and elasticity of his body. Twenty +times, before he returned to his bed, he walked back and forth across +his room. + +He was sleepless. Lying with his back to the pillows he looked out into +the starlight, watching for the first glow of the moon and listening +again to the owls that had nested in the lightning-shriven tree. An +hour later he resumed his exercise. + +He was on his feet when through his window he heard the sound of +approaching voices and then of running feet. A moment later some one +was pounding at a door, and a loud voice shouted for Doctor Cardigan. +Kent drew cautiously nearer the window. The moon had risen, and he saw +figures approaching, slowly, as if weighted under a burden. Before they +turned out of his vision, he made out two men bearing some heavy object +between them. Then came the opening of a door, other voices, and after +that an interval of quiet. + +He returned to his bed, wondering who the new patient could be. + +He was breathing easier after his exertion. The fact that he was +feeling keenly alive, and that the thickening in his chest was +disappearing, flushed him with elation. An unbounded optimism possessed +him. It was late when he fell asleep, and he slept late. It was +Mercer's entrance into his room that roused him. He came in softly, +closed the door softly, yet Kent heard him. The moment he pulled +himself up, he knew that Mercer had a report to make, and he also saw +that something upsetting had happened to him. Mercer was a bit excited. + +"I beg pardon for waking you, sir," he said, leaning close over Kent, +as though fearing the guard might be listening at the door. "But I +thought it best for you to hear about the Indian, sir." + +"The Indian?" + +"Yes, sir--Mooie, sir. I am quite upset over it, Mr. Kent. He told me +early last evening that he had found the scow on which the girl was +going down-river. He said it was hidden in Kim's Bayou." + +"Kim's Bayou! That was a good hiding-place, Mercer!" + +"A very good place of concealment indeed, sir. As soon as it was dark, +Mooie returned to watch. What happened to him I haven't fully +discovered, sir. But it must have been near midnight when he staggered +up to Crossen's place, bleeding and half out of his senses. They +brought him here, and I watched over him most of the night. He says the +girl went aboard the scow and that the scow started down-river. That +much I learned, sir. But all the rest he mumbles in a tongue I can not +understand. Crossen says it's Cree, and that old Mooie believes devils +jumped on him with clubs down at Kim's Bayou. Of course they must have +been men. I don't believe in Mooie's devils, sir." + +"Nor I," said Kent, the blood stirring strangely in his veins. "Mercer, +it simply means there was some one cleverer than old Mooie watching +that trail." + +With a curiously tense face Mercer was looking cautiously toward the +door. Then he leaned still lower over Kent. + +"During his mumblings, when I was alone with him, I heard him speak a +name, sir. Half a dozen times, sir--and it was--KEDSTY!" + +Kent's fingers gripped the young Englishman's hand. + +"You heard THAT, Mercer?" + +"I am sure I could not have been mistaken, sir. It was repeated a +number of times." + +Kent fell back against his pillows. His mind was working swiftly. He +knew that behind an effort to appear calm Mercer was uneasy over what +had happened. + +"We mustn't let this get out, Mercer," he said. "If Mooie should be +badly hurt--should die, for instance--and it was discovered that you +and I--" + +He knew he had gone far enough to give effect to his words. He did not +even look at Mercer. + +"Watch him closely, old man, and report to me everything that happens. +Find out more about Kedsty, if you can. I shall advise you how to act. +It is rather ticklish, you know--for you! And"--he smiled at +Mercer--"I'm unusually hungry this morning. Add another egg, will you, +Mercer? Three instead of two, and a couple of extra slices of toast. +And don't let any one know that my appetite is improving. It may be +best for both of us--especially if Mooie should happen to die. +Understand, old man?" + +"I--I think I do, sir," replied Mercer, paling at the grimly smiling +thing he saw in Kent's eyes. "I shall do as you say, sir." + +When he had gone, Kent knew that he had accurately measured his man. +True to a certain type, Mercer would do a great deal for fifty +dollars--under cover. In the open he was a coward. And Kent knew the +value of such a man under certain conditions. The present was one of +those conditions. From this hour Mercer would be a priceless asset to +his scheme for personal salvation. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +That morning Kent ate a breakfast that would have amazed Doctor +Cardigan and would have roused a greater caution in Inspector Kedsty +had he known of it. While eating he strengthened the bonds already +welded between himself and Mercer. He feigned great uneasiness over the +condition of Mooie, who he knew was not fatally hurt because Mercer had +told him there was no fracture. But if he should happen to die, he told +Mercer, it would mean something pretty bad for them, if their part in +the affair leaked out. + +As for himself, it would make little difference, as he was "in bad" +anyway. But he did not want to see a good friend get into trouble on +his account. Mercer was impressed. He saw himself an instrument in a +possible murder affair, and the thought terrified him. Even at best, +Kent told him, they had given and taken bribes, a fact that would go +hard with them unless Mooie kept his mouth shut. And if the Indian knew +anything out of the way about Kedsty, it was mighty important that he, +Mercer, get hold of it, for it might prove a trump card with them in +the event of a showdown with the Inspector of Police. As a matter of +form, Mercer took his temperature. It was perfectly normal, but it was +easy for Kent to persuade a notation on the chart a degree above. + +"Better keep them thinking I'm still pretty sick," he assured Mercer. +"They won't suspect there is anything between us then." + +Mercer was so much in sympathy with the idea that he suggested adding +another half-degree. + +It was a splendid day for Kent. He could feel himself growing stronger +with each hour that passed. Yet not once during the day did he get out +of his bed, fearing that he might be discovered. Cardigan visited him +twice and had no suspicion of Mercer's temperature chart. He dressed +his wound, which was healing fast. It was the fever which depressed +him. There must be, he said, some internal disarrangement which would +soon clear itself up. Otherwise there seemed to be no very great reason +why Kent should not get on his feet. He smiled apologetically. + +"Seems queer to say that, when a little while ago I was telling you it +was time to die," he said. + +That night, after ten o'clock, Kent went through his setting-up +exercises four times. He marveled even more than the preceding night at +the swiftness with which his strength was returning. Half a dozen times +the little devils of eagerness working in his blood prompted him to +take to the window at once. + +For three days and nights thereafter he kept his secret and added to +his strength. Doctor Cardigan came in to see him at intervals, and +Father Layonne visited him regularly every afternoon. Mercer was his +most frequent visitor. On the third day two things happened to create a +little excitement. Doctor Cardigan left on a four-day journey to a +settlement fifty miles south, leaving Mercer in charge--and Mooie came +suddenly out of his fever into his normal senses again. The first event +filled Kent with joy. With Cardigan out of the way there would be no +immediate danger of the discovery that he was no longer a sick man. But +it was the recovery of Mooie from the thumping he had received about +the head that delighted Mercer. He was exultant. With the quick +reaction of his kind he gloated over the fact before Kent. He let it be +known that he was no longer afraid, and from the moment Mooie was out +of danger his attitude was such that more than once Kent would have +taken keen pleasure in kicking him from the room. Also, from the hour +he was safely in charge of Doctor Cardigan's place, Mercer began to +swell with importance. Kent saw the new danger and began to humor him. +He flattered him. He assured him that it was a burning shame Cardigan +had not taken him into partnership. He deserved it. And, in justice to +himself, Mercer should demand that partnership when Cardigan returned. +He, Kent, would talk to Father Layonne about it, and the missioner +would spread the gospel of what ought to be among others who were +influential at the Landing. For two days he played with Mercer as an +angler plays with a treacherous fish. He tried to get Mercer to +discover more about Mooie's reference to Kedsty. But the old Indian had +shut up like a clam. + +"He was frightened when I told him he had said things about the +Inspector," Mercer reported. "He disavowed everything. He shook his +head--no, no, no. He had not seen Kedsty. He knew nothing about him. I +can do nothing with him, Kent." + +He had dropped his "sirs," also his servant-like servility. He helped +to smoke Kent's cigars with the intimacy of proprietorship, and with +offensive freedom called him "Kent." He spoke of the Inspector as +"Kedsty," and of Father Layonne as "the little preacher." He swelled +perceptibly, and Kent knew that each hour of that swelling added to his +own danger. + +He believed that Mercer was talking. Several times a day he heard him +in conversation with the guard, and not infrequently Mercer went down +to the Landing, twirling a little reed cane that he had not dared to +use before. He began to drop opinions and information to Kent in a +superior sort of way. On the fourth day word came that Doctor Cardigan +would not return for another forty-eight hours, and with unblushing +conceit Mercer intimated that when he did return he would find big +changes. Then it was that in the stupidity of his egotism he said: + +"Kedsty has taken a great fancy to me, Kent. He's a square old top, +when you take him right. Had me over this afternoon, and we smoked a +cigar together. When I told him that I looked in at your window last +night and saw you going through a lot of exercises, he jumped up as if +some one had stuck a pin in him. 'Why, I thought he was sick--BAD!' he +said. And I let him know there were better ways of making a sick man +well than Cardigan's. 'Give them plenty to eat,' I said. 'Let 'em live +normal,' I argued. 'Look at Kent, for instance,' I told him. 'He's been +eating like a bear for a week, and he can turn somersaults this +minute!' That topped him over, Kent. I knew it would be a bit of a +surprise for him, that I should do what Cardigan couldn't do. He walked +back and forth, black as a hat--thinking of Cardigan, I suppose. Then +he called in that Pelly chap and gave him something which he wrote on a +piece of paper. After that he shook hands with me, slapped me on the +shoulder most intimately, and gave me another cigar. He's a keen old +blade, Kent. He doesn't need more than one pair of eyes to see what +I've done since Cardigan went away!" + +If ever Kent's hands had itched to get at the throat of a human being, +the yearning convulsed his fingers now. At the moment when he was about +to act Mercer had betrayed him to Kedsty! He turned his face away so +that Mercer could not see what was in his eyes. Under his body he +concealed his clenched hands. Within himself he fought against the +insane desire that was raging in his blood, the desire to leap on +Mercer and kill him. If Cardigan had reported his condition to Kedsty, +it would have been different. He would have accepted the report as a +matter of honorable necessity on Cardigan's part. But Mercer--a toad +blown up by his own wind, a consummate fiend who would sell his best +friend, a fool, an ass-- + +For a space he held himself rigid as a stone, his face turned away from +Mercer. His better sense won. He knew that his last chance depended +upon his coolness now. And Mercer unwittingly helped him to win by +slyly pocketing a couple of his cigars and leaving the room. For a +minute or two Kent heard him talking to the guard outside the door. + +He sat up then. It was five o'clock. How long ago was it that Mercer +had seen Kedsty? What was the order that the Inspector had written on a +sheet of paper for Constable Pelly? Was it simply that he should be +more closely watched, or was it a command to move him to one of the +cells close to the detachment office? If it was the latter, all his +hopes and plans were destroyed. His mind flew to those cells. + +The Landing had no jail, not even a guard-house, though the members of +the force sometimes spoke of the cells just behind Inspector Kedsty's +office by that name. The cells were of cement, and Kent himself had +helped to plan them! The irony of the thing did not strike him just +then. He was recalling the fact that no prisoner had ever escaped from +those cement cells. If no action were taken before six o'clock, he was +sure that it would be postponed until the following morning. It was +possible that Kedsty's order was for Pelly to prepare a cell for him. +Deep in his soul he prayed fervently that it was only a matter of +preparation. If they would give him one more night--just one! + +His watch tinkled the half-hour. Then a quarter of six. Then six. His +blood ran feverishly, in spite of the fact that he possessed the +reputation of being the coolest man in N Division. He lighted his last +cigar and smoked it slowly to cover the suspense which he feared +revealed itself in his face, should any one come into his room. His +supper was due at seven. At eight it would begin to get dusk. The moon +was rising later each night, and it would not appear over the forests +until after eleven. He would go through his window at ten o'clock. His +mind worked swiftly and surely as to the method of his first night's +flight. There were always a number of boats down at Crossen's place. He +would start in one of these, and by the time Mercer discovered he was +gone, he would be forty miles on his way to freedom. Then he would set +his boat adrift, or hide it, and start cross-country until his trail +was lost. Somewhere and in some way he would find both guns and food. +It was fortunate that he had not given Mercer the other fifty dollars +under his pillow. + +At seven Mercer came with his supper. A little gleam of disappointment +shot into his pale eyes when he found the last cigar gone from the box. +Kent saw the expression and tried to grin good-humoredly. + +"I'm going to have Father Layonne bring me up another box in the +morning, Mercer," he said. "That is, if I can get hold of him." + +"You probably can," snapped Mercer. "He doesn't live far from barracks, +and that's where you are going. I've got orders to have you ready to +move in the morning." + +Kent's blood seemed for an instant to flash into living flame. He drank +a part of his cup of coffee and said then, with a shrug of his +shoulders: "I'm glad of it, Mercer. I'm anxious to have the thing over. +The sooner they get me down there, the quicker they will take action. +And I'm not afraid, not a bit of it. I'm bound to win. There isn't a +chance in a hundred that they can convict me." Then he added: "And I'm +going to have a box of cigars sent up to you, Mercer. I'm grateful to +you for the splendid treatment you have given me." + +No sooner had Mercer gone with the supper things than Kent's knotted +fist shook itself fiercely in the direction of the door. + +"My God, how I'd like to have you out in the woods--alone--for just one +hour!" he whispered. + +Eight o'clock came, and nine. Two or three times he heard voices in the +hall, probably Mercer talking with the guard. Once he thought he heard +a rumble of thunder, and his heart throbbed joyously. Never had he +welcomed a storm as he would have welcomed it tonight. But the skies +remained clear. Not only that, but the stars as they began to appear +seemed to him more brilliant than he had ever seen them before. And it +was very still. The rattle of a scow-chain came up to him from the +river as though it were only a hundred yards away. He knew that it was +one of Mooie's dogs he heard howling over near the sawmill. The owls, +flitting past his window, seemed to click their beaks more loudly than +last night. A dozen times he fancied he could hear the rippling voice +of the river that very soon was to carry him on toward freedom. + +The river! Every dream and aspiration found its voice for him in that +river now. Down it Marette Radisson had gone. And somewhere along it, +or on the river beyond, or the third river still beyond that, he would +find her. In the long, tense wait between the hours of nine and ten he +brought the girl back into his room again. He recalled every gesture +she had made, every word she had spoken. He felt the thrill of her hand +on his forehead, her kiss, and in his brain her softly spoken words +repeated themselves over and over again, "I think that if you lived +very long I should love you." And as she had spoken those words SHE +KNEW THAT HE WAS NOT GOING TO DIE! + +Why, then, had she gone away? Knowing that he was going to live, why +had she not remained to help him if she could? Either she had spoken +the words in jest, or-- + +A new thought flashed into his mind. It almost drew a cry from his +lips. It brought him up tense, erect, his heart pounding. Had she gone +away? Was it not possible that she, too, was playing a game in giving +the impression that she was leaving down-river on the hidden scow? Was +it conceivable that she was playing that game against Kedsty? A +picture, clean-cut as the stars in the sky, began to outline itself in +his mental vision. It was clear, now, what Mooie's mumblings about +Kedsty had signified. Kedsty had accompanied Marette to the scow. Mooie +had seen him and had given the fact away in his fever. Afterward he had +clamped his mouth shut through fear of the "big man" of the Law. But +why, still later, had he almost been done to death? Mooie was a +harmless creature. He had no enemies. + +There was no one at the Landing who would have assaulted the old +trailer, whose hair was white with age. No one, unless it was Kedsty +himself--Kedsty at bay, Kedsty in a rage. Even that was inconceivable. +Whatever the motive of the assault might be, and no matter who had +committed it, Mooie had most certainly seen the Inspector of Police +accompany Marette Radisson to the scow. And the question which Kent +found it impossible to answer was, had Marette Radisson really gone +down the river on that scow? + +It was almost with a feeling of disappointment that he told himself it +was possible she had not. He wanted her on the river. He wanted her +going north and still farther north. The thought that she was mixed up +in some affair that had to do with Kedsty was displeasing to him. If +she was still in the Landing or near the Landing, it could no longer be +on account of Sandy McTrigger, the man his confession had saved. In his +heart he prayed that she was many days down the Athabasca, for it was +there--and only there--that he would ever see her again. And his +greatest desire, next to his desire for his freedom, was to find her. +He was frank with himself in making that confession. He was more than +that. He knew that not a day or night would pass that he would not +think or dream of Marette Radisson. The wonder of her had grown more +vivid for him with each hour that passed, and he was sorry now that he +had not dared to touch her hair. She would not have been offended with +him, for she had kissed him--after he had killed the impulse to lay his +hand on that soft glory that had crowned her head. + +And then the little bell in his watch tinkled the hour of ten! He sat +up with a jerk. For a space he held his breath while he listened. In +the hall outside his room there was no sound. An inch at a time he drew +himself off his bed until he stood on his feet. His clothes hung on +hooks in the wall, and he groped his way to them so quietly that one +listening at the crack of his door would not have heard him. He dressed +swiftly. Then he made his way to the window, looked out, and listened. + +In the brilliant starlight he saw nothing but the two white stubs of +the lightning-shattered trees in which the owls lived. And it was very +still. The air was fresh and sweet in his face. In it he caught the +scent of the distant balsams and cedars. The world, wonderful in its +night silence, waited for him. It was impossible for him to conceive of +failure or death out there, and it seemed unreal and trivial that the +Law should expect to hold him, with that world reaching out its arms to +him and calling him. + +Assured that the moment for action was at hand, he moved quickly. In +another ten seconds he was through the window, and his feet were on the +ground. For a space he stood out clear in the starlight. Then he +hurried to the end of the building and hid himself in the shadow. The +swiftness of his movement had brought him no physical discomfort, and +his blood danced with the thrill of the earth under his feet and the +thought that his wound must be even more completely healed than he had +supposed. A wild exultation swept over him. He was free! He could see +the river now, shimmering and talking to him in the starlight, urging +him to hurry, telling him that only a little while ago another had gone +north on the breast of it, and that if he hastened it would help him to +overtake her. He felt the throb of new life in his body. His eyes shone +strangely in the semi-gloom. + +It seemed to him that only yesterday Marette had gone. She could not be +far away, even now. And in these moments, with the breath of freedom +stirring him with the glory of new life, she was different for him from +what she had ever been. She was a part of him. He could not think of +escape without thinking of her. She became, in these precious moments, +the living soul of his wilderness. He felt her presence. The thought +possessed him that somewhere down the river she was thinking of him, +waiting, expecting him. And in that same flash he made up his mind that +he would not discard the boat, as he had planned; he would conceal +himself by day, and float downstream by night, until at last he came to +Marette Radisson. And then he would tell her why he had come. And after +that-- + +He looked toward Crossen's place. He would make straight for it, +openly, like a man bent on a mission there was no reason to conceal. If +luck went right, and Crossen was abed, he would be on the river within +fifteen minutes. His blood ran faster as he took his first step out +into the open starlight. Fifty yards ahead of him was the building +which Cardigan used for his fuel. Safely beyond that, no one could see +him from the windows of the hospital. He walked swiftly. Twenty paces, +thirty, forty--and he stopped as suddenly as the half-breed's bullet +had stopped him weeks before. Round the end of Cardigan's fuel house +came a figure. It was Mercer. He was twirling his little cane and +traveling quietly as a cat. They were not ten feet apart, yet Kent had +not heard him. + +Mercer stopped. The cane dropped from his hand. Even in the starlight +Kent could see his face turn white. + +"Don't make a sound, Mercer," he warned. "I'm taking a little exercise +in the open air. If you cry out, I'll kill you!" + +He advanced slowly, speaking in a voice that could not have been heard +at the windows behind him. And then a thing happened that froze the +blood in his veins. He had heard the scream of every beast of the great +forests, but never a scream like that which came from Mercer's lips +now. It was not the cry of a man. To Kent it was the voice of a fiend, +a devil. It did not call for help. It was wordless. And as the horrible +sound issued from Mercer's mouth he could see the swelling throat and +bulging eyes that accompanied the effort. They made him think of a +snake, a cobra. + +The chill went out of his blood, replaced by a flame of hottest fire. +He forgot everything but that this serpent was in his path. Twice he +had stood in his way. And he hated him. He hated him with a virulency +that was death. Neither the call of freedom nor the threat of prison +could keep him from wreaking vengeance now. Without a sound he was at +Mercer's throat, and the scream ended in a choking shriek. His fingers +dug into flabby flesh, and his clenched fist beat again and again into +Mercer's face. + +He went to the ground, crushing the human serpent under him. And he +continued to strike and choke as he had never struck or choked another +man, all other things overwhelmed by his mad desire to tear into pieces +this two-legged English vermin who was too foul to exist on the face of +the earth. + +And he still continued to strike--even after the path lay clear once +more between him and the river. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +What a terrible and inexcusable madness had possessed him, Kent +realized the instant he rose from Mercer's prostrate body. Never had +his brain flamed to that madness before. He believed at first that he +had killed Mercer. It was neither pity nor regret that brought him to +his senses. Mercer, a coward and a traitor, a sneak of the lowest type, +had no excuse for living. It was the thought that he had lost his +chance to reach the river that cleared his head as he swayed over +Mercer. + +He heard running feet. He saw figures approaching swiftly through the +starlight. And he was too weak to fight or run. The little strength he +had saved up, and which he had planned to use so carefully in his +flight, was gone. His wound, weeks in bed, muscles unaccustomed to the +terrific exertion he had made in these moments of his vengeance, left +him now panting and swaying as the running footsteps came nearer. + +His head swam. For a space he was sickeningly dizzy, and in the first +moment of that dizziness, when every drop of blood in his body seemed +rushing to his brain, his vision was twisted and his sense of direction +gone. In his rage he had overexerted himself. He knew that something +had gone wrong inside him and that he was helpless. Even then his +impulse was to stagger toward the inanimate Mercer and kick him, but +hands caught him and held him. He heard an amazed voice, then +another--and something hard and cold shut round his wrists like a pair +of toothless jaws. + +It was Constable Carter, Inspector Kedsty's right-hand man about +barracks, that he saw first; then old Sands, the caretaker at +Cardigan's place. Swiftly as he had turned sick, his brain grew clear, +and his blood distributed itself evenly again through his body. He held +up his hands. Carter had slipped a pair of irons on him, and the +starlight glinted on the shining steel. Sands was bending over Mercer, +and Carter was saying in a low voice: + +"It's too bad, Kent. But I've got to do it. I saw you from the window +just as Mercer screamed. Why did you stop for him?" + +Mercer was getting up with the assistance of Sands. He turned a bloated +and unseeing face toward Kent and Carter. He was blubbering and +moaning, as though entreating for mercy in the fear that Kent had not +finished with him. Carter pulled Kent away. + +"There's only one thing for me to do now," he said. "It isn't pleasant. +But the law says I must take you to barracks." + +In the sky Kent saw the stars clearly again, and his lungs were +drinking in the cool air as in the wonderful moments before his +encounter with Mercer. + +He had lost. And it was Mercer who had made him lose. Carter felt the +sudden tightening of his muscles as he walked with a hand on his arm. +And Kent shut his teeth close and made no answer to what Carter had +said, except that Carter heard something which he thought was a sob +choked to death in the other's throat. + +Carter, too, was a man bred of the red blood of the North, and he knew +what was in Kent's heart. For only by the breadth of a hair had Kent +failed in his flight. + +Pelly was on duty at barracks, and it was Pelly who locked him in one +of the three cells behind the detachment office. When he was gone, Kent +sat down on the edge of his prison cot and for the first time let the +agony of his despair escape in a gasping breath from between his lips. +Half an hour ago the world had reached out its arms to him, and he had +gone forth to its welcome, only to have the grimmest tragedy of all his +life descend upon him like the sword of Damocles. For this was real +tragedy. Here there was no hope. The tentacles of the law had him in +their grip, and he could no longer dream of escape. + +Ghastly was the thought that it was he, James Kent, who had supervised +the building of these cells! Acquainted with every trick and stratagem +of the prisoner plotting for his freedom, he had left no weak point in +their structure. Again he clenched his hands, and in his soul he cursed +Mercer as he went to the little barred window that overlooked the river +from his cell. The river was near now. He could hear the murmur of it. +He could see its movement, and that movement, played upon by the stars, +seemed now a writhing sort of almost noiseless laughter taunting him in +his folly. + +He went back to his cot, and in his despair buried his face in his +hands. In the half-hour after that he did not raise his head. For the +first time in his life he knew that he was beaten, so utterly beaten +that he no more had the desire to fight, and his soul was dark with the +chaos of the things he had lost. + +At last he opened his eyes to the blackness of his prison room, and he +beheld a marvelous thing. Across the gloom of the cell lay a shaft of +golden fire. It was the light of the rising moon coming through his +little, steel-barred window. To Kent it had crept into his cell like a +living thing. He watched it, fascinated. His eyes followed it to the +foot-square aperture, and there, red and glorious as it rose over the +forests, the moon itself filled the world. For a space he saw nothing +but that moon crowding the frame of his window. And as he rose to his +feet and stood where his face was flooded in the light of it, he felt +stirring within him the ghosts of his old hopes. One by one they rose +up and came to life. He held out his hands, as if to fill them with the +liquid glow; his heart beat faster in that glory of the moonrise. The +taunting murmur of the river changed once more into hopeful song, his +fingers closed tightly around the bars, and the fighting spirit rose in +him again. As that spirit surged stronger, beating down his despair, +driving the chaos out of his brain, he watched the moon as it climbed +higher, changing from the red of the lower atmosphere to the yellow +gold of the greater heights, marveling at the miracle of light and +color that had never failed to stir him. + +And then he laughed. If Pelly or Carter had heard him, they would have +wondered if he was mad. It was madness of a sort--the madness of +restored confidence, of an unlimited faith, of an optimism that was +bound to make dreams come true. Again he looked beyond the bars of his +cell. The world was still there; the river was there; all the things +that were worth fighting for were there. And he would fight. Just how, +he did not try to tell himself now. And then he laughed again, softly, +a bit grimly, for he saw the melancholy humour of the fact that he had +built his own prison. + +He sat down again on the edge of his cot, and the whimsical thought +struck him that all those he had brought to this same cell, and who had +paid the first of their penance here, must be laughing at him now in +the spirit way. In his mental fancy a little army of faces trooped +before him, faces dark and white, faces filled with hatred and despair, +faces brave with the cheer of hope and faces pallid with the dread of +death. And of these ghosts of his man-hunting prowess it was Anton +Fournet's face that came out of the crowd and remained with him. For he +had brought Anton to this same cell--Anton, the big Frenchman, with his +black hair, his black beard, and his great, rolling laugh that even in +the days when he was waiting for death had rattled the paper-weights on +Kedsty's desk. + +Anton rose up like a god before Kent now. He had killed a man, and like +a brave man he had not denied it. With a heart in his great body as +gentle as a girl's, Anton had taken pride in the killing. In his prison +days he sang songs to glorify it. He had killed the white man from +Chippewyan who had stolen his neighbor's wife! Not HIS wife, but his +neighbor's! For Anton's creed was, "Do unto others as you would have +others do unto you," and he had loved his neighbor with the great +forest love of man for man. His neighbor was weak, and Anton was strong +with the strength of a bull, so that when the hour came, it was Anton +who had measured out vengeance. When Kent brought Anton in, the giant +had laughed first at the littleness of his cell, then at the +unsuspected strength of it, and after that he had laughed and sung +great, roaring songs every day of the brief tenure of life that was +given him. When he died, it was with the smiling glory in his face of +one who had cheaply righted a great wrong. + +Kent would never forget Anton Fournet. He had never ceased to grieve +that it had been his misfortune to bring Anton in, and always, in close +moments, the thought of Anton, the stout-hearted, rallied him back to +courage. Never would he be the man that Anton Fournet had been, he told +himself many times. Never would his heart be as great or as big, though +the Law had hanged Anton by the neck until the soul was choked out of +his splendid body, for it was history that Anton Fournet had never +harmed man, woman, or child until he set out to kill a human snake and +the Law placed its heel upon him and crushed him. + +And tonight Anton Fournet came into the cell again and sat with Kent on +the cot where he had slept many nights, and the ghosts of his laughter +and his song filled Kent's ears, and his great courage poured itself +out in the moonlit prison room so that at last, when Kent stretched +himself on the cot to sleep, it was with the knowledge that the soul of +the splendid dead had given him a strength which it was impossible to +have gained from the living. For Anton Fournet had died smiling, +laughing, singing--and it was of Anton Fournet that he dreamed when he +fell asleep. And in that dream came also the vision of a man called +Dirty Fingers--and with it inspiration. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Where a bit of the big river curved inward like the tongue of a +friendly dog, lapping the shore at Athabasca Landing, there still +remained Fingers' Row--nine dilapidated, weather-worn, and +crazily-built shacks put there by the eccentric genius who had foreseen +a boom ten years ahead of its time. And the fifth of these nine, +counting from either one end or the other, was named by its owner, +Dirty Fingers himself, the Good Old Queen Bess. It was a shack covered +with black tar paper, with two windows, like square eyes, fronting the +river as if always on the watch for something. Across the front of this +shack Dirty Fingers had built a porch to protect himself from the rain +in springtime, from the sun in Summer time, and from the snow in the +months of Winter. For it was here that Dirty Fingers sat out all of +that part of his life which was not spent in bed. + +Up and down two thousand miles of the Three Rivers was Dirty Fingers +known, and there were superstitious ones who believed that little gods +and devils came to sit and commune with him in the front of the +tar-papered shack. No one was so wise along those rivers, no one was so +satisfied with himself, that he would not have given much to possess +the many things that were hidden away in Dirty Fingers' brain. One +would not have suspected the workings of that brain by a look at Dirty +Fingers on the porch of his Good Old Queen Bess. He was a great soft +lump of a man, a giant of flabbiness. Sitting in his smooth-worn, +wooden armchair, he was almost formless. His head was huge, his hair +uncut and scraggy, his face smooth as a baby's, fat as a cherub's, and +as expressionless as an apple. His folded arms always rested on a huge +stomach, whose conspicuousness was increased by an enormous watch-chain +made from beaten nuggets of Klondike gold, and Dirty Fingers' thumb and +forefinger were always twiddling at this chain. How he had come by the +name of Dirty Fingers, when his right name was Alexander Toppet +Fingers, no one could definitely say, unless it was that he always bore +an unkempt and unwashed appearance. + +Whatever the quality of the two hundred and forty-odd pounds of flesh +in Dirty Fingers' body, it was the quality of his brain that made +people hold him in a sort of awe. For Dirty Fingers was a lawyer, a +wilderness lawyer, a forest bencher, a legal strategist of the trail, +of the river, of the great timber-lands. + +Stored away in his brain was every rule of equity and common law of the +great North country. For his knowledge he went back two hundred years. +He knew that a law did not die of age, that it must be legislated to +death, and out of the moldering past he had dug up every trick and trap +of his trade. He had no law-books. His library was in his head, and his +facts were marshaled in pile after pile of closely-written, +dust-covered papers in his shack. He did not go to court as other +lawyers; and there were barristers in Edmonton who blessed him for that. + +His shack was his tabernacle of justice. There he sat, hands folded, +and gave out his decisions, his advice, his sentences. He sat until +other men would have gone mad. From morning until night, moving only +for his meals or to get out of heat or storm, he was a fixture on the +porch of the Good Old Queen Bess. For hours he would stare at the +river, his pale eyes never seeming to blink. For hours he would remain +without a move or a word. One constant companion he had, a dog, fat, +emotionless, lazy, like his master. Always this dog was sleeping at his +feet or dragging himself wearily at his heels when Dirty Fingers +elected to make a journey to the little store where he bartered for +food and necessities. + +It was Father Layonne who came first to see Kent in his cell the +morning after Kent's unsuccessful attempt at flight. An hour later it +was Father Layonne who traveled the beaten path to the door of Dirty +Fingers' shack. If a visible emotion of pleasure ever entered into +Dirty Fingers' face, it was when the little missioner came occasionally +to see him. It was then that his tongue let itself loose, and until +late at night they talked of many things of which other men knew but +little. This morning Father Layonne did not come casually, but +determinedly on business, and when Dirty Fingers learned what that +business was, he shook his head disconsolately, folded his fat arms +more tightly over his stomach, and stated the sheer impossibility of +his going to see Kent. It was not his custom. People must come to him. +And he did not like to walk. It was fully a third of a mile from his +shack to barracks, possibly half a mile. And it was mostly upgrade! If +Kent could be brought to him-- + +In his cell Kent waited. It was not difficult for him to hear voices in +Kedsty's office when the door was open, and he knew that the Inspector +did not come in until after the missioner had gone on his mission to +Dirty Fingers. Usually he was at the barracks an hour or so earlier. +Kent made no effort to figure out a reason for Kedsty's lateness, but +he did observe that after his arrival there was more than the usual +movement between the office door and the outside of the barracks. Once +he was positive that he heard Cardigan's voice, and then he was equally +sure that he heard Mercer's. He grinned at that. He must be wrong, for +Mercer would be in no condition to talk for several days. He was glad +that a turn in the hall hid the door of the detachment office from him, +and that the three cells were in an alcove, safely out of sight of the +curious eyes of visitors. He was also glad that he had no other +prisoner for company. His situation was one in which he wanted to be +alone. To the plan that was forming itself in his mind, solitude was as +vital as the cooperation of Alexander Toppet Fingers. + +Just how far he could win that cooperation was the problem which +confronted him now, and he waited anxiously for the return of Father +Layonne, listening for the sound of his footsteps in the outer hall. +If, after all, that inspirational thought of last night came to +nothing, if Fingers should fail him-- + +He shrugged his shoulders. If that happened, he could see no other +chance. He would have to go on and take his medicine at the hands of a +jury. But if Fingers played up to the game-- + +He looked out on the river again, and again it was the river that +seemed to answer him. If Fingers played with him, they would beat +Kedsty and the whole of N Division! And in winning he would prove out +the greatest psychological experiment he had ever dared to make. The +magnitude of the thing, when he stopped to think of it, was a little +appalling, but his faith was equally large. He did not consider his +philosophy at all supernatural. He had brought it down to the level of +the average man and woman. + +He believed that every man and woman possessed a subliminal +consciousness which it was possible to rouse to tremendous heights if +the right psychological key was found to fit its particular lock, and +he believed he possessed the key which fitted the deeply-buried and +long-hidden thing in Dirty Fingers' remarkable brain. Because he +believed in this metaphysics which he had not read out of Aristotle, he +had faith that Fingers would prove his salvation. He felt growing in +him stronger than ever a strange kind of elation. He felt better +physically than last night. The few minutes of strenuous action in +which he had half killed Mercer had been a pretty good test, he told +himself. It had left no bad effect, and he need no longer fear the +reopening of his wound. + +A dozen times he had heard a far door open and close. Now he heard it +again, and a few moments later it was followed by a sound which drew a +low cry of satisfaction from him. Dirty Fingers, because of overweight +and lack of exercise, had what he called an "asthmatic wind," and it +was this strenuous working of his lungs that announced his approach to +Kent. His dog was also afflicted and for the same reasons, so that when +they traveled together there was some rivalry between them. + +"We're both bad put out for wind, thank God," Dirty Fingers would say +sometimes. "It's a good thing, for if we had more of it, we'd walk +farther, and we don't like walking." + +The dog was with Fingers now, also Father Layonne, and Pelly. Pelly +unlocked the cell, then relocked it again after Fingers and the dog +entered. With a nod and a hopeful look the missioner returned with +Pelly to the detachment office. Fingers wiped his red face with a big +handkerchief, gasping deeply for breath. Togs, his dog, was panting as +if he had just finished the race of his life. + +"A difficult climb," wheezed Fingers. "A most difficult climb." + +He sat down, rolling out like a great bag of jelly in the one chair in +the cell, and began to fan himself with his hat. Kent had already taken +stock of the situation. In Fingers' florid countenance and in his +almost colorless eyes he detected a bit of excitement which Fingers was +trying to hide. Kent knew what it meant. Father Layonne had found it +necessary to play his full hand to lure Fingers up the hill, and had +given him a hint of what it was that Kent had in store for him. Already +the psychological key had begun to work. + +Kent sat down on the edge of his cot and grinned sympathetically. "It +hasn't always been like this, has it, Fingers?" he said then, leaning a +bit forward and speaking with a sudden, low-voiced seriousness. "There +was a time, twenty years ago, when you didn't puff after climbing a +hill. Twenty years make a big difference, sometimes." + +"Yes, sometimes," agreed Fingers in a wheezy whisper. + +"Twenty years ago you were--a fighter." + +It seemed to Kent that a deeper color came into Dirty Fingers' pale +eyes in the few seconds that followed these words. + +"A fighter," he repeated. "Most men were fighters in those days of the +gold rushes, weren't they, Fingers? I've heard a lot of the old stories +about them in my wanderings, and some of them have made me thrill. They +weren't afraid to die. And most of them were pretty white when it came +to a show-down. You were one of them, Fingers. I heard the story one +Winter far north. I've kept it to myself, because I've sort of had the +idea that you didn't want people to know or you would have told it +yourself. That's why I wanted you to come to see me, Fingers. You know +the situation. It's either the noose or iron bars for me. Naturally one +would seek for assistance among those who have been his friends. But I +do not, with the exception of Father Layonne. Just friendship won't +save me, not the sort of friendship we have today. That's why I sent +for you. Don't think that I am prying into secrets that are sacred to +you, Fingers. God knows I don't mean it that way. But I've got to tell +you of a thing that happened a long time ago, before you can +understand. You haven't forgotten--you will never forget--Ben Tatman?" + +As Kent spoke the name, a name which Dirty Fingers had heard no lips +but his own speak aloud in nearly a quarter of a century, a strange and +potent force seemed suddenly to take possession of the forest bencher's +huge and flabby body. It rippled over and through him like an +electrical voltaism, making his body rigid, stiffening what had seemed +to be fat into muscle, tensing his hands until they knotted themselves +slowly into fists. The wheeze went out of his breath, and it was the +voice of another man who answered Kent. + +"You have heard--about--Ben Tatman?" + +"Yes. I heard it away up in the Porcupine country. They say it happened +twenty years ago or more. This Tatman, so I was told, was a young +fellow green from San Francisco--a bank clerk, I think--who came into +the gold country and brought his wife with him. They were both +chuck-full of courage, and the story was that each worshiped the ground +the other walked on, and that the girl had insisted on being her +husband's comrade in adventure. Of course neither guessed the sort of +thing that was ahead of them. + +"Then came that death Winter in Lost City. You know better than I what +the laws were in those days, Fingers. Food failed to come up. Snow came +early, the thermometer never rose over fifty below zero for three +straight months, and Lost City was an inferno of starvation and death. +You could go out and kill a man, then, and perhaps get away with it, +Fingers. But if you stole so much as a crust of bread or a single bean, +you were taken to the edge of the camp and told to go! And that meant +certain death--death from hunger and cold, more terrible than shooting +or hanging, and for that reason it was the penalty for theft. + +"Tatman wasn't a thief. It was seeing his young wife slowly dying of +hunger, and his horror at the thought of seeing her fall, as others +were falling, a victim to scurvy, that made him steal. He broke into a +cabin in the dead of night and stole two cans of beans and a pan of +potatoes, more precious than a thousand times their weight in gold. And +he was caught. Of course, there was the wife. But those were the days +when a woman couldn't save a man, no matter how lovely she was. Tatman +was taken to the edge of camp and given his pack and his gun--but no +food. And the girl, hooded and booted, was at his side, for she was +determined to die with him. For her sake Tatman had lied up to the last +minute, protesting his innocence. + +"But the beans and the potatoes were found in his cabin, and that was +evidence enough. And then, just as they were about to go straight out +into the blizzard that meant death within a few hours, then--" + +Kent rose to his feet, and walked to the little window, and stood +there, looking out. "Fingers, now and then a superman is born on earth. +And a superman was there in that crowd of hunger-stricken and +embittered men. At the last moment he stepped out and in a loud voice +declared that Tatman was innocent and that he was guilty. Unafraid, he +made a remarkable confession. He had stolen the beans and the potatoes +and had slipped them into the Tatman cabin when they were asleep. Why? +Because he wanted to save the woman from hunger! Yes, he lied, Fingers. +He lied because he loved the wife that belonged to another man--lied +because in him there was a heart as true as any heart God ever made. He +lied! And his lie was a splendid thing. He went out into that blizzard, +strengthened by a love that was greater than his fear of death, and the +camp never heard of him again. Tatman and his wife returned to their +cabin and lived. Fingers--" Kent whirled suddenly from the window. +"Fingers--" + +And Fingers, like a sphynx, sat and stared at Kent. + +"You were that man," Kent went on, coming nearer to him. "You lied, +because you loved a woman, and you went out to face death because of +that woman. The men at Lost City didn't know it, Fingers. The husband +didn't know it. And the girl, that girl-wife you worshiped in secret, +didn't dream of it! But that was the truth, and you know it deep down +in your soul. You fought your way out. You lived! And all these years, +down here on your porch, you've been dreaming of a woman, of the girl +you were willing to die for a long time ago. Fingers, am I right? And +if I am, will you shake hands?" + +Slowly Fingers had risen from his chair. No longer were his eyes dull +and lifeless, but flaming with a fire that Kent had lighted again after +many years. And he reached out a hand and gripped Kent's, still staring +at him as though something had come back to him from the dead. + +"I thank you, Kent, for your opinion of that man," he said. "Somehow, +you haven't made me--ashamed. But it was only the shell of a man that +won out after that day when I took Tatman's place. Something happened. +I don't know what. But--you see me now. I never went back into the +diggings. I degenerated. I became what I am." + +"And you are today just what you were when you went out to die for Mary +Tatman," cried Kent. "The same heart and the same soul are in you. +Wouldn't you fight again today for her?" + +A stifled cry came from Fingers' lips. "My God, yes, Kent--I would!" + +"And that's why I wanted you, of all men, to come to me, Fingers," Kent +went on swiftly. "To you, of all the men on earth, I wanted to tell my +story. And now, will you listen to it? Will you forgive me for bringing +up this memory that must be precious to you, only that you might more +fully understand what I am going to say? I don't want you to think of +it as a subterfuge on my part. It is more than that. It is--Fingers, is +it inspiration? Listen, and tell me." + +And for a long time after that James Kent talked, and Fingers listened, +the soul within him writhing and dragging itself back into fierce life, +demanding for the first time in many years the something which it had +once possessed, but which it had lost. It was not the lazy, mysterious, +silent Dirty Fingers who sat in the cell with Kent. In him the spirit +of twenty years ago had roused itself from long slumber, and the thrill +of it pounded in his blood. Two-Fisted Fingers they had called him +then, and he was Two-Fisted Fingers in this hour with Kent. Twice +Father Layonne came to the head of the cell alcove, but turned back +when he heard the low and steady murmur of Kent's voice. Nothing did +Kent keep hidden, and when he had finished, something that was like the +fire of a revelation had come into Fingers' face. + +"My God!" he breathed deeply. "Kent, I've been sitting down there on my +porch a long time, and a good many strange things have come to me, but +never anything like this. Oh, if it wasn't for this accursed flesh of +mine!" + +He jumped from his chair more quickly than he had moved in ten years, +and he laughed as he had not laughed in all that time. He thrust out a +great arm and doubled it up, like a prizefighter testing his muscle. +"Old? I'm not old! I was only twenty-eight when that happened up there, +and I'm forty-eight now. That isn't old. It's what is in me that's +grown old. I'll do it, Kent! I'll do it, if I hang for it!" + +Kent fairly leaped upon him. "God bless you!" he cried huskily. "God +bless you, Fingers! Look! Look at that!" He pulled Fingers to the +little window, and together they looked out upon the river, shimmering +gloriously under a sun-filled sky of blue. "Two thousand miles of it," +he breathed. "Two thousand miles of it, running straight through the +heart of that world we both have known! No, you're not old, Fingers. +The things you used to know are calling you again, as they are calling +me, for somewhere off there are the ghosts of Lost City, ghosts--and +realities!" + +"Ghosts--and hopes," said Fingers. + +"Hopes make life," softly whispered Kent, as if to himself. And then, +without turning from the window, his hand found Fingers' and clasped it +tight. "It may be that mine, like yours, will never come true. But +they're fine to think about, Fingers. Funny, isn't it, that their names +should be so strangely alike--Mary and Marette? I say, Fingers--" + +Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. Both turned from the window as +Constable Pelly came to the door of the cell. They recognized this +intimation that their time was up, and with his foot Fingers roused his +sleeping dog. + +It was a new Fingers who walked back to the river five minutes later, +and it was an amazed and discomfited dog who followed at his heels, for +at times the misshapen and flesh-ridden Togs was compelled to trot for +a few steps to keep up. And Fingers did not sink into the chair on the +shady porch when he reached his shack. He threw off his coat and +waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves, and for hours after that he was +buried deep in the accumulated masses of dust-covered legal treasures +stored away in hidden corners of the Good Old Queen Bess. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +That morning Kent had heard wild songs floating up from the river, and +now he felt like shouting forth his own joy and exultation in song. He +wondered if he could hide the truth from the eyes of others, and +especially from Kedsty if he came to see him. It seemed that some +glimmer of the hope blazing within him must surely reveal itself, no +matter how he tried to hold it back. He felt the vital forces of that +hope more powerful within him now than in the hour when he had crept +from the hospital window with freedom in his face. For then he was not +sure of himself. He had not tested his physical strength. And in the +present moment, fanned by his unbounded optimism, the thought came to +him that perhaps it was good luck and not bad that had thrown Mercer in +his way. For with Fingers behind him now, his chances for a clean +get-away were better. He would not be taking a hazardous leap chanced +on the immediate smiles of fortune. He would be going deliberately, +prepared. + +He blessed the man who had been known as Dirty Fingers, but whom he +could not think of now in the terms of that name. He blessed the day he +had heard that chance story of Fingers, far north. He no longer +regarded him as the fat pig of a man he had been for so many years. For +he looked upon the miracle of a great awakening. He had seen the soul +of Fingers lift itself up out of its tabernacle of flesh and grow young +again; he had seen stagnant blood race with new fire. He had seen +emotions roused that had slept for long years. And he felt toward +Fingers, in the face of that awakening, differently than he had felt +toward any other living man. His emotion was one of deep and embracing +comradeship. + +Father Layonne did not come again until afternoon, and then he brought +information that thrilled Kent. The missioner had walked down to see +Fingers, and Fingers was not on his porch. Neither was the dog. He had +knocked loudly on the door, but there was no answer. Where was Fingers? +Kent shook his head, feigning an anxious questioning, but inside him +his heart was leaping. He knew! He told Father Layonne he was afraid +all Fingers' knowledge of the law could do him but little good, that +Fingers had told him as much, and the little missioner went away +considerably depressed. He would talk with Fingers again, he said, and +offer certain suggestions he had in mind. Kent chuckled when he was +gone. How shocked le Pere would be if he, too, could know! + +The next morning Father Layonne came again, and his information was +even more thrilling to Kent. The missioner was displeased with Fingers. +Last night, noticing a light in his shack, he had walked down to see +him. And he had found three men closely drawn up about a table with +Dirty Fingers. One of them was Ponte, the half-breed; another was Kinoo +the outcast Dog Rib from over on Sand Creek; the third was Mooie, the +old Indian trailer. Kent wanted to jump up and shout, for those three +were the three greatest trailers in all that part of the Northland. +Fingers had lost no time, and he wanted to voice his approbation like a +small boy on the Fourth of July. + +But his face, seen by Father Layonne, betrayed none of the excitement +that was in his blood. Fingers had told him he was going into a timber +deal with these men, a long-distance deal where there would be much +traveling, and that he could not interrupt himself just then to talk +about Kent. Would Father Layonne come again in the morning? And he had +gone again that morning, and Fingers' place was locked up! + +All the rest of the day Kent waited eagerly for Fingers. For the first +time Kedsty came to see him, and as a matter of courtesy said he hoped +Fingers might be of assistance to him. He did not mention Mercer and +remained no longer than a couple of minutes, standing outside the cell. +In the afternoon Doctor Cardigan came and shook hands warmly with Kent. +He had found a tough job waiting for him, he said. Mercer was all cut +up, in a literal as well as a mental way. He had five teeth missing, +and he had to have seventeen stitches taken in his face. It was +Cardigan's opinion that some one had given him a considerable +beating--and he grinned at Kent. Then he added in a whisper, + +"My God, Kent, how I wish you had made it!" + +It was four o'clock when Fingers came. Even less than yesterday did he +look like the old Fingers. He was not wheezing. He seemed to have lost +flesh. His face was alive. That was what struck Kent--the new life in +it. There was color in his eyes. And Togs, the dog, was not with him. +He smiled when he shook hands with Kent, and nodded, and chuckled. And +Kent, after that, gripped him by the shoulders and shook him in his +silent joy. + +"I was up all last night," said Fingers in a low voice. "I don't dare +move much in the day, or people will wonder. But, God bless my soul!--I +did move last night, Kent. I must have walked ten miles, more or less. +And things are coming--coming!" + +"And Ponte, Kinoo, Mooie--?" + +"Are working like devils," whispered Fingers. "It's the only way, Kent. +I've gone through all my law, and there's nothing in man-made law that +can save you. I've read your confession, and I don't think you could +even get off with the penitentiary. A noose is already tied around your +neck. I think you'd hang. We've simply got to get you out some other +way. I've had a talk with Kedsty. He has made arrangements to have you +sent to Edmonton two weeks from tomorrow. We'll need all that time, but +it's enough." + +For three days thereafter Fingers came to Kent's cell each afternoon, +and each time was looking better. Something was swiftly putting +hardness into his flesh and form into his body. The second day he told +Kent that he had found the way at last, and that when the hour came, +escape would be easy, but he thought it best not to let Kent in on the +little secret just yet. He must be patient and have faith. That was the +chief thing, to have faith at all times, no matter what happened. +Several times he emphasized that "no matter what happens." The third +day he puzzled Kent. He was restless, a bit nervous. He still thought +it best not to tell Kent what his scheme was, until to-morrow. He was +in the cell not more than five or ten minutes, and there was an unusual +pressure in the grip of his hand when he bade Kent good-by. Somehow +Kent did not feel so well when he had gone. He waited impatiently for +the next day. It came, and hour after hour he listened for Fingers' +heavy tread in the hall. The morning passed. The afternoon lengthened. +Night came, and Fingers had not come. Kent did not sleep much between +the hour when he went to bed and morning. It was eleven o'clock when +the missioner made his call. Before he left, Kent gave him a brief note +for Fingers. He had just finished his dinner, and Carter had taken the +dishes away, when Father Layonne returned. A look at his face, and Kent +knew that he bore unpleasant tidings. + +"Fingers is an--an apostate," he said, his lips twitching as if to keep +back a denunciation still more emphatic. "He was sitting on his porch +again this morning, half asleep, and says that after a great deal of +thought he has come to the definite opinion that he can do nothing for +you. He read your note and burned it with a match. He asked me to tell +you that the scheme he had in mind was too risky--for him. He says he +won't come up again. And--" + +The missioner was rubbing his brown, knotted hands together raspingly. + +"Go on," said Kent a little thickly. + +"He has also sent Inspector Kedsty the same word," finished Father +Layonne. "His word to Kedsty is that he can see no fighting chance for +you, and that it is useless effort on his part to put up a defense for +you. Jimmy!" His hand touched Kent's arm gently. + +Kent's face was white. He faced the window, and for a space he did not +see. Then with pencil and paper he wrote again to Fingers. + +It was late in the afternoon before Father Layonne returned with an +answer. Again it was verbal. Fingers had read his note and had burned +it with a match. He was particular that the last scrap of it was turned +into ash, the missioner said. And he had nothing to say to Kent that he +had not previously said. He simply could not go on with their plans. +And he requested Kent not to write to him again. He was sorry, but that +was his definite stand in the matter. + +Even then Kent could not bring himself to believe. All the rest of the +day he tried to put himself in Fingers' brain, but his old trick of +losing his personality in that of another failed him this time. He +could find no reason for the sudden change in Fingers, unless it was +what Fingers had frankly confessed to Father Layonne--fear. The +influence of mind, in this instance, had failed in its assault upon a +mass of matter. Fingers' nerve had gone back on him. + +The fifth day Kent rose from his cot with hope still not quite dead in +his heart. But that day passed and the sixth, and the missioner brought +word that Fingers was the old Dirty Fingers again, sitting from morning +till night on his porch. + +On the seventh day came the final crash to Kent's hopes. Kedsty's +program had changed. He, Kent, was to start for Edmonton the following +morning under charge of Pelly and a special constable! + +After this Kent felt a strange change come over him. Years seemed to +multiply themselves in his body. His mind, beaten back, no longer +continued in its old channels of thought. The thing pressed upon him +now as fatalistic. Fingers had failed him. Fortune had failed him. +Everything had failed, and for the first time in the weeks of his +struggle against death and a thing worse than death, he cursed himself. +There was a limit to optimism and a limit to hope. His limit was +reached. + +In the afternoon of this seventh day came a depressing gloom. It was +filled with a drizzling rain. Hour after hour this drizzle kept up, +thickening as the night came. He ate his supper by the light of a cell +lamp. By eight o'clock it was black outside. In that blackness there +was an occasional flash of lightning and rumble of thunder. On the roof +of the barracks the rain beat steadily and monotonously. + +His watch was in his hand--it was a quarter after nine o'clock, when he +heard the door at the far exit of the hall open and close. He had heard +it a dozen times since supper and paid no attention to it, but this +time it was followed by a voice at the detachment office that hit him +like an electrical shock. Then, a moment later, came low laughter. It +was a woman who laughed. + +He stood up. He heard the detachment office door close, and silence +followed. The watch in his hand seemed ticking off the seconds with +frantic noise. He shoved it into his pocket and stood staring out into +the prison alcove. A few minutes later the office door opened again. +This time it was not closed. He heard distinctly a few light, +hesitating footsteps, and his heart seemed to stop its beating. They +came to the head of the lighted alcove, and for perhaps the space of a +dozen seconds there was silence again. Then they advanced. + +Another moment, and Kent was staring through the bars into the glorious +eyes of Marette Radisson! + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +In that moment Kent did not speak. He made no sound. He gave no sign of +welcome, but stood in the middle of his cell, staring. If life had hung +upon speech in those few seconds, he would have died, but everything he +would have said, and more, was in his face. The girl must have seen it. +With her two hands she was gripping at the bars of the cell and looking +through at him. Kent saw that her face was pale in the lamp glow. In +that pallor her violet eyes were like pools of black. The hood of her +dripping raincoat was thrown partly back, and against the whiteness of +her cheeks her hair glistened wet, and her long lashes were heavy with +the rain. + +Kent, without moving over the narrow space between them, reached out +his hands and found his voice. "Marette!" + +Her hands had tightened about the bars until they were bloodless. Her +lips were parted. She was breathing quickly, but she did not smile; she +made no response to his greeting, gave no sign even of recognition. +What happened after that was so sudden and amazing that his heart +stopped dead still. Without warning she stepped back from the cell and +began to scream and then drew away from him, still facing him and still +screaming, as if something had terrified her. + +Kent heard the crash of a chair in the detachment office, excited +voices, and the running of feet. Marette Radisson had withdrawn to the +far corner of the alcove, and as Carter and Pelly ran toward her, she +stood, a picture of horror, pointing at Kent's cell. The two constables +rushed past her. Close behind them followed the special officer +detailed to take Kent to Edmonton. + +Kent had not moved. He was like one petrified. Close up against the +bars came the faces of Pelly, Carter, and the special constable, filled +with the expressions of men who had expected to look in upon tragedy. +And then, behind their backs, Kent saw the other thing happen. Swift as +a flash Marette Radisson's hand went in and out of her raincoat, and at +the backs of the three men she was leveling a revolver! Not only did +Kent see that swift change, but the still swifter change that came into +her face. Her eyes shot to his just once, and they were filled with a +laughing, exultant fire. With one mighty throb Kent's heart seemed to +leap out through the bars of his prison, and at the look in his face +and eyes Carter swung suddenly around. + +"Please don't make any disturbance, gentlemen," said Marette Radisson. +"The first man that makes a suspicious move, I shall kill!" + +Her voice was calm and thrilling. It had a deadly ring in it. The +revolver in her hand was held steadily. It was a slim-barreled, black +thing. The very color of it was menacing. And behind it were the girl's +eyes, pools of flame. The three men were facing them now, shocked to +speechlessness. Automatically they seemed to obey her command to throw +up their hands. Then she leveled her grim little gun straight at +Pelly's heart. + +"You have the key," she said. "Unlock the cell!" Felly fumbled and +produced the key. She watched him closely. Then suddenly the special +constable dropped his arms with a coarse laugh. "A pretty trick," he +said, "but the bluff won't work!" + +"Oh, but it will!" came the reply. + +The little black gun was shifted to him, even as the constable's +fingers touched his revolver holster. With half-smiling lips, Marette's +eyes blazed at him. + +"Please put up your hands," she commanded. + +The constable hesitated; then his fingers gripped the butt of his gun. +Kent, holding his breath, saw the almost imperceptible tensing of +Marette's body and the wavering of Pelly's arms over his head. Another +moment and he, too, would have called the bluff if it were that. But +that moment did not come. From the slim, black barrel of the girl's +revolver leaped forth a sudden spurt of smoke and flame, and the +special constable lurched back against the cell bars, caught himself as +he half fell, and then stood with his pistol arm hanging limp and +useless at his side. He had not made a sound, but his face was twisted +in pain. + +"Open the cell door!" + +A second time the deadly-looking little gun was pointed straight at +Pelly's heart. The half-smile was gone from the girl's lips now. Her +eyes blazed a deeper fire. She was breathing quickly, and she leaned a +little toward Pelly, repeating her command. The words were partly +drowned in a sudden crash of thunder. But Pelly understood. He saw her +lips form the words, and half heard, + +"Open the door, or I shall kill you!" + +He no longer hesitated. The key grated in the lock, and Kent himself +flung the door wide open and sprang out. He was quick to see and seize +upon opportunity and swift to act. The astounding audacity of the +girl's ruse, her clever acting in feigning horror to line the guards up +at the cell door and the thrilling decisiveness with which she had used +the little black gun in her hand set every drop of blood in his body +afire. No sooner was he outside his cell than he was the old Jim Kent, +fighting man. He whipped Carter's automatic out of its holster and, +covering Pelly and the special constable, relieved them of their guns. +Behind him he heard Marette's voice, calm and triumphant, + +"Lock them in the cell, Mr. Kent!" + +He did not look at her, but swung his gun on Pelly and the special +constable, and they backed through the door into the cell. Carter had +not moved. He was looking straight at the girl, and the little black +gun was leveled at his breast. Pelly and the wounded man did not see, +but on Carter's lips was a strange smile. His eyes met Kent's, and +there was revealed for an instant a silent flash of comradeship and an +unmistakable something else. Carter was glad! It made Kent want to +reach out and grip his hand, but in place of that he backed him into +the cell, turned the key in the lock, and with the key in his hand +faced Marette Radisson. Her eyes were shining gloriously. He had never +seen such splendid, fighting eyes, nor the birdlike swiftness with +which she turned and ran down the hall, calling him to follow her. + +He was only a step behind her in passing Kedsty's office. She reached +the outer door and opened it. It was pitch-dark outside, and a deluge +of rain beat into their faces. He observed that she did not replace the +hood of her raincoat when she darted out. As he closed the door, her +hand groped to his arm and from that found his hand. Her fingers clung +to his tightly. + +He did not ask questions as they faced the black chaos of rain. A +rending streak of lightning revealed her for an instant, her bare head +bowed to the wind. Then came a crash of thunder that shook the earth +under their feet, and her fingers closed more tightly about his hand. +And in that crash he heard her voice, half laughing, half broken, +saying, + +"I'm afraid--of thunder!" + +In that storm his laugh rang out, a great, free, joyous laugh. He +wanted to stop in that instant, sweep her up into his arms, and carry +her. He wanted to shout like an insane man in his mad joy. And a moment +before she had risked everything in facing three of the bravest men in +the service and had shot one of them! He started to say something, but +she increased her speed until she was almost running. + +She was not leading Jim in the direction of the river, but toward the +forest beyond Kedsty's bungalow. Not for an instant did she falter in +that drenched and impenetrable darkness. There was something imperative +in the clasp of her fingers, even though they tightened perceptibly +when the thunder crashed. They gave Kent the conviction that there was +no doubt in her mind as to the point she was striving for. He took +advantage of the lightning, for each time it gave him a glimpse of her +bare, wet head bowed to the storm, her white profile, and her slim +figure fighting over the sticky earth under her feet. + +It was this presence of her, and not the thought of escape, that +exalted him now. She was at his side. Her hand lay close in his. The +lightning gave him glimpses of her. He felt the touch of her shoulder, +her arm, her body, as they drew close together. The life and warmth and +thrill of her seemed to leap into his own veins through the hand he +held. He had dreamed of her. And now suddenly she had become a part of +him, and the glory of it rode overwhelmingly over all other emotions +that were struggling in his brain--the glory of the thought that it was +she who had come to him in the last moment, who had saved him, and who +was now leading him to freedom through the crash of storm. + +At the crest of a low knoll between barracks and Kedsty's bungalow she +stopped for the first time. He had there, again, the almost +irresistible impulse to reach out in the darkness and take her into his +arms, crying out to her of his joy, of a happiness that had come to him +greater even than the happiness of freedom. But he stood, holding her +hand, his tongue speechless, and he was looking at her when the +lightning revealed her again. In a rending flash it cut open the night +so close that the hiss of it was like the passing of a giant rocket, +and involuntarily she shrank against him, and her free hand caught his +arm at the instant thunder crashed low over their heads. His own hand +groped out, and in the blackness it touched for an instant her wet face +and then her drenched hair. + +"Marette," he cried, "where are we going?" + +"Down there," came her voice. + +Her hand had left his arm, and he sensed that she was pointing, though +he could not see. Ahead of them was a chaotic pit of gloom, a sea of +blackness, and in the heart of that sea he saw a light. He knew that it +was a lamp in one of Kedsty's windows and that Marette was guiding +herself by that light when she started down the slope with her hand +still in his. That she had made no effort to withdraw it made him +unconscious of the almost drowning discomfort of the fresh deluge of +rain that beat their faces. One of her fingers had gripped itself +convulsively about his thumb, like a child afraid of falling. And each +time the thunder crashed that soft hold on his thumb tightened, and +Kent's soul acclaimed. + +They drew swiftly nearer to the light, for it was not far from the +knoll to Kedsty's place. Kent's mind leaped ahead. A little west by +north from the inspector's bungalow was Kim's Bayou and it was +undoubtedly to the forest trail over which she had gone at least once +before, on the night of the mysterious assault upon Mooie, that Marette +was leading him. Questions began to rush upon him now, immediate +demanding questions. They were going to the river. They must be going +to the river. It was the quickest and surest way of escape. Had Marette +prepared for that? And was she going with him? + +He had no time to answer. Their feet struck the gravel path leading to +the door of Kedsty's place, and straight up this path the girl turned, +straight toward the light blazing in the window. Then, to his +amazement, he heard in the sweep of storm her voice crying out in glad +triumph, + +"We're home!" + +Home! His breath came in a sudden gulp. He was more than astounded. He +was shocked. Was she mad or playing an amazingly improper joke? She had +freed him from a cell to lead him to the home of the Inspector of +Police, the deadliest enemy the world now held for him. He stopped, and +Marette Radisson tugged at his hand, pulling him after her, insisting +that he follow. She was clutching his thumb as though she thought he +might attempt to escape. + +"It is safe, M'sieu Jeems," she cried. "Don't be afraid!" + +M'sieu Jeems! And the laughing note of mockery in her voice! He rallied +himself and followed her up the three steps to the door. Her hand found +the latch, the door opened, and swiftly they were inside. The lamp in +the window was close to them, but for a space he could not see because +of the water in his eyes. He blinked it out, drew a hand across his +face, and looked at Marette. She stood three or four paces from him. +Her face was very white, and she was panting as if hard-run for breath, +but her eyes were shining, and she was smiling at him. The water was +running from her in streams. + +"You are wet," she said. "And I am afraid you will catch cold. Come +with me!" + +Again she was making fun of him just as she had made fun of him at +Cardigan's! She turned, and he ran upstairs behind her. At the top she +waited for him, and as he came up, she reached out her hand, as if +apologizing for having taken it from him when they entered the +bungalow. He held it again as she led him down the hall to a door +farthest from the stair. This she opened, and they entered. It was dark +inside, and the girl withdrew her hand again, and Kent heard her moving +across the room. In that darkness a new and thrilling emotion possessed +him. The air he was breathing was not the air he had breathed in the +hall. In it was the sweet scent of flowers, and of something else--the +faint and intangible perfume of a woman's room. He waited, staring. His +eyes were wide when a match leaped into flame in Marette's fingers. +Then he stood in the glow of a lamp. + +He continued to stare in the stupidity of a shock to which he was not +accustomed. Marette, as if to give him time to acquaint himself with +his environment, was taking off her raincoat. Under it her slim little +figure was dry, except where the water had run down from her uncovered +head to her shoulders. He noticed that she wore a short skirt, and +boots, adorably small boots of splendidly worked caribou. And then +suddenly she came toward him with both hands reaching out to him. + +"Please shake hands and say you're glad," she said. "Don't look +so--so--frightened. This is my room and you are safe here." + +He held her hands tight, staring into the wonderful, violet eyes that +were looking at him with the frank and unembarrassed directness of a +child's. "I--I don't understand," he struggled. "Marette, where is +Kedsty?" + +"He should be returning very soon." + +"And he knows you are here, of course?" + +She nodded. "I have been here for a month." + +Kent's hands closed tighter about hers. "I--I don't understand," he +repeated. "Tonight Kedsty will know that it was you who rescued me and +you who shot Constable Willis. Good God, we must lose no time in +getting away!" + +"There is great reason why Kedsty dare not betray my presence in his +house," she said quietly. "He would die first! And he will not suspect +that I have brought you to my room, that an escaped murderer is hiding +under the very roof of the Inspector of Police! They will search for +you everywhere but here! Isn't it splendid? He planned it all, every +move, even to the screaming in front of your cell--" + +"You mean--Kedsty?" + +She withdrew her hands and stepped back from him, and again he saw in +her eyes a flash of the fire that had come into them when she leveled +her gun at the three men in the prison alcove. "No, not Kedsty. He +would hang you, and he would kill me, if he dared. I mean that great, +big, funny-looking friend of yours, M'sieu Fingers!