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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/4747-h.zip b/4747-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..29b6d8a --- /dev/null +++ b/4747-h.zip diff --git a/4747-h/4747-h.htm b/4747-h/4747-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0234c4b --- /dev/null +++ b/4747-h/4747-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7872 @@ +<!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 River's End, by James Oliver Curwood +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The River's End, 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 River's End + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: September 6, 2009 [EBook #4747] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 12, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIVER'S END *** + + + + +Produced by Dianne Bean. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE RIVER'S END +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +James Oliver Curwood +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">V</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap06">VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap07">VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap08">VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap09">IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap10">X</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">XV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">XVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">XX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">XXI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">XXII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">XXIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">XXIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">XXV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE RIVER'S END +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +I +</H3> + +<P> +Between Conniston, of His Majesty's Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and +Keith, the outlaw, there was a striking physical and facial +resemblance. Both had observed it, of course. It gave them a sort of +confidence in each other. Between them it hovered in a subtle and +unanalyzed presence that was constantly suggesting to Conniston a line +of action that would have made him a traitor to his oath of duty. For +nearly a month he had crushed down the whispered temptings of this +thing between them. He represented the law. He was the law. For +twenty-seven months he had followed Keith, and always there had been in +his mind that parting injunction of the splendid service of which he +was a part—"Don't come back until you get your man, dead or alive." +Otherwise— +</P> + +<P> +A racking cough split in upon his thoughts. He sat up on the edge of +the cot, and at the gasping cry of pain that came with the red stain of +blood on his lips Keith went to him and with a strong arm supported his +shoulders. He said nothing, and after a moment Conniston wiped the +stain away and laughed softly, even before the shadow of pain had faded +from his eyes. One of his hands rested on a wrist that still bore the +ring-mark of a handcuff. The sight of it brought him back to grim +reality. After all, fate was playing whimsically as well as tragically +with their destinies. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, old top," he said. "Thanks." +</P> + +<P> +His fingers closed over the manacle-marked wrist. +</P> + +<P> +Over their heads the arctic storm was crashing in a mighty fury, as if +striving to beat down the little cabin that had dared to rear itself in +the dun-gray emptiness at the top of the world, eight hundred miles +from civilization. There were curious waitings, strange screeching +sounds, and heart-breaking meanings in its strife, and when at last its +passion died away and there followed a strange quiet, the two men could +feel the frozen earth under their feet shiver with the rumbling +reverberations of the crashing and breaking fields of ice out in +Hudson's Bay. With it came a dull and steady roar, like the incessant +rumble of a far battle, broken now and then—when an ice mountain split +asunder—with a report like that of a sixteen-inch gun. Down through +the Roes Welcome into Hudson's Bay countless billions of tons of ice +were rending their way like Hunnish armies in the break-up. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better lie down," suggested Keith. +</P> + +<P> +Conniston, instead, rose slowly to his feet and went to a table on +which a seal-oil lamp was burning. He swayed a little as he walked. He +sat down, and Keith seated himself opposite him. Between them lay a +worn deck of cards. As Conniston fumbled them in his fingers, he looked +straight across at Keith and grinned. +</P> + +<P> +"It's queer, devilish queer," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think so, Keith?" He was an Englishman, and his blue eyes +shone with a grim, cold humor. "And funny," he added. +</P> + +<P> +"Queer, but not funny," partly agreed Keith. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is funny," maintained Conniston. "Just twenty-seven months +ago, lacking three days, I was sent out to get you, Keith. I was told +to bring you in dead or alive—and at the end of the twenty-sixth month +I got you, alive. And as a sporting proposition you deserve a hundred +years of life instead of the noose, Keith, for you led me a chase that +took me through seven different kinds of hell before I landed you. I +froze, and I starved, and I drowned. I haven't seen a white woman's +face in eighteen months. It was terrible. But I beat you at last. +That's the jolly good part of it, Keith—I beat you and GOT you, and +there's the proof of it on your wrists this minute. I won. Do you +concede that? You must be fair, old top, because this is the last big +game I'll ever play." There was a break, a yearning that was almost +plaintive, in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +Keith nodded. "You won," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"You won so square that when the frost got your lung—" +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't take advantage of me," interrupted Conniston. "That's the +funny part of it, Keith. That's where the humor comes in. I had you all +tied up and scheduled for the hangman when—bing!—along comes a cold +snap that bites a corner of my lung, and the tables are turned. And +instead of doing to me as I was going to do to you, instead of killing +me or making your getaway while I was helpless—Keith—old pal—YOU'VE +TRIED TO NURSE ME BACK TO LIFE! Isn't that funny? Could anything be +funnier?" +</P> + +<P> +He reached a hand across the table and gripped Keith's. And then, for a +few moments, he bowed his head while his body was convulsed by another +racking cough. Keith sensed the pain of it in the convulsive clutching +of Conniston's fingers about his own. When Conniston raised his face, +the red stain was on his lips again. +</P> + +<P> +"You see, I've got it figured out to the day," he went on, wiping away +the stain with a cloth already dyed red. "This is Thursday. I won't see +another Sunday. It'll come Friday night or some time Saturday. I've +seen this frosted lung business a dozen times. Understand? I've got two +sure days ahead of me, possibly a third. Then you'll have to dig a hole +and bury me. After that you will no longer be held by the word of honor +you gave me when I slipped off your manacles. And I'm asking you—WHAT +ARE YOU GOING TO DO?" +</P> + +<P> +In Keith's face were written deeply the lines of suffering and of +tragedy. Yesterday they had compared ages. +</P> + +<P> +He was thirty-eight, only a little younger than the man who had run him +down and who in the hour of his achievement was dying. They had not put +the fact plainly before. It had been a matter of some little +embarrassment for Keith, who at another time had found it easier to +kill a man than to tell this man that he was going to die. Now that +Conniston had measured his own span definitely and with most amazing +coolness, a load was lifted from Keith's shoulders. Over the table they +looked into each other's eyes, and this time it was Keith's fingers +that tightened about Conniston's. They looked like brothers in the +sickly glow of the seal-oil lamp. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you going to do?" repeated Conniston. +</P> + +<P> +Keith's face aged even as the dying Englishman stared at him. "I +suppose—I'll go back," he said heavily. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean to Coronation Gulf? You'll return to that stinking mess of +Eskimo igloos? If you do, you'll go mad!" +</P> + +<P> +"I expect to," said Keith. "But it's the only thing left. You know +that. You of all men must know how they've hunted me. If I went south—" +</P> + +<P> +It was Conniston's turn to nod his head, slowly and thoughtfully. "Yes, +of course," he agreed. "They're hunting you hard, and you're giving 'em +a bully chase. But they'll get you, even up there. And I'm—sorry." +</P> + +<P> +Their hands unclasped. Conniston filled his pipe and lighted it. Keith +noticed that he held the lighted taper without a tremor. The nerve of +the man was magnificent. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry," he said again. "I—like you. Do you know, Keith, I wish +we'd been born brothers and you hadn't killed a man. That night I +slipped the ring-dogs on you I felt almost like a devil. I wouldn't say +it if it wasn't for this bally lung. But what's the use of keeping it +back now? It doesn't seem fair to keep a man up in that place for three +years, running from hole to hole like a rat, and then take him down for +a hanging. I know it isn't fair in your case. I feel it. I don't mean +to be inquisitive, old chap, but I'm not believing Departmental 'facts' +any more. I'd make a topping good wager you're not the sort they make +you out. And so I'd like to know—just why—you killed Judge Kirkstone?" +</P> + +<P> +Keith's two fists knotted in the center of the table. Conniston saw his +blue eyes darken for an instant with a savage fire. In that moment +there came a strange silence over the cabin, and in that silence the +incessant and maddening yapping of the little white foxes rose shrilly +over the distant booming and rumbling of the ice. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +II +</H3> + +<P> +"Why did I kill Judge Kirkstone?" Keith repeated the words slowly. +</P> + +<P> +His clenched hands relaxed, but his eyes held the steady glow of fire. +"What do the Departmental 'facts' tell you, Conniston?" +</P> + +<P> +"That you murdered him in cold blood, and that the honor of the Service +is at stake until you are hung." +</P> + +<P> +"There's a lot in the view-point, isn't there? What if I said I didn't +kill Judge Kirkstone?" +</P> + +<P> +Conniston leaned forward a little too eagerly. The deadly paroxysm +shook his frame again, and when it was over his breath came pantingly, +as if hissing through a sieve. "My God, not Sunday—or Saturday," he +breathed. "Keith, it's coming TOMORROW!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, not then," said Keith, choking back something that rose in his +throat. "You'd better lie down again." +</P> + +<P> +Conniston gathered new strength. "And die like a rabbit? No, thank you, +old chap! I'm after facts, and you can't lie to a dying man. Did you +kill Judge Kirkstone?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't—know," replied Keith slowly, looking steadily into the +other's eyes. "I think so, and yet I am not positive. I went to his +home that night with the determination to wring justice from him or +kill him. I wish you could look at it all with my eyes, Conniston. You +could if you had known my father. You see, my mother died when I was a +little chap, and my father and I grew up together, chums. I don't +believe I ever thought of him as just simply a father. Fathers are +common. He was more than that. From the time I was ten years old we +were inseparable. I guess I was twenty before he told me of the deadly +feud that existed between him and Kirkstone, and it never troubled me +much—because I didn't think anything would ever come of it—until +Kirkstone got him. Then I realized that all through the years the old +rattlesnake had been watching for his chance. It was a frame-up from +beginning to end, and my father stepped into the trap. Even then he +thought that his political enemies, and not Kirkstone, were at the +bottom of it. We soon discovered the truth. My father got ten years. He +was innocent. And the only man on earth who could prove his innocence +was Kirkstone, the man who was gloating like a Shylock over his pound +of flesh. Conniston, if you had known these things and had been in my +shoes, what would you have done?" +</P> + +<P> +Conniston, lighting another taper over the oil flame, hesitated and +answered: "I don't know yet, old chap. What did you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I fairly got down on my knees to the scoundrel," resumed Keith. "If +ever a man begged for another man's life, I begged for my father's—for +the few words from Kirkstone that would set him free. I offered +everything I had in the world, even my body and soul. God, I'll never +forget that night! He sat there, fat and oily, two big rings on his +stubby fingers—a monstrous toad in human form—and he chuckled and +laughed at me in his joy, as though I were a mountebank playing amusing +tricks for him—and there my soul was bleeding itself out before his +eyes! And his son came in, fat and oily and accursed like his father, +and HE laughed at me. I didn't know that such hatred could exist in the +world, or that vengeance could bring such hellish joy. I could still +hear their gloating laughter when I stumbled out into the night. It +haunted me. I heard it in the trees. It came in the wind. My brain was +filled with it—and suddenly I turned back, and I went into that house +again without knocking, and I faced the two of them alone once more in +that room. And this time, Conniston, I went back to get justice—or to +kill. Thus far it was premeditated, but I went with my naked hands. +There was a key in the door, and I locked it. Then I made my demand. I +wasted no words—" +</P> + +<P> +Keith rose from the table and began to pace back and forth. The wind +had died again. They could hear the yapping of the foxes and the low +thunder of the ice. +</P> + +<P> +"The son began it," said Keith. "He sprang at me. I struck him. We +grappled, and then the beast himself leaped at me with some sort of +weapon in his hand. I couldn't see what it was, but it was heavy. The +first blow almost broke my shoulder. In the scuffle I wrenched it from +his hand, and then I found it was a long, rectangular bar of copper +made for a paper-weight. In that same instant I saw the son snatch up a +similar object from the table, and in the act he smashed the table +light. In darkness we fought. I did not feel that I was fighting men. +They were monsters and gave me the horrible sensation of being in +darkness with crawling serpents. Yes, I struck hard. And the son was +striking, and neither of us could see. I felt my weapon hit, and it was +then that Kirkstone crumpled down with a blubbery wheeze. You know what +happened after that. The next morning only one copper weight was found +in that room. The son had done away with the other. And the one that +was left was covered with Kirkstone's blood and hair. There was no +chance for me. So I got away. Six months later my father died in +prison, and for three years I've been hunted as a fox is hunted by the +hounds. That's all, Conniston. Did I kill Judge Kirkstone? And, if I +killed him, do you think I'm sorry for it, even though I hang?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down!" +</P> + +<P> +The Englishman's voice was commanding. Keith dropped back to his seat, +breathing hard. He saw a strange light in the steely blue eyes of +Conniston. +</P> + +<P> +"Keith, when a man knows he's going to live, he is blind to a lot of +things. But when he knows he's going to die, it's different. If you had +told me that story a month ago, I'd have taken you down to the hangman +just the same. It would have been my duty, you know, and I might have +argued you were lying. But you can't lie to me—now. Kirkstone deserved +to die. And so I've made up my mind what you're going to do. You're not +going back to Coronation Gulf. You're going south. You're going back +into God's country again. And you're not going as John Keith, the +murderer, but as Derwent Conniston of His Majesty's Royal Northwest +Mounted Police! Do you get me, Keith? Do you understand?" +</P> + +<P> +Keith simply stared. The Englishman twisted a mustache, a half-humorous +gleam in his eyes. He had been thinking of this plan of his for some +time, and he had foreseen just how it would take Keith off his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Quite a scheme, don't you think, old chap? I like you. I don't mind +saying I think a lot of you, and there isn't any reason on earth why +you shouldn't go on living in my shoes. There's no moral objection. No +one will miss me. I was the black sheep back in England—younger +brother and all that—and when I had to choose between Africa and +Canada, I chose Canada. An Englishman's pride is the biggest fool thing +on earth, Keith, and I suppose all of them over there think I'm dead. +They haven't heard from me in six or seven years. I'm forgotten. And +the beautiful thing about this scheme is that we look so deucedly +alike, you know. Trim that mustache and beard of yours a little, add a +bit of a scar over your right eye, and you can walk in on old McDowell +himself, and I'll wager he'll jump up and say, 'Bless my heart, if it +isn't Conniston!' That's all I've got to leave you, Keith, a dead man's +clothes and name. But you're welcome. They'll be of no more use to me +after tomorrow." +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible!" gasped Keith. "Conniston, do you know what you are +saying?" +</P> + +<P> +"Positively, old chap. I count every word, because it hurts when I +talk. So you won't argue with me, please. It's the biggest sporting +thing that's ever come my way. I'll be dead. You can bury me under this +floor, where the foxes can't get at me. But my name will go on living +and you'll wear my clothes back to civilization and tell McDowell how +you got your man and how he died up here with a frosted lung. As proof +of it you'll lug your own clothes down in a bundle along with any other +little identifying things you may have, and there's a sergeancy +waiting. McDowell promised it to you—if you got your man. Understand? +And McDowell hasn't seen me for two years and three months, so if I +MIGHT look a bit different to him, it would be natural, for you and I +have been on the rough edge of the world all that time. The jolly good +part of it all is that we look so much alike. I say the idea is +splendid!" +</P> + +<P> +Conniston rose above the presence of death in the thrill of the great +gamble he was projecting. And Keith, whose heart was pounding like an +excited fist, saw in a flash the amazing audacity of the thing that was +in Conniston's mind, and felt the responsive thrill of its +possibilities. No one down there would recognize in him the John Keith +of four years ago. Then he was smooth-faced, with shoulders that +stooped a little and a body that was not too strong. Now he was an +animal! A four years' fight with the raw things of life had made him +that, and inch for inch he measured up with Conniston. And Conniston, +sitting opposite him, looked enough like him to be a twin brother. He +seemed to read the thought in Keith's mind. There was an amused glitter +in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose it's largely because of the hair on our faces," he said. +"You know a beard can cover a multitude of physical sins—and +differences, old chap. I wore mine two years before I started out after +you, vandyked rather carefully, you understand, so you'd better not use +a razor. Physically you won't run a ghost of a chance of being caught. +You'll look the part. The real fun is coming in other ways. In the next +twenty-four hours you've got to learn by heart the history of Derwent +Conniston from the day he joined the Royal Mounted. We won't go back +further than that, for it wouldn't interest you, and ancient history +won't turn up to trouble you. Your biggest danger will be with +McDowell, commanding F Division at Prince Albert. He's a human fox of +the old military school, mustaches and all, and he can see through +boiler-plate. But he's got a big heart. He has been a good friend of +mine, so along with Derwent Conniston's story you've got to load up +with a lot about McDowell, too. There are many things—OH, GOD—" +</P> + +<P> +He flung a hand to his chest. Grim horror settled in the little cabin +as the cough convulsed him. And over it the wind shrieked again, +swallowing up the yapping of the foxes and the rumble of the ice. +</P> + +<P> +That night, in the yellow sputter of the seal-oil lamp, the fight +began. Grim-faced—one realizing the nearness of death and struggling +to hold it back, the other praying for time—two men went through the +amazing process of trading their identities. From the beginning it was +Conniston's fight. And Keith, looking at him, knew that in this last +mighty effort to die game the Englishman was narrowing the slight +margin of hours ahead of him. Keith had loved but one man, his father. +In this fight he learned to love another, Conniston. And once he cried +out bitterly that it was unfair, that Conniston should live and he +should die. The dying Englishman smiled and laid a hand on his, and +Keith felt that the hand was damp with a cold sweat. +</P> + +<P> +Through the terrible hours that followed Keith felt the strength and +courage of the dying man becoming slowly a part of himself. The thing +was epic. Conniston, throttling his own agony, was magnificent. And +Keith felt his warped and despairing soul swelling with a new life and +a new hope, and he was thrilled by the thought of what he must do to +live up to the mark of the Englishman. Conniston's story was of the +important things first. It began with his acquaintance with McDowell. +And then, between the paroxysms that stained his lips red, he filled in +with incident and smiled wanly as he told how McDowell had sworn him to +secrecy once in the matter of an incident which the chief did not want +the barracks to know—and laugh over. A very sensitive man in some ways +was McDowell! At the end of the first hour Keith stood up in the middle +of the floor, and with his arms resting on the table and his shoulders +sagging Conniston put him through the drill. After that he gave Keith +his worn Service Manual and commanded him to study while he rested. +Keith helped him to his bunk, and for a time after that tried to read +the Service book. But his eyes blurred, and his brain refused to obey. +The agony in the Englishman's low breathing oppressed him with a +physical pain. Keith felt himself choking and rose at last from the +table and went out into the gray, ghostly twilight of the night. +</P> + +<P> +His lungs drank in the ice-tanged air. But it was not cold. +Kwaske-hoo—the change—had come. The air was filled with the tumult of +the last fight of winter against the invasion of spring, and the forces +of winter were crumbling. The earth under Keith's feet trembled in the +mighty throes of their dissolution. He could hear more clearly the roar +and snarl and rending thunder of the great fields of ice as they swept +down with the arctic current into Hudson's Bay. Over him hovered a +strange night. It was not black but a weird and wraith-like gray, and +out of this sepulchral chaos came strange sounds and the moaning of a +wind high up. A little while longer, Keith thought, and the thing would +have driven him mad. Even now he fancied he heard the screaming and +wailing of voices far up under the hidden stars. More than once in the +past months he had listened to the sobbing of little children, the +agony of weeping women, and the taunting of wind voices that were +either tormenting or crying out in a ghoulish triumph; and more than +once in those months he had seen Eskimos—born in that hell but driven +mad in the torture of its long night—rend the clothes from their +bodies and plunge naked out into the pitiless gloom and cold to die. +Conniston would never know how near the final breakdown his brain had +been in that hour when he made him a prisoner. And Keith had not told +him. The man-hunter had saved him from going mad. But Keith had kept +that secret to himself. +</P> + +<P> +Even now he shrank down as a blast of wind shot out of the chaos above +and smote the cabin with a shriek that had in it a peculiarly +penetrating note. And then he squared his shoulders and laughed, and +the yapping of the foxes no longer filled him with a shuddering +torment. Beyond them he was seeing home. God's country! Green forests +and waters spattered with golden sun—things he had almost forgotten; +once more the faces of women who were white. And with those faces he +heard the voice of his people and the song of birds and felt under his +feet the velvety touch of earth that was bathed in the aroma of +flowers. Yes, he had almost forgotten those things. Yesterday they had +been with him only as moldering skeletons—phantasmal +dream-things—because he was going mad, but now they were real, they +were just off there to the south, and he was going to them. He +stretched up his arms, and a cry rose out of his throat. It was of +triumph, of final exaltation. Three years of THAT—and he had lived +through it! Three years of dodging from burrow to burrow, just as +Conniston had said, like a hunted fox; three years of starvation, of +freezing, of loneliness so great that his soul had broken—and now he +was going home! +</P> + +<P> +He turned again to the cabin, and when he entered the pale face of the +dying Englishman greeted him from the dim glow of the yellow light at +the table. And Conniston was smiling in a quizzical, distressed sort of +way, with a hand at his chest. His open watch on the table pointed to +the hour of midnight when the lesson went on. +</P> + +<P> +Still later he heated the muzzle of his revolver in the flame of the +seal-oil. +</P> + +<P> +"It will hurt, old chap—putting this scar over your eye. But it's got +to be done. I say, won't it be a ripping joke on McDowell?" Softly he +repeated it, smiling into Keith's eyes. "A ripping joke—on McDowell!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +III +</H3> + +<P> +Dawn—the dusk of another night—and Keith raised his haggard face from +Conniston's bedside with a woman's sob on his lips. The Englishman had +died as he knew that he would die, game to the last threadbare breath +that came out of his body. For with this last breath he whispered the +words which he had repeated a dozen times before, "Remember, old chap, +you win or lose the moment McDowell first sets his eyes on you!" And +then, with a strange kind of sob in his chest, he was gone, and Keith's +eyes were blinded by the miracle of a hot flood of tears, and there +rose in him a mighty pride in the name of Derwent Conniston. +</P> + +<P> +It was his name now. John Keith was dead. It was Derwent Conniston who +was living. And as he looked down into the cold, still face of the +heroic Englishman, the thing did not seem so strange to him after all. +It would not be difficult to bear Conniston's name; the difficulty +would be in living up to the Conniston code. +</P> + +<P> +That night the rumble of the ice fields was clearer because there was +no wind to deaden their tumult. The sky was cloudless, and the stars +were like glaring, yellow eyes peering through holes in a vast, +overhanging curtain of jet black. Keith, out to fill his lungs with +air, looked up at the phenomenon of the polar night and shuddered. The +stars were like living things, and they were looking at him. Under +their sinister glow the foxes were holding high carnival. It seemed to +Keith that they had drawn a closer circle about the cabin and that +there was a different note in their yapping now, a note that was more +persistent, more horrible. Conniston had foreseen that closing-in of +the little white beasts of the night, and Keith, reentering the cabin, +set about the fulfillment of his promise. Ghostly dawn found his task +completed. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later he stood in the edge of the scrub timber that rimmed +in the arctic plain, and looked for the last time upon the little cabin +under the floor of which the Englishman was buried. It stood there +splendidly unafraid in its terrible loneliness, a proud monument to a +dead man's courage and a dead man's soul. Within its four walls it +treasured a thing which gave to it at last a reason for being, a reason +for fighting against dissolution as long as one log could hold upon +another. Conniston's spirit had become a living part of it, and the +foxes might yap everlastingly, and the winds howl, and winter follow +winter, and long night follow long night—and it would stand there in +its pride fighting to the last, a memorial to Derwent Conniston, the +Englishman. +</P> + +<P> +Looking back at it, Keith bared his head in the raw dawn. "God bless +you, Conniston," he whispered, and turned slowly away and into the +south. +</P> + +<P> +Ahead of him was eight hundred miles of wilderness—eight hundred miles +between him and the little town on the Saskatchewan where McDowell +commanded Division of the Royal Mounted. The thought of distance did +not appall him. Four years at the top of the earth had accustomed him +to the illimitable and had inured him to the lack of things. That +winter Conniston had followed him with the tenacity of a ferret for a +thousand miles along the rim of the Arctic, and it had been a miracle +that he had not killed the Englishman. A score of times he might have +ended the exciting chase without staining his own hands. His Eskimo +friends would have performed the deed at a word. But he had let the +Englishman live, and Conniston, dead, was sending him back home. Eight +hundred miles was but the step between. +</P> + +<P> +He had no dogs or sledge. His own team had given up the ghost long ago, +and a treacherous Kogmollock from the Roes Welcome had stolen the +Englishman's outfit in the last lap of their race down from Fullerton's +Point. What he carried was Conniston's, with the exception of his rifle +and his own parka and hood. He even wore Conniston's watch. His pack +was light. The chief articles it contained were a little flour, a +three-pound tent, a sleeping-bag, and certain articles of +identification to prove the death of John Keith, the outlaw. Hour after +hour of that first day the zip, zip, zip of his snowshoes beat with +deadly monotony upon his brain. He could not think. Time and again it +seemed to him that something was pulling him back, and always he was +hearing Conniston's voice and seeing Conniston's face in the gray gloom +of the day about him. He passed through the slim finger of scrub timber +that a strange freak of nature had flung across the plain, and once +more was a moving speck in a wide and wind-swept barren. In the +afternoon he made out a dark rim on the southern horizon and knew it +was timber, real timber, the first he had seen since that day, a year +and a half ago, when the last of the Mackenzie River forest had faded +away behind him! It gave him, at last, something tangible to grip. It +was a thing beckoning to him, a sentient, living wall beyond which was +his other world. The eight hundred miles meant less to him than the +space between himself and that growing, black rim on the horizon. +</P> + +<P> +He reached it as the twilight of the day was dissolving into the deeper +dusk of the night, and put up his tent in the shelter of a clump of +gnarled and storm-beaten spruce. Then he gathered wood and built +himself a fire. He did not count the sticks as he had counted them for +eighteen months. He was wasteful, prodigal. He had traveled forty miles +since morning but he felt no exhaustion. He gathered wood until he had +a great pile of it, and the flames of his fire leaped higher and higher +until the spruce needles crackled and hissed over his head. He boiled a +pot of weak tea and made a supper of caribou meat and a bit of bannock. +Then he sat with his back to a tree and stared into the flames. +</P> + +<P> +The fire leaping and crackling before his eyes was like a powerful +medicine. It stirred things that had lain dormant within him. It +consumed the heavy dross of four years of stupefying torture and +brought back to him vividly the happenings of a yesterday that had +dragged itself on like a century. All at once he seemed unburdened of +shackles that had weighted him down to the point of madness. Every +fiber in his body responded to that glorious roar of the fire; a thing +seemed to snap in his head, freeing it of an oppressive bondage, and in +the heart of the flames he saw home, and hope, and life—the things +familiar and precious long ago, which the scourge of the north had +almost beaten dead in his memory. He saw the broad Saskatchewan +shimmering its way through the yellow plains, banked in by the +foothills and the golden mists of morning dawn; he saw his home town +clinging to its shore on one side and with its back against the purple +wilderness on the other; he heard the rhythmic chug, chug, chug of the +old gold dredge and the rattle of its chains as it devoured its tons of +sand for a few grains of treasure; over him there were lacy clouds in a +blue heaven again, he heard the sound of voices, the tread of feet, +laughter—life. His soul reborn, he rose to his feet and stretched his +arms until the muscles snapped. No, they would not know him back +there—now! He laughed softly as he thought of the old John +Keith—"Johnny" they used to call him up and down the few +balsam-scented streets—his father's right-hand man mentally but a +little off feed, as his chum, Reddy McTabb, used to say, when it came +to the matter of muscle and brawn. He could look back on things without +excitement now. Even hatred had burned itself out, and he found himself +wondering if old Judge Kirkstone's house looked the same on the top of +the hill, and if Miriam Kirkstone had come back to live there after +that terrible night when he had returned to avenge his father. +</P> + +<P> +Four years! It was not so very long, though the years had seemed like a +lifetime to him. There would not be many changes. Everything would be +the same—everything—except—the old home. That home he and his father +had planned, and they had overseen the building of it, a chateau of +logs a little distance from the town, with the Saskatchewan sweeping +below it and the forest at its doors. Masterless, it must have seen +changes in those four years. Fumbling in his pocket, his fingers +touched Conniston's watch. He drew it out and let the firelight play on +the open dial. It was ten o'clock. In the back of the premier half of +the case Conniston had at some time or another pasted a picture. It +must have been a long time ago, for the face was faded and indistinct. +The eyes alone were undimmed, and in the flash of the fire they took on +a living glow as they looked at Keith. It was the face of a young +girl—a schoolgirl, Keith thought, of ten or twelve. Yet the eyes +seemed older; they seemed pleading with someone, speaking a message +that had come spontaneously out of the soul of the child. Keith closed +the watch. Its tick, tick, tick rose louder to his ears. He dropped it +in his pocket. He could still hear it. +</P> + +<P> +A pitch-filled spruce knot exploded with the startling vividness of a +star bomb, and with it came a dull sort of mental shock to Keith. He +was sure that for an instant he had seen Conniston's face and that the +Englishman's eyes were looking at him as the eyes had looked at him out +of the face in the watch. The deception was so real that it sent him +back a step, staring, and then, his eyes striving to catch the illusion +again, there fell upon him a realization of the tremendous strain he +had been under for many hours. It had been days since he had slept +soundly. Yet he was not sleepy now; he scarcely felt fatigue. The +instinct of self-preservation made him arrange his sleeping-bag on a +carpet of spruce boughs in the tent and go to bed. +</P> + +<P> +Even then, for a long time, he lay in the grip of a harrowing +wakefulness. He closed his eyes, but it was impossible for him to hold +them closed. The sounds of the night came to him with painful +distinctness—the crackling of the fire, the serpent-like hiss of the +flaming pitch, the whispering of the tree tops, and the steady tick, +tick, tick of Conniston's watch. And out on the barren, through the rim +of sheltering trees, the wind was beginning to moan its everlasting +whimper and sob of loneliness. In spite of his clenched hands and his +fighting determination to hold it off, Keith fancied that he heard +again—riding strangely in that wind—the sound of Conniston's voice. +And suddenly he asked himself: What did it mean? What was it that +Conniston had forgotten? What was it that Conniston had been trying to +tell him all that day, when he had felt the presence of him in the +gloom of the Barrens? Was it that Conniston wanted him to come back? +</P> + +<P> +He tried to rid himself of the depressing insistence of that thought. +And yet he was certain that in the last half-hour before death entered +the cabin the Englishman had wanted to tell him something and had +crucified the desire. There was the triumph of an iron courage in those +last words, "Remember, old chap, you win or lose the moment McDowell +first sets his eyes on you!"—but in the next instant, as death sent +home its thrust, Keith had caught a glimpse of Conniston's naked soul, +and in that final moment when speech was gone forever, he knew that +Conniston was fighting to make his lips utter words which he had left +unspoken until too late. And Keith, listening to the moaning of the +wind and the crackling of the fire, found himself repeating over and +over again, "What was it he wanted to say?" +</P> + +<P> +In a lull in the wind Conniston's watch seemed to beat like a heart in +its case, and swiftly its tick, tick, ticked to his ears an answer, +"Come back, come back, come back!" +</P> + +<P> +With a cry at his own pitiable weakness, Keith thrust the thing far +under his sleeping-bag, and there its sound was smothered. At last +sleep overcame him like a restless anesthesia. +</P> + +<P> +With the break of another day he came out of his tent and stirred the +fire. There were still bits of burning ember, and these he fanned into +life and added to their flame fresh fuel. He could not easily forget +last night's torture, but its significance was gone. He laughed at his +own folly and wondered what Conniston himself would have thought of his +nervousness. For the first time in years he thought of the old days +down at college where, among other things, he had made a mark for +himself in psychology. He had considered himself an expert in the +discussion and understanding of phenomena of the mind. Afterward he had +lived up to the mark and had profited by his beliefs, and the fact that +a simple relaxation of his mental machinery had so disturbed him last +night amused him now. The solution was easy. It was his mind struggling +to equilibrium after four years of brain-fag. And he felt better. His +brain was clearer. He listened to the watch and found its ticking +natural. He braced himself to another effort and whistled as he +prepared his breakfast. +</P> + +<P> +After that he packed his dunnage and continued south. He wondered if +Conniston ever knew his Manual as he learned it now. At the end of the +sixth day he could repeat it from cover to cover. Every hour he made it +a practice to stop short and salute the trees about him. McDowell would +not catch him there. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Derwent Conniston," he kept telling himself. "John Keith is +dead—dead. I buried him back there under the cabin, the cabin built by +Sergeant Trossy and his patrol in nineteen hundred and eight. My name +is Conniston—Derwent Conniston." +</P> + +<P> +In his years of aloneness he had grown into the habit of talking to +himself—or with himself—to keep up his courage and sanity. "Keith, +old boy, we've got to fight it out," he would say. Now it was, +"Conniston, old chap, we'll win or die." After the third day, he never +spoke of John Keith except as a man who was dead. And over the dead +John Keith he spread Conniston's mantle. "John Keith died game, sir," +he said to McDowell, who was a tree. "He was the finest chap I ever +knew." +</P> + +<P> +On this sixth day came the miracle. For the first time in many months +John Keith saw the sun. He had seen the murky glow of it before this, +fighting to break through the pall of fog and haze that hung over the +Barrens, but this sixth day it was the sun, the real sun, bursting in +all its glory for a short space over the northern world. Each day after +this the sun was nearer and warmer, as the arctic vapor clouds and +frost smoke were left farther behind, and not until he had passed +beyond the ice fogs entirely did Keith swing westward. He did not +hurry, for now that he was out of his prison, he wanted time in which +to feel the first exhilarating thrill of his freedom. And more than all +else he knew that he must measure and test himself for the tremendous +fight ahead of him. +</P> + +<P> +Now that the sun and the blue sky had cleared his brain, he saw the +hundred pit-falls in his way, the hundred little slips that might be +made, the hundred traps waiting for any chance blunder on his part. +Deliberately he was on his way to the hangman. Down there—every day of +his life—he would rub elbows with him as he passed his fellow men in +the street. He would never completely feel himself out of the presence +of death. Day and night he must watch himself and guard himself, his +tongue, his feet, his thoughts, never knowing in what hour the eyes of +the law would pierce the veneer of his disguise and deliver his life as +the forfeit. There were times when the contemplation of these things +appalled him, and his mind turned to other channels of escape. And +then—always—he heard Conniston's cool, fighting voice, and the red +blood fired up in his veins, and he faced home. +</P> + +<P> +He was Derwent Conniston. And never for an hour could he put out of his +mind the one great mystifying question in this adventure of life and +death, who was Derwent Conniston? Shred by shred he pieced together +what little he knew, and always he arrived at the same futile end. An +Englishman, dead to his family if he had one, an outcast or an +expatriate—and the finest, bravest gentleman he had ever known. It was +the WHYFORE of these things that stirred within him an emotion which he +had never experienced before. The Englishman had grimly and +determinedly taken his secret to the grave with him. To him, John +Keith—who was now Derwent Conniston—he had left an heritage of deep +mystery and the mission, if he so chose, of discovering who he was, +whence he had come—and why. Often he looked at the young girl's +picture in the watch, and always he saw in her eyes something which +made him think of Conniston as he lay in the last hour of his life. +Undoubtedly the girl had grown into a woman now. +</P> + +<P> +Days grew into weeks, and under Keith's feet the wet, sweet-smelling +earth rose up through the last of the slush snow. Three hundred miles +below the Barrens, he was in the Reindeer Lake country early in May. +For a week he rested at a trapper's cabin on the Burntwood, and after +that set out for Cumberland House. Ten days later he arrived at the +post, and in the sunlit glow of the second evening afterward he built +his camp-fire on the shore of the yellow Saskatchewan. +</P> + +<P> +The mighty river, beloved from the days of his boyhood, sang to him +again, that night, the wonderful things that time and grief had dimmed +in his heart. The moon rose over it, a warm wind drifted out of the +south, and Keith, smoking his pipe, sat for a long time listening to +the soft murmur of it as it rolled past at his feet. For him it had +always been more than the river. He had grown up with it, and it had +become a part of him; it had mothered his earliest dreams and +ambitions; on it he had sought his first adventures; it had been his +chum, his friend, and his comrade, and the fancy struck him that in the +murmuring voice of it tonight there was a gladness, a welcome, an +exultation in his return. He looked out on its silvery bars shimmering +in the moonlight, and a flood of memories swept upon him. Thirty years +was not so long ago that he could not remember the beautiful mother who +had told him stories as the sun went down and bedtime drew near. And +vividly there stood out the wonderful tales of Kistachiwun, the river; +how it was born away over in the mystery of the western mountains, away +from the eyes and feet of men; how it came down from the mountains into +the hills, and through the hills into the plains, broadening and +deepening and growing mightier with every mile, until at last it swept +past their door, bearing with it the golden grains of sand that made +men rich. His father had pointed out the deep-beaten trails of buffalo +to him and had told him stories of the Indians and of the land before +white men came, so that between father and mother the river became his +book of fables, his wonderland, the never-ending source of his +treasured tales of childhood. And tonight the river was the one thing +left to him. It was the one friend he could claim again, the one +comrade he could open his arms to without fear of betrayal. And with +the grief for things that once had lived and were now dead, there came +over him a strange sort of happiness, the spirit of the great river +itself giving him consolation. +</P> + +<P> +Stretching out his arms, he cried: "My old river—it's me—Johnny +Keith! I've come back!" +</P> + +<P> +And the river, whispering, seemed to answer him: "It's Johnny Keith! +And he's come back! He's come back!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IV +</H3> + +<P> +For a week John Keith followed up the shores of the Saskatchewan. It +was a hundred and forty miles from the Hudson's Bay Company's post of +Cumberland House to Prince Albert as the crow would fly, but Keith did +not travel a homing line. Only now and then did he take advantage of a +portage trail. Clinging to the river, his journey was lengthened by +some sixty miles. Now that the hour for which Conniston had prepared +him was so close at hand, he felt the need of this mighty, tongueless +friend that had played such an intimate part in his life. It gave to +him both courage and confidence, and in its company he could think more +clearly. Nights he camped on its golden-yellow bars with the open stars +over his head when he slept; his ears drank in the familiar sounds of +long ago, for which he had yearned to the point of madness in his +exile—the soft cries of the birds that hunted and mated in the glow of +the moon, the friendly twit, twit, twit of the low-flying sand-pipers, +the hoot of the owls, and the splash and sleepy voice of wildfowl +already on their way up from the south. Out of that south, where in +places the plains swept the forest back almost to the river's edge, he +heard now and then the doglike barking of his little yellow friends of +many an exciting horseback chase, the coyotes, and on the wilderness +side, deep in the forest, the sinister howling of wolves. He was +traveling, literally, the narrow pathway between two worlds. The river +was that pathway. On the one hand, not so very far away, were the +rolling prairies, green fields of grain, settlements and towns and the +homes of men; on the other the wilderness lay to the water's edge with +its doors still open to him. The seventh day a new sound came to his +ears at dawn. It was the whistle of a train at Prince Albert. +</P> + +<P> +There was no change in that whistle, and every nerve-string in his body +responded to it with crying thrill. It was the first voice to greet his +home-coming, and the sound of it rolled the yesterdays back upon him in +a deluge. He knew where he was now; he recalled exactly what he would +find at the next turn in the river. A few minutes later he heard the +wheezy chug, chug, chug of the old gold dredge at McCoffin's Bend. It +would be the Betty M., of course, with old Andy Duggan at the windlass, +his black pipe in mouth, still scooping up the shifting sands as he had +scooped them up for more than twenty years. He could see Andy sitting +at his post, clouded in a halo of tobacco smoke, a red-bearded, +shaggy-headed giant of a man whom the town affectionately called the +River Pirate. All his life Andy had spent in digging gold out of the +mountains or the river, and like grim death he had hung to the bars +above and below McCoffin's Bend. Keith smiled as he remembered old +Andy's passion for bacon. One could always find the perfume of bacon +about the Betty M., and when Duggan went to town, there were those who +swore they could smell it in his whiskers. +</P> + +<P> +Keith left the river trail now for the old logging road. In spite of +his long fight to steel himself for what Conniston had called the +"psychological moment," he felt himself in the grip of an uncomfortable +mental excitement. At last he was face to face with the great gamble. +In a few hours he would play his one card. If he won, there was life +ahead of him again, if he lost—death. The old question which he had +struggled to down surged upon him. Was it worth the chance? Was it in +an hour of madness that he and Conniston had pledged themselves to this +amazing adventure? The forest was still with him. He could turn back. +The game had not yet gone so far that he could not withdraw his +hand—and for a space a powerful impulse moved him. And then, coming +suddenly to the edge of the clearing at McCoffin's Bend, he saw the +dredge close inshore, and striding up from the beach Andy Duggan +himself! In another moment Keith had stepped forth and was holding up a +hand in greeting. +</P> + +<P> +He felt his heart thumping in an unfamiliar way as Duggan came on. Was +it conceivable that the riverman would not recognize him? He forgot his +beard, forgot the great change that four years had wrought in him. He +remembered only that Duggan had been his friend, that a hundred times +they had sat together in the quiet glow of long evenings, telling tales +of the great river they both loved. And always Duggan's stories had +been of that mystic paradise hidden away in the western mountains—the +river's end, the paradise of golden lure, where the Saskatchewan was +born amid towering peaks, and where Duggan—a long time ago—had +quested for the treasure which he knew was hidden somewhere there. Four +years had not changed Duggan. If anything his beard was redder and +thicker and his hair shaggier than when Keith had last seen him. And +then, following him from the Betsy M., Keith caught the everlasting +scent of bacon. He devoured it in deep breaths. His soul cried out for +it. Once he had grown tired of Duggan's bacon, but now he felt that he +could go on eating it forever. As Duggan advanced, he was moved by a +tremendous desire to stretch out his hand and say: "I'm John Keith. +Don't you know me, Duggan?" Instead, he choked back his desire and +said, "Fine morning!" +</P> + +<P> +Duggan nodded uncertainly. He was evidently puzzled at not being able +to place his man. "It's always fine on the river, rain 'r shine. +Anybody who says it ain't is a God A'mighty liar!" +</P> + +<P> +He was still the old Duggan, ready to fight for his river at the drop +of a hat! Keith wanted to hug him. He shifted his pack and said: +</P> + +<P> +"I've slept with it for a week—just to have it for company—on the way +down from Cumberland House. Seems good to get back!" He took off his +hat and met the riverman's eyes squarely. "Do you happen to know if +McDowell is at barracks?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"He is," said Duggan. +</P> + +<P> +That was all. He was looking at Keith with a curious directness. Keith +held his breath. He would have given a good deal to have seen behind +Duggan's beard. There was a hard note in the riverman's voice, too. It +puzzled him. And there was a flash of sullen fire in his eyes at the +mention of McDowell's name. "The Inspector's there—sittin' tight," he +added, and to Keith's amazement brushed past him without another word +and disappeared into the bush. +</P> + +<P> +This, at least, was not like the good-humored Duggan of four years ago. +Keith replaced his hat and went on. At the farther side of the clearing +he turned and looked back. Duggan stood in the open roadway, his hands +thrust deep in his pockets, staring after him. Keith waved his hand, +but Duggan did not respond. He stood like a sphinx, his big red beard +glowing in the early sun, and watched Keith until he was gone. +</P> + +<P> +To Keith this first experiment in the matter of testing an identity was +a disappointment. It was not only disappointing but filled him with +apprehension. It was true that Duggan had not recognized him as John +Keith, BUT NEITHER HAD HE RECOGNIZED HIM AS DERWENT CONNISTON! And +Duggan was not a man to forget in three or four years—or half a +lifetime, for that matter. He saw himself facing a new and unexpected +situation. What if McDowell, like Duggan, saw in him nothing more than +a stranger? The Englishman's last words pounded in his head again like +little fists beating home a truth, "You win or lose the moment McDowell +first sets his eyes on you." They pressed upon him now with a deadly +significance. For the first time he understood all that Conniston had +meant. His danger was not alone in the possibility of being recognized +as John Keith; it lay also in the hazard of NOT being recognized as +Derwent Conniston. +</P> + +<P> +If the thought had come to him to turn back, if the voice of fear and a +premonition of impending evil had urged him to seek freedom in another +direction, their whispered cautions were futile in the thrill of the +greater excitement that possessed him now. That there was a third hand +playing in this game of chance in which Conniston had already lost his +life, and in which he was now staking his own, was something which gave +to Keith a new and entirely unlooked-for desire to see the end of the +adventure. The mental vision of his own certain fate, should he lose, +dissolved into a nebulous presence that no longer oppressed nor +appalled him. Physical instinct to fight against odds, the inspiration +that presages the uncertainty of battle, fired his blood with an +exhilarating eagerness. He was anxious to stand face to face with +McDowell. Not until then would the real fight begin. For the first time +the fact seized upon him that the Englishman was wrong—he would NOT +win or lose in the first moment of the Inspector's scrutiny. In that +moment he could lose—McDowell's cleverly trained eyes might detect the +fraud; but to win, if the game was not lost at the first shot, meant an +exciting struggle. Today might be his Armageddon, but it could not +possess the hour of his final triumph. +</P> + +<P> +He felt himself now like a warrior held in leash within sound of the +enemy's guns and the smell of his powder. He held his old world to be +his enemy, for civilization meant people, and the people were the +law—and the law wanted his life. Never had he possessed a deeper +hatred for the old code of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth +than in this hour when he saw up the valley a gray mist of smoke rising +over the roofs of his home town. He had never conceded within himself +that he was a criminal. He believed that in killing Kirkstone he had +killed a serpent who had deserved to die, and a hundred times he had +told himself that the job would have been much more satisfactory from +the view-point of human sanitation if he had sent the son in the +father's footsteps. He had rid the people of a man not fit to live—and +the people wanted to kill him for it. Therefore the men and women in +that town he had once loved, and still loved, were his enemies, and to +find friends among them again he was compelled to perpetrate a clever +fraud. +</P> + +<P> +He remembered an unboarded path from this side of the town, which +entered an inconspicuous little street at the end of which was a barber +shop. It was the barber shop which he must reach first He was glad that +it was early in the day when he came to the street an hour later, for +he would meet few people. The street had changed considerably. Long, +open spaces had filled in with houses, and he wondered if the +anticipated boom of four years ago had come. He smiled grimly as the +humor of the situation struck him. His father and he had staked their +future in accumulating a lot of "outside" property. If the boom had +materialized, that property was "inside" now—and worth a great deal. +Before he reached the barber shop he realized that the dream of the +Prince Albertites had come true. Prosperity had advanced upon them in +mighty leaps. The population of the place had trebled. He was a rich +man! And also, it occurred to him, he was a dead one—or would be when +he reported officially to McDowell. What a merry scrap there would be +among the heirs of John Keith, deceased! +</P> + +<P> +The old shop still clung to its corner, which was valuable as "business +footage" now. But it possessed a new barber. He was alone. Keith gave +his instructions in definite detail and showed him Conniston's +photograph in his identification book. The beard and mustache must be +just so, very smart, decidedly English, and of military neatness, his +hair cut not too short and brushed smoothly back. When the operation +was over, he congratulated the barber and himself. Bronzed to the color +of an Indian by wind and smoke, straight as an arrow, his muscles +swelling with the brute strength of the wilderness, he smiled at +himself in the mirror when he compared the old John Keith with this new +Derwent Conniston! Before he went out he tightened his belt a notch. +Then he headed straight for the barracks of His Majesty's Royal +Northwest Mounted Police. +</P> + +<P> +His way took him up the main street, past the rows of shops that had +been there four years ago, past the Saskatchewan Hotel and the little +Board of Trade building which, like the old barber shop, still hung to +its original perch at the edge of the high bank which ran precipitously +down to the river. And there, as sure as fate, was Percival Clary, the +little English Secretary! But what a different Percy! +</P> + +<P> +He had broadened out and straightened up. He had grown a mustache, +which was immaculately waxed. His trousers were immaculately creased, +his shoes were shining, and he stood before the door of his now +important office resting lightly on a cane. Keith grinned as he +witnessed how prosperity had bolstered up Percival along with the town. +His eyes quested for familiar faces as he went along. Here and there he +saw one, but for the most part he encountered strangers, lively looking +men who were hustling as if they had a mission in hand. Glaring real +estate signs greeted him from every place of prominence, and +automobiles began to hum up and down the main street that stretched +along the river—twenty where there had been one not so long ago. +</P> + +<P> +Keith found himself fighting to keep his eyes straight ahead when he +met a girl or a woman. Never had he believed fully and utterly in the +angelhood of the feminine until now. He passed perhaps a dozen on the +way to barracks, and he was overwhelmed with the desire to stop and +feast his eyes upon each one of them. He had never been a lover of +women; he admired them, he believed them to be the better part of man, +he had worshiped his mother, but his heart had been neither glorified +nor broken by a passion for the opposite sex. Now, to the bottom of his +soul, he worshiped that dozen! Some of them were homely, some of them +were plain, two or three of them were pretty, but to Keith their +present physical qualifications made no difference. They were white +women, and they were glorious, every one of them! The plainest of them +was lovely. He wanted to throw up his hat and shout in sheer joy. Four +years—and now he was back in angel land! For a space he forgot +McDowell. +</P> + +<P> +His head was in a whirl when he came to barracks. Life was good, after +all. It was worth fighting for, and he was bound fight. He went +straight to McDowell's office. A moment after his knock on the door the +Inspector's secretary appeared. +</P> + +<P> +"The Inspector is busy, sir," he said in response to Keith's inquiry. +"I'll tell him—" +</P> + +<P> +"That I am here on a very important matter," advised Keith. "He will +admit me when you tell him that I bring information regarding a certain +John Keith." +</P> + +<P> +The secretary disappeared through an inner door. It seemed not more +than ten seconds before he was back. "The Inspector will see you, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Keith drew a deep breath to quiet the violent beating of his heart. In +spite of all his courage he felt upon him the clutch of a cold and +foreboding hand, a hand that seemed struggling to drag him back. And +again he heard Conniston's dying voice whispering to him, "REMEMBER, +OLD CHAP, YOU WIN OR LOSE THE MOMENT MCDOWELL FIRST SETS HIS EYES ON +YOU!" +</P> + +<P> +Was Conniston right? +</P> + +<P> +Win or lose, he would play the game as the Englishman would have played +it. Squaring his shoulders he entered to face McDowell, the cleverest +man-hunter in the Northwest. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +V +</H3> + +<P> +Keith's first vision, as he entered the office of the Inspector of +Police, was not of McDowell, but of a girl. She sat directly facing him +as he advanced through the door, the light from a window throwing into +strong relief her face and hair. The effect was unusual. She was +strikingly handsome. The sun, giving to the room a soft radiance, lit +up her hair with shimmering gold; her eyes, Keith saw, were a clear and +wonderful gray—and they stared at him as he entered, while the poise +of her body and the tenseness of her face gave evidence of sudden and +unusual emotion. These things Keith observed in a flash; then he turned +toward McDowell. +</P> + +<P> +The Inspector sat behind a table covered with maps and papers, and +instantly Keith was conscious of the penetrating inquisition of his +gaze. He felt, for an instant, the disquieting tremor of the criminal. +Then he met McDowell's eyes squarely. They were, as Conniston had +warned him, eyes that could see through boiler-plate. Of an indefinable +color and deep set behind shaggy, gray eyebrows, they pierced him +through at the first glance. Keith took in the carefully waxed gray +mustaches, the close-cropped gray hair, the rigidly set muscles of the +man's face, and saluted. +</P> + +<P> +He felt creeping over him a slow chill. There was no greeting in that +iron-like countenance, for full a quarter-minute no sign of +recognition. And then, as the sun had played in the girl's hair, a new +emotion passed over McDowell's face, and Keith saw for the first time +the man whom Derwent Conniston had known as a friend as well as a +superior. He rose from his chair, and leaning over the table said in a +voice in which were mingled both amazement and pleasure: +</P> + +<P> +"We were just talking about the devil—and here you are, sir! +Conniston, how are you?" +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments Keith did not see. HE HAD WON! The blood pounded +through his heart so violently that it confused his vision and his +senses. He felt the grip of McDowell's hand; he heard his voice; a +vision swam before his eyes—and it was the vision of Derwent +Conniston's triumphant face. He was standing erect, his head was up, he +was meeting McDowell shoulder to shoulder, even smiling, but in that +swift surge of exultation he did not know. McDowell, still gripping his +hand and with his other hand on his arm, was wheeling him about, and he +found the girl on her feet, staring at him as if he had newly risen +from the dead. +</P> + +<P> +McDowell's military voice was snapping vibrantly, "Conniston, meet Miss +Miriam Kirkstone, daughter of Judge Kirkstone!" +</P> + +<P> +He bowed and held for a moment in his own the hand of the girl whose +father he had killed. It was lifeless and cold. Her lips moved, merely +speaking his name. His own were mute. McDowell was saying something +about the glory of the service and the sovereignty of the law. And +then, breaking in like the beat of a drum on the introduction, his +voice demanded, "Conniston—DID YOU GET YOUR MAN?" +</P> + +<P> +The question brought Keith to his senses. He inclined his head slightly +and said, "I beg to report that John Keith is dead, sir." +</P> + +<P> +He saw Miriam Kirkstone give a visible start, as if his words had +carried a stab. She was apparently making a strong effort to hide her +agitation as she turned swiftly away from him, speaking to McDowell. +</P> + +<P> +"You have been very kind, Inspector McDowell. I hope very soon to have +the pleasure of talking with Mr. Conniston—about—John Keith." +</P> + +<P> +She left them, nodding slightly to Keith. +</P> + +<P> +When she was gone, a puzzled look filled the Inspector's eyes. "She has +been like that for the last six months," he explained. "Tremendously +interested in this man Keith and his fate. I don't believe that I have +watched for your return more anxiously than she has, Conniston. And the +curious part of it is she seemed to have no interest in the matter at +all until six months ago. Sometimes I am afraid that brooding over her +father's death has unsettled her a little. A mighty pretty girl, +Conniston. A mighty pretty girl, indeed! And her brother is a skunk. +Pst! You haven't forgotten him?" +</P> + +<P> +He drew a chair up close to his own and motioned Keith to be seated. +"You're changed, Conniston!" +</P> + +<P> +The words came out of him like a shot. So unexpected were they that +Keith felt the effect of them in every nerve of his body. He sensed +instantly what McDowell meant. He was NOT like the Englishman; he +lacked his mannerisms, his cool and superior suavity, the inimitable +quality of his nerve and sportsmanship. Even as he met the disquieting +directness of the Inspector's eyes, he could see Conniston sitting in +his place, rolling his mustache between his forefinger and thumb, and +smiling as though he had gone into the north but yesterday and had +returned today. That was what McDowell was missing in him, the soul of +Conniston himself—Conniston, the ne plus ultra of presence and amiable +condescension, the man who could look the Inspector or the High +Commissioner himself between the eyes, and, serenely indifferent to +Service regulations, say, "Fine morning, old top!" Keith was not +without his own sense of humor. How the Englishman's ghost must be +raging if it was in the room at the present moment! He grinned and +shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you ever up there—through the Long Night—alone?" he asked. +"Ever been through six months of living torture with the stars leering +at you and the foxes barking at you all the time, fighting to keep +yourself from going mad? I went through that twice to get John Keith, +and I guess you're right. I'm changed. I don't think I'll ever be the +same again. Something—has gone. I can't tell what it is, but I feel +it. I guess only half of me pulled through. It killed John Keith. +Rotten, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +He felt that he had made a lucky stroke. McDowell pulled out a drawer +from under the table and thrust a box of fat cigars under his nose. +</P> + +<P> +"Light up, Derry—light up and tell us what happened. Bless my soul, +you're not half dead! A week in the old town will straighten you out." +</P> + +<P> +He struck a match and held it to the tip of Keith's cigar. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour thereafter Keith told the story of the man-hunt. It was his +Iliad. He could feel the presence of Conniston as words fell from his +lips; he forgot the presence of the stern-faced man who was watching +him and listening to him; he could see once more only the long months +and years of that epic drama of one against one, of pursuit and flight, +of hunger and cold, of the Long Nights filled with the desolation of +madness and despair. He triumphed over himself, and it was Conniston +who spoke from within him. It was the Englishman who told how terribly +John Keith had been punished, and when he came to the final days in the +lonely little cabin in the edge of the Barrens, Keith finished with a +choking in his throat, and the words, "And that was how John Keith +died—a gentleman and a MAN!" +</P> + +<P> +He was thinking of the Englishman, of the calm and fearless smile in +his eyes as he died, of his last words, the last friendly grip of his +hand, and McDowell saw the thing as though he had faced it himself. He +brushed a hand over his face as if to wipe away a film. For some +moments after Keith had finished, he stood with his back to the man who +he thought was Conniston, and his mind was swiftly adding twos and twos +and fours and fours as he looked away into the green valley of the +Saskatchewan. He was the iron man when he turned to Keith again, the +law itself, merciless and potent, by some miracle turned into the form +of human flesh. +</P> + +<P> +"After two and a half years of THAT even a murderer must have seemed +like a saint to you, Conniston. You have done your work splendidly. The +whole story shall go to the Department, and if it doesn't bring you a +commission, I'll resign. But we must continue to regret that John Keith +did not live to be hanged." +</P> + +<P> +"He has paid the price," said Keith dully. +</P> + +<P> +"No, he has not paid the price, not in full. He merely died. It could +have been paid only at the end of a rope. His crime was atrociously +brutal, the culmination of a fiend's desire for revenge. We will wipe +off his name. But I can not wipe away the regret. I would sacrifice a +year of my life if he were in this room with you now. It would be worth +it. God, what a thing for the Service—to have brought John Keith back +to justice after four years!" +</P> + +<P> +He was rubbing his hands and smiling at Keith even as he spoke. His +eyes had taken on a filmy glitter. The law! It stood there, without +heart or soul, coveting the life that had escaped it. A feeling of +revulsion swept over Keith. +</P> + +<P> +A knock came at the door. +</P> + +<P> +McDowell's voice gave permission, and the door slowly opened. Cruze, +the young secretary, thrust in his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Shan Tung is waiting, sir," he said. +</P> + +<P> +An invisible hand reached up suddenly and gripped at Keith's throat. He +turned aside to conceal what his face might have betrayed. Shan Tung! +He knew what it was now that had pulled him back, he knew why +Conniston's troubled face had traveled with him over the Barrens, and +there surged over him with a sickening foreboding, a realization of +what it was that Conniston had remembered and wanted to tell him—when +it was too late. THEY HAD FORGOTTEN SHAN TUNG, THE CHINAMAN! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VI +</H3> + +<P> +In the hall beyond the secretary's room Shan Tung waited. As McDowell +was the iron and steel embodiment of the law, so Shan Tung was the +flesh and blood spirit of the mysticism and immutability of his race. +His face was the face of an image made of an unemotional living tissue +in place of wood or stone, dispassionate, tolerant, patient. What +passed in the brain behind his yellow-tinged eyes only Shan Tung knew. +It was his secret. And McDowell had ceased to analyze or attempt to +understand him. The law, baffled in its curiosity, had come to accept +him as a weird and wonderful mechanism—a thing more than a +man—possessed of an unholy power. This power was the oriental's +marvelous ability to remember faces. Once Shan Tung looked at a face, +it was photographed in his memory for years. Time and change could not +make him forget—and the law made use of him. +</P> + +<P> +Briefly McDowell had classified him at Headquarters. "Either an exiled +prime minister of China or the devil in a yellow skin," he had written +to the Commissioner. "Correct age unknown and past history a mystery. +Dropped into Prince Albert in 1908 wearing diamonds and patent leather +shoes. A stranger then and a stranger now. Proprietor and owner of the +Shan Tung Cafe. Educated, soft-spoken, womanish, but the one man on +earth I'd hate to be in a dark room with, knives drawn. I use him, +mistrust him, watch him, and would fear him under certain conditions. +As far as we can discover, he is harmless and law-abiding. But such a +ferret must surely have played his game somewhere, at some time." +</P> + +<P> +This was the man whom Conniston had forgotten and Keith now dreaded to +meet. For many minutes Shan Tung had stood at a window looking out upon +the sunlit drillground and the broad sweep of green beyond. He was +toying with his slim hands caressingly. Half a smile was on his lips. +No man had ever seen more than that half smile illuminate Shan Tung's +face. His black hair was sleek and carefully trimmed. His dress was +immaculate. His slimness, as McDowell had noted, was the slimness of a +young girl. +</P> + +<P> +When Cruze came to announce that McDowell would see him, Shan Tung was +still visioning the golden-headed figure of Miriam Kirkstone as he had +seen her passing through the sunshine. There was something like a purr +in his breath as he stood interlacing his tapering fingers. The instant +he heard the secretary's footsteps the finger play stopped, the purr +died, the half smile was gone. He turned softly. Cruze did not speak. +He simply made a movement of his head, and Shan Tung's feet fell +noiselessly. Only the slight sound made by the opening and closing of a +door gave evidence of his entrance into the Inspector's room. Shan Tung +and no other could open and close a door like that. Cruze shivered. He +always shivered when Shan Tung passed him, and always he swore that he +could smell something in the air, like a poison left behind. +</P> + +<P> +Keith, facing the window, was waiting. The moment the door was opened, +he felt Shan Tung's presence. Every nerve in his body was keyed to an +uncomfortable tension. The thought that his grip on himself was +weakening, and because of a Chinaman, maddened him. And he must turn. +Not to face Shan Tung now would be but a postponement of the ordeal and +a confession of cowardice. Forcing his hand into Conniston's little +trick of twisting a mustache, he turned slowly, leveling his eyes +squarely to meet Shan Tung's. +</P> + +<P> +To his surprise Shan Tung seemed utterly oblivious of his presence. He +had not, apparently, taken more than a casual glance in his direction. +In a voice which one beyond the door might have mistaken for a woman's, +he was saying to McDowell: +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen the man you sent me to see, Mr. McDowell. It is Larsen. He +has changed much in eight years. He has grown a beard. He has lost an +eye. His hair has whitened. But it is Larsen." The faultlessness of his +speech and the unemotional but perfect inflection of his words made +Keith, like the young secretary, shiver where he stood. In McDowell's +face he saw a flash of exultation. +</P> + +<P> +"He had no suspicion of you, Shan Tung?" +</P> + +<P> +"He did not see me to suspect. He will be there—when—" Slowly he +faced Keith. "—When Mr. Conniston goes to arrest him," he finished. +</P> + +<P> +He inclined his head as he backed noiselessly toward the door. His +yellow eyes did not leave Keith's face. In them Keith fancied that he +caught a sinister gleam. There was the faintest inflection of a new +note in his voice, and his fingers were playing again, but not as when +he had looked out through the window at Miriam Kirkstone. And then—in +a flash, it seemed to Keith—the Chinaman's eyes closed to narrow +slits, and the pupils became points of flame no larger than the +sharpened ends of a pair of pencils. The last that Keith was conscious +of seeing of Shan Tung was the oriental's eyes. They had seemed to drag +his soul half out of his body. +</P> + +<P> +"A queer devil," said McDowell. "After he is gone, I always feel as if +a snake had been in the room. He still hates you, Conniston. Three +years have made no difference. He hates you like poison. I believe he +would kill you, if he had a chance to do it and get away with the +Business. And you—you blooming idiot—simply twiddle your mustache and +laugh at him! I'd feel differently if I were in your boots." +</P> + +<P> +Inwardly Keith was asking himself why it was that Shan Tung had hated +Conniston. +</P> + +<P> +McDowell added nothing to enlighten him. He was gathering up a number +of papers scattered on his desk, smiling with a grim satisfaction. +"It's Larsen all right if Shan Tung says so," he told Keith. And then, +as if he had only thought of the matter, he said, "You're going to +reenlist, aren't you, Conniston?" +</P> + +<P> +"I still owe the Service a month or so before my term expires, don't I? +After that—yes—I believe I shall reenlist." +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" approved the Inspector. "I'll have you a sergeancy within a +month. Meanwhile you're off duty and may do anything you please. You +know Brady, the Company agent? He's up the Mackenzie on a trip, and +here's the key to his shack. I know you'll appreciate getting under a +real roof again, and Brady won't object as long as I collect his thirty +dollars a month rent. Of course Barracks is open to you, but it just +occurred to me you might prefer this place while on furlough. +Everything is there from a bathtub to nutcrackers, and I know a little +Jap in town who is hunting a job as a cook. What do you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Splendid!" cried Keith. "I'll go up at once, and if you'll hustle the +Jap along, I'll appreciate it. You might tell him to bring up stuff for +dinner," he added. +</P> + +<P> +McDowell gave him a key. Ten minutes later he was out of sight of +barracks and climbing a green slope that led to Brady's bungalow. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the fact that he had not played his part brilliantly, he +believed that he had scored a triumph. Andy Duggan had not recognized +him, and the riverman had been one of his most intimate friends. +McDowell had accepted him apparently without a suspicion. And Shan +Tung— +</P> + +<P> +It was Shan Tung who weighed heavily upon his mind, even as his nerves +tingled with the thrill of success. He could not get away from the +vision of the Chinaman as he had backed through the Inspector's door, +the flaming needle-points of his eyes piercing him as he went. It was +not hatred he had seen in Shan Tung's face. He was sure of that. It was +no emotion that he could describe. It was as if a pair of mechanical +eyes fixed in the head of an amazingly efficient mechanical monster had +focused themselves on him in those few instants. It made him think of +an X-ray machine. But Shan Tung was human. And he was clever. Given +another skin, one would not have taken him for what he was. The +immaculateness of his speech and manners was more than unusual; it was +positively irritating, something which no Chinaman should rightfully +possess. So argued Keith as he went up to Brady's bungalow. +</P> + +<P> +He tried to throw off the oppression of the thing that was creeping +over him, the growing suspicion that he had not passed safely under the +battery of Shan Tung's eyes. With physical things he endeavored to +thrust his mental uneasiness into the background. He lighted one of the +half-dozen cigars McDowell had dropped into his pocket. It was good to +feel a cigar between his teeth again and taste its flavor. At the crest +of the slope on which Brady's bungalow stood, he stopped and looked +about him. Instinctively his eyes turned first to the west. In that +direction half of the town lay under him, and beyond its edge swept the +timbered slopes, the river, and the green pathways of the plains. His +heart beat a little faster as he looked. Half a mile away was a tiny, +parklike patch of timber, and sheltered there, with the river running +under it, was the old home. The building was hidden, but through a +break in the trees he could see the top of the old red brick chimney +glowing in the sun, as if beckoning a welcome to him over the tree +tops. He forgot Shan Tung; he forgot McDowell; he forgot that he was +John Keith, the murderer, in the overwhelming sea of loneliness that +swept over him. He looked out into the world that had once been his, +and all that he saw was that red brick chimney glowing in the sun, and +the chimney changed until at last it seemed to him like a tombstone +rising over the graves of the dead. He turned to the door of the +bungalow with a thickening in his throat and his eyes filmed by a mist +through which for a few moments it was difficult for him to see. +</P> + +<P> +The bungalow was darkened by drawn curtains when he entered. One after +another he let them up, and the sun poured in. Brady had left his place +in order, and Keith felt about him an atmosphere of cheer that was a +mighty urge to his flagging spirits. Brady was a home man without a +wife. The Company's agent had called his place "The Shack" because it +was built entirely of logs, and a woman could not have made it more +comfortable. Keith stood in the big living-room. At one end was a +strong fireplace in which kindlings and birch were already laid, +waiting the touch of a match. Brady's reading table and his easy chair +were drawn up close; his lounging moccasins were on a footstool; pipes, +tobacco, books and magazines littered the table; and out of this +cheering disorder rose triumphantly the amber shoulder of a half-filled +bottle of Old Rye. +</P> + +<P> +Keith found himself chuckling. His grin met the lifeless stare of a +pair of glass eyes in the huge head of an old bull moose over the +mantel, and after that his gaze rambled over the walls ornamented with +mounted heads, pictures, snowshoes, gun-racks and the things which went +to make up the comradeship and business of Brady's picturesque life. +Keith could look through into the little dining-room, and beyond that +was the kitchen. He made an inventory of both and found that McDowell +was right. There were nutcrackers in Brady's establishment. And he +found the bathroom. It was not much larger than a piano box, but the +tub was man's size, and Keith raised a window and poked his head out to +find that it was connected with a rainwater tank built by a genius, +just high enough to give weight sufficient for a water system and low +enough to gather the rain as it fell from the eaves. He laughed +outright, the sort of laugh that comes out of a man's soul not when he +is amused but when he is pleased. By the time he had investigated the +two bedrooms, he felt a real affection for Brady. He selected the +agent's room for his own. Here, too, were pipes and tobacco and books +and magazines, and a reading lamp on a table close to the bedside. Not +until he had made a closer inspection of the living-room did he +discover that the Shack also had a telephone. +</P> + +<P> +By that time he noted that the sun had gone out. Driving up from the +west was a mass of storm clouds. He unlocked a door from which he could +look up the river, and the wind that was riding softly in advance of +the storm ruffled his hair and cooled his face. In it he caught again +the old fancy—the smells of the vast reaches of unpeopled prairie +beyond the rim of the forest, and the luring chill of the distant +mountain tops. Always storm that came down with the river brought to +him voice from the river's end. It came to him from the great mountains +that were a passion with him; it seemed to thunder to him the old +stories of the mightiest fastnesses of the Rockies and stirred in him +the child-bred yearning to follow up his beloved river until he came at +last to the mystery of its birthplace in the cradle of the western +ranges. And now, as he faced the storm, the grip of that desire held +him like a strong hand. +</P> + +<P> +The sky blackened swiftly, and with the rumbling of far-away thunder he +saw the lightning slitting the dark heaven like bayonets, and the fire +of the electrical charges galloped to him and filled his veins. His +heart all at once cried out words that his lips did not utter. Why +should he not answer the call that had come to him through all the +years? Now was the time—and why should he not go? Why tempt fate in +the hazard of a great adventure where home and friends and even hope +were dead to him, when off there beyond the storm was the place of his +dreams? He threw out his arms. His voice broke at last in a cry of +strange ecstasy. Not everything was gone! Not everything was dead! Over +the graveyard of his past there was sweeping a mighty force that called +him, something that was no longer merely an urge and a demand but a +thing that was irresistible. He would go! Tomorrow—today—tonight—he +would begin making plans! +</P> + +<P> +He watched the deluge as it came on with a roar of wind, a beating, +hissing wall under which the tree tops down in the edge of the plain +bent their heads like a multitude of people in prayer. He saw it +sweeping up the slope in a mass of gray dragoons. It caught him before +he had closed the door, and his face dripped with wet as he forced the +last inch of it against the wind with his shoulder. It was the sort of +storm Keith liked. The thunder was the rumble of a million giant +cartwheels rolling overhead. +</P> + +<P> +Inside the bungalow it was growing dark as though evening had come. He +dropped on his knees before the pile of dry fuel in the fireplace and +struck a match. For a space the blaze smoldered; then the birch fired +up like oil-soaked tinder, and a yellow flame crackled and roared up +the flue. Keith was sensitive in the matter of smoking other people's +pipes, so he drew out his own and filled it with Brady's tobacco. It +was an English mixture, rich and aromatic, and as the fire burned +brighter and the scent of the tobacco filled the room, he dropped into +Brady's big lounging chair and stretched out his legs with a deep +breath of satisfaction. His thoughts wandered to the clash of the +storm. He would have a place like this out there in the mystery of the +trackless mountains, where the Saskatchewan was born. He would build it +like Brady's place, even to the rain-water tank midway between the roof +and the ground. And after a few years no one would remember that a man +named John Keith had ever lived. +</P> + +<P> +Something brought him suddenly to his feet. It was the ringing of the +telephone. After four years the sound was one that roused with an +uncomfortable jump every nerve in his body. Probably it was McDowell +calling up about the Jap or to ask how he liked the place. Probably—it +was that. He repeated the thought aloud as he laid his pipe on the +table. And yet as his hand came in contact with the telephone, he felt +an inclination to draw back. A subtle voice whispered him not to +answer, to leave while the storm was dark, to go back into the +wilderness, to fight his way to the western mountains. +</P> + +<P> +With a jerk he unhooked the receiver and put it to his ear. +</P> + +<P> +It was not McDowell who answered him. It was not Shan Tung. To his +amazement, coming to him through the tumult of the storm, he recognized +the voice of Miriam Kirkstone! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VII +</H3> + +<P> +Why should Miriam Kirkstone call him up in an hour when the sky was +livid with the flash of lightning and the earth trembled with the roll +of thunder? This was the question that filled Keith's mind as he +listened to the voice at the other end of the wire. It was pitched to a +high treble as if unconsciously the speaker feared that the storm might +break in upon her words. She was telling him that she had telephoned +McDowell but had been too late to catch him before he left for Brady's +bungalow; she was asking him to pardon her for intruding upon his time +so soon after his return, but she was sure that he would understand +her. She wanted him to come up to see her that evening at eight +o'clock. It was important—to her. Would he come? +</P> + +<P> +Before Keith had taken a moment to consult with himself he had replied +that he would. He heard her "thank you," her "good-by," and hung up the +receiver, stunned. So far as he could remember, he had spoken no more +than seven words. The beautiful young woman up at the Kirkstone mansion +had clearly betrayed her fear of the lightning by winding up her +business with him at the earliest possible moment. Why, then, had she +not waited until the storm was over? +</P> + +<P> +A pounding at the door interrupted his thought. He went to it and +admitted an individual who, in spite of his water-soaked condition, was +smiling all over. It was Wallie, the Jap. He was no larger than a boy +of sixteen, and from eyes, ears, nose, and hair he was dripping +streams, while his coat bulged with packages which he had struggled to +protect, from the torrent through which he had forced his way up the +hill. Keith liked him on the instant. He found himself powerless to +resist the infection of Wallie's grin, and as Wallie hustled into the +kitchen like a wet spaniel, he followed and helped him unload. By the +time the little Jap had disgorged his last package, he had assured +Keith that the rain was nice, that his name was Wallie, that he +expected five dollars a week and could cook "like heaven." Keith +laughed outright, and Wallie was so delighted with the general outlook +that he fairly kicked his heels together. Thereafter for an hour or so +he was left alone in possession of the kitchen, and shortly Keith began +to hear certain sounds and catch occasional odoriferous whiffs which +assured him that Wallie was losing no time in demonstrating his divine +efficiency in the matter of cooking. +</P> + +<P> +Wallie's coming gave him an excuse to call up McDowell. He confessed to +a disquieting desire to hear the inspector's voice again. In the back +of his head was the fear of Shan Tung, and the hope that McDowell might +throw some light on Miriam Kirkstone's unusual request to see her that +night. The storm had settled down into a steady drizzle when he got in +touch with him, and he was relieved to find there was no change in the +friendliness of the voice that came over the telephone. If Shan Tung +had a suspicion, he had kept it to himself. +</P> + +<P> +To Keith's surprise it was McDowell who spoke first of Miss Kirkstone. +</P> + +<P> +"She seemed unusually anxious to get in touch with you," he said. "I am +frankly disturbed over a certain matter, Conniston, and I should like +to talk with you before you go up tonight." +</P> + +<P> +Keith sniffed the air. "Wallie is going to ring the dinner bell within +half an hour. Why not slip on a raincoat and join me up here? I think +it's going to be pretty good." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll come," said McDowell. "Expect me any moment." +</P> + +<P> +Fifteen minutes later Keith was helping him off with his wet slicker. +He had expected McDowell to make some observation on the cheerfulness +of the birch fire and the agreeable aromas that were leaking from +Wallie's kitchen, but the inspector disappointed him. He stood for a +few moments with his back to the fire, thumbing down the tobacco in his +pipe, and he made no effort to conceal the fact that there was +something in his mind more important than dinner and the cheer of a +grate. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes fell on the telephone, and he nodded toward it. "Seemed very +anxious to see you, didn't she, Conniston? I mean Miss Kirkstone." +</P> + +<P> +"Rather." +</P> + +<P> +McDowell seated himself and lighted a match. "Seemed—a +little—nervous—perhaps," he suggested between puffs. "As though +something had happened—or was going to happen. Don't mind my +questioning you, do you, Derry?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit," said Keith. "You see, I thought perhaps you might +explain—" +</P> + +<P> +There was a disquieting gleam in McDowell's eyes. "It was odd that she +should call you up so soon—and in the storm—wasn't it? She expected +to find you at my office. I could fairly hear the lightning hissing +along the wires. She must have been under some unusual impulse." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps." +</P> + +<P> +McDowell was silent for a space, looking steadily at Keith, as if +measuring him up to something. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mind telling you that I am very deeply interested in Miss +Kirkstone," he said. "You didn't see her when the Judge was killed. She +was away at school, and you were on John Keith's trail when she +returned. I have never been much of a woman's man, Conniston, but I +tell you frankly that up until six or eight months ago Miriam was one +of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. I would give a good deal +to know the exact hour and date when the change in her began. I might +be able to trace some event to that date. It was six months ago that +she began to take an interest in the fate of John Keith. Since then the +change in her has alarmed me, Conniston. I don't understand. She has +betrayed nothing. But I have seen her dying by inches under my eyes. +She is only a pale and drooping flower compared with what she was. I am +positive it is not a sickness—unless it is mental. I have a suspicion. +It is almost too terrible to put into words. You will be going up there +tonight—you will be alone with her, will talk with her, may learn a +great deal if you understand what it is that is eating like a canker in +my mind. Will you help me to discover her secret?" He leaned toward +Keith. He was no longer the man of iron. There was something intensely +human in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no other man on earth I would confide this matter to," he +went on slowly. "It will take—a gentleman—to handle it, someone who +is big enough to forget if my suspicion is untrue, and who will +understand fully what sacrilege means should it prove true. It is +extremely delicate. I hesitate. And yet—I am waiting, Conniston. Is it +necessary to ask you to pledge secrecy in the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +Keith held out a hand. McDowell gripped it tight. +</P> + +<P> +"It is—Shan Tung," he said, a peculiar hiss in his voice. "Shan +Tung—and Miriam Kirkstone! Do you understand, Conniston? Does the +horror of it get hold of you? Can you make yourself believe that it is +possible? Am I mad to allow such a suspicion to creep into my brain? +Shan Tung—Miriam Kirkstone! And she sees herself standing now at the +very edge of the pit of hell, and it is killing her." +</P> + +<P> +Keith felt his blood running cold as he saw in the inspector's face the +thing which he did not put more plainly in word. He was shocked. He +drew his hand from McDowell's grip almost fiercely. +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible!" he cried. "Yes, you are mad. Such a thing would be +inconceivable!" +</P> + +<P> +"And yet I have told myself that it is possible," said McDowell. His +face was returning into its iron-like mask. His two hands gripped the +arms of his chair, and he stared at Keith again as if he were looking +through him at something else, and to that something else he seemed to +speak, slowly, weighing and measuring each word before it passed his +lips. "I am not superstitious. It has always been a law with me to have +conviction forced upon me. I do not believe unusual things until +investigation proves them. I am making an exception in the case of Shan +Tung. I have never regarded him as a man, like you and me, but as a +sort of superphysical human machine possessed of a certain +psychological power that is at times almost deadly. Do you begin to +understand me? I believe that he has exerted the whole force of that +influence upon Miriam Kirkstone—and she has surrendered to it. I +believe—and yet I am not positive." +</P> + +<P> +"And you have watched them for six months?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. The suspicion came less than a month ago. No one that I know has +ever had the opportunity of looking into Shan Tung's private life. The +quarters behind his cafe are a mystery. I suppose they can be entered +from the cafe and also from a little stairway at the rear. One +night—very late—I saw Miriam Kirkstone come down that stairway. Twice +in the last month she has visited Shan Tung at a late hour. Twice that +I know of, you understand. And that is not all—quite." +</P> + +<P> +Keith saw the distended veins in McDowell's clenched hands, and he knew +that he was speaking under a tremendous strain. +</P> + +<P> +"I watched the Kirkstone home—personally. Three times in that same +month Shan Tung visited her there. The third time I entered boldly with +a fraud message for the girl. I remained with her for an hour. In that +time I saw nothing and heard nothing of Shan Tung. He was hiding—or +got out as I came in." +</P> + +<P> +Keith was visioning Miriam Kirkstone as he had seen her in the +inspector's office. He recalled vividly the slim, golden beauty of her, +the wonderful gray of her eyes, and the shimmer of her hair as she +stood in the light of the window—and then he saw Shan Tung, +effeminate, with his sly, creeping hands and his narrowed eyes, and the +thing which McDowell had suggested rose up before him a monstrous +impossibility. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you demand an explanation of Miss Kirkstone?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I have, and she denies it all absolutely, except that Shan Tung came +to her house once to see her brother. She says that she was never on +the little stairway back of Shan Tung's place." +</P> + +<P> +"And you do not believe her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Assuredly not. I saw her. To speak the cold truth, Conniston, she is +lying magnificently to cover up something which she does not want any +other person on earth to know." +</P> + +<P> +Keith leaned forward suddenly. "And why is it that John Keith, dead and +buried, should have anything to do with this?" he demanded. "Why did +this 'intense interest' you speak of in John Keith begin at about the +same time your suspicions began to include Shan Tung?" +</P> + +<P> +McDowell shook his head. "It may be that her interest was not so much +in John Keith as in you, Conniston. That is for you to +discover—tonight. It is an interesting situation. It has tragic +possibilities. The instant you substantiate my suspicions we'll deal +directly with Shan Tung. Just now—there's Wallie behind you grinning +like a Cheshire cat. His dinner must be a success." +</P> + +<P> +The diminutive Jap had noiselessly opened the door of the little +dining-room in which the table was set for two. +</P> + +<P> +Keith smiled as he sat down opposite the man who would have sent him to +the executioner had he known the truth. After all, it was but a step +from comedy to tragedy. And just now he was conscious of a bit of +grisly humor in the situation. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VIII +</H3> + +<P> +The storm had settled into a steady drizzle when McDowell left the +Shack at two o'clock. Keith watched the iron man, as his tall, gray +figure faded away into the mist down the slope, with a curious +undercurrent of emotion. Before the inspector had come up as his guest +he had, he thought, definitely decided his future action. He would go +west on his furlough, write McDowell that he had decided not to +reenlist, and bury himself in the British Columbia mountains before an +answer could get back to him, leaving the impression that he was going +on to Australia or Japan. He was not so sure of himself now. He found +himself looking ahead to the night, when he would see Miriam Kirkstone, +and he no longer feared Shan Tung as he had feared him a few hours +before. McDowell himself had given him new weapons. He was unofficially +on Shan Tung's trail. McDowell had frankly placed the affair of Miriam +Kirkstone in his hands. That it all had in some mysterious way +something to do with himself—John Keith—urged him on to the adventure. +</P> + +<P> +He waited impatiently for the evening. Wallie, smothered in a great +raincoat, he sent forth on a general foraging expedition and to bring +up some of Conniston's clothes. It was a quarter of eight when he left +for Miriam Kirkstone's home. +</P> + +<P> +Even at that early hour the night lay about him heavy and dark and +saturated with a heavy mist. From the summit of the hill he could no +longer make out the valley of the Saskatchewan. He walked down into a +pit in which the scattered lights of the town burned dully like distant +stars. It was a little after eight when he came to the Kirkstone house. +It was set well back in an iron-fenced area thick with trees and +shrubbery, and he saw that the porch light was burning to show him the +way. Curtains were drawn, but a glow of warm light lay behind them. +</P> + +<P> +He was sure that Miriam Kirkstone must have heard the crunch of his +feet on the gravel walk, for he had scarcely touched the old-fashioned +knocker on the door when the door itself was opened. It was Miriam who +greeted him. Again he held her hand for a moment in his own. +</P> + +<P> +It was not cold, as it had been in McDowell's office. It was almost +feverishly hot, and the pupils of the girl's eyes were big, and dark, +and filled with a luminous fire. Keith might have thought that coming +in out of the dark night he had startled her. But it was not that. She +was repressing something that had preceded him. He thought that he +heard the almost noiseless closing of a door at the end of the long +hall, and his nostrils caught the faint aroma of a strange perfume. +Between him and the light hung a filmy veil of smoke. He knew that it +had come from a cigarette. There was an uneasy note in Miss Kirkstone's +voice as she invited him to hang his coat and hat on an old-fashioned +rack near the door. He took his time, trying to recall where he had +detected that perfume before. He remembered, with a sort of shock. It +was after Shan Tung had left McDowell's office. +</P> + +<P> +She was smiling when he turned, and apologizing again for making her +unusual request that day. +</P> + +<P> +"It was—quite unconventional. But I felt that you would understand, +Mr. Conniston. I guess I didn't stop to think. And I am afraid of +lightning, too. But I wanted to see you. I didn't want to wait until +tomorrow to hear about what happened up there. Is it—so strange?" +</P> + +<P> +Afterward he could not remember just what sort of answer he made. She +turned, and he followed her through the big, square-cut door leading +out of the hall. It was the same door with the great, sliding panel he +had locked on that fateful night, years ago, when he had fought with +her father and brother. In it, for a moment, her slim figure was +profiled in a frame of vivid light. Her mother must have been +beautiful. That was the thought that flashed upon him as the room and +its tragic memory lay before him. Everything came back to him vividly, +and he was astonished at the few changes in it. There was the big chair +with its leather arms, in which the overfatted creature who had been +her father was sitting when he came in. It was the same table, too, and +it seemed to him that the same odds and ends were on the mantel over +the cobblestone fireplace. And there was somebody's picture of the +Madonna still hanging between two windows. The Madonna, like the master +of the house, had been too fat to be beautiful. The son, an ogreish +pattern of his father, had stood with his back to the Madonna, whose +overfat arms had seemed to rest on his shoulders. He remembered that. +</P> + +<P> +The girl was watching him closely when he turned toward her. He had +frankly looked the room over, without concealing his intention. She was +breathing a little unsteadily, and her hair was shimmering gloriously +in the light of an overhead chandelier. She sat down with that light +over her, motioning him to be seated opposite her—across the same +table from which he had snatched the copper weight that had killed +Kirkstone. He had never seen anything quite so steady, quite so +beautiful as her eyes when they looked across at him. He thought of +McDowell's suspicion and of Shan Tung and gripped himself hard. The +same strange perfume hung subtly on the air he was breathing. On a +small silver tray at his elbow lay the ends of three freshly burned +cigarettes. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you remember this room?" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded. "Yes. It was night when I came, like this. The next day I +went after John Keith." +</P> + +<P> +She leaned toward him, her hands clasped in front of her on the table. +"You will tell me the truth about John Keith?" she asked in a low, +tense voice. "You swear that it will be the truth?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will keep nothing back from you that I have told Inspector +McDowell," he answered, fighting to meet her eyes steadily. "I almost +believe I may tell you more." +</P> + +<P> +"Then—did you speak the truth when you reported to Inspector McDowell? +IS JOHN KEITH DEAD?" Could Shan Tung meet those wonderful eyes as he +was meeting them now, he wondered? Could he face them and master them, +as McDowell had hinted? To McDowell the lie had come easily to his +tongue. It stuck in his throat now. Without giving him time to prepare +himself the girl had shot straight for the bull's-eye, straight to the +heart of the thing that meant life or death to him, and for a moment he +found no answer. Clearly he was facing suspicion. She could not have +driven the shaft intuitively. The unexpectedness of the thing +astonished him and then thrilled him, and in the thrill of it he found +himself more than ever master of himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Would you like to hear how utterly John Keith is dead and how he +died?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. That is what I must know." +</P> + +<P> +He noticed that her hands had closed. Her slender fingers were clenched +tight. +</P> + +<P> +"I hesitate, because I have almost promised to tell you even more than +I told McDowell," he went on. "And that will not be pleasant for you to +hear. He killed your father. There can be no sympathy in your heart for +John Keith. It will not be pleasant for you to hear that I liked the +man, and that I am sorry he is dead." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on—please." +</P> + +<P> +Her hands unclasped. Her fingers lay limp. Something faded slowly out +of her face. It was as if she had hoped for something, and that hope +was dying. Could it be possible that she had hoped he would say that +John Keith was alive? +</P> + +<P> +"Did you know this man?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"This John Keith?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. "No. I was away at school for many years. I don't +remember him." +</P> + +<P> +"But he knew you—that is, he had seen you," said Keith. "He used to +talk to me about you in those days when he was helpless and dying. He +said that he was sorry for you, and that only because of you did he +ever regret the justice he brought upon your father. You see I speak +his words. He called it justice. He never weakened on that point. You +have probably never heard his part of the story." +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +The one word forced itself from her lips. She was expecting him to go +on, and waited, her eyes never for an instant leaving his face. +</P> + +<P> +He did not repeat the story exactly as he had told it to McDowell. The +facts were the same, but the living fire of his own sympathy and his +own conviction were in them now. He told it purely from Keith's point +of view, and Miriam Kirkstone's face grew whiter, and her hands grew +tense again, as she listened for the first time to Keith's own version +of the tragedy of the room in which they were sitting. And then he +followed Keith up into that land of ice and snow and gibbering Eskimos, +and from that moment he was no longer Keith but spoke with the lips of +Conniston. He described the sunless weeks and months of madness until +the girl's eyes seemed to catch fire, and when at last he came to the +little cabin in which Conniston had died, he was again John Keith. He +could not have talked about himself as he did about the Englishman. And +when he came to the point where he buried Conniston under the floor, a +dry, broken sob broke in upon him from across the table. But there were +no tears in the girl's eyes. Tears, perhaps, would have hidden from him +the desolation he saw there. But she did not give in. Her white throat +twitched. She tried to draw her breath steadily. And then she said: +</P> + +<P> +"And that—was John Keith!" +</P> + +<P> +He bowed his head in confirmation of the lie, and, thinking of +Conniston, he said: +</P> + +<P> +"He was the finest gentleman I ever knew. And I am sorry he is dead." +</P> + +<P> +"And I, too, am sorry." +</P> + +<P> +She was reaching a hand across the table to him, slowly, hesitatingly. +He stared at her. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am sorry." +</P> + +<P> +He took her hand. For a moment her fingers tightened about his own. +Then they relaxed and drew gently away from him. In that moment he saw +a sudden change come into her face. She was looking beyond him, over +his right shoulder. Her eyes widened, her pupils dilated under his +gaze, and she held her breath. With the swift caution of the man-hunted +he turned. The room was empty behind him. There was nothing but a +window at his back. The rain was drizzling against it, and he noticed +that the curtain was not drawn, as they were drawn at the other +windows. Even as he looked, the girl went to it and pulled down the +shade. He knew that she had seen something, something that had startled +her for a moment, but he did not question her. Instead, as if he had +noticed nothing, he asked if he might light a cigar. +</P> + +<P> +"I see someone smokes," he excused himself, nodding at the cigarette +butts. +</P> + +<P> +He was watching her closely and would have recalled the words in the +next breath. He had caught her. Her brother was out of town. And there +was a distinctly unAmerican perfume in the smoke that someone had left +in the room. He saw the bit of red creeping up her throat into her +cheeks, and his conscience shamed him. It was difficult for him not to +believe McDowell now. Shan Tung had been there. It was Shan Tung who +had left the hall as he entered. Probably it was Shan Tung whose face +she had seen at the window. +</P> + +<P> +What she said amazed him. "Yes, it is a shocking habit of mine, Mr. +Conniston. I learned to smoke in the East. Is it so very bad, do you +think?" +</P> + +<P> +He fairly shook himself. He wanted to say, "You beautiful little liar, +I'd like to call your bluff right now, but I won't, because I'm sorry +for you!" Instead, he nipped off the end of his cigar, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"In England, you know, the ladies smoke a great deal. Personally I may +be a little prejudiced. I don't know that it is sinful, especially when +one uses such good judgment—in orientals." And then he was powerless +to hold himself back. He smiled at her frankly, unafraid. "I don't +believe you smoke," he added. +</P> + +<P> +He rose to his feet, still smiling across at her, like a big brother +waiting for her confidence. She was not alarmed at the directness with +which he had guessed the truth. She was no longer embarrassed. She +seemed for a moment to be looking through him and into him, a strange +and yearning desire glowing dully in her eyes. He saw her throat +twitching again, and he was filled with an infinite compassion for this +daughter of the man he had killed. But he kept it within himself. He +had gone far enough. It was for her to speak. At the door she gave him +her hand again, bidding him good-night. She looked pathetically +helpless, and he thought that someone ought to be there with the right +to take her in his arms and comfort her. +</P> + +<P> +"You will come again?" she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am coming again," he said. "Good-night." +</P> + +<P> +He passed out into the drizzle. The door closed behind him, but not +before there came to him once more that choking sob from the throat of +Miriam Kirkstone. