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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/6179-0.txt b/6179-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ec0869 --- /dev/null +++ b/6179-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9996 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre And His People, [Tales of the Far +North], Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +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: Pierre And His People, [Tales of the Far North], Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: October 17, 2006 [EBook #6179] +Last Updated: August 26, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE, *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE + +TALES OF THE FAR NORTH + +By Gilbert Parker + + + + CONTENTS + + Volume 1. + THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS + GOD’S GARRISON + A HAZARD OF THE NORTH + + + Volume 2. + A PRAIRIE VAGABOND + SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON + THREE OUTLAWS + + Volume 3. + SHON MCGANN’S TOBOGAN RIDE + PERE CHAMPAGNE + THE SCARLET HUNTER + THE STONE + + Volume 4. + THE TALL MASTER + THE CRIMSON FLAG + THE FLOOD + IN PIPI VALLEY + + Volume 5. + ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE + THE CIPHER + A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES + A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS + + + + +GENERAL INTRODUCTION + +With each volume of this subscription edition (1912) there is a special +introduction, setting forth, in so far as seemed possible, the relation +of each work to myself, to its companion works, and to the scheme of my +literary life. Only one or two things, therefore, need be said here, as +I wish God-speed to this edition, which, I trust, may help to make old +friends warmer friends and new friends more understanding. Most of the +novels and most of the short stories were suggested by incidents or +characters which I had known, had heard of intimately, or, as in +the case of the historical novels, had discovered in the works of +historians. In no case are the main characters drawn absolutely from +life; they are not portraits; and the proof of that is that no one has +ever been able to identify, absolutely, any single character in these +books. Indeed, it would be impossible for me to restrict myself to +actual portraiture. It is trite to say that photography is not art, and +photography has no charm for the artist, or the humanitarian indeed, +in the portrayal of life. At its best it is only an exhibition of outer +formal characteristics, idiosyncrasies, and contours. Freedom is +the first essential of the artistic mind. As will be noticed in the +introductions and original notes to several of these volumes, it is +stated that they possess anachronisms; that they are not portraits of +people living or dead, and that they only assume to be in harmony with +the spirit of men and times and things. Perhaps in the first few pages +of ‘The Right of Way’ portraiture is more nearly reached than in any +other of these books, but it was only the nucleus, if I may say so, of a +larger development which the original Charley Steele never attained. In +the novel he grew to represent infinitely more than the original ever +represented in his short life. + +That would not be strange when it is remembered that the germ of The +‘Right of Way’ was growing in my mind over a long period of years, and +it must necessarily have developed into a larger conception than the +original character could have suggested. The same may be said of the +chief characters in ‘The Weavers’. The story of the two brothers--David +Claridge and Lord Eglington--in that book was brewing in my mind for +quite fifteen years, and the main incidents and characters of other +novels in this edition had the same slow growth. My forthcoming novel, +called ‘The Judgment House’, had been in my mind for nearly twenty +years and only emerged when it was full grown, as it were; when I was +so familiar with the characters that they seemed as real in all ways as +though they were absolute people and incidents of one’s own experience. + +Little more need be said. In outward form the publishers have made this +edition beautiful. I should be ill-content if there was not also an +element of beauty in the work of the author. To my mind truth alone +is not sufficient. Every work of art, no matter how primitive in +conception, how tragic or how painful, or even how grotesque in +design--like the gargoyles on Notre Dame must have, too, the elements of +beauty--that which lures and holds, the durable and delightful thing. +I have a hope that these books of mine, as faithful to life as I could +make them, have also been touched here and there by the staff of beauty. +Otherwise their day will be short indeed; and I should wish for them a +day a little longer at least than my day and span. + +I launch the ship. May it visit many a port! May its freight never lie +neglected on the quays! + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +So far as my literary work is concerned ‘Pierre and His People’ may +be likened to a new city built upon the ashes of an old one. Let me +explain. While I was in Australia I began a series of short stories and +sketches of life in Canada which I called ‘Pike Pole Sketches on the +Madawaska’. A very few of them were published in Australia, and I +brought with me to England in 1889 about twenty of them to make into a +volume. I told Archibald Forbes, the great war correspondent, of my wish +for publication, and asked him if he would mind reading the sketches and +stories before I approached a publisher. He immediately consented, and +one day I brought him the little brown bag containing the tales. + +A few days afterwards there came an invitation to lunch, and I went to +Clarence Gate, Regent’s Park, to learn what Archibald Forbes thought of +my tales. We were quite merry at luncheon, and after luncheon, which +for him was a glass of milk and a biscuit, Forbes said to me, “Those +stories, Parker--you have the best collection of titles I have ever +known.” He paused. I understood. To his mind the tales did not live up +to their titles. He hastily added, “But I am going to give you a letter +of introduction to Macmillan. I may be wrong.” My reply was: “You need +not give me a letter to Macmillan unless I write and ask you for it.” + +I took my little brown bag and went back to my comfortable rooms in an +old-fashioned square. I sat down before the fire on this bleak winter’s +night with a couple of years’ work on my knee. One by one I glanced +through the stories and in some cases read them carefully, and one by +one I put them in the fire, and watched them burn. I was heavy at heart, +but I felt that Forbes was right, and my own instinct told me that my +ideas were better than my performance--and Forbes was right. Nothing was +left of the tales; not a shred of paper, not a scrap of writing. They +had all gone up the chimney in smoke. There was no self-pity. I had a +grim kind of feeling regarding the thing, but I had no regrets, and I +have never had any regrets since. I have forgotten most of the titles, +and indeed all the stories except one. But Forbes and I were right; of +that I am sure. + +The next day after the arson I walked for hours where London was +busiest. The shop windows fascinated me; they always did; but that day I +seemed, subconsciously, to be looking for something. At last I found it. +It was a second-hand shop in Covent Garden. In the window there was +the uniform of an officer of the time of Wellington, and beside it--the +leather coat and fur cap of a trapper of the Hudson’s Bay Company! At +that window I commenced to build again upon the ashes of last night’s +fire. Pretty Pierre, the French half-breed, or rather the original of +him as I knew him when a child, looked out of the window at me. So +I went home, and sitting in front of the fire which had received my +manuscript the night before, with a pad upon my knee, I began to write +‘The Patrol of the Cypress Hills’ which opens ‘Pierre and His People’. + +The next day was Sunday. I went to service at the Foundling Hospital in +Bloomsbury, and while listening superficially to the sermon I was also +reading the psalms. I came upon these words, “Free among the Dead +like unto them that are wounded and lie in the grave, that are out of +remembrance,” and this text, which I used in the story ‘The Patrol of +the Cypress Hills’, became, in a sense, the text for all the stories +which came after. It seemed to suggest the lives and the end of the +lives of the workers of the pioneer world. + +So it was that Pierre and His People chiefly concerned those who had +been wounded by Fate, and had suffered the robberies of life and time +while they did their work in the wide places. It may be that my readers +have found what I tried, instinctively, to convey in the pioneer life I +portrayed--“The soul of goodness in things evil.” Such, on the whole, my +observation had found in life, and the original of Pierre, with all his +mistakes, misdemeanours, and even crimes, was such an one as I would +have gone to in trouble or in hour of need, knowing that his face would +never be turned from me. + +These stories made their place at once. The ‘Patrol of the Cypress +Hills’ was published first in ‘The Independent’ of New York and in +‘Macmillan’s Magazine’ in England. Mr. Bliss Carman, then editor of +‘The Independent’, eagerly published several of them--‘She of the Triple +Chevron’ and others. Mr. Carman’s sympathy and insight were a great help +to me in those early days. The then editor of ‘Macmillan’s Magazine’, +Mr. Mowbray Morris, was not, I think, quite so sure of the merits of +the Pierre stories. He published them, but he was a little credulous +regarding them, and he did not pat me on the back by any means. There +was one, however, who made the best that is in ‘Pierre and His People’ +possible; this was the unforgettable W. E. Henley, editor of The +‘National Observer’. One day at a sitting I wrote a short story called +‘Antoine and Angelique’, and sent it to him almost before the ink was +dry. The reply came by return of post: “It is almost, or quite, as good +as can be. Send me another.” So forthwith I sent him ‘God’s Garrison’, +and it was quickly followed by ‘The Three Outlaws’, ‘The Tall Master’, +‘The Flood’, ‘The Cipher’, ‘A Prairie Vagabond’, and several others. At +length came ‘The Stone’, which brought a telegram of congratulation, and +finally ‘The Crimson Flag’. The acknowledgment of that was a postcard +containing these all too-flattering words: “Bravo, Balzac!” Henley would +print what no other editor would print; he gave a man his chance to do +the boldest thing that was in him, and I can truthfully say that +the doors which he threw open gave freedom to an imagination and an +individuality of conception, for which I can never be sufficiently +grateful. + +These stories and others which appeared in ‘The National Observer’, in +‘Macmillan’s’, in ‘The English Illustrated Magazine’ and others made +many friends; so that when the book at length came out it was received +with generous praise, though not without some criticism. It made its +place, however, at once, and later appeared another series, called ‘An +Adventurer of the North’, or, as it is called in this edition, ‘A Romany +of the Snows’. Through all the twenty stories of this second volume the +character of Pierre moved; and by the time the last was written there +was scarcely an important magazine in the English-speaking world which +had not printed one or more of them. Whatever may be thought of the +stories themselves, or of the manner in which the life of the Far North +was portrayed, of one thing I am sure: Pierre was true to the life--to +his race, to his environment, to the conditions of pioneer life through +which he moved. When the book first came out there was some criticism +from Canada itself, but that criticism has long since died away, and it +never was determined. + +Plays have been founded on the ‘Pierre’ series, and one in particular, +‘Pierre of the Plains’, had a considerable success, with Mr. Edgar +Selwyn, the adapter, in the main part. I do not know whether, if I were +to begin again, I should have written all the Pierre stories in quite +the same way. Perhaps it is just as well that I am not able to begin +again. The stories made their own place in their own way, and that there +is still a steady demand for ‘Pierre and His People’ and ‘A Romany of +the Snows’ seems evidence that the editor of an important magazine in +New York who declined to recommend them for publication to his firm (and +later published several of the same series) was wrong, when he said that +the tales “seemed not to be salient.” Things that are not “salient” + do not endure. It is twenty years since ‘Pierre and His People’ +was produced--and it still endures. For this I cannot but be deeply +grateful. In any case, what ‘Pierre’ did was to open up a field which +had not been opened before, but which other authors have exploited since +with success and distinction. ‘Pierre’ was the pioneer of the Far North +in fiction; that much may be said; and for the rest, Time is the test, +and Time will have its way with me as with the rest. + + + + +NOTE + +It is possible that a Note on the country portrayed in these stories may +be in keeping. Until 1870, the Hudson’s Bay Company--first granted +its charter by King Charles II--practically ruled that vast region +stretching from the fiftieth parallel of latitude to the Arctic Ocean--a +handful of adventurous men entrenched in forts and posts, yet trading +with, and mostly peacefully conquering, many savage tribes. Once the +sole master of the North, the H. B. C. (as it is familiarly called) is +reverenced by the Indians and half-breeds as much as, if not more than, +the Government established at Ottawa. It has had its forts within the +Arctic Circle; it has successfully exploited a country larger than +the United States. The Red River Valley, the Saskatchewan Valley, and +British Columbia, are now belted by a great railway, and given to the +plough; but in the far north life is much the same as it was a hundred +years ago. There the trapper, clerk, trader, and factor are cast in the +mould of another century, though possessing the acuter energies of this. +The ‘voyageur’ and ‘courier de bois’ still exist, though, generally, +under less picturesque names. + +The bare story of the hardy and wonderful career of the adventurers +trading in Hudson’s Bay,--of whom Prince Rupert was once chiefest,--and +the life of the prairies, may be found in histories and books of travel; +but their romances, the near narratives of individual lives, have waited +the telling. In this book I have tried to feel my way towards the heart +of that life--worthy of being loved by all British men, for it has +given honest graves to gallant fellows of our breeding. Imperfectly, of +course, I have done it; but there is much more to be told. + +When I started Pretty Pierre on his travels, I did not know--nor did +he--how far or wide his adventurers and experiences would run. They +have, however, extended from Quebec in the east to British Columbia +in the west, and from the Cypress Hills in the south to the Coppermine +River in the north. With a less adventurous man we had had fewer +happenings. His faults were not of his race, that is, French and +Indian,--nor were his virtues; they belong to all peoples. But the +expression of these is affected by the country itself. Pierre passes +through this series of stories, connecting them, as he himself connects +two races, and here and there links the past of the Hudson’s Bay Company +with more modern life and Canadian energy pushing northward. Here +is something of romance “pure and simple,” but also traditions and +character, which are the single property of this austere but not +cheerless heritage of our race. + +All of the tales have appeared in magazines and journals--namely, ‘The +National Observer’, ‘Macmillan’s’, ‘The National Review’, and ‘The +English Illustrated’; and ‘The Independent of New York’. By the courtesy +of the proprietors of these I am permitted to republish. + + G. P. + +HARPENDEN, HERTFORDSHIRE, July, 1892. + + + + + +THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS + +“He’s too ha’sh,” said old Alexander Windsor, as he shut the creaking +door of the store after a vanishing figure, and turned to the big iron +stove with outstretched hands; hands that were cold both summer and +winter. He was of lean and frigid make. + +“Sergeant Fones is too ha’sh,” he repeated, as he pulled out the damper +and cleared away the ashes with the iron poker. + +Pretty Pierre blew a quick, straight column of cigarette smoke into the +air, tilted his chair back, and said: “I do not know what you mean by +‘ha’sh,’ but he is the devil. Eh, well, there was more than one devil +made sometime in the North West.” He laughed softly. + +“That gives you a chance in history, Pretty Pierre,” said a voice from +behind a pile of woollen goods and buffalo skins in the centre of the +floor. The owner of the voice then walked to the window. He scratched +some frost from the pane and looked out to where the trooper in dog-skin +coat, gauntlets and cap, was mounting his broncho. The old man came +and stood near the young man,--the owner of the voice,--and said again: +“He’s too ha’sh.” + +“Harsh you mean, father,” added the other. + +“Yes, harsh you mean, Old Brown Windsor,--quite harsh,” said Pierre. + +Alexander Windsor, storekeeper and general dealer, was sometimes called +“Old Brown Windsor” and sometimes “Old Aleck,” to distinguish him from +his son, who was known as “Young Aleck.” + +As the old man walked back again to the stove to warm his hands, Young +Aleck continued: “He does his duty, that’s all. If he doesn’t wear kid +gloves while at it, it’s his choice. He doesn’t go beyond his duty. You +can bank on that. It would be hard to exceed that way out here.” + +“True, Young Aleck, so true; but then he wears gloves of iron, of ice. +That is not good. Sometime the glove will be too hard and cold on +a man’s shoulder, and then!--Well, I should like to be there,” said +Pierre, showing his white teeth. + +Old Aleck shivered, and held his fingers where the stove was red hot. + +The young man did not hear this speech; from the window he was watching +Sergeant Fones as he rode towards the Big Divide. Presently he said: +“He’s going towards Humphrey’s place. I--” He stopped, bent his brows, +caught one corner of his slight moustache between his teeth, and did not +stir a muscle until the Sergeant had passed over the Divide. + +Old Aleck was meanwhile dilating upon his theme before a passive +listener. But Pierre was only passive outwardly. Besides hearkening +to the father’s complaints he was closely watching the son. Pierre +was clever, and a good actor. He had learned the power of reserve and +outward immobility. The Indian in him helped him there. He had heard +what Young Aleck had just muttered; but to the man of the cold fingers +he said: “You keep good whisky in spite of the law and the iron glove, +Old Aleck.” To the young man: “And you can drink it so free, eh, Young +Aleck?” + +The half-breed looked out of the corners of his eyes at the young +man, but he did not raise the peak of his fur cap in doing so, and his +glances askance were not seen. + +Young Aleck had been writing something with his finger-nail on the +frost of the pane, over and over again. When Pierre spoke to him thus +he scratched out the word he had written, with what seemed unnecessary +force. But in one corner it remained: + +“Mab--” + +Pierre added: “That is what they say at Humphrey’s ranch.” + +“Who says that at Humphrey’s?--Pierre, you lie!” was the sharp and +threatening reply. The significance of this last statement had +been often attested on the prairies by the piercing emphasis of a +six-chambered revolver. It was evident that Young Aleck was in earnest. +Pierre’s eyes glowed in the shadow, but he idly replied: + +“I do not remember quite who said it. Well, ‘mon ami,’ perhaps I lie; +perhaps. Sometimes we dream things, and these dreams are true. You call +it a lie--‘bien!’ Sergeant Fones, he dreams perhaps Old Aleck sells +whisky against the law to men you call whisky runners, sometimes to +Indians and half-breeds--halfbreeds like Pretty Pierre. That was a dream +of Sergeant Fones; but you see he believes it true. It is good sport, +eh? Will you not take--what is it?--a silent partner? Yes; a silent +partner, Old Aleck. Pretty Pierre has spare time, a little, to make +money for his friends and for himself, eh?” + +When did not Pierre have time to spare? He was a gambler. Unlike the +majority of half-breeds, he had a pronounced French manner, nonchalant +and debonair. + +The Indian in him gave him coolness and nerve. His cheeks had a tinge of +delicate red under their whiteness, like those of a woman. That was why +he was called Pretty Pierre. The country had, however, felt a kind of +weird menace in the name. It was used to snakes whose rattle gave +notice of approach or signal of danger. But Pretty Pierre was like the +death-adder, small and beautiful, silent and deadly. At one time he had +made a secret of his trade, or thought he was doing so. In those days +he was often to be seen at David Humphrey’s home, and often in talk with +Mab Humphrey; but it was there one night that the man who was ha’sh gave +him his true character, with much candour and no comment. + +Afterwards Pierre was not seen at Humphrey’s ranch. Men prophesied that +he would have revenge some day on Sergeant Fones; but he did not show +anything on which this opinion could be based. He took no umbrage +at being called Pretty Pierre the gambler. But for all that he was +possessed of a devil. + +Young Aleck had inherited some money through his dead mother from his +grandfather, a Hudson’s Bay factor. He had been in the East for some +years, and when he came back he brought his “little pile” and an +impressionable heart with him. The former Pretty Pierre and his friends +set about to win; the latter, Mab Humphrey won without the trying. Yet +Mab gave Young Aleck as much as he gave her. More. Because her love +sprang from a simple, earnest, and uncontaminated life. Her purity and +affection were being played against Pierre’s designs and Young Aleck’s +weakness. With Aleck cards and liquor went together. Pierre seldom +drank. + +But what of Sergeant Fones? If the man that knew him best--the +Commandant--had been asked for his history, the reply would have been: +“Five years in the Service, rigid disciplinarian, best non-commissioned +officer on the Patrol of the Cypress Hills.” That was all the Commandant +knew. + +A soldier-policeman’s life on the frontier is rough, solitary, and +severe. Active duty and responsibility are all that make it endurable. +To few is it fascinating. A free and thoughtful nature would, however, +find much in it, in spite of great hardships, to give interest and even +pleasure. The sense of breadth and vastness, and the inspiration of pure +air could be a very gospel of strength, beauty, and courage, to such an +one--for a time. But was Sergeant Fones such an one? The Commandant’s +scornful reply to a question of the kind would have been: “He is the +best soldier on the Patrol.” + +And so with hard gallops here and there after the refugees of crime or +misfortune, or both, who fled before them like deer among the passes of +the hills, and, like deer at bay, often fought like demons to the death; +with border watchings, and protection and care and vigilance of the +Indians; with hurried marches at sunrise, the thermometer at fifty +degrees below zero often in winter, and open camps beneath the stars, +and no camp at all, as often as not, winter and summer; with rough +barrack fun and parade and drill and guard of prisoners; and with +chances now and then to pay homage to a woman’s face, the Mounted Force +grew full of the Spirit of the West and became brown, valiant, and +hardy, with wind and weather. Perhaps some of them longed to touch, +oftener than they did, the hands of children, and to consider more the +faces of women,--for hearts are hearts even under a belted coat of +red on the Fiftieth Parallel,--but men of nerve do not blazon their +feelings. + +No one would have accused Sergeant Fones of having a heart. Men of keen +discernment would have seen in him the little Bismarck of the Mounted +Police. His name carried farther on the Cypress Hills Patrol than any +other; and yet his officers could never say that he exceeded his duty +or enlarged upon the orders he received. He had no sympathy with crime. +Others of the force might wink at it; but his mind appeared to sit +severely upright upon the cold platform of Penalty, in beholding +breaches of the statutes. He would not have rained upon the unjust as +the just if he had had the directing of the heavens. As Private Gellatly +put it: “Sergeant Fones has the fear o’ God in his heart, and the law of +the land across his saddle, and the newest breech-loading at that!” + He was part of the great machine of Order, the servant of Justice, the +sentinel in the vestibule of Martial Law. His interpretation of duty +worked upward as downward. Officers and privates were acted on by the +force known as Sergeant Fones. Some people, like Old Brown Windsor, +spoke hardly and openly of this force. There were three people who never +did--Pretty Pierre, Young Aleck, and Mab Humphrey. Pierre hated him; +Young Aleck admired in him a quality lying dormant in himself--decision; +Mab Humphrey spoke unkindly of no one. Besides--but no! + +What was Sergeant Fones’s country? No one knew. Where had he come from? +No one asked him more than once. He could talk French with Pierre,--a +kind of French that sometimes made the undertone of red in the +Frenchman’s cheeks darker. He had been heard to speak German to a German +prisoner, and once, when a gang of Italians were making trouble on a +line of railway under construction, he arrested the leader, and, in +a few swift, sharp words in the language of the rioters, settled the +business. He had no accent that betrayed his nationality. + +He had been recommended for a commission. The officer in command had +hinted that the Sergeant might get a Christmas present. The officer +had further said: “And if it was something that both you and the +Patrol would be the better for, you couldn’t object, Sergeant.” But the +Sergeant only saluted, looking steadily into the eyes of the officer. +That was his reply. Private Gellatly, standing without, heard Sergeant +Fones say, as he passed into the open air, and slowly bared his forehead +to the winter sun: + +“Exactly.” + +And Private Gellatly cried, with revolt in his voice, “Divils me own, +the word that a’t to have been full o’ joy was like the clip of a +rifle-breech.” + +Justice in a new country is administered with promptitude and vigour, +or else not administered at all. Where an officer of the Mounted +Police-Soldiery has all the powers of a magistrate, the law’s delay and +the insolence of office have little space in which to work. One of +the commonest slips of virtue in the Canadian West was selling whisky +contrary to the law of prohibition which prevailed. Whisky runners were +land smugglers. Old Brown Windsor had, somehow, got the reputation +of being connected with the whisky runners; not a very respectable +business, and thought to be dangerous. Whisky runners were inclined +to resent intrusion on their privacy with a touch of that biting +inhospitableness which a moonlighter of Kentucky uses toward an +inquisitive, unsympathetic marshal. On the Cypress Hills Patrol, +however, the erring servants of Bacchus were having a hard time of +it. Vigilance never slept there in the days of which these lines bear +record. Old Brown Windsor had, in words, freely espoused the cause of +the sinful. To the careless spectator it seemed a charitable siding with +the suffering; a proof that the old man’s heart was not so cold as his +hands. Sergeant Fones thought differently, and his mission had just +been to warn the store-keeper that there was menacing evidence gathering +against him, and that his friendship with Golden Feather, the Indian +Chief, had better cease at once. Sergeant Fones had a way of putting +things. Old Brown Windsor endeavoured for a moment to be sarcastic. This +was the brief dialogue in the domain of sarcasm: + +“I s’pose you just lit round in a friendly sort of way, hopin’ that I’d +kenoodle with you later.” + +“Exactly.” + +There was an unpleasant click to the word. The old man’s hands got +colder. He had nothing more to say. + +Before leaving, the Sergeant said something quietly and quickly to Young +Aleck. Pierre observed, but could not hear. Young Aleck was uneasy; +Pierre was perplexed. The Sergeant turned at the door, and said in +French: “What are your chances for a Merry Christmas at Pardon’s Drive, +Pretty Pierre?” Pierre answered nothing. He shrugged his shoulders, and +as the door closed, muttered, “Il est le diable.” And he meant it. What +should Sergeant Fones know of that intended meeting at Pardon’s Drive on +Christmas Day? And if he knew, what then? It was not against the law to +play euchre. Still it perplexed Pierre. Before the Windsors, father and +son, however, he was, as we have seen, playfully cool. + +After quitting Old Brown Windsor’s store, Sergeant Fones urged his stout +broncho to a quicker pace than usual. The broncho was, like himself, +wasteful of neither action nor affection. The Sergeant had caught him +wild and independent, had brought him in, broken him, and taught him +obedience. They understood each other; perhaps they loved each other. +But about that even Private Gellatly had views in common with the +general sentiment as to the character of Sergeant Fones. The private +remarked once on this point “Sarpints alive! the heels of the one and +the law of the other is the love of them. They’ll weather together like +the Divil and Death.” + +The Sergeant was brooding; that was not like him. He was hesitating; +that was less like him. He turned his broncho round as if to cross the +Big Divide and to go back to Windsor’s store; but he changed his mind +again, and rode on toward David Humphrey’s ranch. He sat as if he had +been born in the saddle. His was a face for the artist, strong and +clear, and having a dominant expression of force. The eyes were deepset +and watchful. A kind of disdain might be traced in the curve of the +short upper lip, to which the moustache was clipped close--a good fit, +like his coat. The disdain was more marked this morning. + +The first part of his ride had been seen by Young Aleck, the second part +by Mab Humphrey. Her first thought on seeing him was one of apprehension +for Young Aleck and those of Young Aleck’s name. She knew that people +spoke of her lover as a ne’er-do-weel; and that they associated his +name freely with that of Pretty Pierre and his gang. She had a dread of +Pierre, and, only the night before, she had determined to make one last +great effort to save Aleck, and if he would not be saved--strange that, +thinking it all over again, as she watched the figure on horseback +coming nearer, her mind should swerve to what she had heard of Sergeant +Fones’s expected promotion. Then she fell to wondering if anyone had +ever given him a real Christmas present; if he had any friends at all; +if life meant anything more to him than carrying the law of the land +across his saddle. Again he suddenly came to her in a new thought, +free from apprehension, and as the champion of her cause to defeat the +half-breed and his gang, and save Aleck from present danger or future +perils. + +She was such a woman as prairies nurture; in spirit broad and +thoughtful and full of energy; not so deep as the mountain woman, not so +imaginative, but with more persistency, more daring. Youth to her was +a warmth, a glory. She hated excess and lawlessness, but she could +understand it. She felt sometimes as if she must go far away into the +unpeopled spaces, and shriek out her soul to the stars from the fulness +of too much life. She supposed men had feelings of that kind too, but +that they fell to playing cards and drinking instead of crying to the +stars. Still, she preferred her way. + +Once, Sergeant Fones, on leaving the house, said grimly after his +fashion: “Not Mab but Ariadne--excuse a soldier’s bluntness..... +Good-bye!” and with a brusque salute he had ridden away. What he meant +she did not know and could not ask. The thought instantly came to her +mind: Not Sergeant Fones; but who? She wondered if Ariadne was born on +the prairie. What knew she of the girl who helped Theseus, her lover, to +slay the Minotaur? What guessed she of the Slopes of Naxos? How old was +Ariadne? Twenty? For that was Mab’s age. Was Ariadne beautiful? She ran +her fingers loosely through her short brown hair, waving softly +about her Greek-shaped head, and reasoned that Ariadne must have been +presentable, or Sergeant Fones would not have made the comparison. She +hoped Ariadne could ride well, for she could. + +But how white the world looked this morning, and how proud and brilliant +the sky! Nothing in the plane of vision but waves of snow stretching to +the Cypress Hills; far to the left a solitary house, with its tin +roof flashing back the sun, and to the right the Big Divide. It was an +old-fashioned winter, not one in which bare ground and sharp winds make +life outdoors inhospitable. Snow is hospitable-clean, impacted snow; +restful and silent. But there was one spot in the area of white, on +which Mab’s eyes were fixed now, with something different in them from +what had been there. Again it was a memory with which Sergeant Fones was +associated. One day in the summer just past she had watched him and his +company put away to rest under the cool sod, where many another lay in +silent company, a prairie wanderer, some outcast from a better life gone +by. Afterwards, in her home, she saw the Sergeant stand at the window, +looking out towards the spot where the waves in the sea of grass were +more regular and greener than elsewhere, and were surmounted by a high +cross. She said to him--for she of all was never shy of his stern ways: + +“Why is the grass always greenest there, Sergeant Fones?” + +He knew what she meant, and slowly said: “It is the Barracks of the +Free.” + +She had no views of life save those of duty and work and natural joy and +loving a ne’er-do-weel, and she said: “I do not understand that.” + +And the Sergeant replied: “‘Free among the Dead like unto them that are +wounded and lie in the grave, who are out of remembrance.’” + +But Mab said again: “I do not understand that either.” + +The Sergeant did not at once reply. He stepped to the door and gave +a short command to some one without, and in a moment his company was +mounted in line; handsome, dashing fellows; one the son of an English +nobleman, one the brother of an eminent Canadian politician, one related +to a celebrated English dramatist. He ran his eye along the line, then +turned to Mab, raised his cap with machine-like precision, and said: +“No, I suppose you do not understand that. Keep Aleck Windsor from +Pretty Pierre and his gang. Good-bye.” + +Then he mounted and rode away. Every other man in the company looked +back to where the girl stood in the doorway; he did not. Private +Gellatly said, with a shake of the head, as she was lost to view: +“Devils bestir me, what a widdy she’ll make!” It was understood that +Aleck Windsor and Mab Humphrey were to be married on the coming New +Year’s Day. What connection was there between the words of Sergeant +Fones and those of Private Gellatly? None, perhaps. + +Mab thought upon that day as she looked out, this December morning, +and saw Sergeant Fones dismounting at the door. David Humphrey, who was +outside, offered to put up the Sergeant’s horse; but he said: “No, if +you’ll hold him just a moment, Mr. Humphrey, I’ll ask for a drink of +something warm, and move on. Miss Humphrey is inside, I suppose?” + +“She’ll give you a drink of the best to be had on your patrol, +Sergeant,” was the laughing reply. “Thanks for that, but tea or coffee +is good enough for me,” said the Sergeant. Entering, the coffee was soon +in the hand of the hardy soldier. Once he paused in his drinking and +scanned Mab’s face closely. Most people would have said the Sergeant had +an affair of the law in hand, and was searching the face of a criminal; +but most people are not good at interpretation. Mab was speaking to the +chore-girl at the same time and did not see the look. If she could have +defined her thoughts when she, in turn, glanced into the Sergeant’s +face, a moment afterwards, she would have said, “Austerity fills this +man. Isolation marks him for its own.” In the eyes were only purpose, +decision, and command. Was that the look that had been fixed upon her +face a moment ago? It must have been. His features had not changed a +breath. Mab began their talk. + +“They say you are to get a Christmas present of promotion, Sergeant +Fones.” + +“I have not seen it gazetted,” he answered enigmatically. + +“You and your friends will be glad of it.” + +“I like the service.” + +“You will have more freedom with a commission.” He made no reply, but +rose and walked to the window, and looked out across the snow, drawing +on his gauntlets as he did so. + +She saw that he was looking where the grass in summer was the greenest! + +He turned and said: + +“I am going to barracks now. I suppose Young Aleck will be in quarters +here on Christmas Day, Miss Mab?” + +“I think so,” and she blushed. + +“Did he say he would be here?” + +“Yes.” + +“Exactly.” + +He looked toward the coffee. Then: “Thank you.....Good-bye.” + +“Sergeant?” + +“Miss Humphrey!” + +“Will you not come to us on Christmas Day?” + +His eyelids closed swiftly and opened again. “I shall be on duty.” + +“And promoted?” + +“Perhaps.” + +“And merry and happy?”--she smiled to herself to think of Sergeant Fones +being merry and happy. + +“Exactly.” + +The word suited him. + +He paused a moment with his fingers on the latch, and turned round as if +to speak; pulled off his gauntlet, and then as quickly put it on again. +Had he meant to offer his hand in good-bye? He had never been seen to +take the hand of anyone except with the might of the law visible in +steel. + +He opened the door with the right hand, but turned round as he stepped +out, so that the left held it while he faced the warmth of the room and +the face of the girl. The door closed. + +Mounted, and having said good-bye to Mr. Humphrey, he turned towards the +house, raised his cap with soldierly brusqueness, and rode away in the +direction of the barracks. + +The girl did not watch him. She was thinking of Young Aleck, and of +Christmas Day, now near. The Sergeant did not look back. + +Meantime the party at Windsor’s store was broken up. Pretty Pierre and +Young Aleck had talked together, and the old man had heard his son say: +“Remember, Pierre, it is for the last time.” Then they talked after this +fashion: + +“Ah, I know, ‘mon ami;’ for the last time! ‘Eh, bien,’ you will spend +Christmas Day with us too--no? You surely will not leave us on the day +of good fortune? Where better can you take your pleasure for the last +time? One day is not enough for farewell. Two, three; that is the magic +number. You will, eh? no? Well, well, you will come to-morrow--and--eh, +‘mon ami,’ where do you go the next day? Oh, ‘pardon,’ I forgot, you +spend the Christmas Day--I know. And the day of the New Year? Ah, Young +Aleck, that is what they say--the devil for the devil’s luck. So.” + +“Stop that, Pierre.” There was fierceness in the tone. “I spend the +Christmas Day where you don’t, and as I like, and the rest doesn’t +concern you. I drink with you, I play with you--‘bien!’ As you say +yourself, ‘bien,’ isn’t that enough?” + +“‘Pardon!’ We will not quarrel. No; we spend not the Christmas Day after +the same fashion, quite. Then, to-morrow at Pardon’s Drive! Adieu!” + +Pretty Pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his white +teeth, and Aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon his +gloomy lips. But both maledictions were levelled at the same person. +Poor Aleck. + +“Poor Aleck!” That is the way we sometimes think of a good nature gone +awry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, and +against which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. Alas, for the +ne’er-do-weel! + +That night a stalwart figure passed from David Humphrey’s door, carrying +with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman’s love. The chilly outer +air of the world seemed not to touch him, Love’s curtains were drawn +so close. Had one stood within “the Hunter’s Room,” as it was called, +a little while before, one would have seen a man’s head bowed before a +woman, and her hand smoothing back the hair from the handsome brow where +dissipation had drawn some deep lines. Presently the hand raised the +head until the eyes of the woman looked full into the eyes of the man. + +“You will not go to Pardon’s Drive again, will you, Aleck?” + +“Never again after Christmas Day, Mab. But I must go to-morrow. I have +given my word.” + +“I know. To meet Pretty Pierre and all the rest, and for what? Oh, +Aleck, isn’t the suspicion about your father enough, but you must put +this on me as well?” + +“My father must suffer for his wrong-doing if he does wrong, and I for +mine.” + +There was a moment’s silence. He bowed his head again. + +“And I have done wrong to us both. Forgive me, Mab.” + +She leaned over and caressed his hair. “I forgive you, Aleck.” + +A thousand new thoughts were thrilling through him. Yet this man had +given his word to do that for which he must ask forgiveness of the woman +he loved. But to Pretty Pierre, forgiven or unforgiven, he would keep +his word. She understood it better than most of those who read this +brief record can. Every sphere has its code of honour and duty peculiar +to itself. + +“You will come to me on Christmas morning, Aleck?” + +“I will come on Christmas morning.” + +“And no more after that of Pretty Pierre?” + +“And no more of Pretty Pierre.” + +She trusted him; but neither could reckon with unknown forces. + +Sergeant Fones, sitting in the barracks in talk with Private Gellatly, +said at that moment in a swift silence, “Exactly.” + +Pretty Pierre, at Pardon’s Drive, drinking a glass of brandy at that +moment, said to the ceiling: + +“No more of Pretty Pierre after to-morrow night, monsieur! Bien! If it +is for the last time, then it is for the last time. So....so.” + +He smiled. His teeth were amazingly white. + +The stalwart figure strode on under the stars, the white night a lens +for visions of days of rejoicing to come. All evil was far from him. The +dolorous tide rolled back in this hour from his life, and he revelled in +the light of a new day. + +“When I’ve played my last card to-morrow night with Pretty Pierre, I’ll +begin the world again,” he whispered. + +And Sergeant Fones in the barracks said just then, in response to a +further remark of Private Gellatly,--“Exactly.” + +Young Aleck fell to singing: + + “Out from your vineland come + Into the prairies wild; + Here will we make our home, + Father, mother, and child; + Come, my love, to our home, + Father, mother, and child, + Father, mother, and--” + +He fell to thinking again--“and child--and child,”--it was in his ears +and in his heart. + +But Pretty Pierre was singing softly to himself in the room at Pardon’s +Drive: + + “Three good friends with the wine at night + Vive la compagnie! + Two good friends when the sun grows bright + Vive la compagnie! + Vive la, vive la, vive l’amour! + Vive la, vive la, vive l’amour! + Three good friends, two good friends + Vive la compagnie!” + +What did it mean? + +Private Gellatly was cousin to Idaho Jack, and Idaho Jack disliked +Pretty Pierre, though he had been one of the gang. The cousins had seen +each other lately, and Private Gellatly had had a talk with the man who +was ha’sh. It may be that others besides Pierre had an idea of what it +meant. + +In the house at Pardon’s Drive the next night sat eight men, of whom +three were Pretty Pierre, Young Aleck, and Idaho Jack. Young Aleck’s +face was flushed with bad liquor and the worse excitement of play. This +was one of the unreckoned forces. Was this the man that sang the tender +song under the stars last night? Pretty Pierre’s face was less pretty +than usual; the cheeks were pallid, the eyes were hard and cold. Once he +looked at his partner as if to say, “Not yet.” Idaho Jack saw the look; +he glanced at his watch; it was eleven o’clock. At that moment the door +opened, and Sergeant Fones entered. All started to their feet, most with +curses on their lips; but Sergeant Fones never seemed to hear anything +that could make a feature of his face alter. Pierre’s hand was on his +hip, as if feeling for something. Sergeant Fones saw that; but he walked +to where Aleck stood, with his unplayed cards still in his hand, and, +laying a hand on his shoulder, said, “Come with me.” + +“Why should I go with you?”--this with a drunken man’s bravado. + +“You are my prisoner.” + +Pierre stepped forward. “What is his crime?” he exclaimed. + +“How does that concern you, Pretty Pierre?” + +“He is my friend.” + +“Is he your friend, Aleck?” + +What was there in the eyes of Sergeant Fones that forced the +reply,--“To-night, yes; to-morrow, no.” + +“Exactly. It is near to-morrow; come.” + +Aleck was led towards the door. Once more Pierre’s hand went to his hip; +but he was looking at the prisoner, not at the Sergeant. The Sergeant +saw, and his fingers were at his belt. He opened the door. Aleck passed +out. He followed. Two horses were tied to a post. With difficulty Aleck +was mounted. Once on the way his brain began slowly to clear, but he +grew painfully cold. It was a bitter night. How bitter it might have +been for the ne’er-do-weel let the words of Idaho Jack, spoken in a long +hour’s talk next day with Old Brown Windsor, show. “Pretty Pierre, after +the two were gone, said, with a shiver of curses,--‘Another hour and it +would have been done, and no one to blame. He was ready for trouble. His +money was nearly finished. A little quarrel easily made, the door would +open, and he would pass out. His horse would be gone, he could not come +back; he would walk. The air is cold, quite, quite cold; and the snow is +a soft bed. He would sleep well and sound, having seen Pretty Pierre for +the last time. And now--’ The rest was French and furtive.” + +From that hour Idaho Jack and Pretty Pierre parted company. + +Riding from Pardon’s Drive, Young Aleck noticed at last that they were +not going towards the barracks. He said: “Why do you arrest me?” + +The Sergeant replied: “You will know that soon enough. You are now +going to your own home. Tomorrow you will keep your word and go to David +Humphrey’s place; the next day I will come for you. Which do you choose: +to ride with me to-night to the barracks and know why you are arrested, +or go, unknowing, as I bid you, and keep your word with the girl?” + +Through Aleck’s fevered brain, there ran the words of the song he sang +before-- + + “Out from your vineland come + Into the prairies wild; + Here will we make our home, + Father, mother, and child.” + +He could have but one answer. + +At the door of his home the Sergeant left him with the words, “Remember +you are on parole.” + +Aleck noticed as the Sergeant rode away that the face of the sky had +changed, and slight gusts of wind had come up. At any other time his +mind would have dwelt upon the fact. It did not do so now. + +Christmas Day came. People said that the fiercest night, since the +blizzard day of 1863, had been passed. But the morning was clear and +beautiful. The sun came up like a great flower expanding. First the +yellow, then the purple, then the red, and then a mighty shield of +roses. The world was a blanket of drift, and down, and glistening +silver. + +Mab Humphrey greeted her lover with such a smile as only springs to a +thankful woman’s lips. He had given his word and had kept it; and the +path of the future seemed surer. + +He was a prisoner on parole; still that did not depress him. Plans for +coming days were talked of, and the laughter of many voices filled +the house. The ne’er-do-weel was clothed and in his right mind. In the +Hunter’s Room the noblest trophy was the heart of a repentant prodigal. + +In the barracks that morning a gazetted notice was posted, announcing, +with such technical language as is the custom, that Sergeant Fones was +promoted to be a lieutenant in the Mounted Police Force of the North +West Territory. When the officer in command sent for him he could not be +found. But he was found that morning; and when Private Gellatly, with a +warm hand, touching the glove of “iron and ice” that, indeed, now said: +“Sergeant Fones, you are promoted, God help you!” he gave no sign. +Motionless, stern, erect, he sat there upon his horse, beside a stunted +larch tree. The broncho seemed to understand, for he did not stir, and +had not done so for hours;--they could tell that. The bridle rein was +still in the frigid fingers, and a smile was upon the face. + +A smile upon the face of Sergeant Fones! + +Perhaps he smiled that he was going to the Barracks of the Free-- + +“Free among the Dead like unto them that are wounded and lie in the +grave, that are out of remembrance.” + +In the wild night he had lost his way, though but a few miles from the +barracks. + +He had done his duty rigidly in that sphere of life where he had lived +so much alone among his many comrades. Had he exceeded his duty once in +arresting Young Aleck? + +When, the next day, Sergeant Fones lay in the barracks, over him the +flag for which he had sworn to do honest service, and his promotion +papers in his quiet hand, the two who loved each other stood beside him +for many a throbbing minute. And one said to herself, silently: “I felt +sometimes”--but no more words did she say even to herself. + +Old Aleck came in, and walked to where the Sergeant slept, wrapped close +in that white frosted coverlet which man wears but once. He stood for a +moment silent, his fingers numbly clasped. + +Private Gellatly spoke softly: “Angels betide me, it’s little we knew +the great of him till he wint away; the pride, and the law--and the love +of him.” + +In the tragedy that faced them this Christmas morning one at least had +seen “the love of him.” Perhaps the broncho had known it before. + +Old Aleck laid a palm upon the hand he had never touched when it had +life. “He’s--too--ha’sh,” he said slowly. + +Private Gellatly looked up wonderingly. But the old man’s eyes were wet. + + + + +GOD’S GARRISON + +Twenty years ago there was trouble at Fort o’ God. “Out of this place we +get betwixt the suns,” said Gyng the Factor. “No help that falls abaft +tomorrow could save us. Food dwindles, and ammunition’s nearly gone, and +they’ll have the cold steel in our scalp-locks if we stay. We’ll creep +along the Devil’s Causeway, then through the Red Horn Woods, and so +across the plains to Rupert House. Whip in the dogs, Baptiste, and be +ready all of you at midnight.” + +“And Grah the Idiot--what of him”? asked Pretty Pierre. + +“He’ll have to take his chance. If he can travel with us, so much the +better for him”; and the Factor shrugged his shoulders. + +“If not, so much the worse, eh”? returned Pretty Pierre. + +“Work the sum out to suit yourself. We’ve got our necks to save. God’ll +have to help the Idiot if we can’t.” + +“You hear, Grah Hamon, Idiot,” said Pierre an hour afterwards, “we’re +going to leave Fort o’ God and make for Rupert House. You’ve a dragging +leg, you’re gone in the savvy, you have to balance yourself with your +hands as you waddle along, and you slobber when you talk; but you’ve got +to cut away with us quick across the Beaver Plains, and Christ’ll have +to help you if we can’t. That’s what the Factor says, and that’s how the +case stands, Idiot--‘bien?’” + +“Grah want pipe--bubble--bubble--wind blow,” muttered the daft one. + +Pretty Pierre bent over and said slowly: “If you stay here, Grah, the +Indian get your scalp; if you go, the snow is deep and the frost is like +a badger’s tooth, and you can’t be carried.” + +“Oh, Oh!--my mother dead--poor Annie--by God, Grah want pipe--poor Grah +sleep in snow-bubble, bubble--Oh, Oh!--the long wind, fly away.” + +Pretty Pierre watched the great head of the Idiot as it swung heavily on +his shoulders, and then said: “‘Mais,’ like that, so!” and turned away. + +When the party were about to sally forth on their perilous path to +safety, Gyng stood and cried angrily: “Well, why hasn’t some one bundled +up that moth-eaten Caliban? Curse it all, must I do everything myself?” + +“But you see,” said Pierre, “the Caliban stays at Fort o’ God.” + +“You’ve got a Christian heart in you, so help me, Heaven!” replied +the other. “No, sir, we give him a chance,--and his Maker too for that +matter, to show what He’s willing to do for His misfits.” + +Pretty Pierre rejoined, “Well, I have thought. The game is all against +Grah if he go; but there are two who stay at Fort o’ God.” + +And that is how, when the Factor and his half-breeds and trappers stole +away in silence towards the Devil’s Causeway, Pierre and the Idiot +remained behind. And that is why the flag of the H. B. C. still flew +above Fort o’ God in the New Year’s sun just twenty years ago to-day. + +The Hudson’s Bay Company had never done a worse day’s work than when +they promoted Gyng to be chief factor. He loathed the heathen and he +showed his loathing. He had a heart harder than iron, a speech that +bruised worse than the hoof of an angry moose. And when at last he drove +away a band of wandering Sioux, foodless, from the stores, siege and +ambush took the place of prayer, and a nasty portion fell to Fort o’ +God. For the Indians found a great cache of buffalo meat, and, having +sent the women and children south with the old men, gave constant and +biting assurances to Gyng that the heathen hath his hour, even though he +be a dog which is refused those scraps from the white man’s table which +give life in the hour of need. Besides all else, there was in the Fort +the thing which the gods made last to humble the pride of men--there was +rum. + +And the morning after Gyng and his men had departed, because it was +a day when frost was master of the sun, and men grew wild for action, +since to stand still was to face indignant Death, they, who camped +without, prepared to make a sally upon the wooden gates. Pierre saw +their intent, and hid in the ground some pemmican and all the scanty +rum. Then he looked at his powder and shot, and saw that there was +little left. If he spent it on the besiegers, how should they fare for +beast and fowl in hungry days? And for his rifle he had but a brace +of bullets. He rolled these in his hand, looking upon them with a grim +smile. And the Idiot, seeing, rose and sidled towards him, and said: +“Poor Grah want pipe--bubble--bubble.” Then a light of childish cunning +came into his eyes, and he touched the bullets blunderingly, and +continued: “Plenty, plenty b’longs Grah--give poor Grah pipe--plenty, +plenty, give you these.” + +And Pretty Pierre after a moment replied: “So that’s it, Grah?--you’ve +got bullets stowed away? Well, I must have them. It’s a one-sided game +in which you get the tricks; but here’s the pipe, Idiot--my only pipe +for your dribbling mouth--my last good comrade. Now show me the bullets. +Take me to them, daft one, quick.” + +A little later the Idiot sat inside the store, wrapped in loose furs, +and blowing bubbles; while Pretty Pierre, with many handfuls of bullets +by him, waited for the attack. + +“Eh,” he said, as he watched from a loophole, “Gyng and the others have +got safely past the Causeway, and the rest is possible. Well, it hurts +an idiot as much to die, perhaps, as a half-breed or a factor. It is +good to stay here. If we fight, and go out swift like Grah’s bubbles, it +is the game. If we starve and sleep as did Grah’s mother, then it also +is the game. It is great to have all the chances against and then to +win. We shall see.” + +With a sharp relish in his eye he watched the enemy coming slowly +forward. Yet he talked almost idly to himself: “I have a thought of so +long ago. A woman--she was a mother, and it was on the Madawaska River, +and she said: ‘Sometimes I think a devil was your father, an angel +sometimes. You were begot in an hour between a fighting and a mass: +between blood and heaven. And when you were born you made no cry. They +said that was a sign of evil. You refused the breast, and drank only of +the milk of wild cattle. In baptism you flung your hand before your face +that the water might not touch, nor the priest’s finger make a cross +upon the water. And they said it were better if you had been born an +idiot than with an evil spirit; and that your hand would be against the +loins that bore you. But Pierre, ah Pierre, you love your mother, do you +not?’” ... And he standing now, his eye closed with the gate-chink in +front of Fort o’ God, said quietly: “She was of the race that hated +these--my mother; and she died of a wound they gave her at the Tete +Blanche Hill. Well, for that you die now, Yellow Arm, if this gun has a +bullet cold enough.” + +A bullet pinged through the sharp air, as the Indians swarmed towards +the gate, and Yellow Arm, the chief, fell. The besiegers paused; and +then, as if at the command of the fallen man, they drew back, bearing +him to the camp, where they sat down and mourned. + +Pierre watched them for a time; and, seeing that they made no further +move, retired into the store, where the Idiot muttered and was happy +after his kind. “Grah got pipe--blow away--blow away to Annie--pretty +soon.” + +“Yes, Grah, there’s chance enough that you’ll blow away to Annie pretty +soon,” remarked the other. + +“Grah have white eagles--fly, fly on the wind--oh, oh, bubble, bubble!” + and he sent the filmy globes floating from the pipe that a camp of +river-drivers had given the half-breed winters before. + +Pierre stood and looked at the wandering eyes, behind which were the +torturings of an immense and confused intelligence; a life that fell +deformed before the weight of too much brain, so that all tottered from +the womb into the gutters of foolishness, and the tongue mumbled of +chaos when it should have told marvellous things. And the half-breed, +the thought of this coming upon him, said: “Well, I think the matters of +hell have fallen across the things of heaven, and there is storm. If for +one moment he could think clear, it would be great.” + +He bethought him of a certain chant, taught him by a medicine man in +childhood, which, sung to the waving of a torch in a place of darkness, +caused evil spirits to pass from those possessed, and good spirits to +reign in their stead. And he raised the Idiot to his feet, and brought +him, maundering, to a room where no light was. He kneeled before him +with a lighted torch of bear’s fat and the tendons of the deer, and +waving it gently to and fro, sang the ancient rune, until the eye of +the Idiot, following the torch at a tangent as it waved, suddenly became +fixed upon the flame, when it ceased to move. And the words of the chant +ran through Grah’s ears, and pierced to the remote parts of his being; +and a sickening trouble came upon his face, and the lips ceased to +drip, and were caught up in twinges of pain.... The chant rolled on: “Go +forth, go forth upon them, thou, the Scarlet Hunter! Drive them forth +into the wilds, drive them crying forth! Enter in, O enter in, and lie +upon the couch of peace, the couch of peace within my wigwam, thou the +wise one! Behold, I call to thee!” + +And Pierre, looking upon the Idiot, saw his face glow, and his eye +stream steadily to the light, and he said, “What is it that you see, +Grah?--speak!” + +All pitifulness and struggle had gone from the Idiot’s face, and a +strong calm fell upon it, and the voice of a man that God had created +spoke slowly: “There is an end of blood. The great chief Yellow Arm is +fallen. He goeth to the plains where his wife will mourn upon his knees, +and his children cry, because he that gathered food is gone, and the +pots are empty on the fire. And they who follow him shall fight no more. +Two shall live through bitter days, and when the leaves shall shine in +the sun again, there shall good things befal. But one shall go upon a +long journey with the singing birds in the path of the white eagle. He +shall travel, and not cease until he reach the place where fools, and +children, and they into whom a devil entered through the gates of birth, +find the mothers who bore them. But the other goeth at a different +time--” At this point the light in Pretty Pierre’s hand flickered and +went out, and through the darkness there came a voice, the voice of an +idiot, that whimpered: “Grah want pipe--Annie, Annie dead.” + +The angel of wisdom was gone, and chaos spluttered on the lolling lips +again; the Idiot sat feeling for the pipe that he had dropped. + +And never again through the days that came and went could Pierre, by +any conjuring, or any swaying torch, make the fool into a man again. +The devils of confusion were returned forever. But there had been one +glimpse of the god. And it was as the Idiot had said when he saw with +the eyes of that god: no more blood was shed. The garrison of this fort +held it unmolested. The besiegers knew not that two men only stayed +within the walls; and because the chief begged to be taken south to die, +they left the place surrounded by its moats of ice and its trenches of +famine; and they came not back. + +But other foes more deadly than the angry heathen came, and they were +called Hunger and Loneliness. The one destroyeth the body and the other +the brain. But Grah was not lonely, nor did he hunger. He blew his +bubbles, and muttered of a wind whereon a useless thing--a film of +water, a butterfly, or a fool--might ride beyond the reach of spirit, +or man, or heathen. His flesh remained the same, and grew not less; but +that of Pierre wasted, and his eye grew darker with suffering. For man +is only man, and hunger is a cruel thing. To give one’s food to feed a +fool, and to search the silent plains in vain for any living thing to +kill, is a matter for angels to do and bear, and not mere mortals. But +this man had a strength of his own like to his code of living, which was +his own and not another’s. And at last, when spring leaped gaily forth +from the grey cloak of winter, and men of the H. B. C. came to relieve +Fort o’ God, and entered at its gates, a gaunt man, leaning on his +rifle, greeted them standing like a warrior, though his body was like +that of one who had lain in the grave. He answered to the name of Pierre +without pride, but like a man and not as a sick woman. And huddled +on the floor beside him was an idiot fondling a pipe, with a shred of +pemmican at his lips. + +As if in irony of man’s sacrifice, the All Hail and the Master of Things +permitted the fool to fulfil his own prophecy, and die of a sudden +sickness in the coming-on of summer. But he of God’s Garrison that +remained repented not of his deed. Such men have no repentance, neither +of good nor evil. + + + + +A HAZARD OF THE NORTH + +Nobody except Gregory Thorne and myself knows the history of the Man and +Woman, who lived on the Height of Land, just where Dog Ear River falls +into Marigold Lake. This portion of the Height of Land is a lonely +country. The sun marches over it distantly, and the man of the East--the +braggart--calls it outcast; but animals love it; and the shades of the +long-gone trapper and ‘voyageur’ saunter without mourning through its +fastnesses. When you are in doubt, trust God’s dumb creatures--and the +happy dead who whisper pleasant promptings to us, and whose knowledge is +mighty. Besides, the Man and Woman lived there, and Gregory Thorne +says that they could recover a lost paradise. But Gregory Thorne is +an insolent youth. The names of these people were John and Audrey +Malbrouck; the Man was known to the makers of backwoods history as +Captain John. Gregory says about that--but no, not yet!--let his first +meeting with the Man and the Woman be described in his own words, +unusual and flippant as they sometimes are; for though he is a graduate +of Trinity College, Cambridge, and a brother of a Right Honourable, he +has conceived it his duty to emancipate himself in the matter of style +in language; and he has succeeded. + +“It was autumn,” he said, “all colours; beautiful and nippy on the +Height of Land; wild ducks, the which no man could number, and bear’s +meat abroad in the world. I was alone. I had hunted all day, leaving my +mark now and then as I journeyed, with a cache of slaughter here, and a +blazed hickory there. I was hungry as a circus tiger--did you ever eat +slippery elm bark?--yes, I was as bad as that. I guessed from what I had +been told, that the Malbrouck show must be hereaway somewhere. I smelled +the lake miles off--oh, you could too if you were half the animal I am; +I followed my nose and the slippery-elm between my teeth, and came at a +double-quick suddenly on the fair domain. There the two sat in front of +the house like turtle-doves, and as silent as a middy after his first +kiss. Much as I ached to get my tooth into something filling, I wished +that I had ‘em under my pencil, with that royal sun making a rainbow of +the lake, the woods all scarlet and gold, and that mist of purple--eh, +you’ve seen it?--and they sitting there monarchs of it all, like that +duffer of a king who had operas played for his solitary benefit. But +I hadn’t a pencil and I had a hunger, and I said ‘How!’ like any +other Injin--insolent, wasn’t it? Then the Man rose, and he said I was +welcome, and she smiled an approving but not very immediate smile, and +she kept her seat,--she kept her seat, my boy,--and that was the first +thing that set me thinking. She didn’t seem to be conscious that there +was before her one of the latest representatives from Belgravia, not +she! But when I took an honest look at her face, I understood. I’m glad +that I had my hat in my hand, polite as any Frenchman on the threshold +of a blanchisserie: for I learned very soon that the Woman had been in +Belgravia too, and knew far more than I did about what was what. When +she did rise to array the supper table, it struck me that if Josephine +Beauharnais had been like her, she might have kept her hold on Napoleon, +and saved his fortunes; made Europe France; and France the world. I +could not understand it. Jimmy Haldane had said to me when I was asking +for Malbrouck’s place on the compass,--‘Don’t put on any side with them, +my Greg, or you’ll take a day off for penitence.’ They were both tall +and good to look at, even if he was a bit rugged, with neck all wire and +muscle, and had big knuckles. But she had hands like those in a picture +of Velasquez, with a warm whiteness and educated--that’s it, educated +hands. + +“She wasn’t young, but she seemed so. Her eyes looked up and out at you +earnestly, yet not inquisitively, and more occupied with something in +her mind, than with what was before her. In short, she was a lady; not +one by virtue of a visit to the gods that rule o’er Buckingham Palace, +but by the claims of good breeding and long descent. She puzzled me, +eluded me--she reminded me of someone; but who? Someone I liked, because +I felt a thrill of admiration whenever I looked at her--but it was no +use, I couldn’t remember. I soon found myself talking to her according +to St. James--the palace, you know--and at once I entered a bet with my +beloved aunt, the dowager--who never refuses to take my offer, though +she seldom wins, and she’s ten thousand miles away, and has to take my +word for it--that I should find out the history of this Man and Woman +before another Christmas morning, which wasn’t more than two months off. +You know whether or not I won it, my son.” + +I had frequently hinted to Gregory that I was old enough to be his +father, and that in calling me his son, his language was misplaced; and +I repeated it at that moment. He nodded good-humouredly, and continued: + +“I was born insolent, my s--my ancestor. Well, after I had cleared a +space at the supper table, and had, with permission, lighted my pipe, +I began to talk... Oh yes, I did give them a chance occasionally; don’t +interrupt.... I gossiped about England, France, the universe. From the +brief comments they made I saw they knew all about it, and understood my +social argot, all but a few words--is there anything peculiar about any +of my words? After having exhausted Europe and Asia I discussed +America; talked about Quebec, the folklore of the French Canadians, the +‘voyageurs’ from old Maisonneuve down. All the history I knew I rallied, +and was suddenly bowled out. For Malbrouck followed my trail from the +time I began to talk, and in ten minutes he had proved me to be a baby +in knowledge, an emaciated baby; he eliminated me from the equation. He +first tripped me on the training of naval cadets; then on the Crimea; +then on the taking of Quebec; then on the Franco-Prussian War; then, +with a sudden round-up, on India. I had been trusting to vague outlines +of history; I felt when he began to talk that I was dealing with a man +who not only knew history, but had lived it. He talked in the fewest +but directest words, and waxed eloquent in a blunt and colossal way. But +seeing his wife’s eyes fixed on him intently, he suddenly pulled up, and +no more did I get from him on the subject. He stopped so suddenly that +in order to help over the awkwardness, though I’m not really sure there +was any, I began to hum a song to myself. Now, upon my soul, I didn’t +think what I was humming; it was some subterranean association of +things, I suppose--but that doesn’t matter here. I only state it to +clear myself of any unnecessary insolence. These were the words I was +maundering with this noble voice of mine: + + “‘The news I bring, fair Lady, + Will make your tears run down + + Put off your rose-red dress so fine + And doff your satin gown! + + Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas! + And buried, too, for aye; + + I saw four officers who bore + His mighty corse away. + ............. + We saw above the laurels, + His soul fly forth amain. + + And each one fell upon his face + And then rose up again. + + And so we sang the glories, + For which great Malbrouck bled; + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine, + Great Malbrouck, he is dead.’ + +“I felt the silence grow peculiar, uncomfortable. I looked up. Mrs. +Malbrouck was rising to her feet with a look in her face that would make +angels sorry--a startled, sorrowful thing that comes from a sleeping +pain. What an ass I was! Why, the Man’s name was Malbrouck; her name was +Malbrouck--awful insolence! But surely there was something in the story +of the song itself that had moved her. As I afterward knew, that was it. +Malbrouck sat still and unmoved, though I thought I saw something stern +and masterful in his face as he turned to me; but again instantly +his eyes were bent on his wife with a comforting and affectionate +expression. She disappeared into the house. Hoping to make it appear +that I hadn’t noticed anything, I dropped my voice a little and went on, +intending, however, to stop at the end of the verse: + + “‘Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine!’ + +“I ended there; because Malbrouck’s heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, +and he said: ‘If you please, not that song.’ + +“I suspect I acted like an idiot. I stammered out apologies, went down +on my litanies, figuratively speaking, and was all the same confident +that my excuses were making bad infernally worse. But somehow the old +chap had taken a liking to me.--No, of course you couldn’t understand +that. Not that he was so old, you know; but he had the way of retired +royalty about him, as if he had lived life up to the hilt, and was all +pulse and granite. Then he began to talk in his quiet way about hunting +and fishing; about stalking in the Highlands and tiger-hunting in India; +and wound up with some wonderful stuff about moose-hunting, the sport of +Canada. This made me itch like sin, just to get my fingers on a trigger, +with a full moose-yard in view. I can feel it now--the bound in the +blood as I caught at Malbrouck’s arm and said: ‘By George, I must kill +moose; that’s sport for Vikings, and I was meant to be a Viking--or +a gladiator.’ Malbrouck at once replied that he would give me some +moose-hunting in December if I would come up to Marigold Lake. I +couldn’t exactly reply on the instant, because, you see, there wasn’t +much chance for board and lodging thereabouts, unless--but he went on +to say that I should make his house my ‘public,’ perhaps he didn’t say +it quite in those terms, that he and his wife would be glad to have me. +With a couple of Indians we could go north-west, where the moose-yards +were, and have some sport both exciting and prodigious. Well, I’m a +muff, I know, but I didn’t refuse that. Besides, I began to see the safe +side of the bet I had made with my aunt, the dowager, and I was more +than pleased with what had come to pass so far. Lucky for you, too, you +yarn-spinner, that the thing did develop so, or you wouldn’t be getting +fame and shekels out of the results of my story. + +“Well, I got one thing out of the night’s experience; and it was that +the Malbroucks were no plebs., that they had had their day where plates +are blue and gold and the spoons are solid coin. But what had sent them +up here among the moose, the Indians, and the conies--whatever THEY are? +How should I get at it? Insolence, you say? Yes, that. I should come +up here in December, and I should mulct my aunt in the price of a new +breech-loader. But I found out nothing the next morning, and I left with +a paternal benediction from Malbrouck, and a smile from his wife that +sent my blood tingling as it hadn’t tingled since a certain season in +London, which began with my tuneful lyre sounding hopeful numbers and +ended with it hanging on the willows. + +“When I thought it all over, as I trudged back on yesterday’s track, +I concluded that I had told them all my history from my youth up until +now, and had got nothing from them in return. I had exhausted my family +records, bit by bit, like a curate in his first parish; and had gone +so far as to testify that one of my ancestors had been banished to +Australia for political crimes. Distinctly they had me at an advantage, +though, to be sure, I had betrayed Mrs. Malbrouck into something more +than a suspicion of emotion. + +“When I got back to my old camp, I could find out nothing from the other +fellows; but Jacques Pontiac told me that his old mate, Pretty Pierre, +who in recent days had fallen from grace, knew something of these people +that no one else guessed, because he had let them a part of his house +in the parish of St. Genevieve in Quebec, years before. Pierre had +testified to one fact, that a child--a girl--had been born to Mrs. +Malbrouck in his house, but all further knowledge he had withheld. +Pretty Pierre was off in the Rocky Mountains practising his +profession--chiefly poker--and was not available for information. What +did I, Gregory Thorne, want of the information anyway? That’s the +point, my son. Judging from after-developments I suppose it was what the +foolish call occult sympathy. Well, where was that girl-child? Jacques +Pontiac didn’t know. Nobody knew. And I couldn’t get rid of Mrs. +Malbrouck’s face; it haunted me; the broad brow, deep eyes, and +high-bred sweetness--all beautifully animal. Don’t laugh: I find +astonishing likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly +animal. Did you never see how beautiful and modest the faces of deer +are; how chic and sensitive is the manner of a hound; nor the keen, warm +look in the eye of a well-bred mare? Why, I’d rather be a good horse +of blood and temper than half the fellows I know. You are not an animal +lover as I am; yes, even when I shoot them or fight them I admire them, +just as I’d admire a swordsman who, in ‘quart,’ would give me death by +the wonderful upper thrust. It’s all a battle; all a game of love and +slaughter, my son, and both go together. + +“Well, as I say, her face followed me. Watch how the thing developed. By +the prairie-track I went over to Fort Desire, near the Rockies, almost +immediately after this, to see about buying a ranch with my old chum at +Trinity, Polly Cliffshawe--Polydore, you know. Whom should I meet in a +hut on the ranch but Jacques’s friend, Pretty Pierre. This was luck; but +he was not like Jacques Pontiac, he was secretive as a Buddhist deity. +He had a good many of the characteristics that go to a fashionable +diplomatist: clever, wicked, cool, and in speech doing the vanishing +trick just when you wanted him. But my star of fortune was with me. One +day Silverbottle, an Indian, being in a murderous humour, put a bullet +in Pretty Pierre’s leg, and would have added another, only I stopped it +suddenly. While in his bed he told me what he knew of the Malbroucks. + +“This is the fashion of it. John and Audrey Malbrouck had come to Quebec +in the year 1865, and sojourned in the parish of St. Genevieve, in the +house of the mother of Pretty Pierre. Of an inquiring turn of mind, +the French half-breed desired to know concerning the history of these +English people, who, being poor, were yet gentle, and spoke French +with a grace and accent which was to the French-Canadian patois as +Shakespeare’s English is to that of Seven Dials. Pierre’s methods of +inquisitiveness were not strictly dishonest. He did not open letters, +he did not besiege dispatch-boxes, he did not ask impudent questions; he +watched and listened. In his own way he found out that the man had been +a soldier in the ranks, and that he had served in India. They were most +attached to the child, whose name was Marguerite. One day a visitor, a +lady, came to them. She seemed to be the cause of much unhappiness +to Mrs. Malbrouck. And Pierre was alert enough to discover that this +distinguished-looking person desired to take the child away with her. To +this the young mother would not consent, and the visitor departed with +some chillingly-polite phrases, part English, part French, beyond the +exact comprehension of Pierre, and leaving the father and mother and +little Marguerite happy. Then, however, these people seemed to become +suddenly poorer, and Malbrouck began farming in a humble, but not +entirely successful way. The energy of the man was prodigious; but his +luck was sardonic. Floods destroyed his first crops, prices ran low, +debt accumulated, foreclosure of mortgage occurred, and Malbrouck and +the wife and child went west. + +“Five years later, Pretty Pierre saw them again at Marigold Lake: +Malbrouck as agent for the Hudson’s Bay Company--still poor, but +contented. It was at this period that the former visitor again appeared, +clothed in purple and fine linen, and, strange as it may seem, succeeded +in carrying off the little child, leaving the father and mother broken, +but still devoted to each other. + +“Pretty Pierre closed his narration with these words: ‘‘Bien,’ that +Malbrouck, he is great. I have not much love of men, but he--well, if +he say,--“See, Pierre, I go to the home of the white bear and the winter +that never ends; perhaps we come back, perhaps we die; but there will +be sport for men--” ‘voila!’ I would go. To know one strong man in this +world is good. Perhaps, some time I will go to him--yes, Pierre, the +gambler, will go to him, and say: It is good for the wild dog that he +live near the lion. And the child, she was beautiful; she had a light +heart and a sweet way.’” + +It was with this slight knowledge that Gregory Thorne set out on his +journey over the great Canadian prairie to Marigold Lake, for his +December moose-hunt. + +Gregory has since told me that, as he travelled with Jacques Pontiac +across the Height of Land to his destination, he had uncomfortable +feelings; presentiments, peculiar reflections of the past, and +melancholy--a thing far from habitual with him. Insolence is all very +well, but you cannot apply it to indefinite thoughts; it isn’t effective +with vague presentiments. And when Gregory’s insolence was taken away +from him, he was very like other mortals; virtue had gone out of him; +his brown cheek and frank eye had lost something of their charm. It was +these unusual broodings that worried him; he waked up suddenly one night +calling, “Margaret! Margaret!” like any childlike lover. And that did +not please him. He believed in things that, as he said himself, “he +could get between his fingers;” he had little sympathy with morbid +sentimentalities. But there was an English Margaret in his life; and he, +like many another childlike man, had fallen in love, and with her--very +much in love indeed; and a star had crossed his love to a degree that +greatly shocked him and pleased the girl’s relatives. She was the +granddaughter of a certain haughty dame of high degree, who regarded +icily this poorest of younger sons, and held her darling aloof. Gregory, +very like a blunt unreasoning lover, sought to carry the redoubt by wild +assault; and was overwhelmingly routed. The young lady, though +finding some avowed pleasure in his company, accompanied by brilliant +misunderstanding of his advances and full-front speeches, had never +given him enough encouragement to warrant his playing young Lochinvar in +Park Lane; and his cup became full when, at the close of the season, she +was whisked off to the seclusion of a country-seat, whose walls to him +were impregnable. His defeat was then, and afterwards, complete. He +pluckily replied to the derision of his relatives with multiplied +derision, demanded his inheritance, got his traps together, bought a fur +coat, and straightway sailed the wintry seas to Canada. + +His experiences had not soured his temper. He believed that every dog +has his day, and that Fate was very malicious; that it brought down the +proud, and rewarded the patient; that it took up its abode in marble +halls, and was the mocker at the feast. All this had reference, of +course, to the time when he should--rich as any nabob--return to London, +and be victorious over his enemy in Park Lane. It was singular that he +believed this thing would occur; but he did. He had not yet made his +fortune, but he had been successful in the game of buying and selling +lands, and luck seemed to dog his path. He was fearless, and he had a +keen eye for all the points of every game--every game but love. + +Yet he was born to succeed in that game too. For though his theory was, +that everything should be treated with impertinence before you could +get a proper view of it, he was markedly respectful to people. Few +could resist him; his impudence of ideas was so pleasantly mixed with +delicately suggested admiration of those to whom he talked. It was +impossible that John Malbrouck and his wife could have received him +other than they did; his was the eloquent, conquering spirit. + + + +II. + +By the time he reached Lake Marigold he had shaken off all those +hovering fancies of the woods, which, after all, might only have been +the whisperings of those friendly and far-seeing spirits who liked +the lad as he journeyed through their lonely pleasure-grounds. John +Malbrouck greeted him with quiet cordiality, and Mrs. Malbrouck smiled +upon him with a different smile from that with which she had speeded him +a month before; there was in it a new light of knowledge, and Gregory +could not understand it. It struck him as singular that the lady should +be dressed in finer garments than she wore when he last saw her; though +certainly her purple became her. She wore it as if born to it; and with +an air more sedately courteous than he had ever seen, save at one house +in Park Lane. Had this rustle of fine trappings been made for him? No; +the woman had a mind above such snobbishness, he thought. He suffered +for a moment the pang of a cynical idea; but the eyes of Mrs. Malbrouck +were on him and he knew that he was as nothing before her. Her eyes--how +they were fixed upon him! Only two women had looked so truthfully at him +before: his dead mother and--Margaret. And Margaret--why, how strangely +now at this instant came the thought that she was like his Margaret! +Wonder sprang to his eyes. At that moment a door opened and a girl +entered the room--a girl lissome, sweet-faced, well-bred of manner, who +came slowly towards them. + +“My daughter, Mr. Thorne,” the mother briefly remarked. There was no +surprise in the girl’s face, only an even reserve of pleasure, as she +held out her hand and said: “Mr. Gregory Thorne and I are old enemies.” + Gregory Thorne’s nerve forsook him for an instant. He knew now the +reason of his vague presentiments in the woods; he understood why, one +night, when he had been more childlike than usual in his memory of the +one woman who could make life joyous for him, the voice of a voyageur, +not Jacques’s nor that of any one in camp, sang: + + “My dear love, she waits for me, + None other my world is adorning; + My true love I come to thee, + My dear, the white star of the morning. + Eagles spread out your wings, + Behold where the red dawn is breaking! + Hark, ‘tis my darling sings, + The flowers, the song-birds awaking; + See, where she comes to me, + My love, ah, my dear love!” + +And here she was. He raised her hand to his lips, and said: “Miss +Carley, you have your enemy at an advantage.” + +“Miss Carley in Park Lane, Margaret Malbrouck here in my old home,” she +replied. + +There ran swiftly through the young man’s brain the brief story that +Pretty Pierre had told him. This, then, was the child who had been +carried away, and who, years after, had made captive his heart in London +town! Well, one thing was clear, the girl’s mother here seemed inclined +to be kinder to him than was the guardian grandmother--if she was the +grandmother--because they had their first talk undisturbed, it may be +encouraged; amiable mothers do such deeds at times. + +“And now pray, Mr. Thorne,” she continued, “may I ask how came you +here in my father’s house after having treated me so cavalierly +in London?--not even sending a P.P.C. when you vanished from your +worshippers in Vanity Fair.” + +“As for my being here, it is simply a case of blind fate; as for my +friends, the only one I wanted to be sorry for my going was behind +earthworks which I could not scale in order to leave my card, or--or +anything else of more importance; and being left as it were to the +inclemency of a winter world, I fled from--” + +She interrupted him. “What! the conqueror, you, flying from your +Moscow?” + +He felt rather helpless under her gay raillery; but he said: + +“Well, I didn’t burn my kremlin behind me.” + +“Your kremlin?” + +“My ships, then: they--they are just the same,” he earnestly pleaded. +Foolish youth, to attempt to take such a heart by surprise and storm! + +“That is very interesting,” she said, “but hardly wise. To make +fortunes and be happy in new countries, one should forget the old ones. +Meditation is the enemy of action.” + +“There’s one meditation could make me conquer the North Pole, if I could +but grasp it definitely.” + +“Grasp the North Pole? That would be awkward for your friends and +gratifying to your enemies, if one may believe science and history. But, +perhaps, you are in earnest after all, poor fellow! for my father tells +me you are going over the hills and far away to the moose-yards. +How valiant you are, and how quickly you grasp the essentials of +fortune-making!” + +“Miss Malbrouck, I am in earnest, and I’ve always been in earnest in one +thing at least. I came out here to make money, and I’ve made some, and +shall make more; but just now the moose are as brands for the burning, +and I have a gun sulky for want of exercise.” + +“What an eloquent warrior-temper! And to whom are your deeds of valour +to be dedicated? Before whom do you intend to lay your trophies of the +chase?” + +“Before the most provoking but worshipful lady that I know.” + +“Who is the sylvan maid? What princess of the glade has now the homage +of your impressionable heart, Mr. Thorne?” + +And Gregory Thorne, his native insolence standing him in no stead, said +very humbly: + +“You are that sylvan maid, that princess--ah, is this fair to me, is it +fair, I ask you?” + +“You really mean that about the trophies”? she replied. “And shall you +return like the mighty khans, with captive tigers and lions, led by +stalwart slaves, in your train, or shall they be captive moose or +grizzlies?” + +“Grizzlies are not possible here,” he said, with cheerful seriousness, +“but the moose is possible, and more, if you would be kinder--Margaret.” + +“Your supper, see, is ready,” she said. “I venture to hope your appetite +has not suffered because of long absence from your friends.” + +He could only dumbly answer by a protesting motion of the hand, and his +smile was not remarkably buoyant. + +The next morning they started on their moose-hunt. Gregory Thorne was +cast down when he crossed the threshold into the winter morning without +hand-clasp or god-speed from Margaret Malbrouck; but Mrs. Malbrouck was +there, and Gregory, looking into her eyes, thought how good a thing it +would be for him, if some such face looked benignly out on him every +morning, before he ventured forth into the deceitful day. But what was +the use of wishing! Margaret evidently did not care. And though the air +was clear and the sun shone brightly, he felt there was a cheerless +wind blowing on him; a wind that chilled him; and he hummed to himself +bitterly a song of the voyageurs: + + “O, O, the winter wind, the North wind, + My snow-bird, where art thou gone? + O, O, the wailing wind the night wind, + The cold nest; I am alone. + O, O, my snow-bird! + + “O, O, the waving sky, the white sky, + My snow-bird thou fliest far; + O, O, the eagle’s cry, the wild cry, + My lost love, my lonely star. + O, O, my snow-bird!” + +He was about to start briskly forward to join Malbrouck and his Indians, +who were already on their way, when he heard his name called, and, +turning, he saw Margaret in the doorway, her fingers held to the tips +of her ears, as yet unused to the frost. He ran back to where she +stood, and held out his hand. “I was afraid,” he bluntly said, “that you +wouldn’t forsake your morning sleep to say good-bye to me.” + +“It isn’t always the custom, is it,” she replied, “for ladies to send +the very early hunter away with a tally-ho? But since you have the grace +to be afraid of anything, I can excuse myself to myself for fleeing the +pleasantest dreams to speed you on your warlike path.” + +At this he brightened very much, but she, as if repenting she had given +him so much pleasure, added: “I wanted to say good-bye to my father, you +know; and--” she paused. + +“And”? he added. + +“And to tell him that you have fond relatives in the old land who would +mourn your early taking off; and, therefore, to beg him, for their +sakes, to keep you safe from any outrageous moose that mightn’t know how +the world needed you.” + +“But there you are mistaken,” he said; “I haven’t anyone who would +really care, worse luck! except the dowager; and she, perhaps, would be +consoled to know that I had died in battle,--even with a moose,--and +was clear of the possibility of hanging another lost reputation on the +family tree, to say nothing of suspension from any other kind of tree. +But, if it should be the other way; if I should see your father in the +path of an outrageous moose--what then?” + +“My father is a hunter born,” she responded; “he is a great man,” she +proudly added. + +“Of course, of course,” he replied. “Good-bye. I’ll take him your +love.--Good-bye!” and he turned away. + +“Good-bye,” she gaily replied; and yet, one looking closely would have +seen that this stalwart fellow was pleasant to her eyes, and as she +closed the door to his hand waving farewell to her from the pines, she +said, reflecting on his words: + +“You’ll take him my love, will you? But, Master Gregory, you carry a +freight of which you do not know the measure; and, perhaps, you never +shall, though you are very brave and honest, and not so impudent as you +used to be,--and I’m not so sure that I like you so much better for that +either, Monsieur Gregory.” + +Then she went and laid her cheek against her mother’s, and said: +“They’ve gone away for big game, mother dear; what shall be our quarry?” + +“My child,” the mother replied, “the story of our lives since last you +were with me is my only quarry. I want to know from your own lips all +that you have been in that life which once was mine also, but far away +from me now, even though you come from it, bringing its memories without +its messages.” + +“Dear, do you think that life there was so sweet to me? It meant as +little to your daughter as to you. She was always a child of the wild +woods. What rustle of pretty gowns is pleasant as the silken shiver of +the maple leaves in summer at this door? The happiest time in that life +was when we got away to Holwood or Marchurst, with the balls and calls +all over.” + +Mrs. Malbrouck smoothed her daughter’s hand gently and smiled +approvingly. + +“But that old life of yours, mother; what was it? You said that you +would tell me some day. Tell me now. Grandmother was fond of me--poor +grandmother! But she would never tell me anything. How I longed to be +back with you!... Sometimes you came to me in my sleep, and called to +me to come with you; and then again, when I was gay in the sunshine, you +came, and only smiled but never beckoned; though your eyes seemed to +me very sad, and I wondered if mine would not also become sad through +looking in them so--are they sad, mother?” And she laughed up brightly +into her mother’s face. + +“No, dear; they are like the stars. You ask me for my part in that life. +I will tell you soon, but not now. Be patient. Do you not tire of this +lonely life? Are you truly not anxious to return to--” + +“‘To the husks that the swine did eat?’ No, no, no; for, see: I was born +for a free, strong life; the prairie or the wild wood, or else to live +in some far castle in Welsh mountains, where I should never hear the +voice of the social Thou must!--oh, what a must! never to be quite free +or natural. To be the slave of the code. I was born--I know not how! but +so longing for the sky, and space, and endless woods. I think I never +saw an animal but I loved it, nor ever lounged the mornings out at +Holwood but I wished it were a hut on the mountain side, and you and +father with me.” Here she whispered, in a kind of awe: “And yet to think +that Holwood is now mine, and that I am mistress there, and that I must +go back to it--if only you would go back with me.... ah, dear, isn’t it +your duty to go back with me”? she added, hesitatingly. + +Audrey Malbrouck drew her daughter hungrily to her bosom, and said: +“Yes, dear, I will go back, if it chances that you need me; but your +father and I have lived the best days of our lives here, and we are +content. But, my Margaret, there is another to be thought of too, is +there not? And in that case is my duty then so clear?” + +The girl’s hand closed on her mother’s, and she knew her heart had been +truly read. + + + +III. + +The hunters pursued their way, swinging grandly along on their +snow-shoes, as they made for the Wild Hawk Woods. It would seem as if +Malbrouck was testing Gregory’s strength and stride, for the march that +day was a long and hard one. He was equal to the test, and even Big +Moccasin, the chief, grunted sound approval. But every day brought out +new capacities for endurance and larger resources; so that Malbrouck, +who had known the clash of civilisation with barbarian battle, and deeds +both dour and doughty, and who loved a man of might, regarded this youth +with increasing favour. By simple processes he drew from Gregory his +aims and ambitions, and found the real courage and power behind the +front of irony--the language of manhood and culture which was crusted by +free and easy idioms. Now and then they saw moose-tracks, but they were +some days out before they came to a moose-yard--a spot hoof-beaten by +the moose; his home, from which he strays, and to which he returns at +times like a repentant prodigal. Now the sport began. The dog-trains +were put out of view, and Big Moccasin and another Indian went off +immediately to explore the country round about. A few hours, and word +was brought that there was a small herd feeding not far away. Together +they crept stealthily within range of the cattle. Gregory Thorne’s +blood leaped as he saw the noble quarry, with their wide-spread horns, +sniffing the air, in which they had detected something unusual. Their +leader, a colossal beast, stamped with his forefoot, and threw back his +head with a snort. + +“The first shot belongs to you, Mr. Thorne,” said Malbrouck. “In the +shoulder, you know. You have him in good line. I’ll take the heifer.” + +Gregory showed all the coolness of an old hunter, though his lips +twitched slightly with excitement. He took a short but steady aim, and +fired. The beast plunged forward and then fell on his knees. The others +broke away. Malbrouck fired and killed a heifer, and then all ran in +pursuit as the moose made for the woods. + +Gregory, in the pride of his first slaughter, sprang away towards the +wounded leader, which, sunk to the earth, was shaking its great horns to +and fro. When at close range, he raised his gun to fire again, but the +moose rose suddenly, and with a wild bellowing sound rushed at Gregory, +who knew full well that a straight stroke from those hoofs would end +his moose-hunting days. He fired, but to no effect. He could not, like +a toreador, jump aside, for those mighty horns would sweep too wide a +space. He dropped on his knees swiftly, and as the great antlers almost +touched him, and he could feel the roaring breath of the mad creature in +his face, he slipped a cartridge in, and fired as he swung round; but at +that instant a dark body bore him down. He was aware of grasping those +sweeping horns, conscious of a blow which tore the flesh from his chest; +and then his knife--how came it in his hand?--with the instinct of the +true hunter. He plunged it once, twice, past a foaming mouth, into that +firm body, and then both fell together; each having fought valiantly +after his kind. + +Gregory dragged himself from beneath the still heaving body, and +stretched to his feet; but a blindness came, and the next knowledge he +had was of brandy being poured slowly between his teeth, and of a voice +coming through endless distances: “A fighter, a born fighter,” it said. +“The pluck of Lucifer--good boy!” + +Then the voice left those humming spaces of infinity, and said: “Tilt +him this way a little, Big Moccasin. There, press firmly, so. Now the +band steady--together--tighter--now the withes--a little higher up--cut +them here.” There was a slight pause, and then: “There, that’s as good +as an army surgeon could do it. He’ll be as sound as a bell in two +weeks. Eh, well, how do you feel now? Better? That’s right! Like to be +on your feet, would you? Wait. Here, a sup of this. There you are.... +Well?” + +“Well,” said the young man, faintly, “he was a beauty.” + +Malbrouck looked at him a moment, thoughtfully, and then said: “Yes, he +was a beauty.” + +“I want a dozen more like him, and then I shall be able to drop ‘em as +neat as, you do.” + +“H’m! the order is large. I’m afraid we shall have to fill it at some +other time;” and Malbrouck smiled a little grimly. + +“What! only one moose to take back to the Height of Land, to--” + something in the eye of the other stopped him. + +“To? Yes, to”? and now the eye had a suggestion of humour. + +“To show I’m not a tenderfoot.” + +“Yes, to show you’re not a tenderfoot. I fancy that will be hardly +necessary. Oh, you will be up, eh? Well!” + +“Well, I’m a tottering imbecile. What’s the matter with my legs?--my +prophetic soul, it hurts! Oh, I see; that’s where the old warrior’s hoof +caught me sideways. Now, I’ll tell you what, I’m going to have another +moose to take back to Marigold Lake.” + +“Oh?” + +“Yes. I’m going to take back a young, live moose.” + +“A significant ambition. For what?--a sacrifice to the gods you have +offended in your classic existence?” + +“Both. A peace-offering, and a sacrifice to--a goddess.” + +“Young man,” said the other, the light of a smile playing on his lips, +“‘Prosperity be thy page!’ Big Moccasin, what of this young live moose?” + +The Indian shook his head doubtfully. + +“But I tell you I shall have that live moose, if I have to stay here to +see it grow.” + +And Malbrouck liked his pluck, and wished him good luck. And the good +luck came. They travelled back slowly to the Height of Land, making a +circuit. For a week they saw no more moose; but meanwhile Gregory’s hurt +quickly healed. They had now left only eight days in which to get back +to Dog Ear River and Marigold Lake. If the young moose was to come it +must come soon. It came soon. + +They chanced upon a moose-yard, and while the Indians were beating the +woods, Malbrouck and Gregory watched. + +Soon a cow and a young moose came swinging down to the embankment. +Malbrouck whispered: “Now if you must have your live moose, here’s a +lasso. I’ll bring down the cow. The young one’s horns are not large. +Remember, no pulling. I’ll do that. Keep your broken chest and bad arm +safe. Now!” + +Down came the cow with a plunge into the yard-dead. The lasso, too, was +over the horns of the calf, and in an instant Malbrouck was swinging +away with it over the snow. It was making for the trees--exactly what +Malbrouck desired. He deftly threw the rope round a sapling, but not too +taut, lest the moose’s horns should be injured. The plucky animal now +turned on him. He sprang behind a tree, and at that instant he heard the +thud of hoofs behind him. He turned to see a huge bull-moose bounding +towards him. He was between two fires, and quite unarmed. Those hoofs +had murder in them. But at the instant a rifle shot rang out, and he +only caught the forward rush of the antlers as the beast fell. + +The young moose now had ceased its struggles, and came forward to the +dead bull with that hollow sound of mourning peculiar to its kind. +Though it afterwards struggled once or twice to be free, it became +docile and was easily taught, when its anger and fear were over. + +And Gregory Thorne had his live moose. He had also, by that splendid +shot, achieved with one arm, saved Malbrouck from peril, perhaps from +death. + +They drew up before the house at Marigold Lake on the afternoon of the +day before Christmas, a triumphal procession. The moose was driven, +a peaceful captive with a wreath of cedar leaves around its neck--the +humourous conception of Gregory Thorne. Malbrouck had announced their +coming by a blast from his horn, and Margaret was standing in the +doorway wrapped in furs, which may have come originally from Hudson’s +Bay, but which had been deftly re-manufactured in Regent Street. + +Astonishment, pleasure, beamed in her eyes. She clapped her hands gaily, +and cried: “Welcome, welcome, merry-men all!” She kissed her father; +she called to her mother to come and see; then she said to Gregory, +with arch raillery, as she held out her hand: “Oh, companion of hunters, +comest thou like Jacques in Arden from dropping the trustful tear upon +the prey of others, or bringest thou quarry of thine own? Art thou a +warrior sated with spoil, master of the sports, spectator of the fight, +Prince, or Pistol? Answer, what art thou?” + +And he, with a touch of his old insolence, though with something of +irony too, for he had hoped for a different fashion of greeting, said: + +“All, lady, all! The Olympian all! The player of many parts. I am +Touchstone, Jacques, and yet Orlando too.” + +“And yet Orlando too, my daughter,” said Malbrouck, gravely. “He saved +your father from the hoofs of a moose bent on sacrifice. Had your father +his eye, his nerve, his power to shoot with one arm a bull moose at long +range, so!--he would not refuse to be called a great hunter, but wear +the title gladly.” + +Margaret Malbrouck’s face became anxious instantly. “He saved you from +danger--from injury, father”? she slowly said, and looked earnestly at +Gregory; “but why to shoot with one arm only?” + +“Because in a fight of his own with a moose--a hand-to-hand fight--he +had a bad moment with the hoofs of the beast.” + +And this young man, who had a reputation for insolence, blushed, so that +the paleness which the girl now noticed in his face was banished; and to +turn the subject he interposed: + +“Here is the live moose that I said I should bring. Now say that he’s a +beauty, please. Your father and I--” + +But Malbrouck interrupted: + +“He lassoed it with his one arm, Margaret. He was determined to do it +himself, because, being a superstitious gentleman, as well as a hunter, +he had some foolish notion that this capture would propitiate a goddess +whom he imagined required offerings of the kind.” + +“It is the privilege of the gods to be merciful,” she said. “This +peace-offering should propitiate the angriest, cruellest goddess in the +universe; and for one who was neither angry nor really cruel--well, she +should be satisfied.... altogether satisfied,” she added, as she put her +cheek against the warm fur of the captive’s neck, and let it feel her +hand with its lips. + +There was silence for a minute, and then with his old gay spirit all +returned, and as if to give an air not too serious to the situation, +Gregory, remembering his Euripides, said: + + “........let the steer bleed, + And the rich altars, as they pay their vows, + Breathe incense to the gods: for me, I rise + To better life, and grateful own the blessing.” + +“A pagan thought for a Christmas Eve,” she said to him, with her fingers +feeling for the folds of silken flesh in the throat of the moose; “but +wounded men must be humoured. And, mother dear, here are our Argonauts +returned; and--and now I think I will go.” + +With a quick kiss on her father’s cheek--not so quick but he caught the +tear that ran through her happy smile--she vanished into the house. + +That night there was gladness in this home. Mirth sprang to the lips of +the men like foam on a beaker of wine, so that the evening ran towards +midnight swiftly. All the tale of the hunt was given by Malbrouck to +joyful ears; for the mother lived again her youth in the sunrise of this +romance which was being sped before her eyes; and the father, knowing +that in this world there is nothing so good as courage, nothing so base +as the shifting eye, looked on the young man, and was satisfied, and +told his story well;--told it as a brave man would tell it, bluntly as +to deeds done, warmly as to the pleasures of good sport, directly as +to all. In the eye of the young man there had come the glance of larger +life, of a new-developed manhood. When he felt that dun body crashing +on him, and his life closing with its strength, and ran the good knife +home, there flashed through his mind how much life meant to the dying, +how much it ought to mean to the living; and then this girl, this +Margaret, swam before his eyes--and he had been graver since. + +He knew, as truly as if she had told him, that she could never mate with +any man who was a loiterer on God’s highway, who could live life without +some sincerity in his aims. It all came to him again in this room, so +austere in its appointments, yet so gracious, so full of the spirit of +humanity without a note of ennui, or the rust of careless deeds. As this +thought grew he looked at the face of the girl, then at the faces of the +father and mother, and the memory of his boast came back--that he would +win the stake he laid, to know the story of John and Audrey Malbrouck +before this coming Christmas morning. With a faint smile at his own past +insolent self, he glanced at the clock. It was eleven. “I have lost my +bet,” he unconsciously said aloud. + +He was roused by John Malbrouck remarking: “Yes, you have lost your bet? +Well, what was it? The youth, the childlike quality in him,” flushed his +face deeply, and then, with a sudden burst of frankness, he said: + +“I did not know that I had spoken. As for the bet, I deserve to be +thrashed for ever having made it; but, duffer as I am, I want you to +know that I’m something worse than duffer. The first time I met you +I made a bet that I should know your history before Christmas Day. I +haven’t a word to say for myself. I’m contemptible. I beg your pardon; +for your history is none of my business. I was really interested; that’s +all; but your lives, I believe it, as if it was in the Bible, have been +great--yes, that’s the word! and I’m a better chap for having known you, +though, perhaps, I’ve known you all along, because, you see, I’ve--I’ve +been friends with your daughter--and-well, really I haven’t anything +else to say, except that I hope you’ll forgive me, and let me know you +always.” + +Malbrouck regarded him for a moment with a grave smile, and then looked +toward his wife. Both turned their glances quickly upon Margaret, whose +eyes were on the fire. The look upon her face was very gentle; something +new and beautiful had come to reign there. + +A moment, and Malbrouck spoke: “You did what was youthful and curious, +but not wrong; and you shall not lose your hazard. I--” + +“No, do not tell me,” Gregory interrupted; “only let me be pardoned.” + +“As I said, lad, you shall not lose your hazard. I will tell you the +brief tale of two lives.” + +“But, I beg of you! For the instant I forgot. I have more to confess.” + And Gregory told them in substance what Pretty Pierre had disclosed to +him in the Rocky Mountains. + +When he had finished, Malbrouck said: “My tale then is briefer still: I +was a common soldier, English and humble by my mother, French and noble +through my father--noble, but poor. In Burmah, at an outbreak among the +natives, I rescued my colonel from immediate and horrible death, though +he died in my arms from the injuries he received. His daughter too, it +was my fortune, through God’s Providence, to save from great danger. +She became my wife. You remember that song you sang the day we first met +you? + +“It brought her father back to mind painfully. When we came to England +her people--her mother--would not receive me. For myself I did not care; +for my wife, that was another matter. She loved me and preferred to go +with me anywhere; to a new country, preferably. We came to Canada. + +“We were forgotten in England. Time moves so fast, even if the records +in red-books stand. Our daughter went to her grandmother to be brought +up and educated in England--though it was a sore trial to us both--that +she might fill nobly that place in life for which she is destined. +With all she learned she did not forget us. We were happy save in her +absence. We are happy now; not because she is mistress of Holwood and +Marchurst--for her grandmother and another is dead--but because such as +she is our daughter, and--” + +He said no more. Margaret was beside him, and her fingers were on his +lips. + +Gregory came to his feet suddenly, and with a troubled face. + +“Mistress of Holwood and Marchurst!” he said; and his mind ran over his +own great deficiencies, and the list of eligible and anxious suitors +that Park Lane could muster. He had never thought of her in the light of +a great heiress. + +But he looked down at her as she knelt at her father’s knee, her eyes +upturned to his, and the tide of his fear retreated; for he saw in them +the same look she had given him when she leaned her cheek against the +moose’s neck that afternoon. + +When the clock struck twelve upon a moment’s pleasant silence, John +Malbrouck said to Gregory Thorne: + +“Yes, you have won your Christmas hazard, my boy.” + +But a softer voice than his whispered: “Are you--content--Gregory?” + +The Spirits of Christmas-tide, whose paths lie north as well as south, +smiled as they wrote his answer on their tablets; for they knew, as the +man said, that he would always be content, and--which is more in the +sight of angels--that the woman would be content also. + + + + +A PRAIRIE VAGABOND + +Little Hammer was not a success. He was a disappointment to the +missionaries; the officials of the Hudson’s Bay Company said he was “no +good;” the Mounted Police kept an eye on him; the Crees and Blackfeet +would have nothing to do with him; and the half-breeds were profane +regarding him. But Little Hammer was oblivious to any depreciation +of his merits, and would not be suppressed. He loved the Hudson’s Bay +Company’s Post at Yellow Quill with an unwavering love; he ranged the +half-breed hospitality of Red Deer River, regardless of it being thrown +at him as he in turn threw it at his dog; he saluted Sergeant Gellatly +with a familiar How! whenever he saw him; he borrowed tabac of the +half-breed women, and, strange to say, paid it back--with other tabac +got by daily petition, until his prayer was granted, at the H. B. C. +Post. He knew neither shame nor defeat, but where women were concerned +he kept his word, and was singularly humble. It was a woman that induced +him to be baptised. The day after the ceremony he begged “the loan of +a dollar for the love of God” from the missionary; and being refused, +straightway, and for the only time it was known of him, delivered a +rumbling torrent of half-breed profanity, mixed with the unusual oaths +of the barracks. Then he walked away with great humility. There was no +swagger about Little Hammer. He was simply unquenchable and continuous. +He sometimes got drunk; but on such occasions he sat down, or lay down, +in the most convenient place, and, like Caesar beside Pompey’s statue, +wrapped his mantle about his face and forgot the world. He was a +vagabond Indian, abandoned yet self-contained, outcast yet gregarious. +No social ostracism unnerved him, no threats of the H. B. C. officials +moved him; and when in the winter of 187 he was driven from one place +to another, starving and homeless, and came at last emaciated and nearly +dead to the Post at Yellow Quill, he asked for food and shelter as if it +were his right, and not as a mendicant. + +One night, shortly after his reception and restoration, he was sitting +in the store silently smoking the Company’s tabac. Sergeant Gellatly +entered. Little Hammer rose, offered his hand, and muttered, “How!” + +The Sergeant thrust his hand aside, and said sharply: “Whin I take y’r +hand, Little Hammer, it’ll be to put a grip an y’r wrists that’ll stay +there till y’are in quarters out of which y’ll come nayther winter nor +summer. Put that in y’r pipe and smoke it, y’ scamp!” + +Little Hammer had a bad time at the Post that night. Lounging +half-breeds reviled him; the H. B. C. officials rebuked him; and +travellers who were coming and going shared in the derision, as foolish +people do where one is brow-beaten by many. At last a trapper entered, +whom seeing, Little Hammer drew his blanket up about his head. The +trapper sat down very near Little Hammer, and began to smoke. He laid +his plug-tabac and his knife on the counter beside him. Little Hammer +reached over and took the knife, putting it swiftly within his blanket. +The trapper saw the act, and, turning sharply on the Indian, called him +a thief. Little Hammer chuckled strangely and said nothing; but his eyes +peered sharply above the blanket. A laugh went round the store. In an +instant the trapper, with a loud oath, caught at the Indian’s throat; +but as the blanket dropped back he gave a startled cry. There was the +flash of a knife, and he fell back dead. Little Hammer stood above him, +smiling, for a moment, and then, turning to Sergeant Gellatly, held out +his arms silently for the handcuffs. + +The next day two men were lost on the prairies. One was Sergeant +Gellatly; the other was Little Hammer. The horses they rode travelled so +close that the leg of the Indian crowded the leg of the white man; and +the wilder the storm grew, the closer still they rode. A ‘poudre’ day, +with its steely air and fatal frost, was an ill thing in the world; but +these entangling blasts, these wild curtains of snow, were desolating +even unto death. The sun above was smothered; the earth beneath was +trackless; the compass stood for loss all round. + +What could Sergeant Gellatly expect, riding with a murderer on his left +hand: a heathen that had sent a knife through the heart of one of the +lords of the North? What should the gods do but frown, or the elements +be at, but howling on their path? What should one hope for but that +vengeance should be taken out of the hands of mortals, and be delivered +to the angry spirits? + +But if the gods were angry at the Indian, why should Sergeant Gellatly +only sway to and fro, and now laugh recklessly, and now fall sleepily +forward on the neck of his horse; while the Indian rode straight, and +neither wavered nor wandered in mind, but at last slipped from his horse +and walked beside the other? It was at this moment that the soldier +heard, “Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly,” called through the blast; +and he thought it came from the skies, or from some other world. “Me +darlin’,” he said, “have y’ come to me?” But the voice called again: +“Sergeant Gellatly, keep awake! keep awake! You sleep, you die; that’s +it. Holy. Yes. How!” Then he knew that it was Little Hammer calling +in his ear, and shaking him; that the Indian was dragging him from his +horse ... his revolver, where was it? he had forgotten... he nodded... +nodded. But Little Hammer said: “Walk, hell! you walk, yes;” and Little +Hammer struck him again and again; but one arm of the Indian was under +his shoulder and around him, and the voice was anxious and kind. Slowly +it came to him that Little Hammer was keeping him alive against the will +of the spirits--but why should they strike him instead of the Indian? +Was there any sun in the world? Had there ever been? or fire or heat +anywhere, or anything but wind and snow in all God’s universe?... Yes, +there were bells ringing--soft bells of a village church; and there was +incense burning--most sweet it was! and the coals in the censer--how +beautiful, how comforting! He laughed with joy again, and he forgot how +cold, how maliciously cold, he had been; he forgot how dreadful that +hour was before he became warm; when he was pierced by myriad needles +through the body, and there was an incredible aching at his heart. + +And yet something kept thundering on his body, and a harsh voice +shrieked at him, and there were many lights dancing over his shut eyes; +and then curtains of darkness were dropped, and centuries of oblivion +came; and then--then his eyes opened to a comforting silence, and some +one was putting brandy between his teeth, and after a time he heard a +voice say: “‘Bien,’ you see he was a murderer, but he save his captor. +‘Voila,’ such a heathen! But you will, all the same, bring him to +justice--you call it that? But we shall see.” + +Then some one replied, and the words passed through an outer web of +darkness and an inner haze of dreams. “The feet of Little Hammer were +like wood on the floor when you brought the two in, Pretty Pierre--and +lucky for them you found them.... The thing would read right in a book, +but it’s not according to the run of things up here, not by a damned +sight!” + +“Private Bradshaw,” said the first voice again, “you do not know Little +Hammer, nor that story of him. You wait for the trial. I have something +to say. You think Little Hammer care for the prison, the rope?--Ah, when +a man wait five years to kill--so! and it is done, he is glad sometimes +when it is all over. Sergeant Gellatly there will wish he went to sleep +forever in the snow, if Little Hammer come to the rope. Yes, I think.” + +And Sergeant Gellatly’s brain was so numbed that he did not grasp the +meaning of the words, though he said them over and over again.... Was he +dead? No, for his body was beating, beating... well, it didn’t matter... +nothing mattered... he was sinking to forgetfulness... sinking. + +So, for hours, for weeks--it might have been for years--and then he +woke, clear and knowing, to “the unnatural, intolerable day”--it was +that to him, with Little Hammer in prison. It was March when his memory +and vigour vanished; it was May when he grasped the full remembrance of +himself, and of that fight for life on the prairie: of the hands that +smote him that he should not sleep; of Little Hammer the slayer, who had +driven death back discomfited, and brought his captor safe to where his +own captivity and punishment awaited him. + +When Sergeant Gellatly appeared in court at the trial he refused to bear +witness against Little Hammer. “D’ ye think--does wan av y’ think--that +I’ll speak a word agin the man--haythen or no haythen--that pulled me +out of me tomb and put me betune the barrack quilts? Here’s the stripes +aff me arm, and to gaol I’ll go; but for what wint before I clapt the +iron on his wrists, good or avil, divil a word will I say. An’ here’s me +left hand, and there’s me right fut, and an eye of me too, that I’d part +with, for the cause of him that’s done a trick that your honour wouldn’t +do--an’ no shame to y’ aither--an’ y’d been where Little Hammer was with +me.” + +His honour did not reply immediately, but he looked meditatively at +Little Hammer before he said quietly,--“Perhaps not, perhaps not.” + +And Little Hammer, thinking he was expected to speak, drew his blanket +up closely about him and grunted, “How!” + +Pretty Pierre, the notorious half-breed, was then called. He kissed the +Book, making the sign of the Cross swiftly as he did so, and unheeding +the ironical, if hesitating, laughter in the court. Then he said: +“‘Bien,’ I will tell you the story-the whole truth. I was in the Stony +Plains. Little Hammer was ‘good Injin’ then.... Yes, sacre! it is a fool +who smiles at that. I have kissed the Book. Dam!... He would be chief +soon when old Two Tails die. He was proud, then, Little Hammer. He go +not to the Post for drink; he sell not next year’s furs for this year’s +rations; he shoot straight.” + +Here Little Hammer stood up and said: “There is too much talk. Let me +be. It is all done. The sun is set--I care not--I have killed him;” and +then he drew his blanket about his face and sat down. + +But Pierre continued: “Yes, you killed him-quick, after five years--that +is so; but you will not speak to say why. Then, I will speak. The Injins +say Little Hammer will be great man; he will bring the tribes together; +and all the time Little Hammer was strong and silent and wise. Then +Brigley the trapper--well, he was a thief and coward. He come to Little +Hammer and say, ‘I am hungry and tired.’ Little Hammer give him food and +sleep. He go away. ‘Bien,’ he come back and say,--‘It is far to go; I +have no horse.’ So Little Hammer give him a horse too. Then he come back +once again in the night when Little Hammer was away, and before morning +he go; but when Little Hammer return, there lay his bride--only an Injin +girl, but his bride-dead! You see? Eh? No? Well, the Captain at the Post +he says it was the same as Lucrece.--I say it was like hell. It is not +much to kill or to die--that is in the game; but that other, ‘mon Dieu!’ +Little Hammer, you see how he hide his head: not because he kill the +Tarquin, that Brigley, but because he is a poor ‘vaurien’ now, and he +once was happy and had a wife.... What would you do, judge honourable? +... Little Hammer, I shake your hand--so--How!” + +But Little Hammer made no reply. + +The judge sentenced Little Hammer to one month in gaol. He might have +made it one thousand months--it would have been the same; for when, on +the last morning of that month, they opened the door to set him free, he +was gone. That is, the Little Hammer whom the high gods knew was gone; +though an ill-nourished, self-strangled body was upright by the wall. +The vagabond had paid his penalty, but desired no more of earth. + +Upon the door was scratched the one word: How! + + + + +SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON + +Between Archangel’s Rise and Pardon’s Drive there was but one house. It +was a tavern, and it was known as Galbraith’s Place. There was no man +in the Western Territories to whom it was not familiar. There was no +traveller who crossed the lonely waste but was glad of it, and would go +twenty miles out of his way to rest a night on a corn-husk bed which Jen +Galbraith’s hands had filled, to eat a meal that she had prepared, +and to hear Peter Galbraith’s tales of early days on the plains, when +buffalo were like clouds on the horizon, when Indians were many and +hostile, and when men called the great western prairie a wedge of the +American desert. + +It was night on the prairie. Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway of the +tavern sitting-room and watched a mighty beacon of flame rising before +her, a hundred yards away. Every night this beacon made a circle of +light on the prairie, and Galbraith’s Place was in the centre of the +circle. Summer and winter it burned from dusk to daylight. No hand fed +it but that of Nature. It never failed; it was a cruse that was never +empty. Upon Jen Galbraith it had a weird influence. It grew to be to her +a kind of spiritual companion, though, perhaps, she would not so have +named it. This flaming gas, bubbling up from the depths of the earth on +the lonely plains, was to her a mysterious presence grateful to her; the +receiver of her thoughts, the daily necessity in her life. It filled +her too with a kind of awe; for, when it burned, she seemed not herself +alone, but another self of her whom she could not quite understand. Yet +she was no mere dreamer. Upon her practical strength of body and mind +had come that rugged poetical sense, which touches all who live the life +of mountain and prairie. She showed it in her speech; it had a measured +cadence. She expressed it in her body; it had a free and rhythmic +movement. And not Jen alone, but many another dweller on the prairie, +looked upon it with a superstitious reverence akin to worship. A +blizzard could not quench it. A gale of wind only fed its strength. A +rain-storm made a mist about it, in which it was enshrined like a god. +Peter Galbraith could not fully understand his daughter’s fascination +for this Prairie Star, as the North-West people called it. It was not +without its natural influence upon him; but he regarded it most as +a comfortable advertisement, and he lamented every day that this +never-failing gas well was not near a large population, and he still its +owner. He was one of that large family in the earth who would turn the +best things in their lives into merchandise. As it was, it brought +much grist to his mill; for he was not averse to the exercise of +the insinuating pleasures of euchre and poker in his tavern; and the +hospitality which ranchmen, cowboys, and travellers sought at his hand +was often prolonged, and also remunerative to him. + +Pretty Pierre, who had his patrol as gamester defined, made semi-annual +visits to Galbraith’s Place. It occurred generally after the rounding-up +and branding seasons, when the cowboys and ranchmen were “flush” with +money. It was generally conceded that Monsieur Pierre would have made +an early excursion to a place where none is ever “ordered up,” if he had +not been free with the money which he so plentifully won. + +Card-playing was to him a science and a passion. He loved to win for +winning’s sake. After that, money, as he himself put it, was only fit +to be spent for the good of the country, and that men should earn more. +Since he put his philosophy into instant and generous practice, active +and deadly prejudice against him did not have lengthened life. + +The Mounted Police, or as they are more poetically called, the Riders +of the Plains, watched Galbraith’s Place, not from any apprehension of +violent events, but because Galbraith was suspected of infringing the +prevailing law of Prohibition, and because for some years it had been a +tradition and a custom to keep an eye on Pierre. + +As Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway looking abstractedly at the +beacon, her fingers smoothing her snowy apron the while, she was +thinking thus to herself: “Perhaps father is right. If that Prairie Star +were only at Vancouver or Winnipeg instead of here, our Val could be +something, more than a prairie-rider. He’d have been different, if +father hadn’t started this tavern business. Not that our Val is bad. He +isn’t; but if he had money he could buy a ranch,--or something.” + +Our Val, as Jen and her father called him, was a lad of twenty-two, +one year younger than Jen. He was prairie-rider, cattle-dealer, scout, +cowboy, happy-go-lucky vagrant,--a splendid Bohemian of the plains. As +Jen said, he was not bad; but he had a fiery, wandering spirit, touched +withal by the sunniest humour. He had never known any curb but Jen’s +love and care. That had kept him within bounds so far. All men of the +prairie spoke well of him. The great new lands have codes and standards +of morals quite their own. One enthusiastic admirer of this youth +said, in Jen’s hearing, “He’s a Christian--Val Galbraith!” That was +the western way of announcing a man as having great civic and social +virtues. Perhaps the respect for Val Galbraith was deepened by the +fact that there was no broncho or cayuse that he could not tame to the +saddle. + +Jen turned her face from the flame and looked away from the oasis of +warmth it made, to where the light shaded away into darkness, a darkness +that was unbroken for many a score of miles to the north and west. She +sighed deeply and drew herself up with an aggressive motion as though +she was freeing herself of something. So she was. She was trying to +shake off a feeling of oppression. Ten minutes ago the gaslighted house +behind her had seemed like a prison. She felt that she must have air, +space, and freedom. + +She would have liked a long ride on the buffalo-track. That, she felt, +would clear her mind. She was no romantic creature out of her sphere, no +exotic. She was country-born and bred, and her blood had been charged +by a prairie instinct passing through three generations. She was part +of this life. Her mind was free and strong, and her body was free and +healthy. While that freedom and health was genial, it revolted against +what was gross or irregular. She loved horses and dogs, she liked to +take a gun and ride away to the Poplar Hills in search of game, she +found pleasure in visiting the Indian Reservation, and talking to +Sun-in-the-North, the only good Indian chief she knew, or that anyone +else on the prairies knew. She loved all that was strong and untamed, +all that was panting with wild and glowing life. Splendidly developed, +softly sinewy, warmly bountiful, yet without the least physical +over-luxuriance or suggestiveness, Jen, with her tawny hair and +dark-brown eyes, was a growth of unrestrained, unconventional, and +eloquent life. Like Nature around her, glowing and fresh, yet glowing +and hardy. There was, however, just a strain of pensiveness in her, +partly owing to the fact that there were no women near her, that she +had, virtually, lived her life as a woman alone. + +As she thus looked into the undefined horizon two things were happening: +a traveller was approaching Galbraith’s Place from a point in that +horizon; and in the house behind her someone was singing. The traveller +sat erect upon his horse. He had not the free and lazy seat of the +ordinary prairie-rider. It was a cavalry seat, and a military manner. He +belonged to that handful of men who patrol a frontier of near a thousand +miles, and are the security of peace in three hundred thousand miles of +territory--the Riders of the Plains, the North-West Mounted Police. + +This Rider of the Plains was Sergeant Thomas Gellatly, familiarly +known as Sergeant Tom. Far away as he was he could see that a woman +was standing in the tavern door. He guessed who it was, and his blood +quickened at the guessing. But reining his horse on the furthest edge of +the lighted circle, he said, debatingly: “I’ve little time enough to get +to the Rise, and the order was to go through, hand the information to +Inspector Jules, and be back within forty-eight hours. Is it flesh and +blood they think I am? Me that’s just come back from a journey of a +hundred miles, and sent off again like this with but a taste of sleep +and little food, and Corporal Byng sittin’ there at Fort Desire with a +pipe in his mouth and the fat on his back like a porpoise. It’s famished +I am with hunger, and thirty miles yet to do; and she, standin’ there +with a six months’ welcome in her eye.... It’s in the interest of +Justice if I halt at Galbraith’s Place for half-an-hour, bedad! The +blackguard hid away there at Soldier’s Knee will be arrested all the +sooner; for horse and man will be able the better to travel. I’m glad +it’s not me that has to take him whoever he is. It’s little I like +leadin’ a fellow-creature towards the gallows, or puttin’ a bullet into +him if he won’t come.... Now what will we do, Larry, me boy?” this to +the broncho--“Go on without bite or sup, me achin’ behind and empty +before, and you laggin’ in the legs, or stay here for the slice of an +hour and get some heart into us? Stay here is it, me boy? then lave +go me fut with your teeth and push on to the Prairie Star there.” So +saying, Sergeant Tom, whose language in soliloquy, or when excited, +was more marked by a brogue than at other times, rode away towards +Galbraith’s Place. + +In the tavern at that moment, Pretty Pierrre was sitting on the +bar-counter, where temperance drinks were professedly sold, singing to +himself. His dress was singularly neat, if coarse, and his slouch hat +was worn with an air of jauntiness according well with his slight make +and almost girlish delicacy of complexion. He was puffing a cigarette, +in the breaks of the song. Peter Galbraith, tall, gaunt, and +sombre-looking, sat with his chair tilted back against the wall, rather +nervously pulling at the strips of bark of which the yielding chair-seat +was made. He may or may not have been listening to the song which had +run through several verses. Where it had come from, no one knew; no one +cared to know. The number of its verses were legion. Pierre had a +sweet voice, of a peculiarly penetrating quality; still it was low and +well-modulated, like the colour in his cheeks, which gave him his name. + +These were the words he was singing as Sergeant Tom rode towards the +tavern: + + “The hot blood leaps in his quivering breast + Voila! ‘Tis his enemies near! + There’s a chasm deep on the mountain crest + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + They follow him close and they follow him fast, + And he flies like a mountain deer; + Then a mad, wild leap and he’s safe at last! + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + A cry and a leap and the danger’s past + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!” + +At the close of the verse, Galbraith said: “I don’t like that song. I--I +don’t like it. You’re not a father, Pierre.” + +“No, I am not a father. I have some virtue of that. I have spared the +world something, Pete Galbraith.” + +“You have the Devil’s luck; your sins never get YOU into trouble.” + +A curious fire flashed in the half-breed’s eyes, and he said, quietly: +“Yes, I have great luck; but I have my little troubles at times--at +times.” + +“They’re different, though, from this trouble of Val’s.” There was +something like a fog in the old man’s throat. + +“Yes, Val was quite foolish, you see. If he had killed a white +man--Pretty Pierre, for instance--well, there would have been a show of +arrest, but he could escape. It was an Injin. The Government cherish +the Injin much in these days. The redskin must be protected. It must be +shown that at Ottawa there is justice. That is droll--quite. Eh, bien! +Val will not try to escape. He waits too long-near twenty-four hours. +Then, it is as you see.... You have not told her?” He nodded towards the +door of the sittingroom. + +“Nothing. It’ll come on Jen soon enough if he doesn’t get away, and bad +enough if he does, and can’t come back to us. She’s fond of him--as fond +of him as a mother. Always was wiser than our Val or me, Jen was. More +sense than a judge, and proud but not too proud, Pierre--not too proud. +She knows the right thing to do, like the Scriptures; and she does it +too.... Where did you say he was hid?” + +“In the Hollow at Soldier’s Knee. He stayed too long at Moose Horn. +Injins carried the news on to Fort Desire. When Val started south for +the Border other Injins followed, and when a halt was made at Soldier’s +Knee they pushed across country over to Fort Desire. You see, Val’s +horse give out. I rode with him so far. My horse too was broke up. What +was to be done? Well, I knew a ranchman not far from Soldier’s Knee. I +told Val to sleep, and I would go on and get the ranchman to send him +a horse, while I come on to you. Then he could push on to the Border. I +saw the ranchman, and he swore to send a horse to Val to-night. He will +keep his word. He knows Val. That was at noon to-day, and I am here, you +see, and you know all. The danger? Ah, my friend,--the Police Barracks +at Archangel’s Rise! If word is sent down there from Fort Desire before +Val passes, they will have out a big patrol, and his chances,--well, you +know them, the Riders of the Plains. But Val, I think will have luck, +and get into Montana before they can stop him. I hope; yes.” + +“If I could do anything, Pierre! Can’t we--” + +The half-breed interrupted: “No, we can’t do anything, Galbraith. I have +done all. The ranchman knows me. He will keep his word, by the Great +Heaven!” It would seem as if Pierre had reasons for relying on the +ranchman other than ordinary prairie courtesy to law-breakers. + +“Pierre, tell me the whole story over, slow and plain. It don’t seem +nateral to think of it; but if you go over it again, perhaps I can +get the thing more reas’nable in my mind. No, it ain’t nateral to me, +Pierre--our Val running away.” The old man leaned forward and put his +elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. + +“Eh, well, it was an Injin. So much. It was in self-defence--a little, +but of course to prove that. There is the difficulty. You see, they were +all drinking, and the Injin--he was a chief---proposed--he proposed that +Val should sell him his sister, Jen Galbraith, to be the chief’s squaw. +He would give him a cayuse. Val’s blood came up quick--quite quick. You +know Val. He said between his teeth: ‘Look out, Snow Devil, you Injin +dog, or I’ll have your heart. Do you think a white girl is like a +redskin woman, to be sold as you sell your wives and daughters to the +squaw-men and white loafers, you reptile?’ Then the Injin said an ugly +word about Val’s sister, and Val shot him dead like lightning.... Yes, +that is good to swear, Galbraith. You are not the only one that curses +the law in this world. It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law.” + +The old man rose and walked up and down the room in a shuffling kind of +way. His best days were done, the spring of his life was gone, and the +step was that of a man who had little more of activity and force with +which to turn the halting wheels of life. His face was not altogether +good, yet it was not evil. There was a sinister droop to the eyelids, a +suggestion of cruelty about the mouth; but there was more of good-nature +and passive strength than either in the general expression. One could +see that some genial influence had dominated what was inherently cruel +and sinister in him. Still the sinister predisposition was there. + +“He can’t never come here, Pierre, can he”? he asked, despairingly. + +“No, he can’t come here, Galbraith. And look: if the Riders of the +Plains should stop here to-night, or to-morrow, you will be cool--cool, +eh?” + +“Yes, I will be quite cool, Pierre.” Then he seemed to think of +something else and looked up half-curiously, half-inquiringly at the +half-breed. + +Pierre saw this. He whistled quietly to himself for a little, and then +called the old man over to where he sat. Leaning slightly forward he +made his reply to the look that had been bent upon him. He touched +Galbraith’s breast lightly with his delicate fingers, and said: “I have +not much love for the world, Pete Galbraith, and not much love for +men and women altogether; they are fools--nearly all. Some men--you +know--treat me well. They drink with me--much. They would make life a +hell for me if I was poor--shoot me, perhaps, quick!--if--if I didn’t +shoot first. They would wipe me with their feet. They would spoil Pretty +Pierre.” This he said with a grim kind of humour and scorn, refined in +its suppressed force. Fastidious as he was in appearance, Pierre was not +vain. He had been created with a sense of refinement that reduced the +grossness of his life; but he did not trade on it; he simply accepted it +and lived it naturally after his kind. He was not good at heart, and he +never pretended to be so. He continued: “No, I have not much love; but +Val, well, I think of him some. His tongue is straight; he makes no +lies. His heart is fire; his arms are strong; he has no fear. He does +not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him. He does not think +of me like the rest. So much the more when his trouble comes I help him. +I help him to the death if he needs me. To make him my friend--that is +good. Eh? Perhaps. You see, Galbraith?” + +The old man nodded thoughtfully, and after a little pause said: “I +have killed Injins myself;” and he made a motion of his head backward, +suggestive of the past. + +With a shrug of his shoulders the other replied “Yes, so have +I--sometimes. But the government was different then, and there were +no Riders of the Plains.” His white teeth showed menacingly under his +slight moustache. Then there was another pause. Pierre was watching the +other. + +“What’s that you’re doing, Galbraith?” + +“Rubbin’ laudanum on my gums for this toothache. Have to use it for +nuralgy, too.” + +Galbraith put the little vial back in his waistcoat pocket, and +presently said: “What will you have to drink, Pretty Pierre?” That was +his way of showing gratitude. + +“I am reform. I will take coffee, if Jen Galbraith will make some. Too +much broke glass inside is not good. Yes.” + +Galbraith went into the sitting-room to ask Jen to make the coffee. +Pierre, still sitting on the bar-counter, sang to himself a verse of a +rough-and-ready, satirical prairie ballad: + + “The Riders of the Plains, my boys, are twenty thousand strong + Oh, Lordy, don’t they make the prairies howl! + ‘Tis their lot to smile on virtue and to collar what is wrong, + And to intercept the happy flowin’ bowl. + + They’ve a notion, that in glory, when we wicked ones have chains + They will all be major-generals--and that! + They’re a lovely band of pilgrims are the Riders of the Plains + Will some sinner please to pass around the hat?” + +As he reached the last two lines of the verse the door opened and +Sergeant Tom entered. Pretty Pierre did not stop singing. His eyes +simply grew a little brighter, his cheek flushed ever so slightly, and +there was an increase of vigour in the closing notes. + +Sergeant Tom smiled a little grimly, then he nodded and said: “Been at +it ever since, Pretty Pierre? You were singing the same song on the same +spot when I passed here six months ago.” + +“Eh, Sergeant Tom, it is you? What brings you so far from your straw-bed +at Fort Desire?” From underneath his hat-brim Pierre scanned the face of +the trooper closely. + +“Business. Not to smile on virtue, but to collar what is wrong. I guess +you ought to be ready by this time to go into quarters, Pierre. You’ve +had a long innings.” + +“Not yet, Sergeant Tom, though I love the Irish, and your company would +make me happy. But I am so innocent, and the world--it cannot spare me +yet. But I think you come to smile on virtue, all the same, Sergeant +Tom. She is beautiful is Jen Galbraith. Ah, that makes your eye +bright--so! You Riders of the Plains, you do two things at one time. You +make this hour someone happy, and that hour someone unhappy. In one +hand the soft glove of kindness, in the other, voila! the cold glove of +steel. We cannot all be great like that, Sergeant Tom.” + +“Not great, but clever. Voila, the Pretty Pierre! In one hand he holds +the soft paper, the pictures that deceive--kings, queens, and knaves; +in the other, pictures in gold and silver--money won from the pockets of +fools. And so, as you say, ‘bien,’ and we each have our way, bedad!” + +Sergeant Tom noticed that the half-breed’s eyes nearly closed, as if to +hide the malevolence that was in them. He would not have been surprised +to see a pistol drawn. But he was quite fearless, and if it was not his +duty to provoke a difficulty, his fighting nature would not shrink from +giving as good as he got. Besides, so far as that nature permitted, he +hated Pretty Pierre. He knew the ruin that this gambler had caused here +and there in the West, and he was glad that Fort Desire, at any rate, +knew him less than it did formerly. + +Just then Peter Galbraith entered with the coffee, followed by Jen. +When the old man saw his visitor he stood still with sudden fear; but +catching a warning look from the eye of the half-breed, he made an +effort to be steady, and said: “Well, Jen, if it isn’t Sergeant Tom! +And what brings you down here, Sergeant Tom? After some scalawag that’s +broke the law?” + +Sergeant Tom had not noticed the blanched anxiety in the father’s +face; for his eyes were seeking those of the daughter. He answered the +question as he advanced towards Jen: “Yes and no, Galbraith; I’m only +takin’ orders to those who will be after some scalawag by daylight in +the mornin’, or before. The hand of a traveller to you, Miss Jen.” + +Her eyes replied to his in one language; her lips spoke another. “And +who is the law-breaker, Sergeant Tom”? she said, as she took his hand. + +Galbraith’s eyes strained towards the soldier till the reply came: “And +I don’t know that; not wan o’ me. I’d ridden in to Fort Desire from +another duty, a matter of a hundred miles, whin the major says to me, +‘There’s murder been done at Moose Horn. Take these orders down to +Archangel’s Rise, and deliver them and be back here within forty-eight +hours.’ And here I am on the way, and, if I wasn’t ready to drop for +want of a bite and sup, I’d be movin’ away from here to the south at +this moment.” + +Galbraith was trembling with excitement. Pierre warned him by a look, +and almost immediately afterward gave him a reassuring nod, as if an +important and favourable idea had occurred to him. + +Jen, looking at the Sergeant’s handsome face, said: “It’s six months to +a day since you were here, Sergeant Tom.” + +“What an almanac you are, Miss!” + +Pretty Pierre sipping his coffee here interrupted musingly: “But her +almanac is not always so reliable. So I think. When was I here last, +Ma’m’selle?” + +With something like menace in her eyes Jen replied: “You were here six +months ago to-day, when you won thirty dollars from our Val; and then +again, just thirty days after that.” + +“Ah, so! You remember with a difference.” + +A moment after, Sergeant Tom being occupied in talking to Jen, Pierre +whispered to Peter Galbraith: “His horse--then the laudanum!” + +Galbraith was puzzled for a moment, but soon nodded significantly, and +the sinister droop to his eyes became more marked. He turned to the +Sergeant and said, “Your horse must be fed as well as yourself, Sergeant +Tom. I’ll look after the beast, and Jen will take care of you. There’s +some fresh coffee, isn’t there, Jen?” + +Jen nodded an affirmative. Galbraith knew that the Sergeant would trust +no one to feed his horse but himself, and the offer therefore was made +with design. + +Sergeant Tom replied instantly: “No, I’ll do it if someone will show me +the grass pile.” + +Pierre slipped quietly from the counter, and said, “I know the way, +Galbraith. I will show.” + +Jen turned to the sitting-room, and Sergeant Tom moved to the tavern +door, followed by Pierre, who, as he passed Galbraith, touched the old +man’s waistcoat pocket, and said: “Thirty drops in the coffee.” + +Then he passed out, singing softly: + + “And he sleepeth so well, and he sleepeth so long + The fight it was hard, my dear; + And his foes were many and swift and strong + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!” + +There was danger ahead for Sergeant Thomas Gellatly. Galbraith followed +his daughter to the sitting-room. She went to the kitchen and brought +bread, and cold venison, and prairie fowl, and stewed dried apples--the +stay and luxury of all rural Canadian homes. The coffee-pot was then +placed on the table. Then the old man said: “Better give him some of +that old cheese, Jen, hadn’t you? It’s in the cellar.” He wanted to be +rid of her for a few moments. “S’pose I had,” and Jen vanished. + +Now was Galbraith’s chance. He took the vial of laudanum from his +pocket, and opened the coffee-pot. It was half full. This would not +suit. Someone else--Jen--might drink the coffee also! Yet it had to be +done. Sergeant Tom should not go on. Inspector Jules and his Riders of +the Plains must not be put upon the track of Val. Twelve hours would +make all the difference. Pour out a cup of coffee?--Yes, of course, that +would do. It was poured out quickly, and then thirty drops of laudanum +were carefully counted into it. Hark, they are coming back!--Just in +time. Sergeant Tom and Pierre enter from outside, and then Jen from the +kitchen. Galbraith is pouring another cup of coffee as they enter, and +he says: “Just to be sociable I’m goin’ to have a cup of coffee with +you, Sergeant Tom. How you Riders of the Plains get waited on hand and +foot!” Did some warning flash through Sergeant Tom’s mind or body, some +mental shock or some physical chill? For he distinctly shivered, though +he was not cold. He seemed suddenly oppressed with a sense of danger. +But his eyes fell on Jen, and the hesitation, for which he did not then +try to account, passed. Jen, clear-faced and true, invited him to sit +and eat, and he, starting half-abstractedly, responded to her “Draw +nigh, Sergeant Tom,” and sat down. Commonplace as the words were, they +thrilled him, for he thought of a table of his own in a home of his own, +and the same words spoken everyday, but without the “Sergeant,”--simply +“Tom.” + +He ate heartily and sipped his coffee slowly, talking meanwhile to Jen +and Galbraith. Pretty Pierre watched them all. Presently the gambler +said: “Let us go and have our game of euchre, Galbraith. Ma’m’selle can +well take care of Sergeant Tom.” + +Galbraith drank the rest of his coffee, rose, and passed with +Pierre into the bar-room. Then the halfbreed said to him, “You were +careful--thirty drops?” + +“Yes, thirty drops.” The latent cruelty of the old man’s nature was +awake. + +“That is right. It is sleep; not death. He will sleep so sound for half +a day, perhaps eighteen hours, and then!--Val will have a long start.” + +In the sitting-room Sergeant Tom was saying: “Where is your brother, +Miss Galbraith?” He had no idea that the order in his pocket was for the +arrest of that brother. He merely asked the question to start the talk. + +He and Jen had met but five or six times; but the impression left on +the minds of both was pleasant--ineradicable. Yet, as Sergeant Tom often +asked himself during the past six months, why should he think of +her? The life he led was one of severe endurance, and harshness, and +austerity. Into it there could not possibly enter anything of home. He +was but a noncommissioned officer of the Mounted Police, and beyond +that he had nothing. Ireland had not been kind to him. He had left her +inhospitable shores, and after years of absence he had but a couple of +hundred dollars laid up--enough to purchase his discharge and something +over, but nothing with which to start a home. Ranching required capital. +No, it couldn’t be thought of; and yet he had thought of it, try as he +would not to do so. And she? There was that about this man who had +lived life on two continents, in whose blood ran the warm and chivalrous +Celtic fire, which appealed to her. His physical manhood was noble, if +rugged; his disposition genial and free, if schooled, but not entirely, +to that reserve which his occupation made necessary--a reserve he would +have been more careful to maintain, in speaking of his mission a short +time back in the bar-room, if Jen had not been there. She called out the +frankest part of him; she opened the doors of his nature; she attracted +confidence as the sun does the sunflower. + +To his question she replied: “I do not know where our Val is. He went on +a hunting expedition up north. We never can tell about him, when he will +turn up or where he will be to-morrow. He may walk in any minute. We +never feel uneasy. He always has such luck, and comes out safe and sound +wherever he is. Father says Val’s a hustler, and that nothing can keep +in the road with him. But he’s a little wild--a little. Still, we don’t +hector him, Sergeant Tom; hectoring never does any good, does it?” + +“No, hectoring never does any good. And as for the wildness, if the +heart of him’s right, why that’s easy out of him whin he’s older. It’s a +fine lad I thought him, the time I saw him here. It’s his freedom I wish +I had--me that has to travel all day and part of the night, and thin +part of the day and all night back again, and thin a day of sleep and +the same thing over again. And that’s the life of me, sayin’ nothin’ of +the frost and the blizzards, and no home to go to, and no one to have a +meal for me like this whin I turn up.” And the sergeant wound up with, +“Whooroo! there’s a speech for you, Miss!” and laughed good-humouredly. +For all that, there was in his eyes an appeal that went straight to +Jen’s heart. + +But, woman-like, she would not open the way for him to say anything more +definite just yet. She turned the subject. And yet again, woman-like, +she knew it would lead to the same conclusion: + +“You must go to-night?” + +“Yes, I must.” + +“Nothing--nothing would keep you?” + +“Nothing. Duty is duty, much as I’d like to stay, and you givin’ me the +bid. But my orders were strict. You don’t know what discipline means, +perhaps. It means obeyin’ commands if you die for it; and my commands +were to take a letter to Inspector Jules at Archangel’s Rise to-night. +It’s a matter of murder or the like, and duty must be done, and me that +sleepy, not forgettin’ your presence, as ever a man was and looked the +world in the face.” + +He drank the rest of the coffee and mechanically set the cup down, +his eyes closing heavily as he did so. He made an effort, however, and +pulled himself together. His eyes opened, and he looked at Jen steadily +for a moment. Then he leaned over and touched her hand gently with his +fingers,--Pierre’s glove of kindness,--and said: “It’s in my heart to +want to stay; but a sight of you I’ll have on my way back. But I must +go on now, though I’m that drowsy I could lie down here and never stir +again.” + +Jen said to herself: “Poor fellow, poor fellow, how tired he is! I +wish”--but she withdrew her hand. He put his hand to his head, and said, +absently: “It’s my duty and it’s orders, and... what was I sayin’? The +disgrace of me if, if... bedad! the sleep’s on me; I’m awake, but I +can’t open my eyes.... If the orders of me--and a good meal... and the +disgrace... to do me duty-looked the world in the face--” + +During this speech he staggered to his feet, Jen watching him anxiously +the while. No suspicion of the cause of his trouble crossed her mind. +She set it down to extreme natural exhaustion. Presently feeling the +sofa behind him, he dropped upon it, and, falling back, began to breathe +heavily. But even in this physical stupefaction he made an effort to +reassert himself, to draw himself back from the coming unconsciousness. +His eyes opened, but they were blind with sleep; and as if in a dream, +he said: “My duty... disgrace... a long sleep... Jen, dearest”--how she +started then!--“it must be done... my Jen!” and he said no more. + +But these few words had opened up a world for her--a new-created world +on the instant. Her life was illuminated. She felt the fulness of a +great thought suffusing her face. A beautiful dream was upon her. It had +come to her out of his sleep. But with its splendid advent there +came the other thing that always is born with woman’s love--an almost +pathetic care of the being loved. In the deep love of women the maternal +and protective sense works in the parallels of mutual regard. In her +life now it sprang full-statured in action; love of him, care of him; +his honour her honour; his life her life. He must not sleep like this if +it was his duty to go on. Yet how utterly worn he must be! She had seen +men brought in from fighting prairie fires for three days without sleep; +had watched them drop on their beds, and lie like logs for thirty-six +hours. This sleep of her lover was, therefore, not so strange to her but +it was perilous to the performance of his duty. + +“Poor Sergeant Tom,” she said. “Poor Tom,” she added; and then, with a +great flutter at the heart at last, “My Tom!” Yes, she said that; +but she said it to the beacon, to the Prairie Star, burning outside +brighter, it seemed to her, than it had ever done be fore. Then she sat +down and watched him for many minutes, thinking at the end of each that +she would wake him. But the minutes passed, his breathing grew heavier, +and he did not stir. The Prairie Star made quivering and luminous +curtains of red for the windows, and Jen’s mind was quivering in vivid +waves of feeling just the same. It seemed to her as if she was looking +at life now through an atmosphere charged with some rare, refining +essence, and that in it she stood exultingly. Perhaps she did not define +it so; but that which we define she felt. And happy are they who feel +it, and, feeling it, do not lose it in this world, and have the hope of +carrying it into the next. + +After a time she rose, went over to him and touched his shoulder. It +seemed strange to her to do this thing. She drew back timidly from the +pleasant shock of a new experience. Then she remembered that he ought +to be on his way, and she shook him gently, then, with all her strength, +and called to him quietly all the time, as if her low tones ought +to wake him, if nothing else could. But he lay in a deep and stolid +slumber. It was no use. She went to her seat and sat down to think. As +she did so, her father entered the room. + +“Did you call, Jen”? he said; and turned to the sofa. “I was calling to +Sergeant Tom. He’s asleep there; dead-gone, father. I can’t wake him.” + +“Why should you wake him? He is tired.” + +The sinister lines in Galbraith’s face had deepened greatly in the +last hour. He went over and looked closely at the Sergeant, followed +languidly by Pierre, who casually touched the pulse of the sleeping man, +and said as casually: + +“Eh, he sleep well; his pulse is like a baby; he was tired, much. He has +had no sleep for one, two, three nights, perhaps; and a good meal, it +makes him comfortable, and so you see!” + +Then he touched lightly the triple chevron on Sergeant Tom’s arm, and +said: + +“Eh, a man does much work for that. And then, to be moral and the friend +of the law all the time!” Pierre here shrugged his shoulders. “It is +easier to be wicked and free, and spend when one is rich, and starve +when one is poor, than to be a sergeant and wear the triple chevron. But +the sleep will do him good just the same, Jen Galbraith.” + +“He said that he must go to Archangel’s Rise tonight, and be back at +Fort Desire to-morrow night.” + +“Well, that’s nothing to us, Jen,” replied Galbraith, roughly. “He’s got +his own business to look after. He and his tribe are none too good to +us and our tribe. He’d have your old father up to-morrow for selling +a tired traveller a glass of brandy; and worse than that, ay, a great +sight worse than that, mind you, Jen.” + +Jen did not notice, or, at least, did not heed, the excited emphasis on +the last words. She thought that perhaps her father had been set against +the Sergeant by Pierre. + +“There, that’ll do, father,” she said. “It’s easy to bark at a dead +lion. Sergeant Tom’s asleep, and you say things that you wouldn’t say +if he was awake. He never did us any harm, and you know that’s true, +father.” + +Galbraith was about to reply with anger; but he changed his mind and +walked into the bar-room, followed by Pierre. + +In Jen’s mind a scheme had been hurriedly and clearly formed; and with +her, to form it was to put it into execution. She went to Sergeant Tom, +opened his coat, felt in the inside pocket, and drew forth an official +envelope. It was addressed to Inspector Jules at Archangel’s Rise. She +put it back and buttoned up the coat again. Then she said, with her +hands firmly clenching at her side,--“I’ll do it.” + +She went into the adjoining room and got a quilt, which she threw over +him, and a pillow, which she put under his head. Then she took his cap +and the cloak which he had thrown over a chair, as if to carry them +away. But another thought occurred to her, for she looked towards the +bar-room and put them down again. She glanced out of the window and saw +that her father and Pierre had gone to lessen the volume of gas which +was feeding the flame. This, she knew, meant that her father would go +to bed when he came back to the house; and this suited her purpose. She +waited till they had entered the bar-room again, and then she went to +them, and said: “I guess he’s asleep for all night. Best leave him where +he is. I’m going. Good-night.” + +When she got back to the sitting-room she said to herself: “How old +father’s looking! He seems broken up to-day. He isn’t what he used to +be.” She turned once more to look at Sergeant Tom, then she went to her +room. + +A little later Peter Galbraith and Pretty Pierre went to the +sitting-room, and the old man drew from the Sergeant’s pocket the +envelope which Jen had seen. Pierre took it from him. “No, Pete +Galbraith. Do not be a fool. Suppose you steal that paper. Sergeant Tom +will miss it. He will understand. He will guess about the drug, then you +will be in trouble. Val will be safe now. This Rider of the Plains will +sleep long enough for that. There, I put the paper back. He sleeps like +a log. No one can suspect the drug, and it is all as we like. No, we +will not steal; that is wrong--quite wrong”--here Pretty Pierre showed +his teeth. “We will go to bed. Come!” + +Jen heard them ascend the stairs. She waited a half-hour, then she +stole into Val’s bedroom, and when she emerged again she had a bundle +of clothes across her arm. A few minutes more and she walked into the +sitting-room dressed in Val’s clothes, and with her hair closely wound +on the top of her head. + +The house was still. The Prairie Star made the room light enough for her +purpose. She took Sergeant Tom’s cap and cloak and put them on. She drew +the envelope from his pocket and put it in her bosom--she showed the +woman there, though for the rest of this night she was to be a Rider of +the Plains, She of the Triple Chevron. + +She went towards the door, hesitated, drew back, then paused, stooped +down quickly, tenderly touched the soldier’s brow with her lips, and +said: “I’ll do it for you. You shall not be disgraced--Tom.” + + +III + +This was at half-past ten o’clock. At two o’clock a jaded and blown +horse stood before the door of the barracks at Archangel’s Rise. Its +rider, muffled to the chin, was knocking, and at the same time pulling +his cap down closely over his head. “Thank God the night is dusky,” he +said. We have heard that voice before. The hat and cloak are those of +Sergeant Tom, but the voice is that of Jen Galbraith. There is some +danger in this act; danger for her lover, contempt for herself if she +is discovered. Presently the door opens and a corporal appears. “Who’s +there? Oh,” he added, as he caught sight of the familiar uniform; “where +from?” + +“From Fort Desire. Important orders to Inspector Jules. Require fresh +horse to return with; must leave mine here. Have to go back at once.” + +“I say,” said the corporal, taking the papers--“what’s your name?” + +“Gellatly--Sergeant Gellatly.” + +“Say, Sergeant Gellatly, this isn’t accordin’ to Hoyle--come in the +night and go in the night and not stay long enough to have a swear at +the Gover’ment. Why, you’re comin’ in, aren’t you? You’re comin’ across +the door-mat for a cup of coffee and a warm while the horse is gettin’ +ready, aren’t you, Sergeant--Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly? I’ve +heard of you, but--yes; I will hurry. Here, Waugh, this to Inspector +Jules! If you won’t step in and won’t drink and will be unsociable, +sergeant, why, come on and you shall have a horse as good as the one +you’ve brought. I’m Corporal Galna.” + +Jen led the exhausted horse to the stables. Fortunately there was no +lantern used, and therefore little chance for the garrulous corporal to +study the face of his companion, even if he wished to do so. The +risk was considerable; but Jen Galbraith was fired by that spirit +of self-sacrifice which has held a world rocking to destruction on a +balancing point of safety. + +The horse was quickly saddled, Jen meanwhile remaining silent. While she +was mounting, Corporal Galna drew and struck a match to light his +pipe. He held it up for a moment as though to see the face of Sergeant +Gellatly. Jen had just given a good-night, and the horse the word and a +touch of the spur at the instant. Her face, that is, such of it as could +be seen above the cloak and under the cap, was full in the light. +Enough was seen, however, to call forth, in addition to Corporal Galna’s +good-night, the exclamation, “Well, I’m blowed!” + +As Jen vanished into the night a moment after, she heard a voice +calling--not Corporal Galna’s--“Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly!” + She supposed it was Inspector Jules, but she would not turn back now. +Her work was done. + +A half-hour later Corporal Galna confided to Private Waugh that Sergeant +Gellatly was too damned pretty for the force--wondered if they called +him Beauty at Fort Desire--couldn’t call him Pretty Gellatly, for there +was Pretty Pierre who had right of possession to that title--would like +to ask him what soap he used for his complexion--‘twasn’t this yellow +bar-soap of the barracks, which wouldn’t lather, he’d bet his ultimate +dollar. + +Waugh, who had sometime seen Sergeant Gellatly, entered into a +disputation on the point. He said that “Sergeant Tom was good-looking, +a regular Irish thoroughbred; but he wasn’t pretty, not much!--guessed +Corporal Galna had nightmare, and finally, as the interest in the theme +increased in fervour, announced that Sergeant Tom could loosen the teeth +of, and knock the spots off, any man among the Riders, from Archangel’s +Rise to the Cypress Hills. Pretty--not much--thoroughbred all over!” + +And Corporal Galna replied, sarcastically,--“That he might be able for +spot dispersion of such a kind, but he had two as pretty spots on his +cheek, and as white and touch-no-tobacco teeth as any female ever had.” + Private Waugh declared then that Corporal Galna would be saying Sergeant +Gellatly wasn’t a man at all, and wore earrings, and put his hair +into papers; and when he could find no further enlargement of sarcasm, +consigned the Corporal to a fiery place of future torment reserved for +lunatics. + +At this critical juncture Waugh was ordered to proceed to Inspector +Jules. A few minutes after, he was riding away toward Soldier’s Knee, +with the Inspector and another private, to capture Val Galbraith, the +slayer of Snow Devil, while four other troopers also started off in +different directions. + + +IV + +It was six o’clock when Jen drew rein in the yard at Galbraith’s Place. +Through the dank humours of the darkest time of the night she had +watched the first grey streaks of dawn appear. She had caught her breath +with fear at the thought that, by some accident, she might not get back +before seven o’clock, the hour when her father rose. She trembled also +at the supposition of Sergeant Tom awaking and finding his papers gone. +But her fearfulness and excitement was not that of weakness, rather that +of a finely nervous nature, having strong elements of imagination, and, +therefore, great capacities for suffering as for joy; but yet elastic, +vigorous, and possessing unusual powers of endurance. Such natures +rebuild as fast as they are exhausted. In the devitalising time +preceding the dawn she had felt a sudden faintness come over her for a +moment; but her will surmounted it, and, when she saw the ruddy streaks +of pink and red glorify the horizon, she felt a sudden exaltation of +physical strength. She was a child of the light, she loved the warm +flame of the sun, the white gleam of the moon. Holding in her horse to +give him a five minutes’ rest, she rose in her saddle and looked round. +She was alone in her circle of vision, she and her horse. The long +hillocks of prairie rolled away like the sea to the flushed morning, +and the far-off Cypress Hills broke the monotonous skyline of the south. +Already the air was dissipated of its choking weight, and the vast +solitude was filling with that sense of freedom which night seems to +shut in as with four walls, and day to widen gloriously. Tears sprang to +her eyes from a sudden rush of feeling; but her lips were smiling. +The world was so different from what it was yesterday. Something had +quickened her into a glowing life. + +Then she urged the horse on, and never halted till she reached home. She +unsaddled the animal that had shared with her the hardship of the +long, hard ride, hobbled it, and entered the house quickly. No one was +stirring. Sergeant Tom was still asleep. This she saw, as she hurriedly +passed in and laid the cap and cloak where she had found them. Then, +once again, she touched the brow of the sleeper with her lips, and went +to her room to divest herself of Val’s clothes. The thing had been done +without anyone knowing of her absence. But she was frightened as she +looked into the mirror. She was haggard, and her eyes were bloodshot. +Eight hours or nearly in the saddle, at ten miles an hour, had told +on her severely; as well it might. Even a prairie-born woman, however, +understands the art and use of grooming better than a man. Warm water +quickly heated at the gas, with a little acetic acid in it, used +generally for her scouring,--and then cold water with oatmeal flour, +took away in part the dulness and the lines in the flesh. But the eyes! +Jen remembered the vial of tincture of myrrh left by a young Englishman +a year ago, and used by him for refreshing his eyes after a drinking +bout. She got it, tried the tincture, and saw and felt an immediate +benefit. Then she made a cup of strong green tea, and in ten minutes was +like herself again. Now for the horse. She went quickly out where she +could not be seen from the windows of the house, and gave him a rubbing +down till he was quite dry. Then she gave him a little water and some +feed. The horse was really the touchstone of discovery. But Jen trusted +in her star. If the worst came she would tell the tale. It must be told +anyway to Sergeant Tom--but that was different now. Even if the thing +became known it would only be a thing to be teased about by her father +and others, and she could stop that. Poor girl, as though that was the +worst that was to come from her act! + +Sergeant Tom slept deeply and soundly. He had not stirred. His breathing +was unnaturally heavy, Jen thought, but, no suspicion of foul play +came to her mind yet. Why should it? She gave herself up to a sweet and +simple sense of pride in the deed she had done for him, disturbed but +slightly by the chances of discovery, and the remembrance of the match +that showed her face at Archangel’s Rise. Her hands touched the flaxen +hair of the soldier, and her eyes grew luminous. One night had stirred +all her soul to its depths. A new woman had been born in her. Val was +dear to her--her brother Val; but she realised now that another had come +who would occupy a place that neither father, nor brother, nor any other +could fill. Yet it was a most weird set of tragic circumstances. This +man before her had been set to do a task which might deprive her brother +of his life, certainly of his freedom; that would disgrace him; her +father had done a great wrong too, had put in danger the life of the man +she loved, to save his son; she herself in doing this deed for her lover +had placed her brother in jeopardy, had crossed swords with her father’s +purposes, had done the one thing that stood between that father’s son +and safety; Pretty Pierre, whom she hated and despised, and thought +to be the enemy of her brother and of her home, had proved himself a +friend; and behind it all was the brother’s crime committed to avenge an +insult to her name. + +But such is life. Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners, +and the executioners of those they love. + + +V + +An hour passed, and then Galbraith and Pierre appeared. Jen noticed +that her father went over to Sergeant Tom and rather anxiously felt his +pulse. Once in the night the old man had come down and done the same +thing. Pierre said something in an undertone. Did they think he was ill? +That was Jon’s thought. She watched them closely; but the half-breed +knew that she was watching, and the two said nothing more to each other. +But Pierre said, in a careless way: “It is good he have that sleep. He +was played out, quite.” + +Jon replied, a secret triumph at her heart: “But what about his orders, +the papers he was to carry to Archangel’s Rise? What about his being +back at Fort Desire in the time given him?” + +“It is not much matter about the papers. The poor devil that Inspector +Jules would arrest--well, he will get off, perhaps, but that does no +one harm. Eh, Galbraith? The law is sometimes unkind. And as for obeying +orders, why, the prairie is wide, it is a hard ride, horses go wrong;--a +little tale of trouble to Inspector Jules, another at Fort Desire, and +who is to know except Pete Galbraith, Jen Galbraith, and Pierre? Poor +Sergeant Tom. It was good he sleep so.” + +Jen felt there was irony behind the smooth words of the gambler. He had +a habit of saying things, as they express it in that country, between +his teeth. That signifies what is animal-like and cruel. Galbraith stood +silent during Pierre’s remarks, but, when he had finished, said: + +“Yes, it’s all right if he doesn’t sleep too long; but there’s the +trouble--too long!” + +Pierre frowned a warning, and then added, with unconcern: “I remember +when you sleep thirty hours, Galbraith--after the prairie fire, three +years ago, eh!” + +“Well, that’s so; that’s so as you say it. We’ll let him sleep till +noon, or longer--or longer, won’t we, Pierre?” + +“Yes, till noon is good, or longer.” + +“But he shall not sleep longer if I can wake him,” said Jen. “You do not +think of the trouble all this sleeping may make for him.” + +“But then--but then, there is the trouble he will make for others, if he +wakes. Think. A poor devil trying to escape the law!” + +“But we have nothing to do with that, and justice is justice, Pierre.” + +“Eh, well, perhaps, perhaps!” Galbraith was silent. + +Jen felt that so far as Sergeant Tom’s papers were concerned he was +safe; but she felt also that by noon he ought to be on his way back to +Fort Desire--after she had told him what she had done. She was anxious +for his honour. That her lover shall appear well before the world, is a +thing deep in the heart of every woman. It is a pride for which she will +deny herself, even of the presence of that lover. + +“Till noon,” Jen said, “and then he must go.” + + +VI + +Jen watched to see if her father or Pierre would notice that the horse +was changed, had been travelled during the night, or that it was a +different one altogether. As the morning wore away she saw that they +did not notice the fact. This ignorance was perhaps owing largely to the +appearance of several ranchmen from near the American border. They spent +their time in the bar-room, and when they left it was nearly noon. +Still Sergeant Tom slept. Jen now went to him and tried to wake him. +She lifted him to a sitting position, but his head fell on her shoulder. +Disheartened, she laid him down again. But now at last an undefined +suspicion began to take possession of her. It made her uneasy; it filled +her with a vague sense of alarm. Was this sleep natural? She remembered +that, when her father and others had slept so long after the prairie +fire, she had waked them once to give them drink and a little food, and +they did not breathe so heavily as he was doing. Yet what could be done? +What was the matter? There was not a doctor nearer than a hundred miles. +She thought of bleeding,--the old-fashioned remedy still used on the +prairies--but she decided to wait a little. Somehow she felt that she +would receive no help from her father or Pierre. Had they anything to +do with this sleep? Was it connected with the papers? No, not that, +for they had not sought to take them, and had not made any remark about +their being gone. This showed their unconcern on that point. She +could not fathom the mystery, but the suspicion of something irregular +deepened. Her father could have no reason for injuring Sergeant Tom; but +Pretty Pierre--that was another matter. Yet she remembered too that her +father had appeared the more anxious of the two about the Sergeant’s +sleep. She recalled that he said: “Yes, it’s all right, if he doesn’t +sleep too long.” + +But Pierre could play a part, she knew, and could involve others +in trouble, and escape himself. He was a man with a reputation for +occasional wickednesses of a naked, decided type. She knew that he +was possessed of a devil, of a very reserved devil, but liable to bold +action on occasions. She knew that he valued the chances of life or +death no more than he valued the thousand and one other chances of small +importance, which occur in daily experience. It was his creed that one +doesn’t go till the game is done and all the cards are played. He had a +stoic indifference to events. + +He might be capable of poisoning--poisoning! ah, that thought! of +poisoning Sergeant Tom for some cause. But her father? The two seemed to +act alike in the matter. Could her father approve of any harm happening +to Tom? She thought of the meal he had eaten, of the coffee he had +drunk. The coffee-was that the key? But she said to herself that she was +foolish, that her love had made her so. No, it could not be. + +But a fear grew upon her, strive as she would against it. She waited +silently and watched, and twice or thrice made ineffectual efforts +to rouse him. Her father came in once. He showed anxiety; that was +unmistakable, but was it the anxiety of guilt of any kind? She said +nothing. At five o’clock matters abruptly came to a climax. Jen was in +the kitchen, but, hearing footsteps in the sitting-room, she opened the +door quietly. Her father was bending over Sergeant Tom, and Pierre was +speaking: “No, no, Galbraith, it is all right. You are a fool. It could +not kill him.” + +“Kill him--kill him,” she repeated gaspingly to herself. + +“You see he was exhausted; he may sleep for hours yet. Yes, he is safe, +I think.” + +“But Jen, she suspects something, she--” + +“Hush!” said Pretty Pierre. He saw her standing near. She had glided +forward and stood with flashing eyes turned, now upon the one, and now +upon the other. Finally they rested on Galbraith. + +“Tell me what you have done to him; what you and Pretty Pierre have +done to him. You have some secret. I will know.” She leaned forward, +something of the tigress in the poise of her body. “I tell you, I +will know.” Her voice was low, and vibrated with fierceness and +determination. Her eyes glowed, and her nostrils trembled with disdain +and indignation. As they drew back,--the old man sullenly, the gambler +with a slight gesture of impatience,--she came a step nearer to them +and waited, the cords of her shapely throat swelling with excitement. +A moment so, and then she said in a tone that suggested menace, +determination: + +“You have poisoned him. Tell me the truth. Do you hear, father--the +truth, or I will hate you. I will make you repent it till you die.” + +“But--” Pierre began. + +She interrupted him. “Do not speak, Pretty Pierre. You are a devil. You +will lie. Father--!” She waited. “What difference does it make to you, +Jen?” “What difference--what difference to me? That you should be a +murderer?” + +“But that is not so, that is a dream of yours, Ma’m’selle,” said Pierre. + +She turned to her father again. “Father, will you tell the truth to me? +I warn you it will be better for you both.” + +The old man’s brow was sullen, and his lips were twitching nervously. +“You care more for him than you do for your own flesh and blood, Jen. +There’s nothing to get mad about like that. I’ll tell you when he’s +gone. ... Let’s--let’s wake him,” he added, nervously. + +He stooped down and lifted the sleeping man to a sitting posture. Pierre +assisted him. + +Jen saw that the half-breed believed Sergeant Tom could be wakened, and +her fear diminished slightly, if her indignation did not. They lifted +the soldier to his feet. Pierre pressed the point of a pin deep into +his arm. Jen started forward, woman-like, to check the action, but drew +back, for she saw heroic measures might be necessary to bring him to +consciousness. But, nevertheless, her anger broke bounds, and she said: +“Cowards--cowards! What spite made you do this?” + +“Damnation, Jen,” said the father, “you’ll hector me till I make you +sorry. What’s this Irish policeman to you? What’s he beside your own +flesh and blood, I say again.” + +“Why does my own flesh and blood do such wicked tricks to an Irish +soldier? Why does it give poison to an Irish soldier?” + +“Poison, Jen? You needn’t speak so ghost-like. It was only a dose of +laudanum; not enough to kill him. Ask Pierre.” + +Inwardly she believed him, and said a Thank-God to herself, but to the +half-breed she remarked: “Yes, ask Pierre--you are behind all this! +It is some evil scheme of yours. Why did you do it? Tell the truth for +once.” Her eyes swam angrily with Pierre’s. + +Pierre was complacent; he admired her wild attacks. He smiled, and +replied: “My dear, it was a whim of mine; but you need not tell him, all +the same, when he wakes. You see this is your father’s house, though the +whim is mine. But look: he is waking-the pin is good. Some cold water, +quick!” + +The cold water was brought and dashed into the face of the soldier. He +showed signs of returning consciousness. The effect of the laudanum had +been intensified by the thoroughly exhausted condition of the body. + +But the man was perfectly healthy, and this helped to resist the danger +of a fatal result. + +Pierre kept up an intermittent speech. “Yes, it was a mere whim of mine. +Eh, he will think he has been an ass to sleep so long, and on duty, and +orders to carry to Archangel’s Rise!” Here he showed his teeth again, +white and regular like a dog’s. That was the impression they gave, his +lips were so red, and the contrast was so great. One almost expected +to find that the roof of his mouth was black, like that of a well-bred +hound; but there is no evidence available on the point. + +“There, that is good,” he said. “Now set him down, Pete Galbraith. +Yes--so, so! Sergeant Tom, ah, you will wake well, soon. Now the eyes +a little wider. Good. Eh, Sergeant Tom, what is the matter? It is +breakfast time--quite.” + +Sergeant Tom’s eyes opened slowly and looked dazedly before him for a +minute. Then they fell on Pierre. At first there was no recognition, +then they became consciously clearer. “Pretty Pierre, you here in the +barracks!” he said. He put his hand to his head, then rubbed his eyes +roughly and looked up again. This time he saw Jen and her father. His +bewilderment increased. Then he added: “What is the matter? Have I been +asleep? What--!” He remembered. He staggered to his feet and felt his +pockets quickly and anxiously for his letter. It was gone. + +“The letter!” he said. “My orders! Who has robbed me? Faith, I remember. +I could not keep awake after I drank the coffee. My papers are gone, I +tell you, Galbraith,” he said, fiercely. + +Then he turned to Jen: “You are not in this, Jen. Tell me.” + +She was silent for a moment, then was about to answer, when he turned +to the gambler and said: “You are at the bottom of this. Give me my +papers.” But Pierre and Galbraith were as dumbfounded as the Sergeant +himself to know that the letter was gone. They were stunned beyond +speech when Jen said, flushing: “No, Sergeant Tom, I am the thief. When +I could not wake you, I took the letter from your pocket and carried it +to Inspector Jules last night,--or, rather, Sergeant Gellatly carried +them. I wore his cap and cloak and passed for him.” + +“You carried that letter to Inspector Jules last night, Jen”? said the +soldier, all his heart in his voice. + +Jen saw her father blanch, his mouth open blankly, and his lips refuse +to utter the words on them. For the first time she comprehended some +danger to him, to herself--to Val! + +“Father, father,” she said,--“what is it?” + +Pierre shrugged his shoulders and rejoined: “Eh, the devil! Such +mistakes of women. They are fools--all.” The old man put out a shaking +hand and caught his daughter’s arm. His look was of mingled wonder and +despair, as he said, in a gasping whisper, “You carried that letter to +Archangel’s Rise?” + +“Yes,” she answered, faltering now; “Sergeant Tom had said how important +it was, you remember. That it was his duty to take it to Inspector +Jules, and be back within forty-eight hours. He fell asleep. I could not +wake him. I thought, what if he were my brother--our Val. So, when you +and Pretty Pierre went to bed, I put on Val’s clothes, took Sergeant +Tom’s cloak and hat, carried the orders to Jules, and was back here by +six o’clock this morning.” + +Sergeant Tom’s eyes told his tale of gratitude. He made a step towards +her; but the old man, with a strange ferocity, motioned him back, +saying, + +“Go away from this house. Go quick. Go now, I tell you, or by +God,--I’ll--” + +Here Pretty Pierre touched his arm. + +Sergeant Tom drew back, not because he feared but as if to get a +mental perspective of the situation. Galbraith again said to his +daughter,--“Jen, you carried them papers? You! for him--for the Law!” + Then he turned from her, and with hand clenched and teeth set spoke to +the soldier: “Haven’t you heard enough? Curse you, why don’t you go?” + +Sergeant Tom replied coolly: “Not so fast, Galbraith. There’s some +mystery in all this. There’s my sleep to be accounted for yet. You had +some reason, some”--he caught the eyes of Pierre. He paused. A light +began to dawn on his mind, and he looked at Jen, who stood rigidly pale, +her eyes fixed fearfully, anxiously, upon him. She too was beginning to +frame in her mind a possible horror; the thing that had so changed her +father, the cause for drugging the soldier. There was a silence in which +Pierre first, and then all, detected the sound of horses’ hoofs. Pierre +went to the door and looked out. He turned round again, and shrugged +his shoulders with an expression of helplessness. But as he saw Jen was +about to speak, and Sergeant Tom to move towards the door, he put up his +hand to stay them both, and said: “A little--wait!” + +Then all were silent. Jen’s fingers nervously clasped and unclasped, and +her eyes were strained towards the door. Sergeant Tom stood watching +her pityingly; the old man’s head was bowed. The sound of galloping grew +plainer. It stopped. An instant and then three horsemen appeared before +the door. One was Inspector Jules, one was Private Waugh, and the other +between them was--let Jen tell who he was. With an agonised cry she +rushed from the house and threw herself against the saddle, and with her +arms about the prisoner, cried: “Oh, Val, Val, it was you! It was you +they were after. It was you that--oh no, no, no! My poor Val, and I +can’t tell you--I can’t tell you!” + +Great as was her grief and self-reproach, she felt it would be cruel +to tell him the part she had taken in placing him in this position. She +hated herself, but why deepen his misery? His face was pale, but it had +its old, open, fearless look, which dissipation had not greatly +marred. His eyelids quivered, but he smiled, and touching her with his +steel-bound hands, gently said: + +“Never mind, Jen. It isn’t so bad. You see it was this way: Snow Devil +said something about someone that belonged to me, that cares more about +me than I deserve. Well, he died sudden, and I was there at the time. +That’s all. I was trying with the help of Pretty Pierre to get out of +the country”--and he waved his hand towards the half-breed. + +“With Pretty Pierre--Pierre”? she said. + +“Yes, he isn’t all gambler. But they were too quick for me, and here I +am. Jules is a hustler on the march. But he said he’d stop here and let +me see you and dad as we go up to Fort Desire, and--there, don’t mind, +Sis--don’t mind it so!” + +Her sobs had ceased, but she clung to him as if she could never let him +go. Her father stood near her, all the lines in his face deepened into +bitterness. To him Val said: “Why, dad, what’s the matter? Your hand is +shaky. Don’t you get this thing eatin’ at your heart. + +“It isn’t worth it. That Injin would have died if you’d been in my +place, I guess. Between you and me, I expect to give Jules the slip +before we get there.” And he laughed at the Inspector, who laughed a +little austerely too, and in his heart wished that it was anyone else +he had as a prisoner than Val Galbraith, who was a favourite with the +Riders of the Plains. + +Sergeant Tom had been standing in the doorway regarding this scene, and +working out in his mind the complications that had led to it. At this +point he came forward, and Inspector Jules said to him, after a curt +salutation: + +“You were in a hurry last night, Sergeant Gellatly. You don’t seem so +pushed for time now. Usual thing. When a man seems over-zealous--drink, +cards, or women behind it. But your taste is good, even if, under +present circumstances”--He stopped, for he saw a threatening look in the +eyes of the other, and that other said: “We won’t discuss that matter, +Inspector, if you please. I’m going on to Fort Desire now. I couldn’t +have seen you if I’d wanted to last night.” + +“That’s nonsense. If you had waited one minute longer at the barracks +you could have done so. I called to you as you were leaving, but you +didn’t turn back.” + +“No. I didn’t hear you.” + +All were listening to this conversation, and none more curiously than +Private Waugh. Many a time in days to come he pictured the scene for +the benefit of his comrades. Pretty Pierre, leaning against the +hitching-post near the bar-room, said languidly: + +“But, Inspector, he speaks the truth--quite: that is a virtue of the +Riders of the Plains.” Val had his eyes on the half-breed, and a look of +understanding passed between them. While Val and his father and +sister were saying their farewells in few words, but with homely +demonstrations, Sergeant Tom brought his horse round and mounted it. +Inspector Jules gave the word to move on. As they started, Gellatly, who +fell behind the others slightly, leaned down and whispered: “Forgive me, +Jen. You did a noble act for me, and the life of me would prove to you +that I’m grateful. It’s sorry, sorry I am. But I’ll do what I can for +Val, as sure as the heart’s in me. Good-bye, Jen.” + +She looked up with a faint hope in her eyes. “Goodbye!” she said. “I +believe you... Good-bye!” + +In a few minutes there was only a cloud of dust on the prairie to tell +where the Law and its quarry were. And of those left behind, one was a +broken-spirited old man with sorrow melting away the sinister look in +his face; one, a girl hovering between the tempest of bitterness and a +storm of self-reproach; and one a half-breed gambler, who again sat +on the bar-counter smoking a cigarette and singing to himself, as +indolently as if he were not in the presence of a painful drama of life, +perhaps a tragedy. But was the song so pointless to the occasion, after +all, and was the man so abstracted and indifferent as he seemed? For +thus the song ran: + + “Oh, the bird in a cage and the bird on a tree + Voila! ‘tis a different fear! + The maiden weeps and she bends the knee + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + But the bird in a cage has a friend in the tree, + And the maiden she dries her tear: + And the night is dark and no moon you see + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + When the doors are open the bird is free + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!” + + +VII + +These words kept ringing in Jen’s ears as she stood again in the doorway +that night with her face turned to the beacon. How different it seemed +now! When she saw it last night it was a cheerful spirit of light--a +something suggesting comfort, companionship, aspiration, a friend to the +traveller, and a mysterious, but delightful, association. In the morning +when she returned from that fortunate, yet most unfortunate, ride, it +was still burning, but its warm flame was exhausted in the glow of +the life-giving sun; the dream and delight of the night robbed of its +glamour by the garish morning; like her own body, its task done, sinking +before the unrelieved scrutiny of the day. To-night it burned with a +different radiance. It came in fiery palpitations from the earth. It +made a sound that was now like the moan of pine trees, now like the +rumble of far-off artillery. The slight wind that blew spread the +topmost crest of flame into strands of ruddy hair, and, looking at it, +Jen saw herself rocked to and fro by tumultuous emotions, yet fuller of +strength and larger of life than ever she had been. Her hot veins +beat with determination, with a love which she drove back by another, +cherished now more than it had ever been, because danger threatened the +boy to whom she had been as a mother. In twenty-four hours she had grown +to the full stature of love and suffering. + +There were shadows that betrayed less roundness to her face; there were +lines that told of weariness; but in her eyes there was a glowing light +of hope. She raised her face to the stars and unconsciously paraphrasing +Pierre’s song said: “Oh, the God that dost save us, hear!” + +A hand touched her arm, and a voice said, huskily, “Jen, I wanted to +save him and--and not let you know of it; that’s all. You’re not keepin’ +a grudge agin me, my girl?” + +She did not move nor turn her head. “I’ve no grudge, father; but--if--if +you had told me, ‘twouldn’t be on my mind that I had made it worse for +Val.” + +The kindness in the voice reassured him, and he ventured to say: “I +didn’t think you’d be carin’ for one of the Riders of the Plains, Jen.” + +Then the old man trembled lest she should resent his words. She seemed +about to do so, but the flush faded from her brow, and she said, simply: +“I care for Val most, father. But he didn’t know he was getting Val into +trouble.” + +She suddenly quivered as a wave of emotion passed through her; and she +said, with a sob in her voice: “Oh, it’s all scrub country, father, and +no paths, and--and I wish I had a mother!” + +The old man sat down in the doorway and bowed his grey head in his arms. +Then, after a moment, he whispered: + +“She’s been dead twenty-two years, Jen. The day Val was born she went +away. I’d a-been a better man if she’d a-lived, Jen; and a better +father.” + +This was an unusual demonstration between these two. She watched him +sadly for a moment, and then, leaning over and touching him gently on +the shoulder, said: “It’s worse for you than it is for me, father. Don’t +feel so bad. Perhaps we shall save him yet.” + +He caught a gleam of hope in her words: “Mebbe, Jen, mebbe!” and he +raised his face to the light. + +This ritual of affection was crude and unadorned; but it was real. They +sat there for half-an-hour, silent. + +Then a figure came out of the shadows behind the house and stood before +them. It was Pierre. + +“I go to-morrow morning, Galbraith,” he said. The old man nodded, but +did not reply. + +“I go to Fort Desire,” the gambler added. + +Jen faced him. “What do you go there for, Pretty Pierre?” + +“It is my whim. Besides, there is Val. He might want a horse some dark +night.” + +“Pierre, do you mean that?” + +“As much as Sergeant Tom means what he says. Every man has his friends. +Pretty Pierre has a fancy for Val Galbraith--a little. It suits him to +go to Fort Desire. Jen Galbraith, you make a grand ride last night. You +do a bold thing--all for a man. We shall see what he will do for you. +And if he does nothing--ah! you can trust the tongue of Pretty Pierre. +He will wish he could die, instead of--Eh, bien, good-night!” He moved +away. Jen followed him. She held out her hand. It was the first time she +had ever done so to this man. + +“I believe you,” she said. “I believe that you mean well to our Val. +I am sorry that I called you a devil.” He smiled. “Ma’m’selle, that is +nothing. You spoke true. But devils have their friends--and their whims. +So you see, good-night.” + +“Mebbe it will come out all right, Jen--mebbe!” said the old man. + +But Jen did not reply. She was thinking hard, her eyes upon the Prairie +Star. Living life to the hilt greatly illumines the outlook of the mind. +She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute, and that good +is often an occasion more than a condition. + +There was a long silence again. At last the old man rose to go and +reduce the volume of flame for the night; but Jen stopped him. “No, +father, let it burn all it can to-night. It’s comforting.” + +“Mebbe so--mebbe!” he said. + +A faint refrain came to them from within the house: + + “When doors are open the bird is free + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!” + + +VIII + +It was a lovely morning. The prairie billowed away endlessly to the +south, and heaved away in vastness to the north; and the fresh, sharp +air sent the blood beating through the veins. In the bar-room some early +traveller was talking to Peter Galbraith. A wandering band of Indians +was camped about a mile away, the only sign of humanity in the waste. +Jen sat in the doorway culling dried apples. Though tragedies occur in +lives of the humble, they must still do the dull and ordinary task. They +cannot stop to cherish morbidness, to feed upon their sorrow; they must +care for themselves and labour for others. And well is it for them that +it is so. + +The Indian camp brings unpleasant memories to Jen’s mind. She knows it +belongs to old Sun-in-the-North, and that he will not come to see her +now, nor could she, or would she, go to him. Between her and that race +there can never again be kindly communion. And now she sees, for the +first time, two horsemen riding slowly in the track from Fort Desire +towards Galbraith’s Place. She notices that one sits upright, and one +seems leaning forward on his horse’s neck. She shades her eyes with her +hand, but she cannot distinguish who they are. But she has seen men tied +to their horses ride as that man is riding, when stricken with fever, +bruised by falling timber, lacerated by a grizzly, wounded by a bullet, +or crushed by a herd of buffaloes. She remembered at that moment the +time that a horse had struck Val with its forefeet, and torn the flesh +from his chest, and how he had been brought home tied to a broncho’s +back. + +The thought of this drove her into the house, to have Val’s bed prepared +for the sufferer, whoever he was. Almost unconsciously she put on the +little table beside the bed a bunch of everlasting prairie flowers, and +shaded the light to the point of quiet and comfort. + +Then she went outside again. The travellers now were not far away. She +recognised the upright rider. It was Pretty Pierre. The other--she could +not tell. She called to her father. She had a fear which she did +not care to face alone. “See, see, father,” she said, “Pretty Pierre +and--and can it be Val?” For the moment she seemed unable to stir. But +the old man shook his head, and said: “No, Jen, it can’t be. It ain’t +Val.” + +Then another thought possessed her. Her lips trembled, and, throwing +her head back as does a deer when it starts to shake off its pursuers +by flight, she ran swiftly towards the riders. The traveller standing +beside Galbraith said: “That man is hurt, wounded probably. I didn’t +expect to have a patient in the middle of the plains. I’m a doctor. +Perhaps I can be of use here?” When a hundred yards away Jen recognised +the recumbent rider. A thousand thoughts flashed through her brain. What +had happened? Why was he dressed in civilian’s clothes? A moment, and +she was at his horse’s head. Another, and her warm hand clasped the +pale, moist, and wrinkled one which hung by the horse’s neck. His coat +at the shoulder was stained with blood, and there was a handkerchief +about his head. This--this was Sergeant Tom Gellatly! + +She looked up at Pierre, an agony of inquiry in her eyes, and pointing +mutely to the wounded man. Pierre spoke with a tone of seriousness not +common to his voice: “You see, Jen Galbraith, it was brave. Sergeant Tom +one day resigns the Mounted Police. He leaves the Riders of the Plains. +That is not easy to understand, for he is in much favour with the +officers. But he buys himself out, and there is the end of the Sergeant +and his triple chevron. That is one day. That night, two men on a ferry +are crossing the Saskatchewan at Fort Desire. They are fired at from the +shore behind. One man is hit twice. But they get across, cut the ferry +loose, mount horses, and ride away together. The man that was hit--yes, +Sergeant Tom. The other that was not hit was Val Galbraith.” + +Jen gave a cry of mingled joy and pain, and said, with Tom Gellatly’s +cold hand clasped to her bosom: “Val, our Val, is free, is safe.” + +“Yes, Val is free and safe-quite. The Riders of the Plains could not +cross the river. It was too high. And so Tom Gellatly and Val got away. +Val rides straight for the American border, and the other rides here.” + They were now near the house, but Jen said, eagerly: “Go on. Tell me +all.” + +“I knew what had happened soon, and I rode away, too, and last night I +found Tom Gellatly lying beside his horse on the prairie. I have brought +him here to you. You two are even now, Jen Galbraith.” + +They were at the tavern door. The traveller and Pierre lifted, down +the wounded and unconscious man, and brought him and laid him on Val +Galbraith’s bed. + +The traveller examined the wounds in the shoulder and the head, and +said: “The head is all right. If I can get the bullet out of the +shoulder he’ll be safe enough--in time.” + +The surgery was skilful but rude, for proper instruments were not at +hand; and in a few hours he, whom we shall still call Sergeant Tom, lay +quietly sleeping, the pallor gone from his face and the feeling of death +from his hand. + +It was near midnight when he waked. Jen was sitting beside him. He +looked round and saw her. Her face was touched with the light that shone +from the Prairie Star. “Jen,” he said, and held out his hand. + +She turned from the window and stood beside his bed. She took his +outstretched hand. “You are better, Sergeant Tom”? she said, gently. + +“Yes, I’m better; but it’s not Sergeant Tom I am any longer, Jen.” + +“I forgot that.” + +“I owed you a great debt, Jen. I couldn’t remain one of the Riders of +the Plains and try to pay it. I left them. Then I tried to save Val, and +I did. I knew how to do it without getting anyone else into trouble. It +is well to know the trick of a lock and the hour that guard is changed. +I had left, but I relieved guard that night just the same. It was a new +man on watch. It’s only a minute I had; for the regular relief watch was +almost at my heels. I got Val out just in time. They discovered us, and +we had a run for it. Pretty Pierre has told you. That’s right. Val is +safe now--” + +In a low strained voice, interrupting him, she said, “Did Val leave you +wounded so on the prairie?” + +“Don’t let that ate at your heart. No, he didn’t. I hurried him off, and +he didn’t know how bad I was hit. But I--I’ve paid my debt, haven’t I, +Jen?” With eyes that could not see for tears, she touched pityingly, +lovingly, the wounds on his head and shoulder, and said: “These pay a +greater debt than you ever owed me. You risked your life for me--yes, +for me. You have given up everything to do it. I can’t pay you the great +difference. No, never!” + +“Yes--yes, you can, if you will, Jen. It’s as aisy! If you’ll say what I +say, I’ll give you quit of that difference, as you call it, forever and +ever.” + +“First, tell me. Is Val quite, quite safe?” + +“Yes, he’s safe over the border by this time; and to tell you the truth, +the Riders of the Plains wouldn’t be dyin’ to arrest him again if he +was in Canada, which he isn’t. It’s little they wanted to fire at us, I +know, when we were crossin’ the river, but it had to be done, you see, +and us within sight. Will you say what I ask you, Jen?” + +She did not speak, but pressed his hand ever so slightly. + +“Tom Gellatly, I promise,” he said. + +“Tom Gellatly, I promise--” + +“To give you as much--” + +“To give you as much--” + +“Love--” + +There was a pause, and then she falteringly said, “Love--” + +“As you give to me-” + +“As you give to me--” + +“And I’ll take you poor as you are--” + +“And I’ll take you poor as you are--” + +“To be my husband as long as you live--” + +“To be my husband as long as you live--” + +“So help me, God.” + +“So help me, God.” + +She stooped with dropping tears, and he kissed her once. Then what +was girl in her timidly drew back, while what was woman in her, and +therefore maternal, yearned over the sufferer. + +They had not seen the figure of an old man at the door. They did not +hear him enter. They only knew of Peter Galbraith’s presence when he +said: “Mebbe--mebbe I might say Amen!” + + + + +THREE OUTLAWS + +The missionary at Fort Anne of the H. B. C. was violently in earnest. +Before he piously followed the latest and most amply endowed batch of +settlers, who had in turn preceded the new railway to the Fort, the word +scandal had no place in the vocabulary of the citizens. The H. B. C. had +never imported it into the Chinook language, the common meeting-ground +of all the tribes of the North; and the British men and native-born, who +made the Fort their home, or place of sojourn, had never found need for +its use. Justice was so quickly distributed, men were so open in their +conduct, good and bad, that none looked askance, nor put their actions +in ambush, nor studied innuendo. But this was not according to the new +dispensation--that is, the dispensation which shrewdly followed the +settlers, who as shrewdly preceded the railway. And, the dispensation +and the missionary were known also as the Reverend Ezra Badgley, who, +on his own declaration, in times past had “a call” to preach, and in the +far East had served as local preacher, then probationer, then went on +circuit, and now was missionary in a district of which the choice did +credit to his astuteness, and gave room for his piety and for his holy +rage against the Philistines. He loved a word for righteous mouthing, +and in a moment of inspiration pagan and scandal came to him. Upon these +two words he stamped, through them he perspired mightily, and with +them he clenched his stubby fingers--such fingers as dug trenches, or +snatched lewdly at soft flesh, in days of barbarian battle. To him all +men were Pagans who loved not the sound of his voice, nor wrestled with +him in prayer before the Lord, nor fed him with rich food, nor gave him +much strong green tea to drink. But these men were of opaque stuff, and +were not dismayed, and they called him St. Anthony, and with a prophetic +and deadly patience waited. The time came when the missionary shook +his denouncing finger mostly at Pretty Pierre, who carefully nursed his +silent wrath until the occasion should arrive for a delicate revenge +which hath its hour with every man, if, hating, he knows how to bide the +will of Fate. + +The hour came. A girl had been found dying on the roadside beyond the +Fort by the drunken doctor of the place and Pierre. Pierre was with her +when she died. + +“An’ who’s to bury her, the poor colleen”? said Shon McGann afterwards. + +Pierre musingly replied: “She is a Protestant. There is but one man.” + +After many pertinent and vigorous remarks, Shon added, “A Pagan is it, +he calls you, Pierre, you that’s had the holy water on y’r forehead, +and the cross on the water, and that knows the book o’ the Mass like the +cards in a pack? Sinner y’ are, and so are we all, God save us! say I; +and weavin’ the stripes for our backs He may be, and little I’d think of +Him failin’ in that: but Pagan--faith, it’s black should be the white +of the eyes of that preachin’ sneak, and a rattle of teeth in his +throat--divils go round me!” + +The half-breed, still musing, replied: “An eye for an eye, and a tooth +for a tooth--is that it, Shon?” “Nivir a word truer by song or by book, +and stand by the text, say I. For Papist I am, and Papist are you; and +the imps from below in y’r fingers whip poker is the game; and outlaws +as they call us both--you for what it doesn’t concern me, and I for a +wild night in ould Donegal--but Pagan, wurra! whin shall it be, Pierre?” + +“When shall it to be?” + +“True for you. The teeth in his throat and a lump to his eye, and what +more be the will o’ God. Fightin’ there’ll be, av coorse; but by you +I’ll stand, and sorra inch will I give, if they’ll do it with sticks or +with guns, and not with the blisterin’ tongue that’s lied of me and me +frinds--for frind I call you, Pierre, that loved me little in days +gone by. And proud I am not of you, nor you of me; but we’ve tasted the +bitter of avil days together, and divils surround me, if I don’t go down +with you or come up with you, whichever it be! For there’s dirt, as I +say on their tongues, and over their shoulder they look at you, and not +with an eye full front.” + +Pierre was cool, even pensive. His lips parted slightly once or twice, +and showed a row of white, malicious teeth. For the rest, he looked as +if he were politely interested but not moved by the excitement of +the other. He slowly rolled a cigarette and replied: “He says it is a +scandal that I live at Fort Anne. Well, I was here before he came, and I +shall be here after he goes--yes. A scandal--tsh! what is that? You +know the word ‘Raca’ of the Book? Well, there shall be more ‘Raca; +soon--perhaps. No, there shall not be fighting as you think, Shon; +but--” here Pierre rose, came over, and spread his fingers lightly on +Shon’s breast “but this thing is between this man and me, Shon McGann, +and you shall see a great matter. Perhaps there will be blood, perhaps +not--perhaps only an end.” And the half-breed looked up at the Irishman +from under his dark brows so covertly and meaningly that Shon saw +visions of a trouble as silent as a plague, as resistless as a great +flood. This noiseless vengeance was not after his own heart. He almost +shivered as the delicate fingers drummed on his breast. + +“Angels begird me, Pretty Pierre, but it’s little I’d like you for enemy +o’ mine; for I know that you’d wait for y’r foe with death in y’r hand, +and pity far from y’r heart; and y’d smile as you pulled the black-cap +on y’r head, and laugh as you drew the life out of him, God knows how! +Arrah, give me, sez I, the crack of a stick, the bite of a gun, or the +clip of a sabre’s edge, with a shout in y’r mouth the while!” + +Though Pierre still listened lazily, there was a wicked fire in his +eyes. His words now came from his teeth with cutting precision. “I +have a great thought tonight, Shon McGann. I will tell you when we meet +again. But, my friend, one must not be too rash--no, not too brutal. +Even the sabre should fall at the right time, and then swift and still. +Noise is not battle. Well, ‘au revoir!’ To-morrow I shall tell you many +things.” He caught Shon’s hand quickly, as quickly dropped it, and went +out indolently singing a favourite song,--“Voici le sabre de mon Pere!” + +It was dark. Pretty Pierre stood still, and thought for a while. At last +he spoke aloud: “Well, I shall do it, now I have him--so!” And he opened +and shut his hand swiftly and firmly. He moved on, avoiding the more +habited parts of the place, and by a roundabout came to a house standing +very close to the bank of the river. He went softly to the door and +listened. Light shone through the curtain of a window. He went to the +window and looked beneath the curtain. Then he came back to the door, +opened it very gently, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. + +A man seated at a table, eating, rose; a man on whom greed had set its +mark--greed of the flesh, greed of men’s praise, greed of money. His +frame was thick-set, his body was heavily nourished, his eye was shifty +but intelligent; and a close observer would have seen something elusive, +something furtive and sinister, in his face. His lips were greasy with +meat as he stood up, and a fear sprang to his face, so that its fat +looked sickly. But he said hoarsely, and with an attempt at being +brave--“How dare you enter my house with out knocking? What do you +want?” + +The half-breed waved a hand protestingly towards him. “Pardon!” he said. +“Be seated, and finish your meal. Do you know me?” + +“Yes, I know you.” + +“Well, as I said, do not stop your meal. I have come to speak with you +very quietly about a scandal--a scandal, you understand. This is Sunday +night, a good time to talk of such things.” Pierre seated himself at the +table, opposite the man. + +But the man replied: “I have nothing to say to you. You are--” + +The half-breed interrupted: “Yes, I know, a Pagan fattening--” here he +smiled, and looked at his thin hands--“fattening for the shambles of the +damned, as you have said from the pulpit, Reverend Ezra Badgley. But you +will permit me--a sinner as you say--to speak to you like this while you +sit down and eat. I regret to disturb you, but you will sit, eh?” + +Pierre’s tone was smooth and low, almost deferential, and his eyes, wide +open now, and hot with some hidden purpose, were fixed compellingly on +the man. The missionary sat, and, having recovered slightly, fumbled +with a knife and fork. A napkin was still beneath his greasy chin. He +did not take it away. + +Pierre then spoke slowly: “Yes, it is a scandal concerning a sinner--and +a Pagan.... Will you permit me to light a cigarette? Thank you.... You +have said many harsh things about me: well, as you see, I am amiable. I +lived at Fort Anne before you came. They call me Pretty Pierre. Why is +my cheek so? Because I drink no wine; I eat not much. Pardon, pork like +that on your plate--no! no! I do not take green tea as there in your +cup; I do not love women, one or many. Again, pardon, I say.” + +The other drew his brows together with an attempt at pious frowning and +indignation; but there was a cold, sneering smile now turned upon him, +and it changed the frown to anxiety, and made his lips twitch, and the +food he had eaten grow heavy within him. + +“I come to the scandal slowly. The woman? She was a young girl +travelling from the far East, to search for a man who had--spoiled +her. She was found by me and another. Ah, you start so!... Will you not +listen?... Well, she died to-night.” + +Here the missionary gasped, and caught with both hands at the table. + +“But before she died she gave two things into my hands: a packet of +letters--a man is a fool to write such letters--and a small bottle of +poison--laudanum, old-fashioned but sure. The letters were from the +man at Fort Anne--the man, you hear! The other was for her death, if he +would not take her to his arms again. Women are mad when they love. And +so she came to Fort Anne, but not in time. The scandal is great, because +the man is holy--sit down!” + +The half-breed said the last two words sharply, but not loudly. They +both sat down slowly again, looking each other in the eyes. Then Pierre +drew from his pocket a small bottle and a packet of letters, and held +them before him. “I have this to say: there are citizens of Fort Anne +who stand for justice more than law; who have no love for the ways of +St. Anthony. There is a Pagan, too, an outlaw, who knows when it is time +to give blow for blow with the holy man. Well, we understand each other, +‘hein?’” + +The elusive, sinister look in the missionary’s face was etched in strong +lines now. A dogged sullenness hung about his lips. He noticed that +one hand only of Pretty Pierre was occupied with the relics of the dead +girl; the other was free to act suddenly on a hip pocket. “What do you +want me to do”? he said, not whiningly, for beneath the selfish flesh +and shallow outworks there were the elements of a warrior--all pulpy +now, but they were there. + +“This,” was the reply: “for you to make one more outlaw at Fort Anne by +drinking what is in this bottle--sit down, quick, by God!” He placed the +bottle within reach of the other. “Then you shall have these letters; +and there is the fire. After? Well, you will have a great sleep, the +good people will find you, they will bury you, weeping much, and no one +knows here but me. Refuse that, and there is the other, the Law--ah, the +poor girl was so very young!--and the wild Justice which is sometimes +quicker than Law. Well? well?” + +The missionary sat as if paralysed, his face all grey, his eyes fixed on +the half-breed. “Are you man or devil”? he groaned at length. + +With a slight, fantastic gesture Pierre replied: “It was said that a +devil entered into me at birth, but that was mere scandal--‘peut-etre.’ +You shall think as you will.” + +There was silence. The sullenness about the missionary’s lips became +charged with a contempt more animal than human. The Reverend Ezra +Badgley knew that the man before him was absolute in his determination, +and that the Pagans of Fort Anne would show him little mercy, while his +flock would leave him to his fate. He looked at the bottle. The silence +grew, so that the ticking of the watch in the missionary’s pocket could +be heard plainly, having for its background of sound the continuous +swish of the river. Pretty Pierre’s eyes were never taken off the +other, whose gaze, again, was fixed upon the bottle with a terrible +fascination. An hour, two hours, passed. The fire burned lower. It was +midnight; and now the watch no longer ticked; it had fulfilled its day’s +work. The missionary shuddered slightly at this. He looked up to see the +resolute gloom of the half-breed’s eyes, and that sneering smile, fixed +upon him still. Then he turned once more to the bottle.... His heavy +hand moved slowly towards it. His stubby fingers perspired and showed +sickly in the light.... They closed about the bottle. Then suddenly he +raised it, and drained it at a draught. He sighed once heavily and as if +a great inward pain was over. Rising he took the letters silently pushed +towards him, and dropped them into the fire. He went to the window, +raised it, and threw the bottle into the river. The cork was left: +Pierre pointed to it. He took it up with a strange smile and thrust it +into the coals. Then he sat down by the table, leaning his arms upon it, +his eyes staring painfully before him, and the forgotten napkin still +about his neck. Soon the eyes closed, and, with a moan on his lips, his +head dropped forward on his arms.... Pierre rose, and, looking at the +figure soon to be breathless as the baked meats about it, said: “‘Bien,’ +he was not all coward. No.” + +Then he turned and went out into the night. + + + + +SHON McGANN’S TOBOGAN RIDE + + “Oh, it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men; + With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes, + And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen! + + “And it’s back with the ring of the chain and the spur, + And it’s back with the sun on the hill and the moor, + And it’s back is the thought sets my pulses astir! + But I’ll never go back to Farcalladen more.” + +Shon McGann was lying on a pile of buffalo robes in a mountain hut,--an +Australian would call it a humpey,--singing thus to himself with his +pipe between his teeth. In the room, besides Shon, were Pretty Pierre, +Jo Gordineer, the Hon. Just Trafford, called by his companions simply +“The Honourable,” and Prince Levis, the owner of the establishment. Not +that Monsieur Levis, the French Canadian, was really a Prince. The name +was given to him with a humorous cynicism peculiar to the Rockies. +We have little to do with Prince Levis here; but since he may appear +elsewhere, this explanation is made. + +Jo Gordineer had been telling The Honourable about the ghost of Guidon +Mountain, and Pretty Pierre was collaborating with their host in +the preparation of what, in the presence of the Law--that is of the +North-West Mounted Police--was called ginger-tea, in consideration of +the prohibition statute. + +Shon McGann had been left to himself--an unusual thing; for everyone had +a shot at Shon when opportunity occurred; and never a bull’s-eye could +they make on him. His wit was like the shield of a certain personage of +mythology. + +He had wandered on from verse to verse of the song with one eye on the +collaborators and an ear open to The Honourable’s polite exclamations of +wonder. Jo had, however, come to the end of his weird tale--for weird +it certainly was, told at the foot of Guidon Mountain itself, and in +a region of vast solitudes--the pair of chemists were approaching “the +supreme union of unctuous elements,” as The Honourable put it, and in +the silence that fell for a moment there crept the words of the singer: + + “And it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + And it’s swift as an arrow and straight as a spear--” + +Jo Gordineer interrupted. “Say, Shon, when’ll you be through that +tobogan ride of yours? Aint there any end to it?” + +But Shon was looking with both eyes now at the collaborators, and he +sang softly on: + + “And it’s keen as the frost when the summer-time dies, + That we rode to the glen and with never a fear.” + +Then he added: “The end’s cut off, Joey, me boy; but what’s a tobogan +ride, annyway?” + +“Listen to that, Pierre. I’ll be eternally shivered if he knows what a +tobogan ride is!” + +“Hot shivers it’ll be for you, Joey, me boy, and no quinine over the bar +aither,” said Shon. + +“Tell him what a tobogan ride is, Pierre.” + +And Pretty Pierre said: “Eh, well, I will tell you. It is like-no, you +have the word precise, Joseph. Eh? What?” + +Pierre then added something in French. Shon did not understand it, but +he saw The Honourable smile, so with a gentle kind of contempt he went +on singing: + + “And it’s hey for the hedge, and it’s hey for the wall! + And it’s over the stream with an echoing cry; + And there’s three fled for ever from old Donegal, + And there’s two that have shown how bold Irishmen die.” + +The Honourable then said, “What is that all about, Shon? I never heard +the song before.” + +“No more you did. And I wish I could see the lad that wrote that song, +livin’ or dead. If one of ye’s will tell me about your tobogan rides, +I’ll unfold about Farcalladen Rise.” + +Prince Levis passed the liquor. Pretty Pierre, seated on a candle-box, +with a glass in his delicate fingers, said: “Eh, well, the Honourable +has much language. He can speak, precise--this would be better with a +little lemon, just a little,--the Honourable, he, perhaps, will tell. +Eh?” + +Pretty Pierre was showing his white teeth. At this stage in his career, +he did not love the Honourable. The Honourable understood that, but he +made clear to Shon’s mind what toboganing is. + +And Shon, on his part, with fresh and hearty voice, touched here and +there by a plaintive modulation, told about that ride on Farcalladen +Rise; a tale of broken laws, and fight and fighting, and death and +exile; and never a word of hatred in it all. + +“And the writer of the song, who was he”? asked the Honourable. + +“A gentleman after God’s own heart. Heaven rest his soul, if he’s dead, +which I’m thinkin’ is so, and give him the luck of the world if he’s +livin’, say I. But it’s little I know what’s come to him. In the heart +of Australia I saw him last; and mates we were together after gold. And +little gold did we get but what was in the heart of him. And we parted +one day, I carryin’ the song that he wrote for me of Farcalladen Rise, +and the memory of him; and him givin’ me the word, ‘I’ll not forget you, +Shon, me boy, whatever comes; remember that. And a short pull of the +Three-Star together for the partin’ salute,’ says he. And the Three-Star +in one sup each we took, as solemn as the Mass, and he went away towards +Cloncurry and I to the coast; and that’s the last that I saw of him, now +three years gone. And here I am, and I wish I was with him wherever he +is.” + +“What was his name”? said the Honourable. + +“Lawless.” + +The fingers of the Honourable trembled on his cigar. “Very interesting, +Shon,” he said, as he rose, puffing hard till his face was in a cloud of +smoke. “You had many adventures together, I suppose,” he continued. + +“Adventures we had and sufferin’ bewhiles, and fun, too, to the neck and +flowin’ over.” + +“You’ll spin us a long yarn about them another night, Shon”? said the +Honourable. + +“I’ll do it now--a yarn as long as the lies of the Government; and proud +of the chance.” + +“Not to-night, Shon” (there was a kind of huskiness in the voice of the +Honourable); “it’s time to turn in. We’ve a long tramp over the glacier +to-morrow, and we must start at sunrise.” + +The Honourable was in command of the party, though Jo Gordineer was +the guide, and all were, for the moment, miners, making for the little +Goshen Field over in Pipi Valley.--At least Pretty Pierre said he was a +miner. + +No one thought of disputing the authority of the Honourable, and they +all rose. + +In a few minutes there was silence in the hut, save for the oracular +breathing of Prince Levis and the sparks from the fire. But the +Honourable did not sleep well; he lay and watched the fire through most +of the night. + +The day was clear, glowing, decisive. Not a cloud in the curve of azure, +not a shiver of wind down the canon, not a frown in Nature, if we except +the lowering shadows from the shoulders of the giants of the range. +Crowning the shadows was a splendid helmet of light, rich with the +dyes of the morning; the pines were touched with a brilliant if austere +warmth. The pride of lofty lineage and severe isolation was regnant over +all. And up through the splendour, and the shadows, and the loneliness, +and the austere warmth, must our travellers go. Must go? Scarcely that, +but the Honourable had made up his mind to cross the glacier and none +sought to dissuade him from his choice; the more so, because there was +something of danger in the business. Pretty Pierre had merely shrugged +his shoulders at the suggestion, and had said: + +“‘Nom de Dieu,’ the higher we go the faster we live, that is something.” + +“Sometimes we live ourselves to death too quickly. In my schooldays I +watched a mouse in a jar of oxygen do that;” said the Honourable. + +“That is the best way to die,” remarked the halfbreed--“much.” + +Jo Gordineer had been over the path before. He was confident of the way, +and proud of his office of guide. + +“Climb Mont Blanc, if you will,” said the Honourable, “but leave me +these white bastions of the Selkirks.” + +Even so. They have not seen the snowy hills of God who have yet to look +upon the Rocky Mountains, absolute, stupendous, sublimely grave. + +Jo Gordineer and Pretty Pierre strode on together. They being well away +from the other two, the Honourable turned and said to Shon: “What was +the name of the man who wrote that song of yours, again, Shon?” + +“Lawless.” + +“Yes, but his first name?” + +“Duke--Duke Lawless.” + +There was a pause, in which the other seemed to be intently studying the +glacier above them. Then he said: “What was he like?--in appearance, I +mean.” + +“A trifle more than your six feet, about your colour of hair and eyes, +and with a trick of smilin’ that would melt the heart of an exciseman, +and O’Connell’s own at a joke, barrin’ a time or two that he got hold of +a pile of papers from the ould country. By the grave of St. Shon! thin +he was as dry of fun as a piece of blotting paper. And he said at last, +before he was aisy and free again, ‘Shon,’ says he, ‘it’s better to burn +your ships behind ye, isn’t it?’ + +“And I, havin’ thought of a glen in ould Ireland that I’ll never see +again, nor any that’s in it, said: ‘Not, only burn them to the water’s +edge, Duke Lawless, but swear to your own soul that they never lived but +in the dreams of the night.’ + +“‘You’re right there, Shon,’ says he, and after that no luck was bad +enough to cloud the gay heart of him, and bad enough it was sometimes.” + +“And why do you fear that he is not alive?” + +“Because I met an old mate of mine one day on the Frazer, and he said +that Lawless had never come to Cloncurry; and a hard, hard road it was +to travel.” + +Jo Gordineer was calling to them, and there the conversation ended. In +a few minutes the four stood on the edge of the glacier. Each man had a +long hickory stick which served as alpenstock, a bag hung at his side, +and tied to his back was his gold-pan, the hollow side in, of course. +Shon’s was tied a little lower down than the others. + +They passed up this solid river of ice, this giant power at endless +strife with the high hills, up towards its head. The Honourable was the +first to reach the point of vantage, and to look down upon the vast and +wandering fissures, the frigid bulwarks, the great fortresses of ice, +the ceaseless snows, the aisles of this mountain sanctuary through which +Nature’s splendid anthems rolled. Shon was a short distance below, with +his hand over his eyes, sweeping the semi-circle of glory. + +Suddenly there was a sharp cry from Pierre: “Mon Dieu! Look!” + +Shon McGann had fallen on a smooth pavement of ice. The gold-pan was +beneath him, and down the glacier he was whirled-whirled, for Shon +had thrust his heels in the snow and ice, and the gold-pan performed a +series of circles as it sped down the incline. His fingers clutched the +ice and snow, but they only left a red mark of blood behind. Must he go +the whole course of that frozen slide, plump into the wild depths below? + +“‘Mon Dieu!--mon Dieu!’” said Pretty Pierre, piteously. The face of the +Honourable was set and tense. + +Jo Gordineer’s hand clutched his throat as if he choked. Still Shon +sped. It was a matter of seconds only. The tragedy crowded to the awful +end. + +But, no. + +There was a tilt in the glacier, and the gold-pan, suddenly swirling, +again swung to the outer edge, and shot over. + +As if hurled from a catapult, the Irishman was ejected from the white +monster’s back. He fell on a wide shelf of ice, covered with light snow, +through which he was tunnelled, and dropped on another ledge below, near +the path by which he and his companions had ascended. “Shied from the +finish, by God!” said Jo Gordineer. “‘Le pauvre Shon!’” added Pretty +Pierre. + +The Honourable was making his way down, his brain haunted by the words, +“He’ll never go back to Farcalladen more.” + +But Jo was right. + +For Shon McGann was alive. He lay breathless, helpless, for a moment; +then he sat up and scanned his lacerated fingers: he looked up the path +by which he had come; he looked down the path he seemed destined to go; +he started to scratch his head, but paused in the act, by reason of his +fingers. + +Then he said: “It’s my mother wouldn’t know me from a can of cold meat +if I hadn’t stopped at this station; but wurrawurra, what a car it was +to come in!” He examined his tattered clothes and bare elbows; then he +unbuckled the gold-pan, and no easy task was it with his ragged fingers. +“‘Twas not for deep minin’ I brought ye,” he said to the pan, “nor for +scrapin’ the clothes from me back.” + +Just then the Honourable came up. “Shon, my man... alive, thank God! How +is it with you?” + +“I’m hardly worth the lookin’ at. I wouldn’t turn my back to ye for a +ransom.” + +“It’s enough that you’re here at all.” + +“Ah, ‘voila!’ this Irishman!” said Pretty Pierre, as his light fingers +touched Shon’s bruised arm gently. This from Pretty Pierre! + +There was that in the voice which went to Shon’s heart. Who could have +guessed that this outlaw of the North would ever show a sign of sympathy +or friendship for anybody? But it goes to prove that you can never be +exact in your estimate of character. Jo Gordineer only said jestingly: +“Say, now, what are you doing, Shon, bringing us down here, when we +might be well into the Valley by this time?” + +“That in your face and the hair aff your head,” said Shon; “it’s little +you know a tobogan ride when you see one. I’ll take my share of the +grog, by the same token.” + +The Honourable uncorked his flask. Shon threw back his head with a +laugh. + + “For it’s rest when the gallop is over, me men! + And it’s here’s to the lads that have ridden their last; + And it’s here’s--” + +But Shon had fainted with the flask in his hand and this snatch of a +song on his lips. + +They reached shelter that night. Had it not been for the accident, they +would have got to their destination in the Valley; but here they were +twelve miles from it. Whether this was fortunate or unfortunate may be +seen later. Comfortably bestowed in this mountain tavern, after they had +toasted and eaten their venison and lit their pipes, they drew about the +fire. + +Besides the four, there was a figure that lay sleeping in a corner on a +pile of pine branches, wrapped in a bearskin robe. Whoever it was slept +soundly. + +“And what was it like--the gold-pan flyer--the tobogan ride, Shon?” + remarked Jo Gordineer. + +“What was it like?--what was it like”? replied Shon. “Sure, I couldn’t +see what it was like for the stars that were hittin’ me in the eyes. +There wasn’t any world at all. I was ridin’ on a streak of lightnin’, +and nivir a rubber for the wheels; and my fingers makin’ stripes of +blood on the snow; and now the stars that were hittin’ me were white, +and thin they were red, and sometimes blue--” + +“The Stars and Stripes,” inconsiderately remarked Jo Gordineer. + +“And there wasn’t any beginning to things, nor any end of them; and +whin I struck the snow and cut down the core of it like a cat through a +glass, I was willin’ to say with the Prophet of Ireland--” + +“Are you going to pass the liniment, Pretty Pierre?” It was Jo Gordineer +said that. + +What the Prophet of Israel did say--Israel and Ireland were identical to +Shon--was never told. + +Shon’s bubbling sarcasm was full-stopped by the beneficent savour that, +rising now from the hands of the four, silenced all irrelevant speech. +It was a function of importance. It was not simply necessary to say +How! or Here’s reformation! or I look towards you! As if by a common +instinct, the Honourable, Jo Gordineer, and Pretty Pierre, turned +towards Shon and lifted their glasses. Jo Gordineer was going to say: +“Here’s a safe foot in the stirrups to you,” but he changed his mind and +drank in silence. + +Shon’s eye had been blazing with fun, but it took on, all at once, a +misty twinkle. None of them had quite bargained for this. The feeling +had come like a wave of soft lightning, and had passed through them. Did +it come from the Irishman himself? Was it his own nature acting through +those who called him “partner”? + +Pretty Pierre got up and kicked savagely at the wood in the big +fireplace. He ostentatiously and needlessly put another log of +Norfolk-pine upon the fire. + +The Honourable gaily suggested a song. + +“Sing us ‘Avec les Braves Sauvages,’ Pierre,” said Jo Gordineer. + +But Pierre waved his fingers towards Shon: “Shon, his song--he did not +finish--on the glacier. It is good we hear all. ‘Hein?’” + +And so Shon sang: + + “Oh it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise.” + +The sleeper on the pine branches stirred nervously, as if the song were +coming through a dream to him. At the third verse he started up, and an +eager, sun-burned face peered from the half-darkness at the singer. The +Honourable was sitting in the shadow, with his back to the new actor in +the scene. + + “For it’s rest when the gallop is over, my men I + And it’s here’s to the lads that have ridden their last! + And it’s here’s--” + +Shon paused. One of those strange lapses of memory came to him which +come at times to most of us concerning familiar things. He could get no +further than he did on the mountain side. He passed his hand over his +forehead, stupidly:--“Saints forgive me; but it’s gone from me, and +sorra the one can I get it; me that had it by heart, and the lad that +wrote it far away. Death in the world, but I’ll try it again! + + “For it’s rest when the gallop is over, my men! + And it’s here’s to the lads that have ridden their last! + And it’s here’s--” + +Again he paused. + +But from the half-darkness there came a voice, a clear baritone: + + “And here’s to the lasses we leave in the glen, + With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past.” + +At the last words the figure strode down into the firelight. + +“Shon, old friend, don’t you know me?” + +Shon had started to his feet at the first note of the voice, and stood +as if spellbound. + +There was no shaking of hands. Both men held each other hard by the +shoulders, and stood so for a moment looking steadily eye to eye. + +Then Shon said: “Duke Lawless, there’s parallels of latitude and +parallels of longitude, but who knows the tomb of ould Brian Borhoime?” + +Which was his way of saying, “How come you here”? Duke Lawless turned +to the others before he replied. His eyes fell on the Honourable. With +a start and a step backward, and with a peculiar angry dryness in his +voice, he said: + +“Just Trafford!” + +“Yes,” replied the Honourable, smiling, “I have found you.” + +“Found me! And why have you sought me? Me, Duke Lawless? I should have +thought--” + +The Honourable interrupted: “To tell you that you are Sir Duke Lawless.” + +“That? You sought me to tell me that?” + +“I did.” + +“You are sure? And for naught else?” + +“As I live, Duke.” + +The eyes fixed on the Honourable were searching. Sir Duke hesitated, +then held out his hand. In a swift but cordial silence it was taken. +Nothing more could be said then. It is only in plays where gentlemen +freely discuss family affairs before a curious public. Pretty Pierre was +busy with a decoction. Jo Gordineer was his associate. Shon had drawn +back, and was apparently examining the indentations on his gold-pan. + +“Shon, old fellow, come here,” said Sir Duke Lawless. + +But Shon had received a shock. “It’s little I knew Sir Duke Lawless--” + he said. + +“It’s little you needed to know then, or need to know now, Shon, my +friend. I’m Duke Lawless to you here and henceforth, as ever I was then, +on the wallaby track.” + +And Shon believed him. The glasses were ready. + +“I’ll give the toast,” said the Honourable with a gentle gravity. “To +Shon McGann and his Tobogan Ride!” + +“I’ll drink to the first half of it with all my heart,” said Sir Duke. +“It’s all I know about.” + +“Amen to that divorce,” rejoined Shon. + +“But were it not for the Tobogan Ride we shouldn’t have stopped here,” + said the Honourable; “and where would this meeting have been?” + +“That alters the case,” Sir Duke remarked. “I take back the ‘Amen,’” + said Shon. + + + +II + +Whatever claims Shon had upon the companionship of Sir Duke Lawless, he +knew there were other claims that were more pressing. After the toast +was finished, with an emphasised assumption of weariness, and a hint of +a long yarn on the morrow, he picked up his blanket and started for the +room where all were to sleep. The real reason of this early departure +was clear to Pretty Pierre at once, and in due time it dawned upon Jo +Gordineer. + +The two Englishmen, left alone, sat for a few moments silent and smoking +hard. Then the Honourable rose, got his knapsack, and took out a small +number of papers, which he handed to Sir Duke, saying, “By slow postal +service to Sir Duke Lawless. Residence, somewhere on one of five +continents.” + +An envelope bearing a woman’s writing was the first thing that met Sir +Duke’s eye. He stared, took it out, turned it over, looked curiously at +the Honourable for a moment, and then began to break the seal. + +“Wait, Duke. Do not read that. We have something to say to each other +first.” + +Sir Duke laid the letter down. “You have some explanation to make,” he +said. + +“It was so long ago; mightn’t it be better to go over the story again?” + +“Perhaps.” + +“Then it is best you should tell it. I am on my defence, you know.” + +Sir Duke leaned back, and a frown gathered on his forehead. Strikingly +out of place on his fresh face it seemed. Looking quickly from the fire +to the face of the Honourable and back again earnestly, as if the full +force of what was required came to him, he said: “We shall get the +perspective better if we put the tale in the third person. Duke Lawless +was the heir to the title and estates of Trafford Court. Next in +succession to him was Just Trafford, his cousin. Lawless had an income +sufficient for a man of moderate tastes. Trafford had not quite that, +but he had his profession of the law. At college they had been fast +friends, but afterwards had drifted apart, through no cause save +difference of pursuits and circumstances. Friends they still were +and likely to be so always. One summer, when on a visit to his uncle, +Admiral Sir Clavel Lawless, at Trafford Court, where a party of people +had been invited for a month, Duke Lawless fell in love with Miss Emily +Dorset. She did him the honour to prefer him to any other man--at +least, he thought so. Her income, however, was limited like his own. The +engagement was not announced, for Lawless wished to make a home before +he took a wife. He inclined to ranching in Canada, or a planter’s life +in Queensland. The eight or ten thousand pounds necessary was not, +however, easy to get for the start, and he hadn’t the least notion of +discounting the future, by asking the admiral’s help. Besides, he knew +his uncle did not wish him to marry unless he married a woman plus +a fortune. While things were in this uncertain state, Just Trafford +arrived on a visit to Trafford Court. The meeting of the old friends +was cordial. Immediately on Trafford’s arrival, however, the current +of events changed. Things occurred which brought disaster. It was +noticeable that Miss Emily Dorset began to see a deal more of Admiral +Lawless and Just Trafford, and a deal less of the younger Lawless. One +day Duke Lawless came back to the house unexpectedly, his horse having +knocked up on the road. On entering the library he saw what turned the +course of his life.” Sir Duke here paused, sighed, shook the ashes out +of his pipe with a grave and expressive anxiety which did not properly +belong to the action, and remained for a moment, both arms on his knees, +silent, and looking at the fire. Then he continued: + +“Just Trafford sat beside Emily Dorset in an attitude of--say, +affectionate consideration. She had been weeping, and her whole manner +suggested very touching confidences. They both rose on the entrance of +Lawless; but neither tried to say a word. What could they say? Lawless +apologised, took a book from the table which he had not come for, and +left.” + +Again Sir Duke paused. + +“The book was an illustrated Much Ado About Nothing,” said the +Honourable. + +“A few hours after, Lawless had an interview with Emily Dorset. He +demanded, with a good deal of feeling, perhaps,--for he was romantic +enough to love the girl,--an explanation. He would have asked it of +Trafford first if he had seen him. She said Lawless should trust her; +that she had no explanation at that moment to give. If he waited--but +Lawless asked her if she cared for him at all, if she wished or intended +to marry him? She replied lightly, ‘Perhaps, when you become Sir Duke +Lawless.’ Then Lawless accused her of heartlessness, and of encouraging +both his uncle and Just Trafford. She amusingly said, ‘Perhaps she +had, but it really didn’t matter, did it?’ For reply, Lawless said her +interest in the whole family seemed active and impartial. He bade her +not vex herself at all about him, and not to wait until he became Sir +Duke Lawless, but to give preference to seniority and begin with the +title at once; which he has reason since to believe that she did. What +he said to her he has been sorry for, not because he thinks it was +undeserved, but because he has never been able since to rouse himself +to anger on the subject, nor to hate the girl and Just Trafford as +he ought. Of the dead he is silent altogether. He never sought an +explanation from Just Trafford, for he left that night for London, and +in two days was on his way to Australia. The day he left, however, he +received a note from his banker saying that L8000 had been placed to his +credit by Admiral Lawless. Feeling the indignity of what he believed was +the cause of the gift, Lawless neither acknowledged it nor used it, +not any penny of it. Five years have gone since then, and Lawless has +wandered over two continents, a self-created exile. He has learned much +that he didn’t learn at Oxford; and not the least of all, that the world +is not so bad as is claimed for it, that it isn’t worth while hating and +cherishing hate, that evil is half-accidental, half-natural, and that +hard work in the face of nature is the thing to pull a man together and +strengthen him for his place in the universe. Having burned his ships +behind him, that is the way Lawless feels. And the story is told.” + +Just Trafford sat looking musingly but imperturbably at Sir Duke for a +minute; then he said: + +“That is your interpretation of the story, but not the story. Let us +turn the medal over now. And, first, let Trafford say that he has the +permission of Emily Dorset--” + +Sir Duke interrupted: “Of her who was Emily Dorset.” + +“Of Miss Emily Dorset, to tell what she did not tell that day five years +ago. After this other reading of the tale has been rendered, her letter +and those documents are there for fuller testimony. Just Trafford’s part +in the drama begins, of course, with the library scene. Now Duke Lawless +had never known Trafford’s half-brother, Hall Vincent. Hall was born +in India, and had lived there most of his life. He was in the Indian +Police, and had married a clever, beautiful, but impossible kind of +girl, against the wishes of her parents. The marriage was not a very +happy one. This was partly owing to the quick Lawless and Trafford +blood, partly to the wife’s wilfulness. Hall thought that things might +go better if he came to England to live. On their way from Madras +to Colombo he had some words with his wife one day about the way she +arranged her hair, but nothing serious. This was shortly after tiffin. +That evening they entered the harbour at Colombo; and Hall going to his +cabin to seek his wife, could not find her; but in her stead was her +hair, arranged carefully in flowing waves on the pillow, where through +the voyage her head had lain. That she had cut it off and laid it there +was plain; but she could not be found, nor was she ever found. The large +porthole was open; this was the only clue. But we need not go further +into that. Hall Vincent came home to England. He told his brother the +story as it has been told to you, and then left for South America, a +broken-spirited man. The wife’s family came on to England also. They did +not meet Hall Vincent; but one day Just Trafford met at a country seat +in Devon, for the first time, the wife’s sister. She had not known +of the relationship between Hall Vincent and the Traffords; and on a +memorable afternoon he told her the full story of the married life and +the final disaster, as Hall had told it to him.” + +Sir Duke sprang to his feet. “You mean, Just, that--” + +“I mean that Emily Dorset was the sister of Hall Vincent’s wife.” + +Sir Duke’s brown fingers clasped and unclasped nervously. He was about +to speak, but the Honourable said: “That is only half the story--wait. + +“Emily Dorset would have told Lawless all in due time, but women don’t +like to be bullied ever so little, and that, and the unhappiness of the +thing, kept her silent in her short interview with Lawless. She could +not have guessed that Lawless would go as he did. Now, the secret of her +diplomacy with the uncle--diplomacy is the best word to use--was Duke +Lawless’s advancement. She knew how he had set his heart on the ranching +or planting life. She would have married him without a penny, but she +felt his pride in that particular, and respected it. So, like a clever +girl, she determined to make the old chap give Lawless a cheque on his +possible future. Perhaps, as things progressed, the same old chap got an +absurd notion in his head about marrying her to Just Trafford, but that +was meanwhile all the better for Lawless. The very day that Emily Dorset +and Just Trafford succeeded in melting Admiral Lawless’s heart to the +tune of eight thousand, was the day that Duke Lawless doubted his friend +and challenged the loyalty of the girl he loved.” + +Sir Duke’s eyes filled. “Great Heaven! Just--” he said. + +“Be quiet for a little. You see she had taken Trafford into her scheme +against his will, for he was never good at mysteries and theatricals, +and he saw the danger. But the cause was a good one, and he joined +the sweet conspiracy, with what result these five years bear witness. +Admiral Lawless has been dead a year and a half, his wife a year. For +he married out of anger with Duke Lawless; but he did not marry Emily +Dorset, nor did he beget a child.” + +“In Australia I saw a paragraph speaking of a visit made by him and Lady +Lawless to a hospital, and I thought--” + +“You thought he had married Emily Dorset and--well, you had better read +that letter now.” + +Sir Duke’s face was flushing with remorse and pain. He drew his hand +quickly across his eyes. “And you’ve given up London, your profession, +everything, just to hunt for me, to tell me this--you who would have +profited by my eternal absence! What a beast and ass I’ve been!” + +“Not at all; only a bit poetical and hasty, which is not unnatural in +the Lawless blood. I should have been wild myself, maybe, if I had been +in your position; only I shouldn’t have left England, and I should have +taken the papers regularly and have asked the other fellow to explain. +The other fellow didn’t like the little conspiracy. Women, however, seem +to find that kind of thing a moral necessity. By the way, I wish when +you go back you’d send me out my hunting traps. I’ve made up my mind +to--oh, quite so--read the letter--I forgot!” + +Sir Duke opened the letter and read it, putting it away from him now and +then as if it hurt him, and taking it up a moment after to continue the +reading. The Honourable watched him. + +At last Sir Duke rose. “Just--” + +“Yes? Go on.” + +“Do you think she would have me now?” + +“Don’t know. Your outfit is not so beautiful as it used to be.” + +“Don’t chaff me.” + +“Don’t be so funereal, then.” + +Under the Honourable’s matter of fact air Sir Duke’s face began to +clear. “Tell me, do you think she still cares for me?” + +“Well, I don’t know. She’s rich now--got the grandmother’s stocking. +Then there’s Pedley, of the Scots Guards; he has been doing loyal +service for a couple of years. What does the letter say?” + +“It only tells the truth, as you have told it to me, but from her +standpoint; not a word that says anything but beautiful reproach and +general kindness. That is all.” + +“Quite so. You see it was all four years ago, and Pedley--” + +But the Honourable paused. He had punished his friend enough. He stepped +forward and laid his hand on Sir Duke’s shoulder. “Duke, you want to +pick up the threads where they were dropped. You dropped them. Ask me +nothing about the ends that Emily Dorset held. I conspire no more. +But go you and learn your fate. If one remembers, why should the other +forget?” + +Sir Duke’s light heart and eager faith came back with a rush. “I’ll +start for England at once. I’ll know the worst or the best of it before +three months are out.” The Honourable’s slow placidity turned. + +“Three months.--Yes, you may do it in that time. Better go from Victoria +to San Francisco and then overland. You’ll not forget about my hunting +traps, and--oh, certainly, Gordineer; come in.” + +“Say,” said Gordineer. “I don’t want to disturb the meeting, but Shon’s +in chancery somehow; breathing like a white pine, and thrashing about! +He’s red-hot with fever.” + +Before he had time to say more, Sir Duke seized the candle and entered +the room. Shon was moving uneasily and suppressing the groans that shook +him. “Shon, old friend, what is it?” + +“It’s the pain here, Lawless,” laying his hand on his chest. + +After a moment Sir Duke said, “Pneumonia!” + +From that instant thoughts of himself were sunk in the care and thought +of the man who in the heart of Queensland had been mate and friend and +brother to him. He did not start for England the next day, nor for many +a day. + +Pretty Pierre and Jo Gordineer and his party carried Sir Duke’s letters +over into the Pipi Valley, from where they could be sent on to the +coast. Pierre came back in a few days to see how Shon was, and expressed +his determination of staying to help Sir Duke, if need be. + +Shon hovered between life and death. It was not alone the pneumonia that +racked his system so; there was also the shock he had received in his +flight down the glacier. In his delirium he seemed to be always with +Lawless: + +“‘For it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise’--It’s share and share +even, Lawless, and ye’ll ate the rest of it, or I’ll lave ye--Did ye +say ye’d found water--Lawless--water!--Sure you’re drinkin’ none +yourself--I’ll sing it again for you then--‘And it’s back with the ring +of the chain and the spur’--‘But burn all your ships behind you’--‘I’ll +never go back to Farcalladen more!’” + +Sir Duke’s fingers had a trick of kindness, a suggestion of comfort, +a sense of healing, that made his simple remedies do more than natural +duty. He was doctor, nurse,--sleepless nurse,--and careful apothecary. +And when at last the danger was past and he could relax watching, he +would not go, and he did not go, till they could all travel to the Pipi +Valley. + +In the blue shadows of the firs they stand as we take our leave of one +of them. The Honourable and Sir Duke have had their last words, and Sir +Duke has said he will remember about the hunting traps. They understand +each other. There is sunshine in the face of all--a kind of Indian +summer sunshine, infused with the sadness of a coming winter; and theirs +is the winter of parting. Yet it is all done quietly. + +“We’ll meet again, Shon,” said Sir Duke, “and you’ll remember your +promise to write to me.” + +“I’ll keep my promise, and I hope the news that’ll please you best is +what you’ll send us first from England. And if you should go to ould +Donegal--I’ve no words for me thoughts at all!” + +“I know them. Don’t try to say them. We’ve not had the luck together, +all kinds and all weathers, for nothing.” + +Sir Duke’s eyes smiled a good-bye into the smiling eyes of Shon. They +were much alike, these two, whose stations were so far apart. Yet +somewhere, in generations gone, their ancestors may have toiled, +feasted, or governed, in the same social hemisphere; and here in the +mountains life was levelled to one degree again. + +Sir Duke looked round. The pines were crowding up elate and warm towards +the peaks of the white silence. The river was brawling over a broken +pathway of boulders at their feet; round the edge of a mighty mountain +crept a mule train; a far-off glacier glistened harshly in the lucid +morning, yet not harshly either, but with the rugged form of a vast +antiquity, from which these scarred and grimly austere hills had grown. +Here Nature was filled with a sense of triumphant mastery--the mastery +of ageless experience. And down the great piles there blew a wind of +stirring life, of the composure of great strength, and touched the four, +and the man that mounted now was turned to go. A quick good-bye from him +to all; a God-speed-you from the Honourable; a wave of the hand between +the rider and Shon, and Sir Duke Lawless was gone. + +“You had better cook the last of that bear this morning, Pierre,” said +the Honourable. And their life went on. + + ........................ + +It was eight months after that, sitting in their hut after a day’s +successful mining, the Honourable handed Shon a newspaper to read. A +paragraph was marked. It concerned the marriage of Miss Emily Dorset and +Sir Duke Lawless. + +And while Shon read, the Honourable called into the tent: “Have you any +lemons for the whisky, Pierre?” + +A satisfactory reply being returned, the Honourable proceeded: “We’ll +begin with the bottle of Pommery, which I’ve been saving months for +this.” + +The royal-flush toast of the evening belonged to Shon. + +“God bless him! To the day when we see him again!” + +And all of them saw that day. + + + + +PERE CHAMPAGNE + +“Is it that we stand at the top of the hill and the end of the travel +has come, Pierre? Why don’t you spake?” + +“We stand at the top of the hill, and it is the end.” + +“And Lonely Valley is at our feet and Whiteface Mountain beyond?” + +“One at our feet, and the other beyond, Shon McGann.” + +“It’s the sight of my eyes I wish I had in the light of the sun this +mornin’. Tell me, what is’t you see?” + +“I see the trees on the foot-hills, and all the branches shine with +frost. There is a path--so wide!--between two groves of pines. On +Whiteface Mountain lies a glacier-field... and all is still.”... + +“The voice of you is far-away-like, Pierre--it shivers as a hawk cries. +It’s the wind, the wind, maybe.” + +“There’s not a breath of life from hill or valley.” + +“But I feel it in my face.” + +“It is not the breath of life you feel.” + +“Did you not hear voices coming athwart the wind?... Can you see the +people at the mines?” + +“I have told you what I see.” + +“You told me of the pine-trees, and the glacier, and the snow--” + +“And that is all.” + +“But in the Valley, in the Valley, where all the miners are?” + +“I cannot see them.” + +“For love of heaven, don’t tell me that the dark is fallin’ on your eyes +too.” + +“No, Shon, I am not growing blind.” + +“Will you not tell me what gives the ache to your words?” + +“I see in the Valley--snow... snow.” + +“It’s a laugh you have at me in your cheek, whin I’d give years of my +ill-spent life to watch the chimney smoke come curlin’ up slow through +the sharp air in the Valley there below.” + +“There is no chimney and there is no smoke in all the Valley.” + +“Before God, if you’re a man, you’ll put your hand on my arm and tell me +what trouble quakes your speech.” + +“Shon McGann, it is for you to make the sign of the Cross... there, +while I put my hand on your shoulder--so!” + +“Your hand is heavy, Pierre.” + +“This is the sight of the eyes that see. In the Valley there is snow; in +the snow of all that was, there is one poppet-head of the mine that +was called St. Gabriel... upon the poppet-head there is the figure of a +woman.” + +“Ah!” + +“She does not move--” + +“She will never move?” + +“She will never move.” + +“The breath o’ my body hurts me.... There is death in the Valley, +Pierre?” + +“There is death.” + +“It was an avalanche--that path between the pines?” + +“And a great storm after.” + +“Blessed be God that I cannot behold that thing this day!... And the +woman, Pierre, the woman aloft?” + +“She went to watch for someone coming, and as she watched, the avalanche +came--and she moves not.” + +“Do we know that woman?” + +“Who can tell?” + +“What was it you whispered soft to yourself, then, Pierre?” + +“I whispered no word.” + +“There, don’t you hear it, soft and sighin’?... Nathalie!” + +“‘Mon Dieu!’ It is not of the world.” + +“It’s facin’ the poppet-head where she stands I’d be.” + +“Your face is turned towards her.” + +“Where is the sun?” + +“The sun stands still above her head.” + +“With the bitter over, and the avil past, come rest for her and all that +lie there.” + +“Eh, ‘bien,’ the game is done!” + +“If we stay here we shall die also.” + +“If we go we die, perhaps.”... + +“Don’t spake it. We will go, and we will return when the breath of +summer comes from the South.” + +“It shall be so.” + +“Hush! Did you not hear--?” + +“I did not hear. I only see an eagle, and it flies towards Whiteface +Mountain.” + +And Shon McGann and Pretty Pierre turned back from the end of their +quest--from a mighty grave behind to a lonely waste before; and though +one was snow-blind, and the other knew that on him fell the chiefer +weight of a great misfortune, for he must provide food and fire and be +as a mother to his comrade--they had courage; without which, men are +as the standing straw in an unreaped field in winter; but having become +like the hooded pine, that keepeth green in frost, and hath the bounding +blood in all its icy branches. + +And whence they came and wherefore was as thus: + +A French Canadian once lived in Lonely Valley. One day great fortune +came to him, because it was given him to discover the mine St. Gabriel. +And he said to the woman who loved him, “I will go with mules and much +gold, that I have hewn and washed and gathered, to a village in the East +where my father and my mother are. They are poor, but I will make them +rich; and then I will return to Lonely Valley, and a priest shall come +with me, and we will dwell here at Whiteface Mountain, where men are men +and not children.” And the woman blessed him, and prayed for him, and +let him go. + +He travelled far through passes of the mountains, and came at last where +new cities lay upon the plains, and where men were full of evil and of +lust of gold. And he was free of hand and light of heart; and at a place +called Diamond City false friends came about him, and gave him champagne +wine to drink, and struck him down and robbed him, leaving him for dead. + +And he was found, and his wounds were all healed: all save one, and that +was in the brain. Men called him mad. + +He wandered through the land, preaching to men to drink no wine, and +to shun the sight of gold. And they laughed at him, and called him Pere +Champagne. + +But one day much gold was found at a place called Reef o’ Angel; and +jointly with the gold came a plague which scars the face and rots the +body; and Indians died by hundreds and white men by scores; and Pere +Champagne, of all who were not stricken down, feared nothing, and did +not flee, but went among the sick and dying, and did those deeds which +gold cannot buy, and prayed those prayers which were never sold. And who +can count how high the prayers of the feckless go! + +When none was found to bury the dead, he gave them place himself beneath +the prairie earth,--consecrated only by the tears of a fool,--and for +extreme unction he had but this: “God be merciful to me, a sinner!” + +Now it happily chanced that Pierre and Shon McGann, who travelled +westward, came upon this desperate battle-field, and saw how Pere +Champagne dared the elements of scourge and death; and they paused and +laboured with him--to save where saving was granted of Heaven, and to +bury when the Reaper reaped and would not stay his hand. At last the +plague ceased, because winter stretched its wings out swiftly o’er the +plains from frigid ranges in the West. And then Pere Champagne fell ill +again. + +And this last great sickness cured his madness: and he remembered whence +he had come, and what befell him at Diamond City so many moons ago. And +he prayed them, when he knew his time was come, that they would go to +Lonely Valley and tell his story to the woman whom he loved; and say +that he was going to a strange but pleasant Land, and that there he +would await her coming. He begged them that they would go at once, that +she might know, and not strain her eyes to blindness, and be sick at +heart because he came not. And he told them her name, and drew the +coverlet up about his head and seemed to sleep; but he waked between the +day and dark, and gently cried: “The snow is heavy on the mountain... +and the Valley is below.... ‘Gardez, mon Pere!’... Ah, Nathalie!” And +they buried him between the dark and dawn. + +Though winds were fierce, and travel full of peril, they kept their +word, and passed along wide steppes of snow, until they entered passes +of the mountains, and again into the plains; and at last one ‘poudre’ +day, when frost was shaking like shreds of faintest silver through the +air, Shon McGann’s sight fled. But he would not turn back--a promise to +a dying man was sacred, and he could follow if he could not lead; and +there was still some pemmican, and there were martens in the woods, and +wandering deer that good spirits hunted into the way of the needy; and +Pierre’s finger along the gun was sure. + +Pierre did not tell Shon that for many days they travelled woods where +no sunshine entered; where no trail had ever been, nor foot of man had +trod: that they had lost their way. Nor did he make his comrade know +that one night he sat and played a game of solitaire to see if they +would ever reach the place called Lonely Valley. Before the cards were +dealt, he made a sign upon his breast and forehead. Three times he +played, and three times he counted victory; and before three suns had +come and gone, they climbed a hill that perched over Lonely Valley. And +of what they saw and their hearts felt we know. + +And when they turned their faces eastward they were as men who go to +meet a final and a conquering enemy; but they had kept their honour with +the man upon whose grave-tree Shon McGann had carved beneath his name +these words: + + “A Brother of Aaron.” + +Upon a lonely trail they wandered, the spirits of lost travellers +hungering in their wake--spirits that mumbled in cedar thickets, and +whimpered down the flumes of snow. And Pierre, who knew that evil things +are exorcised by mighty conjuring, sang loudly, from a throat made thin +by forced fasting, a song with which his mother sought to drive away the +devils of dreams that flaunted on his pillow when a child: it was the +song of the Scarlet Hunter. And the charm sufficed; for suddenly of +a cheerless morning they came upon a trapper’s hut in the wilderness, +where their sufferings ceased, and the sight of Shon’s eyes came back. +When strength returned also, they journeyed to an Indian village, where +a priest laboured. Him they besought; and when spring came they set +forth to Lonely Valley again that the woman and the smothered dead--if +it might chance so--should be put away into peaceful graves. But thither +coming they only saw a grey and churlish river; and the poppet-head of +the mine of St. Gabriel, and she who had knelt thereon, were vanished +into solitudes, where only God’s cohorts have the rights of burial.... + +But the priest prayed humbly for their so swiftly summoned souls. + + + + +THE SCARLET HUNTER + +“News out of Egypt!” said the Honourable Just Trafford. “If this is +true, it gives a pretty finish to the season. You think it possible, +Pierre? It is every man’s talk that there isn’t a herd of buffaloes in +the whole country; but this-eh?” + +Pierre did not seem disposed to answer. He had been watching a man’s +face for some time; but his eyes were now idly following the smoke of +his cigarette as it floated away to the ceiling in fading circles. He +seemed to take no interest in Trafford’s remarks, nor in the tale that +Shangi the Indian had told them; though Shangi and his tale were both +sufficiently uncommon to justify attention. + +Shon McGann was more impressionable. His eyes swam; his feet shifted +nervously with enjoyment; he glanced frequently at his gun in the +corner of the hut; he had watched Trafford’s face with some anxiety, and +accepted the result of the tale with delight. Now his look was occupied +with Pierre. + +Pierre was a pretty good authority in all matters concerning the +prairies and the North. He also had an instinct for detecting veracity, +having practised on both sides of the equation. Trafford became +impatient, and at last the half-breed, conscious that he had tried the +temper of his chief so far as was safe, lifted his eyes, and, resting +them casually on the Indian, replied: “Yes, I know the place.... No, +I have not been there, but I was told-ah, it was long ago! There is a +great valley between hills, the Kimash Hills, the hills of the Mighty +Men. The woods are deep and dark; there is but one trail through them, +and it is old. On the highest hill is a vast mound. In that mound are +the forefathers of a nation that is gone. Yes, as you say, they are +dead, and there is none of them alive in the valley--which is called the +White Valley--where the buffalo are. The valley is green in summer, and +the snow is not deep in winter; the noses of the buffalo can find the +tender grass. The Injin speaks the truth, perhaps. But of the number of +buffaloes, one must see. The eye of the red man multiplies.” + +Trafford looked at Pierre closely. “You seem to know the place very +well. It is a long way north where--ah yes, you said you had never been +there; you were told. Who told you?” + +The half-breed raised his eyebrows slightly as he replied: “I can +remember a long time, and my mother, she spoke much and sang many +songs at the campfires.” Then he puffed his cigarette so that the smoke +clouded his face for a moment, and went on,--“I think there may be +buffaloes.” + +“It’s along the barrel of me gun I wish I was lookin’ at thim now,” said +McGann. + +“‘Tiens,’ you will go”? inquired Pierre of Trafford. “To have a shot at +the only herd of wild buffaloes on the continent! Of course I’ll go. +I’d go to the North Pole for that. Sport and novelty I came here to see; +buffalo-hunting I did not expect. I’m in luck, that’s all. We’ll start +to-morrow morning, if we can get ready, and Shangi here will lead us; +eh, Pierre?” + +The half-breed again was not polite. Instead of replying he sang almost +below his breath the words of a song unfamiliar to his companions, +though the Indian’s eyes showed a flash of understanding. These were the +words: + + “They ride away with a waking wind, away, away! + With laughing lip and with jocund mind at break of day. + A rattle of hoofs and a snatch of song, they ride, they ride! + The plains are wide and the path is long,--so long, so wide!” + +Just Trafford appeared ready to deal with this insolence, for the +half-breed was after all a servant of his, a paid retainer. He waited, +however. Shon saw the difficulty, and at once volunteered a reply. “It’s +aisy enough to get away in the mornin’, but it’s a question how far +we’ll be able to go with the horses. The year is late; but there’s dogs +beyand, I suppose, and bedad, there y’ are!” + +The Indian spoke slowly: “It is far off. There is no colour yet in the +leaf of the larch. The river-hen still swims northward. It is good that +we go. There is much buffalo in the White Valley.” + +Again Trafford looked towards his follower, and again the half-breed, as +if he were making an effort to remember, sang abstractedly: + + “They follow, they follow a lonely trail, by day, by night, + By distant sun, and by fire-fly pale, and northern light. + The ride to the Hills of the Mighty Men, so swift they go! + Where buffalo feed in the wilding glen in sun and snow.” + +“Pierre,” said Trafford, sharply, “I want an answer to my question.” + +“‘Mais, pardon,’ I was thinking... well, we can ride until the deep +snows come, then we can walk; and Shangi, he can get the dogs, maybe, +one team of dogs.” + +“But,” was the reply, “one team of dogs will not be enough. We’ll +bring meat and hides, you know, as well as pemmican. We won’t cache any +carcases up there. What would be the use? We shall have to be back in +the Pipi Valley by the spring-time.” + +“Well,” said the half-breed with a cold decision, “one team of dogs +will be enough; and we will not cache, and we shall be back in the Pipi +Valley before the spring, perhaps.” But this last word was spoken under +his breath. + +And now the Indian spoke, with his deep voice and dignified manner: +“Brothers, it is as I have said, the trail is lonely and the woods are +deep and dark. Since the time when the world was young, no white man +hath been there save one, and behold sickness fell on him; the grave +is his end. It is a pleasant land, for the gods have blessed it to the +Indian forever. No heathen shall possess it. But you shall see the White +Valley and the buffalo. Shangi will lead, because you have been merciful +to him, and have given him to sleep in your wigwam, and to eat of your +wild meat. There are dogs in the forest. I have spoken.” + +Trafford was impressed, and annoyed too. He thought too much sentiment +was being squandered on a very practical and sportive thing. He disliked +functions; speech-making was to him a matter for prayer and fasting. The +Indian’s address was therefore more or less gratuitous, and he hastened +to remark: “Thank you, Shangi; that’s very good, and you’ve put it +poetically. You’ve turned a shooting-excursion into a mediaeval romance. +But we’ll get down to business now, if you please, and make the romance +a fact, beautiful enough to send to the ‘Times’ or the New York +‘Call’. Let’s see, how would they put it in the Call?--‘Extraordinary +Discovery--Herd of buffaloes found in the far North by an Englishman and +his Franco-Irish Party--Sport for the gods--Exodus of ‘brules’ to White +Valley!’--and so on, screeching to the end.” + +Shon laughed heartily. “The fun of the world is in the thing,” he said; +“and a day it would be for a notch on a stick and a rasp of gin in the +throat. And if I get the sight of me eye on a buffalo-ruck, it’s down on +me knees I’ll go, and not for prayin’ aither. Here’s both hands up for a +start in the mornin’!” + +Long before noon next day they were well on their way. Trafford could +not understand why Pierre was so reserved, and, when speaking, so +ironical. It was noticeable that the half-breed watched the Indian +closely, that he always rode behind him, that he never drank out of +the same cup. The leader set this down to the natural uncertainty of +Pierre’s disposition. He had grown to like Pierre, as the latter had +come in course to respect him. Each was a man of value after his kind. +Each also had recognised in the other qualities of force and knowledge +having their generation in experiences which had become individuality, +subterranean and acute, under a cold surface. It was the mutual +recognition of these equivalents that led the two men to mutual trust, +only occasionally disturbed, as has been shown; though one was regarded +as the most fastidious man of his set in London, the fairest-minded +of friends, the most comfortable of companions; while the other was +an outlaw, a half-heathen, a lover of but one thing in this world, the +joyous god of Chance. Pierre was essentially a gamester. He would have +extracted satisfaction out of a death-sentence which was contingent on +the trumping of an ace. His only honour was the honour of the game. + +Now, with all the swelling prairie sloping to the clear horizon, and the +breath of a large life in their nostrils, these two men were caught up +suddenly, as it were, by the throbbing soul of the North, so that the +subterranean life in them awoke and startled them. Trafford conceived +that tobacco was the charm with which to exorcise the spirits of the +past. Pierre let the game of sensations go on, knowing that they pay +themselves out in time. His scheme was the wiser. The other found that +fast riding and smoking were not sufficient. He became surrounded by the +ghosts of yesterdays; and at length he gave up striving with them, and +let them storm upon him, until a line of pain cut deeply across his +forehead, and bitterly and unconsciously he cried aloud,--“Hester, ah, +Hester!” + +But having spoken, the spell was broken, and he was aware of the beat +of hoofs beside him, and Shangi the Indian looking at him with a half +smile. Something in the look thrilled him; it was fantastic, masterful. +He wondered that he had not noticed this singular influence before. +After all, he was only a savage with cleaner buckskin than his race +usually wore. Yet that glow, that power in the face--was he Piegan, +Blackfoot, Cree, Blood? Whatever he was, this man had heard the words +which broke so painfully from him. + +He saw the Indian frame her name upon his lips, and then came the words, +“Hester--Hester Orval!” + +He turned sternly, and said, “Who are you? What do you know of Hester +Orval?” + +The Indian shook his head gravely, and replied, “You spoke her name, my +brother.” + +“I spoke one word of her name. You have spoken two.” + +“One does not know what one speaks. There are words which are as sounds, +and words which are as feelings. Those come to the brain through the +ear; these to the soul through sign, which is more than sound. The +Indian hath knowledge, even as the white man; and because his heart is +open, the trees whisper to him; he reads the language of the grass and +the wind, and is taught by the song of the bird, the screech of the +hawk, the bark of the fox. And so he comes to know the heart of the +man who hath sickness, and calls upon someone, even though it be a weak +woman, to cure his sickness; who is bowed low as beside a grave, and +would stand upright. Are not my words wise? As the thoughts of a child +that dreams, as the face of the blind, the eye of the beast, or the +anxious hand of the poor, are they not simple, and to be understood?” + +Just Trafford made no reply. But behind, Pierre was singing in the +plaintive measure of a chant: + + “A hunter rideth the herd abreast, + The Scarlet Hunter from out of the West, + Whose arrows with points of flame are drest, + Who loveth the beast of the field the best, + The child and the young bird out of the nest, + They ride to the hunt no more, no more!” + +They travelled beyond all bounds of civilisation; beyond the +northernmost Indian villages, until the features of the landscape became +more rugged and solemn, and at last they paused at a place which the +Indian called Misty Mountain, and where, disappearing for an hour, he +returned with a team of Eskimo dogs, keen, quick-tempered, and enduring. +They had all now recovered from the disturbing sentiments of the first +portion of the journey; life was at full tide; the spirit of the hunter +was on them. + +At length one night they camped in a vast pine grove wrapped in +coverlets of snow and silent as death. Here again Pierre became moody +and alert and took no part in the careless chat at the camp-fire led +by Shon McGann. The man brooded and looked mysterious. Mystery was +not pleasing to Trafford. He had his own secrets, but in the ordinary +affairs of life he preferred simplicity. In one of the silences that +fell between Shon’s attempts to give hilarity to the occasion, there +came a rumbling far-off sound, a sound that increased in volume till the +earth beneath them responded gently to the vibration. Trafford looked up +inquiringly at Pierre, and then at the Indian, who, after a moment, said +slowly: “Above us are the hills of the Mighty Men, beneath us is the +White Valley. It is the tramp of buffalo that we hear. A storm is +coming, and they go to shelter in the mountains.” + +The information had come somewhat suddenly, and McGann was the first to +recover from the pleasant shock: “It’s divil a wink of sleep I’ll get +this night, with the thought of them below there ripe for slaughter, and +the tumble of fight in their beards.” + +Pierre, with a meaning glance from his half-closed eyes, added: “But it +is the old saying of the prairies that you do not shout dinner till you +have your knife in the loaf. Your knife is not yet in the loaf, Shon +McGann.” + +The boom of the trampling ceased, and now there was a stirring in the +snow-clad tree tops, and a sound as if all the birds of the North were +flying overhead. The weather began to moan and the boles of the pines to +quake. And then there came war,--a trouble out of the north, a wave of +the breath of God to show inconsequent man that he who seeks to live by +slaughter hath slaughter for his master. + +They hung over the fire while the forest cracked round them, and +the flame smarted with the flying snow. And now the trees, as if the +elements were closing in on them, began to break close by, and one +lurched forward towards them. Trafford, to avoid its stroke, stepped +quickly aside right into the line of another which he did not see. +Pierre sprang forward and swung him clear, but was himself struck +senseless by an outreaching branch. + +As if satisfied with this achievement, the storm began to subside. +When Pierre recovered consciousness Trafford clasped his hand and +said,--“You’ve a sharp eye, a quick thought, and a deft arm, comrade.” + +“Ah, it was in the game. It is good play to assist your partner,” the +half-breed replied sententiously. Through all, the Indian had remained +stoical. But McGann, who swore by Trafford--as he had once sworn by +another of the Trafford race--had his heart on his lips, and said: + + “There’s a swate little cherub that sits up aloft, + Who cares for the soul of poor Jack!” + +It was long after midnight ere they settled down again, with the wreck +of the forest round them. Only the Indian slept; the others were alert +and restless. They were up at daybreak, and on their way before sunrise, +filled with desire for prey. They had not travelled far before they +emerged upon a plateau. Around them were the hills of the Mighty +Men--austere, majestic; at their feet was a vast valley on which the +light newly-fallen snow had not hidden all the grass. Lonely and lofty, +it was a world waiting chastely to be peopled! And now it was peopled, +for there came from a cleft of the hills an army of buffaloes lounging +slowly down the waste, with tossing manes and hoofs stirring the snow +into a feathery scud. + +The eyes of Trafford and McGann swam; Pierre’s face was troubled, and +strangely enough he made the sign of the cross. + +At that instant Trafford saw smoke issuing from a spot on the mountain +opposite. He turned to the Indian: “Someone lives there”? he said. + +“It is the home of the dead, but life is also there.” + +“White man, or Indian?” + +But no reply came. The Indian pointed instead to the buffalo rumbling +down the valley. Trafford forgot the smoke, forgot everything except +that splendid quarry. Shon was excited. “Sarpints alive,” he said, “look +at the troops of thim! Is it standin’ here we are with our tongues in +our cheeks, whin there’s bastes to be killed, and mate to be got, and +the call to war on the ground below! Clap spurs with your heels, sez +I, and down the side of the turf together and give ‘em the teeth of our +guns!” The Irishman dashed down the slope. In an instant, all followed, +or at least Trafford thought all followed, swinging their guns across +their saddles to be ready for this excellent foray. But while Pierre +rode hard, it was at first without the fret of battle in him, and he +smiled strangely, for he knew that the Indian had disappeared as they +rode down the slope, though how and why he could not tell. There ran +through his head tales chanted at camp-fires when he was not yet in +stature so high as the loins that bore him. They rode hard, and yet they +came no nearer to that flying herd straining on with white streaming +breath and the surf of snow rising to their quarters. Mile upon mile, +and yet they could not ride these monsters down! + +Now Pierre was leading. There was a kind of fury in his face, and he +seemed at last to gain on them. But as the herd veered close to a wall +of stalwart pines, a horseman issued from the trees and joined the +cattle. The horseman was in scarlet from head to foot; and with his +coming the herd went faster, and ever faster, until they vanished into +the mountain-side; and they who pursued drew in their trembling horses +and stared at each other with wonder in their faces. + +“In God’s name what does it mean”? Trafford cried. + +“Is it a trick of the eye or the hand of the devil”? added Shon. + +“In the name of God we shall know perhaps. If it is the hand of the +devil it is not good for us,” remarked Pierre. + +“Who was the man in scarlet who came from the woods”? asked Trafford of +the half-breed. + +“‘Voila,’ it is strange! There is an old story among the Indians! My +mother told many tales of the place and sang of it, as I sang to you. +The legend was this:--In the hills of the North which no white man, nor +no Injin of this time hath seen, the forefathers of the red men sleep; +but some day they will wake again and go forth and possess all the land; +and the buffalo are for them when that time shall come, that they may +have the fruits of the chase, and that it be as it was of old, when the +cattle were as clouds on the horizon. And it was ordained that one of +these mighty men who had never been vanquished in fight, nor done an +evil thing, and was the greatest of all the chiefs, should live and not +die, but be as a sentinel, as a lion watching, and preserve the White +Valley in peace until his brethren waked and came into their own again. +And him they called the Scarlet Hunter; and to this hour the red men +pray to him when they lose their way upon the plains, or Death draws +aside the curtains of the wigwam to call them forth.” + +“Repeat the verses you sang, Pierre,” said Trafford. The half-breed did +so. When he came to the words, “Who loveth the beast of the field the +best,” the Englishman looked round. “Where is Shangi”? he asked. McGann +shook his head in astonishment and negation. Pierre explained: “On +the mountain-side where we ride down he is not seen--he vanish... ‘mon +Dieu,’ look!” + +On the slope of the mountain stood the Scarlet Hunter with drawn bow. +From it an arrow flew over their heads with a sorrowful twang, and +fell where the smoke rose among the pines; then the mystic figure +disappeared. + +McGann shuddered, and drew himself together. “It is the place of +spirits,” he said; “and it’s little I like it, God knows; but I’ll +follow that Scarlet Hunter, or red devil, or whatever he is, till I +drop, if the Honourable gives the word. For flesh and blood I’m not +afraid of; and the other we come to, whether we will or not, one day.” + +But Trafford said: “No, we’ll let it stand where it is for the present. +Something has played our eyes false, or we’re brought here to do work +different from buffalo-hunting. Where that arrow fell among the smoke +we must go first. Then, as I read the riddle, we travel back the way we +came. There are points in connection with the Pipi Valley superior to +the hills of the Mighty Men.” + +They rode away across the glade, and through a grove of pines upon a +hill, till they stood before a log but with parchment windows. + +Trafford knocked, but there was no response. He opened the door and +entered. He saw a figure rise painfully from a couch in a corner,--the +figure of a woman young and beautiful, but wan and worn. She seemed +dazed and inert with suffering, and spoke mournfully: “It is too late. +Not you, nor any of your race, nor anything on earth can save him. He is +dead--dead now.” + +At the first sound of her voice Trafford started. He drew near to her, +as pale as she was, and wonder and pity were in his face. “Hester,” he +said, “Hester Orval!” + +She stared at him like one that had been awakened from an evil dream, +then tottered towards him with the cry,--“Just, Just, have you come to +save me? O Just!” His distress was sad to see, for it was held in deep +repression, but he said calmly and with protecting gentleness: “Yes, I +have come to save you. Hester, how is it you are here in this strange +place--you?” + +She sobbed so that at first she could not answer; but at last she cried: +“O Just, he is dead... in there, in there!... Last night, it was last +night; and he prayed that I might go with him. But I could not die +unforgiven, and I was right, for you have come out of the world to help +me, and to save me.” + +“Yes, to help you and to save you,--if I can,” he added in a whisper to +himself, for he was full of foreboding. He was of the earth, earthy, +and things that had chanced to him this day were beyond the natural and +healthy movements of his mind. He had gone forth to slay, and had been +foiled by shadows; he had come with a tragic, if beautiful, memory +haunting him, and that memory had clothed itself in flesh and stood +before him, pitiful, solitary,--a woman. He had scorned all legend and +superstition, and here both were made manifest to him. He had thought +of this woman as one who was of this world no more, and here she mourned +before him and bade him go and look upon her dead, upon the man who +had wronged him, into whom, as he once declared, the soul of a cur had +entered,--and now what could he say? He had carried in his heart the +infinite something that is to men the utmost fulness of life, which, +losing, they must carry lead upon their shoulders where they thought the +gods had given pinions. + +McGann and Pierre were nervous. This conjunction of unusual things was +easier to the intelligences of the dead than the quick. The outer air +was perhaps less charged with the unnatural, and with a glance towards +the room where death was quartered, they left the hut. + +Trafford was alone with the woman through whom his life had been turned +awry. He looked at her searchingly; and as he looked the mere man in +him asserted itself for a moment. She was dressed in coarse garments; it +struck him that her grief had a touch of commonness about it; there was +something imperfect in the dramatic setting. His recent experiences +had had a kind of grandeur about them; it was not thus that he had +remembered her in the hour when he had called upon her in the plains, +and the Indian had heard his cry. He felt, and was ashamed in feeling, +that there was a grim humour in the situation. The fantastic, the +melodramatic, the emotional, were huddled here in too marked a +prominence; it all seemed, for an instant, like the tale of a woman’s +first novel. But immediately again there was roused in him the latent +force of loyalty to himself and therefore to her; the story of her past, +so far as he knew it, flashed before him, and his eyes grew hot. + +He remembered the time he had last seen her in an English country-house +among a gay party in which royalty smiled, and the subject was content +beneath the smile. But there was one rebellious subject, and her name +was Hester Orval. She was a wilful girl who had lived life selfishly +within the lines of that decorous yet pleasant convention to which she +was born. She was beautiful,--she knew that, and royalty had graciously +admitted it. She was warm-thoughted, and possessed the fatal strain of +the artistic temperament. She was not sure that she had a heart; and +many others, not of her sex, after varying and enthusiastic study of the +matter, were not more confident than she. But it had come at last that +she had listened with pensive pleasure to Trafford’s tale of love; +and because to be worshipped by a man high in all men’s, and in most +women’s, esteem, ministered delicately to her sweet egotism, and because +she was proud of him, she gave him her hand in promise, and her cheek +in privilege, but denied him--though he knew this not--her heart and +the service of her life. But he was content to wait patiently for that +service, and he wholly trusted her, for there was in him some fine +spirit of the antique world. + +There had come to Falkenstowe, this country-house and her father’s home, +a man who bore a knightly name, but who had no knightly heart; and he +told Ulysses’ tales, and covered a hazardous and cloudy past with that +fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good, so that he roused +in her the pulse of art, which she believed was soul and life, and her +allegiance swerved. And when her mother pleaded with her, and when her +father said stern things, and even royalty, with uncommon use, +rebuked her gently, her heart grew hard; and almost on the eve of her +wedding-day she fled with her lover, and married him, and together they +sailed away over the seas. + +The world was shocked and clamorous for a matter of nine days, and then +it forgot this foolish and awkward circumstance; but Just Trafford never +forgot it. He remembered all vividly until the hour, a year later, when +London journals announced that Hester Orval and her husband had gone +down with a vessel wrecked upon the Alaskan and Canadian coast. And +there new regret began, and his knowledge of her ended. + +But she and her husband had not been drowned; with a sailor they had +reached the shore in safety. They had travelled inland from the coast +through the great mountains by unknown paths, and as they travelled, the +sailor died; and they came at last through innumerable hardships to the +Kimash Hills, the hills of the Mighty Men, and there they stayed. It was +not an evil land; it had neither deadly cold in winter nor wanton heat +in summer. But they never saw a human face, and everything was lonely +and spectral. For a time they strove to go eastwards or southwards but +the mountains were impassable, and in the north and west there was no +hope. Though the buffalo swept by them in the valley they could not slay +them, and they lived on forest fruits until in time the man sickened. +The woman nursed him faithfully, but still he failed; and when she could +go forth no more for food, some unseen dweller of the woods brought +buffalo meat, and prairie fowl, and water from the spring, and laid them +beside her door. + +She had seen the mounds upon the hill, the wide couches of the sleepers, +and she remembered the things done in the days when God seemed nearer +to the sons of men than now; and she said that a spirit had done this +thing, and trembled and was thankful. But the man weakened and knew that +he should die, and one night when the pain was sharp upon him he prayed +bitterly that he might pass, or that help might come to snatch him from +the grave. And as they sobbed together, a form entered at the door,--a +form clothed in scarlet,--and he bade them tell the tale of their lives +as they would some time tell it unto heaven. And when the tale was told +he said that succour should come to them from the south by the hand of +the Scarlet Hunter, that the nation sleeping there should no more be +disturbed by their moaning. And then he had gone forth, and with his +going there was a storm such as that in which the man had died, the +storm that had assailed the hunters in the forest yesterday. + +This was the second part of Hester Orval’s life as she told it to Just +Trafford. And he, looking into her eyes, knew that she had suffered, and +that she had sounded her husband’s unworthiness. Then he turned from her +and went into the room where the dead man lay. And there all hardness +passed from him, and he understood that in the great going forth man +reckons to the full with the deeds done in that brief pilgrimage called +life; and that in the bitter journey which this one took across the +dread spaces between Here and There, he had repented of his sins, +because they, and they only, went with him in mocking company; the good +having gone first to plead where evil is a debtor and hath a prison. And +the woman came and stood beside Trafford, and whispered, “At first--and +at the last--he was kind.” + +But he urged her gently from the room: “Go away,” he said; “go away. We +cannot judge him. Leave me alone with him.” + +They buried him upon the hill-side, far from the mounds where the Mighty +Men waited for their summons to go forth and be the lords of the North +again. At night they buried him when the moon was at its full; and he +had the fragrant pines for his bed, and the warm darkness to cover him; +and though he is to those others resting there a heathen and an alien, +it may be that he sleeps peacefully. + +When Trafford questioned Hester Orval more deeply of her life there, +the unearthly look quickened in her eyes, and she said: “Oh, nothing, +nothing is real here, but suffering; perhaps it is all a dream, but it +has changed me, changed me. To hear the tread of the flying herds, to +see no being save him, the Scarlet Hunter, to hear the voices calling +in the night!... Hush! There, do you not hear them? It is +midnight--listen!” + +He listened, and Pierre and Shon McGann looked at each other +apprehensively, while Shon’s fingers felt hurriedly along the beads of a +rosary which he did not hold. Yes, they heard it, a deep sonorous sound: +“Is the daybreak come?” “It is still the night,” came the reply as of +one clear voice. And then there floated through the hills more +softly: “We sleep--we sleep!” And the sounds echoed through the +valley--“Sleep--sleep!” + +Yet though these things were full of awe, the spirit of the place held +them there, and the fever of the hunter descended on them hotly. In +the morning they went forth, and rode into the White Valley where the +buffalo were feeding, and sought to steal upon them; but the shots from +their guns only awoke the hills, and none were slain. And though they +rode swiftly, the wide surf of snow was ever between them and the chase, +and their striving availed nothing. Day after day they followed that +flying column, and night after night they heard the sleepers call from +the hills. The desire of the thing wasted them, and they forgot to eat +and ceased to talk among themselves. But one day Shon McGann, muttering +aves as he rode, gained on the cattle, until once again the Scarlet +Hunter came forth from a cleft of the mountains, and drove the herd +forward with swifter feet. But the Irishman had learned the power +in this thing, and had taught Trafford, who knew not those availing +prayers, and with these sacred conjurations on their lips they gained on +the cattle length by length, though the Scarlet Hunter rode abreast +of the thundering horde. Within easy range, Trafford swung his gun +shoulder-wards to fire, but at that instant a cloud of snow rose up +between him and his quarry so that they all were blinded. And when they +came into the clear sun again the buffalo were gone; but flaming arrows +from some unseen hunter’s bow came singing over their heads towards the +south; and they obeyed the sign, and went back to where Hester wore her +life out with anxiety for them, because she knew the hopelessness of +their quest. Women are nearer to the heart of things. And now she begged +Trafford to go southwards before winter froze the plains impassably, and +the snow made tombs of the valleys. Thereupon he gave the word to go, +and said that he had done wrong--for now the spell was falling from him. + +But she, seeing his regret, said: “Ah, Just, it could not have been +different. The passion of it was on you as it was on us, as if to teach +us that hunger for happiness is robbery, and that the covetous desire of +man is not the will of the gods. The herds are for the Mighty Men when +they awake, not for the stranger and the Philistine.” + +“You have grown wise, Hester,” he replied. + +“No, I am sick in brain and body; but it may be that in such sickness +there is wisdom.” + +“Ah,” he said, “it has turned my head, I think. Once I laughed at all +such fanciful things as these. This Scarlet Hunter, how many times have +you seen him?” + +“But once.” + +“What were his looks?” + +“A face pale and strong, with noble eyes; and in his voice there was +something strange.” + +Trafford thought of Shangi, the Indian,--where had he gone? He had +disappeared as suddenly as he had come to their camp in the South. + +As they sat silent in the growing night, the door opened and the +Scarlet Hunter stood before them. “There is food,” he said, “on the +threshold--food for those who go upon a far journey to the South in the +morning. Unhappy are they who seek for gold at the rainbow’s foot, +who chase the fire-fly in the night, who follow the herds in the White +Valley. Wise are they who anger not the gods, and who fly before the +rising storm. There is a path from the valley for the strangers, the +path by which they came; and when the sun stares forth again upon the +world, the way shall be open, and there shall be safety for you until +your travel ends in the quick world whither you go. You were foolish; +now you are wise. It is time to depart; seek not to return, that we may +have peace and you safety. When the world cometh to her spring again we +shall meet.” Then he turned and was gone, with Trafford’s voice ringing +after him,--“Shangi! Shangi!” + +They ran out swiftly, but he had vanished. In the valley where the +moonlight fell in icy coldness a herd of cattle was moving, and their +breath rose like the spray from sea-beaten rocks, and the sound of their +breathing was borne upwards to the watchers. + +At daybreak they rode down into the valley. All was still. Not a trace +of life remained; not a hoofmark in the snow, nor a bruised blade of +grass. And when they climbed to the plateau and looked back, it seemed +to Trafford and his companions, as it seemed in after years, that this +thing had been all a fantasy. But Hester’s face was beside them, and +it told of strange and unsubstantial things. The shadows of the middle +world were upon her. And yet again when they turned at the last there +was no token. It was a northern valley, with sun and snow, and cold blue +shadows, and the high hills,--that was all. + +Then Hester said: “O Just, I do not know if this is life or death--and +yet it must be death, for after death there is forgiveness to those who +repent, and your face is forgiving and kind.” + +And he--for he saw that she needed much human help and comfort--gently +laid his hand on hers and replied: “Hester, this is life, a new life +for both of us. Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now”--and +he folded her hand in his--“is real; and there is no such thing as +forgiveness to be spoken of between us. There shall be happiness for us +yet, please God!” + +“I want to go to Falkenstowe. Will--will my mother forgive me?” + +“Mothers always forgive, Hester, else half the world had slain itself in +shame.” + +And then she smiled for the first time since he had seen her. This was +in the shadows of the scented pines; and a new life breathed upon her, +as it breathed upon them all, and they knew that the fever of the White +Valley had passed away from them forever. + +After many hardships they came in safety to the regions of the south +country again; and the tale they told, though doubted by the race of +pale-faces, was believed by the heathen; because there was none among +them but, as he cradled at his mother’s breasts, and from his youth up, +had heard the legend of the Scarlet Hunter. + +For the romance of that journey, it concerned only the man and woman +to whom it was as wine and meat to the starving. Is not love more than +legend, and a human heart than all the beasts of the field or any joy of +slaughter? + + + + +THE STONE + +The Stone hung on a jutting crag of Purple Hill. On one side of it, far +beneath, lay the village, huddled together as if, through being close +compacted, its handful of humanity should not be a mere dust in the +balance beside Nature’s portentousness. Yet if one stood beside The +Stone, and looked down, the flimsy wooden huts looked like a barrier at +the end of a great flume. For the hill hollowed and narrowed from +The Stone to the village, as if giants had made this concave path by +trundling boulders to that point like a funnel where the miners’ houses +now formed a cul-de-sac. On the other side of the crag was a valley +also; but it was lonely and untenanted; and at one flank of The Stone +were serried legions of trees. + +The Stone was a mighty and wonderful thing. Looked at from the village +direct, it had nothing but the sky for a background. At times, also, it +appeared to rest on nothing; and many declared that they could see clean +between it and the oval floor of the crag on which it rested. That was +generally in the evening, when the sun was setting behind it. Then the +light coiled round its base, between it and its pedestal, thus making +it appear to hover above the hill-point, or, planet-like, to be just +settling on it. At other times, when the light was perfectly clear and +not too strong, and the village side of the crag was brighter than the +other, more accurate relations of The Stone to its pedestal could be +discovered. Then one would say that it balanced on a tiny base, a toe of +granite. But if one looked long, especially in the summer, when the air +throbbed, it evidently rocked upon that toe; if steadily, and very long, +he grew tremulous, perhaps afraid. Once, a woman who was about to become +a mother went mad, because she thought The Stone would hurtle down the +hill at her great moment and destroy her and her child. Indians would +not live either on the village side of The Stone or in the valley +beyond. They had a legend that, some day, one, whom they called The +Man Who Sleeps, would rise from his hidden couch in the mountains, and, +being angry that any dared to cumber his playground, would hurl The +Stone upon them that dwelt at Purple Hill. But white men pay little heed +to Indian legends. At one time or another every person who had come +to the village visited The Stone. Colossal as it was, the real base +on which its weight rested was actually very small: the view from the +village had not been all deceitful. It is possible, indeed, that at +one time it had really rocked, and that the rocking had worn for it a +shallow cup, or socket, in which it poised. The first man who came to +Purple Valley prospecting had often stopped his work and looked at The +Stone in a half-fear that it would spring upon him unawares. And yet he +had as often laughed at himself for doing so, since, as he said, it must +have been there hundreds of thousands of years. Strangers, when they +came to the village, went to sleep somewhat timidly the first night of +their stay, and not infrequently left their beds to go and look at The +Stone, as it hung there ominously in the light of the moon; or listened +towards it if it was dark. When the moon rose late, and The Stone +chanced to be directly in front of it, a black sphere seemed to be +rolling into the light to blot it out. + +But none who lived in the village looked upon The Stone in quite the +same fashion as did that first man who had come to the valley. He had +seen it through three changing seasons, with no human being near him, +and only occasionally a shy, wandering elk, or a cloud of wild ducks +whirring down the pass, to share his companionship with it. Once he had +waked in the early morning, and, possessed of a strange feeling, had +gone out to look a The Stone. There, perched upon it, was an eagle; and +though he said to himself that an eagle’s weight was to The Stone as a +feather upon the world, he kept his face turned towards it all day; +for all day the eagle stayed. He was a man of great stature and immense +strength. The thews of his limbs stood out like soft unbreakable steel. +Yet, as if to cast derision on his strength and great proportions, God +or Fate turned his bread to ashes, gave failure into his hands where he +hugely grasped at fortune, and hung him about with misery. He discovered +gold, but others gathered it. It was his daughter that went mad, and +gave birth to a dead child in fearsome thought of The Stone. Once, +when he had gone over the hills to another mining field, and had been +prevented from coming back by unexpected and heavy snows, his wife was +taken ill, and died alone of starvation, because none in the village +remembered of her and her needs. Again, one wild night, long after, his +only son was taken from his bed and lynched for a crime that was none +of his, as was discovered by his murderers next day. Then they killed +horribly the real criminal, and offered the father such satisfaction as +they could. They said that any one of them was ready there to be killed +by him; and they threw a weapon at his feet. At this he stood looking +upon them for a moment, his great breast heaving, and his eyes +glowering; but presently he reached out his arms, and taking two of +them by the throat, brought their heads together heavily, breaking their +skulls; and, with a cry in his throat like a wounded animal, left them, +and entered the village no more. But it became known that he had built +a rude but on Purple Hill, and that he had been seen standing beside The +Stone or sitting among the boulders below it, with his face bent upon +the village. Those who had come near to him said that he had greatly +changed; that his hair and beard had grown long and strong, and, in +effect, that he looked like some rugged fragment of an antique world. + +The time came when they associated The Man with The Stone: they grew to +speak of him simply as The Man. There was something natural and apt in +the association. Then they avoided these two singular dwellers on the +height. What had happened to The Man when he lived in the village became +almost as great a legend as the Indian fable concerning The Stone. In +the minds of the people one seemed as old as the other. Women who knew +the awful disasters which had befallen The Man brooded at times most +timidly, regarding him as they did at first--and even still--The Stone. +Women who carried life unborn about with them had a strange dread of +both The Stone and The Man. Time passed on, and the feeling grew that +The Man’s grief must be a terrible thing, since he lived alone with +The Stone and God. But this did not prevent the men of the village from +digging gold, drinking liquor, and doing many kinds of evil. One +day, again, they did an unjust and cruel thing. They took Pierre, the +gambler, whom they had at first sought to vanquish at his own art, and, +possessed suddenly of the high duty of citizenship, carried him to the +edge of a hill and dropped him over, thinking thereby to give him a +quick death, while the vultures would provide him a tomb. But Pierre was +not killed, though to his grave--unprepared as yet--he would bear an +arm which should never be lifted higher than his shoulder. When he waked +from the crashing gloom which succeeded the fall, he was in the presence +of a being whose appearance was awesome and massive--an outlawed god: +whose hair and beard were white, whose eye was piercing, absorbing, +painful, in the long perspective of its woe. This being sat with his +great hand clasped to the side of his head. The beginning of his look +was the village, and--though the vision seemed infinite--the village was +the end of it too. Pierre, looking through the doorway beside which he +lay, drew in his breath sharply, for it seemed at first as if The Man +was an unnatural fancy, and not a thing. Behind The Man was The Stone, +which was not more motionless nor more full of age than this its +comrade. Indeed, The Stone seemed more a thing of life as it poised +above the hill: The Man was sculptured rock. His white hair was +chiselled on his broad brow, his face was a solemn pathos petrified, his +lips were curled with an iron contempt, an incalculable anger. + +The sun went down, and darkness gathered about The Man. Pierre reached +out his hand, and drank the water and ate the coarse bread that had been +put near him. He guessed that trees or protruding ledges had broken his +fall, and that he had been rescued and brought here. As he lay thinking, +The Man entered the doorway, stooping much to do so. With flints +he lighted a wick which hung from a wooden bowl of bear’s oil; then +kneeling, held it above his head, and looked at Pierre. And Pierre, who +had never feared anyone, shrank from the look in The Man’s eyes. But +when the other saw that Pierre was awake, a distant kindness came upon +his face, and he nodded gravely; but he did not speak. Presently a great +tremor as of pain shook all his limbs, and he set the candle on the +ground, and with his stalwart hands arranged afresh the bandages about +Pierre’s injured arm and leg. Pierre spoke at last. + +“You are The Man”? he said. The other bowed his head. + +“You saved me from those devils in the valley?” A look of impregnable +hardness came into The Man’s face, but he pressed Pierre’s hand for +answer; and though the pressure was meant to be gentle, Pierre winced +painfully. The candle spluttered, and the hut filled with a sickly +smoke. The Man brought some bear skins and covered the sufferer, for, +the season being autumn, the night was cold. Pierre, who had thus spent +his first sane and conscious hour in many days, fell asleep. What time +it was when he waked he was not sure, but it was to hear a metallic +click-click come to him through the clear air of night. It was +a pleasant noise as of steel and rock: the work of some lonely +stone-cutter of the hills. The sound reached him with strange, +increasing distinctness. Was this Titan that had saved him sculpturing +some figure from the metal hill? Click-click! it vibrated as regularly +as the keen pulse of a watch. He lay and wondered for a long time, but +fell asleep again; and the steely iteration went on in his dreams. + +In the morning The Man came to him, and cared for his hurts, and gave +him food; but still would speak no word. He was gone nearly all day in +the hills; yet when evening came he sought the place where Pierre had +seen him the night before, and the same weird scene was re-enacted. And +again in the night the clicking sound went on; and every night it was +renewed. Pierre grew stronger, and could, with difficulty, stand upon +his feet. One night he crept out, and made his way softly, slowly +towards the sound. He saw The Man kneeling beside The Stone, he saw a +hammer rise and fall upon a chisel; and the chisel was at the base of +The Stone. The hammer rose and fell with perfect but dreadful precision. +Pierre turned and looked towards the village below, whose lights were +burning like a bunch of fire-flies in the gloom. Again he looked at The +Stone and The Man. + +Then the thing came to him sharply. The Man was chiselling away the +socket of The Stone, bringing it to that point of balance where the +touch of a finger, the wing of a bird, or the whistle of a north-west +wind, would send it down upon the offending and unsuspecting village. + +The thought held him paralysed. The Man had nursed his revenge long past +the thought of its probability by the people beneath. He had at first +sat and watched the village, hated, and mused dreadfully upon the thing +he had determined to do. Then he had worked a little, afterwards more, +and now, lastly, since he had seen what they had done to Pierre, with +the hot but firm eagerness of an avenging giant. Pierre had done some +sad deeds in his time, and had tasted some sweet revenges, but nothing +like to this had ever entered his brain. In that village were men +who--as they thought--had cast him to a death fit only for a coward or +a cur. Well, here was the most exquisite retaliation. Though his hand +should not be in the thing, he could still be the cynical and approving +spectator. + +But yet: had all those people hovering about those lights below done +harm to him? He thought there were a few--and they were women--who would +not have followed his tumbril to his death with cries of execration. +The rest would have done so,--most of them did so, not because he was a +criminal, but because he was a victim, and because human nature as it is +thirsts inordinately at times for blood and sacrifice--a living strain +of the old barbaric instinct. He remembered that most of these people +were concerned in having injured The Man. The few good women there had +vile husbands; the few pardonable men had hateful wives: the village of +Purple Hill was an ill affair. + +He thought: now doubtfully, now savagely, now with irony. + +The hammer and steel clicked on. + +He looked at the lights of the village again. Suddenly there came to +his mind the words of a great man who sought to save a city manifold +centuries ago. He was not sure that he wished to save this village; but +there was a grim, almost grotesque, fitness in the thing that he now +intended. He spoke out clearly through the night: + +“‘Oh, let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak yet but this once: +Peradventure ten righteous shall be found there.’” + +The hammer stopped. There was a silence, in which the pines sighed +lightly. Then, as if speaking was a labour, The Man replied in a deep, +harsh voice: + +“I will not spare it for ten’s sake.” + +Again there was a silence, in which Pierre felt his maimed body bend +beneath him; but presently the voice said,--“Now!” + +At this the moon swung from behind a cloud. The Man stood behind The +Stone. His arm was raised to it. There was a moment’s pause--it seemed +like years to Pierre; a wind came softly crying out of the west, the +moon hurried into the dark, and then a monster sprang from its pedestal +upon Purple Hill, and, with a sound of thunder and an awful speed, raced +upon the village below. The boulders of the hillside crumbled after it. + +And Pierre saw the lights go out. + +The moon shone out again for an instant, and Pierre saw that The Man +stood where The Stone had been; but when he reached the place The Man +was gone. Forever! + + + + +THE TALL MASTER + +The story has been so much tossed about in the mouths of Indians, and +half-breeds, and men of the Hudson’s Bay Company, that you are pretty +sure to hear only an apocryphal version of the thing as you now travel +in the North. But Pretty Pierre was at Fort Luke when the battle +occurred, and, before and after, he sifted the business thoroughly. For +he had a philosophical turn, and this may be said of him, that he never +lied except to save another from danger. In this matter he was cool and +impartial from first to last, and evil as his reputation was in many +ways there were those who believed and trusted him. Himself, as he +travelled here and there through the North, had heard of the Tall +Master. Yet he had never met anyone who had seen him; for the Master +had dwelt, it was said, chiefly among the strange tribes of the Far-Off +Metal River whose faces were almost white, and who held themselves aloof +from the southern races. The tales lost nothing by being retold, even +when the historians were the men of the H. B. C.;---Pierre knew what +accomplished liars may be found among that Company of Adventurers +trading in Hudson’s Bay, and how their art had been none too delicately +engrafted by his own people. But he was, as became him, open to +conviction, especially when, journeying to Fort Luke, he heard what John +Hybar, the Chief Factor--a man of uncommon quality--had to say. Hybar +had once lived long among those Indians of the Bright Stone, and had +seen many rare things among them. He knew their legends of the White +Valley and the Hills of the Mighty Men, and how their distinctive +character had imposed itself on the whole Indian race of the North, so +that there was none but believed, even though vaguely, in a pleasant +land not south but Arcticwards; and Pierre himself, with Shon McGann and +Just Trafford, had once had a strange experience in the Kimash Hills. He +did not share the opinion of Lazenby, the Company’s clerk at Fort Luke, +who said, when the matter was talked of before him, that it was all +hanky-panky,--which was evidence that he had lived in London town, +before his anxious relatives, sending him forth under the delusive flag +of adventure and wild life, imprisoned him in the Arctic regions with +the H. B. C. + +Lazenby admired Pierre; said he was good stuff, and voted him amusing, +with an ingenious emphasis of heathen oaths; but advised him, as only +an insolent young scoundrel can, to forswear securing, by the seductive +game of poker or euchre, larger interest on his capital than the H. B. +C.; whose record, he insisted, should never be rivalled by any single +man in any single lifetime. Then he incidentally remarked that he would +like to empty the Company’s cash-box once--only once;--thus reconciling +the preacher and the sinner, as many another has done. Lazenby’s +morals were not bad, however. He was simply fond of making them appear +terrible; even when in London he was more idle than wicked. He gravely +suggested at last, as a kind of climax, that he and Pierre should go out +on the pad together. This was a mere stroke of pleasantry on his part, +because, the most he could loot in that far North were furs and caches +of buffalo meat; and a man’s capacity and use for them were limited. +Even Pierre’s especial faculty and art seemed valueless so far +Polewards; but he had his beat throughout the land, and he kept it like +a perfect patrolman. He had not been at Fort Luke for years, and he +would not be there again for more years; but it was certain that he +would go on reappearing till he vanished utterly. At the end of the +first week of this visit at Fort Luke, so completely had he conquered +the place, that he had won from the Chief Factor the year’s purchases +of skins, the stores, and the Fort itself; and every stitch of clothing +owned by Lazenby: so that, if he had insisted on the redemption of +the debts, the H. B. C. and Lazenby had been naked and hungry in +the wilderness. But Pierre was not a hard creditor. He instantly and +nonchalantly said that the Fort would be useless to him, and handed +it back again with all therein, on a most humorously constructed +ninety-nine years’ lease; while Lazenby was left in pawn. Yet Lazenby’s +mind was not at certain ease; he had a wholesome respect for Pierre’s +singularities, and dreaded being suddenly called upon to pay his debt +before he could get his new clothes made, maybe, in the presence of Wind +Driver, chief of the Golden Dogs, and his demure and charming daughter, +Wine Face, who looked upon him with the eye of affection--a matter +fully, but not ostentatiously, appreciated by Lazenby. If he could +have entirely forgotten a pretty girl in South Kensington, who, at her +parents’ bidding, turned her shoulder on him, he would have married +Wine Face; and so he told Pierre. But the half-breed had only a sardonic +sympathy for such weakness. Things changed at once when Shon McGann +arrived. He should have come before, according to a promise given +Pierre, but there were reasons for the delay; and these Shon elaborated +in his finely picturesque style. + +He said that he had lost his way after he left the Wapiti Woods, and +should never have found it again, had it not been for a strange being +who came upon him and took him to the camp of the White Hand Indians, +and cared for him there, and sent him safely on his way again to Fort +Luke. + +“Sorra wan did I ever see like him,” said Shon, “with a face that was +divil this minute and saint the next; pale in the cheek, and black +in the eye, and grizzled hair flowin’ long at his neck and lyin’ like +snakes on his shoulders; and whin his fingers closed on yours, bedad! +they didn’t seem human at all, for they clamped you so cold and strong.” + +“‘For they clamped you so cold and strong,’” replied Pierre, mockingly, +yet greatly interested, as one could see by the upward range of his eye +towards Shon. “Well, what more?” + +“Well, squeeze the acid from y’r voice, Pierre; for there’s things that +better become you: and listen to me, for I’ve news for all here at the +Fort, before I’ve done, which’ll open y’r eyes with a jerk.” + +“With a wonderful jerk, hold! let us prepare, messieurs, to be waked +with an Irish jerk!” and Pierre pensively trifled with the fringe +on Shon’s buckskin jacket, which was whisked from his fingers with +smothered anger. For a few moments he was silent; but the eager looks of +the Chief Factor and Lazenby encouraged him to continue. Besides, it was +only Pierre’s way--provoking Shon was the piquant sauce of his life. + +“Lyin’ awake I was,” continued Shon, “in the middle of the night, not +bein’ able to sleep for a pain in a shoulder I’d strained, whin I heard +a thing that drew me up standin’. It was the sound of a child laughin’; +so wonderful and bright, and at the very door of me tent it seemed. Then +it faded away till it was only a breath, lovely, and idle, and swingin’. +I wint to the door and looked out. There was nothin’ there, av coorse.” + “And why ‘av coorse’”? rejoined Pierre. The Chief Factor was intent on +what Shon was saying, while Lazenby drummed his fingers on the table, +his nose in the air. + +“Divils me darlin’, but ye know as well as I, that there’s things in the +world neither for havin’ nor handlin’. And that’s wan of thim, says I to +meself.... I wint back and lay down, and I heard the voice singin’ now +and comin’ nearer and nearer, and growin’ louder and louder, and then +there came with it a patter of feet, till it was as a thousand children +were dancin’ by me door. I was shy enough, I’ll own; but I pulled aside +the curtain of the tent to see again: and there was nothin’ beyand for +the eye. But the singin’ was goin’ past and recedin’ as before, till it +died away along the waves of prairie grass. I wint back and give Grey +Nose, my Injin bed-fellow, a lift wid me fut. ‘Come out of that,’ says +I, ‘and tell me if dead or alive I am.’ He got up, and there was the +noise soft and grand again, but with it now the voices of men, the flip +of birds’ wings and the sighin’ of tree tops, and behind all that the +long wash of a sea like none I ever heard.... ‘Well,’ says I to the +Injin grinnin’ before me, ‘what’s that, in the name o’ Moses?’ ‘That,’ +says he, laughin’ slow in me face, ‘is the Tall Master--him that brought +you to the camp.’ Thin I remimbered all the things that’s been said of +him, and I knew it was music I’d been hearin’ and not children’s voices +nor anythin’ else at all. + +“‘Come with me,’ says Grey Nose; and he took me to the door of a big +tent standin’ alone from the rest. + +“‘Wait a minute,’ says he, and he put his hand on the tent curtain; and +at that there was a crash, as a million gold hammers were fallin’ on +silver drums. And we both stood still; for it seemed an army, with +swords wranglin’ and bridle-chains rattlin’, was marchin’ down on us. +There was the divil’s own uproar, as a battle was comin’ on; and a long +line of spears clashed. But just then there whistled through the larrup +of sound a clear voice callin’, gentle and coaxin’, yet commandin’ too; +and the spears dropped, and the pounding of horsehoofs ceased, and then +the army marched away; far away; iver so far away, into--” + +“Into Heaven!” flippantly interjected Lazenby. “Into Heaven, say I, and +be choked to you! for there’s no other place for it; and I’ll stand by +that, till I go there myself, and know the truth o’ the thing.” Pierre +here spoke. “Heaven gave you a fine trick with words, Shon McGann. +I sometimes think Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words and +women. ... ‘Bien,’ what then?” + +Shon was determined not to be angered. The occasion was too big. “Well, +Grey Nose lifted the curtain and wint in. In a minute he comes out. ‘You +can go in,’ says he. So in I wint, the Injin not comin’, and there in +the middle of the tint stood the Tall Master, alone. He had his fiddle +to his chin, and the bow hoverin’ above it. He looked at me for a long +time along the thing; then, all at once, from one string I heard the +child laughin’ that pleasant and distant, though the bow seemed not to +be touchin’. Soon it thinned till it was the shadow of a laugh, and I +didn’t know whin it stopped, he smilin’ down at the fiddle bewhiles. +Then he said without lookin’ at me,--‘It is the spirit of the White +Valley and the Hills of the Mighty Men; of which all men shall know, for +the North will come to her spring again one day soon, at the remaking of +the world. They thought the song would never be found again, but I have +given it a home here.’ And he bent and kissed the strings. After, he +turned sharply as if he’d been spoken to, and looked at someone beside +him; someone that I couldn’t see. A cloud dropped upon his face, he +caught the fiddle hungrily to his breast, and came limpin’ over to +me--for there was somethin’ wrong with his fut--and lookin’ down his +hook-nose at me, says he,--‘I’ve a word for them at Fort Luke, where +you’re goin’, and you’d better be gone at once; and I’ll put you on your +way. There’s to be a great battle. The White Hands have an ancient feud +with the Golden Dogs, and they have come from where the soft Chinook +wind ranges the Peace River, to fight until no man of all the Golden +Dogs be left, or till they themselves be destroyed. It is the same north +and south,’ he wint on; ‘I have seen it all in Italy, in Greece, in--’ +but here he stopped and smiled strangely. After a minute he wint on: +‘The White Hands have no quarrel with the Englishmen of the Fort, and I +would warn them, for Englishmen were once kind to me--and warn also the +Golden Dogs. So come with me at once,’ says he. And I did. And he walked +with me till mornin’, carryin’ the fiddle under his arm, but wrapped in +a beautiful velvet cloth, havin’ on it grand figures like the arms of +a king or queen. And just at the first whisk of sun he turned me into a +trail and give me good-bye, sayin’ that maybe he’d follow me soon, and, +at any rate, he’d be there at the battle. Well, divils betide me! I got +off the track again; and lost a day; but here I am; and there’s me story +to take or lave as you will.” + +Shon paused and began to fumble with the cards on the table before him, +looking the while at the others. + +The Chief Factor was the first to speak. “I don’t doubt but he told you +true about the White Hands and the Golden Dogs,” he said; “for there’s +been war and bad blood between them beyond the memory of man--at least +since the time that the Mighty Men lived, from which these date their +history. But there’s nothing to be done to-night; for if we tell old +Wind Driver, there’ll be no sleeping at the Fort. So we’ll let the thing +stand.” + +“You believe all this poppy-cock, Chief”? said Lazenby to the Factor, +but laughing in Shon’s face the while. The Factor gravely replied: “I +knew of the Tall Master years ago on the Far-Off Metal River; and though +I never saw him I can believe these things--and more. You do not know +this world through and through, Lazenby; you have much to learn.” + +Pierre said nothing. He took the cards from Shon and passed them to and +fro in his hand. Mechanically he dealt them out, and as mechanically +they took them up and in silence began to play. + +The next day there was commotion and excitement at Fort Luke. The Golden +Dogs were making preparations for the battle. Pow-wow followed pow-wow, +and paint and feathers followed all. The H. B. C. people had little to +do but look to their guns and house everything within the walls of the +Fort. + +At night, Shon, Pierre, and Lazenby were seated about the table in the +common-room, the cards lying dealt before them, waiting for the Factor +to come. Presently the door opened and the Factor entered, followed by +another. Shon and Pierre sprang to their feet. + +“The Tall Master,” said Shon with a kind of awe; and then stood still. + +Their towering visitor slowly unloosed something he carried very +carefully and closely beneath his arm, and laid it on the table, +dropping his compass-like fingers softly on it. He bowed gravely to +each, yet the bow seemed grotesque, his body was so ungainly. With the +eyes of all drawn to him absolutely, he spoke in a low sonorous tone: +“I have followed the traveller fast”--his hand lifted gently towards +Shon--“for there are weighty concerns abroad, and I have things to say +and do before I go again to my people--and beyond.... I have hungered +for the face of a white man these many years, and his was the first +I saw;”--again he tossed a long finger towards the Irishman--“and it +brought back many things. I remember... “ He paused, then sat down; +and they all did the same. He looked at them one by one with distant +kindness. “I remember,” he continued, and his strangely articulated +fingers folded about the thing on the table beside him, “when”--here the +cards caught his eye. His face underwent a change. An eager fantastic +look shot from his eye, “when I gambled this away at Lucca,”--his hand +drew the bundle closer to him--“but I won it back again--at a price!” he +gloomily added, glancing sideways as to someone at his elbow. + +He remained, eyes hanging upon space for a moment, then he recollected +himself and continued: “I became wiser; I never risked it again; but I +loved the game always. I was a gamester from the start--the artist is +always so when he is greatest,--like nature herself. And once, years +after, I played with a mother for her child--and mine. And yet once +again at Parma with”--here he paused, throwing that sharp sidelong +glance--“with the greatest gamester, for the infinite secret of Art: and +I won it; but I paid the price!... I should like to play now.” + +He reached his hand, drew up five cards, and ran his eye through them. +“Play!” he said. “The hand is good--very good.... Once when I played +with the Princess--but it is no matter; and Tuscany is far away!... +Play!” he repeated. + +Pierre instantly picked up the cards, with an air of cool satisfaction. +He had either found the perfect gamester or the perfect liar. He knew +the remedy for either. + +The Chief Factor did not move. Shon and Lazenby followed Pierre’s +action. By their positions Lazenby became his partner. They played +in silence for a minute, the Tall Master taking all. “Napoleon was a +wonderful player, but he lost with me,” he said slowly as he played a +card upon three others and took them. + +Lazenby was so taken back by this remark that, presently, he trumped +his partner’s ace, and was rewarded by a talon-like look from the +Tall Master’s eye; but it was immediately followed by one of saturnine +amusement. + +They played on silently. + +“Ah, you are a wonderful player!” he presently said to Pierre, with +a look of keen scrutiny. “Come, I will play with you--for values--the +first time in seventy-five years; then, no more!” + +Lazenby and Shon drew away beside the Chief Factor. The two played. +Meanwhile Lazenby said to Shon: “The man’s mad. He talks about Napoleon +as if he’d known him--as if it wasn’t three-fourths of a century ago. +Does he think we’re all born idiots? Why, he’s not over sixty years old +now. But where the deuce did he come from with that Italian face? And +the funniest part of it is, he reminds me of someone. Did you notice how +he limped--the awkward beggar!” + +Lazenby had unconsciously lifted his voice, and presently the Tall +Master turned and said to him: “I ran a nail into my foot at Leyden +seventy-odd years ago.” + +“He’s the devil himself,” rejoined Lazenby, and he did not lower his +voice. + +“Many with angelic gifts are children of His Dark Majesty,” said the +Tall Master, slowly; and though he appeared closely occupied with the +game, a look of vague sadness came into his face. + +For a half-hour they played in silence, the slight, delicate-featured +half-breed, and the mysterious man who had for so long been a thing of +wonder in the North, a weird influence among the Indians. + +There was a strange, cold fierceness in the Tall Master’s face. He now +staked his precious bundle against the one thing Pierre prized--the gold +watch received years ago for a deed of heroism on the Chaudiere. The +half-breed had always spoken of it as amusing, but Shon at least knew +that to Pierre it was worth his right hand. + +Both men drew breath slowly, and their eyes were hard. The stillness +became painful; all were possessed by the grim spirit of Chance.... The +Tall Master won. He came to his feet, his shambling body drawn together +to a height. Pierre rose also. Their looks clinched. Pierre stretched +out his hand. “You are my master at this,” he said. + +The other smiled sadly. “I have played for the last time. I have not +forgotten how to win. If I had lost, uncommon things had happened. +This,”--he laid his hand on the bundle and gently undid it,--“is my +oldest friend, since the warm days at Parma... all dead... all dead.” + Out of the velvet wrapping, broidered with royal and ducal arms, +and rounded by a wreath of violets--which the Chief Factor looked at +closely--he drew his violin. He lifted it reverently to his lips. + +“My good Garnerius!” he said. “Three masters played you, but I am chief +of them all. They had the classic soul, but I the romantic heart--‘les +grandes caprices.’” His head lifted higher. “I am the master artist of +the world. I have found the core of Nature. Here in the North is the +wonderful soul of things. Beyond this, far beyond, where the foolish +think is only inviolate ice, is the first song of the Ages in a very +pleasant land. I am the lost Master, and I shall return, I shall return +... but not yet... not yet.” + +He fetched the instrument to his chin with a noble pride. The ugliness +of his face was almost beautiful now. + +The Chief Factor’s look was fastened on him with bewilderment; he was +trying to remember something: his mind went feeling, he knew not why, +for a certain day, a quarter of a century before, when he unpacked a box +of books and papers from England. Most of them were still in the Fort. +The association of this man with these things fretted him. + +The Tall Master swung his bow upward, but at that instant there came a +knock, and, in response to a call, Wind Driver and Wine Face entered. +Wine Face was certainly a beautiful girl; and Lazenby might well have +been pardoned for throwing in his fate with such a heathen, if he +despaired of ever seeing England again. The Tall Master did not turn +towards these. The Indians sat gracefully on a bearskin before the fire. +The eyes of the girl were cast shyly upon the Man as he stood there +unlike an ordinary man; in his face a fine hardness and the cold light +of the North. He suddenly tipped his bow upward and brought it down with +a most delicate crash upon the strings. Then softly, slowly, he passed +into a weird fantasy. The Indians sat breathless. Upon them it acted +more impressively than the others: besides, the player’s eye was +searching them now; he was playing into their very bodies. And they +responded with some swift shocks of recognition crossing their faces. +Suddenly the old Indian sprang up. He thrust his arms out, and made, as +if unconsciously, some fantastic yet solemn motions. The player smiled +in a far-off fashion, and presently ran the bow upon the strings in +an exquisite cry; and then a beautiful avalanche of sound slid from a +distance, growing nearer and nearer, till it swept through the room, and +imbedded all in its sweetness. + +At this the old Indian threw himself forward at the player’s feet. “It +is the song of the White Weaver, the maker of the world--the music from +the Hills of the Mighty Men.... I knew it--I knew it--but never like +that. ... It was lost to the world; the wild cry of the lofty stars....” + His face was wet. + +The girl too had risen. She came forward as if in a dream and reverently +touched the arm of the musician, who paused now, and was looking at them +from under his long eyelashes. She said whisperingly: “Are you a spirit? +Do you come from the Hills of the Mighty Men?” + +He answered gravely: “I am no spirit. But I have journeyed in the Hills +of the Mighty Men and along their ancient hunting-grounds. This that I +have played is the ancient music of the world--the music of Jubal and +his comrades. It comes humming from the Poles; it rides laughing down +the planets; it trembles through the snow; it gives joy to the bones +of the wind.... And I am the voice of it,” he added; and he drew up his +loose unmanageable body till it looked enormous, firm, and dominant. + +The girl’s fingers ran softly over to his breast. “I will follow you,” + she said, “when you go again to the Happy Valleys.” + +Down from his brow there swept a faint hue of colour, and, for a breath, +his eyes closed tenderly with hers. But he straightway gathered back +his look again, his body shrank, not rudely, from her fingers, and he +absently said: “I am old-in years the father of the world. It is a man’s +life gone since, at Genoa, she laid her fingers on my breast like that. +... These things can be no more... until the North hath its summer +again; and I stand young--the Master--upon the summits of my renown.” + +The girl drew slowly back. Lazenby was muttering under his breath now; +he was overwhelmed by this change in Wine Face. He had been impressed to +awe by the Tall Master’s music, but he was piqued, and determined not to +give in easily. He said sneeringly that Maskelyne and Cooke in music had +come to life, and suggested a snake-dance. + +The Tall Master heard these things, and immediately he turned to Lazenby +with an angry look on his face. His brows hung heavily over the dull +fire of his eyes; his hair itself seemed like Medusa’s, just quivering +into savage life; the fingers spread out white and claw-like upon the +strings as he curved his violin to his chin, whereof it became, as it +were, a piece. The bow shot out and down upon the instrument with a +great clangour. There eddied into a vast arena of sound the prodigious +elements of war. Torture rose from those four immeasurable chords; +destruction was afoot upon them; a dreadful dance of death supervened. + +Through the Chief Factor’s mind there flashed--though mechanically, +and only to be remembered afterwards--the words of a schoolday poem. It +shuttled in and out of the music: + + “Wheel the wild dance, + While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud; + And call the brave to bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud.” + +The face of the player grew old and drawn. The skin was wrinkled, but +shone, the hair spread white, the nose almost met the chin, the mouth +was all malice. It was old age with vast power: conquest volleyed from +the fingers. + +Shon McGann whispered aves, aching with the sound; the Chief Factor +shuddered to his feet; Lazenby winced and drew back to the wall, putting +his hand before his face as though the sounds were striking him; the old +Indian covered his head with his arms upon the floor. Wine Face knelt, +her face all grey, her fingers lacing and interlacing with pain. Only +Pierre sat with masterful stillness, his eyes never moving from the face +of the player; his arms folded; his feet firmly wedded to the floor. The +sound became strangely distressing. It shocked the flesh and angered +the nerves. Upon Lazenby it acted singularly. He cowered from it, but +presently, with a look of madness in his eyes, rushed forward, arms +outstretched, as though to seize this intolerable minstrel. There was a +sudden pause in the playing; then the room quaked with noise, buffeting +Lazenby into stillness. The sounds changed instantly again, and music of +an engaging sweetness and delight fell about them as in silver drops--an +enchanting lyric of love. Its exquisite tenderness subdued Lazenby, who, +but now, had a heart for slaughter. He dropped on his knees, threw his +head into his arms, and sobbed hard. The Tall Master’s fingers crept +caressingly along one of those heavenly veins of sound, his bow poising +softly over it. The farthest star seemed singing. + +At dawn the next day the Golden Dogs were gathered for war before the +Fort. Immediately after the sun rose, the foe were seen gliding darkly +out of the horizon. From another direction came two travellers. These +also saw the White Hands bearing upon the Fort, and hurried forward. +They reached the gates of the Fort in good time, and were welcomed. One +was a chief trader from a fort in the west. He was an old man, and had +been many years in the service of the H. B. C.; and, like Lazenby, had +spent his early days in London, a connoisseur in all its pleasures; the +other was a voyageur. They had posted on quickly to bring news of this +crusade of the White Hands. + +The hostile Indians came steadily to within a few hundred yards of the +Golden Dogs. Then they sent a brave to say that they had no quarrel with +the people of the Fort; and that if the Golden Dogs came on they would +battle with them alone; since the time had come for “one to be as both,” + as their Medicine Men had declared since the days of the Great Race. And +this signified that one should destroy the other. + +At this all the Golden Dogs ranged into line. The sun shone brightly, +the long hedge of pine woods in the distance caught the colour of the +sky, the flowers of the plains showed handsomely as a carpet of war. +The bodies of the fighters glistened. You could see the rise and fall of +their bare, strenuous chests. They stood as their forefathers in battle, +almost naked, with crested head, gleaming axe, scalp-knife, and bows and +arrows. At first there was the threatening rustle of preparation; then a +great stillness came and stayed for a moment; after which, all at once, +there sped through the air a big shout of battle, and the innumerable +twang of flying arrows; and the opposing hosts ran upon each other. + +Pierre and Shon McGann, watching from the Fort, cried out with +excitement. + +“Divils me darlin’!” called Shon, “are we gluin’ our eyes to a chink +in the wall, whin the tangle of battle goes on beyand? Bedad, I’ll not +stand it! Look at them twistin’ the neck o’ war! Open the gates, open +the gates say I, and let us have play with our guns.” + +“Hush! ‘Mon Dieu!’” interrupted Pierre. “Look! The Tall Master!” + +None at the Fort had seen the Tall Master since the night before. Now +he was covering the space between the walls and the battle, his hair +streaming behind him. + +When he came near to the vortex of fight he raised his violin to his +chin, and instantly a piercingly sweet call penetrated the wild uproar. +The Call filled it, drained through it, wrapped it, overcame it; so that +it sank away at last like the outwash of an exhausted tide: the weft of +battle stayed unfinished in the loom. + +Then from the Indian lodges came the women and children. They drew near +to the unearthly luxury of that Call, now lifting with an unbounded +joy. Battleaxes fell to the ground; the warriors quieted even where they +stood locked with their foes. The Tall Master now drew away from them, +facing the north and west. That ineffable Call drew them after him with +grave joy; and they brought their dead and wounded along. The women and +children glided in among the men and followed also. Presently one girl +ran away from the rest and came close into the great leader’s footsteps. + +At that instant, Lazenby, from the wall of the Fort, cried out madly, +sprang down, opened the gates, and rushed towards the girl, crying: +“Wine Face! Wine Face!” + +She did not look behind. But he came close to her and caught her by the +waist. “Come back! Come back! O my love, come back!” he urged; but she +pushed him gently from her. + +“Hush! Hush!” she said. “We are going to the Happy Valleys. Don’t you +hear him calling”?... And Lazenby fell back. + +The Tall Master was now playing a wonderful thing, half dance, half +carnival; but with that Call still beating through it. They were passing +the Fort at an angle. All within issued forth to see. Suddenly the old +trader who had come that morning started forward with a cry; then stood +still. He caught the Factor’s arm; but he seemed unable to speak yet; +his face was troubled, his eyes were hard upon the player. + +The procession passed the empty lodges, leaving the ground strewn with +their weapons, and not one of their number stayed behind. They passed +away towards the high hills of the north-west-beautiful austere +barriers. + +Still the trader gazed, and was pale, and trembled. They watched +long. The throng of pilgrims grew a vague mass; no longer an army of +individuals; and the music came floating back with distant charm. At +last the old man found voice. “My God, it is--” + +The Factor touched his arm, interrupting him, and drew a picture from +his pocket--one but just now taken from that musty pile of books, +received so many years before. He showed it to the old man. + +“Yes, yes,” said the other, “that is he.... And the world buried him +forty years ago!” + +Pierre, standing near, added with soft irony: “There are strange things +in the world. He is the gamester of the world. ‘Mais’ a grand comrade +also.” + +The music came waving back upon them delicately but the pilgrims were +fading from view. + +Soon the watchers were alone with the glowing day. + + + + +THE CRIMSON FLAG + +Talk and think as one would, The Woman was striking to see; with +marvellous flaxen hair and a joyous violet eye. She was all pulse and +dash; but she was as much less beautiful than the manager’s wife as Tom +Liffey was as nothing beside the manager himself; and one would care +little to name the two women in the same breath if the end had been +different. When The Woman came to Little Goshen there were others of her +class there, but they were of a commoner sort and degree. She was the +queen of a lawless court, though she never, from first to last, spoke to +one of those others who were her people; neither did she hold commerce +with any of the ordinary miners, save Pretty Pierre, but he was more +gambler than miner,--and he went, when the matter was all over, and told +her some things that stripped her soul naked before her eyes. Pierre had +a wonderful tongue. It was only the gentlemen-diggers--and there were +many of them at Little Goshen--who called upon her when the lights were +low; and then there was a good deal of muffled mirth in the white house +among the pines. The rougher miners made no quarrel with this, for the +gentlemen-diggers were popular enough, they were merely sarcastic and +humorous, and said things which, coming to The Woman’s ears, made her +very merry; for she herself had an abundant wit, and had spent wild +hours with clever men. She did not resent the playful insolence that +sent a dozen miners to her house in the dead of night with a crimson +flag, which they quietly screwed to her roof; and paint, with which they +deftly put a wide stripe of scarlet round the cornice, and another round +the basement. In the morning, when she saw what had been done, she would +not have the paint removed nor the flag taken down; for, she said, the +stripes looked very well, and the other would show that she was always +at home. + +Now, the notable thing was that Heldon, the manager, was in The Woman’s +house on the night this was done. Tom Liffey, the lumpish guide and +trapper, saw him go in; and, days afterwards, he said to Pierre: “Divils +me own, but this is a bad hour for Heldon’s wife--she with a face like a +princess and eyes like the fear o’ God. Nivir a wan did I see like her, +since I came out of Erin with a clatter of hoofs behoind me and a +squall on the sea before. There’s wimmin there wid cheeks like roses +and buthermilk, and a touch that’d make y’r heart pound on y’r ribs; +but none that’s grander than Heldon’s wife. To lave her for that other, +standin’ hip-high in her shame, is temptin’ the fires of Heaven, that +basted the sinners o’ Sodom.” + +Pierre, pausing between the whiffs of a cigarette, said: “So? But you +know more of catching foxes in winter, and climbing mountains in summer, +and the grip of the arm of an Injin girl, than of these things. You are +young, quite young in the world, Tom Liffey.” + +“Young I may be with a glint o’ grey at me temples from a night o’ +trouble beyand in the hills; but I’m the man, an’ the only man, that’s +climbed to the glacier-top--God’s Playground, as they call it: and nivir +a dirty trick have I done to Injin girl or any other; and be damned to +you there!” + +“Sometimes I think you are as foolish as Shon McGann,” compassionately +replied the half-breed. + +“You have almighty virtue, and you did that brave trick of the glacier; +but great men have fallen. You are not dead yet. Still, as you say, +Heldon’s wife is noble to see. She is grave and cold, and speaks little; +but there is something in her which is not of the meek of the earth. +Some women say nothing, and suffer and forgive, and take such as Heldon +back to their bosoms; but there are others--I remember a woman--bien, +it is no matter, it was long ago; but they two are as if born of one +mother; and what comes of this will be mad play--mad play.” + +“Av coorse his wife may not get to know of it, and--” + +“Not get to know it! ‘Tsh, you are a child--” + +“Faith, I’ll say what I think, and that in y’r face! Maybe he’ll tire of +the handsome rip--for handsome she is, like a yellow lily growin’ out +o’ mud--and go back to his lawful wife, that believes he’s at the mines, +when he’s drinkin’ and colloguin’ wid a fly-away.” + +Pierre slowly wheeled till he had the Irishman straight in his eye. +Then he said in a low, cutting tone: “I suppose your heart aches for the +beautiful lady, eh?” Here he screwed his slight forefinger into Tom’s +breast; then he added sharply: “‘Nom de Dieu,’ but you make me angry! +You talk too much. Such men get into trouble. And keep down the riot of +that heart of yours, Tom Liffey, or you’ll walk on the edge of knives +one day. And now take an inch of whisky and ease the anxious soul. +‘Voila!’” After a moment he added: “Women work these things out for +themselves.” Then the two left the hut, and amiably strolled together to +the centre of the village, where they parted. It was as Pierre had +said: the woman would work the thing out for herself. Later that evening +Heldon’s wife stood cloaked and veiled in the shadows of the pines, +facing the house with The Crimson Flag. Her eyes shifted ever from the +door to the flag, which was stirred by the light breeze. Once or twice +she shivered as with cold, but she instantly stilled again, and watched. +It was midnight. Here and there beyond in the village a light showed, +and straggling voices floated faintly towards her. For a long time no +sound came from the house. But at last she heard a laugh. At that she +drew something from her pocket, and held it firmly in her hand. Once she +turned and looked at another house far up on the hill, where lights were +burning. It was Heldon’s house--her home. A sharp sound as of anguish +and anger escaped her; then she fastened her eyes on the door in front +of her. + +At that moment Tom Liffey was standing with his hands on his hips +looking at Heldon’s home on the hill; and he said some rumbling words, +then strode on down the road, and suddenly paused near the wife. He did +not see her. He faced the door at which she was looking, and shook his +fist at it. + +“A murrain on y’r sowl!” said he, “as there’s plague in y’r body, and +hell in the slide of y’r feet, like the trail of the red spider. And out +o’ that come ye, Heldon, for I know y’re there. Out of that, ye beast! +... But how can ye go back--you that’s rolled in that sewer--to the +loveliest woman that ever trod the neck o’ the world! Damned y’ are in +every joint o’ y’r frame, and damned is y’r sowl, I say, for bringing +sorrow to her; and I hate you as much for that, as I could worship her +was she not your wife and a lady o’ blood, God save her!” + +Then shaking his fist once more, he swung away slowly down the road. +During this the wife’s teeth held together as though they were of a +piece. She looked after Tom Liffey and smiled; but it was a dreadful +smile. + +“He worships me, that common man--worships me,” she said. “This man who +was my husband has shamed me, left me. Well--” + +The door of the house opened; a man came out. His wife leaned a little +forward, and something clicked ominously in her hand. But a voice came +up the road towards them through the clear air--the voice of Tom Liffey. +The husband paused to listen; the wife mechanically did the same. The +husband remembered this afterwards: it was the key to, and the beginning +of, a tragedy. These are the words the Irishman sang: + + “She was a queen, she stood up there before me, + My blood went roarin’ when she touched my hand; + She kissed me on the lips, and then she swore me + To die for her--and happy was the land.” + +A new and singular look came into her face. It trans formed her. “That,” + she said in a whisper to herself--“that! He knows the way.” + +As her husband turned towards his home, she turned also. He heard the +rustle of garments, and he could just discern the cloaked figure in +the shadows. He hurried on; the figure flitted ahead of him. A fear +possessed him in spite of his will. He turned back. The figure stood +still for a moment, then followed him. He braced himself, faced about, +and walked towards it: it stopped and waited. He had not the courage. He +went back again swiftly towards the house he had left. Again he looked +behind him. The figure was standing, not far, in the pines. He wheeled +suddenly towards the house, turned a key in the door, and entered. + +Then the wife went to that which had been her home: Heldon did not go +thither until the first flush of morning. Pierre, returning from an +all-night sitting at cards, met him, and saw the careworn look on his +face. The half-breed smiled. He knew that the event was doubling on the +man. When Heldon reached his house, he went to his wife’s room. It was +locked. Then he walked down to his mines with a miserable shame and +anger at his heart. He did not pass The Crimson Flag. He went by another +way. + +That evening, in the dusk, a woman knocked at Tom Liffey’s door. He +opened it. + +“Are you alone”? she said. “I am alone, lady.” + +“I will come in,” she added. “You will--come in”? he faltered. + +She drew near him, and reached out and gently caught his hand. + +“Ah!” he said, with a sound almost like a sob in its intensity, and the +blood flushed to his hair. + +He stepped aside, and she entered. In the light of the candle her +eye burned into his, but her face wore a shining coldness. She leaned +towards him. + +“You said you could worship me,” she whispered, “and you cursed him. +Well--worship me--altogether--and that will curse him, as he has killed +me.” + +“Dear lady!” he said, in an awed, overwhelmed murmur; and he fell back +to the wall. + +She came towards him. “Am I not beautiful”? she urged. She took his +hand. His eye swam with hers. But his look was different from hers, +though he could not know that. His was the madness of a man in a dream; +hers was a painful thing. The Furies dwelt in her. She softly lifted +his hand above his head, and whispered: “Swear.” And she kissed him. +Her lips were icy, though he did not think so. The blood tossed in his +veins. He swore: but, doing so, he could not conceive all that would be +required of him. He was hers, body and soul, and she had resolved on a +grim thing.... In the darkness, they left the hut and passed into the +woods, and slowly up through the hills. + +Heldon returned to his home that night to find it empty. There were +no servants. There was no wife. Her cat and dog lay dead upon the +hearthrug. Her clothing was cut into strips. Her wedding-dress was a +charred heap on the fireplace. Her jewellery lay molten with it. Her +portrait had been torn from its frame. + +An intolerable fear possessed him. Drops of sweat hung on his forehead +and his hands. He fled towards the town. He bit his finger-nails till +they bled as he passed the house in the pines. He lifted his arm as if +the flappings of The Crimson Flag were blows in his face. + +At last he passed Tom Liffey’s hut. He saw Pierre, coming from it. +The look on the gambler’s face was one, of gloomy wonder. His fingers +trembled as he lighted a cigarette, and that was an unusual thing. The +form of Heldon edged within the light. Pierre dropped the match and said +to him,--“You are looking for your wife?” + +Heldon bowed his head. The other threw open the door of the hut. “Come +in here,” he said. They entered. Pierre pointed to a woman’s hat on +the table. “Do you know that”? he asked, huskily, for he was moved. But +Heldon only nodded dazedly. Pierre continued: “I was to have met Tom +Liffey here--to-night. He is not here. You hoped--I suppose--to see your +wife in your--home. She is not there. He left a word on paper for me. +I have torn it up. Writing is the enemy of man. But I know where he is +gone. I know also where your wife has gone.” + +Heldon’s face was of a hateful paleness.... They passed out into the +night. + +“Where are you going”? Heldon said. + +“To God’s Playground, if we can get there.” + +“To God’s Playground? To the glacier-top? You are mad.” + +“No, but he and she were mad. Come on.” Then he whispered something, and +Heldon gave a great cry, and they plunged into the woods. + +In the morning the people of Little Goshen, looking towards the glacier, +saw a flag (they knew afterwards that it was crimson) flying on it. Near +it were two human figures. A miner, looking through a field-glass, +said that one figure was crouching by the flag-staff, and that it was a +woman. The other figure near was a man. As the morning wore on, they +saw upon a crag of ice below the sloping glacier two men looking upwards +towards the flag. One of them seemed to shriek out, and threw up his +hands, and made as if to rush forward; but the other drew him back. + +Heldon knew what revenge and disgrace may be at their worst. In vain he +tried to reach God’s Playground. Only one man knew the way, and he was +dead upon it--with Heldon’s wife: two shameless suicides.... When he +came down from the mountain the hair upon his face was white, though +that upon his head remained black as it had always been. And those +frozen figures stayed there like statues with that other crimson flag: +until, one day, a great-bodied wind swept out of the north, and, in +pity, carried them down a bottomless fissure. + +But long before this happened, The Woman had fled from Little Goshen in +the night, and her house was burned to the ground. + + + + +THE FLOOD + +Wendling came to Fort Anne on the day that the Reverend Ezra Badgley and +an unknown girl were buried. And that was a notable thing. The man had +been found dead at his evening meal; the girl had died on the same day; +and they were buried side by side. This caused much scandal, for the +man was holy, and the girl, as many women said, was probably evil +altogether. At the graves, when the minister’s people saw what was +being done, they piously protested; but the Factor, to whom Pierre had +whispered a word, answered them gravely that the matter should go +on: since none knew but the woman was as worthy of heaven as the man. +Wendling chanced to stand beside Pretty Pierre. + +“Who knows!” he said aloud, looking hard at the graves, “who knows!... +She died before him, but the dead can strike.” + +Pierre did not answer immediately, for the Factor was calling the earth +down on both coffins; but after a moment he added: “Yes, the dead can +strike.” And then the eyes of the two men caught and stayed, and they +knew that they had things to say to each other in the world. + +They became friends. And that, perhaps, was not greatly to Wendling’s +credit; for in the eyes of many Pierre was an outcast as an outlaw. +Maybe some of the women disliked this friendship most; since Wendling +was a handsome man, and Pierre was never known to seek them, good or +bad; and they blamed him for the other’s coldness, for his unconcerned +yet respectful eye. + +“There’s Nelly Nolan would dance after him to the world’s end,” said +Shon McGann to Pierre one day; “and the Widdy Jerome herself, wid her +flamin’ cheeks and the wild fun in her eye, croons like a babe at the +breast as he slides out his cash on the bar; and over on Gansonby’s Flat +there’s--” + +“There’s many a fool, ‘voila,’” sharply interjected Pierre, as he pushed +the needle through a button he was sewing on his coat. + +“Bedad, there’s a pair of fools here, anyway, I say; for the women might +die without lift at waist or brush of lip, and neither of ye’d say, +‘Here’s to the joy of us, goddess, me own!’” + +Pierre seemed to be intently watching the needlepoint as it pierced up +the button-eye, and his reply was given with a slowness corresponding +to the sedate passage of the needle. “Wendling, you think, cares nothing +for women? Well, men who are like that cared once for one woman, and +when that was over--But, pshaw! I will not talk. You are no thinker, +Shon McGann. You blunder through the world. And you’ll tremble as much +to a woman’s thumb in fifty years as now.” + +“By the holy smoke,” said Shon, “though I tremble at that, maybe, I’ll +not tremble, as Wendling, at nothing at all.” Here Pierre looked up +sharply, then dropped his eyes on his work again. Shon lapsed suddenly +into a moodiness. + +“Yes,” said Pierre, “as Wendling, at nothing at all? Well?” + +“Well, this, Pierre, for you that’s a thinker from me that’s none. I was +walking with him in Red Glen yesterday. Sudden he took to shiverin’, and +snatched me by the arm, and a mad look shot out of his handsome face. +‘Hush!’ says he. I listened. There was a sound like the hard rattle of +a creek over stones, and then another sound behind that. ‘Come quick,’ +says he, the sweat standin’ thick on him; and he ran me up the bank--for +it was at the beginnin’ of the Glen where the sides were low--and there +we stood pantin’ and starin’ flat at each other. ‘What’s that? and +what’s got its hand on ye? for y’ are cold as death, an’ pinched in the +face, an’ you’ve bruised my arm,’ said I. And he looked round him slow +and breathed hard, then drew his fingers through the sweat on his cheek. +‘I’m not well, and I thought I heard--you heard it; what was it like?’ +said he; and he peered close at me. ‘Like water,’ said I; ‘a little +creek near, and a flood comin’ far off.’ ‘Yes, just that,’ said he; +‘it’s some trick of wind in the place, but it makes a man foolish, and +an inch of brandy would be the right thing.’ I didn’t say no to that. +And on we came, and brandy we had with a wish in the eye of Nelly Nolan +that’d warm the heart of a tomb.... And there’s a cud for your chewin’, +Pierre. Think that by the neck and the tail, and the divil absolve ye.” + +During this, Pierre had finished with the button. He had drawn on his +coat and lifted his hat, and now lounged, trying the point of the needle +with his forefinger. When Shon ended, he said with a sidelong glance: +“But what did you think of all that, Shon?” + +“Think! There it was! What’s the use of thinkin’? There’s many a trick +in the world with wind or with spirit, as I’ve seen often enough in ould +Ireland, and it’s not to be guessed by me.” Here his voice got a little +lower and a trifle solemn. “For, Pierre,” spoke he, “there’s what’s more +than life or death, and sorra wan can we tell what it is; but we’ll know +some day whin--” + +“When we’ve taken the leap at the Almighty Ditch,” said Pierre, with a +grave kind of lightness. “Yes, it is all strange. But even the Almighty +Ditch is worth the doing: nearly everything is worth the doing; being +young, growing old, fighting, loving--when youth is on--hating, eating, +drinking, working, playing big games. All is worth it except two +things.” + +“And what are they, bedad?” + +“Thy neighbour’s wife and murder. Those are horrible. They double on a +man one time or another; always.” + +Here, as in curiosity, Pierre pierced his finger with the needle, and +watched the blood form in a little globule. Looking at it meditatively +and sardonically, he said: “There is only one end to these. Blood +for blood is a great matter; and I used to wonder if it would not be +terrible for a man to see his death coming on him drop by drop, like +that.” He let the spot of blood fall to the floor. “But now I know that +there is a punishment worse than that... ‘mon Dieu!’ worse than that,” + he added. + +Into Shon’s face a strange look had suddenly come. “Yes, there’s +something worse than that, Pierre.” + +“So, ‘bien?’” + +Shon made the sacred gesture of his creed. “To be punished by the dead. +And not see them--only hear them.” And his eyes steadied firmly to the +other’s. + +Pierre was about to reply, but there came the sound of footsteps through +the open door, and presently Wendling entered slowly. He was pale and +worn, and his eyes looked out with a searching anxiousness. But that did +not render him less comely. He had always dressed in black and white, +and this now added to the easy and yet severe refinement of his person. +His birth and breeding had occurred in places unfrequented by such as +Shon and Pierre; but plains and wild life level all; and men are friends +according to their taste and will, and by no other law. Hence these +with Wendling. He stretched out his hand to each without a word. The +hand-shake was unusual; he had little demonstration ever. Shon looked up +surprised, but responded. Pierre followed with a swift, inquiring look; +then, in the succeeding pause, he offered cigarettes. Wendling took one; +and all, silent, sat down. The sun streamed intemperately through the +doorway, making a broad ribbon of light straight across the floor +to Wendling’s feet. After lighting his cigarette, he looked into the +sunlight for a moment, still not speaking. Shon meanwhile had started +his pipe, and now, as if he found the silence awkward,--“It’s a day for +God’s country, this,” he said: “to make man a Christian for little or +much, though he play with the Divil betunewhiles.” Without looking at +them, Wendling said, in a low voice: “It was just such a day, down there +in Quebec, when It happened. You could hear the swill of the river, the +water licking the piers, and the saws in the Big Mill and the Little +Mill as they marched through the timber, flashing their teeth like +bayonets. It’s a wonderful sound on a hot, clear day--that wild, +keen singing of the saws, like the cry of a live thing fighting and +conquering. Up from the fresh-cut lumber in the yards there came a smell +like the juice of apples, and the sawdust, as you thrust your hand into +it, was as cool and soft as the leaves of a clove-flower in the dew. On +these days the town was always still. It looked sleeping, and you saw +the heat quivering up from the wooden walls and the roofs of cedar +shingles as though the houses were breathing.” + +Here he paused, still intent on the shaking sunshine. Then he turned to +the others as if suddenly aware that he had been talking to them. Shon +was about to speak, but Pierre threw a restraining glance, and, instead, +they all looked through the doorway and beyond. In the settlement below +they saw the effect that Wendling had described. The houses breathed. A +grasshopper went clacking past, a dog at the door snapped up a fly; but +there seemed no other life of day. Wendling nodded his head towards the +distance. “It was quiet, like that. I stood and watched the mills and +the yards, and listened to the saws, and looked at the great slide, +and the logs on the river: and I said ever to myself that it was all +mine--all. Then I turned to a big house on the hillock beyond the +cedars, whose windows were open, with a cool dusk lying behind them. +More than all else, I loved to think I owned that house and what was in +it.... She was a beautiful woman. And she used to sit in a room facing +the mill--though the house fronted another way--thinking of me, I did +not doubt, and working at some delicate needle-stuff. There never had +been a sharp word between us, save when I quarrelled bitterly with +her brother, and he left the mill and went away. But she got over that +mostly, though the lad’s name was, never mentioned between us. That day +I was so hungry for the sight of her that I got my field-glass--used to +watch my vessels and rafts making across the bay--and trained it on the +window where I knew she sat. I thought, it would amuse her, too, when I +went back at night, if I told her what she had been doing. I laughed +to myself at the thought of it as I adjusted the glass.... I looked.... +There was no more laughing.... I saw her, and in front of her a man, +with his back half on me. I could not recognise him, though at the +instant I thought he was something familiar. I failed to get his face at +all. Hers I found indistinctly. But I saw him catch her playfully by the +chin! After a little they rose. He put his arm about her and kissed +her, and he ran his fingers through her hair. She had such fine golden +hair--so light, and it lifted to every breath. Something got into my +brain. I know now it was the maggot which sent Othello mad. The world in +that hour was malicious, awful.... + +“After a time--it seemed ages, she and everything had receded so far--I +went... home. At the door I asked the servant who had been there. She +hesitated, confused, and then said the young curate of the parish. I was +very cool: for madness is a strange thing; you see everything with an +intense aching clearness--that is the trouble.... She was more kind +than common. I do not think I was unusual. I was playing a part well, +my grandmother had Indian blood like yours, Pierre, and I was waiting. +I was even nicely critical of her to myself. I balanced the mole on her +neck against her general beauty; the curve of her instep, I decided, was +a little too emphatic. I passed her backwards and forwards, weighing her +at every point; but yet these two things were the only imperfections. +I pronounced her an exceeding piece of art--and infamy. I was much +interested to see how she could appear perfect in her soul. I encouraged +her to talk. I saw with devilish irony that an angel spoke. And, to +cap it all, she assumed the fascinating air of the mediator--for her +brother; seeking a reconciliation between us. Her amazing art of +person and mind so worked upon me that it became unendurable; it was so +exquisite--and so shameless. I was sitting where the priest had sat that +afternoon; and when she leaned towards me I caught her chin lightly and +trailed my fingers through her hair as he had done: and that ended it, +for I was cold, and my heart worked with horrible slowness. Just as a +wave poises at its height before breaking upon the shore, it hung at +every pulse-beat, and then seemed to fall over with a sickening thud. I +arose, and acting still, spoke impatiently of her brother. Tears sprang +to her eyes. Such divine dissimulation, I thought--too good for earth. +She turned to leave the room, and I did not stay her. Yet we were +together again that night.... I was only waiting.” + +The cigarette had dropped from his fingers to the floor, and lay there +smoking. Shon’s face was fixed with anxiety; Pierre’s eyes played +gravely with the sunshine. Wendling drew a heavy breath, and then went +on. + +“Again, next day, it was like this-the world draining the heat.... I +watched from the Big Mill. I saw them again. He leaned over her chair +and buried his face in her hair. The proof was absolute now.... I +started away, going a roundabout, that I might not be seen. It took me +some time. I was passing through a clump of cedar when I saw them making +towards the trees skirting the river. Their backs were on me. Suddenly +they diverted their steps--towards the great slide, shut off from water +this last few months, and used as a quarry to deepen it. Some petrified +things had been found in the rocks, but I did not think they were going +to these. I saw them climb down the rocky steps; and presently they were +lost to view. The gates of the slide could be opened by machinery from +the Little Mill. A terrible, deliciously malignant thought came to me. I +remember how the sunlight crept away from me and left me in the dark. I +stole through that darkness to the Little Mill. I went to the machinery +for opening the gates. Very gently I set it in motion, facing the slide +as I did so. I could see it through the open sides of the mill. I smiled +to think what the tiny creek, always creeping through a faint leak in +the gates and falling with a granite rattle on the stones, would now +become. I pushed the lever harder--harder. I saw the gates suddenly +give, then fly open, and the river sprang roaring massively through +them. I heard a shriek through the roar. I shuddered; and a horrible +sickness came on me.... And as I turned from the machinery, I saw the +young priest coming at me through a doorway!... It was not the priest +and my wife that I had killed; but my wife and her brother....” + +He threw his head back as though something clamped his throat. His voice +roughened with misery. “The young priest buried them both, and people +did not know the truth. They were even sorry for me. But I gave up the +mills--all; and I became homeless... this.” + +Now he looked up at the two men, and said: “I have told you because you +know something, and because there will, I think, be an end soon.” He +got up and reached out a trembling hand for a cigarette. Pierre gave him +one. “Will you walk with me”? he asked. + +Shon shook his head. “God forgive you,” he replied, “I can’t do it.” + +But Wendling and Pierre left the hut together. They walked for an hour, +scarcely speaking, and not considering where they went. At last Pierre +mechanically turned to go down into Red Glen. Wendling stopped short, +then, with a sighing laugh, strode on. “Shoo has told you what happened +here”? he said. + +Pierre nodded. + +“And you know what came once when you walked with me.... The dead can +strike,” he added. Pierre sought his eye. “The minister and the girl +buried together that day,” he said, “were--” + +He stopped, for behind him he heard the sharp, cold trickle of water. +Silent they walked on. It followed them. They could not get out of the +Glen now until they had compassed its length--the walls were high. The +sound grew. The men faced each other. + +“Good-bye,” said Wendling; and he reached out his hand swiftly. But +Pierre heard a mighty flood groaning on them, and he blinded as he +stretched his arm in response. He caught at Wendling’s shoulder, but +felt him lifted and carried away, while he himself stood still in a +screeching wind and heard impalpable water rushing over him. In a minute +it was gone; and he stood alone in Red Glen. + +He gathered himself up and ran. Far down, where the Glen opened to the +plain, he found Wendling. The hands were wrinkled; the face was cold; +the body was wet: the man was drowned and dead. + + + + +IN PIPI VALLEY + +“Divils me darlins, it’s a memory I have of a time whin luck wasn’t +foldin’ her arms round me, and not so far back aither, and I on the +wallaby track hot-foot for the City o’ Gold.” + +Shon McGann said this in the course of a discussion on the prosperity of +Pipi Valley. Pretty Pierre remarked nonchalantly in reply,--“The wallaby +track--eh--what is that, Shon?” + +“It’s a bit of a haythen y’ are, Pierre. The wallaby track? That’s +the name in Australia for trampin’ west through the plains of the +Never-Never Country lookin’ for the luck o’ the world; as, bedad, it’s +meself that knows it, and no other, and not by book or tellin’ either, +but with the grip of thirst at me throat and a reef in me belt every +hour to quiet the gnawin’.” And Shon proceeded to light his pipe afresh. + +“But the City o’ Gold-was there much wealth for you there, Shon?” + +Shon laughed, and said between the puffs of smoke, “Wealth for me, is +it? Oh, mother o’ Moses! wealth of work and the pride of livin’ in the +heart of us, and the grip of an honest hand betunewhiles; and what more +do y’ want, Pierre?” + +The Frenchman’s drooping eyelids closed a little more, and he replied, +meditatively: “Money? No, that is not Shon McGann. The good fellowship +of thirst?--yes, a little. The grip of the honest hand, quite, and the +clinch of an honest waist? Well, ‘peut-etre.’ + +“Of the waist which is not honest?--tsh! he is gay--and so!” + +The Irishman took his pipe from his mouth, and held it poised before +him. He looked inquiringly and a little frowningly at the other for a +moment, as if doubtful whether to resent the sneer that accompanied the +words just spoken; but at last he good-humouredly said: “Blood o’ me +bones, but it’s much I fear the honest waist hasn’t always been me +portion--Heaven forgive me!” + +“‘Nom de pipe,’ this Irishman!” replied Pierre. “He is gay; of good +heart; he smiles, and the women are at his heels; he laughs, and they +are on their knees--Such a fool he is!” + +Still Shon McGann laughed. + +“A fool I am, Pierre, or I’d be in ould Ireland at this minute, with a +roof o’ me own over me and the friends o’ me youth round me, and brats +on me knee, and the fear o’ God in me heart.” + +“‘Mais,’ Shon,” mockingly rejoined the Frenchman, “this is not Ireland, +but there is much like that to be done here. There is a roof, and there +is that woman at Ward’s Mistake, and the brats--eh, by and by?” + +Shon’s face clouded. He hesitated, then replied sharply: “That woman, do +y’ say, Pierre, she that nursed me when the Honourable and meself were +taken out o’ Sandy Drift, more dead than livin’; she that brought me +back to life as good as ever, barrin’ this scar on me forehead and a +stiffness at me elbow, and the Honourable as right as the sun, more luck +to him! which he doesn’t need at all, with the wind of fortune in his +back and shiftin’ neither to right nor left.--That woman! faith, y’d +better not cut the words so sharp betune yer teeth, Pierre.” + +“But I will say more--a little--just the same. She nursed you--well, +that is good; but it is good also, I think, you pay her for that, and +stop the rest. Women are fools, or else they are worse. This one? She is +worse. Yes; you will take my advice, Shon McGann.” The Irishman came to +his feet with a spring, and his words were angry. + +“It doesn’t come well from Pretty Pierre, the gambler, to be revilin’ +a woman; and I throw it in y’r face, though I’ve slept under the same +blanket with ye, an’ drunk out of the same cup on manny a tramp, that +you lie dirty and black when ye spake ill--of my wife.” + +This conversation had occurred in a quiet corner of the bar-room of the +Saints’ Repose. The first few sentences had not been heard by the others +present; but Shon’s last speech, delivered in a ringing tone, drew the +miners to their feet, in expectation of seeing shots exchanged at once. +The code required satisfaction, immediate and decisive. Shon was not +armed, and some one thrust a pistol towards him; but he did not take +it. Pierre rose, and coming slowly to him, laid a slender finger on his +chest, and said: + +“So! I did not know that she was your wife. That is a surprise.” + +The miners nodded assent. He continued: + +“Lucy Rives your wife! Hola, Shon McGann, that is such a joke.” + +“It’s no joke, but God’s truth, and the lie is with you, Pierre.” + +Murmurs of anticipation ran round the room; but the half-breed said: +“There will be satisfaction altogether; but it is my whim to prove what +I say first; then”--fondling his revolver--“then we shall settle. But, +see: you will meet me here at ten o’clock to-night, and I will make it, +I swear to you, so clear, that the woman is vile.” + +The Irishman suddenly clutched the gambler, shook him like a dog, and +threw him against the farther wall. Pierre’s pistol was levelled from +the instant Shon moved; but he did not use it. He rose on one knee after +the violent fall, and pointing it at the other’s head, said coolly: +“I could kill you, my friend, so easy! But it is not my whim. Till ten +o’clock is not long to wait, and then, just here, one of us shall die. +Is it not so?” The Irishman did not flinch before the pistol. He said +with low fierceness, “At ten o’clock, or now, or any time, or at any +place, y’ll find me ready to break the back of the lies y’ve spoken, or +be broken meself. Lucy Rives is my wife, and she’s true and straight as +the sun in the sky. I’ll be here at ten o’clock, and as ye say, Pierre, +one of us makes the long reckoning for this.” And he opened the door and +went out. + +The half-breed moved to the bar, and, throwing down a handful of +silver, said: “It is good we drink after so much heat. Come on, come on, +comrades.” + +The miners responded to the invitation. Their sympathy was mostly with +Shon McGann; their admiration was about equally divided; for Pretty +Pierre had the quality of courage in as active a degree as the Irishman, +and they knew that some extraordinary motive, promising greater +excitement, was behind the Frenchman’s refusal to send a bullet through +Shon’s head a moment before. + +King Kinkley, the best shot in the Valley next to Pierre, had watched +the unusual development of the incident with interest; and when his +glass had been filled he said, thoughtfully: “This thing isn’t according +to Hoyle. There’s never been any trouble just like it in the Valley +before. What’s that McGann said about the lady being his wife? If it’s +the case, where hev we been in the show? Where was we when the license +was around? It isn’t good citizenship, and I hev my doubts.” + +Another miner, known as the Presbyterian, added: “There’s some +skulduggery in it, I guess. The lady has had as much protection as if +she was the sister of every citizen of the place, just as much as Lady +Jane here (Lady Jane, the daughter of the proprietor of the Saints’ +Repose, administered drinks), and she’s played this stacked hand on us, +has gone one better on the sly.” + +“Pierre,” said King Kinkley, “you’re on the track of the secret, and +appear to hev the advantage of the lady: blaze it--blaze it out.” + +Pierre rejoined, “I know something; but it is good we wait until ten +o’clock. Then I will show you all the cards in the pack. Yes, so, ‘bien +sur.’” + +And though there was some grumbling, Pierre had his way. The spirit +of adventure and mutual interest had thrown the French half-breed, the +Irishman, and the Hon. Just Trafford together on the cold side of the +Canadian Rockies; and they had journeyed to this other side, where the +warm breath from the Pacific passed to its congealing in the ranges. +They had come to the Pipi field when it was languishing. From the moment +of their coming its luck changed; it became prosperous. They conquered +the Valley each after his kind. The Honourable--he was always called +that--mastered its resources by a series of “great lucks,” as Pierre +termed it, had achieved a fortune, and made no enemies; and but two +months before the day whose incidents are here recorded, had gone to the +coast on business. Shon had won the reputation of being a “white man,” + to say nothing of his victories in the region of gallantry. He made no +wealth; he only got that he might spend. Irishman-like he would barter +the chances of fortune for the lilt of a voice or the clatter of a +pretty foot. + +Pierre was different. “Women, ah, no!” he would say, “they make men +fools or devils.” + +His temptation lay not that way. When the three first came to the +Pipi, Pierre was a miner, simply; but nearly all his life he had been +something else, as many a devastated pocket on the east of the Rockies +could bear witness; and his new career was alien to his soul. Temptation +grew greatly on him at the Pipi, and in the days before he yielded to it +he might have been seen at midnight in his but playing solitaire. Why he +abstained at first from practising his real profession is accounted for +in two ways: he had tasted some of the sweets of honest companionship +with the Honourable and Shon, and then he had a memory of an ugly night +at Pardon’s Drive a year before, when he stood over his own brother’s +body, shot to death by accident in a gambling row having its origin with +himself. These things had held him back for a time; but he was weaker +than his ruling passion. + +The Pipi was a young and comparatively virgin field; the quarry was at +his hand. He did not love money for its own sake; it was the game that +enthralled him. He would have played his life against the treasury of a +kingdom, and, winning it with loaded double sixes, have handed back the +spoil as an unredeemable national debt. + +He fell at last, and in falling conquered the Pipi Valley; at the same +time he was considered a fearless and liberal citizen, who could shoot +as straight as he played well. He made an excursion to another field, +however, at an opportune time, and it was during this interval that the +accident to Shon and the Honourable had happened. He returned but a few +hours before this quarrel with Shon occurred, and in the Saints’ Repose, +whither he had at once gone, he was told of the accident. While his +informant related the incident and the romantic sequence of Shon’s +infatuation, the woman passed the tavern and was pointed out to Pierre. +The half-breed had not much excitableness in his nature, but when he saw +this beautiful woman with a touch of the Indian in her contour, his pale +face flushed, and he showed his set teeth under his slight moustache. +He watched her until she entered a shop, on the signboard of which +was written--written since he had left a few months ago--Lucy Rives, +Tobacconist. + +Shon had then entered the Saints’ Repose; and we know the rest. A +couple of hours after this nervous episode, Pierre might have been seen +standing in the shadow of the pines not far from the house at Ward’s +Mistake, where, he had been told, Lucy Rives lived with an old Indian +woman. He stood, scarcely moving, and smoking cigarettes, until the door +opened. Shon came out and walked down the hillside to the town. Then +Pierre went to the door, and without knocking, opened it, and entered. +A woman started up from a seat where she was sewing, and turned towards +him. As she did so, the work, Shon’s coat, dropped from her hands, her +face paled, and her eyes grew big with fear. She leaned against a chair +for support--this man’s presence had weakened her so. She stood silent, +save for a slight moan that broke from her lips, as Pierre lighted a +cigarette coolly, and then said to an old Indian woman who sat upon the +floor braiding a basket: “Get up, Ikni, and go away.” + +Ikni rose, came over, and peered into the face of the half-breed. Then +she muttered: “I know you--I know you. The dead has come back again.” + She caught his arm with her bony fingers as if to satisfy herself that +he was flesh and blood, and shaking her head dolefully, went from the +room. When the door closed behind her there was silence, broken only by +an exclamation from the man. + +The other drew her hand across her eyes, and dropped it with a motion of +despair. Then Pierre said, sharply: “Bien?” + +“Francois,” she replied, “you are alive!” + +“Yes, I am alive, Lucy.” + +She shuddered, then grew still again and whispered: “Why did you let it +be thought that you were drowned? Why? Oh, why”? she moaned. + +He raised his eyebrows slightly, and between the puffs of smoke, said: + +“Ah yes, my Lucy, why? It was so long ago. Let me see: so--so--ten +years. Ten years is a long time to remember, eh?” + +He came towards her. She drew back; but her hand remained on the chair. +He touched the plain gold ring on her finger, and said: + +“You still wear it. To think of that--so loyal for a woman! How she +remembers, holy Mother!... But shall I not kiss you, yes, just once +after eight years--my wife?” + +She breathed hard and drew back against the wall, dazed and frightened, +and said: + +“No, no, do not come near me; do not speak to me--ah, please, stand +back, for a moment--please!” + +He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and continued, with mock tenderness: + +“To think that things come round so! And here you have a home. But that +is good. I am tired of much travel and life all alone. The prodigal goes +not to the home, the home comes to the prodigal.” He stretched up his +arms as if with a feeling of content. + +“Do you--do you not know,” she said, “that--that--” + +He interrupted her: + +“Do I not know, Lucy, that this is your home? Yes. But is it not all +the same? I gave you a home ten years ago--to think, ten years ago! We +quarrelled one night, and I left you. Next morning my boat was found +below the White Cascade--yes, but that was so stale a trick! It was not +worthy of Francois Rives. He would do it so much better now; but he was +young then; just a boy, and foolish. Well, sit down, Lucy, it is a long +story, and you have much to tell, how much--who knows?” She came slowly +forward and said with a painful effort: + +“You did a great wrong, Francois. You have killed me. + +“Killed you, Lucy, my wife! Pardon! Never in those days did you look so +charming as now--never. But the great surprise of seeing your husband, +it has made you shy, quite shy. There will be much time now for you to +change all that. It is quite pleasant to think on, Lucy.... You remember +the song we used to sing on the Chaudiere at St. Antoine? See, I have +not forgotten it-- + + “‘Nos amants sont en guerre, + Vole, mon coeur, vole.’” + +He hummed the lines over and over, watching through his half-shut eyes +the torture he was inflicting. + +“Oh, Mother of God,” she whispered, “have mercy! Can you not see, do you +not know? I am not as you left me.” + +“Yes, my wife, you are just the same; not an hour older. I am glad that +you have come to me. But how they will envy Pretty Pierre!” + +“Envy--Pretty-Pierre,” she repeated, in distress; “are you Pretty +Pierre? Ah, I might have known, I might have known!” + +“Yes, and so! Is not Pretty Pierre as good a name as Francois Rives? Is +it not as good as Shon McGann?” + +“Oh, I see it all, I see it all now!” she said mournfully. “It was with +you he quarrelled, and about me. He would not tell me what it was. You +know, then, that I am--that I am married--to him?” + +“Quite. I know all that; but it is no marriage.” He rose to his feet +slowly, dropping the cigarette from his lips as he did so. “Yes,” he +continued, “and I know that you prefer Shon McGann to Pretty Pierre.” + +She spread out her hands appealingly. + +“But you are my wife, not his. Listen: do you know what I shall do? I +will tell you in two hours. It is now eight o’clock. At ten o’clock Shon +McGann will meet me at the Saints’ Repose. Then you shall know.... +Ah, it is a pity! Shon was my good friend, but this spoils all that. +Wine--it has danger; cards--there is peril in that sport; women--they +make trouble most of all.” + +“O God,” she piteously said, “what did I do? There was no sin in me. +I was your faithful wife, though you were cruel to me. You left +me, cheated me, brought this upon me. It is you that has done this +wickedness, not I.” She buried her face in her hands, falling on her +knees beside the chair. + +He bent above her: “You loved the young avocat better, eight years ago.” + +She sprang to her feet. “Ah, now I understand,” she said. “That was why +you quarrelled with me; why you deserted me. You were not man enough to +say what made you so much the--so wicked and hard, so--” + +“Be thankful, Lucy, that I did not kill you then,” he interjected. + +“But it is a lie,” she cried; “a lie!” + +She went to the door and called the Indian woman. “Ikni,” she said. “He +dares to say evil of Andre and me. Think--of Andre!” + +Ikni came to him, put her wrinkled face close to his, and said: “She +was yours, only yours; but the spirits gave you a devil. Andre, oh, oh, +Andre! The father of Andre was her father--ah, that makes your sulky +eyes to open. Ikni knows how to speak. Ikni nursed them both. If you had +waited you should have known. But you ran away like a wolf from a coal +of fire; you shammed death like a fox; you come back like the snake to +crawl into the house and strike with poison tooth, when you should be +with the worms in the ground. But Ikni knows--you shall be struck with +poison too, the Spirit of the Red Knife waits for you. Andre was her +brother.” + +He pushed her aside savagely: “Be still!” he said. “Get out-quick. +‘Sacre’--quick!” + +When they were alone again he continued with no anger in his tone: “So, +Andre the avocat and you--that, eh? Well, you see how much trouble has +come; and now this other--a secret too. When were you married to Shon +McGann?” + +“Last night,” she bitterly replied; “a priest came over from the Indian +village.” + +“Last night,” he musingly repeated. “Last night I lost two thousand +dollars at the Little Goshen field. I did not play well last night; I +was nervous. In ten years I had not lost so much at one game as I did +last night. It was a punishment for playing too honest, or something; +eh, what do you think, Lucy--or something, ‘hein?’” + +She said nothing, but rocked her body to and fro. + +“Why did you not make known the marriage with Shon?” + +“He was to have told it to-night,” she said. + +There was silence for a moment, then a thought flashed into his +eyes, and he rejoined with a jarring laugh, “Well, I will play a game +to-night, Lucy Rives; such a game that Pretty Pierre will never be +forgotten in the Pipi Valley--a beautiful game, just for two. And the +other who will play--the wife of Francois Rives shall see if she will +wait; but she must be patient, more patient than her husband was ten +years ago.” + +“What will you do--tell me, what will you do?” + +“I will play a game of cards--just one magnificent game; and the cards +shall settle it. All shall be quite fair, as when you and I played +in the little house by the Chaudiere--at first, Lucy,--before I was a +devil.” + +Was this peculiar softness to his last tones assumed or real? She looked +at him inquiringly; but he moved away to the window, and stood gazing +down the hillside towards the town below. His eyes smarted. + +“I will die,” she said to herself in whispers--“I will die.” A minute +passed, and then Pierre turned and said to her: “Lucy, he is coming up +the hill. Listen. If you tell him that I have seen you, I will shoot him +on sight, dead. You would save him, for a little, for an hour or two--or +more? Well, do as I say; for these things must be according to the rules +of the game, and I myself will tell him all at the Saints’ Repose. He +gave me the lie there, and I will tell him the truth before them all +there. Will you do as I say?” + +She hesitated an instant, and then replied: “I will not tell him.” + +“There is only one way, then,” he continued. “You must go at once from +here into the woods behind there, and not see him at all. Then at ten +o’clock you will come to the Saints’ Repose, if you choose, to know how +the game has ended.” + +She was trembling, moaning, no longer. A set look had come into her +face; her eyes were steady and hard. She quietly replied: “Yes, I shall +be there.” + +He came to her, took her hand, and drew from her finger the wedding-ring +which last night Shon McGann had placed there. She submitted passively. +Then, with an upward wave of his fingers, he spoke in a mocking +lightness, but without any of the malice which had first appeared in his +tones, words from an old French song: + + “I say no more, my lady + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine! + I say no more, my lady, + As nought more can be said.” + +He opened the door, motioned to the Indian woman, and, in a few moments, +the broken-hearted Lucy Rives and her companion were hidden in the +pines; and Pretty Pierre also disappeared into the shadow of the woods +as Shon McGann appeared on the crest of the hill. + +The Irishman walked slowly to the door, and pausing, said to himself: +“I couldn’t run the big risk, me darlin’, without seein’ you again, God +help me! There’s danger ahead which little I’d care for if it wasn’t for +you.” + +Then he stepped inside the house--the place was silent; he called, but +no one answered; he threw open the doors of the rooms, but they were +empty; he went outside and called again, but no reply came, except the +flutter of a night-hawk’s wings and the cry of a whippoorwill. He went +back into the house and sat down with his head between his hands. So, +for a moment, and then he raised his head, and said with a sad smile: +“Faith, Shon, me boy, this takes the life out of you! the empty house +where she ought to be, and the smile of her so swate, and the hand of +her that falls on y’r shoulder like a dove on the blessed altar-gone, +and lavin’ a chill on y’r heart like a touch of the dead. Sure, nivir +a wan of me saw any that could stand wid her for goodness, barrin’ +the angel that kissed me good-bye with one foot in the stirrup an’ the +troopers behind me, now twelve years gone, in ould Donegal, and that +I’ll niver see again, she lyin’ where the hate of the world will vex the +heart of her no more, and the masses gone up for her soul. Twice, twice +in y’r life, Shon McGann, has the cup of God’s joy been at y’r lips, and +is it both times that it’s to spill?--Pretty Pierre shoots straight and +sudden, and maybe it’s aisy to see the end of it; but as the just God +is above us, I’ll give him the lie in his throat betimes for the word he +said agin me darlin’. What’s the avil thing that he has to say? What’s +the divil’s proof he would bring? And where is she now? Where are you, +Lucy? I know the proof I’ve got in me heart that the wreck of the world +couldn’t shake, while that light, born of Heaven, swims up to your eyes +whin you look at me!” + +He rose to his feet again and walked to and fro; he went once more to +the doors; he looked here and there through the growing dusk, but to no +purpose. She had said that she would not go to her shop this night; but +if not, then where could she have gone and Ikni, too? He felt there was +more awry in his life than he cared to put into thought or speech. +He picked up the sewing she had dropped and looked at it as one would +regard a relic of the dead; he lifted her handkerchief, kissed it, and +put it in his breast. He took a revolver from his pocket and examined it +closely, looked round the room as though to fasten it in his memory, +and then passed out, closing the door behind him. He walked down the +hillside and went to her shop in the one street of the town, but she was +not there, nor had the lad in charge seen her. + +Meanwhile, Pretty Pierre had made his way to the Saints’ Repose, and +was sitting among the miners indolently smoking. In vain he was asked +to play cards. His one reply was, “No, pardon, no! I play one game only +to-night, the biggest game ever played in Pipi Valley.” In vain, also, +was he asked to drink. He refused the hospitality, defying the danger +that such lack of good-fellowship might bring forth. He hummed in +patches to himself the words of a song that the ‘brules’ were wont to +sing when they hunted the buffalo: + + “‘Voila!’ it is the sport to ride-- + Ah, ah the brave hunter! + + To thrust the arrow in his hide, + To send the bullet through his side + ‘Ici,’ the buffalo, ‘joli!’ + Ah, ah the buffalo!” + +He nodded here and there as men entered; but he did not stir from his +seat. He smoked incessantly, and his eyes faced the door of the bar-room +that entered upon the street. There was no doubt in the minds of any +present that the promised excitement would occur. Shon McGann was as +fearless as he was gay. And Pipi Valley remembered the day in which +he had twice risked his life to save two women from a burning +building--Lady Jane and another. And Lady Jane this evening was +agitated, and once or twice furtively looked at something under the +bar-counter; in fact, a close observer would have noticed anger or +anxiety in the eyes of the daughter of Dick Waldron, the keeper of the +Saints’ Repose. Pierre would certainly have seen it had he been looking +that way. An unusual influence was working upon the frequenters of the +busy tavern. Planned, premeditated excitement was out of their line. +Unexpectedness was the salt of their existence. This thing had an air +of system not in accord with the suddenness of the Pipi mind. The +half-breed was the only one entirely at his ease; he was languid and +nonchalant; the long lashes of his half-shut eyelids gave his face a +pensive look. At last King Kinkley walked over to him and said: “There’s +an almighty mysteriousness about this event which isn’t joyful, Pretty +Pierre. We want to see the muss cleared up, of course; we want Shon +McGann to act like a high-toned citizen, and there’s a general prejudice +in favour of things bein’ on the flat of your palm, as it were. Now +this thing hangs fire, and there’s a lack of animation about it, isn’t +there?” + +To this, Pretty Pierre replied: “What can I do? This is not like other +things; one had to wait; great things take time. To shoot is easy; but +to shoot is not all, as you shall see if you have a little patience. Ah, +my friend, where there is a woman, things are different. I throw a glass +in your face, we shoot, someone dies, and there it is quite plain of +reason; you play a card which was dealt just now, I call you--something, +and the swiftest finger does the trick; but in such as this, one must +wait for the sport.” + +It was at this point that Shon McGann entered, looked round, nodded to +all, and then came forward to the table where Pretty Pierre sat. As the +other took out his watch, Shon said firmly but quietly: “Pierre, I gave +you the lie to-day concerning me wife, and I’m here, as I said I’d be, +to stand by the word I passed then.” + +Pierre waved his fingers lightly towards the other, and slowly rose. +Then he said in sharp tones: “Yes, Shon McGann, you gave me the lie. +There is but one thing for that in Pipi Valley. You choked me; I would +not take that from a saint of heaven; but there was another thing to do +first. Well, I have done it; I said I would bring proofs--I have them.” + He paused, and now there might have been seen a shining moisture on his +forehead, and his words came menacingly from between his teeth, while +the room became breathlessly still, save that in the silence a sleeping +dog sighed heavily: “Shon McGann,” he added, “you are living with my +wife.” + +Twenty men drew in a sharp breath of excitement, and Shon +came a step nearer the other, and said in a strange voice: +“I--am--living--with--your--wife?” + +“As I say, with my wife, Lucy Rives. Francois Rives was my name ten +years ago. We quarrelled. I left her, and I never saw her again until +to-night. You went to see her two hours ago. You did not find her. Why? +She was gone because her husband, Pierre, told her to go. You want a +proof? You shall have it. Here is the wedding-ring you gave her last +night.” + +He handed it over, and Shon saw inside it his own name and hers. + +“My God!” he said. “Did she know? Tell me she didn’t know, Pierre?” + +“No, she did not know. I have truth to speak to night. I was jealous, +mad, and foolish, and I left her. My boat was found upset. They believed +I was drowned. ‘Bien,’ she waited until yesterday, and then she took +you--but she was my wife; she is my wife--and so you see!” + +The Irishman was deadly pale. + +“It’s an avil heart y’ had in y’ then, Pretty Pierre, and it’s an avil +day that brought this thing to pass, and there’s only wan way to the end +of it.” + +“So, that is true. There is only one way,” was the reply; “but what +shall that way be? Someone must go: there must be no mistake. I have +to propose. Here on this table we lay a revolver. We will give up these +which we have in our pockets. Then we will play a game of euchre, and +the winner of the game shall have the revolver. We will play for a life. +That is fair, eh--that is fair”? he said to those around. + +King Kinkley, speaking for the rest, replied: “That’s about fair. It +gives both a chance, and leaves only two when it’s over. While the woman +lives, one of you is naturally in the way. Pierre left her in a way that +isn’t handsome; but a wife’s a wife, and though Shon was all in the glum +about the thing, and though the woman isn’t to be blamed either, there’s +one too many of you, and there’s got to be a vacation for somebody. +Isn’t that so?” + +The rest nodded assent. They had been so engaged that they did not see +a woman enter the bar from behind, and crouch down beside Lady Jane, +a woman whom the latter touched affectionately on the shoulder and +whispered to once or twice, while she watched the preparations for the +game. + +The two men sat down, Shon facing the bar and Pierre with his back to +it. + +The game began, neither man showing a sign of nervousness, though Shon +was very pale. The game was to finish for ten points. Men crowded about +the tables silent but keenly excited; cigars were chewed instead of +smoked, and liquor was left undrunk. At the first deal Pierre made a +march, securing two. At the next Shon made a point, and at the next +also a march. The half-breed was playing a straight game. He could have +stacked the cards, but he did not do so; deft as he was he might have +cheated even the vigilant eyes about him, but it was not so; he played +as squarely as a novice. At the third, at the fourth, deal he made a +march; at the fifth, sixth, and seventh deals, Shon made a march, a +point, and a march. Both now had eight points. At the next deal both got +a point, and both stood at nine! + +Now came the crucial play. + +During the progress of the game nothing had been heard save the sound of +a knuckle on the table, the flip flip of the pasteboard, or the rasp of +a heel on the floor. There was a set smile on Shon’s face--a forgotten +smile, for the rest of the face was stern and tragic. Pierre smoked +cigarettes, pausing, while his opponent was shuffling and dealing, to +light them. + +Behind the bar as the game proceeded the woman who knelt beside Lady +Jane listened to every sound. Her eyes grew more agonised as the +numbers, whispered to her by her companion, climbed to the fatal ten. + +The last deal was Shon’s; there was that much to his advantage. As he +slowly dealt, the woman--Lucy Rives--rose to her feet behind Lady Jane. +So absorbed were all that none saw her. Her eyes passed from Pierre to +Shon, and stayed. + +When the cards were dealt, with but one point for either to gain, and so +win and save his life, there was a slight pause before the two took them +up. They did not look at one another; but each glanced at the revolver, +then at the men nearest them, and lastly, for an instant, at the +cards themselves, with their pasteboard faces of life and death turned +downward. As the players picked them up at last and spread them out +fan-like, Lady Jane slipped something into the hand of Lucy Rives. + +Those who stood behind Shon McGann stared with anxious astonishment at +his hand; it contained only nine and ten spots. It was easy to see the +direction of the sympathy of Pipi Valley. The Irishman’s face turned a +slight shade paler, but he did not tremble or appear disturbed. + +Pierre played his biggest card and took the point. He coolly counted +one, and said, “Game. I win.” The crowd drew back. Both rose to their +feet. In the painful silence the half-breed’s hand was gently laid on +the revolver. He lifted it, and paused slightly, his eyes fixed to the +steady look in those of Shon McGann. He raised the revolver again, till +it was level with Shon’s forehead, till it was even with his hair! Then +there was a shot, and someone fell--not Shon, but Pierre, saying, as +they caught him, “Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! From behind!” + +Instantly there was another shot, and someone crashed against the +bottles in the bar. The other factor in the game, the wife, had shot at +Pierre, and then sent a bullet through her own lungs. + +Shon stood for a moment as if he was turned to stone, and then his head +dropped in his arms upon the table. He had seen both shots fired, but +could not speak in time. + +Pierre was severely but not dangerously wounded in the neck. + +But the woman--? They brought her out from behind the counter. She still +breathed; but on her eyes was the film of coming death. She turned +to where Shon sat. Her lips framed his name, but no voice came forth. +Someone touched him on the shoulder. He looked up and caught her last +glance. He came and stooped beside her; but she had died with that +one glance from him, bringing a faint smile to her lips. And the smile +stayed when the life of her had fled--fled through the cloud over her +eyes, from the tide-beat of her pulse. It swept out from the smoke and +reeking air into the open world, and beyond, into those untried paths +where all must walk alone, and in what bitterness, known only to the +Master of the World who sees these piteous things, and orders in what +fashion distorted lives shall be made straight and wholesome in the +Places of Readjustment. + +Shon stood silent above the dead body. + +One by one the miners went out quietly. Presently Pierre nodded towards +the door, and King Kinkley and another lifted him and carried him +towards it. Before they passed into the street he made them turn him so +that he could see Shon. He waved his hand towards her that had been +his wife, and said: “She should have shot but once and straight, Shon +McGann, and then!--Eh, ‘bien!’” + +The door closed, and Shon McGann was left alone with the dead. + + + + +ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE + +“The birds are going south, Antoine--see--and it is so early!” + +“Yes, Angelique, the winter will be long.” + +There was a pause, and then: “Antoine, I heard a child cry in the night, +and I could not sleep.” + +“It was a devil-bird, my wife; it flies slowly, and the summer is dead.” + +“Antoine, there was a rushing of wings by my bed before the morn was +breaking.” + +“The wild-geese know their way in the night, Angelique; but they flew by +the house and not near thy bed.” + +“The two black squirrels have gone from the hickory tree.” + +“They have hidden away with the bears in the earth; for the frost comes, +and it is the time of sleep.” + +“A cold hand was knocking at my heart when I said my aves last night, my +Antoine.” + +“The heart of a woman feels many strange things: I cannot answer, my +wife.” + +“Let us go also southward, Antoine, before the great winds and the wild +frost come.” + +“I love thee, Angelique, but I cannot go.” + +“Is not love greater than all?” + +“To keep a pledge is greater.” + +“Yet if evil come?” + +“There is the mine.” + +“None travels hither; who should find it?” + +“He said to me, my wife: ‘Antoine, will you stay and watch the mine +until I come with the birds northward, again?’ and I said: ‘I will stay, +and Angelique will stay; I will watch the mine.’” + +“This is for his riches, but for our peril, Antoine.” + +“Who can say whither a woman’s fancy goes? It is full of guessing. It is +clouds and darkness to-day, and sunshine--so much--to-morrow. I cannot +answer.” + +“I have a fear; if my husband loved me--” + +“There is the mine,” he interrupted firmly. + +“When my heart aches so--” + +“Angelique, there is the mine.” + +“Ah, my Antoine!” + +And so these two stayed on the island of St. Jean, in Lake Superior, +through the purple haze of autumn, into the white brilliancy of winter, +guarding the Rose Tree Mine, which Falding the Englishman and his +companions had prospected and declared to be their Ophir. + +But St. Jean was far from the ways of settlement, and there was little +food and only one hut, and many things must be done for the Rose Tree +Mine in the places where men sell their souls for money; and Antoine and +Angelique, French peasants from the parish of Ste. Irene in Quebec, were +left to guard the place of treasure, until, to the sound of the laughing +spring, there should come many men and much machinery, and the sinking +of shafts in the earth, and the making, of riches. + +But when Antoine and Angelique were left alone in the waste, and God +began to draw the pale coverlet of frost slowly across land and water, +and to surround St. Jean with a stubborn moat of ice, the heart of the +woman felt some coming danger, and at last broke forth in words of +timid warning. When she once had spoken she said no more, but stayed +and builded the heaps of earth about the house, and filled every crevice +against the inhospitable Spirit of Winds, and drew her world closer +and closer within those two rooms where they should live through many +months. + +The winter was harsh, but the hearts of the two were strong. They loved; +and Love is the parent of endurance, the begetter of courage. And every +day, because it seemed his duty, Antoine inspected the Rose Tree Mine; +and every day also, because it seemed her duty, Angelique said many +aves. And one prayer was much with her--for spring to come early that +the child should not suffer: the child which the good God was to give to +her and Antoine. + +In the first hours of each evening Antoine smoked, and Angelique sang +the old songs which their ancestors learned in Normandy. One night +Antoine’s face was lighted with a fine fire as he talked of happy days +in the parish of Ste. Irene; and with that romantic fervour of his race +which the stern winters of Canada could not kill, he sang, ‘A la Claire +Fontaine,’ the well-beloved song-child of the ‘voyageurs’’ hearts. + +And the wife smiled far away into the dancing flames--far away, because +the fire retreated, retreated to the little church where they two were +wed; and she did as most good women do--though exactly why, man the +insufficient cannot declare--she wept a little through her smiles. But +when the last verse came, both smiles and tears ceased. Antoine sang it +with a fond monotony: + + “Would that each rose were growing + Upon the rose-tree gay, + And that the fatal rose-tree + Deep in the ocean lay. + ‘I ya longtemps que je t’aime + Jamais je ne t’oublierai.” + +Angelique’s heart grew suddenly heavy. From the rose-tree of the song +her mind fled and shivered before the leafless rose-tree by the mine; +and her old dread came back. + +Of course this was foolish of Angelique; of course the wise and great +throw contumely on all such superstition; and knowing women will smile +at each other meaningly, and with pity for a dull man-writer, and will +whisper, “Of course, the child.” But many things, your majesties, +are hidden from your wisdom and your greatness, and are given to the +simple--to babes, and the mothers of babes. + +It was upon this very night that Falding the Englishman sat with other +men in a London tavern, talking joyously. “There’s been the luck of +Heaven,” he said, “in the whole exploit. We’d been prospecting for +months. As a sort of try in a back-water we rowed over one night to an +island and pitched tents. Not a dozen yards from where we camped was a +rose-tree-think of it, Belgard, a rose-tree on a rag-tag island of Lake +Superior! ‘There’s luck in odd numbers, says Rory O’More.’ ‘There’s luck +here,’ said I; and at it we went just beside the rose-tree. What’s the +result? Look at that prospectus: a company with a capital of two hundred +thousand; the whole island in our hands in a week; and Antoine squatting +on it now like Bonaparte on Elbe.” + +“And what does Antoine get out of this”? said Belgard. + +“Forty dollars a month and his keep.” + +“Why not write him off twenty shares to propitiate the gods--gifts unto +the needy, eh!--a thousand-fold--what?” + +“Yes; it might be done, Belgard, if--” + +But someone just then proposed the toast, “The Rose Tree Mine!” and +the souls of these men waxed proud and merry, for they had seen the +investor’s palm filled with gold, the maker of conquest. While Antoine +was singing with his wife, they were holding revel within the sound of +Bow Bells. And far into the night, through silent Cheapside, a rolling +voice swelled through much laughter thus: + + “Gai Ion la, gai le rosier, + Du joli mois de Mai.” + +The next day there were heavy heads in London; but the next day, also, a +man lay ill in the hut on the island of St. Jean. + +Antoine had sung his last song. He had waked in the night with a start +of pain, and by the time the sun was halting at noon above the Rose Tree +Mine, he had begun a journey, the record of which no man has ever truly +told, neither its beginning nor its end; because that which is of the +spirit refuseth to be interpreted by the flesh. Some signs there be, but +they are brief and shadowy; the awe of It is hidden in the mind of him +that goeth out lonely unto God. + +When the call goes forth, not wife nor child nor any other can hold the +wayfarer back, though he may loiter for an instant on the brink. The +poor medicaments which Angelique brings avail not; these soothing hands +and healing tones, they pass through clouds of the middle place between +heaven and earth to Antoine. It is only when the second midnight comes +that, with conscious, but pensive and far-off, eyes, he says to her: +“Angelique, my wife.” + +For reply her lips pressed his cheek, and her fingers hungered for his +neck. Then: “Is there pain now Antoine?” + +“There is no pain, Angelique.” + +He closed his eyes slowly; her lips framed an ave. “The mine,” he said, +“the mine--until the spring.” + +“Yes, Antoine, until the spring.” + +“Have you candles--many candles, Angelique?” + +“There are many, my husband.” + +“The ground is as iron; one cannot dig, and the water under the ice is +cruel--is it not so, Angelique?” + +“No axe could break the ground, and the water is cruel,” she said. + +“You will see my face until the winter is gone, my wife.” + +She bowed her head, but smoothed his hand meanwhile, and her throat was +quivering. + +He partly slept--his body slept, though his mind was feeling its way +to wonderful things. But near the morning his eyes opened wide, and he +said: “Someone calls out of the dark, Angelique.” + +And she, with her hand on her heart, replied: “It is the cry of a dog, +Antoine.” + +“But there are footsteps at the door, my wife.” + +“Nay, Antoine; it is the snow beating upon the window.” + +“There is the sound of wings close by--dost thou not hear them, +Angelique?” + +“Wings--wings,” she falteringly said: “it is the hot blast through the +chimney; the night is cold, Antoine.” + +“The night is very cold,” he said; and he trembled... “I hear, O my +wife, I hear the voice of a little child... the voice is like thine, +Angelique.” + +And she, not knowing what to reply, said softly: + +“There is hope in the voice of a child;” and the mother stirred within +her; and in the moment he knew also that the Spirits would give her the +child in safety, that she should not be alone in the long winter. + +The sounds of the harsh night had ceased--the snapping of the leafless +branches, the cracking of the earth, and the heaving of the rocks: +the Spirits of the Frost had finished their work; and just as the grey +forehead of dawn appeared beyond the cold hills, Antoine cried out +gently: “Angelique... Ah, mon Capitaine... Jesu”... and then, no more. + +Night after night Angelique lighted candles in the place where Antoine +smiled on in his frozen silence; and masses were said for his soul--the +masses Love murmurs for its dead. The earth could not receive him; its +bosom was adamant; but no decay could touch him; and she dwelt alone +with this, that was her husband, until one beautiful, bitter day, when, +with no eye save God’s to see her, and no human comfort by her, she gave +birth to a man-child. And yet that night she lighted the candles at the +dead man’s head and feet, dragging herself thither in the cold; and in +her heart she said that the smile on Antoine’s face was deeper than it +had been before. + +In the early spring, when the earth painfully breathed away the frost +that choked it, with her child for mourner, and herself for sexton and +priest, she buried Antoine with maimed rites: but hers were the prayers +of the poor, and of the pure in heart; and she did not fret because, +in the hour that her comrade was put away into the dark, the world was +laughing at the thought of coming summer. + +Before another sunrise, the owners of the island of St. Jean claimed +what was theirs; and because that which had happened worked upon their +hearts, they called the child St. Jean, and from that time forth they +made him to enjoy the goodly fruits of the Rose Tree Mine. + + + + +THE CIPHER + +Hilton was staying his horse by a spring at Guidon Hill when he first +saw her. She was gathering may-apples; her apron was full of them. He +noticed that she did not stir until he rode almost upon her. Then she +started, first without looking round, as does an animal, dropping her +head slightly to one side, though not exactly appearing to listen. +Suddenly she wheeled on him, and her big eyes captured him. The look +bewildered him. She was a creature of singular fascination. Her face was +expressive. Her eyes had wonderful light. She looked happy, yet grave +withal; it was the gravity of an uncommon earnestness. She gazed through +everything, and beyond. She was young--eighteen or so. + +Hilton raised his hat, and courteously called a good-morning at her. She +did not reply by any word, but nodded quaintly, and blinked seriously +and yet blithely on him. He was preparing to dismount. As he did so he +paused, astonished that she did not speak at all. Her face did not have +a familiar language; its vocabulary was its own. He slid from his horse, +and, throwing his arm over its neck as it stooped to the spring, looked +at her more intently, but respectfully too. She did not yet stir, but +there came into her face a slight inflection of confusion or perplexity. +Again he raised his hat to her, and, smiling, wished her a good-morning. +Even as he did so a thought sprung in him. Understanding gave place to +wonder; he interpreted the unusual look in her face. + +Instantly he made a sign to her. To that her face responded with a +wonderful speech--of relief and recognition. The corners of her apron +dropped from her fingers, and the yellow may-apples fell about her feet. +She did not notice this. She answered his sign with another, rapid, +graceful, and meaning. He left his horse and advanced to her, holding +out his hand simply--for he was a simple and honest man. Her response +to this was spontaneous. The warmth of her fingers invaded him. Her +eyes were full of questioning. He gave a hearty sign of admiration. She +flushed with pleasure, but made a naive, protesting gesture. + +She was deaf and dumb. + +Hilton had once a sister who was a mute. He knew that amazing primal +gesture-language of the silent race, whom God has sent like one-winged +birds into the world. He had watched in his sister just such looks of +absolute nature as flashed from this girl. They were comrades on the +instant; he reverential, gentle, protective; she sanguine, candid, +beautifully aboriginal in the freshness of her cipher-thoughts. She saw +the world naked, with a naked eye. She was utterly natural. She was the +maker of exquisite, vital gesture-speech. + +She glided out from among the may-apples and the long, silken grass, to +charm his horse with her hand. As she started to do so, he hastened +to prevent her, but, utterly surprised, he saw the horse whinny to her +cheek, and arch his neck under her white palm--it was very white. Then +the animal’s chin sought her shoulder and stayed placid. He had never +done so to anyone before save Hilton. Once, indeed, he had kicked a +stableman to death. He lifted his head and caught with playful shaking +lips at her ear. Hilton smiled; and so, as we said, their comradeship +began. + +He was a new officer of the Hudson’s Bay Company at Fort Guidon. She was +the daughter of a ranchman. She had been educated by Father Corraine, +the Jesuit missionary, Protestant though she was. He had learned the +sign-language while assistant-priest in a Parisian chapel for mutes. He +taught her this gesture-tongue, which she, taking, rendered divine; and, +with this, she learned to read and write. + +Her name was Ida. + +Ida was faultless. Hilton was not; but no man is. To her, however, he +was the best that man can be. He was unselfish and altogether honest, +and that is much for a man. + +When Pierre came to know of their friendship he shook his head +doubtfully. One day he was sitting on the hot side of a pine near his +mountain hut, soaking in the sun. He saw them passing below him, along +the edge of the hill across the ravine. He said to someone behind him in +the shade, who was looking also, “What will be the end of that, eh?” + +And the someone replied: “Faith, what the Serpent in the Wilderness +couldn’t cure.” + +“You think he’ll play with her?” + +“I think he’ll do it without wishin’ or willin’, maybe. It’ll be a case +of kiss and ride away.” + +There was silence. Soon Pierre pointed down again. She stood upon a +green mound with a cool hedge of rock behind her, her feet on the margin +of solid sunlight, her forehead bared. Her hair sprinkled round her as +she gently threw back her head. Her face was full on Hilton. She was +telling him something. Her gestures were rhythmical, and admirably +balanced. Because they were continuous or only regularly broken, it was +clear she was telling him a story. Hilton gravely, delightedly, nodded +response now and then, or raised his eyebrows in fascinated surprise. +Pierre, watching, was only aware of vague impressions--not any distinct +outline of the tale. At last he guessed it as a perfect pastoral-birds, +reaping, deer, winds, sundials, cattle, shepherds, hunting. To Hilton +it was a new revelation. She was telling him things she had thought, she +was recalling her life. + +Towards the last, she said in gesture: “You can forget the winter, but +not the spring. You like to remember the spring. It is the beginning. +When the daisy first peeps, when the tall young deer first stands upon +its feet, when the first egg is seen in the oriole’s nest, when the sap +first sweats from the tree, when you first look into the eye of your +friend--these you want to remember....” + +She paused upon this gesture--a light touch upon the forehead, then the +hands stretched out, palms upward, with coaxing fingers. She seemed +lost in it. Her eyes rippled, her lips pressed slightly, a delicate wine +crept through her cheek, and tenderness wimpled all. Her soft breast +rose modestly to the cool texture of her dress. Hilton felt his blood +bound joyfully; he had the wish of instant possession. But yet he could +not stir, she held him so; for a change immediately passed upon her. She +glided slowly from that almost statue-like repose into another gesture. +Her eyes drew up from his, and looked away to plumbless distance, all +glowing and childlike, and the new ciphers slowly said: + +“But the spring dies away. We can only see a thing born once. And it may +be ours, yet not ours. I have sighted the perfect Sharon-flower, far up +on Guidon, yet it was not mine; it was too distant; I could not reach +it. I have seen the silver bullfinch floating along the canon. I called +to it, and it came singing; and it was mine, yet I could not hear its +song, and I let it go; it could not be happy so with me.... I stand at +the gate of a great city, and see all, and feel the great shuttles of +sounds, the roar and clack of wheels, the horses’ hoofs striking the +ground, the hammer of bells; all: and yet it is not mine; it is far, +far away from me. It is one world, mine is another; and sometimes it is +lonely, and the best things are not for me. But I have seen them, and +it is pleasant to remember, and nothing can take from us the hour when +things were born, when we saw the spring--nothing--never!” + +Her manner of speech, as this went on, became exquisite in fineness, +slower, and more dream-like, until, with downward protesting motions of +the hand, she said that “nothing--never!” Then a great sigh surged up +her throat, her lips parted slightly, showing the warm moist whiteness +of her teeth, her hands falling lightly, drew together and folded in +front of her. She stood still. + +Pierre had watched this scene intently, his chin in his hands, his +elbows on his knees. Presently he drew himself up, ran a finger +meditatively along his lip, and said to himself: “It is perfect. She +is carved from the core of nature. But this thing has danger for her... +‘bien!’