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +The manner in which Kent stared at Marette Radisson after her +announcement that it was Dirty Fingers who had planned his escape must +have been, he thought afterward, little less than imbecile. He had +wronged Fingers, he believed. He had called him a coward and a +backslider. In his mind he had reviled him for helping to raise his +hopes to the highest pitch, only to smash them in the end. And all the +time Dirty Fingers had been planning this! Kent began to grin. The +thing was clear in a moment--that is, the immediate situation was +clear--or he thought it was. But there were questions--one, ten, a +hundred of them. They wanted to pile over the end of his tongue, +questions that had little or nothing to do with Kedsty. He saw nothing +now but Marette. + +She had begun to take down her hair. It fell about her in wet, shining +masses. Kent had never seen anything like it. It clung to her face, her +neck, her shoulders and arms, and shrouded her slender body to her +hips, lovely in its confusion. Little drops of water glistened in it +like diamonds in the lamp glow, trickling down and dropping to the +floor. It was like a glowing coat of velvety sable beaten by storm. +Marette ran her arms up through it, shaking it out in clouds, and a +mist of rain leaped out from it, some of it striking Kent in the face. +He forgot Fingers. He forgot Kedsty. His brain flamed only with the +electrifying nearness of her. It was the thought of her that had +inspired the greatest hope in him. It was his dreams of her, somewhere +on the Big River, that had given him his great courage to believe in +the ultimate of things. And now time and space had taken a leap +backward. She was not four or five hundred miles north. There was no +long quest ahead of him. She was here, within a few feet of him, +tossing the wet from that glorious hair he had yearned to touch, +brushing it out now, with her back toward him, in front of her mirror. + +And as he sat there, uttering no word, looking at her, the demands of +the immense responsibility that had fallen upon him and of the great +fight that lay ahead pounded within him with naked fists. Fingers had +planned. She had executed. It was up to him to finish. + +He saw her, not as a creature to win, but as a priceless possession. +Her fight had now become his fight. The rain was beating against the +window near him. Out there was blackness, the river, the big world. His +blood leaped with the old fighting fire. They were going tonight; they +must be going tonight! Why should they wait? Why should they waste time +under Kedsty's roof when freedom lay out there for the taking? He +watched the swift movements of her hand, listened to the silken rustle +of the brush as it smoothed out her long hair. Bewilderment, reason, +desire for action fought inside him. + +Suddenly she faced him again. "It has just this moment occurred to me," +she said, "that you haven't said 'Thank you.'" + +So suddenly that he startled her he was at her side. He did not +hesitate this time, as he had hesitated in his room at Cardigan's +place. He caught her two hands in his, and with them he felt the soft, +damp crush of her hair between his fingers. Words tumbled from his +lips. He could not remember afterward all that he said. Her eyes +widened, and they never for an instant left his own. Thank her! He told +her what had happened to him--in the heart and soul of him--from the +hour she had come to him at Cardigan's. He told her of dreams and +plans, of his determination to find her again after he had escaped, if +it took him all his life. He told her of Mercer, of his discovery of +her visit to Kim's Bayou, of his scheme to follow her down the Three +Rivers, to seek for her at Fort Simpson, to follow her to the Valley of +Silent Men, wherever it was. Thank her! He held her hands so tight they +hurt, and his voice trembled. Under the cloud of her hair a slow fire +burned in Marette Radisson's cheeks. But it did not show in her eyes. +They looked at him so steadily, so unfalteringly, that his own face +burned before he had finished what was in his mind to say, and he freed +her hands and stepped back from her again. + +"Forgive me for saying all that," he entreated. "But it's true. You +came to me there, at Cardigan's place, like something I'd always +dreamed about, but never expected to find. And you came to me again, at +the cell, like--" + +"Yes, I know how I came," she interrupted him. "Through the mud and the +rain, Mr. Kent. And it was so black I lost my way and was terrified to +think that I might not find barracks. I was half an hour behind Mr. +Fingers' schedule. For that reason I think Inspector Kedsty may return +at any moment, and you must not talk so loud--or so much." + +"Lord!" he breathed in a whisper. "I have said a lot in a short time, +haven't I? But it isn't a hundredth part of what I want to get out of +my system. I won't ask the million questions that want to be asked. But +I must know why we are here. Why have we come to Kedsty's? Why didn't +we make for the river? There couldn't be a better night to get away." + +"But it is not so good as the fifth night from now will be," she said, +resuming the task of drying her hair. "On that night you may go to the +river. Our plans were a little upset, you know, by Inspector Kedsty's +change in the date on which you were to leave for Edmonton. +Arrangements have been made so that on the fifth night you may leave +safely." + +"And you?" + +"I shall remain here." And then she added in a low voice that struck +his heart cold, "I shall remain to pay Kedsty the price which he will +ask for what has happened tonight." + +"Good God!" he cried. "Marette!" + +She turned on him swiftly. "No, no, I don't mean that he will hurt me," +she cried, a fierce little note in her voice. "I would kill him before +that! I'm sorry I told you. But you must not question me. You shall +not!" + +She was trembling. He had never seen her excited like that before, and +as she stood there before him, he knew that he was not afraid for her +in the way that had flashed into his mind. She had not spoken empty +words. She would fight. She would kill, if it was necessary to kill. +And he saw her, all at once, as he had not seen her before. He +remembered a painting which he had seen a long time ago in Montreal. It +was L'Esprit de la Solitude--The Spirit of the Wild--painted by Conne, +the picturesque French-Canadian friend of Lord Strathcona and Mount +Royal, and a genius of the far backwoods who had drawn his inspiration +from the heart of the wilderness itself. And that painting stood before +him now in flesh and blood, its crudeness gone, but the marvelous +spirit it had breathed remaining. Shrouded in her tumbled hair, her +lips a little parted, every line of her slender body vibrant with an +emotion which seemed consuming her, her beautiful eyes aglow with its +fire, he saw in her, as Conne must have seen at another time, the soul +of the great North itself. She seemed to him to breathe of the God's +country far down the Three Rivers; of its almost savage fearlessness; +its beauty, its sunshine, and its storm; its tragedy, its pathos, and +its song. In her was the courage and the glory of that North. He had +seen; and now he felt these things, and the thrill of them swept over +him like an inundation. + +He had heard her soft laugh, she had made fun of him when he thought he +was dying; she had kissed him, she had fought for him, she had clung in +terror to his hand when the lightning flashed; and now she stood with +her little hands clenched in her hair, like a storm about to break. A +moment ago she was so near that he had almost taken her in his arms. +Now, in an instant, she had placed something so vast between them that +he would not have dared to touch her hand or her hair. Like sun and +cloud and wind she changed, and for him each change added to the wonder +of her. And now it was storm. He saw it in her eyes, her hands, her +body. He felt the electrical nearness of it in those low-spoken, +trembling words, "YOU SHALL NOT!" The room seemed surcharged for a +moment with impending shock. And then his physical eyes took in again +the slimness of her, seized upon the alluring smallness of her and the +fact that he could have tossed her to the ceiling without great effort. +And yet he saw her as one sees a goddess. + +"No, I won't ask you questions, when you look at me like that," he +said, finding his tongue. "I won't ask you what this price is that +Kedsty may demand, because you're not going to pay it. If you won't go +with me, I won't go. I'd rather stay here and be hung. I'm not asking +you questions, so please don't shoot, but if you told me the truth, and +you belong in the North, you're going back with me--or I'm not going. +I'll not budge an inch." + +She drew a deep breath, as if something had greatly relieved her. Again +her violet eyes came out from the shadow into sunlight, and her +trembling mouth suddenly broke into a smile. It was not apologetic. +There was about it a quick and spontaneous gladness which she made no +effort at all to conceal. + +"That is nice of you," she said. "I'm glad to hear you say it. I never +knew how pleasant it was to have some one who was willing to be hung +for me. But you will go. And I will not go. There isn't time to explain +all about it just now, for Inspector Kedsty will be here very soon, and +I must dry my hair and show you your hiding-place--if you have to hide." + +She began to brush her hair again. In the mirror Kent caught a glimpse +of the smile still trembling on her lips. + +"I'm not questioning you," he guarded himself again, "but if you could +only understand how anxious I am to know where Kedsty is, how Fingers +found you, why you made us believe you were leaving the Landing and +then returned--and--how badly I want to know something about you--I +almost believe you'd talk a little while you are drying your hair." + +"It was Mooie, the old Indian," she said. "It was he who found out in +some way that I was here, and then M'sieu Fingers came himself one +night when the Inspector was away--got in through a window and simply +said that you had sent him, when I was just about to shoot him. You +see, I knew you weren't going to die. Kedsty had told me that. I was +going to help you in another way, if M'sieu Fingers hadn't come. +Inspector Kedsty was over there tonight, at his cabin, when the thing +happened down there. It was a part of Fingers' scheme--to keep him out +of the way." + +Suddenly she grew rigid. The brush remained poised in her hair. Kent, +too, heard the sound that she had heard. It was a loud tapping at one +of the curtained windows, the tapping of some metallic object. And that +window was fifteen feet above the ground! + +With a little cry the girl threw down her brush, ran to the window, and +raised and lowered the curtain once. Then she turned to Kent, swiftly +dividing her hair into thick strands and weaving them into a braid. + +"It is Mooie," she cried. "Kedsty is coming!" + +She caught his hand and hurried him toward the head of the bed, where +two long curtains were strung on a wire. She drew these apart. Behind +them were what seemed to Kent an innumerable number of feminine +garments. + +"You must hide in them, if you have to," she said, the excited little +tremble in her voice again. "I don't think it will come to that, but if +it does, you must! Bury yourself way back in them, and keep quiet. If +Kedsty finds you are here--" + +She looked into his eyes, and it seemed to Kent that there was +something which was very near to fear in them now. + +"If he should find you here, it would mean something terrible for me," +she went on, her hands creeping to his arms. "I can not tell you what +it is now, but it would be worse than death. Will you promise to stay +here, no matter what happens down there, no matter what you may hear? +Will you--Mr. Kent?" + +"Not if you call me Mr. Kent," he said, something thickening in his +throat. + +"Will you--Jeems? Will you--no matter what happens--if I promise--when +I come back--to kiss you?" + +Her hands slipped almost caressingly from his arms, and then she had +turned swiftly and was gone through the partly open door, closing it +after her, before he could give his promise. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +For a space he stood where she had left him, staring at the door +through which she had gone. The nearness of her in those last few +seconds of her presence, the caressing touch of her hands, what he had +seen in her eyes, her promise to kiss him if he did not reveal +himself--these things, and the thought of the splendid courage that +must be inspiring her to face Kedsty now, made him blind even to the +door and the wall at which he was apparently looking. He saw only her +face, as he had seen it in that last moment--her eyes, the tremble of +her lips, and the fear which she had not quite hidden from him. She was +afraid of Kedsty. He was sure of it. For she had not smiled; there was +no flicker of humor in her eyes, when she called him Jeems, an intimate +use of the names Jim and James in the far North. It was not facetiously +that she had promised to kiss him. An almost tragic seriousness had +possessed her. And it was that seriousness that thrilled him--that, and +the amazing frankness with which she had coupled the name Jeems with +the promise of her lips. Once before she had called him Jeems. But it +was M'sieu Jeems then, and there had been a bit of taunting laughter in +her voice. Jim or James meant nothing, but Jeems--He had heard mothers +call little children that, in moments of endearment. He knew that wives +and sweethearts used it in that same way. For Jim and James were not +uncommon names up and down the Three Rivers, even among the half-breeds +and French, and Jeems was the closer and more intimate thing bred of it. + +His heart was thumping riotously as he went to the door and listened. A +little while ago, when she faced him with flashing eyes, commanding him +not to question her, he had felt an abyss under his feet. Now he was on +a mountain. And he knew that no matter what he heard, unless it was her +cry for help, he would not go down. + +After a little he opened the door a mere crack so that sound might come +to him. She had not forbidden that. Through the crack he could see a +dim glow of light in the lower hall. But he heard no sound, and it +occurred to him that old Mooie could still run swiftly, and that it +might be some time before Kedsty would arrive. + +As he waited, he looked about the room. His first impression was that +Marette must have lived in it for a long time. It was a woman's room, +without the newness of sudden and unpremeditated occupancy. He knew +that formerly it had been Kedsty's room, but nothing of Kedsty remained +in it now. And then, as his wondering eyes beheld the miracle, a number +of things struck him with amazing significance. He no longer doubted +that Marette Radisson was of the far Northland. His faith in that was +absolute. If there had been a last question in his mind, it was wiped +away because she called him Jeems. Yet this room seemed to give the lie +to his faith. Fascinated by his discovery of things, he drew away from +the door and stood over the dressing-table in front of the mirror. + +Marette had not prepared the room for him, and her possessions were +there. It did not strike him as sacrilege to look at them, the many +intimate little things that are mysteriously used in the process of a +lady's toilette. It was their number and variety that astounded him. He +might have expected them in the boudoir of the Governor General's +daughter at Ottawa, but not here--and much less farther north. What he +saw was of exquisite material and workmanship. And then, as if +attracted by a magnet, his eyes were drawn to something else. It was a +row of shoes neatly and carefully arranged on the floor at one side of +the dressing-table. + +He stared at them, astounded. Never had he seen such an array of +feminine footwear intended for the same pair of feet. And it was not +Northern footwear. Every individual little beauty in that amazing row +stood on a high heel! Their variety was something to which he had long +been a stranger. There were buttoned boots, laced boots, brown boots, +black boots, and white boots, with dangerously high and fragile looking +heels; there were dainty little white kid slippers, slippers with bows, +slippers with cut steel buckles, and slippers with dainty ribbon ties; +there were high-heeled oxfords and high-heeled patent leather pumps! He +gasped. He reached over, moved by an automatic sort of impulse, and +took a satiny little pump in his hand. + +The size of it gave him a decidedly pleasant mental shock, and, +beginning to feel like one prying into a sleeper's secrets, he looked +inside it. The size was there--number three. And it had come from +Favre's in Montreal! One after another he looked inside half a dozen +others. And all of them had come from Favre's in Montreal. The little +shoes, more than all else that he had seen or that had happened, sent a +question pounding through his brain. Who was Marette Radisson? + +And that question was followed by other questions, until they tumbled +over one another in his head. If she was from Montreal, why was she +going north? If she belonged in the North, if she was a part of it, why +was she taking all of this apparently worthless footwear with her? Why +had she come to Athabasca Landing? What was she to Kedsty? Why was she +hiding under his roof? Why-- + +He stopped himself, trying to find some one answer in all that chaos of +questions. It was impossible for him to take his eyes from the shoes. A +thought seized him. Ludicrously he dropped upon his knees in front of +the row and with a face growing hotter each moment examined them all. +But he wanted to know. And the discovery he made was that most of the +footwear had been worn, some of it so slightly, however, that the +impression of the foot was barely visible. + +He rose to his feet and continued his inquiry. Of course she had +expected him to look about. One couldn't help seeing, unless one were +blind. He would have cut off a hand before opening one of the +dressing-table drawers. But Marette herself had told him to hide behind +the curtains if it became necessary, and it was an excusable caution +for him to look behind those curtains now, to see what sort of +hiding-place he had. He returned to the door first and listened. There +was still no sound from below. Then he drew the curtains apart, as +Marette had drawn them. Only he looked longer. He would tell her about +it when she returned, if the act needed an apology. + +His impression was a man's impression. What he saw was a billowing, +filmy mass of soft stuff, and out of it there greeted him the faintest +possible scent of lilac sachet powder. He closed the curtains with a +deep breath of utter joy and of consternation. The two emotions were a +jumble to him. The shoes, all that mass of soft stuff behind the +curtains, were exquisitely feminine. The breath of perfume had come to +him straight out of a woman's soul. There were seduction and witchery +to it. He saw Marette, an enrapturing vision of loveliness, floating +before his eyes in that sacred and mysterious vestment of which he had +stolen a half-frightened glimpse. In white--the white, cobwebby thing +of laces and embroidery that had hung straight before his eyes--in +white--with her glorious black hair, her violet eyes, her-- + +And then it was that the incongruity of the thing, the almost sheer +impossibility of it, clashed in upon his vision. Yet his faith was not +shaken. Marette Radisson was of the North. He could not disbelieve +that, even in the face of these amazing things that confronted him. + +Suddenly he heard a sound that was like the explosion of a gun under +his feet. It was the opening and closing of the hall door--but mostly +the closing. The slam of it shook the house and rattled the glass in +the windows. Kedsty had returned, and he was in a rage. Kent +extinguished the light so that the room was in darkness. Then he went +to the door. He could hear the quick, heavy tread of Kedsty's feet +After that came the closing of a second door, followed by the rumble of +Kedsty's voice. Kent was disappointed. + +The Inspector of Police and Marette were in a room too far distant for +him to distinguish what was said. But he knew that Kedsty had returned +to barracks and had discovered what had happened there. After an +interval his voice was a steady rumble. It rose higher. He heard the +crash of a chair. Then the voice ceased, and after it came the tramping +of Kedsty's feet. Not once did he catch the sound of Marette's voice, +but he was sure that in the interval of silence she was talking. Then +Kedsty's voice broke forth more furiously than before. Kent's fingers +dug into the sill of the door. Each moment added to his conviction that +Marette was in danger. It was not physical violence he feared. He did +not believe Kedsty capable of perpetrating that upon a woman. It was +fear that he would take her to barracks. The fact that Marette had told +him there was a powerful reason why Kedsty would not do this failed to +assure him. For she had also told him that Kedsty would kill her, if he +dared. He held himself in readiness. At a cry from her, or the first +move on Kedsty's part to take her from the bungalow, he would give +battle in spite of Marette's warning. + +He almost hoped one of these two things would happen. As he stood +there, listening, waiting, the thought became almost a prayer. He had +Pelly's revolver. Within twenty seconds he could have Kedsty looking +down the barrel of it. The night was ideal for escape. Within half an +hour they would be on the river. They could even load up with +provisions from Kedsty's place. He opened the door a little more, +scarcely making an effort to combat the impulse that dragged him out. +Marette must be in danger, or she would not have confessed to him that +she was in the house of a man who would like to see her dead. Why she +was there did not interest him deeply now. It was the fact of the +moment that was moving him swiftly toward action. + +The door below opened again, and Kent's body grew rigid. He heard +Kedsty charging through the lower hall like a mad bull. The outer door +opened, slammed shut, and he was gone. + +Kent drew back into the darkness of his room. It was some moments +before he heard Marette coming slowly up the stairs. She seemed to be +groping her way, though there was a dim illumination out there. Then +she came through the door into the blackness of her room. + +"Jeems," she whispered. + +He went to her. Her hands reached out, and again they rested on his +arms. + +"You--you didn't come down the stair?" + +"No." + +"You--didn't hear?" + +"I heard no words. Only Kedsty's voice." + +It seemed to him that her voice, when she spoke again, trembled with an +immeasurable relief. "You were good, Jeems. I am glad." + +In that darkness he could not see. Yet something reached into him, +thrilling him, quickening his pulse with a thing to which his eyes were +blind. He bent down. He found her lips upturned, offering him the +sweetness of the kiss which was to be his reward; and as he felt their +warmth upon his own, he felt also the slightest pressure of her hands +upon his arms. + +"He is gone. We will light the lamp again," she said then. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Kent stood still while Marette moved in that gloom, found matches, and +lighted the lamp. He had not spoken a word after the kiss. He had not +taken advantage of it. The gentle pressure of her hands had restrained +him from taking her in his arms. But the kiss itself fired him with a +wild and glorious thrill that was like a vibrant music to which every +atom of life in his body responded. If he claimed his reward at all, he +had expected her kiss to be perhaps indifferent, at least neutral. But +the lips she had given him there in the darkness of the room were warm, +living, breathing lips. They had not been snatched away from him too +quickly. Their sweetness, for an instant, had lingered. + +Then, in the lamp glow, he was looking into Marette Radisson's face. He +knew that his own was aflame. He had no desire to hide its confession, +and he was eager to find what lay in her own eyes. And he was +astonished, and then startled. The kiss had not disturbed Marette. It +was as if it had never happened. + +She was not embarrassed, and there was no hint of color in her face. It +was her deathly whiteness that startled him, a pallor emphasized by the +dark masses of her hair, and a strange glow in her eyes. It was not a +glow brought there by the kiss. It was fear, fading slowly out of them +as he looked, until at last it was gone, and her lips trembled with an +apologetic smile. + +"He was very angry," she said. "How easily some men lose their tempers, +don't they--Jeems?" + +The little break in her voice, her brave effort to control herself, and +the whimsical bit of smile that accompanied her words made him want to +do what the gentle pressure of her hands had kept him from doing a few +moments before--pick her up in his arms. What she was trying to hide he +saw plainly. She had been in danger, a danger greater than that which +she had quietly and fearlessly faced at barracks. And she was still +afraid of that menace. It was the last thing which she wanted him to +know, and yet he knew it. A new force swept through him. It was the +force which comes of mastery, of possessorship, of fighting grimly +against odds. It rose in a mighty triumph. It told him this girl +belonged to him, that she was his to fight for. And he was going to +fight. Marette saw the change that came into his face. For a moment +after she had spoken there was silence between them. Outside the storm +beat in a fiercer blast. A roll of thunder crashed over the bungalow. +The windows rattled in a sweep of wind and rain. Kent, looking at her, +his muscles hardening, his face growing grimmer, nodded toward the +window at which Mooie's signal had come. + +"It is a splendid night--for us," he said. "And we must go." + +She did not answer. + +"In the eyes of the law I am a murderer," he went on. "You saved me. +You shot a man. In those same eyes you are a criminal. It is folly to +remain here. It is sheer suicide for both of us. If Kedsty--" + +"If Kedsty does not do what I told him to do to-night, I shall kill +him!" she said. + +The quietness of her words, the steadiness of her eyes, held him +speechless. Again it seemed to him, as it had seemed to him in his room +at Cardigan's place, that it was a child who was looking at him and +speaking to him. If she had shown fear a few moments before, that fear +was not revealed in her face now. She was not excited. Her eyes were +softly and quietly beautiful. She amazed him and discomfited him. +Against that child-like sureness he felt himself helpless. Its potency +was greater than his strength and greater than his determination. It +placed between them instantly a vast gulf, a gulf that might be bridged +by prayer and entreaty, but never by force. There was no hint of +excitement in her threat against Kedsty, and yet in the very calmness +of it he felt its deadliness. + +A whimsical half-smile was trembling on her lips again, and a warmer +glow came into her eyes. "Do you know," she said, "that according to an +old and sacred code of the North you belong to me?" + +"I have heard of that code," he replied. "A hundred years ago I should +have been your slave. If it exists today, I am happy." + +"Yes, you see the point, Jeems, don't you? You were about to die, +probably. I think they would have hanged you. And I saved your life. +Therefore your life belongs to me, for I insist that the code still +lives. You are my property, and I am going to do with you as I please, +until I turn you over to the Rivers. And you are not going tonight. You +shall wait here for Laselle and his brigade." + +"Laselle--Jean Laselle?" + +She nodded. "Yes, that is why you must wait. We have made a splendid +arrangement. When Laselle and his brigade start north, you go with +them. And no one will ever know. You are safe here. No one will think +of looking for you under the roof of the Inspector of Police." + +"But you, Marette!" He caught himself, remembering her injunction not +to question her. Marette shrugged her slim shoulders the slightest bit +and nodded for him to look upon what she knew he had already seen, her +room. + +"It is not uncomfortable," she said. "I have been here for a number of +weeks, and nothing has happened to me. I am quite safe. Inspector +Kedsty has not looked inside that door since the day your big +red-headed friend saw me down in the poplars. He has not put a foot on +the stair. That is the dead-line. And--I know--you are wondering. You +are asking yourself a great many questions--a bon droit, M'sieu Jeems. +You are burning up with them. I can see it. And I--" + +There was something suddenly pathetic about her, as she sank into the +big-armed, upholstered chair which had been Kedsty's favorite reading +chair. She was tired, and for a moment it seemed to Kent that she was +almost ready to cry. Her ringers twisted nervously at the shining end +of the braid in her lap, and more than ever he thought how slim and +helpless, she was, yet how gloriously unafraid, how unconquerable with +that something within her that burned like the fire of a dynamo. The +flame of that force had gone down now, as though the fire itself was +dying out; but when she raised her eyes to him, looking up at him from +out of the big chair, he knew that back of the yearning, child-like +glow that lay in them the heart of that fire was living and +unquenchable. Again, for him, she had ceased to be a woman. It was the +soul of a child that lay in her wide-open, wonderfully blue eyes. Twice +before he had seen that miracle, and it held him now, as it had held +him that first time when she had stood with her back at Cardigan's +door. And as it had changed then, so it changed now, slowly, and she +was a woman again, with that great gulf of unapproachableness between +them. But the yearning was still there, revealing itself to him, and +yet, like the sun, infinitely remote from him. + +"I wish that I might answer those questions for you," she said, in a +voice that was low and tired. "I should like to have you know, because +I--I have great faith in you, Jeems. But I cannot. It is impossible. It +is inconceivable. If I did--" She made a hopeless little gesture. "If I +told you everything, you would not like me any more. And I want you to +like me--until you go north with M'sieu Jean and his brigade." + +"And when I do that," cried Kent, almost savagely, "I shall find this +place you call the Valley of Silent Men, if it takes me all my life." + +It was becoming a joy for him to see the sudden flashes of pleasure +that leaped into her eyes. She attempted no concealment. Whatever her +emotions were they revealed themselves unaffectedly and with a simple +freedom from embarrassment that swept him with an almost reverential +worship. And what he had just said pleased her. Unreservedly her +glowing eyes and her partly smiling lips told him that, and she said: +"I am glad you feel that way, Jeems. And I think you would find it--in +time. Because--" + +Her little trick of looking at him so steadily, as if there was +something inside him which she was trying to see more clearly, made him +feel more helplessly than ever her slave. It was as if, in those +moments, she forgot that he was of flesh and blood, and was looking +into his heart to see what was there before she gave voice to things. + +And then she said, still twisting her braid between her slim fingers, +"You would find it--perhaps--because you are one who would not give up +easily. Shall I tell you why I came to see you at Doctor Cardigan's? It +was curiosity, at first--largely that. Just why or how I was interested +in the man you freed is one of the things I can not tell you. And I can +not tell you why I came to the Landing. Nor can I say a word about +Kedsty. It may be, some day, that you will know. And then you will not +like me. For nearly four years before I saw you that day I had been in +a desolation. It was a terrible place. It ate my heart and soul out +with its ugliness, its loneliness, its emptiness. A little while longer +and I would have died. Then the thing happened that brought me away. +Can you guess where it was?" + +He shook his head, "No." + +"To all the others it was a beautiful place, Montreal." + +"You were at school there?" he guessed. + +"Yes, the Villa Maria. I wasn't quite sixteen then. They were kind. I +think they liked me. But each night I prayed one prayer. You know what +the Three Rivers are to us, to the people of the North. The Athabasca +is Grandmother, the Slave is Mother, the Mackenzie is Daughter, and +over them watches always the goddess Niska, the Gray Goose. And my +prayer was that I might go back to them. In Montreal there were people, +people everywhere, thousands and tens of thousands of them, so many +that I was lonely and heartsick and wanted to get away. For the Gray +Goose blood is in me, Jeems. I love the forests. And Niska's God +doesn't live in Montreal. Her sun doesn't rise there. Her moon isn't +the same there. The flowers are not hers. The winds tell different +stories. The air is another air. People, when they look at you, look in +another way. Away down the Three Rivers I had loved men. There I was +learning to hate them. Then, something happened. I came to Athabasca +Landing. I went to see you because--" + +She clasped her two hands tightly in her lap. "Because, after those +four terrible years, you were the first man I found who was playing a +great, big, square game to the end. Don't ask me how I found it out. +Please don't ask me anything. I am telling you all you can know, all +you SHALL know. But I did find it out. And then I learned that you were +not going to die. Kedsty told me that. And when I had talked with you I +knew that you would play any game square, and I made up my mind to help +you. That is why I am telling you all this--just to let you know that I +have faith in you, and that you must not break that faith. You must not +insist on knowing more about me. You must still play the game. I am +playing mine, and you must play yours. And to play yours clean, you +must go with Laselle's brigade and leave me with Kedsty. You must +forget what has happened. You must forget what MAY happen. You can not +help me. You can only harm me. And if--some day, a long time from +now--you should happen to find the Valley of Silent Men--" + +He waited, his heart pounding like a fist. + +"I may--be there," she finished, in a voice so low that it was scarcely +above a whisper. + +It seemed to him that she was looking a long way off, and it was not in +his direction. And then she smiled, not at him, but in a half-hopeless +little way. + +"I think I shall be disappointed if you don't find it," she said then, +and her eyes were pure as the blue flowers from which they had stolen +their color, as she looked at him. "You know the great Sulphur Country +beyond Fort Simpson, westward between the Two Nahannis?" + +"Yes. That is where Kilbane and his patrol were lost. The Indians call +it the Devil Country. Is that it?" + +She nodded. "They say no living thing has ever been through the Sulphur +Country," she said. "But that is not true. I have been through it. It +is beyond the Sulphur Country you must go to find the Valley of Silent +Men, straight through that gap between the North and the South Nahanni. +That is the way YOU must go if you should ever find it, Jeems, for +otherwise you would have to come down from Dawson or up from Skagway, +and the country is so great that you would never come upon it in a +thousand years. The police will not find you there. You will always be +safe. Perhaps I shall tell you more before the Brigade comes. But that +is all tonight. I may never tell you anything more. And you must not +question me." + +Speechless he had stood, all the life of his soul burning like a fire +in his eyes as he looked at her and listened to her, and now, quietly +and unexcitedly, he said: + +"Marette, I am going to play this game as you want me to play it, +because I love you. It is only honest for me to tell you in words what +you must already know. And I am going to fight for you as long as there +is a drop of blood in my body. If I go with Jean Laselle's brigade, +will you promise me--" + +His voice trembled. He was repressing a mighty emotion. But not by the +quiver of one of her long lashes did Marette Radisson give evidence +that she had even heard his confession of love. She interrupted him +before he had finished. + +"I can promise you nothing, no matter what you do. Jeems, Jeems, you +are not like those other men I learned to hate? You will not INSIST? If +you do--if you are like them--yes, you may go away from here tonight +and not wait for Jean Laselle. Listen! The storm will not break for +hours. If you are going to demand a price for playing the game as I +want you to play it, you may go. You have my permission." + +She was very white. She rose from the big chair and stood before him. +There was no anger in her voice or gesture, but her eyes glowed like +luminous stars. There was something in them which he had not seen +before, and suddenly a thought struck his heart cold as ice. + +With a low cry he stretched out his hands, "My God, Marette, I am not a +murderer! I did not kill John Barkley!" + +She did not answer him. + +"You don't believe me," he cried. "You believe that I killed Barkley, +and that now--a murderer--I dare to tell you that I love you!" + +She was trembling. It was like a little shiver running through her. For +only a flash it seemed to him that he had caught a glimpse of something +terrible, a thing she was hiding, a thing she was fighting as she stood +there with her two little clenched hands. For in her face, in her eyes, +in the beating throb of her white throat he saw, in that moment, the +almost hidden agony of a hurt thing. And then it was gone, even as he +entreated again, pleading for her faith. + +"I did not kill John Barkley!" + +"I am not thinking of that, Jeems," she said. "It is of something--" + +They had forgotten the storm. It was howling and beating at the windows +outside. But suddenly there came a sound that rose above the monotonous +tumult of it, and Marette started as if it had sent an electric shock +through her. Kent, too, turned toward the window. + +It was the metallic tap, tap, tapping which once before had warned them +of approaching danger. And this time it was insistent. It was as if a +voice was crying out to them from beyond the window. It was more than +premonition--it was the alarm of a near and impending menace. And in +that moment Kent saw Marette Radisson's hands go swiftly to her throat +and her eyes leap with sudden fire, and she gave a little cry as she +listened to the sound. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +In ten seconds, it seemed to Kent, Marette Radisson was again the +splendid creature who had held the three men at bay over the end of her +little black gun at barracks. The sound of Mooie's second warning came +at first as a shock. Accompanying it there was a moment of fear, of +fear driven almost to the point of actual terror. Following it came a +reaction so swift that Kent was dazed. Within those ten seconds the +girl's slender body seemed to grow taller; a new light flamed in her +face; her eyes, turning swiftly to him, were filled with the same fire +with which they had faced the three constables. She was unafraid. She +was ready to fight. + +In such moments as these it was the quiet and dispassionate composure +of her voice that amazed him most. It was musical in its softness now. +Yet in that softness was a hidden thing. It was like velvet covering +steel. She had spoken of Niska, the Gray Goose, the goddess of the +Three Rivers. And he thought that something of the spirit of a goddess +must be in Marette Radisson to give her the courage with which she +faced him, even as the metallic thing outside tapped its warning again +at the window. + +"Inspector Kedsty is coming back," she said. "I did not think he would +do that--tonight." + +"He has not had time to go to barracks," said Kent. + +"No. Possibly he has forgotten something. Before he arrives, I want to +show you the nest I have made for you, Jeems. Come quickly!" + +It was her first intimation that he was not to remain in her room, a +possibility that had already caused him some inward embarrassment. She +seized a number of matches, turned down her light, and hurried into the +hall. Kent followed her to the end of this hall, where she paused +before a low half-door that apparently opened into some sort of a space +close under the sloping roof of the bungalow. + +"It is an old storeroom," she whispered. "I have made it quite +comfortable, I think. I have covered the window, so you may light the +lamp. But you must see that no light shows under this door. Lock it on +the inside, and be very quiet. For whatever you find in there you must +thank M'sieu Fingers." + +She pulled the door slightly open and gave him the matches. The +illumination in the lower hall made its way only dimly to where they +stood. In the gloom he found himself close to the soft glow of her +eyes. His fingers closed about her hand as he took the matches. + +"Marette, you believe me?" he entreated. "You believe that I love you, +that I didn't kill John Barkley, that I am going to fight for you as +long as God gives me breath to fight?" + +For a moment there was silence. Her hand withdrew gently from his. + +"Yes, I think that I believe. Good-night, Jeems." + +She went from him quickly. At her door she turned. "Go in now, please," +she called back softly. "If you care as you say you do, go IN." + +She did not wait for his reply. Her own door closed behind her, and +Kent, striking a match, stooped low and entered his hiding-place. In a +moment he saw directly ahead of him a lamp on a box. He lighted this, +and his first movement then was to close the door and turn the key that +was in the lock. After that he looked about him. The storeroom was not +more than ten feet square, and the roof was so close over his head that +he could not stand upright. It was not the smallness of the place that +struck him first, but the preparations which Marette had made for him. +In a corner was a bed of blankets, and the rough floor of the place was +carpeted with blankets, except for a two-or-three-foot space around the +edge of it. Beyond the box was a table and a chair, and it was the +burden of this table that made his pulse jump quickest. Marette had not +forgotten that he might grow hungry. It was laid sumptuously, with a +plate for one, but with food for half a dozen. There were a brace of +roasted grouse, brown as nuts; a cold roast of moose meat or beef; a +dish piled high with golden potato salad; olives, pickles, an open can +of cherries, a loaf of bread, butter, cheese--and one of Kedsty's +treasured thermos bottles, which undoubtedly held hot coffee or tea. +And then he noticed what was on the chair--a belt and holster and a +Colt automatic forty-five! Marette had not figured on securing a gun in +the affair at barracks, and her foresight had not forgotten a weapon. +She had placed it conspicuously where he could not fail to see it at +once. And just beyond the chair, on the floor, was a shoulder-pack. It +was of the regulation service sort, partly filled. Resting against the +pack was a Winchester. He recognized the gun. He had seen it hanging in +Dirty Fingers' shack. + +For a matter of five minutes he scarcely moved from where he stood +beside the table. Nothing but an unplastered roof was between him and +the storm, and over his head the thunder crashed, and the rain beat in +torrents. He saw where the window was, carefully covered with a +blanket. Even through the blanket he caught faintly the illumination of +lightning. This window overlooked the entrance to Kedsty's bungalow, +and the idea came to him of turning out the light and opening it. In +darkness he took down the blanket. But the window itself was not +movable, and after assuring himself of this fact he flattened his face +against it, peering out into the chaos of the night. + +In that instant came a flare of lightning, and to Kent, looking down, +was revealed a sight that tightened every muscle in his body. More +vividly than if it had been day he saw a man standing below in the +deluge. It was not Mooie. It was not Kedsty. It was no one that he had +ever seen. Even more like a ghost than a man was that apparition of the +lightning flare. A great, gaunt giant of a ghost, bare-headed, with +long, dripping hair and a long, storm-twisted beard. The picture shot +to his brain with the swiftness of the lightning itself. It was like +the sudden throwing of a cinema picture on a screen. Then blackness +shut it out. Kent stared harder. He waited. + +Again came the lightning, and again he saw that tragic, ghost-like +figure waiting in the storm. Three times he saw it. And he knew that +the mysterious, bearded giant was an old man. The fourth time the +lightning came, the figure was gone. And in that flare it was the bowed +figure of Kedsty he saw hurrying up the gravel path to the door. + +Quickly Kent covered the window, but he did not relight the lamp. +Before Kedsty could have reached the foot of the stair, he had unlocked +the door. Cautiously he opened it three or four inches and sat down +with his back against the wall, listening. He heard Kedsty pass through +into the big room where Marette had waited for him a short time before. +After that there was silence except for the tumult of the storm. + +For an hour Kent listened. In all that time he did not hear a sound +from the lower hall or from Marette's room. He wondered if she was +sleeping, and if Kedsty had gone to bed, waiting for morning before he +set in action his bloodhounds of the law. + +Kent had no intention of disturbing the comfortable looking bed of +blankets. He was not only sleepless, but filled with a premonition of +events about to happen. He felt impinging itself more and more upon him +a sense of watchfulness. That Inspector Kedsty and Marette Radisson +were under the same roof, and that there was some potent and mysterious +reason which kept Kedsty from betraying the girl's presence, was the +thought which troubled him most. He was not developing further the +plans for his own escape. + +He was thinking of Marette. What was her power over Kedsty? Why was it +that Kedsty would like to see her dead? Why was she in his house? Again +and again he asked himself the questions and found no answers to them. +And yet, even in this purgatory of mystery that environed him, he felt +himself happier than he had ever been in his life. For Marette was not +four or five hundred miles down the river. She was in the same house +with him. And he had told her that he loved her. He was glad that he +had been given courage to let her know that. He relighted the lamp, and +opened his watch and placed it on the table, where frequently he could +look at the time. He wanted to smoke his pipe, but the odor of tobacco, +he was sure, would reach Kedsty, unless the Inspector had actually +retired into his bedroom for the night. + +Half a dozen times he questioned himself as to the identity of the +ghostly apparition he had seen in the lightning flare of the storm. +Perhaps it was some one of Fingers' strange friends from out of the +wilderness, Mooie's partner in watching the bungalow. The picture of +that giant of a man with his great beard and long hair, as his eyes had +caught him in a sea of electrical fire, was indelibly burned into his +brain. It was a tragic picture. + +Again he put out the light and bared the blanketed window, but he saw +nothing but the sodden gleam of the earth when the lightning flashed. A +second time he opened the door a few inches and sat down with his back +to the wall, listening. + +How long it was before drowsiness stole upon him he did not know, but +it came, and for a few moments at a time, as his eyes closed, it robbed +him of his caution. And then, for a space, he slept. A sound brought +him suddenly into wide wakefulness. His first impression was that the +sound had been a cry. For a moment or two, as his senses adjusted +themselves, he was not sure. Then swiftly the thing grew upon him. + +He rose to his feet and widened the crack of his door. A bar of light +shot across the upper hall. It was from Marette's room. He had taken +off his boots to deaden the sound of his feet, and he stepped outside +his door. He was positive he heard a low cry, a choking, sobbing cry, +only barely audible, and that it came from down the stair. + +No longer hesitating, he moved quickly to Marette's room and looked in. +His first glimpse was of the bed. It had not been used. The room was +empty. + +Something cold and chilling gripped at his heart, and an impulse which +he no longer made an effort to resist pulled him to the head of the +stair. It was more than an impulse--it was a demand. Step by step he +went down, his hand on the butt of his Colt. + +He reached the lower hall, which was still lighted, and a step or two +brought him to a view of the door that opened into the big living-room +beyond. That door was partly open, and the room itself was filled with +light. Soundlessly Kent approached. He looked in. + +What he saw first brought him relief together with shock. At one end of +the long desk table over which hung a great brass lamp stood Marette. +She was in profile to him. He could not see her face. Her hair fell +loose about her, glowing like a rich, sable cape in the light of the +lamp. She was safe, alive, and yet the attitude of her as she looked +down was the thing that gave him shock. He was compelled to move a few +inches more before he could see what she was staring at. And then his +heart stopped dead still. + +Huddled down in his chair, with his head flung back so that the +terrible ghastliness of his face fronted Kent, was Kedsty. And Kent, in +an instant, knew. Only a dead man could look like that. + +With a cry he entered the room. Marette did not start, but an answering +cry came into her throat as she turned her eyes from Kedsty to him. To +Kent it was like looking upon the dead in two ways. Marette Radisson, +living and breathing, was whiter than Kedsty, who was white with the +unbreathing pallor of the actually dead. She did not speak. She made no +sound after that answering cry in her throat. She simply looked. And +Kent spoke her name gently as he saw her great, wide eyes blazing dully +their agony and despair. Then, like one stunned and fascinated, she +stared down upon Kedsty again. + +Every instinct of the man-hunter became alive in Kent's brain as he, +too, turned toward the Inspector of Police. Kedsty's arms hung limp +over the side of his chair. On the floor under his right hand was his +Colt automatic. His head was strained so far over the back of the chair +that it looked as though his neck had been broken. On his forehead, +close up against his short-cropped, iron-gray hair, was a red stain. + +Kent approached and bent over him. He had seen death too many times not +to recognize it now, but seldom had he seen a face twisted and +distorted as Kedsty's was. His eyes were open and bulging in a glassy +stare. His jaws hung loose. His-- + +It was then Kent's blood froze in his veins. Kedsty had received a +blow, but it was not the blow that had killed him. Afterward he had +been choked to death. And the thing that had choked him was a TRESS OF +WOMAN'S HAIR. + +In the seconds that followed that discovery Kent could not have moved +if his own life had paid the penalty of inaction. For the story was +told--there about Kedsty's throat and on his chest. The tress of hair +was long and soft and shining and black. It was twisted twice around +Kedsty's neck, and the loose end rippled down over his shoulder, +GLOWING LIKE A BIT OF RICH SABLE IN THE LAMPLIGHT. It was that thought +of velvety sable that had come to him at the doorway, looking at +Marette. It was the thought that came to him now. He touched it; he +took it in his fingers; he unwound it from about Kedsty's neck, where +it had made two deep rings in the flesh. From his fingers it rippled +out full length. And he turned slowly and faced Marette Radisson. + +Never had human eyes looked at him as she was looking at him now. She +reached out a hand, her lips mute, and Kent gave her the tress of hair. +And the next instant she turned, with a hand clasped at her own throat, +and passed through the door. + +After that he heard her going unsteadily up the stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Kent did not move. His senses for a space were stunned. He was almost +physically insensible to all emotions but that one of shock and horror. +He was staring at Kedsty's gray-white, twisted face when he heard +Marette's door close. A cry came from his lips, but he did not hear +it--was unconscious that he had made a sound. His body shook with a +sudden tremor. He could not disbelieve, for the evidence was there. +From behind, as he had sat in his chair Marette Radisson had struck the +Inspector of Police with some blunt object. The blow had stunned him. +And after that-- + +He drew a hand across his eyes, as if to clear his vision. What he had +seen was impossible. The evidence was impossible. Assaulted, in deadly +peril, defending either honor or love, Marette Radisson was of the +blood to kill. But to creep up behind her victim--it was inconceivable! +Yet there had been no struggle. Even the automatic on the floor gave no +evidence of that. Kent picked it up. He looked at it closely, and again +the unconscious cry of despair came in a half groan from his lips. For +on the butt of the Colt was a stain of blood and a few gray hairs. +Kedsty had been stunned by a blow from his own gun! + +As Kent placed it on the table, his eyes caught suddenly a gleam of +steel under the edge of a newspaper, and he drew out from their +hiding-place the long-bladed clipping scissors which Kedsty had used in +the preparation of his scrap-books and official reports. It was the +last link in the deadly evidence--the automatic with its telltale +stain, the scissors, the tress of hair, and Marette Radisson. He felt a +sensation of sudden dizziness. Every nerve-center in his body had +received its shock, and when the shock had passed it left him sweating. + +Swiftly the reaction came. It was a lie, he told himself. The evidence +was false. Marette could not have committed that crime, as the crime +had visualized itself before his eyes. There was something which he had +not seen, something which he could not see, something that was hiding +itself from him. He became, in an instant, the old James Kent. The +instinctive processes of the man-hunter leaped to their stations like +trained soldiers. He saw Marette again, as she had looked at him when +he entered the room. It was not murder he had caught in her wide-open +eyes. It was not hatred. It was not madness. It was a quivering, +bleeding soul crying out to him in an agony that no other human eyes +had ever revealed to him before. And suddenly a great voice cried out +in his brain, drowning all other things, telling him how contemptible a +thing was love unless in that love was faith. + +With his heart choking him, he turned again to Kedsty. The futility of +the thing which he had told himself was faith gripped at him +sickeningly, yet he fought for that faith, even as his eyes looked +again upon the ghastly torture that was in Kedsty's face. + +He was becoming calmer. He touched the dead man's cheek and found that +it was no longer warm. The tragedy must have occurred an hour before. +He examined more closely the abrasion on Kedsty's forehead. It was not +a deep wound, and the blow that had made it must have stunned the +Inspector of Police for only a short time. In that space the other +thing had happened. In spite of his almost superhuman effort to keep +the picture away from him, Kent saw it vividly--the swift turning to +the table, the inspiration of the scissors, the clipping of the long +tress of hair, the choking to death of Kedsty as he regained +consciousness. Over and over again he whispered to himself the +impossibility of it, the absurdity of it, the utter incongruity of it. +Only a brain gone mad would have conceived that monstrous way of +killing Kedsty. And Marette was not mad. She was sane. + +Like the eyes of a hunting ferret his own eyes swept quickly about the +room. At the four windows there were long curtain cords. On the walls, +hung there as trophies, were a number of weapons. On one end of +Kedsty's desk, used as a paperweight, was a stone tomahawk. Still +nearer to the dead man's hands, unhidden by papers, was a boot-lace. +Under his limp right hand was the automatic. With these possible +instruments of death close at hand, ready to be snatched up without +trouble or waste of time, why had the murderer used a tress of woman's +hair? + +The boot-lace drew Kent's eyes. It was impossible not to see it, +forty-eight inches long and quarter-inch-wide buckskin. He began +seeking for its mate, and found it on the floor where Marette Radisson +had been standing. And again the unanswerable question pounded in +Kent's brain--why had Kedsty's murderer used a tress of hair instead of +a buckskin lace or one of the curtain cords hanging conspicuously at +the windows? + +He went to each of these windows and found them locked. Then, a last +time, he bent over Kedsty. He knew that in the final moments of his +life Kedsty had suffered a slow and torturing agony. His twisted face +left the story. And the Inspector of Police was a powerful man. He had +struggled, still partly dazed by the blow. But it had taken strength to +overcome him even then, to hold his head back, to choke life out of him +slowly with the noose of hair. And Kent, now that the significance of +what he saw began to grow upon him more clearly, felt triumphing over +all other things in his soul a slow and mighty joy. It was +inconceivable that with the strength of her own hands and body Marette +Radisson had killed Kedsty. A greater strength than hers had held him +in the death-chair, and a greater strength than hers had choked life +from the Inspector of Police! + +He drew slowly out of the room, closing the door noiselessly behind +him. He found that the front door was as Kedsty had left it, unlocked. + +Close to that door he stood for a space, scarcely allowing himself to +breathe. He listened, but no sound came down the dimly illumined +stairway. + +A new thing was pressing upon him now. It rode over the shock of +tragedy, over the first-roused instincts of the man-hunter, +overwhelming him with the realization of a horror such as had never +confronted him before. It gripped him more fiercely than the mere +killing of Kedsty. His thought was of Marette, of the fate which dawn +and discovery would bring for her. His hands clenched and his jaws +tightened. The world was against him, and tomorrow it would be against +her. Only he, in the face of all that condemning evidence in the room +beyond, would disbelieve her guilty of Kedsty's death. And he, Jim +Kent, was already a murderer in the eyes of the law. + +He felt within him the slow-growing inspiration of a new spirit, the +gathering might of a new force. A few hours ago he was an outcast. He +was condemned. Life, for him, had been robbed of its last hope. And in +that hour of his grimmest despair Marette Radisson had come to him. +Through storm that had rocked the earth under her feet and set ablaze +the chaotic blackness of the sky over her head she had struggled--for +him. She had counted no cost. She had measured no chances. She had +simply come--BECAUSE SHE BELIEVED IN HIM. And now, upstairs, she was +the victim of the terrible price that was the first cost of his +freedom. For he believed, now that the thought came to him like a +dagger stroke, that this was so. Her act in freeing him had brought +about the final climax, and as a result of it, Kedsty was dead. + +He went to the foot of the stair. Quietly, in his shoeless feet, he +began to climb them. He wanted to cry out Marette's name even before he +came to the top. He wanted to reach up to her with his arms +outstretched. But he came silently to her door and looked in. + +She lay in a crumpled, huddled heap on her bed. Her face was hidden, +and all about her lay her smothering hair. For a moment he was +frightened. He could not see that she was breathing. So still was she +that she was like one dead. + +His footsteps were unheard as he moved across the room. He knelt down +beside her, reached out his arms, and gathered her into them. + +"Marette!" he cried in a low voice. + +He felt the sudden quiver, like a little shock, that ran through her. +He crushed his face down, so that it lay in her hair, still damp from +its wetting. He drew her closer, tightening his arms about her slender +body, and a little cry came from her a cry that was a broken thing, a +sob without tears. + +"Marette!" + +It was all he said. It was all he could say in that moment when his +heart was beating like a drum against her breast. And then he felt the +slow pressure of her hands against him, saw her white face, her wide, +staring eyes within a few inches of his own, and she drew away from +him, back against the wall, still huddled like a child on the bed, with +her eyes fixed on him in a way that frightened him. There were no tears +in them. She had not been crying. But her face was as white as he had +seen it down in Kedsty's room. Some of the horror and shock had gone +out of it. In it was another look as her eyes glowed upon Kent. It was +a look of incredulity, of disbelief, a thing slowly fading away under +the miracle of an amazing revelation. The truth thrust itself upon him. + +Marette had not expected that he would come to her like this. She had +believed that he would take flight into the night, escaping from her as +he would have run from a plague. She put up her two hands, in the trick +they had of groping at her white throat, and her lips formed a word +which she did not speak. + +Kent, to his own amazement, was smiling and still on his knees. He +pulled himself to his feet, and stood up straight, looking down at her +in that same strange, comforting, all-powerful way. The thrill of it +was passing into her veins. A flush of color was driving the deathly +pallor from her face. Her lips were parted, and she breathed quickly, a +little excitedly. + +"I thought--you would go!" she said. + +"Not without you," he said. "I have come to take you with me." + +He drew out his watch. It was two o'clock. He held it down so that she +could look at the dial. + +"If the storm keeps up, we have three hours before dawn," he said. "How +soon can you be ready, Marette?" + +He was fighting to make his voice quiet and unexcited. It was a +terrific struggle. And Marette was not blind to it. She drew herself +from the bed and stood up before him, her two hands still clasped at +her throbbing throat. + +"You believe--that I killed Kedsty," she said in a voice that was +forced from her lips. "And you have come to help me--to pay me for what +I tried to do for you? That is it--Jeems?" + +"Pay you?" he cried. "I couldn't pay you in a million years! From that +day you first came to Cardigan's place you gave me life. You came when +the last spark of hope in me had died. I shall always believe that I +would have died that night. But you saved me. + +"From the moment I saw you I loved you, and I believe it was that love +that kept me alive. And then you came to me again, down there, through +this storm. Pay you! I can't. I never shall be able to. Because you +thought I had killed a man made no difference You came just the same. +And you came ready to kill, if necessary--for me. I'm not trying to +tell myself WHY! But you did. You were ready to kill. And I am ready to +kill--tonight--for you! I haven't got time to think about Kedsty. I'm +thinking about you. If you killed him, I'm just telling myself there +was a mighty good reason for it. But I don't believe it was you who +killed him. You couldn't do it--with those hands!" + +He reached out suddenly and seized them, slipping his grip to her +wrists, so that her hands lay upward in his own, hands that were small, +slim-fingered, soft-palmed, beautiful. + +"They couldn't!" he cried, almost fiercely. "I swear to God they +couldn't!" + +Her eyes and face flamed at his words. "You believe that, Jeems?" + +"Yes, just as you believe that I did not kill John Barkley. But the +world is against us. It is against us both now. And we've got to hunt +that hidden valley of yours together. Understand, Marette? And +I'm--rather glad." + +He turned toward the door. "Will you be ready in ten minutes?" he asked. + +She nodded. "Yes, in ten minutes." + +He ran out into the hall and down the stair, locking the front door. +Then he returned to his hiding-place under the roof. He knew that a +strange sort of madness was in his blood, for in the face of tonight's +tragedy only madness could inspire him with the ecstatic thrill that +was in his veins. Kedsty's death seemed far removed from a more +important thing--the fact that from this hour Marette was his to fight +for, that she belonged to him, that she must go with him. He loved her. +In spite of whoever she was and whatever she had done, he loved her. +Very soon she would tell him what had happened in the room below, and +the thing would be clear. + +There was one little corner of his brain that fought him. It kept +telling him, like a parrot, that it was a tress of Marette's hair about +Kedsty's throat, and that it was the hair that had choked him. But +Marette would explain that, too. He was sure of it. In the face of the +facts below he was illogical and unreasonable. He knew it. But his love +for this girl, who had come strangely and tragically into his life, was +like an intoxicant. And his faith was illimitable. She did not kill +Kedsty. Another part of his brain kept repeating that over and over, +even as he recalled that only a few hours before she had told him quite +calmly that she would kill the Inspector of Police--if a certain thing +should happen. + +His hands worked as swiftly as his thoughts. He laced up his service +boots. All the food and dishes on the table he made into a compact +bundle and placed in the shoulder-pack. He carried this and the rifle +out into the hall. Then he returned to Marette's room. The door was +closed. At his knock the girl's voice told him that she was not quite +ready. + +He waited. He could hear her moving about quickly in her room. An +interval of silence followed. Another five minutes +passed--ten--fifteen. He tapped at the door again. This time it was +opened. + +He stared, amazed at the change in Marette. She had stepped back from +the door to let him enter, and stood full in the lamp-glow. Her slim, +beautiful body was dressed in a velvety blue corduroy; the coat was +close-fitting and boyish; the skirt came only a little below her knees. +On her feet were high-topped caribou boots. About her waist was a +holster and the little black gun. Her hair was done up and crowded +under a close-fitting turban. She was exquisitely lovely, as she stood +there waiting for him, and in that loveliness Kent saw there was not +one thing out of place. The corduroy, the turban, the short skirt, and +the high, laced boots were made for the wilderness. She was not a +tenderfoot. She was a little sourdough--clear through! Gladness leaped +into Kent's face. But it was not the transformation of her dress alone +that amazed him. She was changed in another way. Her cheeks were +flushed. Her eyes glowed with a strange and wonderful radiance as she +looked at him. Her lips were red, as he had seen them that first time +at Cardigan's place. Her pallor, her fear, her horror were gone, and in +their place was the repressed excitement of one about to enter upon a +strange adventure. + +On the floor was a pack only half as large as Kent's and when he picked +it up, he found it of almost no weight. He fastened it to his own pack +while Marette put on her raincoat and went down the stair ahead of him. +In the hall below she was waiting, when he came down, with Kedsty's big +rubber slicker in her hands. + +"You must put it on," she said. + +She shuddered slightly as she held the garment. The color was almost +gone from her cheeks, as she faced the door beyond which the dead man +sat in his chair, but the marvelous glow was still in her eyes as she +helped Kent with his pack and the slicker and afterward stood for an +instant with her hands touching his breast and her lips as if about to +speak something which she held back. + +A few steps beyond them they heard the storm. It seemed to rush upon +the bungalow in a new fury, beating at the door, crashing over their +heads in thunder, daring them to come out. Kent reached up and turned +out the hall light. + +In darkness he opened the door. Rain and wind swept in. With his free +hand he groped out, found Marette, drew her after him, and closed the +door again. Entering from the lighted hall into the storm was like +being swallowed in a pit of blackness. It engulfed and smothered them. +Then came suddenly a flash of lightning, and he saw Marette's face, +white and drenched, but looking at him with that same strange glow in +her eyes. It thrilled him. Even in the darkness it was there. It had +been there since he had returned to her from Kedsty and had knelt at +her bedside, with his arms about her for a moment. + +Only now, in the beat of the storm, did an answer to the miracle of it +come to him. It was because of HIM. It was because of his FAITH in her. +Even death and horror could not keep it from her eyes. He wanted to cry +out the joy of his discovery, to give wild voice to it in the teeth of +the wind and the rain. He felt sweeping through him a force mightier +than that of the night. Her hands were on his arm, as if she was afraid +of losing him in that pit of blackness; the soft cling of them was like +a contact through which came a warm thrill of electrical life. He put +out his arm and drew her to him, so that for a moment his face pressed +against the top of her wet little turban. + +And then he heard her say: "There is a scow at the bayou, Jeems. It is +close to the end of the path. M'sieu Fingers has kept it there, +waiting, ready." + +He had been thinking of Crossen's place and an open boat. He blessed +Fingers again, as he took Marette's hand in his own and started for the +trail that led through the poplar thicket. + +Their feet slopped deep in wet and mud, and with the rain there was a +wind that took their breath away. It was impossible to see a tree an +arm's length away, and Kent hoped that the lightning would come +frequently enough to guide him. In the first flare of it he looked down +the slope that led riverward. Little rivulets of water were running +down it. Rocks and stumps were in their way, and underfoot it was +slippery. Marette's fingers were clinging to his again, as she had held +to them on the wild race up to Kedsty's bungalow from the barracks. He +had tingled then in the sheer joy of their thrill, but it was a +different thrill that stirred him now--an overwhelming emotion of +possessorship. This night, with its storm and its blackness, was the +most wonderful of all his nights. + +He sensed nothing of its discomfort. It could not beat back the joyous +racing of the blood in his body. Sun and stars, day and night, sunshine +and cloud, were trivial and inconsequential to him now. For close to +him, struggling with him, fighting through the night with him, trusting +him, helpless without him, was the living, breathing thing he loved +more than he loved his own life. For many years, without knowing it, he +had waited for this night, and now that it was upon him, it inundated +and swept away his old life. He was no longer the huntsman, but the +hunted. He was no longer alone, but had a priceless thing to fight for, +a priceless and helpless thing that was clinging to his fingers in the +darkness. He did not feel like a fugitive, but as one who has come into +a great triumph. He sensed no uncertainty or doubt. + +The river lay ahead, and for him the river had become the soul and the +promise of life. It was Marette's river and his river, and in a little +while they would be on it. And Marette would then tell him about +Kedsty. He was sure of that. She would tell him what had happened while +he slept. His faith was illimitable. + +They came into the sodden dip at the foot of the ridge, and the +lightning revealed to him the edge of the poplar growth in which +O'Connor had seen Marette many weeks ago. The bayou trail wound through +this, and Kent struck out for it blindly in the darkness. He did not +try to talk, but he freed his companion's hand and put his arm about +her when they came to the level ground, so that she was sheltered by +him from the beat of the storm. Then brush swished in their faces, and +they stopped, waiting for the lightning again. Kent was not anxious for +it to come. He drew the girl still closer, and in that pit of +blackness, with the deluge about her and the crash of thunder over her +head, she snuggled up against his breast, the throb of her body against +him, waiting, watching, with him. Her frailty, the helplessness of her, +the slimness of her in the crook of his arm, filled him with an +exquisite exultation. He did not think of her now as the splendid, +fearless creature who had leveled her little black gun at the three men +in barracks. She was no longer the mysterious, defiant, unafraid person +who had held him in a sort of awe that first hour in Kedsty's place. +For she was crumpled against him now, utterly dependent and afraid. In +that chaos of storm something told him that her nerve was broken, that +without him she would be lost and would cry out in fear. AND HE WAS +GLAD! He held her tighter; he bent his head until his face touched the +wet, crushed hair under the edge of her turban. And then the lightning +split open the night again, and he saw the way ahead of him to the +trail. + +Even in darkness it was not difficult to follow in the clean-cut wagon +path. Over their heads the tops of the poplars swished and wailed. +Under their feet the roadway in places was a running stream or +inundated until it became a pool. In pitch blackness they struck such a +pool, and in spite of the handicap of his packs and rifle Kent stopped +suddenly, and picked Marette up in his arms, and carried her until they +reached high ground. He did not ask permission. And Marette, for a +minute or two, lay crumpled up close in his arms, and for a thrilling +instant his face touched her rain-wet cheek. + +The miracle of their adventure was that neither spoke. To Kent the +silence between them had become a thing which he had no desire to +break. In that silence, excused and abetted by the tumult of the storm, +he felt that a wonderful something was drawing them closer and closer +together, and that words might spoil the indescribable magic of the +thing that was happening. When he set Marette on her feet again, her +hand accidentally fell upon his, and for a moment her fingers closed +upon it in a soft pressure that meant more to him than a thousand words +of gratitude. + +A quarter of a mile beyond the poplar thicket they came to the edge of +the spruce and cedar timber, and Soon the thick walls of the forest +shut them in, sheltering them from the wind, but the blackness was even +more like that of a bottomless pit. Kent had noticed that the thunder +and lightning were drifting steadily eastward, and now the occasional +flashes of electrical fire scarcely illumined the trail ahead of them. +The rain was not beating so fiercely. They could hear the wail of the +spruce and cedar tops and the slush of their boots in mud and water. An +interval came, where the spruce-tops met overhead, when it was almost +calm. It was then that Kent threw out of him a great, deep breath and +laughed joyously and exultantly. + +"Are you wet, little Gray Goose?" + +"Only outside, Big Otter. My feathers have kept me dry." + +Her voice had a trembling, half-sobbing, half-rejoicing note in it. It +was not the voice of one who had recently killed a man. In it was a +pathos which Kent knew she was trying to hide behind brave words. Her +hands clung to the arm of his rubber slicker even as they stood there, +close together, as if she was afraid something might drag them apart in +that treacherous gloom. Kent, fumbling for a moment, drew from an inner +pocket a dry handkerchief. Then he found her face, tilted it a bit +upward, and wiped it dry. He might have done the same thing to a child +who had been crying. After that he scrubbed his own, and they went on, +his arm about her again. + +It was half a mile from the edge of the forest to the bayou, and half a +dozen times in that distance Kent took the girl in his arms and carried +her through water that almost reached his boot tops. The lightning no +longer served them. The rain still fell steadily, but the wind had gone +with the eastward sweep of the storm. Close-hung with the forest walls, +the bayou itself was indiscernible in the blackness. Marette guided him +now, though Kent walked ahead of her, holding firmly to her hand. +Unless Fingers had changed its location, the scow should be somewhere +within forty or fifty paces of the end of the trail. It was small, a +two-man scow, with a tight little house built amidships. And it was +tied close up against the shore. Marette told him this as they felt +their way through brush and reeds. Then he stumbled against something +taut and knee-high, and he found it was the tie-rope. + +Leaving Marette with her back to the anchor tree, he went aboard. The +water was three or four inches deep in the bottom of the scow, but the +cabin was built on a platform raised above the floor of the boat, and +Kent hoped it was still dry. He groped until he found the twisted wire +which held the door shut. Opening it, he ducked his head low and +entered. The little room was not more than four feet high, and for +greater convenience he fell upon his knees while fumbling under his +slicker for his water-proof box of matches. The water had not yet risen +above the floor. + +The first light he struck revealed the interior to him. It was a tiny +cabin, scarcely larger than some boxes he had seen. It was about eight +feet long by six in width, and the ceiling was so low that, even +kneeling, his head touched it. His match burned out, and he lighted +another. This time he saw a candle stuck in a bit of split birch that +projected from the wall. He crept to it and lighted it. For a moment he +looked about him, and again he blessed Fingers. The little scow was +prepared for a voyage. Two narrow bunks were built at the far end, one +so close above the other that Kent grinned as he thought of squeezing +between. There were blankets. Within reach of his arm was a tiny stove, +and close to the stove a supply of kindling and dry wood. The whole +thing made him think of a child's playhouse. Yet there was still room +for a wide, comfortable, cane-bottomed chair, a stool, and a +smooth-planed board fastened under a window, so that it answered the +purpose of a table. This table was piled with many packages. + +He stripped off his packs and returned for Marette. She had come to the +edge of the scow and called to him softly as she heard him splashing +through the water. Her arms were reaching toward him, to meet him in +the darkness. He carried her through the shallow sea about his feet and +laughed as he put her down on the edge of the platform at the door. It +was a low, joyous laugh. The yellow light of the candle sputtered in +their wet faces. Only dimly could he see her, but her eyes were shining. + +"Your nest, little Gray Goose," he cried gently. + +Her hand reached up and touched his face. "You have been good to me, +Jeems," she said, a little tremble in her voice. "You may--kiss me." + +Out in the beat of the rain Kent's heart choked him with song. His soul +swelled with the desire to shout forth a paean of joy and triumph at +the world he was leaving this night for all time. With the warm thrill +of Marette's lips he had become the superman, and as he leaped ashore +in the darkness and cut the tie-rope with a single slash of his knife, +he wanted to give voice to the thing that was in him as the rivermen +had chanted in the glory of their freedom the day the big brigade +started north. And he DID sing, under his laughing, sobbing breath. +With a giant's strength he sent the scow out into the bayou, and then +back and forth he swung the long one-man sweep, twisting the craft +riverward with the force of two pairs of arms instead of one. Behind +the closed door of the tiny cabin was all that the world now held worth +fighting for. By turning his head he could see the faint illumination +of the candle at the window. The light--the cabin--Marette! + +He laughed inanely, foolishly, like a boy. He began to hear a dull, +droning murmur, a sound that with each stroke of the sweep grew into a +more distinct, cataract-like roar. It was the river. Swollen by flood, +it was a terrifying sound. But Kent did not dread it. It was his river; +it was his friend. It was the pulse and throb of life to him now. The +growing tumult of it was not menace, but the joyous thunder of many +voices calling to him, rejoicing at his coming. It grew in his ears. +Over his head the black sky opened again, and a deluge of rain fell +straight down. But above the sound of it the rush of the river drew +nearer, and still nearer. He felt the first eddying swirl of it against +the scow head, and powerful hands seemed to reach in out of the +darkness. He knew that the nose of the current had caught him and was +carrying him out on the breast of the stream. He shipped the sweep and +straightened himself, facing the utter chaos of blackness ahead. He +felt under him the slow and mighty pulse of the great flood as it swept +toward the Slave, the Mackenzie, and the Arctic. And he cried out at +last in the downpour of storm, a cry of joy, of exultation, of hope +that reached beyond the laws of men--and then he turned toward the +little cabin, where through the thickness of sodden night the tiny +window was glowing yellow with candle-light. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +To the cabin Kent groped his way, and knocked, and it was Marette who +opened the door for him and stepped back for him to enter. Like a great +wet dog he came in, doubling until his hands almost touched the floor. +He sensed the incongruity of it, the misplacement of his overgrown body +in this playhouse thing, and he grinned through the trickles of wet +that ran down his face, and tried to see. Marette had taken off her +turban and rain-coat, and she, too, stooped low in the four-feet space +of the cabin--but not so ridiculously low as Kent. He dropped on his +knees again. And then he saw that in the tiny stove a fire was burning. +The crackle of it rose above the beat of the rain on the roof, and the +air was already mellowing with the warmth of it. He looked at Marette. +Her wet hair was still clinging to her face, her feet and arms and part +of her body were wet; but her eyes were shining, and she was smiling at +him. She seemed to him, in this moment, like a child that was glad it +had found refuge. He had thought that the terror of the night would +show in her face, but it was gone. She was not thinking of the thunder +and the lightning, the black trail, or of Kedsty lying dead in his +bungalow. She was thinking of him. + +He laughed outright. It was a joyous, thrilling thing, this black night +with the storm over their heads and the roll of the great river under +them--they two--alone--in this cockleshell cabin that was not high +enough to stand in and scarcely big enough in any direction to turn +round in. The snug cheer of it, the warmth of the fire beginning to +reach their chilled bodies, and the inspiring crackle of the birch in +the little stove filled Kent, for a space, with other thoughts than +those of the world they were leaving. And Marette, whose eyes and lips +were smiling at him softly in the candle-glow, seemed also to have +forgotten. It was the little window that brought them back to the +tragedy of their flight. Kent visioned it as it must look from the +shore--a telltale blotch of light traveling through the darkness. There +were occasional cabins for several miles below the Landing, and eyes +turned riverward in the storm might see it. He made his way to the +window and fastened his slicker over it. + +"We're off, Gray Goose," he said then, rubbing his hands. "Would it +seem more homelike if I smoked?" + +She nodded, her eyes on the slicker at the window. + +"It's pretty safe," said Kent, fishing out his pipe, and beginning to +fill it. "Everybody asleep, probably. But we won't take any chances." +The scow was swinging sideways in the current. Kent felt the change in +its movement, and added: "No danger of being wrecked, either. There +isn't a rock or rapids for thirty miles. River clear as a floor. If we +bump ashore, don't get frightened." + +"I'm not afraid--of the river," she said. Then, with rather startling +unexpectedness, she asked him, "Where will they look for us tomorrow?" + +Kent lighted his pipe, eyeing her a bit speculatively as she seated +herself on the stool, leaning toward him as she waited for an answer to +her question. + +"The woods, the river, everywhere," he said. "They'll look for a +missing boat, of course. We've simply got to watch behind us and take +advantage of a good start." + +"Will the rain wipe out our footprints, Jeems?" + +"Yes. Everything in the open." + +"But--perhaps--in a sheltered place--?" + +"We were in no sheltered place," he assured her. "Can you remember that +we were, Gray Goose?" + +She shook her head slowly. "No. But there was Mooie, under the window." + +"His footprints will be wiped out." + +"I am glad. I would not have him, or M'sieu Fingers, or any of our +friends brought into this trouble." + +She made no effort to hide the relief his words brought her. He was a +little amazed that she should worry over Fingers and the old Indian in +this hour of their own peril. That danger he had decided to keep as far +from her mind as possible. But she could not help realizing the +impending menace of it. She must know that within a few hours Kedsty +would be found, and the long arm of the wilderness police would begin +its work. And if it caught them-- + +She had thrust her feet toward him and was wriggling them inside her +boots, so that he heard the slushing sound of water. "Ugh, but they are +wet!" she shivered. "Will you unlace them and pull them off for me, +Jeems?" + +He laid his pipe aside and knelt close to her. It took him five minutes +to get the boots off. Then he held one of her sodden little feet close +between his two big hands. + +"Cold--cold as ice," he said. "You must take off your stockings, +Marette. Please." + +He arranged a pile of wood in front of the stove and covered it with a +blanket which he pulled from one of the bunks. Then, still on his +knees, he drew the cane chair close to the fire and covered it with a +second blanket. A few moments later Marette was tucked comfortably in +this chair, with her bare feet on the blanketed pile of wood. Kent +opened the stove door. Then he extinguished one of the smoking candles, +and after that, the other. The flaming birch illumined the little cabin +with a mellower light. It gave a subdued flush to the girl's face. Her +eyes seemed to Kent wonderfully soft and beautiful in that changed +light. And when he had finished, she reached out a hand, and for an +instant it touched his face and his wet hair so lightly that he sensed +the thrilling caress of it without feeling its weight. + +"You are so good to me, Jeems," she said, and he thought there was a +little choking note in her throat. + +He had seated himself on the floor, close to her chair, with his back +to the wall. "It is because I love you, Gray Goose," he replied +quietly, looking straight into the fire. + +She was silent. She, too, was looking into the fire. Close over their +heads they heard the beating of the rain, like a thousand soft little +fists pounding the top of the cabin. Under them they could feel the +slow swinging of the scow as it responded to the twists and vagaries of +the current that was carrying them on. And Kent, unseen by the girl who +was looking away from him, raised his eyes. The birch light was glowing +in her hair; it trembled on her white throat; her long lashes were +caught in the shimmer of it. And, looking at her, Kent thought of +Kedsty lying back in his bungalow room, choked to death by a tress of +that glorious hair, so near to him now that, by leaning a little +forward, he might have touched it with his lips. The thought brought +him no horror. For even as he looked, one of her hands crept up to her +cheek--the small, soft hand that had touched his face and hair as +lightly as a bit of thistle-down--and he knew that two hands like that +could not have killed a man who was fighting for life when he died. + +And Kent reached up, and took the hand, and held it close in his own, +as he said, "Little Gray Goose, please tell me now--what happened in +Kedsty's room?" + +His voice thrilled with an immeasurable faith. He wanted her to know, +no matter what had happened, that this faith and his love for her could +not be shaken. He believed in her, and would always believe in her. + +Already he was sure that he knew how Kedsty had died. The picture of +the tragedy had pieced itself together in his mind, bit by bit. While +he slept, Marette and a man were down in the big room with the +Inspector of Police. The climax had come, and Kedsty was struck a +blow--in some unaccountable way--with his own gun. Then, just as Kedsty +was recovering sufficiently from the shock of the blow to fight, +Marette's companion had killed him. Horrified, dazed by what had +already happened, perhaps unconscious, she had been powerless to +prevent the use of a tress of her hair in the murderer's final work. +Kent, in this picture, eliminated the boot-laces and the curtain cords. +He knew that the unusual and the least expected happened frequently in +crime. And Marette's long hair was flowing loose about her. To use it +had simply been the first inspiration of the murderer. And Kent +believed, as he waited for her answer now, that Marette would tell him +this. + +And as he waited, he felt her fingers tighten in his hand. + +"Tell me, Gray Goose--what happened?" + +"I--don't--know--Jeems--" + +His eyes went to her suddenly from the fire, as if he was not quite +sure he had heard what she had said. She did not move her head, but +continued to gaze unseeingly into the flames. Inside his palm her +fingers worked to his thumb and held it tightly again, as they had +clung to it when she was frightened by the thunder and lightning. + +"I don't know what happened, Jeems." + +This time he did not feel the clinging thrill of her little fingers and +soft palm. Deep within him he experienced something that was like a +sudden and unexpected blow. He was ready to fight for her until his +last breath was gone. He was ready to believe anything she told +him--anything except this impossible thing which she had just spoken. +For she did know what had happened in Kedsty's room. She knew--unless-- + +Suddenly his heart leaped with joyous hope. "You mean--you were +unconscious?" he cried in a low voice that trembled with his eagerness. +"You fainted--and it happened then?" + +She shook her head. "No. I was asleep in my room. I didn't intend to +sleep, but--I did. Something awakened me. I thought I had been +dreaming. But something kept pulling me, pulling me downstairs. And +when I went, I found Kedsty like that. He was dead. I was paralyzed, +standing there, when you came." + +She drew her, hand away from him, gently, but significantly. "I know +you can't believe me, Jeems. It is impossible for you to believe me." + +"And you don't want me to believe you, Marette." + +"Yes--I do. You must believe me." + +"But the tress of hair--your hair--round Kedsty's neck--" + +He stopped. His words, spoken gently as they were, seemed brutal to +him. Yet he could not see that they affected her. She did not flinch. +He saw no tremor of horror. Steadily she continued to look into the +fire. And his brain grew confused. Never in all his experience had he +seen such absolute and unaffected self-control. And somehow, it chilled +him. It chilled him even as he wanted to reach out and gather her close +in his arms, and pour his love into her ears, entreating her to tell +him everything, to keep nothing back from him that might help in the +fight he was going to make. + +And then she said, "Jeems, if we should be caught by the Police--it +would probably be quite soon, wouldn't it?" + +"They won't catch us." + +"But our greatest danger of being caught is right now, isn't it?" she +insisted. + +Kent took out his watch and leaned over to look at it in the fireglow. +"It is three o'clock," he said. "Give me another day and night, Gray +Goose, and the Police will never find us." + +For a moment or two more she was silent. Then her hand reached out, and +her fingers twined softly round his thumb again. "Jeems--when we are +safe--when we are sure the Police won't find us--I will tell you all +that I know--about what happened in Kedsty's room. And I will tell +you--about--the hair. I will tell you--everything." Her fingers +tightened almost fiercely. "Everything," she repeated. "I will tell you +about that in Kedsty's room--and I will tell you about myself--and +after that--I am afraid--you won't like me." + +"I love you," he said, making no movement to touch her. "No matter what +you tell me, Gray Goose, I shall love you." + +She gave a little cry, scarcely more than a broken note in her throat, +and Kent--had her face been turned toward him then--would have seen the +glory that came into it, and into her eyes, like a swift flash of +light--and passed as swiftly away. + +What he did see, when she turned her head, were eyes caught suddenly by +something at the cabin door. He looked. Water was trickling in slowly +over the sill. + +"I expected that," he said cheerfully. "Our scow is turning into a +rain-barrel, Marette. Unless I bail out, we'll soon be flooded." + +He reached for his slicker and put it on. "It won't take me long to +throw the water overboard," he added. "And while I'm doing that I want +you to take OFF your wet things and tuck yourself into bed. Will you, +Gray Goose?" + +"I'm not tired, but if you think it is best--" Her hand touched his arm. + +"It is best," he said, and for a moment he bent over her until his lips +touched her hair. + +Then he seized a pail, and went out into the rain. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +It was that hour when, with clear skies, the gray northern dawn would +have been breaking faintly over the eastern forests. Kent found the +darkness more fog-like; about him was a grayer, ghostlier sort of +gloom. But he could not see the water under his feet. Nor could he see +the rail of the scow, or the river. From the stern, ten feet from the +cabin door, the cabin itself was swallowed up and invisible. + +With the steady, swinging motion of the riverman he began bailing. So +regular became his movements that they ran in a sort of rhythmic +accompaniment to his thoughts. The monotonous splash, splash, splash of +the outflung pails of water assumed, after a few minutes, the character +of a mechanical thing. He could smell the nearness of the shore. Even +in the rain the tang of cedar and balsam came to him faintly. + +But it was the river that impressed itself most upon his senses. It +seemed to him, as the minutes passed, like a living thing. He could +hear it gurgling and playing under the end of the scow. And with that +sound there was another and more indescribable thing, the tremble of +it, the pulse of it, the thrill of it in the impenetrable gloom, the +life of it as it swept on in a slow and mighty flood between its +wilderness walls. Kent had always said, "You can hear the river's heart +beat--if you know how to listen for it." And he heard it now. He felt +it. The rain could not beat it out, nor could the splash of the water +he was throwing overboard drown it, and the darkness could not hide it +from the vision that was burning like a living coal within him. Always +it was the river that had given him consolation in times of loneliness. +For him it had grown into a thing with a soul, a thing that personified +hope, courage, comradeship, everything that was big and great in final +achievement. And tonight--for he still thought of the darkness as +night--the soul of it seemed whispering to him a sort of paean. + +He could not lose. That was the thought that filled him. Never had his +pulse beat with greater assurance, never had a more positive sense of +the inevitable possessed him. It was inconceivable, he thought, even to +fear the possibility of being taken by the Police. He was more than a +man fighting for his freedom alone, more than an individual struggling +for the right to exist. A thing vastly more priceless than either +freedom or life, if they were to be accepted alone, waited for him in +the little cabin, shut in by its sea of darkness. And ahead of them lay +their world. He emphasized that. THEIR world--the world which, in an +illusive and unreal sort of way, had been a part of his dreams all his +life. In that world they would shut themselves in. No one would ever +find them. And the glory of the sun and the stars and God's open +country would be with them always. + +Marette was the very heart of that reality which impinged itself upon +him now. He did not worry about what it was she would tell him +tomorrow, or day after tomorrow. He believed that it was then--when she +had told him what there was to tell, and he still reached, out his arms +to her--that she would come into those arms. And he knew that nothing +that might have happened in Kedsty's room would keep his arms from +reaching, to her. Such was his faith, potent as the mighty flood hidden +in the gray-ghost gloom of approaching dawn. + +Yet he did not expect to win easily. As he worked, his mind swept up +and down the Three Rivers from the Landing to Fort Simpson, and +mentally he pictured the situations that might arise, and how he would +triumph over them. He figured that the men at Barracks would not enter +Kedsty's bungalow until noon at the earliest. The Police gasoline +launch would probably set out on a river search soon after. By +mid-afternoon the scow would have a fifty-mile start. + +Before darkness came again they would be through the Death Chute, where +Follette and Ladouceur swam their mad race for the love of a girl. And +not many miles below the Chute was a swampy country where he could hide +the scow. Then they would start overland, west and north. Given until +another sunset, and they would be safe. This was what he expected. But +if it came to fighting--he would fight. + +The rain had slackened to a thin drizzle by the time he finished his +bailing. The aroma of cedar and balsam came to him more clearly, and he +heard more distinctly the murmuring surge of the river. He tapped again +at the door of the cabin, and Marette answered him. + +The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing coals when he entered. +Again he fell on his knees, and took off his dripping slicker. + +The girl greeted him from the berth. "You look like a great bear, +Jeems." There was a glad, welcoming note in her voice. + +He laughed, and drew the stool beside her, and managed to sit on it, +the roof compelling him to bend his head over a little. "I feel like an +elephant in a birdcage," he replied. "Are you comfortable, little Gray +Goose?" + +"Yes. But you, Jeems? You are wet!" + +"But so happy that I don't feel it, Gray Goose." + +He could make her out only dimly there in the darkness of the berth. +Her face was a pale shadow, and she had loosened her damp hair so that +the warmth and dry air might reach it more easily. Kent wondered if she +could hear the beating of his heart. He forgot the fire, and the +darkness grew thicker. He could no longer see the pale outline of her +face, and he drew back a little, possessed by the thought that it was +sacrilegious to bend nearer to her, like a thief, in that gloom. She +sensed his movement, and her hand reached to him and lay lightly with +its fingertips touching his arm. + +"Jeems," she said softly. "I'm not sorry--now--that I came up to +Cardigan's place that day--when you thought you were dying. I wasn't +wrong. You are different. And I made fun of you then, and laughed at +you, because I knew that you were not going to die. Will you forgive +me?" + +He laughed happily. "It's funny how little things work out, sometimes," +he said. "Wasn't a kingdom lost once upon a time because some fellow +didn't have a horseshoe? Anyway, I knew of a man whose life was saved +because of a broken pipe-stem. And you came to me, and I'm here with +you now, because--" + +"Of what?" she whispered. + +"Because of something that happened a long time ago," he said. +"Something you wouldn't dream could have anything to do with you or +with me. Shall I tell you about it, Marette?" + +Her fingers pressed slightly upon his arm. "Yes." + +"Of course, it's a story of the Police," he began. "And I won't mention +this fellow's name. You may think of him as that red-headed O'Connor, +if you want to. But I don't say that it was he. He was a constable in +the Service and had been away North looking up some Indians who were +brewing an intoxicating liquor from roots. That was six years ago. And +he caught something. Le Mort Rouge, we sometimes call it--the Red +Death--or smallpox. And he was alone when the fever knocked him down, +three hundred miles from anywhere. His Indian ran away at the first +sign of it, and he had just time to get up his tent before he was flat +on his back. I won't try to tell you of the days he went through. It +was a living death. And he would have died, there is no doubt of it, if +it hadn't been for a stranger who came along. He was a white man. +Marette, it doesn't take a great deal of nerve to go up against a man +with a gun, when you've got a gun of your own; and it doesn't take such +a lot of nerve to go into battle when a thousand others are going with +you. But it does take nerve to face what that stranger faced. And the +sick man was nothing to him. He went into that tent and nursed the +other back to life. Then the sickness got him, and for ten weeks those +two were together, each fighting to save the other's life, and they won +out. But the glory of it was with the stranger. He was going west. The +constable was going south. They shook hands and parted." + +Marette's fingers tightened on Kent's arm. And Kent went on. + +"And the constable never forgot, Gray Goose. He wanted the day to come +when he might repay. And the time came. It was years later, and it +worked out in a curious way. A man was murdered. And the constable, who +had become a sergeant now, had talked with the dead man only a little +while before he was killed. Returning for something he had forgotten, +it was the sergeant who found him dead. Very shortly afterward a man +was arrested. There was blood on his clothing. The evidence was +convincing, deadly. And this man--" + +Kent paused, and in the darkness Marette's hand crept down his arm to +his hand, and her fingers closed round it. + +"Was the man you lied to save," she whispered. + +"Yes. When the halfbreed's bullet got me, I thought it was a good +chance to repay Sandy McTrigger for what he did for me in that tent +years before. But it wasn't heroic. It wasn't even brave. I thought I +was going to die and that I was risking nothing." + +And then there came a soft, joyous little laugh from where her head lay +on the pillow. "And all the time you were lying so splendidly, Jeems--I +KNEW," she cried. "I knew that you didn't kill Barkley, and I knew that +you weren't going to die, and I knew what happened in that tent ten +years ago. And--Jeems--Jeems--" + +She raised herself from the pillow. Her breath was coming a little +excitedly. Both her hands, instead of one, were gripping his hand now. +"I knew that you didn't kill John Barkley," she repeated. "And--SANDY +MCTRIGGER DIDN'T KILL HIM!" + +"But--" + +"He DIDN'T," she interrupted him, almost fiercely. "He was innocent, as +innocent as you were. Jeems--I Jeems--I know who killed Barkley. Oh, I +KNOW--I KNOW!" + +A choking sob came into her throat, and then she added, in a voice +which she was straining to make calm, "Don't think that I haven't faith +in you because I can't tell you more now, Jeems," she said. "You will +understand--quite soon. When we are safe from the Police, I shall tell +you. I shall keep nothing from you then. I shall tell you about +Barkley, and Kedsty--everything. But I can't now. It won't be long. +When you tell me we are safe, I shall believe you. And then--" She +withdrew her hands from his and dropped back on her pillow. + +"And then--what?" he asked, leaning far over. + +"You may not like me, Jeems." + +"I love you," he whispered. "Nothing in the world can stop my loving +you." + +"Even if I tell you--soon--that I killed Barkley?" + +"No. You would be lying." + +"Or--if I told you--that I--killed--Kedsty?" + +"No matter what you said, or what proof there might be back there, I +would not believe you." + +She was silent. And then, "Jeems--" + +"Yes, Niska, Little Goddess--?" + +"I'm going to tell you something--now!" + +He waited. + +"It is going to--shock you--Jeems." + +He felt her arms reaching up. Her two hands touched his shoulders. + +"Are you listening?" + +"Yes, I am listening." + +"Because I'm not going to say it very loud." And then she whispered, +"Jeems--I LOVE YOU!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +In the slowly breaking gloom of the cabin, with Marette's arms round +his neck, her soft lips given him to kiss, Kent for many minutes was +conscious of nothing but the thrill of his one great hope on earth come +true. What he had prayed for was no longer a prayer, and what he had +dreamed of was no longer a dream; yet for a space the reality of it +seemed unreal. What he said in those first moments of his exaltation he +would probably never remember. + +His own physical existence seemed a thing trivial and almost lost, a +thing submerged and swallowed up by the warm beat and throb of that +other life, a thousand times more precious than his own, which he held +in his arms. Yet with the mad thrill that possessed him, in the embrace +of his arms, there was an infinite tenderness, a gentleness, that drew +from Marette's lips a low, glad whispering of his name. She drew his +head down and kissed him, and Kent fell upon his knees at her side and +crushed his face close down to her--while outside the patter of rain on +the roof had ceased, and the fog-like darkness was breaking with gray +dawn. + +In that dawn of the new day Kent came at last out of the cabin and +looked upon a splendid world. In his breast was the glory of a thing +new-born, and the world, like himself, was changed. Storm had passed. +The gray river lay under his eyes. Shoreward he made out the dark +outlines of the deep spruce and cedar and balsam forests. About him +there was a great stillness, broken only by the murmur of the river and +the ripple of water under the scow. Wind had gone with the black +rainclouds, and Kent, as he looked about him, saw the swift dissolution +of the last shadows of night, and the breaking in the East of a new +paradise. In the East, as the minutes passed, there came a soft and +luminous gray, and after that, swiftly, with the miracle of far +Northern dawn, a vast, low-burning fire seemed to start far beyond the +forests, tinting the sky with a delicate pink that crept higher and +higher as Kent watched it. The river, all at once, came out of its last +drifting haze of fog and night. The scow was about in the middle of the +channel. Two hundred yards on either side were thick green walls of +forest glistening fresh and cool with the wet of storm and breathing +forth the perfume which Kent was drawing deep into his lungs. + +In the cabin he heard sound. Marette was up, and he was eager to have +her come out and stand with him in this glory of their first day. He +watched the smoke of the fire he had built, hardwood smoke that drifted +up white and clean into the rain-washed air. + +The smell of it, like the smell of balsam and cedar, was to Kent the +aroma of life. And then he began to clean out what was left of the +water in the bottom of the scow, and as he worked he whistled. He +wanted Marette to hear that whistle. He wanted her to know that day had +brought with it no doubt for him. A great and glorious world was about +them and ahead of them. And they were safe. + +As he worked, his mind became more than ever set upon the resolution to +take no chances. He paused in his whistling for a moment to laugh +softly and exultantly as he thought of the years of experience which +were his surest safeguard now. He had become almost uncannily expert in +all the finesse and trickery of his craft of hunting human game, and he +knew what the man-hunters would do and what they would not do. He had +them checkmated at the start. And, besides--with Kedsty, O'Connor, and +himself gone--the Landing was short-handed just at present. There was +an enormous satisfaction in that. But even with a score of men behind +him Kent knew that he would beat them. His hazard, if there was peril +at all, lay in this first day. Only the Police gasoline launch could +possibly overtake them. And with the start they had, he was sure they +would pass the Death Chute, conceal the scow, and take to the untracked +forests north and west before the launch could menace them. After that +he would keep always west and north, deeper and deeper into that wild +and untraveled country which would be the last place in which the Law +would seek for them. He straightened himself and looked at the smoke +again, drifting like gray-white lace between him and the blue of the +sky, and in that moment the sun capped the tall green tops of the +highest cedars, and day broke gloriously over the earth. + +For a quarter of an hour longer Kent mopped at the floor of the scow, +and then--with a suddenness that drew him up as if a whip-lash had +snapped behind him--he caught another aroma in the clean, +forest-scented air. It was bacon and coffee! He had believed that +Marette was taking her time in putting on dry footwear and making some +sort of morning toilet. Instead of that, she was getting breakfast. It +was not an extraordinary thing to do. To fry bacon and make coffee was +not, in any sense, a remarkable achievement. But at the present moment +it was the crowning touch to Kent's paradise. She was getting HIS +breakfast! And--coffee and bacon--To Kent those two things had always +stood for home. They were intimate and companionable. Where there were +coffee and bacon, he had known children who laughed, women who sang, +and men with happy, welcoming faces. They were home-builders. + +"Whenever you smell coffee and bacon at a cabin," O'Connor had always +said, "they'll ask you in to breakfast if you knock at the door." + +But Kent was not recalling his old trail mate's words. In the present +moment all other thoughts were lost in the discovery that Marette was +getting breakfast--for him. + +He went to the door and listened. Then he opened it and looked in. +Marette was on her knees before the open door of the stove, toasting +bread on two forks. Her face was flushed pink. She had not taken time +to brush her hair, but had woven it carelessly into a thick braid that +fell down her back. She gave a little exclamation of mock +disappointment when she saw Kent. + +"Why didn't you wait?" she remonstrated. "I wanted to surprise you." + +"You have," he said. "And I couldn't wait. I had to come in and help." + +He was inside the door and on his knees beside her. As he reached for +the two forks, his lips pressed against her hair. The pink deepened in +Marette's face, and the soft little note that was like laughter came +into her throat. Her hand caressed his cheek as she rose to her feet, +and Kent laughed back. And after that, as she arranged things on the +shelf table, her hand now and then touched his shoulder, or his hair, +and two or three times he heard that wonderful little throat-note that +sent through him a wild pulse of happiness. And then, he sitting in the +low chair and she on the stool, they drew close together before the +board that answered as a table, and ate their breakfast. Marette poured +his coffee and stirred sugar and condensed milk in it, and so happy was +Kent that he did not tell her he used neither milk nor sugar in his +coffee. The morning sun burst through the little window, and through +the open door Kent pointed to the glory of it on the river and in the +shimmering green of the forests slipping away behind. When they had +finished, Marette went outside with him. + +For a space she stood silent and without movement, looking upon the +marvelous world that encompassed them. It seemed to Kent that for a few +moments she did not breathe. With her head thrown back and her white +throat bare to the soft, balsam-laden air she faced the forests. Her +eyes became suddenly filled with the luminous glow of stars. Her face +reflected the radiance of the rising sun, and Kent, looking at her, +knew that he had never seen her so beautiful as in these wonderful +moments. He held his own breath, for he also knew that Niska, his +goddess, was looking upon her own world again after a long time away. + +Her world--and his. Different from all the other worlds God had ever +made; different, even, from the world only a few miles behind them at +the Landing. For here was no sound or whisper of destroying human life. +They were in the embrace of the Great North, and it was drawing them +closer, and with each minute nearer to the mighty, pulsing heart of it. + +The forests hung heavy and green and glistening with the wet of storm; +out of them came the tremulous breath of life and the glory of living; +they hugged the shores like watchful hosts guarding the river from +civilization--and suddenly the girl held out her arms, and Kent heard +the low, thrilling cry that came to her lips. + +She had forgotten him. She had forgotten everything but the river, the +forests, and the untrod worlds beyond them, and he was glad. For this +world that she was welcoming, that her soul was crying out to, was his +world, for ever and ever. It held his dreams, his hopes, all the +desires that he had in life. And when at last Marette turned toward him +slowly, his arms were reaching out to her, and in his face she saw that +same glory which filled her own. + +"I'm glad--glad," she cried softly. "Oh, Jeems--I'm glad!" + +She came into his arms without hesitation; her hands stroked his face; +and then she stood with her head against his shoulder, looking ahead, +breathing deeply now of the sweet, clear air filled with the elixir of +the hovering forests. She did not speak, or move, and Kent remained +quiet. The scow drifted around a bend. Shoreward a great moose splashed +up out of the water, and they could hear him afterward, crashing +through the forest. Her body tensed, but she did not speak. After a +little he heard her whisper, + +"It has been a long time, Jeems. I have been away four years." + +"And now we are going home, little Gray Goose. You will not be lonely?" + +"No. I was lonely down there. There were so many people, and so many +things, that I was homesick for the woods and mountains. I believe I +would have died soon. There were only two things I loved, Jeems--" + +"What?" he asked. + +"Pretty dresses--and shoes." + +His arms closed about her a little more tightly. "I--I understand," he +laughed softly. "That is why you came, that first time, with pretty +high-heeled pumps." + +He bowed his head, and she turned her face to him. On her upturned +mouth he kissed her. + +"More than any other man ever loved a woman I love you, Niska, little +goddess," he cried. + +The minutes and the hours of that day stood out ever afterward in +Kent's life as unforgettable memories. There were times when they +seemed illusory and unreal, as though he lived and breathed in an +insubstantial world made up of gossamer things which must be the fabric +of dream. These were moments when the black shadow of the tragedy from +which they were fleeing pressed upon him, when the thought came to him +that they were criminals racing with the law; that they were not on +enchanted ground, but in deadly peril; that it was all a fools' +paradise from which some terrible shock would shortly awaken him. But +these periods of apprehension were, in themselves, mere shadows thrown +for a moment upon his happiness. Again and again the subconscious force +within him pounded home to his physical brain the great truth, that it +was all extraordinarily real. + +It was Marette who made him doubt himself at times. He could not, quite +yet, comprehend the fulness of that love which she had given him. More +than ever, in the glory of this love that had come to them she was like +a child to him. It seemed to him in the first hours of the morning that +she had forgotten yesterday, and the day before, and ill the days +before that. She was going home. She whispered that to him so often +that it became a little song in his brain. Yet she told him nothing of +that home, and he waited, knowing that the fulfilment of her promise +was not far away. And there was no embarrassment in the manner of her +surrender when he held her in his arms, and she held her face up, so +that he could kiss her mouth and look into her glowing, lovely eyes. +What he saw was the flush of a great happiness, the almost childish +confession of it along with the woman's joy of possession. And he +thought of Kedsty, and of the Law that was rousing itself into life +back at Athabasca Landing. + +And then she ran her fingers through his own and told him to wait, and +ran into the cabin and came out a moment later with her brush; and +after that she seated herself at the fulcrum of the big sweep and began +to brush out her hair in the sun. + +"I'm glad you love it, Jeems," she said. + +She unbound the thick braid and let the silken strands of it run +caressingly between her fingers. She smoothed it out, brushed it until +it was more beautiful than he had ever seen it, in that glow of the +sun. She held it up so that it rippled out in shimmering cascades about +her--and then, suddenly, Kent saw the short tress from which had been +clipped the rope of hair that he had taken from Kedsty's neck. And as +his lips tightened, crushing fiercely the exclamation of his horror, +there came a trembling happiness from Marette's lips, scarcely more +than the whisper of a song, the low, thrilling melody of Le Chaudiere. + +Her arms reached up, and she drew his head down to her, so that for a +time his visions were blinded in that sweet smother of her hair. + +The intimacy of that day was in itself like a dream. Hour after hour +they drifted deeper into the great North. The sun shone. The +forest-walled shores of the river grew mightier in their stillness and +their grandeur, and the vast silence of unpeopled places brooded over +the world. To Kent it was as if they were drifting through Paradise. +Occasionally he found it necessary to work the big sweep, for still +water was gradually giving way to a swifter current. + +Beyond that there was no labor for him to perform. It seemed to him +that with each of these wonderful hours danger was being left farther +and still farther behind them. Watching the shores, looking ahead, +listening for sound that might come from behind--at times possessed of +the exquisite thrills of children in their happiness--Kent and Marette +found the gulf of strangeness passing swiftly away from between them. + +They did not speak of Kedsty, or the tragedy, or again of the death of +John Barkley. But Kent told of his days in the North, of his aloneness, +of the wild, weird love in his soul for the deepest wildernesses. And +from that he went away back into dim and distant yesterdays, alive with +mellowed memories of boyhood days spent on a farm. To all these things +Marette listened with glowing eyes, with low laughter, or with breath +that rose or fell with his own emotions. + +She told of her own days down at school and of their appalling +loneliness; of childhood spent in the forests; of the desire to live +there always. But she did not speak intimately of herself or her life +in its more vital aspects; she said nothing of the home in the Valley +of Silent Men, nothing of father or mother, sisters or brothers. There +was no embarrassment in her omissions. And Kent did not question. He +knew that those were among the things she would tell him when that +promised hour came, the hour when he would tell her they were safe. + +There began to possess him now a growing eagerness for this hour, when +they should leave the river and take to the forests. He explained to +Marette why they could not float on indefinitely. The river was the one +great artery through which ran the blood of all traffic to the far +North. It was patrolled. Sooner or later they would be discovered. In +the forests, with a thousand untrod trails to choose, they would be +safe. He had only one reason for keeping to the river until they passed +through the Death Chute. It would carry them beyond a great swampy +region to the westward through which it would be impossible for them to +make their way at this season of the year. Otherwise he would have gone +ashore now. He loved the river, had faith in it, but he knew that not +until the deep forests swallowed them, as a vast ocean swallows a ship, +would they be beyond the peril that threatened them from the Landing. + +Three or four times between sunrise and noon they saw life ashore and +on the stream; once a scow tied to a tree, then an Indian camp, and +twice trappers' shacks built in the edge of little clearings. With the +beginning of afternoon Kent felt growing within him something that was +not altogether eagerness. It was, at times, a disturbing emotion, a +foreshadowing of evil, a warning for him to be on his guard. He used +the sweep more, to help their progress in the current, and he began to +measure time and distance with painstaking care. He recognized many +landmarks. + +By four o'clock, or five at the latest, they would strike the head of +the Chute. Ten minutes of its thrilling passage and he would work the +scow into the concealment he had in mind ashore, and no longer would he +fear the arm of the law that reached out from the Landing. As he +planned, he listened. From noon on he never ceased to listen for that +distant putt, putt, putt, that would give them a mile's warning of the +approach of the patrol launch. + +He did not keep his plans to himself. Marette sensed his growing +uneasiness, and he made her a partner of his thoughts. + +"If we hear the patrol before we reach the Chute, we'll still have time +to run ashore," he assured her. "And they won't catch us. We'll be +harder to find than two needles in a haystack. But it's best to be +prepared." + +So he brought out his pack and Marette's smaller bundle, and laid his +rifle and pistol holster across them. + +It was three o'clock when the character of the river began to change, +and Kent smiled happily. They were entering upon swifter waters. There +were places where the channel narrowed, and they sped through rapids. +Only where unbroken straight waters stretched out ahead of them did +Kent give his arms a rest at the sweep. And through most of the +straight water he added to the speed of the scow. Marette helped him. +In him the exquisite thrill of watching her slender, glorious body as +it worked with his own never grew old. She laughed at him over the big +oar between them. The wind and sun played riot in her hair. Her parted +lips were rose-red, her cheeks flushed, her eyes like sun-warmed rock +violets. More than once, in the thrill of that afternoon flight, as he +looked at the marvelous beauty of her, he asked himself if it could be +anything but a dream. And more than once he laughed joyously, and +paused in his swinging of the sweep, and proved that it was real and +true. And Kent thanked God, and worked harder. + +Once, a long time ago, Marette told him, she had been through the +Chute. It had horrified her then. She remembered it as a sort of death +monster, roaring for its victims. As they drew nearer to it, Kent told +her more about it. Only now and then was a life lost there now, he +said. At the mouth of the Chute there was a great, knife-like rock, +like a dragon's tooth, that cut the Chute into two roaring channels. If +a scow kept to the left-hand channel it was safe. There would be a +mighty roaring and thundering as it swept on its passage, but that +roaring of the Chute, he told her, was like the barking of a harmless +dog. + +Only when a scow became unmanageable, or hit the Dragon's Tooth, or +made the right-hand channel instead of the left, was there tragedy. +There was that delightful little note of laughter in Marette's throat +when Kent told her that. + +"You mean, Jeems, that if one of three possible things doesn't happen, +we'll get through safely?" + +"None of them is possible--with us," he corrected himself quickly. +"We've a tight little scow, we're not going to hit the rock, and we'll +make the left-hand channel so smoothly you won't know when it happens." +He smiled at her with splendid confidence. "I've been through it a +hundred times," he said. + +He listened. Then, suddenly, he drew out his watch. It was a quarter of +four. Marette's ears caught what he heard. In the air was a low, +trembling murmur. It was growing slowly but steadily. He nodded when +she looked at him, the question in her eyes. + +"The rapids at the head of the Chute!" he cried, his voice vibrant with +joy. "We've beat them out. WE'RE SAFE!" + +They swung around a bend, and the white spume of the rapids lay half a +mile ahead of them. The current began to race with them now. Kent put +his whole weight on the sweep to keep the scow in mid-channel. + +"We're safe," he repeated. "Do you understand, Marette? WE'RE SAFE!" + +He was speaking the words for which she had waited, was telling her +that at last the hour had come when she could keep her promise to him. +The words, as he gave them voice, thrilled him. He felt like shouting +them. And then all at once he saw the change that had come into her +face. Her wide, startled eyes were not looking at him, but beyond. She +was looking back in the direction from which they had come, and even as +he stared her face grew white. + +"LISTEN!" + +She was tense, rigid. He turned his head. And in that moment it came to +him above the growing murmur of the river--the PUTT, PUTT, PUTT of the +Police patrol boat from Athabasca Landing! + +A deep breath came from between his lips. When Marette took her eyes +from the river and looked at him, his face was like carven rock. He was +staring dead ahead. + +"We can't make the Chute," he said, his voice sounding hard and unreal +to her. "If we do, they'll be up with us before we can land at the +other end. We must let this current drive us ashore--NOW." + +As he made his decision, he put the strength of his body into action. +He knew there was not the hundredth part of a second to lose. The +outreaching suction of the rapids was already gripping the scow, and +with mighty strokes he fought to work the head of his craft toward the +westward shore. With swift understanding Marette saw the priceless +value of a few seconds of time. If they were caught in the stronger +swirl of the rapids before the shore was reached, they would be forced +to run the Chute, and in that event the launch would be upon them +before they could make a landing farther on. She sprang to Kent's side +and added her own strength in the working of the sweep. Foot by foot +and yard by yard the scow made precious westing, and Kent's face +lighted up with triumph as he nodded ahead to a timbered point that +thrust itself out like a stubby thumb into the river. Beyond that point +the rapids were frothing white, and they could see the first black +walls of rock that marked the beginning of the Chute. + +"We'll make it," he smiled confidently. "We'll hit that timbered point +close inshore. I don't see where the launch can make a landing anywhere +within a mile of the Chute. And once ashore we'll make trail about five +times as fast they can follow it." Marette's face was no longer pale, +but flushed with excitement. He caught the white gleam of teeth between +her parted lips. Her eyes shone gloriously, and he laughed. + +"You beautiful little fighter," he cried exultantly. "You--you--" + +His words were cut short by a snap that was like the report of a pistol +close to his ears. He pitched forward and crashed to the bottom of the +scow, Marette's slim body clutched in his arms as he fell. In a flash +they were up, and mutely they stared where the sweep had been. The +blade of it was gone. Kent was conscious of hearing a little cry from +the girl at his side, and then her fingers were gripping tightly again +about his thumb. No longer possessed of the power of guidance, the scow +swung sideways. It swept past the wooded point. The white maelstrom of +the lower rapids seized upon it. And Kent, looking ahead to the black +maw of the death-trap that was waiting for them, drew Marette close in +his arms and held her tight. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +For a brief space after the breaking of the scow-sweep Kent did not +move. He felt Marette's arms closing tighter and tighter around his +neck. He caught a flash of her upturned face, the flush of a few +moments before replaced by a deathly pallor, and he knew that without +explanation on his part she understood the almost hopeless situation +they were in. He was glad of that. It gave him a sense of relief to +know that she would not go into a panic, no matter what happened. He +bowed his face to hers, so that he felt the velvety smoothness of her +cheek. She turned her mouth to him, and they kissed. His embrace was +crushing for a moment, fierce with his love for her, desperate with his +determination to keep her from harm. + +His brain was working swiftly. There was possibly one chance in ten +that the scow--rudderless and without human guidance--would sweep +safely between the black walls and jagged teeth of the Chute. Even if +the scow made this passage, they would be in the power of the Police, +unless some splendid whimsicality of Fate sent it ashore before the +launch came through. + +On the other hand, if it was carried far enough through the lower +rapids, they might swim. And--there was the rifle laying across the +pack. That, after all, was his greatest hope--if the scow made the +passage of the Chute. The bulwarks of the scow would give them greater +protection than the thinner walls of the launch would give to their +pursuers. In his heart there raged suddenly a hatred for that Law of +which he had been a part. It was running them to destruction, and he +would fight. There would not be more than three men in the launch, and +he would kill them, if killing became a necessity. + +They were speeding like an unbridled race-horse through the boiling +rapids now. The clumsy craft under their feet twisted and turned. The +dripping tops of great rocks shot past a little out of their channel. +And Marette, with one arm still about his neck, was facing the peril +ahead with him. They could see the Dragon's Tooth, black and grim, +waiting squarely in their path. In another hundred and twenty seconds +they would be upon it--or past it. There was no time for Kent to +explain. He sprang to his pack, whipped a knife from his pocket, and +cut the stout babiche rope that reenforced its straps. In another +instant he was back at Marette's side, fastening the babiche about her +waist. The other end he gave to her, and she tied it about his wrist. +She smiled as she finished the knot. It was a strange, tense little +smile, but it told him that she was not afraid, that she had great +faith in him, and knew what the babiche meant. + +"I can swim, Jeems," she cried. "If we strike the rock." + +She did not finish because of the sudden cry that came to his lips. He +had almost forgotten the most vital of all things. There was not time +to unlace his boots. With his knife he cut the laces in a single +downward thrust. Swiftly he freed his own feet, and Marette's. Even in +this hour of their peril it thrilled him to see how quickly Marette +responded to the thoughts that moved him. She tore at her outer +garments and slipped them off as he wriggled out of his heavy shirt. A +slim, white-underskirted little thing, her glorious hair flying in the +wind that came through the Chute, her throat and arms bare, her eyes +shining at Kent, she came again close within his arms, and her lips +framed softly his name. And a moment later she turned her face up, and +cried quickly, + +"Kiss me, Jeems--kiss me--" + +Her warm lips clung to his, and her bare arms encircled his neck with +the choking grip of a child's. He looked ahead and braced himself on +his feet, and after that he buried one of his hands in the soft mass of +her hair and pressed her face against his naked breast. + +Ten seconds later the crash came. Squarely amidships the scow struck +the Dragon's Tooth. Kent was prepared for the shock, but his attempt to +hold his feet, with Marette in his arms, was futile. The bulwark saved +them from crashing against the slippery face of the rock itself. Amid +the roar of water that filled his ears he was conscious of the rending +of timbers. The scow bulged up with the mighty force beneath, and for a +second or two it seemed as though that force was going to overturn and +submerge it. Then slowly it began to slip off the nose of the rock. + +Holding to the rail with one hand and clinging to Marette with his +other arm, Kent was gripped in the horror of what was happening. The +scow was slipping INTO THE RIGHT HAND CHANNEL! In that channel there +was no hope--only death. + +Marette was squarely facing the thing ahead. In this hour when each +second held a lifetime of suspense Kent saw that she understood. Yet +she did not cry out. Her face was dead white. Her hair and arms and +shoulders were dripping with the splash of water. But she was not +terrified as he had seen terror. When she turned her eyes to him, he +was amazed by the quiet, calm look that was in them. Her lips trembled. + +His soul expressed itself in a wordless cry that was drowned in another +crash of timber as a jutting snag of the Tooth crumpled up the little +cabin as if it had been pasteboard. He felt overwhelming him the surge +of a thing mightier than the menace of the Chute. He could not lose! It +was inconceivable. Impossible! With HER to fight for--this slim, +wonderful creature who smiled at him even as she saw death. + +And then, as his arm closed still more tightly about her, the monsters +of power and death gave him their answer. The scow swung free of the +Dragon's Tooth, half-filled with water. Its cracked and broken carcass +was caught in the rock jaws of the eastern channel. It ceased to be a +floating thing. It was inundation, dissolution, utter obliteration +almost without shock. And Kent found himself in the thundering rush of +waters, holding to Marette. + +For a space they were under. Black water and white froth fumed and +exploded over them. It seemed an age before fresh air filled Kent's +nostrils. He thrust Marette upward and cried out to her. He heard her +answer. + +"I'm all right--Jeems!" + +His swimming prowess was of little avail now. He was like a chip. All +his effort was to make of himself a barrier between Marette's soft body +and the rocks. It was not the water itself that he feared, but the +rocks. + +There were scores and hundreds of them, like the teeth of a mighty +grinding machine. And the jaw was a quarter of a mile in length. He +felt the first shock, the second, the third. He was not thinking of +time or distance, but was fighting solely to keep himself between +Marette and death. The first time he failed, a blind sort of rage +burned in his brain. + +He saw her white body strained over a slippery, deluge-worn rock. Her +head was flung back, and he saw the long masses of her hair streaming +out in the white froth, and he thought for an instant that her fragile +body had been broken. He fought still more fiercely after that. And she +knew for what he was fighting. Only in an unreal sort of way was he +conscious of shock and hurt. It gave him no physical pain. Yet he +sensed the growing dizziness in his head, an increasing lack of +strength in his arms and body. + +They were halfway through the Chute when he shot against a rock with +terrific force. The contact tore Marette from him. He plunged for her, +missed his grip, and then saw her opposite him, clinging to the same +rock. The babiche rope had saved her. Fastened about her waist and tied +to his wrist, it still held them together--with the five feet of rock +between them. + +Panting, their life half beaten out of them, their eyes met over that +rock. Now that he was out of the water, the blood began streaming from +Kent's arms and shoulders and face, but he smiled at her as a few +moments before she had smiled at him. Her eyes were filled with the +pain of his hurts. He nodded back in the direction from which they had +come. + +"We're out of the worst of it," he tried to shout. "As soon as we've +got our wind, I will climb over the rock to you. It won't take us +longer than a couple of minutes, perhaps less, to make the quiet water +at the end of the channel." + +She heard him and nodded her reply. He wanted to give her confidence. +And he had no intention of resting, for her position filled him with a +terror which he fought to hide. The babiche rope, not half as large +around as his little finger, had swung her to the downstream side of +the rock. It was the slender thread of buckskin and his own weight that +were holding her. If the buckskin should break-- + +He thanked God that it was the tough babiche that had been around his +pack. An inch at a time he began to draw himself up on the rock. The +undertow behind the rock had flung a mass of Marette's long hair toward +him, so that it was a foot or two nearer to him than her clinging +hands. He worked himself toward that, for he saw that he could reach it +more quickly than he could reach her. At the same time he had to keep +his end of the babiche taut. It was, from the beginning, an almost +superhuman task. The rock was slippery as oil. Twice his eyes shot +down-stream, with the thought that it might be better to cast himself +bodily into the water, and after that draw Marette to him by means of +the babiche. What he saw convinced him that such action would be fatal. +He must have Marette in his arms. If he lost her--even for a few +seconds--the life would be beaten from her body in that rock-strewn +maelstrom below. + +And then, suddenly, the babiche cord about his wrist grew loose. The +reaction almost threw him back. With the loosening of it a cry came +from Marette. It all happened in an instant, in almost less time than +his brain could seize upon the significance of it--the slipping of her +hands from the rock, the shooting of her white body away from him in +the still whiter spume of the rapids, The rock had cut the babiche, and +she was gone! With a cry that was like the cry of a madman he plunged +after her. The water engulfed him. He twisted himself up, freeing +himself from the undertow. Twenty feet ahead of him--thirty--he caught +a glimpse of a white arm and then of Marette's face, before she +disappeared in a wall of froth. + +Into that froth he shot after her. He came out of it blinded, groping +wildly for her, crying out her name. His fingers caught the end of the +babiche that was fastened about his own wrist, and he clutched it +savagely, believing for a moment that he had found her. Thicker and +more deadly the rocks of the lower passage rose in his way. They seemed +like living things, like devils filled with the desire to torture and +destroy. They struck and beat at him. Their laughter was the roar of a +Niagara. He no longer cried out. His brain grew heavy, and clubs were +beating him--beating and breaking him into a formless thing. The +rock-drifts of spume, lather-white, like the frosting of a monster +cake, turned gray and then black. + +He did not know when he ceased fighting. The day went out. Night came. +The world was oblivion. And for a space he ceased to live. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +An hour later the fighting forces in his body dragged Kent back into +existence. He opened his eyes. The shock of what had happened did not +at once fall upon him. His first sensation was of awakening from a +sleep that had been filled with pain and horror. + +Then he saw a black rock wall opposite him; he heard the sullen roar of +the stream; his eyes fell upon a vivid patch of light reflected from +the setting sun. He dragged himself up until he was on his knees, and +all at once a thing that was like an iron hoop--choking his +senses--seemed to break in his head, and he staggered to his feet, +crying out Marette's name. Understanding inundated him with its horror, +deadening his tongue after that first cry, filling his throat with a +moaning, sobbing agony. Marette was gone. She was lost. She was dead. + +Swiftly, as reason came, his eyes took in his environment. For a +quarter of a mile above him he could see the white spume between the +chasm walls, darkening with the approach of night. He could hear more +clearly the roar of the death-floods. But close to him was smooth +water, and he stood now on a shelving tongue of rock and shale, upon +which the current had flung him. In front of him was a rock wall. +Behind him was another. There was no footing except where he stood. And +Marette was not with him. + +Only the truth could batter at his brain as he stood there. But his +physical self refused to accept that truth. If he had lived, she must +live! She was there--somewhere--along the shore--among the rocks-- + +The moaning in his throat gave way to the voicing of her name. He +shouted, and listened. He swayed back along the tongue of rock to the +boulder-strewn edge of the chasm wall. A hundred yards farther on was +the opening of the Chute. He came out of this, his clothes torn from +him, his body bleeding, unrecognizable, half a madman,--shouting her +name more and more loudly. The glow of the setting sun struck him at +last. He was out from between the chasm walls, and it lighted up the +green world for him. Ahead of him the river widened and swept on in +tranquil quiet. + +And now it was no longer fear that possessed him. It was the horrible, +overwhelming certainty of the thing. The years fell from him, and he +sobbed--sobbed like a boy stricken by some great childish grief, as he +searched along the edge of the shore. Over and over again he cried and +whispered Marette's name. + +But he did not shout it again, for he knew that she was dead. She was +gone from him forever. Yet he did not cease to search. The last of the +sun went out. Twilight came, and then darkness. Even in that darkness +he continued to search for a mile below the Chute, calling her name +more loudly now, and listening always for the answer which he knew +would never come. The moon came out after a time, and hour after hour +he kept up his hopeless quest. He did not know how badly the rocks had +battered and hurt him, and he scarcely knew when it was that exhaustion +dropped him like a dead man in his tracks. When dawn came, it found him +wandering away from the river, and toward noon of that day, he was +found by Andre Boileau, the old white-haired half-breed who trapped on +Burntwood Creek. Andre was shocked at the sight of his wounds and half +dragged and half carried him to his shack hidden away in the forest. + +For six days thereafter Kent remained at old Andre's place, simply +because he had neither the strength nor the reason to move. Andre +wondered that there were no broken bones in him. But his head was +terribly hurt, and it was that hurt that for three days and three +nights made Kent hover with nerve-racking indecision between life and +death. The fourth day reason came back to him, and Boileau fed him +venison broth. The fifth day he stood up. The sixth he thanked Andre, +and said that he was ready to go. + +Andre outfitted him with old clothes, gave him a supply of food and +God's blessing. And Kent returned to the Chute, giving Andre to +understand that his destination was Athabasca Landing. + +Kent knew that it was not wise for him to return to the river. He knew +that it would have been better for him both in mind and body had he +gone in the opposite direction. But he no longer had in him the desire +to fight, even for himself. He followed the lines of least resistance, +and these led him back to the scene of the tragedy. His grief, when he +returned, was no longer the heartbreaking agony of that first night. It +was a deep-seated, consuming fire that had already burned him out, +heart and soul. Even caution was dead in him. He feared nothing, +avoided nothing. Had the police boat been at the Chute, he would have +revealed himself without any thought of self-preservation. A ray of +hope would have been precious medicine to him. But there was no hope. +Marette was dead. Her tender body was destroyed. And he was alone, +unfathomably and hopelessly alone. + +And now, after he had reached the river again, something held him +there. From the head of the Chute to a bend in the river two miles +below, his feet wore a beaten trail. Three or four times a day he would +make the trip, and along the path he set a few snares in which he +caught rabbits for food. Each night he made his bed in a crevice among +the rocks at the foot of the Chute. At the end of a week the old Jim +Kent was dead. Even O'Connor would not have recognized him with his +shaggy growth of beard, his hollow eyes, and the sunken cheeks which +the beard failed to hide. + +And the fighting spirit in him also was dead. Once or twice there +leaped up in him a sudden passion demanding vengeance upon the accursed +Law that was accountable for the death of Marette, but even this flame +snuffed itself out quickly. + +And then, on the eighth day, he saw the edge of a thing that was almost +hidden under an overhanging bank. He fished it out. It was Marette's +little pack, and for many minutes before he opened it Kent crushed the +sodden treasure to his breast, staring with half-mad eyes down where he +had found it, as if Marette must be there, too. Then he ran with it to +an open space, where the sun fell warmly on a great, flat rock that was +level with the ground, and with sobbing breath he opened it. It was +filled with the things she had picked up quickly in her room the night +of their flight from Kedsty's bungalow, and as he drew them out one by +one and placed them in the sun on the rock, a new and sudden rush of +life swept through his veins, and he sprang to his feet and faced the +river again, as if at last a hope had come to him. Then he looked down +again upon what she had treasured, and reaching out his arms to them, +he whispered, + +"Marette--my little goddess--" + +Even in his grief the overwhelming mastery of his love for the one who +was dead brought a smile to his haggard and bearded face. For Marette, +in filling her little pack on that night of hurried flight, had chosen +strange things. On the sunlit rock, where he had placed them, were a +pair of the little pumps which he had fallen on his knees to worship in +her room, and with these she had crowded into the pack one of the +billowing, sweet-smelling dresses which had made his heart stand still +for a moment when he first looked into their hiding-place. It was no +longer soft and cobwebby as it had been then, like down fluttering +against his cheeks, but sodden and discolored, as it lay on the rock +with little rivulets of water running from it. + +With the shoes and the dress were the intimate necessities which +Marette had taken with her. But it was one of the pumps that Kent +picked up and crushed close to his ragged breast--one of the two she +had worn that first wonderful day she had come to see him at Cardigan's +place. + +This hour was the beginning of another change in Kent. It seemed to him +that a message had come to him from Marette herself, that the spirit of +her had returned to him and was with him now, stirring strange things +in his soul and warming his blood with a new heat. She was gone +forever, and yet she had come back to him, and the truth grew upon him +that this spirit of her would never leave him again as long as he +lived. He felt her nearness. Unconsciously he reached out his arms, and +a strange happiness entered Into him to battle with grief and +loneliness. His eyes shone with a new glow as they looked at her little +belongings on the sunlit rock. It was as if they were flesh and blood +of her, a part of her heart and soul. They were the voice of her faith +in him, her promise that she would be with him always. For the first +time in many days Kent felt a new force within him, and he knew that +she was not quite gone, that he had something of her left to fight for. + +That night he made his bed for a last time in the crevice between the +rocks, and his treasure was gathered within the protecting circle of +his arms as he slept. + +The next day he struck out north and east. On the fifth day after he +left the country of Andre Boileau he traded his watch to a half-breed +for a cheap gun, ammunition, a blanket, flour, and a cooking outfit. +After that he had no hesitation in burying himself still deeper into +the forests. + +A month later no one would have recognized Kent as the one-time crack +man of N Division. Bearded, ragged, long-haired, he wandered with no +other purpose than to be alone and to get still farther away from the +river. Occasionally he talked with an Indian or a half-breed. Each +night, though the weather was very warm, he made himself a small +camp-fire, for it was always in these hours, with the fire-light about +him, that he felt Marette was very near. It was then that he took out +one by one the precious things that were in Marette's little pack. He +worshipped these things. The dress and each of the little shoes he had +wrapped in the velvety inner bark of the birch tree. He protected them +from wet and storm. Had emergency called for it, he would have fought +for them. They became, after a time, more precious than his own life, +and in a vague sort of way at first he began to thank God that the +river had not robbed him of everything. + +Kent's inclination was not to fight himself into forgetfulness. He +wanted to remember every act, every word, every treasured caress that +chained him for all time to the love he had lost. Marette became more a +part of him every day. Dead in the flesh, she was always at his side, +nestling close in the shelter of his arms at night, walking with her +hand in his during the day. And in this belief his grief was softened +by the sweet and merciful comfort of a possession of which neither man +nor fate could rob him--a beloved Presence always with him. + +It was this Presence that rebuilt Kent. It urged him to throw up his +head again, to square his shoulders, to look life once more straight in +the face. It was both inspiration and courage to him and grew nearer +and dearer to him as time passed. Early Autumn found him in the Fond du +Lac country, two hundred miles east of Fort Chippewyan. That Winter he +joined a Frenchman, and until February they trapped along the edges of +the lower fingers of the Barrens. + +He came to think a great deal of Picard, his comrade. But he revealed +nothing of his secret to him, or of the new desire that was growing in +him. And as the Winter lengthened this desire became a deep and abiding +yearning. It was with him night and day. He dreamed of it when he +slept, and it was never out of his thoughts when awake. He wanted to go +HOME. And when he thought of home, it was not of the Landing, and not +of the country south. For him home meant only one place in the world +now--the place where Marette had lived. Somewhere, hidden in the +mountains far north and west, was that mysterious Valley of Silent Men +where they had been going when her body died. And the spirit of her +wanted him to go to it now. It was like a voice pleading with him, +urging him to go, to live there always where she had lived. He began to +plan, and in this planning he found new joy and new life. He would find +her home, her people, the valley that was to have been their paradise. +So late in February, with his share of the Winter catch in his pack, he +said good-by to Picard and faced the River again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Kent had not forgotten that he was an outlaw, but he was not afraid. +Now that he had something new and thrilling to fight for, he fell back +again upon what he called "the finesse of the game." He approached +Chippewyan cautiously, although he was sure that even his old friends +at the Landing would fail to recognize him now. His beard was four or +five inches long, and his hair was shaggy and uncut. Picard had made +him a coat, that winter, of young caribou skin, and it was fringed like +an Indian's. Kent chose his time and entered Chippewyan just before +dusk. + +Oil lamps were burning in the Hudson's Bay Company's store when he went +in with his furs. The place was empty, except for the factor's clerk, +and for an hour he bartered. He bought a new outfit, a Winchester +rifle, and all the supplies he could carry. He did not forget a razor +and a pair of shears, and when he was done he still had the value of +two silver fox skins in cash. He left Chippewyan that same night, and +by the light of a Winter moon made his camp half a dozen miles +northward toward Smith Landing. + +He was on the Slave River now and for weeks traveled slowly but +steadily northward on snowshoes. He avoided Fort Smith and Smith +Landing and struck westward before he came to Fort Resolution. It was +in April that he struck Hay River Post, where the Hay River empties +into Great Slave Lake. Until the ice broke up, Kent worked at Hay +River. When it was safe, he started down the Mackenzie in a canoe. It +was late in June when he turned up the Liard to the South Nahani. + +"You go straight through between the sources of the North and the South +Nahani," Marette had told him. "It is there you find the Sulphur +Country, and beyond the Sulphur Country is the Valley of Silent Men." + +At last he came to the edge of this country. He camped with the stink +of it in his nostrils. The moon rose, and he saw that desolate world as +through the fumes of a yellow smoke. With dawn he went on. + +He passed through broad, low morasses out of which rose sulphurous +fogs. Mile after mile he buried himself deeper in it, and it became +more and more a dead country, a lost hell. There were berry bushes on +which there grew no berries. There were forests and swamps, but without +a living creature to inhabit them. + +It was a country of water in which there were no fish, of air in which +there were no birds, of plants without flowers--a reeking, stinking +country still with the stillness of death. He began to turn yellow. His +clothing, his canoe, his hands, face--everything turned yellow. He +could not get the filthy taste of sulphur out of his mouth. Yet he kept +on, straight west by the compass Gowen had given him at Hay River. Even +this compass became yellow in his pocket. It was impossible for him to +eat. Only twice that day did he drink from his flask of water. + +And Marette had made this journey! He kept telling himself that. It was +the secret way in and out of their hidden world, a region accursed by +devils, a forbidden country to both Indian and white man. It was hard +for him to believe that she had come this way, that she had drunk in +the air that was filling his own lungs, nauseating him a dozen times to +the point of sickness. He worked desperately. He felt neither fatigue +nor the heat of the warm water about him. + +Night came, and the moon rose, lighting up with a sickly glow the +diseased world that had swallowed him. He lay in the bottom of his +canoe, covering his face with his caribou coat, and tried to sleep. But +sleep would not come. Before dawn he struck on, watching his compass by +the light of matches. All that day he made no effort to swallow food. +But with the coming of the second night he found the air easier to +breathe. He fought his way on by the light of the moon which was +clearer now. And at last, in a resting spell, he heard far ahead of him +the howl of a wolf. + +In his joy he cried out. A western breeze brought him air that he drank +in as a desert-stricken man drinks water. He did not look at his +compass again, but worked steadily in the face of that fresh air. An +hour later he found that he was paddling again a slow current, and when +he tasted the water it was only slightly tainted with sulphur. By +midnight the water was cool and clean. He landed on a shore of sand and +pebbles, stripped to the skin, and gave himself such a scouring as he +had never before experienced. He had worn his old trapping shirt and +trousers, and after his bath he changed to the outfit which he had kept +clean in his pack. Then he built a fire and ate his first meal in two +days. + +The next morning he climbed a tall spruce and surveyed the country +about him. Westward there was a broad low country shut in fifteen or +twenty miles away by the foothills. Beyond these foothills rose the +snow-capped peaks of the Rockies. He shaved himself, cut his hair, and +went on. That night he camped only when he could drive his canoe no +farther. The waterway had narrowed to a creek, and he was among the +first green shoulders of the hills when he stopped. With another dawn +he concealed his canoe in a sheltered place and went on with his pack. + +For a week he picked his way slowly westward. It was a splendid country +into which he had come, and yet he found no sign of human life. The +foothills changed to mountains, and he believed he was in the Campbell +Range. Also he knew that he had followed the logical trail from the +sulphur country. Yet it was the eighth day before he came upon a sign +which told him that another living being had at some time passed that +way. What he found were the charred remnants of an old camp-fire. It +had been a white man's fire. He knew that by the size of it. It had +been an all-night fire of green logs cut with an axe. + +On the tenth day he came to the westward slope of the first range and +looked down upon one of the most wonderful valleys his eyes had ever +beheld. It was more than a valley. It was a broad plain. Fifty miles +across it rose the towering majesty of the mightiest of all the Yukon +mountains. + +And now, though he saw a paradise about him, his heart began to sink +within him. It seemed to him inconceivable that in a country so vast he +could find the spot for which he was seeking. His one hope lay in +finding white men or Indians, some one who might guide him. + +He traveled slowly over the fifty-mile plain rich with a verdure of +green, covered with flowers, a game paradise. Few hunters had come so +far out of the Yukon mountains, he told himself. And none had come from +out of the sulphur country. It was a new and undiscovered world. On his +map it was a blank space. And there were no signs of people. Ahead of +him the Yukon mountains rose in an impenetrable wall, peak after peak, +crested with snow, towering like mighty watchdogs above the clouds. He +knew what lay beyond them--the great rivers of the Western slope, +Dawson City, the gold country and its civilization. But those things +were on the other side of the mountains. On his side there was only the +vast and undisputed silence of a paradise as yet unclaimed by man. + +As he went on into this valley there grew upon him a strange and +comforting peace. Yet with it there was a steadily increasing belief +that he would not find that for which he had come in search. He did not +attempt to analyze this belief. It became a part of him, just as his +mental tranquillity had grown upon him. His one hope of success was +that nearer the mountains he might find white men or Indians. + +He no longer used his compass, but guided himself by a cluster of three +gigantic peaks. One of these was taller than the other two. As he +journeyed, his eyes were always returning to it. It fascinated him, +impinged itself upon him as the watcher of a million years, guarding +the valley. He began to think of it as the Watcher. Each hour of his +progress seemed to bring it a little more intimately to his vision. +From his first night's camp in the valley he saw the moon sink behind +it. Within him a voice that never died kept whispering to him that this +mountain, greater than all the others, had been Marette's guardian. Ten +thousand times she must have looked at it, as he had looked at it that +day--if her home was anywhere this side of the Campbell Range. A +hundred miles away she could have seen the Watcher on a clear day. + +On the second day the mountain continued to grow upon Kent. By +mid-afternoon it began to take on a new character. The peak of it was +in the form of a mighty castle that changed as he advanced. And the two +lesser peaks were forming into definite contours. Before the haze of +twilight dimmed his vision, he knew that what he had seen was not a +whimsical invention of his imagination. The Watcher had grown into the +shape of a mighty human head facing south. A restless excitement +possessed him, and he traveled on long after dusk. At dawn he was on +the trail again. Westward the sky cleared, and suddenly he stopped, and +a cry came from him. + +The Watcher's head was there, as if chiseled by the hands of giants. +The two smaller peaks had unveiled their mystery. Startling and weird, +their crests had taken on the form of human heads. One of them was +looking north. The other faced the valley. And Kent, his heart +pounding, cried to himself, + +"The Silent Men!" + +He did not hear himself, but the thought itself was a tumultuous thing +within him. It came upon him like an inundation, a sudden and thrilling +inspiration backed by the forces of a visual truth. THE VALLEY OF +SILENT MEN. He repeated the words, staring at the three colossal heads +in the sky. Somewhere near them, under them,--one side or the +other--was Marette's hidden valley! + +He went on. A strange joy consumed him. In it, at times, his grief was +obliterated, and it seemed to him in these moments that Marette must +surely be at the valley to greet him when he came to it. But always the +tragedy of the Death Chute came back to him, and with it the thought +that the three giant heads were watching--and would always watch--for a +beloved lost one who would never return. As the sun went down that day, +the face bowed to the valley seemed alive with the fire of a living +question sent directly to Kent. + +"Where is she?" it asked. "Where is she? Where is she?" + +That night Kent did not sleep. + +The next day there lay ahead of him a low and broken range, the first +of the deeper mountains. He climbed this steadily, and at noon had +reached the crest. And he knew that at last he was looking down into +the Valley of Silent Men. It was not a wide valley, like the other. On +the far side of it, three or four miles away, rose the huge mountain +whose face was looking down upon the green meadows at its foot. +Southward Kent could see for a long distance, and in the vivid sunlight +he saw the shimmer of creeks and little lakes, and the rich glow of +thick patches of cedar and spruce and balsam, scattered like great rugs +of velvety luster amid the flowering green of the valley. Northward, +three or four miles away the range which he had climbed made a sharp +twist to the east, and that part of the valley--following the swing of +the range--was lost to him. He turned in this direction after he had +rested. It was four o'clock when he came to the elbow in the valley, +and could look down into the hidden part of it. + +What he saw at first was a giant cup hollowed out of the surrounding +mountains, a cup two miles from brim to brim, the end of the valley +itself. It took him a few moments to focus his vision so that it would +pick up the smaller and more intimate things half a mile under him, and +yet, before he had done this, a sound came up to him that set aquiver +every nerve in his body. It was the far-down, hollow-sounding barking +of a dog. + +The warm, golden haze that precedes sunset in the mountains, was +gathering between him and the valley, but through this he made out +after a time evidences of human habitation almost straight under him. +There was a small lake out of which ran a shimmering creek, and close +to this lake, yet equally near to the base of the mountain on which he +was standing, were a number of buildings and a stockade which looked +like a toy. He could see no animals, no movement of any kind. + +Without seeking for a downward trail he began to descend. Again he did +not question himself. An overwhelming certainty possessed him. Of all +places in the world this must be the Valley of Silent Men. + +And below him, flooded and half-hidden in the illusive sun-mist, was +Marette's old home. It seemed to him now that it belonged to him, that +he was a part of it, that in going to it he was achieving his last +great resting place, his final refuge, his own home. And the thought +became strangely a part of him that a welcome must be waiting for him +there. He hurried until his breath came pantingly between his lips and +he was forced to rest. And at last he found himself where his progress +was made a foot at a time, and again and again he was forced to climb +back and detour around treacherous slides and precipitous breaks which +left sheer falls at his feet. The mist thickened in the valley. The sun +sank behind the western peaks, and swiftly after that the gloom of +twilight deepened. It was seven o'clock when he came to the edge of the +plain, at least a mile below the elbow which shut out the cup in the +valley. He was exhausted. His hands were bruised and bleeding. Darkness +shut him in when he went on. + +When he rounded the elbow of the mountain, he did not try to keep back +the joyous cry that came to his lips. Ahead of him there were lights. A +few of them were scattered, but nearest to him he saw a cluster of +them, like the glow that comes from a number of illumined windows. He +quickened his pace as he drew nearer to them, and at last he wanted to +run. And then something stopped him, and it seemed to him that his +heart had risen into his throat and was choking him until he could not +breathe. + +It was a man's voice he heard, calling through the twilight gloom a +name. "Marette--Marette--Marette--" + +Kent tried to cry out, but his breath came only in a gasp. He felt +himself trembling. He reached out his arms, and a strange madness +rushed like fire into his brain. + +Again the voice called, "Marette--Marette--Marette--" + +The cup in the valley echoed the name. It rolled softly up the +mountainside. The air trembled with it, whispered it, passed it on--and +suddenly the madness in Kent found voice, and he shouted, + +"Marette--Marette--" + +He ran on. His knees felt weak. He shouted the name again, and the +other voice was silent. Things loomed up out of the mist ahead of him, +between him and the glowing windows. Some one--two people--were +advancing to meet him, doubtfully, wonderingly. Kent was staggering, +but he cried the name again, and this time it was a woman's cry that +answered, and one of the two came toward him swift as a flash of light. + +Three paces apart they stood, and in that gloom of the after-twilight +their burning eyes looked at each other, while for a space their bodies +remained stricken in the face of this miracle of a great and merciful +God. + +The dead had risen. By a mighty effort Kent reached out his arms, and +Marette swayed to him. When the other man came up, he found them +crumpled to their knees on the earth, clasped like children in each +other's arms. And as Kent raised his face, he saw that it was Sandy +McTrigger who was looking down at him, the man whose life he had saved +at Athabasca Landing. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +How long it was before his brain cleared, Kent never could have told. +It might have been a minute or an hour. Every vital force that was in +him had concentrated into a single consciousness--that the dead had +come to life, that it was Marette Radisson, the flesh and blood and +living warmth of her, he held in his arms. Like the flash of a picture +on a screen he had seen McTrigger's face close to him, and then his own +head was crushed down again, and if the valley had been filled with the +roar of cannon, he would have heard only one sound, a sobbing voice +crying over and over again, "Jeems--Jeems--Jeems--" + +It was McTrigger, in the beginning of the starlight, who alone looked +with clear vision upon the wonder of the thing that was happening. +After a little Kent realized that McTrigger was talking, that a hand +was on his shoulder, that the voice was both joyous and insistent. He +rose to his feet, still holding Marette, her arms clinging to him. Her +breath was sobbing and broken. And it was impossible for Kent to speak. +He seemed to stumble over the distance between them and the lights, +with McTrigger on the other side of Marette. It was McTrigger who +opened a door, and they came into a glow of lamplight. It was a great, +strange-looking room they entered. And over the threshold Marette's +hands dropped from Kent, and Kent stepped back, so that in the light +they faced each other, and in that moment came the marvelous +readjustment from shock and disbelief to a glorious certainty. + +Again Kent's brain was as clear as the day he faced death at the head +of the Chute. And swift as a hot barb a fear leaped into him as his +eyes met the eyes of the girl. She was terribly changed. Her face was +white with a whiteness that startled him. It was thin. Her eyes were +great, slumbering pools of violet, almost black in the lamp glow, and +her hair--piled high on her head as he had seen it that first day at +Cardigan's--added to the telltale pallor in her cheeks. A hand trembled +at her throat, and its thinness frightened him. For a space--a flash of +seconds--she looked at him as if possessed of the subconscious fear +that he was not Jim Kent, and then slowly her arms opened, and she +reached them out to him. She did not smile, she did not cry out, she +did not speak his name now; but her arms went round his neck as he took +her to him, and her face dropped on his breast. He looked at McTrigger. +A woman was standing beside him, a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, and +she had laid a hand on McTrigger's arm, Kent, looking at them, +understood. + +The woman came to him. "I had better take her now, m'sieu," she said. +"Malcolm--will tell you. And a little later,--you may see her again." + +Her voice was low and soft. At the sound of it Marette raised her head, +and her two hands stole to Kent's cheeks in their old sweet way, and +she whispered, + +"Kiss me, Jeems--my Jeems--kiss me--" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +A little later, clasping hands in the lamp glow, Kent and Sandy +McTrigger stood alone in the big room. In their handclasp was the warm +thrill of strong men met in an immutable brotherhood. Each had faced +death for the other. Yet this thought, subconsciously and forever a +part of them, expressed itself only in the grip of their fingers and in +the understanding that lay deep in their eyes. + +In Kent's face the great question was of Marette. McTrigger saw the +fear of it, and slowly he smiled, a glad and yet an anxious smile, as +he looked toward the door through which Marette and the older woman had +gone. + +"Thank God you have come in time!" he said, still holding Kent's hand. +"She thought you were dead. And I know, Kent, that it was killing her. +We had to watch her at night. Sometimes she would wander out into the +valley. She said she was looking for you. It was that way tonight." + +Kent gulped hard. "I understand now," he said. "It was the living soul +of her that was pulling me here. I--" + +He took his pack with its precious contents from his shoulders, +listening to McTrigger. They sat down. What McTrigger was saying seemed +of trifling consequence beside the fact that Marette was somewhere +beyond the other door, alive, and that he would see her again very +soon. He did not see why McTrigger should tell him that the older woman +was his wife. Even the fact that a splendid chance had thrown Marette +upon a log wedged between two rocks in the Chute, and that this log, +breaking away, had carried her to the opposite side of the river miles +below, was trivial with the thought that only a door separated them +now. But he listened. He heard McTrigger tell how Marette had searched +for him those days when he was lost in fever at Andre Boileau's cabin, +how she had given him up for dead, and how in those same days Laselle's +brigade had floated down, and she had come north with it. Later he +would marvel over these things, but now he listened, and his eyes +turned toward the door. It was then that McTrigger drove something +home. It was like a shot piercing Kent's brain. McTrigger was speaking +quietly of O'Connor. He said: + +"But you probably came by way of Fort Simpson, Kent, and O'Connor has +told you all this. It was he who brought Marette back home through the +Sulphur Country." + +"O'Connor!" + +Kent sprang to his feet. It took McTrigger but a moment to read the +truth in his face. + +"Good God, do you mean to tell me you don't know, Kent?" he whispered +tensely, rising in front of the other. "Haven't you seen O'Connor? +Haven't you come in touch with the Police anywhere within the last +year? Don't you know--?" + +"I know nothing," breathed Kent. + +For a space McTrigger stared at him in amazement + +"I have been in hiding," said Kent. "All this time I have been keeping +away from the Police." + +McTrigger drew a deep breath. Again his hands gripped Kent's, and his +voice was incredulous, filled with a great wonder. "And you have come +to her, to her old home, believing that Marette killed Kedsty! It is +hard to believe. And yet--" Into his face came suddenly a look of +grief, almost of pain, and Kent, following his eyes, saw that he was +looking at a big stone fireplace in the end of the room. + +"It was O'Connor who worked the thing out last Winter," he said, +speaking with, an effort. "I must tell you before you see her again. +You must understand everything. It will not do to have her tell you. +See--" + +Kent followed him to the fireplace. From the shelf over the stonework +McTrigger took a picture and gave it to him. It was a snapshot, the +picture of a bare-headed man standing in the open with the sun shining +on him. + +A low cry broke from Kent's lips. It was the great, gray ghost of a man +he had seen in the lightning flare that night from the window of his +hiding-place in Kedsty's bungalow. + +"My brother," said McTrigger chokingly. "I loved him. For forty years +we were comrades. And Marette belonged to us, half and half. It was +he--who killed--John Barkley." And then, after a moment in which +McTrigger fought to speak steadily, he added, "And it was he--my +brother--who also killed Inspector Kedsty." + +For a matter of seconds there was a dead silence between them. +McTrigger looked into the fireplace instead of at Kent. Then he said: + +"He killed those men, but he didn't murder them, Kent. It couldn't be +called that. It was justice, single-man justice, without going to law. +If it wasn't for Marette, I wouldn't tell you about it--not the +horrible part of it. I don't like to bring it up in my memory. ... It +happened years ago. I was not married then, but my brother was ten +years older than I and had a wife. I think that Marette loves you as +Marie loved Donald. And Donald's love was more than that. It was +worship. We came into the new mountain country, the three of us, even +before the big strikes at Dawson and Bonanza. It was a wild country, a +savage country, and there were few women in it, but Marie came with +Donald. She was beautiful, with hair and eyes like Marette's. That was +the tragedy of it. + +"I won't tell you the details. They were terrible. It happened while +Donald and I were out on a hunt. Three men--white men--remember that, +Kent; WHITE MEN--came out of the North and stopped at the cabin. When +we returned, what we found there drove us mad. Marie died in Donald's +arms. And leaving her there, alone, we set out after the white-skinned +brutes who had destroyed her. Only a blizzard saved them, Kent. Their +trail was fresh when the storm came. Had it held off another two hours, +I, too, would have killed. + +"From that day Donald and I became man-hunters. We traced the back +trail of the three fiends and discovered who they were. Two years later +Donald found one of the three on the Yukon, and before he killed him he +made him verify the names of the other two. It was a long search after +that, Kent. It has covered thirty years. Donald grew old faster than I, +and I knew, after a time, that he was strangely mad. He would be gone +for months at a time, always searching for the two men. Ten years +passed, and then, one day, in the deep of Winter, we came on a cabin +home that had been stricken with the plague--the smallpox. It was the +home of Pierre Radisson and his wife Andrea. Both were dead. But there +was a little child still living, almost a babe in arms. We took her, +Donald and I. The child was--Marette." + +McTrigger had spoken almost in a monotone. He had not raised his eyes +from the ash of the fireplace. But now he looked up suddenly at Kent. + +"We worshipped her from the beginning," he said, his voice a bit husky. +"I hoped that love for her would save Donald. It did, in a way. But it +did not cure his madness, his desire for vengeance. We came farther +east. We found this marvelous valley, and gold in the mountains, +untouched by other men. We built here, and I hoped even more that the +glory of this new world we had discovered would help Donald to forget. +I married, and my wife loved Marette. We had a child, and then another, +and both died. We loved Marette more than ever after that. Anne, my +wife, was the daughter of a missioner and capable of educating Marette +up to a certain point. You will find this place filled with all kinds +of books, and reading, and music. But the time came when we thought we +must send Marette to Montreal. It broke her heart. And then--a long +time after--" + +McTrigger paused a moment, looking into Kent's eyes. "And then--one day +Donald came in from Dawson City, terrible in his madness, and told us +that he had found his men. One of them was John Barkley, the rich +timber man, and the other was Kedsty, Inspector of Police at Athabasca +Landing." + +Kent made no effort to speak. His amazement, as McTrigger had gone on, +was beyond the expression of words. The night held for him a cumulative +shock--the discovery that Marette was not dead, but alive, and now the +discovery that he, Jim Kent, was no longer a hunted man, and that it +was O'Connor, his old comrade, who had run the truth down. With dry +lips he simply nodded, urging McTrigger to continue. + +"I knew what would happen if Donald went after Barkley and Kedsty," +said the older man. "And it was impossible to hold him back. He was +mad, clean mad. There was just one thing for me to do. I left here +first, with the intention of warning the two brutes who had killed +Donald's wife. I knew, with the evidence in our hands, they could do +nothing but make a getaway. No matter how rich or powerful they were, +our evidence was complete, and through many years we had kept track of +the movements of our witnesses. I tried to explain to Donald that we +could send them to prison, but there was but one thought in his poor +sick mind--to kill. I was younger and beat him south. And after that I +made my fatal mistake. I thought I was far enough ahead of him to get +down to the line of rail and back before he arrived. You see, I figured +his love for Marette would take him to Montreal first, and I had made +up my mind to tell her everything so that she might understand the +necessity of holding him if he went to her. I wrote everything to her +and told her to remain in Montreal. How she did that, you know. She set +out for the North as soon as she received my letter." + +McTrigger's shoulders hunched lower. "Well, you know what happened, +Kent. Donald got ahead of me, after all. I came the day after Barkley +was killed. I took it as a kind fate that the day preceding the killing +I shot a grouse for my dinner, and as the bird was only wounded when I +picked it up, I got blood on the sleeves of my coat. I was arrested. +Kedsty, every one, was sure they had the real man. And I kept quiet, +except to maintain my innocence. I could say nothing that would turn +the law on Donald's trail. + +"After that, things happened quickly. You, my friend, made your false +confession to save one who had done you a poor service years ago. +Almost simultaneously with that, Marette had come. She came quietly, in +the night, and went straight to Kedsty. She told him everything, showed +him the written evidence, telling him this evidence was in the hands of +others and would be used if anything happened to her. Her power over +him was complete. As the price of her secrecy she demanded my release, +and in that black hour your confession gave Kedsty his opportunity. + +"He knew you were lying. He knew it was Donald who had killed Barkley. +Yet he was willing to sacrifice you to save himself. And Marette +remained in his house, waiting and watching for Donald, while I +searched for him on the trails. That is why she secretly lived in +Kedsty's house. She knew that Donald would come there sooner or later, +if I did not find him and get him away. And she was plotting how to +save you. + +"She loved you, Kent--from that first hour she came to you in the +hospital. And she tried to exact your freedom also as an added price +for her secrecy. But Kedsty had become like a cornered tiger. If he +freed you, he saw his whole world crumbling under his feet. He, too, +went a little mad, I think. He told Marette that he would not free you, +that he would go to the hangman first. Then, Kent, came the night of +your freedom, and a little later--Donald came to Kedsty's home. It was +he whom you saw that night out in the storm. He entered and killed +Kedsty. + +"Something dragged Marette down to the room that night. She found +Kedsty in his chair--dead. Donald was gone. It was then that you found +her there. Kent, she loved you--and you will never know how her heart +bled when she let you think she had killed Kedsty. She has told me +everything. It was her fear for Donald, her desire to keep all possible +suspicion from him until he was safe, that compelled her not to confide +even in you. Later, when she knew that Donald must be safe, she was +going to tell you. And then--you were separated at the Chute." +McTrigger paused, and Kent saw him choke back a grief that was still +like the fresh cut of a knife in his heart. + +"And O'Connor found out all this?" + +McTrigger nodded. "Yes. He defied Kedsty's command to go to Fort +Simpson and was on his way back to Athabasca Landing when he found my +brother. It is strange how all things happened, Kent. But I guess God +must have meant it that way. Donald was dying. And in dying, for a +space, his old reason returned to him. It was from him, before he died, +that O'Connor learned everything. The story is known everywhere now. It +is marvelous that you did not hear--" + +There came an interruption, the opening of a door. Anne McTrigger stood +looking at them where a little time before she had disappeared with +Marette. There was a glad smile in her face. Her dark eyes were glowing +with a new happiness. First they rested on McTrigger's face, and then +on Kent's. + +"Marette is much better," she said in her soft voice. "She is waiting +to see you, M'sieu Kent. Will you come now?" + +Like one in a dream Kent went toward her. He picked up his pack, for +with its precious contents it had become to him like his own flesh and +blood. And as the woman led the way and Kent followed her, McTrigger +did not move from the fireplace. In a little while Anne McTrigger came +back into the room. Her beautiful eyes were aglow. She was smiling +softly, and putting her arms about the shoulders of the man at the +fireplace, she whispered: + +"I have looked at the night through the window, Malcolm. I think that +the stars are bigger and brighter than they have been in a long time. +And the Watcher seems like a living god up in the sky. Come, please." + +She took his hand, and Malcolm went with her. Over their heads burned a +glory of stars. The wind came gently up the valley, cool with the +freshness of the mountain-tops, sweet with the smell of meadow and +flowers. And when the woman pointed through the glow, Malcolm McTrigger +looked up at the Watcher, and for an instant he fancied that he saw +what she had seen--something that was life instead of death, a glow of +understanding and of triumph in the mighty face of stone above the lace +mists of the clouds. For a long time they walked on, and deep in the +heart of the woman a voice cried out again and again that the Watcher +knew, and that it was a living joy she saw up there, for up to that +unmoving and voiceless god of the mountains she had cried and laughed +and sung--and even prayed; and with her Marette had also done these +things, until at last the pulse and beat of women's souls had given a +spirit to a form of rock. + +Back in the chateau which Malcolm McTrigger and his brother Donald had +built of logs, in a room whose windows faced the Watcher himself, +Marette was unveiling the last of mystery for Jim Kent. And this, too, +was her hour of triumph. Her lips were red and warm with the flush +brought there by Kent's love. + +Her face was like the wild roses he had crushed under his feet all that +day. For in this hour the world had come to her, and had prostrated +itself at her feet. The sacred contents of the pack were in her lap as +she leaned back in the great blanketed and pillowed chair that had been +her invalid's nest for many days. But it was an invalid's nest no +longer. The floods of life were pounding through her body again, and in +that hour when Malcolm McTrigger and his wife were gone, Kent looked +upon the miracle of its change. And now Marette gave to him a little +packet, and while Kent opened it she raised both hands to her head and +unbound her hair so that it fell about her in shining and glorious +confusion. + +Kent, unwrapping a last bit of tissue-paper, found in his hands a long +tress of hair. + +"See, Jeems, it has grown fast since I cut it that night." + +She leaned a little toward him, parting her hair with slim, white +fingers so that he saw again where the hair had been clipped the night +of Kedsty's death. + +And then she said: "You may keep it always if you want to, Jeems, for I +cut it from my head when I left you in the room below, and when +you--almost--believed I had killed Kedsty. It was this--" + +She gave him another packet, and her lips tightened a little as Kent +unwrapped it, and another tress of hair shimmered in the lamp glow. + +"That was father Donald's," she whispered. + +"It--it was all he had left of Marie, his wife. And that night--when +Kedsty died--" + +"I understand," cried Kent, stopping her. "He choked Kedsty with it +until he was dead. And when I found it around Kedsty's neck--you--you +let me think it was yours--to save father Donald!" + +She nodded. "Yes, Jeems. If the police had come, they would have +thought I was guilty. I planned to let them think so until father +Donald was safe. But all the time I had here in my breast this other +tress, which would prove that I was innocent--when the time came. And +now, Jeems--" + +She smiled at him again and reached out her hands. "Oh, I feel so +strong! And I want to take you out now--and show you my +valley--Jeems--our valley--yours and mine--in the starlight. Not +tomorrow, Jeems. But tonight. Now." + +A little later the Watcher looked down on them, even as it had looked +down on another man and another woman who had preceded them. But the +stars were bigger and brighter, and the white cap of snow that rested +on the Watcher's head like a crown caught the faint gleam of a far-away +light; and after that, slowly and wonderfully, other snow-crested +mountain-tops caught that greeting radiance of the moon. But it was the +Watcher who stood out like a mighty god among them all, and when they +came to the elbow in the plain, Marette drew Kent down beside her on a +great flat rock and laughed softly as she held his hand tightly in her +lap. + +"Always, from a little child, I have sat and played on this rock, with +the Watcher looking, like that," she said in a low voice. "I have grown +to love him, Jeems. And I have always believed that he was gazing off +there, night and day, into the east, watching for something that was +coming to me. Now I know. It was you, Jeems. And, Jeems, when I was +away--down there in the big city--" + +Her fingers gripped his thumb in their old way, and Kent waited. + +"It was the Watcher that made me want to come home most of all," she +went on, a bit of tremble in her voice. "Oh, I grew lonely for him, and +I could see him in my dreams at night, watching, watching, watching, +and sometimes even calling me. Jeems, do you see that hump on his left +shoulder, like a great epaulet?" + +"Yes, I see," said Kent. + +"Beyond that, on a straight line from here--hundreds of miles away--are +Dawson City, the Yukon, the big gold country, men, women, civilization. +Father Malcolm and father Donald have never found but one trail to this +side of the mountains, and I have been over it three times--to Dawson. +But the Watcher's back is on those things. Sometimes I imagine it was +he who built those great ramparts through which few men come. He wants +this valley alone. And so do I. Alone--with you, and with my people." + +Kent drew her close in his arms. "When you are stronger," he whispered, +"we will go over that hidden trail together, past the Watcher, toward +Dawson. For it must be that over there--we will find--a missioner--" He +paused. + +"Please go on, Jeems." + +"And you will be--my wife." + +"Yes, yes, Jeems--forever and ever. But, Jeems"--her arms crept up +about his neck--"very soon it will be the first of August." + +"Yes--?" + +"And in that month there come through the mountains, each year, a man +and a woman to visit us--mother Anne's father and mother. And mother +Anne's father--" + +"Yes--?" + +"Is a missioner, Jeems." + +And Kent, looking up in this hour of his triumph and joy, believed that +in the Watcher's face he caught for an instant the passing radiance of +a smile. + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Valley of Silent Men, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN *** + +***** This file should be named 4707.txt or 4707.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/0/4707/ + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. 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Thus, we usually do not +keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + + + + + + + + + + +THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN + +A STORY OF THE THREE RIVER COUNTRY + +BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + +AUTHOR OF "THE RIVER'S END," ETC. + + + + + +THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN + + +Before the railroad's thin lines of steel bit their way up through +the wilderness, Athabasca Landing was the picturesque threshold +over which one must step who would enter into the mystery and +adventure of the great white North. It is still Iskwatam--the +"door" which opens to the lower reaches of the Athabasca, the +Slave, and the Mackenzie. It is somewhat difficult to find on the +map, yet it is there, because its history is written in more than +a hundred and forty years of romance and tragedy and adventure in +the lives of men, and is not easily forgotten. Over the old trail +it was about a hundred and fifty miles north of Edmonton. The +railroad has brought it nearer to that base of civilization, but +beyond it the wilderness still howls as it has howled for a +thousand years, and the waters of a continent flow north and into +the Arctic Ocean. It is possible that the beautiful dream of the +real-estate dealers may come true, for the most avid of all the +sportsmen of the earth, the money-hunters, have come up on the +bumpy railroad that sometimes lights its sleeping cars with +lanterns, and with them have come typewriters, and stenographers, +and the art of printing advertisements, and the Golden Rule of +those who sell handfuls of earth to hopeful purchasers thousands +of miles away--"Do others as they would do you." And with it, too, +has come the legitimate business of barter and trade, with eyes on +all that treasure of the North which lies between the Grand Rapids +of the Athabasca and the edge of the polar sea. But still more +beautiful than the dream of fortunes quickly made is the deep- +forest superstition that the spirits of the wilderness dead move +onward as steam and steel advance, and if this is so, the ghosts +of a thousand Pierres and Jacquelines have risen uneasily from +their graves at Athabasca Landing, hunting a new quiet farther +north. + +For it was Pierre and Jacqueline, Henri and Marie, Jacques and his +Jeanne, whose brown hands for a hundred and forty years opened and +closed this door. And those hands still master a savage world for +two thousand miles north of that threshold of Athabasca Landing. +South of it a wheezy engine drags up the freight that came not so +many months ago by boat. + +It is over this threshold that the dark eyes of Pierre and +Jacqueline, Henri and Marie, Jacques and his Jeanne, look into the +blue and the gray and the sometimes watery ones of a destroying +civilization. And there it is that the shriek of a mad locomotive +mingles with their age-old river chants; the smut of coal drifts +over their forests; the phonograph screeches its reply to le +violon; and Pierre and Henri and Jacques no longer find themselves +the kings of the earth when they come in from far countries with +their precious cargoes of furs. And they no longer swagger and +tell loud-voiced adventure, or sing their wild river songs in the +same old abandon, for there are streets at Athabasca Landing now, +and hotels, and schools, and rules and regulations of a kind new +and terrifying to the bold of the old voyageurs. + +It seems only yesterday that the railroad was not there, and a +great world of wilderness lay between the Landing and the upper +rim of civilization. And when word first came that a steam thing +was eating its way up foot by foot through forest and swamp and +impassable muskeg, that word passed up and down the water-ways for +two thousand miles, a colossal joke, a stupendous bit of drollery, +the funniest thing that Pierre and Henri and Jacques had heard in +all their lives. And when Jacques wanted to impress upon Pierre +his utter disbelief of a thing, he would say: + +"It will happen, m'sieu, when the steam thing comes to the +Landing, when cow-beasts eat with the moose, and when our bread is +found for us in yonder swamps!" + +And the steam thing came, and cows grazed where moose had fed, and +bread WAS gathered close to the edge of the great swamps. Thus did +civilization break into Athabasca Landing. + +Northward from the Landing, for two thousand miles, reached the +domain of the rivermen. And the Landing, with its two hundred and +twenty-seven souls before the railroad came, was the wilderness +clearing-house which sat at the beginning of things. To it came +from the south all the freight which must go into the north; on +its flat river front were built the great scows which carried this +freight to the end of the earth. It was from the Landing that the +greatest of all river brigades set forth upon their long +adventures, and it was back to the Landing, perhaps a year or more +later, that still smaller scows and huge canoes brought as the +price of exchange their cargoes of furs. + +Thus for nearly a century and a half the larger craft, with their +great sweeps and their wild-throated crews, had gone DOWN the +river toward the Arctic Ocean, and the smaller craft, with their +still wilder crews, had come UP the river toward civilization. The +River, as the Landing speaks of it, is the Athabasca, with its +headwaters away off in the British Columbian mountains, where +Baptiste and McLeod, explorers of old, gave up their lives to find +where the cradle of it lay. And it sweeps past the Landing, a slow +and mighty giant, unswervingly on its way to the northern sea. +With it the river brigades set forth. For Pierre and Henri and +Jacques it is going from one end to the other of the earth. The +Athabasca ends and is replaced by the Slave, and the Slave empties +into Great Slave Lake, and from the narrow tip of that Lake the +Mackenzie carries on for more than a thousand miles to the sea. + +In this distance of the long water trail one sees and hears many +things. It is life. It is adventure. It is mystery and romance and +hazard. Its tales are so many that books could not hold them. In +the faces of men and women they are written. They lie buried in +graves so old that the forest trees grow over them. Epics of +tragedy, of love, of the fight to live! And as one goes farther +north, and still farther, just so do the stories of things that +have happened change. + +For the world is changing, the sun is changing, and the breeds of +men are changing. At the Landing in July there are seventeen hours +of sunlight; at Fort Chippewyan there are eighteen; at Fort +Resolution, Fort Simpson, and Fort Providence there are nineteen; +at the Great Bear twenty-one, and at Fort McPherson, close to the +polar sea, from twenty-two to twenty-three. And in December there +are also these hours of darkness. With light and darkness men +change, women change, and life changes. And Pierre and Henri and +Jacques meet them all, but always THEY are the same, chanting the +old songs, enshrining the old loves, dreaming the same dreams, and +worshiping always the same gods. They meet a thousand perils with +eyes that glisten with the love of adventure. + +The thunder of rapids and the howlings of storm do not frighten +them. Death has no fear for them. They grapple with it, wrestle +joyously with it, and are glorious when they win. Their blood is +red and strong. Their hearts are big. Their souls chant themselves +up to the skies. Yet they are simple as children, and when they +are afraid, it is of things which children fear. For in those +hearts of theirs is superstition--and also, perhaps, royal blood. +For princes and the sons of princes and the noblest aristocracy of +France were the first of the gentlemen adventurers who came with +ruffles on their sleeves and rapiers at their sides to seek furs +worth many times their weight in gold two hundred and fifty years +ago, and of these ancient forebears Pierre and Henri and Jacques, +with their Maries and Jeannes and Jacquelines, are the living +voices of today. + +And these voices tell many stories. Sometimes they whisper them, +as the wind would whisper, for there are stories weird and strange +that must be spoken softly. They darken no printed pages. The +trees listen to them beside red camp-fires at night. Lovers tell +them in the glad sunshine of day. Some of them are chanted in +song. Some of them come down through the generations, epics of the +wilderness, remembered from father to son. And each year there are +the new things to pass from mouth to mouth, from cabin to cabin, +from the lower reaches of the Mackenzie to the far end of the +world at Athabasca Landing. For the three rivers are always makers +of romance, of tragedy, of adventure. The story will never be +forgotten of how Follette and Ladouceur swam their mad race +through the Death Chute for love of the girl who waited at the +other end, or of how Campbell O'Doone, the red-headed giant at +Fort Resolution, fought the whole of a great brigade in his effort +to run away with a scow captain's daughter. + +And the brigade loved O'Doone, though it beat him, for these men +of the strong north love courage and daring. The epic of the lost +scow--how there were men who saw it disappear from under their +very eyes, floating upward and afterward riding swiftly away in +the skies--is told and retold by strong-faced men, deep in whose +eyes are the smoldering flames of an undying superstition, and +these same men thrill as they tell over again the strange and +unbelievable story of Hartshope, the aristocratic Englishman who +set off into the North in all the glory of monocle and +unprecedented luggage, and how he joined in a tribal war, became a +chief of the Dog Ribs, and married a dark-eyed, sleek-haired, +little Indian beauty, who is now the mother of his children. + +But deepest and most thrilling of all the stories they tell are +the stories of the long arm of the Law--that arm which reaches for +two thousand miles from Athabasca Landing to the polar sea, the +arm Of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. + +And of these it is the story of Jim Kent we are going to tell, of +Jim Kent and of Marette, that wonderful little goddess of the +Valley of Silent Men, in whose veins there must have run the blood +of fighting men--and of ancient queens. A story of the days before +the railroad came. + + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +In the mind of James Grenfell Kent, sergeant in the Royal +Northwest Mounted Police, there remained no shadow of a doubt. He +knew that he was dying. He had implicit faith in Cardigan, his +surgeon friend, and Cardigan had told him that what was left of +his life would be measured out in hours--perhaps in minutes or +seconds. It was an unusual case. There was one chance in fifty +that he might live two or three days, but there was no chance at +all that he would live more than three. The end might come with +any breath he drew into his lungs. That was the pathological +history of the thing, as far as medical and surgical science knew +of cases similar to his own. + +Personally, Kent did not feel like a dying man. His vision and his +brain were clear. He felt no pain, and only at infrequent +intervals was his temperature above normal. His voice was +particularly calm and natural. + +At first he had smiled incredulously when Cardigan broke the news. +That the bullet which a drunken half-breed had sent into his chest +two weeks before had nicked the arch of the aorta, thus forming an +aneurism, was a statement by Cardigan which did not sound +especially wicked or convincing to him. "Aorta" and "aneurism" +held about as much significance for him as his perichondrium or +the process of his stylomastoid. But Kent possessed an unswerving +passion to grip at facts in detail, a characteristic that had +largely helped him to earn the reputation of being the best man- +hunter in all the northland service. So he had insisted, and his +surgeon friend had explained. + +The aorta, he found, was the main blood-vessel arching over and +leading from the heart, and in nicking it the bullet had so +weakened its outer wall that it bulged out in the form of a sack, +just as the inner tube of an automobile tire bulges through the +outer casing when there is a blowout. + +"And when that sack gives way inside you," Cardigan had explained, +"you'll go like that!" He snapped a forefinger and thumb to drive +the fact home. + +After that it was merely a matter of common sense to believe, and +now, sure that he was about to die. Kent had acted. He was acting +in the full health of his mind and in extreme cognizance of the +paralyzing shock he was contributing as a final legacy to the +world at large, or at least to that part of it which knew him or +was interested. The tragedy of the thing did not oppress him. A +thousand times in his life he had discovered that humor and +tragedy were very closely related, and that there were times when +only the breadth of a hair separated the two. Many times he had +seen a laugh change suddenly to tears, and tears to laughter. + +The tableau, as it presented itself about his bedside now, amused +him. Its humor was grim, but even in these last hours of his life +he appreciated it. He had always more or less regarded life as a +joke--a very serious joke, but a joke for all that--a whimsical +and trickful sort of thing played by the Great Arbiter on humanity +at large; and this last count in his own life, as it was solemnly +and tragically ticking itself off, was the greatest joke of all. +The amazed faces that stared at him, their passing moments of +disbelief, their repressed but at times visible betrayals of +horror, the steadiness of their eyes, the tenseness of their lips +--all added to what he might have called, at another time, the +dramatic artistry of his last great adventure. + +That he was dying did not chill him, or make him afraid, or put a +tremble into his voice. The contemplation of throwing off the mere +habit of breathing had never at any stage of his thirty-six years +of life appalled him. Those years, because he had spent a +sufficient number of them in the raw places of the earth, had +given him a philosophy and viewpoint of his own, both of which he +kept unto himself without effort to impress them on other people. +He believed that life itself was the cheapest thing on the face of +all the earth. All other things had their limitations. + +There was so much water and so much land, so many mountains and so +many plains, so many square feet to live on and so many square +feet to be buried in. All things could be measured, and stood up, +and catalogued--except life itself. "Given time," he would say, "a +single pair of humans can populate all creation." Therefore, being +the cheapest of all things, it was true philosophy that life +should be the easiest of all things to give up when the necessity +came. + +Which is only another way of emphasizing that Kent was not, and +never had been, afraid to die. But it does not say that he +treasured life a whit less than the man in another room, who, a +day or so before, had fought like a lunatic before going under an +anesthetic for the amputation of a bad finger. No man had loved +life more than he. No man had lived nearer it. + +It had been a passion with him. Full of dreams, and always with +anticipations ahead, no matter how far short realizations fell, he +was an optimist, a lover of the sun and the moon and the stars, a +worshiper of the forests and of the mountains, a man who loved his +life, and who had fought for it, and yet who was ready--at the +last--to yield it up without a whimper when the fates asked for +it. + +Bolstered up against his pillows, he did not look the part of the +fiend he was confessing himself to be to the people about him. +Sickness had not emaciated him. The bronze of his lean, clean-cut +face had faded a little, but the tanning of wind and sun and +campfire was still there. His blue eyes were perhaps dulled +somewhat by the nearness of death. One would not have judged him +to be thirty-six, even though over one temple there was a streak +of gray in his blond hair--a heritage from his mother, who was +dead. Looking at him, as his lips quietly and calmly confessed +himself beyond the pale of men's sympathy or forgiveness, one +would have said that his crime was impossible. + +Through his window, as he sat bolstered up in his cot, Kent could +see the slow-moving shimmer of the great Athabasca River as it +moved on its way toward the Arctic Ocean. The sun was shining, and +he saw the cool, thick masses of the spruce and cedar forests +beyond, the rising undulations of wilderness ridges and hills, and +through that open window he caught the sweet scents that came with +a soft wind from out of the forests he had loved for so many +years. + +"They've been my best friends," he had said to Cardigan, "and when +this nice little thing you're promising happens to me, old man, I +want to go with my eyes on them." + +So his cot was close to the window. + +Nearest to him sat Cardigan. In his face, more than in any of the +others, was disbelief. Kedsty, Inspector of the Royal Northwest +Mounted Police, in charge of N Division during an indefinite leave +of absence of the superintendent, was paler even than the girl +whose nervous fingers were swiftly putting upon paper every word +that was spoken by those in the room. O'Connor, staff-sergeant, +was like one struck dumb. The little, smooth-faced Catholic +missioner whose presence as a witness Kent had requested, sat with +his thin fingers tightly interlaced, silently placing this among +all the other strange tragedies that the wilderness had given up +to him. They had all been Kent's friends, his intimate friends, +with the exception of the girl, whom Inspector Kedsty had borrowed +for the occasion. With the little missioner he had spent many an +evening, exchanging in mutual confidence the strange and +mysterious happenings of the deep forests, and of the great north +beyond the forests. O'Connor's friendship was a friendship bred of +the brotherhood of the trails. It was Kent and O'Connor who had +brought down the two Eskimo murderers from the mouth of the +Mackenzie, and the adventure had taken them fourteen months. Kent +loved O'Connor, with his red face, his red hair, and his big +heart, and to him the most tragic part of it all was that he was +breaking this friendship now. + +But it was Inspector Kedsty, commanding N Division, the biggest +and wildest division in all the Northland, that roused in Kent an +unusual emotion, even as he waited for that explosion just over +his heart which the surgeon had told him might occur at any +moment. On his death-bed his mind still worked analytically. And +Kedsty, since the moment he had entered the room, had puzzled +Kent. The commander of N Division was an unusual man. He was +sixty, with iron-gray hair, cold, almost colorless eyes in which +one would search long for a gleam of either mercy or fear, and a +nerve that Kent had never seen even slightly disturbed. It took +such a man, an iron man, to run N Division according to law, for N +Division covered an area of six hundred and twenty thousand square +miles of wildest North America, extending more than two thousand +miles north of the 70th parallel of latitude, with its farthest +limit three and one-half degrees within the Arctic Circle. To +police this area meant upholding the law in a country fourteen +times the size of the state of Ohio. And Kedsty was the man who +had performed this duty as only one other man had ever succeeded +in doing it. + +Yet Kedsty, of the five about Kent, was most disturbed. His face +was ash-gray. A number of times Kent had detected a broken note in +his voice. He had seen his hands grip at the arms of the chair he +sat in until the cords stood out on them as if about to burst. He +had never seen Kedsty sweat until now. + +Twice the Inspector had wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He +was no longer Minisak--"The Rock"--a name given to him by the +Crees. The armor that no shaft had ever penetrated seemed to have +dropped from him. He had ceased to be Kedsty, the most dreaded +inquisitor in the service. He was nervous, and Kent could see that +he was fighting to repossess himself. + +"Of course you know what this means to the Service," he said in a +hard, low voice. "It means--" + +"Disgrace," nodded Kent. "I know. It means a black spot on the +otherwise bright escutcheon of N Division. But it can't be helped. +I killed John Barkley. The man you've got in the guard-house, +condemned to be hanged by the neck until he is dead, is innocent. +I understand. It won't be nice for the Service to let it be known +that a sergeant in His Majesty's Royal Mounted is an ordinary +murderer, but--" + +"Not an ORDINARY murderer," interrupted Kedsty. "As you have +described it, the crime was deliberate--horrible and inexcusable +to its last detail. You were not moved by a sudden passion. You +tortured your victim. It is inconceivable!" + +"And yet true," said Kent. + +He was looking at the stenographer's slim fingers as they put down +his words and Kedsty's. A bit of sunshine touched her bowed head, +and he observed the red lights in her hair. His eyes swept to +O'Connor, and in that moment the commander of N Division bent over +him, so close that his face almost touched Kent's, and he +whispered, in a voice so low that no one of the other four could +hear, + +"KENT--YOU LIE!" + +"No, it is true," replied Kent. + +Kedsty drew back, again wiping the moisture from his forehead. + +"I killed Barkley, and I killed him as I planned that he should +die," Kent went on. "It was my desire that he should suffer. The +one thing which I shall not tell you is WHY I killed him. But it +was a sufficient reason." + +He saw the shuddering tremor that swept through the shoulders of +the girl who was putting down the condemning notes. + +"And you refuse to confess your motive?" + +"Absolutely--except that he had wronged me in a way that deserved +death." + +"And you make this confession knowing that you are about to die?" + +The flicker of a smile passed over Kent's lips. He looked at +O'Connor and for an instant saw in O'Connor's eyes a flash of +their old comradeship. + +"Yes. Dr. Cardigan has told me. Otherwise I should have let the +man in the guard-house hang. It's simply that this accursed bullet +has spoiled my luck--and saved him!" + +Kedsty spoke to the girl. For half an hour she read her notes, and +after that Kent wrote his name on the last page. Then Kedsty rose +from his chair. + +"We have finished, gentlemen," he said. + +They trailed out, the girl hurrying through the door first in her +desire to free herself of an ordeal that had strained every nerve +in her body. The commander of N Division was last to go. Cardigan +hesitated, as if to remain, but Kedsty motioned him on. It was +Kedsty who closed the door, and as he closed it he looked back, +and for a flash Kent met his eyes squarely. In that moment he +received an impression which he had not caught while the Inspector +was in the room. It was like an electrical shock in its +unexpectedness, and Kedsty must have seen the effect of it in his +face, for he moved back quickly and closed the door. In that +instant Kent had seen in Kedsty's eyes and face a look that was +not only of horror, but what in the face and eyes of another man +he would have sworn was fear. + +It was a gruesome moment in which to smile, but Kent smiled. The +shock was over. By the rules of the Criminal Code he knew that +Kedsty even now was instructing Staff-Sergeant O'Connor to detail +an officer to guard his door. The fact that he was ready to pop +off at any moment would make no difference in the regulations of +the law. And Kedsty was a stickler for the law as it was written. +Through the closed door he heard voices indistinctly. Then there +were footsteps, dying away. He could hear the heavy thump, thump +of O'Connor's big feet. O'Connor had always walked like that, even +on the trail. + +Softly then the door reopened, and Father Layonne, the little +missioner, came in. Kent knew that this would be so, for Father +Layonne knew neither code nor creed that did not reach all the +hearts of the wilderness. He came back, and sat down close to +Kent, and took one of his hands and held it closely in both of his +own. They were not the soft, smooth hands of the priestly +hierarchy, but were hard with the callosity of toil, yet gentle +with the gentleness of a great sympathy. He had loved Kent +yesterday, when Kent had stood clean in the eyes of both God and +men, and he still loved him today, when his soul was stained with +a thing that must be washed away with his own life. + +"I'm sorry, lad," he said. "I'm sorry." + +Something rose up in Kent's throat that was not the blood he had +been wiping away since morning. His fingers returned the pressure +of the little missioner's hands. Then he pointed out through the +window to the panorama of shimmering river and green forests. + +"It is hard to say good-by to all that, Father," he said. "But, if +you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it. I'm not afraid of +it. And why be unhappy because one has only a little while to +live? Looking back over your life, does it seem so very long ago +that you were a boy, a small boy?" + +"The time has gone swiftly, very swiftly." + +"It seems only yesterday--or so?" + +"Yes, only yesterday--or so." + +Kent's face lit up with the whimsical smile that long ago had +reached the little missioner's heart. "Well, that's the way I'm +looking at it, Father. There is only a yesterday, a today, and a +tomorrow in the longest of our lives. Looking back from seventy +years isn't much different from looking back from thirty-six WHEN +you're looking back and not ahead. Do you think what I have just +said will free Sandy McTrigger?" + +"There is no doubt. Your statements have been accepted as a death- +bed confession." + +The little missioner, instead of Kent, was betraying a bit of +nervousness. + +"There are matters, my son--some few matters--which you will want +attended to. Shall we not talk about them?" + +"You mean--" + +"Your people, first. I remember that once you told me there was no +one. But surely there is some one somewhere." + +Kent shook his head. "There is no one now. For ten years those +forests out there have been father, mother, and home to me." + +"But there must be personal affairs, affairs which you would like +to entrust, perhaps, to me?" + +Kent's face brightened, and for an instant a flash of humor leaped +into his eyes. "It is funny," he chuckled. "Since you remind me of +it, Father, it is quite in form to make my will. I've bought a few +little pieces of land here. Now that the railroad has almost +reached us from Edmonton, they've jumped up from the seven or +eight hundred dollars I gave for them to about ten thousand. I +want you to sell the lots and use the money in your work. Put as +much of it on the Indians as you can. They've always been good +brothers to me. And I wouldn't waste much time in getting my +signature on some sort of paper to that effect." + +Father Layonne's eyes shone softly. "God will bless you for that, +Jimmy," he said, using the intimate name by which he had known +him. "And I think He is going to pardon you for something else, if +you have the courage to ask Him." + +"I am pardoned," replied Kent, looking out through the window. "I +feel it. I know it, Father." + +In his soul the little missioner was praying. He knew that Kent's +religion was not his religion, and he did not press the service +which he would otherwise have rendered. After a moment he rose to +his feet, and it was the old Kent who looked up into his face, the +clean-faced, gray-eyed, unafraid Kent, smiling in the old way. + +"I have one big favor to ask of you, Father," he said. "If I've +got a day to live, I don't want every one forcing the fact on me +that I'm dying. If I've any friends left, I want them to come in +and see me, and talk, and crack jokes. I want to smoke my pipe. +I'll appreciate a box of cigars if you'll send 'em up. Cardigan +can't object now. Will you arrange these things for me? They'll +listen to you--and please shove my cot a little nearer the window +before you go." + +Father Layonne performed the service in silence. Then at last the +yearning overcame him to have the soul speak out, that his God +might be more merciful, and he said: "My boy, you are sorry? You +repent that you killed John Barkley?" + +"No, I'm not sorry. It had to be done. And please don't forget the +cigars, will you, Father?" + +"No, I won't forget," said the little missioner, and turned away. + +As the door opened and closed behind him, the flash of humor +leaped into Kent's eyes again, and he chuckled even as he wiped +another of the telltale stains of blood from his lips. He had +played the game. And the funny part about it was that no one in +all the world would ever know, except himself--and perhaps one +other. + + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Outside Kent's window was Spring, the glorious Spring of the +Northland, and in spite of the death-grip that was tightening in +his chest he drank it in deeply and leaned over so that his eyes +traveled over wide spaces of the world that had been his only a +short time before. + +It occurred to him that he had suggested this knoll that +overlooked both settlement and river as the site for the building +which Dr. Cardigan called his hospital. It was a structure rough +and unadorned, unpainted, and sweetly smelling with the aroma of +the spruce trees from the heart of which its unplaned lumber was +cut. The breath of it was a thing to bring cheer and hope. Its +silvery walls, in places golden and brown with pitch and freckled +with knots, spoke joyously of life that would not die, and the +woodpeckers came and hammered on it as though it were still a part +of the forest, and red squirrels chattered on the roof and +scampered about in play with a soft patter of feet. + +"It's a pretty poor specimen of man that would die up here with +all that under his eyes," Kent had said a year before, when he and +Cardigan had picked out the site. "If he died looking at that, +why, he just simply ought to die, Cardigan," he had laughed. + +And now he was that poor specimen, looking out on the glory of the +world! + +His vision took in the South and a part of the East and West, and +in all those directions there was no end of the forest. It was +like a vast, many-colored sea with uneven billows rising and +falling until the blue sky came down to meet them many miles away. +More than once his heart ached at the thought of the two thin ribs +of steel creeping up foot by foot and mile by mile from Edmonton, +a hundred and fifty miles away. It was, to him, a desecration, a +crime against Nature, the murder of his beloved wilderness. For in +his soul that wilderness had grown to be more than a thing of +spruce and cedar and balsam, of poplar and birch; more than a +great, unused world of river and lake and swamp. It was an +individual, a thing. His love for it was greater than his love for +man. It was his inarticulate God. It held him as no religion in +the world could have held him, and deeper and deeper it had drawn +him into the soul of itself, delivering up to him one by one its +guarded secrets and its mysteries, opening for him page by page +the book that was the greatest of all books. And it was the wonder +of it now, the fact that it was near him, about him, embracing +him, glowing for him in the sunshine, whispering to him in the +soft breath of the air, nodding and talking to him from the crest +of every ridge, that gave to him a strange happiness even in these +hours when he knew that he was dying. + +And then his eyes fell nearer to the settlement which nestled +along the edge of the shining river a quarter of a mile away. +That, too, had been the wilderness, in the days before the +railroad came. The poison of speculation was stirring, but it had +not yet destroyed. Athabasca Landing was still the door that +opened and closed on the great North. Its buildings were scattered +and few, and built of logs and rough lumber. Even now he could +hear the drowsy hum of the distant sawmill that was lazily turning +out its grist. Not far away the wind-worn flag of the British +Empire was floating over a Hudson Bay Company's post that had +bartered in the trades of the North for more than a hundred years. +Through that hundred years Athabasca Landing had pulsed with the +heart-beats of strong men bred to the wilderness. Through it, +working its way by river and dog sledge from the South, had gone +the precious freight for which the farther North gave in exchange +its still more precious furs. And today, as Kent looked down upon +it, he saw that same activity as it had existed through the years +of a century. A brigade of scows, laden to their gunwales, was +just sweeping out into the river and into its current. Kent had +watched the loading of them; now he saw them drifting lazily out +from the shore, their long sweeps glinting in the sun, their crews +singing wildly and fiercely their beloved Chanson des Voyageurs as +their faces turned to the adventure of the North. + +In Kent's throat rose a thing which he tried to choke back, but +which broke from his lips in a low cry, almost a sob. He heard the +distant singing, wild and free as the forests themselves, and he +wanted to lean out of his window and shout a last good-by. For the +brigade--a Company brigade, the brigade that had chanted its songs +up and down the water reaches of the land for more than two +hundred and fifty years--was starting north. And he knew where it +was going--north, and still farther north; a hundred miles, five +hundred, a thousand--and then another thousand before the last of +the scows unburdened itself of its precious freight. For the lean +and brown-visaged men who went with them there would be many +months of clean living and joyous thrill under the open skies. +Overwhelmed by the yearning that swept over him, Kent leaned back +against his pillows and covered his eyes. + +In those moments his brain painted for him swiftly and vividly the +things he was losing. Tomorrow or next day he would be dead, and +the river brigade would still be sweeping on--on into the Grand +Rapids of the Athabasca, fighting the Death Chute, hazarding +valiantly the rocks and rapids of the Grand Cascade, the +whirlpools of the Devil's Mouth, the thundering roar and boiling +dragon teeth of the Black Run--on to the end of the Athabasca, to +the Slave, and into the Mackenzie, until the last rock-blunted +nose of the outfit drank the tide-water of the Arctic Ocean. And +he, James Kent, would be DEAD! + +He uncovered his eyes, and there was a wan smile on his lips as he +looked forth once more. There were sixteen scows in the brigade, +and the biggest, he knew, was captained by Pierre Rossand. He +could fancy Pierre's big red throat swelling in mighty song, for +Pierre's wife was waiting for him a thousand miles away. The scows +were caught steadily now in the grip of the river, and it seemed +to Kent, as he watched them go, that they were the last fugitives +fleeing from the encroaching monsters of steel. Unconscious of the +act, he reached out his arms, and his soul cried out its farewell, +even though his lips were silent. + +He was glad when they were gone and when the voices of the +chanting oarsmen were lost in the distance. Again he listened to +the lazy hum of the sawmill, and over his head he heard the +velvety run of a red squirrel and then its reckless chattering. +The forests came back to him. Across his cot fell a patch of +golden sunlight. A stronger breath of air came laden with the +perfume of balsam and cedar through his window, and when the door +opened and Cardigan entered, he found the old Kent facing him. + +There was no change in Cardigan's voice or manner as he greeted +him. But there was a tenseness in his face which he could not +conceal. He had brought in Kent's pipe and tobacco. These he laid +on a table until he had placed his head close to Kent's hearty +listening to what he called the bruit--the rushing of blood +through the aneurismal sac. + +"Seems to me that I can hear it myself now and then," said Kent. +"Worse, isn't it?" + +Cardigan nodded. "Smoking may hurry it up a bit," he said. "Still, +if you want to--" + +Kent held out his hand for the pipe and tobacco. "It's worth it. +Thanks, old man." + +Kent loaded the pipe, and Cardigan lighted a match. For the first +time in two weeks a cloud of smoke issued from between Kent's +lips. + +"The brigade is starting north," he said. + +"Mostly Mackenzie River freight," replied Cardigan. "A long run." + +"The finest in all the North. Three years ago O'Connor and I made +it with the Follette outfit. Remember Follette--and Ladouceur? +They both loved the same girl, and being good friends they decided +to settle the matter by a swim through the Death Chute. The man +who came through first was to have her. Gawd, Cardigan, what funny +things happen! Follette came out first, but he was dead. He'd +brained himself on a rock. And to this day Ladouceur hasn't +married the girl, because he says Follette beat him; and that +Follette's something-or-other would haunt him if he didn't play +fair. It's a queer--" + +He stopped and listened. In the hall was the approaching tread of +unmistakable feet. + +"O'Connor," he said. + +Cardigan went to the door and opened it as O'Connor was about to +knock. When the door closed again, the staff-sergeant was in the +room alone with Kent. In one of his big hands he clutched a box of +cigars, and in the other he held a bunch of vividly red fire- +flowers. + +"Father Layonne shoved these into my hands as I was coming up," he +explained, dropping them on the table. "And I--well--I'm breaking +regulations to come up an' tell you something, Jimmy. I never +called you a liar in my life, but I'm calling you one now!" + +He was gripping Kent's hands in the fierce clasp of a friendship +that nothing could kill. Kent winced, but the pain of it was joy. +He had feared that O'Connor, like Kedsty, must of necessity turn +against him. Then he noticed something unusual in O'Connor's face +and eyes. The staff-sergeant was not easily excited, yet he was +visibly disturbed now. + +"I don't know what the others saw, when you were making that +confession, Kent. Mebby my eyesight was better because I spent a +year and a half with you on the trail. You were lying. What's your +game, old man?" + +Kent groaned. "Have I got to go all over it again?" he appealed. + +O'Connor began thumping back and forth over the floor. Kent had +seen him that way sometimes in camp when there were perplexing +problems ahead of them. + +"You didn't kill John Barkley," he insisted. "I don't believe you +did, and Inspector Kedsty doesn't believe it--yet the mighty queer +part of it is--" + +"What?" + +"That Kedsty is acting on your confession in a big hurry. I don't +believe it's according to Hoyle, as the regulations are written. +But he's doing it. And I want to know--it's the biggest thing I +EVER wanted to know--did you kill Barkley?" + +"O'Connor, if you don't believe a dying man's word--you haven't +much respect for death, have you?" + +"That's the theory on which the law works, but sometimes it ain't +human. Confound it, man, DID YOU?" + +"Yes." + +O'Connor sat down and with his finger-nails pried open the box of +cigars. "Mind if I smoke with you?" he asked. "I need it. I'm shot +up with unexpected things this morning. Do you care if I ask you +about the girl?" + +"The girl!" exclaimed Kent. He sat up straighter, staring at +O'Connor. + +The staff-sergeant's eyes were on him with questioning steadiness. +"I see--you don't know her," he said, lighting his cigar. "Neither +do I. Never saw her before. That's why I am wondering about +Inspector Kedsty. I tell you, it's queer. He didn't believe you +this morning, yet he was all shot up. He wanted me to go with him +to his house. The cords stood out on his neck like that--like my +little finger. + +"Then suddenly he changed his mind and said we'd go to the office. +That took us along the road that runs through the poplar grove. It +happened there. I'm not much of a girl's man, Kent, and I'd be a +fool to try to tell you what she looked like. But there she was, +standing in the path not ten feet ahead of us, and she stopped me +in my tracks as quick as though she'd sent a shot into me. And she +stopped Kedsty, too. I heard him give a sort of grunt--a funny +sound, as though some one had hit him. I don't believe I could +tell whether she had a dress on or not, for I never saw anything +like her face, and her eyes, and her hair, and I stared at them +like a thunder-struck fool. She didn't seem to notice me any more +than if I'd been thin air, a ghost she couldn't see. + +"She looked straight at Kedsty, and she kept looking at him--and +then she passed us. Never said a word, mind you. She came so near +I could have touched her with my hand, and not until she was that +close did she take her eyes from Kedsty and look at me. And when +she'd passed I thought what a couple of cursed idiots we were, +standing there paralyzed, as if we'd never seen a beautiful girl +before in our lives. I went to remark that much to the Old Man +when--" + +O'Connor bit his cigar half in two as he leaned nearer to the cot. + +"Kent, I swear that Kedsty was as white as chalk when I looked at +him! There wasn't a drop of blood left in his face, and he was +staring straight ahead, as though the girl still stood there, and +he gave another of those grunts--it wasn't a laugh--as if +something was choking him. And then he said: + +"'Sergeant, I've forgotten something important. I must go back to +see Dr. Cardigan. You have my authority to give McTrigger his +liberty at once!'" + +O'Connor paused, as if expecting some expression of disbelief from +Kent. When none came, he demanded, + +"Was that according to the Criminal Code? Was it, Kent?" + +"Not exactly. But, coming from the S.O.D., it was law." + +"And I obeyed it," grunted the staff-sergeant. "And if you could +have seen McTrigger! When I told him he was free, and unlocked his +cell, he came out of it gropingly, like a blind man. And he would +go no farther than the Inspector's office. He said he would wait +there for him." + +"And Kedsty?" + +O'Connor jumped from his chair and began thumping back and forth +across the room again. "Followed the girl," he exploded. "He +couldn't have done anything else. He lied to me about Cardigan. +There wouldn't be anything mysterious about it if he wasn't sixty +and she less than twenty. She was pretty enough! But it wasn't her +beauty that made him turn white there in the path. Not on your +life it wasn't! I tell you he aged ten years in as many seconds. +There was something in that girl's eyes more terrifying to him +than a leveled gun, and after he'd looked into them, his first +thought was of McTrigger, the man you're saving from the hangman. +It's queer, Kent. The whole business is queer. And the queerest of +it all is your confession." + +"Yes, it's all very funny," agreed Kent. "That's what I've been +telling myself right along, old man. You see, a little thing like +a bullet changed it all. For if the bullet hadn't got me, I assure +you I wouldn't have given Kedsty that confession, and an innocent +man would have been hanged. As it is, Kedsty is shocked, +demoralized. I'm the first man to soil the honor of the finest +Service on the face of the earth, and I'm in Kedsty's division. +Quite natural that he should be upset. And as for the girl--" + +He shrugged his shoulders and tried to laugh. "Perhaps she came in +this morning with one of the up-river scows and was merely taking +a little constitutional," he suggested. "Didn't you ever notice, +O'Connor, that in a certain light under poplar trees one's face is +sometimes ghastly?" + +"Yes, I've noticed it, when the trees are in full leaf, but not +when they're just opening, Jimmy. It was the girl. Her eyes +shattered every nerve in him. And his first words were an order +for me to free McTrigger, coupled with the lie that he was coming +back to see Cardigan. And if you could have seen her eyes when she +turned them on me! They were blue--blue as violets--but shooting +fire. I could imagine black eyes like that, but not blue ones. +Kedsty simply wilted in their blaze. And there was a reason--I +know it--a reason that sent his mind like lightning to the man in +the cell!" + +"Now, that you leave me out of it, the thing begins to get +interesting," said Kent. "It's a matter of the relationship of +this blonde girl and--" + +"She isn't blonde--and I'm not leaving you out of it," interrupted +O'Connor. "I never saw anything so black in my life as her hair. +It was magnificent. If you saw that girl once, you would never +forget her again as long as you lived. She has never been in +Athabasca Landing before, or anywhere near here. If she had, we +surely would have heard about her. She came for a purpose, and I +believe that purpose was accomplished when Kedsty gave me the +order to free McTrigger." + +"That's possible, and probable," agreed Kent. "I always said you +were the best clue-analyst in the force, Bucky. But I don't see +where I come in." + +O'Connor smiled grimly. "You don't? Well, I may be both blind and +a fool, and perhaps a little excited. But it seemed to me that +from the moment Inspector Kedsty laid his eyes on that girl he was +a little too anxious to let McTrigger go and hang you in his +place. A little too anxious, Kent." + +The irony of the thing brought a hard smile to Kent's lips as he +nodded for the cigars. "I'll try one of these on top of the pipe," +he said, nipping off the end of the cigar with his teeth. "And you +forget that I'm not going to hang, Bucky. Cardigan has given me +until tomorrow night. Perhaps until the next day. Did you see +Rossand's fleet leaving for up north? It made me think of three +years ago!" + +O'Connor was gripping his hand again. The coldness of it sent a +chill into the staff-sergeant's heart. He rose and looked through +the upper part of the window, so that the twitching in his throat +was hidden from Kent. Then he went to the door. + +"I'll see you again tomorrow," he said. "And if I find out +anything more about the girl, I'll report." + +He tried to laugh, but there was a tremble in his voice, a break +in the humor he attempted to force. + +Kent listened to the tramp of his heavy feet as they went down the +hall. + + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Again the world came back to Kent, the world that lay just beyond +his open window. But scarcely had O'Connor gone when it began to +change, and in spite of his determination to keep hold of his +nerve Kent felt creeping up with that change a thing that was +oppressive and smothering. Swiftly the distant billowings of the +forests were changing their tones and colors under the darkening +approach of storm. The laughter of the hills and ridges went out. +The shimmer of spruce and cedar and balsam turned to a somber +black. The flashing gold and silver of birch and poplar dissolved +into a ghostly and unanimated gray that was almost invisible. A +deepening and somber gloom spread itself like a veil over the +river that only a short time before had reflected the glory of the +sun in the faces of dark-visaged men of the Company brigade. And +with the gloom came steadily nearer a low rumbling of thunder. + +For the first time since the mental excitement of his confession +Kent felt upon him an appalling loneliness. He still was not +afraid of death, but a part of his philosophy was gone. It was, +after all, a difficult thing to die alone. He felt that the +pressure in his chest was perceptible greater than it had been an +hour or two before, and the thought grew upon him that it would be +a terrible thing for the "explosion" to come when the sun was not +shining. He wanted O'Connor back again. He had the desire to call +out for Cardigan. He would have welcomed Father Layonne with a +glad cry. Yet more than all else would he have had at his side in +these moments of distress a woman. For the storm, as it massed +heavier and nearer, filling the earth with its desolation, bridged +vast spaces for him, and he found himself suddenly face to face +with the might-have-beens of yesterday. + +He saw, as he had never guessed before, the immeasurable gulf +between helplessness and the wild, brute freedom of man, and his +soul cried out--not for adventure, not for the savage strength of +life--but for the presence of a creature frailer than himself, yet +in the gentle touch of whose hand lay the might of all humanity. + +He struggled with himself. He remembered that Dr. Cardigan had +told him there would be moments of deep depression, and he tried +to fight himself out of the grip of this that was on him. There +was a bell at hand, but he refused to use it, for he sensed his +own cowardice. His cigar had gone out, and he relighted it. He +made an effort to bring his mind back to O'Connor, and the mystery +girl, and Kedsty. He tried to visualize McTrigger, the man he had +saved from the hangman, waiting for Kedsty in the office at +barracks. He pictured the girl, as O'Connor had described her, +with her black hair and blue eyes--and then the storm broke. + +The rain came down in a deluge, and scarcely had it struck when +the door opened and Cardigan hurried in to close the window. He +remained for half an hour, and after that young Mercer, one of his +two assistants, came in at intervals. Late in the afternoon it +began to clear up, and Father Layonne returned with papers +properly made out for Kent's signature. He was with Kent until +sundown, when Mercer came in with supper. + +Between that hour and ten o'clock Kent observed a vigilance on the +part of Dr. Cardigan which struck him as being unusual. Four times +he listened with the stethoscope at his chest, but when Kent asked +the question which was in his mind, Cardigan shook his head. + +"It's no worse, Kent. I don't think it will happen tonight." + +In spite of this assurance Kent was positive there was in +Cardigan's manner an anxiety of a different quality than he had +perceived earlier in the day. The thought was a definite and +convincing one. He believed that Cardigan was smoothing the way +with a professional lie. + +He had no desire to sleep. His light was turned low, and his +window was open again, for the night had cleared. Never had air +tasted sweeter to him than that which came in through his window. +The little bell in his watch tinkled the hour of eleven, when he +heard Cardigan's door close for a last time across the hall. After +that everything was quiet. He drew himself nearer to the window, +so that by leaning forward he could rest himself partly on the +sill. He loved the night. The mystery and lure of those still +hours of darkness when the world slept had never ceased to hold +their fascination for him. Night and he were friends. He had +discovered many of its secrets. A thousand times he had walked +hand in hand with the spirit of it, approaching each time a little +nearer to the heart of it, mastering its life, its sound, the +whispering languages of that "other side of life" which rises +quietly and as if in fear to live and breathe long after the sun +has gone out. To him it was more wonderful than day. + +And this night that lay outside his window now was magnificent. +Storm had washed the atmosphere between earth and sky, and it +seemed as though the stars had descended nearer to his forests, +shining in golden constellations. The moon was coming up late, and +he watched the ruddy glow of it as it rode up over the wilderness, +a splendid queen entering upon a stage already prepared by the +lesser satellites for her coming. No longer was Kent oppressed or +afraid. In still deeper inhalations he drank the night air into +his lungs, and in him there seemed to grow slowly a new strength. +His eyes and ears were wide open and attentive. The town was +asleep, but a few lights burned dimly here and there along the +river's edge, and occasionally a lazy sound came up to him--the +clink of a scow chain, the bark of a dog, the rooster crowing. In +spite of himself he smiled at that. Old Duperow's rooster was a +foolish bird and always crowed himself hoarse when the moon was +bright. And in front of him, not far away, were two white, +lightning-shriven spruce stubs standing like ghosts in the night. +In one of these a pair of owls had nested, and Kent listened to +the queer, chuckling notes of their honeymooning and the flutter +of their wings as they darted out now and then in play close to +his window. And then suddenly he heard the sharp snap of their +beaks. An enemy was prowling near, and the owls were giving +warning. He thought he heard a step. In another moment or two the +step was unmistakable. Some one was approaching his window from +the end of the building. He leaned over the sill and found himself +staring into O'Connor's face. + +"These confounded feet of mine!" grunted the staff-sergeant. "Were +you asleep, Kent?" + +"Wide-awake as those owls," assured Kent. + +O'Connor drew up to the window. "I saw your light and thought you +were awake," he said. "I wanted to make sure Cardigan wasn't with +you. I don't want him to know I am here. And--if you don't mind-- +will you turn off the light? Kedsty is awake, too--as wide-awake +as the owls." + +Kent reached out a hand, and his room was in darkness except for +the glow of moon and stars. O'Connor's bulk at the window shut out +a part of this. His face was half in gloom. + +"It's a crime to come to you like this, Kent," he said, keeping +his big voice down to a whisper. "But I had to. It's my last +chance. And I know there's something wrong. Kedsty is getting me +out of the way--because I was with him when he met the girl over +in the poplar bush. I'm detailed on special duty up at Fort +Simpson, two thousand miles by water if it's a foot! It means six +months or a year. We leave in the motor boat at dawn to overtake +Rossand and his outfit, so I had to take this chance of seeing +you. I hesitated until I knew that some one was awake in your +room." + +"I'm glad you came," said Kent warmly. "And--good God, how I would +like to go with you, Bucky! If it wasn't for this thing in my +chest, ballooning up for an explosion--" + +"I wouldn't be going," interrupted O'Connor in a low voice. "If +you were on your feet, Kent, there are a number of things that +wouldn't be happening. Something mighty queer has come over Kedsty +since this morning. He isn't the Kedsty you knew yesterday or for +the last ten years. He's nervous, and I miss my guess if he isn't +constantly on the watch for some one. And he's afraid of me. I +know it. He's afraid of me because I saw him go to pieces when he +met that girl. Fort Simpson is simply a frame-up to get me away +for a time. He tried to smooth the edge off the thing by promising +me an inspectorship within the year. That was this afternoon, just +before the storm. Since then--" + +O'Connor turned and faced the moonlight for a moment. + +"Since then I've been on a still-hunt for the girl and Sandy +McTrigger," he added. "And they've disappeared, Kent. I guess +McTrigger just melted away into the woods. But it's the girl that +puzzles me. I've questioned every scow cheman at the Landing. I've +investigated every place where she might have got food or lodging, +and I bribed Mooie, the old trailer, to search the near-by timber. +The unbelievable part of it isn't her disappearance. It's the fact +that not a soul in Athabasca Landing has seen her! Sounds +incredible, doesn't it? And then, Kent, the big hunch came to me. +Remember how we've always played up to the big hunch? And this one +struck me strong. I think I know where the girl is." + +Kent, forgetful of his own impending doom, was deeply interested +in the thrill of O'Connor's mystery. He had begun to visualize the +situation. More than once they had worked out enigmas of this kind +together, and the staff-sergeant saw the old, eager glow in his +eyes. And Kent chuckled joyously in that thrill of the game of +man-hunting, and said: + +"Kedsty is a bachelor and doesn't even so much as look at a woman. +But he likes home life--" + +"And has built himself a log bungalow somewhat removed from the +town," added O'Connor. + +"And his Chinaman cook and housekeeper is away." + +"And the bungalow is closed, or supposed to be." + +"Except at night, when Kedsty goes there to sleep." + +O'Connor's hand gripped Kent's. "Jimmy, there never was a team in +N Division that could beat us, The girl is hiding at Kedsty's +place!" + +"But why HIDING?" insisted Kent. "She hasn't committed a crime." + +O'Connor sat silent for a moment. Kent could hear him stuffing the +bowl of his pipe. + +"It's simply the big hunch," he grunted. "It's got hold of me, +Kent, and I can't throw it off. Why, man--" + +He lighted a match in the cup of his hands, and Kent saw his face. +There was more than uncertainty in the hard, set lines of it. + +"You see, I went back to the poplars again after I left you +today," O'Connor went on. "I found her footprints. She had turned +off the trail, and in places they were very clear. + +"She had on high-heeled shoes, Kent--those Frenchy things--and I +swear her feet can't be much bigger than a baby's! I found where +Kedsty caught up with her, and the moss was pretty well beaten +down. He returned through the poplars, but the girl went on and +into the edge of the spruce. I lost her trail there. By traveling +in that timber it was possible for her to reach Kedsty's bungalow +without being seen. It must have been difficult going, with shoes +half as big as my hand and heels two inches high! And I've been +wondering, why didn't she wear bush-country shoes or moccasins?" + +"Because she came from the South and not the North," suggested +Kent. "Probably up from Edmonton." + +"Exactly. And Kedsty wasn't expecting her, was he? If he had been, +that first sight of her wouldn't have shattered every nerve in his +body. That's why the big hunch won't let loose of me, Kent. From +the moment he saw her, he was a different man. His attitude toward +you changed instantly. If he could save you now by raising his +little finger, he wouldn't do it, simply because it's absolutely +necessary for him to have an excuse for freeing McTrigger. Your +confession came at just the psychological moment. The girl's +unspoken demand there in the poplars was that he free McTrigger, +and it was backed up by a threat which Kedsty understood and which +terrified him to his marrow. McTrigger must have seen him +afterward, for he waited at the office until Kedsty came. I don't +know what passed between them. Constable Doyle says they were +together for half an hour. Then McTrigger walked out of barracks, +and no one has seen him since. It's mighty queer. The whole thing +is queer. And the queerest part of the whole business is this +sudden commission of mine at Fort Simpson." + +Kent leaned back against his pillows. His breath came in a series +of short, hacking coughs. In the star glow O'Connor saw his face +grow suddenly haggard and tired-looking, and he leaned far in so +that in both his own hands he held one of Kent's. + +"I'm tiring you, Jimmy," he said huskily. "Good-by, old pal! I--I--" +He hesitated and then lied steadily. "I'm going up to take a +look around Kedsty's place. I won't be gone more than half an hour +and will stop on my way back. If you're asleep--" + +"I won't be asleep," said Kent. + +O'Connor's hands gripped closer. "Good-by, Jimmy." + +"Good-by." And then, as O'Connor stepped back into the night, +Kent's voice called after him softly: "I'll be with you on the +long trip, Bucky. Take care of yourself--always." + +O'Connor's answer was a sob, a sob that rose in his throat like a +great fist, and choked him, and filled his eyes with scalding +tears that shut out the glow of moon and stars. And he did not go +toward Kedsty's, but trudged heavily in the direction of the +river, for he knew that Kent had called his lie, and that they had +said their last farewell. + + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +It was a long time after O'Connor had gone before Kent at last +fell asleep. It was a slumber weighted with the restlessness of a +brain fighting to the last against exhaustion and the inevitable +end. A strange spirit seemed whirling Kent back through the years +he had lived, even to the days of his boyhood, leaping from crest +to crest, giving to him swift and passing visions of valleys +almost forgotten, of happenings and things long ago faded and +indistinct in his memory. Vividly his dreams were filled with +ghosts--ghosts that were transformed, as his spirit went back to +them, until they were riotous with life and pulsating with the red +blood of reality. He was a boy again, playing three-old-cat in +front of the little old red brick schoolhouse half a mile from the +farm where he was born, and where his mother had died. + +And Skinny Hill, dead many years ago, was his partner at the bat-- +lovable Skinny, with his smirking grin and his breath that always +smelled of the most delicious onions ever raised in Ohio. And +then, at dinner hour, he was trading some of his mother's cucumber +pickles for some of Skinny's onions--two onions for a pickle, and +never a change in the price. And he played old-fashioned casino +with his mother, and they were picking blackberries together in +the woods, and he killed over again a snake that he had clubbed to +death more than twenty years ago, while his mother ran away and +screamed and then sat down and cried. + +He had worshiped that mother, and the spirit of his dreams did not +let him look down into the valley where she lay dead, under a +little white stone in the country cemetery a thousand miles away, +with his father close beside her. But it gave him a passing thrill +of the days in which he had fought his way through college--and +then it brought him into the North, his beloved North. + +For hours the wilderness was heavy about Kent. He moved +restlessly, at times he seemed about to awaken, but always he +slipped back into the slumberous arms of his forests. He was on +the trail in the cold, gray beginning of Winter, and the glow of +his campfire made a radiant patch of red glory in the heart of the +night, and close to him in that glow sat O'Connor. He was behind +dogs and sledge, fighting storm; dark and mysterious streams +rippled under his canoe; he was on the Big River, O'Connor with +him again--and then, suddenly, he was holding a blazing gun in his +hand, and he and O'Connor stood with their backs to a rack, facing +the bloodthirsty rage of McCaw and his free-traders. The roar of +the guns half roused him, and after that came pleasanter things-- +the droning of wind in the spruce tops, the singing of swollen +streams in Springtime, the songs of birds, the sweet smells of +life, the glory of life as he had lived it, he and O'Connor. In +the end, half between sleep and wakefulness, he was fighting a +smothering pressure on his chest. It was an oppressive and +torturing thing, like the tree that had fallen on him over in the +Jackfish country, and he felt himself slipping off into darkness. +Suddenly there was a gleam of light. He opened his eyes. The sun +was flooding in at his window, and the weight on his chest was the +gentle pressure of Cardigan's stethoscope. + +In spite of the physical stress of the phantoms which his mind has +conceived, Kent awakened so quietly that Cardigan was not +conscious of the fact until he raised his head. There was +something in his face which he tried to conceal, but Kent caught +it before it was gone. There were dark hollows under his eyes. He +was a bit haggard, as though he had spent a sleepless night. Kent +pulled himself up, squinting at the sun and grinning +apologetically. He had slept well along into the day, and-- + +He caught himself with a sudden grimace of pain. A flash of +something hot and burning swept through his chest. It was like a +knife. He opened his mouth to breathe in the air. The pressure +inside him was no longer the pressure of a stethoscope. It was +real. + +Cardigan, standing over him, was trying to look cheerful. "Too +much of the night air, Kent," he explained. "That will pass away-- +soon." + +It seemed to Kent that Cardigan gave an almost imperceptible +emphasis to the word "soon," but he asked no question. He was +quite sure that he understood, and he knew how unpleasant for +Cardigan the answer to it would be. He fumbled under his pillow +for his watch. It was nine o'clock. Cardigan was moving about +uneasily, arranging the things on the table and adjusting the +shade at the window. For