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IX +</H3> + +<P> +Keith's hand was on the butt of his revolver as he made his way through +the black night. He could not see the gravel path under his feet but +could only feel it. Something that was more than a guess made him feel +that Shan Tung was not far away, and he wondered if it was a +premonition, and what it meant. With the keen instinct of a hound he +was scenting for a personal danger. He passed through the gate and +began the downward slope toward town, and not until then did he begin +adding things together and analyzing the situation as it had +transformed itself since he had stood in the door of the Shack, +welcoming the storm from the western mountains. He thought that he had +definitely made up his mind then; now it was chaotic. He could not +leave Prince Albert immediately, as the inspiration had moved him a few +hours before. McDowell had practically given him an assignment. And +Miss Kirkstone was holding him. Also Shan Tung. He felt within himself +the sensation of one who was traveling on very thin ice, yet he could +not tell just where or why it was thin. +</P> + +<P> +"Just a fool hunch," he assured himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Why the deuce should I let a confounded Chinaman and a pretty girl get +on my nerves at this stage of the game? If it wasn't for McDowell—" +</P> + +<P> +And there he stopped. He had fought too long at the raw edge of things +to allow himself to be persuaded by delusions, and he confessed that it +was John Keith who was holding him, that in some inexplicable way John +Keith, though officially dead and buried, was mixed up in a mysterious +affair in which Miriam Kirkstone and Shan Tung were the moving factors. +And inasmuch as he was now Derwent Conniston and no longer John Keith, +he took the logical point of arguing that the affair was none of his +business, and that he could go on to the mountains if he pleased. Only +in that direction could he see ice of a sane and perfect thickness, to +carry out the metaphor in his head. He could report indifferently to +McDowell, forget Miss Kirkstone, and disappear from the menace of Shan +Tung's eyes. John Keith, he repeated, would be officially dead, and +being dead, the law would have no further interest in him. +</P> + +<P> +He prodded himself on with this thought as he fumbled his way through +darkness down into town. Miriam Kirkstone in her golden way was +alluring; the mystery that shadowed the big house on the hill was +fascinating to his hunting instincts; he had the desire, growing fast, +to come at grips with Shan Tung. But he had not foreseen these things, +and neither had Conniston foreseen them. They had planned only for the +salvation of John Keith's precious neck, and tonight he had almost +forgotten the existence of that unpleasant reality, the hangman. Truth +settled upon him with depressing effect, and an infinite loneliness +turned his mind again to the mountains of his dreams. +</P> + +<P> +The town was empty of life. Lights glowed here and there through the +mist; now and then a door opened; down near the river a dog howled +forlornly. Everything was shut against him. There were no longer homes +where he might call and be greeted with a cheery "Good evening, Keith. +Glad to see you. Come in out of the wet." He could not even go to +Duggan, his old river friend. He realized now that his old friends were +the very ones he must avoid most carefully to escape self-betrayal. +Friendship no longer existed for him; the town was a desert without an +oasis where he might reclaim some of the things he had lost. Memories +he had treasured gave place to bitter ones. His own townfolk, of all +people, were his readiest enemies, and his loneliness clutched him +tighter, until the air itself seemed thick and difficult to breathe. +For the time Derwent Conniston was utterly submerged in the +overwhelming yearnings of John Keith. +</P> + +<P> +He dropped into a dimly lighted shop to purchase a box of cigars. It +was deserted except for the proprietor. His elbow bumped into a +telephone. He would call up Wallie and tell him to have a good fire +waiting for him, and in the company of that fire he would do a lot of +thinking before getting into communication with McDowell. +</P> + +<P> +It was not Wallie who answered him, and he was about to apologize for +getting the wrong number when the voice at the other end asked, +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, Conniston?" +</P> + +<P> +It was McDowell. The discovery gave him a distinct shock. What could +the Inspector be doing up at the Shack in his absence? Besides, there +was an imperative demand in the question that shot at him over the +wire. McDowell had half shouted it. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's I," he said rather feebly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm down-town, stocking up on some cigars. What's the excitement?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ask questions but hustle up here," McDowell fired back. "I've +got the surprise of your life waiting for you!" +</P> + +<P> +Keith heard the receiver at the other end go up with a bang. Something +had happened at the Shack, and McDowell was excited. He went out +puzzled. For some reason he was in no great hurry to reach the top of +the hill. He was beginning to expect things to happen—too many +things—and in the stress of the moment he felt the incongruity of the +friendly box of cigars tucked under his arm. The hardest luck he had +ever run up against had never quite killed his sense of humor, and he +chuckled. His fortunes were indeed at a low ebb when he found a bit of +comfort in hugging a box of cigars still closer. +</P> + +<P> +He could see that every room in the Shack was lighted, when he came to +the crest of the slope, but the shades were drawn. He wondered if +Wallie had pulled down the curtains, or if it was a caution on +McDowell's part against possible espionage. Suspicion made him transfer +the box of cigars to his left arm so that his right was free. Somewhere +in the darkness Conniston's voice was urging him, as it had urged him +up in the cabin on the Barren: "Don't walk into a noose. If it comes to +a fight, FIGHT!" +</P> + +<P> +And then something happened that brought his heart to a dead stop. He +was close to the door. His ear was against it. And he was listening to +a voice. It was not Wallie's, and it was not the iron man's. It was a +woman's voice, or a girl's. +</P> + +<P> +He opened the door and entered, taking swiftly the two or three steps +that carried him across the tiny vestibule to the big room. His +entrance was so sudden that the tableau in front of him was unbroken +for a moment. Birch logs were blazing in the fireplace. In the big +chair sat McDowell, partly turned, a smoking cigar poised in his +fingers, staring at him. Seated on a footstool, with her chin in the +cup of her hands, was a girl. At first, blinded a little by the light, +Keith thought she was a child, a remarkably pretty child with +wide-open, half-startled eyes and a wonderful crown of glowing, brown +hair in which he could still see the shimmer of wet. He took off his +hat and brushed the water from his eyes. McDowell did not move. Slowly +the girl rose to her feet. It was then that Keith saw she was not a +child. Perhaps she was eighteen, a slim, tired-looking, little thing, +wonderfully pretty, and either on the verge of laughing or crying. +Perhaps it was halfway between. To his growing discomfiture she came +slowly toward him with a strange and wonderful look in her face. And +McDowell still sat there staring. +</P> + +<P> +His heart thumped with an emotion he had no time to question. In those +wide-open, shining eyes of the girl he sensed unspeakable tragedy—for +him. And then the girl's arms were reaching out to him, and she was +crying in that voice that trembled and broke between sobs and laughter: +</P> + +<P> +"Derry, don't you know me? Don't you know me?" +</P> + +<P> +He stood like one upon whom had fallen the curse of the dumb. She was +within arm's reach of him, her face white as a cameo, her eyes glowing +like newly-fired stars, her slim throat quivering, and her arms +reaching toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"Derry, don't you know me? DON'T YOU KNOW ME?" +</P> + +<P> +It was a sob, a cry. McDowell had risen. Overwhelmingly there swept +upon Keith an impulse that rocked him to the depth of his soul. He +opened his arms, and in an instant the girl was in them. Quivering, and +sobbing, and laughing she was on his breast. He felt the crush of her +soft hair against his face, her arms were about his neck, and she was +pulling his head down and kissing him—not once or twice, but again and +again, passionately and without shame. His own arms tightened. He heard +McDowell's voice—a distant and non-essential voice it seemed to him +now—saying that he would leave them alone and that he would see them +again tomorrow. He heard the door open and close. McDowell was gone. +And the soft little arms were still tight about his neck. The sweet +crush of hair smothered his face, and on his breast she was crying now +like a baby. He held her closer. A wild exultation seized upon him, and +every fiber in his body responded to its thrill, as tautly-stretched +wires respond to an electrical storm. It passed swiftly, burning itself +out, and his heart was left dead. He heard a sound made by Wallie out +in the kitchen. He saw the walls of the room again, the chair in which +McDowell had sat, the blazing fire. His arms relaxed. The girl raised +her head and put her two hands to his face, looking at him with eyes +which Keith no longer failed to recognize. They were the eyes that had +looked at him out of the faded picture in Conniston's watch. +</P> + +<P> +"Kiss me, Derry!" +</P> + +<P> +It was impossible not to obey. Her lips clung to him. There was love, +adoration, in their caress. +</P> + +<P> +And then she was crying again, with her arms around him tight and her +face hidden against him, and he picked her up as he would have lifted a +child, and carried her to the big chair in front of the fire. He put +her in it and stood before her, trying to smile. Her hair had loosened, +and the shining mass of it had fallen about her face and to her +shoulders. She was more than ever like a little girl as she looked up +at him, her eyes worshiping him, her lips trying to smile, and one +little hand dabbing her eyes with a tiny handkerchief that was already +wet and crushed. +</P> + +<P> +"You—you don't seem very glad to see me, Derry." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I'm just stunned," he managed to say. "You see—" +</P> + +<P> +"It IS a shocking surprise, Derry. I meant it to be. I've been planning +it for years and years and YEARS! Please take off your coat—it's +dripping wet!—and sit down near me, on that stool!" +</P> + +<P> +Again he obeyed. He was big for the stool. +</P> + +<P> +"You are glad to see me, aren't you, Derry?" +</P> + +<P> +She was leaning over the edge of the big chair, and one of her hands +went to his damp hair, brushing it back. It was a wonderful touch. He +had never felt anything like it before in his life, and involuntarily +he bent his head a little. In a moment she had hugged it up close to +her. +</P> + +<P> +"You ARE glad, aren't you, Derry? Say 'yes.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +He could feel the swift, excited beating of her heart. +</P> + +<P> +"And I'm never going back again—to THEM," he heard her say, something +suddenly low and fierce in her voice. "NEVER! I'm going to stay with +you always, Derry. Always!" +</P> + +<P> +She put her lips close to his ear and whispered mysteriously. "They +don't know where I am. Maybe they think I'm dead. But Colonel +Reppington knows. I told him I was coming if I had to walk round the +world to get here. He said he'd keep my secret, and gave me letters to +some awfully nice people over here. I've been over six months. And when +I saw your name in one of those dry-looking, blue-covered, paper books +the Mounted Police get out, I just dropped down on my knees and thanked +the good Lord, Derry. I knew I'd find you somewhere—sometime. I +haven't slept two winks since leaving Montreal! And I guess I really +frightened that big man with the terrible mustaches, for when I rushed +in on him tonight, dripping wet, and said, 'I'm Miss Mary Josephine +Conniston, and I want my brother,' his eyes grew bigger and bigger +until I thought they were surely going to pop out at me. And then he +swore. He said, 'My Gawd, I didn't know he had a sister!'" +</P> + +<P> +Keith's heart was choking him. So this wonderful little creature was +Derwent Conniston's sister! And she was claiming him. She thought he +was her brother! +</P> + +<P> +"—And I love him because he treated me so nicely," she was saying. "He +really hugged me, Derry. I guess he didn't think I was away past +eighteen. And he wrapped me up in a big oilskin, and we came up here. +And—O Derry, Derry—why did you do it? Why didn't you let me know? +Don't you—want me here?" +</P> + +<P> +He heard, but his mind had swept beyond her to the little cabin in the +edge of the Great Barren where Derwent Conniston lay dead. He heard the +wind moaning, as it had moaned that night the Englishman died, and he +saw again that last and unspoken yearning in Conniston's eyes. And he +knew now why Conniston's face had followed him through the gray gloom +and why he had felt the mysterious presence of him long after he had +gone. Something that was Conniston entered into him now. In the +throbbing chaos of his brain a voice was whispering, "She is yours, she +is yours." +</P> + +<P> +His arms tightened about her, and a voice that was not unlike John +Keith's voice said: "Yes, I want you! I want you!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +X +</H3> + +<P> +For a space Keith did not raise his head. The girl's arms were about +him close, and he could feel the warm pressure of her cheek against his +hair. The realization of his crime was already weighing his soul like a +piece of lead, yet out of that soul had come the cry, "I want you—I +want you!" and it still beat with the voice of that immeasurable +yearning even as his lips grew tight and he saw himself the monstrous +fraud he was. This strange little, wonderful creature had come to him +from out of a dead world, and her lips, and her arms, and the soft +caress of her hands had sent his own world reeling about his head so +swiftly that he had been drawn into a maelstrom to which he could find +no bottom. Before McDowell she had claimed him. And before McDowell he +had accepted her. He had lived the great lie as he had strengthened +himself to live it, but success was no longer a triumph. There rushed +into his brain like a consuming flame the desire to confess the truth, +to tell this girl whose arms were about him that he was not Derwent +Conniston, her brother, but John Keith, the murderer. Something drove +it back, something that was still more potent, more demanding, the +overwhelming urge of that fighting force in every man which calls for +self-preservation. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly he drew himself away from her, knowing that for this night at +least his back was to the wall. She was smiling at him from out of the +big chair, and in spite of himself he smiled back at her. +</P> + +<P> +"I must send you to bed now, Mary Josephine, and tomorrow we will talk +everything over," he said. "You're so tired you're ready to fall asleep +in a minute." +</P> + +<P> +Tiny, puckery lines came into her pretty forehead. It was a trick he +loved at first sight. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know, Derry, I almost believe you've changed a lot. You used to +call me 'Juddy.' But now that I'm grown up, I think I like Mary +Josephine better, though you oughtn't to be quite so stiff about it. +Derry, tell me honest—are you AFRAID of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Afraid of you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, because I'm grown up. Don't you like me as well as you did one, +two, three, seven years ago? If you did, you wouldn't tell me to go to +bed just a few minutes after you've seen me for the first time in all +those—those—Derry, I'm going to cry! I AM!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't," he pleaded. "Please don't!" +</P> + +<P> +He felt like a hundred-horned bull in a very small china shop. Mary +Josephine herself saved the day for him by jumping suddenly from the +big chair, forcing him into it, and snuggling herself on his knees. +</P> + +<P> +"There!" She looked at a tiny watch on her wrist. "We're going to bed +in two hours. We've got a lot to talk about that won't wait until +tomorrow, Derry. You understand what I mean. I couldn't sleep until +you've told me. And you must tell me the truth. I'll love you just the +same, no matter what it is. Derry, Derry, WHY DID YOU DO IT?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do what?" he asked stupidly. +</P> + +<P> +The delicious softness went out of the slim little body on his knees. +It grew rigid. He looked hopelessly into the fire, but he could feel +the burning inquiry in the girl's eyes. He sensed a swift change +passing through her. She seemed scarcely to breathe, and he knew that +his answer had been more than inadequate. It either confessed or +feigned an ignorance of something which it would have been impossible +for him to forget had he been Conniston. He looked up at her at last. +The joyous flush had gone out of her face. It was a little drawn. Her +hand, which had been snuggling his neck caressingly, slipped down from +his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess—you'd rather I hadn't come, Derry," she said, fighting to +keep a break out of her voice. "And I'll go back, if you want to send +me. But I've always dreamed of your promise, that some day you'd send +for me or come and get me, and I'd like to know WHY before you tell me +to go. Why have you hidden away from me all these years, leaving me +among those who you knew hated me as they hated you? Was it because you +didn't care? Or was it because—because—" She bent her head and +whispered strangely, "Was it because you were afraid?" +</P> + +<P> +"Afraid?" he repeated slowly, staring again into the fire. "Afraid—" +He was going to add "Of what?" but caught the words and held them back. +</P> + +<P> +The birch fire leaped up with a sudden roar into the chimney, and from +the heart of the flame he caught again that strange and all-pervading +thrill, the sensation of Derwent Conniston's presence very near to him. +It seemed to him that for an instant he caught a flash of Conniston's +face, and somewhere within him was a whispering which was Conniston's +voice. He was possessed by a weird and masterful force that swept over +him and conquered him, a thing that was more than intuition and greater +than physical desire. It was inspiration. He knew that the Englishman +would have him play the game as he was about to play it now. +</P> + +<P> +The girl was waiting for him to answer. Her lips had grown a little +more tense. His hesitation, the restraint in his welcome of her, and +his apparent desire to evade that mysterious something which seemed to +mean so much to her had brought a shining pain into her eyes. He had +seen such a look in the eyes of creatures physically hurt. He reached +out with his hands and brushed back the thick, soft hair from about her +face. His fingers buried themselves in the silken disarray, and he +looked for a moment straight into her eyes before he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Little girl, will you tell me the truth?" he asked. "Do I look like +the old Derwent Conniston, YOUR Derwent Conniston? Do I?" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was small and troubled, yet the pain was slowly fading out of +her eyes as she felt the passionate embrace of his fingers in her hair. +"No. You are changed." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am changed. A part of Derwent Conniston died seven years ago. +That part of him was dead until he came through that door tonight and +saw you. And then it flickered back into life. It is returning slowly, +slowly. That which was dead is beginning to rouse itself, beginning to +remember. See, little Mary Josephine. It was this!" +</P> + +<P> +He drew a hand to his forehead and placed a finger on the scar. "I got +that seven years ago. It killed a half of Derwent Conniston, the part +that should have lived. Do you understand? Until tonight—" +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes startled him, they were growing so big and dark and staring, +living fires of understanding and horror. It was hard for him to go on +with the lie. "For many weeks I was dead," he struggled on. "And when I +came to life physically, I had forgotten a great deal. I had my name, +my identity, but only ghastly dreams and visions of what had gone +before. I remembered you, but it was in a dream, a strange and haunting +dream that was with me always. It seems to me that for an age I have +been seeking for a face, a voice, something I loved above all else on +earth, something which was always near and yet was never found. It was +you, Mary Josephine, you!" +</P> + +<P> +Was it the real Derwent Conniston speaking now? He felt again that +overwhelming force from within which was not his own. The thing that +had begun as a lie struck him now as a thing that was truth. It was he, +John Keith, who had been questing and yearning and hoping. It was John +Keith, and not Conniston, who had returned into a world filled with a +desolation of loneliness, and it was to John Keith that a beneficent +God had sent this wonderful creature in an hour that was blackest in +its despair. He was not lying now. He was fighting. He was fighting to +keep for himself the one atom of humanity that meant more to him than +all the rest of the human race, fighting to keep a great love that had +come to him out of a world in which he no longer had a friend or a +home, and to that fight his soul went out as a drowning man grips at a +spar on a sea. As the girl's hands came to his face and he heard the +yearning, grief-filled cry of his name on her lips, he no longer sensed +the things he was saying, but held her close in his arms, kissing her +mouth, and her eyes, and her hair, and repeating over and over again +that now he had found her he would never give her up. Her arms clung to +him. They were like two children brought together after a long +separation, and Keith knew that Conniston's love for this girl who was +his sister must have been a splendid thing. And his lie had saved +Conniston as well as himself. There had been no time to question the +reason for the Englishman's neglect—for his apparent desertion of the +girl who had come across the sea to find him. Tonight it was sufficient +that HE was Conniston, and that to him the girl had fallen as a +precious heritage. +</P> + +<P> +He stood up with her at last, holding her away from him a little so +that he could look into her face wet with tears and shining with +happiness. She reached up a hand to his face, so that it touched the +scar, and in her eyes he saw an infinite pity, a luminously tender glow +of love and sympathy and understanding that no measurements could +compass. Gently her hand stroked his scarred forehead. He felt his old +world slipping away from under his feet, and with his triumph there +surged over him a thankfulness for that indefinable something that had +come to him in time to give him the strength and the courage to lie. +For she believed him, utterly and without the shadow of a suspicion she +believed him. +</P> + +<P> +"Tomorrow you will help me to remember a great many things," he said. +"And now will you let me send you to bed, Mary Josephine?" +</P> + +<P> +She was looking at the scar. "And all those years I didn't know," she +whispered. "I didn't know. They told me you were dead, but I knew it +was a lie. It was Colonel Reppington—" She saw something in his face +that stopped her. +</P> + +<P> +"Derry, DON'T YOU REMEMBER?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall—tomorrow. But tonight I can see nothing and think of nothing +but you. Tomorrow—" +</P> + +<P> +She drew his head down swiftly and kissed the brand made by the heated +barrel of the Englishman's pistol. "Yes, yes, we must go to bed now, +Derry," she cried quickly. "You must not think too much. Tonight it +must just be of me. Tomorrow everything will come out right, +everything. And now you may send me to bed. Do you remember—" +</P> + +<P> +She caught herself, biting her lip to keep back the word. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me," he urged. "Do I remember what?" +</P> + +<P> +"How you used to come in at the very last and tuck me in at night, +Derry? And how we used to whisper to ourselves there in the darkness, +and at last you would kiss me good-night? It was the kiss that always +made me go to sleep." +</P> + +<P> +He nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said. +</P> + +<P> +He led her to the spare room, and brought in her two travel-worn bags, +and turned on the light. It was a man's room, but Mary Josephine stood +for a moment surveying it with delight. +</P> + +<P> +"It's home, Derry, real home," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +He did not explain to her that it was a borrowed home and that this was +his first night in it. Such unimportant details would rest until +tomorrow. He showed her the bath and its water system and then +explained to Wallie that his sister was in the house and he would have +to bunk in the kitchen. At the last he knew what he was expected to do, +what he must do. He kissed Mary Josephine good night. He kissed her +twice. And Mary Josephine kissed him and gave him a hug the like of +which he had never experienced until this night. It sent him back to +the fire with blood that danced like a drunken man's. +</P> + +<P> +He turned the lights out and for an hour sat in the dying glow of the +birch. For the first time since he had come from Miriam Kirkstone's he +had the opportunity to think, and in thinking he found his brain +crowded with cold and unemotional fact. He saw his lie in all its naked +immensity. Yet he was not sorry that he had lied. He had saved +Conniston. He had saved himself. And he had saved Conniston's sister, +to love, to fight for, to protect. It had not been a Judas lie but a +lie with his heart and his soul and all the manhood in him behind it. +To have told the truth would have made him his own executioner, it +would have betrayed the dead Englishman who had given to him his name +and all that he possessed, and it would have dragged to a pitiless +grief the heart of a girl for whom the sun still continued to shine. No +regret rose before him now. He felt no shame. All that he saw was the +fight, the tremendous fight, ahead of him, his fight to make good as +Conniston, his fight to play the game as Conniston would have him play +it. The inspiration that had come to him as he stood facing the storm +from the western mountains possessed him again. He would go to the +river's end as he had planned to go before McDowell told him of Shan +Tung and Miriam Kirkstone. And he would not go alone. Mary Josephine +would go with him. +</P> + +<P> +It was midnight when he rose from the big chair and went to his room. +The door was closed. He opened it and entered. Even as his hand groped +for the switch on the wall, his nostrils caught the scent of something +which was familiar and yet which should not have been there. It filled +the room, just as it had filled the big hall at the Kirkstone house, +the almost sickening fragrance of agallochum burned in a cigarette. It +hung like a heavy incense. Keith's eyes glared as he scanned the room +under the lights, half expecting to see Shan Tung sitting there waiting +for him. It was empty. His eyes leaped to the two windows. The shade +was drawn at one, the other was up, and the window itself was open an +inch or two above the sill. Keith's hand gripped his pistol as he went +to it and drew the curtain. Then he turned to the table on which were +the reading lamp and Brady's pipes and tobacco and magazines. On an +ash-tray lay the stub of a freshly burned cigarette. Shan Tung had come +secretly, but he had made no effort to cover his presence. +</P> + +<P> +It was then that Keith saw something on the table which had not been +there before. It was a small, rectangular, teakwood box no larger than +a half of the palm of his hand. He had noticed Miriam Kirkstone's +nervous fingers toying with just such a box earlier in the evening. +They were identical in appearance. Both were covered with an exquisite +fabric of oriental carving, and the wood was stained and polished until +it shone with the dark luster of ebony. Instantly it flashed upon him +that this was the same box he had seen at Miriam's. She had sent it to +him, and Shan Tung had been her messenger. The absurd thought was in +his head as he took up a small white square of card that lay on top of +the box. The upper side of this card was blank; on the other side, in a +script as exquisite in its delicacy as the carving itself, were the +words: +</P> + +<P> +"WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF SHAN TUNG." +</P> + +<P> +In another moment Keith had opened the box. Inside was a carefully +folded slip of paper, and on this paper was written a single line. +Keith's heart stopped beating, and his blood ran cold as he read what +it held for him, a message of doom from Shan Tung in nine words: +</P> + +<P> +"WHAT HAPPENED TO DERWENT CONNISTON? DID YOU KILL HIM?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XI +</H3> + +<P> +Stunned by a shock that for a few moments paralyzed every nerve center +in his body, John Keith stood with the slip of white paper in his +hands. He was discovered! That was the one thought that pounded like a +hammer in his brain. He was discovered in the very hour of his triumph +and exaltation, in that hour when the world had opened its portals of +joy and hope for him again and when life itself, after four years of +hell, was once more worth the living. Had the shock come a few hours +before, he would have taken it differently. He was expecting it then. +He had expected it when he entered McDowell's office the first time. He +was prepared for it afterward. Discovery, failure, and death were +possibilities of the hazardous game he was playing, and he was +unafraid, because he had only his life to lose, a life that was not +much more than a hopeless derelict at most. Now it was different. Mary +Josephine had come like some rare and wonderful alchemy to transmute +for him all leaden things into gold. In a few minutes she had upset the +world. She had literally torn aside for him the hopeless chaos in which +he saw himself struggling, flooding him with the warm radiance of a +great love and a still greater desire. On his lips he could feel the +soft thrill of her good-night kiss and about his neck the embrace of +her soft arms. She had not gone to sleep yet. Across in the other room +she was thinking of him, loving him; perhaps she was on her knees +praying for him, even as he held in his fingers Shan Tung's mysterious +forewarning of his doom. +</P> + +<P> +The first impulse that crowded in upon him was that of flight, the +selfish impulse of personal salvation. He could get away. The night +would swallow him up. A moment later he was mentally castigating +himself for the treachery of that impulse to Mary Josephine. His +floundering senses began to readjust themselves. +</P> + +<P> +Why had Shan Tung given him this warning? Why had he not gone straight +to Inspector McDowell with the astounding disclosure of the fact that +the man supposed to be Derwent Conniston was not Derwent Conniston, but +John Keith, the murderer of Miriam Kirkstone's father? +</P> + +<P> +The questions brought to Keith a new thrill. He read the note again. It +was a definite thing stating a certainty and not a guess. Shan Tung had +not shot at random. He knew. He knew that he was not Derwent Conniston +but John Keith. And he believed that he had killed the Englishman to +steal his identity. In the face of these things he had not gone to +McDowell! Keith's eyes fell upon the card again. "With the compliments +of Shan Tung." What did the words mean? Why had Shan Tung written them +unless—with his compliments—he was giving him a warning and the +chance to save himself? +</P> + +<P> +His immediate alarm grew less. The longer he contemplated the slip of +paper in his hand, the more he became convinced that the inscrutable +Shan Tung was the last individual in the world to stage a bit of +melodrama without some good reason for it. There was but one conclusion +he could arrive at. The Chinaman was playing a game of his own, and he +had taken this unusual way of advising Keith to make a getaway while +the going was good. It was evident that his intention had been to avoid +the possibility of a personal discussion of the situation. That, at +least, was Keith's first impression. +</P> + +<P> +He turned to examine the window. There was no doubt that Shan Tung had +come in that way. Both the sill and curtain bore stains of water and +mud, and there was wet dirt on the floor. For once the immaculate +oriental had paid no attention to his feet. At the door leading into +the big room Keith saw where he had stood for some time, listening, +probably when McDowell and Mary Josephine were in the outer room +waiting for him. Suddenly his eyes riveted themselves on the middle +panel of the door. Brady had intended his color scheme to be old +ivory—the panel itself was nearly white—and on it Shan Tung had +written heavily with a lead pencil the hour of his presence, "10.45 +P.M." Keith's amazement found voice in a low exclamation. He looked at +his watch. It was a quarter-hour after twelve. He had returned to the +Shack before ten, and the clever Shan Tung was letting him know in this +cryptic fashion that for more than three-quarters of an hour he had +listened at the door and spied upon him and Mary Josephine through the +keyhole. +</P> + +<P> +Had even such an insignificant person as Wallie been guilty of that +act, Keith would have felt like thrashing him. It surprised himself +that he experienced no personal feeling of outrage at Shan Tung's frank +confession of eavesdropping. A subtle significance began to attach +itself more and more to the story his room was telling him. He knew +that Shan Tung had left none of the marks of his presence out of +bravado, but with a definite purpose. Keith's psychological mind was at +all times acutely ready to seize upon possibilities, and just as his +positiveness of Conniston's spiritual presence had inspired him to act +his lie with Mary Josephine, so did the conviction possess him now that +his room held for him a message of the most vital importance. +</P> + +<P> +In such an emergency Keith employed his own method. He sat down, +lighted his pipe again, and centered the full resource of his mind on +Shan Tung, dissociating himself from the room and the adventure of the +night as much as possible in his objective analysis of the man. Four +distinct emotional factors entered into that analysis—fear, distrust, +hatred, personal enmity. To his surprise he found himself drifting +steadily into an unusual and unexpected mental attitude. From the time +he had faced Shan Tung in the inspector's office, he had regarded him +as the chief enemy of his freedom, his one great menace. Now he felt +neither personal enmity nor hatred for him. Fear and distrust remained, +but the fear was impersonal and the distrust that of one who watches a +clever opponent in a game or a fight. His conception of Shan Tung +changed. He found his occidental mind running parallel with the +oriental, bridging the spaces which otherwise it never would have +crossed, and at the end it seized upon the key. It proved to him that +his first impulse had been wrong. Shan Tung had not expected him to +seek safety in flight. He had given the white man credit for a larger +understanding than that. His desire, first of all, had been to let +Keith know that he was not the only one who was playing for big stakes, +and that another, Shan Tung himself, was gambling a hazard of his own, +and that the fraudulent Derwent Conniston was a trump card in that game. +</P> + +<P> +To impress this upon Keith he had, first of all, acquainted him with +the fact that he had seen through his deception and that he knew he was +John Keith and not Derwent Conniston. He had also let him know that he +believed he had killed the Englishman, a logical supposition under the +circumstances. This information he had left for Keith was not in the +form of an intimidation. There was, indeed, something very near +apologetic courtesy in the presence of the card bearing Shan Tung's +compliments. The penciling of the hour on the panel of the door, +without other notation, was a polite and suggestive hint. He wanted +Keith to know that he understood his peculiar situation up until that +particular time, that he had heard and possibly seen much that had +passed between him and Mary Josephine. The partly opened window, the +mud and wet on curtains and floor, and the cigarette stubs were all to +call Keith's attention to the box on the table. +</P> + +<P> +Keith could not but feel a certain sort of admiration for the Chinaman. +The two questions he must answer now were, What was Shan Tung's game? +and What did Shan Tung expect him to do? +</P> + +<P> +Instantly Miriam Kirkstone flashed upon him as the possible motive for +Shan Tung's visit. He recalled her unexpected and embarrassing question +of that evening, in which she had expressed a suspicion and a doubt as +to John Keith's death. He had gone to Miriam's at eight. It must have +been very soon after that, and after she had caught a glimpse of the +face at the window, that Shan Tung had hurried to the Shack. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly but surely the tangled threads of the night's adventure were +unraveling themselves for Keith. The main facts pressed upon him, no +longer smothered in a chaos of theory and supposition. If there had +been no Miriam Kirkstone in the big house on the hill, Shan Tung would +have gone to McDowell, and he would have been in irons at the present +moment. McDowell had been right after all. Miriam Kirkstone was +fighting for something that was more than her existence. The thought of +that "something" made Keith writhe and his hands clench. Shan Tung had +triumphed but not utterly. A part of the fruit of his triumph was still +just out of his reach, and the two—beautiful Miss Kirkstone and the +deadly Shan Tung—were locked in a final struggle for its possession. +In some mysterious way he, John Keith, was to play the winning hand. +How or when he could not understand. But of one thing he was convinced; +in exchange for whatever winning card he held Shan Tung had offered him +his life. Tomorrow he would expect an answer. +</P> + +<P> +That tomorrow had already dawned. It was one o'clock when Keith again +looked at his watch. Twenty hours ago he had cooked his last camp-fire +breakfast. It was only eighteen hours ago that he had filled himself +with the smell of Andy Duggan's bacon, and still more recently that he +had sat in the little barber shop on the corner wondering what his fate +would be when he faced McDowell. It struck him as incongruous and +impossible that only fifteen hours had passed since then. If he +possessed a doubt of the reality of it all, the bed was there to help +convince him. It was a real bed, and he had not slept in a real bed for +a number of years. Wallie had made it ready for him. Its sheets were +snow-white. There was a counterpane with a fringe on it and pillows +puffed up with billowy invitation, as if they were on the point of +floating away. Had they risen before his eyes, Keith would have +regarded the phenomenon rather casually. After the swift piling up of +the amazing events of those fifteen hours, a floating pillow would have +seemed quite in the natural orbit of things. But they did not float. +They remained where they were, their white breasts bared to him, urging +upon him a common-sense perspective of the situation. He wasn't going +to run away. He couldn't sit up all night. Therefore why not come to +them and sleep? +</P> + +<P> +There was something directly personal in the appeal of the pillows and +the bed. It was not general; it was for him. And Keith responded. +</P> + +<P> +He made another note of the time, a half-hour after one, when he turned +in. He allotted himself four hours of sleep, for it was his intention +to be up with the sun. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XII +</H3> + +<P> +Necessity had made of Keith a fairly accurate human chronometer. In the +second year of his fugitivism he had lost his watch. At first it was +like losing an arm, a part of his brain, a living friend. From that +time until he came into possession of Conniston's timepiece he was his +own hour-glass and his own alarm clock. He became proficient. +</P> + +<P> +Brady's bed and the Circe-breasted pillows that supported his head were +his undoing. The morning after Shan Tung's visit he awoke to find the +sun flooding in through the eastern window of his room, The warmth of +it as it fell full in his face, setting his eyes blinking, told him it +was too late. He guessed it was eight o'clock. When he fumbled his +watch out from under his pillow and looked at it, he found it was a +quarter past. He got up quietly, his mind swiftly aligning itself to +the happenings of yesterday. He stretched himself until his muscles +snapped, and his chest expanded with deep breaths of air from the +windows he had left open when he went to bed. He was fit. He was ready +for Shan Tung, for McDowell. And over this physical readiness there +surged the thrill of a glorious anticipation. It fairly staggered him +to discover how badly he wanted to see Mary Josephine again. +</P> + +<P> +He wondered if she was still asleep and answered that there was little +possibility of her being awake—even at eight o'clock. Probably she +would sleep until noon, the poor, tired, little thing! He smiled +affectionately into the mirror over Brady's dressing-table. And then +the unmistakable sound of voices in the outer room took him curiously +to the door. They were subdued voices. He listened hard, and his heart +pumped faster. One of them was Wallie's voice; the other was Mary +Josephine's. +</P> + +<P> +He was amused with himself at the extreme care with which he proceeded +to dress. It was an entirely new sensation. Wallie had provided him +with the necessaries for a cold sponge and in some mysterious interim +since their arrival had brushed and pressed the most important of +Conniston's things. With the Englishman's wardrobe he had brought up +from barracks a small chest which was still locked. Until this morning +Keith had not noticed it. It was less than half as large as a steamer +trunk and had the appearance of being intended as a strong box rather +than a traveling receptacle. It was ribbed by four heavy bands of +copper, and the corners and edges were reinforced with the same metal. +The lock itself seemed to be impregnable to one without a key. +Conniston's name was heavily engraved on a copper tablet just above the +lock. +</P> + +<P> +Keith regarded the chest with swiftly growing speculation. It was not a +thing one would ordinarily possess. It was an object which, on the face +of it, was intended to be inviolate except to its master key, a holder +of treasure, a guardian of mystery and of precious secrets. In the +little cabin up on the Barren Conniston had said rather indifferently, +"You may find something among my things down there that will help you +out." The words flashed back to Keith. Had the Englishman, in that +casual and uncommunicative way of his, referred to the contents of this +chest? Was it not possible that it held for him a solution to the +mystery that was facing him in the presence of Mary Josephine? A sense +of conviction began to possess him. He examined the lock more closely +and found that with proper tools it could be broken. +</P> + +<P> +He finished dressing and completed his toilet by brushing his beard. On +account of Mary Josephine he found himself regarding this hirsute +tragedy with a growing feeling of disgust, in spite of the fact that it +gave him an appearance rather distinguished and military. He wanted it +off. Its chief crime was that it made him look older. Besides, it was +inclined to be reddish. And it must tickle and prick like the deuce +when— +</P> + +<P> +He brought himself suddenly to salute with an appreciative grin. +"You're there, and you've got to stick," he chuckled. After all, he was +a likable-looking chap, even with that handicap. He was glad. +</P> + +<P> +He opened his door so quietly that Mary Josephine did not see him at +first. Her back was toward him as she bent over the dining-table. Her +slim little figure was dressed in some soft stuff all crinkly from +packing. Her hair, brown and soft, was piled up in shining coils on the +top of her head. For the life of him Keith couldn't keep his eyes from +traveling from the top of that glowing head to the little high-heeled +feet on the floor. They were adorable, slim little, aristocratic feet +with dainty ankles! He stood looking at her until she turned and caught +him. +</P> + +<P> +There was a change since last night. She was older. He could see it +now, the utter impropriety of his cuddling her up like a baby in the +big chair—the impossibility, almost. +</P> + +<P> +Mary Josephine settled his doubt. With a happy little cry she ran to +him, and Keith found her arms about him again and her lovely mouth held +up to be kissed. He hesitated for perhaps the tenth part of a second, +if hesitation could be counted in that space. Then his arms closed +about her, and he kissed her. He felt the snuggle of her face against +his breast again, the crush and sweetness of her hair against his lips +and cheek. He kissed her again uninvited. Before he could stop the +habit, he had kissed her a third time. +</P> + +<P> +Then her hands were at his face, and he saw again that look in her +eyes, a deep and anxious questioning behind the shimmer of love in +them, something mute and understanding and wonderfully sympathetic, a +mothering soul looking at him and praying as it looked. If his life had +paid the forfeit the next instant, he could not have helped kissing her +a fourth time. +</P> + +<P> +If Mary Josephine had gone to bed with a doubt of his brotherly +interest last night, the doubt was removed now. Her cheeks flushed. Her +eyes shone. She was palpitantly, excitedly happy. "It's YOU, Derry," +she cried. "Oh, it's you as you used to be!" +</P> + +<P> +She seized his hand and drew him toward the table. Wallie thrust in his +head from the kitchenette, grinning, and Mary Josephine flashed him +back a meaning smile. Keith saw in an instant that Wallie had turned +from his heathen gods to the worship of something infinitely more +beautiful. He no longer looked to Keith for instructions. +</P> + +<P> +Mary Josephine sat down opposite Keith at the table. She was telling +him, with that warm laughter and happiness in her eyes, how the sun had +wakened her, and how she had helped Wallie get breakfast. For the first +time Keith was looking at her from a point of vantage; there was just +so much distance between them, no more and no less, and the light was +right. She was, to him, exquisite. The little puckery lines came into +her smooth forehead when he apologized for his tardiness by explaining +that he had not gone to bed until one o'clock. Her concern was +delightful. She scolded him while Wallie brought in the breakfast, and +inwardly he swelled with the irrepressible exultation of a great +possessor. He had never had anyone to scold him like that before. It +was a scolding which expressed Mary Josephine's immediate +proprietorship of him, and he wondered if the pleasure of it made him +look as silly as Wallie. His plans were all gone. He had intended to +play the idiotic part of one who had partly lost his memory, but +throughout the breakfast he exhibited no sign that he was anything but +healthfully normal. Mary Josephine's delight at the improvement of his +condition since last night shone in her face and eyes, and he could see +that she was strictly, but with apparent unconsciousness, guarding +herself against saying anything that might bring up the dread shadow +between them. She had already begun to fight her own fight for him, and +the thing was so beautiful that he wanted to go round to her, and get +down on his knees, and put his head in her lap, and tell her the truth. +</P> + +<P> +It was in the moment of that thought that the look came into his face +which brought the questioning little lines into her forehead again. In +that instant she caught a glimpse of the hunted man, of the soul that +had traded itself, of desire beaten into helplessness by a thing she +would never understand. It was gone swiftly, but she had caught it. And +for her the scar just under his hair stood for its meaning. The +responsive throb in her breast was electric. He felt it, saw it, sensed +it to the depth of his soul, and his faith in himself stood challenged. +She believed. And he—was a liar. Yet what a wonderful thing to lie for! +</P> + +<P> +"—He called me up over the telephone, and when I told him to be quiet, +that you were still asleep, I think he must have sworn—it sounded like +it, but I couldn't hear distinctly—and then he fairly roared at me to +wake you up and tell you that you didn't half deserve such a lovely +little sister as I am. Wasn't that nice, Derry?" +</P> + +<P> +"You—you're talking about McDowell?" +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure I am talking about Mr. McDowell! And when I told him your +injury troubled you more than usual, and that I was glad you were +resting, I think I heard him swallow hard. He thinks a lot of you, +Derry. And then he asked me WHICH injury it was that hurt you, and I +told him the one in the head. What did he mean? Were you hurt somewhere +else, Derry?" +</P> + +<P> +Keith swallowed hard, too. "Not to speak of," he said. "You see, Mary +Josephine, I've got a tremendous surprise for you, if you'll promise it +won't spoil your appetite. Last night was the first night I've spent in +a real bed for three years." +</P> + +<P> +And then, without waiting for her questions, he began to tell her the +epic story of John Keith. With her sitting opposite him, her beautiful, +wide-open, gray eyes looking at him with amazement as she sensed the +marvelous coincidence of their meeting, he told it as he had not told +it to McDowell or even to Miriam Kirkstone. A third time the facts were +the same. But it was John Keith now who was telling John Keith's story +through the lips of an unreal and negative Conniston. He forgot his own +breakfast, and a look of gloom settled on Wallie's face when he peered +in through the door and saw that their coffee and toast were growing +cold. Mary Josephine leaned a little over the table. Not once did she +interrupt Keith. Never had he dreamed of a glory that might reflect his +emotions as did her eyes. As he swept from pathos to storm, from the +madness of long, black nights to starvation and cold, as he told of +flight, of pursuit, of the merciless struggle that ended at last in the +capture of John Keith, as he gave to these things words and life +pulsing with the beat of his own heart, he saw them revisioned in those +wonderful gray eyes, cold at times with fear, warm and glowing at other +times with sympathy, and again shining softly with a glory of pride and +love that was meant for him alone. With him she was present in the +little cabin up in the big Barren. Until he told of those days and +nights of hopeless desolation, of racking cough and the nearness of +death, and of the comradeship of brothers that had come as a final +benediction to the hunter and the hunted, until in her soul she was +understanding and living those terrible hours as they two had lived +them, he did not know how deep and dark and immeasurably tender that +gray mystery of beauty in her eyes could be. From that hour he +worshiped them as he worshiped no other part of her. +</P> + +<P> +"And from all that you came back the same day I came," she said in a +low, awed voice. "You came back from THAT!" +</P> + +<P> +He remembered the part he must play. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, three years of it. If I could only remember as well, only half as +well, things that happened before this—" He raised a hand to his +forehead, to the scar. +</P> + +<P> +"You will," she whispered swiftly. "Derry, darling, you will!" +</P> + +<P> +Wallie sidled in and, with an adoring grin at Mary Josephine, suggested +that he had more coffee and toast ready to serve, piping hot. Keith was +relieved. The day had begun auspiciously, and over the bacon and eggs, +done to a ravishing brown by the little Jap, he told Mary Josephine of +some of his bills of fare in the north and how yesterday he had filled +up on bacon smell at Andy Duggan's. Steak from the cheek of a walrus, +he told her, was equal to porterhouse; seal meat wasn't bad, but one +grew tired of it quickly unless he was an Eskimo; polar bear meat was +filling but tough and strong. He liked whale meat, especially the +tail-steaks of narwhal, and cold boiled blubber was good in the winter, +only it was impossible to cook it because of lack of fuel, unless one +was aboard ship or had an alcohol stove in his outfit. The tidbit of +the Eskimo was birds' eggs, gathered by the ton in summer-time, rotten +before cold weather came, and frozen solid as chunks of ice in winter. +Through one starvation period of three weeks he had lived on them +himself, crunching them raw in his mouth as one worries away with a +piece of rock candy. The little lines gathered in Mary Josephine's +forehead at this, but they smoothed away into laughter when he +humorously described the joy of living on nothing at all but air. And +he added to this by telling her how the gluttonous Eskimo at feast-time +would lie out flat on their backs so that their womenfolk could feed +them by dropping chunks of flesh into their open maws until their +stomachs swelled up like the crops of birds overstuffed with grain. +</P> + +<P> +It was a successful breakfast. When it was over, Keith felt that he had +achieved a great deal. Before they rose from the table, he startled +Mary Josephine by ordering Wallie to bring him a cold chisel and a +hammer from Brady's tool-chest. +</P> + +<P> +"I've lost the key that opens my chest, and I've got to break in," he +explained to her. +</P> + +<P> +Mary Josephine's little laugh was delicious. "After what you told me +about frozen eggs, I thought perhaps you were going to eat some," she +said. +</P> + +<P> +She linked her arm in his as they walked into the big room, snuggling +her head against his shoulder so that, leaning over, his lips were +buried in one of the soft, shining coils of her hair. And she was +making plans, enumerating them on the tips of her fingers. If he had +business outside, she was going with him. Wherever he went she was +going. There was no doubt in her mind about that. She called his +attention to a trunk that had arrived while he slept, and assured him +she would be ready for outdoors by the time he had opened his chest. +She had a little blue suit she was going to wear. And her hair? Did it +look good enough for his friends to see? She had put it up in a hurry. +</P> + +<P> +"It is beautiful, glorious," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Her face pinked under the ardency of his gaze. She put a finger to the +tip of his nose, laughing at him. "Why, Derry, if you weren't my +brother I'd think you were my lover! You said that as though you meant +it TERRIBLY much. Do you?" +</P> + +<P> +He felt a sudden dull stab of pain, "Yes, I mean it. It's glorious. And +so are you, Mary Josephine, every bit of you." +</P> + +<P> +On tiptoe she gave him the warm sweetness of her lips again. And then +she ran away from him, joy and laughter in her face, and disappeared +into her room. "You must hurry or I shall beat you," she called back to +him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIII +</H3> + +<P> +In his own room, with the door closed and locked, Keith felt again that +dull, strange pain that made his heart sick and the air about him +difficult to breathe. +</P> + +<P> +"IF YOU WEREN'T MY BROTHER." +</P> + +<P> +The words beat in his brain. They were pounding at his heart until it +was smothered, laughing at him and taunting him and triumphing over him +just as, many times before, the raving voices of the weird wind-devils +had scourged him from out of black night and arctic storm. HER BROTHER! +His hand clenched until the nails bit into his flesh. No, he hadn't +thought of that part of the fight! And now it swept upon him in a +deluge. If he lost in the fight that was ahead of him, his life would +pay the forfeit. The law would take him, and he would hang. And if he +won—she would be his sister forever and to the end of all time! Just +that, and no more. His SISTER! And the agony of truth gripped him that +it was not as a brother that he saw the glory in her hair, the glory in +her eyes and face, and the glory in her slim little, beautiful +body—but as the lover. A merciless preordination had stacked the cards +against him again. He was Conniston, and she was Conniston's sister. +</P> + +<P> +A strong man, a man in whom blood ran red, there leaped up in him for a +moment a sudden and unreasoning rage at that thing which he had called +fate. He saw the unfairness of it all, the hopelessness of it, the +cowardly subterfuge and trickery of life itself as it had played +against him, and with tightly set lips and clenched hands he called +mutely on God Almighty to play the game square. Give him a chance! Give +him just one square deal, only one; let him see a way, let him fight a +man's fight with a ray of hope ahead! In these red moments hope +emblazoned itself before his eyes as a monstrous lie. Bitterness rose +in him until he was drunk with it, and blasphemy filled his heart. +Whichever way he turned, however hard he fought, there was no chance of +winning. From the day he killed Kirkstone the cards had been stacked +against him, and they were stacked now and would be stacked until the +end. He had believed in God, he had believed in the inevitable ethics +of the final reckoning of things, and he had believed strongly that an +impersonal Something more powerful than man-made will was behind him in +his struggles. These beliefs were smashed now. Toward them he felt the +impulse of a maddened beast trampling hated things under foot. They +stood for lies—treachery—cheating—yes, contemptible cheating! It was +impossible for him to win. However he played, whichever way he turned, +he must lose. For he was Conniston, and she was Conniston's sister, AND +MUST BE TO THE END OF TIME. +</P> + +<P> +Faintly, beyond the door, he heard Mary Josephine singing. Like a bit +of steel drawn to a tension his normal self snapped back into place. +His readjustment came with a lurch, a subtle sort of shock. His hands +unclenched, the tense lines in his face relaxed, and because that God +Almighty he had challenged had given to him an unquenchable humor, he +saw another thing where only smirking ghouls and hypocrites had rent +his brain with their fiendish exultations a moment before. It was +Conniston's face, suave, smiling, dying, triumphant over life, and +Conniston was saying, just as he had said up there in the cabin on the +Barren, with death reaching out a hand for him, "It's queer, old top, +devilish queer—and funny!" +</P> + +<P> +Yes, it was funny if one looked at it right, and Keith found himself +swinging back into his old view-point. It was the hugest joke life had +ever played on him. His sister! He could fancy Conniston twisting his +mustaches, his cool eyes glimmering with silent laughter, looking on +his predicament, and he could fancy Conniston saying: "It's funny, old +top, devilish funny—but it'll be funnier still when some other man +comes along and carries her off!" +</P> + +<P> +And he, John Keith, would have to grin and bear it because he was her +brother! +</P> + +<P> +Mary Josephine was tapping at his door. +</P> + +<P> +"Derwent Conniston," she called frigidly, "there's a female person on +the telephone asking for you. What shall I say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Er—why—tell her you're my sister, Mary Josephine, and if it's Miss +Kirkstone, be nice to her and say I'm not able to come to the 'phone, +and that you're looking forward to meeting her, and that we'll be up to +see her some time today." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"You see," said Keith, his mouth close to the door, "you see, this Miss +Kirkstone—" +</P> + +<P> +But Mary Josephine was gone. +</P> + +<P> +Keith grinned. His illimitable optimism was returning. Sufficient for +the day that she was there, that she loved him, that she belonged to +him, that just now he was the arbiter of her destiny! Far off in the +mountains he dreamed of, alone, just they two, what might not happen? +Some day— +</P> + +<P> +With the cold chisel and the hammer he went to the chest. His task was +one that numbed his hands before the last of the three locks was +broken. He dragged the chest more into the light and opened it. He was +disappointed. At first glance he could not understand why Conniston had +locked it at all. It was almost empty, so nearly empty that he could +see the bottom of it, and the first object that met his eyes was an +insult to his expectations—an old sock with a huge hole in the toe of +it. Under the sock was an old fur cap not of the kind worn north of +Montreal. There was a chain with a dog-collar attached to it, a +hip-pocket pistol and a huge forty-five, and not less than a hundred +cartridges of indiscriminate calibers scattered loosely about. At one +end, bundled in carelessly, was a pair of riding-breeches, and under +the breeches a pair of white shoes with rubber soles. There was neither +sentiment nor reason to the collection in the chest. It was junk. Even +the big forty-five had a broken hammer, and the pistol, Keith thought, +might have stunned a fly at close range. He pawed the things over with +the cold chisel, and the last thing he came upon—buried under what +looked like a cast-off sport shirt—was a pasteboard shoe box. He +raised the cover. The box was full of papers. +</P> + +<P> +Here was promise. He transported the box to Brady's table and sat down. +He examined the larger papers first. There were a couple of old game +licenses for Manitoba, half a dozen pencil-marked maps, chiefly of the +Peace River country, and a number of letters from the secretaries of +Boards of Trade pointing out the incomparable possibilities their +respective districts held for the homesteader and the buyer of land. +Last of all came a number of newspaper clippings and a packet of +letters. +</P> + +<P> +Because they were loose he seized upon the clippings first, and as his +eyes fell upon the first paragraph of the first clipping his body +became suddenly tensed in the shock of unexpected discovery and amazed +interest. There were six of the clippings, all from English papers, +English in their terseness, brief as stock exchange reports, and +equally to the point. He read the six in three minutes. +</P> + +<P> +They simply stated that Derwent Conniston, of the Connistons of +Darlington, was wanted for burglary—and that up to date he had not +been found. +</P> + +<P> +Keith gave a gasp of incredulity. He looked again to see that his eyes +were not tricking him. And it was there in cold, implacable print. +Derwent Conniston—that phoenix among men, by whom he had come to +measure all other men, that Crichton of nerve, of calm and audacious +courage, of splendid poise—a burglar! It was cheap, farcical, an +impossible absurdity. Had it been murder, high treason, defiance of +some great law, a great crime inspired by a great passion or a great +ideal, but it was burglary, brigandage of the cheapest and most +commonplace variety, a sneaking night-coward's plagiarism of real +adventure and real crime. It was impossible. Keith gritted the words +aloud. He might have accepted Conniston as a Dick Turpin, a Claude +Duval or a Macheath, but not as a Jeremy Diddler or a Bill Sykes. The +printed lines were lies. They must be. Derwent Conniston might have +killed a dozen men, but he had never cracked a safe. To think it was to +think the inconceivable. +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the letters. They were postmarked Darlington, England. His +fingers tingled as he opened the first. It was as he had expected, as +he had hoped. They were from Mary Josephine. He arranged them—nine in +all—in the sequence of their dates, which ran back nearly eight years. +All of them had been written within a period of eleven months. They +were as legible as print. And as he passed from the first to the +second, and from the second to the third, and then read on into the +others, he forgot there was such a thing as time and that Mary +Josephine was waiting for him. The clippings had told him one thing; +here, like bits of driftage to be put together, a line in this place +and half a dozen in that, in paragraphs that enlightened and in others +that puzzled, was the other side of the story, a growing thing that +rose up out of mystery and doubt in segments and fractions of segments +adding themselves together piecemeal, welding the whole into form and +substance, until there rode through Keith's veins a wild thrill of +exultation and triumph. +</P> + +<P> +And then he came to the ninth and last letter. It was in a different +handwriting, brief, with a deadly specificness about it that gripped +Keith as he read. +</P> + +<P> +This ninth letter he held in his hand as he rose from the table, and +out of his mouth there fell, unconsciously, Conniston's own words, +"It's devilish queer, old top—and funny!" +</P> + +<P> +There was no humor in the way he spoke them. His voice was hard, his +eyes dully ablaze. He was looking back into that swirling, unutterable +loneliness of the northland, and he was seeing Conniston again. +</P> + +<P> +Fiercely he caught up the clippings, struck a match, and with a grim +smile watched them as they curled up into flame and crumbled into ash. +What a lie was life, what a malformed thing was justice, what a monster +of iniquity the man-fabricated thing called law! +</P> + +<P> +And again he found himself speaking, as if the dead Englishman himself +were repeating the words, "It's devilish queer, old top—and funny!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIV +</H3> + +<P> +A quarter of an hour later, with Mary Josephine at his side, he was +walking down the green slope toward the Saskatchewan. In that direction +lay the rims of timber, the shimmering valley, and the broad pathways +that opened into the plains beyond. +</P> + +<P> +The town was at their backs, and Keith wanted it there. He wanted to +keep McDowell, and Shan Tung, and Miriam Kirkstone as far away as +possible, until his mind rode more smoothly in the new orbit in which +it was still whirling a bit unsteadily. More than all else he wanted to +be alone with Mary Josephine, to make sure of her, to convince himself +utterly that she was his to go on fighting for. He sensed the nearness +and the magnitude of the impending drama. He knew that today he must +face Shan Tung, that again he must go under the battery of McDowell's +eyes and brain, and that like a fish in treacherous waters he must swim +cleverly to avoid the nets that would entangle and destroy him. Today +was the day—the stage was set, the curtain about to be lifted, the +play ready to be enacted. But before it was the prologue. And the +prologue was Mary Josephine's. +</P> + +<P> +At the crest of a dip halfway down the slope they had paused, and in +this pause he stood a half-step behind her so that he could look at her +for a moment without being observed. She was bareheaded, and it came +upon him all at once how wonderful was a woman's hair, how beautiful +beyond all other things beautiful and desirable. In twisted, glowing +seductiveness it was piled up on Mary Josephine's head, transformed +into brown and gold glories by the sun. He wanted to put forth his hand +to it, and bury his fingers in it, and feel the thrill and the warmth +and the crush of the palpitant life of it against his own flesh. And +then, bending a little forward, he saw under her long lashes the sheer +joy of life shining in her eyes as she drank in the wonderful panorama +that lay below them to the west. Last night's rain had freshened it, +the sun glorified it now, and the fragrance of earthly smells that rose +up to them from it was the undefiled breath of a thing living and +awake. Even to Keith the river had never looked more beautiful, and +never had his yearnings gone out to it more strongly than in this +moment, to the river and beyond—and to the back of beyond, where the +mountains rose up to meet the blue sky and the river itself was born. +And he heard Mary Josephine's voice, joyously suppressed, exclaiming +softly, +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Derry!" +</P> + +<P> +His heart was filled with gladness. She, too, was seeing what his eyes +saw in that wonderland. And she was feeling it. Her hand, seeking his +hand, crept into his palm, and the fingers of it clung to his fingers. +He could feel the thrill of the miracle passing through her, the +miracle of the open spaces, the miracle of the forests rising billow on +billow to the purple mists of the horizon, the miracle of the golden +Saskatchewan rolling slowly and peacefully in its slumbering sheen out +of that mighty mysteryland that reached to the lap of the setting sun. +He spoke to her of that land as she looked, wide-eyed, quick-breathing, +her fingers closing still more tightly about his. This was but the +beginning of the glory of the west and the north, he told her. Beyond +that low horizon, where the tree tops touched the sky were the +prairies—not the tiresome monotony which she had seen from the car +windows, but the wide, glorious, God-given country of the Northwest +with its thousands of lakes and rivers and its tens of thousands of +square miles of forests; and beyond those things, still farther, were +the foothills, and beyond the foothills the mountains. And in those +mountains the river down there had its beginning. +</P> + +<P> +She looked up swiftly, her eyes brimming with the golden flash of the +sun. "It is wonderful! And just over there is the town!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and beyond the town are the cities." +</P> + +<P> +"And off there—" +</P> + +<P> +"God's country," said Keith devoutly. +</P> + +<P> +Mary Josephine drew a deep breath. "And people still live in towns and +cities!" she exclaimed in wondering credulity. "I've dreamed of 'over +here,' Derry, but I never dreamed that. And you've had it for years and +years, while I—oh, Derry!" +</P> + +<P> +And again those two words filled his heart with gladness, words of +loving reproach, atremble with the mysterious whisper of a great +desire. For she was looking into the west. And her eyes and her heart +and her soul were in the west, and suddenly Keith saw his way as though +lighted by a flaming torch. He came near to forgetting that he was +Conniston. He spoke of his dream, his desire, and told her that last +night—before she came—he had made up his mind to go. She had come to +him just in time. A little later and he would have been gone, buried +utterly away from the world in the wonderland of the mountains. And now +they would go together. They would go as he had planned to go, quietly, +unobtrusively; they would slip away and disappear. There was a reason +why no one should know, not even McDowell. It must be their secret. +Some day he would tell her why. Her heart thumped excitedly as he went +on like a boy planning a wonderful day. He could see the swifter beat +of it in the flush that rose into her face and the joy glowing +tremulously in her eyes as she looked at him. They would get ready +quietly. They might go tomorrow, the next day, any time. It would be a +glorious adventure, just they two, with all the vastness of that +mountain paradise ahead of them. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll be pals," he said. "Just you and me, Mary Josephine. We're all +that's left." +</P> + +<P> +It was his first experiment, his first reference to the information he +had gained in the letters, and swift as a flash Mary Josephine's eyes +turned up to him. He nodded, smiling. He understood their quick +questioning, and he held her hand closer and began to walk with her +down the slope. +</P> + +<P> +"A lot of it came back last night and this morning, a lot of it," he +explained. "It's queer what miracles small things can work sometimes, +isn't it? Think what a grain of sand can do to a watch! This was one of +the small things." He was still smiling as he touched the scar on his +forehead. "And you, you were the other miracle. And I'm remembering. It +doesn't seem like seven or eight years, but only yesterday, that the +grain of sand got mixed up somewhere in the machinery in my head. And I +guess there was another reason for my going wrong. You'll understand, +when I tell you." +</P> + +<P> +Had he been Conniston it could not have come from him more naturally, +more sincerely. He was living the great lie, and yet to him it was no +longer a lie. He did not hesitate, as shame and conscience might have +made him hesitate. He was fighting that something beautiful might be +raised up out of chaos and despair and be made to exist; he was +fighting for life in place of death, for happiness in place of grief, +for light in place of darkness—fighting to save where others would +destroy. Therefore the great lie was not a lie but a thing without +venom or hurt, an instrument for happiness and for all the things good +and beautiful that went to make happiness. It was his one great weapon. +Without it he would fail, and failure meant desolation. So he spoke +convincingly, for what he said came straight from the heart though it +was born in the shadow of that one master-falsehood. His wonder was +that Mary Josephine believed him so utterly that not for an instant was +there a questioning doubt in her eyes or on her lips. +</P> + +<P> +He told her how much he "remembered," which was no more and no less +than he had learned from the letters and the clippings. The story did +not appeal to him as particularly unusual or dramatic. He had passed +through too many tragic happenings in the last four years to regard it +in that way. It was simply an unfortunate affair beginning in +misfortune, and with its necessary whirlwind of hurt and sorrow. The +one thing of shame he would not keep out of his mind was that he, +Derwent Conniston, must have been a poor type of big brother in those +days of nine or ten years ago, even though little Mary Josephine had +worshiped him. He was well along in his twenties then. The Connistons +of Darlington were his uncle and aunt, and his uncle was a more or less +prominent figure in ship-building interests on the Clyde. With these +people the three—himself, Mary Josephine, and his brother Egbert—had +lived, "farmed out" to a hard-necked, flinty-hearted pair of relatives +because of a brother's stipulation and a certain English law. With them +they had existed in mutual discontent and dislike. Derwent, when he +became old enough, had stepped over the traces. All this Keith had +gathered from the letters, but there was a great deal that was missing. +Egbert, he gathered, must have been a scapegrace. He was a cripple of +some sort and seven or eight years his junior. In the letters Mary +Josephine had spoken of him as "poor Egbert," pitying instead of +condemning him, though it was Egbert who had brought tragedy and +separation upon them. One night Egbert had broken open the Conniston +safe and in the darkness had had a fight and a narrow escape from his +uncle, who laid the crime upon Derwent. And Derwent, in whom Egbert +must have confided, had fled to America that the cripple might be +saved, with the promise that some day he would send for Mary Josephine. +He was followed by the uncle's threat that if he ever returned to +England, he would be jailed. Not long afterward "poor Egbert" was found +dead in bed, fearfully contorted. Keith guessed there had been +something mentally as well as physically wrong with him. +</P> + +<P> +"—And I was going to send for you," he said, as they came to the level +of the valley. "My plans were made, and I was going to send for you, +when this came." +</P> + +<P> +He stopped, and in a few tense, breathless moments Mary Josephine read +the ninth and last letter he had taken from the Englishman's chest. It +was from her uncle. In a dozen lines it stated that she, Mary +Josephine, was dead, and it reiterated the threat against Derwent +Conniston should he ever dare to return to England. +</P> + +<P> +A choking cry came to her lips. "And that—THAT was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that—and the hurt in my head," he said, remembering the part he +must play. "They came at about the same time, and the two of them must +have put the grain of sand in my brain." +</P> + +<P> +It was hard to lie now, looking straight into her face that had gone +suddenly white, and with her wonderful eyes burning deep into his soul. +</P> + +<P> +She did not seem, for an instant, to hear his voice or sense his words. +"I understand now," she was saying, the letter crumpling in her +fingers. "I was sick for almost a year, Derry. They thought I was going +to die. He must have written it then, and they destroyed my letters to +you, and when I was better they told me you were dead, and then I +didn't write any more. And I wanted to die. And then, almost a year +ago, Colonel Reppington came to me, and his dear old voice was so +excited that it trembled, and he told me that he believed you were +alive. A friend of his had just returned from British Columbia, and +this friend told him that three years before, while on a grizzly +shooting trip, he had met a man named Conniston, an Englishman. We +wrote a hundred letters up there and found the man, Jack Otto, who was +in the mountains with you, and then I knew you were alive. But we +couldn't find you after that, and so I came—" +</P> + +<P> +He would have wagered that she was going to cry, but she fought the +tears back, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"And—and I've found you!" she finished triumphantly. +</P> + +<P> +She snuggled close to him, and he slipped an arm about her waist, and +they walked on. She told him about her arrival in Halifax, how Colonel +Reppington had given her letters to nice people in Montreal and +Winnipeg, and how it happened one day that she found his name in one of +the Mounted Police blue books, and after that came on as fast as she +could to surprise him at Prince Albert. When she came to that point, +Keith pointed once more into the west and said: +</P> + +<P> +"And there is our new world. Let us forget the old. Shall we, Mary +Josephine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she whispered, and her hand sought his again and crept into it, +warm and confident. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XV +</H3> + +<P> +They went on through the golden morning, the earth damp under their +feet, the air filled with its sweet incense, on past scattered clumps +of balsams and cedars until they came to the river and looked down on +its yellow sand-bars glistening in the sun. The town was hidden. They +heard no sound from it. And looking up the great Saskatchewan, the +river of mystery, of romance, of glamour, they saw before them, where +the spruce walls seemed to meet, the wide-open door through which they +might pass into the western land beyond. Keith pointed it out. And he +pointed out the yellow bars, the glistening shores of sand, and told +her how even as far as this, a thousand miles by river—those sands +brought gold with them from the mountains, the gold whose +treasure-house no man had ever found, and which must be hidden up there +somewhere near the river's end. His dream, like Duggan's, had been to +find it. Now they would search for it together. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly he was picking his way so that at last they came to the bit of +cleared timber in which was his old home. His heart choked him as they +drew near. There was an uncomfortable tightness in his breath. The +timber was no longer "clear." In four years younger generations of life +had sprung up among the trees, and the place was jungle-ridden. They +were within a few yards of the house before Mary Josephine saw it, and +then she stopped suddenly with a little gasp. For this that she faced +was not desertion, was not mere neglect. It was tragedy. She saw in an +instant that there was no life in this place, and yet it stood as if +tenanted. It was a log chateau with a great, red chimney rising at one +end curtains and shades still hung at the windows. There were three +chairs on the broad veranda that looked riverward. But two of the +windows were broken, and the chairs were falling into ruin. There was +no life. They were facing only the ghosts of life. +</P> + +<P> +A swift glance into Keith's face told her this was so. His lips were +set tight. There was a strange look in his face. Hand in hand they had +come up, and her fingers pressed his tighter now. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"It is John Keith's home as he left it four years ago," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +The suspicious break in his voice drew her eyes from the chateau to his +own again. She could see him fighting. There was a twitching in his +throat. His hand was gripping hers until it hurt. +</P> + +<P> +"John Keith?" she whispered softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, John Keith." +</P> + +<P> +She inclined her head so that it rested lightly and affectionately +against his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"You must have thought a great deal of him, Derry." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +He freed her hand, and his fists clenched convulsively. She could feel +the cording of the muscles in his arm, his face was white, and in his +eyes was a fixed stare that startled her. He fumbled in a pocket and +drew out a key. +</P> + +<P> +"I promised, when he died, that I would go in and take a last look for +him," he said. "He loved this place. Do you want to go with me?" +</P> + +<P> +She drew a deep breath. "Yes." +</P> + +<P> +The key opened the door that entered on the veranda. As it swung back, +grating on its rusty hinges, they found themselves facing the chill of +a cold and lifeless air. Keith stepped inside. A glance told him that +nothing was changed—everything was there in that room with the big +fireplace, even as he had left it the night he set out to force justice +from Judge Kirkstone. One thing startled him. On the dust-covered table +was a bowl and a spoon. He remembered vividly how he had eaten his +supper that night of bread and milk. It was the littleness of the +thing, the simplicity of it, that shocked him. The bowl and spoon were +still there after four years. He did not reflect that they were as +imperishable as all the other things about; the miracle was that they +were there on the table, as though he had used them only yesterday. The +most trivial things in the room struck him deepest, and he found +himself fighting hard, for a moment, to keep his nerve. +</P> + +<P> +"He told me about the bowl and the spoon, John Keith did," he said, +nodding toward them. "He told me just what I'd find here, even to that. +You see, he loved the place greatly and everything that was in it. It +was impossible for him to forget even the bowl and the spoon and where +he had left them." +</P> + +<P> +It was easier after that. The old home was whispering back its memories +to him, and he told them to Mary Josephine as they went slowly from +room to room, until John Keith was living there before her again, the +John Keith whom Derwent Conniston had run to his death. It was this +thing that gripped her, and at last what was in her mind found voice. +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't YOU who made him die, was it, Derry? It wasn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. It was the law. He died, as I told you, of a frosted lung. At the +last I would have shared my life with him had it been possible. +McDowell must never know that. You must never speak of John Keith +before him." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I understand, Derry." +</P> + +<P> +"And he must not know that we came here. To him John Keith was a +murderer whom it was his duty to hang." +</P> + +<P> +She was looking at him strangely. Never had he seen her look at him in +that way. +</P> + +<P> +"Derry," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Derry, IS JOHN KEITH ALIVE?" +</P> + +<P> +He started. The shock of the question was in his face. He caught +himself, but it was too late. And in an instant her hand was at his +mouth, and she was whispering eagerly, almost fiercely: +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, no—don't answer me, Derry! DON'T ANSWER ME! I know, and I +understand, and I'm glad, glad, GLAD! He's alive, and it was you who +let him live, the big, glorious brother I'm proud of! And everyone else +thinks he's dead. But don't answer me, Derry, don't answer me!" +</P> + +<P> +She was trembling against him. His arms closed about her, and he held +her nearer to his heart, and longer, than he had ever held her before. +He kissed her hair many times, and her lips once, and up about his neck +her arms twined softly, and a great brightness was in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," she whispered again. "I understand." +</P> + +<P> +"And I—I must answer you," he said. "I must answer you, because I love +you, and because you must know. Yes, John Keith is alive!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVI +</H3> + +<P> +An hour later, alone and heading for the inspector's office, Keith felt +in battle trim. His head was fairly singing with the success of the +morning. Since the opening of Conniston's chest many things had +happened, and he was no longer facing a blank wall of mystery. His +chief cause of exhilaration was Mary Josephine. She wanted to go away +with him. She wanted to go with him anywhere, everywhere, as long as +they were together. When she had learned that his term of enlistment +was about to expire and that if he remained in the Service he would be +away from her a great deal, she had pleaded with him not to reenlist. +She did not question him when he told her that it might be necessary to +go away very suddenly, without letting another soul know of their +movements, not even Wallie. Intuitively she guessed that the reason had +something to do with John Keith, for he had let the fear grow in her +that McDowell might discover he had been a traitor to the Service, in +which event the Law itself would take him away from her for a +considerable number of years. And with that fear she was more than ever +eager for the adventure, and planned with him for its consummation. +</P> + +<P> +Another thing cheered Keith. He was no longer the absolute liar of +yesterday, for by a fortunate chance he had been able to tell her that +John Keith was alive. This most important of all truths he had confided +to her, and the confession had roused in her a comradeship that had +proclaimed itself ready to fight for him or run away with him. Not for +an instant had she regretted the action he had taken in giving Keith +his freedom. He was peculiarly happy because of that. She was glad John +Keith was alive. +</P> + +<P> +And now that she knew the story of the old home down in the clump of +timber and of the man who had lived there, she was anxious to meet +Miriam Kirkstone, daughter of the man he had killed. Keith had promised +her they would go up that afternoon. Within himself he knew that he was +not sure of keeping the promise. There was much to do in the next few +hours, and much might happen. In fact there was but little speculation +about it. This was the big day. Just what it held for him he could not +be sure until he saw Shan Tung. Any instant might see him put to the +final test. +</P> + +<P> +Cruze was pacing slowly up and down the hall when Keith entered the +building in which McDowell had his offices. The young secretary's face +bore a perplexed and rather anxious expression. His hands were buried +deep in his trousers pockets, and he was puffing a cigarette. At +Keith's appearance he brightened up a bit. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't know what to make of the governor this morning, by Jove I +don't!" he explained, nodding toward the closed doors. "I've got +instructions to let no one near him except you. You may go in." +</P> + +<P> +"What seems to be the matter?" Keith felt out cautiously. +</P> + +<P> +Cruze shrugged his thin shoulders, nipped the ash from his cigarette, +and with a grimace said, "Shan Tung." +</P> + +<P> +"Shan Tung?" Keith spoke the name in a sibilant whisper. Every nerve in +him had jumped, and for an instant he thought he had betrayed himself. +Shan Tung had been there early. And now McDowell was waiting for him +and had given instructions that no other should be admitted. If the +Chinaman had exposed him, why hadn't McDowell sent officers up to the +Shack? That was the first question that jumped into his head. The +answer came as quickly—McDowell had not sent officers because, hating +Shan Tung, he had not believed his story. But he was waiting there to +investigate. A chill crept over Keith. +</P> + +<P> +Cruze was looking at him intently. +</P> + +<P> +"There's something to this Shan Tung business," he said. "It's even +getting on the old man's nerves. And he's very anxious to see you, Mr. +Conniston. I've called you up half a dozen times in the last hour." +</P> + +<P> +He nipped away his cigarette, turned alertly, and moved toward the +inspector's door. Keith wanted to call him back, to leap upon him, if +necessary, and drag him away from that deadly door. But he neither +moved nor spoke until it was too late. The door opened, he heard Cruze +announce his presence, and it seemed to him the words were scarcely out +of the secretary's mouth when McDowell himself stood in the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in, Conniston," he said quietly. "Come in." +</P> + +<P> +It was not McDowell's voice. It was restrained, terrible. It was the +voice of a man speaking softly to cover a terrific fire raging within. +Keith felt himself doomed. Even as he entered, his mind was swiftly +gathering itself for the last play, the play he had set for himself if +the crisis came. He would cover McDowell, bind and gag him even as +Cruze sauntered in the hall, escape through a window, and with Mary +Josephine bury himself in the forests before pursuit could overtake +them. Therefore his amazement was unbounded when McDowell, closing the +door, seized his hand in a grip that made him wince, and shook it with +unfeigned gladness and relief. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not condemning you, of course," he said. "It was rather beastly of +me to annoy your sister before you were up this morning. She flatly +refused to rouse you, and by George, the way she said it made me turn +the business of getting into touch with you over to Cruze. Sit down, +Conniston. I'm going to explode a mine under you." +</P> + +<P> +He flung himself into his swivel chair and twisted one of his fierce +mustaches, while his eyes blazed at Keith. Keith waited. He saw the +other was like an animal ready to spring and anxious to spring, the one +evident stricture on his desire being that there was nothing to spring +at unless it was himself. +</P> + +<P> +"What happened last night?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Keith's mind was already working swiftly. McDowell's question gave him +the opportunity of making the first play against Shan Tung. +</P> + +<P> +"Enough to convince me that I am going to see Shan Tung today," he said. +</P> + +<P> +He noticed the slow clenching and unclenching of McDowell's fingers +about the arms of his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Then—I was right?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have every reason to believe you were—up to a certain point. I +shall know positively when I have talked with Shan Tung." +</P> + +<P> +He smiled grimly. McDowell's eyes were no harder than his own. The iron +man drew a deep breath and relaxed a bit in his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"If anything should happen," he said, looking away from Keith, as +though the speech were merely casual, "if he attacks you—" +</P> + +<P> +"It might be necessary to kill him in self-defense," finished Keith. +</P> + +<P> +McDowell made no sign to show that he had heard, yet Keith thrilled +with the conviction that he had struck home. He went on telling briefly +what had happened at Miriam Kirkstone's house the preceding night. +McDowell's face was purple when he described the evidences of Shan +Tung's presence at the house on the hill, but with a mighty effort he +restrained his passion. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it, that's it," he exclaimed, choking back his wrath. "I knew +he was there! And this morning both of them lie about it—both of them, +do you understand! She lied, looking me straight in the eyes. And he +lied, and for the first time in his life he laughed at me, curse me if +he didn't! It was like the gurgle of oil. I didn't know a human could +laugh that way. And on top of that he told me something that I WON'T +believe, so help me God, I won't!" +</P> + +<P> +He jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth, his hands +clenched behind him. Suddenly he whirled on Keith. +</P> + +<P> +"Why in heaven's name didn't you bring Keith back with you, or, if not +Keith, at least a written confession, signed by him?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +This was a blow from behind for Keith. "What—what has Keith got to do +with this?" he stumbled. +</P> + +<P> +"More than I dare tell you, Conniston. But WHY didn't you bring back a +signed confession from him? A dying man is usually willing to make +that." +</P> + +<P> +"If he is guilty, yes," agreed Keith. "But this man was a different +sort. If he killed Judge Kirkstone, he had no regret. He did not +consider himself a criminal. He felt that he had dealt out justice in +his own way, and therefore, even when he was dying, he would not sign +anything or state anything definitely." +</P> + +<P> +McDowell subsided into his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"And the curse of it is I haven't a thing on Shan Tung," he gritted. +"Not a thing. Miriam Kirkstone is her own mistress, and in the eyes of +the law he is as innocent of crime as I am. If she is voluntarily +giving herself as a victim to this devil, it is her own +business—legally, you understand. Morally—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped, his savagely gleaming eyes boring Keith to the marrow. +</P> + +<P> +"He hates you as a snake hates fire-water. It is possible, if he +thought the opportunity had come to him—" +</P> + +<P> +Again he paused, cryptic, waiting for the other to gather the thing he +had not spoken. Keith, simulating two of Conniston's tricks at the same +time, shrugged a shoulder and twisted a mustache as he rose to his +feet. He smiled coolly down at the iron man. For once he gave a +passable imitation of the Englishman. +</P> + +<P> +"And he's going to have the opportunity today," he said +understandingly. "I think, old chap, I'd better be going. I'm rather +anxious to see Shan Tung before dinner." +</P> + +<P> +McDowell followed him to the door. +</P> + +<P> +His face had undergone a change. There was a tense expectancy, almost +an eagerness there. Again he gripped Keith's hand, and before the door +opened he said, +</P> + +<P> +"If trouble comes between you let it be in the open, Conniston—in the +open and not on Shan Tung's premises." +</P> + +<P> +Keith went out, his pulse quickening to the significance of the iron +man's words, and wondering what the "mine" was that McDowell had +promised to explode, but which he had not. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVII +</H3> + +<P> +Keith lost no time in heading for Shan Tung's. He was like a man +playing chess, and the moves were becoming so swift and so intricate +that his mind had no rest. Each hour brought forth its fresh +necessities and its new alternatives. It was McDowell who had given him +his last cue, perhaps the surest and safest method of all for winning +his game. The iron man, that disciple of the Law who was merciless in +his demand of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, had let him +understand that the world would be better off without Shan Tung. This +man, who never in his life had found an excuse for the killer, now +maneuvered subtly the suggestion for a killing. +</P> + +<P> +Keith was both shocked and amazed. "If anything happens, let it be in +the open and not on Shan Tung's premises," he had warned him. That +implied in McDowell's mind a cool and calculating premeditation, the +assumption that if Shan Tung was killed it would be in self-defense. +And Keith's blood leaped to the thrill of it. He had not only found the +depths of McDowell's personal interest in Miriam Kirkstone, but a last +weapon had been placed in his hands, a weapon which he could use this +day if it became necessary. Cornered, with no other hope of saving +himself, he could as a last resort kill Shan Tung—and McDowell would +stand behind him! +</P> + +<P> +He went directly to Shan Tung's cafe and sauntered in. There were large +changes in it since four years ago. The moment he passed through its +screened vestibule, he felt its oriental exclusiveness, the sleek and +mysterious quietness of it. One might have found such a place catering +to the elite of a big city. It spoke sumptuously of a large expenditure +of money, yet there was nothing bizarre or irritating to the senses. +Its heavily-carved tables were almost oppressive in their solidity. +Linen and silver, like Shan Tung himself, were immaculate. +Magnificently embroidered screens were so cleverly arranged that one +saw not all of the place at once, but caught vistas of it. The few +voices that Keith heard in this pre-lunch hour were subdued, and the +speakers were concealed by screens. Two orientals, as immaculate as the +silver and linen, were moving about with the silence of velvet-padded +lynxes. A third, far in the rear, stood motionless as one of the carven +tables, smoking a cigarette and watchful as a ferret. This was Li King, +Shan Tung's right-hand man. +</P> + +<P> +Keith approached him. When he was near enough, Li King gave the +slightest inclination to his head and took the cigarette from his +mouth. Without movement or speech he registered the question, "What do +you want?" +</P> + +<P> +Keith knew this to be a bit of oriental guile. In his mind there was no +doubt that Li King had been fully instructed by his master and that he +had been expecting him, even watching for him. Convinced of this, he +gave him one of Conniston's cards and said, +</P> + +<P> +"Take this to Shan Tung. He is expecting me." +</P> + +<P> +Li King looked at the card, studied it for a moment with apparent +stupidity, and shook his head. "Shan Tung no home. Gone away." +</P> + +<P> +That was all. Where he had gone or when he would return Keith could not +discover from Li King. Of all other matters except that he had gone +away the manager of Shan Tung's affairs was ignorant. Keith felt like +taking the yellow-skinned hypocrite by the throat and choking something +out of him, but he realized that Li King was studying and watching him, +and that he would report to Shan Tung every expression that had passed +over his face. So he looked at his watch, bought a cigar at the glass +case near the cash register, and departed with a cheerful nod, saying +that he would call again. +</P> + +<P> +Ten minutes later he determined on a bold stroke. There was no time for +indecision or compromise. He must find Shan Tung and find him quickly. +And he believed that Miriam Kirkstone could give him a pretty good tip +as to his whereabouts. He steeled himself to the demand he was about to +make as he strode up to the house on the hill. He was disappointed +again. Miss Kirkstone was not at home. If she was, she did not answer +to his knocking and bell ringing. +</P> + +<P> +He went to the depot. No one he questioned had seen Shan Tung at the +west-bound train, the only train that had gone out that morning, and +the agent emphatically disclaimed selling him a ticket. Therefore he +had not gone far. Suspicion leaped red in Keith's brain. His +imagination pictured Shan Tung at that moment with Miriam Kirkstone, +and at the thought his disgust went out against them both. In this +humor he returned to McDowell's office. He stood before his chief, +leaning toward him over the desk table. This time he was the inquisitor. +</P> + +<P> +"Plainly speaking, this liaison is their business," he declared. +"Because he is yellow and she is white doesn't make it ours. I've just +had a hunch. And I believe in following hunches, especially when one +hits you good and hard, and this one has given me a jolt that means +something. Where is that big fat brother of hers?" +</P> + +<P> +McDowell hesitated. "It isn't a liaison," he temporized. "It's +one-sided—a crime against—" +</P> + +<P> +"WHERE IS THAT BIG FAT BROTHER?" With each word Keith emphasized his +demand with a thud of his fist on the table. "WHERE IS HE?" +</P> + +<P> +McDowell was deeply perturbed. Keith could see it and waited. +</P> + +<P> +After a moment of silence the iron man rose from the swivel chair, +walked to the window, gazed out for another moment, and walked back +again, twisting one of his big gray mustaches in a way that betrayed +the stress of his emotion. "Confound it, Conniston, you've got a mind +for seeking out the trivialities, and little things are sometimes the +most embarrassing." +</P> + +<P> +"And sometimes most important," added Keith. "For instance, it strikes +me as mighty important that we should know where Peter Kirkstone is and +why he is not here fighting for his sister's salvation. Where is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. He disappeared from town a month ago. Miriam says he is +somewhere in British Columbia looking over some old mining properties. +She doesn't know just where." +</P> + +<P> +"And you believe her?" +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of the two men met. There was no longer excuse for +equivocation. Both understood. +</P> + +<P> +McDowell smiled in recognition of the fact. "No. I think, Conniston, +that she is the most wonderful little liar that lives. And the +beautiful part of it is, she is lying for a purpose. Imagine Peter +Kirkstone, who isn't worth the powder to blow him to Hades, interested +in old mines or anything else that promises industry or production! And +the most inconceivable thing about the whole mess is that Miriam +worships that fat and worthless pig of a brother. I've tried to find +him in British Columbia. Failed, of course. Another proof that this +affair between Miriam and Shan Tung isn't a voluntary liaison on her +part. She's lying. She's walking on a pavement of lies. If she told the +truth—" +</P> + +<P> +"There are some truths which one cannot tell about oneself," +interrupted Keith. "They must be discovered or buried. And I'm going +deeper into this prospecting and undertaking business this afternoon. +I've got another hunch. I think I'll have something interesting to +report before night." +</P> + +<P> +Ten minutes later, on his way to the Shack, he was discussing with +himself the modus operandi of that "hunch." It had come to him in an +instant, a flash of inspiration. That afternoon he would see Miriam +Kirkstone and question her about Peter. Then he would return to +McDowell, lay stress on the importance of the brother, tell him that he +had a clew which he wanted to follow, and suggest finally a swift trip +to British Columbia. He would take Mary Josephine, lie low until his +term of service expired, and then report by letter to McDowell that he +had failed and that he had made up his mind not to reenlist but to try +his fortunes with Mary Josephine in Australia. Before McDowell received +that letter, they could be on their way into the mountains. The "hunch" +offered an opportunity for a clean getaway, and in his jubilation +Miriam Kirkstone and her affairs were important only as a means to an +end. He was John Keith now, fighting for John Keith's life—and Derwent +Conniston's sister. +</P> + +<P> +Mary Josephine herself put the first shot into the fabric of his plans. +She must have been watching for him, for when halfway up the slope he +saw her coming to meet him. She scolded him for being away from her, as +he had expected her to do. Then she pulled his arm about her slim +little waist and held the hand thus engaged in both her own as they +walked up the winding path. He noticed the little wrinkles in her +adorable forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"Derry, is it the right thing for young ladies to call on their +gentlemen friends over here?" she asked suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why—er—that depends, Mary Josephine. You mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I do, Derwent Conniston! She's pretty, and I don't blame you, but +I can't help feeling that I don't like it!" +</P> + +<P> +His arm tightened about her until she gasped. The fragile softness of +her waist was a joy to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Derry!" she remonstrated. "If you do that again, I'll break!" +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't help it," he pleaded. "I couldn't, dear. The way you said +it just made my arm close up tight. I'm glad you didn't like it. I can +love only one at a time, and I'm loving you, and I'm going on loving +you all my life." +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't jealous," she protested, blushing. "But she called twice on +the telephone and then came up. And she's pretty." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you mean Miss Kirkstone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. She was frightfully anxious to see you, Derry." +</P> + +<P> +"And what did you think of her, dear?" +</P> + +<P> +She cast a swift look up into his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I like her. She's sweet and pretty, and I fell in love with her +hair. But something was troubling her this morning. I'm quite sure of +it, though she tried to keep it back." +</P> + +<P> +"She was nervous, you mean, and pale, with sometimes a frightened look +in her eyes. Was that it?" +</P> + +<P> +"You seem to know, Derry. I think it was all that." +</P> + +<P> +He nodded. He saw his horizon aglow with the smile of fortune. +Everything was coming propitiously for him, even this unexpected visit +of Miriam Kirkstone. He did not trouble himself to speculate as to the +object of her visit, for he was grappling now with his own opportunity, +his chance to get away, to win out for himself in one last +master-stroke, and his mind was concentrated in that direction. The +time was ripe to tell these things to Mary Josephine. She must be +prepared. +</P> + +<P> +On the flat table of the hill where Brady had built his bungalow were +scattered clumps of golden birch, and in the shelter of one of the +nearer clumps was a bench, to which Keith drew Mary Josephine. +Thereafter for many minutes he spoke his plans. Mary Josephine's cheeks +grew flushed. Her eyes shone with excitement and eagerness. She +thrilled to the story he told her of what they would do in those +wonderful mountains of gold and mystery, just they two alone. He made +her understand even more definitely that his safety and their mutual +happiness depended upon the secrecy of their final project, that in a +way they were conspirators and must act as such. They might start for +the west tonight or tomorrow, and she must get ready. +</P> + +<P> +There he should have stopped. But with Mary Josephine's warm little +hand clinging to his and her beautiful eyes shining at him like liquid +stars, he felt within him an overwhelming faith and desire, and he went +on, making a clean breast of the situation that was giving them the +opportunity to get away. He felt no prick of conscience at thought of +Miriam Kirkstone's affairs. Her destiny must be, as he had told +McDowell, largely a matter of her own choosing. Besides, she had +McDowell to fight for her. And the big fat brother, too. So without +fear of its effect he told Mary Josephine of the mysterious liaison +between Miriam Kirkstone and Shan Tung, of McDowell's suspicions, of +his own beliefs, and how it was all working out for their own good. +</P> + +<P> +Not until then did he begin to see the changing lights in her eyes. Not +until he had finished did he notice that most of that vivid flush of +joy had gone from her face and that she was looking at him in a +strained, tense way. He felt then the reaction. She was not looking at +the thing as he was looking at it. He had offered to her another +woman's tragedy as THEIR opportunity, and her own woman's heart had +responded in the way that has been woman's since the dawn of life. A +sense of shame which he fought and tried to crush took possession of +him. He was right. He must be right, for it was his life that was +hanging in the balance. Yet Mary Josephine could not know that. +</P> + +<P> +Her fingers had tightened about his, and she was looking away from him. +He saw now that the color had almost gone from her face. There was the +flash of a new fire in her yes. +</P> + +<P> +"And THAT was why she was nervous and pale, with sometimes a frightened +look in her eyes," she spoke softly, repeating his words. "It was +because of this Chinese monster, Shan Tung—because he has some sort of +power over her, you say—because—" +</P> + +<P> +She snatched her hand from his with a suddenness that startled him. Her +eyes, so beautiful and soft a few minutes before, scintillated fire. +"Derry, if you don't fix this heathen devil—I WILL!" +</P> + +<P> +She stood up before him, breathing quickly, and he beheld in her not +the soft, slim-waisted little goddess of half an hour ago, but the +fiercest fighter of all the fighting ages, a woman roused. And no +longer fear, but a glory swept over him. She was Conniston's sister, +AND SHE WAS CONNISTON. Even as he saw his plans falling about him, he +opened his arms and held them out to her, and with the swiftness of +love she ran into them, putting her hands to his face while he held her +close and kissed her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet we'll fix that heathen devil before we go," he said. "You bet +we will—SWEETHEART!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +Wallie, suffering the outrage of one who sees his dinner growing cold, +found Keith and Mary Josephine in the edge of the golden birch and +implored them to come and eat. It was a marvel of a dinner. Over Mary +Josephine's coffee and Keith's cigar they discussed their final plans. +Keith made the big promise that he would "fix Shan Tung" in a hurry, +perhaps that very afternoon. In the glow of Mary Josephine's proud eyes +he felt no task too large for him, and he was eager to be at it. But +when his cigar was half done, Mary Josephine came around and perched +herself on the arm of his chair, and began running her fingers through +his hair. All desire to go after Shan Tung left him. He would have +remained there forever. Twice she bent down and touched his forehead +lightly with her lips. Again his arm was round her soft little waist, +and his heart was pumping like a thing overworked. It was Mary +Josephine, finally, who sent him on his mission, but not before she +stood on tiptoe, her hands on his shoulders, giving him her mouth to +kiss. +</P> + +<P> +An army at his back could not have strengthened Keith with a vaster +determination than that kiss. There would be no more quibbling. His +mind was made up definitely on the point. And his first move was to +head straight for the Kirkstone house on the hill. +</P> + +<P> +He did not get as far as the door this time. He caught a vision of +Miriam Kirkstone in the shrubbery, bareheaded, her hair glowing +radiantly in the sun. It occurred to him suddenly that it was her hair +that roused the venom in him when he thought of her as the property of +Shan Tung. If it had been black or even brown, the thought might not +have emphasized itself so unpleasantly in his mind. But that vivid gold +cried out against the crime, even against the girl herself. She saw him +almost in the instant his eyes fell upon her, and came forward quickly +to meet him. There was an eagerness in her face that told him his +coming relieved her of a terrific suspense. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry I wasn't at the Shack when you came, Miss Kirkstone," he +said, taking for a moment the hand she offered him. "I fancy you were +up there to see me about Shan Tung." +</P> + +<P> +He sent the shot bluntly, straight home. In the tone of his voice there +was no apology. He saw her grow cold, her eyes fixed on him staringly, +as though she not only heard his words but saw what was in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Wasn't that it, Miss Kirkstone?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded affirmatively, but her lips did not move. +</P> + +<P> +"Shan Tung," he repeated. "Miss Kirkstone, what is the trouble? Why +don't you confide in someone, in McDowell, in me, in—" +</P> + +<P> +He was going to say "your brother," but the suddenness with which she +caught his arm cut the words short. +</P> + +<P> +"Shan Tung has been to see him—McDowell?" she questioned excitedly. +"He has been there today? And he told him—" She stopped, breathing +quickly, her fingers tightening on his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what passed between them," said Keith. "But McDowell was +tremendously worked up about you. So am I. We might as well be frank, +Miss Kirkstone. There's something rotten in Denmark when two people +like you and Shan Tung mix up. And you are mixed; you can't deny it. +You have been to see Shan Tung late at night. He was in the house with +you the first night I saw you. More than that—HE IS IN YOUR HOUSE NOW!" +</P> + +<P> +She shrank back as if he had struck at her. "No, no, no," she cried. +"He isn't there. I tell you, he isn't!" +</P> + +<P> +"How am I to believe you?" demanded Keith. "You have not told the truth +to McDowell. You are fighting to cover up the truth. And we know it is +because of Shan Tung. WHY? I am here to fight for you, to help you. And +McDowell, too. That is why we must know. Miss Kirkstone, do you love +the Chinaman?" +</P> + +<P> +He knew the words were an insult. He had guessed their effect. As if +struck there suddenly by a painter's brush, two vivid spots appeared in +the girl's pale cheeks. She shrank back from him another step. Her eyes +blazed. Slowly, without turning their flame from his face, she pointed +to the edge of the shrubbery a few feet from where they were standing. +He looked. Twisted and partly coiled on the mold, where it had been +clubbed to death, was a little green grass snake. +</P> + +<P> +"I hate him—like that!" she said. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes came back to her. "Then for some reason known only to you and +Shan Tung you have sold or are intending to sell yourself to him!" +</P> + +<P> +It was not a question. It was an accusation. He saw the flush of anger +fading out of her cheeks. Her body relaxed, her head dropped, and +slowly she nodded in confirmation. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am going to sell myself to him." +</P> + +<P> +The astounding confession held him mute for a space. In the interval it +was the girl who became self-possessed. What she said next amazed him +still more. +</P> + +<P> +"I have confessed so much because I am positive that you will not +betray me. And I went up to the Shack to find you, because I want you +to help me find a story to tell McDowell. You said you would help me. +Will you?" +</P> + +<P> +He still did not speak, and she went on. +</P> + +<P> +"I am accepting that promise as granted, too. McDowell mistrusts, but +he must not know. You must help me there. You must help me for two or +three weeks, At the end of that time something may happen. He must be +made to have faith in me again. Do you understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Partly," said Keith. "You ask me to do this blindly, without knowing +why I am doing it, without any explanation whatever on your part except +that for some unknown and mysterious price you are going to sell +yourself to Shan Tung. You want me to cover and abet this monstrous +deal by hoodwinking the man whose suspicions threaten its consummation. +If there was not in my own mind a suspicion that you are insane, I +should say your proposition is as ludicrous as it is impossible. Having +that suspicion, it is a bit tragic. Also it is impossible. It is +necessary for you first to tell me why you are going to sell yourself +to Shan Tung." +</P> + +<P> +Her face was coldly white and calm again. But her hands trembled. He +saw her try to hide them, and pitied her. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I won't trouble you any more, for that, too, is impossible," she +said. "May I trust you to keep in confidence what I have told you? +Perhaps I have had too much faith in you for a reason which has no +reason, because you were with John Keith. John Keith was the one other +man who might have helped me." +</P> + +<P> +"And why John Keith? How could he have helped you?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. "If I told you that, I should be answering the +question which is impossible." +</P> + +<P> +He saw himself facing a checkmate. To plead, to argue with her, he knew +would profit him nothing. A new thought came to him, swift and +imperative. The end would justify the means. He clenched his hands. He +forced into his face a look that was black and vengeful. And he turned +it on her. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen to me," he cried. "You are playing a game, and so am I. +Possibly we are selfish, both of us, looking each to his own interests +with no thought of the other. Will you help me, if I help you?" +</P> + +<P> +Again he pitied her as he saw with what eager swiftness she caught at +his bait. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she nodded, catching her breath. "Yes, I will help you." +</P> + +<P> +His face grew blacker. He raised his clenched hands so she could see +them, and advanced a step toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"Then tell me this—would you care if something happened to Shan Tung? +Would you care if he died, if he was killed, if—" +</P> + +<P> +Her breath was coming faster and faster. Again the red spots blazed in +her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"WOULD YOU CARE?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"No—no—I wouldn't care. He deserves to die." +</P> + +<P> +"Then tell me where Shan Tung is. For my game is with him. And I +believe it is a bigger game than your game, for it is a game of life +and death. That is why I am interested in your affair. It is because I +am selfish, because I have my own score to settle, and because you can +help me. I shall ask you no more questions about yourself. And I shall +keep your secret and help you with McDowell if you will keep mine and +help me. First, where is Shan Tung?" +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated for barely an instant. "He has gone out of town. He will +be away for ten days." +</P> + +<P> +"But he bought no ticket; no one saw him leave by train." +</P> + +<P> +"No, he walked up the river. An auto was waiting for him. He will pass +through tonight on the eastbound train on his way to Winnipeg." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me why he is going to Winnipeg?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I cannot." +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his shoulders. "It is scarcely necessary to ask. I can +guess. It is to see your brother." +</P> + +<P> +Again he knew he had struck home. +</P> + +<P> +And yet she said, "No, it is not to see my brother." +</P> + +<P> +He held out his hand to her. "Miss Kirkstone, I am going to keep my +promise. I am going to help you with McDowell. Of course I demand my +price. Will you swear on your word of honor to let me know the moment +Shan Tung returns?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will let you know." +</P> + +<P> +Their hands clasped. Looking into her eyes, Keith saw what told him his +was not the greatest cross to bear. Miriam Kirkstone also was fighting +for her life, and as he turned to leave her, he said: +</P> + +<P> +"While there is life there is hope. In settling my score with Shan Tung +I believe that I shall also settle yours. It is a strong hunch, Miss +Kirkstone, and it's holding me tight. Ten days, Shan Tung, and then—" +</P> + +<P> +He left her, smiling. Miriam Kirkstone watched him go, her slim hands +clutched at her breast, her eyes aglow with a new thought, a new hope; +and as he heard the gate slam behind him, a sobbing cry rose in her +throat, and she reached out her hands as if to call him back, for +something was telling her that through this man lay the way to her +salvation. +</P> + +<P> +And her lips were moaning softly, "Ten days—ten days—and then—what?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIX +</H3> + +<P> +In those ten days all the wonders of June came up out of the south. +Life pulsed with a new and vibrant force. The crimson fire-flowers, +first of wild blooms to come after snow and frost, splashed the green +spaces with red. The forests took on new colors, the blue of the sky +grew nearer, and in men's veins the blood ran with new vigor and +anticipations. To Keith they were all this and more. Four years along +the rim of the Arctic had made it possible for him to drink to the full +the glory of early summer along the Saskatchewan. And to Mary Josephine +it was all new. Never had she seen a summer like this that was dawning, +that most wonderful of all the summers in the world, which comes in +June along the southern edge of the Northland. +</P> + +<P> +Keith had played his promised part. It was not difficult for him to +wipe away the worst of McDowell's suspicions regarding Miss Kirkstone, +for McDowell was eager to believe. When Keith told him that Miriam was +on the verge of a nervous breakdown simply because of certain trouble +into which Shan Tung had inveigled her brother, and that everything +would be straightened out the moment Shan Tung returned from Winnipeg, +the iron man seized his hands in a sudden burst of relief and gratitude. +</P> + +<P> +"But why didn't she confide in me, Conniston?" he complained. "Why +didn't she confide in me?" The anxiety in his voice, its note of +disappointment, were almost boyish. +</P> + +<P> +Keith was prepared. "Because—" +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated, as if projecting the thing in his mind. "McDowell, I'm in +a delicate position. You must understand without forcing me to say too +much. You are the last man in the world Miss Kirkstone wants to know +about her trouble until she has triumphed, and it is over. Delicacy, +perhaps; a woman's desire to keep something she is ashamed of from the +one man she looks up to above all other men—to keep it away from him +until she has cleared herself so that there is no suspicion. McDowell, +if I were you, I'd be proud of her for that." +</P> + +<P> +McDowell turned away, and for a space Keith saw the muscles in the back +of his neck twitching. +</P> + +<P> +"Derwent, maybe you've guessed, maybe you understand," he said after a +moment with his face still turned to the window. "Of course she will +never know. I'm too Old, old enough to be her father. But I've got the +right to watch over her, and if any man ever injures her—" +</P> + +<P> +His fists grew knotted, and softly Keith said behind him: +</P> + +<P> +"You'd possibly do what John Keith did to the man who wronged his +father. And because the Law is not always omniscient, it is also +possible that Shan Tung may have to answer in some such way. Until +then, until she comes to you of her own free will and with gladness in +her eyes tells you her own secret and why she kept it from you—until +she does that, I say, it is your part to treat her as if you had seen +nothing, guessed nothing, suspected nothing. Do that, McDowell, and +leave the rest to me." +</P> + +<P> +He went out, leaving the iron man still with his face to the window. +</P> + +<P> +With Mary Josephine there was no subterfuge. His mind was still +centered in his own happiness. He could not wipe out of his brain the +conviction that if he waited for Shan Tung he was waiting just so long +under the sword of Damocles, with a hair between him and doom. He hoped +that Miriam Kirkstone's refusal to confide in him and her reluctance to +furnish him with the smallest facts in the matter would turn Mary +Josephine's sympathy into a feeling of indifference if not of actual +resentment. He was disappointed. Mary Josephine insisted on having Miss +Kirkstone over for dinner the next day, and from that hour something +grew between the two girls which Keith knew he was powerless to +overcome. Thereafter he bowed his head to fate. He must wait for Shan +Tung. +</P> + +<P> +"If it wasn't for your promise not to fall in love, I'd be afraid," +Mary Josephine confided to him that night, perched on the arm of his +big chair. "At times I was afraid today, Derry. She's lovely. And you +like pretty hair—and hers—is wonderful!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't remember," said Keith quietly, "that I promised you I wouldn't +fall in love. I'm desperately in love, and with you, Mary Josephine. +And as for Miss Kirkstone's lovely hair—I wouldn't trade one of yours +for all she has on her head." +</P> + +<P> +At that, with a riotous little laugh of joy, Mary Josephine swiftly +unbound her hair and let it smother about his face and shoulders. +"Sometimes I have a terribly funny thought, Derry," she whispered. "If +we hadn't always been sweethearts, back there at home, and if you +hadn't always liked my hair, and kissed me, and told me I was pretty, +I'd almost think you weren't my brother!" +</P> + +<P> +Keith laughed and was glad that her hair covered his face. During those +wonderful first days of the summer they were inseparable, except when +matters of business took Keith away. During these times he prepared for +eventualities. The Keith properties in Prince Albert, he estimated, +were worth at least a hundred thousand dollars, and he learned from +McDowell that they would soon go through a process of law before being +turned over to his fortunate inheritors. Before that time, however, he +knew that his own fate would be sealed one way or the other, and now +that he had Mary Josephine to look after, he made a will, leaving +everything to her, and signing himself John Keith. This will he carried +in an envelope pinned inside his shirt. As Derwent Conniston he +collected one thousand two hundred and sixty dollars for three and a +half years back wage in the Service. Two hundred and sixty of this he +kept in his own pocket. The remaining thousand he counted out in new +hundred-dollar bills under Mary Josephine's eyes, sealed the bills in +another envelope, and gave the envelope to her. +</P> + +<P> +"It's safer with you than with me," he excused himself. "Fasten it +inside your dress. It's our grub-stake into the mountains." +</P> + +<P> +Mary Josephine accepted the treasure with the repressed delight of one +upon whose fair shoulders had been placed a tremendous responsibility. +</P> + +<P> +There were days of both joy and pain for Keith. For even in the fullest +hours of his happiness there was a thing eating at his heart, a thing +that was eating deeper and deeper until at times it was like a +destroying flame within him. One night he dreamed; he dreamed that +Conniston came to his bedside and wakened him, and that after wakening +him he taunted him in ghoulish glee and told him that in bequeathing +him a sister he had given unto him forever and forever the curse of the +daughters of Achelous. And Keith, waking in the dark hour of night, +knew in his despair that it was so. For all time, even though he won +this fight he was fighting, Mary Josephine would be the unattainable. A +sister—and he loved her with the love of a man! +</P> + +<P> +It was the next day after the dream that they wandered again into the +grove that sheltered Keith's old home, and again they entered it and +went through the cold and empty rooms. In one of these rooms he sought +among the titles of dusty rows of books until he came to one and opened +it. And there he found what had been in the corner of his mind when the +sun rose to give him courage after the night of his dream. The +daughters of Achelous had lost in the end. Ulysses had tricked them. +Ulysses had won. And in this day and age it was up to him, John Keith, +to win, and win he would! +</P> + +<P> +Always he felt this mastering certainty of the future when alone with +Mary Josephine in the open day. With her at his side, her hand in his, +and his arm about her waist, he told himself that all life was a +lie—that there was no earth, no sun, no song or gladness in all the +world, if that world held no hope for him. It was there. It was beyond +the rim of forest. It was beyond the yellow plains, beyond the farthest +timber of the farthest prairie, beyond the foothills; in the heart of +the mountains was its abiding place. As he had dreamed of those +mountains in boyhood and youth, so now he dreamed his dreams over again +with Mary Josephine. For her he painted his pictures of them, as they +wandered mile after mile up the shore of the Saskatchewan—the little +world they would make all for themselves, how they would live, what +they would do, the mysteries they would seek out, the triumphs they +would achieve, the glory of that world—just for two. And Mary +Josephine planned and dreamed with him. +</P> + +<P> +In a week they lived what might have been encompassed in a year. So it +seemed to Keith, who had known her only so long. With Mary Josephine +the view-point was different. There had been a long separation, a +separation filled with a heartbreak which she would never forget, but +it had not served to weaken the bonds between her and this loved one, +who, she thought, had always been her own. To her their comradeship was +more complete now than it ever had been, even back in the old days, for +they were alone in a land that was strange to her, and one was all that +the world held for the other. So her possessorship of Keith was a thing +which—again in the dark and brooding hours of night—sometimes made +him writhe in an agony of shame. Hers was a shameless love, a love +which had not even the lover's reason for embarrassment, a love +unreserved and open as the day. It was her trick, nights, to nestle +herself in the big armchair with him, and it was her fun to smother his +face in her hair and tumble it about him, piling it over his mouth and +nose until she made him plead for air. Again she would fit herself +comfortably in the hollow of his arm and sit the evening out with her +head on his shoulder, while they planned their future, and twice in +that week she fell asleep there. Each morning she greeted him with a +kiss, and each night she came to him to be kissed, and when it was her +pleasure she kissed him—or made him kiss her—when they were on their +long walks. It was bitter-sweet to Keith, and more frequently came the +hours of crushing desolation for him, those hours in the still, dark +night when his hypocrisy and his crime stood out stark and hideous in +his troubled brain. +</P> + +<P> +As this thing grew in him, a black and foreboding thunderstorm on the +horizon of his dreams, an impulse which he did not resist dragged him +more and more frequently down to the old home, and Mary Josephine was +always with him. They let no one know of these visits. And they talked +about John Keith, and in Mary Josephine's eyes he saw more than once a +soft and starry glow of understanding. She loved the memory of this man +because he, her brother, had loved him. And after these hours came the +nights when truth, smiling at him, flung aside its mask and stood a +grinning specter, and he measured to the depths the falseness of his +triumph. His comfort was the thought that she knew. Whatever happened, +she would know what John Keith had been. For he, John Keith, had told +her. So much of the truth had he lived. +</P> + +<P> +He fought against the new strain that was descending upon him slowly +and steadily as the days passed. He could not but see the new light +that had grown in Miriam Kirkstone's eyes. At times it was more than a +dawn of hope. It was almost certainty. She had faith in him, faith in +his promise to her, in his power to fight, his strength to win. Her +growing friendship with Mary Josephine accentuated this, inspiring her +at times almost to a point of conviction, for Mary Josephine's +confidence in him was a passion. Even McDowell, primarily a fighter of +his own battles, cautious and suspicious, had faith in him while he +waited for Shan Tung. It was this blind belief in him that depressed +him more than all else, for he knew that victory for himself must be +based more or less on deceit and treachery. For the first time he heard +Miriam laugh with Mary Josephine; he saw the gold and the brown head +together out in the sun; he saw her face shining with a light that he +had never seen there before, and then, when he came upon them, their +faces were turned to him, and his heart bled even as he smiled and held +out his hands to Mary Josephine. They trusted him, and he was a liar, a +hypocrite, a Pharisee. +</P> + +<P> +On the ninth day he had finished supper with Mary Josephine when the +telephone rang. He rose to answer it. It was Miriam Kirkstone. +</P> + +<P> +"He has returned," she said. +</P> + +<P> +That was all. The words were in a choking voice. He answered and hung +up the receiver. He knew a change had come into his face when he turned +to Mary Josephine. He steeled himself to a composure that drew a +questioning tenseness into her face. Gently he stroked her soft hair, +explaining that Shan Tung had returned and that he was going to see +him. In his bedroom he strapped his Service automatic under his coat. +</P> + +<P> +At the door, ready to go, he paused. Mary Josephine came to him and put +her hands to his shoulders. A strange unrest was in her eyes, a +question which she did not ask. +</P> + +<P> +Something whispered to him that it was the last time. Whatever happened +now, tonight must leave him clean. His arms went around her, he drew +her close against his breast, and for a space he held her there, +looking into her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You love me?" he asked softly. +</P> + +<P> +"More than anything else in the world," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Kiss me, Mary Josephine." +</P> + +<P> +Her lips pressed to his. +</P> + +<P> +He released her from his arms, slowly, lingeringly. +</P> + +<P> +After that she stood in the lighted doorway, watching him, until he +disappeared in the gloom of the slope. She called good-by, and he +answered her. The door closed. +</P> + +<P> +And he went down into the valley, a hand of foreboding gripping at his +heart. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XX +</H3> + +<P> +With a face out of which all color had fled, and eyes filled with the +ghosts of a new horror, Miriam Kirkstone stood before Keith in the big +room in the house on the hill. +</P> + +<P> +"He was here—ten minutes," she said, and her voice was as if she was +forcing it out of a part of her that was dead and cold. It was +lifeless, emotionless, a living voice and yet strange with the chill of +death. "In those ten minutes he told me—that! If you fail—" +</P> + +<P> +It was her throat that held him, fascinated him. White, slim, +beautiful—her heart seemed pulsing there. And he could see that heart +choke back the words she was about to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"If I fail—" he repeated the words slowly after her, watching that +white, beating throat. +</P> + +<P> +"There is only the one thing left for me to do. You—you—understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I understand. Therefore I shall not fail." +</P> + +<P> +He backed away from her toward the door, and still he could not take +his eyes from the white throat with its beating heart. "I shall not +fail," he repeated. "And when the telephone rings, you will be here—to +answer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, here," she replied huskily. +</P> + +<P> +He went out. Under his feet the gravelly path ran through a flood of +moonlight. Over him the sky was agleam with stars. It was a white +night, one of those wonderful gold-white nights in the land of the +Saskatchewan. Under that sky the world was alive. The little city lay +in a golden glimmer of lights. Out of it rose a murmur, a rippling +stream of sound, the voice of its life, softened by the little valley +between. Into it Keith descended. He passed men and women, laughing, +talking, gay. He heard music. The main street was a moving throng. On a +corner the Salvation Army, a young woman, a young man, a crippled boy, +two young girls, and an old man, were singing "Nearer, My God, to +Thee." Opposite the Board of Trade building on the edge of the river a +street medicine-fakir had drawn a crowd to his wagon. To the beat of +the Salvation Army's tambourine rose the thrum of a made-up negro's +banjo. +</P> + +<P> +Through these things Keith passed, his eyes open, his ears listening, +but he passed swiftly. What he saw and what he heard pressed upon him +with the chilling thrill of that last swan-song, the swan-song of Ecla, +of Kobat, of Ty, who had heard their doom chanted from the +mountain-tops. It was the city rising up about his cars in rejoicing +and triumph. And it put in his heart a cold, impassive anger. He sensed +an impending doom, and yet he was not afraid. He was no longer chained +by dreams, no more restrained by self. Before his eyes, beating, +beating, beating, he saw that tremulous heart in Miriam Kirkstone's +soft, white throat. +</P> + +<P> +He came to Shan Tung's. Beyond the softly curtained windows it was a +yellow glare of light. He entered and met the flow of life, the murmur +of voices and laughter, the tinkle of glasses, the scent of cigarette +smoke, and the fainter perfume of incense. And where he had seen him +last, as though he had not moved since that hour nine days ago, still +with his cigarette, still sphinx-like, narrow-eyed, watchful, stood Li +King. +</P> + +<P> +Keith walked straight to him. And this time, as he approached, Li King +greeted him with a quick and subtle smile. He nipped his cigarette to +the tiled floor. He was bowing, gracious. Tonight he was not stupid. +</P> + +<P> +"I have come to see Shan Tung," said Keith. +</P> + +<P> +He had half expected to be refused, in which event he was prepared to +use his prerogative as an officer of the law to gain his point. But Li +King did not hesitate. He was almost eager. And Keith knew that Shan +Tung was expecting him. +</P> + +<P> +They passed behind one of the screens and then behind another, until it +seemed to Keith their way was a sinuous twisting among screens. They +paused before a panel in the wall, and Li King pressed the black throat +of a long-legged, swan-necked bird with huge wings and the panel opened +and swung toward them. It was dark inside, but Li King turned on a +light. Through a narrow hallway ten feet in length he led the way, +unlocked a second door, and held it open, smiling at Keith. +</P> + +<P> +"Up there," he said. +</P> + +<P> +A flight of steps led upward and as Keith began to mount them the door +closed softly behind him. Li King accompanied him no further. +</P> + +<P> +He mounted the steps, treading softly. At the top was another door, and +this he opened as quietly as Li King had closed the one below him. +Again the omnipresent screens, and then his eyes looked out upon a +scene which made him pause in astonishment. It was a great room, a room +fifty feet long by thirty in width, and never before had he beheld such +luxury as it contained. His feet sank into velvet carpets, the walls +were hung richly with the golds and browns and crimsons of priceless +tapestries, and carven tables and divans of deep plush and oriental +chairs filled the space before him. At the far end was a raised dais, +and before this, illumined in candleglow, was a kneeling figure. He +noticed then that there were many candles burning, that the room was +lighted by candles, and that in their illumination the figure did not +move. He caught the glint of armors standing up, warrior like, against +the tapestries, and he wondered for a moment if the kneeling figure was +a heathen god made of wood. It was then that he smelled the odor of +frankincense; it crept subtly into his nostrils and his mouth, +sweetened his breath, and made him cough. +</P> + +<P> +At the far end, before the dais, the kneeling figure began to move. Its +arms extended slowly, they swept backward, then out again, and three +times the figure bowed itself and straightened, and with the movement +came a low, human monotone. It was over quickly. Probably two full +minutes had not passed since Keith had entered when the kneeling figure +sprang to its feet with the quickness of a cat, faced about, and stood +there, smiling and bowing and extending its hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Good evening, John Keith!" It was Shan Tung. An oriental gown fell +about him, draping him like a woman. It was a crimson gown, grotesquely +ornamented with embroidered peacocks, and it flowed and swept about him +in graceful undulations as he advanced, his footfalls making not the +sound of a mouse on the velvet floors. +</P> + +<P> +"Good evening, John Keith!" He was close, smiling, his eyes glowing, +his hand still outstretched, friendliness in his voice and manner. And +yet in that voice there was a purr, the purr of a cat watching its +prey, and in his eyes a glow that was the soft rejoicing of a triumph. +</P> + +<P> +Keith did not take the hand. He made as if he did not see it. He was +looking into those glowing, confident eyes of the Chinaman. A Chinaman! +Was it possible? Could a Chinaman possess that voice, whose very +perfection shamed him? +</P> + +<P> +Shan Tung seemed to read his thoughts. And what he found amused him, +and he bowed again, still smiling. "I am Shan Tung," he said with the +slightest inflection of irony. "Here—in my home—I am different. Do +you not recognize me?" +</P> + +<P> +He waved gracefully a hand toward a table on either side of which was a +chair. He seated himself, not waiting for Keith. Keith sat down +opposite him. Again he must have read what was in Keith's heart, the +desire and the intent to kill, for suddenly he clapped his hands, not +loudly, once—twice— +</P> + +<P> +"You will join me in tea?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Scarcely had he spoken when about them, on all sides of them it seemed +to Keith, there was a rustle of life. He saw tapestries move. Before +his eyes a panel became a door. There was a clicking, a stir as of +gowns, soft footsteps, a movement in the air. Out of the panel doorway +came a Chinaman with a cloth, napkins, and chinaware. Behind him +followed a second with tea-urn and a bowl, and with the suddenness of +an apparition, without sound or movement, a third was standing at +Keith's side. And still there was rustling behind, still there was the +whispering beat of life, and Keith knew that there were others. He did +not flinch, but smiled back at Shan Tung. A minute, no more, and the +soft-footed yellow men had performed their errands and were gone. +</P> + +<P> +"Quick service," he acknowledged. "VERY quick service. Shan Tung! But I +have my hand on something that is quicker!" +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly Shan Tung leaned over the table. "John Keith, you are a fool +if you came here with murder in your heart," he said. "Let us be +friends. It is best. Let us be friends." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXI +</H3> + +<P> +It was as if with a swiftness invisible to the eye a mask had dropped +from Shan Tung's face. Keith, preparing to fight, urging himself on to +the step which he believed he must take, was amazed. Shan Tung was +earnest. There was more than earnestness in his eyes, an anxiety, a +frankly revealed hope that Keith would meet him halfway. But he did not +offer his hand again. He seemed to sense, in that instant, the vast +gulf between yellow and white. He felt Keith's contempt, the spurning +contumely that was in the other's mind. Under the pallid texture of his +skin there began to burn a slow and growing flush. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" he said softly. In his flowing gown he seemed to glide to a +carven desk near at hand. He was back in a moment with a roll of +parchment in his hand. He sat down again and met Keith's eyes squarely +and in silence for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"We are both MEN, John Keith." His voice was soft and calm. His +tapering fingers with their carefully manicured nails fondled the roll +of parchment, and then unrolled it, and held it so the other could read. +</P> + +<P> +It was a university diploma. Keith stared. A strange name was scrolled +upon it, Kao Lung, Prince of Shantung. His mind leaped to the truth. He +looked at the other. +</P> + +<P> +The man he had known as Shan Tung met his eyes with a quiet, strange +smile, a smile in which there was pride, a flash of sovereignty, of a +thing greater than skins that were white. "I am Prince Kao," he said. +"That is my diploma. I am a graduate of Yale." +</P> + +<P> +Keith's effort to speak was merely a grunt. He could find no words. And +Kao, rolling up the parchment and forgetting the urn of tea that was +growing cold, leaned a little over the table again. And then it was, +deep in his narrowed, smoldering eyes, that Keith saw a devil, a +living, burning thing of passion, Kao's soul itself. And Kao's voice +was quiet, deadly. +</P> + +<P> +"I recognized you in McDowell's office," he said. "I saw, first, that +you were not Derwent Conniston. And then it was easy, so easy. Perhaps +you killed Conniston. I am not asking, for I hated Conniston. Some day +I should have killed him, if he had come back. John Keith, from that +first time we met, you were a dead man. Why didn't I turn you over to +the hangman? Why did I warn you in such a way that I knew you would +come to see me? Why did I save your life which was in the hollow of my +hand? Can you guess?" +</P> + +<P> +"Partly," replied Keith. "But go on. I am waiting." Not for an instant +had it enter his mind to deny that he was John Keith. Denial was folly, +a waste of time, and just now he felt that nothing in the world was +more precious to him than time. +</P> + +<P> +Kao's quick mind, scheming and treacherous though it was, caught his +view-point, and he nodded appreciatively. "Good, John Keith. It is +easily guessed. Your life is mine. I can save it. I can destroy it. And +you, in turn, can be of service to me. You help me, and I save you. It +is a profitable arrangement. And we both are happy, for you keep +Derwent Conniston's sister—and I—I get my golden-headed goddess, +Miriam Kirkstone!" +</P> + +<P> +"That much I have guessed," said Keith. "Go on!" For a moment Kao +seemed to hesitate, to study the cold, gray passiveness of the other's +face. "You love Derwent Conniston's sister," he continued in a voice +still lower and softer. "And I—I love my golden-headed goddess. See! +Up there on the dais I have her picture and a tress of her golden hair, +and I worship them." +</P> + +<P> +Colder and grayer was Keith's face as he saw the slumbering passion +burn fiercer in Kao's eyes. It turned him sick. It was a terrible thing +which could not be called love. It was a madness. But Kao, the man +himself, was not mad. He was a monster. And while the eyes burned like +two devils, his voice was still soft and low. +</P> + +<P> +"I know what you are thinking; I see what you are seeing," he said. +"You are thinking yellow, and you are seeing yellow. My skin! My +birthright! My—" He smiled, and his voice was almost caressing. +</P> + +<P> +"John Keith, in Pe-Chi-Li is the great city of Pekin, and Pe-Chi-Li is +the greatest province in all China. And second only to that is the +province of Shantung, which borders Pe-Chi-Li, the home of our Emperors +for more centuries than you have years. And for so many generations +that we cannot remember my forefathers have been rulers of Shantung. My +grandfather was a Mandarin with the insignia of the Eighth Order, and +my father was Ninth and highest of all Orders, with his palace at +Tsi-Nan, on the Yellow Sea. And I, Prince Kao, eldest of his sons, came +to America to learn American law and American ways. And I learned them, +John Keith. I returned, and with my knowledge I undermined a +government. For a time I was in power, and then this thing you call the +god of luck turned against me, and I fled for my life. But the blood is +still here—" he put his hand softly to his breast, "—the blood of a +hundred generations of rulers. I tell you this because you dare not +betray me, you dare not tell them who I am, though even that truth +could not harm me. I prefer to be known as Shan Tung. Only you—and +Miriam Kirkstone—have heard as much." +</P> + +<P> +Keith's blood was like fire, but his voice was cold as ice. "GO ON!" +</P> + +<P> +This time there could be no mistake. That cold gray of his passionless +face, the steely glitter in his eyes, were read correctly by Kao. His +eyes narrowed. For the first time a dull flame leaped into his +colorless cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, I told you this because I thought we would work together, +friends," he cried. "But it is not so. You, like my golden-headed +goddess, hate me! You hate me because of my yellow skin. You say to +yourself that I have a yellow heart. And she hates me, and she says +that—but she is mine, MINE!" He sprang suddenly to his feet and swept +about him with his flowing arms. "See what I have prepared for her! It +is here she will come, here she will live until I take her away. There, +on that dais, she will give up her soul and her beautiful body to +me—and you cannot help it, she cannot help it, all the world cannot +help it—AND SHE IS COMING TO ME TONIGHT!" +</P> + +<P> +"TONIGHT!" gasped John Keith. +</P> + +<P> +He, too, leaped to his feet. His face was ghastly. And Kao, in his +silken gown, was sweeping his arms about him. +</P> + +<P> +"See! The candles are lighted for her. They are waiting. And tonight, +when the town is asleep, she will come. AND IT IS YOU WHO WILL MAKE HER +COME, JOHN KEITH!" +</P> + +<P> +Facing the devils in Kao's eyes, within striking distance of a creature +who was no longer a man but a monster, Keith marveled at the coolness +that held him back. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is you who will at last give her soul and her beautiful body +to me," he repeated. "Come. I will show you how—and why!" +</P> + +<P> +He glided toward the dais. His hand touched a panel. It opened and in +the opening he turned about and waited for Keith. +</P> + +<P> +"Come!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +Keith, drawing a deep breath, his soul ready for the shock, his body +ready for action, followed him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXII +</H3> + +<P> +Into a narrow corridor, through a second door that seemed made of +padded wool, and then into a dimly lighted room John Keith followed +Kao, the Chinaman. Out of this room there was no other exit; it was +almost square, its ceiling was low, its walls darkly somber, and that +life was there Keith knew by the heaviness of cigarette smoke in the +air. For a moment his eyes did not discern the physical evidence of +that life. And then, staring at him out of the yellow glow, he saw a +face. It was a haunting, terrible face, a face heavy and deeply lined +by sagging flesh and with eyes sunken and staring. They were more than +staring. They greeted Keith like living coals. Under the face was a +human form, a big, fat, sagging form that leaned outward from its seat +in a chair. +</P> + +<P> +Kao, bowing, sweeping his flowing raiment with his arms, said, "John +Keith, allow me to introduce you to Peter Kirkstone." +</P> + +<P> +For the first time amazement, shock, came to Keith's lips in an audible +cry. He advanced a step. Yes, in that pitiable wreck of a man he +recognized Peter Kirkstone, the fat creature who had stood under the +picture of the Madonna that fateful night, Miriam Kirkstone's brother! +</P> + +<P> +And as he stood, speechless, Kao said: "Peter Kirkstone, you know why I +have brought this man to you tonight. You know that he is not Derwent +Conniston. You know that he is John Keith, the murderer of your father. +Is it not so?" +</P> + +<P> +The thick lips moved. The voice was husky—"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"He does not believe. So I have brought him that he may listen to you. +Peter Kirkstone, is it your desire that your sister, Miriam, give +herself to me, Prince Kao, tonight?" +</P> + +<P> +Again the thick lips moved. This time Keith saw the effort. He +shuddered. He knew these questions and answers had been prepared. A +doomed man was speaking. +</P> + +<P> +And the voice came, choking, "Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"WHY?" +</P> + +<P> +The terrible face of Peter Kirkstone seemed to contort. He looked at +Kao. And Kao's eyes were shining in that dull room like the eyes of a +snake. +</P> + +<P> +"Because—it will save my life." +</P> + +<P> +"And why will it save your life?" +</P> + +<P> +Again that pause, again the sickly, choking effort. "Because—I HAVE +KILLED A MAN." +</P> + +<P> +Bowing, smiling, rustling, Kao turned to the door. "That is all, Peter +Kirkstone. Good night. John Keith, will you follow me?" +</P> + +<P> +Dumbly Keith followed through the dark corridor, into the big room +mellow with candle-glow, back to the table with its mocking tea-urn and +chinaware. He felt a thing like clammy sweat on his back. He sat down. +And Kao sat opposite him again. +</P> + +<P> +"That is the reason, John Keith. Peter Kirkstone, her brother, is a +murderer, a cold-blooded murderer. And only Miriam Kirkstone and your +humble servant, Prince Kao, know his secret. And to buy my secret, to +save his life, the golden-headed goddess is almost ready to give +herself to me—almost, John Keith. She will decide tonight, when you go +to her. She will come. Yes, she will come tonight. I do not fear. I +have prepared for her the candles, the bridal dais, the nuptial supper. +Oh, she will come. For if she does not, if she fails, with tomorrow's +dawn Peter Kirkstone and John Keith both go to the hangman!" +</P> + +<P> +Keith, in spite of the horror that had come over him, felt no +excitement. The whole situation was clear to him now, and there was +nothing to be gained by argument, no possibility of evasion. Kao held +the winning hand, the hand that put him back to the wall in the face of +impossible alternatives. These alternatives flashed upon him swiftly. +There were two and only two—flight, and alone, without Mary Josephine; +and betrayal of Miriam Kirkstone. Just how Kao schemed that he should +accomplish that betrayal, he could not guess. +</P> + +<P> +His voice, like his face, was cold and strange when it answered the +Chinaman; it lacked passion; there was no emphasis, no inflection that +gave to one word more than to another. And Keith, listening to his own +voice, knew what it meant. He was cold inside, cold as ice, and his +eyes were on the dais, the sacrificial altar that Kao had prepared, +waiting in the candleglow. On the floor of that dais was a great splash +of dull-gold altar cloth, and it made him think of Miriam Kirkstone's +unbound and disheveled hair strewn in its outraged glory over the thing +Kao had prepared for her. +</P> + +<P> +"I see. It is a trade, Kao. You are offering me my life in return for +Miriam Kirkstone." +</P> + +<P> +"More than that, John Keith. Mine is the small price. And yet it is +great to me, for it gives me the golden goddess. But is she more to me +than Derwent Conniston's sister may be to you? Yes, I am giving you +her, and I am giving you your life, and I am giving Peter Kirkstone his +life—all for ONE." +</P> + +<P> +"For one," repeated Keith. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, for one." +</P> + +<P> +"And I, John Keith, in some mysterious way unknown to me at present, am +to deliver Miriam Kirkstone to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And yet, if I should kill you, now—where you sit—" +</P> + +<P> +Kao shrugged his slim shoulders, and Keith heard that soft, gurgling +laugh that McDowell had said was like the splutter of oil. +</P> + +<P> +"I have arranged. It is all in writing. If anything should happen to +me, there are messengers who would carry it swiftly. To harm me would +be to seal your own doom. Besides, you would not leave here alive. I am +not afraid." +</P> + +<P> +"How am I to deliver Miriam Kirkstone to you?" +</P> + +<P> +Kao leaned forward, his fingers interlacing eagerly. "Ah, NOW you have +asked the question, John Keith! And we shall be friends, great friends, +for you see with the eyes of wisdom. It will be easy, so easy that you +will wonder at the cheapness of the task. Ten days ago Miriam Kirkstone +was about to pay my price. And then you came. From that moment she saw +you in McDowell's office, there was a sudden change. Why? I don't know. +Perhaps because of that thing you call intuition but to which we give a +greater name. Perhaps only because you were the man who had run down +her father's murderer. I saw her that afternoon, before you went up at +night. Ah, yes, I could see, I could understand the spark that had +begun to grow in her, hope, a wild, impossible hope, and I prepared for +it by leaving you my message. I went away. I knew that in a few days +all that hope would be centered in you, that it would live and die in +you, that in the end it would be your word that would bring her to me. +And that word you must speak tonight. You must go to her, hope-broken. +You must tell her that no power on earth can save her, and that Kao +waits to make her a princess, that tomorrow will be too late, that +TONIGHT must the bargain be closed. She will come. She will save her +brother from the hangman, and you, in bringing her, will save John +Keith and keep Derwent Conniston's sister. Is it not a great reward for +the little I am asking?" +</P> + +<P> +It was Keith who now smiled into the eyes of the Chinaman, but it was a +smile that did not soften that gray and rock-like hardness that had +settled in his face. "Kao, you are a devil. I suppose that is a +compliment to your dirty ears. You're rotten to the core of the thing +that beats in you like a heart; you're a yellow snake from the skin in. +I came to see you because I thought there might be a way out of this +mess. I had almost made up my mind to kill you. But I won't do that. +There's a better way. In half an hour I'll be with McDowell, and I'll +beat you out by telling him that I'm John Keith. And I'll tell him this +story of Miriam Kirkstone from beginning to end. I'll tell him of that +dais you've built for her—your sacrificial altar!—and tomorrow Prince +Albert will rise to a man to drag you out of this hole and kill you as +they would kill a rat. That is my answer, you slit-eyed, Yale-veneered +yellow devil! I may die, and Peter Kirkstone may die, but you'll not +get Miriam Kirkstone!" +</P> + +<P> +He was on his feet when he finished, amazed at the calmness of his own +voice, amazed that his hands were steady and his brain was cool in this +hour of his sacrifice. And Kao was stunned. Before his eyes he saw a +white man throwing away his life. Here, in the final play, was a +master-stroke he had not foreseen. A moment before the victor, he was +now the vanquished. About him he saw his world falling, his power gone, +his own life suddenly hanging by a thread. In Keith's face he read the +truth. This white man was not bluffing. He would go to McDowell. He +would tell the truth. This man who had ventured so much for his own +life and freedom would now sacrifice that life to save a girl, one +girl! He could not understand, and yet he believed. For it was there +before his eyes in that gray, passionless face that was as inexorable +as the face of one of his own stone gods. +</P> + +<P> +As he uttered the words that smashed all that Kao had planned for, +Keith sensed rather than saw the swift change of emotion sweeping +through the yellow-visaged Moloch staring up at him. For a space the +oriental's evil eyes had widened, exposing wider rims of saffron white, +betraying his amazement, the shock of Keith's unexpected revolt, and +then the lids closed slowly, until only dark and menacing gleams of +fire shot between them, and Keith thought of the eyes of a snake. Swift +as the strike of a rattler Kao was on his feet, his gown thrown back, +one clawing hand jerking a derringer from his silken belt. In the same +breath he raised his voice in a sharp call. +</P> + +<P> +Keith sprang back. The snake-like threat in the Chinaman's eyes had +prepared him, and his Service automatic leaped from its holster with +lightning swiftness. Yet that movement was no swifter than the response +to Kao's cry. The panel shot open, the screens moved, tapestries +billowed suddenly as if moved by the wind, and Kao's servants sprang +forth and were at him like a pack of dogs. Keith had no time to judge +their number, for his brain was centered in the race with Kao's +derringer. He saw its silver mountings flash in the candle-glow, saw +its spurt of smoke and fire. But its report was drowned in the roar of +his automatic as it replied with a stream of lead and flame. He saw the +derringer fall and Kao crumple up like a jackknife. His brain turned +red as he swung his weapon on the others, and as he fired, he backed +toward the door. Then something caught him from behind, twisting his +head almost from his shoulders, and he went down. +</P> + +<P> +He lost his automatic. Weight of bodies was upon him; yellow hands +clutched for his throat; he felt hot breaths and heard throaty cries. A +madness of horror possessed him, a horror that was like the blind +madness of Laocoon struggling with his sons in the coils of the giant +serpent. In these moments he was not fighting men. They were monsters, +yellow, foul-smelling, unhuman, and he fought as Laocoon fought. As if +it had been a cane, he snapped the bone of an arm whose hand was +throttling him; he twisted back a head until it snapped between its +shoulders; he struck and broke with a blind fury and a giant strength, +until at last, torn and covered with blood, he leaped free and reached +the door. As he opened it and sprang through, he had the visual +impression that only two of his assailants were rising from the floor. +</P> + +<P> +For the space of a second he hesitated in the little hallway. Down the +stairs was light—and people. He knew that he was bleeding and his +clothes were torn, and that flight in that direction was impossible. At +the opposite end of the hall was a curtain which he judged must cover a +window. With a swift movement he tore down this curtain and found that +he was right. In another second he had crashed the window outward with +his shoulder, and felt the cool air of the night in his face. The door +behind him was still closed when he crawled out upon a narrow landing +at the top of a flight of steps leading down into the alley. He paused +long enough to convince himself that his enemies were making no effort +to follow him, and as he went down the steps, he caught himself grimly +chuckling. He had given them enough. +</P> + +<P> +In the darkness of the alley he paused again. A cool breeze fanned his +cheeks, and the effect of it was to free him of the horror that had +gripped him in his fight with the yellow men. Again the calmness with +which he had faced Kao possessed him. The Chinaman was dead. He was +sure of that. And for him there was not a minute to lose. +</P> + +<P> +After all, it was his fate. The game had been played, and he had lost. +There was one thing left undone, one play Conniston would still make, +if he were there. And he, too, would make it. It was no longer +necessary for him to give himself up to McDowell, for Kao was dead, and +Miriam Kirkstone was saved. It was still right and just for him to +fight for his life. But Mary Josephine must know FROM HIM. It was the +last square play he could make. +</P> + +<P> +No one saw him as he made his way through alleys to the outskirts of +the town. A quarter of an hour later he came up the slope to the Shack. +It was lighted, and the curtains were raised to brighten his way up the +hill. Mary Josephine was waiting for him. +</P> + +<P> +Again there came over him the strange and deadly calmness with which he +had met the tragedy of that night. He had tried to wipe the blood from +his face, but it was still there when he entered and faced Mary +Josephine. The wounds made by the razor-like nails of his assailants +were bleeding; he was hatless, his hair was disheveled, and his throat +and a part of his chest were bare where his clothes had been torn away. +As Mary Josephine came toward him, her arms reaching out to him, her +face dead white, he stretched out a restraining hand, and said, +</P> + +<P> +"Please wait, Mary Josephine!" +</P> + +<P> +Something stopped her—the strangeness of his voice, the terrible +hardness of his face, gray and blood-stained, the something appalling +and commanding in the way he had spoken. He passed her quickly on his +way to the telephone. Her lips moved; she tried to speak; one of her +hands went to her throat. He was calling Miriam Kirkstone's number! And +now she saw that his hands, too, were bleeding. There came the murmur +of a voice in the telephone. Someone answered. And then she heard him +say, +</P> + +<P> +"SHAN TUNG IS DEAD!" +</P> + +<P> +That was all. He hung up the receiver and turned toward her. With a +little cry she moved toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"DERRY—DERRY—" +</P> + +<P> +He evaded her and pointed to the big chair in front of the fireplace. +"Sit down, Mary Josephine." +</P> + +<P> +She obeyed him. Her face was whiter than he had thought a living face +could be, And then, from the beginning to the end, he told her +everything. Mary Josephine made no sound, and in the big chair she +seemed to crumple smaller and smaller as he confessed the great lie to +her, from the hour Conniston and he had traded identities in the little +cabin on the Barren. Until he died he knew she would haunt him as he +saw her there for the last time—her dead-white face, her great eyes, +her voiceless lips, her two little hands clutched at her breast as she +listened to the story of the great lie and his love for her. +</P> + +<P> +Even when he had done, she did not move or speak. He went into his +room, closed the door, and turned on the lights. Quickly he put into +his pack what he needed. And when he was ready, he wrote on a piece of +paper: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"A thousand times I repeat, 'I love you.' Forgive me if you can. If you +cannot forgive, you may tell McDowell, and the Law will find me up at +the place of our dreams—the river's end. +<BR><BR> + —John Keith."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +This last message he left on the table for Mary Josephine. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment he listened at the door. Outside there was no movement, no +sound. Quietly, then, he raised the window through which Kao had come +into his room. +</P> + +<P> +A moment later he stood under the light of the brilliant stars. Faintly +there came to him the sounds of the city, the sound of life, of gayety, +of laughter and of happiness, rising to him now from out of the valley. +</P> + +<P> +He faced the north. Down the side of the hill and over the valley lay +the forests. And through the starlight he strode back to them once +more, back to their cloisters and their heritage, the heritage of the +hunted and the outcast. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXIII +</H3> + +<P> +All through the starlit hours of that night John Keith trudged steadily +into the Northwest. For a long time his direction took him through +slashings, second-growth timber, and cleared lands; he followed rough +roads and worn trails and passed cabins that were dark and without life +in the silence of midnight. Twice a dog caught the stranger scent in +the air and howled; once he heard a man's voice, far away, raised in a +shout. Then the trails grew rougher. He came to a deep wide swamp. He +remembered that swamp, and before he plunged into it, he struck a match +to look at his compass and his watch. It took him two hours to make the +other side. He was in the deep and uncut timber then, and a sense of +relief swept over him. +</P> + +<P> +The forest was again his only friend. He did not rest. His brain and +his body demanded the action of steady progress, though it was not +through fear of what lay behind him. Fear had ceased to be a +stimulating part of him; it was even dead within him. It was as if his +energy was engaged in fighting for a principle, and the principle was +his life; he was following a duty, and this duty impelled him to make +his greatest effort. He saw clearly what he had done and what was ahead +of him. He was twice a killer of men now, and each time the killing had +rid the earth of a snake. This last time it had been an exceedingly +good job. Even McDowell would concede that, and Miriam Kirkstone, on +her knees, would thank God for what he had done. But Canadian law did +not split hairs like its big neighbor on the south. It wanted him at +least for Kirkstone's killing if not for that of Kao, the Chinaman. No +one, not even Mary Josephine, would ever fully realize what he had +sacrificed for the daughter of the man who had ruined his father. For +Mary Josephine would never understand how deeply he had loved her. +</P> + +<P> +It surprised him to find how naturally he fell back into his old habit +of discussing things with himself, and how completely and calmly he +accepted the fact that his home-coming had been but a brief and +wonderful interlude to his fugitivism. He did not know it at first, but +this calmness was the calmness of a despair more fatal than the menace +of the hangman. +</P> + +<P> +"They won't catch me," he encouraged himself. "And she won't tell them +where I'm going. No, she won't do that." He found himself repeating +that thought over and over again. Mary Josephine would not betray him. +He repeated it, not as a conviction, but to fight back and hold down +another thought that persisted in forcing itself upon him. And this +thing, that at times was like a voice within him, cried out in its +moments of life, "She hates you—and she WILL tell where you are going!" +</P> + +<P> +With each hour it was harder for him to keep that voice down; it +persisted, it grew stronger; in its intervals of triumph it rose over +and submerged all other thoughts in him. It was not his fear of her +betrayal that stabbed him; it was the underlying motive of it, the +hatred that would inspire it. He tried not to vision her as he had seen +her last, in the big chair, crushed, shamed, outraged—seeing in him no +longer the beloved brother, but an impostor, a criminal, a man whom she +might suspect of killing that brother for his name and his place in +life. But the thing forced itself on him. It was reasonable, and it was +justice. +</P> + +<P> +"But she won't do it," he told himself. "She won't do it." +</P> + +<P> +This was his fight, and its winning meant more to him than freedom. It +was Mary Josephine who would live with him now, and not Conniston. It +was her spirit that would abide with him, her voice he would hear in +the whispers of the night, her face he would see in the glow of his +lonely fires, and she must remain with him always as the Mary Josephine +he had known. So he crushed back the whispering voice, beat it down +with his hands clenched at his side, fought it through the hours of +that night with the desperation of one who fights for a thing greater +than life. +</P> + +<P> +Toward dawn the stars began to fade out of the sky. He had been +tireless, and he was tireless now. He felt no exhaustion. Through the +gray gloom that came before day he went on, and the first glow of sun +found him still traveling. Prince Albert and the Saskatchewan were +thirty miles to the south and east of him. +</P> + +<P> +He stopped at last on the edge of a little lake and unburdened himself +of his pack for the first time. He was glad that the premonition of +just such a sudden flight as this had urged him to fill his emergency +grub-sack yesterday morning. "Won't do any harm for us to be prepared," +he had laughed jokingly to Mary Josephine, and Mary Josephine herself +had made him double the portion of bacon because she was fond of it. It +was hard for him to slice that bacon without a lump rising in his +throat. Pork and love! He wanted to laugh, and he wanted to cry, and +between the two it was a queer, half-choked sound that came to his +lips. He ate a good breakfast, rested for a couple of hours, and went +on. At a more leisurely pace he traveled through most of the day, and +at night he camped. In the ten days following his flight from Prince +Albert he kept utterly out of sight. He avoided trappers' shacks and +trails and occasional Indians. He rid himself of his beard and shaved +himself every other day. Mary Josephine had never cared much for the +beard. It prickled. She had wanted him smooth-faced, and now he was +that. He looked better, too. But the most striking resemblance to +Derwent Conniston was gone. At the end of the ten days he was at Turtle +Lake, fifty miles east of Fort Pitt. He believed that he could show +himself openly now, and on the tenth day bartered with some Indians for +fresh supplies. Then he struck south of Fort Pitt, crossed the +Saskatchewan, and hit between the Blackfoot Hills and the Vermillion +River into the Buffalo Coulee country. In the open country he came upon +occasional ranches, and at one of these he purchased a pack-horse. At +Buffalo Lake he bought his supplies for the mountains, including fifty +steel traps, crossed the upper branch of the Canadian Pacific at night, +and the next day saw in the far distance the purple haze of the Rockies. +</P> + +<P> +It was six weeks after the night in Kao's place that he struck the +Saskatchewan again above the Brazeau. He did not hurry now. Just ahead +of him slumbered the mountains; very close was the place of his dreams. +But he was no longer impelled by the mighty lure of the years that were +gone. Day by day something had worn away that lure, as the ceaseless +grind of water wears away rock, and for two weeks he wandered slowly +and without purpose in the green valleys that lay under the snow-tipped +peaks of the ranges. He was gripped in the agony of an unutterable +loneliness, which fell upon and scourged him like a disease. It was a +deeper and more bitter thing than a yearning for companionship. He +might have found that. Twice he was near camps. Three times he saw +outfits coming out, and purposely drew away from them. He had no desire +to meet men, no desire to talk or to be troubled by talking. Day And +night his body and his soul cried out for Mary Josephine, and in his +despair he cursed those who had taken her away from him. It was a +crisis which was bound to come, and in his aloneness he fought it out. +Day after day he fought it, until his face and his heart bore the scars +of it. It was as if a being on whom he had set all his worship had +died, only it was worse than death. Dead, Mary Josephine would still +have been his inspiration; in a way she would have belonged to him. But +living, hating him as she must, his dreams of her were a sacrilege and +his love for her like the cut of a sword. In the end he was like a man +who had triumphed over a malady that would always leave its marks upon +him. In the beginning of the third week he knew that he had conquered, +just as he had triumphed in a similar way over death and despair in the +north. He would go into the mountains, as he had planned. He would +build his cabin. And if the Law came to get him, it was possible that +again he would fight. +</P> + +<P> +On the second day of this third week he saw advancing toward him a +solitary horseman. The stranger was possibly a mile away when he +discovered him, and he was coming straight down the flat of the valley. +That he was not accompanied by a pack-horse surprised Keith, for he was +bound out of the mountains and not in. Then it occurred to him that he +might be a prospector whose supplies were exhausted, and that he was +easing his journey by using his pack as a mount. Whoever and whatever +he was, Keith was not in any humor to meet him, and without attempting +to conceal himself he swung away from the river, as if to climb the +slope of the mountain on his right. No sooner had he clearly signified +the new direction he was taking, than the stranger deliberately altered +his course in a way to cut him off. Keith was irritated. Climbing up a +narrow terrace of shale, he headed straight up the slope, as if his +intention were to reach the higher terraces of the mountain, and then +he swung suddenly down into a coulee, where he was out of sight. Here +he waited for ten minutes, then struck deliberately and openly back +into the valley. He chuckled when he saw how cleverly his ruse had +worked. The stranger was a quarter of a mile up the mountain and still +climbing. +</P> + +<P> +"Now what the devil is he taking all that trouble for?" Keith asked +himself. +</P> + +<P> +An instant later the stranger saw him again. For perhaps a minute he +halted, and in that minute Keith fancied he was getting a round +cursing. Then the stranger headed for him, and this time there was no +escape, for the moment he struck the shelving slope of the valley, he +prodded his horse into a canter, swiftly diminishing the distance +between them. Keith unbuttoned the flap of his pistol holster and +maneuvered so that he would be partly concealed by his pack when the +horseman rode up. The persistence of the stranger suggested to him that +Mary Josephine had lost no time in telling McDowell where the law would +be most likely to find him. +</P> + +<P> +Then he looked over the neck of his pack at the horseman, who was quite +near, and was convinced that he was not an officer. He was still +jogging at a canter and riding atrociously. One leg was napping as if +it had lost its stirrup-hold; the rider's arms were pumping, and his +hat was sailing behind at the end of a string. +</P> + +<P> +"Whoa!" said Keith. +</P> + +<P> +His heart stopped its action. He was staring at a big red beard and a +huge, shaggy head. The horseman reined in, floundered from his saddle, +and swayed forward as if seasick. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll be—" +</P> + +<P> +"DUGGAN!" +</P> + +<P> +"JOHNNY—JOHNNY KEITH!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXIV +</H3> + +<P> +For a matter of ten seconds neither of the two men moved. Keith was +stunned. Andy Duggan's eyes were fairly popping out from under his +bushy brows. And then unmistakably Keith caught the scent of bacon in +the air. +</P> + +<P> +"Andy—Andy Duggan," he choked. "You know me—you know Johnny +Keith—you know me—you—" +</P> + +<P> +Duggan answered with an inarticulate bellow and jumped at Keith as if +to bear him to the ground. He hugged him, and Keith hugged, and then +for a minute they stood pumping hands until their faces were red, and +Duggan was growling over and over: +</P> + +<P> +"An' you passed me there at McCoffin's Bend—an' I didn't know you, I +didn't know you, I didn't know you! I thought you was that cussed +Conniston! I did. I thought you was Conniston!" He stood back at last. +"Johnny—Johnny Keith!" +</P> + +<P> +"Andy, you blessed old devil!" +</P> + +<P> +They pumped hands again, pounded shoulders until they were sore, and in +Keith's face blazed once more the love of life. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly old Duggan grew rigid and sniffed the air. "I smell bacon!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's in the pack, Andy. But for Heaven's sake don't notice the bacon +until you explain how you happen to be here." +</P> + +<P> +"Been waitin' for you," replied Duggan in an affectionate growl. "Knew +you'd have to come down this valley to hit the Little Fork. Been +waitin' six weeks." +</P> + +<P> +Keith dug his fingers into Duggan's arm. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you know I was coming HERE?" he demanded. "Who told you?" +</P> + +<P> +"All come out in the wash, Johnny. Pretty mess. Chinaman dead. Johnny +Keith, alias Conniston, alive an' living with Conniston's pretty +sister. Johnny gone—skipped. No one knew where. I made guesses. Knew +the girl would know if anyone did. I went to her, told her how you'n me +had been pals, an' she give me the idee you was goin' up to the river's +end. I resigned from the Betty M., that night. Told her, though, that +she was a ninny if she thought you'd go up there. Made her believe the +note was just a blind." +</P> + +<P> +"My God," breathed Keith hopelessly, "I meant it." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure you did, Johnny. I knew it. But I didn't dare let HER know it. If +you could ha' seen that pretty mouth o' hern curlin' up as if she'd +liked to have bit open your throat, an' her hands clenched, an' that +murder in her eyes—Man, I lied to her then! I told her I was after +you, an' that if she wouldn't put the police on you, I'd bring back +your head to her, as they used to do in the old times. An' she bit. +Yes, sir, she said to me, 'If you'll do that, I won't say a word to the +police!' An' here I am, Johnny. An' if I keep my word with that little +tiger, I've got to shoot you right now. Haw! Haw!" +</P> + +<P> +Keith had turned his face away. +</P> + +<P> +Duggan, pulling him about by the shoulders, opened his eyes wide in +amazement.—"Johnny—" +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe you don't understand, Andy," struggled Keith. "I'm sorry—she +feels—like that." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Duggan was silent. Then he exploded with a sudden curse. +"SORRY! What the devil you sorry for, Johnny? You treated her square, +an' you left her almost all of Conniston's money. She ain't no kick +comin', and she ain't no reason for feelin' like she does. Let 'er go +to the devil, I say. She's pretty an' sweet an' all that—but when +anybody wants to go clawin' your heart out, don't be fool enough to +feel sorry about it. You lied to her, but what's that? There's bigger +lies than yourn been told, Johnny, a whole sight bigger! Don't you go +worryin'. I've been here waitin' six weeks, an' I've done a lot of +thinkin', and all our plans are set an' hatched. An' I've got the +nicest cabin all built and waitin' for us up the Little Fork. Here we +are. Let's be joyful, son!" He laughed into Keith's tense, gray face. +"Let's be joyful!" +</P> + +<P> +Keith forced a grin. Duggan didn't know. He hadn't guessed what that +"little tiger who would have liked to have bit open his throat" had +been to him. The thick-headed old hero, loyal to the bottom of his +soul, hadn't guessed. And it came to Keith then that he would never +tell him. He would keep that secret. He would bury it in his burned-out +soul, and he would be "joyful" if he could. Duggan's blazing, happy +face, half buried in its great beard, was like the inspiration and +cheer of a sun rising on a dark world. He was not alone. Duggan, the +old Duggan of years ago, the Duggan who had planned and dreamed with +him, his best friend, was with him now, and the light came back into +his face as he looked toward the mountains. Off there, only a few miles +distant, was the Little Fork, winding into the heart of the Rockies, +seeking out its hidden valleys, its trailless canons, its hidden +mysteries. Life lay ahead of him, life with its thrill and adventure, +and at his side was the friend of all friends to seek it with him. He +thrust out his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"God bless you, Andy," he cried. "You're the gamest pal that ever +lived!" +</P> + +<P> +A moment later Duggan pointed to a clump of timber half a mile ahead. +"It's past dinner-time," he said. "There's wood. If you've got any +bacon aboard, I move we eat." +</P> + +<P> +An hour later Andy was demonstrating that his appetite was as voracious +as ever. Before describing more of his own activities, he insisted that +Keith recite his adventures from the night "he killed that old skunk, +Kirkstone." +</P> + +<P> +It was two o'clock when they resumed their journey. An hour later they +struck the Little Fork and until seven traveled up the stream. They +were deep in the lap of the mountains when they camped for the night. +After supper, smoking his pipe, Duggan stretched himself out +comfortably with his back to a tree. +</P> + +<P> +"Good thing you come along when you did, Johnny," he said. "I been +waitin' in that valley ten days, an' the eats was about gone when you +hove in sight. Meant to hike back to the cabin for supplies tomorrow or +next day. Gawd, ain't this the life! An' we're goin' to find gold, +Johnny, we're goin' to find it!" +</P> + +<P> +"We've got all our lives to—to find it in," said Keith. +</P> + +<P> +Duggan puffed out a huge cloud of smoke and heaved a great sigh of +pleasure. Then he grunted and chuckled. "Lord, what a little firebrand +that sister of Conniston's is!" he exclaimed. "Johnny, I bet if you'd +walk in on her now, she'd kill you with her own hands. Don't see why +she hates you so, just because you tried to save your life. Of course +you must ha' lied like the devil. Couldn't help it. But a lie ain't +nothin'. I've told some whoppers, an' no one ain't never wanted to kill +me for it. I ain't afraid of McDowell. Everyone said the Chink was a +good riddance. It's the girl. There won't be a minute all her life she +ain't thinkin' of you, an' she won't be satisfied until she's got you. +That is, she thinks she won't. But we'll fool the little devil, Johnny. +We'll keep our eyes open—an' fool her!" +</P> + +<P> +"Let's talk of pleasanter things," said Keith. "I've got fifty traps in +the pack, Andy. You remember how we used to plan on trapping during the +winter and hunting for gold during the summer?" +</P> + +<P> +Duggan rubbed his hands until they made a rasping sound; he talked of +lynx signs he had seen, and of marten and fox. He had panned "colors" +at a dozen places along the Little Fork and was ready to make his +affidavit that it was the same gold he had dredged at McCoffin's Bend. +</P> + +<P> +"If we don't find it this fall, we'll be sittin' on the mother lode +next summer," he declared, and from then until it was time to turn in +he talked of nothing but the yellow treasure it had been his lifelong +dream to find. At the last, when they had rolled in their blankets, he +raised himself on his elbow for a moment and said to Keith: +</P> + +<P> +"Johnny, don't you worry about that Conniston girl. I forgot to tell +you I've took time by the forelock. Two weeks ago I wrote an' told her +I'd learned you was hittin' into the Great Slave country, an' that I +was about to hike after you. So go to sleep an' don't worry about that +pesky little rattlesnake." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not worrying," said Keith. +</P> + +<P> +Fifteen minutes later he heard Duggan snoring. Quietly he unwrapped his +blanket and sat up. There were still burning embers in the fire, the +night—like that first night of his flight—was a glory of stars, and +the moon was rising. Their camp was in a small, meadowy pocket in the +center of which was a shimmering little lake across which he could +easily have thrown a stone. On the far side of this was the sheer wall +of a mountain, and the top of this wall, thousands of feet up, caught +the glow of the moon first. Without awakening his comrade, Keith walked +to the lake. He watched the golden illumination as it fell swiftly +lower over the face of the mountain. He could see it move like a great +flood. And then, suddenly, his shadow shot out ahead of him, and he +turned to find the moon itself glowing like a monstrous ball between +the low shoulders of a mountain to the east. The world about him became +all at once vividly and wildly beautiful. It was as if a curtain had +lifted so swiftly the eye could not follow it. Every tree and shrub and +rock stood out in a mellow spotlight; the lake was transformed to a +pool of molten silver, and as far as he could see, where shoulders and +ridges did not cut him out, the moonlight was playing on the mountains. +In the air was a soft droning like low music, and from a distant crag +came the rattle of loosened rocks. He fancied, for a moment, that Mary +Josephine was standing at his side, and that together they were +drinking in the wonder of this dream at last come true. Then a cry came +to his lips, a broken, gasping man-cry which he could not keep back, +and his heart was filled with anguish. +</P> + +<P> +With all its beauty, all its splendor of quiet and peace, the night was +a bitter one for Keith, the bitterest of his life. He had not believed +the worst of Mary Josephine. He knew he had lost her and that she might +despise him, but that she would actually hate him with the desire for a +personal vengeance he had not believed. Was Duggan right? Was Mary +Josephine unfair? And should he in self-defense fight to poison his own +thoughts against her? His face set hard, and a joyless laugh fell from +his lips. He knew that he was facing the inevitable. No matter what had +happened, he must go on loving Mary Josephine. +</P> + +<P> +All through that night he was awake. Half a dozen times he went to his +blanket, but it was impossible for him to sleep. At four o'clock he +built up the fire and at five roused Duggan. The old river-man sprang +up with the enthusiasm of a boy. He came back from the lake with his +beard and head dripping and his face glowing. All the mountains held no +cheerier comrade than Duggan. +</P> + +<P> +They were on the trail at six o'clock and hour after hour kept steadily +up the Little Fork. The trail grew rougher, narrower, and more +difficult to follow, and at intervals Duggan halted to make sure of the +way. At one of these times he said to Keith: +</P> + +<P> +"Las' night proved there ain't no danger from her, Johnny. I had a +dream, an' dreams goes by contraries an' always have. What you dream +never comes true. It's always the opposite. An' I dreamed that little +she-devil come up on you when you was asleep, took a big bread-knife, +an' cut your head plumb off! Yessir, I could see her holdin' up that +head o' yourn, an' the blood was drippin', an' she was a-laughin'—" +</P> + +<P> +"SHUT UP!" Keith fairly yelled the words. His eyes blazed. His face was +dead white. +</P> + +<P> +With a shrug of his huge shoulders and a sullen grunt Duggan went on. +</P> + +<P> +An hour later the trail narrowed into a short canon, and this canon, to +Keith's surprise, opened suddenly into a beautiful valley, a narrow +oasis of green hugged in between the two ranges. Scarcely had they +entered it, when Duggan raised his voice in a series of wild yells and +began firing his rifle into the air. +</P> + +<P> +"Home-coming," he explained to Keith, after he was done. "Cabin's just +over that bulge. Be there in ten minutes." +</P> + +<P> +In less than ten minutes Keith saw it, sheltered in the edge of a thick +growth of cedar and spruce from which its timbers had been taken. It +was a larger cabin than he had expected to see—twice, three times as +large. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you do it alone!" he exclaimed in admiration. "It's a wonder, +Andy. Big enough for—for a whole family!" +</P> + +<P> +"Half a dozen Indians happened along, an' I hired 'em," explained +Duggan. "Thought I might as well make it big enough, Johnny, seein' I +had plenty of help. Sometimes I snore pretty loud, an'—" +</P> + +<P> +"There's smoke coming out of it," cried Keith. +</P> + +<P> +"Kept one of the Indians," chuckled Duggan. "Fine cook, an' a +sassy-lookin' little squaw she is, Johnny. Her husband died last +winter, an' she jumped at the chance to stay, for her board an' five +bucks a month. How's your Uncle Andy for a schemer, eh, Johnny?" +</P> + +<P> +A dozen rods from the cabin was a creek. Duggan halted here to water +his horse and nodded for Keith to go on. +</P> + +<P> +"Take a look, Johnny; go ahead an' take a look! I'm sort of sot up over +that cabin." +</P> + +<P> +Keith handed his reins to Duggan and obeyed. The cabin door was open, +and he entered. One look assured him that Duggan had good reason to be +"sot up." The first big room reminded him of the Shack. Beyond that was +another room in which he heard someone moving and the crackle of a fire +in a stove. Outside Duggan was whistling. He broke off whistling to +sing, and as Keith listened to the river-man's bellowing voice chanting +the words of the song he had sung at McCoffin's Bend for twenty years, +he grinned. And then he heard the humming of a voice in the kitchen. +Even the squaw was happy. +</P> + +<P> +And then—and then— +</P> + +<P> +"GREAT GOD IN HEAVEN—" +</P> + +<P> +In the doorway she stood, her arms reaching out to him, love, glory, +triumph in her face—MARY JOSEPHINE! +</P> + +<P> +He swayed; he groped out; something blinded him—tears—hot, blinding +tears that choked him, that came with a sob in his throat. And then she +was in his arms, and her arms were around him, and she was laughing and +crying, and he heard her say: "Why—why didn't you come back—to +me—that night? Why—why did you—go out—through the—window? I—I was +waiting—and I—I'd have gone—with you—" +</P> + +<P> +From the door behind them came Duggan's voice, chuckling, exultant, +booming with triumph. "Johnny, didn't I tell you there was lots bigger +lies than yourn? Didn't I? Eh?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXV +</H3> + +<P> +It was many minutes, after Keith's arms had closed around Mary +Josephine, before he released her enough to hold her out and look at +her. She was there, every bit of her, eyes glowing with a greater glory +and her face wildly aflush with a thing that had never been there +before; and suddenly, as he devoured her in that hungry look, she gave +a little cry, and hugged herself to his breast, and hid her face there. +</P> + +<P> +And he was whispering again and again, as though he could find no other +word, +</P> + +<P> +"Mary—Mary—Mary—" +</P> + +<P> +Duggan drew away from the door. The two had paid no attention to his +voice, and the old river-man was one continuous chuckle as he unpacked +Keith's horse and attended to his own, hobbling them both and tying +cow-bells to them. It was half an hour before he ventured up out of the +grove along the creek and approached the cabin again. Even then he +halted, fussing with a piece of harness, until he saw Mary Josephine in +the door. The sun was shining on her. Her glorious hair was down, and +behind her was Keith, so close that his shoulders were covered with it. +Like a bird Mary Josephine sped to Duggan. Great red beard and all she +hugged him, and on the flaming red of his bare cheek-bone she kissed +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Gosh," said Duggan, at a loss for something better to say. "Gosh—" +</P> + +<P> +Then Keith had him by the hand. "Andy, you ripsnorting old liar, if you +weren't old enough to be my father, I'd whale the daylights out of +you!" he cried joyously. "I would, just because I love you so! You've +made this day the—the—the—" +</P> + +<P> +"—The most memorable of my life," helped Mary Josephine. "Is that +it—John?" +</P> + +<P> +Timidly, for the first time, her cheek against his shoulder, she spoke +his name. And before Duggan's eyes Keith kissed her. +</P> + +<P> +Hours later, in a world aglow with the light of stars and a radiant +moon, Keith and Mary Josephine were alone out in the heart of their +little valley. To Keith it was last night returned, only more +wonderful. There was the same droning song in the still air, the low +rippling of running water, the mysterious whisperings of the mountains. +All about them were the guardian peaks of the snow-capped ranges, and +under their feet was the soft lush of grass and the sweet scent of +flowers. "Our valley of dreams," Mary Josephine had named it, an +infinite happiness trembling in her voice. "Our beautiful valley of +dreams—come true!" "And you would have come with me—that night?" +asked Keith wonderingly. "That night—I ran away?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I didn't hear you go. And at last I went to your door and +listened, and then I knocked, and after that I called to you, and when +you didn't answer, I entered your room." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear heaven!" breathed Keith. "After all that, you would have come +away with me, covered with blood, a—a murderer, they say—a hunted +man—" +</P> + +<P> +"John, dear." She took one of his hands in both her own and held it +tight. "John, dear, I've got something to tell you." +</P> + +<P> +He was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I made Duggan promise not to tell you I was here when he found you, +and I made him promise something else—to keep a secret I wanted to +tell you myself. It was wonderful of him. I don't see how he did it." +</P> + +<P> +She snuggled still closer to him, and held his hand a little tighter. +"You see, John, there was a terrible time after you killed Shan Tung. +Only a little while after you had gone, I saw the sky growing red. It +was Shan Tung's place—afire. I was terrified, and my heart was broken, +and I didn't move. I must have sat at the window a long time, when the +door burst open suddenly and Miriam ran in, and behind her came +McDowell. Oh, I never heard a man swear as McDowell swore when he found +you had gone, and Miriam flung herself on the floor at my feet and +buried her head in my lap. +</P> + +<P> +"McDowell tramped up and down, and at last he turned to me as if he was +going to eat me, and he fairly shouted, 'Do you know—THAT CURSED FOOL +DIDN'T KILL JUDGE KIRKSTONE!'" +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause in which Keith's brain reeled. And Mary Josephine +went on, as quietly as though she were talking about that evening's +sunset: +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, I knew all along, from what you had told me about John +Keith, that he wasn't what you would call a murderer. You see, John, I +had learned to LOVE John Keith. It was the other thing that horrified +me! In the fight, that night, Judge Kirkstone wasn't badly hurt, just +stunned. Peter Kirkstone and his father were always quarreling. Peter +wanted money, and his father wouldn't give it to him. It seems +impossible,—what happened then. But it's true. After you were gone, +PETER KIRKSTONE KILLED HIS FATHER THAT HE MIGHT INHERIT THE ESTATE! And +then he laid the crime on you!" +</P> + +<P> +"My God!" breathed Keith. "Mary—Mary Josephine—how do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Peter Kirkstone was terribly burned in the fire. He died that night, +and before he died he confessed. That was the power Shan Tung held over +Miriam. He knew. And Miriam was to pay the price that would save her +brother from the hangman." +</P> + +<P> +"And that," whispered Keith, as if to himself, "was why she was so +interested in John Keith." +</P> + +<P> +He looked away into the shimmering distance of the night, and for a +long time both were silent. A woman had found happiness. A man's soul +had come out of darkness into light. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The River's End, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIVER'S END *** + +***** This file should be named 4747-h.htm or 4747-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/4/4747/ + +Produced by Dianne Bean. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 River's End + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: September 6, 2009 [EBook #4747] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 12, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIVER'S END *** + + + + +Produced by Dianne Bean. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + +THE RIVER'S END + +James Oliver Curwood + + +JTABLE 10 25 1 + +THE RIVER'S END + + + + +I + + +Between Conniston, of His Majesty's Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and +Keith, the outlaw, there was a striking physical and facial +resemblance. Both had observed it, of course. It gave them a sort of +confidence in each other. Between them it hovered in a subtle and +unanalyzed presence that was constantly suggesting to Conniston a line +of action that would have made him a traitor to his oath of duty. For +nearly a month he had crushed down the whispered temptings of this +thing between them. He represented the law. He was the law. For +twenty-seven months he had followed Keith, and always there had been in +his mind that parting injunction of the splendid service of which he +was a part--"Don't come back until you get your man, dead or alive." +Otherwise-- + +A racking cough split in upon his thoughts. He sat up on the edge of +the cot, and at the gasping cry of pain that came with the red stain of +blood on his lips Keith went to him and with a strong arm supported his +shoulders. He said nothing, and after a moment Conniston wiped the +stain away and laughed softly, even before the shadow of pain had faded +from his eyes. One of his hands rested on a wrist that still bore the +ring-mark of a handcuff. The sight of it brought him back to grim +reality. After all, fate was playing whimsically as well as tragically +with their destinies. + +"Thanks, old top," he said. "Thanks." + +His fingers closed over the manacle-marked wrist. + +Over their heads the arctic storm was crashing in a mighty fury, as if +striving to beat down the little cabin that had dared to rear itself in +the dun-gray emptiness at the top of the world, eight hundred miles +from civilization. There were curious waitings, strange screeching +sounds, and heart-breaking meanings in its strife, and when at last its +passion died away and there followed a strange quiet, the two men could +feel the frozen earth under their feet shiver with the rumbling +reverberations of the crashing and breaking fields of ice out in +Hudson's Bay. With it came a dull and steady roar, like the incessant +rumble of a far battle, broken now and then--when an ice mountain split +asunder--with a report like that of a sixteen-inch gun. Down through +the Roes Welcome into Hudson's Bay countless billions of tons of ice +were rending their way like Hunnish armies in the break-up. + +"You'd better lie down," suggested Keith. + +Conniston, instead, rose slowly to his feet and went to a table on +which a seal-oil lamp was burning. He swayed a little as he walked. He +sat down, and Keith seated himself opposite him. Between them lay a +worn deck of cards. As Conniston fumbled them in his fingers, he looked +straight across at Keith and grinned. + +"It's queer, devilish queer," he said. + +"Don't you think so, Keith?" He was an Englishman, and his blue eyes +shone with a grim, cold humor. "And funny," he added. + +"Queer, but not funny," partly agreed Keith. + +"Yes, it is funny," maintained Conniston. "Just twenty-seven months +ago, lacking three days, I was sent out to get you, Keith. I was told +to bring you in dead or alive--and at the end of the twenty-sixth month +I got you, alive. And as a sporting proposition you deserve a hundred +years of life instead of the noose, Keith, for you led me a chase that +took me through seven different kinds of hell before I landed you. I +froze, and I starved, and I drowned. I haven't seen a white woman's +face in eighteen months. It was terrible. But I beat you at last. +That's the jolly good part of it, Keith--I beat you and GOT you, and +there's the proof of it on your wrists this minute. I won. Do you +concede that? You must be fair, old top, because this is the last big +game I'll ever play." There was a break, a yearning that was almost +plaintive, in his voice. + +Keith nodded. "You won," he said. + +"You won so square that when the frost got your lung--" + +"You didn't take advantage of me," interrupted Conniston. "That's the +funny part of it, Keith. That's where the humor comes in. I had you all +tied up and scheduled for the hangman when--bing!--along comes a cold +snap that bites a corner of my lung, and the tables are turned. And +instead of doing to me as I was going to do to you, instead of killing +me or making your getaway while I was helpless--Keith--old pal--YOU'VE +TRIED TO NURSE ME BACK TO LIFE! Isn't that funny? Could anything be +funnier?" + +He reached a hand across the table and gripped Keith's. And then, for a +few moments, he bowed his head while his body was convulsed by another +racking cough. Keith sensed the pain of it in the convulsive clutching +of Conniston's fingers about his own. When Conniston raised his face, +the red stain was on his lips again. + +"You see, I've got it figured out to the day," he went on, wiping away +the stain with a cloth already dyed red. "This is Thursday. I won't see +another Sunday. It'll come Friday night or some time Saturday. I've +seen this frosted lung business a dozen times. Understand? I've got two +sure days ahead of me, possibly a third. Then you'll have to dig a hole +and bury me. After that you will no longer be held by the word of honor +you gave me when I slipped off your manacles. And I'm asking you--WHAT +ARE YOU GOING TO DO?" + +In Keith's face were written deeply the lines of suffering and of +tragedy. Yesterday they had compared ages. + +He was thirty-eight, only a little younger than the man who had run him +down and who in the hour of his achievement was dying. They had not put +the fact plainly before. It had been a matter of some little +embarrassment for Keith, who at another time had found it easier to +kill a man than to tell this man that he was going to die. Now that +Conniston had measured his own span definitely and with most amazing +coolness, a load was lifted from Keith's shoulders. Over the table they +looked into each other's eyes, and this time it was Keith's fingers +that tightened about Conniston's. They looked like brothers in the +sickly glow of the seal-oil lamp. + +"What are you going to do?" repeated Conniston. + +Keith's face aged even as the dying Englishman stared at him. "I +suppose--I'll go back," he said heavily. + +"You mean to Coronation Gulf? You'll return to that stinking mess of +Eskimo igloos? If you do, you'll go mad!" + +"I expect to," said Keith. "But it's the only thing left. You know +that. You of all men must know how they've hunted me. If I went south--" + +It was Conniston's turn to nod his head, slowly and thoughtfully. "Yes, +of course," he agreed. "They're hunting you hard, and you're giving 'em +a bully chase. But they'll get you, even up there. And I'm--sorry." + +Their hands unclasped. Conniston filled his pipe and lighted it. Keith +noticed that he held the lighted taper without a tremor. The nerve of +the man was magnificent. + +"I'm sorry," he said again. "I--like you. Do you know, Keith, I wish +we'd been born brothers and you hadn't killed a man. That night I +slipped the ring-dogs on you I felt almost like a devil. I wouldn't say +it if it wasn't for this bally lung. But what's the use of keeping it +back now? It doesn't seem fair to keep a man up in that place for three +years, running from hole to hole like a rat, and then take him down for +a hanging. I know it isn't fair in your case. I feel it. I don't mean +to be inquisitive, old chap, but I'm not believing Departmental 'facts' +any more. I'd make a topping good wager you're not the sort they make +you out. And so I'd like to know--just why--you killed Judge Kirkstone?" + +Keith's two fists knotted in the center of the table. Conniston saw his +blue eyes darken for an instant with a savage fire. In that moment +there came a strange silence over the cabin, and in that silence the +incessant and maddening yapping of the little white foxes rose shrilly +over the distant booming and rumbling of the ice. + + + + +II + + +"Why did I kill Judge Kirkstone?" Keith repeated the words slowly. + +His clenched hands relaxed, but his eyes held the steady glow of fire. +"What do the Departmental 'facts' tell you, Conniston?" + +"That you murdered him in cold blood, and that the honor of the Service +is at stake until you are hung." + +"There's a lot in the view-point, isn't there? What if I said I didn't +kill Judge Kirkstone?" + +Conniston leaned forward a little too eagerly. The deadly paroxysm +shook his frame again, and when it was over his breath came pantingly, +as if hissing through a sieve. "My God, not Sunday--or Saturday," he +breathed. "Keith, it's coming TOMORROW!" + +"No, no, not then," said Keith, choking back something that rose in his +throat. "You'd better lie down again." + +Conniston gathered new strength. "And die like a rabbit? No, thank you, +old chap! I'm after facts, and you can't lie to a dying man. Did you +kill Judge Kirkstone?" + +"I--don't--know," replied Keith slowly, looking steadily into the +other's eyes. "I think so, and yet I am not positive. I went to his +home that night with the determination to wring justice from him or +kill him. I wish you could look at it all with my eyes, Conniston. You +could if you had known my father. You see, my mother died when I was a +little chap, and my father and I grew up together, chums. I don't +believe I ever thought of him as just simply a father. Fathers are +common. He was more than that. From the time I was ten years old we +were inseparable. I guess I was twenty before he told me of the deadly +feud that existed between him and Kirkstone, and it never troubled me +much--because I didn't think anything would ever come of it--until +Kirkstone got him. Then I realized that all through the years the old +rattlesnake had been watching for his chance. It was a frame-up from +beginning to end, and my father stepped into the trap. Even then he +thought that his political enemies, and not Kirkstone, were at the +bottom of it. We soon discovered the truth. My father got ten years. He +was innocent. And the only man on earth who could prove his innocence +was Kirkstone, the man who was gloating like a Shylock over his pound +of flesh. Conniston, if you had known these things and had been in my +shoes, what would you have done?" + +Conniston, lighting another taper over the oil flame, hesitated and +answered: "I don't know yet, old chap. What did you do?" + +"I fairly got down on my knees to the scoundrel," resumed Keith. "If +ever a man begged for another man's life, I begged for my father's--for +the few words from Kirkstone that would set him free. I offered +everything I had in the world, even my body and soul. God, I'll never +forget that night! He sat there, fat and oily, two big rings on his +stubby fingers--a monstrous toad in human form--and he chuckled and +laughed at me in his joy, as though I were a mountebank playing amusing +tricks for him--and there my soul was bleeding itself out before his +eyes! And his son came in, fat and oily and accursed like his father, +and HE laughed at me. I didn't know that such hatred could exist in the +world, or that vengeance could bring such hellish joy. I could still +hear their gloating laughter when I stumbled out into the night. It +haunted me. I heard it in the trees. It came in the wind. My brain was +filled with it--and suddenly I turned back, and I went into that house +again without knocking, and I faced the two of them alone once more in +that room. And this time, Conniston, I went back to get justice--or to +kill. Thus far it was premeditated, but I went with my naked hands. +There was a key in the door, and I locked it. Then I made my demand. I +wasted no words--" + +Keith rose from the table and began to pace back and forth. The wind +had died again. They could hear the yapping of the foxes and the low +thunder of the ice. + +"The son began it," said Keith. "He sprang at me. I struck him. We +grappled, and then the beast himself leaped at me with some sort of +weapon in his hand. I couldn't see what it was, but it was heavy. The +first blow almost broke my shoulder. In the scuffle I wrenched it from +his hand, and then I found it was a long, rectangular bar of copper +made for a paper-weight. In that same instant I saw the son snatch up a +similar object from the table, and in the act he smashed the table +light. In darkness we fought. I did not feel that I was fighting men. +They were monsters and gave me the horrible sensation of being in +darkness with crawling serpents. Yes, I struck hard. And the son was +striking, and neither of us could see. I felt my weapon hit, and it was +then that Kirkstone crumpled down with a blubbery wheeze. You know what +happened after that. The next morning only one copper weight was found +in that room. The son had done away with the other. And the one that +was left was covered with Kirkstone's blood and hair. There was no +chance for me. So I got away. Six months later my father died in +prison, and for three years I've been hunted as a fox is hunted by the +hounds. That's all, Conniston. Did I kill Judge Kirkstone? And, if I +killed him, do you think I'm sorry for it, even though I hang?" + +"Sit down!" + +The Englishman's voice was commanding. Keith dropped back to his seat, +breathing hard. He saw a strange light in the steely blue eyes of +Conniston. + +"Keith, when a man knows he's going to live, he is blind to a lot of +things. But when he knows he's going to die, it's different. If you had +told me that story a month ago, I'd have taken you down to the hangman +just the same. It would have been my duty, you know, and I might have +argued you were lying. But you can't lie to me--now. Kirkstone deserved +to die. And so I've made up my mind what you're going to do. You're not +going back to Coronation Gulf. You're going south. You're going back +into God's country again. And you're not going as John Keith, the +murderer, but as Derwent Conniston of His Majesty's Royal Northwest +Mounted Police! Do you get me, Keith? Do you understand?" + +Keith simply stared. The Englishman twisted a mustache, a half-humorous +gleam in his eyes. He had been thinking of this plan of his for some +time, and he had foreseen just how it would take Keith off his feet. + +"Quite a scheme, don't you think, old chap? I like you. I don't mind +saying I think a lot of you, and there isn't any reason on earth why +you shouldn't go on living in my shoes. There's no moral objection. No +one will miss me. I was the black sheep back in England--younger +brother and all that--and when I had to choose between Africa and +Canada, I chose Canada. An Englishman's pride is the biggest fool thing +on earth, Keith, and I suppose all of them over there think I'm dead. +They haven't heard from me in six or seven years. I'm forgotten. And +the beautiful thing about this scheme is that we look so deucedly +alike, you know. Trim that mustache and beard of yours a little, add a +bit of a scar over your right eye, and you can walk in on old McDowell +himself, and I'll wager he'll jump up and say, 'Bless my heart, if it +isn't Conniston!' That's all I've got to leave you, Keith, a dead man's +clothes and name. But you're welcome. They'll be of no more use to me +after tomorrow." + +"Impossible!" gasped Keith. "Conniston, do you know what you are +saying?" + +"Positively, old chap. I count every word, because it hurts when I +talk. So you won't argue with me, please. It's the biggest sporting +thing that's ever come my way. I'll be dead. You can bury me under this +floor, where the foxes can't get at me. But my name will go on living +and you'll wear my clothes back to civilization and tell McDowell how +you got your man and how he died up here with a frosted lung. As proof +of it you'll lug your own clothes down in a bundle along with any other +little identifying things you may have, and there's a sergeancy +waiting. McDowell promised it to you--if you got your man. Understand? +And McDowell hasn't seen me for two years and three months, so if I +MIGHT look a bit different to him, it would be natural, for you and I +have been on the rough edge of the world all that time. The jolly good +part of it all is that we look so much alike. I say the idea is +splendid!" + +Conniston rose above the presence of death in the thrill of the great +gamble he was projecting. And Keith, whose heart was pounding like an +excited fist, saw in a flash the amazing audacity of the thing that was +in Conniston's mind, and felt the responsive thrill of its +possibilities. No one down there would recognize in him the John Keith +of four years ago. Then he was smooth-faced, with shoulders that +stooped a little and a body that was not too strong. Now he was an +animal! A four years' fight with the raw things of life had made him +that, and inch for inch he measured up with Conniston. And Conniston, +sitting opposite him, looked enough like him to be a twin brother. He +seemed to read the thought in Keith's mind. There was an amused glitter +in his eyes. + +"I suppose it's largely because of the hair on our faces," he said. +"You know a beard can cover a multitude of physical sins--and +differences, old chap. I wore mine two years before I started out after +you, vandyked rather carefully, you understand, so you'd better not use +a razor. Physically you won't run a ghost of a chance of being caught. +You'll look the part. The real fun is coming in other ways. In the next +twenty-four hours you've got to learn by heart the history of Derwent +Conniston from the day he joined the Royal Mounted. We won't go back +further than that, for it wouldn't interest you, and ancient history +won't turn up to trouble you. Your biggest danger will be with +McDowell, commanding F Division at Prince Albert. He's a human fox of +the old military school, mustaches and all, and he can see through +boiler-plate. But he's got a big heart. He has been a good friend of +mine, so along with Derwent Conniston's story you've got to load up +with a lot about McDowell, too. There are many things--OH, GOD--" + +He flung a hand to his chest. Grim horror settled in the little cabin +as the cough convulsed him. And over it the wind shrieked again, +swallowing up the yapping of the foxes and the rumble of the ice. + +That night, in the yellow sputter of the seal-oil lamp, the fight +began. Grim-faced--one realizing the nearness of death and struggling +to hold it back, the other praying for time--two men went through the +amazing process of trading their identities. From the beginning it was +Conniston's fight. And Keith, looking at him, knew that in this last +mighty effort to die game the Englishman was narrowing the slight +margin of hours ahead of him. Keith had loved but one man, his father. +In this fight he learned to love another, Conniston. And once he cried +out bitterly that it was unfair, that Conniston should live and he +should die. The dying Englishman smiled and laid a hand on his, and +Keith felt that the hand was damp with a cold sweat. + +Through the terrible hours that followed Keith felt the strength and +courage of the dying man becoming slowly a part of himself. The thing +was epic. Conniston, throttling his own agony, was magnificent. And +Keith felt his warped and despairing soul swelling with a new life and +a new hope, and he was thrilled by the thought of what he must do to +live up to the mark of the Englishman. Conniston's story was of the +important things first. It began with his acquaintance with McDowell. +And then, between the paroxysms that stained his lips red, he filled in +with incident and smiled wanly as he told how McDowell had sworn him to +secrecy once in the matter of an incident which the chief did not want +the barracks to know--and laugh over. A very sensitive man in some ways +was McDowell! At the end of the first hour Keith stood up in the middle +of the floor, and with his arms resting on the table and his shoulders +sagging Conniston put him through the drill. After that he gave Keith +his worn Service Manual and commanded him to study while he rested. +Keith helped him to his bunk, and for a time after that tried to read +the Service book. But his eyes blurred, and his brain refused to obey. +The agony in the Englishman's low breathing oppressed him with a +physical pain. Keith felt himself choking and rose at last from the +table and went out into the gray, ghostly twilight of the night. + +His lungs drank in the ice-tanged air. But it was not cold. +Kwaske-hoo--the change--had come. The air was filled with the tumult of +the last fight of winter against the invasion of spring, and the forces +of winter were crumbling. The earth under Keith's feet trembled in the +mighty throes of their dissolution. He could hear more clearly the roar +and snarl and rending thunder of the great fields of ice as they swept +down with the arctic current into Hudson's Bay. Over him hovered a +strange night. It was not black but a weird and wraith-like gray, and +out of this sepulchral chaos came strange sounds and the moaning of a +wind high up. A little while longer, Keith thought, and the thing would +have driven him mad. Even now he fancied he heard the screaming and +wailing of voices far up under the hidden stars. More than once in the +past months he had listened to the sobbing of little children, the +agony of weeping women, and the taunting of wind voices that were +either tormenting or crying out in a ghoulish triumph; and more than +once in those months he had seen Eskimos--born in that hell but driven +mad in the torture of its long night--rend the clothes from their +bodies and plunge naked out into the pitiless gloom and cold to die. +Conniston would never know how near the final breakdown his brain had +been in that hour when he made him a prisoner. And Keith had not told +him. The man-hunter had saved him from going mad. But Keith had kept +that secret to himself. + +Even now he shrank down as a blast of wind shot out of the chaos above +and smote the cabin with a shriek that had in it a peculiarly +penetrating note. And then he squared his shoulders and laughed, and +the yapping of the foxes no longer filled him with a shuddering +torment. Beyond them he was seeing home. God's country! Green forests +and waters spattered with golden sun--things he had almost forgotten; +once more the faces of women who were white. And with those faces he +heard the voice of his people and the song of birds and felt under his +feet the velvety touch of earth that was bathed in the aroma of +flowers. Yes, he had almost forgotten those things. Yesterday they had +been with him only as moldering skeletons--phantasmal +dream-things--because he was going mad, but now they were real, they +were just off there to the south, and he was going to them. He +stretched up his arms, and a cry rose out of his throat. It was of +triumph, of final exaltation. Three years of THAT--and he had lived +through it! Three years of dodging from burrow to burrow, just as +Conniston had said, like a hunted fox; three years of starvation, of +freezing, of loneliness so great that his soul had broken--and now he +was going home! + +He turned again to the cabin, and when he entered the pale face of the +dying Englishman greeted him from the dim glow of the yellow light at +the table. And Conniston was smiling in a quizzical, distressed sort of +way, with a hand at his chest. His open watch on the table pointed to +the hour of midnight when the lesson went on. + +Still later he heated the muzzle of his revolver in the flame of the +seal-oil. + +"It will hurt, old chap--putting this scar over your eye. But it's got +to be done. I say, won't it be a ripping joke on McDowell?" Softly he +repeated it, smiling into Keith's eyes. "A ripping joke--on McDowell!" + + + + +III + + +Dawn--the dusk of another night--and Keith raised his haggard face from +Conniston's bedside with a woman's sob on his lips. The Englishman had +died as he knew that he would die, game to the last threadbare breath +that came out of his body. For with this last breath he whispered the +words which he had repeated a dozen times before, "Remember, old chap, +you win or lose the moment McDowell first sets his eyes on you!" And +then, with a strange kind of sob in his chest, he was gone, and Keith's +eyes were blinded by the miracle of a hot flood of tears, and there +rose in him a mighty pride in the name of Derwent Conniston. + +It was his name now. John Keith was dead. It was Derwent Conniston who +was living. And as he looked down into the cold, still face of the +heroic Englishman, the thing did not seem so strange to him after all. +It would not be difficult to bear Conniston's name; the difficulty +would be in living up to the Conniston code. + +That night the rumble of the ice fields was clearer because there was +no wind to deaden their tumult. The sky was cloudless, and the stars +were like glaring, yellow eyes peering through holes in a vast, +overhanging curtain of jet black. Keith, out to fill his lungs with +air, looked up at the phenomenon of the polar night and shuddered. The +stars were like living things, and they were looking at him. Under +their sinister glow the foxes were holding high carnival. It seemed to +Keith that they had drawn a closer circle about the cabin and that +there was a different note in their yapping now, a note that was more +persistent, more horrible. Conniston had foreseen that closing-in of +the little white beasts of the night, and Keith, reentering the cabin, +set about the fulfillment of his promise. Ghostly dawn found his task +completed. + +Half an hour later he stood in the edge of the scrub timber that rimmed +in the arctic plain, and looked for the last time upon the little cabin +under the floor of which the Englishman was buried. It stood there +splendidly unafraid in its terrible loneliness, a proud monument to a +dead man's courage and a dead man's soul. Within its four walls it +treasured a thing which gave to it at last a reason for being, a reason +for fighting against dissolution as long as one log could hold upon +another. Conniston's spirit had become a living part of it, and the +foxes might yap everlastingly, and the winds howl, and winter follow +winter, and long night follow long night--and it would stand there in +its pride fighting to the last, a memorial to Derwent Conniston, the +Englishman. + +Looking back at it, Keith bared his head in the raw dawn. "God bless +you, Conniston," he whispered, and turned slowly away and into the +south. + +Ahead of him was eight hundred miles of wilderness--eight hundred miles +between him and the little town on the Saskatchewan where McDowell +commanded Division of the Royal Mounted. The thought of distance did +not appall him. Four years at the top of the earth had accustomed him +to the illimitable and had inured him to the lack of things. That +winter Conniston had followed him with the tenacity of a ferret for a +thousand miles along the rim of the Arctic, and it had been a miracle +that he had not killed the Englishman. A score of times he might have +ended the exciting chase without staining his own hands. His Eskimo +friends would have performed the deed at a word. But he had let the +Englishman live, and Conniston, dead, was sending him back home. Eight +hundred miles was but the step between. + +He had no dogs or sledge. His own team had given up the ghost long ago, +and a treacherous Kogmollock from the Roes Welcome had stolen the +Englishman's outfit in the last lap of their race down from Fullerton's +Point. What he carried was Conniston's, with the exception of his rifle +and his own parka and hood. He even wore Conniston's watch. His pack +was light. The chief articles it contained were a little flour, a +three-pound tent, a sleeping-bag, and certain articles of +identification to prove the death of John Keith, the outlaw. Hour after +hour of that first day the zip, zip, zip of his snowshoes beat with +deadly monotony upon his brain. He could not think. Time and again it +seemed to him that something was pulling him back, and always he was +hearing Conniston's voice and seeing Conniston's face in the gray gloom +of the day about him. He passed through the slim finger of scrub timber +that a strange freak of nature had flung across the plain, and once +more was a moving speck in a wide and wind-swept barren. In the +afternoon he made out a dark rim on the southern horizon and knew it +was timber, real timber, the first he had seen since that day, a year +and a half ago, when the last of the Mackenzie River forest had faded +away behind him! It gave him, at last, something tangible to grip. It +was a thing beckoning to him, a sentient, living wall beyond which was +his other world. The eight hundred miles meant less to him than the +space between himself and that growing, black rim on the horizon. + +He reached it as the twilight of the day was dissolving into the deeper +dusk of the night, and put up his tent in the shelter of a clump of +gnarled and storm-beaten spruce. Then he gathered wood and built +himself a fire. He did not count the sticks as he had counted them for +eighteen months. He was wasteful, prodigal. He had traveled forty miles +since morning but he felt no exhaustion. He gathered wood until he had +a great pile of it, and the flames of his fire leaped higher and higher +until the spruce needles crackled and hissed over his head. He boiled a +pot of weak tea and made a supper of caribou meat and a bit of bannock. +Then he sat with his back to a tree and stared into the flames. + +The fire leaping and crackling before his eyes was like a powerful +medicine. It stirred things that had lain dormant within him. It +consumed the heavy dross of four years of stupefying torture and +brought back to him vividly the happenings of a yesterday that had +dragged itself on like a century. All at once he seemed unburdened of +shackles that had weighted him down to the point of madness. Every +fiber in his body responded to that glorious roar of the fire; a thing +seemed to snap in his head, freeing it of an oppressive bondage, and in +the heart of the flames he saw home, and hope, and life--the things +familiar and precious long ago, which the scourge of the north had +almost beaten dead in his memory. He saw the broad Saskatchewan +shimmering its way through the yellow plains, banked in by the +foothills and the golden mists of morning dawn; he saw his home town +clinging to its shore on one side and with its back against the purple +wilderness on the other; he heard the rhythmic chug, chug, chug of the +old gold dredge and the rattle of its chains as it devoured its tons of +sand for a few grains of treasure; over him there were lacy clouds in a +blue heaven again, he heard the sound of voices, the tread of feet, +laughter--life. His soul reborn, he rose to his feet and stretched his +arms until the muscles snapped. No, they would not know him back +there--now! He laughed softly as he thought of the old John +Keith--"Johnny" they used to call him up and down the few +balsam-scented streets--his father's right-hand man mentally but a +little off feed, as his chum, Reddy McTabb, used to say, when it came +to the matter of muscle and brawn. He could look back on things without +excitement now. Even hatred had burned itself out, and he found himself +wondering if old Judge Kirkstone's house looked the same on the top of +the hill, and if Miriam Kirkstone had come back to live there after +that terrible night when he had returned to avenge his father. + +Four years! It was not so very long, though the years had seemed like a +lifetime to him. There would not be many changes. Everything would be +the same--everything--except--the old home. That home he and his father +had planned, and they had overseen the building of it, a chateau of +logs a little distance from the town, with the Saskatchewan sweeping +below it and the forest at its doors. Masterless, it must have seen +changes in those four years. Fumbling in his pocket, his fingers +touched Conniston's watch. He drew it out and let the firelight play on +the open dial. It was ten o'clock. In the back of the premier half of +the case Conniston had at some time or another pasted a picture. It +must have been a long time ago, for the face was faded and indistinct. +The eyes alone were undimmed, and in the flash of the fire they took on +a living glow as they looked at Keith. It was the face of a young +girl--a schoolgirl, Keith thought, of ten or twelve. Yet the eyes +seemed older; they seemed pleading with someone, speaking a message +that had come spontaneously out of the soul of the child. Keith closed +the watch. Its tick, tick, tick rose louder to his ears. He dropped it +in his pocket. He could still hear it. + +A pitch-filled spruce knot exploded with the startling vividness of a +star bomb, and with it came a dull sort of mental shock to Keith. He +was sure that for an instant he had seen Conniston's face and that the +Englishman's eyes were looking at him as the eyes had looked at him out +of the face in the watch. The deception was so real that it sent him +back a step, staring, and then, his eyes striving to catch the illusion +again, there fell upon him a realization of the tremendous strain he +had been under for many hours. It had been days since he had slept +soundly. Yet he was not sleepy now; he scarcely felt fatigue. The +instinct of self-preservation made him arrange his sleeping-bag on a +carpet of spruce boughs in the tent and go to bed. + +Even then, for a long time, he lay in the grip of a harrowing +wakefulness. He closed his eyes, but it was impossible for him to hold +them closed. The sounds of the night came to him with painful +distinctness--the crackling of the fire, the serpent-like hiss of the +flaming pitch, the whispering of the tree tops, and the steady tick, +tick, tick of Conniston's watch. And out on the barren, through the rim +of sheltering trees, the wind was beginning to moan its everlasting +whimper and sob of loneliness. In spite of his clenched hands and his +fighting determination to hold it off, Keith fancied that he heard +again--riding strangely in that wind--the sound of Conniston's voice. +And suddenly he asked himself: What did it mean? What was it that +Conniston had forgotten? What was it that Conniston had been trying to +tell him all that day, when he had felt the presence of him in the +gloom of the Barrens? Was it that Conniston wanted him to come back? + +He tried to rid himself of the depressing insistence of that thought. +And yet he was certain that in the last half-hour before death entered +the cabin the Englishman had wanted to tell him something and had +crucified the desire. There was the triumph of an iron courage in those +last words, "Remember, old chap, you win or lose the moment McDowell +first sets his eyes on you!"