a few moments, with his back to Kent, he +stood without moving. Then he turned, and said: + +"Which will you have, Kent--a wash-up and breakfast, or a +visitor?" + +"I am not hungry, and I don't feel like soap and water just now. +Who's the visitor? Father Layonne or--Kedsty?" + +"Neither. It's a lady." + +"Then I'd better have the soap and water! Do you mind telling me +who it is?" + +Cardigan shook his head. "I don't know. I've never seen her +before. She came this morning while I was still in pajamas, and +has been waiting ever since. I told her to come back again, but +she insisted that she would remain until you were awake. She has +been very patient for two hours." + +A thrill which he made no effort to conceal leaped through Kent. +"Is she a young woman?" he demanded eagerly. "Wonderful black +hair, blue eyes, wears high-heeled shoes just about half as big as +your hand--and very beautiful?" + +"All of that," nodded Cardigan. "I even noticed the shoes, Jimmy. +A very beautiful young woman!" + +"Please let her come in," said Kent. "Mercer scrubbed me last +night, and I feel fairly fit. She'll forgive this beard, and I'll +apologize for your sake. What is her name?" + +"I asked her, and she didn't seem to hear. A little later Mercer +asked her, and he said she just looked at him for a moment and he +froze. She is reading a volume of my Plutarch's 'Lives'--actually +reading it. I know it by the way she turns the pages!" + +Kent drew himself up higher against his pillows and faced the door +when Cardigan went out. In a flash all that O'Connor had said +swept back upon him--this girl, Kedsty, the mystery of it all. Why +had she come to see him? What could be the motive of her visit-- +unless it was to thank him for the confession that had given Sandy +McTrigger his freedom? O'Connor was right. She was deeply +concerned in McTrigger and had come to express her gratitude. He +listened. Distant footsteps sounded in the hall. They approached +quickly and paused outside his door. A hand moved the latch, but +for a moment the door did not open. He heard Cardigan's voice, +then Cardigan's footsteps retreating down the hall. His heart +thumped. He could not remember when he had been so upset over an +unimportant thing. + + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The latch moved slowly, and with its movement came a gentle tap on +the panel. + +"Come in," he said. + +The next instant he was staring. The girl had entered and closed +the door behind her. O'Connor's picture stood in flesh and blood +before him. The girl's eyes met his own. They were like glorious +violets, as O'Connor had said, but they were not the eyes he had +expected to see. They were the wide-open, curious eyes of a child. +He had visualized them as pools of slumbering flame--the idea +O'Connor had given him--and they were the opposite of that. Their +one emotion seemed to be the emotion roused by an overwhelming, +questioning curiosity. They were apparently not regarding him as a +dying human being, but as a creature immensely interesting to look +upon. In place of the gratitude he had anticipated, they were +filled with a great, wondering interrogation, and there was not +the slightest hint of embarrassment in their gaze. For a space it +seemed to Kent that he saw nothing but those wonderful, +dispassionate eyes looking at him. Then he saw the rest of her-- +her amazing hair, her pale, exquisite face, the slimness and +beauty of her as she stood with her back to the door, one hand +still resting on the latch. He had never seen anything quite like +her. He might have guessed that she was eighteen, or twenty, or +twenty-two. Her hair, wreathed in shimmering, velvety coils from +the back to the crown of her head, struck him as it had struck +O'Connor, as unbelievable. The glory of it gave to her an +appearance of height which she did not possess, for she was not +tall, and her slimness added to the illusion. + +And then, greatly to his embarrassment in the next instant, his +eyes went to her feet. Again O'Connor was right--tiny feet, high- +heeled pumps, ravishingly turned ankles showing under a skirt of +some fluffy brown stuff or other-- + +Correcting himself, his face flushed red. The faintest tremble of +a smile was on the girl's lips. She looked down, and for the first +time he saw what O'Connor had seen, the sunlight kindling +slumberous fires in her hair. + +Kent tried to say something, but before he succeeded she had taken +possession of the chair near his bedside. + +"I have been waiting a long time to see you," she said. "You are +James Kent, aren't you?" + +"Yes, I'm Jim Kent. I'm sorry Dr. Cardigan kept you waiting. If I +had known--" + +He was getting a grip on himself again, and smiled at her. He +noticed the amazing length of her dark lashes, but the violet eyes +behind them did not smile back at him. The tranquillity of their +gaze was disconcerting. It was as if she had not quite made up her +mind about him yet and was still trying to classify him in the +museum of things she had known. + +"He should have awakened me," Kent went on, trying to keep himself +from slipping once more. "It isn't polite to keep a young lady +waiting two hours!" + +This time the blue eyes made him feel that his smile was a maudlin +grin. + +"Yes--you are different." She spoke softly, as if expressing the +thought to herself. "That is what I came to find out, if you were +different. You are dying?" + +"My God--yes--I'm dying!" gasped Kent. "According to Dr. Cardigan +I'm due to pop off this minute. Aren't you a little nervous, +sitting so near to a man who's ready to explode while you're +looking at him?" + +For the first time the eyes changed. She was not facing the +window, yet a glow like the glow of sunlight flashed into them, +soft, luminous, almost laughing. + +"No, it doesn't frighten me," she assured him. "I have always +thought I should like to see a man die--not quickly, like drowning +or being shot, but slowly, an inch at a time. But I shouldn't like +to see YOU die." + +"I'm glad," breathed Kent. "It's a great satisfaction to me." + +"Yet I shouldn't be frightened if you did." + +"Oh!" + +Kent drew himself up straighter against his pillows. He had been a +man of many adventures. He had faced almost every conceivable kind +of shock. But this was a new one. He stared into the blue eyes, +tongueless and mentally dazed. They were cool and sweet and not at +all excited. And he knew that she spoke the truth. Not by a quiver +of those lovely lashes would she betray either fear or horror if +he popped off right there. It was astonishing. + +Something like resentment shot for an instant into his bewildered +brain. Then it was gone, and in a flash it came upon him that she +was but uttering his own philosophy of life, showing him life's +cheapness, life's littleness, the absurdity of being distressed by +looking upon the light as it flickered out. And she was doing it, +not as a philosopher, but with the beautiful unconcern of a child. + +Suddenly, as if impelled by an emotion in direct contradiction to +her apparent lack of sympathy, she reached out a hand and placed +it on Kent's forehead. It was another shock. It was not a +professional touch, but a soft, cool little pressure that sent a +comforting thrill through him. The hand was there for only a +moment, and she withdrew it to entwine the slim fingers with those +of the others in her lap. + +"You have no fever," she said. "What makes you think you are +dying?" + +Kent explained what was happening inside him. He was completely +shunted off his original track of thought and anticipation. He had +expected to ask for at least a mutual introduction when his +visitor came into his room, and had anticipated taking upon +himself the position of a polite inquisitor. In spite of O'Connor, +he had not thought she would be quite so pretty. He had not +believed her eyes would be so beautiful, or their lashes so long, +or the touch of her hand so pleasantly unnerving. And now, in +place of asking for her name and the reason for her visit, he +became an irrational idiot, explaining to her certain matters of +physiology that had to do with aortas and aneurismal sacs. He had +finished before the absurdity of the situation dawned upon him, +and with absurdity came the humor of it. Even dying, Kent could +not fail to see the funny side of a thing It struck him as +suddenly as had the girl's beauty and her bewildering and +unaffected ingenuousness. + +Looking at him, that same glow of mysterious questioning in her +eyes, the girl found him suddenly laughing straight into her face. + +"This is funny. It's very funny, Miss--Miss--" + +"Marette," she supplied, answering his hesitation. + +"It's funny, Miss Marette." + +"Not Miss Marette. Just Marette," she corrected. + +"I say, it's funny," he tried again. "You see, it's not so +terribly pleasant as you might think to--er--be here, where I am, +dying. And last night I thought about the finest thing in the +world would be to have a woman beside me, a woman who'd be sort of +sympathetic, you know, ease the thing off a little, maybe say she +was sorry. And then the Lord answers my prayer, and YOU come--and +you sort of give me the impression that you made the appointment +with yourself to see how a fellow looks when he pops off." + +The shimmer of light came into the blue eyes again. She seemed to +have done with her mental analysis of him, and he saw that a bit +of color was creeping into her cheeks, pale when she had entered +the room. + +"You wouldn't be the first I've seen pop off," she assured him. +"There have been a number, and I've never cried very much. I'd +rather see a man die than some animals. But I shouldn't like to +see YOU do it. Does that comfort you--like the woman you prayed +the Lord for?" + +"It does," gasped Kent. "But why the devil, Miss Marette--" + +"Marette," she corrected again. + +"Yes, Marette--why the devil have you come to see me at just the +moment I'm due to explode? And what's your other name, and how old +are you, and what do you want of me?" + +"I haven't any other name, I'm twenty, and I came to get +acquainted with you and see what you are like." + +"Bully!" exclaimed Kent. "We're getting there fast! And now, why?" + +The girl drew her chair a few inches nearer, and for a moment Kent +thought that her lovely mouth was trembling on the edge of a +smile. + +"Because you have lied so splendidly to save another man who was +about to die." + +"Et tu, Brute!" sighed Kent, leaning back against his pillows. +"Isn't it possible for a decent man to kill another man and not be +called a liar when he tells about it? Why do so many believe that +I lie?" + +"They don't," said the girl. "They believe you--now. You have gone +so completely into the details of the murder in your confession +that they are quite convinced. It would be too bad if you lived, +for you surely would be hanged. Your lie sounds and reads like the +truth. But I know it is a lie. You did not kill John Barkley." + +"And the reason for your suspicion?" + +For fully half a minute the girl's eyes rested on, his own. Again +they seemed to be looking through him and into him. "Because I +know the man who DID kill him," she said quietly, "and it was not +you." + +Kent made a mighty effort to appear calm. He reached for a cigar +from the box that Cardigan had placed on his bed, and nibbled the +end of it. "Has some one else been confessing?" he asked. + +She shook her head the slightest bit. + +"Did you--er--see this other gentleman kill John Barkley?" he +insisted. + +"No." + +"Then I must answer you as I have answered at least one other. I +killed John Barkley. If you suspect some other person, your +suspicion is wrong." + +"What a splendid liar!" she breathed softly. "Don't you believe in +God?" + +Kent winced. "In a large, embracing sense, yes," he said. "I +believe in Him, for instance, as revealed to our senses in all +that living, growing glory you see out there through the window +Nature and I have become pretty good pals, and you see I've sort +of built up a mother goddess to worship instead of a he-god. +Sacrilege, maybe, but it's a great comfort at times. But you +didn't come to talk religion?" + +The lovely head bent still nearer him. He felt an impelling desire +to put up his hand and touch her shining hair, as she laid her +hand on his forehead. + +"I know who killed John Barkley," she insisted. "I know how and +when and why he was killed. Please tell me the truth. I want to +know. Why did you confess to a crime which you did not commit?" + +Kent took time to light his cigar. The girl watched him closely, +almost eagerly. + +"I may be mad," he said. "It is possible for any human being to be +mad and not know it. That's the funny part about insanity. But if +I'm not insane, I killed Barkley; if I didn't kill him, I must be +insane, for I'm very well convinced that I did. Either that, or +you are insane. I have my suspicions that you. are. Would a sane +person wear pumps with heels like those up here?" He pointed +accusingly to the floor. + +For the first time the girl smiled, openly, frankly, gloriously. +It was as if her heart had leaped forth for an instant and had +greeted him. And then, like sunlight shadowed by cloud, the smile +was gone. "You are a brave man," she said. "You are splendid. I +hate men. But I think if you lived very long, I should love you. I +will believe that you killed Barkley. You compel me to believe it. +You confessed, when you found you were going to die, that an +innocent man might be saved. Wasn't that it?" + +Kent nodded weakly. "That's it. I hate to think of it that way, +but I guess it's true. I confessed because I knew I was going to +die. Otherwise I am quite sure that I should have let the other +fellow take my medicine for me. You must think I am a beast." + +"All men are beasts," she agreed quickly. "But you are--a +different kind of beast. I like you. If there were a chance, I +might fight for you. I can fight." She held up her two small +hands, half smiling at him again. + +"But not with those," he exclaimed. "I think you would fight with +your eyes. O'Connor told me they half killed Kedsty when you met +them in the poplar grove yesterday." + +He had expected that the mention of Inspector Kedsty's name would +disturb her. It had no effect that he could perceive. + +"O'Connor was the big, red-faced man with Mr. Kedsty?" + +"Yes, my trail partner. He came to me yesterday and raved about +your eyes. They ARE beautiful; I've never seen eyes half so +lovely. But that wasn't what struck Bucky so hard. It was the +effect they had on Kedsty. He said they shattered every nerve in +Kedsty's body, and Kedsty isn't the sort to get easily frightened. +And the queer part of it was that the instant you had gone, he +gave O'Connor an order to free McTrigger--and then turned and +followed you. All the rest of that day O'Connor tried to discover +something about you at the Landing. He couldn't find hide nor +hair--I beg pardon!--I mean he couldn't find out anything about +you at all. We made up our minds that for some reason or other you +were hiding up at Kedsty's bungalow. You don't mind a fellow +saying all this--when he is going to pop off soon--do you?" + +He was half frightened at the directness with which he had +expressed the thing. He would gladly have buried his own curiosity +and all of O'Connor's suspicions for another moment of her hand on +his forehead. But it was out, and he waited. + +She was looking down, her fingers twisting some sort of tasseled +dress ornament in her lap, and Kent mentally measured the length +of her lashes with a foot rule in mind. They were superb, and in +the thrill of his admiration he would have sworn they were an inch +long. She looked up suddenly and caught the glow in his eyes and +the flush that lay under the tan of his cheeks. Her own color had +deepened a little. + +"What if you shouldn't die?" she asked him bluntly, as if she had +not heard a word of all he had said about Kedsty. "What would you +do?" + +"I'm going to." + +"But if you shouldn't?" + +Kent shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose I'd have to take my +medicine. You're not going?" + +She had straightened up and was sitting on the edge of her chair. +"Yes, I'm going. I'm afraid of my eyes. I may look at you as I +looked at Mr. Kedsty, and then--pop you'd go, quick! And I don't +want to be here when you die!" + +He heard a soft little note of laughter in her throat. It sent a +chill through him. What an adorable, blood-thirsty little wretch +she was! He stared at her bent head, at the shining coils of her +wonderful hair. Undone, he could see it completely hiding her. And +it was so soft and warm that again he was tempted to reach out and +touch it. She was wonderful, and yet it was not possible that she +had a heart. Her apparent disregard of the fact that he was a +dying man was almost diabolic. There was no sympathy in the +expression of her violet eyes as she looked at him. She was even +making fun of the fact that he was about to die! + +She stood up, surveying for the first time the room in which she +had been sitting. Then she turned to the window and looked out. +She reminded Kent of a beautiful young willow that had grown at +the edge of a stream, exquisite, slender, strong. He could have +picked her up in his arms as easily as a child, yet he sensed in +the lithe beauty of her body forces that could endure +magnificently. The careless poise of her head fascinated him. For +that head and the hair that crowned it he knew that half the women +of the earth would have traded precious years of their lives. + +And then, without turning toward him, she said, "Some day, when I +die, I wish I might have as pleasant a room as this." + +"I hope you never die," he replied devoutly. + +She came back and stood for a moment beside him. + +"I have had a very pleasant time," she said, as though he had +given her a special sort of entertainment. "It's too bad you are +going to die. I'm sure we should have been good friends. Aren't +you?" + +"Yes, very sure. If you had only arrived sooner--" + +"And I shall always think of you as a different kind of man- +beast," she interrupted him. "It is really true that I shouldn't +like to see you die. I want to get away before it happens. Would +you care to have me kiss you?" + +For an instant Kent felt that his aorta was about to give away. +"I--I would," he gasped huskily. + +"Then--close your eyes, please." + +He obeyed. She bent over him. He felt the soft touch of her hands +and caught for an instant the perfume of her face and hair, and +then the thrill of her lips pressed warm and soft upon his. + +She was not flushed or embarrassed when he looked at her again. It +was as if she had kissed a baby and was wondering at its red face. +"I've only kissed three men before you," she avowed. "It is +strange. I never thought I should do it again. And now, good-by!" +She moved quickly to the door. + +"Wait," he cried plaintively. "Please wait. I want to know your +name. It is Marette--" + +"Radisson," she finished for him. "Marette Radisson, and I come +from away off there, from a place we call the Valley of Silent +Men." She was pointing into the north. + +"The North!" he exclaimed. + +"Yes, it is far north. Very far." + +Her hand was on the latch. The door opened slowly. + +"Wait," he pleaded again. "You must not go." + +"Yes, I must go. I have remained too long. I am sorry I kissed +you. I shouldn't have done that. But I had to because you are such +a splendid liar!" + +The door opened quickly and closed behind her. He heard her steps +almost running down the hall, where not long ago he had listened +to the last of O'Connor's. + +And then there was silence, and in that silence he heard her words +again, drumming like little hammers in his head, "BECAUSE YOU ARE +SUCH A SPLENDID LIAR!" + + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +James Kent, among his other qualities good and bad, possessed a +merciless opinion of his own shortcomings, but never, in that +opinion, had he fallen so low as in the interval which immediately +followed the closing of his door behind the mysterious girl who +had told him that her name was Marette Radisson. No sooner was she +gone than the overwhelming superiority of her childlike cleverness +smote him until, ashamed of himself, he burned red in his +aloneness. + +He, Sergeant Kent, the coolest man on the force next to Inspector +Kedsty, the most dreaded of catechists when questioning criminals, +the man who had won the reputation of facing quietly and with +deadly sureness the most menacing of dangers, had been beaten-- +horribly beaten--by a girl! And yet, in defeat, an irrepressible +and at times distorted sense of humor made him give credit to the +victor. The shame of the thing was his acknowledgment that a bit +of feminine beauty had done the trick. He had made fun of O'Connor +when the big staff-sergeant had described the effect of the girl's +eyes on Inspector Kedsty. And, now, if O'Connor could know of what +had happened here-- + +And then, like a rubber ball, that saving sense of humor bounced +up out of the mess, and Kent found himself chuckling as his face +grew cooler. His visitor had come, and she had gone, and he knew +no more about her than when she had entered his room, except that +her very pretty name was Marette Radisson. He was just beginning +to think of the questions he had wanted to ask, a dozen, half a +hundred of them--more definitely who she was; how and why she had +come to Athabasca Landing; her interest in Sandy McTrigger; the +mysterious relationship that must surely exist between her and +Inspector Kedsty; and, chiefly, her real motive in coming to him +when she knew that he was dying. He comforted himself by the +assurance that he would have learned these things had she not left +him so suddenly. He had not expected that. + +The question which seated itself most insistently in his mind was, +why had she come? Was it, after all, merely a matter of curiosity? +Was her relationship to Sandy McTrigger such that inquisitiveness +alone had brought her to see the man who had saved him? Surely she +had not been urged by a sense of gratitude, for in no way had she +given expression to that. On his death-bed she had almost made fun +of him. And she could not have come as a messenger from McTrigger, +or she would have left her message. For the first time he began to +doubt that she knew the man at all, in spite of the strange thing +that had happened under O'Connor's eyes. But she must know Kedsty. +She had made no answer to his half-accusation that she was hiding +up at the Inspector's bungalow. He had used that word--"hiding." +It should have had an effect. And she was as beautifully +unconscious of it as though she had not heard him, and he knew +that she had heard him very distinctly. It was then that she had +given him that splendid view of her amazingly long lashes and had +countered softly, + +"What if you shouldn't die?" + +Kent felt himself suddenly aglow with an irresistible appreciation +of the genius of her subtlety, and with that appreciation came a +thrill of deeper understanding. He believed that he knew why she +had left him so suddenly. It was because she had seen herself +close to the danger-line. There were things which she did not want +him to know or question her about, and his daring intimation that +she was hiding in Kedsty's bungalow had warned her. Was it +possible that Kedsty himself had sent her for some reason which he +could not even guess at? Positively it was not because of +McTrigger, the man he had saved. At least she would have thanked +him in some way. She would not have appeared quite so adorably +cold-blooded, quite so sweetly unconscious of the fact that he was +dying. If McTrigger's freedom had meant anything to her, she could +not have done less than reveal to him a bit of sympathy. And her +greatest compliment, if he excepted the kiss, was that she had +called him a splendid liar! + +Kent grimaced and drew in a deep breath because of the tightness +in his chest. Why was it that every one seemed to disbelieve him? +Why was it that even this mysterious girl, whom he had never seen +before in his life, politely called him a liar when he insisted +that he had killed John Barkley? Was the fact of murder +necessarily branded in one's face? If so, he had never observed +it. Some of the hardest criminals he had brought in from the down- +river country were likable-looking men. There was Horrigan, for +instance, who for seven long weeks kept him in good humor with his +drollery, though he was bringing him in to be hanged. And there +were McTab, and le Bete Noir--the Black Beast--a lovable vagabond +in spite of his record, and Le Beau, the gentlemanly robber of the +wilderness mail, and half a dozen others he could recall without +any effort at all. No one called them liars when, like real men, +they confessed their crimes when they saw their game was up. To a +man they had given up the ghost with their boots on, and Kent +respected their memory because of it. And he was dying--and even +this stranger girl called him a liar? And no case had ever been +more complete than his own. He had gone mercilessly into the +condemning detail of it all. It was down in black and white. He +had signed it. And still he was disbelieved. It was funny, deuced +funny, thought Kent. + +Until young Mercer opened the door and came in with his late +breakfast, he had forgotten that he had really been hungry when he +awakened with Cardigan's stethoscope at his chest. Mercer had +amused him from the first. The pink-faced young Englishman, fresh +from the old country, could not conceal in his face and attitude +the fact that he was walking in the presence of the gallows +whenever he entered the room. He was, as he had confided in +Cardigan, "beastly hit up" over the thing. To feed and wash a man +who would undoubtedly die, but who would be hanged by the neck +until he was dead if he lived, filled him with peculiar and at +times conspicuous emotions. It was like attending to a living +corpse, if such a thing could be conceived. And Mercer had +conceived it. Kent had come to regard him as more or less of a +barometer giving away Cardigan's secrets. He had not told +Cardigan, but had kept the discovery for his own amusement. + +This morning Mercer's face was less pink, and his pale eyes were +paler, Kent thought. Also he started to sprinkle sugar on his eggs +in place of salt. + +Kent laughed and stopped his hand. "You may sugar my eggs when I'm +dead, Mercer," he said, "but while I'm alive I want salt on 'em! +Do you know, old man, you look bad this morning. Is it because +this is my last breakfast?" + +"I hope not, sir, I hope not," replied Mercer quickly. "Indeed, I +hope you are going to live, sir." + +"Thanks!" said Kent dryly. "Where is Cardigan?" + +"The Inspector sent a messenger for him, sir. I think he has gone +to see him. Are your eggs properly done, sir?" + +"Mercer, if you ever worked in a butler's pantry, for the love of +heaven forget it now!" exploded Kent, "I want you to tell me +something straight out. How long have I got?" + +Mercer fidgeted for a moment, and a shade or two more of the red +went out of his face. "I can't say, sir. Doctor Cardigan hasn't +told me. But I think not very long, sir. Doctor Cardigan is cut up +all in rags this morning. And Father Layonne is coming to see you +at any moment." + +"Much obliged," nodded Kent, calmly beginning his second egg. +"And, by the way, what did you think of the young lady?" + +"Ripping, positively ripping!" exclaimed Mercer. + +"That's the word," agreed Kent. "Ripping. It sounds like the +calico counter in a dry-goods store, but means a lot. Don't happen +to know where she is staying or why she is at the Landing, do +you?" + +He knew that he was asking a foolish question and scarcely +expected an answer from Mercer. He was astonished when the other +said: + +"I heard Doctor Cardigan ask her if we might expect her to honor +us with another visit, and she told him it would be impossible, +because she was leaving on a down-river scow tonight. Fort +Simpson, I think she said she was going to, sir." + +"The deuce you say!" cried Kent, spilling a bit of his coffee in +the thrill of the moment. "Why, that's where Staff-Sergeant +O'Connor is bound for!" + +"So I heard Doctor Cardigan tell her. But she didn't reply to +that. She just--went. If you don't mind a little joke in your +present condition, sir, I might say that Doctor Cardigan was +considerably flayed up over her. A deuced pretty girl, sir, deuced +pretty! And I think he was shot through!" + +"Now you're human, Mercer. She was pretty, wasn't she?" + +"Er--yes--stunningly so, Mr. Kent," agreed Mercer, reddening +suddenly to the roots of his pasty, blond hair. "I don't mind +confessing that in this unusual place her appearance was quite +upsetting." + +"I agree with you, friend Mercer," nodded Kent. "She upset me. +And--see here, old man!--will you do a dying man the biggest favor +he ever asked in his life?" + +"I should be most happy, sir, most happy." + +"It's this," said Kent. "I want to know if that girl actually +leaves on the down-river scow tonight. If I'm alive tomorrow +morning, will you tell me?" + +"I shall do my best, sir." + +"Good. It's simply the silly whim of a dying man, Mercer. But I +want to be humored in it. And I'm sensitive--like yourself. I +don't want Cardigan to know. There's an old Indian named Mooie, +who lives in a shack just beyond the sawmill. Give him ten dollars +and tell him there is another ten in it if he sees the business +through, and reports properly to you, and keeps his mouth shut +afterward. Here--the money is under my pillow." + +Kent pulled out a wallet and put fifty dollars in Mercer's hands. + +"Buy cigars with the rest of it, old man. It's of no more use to +me. And this little trick you are going to pull off is worth it. +It's my last fling on earth, you might say." + +"Thank you, sir. It is very kind of you." + +Mercer belonged to a class of wandering Englishmen typical of the +Canadian West, the sort that sometimes made real Canadians wonder +why a big and glorious country like their own should cling to the +mother country. Ingratiating and obsequiously polite at all times, +he gave one the impression of having had splendid training as a +servant, yet had this intimation been made to him, he would have +become highly indignant. Kent had learned their ways pretty well. +He had met them in all sorts of places, for one of their +inexplicable characteristics was the recklessness and apparent +lack of judgment with which they located themselves. Mercer, for +instance, should have held a petty clerical job of some kind in a +city, and here he was acting as nurse in the heart of a +wilderness! + +After Mercer had gone with the breakfast things and the money, +Kent recalled a number of his species. And he knew that under +their veneer of apparent servility was a thing of courage and +daring which needed only the right kind of incentive to rouse it. +And when roused, it was peculiarly efficient in a secretive, +artful-dodger sort of way. It would not stand up before a gun. But +it would creep under the mouths of guns on a black night. And Kent +was positive his fifty dollars would bring him results--if he +lived. + +Just why he wanted the information he was after, he could not have +told himself. It was a pet aphorism between O'Connor and him that +they had often traveled to success on the backs of their hunches. +And his proposition to Mercer was made on the spur of one of those +moments when the spirit of a hunch possessed him. His morning had +been one of unexpected excitement, and now he leaned back in an +effort to review it and to forget, if he could, the distressing +thing that was bound to happen to him within the next few hours. +But he could not get away from the thickening in his chest. It +seemed growing on him. Now and then he was compelled to make quite +an effort to get sufficient air into his lungs. + +He found himself wondering if there was a possibility that the +girl might return. For a long time he lay thinking about her, and +it struck him as incongruous and in bad taste that fate should +have left this adventure for his last. If he had met her six +months ago--or even three--it was probable that she would so have +changed the events of life for him that he would not have got the +half-breed's bullet in his chest. He confessed the thing +unblushingly. The wilderness had taken the place of woman for him. +It had claimed him, body and soul. He had desired nothing beyond +its wild freedom and its never-ending games of chance. He had +dreamed, as every man dreams, but realities and not the dreams had +been the red pulse of his life. And yet, if this girl had come +sooner-- + +He revisioned for himself over and over again her hair and eyes, +the slimness of her as she had stood at the window, the freedom +and strength of that slender body, the poise of her exquisite +head, and he felt again the thrill of her hand and the still more +wonderful thrill of her lips as she had pressed them warmly upon +his. + +AND SHE WAS OF THE NORTH! That was the thought that overwhelmed +him. He did not permit himself to believe that she might have told +him an untruth. He was confident, if he lived until tomorrow, that +Mercer would corroborate his faith in her. He had never heard of a +place called the Valley of Silent Men, but it was a big country, +and Fort Simpson with its Hudson Bay Company's post and its half- +dozen shacks was a thousand miles away. He was not sure that such +a place as that valley really existed. It was easier to believe +that the girl's home was at Fort Providence, Fort Simpson, Fort +Good Hope, or even at Fort McPherson. It was not difficult for him +to picture her as the daughter of one of the factor lords of the +North. Yet this, upon closer consideration, he gave up as +unreasonable. The word "Fort" did not stand for population, and +there were probably not more than fifty white people at all the +posts between the Great Slave and the Arctic. She was not one of +these, or the fact would have been known at the Landing. + +Neither could she be a riverman's daughter, for it was +inconceivable that either a riverman or a trapper would have sent +this girl down into civilization, where this girl had undoubtedly +been. It was that point chiefly which puzzled Kent. She was not +only beautiful. She had been tutored in schools that were not +taught by wilderness missioners. In her, it seemed to him, he had +seen the beauty and the wild freedom of the forests as they had +come to him straight out of the heart of an ancient aristocracy +that was born nearly two hundred years ago in the old cities of +Quebec and Montreal. + +His mind flashed back at that thought: he remembered the time when +he had sought out every nook and cranny of that ancient town of +Quebec, and had stood over graves two centuries old, and deep in +his soul had envied the dead the lives they had lived. He had +always thought of Quebec as a rare old bit of time-yellowed lace +among cities--the heart of the New World as it had once been, +still beating, still whispering of its one-time power, still +living in the memory of its mellowed romance, its almost forgotten +tragedies--a ghost that lived, that still beat back defiantly the +destroying modernism that would desecrate its sacred things. And +it pleased him to think of Marette Radisson as the spirit of it, +wandering north, and still farther north--even as the spirits of +the profaned dead had risen from the Landing to go farther on. + +And feeling that the way had at last been made easy for him, Kent +smiled out into the glorious day and whispered softly, as if she +were standing there, listening to him: + +"If I had lived--I would have called you--my Quebec. It's pretty, +that name. It stands for a lot. And so do you." + +And out in the hall, as Kent whispered those words, stood Father +Layonne, with a face that was whiter than the mere presence of +death had ever made it before. At his side stood Cardigan, aged +ten years since he had placed his stethoscope at Kent's chest that +morning. And behind these two were Kedsty, with a face like gray +rock, and young Mercer, in whose staring eyes was the horror of a +thing he could not yet quite comprehend. Cardigan made an effort +to speak and failed. Kedsty wiped his forehead, as he had wiped it +the morning of Kent's confession. And Father Layonne, as he went +to Kent's door, was breathing softly to himself a prayer. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +From the window, the glorious day outside, and the vision he had +made for himself of Marette Radisson, Kent turned at the sound of +a hand at his door and saw it slowly open. He was expecting it. He +had read young Mercer like a book. Mercer's nervousness and the +increased tightening of the thing in his chest had given him +warning. The thing was going to happen soon, and Father Layonne +had come. He tried to smile, that he might greet his wilderness +friend cheerfully and unafraid. But the smile froze when the door +opened and he saw the missioner standing there. + +More than once he had accompanied Father Layonne over the +threshold of life into the presence of death, but he had never +before seen in his face what he saw there now. He stared. The +missioner remained in the doorway, hesitating, as if at the last +moment a great fear held him back. For an interval the eyes of the +two men rested upon each other in a silence that was like the grip +of a living thing. Then Father Layonne came quietly into the room +and closed the door behind him. + +Kent drew a deep breath and tried to grin. "You woke me out of a +dream," he said, "a day-dream. I've had a very pleasant experience +this morning, mon pere." + +"So some one was trying to tell me, Jimmy," replied the little +missioner with an effort to smile back. + +"Mercer?" + +"Yes. He told me about it confidentially. The poor boy must have +fallen in love with the young lady." + +"So have I, mon pere. I don't mind confessing it to you. I'm +rather glad. And if Cardigan hadn't scheduled me to die--" + +"Jimmy," interrupted the missioner quickly, but a bit huskily, +"has it ever occurred to you that Doctor Cardigan may be +mistaken?" + +He had taken one of Kent's hands. His grip tightened. It began to +hurt. And Kent, looking into his eyes, found his brain all at once +like a black room suddenly illuminated by a flash of fire. Drop by +drop the blood went out of his face until it was whiter than +Father Layonne's. + +"You--you don't--mean--" + +"Yes, yes, boy, I mean just that," said the missioner, in a voice +so strange that it did not seem to be his own. "You are not going +to die, Jimmy. You are going to live!" + +"Live!" Kent dropped back against his pillows. "LIVE!" His lips +gasped the one word. + +He closed his eyes for an instant, and it seemed to him that the +world was aflame. And he repeated the word again, but only his +lips formed it, and there came no sound. His senses, strained to +the breaking-point to meet the ordeal of death, gave way slowly to +the mighty reaction. He felt in those moments like a reeling man. +He opened his eyes, and there was a meaningless green haze through +the window where the world should have been. But he heard Father +Layonne's voice. It seemed a great distance off, but it was very +clear. Doctor Cardigan had made an error, it was saying. And +Doctor Cardigan, because of that error, was like a man whose heart +had been taken out of him. But it was an excusable error. + +If there had been an X-ray--But there had been none. And Doctor +Cardigan had made the diagnosis that nine out of ten good surgeons +would probably have made. What he had taken to be the aneurismal +blood-rush was an exaggerated heart murmur, and the increased +thickening in his chest was a simple complication brought about by +too much night air. It was too bad the error had happened. But he +must not blame Cardigan! + +HE MUST NOT BLAME CARDIGAN! Those last words pounded like an +endless series of little waves in Kent's brain. He must not blame +Cardigan! He laughed, laughed before his dazed senses readjusted +themselves, before the world through the window pieced itself into +shape again. At least he thought he was laughing. He must--not-- +blame--Cardigan! What an amazingly stupid thing for Father Layonne +to say! Blame Cardigan for giving him back his life? Blame him for +the glorious knowledge that he was not going to die? Blame him +for-- + +Things were coming clearer. Like a bolt slipping into its groove +his brain found itself. He saw Father Layonne again, with his +white, tense face and eyes in which were still seated the fear and +the horror he had seen in the doorway. It was not until then that +he gripped fully at the truth. + +"I--I see," he said. "You and Cardigan think it would have been +better if I had died!" + +The missioner was still holding his hand. "I don't know, Jimmy, I +don't know. What has happened is terrible." + +"But not so terrible as death," cried Kent, suddenly growing rigid +against his pillows. "Great God, mon pere, I want to live! Oh--" + +He snatched his hand free and stretched forth both arms to the +open window. "Look at it out there! My world again! MY WORLD! I +want to go back to it. It's ten times more precious to me now than +it was. Why should I blame Cardigan? Mon pere--mon pere--listen to +me. I can say it now, because I've got a right to say it. I LIED. +I didn't kill John Barkley!" + +A strange cry fell from Father Layonne's lips. It was a choking +cry, a cry, not of rejoicing, but of a grief-stung thing. "Jimmy!" + +"I swear it! Great heaven, mon pere, don't you believe me?" + +The missioner had risen. In his eyes and face was another look. It +was as if in all his life he had never seen James Kent before. It +was a look born suddenly of shock, the shock of amazement, of +incredulity, of a new kind of horror. Then swiftly again his +countenance changed, and he put a hand on Kent's head. + +"God forgive you, Jimmy," he said. "And God help you, too!" + +Where a moment before Kent had felt the hot throb of an inundating +joy, his heart was chilled now by the thing he sensed in Father +Layonne's voice and saw in his face and eyes. It was not entirely +disbelief. It was a more hopeless thing than that. + +"You do not believe me!" he said. + +"It is my religion to believe, Jimmy," replied Father Layonne in a +gentle voice into which the old calmness had returned. "I must +believe, for your sake. But it is not a matter of human sentiment +now, lad. It is the Law! Whatever my heart feels toward you can do +you no good. You are--" He hesitated to speak the words. + +Then it was that Kent saw fully and clearly the whole monstrous +situation. It had taken time for it to fasten itself upon him. In +a general way it had been clear to him a few moments before; now, +detail by detail, it closed in upon him, and his muscles +tightened, and Father Layonne saw his jaw set hard and his hands +clench. Death was gone. But the mockery of it, the grim exultation +of the thing over the colossal trick it had played, seemed to din +an infernal laughter in his ears. But--he was going to live! That +was the one fact that rose above all others. No matter what +happened to him a month or six months from now, he was not going +to die today. He would live to receive Mercer's report. He would +live to stand on his feet again and to fight for the life which he +had thrown away. He was, above everything else, a fighting man. It +was born in him to fight, not so much against his fellow men as +against the overwhelming odds of adventure as they came to him. +And now he was up against the deadliest game of all. He saw it. He +felt it. The thing gripped him. In the eyes of that Law of which +he had so recently been a part he was a murderer. And in the +province of Alberta the penalty for killing a man was hanging. +Because horror and fear did not seize upon him, he wondered if he +still realized the situation. He believed that he did. It was +merely a matter of human nature. Death, he had supposed, was a +fixed and foregone thing. He had believed that only a few hours of +life were left for him. And now it was given back to him, for +months at least. It was a glorious reprieve, and-- + +Suddenly his heart stood still in the thrill of the thought that +came to him. Marette Radisson had known that he was not going to +die! She had hinted the fact, and he, like a blundering idiot, had +failed to catch the significance of it. She had given him no +sympathy, had laughed at him, had almost made fun of him, simply +because she knew that he was going to live! + +He turned suddenly on Father Layonne. + +"They shall believe me!" he cried. "I shall make them believe me! +Mon pere, I lied! I lied to save Sandy McTrigger, and I shall tell +them why. If Doctor Cardigan has not made another mistake, I want +them all here again. Will you arrange it?" + +"Inspector Kedsty is waiting outside," said Father Layonne +quietly, "but I should not act in haste, Jimmy. I should wait. I +should think--think." + +"You mean take time to think up a story that will hold water, mon +pere? I have that. I have the story. And yet--" He smiled a bit +dismally. "I did make one pretty thorough confession, didn't I, +Father?" + +"It was very convincing, Jimmy. It went so particularly into the +details, and those details, coupled with the facts that you were +seen at John Barkley's earlier in the evening, and that it was you +who found him dead a number of hours later--" + +"All make a strong case against me," agreed Kent. "As a matter of +fact, I was up at Barkley's to look over an old map he had made of +the Porcupine country twenty years ago. He couldn't find it. Later +he sent word he had run across it. I returned and found him dead." + +The little missioner nodded, but did not speak. + +"It is embarrassing," Kent went on. "It almost seems as though I +ought to go through with it, like a sport. When a man loses, it +isn't good taste to set up a howl. It makes him sort of yellow- +backed, you know. To play the game according to rules, I suppose I +ought to keep quiet and allow myself to be hung without making any +disturbance. Die game, and all that, you know. Then there is the +other way of looking at it. This poor neck of mine depends on me. +It has given me a lot of good service. It has been mighty loyal. +It has even swallowed eggs on the day it thought it was going to +die. And I'd be a poor specimen of humanity to go back on it now. +I want to do that neck a good turn. I want to save it. And I'm +going to--if I can!" + +In spite of the unpleasant tension of the moment, it cheered +Father Layonne to see this old humor returning into the heart of +his friend. With him love was an enduring thing. He might grieve +for James Kent, he might pray for the salvation of his soul, he +might believe him guilty, yet he still bore for him the affection +which was too deeply rooted in his heart to be uptorn by physical +things or the happenings of chance. So the old cheer of his smile +came back, and he said: + +"To fight for his life is a privilege which God gives to every +man, Jimmy. I was terrified when I came to you. I believed it +would have been better if you had died. I can see my error. It +will be a terrible fight. If you win, I shall be glad. If you +lose, I know that you will lose bravely. Perhaps you are right. It +may be best to see Inspector Kedsty before you have had time to +think. That point will have its psychological effect. Shall I tell +him you are prepared to see him?" + +Kent nodded. "Yes. Now." + +Father Layonne went to the door. Even there he seemed to hesitate +an instant, as if again to call upon Kent to reconsider. Then he +opened it and went out. + +Kent waited impatiently. His hand, fumbling at his bedclothes, +seized upon the cloth with which he had wiped his lips, and it +suddenly occurred to him that it had been a long time since it had +shown a fresh stain of blood. Now that he knew it was not a deadly +thing, the tightening in his chest was less uncomfortable. He felt +like getting up and meeting his visitors on his feet. Every nerve +in his body wanted action, and the minutes of silence which +followed the closing of the door after the missioner were drawn +out and tedious to him. A quarter of an hour passed before he +heard returning footsteps, and by the sound of them he knew Kedsty +was not coming alone. Probably le pere would return with him. And +possibly Cardigan. + +What happened in the next few seconds was somewhat of a shock to +him. Father Layonne entered first, and then came Inspector Kedsty. +Kent's eyes shot to the face of the commander of N Division. There +was scarcely recognition in it. A mere inclination of the head, +not enough to call a greeting, was the reply to Kent's nod and +salute. Never had he seen Kedsty's face more like the face of an +emotionless sphinx. But what disturbed him most was the presence +of people he had not expected. Close behind Kedsty was McDougal, +the magistrate, and behind McDougal entered Constables Felly and +Brant, stiffly erect and clearly under orders. Cardigan, pale and +uneasy, came in last, with the stenographer. Scarcely had they +entered the room when Constable Pelly pronounced the formal +warning of the Criminal Code of the Royal Northwest Mounted +Police, and Kent was legally under arrest. + +He had not looked for this. He knew, of course, that the process +of the Law would take its course, but he had not anticipated this +bloodthirsty suddenness. He had expected, first of all, to talk +with Kedsty as man to man. And yet--it was the Law. He realized +this as his eyes traveled from Kedsty's rock-like face to the +expressionless immobility of his old friends, Constables Pelly and +Brant. If there was sympathy, it was hidden except in the faces of +Cardigan and Father Layonne. And Kent, exultantly hopeful a little +while before, felt his heart grow heavy within him as he waited +for the moment when he would begin the fight to repossess himself +of the life and freed which he had lost. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +For some time after the door to Kent's room had closed upon the +ominous visitation of the Law, young Mercer remained standing in +the hall, debating with himself whether his own moment had not +arrived. In the end he decided that it had, and with Kent's fifty +dollars in his pocket he made for the shack of the old Indian +trailer, Mooie. It was an hour later when he returned, just in +time to see Kent's door open again. Doctor Cardigan and Father +Layonne reappeared first, followed in turn by the blonde +stenographer, the magistrate, and Constables Pelly and Brant. Then +the door closed. + +Within the room, sweating from the ordeal through which he had +passed, Kent sat bolstered against his pillows, facing Inspector +Kedsty with blazing eyes. + +"I've asked for these few moments alone with you, Kedsty, because +I wanted to talk to you as a man, and not as my superior officer. +I am, I take it, no longer a member of the force. That being the +case, I owe you no more respect than I owe to any other man. And I +am pleased to have the very great privilege of calling you a +cursed scoundrel!" + +Kedsty's face was hot, but as his hands clenched slowly, it turned +redder. Before he could speak, Kent went on. + +"You have not shown me the courtesy or the sympathy you have had +for the worst criminals that ever faced you. You amazed every man +that was in this room, because at one time--if not now--they were +my friends. It wasn't what you said. It was how you said it. +Whenever there was an inclination on their part to believe, you +killed it--not honestly and squarely, by giving me a chance. +Whenever you saw a chance for me to win a point, you fell back +upon the law. And you don't believe that I killed John Barkley. I +know it. You called me a liar the day I made that fool confession. +You still believe that I lied. And I have waited until we were +alone to ask you certain things, for I still have something of +courtesy left in me, if you haven't. What is your game? What has +brought about the change in you? Is it--" + +His right hand clenched hard as a rock as he leaned toward Kedsty. + +"Is it because of the girl hiding up at your bungalow, Kedsty?" + +Even in that moment, when he had the desire to strike the man +before him, it was impossible for him not to admire the stone-like +invulnerability of Kedsty. He had never heard of another man +calling Kedsty a scoundrel or dishonest. And yet, except that his +faced burned more dully red, the Inspector was as impassively calm +as ever. Even Kent's intimation that he was playing a game, and +his direct accusation that he was keeping Marette Radisson in +hiding at his bungalow, seemed to have no disturbing effect on +him. For a space he looked at Kent, as if measuring the poise of +the other's mind. When he spoke, it was in a voice so quiet and +calm that Kent stared at him in amazement. + +"I don't blame you, Kent," he said. "I don't blame you for calling +me a scoundrel, or anything else you want to. I think I should do +the same if I were in your place. You think it is incredible, +because of our previous association, that I should not make every +effort to save you. I would, if I thought you were innocent. But I +don't. I believe you are guilty. I cannot see where there is a +loophole in the evidence against you, as given in your own +confession. Why, man, even if I could help to prove you innocent +of killing John Barkley--" + +He paused and twisted one of his gray mustaches, half facing the +window for a moment. "Even if I did that," he went on, "you would +still have twenty years of prison ahead of you for the worst kind +of perjury on the face of the earth, perjury committed at a time +when you thought you were dying! You are guilty, Kent. If not of +one thing, then of the other. I am not playing a game. And as for +the girl--there is no girl at my bungalow." + +He turned to the door; and Kent made no effort to stop him. Words +came to his lips and died there, and for a space after Kedsty had +gone he stared out into the green forest world beyond his window, +seeing nothing. Inspector Kedsty, quietly and calmly, had spoken +words that sent his hopes crashing in ruin about him. For even if +he escaped the hangman, he was still a criminal--a criminal of the +worst sort, perhaps, next to the man who kills another. If he +proved that he had not killed John Barkley, he would convict +himself, at the same time, of having made solemn oath to a lie on +what he supposed was his death-bed. And for that, a possible +twenty years in the Edmonton penitentiary! At best he could not +expect less than ten. Ten years--twenty years--in prison! That, or +hang. + +The sweat broke out on his face. He did not curse Kedsty now. His +anger was gone. Kedsty had seen all the time what he, like a fool, +had not thought of. No matter how the Inspector might feel in that +deeply buried heart of his, he could not do otherwise than he was +doing. He, James Kent, who hated a lie above all the things on the +earth, was kin-as-kisew--the blackest liar of all, a man who lied +when he was dying. + +And for that lie there was a great punishment. The Law saw with +its own eyes. It was a single-track affair, narrow-visioned, +caring nothing for what was to the right or the left. It would +tolerate no excuse which he might find for himself. He had lied to +save a human life, but that life the Law itself had wanted. So he +had both robbed and outraged the Law, even though a miracle saved +him the greatest penalty of all. + +The weight of the thing crushed him. It was as if for the first +time a window had opened for him, and he saw what Kedsty had seen. +And then, as the minutes passed, the fighting spirit in him rose +again. He was not of the sort to go under easily. Personal danger +had always stirred him to his greatest depths, and he had never +confronted a danger greater than this he was facing now. It was +not a matter of leaping quickly and on the spur of the moment. For +ten years his training had been that of a hunter of men, and the +psychology of the man hunt had been his strong point. Always, in +seeking his quarry, he had tried first to bring himself into a +mental sympathy and understanding with that quarry. To analyze +what an outlaw would do under certain conditions and with certain +environments and racial inheritances behind him was to Kent the +premier move in the thrilling game. He had evolved rules of great +importance for himself, but always he had worked them out from the +vantage point of the huntsman. Now he began to turn them around. +He, James Kent, was no longer the hunter, but the hunted, and all +the tricks which he had mastered must now be worked the other way. +His woodcraft, his cunning, the fine points he had learned of the +game of one-against-one would avail him but little when it came to +the witness chair and a trial. + +The open window was his first inspiration. Adventure had been the +blood of his life. And out there, behind the green forests rolling +away like the billows of an ocean, lay the greatest adventure of +all. Once in those beloved forests covering almost the half of a +continent, he would be willing to die if the world beat him. He +could see himself playing the game of the hunted as no other man +had ever played it before. Let him once have his guns and his +freedom, with all that world waiting for him-- + +Eagerness gleamed in his eyes, and then, slowly, it died out. The +open window, after all, was but a mockery. He rolled sideways from +his bed and partly balanced himself on his feet. The effort made +him dizzy. He doubted if he could have walked a hundred yards +after climbing through the window. Instantly another thought +leaped into his brain. His head was clearing. He swayed across the +room and back again, the first time he had been on his feet since +the half-breed's bullet had laid him out. He would fool Cardigan. +He would fool Kedsty. As he recovered his strength, he would keep +it to himself. He would play sick man to the limit, and then some +night he would take advantage of the open window! + +The thought thrilled him as no other thing in the world had ever +thrilled him before. For the first time he sensed the vast +difference between the hunter and the hunted, between the man who +played the game of life and death alone and the one who played it +with the Law and all its might behind him. To hunt was thrilling. +To be hunted was more thrilling. Every nerve in his body tingled. +A different kind of fire burned in his brain. He was the creature +who was at bay. The other fellow was the hunter now. + +He went back to the window and leaned far out. He looked at the +forest and saw it with new eyes. The gleam of the slowly moving +river held a meaning for him that it had never held before. Doctor +Cardigan, seeing him then, would have sworn the fever had +returned. His eyes held a slumbering fire. His face was flushed. +In these moments Kent did not see death. He was not visioning the +iron bars of a prison. His blood pulsed only to the stir of that +greatest of all adventures which lay ahead of him. He, the best +man-hunter in two thousand miles of wilderness, would beat the +hunters themselves. The hound had turned fox, and that fox knew +the tricks of both the hunter and the hunted. He would win! A +world beckoned to him, and he would reach the heart of that world. +Already there began to flash through his mind memory of the places +where he could find safety and freedom for all time. No man in all +the Northland knew its out-of-the-way corners better than he--its +unmapped and unexplored places, the far and mysterious patches of +terra incognita, where the sun still rose and set without +permission of the Law, and God laughed as in the days when +prehistoric monsters fed from the tops of trees no taller than +themselves. Once through that window, with the strength to travel, +and the Law might seek him for a hundred years without profit to +itself. + +It was not bravado in his blood that stirred these thoughts. It +was not panic or an unsound excitement. He was measuring things +even as he visioned them. He would go down-river way, toward the +Arctic. And he would find Marette Radisson! Yes, even though she +lived at Barracks at Fort Simpson, he would find her! And after +that? The question blurred all other questions in his mind. There +were many answers to it. + +Knowing that it would be fatal to his scheme if he were found on +his feet, he returned to his bed. The flush of his exertion and +excitement was still in his face when Doctor Cardigan came half an +hour later. + +Within the next few minutes he put Cardigan more at his ease than +he had been during the preceding day and night. It was, after all, +an error which made him happier the more he thought about it, he +told the surgeon. He admitted that at first the discovery that he +was going to live had horrified him. But now the whole thing bore +a different aspect for him. As soon as he was sufficiently strong, +he would begin gathering the evidences for his alibi, and he was +confident of proving himself innocent of John Barkley's murder. + +He anticipated ten years in the Edmonton penitentiary. But what +were ten years there as compared with forty or fifty under the +sod? He wrung Cardigan's hand. He thanked him for the splendid +care he had given him. It was he, Cardigan, who had saved him from +the grave, he said--and Cardigan grew younger under his eyes. + +"I thought you'd look at it differently, Kent," he said, drawing +in a deep breath. "My God, when I found I had made that mistake--" + +"You figured you were handing me over to the hangman," smiled +Kent. "It's true I shouldn't have made that confession, old man, +if I hadn't rated you right next to God Almighty when it came to +telling whether a man was going to live or die. But we all make +slips. I've made 'em. And you've got no apology to make. I may ask +you to send me good cigars now and then while I'm in retirement at +Edmonton, and I shall probably insist that you come to smoke with +me occasionally and tell me the news of the rivers. But I'm +afraid, old chap, that I'm going to worry you a bit more here. I +feel queer today, queer inside me. Now it would be a topping joke +if some other complication should set in and fool us all again, +wouldn't it?" + +He could see the impression he was making on Cardigan. Again his +faith in the psychology of the mind found its absolute +verification. Cardigan, lifted unexpectedly out of the slough of +despond by the very man whom he expected to condemn him, became +from that moment, in the face of the mental reaction, almost +hypersympathetic. When finally he left the room, Kent was inwardly +rejoicing. For Cardigan had told him it would be some time before +he was strong enough to stand on his feet. + +He did not see Mercer all the rest of that day. It was Cardigan +who personally brought his dinner and his supper and attended him +last at night. He asked not to be interrupted again, as he felt +that he wanted to sleep. There was a guard outside his door now. + +Cardigan scowled when he volunteered this information. It was +sheer nonsense in Kedsty taking such a silly precaution. But he +would give the guard rubber-soled shoes and insist that he make no +sound that would disturb him. Kent thanked him, and grinned +exultantly when he was gone. + +He waited until his watch told him it was ten o'clock before he +began the exercise which he had prescribed for himself. +Noiselessly he rolled out of bed. There was no sensation of +dizziness when he stood on his feet this time. His head was as +clear as a bell. He began experimenting by inhaling deeper and +still deeper breaths and by straightening his chest. + +There was no pain, as he had expected there would be. He felt like +crying out in his joy. One after the other he stretched up his +arms. He bent over until the tips of his fingers touched the +floor. He crooked his knees, leaned from side to side, changed +from one attitude to another, amazed at the strength and +elasticity of his body. Twenty times, before he returned to his +bed, he walked back and forth across his room. + +He was sleepless. Lying with his back to the pillows he looked out +into the starlight, watching for the first glow of the moon and +listening again to the owls that had nested in the lightning- +shriven tree. An hour later he resumed his exercise. + +He was on his feet when through his window he heard the sound of +approaching voices and then of running feet. A moment later some +one was pounding at a door, and a loud voice shouted for Doctor +Cardigan. Kent drew cautiously nearer the window. The moon had +risen, and he saw figures approaching, slowly, as if weighted +under a burden. Before they turned out of his vision, he made out +two men bearing some heavy object between them. Then came the +opening of a door, other voices, and after that an interval of +quiet. + +He returned to his bed, wondering who the new patient could be. + +He was breathing easier after his exertion. The fact that he was +feeling keenly alive, and that the thickening in his chest was +disappearing, flushed him with elation. An unbounded optimism +possessed him. It was late when he fell asleep, and he slept late. +It was Mercer's entrance into his room that roused him. He came in +softly, closed the door softly, yet Kent heard him. The moment he +pulled himself up, he knew that Mercer had a report to make, and +he also saw that something upsetting had happened to him. Mercer +was a bit excited. + +"I beg pardon for waking you, sir," he said, leaning close over +Kent, as though fearing the guard might be listening at the door. +"But I thought it best for you to hear about the Indian, sir." + +"The Indian?" + +"Yes, sir--Mooie, sir. I am quite upset over it, Mr. Kent. He told +me early last evening that he had found the scow on which the girl +was going down-river. He said it was hidden in Kim's Bayou." + +"Kim's Bayou! That was a good hiding-place, Mercer!" + +"A very good place of concealment indeed, sir. As soon as it was +dark, Mooie returned to watch. What happened to him I haven't +fully discovered, sir. But it must have been near midnight when he +staggered up to Crossen's place, bleeding and half out of his +senses. They brought him here, and I watched over him most of the +night. He says the girl went aboard the scow and that the scow +started down-river. That much I learned, sir. But all the rest he +mumbles in a tongue I can not understand. Crossen says it's Cree, +and that old Mooie believes devils jumped on him with clubs down +at Kim's Bayou. Of course they must have been men. I don't believe +in Mooie's devils, sir." + +"Nor I," said Kent, the blood stirring strangely in his veins. +"Mercer, it simply means there was some one cleverer than old +Mooie watching that trail." + +With a curiously tense face Mercer was looking cautiously toward +the door. Then he leaned still lower over Kent. + +"During his mumblings, when I was alone with him, I heard him +speak a name, sir. Half a dozen times, sir--and it was--KEDSTY!" + +Kent's fingers gripped the young Englishman's hand. + +"You heard THAT, Mercer?" + +"I am sure I could not have been mistaken, sir. It was repeated a +number of times." + +Kent fell back against his pillows. His mind was working swiftly. +He knew that behind an effort to appear calm Mercer was uneasy +over what had happened. + +"We mustn't let this get out, Mercer," he said. "If Mooie should +be badly hurt--should die, for instance--and it was discovered +that you and I--" + +He knew he had gone far enough to give effect to his words. He did +not even look at Mercer. + +"Watch him closely, old man, and report to me everything that +happens. Find out more about Kedsty, if you can. I shall advise +you how to act. It is rather ticklish, you know--for you! And"--he +smiled at Mercer--"I'm unusually hungry this morning. Add another +egg, will you, Mercer? Three instead of two, and a couple of extra +slices of toast. And don't let any one know that my appetite is +improving. It may be best for both of us--especially if Mooie +should happen to die. Understand, old man?" + +"I--I think I do, sir," replied Mercer, paling at the grimly +smiling thing he saw in Kent's eyes. "I shall do as you say, sir." + +When he had gone, Kent knew that he had accurately measured his +man. True to a certain type, Mercer would do a great deal for +fifty dollars--under cover. In the open he was a coward. And Kent +knew the value of such a man under certain conditions. The present +was one of those conditions. From this hour Mercer would be a +priceless asset to his scheme for personal salvation. + + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +That morning Kent ate a breakfast that would have amazed Doctor +Cardigan and would have roused a greater caution in Inspector +Kedsty had he known of it. While eating he strengthened the bonds +already welded between himself and Mercer. He feigned great +uneasiness over the condition of Mooie, who he knew was not +fatally hurt because Mercer had told him there was no fracture. +But if he should happen to die, he told Mercer, it would mean +something pretty bad for them, if their part in the affair leaked +out. + +As for himself, it would make little difference, as he was "in +bad" anyway. But he did not want to see a good friend get into +trouble on his account. Mercer was impressed. He saw himself an +instrument in a possible murder affair, and the thought terrified +him. Even at best, Kent told him, they had given and taken bribes, +a fact that would go hard with them unless Mooie kept his mouth +shut. And if the Indian knew anything out of the way about Kedsty, +it was mighty important that he, Mercer, get hold of it, for it +might prove a trump card with them in the event of a showdown with +the Inspector of Police. As a matter of form, Mercer took his +temperature. It was perfectly normal, but it was easy for Kent to +persuade a notation on the chart a degree above. + +"Better keep them thinking I'm still pretty sick," he assured +Mercer. "They won't suspect there is anything between us then." + +Mercer was so much in sympathy with the idea that he suggested +adding another half-degree. + +It was a splendid day for Kent. He could feel himself growing +stronger with each hour that passed. Yet not once during the day +did he get out of his bed, fearing that he might be discovered. +Cardigan visited him twice and had no suspicion of Mercer's +temperature chart. He dressed his wound, which was healing fast. +It was the fever which depressed him. There must be, he said, some +internal disarrangement which would soon clear itself up. +Otherwise there seemed to be no very great reason why Kent should +not get on his feet. He smiled apologetically. + +"Seems queer to say that, when a little while ago I was telling +you it was time to die," he said. + +That night, after ten o'clock, Kent went through his setting-up +exercises four times. He marveled even more than the preceding +night at the swiftness with which his strength was returning. Half +a dozen times the little devils of eagerness working in his blood +prompted him to take to the window at once. + +For three days and nights thereafter he kept his secret and added +to his strength. Doctor Cardigan came in to see him at intervals, +and Father Layonne visited him regularly every afternoon. Mercer +was his most frequent visitor. On the third day two things +happened to create a little excitement. Doctor Cardigan left on a +four-day journey to a settlement fifty miles south, leaving Mercer +in charge--and Mooie came suddenly out of his fever into his +normal senses again. The first event filled Kent with joy. With +Cardigan out of the way there would be no immediate danger of the +discovery that he was no longer a sick man. But it was the +recovery of Mooie from the thumping he had received about the head +that delighted Mercer. He was exultant. With the quick reaction of +his kind he gloated over the fact before Kent. He let it be known +that he was no longer afraid, and from the moment Mooie was out of +danger his attitude was such that more than once Kent would have +taken keen pleasure in kicking him from the room. Also, from the +hour he was safely in charge of Doctor Cardigan's place, Mercer +began to swell with importance. Kent saw the new danger and began +to humor him. He flattered him. He assured him that it was a +burning shame Cardigan had not taken him into partnership. He +deserved it. And, in justice to himself, Mercer should demand that +partnership when Cardigan returned. He, Kent, would talk to Father +Layonne about it, and the missioner would spread the gospel of +what ought to be among others who were influential at the Landing. +For two days he played with Mercer as an angler plays with a +treacherous fish. He tried to get Mercer to discover more about +Mooie's reference to Kedsty. But the old Indian had shut up like a +clam. + +"He was frightened when I told him he had said things about the +Inspector," Mercer reported. "He disavowed everything. He shook +his head--no, no, no. He had not seen Kedsty. He knew nothing +about him. I can do nothing with him, Kent." + +He had dropped his "sirs," also his servant-like servility. He +helped to smoke Kent's cigars with the intimacy of proprietorship, +and with offensive freedom called him "Kent." He spoke of the +Inspector as "Kedsty," and of Father Layonne as "the little +preacher." He swelled perceptibly, and Kent knew that each hour of +that swelling added to his own danger. + +He believed that Mercer was talking. Several times a day he heard +him in conversation with the guard, and not infrequently Mercer +went down to the Landing, twirling a little reed cane that he had +not dared to use before. He began to drop opinions and information +to Kent in a superior sort of way. On the fourth day word came +that Doctor Cardigan would not return for another forty-eight +hours, and with unblushing conceit Mercer intimated that when he +did return he would find big changes. Then it was that in the +stupidity of his egotism he said: + +"Kedsty has taken a great fancy to me, Kent. He's a square old +top, when you take him right. Had me over this afternoon, and we +smoked a cigar together. When I told him that I looked in at your +window last night and saw you going through a lot of exercises, he +jumped up as if some one had stuck a pin in him. 'Why, I thought +he was sick--BAD!' he said. And I let him know there were better +ways of making a sick man well than Cardigan's. 'Give them plenty +to eat,' I said. 'Let 'em live normal,' I argued. 'Look at Kent, +for instance,' I told him. 