--but in the next instant, as death sent +home its thrust, Keith had caught a glimpse of Conniston's naked soul, +and in that final moment when speech was gone forever, he knew that +Conniston was fighting to make his lips utter words which he had left +unspoken until too late. And Keith, listening to the moaning of the +wind and the crackling of the fire, found himself repeating over and +over again, "What was it he wanted to say?" + +In a lull in the wind Conniston's watch seemed to beat like a heart in +its case, and swiftly its tick, tick, ticked to his ears an answer, +"Come back, come back, come back!" + +With a cry at his own pitiable weakness, Keith thrust the thing far +under his sleeping-bag, and there its sound was smothered. At last +sleep overcame him like a restless anesthesia. + +With the break of another day he came out of his tent and stirred the +fire. There were still bits of burning ember, and these he fanned into +life and added to their flame fresh fuel. He could not easily forget +last night's torture, but its significance was gone. He laughed at his +own folly and wondered what Conniston himself would have thought of his +nervousness. For the first time in years he thought of the old days +down at college where, among other things, he had made a mark for +himself in psychology. He had considered himself an expert in the +discussion and understanding of phenomena of the mind. Afterward he had +lived up to the mark and had profited by his beliefs, and the fact that +a simple relaxation of his mental machinery had so disturbed him last +night amused him now. The solution was easy. It was his mind struggling +to equilibrium after four years of brain-fag. And he felt better. His +brain was clearer. He listened to the watch and found its ticking +natural. He braced himself to another effort and whistled as he +prepared his breakfast. + +After that he packed his dunnage and continued south. He wondered if +Conniston ever knew his Manual as he learned it now. At the end of the +sixth day he could repeat it from cover to cover. Every hour he made it +a practice to stop short and salute the trees about him. McDowell would +not catch him there. + +"I am Derwent Conniston," he kept telling himself. "John Keith is +dead--dead. I buried him back there under the cabin, the cabin built by +Sergeant Trossy and his patrol in nineteen hundred and eight. My name +is Conniston--Derwent Conniston." + +In his years of aloneness he had grown into the habit of talking to +himself--or with himself--to keep up his courage and sanity. "Keith, +old boy, we've got to fight it out," he would say. Now it was, +"Conniston, old chap, we'll win or die." After the third day, he never +spoke of John Keith except as a man who was dead. And over the dead +John Keith he spread Conniston's mantle. "John Keith died game, sir," +he said to McDowell, who was a tree. "He was the finest chap I ever +knew." + +On this sixth day came the miracle. For the first time in many months +John Keith saw the sun. He had seen the murky glow of it before this, +fighting to break through the pall of fog and haze that hung over the +Barrens, but this sixth day it was the sun, the real sun, bursting in +all its glory for a short space over the northern world. Each day after +this the sun was nearer and warmer, as the arctic vapor clouds and +frost smoke were left farther behind, and not until he had passed +beyond the ice fogs entirely did Keith swing westward. He did not +hurry, for now that he was out of his prison, he wanted time in which +to feel the first exhilarating thrill of his freedom. And more than all +else he knew that he must measure and test himself for the tremendous +fight ahead of him. + +Now that the sun and the blue sky had cleared his brain, he saw the +hundred pit-falls in his way, the hundred little slips that might be +made, the hundred traps waiting for any chance blunder on his part. +Deliberately he was on his way to the hangman. Down there--every day of +his life--he would rub elbows with him as he passed his fellow men in +the street. He would never completely feel himself out of the presence +of death. Day and night he must watch himself and guard himself, his +tongue, his feet, his thoughts, never knowing in what hour the eyes of +the law would pierce the veneer of his disguise and deliver his life as +the forfeit. There were times when the contemplation of these things +appalled him, and his mind turned to other channels of escape. And +then--always--he heard Conniston's cool, fighting voice, and the red +blood fired up in his veins, and he faced home. + +He was Derwent Conniston. And never for an hour could he put out of his +mind the one great mystifying question in this adventure of life and +death, who was Derwent Conniston? Shred by shred he pieced together +what little he knew, and always he arrived at the same futile end. An +Englishman, dead to his family if he had one, an outcast or an +expatriate--and the finest, bravest gentleman he had ever known. It was +the WHYFORE of these things that stirred within him an emotion which he +had never experienced before. The Englishman had grimly and +determinedly taken his secret to the grave with him. To him, John +Keith--who was now Derwent Conniston--he had left an heritage of deep +mystery and the mission, if he so chose, of discovering who he was, +whence he had come--and why. Often he looked at the young girl's +picture in the watch, and always he saw in her eyes something which +made him think of Conniston as he lay in the last hour of his life. +Undoubtedly the girl had grown into a woman now. + +Days grew into weeks, and under Keith's feet the wet, sweet-smelling +earth rose up through the last of the slush snow. Three hundred miles +below the Barrens, he was in the Reindeer Lake country early in May. +For a week he rested at a trapper's cabin on the Burntwood, and after +that set out for Cumberland House. Ten days later he arrived at the +post, and in the sunlit glow of the second evening afterward he built +his camp-fire on the shore of the yellow Saskatchewan. + +The mighty river, beloved from the days of his boyhood, sang to him +again, that night, the wonderful things that time and grief had dimmed +in his heart. The moon rose over it, a warm wind drifted out of the +south, and Keith, smoking his pipe, sat for a long time listening to +the soft murmur of it as it rolled past at his feet. For him it had +always been more than the river. He had grown up with it, and it had +become a part of him; it had mothered his earliest dreams and +ambitions; on it he had sought his first adventures; it had been his +chum, his friend, and his comrade, and the fancy struck him that in the +murmuring voice of it tonight there was a gladness, a welcome, an +exultation in his return. He looked out on its silvery bars shimmering +in the moonlight, and a flood of memories swept upon him. Thirty years +was not so long ago that he could not remember the beautiful mother who +had told him stories as the sun went down and bedtime drew near. And +vividly there stood out the wonderful tales of Kistachiwun, the river; +how it was born away over in the mystery of the western mountains, away +from the eyes and feet of men; how it came down from the mountains into +the hills, and through the hills into the plains, broadening and +deepening and growing mightier with every mile, until at last it swept +past their door, bearing with it the golden grains of sand that made +men rich. His father had pointed out the deep-beaten trails of buffalo +to him and had told him stories of the Indians and of the land before +white men came, so that between father and mother the river became his +book of fables, his wonderland, the never-ending source of his +treasured tales of childhood. And tonight the river was the one thing +left to him. It was the one friend he could claim again, the one +comrade he could open his arms to without fear of betrayal. And with +the grief for things that once had lived and were now dead, there came +over him a strange sort of happiness, the spirit of the great river +itself giving him consolation. + +Stretching out his arms, he cried: "My old river--it's me--Johnny +Keith! I've come back!" + +And the river, whispering, seemed to answer him: "It's Johnny Keith! +And he's come back! He's come back!" + + + + +IV + + +For a week John Keith followed up the shores of the Saskatchewan. It +was a hundred and forty miles from the Hudson's Bay Company's post of +Cumberland House to Prince Albert as the crow would fly, but Keith did +not travel a homing line. Only now and then did he take advantage of a +portage trail. Clinging to the river, his journey was lengthened by +some sixty miles. Now that the hour for which Conniston had prepared +him was so close at hand, he felt the need of this mighty, tongueless +friend that had played such an intimate part in his life. It gave to +him both courage and confidence, and in its company he could think more +clearly. Nights he camped on its golden-yellow bars with the open stars +over his head when he slept; his ears drank in the familiar sounds of +long ago, for which he had yearned to the point of madness in his +exile--the soft cries of the birds that hunted and mated in the glow of +the moon, the friendly twit, twit, twit of the low-flying sand-pipers, +the hoot of the owls, and the splash and sleepy voice of wildfowl +already on their way up from the south. Out of that south, where in +places the plains swept the forest back almost to the river's edge, he +heard now and then the doglike barking of his little yellow friends of +many an exciting horseback chase, the coyotes, and on the wilderness +side, deep in the forest, the sinister howling of wolves. He was +traveling, literally, the narrow pathway between two worlds. The river +was that pathway. On the one hand, not so very far away, were the +rolling prairies, green fields of grain, settlements and towns and the +homes of men; on the other the wilderness lay to the water's edge with +its doors still open to him. The seventh day a new sound came to his +ears at dawn. It was the whistle of a train at Prince Albert. + +There was no change in that whistle, and every nerve-string in his body +responded to it with crying thrill. It was the first voice to greet his +home-coming, and the sound of it rolled the yesterdays back upon him in +a deluge. He knew where he was now; he recalled exactly what he would +find at the next turn in the river. A few minutes later he heard the +wheezy chug, chug, chug of the old gold dredge at McCoffin's Bend. It +would be the Betty M., of course, with old Andy Duggan at the windlass, +his black pipe in mouth, still scooping up the shifting sands as he had +scooped them up for more than twenty years. He could see Andy sitting +at his post, clouded in a halo of tobacco smoke, a red-bearded, +shaggy-headed giant of a man whom the town affectionately called the +River Pirate. All his life Andy had spent in digging gold out of the +mountains or the river, and like grim death he had hung to the bars +above and below McCoffin's Bend. Keith smiled as he remembered old +Andy's passion for bacon. One could always find the perfume of bacon +about the Betty M., and when Duggan went to town, there were those who +swore they could smell it in his whiskers. + +Keith left the river trail now for the old logging road. In spite of +his long fight to steel himself for what Conniston had called the +"psychological moment," he felt himself in the grip of an uncomfortable +mental excitement. At last he was face to face with the great gamble. +In a few hours he would play his one card. If he won, there was life +ahead of him again, if he lost--death. The old question which he had +struggled to down surged upon him. Was it worth the chance? Was it in +an hour of madness that he and Conniston had pledged themselves to this +amazing adventure? The forest was still with him. He could turn back. +The game had not yet gone so far that he could not withdraw his +hand--and for a space a powerful impulse moved him. And then, coming +suddenly to the edge of the clearing at McCoffin's Bend, he saw the +dredge close inshore, and striding up from the beach Andy Duggan +himself! In another moment Keith had stepped forth and was holding up a +hand in greeting. + +He felt his heart thumping in an unfamiliar way as Duggan came on. Was +it conceivable that the riverman would not recognize him? He forgot his +beard, forgot the great change that four years had wrought in him. He +remembered only that Duggan had been his friend, that a hundred times +they had sat together in the quiet glow of long evenings, telling tales +of the great river they both loved. And always Duggan's stories had +been of that mystic paradise hidden away in the western mountains--the +river's end, the paradise of golden lure, where the Saskatchewan was +born amid towering peaks, and where Duggan--a long time ago--had +quested for the treasure which he knew was hidden somewhere there. Four +years had not changed Duggan. If anything his beard was redder and +thicker and his hair shaggier than when Keith had last seen him. And +then, following him from the Betsy M., Keith caught the everlasting +scent of bacon. He devoured it in deep breaths. His soul cried out for +it. Once he had grown tired of Duggan's bacon, but now he felt that he +could go on eating it forever. As Duggan advanced, he was moved by a +tremendous desire to stretch out his hand and say: "I'm John Keith. +Don't you know me, Duggan?" Instead, he choked back his desire and +said, "Fine morning!" + +Duggan nodded uncertainly. He was evidently puzzled at not being able +to place his man. "It's always fine on the river, rain 'r shine. +Anybody who says it ain't is a God A'mighty liar!" + +He was still the old Duggan, ready to fight for his river at the drop +of a hat! Keith wanted to hug him. He shifted his pack and said: + +"I've slept with it for a week--just to have it for company--on the way +down from Cumberland House. Seems good to get back!" He took off his +hat and met the riverman's eyes squarely. "Do you happen to know if +McDowell is at barracks?" he asked. + +"He is," said Duggan. + +That was all. He was looking at Keith with a curious directness. Keith +held his breath. He would have given a good deal to have seen behind +Duggan's beard. There was a hard note in the riverman's voice, too. It +puzzled him. And there was a flash of sullen fire in his eyes at the +mention of McDowell's name. "The Inspector's there--sittin' tight," he +added, and to Keith's amazement brushed past him without another word +and disappeared into the bush. + +This, at least, was not like the good-humored Duggan of four years ago. +Keith replaced his hat and went on. At the farther side of the clearing +he turned and looked back. Duggan stood in the open roadway, his hands +thrust deep in his pockets, staring after him. Keith waved his hand, +but Duggan did not respond. He stood like a sphinx, his big red beard +glowing in the early sun, and watched Keith until he was gone. + +To Keith this first experiment in the matter of testing an identity was +a disappointment. It was not only disappointing but filled him with +apprehension. It was true that Duggan had not recognized him as John +Keith, BUT NEITHER HAD HE RECOGNIZED HIM AS DERWENT CONNISTON! And +Duggan was not a man to forget in three or four years--or half a +lifetime, for that matter. He saw himself facing a new and unexpected +situation. What if McDowell, like Duggan, saw in him nothing more than +a stranger? The Englishman's last words pounded in his head again like +little fists beating home a truth, "You win or lose the moment McDowell +first sets his eyes on you." They pressed upon him now with a deadly +significance. For the first time he understood all that Conniston had +meant. His danger was not alone in the possibility of being recognized +as John Keith; it lay also in the hazard of NOT being recognized as +Derwent Conniston. + +If the thought had come to him to turn back, if the voice of fear and a +premonition of impending evil had urged him to seek freedom in another +direction, their whispered cautions were futile in the thrill of the +greater excitement that possessed him now. That there was a third hand +playing in this game of chance in which Conniston had already lost his +life, and in which he was now staking his own, was something which gave +to Keith a new and entirely unlooked-for desire to see the end of the +adventure. The mental vision of his own certain fate, should he lose, +dissolved into a nebulous presence that no longer oppressed nor +appalled him. Physical instinct to fight against odds, the inspiration +that presages the uncertainty of battle, fired his blood with an +exhilarating eagerness. He was anxious to stand face to face with +McDowell. Not until then would the real fight begin. For the first time +the fact seized upon him that the Englishman was wrong--he would NOT +win or lose in the first moment of the Inspector's scrutiny. In that +moment he could lose--McDowell's cleverly trained eyes might detect the +fraud; but to win, if the game was not lost at the first shot, meant an +exciting struggle. Today might be his Armageddon, but it could not +possess the hour of his final triumph. + +He felt himself now like a warrior held in leash within sound of the +enemy's guns and the smell of his powder. He held his old world to be +his enemy, for civilization meant people, and the people were the +law--and the law wanted his life. Never had he possessed a deeper +hatred for the old code of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth +than in this hour when he saw up the valley a gray mist of smoke rising +over the roofs of his home town. He had never conceded within himself +that he was a criminal. He believed that in killing Kirkstone he had +killed a serpent who had deserved to die, and a hundred times he had +told himself that the job would have been much more satisfactory from +the view-point of human sanitation if he had sent the son in the +father's footsteps. He had rid the people of a man not fit to live--and +the people wanted to kill him for it. Therefore the men and women in +that town he had once loved, and still loved, were his enemies, and to +find friends among them again he was compelled to perpetrate a clever +fraud. + +He remembered an unboarded path from this side of the town, which +entered an inconspicuous little street at the end of which was a barber +shop. It was the barber shop which he must reach first He was glad that +it was early in the day when he came to the street an hour later, for +he would meet few people. The street had changed considerably. Long, +open spaces had filled in with houses, and he wondered if the +anticipated boom of four years ago had come. He smiled grimly as the +humor of the situation struck him. His father and he had staked their +future in accumulating a lot of "outside" property. If the boom had +materialized, that property was "inside" now--and worth a great deal. +Before he reached the barber shop he realized that the dream of the +Prince Albertites had come true. Prosperity had advanced upon them in +mighty leaps. The population of the place had trebled. He was a rich +man! And also, it occurred to him, he was a dead one--or would be when +he reported officially to McDowell. What a merry scrap there would be +among the heirs of John Keith, deceased! + +The old shop still clung to its corner, which was valuable as "business +footage" now. But it possessed a new barber. He was alone. Keith gave +his instructions in definite detail and showed him Conniston's +photograph in his identification book. The beard and mustache must be +just so, very smart, decidedly English, and of military neatness, his +hair cut not too short and brushed smoothly back. When the operation +was over, he congratulated the barber and himself. Bronzed to the color +of an Indian by wind and smoke, straight as an arrow, his muscles +swelling with the brute strength of the wilderness, he smiled at +himself in the mirror when he compared the old John Keith with this new +Derwent Conniston! Before he went out he tightened his belt a notch. +Then he headed straight for the barracks of His Majesty's Royal +Northwest Mounted Police. + +His way took him up the main street, past the rows of shops that had +been there four years ago, past the Saskatchewan Hotel and the little +Board of Trade building which, like the old barber shop, still hung to +its original perch at the edge of the high bank which ran precipitously +down to the river. And there, as sure as fate, was Percival Clary, the +little English Secretary! But what a different Percy! + +He had broadened out and straightened up. He had grown a mustache, +which was immaculately waxed. His trousers were immaculately creased, +his shoes were shining, and he stood before the door of his now +important office resting lightly on a cane. Keith grinned as he +witnessed how prosperity had bolstered up Percival along with the town. +His eyes quested for familiar faces as he went along. Here and there he +saw one, but for the most part he encountered strangers, lively looking +men who were hustling as if they had a mission in hand. Glaring real +estate signs greeted him from every place of prominence, and +automobiles began to hum up and down the main street that stretched +along the river--twenty where there had been one not so long ago. + +Keith found himself fighting to keep his eyes straight ahead when he +met a girl or a woman. Never had he believed fully and utterly in the +angelhood of the feminine until now. He passed perhaps a dozen on the +way to barracks, and he was overwhelmed with the desire to stop and +feast his eyes upon each one of them. He had never been a lover of +women; he admired them, he believed them to be the better part of man, +he had worshiped his mother, but his heart had been neither glorified +nor broken by a passion for the opposite sex. Now, to the bottom of his +soul, he worshiped that dozen! Some of them were homely, some of them +were plain, two or three of them were pretty, but to Keith their +present physical qualifications made no difference. They were white +women, and they were glorious, every one of them! The plainest of them +was lovely. He wanted to throw up his hat and shout in sheer joy. Four +years--and now he was back in angel land! For a space he forgot +McDowell. + +His head was in a whirl when he came to barracks. Life was good, after +all. It was worth fighting for, and he was bound fight. He went +straight to McDowell's office. A moment after his knock on the door the +Inspector's secretary appeared. + +"The Inspector is busy, sir," he said in response to Keith's inquiry. +"I'll tell him--" + +"That I am here on a very important matter," advised Keith. "He will +admit me when you tell him that I bring information regarding a certain +John Keith." + +The secretary disappeared through an inner door. It seemed not more +than ten seconds before he was back. "The Inspector will see you, sir." + +Keith drew a deep breath to quiet the violent beating of his heart. In +spite of all his courage he felt upon him the clutch of a cold and +foreboding hand, a hand that seemed struggling to drag him back. And +again he heard Conniston's dying voice whispering to him, "REMEMBER, +OLD CHAP, YOU WIN OR LOSE THE MOMENT MCDOWELL FIRST SETS HIS EYES ON +YOU!" + +Was Conniston right? + +Win or lose, he would play the game as the Englishman would have played +it. Squaring his shoulders he entered to face McDowell, the cleverest +man-hunter in the Northwest. + + + + +V + + +Keith's first vision, as he entered the office of the Inspector of +Police, was not of McDowell, but of a girl. She sat directly facing him +as he advanced through the door, the light from a window throwing into +strong relief her face and hair. The effect was unusual. She was +strikingly handsome. The sun, giving to the room a soft radiance, lit +up her hair with shimmering gold; her eyes, Keith saw, were a clear and +wonderful gray--and they stared at him as he entered, while the poise +of her body and the tenseness of her face gave evidence of sudden and +unusual emotion. These things Keith observed in a flash; then he turned +toward McDowell. + +The Inspector sat behind a table covered with maps and papers, and +instantly Keith was conscious of the penetrating inquisition of his +gaze. He felt, for an instant, the disquieting tremor of the criminal. +Then he met McDowell's eyes squarely. They were, as Conniston had +warned him, eyes that could see through boiler-plate. Of an indefinable +color and deep set behind shaggy, gray eyebrows, they pierced him +through at the first glance. Keith took in the carefully waxed gray +mustaches, the close-cropped gray hair, the rigidly set muscles of the +man's face, and saluted. + +He felt creeping over him a slow chill. There was no greeting in that +iron-like countenance, for full a quarter-minute no sign of +recognition. And then, as the sun had played in the girl's hair, a new +emotion passed over McDowell's face, and Keith saw for the first time +the man whom Derwent Conniston had known as a friend as well as a +superior. He rose from his chair, and leaning over the table said in a +voice in which were mingled both amazement and pleasure: + +"We were just talking about the devil--and here you are, sir! +Conniston, how are you?" + +For a few moments Keith did not see. HE HAD WON! The blood pounded +through his heart so violently that it confused his vision and his +senses. He felt the grip of McDowell's hand; he heard his voice; a +vision swam before his eyes--and it was the vision of Derwent +Conniston's triumphant face. He was standing erect, his head was up, he +was meeting McDowell shoulder to shoulder, even smiling, but in that +swift surge of exultation he did not know. McDowell, still gripping his +hand and with his other hand on his arm, was wheeling him about, and he +found the girl on her feet, staring at him as if he had newly risen +from the dead. + +McDowell's military voice was snapping vibrantly, "Conniston, meet Miss +Miriam Kirkstone, daughter of Judge Kirkstone!" + +He bowed and held for a moment in his own the hand of the girl whose +father he had killed. It was lifeless and cold. Her lips moved, merely +speaking his name. His own were mute. McDowell was saying something +about the glory of the service and the sovereignty of the law. And +then, breaking in like the beat of a drum on the introduction, his +voice demanded, "Conniston--DID YOU GET YOUR MAN?" + +The question brought Keith to his senses. He inclined his head slightly +and said, "I beg to report that John Keith is dead, sir." + +He saw Miriam Kirkstone give a visible start, as if his words had +carried a stab. She was apparently making a strong effort to hide her +agitation as she turned swiftly away from him, speaking to McDowell. + +"You have been very kind, Inspector McDowell. I hope very soon to have +the pleasure of talking with Mr. Conniston--about--John Keith." + +She left them, nodding slightly to Keith. + +When she was gone, a puzzled look filled the Inspector's eyes. "She has +been like that for the last six months," he explained. "Tremendously +interested in this man Keith and his fate. I don't believe that I have +watched for your return more anxiously than she has, Conniston. And the +curious part of it is she seemed to have no interest in the matter at +all until six months ago. Sometimes I am afraid that brooding over her +father's death has unsettled her a little. A mighty pretty girl, +Conniston. A mighty pretty girl, indeed! And her brother is a skunk. +Pst! You haven't forgotten him?" + +He drew a chair up close to his own and motioned Keith to be seated. +"You're changed, Conniston!" + +The words came out of him like a shot. So unexpected were they that +Keith felt the effect of them in every nerve of his body. He sensed +instantly what McDowell meant. He was NOT like the Englishman; he +lacked his mannerisms, his cool and superior suavity, the inimitable +quality of his nerve and sportsmanship. Even as he met the disquieting +directness of the Inspector's eyes, he could see Conniston sitting in +his place, rolling his mustache between his forefinger and thumb, and +smiling as though he had gone into the north but yesterday and had +returned today. That was what McDowell was missing in him, the soul of +Conniston himself--Conniston, the ne plus ultra of presence and amiable +condescension, the man who could look the Inspector or the High +Commissioner himself between the eyes, and, serenely indifferent to +Service regulations, say, "Fine morning, old top!" Keith was not +without his own sense of humor. How the Englishman's ghost must be +raging if it was in the room at the present moment! He grinned and +shrugged his shoulders. + +"Were you ever up there--through the Long Night--alone?" he asked. +"Ever been through six months of living torture with the stars leering +at you and the foxes barking at you all the time, fighting to keep +yourself from going mad? I went through that twice to get John Keith, +and I guess you're right. I'm changed. I don't think I'll ever be the +same again. Something--has gone. I can't tell what it is, but I feel +it. I guess only half of me pulled through. It killed John Keith. +Rotten, isn't it?" + +He felt that he had made a lucky stroke. McDowell pulled out a drawer +from under the table and thrust a box of fat cigars under his nose. + +"Light up, Derry--light up and tell us what happened. Bless my soul, +you're not half dead! A week in the old town will straighten you out." + +He struck a match and held it to the tip of Keith's cigar. + +For an hour thereafter Keith told the story of the man-hunt. It was his +Iliad. He could feel the presence of Conniston as words fell from his +lips; he forgot the presence of the stern-faced man who was watching +him and listening to him; he could see once more only the long months +and years of that epic drama of one against one, of pursuit and flight, +of hunger and cold, of the Long Nights filled with the desolation of +madness and despair. He triumphed over himself, and it was Conniston +who spoke from within him. It was the Englishman who told how terribly +John Keith had been punished, and when he came to the final days in the +lonely little cabin in the edge of the Barrens, Keith finished with a +choking in his throat, and the words, "And that was how John Keith +died--a gentleman and a MAN!" + +He was thinking of the Englishman, of the calm and fearless smile in +his eyes as he died, of his last words, the last friendly grip of his +hand, and McDowell saw the thing as though he had faced it himself. He +brushed a hand over his face as if to wipe away a film. For some +moments after Keith had finished, he stood with his back to the man who +he thought was Conniston, and his mind was swiftly adding twos and twos +and fours and fours as he looked away into the green valley of the +Saskatchewan. He was the iron man when he turned to Keith again, the +law itself, merciless and potent, by some miracle turned into the form +of human flesh. + +"After two and a half years of THAT even a murderer must have seemed +like a saint to you, Conniston. You have done your work splendidly. The +whole story shall go to the Department, and if it doesn't bring you a +commission, I'll resign. But we must continue to regret that John Keith +did not live to be hanged." + +"He has paid the price," said Keith dully. + +"No, he has not paid the price, not in full. He merely died. It could +have been paid only at the end of a rope. His crime was atrociously +brutal, the culmination of a fiend's desire for revenge. We will wipe +off his name. But I can not wipe away the regret. I would sacrifice a +year of my life if he were in this room with you now. It would be worth +it. God, what a thing for the Service--to have brought John Keith back +to justice after four years!" + +He was rubbing his hands and smiling at Keith even as he spoke. His +eyes had taken on a filmy glitter. The law! It stood there, without +heart or soul, coveting the life that had escaped it. A feeling of +revulsion swept over Keith. + +A knock came at the door. + +McDowell's voice gave permission, and the door slowly opened. Cruze, +the young secretary, thrust in his head. + +"Shan Tung is waiting, sir," he said. + +An invisible hand reached up suddenly and gripped at Keith's throat. He +turned aside to conceal what his face might have betrayed. Shan Tung! +He knew what it was now that had pulled him back, he knew why +Conniston's troubled face had traveled with him over the Barrens, and +there surged over him with a sickening foreboding, a realization of +what it was that Conniston had remembered and wanted to tell him--when +it was too late. THEY HAD FORGOTTEN SHAN TUNG, THE CHINAMAN! + + + + +VI + + +In the hall beyond the secretary's room Shan Tung waited. As McDowell +was the iron and steel embodiment of the law, so Shan Tung was the +flesh and blood spirit of the mysticism and immutability of his race. +His face was the face of an image made of an unemotional living tissue +in place of wood or stone, dispassionate, tolerant, patient. What +passed in the brain behind his yellow-tinged eyes only Shan Tung knew. +It was his secret. And McDowell had ceased to analyze or attempt to +understand him. The law, baffled in its curiosity, had come to accept +him as a weird and wonderful mechanism--a thing more than a +man--possessed of an unholy power. This power was the oriental's +marvelous ability to remember faces. Once Shan Tung looked at a face, +it was photographed in his memory for years. Time and change could not +make him forget--and the law made use of him. + +Briefly McDowell had classified him at Headquarters. "Either an exiled +prime minister of China or the devil in a yellow skin," he had written +to the Commissioner. "Correct age unknown and past history a mystery. +Dropped into Prince Albert in 1908 wearing diamonds and patent leather +shoes. A stranger then and a stranger now. Proprietor and owner of the +Shan Tung Cafe. Educated, soft-spoken, womanish, but the one man on +earth I'd hate to be in a dark room with, knives drawn. I use him, +mistrust him, watch him, and would fear him under certain conditions. +As far as we can discover, he is harmless and law-abiding. But such a +ferret must surely have played his game somewhere, at some time." + +This was the man whom Conniston had forgotten and Keith now dreaded to +meet. For many minutes Shan Tung had stood at a window looking out upon +the sunlit drillground and the broad sweep of green beyond. He was +toying with his slim hands caressingly. Half a smile was on his lips. +No man had ever seen more than that half smile illuminate Shan Tung's +face. His black hair was sleek and carefully trimmed. His dress was +immaculate. His slimness, as McDowell had noted, was the slimness of a +young girl. + +When Cruze came to announce that McDowell would see him, Shan Tung was +still visioning the golden-headed figure of Miriam Kirkstone as he had +seen her passing through the sunshine. There was something like a purr +in his breath as he stood interlacing his tapering fingers. The instant +he heard the secretary's footsteps the finger play stopped, the purr +died, the half smile was gone. He turned softly. Cruze did not speak. +He simply made a movement of his head, and Shan Tung's feet fell +noiselessly. Only the slight sound made by the opening and closing of a +door gave evidence of his entrance into the Inspector's room. Shan Tung +and no other could open and close a door like that. Cruze shivered. He +always shivered when Shan Tung passed him, and always he swore that he +could smell something in the air, like a poison left behind. + +Keith, facing the window, was waiting. The moment the door was opened, +he felt Shan Tung's presence. Every nerve in his body was keyed to an +uncomfortable tension. The thought that his grip on himself was +weakening, and because of a Chinaman, maddened him. And he must turn. +Not to face Shan Tung now would be but a postponement of the ordeal and +a confession of cowardice. Forcing his hand into Conniston's little +trick of twisting a mustache, he turned slowly, leveling his eyes +squarely to meet Shan Tung's. + +To his surprise Shan Tung seemed utterly oblivious of his presence. He +had not, apparently, taken more than a casual glance in his direction. +In a voice which one beyond the door might have mistaken for a woman's, +he was saying to McDowell: + +"I have seen the man you sent me to see, Mr. McDowell. It is Larsen. He +has changed much in eight years. He has grown a beard. He has lost an +eye. His hair has whitened. But it is Larsen." The faultlessness of his +speech and the unemotional but perfect inflection of his words made +Keith, like the young secretary, shiver where he stood. In McDowell's +face he saw a flash of exultation. + +"He had no suspicion of you, Shan Tung?" + +"He did not see me to suspect. He will be there--when--" Slowly he +faced Keith. "--When Mr. Conniston goes to arrest him," he finished. + +He inclined his head as he backed noiselessly toward the door. His +yellow eyes did not leave Keith's face. In them Keith fancied that he +caught a sinister gleam. There was the faintest inflection of a new +note in his voice, and his fingers were playing again, but not as when +he had looked out through the window at Miriam Kirkstone. And then--in +a flash, it seemed to Keith--the Chinaman's eyes closed to narrow +slits, and the pupils became points of flame no larger than the +sharpened ends of a pair of pencils. The last that Keith was conscious +of seeing of Shan Tung was the oriental's eyes. They had seemed to drag +his soul half out of his body. + +"A queer devil," said McDowell. "After he is gone, I always feel as if +a snake had been in the room. He still hates you, Conniston. Three +years have made no difference. He hates you like poison. I believe he +would kill you, if he had a chance to do it and get away with the +Business. And you--you blooming idiot--simply twiddle your mustache and +laugh at him! I'd feel differently if I were in your boots." + +Inwardly Keith was asking himself why it was that Shan Tung had hated +Conniston. + +McDowell added nothing to enlighten him. He was gathering up a number +of papers scattered on his desk, smiling with a grim satisfaction. +"It's Larsen all right if Shan Tung says so," he told Keith. And then, +as if he had only thought of the matter, he said, "You're going to +reenlist, aren't you, Conniston?" + +"I still owe the Service a month or so before my term expires, don't I? +After that--yes--I believe I shall reenlist." + +"Good!" approved the Inspector. "I'll have you a sergeancy within a +month. Meanwhile you're off duty and may do anything you please. You +know Brady, the Company agent? He's up the Mackenzie on a trip, and +here's the key to his shack. I know you'll appreciate getting under a +real roof again, and Brady won't object as long as I collect his thirty +dollars a month rent. Of course Barracks is open to you, but it just +occurred to me you might prefer this place while on furlough. +Everything is there from a bathtub to nutcrackers, and I know a little +Jap in town who is hunting a job as a cook. What do you say?" + +"Splendid!" cried Keith. "I'll go up at once, and if you'll hustle the +Jap along, I'll appreciate it. You might tell him to bring up stuff for +dinner," he added. + +McDowell gave him a key. Ten minutes later he was out of sight of +barracks and climbing a green slope that led to Brady's bungalow. + +In spite of the fact that he had not played his part brilliantly, he +believed that he had scored a triumph. Andy Duggan had not recognized +him, and the riverman had been one of his most intimate friends. +McDowell had accepted him apparently without a suspicion. And Shan +Tung-- + +It was Shan Tung who weighed heavily upon his mind, even as his nerves +tingled with the thrill of success. He could not get away from the +vision of the Chinaman as he had backed through the Inspector's door, +the flaming needle-points of his eyes piercing him as he went. It was +not hatred he had seen in Shan Tung's face. He was sure of that. It was +no emotion that he could describe. It was as if a pair of mechanical +eyes fixed in the head of an amazingly efficient mechanical monster had +focused themselves on him in those few instants. It made him think of +an X-ray machine. But Shan Tung was human. And he was clever. Given +another skin, one would not have taken him for what he was. The +immaculateness of his speech and manners was more than unusual; it was +positively irritating, something which no Chinaman should rightfully +possess. So argued Keith as he went up to Brady's bungalow. + +He tried to throw off the oppression of the thing that was creeping +over him, the growing suspicion that he had not passed safely under the +battery of Shan Tung's eyes. With physical things he endeavored to +thrust his mental uneasiness into the background. He lighted one of the +half-dozen cigars McDowell had dropped into his pocket. It was good to +feel a cigar between his teeth again and taste its flavor. At the crest +of the slope on which Brady's bungalow stood, he stopped and looked +about him. Instinctively his eyes turned first to the west. In that +direction half of the town lay under him, and beyond its edge swept the +timbered slopes, the river, and the green pathways of the plains. His +heart beat a little faster as he looked. Half a mile away was a tiny, +parklike patch of timber, and sheltered there, with the river running +under it, was the old home. The building was hidden, but through a +break in the trees he could see the top of the old red brick chimney +glowing in the sun, as if beckoning a welcome to him over the tree +tops. He forgot Shan Tung; he forgot McDowell; he forgot that he was +John Keith, the murderer, in the overwhelming sea of loneliness that +swept over him. He looked out into the world that had once been his, +and all that he saw was that red brick chimney glowing in the sun, and +the chimney changed until at last it seemed to him like a tombstone +rising over the graves of the dead. He turned to the door of the +bungalow with a thickening in his throat and his eyes filmed by a mist +through which for a few moments it was difficult for him to see. + +The bungalow was darkened by drawn curtains when he entered. One after +another he let them up, and the sun poured in. Brady had left his place +in order, and Keith felt about him an atmosphere of cheer that was a +mighty urge to his flagging spirits. Brady was a home man without a +wife. The Company's agent had called his place "The Shack" because it +was built entirely of logs, and a woman could not have made it more +comfortable. Keith stood in the big living-room. At one end was a +strong fireplace in which kindlings and birch were already laid, +waiting the touch of a match. Brady's reading table and his easy chair +were drawn up close; his lounging moccasins were on a footstool; pipes, +tobacco, books and magazines littered the table; and out of this +cheering disorder rose triumphantly the amber shoulder of a half-filled +bottle of Old Rye. + +Keith found himself chuckling. His grin met the lifeless stare of a +pair of glass eyes in the huge head of an old bull moose over the +mantel, and after that his gaze rambled over the walls ornamented with +mounted heads, pictures, snowshoes, gun-racks and the things which went +to make up the comradeship and business of Brady's picturesque life. +Keith could look through into the little dining-room, and beyond that +was the kitchen. He made an inventory of both and found that McDowell +was right. There were nutcrackers in Brady's establishment. And he +found the bathroom. It was not much larger than a piano box, but the +tub was man's size, and Keith raised a window and poked his head out to +find that it was connected with a rainwater tank built by a genius, +just high enough to give weight sufficient for a water system and low +enough to gather the rain as it fell from the eaves. He laughed +outright, the sort of laugh that comes out of a man's soul not when he +is amused but when he is pleased. By the time he had investigated the +two bedrooms, he felt a real affection for Brady. He selected the +agent's room for his own. Here, too, were pipes and tobacco and books +and magazines, and a reading lamp on a table close to the bedside. Not +until he had made a closer inspection of the living-room did he +discover that the Shack also had a telephone. + +By that time he noted that the sun had gone out. Driving up from the +west was a mass of storm clouds. He unlocked a door from which he could +look up the river, and the wind that was riding softly in advance of +the storm ruffled his hair and cooled his face. In it he caught again +the old fancy--the smells of the vast reaches of unpeopled prairie +beyond the rim of the forest, and the luring chill of the distant +mountain tops. Always storm that came down with the river brought to +him voice from the river's end. It came to him from the great mountains +that were a passion with him; it seemed to thunder to him the old +stories of the mightiest fastnesses of the Rockies and stirred in him +the child-bred yearning to follow up his beloved river until he came at +last to the mystery of its birthplace in the cradle of the western +ranges. And now, as he faced the storm, the grip of that desire held +him like a strong hand. + +The sky blackened swiftly, and with the rumbling of far-away thunder he +saw the lightning slitting the dark heaven like bayonets, and the fire +of the electrical charges galloped to him and filled his veins. His +heart all at once cried out words that his lips did not utter. Why +should he not answer the call that had come to him through all the +years? Now was the time--and why should he not go? Why tempt fate in +the hazard of a great adventure where home and friends and even hope +were dead to him, when off there beyond the storm was the place of his +dreams? He threw out his arms. His voice broke at last in a cry of +strange ecstasy. Not everything was gone! Not everything was dead! Over +the graveyard of his past there was sweeping a mighty force that called +him, something that was no longer merely an urge and a demand but a +thing that was irresistible. He would go! Tomorrow--today--tonight--he +would begin making plans! + +He watched the deluge as it came on with a roar of wind, a beating, +hissing wall under which the tree tops down in the edge of the plain +bent their heads like a multitude of people in prayer. He saw it +sweeping up the slope in a mass of gray dragoons. It caught him before +he had closed the door, and his face dripped with wet as he forced the +last inch of it against the wind with his shoulder. It was the sort of +storm Keith liked. The thunder was the rumble of a million giant +cartwheels rolling overhead. + +Inside the bungalow it was growing dark as though evening had come. He +dropped on his knees before the pile of dry fuel in the fireplace and +struck a match. For a space the blaze smoldered; then the birch fired +up like oil-soaked tinder, and a yellow flame crackled and roared up +the flue. Keith was sensitive in the matter of smoking other people's +pipes, so he drew out his own and filled it with Brady's tobacco. It +was an English mixture, rich and aromatic, and as the fire burned +brighter and the scent of the tobacco filled the room, he dropped into +Brady's big lounging chair and stretched out his legs with a deep +breath of satisfaction. His thoughts wandered to the clash of the +storm. He would have a place like this out there in the mystery of the +trackless mountains, where the Saskatchewan was born. He would build it +like Brady's place, even to the rain-water tank midway between the roof +and the ground. And after a few years no one would remember that a man +named John Keith had ever lived. + +Something brought him suddenly to his feet. It was the ringing of the +telephone. After four years the sound was one that roused with an +uncomfortable jump every nerve in his body. Probably it was McDowell +calling up about the Jap or to ask how he liked the place. Probably--it +was that. He repeated the thought aloud as he laid his pipe on the +table. And yet as his hand came in contact with the telephone, he felt +an inclination to draw back. A subtle voice whispered him not to +answer, to leave while the storm was dark, to go back into the +wilderness, to fight his way to the western mountains. + +With a jerk he unhooked the receiver and put it to his ear. + +It was not McDowell who answered him. It was not Shan Tung. To his +amazement, coming to him through the tumult of the storm, he recognized +the voice of Miriam Kirkstone! + + + + +VII + + +Why should Miriam Kirkstone call him up in an hour when the sky was +livid with the flash of lightning and the earth trembled with the roll +of thunder? This was the question that filled Keith's mind as he +listened to the voice at the other end of the wire. It was pitched to a +high treble as if unconsciously the speaker feared that the storm might +break in upon her words. She was telling him that she had telephoned +McDowell but had been too late to catch him before he left for Brady's +bungalow; she was asking him to pardon her for intruding upon his time +so soon after his return, but she was sure that he would understand +her. She wanted him to come up to see her that evening at eight +o'clock. It was important--to her. Would he come? + +Before Keith had taken a moment to consult with himself he had replied +that he would. He heard her "thank you," her "good-by," and hung up the +receiver, stunned. So far as he could remember, he had spoken no more +than seven words. The beautiful young woman up at the Kirkstone mansion +had clearly betrayed her fear of the lightning by winding up her +business with him at the earliest possible moment. Why, then, had she +not waited until the storm was over? + +A pounding at the door interrupted his thought. He went to it and +admitted an individual who, in spite of his water-soaked condition, was +smiling all over. It was Wallie, the Jap. He was no larger than a boy +of sixteen, and from eyes, ears, nose, and hair he was dripping +streams, while his coat bulged with packages which he had struggled to +protect, from the torrent through which he had forced his way up the +hill. Keith liked him on the instant. He found himself powerless to +resist the infection of Wallie's grin, and as Wallie hustled into the +kitchen like a wet spaniel, he followed and helped him unload. By the +time the little Jap had disgorged his last package, he had assured +Keith that the rain was nice, that his name was Wallie, that he +expected five dollars a week and could cook "like heaven." Keith +laughed outright, and Wallie was so delighted with the general outlook +that he fairly kicked his heels together. Thereafter for an hour or so +he was left alone in possession of the kitchen, and shortly Keith began +to hear certain sounds and catch occasional odoriferous whiffs which +assured him that Wallie was losing no time in demonstrating his divine +efficiency in the matter of cooking. + +Wallie's coming gave him an excuse to call up McDowell. He confessed to +a disquieting desire to hear the inspector's voice again. In the back +of his head was the fear of Shan Tung, and the hope that McDowell might +throw some light on Miriam Kirkstone's unusual request to see her that +night. The storm had settled down into a steady drizzle when he got in +touch with him, and he was relieved to find there was no change in the +friendliness of the voice that came over the telephone. If Shan Tung +had a suspicion, he had kept it to himself. + +To Keith's surprise it was McDowell who spoke first of Miss Kirkstone. + +"She seemed unusually anxious to get in touch with you," he said. "I am +frankly disturbed over a certain matter, Conniston, and I should like +to talk with you before you go up tonight." + +Keith sniffed the air. "Wallie is going to ring the dinner bell within +half an hour. Why not slip on a raincoat and join me up here? I think +it's going to be pretty good." + +"I'll come," said McDowell. "Expect me any moment." + +Fifteen minutes later Keith was helping him off with his wet slicker. +He had expected McDowell to make some observation on the cheerfulness +of the birch fire and the agreeable aromas that were leaking from +Wallie's kitchen, but the inspector disappointed him. He stood for a +few moments with his back to the fire, thumbing down the tobacco in his +pipe, and he made no effort to conceal the fact that there was +something in his mind more important than dinner and the cheer of a +grate. + +His eyes fell on the telephone, and he nodded toward it. "Seemed very +anxious to see you, didn't she, Conniston? I mean Miss Kirkstone." + +"Rather." + +McDowell seated himself and lighted a match. "Seemed--a +little--nervous--perhaps," he suggested between puffs. "As though +something had happened--or was going to happen. Don't mind my +questioning you, do you, Derry?" + +"Not a bit," said Keith. "You see, I thought perhaps you might +explain--" + +There was a disquieting gleam in McDowell's eyes. "It was odd that she +should call you up so soon--and in the storm--wasn't it? She expected +to find you at my office. I could fairly hear the lightning hissing +along the wires. She must have been under some unusual impulse." + +"Perhaps." + +McDowell was silent for a space, looking steadily at Keith, as if +measuring him up to something. + +"I don't mind telling you that I am very deeply interested in Miss +Kirkstone," he said. "You didn't see her when the Judge was killed. She +was away at school, and you were on John Keith's trail when she +returned. I have never been much of a woman's man, Conniston, but I +tell you frankly that up until six or eight months ago Miriam was one +of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. I would give a good deal +to know the exact hour and date when the change in her began. I might +be able to trace some event to that date. It was six months ago that +she began to take an interest in the fate of John Keith. Since then the +change in her has alarmed me, Conniston. I don't understand. She has +betrayed nothing. But I have seen her dying by inches under my eyes. +She is only a pale and drooping flower compared with what she was. I am +positive it is not a sickness--unless it is mental. I have a suspicion. +It is almost too terrible to put into words. You will be going up there +tonight--you will be alone with her, will talk with her, may learn a +great deal if you understand what it is that is eating like a canker in +my mind. Will you help me to discover her secret?" He leaned toward +Keith. He was no longer the man of iron. There was something intensely +human in his face. + +"There is no other man on earth I would confide this matter to," he +went on slowly. "It will take--a gentleman--to handle it, someone who +is big enough to forget if my suspicion is untrue, and who will +understand fully what sacrilege means should it prove true. It is +extremely delicate. I hesitate. And yet--I am waiting, Conniston. Is it +necessary to ask you to pledge secrecy in the matter?" + +Keith held out a hand. McDowell gripped it tight. + +"It is--Shan Tung," he said, a peculiar hiss in his voice. "Shan +Tung--and Miriam Kirkstone! Do you understand, Conniston? Does the +horror of it get hold of you? Can you make yourself believe that it is +possible? Am I mad to allow such a suspicion to creep into my brain? +Shan Tung--Miriam Kirkstone! And she sees herself standing now at the +very edge of the pit of hell, and it is killing her." + +Keith felt his blood running cold as he saw in the inspector's face the +thing which he did not put more plainly in word. He was shocked. He +drew his hand from McDowell's grip almost fiercely. + +"Impossible!" he cried. "Yes, you are mad. Such a thing would be +inconceivable!" + +"And yet I have told myself that it is possible," said McDowell. His +face was returning into its iron-like mask. His two hands gripped the +arms of his chair, and he stared at Keith again as if he were looking +through him at something else, and to that something else he seemed to +speak, slowly, weighing and measuring each word before it passed his +lips. "I am not superstitious. It has always been a law with me to have +conviction forced upon me. I do not believe unusual things until +investigation proves them. I am making an exception in the case of Shan +Tung. I have never regarded him as a man, like you and me, but as a +sort of superphysical human machine possessed of a certain +psychological power that is at times almost deadly. Do you begin to +understand me? I believe that he has exerted the whole force of that +influence upon Miriam Kirkstone--and she has surrendered to it. I +believe--and yet I am not positive." + +"And you have watched them for six months?" + +"No. The suspicion came less than a month ago. No one that I know has +ever had the opportunity of looking into Shan Tung's private life. The +quarters behind his cafe are a mystery. I suppose they can be entered +from the cafe and also from a little stairway at the rear. One +night--very late--I saw Miriam Kirkstone come down that stairway. Twice +in the last month she has visited Shan Tung at a late hour. Twice that +I know of, you understand. And that is not all--quite." + +Keith saw the distended veins in McDowell's clenched hands, and he knew +that he was speaking under a tremendous strain. + +"I watched the Kirkstone home--personally. Three times in that same +month Shan Tung visited her there. The third time I entered boldly with +a fraud message for the girl. I remained with her for an hour. In that +time I saw nothing and heard nothing of Shan Tung. He was hiding--or +got out as I came in." + +Keith was visioning Miriam Kirkstone as he had seen her in the +inspector's office. He recalled vividly the slim, golden beauty of her, +the wonderful gray of her eyes, and the shimmer of her hair as she +stood in the light of the window--and then he saw Shan Tung, +effeminate, with his sly, creeping hands and his narrowed eyes, and the +thing which McDowell had suggested rose up before him a monstrous +impossibility. + +"Why don't you demand an explanation of Miss Kirkstone?" he asked. + +"I have, and she denies it all absolutely, except that Shan Tung came +to her house once to see her brother. She says that she was never on +the little stairway back of Shan Tung's place." + +"And you do not believe her?" + +"Assuredly not. I saw her. To speak the cold truth, Conniston, she is +lying magnificently to cover up something which she does not want any +other person on earth to know." + +Keith leaned forward suddenly. "And why is it that John Keith, dead and +buried, should have anything to do with this?" he demanded. "Why did +this 'intense interest' you speak of in John Keith begin at about the +same time your suspicions began to include Shan Tung?" + +McDowell shook his head. "It may be that her interest was not so much +in John Keith as in you, Conniston. That is for you to +discover--tonight. It is an interesting situation. It has tragic +possibilities. The instant you substantiate my suspicions we'll deal +directly with Shan Tung. Just now--there's Wallie behind you grinning +like a Cheshire cat. His dinner must be a success." + +The diminutive Jap had noiselessly opened the door of the little +dining-room in which the table was set for two. + +Keith smiled as he sat down opposite the man who would have sent him to +the executioner had he known the truth. After all, it was but a step +from comedy to tragedy. And just now he was conscious of a bit of +grisly humor in the situation. + + + + +VIII + + +The storm had settled into a steady drizzle when McDowell left the +Shack at two o'clock. Keith watched the iron man, as his tall, gray +figure faded away into the mist down the slope, with a curious +undercurrent of emotion. Before the inspector had come up as his guest +he had, he thought, definitely decided his future action. He would go +west on his furlough, write McDowell that he had decided not to +reenlist, and bury himself in the British Columbia mountains before an +answer could get back to him, leaving the impression that he was going +on to Australia or Japan. He was not so sure of himself now. He found +himself looking ahead to the night, when he would see Miriam Kirkstone, +and he no longer feared Shan Tung as he had feared him a few hours +before. McDowell himself had given him new weapons. He was unofficially +on Shan Tung's trail. McDowell had frankly placed the affair of Miriam +Kirkstone in his hands. That it all had in some mysterious way +something to do with himself--John Keith--urged him on to the adventure. + +He waited impatiently for the evening. Wallie, smothered in a great +raincoat, he sent forth on a general foraging expedition and to bring +up some of Conniston's clothes. It was a quarter of eight when he left +for Miriam Kirkstone's home. + +Even at that early hour the night lay about him heavy and dark and +saturated with a heavy mist. From the summit of the hill he could no +longer make out the valley of the Saskatchewan. He walked down into a +pit in which the scattered lights of the town burned dully like distant +stars. It was a little after eight when he came to the Kirkstone house. +It was set well back in an iron-fenced area thick with trees and +shrubbery, and he saw that the porch light was burning to show him the +way. Curtains were drawn, but a glow of warm light lay behind them. + +He was sure that Miriam Kirkstone must have heard the crunch of his +feet on the gravel walk, for he had scarcely touched the old-fashioned +knocker on the door when the door itself was opened. It was Miriam who +greeted him. Again he held her hand for a moment in his own. + +It was not cold, as it had been in McDowell's office. It was almost +feverishly hot, and the pupils of the girl's eyes were big, and dark, +and filled with a luminous fire. Keith might have thought that coming +in out of the dark night he had startled her. But it was not that. She +was repressing something that had preceded him. He thought that he +heard the almost noiseless closing of a door at the end of the long +hall, and his nostrils caught the faint aroma of a strange perfume. +Between him and the light hung a filmy veil of smoke. He knew that it +had come from a cigarette. There was an uneasy note in Miss Kirkstone's +voice as she invited him to hang his coat and hat on an old-fashioned +rack near the door. He took his time, trying to recall where he had +detected that perfume before. He remembered, with a sort of shock. It +was after Shan Tung had left McDowell's office. + +She was smiling when he turned, and apologizing again for making her +unusual request that day. + +"It was--quite unconventional. But I felt that you would understand, +Mr. Conniston. I guess I didn't stop to think. And I am afraid of +lightning, too. But I wanted to see you. I didn't want to wait until +tomorrow to hear about what happened up there. Is it--so strange?" + +Afterward he could not remember just what sort of answer he made. She +turned, and he followed her through the big, square-cut door leading +out of the hall. It was the same door with the great, sliding panel he +had locked on that fateful night, years ago, when he had fought with +her father and brother. In it, for a moment, her slim figure was +profiled in a frame of vivid light. Her mother must have been +beautiful. That was the thought that flashed upon him as the room and +its tragic memory lay before him. Everything came back to him vividly, +and he was astonished at the few changes in it. There was the big chair +with its leather arms, in which the overfatted creature who had been +her father was sitting when he came in. It was the same table, too, and +it seemed to him that the same odds and ends were on the mantel over +the cobblestone fireplace. And there was somebody's picture of the +Madonna still hanging between two windows. The Madonna, like the master +of the house, had been too fat to be beautiful. The son, an ogreish +pattern of his father, had stood with his back to the Madonna, whose +overfat arms had seemed to rest on his shoulders. He remembered that. + +The girl was watching him closely when he turned toward her. He had +frankly looked the room over, without concealing his intention. She was +breathing a little unsteadily, and her hair was shimmering gloriously +in the light of an overhead chandelier. She sat down with that light +over her, motioning him to be seated opposite her--across the same +table from which he had snatched the copper weight that had killed +Kirkstone. He had never seen anything quite so steady, quite so +beautiful as her eyes when they looked across at him. He thought of +McDowell's suspicion and of Shan Tung and gripped himself hard. The +same strange perfume hung subtly on the air he was breathing. On a +small silver tray at his elbow lay the ends of three freshly burned +cigarettes. + +"Of course you remember this room?" + +He nodded. "Yes. It was night when I came, like this. The next day I +went after John Keith." + +She leaned toward him, her hands clasped in front of her on the table. +"You will tell me the truth about John Keith?" she asked in a low, +tense voice. "You swear that it will be the truth?" + +"I will keep nothing back from you that I have told Inspector +McDowell," he answered, fighting to meet her eyes steadily. "I almost +believe I may tell you more." + +"Then--did you speak the truth when you reported to Inspector McDowell? +IS JOHN KEITH DEAD?" Could Shan Tung meet those wonderful eyes as he +was meeting them now, he wondered? Could he face them and master them, +as McDowell had hinted? To McDowell the lie had come easily to his +tongue. It stuck in his throat now. Without giving him time to prepare +himself the girl had shot straight for the bull's-eye, straight to the +heart of the thing that meant life or death to him, and for a moment he +found no answer. Clearly he was facing suspicion. She could not have +driven the shaft intuitively. The unexpectedness of the thing +astonished him and then thrilled him, and in the thrill of it he found +himself more than ever master of himself. + +"Would you like to hear how utterly John Keith is dead and how he +died?" he asked. + +"Yes. That is what I must know." + +He noticed that her hands had closed. Her slender fingers were clenched +tight. + +"I hesitate, because I have almost promised to tell you even more than +I told McDowell," he went on. "And that will not be pleasant for you to +hear. He killed your father. There can be no sympathy in your heart for +John Keith. It will not be pleasant for you to hear that I liked the +man, and that I am sorry he is dead." + +"Go on--please." + +Her hands unclasped. Her fingers lay limp. Something faded slowly out +of her face. It was as if she had hoped for something, and that hope +was dying. Could it be possible that she had hoped he would say that +John Keith was alive? + +"Did you know this man?" he asked. + +"This John Keith?" + +She shook her head. "No. I was away at school for many years. I don't +remember him." + +"But he knew you--that is, he had seen you," said Keith. "He used to +talk to me about you in those days when he was helpless and dying. He +said that he was sorry for you, and that only because of you did he +ever regret the justice he brought upon your father. You see I speak +his words. He called it justice. He never weakened on that point. You +have probably never heard his part of the story." + +"No." + +The one word forced itself from her lips. She was expecting him to go +on, and waited, her eyes never for an instant leaving his face. + +He did not repeat the story exactly as he had told it to McDowell. The +facts were the same, but the living fire of his own sympathy and his +own conviction were in them now. He told it purely from Keith's point +of view, and Miriam Kirkstone's face grew whiter, and her hands grew +tense again, as she listened for the first time to Keith's own version +of the tragedy of the room in which they were sitting. And then he +followed Keith up into that land of ice and snow and gibbering Eskimos, +and from that moment he was no longer Keith but spoke with the lips of +Conniston. He described the sunless weeks and months of madness until +the girl's eyes seemed to catch fire, and when at last he came to the +little cabin in which Conniston had died, he was again John Keith. He +could not have talked about himself as he did about the Englishman. And +when he came to the point where he buried Conniston under the floor, a +dry, broken sob broke in upon him from across the table. But there were +no tears in the girl's eyes. Tears, perhaps, would have hidden from him +the desolation he saw there. But she did not give in. Her white throat +twitched. She tried to draw her breath steadily. And then she said: + +"And that--was John Keith!" + +He bowed his head in confirmation of the lie, and, thinking of +Conniston, he said: + +"He was the finest gentleman I ever knew. And I am sorry he is dead." + +"And I, too, am sorry." + +She was reaching a hand across the table to him, slowly, hesitatingly. +He stared at her. + +"You mean that?" + +"Yes, I am sorry." + +He took her hand. For a moment her fingers tightened about his own. +Then they relaxed and drew gently away from him. In that moment he saw +a sudden change come into her face. She was looking beyond him, over +his right shoulder. Her eyes widened, her pupils dilated under his +gaze, and she held her breath. With the swift caution of the man-hunted +he turned. The room was empty behind him. There was nothing but a +window at his back. The rain was drizzling against it, and he noticed +that the curtain was not drawn, as they were drawn at the other +windows. Even as he looked, the girl went to it and pulled down the +shade. He knew that she had seen something, something that had startled +her for a moment, but he did not question her. Instead, as if he had +noticed nothing, he asked if he might light a cigar. + +"I see someone smokes," he excused himself, nodding at the cigarette +butts. + +He was watching her closely and would have recalled the words in the +next breath. He had caught her. Her brother was out of town. And there +was a distinctly unAmerican perfume in the smoke that someone had left +in the room. He saw the bit of red creeping up her throat into her +cheeks, and his conscience shamed him. It was difficult for him not to +believe McDowell now. Shan Tung had been there. It was Shan Tung who +had left the hall as he entered. Probably it was Shan Tung whose face +she had seen at the window. + +What she said amazed him. "Yes, it is a shocking habit of mine, Mr. +Conniston. I learned to smoke in the East. Is it so very bad, do you +think?" + +He fairly shook himself. He wanted to say, "You beautiful little liar, +I'd like to call your bluff right now, but I won't, because I'm sorry +for you!" Instead, he nipped off the end of his cigar, and said: + +"In England, you know, the ladies smoke a great deal. Personally I may +be a little prejudiced. I don't know that it is sinful, especially when +one uses such good judgment--in orientals." And then he was powerless +to hold himself back. He smiled at her frankly, unafraid. "I don't +believe you smoke," he added. + +He rose to his feet, still smiling across at her, like a big brother +waiting for her confidence. She was not alarmed at the directness with +which he had guessed the truth. She was no longer embarrassed. She +seemed for a moment to be looking through him and into him, a strange +and yearning desire glowing dully in her eyes. He saw her throat +twitching again, and he was filled with an infinite compassion for this +daughter of the man he had killed. But he kept it within himself. He +had gone far enough. It was for her to speak. At the door she gave him +her hand again, bidding him good-night. She looked pathetically +helpless, and he thought that someone ought to be there with the right +to take her in his arms and comfort her. + +"You will come again?" she whispered. + +"Yes, I am coming again," he said. "Good-night." + +He passed out into the drizzle. The door closed behind him, but not +before there came to him once more that choking sob from the throat of +Miriam Kirkstone. + + + + +IX + + +Keith's hand was on the butt of his revolver as he made his way through +the black night. He could not see the gravel path under his feet but +could only feel it. Something that was more than a guess made him feel +that Shan Tung was not far away, and he wondered if it was a +premonition, and what it meant. With the keen instinct of a hound he +was scenting for a personal danger. He passed through the gate and +began the downward slope toward town, and not until then did he begin +adding things together and analyzing the situation as it had +transformed itself since he had stood in the door of the Shack, +welcoming the storm from the western mountains. He thought that he had +definitely made up his mind then; now it was chaotic. He could not +leave Prince Albert immediately, as the inspiration had moved him a few +hours before. McDowell had practically given him an assignment. And +Miss Kirkstone was holding him. Also Shan Tung. He felt within himself +the sensation of one who was traveling on very thin ice, yet he could +not tell just where or why it was thin. + +"Just a fool hunch," he assured himself. + +"Why the deuce should I let a confounded Chinaman and a pretty girl get +on my nerves at this stage of the game? If it wasn't for McDowell--" + +And there he stopped. He had fought too long at the raw edge of things +to allow himself to be persuaded by delusions, and he confessed that it +was John Keith who was holding him, that in some inexplicable way John +Keith, though officially dead and buried, was mixed up in a mysterious +affair in which Miriam Kirkstone and Shan Tung were the moving factors. +And inasmuch as he was now Derwent Conniston and no longer John Keith, +he took the logical point of arguing that the affair was none of his +business, and that he could go on to the mountains if he pleased. Only +in that direction could he see ice of a sane and perfect thickness, to +carry out the metaphor in his head. He could report indifferently to +McDowell, forget Miss Kirkstone, and disappear from the menace of Shan +Tung's eyes. John Keith, he repeated, would be officially dead, and +being dead, the law would have no further interest in him. + +He prodded himself on with this thought as he fumbled his way through +darkness down into town. Miriam Kirkstone in her golden way was +alluring; the mystery that shadowed the big house on the hill was +fascinating to his hunting instincts; he had the desire, growing fast, +to come at grips with Shan Tung. But he had not foreseen these things, +and neither had Conniston foreseen them. They had planned only for the +salvation of John Keith's precious neck, and tonight he had almost +forgotten the existence of that unpleasant reality, the hangman. Truth +settled upon him with depressing effect, and an infinite loneliness +turned his mind again to the mountains of his dreams. + +The town was empty of life. Lights glowed here and there through the +mist; now and then a door opened; down near the river a dog howled +forlornly. Everything was shut against him. There were no longer homes +where he might call and be greeted with a cheery "Good evening, Keith. +Glad to see you. Come in out of the wet." He could not even go to +Duggan, his old river friend. He realized now that his old friends were +the very ones he must avoid most carefully to escape self-betrayal. +Friendship no longer existed for him; the town was a desert without an +oasis where he might reclaim some of the things he had lost. Memories +he had treasured gave place to bitter ones. His own townfolk, of all +people, were his readiest enemies, and his loneliness clutched him +tighter, until the air itself seemed thick and difficult to breathe. +For the time Derwent Conniston was utterly submerged in the +overwhelming yearnings of John Keith. + +He dropped into a dimly lighted shop to purchase a box of cigars. It +was deserted except for the proprietor. His elbow bumped into a +telephone. He would call up Wallie and tell him to have a good fire +waiting for him, and in the company of that fire he would do a lot of +thinking before getting into communication with McDowell. + +It was not Wallie who answered him, and he was about to apologize for +getting the wrong number when the voice at the other end asked, + +"Is that you, Conniston?" + +It was McDowell. The discovery gave him a distinct shock. What could +the Inspector be doing up at the Shack in his absence? Besides, there +was an imperative demand in the question that shot at him over the +wire. McDowell had half shouted it. + +"Yes, it's I," he said rather feebly. + +"I'm down-town, stocking up on some cigars. What's the excitement?" + +"Don't ask questions but hustle up here," McDowell fired back. "I've +got the surprise of your life waiting for you!" + +Keith heard the receiver at the other end go up with a bang. Something +had happened at the Shack, and McDowell was excited. He went out +puzzled. For some reason he was in no great hurry to reach the top of +the hill. He was beginning to expect things to happen--too many +things--and in the stress of the moment he felt the incongruity of the +friendly box of cigars tucked under his arm. The hardest luck he had +ever run up against had never quite killed his sense of humor, and he +chuckled. His fortunes were indeed at a low ebb when he found a bit of +comfort in hugging a box of cigars still closer. + +He could see that every room in the Shack was lighted, when he came to +the crest of the slope, but the shades were drawn. He wondered if +Wallie had pulled down the curtains, or if it was a caution on +McDowell's part against possible espionage. Suspicion made him transfer +the box of cigars to his left arm so that his right was free. Somewhere +in the darkness Conniston's voice was urging him, as it had urged him +up in the cabin on the Barren: "Don't walk into a noose. If it comes to +a fight, FIGHT!" + +And then something happened that brought his heart to a dead stop. He +was close to the door. His ear was against it. And he was listening to +a voice. It was not Wallie's, and it was not the iron man's. It was a +woman's voice, or a girl's. + +He opened the door and entered, taking swiftly the two or three steps +that carried him across the tiny vestibule to the big room. His +entrance was so sudden that the tableau in front of him was unbroken +for a moment. Birch logs were blazing in the fireplace. In the big +chair sat McDowell, partly turned, a smoking cigar poised in his +fingers, staring at him. Seated on a footstool, with her chin in the +cup of her hands, was a girl. At first, blinded a little by the light, +Keith thought she was a child, a remarkably pretty child with +wide-open, half-startled eyes and a wonderful crown of glowing, brown +hair in which he could still see the shimmer of wet. He took off his +hat and brushed the water from his eyes. McDowell did not move. Slowly +the girl rose to her feet. It was then that Keith saw she was not a +child. Perhaps she was eighteen, a slim, tired-looking, little thing, +wonderfully pretty, and either on the verge of laughing or crying. +Perhaps it was halfway between. To his growing discomfiture she came +slowly toward him with a strange and wonderful look in her face. And +McDowell still sat there staring. + +His heart thumped with an emotion he had no time to question. In those +wide-open, shining eyes of the girl he sensed unspeakable tragedy--for +him. And then the girl's arms were reaching out to him, and she was +crying in that voice that trembled and broke between sobs and laughter: + +"Derry, don't you know me? Don't you know me?" + +He stood like one upon whom had fallen the curse of the dumb. She was +within arm's reach of him, her face white as a cameo, her eyes glowing +like newly-fired stars, her slim throat quivering, and her arms +reaching toward him. + +"Derry, don't you know me? DON'T YOU KNOW ME?" + +It was a sob, a cry. McDowell had risen. Overwhelmingly there swept +upon Keith an impulse that rocked him to the depth of his soul. He +opened his arms, and in an instant the girl was in them. Quivering, and +sobbing, and laughing she was on his breast. He felt the crush of her +soft hair against his face, her arms were about his neck, and she was +pulling his head down and kissing him--not once or twice, but again and +again, passionately and without shame. His own arms tightened. He heard +McDowell's voice--a distant and non-essential voice it seemed to him +now--saying that he would leave them alone and that he would see them +again tomorrow. He heard the door open and close. McDowell was gone. +And the soft little arms were still tight about his neck. The sweet +crush of hair smothered his face, and on his breast she was crying now +like a baby. He held her closer. A wild exultation seized upon him, and +every fiber in his body responded to its thrill, as tautly-stretched +wires respond to an electrical storm. It passed swiftly, burning itself +out, and his heart was left dead. He heard a sound made by Wallie out +in the kitchen. He saw the walls of the room again, the chair in which +McDowell had sat, the blazing fire. His arms relaxed. The girl raised +her head and put her two hands to his face, looking at him with eyes +which Keith no longer failed to recognize. They were the eyes that had +looked at him out of the faded picture in Conniston's watch. + +"Kiss me, Derry!" + +It was impossible not to obey. Her lips clung to him. There was love, +adoration, in their caress. + +And then she was crying again, with her arms around him tight and her +face hidden against him, and he picked her up as he would have lifted a +child, and carried her to the big chair in front of the fire. He put +her in it and stood before her, trying to smile. Her hair had loosened, +and the shining mass of it had fallen about her face and to her +shoulders. She was more than ever like a little girl as she looked up +at him, her eyes worshiping him, her lips trying to smile, and one +little hand dabbing her eyes with a tiny handkerchief that was already +wet and crushed. + +"You--you don't seem very glad to see me, Derry." + +"I--I'm just stunned," he managed to say. "You see--" + +"It IS a shocking surprise, Derry. I meant it to be. I've been planning +it for years and years and YEARS! Please take off your coat--it's +dripping wet!--and sit down near me, on that stool!" + +Again he obeyed. He was big for the stool. + +"You are glad to see me, aren't you, Derry?" + +She was leaning over the edge of the big chair, and one of her hands +went to his damp hair, brushing it back. It was a wonderful touch. He +had never felt anything like it before in his life, and involuntarily +he bent his head a little. In a moment she had hugged it up close to +her. + +"You ARE glad, aren't you, Derry? Say 'yes.'" + +"Yes," he whispered. + +He could feel the swift, excited beating of her heart. + +"And I'm never going back again--to THEM," he heard her say, something +suddenly low and fierce in her voice. "NEVER! I'm going to stay with +you always, Derry. Always!" + +She put her lips close to his ear and whispered mysteriously. "They +don't know where I am. Maybe they think I'm dead. But Colonel +Reppington knows. I told him I was coming if I had to walk round the +world to get here. He said he'd keep my secret, and gave me letters to +some awfully nice people over here. I've been over six months. And when +I saw your name in one of those dry-looking, blue-covered, paper books +the Mounted Police get out, I just dropped down on my knees and thanked +the good Lord, Derry. I knew I'd find you somewhere--sometime. I +haven't slept two winks since leaving Montreal! And I guess I really +frightened that big man with the terrible mustaches, for when I rushed +in on him tonight, dripping wet, and said, 'I'm Miss Mary Josephine +Conniston, and I want my brother,' his eyes grew bigger and bigger +until I thought they were surely going to pop out at me. And then he +swore. He said, 'My Gawd, I didn't know he had a sister!'" + +Keith's heart was choking him. So this wonderful little creature was +Derwent Conniston's sister! And she was claiming him. She thought he +was her brother! + +"--And I love him because he treated me so nicely," she was saying. "He +really hugged me, Derry. I guess he didn't think I was away past +eighteen. And he wrapped me up in a big oilskin, and we came up here. +And--O Derry, Derry--why did you do it? Why didn't you let me know? +Don't you--want me here?" + +He heard, but his mind had swept beyond her to the little cabin in the +edge of the Great Barren where Derwent Conniston lay dead. He heard the +wind moaning, as it had moaned that night the Englishman died, and he +saw again that last and unspoken yearning in Conniston's eyes. And he +knew now why Conniston's face had followed him through the gray gloom +and why he had felt the mysterious presence of him long after he had +gone. Something that was Conniston entered into him now. In the +throbbing chaos of his brain a voice was whispering, "She is yours, she +is yours." + +His arms tightened about her, and a voice that was not unlike John +Keith's voice said: "Yes, I want you! I want you!" + + + + +X + + +For a space Keith did not raise his head. The girl's arms were about +him close, and he could feel the warm pressure of her cheek against his +hair. The realization of his crime was already weighing his soul like a +piece of lead, yet out of that soul had come the cry, "I want you--I +want you!" and it still beat with the voice of that immeasurable +yearning even as his lips grew tight and he saw himself the monstrous +fraud he was. This strange little, wonderful creature had come to him +from out of a dead world, and her lips, and her arms, and the soft +caress of her hands had sent his own world reeling about his head so +swiftly that he had been drawn into a maelstrom to which he could find +no bottom. Before McDowell she had claimed him. And before McDowell he +had accepted her. He had lived the great lie as he had strengthened +himself to live it, but success was no longer a triumph. There rushed +into his brain like a consuming flame the desire to confess the truth, +to tell this girl whose arms were about him that he was not Derwent +Conniston, her brother, but John Keith, the murderer. Something drove +it back, something that was still more potent, more demanding, the +overwhelming urge of that fighting force in every man which calls for +self-preservation. + +Slowly he drew himself away from her, knowing that for this night at +least his back was to the wall. She was smiling at him from out of the +big chair, and in spite of himself he smiled back at her. + +"I must send you to bed now, Mary Josephine, and tomorrow we will talk +everything over," he said. "You're so tired you're ready to fall asleep +in a minute." + +Tiny, puckery lines came into her pretty forehead. It was a trick he +loved at first sight. + +"Do you know, Derry, I almost believe you've changed a lot. You used to +call me 'Juddy.' But now that I'm grown up, I think I like Mary +Josephine better, though you oughtn't to be quite so stiff about it. +Derry, tell me honest--are you AFRAID of me?" + +"Afraid of you!" + +"Yes, because I'm grown up. Don't you like me as well as you did one, +two, three, seven years ago? If you did, you wouldn't tell me to go to +bed just a few minutes after you've seen me for the first time in all +those--those--Derry, I'm going to cry! I AM!" + +"Don't," he pleaded. "Please don't!" + +He felt like a hundred-horned bull in a very small china shop. Mary +Josephine herself saved the day for him by jumping suddenly from the +big chair, forcing him into it, and snuggling herself on his knees. + +"There!" She looked at a tiny watch on her wrist. "We're going to bed +in two hours. We've got a lot to talk about that won't wait until +tomorrow, Derry. You understand what I mean. I couldn't sleep until +you've told me. And you must tell me the truth. I'll love you just the +same, no matter what it is. Derry, Derry, WHY DID YOU DO IT?" + +"Do what?" he asked stupidly. + +The delicious softness went out of the slim little body on his knees. +It grew rigid. He looked hopelessly into the fire, but he could feel +the burning inquiry in the girl's eyes. He sensed a swift change +passing through her. She seemed scarcely to breathe, and he knew that +his answer had been more than inadequate. It either confessed or +feigned an ignorance of something which it would have been impossible +for him to forget had he been Conniston. He looked up at her at last. +The joyous flush had gone out of her face. It was a little drawn. Her +hand, which had been snuggling his neck caressingly, slipped down from +his shoulder. + +"I guess--you'd rather I hadn't come, Derry," she said, fighting to +keep a break out of her voice. "And I'll go back, if you want to send +me. But I've always dreamed of your promise, that some day you'd send +for me or come and get me, and I'd like to know WHY before you tell me +to go. Why have you hidden away from me all these years, leaving me +among those who you knew hated me as they hated you? Was it because you +didn't care? Or was it because--because--" She bent her head and +whispered strangely, "Was it because you were afraid?" + +"Afraid?" he repeated slowly, staring again into the fire. "Afraid--" +He was going to add "Of what?" but caught the words and held them back. + +The birch fire leaped up with a sudden roar into the chimney, and from +the heart of the flame he caught again that strange and all-pervading +thrill, the sensation of Derwent Conniston's presence very near to him. +It seemed to him that for an instant he caught a flash of Conniston's +face, and somewhere within him was a whispering which was Conniston's +voice. He was possessed by a weird and masterful force that swept over +him and conquered him, a thing that was more than intuition and greater +than physical desire. It was inspiration. He knew that the Englishman +would have him play the game as he was about to play it now. + +The girl was waiting for him to answer. Her lips had grown a little +more tense. His hesitation, the restraint in his welcome of her, and +his apparent desire to evade that mysterious something which seemed to +mean so much to her had brought a shining pain into her eyes. He had +seen such a look in the eyes of creatures physically hurt. He reached +out with his hands and brushed back the thick, soft hair from about her +face. His fingers buried themselves in the silken disarray, and he +looked for a moment straight into her eyes before he spoke. + +"Little girl, will you tell me the truth?" he asked. "Do I look like +the old Derwent Conniston, YOUR Derwent Conniston? Do I?" + +Her voice was small and troubled, yet the pain was slowly fading out of +her eyes as she felt the passionate embrace of his fingers in her hair. +"No. You are changed." + +"Yes, I am changed. A part of Derwent Conniston died seven years ago. +That part of him was dead until he came through that door tonight and +saw you. And then it flickered back into life. It is returning slowly, +slowly. That which was dead is beginning to rouse itself, beginning to +remember. See, little Mary Josephine. It was this!" + +He drew a hand to his forehead and placed a finger on the scar. "I got +that seven years ago. It killed a half of Derwent Conniston, the part +that should have lived. Do you understand? Until tonight--" + +Her eyes startled him, they were growing so big and dark and staring, +living fires of understanding and horror. It was hard for him to go on +with the lie. "For many weeks I was dead," he struggled on. "And when I +came to life physically, I had forgotten a great deal. I had my name, +my identity, but only ghastly dreams and visions of what had gone +before. I remembered you, but it was in a dream, a strange and haunting +dream that was with me always. It seems to me that for an age I have +been seeking for a face, a voice, something I loved above all else on +earth, something which was always near and yet was never found. It was +you, Mary Josephine, you!" + +Was it the real Derwent Conniston speaking now? He felt again that +overwhelming force from within which was not his own. The thing that +had begun as a lie struck him now as a thing that was truth. It was he, +John Keith, who had been questing and yearning and hoping. It was John +Keith, and not Conniston, who had returned into a world filled with a +desolation of loneliness, and it was to John Keith that a beneficent +God had sent this wonderful creature in an hour that was blackest in +its despair. He was not lying now. He was fighting. He was fighting to +keep for himself the one atom of humanity that meant more to him than +all the rest of the human race, fighting to keep a great love that had +come to him out of a world in which he no longer had a friend or a +home, and to that fight his soul went out as a drowning man grips at a +spar on a sea. As the girl's hands came to his face and he heard the +yearning, grief-filled cry of his name on her lips, he no longer sensed +the things he was saying, but held her close in his arms, kissing her +mouth, and her eyes, and her hair, and repeating over and over again +that now he had found her he would never give her up. Her arms clung to +him. They were like two children brought together after a long +separation, and Keith knew that Conniston's love for this girl who was +his sister must have been a splendid thing. And his lie had saved +Conniston as well as himself. There had been no time to question the +reason for the Englishman's neglect--for his apparent desertion of the +girl who had come across the sea to find him. Tonight it was sufficient +that HE was Conniston, and that to him the girl had fallen as a +precious heritage. + +He stood up with her at last, holding her away from him a little so +that he could look into her face wet with tears and shining with +happiness. She reached up a hand to his face, so that it touched the +scar, and in her eyes he saw an infinite pity, a luminously tender glow +of love and sympathy and understanding that no measurements could +compass. Gently her hand stroked his scarred forehead. He felt his old +world slipping away from under his feet, and with his triumph there +surged over him a thankfulness for that indefinable something that had +come to him in time to give him the strength and the courage to lie. +For she believed him, utterly and without the shadow of a suspicion she +believed him. + +"Tomorrow you will help me to remember a great many things," he said. +"And now will you let me send you to bed, Mary Josephine?" + +She was looking at the scar. "And all those years I didn't know," she +whispered. "I didn't know. They told me you were dead, but I knew it +was a lie. It was Colonel Reppington--" She saw something in his face +that stopped her. + +"Derry, DON'T YOU REMEMBER?" + +"I shall--tomorrow. But tonight I can see nothing and think of nothing +but you. Tomorrow--" + +She drew his head down swiftly and kissed the brand made by the heated +barrel of the Englishman's pistol. "Yes, yes, we must go to bed now, +Derry," she cried quickly. "You must not think too much. Tonight it +must just be of me. Tomorrow everything will come out right, +everything. And now you may send me to bed. Do you remember--" + +She caught herself, biting her lip to keep back the word. + +"Tell me," he urged. "Do I remember what?" + +"How you used to come in at the very last and tuck me in at night, +Derry? And how we used to whisper to ourselves there in the darkness, +and at last you would kiss me good-night? It was the kiss that always +made me go to sleep." + +He nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said. + +He led her to the spare room, and brought in her two travel-worn bags, +and turned on the light. It was a man's room, but Mary Josephine stood +for a moment surveying it with delight. + +"It's home, Derry, real home," she whispered. + +He did not explain to her that it was a borrowed home and that this was +his first night in it. Such unimportant details would rest until +tomorrow. He showed her the bath and its water system and then +explained to Wallie that his sister was in the house and he would have +to bunk in the kitchen. At the last he knew what he was expected to do, +what he must do. He kissed Mary Josephine good night. He kissed her +twice. And Mary Josephine kissed him and gave him a hug the like of +which he had never experienced until this night. It sent him back to +the fire with blood that danced like a drunken man's. + +He turned the lights out and for an hour sat in the dying glow of the +birch. For the first time since he had come from Miriam Kirkstone's he +had the opportunity to think, and in thinking he found his brain +crowded with cold and unemotional fact. He saw his lie in all its naked +immensity. Yet he was not sorry that he had lied. He had saved +Conniston. He had saved himself. And he had saved Conniston's sister, +to love, to fight for, to protect. It had not been a Judas lie but a +lie with his heart and his soul and all the manhood in him behind it. +To have told the truth would have made him his own executioner, it +would have betrayed the dead Englishman who had given to him his name +and all that he possessed, and it would have dragged to a pitiless +grief the heart of a girl for whom the sun still continued to shine. No +regret rose before him now. He felt no shame. All that he saw was the +fight, the tremendous fight, ahead of him, his fight to make good as +Conniston, his fight to play the game as Conniston would have him play +it. The inspiration that had come to him as he stood facing the storm +from the western mountains possessed him again. He would go to the +river's end as he had planned to go before McDowell told him of Shan +Tung and Miriam Kirkstone. And he would not go alone. Mary Josephine +would go with him. + +It was midnight when he rose from the big chair and went to his room. +The door was closed. He opened it and entered. Even as his hand groped +for the switch on the wall, his nostrils caught the scent of something +which was familiar and yet which should not have been there. It filled +the room, just as it had filled the big hall at the Kirkstone house, +the almost sickening fragrance of agallochum burned in a cigarette. It +hung like a heavy incense. Keith's eyes glared as he scanned the room +under the lights, half expecting to see Shan Tung sitting there waiting +for him. It was empty. His eyes leaped to the two windows. The shade +was drawn at one, the other was up, and the window itself was open an +inch or two above the sill. Keith's hand gripped his pistol as he went +to it and drew the curtain. Then he turned to the table on which were +the reading lamp and Brady's pipes and tobacco and magazines. On an +ash-tray lay the stub of a freshly burned cigarette. Shan Tung had come +secretly, but he had made no effort to cover his presence. + +It was then that Keith saw something on the table which had not been +there before. It was a small, rectangular, teakwood box no larger than +a half of the palm of his hand. He had noticed Miriam Kirkstone's +nervous fingers toying with just such a box earlier in the evening. +They were identical in appearance. Both were covered with an exquisite +fabric of oriental carving, and the wood was stained and polished until +it shone with the dark luster of ebony. Instantly it flashed upon him +that this was the same box he had seen at Miriam's. She had sent it to +him, and Shan Tung had been her messenger. The absurd thought was in +his head as he took up a small white square of card that lay on top of +the box. The upper side of this card was blank; on the other side, in a +script as exquisite in its delicacy as the carving itself, were the +words: + +"WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF SHAN TUNG." + +In another moment Keith had opened the box. Inside was a carefully +folded slip of paper, and on this paper was written a single line. +Keith's heart stopped beating, and his blood ran cold as he read what +it held for him, a message of doom from Shan Tung in nine words: + +"WHAT HAPPENED TO DERWENT CONNISTON? DID YOU KILL HIM?" + + + + +XI + + +Stunned by a shock that for a few moments paralyzed every nerve center +in his body, John Keith stood with the slip of white paper in his +hands. He was discovered! That was the one thought that pounded like a +hammer in his brain. He was discovered in the very hour of his triumph +and exaltation, in that hour when the world had opened its portals of +joy and hope for him again and when life itself, after four years of +hell, was once more worth the living. Had the shock come a few hours +before, he would have taken it differently. He was expecting it then. +He had expected it when he entered McDowell's office the first time. He +was prepared for it afterward. Discovery, failure, and death were +possibilities of the hazardous game he was playing, and he was +unafraid, because he had only his life to lose, a life that was not +much more than a hopeless derelict at most. Now it was different. Mary +Josephine had come like some rare and wonderful alchemy to transmute +for him all leaden things into gold. In a few minutes she had upset the +world. She had literally torn aside for him the hopeless chaos in which +he saw himself struggling, flooding him with the warm radiance of a +great love and a still greater desire. On his lips he could feel the +soft thrill of her good-night kiss and about his neck the embrace of +her soft arms. She had not gone to sleep yet. Across in the other room +she was thinking of him, loving him; perhaps she was on her knees +praying for him, even as he held in his fingers Shan Tung's mysterious +forewarning of his doom. + +The first impulse that crowded in upon him was that of flight, the +selfish impulse of personal salvation. He could get away. The night +would swallow him up. A moment later he was mentally castigating +himself for the treachery of that impulse to Mary Josephine. His +floundering senses began to readjust themselves. + +Why had Shan Tung given him this warning? Why had he not gone straight +to Inspector McDowell with the astounding disclosure of the fact that +the man supposed to be Derwent Conniston was not Derwent Conniston, but +John Keith, the murderer of Miriam Kirkstone's father? + +The questions brought to Keith a new thrill. He read the note again. It +was a definite thing stating a certainty and not a guess. Shan Tung had +not shot at random. He knew. He knew that he was not Derwent Conniston +but John Keith. And he believed that he had killed the Englishman to +steal his identity. In the face of these things he had not gone to +McDowell! Keith's eyes fell upon the card again. "With the compliments +of Shan Tung." What did the words mean? Why had Shan Tung written them +unless--with his compliments--he was giving him a warning and the +chance to save himself? + +His immediate alarm grew less. The longer he contemplated the slip of +paper in his hand, the more he became convinced that the inscrutable +Shan Tung was the last individual in the world to stage a bit of +melodrama without some good reason for it. There was but one conclusion +he could arrive at. The Chinaman was playing a game of his own, and he +had taken this unusual way of advising Keith to make a getaway while +the going was good. It was evident that his intention had been to avoid +the possibility of a personal discussion of the situation. That, at +least, was Keith's first impression. + +He turned to examine the window. There was no doubt that Shan Tung had +come in that way. Both the sill and curtain bore stains of water and +mud, and there was wet dirt on the floor. For once the immaculate +oriental had paid no attention to his feet. At the door leading into +the big room Keith saw where he had stood for some time, listening, +probably when McDowell and Mary Josephine were in the outer room +waiting for him. Suddenly his eyes riveted themselves on the middle +panel of the door. Brady had intended his color scheme to be old +ivory--the panel itself was nearly white--and on it Shan Tung had +written heavily with a lead pencil the hour of his presence, "10.45 +P.M." Keith's amazement found voice in a low exclamation. He looked at +his watch. It was a quarter-hour after twelve. He had returned to the +Shack before ten, and the clever Shan Tung was letting him know in this +cryptic fashion that for more than three-quarters of an hour he had +listened at the door and spied upon him and Mary Josephine through the +keyhole. + +Had even such an insignificant person as Wallie been guilty of that +act, Keith would have felt like thrashing him. It surprised himself +that he experienced no personal feeling of outrage at Shan Tung's frank +confession of eavesdropping. A subtle significance began to attach +itself more and more to the story his room was telling him. He knew +that Shan Tung had left none of the marks of his presence out of +bravado, but with a definite purpose. Keith's psychological mind was at +all times acutely ready to seize upon possibilities, and just as his +positiveness of Conniston's spiritual presence had inspired him to act +his lie with Mary Josephine, so did the conviction possess him now that +his room held for him a message of the most vital importance. + +In such an emergency Keith employed his own method. He sat down, +lighted his pipe again, and centered the full resource of his mind on +Shan Tung, dissociating himself from the room and the adventure of the +night as much as possible in his objective analysis of the man. Four +distinct emotional factors entered into that analysis--fear, distrust, +hatred, personal enmity. To his surprise he found himself drifting +steadily into an unusual and unexpected mental attitude. From the time +he had faced Shan Tung in the inspector's office, he had regarded him +as the chief enemy of his freedom, his one great menace. Now he felt +neither personal enmity nor hatred for him. Fear and distrust remained, +but the fear was impersonal and the distrust that of one who watches a +clever opponent in a game or a fight. His conception of Shan Tung +changed. He found his occidental mind running parallel with the +oriental, bridging the spaces which otherwise it never would have +crossed, and at the end it seized upon the key. It proved to him that +his first impulse had been wrong. Shan Tung had not expected him to +seek safety in flight. He had given the white man credit for a larger +understanding than that. His desire, first of all, had been to let +Keith know that he was not the only one who was playing for big stakes, +and that another, Shan Tung himself, was gambling a hazard of his own, +and that the fraudulent Derwent Conniston was a trump card in that game. + +To impress this upon Keith he had, first of all, acquainted him with +the fact that he had seen through his deception and that he knew he was +John Keith and not Derwent Conniston. He had also let him know that he +believed he had killed the Englishman, a logical supposition under the +circumstances. This information he had left for Keith was not in the +form of an intimidation. There was, indeed, something very near +apologetic courtesy in the presence of the card bearing Shan Tung's +compliments. The penciling of the hour on the panel of the door, +without other notation, was a polite and suggestive hint. He wanted +Keith to know that he understood his peculiar situation up until that +particular time, that he had heard and possibly seen much that had +passed between him and Mary Josephine. The partly opened window, the +mud and wet on curtains and floor, and the cigarette stubs were all to +call Keith's attention to the box on the table. + +Keith could not but feel a certain sort of admiration for the Chinaman. +The two questions he must answer now were, What was Shan Tung's game? +and What did Shan Tung expect him to do? + +Instantly Miriam Kirkstone flashed upon him as the possible motive for +Shan Tung's visit. He recalled her unexpected and embarrassing question +of that evening, in which she had expressed a suspicion and a doubt as +to John Keith's death. He had gone to Miriam's at eight. It must have +been very soon after that, and after she had caught a glimpse of the +face at the window, that Shan Tung had hurried to the Shack. + +Slowly but surely the tangled threads of the night's adventure were +unraveling themselves for Keith. The main facts pressed upon him, no +longer smothered in a chaos of theory and supposition. If there had +been no Miriam Kirkstone in the big house on the hill, Shan Tung would +have gone to McDowell, and he would have been in irons at the present +moment. McDowell had been right after all. Miriam Kirkstone was +fighting for something that was more than her existence. The thought of +that "something" made Keith writhe and his hands clench. Shan Tung had +triumphed but not utterly. A part of the fruit of his triumph was still +just out of his reach, and the two--beautiful Miss Kirkstone and the +deadly Shan Tung--were locked in a final struggle for its possession. +In some mysterious way he, John Keith, was to play the winning hand. +How or when he could not understand. But of one thing he was convinced; +in exchange for whatever winning card he held Shan Tung had offered him +his life. Tomorrow he would expect an answer. + +That tomorrow had already dawned. It was one o'clock when Keith again +looked at his watch. Twenty hours ago he had cooked his last camp-fire +breakfast. It was only eighteen hours ago that he had filled himself +with the smell of Andy Duggan's bacon, and still more recently that he +had sat in the little barber shop on the corner wondering what his fate +would be when he faced McDowell. It struck him as incongruous and +impossible that only fifteen hours had passed since then. If he +possessed a doubt of the reality of it all, the bed was there to help +convince him. It was a real bed, and he had not slept in a real bed for +a number of years. Wallie had made it ready for him. Its sheets were +snow-white. There was a counterpane with a fringe on it and pillows +puffed up with billowy invitation, as if they were on the point of +floating away. Had they risen before his eyes, Keith would have +regarded the phenomenon rather casually. After the swift piling up of +the amazing events of those fifteen hours, a floating pillow would have +seemed quite in the natural orbit of things. But they did not float. +They remained where they were, their white breasts bared to him, urging +upon him a common-sense perspective of the situation. He wasn't going +to run away. He couldn't sit up all night. Therefore why not come to +them and sleep? + +There was something directly personal in the appeal of the pillows and +the bed. It was not general; it was for him. And Keith responded. + +He made another note of the time, a half-hour after one, when he turned +in. He allotted himself four hours of sleep, for it was his intention +to be up with the sun. + + + + +XII + + +Necessity had made of Keith a fairly accurate human chronometer. In the +second year of his fugitivism he had lost his watch. At first it was +like losing an arm, a part of his brain, a living friend. From that +time until he came into possession of Conniston's timepiece he was his +own hour-glass and his own alarm clock. He became proficient. + +Brady's bed and the Circe-breasted pillows that supported his head were +his undoing. The morning after Shan Tung's visit he awoke to find the +sun flooding in through the eastern window of his room, The warmth of +it as it fell full in his face, setting his eyes blinking, told him it +was too late. He guessed it was eight o'clock. When he fumbled his +watch out from under his pillow and looked at it, he found it was a +quarter past. He got up quietly, his mind swiftly aligning itself to +the happenings of yesterday. He stretched himself until his muscles +snapped, and his chest expanded with deep breaths of air from the +windows he had left open when he went to bed. He was fit. He was ready +for Shan Tung, for McDowell. And over this physical readiness there +surged the thrill of a glorious anticipation. It fairly staggered him +to discover how badly he wanted to see Mary Josephine again. + +He wondered if she was still asleep and answered that there was little +possibility of her being awake--even at eight o'clock. Probably she +would sleep until noon, the poor, tired, little thing! He smiled +affectionately into the mirror over Brady's dressing-table. And then +the unmistakable sound of voices in the outer room took him curiously +to the door. They were subdued voices. He listened hard, and his heart +pumped faster. One of them was Wallie's voice; the other was Mary +Josephine's. + +He was amused with himself at the extreme care with which he proceeded +to dress. It was an entirely new sensation. Wallie had provided him +with the necessaries for a cold sponge and in some mysterious interim +since their arrival had brushed and pressed the most important of +Conniston's things. With the Englishman's wardrobe he had brought up +from barracks a small chest which was still locked. Until this morning +Keith had not noticed it. It was less than half as large as a steamer +trunk and had the appearance of being intended as a strong box rather +than a traveling receptacle. It was ribbed by four heavy bands of +copper, and the corners and edges were reinforced with the same metal. +The lock itself seemed to be impregnable to one without a key. +Conniston's name was heavily engraved on a copper tablet just above the +lock. + +Keith regarded the chest with swiftly growing speculation. It was not a +thing one would ordinarily possess. It was an object which, on the face +of it, was intended to be inviolate except to its master key, a holder +of treasure, a guardian of mystery and of precious secrets. In the +little cabin up on the Barren Conniston had said rather indifferently, +"You may find something among my things down there that will help you +out." The words flashed back to Keith. Had the Englishman, in that +casual and uncommunicative way of his, referred to the contents of this +chest? Was it not possible that it held for him a solution to the +mystery that was facing him in the presence of Mary Josephine? A sense +of conviction began to possess him. He examined the lock more closely +and found that with proper tools it could be broken. + +He finished dressing and completed his toilet by brushing his beard. On +account of Mary Josephine he found himself regarding this hirsute +tragedy with a growing feeling of disgust, in spite of the fact that it +gave him an appearance rather distinguished and military. He wanted it +off. Its chief crime was that it made him look older. Besides, it was +inclined to be reddish. And it must tickle and prick like the deuce +when-- + +He brought himself suddenly to salute with an appreciative grin. +"You're there, and you've got to stick," he chuckled. After all, he was +a likable-looking chap, even with that handicap. He was glad. + +He opened his door so quietly that Mary Josephine did not see him at +first. Her back was toward him as she bent over the dining-table. Her +slim little figure was dressed in some soft stuff all crinkly from +packing. Her hair, brown and soft, was piled up in shining coils on the +top of her head. For the life of him Keith couldn't keep his eyes from +traveling from the top of that glowing head to the little high-heeled +feet on the floor. They were adorable, slim little, aristocratic feet +with dainty ankles! He stood looking at her until she turned and caught +him. + +There was a change since last night. She was older. He could see it +now, the utter impropriety of his cuddling her up like a baby in the +big chair--the impossibility, almost. + +Mary Josephine settled his doubt. With a happy little cry she ran to +him, and Keith found her arms about him again and her lovely mouth held +up to be kissed. He hesitated for perhaps the tenth part of a second, +if hesitation could be counted in that space. Then his arms closed +about her, and he kissed her. He felt the snuggle of her face against +his breast again, the crush and sweetness of her hair against his lips +and cheek. He kissed her again uninvited. Before he could stop the +habit, he had kissed her a third time. + +Then her hands were at his face, and he saw again that look in her +eyes, a deep and anxious questioning behind the shimmer of love in +them, something mute and understanding and wonderfully sympathetic, a +mothering soul looking at him and praying as it looked. If his life had +paid the forfeit the next instant, he could not have helped kissing her +a fourth time. + +If Mary Josephine had gone to bed with a doubt of his brotherly +interest last night, the doubt was removed now. Her cheeks flushed. Her +eyes shone. She was palpitantly, excitedly happy. "It's YOU, Derry," +she cried. "Oh, it's you as you used to be!" + +She seized his hand and drew him toward the table. Wallie thrust in his +head from the kitchenette, grinning, and Mary Josephine flashed him +back a meaning smile. Keith saw in an instant that Wallie had turned +from his heathen gods to the worship of something infinitely more +beautiful. He no longer looked to Keith for instructions. + +Mary Josephine sat down opposite Keith at the table. She was telling +him, with that warm laughter and happiness in her eyes, how the sun had +wakened her, and how she had helped Wallie get breakfast. For the first +time Keith was looking at her from a point of vantage; there was just +so much distance between them, no more and no less, and the light was +right. She was, to him, exquisite. The little puckery lines came into +her smooth forehead when he apologized for his tardiness by explaining +that he had not gone to bed until one o'clock. Her concern was +delightful. She scolded him while Wallie brought in the breakfast, and +inwardly he swelled with the irrepressible exultation of a great +possessor. He had never had anyone to scold him like that before. It +was a scolding which expressed Mary Josephine's immediate +proprietorship of him, and he wondered if the pleasure of it made him +look as silly as Wallie. His plans were all gone. He had intended to +play the idiotic part of one who had partly lost his memory, but +throughout the breakfast he exhibited no sign that he was anything but +healthfully normal. Mary Josephine's delight at the improvement of his +condition since last night shone in her face and eyes, and he could see +that she was strictly, but with apparent unconsciousness, guarding +herself against saying anything that might bring up the dread shadow +between them. She had already begun to fight her own fight for him, and +the thing was so beautiful that he wanted to go round to her, and get +down on his knees, and put his head in her lap, and tell her the truth. + +It was in the moment of that thought that the look came into his face +which brought the questioning little lines into her forehead again. In +that instant she caught a glimpse of the hunted man, of the soul that +had traded itself, of desire beaten into helplessness by a thing she +would never understand. It was gone swiftly, but she had caught it. And +for her the scar just under his hair stood for its meaning. The +responsive throb in her breast was electric. He felt it, saw it, sensed +it to the depth of his soul, and his faith in himself stood challenged. +She believed. And he--was a liar. Yet what a wonderful thing to lie for! + +"--He called me up over the telephone, and when I told him to be quiet, +that you were still asleep, I think he must have sworn--it sounded like +it, but I couldn't hear distinctly--and then he fairly roared at me to +wake you up and tell you that you didn't half deserve such a lovely +little sister as I am. Wasn't that nice, Derry?" + +"You--you're talking about McDowell?" + +"To be sure I am talking about Mr. McDowell! And when I told him your +injury troubled you more than usual, and that I was glad you were +resting, I think I heard him swallow hard. He thinks a lot of you, +Derry. And then he asked me WHICH injury it was that hurt you, and I +told him the one in the head. What did he mean? Were you hurt somewhere +else, Derry?" + +Keith swallowed hard, too. "Not to speak of," he said. "You see, Mary +Josephine, I've got a tremendous surprise for you, if you'll promise it +won't spoil your appetite. Last night was the first night I've spent in +a real bed for three years." + +And then, without waiting for her questions, he began to tell her the +epic story of John Keith. With her sitting opposite him, her beautiful, +wide-open, gray eyes looking at him with amazement as she sensed the +marvelous coincidence of their meeting, he told it as he had not told +it to McDowell or even to Miriam Kirkstone. A third time the facts were +the same. But it was John Keith now who was telling John Keith's story +through the lips of an unreal and negative Conniston. He forgot his own +breakfast, and a look of gloom settled on Wallie's face when he peered +in through the door and saw that their coffee and toast were growing +cold. Mary Josephine leaned a little over the table. Not once did she +interrupt Keith. Never had he dreamed of a glory that might reflect his +emotions as did her eyes. As he swept from pathos to storm, from the +madness of long, black nights to starvation and cold, as he told of +flight, of pursuit, of the merciless struggle that ended at last in the +capture of John Keith, as he gave to these things words and life +pulsing with the beat of his own heart, he saw them revisioned in those +wonderful gray eyes, cold at times with fear, warm and glowing at other +times with sympathy, and again shining softly with a glory of pride and +love that was meant for him alone. With him she was present in the +little cabin up in the big Barren. Until he told of those days and +nights of hopeless desolation, of racking cough and the nearness of +death, and of the comradeship of brothers that had come as a final +benediction to the hunter and the hunted, until in her soul she was +understanding and living those terrible hours as they two had lived +them, he did not know how deep and dark and immeasurably tender that +gray mystery of beauty in her eyes could be. From that hour he +worshiped them as he worshiped no other part of her. + +"And from all that you came back the same day I came," she said in a +low, awed voice. "You came back from THAT!" + +He remembered the part he must play. + +"Yes, three years of it. If I could only remember as well, only half as +well, things that happened before this--" He raised a hand to his +forehead, to the scar. + +"You will," she whispered swiftly. "Derry, darling, you will!" + +Wallie sidled in and, with an adoring grin at Mary Josephine, suggested +that he had more coffee and toast ready to serve, piping hot. Keith was +relieved. The day had begun auspiciously, and over the bacon and eggs, +done to a ravishing brown by the little Jap, he told Mary Josephine of +some of his bills of fare in the north and how yesterday he had filled +up on bacon smell at Andy Duggan's. Steak from the cheek of a walrus, +he told her, was equal to porterhouse; seal meat wasn't bad, but one +grew tired of it quickly unless he was an Eskimo; polar bear meat was +filling but tough and strong. He liked whale meat, especially the +tail-steaks of narwhal, and cold boiled blubber was good in the winter, +only it was impossible to cook it because of lack of fuel, unless one +was aboard ship or had an alcohol stove in his outfit. The tidbit of +the Eskimo was birds' eggs, gathered by the ton in summer-time, rotten +before cold weather came, and frozen solid as chunks of ice in winter. +Through one starvation period of three weeks he had lived on them +himself, crunching them raw in his mouth as one worries away with a +piece of rock candy. The little lines gathered in Mary Josephine's +forehead at this, but they smoothed away into laughter when he +humorously described the joy of living on nothing at all but air. And +he added to this by telling her how the gluttonous Eskimo at feast-time +would lie out flat on their backs so that their womenfolk could feed +them by dropping chunks of flesh into their open maws until their +stomachs swelled up like the crops of birds overstuffed with grain. + +It was a successful breakfast. When it was over, Keith felt that he had +achieved a great deal. Before they rose from the table, he startled +Mary Josephine by ordering Wallie to bring him a cold chisel and a +hammer from Brady's tool-chest. + +"I've lost the key that opens my chest, and I've got to break in," he +explained to her. + +Mary Josephine's little laugh was delicious. "After what you told me +about frozen eggs, I thought perhaps you were going to eat some," she +said. + +She linked her arm in his as they walked into the big room, snuggling +her head against his shoulder so that, leaning over, his lips were +buried in one of the soft, shining coils of her hair. And she was +making plans, enumerating them on the tips of her fingers. If he had +business outside, she was going with him. Wherever he went she was +going. There was no doubt in her mind about that. She called his +attention to a trunk that had arrived while he slept, and assured him +she would be ready for outdoors by the time he had opened his chest. +She had a little blue suit she was going to wear. And her hair? Did it +look good enough for his friends to see? She had put it up in a hurry. + +"It is beautiful, glorious," he said. + +Her face pinked under the ardency of his gaze. She put a finger to the +tip of his nose, laughing at him. "Why, Derry, if you weren't my +brother I'd think you were my lover! You said that as though you meant +it TERRIBLY much. Do you?" + +He felt a sudden dull stab of pain, "Yes, I mean it. It's glorious. And +so are you, Mary Josephine, every bit of you." + +On tiptoe she gave him the warm sweetness of her lips again. And then +she ran away from him, joy and laughter in her face, and disappeared +into her room. "You must hurry or I shall beat you," she called back to +him. + + + + +XIII + + +In his own room, with the door closed and locked, Keith felt again that +dull, strange pain that made his heart sick and the air about him +difficult to breathe. + +"IF YOU WEREN'T MY BROTHER." + +The words beat in his brain. They were pounding at his heart until it +was smothered, laughing at him and taunting him and triumphing over him +just as, many times before, the raving voices of the weird wind-devils +had scourged him from out of black night and arctic storm. HER BROTHER! +His hand clenched until the nails bit into his flesh. No, he hadn't +thought of that part of the fight! And now it swept upon him in a +deluge. If he lost in the fight that was ahead of him, his life would +pay the forfeit. The law would take him, and he would hang. And if he +won--she would be his sister forever and to the end of all time! Just +that, and no more. His SISTER! And the agony of truth gripped him that +it was not as a brother that he saw the glory in her hair, the glory in +her eyes and face, and the glory in her slim little, beautiful +body--but as the lover. A merciless preordination had stacked the cards +against him again. He was Conniston, and she was Conniston's sister. + +A strong man, a man in whom blood ran red, there leaped up in him for a +moment a sudden and unreasoning rage at that thing which he had called +fate. He saw the unfairness of it all, the hopelessness of it, the +cowardly subterfuge and trickery of life itself as it had played +against him, and with tightly set lips and clenched hands he called +mutely on God Almighty to play the game square. Give him a chance! Give +him just one square deal, only one; let him see a way, let him fight a +man's fight with a ray of hope ahead! In these red moments hope +emblazoned itself before his eyes as a monstrous lie. Bitterness rose +in him until he was drunk with it, and blasphemy filled his heart. +Whichever way he turned, however hard he fought, there was no chance of +winning. From the day he killed Kirkstone the cards had been stacked +against him, and they were stacked now and would be stacked until the +end. He had believed in God, he had believed in the inevitable ethics +of the final reckoning of things, and he had believed strongly that an +impersonal Something more powerful than man-made will was behind him in +his struggles. These beliefs were smashed now. Toward them he felt the +impulse of a maddened beast trampling hated things under foot. They +stood for lies--treachery--cheating--yes, contemptible cheating! It was +impossible for him to win. However he played, whichever way he turned, +he must lose. For he was Conniston, and she was Conniston's sister, AND +MUST BE TO THE END OF TIME. + +Faintly, beyond the door, he heard Mary Josephine singing. Like a bit +of steel drawn to a tension his normal self snapped back into place. +His readjustment came with a lurch, a subtle sort of shock. His hands +unclenched, the tense lines in his face relaxed, and because that God +Almighty he had challenged had given to him an unquenchable humor, he +saw another thing where only smirking ghouls and hypocrites had rent +his brain with their fiendish exultations a moment before. It was +Conniston's face, suave, smiling, dying, triumphant over life, and +Conniston was saying, just as he had said up there in the cabin on the +Barren, with death reaching out a hand for him, "It's queer, old top, +devilish queer--and funny!" + +Yes, it was funny if one looked at it right, and Keith found himself +swinging back into his old view-point. It was the hugest joke life had +ever played on him. His sister! He could fancy Conniston twisting his +mustaches, his cool eyes glimmering with silent laughter, looking on +his predicament, and he could fancy Conniston saying: "It's funny, old +top, devilish funny--but it'll be funnier still when some other man +comes along and carries her off!" + +And he, John Keith, would have to grin and bear it because he was her +brother! + +Mary Josephine was tapping at his door. + +"Derwent Conniston," she called frigidly, "there's a female person on +the telephone asking for you. What shall I say?" + +"Er--why--tell her you're my sister, Mary Josephine, and if it's Miss +Kirkstone, be nice to her and say I'm not able to come to the 'phone, +and that you're looking forward to meeting her, and that we'll be up to +see her some time today." + +"Oh, indeed!" + +"You see," said Keith, his mouth close to the door, "you see, this Miss +Kirkstone--" + +But Mary Josephine was gone. + +Keith grinned. His illimitable optimism was returning. Sufficient for +the day that she was there, that she loved him, that she belonged to +him, that just now he was the arbiter of her destiny! Far off in the +mountains he dreamed of, alone, just they two, what might not happen? +Some day-- + +With the cold chisel and the hammer he went to the chest. His task was +one that numbed his hands before the last of the three locks was +broken. He dragged the chest more into the light and opened it. He was +disappointed. At first glance he could not understand why Conniston had +locked it at all. It was almost empty, so nearly empty that he could +see the bottom of it, and the first object that met his eyes was an +insult to his expectations--an old sock with a huge hole in the toe of +it. Under the sock was an old fur cap not of the kind worn north of +Montreal. There was a chain with a dog-collar attached to it, a +hip-pocket pistol and a huge forty-five, and not less than a hundred +cartridges of indiscriminate calibers scattered loosely about. At one +end, bundled in carelessly, was a pair of riding-breeches, and under +the breeches a pair of white shoes with rubber soles. There was neither +sentiment nor reason to the collection in the chest. It was junk. Even +the big forty-five had a broken hammer, and the pistol, Keith thought, +might have stunned a fly at close range. He pawed the things over with +the cold chisel, and the last thing he came upon--buried under what +looked like a cast-off sport shirt--was a pasteboard shoe box. He +raised the cover. The box was full of papers. + +Here was promise. He transported the box to Brady's table and sat down. +He examined the larger papers first. There were a couple of old game +licenses for Manitoba, half a dozen pencil-marked maps, chiefly of the +Peace River country, and a number of letters from the secretaries of +Boards of Trade pointing out the incomparable possibilities their +respective districts held for the homesteader and the buyer of land. +Last of all came a number of newspaper clippings and a packet of +letters. + +Because they were loose he seized upon the clippings first, and as his +eyes fell upon the first paragraph of the first clipping his body +became suddenly tensed in the shock of unexpected discovery and amazed +interest. There were six of the clippings, all from English papers, +English in their terseness, brief as stock exchange reports, and +equally to the point. He read the six in three minutes. + +They simply stated that Derwent Conniston, of the Connistons of +Darlington, was wanted for burglary--and that up to date he had not +been found. + +Keith gave a gasp of incredulity. He looked again to see that his eyes +were not tricking him. And it was there in cold, implacable print. +Derwent Conniston--that phoenix among men, by whom he had come to +measure all other men, that Crichton of nerve, of calm and audacious +courage, of splendid poise--a burglar! It was cheap, farcical, an +impossible absurdity. Had it been murder, high treason, defiance of +some great law, a great crime inspired by a great passion or a great +ideal, but it was burglary, brigandage of the cheapest and most +commonplace variety, a sneaking night-coward's plagiarism of real +adventure and real crime. It was impossible. Keith gritted the words +aloud. He might have accepted Conniston as a Dick Turpin, a Claude +Duval or a Macheath, but not as a Jeremy Diddler or a Bill Sykes. The +printed lines were lies. They must be. Derwent Conniston might have +killed a dozen men, but he had never cracked a safe. To think it was to +think the inconceivable. + +He turned to the letters. They were postmarked Darlington, England. His +fingers tingled as he opened the first. It was as he had expected, as +he had hoped. They were from Mary Josephine. He arranged them--nine in +all--in the sequence of their dates, which ran back nearly eight years. +All of them had been written within a period of eleven months. They +were as legible as print. And as he passed from the first to the +second, and from the second to the third, and then read on into the +others, he forgot there was such a thing as time and that Mary +Josephine was waiting for him. The clippings had told him one thing; +here, like bits of driftage to be put together, a line in this place +and half a dozen in that, in paragraphs that enlightened and in others +that puzzled, was the other side of the story, a growing thing that +rose up out of mystery and doubt in segments and fractions of segments +adding themselves together piecemeal, welding the whole into form and +substance, until there rode through Keith's veins a wild thrill of +exultation and triumph. + +And then he came to the ninth and last letter. It was in a different +handwriting, brief, with a deadly specificness about it that gripped +Keith as he read. + +This ninth letter he held in his hand as he rose from the table, and +out of his mouth there fell, unconsciously, Conniston's own words, +"It's devilish queer, old top--and funny!" + +There was no humor in the way he spoke them. His voice was hard, his +eyes dully ablaze. He was looking back into that swirling, unutterable +loneliness of the northland, and he was seeing Conniston again. + +Fiercely he caught up the clippings, struck a match, and with a grim +smile watched them as they curled up into flame and crumbled into ash. +What a lie was life, what a malformed thing was justice, what a monster +of iniquity the man-fabricated thing called law! + +And again he found himself speaking, as if the dead Englishman himself +were repeating the words, "It's devilish queer, old top--and funny!" + + + + +XIV + + +A quarter of an hour later, with Mary Josephine at his side, he was +walking down the green slope toward the Saskatchewan. In that direction +lay the rims of timber, the shimmering valley, and the broad pathways +that opened into the plains beyond. + +The town was at their backs, and Keith wanted it there. He wanted to +keep McDowell, and Shan Tung, and Miriam Kirkstone as far away as +possible, until his mind rode more smoothly in the new orbit in which +it was still whirling a bit unsteadily. More than all else he wanted to +be alone with Mary Josephine, to make sure of her, to convince himself +utterly that she was his to go on fighting for. He sensed the nearness +and the magnitude of the impending drama. He knew that today he must +face Shan Tung, that again he must go under the battery of McDowell's +eyes and brain, and that like a fish in treacherous waters he must swim +cleverly to avoid the nets that would entangle and destroy him. Today +was the day--the stage was set, the curtain about to be lifted, the +play ready to be enacted. But before it was the prologue. And the +prologue was Mary Josephine's. + +At the crest of a dip halfway down the slope they had paused, and in +this pause he stood a half-step behind her so that he could look at her +for a moment without being observed. She was bareheaded, and it came +upon him all at once how wonderful was a woman's hair, how beautiful +beyond all other things beautiful and desirable. In twisted, glowing +seductiveness it was piled up on Mary Josephine's head, transformed +into brown and gold glories by the sun. He wanted to put forth his hand +to it, and bury his fingers in it, and feel the thrill and the warmth +and the crush of the palpitant life of it against his own flesh. And +then, bending a little forward, he saw under her long lashes the sheer +joy of life shining in her eyes as she drank in the wonderful panorama +that lay below them to the west. Last night's rain had freshened it, +the sun glorified it now, and the fragrance of earthly smells that rose +up to them from it was the undefiled breath of a thing living and +awake. Even to Keith the river had never looked more beautiful, and +never had his yearnings gone out to it more strongly than in this +moment, to the river and beyond--and to the back of beyond, where the +mountains rose up to meet the blue sky and the river itself was born. +And he heard Mary Josephine's voice, joyously suppressed, exclaiming +softly, + +"Oh, Derry!" + +His heart was filled with gladness. She, too, was seeing what his eyes +saw in that wonderland. And she was feeling it. Her hand, seeking his +hand, crept into his palm, and the fingers of it clung to his fingers. +He could feel the thrill of the miracle passing through her, the +miracle of the open spaces, the miracle of the forests rising billow on +billow to the purple mists of the horizon, the miracle of the golden +Saskatchewan rolling slowly and peacefully in its slumbering sheen out +of that mighty mysteryland that reached to the lap of the setting sun. +He spoke to her of that land as she looked, wide-eyed, quick-breathing, +her fingers closing still more tightly about his. This was but the +beginning of the glory of the west and the north, he told her. Beyond +that low horizon, where the tree tops touched the sky were the +prairies--not the tiresome monotony which she had seen from the car +windows, but the wide, glorious, God-given country of the Northwest +with its thousands of lakes and rivers and its tens of thousands of +square miles of forests; and beyond those things, still farther, were +the foothills, and beyond the foothills the mountains. And in those +mountains the river down there had its beginning. + +She looked up swiftly, her eyes brimming with the golden flash of the +sun. "It is wonderful! And just over there is the town!" + +"Yes, and beyond the town are the cities." + +"And off there--" + +"God's country," said Keith devoutly. + +Mary Josephine drew a deep breath. "And people still live in towns and +cities!" she exclaimed in wondering credulity. "I've dreamed of 'over +here,' Derry, but I never dreamed that. And you've had it for years and +years, while I--oh, Derry!" + +And again those two words filled his heart with gladness, words of +loving reproach, atremble with the mysterious whisper of a great +desire. For she was looking into the west. And her eyes and her heart +and her soul were in the west, and suddenly Keith saw his way as though +lighted by a flaming torch. He came near to forgetting that he was +Conniston. He spoke of his dream, his desire, and told her that last +night--before she came--he had made up his mind to go. She had come to +him just in time. A little later and he would have been gone, buried +utterly away from the world in the wonderland of the mountains. And now +they would go together. They would go as he had planned to go, quietly, +unobtrusively; they would slip away and disappear. There was a reason +why no one should know, not even McDowell. It must be their secret. +Some day he would tell her why. Her heart thumped excitedly as he went +on like a boy planning a wonderful day. He could see the swifter beat +of it in the flush that rose into her face and the joy glowing +tremulously in her eyes as she looked at him. They would get ready +quietly. They might go tomorrow, the next day, any time. It would be a +glorious adventure, just they two, with all the vastness of that +mountain paradise ahead of them. + +"We'll be pals," he said. "Just you and me, Mary Josephine. We're all +that's left." + +It was his first experiment, his first reference to the information he +had gained in the letters, and swift as a flash Mary Josephine's eyes +turned up to him. He nodded, smiling. He understood their quick +questioning, and he held her hand closer and began to walk with her +down the slope. + +"A lot of it came back last night and this morning, a lot of it," he +explained. "It's queer what miracles small things can work sometimes, +isn't it? Think what a grain of sand can do to a watch! This was one of +the small things." He was still smiling as he touched the scar on his +forehead. "And you, you were the other miracle. And I'm remembering. It +doesn't seem like seven or eight years, but only yesterday, that the +grain of sand got mixed up somewhere in the machinery in my head. And I +guess there was another reason for my going wrong. You'll understand, +when I tell you." + +Had he been Conniston it could not have come from him more naturally, +more sincerely. He was living the great lie, and yet to him it was no +longer a lie. He did not hesitate, as shame and conscience might have +made him hesitate. He was fighting that something beautiful might be +raised up out of chaos and despair and be made to exist; he was +fighting for life in place of death, for happiness in place of grief, +for light in place of darkness--fighting to save where others would +destroy. Therefore the great lie was not a lie but a thing without +venom or hurt, an instrument for happiness and for all the things good +and beautiful that went to make happiness. It was his one great weapon. +Without it he would fail, and failure meant desolation. So he spoke +convincingly, for what he said came straight from the heart though it +was born in the shadow of that one master-falsehood. His wonder was +that Mary Josephine believed him so utterly that not for an instant was +there a questioning doubt in her eyes or on her lips. + +He told her how much he "remembered," which was no more and no less +than he had learned from the letters and the clippings. The story did +not appeal to him as particularly unusual or dramatic. He had passed +through too many tragic happenings in the last four years to regard it +in that way. It was simply an unfortunate affair beginning in +misfortune, and with its necessary whirlwind of hurt and sorrow. The +one thing of shame he would not keep out of his mind was that he, +Derwent Conniston, must have been a poor type of big brother in those +days of nine or ten years ago, even though little Mary Josephine had +worshiped him. He was well along in his twenties then. The Connistons +of Darlington were his uncle and aunt, and his uncle was a more or less +prominent figure in ship-building interests on the Clyde. With these +people the three--himself, Mary Josephine, and his brother Egbert--had +lived, "farmed out" to a hard-necked, flinty-hearted pair of relatives +because of a brother's stipulation and a certain English law. With them +they had existed in mutual discontent and dislike. Derwent, when he +became old enough, had stepped over the traces. All this Keith had +gathered from the letters, but there was a great deal that was missing. +Egbert, he gathered, must have been a scapegrace. He was a cripple of +some sort and seven or eight years his junior. In the letters Mary +Josephine had spoken of him as "poor Egbert," pitying instead of +condemning him, though it was Egbert who had brought tragedy and +separation upon them. One night Egbert had broken open the Conniston +safe and in the darkness had had a fight and a narrow escape from his +uncle, who laid the crime upon Derwent. And Derwent, in whom Egbert +must have confided, had fled to America that the cripple might be +saved, with the promise that some day he would send for Mary Josephine. +He was followed by the uncle's threat that if he ever returned to +England, he would be jailed. Not long afterward "poor Egbert" was found +dead in bed, fearfully contorted. Keith guessed there had been +something mentally as well as physically wrong with him. + +"--And I was going to send for you," he said, as they came to the level +of the valley. "My plans were made, and I was going to send for you, +when this came." + +He stopped, and in a few tense, breathless moments Mary Josephine read +the ninth and last letter he had taken from the Englishman's chest. It +was from her uncle. In a dozen lines it stated that she, Mary +Josephine, was dead, and it reiterated the threat against Derwent +Conniston should he ever dare to return to England. + +A choking cry came to her lips. "And that--THAT was it?" + +"Yes, that--and the hurt in my head," he said, remembering the part he +must play. "They came at about the same time, and the two of them must +have put the grain of sand in my brain." + +It was hard to lie now, looking straight into her face that had gone +suddenly white, and with her wonderful eyes burning deep into his soul. + +She did not seem, for an instant, to hear his voice or sense his words. +"I understand now," she was saying, the letter crumpling in her +fingers. "I was sick for almost a year, Derry. They thought I was going +to die. He must have written it then, and they destroyed my letters to +you, and when I was better they told me you were dead, and then I +didn't write any more. And I wanted to die. And then, almost a year +ago, Colonel Reppington came to me, and his dear old voice was so +excited that it trembled, and he told me that he believed you were +alive. A friend of his had just returned from British Columbia, and +this friend told him that three years before, while on a grizzly +shooting trip, he had met a man named Conniston, an Englishman. We +wrote a hundred letters up there and found the man, Jack Otto, who was +in the mountains with you, and then I knew you were alive. But we +couldn't find you after that, and so I came--" + +He would have wagered that she was going to cry, but she fought the +tears back, smiling. + +"And--and I've found you!" she finished triumphantly. + +She snuggled close to him, and he slipped an arm about her waist, and +they walked on. She told him about her arrival in Halifax, how Colonel +Reppington had given her letters to nice people in Montreal and +Winnipeg, and how it happened one day that she found his name in one of +the Mounted Police blue books, and after that came on as fast as she +could to surprise him at Prince Albert. When she came to that point, +Keith pointed once more into the west and said: + +"And there is our new world. Let us forget the old. Shall we, Mary +Josephine?" + +"Yes," she whispered, and her hand sought his again and crept into it, +warm and confident. + + + + +XV + + +They went on through the golden morning, the earth damp under their +feet, the air filled with its sweet incense, on past scattered clumps +of balsams and cedars until they came to the river and looked down on +its yellow sand-bars glistening in the sun. The town was hidden. They +heard no sound from it. And looking up the great Saskatchewan, the +river of mystery, of romance, of glamour, they saw before them, where +the spruce walls seemed to meet, the wide-open door through which they +might pass into the western land beyond. Keith pointed it out. And he +pointed out the yellow bars, the glistening shores of sand, and told +her how even as far as this, a thousand miles by river--those sands +brought gold with them from the mountains, the gold whose +treasure-house no man had ever found, and which must be hidden up there +somewhere near the river's end. His dream, like Duggan's, had been to +find it. Now they would search for it together. + +Slowly he was picking his way so that at last they came to the bit of +cleared timber in which was his old home. His heart choked him as they +drew near. There was an uncomfortable tightness in his breath. The +timber was no longer "clear." In four years younger generations of life +had sprung up among the trees, and the place was jungle-ridden. They +were within a few yards of the house before Mary Josephine saw it, and +then she stopped suddenly with a little gasp. For this that she faced +was not desertion, was not mere neglect. It was tragedy. She saw in an +instant that there was no life in this place, and yet it stood as if +tenanted. It was a log chateau with a great, red chimney rising at one +end curtains and shades still hung at the windows. There were three +chairs on the broad veranda that looked riverward. But two of the +windows were broken, and the chairs were falling into ruin. There was +no life. They were facing only the ghosts of life. + +A swift glance into Keith's face told her this was so. His lips were +set tight. There was a strange look in his face. Hand in hand they had +come up, and her fingers pressed his tighter now. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +"It is John Keith's home as he left it four years ago," he replied. + +The suspicious break in his voice drew her eyes from the chateau to his +own again. She could see him fighting. There was a twitching in his +throat. His hand was gripping hers until it hurt. + +"John Keith?" she whispered softly. + +"Yes, John Keith." + +She inclined her head so that it rested lightly and affectionately +against his arm. + +"You must have thought a great deal of him, Derry." + +"Yes." + +He freed her hand, and his fists clenched convulsively. She could feel +the cording of the muscles in his arm, his face was white, and in his +eyes was a fixed stare that startled her. He fumbled in a pocket and +drew out a key. + +"I promised, when he died, that I would go in and take a last look for +him," he said. "He loved this place. Do you want to go with me?" + +She drew a deep breath. "Yes." + +The key opened the door that entered on the veranda. As it swung back, +grating on its rusty hinges, they found themselves facing the chill of +a cold and lifeless air. Keith stepped inside. A glance told him that +nothing was changed--everything was there in that room with the big +fireplace, even as he had left it the night he set out to force justice +from Judge Kirkstone. One thing startled him. On the dust-covered table +was a bowl and a spoon. He remembered vividly how he had eaten his +supper that night of bread and milk. It was the littleness of the +thing, the simplicity of it, that shocked him. The bowl and spoon were +still there after four years. He did not reflect that they were as +imperishable as all the other things about; the miracle was that they +were there on the table, as though he had used them only yesterday. The +most trivial things in the room struck him deepest, and he found +himself fighting hard, for a moment, to keep his nerve. + +"He told me about the bowl and the spoon, John Keith did," he said, +nodding toward them. "He told me just what I'd find here, even to that. +You see, he loved the place greatly and everything that was in it. It +was impossible for him to forget even the bowl and the spoon and where +he had left them." + +It was easier after that. The old home was whispering back its memories +to him, and he told them to Mary Josephine as they went slowly from +room to room, until John Keith was living there before her again, the +John Keith whom Derwent Conniston had run to his death. It was this +thing that gripped her, and at last what was in her mind found voice. + +"It wasn't YOU who made him die, was it, Derry? It wasn't you?" + +"No. It was the law. He died, as I told you, of a frosted lung. At the +last I would have shared my life with him had it been possible. +McDowell must never know that. You must never speak of John Keith +before him." + +"I--I understand, Derry." + +"And he must not know that we came here. To him John Keith was a +murderer whom it was his duty to hang." + +She was looking at him strangely. Never had he seen her look at him in +that way. + +"Derry," she whispered. + +"Yes?" + +"Derry, IS JOHN KEITH ALIVE?" + +He started. The shock of the question was in his face. He caught +himself, but it was too late. And in an instant her hand was at his +mouth, and she was whispering eagerly, almost fiercely: + +"No, no, no--don't answer me, Derry! DON'T ANSWER ME! I know, and I +understand, and I'm glad, glad, GLAD! He's alive, and it was you who +let him live, the big, glorious brother I'm proud of! And everyone else +thinks he's dead. But don't answer me, Derry, don't answer me!" + +She was trembling against him. His arms closed about her, and he held +her nearer to his heart, and longer, than he had ever held her before. +He kissed her hair many times, and her lips once, and up about his neck +her arms twined softly, and a great brightness was in her eyes. + +"I understand," she whispered again. "I understand." + +"And I--I must answer you," he said. "I must answer you, because I love +you, and because you must know. Yes, John Keith is alive!" + + + + +XVI + + +An hour later, alone and heading for the inspector's office, Keith felt +in battle trim. His head was fairly singing with the success of the +morning. Since the opening of Conniston's chest many things had +happened, and he was no longer facing a blank wall of mystery. His +chief cause of exhilaration was Mary Josephine. She wanted to go away +with him. She wanted to go with him anywhere, everywhere, as long as +they were together. When she had learned that his term of enlistment +was about to expire and that if he remained in the Service he would be +away from her a great deal, she had pleaded with him not to reenlist. +She did not question him when he told her that it might be necessary to +go away very suddenly, without letting another soul know of their +movements, not even Wallie. Intuitively she guessed that the reason had +something to do with John Keith, for he had let the fear grow in her +that McDowell might discover he had been a traitor to the Service, in +which event the Law itself would take him away from her for a +considerable number of years. And with that fear she was more than ever +eager for the adventure, and planned with him for its consummation. + +Another thing cheered Keith. He was no longer the absolute liar of +yesterday, for by a fortunate chance he had been able to tell her that +John Keith was alive. This most important of all truths he had confided +to her, and the confession had roused in her a comradeship that had +proclaimed itself ready to fight for him or run away with him. Not for +an instant had she regretted the action he had taken in giving Keith +his freedom. He was peculiarly happy because of that. She was glad John +Keith was alive. + +And now that she knew the story of the old home down in the clump of +timber and of the man who had lived there, she was anxious to meet +Miriam Kirkstone, daughter of the man he had killed. Keith had promised +her they would go up that afternoon. Within himself he knew that he was +not sure of keeping the promise. There was much to do in the next few +hours, and much might happen. In fact there was but little speculation +about it. This was the big day. Just what it held for him he could not +be sure until he saw Shan Tung. Any instant might see him put to the +final test. + +Cruze was pacing slowly up and down the hall when Keith entered the +building in which McDowell had his offices. The young secretary's face +bore a perplexed and rather anxious expression. His hands were buried +deep in his trousers pockets, and he was puffing a cigarette. At +Keith's appearance he brightened up a bit. + +"Don't know what to make of the governor this morning, by Jove I +don't!" he explained, nodding toward the closed doors. "I've got +instructions to let no one near him except you. You may go in." + +"What seems to be the matter?" Keith felt out cautiously. + +Cruze shrugged his thin shoulders, nipped the ash from his cigarette, +and with a grimace said, "Shan Tung." + +"Shan Tung?" Keith spoke the name in a sibilant whisper. Every nerve in +him had jumped, and for an instant he thought he had betrayed himself. +Shan Tung had been there early. And now McDowell was waiting for him +and had given instructions that no other should be admitted. If the +Chinaman had exposed him, why hadn't McDowell sent officers up to the +Shack? That was the first question that jumped into his head. The +answer came as quickly--McDowell had not sent officers because, hating +Shan Tung, he had not believed his story. But he was waiting there to +investigate. A chill crept over Keith. + +Cruze was looking at him intently. + +"There's something to this Shan Tung business," he said. "It's even +getting on the old man's nerves. And he's very anxious to see you, Mr. +Conniston. I've called you up half a dozen times in the last hour." + +He nipped away his cigarette, turned alertly, and moved toward the +inspector's door. Keith wanted to call him back, to leap upon him, if +necessary, and drag him away from that deadly door. But he neither +moved nor spoke until it was too late. The door opened, he heard Cruze +announce his presence, and it seemed to him the words were scarcely out +of the secretary's mouth when McDowell himself stood in the door. + +"Come in, Conniston," he said quietly. "Come in." + +It was not McDowell's voice. It was restrained, terrible. It was the +voice of a man speaking softly to cover a terrific fire raging within. +Keith felt himself doomed. Even as he entered, his mind was swiftly +gathering itself for the last play, the play he had set for himself if +the crisis came. He would cover McDowell, bind and gag him even as +Cruze sauntered in the hall, escape through a window, and with Mary +Josephine bury himself in the forests before pursuit could overtake +them. Therefore his amazement was unbounded when McDowell, closing the +door, seized his hand in a grip that made him wince, and shook it with +unfeigned gladness and relief. + +"I'm not condemning you, of course," he said. "It was rather beastly of +me to annoy your sister before you were up this morning. She flatly +refused to rouse you, and by George, the way she said it made me turn +the business of getting into touch with you over to Cruze. Sit down, +Conniston. I'm going to explode a mine under you." + +He flung himself into his swivel chair and twisted one of his fierce +mustaches, while his eyes blazed at Keith. Keith waited. He saw the +other was like an animal ready to spring and anxious to spring, the one +evident stricture on his desire being that there was nothing to spring +at unless it was himself. + +"What happened last night?" he asked. + +Keith's mind was already working swiftly. McDowell's question gave him +the opportunity of making the first play against Shan Tung. + +"Enough to convince me that I am going to see Shan Tung today," he said. + +He noticed the slow clenching and unclenching of McDowell's fingers +about the arms of his chair. + +"Then--I was right?" + +"I have every reason to believe you were--up to a certain point. I +shall know positively when I have talked with Shan Tung." + +He smiled grimly. McDowell's eyes were no harder than his own. The iron +man drew a deep breath and relaxed a bit in his chair. + +"If anything should happen," he said, looking away from Keith, as +though the speech were merely casual, "if he attacks you--" + +"It might be necessary to kill him in self-defense," finished Keith. + +McDowell made no sign to show that he had heard, yet Keith thrilled +with the conviction that he had struck home. He went on telling briefly +what had happened at Miriam Kirkstone's house the preceding night. +McDowell's face was purple when he described the evidences of Shan +Tung's presence at the house on the hill, but with a mighty effort he +restrained his passion. + +"That's it, that's it," he exclaimed, choking back his wrath. "I knew +he was there! And this morning both of them lie about it--both of them, +do you understand! She lied, looking me straight in the eyes. And he +lied, and for the first time in his life he laughed at me, curse me if +he didn't! It was like the gurgle of oil. I didn't know a human could +laugh that way. And on top of that he told me something that I WON'T +believe, so help me God, I won't!" + +He jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth, his hands +clenched behind him. Suddenly he whirled on Keith. + +"Why in heaven's name didn't you bring Keith back with you, or, if not +Keith, at least a written confession, signed by him?" he demanded. + +This was a blow from behind for Keith. "What--what has Keith got to do +with this?" he stumbled. + +"More than I dare tell you, Conniston. But WHY didn't you bring back a +signed confession from him? A dying man is usually willing to make +that." + +"If he is guilty, yes," agreed Keith. "But this man was a different +sort. If he killed Judge Kirkstone, he had no regret. He did not +consider himself a criminal. He felt that he had dealt out justice in +his own way, and therefore, even when he was dying, he would not sign +anything or state anything definitely." + +McDowell subsided into his chair. + +"And the curse of it is I haven't a thing on Shan Tung," he gritted. +"Not a thing. Miriam Kirkstone is her own mistress, and in the eyes of +the law he is as innocent of crime as I am. If she is voluntarily +giving herself as a victim to this devil, it is her own +business--legally, you understand. Morally--" + +He stopped, his savagely gleaming eyes boring Keith to the marrow. + +"He hates you as a snake hates fire-water. It is possible, if he +thought the opportunity had come to him--" + +Again he paused, cryptic, waiting for the other to gather the thing he +had not spoken. Keith, simulating two of Conniston's tricks at the same +time, shrugged a shoulder and twisted a mustache as he rose to his +feet. He smiled coolly down at the iron man. For once he gave a +passable imitation of the Englishman. + +"And he's going to have the opportunity today," he said +understandingly. "I think, old chap, I'd better be going. I'm rather +anxious to see Shan Tung before dinner." + +McDowell followed him to the door. + +His face had undergone a change. There was a tense expectancy, almost +an eagerness there. Again he gripped Keith's hand, and before the door +opened he said, + +"If trouble comes between you let it be in the open, Conniston--in the +open and not on Shan Tung's premises." + +Keith went out, his pulse quickening to the significance of the iron +man's words, and wondering what the "mine" was that McDowell had +promised to explode, but which he had not. + + + + +XVII + + +Keith lost no time in heading for Shan Tung's. He was like a man +playing chess, and the moves were becoming so swift and so intricate +that his mind had no rest. Each hour brought forth its fresh +necessities and its new alternatives. It was McDowell who had given him +his last cue, perhaps the surest and safest method of all for winning +his game. The iron man, that disciple of the Law who was merciless in +his demand of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, had let him +understand that the world would be better off without Shan Tung. This +man, who never in his life had found an excuse for the killer, now +maneuvered subtly the suggestion for a killing. + +Keith was both shocked and amazed. "If anything happens, let it be in +the open and not on Shan Tung's premises," he had warned him. That +implied in McDowell's mind a cool and calculating premeditation, the +assumption that if Shan Tung was killed it would be in self-defense. +And Keith's blood leaped to the thrill of it. He had not only found the +depths of McDowell's personal interest in Miriam Kirkstone, but a last +weapon had been placed in his hands, a weapon which he could use this +day if it became necessary. Cornered, with no other hope of saving +himself, he could as a last resort kill Shan Tung--and McDowell would +stand behind him! + +He went directly to Shan Tung's cafe and sauntered in. There were large +changes in it since four years ago. The moment he passed through its +screened vestibule, he felt its oriental exclusiveness, the sleek and +mysterious quietness of it. One might have found such a place catering +to the elite of a big city. It spoke sumptuously of a large expenditure +of money, yet there was nothing bizarre or irritating to the senses. +Its heavily-carved tables were almost oppressive in their solidity. +Linen and silver, like Shan Tung himself, were immaculate. +Magnificently embroidered screens were so cleverly arranged that one +saw not all of the place at once, but caught vistas of it. The few +voices that Keith heard in this pre-lunch hour were subdued, and the +speakers were concealed by screens. Two orientals, as immaculate as the +silver and linen, were moving about with the silence of velvet-padded +lynxes. A third, far in the rear, stood motionless as one of the carven +tables, smoking a cigarette and watchful as a ferret. This was Li King, +Shan Tung's right-hand man. + +Keith approached him. When he was near enough, Li King gave the +slightest inclination to his head and took the cigarette from his +mouth. Without movement or speech he registered the question, "What do +you want?" + +Keith knew this to be a bit of oriental guile. In his mind there was no +doubt that Li King had been fully instructed by his master and that he +had been expecting him, even watching for him. Convinced of this, he +gave him one of Conniston's cards and said, + +"Take this to Shan Tung. He is expecting me." + +Li King looked at the card, studied it for a moment with apparent +stupidity, and shook his head. "Shan Tung no home. Gone away." + +That was all. Where he had gone or when he would return Keith could not +discover from Li King. Of all other matters except that he had gone +away the manager of Shan Tung's affairs was ignorant. Keith felt like +taking the yellow-skinned hypocrite by the throat and choking something +out of him, but he realized that Li King was studying and watching him, +and that he would report to Shan Tung every expression that had passed +over his face. So he looked at his watch, bought a cigar at the glass +case near the cash register, and departed with a cheerful nod, saying +that he would call again. + +Ten minutes later he determined on a bold stroke. There was no time for +indecision or compromise. He must find Shan Tung and find him quickly. +And he believed that Miriam Kirkstone could give him a pretty good tip +as to his whereabouts. He steeled himself to the demand he was about to +make as he strode up to the house on the hill. He was disappointed +again. Miss Kirkstone was not at home. If she was, she did not answer +to his knocking and bell ringing. + +He went to the depot. No one he questioned had seen Shan Tung at the +west-bound train, the only train that had gone out that morning, and +the agent emphatically disclaimed selling him a ticket. Therefore he +had not gone far. Suspicion leaped red in Keith's brain. His +imagination pictured Shan Tung at that moment with Miriam Kirkstone, +and at the thought his disgust went out against them both. In this +humor he returned to McDowell's office. He stood before his chief, +leaning toward him over the desk table. This time he was the inquisitor. + +"Plainly speaking, this liaison is their business," he declared. +"Because he is yellow and she is white doesn't make it ours. I've just +had a hunch. And I believe in following hunches, especially when one +hits you good and hard, and this one has given me a jolt that means +something. Where is that big fat brother of hers?" + +McDowell hesitated. "It isn't a liaison," he temporized. "It's +one-sided--a crime against--" + +"WHERE IS THAT BIG FAT BROTHER?" With each word Keith emphasized his +demand with a thud of his fist on the table. "WHERE IS HE?" + +McDowell was deeply perturbed. Keith could see it and waited. + +After a moment of silence the iron man rose from the swivel chair, +walked to the window, gazed out for another moment, and walked back +again, twisting one of his big gray mustaches in a way that betrayed +the stress of his emotion. "Confound it, Conniston, you've got a mind +for seeking out the trivialities, and little things are sometimes the +most embarrassing." + +"And sometimes most important," added Keith. "For instance, it strikes +me as mighty important that we should know where Peter Kirkstone is and +why he is not here fighting for his sister's salvation. Where is he?" + +"I don't know. He disappeared from town a month ago. Miriam says he is +somewhere in British Columbia looking over some old mining properties. +She doesn't know just where." + +"And you believe her?" + +The eyes of the two men met. There was no longer excuse for +equivocation. Both understood. + +McDowell smiled in recognition of the fact. "No. I think, Conniston, +that she is the most wonderful little liar that lives. And the +beautiful part of it is, she is lying for a purpose. Imagine Peter +Kirkstone, who isn't worth the powder to blow him to Hades, interested +in old mines or anything else that promises industry or production! And +the most inconceivable thing about the whole mess is that Miriam +worships that fat and worthless pig of a brother. I've tried to find +him in British Columbia. Failed, of course. Another proof that this +affair between Miriam and Shan Tung isn't a voluntary liaison on her +part. She's lying. She's walking on a pavement of lies. If she told the +truth--" + +"There are some truths which one cannot tell about oneself," +interrupted Keith. "They must be discovered or buried. And I'm going +deeper into this prospecting and undertaking business this afternoon. +I've got another hunch. I think I'll have something interesting to +report before night." + +Ten minutes later, on his way to the Shack, he was discussing with +himself the modus operandi of that "hunch." It had come to him in an +instant, a flash of inspiration. That afternoon he would see Miriam +Kirkstone and question her about Peter. Then he would return to +McDowell, lay stress on the importance of the brother, tell him that he +had a clew which he wanted to follow, and suggest finally a swift trip +to British Columbia. He would take Mary Josephine, lie low until his +term of service expired, and then report by letter to McDowell that he +had failed and that he had made up his mind not to reenlist but to try +his fortunes with Mary Josephine in Australia. Before McDowell received +that letter, they could be on their way into the mountains. The "hunch" +offered an opportunity for a clean getaway, and in his jubilation +Miriam Kirkstone and her affairs were important only as a means to an +end. He was John Keith now, fighting for John Keith's life--and Derwent +Conniston's sister. + +Mary Josephine herself put the first shot into the fabric of his plans. +She must have been watching for him, for when halfway up the slope he +saw her coming to meet him. She scolded him for being away from her, as +he had expected her to do. Then she pulled his arm about her slim +little waist and held the hand thus engaged in both her own as they +walked up the winding path. He noticed the little wrinkles in her +adorable forehead. + +"Derry, is it the right thing for young ladies to call on their +gentlemen friends over here?" she asked suddenly. + +"Why--er--that depends, Mary Josephine. You mean--" + +"Yes, I do, Derwent Conniston! She's pretty, and I don't blame you, but +I can't help feeling that I don't like it!" + +His arm tightened about her until she gasped. The fragile softness of +her waist was a joy to him. + +"Derry!" she remonstrated. "If you do that again, I'll break!" + +"I couldn't help it," he pleaded. "I couldn't, dear. The way you said +it just made my arm close up tight. I'm glad you didn't like it. I can +love only one at a time, and I'm loving you, and I'm going on loving +you all my life." + +"I wasn't jealous," she protested, blushing. "But she called twice on +the telephone and then came up. And she's pretty." + +"I suppose you mean Miss Kirkstone?" + +"Yes. She was frightfully anxious to see you, Derry." + +"And what did you think of her, dear?" + +She cast a swift look up into his face. + +"Why, I like her. She's sweet and pretty, and I fell in love with her +hair. But something was troubling her this morning. I'm quite sure of +it, though she tried to keep it back." + +"She was nervous, you mean, and pale, with sometimes a frightened look +in her eyes. Was that it?" + +"You seem to know, Derry. I think it was all that." + +He nodded. He saw his horizon aglow with the smile of fortune. +Everything was coming propitiously for him, even this unexpected visit +of Miriam Kirkstone. He did not trouble himself to speculate as to the +object of her visit, for he was grappling now with his own opportunity, +his chance to get away, to win out for himself in one last +master-stroke, and his mind was concentrated in that direction. The +time was ripe to tell these things to Mary Josephine. She must be +prepared. + +On the flat table of the hill where Brady had built his bungalow were +scattered clumps of golden birch, and in the shelter of one of the +nearer clumps was a bench, to which Keith drew Mary Josephine. +Thereafter for many minutes he spoke his plans. Mary Josephine's cheeks +grew flushed. Her eyes shone with excitement and eagerness. She +thrilled to the story he told her of what they would do in those +wonderful mountains of gold and mystery, just they two alone. He made +her understand even more definitely that his safety and their mutual +happiness depended upon the secrecy of their final project, that in a +way they were conspirators and must act as such. They might start for +the west tonight or tomorrow, and she must get ready. + +There he should have stopped. But with Mary Josephine's warm little +hand clinging to his and her beautiful eyes shining at him like liquid +stars, he felt within him an overwhelming faith and desire, and he went +on, making a clean breast of the situation that was giving them the +opportunity to get away. He felt no prick of conscience at thought of +Miriam Kirkstone's affairs. Her destiny must be, as he had told +McDowell, largely a matter of her own choosing. Besides, she had +McDowell to fight for her. And the big fat brother, too. So without +fear of its effect he told Mary Josephine of the mysterious liaison +between Miriam Kirkstone and Shan Tung, of McDowell's suspicions, of +his own beliefs, and how it was all working out for their own good. + +Not until then did he begin to see the changing lights in her eyes. Not +until he had finished did he notice that most of that vivid flush of +joy had gone from her face and that she was looking at him in a +strained, tense way. He felt then the reaction. She was not looking at +the thing as he was looking at it. He had offered to her another +woman's tragedy as THEIR opportunity, and her own woman's heart had +responded in the way that has been woman's since the dawn of life. A +sense of shame which he fought and tried to crush took possession of +him. He was right. He must be right, for it was his life that was +hanging in the balance. Yet Mary Josephine could not know that. + +Her fingers had tightened about his, and she was looking away from him. +He saw now that the color had almost gone from her face. There was the +flash of a new fire in her yes. + +"And THAT was why she was nervous and pale, with sometimes a frightened +look in her eyes," she spoke softly, repeating his words. "It was +because of this Chinese monster, Shan Tung--because he has some sort of +power over her, you say--because--" + +She snatched her hand from his with a suddenness that startled him. Her +eyes, so beautiful and soft a few minutes before, scintillated fire. +"Derry, if you don't fix this heathen devil--I WILL!" + +She stood up before him, breathing quickly, and he beheld in her not +the soft, slim-waisted little goddess of half an hour ago, but the +fiercest fighter of all the fighting ages, a woman roused. And no +longer fear, but a glory swept over him. She was Conniston's sister, +AND SHE WAS CONNISTON. Even as he saw his plans falling about him, he +opened his arms and held them out to her, and with the swiftness of +love she ran into them, putting her hands to his face while he held her +close and kissed her lips. + +"You bet we'll fix that heathen devil before we go," he said. "You bet +we will--SWEETHEART!" + + + + +XVIII + + +Wallie, suffering the outrage of one who sees his dinner growing cold, +found Keith and Mary Josephine in the edge of the golden birch and +implored them to come and eat. It was a marvel of a dinner. Over Mary +Josephine's coffee and Keith's cigar they discussed their final plans. +Keith made the big promise that he would "fix Shan Tung" in a hurry, +perhaps that very afternoon. In the glow of Mary Josephine's proud eyes +he felt no task too large for him, and he was eager to be at it. But +when his cigar was half done, Mary Josephine came around and perched +herself on the arm of his chair, and began running her fingers through +his hair. All desire to go after Shan Tung left him. He would have +remained there forever. Twice she bent down and touched his forehead +lightly with her lips. Again his arm was round her soft little waist, +and his heart was pumping like a thing overworked. It was Mary +Josephine, finally, who sent him on his mission, but not before she +stood on tiptoe, her hands on his shoulders, giving him her mouth to +kiss. + +An army at his back could not have strengthened Keith with a vaster +determination than that kiss. There would be no more quibbling. His +mind was made up definitely on the point. And his first move was to +head straight for the Kirkstone house on the hill. + +He did not get as far as the door this time. He caught a vision of +Miriam Kirkstone in the shrubbery, bareheaded, her hair glowing +radiantly in the sun. It occurred to him suddenly that it was her hair +that roused the venom in him when he thought of her as the property of +Shan Tung. If it had been black or even brown, the thought might not +have emphasized itself so unpleasantly in his mind. But that vivid gold +cried out against the crime, even against the girl herself. She saw him +almost in the instant his eyes fell upon her, and came forward quickly +to meet him. There was an eagerness in her face that told him his +coming relieved her of a terrific suspense. + +"I'm sorry I wasn't at the Shack when you came, Miss Kirkstone," he +said, taking for a moment the hand she offered him. "I fancy you were +up there to see me about Shan Tung." + +He sent the shot bluntly, straight home. In the tone of his voice there +was no apology. He saw her grow cold, her eyes fixed on him staringly, +as though she not only heard his words but saw what was in his mind. + +"Wasn't that it, Miss Kirkstone?" + +She nodded affirmatively, but her lips did not move. + +"Shan Tung," he repeated. "Miss Kirkstone, what is the trouble? Why +don't you confide in someone, in McDowell, in me, in--" + +He was going to say "your brother," but the suddenness with which she +caught his arm cut the words short. + +"Shan Tung has been to see him--McDowell?" she questioned excitedly. +"He has been there today? And he told him--" She stopped, breathing +quickly, her fingers tightening on his arm. + +"I don't know what passed between them," said Keith. "But McDowell was +tremendously worked up about you. So am I. We might as well be frank, +Miss Kirkstone. There's something rotten in Denmark when two people +like you and Shan Tung mix up. And you are mixed; you can't deny it. +You have been to see Shan Tung late at night. He was in the house with +you the first night I saw you. More than that--HE IS IN YOUR HOUSE NOW!" + +She shrank back as if he had struck at her. "No, no, no," she cried. +"He isn't there. I tell you, he isn't!" + +"How am I to believe you?" demanded Keith. "You have not told the truth +to McDowell. You are fighting to cover up the truth. And we know it is +because of Shan Tung. WHY? I am here to fight for you, to help you. And +McDowell, too. That is why we must know. Miss Kirkstone, do you love +the Chinaman?" + +He knew the words were an insult. He had guessed their effect. As if +struck there suddenly by a painter's brush, two vivid spots appeared in +the girl's pale cheeks. She shrank back from him another step. Her eyes +blazed. Slowly, without turning their flame from his face, she pointed +to the edge of the shrubbery a few feet from where they were standing. +He looked. Twisted and partly coiled on the mold, where it had been +clubbed to death, was a little green grass snake. + +"I hate him--like that!" she said. + +His eyes came back to her. "Then for some reason known only to you and +Shan Tung you have sold or are intending to sell yourself to him!" + +It was not a question. It was an accusation. He saw the flush of anger +fading out of her cheeks. Her body relaxed, her head dropped, and +slowly she nodded in confirmation. + +"Yes, I am going to sell myself to him." + +The astounding confession held him mute for a space. In the interval it +was the girl who became self-possessed. What she said next amazed him +still more. + +"I have confessed so much because I am positive that you will not +betray me. And I went up to the Shack to find you, because I want you +to help me find a story to tell McDowell. You said you would help me. +Will you?" + +He still did not speak, and she went on. + +"I am accepting that promise as granted, too. McDowell mistrusts, but +he must not know. You must help me there. You must help me for two or +three weeks, At the end of that time something may happen. He must be +made to have faith in me again. Do you understand?" + +"Partly," said Keith. "You ask me to do this blindly, without knowing +why I am doing it, without any explanation whatever on your part except +that for some unknown and mysterious price you are going to sell +yourself to Shan Tung. You want me to cover and abet this monstrous +deal by hoodwinking the man whose suspicions threaten its consummation. +If there was not in my own mind a suspicion that you are insane, I +should say your proposition is as ludicrous as it is impossible. Having +that suspicion, it is a bit tragic. Also it is impossible. It is +necessary for you first to tell me why you are going to sell yourself +to Shan Tung." + +Her face was coldly white and calm again. But her hands trembled. He +saw her try to hide them, and pitied her. + +"Then I won't trouble you any more, for that, too, is impossible," she +said. "May I trust you to keep in confidence what I have told you? +Perhaps I have had too much faith in you for a reason which has no +reason, because you were with John Keith. John Keith was the one other +man who might have helped me." + +"And why John Keith? How could he have helped you?" + +She shook her head. "If I told you that, I should be answering the +question which is impossible." + +He saw himself facing a checkmate. To plead, to argue with her, he knew +would profit him nothing. A new thought came to him, swift and +imperative. The end would justify the means. He clenched his hands. He +forced into his face a look that was black and vengeful. And he turned +it on her. + +"Listen to me," he cried. "You are playing a game, and so am I. +Possibly we are selfish, both of us, looking each to his own interests +with no thought of the other. Will you help me, if I help you?" + +Again he pitied her as he saw with what eager swiftness she caught at +his bait. + +"Yes," she nodded, catching her breath. "Yes, I will help you." + +His face grew blacker. He raised his clenched hands so she could see +them, and advanced a step toward her. + +"Then tell me this--would you care if something happened to Shan Tung? +Would you care if he died, if he was killed, if--" + +Her breath was coming faster and faster. Again the red spots blazed in +her cheeks. + +"WOULD YOU CARE?" he demanded. + +"No--no--I wouldn't care. He deserves to die." + +"Then tell me where Shan Tung is. For my game is with him. And I +believe it is a bigger game than your game, for it is a game of life +and death. That is why I am interested in your affair. It is because I +am selfish, because I have my own score to settle, and because you can +help me. I shall ask you no more questions about yourself. And I shall +keep your secret and help you with McDowell if you will keep mine and +help me. First, where is Shan Tung?" + +She hesitated for barely an instant. "He has gone out of town. He will +be away for ten days." + +"But he bought no ticket; no one saw him leave by train." + +"No, he walked up the river. An auto was waiting for him. He will pass +through tonight on the eastbound train on his way to Winnipeg." + +"Will you tell me why he is going to Winnipeg?" + +"No, I cannot." + +He shrugged his shoulders. "It is scarcely necessary to ask. I can +guess. It is to see your brother." + +Again he knew he had struck home. + +And yet she said, "No, it is not to see my brother." + +He held out his hand to her. "Miss Kirkstone, I am going to keep my +promise. I am going to help you with McDowell. Of course I demand my +price. Will you swear on your word of honor to let me know the moment +Shan Tung returns?" + +"I will let you know." + +Their hands clasped. Looking into her eyes, Keith saw what told him his +was not the greatest cross to bear. Miriam Kirkstone also was fighting +for her life, and as he turned to leave her, he said: + +"While there is life there is hope. In settling my score with Shan Tung +I believe that I shall also settle yours. It is a strong hunch, Miss +Kirkstone, and it's holding me tight. Ten days, Shan Tung, and then--" + +He left her, smiling. Miriam Kirkstone watched him go, her slim hands +clutched at her breast, her eyes aglow with a new thought, a new hope; +and as he heard the gate slam behind him, a sobbing cry rose in her +throat, and she reached out her hands as if to call him back, for +something was telling her that through this man lay the way to her +salvation. + +And her lips were moaning softly, "Ten days--ten days--and then--what?" + + + + +XIX + + +In those ten days all the wonders of June came up out of the south. +Life pulsed with a new and vibrant force. The crimson fire-flowers, +first of wild blooms to come after snow and frost, splashed the green +spaces with red. The forests took on new colors, the blue of the sky +grew nearer, and in men's veins the blood ran with new vigor and +anticipations. To Keith they were all this and more. Four years along +the rim of the Arctic had made it possible for him to drink to the full +the glory of early summer along the Saskatchewan. And to Mary Josephine +it was all new. Never had she seen a summer like this that was dawning, +that most wonderful of all the summers in the world, which comes in +June along the southern edge of the Northland. + +Keith had played his promised part. It was not difficult for him to +wipe away the worst of McDowell's suspicions regarding Miss Kirkstone, +for McDowell was eager to believe. When Keith told him that Miriam was +on the verge of a nervous breakdown simply because of certain trouble +into which Shan Tung had inveigled her brother, and that everything +would be straightened out the moment Shan Tung returned from Winnipeg, +the iron man seized his hands in a sudden burst of relief and gratitude. + +"But why didn't she confide in me, Conniston?" he complained. "Why +didn't she confide in me?" The anxiety in his voice, its note of +disappointment, were almost boyish. + +Keith was prepared. "Because--" + +He hesitated, as if projecting the thing in his mind. "McDowell, I'm in +a delicate position. You must understand without forcing me to say too +much. You are the last man in the world Miss Kirkstone wants to know +about her trouble until she has triumphed, and it is over. Delicacy, +perhaps; a woman's desire to keep something she is ashamed of from the +one man she looks up to above all other men--to keep it away from him +until she has cleared herself so that there is no suspicion. McDowell, +if I were you, I'd be proud of her for that." + +McDowell turned away, and for a space Keith saw the muscles in the back +of his neck twitching. + +"Derwent, maybe you've guessed, maybe you understand," he said after a +moment with his face still turned to the window. "Of course she will +never know. I'm too Old, old enough to be her father. But I've got the +right to watch over her, and if any man ever injures her--" + +His fists grew knotted, and softly Keith said behind him: + +"You'd possibly do what John Keith did to the man who wronged his +father. And because the Law is not always omniscient, it is also +possible that Shan Tung may have to answer in some such way. Until +then, until she comes to you of her own free will and with gladness in +her eyes tells you her own secret and why she kept it from you--until +she does that, I say, it is your part to treat her as if you had seen +nothing, guessed nothing, suspected nothing. Do that, McDowell, and +leave the rest to me." + +He went out, leaving the iron man still with his face to the window. + +With Mary Josephine there was no subterfuge. His mind was still +centered in his own happiness. He could not wipe out of his brain the +conviction that if he waited for Shan Tung he was waiting just so long +under the sword of Damocles, with a hair between him and doom. He hoped +that Miriam Kirkstone's refusal to confide in him and her reluctance to +furnish him with the smallest facts in the matter would turn Mary +Josephine's sympathy into a feeling of indifference if not of actual +resentment. He was disappointed. Mary Josephine insisted on having Miss +Kirkstone over for dinner the next day, and from that hour something +grew between the two girls which Keith knew he was powerless to +overcome. Thereafter he bowed his head to fate. He must wait for Shan +Tung. + +"If it wasn't for your promise not to fall in love, I'd be afraid," +Mary Josephine confided to him that night, perched on the arm of his +big chair. "At times I was afraid today, Derry. She's lovely. And you +like pretty hair--and hers--is wonderful!" + +"I don't remember," said Keith quietly, "that I promised you I wouldn't +fall in love. I'm desperately in love, and with you, Mary Josephine. +And as for Miss Kirkstone's lovely hair--I wouldn't trade one of yours +for all she has on her head." + +At that, with a riotous little laugh of joy, Mary Josephine swiftly +unbound her hair and let it smother about his face and shoulders. +"Sometimes I have a terribly funny thought, Derry," she whispered. "If +we hadn't always been sweethearts, back there at home, and if you +hadn't always liked my hair, and kissed me, and told me I was pretty, +I'd almost think you weren't my brother!" + +Keith laughed and was glad that her hair covered his face. During those +wonderful first days of the summer they were inseparable, except when +matters of business took Keith away. During these times he prepared for +eventualities. The Keith properties in Prince Albert, he estimated, +were worth at least a hundred thousand dollars, and he learned from +McDowell that they would soon go through a process of law before being +turned over to his fortunate inheritors. Before that time, however, he +knew that his own fate would be sealed one way or the other, and now +that he had Mary Josephine to look after, he made a will, leaving +everything to her, and signing himself John Keith. This will he carried +in an envelope pinned inside his shirt. As Derwent Conniston he +collected one thousand two hundred and sixty dollars for three and a +half years back wage in the Service. Two hundred and sixty of this he +kept in his own pocket. The remaining thousand he counted out in new +hundred-dollar bills under Mary Josephine's eyes, sealed the bills in +another envelope, and gave the envelope to her. + +"It's safer with you than with me," he excused himself. "Fasten it +inside your dress. It's our grub-stake into the mountains." + +Mary Josephine accepted the treasure with the repressed delight of one +upon whose fair shoulders had been placed a tremendous responsibility. + +There were days of both joy and pain for Keith. For even in the fullest +hours of his happiness there was a thing eating at his heart, a thing +that was eating deeper and deeper until at times it was like a +destroying flame within him. One night he dreamed; he dreamed that +Conniston came to his bedside and wakened him, and that after wakening +him he taunted him in ghoulish glee and told him that in bequeathing +him a sister he had given unto him forever and forever the curse of the +daughters of Achelous. And Keith, waking in the dark hour of night, +knew in his despair that it was so. For all time, even though he won +this fight he was fighting, Mary Josephine would be the unattainable. A +sister--and he loved her with the love of a man! + +It was the next day after the dream that they wandered again into the +grove that sheltered Keith's old home, and again they entered it and +went through the cold and empty rooms. In one of these rooms he sought +among the titles of dusty rows of books until he came to one and opened +it. And there he found what had been in the corner of his mind when the +sun rose to give him courage after the night of his dream. The +daughters of Achelous had lost in the end. Ulysses had tricked them. +Ulysses had won. And in this day and age it was up to him, John Keith, +to win, and win he would! + +Always he felt this mastering certainty of the future when alone with +Mary Josephine in the open day. With her at his side, her hand in his, +and his arm about her waist, he told himself that all life was a +lie--that there was no earth, no sun, no song or gladness in all the +world, if that world held no hope for him. It was there. It was beyond +the rim of forest. It was beyond the yellow plains, beyond the farthest +timber of the farthest prairie, beyond the foothills; in the heart of +the mountains was its abiding place. As he had dreamed of those +mountains in boyhood and youth, so now he dreamed his dreams over again +with Mary Josephine. For her he painted his pictures of them, as they +wandered mile after mile up the shore of the Saskatchewan--the little +world they would make all for themselves, how they would live, what +they would do, the mysteries they would seek out, the triumphs they +would achieve, the glory of that world--just for two. And Mary +Josephine planned and dreamed with him. + +In a week they lived what might have been encompassed in a year. So it +seemed to Keith, who had known her only so long. With Mary Josephine +the view-point was different. There had been a long separation, a +separation filled with a heartbreak which she would never forget, but +it had not served to weaken the bonds between her and this loved one, +who, she thought, had always been her own. To her their comradeship was +more complete now than it ever had been, even back in the old days, for +they were alone in a land that was strange to her, and one was all that +the world held for the other. So her possessorship of Keith was a thing +which--again in the dark and brooding hours of night--sometimes made +him writhe in an agony of shame. Hers was a shameless love, a love +which had not even the lover's reason for embarrassment, a love +unreserved and open as the day. It was her trick, nights, to nestle +herself in the big armchair with him, and it was her fun to smother his +face in her hair and tumble it about him, piling it over his mouth and +nose until she made him plead for air. Again she would fit herself +comfortably in the hollow of his arm and sit the evening out with her +head on his shoulder, while they planned their future, and twice in +that week she fell asleep there. Each morning she greeted him with a +kiss, and each night she came to him to be kissed, and when it was her +pleasure she kissed him--or made him kiss her--when they were on their +long walks. It was bitter-sweet to Keith, and more frequently came the +hours of crushing desolation for him, those hours in the still, dark +night when his hypocrisy and his crime stood out stark and hideous in +his troubled brain. + +As this thing grew in him, a black and foreboding thunderstorm on the +horizon of his dreams, an impulse which he did not resist dragged him +more and more frequently down to the old home, and Mary Josephine was +always with him. They let no one know of these visits. And they talked +about John Keith, and in Mary Josephine's eyes he saw more than once a +soft and starry glow of understanding. She loved the memory of this man +because he, her brother, had loved him. And after these hours came the +nights when truth, smiling at him, flung aside its mask and stood a +grinning specter, and he measured to the depths the falseness of his +triumph. His comfort was the thought that she knew. Whatever happened, +she would know what John Keith had been. For he, John Keith, had told +her. So much of the truth had he lived. + +He fought against the new strain that was descending upon him slowly +and steadily as the days passed. He could not but see the new light +that had grown in Miriam Kirkstone's eyes. At times it was more than a +dawn of hope. It was almost certainty. She had faith in him, faith in +his promise to her, in his power to fight, his strength to win. Her +growing friendship with Mary Josephine accentuated this, inspiring her +at times almost to a point of conviction, for Mary Josephine's +confidence in him was a passion. Even McDowell, primarily a fighter of +his own battles, cautious and suspicious, had faith in him while he +waited for Shan Tung. It was this blind belief in him that depressed +him more than all else, for he knew that victory for himself must be +based more or less on deceit and treachery. For the first time he heard +Miriam laugh with Mary Josephine; he saw the gold and the brown head +together out in the sun; he saw her face shining with a light that he +had never seen there before, and then, when he came upon them, their +faces were turned to him, and his heart bled even as he smiled and held +out his hands to Mary Josephine. They trusted him, and he was a liar, a +hypocrite, a Pharisee. + +On the ninth day he had finished supper with Mary Josephine when the +telephone rang. He rose to answer it. It was Miriam Kirkstone. + +"He has returned," she said. + +That was all. The words were in a choking voice. He answered and hung +up the receiver. He knew a change had come into his face when he turned +to Mary Josephine. He steeled himself to a composure that drew a +questioning tenseness into her face. Gently he stroked her soft hair, +explaining that Shan Tung had returned and that he was going to see +him. In his bedroom he strapped his Service automatic under his coat. + +At the door, ready to go, he paused. Mary Josephine came to him and put +her hands to his shoulders. A strange unrest was in her eyes, a +question which she did not ask. + +Something whispered to him that it was the last time. Whatever happened +now, tonight must leave him clean. His arms went around her, he drew +her close against his breast, and for a space he held her there, +looking into her eyes. + +"You love me?" he asked softly. + +"More than anything else in the world," she whispered. + +"Kiss me, Mary Josephine." + +Her lips pressed to his. + +He released her from his arms, slowly, lingeringly. + +After that she stood in the lighted doorway, watching him, until he +disappeared in the gloom of the slope. She called good-by, and he +answered her. The door closed. + +And he went down into the valley, a hand of foreboding gripping at his +heart. + + + + +XX + + +With a face out of which all color had fled, and eyes filled with the +ghosts of a new horror, Miriam Kirkstone stood before Keith in the big +room in the house on the hill. + +"He was here--ten minutes," she said, and her voice was as if she was +forcing it out of a part of her that was dead and cold. It was +lifeless, emotionless, a living voice and yet strange with the chill of +death. "In those ten minutes he told me--that! If you fail--" + +It was her throat that held him, fascinated him. White, slim, +beautiful--her heart seemed pulsing there. And he could see that heart +choke back the words she was about to speak. + +"If I fail--" he repeated the words slowly after her, watching that +white, beating throat. + +"There is only the one thing left for me to do. You--you--understand?" + +"Yes, I understand. Therefore I shall not fail." + +He backed away from her toward the door, and still he could not take +his eyes from the white throat with its beating heart. "I shall not +fail," he repeated. "And when the telephone rings, you will be here--to +answer?" + +"Yes, here," she replied huskily. + +He went out. Under his feet the gravelly path ran through a flood of +moonlight. Over him the sky was agleam with stars. It was a white +night, one of those wonderful gold-white nights in the land of the +Saskatchewan. Under that sky the world was alive. The little city lay +in a golden glimmer of lights. Out of it rose a murmur, a rippling +stream of sound, the voice of its life, softened by the little valley +between. Into it Keith descended. He passed men and women, laughing, +talking, gay. He heard music. The main street was a moving throng. On a +corner the Salvation Army, a young woman, a young man, a crippled boy, +two young girls, and an old man, were singing "Nearer, My God, to +Thee." Opposite the Board of Trade building on the edge of the river a +street medicine-fakir had drawn a crowd to his wagon. To the beat of +the Salvation Army's tambourine rose the thrum of a made-up negro's +banjo. + +Through these things Keith passed, his eyes open, his ears listening, +but he passed swiftly. What he saw and what he heard pressed upon him +with the chilling thrill of that last swan-song, the swan-song of Ecla, +of Kobat, of Ty, who had heard their doom chanted from the +mountain-tops. It was the city rising up about his cars in rejoicing +and triumph. And it put in his heart a cold, impassive anger. He sensed +an impending doom, and yet he was not afraid. He was no longer chained +by dreams, no more restrained by self. Before his eyes, beating, +beating, beating, he saw that tremulous heart in Miriam Kirkstone's +soft, white throat. + +He came to Shan Tung's. Beyond the softly curtained windows it was a +yellow glare of light. He entered and met the flow of life, the murmur +of voices and laughter, the tinkle of glasses, the scent of cigarette +smoke, and the fainter perfume of incense. And where he had seen him +last, as though he had not moved since that hour nine days ago, still +with his cigarette, still sphinx-like, narrow-eyed, watchful, stood Li +King. + +Keith walked straight to him. And this time, as he approached, Li King +greeted him with a quick and subtle smile. He nipped his cigarette to +the tiled floor. He was bowing, gracious. Tonight he was not stupid. + +"I have come to see Shan Tung," said Keith. + +He had half expected to be refused, in which event he was prepared to +use his prerogative as an officer of the law to gain his point. But Li +King did not hesitate. He was almost eager. And Keith knew that Shan +Tung was expecting him. + +They passed behind one of the screens and then behind another, until it +seemed to Keith their way was a sinuous twisting among screens. They +paused before a panel in the wall, and Li King pressed the black throat +of a long-legged, swan-necked bird with huge wings and the panel opened +and swung toward them. It was dark inside, but Li King turned on a +light. Through a narrow hallway ten feet in length he led the way, +unlocked a second door, and held it open, smiling at Keith. + +"Up there," he said. + +A flight of steps led upward and as Keith began to mount them the door +closed softly behind him. Li King accompanied him no further. + +He mounted the steps, treading softly. At the top was another door, and +this he opened as quietly as Li King had closed the one below him. +Again the omnipresent screens, and then his eyes looked out upon a +scene which made him pause in astonishment. It was a great room, a room +fifty feet long by thirty in width, and never before had he beheld such +luxury as it contained. His feet sank into velvet carpets, the walls +were hung richly with the golds and browns and crimsons of priceless +tapestries, and carven tables and divans of deep plush and oriental +chairs filled the space before him. At the far end was a raised dais, +and before this, illumined in candleglow, was a kneeling figure. He +noticed then that there were many candles burning, that the room was +lighted by candles, and that in their illumination the figure did not +move. He caught the glint of armors standing up, warrior like, against +the tapestries, and he wondered for a moment if the kneeling figure was +a heathen god made of wood. It was then that he smelled the odor of +frankincense; it crept subtly into his nostrils and his mouth, +sweetened his breath, and made him cough. + +At the far end, before the dais, the kneeling figure began to move. Its +arms extended slowly, they swept backward, then out again, and three +times the figure bowed itself and straightened, and with the movement +came a low, human monotone. It was over quickly. Probably two full +minutes had not passed since Keith had entered when the kneeling figure +sprang to its feet with the quickness of a cat, faced about, and stood +there, smiling and bowing and extending its hand. + +"Good evening, John Keith!" It was Shan Tung. An oriental gown fell +about him, draping him like a woman. It was a crimson gown, grotesquely +ornamented with embroidered peacocks, and it flowed and swept about him +in graceful undulations as he advanced, his footfalls making not the +sound of a mouse on the velvet floors. + +"Good evening, John Keith!" He was close, smiling, his eyes glowing, +his hand still outstretched, friendliness in his voice and manner. And +yet in that voice there was a purr, the purr of a cat watching its +prey, and in his eyes a glow that was the soft rejoicing of a triumph. + +Keith did not take the hand. He made as if he did not see it. He was +looking into those glowing, confident eyes of the Chinaman. A Chinaman! +Was it possible? Could a Chinaman possess that voice, whose very +perfection shamed him? + +Shan Tung seemed to read his thoughts. And what he found amused him, +and he bowed again, still smiling. "I am Shan Tung," he said with the +slightest inflection of irony. "Here--in my home--I am different. Do +you not recognize me?" + +He waved gracefully a hand toward a table on either side of which was a +chair. He seated himself, not waiting for Keith. Keith sat down +opposite him. Again he must have read what was in Keith's heart, the +desire and the intent to kill, for suddenly he clapped his hands, not +loudly, once--twice-- + +"You will join me in tea?" he asked. + +Scarcely had he spoken when about them, on all sides of them it seemed +to Keith, there was a rustle of life. He saw tapestries move. Before +his eyes a panel became a door. There was a clicking, a stir as of +gowns, soft footsteps, a movement in the air. Out of the panel doorway +came a Chinaman with a cloth, napkins, and chinaware. Behind him +followed a second with tea-urn and a bowl, and with the suddenness of +an apparition, without sound or movement, a third was standing at +Keith's side. And still there was rustling behind, still there was the +whispering beat of life, and Keith knew that there were others. He did +not flinch, but smiled back at Shan Tung. A minute, no more, and the +soft-footed yellow men had performed their errands and were gone. + +"Quick service," he acknowledged. "VERY quick service. Shan Tung! But I +have my hand on something that is quicker!" + +Suddenly Shan Tung leaned over the table. "John Keith, you are a fool +if you came here with murder in your heart," he said. "Let us be +friends. It is best. Let us be friends." + + + + +XXI + + +It was as if with a swiftness invisible to the eye a mask had dropped +from Shan Tung's face. Keith, preparing to fight, urging himself on to +the step which he believed he must take, was amazed. Shan Tung was +earnest. There was more than earnestness in his eyes, an anxiety, a +frankly revealed hope that Keith would meet him halfway. But he did not +offer his hand again. He seemed to sense, in that instant, the vast +gulf between yellow and white. He felt Keith's contempt, the spurning +contumely that was in the other's mind. Under the pallid texture of his +skin there began to burn a slow and growing flush. + +"Wait!" he said softly. In his flowing gown he seemed to glide to a +carven desk near at hand. He was back in a moment with a roll of +parchment in his hand. He sat down again and met Keith's eyes squarely +and in silence for a moment. + +"We are both MEN, John Keith." His voice was soft and calm. His +tapering fingers with their carefully manicured nails fondled the roll +of parchment, and then unrolled it, and held it so the other could read. + +It was a university diploma. Keith stared. A strange name was scrolled +upon it, Kao Lung, Prince of Shantung. His mind leaped to the truth. He +looked at the other. + +The man he had known as Shan Tung met his eyes with a quiet, strange +smile, a smile in which there was pride, a flash of sovereignty, of a +thing greater than skins that were white. "I am Prince Kao," he said. +"That is my diploma. I am a graduate of Yale." + +Keith's effort to speak was merely a grunt. He could find no words. And +Kao, rolling up the parchment and forgetting the urn of tea that was +growing cold, leaned a little over the table again. And then it was, +deep in his narrowed, smoldering eyes, that Keith saw a devil, a +living, burning thing of passion, Kao's soul itself. And Kao's voice +was quiet, deadly. + +"I recognized you in McDowell's office," he said. "I saw, first, that +you were not Derwent Conniston. And then it was easy, so easy. Perhaps +you killed Conniston. I am not asking, for I hated Conniston. Some day +I should have killed him, if he had come back. John Keith, from that +first time we met, you were a dead man. Why didn't I turn you over to +the hangman? Why did I warn you in such a way that I knew you would +come to see me? Why did I save your life which was in the hollow of my +hand? Can you guess?" + +"Partly," replied Keith. "But go on. I am waiting." Not for an instant +had it enter his mind to deny that he was John Keith. Denial was folly, +a waste of time, and just now he felt that nothing in the world was +more precious to him than time. + +Kao's quick mind, scheming and treacherous though it was, caught his +view-point, and he nodded appreciatively. "Good, John Keith. It is +easily guessed. Your life is mine. I can save it. I can destroy it. And +you, in turn, can be of service to me. You help me, and I save you. It +is a profitable arrangement. And we both are happy, for you keep +Derwent Conniston's sister--and I--I get my golden-headed goddess, +Miriam Kirkstone!" + +"That much I have guessed," said Keith. "Go on!" For a moment Kao +seemed to hesitate, to study the cold, gray passiveness of the other's +face. "You love Derwent Conniston's sister," he continued in a voice +still lower and softer. "And I--I love my golden-headed goddess. See! +Up there on the dais I have her picture and a tress of her golden hair, +and I worship them." + +Colder and grayer was Keith's face as he saw the slumbering passion +burn fiercer in Kao's eyes. It turned him sick. It was a terrible thing +which could not be called love. It was a madness. But Kao, the man +himself, was not mad. He was a monster. And while the eyes burned like +two devils, his voice was still soft and low. + +"I know what you are thinking; I see what you are seeing," he said. +"You are thinking yellow, and you are seeing yellow. My skin! My +birthright! My--" He smiled, and his voice was almost caressing. + +"John Keith, in Pe-Chi-Li is the great city of Pekin, and Pe-Chi-Li is +the greatest province in all China. And second only to that is the +province of Shantung, which borders Pe-Chi-Li, the home of our Emperors +for more centuries than you have years. And for so many generations +that we cannot remember my forefathers have been rulers of Shantung. My +grandfather was a Mandarin with the insignia of the Eighth Order, and +my father was Ninth and highest of all Orders, with his palace at +Tsi-Nan, on the Yellow Sea. And I, Prince Kao, eldest of his sons, came +to America to learn American law and American ways. And I learned them, +John Keith. I returned, and with my knowledge I undermined a +government. For a time I was in power, and then this thing you call the +god of luck turned against me, and I fled for my life. But the blood is +still here--" he put his hand softly to his breast, "--the blood of a +hundred generations of rulers. I tell you this because you dare not +betray me, you dare not tell them who I am, though even that truth +could not harm me. I prefer to be known as Shan Tung. Only you--and +Miriam Kirkstone--have heard as much." + +Keith's blood was like fire, but his voice was cold as ice. "GO ON!" + +This time there could be no mistake. That cold gray of his passionless +face, the steely glitter in his eyes, were read correctly by Kao. His +eyes narrowed. For the first time a dull flame leaped into his +colorless cheeks. + +"Ah, I told you this because I thought we would work together, +friends," he cried. "But it is not so. You, like my golden-headed +goddess, hate me! You hate me because of my yellow skin. You say to +yourself that I have a yellow heart. And she hates me, and she says +that--but she is mine, MINE!" He sprang suddenly to his feet and swept +about him with his flowing arms. "See what I have prepared for her! It +is here she will come, here she will live until I take her away. There, +on that dais, she will give up her soul and her beautiful body to +me--and you cannot help it, she cannot help it, all the world cannot +help it--AND SHE IS COMING TO ME TONIGHT!" + +"TONIGHT!" gasped John Keith. + +He, too, leaped to his feet. His face was ghastly. And Kao, in his +silken gown, was sweeping his arms about him. + +"See! The candles are lighted for her. They are waiting. And tonight, +when the town is asleep, she will come. AND IT IS YOU WHO WILL MAKE HER +COME, JOHN KEITH!" + +Facing the devils in Kao's eyes, within striking distance of a creature +who was no longer a man but a monster, Keith marveled at the coolness +that held him back. + +"Yes, it is you who will at last give her soul and her beautiful body +to me," he repeated. "Come. I will show you how--and why!" + +He glided toward the dais. His hand touched a panel. It opened and in +the opening he turned about and waited for Keith. + +"Come!" he said. + +Keith, drawing a deep breath, his soul ready for the shock, his body +ready for action, followed him. + + + + +XXII + + +Into a narrow corridor, through a second door that seemed made of +padded wool, and then into a dimly lighted room John Keith followed +Kao, the Chinaman. Out of this room there was no other exit; it was +almost square, its ceiling was low, its walls darkly somber, and that +life was there Keith knew by the heaviness of cigarette smoke in the +air. For a moment his eyes did not discern the physical evidence of +that life. And then, staring at him out of the yellow glow, he saw a +face. It was a haunting, terrible face, a face heavy and deeply lined +by sagging flesh and with eyes sunken and staring. They were more than +staring. They greeted Keith like living coals. Under the face was a +human form, a big, fat, sagging form that leaned outward from its seat +in a chair. + +Kao, bowing, sweeping his flowing raiment with his arms, said, "John +Keith, allow me to introduce you to Peter Kirkstone." + +For the first time amazement, shock, came to Keith's lips in an audible +cry. He advanced a step. Yes, in that pitiable wreck of a man he +recognized Peter Kirkstone, the fat creature who had stood under the +picture of the Madonna that fateful night, Miriam Kirkstone's brother! + +And as he stood, speechless, Kao said: "Peter Kirkstone, you know why I +have brought this man to you tonight. You know that he is not Derwent +Conniston. You know that he is John Keith, the murderer of your father. +Is it not so?" + +The thick lips moved. The voice was husky--"Yes." + +"He does not believe. So I have brought him that he may listen to you. +Peter Kirkstone, is it your desire that your sister, Miriam, give +herself to me, Prince Kao, tonight?" + +Again the thick lips moved. This time Keith saw the effort. He +shuddered. He knew these questions and answers had been prepared. A +doomed man was speaking. + +And the voice came, choking, "Yes." + +"WHY?" + +The terrible face of Peter Kirkstone seemed to contort. He looked at +Kao. And Kao's eyes were shining in that dull room like the eyes of a +snake. + +"Because--it will save my life." + +"And why will it save your life?" + +Again that pause, again the sickly, choking effort. "Because--I HAVE +KILLED A MAN." + +Bowing, smiling, rustling, Kao turned to the door. "That is all, Peter +Kirkstone. Good night. John Keith, will you follow me?" + +Dumbly Keith followed through the dark corridor, into the big room +mellow with candle-glow, back to the table with its mocking tea-urn and +chinaware. He felt a thing like clammy sweat on his back. He sat down. +And Kao sat opposite him again. + +"That is the reason, John Keith. Peter Kirkstone, her brother, is a +murderer, a cold-blooded murderer. And only Miriam Kirkstone and your +humble servant, Prince Kao, know his secret. And to buy my secret, to +save his life, the golden-headed goddess is almost ready to give +herself to me--almost, John Keith. She will decide tonight, when you go +to her. She will come. Yes, she will come tonight. I do not fear. I +have prepared for her the candles, the bridal dais, the nuptial supper. +Oh, she will come. For if she does not, if she fails, with tomorrow's +dawn Peter Kirkstone and John Keith both go to the hangman!" + +Keith, in spite of the horror that had come over him, felt no +excitement. The whole situation was clear to him now, and there was +nothing to be gained by argument, no possibility of evasion. Kao held +the winning hand, the hand that put him back to the wall in the face of +impossible alternatives. These alternatives flashed upon him swiftly. +There were two and only two--flight, and alone, without Mary Josephine; +and betrayal of Miriam Kirkstone. Just how Kao schemed that he should +accomplish that betrayal, he could not guess. + +His voice, like his face, was cold and strange when it answered the +Chinaman; it lacked passion; there was no emphasis, no inflection that +gave to one word more than to another. And Keith, listening to his own +voice, knew what it meant. He was cold inside, cold as ice, and his +eyes were on the dais, the sacrificial altar that Kao had prepared, +waiting in the candleglow. On the floor of that dais was a great splash +of dull-gold altar cloth, and it made him think of Miriam Kirkstone's +unbound and disheveled hair strewn in its outraged glory over the thing +Kao had prepared for her. + +"I see. It is a trade, Kao. You are offering me my life in return for +Miriam Kirkstone." + +"More than that, John Keith. Mine is the small price. And yet it is +great to me, for it gives me the golden goddess. But is she more to me +than Derwent Conniston's sister may be to you? Yes, I am giving you +her, and I am giving you your life, and I am giving Peter Kirkstone his +life--all for ONE." + +"For one," repeated Keith. + +"Yes, for one." + +"And I, John Keith, in some mysterious way unknown to me at present, am +to deliver Miriam Kirkstone to you?" + +"Yes." + +"And yet, if I should kill you, now--where you sit--" + +Kao shrugged his slim shoulders, and Keith heard that soft, gurgling +laugh that McDowell had said was like the splutter of oil. + +"I have arranged. It is all in writing. If anything should happen to +me, there are messengers who would carry it swiftly. To harm me would +be to seal your own doom. Besides, you would not leave here alive. I am +not afraid." + +"How am I to deliver Miriam Kirkstone to you?" + +Kao leaned forward, his fingers interlacing eagerly. "Ah, NOW you have +asked the question, John Keith! And we shall be friends, great friends, +for you see with the eyes of wisdom. It will be easy, so easy that you +will wonder at the cheapness of the task. Ten days ago Miriam Kirkstone +was about to pay my price. And then you came. From that moment she saw +you in McDowell's office, there was a sudden change. Why? I don't know. +Perhaps because of that thing you call intuition but to which we give a +greater name. Perhaps only because you were the man who had run down +her father's murderer. I saw her that afternoon, before you went up at +night. Ah, yes, I could see, I could understand the spark that had +begun to grow in her, hope, a wild, impossible hope, and I prepared for +it by leaving you my message. I went away. I knew that in a few days +all that hope would be centered in you, that it would live and die in +you, that in the end it would be your word that would bring her to me. +And that word you must speak tonight. You must go to her, hope-broken. +You must tell her that no power on earth can save her, and that Kao +waits to make her a princess, that tomorrow will be too late, that +TONIGHT must the bargain be closed. She will come. She will save her +brother from the hangman, and you, in bringing her, will save John +Keith and keep Derwent Conniston's sister. Is it not a great reward for +the little I am asking?" + +It was Keith who now smiled into the eyes of the Chinaman, but it was a +smile that did not soften that gray and rock-like hardness that had +settled in his face. "Kao, you are a devil. I suppose that is a +compliment to your dirty ears. You're rotten to the core of the thing +that beats in you like a heart; you're a yellow snake from the skin in. +I came to see you because I thought there might be a way out of this +mess. I had almost made up my mind to kill you. But I won't do that. +There's a better way. In half an hour I'll be with McDowell, and I'll +beat you out by telling him that I'm John Keith. And I'll tell him this +story of Miriam Kirkstone from beginning to end. I'll tell him of that +dais you've built for her--your sacrificial altar!