'He's been eating like a bear for a +week, and he can turn somersaults this minute!' That topped him +over, Kent. I knew it would be a bit of a surprise for him, that I +should do what Cardigan couldn't do. He walked back and forth, +black as a hat--thinking of Cardigan, I suppose. Then he called in +that Pelly chap and gave him something which he wrote on a piece +of paper. After that he shook hands with me, slapped me on the +shoulder most intimately, and gave me another cigar. He's a keen +old blade, Kent. He doesn't need more than one pair of eyes to see +what I've done since Cardigan went away!" + +If ever Kent's hands had itched to get at the throat of a human +being, the yearning convulsed his fingers now. At the moment when +he was about to act Mercer had betrayed him to Kedsty! He turned +his face away so that Mercer could not see what was in his eyes. +Under his body he concealed his clenched hands. Within himself he +fought against the insane desire that was raging in his blood, the +desire to leap on Mercer and kill him. If Cardigan had reported +his condition to Kedsty, it would have been different. He would +have accepted the report as a matter of honorable necessity on +Cardigan's part. But Mercer--a toad blown up by his own wind, a +consummate fiend who would sell his best friend, a fool, an ass-- + +For a space he held himself rigid as a stone, his face turned away +from Mercer. His better sense won. He knew that his last chance +depended upon his coolness now. And Mercer unwittingly helped him +to win by slyly pocketing a couple of his cigars and leaving the +room. For a minute or two Kent heard him talking to the guard +outside the door. + +He sat up then. It was five o'clock. How long ago was it that +Mercer had seen Kedsty? What was the order that the Inspector had +written on a sheet of paper for Constable Pelly? Was it simply +that he should be more closely watched, or was it a command to +move him to one of the cells close to the detachment office? If it +was the latter, all his hopes and plans were destroyed. His mind +flew to those cells. + +The Landing had no jail, not even a guard-house, though the +members of the force sometimes spoke of the cells just behind +Inspector Kedsty's office by that name. The cells were of cement, +and Kent himself had helped to plan them! The irony of the thing +did not strike him just then. He was recalling the fact that no +prisoner had ever escaped from those cement cells. If no action +were taken before six o'clock, he was sure that it would be +postponed until the following morning. It was possible that +Kedsty's order was for Pelly to prepare a cell for him. Deep in +his soul he prayed fervently that it was only a matter of +preparation. If they would give him one more night--just one! + +His watch tinkled the half-hour. Then a quarter of six. Then six. +His blood ran feverishly, in spite of the fact that he possessed +the reputation of being the coolest man in N Division. He lighted +his last cigar and smoked it slowly to cover the suspense which he +feared revealed itself in his face, should any one come into his +room. His supper was due at seven. At eight it would begin to get +dusk. The moon was rising later each night, and it would not +appear over the forests until after eleven. He would go through +his window at ten o'clock. His mind worked swiftly and surely as +to the method of his first night's flight. There were always a +number of boats down at Crossen's place. He would start in one of +these, and by the time Mercer discovered he was gone, he would be +forty miles on his way to freedom. Then he would set his boat +adrift, or hide it, and start cross-country until his trail was +lost. Somewhere and in some way he would find both guns and food. +It was fortunate that he had not given Mercer the other fifty +dollars under his pillow. + +At seven Mercer came with his supper. A little gleam of +disappointment shot into his pale eyes when he found the last +cigar gone from the box. Kent saw the expression and tried to grin +good-humoredly. + +"I'm going to have Father Layonne bring me up another box in the +morning, Mercer," he said. "That is, if I can get hold of him." + +"You probably can," snapped Mercer. "He doesn't live far from +barracks, and that's where you are going. I've got orders to have +you ready to move in the morning." + +Kent's blood seemed for an instant to flash into living flame. He +drank a part of his cup of coffee and said then, with a shrug of +his shoulders: "I'm glad of it, Mercer. I'm anxious to have the +thing over. The sooner they get me down there, the quicker they +will take action. And I'm not afraid, not a bit of it. I'm bound +to win. There isn't a chance in a hundred that they can convict +me." Then he added: "And I'm going to have a box of cigars sent up +to you, Mercer. I'm grateful to you for the splendid treatment you +have given me." + +No sooner had Mercer gone with the supper things than Kent's +knotted fist shook itself fiercely in the direction of the door. + +"My God, how I'd like to have you out in the woods--alone--for +just one hour!" he whispered. + +Eight o'clock came, and nine. Two or three times he heard voices +in the hall, probably Mercer talking with the guard. Once he +thought he heard a rumble of thunder, and his heart throbbed +joyously. Never had he welcomed a storm as he would have welcomed +it tonight. But the skies remained clear. Not only that, but the +stars as they began to appear seemed to him more brilliant than he +had ever seen them before. And it was very still. The rattle of a +scow-chain came up to him from the river as though it were only a +hundred yards away. He knew that it was one of Mooie's dogs he +heard howling over near the sawmill. The owls, flitting past his +window, seemed to click their beaks more loudly than last night. A +dozen times he fancied he could hear the rippling voice of the +river that very soon was to carry him on toward freedom. + +The river! Every dream and aspiration found its voice for him in +that river now. Down it Marette Radisson had gone. And somewhere +along it, or on the river beyond, or the third river still beyond +that, he would find her. In the long, tense wait between the hours +of nine and ten he brought the girl back into his room again. He +recalled every gesture she had made, every word she had spoken. He +felt the thrill of her hand on his forehead, her kiss, and in his +brain her softly spoken words repeated themselves over and over +again, "I think that if you lived very long I should love you." +And as she had spoken those words SHE KNEW THAT HE WAS NOT GOING +TO DIE! + +Why, then, had she gone away? Knowing that he was going to live, +why had she not remained to help him if she could? Either she had +spoken the words in jest, or-- + +A new thought flashed into his mind. It almost drew a cry from his +lips. It brought him up tense, erect, his heart pounding. Had she +gone away? Was it not possible that she, too, was playing a game +in giving the impression that she was leaving down-river on the +hidden scow? Was it conceivable that she was playing that game +against Kedsty? A picture, clean-cut as the stars in the sky, +began to outline itself in his mental vision. It was clear, now, +what Mooie's mumblings about Kedsty had signified. Kedsty had +accompanied Marette to the scow. Mooie had seen him and had given +the fact away in his fever. Afterward he had clamped his mouth +shut through fear of the "big man" of the Law. But why, still +later, had he almost been done to death? Mooie was a harmless +creature. He had no enemies. + +There was no one at the Landing who would have assaulted the old +trailer, whose hair was white with age. No one, unless it was +Kedsty himself--Kedsty at bay, Kedsty in a rage. Even that was +inconceivable. Whatever the motive of the assault might be, and no +matter who had committed it, Mooie had most certainly seen the +Inspector of Police accompany Marette Radisson to the scow. And +the question which Kent found it impossible to answer was, had +Marette Radisson really gone down the river on that scow? + +It was almost with a feeling of disappointment that he told +himself it was possible she had not. He wanted her on the river. +He wanted her going north and still farther north. The thought +that she was mixed up in some affair that had to do with Kedsty +was displeasing to him. If she was still in the Landing or near +the Landing, it could no longer be on account of Sandy McTrigger, +the man his confession had saved. In his heart he prayed that she +was many days down the Athabasca, for it was there--and only +there--that he would ever see her again. And his greatest desire, +next to his desire for his freedom, was to find her. He was frank +with himself in making that confession. He was more than that. He +knew that not a day or night would pass that he would not think or +dream of Marette Radisson. The wonder of her had grown more vivid +for him with each hour that passed, and he was sorry now that he +had not dared to touch her hair. She would not have been offended +with him, for she had kissed him--after he had killed the impulse +to lay his hand on that soft glory that had crowned her head. + +And then the little bell in his watch tinkled the hour of ten! He +sat up with a jerk. For a space he held his breath while he +listened. In the hall outside his room there was no sound. An inch +at a time he drew himself off his bed until he stood on his feet. +His clothes hung on hooks in the wall, and he groped his way to +them so quietly that one listening at the crack of his door would +not have heard him. He dressed swiftly. Then he made his way to +the window, looked out, and listened. + +In the brilliant starlight he saw nothing but the two white stubs +of the lightning-shattered trees in which the owls lived. And it +was very still. The air was fresh and sweet in his face. In it he +caught the scent of the distant balsams and cedars. The world, +wonderful in its night silence, waited for him. It was impossible +for him to conceive of failure or death out there, and it seemed +unreal and trivial that the Law should expect to hold him, with +that world reaching out its arms to him and calling him. + +Assured that the moment for action was at hand, he moved quickly. +In another ten seconds he was through the window, and his feet +were on the ground. For a space he stood out clear in the +starlight. Then he hurried to the end of the building and hid +himself in the shadow. The swiftness of his movement had brought +him no physical discomfort, and his blood danced with the thrill +of the earth under his feet and the thought that his wound must be +even more completely healed than he had supposed. A wild +exultation swept over him. He was free! He could see the river +now, shimmering and talking to him in the starlight, urging him to +hurry, telling him that only a little while ago another had gone +north on the breast of it, and that if he hastened it would help +him to overtake her. He felt the throb of new life in his body. +His eyes shone strangely in the semi-gloom. + +It seemed to him that only yesterday Marette had gone. She could +not be far away, even now. And in these moments, with the breath +of freedom stirring him with the glory of new life, she was +different for him from what she had ever been. She was a part of +him. He could not think of escape without thinking of her. She +became, in these precious moments, the living soul of his +wilderness. He felt her presence. The thought possessed him that +somewhere down the river she was thinking of him, waiting, +expecting him. And in that same flash he made up his mind that he +would not discard the boat, as he had planned; he would conceal +himself by day, and float downstream by night, until at last he +came to Marette Radisson. And then he would tell her why he had +come. And after that-- + +He looked toward Crossen's place. He would make straight for it, +openly, like a man bent on a mission there was no reason to +conceal. If luck went right, and Crossen was abed, he would be on +the river within fifteen minutes. His blood ran faster as he took +his first step out into the open starlight. Fifty yards ahead of +him was the building which Cardigan used for his fuel. Safely +beyond that, no one could see him from the windows of the +hospital. He walked swiftly. Twenty paces, thirty, forty--and he +stopped as suddenly as the half-breed's bullet had stopped him +weeks before. Round the end of Cardigan's fuel house came a +figure. It was Mercer. He was twirling his little cane and +traveling quietly as a cat. They were not ten feet apart, yet Kent +had not heard him. + +Mercer stopped. The cane dropped from his hand. Even in the +starlight Kent could see his face turn white. + +"Don't make a sound, Mercer," he warned. "I'm taking a little +exercise in the open air. If you cry out, I'll kill you!" + +He advanced slowly, speaking in a voice that could not have been +heard at the windows behind him. And then a thing happened that +froze the blood in his veins. He had heard the scream of every +beast of the great forests, but never a scream like that which +came from Mercer's lips now. It was not the cry of a man. To Kent +it was the voice of a fiend, a devil. It did not call for help. It +was wordless. And as the horrible sound issued from Mercer's mouth +he could see the swelling throat and bulging eyes that accompanied +the effort. They made him think of a snake, a cobra. + +The chill went out of his blood, replaced by a flame of hottest +fire. He forgot everything but that this serpent was in his path. +Twice he had stood in his way. And he hated him. He hated him with +a virulency that was death. Neither the call of freedom nor the +threat of prison could keep him from wreaking vengeance now. +Without a sound he was at Mercer's throat, and the scream ended in +a choking shriek. His fingers dug into flabby flesh, and his +clenched fist beat again and again into Mercer's face. + +He went to the ground, crushing the human serpent under him. And +he continued to strike and choke as he had never struck or choked +another man, all other things overwhelmed by his mad desire to +tear into pieces this two-legged English vermin who was too foul +to exist on the face of the earth. + +And he still continued to strike--even after the path lay clear +once more between him and the river. + + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +What a terrible and inexcusable madness had possessed him, Kent +realized the instant he rose from Mercer's prostrate body. Never +had his brain flamed to that madness before. He believed at first +that he had killed Mercer. It was neither pity nor regret that +brought him to his senses. Mercer, a coward and a traitor, a sneak +of the lowest type, had no excuse for living. It was the thought +that he had lost his chance to reach the river that cleared his +head as he swayed over Mercer. + +He heard running feet. He saw figures approaching swiftly through +the starlight. And he was too weak to fight or run. The little +strength he had saved up, and which he had planned to use so +carefully in his flight, was gone. His wound, weeks in bed, +muscles unaccustomed to the terrific exertion he had made in these +moments of his vengeance, left him now panting and swaying as the +running footsteps came nearer. + +His head swam. For a space he was sickeningly dizzy, and in the +first moment of that dizziness, when every drop of blood in his +body seemed rushing to his brain, his vision was twisted and his +sense of direction gone. In his rage he had overexerted himself. +He knew that something had gone wrong inside him and that he was +helpless. Even then his impulse was to stagger toward the +inanimate Mercer and kick him, but hands caught him and held him. +He heard an amazed voice, then another--and something hard and +cold shut round his wrists like a pair of toothless jaws. + +It was Constable Carter, Inspector Kedsty's right-hand man about +barracks, that he saw first; then old Sands, the caretaker at +Cardigan's place. Swiftly as he had turned sick, his brain grew +clear, and his blood distributed itself evenly again through his +body. He held up his hands. Carter had slipped a pair of irons on +him, and the starlight glinted on the shining steel. Sands was +bending over Mercer, and Carter was saying in a low voice: + +"It's too bad, Kent. But I've got to do it. I saw you from the +window just as Mercer screamed. Why did you stop for him?" + +Mercer was getting up with the assistance of Sands. He turned a +bloated and unseeing face toward Kent and Carter. He was +blubbering and moaning, as though entreating for mercy in the fear +that Kent had not finished with him. Carter pulled Kent away. + +"There's only one thing for me to do now," he said. "It isn't +pleasant. But the law says I must take you to barracks." + +In the sky Kent saw the stars clearly again, and his lungs were +drinking in the cool air as in the wonderful moments before his +encounter with Mercer. + +He had lost. And it was Mercer who had made him lose. Carter felt +the sudden tightening of his muscles as he walked with a hand on +his arm. And Kent shut his teeth close and made no answer to what +Carter had said, except that Carter heard something which he +thought was a sob choked to death in the other's throat. + +Carter, too, was a man bred of the red blood of the North, and he +knew what was in Kent's heart. For only by the breadth of a hair +had Kent failed in his flight. + +Pelly was on duty at barracks, and it was Pelly who locked him in +one of the three cells behind the detachment office. When he was +gone, Kent sat down on the edge of his prison cot and for the +first time let the agony of his despair escape in a gasping breath +from between his lips. Half an hour ago the world had reached out +its arms to him, and he had gone forth to its welcome, only to +have the grimmest tragedy of all his life descend upon him like +the sword of Damocles. For this was real tragedy. Here there was +no hope. The tentacles of the law had him in their grip, and he +could no longer dream of escape. + +Ghastly was the thought that it was he, James Kent, who had +supervised the building of these cells! Acquainted with every +trick and stratagem of the prisoner plotting for his freedom, he +had left no weak point in their structure. Again he clenched his +hands, and in his soul he cursed Mercer as he went to the little +barred window that overlooked the river from his cell. The river +was near now. He could hear the murmur of it. He could see its +movement, and that movement, played upon by the stars, seemed now +a writhing sort of almost noiseless laughter taunting him in his +folly. + +He went back to his cot, and in his despair buried his face in his +hands. In the half-hour after that he did not raise his head. For +the first time in his life he knew that he was beaten, so utterly +beaten that he no more had the desire to fight, and his soul was +dark with the chaos of the things he had lost. + +At last he opened his eyes to the blackness of his prison room, +and he beheld a marvelous thing. Across the gloom of the cell lay +a shaft of golden fire. It was the light of the rising moon coming +through his little, steel-barred window. To Kent it had crept into +his cell like a living thing. He watched it, fascinated. His eyes +followed it to the foot-square aperture, and there, red and +glorious as it rose over the forests, the moon itself filled the +world. For a space he saw nothing but that moon crowding the frame +of his window. And as he rose to his feet and stood where his face +was flooded in the light of it, he felt stirring within him the +ghosts of his old hopes. One by one they rose up and came to life. +He held out his hands, as if to fill them with the liquid glow; +his heart beat faster in that glory of the moonrise. The taunting +murmur of the river changed once more into hopeful song, his +fingers closed tightly around the bars, and the fighting spirit +rose in him again. As that spirit surged stronger, beating down +his despair, driving the chaos out of his brain, he watched the +moon as it climbed higher, changing from the red of the lower +atmosphere to the yellow gold of the greater heights, marveling at +the miracle of light and color that had never failed to stir him. + +And then he laughed. If Pelly or Carter had heard him, they would +have wondered if he was mad. It was madness of a sort--the madness +of restored confidence, of an unlimited faith, of an optimism that +was bound to make dreams come true. Again he looked beyond the +bars of his cell. The world was still there; the river was there; +all the things that were worth fighting for were there. And he +would fight. Just how, he did not try to tell himself now. And +then he laughed again, softly, a bit grimly, for he saw the +melancholy humour of the fact that he had built his own prison. + +He sat down again on the edge of his cot, and the whimsical +thought struck him that all those he had brought to this same +cell, and who had paid the first of their penance here, must be +laughing at him now in the spirit way. In his mental fancy a +little army of faces trooped before him, faces dark and white, +faces filled with hatred and despair, faces brave with the cheer +of hope and faces pallid with the dread of death. And of these +ghosts of his man-hunting prowess it was Anton Fournet's face that +came out of the crowd and remained with him. For he had brought +Anton to this same cell--Anton, the big Frenchman, with his black +hair, his black beard, and his great, rolling laugh that even in +the days when he was waiting for death had rattled the paper- +weights on Kedsty's desk. + +Anton rose up like a god before Kent now. He had killed a man, and +like a brave man he had not denied it. With a heart in his great +body as gentle as a girl's, Anton had taken pride in the killing. +In his prison days he sang songs to glorify it. He had killed the +white man from Chippewyan who had stolen his neighbor's wife! Not +HIS wife, but his neighbor's! For Anton's creed was, "Do unto +others as you would have others do unto you," and he had loved his +neighbor with the great forest love of man for man. His neighbor +was weak, and Anton was strong with the strength of a bull, so +that when the hour came, it was Anton who had measured out +vengeance. When Kent brought Anton in, the giant had laughed first +at the littleness of his cell, then at the unsuspected strength of +it, and after that he had laughed and sung great, roaring songs +every day of the brief tenure of life that was given him. When he +died, it was with the smiling glory in his face of one who had +cheaply righted a great wrong. + +Kent would never forget Anton Fournet. He had never ceased to +grieve that it had been his misfortune to bring Anton in, and +always, in close moments, the thought of Anton, the stout-hearted, +rallied him back to courage. Never would he be the man that Anton +Fournet had been, he told himself many times. Never would his +heart be as great or as big, though the Law had hanged Anton by +the neck until the soul was choked out of his splendid body, for +it was history that Anton Fournet had never harmed man, woman, or +child until he set out to kill a human snake and the Law placed +its heel upon him and crushed him. + +And tonight Anton Fournet came into the cell again and sat with +Kent on the cot where he had slept many nights, and the ghosts of +his laughter and his song filled Kent's ears, and his great +courage poured itself out in the moonlit prison room so that at +last, when Kent stretched himself on the cot to sleep, it was with +the knowledge that the soul of the splendid dead had given him a +strength which it was impossible to have gained from the living. +For Anton Fournet had died smiling, laughing, singing--and it was +of Anton Fournet that he dreamed when he fell asleep. And in that +dream came also the vision of a man called Dirty Fingers--and with +it inspiration. + + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Where a bit of the big river curved inward like the tongue of a +friendly dog, lapping the shore at Athabasca Landing, there still +remained Fingers' Row--nine dilapidated, weather-worn, and +crazily-built shacks put there by the eccentric genius who had +foreseen a boom ten years ahead of its time. And the fifth of +these nine, counting from either one end or the other, was named +by its owner, Dirty Fingers himself, the Good Old Queen Bess. It +was a shack covered with black tar paper, with two windows, like +square eyes, fronting the river as if always on the watch for +something. Across the front of this shack Dirty Fingers had built +a porch to protect himself from the rain in springtime, from the +sun in Summer time, and from the snow in the months of Winter. For +it was here that Dirty Fingers sat out all of that part of his +life which was not spent in bed. + +Up and down two thousand miles of the Three Rivers was Dirty +Fingers known, and there were superstitious ones who believed that +little gods and devils came to sit and commune with him in the +front of the tar-papered shack. No one was so wise along those +rivers, no one was so satisfied with himself, that he would not +have given much to possess the many things that were hidden away +in Dirty Fingers' brain. One would not have suspected the workings +of that brain by a look at Dirty Fingers on the porch of his Good +Old Queen Bess. He was a great soft lump of a man, a giant of +flabbiness. Sitting in his smooth-worn, wooden armchair, he was +almost formless. His head was huge, his hair uncut and scraggy, +his face smooth as a baby's, fat as a cherub's, and as +expressionless as an apple. His folded arms always rested on a +huge stomach, whose conspicuousness was increased by an enormous +watch-chain made from beaten nuggets of Klondike gold, and Dirty +Fingers' thumb and forefinger were always twiddling at this chain. +How he had come by the name of Dirty Fingers, when his right name +was Alexander Toppet Fingers, no one could definitely say, unless +it was that he always bore an unkempt and unwashed appearance. + +Whatever the quality of the two hundred and forty-odd pounds of +flesh in Dirty Fingers' body, it was the quality of his brain that +made people hold him in a sort of awe. For Dirty Fingers was a +lawyer, a wilderness lawyer, a forest bencher, a legal strategist +of the trail, of the river, of the great timber-lands. + +Stored away in his brain was every rule of equity and common law +of the great North country. For his knowledge he went back two +hundred years. He knew that a law did not die of age, that it must +be legislated to death, and out of the moldering past he had dug +up every trick and trap of his trade. He had no law-books. His +library was in his head, and his facts were marshaled in pile +after pile of closely-written, dust-covered papers in his shack. +He did not go to court as other lawyers; and there were barristers +in Edmonton who blessed him for that. + +His shack was his tabernacle of justice. There he sat, hands +folded, and gave out his decisions, his advice, his sentences. He +sat until other men would have gone mad. From morning until night, +moving only for his meals or to get out of heat or storm, he was a +fixture on the porch of the Good Old Queen Bess. For hours he +would stare at the river, his pale eyes never seeming to blink. +For hours he would remain without a move or a word. One constant +companion he had, a dog, fat, emotionless, lazy, like his master. +Always this dog was sleeping at his feet or dragging himself +wearily at his heels when Dirty Fingers elected to make a journey +to the little store where he bartered for food and necessities. + +It was Father Layonne who came first to see Kent in his cell the +morning after Kent's unsuccessful attempt at flight. An hour later +it was Father Layonne who traveled the beaten path to the door of +Dirty Fingers' shack. If a visible emotion of pleasure ever +entered into Dirty Fingers' face, it was when the little missioner +came occasionally to see him. It was then that his tongue let +itself loose, and until late at night they talked of many things +of which other men knew but little. This morning Father Layonne +did not come casually, but determinedly on business, and when +Dirty Fingers learned what that business was, he shook his head +disconsolately, folded his fat arms more tightly over his stomach, +and stated the sheer impossibility of his going to see Kent. It +was not his custom. People must come to him. And he did not like +to walk. It was fully a third of a mile from his shack to +barracks, possibly half a mile. And it was mostly upgrade! If Kent +could be brought to him-- + +In his cell Kent waited. It was not difficult for him to hear +voices in Kedsty's office when the door was open, and he knew that +the Inspector did not come in until after the missioner had gone +on his mission to Dirty Fingers. Usually he was at the barracks an +hour or so earlier. Kent made no effort to figure out a reason for +Kedsty's lateness, but he did observe that after his arrival there +was more than the usual movement between the office door and the +outside of the barracks. Once he was positive that he heard +Cardigan's voice, and then he was equally sure that he heard +Mercer's. He grinned at that. He must be wrong, for Mercer would +be in no condition to talk for several days. He was glad that a +turn in the hall hid the door of the detachment office from him, +and that the three cells were in an alcove, safely out of sight of +the curious eyes of visitors. He was also glad that he had no +other prisoner for company. His situation was one in which he +wanted to be alone. To the plan that was forming itself in his +mind, solitude was as vital as the cooperation of Alexander Toppet +Fingers. + +Just how far he could win that cooperation was the problem which +confronted him now, and he waited anxiously for the return of +Father Layonne, listening for the sound of his footsteps in the +outer hall. If, after all, that inspirational thought of last +night came to nothing, if Fingers should fail him-- + +He shrugged his shoulders. If that happened, he could see no other +chance. He would have to go on and take his medicine at the hands +of a jury. But if Fingers played up to the game-- + +He looked out on the river again, and again it was the river that +seemed to answer him. If Fingers played with him, they would beat +Kedsty and the whole of N Division! And in winning he would prove +out the greatest psychological experiment he had ever dared to +make. The magnitude of the thing, when he stopped to think of it, +was a little appalling, but his faith was equally large. He did +not consider his philosophy at all supernatural. He had brought it +down to the level of the average man and woman. + +He believed that every man and woman possessed a subliminal +consciousness which it was possible to rouse to tremendous heights +if the right psychological key was found to fit its particular +lock, and he believed he possessed the key which fitted the +deeply-buried and long-hidden thing in Dirty Fingers' remarkable +brain. Because he believed in this metaphysics which he had not +read out of Aristotle, he had faith that Fingers would prove his +salvation. He felt growing in him stronger than ever a strange +kind of elation. He felt better physically than last night. The +few minutes of strenuous action in which he had half killed Mercer +had been a pretty good test, he told himself. It had left no bad +effect, and he need no longer fear the reopening of his wound. + +A dozen times he had heard a far door open and close. Now he heard +it again, and a few moments later it was followed by a sound which +drew a low cry of satisfaction from him. Dirty Fingers, because of +overweight and lack of exercise, had what he called an "asthmatic +wind," and it was this strenuous working of his lungs that +announced his approach to Kent. His dog was also afflicted and for +the same reasons, so that when they traveled together there was +some rivalry between them. + +"We're both bad put out for wind, thank God," Dirty Fingers would +say sometimes. "It's a good thing, for if we had more of it, we'd +walk farther, and we don't like walking." + +The dog was with Fingers now, also Father Layonne, and Pelly. +Pelly unlocked the cell, then relocked it again after Fingers and +the dog entered. With a nod and a hopeful look the missioner +returned with Pelly to the detachment office. Fingers wiped his +red face with a big handkerchief, gasping deeply for breath. Togs, +his dog, was panting as if he had just finished the race of his +life. + +"A difficult climb," wheezed Fingers. "A most difficult climb." + +He sat down, rolling out like a great bag of jelly in the one +chair in the cell, and began to fan himself with his hat. Kent had +already taken stock of the situation. In Fingers' florid +countenance and in his almost colorless eyes he detected a bit of +excitement which Fingers was trying to hide. Kent knew what it +meant. Father Layonne had found it necessary to play his full hand +to lure Fingers up the hill, and had given him a hint of what it +was that Kent had in store for him. Already the psychological key +had begun to work. + +Kent sat down on the edge of his cot and grinned sympathetically. +"It hasn't always been like this, has it, Fingers?" he said then, +leaning a bit forward and speaking with a sudden, low-voiced +seriousness. "There was a time, twenty years ago, when you didn't +puff after climbing a hill. Twenty years make a big difference, +sometimes." + +"Yes, sometimes," agreed Fingers in a wheezy whisper. + +"Twenty years ago you were--a fighter." + +It seemed to Kent that a deeper color came into Dirty Fingers' +pale eyes in the few seconds that followed these words. + +"A fighter," he repeated. "Most men were fighters in those days of +the gold rushes, weren't they, Fingers? I've heard a lot of the +old stories about them in my wanderings, and some of them have +made me thrill. They weren't afraid to die. And most of them were +pretty white when it came to a show-down. You were one of them, +Fingers. I heard the story one Winter far north. I've kept it to +myself, because I've sort of had the idea that you didn't want +people to know or you would have told it yourself. That's why I +wanted you to come to see me, Fingers. You know the situation. +It's either the noose or iron bars for me. Naturally one would +seek for assistance among those who have been his friends. But I +do not, with the exception of Father Layonne. Just friendship +won't save me, not the sort of friendship we have today. That's +why I sent for you. Don't think that I am prying into secrets that +are sacred to you, Fingers. God knows I don't mean it that way. +But I've got to tell you of a thing that happened a long time ago, +before you can understand. You haven't forgotten--you will never +forget--Ben Tatman?" + +As Kent spoke the name, a name which Dirty Fingers had heard no +lips but his own speak aloud in nearly a quarter of a century, a +strange and potent force seemed suddenly to take possession of the +forest bencher's huge and flabby body. It rippled over and through +him like an electrical voltaism, making his body rigid, stiffening +what had seemed to be fat into muscle, tensing his hands until +they knotted themselves slowly into fists. The wheeze went out of +his breath, and it was the voice of another man who answered Kent. + +"You have heard--about--Ben Tatman?" + +"Yes. I heard it away up in the Porcupine country. They say it +happened twenty years ago or more. This Tatman, so I was told, was +a young fellow green from San Francisco--a bank clerk, I think-- +who came into the gold country and brought his wife with him. They +were both chuck-full of courage, and the story was that each +worshiped the ground the other walked on, and that the girl had +insisted on being her husband's comrade in adventure. Of course +neither guessed the sort of thing that was ahead of them. + +"Then came that death Winter in Lost City. You know better than I +what the laws were in those days, Fingers. Food failed to come up. +Snow came early, the thermometer never rose over fifty below zero +for three straight months, and Lost City was an inferno of +starvation and death. You could go out and kill a man, then, and +perhaps get away with it, Fingers. But if you stole so much as a +crust of bread or a single bean, you were taken to the edge of the +camp and told to go! And that meant certain death--death from +hunger and cold, more terrible than shooting or hanging, and for +that reason it was the penalty for theft. + +"Tatman wasn't a thief. It was seeing his young wife slowly dying +of hunger, and his horror at the thought of seeing her fall, as +others were falling, a victim to scurvy, that made him steal. He +broke into a cabin in the dead of night and stole two cans of +beans and a pan of potatoes, more precious than a thousand times +their weight in gold. And he was caught. Of course, there was the +wife. But those were the days when a woman couldn't save a man, no +matter how lovely she was. Tatman was taken to the edge of camp +and given his pack and his gun--but no food. And the girl, hooded +and booted, was at his side, for she was determined to die with +him. For her sake Tatman had lied up to the last minute, +protesting his innocence. + +"But the beans and the potatoes were found in his cabin, and that +was evidence enough. And then, just as they were about to go +straight out into the blizzard that meant death within a few +hours, then--" + +Kent rose to his feet, and walked to the little window, and stood +there, looking out. "Fingers, now and then a superman is born on +earth. And a superman was there in that crowd of hunger-stricken +and embittered men. At the last moment he stepped out and in a +loud voice declared that Tatman was innocent and that he was +guilty. Unafraid, he made a remarkable confession. He had stolen +the beans and the potatoes and had slipped them into the Tatman +cabin when they were asleep. Why? Because he wanted to save the +woman from hunger! Yes, he lied, Fingers. He lied because he loved +the wife that belonged to another man--lied because in him there +was a heart as true as any heart God ever made. He lied! And his +lie was a splendid thing. He went out into that blizzard, +strengthened by a love that was greater than his fear of death, +and the camp never heard of him again. Tatman and his wife +returned to their cabin and lived. Fingers--" Kent whirled +suddenly from the window. "Fingers--" + +And Fingers, like a sphynx, sat and stared at Kent. + +"You were that man," Kent went on, coming nearer to him. "You +lied, because you loved a woman, and you went out to face death +because of that woman. The men at Lost City didn't know it, +Fingers. The husband didn't know it. And the girl, that girl-wife +you worshiped in secret, didn't dream of it! But that was the +truth, and you know it deep down in your soul. You fought your way +out. You lived! And all these years, down here on your porch, +you've been dreaming of a woman, of the girl you were willing to +die for a long time ago. Fingers, am I right? And if I am, will +you shake hands?" + +Slowly Fingers had risen from his chair. No longer were his eyes +dull and lifeless, but flaming with a fire that Kent had lighted +again after many years. And he reached out a hand and gripped +Kent's, still staring at him as though something had come back to +him from the dead. + +"I thank you, Kent, for your opinion of that man," he said. +"Somehow, you haven't made me--ashamed. But it was only the shell +of a man that won out after that day when I took Tatman's place. +Something happened. I don't know what. But--you see me now. I +never went back into the diggings. I degenerated. I became what I +am." + +"And you are today just what you were when you went out to die for +Mary Tatman," cried Kent. "The same heart and the same soul are in +you. Wouldn't you fight again today for her?" + +A stifled cry came from Fingers' lips. "My God, yes, Kent--I +would!" + +"And that's why I wanted you, of all men, to come to me, Fingers," +Kent went on swiftly. "To you, of all the men on earth, I wanted +to tell my story. And now, will you listen to it? Will you forgive +me for bringing up this memory that must be precious to you, only +that you might more fully understand what I am going to say? I +don't want you to think of it as a subterfuge on my part. It is +more than that. It is--Fingers, is it inspiration? Listen, and +tell me." + +And for a long time after that James Kent talked, and Fingers +listened, the soul within him writhing and dragging itself back +into fierce life, demanding for the first time in many years the +something which it had once possessed, but which it had lost. It +was not the lazy, mysterious, silent Dirty Fingers who sat in the +cell with Kent. In him the spirit of twenty years ago had roused +itself from long slumber, and the thrill of it pounded in his +blood. Two-Fisted Fingers they had called him then, and he was +Two-Fisted Fingers in this hour with Kent. Twice Father Layonne +came to the head of the cell alcove, but turned back when he heard +the low and steady murmur of Kent's voice. Nothing did Kent keep +hidden, and when he had finished, something that was like the fire +of a revelation had come into Fingers' face. + +"My God!" he breathed deeply. "Kent, I've been sitting down there +on my porch a long time, and a good many strange things have come +to me, but never anything like this. Oh, if it wasn't for this +accursed flesh of mine!" + +He jumped from his chair more quickly than he had moved in ten +years, and he laughed as he had not laughed in all that time. He +thrust out a great arm and doubled it up, like a prizefighter +testing his muscle. "Old? I'm not old! I was only twenty-eight +when that happened up there, and I'm forty-eight now. That isn't +old. It's what is in me that's grown old. I'll do it, Kent! I'll +do it, if I hang for it!" + +Kent fairly leaped upon him. "God bless you!" he cried huskily. +"God bless you, Fingers! Look! Look at that!" He pulled Fingers to +the little window, and together they looked out upon the river, +shimmering gloriously under a sun-filled sky of blue. "Two +thousand miles of it," he breathed. "Two thousand miles of it, +running straight through the heart of that world we both have +known! No, you're not old, Fingers. The things you used to know +are calling you again, as they are calling me, for somewhere off +there are the ghosts of Lost City, ghosts--and realities!" + +"Ghosts--and hopes," said Fingers. + +"Hopes make life," softly whispered Kent, as if to himself. And +then, without turning from the window, his hand found Fingers' and +clasped it tight. "It may be that mine, like yours, will never +come true. But they're fine to think about, Fingers. Funny, isn't +it, that their names should be so strangely alike--Mary and +Marette? I say, Fingers--" + +Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. Both turned from the window +as Constable Pelly came to the door of the cell. They recognized +this intimation that their time was up, and with his foot Fingers +roused his sleeping dog. + +It was a new Fingers who walked back to the river five minutes +later, and it was an amazed and discomfited dog who followed at +his heels, for at times the misshapen and flesh-ridden Togs was +compelled to trot for a few steps to keep up. And Fingers did not +sink into the chair on the shady porch when he reached his shack. +He threw off his coat and waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves, and +for hours after that he was buried deep in the accumulated masses +of dust-covered legal treasures stored away in hidden corners of +the Good Old Queen Bess. + + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +That morning Kent had heard wild songs floating up from the river, +and now he felt like shouting forth his own joy and exultation in +song. He wondered if he could hide the truth from the eyes of +others, and especially from Kedsty if he came to see him. It +seemed that some glimmer of the hope blazing within him must +surely reveal itself, no matter how he tried to hold it back. He +felt the vital forces of that hope more powerful within him now +than in the hour when he had crept from the hospital window with +freedom in his face. For then he was not sure of himself. He had +not tested his physical strength. And in the present moment, +fanned by his unbounded optimism, the thought came to him that +perhaps it was good luck and not bad that had thrown Mercer in his +way. For with Fingers behind him now, his chances for a clean get- +away were better. He would not be taking a hazardous leap chanced +on the immediate smiles of fortune. He would be going +deliberately, prepared. + +He blessed the man who had been known as Dirty Fingers, but whom +he could not think of now in the terms of that name. He blessed +the day he had heard that chance story of Fingers, far north. He +no longer regarded him as the fat pig of a man he had been for so +many years. For he looked upon the miracle of a great awakening. +He had seen the soul of Fingers lift itself up out of its +tabernacle of flesh and grow young again; he had seen stagnant +blood race with new fire. He had seen emotions roused that had +slept for long years. And he felt toward Fingers, in the face of +that awakening, differently than he had felt toward any other +living man. His emotion was one of deep and embracing comradeship. + +Father Layonne did not come again until afternoon, and then he +brought information that thrilled Kent. The missioner had walked +down to see Fingers, and Fingers was not on his porch. Neither was +the dog. He had knocked loudly on the door, but there was no +answer. Where was Fingers? Kent shook his head, feigning an +anxious questioning, but inside him his heart was leaping. He +knew! He told Father Layonne he was afraid all Fingers' knowledge +of the law could do him but little good, that Fingers had told him +as much, and the little missioner went away considerably +depressed. He would talk with Fingers again, he said, and offer +certain suggestions he had in mind. Kent chuckled when he was +gone. How shocked le Pere would be if he, too, could know! + +The next morning Father Layonne came again, and his information +was even more thrilling to Kent. The missioner was displeased with +Fingers. Last night, noticing a light in his shack, he had walked +down to see him. And he had found three men closely drawn up about +a table with Dirty Fingers. One of them was Ponte, the half-breed; +another was Kinoo the outcast Dog Rib from over on Sand Creek; the +third was Mooie, the old Indian trailer. Kent wanted to jump up +and shout, for those three were the three greatest trailers in all +that part of the Northland. Fingers had lost no time, and he +wanted to voice his approbation like a small boy on the Fourth of +July. + +But his face, seen by Father Layonne, betrayed none of the +excitement that was in his blood. Fingers had told him he was +going into a timber deal with these men, a long-distance deal +where there would be much traveling, and that he could not +interrupt himself just then to talk about Kent. Would Father +Layonne come again in the morning? And he had gone again that +morning, and Fingers' place was locked up! + +All the rest of the day Kent waited eagerly for Fingers. For the +first time Kedsty came to see him, and as a matter of courtesy +said he hoped Fingers might be of assistance to him. He did not +mention Mercer and remained no longer than a couple of minutes, +standing outside the cell. In the afternoon Doctor Cardigan came +and shook hands warmly with Kent. He had found a tough job waiting +for him, he said. Mercer was all cut up, in a literal as well as a +mental way. He had five teeth missing, and he had to have +seventeen stitches taken in his face. It was Cardigan's opinion +that some one had given him a considerable beating--and he grinned +at Kent. Then he added in a whisper, + +"My God, Kent, how I wish you had made it!" + +It was four o'clock when Fingers came. Even less than yesterday +did he look like the old Fingers. He was not wheezing. He seemed +to have lost flesh. His face was alive. That was what struck Kent +--the new life in it. There was color in his eyes. And Togs, the +dog, was not with him. He smiled when he shook hands with Kent, +and nodded, and chuckled. And Kent, after that, gripped him by the +shoulders and shook him in his silent joy. + +"I was up all last night," said Fingers in a low voice. "I don't +dare move much in the day, or people will wonder. But, God bless +my soul!--I did move last night, Kent. I must have walked ten +miles, more or less. And things are coming--coming!" + +"And Ponte, Kinoo, Mooie--?" + +"Are working like devils," whispered Fingers. "It's the only way, +Kent. I've gone through all my law, and there's nothing in man- +made law that can save you. I've read your confession, and I don't +think you could even get off with the penitentiary. A noose is +already tied around your neck. I think you'd hang. We've simply +got to get you out some other way. I've had a talk with Kedsty. He +has made arrangements to have you sent to Edmonton two weeks from +tomorrow. We'll need all that time, but it's enough." + +For three days thereafter Fingers came to Kent's cell each +afternoon, and each time was looking better. Something was swiftly +putting hardness into his flesh and form into his body. The second +day he told Kent that he had found the way at last, and that when +the hour came, escape would be easy, but he thought it best not to +let Kent in on the little secret just yet. He must be patient and +have faith. That was the chief thing, to have faith at all times, +no matter what happened. Several times he emphasized that "no +matter what happens." The third day he puzzled Kent. He was +restless, a bit nervous. He still thought it best not to tell Kent +what his scheme was, until to-morrow. He was in the cell not more +than five or ten minutes, and there was an unusual pressure in the +grip of his hand when he bade Kent good-by. Somehow Kent did not +feel so well when he had gone. He waited impatiently for the next +day. It came, and hour after hour he listened for Fingers' heavy +tread in the hall. The morning passed. The afternoon lengthened. +Night came, and Fingers had not come. Kent did not sleep much +between the hour when he went to bed and morning. It was eleven +o'clock when the missioner made his call. Before he left, Kent +gave him a brief note for Fingers. He had just finished his +dinner, and Carter had taken the dishes away, when Father Layonne +returned. A look at his face, and Kent knew that he bore +unpleasant tidings. + +"Fingers is an--an apostate," he said, his lips twitching as if to +keep back a denunciation still more emphatic. "He was sitting on +his porch again this morning, half asleep, and says that after a +great deal of thought he has come to the definite opinion that he +can do nothing for you. He read your note and burned it with a +match. He asked me to tell you that the scheme he had in mind was +too risky--for him. He says he won't come up again. And--" + +The missioner was rubbing his brown, knotted hands together +raspingly. + +"Go on," said Kent a little thickly. + +"He has also sent Inspector Kedsty the same word," finished Father +Layonne. "His word to Kedsty is that he can see no fighting chance +for you, and that it is useless effort on his part to put up a +defense for you. Jimmy!" His hand touched Kent's arm gently. + +Kent's face was white. He faced the window, and for a space he did +not see. Then with pencil and paper he wrote again to Fingers. + +It was late in the afternoon before Father Layonne returned with +an answer. Again it was verbal. Fingers had read his note and had +burned it with a match. He was particular that the last scrap of +it was turned into ash, the missioner said. And he had nothing to +say to Kent that he had not previously said. He simply could not +go on with their plans. And he requested Kent not to write to him +again. He was sorry, but that was his definite stand in the +matter. + +Even then Kent could not bring himself to believe. All the rest of +the day he tried to put himself in Fingers' brain, but his old +trick of losing his personality in that of another failed him this +time. He could find no reason for the sudden change in Fingers, +unless it was what Fingers had frankly confessed to Father +Layonne--fear. The influence of mind, in this instance, had failed +in its assault upon a mass of matter. Fingers' nerve had gone back +on him. + +The fifth day Kent rose from his cot with hope still not quite +dead in his heart. But that day passed and the sixth, and the +missioner brought word that Fingers was the old Dirty Fingers +again, sitting from morning till night on his porch. + +On the seventh day came the final crash to Kent's hopes. Kedsty's +program had changed. He, Kent, was to start for Edmonton the +following morning under charge of Pelly and a special constable! + +After this Kent felt a strange change come over him. Years seemed +to multiply themselves in his body. His mind, beaten back, no +longer continued in its old channels of thought. The thing pressed +upon him now as fatalistic. Fingers had failed him. Fortune had +failed him. Everything had failed, and for the first time in the +weeks of his struggle against death and a thing worse than death, +he cursed himself. There was a limit to optimism and a limit to +hope. His limit was reached. + +In the afternoon of this seventh day came a depressing gloom. It +was filled with a drizzling rain. Hour after hour this drizzle +kept up, thickening as the night came. He ate his supper by the +light of a cell lamp. By eight o'clock it was black outside. In +that blackness there was an occasional flash of lightning and +rumble of thunder. On the roof of the barracks the rain beat +steadily and monotonously. + +His watch was in his hand--it was a quarter after nine o'clock, +when he heard the door at the far exit of the hall open and close. +He had heard it a dozen times since supper and paid no attention +to it, but this time it was followed by a voice at the detachment +office that hit him like an electrical shock. Then, a moment +later, came low laughter. It was a woman who laughed. + +He stood up. He heard the detachment office door close, and +silence followed. The watch in his hand seemed ticking off the +seconds with frantic noise. He shoved it into his pocket and stood +staring out into the prison alcove. A few minutes later the office +door opened again. This time it was not closed. He heard +distinctly a few light, hesitating footsteps, and his heart seemed +to stop its beating. They came to the head of the lighted alcove, +and for perhaps the space of a dozen seconds there was silence +again. Then they advanced. + +Another moment, and Kent was staring through the bars into the +glorious eyes of Marette Radisson! + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +In that moment Kent did not speak. He made no sound. He gave no +sign of welcome, but stood in the middle of his cell, staring. If +life had hung upon speech in those few seconds, he would have +died, but everything he would have said, and more, was in his +face. The girl must have seen it. With her two hands she was +gripping at the bars of the cell and looking through at him. Kent +saw that her face was pale in the lamp glow. In that pallor her +violet eyes were like pools of black. The hood of her dripping +raincoat was thrown partly back, and against the whiteness of her +cheeks her hair glistened wet, and her long lashes were heavy with +the rain. + +Kent, without moving over the narrow space between them, reached +out his hands and found his voice. "Marette!" + +Her hands had tightened about the bars until they were bloodless. +Her lips were parted. She was breathing quickly, but she did not +smile; she made no response to his greeting, gave no sign even of +recognition. What happened after that was so sudden and amazing +that his heart stopped dead still. Without warning she stepped +back from the cell and began to scream and then drew away from +him, still facing him and still screaming, as if something had +terrified her. + +Kent heard the crash of a chair in the detachment office, excited +voices, and the running of feet. Marette Radisson had withdrawn to +the far corner of the alcove, and as Carter and Pelly ran toward +her, she stood, a picture of horror, pointing at Kent's cell. The +two constables rushed past her. Close behind them followed the +special officer detailed to take Kent to Edmonton. + +Kent had not moved. He was like one petrified. Close up against +the bars came the faces of Pelly, Carter, and the special +constable, filled with the expressions of men who had expected to +look in upon tragedy. And then, behind their backs, Kent saw the +other thing happen. Swift as a flash Marette Radisson's hand went +in and out of her raincoat, and at the backs of the three men she +was leveling a revolver! Not only did Kent see that swift change, +but the still swifter change that came into her face. Her eyes +shot to his just once, and they were filled with a laughing, +exultant fire. With one mighty throb Kent's heart seemed to leap +out through the bars of his prison, and at the look in his face +and eyes Carter swung suddenly around. + +"Please don't make any disturbance, gentlemen," said Marette +Radisson. "The first man that makes a suspicious move, I shall +kill!" + +Her voice was calm and thrilling. It had a deadly ring in it. The +revolver in her hand was held steadily. It was a slim-barreled, +black thing. The very color of it was menacing. And behind it were +the girl's eyes, pools of flame. The three men were facing them +now, shocked to speechlessness. Automatically they seemed to obey +her command to throw up their hands. Then she leveled her grim +little gun straight at Pelly's heart. + +"You have the key," she said. "Unlock the cell!" Felly fumbled and +produced the key. She watched him closely. Then suddenly the +special constable dropped his arms with a coarse laugh. "A pretty +trick," he said, "but the bluff won't work!" + +"Oh, but it will!" came the reply. + +The little black gun was shifted to him, even as the constable's +fingers touched his revolver holster. With half-smiling lips, +Marette's eyes blazed at him. + +"Please put up your hands," she commanded. + +The constable hesitated; then his fingers gripped the butt of his +gun. Kent, holding his breath, saw the almost imperceptible +tensing of Marette's body and the wavering of Pelly's arms over +his head. Another moment and he, too, would have called the bluff +if it were that. But that moment did not come. From the slim, +black barrel of the girl's revolver leaped forth a sudden spurt of +smoke and flame, and the special constable lurched back against +the cell bars, caught himself as he half fell, and then stood with +his pistol arm hanging limp and useless at his side. He had not +made a sound, but his face was twisted in pain. + +"Open the cell door!" + +A second time the deadly-looking little gun was pointed straight +at Pelly's heart. The half-smile was gone from the girl's lips +now. Her eyes blazed a deeper fire. She was breathing quickly, and +she leaned a little toward Pelly, repeating her command. The words +were partly drowned in a sudden crash of thunder. But Pelly +understood. He saw her lips form the words, and half heard, + +"Open the door, or I shall kill you!" + +He no longer hesitated. The key grated in the lock, and Kent +himself flung the door wide open and sprang out. He was quick to +see and seize upon opportunity and swift to act. The astounding +audacity of the girl's ruse, her clever acting in feigning horror +to line the guards up at the cell door and the thrilling +decisiveness with which she had used the little black gun in her +hand set every drop of blood in his body afire. No sooner was he +outside his cell than he was the old Jim Kent, fighting man. He +whipped Carter's automatic out of its holster and, covering Pelly +and the special constable, relieved them of their guns. Behind him +he heard Marette's voice, calm and triumphant, + +"Lock them in the cell, Mr. Kent!" + +He did not look at her, but swung his gun on Pelly and the special +constable, and they backed through the door into the cell. Carter +had not moved. He was looking straight at the girl, and the little +black gun was leveled at his breast. Pelly and the wounded man did +not see, but on Carter's lips was a strange smile. His eyes met +Kent's, and there was revealed for an instant a silent flash of +comradeship and an unmistakable something else. Carter was glad! +It made Kent want to reach out and grip his hand, but in place of +that he backed him into the cell, turned the key in the lock, and +with the key in his hand faced Marette Radisson. Her eyes were +shining gloriously. He had never seen such splendid, fighting +eyes, nor the birdlike swiftness with which she turned and ran +down the hall, calling him to follow her. + +He was only a step behind her in passing Kedsty's office. She +reached the outer door and opened it. It was pitch-dark outside, +and a deluge of rain beat into their faces. He observed that she +did not replace the hood of her raincoat when she darted out. As +he closed the door, her hand groped to his arm and from that found +his hand. Her fingers clung to his tightly. + +He did not ask questions as they faced the black chaos of rain. A +rending streak of lightning revealed her for an instant, her bare +head bowed to the wind. Then came a crash of thunder that shook +the earth under their feet, and her fingers closed more tightly +about his hand. And in that crash he heard her voice, half +laughing, half broken, saying, + +"I'm afraid--of thunder!" + +In that storm his laugh rang out, a great, free, joyous laugh. He +wanted to stop in that instant, sweep her up into his arms, and +carry her. He wanted to shout like an insane man in his mad joy. +And a moment before she had risked everything in facing three of +the bravest men in the service and had shot one of them! He +started to say something, but she increased her speed until she +was almost running. + +She was not leading Jim in the direction of the river, but toward +the forest beyond Kedsty's bungalow. Not for an instant did she +falter in that drenched and impenetrable darkness. There was +something imperative in the clasp of her fingers, even though they +tightened perceptibly when the thunder crashed. They gave Kent the +conviction that there was no doubt in her mind as to the point she +was striving for. He took advantage of the lightning, for each +time it gave him a glimpse of her bare, wet head bowed to the +storm, her white profile, and her slim figure fighting over the +sticky earth under her feet. + +It was this presence of her, and not the thought of escape, that +exalted him now. She was at his side. Her hand lay close in his. +The lightning gave him glimpses of her. He felt the touch of her +shoulder, her arm, her body, as they drew close together. The life +and warmth and thrill of her seemed to leap into his own veins +through the hand he held. He had dreamed of her. And now suddenly +she had become a part of him, and the glory of it rode +overwhelmingly over all other emotions that were struggling in his +brain--the glory of the thought that it was she who had come to +him in the last moment, who had saved him, and who was now leading +him to freedom through the crash of storm. + +At the crest of a low knoll between barracks and Kedsty's bungalow +she stopped for the first time. He had there, again, the almost +irresistible impulse to reach out in the darkness and take her +into his arms, crying out to her of his joy, of a happiness that +had come to him greater even than the happiness of freedom. But he +stood, holding her hand, his tongue speechless, and he was looking +at her when the lightning revealed her again. In a rending flash +it cut open the night so close that the hiss of it was like the +passing of a giant rocket, and involuntarily she shrank against +him, and her free hand caught his arm at the instant thunder +crashed low over their heads. His own hand groped out, and in the +blackness it touched for an instant her wet face and then her +drenched hair. + +"Marette," he cried, "where are we going?" + +"Down there," came her voice. + +Her hand had left his arm, and he sensed that she was pointing, +though he could not see. Ahead of them was a chaotic pit of gloom, +a sea of blackness, and in the heart of that sea he saw a light. +He knew that it was a lamp in one of Kedsty's windows and that +Marette was guiding herself by that light when she started down +the slope with her hand still in his. That she had made no effort +to withdraw it made him unconscious of the almost drowning +discomfort of the fresh deluge of rain that beat their faces. One +of her fingers had gripped itself convulsively about his thumb, +like a child afraid of falling. And each time the thunder crashed +that soft hold on his thumb tightened, and Kent's soul acclaimed. + +They drew swiftly nearer to the light, for it was not far from the +knoll to Kedsty's place. Kent's mind leaped ahead. A little west +by north from the inspector's bungalow was Kim's Bayou and it was +undoubtedly to the forest trail over which she had gone at least +once before, on the night of the mysterious assault upon Mooie, +that Marette was leading him. Questions began to rush upon him +now, immediate demanding questions. They were going to the river. +They must be going to the river. It was the quickest and surest +way of escape. Had Marette prepared for that? And was she going +with him? + +He had no time to answer. Their feet struck the gravel path +leading to the door of Kedsty's place, and straight up this path +the girl turned, straight toward the light blazing in the window. +Then, to his amazement, he heard in the sweep of storm her voice +crying out in glad triumph, + +"We're home!" + +Home! His breath came in a sudden gulp. He was more than +astounded. He was shocked. Was she mad or playing an amazingly +improper joke? She had freed him from a cell to lead him to the +home of the Inspector of Police, the deadliest enemy the world now +held for him. He stopped, and Marette Radisson tugged at his hand, +pulling him after her, insisting that he follow. She was clutching +his thumb as though she thought he might attempt to escape. + +"It is safe, M'sieu Jeems," she cried. "Don't be afraid!" + +M'sieu Jeems! And the laughing note of mockery in her voice! He +rallied himself and followed her up the three steps to the door. +Her hand found the latch, the door opened, and swiftly they were +inside. The lamp in the window was close to them, but for a space +he could not see because of the water in his eyes. He blinked it +out, drew a hand across his face, and looked at Marette. She stood +three or four paces from him. Her face was very white, and she was +panting as if hard-run for breath, but her eyes were shining, and +she was smiling at him. The water was running from her in streams. + +"You are wet," she said. "And I am afraid you will catch cold. +Come with me!" + +Again she was making fun of him just as she had made fun of him at +Cardigan's! She turned, and he ran upstairs behind her. At the top +she waited for him, and as he came up, she reached out her hand, +as if apologizing for having taken it from him when they entered +the bungalow. He held it again as she led him down the hall to a +door farthest from the stair. This she opened, and they entered. +It was dark inside, and the girl withdrew her hand again, and Kent +heard her moving across the room. In that darkness a new and +thrilling emotion possessed him. The air he was breathing was not +the air he had breathed in the hall. In it was the sweet scent of +flowers, and of something else--the faint and intangible perfume +of a woman's room. He waited, staring. His eyes were wide when a +match leaped into flame in Marette's fingers. Then he stood in the +glow of a lamp. + +He continued to stare in the stupidity of a shock to which he was +not accustomed. Marette, as if to give him time to acquaint +himself with his environment, was taking off her raincoat. Under +it her slim little figure was dry, except where the water had run +down from her uncovered head to her shoulders. He noticed that she +wore a short skirt, and boots, adorably small boots of splendidly +worked caribou. And then suddenly she came toward him with both +hands reaching out to him. + +"Please shake hands and say you're glad," she said. "Don't look +so--so--frightened. This is my room and you are safe here." + +He held her hands tight, staring into the wonderful, violet eyes +that were looking at him with the frank and unembarrassed +directness of a child's. "I--I don't understand," he struggled. +"Marette, where is Kedsty?" + +"He should be returning very soon." + +"And he knows you are here, of course?" + +She nodded. "I have been here for a month." + +Kent's hands closed tighter about hers. "I--I don't understand," +he repeated. "Tonight Kedsty will know that it was you who rescued +me and you who shot Constable Willis. Good God, we must lose no +time in getting away!" + +"There is great reason why Kedsty dare not betray my presence in +his house," she said quietly. "He would die first! And he will not +suspect that I have brought you to my room, that an escaped +murderer is hiding under the very roof of the Inspector of Police! +They will search for you everywhere but here! Isn't it splendid? +He planned it all, every move, even to the screaming in front of +your cell--" + +"You mean--Kedsty?" + +She withdrew her hands and stepped back from him, and again he saw +in her eyes a flash of the fire that had come into them when she +leveled her gun at the three men in the prison alcove. "No, not +Kedsty. He would hang you, and he would kill me, if he dared. I +mean that great, big, funny-looking friend of yours, M'sieu +Fingers!" + + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +The manner in which Kent stared at Marette Radisson after her +announcement that it was Dirty Fingers who had planned his escape +must have been, he thought afterward, little less than imbecile. +He had wronged Fingers, he believed. He had called him a coward +and a backslider. In his mind he had reviled him for helping to +raise his hopes to the highest pitch, only to smash them in the +end. And all the time Dirty Fingers had been planning this! Kent +began to grin. The thing was clear in a moment--that is, the +immediate situation was clear--or he thought it was. But there +were questions--one, ten, a hundred of them. They wanted to pile +over the end of his tongue, questions that had little or nothing +to do with Kedsty. He saw nothing now but Marette. + +She had begun to take down her hair. It fell about her in wet, +shining masses. Kent had never seen anything like it. It clung to +her face, her neck, her shoulders and arms, and shrouded her +slender body to her hips, lovely in its confusion. Little drops of +water glistened in it like diamonds in the lamp glow, trickling +down and dropping to the floor. It was like a glowing coat of +velvety sable beaten by storm. Marette ran her arms up through it, +shaking it out in clouds, and a mist of rain leaped out from it, +some of it striking Kent in the face. He forgot Fingers. He forgot +Kedsty. His brain flamed only with the electrifying nearness of +her. It was the thought of her that had inspired the greatest hope +in him. It was his dreams of her, somewhere on the Big River, that +had given him his great courage to believe in the ultimate of +things. And now time and space had taken a leap backward. She was +not four or five hundred miles north. There was no long quest +ahead of him. She was here, within a few feet of him, tossing the +wet from that glorious hair he had yearned to touch, brushing it +out now, with her back toward him, in front of her mirror. + +And as he sat there, uttering no word, looking at her, the demands +of the immense responsibility that had fallen upon him and of the +great fight that lay ahead pounded within him with naked fists. +Fingers had planned. She had executed. It was up to him to finish. + +He saw her, not as a creature to win, but as a priceless +possession. Her fight had now become his fight. The rain was +beating against the window near him. Out there was blackness, the +river, the big world. His blood leaped with the old fighting fire. +They were going tonight; they must be going tonight! Why should +they wait? Why should they waste time under Kedsty's roof when +freedom lay out there for the taking? He watched the swift +movements of her hand, listened to the silken rustle of the brush +as it smoothed out her long hair. Bewilderment, reason, desire for +action fought inside him. + +Suddenly she faced him again. "It has just this moment occurred to +me," she said, "that you haven't said 'Thank you.'" + +So suddenly that he startled her he was at her side. He did not +hesitate this time, as he had hesitated in his room at Cardigan's +place. He caught her two hands in his, and with them he felt the +soft, damp crush of her hair between his fingers. Words tumbled +from his lips. He could not remember afterward all that he said. +Her eyes widened, and they never for an instant left his own. +Thank her! He told her what had happened to him--in the heart and +soul of him--from the hour she had come to him at Cardigan's. He +told her of dreams and plans, of his determination to find her +again after he had escaped, if it took him all his life. He told +her of Mercer, of his discovery of her visit to Kim's Bayou, of +his scheme to follow her down the Three Rivers, to seek for her at +Fort Simpson, to follow her to the Valley of Silent Men, wherever +it was. Thank her! He held her hands so tight they hurt, and his +voice trembled. Under the cloud of her hair a slow fire burned in +Marette Radisson's cheeks. But it did not show in her eyes. They +looked at him so steadily, so unfalteringly, that his own face +burned before he had finished what was in his mind to say, and he +freed her hands and stepped back from her again. + +"Forgive me for saying all that," he entreated. "But it's true. +You came to me there, at Cardigan's place, like something I'd +always dreamed about, but never expected to find. And you came to +me again, at the cell, like--" + +"Yes, I know how I came," she interrupted him. "Through the mud +and the rain, Mr. Kent. And it was so black I lost my way and was +terrified to think that I might not find barracks. I was half an +hour behind Mr. Fingers' schedule. For that reason I think +Inspector Kedsty may return at any moment, and you must not talk +so loud--or so much." + +"Lord!" he breathed in a whisper. "I have said a lot in a short +time, haven't I? But it isn't a hundredth part of what I want to +get out of my system. I won't ask the million questions that want +to be asked. But I must know why we are here. Why have we come to +Kedsty's? Why didn't we make for the river? There couldn't be a +better night to get away." + +"But it is not so good as the fifth night from now will be," she +said, resuming the task of drying her hair. "On that night you may +go to the river. Our plans were a little upset, you know, by +Inspector Kedsty's change in the date on which you were to leave +for Edmonton. Arrangements have been made so that on the fifth +night you may leave safely." + +"And you?" + +"I shall remain here." And then she added in a low voice that +struck his heart cold, "I shall remain to pay Kedsty the price +which he will ask for what has happened tonight." + +"Good God!" he cried. "Marette!" + +She turned on him swiftly. "No, no, I don't mean that he will hurt +me," she cried, a fierce little note in her voice. "I would kill +him before that! I'm sorry I told you. But you must not question +me. You shall not!" + +She was trembling. He had never seen her excited like that before, +and as she stood there before him, he knew that he was not afraid +for her in the way that had flashed into his mind. She had not +spoken empty words. She would fight. She would kill, if it was +necessary to kill. And he saw her, all at once, as he had not seen +her before. He remembered a painting which he had seen a long time +ago in Montreal. It was L'Esprit de la Solitude--The Spirit of the +Wild--painted by Conne, the picturesque French-Canadian friend of +Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, and a genius of the far backwoods +who had drawn his inspiration from the heart of the wilderness +itself. And that painting stood before him now in flesh and blood, +its crudeness gone, but the marvelous spirit it had breathed +remaining. Shrouded in her tumbled hair, her lips a little parted, +every line of her slender body vibrant with an emotion which +seemed consuming her, her beautiful eyes aglow with its fire, he +saw in her, as Conne must have seen at another time, the soul of +the great North itself. She seemed to him to breathe of the God's +country far down the Three Rivers; of its almost savage +fearlessness; its beauty, its sunshine, and its storm; its +tragedy, its pathos, and its song. In her was the courage and the +glory of that North. He had seen; and now he felt these things, +and the thrill of them swept over him like an inundation. + +He had heard her soft laugh, she had made fun of him when he +thought he was dying; she had kissed him, she had fought for him, +she had clung in terror to his hand when the lightning flashed; +and now she stood with her little hands clenched in her hair, like +a storm about to break. A moment ago she was so near that he had +almost taken her in his arms. Now, in an instant, she had placed +something so vast between them that he would not have dared to +touch her hand or her hair. Like sun and cloud and wind she +changed, and for him each change added to the wonder of her. And +now it was storm. He saw it in her eyes, her hands, her body. He +felt the electrical nearness of it in those low-spoken, trembling +words, "YOU SHALL NOT!" The room seemed surcharged for a moment +with impending shock. And then his physical eyes took in again the +slimness of her, seized upon the alluring smallness of her and the +fact that he could have tossed her to the ceiling without great +effort. And yet he saw her as one sees a goddess. + +"No, I won't ask you questions, when you look at me like that," he +said, finding his tongue. "I won't ask you what this price is that +Kedsty may demand, because you're not going to pay it. If you +won't go with me, I won't go. I'd rather stay here and be hung. +I'm not asking you questions, so please don't shoot, but if you +told me the truth, and you belong in the North, you're going back +with me--or I'm not going. I'll not budge an inch." + +She drew a deep breath, as if something had greatly relieved her. +Again her violet eyes came out from the shadow into sunlight, and +her trembling mouth suddenly broke into a smile. It was not +apologetic. There was about it a quick and spontaneous gladness +which she made no effort at all to conceal. + +"That is nice of you," she said. "I'm glad to hear you say it. I +never knew how pleasant it was to have some one who was willing to +be hung for me. But you will go. And I will not go. There isn't +time to explain all about it just now, for Inspector Kedsty will +be here very soon, and I must dry my hair and show you your +hiding-place--if you have to hide." + +She began to brush her hair again. In the mirror Kent caught a +glimpse of the smile still trembling on her lips. + +"I'm not questioning you," he guarded himself again, "but if you +could only understand how anxious I am to know where Kedsty is, +how Fingers found you, why you made us believe you were leaving +the Landing and then returned--and--how badly I want to know +something about you--I almost believe you'd talk a little while +you are drying your hair." + +"It was Mooie, the old Indian," she said. "It was he who found out +in some way that I was here, and then M'sieu Fingers came himself +one night when the Inspector was away--got in through a window and +simply said that you had sent him, when I was just about to shoot +him. You see, I knew you weren't going to die. Kedsty had told me +that. I was going to help you in another way, if M'sieu Fingers +hadn't come. Inspector Kedsty was over there tonight, at his +cabin, when the thing happened down there. It was a part of +Fingers' scheme--to keep him out of the way." + +Suddenly she grew rigid. The brush remained poised in her hair. +Kent, too, heard the sound that she had heard. It was a loud +tapping at one of the curtained windows, the tapping of some +metallic object. And that window was fifteen feet above the +ground! + +With a little cry the girl threw down her brush, ran to the +window, and raised and lowered the curtain once. Then she turned +to Kent, swiftly dividing her hair into thick strands and weaving +them into a braid. + +"It is Mooie," she cried. "Kedsty is coming!" + +She caught his hand and hurried him toward the head of the bed, +where two long curtains were strung on a wire. She drew these +apart. Behind them were what seemed to Kent an innumerable number +of feminine garments. + +"You must hide in them, if you have to," she said, the excited +little tremble in her voice again. "I don't think it will come to +that, but if it does, you must! Bury yourself way back in them, +and keep quiet. If Kedsty finds you are here--" + +She looked into his eyes, and it seemed to Kent that there was +something which was very near to fear in them now. + +"If he should find you here, it would mean something terrible for +me," she went on, her hands creeping to his arms. "I can not tell +you what it is now, but it would be worse than death. Will you +promise to stay here, no matter what happens down there, no matter +what you may hear? Will you--Mr. Kent?" + +"Not if you call me Mr. Kent," he said, something thickening in +his throat. + +"Will you--Jeems? Will you--no matter what happens--if I promise-- +when I come back--to kiss you?" + +Her hands slipped almost caressingly from his arms, and then she +had turned swiftly and was gone through the partly open door, +closing it after her, before he could give his promise. + + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +For a space he stood where she had left him, staring at the door +through which she had gone. The nearness of her in those last few +seconds of her presence, the caressing touch of her hands, what he +had seen in her eyes, her promise to kiss him if he did not reveal +himself--these things, and the thought of the splendid courage +that must be inspiring her to face Kedsty now, made him blind even +to the door and the wall at which he was apparently looking. He +saw only her face, as he had seen it in that last moment--her +eyes, the tremble of her lips, and the fear which she had not +quite hidden from him. She was afraid of Kedsty. He was sure of +it. For she had not smiled; there was no flicker of humor in her +eyes, when she called him Jeems, an intimate use of the names Jim +and James in the far North. It was not facetiously that she had +promised to kiss him. An almost tragic seriousness had possessed +her. And it was that seriousness that thrilled him--that, and the +amazing frankness with which she had coupled the name Jeems with +the promise of her lips. Once before she had called him Jeems. But +it was M'sieu Jeems then, and there had been a bit of taunting +laughter in her voice. Jim or James meant nothing, but Jeems--He +had heard mothers call little children that, in moments of +endearment. He knew that wives and sweethearts used it in that +same way. For Jim and James were not uncommon names up and down +the Three Rivers, even among the half-breeds and French, and Jeems +was the closer and more intimate thing bred of it. + +His heart was thumping riotously as he went to the door and +listened. A little while ago, when she faced him with flashing +eyes, commanding him not to question her, he had felt an abyss +under his feet. Now he was on a mountain. And he knew that no +matter what he heard, unless it was her cry for help, he would not +go down. + +After a little he opened the door a mere crack so that sound might +come to him. She had not forbidden that. Through the crack he +could see a dim glow of light in the lower hall. But he heard no +sound, and it occurred to him that old Mooie could still run +swiftly, and that it might be some time before Kedsty would +arrive. + +As he waited, he looked about the room. His first impression was +that Marette must have lived in it for a long time. It was a +woman's room, without the newness of sudden and unpremeditated +occupancy. He knew that formerly it had been Kedsty's room, but +nothing of Kedsty remained in it now. And then, as his wondering +eyes beheld the miracle, a number of things struck him with +amazing significance. He no longer doubted that Marette Radisson +was of the far Northland. His faith in that was absolute. If there +had been a last question in his mind, it was wiped away because +she called him Jeems. Yet this room seemed to give the lie to his +faith. Fascinated by his discovery of things, he drew away from +the door and stood over the dressing-table in front of the mirror. + +Marette had not prepared the room for him, and her possessions +were there. It did not strike him as sacrilege to look at them, +the many intimate little things that are mysteriously used in the +process of a lady's toilette. It was their number and variety that +astounded him. He might have expected them in the boudoir of the +Governor General's daughter at Ottawa, but not here--and much less +farther north. What he saw was of exquisite material and +workmanship. And then, as if attracted by a magnet, his eyes were +drawn to something else. It was a row of shoes neatly and +carefully arranged on the floor at one side of the dressing-table. + +He stared at them, astounded. Never had he seen such an array of +feminine footwear intended for the same pair of feet. And it was +not Northern footwear. Every individual little beauty in that +amazing row stood on a high heel! Their variety was something to +which he had long been a stranger. There were buttoned boots, +laced boots, brown boots, black boots, and white boots, with +dangerously high and fragile looking heels; there were dainty +little white kid slippers, slippers with bows, slippers with cut +steel buckles, and slippers with dainty ribbon ties; there were +high-heeled oxfords and high-heeled patent leather pumps! He +gasped. He reached over, moved by an automatic sort of impulse, +and took a satiny little pump in his hand. + +The size of it gave him a decidedly pleasant mental shock, and, +beginning to feel like one prying into a sleeper's secrets, he +looked inside it. The size was there--number three. And it had +come from Favre's in Montreal! One after another he looked inside +half a dozen others. And all of them had come from Favre's in +Montreal. The little shoes, more than all else that he had seen or +that had happened, sent a question pounding through his brain. Who +was Marette Radisson? + +And that question was followed by other questions, until they +tumbled over one another in his head. If she was from Montreal, +why was she going north? If she belonged in the North, if she was +a part of it, why was she taking all of this apparently worthless +footwear with her? Why had she come to Athabasca Landing? What was +she to Kedsty? Why was she hiding under his roof? Why-- + +He stopped himself, trying to find some one answer in all that +chaos of questions. It was impossible for him to take his eyes +from the shoes. A thought seized him. Ludicrously he dropped upon +his knees in front of the row and with a face growing hotter each +moment examined them all. But he wanted to know. And the discovery +he made was that most of the footwear had been worn, some of it so +slightly, however, that the impression of the foot was barely +visible. + +He rose to his feet and continued his inquiry. Of course she had +expected him to look about. One couldn't help seeing, unless one +were blind. He would have cut off a hand before opening one of the +dressing-table drawers. But Marette herself had told him to hide +behind the curtains if it became necessary, and it was an +excusable caution for him to look behind those curtains now, to +see what sort of hiding-place he had. He returned to the door +first and listened. There was still no sound from below. Then he +drew the curtains apart, as Marette had drawn them. Only he looked +longer. He would tell her about it when she returned, if the act +needed an apology. + +His impression was a man's impression. What he saw was a +billowing, filmy mass of soft stuff, and out of it there greeted +him the faintest possible scent of lilac sachet powder. He closed +the curtains with a deep breath of utter joy and of consternation. +The two emotions were a jumble to him. The shoes, all that mass of +soft stuff behind the curtains, were exquisitely feminine. The +breath of perfume had come to him straight out of a woman's soul. +There were seduction and witchery to it. He saw Marette, an +enrapturing vision of loveliness, floating before his eyes in that +sacred and mysterious vestment of which he had stolen a half- +frightened glimpse. In white--the white, cobwebby thing of laces +and embroidery that had hung straight before his eyes--in white-- +with her glorious black hair, her violet eyes, her-- + +And then it was that the incongruity of the thing, the almost +sheer impossibility of it, clashed in upon his vision. Yet his +faith was not shaken. Marette Radisson was of the North. He could +not disbelieve that, even in the face of these amazing things that +confronted him. + +Suddenly he heard a sound that was like the explosion of a gun +under his feet. It was the opening and closing of the hall door-- +but mostly the closing. The slam of it shook the house and rattled +the glass in the windows. Kedsty had returned, and he was in a +rage. Kent extinguished the light so that the room was in +darkness. Then he went to the door. He could hear the quick, heavy +tread of Kedsty's feet After that came the closing of a second +door, followed by the rumble of Kedsty's voice. Kent was +disappointed. + +The Inspector of Police and Marette were in a room too far distant +for him to distinguish what was said. But he knew that Kedsty had +returned to barracks and had discovered what had happened there. +After an interval his voice was a steady rumble. It rose higher. +He heard the crash of a chair. Then the voice ceased, and after it +came the tramping of Kedsty's feet. Not once did he catch the +sound of Marette's voice, but he was sure that in the interval of +silence she was talking. Then Kedsty's voice broke forth more +furiously than before. Kent's fingers dug into the sill of the +door. Each moment added to his conviction that Marette was in +danger. It was not physical violence he feared. He did not believe +Kedsty capable of perpetrating that upon a woman. It was fear that +he would take her to barracks. The fact that Marette had told him +there was a powerful reason why Kedsty would not do this failed to +assure him. For she had also told him that Kedsty would kill her, +if he dared. He held himself in readiness. At a cry from her, or +the first move on Kedsty's part to take her from the bungalow, he +would give battle in spite of Marette's warning. + +He almost hoped one of these two things would happen. As he stood +there, listening, waiting, the thought became almost a prayer. He +had Pelly's revolver. Within twenty seconds he could have Kedsty +looking down the barrel of it. The night was ideal for escape. +Within half an hour they would be on the river. They could even +load up with provisions from Kedsty's place. He opened the door a +little more, scarcely making an effort to combat the impulse that +dragged him out. Marette must be in danger, or she would not have +confessed to him that she was in the house of a man who would like +to see her dead. Why she was there did not interest him deeply +now. It was the fact of the moment that was moving him swiftly +toward action. + +The door below opened again, and Kent's body grew rigid. He heard +Kedsty charging through the lower hall like a mad bull. The outer +door opened, slammed shut, and he was gone. + +Kent drew back into the darkness of his room. It was some moments +before he heard Marette coming slowly up the stairs. She seemed to +be groping her way, though there was a dim illumination out there. +Then she came through the door into the blackness of her room. + +"Jeems," she whispered. + +He went to her. Her hands reached out, and again they rested on +his arms. + +"You--you didn't come down the stair?" + +"No." + +"You--didn't hear?" + +"I heard no words. Only Kedsty's voice." + +It seemed to him that her voice, when she spoke again, trembled +with an immeasurable relief. "You were good, Jeems. I am glad." + +In that darkness he could not see. Yet something reached into him, +thrilling him, quickening his pulse with a thing to which his eyes +were blind. He bent down. He found her lips upturned, offering him +the sweetness of the kiss which was to be his reward; and as he +felt their warmth upon his own, he felt also the slightest +pressure of her hands upon his arms. + +"He is gone. We will light the lamp again," she said then. + + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Kent stood still while Marette moved in that gloom, found matches, +and lighted the lamp. He had not spoken a word after the kiss. He +had not taken advantage of it. The gentle pressure of her hands +had restrained him from taking her in his arms. But the kiss +itself fired