--and tomorrow Prince +Albert will rise to a man to drag you out of this hole and kill you as +they would kill a rat. That is my answer, you slit-eyed, Yale-veneered +yellow devil! I may die, and Peter Kirkstone may die, but you'll not +get Miriam Kirkstone!" + +He was on his feet when he finished, amazed at the calmness of his own +voice, amazed that his hands were steady and his brain was cool in this +hour of his sacrifice. And Kao was stunned. Before his eyes he saw a +white man throwing away his life. Here, in the final play, was a +master-stroke he had not foreseen. A moment before the victor, he was +now the vanquished. About him he saw his world falling, his power gone, +his own life suddenly hanging by a thread. In Keith's face he read the +truth. This white man was not bluffing. He would go to McDowell. He +would tell the truth. This man who had ventured so much for his own +life and freedom would now sacrifice that life to save a girl, one +girl! He could not understand, and yet he believed. For it was there +before his eyes in that gray, passionless face that was as inexorable +as the face of one of his own stone gods. + +As he uttered the words that smashed all that Kao had planned for, +Keith sensed rather than saw the swift change of emotion sweeping +through the yellow-visaged Moloch staring up at him. For a space the +oriental's evil eyes had widened, exposing wider rims of saffron white, +betraying his amazement, the shock of Keith's unexpected revolt, and +then the lids closed slowly, until only dark and menacing gleams of +fire shot between them, and Keith thought of the eyes of a snake. Swift +as the strike of a rattler Kao was on his feet, his gown thrown back, +one clawing hand jerking a derringer from his silken belt. In the same +breath he raised his voice in a sharp call. + +Keith sprang back. The snake-like threat in the Chinaman's eyes had +prepared him, and his Service automatic leaped from its holster with +lightning swiftness. Yet that movement was no swifter than the response +to Kao's cry. The panel shot open, the screens moved, tapestries +billowed suddenly as if moved by the wind, and Kao's servants sprang +forth and were at him like a pack of dogs. Keith had no time to judge +their number, for his brain was centered in the race with Kao's +derringer. He saw its silver mountings flash in the candle-glow, saw +its spurt of smoke and fire. But its report was drowned in the roar of +his automatic as it replied with a stream of lead and flame. He saw the +derringer fall and Kao crumple up like a jackknife. His brain turned +red as he swung his weapon on the others, and as he fired, he backed +toward the door. Then something caught him from behind, twisting his +head almost from his shoulders, and he went down. + +He lost his automatic. Weight of bodies was upon him; yellow hands +clutched for his throat; he felt hot breaths and heard throaty cries. A +madness of horror possessed him, a horror that was like the blind +madness of Laocoon struggling with his sons in the coils of the giant +serpent. In these moments he was not fighting men. They were monsters, +yellow, foul-smelling, unhuman, and he fought as Laocoon fought. As if +it had been a cane, he snapped the bone of an arm whose hand was +throttling him; he twisted back a head until it snapped between its +shoulders; he struck and broke with a blind fury and a giant strength, +until at last, torn and covered with blood, he leaped free and reached +the door. As he opened it and sprang through, he had the visual +impression that only two of his assailants were rising from the floor. + +For the space of a second he hesitated in the little hallway. Down the +stairs was light--and people. He knew that he was bleeding and his +clothes were torn, and that flight in that direction was impossible. At +the opposite end of the hall was a curtain which he judged must cover a +window. With a swift movement he tore down this curtain and found that +he was right. In another second he had crashed the window outward with +his shoulder, and felt the cool air of the night in his face. The door +behind him was still closed when he crawled out upon a narrow landing +at the top of a flight of steps leading down into the alley. He paused +long enough to convince himself that his enemies were making no effort +to follow him, and as he went down the steps, he caught himself grimly +chuckling. He had given them enough. + +In the darkness of the alley he paused again. A cool breeze fanned his +cheeks, and the effect of it was to free him of the horror that had +gripped him in his fight with the yellow men. Again the calmness with +which he had faced Kao possessed him. The Chinaman was dead. He was +sure of that. And for him there was not a minute to lose. + +After all, it was his fate. The game had been played, and he had lost. +There was one thing left undone, one play Conniston would still make, +if he were there. And he, too, would make it. It was no longer +necessary for him to give himself up to McDowell, for Kao was dead, and +Miriam Kirkstone was saved. It was still right and just for him to +fight for his life. But Mary Josephine must know FROM HIM. It was the +last square play he could make. + +No one saw him as he made his way through alleys to the outskirts of +the town. A quarter of an hour later he came up the slope to the Shack. +It was lighted, and the curtains were raised to brighten his way up the +hill. Mary Josephine was waiting for him. + +Again there came over him the strange and deadly calmness with which he +had met the tragedy of that night. He had tried to wipe the blood from +his face, but it was still there when he entered and faced Mary +Josephine. The wounds made by the razor-like nails of his assailants +were bleeding; he was hatless, his hair was disheveled, and his throat +and a part of his chest were bare where his clothes had been torn away. +As Mary Josephine came toward him, her arms reaching out to him, her +face dead white, he stretched out a restraining hand, and said, + +"Please wait, Mary Josephine!" + +Something stopped her--the strangeness of his voice, the terrible +hardness of his face, gray and blood-stained, the something appalling +and commanding in the way he had spoken. He passed her quickly on his +way to the telephone. Her lips moved; she tried to speak; one of her +hands went to her throat. He was calling Miriam Kirkstone's number! And +now she saw that his hands, too, were bleeding. There came the murmur +of a voice in the telephone. Someone answered. And then she heard him +say, + +"SHAN TUNG IS DEAD!" + +That was all. He hung up the receiver and turned toward her. With a +little cry she moved toward him. + +"DERRY--DERRY--" + +He evaded her and pointed to the big chair in front of the fireplace. +"Sit down, Mary Josephine." + +She obeyed him. Her face was whiter than he had thought a living face +could be, And then, from the beginning to the end, he told her +everything. Mary Josephine made no sound, and in the big chair she +seemed to crumple smaller and smaller as he confessed the great lie to +her, from the hour Conniston and he had traded identities in the little +cabin on the Barren. Until he died he knew she would haunt him as he +saw her there for the last time--her dead-white face, her great eyes, +her voiceless lips, her two little hands clutched at her breast as she +listened to the story of the great lie and his love for her. + +Even when he had done, she did not move or speak. He went into his +room, closed the door, and turned on the lights. Quickly he put into +his pack what he needed. And when he was ready, he wrote on a piece of +paper: + + +"A thousand times I repeat, 'I love you.' Forgive me if you can. If you +cannot forgive, you may tell McDowell, and the Law will find me up at +the place of our dreams--the river's end. + + --John Keith." + + +This last message he left on the table for Mary Josephine. + +For a moment he listened at the door. Outside there was no movement, no +sound. Quietly, then, he raised the window through which Kao had come +into his room. + +A moment later he stood under the light of the brilliant stars. Faintly +there came to him the sounds of the city, the sound of life, of gayety, +of laughter and of happiness, rising to him now from out of the valley. + +He faced the north. Down the side of the hill and over the valley lay +the forests. And through the starlight he strode back to them once +more, back to their cloisters and their heritage, the heritage of the +hunted and the outcast. + + + + +XXIII + + +All through the starlit hours of that night John Keith trudged steadily +into the Northwest. For a long time his direction took him through +slashings, second-growth timber, and cleared lands; he followed rough +roads and worn trails and passed cabins that were dark and without life +in the silence of midnight. Twice a dog caught the stranger scent in +the air and howled; once he heard a man's voice, far away, raised in a +shout. Then the trails grew rougher. He came to a deep wide swamp. He +remembered that swamp, and before he plunged into it, he struck a match +to look at his compass and his watch. It took him two hours to make the +other side. He was in the deep and uncut timber then, and a sense of +relief swept over him. + +The forest was again his only friend. He did not rest. His brain and +his body demanded the action of steady progress, though it was not +through fear of what lay behind him. Fear had ceased to be a +stimulating part of him; it was even dead within him. It was as if his +energy was engaged in fighting for a principle, and the principle was +his life; he was following a duty, and this duty impelled him to make +his greatest effort. He saw clearly what he had done and what was ahead +of him. He was twice a killer of men now, and each time the killing had +rid the earth of a snake. This last time it had been an exceedingly +good job. Even McDowell would concede that, and Miriam Kirkstone, on +her knees, would thank God for what he had done. But Canadian law did +not split hairs like its big neighbor on the south. It wanted him at +least for Kirkstone's killing if not for that of Kao, the Chinaman. No +one, not even Mary Josephine, would ever fully realize what he had +sacrificed for the daughter of the man who had ruined his father. For +Mary Josephine would never understand how deeply he had loved her. + +It surprised him to find how naturally he fell back into his old habit +of discussing things with himself, and how completely and calmly he +accepted the fact that his home-coming had been but a brief and +wonderful interlude to his fugitivism. He did not know it at first, but +this calmness was the calmness of a despair more fatal than the menace +of the hangman. + +"They won't catch me," he encouraged himself. "And she won't tell them +where I'm going. No, she won't do that." He found himself repeating +that thought over and over again. Mary Josephine would not betray him. +He repeated it, not as a conviction, but to fight back and hold down +another thought that persisted in forcing itself upon him. And this +thing, that at times was like a voice within him, cried out in its +moments of life, "She hates you--and she WILL tell where you are going!" + +With each hour it was harder for him to keep that voice down; it +persisted, it grew stronger; in its intervals of triumph it rose over +and submerged all other thoughts in him. It was not his fear of her +betrayal that stabbed him; it was the underlying motive of it, the +hatred that would inspire it. He tried not to vision her as he had seen +her last, in the big chair, crushed, shamed, outraged--seeing in him no +longer the beloved brother, but an impostor, a criminal, a man whom she +might suspect of killing that brother for his name and his place in +life. But the thing forced itself on him. It was reasonable, and it was +justice. + +"But she won't do it," he told himself. "She won't do it." + +This was his fight, and its winning meant more to him than freedom. It +was Mary Josephine who would live with him now, and not Conniston. It +was her spirit that would abide with him, her voice he would hear in +the whispers of the night, her face he would see in the glow of his +lonely fires, and she must remain with him always as the Mary Josephine +he had known. So he crushed back the whispering voice, beat it down +with his hands clenched at his side, fought it through the hours of +that night with the desperation of one who fights for a thing greater +than life. + +Toward dawn the stars began to fade out of the sky. He had been +tireless, and he was tireless now. He felt no exhaustion. Through the +gray gloom that came before day he went on, and the first glow of sun +found him still traveling. Prince Albert and the Saskatchewan were +thirty miles to the south and east of him. + +He stopped at last on the edge of a little lake and unburdened himself +of his pack for the first time. He was glad that the premonition of +just such a sudden flight as this had urged him to fill his emergency +grub-sack yesterday morning. "Won't do any harm for us to be prepared," +he had laughed jokingly to Mary Josephine, and Mary Josephine herself +had made him double the portion of bacon because she was fond of it. It +was hard for him to slice that bacon without a lump rising in his +throat. Pork and love! He wanted to laugh, and he wanted to cry, and +between the two it was a queer, half-choked sound that came to his +lips. He ate a good breakfast, rested for a couple of hours, and went +on. At a more leisurely pace he traveled through most of the day, and +at night he camped. In the ten days following his flight from Prince +Albert he kept utterly out of sight. He avoided trappers' shacks and +trails and occasional Indians. He rid himself of his beard and shaved +himself every other day. Mary Josephine had never cared much for the +beard. It prickled. She had wanted him smooth-faced, and now he was +that. He looked better, too. But the most striking resemblance to +Derwent Conniston was gone. At the end of the ten days he was at Turtle +Lake, fifty miles east of Fort Pitt. He believed that he could show +himself openly now, and on the tenth day bartered with some Indians for +fresh supplies. Then he struck south of Fort Pitt, crossed the +Saskatchewan, and hit between the Blackfoot Hills and the Vermillion +River into the Buffalo Coulee country. In the open country he came upon +occasional ranches, and at one of these he purchased a pack-horse. At +Buffalo Lake he bought his supplies for the mountains, including fifty +steel traps, crossed the upper branch of the Canadian Pacific at night, +and the next day saw in the far distance the purple haze of the Rockies. + +It was six weeks after the night in Kao's place that he struck the +Saskatchewan again above the Brazeau. He did not hurry now. Just ahead +of him slumbered the mountains; very close was the place of his dreams. +But he was no longer impelled by the mighty lure of the years that were +gone. Day by day something had worn away that lure, as the ceaseless +grind of water wears away rock, and for two weeks he wandered slowly +and without purpose in the green valleys that lay under the snow-tipped +peaks of the ranges. He was gripped in the agony of an unutterable +loneliness, which fell upon and scourged him like a disease. It was a +deeper and more bitter thing than a yearning for companionship. He +might have found that. Twice he was near camps. Three times he saw +outfits coming out, and purposely drew away from them. He had no desire +to meet men, no desire to talk or to be troubled by talking. Day And +night his body and his soul cried out for Mary Josephine, and in his +despair he cursed those who had taken her away from him. It was a +crisis which was bound to come, and in his aloneness he fought it out. +Day after day he fought it, until his face and his heart bore the scars +of it. It was as if a being on whom he had set all his worship had +died, only it was worse than death. Dead, Mary Josephine would still +have been his inspiration; in a way she would have belonged to him. But +living, hating him as she must, his dreams of her were a sacrilege and +his love for her like the cut of a sword. In the end he was like a man +who had triumphed over a malady that would always leave its marks upon +him. In the beginning of the third week he knew that he had conquered, +just as he had triumphed in a similar way over death and despair in the +north. He would go into the mountains, as he had planned. He would +build his cabin. And if the Law came to get him, it was possible that +again he would fight. + +On the second day of this third week he saw advancing toward him a +solitary horseman. The stranger was possibly a mile away when he +discovered him, and he was coming straight down the flat of the valley. +That he was not accompanied by a pack-horse surprised Keith, for he was +bound out of the mountains and not in. Then it occurred to him that he +might be a prospector whose supplies were exhausted, and that he was +easing his journey by using his pack as a mount. Whoever and whatever +he was, Keith was not in any humor to meet him, and without attempting +to conceal himself he swung away from the river, as if to climb the +slope of the mountain on his right. No sooner had he clearly signified +the new direction he was taking, than the stranger deliberately altered +his course in a way to cut him off. Keith was irritated. Climbing up a +narrow terrace of shale, he headed straight up the slope, as if his +intention were to reach the higher terraces of the mountain, and then +he swung suddenly down into a coulee, where he was out of sight. Here +he waited for ten minutes, then struck deliberately and openly back +into the valley. He chuckled when he saw how cleverly his ruse had +worked. The stranger was a quarter of a mile up the mountain and still +climbing. + +"Now what the devil is he taking all that trouble for?" Keith asked +himself. + +An instant later the stranger saw him again. For perhaps a minute he +halted, and in that minute Keith fancied he was getting a round +cursing. Then the stranger headed for him, and this time there was no +escape, for the moment he struck the shelving slope of the valley, he +prodded his horse into a canter, swiftly diminishing the distance +between them. Keith unbuttoned the flap of his pistol holster and +maneuvered so that he would be partly concealed by his pack when the +horseman rode up. The persistence of the stranger suggested to him that +Mary Josephine had lost no time in telling McDowell where the law would +be most likely to find him. + +Then he looked over the neck of his pack at the horseman, who was quite +near, and was convinced that he was not an officer. He was still +jogging at a canter and riding atrociously. One leg was napping as if +it had lost its stirrup-hold; the rider's arms were pumping, and his +hat was sailing behind at the end of a string. + +"Whoa!" said Keith. + +His heart stopped its action. He was staring at a big red beard and a +huge, shaggy head. The horseman reined in, floundered from his saddle, +and swayed forward as if seasick. + +"Well, I'll be--" + +"DUGGAN!" + +"JOHNNY--JOHNNY KEITH!" + + + + +XXIV + + +For a matter of ten seconds neither of the two men moved. Keith was +stunned. Andy Duggan's eyes were fairly popping out from under his +bushy brows. And then unmistakably Keith caught the scent of bacon in +the air. + +"Andy--Andy Duggan," he choked. "You know me--you know Johnny +Keith--you know me--you--" + +Duggan answered with an inarticulate bellow and jumped at Keith as if +to bear him to the ground. He hugged him, and Keith hugged, and then +for a minute they stood pumping hands until their faces were red, and +Duggan was growling over and over: + +"An' you passed me there at McCoffin's Bend--an' I didn't know you, I +didn't know you, I didn't know you! I thought you was that cussed +Conniston! I did. I thought you was Conniston!" He stood back at last. +"Johnny--Johnny Keith!" + +"Andy, you blessed old devil!" + +They pumped hands again, pounded shoulders until they were sore, and in +Keith's face blazed once more the love of life. + +Suddenly old Duggan grew rigid and sniffed the air. "I smell bacon!" + +"It's in the pack, Andy. But for Heaven's sake don't notice the bacon +until you explain how you happen to be here." + +"Been waitin' for you," replied Duggan in an affectionate growl. "Knew +you'd have to come down this valley to hit the Little Fork. Been +waitin' six weeks." + +Keith dug his fingers into Duggan's arm. + +"How did you know I was coming HERE?" he demanded. "Who told you?" + +"All come out in the wash, Johnny. Pretty mess. Chinaman dead. Johnny +Keith, alias Conniston, alive an' living with Conniston's pretty +sister. Johnny gone--skipped. No one knew where. I made guesses. Knew +the girl would know if anyone did. I went to her, told her how you'n me +had been pals, an' she give me the idee you was goin' up to the river's +end. I resigned from the Betty M., that night. Told her, though, that +she was a ninny if she thought you'd go up there. Made her believe the +note was just a blind." + +"My God," breathed Keith hopelessly, "I meant it." + +"Sure you did, Johnny. I knew it. But I didn't dare let HER know it. If +you could ha' seen that pretty mouth o' hern curlin' up as if she'd +liked to have bit open your throat, an' her hands clenched, an' that +murder in her eyes--Man, I lied to her then! I told her I was after +you, an' that if she wouldn't put the police on you, I'd bring back +your head to her, as they used to do in the old times. An' she bit. +Yes, sir, she said to me, 'If you'll do that, I won't say a word to the +police!' An' here I am, Johnny. An' if I keep my word with that little +tiger, I've got to shoot you right now. Haw! Haw!" + +Keith had turned his face away. + +Duggan, pulling him about by the shoulders, opened his eyes wide in +amazement.--"Johnny--" + +"Maybe you don't understand, Andy," struggled Keith. "I'm sorry--she +feels--like that." + +For a moment Duggan was silent. Then he exploded with a sudden curse. +"SORRY! What the devil you sorry for, Johnny? You treated her square, +an' you left her almost all of Conniston's money. She ain't no kick +comin', and she ain't no reason for feelin' like she does. Let 'er go +to the devil, I say. She's pretty an' sweet an' all that--but when +anybody wants to go clawin' your heart out, don't be fool enough to +feel sorry about it. You lied to her, but what's that? There's bigger +lies than yourn been told, Johnny, a whole sight bigger! Don't you go +worryin'. I've been here waitin' six weeks, an' I've done a lot of +thinkin', and all our plans are set an' hatched. An' I've got the +nicest cabin all built and waitin' for us up the Little Fork. Here we +are. Let's be joyful, son!" He laughed into Keith's tense, gray face. +"Let's be joyful!" + +Keith forced a grin. Duggan didn't know. He hadn't guessed what that +"little tiger who would have liked to have bit open his throat" had +been to him. The thick-headed old hero, loyal to the bottom of his +soul, hadn't guessed. And it came to Keith then that he would never +tell him. He would keep that secret. He would bury it in his burned-out +soul, and he would be "joyful" if he could. Duggan's blazing, happy +face, half buried in its great beard, was like the inspiration and +cheer of a sun rising on a dark world. He was not alone. Duggan, the +old Duggan of years ago, the Duggan who had planned and dreamed with +him, his best friend, was with him now, and the light came back into +his face as he looked toward the mountains. Off there, only a few miles +distant, was the Little Fork, winding into the heart of the Rockies, +seeking out its hidden valleys, its trailless canons, its hidden +mysteries. Life lay ahead of him, life with its thrill and adventure, +and at his side was the friend of all friends to seek it with him. He +thrust out his hands. + +"God bless you, Andy," he cried. "You're the gamest pal that ever +lived!" + +A moment later Duggan pointed to a clump of timber half a mile ahead. +"It's past dinner-time," he said. "There's wood. If you've got any +bacon aboard, I move we eat." + +An hour later Andy was demonstrating that his appetite was as voracious +as ever. Before describing more of his own activities, he insisted that +Keith recite his adventures from the night "he killed that old skunk, +Kirkstone." + +It was two o'clock when they resumed their journey. An hour later they +struck the Little Fork and until seven traveled up the stream. They +were deep in the lap of the mountains when they camped for the night. +After supper, smoking his pipe, Duggan stretched himself out +comfortably with his back to a tree. + +"Good thing you come along when you did, Johnny," he said. "I been +waitin' in that valley ten days, an' the eats was about gone when you +hove in sight. Meant to hike back to the cabin for supplies tomorrow or +next day. Gawd, ain't this the life! An' we're goin' to find gold, +Johnny, we're goin' to find it!" + +"We've got all our lives to--to find it in," said Keith. + +Duggan puffed out a huge cloud of smoke and heaved a great sigh of +pleasure. Then he grunted and chuckled. "Lord, what a little firebrand +that sister of Conniston's is!" he exclaimed. "Johnny, I bet if you'd +walk in on her now, she'd kill you with her own hands. Don't see why +she hates you so, just because you tried to save your life. Of course +you must ha' lied like the devil. Couldn't help it. But a lie ain't +nothin'. I've told some whoppers, an' no one ain't never wanted to kill +me for it. I ain't afraid of McDowell. Everyone said the Chink was a +good riddance. It's the girl. There won't be a minute all her life she +ain't thinkin' of you, an' she won't be satisfied until she's got you. +That is, she thinks she won't. But we'll fool the little devil, Johnny. +We'll keep our eyes open--an' fool her!" + +"Let's talk of pleasanter things," said Keith. "I've got fifty traps in +the pack, Andy. You remember how we used to plan on trapping during the +winter and hunting for gold during the summer?" + +Duggan rubbed his hands until they made a rasping sound; he talked of +lynx signs he had seen, and of marten and fox. He had panned "colors" +at a dozen places along the Little Fork and was ready to make his +affidavit that it was the same gold he had dredged at McCoffin's Bend. + +"If we don't find it this fall, we'll be sittin' on the mother lode +next summer," he declared, and from then until it was time to turn in +he talked of nothing but the yellow treasure it had been his lifelong +dream to find. At the last, when they had rolled in their blankets, he +raised himself on his elbow for a moment and said to Keith: + +"Johnny, don't you worry about that Conniston girl. I forgot to tell +you I've took time by the forelock. Two weeks ago I wrote an' told her +I'd learned you was hittin' into the Great Slave country, an' that I +was about to hike after you. So go to sleep an' don't worry about that +pesky little rattlesnake." + +"I'm not worrying," said Keith. + +Fifteen minutes later he heard Duggan snoring. Quietly he unwrapped his +blanket and sat up. There were still burning embers in the fire, the +night--like that first night of his flight--was a glory of stars, and +the moon was rising. Their camp was in a small, meadowy pocket in the +center of which was a shimmering little lake across which he could +easily have thrown a stone. On the far side of this was the sheer wall +of a mountain, and the top of this wall, thousands of feet up, caught +the glow of the moon first. Without awakening his comrade, Keith walked +to the lake. He watched the golden illumination as it fell swiftly +lower over the face of the mountain. He could see it move like a great +flood. And then, suddenly, his shadow shot out ahead of him, and he +turned to find the moon itself glowing like a monstrous ball between +the low shoulders of a mountain to the east. The world about him became +all at once vividly and wildly beautiful. It was as if a curtain had +lifted so swiftly the eye could not follow it. Every tree and shrub and +rock stood out in a mellow spotlight; the lake was transformed to a +pool of molten silver, and as far as he could see, where shoulders and +ridges did not cut him out, the moonlight was playing on the mountains. +In the air was a soft droning like low music, and from a distant crag +came the rattle of loosened rocks. He fancied, for a moment, that Mary +Josephine was standing at his side, and that together they were +drinking in the wonder of this dream at last come true. Then a cry came +to his lips, a broken, gasping man-cry which he could not keep back, +and his heart was filled with anguish. + +With all its beauty, all its splendor of quiet and peace, the night was +a bitter one for Keith, the bitterest of his life. He had not believed +the worst of Mary Josephine. He knew he had lost her and that she might +despise him, but that she would actually hate him with the desire for a +personal vengeance he had not believed. Was Duggan right? Was Mary +Josephine unfair? And should he in self-defense fight to poison his own +thoughts against her? His face set hard, and a joyless laugh fell from +his lips. He knew that he was facing the inevitable. No matter what had +happened, he must go on loving Mary Josephine. + +All through that night he was awake. Half a dozen times he went to his +blanket, but it was impossible for him to sleep. At four o'clock he +built up the fire and at five roused Duggan. The old river-man sprang +up with the enthusiasm of a boy. He came back from the lake with his +beard and head dripping and his face glowing. All the mountains held no +cheerier comrade than Duggan. + +They were on the trail at six o'clock and hour after hour kept steadily +up the Little Fork. The trail grew rougher, narrower, and more +difficult to follow, and at intervals Duggan halted to make sure of the +way. At one of these times he said to Keith: + +"Las' night proved there ain't no danger from her, Johnny. I had a +dream, an' dreams goes by contraries an' always have. What you dream +never comes true. It's always the opposite. An' I dreamed that little +she-devil come up on you when you was asleep, took a big bread-knife, +an' cut your head plumb off! Yessir, I could see her holdin' up that +head o' yourn, an' the blood was drippin', an' she was a-laughin'--" + +"SHUT UP!" Keith fairly yelled the words. His eyes blazed. His face was +dead white. + +With a shrug of his huge shoulders and a sullen grunt Duggan went on. + +An hour later the trail narrowed into a short canon, and this canon, to +Keith's surprise, opened suddenly into a beautiful valley, a narrow +oasis of green hugged in between the two ranges. Scarcely had they +entered it, when Duggan raised his voice in a series of wild yells and +began firing his rifle into the air. + +"Home-coming," he explained to Keith, after he was done. "Cabin's just +over that bulge. Be there in ten minutes." + +In less than ten minutes Keith saw it, sheltered in the edge of a thick +growth of cedar and spruce from which its timbers had been taken. It +was a larger cabin than he had expected to see--twice, three times as +large. + +"How did you do it alone!" he exclaimed in admiration. "It's a wonder, +Andy. Big enough for--for a whole family!" + +"Half a dozen Indians happened along, an' I hired 'em," explained +Duggan. "Thought I might as well make it big enough, Johnny, seein' I +had plenty of help. Sometimes I snore pretty loud, an'--" + +"There's smoke coming out of it," cried Keith. + +"Kept one of the Indians," chuckled Duggan. "Fine cook, an' a +sassy-lookin' little squaw she is, Johnny. Her husband died last +winter, an' she jumped at the chance to stay, for her board an' five +bucks a month. How's your Uncle Andy for a schemer, eh, Johnny?" + +A dozen rods from the cabin was a creek. Duggan halted here to water +his horse and nodded for Keith to go on. + +"Take a look, Johnny; go ahead an' take a look! I'm sort of sot up over +that cabin." + +Keith handed his reins to Duggan and obeyed. The cabin door was open, +and he entered. One look assured him that Duggan had good reason to be +"sot up." The first big room reminded him of the Shack. Beyond that was +another room in which he heard someone moving and the crackle of a fire +in a stove. Outside Duggan was whistling. He broke off whistling to +sing, and as Keith listened to the river-man's bellowing voice chanting +the words of the song he had sung at McCoffin's Bend for twenty years, +he grinned. And then he heard the humming of a voice in the kitchen. +Even the squaw was happy. + +And then--and then-- + +"GREAT GOD IN HEAVEN--" + +In the doorway she stood, her arms reaching out to him, love, glory, +triumph in her face--MARY JOSEPHINE! + +He swayed; he groped out; something blinded him--tears--hot, blinding +tears that choked him, that came with a sob in his throat. And then she +was in his arms, and her arms were around him, and she was laughing and +crying, and he heard her say: "Why--why didn't you come back--to +me--that night? Why--why did you--go out--through the--window? I--I was +waiting--and I--I'd have gone--with you--" + +From the door behind them came Duggan's voice, chuckling, exultant, +booming with triumph. "Johnny, didn't I tell you there was lots bigger +lies than yourn? Didn't I? Eh?" + + + + +XXV + + +It was many minutes, after Keith's arms had closed around Mary +Josephine, before he released her enough to hold her out and look at +her. She was there, every bit of her, eyes glowing with a greater glory +and her face wildly aflush with a thing that had never been there +before; and suddenly, as he devoured her in that hungry look, she gave +a little cry, and hugged herself to his breast, and hid her face there. + +And he was whispering again and again, as though he could find no other +word, + +"Mary--Mary--Mary--" + +Duggan drew away from the door. The two had paid no attention to his +voice, and the old river-man was one continuous chuckle as he unpacked +Keith's horse and attended to his own, hobbling them both and tying +cow-bells to them. It was half an hour before he ventured up out of the +grove along the creek and approached the cabin again. Even then he +halted, fussing with a piece of harness, until he saw Mary Josephine in +the door. The sun was shining on her. Her glorious hair was down, and +behind her was Keith, so close that his shoulders were covered with it. +Like a bird Mary Josephine sped to Duggan. Great red beard and all she +hugged him, and on the flaming red of his bare cheek-bone she kissed +him. + +"Gosh," said Duggan, at a loss for something better to say. "Gosh--" + +Then Keith had him by the hand. "Andy, you ripsnorting old liar, if you +weren't old enough to be my father, I'd whale the daylights out of +you!" he cried joyously. "I would, just because I love you so! You've +made this day the--the--the--" + +"--The most memorable of my life," helped Mary Josephine. "Is that +it--John?" + +Timidly, for the first time, her cheek against his shoulder, she spoke +his name. And before Duggan's eyes Keith kissed her. + +Hours later, in a world aglow with the light of stars and a radiant +moon, Keith and Mary Josephine were alone out in the heart of their +little valley. To Keith it was last night returned, only more +wonderful. There was the same droning song in the still air, the low +rippling of running water, the mysterious whisperings of the mountains. +All about them were the guardian peaks of the snow-capped ranges, and +under their feet was the soft lush of grass and the sweet scent of +flowers. "Our valley of dreams," Mary Josephine had named it, an +infinite happiness trembling in her voice. "Our beautiful valley of +dreams--come true!" "And you would have come with me--that night?" +asked Keith wonderingly. "That night--I ran away?" + +"Yes. I didn't hear you go. And at last I went to your door and +listened, and then I knocked, and after that I called to you, and when +you didn't answer, I entered your room." + +"Dear heaven!" breathed Keith. "After all that, you would have come +away with me, covered with blood, a--a murderer, they say--a hunted +man--" + +"John, dear." She took one of his hands in both her own and held it +tight. "John, dear, I've got something to tell you." + +He was silent. + +"I made Duggan promise not to tell you I was here when he found you, +and I made him promise something else--to keep a secret I wanted to +tell you myself. It was wonderful of him. I don't see how he did it." + +She snuggled still closer to him, and held his hand a little tighter. +"You see, John, there was a terrible time after you killed Shan Tung. +Only a little while after you had gone, I saw the sky growing red. It +was Shan Tung's place--afire. I was terrified, and my heart was broken, +and I didn't move. I must have sat at the window a long time, when the +door burst open suddenly and Miriam ran in, and behind her came +McDowell. Oh, I never heard a man swear as McDowell swore when he found +you had gone, and Miriam flung herself on the floor at my feet and +buried her head in my lap. + +"McDowell tramped up and down, and at last he turned to me as if he was +going to eat me, and he fairly shouted, 'Do you know--THAT CURSED FOOL +DIDN'T KILL JUDGE KIRKSTONE!'" + +There was a pause in which Keith's brain reeled. And Mary Josephine +went on, as quietly as though she were talking about that evening's +sunset: + +"Of course, I knew all along, from what you had told me about John +Keith, that he wasn't what you would call a murderer. You see, John, I +had learned to LOVE John Keith. It was the other thing that horrified +me! In the fight, that night, Judge Kirkstone wasn't badly hurt, just +stunned. Peter Kirkstone and his father were always quarreling. Peter +wanted money, and his father wouldn't give it to him. It seems +impossible,--what happened then. But it's true. After you were gone, +PETER KIRKSTONE KILLED HIS FATHER THAT HE MIGHT INHERIT THE ESTATE! And +then he laid the crime on you!" + +"My God!" breathed Keith. "Mary--Mary Josephine--how do you know?" + +"Peter Kirkstone was terribly burned in the fire. He died that night, +and before he died he confessed. That was the power Shan Tung held over +Miriam. He knew. And Miriam was to pay the price that would save her +brother from the hangman." + +"And that," whispered Keith, as if to himself, "was why she was so +interested in John Keith." + +He looked away into the shimmering distance of the night, and for a +long time both were silent. A woman had found happiness. A man's soul +had come out of darkness into light. + + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The River's End, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIVER'S END *** + +***** This file should be named 4747.txt or 4747.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/4/4747/ + +Produced by Dianne Bean. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The River's End + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Release Date: December, 2003 [EBook #4747] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on March 12, 2002] +[Date last updated: Huly 12, 2005] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE RIVER'S END *** + + + + +This etext was prepared by Dianne Bean, Prescott Valley, Arizona. + + + + + +THE RIVER'S END +James Oliver Curwood + +THE RIVER'S END + +I + +Between Conniston, of His Majesty's Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and +Keith, the outlaw, there was a striking physical and facial +resemblance. Both had observed it, of course. It gave them a sort of +confidence in each other. Between them it hovered in a subtle and +unanalyzed presence that was constantly suggesting to Conniston a line +of action that would have made him a traitor to his oath of duty. For +nearly a month he had crushed down the whispered temptings of this +thing between them. He represented the law. He was the law. For +twenty-seven months he had followed Keith, and always there had been in +his mind that parting injunction of the splendid service of which he +was a part--"Don't come back until you get your man, dead or alive." +Otherwise-- + +A racking cough split in upon his thoughts. He sat up on the edge of +the cot, and at the gasping cry of pain that came with the red stain of +blood on his lips Keith went to him and with a strong arm supported his +shoulders. He said nothing, and after a moment Conniston wiped the +stain away and laughed softly, even before the shadow of pain had faded +from his eyes. One of his hands rested on a wrist that still bore the +ring-mark of a handcuff. The sight of it brought him back to grim +reality. After all, fate was playing whimsically as well as tragically +with their destinies. + +"Thanks, old top," he said. "Thanks." + +His fingers closed over the manacle-marked wrist. + +Over their heads the arctic storm was crashing in a mighty fury, as if +striving to beat down the little cabin that had dared to rear itself in +the dun-gray emptiness at the top of the world, eight hundred miles +from civilization. There were curious waitings, strange screeching +sounds, and heart-breaking meanings in its strife, and when at last its +passion died away and there followed a strange quiet, the two men could +feel the frozen earth under their feet shiver with the rumbling +reverberations of the crashing and breaking fields of ice out in +Hudson's Bay. With it came a dull and steady roar, like the incessant +rumble of a far battle, broken now and then--when an ice mountain split +asunder--with a report like that of a sixteen-inch gun. Down through +the Roes Welcome into Hudson's Bay countless billions of tons of ice +were rending their way like Hunnish armies in the break-up. + +"You'd better lie down," suggested Keith. + +Conniston, instead, rose slowly to his feet and went to a table on +which a seal-oil lamp was burning. He swayed a little as he walked. He +sat down, and Keith seated himself opposite him. Between them lay a +worn deck of cards. As Conniston fumbled them in his fingers, he looked +straight across at Keith and grinned. + +"It's queer, devilish queer," he said. + +"Don't you think so, Keith?" He was an Englishman, and his blue eyes +shone with a grim, cold humor. "And funny," he added. + +"Queer, but not funny," partly agreed Keith. + +"Yes, it is funny," maintained Conniston. "Just twenty-seven months +ago, lacking three days, I was sent out to get you, Keith. I was told +to bring you in dead or alive--and at the end of the twenty-sixth month +I got you, alive. And as a sporting proposition you deserve a hundred +years of life instead of the noose, Keith, for you led me a chase that +took me through seven different kinds of hell before I landed you. I +froze, and I starved, and I drowned. I haven't seen a white woman's +face in eighteen months. It was terrible. But I beat you at last. +That's the jolly good part of it, Keith--I beat you and GOT you, and +there's the proof of it on your wrists this minute. I won. Do you +concede that? You must be fair, old top, because this is the last big +game I'll ever play." There was a break, a yearning that was almost +plaintive, in his voice. + +Keith nodded. "You won," he said. + +"You won so square that when the frost got your lung--" + +"You didn't take advantage of me," interrupted Conniston. "That's the +funny part of it, Keith. That's where the humor comes in. I had you all +tied up and scheduled for the hangman when--bing!--along comes a cold +snap that bites a corner of my lung, and the tables are turned. And +instead of doing to me as I was going to do to you, instead of killing +me or making your getaway while I was helpless--Keith--old pal--YOU'VE +TRIED TO NURSE ME BACK TO LIFE! Isn't that funny? Could anything be +funnier?" + +He reached a hand across the table and gripped Keith's. And then, for a +few moments, he bowed his head while his body was convulsed by another +racking cough. Keith sensed the pain of it in the convulsive clutching +of Conniston's fingers about his own. When Conniston raised his face, +the red stain was on his lips again. + +"You see, I've got it figured out to the day," he went on, wiping away +the stain with a cloth already dyed red. "This is Thursday. I won't see +another Sunday. It'll come Friday night or some time Saturday. I've +seen this frosted lung business a dozen times. Understand? I've got two +sure days ahead of me, possibly a third. Then you'll have to dig a hole +and bury me. After that you will no longer be held by the word of honor +you gave me when I slipped off your manacles. And I'm asking you--WHAT +ARE YOU GOING TO DO?" + +In Keith's face were written deeply the lines of suffering and of +tragedy. Yesterday they had compared ages. + +He was thirty-eight, only a little younger than the man who had run him +down and who in the hour of his achievement was dying. They had not put +the fact plainly before. It had been a matter of some little +embarrassment for Keith, who at another time had found it easier to +kill a man than to tell this man that he was going to die. Now that +Conniston had measured his own span definitely and with most amazing +coolness, a load was lifted from Keith's shoulders. Over the table they +looked into each other's eyes, and this time it was Keith's fingers +that tightened about Conniston's. They looked like brothers in the +sickly glow of the seal-oil lamp. + +"What are you going to do?" repeated Conniston. + +Keith's face aged even as the dying Englishman stared at him. "I +suppose--I'll go back," he said heavily. + +"You mean to Coronation Gulf? You'll return to that stinking mess of +Eskimo igloos? If you do, you'll go mad!" + +"I expect to," said Keith. "But it's the only thing left. You know +that. You of all men must know how they've hunted me. If I went south--" + +It was Conniston's turn to nod his head, slowly and thoughtfully. "Yes, +of course," he agreed. "They're hunting you hard, and you're giving 'em +a bully chase. But they'll get you, even up there. And I'm--sorry." + +Their hands unclasped. Conniston filled his pipe and lighted it. Keith +noticed that he held the lighted taper without a tremor. The nerve of +the man was magnificent. + +"I'm sorry," he said again. "I--like you. Do you know, Keith, I wish +we'd been born brothers and you hadn't killed a man. That night I +slipped the ring-dogs on you I felt almost like a devil. I wouldn't say +it if it wasn't for this bally lung. But what's the use of keeping it +back now? It doesn't seem fair to keep a man up in that place for three +years, running from hole to hole like a rat, and then take him down for +a hanging. I know it isn't fair in your case. I feel it. I don't mean +to be inquisitive, old chap, but I'm not believing Departmental 'facts' +any more. I'd make a topping good wager you're not the sort they make +you out. And so I'd like to know--just why--you killed Judge Kirkstone?" + +Keith's two fists knotted in the center of the table. Conniston saw his +blue eyes darken for an instant with a savage fire. In that moment +there came a strange silence over the cabin, and in that silence the +incessant and maddening yapping of the little white foxes rose shrilly +over the distant booming and rumbling of the ice. + + + +II + +"Why did I kill Judge Kirkstone?" Keith repeated the words slowly. + +His clenched hands relaxed, but his eyes held the steady glow of fire. +"What do the Departmental 'facts' tell you, Conniston?" + +"That you murdered him in cold blood, and that the honor of the Service +is at stake until you are hung." + +"There's a lot in the view-point, isn't there? What if I said I didn't +kill Judge Kirkstone?" + +Conniston leaned forward a little too eagerly. The deadly paroxysm +shook his frame again, and when it was over his breath came pantingly, +as if hissing through a sieve. "My God, not Sunday--or Saturday," he +breathed. "Keith, it's coming TOMORROW!" + +"No, no, not then," said Keith, choking back something that rose in his +throat. "You'd better lie down again." + +Conniston gathered new strength. "And die like a rabbit? No, thank you, +old chap! I'm after facts, and you can't lie to a dying man. Did you +kill Judge Kirkstone?" + +"I--don't--know," replied Keith slowly, looking steadily into the +other's eyes. "I think so, and yet I am not positive. I went to his +home that night with the determination to wring justice from him or +kill him. I wish you could look at it all with my eyes, Conniston. You +could if you had known my father. You see, my mother died when I was a +little chap, and my father and I grew up together, chums. I don't +believe I ever thought of him as just simply a father. Fathers are +common. He was more than that. From the time I was ten years old we +were inseparable. I guess I was twenty before he told me of the deadly +feud that existed between him and Kirkstone, and it never troubled me +much--because I didn't think anything would ever come of it--until +Kirkstone got him. Then I realized that all through the years the old +rattlesnake had been watching for his chance. It was a frame-up from +beginning to end, and my father stepped into the trap. Even then he +thought that his political enemies, and not Kirkstone, were at the +bottom of it. We soon discovered the truth. My father got ten years. He +was innocent. And the only man on earth who could prove his innocence +was Kirkstone, the man who was gloating like a Shylock over his pound +of flesh. Conniston, if you had known these things and had been in my +shoes, what would you have done?" + +Conniston, lighting another taper over the oil flame, hesitated and +answered: "I don't know yet, old chap. What did you do?" + +"I fairly got down on my knees to the scoundrel," resumed Keith. "If +ever a man begged for another man's life, I begged for my father's--for +the few words from Kirkstone that would set him free. I offered +everything I had in the world, even my body and soul. God, I'll never +forget that night! He sat there, fat and oily, two big rings on his +stubby fingers--a monstrous toad in human form--and he chuckled and +laughed at me in his joy, as though I were a mountebank playing amusing +tricks for him--and there my soul was bleeding itself out before his +eyes! And his son came in, fat and oily and accursed like his father, +and HE laughed at me. I didn't know that such hatred could exist in the +world, or that vengeance could bring such hellish joy. I could still +hear their gloating laughter when I stumbled out into the night. It +haunted me. I heard it in the trees. It came in the wind. My brain was +filled with it--and suddenly I turned back, and I went into that house +again without knocking, and I faced the two of them alone once more in +that room. And this time, Conniston, I went back to get justice--or to +kill. Thus far it was premeditated, but I went with my naked hands. +There was a key in the door, and I locked it. Then I made my demand. I +wasted no words--" + +Keith rose from the table and began to pace back and forth. The wind +had died again. They could hear the yapping of the foxes and the low +thunder of the ice. + +"The son began it," said Keith. "He sprang at me. I struck him. We +grappled, and then the beast himself leaped at me with some sort of +weapon in his hand. I couldn't see what it was, but it was heavy. The +first blow almost broke my shoulder. In the scuffle I wrenched it from +his hand, and then I found it was a long, rectangular bar of copper +made for a paper-weight. In that same instant I saw the son snatch up a +similar object from the table, and in the act he smashed the table +light. In darkness we fought. I did not feel that I was fighting men. +They were monsters and gave me the horrible sensation of being in +darkness with crawling serpents. Yes, I struck hard. And the son was +striking, and neither of us could see. I felt my weapon hit, and it was +then that Kirkstone crumpled down with a blubbery wheeze. You know what +happened after that. The next morning only one copper weight was found +in that room. The son had done away with the other. And the one that +was left was covered with Kirkstone's blood and hair. There was no +chance for me. So I got away. Six months later my father died in +prison, and for three years I've been hunted as a fox is hunted by the +hounds. That's all, Conniston. Did I kill Judge Kirkstone? And, if I +killed him, do you think I'm sorry for it, even though I hang?" + +"Sit down!" + +The Englishman's voice was commanding. Keith dropped back to his seat, +breathing hard. He saw a strange light in the steely blue eyes of +Conniston. + +"Keith, when a man knows he's going to live, he is blind to a lot of +things. But when he knows he's going to die, it's different. If you had +told me that story a month ago, I'd have taken you down to the hangman +just the same. It would have been my duty, you know, and I might have +argued you were lying. But you can't lie to me--now. Kirkstone deserved +to die. And so I've made up my mind what you're going to do. You're not +going back to Coronation Gulf. You're going south. You're going back +into God's country again. And you're not going as John Keith, the +murderer, but as Derwent Conniston of His Majesty's Royal Northwest +Mounted Police! Do you get me, Keith? Do you understand?" + +Keith simply stared. The Englishman twisted a mustache, a half-humorous +gleam in his eyes. He had been thinking of this plan of his for some +time, and he had foreseen just how it would take Keith off his feet. + +"Quite a scheme, don't you think, old chap? I like you. I don't mind +saying I think a lot of you, and there isn't any reason on earth why +you shouldn't go on living in my shoes. There's no moral objection. No +one will miss me. I was the black sheep back in England--younger +brother and all that--and when I had to choose between Africa and +Canada, I chose Canada. An Englishman's pride is the biggest fool thing +on earth, Keith, and I suppose all of them over there think I'm dead. +They haven't heard from me in six or seven years. I'm forgotten. And +the beautiful thing about this scheme is that we look so deucedly +alike, you know. Trim that mustache and beard of yours a little, add a +bit of a scar over your right eye, and you can walk in on old McDowell +himself, and I'll wager he'll jump up and say, 'Bless my heart, if it +isn't Conniston!' That's all I've got to leave you, Keith, a dead man's +clothes and name. But you're welcome. They'll be of no more use to me +after tomorrow." + +"Impossible!" gasped Keith. "Conniston, do you know what you are +saying?" + +"Positively, old chap. I count every word, because it hurts when I +talk. So you won't argue with me, please. It's the biggest sporting +thing that's ever come my way. I'll be dead. You can bury me under this +floor, where the foxes can't get at me. But my name will go on living +and you'll wear my clothes back to civilization and tell McDowell how +you got your man and how he died up here with a frosted lung. As proof +of it you'll lug your own clothes down in a bundle along with any other +little identifying things you may have, and there's a sergeancy +waiting. McDowell promised it to you--if you got your man. Understand? +And McDowell hasn't seen me for two years and three months, so if I +MIGHT look a bit different to him, it would be natural, for you and I +have been on the rough edge of the world all that time. The jolly good +part of it all is that we look so much alike. I say the idea is +splendid!" + +Conniston rose above the presence of death in the thrill of the great +gamble he was projecting. And Keith, whose heart was pounding like an +excited fist, saw in a flash the amazing audacity of the thing that was +in Conniston's mind, and felt the responsive thrill of its +possibilities. No one down there would recognize in him the John Keith +of four years ago. Then he was smooth-faced, with shoulders that +stooped a little and a body that was not too strong. Now he was an +animal! A four years' fight with the raw things of life had made him +that, and inch for inch he measured up with Conniston. And Conniston, +sitting opposite him, looked enough like him to be a twin brother. He +seemed to read the thought in Keith's mind. There was an amused glitter +in his eyes. + +"I suppose it's largely because of the hair on our faces," he said. +"You know a beard can cover a multitude of physical sins--and +differences, old chap. I wore mine two years before I started out after +you, vandyked rather carefully, you understand, so you'd better not use +a razor. Physically you won't run a ghost of a chance of being caught. +You'll look the part. The real fun is coming in other ways. In the next +twenty-four hours you've got to learn by heart the history of Derwent +Conniston from the day he joined the Royal Mounted. We won't go back +further than that, for it wouldn't interest you, and ancient history +won't turn up to trouble you. Your biggest danger will be with +McDowell, commanding F Division at Prince Albert. He's a human fox of +the old military school, mustaches and all, and he can see through +boiler-plate. But he's got a big heart. He has been a good friend of +mine, so along with Derwent Conniston's story you've got to load up +with a lot about McDowell, too. There are many things--OH, GOD--" + +He flung a hand to his chest. Grim horror settled in the little cabin +as the cough convulsed him. And over it the wind shrieked again, +swallowing up the yapping of the foxes and the rumble of the ice. + +That night, in the yellow sputter of the seal-oil lamp, the fight +began. Grim-faced--one realizing the nearness of death and struggling +to hold it back, the other praying for time--two men went through the +amazing process of trading their identities. From the beginning it was +Conniston's fight. And Keith, looking at him, knew that in this last +mighty effort to die game the Englishman was narrowing the slight +margin of hours ahead of him. Keith had loved but one man, his father. +In this fight he learned to love another, Conniston. And once he cried +out bitterly that it was unfair, that Conniston should live and he +should die. The dying Englishman smiled and laid a hand on his, and +Keith felt that the hand was damp with a cold sweat. + +Through the terrible hours that followed Keith felt the strength and +courage of the dying man becoming slowly a part of himself. The thing +was epic. Conniston, throttling his own agony, was magnificent. And +Keith felt his warped and despairing soul swelling with a new life and +a new hope, and he was thrilled by the thought of what he must do to +live up to the mark of the Englishman. Conniston's story was of the +important things first. It began with his acquaintance with McDowell. +And then, between the paroxysms that stained his lips red, he filled in +with incident and smiled wanly as he told how McDowell had sworn him to +secrecy once in the matter of an incident which the chief did not want +the barracks to know--and laugh over. A very sensitive man in some ways +was McDowell! At the end of the first hour Keith stood up in the middle +of the floor, and with his arms resting on the table and his shoulders +sagging Conniston put him through the drill. After that he gave Keith +his worn Service Manual and commanded him to study while he rested. +Keith helped him to his bunk, and for a time after that tried to read +the Service book. But his eyes blurred, and his brain refused to obey. +The agony in the Englishman's low breathing oppressed him with a +physical pain. Keith felt himself choking and rose at last from the +table and went out into the gray, ghostly twilight of the night. + +His lungs drank in the ice-tanged air. But it was not cold. +Kwaske-hoo--the change--had come. The air was filled with the tumult of +the last fight of winter against the invasion of spring, and the forces +of winter were crumbling. The earth under Keith's feet trembled in the +mighty throes of their dissolution. He could hear more clearly the roar +and snarl and rending thunder of the great fields of ice as they swept +down with the arctic current into Hudson's Bay. Over him hovered a +strange night. It was not black but a weird and wraith-like gray, and +out of this sepulchral chaos came strange sounds and the moaning of a +wind high up. A little while longer, Keith thought, and the thing would +have driven him mad. Even now he fancied he heard the screaming and +wailing of voices far up under the hidden stars. More than once in the +past months he had listened to the sobbing of little children, the +agony of weeping women, and the taunting of wind voices that were +either tormenting or crying out in a ghoulish triumph; and more than +once in those months he had seen Eskimos--born in that hell but driven +mad in the torture of its long night--rend the clothes from their +bodies and plunge naked out into the pitiless gloom and cold to die. +Conniston would never know how near the final breakdown his brain had +been in that hour when he made him a prisoner. And Keith had not told +him. The man-hunter had saved him from going mad. But Keith had kept +that secret to himself. + +Even now he shrank down as a blast of wind shot out of the chaos above +and smote the cabin with a shriek that had in it a peculiarly +penetrating note. And then he squared his shoulders and laughed, and +the yapping of the foxes no longer filled him with a shuddering +torment. Beyond them he was seeing home. God's country! Green forests +and waters spattered with golden sun--things he had almost forgotten; +once more the faces of women who were white. And with those faces he +heard the voice of his people and the song of birds and felt under his +feet the velvety touch of earth that was bathed in the aroma of +flowers. Yes, he had almost forgotten those things. Yesterday they had +been with him only as moldering skeletons--phantasmal +dream-things--because he was going mad, but now they were real, they +were just off there to the south, and he was going to them. He +stretched up his arms, and a cry rose out of his throat. It was of +triumph, of final exaltation. Three years of THAT--and he had lived +through it! Three years of dodging from burrow to burrow, just as +Conniston had said, like a hunted fox; three years of starvation, of +freezing, of loneliness so great that his soul had broken--and now he +was going home! + +He turned again to the cabin, and when he entered the pale face of the +dying Englishman greeted him from the dim glow of the yellow light at +the table. And Conniston was smiling in a quizzical, distressed sort of +way, with a hand at his chest. His open watch on the table pointed to +the hour of midnight when the lesson went on. + +Still later he heated the muzzle of his revolver in the flame of the +seal-oil. + +"It will hurt, old chap--putting this scar over your eye. But it's got +to be done. I say, won't it be a ripping joke on McDowell?" Softly he +repeated it, smiling into Keith's eyes. "A ripping joke--on McDowell!" + + + +III + +Dawn--the dusk of another night--and Keith raised his haggard face from +Conniston's bedside with a woman's sob on his lips. The Englishman had +died as he knew that he would die, game to the last threadbare breath +that came out of his body. For with this last breath he whispered the +words which he had repeated a dozen times before, "Remember, old chap, +you win or lose the moment McDowell first sets his eyes on you!" And +then, with a strange kind of sob in his chest, he was gone, and Keith's +eyes were blinded by the miracle of a hot flood of tears, and there +rose in him a mighty pride in the name of Derwent Conniston. + +It was his name now. John Keith was dead. It was Derwent Conniston who +was living. And as he looked down into the cold, still face of the +heroic Englishman, the thing did not seem so strange to him after all. +It would not be difficult to bear Conniston's name; the difficulty +would be in living up to the Conniston code. + +That night the rumble of the ice fields was clearer because there was +no wind to deaden their tumult. The sky was cloudless, and the stars +were like glaring, yellow eyes peering through holes in a vast, +overhanging curtain of jet black. Keith, out to fill his lungs with +air, looked up at the phenomenon of the polar night and shuddered. The +stars were like living things, and they were looking at him. Under +their sinister glow the foxes were holding high carnival. It seemed to +Keith that they had drawn a closer circle about the cabin and that +there was a different note in their yapping now, a note that was more +persistent, more horrible. Conniston had foreseen that closing-in of +the little white beasts of the night, and Keith, reentering the cabin, +set about the fulfillment of his promise. Ghostly dawn found his task +completed. + +Half an hour later he stood in the edge of the scrub timber that rimmed +in the arctic plain, and looked for the last time upon the little cabin +under the floor of which the Englishman was buried. It stood there +splendidly unafraid in its terrible loneliness, a proud monument to a +dead man's courage and a dead man's soul. Within its four walls it +treasured a thing which gave to it at last a reason for being, a reason +for fighting against dissolution as long as one log could hold upon +another. Conniston's spirit had become a living part of it, and the +foxes might yap everlastingly, and the winds howl, and winter follow +winter, and long night follow long night--and it would stand there in +its pride fighting to the last, a memorial to Derwent Conniston, the +Englishman. + +Looking back at it, Keith bared his head in the raw dawn. "God bless +you, Conniston," he whispered, and turned slowly away and into the +south. + +Ahead of him was eight hundred miles of wilderness--eight hundred miles +between him and the little town on the Saskatchewan where McDowell +commanded Division of the Royal Mounted. The thought of distance did +not appall him. Four years at the top of the earth had accustomed him +to the illimitable and had inured him to the lack of things. That +winter Conniston had followed him with the tenacity of a ferret for a +thousand miles along the rim of the Arctic, and it had been a miracle +that he had not killed the Englishman. A score of times he might have +ended the exciting chase without staining his own hands. His Eskimo +friends would have performed the deed at a word. But he had let the +Englishman live, and Conniston, dead, was sending him back home. Eight +hundred miles was but the step between. + +He had no dogs or sledge. His own team had given up the ghost long ago, +and a treacherous Kogmollock from the Roes Welcome had stolen the +Englishman's outfit in the last lap of their race down from Fullerton's +Point. What he carried was Conniston's, with the exception of his rifle +and his own parka and hood. He even wore Conniston's watch. His pack +was light. The chief articles it contained were a little flour, a +three-pound tent, a sleeping-bag, and certain articles of +identification to prove the death of John Keith, the outlaw. Hour after +hour of that first day the zip, zip, zip of his snowshoes beat with +deadly monotony upon his brain. He could not think. Time and again it +seemed to him that something was pulling him back, and always he was +hearing Conniston's voice and seeing Conniston's face in the gray gloom +of the day about him. He passed through the slim finger of scrub timber +that a strange freak of nature had flung across the plain, and once +more was a moving speck in a wide and wind-swept barren. In the +afternoon he made out a dark rim on the southern horizon and knew it +was timber, real timber, the first he had seen since that day, a year +and a half ago, when the last of the Mackenzie River forest had faded +away behind him! It gave him, at last, something tangible to grip. It +was a thing beckoning to him, a sentient, living wall beyond which was +his other world. The eight hundred miles meant less to him than the +space between himself and that growing, black rim on the horizon. + +He reached it as the twilight of the day was dissolving into the deeper +dusk of the night, and put up his tent in the shelter of a clump of +gnarled and storm-beaten spruce. Then he gathered wood and built +himself a fire. He did not count the sticks as he had counted them for +eighteen months. He was wasteful, prodigal. He had traveled forty miles +since morning but he felt no exhaustion. He gathered wood until he had +a great pile of it, and the flames of his fire leaped higher and higher +until the spruce needles crackled and hissed over his head. He boiled a +pot of weak tea and made a supper of caribou meat and a bit of bannock. +Then he sat with his back to a tree and stared into the flames. + +The fire leaping and crackling before his eyes was like a powerful +medicine. It stirred things that had lain dormant within him. It +consumed the heavy dross of four years of stupefying torture and +brought back to him vividly the happenings of a yesterday that had +dragged itself on like a century. All at once he seemed unburdened of +shackles that had weighted him down to the point of madness. Every +fiber in his body responded to that glorious roar of the fire; a thing +seemed to snap in his head, freeing it of an oppressive bondage, and in +the heart of the flames he saw home, and hope, and life--the things +familiar and precious long ago, which the scourge of the north had +almost beaten dead in his memory. He saw the broad Saskatchewan +shimmering its way through the yellow plains, banked in by the +foothills and the golden mists of morning dawn; he saw his home town +clinging to its shore on one side and with its back against the purple +wilderness on the other; he heard the rhythmic chug, chug, chug of the +old gold dredge and the rattle of its chains as it devoured its tons of +sand for a few grains of treasure; over him there were lacy clouds in a +blue heaven again, he heard the sound of voices, the tread of feet, +laughter--life. His soul reborn, he rose to his feet and stretched his +arms until the muscles snapped. No, they would not know him back +there--now! He laughed softly as he thought of the old John +Keith--"Johnny" they used to call him up and down the few +balsam-scented streets--his father's right-hand man mentally but a +little off feed, as his chum, Reddy McTabb, used to say, when it came +to the matter of muscle and brawn. He could look back on things without +excitement now. Even hatred had burned itself out, and he found himself +wondering if old Judge Kirkstone's house looked the same on the top of +the hill, and if Miriam Kirkstone had come back to live there after +that terrible night when he had returned to avenge his father. + +Four years! It was not so very long, though the years had seemed like a +lifetime to him. There would not be many changes. Everything would be +the same--everything--except--the old home. That home he and his father +had planned, and they had overseen the building of it, a chateau of +logs a little distance from the town, with the Saskatchewan sweeping +below it and the forest at its doors. Masterless, it must have seen +changes in those four years. Fumbling in his pocket, his fingers +touched Conniston's watch. He drew it out and let the firelight play on +the open dial. It was ten o'clock. In the back of the premier half of +the case Conniston had at some time or another pasted a picture. It +must have been a long time ago, for the face was faded and indistinct. +The eyes alone were undimmed, and in the flash of the fire they took on +a living glow as they looked at Keith. It was the face of a young +girl--a schoolgirl, Keith thought, of ten or twelve. Yet the eyes +seemed older; they seemed pleading with someone, speaking a message +that had come spontaneously out of the soul of the child. Keith closed +the watch. Its tick, tick, tick rose louder to his ears. He dropped it +in his pocket. He could still hear it. + +A pitch-filled spruce knot exploded with the startling vividness of a +star bomb, and with it came a dull sort of mental shock to Keith. He +was sure that for an instant he had seen Conniston's face and that the +Englishman's eyes were looking at him as the eyes had looked at him out +of the face in the watch. The deception was so real that it sent him +back a step, staring, and then, his eyes striving to catch the illusion +again, there fell upon him a realization of the tremendous strain he +had been under for many hours. It had been days since he had slept +soundly. Yet he was not sleepy now; he scarcely felt fatigue. The +instinct of self-preservation made him arrange his sleeping-bag on a +carpet of spruce boughs in the tent and go to bed. + +Even then, for a long time, he lay in the grip of a harrowing +wakefulness. He closed his eyes, but it was impossible for him to hold +them closed. The sounds of the night came to him with painful +distinctness--the crackling of the fire, the serpent-like hiss of the +flaming pitch, the whispering of the tree tops, and the steady tick, +tick, tick of Conniston's watch. And out on the barren, through the rim +of sheltering trees, the wind was beginning to moan its everlasting +whimper and sob of loneliness. In spite of his clenched hands and his +fighting determination to hold it off, Keith fancied that he heard +again--riding strangely in that wind--the sound of Conniston's voice. +And suddenly he asked himself: What did it mean? What was it that +Conniston had forgotten? What was it that Conniston had been trying to +tell him all that day, when he had felt the presence of him in the +gloom of the Barrens? Was it that Conniston wanted him to come back? + +He tried to rid himself of the depressing insistence of that thought. +And yet he was certain that in the last half-hour before death entered +the cabin the Englishman had wanted to tell him something and had +crucified the desire. There was the triumph of an iron courage in those +last words, "Remember, old chap, you win or lose the moment McDowell +first sets his eyes on you!"--but in the next instant, as death sent +home its thrust, Keith had caught a glimpse of Conniston's naked soul, +and in that final moment when speech was gone forever, he knew that +Conniston was fighting to make his lips utter words which he had left +unspoken until too late. And Keith, listening to the moaning of the +wind and the crackling of the fire, found himself repeating over and +over again, "What was it he wanted to say?" + +In a lull in the wind Conniston's watch seemed to beat like a heart in +its case, and swiftly its tick, tick, ticked to his ears an answer, +"Come back, come back, come back!" + +With a cry at his own pitiable weakness, Keith thrust the thing far +under his sleeping-bag, and there its sound was smothered. At last +sleep overcame him like a restless anesthesia. + +With the break of another day he came out of his tent and stirred the +fire. There were still bits of burning ember, and these he fanned into +life and added to their flame fresh fuel. He could not easily forget +last night's torture, but its significance was gone. He laughed at his +own folly and wondered what Conniston himself would have thought of his +nervousness. For the first time in years he thought of the old days +down at college where, among other things, he had made a mark for +himself in psychology. He had considered himself an expert in the +discussion and understanding of phenomena of the mind. Afterward he had +lived up to the mark and had profited by his beliefs, and the fact that +a simple relaxation of his mental machinery had so disturbed him last +night amused him now. The solution was easy. It was his mind struggling +to equilibrium after four years of brain-fag. And he felt better. His +brain was clearer. He listened to the watch and found its ticking +natural. He braced himself to another effort and whistled as he +prepared his breakfast. + +After that he packed his dunnage and continued south. He wondered if +Conniston ever knew his Manual as he learned it now. At the end of the +sixth day he could repeat it from cover to cover. Every hour he made it +a practice to stop short and salute the trees about him. McDowell would +not catch him there. + +"I am Derwent Conniston," he kept telling himself. "John Keith is +dead--dead. I buried him back there under the cabin, the cabin built by +Sergeant Trossy and his patrol in nineteen hundred and eight. My name +is Conniston--Derwent Conniston." + +In his years of aloneness he had grown into the habit of talking to +himself--or with himself--to keep up his courage and sanity. "Keith, +old boy, we've got to fight it out," he would say. Now it was, +"Conniston, old chap, we'll win or die." After the third day, he never +spoke of John Keith except as a man who was dead. And over the dead +John Keith he spread Conniston's mantle. "John Keith died game, sir," +he said to McDowell, who was a tree. "He was the finest chap I ever +knew." + +On this sixth day came the miracle. For the first time in many months +John Keith saw the sun. He had seen the murky glow of it before this, +fighting to break through the pall of fog and haze that hung over the +Barrens, but this sixth day it was the sun, the real sun, bursting in +all its glory for a short space over the northern world. Each day after +this the sun was nearer and warmer, as the arctic vapor clouds and +frost smoke were left farther behind, and not until he had passed +beyond the ice fogs entirely did Keith swing westward. He did not +hurry, for now that he was out of his prison, he wanted time in which +to feel the first exhilarating thrill of his freedom. And more than all +else he knew that he must measure and test himself for the tremendous +fight ahead of him. + +Now that the sun and the blue sky had cleared his brain, he saw the +hundred pit-falls in his way, the hundred little slips that might be +made, the hundred traps waiting for any chance blunder on his part. +Deliberately he was on his way to the hangman. Down there--every day of +his life--he would rub elbows with him as he passed his fellow men in +the street. He would never completely feel himself out of the presence +of death. Day and night he must watch himself and guard himself, his +tongue, his feet, his thoughts, never knowing in what hour the eyes of +the law would pierce the veneer of his disguise and deliver his life as +the forfeit. There were times when the contemplation of these things +appalled him, and his mind turned to other channels of escape. And +then--always--he heard Conniston's cool, fighting voice, and the red +blood fired up in his veins, and he faced home. + +He was Derwent Conniston. And never for an hour could he put out of his +mind the one great mystifying question in this adventure of life and +death, who was Derwent Conniston? Shred by shred he pieced together +what little he knew, and always he arrived at the same futile end. An +Englishman, dead to his family if he had one, an outcast or an +expatriate--and the finest, bravest gentleman he had ever known. It was +the WHYFORE of these things that stirred within him an emotion which he +had never experienced before. The Englishman had grimly and +determinedly taken his secret to the grave with him. To him, John +Keith--who was now Derwent Conniston--he had left an heritage of deep +mystery and the mission, if he so chose, of discovering who he was, +whence he had come--and why. Often he looked at the young girl's +picture in the watch, and always he saw in her eyes something which +made him think of Conniston as he lay in the last hour of his life. +Undoubtedly the girl had grown into a woman now. + +Days grew into weeks, and under Keith's feet the wet, sweet-smelling +earth rose up through the last of the slush snow. Three hundred miles +below the Barrens, he was in the Reindeer Lake country early in May. +For a week he rested at a trapper's cabin on the Burntwood, and after +that set out for Cumberland House. Ten days later he arrived at the +post, and in the sunlit glow of the second evening afterward he built +his camp-fire on the shore of the yellow Saskatchewan. + +The mighty river, beloved from the days of his boyhood, sang to him +again, that night, the wonderful things that time and grief had dimmed +in his heart. The moon rose over it, a warm wind drifted out of the +south, and Keith, smoking his pipe, sat for a long time listening to +the soft murmur of it as it rolled past at his feet. For him it had +always been more than the river. He had grown up with it, and it had +become a part of him; it had mothered his earliest dreams and +ambitions; on it he had sought his first adventures; it had been his +chum, his friend, and his comrade, and the fancy struck him that in the +murmuring voice of it tonight there was a gladness, a welcome, an +exultation in his return. He looked out on its silvery bars shimmering +in the moonlight, and a flood of memories swept upon him. Thirty years +was not so long ago that he could not remember the beautiful mother who +had told him stories as the sun went down and bedtime drew near. And +vividly there stood out the wonderful tales of Kistachiwun, the river; +how it was born away over in the mystery of the western mountains, away +from the eyes and feet of men; how it came down from the mountains into +the hills, and through the hills into the plains, broadening and +deepening and growing mightier with every mile, until at last it swept +past their door, bearing with it the golden grains of sand that made +men rich. His father had pointed out the deep-beaten trails of buffalo +to him and had told him stories of the Indians and of the land before +white men came, so that between father and mother the river became his +book of fables, his wonderland, the never-ending source of his +treasured tales of childhood. And tonight the river was the one thing +left to him. It was the one friend he could claim again, the one +comrade he could open his arms to without fear of betrayal. And with +the grief for things that once had lived and were now dead, there came +over him a strange sort of happiness, the spirit of the great river +itself giving him consolation. + +Stretching out his arms, he cried: "My old river--it's me--Johnny +Keith! I've come back!" + +And the river, whispering, seemed to answer him: "It's Johnny Keith! +And he's come back! He's come back!" + + + +IV + +For a week John Keith followed up the shores of the Saskatchewan. It +was a hundred and forty miles from the Hudson's Bay Company's post of +Cumberland House to Prince Albert as the crow would fly, but Keith did +not travel a homing line. Only now and then did he take advantage of a +portage trail. Clinging to the river, his journey was lengthened by +some sixty miles. Now that the hour for which Conniston had prepared +him was so close at hand, he felt the need of this mighty, tongueless +friend that had played such an intimate part in his life. It gave to +him both courage and confidence, and in its company he could think more +clearly. Nights he camped on its golden-yellow bars with the open stars +over his head when he slept; his ears drank in the familiar sounds of +long ago, for which he had yearned to the point of madness in his +exile--the soft cries of the birds that hunted and mated in the glow of +the moon, the friendly twit, twit, twit of the low-flying sand-pipers, +the hoot of the owls, and the splash and sleepy voice of wildfowl +already on their way up from the south. Out of that south, where in +places the plains swept the forest back almost to the river's edge, he +heard now and then the doglike barking of his little yellow friends of +many an exciting horseback chase, the coyotes, and on the wilderness +side, deep in the forest, the sinister howling of wolves. He was +traveling, literally, the narrow pathway between two worlds. The river +was that pathway. On the one hand, not so very far away, were the +rolling prairies, green fields of grain, settlements and towns and the +homes of men; on the other the wilderness lay to the water's edge with +its doors still open to him. The seventh day a new sound came to his +ears at dawn. It was the whistle of a train at Prince Albert. + +There was no change in that whistle, and every nerve-string in his body +responded to it with crying thrill. It was the first voice to greet his +home-coming, and the sound of it rolled the yesterdays back upon him in +a deluge. He knew where he was now; he recalled exactly what he would +find at the next turn in the river. A few minutes later he heard the +wheezy chug, chug, chug of the old gold dredge at McCoffin's Bend. It +would be the Betty M., of course, with old Andy Duggan at the windlass, +his black pipe in mouth, still scooping up the shifting sands as he had +scooped them up for more than twenty years. He could see Andy sitting +at his post, clouded in a halo of tobacco smoke, a red-bearded, +shaggy-headed giant of a man whom the town affectionately called the +River Pirate. All his life Andy had spent in digging gold out of the +mountains or the river, and like grim death he had hung to the bars +above and below McCoffin's Bend. Keith smiled as he remembered old +Andy's passion for bacon. One could always find the perfume of bacon +about the Betty M., and when Duggan went to town, there were those who +swore they could smell it in his whiskers. + +Keith left the river trail now for the old logging road. In spite of +his long fight to steel himself for what Conniston had called the +"psychological moment," he felt himself in the grip of an uncomfortable +mental excitement. At last he was face to face with the great gamble. +In a few hours he would play his one card. If he won, there was life +ahead of him again, if he lost--death. The old question which he had +struggled to down surged upon him. Was it worth the chance? Was it in +an hour of madness that he and Conniston had pledged themselves to this +amazing adventure? The forest was still with him. He could turn back. +The game had not yet gone so far that he could not withdraw his +hand--and for a space a powerful impulse moved him. And then, coming +suddenly to the edge of the clearing at McCoffin's Bend, he saw the +dredge close inshore, and striding up from the beach Andy Duggan +himself! In another moment Keith had stepped forth and was holding up a +hand in greeting. + +He felt his heart thumping in an unfamiliar way as Duggan came on. Was +it conceivable that the riverman would not recognize him? He forgot his +beard, forgot the great change that four years had wrought in him. He +remembered only that Duggan had been his friend, that a hundred times +they had sat together in the quiet glow of long evenings, telling tales +of the great river they both loved. And always Duggan's stories had +been of that mystic paradise hidden away in the western mountains--the +river's end, the paradise of golden lure, where the Saskatchewan was +born amid towering peaks, and where Duggan--a long time ago--had +quested for the treasure which he knew was hidden somewhere there. Four +years had not changed Duggan. If anything his beard was redder and +thicker and his hair shaggier than when Keith had last seen him. And +then, following him from the Betsy M., Keith caught the everlasting +scent of bacon. He devoured it in deep breaths. His soul cried out for +it. Once he had grown tired of Duggan's bacon, but now he felt that he +could go on eating it forever. As Duggan advanced, he was moved by a +tremendous desire to stretch out his hand and say: "I'm John Keith. +Don't you know me, Duggan?" Instead, he choked back his desire and +said, "Fine morning!" + +Duggan nodded uncertainly. He was evidently puzzled at not being able +to place his man. "It's always fine on the river, rain 'r shine. +Anybody who says it ain't is a God A'mighty liar!" + +He was still the old Duggan, ready to fight for his river at the drop +of a hat! Keith wanted to hug him. He shifted his pack and said: + +"I've slept with it for a week--just to have it for company--on the way +down from Cumberland House. Seems good to get back!" He took off his +hat and met the riverman's eyes squarely. "Do you happen to know if +McDowell is at barracks?" he asked. + +"He is," said Duggan. + +That was all. He was looking at Keith with a curious directness. Keith +held his breath. He would have given a good deal to have seen behind +Duggan's beard. There was a hard note in the riverman's voice, too. It +puzzled him. And there was a flash of sullen fire in his eyes at the +mention of McDowell's name. "The Inspector's there--sittin' tight," he +added, and to Keith's amazement brushed past him without another word +and disappeared into the bush. + +This, at least, was not like the good-humored Duggan of four years ago. +Keith replaced his hat and went on. At the farther side of the clearing +he turned and looked back. Duggan stood in the open roadway, his hands +thrust deep in his pockets, staring after him. Keith waved his hand, +but Duggan did not respond. He stood like a sphinx, his big red beard +glowing in the early sun, and watched Keith until he was gone. + +To Keith this first experiment in the matter of testing an identity was +a disappointment. It was not only disappointing but filled him with +apprehension. It was true that Duggan had not recognized him as John +Keith, BUT NEITHER HAD HE RECOGNIZED HIM AS DERWENT CONNISTON! And +Duggan was not a man to forget in three or four years--or half a +lifetime, for that matter. He saw himself facing a new and unexpected +situation. What if McDowell, like Duggan, saw in him nothing more than +a stranger? The Englishman's last words pounded in his head again like +little fists beating home a truth, "You win or lose the moment McDowell +first sets his eyes on you." They pressed upon him now with a deadly +significance. For the first time he understood all that Conniston had +meant. His danger was not alone in the possibility of being recognized +as John Keith; it lay also in the hazard of NOT being recognized as +Derwent Conniston. + +If the thought had come to him to turn back, if the voice of fear and a +premonition of impending evil had urged him to seek freedom in another +direction, their whispered cautions were futile in the thrill of the +greater excitement that possessed him now. That there was a third hand +playing in this game of chance in which Conniston had already lost his +life, and in which he was now staking his own, was something which gave +to Keith a new and entirely unlooked-for desire to see the end of the +adventure. The mental vision of his own certain fate, should he lose, +dissolved into a nebulous presence that no longer oppressed nor +appalled him. Physical instinct to fight against odds, the inspiration +that presages the uncertainty of battle, fired his blood with an +exhilarating eagerness. He was anxious to stand face to face with +McDowell. Not until then would the real fight begin. For the first time +the fact seized upon him that the Englishman was wrong--he would NOT +win or lose in the first moment of the Inspector's scrutiny. In that +moment he could lose--McDowell's cleverly trained eyes might detect the +fraud; but to win, if the game was not lost at the first shot, meant an +exciting struggle. Today might be his Armageddon, but it could not +possess the hour of his final triumph. + +He felt himself now like a warrior held in leash within sound of the +enemy's guns and the smell of his powder. He held his old world to be +his enemy, for civilization meant people, and the people were the +law--and the law wanted his life. Never had he possessed a deeper +hatred for the old code of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth +than in this hour when he saw up the valley a gray mist of smoke rising +over the roofs of his home town. He had never conceded within himself +that he was a criminal. He believed that in killing Kirkstone he had +killed a serpent who had deserved to die, and a hundred times he had +told himself that the job would have been much more satisfactory from +the view-point of human sanitation if he had sent the son in the +father's footsteps. He had rid the people of a man not fit to live--and +the people wanted to kill him for it. Therefore the men and women in +that town he had once loved, and still loved, were his enemies, and to +find friends among them again he was compelled to perpetrate a clever +fraud. + +He remembered an unboarded path from this side of the town, which +entered an inconspicuous little street at the end of which was a barber +shop. It was the barber shop which he must reach first He was glad that +it was early in the day when he came to the street an hour later, for +he would meet few people. The street had changed considerably. Long, +open spaces had filled in with houses, and he wondered if the +anticipated boom of four years ago had come. He smiled grimly as the +humor of the situation struck him. His father and he had staked their +future in accumulating a lot of "outside" property. If the boom had +materialized, that property was "inside" now--and worth a great deal. +Before he reached the barber shop he realized that the dream of the +Prince Albertites had come true. Prosperity had advanced upon them in +mighty leaps. The population of the place had trebled. He was a rich +man! And also, it occurred to him, he was a dead one--or would be when +he reported officially to McDowell. What a merry scrap there would be +among the heirs of John Keith, deceased! + +The old shop still clung to its corner, which was valuable as "business +footage" now. But it possessed a new barber. He was alone. Keith gave +his instructions in definite detail and showed him Conniston's +photograph in his identification book. The beard and mustache must be +just so, very smart, decidedly English, and of military neatness, his +hair cut not too short and brushed smoothly back. When the operation +was over, he congratulated the barber and himself. Bronzed to the color +of an Indian by wind and smoke, straight as an arrow, his muscles +swelling with the brute strength of the wilderness, he smiled at +himself in the mirror when he compared the old John Keith with this new +Derwent Conniston! Before he went out he tightened his belt a notch. +Then he headed straight for the barracks of His Majesty's Royal +Northwest Mounted Police. + +His way took him up the main street, past the rows of shops that had +been there four years ago, past the Saskatchewan Hotel and the little +Board of Trade building which, like the old barber shop, still hung to +its original perch at the edge of the high bank which ran precipitously +down to the river. And there, as sure as fate, was Percival Clary, the +little English Secretary! But what a different Percy! + +He had broadened out and straightened up. He had grown a mustache, +which was immaculately waxed. His trousers were immaculately creased, +his shoes were shining, and he stood before the door of his now +important office resting lightly on a cane. Keith grinned as he +witnessed how prosperity had bolstered up Percival along with the town. +His eyes quested for familiar faces as he went along. Here and there he +saw one, but for the most part he encountered strangers, lively looking +men who were hustling as if they had a mission in hand. Glaring real +estate signs greeted him from every place of prominence, and +automobiles began to hum up and down the main street that stretched +along the river--twenty where there had been one not so long ago. + +Keith found himself fighting to keep his eyes straight ahead when he +met a girl or a woman. Never had he believed fully and utterly in the +angelhood of the feminine until now. He passed perhaps a dozen on the +way to barracks, and he was overwhelmed with the desire to stop and +feast his eyes upon each one of them. He had never been a lover of +women; he admired them, he believed them to be the better part of man, +he had worshiped his mother, but his heart had been neither glorified +nor broken by a passion for the opposite sex. Now, to the bottom of his +soul, he worshiped that dozen! Some of them were homely, some of them +were plain, two or three of them were pretty, but to Keith their +present physical qualifications made no difference. They were white +women, and they were glorious, every one of them! The plainest of them +was lovely. He wanted to throw up his hat and shout in sheer joy. Four +years--and now he was back in angel land! For a space he forgot +McDowell. + +His head was in a whirl when he came to barracks. Life was good, after +all. It was worth fighting for, and he was bound fight. He went +straight to McDowell's office. A moment after his knock on the door the +Inspector's secretary appeared. + +"The Inspector is busy, sir," he said in response to Keith's inquiry. +"I'll tell him--" + +"That I am here on a very important matter," advised Keith. "He will +admit me when you tell him that I bring information regarding a certain +John Keith." + +The secretary disappeared through an inner door. It seemed not more +than ten seconds before he was back. "The Inspector will see you, sir." + +Keith drew a deep breath to quiet the violent beating of his heart. In +spite of all his courage he felt upon him the clutch of a cold and +foreboding hand, a hand that seemed struggling to drag him back. And +again he heard Conniston's dying voice whispering to him, "REMEMBER, +OLD CHAP, YOU WIN OR LOSE THE MOMENT MCDOWELL FIRST SETS HIS EYES ON +YOU!" + +Was Conniston right? + +Win or lose, he would play the game as the Englishman would have played +it. Squaring his shoulders he entered to face McDowell, the cleverest +man-hunter in the Northwest. + + + +V + +Keith's first vision, as he entered the office of the Inspector of +Police, was not of McDowell, but of a girl. She sat directly facing him +as he advanced through the door, the light from a window throwing into +strong relief her face and hair. The effect was unusual. She was +strikingly handsome. The sun, giving to the room a soft radiance, lit +up her hair with shimmering gold; her eyes, Keith saw, were a clear and +wonderful gray--and they stared at him as he entered, while the poise +of her body and the tenseness of her face gave evidence of sudden and +unusual emotion. These things Keith observed in a flash; then he turned +toward McDowell. + +The Inspector sat behind a table covered with maps and papers, and +instantly Keith was conscious of the penetrating inquisition of his +gaze. He felt, for an instant, the disquieting tremor of the criminal. +Then he met McDowell's eyes squarely. They were, as Conniston had +warned him, eyes that could see through boiler-plate. Of an indefinable +color and deep set behind shaggy, gray eyebrows, they pierced him +through at the first glance. Keith took in the carefully waxed gray +mustaches, the close-cropped gray hair, the rigidly set muscles of the +man's face, and saluted. + +He felt creeping over him a slow chill. There was no greeting in that +iron-like countenance, for full a quarter-minute no sign of +recognition. And then, as the sun had played in the girl's hair, a new +emotion passed over McDowell's face, and Keith saw for the first time +the man whom Derwent Conniston had known as a friend as well as a +superior. He rose from his chair, and leaning over the table said in a +voice in which were mingled both amazement and pleasure: + +"We were just talking about the devil--and here you are, sir! +Conniston, how are you?" + +For a few moments Keith did not see. HE HAD WON! The blood pounded +through his heart so violently that it confused his vision and his +senses. He felt the grip of McDowell's hand; he heard his voice; a +vision swam before his eyes--and it was the vision of Derwent +Conniston's triumphant face. He was standing erect, his head was up, he +was meeting McDowell shoulder to shoulder, even smiling, but in that +swift surge of exultation he did not know. McDowell, still gripping his +hand and with his other hand on his arm, was wheeling him about, and he +found the girl on her feet, staring at him as if he had newly risen +from the dead. + +McDowell's military voice was snapping vibrantly, "Conniston, meet Miss +Miriam Kirkstone, daughter of Judge Kirkstone!" + +He bowed and held for a moment in his own the hand of the girl whose +father he had killed. It was lifeless and cold. Her lips moved, merely +speaking his name. His own were mute. McDowell was saying something +about the glory of the service and the sovereignty of the law. And +then, breaking in like the beat of a drum on the introduction, his +voice demanded, "Conniston--DID YOU GET YOUR MAN?" + +The question brought Keith to his senses. He inclined his head slightly +and said, "I beg to report that John Keith is dead, sir." + +He saw Miriam Kirkstone give a visible start, as if his words had +carried a stab. She was apparently making a strong effort to hide her +agitation as she turned swiftly away from him, speaking to McDowell. + +"You have been very kind, Inspector McDowell. I hope very soon to have +the pleasure of talking with Mr. Conniston--about--John Keith." + +She left them, nodding slightly to Keith. + +When she was gone, a puzzled look filled the Inspector's eyes. "She has +been like that for the last six months," he explained. "Tremendously +interested in this man Keith and his fate. I don't believe that I have +watched for your return more anxiously than she has, Conniston. And the +curious part of it is she seemed to have no interest in the matter at +all until six months ago. Sometimes I am afraid that brooding over her +father's death has unsettled her a little. A mighty pretty girl, +Conniston. A mighty pretty girl, indeed! And her brother is a skunk. +Pst! You haven't forgotten him?" + +He drew a chair up close to his own and motioned Keith to be seated. +"You're changed, Conniston!" + +The words came out of him like a shot. So unexpected were they that +Keith felt the effect of them in every nerve of his body. He sensed +instantly what McDowell meant. He was NOT like the Englishman; he +lacked his mannerisms, his cool and superior suavity, the inimitable +quality of his nerve and sportsmanship. Even as he met the disquieting +directness of the Inspector's eyes, he could see Conniston sitting in +his place, rolling his mustache between his forefinger and thumb, and +smiling as though he had gone into the north but yesterday and had +returned today. That was what McDowell was missing in him, the soul of +Conniston himself--Conniston, the ne plus ultra of presence and amiable +condescension, the man who could look the Inspector or the High +Commissioner himself between the eyes, and, serenely indifferent to +Service regulations, say, "Fine morning, old top!" Keith was not +without his own sense of humor. How the Englishman's ghost must be +raging if it was in the room at the present moment! He grinned and +shrugged his shoulders. + +"Were you ever up there--through the Long Night--alone?" he asked. +"Ever been through six months of living torture with the stars leering +at you and the foxes barking at you all the time, fighting to keep +yourself from going mad? I went through that twice to get John Keith, +and I guess you're right. I'm changed. I don't think I'll ever be the +same again. Something--has gone. I can't tell what it is, but I feel +it. I guess only half of me pulled through. It killed John Keith. +Rotten, isn't it?" + +He felt that he had made a lucky stroke. McDowell pulled out a drawer +from under the table and thrust a box of fat cigars under his nose. + +"Light up, Derry--light up and tell us what happened. Bless my soul, +you're not half dead! A week in the old town will straighten you out." + +He struck a match and held it to the tip of Keith's cigar. + +For an hour thereafter Keith told the story of the man-hunt. It was his +Iliad. He could feel the presence of Conniston as words fell from his +lips; he forgot the presence of the stern-faced man who was watching +him and listening to him; he could see once more only the long months +and years of that epic drama of one against one, of pursuit and flight, +of hunger and cold, of the Long Nights filled with the desolation of +madness and despair. He triumphed over himself, and it was Conniston +who spoke from within him. It was the Englishman who told how terribly +John Keith had been punished, and when he came to the final days in the +lonely little cabin in the edge of the Barrens, Keith finished with a +choking in his throat, and the words, "And that was how John Keith +died--a gentleman and a MAN!" + +He was thinking of the Englishman, of the calm and fearless smile in +his eyes as he died, of his last words, the last friendly grip of his +hand, and McDowell saw the thing as though he had faced it himself. He +brushed a hand over his face as if to wipe away a film. For some +moments after Keith had finished, he stood with his back to the man who +he thought was Conniston, and his mind was swiftly adding twos and twos +and fours and fours as he looked away into the green valley of the +Saskatchewan. He was the iron man when he turned to Keith again, the +law itself, merciless and potent, by some miracle turned into the form +of human flesh. + +"After two and a half years of THAT even a murderer must have seemed +like a saint to you, Conniston. You have done your work splendidly. The +whole story shall go to the Department, and if it doesn't bring you a +commission, I'll resign. But we must continue to regret that John Keith +did not live to be hanged." + +"He has paid the price," said Keith dully. + +"No, he has not paid the price, not in full. He merely died. It could +have been paid only at the end of a rope. His crime was atrociously +brutal, the culmination of a fiend's desire for revenge. We will wipe +off his name. But I can not wipe away the regret. I would sacrifice a +year of my life if he were in this room with you now. It would be worth +it. God, what a thing for the Service--to have brought John Keith back +to justice after four years!" + +He was rubbing his hands and smiling at Keith even as he spoke. His +eyes had taken on a filmy glitter. The law! It stood there, without +heart or soul, coveting the life that had escaped it. A feeling of +revulsion swept over Keith. + +A knock came at the door. + +McDowell's voice gave permission, and the door slowly opened. Cruze, +the young secretary, thrust in his head. + +"Shan Tung is waiting, sir," he said. + +An invisible hand reached up suddenly and gripped at Keith's throat. He +turned aside to conceal what his face might have betrayed. Shan Tung! +He knew what it was now that had pulled him back, he knew why +Conniston's troubled face had traveled with him over the Barrens, and +there surged over him with a sickening foreboding, a realization of +what it was that Conniston had remembered and wanted to tell him--when +it was too late. THEY HAD FORGOTTEN SHAN TUNG, THE CHINAMAN! + + + +VI + +In the hall beyond the secretary's room Shan Tung waited. As McDowell +was the iron and steel embodiment of the law, so Shan Tung was the +flesh and blood spirit of the mysticism and immutability of his race. +His face was the face of an image made of an unemotional living tissue +in place of wood or stone, dispassionate, tolerant, patient. What +passed in the brain behind his yellow-tinged eyes only Shan Tung knew. +It was his secret. And McDowell had ceased to analyze or attempt to +understand him. The law, baffled in its curiosity, had come to accept +him as a weird and wonderful mechanism--a thing more than a +man--possessed of an unholy power. This power was the oriental's +marvelous ability to remember faces. Once Shan Tung looked at a face, +it was photographed in his memory for years. Time and change could not +make him forget--and the law made use of him. + +Briefly McDowell had classified him at Headquarters. "Either an exiled +prime minister of China or the devil in a yellow skin," he had written +to the Commissioner. "Correct age unknown and past history a mystery. +Dropped into Prince Albert in 1908 wearing diamonds and patent leather +shoes. A stranger then and a stranger now. Proprietor and owner of the +Shan Tung Cafe. Educated, soft-spoken, womanish, but the one man on +earth I'd hate to be in a dark room with, knives drawn. I use him, +mistrust him, watch him, and would fear him under certain conditions. +As far as we can discover, he is harmless and law-abiding. But such a +ferret must surely have played his game somewhere, at some time." + +This was the man whom Conniston had forgotten and Keith now dreaded to +meet. For many minutes Shan Tung had stood at a window looking out upon +the sunlit drillground and the broad sweep of green beyond. He was +toying with his slim hands caressingly. Half a smile was on his lips. +No man had ever seen more than that half smile illuminate Shan Tung's +face. His black hair was sleek and carefully trimmed. His dress was +immaculate. His slimness, as McDowell had noted, was the slimness of a +young girl. + +When Cruze came to announce that McDowell would see him, Shan Tung was +still visioning the golden-headed figure of Miriam Kirkstone as he had +seen her passing through the sunshine. There was something like a purr +in his breath as he stood interlacing his tapering fingers. The instant +he heard the secretary's footsteps the finger play stopped, the purr +died, the half smile was gone. He turned softly. Cruze did not speak. +He simply made a movement of his head, and Shan Tung's feet fell +noiselessly. Only the slight sound made by the opening and