him with a wild and glorious thrill that was like a +vibrant music to which every atom of life in his body responded. +If he claimed his reward at all, he had expected her kiss to be +perhaps indifferent, at least neutral. But the lips she had given +him there in the darkness of the room were warm, living, breathing +lips. They had not been snatched away from him too quickly. Their +sweetness, for an instant, had lingered. + +Then, in the lamp glow, he was looking into Marette Radisson's +face. He knew that his own was aflame. He had no desire to hide +its confession, and he was eager to find what lay in her own eyes. +And he was astonished, and then startled. The kiss had not +disturbed Marette. It was as if it had never happened. + +She was not embarrassed, and there was no hint of color in her +face. It was her deathly whiteness that startled him, a pallor +emphasized by the dark masses of her hair, and a strange glow in +her eyes. It was not a glow brought there by the kiss. It was +fear, fading slowly out of them as he looked, until at last it was +gone, and her lips trembled with an apologetic smile. + +"He was very angry," she said. "How easily some men lose their +tempers, don't they--Jeems?" + +The little break in her voice, her brave effort to control +herself, and the whimsical bit of smile that accompanied her words +made him want to do what the gentle pressure of her hands had kept +him from doing a few moments before--pick her up in his arms. What +she was trying to hide he saw plainly. She had been in danger, a +danger greater than that which she had quietly and fearlessly +faced at barracks. And she was still afraid of that menace. It was +the last thing which she wanted him to know, and yet he knew it. A +new force swept through him. It was the force which comes of +mastery, of possessorship, of fighting grimly against odds. It +rose in a mighty triumph. It told him this girl belonged to him, +that she was his to fight for. And he was going to fight. Marette +saw the change that came into his face. For a moment after she had +spoken there was silence between them. Outside the storm beat in a +fiercer blast. A roll of thunder crashed over the bungalow. The +windows rattled in a sweep of wind and rain. Kent, looking at her, +his muscles hardening, his face growing grimmer, nodded toward the +window at which Mooie's signal had come. + +"It is a splendid night--for us," he said. "And we must go." + +She did not answer. + +"In the eyes of the law I am a murderer," he went on. "You saved +me. You shot a man. In those same eyes you are a criminal. It is +folly to remain here. It is sheer suicide for both of us. If +Kedsty--" + +"If Kedsty does not do what I told him to do to-night, I shall +kill him!" she said. + +The quietness of her words, the steadiness of her eyes, held him +speechless. Again it seemed to him, as it had seemed to him in his +room at Cardigan's place, that it was a child who was looking at +him and speaking to him. If she had shown fear a few moments +before, that fear was not revealed in her face now. She was not +excited. Her eyes were softly and quietly beautiful. She amazed +him and discomfited him. Against that child-like sureness he felt +himself helpless. Its potency was greater than his strength and +greater than his determination. It placed between them instantly a +vast gulf, a gulf that might be bridged by prayer and entreaty, +but never by force. There was no hint of excitement in her threat +against Kedsty, and yet in the very calmness of it he felt its +deadliness. + +A whimsical half-smile was trembling on her lips again, and a +warmer glow came into her eyes. "Do you know," she said, "that +according to an old and sacred code of the North you belong to +me?" + +"I have heard of that code," he replied. "A hundred years ago I +should have been your slave. If it exists today, I am happy." + +"Yes, you see the point, Jeems, don't you? You were about to die, +probably. I think they would have hanged you. And I saved your +life. Therefore your life belongs to me, for I insist that the +code still lives. You are my property, and I am going to do with +you as I please, until I turn you over to the Rivers. And you are +not going tonight. You shall wait here for Laselle and his +brigade." + +"Laselle--Jean Laselle?" + +She nodded. "Yes, that is why you must wait. We have made a +splendid arrangement. When Laselle and his brigade start north, +you go with them. And no one will ever know. You are safe here. No +one will think of looking for you under the roof of the Inspector +of Police." + +"But you, Marette!" He caught himself, remembering her injunction +not to question her. Marette shrugged her slim shoulders the +slightest bit and nodded for him to look upon what she knew he had +already seen, her room. + +"It is not uncomfortable," she said. "I have been here for a +number of weeks, and nothing has happened to me. I am quite safe. +Inspector Kedsty has not looked inside that door since the day +your big red-headed friend saw me down in the poplars. He has not +put a foot on the stair. That is the dead-line. And--I know--you +are wondering. You are asking yourself a great many questions--a +bon droit, M'sieu Jeems. You are burning up with them. I can see +it. And I--" + +There was something suddenly pathetic about her, as she sank into +the big-armed, upholstered chair which had been Kedsty's favorite +reading chair. She was tired, and for a moment it seemed to Kent +that she was almost ready to cry. Her ringers twisted nervously at +the shining end of the braid in her lap, and more than ever he +thought how slim and helpless, she was, yet how gloriously +unafraid, how unconquerable with that something within her that +burned like the fire of a dynamo. The flame of that force had gone +down now, as though the fire itself was dying out; but when she +raised her eyes to him, looking up at him from out of the big +chair, he knew that back of the yearning, child-like glow that lay +in them the heart of that fire was living and unquenchable. Again, +for him, she had ceased to be a woman. It was the soul of a child +that lay in her wide-open, wonderfully blue eyes. Twice before he +had seen that miracle, and it held him now, as it had held him +that first time when she had stood with her back at Cardigan's +door. And as it had changed then, so it changed now, slowly, and +she was a woman again, with that great gulf of unapproachableness +between them. But the yearning was still there, revealing itself +to him, and yet, like the sun, infinitely remote from him. + +"I wish that I might answer those questions for you," she said, in +a voice that was low and tired. "I should like to have you know, +because I--I have great faith in you, Jeems. But I cannot. It is +impossible. It is inconceivable. If I did--" She made a hopeless +little gesture. "If I told you everything, you would not like me +any more. And I want you to like me--until you go north with +M'sieu Jean and his brigade." + +"And when I do that," cried Kent, almost savagely, "I shall find +this place you call the Valley of Silent Men, if it takes me all +my life." + +It was becoming a joy for him to see the sudden flashes of +pleasure that leaped into her eyes. She attempted no concealment. +Whatever her emotions were they revealed themselves unaffectedly +and with a simple freedom from embarrassment that swept him with +an almost reverential worship. And what he had just said pleased +her. Unreservedly her glowing eyes and her partly smiling lips +told him that, and she said: "I am glad you feel that way, Jeems. +And I think you would find it--in time. Because--" + +Her little trick of looking at him so steadily, as if there was +something inside him which she was trying to see more clearly, +made him feel more helplessly than ever her slave. It was as if, +in those moments, she forgot that he was of flesh and blood, and +was looking into his heart to see what was there before she gave +voice to things. + +And then she said, still twisting her braid between her slim +fingers, "You would find it--perhaps--because you are one who +would not give up easily. Shall I tell you why I came to see you +at Doctor Cardigan's? It was curiosity, at first--largely that. +Just why or how I was interested in the man you freed is one of +the things I can not tell you. And I can not tell you why I came +to the Landing. Nor can I say a word about Kedsty. It may be, some +day, that you will know. And then you will not like me. For nearly +four years before I saw you that day I had been in a desolation. +It was a terrible place. It ate my heart and soul out with its +ugliness, its loneliness, its emptiness. A little while longer and +I would have died. Then the thing happened that brought me away. +Can you guess where it was?" + +He shook his head, "No." + +"To all the others it was a beautiful place, Montreal." + +"You were at school there?" he guessed. + +"Yes, the Villa Maria. I wasn't quite sixteen then. They were +kind. I think they liked me. But each night I prayed one prayer. +You know what the Three Rivers are to us, to the people of the +North. The Athabasca is Grandmother, the Slave is Mother, the +Mackenzie is Daughter, and over them watches always the goddess +Niska, the Gray Goose. And my prayer was that I might go back to +them. In Montreal there were people, people everywhere, thousands +and tens of thousands of them, so many that I was lonely and +heartsick and wanted to get away. For the Gray Goose blood is in +me, Jeems. I love the forests. And Niska's God doesn't live in +Montreal. Her sun doesn't rise there. Her moon isn't the same +there. The flowers are not hers. The winds tell different stories. +The air is another air. People, when they look at you, look in +another way. Away down the Three Rivers I had loved men. There I +was learning to hate them. Then, something happened. I came to +Athabasca Landing. I went to see you because--" + +She clasped her two hands tightly in her lap. "Because, after +those four terrible years, you were the first man I found who was +playing a great, big, square game to the end. Don't ask me how I +found it out. Please don't ask me anything. I am telling you all +you can know, all you SHALL know. But I did find it out. And then +I learned that you were not going to die. Kedsty told me that. And +when I had talked with you I knew that you would play any game +square, and I made up my mind to help you. That is why I am +telling you all this--just to let you know that I have faith in +you, and that you must not break that faith. You must not insist +on knowing more about me. You must still play the game. I am +playing mine, and you must play yours. And to play yours clean, +you must go with Laselle's brigade and leave me with Kedsty. You +must forget what has happened. You must forget what MAY happen. +You can not help me. You can only harm me. And if--some day, a +long time from now--you should happen to find the Valley of Silent +Men--" + +He waited, his heart pounding like a fist. + +"I may--be there," she finished, in a voice so low that it was +scarcely above a whisper. + +It seemed to him that she was looking a long way off, and it was +not in his direction. And then she smiled, not at him, but in a +half-hopeless little way. + +"I think I shall be disappointed if you don't find it," she said +then, and her eyes were pure as the blue flowers from which they +had stolen their color, as she looked at him. "You know the great +Sulphur Country beyond Fort Simpson, westward between the Two +Nahannis?" + +"Yes. That is where Kilbane and his patrol were lost. The Indians +call it the Devil Country. Is that it?" + +She nodded. "They say no living thing has ever been through the +Sulphur Country," she said. "But that is not true. I have been +through it. It is beyond the Sulphur Country you must go to find +the Valley of Silent Men, straight through that gap between the +North and the South Nahanni. That is the way YOU must go if you +should ever find it, Jeems, for otherwise you would have to come +down from Dawson or up from Skagway, and the country is so great +that you would never come upon it in a thousand years. The police +will not find you there. You will always be safe. Perhaps I shall +tell you more before the Brigade comes. But that is all tonight. I +may never tell you anything more. And you must not question me." + +Speechless he had stood, all the life of his soul burning like a +fire in his eyes as he looked at her and listened to her, and now, +quietly and unexcitedly, he said: + +"Marette, I am going to play this game as you want me to play it, +because I love you. It is only honest for me to tell you in words +what you must already know. And I am going to fight for you as +long as there is a drop of blood in my body. If I go with Jean +Laselle's brigade, will you promise me--" + +His voice trembled. He was repressing a mighty emotion. But not by +the quiver of one of her long lashes did Marette Radisson give +evidence that she had even heard his confession of love. She +interrupted him before he had finished. + +"I can promise you nothing, no matter what you do. Jeems, Jeems, +you are not like those other men I learned to hate? You will not +INSIST? If you do--if you are like them--yes, you may go away from +here tonight and not wait for Jean Laselle. Listen! The storm will +not break for hours. If you are going to demand a price for +playing the game as I want you to play it, you may go. You have my +permission." + +She was very white. She rose from the big chair and stood before +him. There was no anger in her voice or gesture, but her eyes +glowed like luminous stars. There was something in them which he +had not seen before, and suddenly a thought struck his heart cold +as ice. + +With a low cry he stretched out his hands, "My God, Marette, I am +not a murderer! I did not kill John Barkley!" + +She did not answer him. + +"You don't believe me," he cried. "You believe that I killed +Barkley, and that now--a murderer--I dare to tell you that I love +you!" + +She was trembling. It was like a little shiver running through +her. For only a flash it seemed to him that he had caught a +glimpse of something terrible, a thing she was hiding, a thing she +was fighting as she stood there with her two little clenched +hands. For in her face, in her eyes, in the beating throb of her +white throat he saw, in that moment, the almost hidden agony of a +hurt thing. And then it was gone, even as he entreated again, +pleading for her faith. + +"I did not kill John Barkley!" + +"I am not thinking of that, Jeems," she said. "It is of something--" + +They had forgotten the storm. It was howling and beating at the +windows outside. But suddenly there came a sound that rose above +the monotonous tumult of it, and Marette started as if it had sent +an electric shock through her. Kent, too, turned toward the +window. + +It was the metallic tap, tap, tapping which once before had warned +them of approaching danger. And this time it was insistent. It was +as if a voice was crying out to them from beyond the window. It +was more than premonition--it was the alarm of a near and +impending menace. And in that moment Kent saw Marette Radisson's +hands go swiftly to her throat and her eyes leap with sudden fire, +and she gave a little cry as she listened to the sound. + + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +In ten seconds, it seemed to Kent, Marette Radisson was again the +splendid creature who had held the three men at bay over the end +of her little black gun at barracks. The sound of Mooie's second +warning came at first as a shock. Accompanying it there was a +moment of fear, of fear driven almost to the point of actual +terror. Following it came a reaction so swift that Kent was dazed. +Within those ten seconds the girl's slender body seemed to grow +taller; a new light flamed in her face; her eyes, turning swiftly +to him, were filled with the same fire with which they had faced +the three constables. She was unafraid. She was ready to fight. + +In such moments as these it was the quiet and dispassionate +composure of her voice that amazed him most. It was musical in its +softness now. Yet in that softness was a hidden thing. It was like +velvet covering steel. She had spoken of Niska, the Gray Goose, +the goddess of the Three Rivers. And he thought that something of +the spirit of a goddess must be in Marette Radisson to give her +the courage with which she faced him, even as the metallic thing +outside tapped its warning again at the window. + +"Inspector Kedsty is coming back," she said. "I did not think he +would do that--tonight." + +"He has not had time to go to barracks," said Kent. + +"No. Possibly he has forgotten something. Before he arrives, I +want to show you the nest I have made for you, Jeems. Come +quickly!" + +It was her first intimation that he was not to remain in her room, +a possibility that had already caused him some inward +embarrassment. She seized a number of matches, turned down her +light, and hurried into the hall. Kent followed her to the end of +this hall, where she paused before a low half-door that apparently +opened into some sort of a space close under the sloping roof of +the bungalow. + +"It is an old storeroom," she whispered. "I have made it quite +comfortable, I think. I have covered the window, so you may light +the lamp. But you must see that no light shows under this door. +Lock it on the inside, and be very quiet. For whatever you find in +there you must thank M'sieu Fingers." + +She pulled the door slightly open and gave him the matches. The +illumination in the lower hall made its way only dimly to where +they stood. In the gloom he found himself close to the soft glow +of her eyes. His fingers closed about her hand as he took the +matches. + +"Marette, you believe me?" he entreated. "You believe that I love +you, that I didn't kill John Barkley, that I am going to fight for +you as long as God gives me breath to fight?" + +For a moment there was silence. Her hand withdrew gently from his. + +"Yes, I think that I believe. Good-night, Jeems." + +She went from him quickly. At her door she turned. "Go in now, +please," she called back softly. "If you care as you say you do, +go IN." + +She did not wait for his reply. Her own door closed behind her, +and Kent, striking a match, stooped low and entered his hiding- +place. In a moment he saw directly ahead of him a lamp on a box. +He lighted this, and his first movement then was to close the door +and turn the key that was in the lock. After that he looked about +him. The storeroom was not more than ten feet square, and the roof +was so close over his head that he could not stand upright. It was +not the smallness of the place that struck him first, but the +preparations which Marette had made for him. In a corner was a bed +of blankets, and the rough floor of the place was carpeted with +blankets, except for a two-or-three-foot space around the edge of +it. Beyond the box was a table and a chair, and it was the burden +of this table that made his pulse jump quickest. Marette had not +forgotten that he might grow hungry. It was laid sumptuously, with +a plate for one, but with food for half a dozen. There were a +brace of roasted grouse, brown as nuts; a cold roast of moose meat +or beef; a dish piled high with golden potato salad; olives, +pickles, an open can of cherries, a loaf of bread, butter, cheese +--and one of Kedsty's treasured thermos bottles, which undoubtedly +held hot coffee or tea. And then he noticed what was on the chair +--a belt and holster and a Colt automatic forty-five! Marette had +not figured on securing a gun in the affair at barracks, and her +foresight had not forgotten a weapon. She had placed it +conspicuously where he could not fail to see it at once. And just +beyond the chair, on the floor, was a shoulder-pack. It was of the +regulation service sort, partly filled. Resting against the pack +was a Winchester. He recognized the gun. He had seen it hanging in +Dirty Fingers' shack. + +For a matter of five minutes he scarcely moved from where he stood +beside the table. Nothing but an unplastered roof was between him +and the storm, and over his head the thunder crashed, and the rain +beat in torrents. He saw where the window was, carefully covered +with a blanket. Even through the blanket he caught faintly the +illumination of lightning. This window overlooked the entrance to +Kedsty's bungalow, and the idea came to him of turning out the +light and opening it. In darkness he took down the blanket. But +the window itself was not movable, and after assuring himself of +this fact he flattened his face against it, peering out into the +chaos of the night. + +In that instant came a flare of lightning, and to Kent, looking +down, was revealed a sight that tightened every muscle in his +body. More vividly than if it had been day he saw a man standing +below in the deluge. It was not Mooie. It was not Kedsty. It was +no one that he had ever seen. Even more like a ghost than a man +was that apparition of the lightning flare. A great, gaunt giant +of a ghost, bare-headed, with long, dripping hair and a long, +storm-twisted beard. The picture shot to his brain with the +swiftness of the lightning itself. It was like the sudden throwing +of a cinema picture on a screen. Then blackness shut it out. Kent +stared harder. He waited. + +Again came the lightning, and again he saw that tragic, ghost-like +figure waiting in the storm. Three times he saw it. And he knew +that the mysterious, bearded giant was an old man. The fourth time +the lightning came, the figure was gone. And in that flare it was +the bowed figure of Kedsty he saw hurrying up the gravel path to +the door. + +Quickly Kent covered the window, but he did not relight the lamp. +Before Kedsty could have reached the foot of the stair, he had +unlocked the door. Cautiously he opened it three or four inches +and sat down with his back against the wall, listening. He heard +Kedsty pass through into the big room where Marette had waited for +him a short time before. After that there was silence except for +the tumult of the storm. + +For an hour Kent listened. In all that time he did not hear a +sound from the lower hall or from Marette's room. He wondered if +she was sleeping, and if Kedsty had gone to bed, waiting for +morning before he set in action his bloodhounds of the law. + +Kent had no intention of disturbing the comfortable looking bed of +blankets. He was not only sleepless, but filled with a premonition +of events about to happen. He felt impinging itself more and more +upon him a sense of watchfulness. That Inspector Kedsty and +Marette Radisson were under the same roof, and that there was some +potent and mysterious reason which kept Kedsty from betraying the +girl's presence, was the thought which troubled him most. He was +not developing further the plans for his own escape. + +He was thinking of Marette. What was her power over Kedsty? Why +was it that Kedsty would like to see her dead? Why was she in his +house? Again and again he asked himself the questions and found no +answers to them. And yet, even in this purgatory of mystery that +environed him, he felt himself happier than he had ever been in +his life. For Marette was not four or five hundred miles down the +river. She was in the same house with him. And he had told her +that he loved her. He was glad that he had been given courage to +let her know that. He relighted the lamp, and opened his watch and +placed it on the table, where frequently he could look at the +time. He wanted to smoke his pipe, but the odor of tobacco, he was +sure, would reach Kedsty, unless the Inspector had actually +retired into his bedroom for the night. + +Half a dozen times he questioned himself as to the identity of the +ghostly apparition he had seen in the lightning flare of the +storm. Perhaps it was some one of Fingers' strange friends from +out of the wilderness, Mooie's partner in watching the bungalow. +The picture of that giant of a man with his great beard and long +hair, as his eyes had caught him in a sea of electrical fire, was +indelibly burned into his brain. It was a tragic picture. + +Again he put out the light and bared the blanketed window, but he +saw nothing but the sodden gleam of the earth when the lightning +flashed. A second time he opened the door a few inches and sat +down with his back to the wall, listening. + +How long it was before drowsiness stole upon him he did not know, +but it came, and for a few moments at a time, as his eyes closed, +it robbed him of his caution. And then, for a space, he slept. A +sound brought him suddenly into wide wakefulness. His first +impression was that the sound had been a cry. For a moment or two, +as his senses adjusted themselves, he was not sure. Then swiftly +the thing grew upon him. + +He rose to his feet and widened the crack of his door. A bar of +light shot across the upper hall. It was from Marette's room. He +had taken off his boots to deaden the sound of his feet, and he +stepped outside his door. He was positive he heard a low cry, a +choking, sobbing cry, only barely audible, and that it came from +down the stair. + +No longer hesitating, he moved quickly to Marette's room and +looked in. His first glimpse was of the bed. It had not been used. +The room was empty. + +Something cold and chilling gripped at his heart, and an impulse +which he no longer made an effort to resist pulled him to the head +of the stair. It was more than an impulse--it was a demand. Step +by step he went down, his hand on the butt of his Colt. + +He reached the lower hall, which was still lighted, and a step or +two brought him to a view of the door that opened into the big +living-room beyond. That door was partly open, and the room itself +was filled with light. Soundlessly Kent approached. He looked in. + +What he saw first brought him relief together with shock. At one +end of the long desk table over which hung a great brass lamp +stood Marette. She was in profile to him. He could not see her +face. Her hair fell loose about her, glowing like a rich, sable +cape in the light of the lamp. She was safe, alive, and yet the +attitude of her as she looked down was the thing that gave him +shock. He was compelled to move a few inches more before he could +see what she was staring at. And then his heart stopped dead +still. + +Huddled down in his chair, with his head flung back so that the +terrible ghastliness of his face fronted Kent, was Kedsty. And +Kent, in an instant, knew. Only a dead man could look like that. + +With a cry he entered the room. Marette did not start, but an +answering cry came into her throat as she turned her eyes from +Kedsty to him. To Kent it was like looking upon the dead in two +ways. Marette Radisson, living and breathing, was whiter than +Kedsty, who was white with the unbreathing pallor of the actually +dead. She did not speak. She made no sound after that answering +cry in her throat. She simply looked. And Kent spoke her name +gently as he saw her great, wide eyes blazing dully their agony +and despair. Then, like one stunned and fascinated, she stared +down upon Kedsty again. + +Every instinct of the man-hunter became alive in Kent's brain as +he, too, turned toward the Inspector of Police. Kedsty's arms hung +limp over the side of his chair. On the floor under his right hand +was his Colt automatic. His head was strained so far over the back +of the chair that it looked as though his neck had been broken. On +his forehead, close up against his short-cropped, iron-gray hair, +was a red stain. + +Kent approached and bent over him. He had seen death too many +times not to recognize it now, but seldom had he seen a face +twisted and distorted as Kedsty's was. His eyes were open and +bulging in a glassy stare. His jaws hung loose. His-- + +It was then Kent's blood froze in his veins. Kedsty had received a +blow, but it was not the blow that had killed him. Afterward he +had been choked to death. And the thing that had choked him was a +TRESS OF WOMAN'S HAIR. + +In the seconds that followed that discovery Kent could not have +moved if his own life had paid the penalty of inaction. For the +story was told--there about Kedsty's throat and on his chest. The +tress of hair was long and soft and shining and black. It was +twisted twice around Kedsty's neck, and the loose end rippled down +over his shoulder, GLOWING LIKE A BIT OF RICH SABLE IN THE +LAMPLIGHT. It was that thought of velvety sable that had come to +him at the doorway, looking at Marette. It was the thought that +came to him now. He touched it; he took it in his fingers; he +unwound it from about Kedsty's neck, where it had made two deep +rings in the flesh. From his fingers it rippled out full length. +And he turned slowly and faced Marette Radisson. + +Never had human eyes looked at him as she was looking at him now. +She reached out a hand, her lips mute, and Kent gave her the tress +of hair. And the next instant she turned, with a hand clasped at +her own throat, and passed through the door. + +After that he heard her going unsteadily up the stairs. + + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Kent did not move. His senses for a space were stunned. He was +almost physically insensible to all emotions but that one of shock +and horror. He was staring at Kedsty's gray-white, twisted face +when he heard Marette's door close. A cry came from his lips, but +he did not hear it--was unconscious that he had made a sound. His +body shook with a sudden tremor. He could not disbelieve, for the +evidence was there. From behind, as he had sat in his chair +Marette Radisson had struck the Inspector of Police with some +blunt object. The blow had stunned him. And after that-- + +He drew a hand across his eyes, as if to clear his vision. What he +had seen was impossible. The evidence was impossible. Assaulted, +in deadly peril, defending either honor or love, Marette Radisson +was of the blood to kill. But to creep up behind her victim--it +was inconceivable! Yet there had been no struggle. Even the +automatic on the floor gave no evidence of that. Kent picked it +up. He looked at it closely, and again the unconscious cry of +despair came in a half groan from his lips. For on the butt of the +Colt was a stain of blood and a few gray hairs. Kedsty had been +stunned by a blow from his own gun! + +As Kent placed it on the table, his eyes caught suddenly a gleam +of steel under the edge of a newspaper, and he drew out from their +hiding-place the long-bladed clipping scissors which Kedsty had +used in the preparation of his scrap-books and official reports. +It was the last link in the deadly evidence--the automatic with +its telltale stain, the scissors, the tress of hair, and Marette +Radisson. He felt a sensation of sudden dizziness. Every nerve- +center in his body had received its shock, and when the shock had +passed it left him sweating. + +Swiftly the reaction came. It was a lie, he told himself. The +evidence was false. Marette could not have committed that crime, +as the crime had visualized itself before his eyes. There was +something which he had not seen, something which he could not see, +something that was hiding itself from him. He became, in an +instant, the old James Kent. The instinctive processes of the man- +hunter leaped to their stations like trained soldiers. He saw +Marette again, as she had looked at him when he entered the room. +It was not murder he had caught in her wide-open eyes. It was not +hatred. It was not madness. It was a quivering, bleeding soul +crying out to him in an agony that no other human eyes had ever +revealed to him before. And suddenly a great voice cried out in +his brain, drowning all other things, telling him how contemptible +a thing was love unless in that love was faith. + +With his heart choking him, he turned again to Kedsty. The +futility of the thing which he had told himself was faith gripped +at him sickeningly, yet he fought for that faith, even as his eyes +looked again upon the ghastly torture that was in Kedsty's face. + +He was becoming calmer. He touched the dead man's cheek and found +that it was no longer warm. The tragedy must have occurred an hour +before. He examined more closely the abrasion on Kedsty's +forehead. It was not a deep wound, and the blow that had made it +must have stunned the Inspector of Police for only a short time. +In that space the other thing had happened. In spite of his almost +superhuman effort to keep the picture away from him, Kent saw it +vividly--the swift turning to the table, the inspiration of the +scissors, the clipping of the long tress of hair, the choking to +death of Kedsty as he regained consciousness. Over and over again +he whispered to himself the impossibility of it, the absurdity of +it, the utter incongruity of it. Only a brain gone mad would have +conceived that monstrous way of killing Kedsty. And Marette was +not mad. She was sane. + +Like the eyes of a hunting ferret his own eyes swept quickly about +the room. At the four windows there were long curtain cords. On +the walls, hung there as trophies, were a number of weapons. On +one end of Kedsty's desk, used as a paperweight, was a stone +tomahawk. Still nearer to the dead man's hands, unhidden by +papers, was a boot-lace. Under his limp right hand was the +automatic. With these possible instruments of death close at hand, +ready to be snatched up without trouble or waste of time, why had +the murderer used a tress of woman's hair? + +The boot-lace drew Kent's eyes. It was impossible not to see it, +forty-eight inches long and quarter-inch-wide buckskin. He began +seeking for its mate, and found it on the floor where Marette +Radisson had been standing. And again the unanswerable question +pounded in Kent's brain--why had Kedsty's murderer used a tress of +hair instead of a buckskin lace or one of the curtain cords +hanging conspicuously at the windows? + +He went to each of these windows and found them locked. Then, a +last time, he bent over Kedsty. He knew that in the final moments +of his life Kedsty had suffered a slow and torturing agony. His +twisted face left the story. And the Inspector of Police was a +powerful man. He had struggled, still partly dazed by the blow. +But it had taken strength to overcome him even then, to hold his +head back, to choke life out of him slowly with the noose of hair. +And Kent, now that the significance of what he saw began to grow +upon him more clearly, felt triumphing over all other things in +his soul a slow and mighty joy. It was inconceivable that with the +strength of her own hands and body Marette Radisson had killed +Kedsty. A greater strength than hers had held him in the death- +chair, and a greater strength than hers had choked life from the +Inspector of Police! + +He drew slowly out of the room, closing the door noiselessly +behind him. He found that the front door was as Kedsty had left +it, unlocked. + +Close to that door he stood for a space, scarcely allowing himself +to breathe. He listened, but no sound came down the dimly +illumined stairway. + +A new thing was pressing upon him now. It rode over the shock of +tragedy, over the first-roused instincts of the man-hunter, +overwhelming him with the realization of a horror such as had +never confronted him before. It gripped him more fiercely than the +mere killing of Kedsty. His thought was of Marette, of the fate +which dawn and discovery would bring for her. His hands clenched +and his jaws tightened. The world was against him, and tomorrow it +would be against her. Only he, in the face of all that condemning +evidence in the room beyond, would disbelieve her guilty of +Kedsty's death. And he, Jim Kent, was already a murderer in the +eyes of the law. + +He felt within him the slow-growing inspiration of a new spirit, +the gathering might of a new force. A few hours ago he was an +outcast. He was condemned. Life, for him, had been robbed of its +last hope. And in that hour of his grimmest despair Marette +Radisson had come to him. Through storm that had rocked the earth +under her feet and set ablaze the chaotic blackness of the sky +over her head she had struggled--for him. She had counted no cost. +She had measured no chances. She had simply come--BECAUSE SHE +BELIEVED IN HIM. And now, upstairs, she was the victim of the +terrible price that was the first cost of his freedom. For he +believed, now that the thought came to him like a dagger stroke, +that this was so. Her act in freeing him had brought about the +final climax, and as a result of it, Kedsty was dead. + +He went to the foot of the stair. Quietly, in his shoeless feet, +he began to climb them. He wanted to cry out Marette's name even +before he came to the top. He wanted to reach up to her with his +arms outstretched. But he came silently to her door and looked in. + +She lay in a crumpled, huddled heap on her bed. Her face was +hidden, and all about her lay her smothering hair. For a moment he +was frightened. He could not see that she was breathing. So still +was she that she was like one dead. + +His footsteps were unheard as he moved across the room. He knelt +down beside her, reached out his arms, and gathered her into them. + +"Marette!" he cried in a low voice. + +He felt the sudden quiver, like a little shock, that ran through +her. He crushed his face down, so that it lay in her hair, still +damp from its wetting. He drew her closer, tightening his arms +about her slender body, and a little cry came from her a cry that +was a broken thing, a sob without tears. + +"Marette!" + +It was all he said. It was all he could say in that moment when +his heart was beating like a drum against her breast. And then he +felt the slow pressure of her hands against him, saw her white +face, her wide, staring eyes within a few inches of his own, and +she drew away from him, back against the wall, still huddled like +a child on the bed, with her eyes fixed on him in a way that +frightened him. There were no tears in them. She had not been +crying. But her face was as white as he had seen it down in +Kedsty's room. Some of the horror and shock had gone out of it. In +it was another look as her eyes glowed upon Kent. It was a look of +incredulity, of disbelief, a thing slowly fading away under the +miracle of an amazing revelation. The truth thrust itself upon +him. + +Marette had not expected that he would come to her like this. She +had believed that he would take flight into the night, escaping +from her as he would have run from a plague. She put up her two +hands, in the trick they had of groping at her white throat, and +her lips formed a word which she did not speak. + +Kent, to his own amazement, was smiling and still on his knees. He +pulled himself to his feet, and stood up straight, looking down at +her in that same strange, comforting, all-powerful way. The thrill +of it was passing into her veins. A flush of color was driving the +deathly pallor from her face. Her lips were parted, and she +breathed quickly, a little excitedly. + +"I thought--you would go!" she said. + +"Not without you," he said. "I have come to take you with me." + +He drew out his watch. It was two o'clock. He held it down so that +she could look at the dial. + +"If the storm keeps up, we have three hours before dawn," he said. +"How soon can you be ready, Marette?" + +He was fighting to make his voice quiet and unexcited. It was a +terrific struggle. And Marette was not blind to it. She drew +herself from the bed and stood up before him, her two hands still +clasped at her throbbing throat. + +"You believe--that I killed Kedsty," she said in a voice that was +forced from her lips. "And you have come to help me--to pay me for +what I tried to do for you? That is it--Jeems?" + +"Pay you?" he cried. "I couldn't pay you in a million years! From +that day you first came to Cardigan's place you gave me life. You +came when the last spark of hope in me had died. I shall always +believe that I would have died that night. But you saved me. + +"From the moment I saw you I loved you, and I believe it was that +love that kept me alive. And then you came to me again, down +there, through this storm. Pay you! I can't. I never shall be able +to. Because you thought I had killed a man made no difference You +came just the same. And you came ready to kill, if necessary--for +me. I'm not trying to tell myself WHY! But you did. You were ready +to kill. And I am ready to kill--tonight--for you! I haven't got +time to think about Kedsty. I'm thinking about you. If you killed +him, I'm just telling myself there was a mighty good reason for +it. But I don't believe it was you who killed him. You couldn't do +it--with those hands!" + +He reached out suddenly and seized them, slipping his grip to her +wrists, so that her hands lay upward in his own, hands that were +small, slim-fingered, soft-palmed, beautiful. + +"They couldn't!" he cried, almost fiercely. "I swear to God they +couldn't!" + +Her eyes and face flamed at his words. "You believe that, Jeems?" + +"Yes, just as you believe that I did not kill John Barkley. But +the world is against us. It is against us both now. And we've got +to hunt that hidden valley of yours together. Understand, Marette? +And I'm--rather glad." + +He turned toward the door. "Will you be ready in ten minutes?" he +asked. + +She nodded. "Yes, in ten minutes." + +He ran out into the hall and down the stair, locking the front +door. Then he returned to his hiding-place under the roof. He knew +that a strange sort of madness was in his blood, for in the face +of tonight's tragedy only madness could inspire him with the +ecstatic thrill that was in his veins. Kedsty's death seemed far +removed from a more important thing--the fact that from this hour +Marette was his to fight for, that she belonged to him, that she +must go with him. He loved her. In spite of whoever she was and +whatever she had done, he loved her. Very soon she would tell him +what had happened in the room below, and the thing would be clear. + +There was one little corner of his brain that fought him. It kept +telling him, like a parrot, that it was a tress of Marette's hair +about Kedsty's throat, and that it was the hair that had choked +him. But Marette would explain that, too. He was sure of it. In +the face of the facts below he was illogical and unreasonable. He +knew it. But his love for this girl, who had come strangely and +tragically into his life, was like an intoxicant. And his faith +was illimitable. She did not kill Kedsty. Another part of his +brain kept repeating that over and over, even as he recalled that +only a few hours before she had told him quite calmly that she +would kill the Inspector of Police--if a certain thing should +happen. + +His hands worked as swiftly as his thoughts. He laced up his +service boots. All the food and dishes on the table he made into a +compact bundle and placed in the shoulder-pack. He carried this +and the rifle out into the hall. Then he returned to Marette's +room. The door was closed. At his knock the girl's voice told him +that she was not quite ready. + +He waited. He could hear her moving about quickly in her room. An +interval of silence followed. Another five minutes passed--ten-- +fifteen. He tapped at the door again. This time it was opened. + +He stared, amazed at the change in Marette. She had stepped back +from the door to let him enter, and stood full in the lamp-glow. +Her slim, beautiful body was dressed in a velvety blue corduroy; +the coat was close-fitting and boyish; the skirt came only a +little below her knees. On her feet were high-topped caribou +boots. About her waist was a holster and the little black gun. Her +hair was done up and crowded under a close-fitting turban. She was +exquisitely lovely, as she stood there waiting for him, and in +that loveliness Kent saw there was not one thing out of place. The +corduroy, the turban, the short skirt, and the high, laced boots +were made for the wilderness. She was not a tenderfoot. She was a +little sourdough--clear through! Gladness leaped into Kent's face. +But it was not the transformation of her dress alone that amazed +him. She was changed in another way. Her cheeks were flushed. Her +eyes glowed with a strange and wonderful radiance as she looked at +him. Her lips were red, as he had seen them that first time at +Cardigan's place. Her pallor, her fear, her horror were gone, and +in their place was the repressed excitement of one about to enter +upon a strange adventure. + +On the floor was a pack only half as large as Kent's and when he +picked it up, he found it of almost no weight. He fastened it to +his own pack while Marette put on her raincoat and went down the +stair ahead of him. In the hall below she was waiting, when he +came down, with Kedsty's big rubber slicker in her hands. + +"You must put it on," she said. + +She shuddered slightly as she held the garment. The color was +almost gone from her cheeks, as she faced the door beyond which +the dead man sat in his chair, but the marvelous glow was still in +her eyes as she helped Kent with his pack and the slicker and +afterward stood for an instant with her hands touching his breast +and her lips as if about to speak something which she held back. + +A few steps beyond them they heard the storm. It seemed to rush +upon the bungalow in a new fury, beating at the door, crashing +over their heads in thunder, daring them to come out. Kent reached +up and turned out the hall light. + +In darkness he opened the door. Rain and wind swept in. With his +free hand he groped out, found Marette, drew her after him, and +closed the door again. Entering from the lighted hall into the +storm was like being swallowed in a pit of blackness. It engulfed +and smothered them. Then came suddenly a flash of lightning, and +he saw Marette's face, white and drenched, but looking at him with +that same strange glow in her eyes. It thrilled him. Even in the +darkness it was there. It had been there since he had returned to +her from Kedsty and had knelt at her bedside, with his arms about +her for a moment. + +Only now, in the beat of the storm, did an answer to the miracle +of it come to him. It was because of HIM. It was because of his +FAITH in her. Even death and horror could not keep it from her +eyes. He wanted to cry out the joy of his discovery, to give wild +voice to it in the teeth of the wind and the rain. He felt +sweeping through him a force mightier than that of the night. Her +hands were on his arm, as if she was afraid of losing him in that +pit of blackness; the soft cling of them was like a contact +through which came a warm thrill of electrical life. He put out +his arm and drew her to him, so that for a moment his face pressed +against the top of her wet little turban. + +And then he heard her say: "There is a scow at the bayou, Jeems. +It is close to the end of the path. M'sieu Fingers has kept it +there, waiting, ready." + +He had been thinking of Crossen's place and an open boat. He +blessed Fingers again, as he took Marette's hand in his own and +started for the trail that led through the poplar thicket. + +Their feet slopped deep in wet and mud, and with the rain there +was a wind that took their breath away. It was impossible to see a +tree an arm's length away, and Kent hoped that the lightning would +come frequently enough to guide him. In the first flare of it he +looked down the slope that led riverward. Little rivulets of water +were running down it. Rocks and stumps were in their way, and +underfoot it was slippery. Marette's fingers were clinging to his +again, as she had held to them on the wild race up to Kedsty's +bungalow from the barracks. He had tingled then in the sheer joy +of their thrill, but it was a different thrill that stirred him +now--an overwhelming emotion of possessorship. This night, with +its storm and its blackness, was the most wonderful of all his +nights. + +He sensed nothing of its discomfort. It could not beat back the +joyous racing of the blood in his body. Sun and stars, day and +night, sunshine and cloud, were trivial and inconsequential to him +now. For close to him, struggling with him, fighting through the +night with him, trusting him, helpless without him, was the +living, breathing thing he loved more than he loved his own life. +For many years, without knowing it, he had waited for this night, +and now that it was upon him, it inundated and swept away his old +life. He was no longer the huntsman, but the hunted. He was no +longer alone, but had a priceless thing to fight for, a priceless +and helpless thing that was clinging to his fingers in the +darkness. He did not feel like a fugitive, but as one who has come +into a great triumph. He sensed no uncertainty or doubt. + +The river lay ahead, and for him the river had become the soul and +the promise of life. It was Marette's river and his river, and in +a little while they would be on it. And Marette would then tell +him about Kedsty. He was sure of that. She would tell him what had +happened while he slept. His faith was illimitable. + +They came into the sodden dip at the foot of the ridge, and the +lightning revealed to him the edge of the poplar growth in which +O'Connor had seen Marette many weeks ago. The bayou trail wound +through this, and Kent struck out for it blindly in the darkness. +He did not try to talk, but he freed his companion's hand and put +his arm about her when they came to the level ground, so that she +was sheltered by him from the beat of the storm. Then brush +swished in their faces, and they stopped, waiting for the +lightning again. Kent was not anxious for it to come. He drew the +girl still closer, and in that pit of blackness, with the deluge +about her and the crash of thunder over her head, she snuggled up +against his breast, the throb of her body against him, waiting, +watching, with him. Her frailty, the helplessness of her, the +slimness of her in the crook of his arm, filled him with an +exquisite exultation. He did not think of her now as the splendid, +fearless creature who had leveled her little black gun at the +three men in barracks. She was no longer the mysterious, defiant, +unafraid person who had held him in a sort of awe that first hour +in Kedsty's place. For she was crumpled against him now, utterly +dependent and afraid. In that chaos of storm something told him +that her nerve was broken, that without him she would be lost and +would cry out in fear. AND HE WAS GLAD! He held her tighter; he +bent his head until his face touched the wet, crushed hair under +the edge of her turban. And then the lightning split open the +night again, and he saw the way ahead of him to the trail. + +Even in darkness it was not difficult to follow in the clean-cut +wagon path. Over their heads the tops of the poplars swished and +wailed. Under their feet the roadway in places was a running +stream or inundated until it became a pool. In pitch blackness +they struck such a pool, and in spite of the handicap of his packs +and rifle Kent stopped suddenly, and picked Marette up in his +arms, and carried her until they reached high ground. He did not +ask permission. And Marette, for a minute or two, lay crumpled up +close in his arms, and for a thrilling instant his face touched +her rain-wet cheek. + +The miracle of their adventure was that neither spoke. To Kent the +silence between them had become a thing which he had no desire to +break. In that silence, excused and abetted by the tumult of the +storm, he felt that a wonderful something was drawing them closer +and closer together, and that words might spoil the indescribable +magic of the thing that was happening. When he set Marette on her +feet again, her hand accidentally fell upon his, and for a moment +her fingers closed upon it in a soft pressure that meant more to +him than a thousand words of gratitude. + +A quarter of a mile beyond the poplar thicket they came to the +edge of the spruce and cedar timber, and Soon the thick walls of +the forest shut them in, sheltering them from the wind, but the +blackness was even more like that of a bottomless pit. Kent had +noticed that the thunder and lightning were drifting steadily +eastward, and now the occasional flashes of electrical fire +scarcely illumined the trail ahead of them. The rain was not +beating so fiercely. They could hear the wail of the spruce and +cedar tops and the slush of their boots in mud and water. An +interval came, where the spruce-tops met overhead, when it was +almost calm. It was then that Kent threw out of him a great, deep +breath and laughed joyously and exultantly. + +"Are you wet, little Gray Goose?" + +"Only outside, Big Otter. My feathers have kept me dry." + +Her voice had a trembling, half-sobbing, half-rejoicing note in +it. It was not the voice of one who had recently killed a man. In +it was a pathos which Kent knew she was trying to hide behind +brave words. Her hands clung to the arm of his rubber slicker even +as they stood there, close together, as if she was afraid +something might drag them apart in that treacherous gloom. Kent, +fumbling for a moment, drew from an inner pocket a dry +handkerchief. Then he found her face, tilted it a bit upward, and +wiped it dry. He might have done the same thing to a child who had +been crying. After that he scrubbed his own, and they went on, his +arm about her again. + +It was half a mile from the edge of the forest to the bayou, and +half a dozen times in that distance Kent took the girl in his arms +and carried her through water that almost reached his boot tops. +The lightning no longer served them. The rain still fell steadily, +but the wind had gone with the eastward sweep of the storm. Close- +hung with the forest walls, the bayou itself was indiscernible in +the blackness. Marette guided him now, though Kent walked ahead of +her, holding firmly to her hand. Unless Fingers had changed its +location, the scow should be somewhere within forty or fifty paces +of the end of the trail. It was small, a two-man scow, with a +tight little house built amidships. And it was tied close up +against the shore. Marette told him this as they felt their way +through brush and reeds. Then he stumbled against something taut +and knee-high, and he found it was the tie-rope. + +Leaving Marette with her back to the anchor tree, he went aboard. +The water was three or four inches deep in the bottom of the scow, +but the cabin was built on a platform raised above the floor of +the boat, and Kent hoped it was still dry. He groped until he +found the twisted wire which held the door shut. Opening it, he +ducked his head low and entered. The little room was not more than +four feet high, and for greater convenience he fell upon his knees +while fumbling under his slicker for his water-proof box of +matches. The water had not yet risen above the floor. + +The first light he struck revealed the interior to him. It was a +tiny cabin, scarcely larger than some boxes he had seen. It was +about eight feet long by six in width, and the ceiling was so low +that, even kneeling, his head touched it. His match burned out, +and he lighted another. This time he saw a candle stuck in a bit +of split birch that projected from the wall. He crept to it and +lighted it. For a moment he looked about him, and again he blessed +Fingers. The little scow was prepared for a voyage. Two narrow +bunks were built at the far end, one so close above the other that +Kent grinned as he thought of squeezing between. There were +blankets. Within reach of his arm was a tiny stove, and close to +the stove a supply of kindling and dry wood. The whole thing made +him think of a child's playhouse. Yet there was still room for a +wide, comfortable, cane-bottomed chair, a stool, and a smooth- +planed board fastened under a window, so that it answered the +purpose of a table. This table was piled with many packages. + +He stripped off his packs and returned for Marette. She had come +to the edge of the scow and called to him softly as she heard him +splashing through the water. Her arms were reaching toward him, to +meet him in the darkness. He carried her through the shallow sea +about his feet and laughed as he put her down on the edge of the +platform at the door. It was a low, joyous laugh. The yellow light +of the candle sputtered in their wet faces. Only dimly could he +see her, but her eyes were shining. + +"Your nest, little Gray Goose," he cried gently. + +Her hand reached up and touched his face. "You have been good to +me, Jeems," she said, a little tremble in her voice. "You may-- +kiss me." + +Out in the beat of the rain Kent's heart choked him with song. His +soul swelled with the desire to shout forth a paean of joy and +triumph at the world he was leaving this night for all time. With +the warm thrill of Marette's lips he had become the superman, and +as he leaped ashore in the darkness and cut the tie-rope with a +single slash of his knife, he wanted to give voice to the thing +that was in him as the rivermen had chanted in the glory of their +freedom the day the big brigade started north. And he DID sing, +under his laughing, sobbing breath. With a giant's strength he +sent the scow out into the bayou, and then back and forth he swung +the long one-man sweep, twisting the craft riverward with the +force of two pairs of arms instead of one. Behind the closed door +of the tiny cabin was all that the world now held worth fighting +for. By turning his head he could see the faint illumination of +the candle at the window. The light--the cabin--Marette! + +He laughed inanely, foolishly, like a boy. He began to hear a +dull, droning murmur, a sound that with each stroke of the sweep +grew into a more distinct, cataract-like roar. It was the river. +Swollen by flood, it was a terrifying sound. But Kent did not +dread it. It was his river; it was his friend. It was the pulse +and throb of life to him now. The growing tumult of it was not +menace, but the joyous thunder of many voices calling to him, +rejoicing at his coming. It grew in his ears. Over his head the +black sky opened again, and a deluge of rain fell straight down. +But above the sound of it the rush of the river drew nearer, and +still nearer. He felt the first eddying swirl of it against the +scow head, and powerful hands seemed to reach in out of the +darkness. He knew that the nose of the current had caught him and +was carrying him out on the breast of the stream. He shipped the +sweep and straightened himself, facing the utter chaos of +blackness ahead. He felt under him the slow and mighty pulse of +the great flood as it swept toward the Slave, the Mackenzie, and +the Arctic. And he cried out at last in the downpour of storm, a +cry of joy, of exultation, of hope that reached beyond the laws of +men--and then he turned toward the little cabin, where through the +thickness of sodden night the tiny window was glowing yellow with +candle-light. + + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +To the cabin Kent groped his way, and knocked, and it was Marette +who opened the door for him and stepped back for him to enter. +Like a great wet dog he came in, doubling until his hands almost +touched the floor. He sensed the incongruity of it, the +misplacement of his overgrown body in this playhouse thing, and he +grinned through the trickles of wet that ran down his face, and +tried to see. Marette had taken off her turban and rain-coat, and +she, too, stooped low in the four-feet space of the cabin--but not +so ridiculously low as Kent. He dropped on his knees again. And +then he saw that in the tiny stove a fire was burning. The crackle +of it rose above the beat of the rain on the roof, and the air was +already mellowing with the warmth of it. He looked at Marette. Her +wet hair was still clinging to her face, her feet and arms and +part of her body were wet; but her eyes were shining, and she was +smiling at him. She seemed to him, in this moment, like a child +that was glad it had found refuge. He had thought that the terror +of the night would show in her face, but it was gone. She was not +thinking of the thunder and the lightning, the black trail, or of +Kedsty lying dead in his bungalow. She was thinking of him. + +He laughed outright. It was a joyous, thrilling thing, this black +night with the storm over their heads and the roll of the great +river under them--they two--alone--in this cockleshell cabin that +was not high enough to stand in and scarcely big enough in any +direction to turn round in. The snug cheer of it, the warmth of +the fire beginning to reach their chilled bodies, and the +inspiring crackle of the birch in the little stove filled Kent, +for a space, with other thoughts than those of the world they were +leaving. And Marette, whose eyes and lips were smiling at him +softly in the candle-glow, seemed also to have forgotten. It was +the little window that brought them back to the tragedy of their +flight. Kent visioned it as it must look from the shore--a +telltale blotch of light traveling through the darkness. There +were occasional cabins for several miles below the Landing, and +eyes turned riverward in the storm might see it. He made his way +to the window and fastened his slicker over it. + +"We're off, Gray Goose," he said then, rubbing his hands. "Would +it seem more homelike if I smoked?" + +She nodded, her eyes on the slicker at the window. + +"It's pretty safe," said Kent, fishing out his pipe, and beginning +to fill it. "Everybody asleep, probably. But we won't take any +chances." The scow was swinging sideways in the current. Kent felt +the change in its movement, and added: "No danger of being +wrecked, either. There isn't a rock or rapids for thirty miles. +River clear as a floor. If we bump ashore, don't get frightened." + +"I'm not afraid--of the river," she said. Then, with rather +startling unexpectedness, she asked him, "Where will they look for +us tomorrow?" + +Kent lighted his pipe, eyeing her a bit speculatively as she +seated herself on the stool, leaning toward him as she waited for +an answer to her question. + +"The woods, the river, everywhere," he said. "They'll look for a +missing boat, of course. We've simply got to watch behind us and +take advantage of a good start." + +"Will the rain wipe out our footprints, Jeems?" + +"Yes. Everything in the open." + +"But--perhaps--in a sheltered place--?" + +"We were in no sheltered place," he assured her. "Can you remember +that we were, Gray Goose?" + +She shook her head slowly. "No. But there was Mooie, under the +window." + +"His footprints will be wiped out." + +"I am glad. I would not have him, or M'sieu Fingers, or any of our +friends brought into this trouble." + +She made no effort to hide the relief his words brought her. He +was a little amazed that she should worry over Fingers and the old +Indian in this hour of their own peril. That danger he had decided +to keep as far from her mind as possible. But she could not help +realizing the impending menace of it. She must know that within a +few hours Kedsty would be found, and the long arm of the +wilderness police would begin its work. And if it caught them-- + +She had thrust her feet toward him and was wriggling them inside +her boots, so that he heard the slushing sound of water. "Ugh, but +they are wet!" she shivered. "Will you unlace them and pull them +off for me, Jeems?" + +He laid his pipe aside and knelt close to her. It took him five +minutes to get the boots off. Then he held one of her sodden +little feet close between his two big hands. + +"Cold--cold as ice," he said. "You must take off your stockings, +Marette. Please." + +He arranged a pile of wood in front of the stove and covered it +with a blanket which he pulled from one of the bunks. Then, still +on his knees, he drew the cane chair close to the fire and covered +it with a second blanket. A few moments later Marette was tucked +comfortably in this chair, with her bare feet on the blanketed +pile of wood. Kent opened the stove door. Then he extinguished one +of the smoking candles, and after that, the other. The flaming +birch illumined the little cabin with a mellower light. It gave a +subdued flush to the girl's face. Her eyes seemed to Kent +wonderfully soft and beautiful in that changed light. And when he +had finished, she reached out a hand, and for an instant it +touched his face and his wet hair so lightly that he sensed the +thrilling caress of it without feeling its weight. + +"You are so good to me, Jeems," she said, and he thought there was +a little choking note in her throat. + +He had seated himself on the floor, close to her chair, with his +back to the wall. "It is because I love you, Gray Goose," he +replied quietly, looking straight into the fire. + +She was silent. She, too, was looking into the fire. Close over +their heads they heard the beating of the rain, like a thousand +soft little fists pounding the top of the cabin. Under them they +could feel the slow swinging of the scow as it responded to the +twists and vagaries of the current that was carrying them on. And +Kent, unseen by the girl who was looking away from him, raised his +eyes. The birch light was glowing in her hair; it trembled on her +white throat; her long lashes were caught in the shimmer of it. +And, looking at her, Kent thought of Kedsty lying back in his +bungalow room, choked to death by a tress of that glorious hair, +so near to him now that, by leaning a little forward, he might +have touched it with his lips. The thought brought him no horror. +For even as he looked, one of her hands crept up to her cheek--the +small, soft hand that had touched his face and hair as lightly as +a bit of thistle-down--and he knew that two hands like that could +not have killed a man who was fighting for life when he died. + +And Kent reached up, and took the hand, and held it close in his +own, as he said, "Little Gray Goose, please tell me now--what +happened in Kedsty's room?" + +His voice thrilled with an immeasurable faith. He wanted her to +know, no matter what had happened, that this faith and his love +for her could not be shaken. He believed in her, and would always +believe in her. + +Already he was sure that he knew how Kedsty had died. The picture +of the tragedy had pieced itself together in his mind, bit by bit. +While he slept, Marette and a man were down in the big room with +the Inspector of Police. The climax had come, and Kedsty was +struck a blow--in some unaccountable way--with his own gun. Then, +just as Kedsty was recovering sufficiently from the shock of the +blow to fight, Marette's companion had killed him. Horrified, +dazed by what had already happened, perhaps unconscious, she had +been powerless to prevent the use of a tress of her hair in the +murderer's final work. Kent, in this picture, eliminated the boot- +laces and the curtain cords. He knew that the unusual and the +least expected happened frequently in crime. And Marette's long +hair was flowing loose about her. To use it had simply been the +first inspiration of the murderer. And Kent believed, as he waited +for her answer now, that Marette would tell him this. + +And as he waited, he felt her fingers tighten in his hand. + +"Tell me, Gray Goose--what happened?" + +"I--don't--know--Jeems--" + +His eyes went to her suddenly from the fire, as if he was not +quite sure he had heard what she had said. She did not move her +head, but continued to gaze unseeingly into the flames. Inside his +palm her fingers worked to his thumb and held it tightly again, as +they had clung to it when she was frightened by the thunder and +lightning. + +"I don't know what happened, Jeems." + +This time he did not feel the clinging thrill of her little +fingers and soft palm. Deep within him he experienced something +that was like a sudden and unexpected blow. He was ready to fight +for her until his last breath was gone. He was ready to believe +anything she told him--anything except this impossible thing which +she had just spoken. For she did know what had happened in +Kedsty's room. She knew--unless-- + +Suddenly his heart leaped with joyous hope. "You mean--you were +unconscious?" he cried in a low voice that trembled with his +eagerness. "You fainted--and it happened then?" + +She shook her head. "No. I was asleep in my room. I didn't intend +to sleep, but--I did. Something awakened me. I thought I had been +dreaming. But something kept pulling me, pulling me downstairs. +And when I went, I found Kedsty like that. He was dead. I was +paralyzed, standing there, when you came." + +She drew her, hand away from him, gently, but significantly. "I +know you can't believe me, Jeems. It is impossible for you to +believe me." + +"And you don't want me to believe you, Marette." + +"Yes--I do. You must believe me." + +"But the tress of hair--your hair--round Kedsty's neck--" + +He stopped. His words, spoken gently as they were, seemed brutal +to him. Yet he could not see that they affected her. She did not +flinch. He saw no tremor of horror. Steadily she continued to look +into the fire. And his brain grew confused. Never in all his +experience had he seen such absolute and unaffected self-control. +And somehow, it chilled him. It chilled him even as he wanted to +reach out and gather her close in his arms, and pour his love into +her ears, entreating her to tell him everything, to keep nothing +back from him that might help in the fight he was going to make. + +And then she said, "Jeems, if we should be caught by the Police-- +it would probably be quite soon, wouldn't it?" + +"They won't catch us." + +"But our greatest danger of being caught is right now, isn't it?" +she insisted. + +Kent took out his watch and leaned over to look at it in the +fireglow. "It is three o'clock," he said. "Give me another day and +night, Gray Goose, and the Police will never find us." + +For a moment or two more she was silent. Then her hand reached +out, and her fingers twined softly round his thumb again. "Jeems-- +when we are safe--when we are sure the Police won't find us--I +will tell you all that I know--about what happened in Kedsty's +room. And I will tell you--about--the hair. I will tell you-- +everything." Her fingers tightened almost fiercely. "Everything," +she repeated. "I will tell you about that in Kedsty's room--and I +will tell you about myself--and after that--I am afraid--you won't +like me." + +"I love you," he said, making no movement to touch her. "No matter +what you tell me, Gray Goose, I shall love you." + +She gave a little cry, scarcely more than a broken note in her +throat, and Kent--had her face been turned toward him then--would +have seen the glory that came into it, and into her eyes, like a +swift flash of light--and passed as swiftly away. + +What he did see, when she turned her head, were eyes caught +suddenly by something at the cabin door. He looked. Water was +trickling in slowly over the sill. + +"I expected that," he said cheerfully. "Our scow is turning into a +rain-barrel, Marette. Unless I bail out, we'll soon be flooded." + +He reached for his slicker and put it on. "It won't take me long +to throw the water overboard," he added. "And while I'm doing that +I want you to take OFF your wet things and tuck yourself into bed. +Will you, Gray Goose?" + +"I'm not tired, but if you think it is best--" Her hand touched +his arm. + +"It is best," he said, and for a moment he bent over her until his +lips touched her hair. + +Then he seized a pail, and went out into the rain. + + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +It was that hour when, with clear skies, the gray northern dawn +would have been breaking faintly over the eastern forests. Kent +found the darkness more fog-like; about him was a grayer, +ghostlier sort of gloom. But he could not see the water under his +feet. Nor could he see the rail of the scow, or the river. From +the stern, ten feet from the cabin door, the cabin itself was +swallowed up and invisible. + +With the steady, swinging motion of the riverman he began bailing. +So regular became his movements that they ran in a sort of +rhythmic accompaniment to his thoughts. The monotonous splash, +splash, splash of the outflung pails of water assumed, after a few +minutes, the character of a mechanical thing. He could smell the +nearness of the shore. Even in the rain the tang of cedar and +balsam came to him faintly. + +But it was the river that impressed itself most upon his senses. +It seemed to him, as the minutes passed, like a living thing. He +could hear it gurgling and playing under the end of the scow. And +with that sound there was another and more indescribable thing, +the tremble of it, the pulse of it, the thrill of it in the +impenetrable gloom, the life of it as it swept on in a slow and +mighty flood between its wilderness walls. Kent had always said, +"You can hear the river's heart beat--if you know how to listen +for it." And he heard it now. He felt it. The rain could not beat +it out, nor could the splash of the water he was throwing +overboard drown it, and the darkness could not hide it from the +vision that was burning like a living coal within him. Always it +was the river that had given him consolation in times of +loneliness. For him it had grown into a thing with a soul, a thing +that personified hope, courage, comradeship, everything that was +big and great in final achievement. And tonight--for he still +thought of the darkness as night--the soul of it seemed whispering +to him a sort of paean. + +He could not lose. That was the thought that filled him. Never had +his pulse beat with greater assurance, never had a more positive +sense of the inevitable possessed him. It was inconceivable, he +thought, even to fear the possibility of being taken by the +Police. He was more than a man fighting for his freedom alone, +more than an individual struggling for the right to exist. A thing +vastly more priceless than either freedom or life, if they were to +be accepted alone, waited for him in the little cabin, shut in by +its sea of darkness. And ahead of them lay their world. He +emphasized that. THEIR world--the world which, in an illusive and +unreal sort of way, had been a part of his dreams all his life. In +that world they would shut themselves in. No one would ever find +them. And the glory of the sun and the stars and God's open +country would be with them always. + +Marette was the very heart of that reality which impinged itself +upon him now. He did not worry about what it was she would tell +him tomorrow, or day after tomorrow. He believed that it was then +--when she had told him what there was to tell, and he still +reached, out his arms to her--that she would come into those arms. +And he knew that nothing that might have happened in Kedsty's room +would keep his arms from reaching, to her. Such was his faith, +potent as the mighty flood hidden in the gray-ghost gloom of +approaching dawn. + +Yet he did not expect to win easily. As he worked, his mind swept +up and down the Three Rivers from the Landing to Fort Simpson, and +mentally he pictured the situations that might arise, and how he +would triumph over them. He figured that the men at Barracks would +not enter Kedsty's bungalow until noon at the earliest. The Police +gasoline launch would probably set out on a river search soon +after. By mid-afternoon the scow would have a fifty-mile start. + +Before darkness came again they would be through the Death Chute, +where Follette and Ladouceur swam their mad race for the love of a +girl. And not many miles below the Chute was a swampy country +where he could hide the scow. Then they would start overland, west +and north. Given until another sunset, and they would be safe. +This was what he expected. But if it came to fighting--he would +fight. + +The rain had slackened to a thin drizzle by the time he finished +his bailing. The aroma of cedar and balsam came to him more +clearly, and he heard more distinctly the murmuring surge of the +river. He tapped again at the door of the cabin, and Marette +answered him. + +The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing coals when he +entered. Again he fell on his knees, and took off his dripping +slicker. + +The girl greeted him from the berth. "You look like a great bear, +Jeems." There was a glad, welcoming note in her voice. + +He laughed, and drew the stool beside her, and managed to sit on +it, the roof compelling him to bend his head over a little. "I +feel like an elephant in a birdcage," he replied. "Are you +comfortable, little Gray Goose?" + +"Yes. But you, Jeems? You are wet!" + +"But so happy that I don't feel it, Gray Goose." + +He could make her out only dimly there in the darkness of the +berth. Her face was a pale shadow, and she had loosened her damp +hair so that the warmth and dry air might reach it more easily. +Kent wondered if she could hear the beating of his heart. He +forgot the fire, and the darkness grew thicker. He could no longer +see the pale outline of her face, and he drew back a little, +possessed by the thought that it was sacrilegious to bend nearer +to her, like a thief, in that gloom. She sensed his movement, and +her hand reached to him and lay lightly with its fingertips +touching his arm. + +"Jeems," she said softly. "I'm not sorry--now--that I came up to +Cardigan's place that day--when you thought you were dying. I +wasn't wrong. You are different. And I made fun of you then, and +laughed at you, because I knew that you were not going to die. +Will you forgive me?" + +He laughed happily. "It's funny how little things work out, +sometimes," he said. "Wasn't a kingdom lost once upon a time +because some fellow didn't have a horseshoe? Anyway, I knew of a +man whose life was saved because of a broken pipe-stem. And you +came to me, and I'm here with you now, because--" + +"Of what?" she whispered. + +"Because of something that happened a long time ago," he said. +"Something you wouldn't dream could have anything to do with you +or with me. Shall I tell you about it, Marette?" + +Her fingers pressed slightly upon his arm. "Yes." + +"Of course, it's a story of the Police," he began. "And I won't +mention this fellow's name. You may think of him as that red- +headed O'Connor, if you want to. But I don't say that it was he. +He was a constable in the Service and had been away North looking +up some Indians who were brewing an intoxicating liquor from +roots. That was six years ago. And he caught something. Le Mort +Rouge, we sometimes call it--the Red Death--or smallpox. And he +was alone when the fever knocked him down, three hundred miles +from anywhere. His Indian ran away at the first sign of it, and he +had just time to get up his tent before he was flat on his back. I +won't try to tell you of the days he went through. It was a living +death. And he would have died, there is no doubt of it, if it +hadn't been for a stranger who came along. He was a white man. +Marette, it doesn't take a great deal of nerve to go up against a +man with a gun, when you've got a gun of your own; and it doesn't +take such a lot of nerve to go into battle when a thousand others +are going with you. But it does take nerve to face what that +stranger faced. And the sick man was nothing to him. He went into +that tent and nursed the other back to life. Then the sickness got +him, and for ten weeks those two were together, each fighting to +save the other's life, and they won out. But the glory of it was +with the stranger. He was going west. The constable was going +south. They shook hands and parted." + +Marette's fingers tightened on Kent's arm. And Kent went on. + +"And the constable never forgot, Gray Goose. He wanted the day to +come when he might repay. And the time came. It was years later, +and it worked out in a curious way. A man was murdered. And the +constable, who had become a sergeant now, had talked with the dead +man only a little while before he was killed. Returning for +something he had forgotten, it was the sergeant who found him +dead. Very shortly afterward a man was arrested. There was blood +on his clothing. The evidence was convincing, deadly. And this +man--" + +Kent paused, and in the darkness Marette's hand crept down his arm +to his hand, and her fingers closed round it. + +"Was the man you lied to save," she whispered. + +"Yes. When the halfbreed's bullet got me, I thought it was a good +chance to repay Sandy McTrigger for what he did for me in that +tent years before. But it wasn't heroic. It wasn't even brave. I +thought I was going to die and that I was risking nothing." + +And then there came a soft, joyous little laugh from where her +head lay on the pillow. "And all the time you were lying so +splendidly, Jeems--I KNEW," she cried. "I knew that you didn't +kill Barkley, and I knew that you weren't going to die, and I knew +what happened in that tent ten years ago. And--Jeems--Jeems--" + +She raised herself from the pillow. Her breath was coming a little +excitedly. Both her hands, instead of one, were gripping his hand +now. "I knew that you didn't kill John Barkley," she repeated. +"And--SANDY MCTRIGGER DIDN'T KILL HIM!" + +"But--" + +"He DIDN'T," she interrupted him, almost fiercely. "He was +innocent, as innocent as you were. Jeems--I Jeems--I know who +killed Barkley. Oh, I KNOW--I KNOW!" + +A choking sob came into her throat, and then she added, in a voice +which she was straining to make calm, "Don't think that I haven't +faith in you because I can't tell you more now, Jeems," she said. +"You will understand--quite soon. When we are safe from the +Police, I shall tell you. I shall keep nothing from you then. I +shall tell you about Barkley, and Kedsty--everything. But I can't +now. It won't be long. When you tell me we are safe, I shall +believe you. And then--" She withdrew her hands from his and +dropped back on her pillow. + +"And then--what?" he asked, leaning far over. + +"You may not like me, Jeems." + +"I love you," he whispered. "Nothing in the world can stop my +loving you." + +"Even if I tell you--soon--that I killed Barkley?" + +"No. You would be lying." + +"Or--if I told you--that I--killed--Kedsty?" + +"No matter what you said, or what proof there might be back there, +I would not believe you." + +She was silent. And then, "Jeems--" + +"Yes, Niska, Little Goddess--?" + +"I'm going to tell you something--now!" + +He waited. + +"It is going to--shock you--Jeems." + +He felt her arms reaching up. Her two hands touched his shoulders. + +"Are you listening?" + +"Yes, I am listening." + +"Because I'm not going to say it very loud." And then she +whispered, "Jeems--I LOVE YOU!" + + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +In the slowly breaking gloom of the cabin, with Marette's arms +round his neck, her soft lips given him to kiss, Kent for many +minutes was conscious of nothing but the thrill of his one great +hope on earth come true. What he had prayed for was no longer a +prayer, and what he had dreamed of was no longer a dream; yet for +a space the reality of it seemed unreal. What he said in those +first moments of his exaltation he would probably never remember. + +His own physical existence seemed a thing trivial and almost lost, +a thing submerged and swallowed up by the warm beat and throb of +that other life, a thousand times more precious than his own, +which he held in his arms. Yet with the mad thrill that possessed +him, in the embrace of his arms, there was an infinite tenderness, +a gentleness, that drew from Marette's lips a low, glad whispering +of his name. She drew his head down and kissed him, and Kent fell +upon his knees at her side and crushed his face close down to her +--while outside the patter of rain on the roof had ceased, and the +fog-like darkness was breaking with gray dawn. + +In that dawn of the new day Kent came at last out of the cabin and +looked upon a splendid world. In his breast was the glory of a +thing new-born, and the world, like himself, was changed. Storm +had passed. The gray river lay under his eyes. Shoreward he made +out the dark outlines of the deep spruce and cedar and balsam +forests. About him there was a great stillness, broken only by the +murmur of the river and the ripple of water under the scow. Wind +had gone with the black rainclouds, and Kent, as he looked about +him, saw the swift dissolution of the last shadows of night, and +the breaking in the East of a new paradise. In the East, as the +minutes passed, there came a soft and luminous gray, and after +that, swiftly, with the miracle of far Northern dawn, a vast, low- +burning fire seemed to start far beyond the forests, tinting the +sky with a delicate pink that crept higher and higher as Kent +watched it. The river, all at once, came out of its last drifting +haze of fog and night. The scow was about in the middle of the +channel. Two hundred yards on either side were thick green walls +of forest glistening fresh and cool with the wet of storm and +breathing forth the perfume which Kent was drawing deep into his +lungs. + +In the cabin he heard sound. Marette was up, and he was eager to +have her come out and stand with him in this glory of their first +day. He watched the smoke of the fire he had built, hardwood smoke +that drifted up white and clean into the rain-washed air. + +The smell of it, like the smell of balsam and cedar, was to Kent +the aroma of life. And then he began to clean out what was left of +the water in the bottom of the scow, and as he worked he whistled. +He wanted Marette to hear that whistle. He wanted her to know that +day had brought with it no doubt for him. A great and glorious +world was about them and ahead of them. And they were safe. + +As he worked, his mind became more than ever set upon the +resolution to take no chances. He paused in his whistling for a +moment to laugh softly and exultantly as he thought of the years +of experience which were his surest safeguard now. He had become +almost uncannily expert in all the finesse and trickery of his +craft of hunting human game, and he knew what the man-hunters +would do and what they would not do. He had them checkmated at the +start. And, besides--with Kedsty, O'Connor, and himself gone--the +Landing was short-handed just at present. There was an enormous +satisfaction in that. But even with a score of men behind him Kent +knew that he would beat them. His hazard, if there was peril at +all, lay in this first day. Only the Police gasoline launch could +possibly overtake them. And with the start they had, he was sure +they would pass the Death Chute, conceal the scow, and take to the +untracked forests north and west before the launch could menace +them. After that he would keep always west and north, deeper and +deeper into that wild and untraveled country which would be the +last place in which the Law would seek for them. He straightened +himself and looked at the smoke again, drifting like gray-white +lace between him and the blue of the sky, and in that moment the +sun capped the tall green tops of the highest cedars, and day +broke gloriously over the earth. + +For a quarter of an hour longer Kent mopped at the floor of the +scow, and then--with a suddenness that drew him up as if a whip- +lash had snapped behind him--he caught another aroma in the clean, +forest-scented air. It was bacon and coffee! He had believed that +Marette was taking her time in putting on dry footwear and making +some sort of morning toilet. Instead of that, she was getting +breakfast. It was not an extraordinary thing to do. To fry bacon +and make coffee was not, in any sense, a remarkable achievement. +But at the present moment it was the crowning touch to Kent's +paradise. She was getting HIS breakfast! And--coffee and bacon--To +Kent those two things had always stood for home. They were +intimate and companionable. Where there were coffee and bacon, he +had known children who laughed, women who sang, and men with +happy, welcoming faces. They were home-builders. + +"Whenever you smell coffee and bacon at a cabin," O'Connor had +always said, "they'll ask you in to breakfast if you knock at the +door." + +But Kent was not recalling his old trail mate's words. In the +present moment all other thoughts were lost in the discovery that +Marette was getting breakfast--for him. + +He went to the door and listened. Then he opened it and looked in. +Marette was on her knees before the open door of the stove, +toasting bread on two forks. Her face was flushed pink. She had +not taken time to brush her hair, but had woven it carelessly into +a thick braid that fell down her back. She gave a little +exclamation of mock disappointment when she saw Kent. + +"Why didn't you wait?" she remonstrated. "I wanted to surprise +you." + +"You have," he said. "And I couldn't wait. I had to come in and +help." + +He was inside the door and on his knees beside her. As he reached +for the two forks, his lips pressed against her hair. The pink +deepened in Marette's face, and the soft little note that was like +laughter came into her throat. Her hand caressed his cheek as she +rose to her feet, and Kent laughed back. And after that, as she +arranged things on the shelf table, her hand now and then touched +his shoulder, or his hair, and two or three times he heard that +wonderful little throat-note that sent through him a wild pulse of +happiness. And then, he sitting in the low chair and she on the +stool, they drew close together before the board that answered as +a table, and ate their breakfast. Marette poured his coffee and +stirred sugar and condensed milk in it, and so happy was Kent that +he did not tell her he used neither milk nor sugar in his coffee. +The morning sun burst through the little window, and through the +open door Kent pointed to the glory of it on the river and in the +shimmering green of the forests slipping away behind. When they +had finished, Marette went outside with him. + +For a space she stood silent and without movement, looking upon +the marvelous world that encompassed them. It seemed to Kent that +for a few moments she did not breathe. With her head thrown back +and her white throat bare to the soft, balsam-laden air she faced +the forests. Her eyes became suddenly filled with the luminous +glow of stars. Her face reflected the radiance of the rising sun, +and Kent, looking at her, knew that he had never seen her so +beautiful as in these wonderful moments. He held his own breath, +for he also knew that Niska, his goddess, was looking upon her own +world again after a long time away. + +Her world--and his. Different from all the other worlds God had +ever made; different, even, from the world only a few miles behind +them at the Landing. For here was no sound or whisper of +destroying human life. They were in the embrace of the Great +North, and it was drawing them closer, and with each minute nearer +to the mighty, pulsing heart of it. + +The forests hung heavy and green and glistening with the wet of +storm; out of them came the tremulous breath of life and the glory +of living; they hugged the shores like watchful hosts guarding the +river from civilization--and suddenly the girl held out her arms, +and Kent heard the low, thrilling cry that came to her lips. + +She had forgotten him. She had forgotten everything but the river, +the forests, and the untrod worlds beyond them, and he was glad. +For this world that she was welcoming, that her soul was crying +out to, was his world, for ever and ever. It held his dreams, his +hopes, all the desires that he had in life. And when at last +Marette turned toward him slowly, his arms were reaching out to +her, and in his face she saw that same glory which filled her own. + +"I'm glad--glad," she cried softly. "Oh, Jeems--I'm glad!" + +She came into his arms without hesitation; her hands stroked his +face; and then she stood with her head against his shoulder, +looking ahead, breathing deeply now of the sweet, clear air filled +with the elixir of the hovering forests. She did not speak, or +move, and Kent remained quiet. The scow drifted around a bend. +Shoreward a great moose splashed up out of the water, and they +could hear him afterward, crashing through the forest. Her body +tensed, but she did not speak. After a little he heard her +whisper, + +"It has been a long time, Jeems. I have been away four years." + +"And now we are going home, little Gray Goose. You will not be +lonely?" + +"No. I was lonely down there. There were so many people, and so +many things, that I was homesick for the woods and mountains. I +believe I would have died soon. There were only two things I +loved, Jeems--" + +"What?" he asked. + +"Pretty dresses--and shoes." + +His arms closed about her a little more tightly. "I--I +understand," he laughed softly. "That is why you came, that first +time, with pretty high-heeled pumps." + +He bowed his head, and she turned her face to him. On her upturned +mouth he kissed her. + +"More than any other man ever loved a woman I love you, Niska, +little goddess," he cried. + +The minutes and the hours of that day stood out ever afterward in +Kent's life as unforgettable memories. There were times when they +seemed illusory and unreal, as though he lived and breathed in an +insubstantial world made up of gossamer things which must be the +fabric of dream. These were moments when the black shadow of the +tragedy from which they were fleeing pressed upon him, when the +thought came to him that they were criminals racing with the law; +that they were not on enchanted ground, but in deadly peril; that +it was all a fools' paradise from which some terrible shock would +shortly awaken him. But these periods of apprehension were, in +themselves, mere shadows thrown for a moment upon his happiness. +Again and again the subconscious force within him pounded home to +his physical brain the great truth, that it was all +extraordinarily real. + +It was Marette who made him doubt himself at times. He could not, +quite yet, comprehend the fulness of that love which she had given +him. More than ever, in the glory of this love that had come to +them she was like a child to him. It seemed to him in the first +hours of the morning that she had forgotten yesterday, and the day +before, and ill the days before that. She was going home. She +whispered that to him so often that it became a little song in his +brain. Yet she told him nothing of that home, and he waited, +knowing that the fulfilment of her promise was not far away. And +there was no embarrassment in the manner of her surrender when he +held her in his arms, and she held her face up, so that he could +kiss her mouth and look into her glowing, lovely eyes. What he saw +was the flush of a great happiness, the almost childish confession +of it along with the woman's joy of possession. And he thought of +Kedsty, and of the Law that was rousing itself into life back at +Athabasca Landing. + +And then she ran her fingers through his own and told him to wait, +and ran into the cabin and came out a moment later with her brush; +and after that she seated herself at the fulcrum of the big sweep +and began to brush out her hair in the sun. + +"I'm glad you love it, Jeems," she said. + +She unbound the thick braid and let the silken strands of it run +caressingly between her fingers. She smoothed it out, brushed it +until it was more beautiful than he had ever seen it, in that glow +of the sun. She held it up so that it rippled out in shimmering +cascades about her--and then, suddenly, Kent saw the short tress +from which had been clipped the rope of hair that he had taken +from Kedsty's neck. And as his lips tightened, crushing fiercely +the exclamation of his horror, there came a trembling happiness +from Marette's lips, scarcely more than the whisper of a song, the +low, thrilling melody of Le Chaudiere. + +Her arms reached up, and she drew his head down to her, so that +for a time his visions were blinded in that sweet smother of her +hair. + +The intimacy of that day was in itself like a dream. Hour after +hour they drifted deeper into the great North. The sun shone. The +forest-walled shores of the river grew mightier in their stillness +and their grandeur, and the vast silence of unpeopled places +brooded over the world. To Kent it was as if they were drifting +through Paradise. Occasionally he found it necessary to work the +big sweep, for still water was gradually giving way to a swifter +current. + +Beyond that there was no labor for him to perform. It seemed to +him that with each of these wonderful hours danger was being left +farther and still farther behind them. Watching the shores, +looking ahead, listening for sound that might come from behind--at +times possessed of the exquisite thrills of children in their +happiness--Kent and Marette found the gulf of strangeness passing +swiftly away from between them. + +They did not speak of Kedsty, or the tragedy, or again of the +death of John Barkley. But Kent told of his days in the North, of +his aloneness, of the wild, weird love in his soul for the deepest +wildernesses. And from that he went away back into dim and distant +yesterdays, alive with mellowed memories of boyhood days spent on +a farm. To all these things Marette listened with glowing eyes, +with low laughter, or with breath that rose or fell with his own +emotions. + +She told of her own days down at school and of their appalling +loneliness; of childhood spent in the forests; of the desire to +live there always. But she did not speak intimately of herself or +her life in its more vital aspects; she said nothing of the home +in the Valley of Silent Men, nothing of father or mother, sisters +or brothers. There was no embarrassment in her omissions. And Kent +did not question. He knew that those were among the things she +would tell him when that promised hour came, the hour when he +would tell her they were safe. + +There began to possess him now a growing eagerness for this hour, +when they should leave the river and take to the forests. He +explained to Marette why they could not float on indefinitely. The +river was the one great artery through which ran the blood of all +traffic to the far North. It was patrolled. Sooner or later they +would be discovered. In the forests, with a thousand untrod trails +to choose, they would be safe. He had only one reason for keeping +to the river until they passed through the Death Chute. It would +carry them beyond a great swampy region to the westward through +which it would be impossible for them to make their way at this +season of the year. Otherwise he would have gone ashore now. He +loved the river, had faith in it, but he knew that not until the +deep forests swallowed them, as a vast ocean swallows a ship, +would they be beyond the peril that threatened them from the +Landing. + +Three or four times between sunrise and noon they saw life ashore +and on the stream; once a scow tied to a tree, then an Indian +camp, and twice trappers' shacks built in the edge of little +clearings. With the beginning of afternoon Kent felt growing +within him something that was not altogether eagerness. It was, at +times, a disturbing emotion, a foreshadowing of evil, a warning +for him to be on his guard. He used the sweep more, to help their +progress in the current, and he began to measure time and distance +with painstaking care. He recognized many landmarks. + +By four o'clock, or five at the latest, they would strike the head +of the Chute. Ten minutes of its thrilling passage and he would +work the scow into the concealment he had in mind ashore, and no +longer would he fear the arm of the law that reached out from the +Landing. As he planned, he listened. From noon on he never ceased +to listen for that distant putt, putt, putt, that would give them +a mile's warning of the approach of the patrol launch. + +He did not keep his plans to himself. Marette sensed his growing +uneasiness, and he made her a partner of his thoughts. + +"If we hear the patrol before we reach the Chute, we'll still have +time to run ashore," he assured her. "And they won't catch us. +We'll be harder to find than two needles in a haystack. But it's +best to be prepared." + +So he brought out his pack and Marette's smaller bundle, and laid +his rifle and pistol holster across them. + +It was three o'clock when the character of the river began to +change, and Kent smiled happily. They were entering upon swifter +waters. There were places where the channel narrowed, and they +sped through rapids. Only where unbroken straight waters stretched +out ahead of them did Kent give his arms a rest at the sweep. And +through most of the straight water he added to the speed of the +scow. Marette helped him. In him the exquisite thrill of watching +her slender, glorious body as it worked with his own never grew +old. She laughed at him over the big oar between them. The wind +and sun played riot in her hair. Her parted lips were rose-red, +her cheeks flushed, her eyes like sun-warmed rock violets. More +than once, in the thrill of that afternoon flight, as he looked at +the marvelous beauty of her, he asked himself if it could be +anything but a dream. And more than once he laughed joyously, and +paused in his swinging of the sweep, and proved that it was real +and true. And Kent thanked God, and worked harder. + +Once, a long time ago, Marette told him, she had been through the +Chute. It had horrified her then. She remembered it as a sort of +death monster, roaring for its victims. As they drew nearer to it, +Kent told her more about it. Only now and then was a life lost +there now, he said. At the mouth of the Chute there was a great, +knife-like rock, like a dragon's tooth, that cut the Chute into +two roaring channels. If a scow kept to the left-hand channel it +was safe. There would be a mighty roaring and thundering as it +swept on its passage, but that roaring of the Chute, he told her, +was like the barking of a harmless dog. + +Only when a scow became unmanageable, or hit the Dragon's Tooth, +or made the right-hand channel instead of the left, was there +tragedy. There was that delightful little note of laughter in +Marette's throat when Kent told her that. + +"You mean, Jeems, that if one of three possible things doesn't +happen, we'll get through safely?" + +"None of them is possible--with us," he corrected himself quickly. +"We've a tight little scow, we're not going to hit the rock, and +we'll make the left-hand channel so smoothly you won't know when +it happens." He smiled at her with splendid confidence. "I've been +through it a hundred times," he said. + +He listened. Then, suddenly, he drew out his watch. It was a +quarter of four. Marette's ears caught what he heard. In the air +was a low, trembling murmur. It was growing slowly but steadily. +He nodded when she looked at him, the question in her eyes. + +"The rapids at the head of the Chute!" he cried, his voice vibrant +with joy. "We've beat them out. WE'RE SAFE!" + +They swung around a bend, and the white spume of the rapids lay +half a mile ahead of them. The current began to race with them +now. Kent put his whole weight on the sweep to keep the scow in +mid-channel. + +"We're safe," he repeated. "Do you understand, Marette? WE'RE +SAFE!" + +He was speaking the words for which she had waited, was telling +her that at last the hour had come when she could keep her promise +to him. The words, as he gave them voice, thrilled him. He felt +like shouting them. And then all at once he saw the change that +had come into her face. Her wide, startled eyes were not looking +at him, but beyond. She was looking back in the direction from +which they had come, and even as he stared her face grew white. + +"LISTEN!" + +She was tense, rigid. He turned his head. And in that moment it +came to him above the growing murmur of the river--the PUTT, PUTT, +PUTT of the Police patrol boat from Athabasca Landing! + +A deep breath came from between his lips. When Marette took her +eyes from the river and looked at him, his face was like carven +rock. He was staring dead ahead. + +"We can't make the Chute," he said, his voice sounding hard and +unreal to her. "If we do, they'll be up with us before we can land +at the other end. We must let this current drive us ashore--NOW." + +As he made his decision, he put the strength of his body into +action. He knew there was not the hundredth part of a second to +lose. The outreaching suction of the rapids was already gripping +the scow, and with mighty strokes he fought to work the head of +his craft toward the westward shore. With swift understanding +Marette saw the priceless value of a few seconds of time. If they +were caught in the stronger swirl of the rapids before the shore +was reached, they would be forced to run the Chute, and in that +event the launch would be upon them before they could make a +landing farther on. She sprang to Kent's side and added her own +strength in the working of the sweep. Foot by foot and yard by +yard the scow made precious westing, and Kent's face lighted up +with triumph as he nodded ahead to a timbered point that thrust +itself out like a stubby thumb into the river. Beyond that point +the rapids were frothing white, and they could see the first black +walls of rock that marked the beginning of the Chute. + +"We'll make it," he smiled confidently. "We'll hit that timbered +point close inshore. I don't see where the launch can make a +landing anywhere within a mile of the Chute. And once ashore we'll +make trail about five times as fast they can follow it." Marette's +face was no longer pale, but flushed with excitement. He caught +the white gleam of teeth between her parted lips. Her eyes shone +gloriously, and he laughed. + +"You beautiful little fighter," he cried exultantly. "You--you--" + +His words were cut short by a snap that was like the report of a +pistol close to his ears. He pitched forward and crashed to the +bottom of the scow, Marette's slim body clutched in his arms as he +fell. In a flash they were up, and mutely they stared where the +sweep had been. The blade of it was gone. Kent was conscious of +hearing a little cry from the girl at his side, and then her +fingers were gripping tightly again about his thumb. No longer +possessed of the power of guidance, the scow swung sideways. It +swept past the wooded point. The white maelstrom of the lower +rapids seized upon it. And Kent, looking ahead to the black maw of +the death-trap that was waiting for them, drew Marette close in +his arms and held her tight. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +For a brief space after the breaking of the scow-sweep Kent did +not move. He felt Marette's arms closing tighter and tighter +around his neck. He caught a flash of her upturned face, the flush +of a few moments before replaced by a deathly pallor, and he knew +that without explanation on his part she understood the almost +hopeless situation they were in. He was glad of that. It gave him +a sense of relief to know that she would not go into a panic, no +matter what happened. He bowed his face to hers, so that he felt +the velvety smoothness of her cheek. She turned her mouth to him, +and they kissed. His embrace was crushing for a moment, fierce +with his love for her, desperate with his determination to keep +her from harm. + +His brain was working swiftly. There was possibly one chance in +ten that the scow--rudderless and without human guidance--would +sweep safely between the black walls and jagged teeth of the +Chute. Even if the scow made this passage, they would be in the +power of the Police, unless some splendid whimsicality of Fate +sent it ashore before the launch came through. + +On the other hand, if it was carried far enough through the lower +rapids, they might swim. And--there was the rifle laying across +the pack. That, after all, was his greatest hope--if the scow made +the passage of the Chute. The bulwarks of the scow would give them +greater protection than the thinner walls of the launch would give +to their pursuers. In his heart there raged suddenly a hatred for +that Law of which he had been a part. It was running them to +destruction, and he would fight. There would not be more than +three men in the launch, and he would kill them, if killing became +a necessity. + +They were speeding like an unbridled race-horse through the +boiling rapids now. The clumsy craft under their feet twisted and +turned. The dripping tops of great rocks shot past a little out of +their channel. And Marette, with one arm still about his neck, was +facing the peril ahead with him. They could see the Dragon's +Tooth, black and grim, waiting squarely in their path. In another +hundred and twenty seconds they would be upon it--or past it. +There was no time for Kent to explain. He sprang to his pack, +whipped a knife from his pocket, and cut the stout babiche rope +that reenforced its straps. In another instant he was back at +Marette's side, fastening the babiche about her waist. The other +end he gave to her, and she tied it about his wrist. She smiled as +she finished the knot. It was a strange, tense little smile, but +it told him that she was not afraid, that she had great faith in +him, and knew what the babiche meant. + +"I can swim, Jeems," she cried. "If we strike the rock." + +She did not finish because of the sudden cry that came to his +lips. He had almost forgotten the most vital of all things. There +was not time to unlace his boots. With his knife he cut the laces +in a single downward thrust. Swiftly he freed his own feet, and +Marette's. Even in this hour of their peril it thrilled him to see +how quickly Marette responded to the thoughts that moved him. She +tore at her outer garments and slipped them off as he wriggled out +of his heavy shirt. A slim, white-underskirted little thing, her +glorious hair flying in the wind that came through the Chute, her +throat and arms bare, her eyes shining at Kent, she came again +close within his arms, and her lips framed softly his name. And a +moment later she turned her face up, and cried quickly, + +"Kiss me, Jeems--kiss me--" + +Her warm lips clung to his, and her bare arms encircled his neck +with the choking grip of a child's. He looked ahead and braced +himself on his feet, and after that he buried one of his hands in +the soft mass of her hair and pressed her face against his naked +breast. + +Ten seconds later the crash came. Squarely amidships the scow +struck the Dragon's Tooth. Kent was prepared for the shock, but +his attempt to hold his feet, with Marette in his arms, was +futile. The bulwark saved them from crashing against the slippery +face of the rock itself. Amid the roar of water that filled his +ears he was conscious of the rending of timbers. The scow bulged +up with the mighty force beneath, and for a second or two it +seemed as though that force was going to overturn and submerge it. +Then slowly it began to slip off the nose of the rock. + +Holding to the rail with one hand and clinging to Marette with his +other arm, Kent was gripped in the horror of what was happening. +The scow was slipping INTO THE RIGHT HAND CHANNEL! In that channel +there was no hope--only death. + +Marette was squarely facing the thing ahead. In this hour when +each second held a lifetime of suspense Kent saw that she +understood. Yet she did not cry out. Her face was dead white. Her +hair and arms and shoulders were dripping with the splash of +water. But she was not terrified as he had seen terror. When she +turned her eyes to him, he was amazed by the quiet, calm look that +was in them. Her lips trembled. + +His soul expressed itself in a wordless cry that was drowned in +another crash of timber as a jutting snag of the Tooth crumpled up +the little cabin as if it had been pasteboard. He felt +overwhelming him the surge of a thing mightier than the menace of +the Chute. He could not lose! It was inconceivable. Impossible! +With HER to fight for--this slim, wonderful creature who smiled at +him even as she saw death. + +And then, as his arm closed still more tightly about her, the +monsters of power and death gave him their answer. The scow swung +free of the Dragon's Tooth, half-filled with water. Its cracked +and broken carcass was caught in the rock jaws of the eastern +channel. It ceased to be a floating thing. It was inundation, +dissolution, utter obliteration almost without shock. And Kent +found himself in the thundering rush of waters, holding to +Marette. + +For a space they were under. Black water and white froth fumed and +exploded over them. It seemed an age before fresh air filled +Kent's nostrils. He thrust Marette upward and cried out to her. He +heard her answer. + +"I'm all right--Jeems!" + +His swimming prowess was of little avail now. He was like a chip. +All his effort was to make of himself a barrier between Marette's +soft body and the rocks. It was not the water itself that he +feared, but the rocks. + +There were scores and hundreds of them, like the teeth of a mighty +grinding machine. And the jaw was a quarter of a mile in length. +He felt the first shock, the second, the third. He was not +thinking of time or distance, but was fighting solely to keep +himself between Marette and death. The first time he failed, a +blind sort of rage burned in his brain. + +He saw her white body strained over a slippery, deluge-worn rock. +Her head was flung back, and he saw the long masses of her hair +streaming out in the white froth, and he thought for an instant +that her fragile body had been broken. He fought still more +fiercely after that. And she knew for what he was fighting. Only +in an unreal sort of way was he conscious of shock and hurt. It +gave him no physical pain. Yet he sensed the growing dizziness in +his head, an increasing lack of strength in his arms and body. + +They were halfway through the Chute when he shot against a rock +with terrific force. The contact tore Marette from him. He plunged +for her, missed his grip, and then saw her opposite him, clinging +to the same rock. The babiche rope had saved her. Fastened about +her waist and tied to his wrist, it still held them together--with +the five feet of rock between them. + +Panting, their life half beaten out of them, their eyes met over +that rock. Now that he was out of the water, the blood began +streaming from Kent's arms and shoulders and face, but he smiled +at her as a few moments before she had smiled at him. Her eyes +were filled with the pain of his hurts. He nodded back in the +direction from which they had come. + +"We're out of the worst of it," he tried to shout. "As soon as +we've got our wind, I will climb over the rock to you. It won't +take us longer than a couple of minutes, perhaps less, to make the +quiet water at the end of the channel." + +She heard him and nodded her reply. He wanted to give her +confidence. And he had no intention of resting, for her position +filled him with a terror which he fought to hide. The babiche +rope, not half as large around as his little finger, had swung her +to the downstream side of the rock. It was the slender thread of +buckskin and his own weight that were holding her. If the buckskin +should break-- + +He thanked God that it was the tough babiche that had been around +his pack. An inch at a time he began to draw himself up on the +rock. The undertow behind the rock had flung a mass of Marette's +long hair toward him, so that it was a foot or two nearer to him +than her clinging hands. He worked himself toward that, for he saw +that he could reach it more quickly than he could reach her. At +the same time he had to keep his end of the babiche taut. It was, +from the beginning, an almost superhuman task. The rock was +slippery as oil. Twice his eyes shot down-stream, with the thought +that it might be better to cast himself bodily into the water, and +after that draw Marette to him by means of the babiche. What he +saw convinced him that such action would be fatal. He must have +Marette in his arms. If he lost her--even for a few seconds--the +life would be beaten from her body in that rock-strewn maelstrom +below. + +And then, suddenly, the babiche cord about his wrist grew loose. +The reaction almost threw him back. With the loosening of it a cry +came from Marette. It all happened in an instant, in almost less +time than his brain could seize upon the significance of it--the +slipping of her hands from the rock, the shooting of her white +body away from him in the still whiter spume of the rapids, The +rock had cut the babiche, and she was gone! With a cry that was +like the cry of a madman he plunged after her. The water engulfed +him. He twisted himself up, freeing himself from the undertow. +Twenty feet ahead of him--thirty--he caught a glimpse of a white +arm and then of Marette's face, before she disappeared in a wall +of froth. + +Into that froth he shot after her. He came out of it blinded, +groping wildly for her, crying out her name. His fingers caught +the end of the babiche that was fastened about his own wrist, and +he clutched it savagely, believing for a moment that he had found +her. Thicker and more deadly the rocks of the lower passage rose +in his way. They seemed like living things, like devils filled +with the desire to torture and destroy. They struck and beat at +him. Their laughter was the roar of a Niagara. He no longer cried +out. His brain grew heavy, and clubs were beating him--beating and +breaking him into a formless thing. The rock-drifts of spume, +lather-white, like the frosting of a monster cake, turned gray and +then black. + +He did not know when he ceased fighting. The day went out. Night +came. The world was oblivion. And for a space he ceased to live. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +An hour later the fighting forces in his body dragged Kent back +into existence. He opened his eyes. The shock of what had happened +did not at once fall upon him. His first sensation was of +awakening from a sleep that had been filled with pain and horror. + +Then he saw a black rock wall opposite him; he heard the sullen +roar of the stream; his eyes fell upon a vivid patch of light +reflected from the setting sun. He dragged himself up until he was +on his knees, and all at once a thing that was like an iron hoop-- +choking his senses--seemed to break in his head, and he staggered +to his feet, crying out Marette's name. Understanding inundated +him with its horror, deadening his tongue after that first cry, +filling his throat with a moaning, sobbing agony. Marette was +gone. She was lost. She was dead. + +Swiftly, as reason came, his eyes took in his environment. For a +quarter of a mile above him he could see the white spume between +the chasm walls, darkening with the approach of night. He could +hear more clearly the roar of the death-floods. But close to him +was smooth water, and he stood now on a shelving tongue of rock +and shale, upon which the current had flung him. In front of him +was a rock wall. Behind him was another. There was no footing +except where he stood. And Marette was not with him. + +Only the truth could batter at his brain as he stood there. But +his physical self refused to accept that truth. If he had lived, +she must live! She was there--somewhere--along the shore--among +the rocks-- + +The moaning in his throat gave way to the voicing of her name. He +shouted, and listened. He swayed back along the tongue of rock to +the boulder-strewn edge of the chasm wall. A hundred yards farther +on was the opening of the Chute. He came out of this, his clothes +torn from him, his body bleeding, unrecognizable, half a madman,-- +shouting her name more and more loudly. The glow of the setting +sun struck him at last. He was out from between the chasm walls, +and it lighted up the green world for him. Ahead of him the river +widened and swept on in tranquil quiet. + +And now it was no longer fear that possessed him. It was the +horrible, overwhelming certainty of the thing. The years fell from +him, and he sobbed--sobbed like a boy stricken by some great +childish grief, as he searched along the edge of the shore. Over +and over again he cried and whispered Marette's name. + +But he did not shout it again, for he knew that she was dead. She +was gone from him forever. Yet he did not cease to search. The +last of the sun went out. Twilight came, and then darkness. Even +in that darkness he continued to search for a mile below the +Chute, calling her name more loudly now, and listening always for +the answer which he knew would never come. The moon came out after +a time, and hour after hour he kept up his hopeless quest. He did +not know how badly the rocks had battered and hurt him, and he +scarcely knew when it was that exhaustion dropped him like a dead +man in his tracks. When dawn came, it found him wandering away +from the river, and toward noon of that day, he was found by Andre +Boileau, the old white-haired half-breed who trapped on Burntwood +Creek. Andre was shocked at the sight of his wounds and half +dragged and half carried him to his shack hidden away in the +forest. + +For six days thereafter Kent remained at old Andre's place, simply +because he had neither the strength nor the reason to move. Andre +wondered that there were no broken bones in him. But his head was +terribly hurt, and it was that hurt that for three days and three +nights made Kent hover with nerve-racking indecision between life +and death. The fourth day reason came back to him, and Boileau fed +him venison broth. The fifth day he stood up. The sixth he thanked +Andre, and said that he was ready to go. + +Andre outfitted him with old clothes, gave him a supply of food +and God's blessing. And Kent returned to the Chute, giving Andre +to understand that his destination was Athabasca Landing. + +Kent knew that it was not wise for him to return to the river. He +knew that it would have been better for him both in mind and body +had be gone in the opposite direction. But he no longer had in him +the desire to fight, even for himself. He followed the lines of +least resistance, and these led him back to the scene of the +tragedy. His grief, when he returned, was no longer the +heartbreaking agony of that first night. It was a deep-seated, +consuming fire that had already burned him out, heart and soul. +Even caution was dead in him. He feared nothing, avoided nothing. +Had the police boat been at the Chute, he would have revealed +himself without any thought of self-preservation. A ray of hope +would have been precious medicine to him. But there was no hope. +Marette was dead. Her tender body was destroyed. And he was alone, +unfathomably and hopelessly alone. + +And now, after he had reached the river again, something held him +there. From the head of the Chute to a bend in the river two miles +below, his feet wore a beaten trail. Three or four times a day he +would make the trip, and along the path he set a few snares in +which he caught rabbits for food. Each night he made his bed in a +crevice among the rocks at the foot of the Chute. At the end of a +week the old Jim Kent was dead. Even O'Connor would not have +recognized him with his shaggy growth of beard, his hollow eyes, +and the sunken cheeks which the beard failed to hide. + +And the fighting spirit in him also was dead. Once or twice there +leaped up in him a sudden passion demanding vengeance upon the +accursed Law that was accountable for the death of Marette, but +even this flame snuffed itself out quickly. + +And then, on the eighth day, he saw the edge of a thing that was +almost hidden under an overhanging bank. He fished it out. It was +Marette's little pack, and for many minutes before he opened it +Kent crushed the sodden treasure to his breast, staring with half- +mad eyes down where he had found it, as if Marette must be there, +too. Then he ran with it to an open space, where the sun fell +warmly on a great, flat rock that was level with the ground, and +with sobbing breath he opened it. It was filled with the things +she had picked up quickly in her room the night of their flight +from Kedsty's bungalow, and as he drew them out one by one and +placed them in the sun on the rock, a new and sudden rush of life +swept through his veins, and he sprang to his feet and faced the +river again, as if at last a hope had come to him. Then he looked +down again upon what she had treasured, and reaching out his arms +to them, he whispered, + +"Marette--my little goddess--" + +Even in his grief the overwhelming mastery of his love for the one +who was dead brought a smile to his. haggard and bearded face. For +Marette, in filling her little pack on that night of hurried +flight, had chosen strange things. On the sunlit rock, where he +had placed them, were a pair of the little pumps which he had +fallen on his knees to worship in her room, and with these she had +crowded into the pack one of the billowing, sweet-smelling dresses +which had made his heart stand still for a moment when he first +looked into their hiding-place. It was no longer soft and cobwebby +as it had been then, like down fluttering against his cheeks, but +sodden and discolored, as it lay on the rock with little rivulets +of water running from it. + +With the shoes and the dress were the intimate necessities which +Marette had taken with her. But it was one of the pumps that Kent +picked up and crushed close to his ragged breast--one of the two +she had worn that first wonderful day she had come to see him at +Cardigan's place. + +This hour was the beginning of another change in Kent. It seemed +to him that a message had come to him from Marette herself, that +the spirit of her had returned to him and was with him now, +stirring strange things in his soul and warming his blood with a +new heat. She was gone forever, and yet she had come back to him, +and the truth grew upon him that this spirit of her would never +leave him again as long as he lived. He felt her nearness. +Unconsciously he reached out his arms, and a strange happiness +entered Into him to battle with grief and loneliness. His eyes +shone with a new glow as they looked at her little belongings on +the sunlit rock. It was as if they were flesh and blood of her, a +part of her heart and soul. They were the voice of her faith in +him, her promise that she would be with him always. For the first +time in many days Kent felt a new force within him, and he knew +that she was not quite gone, that he had something of her left to +fight for. + +That night he made his bed for a last time in the crevice between +the rocks, and his treasure was gathered within the protecting +circle of his arms as he slept. + +The next day he struck out north and east. On the fifth day after +he left the country of Andre Boileau he traded his watch to a +half-breed for a cheap gun, ammunition, a blanket, flour, and a +cooking outfit. After that he had no hesitation in burying himself +still deeper into the forests. + +A month later no one would have recognized Kent as the one-time +crack man of N Division. Bearded, ragged, long-haired, he wandered +with no other purpose than to be alone and to get still farther +away from the river. Occasionally he talked with an Indian or a +half-breed. Each night, though the weather was very warm, he made +himself a small camp-fire, for it was always in these hours, with +the fire-light about him, that he felt Marette was very near. It +was then that he took out one by one the precious things that were +in Marette's little pack. He worshipped these things. The dress +and each of the little shoes he had wrapped in the velvety inner +bark of the birch tree. He protected them from wet and storm. Had +emergency called for it, he would have fought for them. They +became, after a time, more precious than his own life, and in a +vague sort of way at first he began to thank God that the river +had not robbed him of everything. + +Kent's inclination was not to fight himself into forgetfulness. He +wanted to remember every act, every word, every treasured caress +that chained him for all time to the love he had lost. Marette +became more a part of him every day. Dead in the flesh, she was +always at his side, nestling close in the shelter of his arms at +night, walking with her hand in his during the day. And in this +belief his grief was softened by the sweet and merciful comfort of +a possession of which neither man nor fate could rob him--a +beloved Presence always with him. + +It was this Presence that rebuilt Kent. It urged him to throw up +his head again, to square his shoulders, to look life once more +straight in the face. It was both inspiration and courage to him +and grew nearer and dearer to him as time passed. Early Autumn +found him in the Fond du Lac country, two hundred miles east of +Fort Chippewyan. That Winter he joined a Frenchman, and until +February they trapped along the edges of the lower fingers of the +Barrens. + +He came to think a great deal of Picard, his comrade. But he +revealed nothing of his secret to him, or of the new desire that +was growing in him. And as the Winter lengthened this desire +became a deep and abiding yearning. It was with him night and day. +He dreamed of it when he slept, and it was never out of his +thoughts when awake. He wanted to go HOME. And when he thought of +home, it was not of the Landing, and not of the country south. For +him home meant only one place in the world now--the place where +Marette had lived. Somewhere, hidden in the mountains far north +and west, was that mysterious Valley of Silent Men where they had +been going when her body died. And the spirit of her wanted him to +go to it now. It was like a voice pleading with him, urging him to +go, to live there always where she had lived. He began to plan, +and in this planning he found new joy and new life. He would find +her home, her people, the valley that was to have been their +paradise. So late in February, with his share of the Winter catch +in his pack, he said good-by to Picard and faced the River again. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Kent had not forgotten that he was an outlaw, but he was not +afraid. Now that he had something new and thrilling to fight for, +he fell back again upon what he called "the finesse of the game." +He approached Chippewyan cautiously, although he was sure that +even his old friends at the Landing would fail to recognize him +now. His beard was four or five inches long, and his hair was +shaggy and uncut. Picard had made him a coat, that winter, of +young caribou skin, and it was fringed like an Indian's. Kent +chose his time and entered Chippewyan just before dusk. + +Oil lamps were burning in the Hudson's Bay Company's store when he +went in with his furs. The place was empty, except for the +factor's clerk, and for an hour he bartered. He bought a new +outfit, a Winchester rifle, and all the supplies he could carry. +He did not forget a razor and a pair of shears, and when he was +done he still had the value of two silver fox skins in cash. He +left Chippewyan that same night, and by the light of a Winter moon +made his camp half a dozen miles northward toward Smith Landing. + +He was on the Slave River now and for weeks traveled slowly but +steadily northward on snowshoes. He avoided Fort Smith and Smith +Landing and struck westward before he came to Fort Resolution. It +was in April that he struck Hay River Post, where the Hay River +empties into Great Slave Lake. Until the ice broke up, Kent worked +at Hay River. When it was safe, he started down the Mackenzie in a +canoe. It was late in June when he turned up the Liard to the +South Nahani. + +"You go straight through between the sources of the North and the +South Nahani," Marette had told him. "It is there you find the +Sulphur Country, and beyond the Sulphur Country is the Valley of +Silent Men." + +At last he came to the edge of this country. He camped with the +stink of it in his nostrils. The moon rose, and he saw that +desolate world as through the fumes of a yellow smoke. With dawn +he went on. + +He passed through broad, low morasses out of which rose sulphurous +fogs. Mile after mile he buried himself deeper in it, and it +became more and more a dead country, a lost hell. There were berry +bushes on which there grew no berries. There were forests and +swamps, but without a living creature to inhabit them. + +It was a country of water in which there were no fish, of air in +which there were no birds, of plants without flowers--a reeking, +stinking country still with the stillness of death. He began to +turn yellow. His clothing, his canoe, his hands, face--everything +turned yellow. He could not get the filthy taste of sulphur out of +his mouth. Yet he kept on, straight west by the compass Gowen had +given him at Hay River. Even this compass became yellow in his +pocket. It was impossible for him to eat. Only twice that day did +he drink from his flask of water. + +And Marette had made this journey! He kept telling himself that. +It was the secret way in and out of their hidden world, a region +accursed by devils, a forbidden country to both Indian and white +man. It was hard for him to believe that she had come this way, +that she had drunk in the air that was filling his own lungs, +nauseating him a dozen times to the point of sickness. He worked +desperately. He felt neither fatigue nor the heat of the warm +water about him. + +Night came, and the moon rose, lighting up with a sickly glow the +diseased world that had swallowed him. He lay in the bottom of his +canoe, covering his face with his caribou coat, and tried to +sleep. But sleep would not come. Before dawn he struck on, +watching his compass by the light of matches. All that day he made +no effort to swallow food. But with the coming of the second night +he found the air easier to breathe. He fought his way on by the +light of the moon which was clearer now. And at last, in a resting +spell, he heard far ahead of him the howl of a wolf. + +In his joy he cried out. A western breeze brought him air that he +drank in as a desert-stricken man drinks water. He did not look at +his compass again, but worked steadily in the face of that fresh +air. An hour later he found that he was paddling again a slow +current, and when he tasted the water it was only slightly tainted +with sulphur. By midnight the water was cool and clean. He landed +on a shore of sand and pebbles, stripped to the skin, and gave +himself such a scouring as he had never before experienced. He had +worn his old trapping shirt and trousers, and after his bath he +changed to the outfit which he had kept clean in his pack. Then he +built a fire and ate his first meal in two days. + +The next morning he climbed a tall spruce and surveyed the country +about him. Westward there was a broad low country shut in fifteen +or twenty miles away by the foothills. Beyond these foothills rose +the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies. He shaved himself, cut his +hair, and went on. That night he camped only when he could drive +his canoe no farther. The waterway had narrowed to a creek, and he +was among the first green shoulders of the hills when he stopped. +With another dawn he concealed his canoe in a sheltered place and +went on with his pack. + +For a week he picked his way slowly westward. It was a splendid +country into which he had come, and yet he found no sign of human +life. The foothills changed to mountains, and he believed he was +in the Campbell Range. Also he knew that he had followed the +logical trail from the sulphur country. Yet it was the eighth day +before he came upon a sign which told him that another living +being had at some time passed that way. What he found were the +charred remnants of an old camp-fire. It had been a white man's +fire. He knew that by the size of it. It had been an all-night +fire of green logs cut with an axe. + +On the tenth day he came to the westward slope of the first range +and looked down upon one of the most wonderful valleys his eyes +had ever beheld. It was more than a valley. It was a broad plain. +Fifty miles across it rose the towering majesty of the mightiest +of all the Yukon mountains. + +And now, though he saw a paradise about him, his heart began to +sink within him. It seemed to him inconceivable that in a country +so vast he could find the spot for which he was seeking. His one +hope lay in finding white men or Indians, some one who might guide +him. + +He traveled slowly over the fifty-mile plain rich with a verdure +of green, covered with flowers, a game paradise. Few hunters had +come so far out of the Yukon mountains, he told himself. And none +had come from out of the sulphur country. It was a new and +undiscovered world. On his map it was a blank space. And there +were no signs of people. Ahead of him the Yukon mountains rose in +an impenetrable wall, peak after peak, crested with snow, towering +like mighty watchdogs above the clouds. He knew what lay beyond +them--the great rivers of the Western slope, Dawson City, the gold +country and its civilization. But those things were on the other +side of the mountains. On his side there was only the vast and +undisputed silence of a paradise as yet unclaimed by man. + +As he went on into this valley there grew upon him a strange and +comforting peace. Yet with it there was a steadily increasing +belief that he would not find that for which he had come in +search. He did not attempt to analyze this belief. It became a +part of him, just as his mental tranquillity had grown upon him. +His one hope of success was that nearer the mountains he might +find white men or Indians. + +He no longer used his compass, but guided himself by a cluster of +three gigantic peaks. One of these was taller than the other two. +As he journeyed, his eyes were always returning to it. It +fascinated him, impinged itself upon him as the watcher of a +million years, guarding the valley. He began to think of it as the +Watcher. Each hour of his progress seemed to bring it a little +more intimately to his vision. From his first night's camp in the +valley he saw the moon sink behind it. Within him a voice that +never died kept whispering to him that this mountain, greater than +all the others, had been Marette's guardian. Ten thousand times +she must have looked at it, as he had looked at it that day--if +her home was anywhere this side of the Campbell Range. A hundred +miles away she could have seen the Watcher on a clear day. + +On the second day the mountain continued to grow upon Kent. By +mid-afternoon it began to take on a new character. The peak of it +was in the form of a mighty castle that changed as he advanced. +And the two lesser peaks were forming into definite contours. +Before the haze of twilight dimmed his vision, he knew that what +he had seen was not a whimsical invention of his imagination. The +Watcher had grown into the shape of a mighty human head facing +south. A restless excitement possessed him, and he traveled on +long after dusk. At dawn he was on the trail again. Westward the +sky cleared, and suddenly he stopped, and a cry came from him. + +The Watcher's head was there, as if chiseled by the hands of +giants. The two smaller peaks had unveiled their mystery. +Startling and weird, their crests had taken on the form of human +heads. One of them was looking north. The other faced the valley. +And Kent, his heart pounding, cried to himself, + +"The Silent Men!" + +He did not hear himself, but the thought itself was a tumultuous +thing within him. It came upon him like an inundation, a sudden +and thrilling inspiration backed by the forces of a visual truth. +THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN. He repeated the words, staring at the +three colossal heads in the sky. Somewhere near them, under them, +--one side or the other--was Marette's hidden valley! + +He went on. A strange joy consumed him. In it, at times, his grief +was obliterated, and it seemed to him in these moments that +Marette must surely be at the valley to greet him when he came to +it. But always the tragedy of the Death Chute came back to him, +and with it the thought that the three giant heads were watching-- +and would always watch--for a beloved lost one who would never +return. As the sun went down that day, the face bowed to the +valley seemed alive with the fire of a living question sent +directly to Kent. + +"Where is she?" it asked. "Where is she? Where is she?" + +That night Kent did not sleep. + +The next day there lay ahead of him a low and broken range, the +first of the deeper mountains. He climbed this steadily, and at +noon had reached the crest. And he knew that at last he was +looking down into the Valley of Silent Men. It was not a wide +valley, like the other. On the far side of it, three or four miles +away, rose the huge mountain whose face was looking down upon the +green meadows at its foot. Southward Kent could see for a long +distance, and in the vivid sunlight he saw the shimmer of creeks +and little lakes, and the rich glow of thick patches of cedar and +spruce and balsam, scattered like great rugs of velvety luster +amid the flowering green of the valley. Northward, three or four +miles away the range which he had climbed made a sharp twist to +the east, and that part of the valley--following the swing of the +range--was lost to him. He turned in this direction after he had +rested. It was four o'clock when he came to the elbow in the +valley, and could look down into the hidden part of it. + +What he saw at first was a giant cup hollowed out of the +surrounding mountains, a cup two miles from brim to brim, the end +of the valley itself. It took him a few moments to focus his +vision so that it would pick up the smaller and more intimate +things half a mile under him, and yet, before he had done this, a +sound came up to him that set aquiver every nerve in his body. It +was the far-down, hollow-sounding barking of a dog. + +The warm, golden haze that precedes sunset in the mountains, was +gathering between him and the valley, but through this he made out +after a time evidences of human habitation almost straight under +him. There was a small lake out of which ran a shimmering creek, +and close to this lake, yet equally near to the base of the +mountain on which he was standing, were a number of buildings and +a stockade which looked like a toy. He could see no animals, no +movement of any kind. + +Without seeking for a downward trail he began to descend. Again he +did not question himself. An overwhelming certainty possessed him. +Of all places in the world this must be the Valley of Silent Men. + +And below him, flooded and half-hidden in the illusive sun-mist, +was Marette's old home. It seemed to him now that it belonged to +him, that he was a part of it, that in going to it he was +achieving his last great resting place, his final refuge, his own +home. And the thought became strangely a part of him that a +welcome must be waiting for him there. He hurried until his breath +came pantingly between his lips and he was forced to rest. And at +last he found himself where his progress was made a foot at a +time, and again and again he was forced to climb back and detour +around treacherous slides and precipitous breaks which left sheer +falls at his feet. The mist thickened in the valley. The sun sank +behind the western peaks, and swiftly after that the gloom of +twilight deepened. It was seven o'clock when he came to the edge +of the plain, at least a mile below the elbow which shut out the +cup in the valley. He was exhausted. His hands were bruised and +bleeding. Darkness shut him in when he went on. + +When he rounded the elbow of the mountain, he did not try to keep +back the joyous cry that came to his lips. Ahead of him there were +lights. A few of them were scattered, but nearest to him he saw a +cluster of them, like the glow that comes from a number of +illumined windows. He quickened his pace as he drew nearer to +them, and at last he wanted to run. And then something stopped +him, and it seemed to him that his heart had risen into his throat +and was choking him until he could not breathe. + +It was a man's voice he heard, calling through the twilight gloom +a name. "Marette--Marette--Marette--" + +Kent tried to cry out, but his breath came only in a gasp. He felt +himself trembling. He reached out his arms, and a strange madness +rushed like fire into his brain. + +Again the voice called, "Marette--Marette--Marette--" + +The cup in the valley echoed the name. It rolled softly up the +mountainside. The air trembled with it, whispered it, passed it +on--and suddenly the madness in Kent found voice, and he shouted, + +"Marette--Marette--" + +He ran on. His knees felt weak. He shouted the name again, and the +other voice was silent. Things loomed up out of the mist ahead of +him, between him and the glowing windows. Some one--two people-- +were advancing to meet him, doubtfully, wonderingly. Kent was +staggering, but he cried the name again, and this time it was a +woman's cry that answered, and one of the two came toward him +swift as a flash of light. + +Three paces apart they stood, and in that gloom of the after- +twilight their burning eyes looked at each other, while for a +space their bodies remained stricken in the face of this miracle +of a great and merciful God. + +The dead had risen. By a mighty effort Kent reached out his arms, +and Marette swayed to him. When the other man came up, he found +them crumpled to their knees on the earth, clasped like children +in each other's arms. And as Kent raised his face, he saw that it +was Sandy McTrigger who was looking down at him, the man whose +life he had saved at Athabasca Landing. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +How long it was before his brain cleared, Kent never could have +told. It might have been a minute or an hour. Every vital force +that was in him had concentrated into a single consciousness--that +the dead had come to life, that it was Marette Radisson, the flesh +and blood and living warmth of her, he held in his arms. Like the +flash of a picture on a screen he had seen McTrigger's face close +to him, and then his own head was crushed down again, and if the +valley had been filled with the roar of cannon, he would have +heard only one sound, a sobbing voice crying over and over again, +"Jeems--Jeems--Jeems--" + +It was McTrigger, in the beginning of the starlight, who alone +looked with clear vision upon the wonder of the thing that was +happening. After a little Kent realized that McTrigger was +talking, that a hand was on his shoulder, that the voice was both +joyous and insistent. He rose to his feet, still holding Marette, +her arms clinging to him. Her breath was sobbing and broken. And +it was impossible for Kent to speak. He seemed to stumble over the +distance between them and the lights, with McTrigger on the other +side of Marette. It was McTrigger who opened a door, and they came +into a glow of lamplight. It was a great, strange-looking room +they entered. And over the threshold Marette's hands dropped from +Kent, and Kent stepped back, so that in the light they faced each +other, and in that moment came the marvelous readjustment from +shock and disbelief to a glorious certainty. + +Again Kent's brain was as clear as the day he faced death at the +head of the Chute. And swift as a hot barb a fear leaped into him +as his eyes met the eyes of the girl. She was terribly changed. +Her face was white with a whiteness that startled him. It was +thin. Her eyes were great, slumbering pools of violet, almost +black in the lamp glow, and her hair--piled high on her head as he +had seen it that first day at Cardigan's--added to the telltale +pallor in her cheeks. A hand trembled at her throat, and its +thinness frightened him. For a space--a flash of seconds--she +looked at him as if possessed of the subconscious fear that he was +not Jim Kent, and then slowly her arms opened, and she reached +them out to him. She did not smile, she did not cry out, she did +not speak his name now; but her arms went round his neck as he +took her to him, and her face dropped on his breast. He looked at +McTrigger. A woman was standing beside him, a dark-haired, dark- +eyed woman, and she had laid a hand on McTrigger's arm, Kent, +looking at them, understood. + +The woman came to him. "I had better take her now, m'sieu," she +said. "Malcolm--will tell you. And a little later,--you may see +her again." + +Her voice was low and soft. At the sound of it Marette raised her +head, and her two hands stole to Kent's cheeks in their old sweet +way, and she whispered, + +"Kiss me, Jeems--my Jeems--kiss me--" + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +A little later, clasping hands in the lamp glow, Kent and Sandy +McTrigger stood alone in the big room. In their handclasp was the +warm thrill of strong men met in an immutable brotherhood. Each +had faced death for the other. Yet this thought, subconsciously +and forever a part of them, expressed itself only in the grip of +their fingers and in the understanding that lay deep in their +eyes. + +In Kent's face the great question was of Marette. McTrigger saw +the fear of it, and slowly he smiled, a glad and yet an anxious +smile, as he looked toward the door through which Marette and the +older woman had gone. + +"Thank God you have come in time!" he said, still holding Kent's +hand. "She thought you were dead. And I know, Kent, that it was +killing her. We had to watch her at night. Sometimes she would +wander out into the valley. She said she was looking for you. It +was that way tonight." + +Kent gulped hard. "I understand now," he said. "It was the living +soul of her that was pulling me here. I--" + +He took his pack with its precious contents from his shoulders, +listening to McTrigger. They sat down. What McTrigger was saying +seemed of trifling consequence beside the fact that Marette was +somewhere beyond the other door, alive, and that he would see her +again very soon. He did not see why McTrigger should tell him that +the older woman was his wife. Even the fact that a splendid chance +had thrown Marette upon a log wedged between two rocks in the +Chute, and that this log, breaking away, had carried her to the +opposite side of the river miles below, was trivial with the +thought that only a door separated them now. But he listened. He +heard McTrigger tell how Marette had searched for him those days +when he was lost in fever at Andre Boileau's cabin, how she had +given him up for dead, and how in those same days Laselle's +brigade had floated down, and she had come north with it. Later he +would marvel over these things, but now he listened, and his eyes +turned toward the door. It was then that McTrigger drove something +home. It was like a shot piercing Kent's brain. McTrigger was +speaking quietly of O'Connor. He said: + +"But you probably came by way of Fort Simpson, Kent, and O'Connor +has told you all this. It was he who brought Marette back home +through the Sulphur Country." + +"O'Connor!" + +Kent sprang to his feet. It took McTrigger but a moment to read +the truth in his face. + +"Good God, do you mean to tell me you don't know, Kent?" he +whispered tensely, rising in front of the other. "Haven't you seen +O'Connor? Haven't you come in touch with the Police anywhere +within the last year? Don't you know--?" + +"I know nothing," breathed Kent. + +For a space McTrigger stared at him in amazement + +"I have been in hiding," said Kent. "All this time I have been +keeping away from the Police." + +McTrigger drew a deep breath. Again his hands gripped Kent's, and +his voice was incredulous, filled with a great wonder. "And you +have come to her, to her old home, believing that Marette killed +Kedsty! It is hard to believe. And yet--" Into his face came +suddenly a look of grief, almost of pain, and Kent, following his +eyes, saw that he was looking at a big stone fireplace in the end +of the room. + +"It was O'Connor who worked the thing out last Winter," he said, +speaking with, an effort. "I must tell you before you see her +again. You must understand everything. It will not do to have her +tell you. See--" + +Kent followed him to the fireplace. From the shelf over the +stonework McTrigger took a picture and gave it to him. It was a +snapshot, the picture of a bare-headed man standing in the open +with the sun shining on him. + +A low cry broke from Kent's lips. It was the great, gray ghost of +a man he had seen in the lightning flare that night from the +window of his hiding-place in Kedsty's bungalow. + +"My brother," said McTrigger chokingly. "I loved him. For forty +years we were comrades. And Marette belonged to us, half and half. +It was he--who killed--John Barkley." And then, after a moment in +which McTrigger fought to speak steadily, he added, "And it was +he--my brother--who also killed Inspector Kedsty." + +For a matter of seconds there was a dead silence between them. +McTrigger looked into the fireplace instead of at Kent. Then he +said: + +"He killed those men, but he didn't murder them, Kent. It couldn't +be called that. It was justice, single-man justice, without going +to law. If it wasn't for Marette, I wouldn't tell you about it-- +not the horrible part of it. I don't like to bring it up in my +memory. ... It happened years ago. I was not married then, but my +brother was ten years older than I and had a wife. I think that +Marette loves you as Marie loved Donald. And Donald's love was +more than that. It was worship. We came into the new mountain +country, the three of us, even before the big strikes at Dawson +and Bonanza. It was a wild country, a savage country, and there +were few women in it, but Marie came with Donald. She was +beautiful, with hair and eyes like Marette's. That was the tragedy +of it. + +"I won't tell you the details. They were terrible. It happened +while Donald and I were out on a hunt. Three men--white men-- +remember that, Kent; WHITE MEN--came out of the North and stopped +at the cabin. When we returned, what we found there drove us mad. +Marie died in Donald's arms. And leaving her there, alone, we set +out after the white-skinned brutes who had destroyed her. Only a +blizzard saved them, Kent. Their trail was fresh when the storm +came. Had it held off another two hours, I, too, would have +killed. + +"From that day Donald and I became man-hunters. We traced the back +trail of the three fiends and discovered who they were. Two years +later Donald found one of the three on the Yukon, and before he +killed him he made him verify the names of the other two. It was a +long search after that, Kent. It has covered thirty years. Donald +grew old faster than I, and I knew, after a time, that he was +strangely mad. He would be gone for months at a time, always +searching for the two men. Ten years passed, and then, one day, in +the deep of Winter, we came on a cabin home that had been stricken +with the plague--the smallpox. It was the home of Pierre Radisson +and his wife Andrea. Both were dead. But there was a little child +still living, almost a babe in arms. We took her, Donald and I. +The child was--Marette." + +McTrigger had spoken almost in a monotone. He had not raised his +eyes from the ash of the fireplace. But now he looked up suddenly +at Kent. + +"We worshipped her from the beginning," he said, his voice a bit +husky. "I hoped that love for her would save Donald. It did, in a +way. But it did not cure his madness, his desire for vengeance. We +came farther east. We found this marvelous valley, and gold in the +mountains, untouched by other men. We built here, and I hoped even +more that the glory of this new world we had discovered would help +Donald to forget. I married, and my wife loved Marette. We had a +child, and then another, and both died. We loved Marette more than +ever after that. Anne, my wife, was the daughter of a missioner +and capable of educating Marette up to a certain point. You will +find this place filled with all kinds of books, and reading, and +music. But the time came when we thought we must send Marette to +Montreal. It broke her heart. And then--a long time after--" + +McTrigger paused a moment, looking into Kent's eyes. "And then-- +one day Donald came in from Dawson City, terrible in his madness, +and told us that he had found his men. One of them was John +Barkley, the rich timber man, and the other was Kedsty, Inspector +of Police at Athabasca Landing." + +Kent made no effort to speak. His amazement, as McTrigger had gone +on, was beyond the expression of words. The night held for him a +cumulative shock--the discovery that Marette was not dead, but +alive, and now the discovery that he, Jim Kent, was no longer a +hunted man, and that it was O'Connor, his old comrade, who had run +the truth down. With dry lips he simply nodded, urging McTrigger +to continue. + +"I knew what would happen if Donald went after Barkley and +Kedsty," said the older man. "And it was impossible to hold him +back. He was mad, clean mad. There was just one thing for me to +do. I left here first, with the intention of warning the two +brutes who had killed Donald's wife. I knew, with the evidence in +our hands, they could do nothing but make a getaway. No matter how +rich or powerful they were, our evidence was complete, and through +many years we had kept track of the movements of our witnesses. I +tried to explain to Donald that we could send them to prison, but +there was but one thought in his poor sick mind--to kill. I was +younger and beat him south. And after that I made my fatal +mistake. I thought I was far enough ahead of him to get down to +the line of rail and back before he arrived. You see, I figured +his love for Marette would take him to Montreal first, and I had +made up my mind to tell her everything so that she might +understand the necessity of holding him if he went to her. I wrote +everything to her and told her to remain in Montreal. How she did +that, you know. She set out for the North as soon as she received +my letter." + +McTrigger's shoulders hunched lower. "Well, you know what +happened, Kent. Donald got ahead of me, after all. I came the day +after Barkley was killed. I took it as a kind fate that the day +preceding the killing I shot a grouse for my dinner, and as the +bird was only wounded when I picked it up, I got blood on the +sleeves of my coat. I was arrested. Kedsty, every one, was sure +they had the real man. And I kept quiet, except to maintain my +innocence. I could say nothing that would turn the law on Donald's +trail. + +"After that, things happened quickly. You, my friend, made your +false confession to save one who had done you a poor service years +ago. Almost simultaneously with that, Marette had come. She came +quietly, in the night, and went straight to Kedsty. She told him +everything, showed him the written evidence, telling him this +evidence was in the hands of others and would be used if anything +happened to her. Her power over him was complete. As the price of +her secrecy she demanded my release, and in that black hour your +confession gave Kedsty his opportunity. + +"He knew you were lying. He knew it was Donald who had killed +Barkley. Yet he was willing to sacrifice you to save himself. And +Marette remained in his house, waiting and watching for Donald, +while I searched for him on the trails. That is why she secretly +lived in Kedsty's house. She knew that Donald would come there +sooner or later, if I did not find him and get him away. And she +was plotting how to save you. + +"She loved you, Kent--from that first hour she came to you in the +hospital. And she tried to exact your freedom also as an added +price for her secrecy. But Kedsty had become like a cornered +tiger. If he freed you, he saw his whole world crumbling under his +feet. He, too, went a little mad, I think. He told Marette that he +would not free you, that he would go to the hangman first. Then, +Kent, came the night of your freedom, and a little later--Donald +came to Kedsty's home. It was he whom you saw that night out in +the storm. He entered and killed Kedsty. + +"Something dragged Marette down to the room that night. She found +Kedsty in his chair--dead. Donald was gone. It was then that you +found her there. Kent, she loved you--and you will never know how +her heart bled when she let you think she had killed Kedsty. She +has told me everything. It was her fear for Donald, her desire to +keep all possible suspicion from him until he was safe, that +compelled her not to confide even in you. Later, when she knew +that Donald must be safe, she was going to tell you. And then--you +were separated at the Chute." McTrigger paused, and Kent saw him +choke back a grief that was still like the fresh cut of a knife in +his heart. + +"And O'Connor found out all this?" + +McTrigger nodded. "Yes. He defied Kedsty's command to go to Fort +Simpson and was on his way back to Athabasca Landing when he found +my brother. It is strange how all things happened, Kent. But I +guess God must have meant it that way. Donald was dying. And in +dying, for a space, his old reason returned to him. It was from +him, before he died, that O'Connor learned everything. The story +is known everywhere now. It is marvelous that you did not hear--" + +There came an interruption, the opening of a door. Anne McTrigger +stood looking at them where a little time before she had +disappeared with Marette. There was a glad smile in her face. Her +dark eyes were glowing with a new happiness. First they rested on +McTrigger's face, and then on Kent's. + +"Marette is much better," she said in her soft voice. "She is +waiting to see you, M'sieu Kent. Will you come now?" + +Like one in a dream Kent went toward her. He picked up his pack, +for with its precious contents it had become to him like his own +flesh and blood. And as the woman led the way and Kent followed +her, McTrigger did not move from the fireplace. In a little while +Anne McTrigger came back into the room. Her beautiful eyes were +aglow. She was smiling softly, and putting her arms about the +shoulders of the man at the fireplace, she whispered: + +"I have looked at the night through the window, Malcolm. I think +that the stars are bigger and brighter than they have been in a +long time. And the Watcher seems like a living god up in the sky. +Come, please." + +She took his hand, and Malcolm went with her. Over their heads +burned a glory of stars. The wind came gently up the valley, cool +with the freshness of the mountain-tops, sweet with the smell of +meadow and flowers. And when the woman pointed through the glow, +Malcolm McTrigger looked up at the Watcher, and for an instant he +fancied that he saw what she had seen--something that was life +instead of death, a glow of understanding and of triumph in the +mighty face of stone above the lace mists of the clouds. For a +long time they walked on, and deep in the heart of the woman a +voice cried out again and again that the Watcher knew, and that it +was a living joy she saw up there, for up to that unmoving and +voiceless god of the mountains she had cried and laughed and sung +--and even prayed; and with her Marette had also done these +things, until at last the pulse and beat of women's souls had +given a spirit to a form of rock. + +Back in the chateau which Malcolm McTrigger and his brother Donald +had built of logs, in a room whose windows faced the Watcher +himself, Marette was unveiling the last of mystery for Jim Kent. +And this, too, was her hour of triumph. Her lips were red and warm +with the flush brought there by Kent's love. + +Her face was like the wild roses he had crushed under his feet all +that day. For in this hour the world had come to her, and had +prostrated itself at her feet. The sacred contents of the pack +were in her lap as she leaned back in the great blanketed and +pillowed chair that had been her invalid's nest for many days. But +it was an invalid's nest no longer. The floods of life were +pounding through her body again, and in that hour when Malcolm +McTrigger and his wife were gone, Kent looked upon the miracle of +its change. And now Marette gave to him a little packet, and while +Kent opened it she raised both hands to her head and unbound her +hair so that it fell about her in shining and glorious confusion. + +Kent, unwrapping a last bit of tissue-paper, found in his hands a +long tress of hair. + +"See, Jeems, it has grown fast since I cut it that night." + +She leaned a little toward him, parting her hair with slim, white +fingers so that he saw again where the hair had been clipped the +night of Kedsty's death. + +And then she said: "You may keep it always if you want to, Jeems, +for I cut it from my head when I left you in the room below, and +when you--almost--believed I had killed Kedsty. It was this--" + +She gave him another packet, and her lips tightened a little as +Kent unwrapped it, and another tress of hair shimmered in the lamp +glow. + +"That was father Donald's," she whispered. + +"It--it was all he had left of Marie, his wife. And that night-- +when Kedsty died--" + +"I understand," cried Kent, stopping her. "He choked Kedsty with +it until he was dead. And when I found it around Kedsty's neck-- +you--you let me think it was yours--to save father Donald!" + +She nodded. "Yes, Jeems. If the police had come, they would have +thought I was guilty. I planned to let them think so until father +Donald was safe. But all the time I had here in my breast this +other tress, which would prove that I was innocent--when the time +came. And now, Jeems--" + +She smiled at him again and reached out her hands. "Oh, I feel so +strong! And I want to take you out now--and show you my valley-- +Jeems--our valley--yours and mine--in the starlight. Not tomorrow, +Jeems. But tonight. Now." + +A little later the Watcher looked down on them, even as it had +looked down on another man and another woman who had preceded +them. But the stars were bigger and brighter, and the white cap of +snow that rested on the Watcher's head like a crown caught the +faint gleam of a far-away light; and after that, slowly and +wonderfully, other snow-crested mountain-tops caught that greeting +radiance of the moon. But it was the Watcher who stood out like a +mighty god among them all, and when they came to the elbow in the +plain, Marette drew Kent down beside her on a great flat rock and +laughed softly as she held his hand tightly in her lap. + +"Always, from a little child, I have sat and played on this rock, +with the Watcher looking, like that," she said in a low voice. "I +have grown to love him, Jeems. And I have always believed that he +was gazing off there, night and day, into the east, watching for +something that was coming to me. Now I know. It was you, Jeems. +And, Jeems, when I was away--down there in the big city--" + +Her fingers gripped his thumb in their old way, and Kent waited. + +"It was the Watcher that made me want to come home most of all," +she went on, a bit of tremble in her voice. "Oh, I grew lonely for +him, and I could see him in my dreams at night, watching, +watching, watching, and sometimes even calling me. Jeems, do you +see that hump on his left shoulder, like a great epaulet?" + +"Yes, I see," said Kent. + +"Beyond that, on a straight line from here--hundreds of miles +away--are Dawson City, the Yukon, the big gold country, men, +women, civilization. Father Malcolm and father Donald have never +found but one trail to this side of the mountains, and I have been +over it three times--to Dawson. But the Watcher's back is on those +things. Sometimes I imagine it was he who built those great +ramparts through which few men come. He wants this valley alone. +And so do I. Alone--with you, and with my people." + +Kent drew her close in his arms. "When you are stronger," he +whispered, "we will go over that hidden trail together, past the +Watcher, toward Dawson. For it must be that over there--we will +find--a missioner--" He paused. + +"Please go on, Jeems." + +"And you will be--my wife." + +"Yes, yes, Jeems--forever and ever. But, Jeems"--her arms crept up +about his neck--"very soon it will be the first of August." + +"Yes--?" + +"And in that month there come through the mountains, each year, a +man and a woman to visit us--mother Anne's father and mother. And +mother Anne's father--" + +"Yes--?" + +"Is a missioner, Jeems." + +And Kent, looking up in this hour of his triumph and joy, believed +that in the Watcher's face he caught for an instant the passing +radiance of a smile. + +THE END + + + + + +Project Gutenberg's The Valley Of Silent Men, by James Oliver Curwood +********This file should be named vlslm10.txt or vlslm10.zip******** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, vlslm11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, vlslm10a.txt + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +More information about this book is at the top of this file. + +We are now trying to release all our etexts one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. 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