closing of a +door gave evidence of his entrance into the Inspector's room. Shan Tung +and no other could open and close a door like that. Cruze shivered. He +always shivered when Shan Tung passed him, and always he swore that he +could smell something in the air, like a poison left behind. + +Keith, facing the window, was waiting. The moment the door was opened, +he felt Shan Tung's presence. Every nerve in his body was keyed to an +uncomfortable tension. The thought that his grip on himself was +weakening, and because of a Chinaman, maddened him. And he must turn. +Not to face Shan Tung now would be but a postponement of the ordeal and +a confession of cowardice. Forcing his hand into Conniston's little +trick of twisting a mustache, he turned slowly, leveling his eyes +squarely to meet Shan Tung's. + +To his surprise Shan Tung seemed utterly oblivious of his presence. He +had not, apparently, taken more than a casual glance in his direction. +In a voice which one beyond the door might have mistaken for a woman's, +he was saying to McDowell: + +"I have seen the man you sent me to see, Mr. McDowell. It is Larsen. He +has changed much in eight years. He has grown a beard. He has lost an +eye. His hair has whitened. But it is Larsen." The faultlessness of his +speech and the unemotional but perfect inflection of his words made +Keith, like the young secretary, shiver where he stood. In McDowell's +face he saw a flash of exultation. + +"He had no suspicion of you, Shan Tung?" + +"He did not see me to suspect. He will be there--when--" Slowly he +faced Keith. "--When Mr. Conniston goes to arrest him," he finished. + +He inclined his head as he backed noiselessly toward the door. His +yellow eyes did not leave Keith's face. In them Keith fancied that he +caught a sinister gleam. There was the faintest inflection of a new +note in his voice, and his fingers were playing again, but not as when +he had looked out through the window at Miriam Kirkstone. And then--in +a flash, it seemed to Keith--the Chinaman's eyes closed to narrow +slits, and the pupils became points of flame no larger than the +sharpened ends of a pair of pencils. The last that Keith was conscious +of seeing of Shan Tung was the oriental's eyes. They had seemed to drag +his soul half out of his body. + +"A queer devil," said McDowell. "After he is gone, I always feel as if +a snake had been in the room. He still hates you, Conniston. Three +years have made no difference. He hates you like poison. I believe he +would kill you, if he had a chance to do it and get away with the +Business. And you--you blooming idiot--simply twiddle your mustache and +laugh at him! I'd feel differently if I were in your boots." + +Inwardly Keith was asking himself why it was that Shan Tung had hated +Conniston. + +McDowell added nothing to enlighten him. He was gathering up a number +of papers scattered on his desk, smiling with a grim satisfaction. +"It's Larsen all right if Shan Tung says so," he told Keith. And then, +as if he had only thought of the matter, he said, "You're going to +reenlist, aren't you, Conniston?" + +"I still owe the Service a month or so before my term expires, don't I? +After that--yes--I believe I shall reenlist." + +"Good!" approved the Inspector. "I'll have you a sergeancy within a +month. Meanwhile you're off duty and may do anything you please. You +know Brady, the Company agent? He's up the Mackenzie on a trip, and +here's the key to his shack. I know you'll appreciate getting under a +real roof again, and Brady won't object as long as I collect his thirty +dollars a month rent. Of course Barracks is open to you, but it just +occurred to me you might prefer this place while on furlough. +Everything is there from a bathtub to nutcrackers, and I know a little +Jap in town who is hunting a job as a cook. What do you say?" + +"Splendid!" cried Keith. "I'll go up at once, and if you'll hustle the +Jap along, I'll appreciate it. You might tell him to bring up stuff for +dinner," he added. + +McDowell gave him a key. Ten minutes later he was out of sight of +barracks and climbing a green slope that led to Brady's bungalow. + +In spite of the fact that he had not played his part brilliantly, he +believed that he had scored a triumph. Andy Duggan had not recognized +him, and the riverman had been one of his most intimate friends. +McDowell had accepted him apparently without a suspicion. And Shan +Tung-- + +It was Shan Tung who weighed heavily upon his mind, even as his nerves +tingled with the thrill of success. He could not get away from the +vision of the Chinaman as he had backed through the Inspector's door, +the flaming needle-points of his eyes piercing him as he went. It was +not hatred he had seen in Shan Tung's face. He was sure of that. It was +no emotion that he could describe. It was as if a pair of mechanical +eyes fixed in the head of an amazingly efficient mechanical monster had +focused themselves on him in those few instants. It made him think of +an X-ray machine. But Shan Tung was human. And he was clever. Given +another skin, one would not have taken him for what he was. The +immaculateness of his speech and manners was more than unusual; it was +positively irritating, something which no Chinaman should rightfully +possess. So argued Keith as he went up to Brady's bungalow. + +He tried to throw off the oppression of the thing that was creeping +over him, the growing suspicion that he had not passed safely under the +battery of Shan Tung's eyes. With physical things he endeavored to +thrust his mental uneasiness into the background. He lighted one of the +half-dozen cigars McDowell had dropped into his pocket. It was good to +feel a cigar between his teeth again and taste its flavor. At the crest +of the slope on which Brady's bungalow stood, he stopped and looked +about him. Instinctively his eyes turned first to the west. In that +direction half of the town lay under him, and beyond its edge swept the +timbered slopes, the river, and the green pathways of the plains. His +heart beat a little faster as he looked. Half a mile away was a tiny, +parklike patch of timber, and sheltered there, with the river running +under it, was the old home. The building was hidden, but through a +break in the trees he could see the top of the old red brick chimney +glowing in the sun, as if beckoning a welcome to him over the tree +tops. He forgot Shan Tung; he forgot McDowell; he forgot that he was +John Keith, the murderer, in the overwhelming sea of loneliness that +swept over him. He looked out into the world that had once been his, +and all that he saw was that red brick chimney glowing in the sun, and +the chimney changed until at last it seemed to him like a tombstone +rising over the graves of the dead. He turned to the door of the +bungalow with a thickening in his throat and his eyes filmed by a mist +through which for a few moments it was difficult for him to see. + +The bungalow was darkened by drawn curtains when he entered. One after +another he let them up, and the sun poured in. Brady had left his place +in order, and Keith felt about him an atmosphere of cheer that was a +mighty urge to his flagging spirits. Brady was a home man without a +wife. The Company's agent had called his place "The Shack" because it +was built entirely of logs, and a woman could not have made it more +comfortable. Keith stood in the big living-room. At one end was a +strong fireplace in which kindlings and birch were already laid, +waiting the touch of a match. Brady's reading table and his easy chair +were drawn up close; his lounging moccasins were on a footstool; pipes, +tobacco, books and magazines littered the table; and out of this +cheering disorder rose triumphantly the amber shoulder of a half-filled +bottle of Old Rye. + +Keith found himself chuckling. His grin met the lifeless stare of a +pair of glass eyes in the huge head of an old bull moose over the +mantel, and after that his gaze rambled over the walls ornamented with +mounted heads, pictures, snowshoes, gun-racks and the things which went +to make up the comradeship and business of Brady's picturesque life. +Keith could look through into the little dining-room, and beyond that +was the kitchen. He made an inventory of both and found that McDowell +was right. There were nutcrackers in Brady's establishment. And he +found the bathroom. It was not much larger than a piano box, but the +tub was man's size, and Keith raised a window and poked his head out to +find that it was connected with a rainwater tank built by a genius, +just high enough to give weight sufficient for a water system and low +enough to gather the rain as it fell from the eaves. He laughed +outright, the sort of laugh that comes out of a man's soul not when he +is amused but when he is pleased. By the time he had investigated the +two bedrooms, he felt a real affection for Brady. He selected the +agent's room for his own. Here, too, were pipes and tobacco and books +and magazines, and a reading lamp on a table close to the bedside. Not +until he had made a closer inspection of the living-room did he +discover that the Shack also had a telephone. + +By that time he noted that the sun had gone out. Driving up from the +west was a mass of storm clouds. He unlocked a door from which he could +look up the river, and the wind that was riding softly in advance of +the storm ruffled his hair and cooled his face. In it he caught again +the old fancy--the smells of the vast reaches of unpeopled prairie +beyond the rim of the forest, and the luring chill of the distant +mountain tops. Always storm that came down with the river brought to +him voice from the river's end. It came to him from the great mountains +that were a passion with him; it seemed to thunder to him the old +stories of the mightiest fastnesses of the Rockies and stirred in him +the child-bred yearning to follow up his beloved river until he came at +last to the mystery of its birthplace in the cradle of the western +ranges. And now, as he faced the storm, the grip of that desire held +him like a strong hand. + +The sky blackened swiftly, and with the rumbling of far-away thunder he +saw the lightning slitting the dark heaven like bayonets, and the fire +of the electrical charges galloped to him and filled his veins. His +heart all at once cried out words that his lips did not utter. Why +should he not answer the call that had come to him through all the +years? Now was the time--and why should he not go? Why tempt fate in +the hazard of a great adventure where home and friends and even hope +were dead to him, when off there beyond the storm was the place of his +dreams? He threw out his arms. His voice broke at last in a cry of +strange ecstasy. Not everything was gone! Not everything was dead! Over +the graveyard of his past there was sweeping a mighty force that called +him, something that was no longer merely an urge and a demand but a +thing that was irresistible. He would go! Tomorrow--today--tonight--he +would begin making plans! + +He watched the deluge as it came on with a roar of wind, a beating, +hissing wall under which the tree tops down in the edge of the plain +bent their heads like a multitude of people in prayer. He saw it +sweeping up the slope in a mass of gray dragoons. It caught him before +he had closed the door, and his face dripped with wet as he forced the +last inch of it against the wind with his shoulder. It was the sort of +storm Keith liked. The thunder was the rumble of a million giant +cartwheels rolling overhead. + +Inside the bungalow it was growing dark as though evening had come. He +dropped on his knees before the pile of dry fuel in the fireplace and +struck a match. For a space the blaze smoldered; then the birch fired +up like oil-soaked tinder, and a yellow flame crackled and roared up +the flue. Keith was sensitive in the matter of smoking other people's +pipes, so he drew out his own and filled it with Brady's tobacco. It +was an English mixture, rich and aromatic, and as the fire burned +brighter and the scent of the tobacco filled the room, he dropped into +Brady's big lounging chair and stretched out his legs with a deep +breath of satisfaction. His thoughts wandered to the clash of the +storm. He would have a place like this out there in the mystery of the +trackless mountains, where the Saskatchewan was born. He would build it +like Brady's place, even to the rain-water tank midway between the roof +and the ground. And after a few years no one would remember that a man +named John Keith had ever lived. + +Something brought him suddenly to his feet. It was the ringing of the +telephone. After four years the sound was one that roused with an +uncomfortable jump every nerve in his body. Probably it was McDowell +calling up about the Jap or to ask how he liked the place. Probably--it +was that. He repeated the thought aloud as he laid his pipe on the +table. And yet as his hand came in contact with the telephone, he felt +an inclination to draw back. A subtle voice whispered him not to +answer, to leave while the storm was dark, to go back into the +wilderness, to fight his way to the western mountains. + +With a jerk he unhooked the receiver and put it to his ear. + +It was not McDowell who answered him. It was not Shan Tung. To his +amazement, coming to him through the tumult of the storm, he recognized +the voice of Miriam Kirkstone! + + + +VII + +Why should Miriam Kirkstone call him up in an hour when the sky was +livid with the flash of lightning and the earth trembled with the roll +of thunder? This was the question that filled Keith's mind as he +listened to the voice at the other end of the wire. It was pitched to a +high treble as if unconsciously the speaker feared that the storm might +break in upon her words. She was telling him that she had telephoned +McDowell but had been too late to catch him before he left for Brady's +bungalow; she was asking him to pardon her for intruding upon his time +so soon after his return, but she was sure that he would understand +her. She wanted him to come up to see her that evening at eight +o'clock. It was important--to her. Would he come? + +Before Keith had taken a moment to consult with himself he had replied +that he would. He heard her "thank you," her "good-by," and hung up the +receiver, stunned. So far as he could remember, he had spoken no more +than seven words. The beautiful young woman up at the Kirkstone mansion +had clearly betrayed her fear of the lightning by winding up her +business with him at the earliest possible moment. Why, then, had she +not waited until the storm was over? + +A pounding at the door interrupted his thought. He went to it and +admitted an individual who, in spite of his water-soaked condition, was +smiling all over. It was Wallie, the Jap. He was no larger than a boy +of sixteen, and from eyes, ears, nose, and hair he was dripping +streams, while his coat bulged with packages which he had struggled to +protect, from the torrent through which he had forced his way up the +hill. Keith liked him on the instant. He found himself powerless to +resist the infection of Wallie's grin, and as Wallie hustled into the +kitchen like a wet spaniel, he followed and helped him unload. By the +time the little Jap had disgorged his last package, he had assured +Keith that the rain was nice, that his name was Wallie, that he +expected five dollars a week and could cook "like heaven." Keith +laughed outright, and Wallie was so delighted with the general outlook +that he fairly kicked his heels together. Thereafter for an hour or so +he was left alone in possession of the kitchen, and shortly Keith began +to hear certain sounds and catch occasional odoriferous whiffs which +assured him that Wallie was losing no time in demonstrating his divine +efficiency in the matter of cooking. + +Wallie's coming gave him an excuse to call up McDowell. He confessed to +a disquieting desire to hear the inspector's voice again. In the back +of his head was the fear of Shan Tung, and the hope that McDowell might +throw some light on Miriam Kirkstone's unusual request to see her that +night. The storm had settled down into a steady drizzle when he got in +touch with him, and he was relieved to find there was no change in the +friendliness of the voice that came over the telephone. If Shan Tung +had a suspicion, he had kept it to himself. + +To Keith's surprise it was McDowell who spoke first of Miss Kirkstone. + +"She seemed unusually anxious to get in touch with you," he said. "I am +frankly disturbed over a certain matter, Conniston, and I should like +to talk with you before you go up tonight." + +Keith sniffed the air. "Wallie is going to ring the dinner bell within +half an hour. Why not slip on a raincoat and join me up here? I think +it's going to be pretty good." + +"I'll come," said McDowell. "Expect me any moment." + +Fifteen minutes later Keith was helping him off with his wet slicker. +He had expected McDowell to make some observation on the cheerfulness +of the birch fire and the agreeable aromas that were leaking from +Wallie's kitchen, but the inspector disappointed him. He stood for a +few moments with his back to the fire, thumbing down the tobacco in his +pipe, and he made no effort to conceal the fact that there was +something in his mind more important than dinner and the cheer of a +grate. + +His eyes fell on the telephone, and he nodded toward it. "Seemed very +anxious to see you, didn't she, Conniston? I mean Miss Kirkstone." + +"Rather." + +McDowell seated himself and lighted a match. "Seemed--a +little--nervous--perhaps," he suggested between puffs. "As though +something had happened--or was going to happen. Don't mind my +questioning you, do you, Derry?" + +"Not a bit," said Keith. "You see, I thought perhaps you might +explain--" + +There was a disquieting gleam in McDowell's eyes. "It was odd that she +should call you up so soon--and in the storm--wasn't it? She expected +to find you at my office. I could fairly hear the lightning hissing +along the wires. She must have been under some unusual impulse." + +"Perhaps." + +McDowell was silent for a space, looking steadily at Keith, as if +measuring him up to something. + +"I don't mind telling you that I am very deeply interested in Miss +Kirkstone," he said. "You didn't see her when the Judge was killed. She +was away at school, and you were on John Keith's trail when she +returned. I have never been much of a woman's man, Conniston, but I +tell you frankly that up until six or eight months ago Miriam was one +of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. I would give a good deal +to know the exact hour and date when the change in her began. I might +be able to trace some event to that date. It was six months ago that +she began to take an interest in the fate of John Keith. Since then the +change in her has alarmed me, Conniston. I don't understand. She has +betrayed nothing. But I have seen her dying by inches under my eyes. +She is only a pale and drooping flower compared with what she was. I am +positive it is not a sickness--unless it is mental. I have a suspicion. +It is almost too terrible to put into words. You will be going up there +tonight--you will be alone with her, will talk with her, may learn a +great deal if you understand what it is that is eating like a canker in +my mind. Will you help me to discover her secret?" He leaned toward +Keith. He was no longer the man of iron. There was something intensely +human in his face. + +"There is no other man on earth I would confide this matter to," he +went on slowly. "It will take--a gentleman--to handle it, someone who +is big enough to forget if my suspicion is untrue, and who will +understand fully what sacrilege means should it prove true. It is +extremely delicate. I hesitate. And yet--I am waiting, Conniston. Is it +necessary to ask you to pledge secrecy in the matter?" + +Keith held out a hand. McDowell gripped it tight. + +"It is--Shan Tung," he said, a peculiar hiss in his voice. "Shan +Tung--and Miriam Kirkstone! Do you understand, Conniston? Does the +horror of it get hold of you? Can you make yourself believe that it is +possible? Am I mad to allow such a suspicion to creep into my brain? +Shan Tung--Miriam Kirkstone! And she sees herself standing now at the +very edge of the pit of hell, and it is killing her." + +Keith felt his blood running cold as he saw in the inspector's face the +thing which he did not put more plainly in word. He was shocked. He +drew his hand from McDowell's grip almost fiercely. + +"Impossible!" he cried. "Yes, you are mad. Such a thing would be +inconceivable!" + +"And yet I have told myself that it is possible," said McDowell. His +face was returning into its iron-like mask. His two hands gripped the +arms of his chair, and he stared at Keith again as if he were looking +through him at something else, and to that something else he seemed to +speak, slowly, weighing and measuring each word before it passed his +lips. "I am not superstitious. It has always been a law with me to have +conviction forced upon me. I do not believe unusual things until +investigation proves them. I am making an exception in the case of Shan +Tung. I have never regarded him as a man, like you and me, but as a +sort of superphysical human machine possessed of a certain +psychological power that is at times almost deadly. Do you begin to +understand me? I believe that he has exerted the whole force of that +influence upon Miriam Kirkstone--and she has surrendered to it. I +believe--and yet I am not positive." + +"And you have watched them for six months?" + +"No. The suspicion came less than a month ago. No one that I know has +ever had the opportunity of looking into Shan Tung's private life. The +quarters behind his cafe are a mystery. I suppose they can be entered +from the cafe and also from a little stairway at the rear. One +night--very late--I saw Miriam Kirkstone come down that stairway. Twice +in the last month she has visited Shan Tung at a late hour. Twice that +I know of, you understand. And that is not all--quite." + +Keith saw the distended veins in McDowell's clenched hands, and he knew +that he was speaking under a tremendous strain. + +"I watched the Kirkstone home--personally. Three times in that same +month Shan Tung visited her there. The third time I entered boldly with +a fraud message for the girl. I remained with her for an hour. In that +time I saw nothing and heard nothing of Shan Tung. He was hiding--or +got out as I came in." + +Keith was visioning Miriam Kirkstone as he had seen her in the +inspector's office. He recalled vividly the slim, golden beauty of her, +the wonderful gray of her eyes, and the shimmer of her hair as she +stood in the light of the window--and then he saw Shan Tung, +effeminate, with his sly, creeping hands and his narrowed eyes, and the +thing which McDowell had suggested rose up before him a monstrous +impossibility. + +"Why don't you demand an explanation of Miss Kirkstone?" he asked. + +"I have, and she denies it all absolutely, except that Shan Tung came +to her house once to see her brother. She says that she was never on +the little stairway back of Shan Tung's place." + +"And you do not believe her?" + +"Assuredly not. I saw her. To speak the cold truth, Conniston, she is +lying magnificently to cover up something which she does not want any +other person on earth to know." + +Keith leaned forward suddenly. "And why is it that John Keith, dead and +buried, should have anything to do with this?" he demanded. "Why did +this 'intense interest' you speak of in John Keith begin at about the +same time your suspicions began to include Shan Tung?" + +McDowell shook his head. "It may be that her interest was not so much +in John Keith as in you, Conniston. That is for you to +discover--tonight. It is an interesting situation. It has tragic +possibilities. The instant you substantiate my suspicions we'll deal +directly with Shan Tung. Just now--there's Wallie behind you grinning +like a Cheshire cat. His dinner must be a success." + +The diminutive Jap had noiselessly opened the door of the little +dining-room in which the table was set for two. + +Keith smiled as he sat down opposite the man who would have sent him to +the executioner had he known the truth. After all, it was but a step +from comedy to tragedy. And just now he was conscious of a bit of +grisly humor in the situation. + + + +VIII + +The storm had settled into a steady drizzle when McDowell left the +Shack at two o'clock. Keith watched the iron man, as his tall, gray +figure faded away into the mist down the slope, with a curious +undercurrent of emotion. Before the inspector had come up as his guest +he had, he thought, definitely decided his future action. He would go +west on his furlough, write McDowell that he had decided not to +reenlist, and bury himself in the British Columbia mountains before an +answer could get back to him, leaving the impression that he was going +on to Australia or Japan. He was not so sure of himself now. He found +himself looking ahead to the night, when he would see Miriam Kirkstone, +and he no longer feared Shan Tung as he had feared him a few hours +before. McDowell himself had given him new weapons. He was unofficially +on Shan Tung's trail. McDowell had frankly placed the affair of Miriam +Kirkstone in his hands. That it all had in some mysterious way +something to do with himself--John Keith--urged him on to the adventure. + +He waited impatiently for the evening. Wallie, smothered in a great +raincoat, he sent forth on a general foraging expedition and to bring +up some of Conniston's clothes. It was a quarter of eight when he left +for Miriam Kirkstone's home. + +Even at that early hour the night lay about him heavy and dark and +saturated with a heavy mist. From the summit of the hill he could no +longer make out the valley of the Saskatchewan. He walked down into a +pit in which the scattered lights of the town burned dully like distant +stars. It was a little after eight when he came to the Kirkstone house. +It was set well back in an iron-fenced area thick with trees and +shrubbery, and he saw that the porch light was burning to show him the +way. Curtains were drawn, but a glow of warm light lay behind them. + +He was sure that Miriam Kirkstone must have heard the crunch of his +feet on the gravel walk, for he had scarcely touched the old-fashioned +knocker on the door when the door itself was opened. It was Miriam who +greeted him. Again he held her hand for a moment in his own. + +It was not cold, as it had been in McDowell's office. It was almost +feverishly hot, and the pupils of the girl's eyes were big, and dark, +and filled with a luminous fire. Keith might have thought that coming +in out of the dark night he had startled her. But it was not that. She +was repressing something that had preceded him. He thought that he +heard the almost noiseless closing of a door at the end of the long +hall, and his nostrils caught the faint aroma of a strange perfume. +Between him and the light hung a filmy veil of smoke. He knew that it +had come from a cigarette. There was an uneasy note in Miss Kirkstone's +voice as she invited him to hang his coat and hat on an old-fashioned +rack near the door. He took his time, trying to recall where he had +detected that perfume before. He remembered, with a sort of shock. It +was after Shan Tung had left McDowell's office. + +She was smiling when he turned, and apologizing again for making her +unusual request that day. + +"It was--quite unconventional. But I felt that you would understand, +Mr. Conniston. I guess I didn't stop to think. And I am afraid of +lightning, too. But I wanted to see you. I didn't want to wait until +tomorrow to hear about what happened up there. Is it--so strange?" + +Afterward he could not remember just what sort of answer he made. She +turned, and he followed her through the big, square-cut door leading +out of the hall. It was the same door with the great, sliding panel he +had locked on that fateful night, years ago, when he had fought with +her father and brother. In it, for a moment, her slim figure was +profiled in a frame of vivid light. Her mother must have been +beautiful. That was the thought that flashed upon him as the room and +its tragic memory lay before him. Everything came back to him vividly, +and he was astonished at the few changes in it. There was the big chair +with its leather arms, in which the overfatted creature who had been +her father was sitting when he came in. It was the same table, too, and +it seemed to him that the same odds and ends were on the mantel over +the cobblestone fireplace. And there was somebody's picture of the +Madonna still hanging between two windows. The Madonna, like the master +of the house, had been too fat to be beautiful. The son, an ogreish +pattern of his father, had stood with his back to the Madonna, whose +overfat arms had seemed to rest on his shoulders. He remembered that. + +The girl was watching him closely when he turned toward her. He had +frankly looked the room over, without concealing his intention. She was +breathing a little unsteadily, and her hair was shimmering gloriously +in the light of an overhead chandelier. She sat down with that light +over her, motioning him to be seated opposite her--across the same +table from which he had snatched the copper weight that had killed +Kirkstone. He had never seen anything quite so steady, quite so +beautiful as her eyes when they looked across at him. He thought of +McDowell's suspicion and of Shan Tung and gripped himself hard. The +same strange perfume hung subtly on the air he was breathing. On a +small silver tray at his elbow lay the ends of three freshly burned +cigarettes. + +"Of course you remember this room?" + +He nodded. "Yes. It was night when I came, like this. The next day I +went after John Keith." + +She leaned toward him, her hands clasped in front of her on the table. +"You will tell me the truth about John Keith?" she asked in a low, +tense voice. "You swear that it will be the truth?" + +"I will keep nothing back from you that I have told Inspector +McDowell," he answered, fighting to meet her eyes steadily. "I almost +believe I may tell you more." + +"Then--did you speak the truth when you reported to Inspector McDowell? +IS JOHN KEITH DEAD?" Could Shan Tung meet those wonderful eyes as he +was meeting them now, he wondered? Could he face them and master them, +as McDowell had hinted? To McDowell the lie had come easily to his +tongue. It stuck in his throat now. Without giving him time to prepare +himself the girl had shot straight for the bull's-eye, straight to the +heart of the thing that meant life or death to him, and for a moment he +found no answer. Clearly he was facing suspicion. She could not have +driven the shaft intuitively. The unexpectedness of the thing +astonished him and then thrilled him, and in the thrill of it he found +himself more than ever master of himself. + +"Would you like to hear how utterly John Keith is dead and how he +died?" he asked. + +"Yes. That is what I must know." + +He noticed that her hands had closed. Her slender fingers were clenched +tight. + +"I hesitate, because I have almost promised to tell you even more than +I told McDowell," he went on. "And that will not be pleasant for you to +hear. He killed your father. There can be no sympathy in your heart for +John Keith. It will not be pleasant for you to hear that I liked the +man, and that I am sorry he is dead." + +"Go on--please." + +Her hands unclasped. Her fingers lay limp. Something faded slowly out +of her face. It was as if she had hoped for something, and that hope +was dying. Could it be possible that she had hoped he would say that +John Keith was alive? + +"Did you know this man?" he asked. + +"This John Keith?" + +She shook her head. "No. I was away at school for many years. I don't +remember him." + +"But he knew you--that is, he had seen you," said Keith. "He used to +talk to me about you in those days when he was helpless and dying. He +said that he was sorry for you, and that only because of you did he +ever regret the justice he brought upon your father. You see I speak +his words. He called it justice. He never weakened on that point. You +have probably never heard his part of the story." + +"No." + +The one word forced itself from her lips. She was expecting him to go +on, and waited, her eyes never for an instant leaving his face. + +He did not repeat the story exactly as he had told it to McDowell. The +facts were the same, but the living fire of his own sympathy and his +own conviction were in them now. He told it purely from Keith's point +of view, and Miriam Kirkstone's face grew whiter, and her hands grew +tense again, as she listened for the first time to Keith's own version +of the tragedy of the room in which they were sitting. And then he +followed Keith up into that land of ice and snow and gibbering Eskimos, +and from that moment he was no longer Keith but spoke with the lips of +Conniston. He described the sunless weeks and months of madness until +the girl's eyes seemed to catch fire, and when at last he came to the +little cabin in which Conniston had died, he was again John Keith. He +could not have talked about himself as he did about the Englishman. And +when he came to the point where he buried Conniston under the floor, a +dry, broken sob broke in upon him from across the table. But there were +no tears in the girl's eyes. Tears, perhaps, would have hidden from him +the desolation he saw there. But she did not give in. Her white throat +twitched. She tried to draw her breath steadily. And then she said: + +"And that--was John Keith!" + +He bowed his head in confirmation of the lie, and, thinking of +Conniston, he said: + +"He was the finest gentleman I ever knew. And I am sorry he is dead." + +"And I, too, am sorry." + +She was reaching a hand across the table to him, slowly, hesitatingly. +He stared at her. + +"You mean that?" + +"Yes, I am sorry." + +He took her hand. For a moment her fingers tightened about his own. +Then they relaxed and drew gently away from him. In that moment he saw +a sudden change come into her face. She was looking beyond him, over +his right shoulder. Her eyes widened, her pupils dilated under his +gaze, and she held her breath. With the swift caution of the man-hunted +he turned. The room was empty behind him. There was nothing but a +window at his back. The rain was drizzling against it, and he noticed +that the curtain was not drawn, as they were drawn at the other +windows. Even as he looked, the girl went to it and pulled down the +shade. He knew that she had seen something, something that had startled +her for a moment, but he did not question her. Instead, as if he had +noticed nothing, he asked if he might light a cigar. + +"I see someone smokes," he excused himself, nodding at the cigarette +butts. + +He was watching her closely and would have recalled the words in the +next breath. He had caught her. Her brother was out of town. And there +was a distinctly unAmerican perfume in the smoke that someone had left +in the room. He saw the bit of red creeping up her throat into her +cheeks, and his conscience shamed him. It was difficult for him not to +believe McDowell now. Shan Tung had been there. It was Shan Tung who +had left the hall as he entered. Probably it was Shan Tung whose face +she had seen at the window. + +What she said amazed him. "Yes, it is a shocking habit of mine, Mr. +Conniston. I learned to smoke in the East. Is it so very bad, do you +think?" + +He fairly shook himself. He wanted to say, "You beautiful little liar, +I'd like to call your bluff right now, but I won't, because I'm sorry +for you!" Instead, he nipped off the end of his cigar, and said: + +"In England, you know, the ladies smoke a great deal. Personally I may +be a little prejudiced. I don't know that it is sinful, especially when +one uses such good judgment--in orientals." And then he was powerless +to hold himself back. He smiled at her frankly, unafraid. "I don't +believe you smoke," he added. + +He rose to his feet, still smiling across at her, like a big brother +waiting for her confidence. She was not alarmed at the directness with +which he had guessed the truth. She was no longer embarrassed. She +seemed for a moment to be looking through him and into him, a strange +and yearning desire glowing dully in her eyes. He saw her throat +twitching again, and he was filled with an infinite compassion for this +daughter of the man he had killed. But he kept it within himself. He +had gone far enough. It was for her to speak. At the door she gave him +her hand again, bidding him good-night. She looked pathetically +helpless, and he thought that someone ought to be there with the right +to take her in his arms and comfort her. + +"You will come again?" she whispered. + +"Yes, I am coming again," he said. "Good-night." + +He passed out into the drizzle. The door closed behind him, but not +before there came to him once more that choking sob from the throat of +Miriam Kirkstone. + + + +IX + +Keith's hand was on the butt of his revolver as he made his way through +the black night. He could not see the gravel path under his feet but +could only feel it. Something that was more than a guess made him feel +that Shan Tung was not far away, and he wondered if it was a +premonition, and what it meant. With the keen instinct of a hound he +was scenting for a personal danger. He passed through the gate and +began the downward slope toward town, and not until then did he begin +adding things together and analyzing the situation as it had +transformed itself since he had stood in the door of the Shack, +welcoming the storm from the western mountains. He thought that he had +definitely made up his mind then; now it was chaotic. He could not +leave Prince Albert immediately, as the inspiration had moved him a few +hours before. McDowell had practically given him an assignment. And +Miss Kirkstone was holding him. Also Shan Tung. He felt within himself +the sensation of one who was traveling on very thin ice, yet he could +not tell just where or why it was thin. + +"Just a fool hunch," he assured himself. + +"Why the deuce should I let a confounded Chinaman and a pretty girl get +on my nerves at this stage of the game? If it wasn't for McDowell--" + +And there he stopped. He had fought too long at the raw edge of things +to allow himself to be persuaded by delusions, and he confessed that it +was John Keith who was holding him, that in some inexplicable way John +Keith, though officially dead and buried, was mixed up in a mysterious +affair in which Miriam Kirkstone and Shan Tung were the moving factors. +And inasmuch as he was now Derwent Conniston and no longer John Keith, +he took the logical point of arguing that the affair was none of his +business, and that he could go on to the mountains if he pleased. Only +in that direction could he see ice of a sane and perfect thickness, to +carry out the metaphor in his head. He could report indifferently to +McDowell, forget Miss Kirkstone, and disappear from the menace of Shan +Tung's eyes. John Keith, he repeated, would be officially dead, and +being dead, the law would have no further interest in him. + +He prodded himself on with this thought as he fumbled his way through +darkness down into town. Miriam Kirkstone in her golden way was +alluring; the mystery that shadowed the big house on the hill was +fascinating to his hunting instincts; he had the desire, growing fast, +to come at grips with Shan Tung. But he had not foreseen these things, +and neither had Conniston foreseen them. They had planned only for the +salvation of John Keith's precious neck, and tonight he had almost +forgotten the existence of that unpleasant reality, the hangman. Truth +settled upon him with depressing effect, and an infinite loneliness +turned his mind again to the mountains of his dreams. + +The town was empty of life. Lights glowed here and there through the +mist; now and then a door opened; down near the river a dog howled +forlornly. Everything was shut against him. There were no longer homes +where he might call and be greeted with a cheery "Good evening, Keith. +Glad to see you. Come in out of the wet." He could not even go to +Duggan, his old river friend. He realized now that his old friends were +the very ones he must avoid most carefully to escape self-betrayal. +Friendship no longer existed for him; the town was a desert without an +oasis where he might reclaim some of the things he had lost. Memories +he had treasured gave place to bitter ones. His own townfolk, of all +people, were his readiest enemies, and his loneliness clutched him +tighter, until the air itself seemed thick and difficult to breathe. +For the time Derwent Conniston was utterly submerged in the +overwhelming yearnings of John Keith. + +He dropped into a dimly lighted shop to purchase a box of cigars. It +was deserted except for the proprietor. His elbow bumped into a +telephone. He would call up Wallie and tell him to have a good fire +waiting for him, and in the company of that fire he would do a lot of +thinking before getting into communication with McDowell. + +It was not Wallie who answered him, and he was about to apologize for +getting the wrong number when the voice at the other end asked, + +"Is that you, Conniston?" + +It was McDowell. The discovery gave him a distinct shock. What could +the Inspector be doing up at the Shack in his absence? Besides, there +was an imperative demand in the question that shot at him over the +wire. McDowell had half shouted it. + +"Yes, it's I," he said rather feebly. + +"I'm down-town, stocking up on some cigars. What's the excitement?" + +"Don't ask questions but hustle up here," McDowell fired back. "I've +got the surprise of your life waiting for you!" + +Keith heard the receiver at the other end go up with a bang. Something +had happened at the Shack, and McDowell was excited. He went out +puzzled. For some reason he was in no great hurry to reach the top of +the hill. He was beginning to expect things to happen--too many +things--and in the stress of the moment he felt the incongruity of the +friendly box of cigars tucked under his arm. The hardest luck he had +ever run up against had never quite killed his sense of humor, and he +chuckled. His fortunes were indeed at a low ebb when he found a bit of +comfort in hugging a box of cigars still closer. + +He could see that every room in the Shack was lighted, when he came to +the crest of the slope, but the shades were drawn. He wondered if +Wallie had pulled down the curtains, or if it was a caution on +McDowell's part against possible espionage. Suspicion made him transfer +the box of cigars to his left arm so that his right was free. Somewhere +in the darkness Conniston's voice was urging him, as it had urged him +up in the cabin on the Barren: "Don't walk into a noose. If it comes to +a fight, FIGHT!" + +And then something happened that brought his heart to a dead stop. He +was close to the door. His ear was against it. And he was listening to +a voice. It was not Wallie's, and it was not the iron man's. It was a +woman's voice, or a girl's. + +He opened the door and entered, taking swiftly the two or three steps +that carried him across the tiny vestibule to the big room. His +entrance was so sudden that the tableau in front of him was unbroken +for a moment. Birch logs were blazing in the fireplace. In the big +chair sat McDowell, partly turned, a smoking cigar poised in his +fingers, staring at him. Seated on a footstool, with her chin in the +cup of her hands, was a girl. At first, blinded a little by the light, +Keith thought she was a child, a remarkably pretty child with +wide-open, half-startled eyes and a wonderful crown of glowing, brown +hair in which he could still see the shimmer of wet. He took off his +hat and brushed the water from his eyes. McDowell did not move. Slowly +the girl rose to her feet. It was then that Keith saw she was not a +child. Perhaps she was eighteen, a slim, tired-looking, little thing, +wonderfully pretty, and either on the verge of laughing or crying. +Perhaps it was halfway between. To his growing discomfiture she came +slowly toward him with a strange and wonderful look in her face. And +McDowell still sat there staring. + +His heart thumped with an emotion he had no time to question. In those +wide-open, shining eyes of the girl he sensed unspeakable tragedy--for +him. And then the girl's arms were reaching out to him, and she was +crying in that voice that trembled and broke between sobs and laughter: + +"Derry, don't you know me? Don't you know me?" + +He stood like one upon whom had fallen the curse of the dumb. She was +within arm's reach of him, her face white as a cameo, her eyes glowing +like newly-fired stars, her slim throat quivering, and her arms +reaching toward him. + +"Derry, don't you know me? DON'T YOU KNOW ME?" + +It was a sob, a cry. McDowell had risen. Overwhelmingly there swept +upon Keith an impulse that rocked him to the depth of his soul. He +opened his arms, and in an instant the girl was in them. Quivering, and +sobbing, and laughing she was on his breast. He felt the crush of her +soft hair against his face, her arms were about his neck, and she was +pulling his head down and kissing him--not once or twice, but again and +again, passionately and without shame. His own arms tightened. He heard +McDowell's voice--a distant and non-essential voice it seemed to him +now--saying that he would leave them alone and that he would see them +again tomorrow. He heard the door open and close. McDowell was gone. +And the soft little arms were still tight about his neck. The sweet +crush of hair smothered his face, and on his breast she was crying now +like a baby. He held her closer. A wild exultation seized upon him, and +every fiber in his body responded to its thrill, as tautly-stretched +wires respond to an electrical storm. It passed swiftly, burning itself +out, and his heart was left dead. He heard a sound made by Wallie out +in the kitchen. He saw the walls of the room again, the chair in which +McDowell had sat, the blazing fire. His arms relaxed. The girl raised +her head and put her two hands to his face, looking at him with eyes +which Keith no longer failed to recognize. They were the eyes that had +looked at him out of the faded picture in Conniston's watch. + +"Kiss me, Derry!" + +It was impossible not to obey. Her lips clung to him. There was love, +adoration, in their caress. + +And then she was crying again, with her arms around him tight and her +face hidden against him, and he picked her up as he would have lifted a +child, and carried her to the big chair in front of the fire. He put +her in it and stood before her, trying to smile. Her hair had loosened, +and the shining mass of it had fallen about her face and to her +shoulders. She was more than ever like a little girl as she looked up +at him, her eyes worshiping him, her lips trying to smile, and one +little hand dabbing her eyes with a tiny handkerchief that was already +wet and crushed. + +"You--you don't seem very glad to see me, Derry." + +"I--I'm just stunned," he managed to say. "You see--" + +"It IS a shocking surprise, Derry. I meant it to be. I've been planning +it for years and years and YEARS! Please take off your coat--it's +dripping wet!--and sit down near me, on that stool!" + +Again he obeyed. He was big for the stool. + +"You are glad to see me, aren't you, Derry?" + +She was leaning over the edge of the big chair, and one of her hands +went to his damp hair, brushing it back. It was a wonderful touch. He +had never felt anything like it before in his life, and involuntarily +he bent his head a little. In a moment she had hugged it up close to +her. + +"You ARE glad, aren't you, Derry? Say 'yes.'" + +"Yes," he whispered. + +He could feel the swift, excited beating of her heart. + +"And I'm never going back again--to THEM," he heard her say, something +suddenly low and fierce in her voice. "NEVER! I'm going to stay with +you always, Derry. Always!" + +She put her lips close to his ear and whispered mysteriously. "They +don't know where I am. Maybe they think I'm dead. But Colonel +Reppington knows. I told him I was coming if I had to walk round the +world to get here. He said he'd keep my secret, and gave me letters to +some awfully nice people over here. I've been over six months. And when +I saw your name in one of those dry-looking, blue-covered, paper books +the Mounted Police get out, I just dropped down on my knees and thanked +the good Lord, Derry. I knew I'd find you somewhere--sometime. I +haven't slept two winks since leaving Montreal! And I guess I really +frightened that big man with the terrible mustaches, for when I rushed +in on him tonight, dripping wet, and said, 'I'm Miss Mary Josephine +Conniston, and I want my brother,' his eyes grew bigger and bigger +until I thought they were surely going to pop out at me. And then he +swore. He said, 'My Gawd, I didn't know he had a sister!'" + +Keith's heart was choking him. So this wonderful little creature was +Derwent Conniston's sister! And she was claiming him. She thought he +was her brother! + +"--And I love him because he treated me so nicely," she was saying. "He +really hugged me, Derry. I guess he didn't think I was away past +eighteen. And he wrapped me up in a big oilskin, and we came up here. +And--O Derry, Derry--why did you do it? Why didn't you let me know? +Don't you--want me here?" + +He heard, but his mind had swept beyond her to the little cabin in the +edge of the Great Barren where Derwent Conniston lay dead. He heard the +wind moaning, as it had moaned that night the Englishman died, and he +saw again that last and unspoken yearning in Conniston's eyes. And he +knew now why Conniston's face had followed him through the gray gloom +and why he had felt the mysterious presence of him long after he had +gone. Something that was Conniston entered into him now. In the +throbbing chaos of his brain a voice was whispering, "She is yours, she +is yours." + +His arms tightened about her, and a voice that was not unlike John +Keith's voice said: "Yes, I want you! I want you!" + + + +X + +For a space Keith did not raise his head. The girl's arms were about +him close, and he could feel the warm pressure of her cheek against his +hair. The realization of his crime was already weighing his soul like a +piece of lead, yet out of that soul had come the cry, "I want you--I +want you!" and it still beat with the voice of that immeasurable +yearning even as his lips grew tight and he saw himself the monstrous +fraud he was. This strange little, wonderful creature had come to him +from out of a dead world, and her lips, and her arms, and the soft +caress of her hands had sent his own world reeling about his head so +swiftly that he had been drawn into a maelstrom to which he could find +no bottom. Before McDowell she had claimed him. And before McDowell he +had accepted her. He had lived the great lie as he had strengthened +himself to live it, but success was no longer a triumph. There rushed +into his brain like a consuming flame the desire to confess the truth, +to tell this girl whose arms were about him that he was not Derwent +Conniston, her brother, but John Keith, the murderer. Something drove +it back, something that was still more potent, more demanding, the +overwhelming urge of that fighting force in every man which calls for +self-preservation. + +Slowly he drew himself away from her, knowing that for this night at +least his back was to the wall. She was smiling at him from out of the +big chair, and in spite of himself he smiled back at her. + +"I must send you to bed now, Mary Josephine, and tomorrow we will talk +everything over," he said. "You're so tired you're ready to fall asleep +in a minute." + +Tiny, puckery lines came into her pretty forehead. It was a trick he +loved at first sight. + +"Do you know, Derry, I almost believe you've changed a lot. You used to +call me 'Juddy.' But now that I'm grown up, I think I like Mary +Josephine better, though you oughtn't to be quite so stiff about it. +Derry, tell me honest--are you AFRAID of me?" + +"Afraid of you!" + +"Yes, because I'm grown up. Don't you like me as well as you did one, +two, three, seven years ago? If you did, you wouldn't tell me to go to +bed just a few minutes after you've seen me for the first time in all +those--those--Derry, I'm going to cry! I AM!" + +"Don't," he pleaded. "Please don't!" + +He felt like a hundred-horned bull in a very small china shop. Mary +Josephine herself saved the day for him by jumping suddenly from the +big chair, forcing him into it, and snuggling herself on his knees. + +"There!" She looked at a tiny watch on her wrist. "We're going to bed +in two hours. We've got a lot to talk about that won't wait until +tomorrow, Derry. You understand what I mean. I couldn't sleep until +you've told me. And you must tell me the truth. I'll love you just the +same, no matter what it is. Derry, Derry, WHY DID YOU DO IT?" + +"Do what?" he asked stupidly. + +The delicious softness went out of the slim little body on his knees. +It grew rigid. He looked hopelessly into the fire, but he could feel +the burning inquiry in the girl's eyes. He sensed a swift change +passing through her. She seemed scarcely to breathe, and he knew that +his answer had been more than inadequate. It either confessed or +feigned an ignorance of something which it would have been impossible +for him to forget had he been Conniston. He looked up at her at last. +The joyous flush had gone out of her face. It was a little drawn. Her +hand, which had been snuggling his neck caressingly, slipped down from +his shoulder. + +"I guess--you'd rather I hadn't come, Derry," she said, fighting to +keep a break out of her voice. "And I'll go back, if you want to send +me. But I've always dreamed of your promise, that some day you'd send +for me or come and get me, and I'd like to know WHY before you tell me +to go. Why have you hidden away from me all these years, leaving me +among those who you knew hated me as they hated you? Was it because you +didn't care? Or was it because--because--" She bent her head and +whispered strangely, "Was it because you were afraid?" + +"Afraid?" he repeated slowly, staring again into the fire. "Afraid--" +He was going to add "Of what?" but caught the words and held them back. + +The birch fire leaped up with a sudden roar into the chimney, and from +the heart of the flame he caught again that strange and all-pervading +thrill, the sensation of Derwent Conniston's presence very near to him. +It seemed to him that for an instant he caught a flash of Conniston's +face, and somewhere within him was a whispering which was Conniston's +voice. He was possessed by a weird and masterful force that swept over +him and conquered him, a thing that was more than intuition and greater +than physical desire. It was inspiration. He knew that the Englishman +would have him play the game as he was about to play it now. + +The girl was waiting for him to answer. Her lips had grown a little +more tense. His hesitation, the restraint in his welcome of her, and +his apparent desire to evade that mysterious something which seemed to +mean so much to her had brought a shining pain into her eyes. He had +seen such a look in the eyes of creatures physically hurt. He reached +out with his hands and brushed back the thick, soft hair from about her +face. His fingers buried themselves in the silken disarray, and he +looked for a moment straight into her eyes before he spoke. + +"Little girl, will you tell me the truth?" he asked. "Do I look like +the old Derwent Conniston, YOUR Derwent Conniston? Do I?" + +Her voice was small and troubled, yet the pain was slowly fading out of +her eyes as she felt the passionate embrace of his fingers in her hair. +"No. You are changed." + +"Yes, I am changed. A part of Derwent Conniston died seven years ago. +That part of him was dead until he came through that door tonight and +saw you. And then it flickered back into life. It is returning slowly, +slowly. That which was dead is beginning to rouse itself, beginning to +remember. See, little Mary Josephine. It was this!" + +He drew a hand to his forehead and placed a finger on the scar. "I got +that seven years ago. It killed a half of Derwent Conniston, the part +that should have lived. Do you understand? Until tonight--" + +Her eyes startled him, they were growing so big and dark and staring, +living fires of understanding and horror. It was hard for him to go on +with the lie. "For many weeks I was dead," he struggled on. "And when I +came to life physically, I had forgotten a great deal. I had my name, +my identity, but only ghastly dreams and visions of what had gone +before. I remembered you, but it was in a dream, a strange and haunting +dream that was with me always. It seems to me that for an age I have +been seeking for a face, a voice, something I loved above all else on +earth, something which was always near and yet was never found. It was +you, Mary Josephine, you!" + +Was it the real Derwent Conniston speaking now? He felt again that +overwhelming force from within which was not his own. The thing that +had begun as a lie struck him now as a thing that was truth. It was he, +John Keith, who had been questing and yearning and hoping. It was John +Keith, and not Conniston, who had returned into a world filled with a +desolation of loneliness, and it was to John Keith that a beneficent +God had sent this wonderful creature in an hour that was blackest in +its despair. He was not lying now. He was fighting. He was fighting to +keep for himself the one atom of humanity that meant more to him than +all the rest of the human race, fighting to keep a great love that had +come to him out of a world in which he no longer had a friend or a +home, and to that fight his soul went out as a drowning man grips at a +spar on a sea. As the girl's hands came to his face and he heard the +yearning, grief-filled cry of his name on her lips, he no longer sensed +the things he was saying, but held her close in his arms, kissing her +mouth, and her eyes, and her hair, and repeating over and over again +that now he had found her he would never give her up. Her arms clung to +him. They were like two children brought together after a long +separation, and Keith knew that Conniston's love for this girl who was +his sister must have been a splendid thing. And his lie had saved +Conniston as well as himself. There had been no time to question the +reason for the Englishman's neglect--for his apparent desertion of the +girl who had come across the sea to find him. Tonight it was sufficient +that HE was Conniston, and that to him the girl had fallen as a +precious heritage. + +He stood up with her at last, holding her away from him a little so +that he could look into her face wet with tears and shining with +happiness. She reached up a hand to his face, so that it touched the +scar, and in her eyes he saw an infinite pity, a luminously tender glow +of love and sympathy and understanding that no measurements could +compass. Gently her hand stroked his scarred forehead. He felt his old +world slipping away from under his feet, and with his triumph there +surged over him a thankfulness for that indefinable something that had +come to him in time to give him the strength and the courage to lie. +For she believed him, utterly and without the shadow of a suspicion she +believed him. + +"Tomorrow you will help me to remember a great many things," he said. +"And now will you let me send you to bed, Mary Josephine?" + +She was looking at the scar. "And all those years I didn't know," she +whispered. "I didn't know. They told me you were dead, but I knew it +was a lie. It was Colonel Reppington--" She saw something in his face +that stopped her. + +"Derry, DON'T YOU REMEMBER?" + +"I shall--tomorrow. But tonight I can see nothing and think of nothing +but you. Tomorrow--" + +She drew his head down swiftly and kissed the brand made by the heated +barrel of the Englishman's pistol. "Yes, yes, we must go to bed now, +Derry," she cried quickly. "You must not think too much. Tonight it +must just be of me. Tomorrow everything will come out right, +everything. And now you may send me to bed. Do you remember--" + +She caught herself, biting her lip to keep back the word. + +"Tell me," he urged. "Do I remember what?" + +"How you used to come in at the very last and tuck me in at night, +Derry? And how we used to whisper to ourselves there in the darkness, +and at last you would kiss me good-night? It was the kiss that always +made me go to sleep." + +He nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said. + +He led her to the spare room, and brought in her two travel-worn bags, +and turned on the light. It was a man's room, but Mary Josephine stood +for a moment surveying it with delight. + +"It's home, Derry, real home," she whispered. + +He did not explain to her that it was a borrowed home and that this was +his first night in it. Such unimportant details would rest until +tomorrow. He showed her the bath and its water system and then +explained to Wallie that his sister was in the house and he would have +to bunk in the kitchen. At the last he knew what he was expected to do, +what he must do. He kissed Mary Josephine good night. He kissed her +twice. And Mary Josephine kissed him and gave him a hug the like of +which he had never experienced until this night. It sent him back to +the fire with blood that danced like a drunken man's. + +He turned the lights out and for an hour sat in the dying glow of the +birch. For the first time since he had come from Miriam Kirkstone's he +had the opportunity to think, and in thinking he found his brain +crowded with cold and unemotional fact. He saw his lie in all its naked +immensity. Yet he was not sorry that he had lied. He had saved +Conniston. He had saved himself. And he had saved Conniston's sister, +to love, to fight for, to protect. It had not been a Judas lie but a +lie with his heart and his soul and all the manhood in him behind it. +To have told the truth would have made him his own executioner, it +would have betrayed the dead Englishman who had given to him his name +and all that he possessed, and it would have dragged to a pitiless +grief the heart of a girl for whom the sun still continued to shine. No +regret rose before him now. He felt no shame. All that he saw was the +fight, the tremendous fight, ahead of him, his fight to make good as +Conniston, his fight to play the game as Conniston would have him play +it. The inspiration that had come to him as he stood facing the storm +from the western mountains possessed him again. He would go to the +river's end as he had planned to go before McDowell told him of Shan +Tung and Miriam Kirkstone. And he would not go alone. Mary Josephine +would go with him. + +It was midnight when he rose from the big chair and went to his room. +The door was closed. He opened it and entered. Even as his hand groped +for the switch on the wall, his nostrils caught the scent of something +which was familiar and yet which should not have been there. It filled +the room, just as it had filled the big hall at the Kirkstone house, +the almost sickening fragrance of agallochum burned in a cigarette. It +hung like a heavy incense. Keith's eyes glared as he scanned the room +under the lights, half expecting to see Shan Tung sitting there waiting +for him. It was empty. His eyes leaped to the two windows. The shade +was drawn at one, the other was up, and the window itself was open an +inch or two above the sill. Keith's hand gripped his pistol as he went +to it and drew the curtain. Then he turned to the table on which were +the reading lamp and Brady's pipes and tobacco and magazines. On an +ash-tray lay the stub of a freshly burned cigarette. Shan Tung had come +secretly, but he had made no effort to cover his presence. + +It was then that Keith saw something on the table which had not been +there before. It was a small, rectangular, teakwood box no larger than +a half of the palm of his hand. He had noticed Miriam Kirkstone's +nervous fingers toying with just such a box earlier in the evening. +They were identical in appearance. Both were covered with an exquisite +fabric of oriental carving, and the wood was stained and polished until +it shone with the dark luster of ebony. Instantly it flashed upon him +that this was the same box he had seen at Miriam's. She had sent it to +him, and Shan Tung had been her messenger. The absurd thought was in +his head as he took up a small white square of card that lay on top of +the box. The upper side of this card was blank; on the other side, in a +script as exquisite in its delicacy as the carving itself, were the +words: + +"WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF SHAN TUNG." + +In another moment Keith had opened the box. Inside was a carefully +folded slip of paper, and on this paper was written a single line. +Keith's heart stopped beating, and his blood ran cold as he read what +it held for him, a message of doom from Shan Tung in nine words: + +"WHAT HAPPENED TO DERWENT CONNISTON? DID YOU KILL HIM?" + + + +XI + +Stunned by a shock that for a few moments paralyzed every nerve center +in his body, John Keith stood with the slip of white paper in his +hands. He was discovered! That was the one thought that pounded like a +hammer in his brain. He was discovered in the very hour of his triumph +and exaltation, in that hour when the world had opened its portals of +joy and hope for him again and when life itself, after four years of +hell, was once more worth the living. Had the shock come a few hours +before, he would have taken it differently. He was expecting it then. +He had expected it when he entered McDowell's office the first time. He +was prepared for it afterward. Discovery, failure, and death were +possibilities of the hazardous game he was playing, and he was +unafraid, because he had only his life to lose, a life that was not +much more than a hopeless derelict at most. Now it was different. Mary +Josephine had come like some rare and wonderful alchemy to transmute +for him all leaden things into gold. In a few minutes she had upset the +world. She had literally torn aside for him the hopeless chaos in which +he saw himself struggling, flooding him with the warm radiance of a +great love and a still greater desire. On his lips he could feel the +soft thrill of her good-night kiss and about his neck the embrace of +her soft arms. She had not gone to sleep yet. Across in the other room +she was thinking of him, loving him; perhaps she was on her knees +praying for him, even as he held in his fingers Shan Tung's mysterious +forewarning of his doom. + +The first impulse that crowded in upon him was that of flight, the +selfish impulse of personal salvation. He could get away. The night +would swallow him up. A moment later he was mentally castigating +himself for the treachery of that impulse to Mary Josephine. His +floundering senses began to readjust themselves. + +Why had Shan Tung given him this warning? Why had he not gone straight +to Inspector McDowell with the astounding disclosure of the fact that +the man supposed to be Derwent Conniston was not Derwent Conniston, but +John Keith, the murderer of Miriam Kirkstone's father? + +The questions brought to Keith a new thrill. He read the note again. It +was a definite thing stating a certainty and not a guess. Shan Tung had +not shot at random. He knew. He knew that he was not Derwent Conniston +but John Keith. And he believed that he had killed the Englishman to +steal his identity. In the face of these things he had not gone to +McDowell! Keith's eyes fell upon the card again. "With the compliments +of Shan Tung." What did the words mean? Why had Shan Tung written them +unless--with his compliments--he was giving him a warning and the +chance to save himself? + +His immediate alarm grew less. The longer he contemplated the slip of +paper in his hand, the more he became convinced that the inscrutable +Shan Tung was the last individual in the world to stage a bit of +melodrama without some good reason for it. There was but one conclusion +he could arrive at. The Chinaman was playing a game of his own, and he +had taken this unusual way of advising Keith to make a getaway while +the going was good. It was evident that his intention had been to avoid +the possibility of a personal discussion of the situation. That, at +least, was Keith's first impression. + +He turned to examine the window. There was no doubt that Shan Tung had +come in that way. Both the sill and curtain bore stains of water and +mud, and there was wet dirt on the floor. For once the immaculate +oriental had paid no attention to his feet. At the door leading into +the big room Keith saw where he had stood for some time, listening, +probably when McDowell and Mary Josephine were in the outer room +waiting for him. Suddenly his eyes riveted themselves on the middle +panel of the door. Brady had intended his color scheme to be old +ivory--the panel itself was nearly white--and on it Shan Tung had +written heavily with a lead pencil the hour of his presence, "10.45 +P.M." Keith's amazement found voice in a low exclamation. He looked at +his watch. It was a quarter-hour after twelve. He had returned to the +Shack before ten, and the clever Shan Tung was letting him know in this +cryptic fashion that for more than three-quarters of an hour he had +listened at the door and spied upon him and Mary Josephine through the +keyhole. + +Had even such an insignificant person as Wallie been guilty of that +act, Keith would have felt like thrashing him. It surprised himself +that he experienced no personal feeling of outrage at Shan Tung's frank +confession of eavesdropping. A subtle significance began to attach +itself more and more to the story his room was telling him. He knew +that Shan Tung had left none of the marks of his presence out of +bravado, but with a definite purpose. Keith's psychological mind was at +all times acutely ready to seize upon possibilities, and just as his +positiveness of Conniston's spiritual presence had inspired him to act +his lie with Mary Josephine, so did the conviction possess him now that +his room held for him a message of the most vital importance. + +In such an emergency Keith employed his own method. He sat down, +lighted his pipe again, and centered the full resource of his mind on +Shan Tung, dissociating himself from the room and the adventure of the +night as much as possible in his objective analysis of the man. Four +distinct emotional factors entered into that analysis--fear, distrust, +hatred, personal enmity. To his surprise he found himself drifting +steadily into an unusual and unexpected mental attitude. From the time +he had faced Shan Tung in the inspector's office, he had regarded him +as the chief enemy of his freedom, his one great menace. Now he felt +neither personal enmity nor hatred for him. Fear and distrust remained, +but the fear was impersonal and the distrust that of one who watches a +clever opponent in a game or a fight. His conception of Shan Tung +changed. He found his occidental mind running parallel with the +oriental, bridging the spaces which otherwise it never would have +crossed, and at the end it seized upon the key. It proved to him that +his first impulse had been wrong. Shan Tung had not expected him to +seek safety in flight. He had given the white man credit for a larger +understanding than that. His desire, first of all, had been to let +Keith know that he was not the only one who was playing for big stakes, +and that another, Shan Tung himself, was gambling a hazard of his own, +and that the fraudulent Derwent Conniston was a trump card in that game. + +To impress this upon Keith he had, first of all, acquainted him with +the fact that he had seen through his deception and that he knew he was +John Keith and not Derwent Conniston. He had also let him know that he +believed he had killed the Englishman, a logical supposition under the +circumstances. This information he had left for Keith was not in the +form of an intimidation. There was, indeed, something very near +apologetic courtesy in the presence of the card bearing Shan Tung's +compliments. The penciling of the hour on the panel of the door, +without other notation, was a polite and suggestive hint. He wanted +Keith to know that he understood his peculiar situation up until that +particular time, that he had heard and possibly seen much that had +passed between him and Mary Josephine. The partly opened window, the +mud and wet on curtains and floor, and the cigarette stubs were all to +call Keith's attention to the box on the table. + +Keith could not but feel a certain sort of admiration for the Chinaman. +The two questions he must answer now were, What was Shan Tung's game? +and What did Shan Tung expect him to do? + +Instantly Miriam Kirkstone flashed upon him as the possible motive for +Shan Tung's visit. He recalled her unexpected and embarrassing question +of that evening, in which she had expressed a suspicion and a doubt as +to John Keith's death. He had gone to Miriam's at eight. It must have +been very soon after that, and after she had caught a glimpse of the +face at the window, that Shan Tung had hurried to the Shack. + +Slowly but surely the tangled threads of the night's adventure were +unraveling themselves for Keith. The main facts pressed upon him, no +longer smothered in a chaos of theory and supposition. If there had +been no Miriam Kirkstone in the big house on the hill, Shan Tung would +have gone to McDowell, and he would have been in irons at the present +moment. McDowell had been right after all. Miriam Kirkstone was +fighting for something that was more than her existence. The thought of +that "something" made Keith writhe and his hands clench. Shan Tung had +triumphed but not utterly. A part of the fruit of his triumph was still +just out of his reach, and the two--beautiful Miss Kirkstone and the +deadly Shan Tung--were locked in a final struggle for its possession. +In some mysterious way he, John Keith, was to play the winning hand. +How or when he could not understand. But of one thing he was convinced; +in exchange for whatever winning card he held Shan Tung had offered him +his life. Tomorrow he would expect an answer. + +That tomorrow had already dawned. It was one o'clock when Keith again +looked at his watch. Twenty hours ago he had cooked his last camp-fire +breakfast. It was only eighteen hours ago that he had filled himself +with the smell of Andy Duggan's bacon, and still more recently that he +had sat in the little barber shop on the corner wondering what his fate +would be when he faced McDowell. It struck him as incongruous and +impossible that only fifteen hours had passed since then. If he +possessed a doubt of the reality of it all, the bed was there to help +convince him. It was a real bed, and he had not slept in a real bed for +a number of years. Wallie had made it ready for him. Its sheets were +snow-white. There was a counterpane with a fringe on it and pillows +puffed up with billowy invitation, as if they were on the point of +floating away. Had they risen before his eyes, Keith would have +regarded the phenomenon rather casually. After the swift piling up of +the amazing events of those fifteen hours, a floating pillow would have +seemed quite in the natural orbit of things. But they did not float. +They remained where they were, their white breasts bared to him, urging +upon him a common-sense perspective of the situation. He wasn't going +to run away. He couldn't sit up all night. Therefore why not come to +them and sleep? + +There was something directly personal in the appeal of the pillows and +the bed. It was not general; it was for him. And Keith responded. + +He made another note of the time, a half-hour after one, when he turned +in. He allotted himself four hours of sleep, for it was his intention +to be up with the sun. + + + +XII + +Necessity had made of Keith a fairly accurate human chronometer. In the +second year of his fugitivism he had lost his watch. At first it was +like losing an arm, a part of his brain, a living friend. From that +time until he came into possession of Conniston's timepiece he was his +own hour-glass and his own alarm clock. He became proficient. + +Brady's bed and the Circe-breasted pillows that supported his head were +his undoing. The morning after Shan Tung's visit he awoke to find the +sun flooding in through the eastern window of his room, The warmth of +it as it fell full in his face, setting his eyes blinking, told him it +was too late. He guessed it was eight o'clock. When he fumbled his +watch out from under his pillow and looked at it, he found it was a +quarter past. He got up quietly, his mind swiftly aligning itself to +the happenings of yesterday. He stretched himself until his muscles +snapped, and his chest expanded with deep breaths of air from the +windows he had left open when he went to bed. He was fit. He was ready +for Shan Tung, for McDowell. And over this physical readiness there +surged the thrill of a glorious anticipation. It fairly staggered him +to discover how badly he wanted to see Mary Josephine again. + +He wondered if she was still asleep and answered that there was little +possibility of her being awake--even at eight o'clock. Probably she +would sleep until noon, the poor, tired, little thing! He smiled +affectionately into the mirror over Brady's dressing-table. And then +the unmistakable sound of voices in the outer room took him curiously +to the door. They were subdued voices. He listened hard, and his heart +pumped faster. One of them was Wallie's voice; the other was Mary +Josephine's. + +He was amused with himself at the extreme care with which he proceeded +to dress. It was an entirely new sensation. Wallie had provided him +with the necessaries for a cold sponge and in some mysterious interim +since their arrival had brushed and pressed the most important of +Conniston's things. With the Englishman's wardrobe he had brought up +from barracks a small chest which was still locked. Until this morning +Keith had not noticed it. It was less than half as large as a steamer +trunk and had the appearance of being intended as a strong box rather +than a traveling receptacle. It was ribbed by four heavy bands of +copper, and the corners and edges were reinforced with the same metal. +The lock itself seemed to be impregnable to one without a key. +Conniston's name was heavily engraved on a copper tablet just above the +lock. + +Keith regarded the chest with swiftly growing speculation. It was not a +thing one would ordinarily possess. It was an object which, on the face +of it, was intended to be inviolate except to its master key, a holder +of treasure, a guardian of mystery and of precious secrets. In the +little cabin up on the Barren Conniston had said rather indifferently, +"You may find something among my things down there that will help you +out." The words flashed back to Keith. Had the Englishman, in that +casual and uncommunicative way of his, referred to the contents of this +chest? Was it not possible that it held for him a solution to the +mystery that was facing him in the presence of Mary Josephine? A sense +of conviction began to possess him. He examined the lock more closely +and found that with proper tools it could be broken. + +He finished dressing and completed his toilet by brushing his beard. On +account of Mary Josephine he found himself regarding this hirsute +tragedy with a growing feeling of disgust, in spite of the fact that it +gave him an appearance rather distinguished and military. He wanted it +off. Its chief crime was that it made him look older. Besides, it was +inclined to be reddish. And it must tickle and prick like the deuce +when-- + +He brought himself suddenly to salute with an appreciative grin. +"You're there, and you've got to stick," he chuckled. After all, he was +a likable-looking chap, even with that handicap. He was glad. + +He opened his door so quietly that Mary Josephine did not see him at +first. Her back was toward him as she bent over the dining-table. Her +slim little figure was dressed in some soft stuff all crinkly from +packing. Her hair, brown and soft, was piled up in shining coils on the +top of her head. For the life of him Keith couldn't keep his eyes from +traveling from the top of that glowing head to the little high-heeled +feet on the floor. They were adorable, slim little, aristocratic feet +with dainty ankles! He stood looking at her until she turned and caught +him. + +There was a change since last night. She was older. He could see it +now, the utter impropriety of his cuddling her up like a baby in the +big chair--the impossibility, almost. + +Mary Josephine settled his doubt. With a happy little cry she ran to +him, and Keith found her arms about him again and her lovely mouth held +up to be kissed. He hesitated for perhaps the tenth part of a second, +if hesitation could be counted in that space. Then his arms closed +about her, and he kissed her. He felt the snuggle of her face against +his breast again, the crush and sweetness of her hair against his lips +and cheek. He kissed her again uninvited. Before he could stop the +habit, he had kissed her a third time. + +Then her hands were at his face, and he saw again that look in her +eyes, a deep and anxious questioning behind the shimmer of love in +them, something mute and understanding and wonderfully sympathetic, a +mothering soul looking at him and praying as it looked. If his life had +paid the forfeit the next instant, he could not have helped kissing her +a fourth time. + +If Mary Josephine had gone to bed with a doubt of his brotherly +interest last night, the doubt was removed now. Her cheeks flushed. Her +eyes shone. She was palpitantly, excitedly happy. "It's YOU, Derry," +she cried. "Oh, it's you as you used to be!" + +She seized his hand and drew him toward the table. Wallie thrust in his +head from the kitchenette, grinning, and Mary Josephine flashed him +back a meaning smile. Keith saw in an instant that Wallie had turned +from his heathen gods to the worship of something infinitely more +beautiful. He no longer looked to Keith for instructions. + +Mary Josephine sat down opposite Keith at the table. She was telling +him, with that warm laughter and happiness in her eyes, how the sun had +wakened her, and how she had helped Wallie get breakfast. For the first +time Keith was looking at her from a point of vantage; there was just +so much distance between them, no more and no less, and the light was +right. She was, to him, exquisite. The little puckery lines came into +her smooth forehead when he apologized for his tardiness by explaining +that he had not gone to bed until one o'clock. Her concern was +delightful. She scolded him while Wallie brought in the breakfast, and +inwardly he swelled with the irrepressible exultation of a great +possessor. He had never had anyone to scold him like that before. It +was a scolding which expressed Mary Josephine's immediate +proprietorship of him, and he wondered if the pleasure of it made him +look as silly as Wallie. His plans were all gone. He had intended to +play the idiotic part of one who had partly lost his memory, but +throughout the breakfast he exhibited no sign that he was anything but +healthfully normal. Mary Josephine's delight at the improvement of his +condition since last night shone in her face and eyes, and he could see +that she was strictly, but with apparent unconsciousness, guarding +herself against saying anything that might bring up the dread shadow +between them. She had already begun to fight her own fight for him, and +the thing was so beautiful that he wanted to go round to her, and get +down on his knees, and put his head in her lap, and tell her the truth. + +It was in the moment of that thought that the look came into his face +which brought the questioning little lines into her forehead again. In +that instant she caught a glimpse of the hunted man, of the soul that +had traded itself, of desire beaten into helplessness by a thing she +would never understand. It was gone swiftly, but she had caught it. And +for her the scar just under his hair stood for its meaning. The +responsive throb in her breast was electric. He felt it, saw it, sensed +it to the depth of his soul, and his faith in himself stood challenged. +She believed. And he--was a liar. Yet what a wonderful thing to lie for! + +"--He called me up over the telephone, and when I told him to be quiet, +that you were still asleep, I think he must have sworn--it sounded like +it, but I couldn't hear distinctly--and then he fairly roared at me to +wake you up and tell you that you didn't half deserve such a lovely +little sister as I am. Wasn't that nice, Derry?" + +"You--you're talking about McDowell?" + +"To be sure I am talking about Mr. McDowell! And when I told him your +injury troubled you more than usual, and that I was glad you were +resting, I think I heard him swallow hard. He thinks a lot of you, +Derry. And then he asked me WHICH injury it was that hurt you, and I +told him the one in the head. What did he mean? Were you hurt somewhere +else, Derry?" + +Keith swallowed hard, too. "Not to speak of," he said. "You see, Mary +Josephine, I've got a tremendous surprise for you, if you'll promise it +won't spoil your appetite. Last night was the first night I've spent in +a real bed for three years." + +And then, without waiting for her questions, he began to tell her the +epic story of John Keith. With her sitting opposite him, her beautiful, +wide-open, gray eyes looking at him with amazement as she sensed the +marvelous coincidence of their meeting, he told it as he had not told +it to McDowell or even to Miriam Kirkstone. A third time the facts were +the same. But it was John Keith now who was telling John Keith's story +through the lips of an unreal and negative Conniston. He forgot his own +breakfast, and a look of gloom settled on Wallie's face when he peered +in through the door and saw that their coffee and toast were growing +cold. Mary Josephine leaned a little over the table. Not once did she +interrupt Keith. Never had he dreamed of a glory that might reflect his +emotions as did her eyes. As he swept from pathos to storm, from the +madness of long, black nights to starvation and cold, as he told of +flight, of pursuit, of the merciless struggle that ended at last in the +capture of John Keith, as he gave to these things words and life +pulsing with the beat of his own heart, he saw them revisioned in those +wonderful gray eyes, cold at times with fear, warm and glowing at other +times with sympathy, and again shining softly with a glory of pride and +love that was meant for him alone. With him she was present in the +little cabin up in the big Barren. Until he told of those days and +nights of hopeless desolation, of racking cough and the nearness of +death, and of the comradeship of brothers that had come as a final +benediction to the hunter and the hunted, until in her soul she was +understanding and living those terrible hours as they two had lived +them, he did not know how deep and dark and immeasurably tender that +gray mystery of beauty in her eyes could be. From that hour he +worshiped them as he worshiped no other part of her. + +"And from all that you came back the same day I came," she said in a +low, awed voice. "You came back from THAT!" + +He remembered the part he must play. + +"Yes, three years of it. If I could only remember as well, only half as +well, things that happened before this--" He raised a hand to his +forehead, to the scar. + +"You will," she whispered swiftly. "Derry, darling, you will!" + +Wallie sidled in and, with an adoring grin at Mary Josephine, suggested +that he had more coffee and toast ready to serve, piping hot. Keith was +relieved. The day had begun auspiciously, and over the bacon and eggs, +done to a ravishing brown by the little Jap, he told Mary Josephine of +some of his bills of fare in the north and how yesterday he had filled +up on bacon smell at Andy Duggan's. Steak from the cheek of a walrus, +he told her, was equal to porterhouse; seal meat wasn't bad, but one +grew tired of it quickly unless he was an Eskimo; polar bear meat was +filling but tough and strong. He liked whale meat, especially the +tail-steaks of narwhal, and cold boiled blubber was good in the winter, +only it was impossible to cook it because of lack of fuel, unless one +was aboard ship or had an alcohol stove in his outfit. The tidbit of +the Eskimo was birds' eggs, gathered by the ton in summer-time, rotten +before cold weather came, and frozen solid as chunks of ice in winter. +Through one starvation period of three weeks he had lived on them +himself, crunching them raw in his mouth as one worries away with a +piece of rock candy. The little lines gathered in Mary Josephine's +forehead at this, but they smoothed away into laughter when he +humorously described the joy of living on nothing at all but air. And +he added to this by telling her how the gluttonous Eskimo at feast-time +would lie out flat on their backs so that their womenfolk could feed +them by dropping chunks of flesh into their open maws until their +stomachs swelled up like the crops of birds overstuffed with grain. + +It was a successful breakfast. When it was over, Keith felt that he had +achieved a great deal. Before they rose from the table, he startled +Mary Josephine by ordering Wallie to bring him a cold chisel and a +hammer from Brady's tool-chest. + +"I've lost the key that opens my chest, and I've got to break in," he +explained to her. + +Mary Josephine's little laugh was delicious. "After what you told me +about frozen eggs, I thought perhaps you were going to eat some," she +said. + +She linked her arm in his as they walked into the big room, snuggling +her head against his shoulder so that, leaning over, his lips were +buried in one of the soft, shining coils of her hair. And she was +making plans, enumerating them on the tips of her fingers. If he had +business outside, she was going with him. Wherever he went she was +going. There was no doubt in her mind about that. She called his +attention to a trunk that had arrived while he slept, and assured him +she would be ready for outdoors by the time he had opened his chest. +She had a little blue suit she was going to wear. And her hair? Did it +look good enough for his friends to see? She had put it up in a hurry. + +"It is beautiful, glorious," he said. + +Her face pinked under the ardency of his gaze. She put a finger to the +tip of his nose, laughing at him. "Why, Derry, if you weren't my +brother I'd think you were my lover! You said that as though you meant +it TERRIBLY much. Do you?" + +He felt a sudden dull stab of pain, "Yes, I mean it. It's glorious. And +so are you, Mary Josephine, every bit of you." + +On tiptoe she gave him the warm sweetness of her lips again. And then +she ran away from him, joy and laughter in her face, and disappeared +into her room. "You must hurry or I shall beat you," she called back to +him. + + + +XIII + +In his own room, with the door closed and locked, Keith felt again that +dull, strange pain that made his heart sick and the air about him +difficult to breathe. + +"IF YOU WEREN'T MY BROTHER." + +The words beat in his brain. They were pounding at his heart until it +was smothered, laughing at him and taunting him and triumphing over him +just as, many times before, the raving voices of the weird wind-devils +had scourged him from out of black night and arctic storm. HER BROTHER! +His hand clenched until the nails bit into his flesh. No, he hadn't +thought of that part of the fight! And now it swept upon him in a +deluge. If he lost in the fight that was ahead of him, his life would +pay the forfeit. The law would take him, and he would hang. And if he +won--she would be his sister forever and to the end of all time! Just +that, and no more. His SISTER! And the agony of truth gripped him that +it was not as a brother that he saw the glory in her hair, the glory in +her eyes and face, and the glory in her slim little, beautiful +body--but as the lover. A merciless preordination had stacked the cards +against him again. He was Conniston, and she was Conniston's sister. + +A strong man, a man in whom blood ran red, there leaped up in him for a +moment a sudden and unreasoning rage at that thing which he had called +fate. He saw the unfairness of it all, the hopelessness of it, the +cowardly subterfuge and trickery of life itself as it had played +against him, and with tightly set lips and clenched hands he called +mutely on God Almighty to play the game square. Give him a chance! Give +him just one square deal, only one; let him see a way, let him fight a +man's fight with a ray of hope ahead! In these red moments hope +emblazoned itself before his eyes as a monstrous lie. Bitterness rose +in him until he was drunk with it, and blasphemy filled his heart. +Whichever way he turned, however hard he fought, there was no chance of +winning. From the day he killed Kirkstone the cards had been stacked +against him, and they were stacked now and would be stacked until the +end. He had believed in God, he had believed in the inevitable ethics +of the final reckoning of things, and he had believed strongly that an +impersonal Something more powerful than man-made will was behind him in +his struggles. These beliefs were smashed now. Toward them he felt the +impulse of a maddened beast trampling hated things under foot. They +stood for lies--treachery--cheating--yes, contemptible cheating! It +was impossible for him to win. However he played, whichever way he +turned, he must lose. For he was Conniston, and she was Conniston's +sister, AND MUST BE TO THE END OF TIME. + +Faintly, beyond the door, he heard Mary Josephine singing. Like a bit +of steel drawn to a tension his normal self snapped back into place. +His readjustment came with a lurch, a subtle sort of shock. His hands +unclenched, the tense lines in his face relaxed, and because that God +Almighty he had challenged had given to him an unquenchable humor, he +saw another thing where only smirking ghouls and hypocrites had rent +his brain with their fiendish exultations a moment before. It was +Conniston's face, suave, smiling, dying, triumphant over life, and +Conniston was saying, just as he had said up there in the cabin on the +Barren, with death reaching out a hand for him, "It's queer, old top, +devilish queer--and funny!" + +Yes, it was funny if one looked at it right, and Keith found himself +swinging back into his old view-point. It was the hugest joke life had +ever played on him. His sister! He could fancy Conniston twisting his +mustaches, his cool eyes glimmering with silent laughter, looking on +his predicament, and he could fancy Conniston saying: "It's funny, old +top, devilish funny--but it'll be funnier still when some other man +comes along and carries her off!" + +And he, John Keith, would have to grin and bear it because he was her +brother! + +Mary Josephine was tapping at his door. + +"Derwent Conniston," she called frigidly, "there's a female person on +the telephone asking for you. What shall I say?" + +"Er--why--tell her you're my sister, Mary Josephine, and if it's Miss +Kirkstone, be nice to her and say I'm not able to come to the 'phone, +and that you're looking forward to meeting her, and that we'll be up to +see her some time today." + +"Oh, indeed!" + +"You see," said Keith, his mouth close to the door, "you see, this Miss +Kirkstone--" + +But Mary Josephine was gone. + +Keith grinned. His illimitable optimism was returning. Sufficient for +the day that she was there, that she loved him, that she belonged to +him, that just now he was the arbiter of her destiny! Far off in the +mountains he dreamed of, alone, just they two, what might not happen? +Some day-- + +With the cold chisel and the hammer he went to the chest. His task was +one that numbed his hands before the last of the three locks was +broken. He dragged the chest more into the light and opened it. He was +disappointed. At first glance he could not understand why Conniston had +locked it at all. It was almost empty, so nearly empty that he could +see the bottom of it, and the first object that met his eyes was an +insult to his expectations--an old sock with a huge hole in the toe of +it. Under the sock was an old fur cap not of the kind worn north of +Montreal. There was a chain with a dog-collar attached to it, a +hip-pocket pistol and a huge forty-five, and not less than a hundred +cartridges of indiscriminate calibers scattered loosely about. At one +end, bundled in carelessly, was a pair of riding-breeches, and under +the breeches a pair of white shoes with rubber soles. There was neither +sentiment nor reason to the collection in the chest. It was junk. Even +the big forty-five had a broken hammer, and the pistol, Keith thought, +might have stunned a fly at close range. He pawed the things over with +the cold chisel, and the last thing he came upon--buried under what +looked like a cast-off sport shirt--was a pasteboard shoe box. He +raised the cover. The box was full of papers. + +Here was promise. He transported the box to Brady's table and sat down. +He examined the larger papers first. There were a couple of old game +licenses for Manitoba, half a dozen pencil-marked maps, chiefly of the +Peace River country, and a number of letters from the secretaries of +Boards of Trade pointing out the incomparable possibilities their +respective districts held for the homesteader and the buyer of land. +Last of all came a number of newspaper clippings and a packet of +letters. + +Because they were loose he seized upon the clippings first, and as his +eyes fell upon the first paragraph of the first clipping his body +became suddenly tensed in the shock of unexpected discovery and amazed +interest. There were six of the clippings, all from English papers, +English in their terseness, brief as stock exchange reports, and +equally to the point. He read the six in three minutes. + +They simply stated that Derwent Conniston, of the Connistons of +Darlington, was wanted for burglary--and that up to date he had not +been found. + +Keith gave a gasp of incredulity. He looked again to see that his eyes +were not tricking him. And it was there in cold, implacable print. +Derwent Conniston--that phoenix among men, by whom he had come to +measure all other men, that Crichton of nerve, of calm and audacious +courage, of splendid poise--a burglar! It was cheap, farcical, an +impossible absurdity. Had it been murder, high treason, defiance of +some great law, a great crime inspired by a great passion or a great +ideal, but it was burglary, brigandage of the cheapest and most +commonplace variety, a sneaking night-coward's plagiarism of real +adventure and real crime. It was impossible. Keith gritted the words +aloud. He might have accepted Conniston as a Dick Turpin, a Claude +Duval or a Macheath, but not as a Jeremy Diddler or a Bill Sykes. The +printed lines were lies. They must be. Derwent Conniston might have +killed a dozen men, but he had never cracked a safe. To think it was to +think the inconceivable. + +He turned to the letters. They were postmarked Darlington, England. His +fingers tingled as he opened the first. It was as he had expected, as +he had hoped. They were from Mary Josephine. He arranged them--nine in +all--in the sequence of their dates, which ran back nearly eight years. +All of them had been written within a period of eleven months. They +were as legible as print. And as he passed from the first to the +second, and from the second to the third, and then read on into the +others, he forgot there was such a thing as time and that Mary +Josephine was waiting for him. The clippings had told him one thing; +here, like bits of driftage to be put together, a line in this place +and half a dozen in that, in paragraphs that enlightened and in others +that puzzled, was the other side of the story, a growing thing that +rose up out of mystery and doubt in segments and fractions of segments +adding themselves together piecemeal, welding the whole into form and +substance, until there rode through Keith's veins a wild thrill of +exultation and triumph. + +And then he came to the ninth and last letter. It was in a different +handwriting, brief, with a deadly specificness about it that gripped +Keith as he read. + +This ninth letter he held in his hand as he rose from the table, and +out of his mouth there fell, unconsciously, Conniston's own words, +"It's devilish queer, old top--and funny!" + +There was no humor in the way he spoke them. His voice was hard, his +eyes dully ablaze. He was looking back into that swirling, unutterable +loneliness of the northland, and he was seeing Conniston again. + +Fiercely he caught up the clippings, struck a match, and with a grim +smile watched them as they curled up into flame and crumbled into ash. +What a lie was life, what a malformed thing was justice, what a monster +of iniquity the man-fabricated thing called law! + +And again he found himself speaking, as if the dead Englishman himself +were repeating the words, "It's devilish queer, old top--and funny!" + + + +XIV + +A quarter of an hour later, with Mary Josephine at his side, he was +walking down the green slope toward the Saskatchewan. In that direction +lay the rims of timber, the shimmering valley, and the broad pathways +that opened into the plains beyond. + +The town was at their backs, and Keith wanted it there. He wanted to +keep McDowell, and Shan Tung, and Miriam Kirkstone as far away as +possible, until his mind rode more smoothly in the new orbit in which +it was still whirling a bit unsteadily. More than all else he wanted to +be alone with Mary Josephine, to make sure of her, to convince himself +utterly that she was his to go on fighting for. He sensed the nearness +and the magnitude of the impending drama. He knew that today he must +face Shan Tung, that again he must go under the battery of McDowell's +eyes and brain, and that like a fish in treacherous waters he must swim +cleverly to avoid the nets that would entangle and destroy him. Today +was the day--the stage was set, the curtain about to be lifted, the +play ready to be enacted. But before it was the prologue. And the +prologue was Mary Josephine's. + +At the crest of a dip halfway down the slope they had paused, and in +this pause he stood a half-step behind her so that he could look at her +for a moment without being observed. She was bareheaded, and it came +upon him all at once how wonderful was a woman's hair, how beautiful +beyond all other things beautiful and desirable. In twisted, glowing +seductiveness it was piled up on Mary Josephine's head, transformed +into brown and gold glories by the sun. He wanted to put forth his hand +to it, and bury his fingers in it, and feel the thrill and the warmth +and the crush of the palpitant life of it against his own flesh. And +then, bending a little forward, he saw under her long lashes the sheer +joy of life shining in her eyes as she drank in the wonderful panorama +that lay below them to the west. Last night's rain had freshened it, +the sun glorified it now, and the fragrance of earthly smells that rose +up to them from it was the undefiled breath of a thing living and +awake. Even to Keith the river had never looked more beautiful, and +never had his yearnings gone out to it more strongly than in this +moment, to the river and beyond--and to the back of beyond, where the +mountains rose up to meet the blue sky and the river itself was born. +And he heard Mary Josephine's voice, joyously suppressed, exclaiming +softly, + +"Oh, Derry!" + +His heart was filled with gladness. She, too, was seeing what his eyes +saw in that wonderland. And she was feeling it. Her hand, seeking his +hand, crept into his palm, and the fingers of it clung to his fingers. +He could feel the thrill of the miracle passing through her, the +miracle of the open spaces, the miracle of the forests rising billow on +billow to the purple mists of the horizon, the miracle of the golden +Saskatchewan rolling slowly and peacefully in its slumbering sheen out +of that mighty mysteryland that reached to the lap of the setting sun. +He spoke to her of that land as she looked, wide-eyed, quick-breathing, +her fingers closing still more tightly about his. This was but the +beginning of the glory of the west and the north, he told her. Beyond +that low horizon, where the tree tops touched the sky were the +prairies--not the tiresome monotony which she had seen from the car +windows, but the wide, glorious, God-given country of the Northwest +with its thousands of lakes and rivers and its tens of thousands of +square miles of forests; and beyond those things, still farther, were +the foothills, and beyond the foothills the mountains. And in those +mountains the river down there had its beginning. + +She looked up swiftly, her eyes brimming with the golden flash of the +sun. "It is wonderful! And just over there is the town!" + +"Yes, and beyond the town are the cities." + +"And off there--" + +"God's country," said Keith devoutly. + +Mary Josephine drew a deep breath. "And people still live in towns and +cities!" she exclaimed in wondering credulity. "I've dreamed of 'over +here,' Derry, but I never dreamed that. And you've had it for years and +years, while I--oh, Derry!" + +And again those two words filled his heart with gladness, words of +loving reproach, atremble with the mysterious whisper of a great +desire. For she was looking into the west. And her eyes and her heart +and her soul were in the west, and suddenly Keith saw his way as though +lighted by a flaming torch. He came near to forgetting that he was +Conniston. He spoke of his dream, his desire, and told her that last +night--before she came--he had made up his mind to go. She had come to +him just in time. A little later and he would have been gone, buried +utterly away from the world in the wonderland of the mountains. And now +they would go together. They would go as he had planned to go, quietly, +unobtrusively; they would slip away and disappear. There was a reason +why no one should know, not even McDowell. It must be their secret. +Some day he would tell her why. Her heart thumped excitedly as he went +on like a boy planning a wonderful day. He could see the swifter beat +of it in the flush that rose into her face and the joy glowing +tremulously in her eyes as she looked at him. They would get ready +quietly. They might go tomorrow, the next day, any time. It would be a +glorious adventure, just they two, with all the vastness of that +mountain paradise ahead of them. + +"We'll be pals," he said. "Just you and me, Mary Josephine. We're all +that's left." + +It was his first experiment, his first reference to the information he +had gained in the letters, and swift as a flash Mary Josephine's eyes +turned up to him. He nodded, smiling. He understood their quick +questioning, and he held her hand closer and began to walk with her +down the slope. + +"A lot of it came back last night and this morning, a lot of it," he +explained. "It's queer what miracles small things can work sometimes, +isn't it? Think what a grain of sand can do to a watch! This was one of +the small things." He was still smiling as he touched the scar on his +forehead. "And you, you were the other miracle. And I'm remembering. It +doesn't seem like seven or eight years, but only yesterday, that the +grain of sand got mixed up somewhere in the machinery in my head. And I +guess there was another reason for my going wrong. You'll understand, +when I tell you." + +Had he been Conniston it could not have come from him more naturally, +more sincerely. He was living the great lie, and yet to him it was no +longer a lie. He did not hesitate, as shame and conscience might have +made him hesitate. He was fighting that something beautiful might be +raised up out of chaos and despair and be made to exist; he was +fighting for life in place of death, for happiness in place of grief, +for light in place of darkness--fighting to save where others would +destroy. Therefore the great lie was not a lie but a thing without +venom or hurt, an instrument for happiness and for all the things good +and beautiful that went to make happiness. It was his one great weapon. +Without it he would fail, and failure meant desolation. So he spoke +convincingly, for what he said came straight from the heart though it +was born in the shadow of that one master-falsehood. His wonder was +that Mary Josephine believed him so utterly that not for an instant was +there a questioning doubt in her eyes or on her lips. + +He told her how much he "remembered," which was no more and no less +than he had learned from the letters and the clippings. The story did +not appeal to him as particularly unusual or dramatic. He had passed +through too many tragic happenings in the last four years to regard it +in that way. It was simply an unfortunate affair beginning in +misfortune, and with its necessary whirlwind of hurt and sorrow. The +one thing of shame he would not keep out of his mind was that he, +Derwent Conniston, must have been a poor type of big brother in those +days of nine or ten years ago, even though little Mary Josephine had +worshiped him. He was well along in his twenties then. The Connistons +of Darlington were his uncle and aunt, and his uncle was a more or less +prominent figure in ship-building interests on the Clyde. With these +people the three--himself, Mary Josephine, and his brother Egbert--had +lived, "farmed out" to a hard-necked, flinty-hearted pair of relatives +because of a brother's stipulation and a certain English law. With them +they had existed in mutual discontent and dislike. Derwent, when he +became old enough, had stepped over the traces. All this Keith had +gathered from the letters, but there was a great deal that was missing. +Egbert, he gathered, must have been a scapegrace. He was a cripple of +some sort and seven or eight years his junior. In the letters Mary +Josephine had spoken of him as "poor Egbert," pitying instead of +condemning him, though it was Egbert who had brought tragedy and +separation upon them. One night Egbert had broken open the Conniston +safe and in the darkness had had a fight and a narrow escape from his +uncle, who laid the crime upon Derwent. And Derwent, in whom Egbert +must have confided, had fled to America that the cripple might be +saved, with the promise that some day he would send for Mary Josephine. +He was followed by the uncle's threat that if he ever returned to +England, he would be jailed. Not long afterward "poor Egbert" was found +dead in bed, fearfully contorted. Keith guessed there had been +something mentally as well as physically wrong with him. + +"--And I was going to send for you," he said, as they came to the level +of the valley. "My plans were made, and I was going to send for you, +when this came." + +He stopped, and in a few tense, breathless moments Mary Josephine read +the ninth and last letter he had taken from the Englishman's chest. It +was from her uncle. In a dozen lines it stated that she, Mary +Josephine, was dead, and it reiterated the threat against Derwent +Conniston should he ever dare to return to England. + +A choking cry came to her lips. "And that--THAT was it?" + +"Yes, that--and the hurt in my head," he said, remembering the part he +must play. "They came at about the same time, and the two of them must +have put the grain of sand in my brain." + +It was hard to lie now, looking straight into her face that had gone +suddenly white, and with her wonderful eyes burning deep into his soul. + +She did not seem, for an instant, to hear his voice or sense his words. +"I understand now," she was saying, the letter crumpling in her +fingers. "I was sick for almost a year, Derry. They thought I was going +to die. He must have written it then, and they destroyed my letters to +you, and when I was better they told me you were dead, and then I +didn't write any more. And I wanted to die. And then, almost a year +ago, Colonel Reppington came to me, and his dear old voice was so +excited that it trembled, and he told me that he believed you were +alive. A friend of his had just returned from British Columbia, and +this friend told him that three years before, while on a grizzly +shooting trip, he had met a man named Conniston, an Englishman. We +wrote a hundred letters up there and found the man, Jack Otto, who was +in the mountains with you, and then I knew you were alive. But we +couldn't find you after that, and so I came--" + +He would have wagered that she was going to cry, but she fought the +tears back, smiling. + +"And--and I've found you!" she finished triumphantly. + +She snuggled close to him, and he slipped an arm about her waist, and +they walked on. She told him about her arrival in Halifax, how Colonel +Reppington had given her letters to nice people in Montreal and +Winnipeg, and how it happened one day that she found his name in one of +the Mounted Police blue books, and after that came on as fast as she +could to surprise him at Prince Albert. When she came to that point, +Keith pointed once more into the west and said: + +"And there is our new world. Let us forget the old. Shall we, Mary +Josephine?" + +"Yes," she whispered, and her hand sought his again and crept into it, +warm and confident. + + + +XV + +They went on through the golden morning, the earth damp under their +feet, the air filled with its sweet incense, on past scattered clumps +of balsams and cedars until they came to the river and looked down on +its yellow sand-bars glistening in the sun. The town was hidden. They +heard no sound from it. And looking up the great Saskatchewan, the +river of mystery, of romance, of glamour, they saw before them, where +the spruce walls seemed to meet, the wide-open door through which they +might pass into the western land beyond. Keith pointed it out. And he +pointed out the yellow bars, the glistening shores of sand, and told +her how even as far as this, a thousand miles by river--those sands +brought gold with them from the mountains, the gold whose +treasure-house no man had ever found, and which must be hidden up there +somewhere near the river's end. His dream, like Duggan's, had been to +find it. Now they would search for it together. + +Slowly he was picking his way so that at last they came to the bit of +cleared timber in which was his old home. His heart choked him as they +drew near. There was an uncomfortable tightness in his breath. The +timber was no longer "clear." In four years younger generations of life +had sprung up among the trees, and the place was jungle-ridden. They +were within a few yards of the house before Mary Josephine saw it, and +then she stopped suddenly with a little gasp. For this that she faced +was not desertion, was not mere neglect. It was tragedy. She saw in an +instant that there was no life in this place, and yet it stood as if +tenanted. It was a log chateau with a great, red chimney rising at one +end curtains and shades still hung at the windows. There were three +chairs on the broad veranda that looked riverward. But two of the +windows were broken, and the chairs were falling into ruin. There was +no life. They were facing only the ghosts of life. + +A swift glance into Keith's face told her this was so. His lips were +set tight. There was a strange look in his face. Hand in hand they had +come up, and her fingers pressed his tighter now. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +"It is John Keith's home as he left it four years ago," he replied. + +The suspicious break in his voice drew her eyes from the chateau to his +own again. She could see him fighting. There was a twitching in his +throat. His hand was gripping hers until it hurt. + +"John Keith?" she whispered softly. + +"Yes, John Keith." + +She inclined her head so that it rested lightly and affectionately +against his arm. + +"You must have thought a great deal of him, Derry." + +"Yes." + +He freed her hand, and his fists clenched convulsively. She could feel +the cording of the muscles in his arm, his face was white, and in his +eyes was a fixed stare that startled her. He fumbled in a pocket and +drew out a key. + +"I promised, when he died, that I would go in and take a last look for +him," he said. "He loved this place. Do you want to go with me?" + +She drew a deep breath. "Yes." + +The key opened the door that entered on the veranda. As it swung back, +grating on its rusty hinges, they found themselves facing the chill of +a cold and lifeless air. Keith stepped inside. A glance told him that +nothing was changed--everything was there in that room with the big +fireplace, even as he had left it the night he set out to force justice +from Judge Kirkstone. One thing startled him. On the dust-covered table +was a bowl and a spoon. He remembered vividly how he had eaten his +supper that night of bread and milk. It was the littleness of the +thing, the simplicity of it, that shocked him. The bowl and spoon were +still there after four years. He did not reflect that they were as +imperishable as all the other things about; the miracle was that they +were there on the table, as though he had used them only yesterday. The +most trivial things in the room struck him deepest, and he found +himself fighting hard, for a moment, to keep his nerve. + +"He told me about the bowl and the spoon, John Keith did," he said, +nodding toward them. "He told me just what I'd find here, even to that. +You see, he loved the place greatly and everything that was in it. It +was impossible for him to forget even the bowl and the spoon and where +he had left them." + +It was easier after that. The old home was whispering back its memories +to him, and he told them to Mary Josephine as they went slowly from +room to room, until John Keith was living there before her again, the +John Keith whom Derwent Conniston had run to his death. It was this +thing that gripped her, and at last what was in her mind found voice. + +"It wasn't YOU who made him die, was it, Derry? It wasn't you?" + +"No. It was the law. He died, as I told you, of a frosted lung. At the +last I would have shared my life with him had it been possible. +McDowell must never know that. You must never speak of John Keith +before him." + +"I--I understand, Derry." + +"And he must not know that we came here. To him John Keith was a +murderer whom it was his duty to hang." + +She was looking at him strangely. Never had he seen her look at him in +that way. + +"Derry," she whispered. + +"Yes?" + +"Derry, IS JOHN KEITH ALIVE?" + +He started. The shock of the question was in his face. He caught +himself, but it was too late. And in an instant her hand was at his +mouth, and she was whispering eagerly, almost fiercely: + +"No, no, no--don't answer me, Derry! DON'T ANSWER ME! I know, and I +understand, and I'm glad, glad, GLAD! He's alive, and it was you who +let him live, the big, glorious brother I'm proud of! And everyone else +thinks he's dead. But don't answer me, Derry, don't answer me!" + +She was trembling against him. His arms closed about her, and he held +her nearer to his heart, and longer, than he had ever held her before. +He kissed her hair many times, and her lips once, and up about his neck +her arms twined softly, and a great brightness was in her eyes. + +"I understand," she whispered again. "I understand." + +"And I--I must answer you," he said. "I must answer you, because I love +you, and because you must know. Yes, John Keith is alive!" + + + +XVI + +An hour later, alone and heading for the inspector's office, Keith felt +in battle trim. His head was fairly singing with the success of the +morning. Since the opening of Conniston's chest many things had +happened, and he was no longer facing a blank wall of mystery. His +chief cause of exhilaration was Mary Josephine. She wanted to go away +with him. She wanted to go with him anywhere, everywhere, as long as +they were together. When she had learned that his term of enlistment +was about to expire and that if he remained in the Service he would be +away from her a great deal, she had pleaded with him not to reenlist. +She did not question him when he told her that it might be necessary to +go away very suddenly, without letting another soul know of their +movements, not even Wallie. Intuitively she guessed that the reason had +something to do with John Keith, for he had let the fear grow in her +that McDowell might discover he had been a traitor to the Service, in +which event the Law itself would take him away from her for a +considerable number of years. And with that fear she was more than ever +eager for the adventure, and planned with him for its consummation. + +Another thing cheered Keith. He was no longer the absolute liar of +yesterday, for by a fortunate chance he had been able to tell her that +John Keith was alive. This most important of all truths he had confided +to her, and the confession had roused in her a comradeship that had +proclaimed itself ready to fight for him or run away with him. Not for +an instant had she regretted the action he had taken in giving Keith +his freedom. He was peculiarly happy because of that. She was glad John +Keith was alive. + +And now that she knew the story of the old home down in the clump of +timber and of the man who had lived there, she was anxious to meet +Miriam Kirkstone, daughter of the man he had killed. Keith had promised +her they would go up that afternoon. Within himself he knew that he was +not sure of keeping the promise. There was much to do in the next few +hours, and much might happen. In fact there was but little speculation +about it. This was the big day. Just what it held for him he could not +be sure until he saw Shan Tung. Any instant might see him put to the +final test. + +Cruze was pacing slowly up and down the hall when Keith entered the +building in which McDowell had his offices. The young secretary's face +bore a perplexed and rather anxious expression. His hands were buried +deep in his trousers pockets, and he was puffing a cigarette. At +Keith's appearance he brightened up a bit. + +"Don't know what to make of the governor this morning, by Jove I +don't!" he explained, nodding toward the closed doors. "I've got +instructions to let no one near him except you. You may go in." + +"What seems to be the matter?" Keith felt out cautiously. + +Cruze shrugged his thin shoulders, nipped the ash from his cigarette, +and with a grimace said, "Shan Tung." + +"Shan Tung?" Keith spoke the name in a sibilant whisper. Every nerve in +him had jumped, and for an instant he thought he had betrayed himself. +Shan Tung had been there early. And now McDowell was waiting for him +and had given instructions that no other should be admitted. If the +Chinaman had exposed him, why hadn't McDowell sent officers up to the +Shack? That was the first question that jumped into his head. The +answer came as quickly--McDowell had not sent officers because, hating +Shan Tung, he had not believed his story. But he was waiting there to +investigate. A chill crept over Keith. + +Cruze was looking at him intently. + +"There's something to this Shan Tung business," he said. "It's even +getting on the old man's nerves. And he's very anxious to see you, Mr. +Conniston. I've called you up half a dozen times in the last hour." + +He nipped away his cigarette, turned alertly, and moved toward the +inspector's door. Keith wanted to call him back, to leap upon him, if +necessary, and drag him away from that deadly door. But he neither +moved nor spoke until it was too late. The door opened, he heard Cruze +announce his presence, and it seemed to him the words were scarcely out +of the secretary's mouth when McDowell himself stood in the door. + +"Come in, Conniston," he said quietly. "Come in." + +It was not McDowell's voice. It was restrained, terrible. It was the +voice of a man speaking softly to cover a terrific fire raging within. +Keith felt himself doomed. Even as he entered, his mind was swiftly +gathering itself for the last play, the play he had set for himself if +the crisis came. He would cover McDowell, bind and gag him even as +Cruze sauntered in the hall, escape through a window, and with Mary +Josephine bury himself in the forests before pursuit could overtake +them. Therefore his amazement was unbounded when McDowell, closing the +door, seized his hand in a grip that made him wince, and shook it with +unfeigned gladness and relief. + +"I'm not condemning you, of course," he said. "It was rather beastly of +me to annoy your sister before you were up this morning. She flatly +refused to rouse you, and by George, the way she said it made me turn +the business of getting into touch with you over to Cruze. Sit down, +Conniston. I'm going to explode a mine under you." + +He flung himself into his swivel chair and twisted one of his fierce +mustaches, while his eyes blazed at Keith. Keith waited. He saw the +other was like an animal ready to spring and anxious to spring, the one +evident stricture on his desire being that there was nothing to spring +at unless it was himself. + +"What happened last night?" he asked. + +Keith's mind was already working swiftly. McDowell's question gave him +the opportunity of making the first play against Shan Tung. + +"Enough to convince me that I am going to see Shan Tung today," he said. + +He noticed the slow clenching and unclenching of McDowell's fingers +about the arms of his chair. + +"Then--I was right?" + +"I have every reason to believe you were--up to a certain point. I +shall know positively when I have talked with Shan Tung." + +He smiled grimly. McDowell's eyes were no harder than his own. The iron +man drew a deep breath and relaxed a bit in his chair. + +"If anything should happen," he said, looking away from Keith, as +though the speech were merely casual, "if he attacks you--" + +"It might be necessary to kill him in self-defense," finished Keith. + +McDowell made no sign to show that he had heard, yet Keith thrilled +with the conviction that he had struck home. He went on telling briefly +what had happened at Miriam Kirkstone's house the preceding night. +McDowell's face was purple when he described the evidences of Shan +Tung's presence at the house on the hill, but with a mighty effort he +restrained his passion. + +"That's it, that's it," he exclaimed, choking back his wrath. "I knew +he was there! And this morning both of them lie about it--both of them, +do you understand! She lied, looking me straight in the eyes. And he +lied, and for the first time in his life he laughed at me, curse me if +he didn't! It was like the gurgle of oil. I didn't know a human could +laugh that way. And on top of that he told me something that I WON'T +believe, so help me God, I won't!" + +He jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth, his hands +clenched behind him. Suddenly he whirled on Keith. + +"Why in heaven's name didn't you bring Keith back with you, or, if not +Keith, at least a written confession, signed by him?" he demanded. + +This was a blow from behind for Keith. "What--what has Keith got to do +with this?" he stumbled. + +"More than I dare tell you, Conniston. But WHY didn't you bring back a +signed confession from him? A dying man is usually willing to make +that." + +"If he is guilty, yes," agreed Keith. "But this man was a different +sort. If he killed Judge Kirkstone, he had no regret. He did not +consider himself a criminal. He felt that he had dealt out justice in +his own way, and therefore, even when he was dying, he would not sign +anything or state anything definitely." + +McDowell subsided into his chair. + +"And the curse of it is I haven't a thing on Shan Tung," he gritted. +"Not a thing. Miriam Kirkstone is her own mistress, and in the eyes of +the law he is as innocent of crime as I am. If she is voluntarily +giving herself as a victim to this devil, it is her own +business--legally, you understand. Morally--" + +He stopped, his savagely gleaming eyes boring Keith to the marrow. + +"He hates you as a snake hates fire-water. It is possible, if he +thought the opportunity had come to him--" + +Again he paused, cryptic, waiting for the other to gather the thing he +had not spoken. Keith, simulating two of Conniston's tricks at the same +time, shrugged a shoulder and twisted a mustache as he rose to his +feet. He smiled coolly down at the iron man. For once he gave a +passable imitation of the Englishman. + +"And he's going to have the opportunity today," he said +understandingly. "I think, old chap, I'd better be going. I'm rather +anxious to see Shan Tung before dinner." + +McDowell followed him to the door. + +His face had undergone a change. There was a tense expectancy, almost +an eagerness there. Again he gripped Keith's hand, and before the door +opened he said, + +"If trouble comes between you let it be in the open, Conniston--in the +open and not on Shan Tung's premises." + +Keith went out, his pulse quickening to the significance of the iron +man's words, and wondering what the "mine" was that McDowell had +promised to explode, but which he had not. + + + +XVII + +Keith lost no time in heading for Shan Tung's. He was like a man +playing chess, and the moves were becoming so swift and so intricate +that his mind had no rest. Each hour brought forth its fresh +necessities and its new alternatives. It was McDowell who had given him +his last cue, perhaps the surest and safest method of all for winning +his game. The iron man, that disciple of the Law who was merciless in +his demand of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, had let him +understand that the world would be better off without Shan Tung. This +man, who never in his life had found an excuse for the killer, now +maneuvered subtly the suggestion for a killing. + +Keith was both shocked and amazed. "If anything happens, let it be in +the open and not on Shan Tung's premises," he had warned him. That +implied in McDowell's mind a cool and calculating premeditation, the +assumption that if Shan Tung was killed it would be in self-defense. +And Keith's blood leaped to the thrill of it. He had not only found the +depths of McDowell's personal interest in Miriam Kirkstone, but a last +weapon had been placed in his hands, a weapon which he could use this +day if it became necessary. Cornered, with no other hope of saving +himself, he could as a last resort kill Shan Tung--and McDowell would +stand behind him! + +He went directly to Shan Tung's cafe and sauntered in. There were large +changes in it since four years ago. The moment he passed through its +screened vestibule, he felt its oriental exclusiveness, the sleek and +mysterious quietness of it. One might have found such a place catering +to the elite of a big city. It spoke sumptuously of a large expenditure +of money, yet there was nothing bizarre or irritating to the senses. +Its heavily-carved tables were almost oppressive in their solidity. +Linen and silver, like Shan Tung himself, were immaculate. +Magnificently embroidered screens were so cleverly arranged that one +saw not all of the place at once, but caught vistas of it. The few +voices that Keith heard in this pre-lunch hour were subdued, and the +speakers were concealed by screens. Two orientals, as immaculate as the +silver and linen, were moving about with the silence of velvet-padded +lynxes. A third, far in the rear, stood motionless as one of the carven +tables, smoking a cigarette and watchful as a ferret. This was Li King, +Shan Tung's right-hand man. + +Keith approached him. When he was near enough, Li King gave the +slightest inclination to his head and took the cigarette from his +mouth. Without movement or speech he registered the question, "What do +you want?" + +Keith knew this to be a bit of oriental guile. In his mind there was no +doubt that Li King had been fully instructed by his master and that he +had been expecting him, even watching for him. Convinced of this, he +gave him one of Conniston's cards and said, + +"Take this to Shan Tung. He is expecting me." + +Li King looked at the card, studied it for a moment with apparent +stupidity, and shook his head. "Shan Tung no home. Gone away." + +That was all. Where he had gone or when he would return Keith could not +discover from Li King. Of all other matters except that he had gone +away the manager of Shan Tung's affairs was ignorant. Keith felt like +taking the yellow-skinned hypocrite by the throat and choking something +out of him, but he realized that Li King was studying and watching him, +and that he would report to Shan Tung every expression that had passed +over his face. So he looked at his watch, bought a cigar at the glass +case near the cash register, and departed with a cheerful nod, saying +that he would call again. + +Ten minutes later he determined on a bold stroke. There was no time for +indecision or compromise. He must find Shan Tung and find him quickly. +And he believed that Miriam Kirkstone could give him a pretty good tip +as to his whereabouts. He steeled himself to the demand he was about to +make as he strode up to the house on the hill. He was disappointed +again. Miss Kirkstone was not at home. If she was, she did not answer +to his knocking and bell ringing. + +He went to the depot. No one he questioned had seen Shan Tung at the +west-bound train, the only train that had gone out that morning, and +the agent emphatically disclaimed selling him a ticket. Therefore he +had not gone far. Suspicion leaped red in Keith's brain. His +imagination pictured Shan Tung at that moment with Miriam Kirkstone, +and at the thought his disgust went out against them both. In this +humor he returned to McDowell's office. He stood before his chief, +leaning toward him over the desk table. This time he was the inquisitor. + +"Plainly speaking, this liaison is their business," he declared. +"Because he is yellow and she is white doesn't make it ours. I've just +had a hunch. And I believe in following hunches, especially when one +hits you good and hard, and this one has given me a jolt that means +something. Where is that big fat brother of hers?" + +McDowell hesitated. "It isn't a liaison," he temporized. "It's +one-sided--a crime against--" + +"WHERE IS THAT BIG FAT BROTHER?" With each word Keith emphasized his +demand with a thud of his fist on the table. "WHERE IS HE?" + +McDowell was deeply perturbed. Keith could see it and waited. + +After a moment of silence the iron man rose from the swivel chair, +walked to the window, gazed out for another moment, and walked back +again, twisting one of his big gray mustaches in a way that betrayed +the stress of his emotion. "Confound it, Conniston, you've got a mind +for seeking out the trivialities, and little things are sometimes the +most embarrassing." + +"And sometimes most important," added Keith. "For instance, it strikes +me as mighty important that we should know where Peter Kirkstone is and +why he is not here fighting for his sister's salvation. Where is he?" + +"I don't know. He disappeared from town a month ago. Miriam says he is +somewhere in British Columbia looking over some old mining properties. +She doesn't know just where." + +"And you believe her?" + +The eyes of the two men met. There was no longer excuse for +equivocation. Both understood. + +McDowell smiled in recognition of the fact. "No. I think, Conniston, +that she is the most wonderful little liar that lives. And the +beautiful part of it is, she is lying for a purpose. Imagine Peter +Kirkstone, who isn't worth the powder to blow him to Hades, interested +in old mines or anything else that promises industry or production! And +the most inconceivable thing about the whole mess is that Miriam +worships that fat and worthless pig of a brother. I've tried to find +him in British Columbia. Failed, of course. Another proof that this +affair between Miriam and Shan Tung isn't a voluntary liaison on her +part. She's lying. She's walking on a pavement of lies. If she told the +truth--" + +"There are some truths which one cannot tell about oneself," +interrupted Keith. "They must be discovered or buried. And I'm going +deeper into this prospecting and undertaking business this afternoon. +I've got another hunch. I think I'll have something interesting to +report before night." + +Ten minutes later, on his way to the Shack, he was discussing with +himself the modus operandi of that "hunch." It had come to him in an +instant, a flash of inspiration. That afternoon he would see Miriam +Kirkstone and question her about Peter. Then he would return to +McDowell, lay stress on the importance of the brother, tell him that he +had a clew which he wanted to follow, and suggest finally a swift trip +to British Columbia. He would take Mary Josephine, lie low until his +term of service expired, and then report by letter to McDowell that he +had failed and that he had made up his mind not to reenlist but to try +his fortunes with Mary Josephine in Australia. Before McDowell received +that letter, they could be on their way into the mountains. The "hunch" +offered an opportunity for a clean getaway, and in his jubilation +Miriam Kirkstone and her affairs were important only as a means to an +end. He was John Keith now, fighting for John Keith's life--and Derwent +Conniston's sister. + +Mary Josephine herself put the first shot into the fabric of his plans. +She must have been watching for him, for when halfway up the slope he +saw her coming to meet him. She scolded him for being away from her, as +he had expected her to do. Then she pulled his arm about her slim +little waist and held the hand thus engaged in both her own as they +walked up the winding path. He noticed the little wrinkles in her +adorable forehead. + +"Derry, is it the right thing for young ladies to call on their +gentlemen friends over here?" she asked suddenly. + +"Why--er--that depends, Mary Josephine. You mean--" + +"Yes, I do, Derwent Conniston! She's pretty, and I don't blame you, but +I can't help feeling that I don't like it!" + +His arm tightened about her until she gasped. The fragile softness of +her waist was a joy to him. + +"Derry!" she remonstrated. "If you do that again, I'll break!" + +"I couldn't help it," he pleaded. "I couldn't, dear. The way you said +it just made my arm close up tight. I'm glad you didn't like it. I can +love only one at a time, and I'm loving you, and I'm going on loving +you all my life." + +"I wasn't jealous," she protested, blushing. "But she called twice on +the telephone and then came up. And she's pretty." + +"I suppose you mean Miss Kirkstone?" + +"Yes. She was frightfully anxious to see you, Derry." + +"And what did you think of her, dear?" + +She cast a swift look up into his face. + +"Why, I like her. She's sweet and pretty, and I fell in love with her +hair. But something was troubling her this morning. I'm quite sure of +it, though she tried to keep it back." + +"She was nervous, you mean, and pale, with sometimes a frightened look +in her eyes. Was that it?" + +"You seem to know, Derry. I think it was all that." + +He nodded. He saw his horizon aglow with the smile of fortune. +Everything was coming propitiously for him, even this unexpected visit +of Miriam Kirkstone. He did not trouble himself to speculate as to the +object of her visit, for he was grappling now with his own opportunity, +his chance to get away, to win out for himself in one last +master-stroke, and his mind was concentrated in that direction. The +time was ripe to tell these things to Mary Josephine. She must be +prepared. + +On the flat table of the hill where Brady had built his bungalow were +scattered clumps of golden birch, and in the shelter of one of the +nearer clumps was a bench, to which Keith drew Mary Josephine. +Thereafter for many minutes he spoke his plans. Mary Josephine's cheeks +grew flushed. Her eyes shone with excitement and eagerness. She +thrilled to the story he told her of what they would do in those +wonderful mountains of gold and mystery, just they two alone. He made +her understand even more definitely that his safety and their mutual +happiness depended upon the secrecy of their final project, that in a +way they were conspirators and must act as such. They might start for +the west tonight or tomorrow, and she must get ready. + +There he should have stopped. But with Mary Josephine's warm little +hand clinging to his and her beautiful eyes shining at him like liquid +stars, he felt within him an overwhelming faith and desire, and he went +on, making a clean breast of the situation that was giving them the +opportunity to get away. He felt no prick of conscience at thought of +Miriam Kirkstone's affairs. Her destiny must be, as he had told +McDowell, largely a matter of her own choosing. Besides, she had +McDowell to fight for her. And the big fat brother, too. So without +fear of its effect he told Mary Josephine of the mysterious liaison +between Miriam Kirkstone and Shan Tung, of McDowell's suspicions, of +his own beliefs, and how it was all working out for their own good. + +Not until then did he begin to see the changing lights in her eyes. Not +until he had finished did he notice that most of that vivid flush of +joy had gone from her face and that she was looking at him in a +strained, tense way. He felt then the reaction. She was not looking at +the thing as he was looking at it. He had offered to her another +woman's tragedy as THEIR opportunity, and her own woman's heart had +responded in the way that has been woman's since the dawn of life. A +sense of shame which he fought and tried to crush took possession of +him. He was right. He must be right, for it was his life that was +hanging in the balance. Yet Mary Josephine could not know that. + +Her fingers had tightened about his, and she was looking away from him. +He saw now that the color had almost gone from her face. There was the +flash of a new fire in her yes. + +"And THAT was why she was nervous and pale, with sometimes a frightened +look in her eyes," she spoke softly, repeating his words. "It was +because of this Chinese monster, Shan Tung--because he has some sort of +power over her, you say--because--" + +She snatched her hand from his with a suddenness that startled him. Her +eyes, so beautiful and soft a few minutes before, scintillated fire. +"Derry, if you don't fix this heathen devil--I WILL!" + +She stood up before him, breathing quickly, and he beheld in her not +the soft, slim-waisted little goddess of half an hour ago, but the +fiercest fighter of all the fighting ages, a woman roused. And no +longer fear, but a glory swept over him. She was Conniston's sister, +AND SHE WAS CONNISTON. Even as he saw his plans falling about him, he +opened his arms and held them out to her, and with the swiftness of +love she ran into them, putting her hands to his face while he held her +close and kissed her lips. + +"You bet we'll fix that heathen devil before we go," he said. "You bet +we will--SWEETHEART!" + + + +XVIII + +Wallie, suffering the outrage of one who sees his dinner growing cold, +found Keith and Mary Josephine in the edge of the golden birch and +implored them to come and eat. It was a marvel of a dinner. Over Mary +Josephine's coffee and Keith's cigar they discussed their final plans. +Keith made the big promise that he would "fix Shan Tung" in a hurry, +perhaps that very afternoon. In the glow of Mary Josephine's proud eyes +he felt no task too large for him, and he was eager to be at it. But +when his cigar was half done, Mary Josephine came around and perched +herself on the arm of his chair, and began running her fingers through +his hair. All desire to go after Shan Tung left him. He would have +remained there forever. Twice she bent down and touched his forehead +lightly with her lips. Again his arm was round her soft little waist, +and his heart was pumping like a thing overworked. It was Mary +Josephine, finally, who sent him on his mission, but not before she +stood on tiptoe, her hands on his shoulders, giving him her mouth to +kiss. + +An army at his back could not have strengthened Keith with a vaster +determination than that kiss. There would be no more quibbling. His +mind was made up definitely on the point. And his first move was to +head straight for the Kirkstone house on the hill. + +He did not get as far as the door this time. He caught a vision of +Miriam Kirkstone in the shrubbery, bareheaded, her hair glowing +radiantly in the sun. It occurred to him suddenly that it was her hair +that roused the venom in him when he thought of her as the property of +Shan Tung. If it had been black or even brown, the thought might not +have emphasized itself so unpleasantly in his mind. But that vivid gold +cried out against the crime, even against the girl herself. She saw him +almost in the instant his eyes fell upon her, and came forward quickly +to meet him. There was an eagerness in her face that told him his +coming relieved her of a terrific suspense. + +"I'm sorry I wasn't at the Shack when you came, Miss Kirkstone," he +said, taking for a moment the hand she offered him. "I fancy you were +up there to see me about Shan Tung." + +He sent the shot bluntly, straight home. In the tone of his voice there +was no apology. He saw her grow cold, her eyes fixed on him staringly, +as though she not only heard his words but saw what was in his mind. + +"Wasn't that it, Miss Kirkstone?" + +She nodded affirmatively, but her lips did not move. + +"Shan Tung," he repeated. "Miss Kirkstone, what is the trouble? Why +don't you confide in someone, in McDowell, in me, in--" + +He was going to say "your brother," but the suddenness with which she +caught his arm cut the words short. + +"Shan Tung has been to see him--McDowell?" she questioned excitedly. +"He has been there today? And he told him--" She stopped, breathing +quickly, her fingers tightening on his arm. + +"I don't know what passed between them," said Keith. "But McDowell was +tremendously worked up about you. So am I. We might as well be frank, +Miss Kirkstone. There's something rotten in Denmark when two people +like you and Shan Tung mix up. And you are mixed; you can't deny it. +You have been to see Shan Tung late at night. He was in the house with +you the first night I saw you. More than that--HE IS IN YOUR HOUSE NOW!" + +She shrank back as if he had struck at her. "No, no, no," she cried. +"He isn't there. I tell you, he isn't!" + +"How am I to believe you?" demanded Keith. "You have not told the truth +to McDowell. You are fighting to cover up the truth. And we know it is +because of Shan Tung. WHY? I am here to fight for you, to help you. And +McDowell, too. That is why we must know. Miss Kirkstone, do you love +the Chinaman?" + +He knew the words were an insult. He had guessed their effect. As if +struck there suddenly by a painter's brush, two vivid spots appeared in +the girl's pale cheeks. She shrank back from him another step. Her eyes +blazed. Slowly, without turning their flame from his face, she pointed +to the edge of the shrubbery a few feet from where they were standing. +He looked. Twisted and partly coiled on the mold, where it had been +clubbed to death, was a little green grass snake. + +"I hate him--like that!" she said. + +His eyes came back to her. "Then for some reason known only to you and +Shan Tung you have sold or are intending to sell yourself to him!" + +It was not a question. It was an accusation. He saw the flush of anger +fading out of her cheeks. Her body relaxed, her head dropped, and +slowly she nodded in confirmation. + +"Yes, I am going to sell myself to him." + +The astounding confession held him mute for a space. In the interval it +was the girl who became self-possessed. What she said next amazed him +still more. + +"I have confessed so much because I am positive that you will not +betray me. And I went up to the Shack to find you, because I want you +to help me find a story to tell McDowell. You said you would help me. +Will you?" + +He still did not speak, and she went on. + +"I am accepting that promise as granted, too. McDowell mistrusts, but +he must not know. You must help me there. You must help me for two or +three weeks, At the end of that time something may happen. He must be +made to have faith in me again. Do you understand?" + +"Partly," said Keith. "You ask me to do this blindly, without knowing +why I am doing it, without any explanation whatever on your part except +that for some unknown and mysterious price you are going to sell +yourself to Shan Tung. You want me to cover and abet this monstrous +deal by hoodwinking the man whose suspicions threaten its consummation. +If there was not in my own mind a suspicion that you are insane, I +should say your proposition is as ludicrous as it is impossible. Having +that suspicion, it is a bit tragic. Also it is impossible. It is +necessary for you first to tell me why you are going to sell yourself +to Shan Tung." + +Her face was coldly white and calm again. But her hands trembled. He +saw her try to hide them, and pitied her. + +"Then I won't trouble you any more, for that, too, is impossible," she +said. "May I trust you to keep in confidence what I have told you? +Perhaps I have had too much faith in you for a reason which has no +reason, because you were with John Keith. John Keith was the one other +man who might have helped me." + +"And why John Keith? How could he have helped you?" + +She shook her head. "If I told you that, I should be answering the +question which is impossible." + +He saw himself facing a checkmate. To plead, to argue with her, he knew +would profit him nothing. A new thought came to him, swift and +imperative. The end would justify the means. He clenched his hands. He +forced into his face a look that was black and vengeful. And he turned +it on her. + +"Listen to me," he cried. "You are playing a game, and so am I. +Possibly we are selfish, both of us, looking each to his own interests +with no thought of the other. Will you help me, if I help you?" + +Again he pitied her as he saw with what eager swiftness she caught at +his bait. + +"Yes," she nodded, catching her breath. "Yes, I will help you." + +His face grew blacker. He raised his clenched hands so she could see +them, and advanced a step toward her. + +"Then tell me this--would you care if something happened to Shan Tung? +Would you care if he died, if he was killed, if--" + +Her breath was coming faster and faster. Again the red spots blazed in +her cheeks. + +"WOULD YOU CARE?" he demanded. + +"No--no--I wouldn't care. He deserves to die." + +"Then tell me where Shan Tung is. For my game is with him. And I +believe it is a bigger game than your game, for it is a game of life +and death. That is why I am interested in your affair. It is because I +am selfish, because I have my own score to settle, and because you can +help me. I shall ask you no more questions about yourself. And I shall +keep your secret and help you with McDowell if you will keep mine and +help me. First, where is Shan Tung?" + +She hesitated for barely an instant. "He has gone out of town. He will +be away for ten days." + +"But he bought no ticket; no one saw him leave by train." + +"No, he walked up the river. An auto was waiting for him. He will pass +through tonight on the eastbound train on his way to Winnipeg." + +"Will you tell me why he is going to Winnipeg?" + +"No, I cannot." + +He shrugged his shoulders. "It is scarcely necessary to ask. I can +guess. It is to see your brother." + +Again he knew he had struck home. + +And yet she said, "No, it is not to see my brother." + +He held out his hand to her. "Miss Kirkstone, I am going to keep my +promise. I am going to help you with McDowell. Of course I demand my +price. Will you swear on your word of honor to let me know the moment +Shan Tung returns?" + +"I will let you know." + +Their hands clasped. Looking into her eyes, Keith saw what told him his +was not the greatest cross to bear. Miriam Kirkstone also was fighting +for her life, and as he turned to leave her, he said: + +"While there is life there is hope. In settling my score with Shan Tung +I believe that I shall also settle yours. It is a strong hunch, Miss +Kirkstone, and it's holding me tight. Ten days, Shan Tung, and then--" + +He left her, smiling. Miriam Kirkstone watched him go, her slim hands +clutched at her breast, her eyes aglow with a new thought, a new hope; +and as he heard the gate slam behind him, a sobbing cry rose in her +throat, and she reached out her hands as if to call him back, for +something was telling her that through this man lay the way to her +salvation. + +And her lips were moaning softly, "Ten days--ten days--and then--what?" + + + +XIX + +In those ten days all the wonders of June came up out of the south. +Life pulsed with a new and vibrant force. The crimson fire-flowers, +first of wild blooms to come after snow and frost, splashed the green +spaces with red. The forests took on new colors, the blue of the sky +grew nearer, and in men's veins the blood ran with new vigor and +anticipations. To Keith they were all this and more. Four years along +the rim of the Arctic had made it possible for him to drink to the full +the glory of early summer along the Saskatchewan. And to Mary Josephine +it was all new. Never had she seen a summer like this that was dawning, +that most wonderful of all the summers in the world, which comes in +June along the southern edge of the Northland. + +Keith had played his promised part. It was not difficult for him to +wipe away the worst of McDowell's suspicions regarding Miss Kirkstone, +for McDowell was eager to believe. When Keith told him that Miriam was +on the verge of a nervous breakdown simply because of certain trouble +into which Shan Tung had inveigled her brother, and that everything +would be straightened out the moment Shan Tung returned from Winnipeg, +the iron man seized his hands in a sudden burst of relief and gratitude. + +"But why didn't she confide in me, Conniston?" he complained. "Why +didn't she confide in me?" The anxiety in his voice, its note of +disappointment, were almost boyish. + +Keith was prepared. "Because--" + +He hesitated, as if projecting the thing in his mind. "McDowell, I'm in +a delicate position. You must understand without forcing me to say too +much. You are the last man in the world Miss Kirkstone wants to know +about her trouble until she has triumphed, and it is over. Delicacy, +perhaps; a woman's desire to keep something she is ashamed of from the +one man she looks up to above all other men--to keep it away from him +until she has cleared herself so that there is no suspicion. McDowell, +if I were you, I'd be proud of her for that." + +McDowell turned away, and for a space Keith saw the muscles in the back +of his neck twitching. + +"Derwent, maybe you've guessed, maybe you understand," he said after a +moment with his face still turned to the window. "Of course she will +never know. I'm too Old, old enough to be her father. But I've got the +right to watch over her, and if any man ever injures her--" + +His fists grew knotted, and softly Keith said behind him: + +"You'd possibly do what John Keith did to the man who wronged his +father. And because the Law is not always omniscient, it is also +possible that Shan Tung may have to answer in some such way. Until +then, until she comes to you of her own free will and with gladness in +her eyes tells you her own secret and why she kept it from you--until +she does that, I say, it is your part to treat her as if you had seen +nothing, guessed nothing, suspected nothing. Do that, McDowell, and +leave the rest to me." + +He went out, leaving the iron man still with his face to the window. + +With Mary Josephine there was no subterfuge. His mind was still +centered in his own happiness. He could not wipe out of his brain the +conviction that if he waited for Shan Tung he was waiting just so long +under the sword of Damocles, with a hair between him and doom. He hoped +that Miriam Kirkstone's refusal to confide in him and her reluctance to +furnish him with the smallest facts in the matter would turn Mary +Josephine's sympathy into a feeling of indifference if not of actual +resentment. He was disappointed. Mary Josephine insisted on having Miss +Kirkstone over for dinner the next day, and from that hour something +grew between the two girls which Keith knew he was powerless to +overcome. Thereafter he bowed his head to fate. He must wait for Shan +Tung. + +"If it wasn't for your promise not to fall in love, I'd be afraid," +Mary Josephine confided to him that night, perched on the arm of his +big chair. "At times I was afraid today, Derry. She's lovely. And you +like pretty hair--and hers--is wonderful!" + +"I don't remember," said Keith quietly, "that I promised you I wouldn't +fall in love. I'm desperately in love, and with you, Mary Josephine. +And as for Miss Kirkstone's lovely hair--I wouldn't trade one of yours +for all she has on her head." + +At that, with a riotous little laugh of joy, Mary Josephine swiftly +unbound her hair and let it smother about his face and shoulders. +"Sometimes I have a terribly funny thought, Derry," she whispered. "If +we hadn't always been sweethearts, back there at home, and if you +hadn't always liked my hair, and kissed me, and told me I was pretty, +I'd almost think you weren't my brother!" + +Keith laughed and was glad that her hair covered his face. During those +wonderful first days of the summer they were inseparable, except when +matters of business took Keith away. During these times he prepared for +eventualities. The Keith properties in Prince Albert, he estimated, +were worth at least a hundred thousand dollars, and he learned from +McDowell that they would soon go through a process of law before being +turned over to his fortunate inheritors. Before that time, however, he +knew that his own fate would be sealed one way or the other, and now +that he had Mary Josephine to look after, he made a will, leaving +everything to her, and signing himself John Keith. This will he carried +in an envelope pinned inside his shirt. As Derwent Conniston he +collected one thousand two hundred and sixty dollars for three and a +half years back wage in the Service. Two hundred and sixty of this he +kept in his own pocket. The remaining thousand he counted out in new +hundred-dollar bills under Mary Josephine's eyes, sealed the bills in +another envelope, and gave the envelope to her. + +"It's safer with you than with me," he excused himself. "Fasten it +inside your dress. It's our grub-stake into the mountains." + +Mary Josephine accepted the treasure with the repressed delight of one +upon whose fair shoulders had been placed a tremendous responsibility. + +There were days of both joy and pain for Keith. For even in the fullest +hours of his happiness there was a thing eating at his heart, a thing +that was eating deeper and deeper until at times it was like a +destroying flame within him. One night he dreamed; he dreamed that +Conniston came to his bedside and wakened him, and that after wakening +him he taunted him in ghoulish glee and told him that in bequeathing +him a sister he had given unto him forever and forever the curse of the +daughters of Achelous. And Keith, waking in the dark hour of night, +knew in his despair that it was so. For all time, even though he won +this fight he was fighting, Mary Josephine would be the unattainable. A +sister--and he loved her with the love of a man! + +It was the next day after the dream that they wandered again into the +grove that sheltered Keith's old home, and again they entered it and +went through the cold and empty rooms. In one of these rooms he sought +among the titles of dusty rows of books until he came to one and opened +it. And there he found what had been in the corner of his mind when the +sun rose to give him courage after the night of his dream. The +daughters of Achelous had lost in the end. Ulysses had tricked them. +Ulysses had won. And in this day and age it was up to him, John Keith, +to win, and win he would! + +Always he felt this mastering certainty of the future when alone with +Mary Josephine in the open day. With her at his side, her hand in his, +and his arm about her waist, he told himself that all life was a +lie--that there was no earth, no sun, no song or gladness in all the +world, if that world held no hope for him. It was there. It was beyond +the rim of forest. It was beyond the yellow plains, beyond the farthest +timber of the farthest prairie, beyond the foothills; in the heart of +the mountains was its abiding place. As he had dreamed of those +mountains in boyhood and youth, so now he dreamed his dreams over again +with Mary Josephine. For her he painted his pictures of them, as they +wandered mile after mile up the shore of the Saskatchewan--the little +world they would make all for themselves, how they would live, what +they would do, the mysteries they would seek out, the triumphs they +would achieve, the glory of that world--just for two. And Mary +Josephine planned and dreamed with him. + +In a week they lived what might have been encompassed in a year. So it +seemed to Keith, who had known her only so long. With Mary Josephine +the view-point was different. There had been a long separation, a +separation filled with a heartbreak which she would never forget, but +it had not served to weaken the bonds between her and this loved one, +who, she thought, had always been her own. To her their comradeship was +more complete now than it ever had been, even back in the old days, for +they were alone in a land that was strange to her, and one was all that +the world held for the other. So her possessorship of Keith was a thing +which--again in the dark and brooding hours of night--sometimes made +him writhe in an agony of shame. Hers was a shameless love, a love +which had not even the lover's reason for embarrassment, a love +unreserved and open as the day. It was her trick, nights, to nestle +herself in the big armchair with him, and it was her fun to smother his +face in her hair and tumble it about him, piling it over his mouth and +nose until she made him plead for air. Again she would fit herself +comfortably in the hollow of his arm and sit the evening out with her +head on his shoulder, while they planned their future, and twice in +that week she fell asleep there. Each morning she greeted him with a +kiss, and each night she came to him to be kissed, and when it was her +pleasure she kissed him--or made him kiss her--when they were on their +long walks. It was bitter-sweet to Keith, and more frequently came the +hours of crushing desolation for him, those hours in the still, dark +night when his hypocrisy and his crime stood out stark and hideous in +his troubled brain. + +As this thing grew in him, a black and foreboding thunderstorm on the +horizon of his dreams, an impulse which he did not resist dragged him +more and more frequently down to the old home, and Mary Josephine was +always with him. They let no one know of these visits. And they talked +about John Keith, and in Mary Josephine's eyes he saw more than once a +soft and starry glow of understanding. She loved the memory of this man +because he, her brother, had loved him. And after these hours came the +nights when truth, smiling at him, flung aside its mask and stood a +grinning specter, and he measured to the depths the falseness of his +triumph. His comfort was the thought that she knew. Whatever happened, +she would know what John Keith had been. For he, John Keith, had told +her. So much of the truth had he lived. + +He fought against the new strain that was descending upon him slowly +and steadily as the days passed. He could not but see the new light +that had grown in Miriam Kirkstone's eyes. At times it was more than a +dawn of hope. It was almost certainty. She had faith in him, faith in +his promise to her, in his power to fight, his strength to win. Her +growing friendship with Mary Josephine accentuated this, inspiring her +at times almost to a point of conviction, for Mary Josephine's +confidence in him was a passion. Even McDowell, primarily a fighter of +his own battles, cautious and suspicious, had faith in him while he +waited for Shan Tung. It was this blind belief in him that depressed +him more than all else, for he knew that victory for himself must be +based more or less on deceit and treachery. For the first time he heard +Miriam laugh with Mary Josephine; he saw the gold and the brown head +together out in the sun; he saw her face shining with a light that he +had never seen there before, and then, when he came upon them, their +faces were turned to him, and his heart bled even as he smiled and held +out his hands to Mary Josephine. They trusted him, and he was a liar, a +hypocrite, a Pharisee. + +On the ninth day he had finished supper with Mary Josephine when the +telephone rang. He rose to answer it. It was Miriam Kirkstone. + +"He has returned," she said. + +That was all. The words were in a choking voice. He answered and hung +up the receiver. He knew a change had come into his face when he turned +to Mary Josephine. He steeled himself to a composure that drew a +questioning tenseness into her face. Gently he stroked her soft hair, +explaining that Shan Tung had returned and that he was going to see +him. In his bedroom he strapped his Service automatic under his coat. + +At the door, ready to go, he paused. Mary Josephine came to him and put +her hands to his shoulders. A strange unrest was in her eyes, a +question which she did not ask. + +Something whispered to him that it was the last time. Whatever happened +now, tonight must leave him clean. His arms went around her, he drew +her close against his breast, and for a space he held her there, +looking into her eyes. + +"You love me?" he asked softly. + +"More than anything else in the world," she whispered. + +"Kiss me, Mary Josephine." + +Her lips pressed to his. + +He released her from his arms, slowly, lingeringly. + +After that she stood in the lighted doorway, watching him, until he +disappeared in the gloom of the slope. She called good-by, and he +answered her. The door closed. + +And he went down into the valley, a hand of foreboding gripping at his +heart. + + + +XX + +With a face out of which all color had fled, and eyes filled with the +ghosts of a new horror, Miriam Kirkstone stood before Keith in the big +room in the house on the hill. + +"He was here--ten minutes," she said, and her voice was as if she was +forcing it out of a part of her that was dead and cold. It was +lifeless, emotionless, a living voice and yet strange with the chill of +death. "In those ten minutes he told me--that! If you fail--" + +It was her throat that held him, fascinated him. White, slim, +beautiful--her heart seemed pulsing there. And he could see that heart +choke back the words she was about to speak. + +"If I fail--" he repeated the words slowly after her, watching that +white, beating throat. + +"There is only the one thing left for me to do. You--you--understand?" + +"Yes, I understand. Therefore I shall not fail." + +He backed away from her toward the door, and still he could not take +his eyes from the white throat with its beating heart. "I shall not +fail," he repeated. "And when the telephone rings, you will be here--to +answer?" + +"Yes, here," she replied huskily. + +He went out. Under his feet the gravelly path ran through a flood of +moonlight. Over him the sky was agleam with stars. It was a white +night, one of those wonderful gold-white nights in the land of the +Saskatchewan. Under that sky the world was alive. The little city lay +in a golden glimmer of lights. Out of it rose a murmur, a rippling +stream of sound, the voice of its life, softened by the little valley +between. Into it Keith descended. He passed men and women, laughing, +talking, gay. He heard music. The main street was a moving throng. On a +corner the Salvation Army, a young woman, a young man, a crippled boy, +two young girls, and an old man, were singing "Nearer, My God, to +Thee." Opposite the Board of Trade building on the edge of the river a +street medicine-fakir had drawn a crowd to his wagon. To the beat of +the Salvation Army's tambourine rose the thrum of a made-up negro's +banjo. + +Through these things Keith passed, his eyes open, his ears listening, +but he passed swiftly. What he saw and what he heard pressed upon him +with the chilling thrill of that last swan-song, the swan-song of Ecla, +of Kobat, of Ty, who had heard their doom chanted from the +mountain-tops. It was the city rising up about his cars in rejoicing +and triumph. And it put in his heart a cold, impassive anger. He sensed +an impending doom, and yet he was not afraid. He was no longer chained +by dreams, no more restrained by self. Before his eyes, beating, +beating, beating, he saw that tremulous heart in Miriam Kirkstone's +soft, white throat. + +He came to Shan Tung's. Beyond the softly curtained windows it was a +yellow glare of light. He entered and met the flow of life, the murmur +of voices and laughter, the tinkle of glasses, the scent of cigarette +smoke, and the fainter perfume of incense. And where he had seen him +last, as though he had not moved since that hour nine days ago, still +with his cigarette, still sphinx-like, narrow-eyed, watchful, stood Li +King. + +Keith walked straight to him. And this time, as he approached, Li King +greeted him with a quick and subtle smile. He nipped his cigarette to +the tiled floor. He was bowing, gracious. Tonight he was not stupid. + +"I have come to see Shan Tung," said Keith. + +He had half expected to be refused, in which event he was prepared to +use his prerogative as an officer of the law to gain his point. But Li +King did not hesitate. He was almost eager. And Keith knew that Shan +Tung was expecting him. + +They passed behind one of the screens and then behind another, until it +seemed to Keith their way was a sinuous twisting among screens. They +paused before a panel in the wall, and Li King pressed the black throat +of a long-legged, swan-necked bird with huge wings and the panel opened +and swung toward them. It was dark inside, but Li King turned on a +light. Through a narrow hallway ten feet in length he led the way, +unlocked a second door, and held it open, smiling at Keith. + +"Up there," he said. + +A flight of steps led upward and as Keith began to mount them the door +closed softly behind him. Li King accompanied him no further. + +He mounted the steps, treading softly. At the top was another door, and +this he opened as quietly as Li King had closed the one below him. +Again the omnipresent screens, and then his eyes looked out upon a +scene which made him pause in astonishment. It was a great room, a room +fifty feet long by thirty in width, and never before had he beheld such +luxury as it contained. His feet sank into velvet carpets, the walls +were hung richly with the golds and browns and crimsons of priceless +tapestries, and carven tables and divans of deep plush and oriental +chairs filled the space before him. At the far end was a raised dais, +and before this, illumined in candleglow, was a kneeling figure. He +noticed then that there were many candles burning, that the room was +lighted by candles, and that in their illumination the figure did not +move. He caught the glint of armors standing up, warrior like, against +the tapestries, and he wondered for a moment if the kneeling figure was +a heathen god made of wood. It was then that he smelled the odor of +frankincense; it crept subtly into his nostrils and his mouth, +sweetened his breath, and made him cough. + +At the far end, before the dais, the kneeling figure began to move. Its +arms extended slowly, they swept backward, then out again, and three +times the figure bowed itself and straightened, and with the movement +came a low, human monotone. It was over quickly. Probably two full +minutes had not passed since Keith had entered when the kneeling figure +sprang to its feet with the quickness of a cat, faced about, and stood +there, smiling and bowing and extending its hand. + +"Good evening, John Keith!" It was Shan Tung. An oriental gown fell +about him, draping him like a woman. It was a crimson gown, grotesquely +ornamented with embroidered peacocks, and it flowed and swept about him +in graceful undulations as he advanced, his footfalls making not the +sound of a mouse on the velvet floors. + +"Good evening, John Keith!" He was close, smiling, his eyes glowing, +his hand still outstretched, friendliness in his voice and manner. And +yet in that voice there was a purr, the purr of a cat watching its +prey, and in his eyes a glow that was the soft rejoicing of a triumph. + +Keith did not take the hand. He made as if he did not see it. He was +looking into those glowing, confident eyes of the Chinaman. A Chinaman! +Was it possible? Could a Chinaman possess that voice, whose very +perfection shamed him? + +Shan Tung seemed to read his thoughts. And what he found amused him, +and he bowed again, still smiling. "I am Shan Tung," he said with the +slightest inflection of irony. "Here--in my home--I am different. Do +you not recognize me?" + +He waved gracefully a hand toward a table on either side of which was a +chair. He seated himself, not waiting for Keith. Keith sat down +opposite him. Again he must have read what was in Keith's heart, the +desire and the intent to kill, for suddenly he clapped his hands, not +loudly, once--twice--- + +"You will join me in tea?" he asked. + +Scarcely had he spoken when about them, on all sides of them it seemed +to Keith, there was a rustle of life. He saw tapestries move. Before +his eyes a panel became a door. There was a clicking, a stir as of +gowns, soft footsteps, a movement in the air. Out of the panel doorway +came a Chinaman with a cloth, napkins, and chinaware. Behind him +followed a second with tea-urn and a bowl, and with the suddenness of +an apparition, without sound or movement, a third was standing at +Keith's side. And still there was rustling behind, still there was the +whispering beat of life, and Keith knew that there were others. He did +not flinch, but smiled back at Shan Tung. A minute, no more, and the +soft-footed yellow men had performed their errands and were gone. + +"Quick service," he acknowledged. "VERY quick service. Shan Tung! But I +have my hand on something that is quicker!" + +Suddenly Shan Tung leaned over the table. "John Keith, you are a fool +if you came here with murder in your heart," he said. "Let us be +friends. It is best. Let us be friends." + + + +XXI + +It was as if with a swiftness invisible to the eye a mask had dropped +from Shan Tung's face. Keith, preparing to fight, urging himself on to +the step which he believed he must take, was amazed. Shan Tung was +earnest. There was more than earnestness in his eyes, an anxiety, a +frankly revealed hope that Keith would meet him halfway. But he did not +offer his hand again. He seemed to sense, in that instant, the vast +gulf between yellow and white. He felt Keith's contempt, the spurning +contumely that was in the other's mind. Under the pallid texture of his +skin there began to burn a slow and growing flush. + +"Wait!" he said softly. In his flowing gown he seemed to glide to a +carven desk near at hand. He was back in a moment with a roll of +parchment in his hand. He sat down again and met Keith's eyes squarely +and in silence for a moment. + +"We are both MEN, John Keith." His voice was soft and calm. His +tapering fingers with their carefully manicured nails fondled the roll +of parchment, and then unrolled it, and held it so the other could read. + +It was a university diploma. Keith stared. A strange name was scrolled +upon it, Kao Lung, Prince of Shantung. His mind leaped to the truth. He +looked at the other. + +The man he had known as Shan Tung met his eyes with a quiet, strange +smile, a smile in which there was pride, a flash of sovereignty, of a +thing greater than skins that were white. "I am Prince Kao," he said. +"That is my diploma. I am a graduate of Yale." + +Keith's effort to speak was merely a grunt. He could find no words. And +Kao, rolling up the parchment and forgetting the urn of tea that was +growing cold, leaned a little over the table again. And then it was, +deep in his narrowed, smoldering eyes, that Keith saw a devil, a +living, burning thing of passion, Kao's soul itself. And Kao's voice +was quiet, deadly. + +"I recognized you in McDowell's office," he said. "I saw, first, that +you were not Derwent Conniston. And then it was easy, so easy. Perhaps +you killed Conniston. I am not asking, for I hated Conniston. Some day +I should have killed him, if he had come back. John Keith, from that +first time we met, you were a dead man. Why didn't I turn you over to +the hangman? Why did I warn you in such a way that I knew you would +come to see me? Why did I save your life which was in the hollow of my +hand? Can you guess?" + +"Partly," replied Keith. "But go on. I am waiting." Not for an instant +had it enter his mind to deny that he was John Keith. Denial was folly, +a waste of time, and just now he felt that nothing in the world was +more precious to him than time. + +Kao's quick mind, scheming and treacherous though it was, caught his +view-point, and he nodded appreciatively. "Good, John Keith. It is +easily guessed. Your life is mine. I can save it. I can destroy it. And +you, in turn, can be of service to me. You help me, and I save you. It +is a profitable arrangement. And we both are happy, for you keep +Derwent Conniston's sister--and I--I get my golden-headed goddess, +Miriam Kirkstone!" + +"That much I have guessed," said Keith. "Go on!" For a moment Kao +seemed to hesitate, to study the cold, gray passiveness of the other's +face. "You love Derwent Conniston's sister," he continued in a voice +still lower and softer. "And I--I love my golden-headed goddess. See! +Up there on the dais I have her picture and a tress of her golden hair, +and I worship them." + +Colder and grayer was Keith's face as he saw the slumbering passion +burn fiercer in Kao's eyes. It turned him sick. It was a terrible thing +which could not be called love. It was a madness. But Kao, the man +himself, was not mad. He was a monster. And while the eyes burned like +two devils, his voice was still soft and low. + +"I know what you are thinking; I see what you are seeing," he said. +"You are thinking yellow, and you are seeing yellow. My skin! My +birthright! My--" He smiled, and his voice was almost caressing. + +"John Keith, in Pe-Chi-Li is the great city of Pekin, and Pe-Chi-Li is +the greatest province in all China. And second only to that is the +province of Shantung, which borders Pe-Chi-Li, the home of our Emperors +for more centuries than you have years. And for so many generations +that we cannot remember my forefathers have been rulers of Shantung. My +grandfather was a Mandarin with the insignia of the Eighth Order, and +my father was Ninth and highest of all Orders, with his palace at +Tsi-Nan, on the Yellow Sea. And I, Prince Kao, eldest of his sons, came +to America to learn American law and American ways. And I learned them, +John Keith. I returned, and with my knowledge I undermined a +government. For a time I was in power, and then this thing you call the +god of luck turned against me, and I fled for my life. But the blood is +still here--" he put his hand softly to his breast, "--the blood of a +hundred generations of rulers. I tell you this because you dare not +betray me, you dare not tell them who I am, though even that truth +could not harm me. I prefer to be known as Shan Tung. Only you--and +Miriam Kirkstone--have heard as much." + +Keith's blood was like fire, but his voice was cold as ice. "GO ON!" + +This time there could be no mistake. That cold gray of his passionless +face, the steely glitter in his eyes, were read correctly by Kao. His +eyes narrowed. For the first time a dull flame leaped into his +colorless cheeks. + +"Ah, I told you this because I thought we would work together, +friends," he cried. "But it is not so. You, like my golden-headed +goddess, hate me! You hate me because of my yellow skin. You say to +yourself that I have a yellow heart. And she hates me, and she says +that--but she is mine, MINE!" He sprang suddenly to his feet and swept +about him with his flowing arms. "See what I have prepared for her! It +is here she will come, here she will live until I take her away. There, +on that dais, she will give up her soul and her beautiful body to +me--and you cannot help it, she cannot help it, all the world cannot +help it--AND SHE IS COMING TO ME TONIGHT!" + +"TONIGHT!" gasped John Keith. + +He, too, leaped to his feet. His face was ghastly. And Kao, in his +silken gown, was sweeping his arms about him. + +"See! The candles are lighted for her. They are waiting. And tonight, +when the town is asleep, she will come. AND IT IS YOU WHO WILL MAKE HER +COME, JOHN KEITH!" + +Facing the devils in Kao's eyes, within striking distance of a creature +who was no longer a man but a monster, Keith marveled at the coolness +that held him back. + +"Yes, it is you who will at last give her soul and her beautiful body +to me," he repeated. "Come. I will show you how--and why!" + +He glided toward the dais. His hand touched a panel. It opened and in +the opening he turned about and waited for Keith. + +"Come!" he said. + +Keith, drawing a deep breath, his soul ready for the shock, his body +ready for action, followed him. + + + +XXII + +Into a narrow corridor, through a second door that seemed made of +padded wool, and then into a dimly lighted room John Keith followed +Kao, the Chinaman. Out of this room there was no other exit; it was +almost square, its ceiling was low, its walls darkly somber, and that +life was there Keith knew by the heaviness of cigarette smoke in the +air. For a moment his eyes did not discern the physical evidence of +that life. And then, staring at him out of the yellow glow, he saw a +face. It was a haunting, terrible face, a face heavy and deeply lined +by sagging flesh and with eyes sunken and staring. They were more than +staring. They greeted Keith like living coals. Under the face was a +human form, a big, fat, sagging form that leaned outward from its seat +in a chair. + +Kao, bowing, sweeping his flowing raiment with his arms, said, "John +Keith, allow me to introduce you to Peter Kirkstone." + +For the first time amazement, shock, came to Keith's lips in an audible +cry. He advanced a step. Yes, in that pitiable wreck of a man he +recognized Peter Kirkstone, the fat creature who had stood under the +picture of the Madonna that fateful night, Miriam Kirkstone's brother! + +And as he stood, speechless, Kao said: "Peter Kirkstone, you know why I +have brought this man to you tonight. You know that he is not Derwent +Conniston. You know that he is John Keith, the murderer of your father. +Is it not so?" + +The thick lips moved. The voice was husky--"Yes." + +"He does not believe. So I have brought him that he may listen to you. +Peter Kirkstone, is it your desire that your sister, Miriam, give +herself to me, Prince Kao, tonight?" + +Again the thick lips moved. This time Keith saw the effort. He +shuddered. He knew these questions and answers had been prepared. A +doomed man was speaking. + +And the voice came, choking, "Yes." + +"WHY?" + +The terrible face of Peter Kirkstone seemed to contort. He looked at +Kao. And Kao's eyes were shining in that dull room like the eyes of a +snake. + +"Because--it will save my life." + +"And why will it save your life?" + +Again that pause, again the sickly, choking effort. "Because--I HAVE +KILLED A MAN." + +Bowing, smiling, rustling, Kao turned to the door. "That is all, Peter +Kirkstone. Good night. John Keith, will you follow me?" + +Dumbly Keith followed through the dark corridor, into the big room +mellow with candle-glow, back to the table with its mocking tea-urn and +chinaware. He felt a thing like clammy sweat on his back. He sat down. +And Kao sat opposite him again. + +"That is the reason, John Keith. Peter Kirkstone, her brother, is a +murderer, a cold-blooded murderer. And only Miriam Kirkstone and your +humble servant, Prince Kao, know his secret. And to buy my secret, to +save his life, the golden-headed goddess is almost ready to give +herself to me--almost, John Keith. She will decide tonight, when you go +to her. She will come. Yes, she will come tonight. I do not fear. I +have prepared for her the candles, the bridal dais, the nuptial supper. +Oh, she will come. For if she does not, if she fails, with tomorrow's +dawn Peter Kirkstone and John Keith both go to the hangman!" + +Keith, in spite of the horror that had come over him, felt no +excitement. The whole situation was clear to him now, and there was +nothing to be gained by argument, no possibility of evasion. Kao held +the winning hand, the hand that put him back to the wall in the face of +impossible alternatives. These alternatives flashed upon him swiftly. +There were two and only two--flight, and alone, without Mary Josephine; +and betrayal of Miriam Kirkstone. Just how Kao schemed that he should +accomplish that betrayal, he could not guess. + +His voice, like his face, was cold and strange when it answered the +Chinaman; it lacked passion; there was no emphasis, no inflection that +gave to one word more than to another. And Keith, listening to his own +voice, knew what it meant. He was cold inside, cold as ice, and his +eyes were on the dais, the sacrificial altar that Kao had prepared, +waiting in the candleglow. On the floor of that dais was a great splash +of dull-gold altar cloth, and it made him think of Miriam Kirkstone's +unbound and disheveled hair strewn in its outraged glory over the thing +Kao had prepared for her. + +"I see. It is a trade, Kao. You are offering me my life in return for +Miriam Kirkstone." + +"More than that, John Keith. Mine is the small price. And yet it is +great to me, for it gives me the golden goddess. But is she more to me +than Derwent Conniston's sister may be to you? Yes, I am giving you +her, and I am giving you your life, and I am giving Peter Kirkstone his +life--all for ONE." + +"For one," repeated Keith. + +"Yes, for one." + +"And I, John Keith, in some mysterious way unknown to me at present, am +to deliver Miriam Kirkstone to you?" + +"Yes." + +"And yet, if I should kill you, now--where you sit--" + +Kao shrugged his slim shoulders, and Keith heard that soft, gurgling +laugh that McDowell had said was like the splutter of oil. + +"I have arranged. It is all in writing. If anything should happen to +me, there are messengers who would carry it swiftly. To harm me would be +to seal your own doom. Besides, you would not leave here alive. I am +not afraid." + +"How am I to deliver Miriam Kirkstone to you?" + +Kao leaned forward, his fingers interlacing eagerly. "Ah, NOW you have +asked the question, John Keith! And we shall be friends, great friends, +for you see with the eyes of wisdom. It will be easy, so easy that you +will wonder at the cheapness of the task. Ten days ago Miriam Kirkstone +was about to pay my price. And then you came. From that moment she saw +you in McDowell's office, there was a sudden change. Why? I don't know. +Perhaps because of that thing you call intuition but to which we give a +greater name. Perhaps only because you were the man who had run down +her father's murderer. I saw her that afternoon, before you went up at +night. Ah, yes, I could see, I could understand the spark that had +begun to grow in her, hope, a wild, impossible hope, and I prepared for +it by leaving you my message. I went away. I knew that in a few days +all that hope would be centered in you, that it would live and die in +you, that in the end it would be your word that would bring her to me. +And that word you must speak tonight. You must go to her, hope-broken. +You must tell her that no power on earth can save her, and that Kao +waits to make her a princess, that tomorrow will be too late, that +TONIGHT must the bargain be closed. She will come. She will save her +brother from the hangman, and you, in bringing her, will save John +Keith and keep Derwent Conniston's sister. Is it not a great reward for +the little I am asking?" + +It was Keith who now smiled into the eyes of the Chinaman, but it was a +smile that did not soften that gray and rock-like hardness that had +settled in his face. "Kao, you are a devil. I suppose that is a +compliment to your dirty ears. You're rotten to the core of the thing +that beats in you like a heart; you're a yellow snake from the skin in. +I came to see you because I thought there might be a way out of this +mess. I had almost made up my mind to kill you. But I won't do that. +There's a better way. In half an hour I'll be with McDowell, and I'll +beat you out by telling him that I'm John Keith. And I'll tell him this +story of Miriam Kirkstone from beginning to end. I'll tell him of that +dais you've built for her--your sacrificial altar!--and tomorrow Prince +Albert will rise to a man to drag you out of this hole and kill you as +they would kill a rat. That is my answer, you slit-eyed, Yale-veneered +yellow devil! I may die, and Peter Kirkstone may die, but you'll not +get Miriam Kirkstone!" + +He was on his feet when he finished, amazed at the calmness of his own +voice, amazed that his hands were steady and his brain was cool in this +hour of his sacrifice. And Kao was stunned. Before his eyes he saw a +white man throwing away his life. Here, in the final play, was a +master-stroke he had not foreseen. A moment before the victor, he was +now the vanquished. About him he saw his world falling, his power gone, +his own life suddenly hanging by a thread. In Keith's face he read the +truth. This white man was not bluffing. He would go to McDowell. He +would tell the truth. This man who had ventured so much for his own +life and freedom would now sacrifice that life to save a girl, one +girl! He could not understand, and yet he believed. For it was there +before his eyes in that gray, passionless face that was as inexorable +as the face of one of his own stone gods. + +As he uttered the words that smashed all that Kao had planned for, +Keith sensed rather than saw the swift change of emotion sweeping +through the yellow-visaged Moloch staring up at him. For a space the +oriental's evil eyes had widened, exposing wider rims of saffron white, +betraying his amazement, the shock of Keith's unexpected revolt, and +then the lids closed slowly, until only dark and menacing gleams of +fire shot between them, and Keith thought of the eyes of a snake. Swift +as the strike of a rattler Kao was on his feet, his gown thrown back, +one clawing hand jerking a derringer from his silken belt. In the same +breath he raised his voice in a sharp call. + +Keith sprang back. The snake-like threat in the Chinaman's eyes had +prepared him, and his Service automatic leaped from its holster with +lightning swiftness. Yet that movement was no swifter than the response +to Kao's cry. The panel shot open, the screens moved, tapestries +billowed suddenly as if moved by the wind, and Kao's servants sprang +forth and were at him like a pack of dogs. Keith had no time to judge +their number, for his brain was centered in the race with Kao's +derringer. He saw its silver mountings flash in the candle-glow, saw +its spurt of smoke and fire. But its report was drowned in the roar of +his automatic as it replied with a stream of lead and flame. He saw the +derringer fall and Kao crumple up like a jackknife. His brain turned +red as he swung his weapon on the others, and as he fired, he backed +toward the door. Then something caught him from behind, twisting his +head almost from his shoulders, and he went down. + +He lost his automatic. Weight of bodies was upon him; yellow hands +clutched for his throat; he felt hot breaths and heard throaty cries. A +madness of horror possessed him, a horror that was like the blind +madness of Laocoon struggling with his sons in the coils of the giant +serpent. In these moments he was not fighting men. They were monsters, +yellow, foul-smelling, unhuman, and he fought as Laocoon fought. As if +it had been a cane, he snapped the bone of an arm whose hand was +throttling him; he twisted back a head until it snapped between its +shoulders; he struck and broke with a blind fury and a giant strength, +until at last, torn and covered with blood, he leaped free and reached +the door. As he opened it and sprang through, he had the visual +impression that only two of his assailants were rising from the floor. + +For the space of a second he hesitated in the little hallway. Down the +stairs was light--and people. He knew that he was bleeding and his +clothes were torn, and that flight in that direction was impossible. At +the opposite end of the hall was a curtain which he judged must cover a +window. With a swift movement he tore down this curtain and found that +he was right. In another second he had crashed the window outward with +his shoulder, and felt the cool air of the night in his face. The door +behind him was still closed when he crawled out upon a narrow landing +at the top of a flight of steps leading down into the alley. He paused +long enough to convince himself that his enemies were making no effort +to follow him, and as he went down the steps, he caught himself grimly +chuckling. He had given them enough. + +In the darkness of the alley he paused again. A cool breeze fanned his +cheeks, and the effect of it was to free him of the horror that had +gripped him in his fight with the yellow men. Again the calmness with +which he had faced Kao possessed him. The Chinaman was dead. He was +sure of that. And for him there was not a minute to lose. + +After all, it was his fate. The game had been played, and he had lost. +There was one thing left undone, one play Conniston would still make, +if he were there. And he, too, would make it. It was no longer +necessary for him to give himself up to McDowell, for Kao was dead, and +Miriam Kirkstone was saved. It was still right and just for him to +fight for his life. But Mary Josephine must know FROM HIM. It was the +last square play he could make. + +No one saw him as he made his way through alleys to the outskirts of +the town. A quarter of an hour later he came up the slope to the Shack. +It was lighted, and the curtains were raised to brighten his way up the +hill. Mary Josephine was waiting for him. + +Again there came over him the strange and deadly calmness with which he +had met the tragedy of that night. He had tried to wipe the blood from +his face, but it was still there when he entered and faced Mary +Josephine. The wounds made by the razor-like nails of his assailants +were bleeding; he was hatless, his hair was disheveled, and his throat +and a part of his chest were bare where his clothes had been torn away. +As Mary Josephine came toward him, her arms reaching out to him, her +face dead white, he stretched out a restraining hand, and said, + +"Please wait, Mary Josephine!" + +Something stopped her--the strangeness of his voice, the terrible +hardness of his face, gray and blood-stained, the something appalling +and commanding in the way he had spoken. He passed her quickly on his +way to the telephone. Her lips moved; she tried to speak; one of her +hands went to her throat. He was calling Miriam Kirkstone's number! And +now she saw that his hands, too, were bleeding. There came the murmur +of a voice in the telephone. Someone answered. And then she heard him +say, + +"SHAN TUNG IS DEAD!" + +That was all. He hung up the receiver and turned toward her. With a +little cry she moved toward him. + +"DERRY--DERRY--" + +He evaded her and pointed to the big chair in front of the fireplace. +"Sit down, Mary Josephine." + +She obeyed him. Her face was whiter than he had thought a living face +could be, And then, from the beginning to the end, he told her +everything. Mary Josephine made no sound, and in the big chair she +seemed to crumple smaller and smaller as he confessed the great lie to +her, from the hour Conniston and he had traded identities in the little +cabin on the Barren. Until he died he knew she would haunt him as he +saw her there for the last time--her dead-white face, her great eyes, +her voiceless lips, her two little hands clutched at her breast as she +listened to the story of the great lie and his love for her. + +Even when he had done, she did not move or speak. He went into his +room, closed the door, and turned on the lights. Quickly he put into +his pack what he needed. And when he was ready, he wrote on a piece of +paper: + +"A thousand times I repeat, 'I love you.' Forgive me if you can. If you +cannot forgive, you may tell McDowell, and the Law will find me up at +the place of our dreams--the river's end. + --John Keith." + +This last message he left on the table for Mary Josephine. + +For a moment he listened at the door. Outside there was no movement, no +sound. Quietly, then, he raised the window through which Kao had come +into his room. + +A moment later he stood under the light of the brilliant stars. Faintly +there came to him the sounds of the city, the sound of life, of gayety, +of laughter and of happiness, rising to him now from out of the valley. + +He faced the north. Down the side of the hill and over the valley lay +the forests. And through the starlight he strode back to them once +more, back to their cloisters and their heritage, the heritage of the +hunted and the outcast. + + + +XXIII + +All through the starlit hours of that night John Keith trudged steadily +into the Northwest. For a long time his direction took him through +slashings, second-growth timber, and cleared lands; he followed rough +roads and worn trails and passed cabins that were dark and without life +in the silence of midnight. Twice a dog caught the stranger scent in +the air and howled; once he heard a man's voice, far away, raised in a +shout. Then the trails grew rougher. He came to a deep wide swamp. He +remembered that swamp, and before he plunged into it, he struck a match +to look at his compass and his watch. It took him two hours to make the +other side. He was in the deep and uncut timber then, and a sense of +relief swept over him. + +The forest was again his only friend. He did not rest. His brain and +his body demanded the action of steady progress, though it was not +through fear of what lay behind him. Fear had ceased to be a +stimulating part of him; it was even dead within him. It was as if his +energy was engaged in fighting for a principle, and the principle was +his life; he was following a duty, and this duty impelled him to make +his greatest effort. He saw clearly what he had done and what was ahead +of him. He was twice a killer of men now, and each time the killing had +rid the earth of a snake. This last time it had been an exceedingly +good job. Even McDowell would concede that, and Miriam Kirkstone, on +her knees, would thank God for what he had done. But Canadian law did +not split hairs like its big neighbor on the south. It wanted him at +least for Kirkstone's killing if not for that of Kao, the Chinaman. No +one, not even Mary Josephine, would ever fully realize what he had +sacrificed for the daughter of the man who had ruined his father. For +Mary Josephine would never understand how deeply he had loved her. + +It surprised him to find how naturally he fell back into his old habit +of discussing things with himself, and how completely and calmly he +accepted the fact that his home-coming had been but a brief and +wonderful interlude to his fugitivism. He did not know it at first, but +this calmness was the calmness of a despair more fatal than the menace +of the hangman. + +"They won't catch me," he encouraged himself. "And she won't tell them +where I'm going. No, she won't do that." He found himself repeating +that thought over and over again. Mary Josephine would not betray him. +He repeated it, not as a conviction, but to fight back and hold down +another thought that persisted in forcing itself upon him. And this +thing, that at times was like a voice within him, cried out in its +moments of life, "She hates you--and she WILL tell where you are going!" + +With each hour it was harder for him to keep that voice down; it +persisted, it grew stronger; in its intervals of triumph it rose over +and submerged all other thoughts in him. It was not his fear of her +betrayal that stabbed him; it was the underlying motive of it, the +hatred that would inspire it. He tried not to vision her as he had seen +her last, in the big chair, crushed, shamed, outraged--seeing in him no +longer the beloved brother, but an impostor, a criminal, a man whom she +might suspect of killing that brother for his name and his place in +life. But the thing forced itself on him. It was reasonable, and it was +justice. + +"But she won't do it," he told himself. "She won't do it." + +This was his fight, and its winning meant more to him than freedom. It +was Mary Josephine who would live with him now, and not Conniston. It +was her spirit that would abide with him, her voice he would hear in +the whispers of the night, her face he would see in the glow of his +lonely fires, and she must remain with him always as the Mary Josephine +he had known. So he crushed back the whispering voice, beat it down +with his hands clenched at his side, fought it through the hours of +that night with the desperation of one who fights for a thing greater +than life. + +Toward dawn the stars began to fade out of the sky. He had been +tireless, and he was tireless now. He felt no exhaustion. Through the +gray gloom that came before day he went on, and the first glow of sun +found him still traveling. Prince Albert and the Saskatchewan were +thirty miles to the south and east of him. + +He stopped at last on the edge of a little lake and unburdened himself +of his pack for the first time. He was glad that the premonition of +just such a sudden flight as this had urged him to fill his emergency +grub-sack yesterday morning. "Won't do any harm for us to be prepared," +he had laughed jokingly to Mary Josephine, and Mary Josephine herself +had made him double the portion of bacon because she was fond of it. It +was hard for him to slice that bacon without a lump rising in his +throat. Pork and love! He wanted to laugh, and he wanted to cry, and +between the two it was a queer, half-choked sound that came to his +lips. He ate a good breakfast, rested for a couple of hours, and went +on. At a more leisurely pace he traveled through most of the day, and +at night he camped. In the ten days following his flight from Prince +Albert he kept utterly out of sight. He avoided trappers' shacks and +trails and occasional Indians. He rid himself of his beard and shaved +himself every other day. Mary Josephine had never cared much for the +beard. It prickled. She had wanted him smooth-faced, and now he was +that. He looked better, too. But the most striking resemblance to +Derwent Conniston was gone. At the end of the ten days he was at Turtle +Lake, fifty miles east of Fort Pitt. He believed that he could show +himself openly now, and on the tenth day bartered with some Indians for +fresh supplies. Then he struck south of Fort Pitt, crossed the +Saskatchewan, and hit between the Blackfoot Hills and the Vermillion +River into the Buffalo Coulee country. In the open country he came upon +occasional ranches, and at one of these he purchased a pack-horse. At +Buffalo Lake he bought his supplies for the mountains, including fifty +steel traps, crossed the upper branch of the Canadian Pacific at night, +and the next day saw in the far distance the purple haze of the Rockies. + +It was six weeks after the night in Kao's place that he struck the +Saskatchewan again above the Brazeau. He did not hurry now. Just ahead +of him slumbered the mountains; very close was the place of his dreams. +But he was no longer impelled by the mighty lure of the years that were +gone. Day by day something had worn away that lure, as the ceaseless +grind of water wears away rock, and for two weeks he wandered slowly +and without purpose in the green valleys that lay under the snow-tipped +peaks of the ranges. He was gripped in the agony of an unutterable +loneliness, which fell upon and scourged him like a disease. It was a +deeper and more bitter thing than a yearning for companionship. He +might have found that. Twice he was near camps. Three times he saw +outfits coming out, and purposely drew away from them. He had no desire +to meet men, no desire to talk or to be troubled by talking. Day And +night his body and his soul cried out for Mary Josephine, and in his +despair he cursed those who had taken her away from him. It was a +crisis which was bound to come, and in his aloneness he fought it out. +Day after day he fought it, until his face and his heart bore the scars +of it. It was as if a being on whom he had set all his worship had +died, only it was worse than death. Dead, Mary Josephine would still +have been his inspiration; in a way she would have belonged to him. But +living, hating him as she must, his dreams of her were a sacrilege and +his love for her like the cut of a sword. In the end he was like a man +who had triumphed over a malady that would always leave its marks upon +him. In the beginning of the third week he knew that he had conquered, +just as he had triumphed in a similar way over death and despair in the +north. He would go into the mountains, as he had planned. He would +build his cabin. And if the Law came to get him, it was possible that +again he would fight. + +On the second day of this third week he saw advancing toward him a +solitary horseman. The stranger was possibly a mile away when he +discovered him, and he was coming straight down the flat of the valley. +That he was not accompanied by a pack-horse surprised Keith, for he was +bound out of the mountains and not in. Then it occurred to him that he +might be a prospector whose supplies were exhausted, and that he was +easing his journey by using his pack as a mount. Whoever and whatever +he was, Keith was not in any humor to meet him, and without attempting +to conceal himself he swung away from the river, as if to climb the +slope of the mountain on his right. No sooner had he clearly signified +the new direction he was taking, than the stranger deliberately altered +his course in a way to cut him off. Keith was irritated. Climbing up a +narrow terrace of shale, he headed straight up the slope, as if his +intention were to reach the higher terraces of the mountain, and then +he swung suddenly down into a coulee, where he was out of sight. Here +he waited for ten minutes, then struck deliberately and openly back +into the valley. He chuckled when he saw how cleverly his ruse had +worked. The stranger was a quarter of a mile up the mountain and still +climbing. + +"Now what the devil is he taking all that trouble for?" Keith asked +himself. + +An instant later the stranger saw him again. For perhaps a minute he +halted, and in that minute Keith fancied he was getting a round +cursing. Then the stranger headed for him, and this time there was no +escape, for the moment he struck the shelving slope of the valley, he +prodded his horse into a canter, swiftly diminishing the distance +between them. Keith unbuttoned the flap of his pistol holster and +maneuvered so that he would be partly concealed by his pack when the +horseman rode up. The persistence of the stranger suggested to him that +Mary Josephine had lost no time in telling McDowell where the law would +be most likely to find him. + +Then he looked over the neck of his pack at the horseman, who was quite +near, and was convinced that he was not an officer. He was still +jogging at a canter and riding atrociously. One leg was napping as if +it had lost its stirrup-hold; the rider's arms were pumping, and his +hat was sailing behind at the end of a string. + +"Whoa!" said Keith. + +His heart stopped its action. He was staring at a big red beard and a +huge, shaggy head. The horseman reined in, floundered from his saddle, +and swayed forward as if seasick. + +"Well, I'll be--" + +"DUGGAN!" + +"JOHNNY--JOHNNY KEITH!" + + + + XXIV + +For a matter of ten seconds neither of the two men moved. Keith was +stunned. Andy Duggan's eyes were fairly popping out from under his +bushy brows. And then unmistakably Keith caught the scent of bacon in +the air. + +"Andy--Andy Duggan," he choked. "You know me--you know Johnny +Keith--you know me--you--" + +Duggan answered with an inarticulate bellow and jumped at Keith as if +to bear him to the ground. He hugged him, and Keith hugged, and then +for a minute they stood pumping hands until their faces were red, and +Duggan was growling over and over: + +"An' you passed me there at McCoffin's Bend--an' I didn't know you, I +didn't know you, I didn't know you! I thought you was that cussed +Conniston! I did. I thought you was Conniston!" He stood back at last. +"Johnny--Johnny Keith!" + +"Andy, you blessed old devil!" + +They pumped hands again, pounded shoulders until they were sore, and in +Keith's face blazed once more the love of life. + +Suddenly old Duggan grew rigid and sniffed the air. "I smell bacon!" + +"It's in the pack, Andy. But for Heaven's sake don't notice the bacon +until you explain how you happen to be here." + +"Been waitin' for you," replied Duggan in an affectionate growl. "Knew +you'd have to come down this valley to hit the Little Fork. Been +waitin' six weeks." + +Keith dug his fingers into Duggan's arm. + +"How did you know I was coming HERE?" he demanded. "Who told you?" + +"All come out in the wash, Johnny. Pretty mess. Chinaman dead. Johnny +Keith, alias Conniston, alive an' living with Conniston's pretty +sister. Johnny gone--skipped. No one knew where. I made guesses. Knew +the girl would know if anyone did. I went to her, told her how you'n me +had been pals, an' she give me the idee you was goin' up to the river's +end. I resigned from the Betty M., that night. Told her, though, that +she was a ninny if she thought you'd go up there. Made her believe the +note was just a blind." + +"My God," breathed Keith hopelessly, "I meant it." + +"Sure you did, Johnny. I knew it. But I didn't dare let HER know it. If +you could ha' seen that pretty mouth o' hern curlin' up as if she'd +liked to have bit open your throat, an' her hands clenched, an' that +murder in her eyes--Man, I lied to her then! I told her I was after +you, an' that if she wouldn't put the police on you, I'd bring back +your head to her, as they used to do in the old times. An' she bit. +Yes, sir, she said to me, 'If you'll do that, I won't say a word to the +police!' An' here I am, Johnny. An' if I keep my word with that little +tiger, I've got to shoot you right now. Haw! Haw!" + +Keith had turned his face away. + +Duggan, pulling him about by the shoulders, opened his eyes wide in +amazement.--"Johnny--" + +"Maybe you don't understand, Andy," struggled Keith. "I'm sorry--she +feels--like that." + +For a moment Duggan was silent. Then he exploded with a sudden curse. +"SORRY! What the devil you sorry for, Johnny? You treated her square, +an' you left her almost all of Conniston's money. She ain't no kick +comin', and she ain't no reason for feelin' like she does. Let 'er go +to the devil, I say. She's pretty an' sweet an' all that--but when +anybody wants to go clawin' your heart out, don't be fool enough to +feel sorry about it. You lied to her, but what's that? There's bigger +lies than yourn been told, Johnny, a whole sight bigger! Don't you go +worryin'. I've been here waitin' six weeks, an' I've done a lot of +thinkin', and all our plans are set an' hatched. An' I've got the +nicest cabin all built and waitin' for us up the Little Fork. Here we +are. Let's be joyful, son!" He laughed into Keith's tense, gray face. +"Let's be joyful!" + +Keith forced a grin. Duggan didn't know. He hadn't guessed what that +"little tiger who would have liked to have bit open his throat" had +been to him. The thick-headed old hero, loyal to the bottom of his +soul, hadn't guessed. And it came to Keith then that he would never +tell him. He would keep that secret. He would bury it in his burned-out +soul, and he would be "joyful" if he could. Duggan's blazing, happy +face, half buried in its great beard, was like the inspiration and +cheer of a sun rising on a dark world. He was not alone. Duggan, the +old Duggan of years ago, the Duggan who had planned and dreamed with +him, his best friend, was with him now, and the light came back into +his face as he looked toward the mountains. Off there, only a few miles +distant, was the Little Fork, winding into the heart of the Rockies, +seeking out its hidden valleys, its trailless canons, its hidden +mysteries. Life lay ahead of him, life with its thrill and adventure, +and at his side was the friend of all friends to seek it with him. He +thrust out his hands. + +"God bless you, Andy," he cried. "You're the gamest pal that ever +lived!" + +A moment later Duggan pointed to a clump of timber half a mile ahead. +"It's past dinner-time," he said. "There's wood. If you've got any +bacon aboard, I move we eat." + +An hour later Andy was demonstrating that his appetite was as voracious +as ever. Before describing more of his own activities, he insisted that +Keith recite his adventures from the night "he killed that old skunk, +Kirkstone." + +It was two o'clock when they resumed their journey. An hour later they +struck the Little Fork and until seven traveled up the stream. They +were deep in the lap of the mountains when they camped for the night. +After supper, smoking his pipe, Duggan stretched himself out +comfortably with his back to a tree. + +"Good thing you come along when you did, Johnny," he said. "I been +waitin' in that valley ten days, an' the eats was about gone when you +hove in sight. Meant to hike back to the cabin for supplies tomorrow or +next day. Gawd, ain't this the life! An' we're goin' to find gold, +Johnny, we're goin' to find it!" + +"We've got all our lives to--to find it in," said Keith. + +Duggan puffed out a huge cloud of smoke and heaved a great sigh of +pleasure. Then he grunted and chuckled. "Lord, what a little firebrand +that sister of Conniston's is!" he exclaimed. "Johnny, I bet if you'd +walk in on her now, she'd kill you with her own hands. Don't see why +she hates you so, just because you tried to save your life. Of course +you must ha' lied like the devil. Couldn't help it. But a lie ain't +nothin'. I've told some whoppers, an' no one ain't never wanted to kill +me for it. I ain't afraid of McDowell. Everyone said the Chink was a +good riddance. It's the girl. There won't be a minute all her life she +ain't thinkin' of you, an' she won't be satisfied until she's got you. +That is, she thinks she won't. But we'll fool the little devil, Johnny. +We'll keep our eyes open--an' fool her!" + +"Let's talk of pleasanter things," said Keith. "I've got fifty traps in +the pack, Andy. You remember how we used to plan on trapping during the +winter and hunting for gold during the summer?" + +Duggan rubbed his hands until they made a rasping sound; he talked of +lynx signs he had seen, and of marten and fox. He had panned "colors" +at a dozen places along the Little Fork and was ready to make his +affidavit that it was the same gold he had dredged at McCoffin's Bend. + +"If we don't find it this fall, we'll be sittin' on the mother lode +next summer," he declared, and from then until it was time to turn in +he talked of nothing but the yellow treasure it had been his lifelong +dream to find. At the last, when they had rolled in their blankets, he +raised himself on his elbow for a moment and said to Keith: + +"Johnny, don't you worry about that Conniston girl. I forgot to tell +you I've took time by the forelock. Two weeks ago I wrote an' told her +I'd learned you was hittin' into the Great Slave country, an' that I +was about to hike after you. So go to sleep an' don't worry about that +pesky little rattlesnake." + +"I'm not worrying," said Keith. + +Fifteen minutes later he heard Duggan snoring. Quietly he unwrapped his +blanket and sat up. There were still burning embers in the fire, the +night--like that first night of his flight--was a glory of stars, and +the moon was rising. Their camp was in a small, meadowy pocket in the +center of which was a shimmering little lake across which he could +easily have thrown a stone. On the far side of this was the sheer wall +of a mountain, and the top of this wall, thousands of feet up, caught +the glow of the moon first. Without awakening his comrade, Keith walked +to the lake. He watched the golden illumination as it fell swiftly +lower over the face of the mountain. He could see it move like a great +flood. And then, suddenly, his shadow shot out ahead of him, and he +turned to find the moon itself glowing like a monstrous ball between +the low shoulders of a mountain to the east. The world about him became +all at once vividly and wildly beautiful. It was as if a curtain had +lifted so swiftly the eye could not follow it. Every tree and shrub and +rock stood out in a mellow spotlight; the lake was transformed to a +pool of molten silver, and as far as he could see, where shoulders and +ridges did not cut him out, the moonlight was playing on the mountains. +In the air was a soft droning like low music, and from a distant crag +came the rattle of loosened rocks. He fancied, for a moment, that Mary +Josephine was standing at his side, and that together they were +drinking in the wonder of this dream at last come true. Then a cry came +to his lips, a broken, gasping man-cry which he could not keep back, +and his heart was filled with anguish. + +With all its beauty, all its splendor of quiet and peace, the night was +a bitter one for Keith, the bitterest of his life. He had not believed +the worst of Mary Josephine. He knew he had lost her and that she might +despise him, but that she would actually hate him with the desire for a +personal vengeance he had not believed. Was Duggan right? Was Mary +Josephine unfair? And should he in self-defense fight to poison his own +thoughts against her? His face set hard, and a joyless laugh fell from +his lips. He knew that he was facing the inevitable. No matter what had +happened, he must go on loving Mary Josephine. + +All through that night he was awake. Half a dozen times he went to his +blanket, but it was impossible for him to sleep. At four o'clock he +built up the fire and at five roused Duggan. The old river-man sprang +up with the enthusiasm of a boy. He came back from the lake with his +beard and head dripping and his face glowing. All the mountains held no +cheerier comrade than Duggan. + +They were on the trail at six o'clock and hour after hour kept steadily +up the Little Fork. The trail grew rougher, narrower, and more +difficult to follow, and at intervals Duggan halted to make sure of the +way. At one of these times he said to Keith: + +"Las' night proved there ain't no danger from her, Johnny. I had a +dream, an' dreams goes by contraries an' always have. What you dream +never comes true. It's always the opposite. An' I dreamed that little +she-devil come up on you when you was asleep, took a big bread-knife, +an' cut your head plumb off! Yessir, I could see her holdin' up that +head o' yourn, an' the blood was drippin', an' she was a-laughin'--" + +"SHUT UP!" Keith fairly yelled the words. His eyes blazed. His face was +dead white. + +With a shrug of his huge shoulders and a sullen grunt Duggan went on. + +An hour later the trail narrowed into a short canon, and this canon, to +Keith's surprise, opened suddenly into a beautiful valley, a narrow +oasis of green hugged in between the two ranges. Scarcely had they +entered it, when Duggan raised his voice in a series of wild yells and +began firing his rifle into the air. + +"Home-coming," he explained to Keith, after he was done. "Cabin's just +over that bulge. Be there in ten minutes." + +In less than ten minutes Keith saw it, sheltered in the edge of a thick +growth of cedar and spruce from which its timbers had been taken. It +was a larger cabin than he had expected to see--twice, three times as +large. + +"How did you do it alone!" he exclaimed in admiration. "It's a wonder, +Andy. Big enough for--for a whole family!" + +"Half a dozen Indians happened along, an' I hired 'em," explained +Duggan. "Thought I might as well make it big enough, Johnny, seein' I +had plenty of help. Sometimes I snore pretty loud, an'--" + +"There's smoke coming out of it," cried Keith. + +"Kept one of the Indians," chuckled Duggan. "Fine cook, an' a +sassy-lookin' little squaw she is, Johnny. Her husband died last +winter, an' she jumped at the chance to stay, for her board an' five +bucks a month. How's your Uncle Andy for a schemer, eh, Johnny?" + +A dozen rods from the cabin was a creek. Duggan halted here to water +his horse and nodded for Keith to go on. + +"Take a look, Johnny; go ahead an' take a look! I'm sort of sot up over +that cabin." + +Keith handed his reins to Duggan and obeyed. The cabin door was open, +and he entered. One look assured him that Duggan had good reason to be +"sot up." The first big room reminded him of the Shack. Beyond that was +another room in which he heard someone moving and the crackle of a fire +in a stove. Outside Duggan was whistling. He broke off whistling to +sing, and as Keith listened to the river-man's bellowing voice chanting +the words of the song he had sung at McCoffin's Bend for twenty years, +he grinned. And then he heard the humming of a voice in the kitchen. +Even the squaw was happy. + +And then--and then-- + +"GREAT GOD IN HEAVEN--" + +In the doorway she stood, her arms reaching out to him, love, glory, +triumph in her face--MARY JOSEPHINE! + +He swayed; he groped out; something blinded him--tears--hot, blinding +tears that choked him, that came with a sob in his throat. And then she +was in his arms, and her arms were around him, and she was laughing and +crying, and he heard her say: "Why--why didn't you come back--to +me--that night? Why--why did you--go out--through the--window? I--I was +waiting--and I--I'd have gone--with you--" + +From the door behind them came Duggan's voice, chuckling, exultant, +booming with triumph. "Johnny, didn't I tell you there was lots bigger +lies than yourn? Didn't I? Eh?" + + + +XXV + +It was many minutes, after Keith's arms had closed around Mary +Josephine, before he released her enough to hold her out and look at +her. She was there, every bit of her, eyes glowing with a greater glory +and her face wildly aflush with a thing that had never been there +before; and suddenly, as he devoured her in that hungry look, she gave +a little cry, and hugged herself to his breast, and hid her face there. + +And he was whispering again and again, as though he could find no other +word, + +"Mary--Mary--Mary--" + +Duggan drew away from the door. The two had paid no attention to his +voice, and the old river-man was one continuous chuckle as he unpacked +Keith's horse and attended to his own, hobbling them both and tying +cow-bells to them. It was half an hour before he ventured up out of the +grove along the creek and approached the cabin again. Even then he +halted, fussing with a piece of harness, until he saw Mary Josephine in +the door. The sun was shining on her. Her glorious hair was down, and +behind her was Keith, so close that his shoulders were covered with it. +Like a bird Mary Josephine sped to Duggan. Great red beard and all she +hugged him, and on the flaming red of his bare cheek-bone she kissed +him. + +"Gosh," said Duggan, at a loss for something better to say. "Gosh--" + +Then Keith had him by the hand. "Andy, you ripsnorting old liar, if you +weren't old enough to be my father, I'd whale the daylights out of +you!" he cried joyously. "I would, just because I love you so! You've +made this day the--the--the--" + +"--The most memorable of my life," helped Mary Josephine. "Is that +it--John?" + +Timidly, for the first time, her cheek against his shoulder, she spoke +his name. And before Duggan's eyes Keith kissed her. + +Hours later, in a world aglow with the light of stars and a radiant +moon, Keith and Mary Josephine were alone out in the heart of their +little valley. To Keith it was last night returned, only more +wonderful. There was the same droning song in the still air, the low +rippling of running water, the mysterious whisperings of the mountains. +All about them were the guardian peaks of the snow-capped ranges, and +under their feet was the soft lush of grass and the sweet scent of +flowers. "Our valley of dreams," Mary Josephine had named it, an +infinite happiness trembling in her voice. "Our beautiful valley of +dreams--come true!" "And you would have come with me--that night?" +asked Keith wonderingly. "That night--I ran away?" + +"Yes. I didn't hear you go. And at last I went to your door and +listened, and then I knocked, and after that I called to you, and when +you didn't answer, I entered your room." + +"Dear heaven!" breathed Keith. "After all that, you would have come +away with me, covered with blood, a--a murderer, they say--a hunted +man--" + +"John, dear." She took one of his hands in both her own and held it +tight. "John, dear, I've got something to tell you." + +He was silent. + +"I made Duggan promise not to tell you I was here when he found you, +and I made him promise something else--to keep a secret I wanted to +tell you myself. It was wonderful of him. I don't see how he did it." + +She snuggled still closer to him, and held his hand a little tighter. +"You see, John, there was a terrible time after you killed Shan Tung. +Only a little while after you had gone, I saw the sky growing red. It +was Shan Tung's place--afire. I was terrified, and my heart was broken, +and I didn't move. I must have sat at the window a long time, when the +door burst open suddenly and Miriam ran in, and behind her came +McDowell. Oh, I never heard a man swear as McDowell swore when he found +you had gone, and Miriam flung herself on the floor at my feet and +buried her head in my lap. + +"McDowell tramped up and down, and at last he turned to me as if he was +going to eat me, and he fairly shouted, 'Do you know--THAT CURSED FOOL +DIDN'T KILL JUDGE KIRKSTONE!'" + +There was a pause in which Keith's brain reeled. And Mary Josephine +went on, as quietly as though she were talking about that evening's +sunset: + +"Of course, I knew all along, from what you had told me about John +Keith, that he wasn't what you would call a murderer. You see, John, I +had learned to LOVE John Keith. It was the other thing that horrified +me! In the fight, that night, Judge Kirkstone wasn't badly hurt, just +stunned. Peter Kirkstone and his father were always quarreling. Peter +wanted money, and his father wouldn't give it to him. It seems +impossible,--what happened then. But it's true. After you were gone, +PETER KIRKSTONE KILLED HIS FATHER THAT HE MIGHT INHERIT THE ESTATE! And +then he laid the crime on you!" + +"My God!" breathed Keith. "Mary--Mary Josephine--how do you know?" + +"Peter Kirkstone was terribly burned in the fire. He died that night, +and before he died he confessed. That was the power Shan Tung held over +Miriam. He knew. And Miriam was to pay the price that would save her +brother from the hangman." + +"And that," whispered Keith, as if to himself, "was why she was so +interested in John Keith." + +He looked away into the shimmering distance of the night, and for a +long time both were silent. A woman had found happiness. A man's soul +had come out of darkness into light. + +THE END + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE RIVER'S END *** + + +This file should be named trive10.txt or trive10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, trive11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, trive10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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