... ah!” + +A change in the scene before him caused this last expression of +surprise. + +Hilton, rousing from the enchanting pantomime, took a step towards her; +but she raised her hand pleadingly, restrainingly, and he paused. With +his eyes he asked her mutely why. She did not answer, but, all at +once transformed into a thing of abundant sprightliness, ran down +the hillside, tossing up her arms gaily. Yet her face was not all +brilliance. Tears hung at her eyes. But Hilton did not see these. He +did not run, but walked quickly, following her; and his face had a +determined look. Immediately, a man rose up from behind a rock on the +same side of the ravine, and shook clenched fists after the departing +figures; then stood gesticulating angrily to himself, until, chancing to +look up, he sighted Pierre, and straightway dived into the underbrush. +Pierre rose to his feet, and said slowly: “Hilton, here may be trouble +for you also. It is a tangled world.” + +Towards evening Pierre sauntered to the house of Ida’s father. Light of +footstep, he came upon the girl suddenly. They had always been friends +since the day when, at uncommon risk, he rescued her dog from a freshet +on the Wild Moose River. She was sitting utterly still, her hands folded +in her lap. He struck his foot smartly on the ground. She felt the +vibration, and looked up. He doffed his hat, and she held out her hand. +He smiled and took it, and, as it lay in his, looked at it for a moment +musingly. She drew it back slowly. He was then thinking that it was the +most intelligent hand he had ever seen.... He determined to play a +bold and surprising game. He had learned from her the alphabet of the +fingers--that is, how to spell words. He knew little gesture-language. +He, therefore, spelled slowly: “Hawley is angry, because you love +Hilton.” The statement was so matter-of-fact, so sudden, that the girl +had no chance. She flushed and then paled. She shook her head firmly, +however, and her fingers slowly framed the reply: “You guess too much. +Foolish things come to the idle.” + +“I saw you this afternoon,” he silently urged. + +Her fingers trembled slightly. “There was nothing to see.” She knew he +could not have read her gestures. “I was telling a story.” + +“You ran from him--why?” His questioning was cruel that he might in the +end be kind. + +“The child runs from its shadow, the bird from its nest, the fish jumps +from the water--that is nothing.” She had recovered somewhat. + +But he: “The shadow follows the child, the bird comes back to its nest, +the fish cannot live beyond the water. But it is sad when the child, in +running, rushes into darkness, and loses its shadow; when the nest falls +from the tree; and the hawk catches the happy fish.... Hawley saw you +also.” + +Hawley, like Ida, was deaf and dumb. He lived over the mountains, but +came often. It had been understood that, one day, she should marry him. +It seemed fitting. She had said neither yes nor no. And now? + +A quick tremor of trouble trailed over her face, then it became very +still. Her eyes were bent upon the ground steadily. Presently a bird +hopped near, its head coquetting at her. She ran her hand gently along +the grass towards it. The bird tripped on it. She lifted it to her +chin, at which it pecked tenderly. Pierre watched her keenly-admiring, +pitying. He wished to serve her. At last, with a kiss upon its head, she +gave it a light toss into the air, and it soared, lark-like, straight +up, and hanging over her head, sang the day into the evening. Her eyes +followed it. She could feel that it was singing. She smiled and lifted +a finger lightly towards it. Then she spelled to Pierre this: “It is +singing to me. We imperfect things love each other.” + +“And what about loving Hawley, then”? Pierre persisted. She did not +reply, but a strange look came upon her, and in the pause Hilton +came from the house and stood beside them. At this, Pierre lighted a +cigarette, and with a good-natured nod to Hilton, walked away. + +Hilton stooped over her, pale and eager. “Ida,” he gestured, “will you +answer me now? Will you be my wife?” + +She drew herself together with a little shiver. “No,” was her steady +reply. She ruled her face into stillness, so that it showed nothing of +what she felt. She came to her feet wearily, and drawing down a cool +flowering branch of chestnut, pressed it to her cheek. “You do not love +me”? he asked nervously. + +“I am going to marry Luke Hawley,” was her slow answer. She spelled the +words. She used no gesture to that. The fact looked terribly hard and +inflexible so. Hilton was not a vain man, and he believed he was not +loved. His heart crowded to his throat. + +“Please go away, now,” she begged with an anxious gesture. While the +hand was extended, he reached and brought it to his lips, then quickly +kissed her on the forehead, and walked away. She stood trembling, and +as the fingers of one hand hung at her side, they spelled mechanically +these words: “It would spoil his life. I am only a mute--a dummy!” + +As she stood so, she felt the approach of someone. She did not turn +instantly, but with the aboriginal instinct, listened, as it were, with +her body; but presently faced about--to Hawley. He was red with anger. +He had seen Hilton kiss her. He caught her smartly by the arm, but, awed +by the great calmness of her face, dropped it, and fell into a fit of +sullenness. She spoke to him: he did not reply. She touched his arm: +he still was gloomy. All at once the full price of her sacrifice rushed +upon her; and overpowered her. She had no help at her critical hour, +not even from this man she had intended to bless. There came a swift +revulsion, all passions stormed in her at once. Despair was the +resultant of these forces. She swerved from him immediately, and ran +hard towards the high-banked river! + +Hawley did not follow her at once: he did not guess her purpose. She had +almost reached the leaping-place, when Pierre shot from the trees, and +seized her. The impulse of this was so strong, that they slipped, and +quivered on the precipitous edge: but Pierre righted then, and presently +they were safe. + +Pierre held her hard by both wrists for a moment. Then, drawing her +away, he loosed her, and spelled these words slowly: “I understand. +But you are wrong. Hawley is not the man. You must come with me. It is +foolish to die.” + +The riot of her feelings, her momentary despair, were gone. It was +even pleasant to be mastered by Pierre’s firmness. She was passive. +Mechanically she went with him. Hawley approached. She looked at Pierre. +Then she turned on the other. “Yours is not the best love,” she signed +to him; “it does not trust; it is selfish.” And she moved on. + +But, an hour later, Hilton caught her to his bosom, and kissed her full +on the lips.... And his right to do so continues to this day. + + + + +A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES + +At Fort Latrobe sentiment was not of the most refined kind. Local +customs were pronounced and crude in outline; language was often highly +coloured, and action was occasionally accentuated by a pistol shot. For +the first few months of its life the place was honoured by the presence +of neither wife, nor sister, nor mother. Yet women lived there. + +When some men did bring wives and children, it was noticed that the girl +Blanche was seldom seen in the streets. And, however it was, there grew +among the men a faint respect for her. They did not talk of it to each +other, but it existed. It was known that Blanche resented even the +most casual notice from those men who had wives and homes. She gave the +impression that she had a remnant of conscience. + +“Go home,” she said to Harry Delong, who asked her to drink with him on +New Year’s Day. “Go home, and thank God that you’ve got a home--and a +wife.” + +After Jacques, the long-time friend of Pretty Pierre, came to Fort +Latrobe, with his sulky eye and scrupulously neat attire, Blanche +appeared to withdraw still more from public gaze, though no one saw any +connection between these events. The girl also became fastidious in her +dress, and lost all her former dash and smart aggression of manner. She +shrank from the women of her class, for which, as might be expected, +she was duly reviled. But the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air +have nests, nor has it been written that a woman may not close her ears, +and bury herself in darkness, and travel alone in the desert with her +people--those ghosts of herself, whose name is legion, and whose slow +white fingers mock more than the world dare at its worst. + +Suddenly, she was found behind the bar of Weir’s Tavern at Cedar Point, +the resort most frequented by Jacques. Word went about among the men +that Blanche was taking a turn at religion, or, otherwise, reformation. +Soldier Joe was something sceptical on this point from the fact that +she had developed a very uncertain temper. This appeared especially +noticeable in her treatment of Jacques. She made him the target for her +sharpest sarcasm. Though a peculiar glow came to his eyes at times, he +was never roused from his exasperating coolness. When her shafts were +unusually direct and biting, and the temptation to resent was keen, +he merely shrugged his shoulders, almost gently, and said: “Eh, such +women!” + +Nevertheless, there were men at Fort Latrobe who prophesied trouble, +for they knew there was a deep strain of malice in the French half-breed +which could be the more deadly because of its rare use. He was not +easily moved, he viewed life from the heights of a philosophy which +could separate the petty from the prodigious. His reputation was not +wholly disquieting; he was of the goats, he had sometimes been found +with the sheep, he preferred to be numbered with the transgressors. Like +Pierre, his one passion was gambling. There were legends that once or +twice in his life he had had another passion, but that some Gorgon drew +out his heartstrings painfully, one by one, and left him inhabited by a +pale spirit now called Irony, now Indifference--under either name a fret +and an anger to women. + +At last Blanche’s attacks on Jacques called out anxious protests from +men like rollicking Soldier Joe, who said to her one night, “Blanche, +there’s a devil in Jacques. Some day you’ll startle him, and then he’ll +shoot you as cool as he empties the pockets of Freddy Tarlton over +there.” + +And Blanche replied: “When he does that, what will you do, Joe?” + +“Do? Do?” The man stroked his beard softly. “Why, give him ditto--cold.” + +“Well, then, there’s nothing to row about, is there?” And Soldier Joe +was not on the instant clever enough to answer her sophistry; but when +she left him and he had thought awhile, he said, convincingly: + +“But where would you be then, Blanche?... That’s the point.” + +One thing was known and certain: Blanche was earning her living by +honest, if not high-class, labour. Weir the tavern-keeper said she was +“worth hundreds” to him. But she grew pale, her eyes became peculiarly +brilliant, her voice took a lower key, and lost a kind of hoarseness +it had in the past. Men came in at times merely to have a joke at her +expense, having heard of her new life; but they failed to enjoy +their own attempts at humour. Women of her class came also, some with +half-uncertain jibes, some with a curious wistfulness, and a few with +scornful oaths; but the jibes and oaths were only for a time. It became +known that she had paid the coach fare of Miss Dido (as she was called) +to the hospital at Wapiti, and had raised a subscription for her +maintenance there, heading it herself with a liberal sum. Then the +atmosphere round her became less trying; yet her temper remained +changeable, and had it not been that she was good-looking and witty, +her position might have been insecure. As it was, she ruled in a neutral +territory where she was the only woman. One night, after an inclement +remark to Jacques, in the card-room, Blanche came back to the bar, and +not noticing that, while she was gone, Soldier Joe had entered and laid +himself down on a bench in a corner, she threw her head passionately +forward on her arms as they rested on the counter, and cried: “O my God! +my God!” + +Soldier Joe lay still as if sleeping, and when Blanche was called away +again he rose, stole out, went down to Freddy Tarlton’s office, and +offered to bet Freddy two to one that Blanche wouldn’t live a year. +Joe’s experience of women was limited. He had in his mind the case of a +girl who had accidentally smothered her child; and so he said: + +“Blanche has something on her mind that’s killing her, Freddy. When +trouble fixes on her sort it kills swift and sure. They’ve nothing to +live for but life, and it isn’t good enough, you see, for--for--” Joe +paused to find out where his philosophy was taking him. + +Freddy Tarlton finished the sentence for him: “For an inner sorrow is a +consuming fire.” + +Fort Latrobe soon had an unexpected opportunity to study Soldier Joe’s +theory. One night Jacques did not appear at Weir’s Tavern as he had +engaged to do, and Soldier Joe and another went across the frozen +river to his log-hut to seek him. They found him by a handful of +fire, breathing heavily and nearly unconscious. One of the sudden and +frequently fatal colds of the mountains had fastened on him, and he had +begun a war for life. Joe started back at once for liquor and a doctor, +leaving his comrade to watch by the sick man. + +He could not understand why Blanche should stagger and grow white when +he told her; nor why she insisted on taking the liquor herself. He did +not yet guess the truth. + +The next day all Fort Latrobe knew that Blanche was nursing Jacques, on +what was thought to be his no-return journey. The doctor said it was +a dangerous case, and he held out little hope. Nursing might bring him +through, but the chance was very slight. Blanche only occasionally left +the sick man’s bedside to be relieved by Soldier Joe and Freddy Tarlton. +It dawned on Joe at last, it had dawned on Freddy before, what Blanche +meant by the heart-breaking words uttered that night in Weir’s Tavern. +Down through the crust of this woman’s heart had gone something both +joyful and painful. Whatever it was, it made Blanche a saving nurse, +a good apothecary; for, one night the doctor pronounced Jacques out +of danger, and said that a few days would bring him round if he was +careful. + +Now, for the first time, Jacques fully comprehended all Blanche had done +for him, though he had ceased to wonder at her changed attitude to him. +Through his suffering and his delirium had come the understanding of +it. When, after the crisis, the doctor turned away from the bed, Jacques +looked steadily into Blanche’s eyes, and she flushed, and wiped the wet +from his brow with her handkerchief. He took the handkerchief from her +fingers gently before Soldier Joe came over to the bed. + +The doctor had insisted that Blanche should go to Weir’s Tavern and get +the night’s rest, needed so much, and Joe now pressed her to keep her +promise. Jacques added an urging word, and after a time she started. Joe +had forgotten to tell her that a new road had been made on the ice since +she had crossed, and that the old road was dangerous. Wandering with her +thoughts she did not notice the spruce bushes set up for signal, +until she had stepped on a thin piece of ice. It bent beneath her. She +slipped: there was a sudden sinking, a sharp cry, then another, piercing +and hopeless--and it was the one word--“Jacques!” Then the night was +silent as before. But someone had heard the cry. Freddy Tarlton was +crossing the ice also, and that desolating Jacques! had reached his +ears. When he found her he saw that she had been taken and the other +left. But that other, asleep in his bed at the sacred moment when she +parted, suddenly waked, and said to Soldier Joe: “Did you speak, Joe? +Did you call me?” + +But Joe, who had been playing cards with himself, replied, “I haven’t +said a word.” + +And Jacques then added: “Perhaps I dream--perhaps.” + +On the advice of the doctor and Freddy Tarlton, the bad news was kept +from Jacques. When she did not come the next day, Joe told him that she +couldn’t; that he ought to remember she had had no rest for weeks, and +had earned a long rest. And Jacques said that was so. + +Weir began preparations for the funeral, but Freddy Tarlton took them +out of his hands--Freddy Tarlton, who visited at the homes of Fort +Latrobe. But he had the strength of his convictions such as they were. +He began by riding thirty miles and back to ask the young clergyman at +Purple Hill to come and bury Blanche. She’d reformed and been baptised, +Freddy said with a sad sort of humour. And the clergyman, when he +knew all, said that he would come. Freddy was hardly prepared for what +occurred when he got back. Men were waiting for him, anxious to know if +the clergyman was coming. They had raised a subscription to cover the +cost of the funeral, and among them were men such as Harry Delong. + +“You fellows had better not mix yourselves up in this,” said Freddy. + +But Harry Delong replied quickly: “I am going to see the thing through.” + And the others endorsed his words. When the clergyman came, and looked +at the face of this Magdalene, he was struck by its comeliness and +quiet. All else seemed to have been washed away. On her breast lay a +knot of white roses--white roses in this winter desert. + +One man present, seeing the look of wonder in the clergyman’s eyes, said +quietly: “My--my wife sent them. She brought the plant from Quebec. It +has just bloomed. She knows all about her.” + +That man was Harry Delong. The keeper of his home understood the other +homeless woman. When she knew of Blanche’s death she said: “Poor girl, +poor girl!” and then she had gently added, “Poor Jacques!” + +And Jacques, as he sat in a chair by the fire four days after the +tragedy, did not know that the clergyman was reading over a grave on +the hillside, words which are for the hearts of the quick as for the +untenanted dead. + +To Jacques’s inquiries after Blanche, Soldier Joe had made changing and +vague replies. At last he said that she was ill; then, that she was very +ill, and again, that she was better, almighty better--now. The third day +following the funeral, Jacques insisted that he would go and see her. +The doctor at length decided he should be taken to Weir’s Tavern, where, +they declared, they would tell him all. And they took him, and placed +him by the fire in the card-room, a wasted figure, but fastidious in +manner and scrupulously neat in person as of old. Then he asked for +Blanche; but even now they had not the courage for it. The doctor +nervously went out, as if to seek her; and Freddy Tarlton said, +“Jacques, let us have a little game, just for quarters, you know. Eh?” + +The other replied without eagerness: “Voila, one game, then!” + +They drew him to the table, but he played listlessly. His eyes shifted +ever to the door. Luck was against him. Finally he pushed over a silver +piece, and said: “The last. My money is all gone. ‘Bien!’” He lost that +too. + +Just then the door opened, and a ranchman from Purple Hill entered. He +looked carelessly round, and then said loudly: + +“Say, Joe, so you’ve buried Blanche, have you? Poor old girl!” + +There was a heavy silence. No one replied. Jacques started to his feet, +gazed around searchingly, painfully, and presently gave a great gasp. +His hands made a chafing motion in the air, and then blood showed on his +lips and chin. He drew a handkerchief from his breast. + +“Pardon!... Pardon!” he faintly cried in apology, and put it to his +mouth. + +Then he fell backwards in the arms of Soldier Joe, who wiped a moisture +from the lifeless cheek as he laid the body on a bed. + +In a corner of the stained handkerchief they found the word, + +Blanche. + + + + +A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS + +Father Corraine stood with his chin in his hand and one arm supporting +the other, thinking deeply. His eyes were fixed on the northern horizon, +along which the sun was casting oblique rays; for it was the beginning +of the winter season. + +Where the prairie touched the sun it was responsive and radiant; but on +either side of this red and golden tapestry there was a tawny glow and +then a duskiness which, curving round to the north and east, became blue +and cold--an impalpable but perceptible barrier rising from the earth, +and shutting in Father Corraine like a prison wall. And this shadow +crept stealthily on and invaded the whole circle, until, where the +radiance had been, there was one continuous wall of gloom, rising are +upon are to invasion of the zenith, and pierced only by some intrusive +wandering stars. + +And still the priest stood there looking, until the darkness closed down +on him with an almost tangible consistency. Then he appeared to remember +himself, and turned away with a gentle remonstrance of his head, and +entered the hut behind him. He lighted a lamp, looked at it doubtfully, +blew it out, set it aside, and lighted a candle. This he set in the one +window of the room which faced the north and west. + +He went to a door opening into the only other room in the hut, and with +his hand on the latch looked thoughtfully and sorrowfully at something +in the corner of the room where he stood. He was evidently debating +upon some matter,--probably the removal of what was in the corner to the +other room. If so, he finally decided to abandon the intention. He sat +down in a chair, faced the candle, again dropped his chin upon his hand, +and kept his eyes musingly on the light. He was silent and motionless +a long time, then his lips moved, and he seemed to repeat something to +himself in whispers. + +Presently he took a well-worn book from his pocket, and read aloud from +it softly what seemed to be an office of his Church. His voice grew +slightly louder as he continued, until, suddenly, there ran through the +words a deep sigh which did not come from himself. He raised his +head quickly, started to his feet, and turning round, looked at that +something in the corner. It took the form of a human figure, which +raised itself on an elbow and said: “Water--water--for the love of God!” + +Father Corraine stood painfully staring at the figure for a moment, and +then the words broke from him “Not dead--not dead--wonderful!” Then +he stepped quickly to a table, took therefrom a pannikin of water, and +kneeling, held it to the lips of the gasping figure of a woman, throwing +his arm round the shoulder, and supporting the head on his breast. Again +he spoke “Alive--alive! Blessed be Heaven!” + +The hands of the woman seized the hand of the priest, which held the +pannikin, and kissed it, saying faintly: “You are good to me.... But +I must sleep--I must sleep--I am so tired; and I’ve--very far--to +go--across the world.” + +This was said very slowly, then the head thick with brown curls dropped +again on the priest’s breast, heavy with sleep. Father Corraine, +flushing slightly at first, became now slightly pale, and his brow was a +place of war between thankfulness and perplexity. But he said something +prayerfully, then closed his lips firmly, and gently laid the figure +down, where it was immediately clothed about with slumber. Then he +rose, and standing with his eyes bent upon the sleeper and his fingers +clasping each other tightly before him, said: “Poor girl! So, she is +alive. And now what will come of it?” + +He shook his grey head in doubt, and immediately began to prepare some +simple food and refreshment for the sufferer when she should awake. In +the midst of doing so he paused and repeated the words, “And what will +come of it?” Then he added: “There was no sign of pulse nor heart-beat +when I found her. But life hides itself where man cannot reach it.” + +Having finished his task, he sat down, drew the book of holy offices +again from his bosom, and read it, whisperingly, for a time; then fell +to musing, and, after a considerable time, knelt down as if in prayer. +While he knelt, the girl, as if startled from her sleep by some inner +shock, opened her eyes wide and looked at him, first with bewilderment, +then with anxiety, then with wistful thankfulness. “Oh, I thought--I +thought when I awoke before that it was a woman. But it is the good +Father Corraine--Corraine, yes, that was the name.” + +The priest’s clean-shaven face, long hair, and black cassock had, in her +first moments of consciousness, deceived her. Now a sharp pain brought +a moan to her lips; and this drew the priest’s attention. He rose, and +brought her some food and drink. “My daughter,” he said, “you must take +these.” Something in her face touched his sensitive mind, and he said, +solemnly: “You are alone with me and God, this hour. Be at peace. Eat.” + +Her eyes swam with instant tears. “I know--I am alone--with God,” she +said. Again he gently urged the food upon her, and she took a little; +but now and then she put her hand to her side as if in pain. And once, +as she did so, she said: “I’ve far to go and the pain is bad. Did they +take him away?” + +Father Corraine shook his head. “I do not know of whom you speak,” he +replied. “When I went to my door this morning I found you lying there. +I brought you in, and, finding no sign of life in you, sent Featherfoot, +my Indian, to Fort Cypress for a trooper to come; for I feared that +there had been ill done to you, somehow. This border-side is but a rough +country. It is not always safe for a woman to travel alone.” + +The girl shuddered. “Father,” she said “Father Corraine, I believe you +are?” (Here the priest bowed his head.) “I wish to tell you all, so that +if ever any evil did come to me, if I should die without doin’ what’s in +my heart to do, you would know, and would tell him if you ever saw him, +how I remembered, and kept rememberin’ him always, till my heart got +sick with waitin’, and I came to find him far across the seas.” + +“Tell me your tale, my child,” he patiently said. Her eyes were on the +candle in the window questioningly. “It is for the trooper--to guide +him,” the other remarked. “‘Tis past time that he should be here. When +you are able you can go with him to the Fort. You will be better cared +for there, and will be among women.” + +“The man--the man who was kind to me--I wish I knew of him,” she said. + +“I am waiting for your story, my child. Speak of your trouble, whether +it be of the mind and body, or of the soul.” + +“You shall judge if it be of the soul,” she answered. + +“I come from far away. I lived in old Donegal since the day that I was +born there, and I had a lover, as brave and true a lad as ever trod the +world. But sorrow came. One night at Farcalladen Rise there was a crack +of arms and a clatter of fleeing hoofs, and he that I loved came to me +and said a quick word of partin’, and with a kiss--it’s burnin’ on my +lips yet--askin’ pardon, father, for speech of this to you--and he was +gone, an outlaw, to Australia. For a time word came from him. Then I was +taken ill and couldn’t answer his letters, and a cousin of my own, who +had tried to win my love, did a wicked thing. He wrote a letter to him +and told him I was dyin’, and that there was no use of farther words +from him. And never again did word come to me from him. But I waited, my +heart sick with longin’ and full of hate for the memory of the man who, +when struck with death, told me of the cruel deed he had done between us +two.” + +She paused, as she had to do several times during the recital, through +weariness or pain; but, after a moment, proceeded. “One day, one +beautiful day, when the flowers were like love to the eye, and the larks +singin’ overhead, and my thoughts goin’ with them as they swam until +they were lost in the sky, and every one of them a prayer for the +lad livin’ yet, as I hoped, somewhere in God’s universe--there rode a +gentleman down Farcalladen Rise. He stopped me as I walked, and said a +kind good-day to me; and I knew when I looked into his face that he had +word for me--the whisperin’ of some angel, I suppose, and I said to him +as though he had asked me for it, ‘My name is Mary Callen, sir.’ + +“At that he started, and the colour came quick to his face; and he said: +‘I am Sir Duke Lawless. I come to look for Mary Callen’s grave. Is there +a Mary Callen dead, and a Mary Callen livin’? and did both of them love +a man that went from Farcalladen Rise one wild night long ago?’ + +“‘There’s but one Mary Callen,’ said I, ‘but the heart of me is dead, +until I hear news that brings it to life again?’ + +“‘And no man calls you wife?’ he asked. + +“‘No man, Sir Duke Lawless,’ answered I. ‘And no man ever could, save +him that used to write me of you from the heart of Australia; only there +was no Sir to your name then.’ + +“‘I’ve come to that since,’ said he. + +“‘Oh, tell me,’ I cried, with a quiverin’ at my heart, ‘tell me, is he +livin’?’ + +“And he replied: ‘I left him in the Pipi Valley of the Rocky Mountains a +year ago.’ + +“‘A year ago!’ said I, sadly. + +“‘I’m ashamed that I’ve been so long in comin’ here,’ replied he; ‘but, +of course, he didn’t know that you were alive, and I had been parted +from a lady for years--a lover’s quarrel--and I had to choose between +courtin’ her again and marryin’ her, or comin’ to Farcalladen Rise at +once. Well, I went to the altar first.’ + +“‘Oh, sir, you’ve come with the speed of the wind, for now that I’ve +news of him, it is only yesterday that he went away, not years agone. +But tell me, does he ever think of me?’ I questioned. + +“‘He thinks of you,’ he said, ‘as one for whom the masses for the dead +are spoken; but while I knew him, first and last, the memory of you was +with him.’ + +“With that he got off his horse, and said: ‘I’ll walk with you to his +father’s home.’ + +“‘You’ll not do that,’ I replied; ‘for it’s level with the ground. God +punish them that did it! And they’re lyin’ in the glen by the stream +that he loved and galloped over many a time.’ + +“‘They are dead--they are dead, then,’ said he, with his bridle swung +loose on his arm and his hat off reverently. + +“‘Gone home to Heaven together,’ said I, ‘one day and one hour, and a +prayer on their lips for the lad; and I closin’ their eyes at the last. +And before they went they made me sit by them and sing a song that’s +common here with us; for manny and manny of the strength and pride +of Farcalladen Rise have sailed the wide seas north and south, and +otherwhere, and comin’ back maybe and maybe not.’ + +“‘Hark,’ he said, very gravely, ‘and I’ll tell you what it is, for I’ve +heard him sing it, I know, in the worst days and the best days that ever +we had, when luck was wicked and big against us and we starvin’ on the +wallaby track; or when we found the turn in the lane to brighter days.’ + +“And then with me lookin’ at him full in the eyes, gentleman though +he was,--for comrade he had been with the man I loved,--he said to me +there, so finely and kindly, it ought to have brought the dead back from +their graves to hear, these words: + + “‘You’ll travel far and wide, dear, but you’ll come back again, + You’ll come back to your father and your mother in the glen, + Although we should be lyin’ ‘neath the heather grasses then + You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!’ + + “‘You’ll see the icebergs sailin’ along the wintry foam, + The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans as they roam; + But you’ll not forget the rowan beside your father’s home-- + You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’.’” + +Here the girl paused longer than usual, and the priest dropped his +forehead in his hand sadly. + +“I’ve brought grief to your kind heart, father,” she said. + +“No, no,” he replied, “not sorrow at all; but I was born on the Liffey +side, though it’s forty years and more since I left it, and I’m an old +man now. That song I knew well, and the truth and the heart of it too. +... I am listening.” + +“Well, together we went to the grave of the father and mother, and the +place where the home had been, and for a long time he was silent, as +though they who slept beneath the sod were his, and not another’s; but +at last he said: + +“‘And what will you do? I don’t quite know where he is, though; when +last I heard from him and his comrades, they were in the Pipi Valley.’ + +“My heart was full of joy; for though I saw how touched he was because +of what he saw, it was all common to my sight, and I had grieved much, +but had had little delight; and I said: + +“‘There’s only one thing to be done. He cannot come back here, and +I must go to him--that is,’ said I, ‘if you think he cares for me +still,--for my heart quakes at the thought that he might have changed.’ + +“‘I know his heart,’ said he, ‘and you’ll find him, I doubt not, the +same, though he buried you long ago in a lonely tomb,--the tomb of a +sweet remembrance, where the flowers are everlastin’.’ Then after more +words he offered me money with which to go; but I said to him that the +love that couldn’t carry itself across the sea by the strength of the +hands and the sweat of the brow was no love at all; and that the harder +was the road to him the gladder I’d be, so that it didn’t keep me too +long, and brought me to him at last. + +“He looked me up and down very earnestly for a minute, and then he +said: ‘What is there under the roof of heaven like the love of an honest +woman! It makes the world worth livin’ in.’ + +“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘when love has hope, and a place to lay its head.’ + +“‘Take this,’ said he--and he drew from his pocket his watch--‘and +carry it to him with the regard of Duke Lawless, and this for +yourself’--fetching from his pocket a revolver and putting it into my +hands; ‘for the prairies are but rough places after all, and it’s better +to be safe than--worried.... Never fear though but the prairies will +bring back the finest of blooms to your cheek, if fair enough it is +now, and flush his eye with pride of you; and God be with you both, if +a sinner may say that, and breakin’ no saint’s prerogative.’ And he +mounted to ride away, havin’ shaken my hand like a brother; but he +turned again before he went, and said: ‘Tell him and his comrades that +I’ll shoulder my gun and join them before the world is a year older, if +I can. For that land is God’s land, and its people are my people, and I +care not who knows it, whatever here I be.’ + +“I worked my way across the sea, and stayed awhile in the East earning +money to carry me over the land and into the Pipi Valley. I joined a +party of emigrants that were goin’ westward, and travelled far with +them. But they quarrelled and separated, I goin’ with these that I liked +best. One night though, I took my horse and left; for I knew there was +evil in the heart of a man who sought me continually, and the thing +drove me mad. I rode until my horse could stumble no farther, and then +I took the saddle for a pillow and slept on the bare ground. And in the +morning I got up and rode on, seein’ no house nor human being for manny +and manny a mile. When everything seemed hopeless I came suddenly upon +a camp. But I saw that there was only one man there, and I should have +turned back, but that I was worn and ill, and, moreover, I had ridden +almost upon him. But he was kind. He shared his food with me, and asked +me where I was goin’. I told him, and also that I had quarrelled with +those of my party and had left them nothing more. He seemed to wonder +that I was goin’ to Pipi Valley; and when I had finished my tale he +said: ‘Well, I must tell you that I am not good company for you. I have +a name that doesn’t pass at par up here. To speak plain truth, troopers +are looking for me, and--strange as it may be--for a crime which I +didn’t commit. That is the foolishness of the law. But for this I’m +making for the American border, beyond which, treaty or no treaty, a man +gets refuge.’ + +“He was silent after that, lookin’ at me thoughtfully the while, but in +a way that told me I might trust him, evil though he called himself. At +length he said: ‘I know a good priest, Father Corraine, who has a cabin +sixty miles or more from here, and I’ll guide you to him, if so be you +can trust a half-breed and a gambler, and one men call an outlaw. If +not, I’m feared it’ll go hard with you; for the Cypress Hills are not +easy travel, as I’ve known this many a year. And should you want a name +to call me, Pretty Pierre will do, though my godfathers and godmothers +did different for me before they went to Heaven.’ And nothing said he +irreverently, father.” + +Here the priest looked up and answered: “Yes, yes, I know him well--an +evil man, and yet he has suffered too... Well, well, my daughter?” + +“At that he took his pistol from his pocket and handed it. ‘Take that,’ +he said. ‘It will make you safer with me, and I’ll ride ahead of you, +and we shall reach there by sundown, I hope.’ + +“And I would not take his pistol, but, shamed a little, showed him the +one Sir Duke Lawless gave me. ‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘and, maybe, +it’s better that I should carry mine, for, as I said, there are anxious +gentlemen lookin’ for me, who wish to give me a quiet but dreary home. +And see,’ he added, ‘if they should come you will be safe, for they sit +in the judgment seat, and the statutes hang at their saddles, and I’ll +say this for them, that a woman to them is as a saint of God out here +where women and saints are few.’ + +“I do not speak as he spoke, for his words had a turn of French; but I +knew that, whatever he was, I should travel peaceably with him. Yet I +saw that he would be runnin’ the risk of his own safety for me, and I +told him that I could not have him do it; but he talked me lightly down, +and we started. We had gone but a little distance, when there galloped +over a ridge upon us, two men of the party I had left, and one, I saw, +was the man I hated; and I cried out and told Pretty Pierre. He wheeled +his horse, and held his pistol by him. They said that I should come +with them, and they told a dreadful lie--that I was a runaway wife; but +Pierre answered them they lied. At this, one rode forward suddenly, +and clutched me at my waist to drag me from my horse. At this, Pierre’s +pistol was thrust in his face, and Pierre bade him cease, which he did; +but the other came down with a pistol showin’, and Pierre, seein’ they +were determined, fired; and the man that clutched at me fell from his +horse. Then the other drew off; and Pierre got down, and stooped, and +felt the man’s heart, and said to the other: ‘Take your friend away, for +he is dead; but drop that pistol of yours on the ground first.’ And the +man did so; and Pierre, as he looked at the dead man, added: ‘Why did he +make me kill him?’ + +“Then the two tied the body to the horse, and the man rode away with it. +We travelled on without speakin’ for a long time, and then I heard him +say absently: ‘I am sick of that. When once you have played shuttlecock +with human life, you have to play it to the end--that is the penalty. +But a woman is a woman, and she must be protected.’ Then afterward he +turned and asked me if I had friends in Pipi Valley; and because what he +had done for me had worked upon me, I told him of the man I was goin’ +to find. And he started in his saddle, and I could see by the way he +twisted the mouth of his horse that I had stirred him.” + +Here the priest interposed: “What is the name of the man in Pipi Valley +to whom you are going?” + +And the girl replied: “Ah, father, have I not told you? It is Shon +McGann--of Farcalladen Rise.” + +At this, Father Corraine seemed suddenly troubled, and he looked +strangely and sadly at her. But the girl’s eyes were fastened on the +candle in the window, as if she saw her story in it; and she continued: +“A colour spread upon him, and then left him pale; and he said: ‘To Shon +McGann--you are going to him? Think of that--that!’ For an instant I +thought a horrible smile played upon his face, and I grew frightened, +and said to him: ‘You know him. You are not sorry that you are helping +me? You and Shon McGann are not enemies?’ + +“After a moment the smile that struck me with dread passed, and he +said, as he drew himself up with a shake: ‘Shon McGann and I were good +friends-as good as ever shared a blanket or split a loaf, though he +was free of any evil, and I failed of any good.... Well, there came a +change. We parted. We could meet no more; but who could have guessed +this thing? Yet, hear me--I am no enemy of Shon McGann, as let my deeds +to you prove.’ And he paused again, but added presently: ‘It’s better +you should have come now than two years ago. + +“And I had a fear in my heart, and to this asked him why. ‘Because then +he was a friend of mine,’ he said, ‘and ill always comes to those who +are such.’ I was troubled at this, and asked him if Shon was in Pipi +Valley yet. ‘I do not know,’ said he, ‘for I’ve travelled long and far +from there; still, while I do not wish to put doubt into your mind, I +have a thought he may be gone.... He had a gay heart,’ he continued, +‘and we saw brave days together.’ + +“And though I questioned him, he told me little more, but became silent, +scannin’ the plains as we rode; but once or twice he looked at me in +a strange fashion, and passed his hand across his forehead, and a grey +look came upon his face. I asked him if he was not well. ‘Only a kind of +fightin’ within,’ he said; ‘such things soon pass, and it is well they +do, or we should break to pieces.’ + +“And I said again that I wished not to bring him into danger. And he +replied that these matters were accordin’ to Fate; that men like him +must go on when once the die is cast, for they cannot turn back. It +seemed to me a bitter creed, and I was sorry for him. Then for hours we +kept an almost steady silence, and comin’ at last to the top of a rise +of land he pointed to a spot far off on the plains, and said that you, +father, lived there; and that he would go with me still a little way, +and then leave me. I urged him to go at once, but he would not, and we +came down into the plains. He had not ridden far when he said sharply: + +“‘The Riders of the Plains, those gentlemen who seek me, are there--see! +Ride on or stay, which you please. If you go you will reach the priest, +if you stay here where I shall leave you, you will see me taken perhaps, +and it may be fightin’ or death; but you will be safe with them. On the +whole, it is best, perhaps, that you should ride away to the priest. +They might not believe all that you told them, ridin’ with me as you +are.’ + +“But I think a sudden madness again came upon me. Rememberin’ what +things were done by women for refugees in old Donegal, and that this man +had risked his life for me, I swung my horse round nose and nose with +his, and drew my revolver, and said that I should see whatever came to +him. He prayed me not to do so wild a thing; but when I refused, and +pushed on along with him, makin’ at an angle for some wooded hills, I +saw that a smile played upon his face. We had almost reached the edge +of the wood when a bullet whistled by us. At that the smile passed and a +strange look came upon him, and he said to me: + +“‘This must end here. I think you guess I have no coward’s blood; but +I am sick to the teeth of fightin’. I do not wish to shock you, but I +swear, unless you turn and ride away to the left towards the priest’s +house, I shall save those fellows further trouble by killin’ myself +here; and there,’ said he, ‘would be a pleasant place to die--at the +feet of a woman who trusted you.’ + +“I knew by the look in his eye he would keep his word. “‘Oh, is this +so?’ I said. + +“‘It is so,’ he replied, ‘and it shall be done quickly, for the courage +to death is on me.’ + +“‘But if I go, you will still try to escape?’ I said. And he answered +that he would. Then I spoke a God-bless-you, at which he smiled and +shook his head, and leanin’ over, touched my hand, and spoke low: ‘When +you see Shon McGann, tell him what I did, and say that we are even now. +Say also that you called Heaven to bless me.’ Then we swung away from +each other, and the troopers followed after him, but let me go my way; +from which, I guessed, they saw I was a woman. And as I rode I heard +shots, and turned to see; but my horse stumbled on a hole and we fell +together, and when I waked, I saw that the poor beast’s legs were +broken. So I ended its misery, and made my way as best I could by the +stars to your house; but I turned sick and fainted at the door, and knew +no more until this hour. ... You thought me dead, father?” + +The priest bowed his head, and said: “These are strange, sad things, my +child; and they shall seem stranger to you when you hear all.” + +“When I hear all! Ah, tell me, father, do you know Shon McGann? Can you +take me to him?” + +“I know him, but I do not know where he is. He left the Pipi Valley +eighteen months ago, and I never saw him afterwards; still I doubt not +he is somewhere on the plains, and we shall find him--we shall find him, +please Heaven.” + +“Is he a good lad, father?” + +“He is brave, and he was always kind. He came to me before he left the +valley--for he had trouble--and said to me: ‘Father, I am going away, +and to what place is far from me to know, but wherever it is, I’ll live +a life that’s fit for men, and not like a loafer on God’s world;’ and he +gave me money for masses to be said--for the dead.” + +The girl put out her hand. “Hush! hush!” she said. “Let me think. Masses +for the dead.... What dead? Not for me; he thought me dead long, long +ago.” + +“No; not for you,” was the slow reply. + +She noticed his hesitation, and said: “Speak. I know that there is +sorrow on him. Someone--someone--he loved?” + +“Someone he loved,” was the reply. + +“And she died?” The priest bowed his head. + +“She was his wife--Shon’s wife”? and Mary Callen could not hide from her +words the hurt she felt. + +“I married her to him, but yet she was not his wife.” There was a keen +distress in the girl’s voice. “Father, tell me, tell me what you mean.” + +“Hush, and I will tell you all. He married her, thinking, and she +thinking, that she was a widowed woman. But her husband came back. A +terrible thing happened. The woman believing, at a painful time, that he +who came back was about to take Shon’s life, fired at him, and wounded +him, and then killed herself.” + +Mary Callen raised herself upon her elbow, and looked at the priest in +piteous bewilderment. “It is dreadful,” she said.... “Poor woman!... And +he had forgotten--forgotten me. I was dead to him, and am dead to him +now. There’s nothing left but to draw the cold sheet of the grave over +me. Better for me if I had never come--if I had never come, and instead +were lyin’ by his father and mother beneath the rowan.” + +The priest took her wrist firmly in his. “These are not brave nor +Christian words, from a brave and Christian girl. But I know that grief +makes one’s words wild. Shon McGann shall be found. In the days when +I saw him most and best, he talked of you as an angel gone, and he had +never sought another woman had he known that you lived. The Mounted +Police, the Riders of the Plains, travel far and wide. But now, there +has come from the farther West a new detachment to Fort Cypress, and +they may be able to help us. But listen. There is something more. The +man Pretty Pierre, did he not speak puzzling words concerning himself +and Shon McGann? And did he not say to you at the last that they were +even now? Well, can you not guess?” + +Mary Callen’s bosom heaved painfully and her eyes stared so at the +candle in the window that they seemed to grow one with the flame. At +last a new look crept into them; a thought made the lids close quickly +as though it burned them. When they opened again they were full of tears +that shone in the shadow and dropped slowly on her cheeks and flowed on +and on, quivering too in her throat. + +The priest said: “You understand, my child?” + +And she answered: “I understand. Pierre, the outlaw, was her husband.” + +Father Corraine rose and sat beside the table, his book of offices open +before him. At length he said: “There is much that might be spoken; for +the Church has words for every hour of man’s life, whatever it be; but +there comes to me now a word to say, neither from prayer nor psalm, but +from the songs of a country where good women are; where however poor the +fireside, the loves beside it are born of the love of God, though the +tongue be angry now and then, the foot stumble, and the hand quick at a +blow.” Then, with a soft, ringing voice, he repeated: + + “‘New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces on you smile-- + You’ll bide with them and love them, but you’ll long for us the while; + + For the word across the water, and the farewell by the stile-- + For the true heart’s here, my darlin’.’” + +Mary Callen’s tears flowed afresh at first; but soon after the voice +ceased she closed her eyes and her sobs stopped, and Father Corraine +sat down and became lost in thought as he watched the candle. Then there +went a word among the spirits watching that he was not thinking of the +candle, or of them that the candle was to light on the way, nor even +of this girl near him, but of a summer forty years gone when he was +a goodly youth, with the red on his lip and the light in his eye, and +before him, leaning on a stile, was a lass with-- + + “... cheeks like the dawn of day.” + +And all the good world swam in circles, eddying ever inward until it +streamed intensely and joyously through her eyes “blue as the fairy +flax.” And he had carried the remembrance of this away into the world +with him, but had never gone back again. He had travelled beyond the +seas to live among savages and wear out his life in self-denial; and now +he had come to the evening of his life, a benignant figure in a lonely +land. And as he sat here murmuring mechanically bits of an office, his +heart and mind were with a sacred and distant past. Yet the spirits +recorded both these things on their tablets, as though both were worthy +of their remembrance. + +He did not know that he kept repeating two sentences over and over to +himself: + +“‘Quoniam ipse liberavit me de laqueo venantium et a verbo aspero. +Quoniam angelis suis mandavit de te: ut custodiant te in omnibus viis +tuis.’” + +These he said at first softly to himself, but unconsciously his voice +became louder, so that the girl heard, and she said: + +“Father Corraine, what are those words? I do not understand them, but +they sound comforting.” + +And he, waking from his dream, changed the Latin into English, and said: + + “‘For he hath delivered me from the snare of the hunter, and from the + sharp sword. + For he hath given his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all + thy ways.’” + +“The words are good,” she said. He then told her he was going out, but +that he should be within call, saying, at the same time, that someone +would no doubt arrive from Fort Cypress soon: and he went from the +house. Then the girl rose slowly, crept lamely to a chair and sat +down. Outside, the priest paced up and down, stopping now and then, and +listening as if for horses’ hoofs. At last he walked some distance away +from the house, deeply lost in thought, and he did not notice that a man +came slowly, heavily, to the door of the hut, and opening it, entered. + +Mary Callen rose from her seat with a cry in which was timidity, pity, +and something of horror; for it was Pretty Pierre. She recoiled, but +seeing how he swayed with weakness, and that his clothes had blood upon +them, she helped him to a chair. He looked up at her with an enigmatical +smile, but he did not speak. “Oh,” she whispered, “you are wounded!” + +He nodded; but still he did not speak. Then his lips moved dryly. She +brought him water. He drank deeply, and a sigh of relief escaped him. +“You got here safely,” he now said. “I am glad of that--though you, too, +are hurt.” + +She briefly told him how, and then he said: “Well, I suppose you know +all of me now?” + +“I know what happened in Pipi Valley,” she said, timidly and wearily. +“Father Corraine told me.” + +“Where is he?” + +When she had answered him, he said: “And you are willing to speak with +me still?” + +“You saved me,” was her brief, convincing reply. “How did you escape? +Did you fight?” + +“No,” he said. “It is strange. I did not fight at all. As I said to you, +I was sick of blood. These men were only doing their duty. I might have +killed two or three of them, and have escaped, but to what good? When +they shot my horse, my good Sacrament,--and put a bullet into this +shoulder, I crawled away still, and led them a dance, and doubled on +them; and here I am.” + +“It is wonderful that they have not been here,” she said. + +“Yes, it is wonderful; but be very sure they will be with that candle in +the window. Why is it there?” + +She told him. He lifted his brows in stoic irony, and said: “Well, we +shall have an army of them soon.” He rose again to his feet. “I do not +wish to die, and I always said that I would never go to prison. Do you +understand?” + +“Yes,” she replied. She went immediately to the window, took the candle +from it, and put it behind an improvised shade. No sooner was this done +than Father Corraine entered the room, and seeing the outlaw, said “You +have come here, Pierre?” And his face showed wonder and anxiety. + +“I have come, mon pere, for sanctuary.” + +“For sanctuary! But, my son, if I vex not Heaven by calling you so, +why”--he saw Pierre stagger slightly. “But you are wounded.” He put +his arm round the other’s shoulder, and supported him till he recovered +himself. Then he set to work to bandage anew the wound, from which +Pierre himself had not unskilfully extracted the bullet. While doing so, +the outlaw said to him: + +“Father Corraine, I am hunted like a coyote for a crime I did not +commit. But if I am arrested they will no doubt charge me with other +things--ancient things. Well, I have said that I should never be sent to +gaol, and I never shall; but I do not wish to die at this moment, and I +do not wish to fight. What is there left?” + +“How do you come here, Pierre?” + +He lifted his eyes heavily to Mary Callen, and she told Father Corraine +what had been told her. When she had finished, Pierre added: + +“I am no coward, as you will witness; but as I said, neither gaol nor +death do I wish. Well, if they should come here, and you said, Pierre +is not here, even though I was in the next room, they would believe you, +and they would not search. Well, I ask such sanctuary.” + +The priest recoiled and raised his hand in protest. Then, after a +moment, he said: + +“How do you deserve this? Do you know what you ask?” + +“Ah, oui, I know it is immense, and I deserve nothing: and in return I +can offer nothing, not even that I will repent. And I have done no good +in the world; but still perhaps I am worth the saving, as may be seen +in the end. As for you, well, you will do a little wrong so that the end +will be right. So?” + +The priest’s eyes looked out long and sadly at the man from under his +venerable brows, as though he would see through him and beyond him to +that end; and at last he spoke in a low, firm voice: + +“Pierre, you have been a bad man; but sometimes you have been generous, +and of a few good acts I know--” + +“No, not good,” the other interrupted. “I ask this of your charity.” + +“There is the law, and my conscience.” + +“The law! the law!” and there was sharp satire in the half-breed’s +voice. “What has it done in the West? Think, ‘mon pere!’ Do you not know +a hundred cases where the law has dealt foully? There was more justice +before we had law. Law--” And he named over swiftly, scornfully, a score +of names and incidents, to which Father Corraine listened intently. +“But,” said Pierre, gently, at last, “but for your conscience, m’sieu’, +that is greater than law. For you are a good man and a wise man; and you +know that I shall pay my debts of every kind some sure day. That should +satisfy your justice, but you are merciful for the moment, and you will +spare until the time be come, until the corn is ripe in the ear. Why +should I plead? It is foolish. Still, it is my whim, of which, perhaps, +I shall be sorry tomorrow... Hark!” he added, and then shrugged his +shoulders and smiled. There were sounds of hoof beats coming faintly to +them. Father Corraine threw open the door of the other room of the hut, +and said “Go in there--Pierre. We shall see... we shall see.” + +The outlaw looked at the priest, as if hesitating; but, after, nodded +meaningly to himself, and entered the room and shut the door. The priest +stood listening. When the hoof-beats stopped, he opened the door, and +went out. In the dark he could see that men were dismounting from their +horses. He stood still and waited. Presently a trooper stepped forward +and said warmly, yet brusquely, as became his office: “Father Corraine, +we meet again!” + +The priest’s face was overswept by many expressions, in which marvel and +trouble were uppermost, while joy was in less distinctness. + +“Surely,” he said, “it is Shon McGann.” + +“Shon McGann, and no other.--I that laughed at the law for many a +year, though never breaking it beyond repair,--took your advice, Father +Corraine, and here I am, holding that law now as my bosom friend at the +saddle’s pommel. Corporal Shon McGann, at your service.” + +They clasped hands, and the priest said: “You have come at my call from +Fort Cypress?” + +“Yes. But not these others. They are after a man that’s played ducks and +drakes with the statutes--Heaven be merciful to him, I say. For there’s +naught I treasure against him; the will of God bein’ in it all, with +some doin’ of the Devil, too, maybe.” + +Pretty Pierre, standing with ear to the window of the dark room, heard +all this, and he pressed his upper lip hard with his forefinger, as if +something disturbed him. + +Shon continued. “I’m glad I wasn’t sent after him as all these here +know; for it’s little I’d like to clap irons on his wrists, or whistle +him to come to me with a Winchester or a Navy. So I’m here on my +business, and they’re here on theirs. Though we come together it’s +because we met each other hereaway. They’ve a thought that, maybe, +Pretty Pierre has taken refuge with you. They’ll little like to disturb +you, I know. But with dead in your house, and you givin’ the word of +truth, which none other could fall from your lips, they’ll go on their +way to look elsewhere.” + +The priest’s face was pinched, and there was a wrench at his heart. He +turned to the others. A trooper stepped forward. + +“Father Corraine,” he said, “it is my duty to search your house; but not +a foot will I stretch across your threshold if you say no, and give the +word that the man is not with you.” + +“Corporal McGann,” said the priest, “the woman whom I thought was dead +did not die, as you shall see. There is no need for inquiry. But she +will go with you to Fort Cypress. As for the other, you say that Father +Corraine’s threshold is his own, and at his own command. His home is now +a sanctuary--for the afflicted.” He went towards the door. As he did so, +Mary Callen, who had been listening inside the room with shaking frame +and bursting heart, dropped on her knees beside the table, her head +in her arms. The door opened. “See,” said the priest, “a woman who is +injured and suffering.” + +“Ah,” rejoined the trooper, “perhaps it is the woman who was riding with +the half-breed. We found her dead horse.” + +The priest nodded. Shon McGann looked at the crouching figure by the +table pityingly. As he looked he was stirred, he knew not why. And she, +though she did not look, knew that his gaze was on her; and all her will +was spent in holding her eyes from his face, and from crying out to him. + +“And Pretty Pierre,” said the trooper, “is not here with her?” + +There was an unfathomable sadness in the priest’s eyes, as, with a +slight motion of the hand towards the room, he said: “You see--he is not +here.” + +The trooper and his men immediately mounted; but one of them, young Tim +Kearney, slid from his horse, and came and dropped on his knee in front +of the priest. + +“It’s many a day,” he said, “since before God or man I bent a knee--more +shame to me for that, and for mad days gone; but I care not who knows +it, I want a word of blessin’ from the man that’s been out here like a +saint in the wilderness, with a heart like the Son o’ God.” + +The priest looked at the man at first as if scarce comprehending this +act so familiar to him, then he slowly stretched out his hand, said some +words in benediction, and made the sacred gesture. But his face had a +strange and absent look, and he held the hand poised, even when the man +had risen and mounted his horse. One by one the troopers rode through +the faint belt of light that stretched from the door, and were lost in +the darkness, the thud of their horses’ hoofs echoing behind them. But a +change had come over Corporal Shon McGann. He looked at Father Corraine +with concern and perplexity. He alone of those who were there had caught +the unreal note in the proceedings. His eyes were bent on the darkness +into which the men had gone, and his fingers toyed for an instant with +his whistle; but he said a hard word of himself under his breath, and +turned to meet Father Corraine’s hand upon his arm. + +“Shon McGann,” the priest said, “I have words to say to you concerning +this poor girl.” + +“You wish to have her taken to the Fort, I suppose? What was she doing +with Pretty Pierre?” + +“I wish her taken to her home.” + +“Where is her home, father?” And his eyes were cast with trouble on the +girl, though he could assign no cause for that. + +“Her home, Shon,”--the priest’s voice was very gentle--“her home was +where they sing such words as these of a wanderer: + + “‘You’ll hear the wild birds singin’ beneath a brighter sky,’ + The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand and high; + But you’ll hunger for the hearthstone where a child you used to lie, + You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’.”’ + +During these words Shon’s face ran white, then red; and now he stepped +inside the door like one in a dream, and the girl’s face was lifted to +his as though he had called her. “Mary--Mary Callen!” he cried. His arms +spread out, then dropped to his side, and he fell on his knees by the +table facing her, and looked at her with love and horror warring in his +face; for the remembrance that she had been with Pierre was like the +hand of the grave upon him. Moving not at all, she looked at him, a numb +despondency in her face. Suddenly Shon’s look grew stern, and he was +about to rise; but Father Corraine put a hand on his shoulder, and said: +“Stay where you are, man--on your knees. There is your place just now. +Be not so quick to judge, and remember your own sins before you charge +others without knowledge. Listen now to me.” + +And he spoke Mary Callen’s tale as he knew it, and as she had given it +to him, not forgetting to mention that she had been told the thing which +had occurred in Pipi Valley. + +The heroic devotion of this woman, and Pretty Pierre’s act of friendship +to her, together with the swift panorama of his past across the seas, +awoke the whole man in Shon, as the staunch life that he had lately led +rendered it possible. There was a grave, kind look upon his face when he +rose at the ending of the tale, and came to her, saying: + +“Mary, it is I who need forgiveness. Will you come now to the home you +wanted”? and he stretched his arms to her.... + +An hour after, as the three sat there, the door of the other room +opened, and Pretty Pierre came out silently, and was about to pass from +the hut; but the priest put a hand on his arm, and said: + +“‘Where do you go, Pierre?” + +Pierre shrugged his shoulder slightly: + +“I do not know. ‘Mon Dieu!’--that I have put this upon you!--you that +never spoke but the truth.” + +“You have made my sin of no avail,” the priest replied; and he motioned +towards Shon McGann, who was now risen to his feet, Mary clinging to his +arm. “Father Corraine,” said Shon, “it is my duty to arrest this man; +but I cannot do it, would not do it, if he came and offered his arms for +the steel. I’ll take the wrong of this now, sir, and such shame as there +is in that falsehood on my shoulders. And she here and I, and this man +too, I doubt not, will carry your sin--as you call it--to our graves, +without shame.” + +Father Corraine shook his head sadly, and made no reply, for his soul +was heavy. He motioned them all to sit down. And they sat there by the +light of a flickering candle, with the door bolted and a cassock hung +across the window, lest by any chance this uncommon thing should be +seen. But the priest remained in a shadowed corner, with a little book +in his hand, and he was long on his knees. And when morning came they +had neither slept nor changed the fashion of their watch, save for a +moment now and then, when Pierre suffered from the pain of his wound, +and silently passed up and down the little room. + +The morning was half gone when Shon McGann and Mary Callen stood beside +their horses, ready to mount and go; for Mary had persisted that she +could travel--joy makes such marvellous healing. When the moment +of parting came, Pierre was not there. Mary whispered to her lover +concerning this. The priest went to the door of the but and called him. +He came out slowly. + +“Pierre,” said Shon, “there’s a word to be said between us that had best +be spoken now, though it’s not aisy. It’s little you or I will care to +meet again in this world. There’s been credit given and debts paid by +both of us since the hour when we first met; and it needs thinking to +tell which is the debtor now, for deeds are hard to reckon; but, before +God, I believe it’s meself;” and he turned and looked fondly at Mary +Callen. + +And Pierre replied: “Shon McGann, I make no reckoning close; but we will +square all accounts here, as you say, and for the last time; for never +again shall we meet, if it’s within my will or doing. But I say I am the +debtor; and if I pay not here, there will come a time!” and he caught +his shoulder as it shrunk in pain of his wound. He tapped the wound +lightly, and said with irony: “This is my note of hand for my debt, Shon +McGann. Eh, bien!” + +Then he tossed his fingers indolently towards Shon, and turning his eyes +slowly to Mary Callen, raised his hat in good-bye. She put out her hand +impulsively to him, but Pierre, shaking his head, looked away. Shon put +his hand gently on her arm. “No, no,” he said in a whisper, “there can +be no touch of hands between us.” + +And Pierre, looking up, added: “C’est vrai. That is the truth. You +go--home. I got to hide. So--so.” And he turned and went into the hut. + +The others set their faces northward, and Father Corraine walked beside +Mary Callen’s horse, talking quietly of their future life, and speaking, +as he would never speak again, of days in that green land of their +birth. At length, upon a dividing swell of the prairie, he paused to say +farewell. + +Many times the two turned to see, and he was there, looking after them; +his forehead bared to the clear inspiring wind, his grey hair blown +back, his hands clasped. Before descending the trough of a great +landwave, they turned for the last time, and saw him standing +motionless, the one solitary being in all their wide horizon. + +But outside the line of vision there sat a man in a prairie hut, whose +eyes travelled over the valley of blue sky stretching away beyond the +morning, whose face was pale and cold. For hours he sat unmoving, and +when, at last, someone gently touched him on the shoulder, he only shook +his head, and went on thinking. He was busy with the grim ledger of his +life. + + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + An inner sorrow is a consuming fire + At first--and at the last--he was kind + Awkward for your friends and gratifying to your enemies + Carrying with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman’s love + Courage; without which, men are as the standing straw + Delicate revenge which hath its hour with every man + Evil is half-accidental, half-natural + Fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good + Freedom is the first essential of the artistic mind + Good is often an occasion more than a condition + Had the luck together, all kinds and all weathers + He does not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him + Hunger for happiness is robbery + I was born insolent + If one remembers, why should the other forget + Instinct for detecting veracity, having practised on both sides + Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words and women + It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law + It is not much to kill or to die--that is in the game + Knowing that his face would never be turned from me + Likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly animal + Longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children + Meditation is the enemy of action + Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners + More idle than wicked + Mothers always forgive + My excuses were making bad infernally worse + Noise is not battle + Nothing so good as courage, nothing so base as the shifting eye + Philosophy which could separate the petty from the prodigious + Reconciling the preacher and the sinner, as many another has + Remember your own sins before you charge others + She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute + She wasn’t young, but she seemed so + The soul of goodness in things evil + The Injin speaks the truth, perhaps--eye of red man multlpies + The Government cherish the Injin much in these days + The gods made last to humble the pride of men--there was rum + The higher we go the faster we live + The Barracks of the Free + The world is not so bad as is claimed for it + Time is the test, and Time will have its way with me + Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now is real + Where I should never hear the voice of the social Thou must + You do not shout dinner till you have your knife in the loaf + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre And His People, +[Tales of the Far North], Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE, *** + +***** This file should be named 6179-0.txt or 6179-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/7/6179/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +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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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/6179-0.zip b/6179-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0bc628d --- /dev/null +++ b/6179-0.zip diff --git a/6179-h.zip b/6179-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..abc43f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/6179-h.zip diff --git a/6179-h/6179-h.htm b/6179-h/6179-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..41d2b61 --- /dev/null +++ b/6179-h/6179-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11629 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Pierre and his People, by Gilbert Parker + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre And His People, +[Tales of the Far North], Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +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: Pierre And His People, [Tales of the Far North], Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: October 17, 2006 [EBook #6179] +Last Updated: August 26, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE, *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE + </h1> + <h2> + TALES OF THE FAR NORTH + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Gilbert Parker + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> GENERAL INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> NOTE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> GOD’S GARRISON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A HAZARD OF THE NORTH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> A PRAIRIE VAGABOND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THREE OUTLAWS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> SHON McGANN’S TOBOGAN RIDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> PERE CHAMPAGNE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE SCARLET HUNTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE STONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE TALL MASTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> THE CRIMSON FLAG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE FLOOD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> IN PIPI VALLEY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE CIPHER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GENERAL INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + With each volume of this subscription edition (1912) there is a special + introduction, setting forth, in so far as seemed possible, the relation of + each work to myself, to its companion works, and to the scheme of my + literary life. Only one or two things, therefore, need be said here, as I + wish God-speed to this edition, which, I trust, may help to make old + friends warmer friends and new friends more understanding. Most of the + novels and most of the short stories were suggested by incidents or + characters which I had known, had heard of intimately, or, as in the case + of the historical novels, had discovered in the works of historians. In no + case are the main characters drawn absolutely from life; they are not + portraits; and the proof of that is that no one has ever been able to + identify, absolutely, any single character in these books. Indeed, it + would be impossible for me to restrict myself to actual portraiture. It is + trite to say that photography is not art, and photography has no charm for + the artist, or the humanitarian indeed, in the portrayal of life. At its + best it is only an exhibition of outer formal characteristics, + idiosyncrasies, and contours. Freedom is the first essential of the + artistic mind. As will be noticed in the introductions and original notes + to several of these volumes, it is stated that they possess anachronisms; + that they are not portraits of people living or dead, and that they only + assume to be in harmony with the spirit of men and times and things. + Perhaps in the first few pages of ‘The Right of Way’ portraiture is more + nearly reached than in any other of these books, but it was only the + nucleus, if I may say so, of a larger development which the original + Charley Steele never attained. In the novel he grew to represent + infinitely more than the original ever represented in his short life. + </p> + <p> + That would not be strange when it is remembered that the germ of The + ‘Right of Way’ was growing in my mind over a long period of years, and it + must necessarily have developed into a larger conception than the original + character could have suggested. The same may be said of the chief + characters in ‘The Weavers’. The story of the two brothers—David + Claridge and Lord Eglington—in that book was brewing in my mind for + quite fifteen years, and the main incidents and characters of other novels + in this edition had the same slow growth. My forthcoming novel, called + ‘The Judgment House’, had been in my mind for nearly twenty years and only + emerged when it was full grown, as it were; when I was so familiar with + the characters that they seemed as real in all ways as though they were + absolute people and incidents of one’s own experience. + </p> + <p> + Little more need be said. In outward form the publishers have made this + edition beautiful. I should be ill-content if there was not also an + element of beauty in the work of the author. To my mind truth alone is not + sufficient. Every work of art, no matter how primitive in conception, how + tragic or how painful, or even how grotesque in design—like the + gargoyles on Notre Dame must have, too, the elements of beauty—that + which lures and holds, the durable and delightful thing. I have a hope + that these books of mine, as faithful to life as I could make them, have + also been touched here and there by the staff of beauty. Otherwise their + day will be short indeed; and I should wish for them a day a little longer + at least than my day and span. + </p> + <p> + I launch the ship. May it visit many a port! May its freight never lie + neglected on the quays! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + So far as my literary work is concerned ‘Pierre and His People’ may be + likened to a new city built upon the ashes of an old one. Let me explain. + While I was in Australia I began a series of short stories and sketches of + life in Canada which I called ‘Pike Pole Sketches on the Madawaska’. A + very few of them were published in Australia, and I brought with me to + England in 1889 about twenty of them to make into a volume. I told + Archibald Forbes, the great war correspondent, of my wish for publication, + and asked him if he would mind reading the sketches and stories before I + approached a publisher. He immediately consented, and one day I brought + him the little brown bag containing the tales. + </p> + <p> + A few days afterwards there came an invitation to lunch, and I went to + Clarence Gate, Regent’s Park, to learn what Archibald Forbes thought of my + tales. We were quite merry at luncheon, and after luncheon, which for him + was a glass of milk and a biscuit, Forbes said to me, “Those stories, + Parker—you have the best collection of titles I have ever known.” He + paused. I understood. To his mind the tales did not live up to their + titles. He hastily added, “But I am going to give you a letter of + introduction to Macmillan. I may be wrong.” My reply was: “You need not + give me a letter to Macmillan unless I write and ask you for it.” + </p> + <p> + I took my little brown bag and went back to my comfortable rooms in an + old-fashioned square. I sat down before the fire on this bleak winter’s + night with a couple of years’ work on my knee. One by one I glanced + through the stories and in some cases read them carefully, and one by one + I put them in the fire, and watched them burn. I was heavy at heart, but I + felt that Forbes was right, and my own instinct told me that my ideas were + better than my performance—and Forbes was right. Nothing was left of + the tales; not a shred of paper, not a scrap of writing. They had all gone + up the chimney in smoke. There was no self-pity. I had a grim kind of + feeling regarding the thing, but I had no regrets, and I have never had + any regrets since. I have forgotten most of the titles, and indeed all the + stories except one. But Forbes and I were right; of that I am sure. + </p> + <p> + The next day after the arson I walked for hours where London was busiest. + The shop windows fascinated me; they always did; but that day I seemed, + subconsciously, to be looking for something. At last I found it. It was a + second-hand shop in Covent Garden. In the window there was the uniform of + an officer of the time of Wellington, and beside it—the leather coat + and fur cap of a trapper of the Hudson’s Bay Company! At that window I + commenced to build again upon the ashes of last night’s fire. Pretty + Pierre, the French half-breed, or rather the original of him as I knew him + when a child, looked out of the window at me. So I went home, and sitting + in front of the fire which had received my manuscript the night before, + with a pad upon my knee, I began to write ‘The Patrol of the Cypress + Hills’ which opens ‘Pierre and His People’. + </p> + <p> + The next day was Sunday. I went to service at the Foundling Hospital in + Bloomsbury, and while listening superficially to the sermon I was also + reading the psalms. I came upon these words, “Free among the Dead like + unto them that are wounded and lie in the grave, that are out of + remembrance,” and this text, which I used in the story ‘The Patrol of the + Cypress Hills’, became, in a sense, the text for all the stories which + came after. It seemed to suggest the lives and the end of the lives of the + workers of the pioneer world. + </p> + <p> + So it was that Pierre and His People chiefly concerned those who had been + wounded by Fate, and had suffered the robberies of life and time while + they did their work in the wide places. It may be that my readers have + found what I tried, instinctively, to convey in the pioneer life I + portrayed—“The soul of goodness in things evil.” Such, on the whole, + my observation had found in life, and the original of Pierre, with all his + mistakes, misdemeanours, and even crimes, was such an one as I would have + gone to in trouble or in hour of need, knowing that his face would never + be turned from me. + </p> + <p> + These stories made their place at once. The ‘Patrol of the Cypress Hills’ + was published first in ‘The Independent’ of New York and in ‘Macmillan’s + Magazine’ in England. Mr. Bliss Carman, then editor of ‘The Independent’, + eagerly published several of them—‘She of the Triple Chevron’ and + others. Mr. Carman’s sympathy and insight were a great help to me in those + early days. The then editor of ‘Macmillan’s Magazine’, Mr. Mowbray Morris, + was not, I think, quite so sure of the merits of the Pierre stories. He + published them, but he was a little credulous regarding them, and he did + not pat me on the back by any means. There was one, however, who made the + best that is in ‘Pierre and His People’ possible; this was the + unforgettable W. E. Henley, editor of The ‘National Observer’. One day at + a sitting I wrote a short story called ‘Antoine and Angelique’, and sent + it to him almost before the ink was dry. The reply came by return of post: + “It is almost, or quite, as good as can be. Send me another.” So forthwith + I sent him ‘God’s Garrison’, and it was quickly followed by ‘The Three + Outlaws’, ‘The Tall Master’, ‘The Flood’, ‘The Cipher’, ‘A Prairie + Vagabond’, and several others. At length came ‘The Stone’, which brought a + telegram of congratulation, and finally ‘The Crimson Flag’. The + acknowledgment of that was a postcard containing these all too-flattering + words: “Bravo, Balzac!” Henley would print what no other editor would + print; he gave a man his chance to do the boldest thing that was in him, + and I can truthfully say that the doors which he threw open gave freedom + to an imagination and an individuality of conception, for which I can + never be sufficiently grateful. + </p> + <p> + These stories and others which appeared in ‘The National Observer’, in + ‘Macmillan’s’, in ‘The English Illustrated Magazine’ and others made many + friends; so that when the book at length came out it was received with + generous praise, though not without some criticism. It made its place, + however, at once, and later appeared another series, called ‘An Adventurer + of the North’, or, as it is called in this edition, ‘A Romany of the + Snows’. Through all the twenty stories of this second volume the character + of Pierre moved; and by the time the last was written there was scarcely + an important magazine in the English-speaking world which had not printed + one or more of them. Whatever may be thought of the stories themselves, or + of the manner in which the life of the Far North was portrayed, of one + thing I am sure: Pierre was true to the life—to his race, to his + environment, to the conditions of pioneer life through which he moved. + When the book first came out there was some criticism from Canada itself, + but that criticism has long since died away, and it never was determined. + </p> + <p> + Plays have been founded on the ‘Pierre’ series, and one in particular, + ‘Pierre of the Plains’, had a considerable success, with Mr. Edgar Selwyn, + the adapter, in the main part. I do not know whether, if I were to begin + again, I should have written all the Pierre stories in quite the same way. + Perhaps it is just as well that I am not able to begin again. The stories + made their own place in their own way, and that there is still a steady + demand for ‘Pierre and His People’ and ‘A Romany of the Snows’ seems + evidence that the editor of an important magazine in New York who declined + to recommend them for publication to his firm (and later published several + of the same series) was wrong, when he said that the tales “seemed not to + be salient.” Things that are not “salient” do not endure. It is twenty + years since ‘Pierre and His People’ was produced—and it still + endures. For this I cannot but be deeply grateful. In any case, what + ‘Pierre’ did was to open up a field which had not been opened before, but + which other authors have exploited since with success and distinction. + ‘Pierre’ was the pioneer of the Far North in fiction; that much may be + said; and for the rest, Time is the test, and Time will have its way with + me as with the rest. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOTE + </h2> + <p> + It is possible that a Note on the country portrayed in these stories may + be in keeping. Until 1870, the Hudson’s Bay Company—first granted + its charter by King Charles II—practically ruled that vast region + stretching from the fiftieth parallel of latitude to the Arctic Ocean—a + handful of adventurous men entrenched in forts and posts, yet trading + with, and mostly peacefully conquering, many savage tribes. Once the sole + master of the North, the H. B. C. (as it is familiarly called) is + reverenced by the Indians and half-breeds as much as, if not more than, + the Government established at Ottawa. It has had its forts within the + Arctic Circle; it has successfully exploited a country larger than the + United States. The Red River Valley, the Saskatchewan Valley, and British + Columbia, are now belted by a great railway, and given to the plough; but + in the far north life is much the same as it was a hundred years ago. + There the trapper, clerk, trader, and factor are cast in the mould of + another century, though possessing the acuter energies of this. The + ‘voyageur’ and ‘courier de bois’ still exist, though, generally, under + less picturesque names. + </p> + <p> + The bare story of the hardy and wonderful career of the adventurers + trading in Hudson’s Bay,—of whom Prince Rupert was once chiefest,—and + the life of the prairies, may be found in histories and books of travel; + but their romances, the near narratives of individual lives, have waited + the telling. In this book I have tried to feel my way towards the heart of + that life—worthy of being loved by all British men, for it has given + honest graves to gallant fellows of our breeding. Imperfectly, of course, + I have done it; but there is much more to be told. + </p> + <p> + When I started Pretty Pierre on his travels, I did not know—nor did + he—how far or wide his adventurers and experiences would run. They + have, however, extended from Quebec in the east to British Columbia in the + west, and from the Cypress Hills in the south to the Coppermine River in + the north. With a less adventurous man we had had fewer happenings. His + faults were not of his race, that is, French and Indian,—nor were + his virtues; they belong to all peoples. But the expression of these is + affected by the country itself. Pierre passes through this series of + stories, connecting them, as he himself connects two races, and here and + there links the past of the Hudson’s Bay Company with more modern life and + Canadian energy pushing northward. Here is something of romance “pure and + simple,” but also traditions and character, which are the single property + of this austere but not cheerless heritage of our race. + </p> + <p> + All of the tales have appeared in magazines and journals—namely, + ‘The National Observer’, ‘Macmillan’s’, ‘The National Review’, and ‘The + English Illustrated’; and ‘The Independent of New York’. By the courtesy + of the proprietors of these I am permitted to republish. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + G. P. +</pre> + <p> + HARPENDEN, HERTFORDSHIRE, July, 1892. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS + </h2> + <p> + “He’s too ha’sh,” said old Alexander Windsor, as he shut the creaking door + of the store after a vanishing figure, and turned to the big iron stove + with outstretched hands; hands that were cold both summer and winter. He + was of lean and frigid make. + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant Fones is too ha’sh,” he repeated, as he pulled out the damper + and cleared away the ashes with the iron poker. + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre blew a quick, straight column of cigarette smoke into the + air, tilted his chair back, and said: “I do not know what you mean by + ‘ha’sh,’ but he is the devil. Eh, well, there was more than one devil made + sometime in the North West.” He laughed softly. + </p> + <p> + “That gives you a chance in history, Pretty Pierre,” said a voice from + behind a pile of woollen goods and buffalo skins in the centre of the + floor. The owner of the voice then walked to the window. He scratched some + frost from the pane and looked out to where the trooper in dog-skin coat, + gauntlets and cap, was mounting his broncho. The old man came and stood + near the young man,—the owner of the voice,—and said again: + “He’s too ha’sh.” + </p> + <p> + “Harsh you mean, father,” added the other. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, harsh you mean, Old Brown Windsor,—quite harsh,” said Pierre. + </p> + <p> + Alexander Windsor, storekeeper and general dealer, was sometimes called + “Old Brown Windsor” and sometimes “Old Aleck,” to distinguish him from his + son, who was known as “Young Aleck.” + </p> + <p> + As the old man walked back again to the stove to warm his hands, Young + Aleck continued: “He does his duty, that’s all. If he doesn’t wear kid + gloves while at it, it’s his choice. He doesn’t go beyond his duty. You + can bank on that. It would be hard to exceed that way out here.” + </p> + <p> + “True, Young Aleck, so true; but then he wears gloves of iron, of ice. + That is not good. Sometime the glove will be too hard and cold on a man’s + shoulder, and then!—Well, I should like to be there,” said Pierre, + showing his white teeth. + </p> + <p> + Old Aleck shivered, and held his fingers where the stove was red hot. + </p> + <p> + The young man did not hear this speech; from the window he was watching + Sergeant Fones as he rode towards the Big Divide. Presently he said: “He’s + going towards Humphrey’s place. I—” He stopped, bent his brows, + caught one corner of his slight moustache between his teeth, and did not + stir a muscle until the Sergeant had passed over the Divide. + </p> + <p> + Old Aleck was meanwhile dilating upon his theme before a passive listener. + But Pierre was only passive outwardly. Besides hearkening to the father’s + complaints he was closely watching the son. Pierre was clever, and a good + actor. He had learned the power of reserve and outward immobility. The + Indian in him helped him there. He had heard what Young Aleck had just + muttered; but to the man of the cold fingers he said: “You keep good + whisky in spite of the law and the iron glove, Old Aleck.” To the young + man: “And you can drink it so free, eh, Young Aleck?” + </p> + <p> + The half-breed looked out of the corners of his eyes at the young man, but + he did not raise the peak of his fur cap in doing so, and his glances + askance were not seen. + </p> + <p> + Young Aleck had been writing something with his finger-nail on the frost + of the pane, over and over again. When Pierre spoke to him thus he + scratched out the word he had written, with what seemed unnecessary force. + But in one corner it remained: + </p> + <p> + “Mab—” + </p> + <p> + Pierre added: “That is what they say at Humphrey’s ranch.” + </p> + <p> + “Who says that at Humphrey’s?—Pierre, you lie!” was the sharp and + threatening reply. The significance of this last statement had been often + attested on the prairies by the piercing emphasis of a six-chambered + revolver. It was evident that Young Aleck was in earnest. Pierre’s eyes + glowed in the shadow, but he idly replied: + </p> + <p> + “I do not remember quite who said it. Well, ‘mon ami,’ perhaps I lie; + perhaps. Sometimes we dream things, and these dreams are true. You call it + a lie—‘bien!’ Sergeant Fones, he dreams perhaps Old Aleck sells + whisky against the law to men you call whisky runners, sometimes to + Indians and half-breeds—halfbreeds like Pretty Pierre. That was a + dream of Sergeant Fones; but you see he believes it true. It is good + sport, eh? Will you not take—what is it?—a silent partner? + Yes; a silent partner, Old Aleck. Pretty Pierre has spare time, a little, + to make money for his friends and for himself, eh?” + </p> + <p> + When did not Pierre have time to spare? He was a gambler. Unlike the + majority of half-breeds, he had a pronounced French manner, nonchalant and + debonair. + </p> + <p> + The Indian in him gave him coolness and nerve. His cheeks had a tinge of + delicate red under their whiteness, like those of a woman. That was why he + was called Pretty Pierre. The country had, however, felt a kind of weird + menace in the name. It was used to snakes whose rattle gave notice of + approach or signal of danger. But Pretty Pierre was like the death-adder, + small and beautiful, silent and deadly. At one time he had made a secret + of his trade, or thought he was doing so. In those days he was often to be + seen at David Humphrey’s home, and often in talk with Mab Humphrey; but it + was there one night that the man who was ha’sh gave him his true + character, with much candour and no comment. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards Pierre was not seen at Humphrey’s ranch. Men prophesied that he + would have revenge some day on Sergeant Fones; but he did not show + anything on which this opinion could be based. He took no umbrage at being + called Pretty Pierre the gambler. But for all that he was possessed of a + devil. + </p> + <p> + Young Aleck had inherited some money through his dead mother from his + grandfather, a Hudson’s Bay factor. He had been in the East for some + years, and when he came back he brought his “little pile” and an + impressionable heart with him. The former Pretty Pierre and his friends + set about to win; the latter, Mab Humphrey won without the trying. Yet Mab + gave Young Aleck as much as he gave her. More. Because her love sprang + from a simple, earnest, and uncontaminated life. Her purity and affection + were being played against Pierre’s designs and Young Aleck’s weakness. + With Aleck cards and liquor went together. Pierre seldom drank. + </p> + <p> + But what of Sergeant Fones? If the man that knew him best—the + Commandant—had been asked for his history, the reply would have + been: “Five years in the Service, rigid disciplinarian, best + non-commissioned officer on the Patrol of the Cypress Hills.” That was all + the Commandant knew. + </p> + <p> + A soldier-policeman’s life on the frontier is rough, solitary, and severe. + Active duty and responsibility are all that make it endurable. To few is + it fascinating. A free and thoughtful nature would, however, find much in + it, in spite of great hardships, to give interest and even pleasure. The + sense of breadth and vastness, and the inspiration of pure air could be a + very gospel of strength, beauty, and courage, to such an one—for a + time. But was Sergeant Fones such an one? The Commandant’s scornful reply + to a question of the kind would have been: “He is the best soldier on the + Patrol.” + </p> + <p> + And so with hard gallops here and there after the refugees of crime or + misfortune, or both, who fled before them like deer among the passes of + the hills, and, like deer at bay, often fought like demons to the death; + with border watchings, and protection and care and vigilance of the + Indians; with hurried marches at sunrise, the thermometer at fifty degrees + below zero often in winter, and open camps beneath the stars, and no camp + at all, as often as not, winter and summer; with rough barrack fun and + parade and drill and guard of prisoners; and with chances now and then to + pay homage to a woman’s face, the Mounted Force grew full of the Spirit of + the West and became brown, valiant, and hardy, with wind and weather. + Perhaps some of them longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of + children, and to consider more the faces of women,—for hearts are + hearts even under a belted coat of red on the Fiftieth Parallel,—but + men of nerve do not blazon their feelings. + </p> + <p> + No one would have accused Sergeant Fones of having a heart. Men of keen + discernment would have seen in him the little Bismarck of the Mounted + Police. His name carried farther on the Cypress Hills Patrol than any + other; and yet his officers could never say that he exceeded his duty or + enlarged upon the orders he received. He had no sympathy with crime. + Others of the force might wink at it; but his mind appeared to sit + severely upright upon the cold platform of Penalty, in beholding breaches + of the statutes. He would not have rained upon the unjust as the just if + he had had the directing of the heavens. As Private Gellatly put it: + “Sergeant Fones has the fear o’ God in his heart, and the law of the land + across his saddle, and the newest breech-loading at that!” He was part of + the great machine of Order, the servant of Justice, the sentinel in the + vestibule of Martial Law. His interpretation of duty worked upward as + downward. Officers and privates were acted on by the force known as + Sergeant Fones. Some people, like Old Brown Windsor, spoke hardly and + openly of this force. There were three people who never did—Pretty + Pierre, Young Aleck, and Mab Humphrey. Pierre hated him; Young Aleck + admired in him a quality lying dormant in himself—decision; Mab + Humphrey spoke unkindly of no one. Besides—but no! + </p> + <p> + What was Sergeant Fones’s country? No one knew. Where had he come from? No + one asked him more than once. He could talk French with Pierre,—a + kind of French that sometimes made the undertone of red in the Frenchman’s + cheeks darker. He had been heard to speak German to a German prisoner, and + once, when a gang of Italians were making trouble on a line of railway + under construction, he arrested the leader, and, in a few swift, sharp + words in the language of the rioters, settled the business. He had no + accent that betrayed his nationality. + </p> + <p> + He had been recommended for a commission. The officer in command had + hinted that the Sergeant might get a Christmas present. The officer had + further said: “And if it was something that both you and the Patrol would + be the better for, you couldn’t object, Sergeant.” But the Sergeant only + saluted, looking steadily into the eyes of the officer. That was his + reply. Private Gellatly, standing without, heard Sergeant Fones say, as he + passed into the open air, and slowly bared his forehead to the winter sun: + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + And Private Gellatly cried, with revolt in his voice, “Divils me own, the + word that a’t to have been full o’ joy was like the clip of a + rifle-breech.” + </p> + <p> + Justice in a new country is administered with promptitude and vigour, or + else not administered at all. Where an officer of the Mounted + Police-Soldiery has all the powers of a magistrate, the law’s delay and + the insolence of office have little space in which to work. One of the + commonest slips of virtue in the Canadian West was selling whisky contrary + to the law of prohibition which prevailed. Whisky runners were land + smugglers. Old Brown Windsor had, somehow, got the reputation of being + connected with the whisky runners; not a very respectable business, and + thought to be dangerous. Whisky runners were inclined to resent intrusion + on their privacy with a touch of that biting inhospitableness which a + moonlighter of Kentucky uses toward an inquisitive, unsympathetic marshal. + On the Cypress Hills Patrol, however, the erring servants of Bacchus were + having a hard time of it. Vigilance never slept there in the days of which + these lines bear record. Old Brown Windsor had, in words, freely espoused + the cause of the sinful. To the careless spectator it seemed a charitable + siding with the suffering; a proof that the old man’s heart was not so + cold as his hands. Sergeant Fones thought differently, and his mission had + just been to warn the store-keeper that there was menacing evidence + gathering against him, and that his friendship with Golden Feather, the + Indian Chief, had better cease at once. Sergeant Fones had a way of + putting things. Old Brown Windsor endeavoured for a moment to be + sarcastic. This was the brief dialogue in the domain of sarcasm: + </p> + <p> + “I s’pose you just lit round in a friendly sort of way, hopin’ that I’d + kenoodle with you later.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + There was an unpleasant click to the word. The old man’s hands got colder. + He had nothing more to say. + </p> + <p> + Before leaving, the Sergeant said something quietly and quickly to Young + Aleck. Pierre observed, but could not hear. Young Aleck was uneasy; Pierre + was perplexed. The Sergeant turned at the door, and said in French: “What + are your chances for a Merry Christmas at Pardon’s Drive, Pretty Pierre?” + Pierre answered nothing. He shrugged his shoulders, and as the door + closed, muttered, “Il est le diable.” And he meant it. What should + Sergeant Fones know of that intended meeting at Pardon’s Drive on + Christmas Day? And if he knew, what then? It was not against the law to + play euchre. Still it perplexed Pierre. Before the Windsors, father and + son, however, he was, as we have seen, playfully cool. + </p> + <p> + After quitting Old Brown Windsor’s store, Sergeant Fones urged his stout + broncho to a quicker pace than usual. The broncho was, like himself, + wasteful of neither action nor affection. The Sergeant had caught him wild + and independent, had brought him in, broken him, and taught him obedience. + They understood each other; perhaps they loved each other. But about that + even Private Gellatly had views in common with the general sentiment as to + the character of Sergeant Fones. The private remarked once on this point + “Sarpints alive! the heels of the one and the law of the other is the love + of them. They’ll weather together like the Divil and Death.” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant was brooding; that was not like him. He was hesitating; that + was less like him. He turned his broncho round as if to cross the Big + Divide and to go back to Windsor’s store; but he changed his mind again, + and rode on toward David Humphrey’s ranch. He sat as if he had been born + in the saddle. His was a face for the artist, strong and clear, and having + a dominant expression of force. The eyes were deepset and watchful. A kind + of disdain might be traced in the curve of the short upper lip, to which + the moustache was clipped close—a good fit, like his coat. The + disdain was more marked this morning. + </p> + <p> + The first part of his ride had been seen by Young Aleck, the second part + by Mab Humphrey. Her first thought on seeing him was one of apprehension + for Young Aleck and those of Young Aleck’s name. She knew that people + spoke of her lover as a ne’er-do-weel; and that they associated his name + freely with that of Pretty Pierre and his gang. She had a dread of Pierre, + and, only the night before, she had determined to make one last great + effort to save Aleck, and if he would not be saved—strange that, + thinking it all over again, as she watched the figure on horseback coming + nearer, her mind should swerve to what she had heard of Sergeant Fones’s + expected promotion. Then she fell to wondering if anyone had ever given + him a real Christmas present; if he had any friends at all; if life meant + anything more to him than carrying the law of the land across his saddle. + Again he suddenly came to her in a new thought, free from apprehension, + and as the champion of her cause to defeat the half-breed and his gang, + and save Aleck from present danger or future perils. + </p> + <p> + She was such a woman as prairies nurture; in spirit broad and thoughtful + and full of energy; not so deep as the mountain woman, not so imaginative, + but with more persistency, more daring. Youth to her was a warmth, a + glory. She hated excess and lawlessness, but she could understand it. She + felt sometimes as if she must go far away into the unpeopled spaces, and + shriek out her soul to the stars from the fulness of too much life. She + supposed men had feelings of that kind too, but that they fell to playing + cards and drinking instead of crying to the stars. Still, she preferred + her way. + </p> + <p> + Once, Sergeant Fones, on leaving the house, said grimly after his fashion: + “Not Mab but Ariadne—excuse a soldier’s bluntness..... Good-bye!” + and with a brusque salute he had ridden away. What he meant she did not + know and could not ask. The thought instantly came to her mind: Not + Sergeant Fones; but who? She wondered if Ariadne was born on the prairie. + What knew she of the girl who helped Theseus, her lover, to slay the + Minotaur? What guessed she of the Slopes of Naxos? How old was Ariadne? + Twenty? For that was Mab’s age. Was Ariadne beautiful? She ran her fingers + loosely through her short brown hair, waving softly about her Greek-shaped + head, and reasoned that Ariadne must have been presentable, or Sergeant + Fones would not have made the comparison. She hoped Ariadne could ride + well, for she could. + </p> + <p> + But how white the world looked this morning, and how proud and brilliant + the sky! Nothing in the plane of vision but waves of snow stretching to + the Cypress Hills; far to the left a solitary house, with its tin roof + flashing back the sun, and to the right the Big Divide. It was an + old-fashioned winter, not one in which bare ground and sharp winds make + life outdoors inhospitable. Snow is hospitable-clean, impacted snow; + restful and silent. But there was one spot in the area of white, on which + Mab’s eyes were fixed now, with something different in them from what had + been there. Again it was a memory with which Sergeant Fones was + associated. One day in the summer just past she had watched him and his + company put away to rest under the cool sod, where many another lay in + silent company, a prairie wanderer, some outcast from a better life gone + by. Afterwards, in her home, she saw the Sergeant stand at the window, + looking out towards the spot where the waves in the sea of grass were more + regular and greener than elsewhere, and were surmounted by a high cross. + She said to him—for she of all was never shy of his stern ways: + </p> + <p> + “Why is the grass always greenest there, Sergeant Fones?” + </p> + <p> + He knew what she meant, and slowly said: “It is the Barracks of the Free.” + </p> + <p> + She had no views of life save those of duty and work and natural joy and + loving a ne’er-do-weel, and she said: “I do not understand that.” + </p> + <p> + And the Sergeant replied: “‘Free among the Dead like unto them that are + wounded and lie in the grave, who are out of remembrance.’” + </p> + <p> + But Mab said again: “I do not understand that either.” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant did not at once reply. He stepped to the door and gave a + short command to some one without, and in a moment his company was mounted + in line; handsome, dashing fellows; one the son of an English nobleman, + one the brother of an eminent Canadian politician, one related to a + celebrated English dramatist. He ran his eye along the line, then turned + to Mab, raised his cap with machine-like precision, and said: “No, I + suppose you do not understand that. Keep Aleck Windsor from Pretty Pierre + and his gang. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Then he mounted and rode away. Every other man in the company looked back + to where the girl stood in the doorway; he did not. Private Gellatly said, + with a shake of the head, as she was lost to view: “Devils bestir me, what + a widdy she’ll make!” It was understood that Aleck Windsor and Mab + Humphrey were to be married on the coming New Year’s Day. What connection + was there between the words of Sergeant Fones and those of Private + Gellatly? None, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + Mab thought upon that day as she looked out, this December morning, and + saw Sergeant Fones dismounting at the door. David Humphrey, who was + outside, offered to put up the Sergeant’s horse; but he said: “No, if + you’ll hold him just a moment, Mr. Humphrey, I’ll ask for a drink of + something warm, and move on. Miss Humphrey is inside, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “She’ll give you a drink of the best to be had on your patrol, Sergeant,” + was the laughing reply. “Thanks for that, but tea or coffee is good enough + for me,” said the Sergeant. Entering, the coffee was soon in the hand of + the hardy soldier. Once he paused in his drinking and scanned Mab’s face + closely. Most people would have said the Sergeant had an affair of the law + in hand, and was searching the face of a criminal; but most people are not + good at interpretation. Mab was speaking to the chore-girl at the same + time and did not see the look. If she could have defined her thoughts when + she, in turn, glanced into the Sergeant’s face, a moment afterwards, she + would have said, “Austerity fills this man. Isolation marks him for its + own.” In the eyes were only purpose, decision, and command. Was that the + look that had been fixed upon her face a moment ago? It must have been. + His features had not changed a breath. Mab began their talk. + </p> + <p> + “They say you are to get a Christmas present of promotion, Sergeant + Fones.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not seen it gazetted,” he answered enigmatically. + </p> + <p> + “You and your friends will be glad of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I like the service.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have more freedom with a commission.” He made no reply, but rose + and walked to the window, and looked out across the snow, drawing on his + gauntlets as he did so. + </p> + <p> + She saw that he was looking where the grass in summer was the greenest! + </p> + <p> + He turned and said: + </p> + <p> + “I am going to barracks now. I suppose Young Aleck will be in quarters + here on Christmas Day, Miss Mab?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” and she blushed. + </p> + <p> + “Did he say he would be here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + He looked toward the coffee. Then: “Thank you.....Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Humphrey!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you not come to us on Christmas Day?” + </p> + <p> + His eyelids closed swiftly and opened again. “I shall be on duty.” + </p> + <p> + “And promoted?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “And merry and happy?”—she smiled to herself to think of Sergeant + Fones being merry and happy. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + The word suited him. + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment with his fingers on the latch, and turned round as if + to speak; pulled off his gauntlet, and then as quickly put it on again. + Had he meant to offer his hand in good-bye? He had never been seen to take + the hand of anyone except with the might of the law visible in steel. + </p> + <p> + He opened the door with the right hand, but turned round as he stepped + out, so that the left held it while he faced the warmth of the room and + the face of the girl. The door closed. + </p> + <p> + Mounted, and having said good-bye to Mr. Humphrey, he turned towards the + house, raised his cap with soldierly brusqueness, and rode away in the + direction of the barracks. + </p> + <p> + The girl did not watch him. She was thinking of Young Aleck, and of + Christmas Day, now near. The Sergeant did not look back. + </p> + <p> + Meantime the party at Windsor’s store was broken up. Pretty Pierre and + Young Aleck had talked together, and the old man had heard his son say: + “Remember, Pierre, it is for the last time.” Then they talked after this + fashion: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I know, ‘mon ami;’ for the last time! ‘Eh, bien,’ you will spend + Christmas Day with us too—no? You surely will not leave us on the + day of good fortune? Where better can you take your pleasure for the last + time? One day is not enough for farewell. Two, three; that is the magic + number. You will, eh? no? Well, well, you will come to-morrow—and—eh, + ‘mon ami,’ where do you go the next day? Oh, ‘pardon,’ I forgot, you spend + the Christmas Day—I know. And the day of the New Year? Ah, Young + Aleck, that is what they say—the devil for the devil’s luck. So.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop that, Pierre.” There was fierceness in the tone. “I spend the + Christmas Day where you don’t, and as I like, and the rest doesn’t concern + you. I drink with you, I play with you—‘bien!’ As you say yourself, + ‘bien,’ isn’t that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Pardon!’ We will not quarrel. No; we spend not the Christmas Day after + the same fashion, quite. Then, to-morrow at Pardon’s Drive! Adieu!” + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his white teeth, + and Aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon his gloomy + lips. But both maledictions were levelled at the same person. Poor Aleck. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Aleck!” That is the way we sometimes think of a good nature gone + awry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, and + against which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. Alas, for the + ne’er-do-weel! + </p> + <p> + That night a stalwart figure passed from David Humphrey’s door, carrying + with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman’s love. The chilly outer air + of the world seemed not to touch him, Love’s curtains were drawn so close. + Had one stood within “the Hunter’s Room,” as it was called, a little while + before, one would have seen a man’s head bowed before a woman, and her + hand smoothing back the hair from the handsome brow where dissipation had + drawn some deep lines. Presently the hand raised the head until the eyes + of the woman looked full into the eyes of the man. + </p> + <p> + “You will not go to Pardon’s Drive again, will you, Aleck?” + </p> + <p> + “Never again after Christmas Day, Mab. But I must go to-morrow. I have + given my word.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. To meet Pretty Pierre and all the rest, and for what? Oh, Aleck, + isn’t the suspicion about your father enough, but you must put this on me + as well?” + </p> + <p> + “My father must suffer for his wrong-doing if he does wrong, and I for + mine.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment’s silence. He bowed his head again. + </p> + <p> + “And I have done wrong to us both. Forgive me, Mab.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned over and caressed his hair. “I forgive you, Aleck.” + </p> + <p> + A thousand new thoughts were thrilling through him. Yet this man had given + his word to do that for which he must ask forgiveness of the woman he + loved. But to Pretty Pierre, forgiven or unforgiven, he would keep his + word. She understood it better than most of those who read this brief + record can. Every sphere has its code of honour and duty peculiar to + itself. + </p> + <p> + “You will come to me on Christmas morning, Aleck?” + </p> + <p> + “I will come on Christmas morning.” + </p> + <p> + “And no more after that of Pretty Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “And no more of Pretty Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + She trusted him; but neither could reckon with unknown forces. + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Fones, sitting in the barracks in talk with Private Gellatly, + said at that moment in a swift silence, “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre, at Pardon’s Drive, drinking a glass of brandy at that + moment, said to the ceiling: + </p> + <p> + “No more of Pretty Pierre after to-morrow night, monsieur! Bien! If it is + for the last time, then it is for the last time. So....so.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled. His teeth were amazingly white. + </p> + <p> + The stalwart figure strode on under the stars, the white night a lens for + visions of days of rejoicing to come. All evil was far from him. The + dolorous tide rolled back in this hour from his life, and he revelled in + the light of a new day. + </p> + <p> + “When I’ve played my last card to-morrow night with Pretty Pierre, I’ll + begin the world again,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + And Sergeant Fones in the barracks said just then, in response to a + further remark of Private Gellatly,—“Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + Young Aleck fell to singing: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Out from your vineland come + Into the prairies wild; + Here will we make our home, + Father, mother, and child; + Come, my love, to our home, + Father, mother, and child, + Father, mother, and—” + </pre> + <p> + He fell to thinking again—“and child—and child,”—it was + in his ears and in his heart. + </p> + <p> + But Pretty Pierre was singing softly to himself in the room at Pardon’s + Drive: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Three good friends with the wine at night + Vive la compagnie! + Two good friends when the sun grows bright + Vive la compagnie! + Vive la, vive la, vive l’amour! + Vive la, vive la, vive l’amour! + Three good friends, two good friends + Vive la compagnie!” + </pre> + <p> + What did it mean? + </p> + <p> + Private Gellatly was cousin to Idaho Jack, and Idaho Jack disliked Pretty + Pierre, though he had been one of the gang. The cousins had seen each + other lately, and Private Gellatly had had a talk with the man who was + ha’sh. It may be that others besides Pierre had an idea of what it meant. + </p> + <p> + In the house at Pardon’s Drive the next night sat eight men, of whom three + were Pretty Pierre, Young Aleck, and Idaho Jack. Young Aleck’s face was + flushed with bad liquor and the worse excitement of play. This was one of + the unreckoned forces. Was this the man that sang the tender song under + the stars last night? Pretty Pierre’s face was less pretty than usual; the + cheeks were pallid, the eyes were hard and cold. Once he looked at his + partner as if to say, “Not yet.” Idaho Jack saw the look; he glanced at + his watch; it was eleven o’clock. At that moment the door opened, and + Sergeant Fones entered. All started to their feet, most with curses on + their lips; but Sergeant Fones never seemed to hear anything that could + make a feature of his face alter. Pierre’s hand was on his hip, as if + feeling for something. Sergeant Fones saw that; but he walked to where + Aleck stood, with his unplayed cards still in his hand, and, laying a hand + on his shoulder, said, “Come with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I go with you?”—this with a drunken man’s bravado. + </p> + <p> + “You are my prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre stepped forward. “What is his crime?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “How does that concern you, Pretty Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “He is my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he your friend, Aleck?” + </p> + <p> + What was there in the eyes of Sergeant Fones that forced the reply,—“To-night, + yes; to-morrow, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. It is near to-morrow; come.” + </p> + <p> + Aleck was led towards the door. Once more Pierre’s hand went to his hip; + but he was looking at the prisoner, not at the Sergeant. The Sergeant saw, + and his fingers were at his belt. He opened the door. Aleck passed out. He + followed. Two horses were tied to a post. With difficulty Aleck was + mounted. Once on the way his brain began slowly to clear, but he grew + painfully cold. It was a bitter night. How bitter it might have been for + the ne’er-do-weel let the words of Idaho Jack, spoken in a long hour’s + talk next day with Old Brown Windsor, show. “Pretty Pierre, after the two + were gone, said, with a shiver of curses,—‘Another hour and it would + have been done, and no one to blame. He was ready for trouble. His money + was nearly finished. A little quarrel easily made, the door would open, + and he would pass out. His horse would be gone, he could not come back; he + would walk. The air is cold, quite, quite cold; and the snow is a soft + bed. He would sleep well and sound, having seen Pretty Pierre for the last + time. And now—’ The rest was French and furtive.” + </p> + <p> + From that hour Idaho Jack and Pretty Pierre parted company. + </p> + <p> + Riding from Pardon’s Drive, Young Aleck noticed at last that they were not + going towards the barracks. He said: “Why do you arrest me?” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant replied: “You will know that soon enough. You are now going + to your own home. Tomorrow you will keep your word and go to David + Humphrey’s place; the next day I will come for you. Which do you choose: + to ride with me to-night to the barracks and know why you are arrested, or + go, unknowing, as I bid you, and keep your word with the girl?” + </p> + <p> + Through Aleck’s fevered brain, there ran the words of the song he sang + before— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Out from your vineland come + Into the prairies wild; + Here will we make our home, + Father, mother, and child.” + </pre> + <p> + He could have but one answer. + </p> + <p> + At the door of his home the Sergeant left him with the words, “Remember + you are on parole.” + </p> + <p> + Aleck noticed as the Sergeant rode away that the face of the sky had + changed, and slight gusts of wind had come up. At any other time his mind + would have dwelt upon the fact. It did not do so now. + </p> + <p> + Christmas Day came. People said that the fiercest night, since the + blizzard day of 1863, had been passed. But the morning was clear and + beautiful. The sun came up like a great flower expanding. First the + yellow, then the purple, then the red, and then a mighty shield of roses. + The world was a blanket of drift, and down, and glistening silver. + </p> + <p> + Mab Humphrey greeted her lover with such a smile as only springs to a + thankful woman’s lips. He had given his word and had kept it; and the path + of the future seemed surer. + </p> + <p> + He was a prisoner on parole; still that did not depress him. Plans for + coming days were talked of, and the laughter of many voices filled the + house. The ne’er-do-weel was clothed and in his right mind. In the + Hunter’s Room the noblest trophy was the heart of a repentant prodigal. + </p> + <p> + In the barracks that morning a gazetted notice was posted, announcing, + with such technical language as is the custom, that Sergeant Fones was + promoted to be a lieutenant in the Mounted Police Force of the North West + Territory. When the officer in command sent for him he could not be found. + But he was found that morning; and when Private Gellatly, with a warm + hand, touching the glove of “iron and ice” that, indeed, now said: + “Sergeant Fones, you are promoted, God help you!” he gave no sign. + Motionless, stern, erect, he sat there upon his horse, beside a stunted + larch tree. The broncho seemed to understand, for he did not stir, and had + not done so for hours;—they could tell that. The bridle rein was + still in the frigid fingers, and a smile was upon the face. + </p> + <p> + A smile upon the face of Sergeant Fones! + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he smiled that he was going to the Barracks of the Free— + </p> + <p> + “Free among the Dead like unto them that are wounded and lie in the grave, + that are out of remembrance.” + </p> + <p> + In the wild night he had lost his way, though but a few miles from the + barracks. + </p> + <p> + He had done his duty rigidly in that sphere of life where he had lived so + much alone among his many comrades. Had he exceeded his duty once in + arresting Young Aleck? + </p> + <p> + When, the next day, Sergeant Fones lay in the barracks, over him the flag + for which he had sworn to do honest service, and his promotion papers in + his quiet hand, the two who loved each other stood beside him for many a + throbbing minute. And one said to herself, silently: “I felt sometimes”—but + no more words did she say even to herself. + </p> + <p> + Old Aleck came in, and walked to where the Sergeant slept, wrapped close + in that white frosted coverlet which man wears but once. He stood for a + moment silent, his fingers numbly clasped. + </p> + <p> + Private Gellatly spoke softly: “Angels betide me, it’s little we knew the + great of him till he wint away; the pride, and the law—and the love + of him.” + </p> + <p> + In the tragedy that faced them this Christmas morning one at least had + seen “the love of him.” Perhaps the broncho had known it before. + </p> + <p> + Old Aleck laid a palm upon the hand he had never touched when it had life. + “He’s—too—ha’sh,” he said slowly. + </p> + <p> + Private Gellatly looked up wonderingly. But the old man’s eyes were wet. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GOD’S GARRISON + </h2> + <p> + Twenty years ago there was trouble at Fort o’ God. “Out of this place we + get betwixt the suns,” said Gyng the Factor. “No help that falls abaft + tomorrow could save us. Food dwindles, and ammunition’s nearly gone, and + they’ll have the cold steel in our scalp-locks if we stay. We’ll creep + along the Devil’s Causeway, then through the Red Horn Woods, and so across + the plains to Rupert House. Whip in the dogs, Baptiste, and be ready all + of you at midnight.” + </p> + <p> + “And Grah the Idiot—what of him”? asked Pretty Pierre. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll have to take his chance. If he can travel with us, so much the + better for him”; and the Factor shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “If not, so much the worse, eh”? returned Pretty Pierre. + </p> + <p> + “Work the sum out to suit yourself. We’ve got our necks to save. God’ll + have to help the Idiot if we can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “You hear, Grah Hamon, Idiot,” said Pierre an hour afterwards, “we’re + going to leave Fort o’ God and make for Rupert House. You’ve a dragging + leg, you’re gone in the savvy, you have to balance yourself with your + hands as you waddle along, and you slobber when you talk; but you’ve got + to cut away with us quick across the Beaver Plains, and Christ’ll have to + help you if we can’t. That’s what the Factor says, and that’s how the case + stands, Idiot—‘bien?’” + </p> + <p> + “Grah want pipe—bubble—bubble—wind blow,” muttered the + daft one. + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre bent over and said slowly: “If you stay here, Grah, the + Indian get your scalp; if you go, the snow is deep and the frost is like a + badger’s tooth, and you can’t be carried.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Oh!—my mother dead—poor Annie—by God, Grah want + pipe—poor Grah sleep in snow-bubble, bubble—Oh, Oh!—the + long wind, fly away.” + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre watched the great head of the Idiot as it swung heavily on + his shoulders, and then said: “‘Mais,’ like that, so!” and turned away. + </p> + <p> + When the party were about to sally forth on their perilous path to safety, + Gyng stood and cried angrily: “Well, why hasn’t some one bundled up that + moth-eaten Caliban? Curse it all, must I do everything myself?” + </p> + <p> + “But you see,” said Pierre, “the Caliban stays at Fort o’ God.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got a Christian heart in you, so help me, Heaven!” replied the + other. “No, sir, we give him a chance,—and his Maker too for that + matter, to show what He’s willing to do for His misfits.” + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre rejoined, “Well, I have thought. The game is all against + Grah if he go; but there are two who stay at Fort o’ God.” + </p> + <p> + And that is how, when the Factor and his half-breeds and trappers stole + away in silence towards the Devil’s Causeway, Pierre and the Idiot + remained behind. And that is why the flag of the H. B. C. still flew above + Fort o’ God in the New Year’s sun just twenty years ago to-day. + </p> + <p> + The Hudson’s Bay Company had never done a worse day’s work than when they + promoted Gyng to be chief factor. He loathed the heathen and he showed his + loathing. He had a heart harder than iron, a speech that bruised worse + than the hoof of an angry moose. And when at last he drove away a band of + wandering Sioux, foodless, from the stores, siege and ambush took the + place of prayer, and a nasty portion fell to Fort o’ God. For the Indians + found a great cache of buffalo meat, and, having sent the women and + children south with the old men, gave constant and biting assurances to + Gyng that the heathen hath his hour, even though he be a dog which is + refused those scraps from the white man’s table which give life in the + hour of need. Besides all else, there was in the Fort the thing which the + gods made last to humble the pride of men—there was rum. + </p> + <p> + And the morning after Gyng and his men had departed, because it was a day + when frost was master of the sun, and men grew wild for action, since to + stand still was to face indignant Death, they, who camped without, + prepared to make a sally upon the wooden gates. Pierre saw their intent, + and hid in the ground some pemmican and all the scanty rum. Then he looked + at his powder and shot, and saw that there was little left. If he spent it + on the besiegers, how should they fare for beast and fowl in hungry days? + And for his rifle he had but a brace of bullets. He rolled these in his + hand, looking upon them with a grim smile. And the Idiot, seeing, rose and + sidled towards him, and said: “Poor Grah want pipe—bubble—bubble.” + Then a light of childish cunning came into his eyes, and he touched the + bullets blunderingly, and continued: “Plenty, plenty b’longs Grah—give + poor Grah pipe—plenty, plenty, give you these.” + </p> + <p> + And Pretty Pierre after a moment replied: “So that’s it, Grah?—you’ve + got bullets stowed away? Well, I must have them. It’s a one-sided game in + which you get the tricks; but here’s the pipe, Idiot—my only pipe + for your dribbling mouth—my last good comrade. Now show me the + bullets. Take me to them, daft one, quick.” + </p> + <p> + A little later the Idiot sat inside the store, wrapped in loose furs, and + blowing bubbles; while Pretty Pierre, with many handfuls of bullets by + him, waited for the attack. + </p> + <p> + “Eh,” he said, as he watched from a loophole, “Gyng and the others have + got safely past the Causeway, and the rest is possible. Well, it hurts an + idiot as much to die, perhaps, as a half-breed or a factor. It is good to + stay here. If we fight, and go out swift like Grah’s bubbles, it is the + game. If we starve and sleep as did Grah’s mother, then it also is the + game. It is great to have all the chances against and then to win. We + shall see.” + </p> + <p> + With a sharp relish in his eye he watched the enemy coming slowly forward. + Yet he talked almost idly to himself: “I have a thought of so long ago. A + woman—she was a mother, and it was on the Madawaska River, and she + said: ‘Sometimes I think a devil was your father, an angel sometimes. You + were begot in an hour between a fighting and a mass: between blood and + heaven. And when you were born you made no cry. They said that was a sign + of evil. You refused the breast, and drank only of the milk of wild + cattle. In baptism you flung your hand before your face that the water + might not touch, nor the priest’s finger make a cross upon the water. And + they said it were better if you had been born an idiot than with an evil + spirit; and that your hand would be against the loins that bore you. But + Pierre, ah Pierre, you love your mother, do you not?’” ... And he standing + now, his eye closed with the gate-chink in front of Fort o’ God, said + quietly: “She was of the race that hated these—my mother; and she + died of a wound they gave her at the Tete Blanche Hill. Well, for that you + die now, Yellow Arm, if this gun has a bullet cold enough.” + </p> + <p> + A bullet pinged through the sharp air, as the Indians swarmed towards the + gate, and Yellow Arm, the chief, fell. The besiegers paused; and then, as + if at the command of the fallen man, they drew back, bearing him to the + camp, where they sat down and mourned. + </p> + <p> + Pierre watched them for a time; and, seeing that they made no further + move, retired into the store, where the Idiot muttered and was happy after + his kind. “Grah got pipe—blow away—blow away to Annie—pretty + soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Grah, there’s chance enough that you’ll blow away to Annie pretty + soon,” remarked the other. + </p> + <p> + “Grah have white eagles—fly, fly on the wind—oh, oh, bubble, + bubble!” and he sent the filmy globes floating from the pipe that a camp + of river-drivers had given the half-breed winters before. + </p> + <p> + Pierre stood and looked at the wandering eyes, behind which were the + torturings of an immense and confused intelligence; a life that fell + deformed before the weight of too much brain, so that all tottered from + the womb into the gutters of foolishness, and the tongue mumbled of chaos + when it should have told marvellous things. And the half-breed, the + thought of this coming upon him, said: “Well, I think the matters of hell + have fallen across the things of heaven, and there is storm. If for one + moment he could think clear, it would be great.” + </p> + <p> + He bethought him of a certain chant, taught him by a medicine man in + childhood, which, sung to the waving of a torch in a place of darkness, + caused evil spirits to pass from those possessed, and good spirits to + reign in their stead. And he raised the Idiot to his feet, and brought + him, maundering, to a room where no light was. He kneeled before him with + a lighted torch of bear’s fat and the tendons of the deer, and waving it + gently to and fro, sang the ancient rune, until the eye of the Idiot, + following the torch at a tangent as it waved, suddenly became fixed upon + the flame, when it ceased to move. And the words of the chant ran through + Grah’s ears, and pierced to the remote parts of his being; and a sickening + trouble came upon his face, and the lips ceased to drip, and were caught + up in twinges of pain.... The chant rolled on: “Go forth, go forth upon + them, thou, the Scarlet Hunter! Drive them forth into the wilds, drive + them crying forth! Enter in, O enter in, and lie upon the couch of peace, + the couch of peace within my wigwam, thou the wise one! Behold, I call to + thee!” + </p> + <p> + And Pierre, looking upon the Idiot, saw his face glow, and his eye stream + steadily to the light, and he said, “What is it that you see, Grah?—speak!” + </p> + <p> + All pitifulness and struggle had gone from the Idiot’s face, and a strong + calm fell upon it, and the voice of a man that God had created spoke + slowly: “There is an end of blood. The great chief Yellow Arm is fallen. + He goeth to the plains where his wife will mourn upon his knees, and his + children cry, because he that gathered food is gone, and the pots are + empty on the fire. And they who follow him shall fight no more. Two shall + live through bitter days, and when the leaves shall shine in the sun + again, there shall good things befal. But one shall go upon a long journey + with the singing birds in the path of the white eagle. He shall travel, + and not cease until he reach the place where fools, and children, and they + into whom a devil entered through the gates of birth, find the mothers who + bore them. But the other goeth at a different time—” At this point + the light in Pretty Pierre’s hand flickered and went out, and through the + darkness there came a voice, the voice of an idiot, that whimpered: “Grah + want pipe—Annie, Annie dead.” + </p> + <p> + The angel of wisdom was gone, and chaos spluttered on the lolling lips + again; the Idiot sat feeling for the pipe that he had dropped. + </p> + <p> + And never again through the days that came and went could Pierre, by any + conjuring, or any swaying torch, make the fool into a man again. The + devils of confusion were returned forever. But there had been one glimpse + of the god. And it was as the Idiot had said when he saw with the eyes of + that god: no more blood was shed. The garrison of this fort held it + unmolested. The besiegers knew not that two men only stayed within the + walls; and because the chief begged to be taken south to die, they left + the place surrounded by its moats of ice and its trenches of famine; and + they came not back. + </p> + <p> + But other foes more deadly than the angry heathen came, and they were + called Hunger and Loneliness. The one destroyeth the body and the other + the brain. But Grah was not lonely, nor did he hunger. He blew his + bubbles, and muttered of a wind whereon a useless thing—a film of + water, a butterfly, or a fool—might ride beyond the reach of spirit, + or man, or heathen. His flesh remained the same, and grew not less; but + that of Pierre wasted, and his eye grew darker with suffering. For man is + only man, and hunger is a cruel thing. To give one’s food to feed a fool, + and to search the silent plains in vain for any living thing to kill, is a + matter for angels to do and bear, and not mere mortals. But this man had a + strength of his own like to his code of living, which was his own and not + another’s. And at last, when spring leaped gaily forth from the grey cloak + of winter, and men of the H. B. C. came to relieve Fort o’ God, and + entered at its gates, a gaunt man, leaning on his rifle, greeted them + standing like a warrior, though his body was like that of one who had lain + in the grave. He answered to the name of Pierre without pride, but like a + man and not as a sick woman. And huddled on the floor beside him was an + idiot fondling a pipe, with a shred of pemmican at his lips. + </p> + <p> + As if in irony of man’s sacrifice, the All Hail and the Master of Things + permitted the fool to fulfil his own prophecy, and die of a sudden + sickness in the coming-on of summer. But he of God’s Garrison that + remained repented not of his deed. Such men have no repentance, neither of + good nor evil. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A HAZARD OF THE NORTH + </h2> + <p> + Nobody except Gregory Thorne and myself knows the history of the Man and + Woman, who lived on the Height of Land, just where Dog Ear River falls + into Marigold Lake. This portion of the Height of Land is a lonely + country. The sun marches over it distantly, and the man of the East—the + braggart—calls it outcast; but animals love it; and the shades of + the long-gone trapper and ‘voyageur’ saunter without mourning through its + fastnesses. When you are in doubt, trust God’s dumb creatures—and + the happy dead who whisper pleasant promptings to us, and whose knowledge + is mighty. Besides, the Man and Woman lived there, and Gregory Thorne says + that they could recover a lost paradise. But Gregory Thorne is an insolent + youth. The names of these people were John and Audrey Malbrouck; the Man + was known to the makers of backwoods history as Captain John. Gregory says + about that—but no, not yet!—let his first meeting with the Man + and the Woman be described in his own words, unusual and flippant as they + sometimes are; for though he is a graduate of Trinity College, Cambridge, + and a brother of a Right Honourable, he has conceived it his duty to + emancipate himself in the matter of style in language; and he has + succeeded. + </p> + <p> + “It was autumn,” he said, “all colours; beautiful and nippy on the Height + of Land; wild ducks, the which no man could number, and bear’s meat abroad + in the world. I was alone. I had hunted all day, leaving my mark now and + then as I journeyed, with a cache of slaughter here, and a blazed hickory + there. I was hungry as a circus tiger—did you ever eat slippery elm + bark?—yes, I was as bad as that. I guessed from what I had been + told, that the Malbrouck show must be hereaway somewhere. I smelled the + lake miles off—oh, you could too if you were half the animal I am; I + followed my nose and the slippery-elm between my teeth, and came at a + double-quick suddenly on the fair domain. There the two sat in front of + the house like turtle-doves, and as silent as a middy after his first + kiss. Much as I ached to get my tooth into something filling, I wished + that I had ‘em under my pencil, with that royal sun making a rainbow of + the lake, the woods all scarlet and gold, and that mist of purple—eh, + you’ve seen it?—and they sitting there monarchs of it all, like that + duffer of a king who had operas played for his solitary benefit. But I + hadn’t a pencil and I had a hunger, and I said ‘How!’ like any other Injin—insolent, + wasn’t it? Then the Man rose, and he said I was welcome, and she smiled an + approving but not very immediate smile, and she kept her seat,—she + kept her seat, my boy,—and that was the first thing that set me + thinking. She didn’t seem to be conscious that there was before her one of + the latest representatives from Belgravia, not she! But when I took an + honest look at her face, I understood. I’m glad that I had my hat in my + hand, polite as any Frenchman on the threshold of a blanchisserie: for I + learned very soon that the Woman had been in Belgravia too, and knew far + more than I did about what was what. When she did rise to array the supper + table, it struck me that if Josephine Beauharnais had been like her, she + might have kept her hold on Napoleon, and saved his fortunes; made Europe + France; and France the world. I could not understand it. Jimmy Haldane had + said to me when I was asking for Malbrouck’s place on the compass,—‘Don’t + put on any side with them, my Greg, or you’ll take a day off for + penitence.’ They were both tall and good to look at, even if he was a bit + rugged, with neck all wire and muscle, and had big knuckles. But she had + hands like those in a picture of Velasquez, with a warm whiteness and + educated—that’s it, educated hands. + </p> + <p> + “She wasn’t young, but she seemed so. Her eyes looked up and out at you + earnestly, yet not inquisitively, and more occupied with something in her + mind, than with what was before her. In short, she was a lady; not one by + virtue of a visit to the gods that rule o’er Buckingham Palace, but by the + claims of good breeding and long descent. She puzzled me, eluded me—she + reminded me of someone; but who? Someone I liked, because I felt a thrill + of admiration whenever I looked at her—but it was no use, I couldn’t + remember. I soon found myself talking to her according to St. James—the + palace, you know—and at once I entered a bet with my beloved aunt, + the dowager—who never refuses to take my offer, though she seldom + wins, and she’s ten thousand miles away, and has to take my word for it—that + I should find out the history of this Man and Woman before another + Christmas morning, which wasn’t more than two months off. You know whether + or not I won it, my son.” + </p> + <p> + I had frequently hinted to Gregory that I was old enough to be his father, + and that in calling me his son, his language was misplaced; and I repeated + it at that moment. He nodded good-humouredly, and continued: + </p> + <p> + “I was born insolent, my s—my ancestor. Well, after I had cleared a + space at the supper table, and had, with permission, lighted my pipe, I + began to talk... Oh yes, I did give them a chance occasionally; don’t + interrupt.... I gossiped about England, France, the universe. From the + brief comments they made I saw they knew all about it, and understood my + social argot, all but a few words—is there anything peculiar about + any of my words? After having exhausted Europe and Asia I discussed + America; talked about Quebec, the folklore of the French Canadians, the + ‘voyageurs’ from old Maisonneuve down. All the history I knew I rallied, + and was suddenly bowled out. For Malbrouck followed my trail from the time + I began to talk, and in ten minutes he had proved me to be a baby in + knowledge, an emaciated baby; he eliminated me from the equation. He first + tripped me on the training of naval cadets; then on the Crimea; then on + the taking of Quebec; then on the Franco-Prussian War; then, with a sudden + round-up, on India. I had been trusting to vague outlines of history; I + felt when he began to talk that I was dealing with a man who not only knew + history, but had lived it. He talked in the fewest but directest words, + and waxed eloquent in a blunt and colossal way. But seeing his wife’s eyes + fixed on him intently, he suddenly pulled up, and no more did I get from + him on the subject. He stopped so suddenly that in order to help over the + awkwardness, though I’m not really sure there was any, I began to hum a + song to myself. Now, upon my soul, I didn’t think what I was humming; it + was some subterranean association of things, I suppose—but that + doesn’t matter here. I only state it to clear myself of any unnecessary + insolence. These were the words I was maundering with this noble voice of + mine: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘The news I bring, fair Lady, + Will make your tears run down + + Put off your rose-red dress so fine + And doff your satin gown! + + Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas! + And buried, too, for aye; + + I saw four officers who bore + His mighty corse away. + ............. + We saw above the laurels, + His soul fly forth amain. + + And each one fell upon his face + And then rose up again. + + And so we sang the glories, + For which great Malbrouck bled; + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine, + Great Malbrouck, he is dead.’ +</pre> + <p> + “I felt the silence grow peculiar, uncomfortable. I looked up. Mrs. + Malbrouck was rising to her feet with a look in her face that would make + angels sorry—a startled, sorrowful thing that comes from a sleeping + pain. What an ass I was! Why, the Man’s name was Malbrouck; her name was + Malbrouck—awful insolence! But surely there was something in the + story of the song itself that had moved her. As I afterward knew, that was + it. Malbrouck sat still and unmoved, though I thought I saw something + stern and masterful in his face as he turned to me; but again instantly + his eyes were bent on his wife with a comforting and affectionate + expression. She disappeared into the house. Hoping to make it appear that + I hadn’t noticed anything, I dropped my voice a little and went on, + intending, however, to stop at the end of the verse: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine!’ +</pre> + <p> + “I ended there; because Malbrouck’s heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, + and he said: ‘If you please, not that song.’ + </p> + <p> + “I suspect I acted like an idiot. I stammered out apologies, went down on + my litanies, figuratively speaking, and was all the same confident that my + excuses were making bad infernally worse. But somehow the old chap had + taken a liking to me.—No, of course you couldn’t understand that. + Not that he was so old, you know; but he had the way of retired royalty + about him, as if he had lived life up to the hilt, and was all pulse and + granite. Then he began to talk in his quiet way about hunting and fishing; + about stalking in the Highlands and tiger-hunting in India; and wound up + with some wonderful stuff about moose-hunting, the sport of Canada. This + made me itch like sin, just to get my fingers on a trigger, with a full + moose-yard in view. I can feel it now—the bound in the blood as I + caught at Malbrouck’s arm and said: ‘By George, I must kill moose; that’s + sport for Vikings, and I was meant to be a Viking—or a gladiator.’ + Malbrouck at once replied that he would give me some moose-hunting in + December if I would come up to Marigold Lake. I couldn’t exactly reply on + the instant, because, you see, there wasn’t much chance for board and + lodging thereabouts, unless—but he went on to say that I should make + his house my ‘public,’ perhaps he didn’t say it quite in those terms, that + he and his wife would be glad to have me. With a couple of Indians we + could go north-west, where the moose-yards were, and have some sport both + exciting and prodigious. Well, I’m a muff, I know, but I didn’t refuse + that. Besides, I began to see the safe side of the bet I had made with my + aunt, the dowager, and I was more than pleased with what had come to pass + so far. Lucky for you, too, you yarn-spinner, that the thing did develop + so, or you wouldn’t be getting fame and shekels out of the results of my + story. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I got one thing out of the night’s experience; and it was that the + Malbroucks were no plebs., that they had had their day where plates are + blue and gold and the spoons are solid coin. But what had sent them up + here among the moose, the Indians, and the conies—whatever THEY are? + How should I get at it? Insolence, you say? Yes, that. I should come up + here in December, and I should mulct my aunt in the price of a new + breech-loader. But I found out nothing the next morning, and I left with a + paternal benediction from Malbrouck, and a smile from his wife that sent + my blood tingling as it hadn’t tingled since a certain season in London, + which began with my tuneful lyre sounding hopeful numbers and ended with + it hanging on the willows. + </p> + <p> + “When I thought it all over, as I trudged back on yesterday’s track, I + concluded that I had told them all my history from my youth up until now, + and had got nothing from them in return. I had exhausted my family + records, bit by bit, like a curate in his first parish; and had gone so + far as to testify that one of my ancestors had been banished to Australia + for political crimes. Distinctly they had me at an advantage, though, to + be sure, I had betrayed Mrs. Malbrouck into something more than a + suspicion of emotion. + </p> + <p> + “When I got back to my old camp, I could find out nothing from the other + fellows; but Jacques Pontiac told me that his old mate, Pretty Pierre, who + in recent days had fallen from grace, knew something of these people that + no one else guessed, because he had let them a part of his house in the + parish of St. Genevieve in Quebec, years before. Pierre had testified to + one fact, that a child—a girl—had been born to Mrs. Malbrouck + in his house, but all further knowledge he had withheld. Pretty Pierre was + off in the Rocky Mountains practising his profession—chiefly poker—and + was not available for information. What did I, Gregory Thorne, want of the + information anyway? That’s the point, my son. Judging from + after-developments I suppose it was what the foolish call occult sympathy. + Well, where was that girl-child? Jacques Pontiac didn’t know. Nobody knew. + And I couldn’t get rid of Mrs. Malbrouck’s face; it haunted me; the broad + brow, deep eyes, and high-bred sweetness—all beautifully animal. + Don’t laugh: I find astonishing likenesses between the perfectly human and + the perfectly animal. Did you never see how beautiful and modest the faces + of deer are; how chic and sensitive is the manner of a hound; nor the + keen, warm look in the eye of a well-bred mare? Why, I’d rather be a good + horse of blood and temper than half the fellows I know. You are not an + animal lover as I am; yes, even when I shoot them or fight them I admire + them, just as I’d admire a swordsman who, in ‘quart,’ would give me death + by the wonderful upper thrust. It’s all a battle; all a game of love and + slaughter, my son, and both go together. + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I say, her face followed me. Watch how the thing developed. By + the prairie-track I went over to Fort Desire, near the Rockies, almost + immediately after this, to see about buying a ranch with my old chum at + Trinity, Polly Cliffshawe—Polydore, you know. Whom should I meet in + a hut on the ranch but Jacques’s friend, Pretty Pierre. This was luck; but + he was not like Jacques Pontiac, he was secretive as a Buddhist deity. He + had a good many of the characteristics that go to a fashionable + diplomatist: clever, wicked, cool, and in speech doing the vanishing trick + just when you wanted him. But my star of fortune was with me. One day + Silverbottle, an Indian, being in a murderous humour, put a bullet in + Pretty Pierre’s leg, and would have added another, only I stopped it + suddenly. While in his bed he told me what he knew of the Malbroucks. + </p> + <p> + “This is the fashion of it. John and Audrey Malbrouck had come to Quebec + in the year 1865, and sojourned in the parish of St. Genevieve, in the + house of the mother of Pretty Pierre. Of an inquiring turn of mind, the + French half-breed desired to know concerning the history of these English + people, who, being poor, were yet gentle, and spoke French with a grace + and accent which was to the French-Canadian patois as Shakespeare’s + English is to that of Seven Dials. Pierre’s methods of inquisitiveness + were not strictly dishonest. He did not open letters, he did not besiege + dispatch-boxes, he did not ask impudent questions; he watched and + listened. In his own way he found out that the man had been a soldier in + the ranks, and that he had served in India. They were most attached to the + child, whose name was Marguerite. One day a visitor, a lady, came to them. + She seemed to be the cause of much unhappiness to Mrs. Malbrouck. And + Pierre was alert enough to discover that this distinguished-looking person + desired to take the child away with her. To this the young mother would + not consent, and the visitor departed with some chillingly-polite phrases, + part English, part French, beyond the exact comprehension of Pierre, and + leaving the father and mother and little Marguerite happy. Then, however, + these people seemed to become suddenly poorer, and Malbrouck began farming + in a humble, but not entirely successful way. The energy of the man was + prodigious; but his luck was sardonic. Floods destroyed his first crops, + prices ran low, debt accumulated, foreclosure of mortgage occurred, and + Malbrouck and the wife and child went west. + </p> + <p> + “Five years later, Pretty Pierre saw them again at Marigold Lake: + Malbrouck as agent for the Hudson’s Bay Company—still poor, but + contented. It was at this period that the former visitor again appeared, + clothed in purple and fine linen, and, strange as it may seem, succeeded + in carrying off the little child, leaving the father and mother broken, + but still devoted to each other. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty Pierre closed his narration with these words: ‘‘Bien,’ that + Malbrouck, he is great. I have not much love of men, but he—well, if + he say,—“See, Pierre, I go to the home of the white bear and the + winter that never ends; perhaps we come back, perhaps we die; but there + will be sport for men—” ‘voila!’ I would go. To know one strong man + in this world is good. Perhaps, some time I will go to him—yes, + Pierre, the gambler, will go to him, and say: It is good for the wild dog + that he live near the lion. And the child, she was beautiful; she had a + light heart and a sweet way.’” + </p> + <p> + It was with this slight knowledge that Gregory Thorne set out on his + journey over the great Canadian prairie to Marigold Lake, for his December + moose-hunt. + </p> + <p> + Gregory has since told me that, as he travelled with Jacques Pontiac + across the Height of Land to his destination, he had uncomfortable + feelings; presentiments, peculiar reflections of the past, and melancholy—a + thing far from habitual with him. Insolence is all very well, but you + cannot apply it to indefinite thoughts; it isn’t effective with vague + presentiments. And when Gregory’s insolence was taken away from him, he + was very like other mortals; virtue had gone out of him; his brown cheek + and frank eye had lost something of their charm. It was these unusual + broodings that worried him; he waked up suddenly one night calling, + “Margaret! Margaret!” like any childlike lover. And that did not please + him. He believed in things that, as he said himself, “he could get between + his fingers;” he had little sympathy with morbid sentimentalities. But + there was an English Margaret in his life; and he, like many another + childlike man, had fallen in love, and with her—very much in love + indeed; and a star had crossed his love to a degree that greatly shocked + him and pleased the girl’s relatives. She was the granddaughter of a + certain haughty dame of high degree, who regarded icily this poorest of + younger sons, and held her darling aloof. Gregory, very like a blunt + unreasoning lover, sought to carry the redoubt by wild assault; and was + overwhelmingly routed. The young lady, though finding some avowed pleasure + in his company, accompanied by brilliant misunderstanding of his advances + and full-front speeches, had never given him enough encouragement to + warrant his playing young Lochinvar in Park Lane; and his cup became full + when, at the close of the season, she was whisked off to the seclusion of + a country-seat, whose walls to him were impregnable. His defeat was then, + and afterwards, complete. He pluckily replied to the derision of his + relatives with multiplied derision, demanded his inheritance, got his + traps together, bought a fur coat, and straightway sailed the wintry seas + to Canada. + </p> + <p> + His experiences had not soured his temper. He believed that every dog has + his day, and that Fate was very malicious; that it brought down the proud, + and rewarded the patient; that it took up its abode in marble halls, and + was the mocker at the feast. All this had reference, of course, to the + time when he should—rich as any nabob—return to London, and be + victorious over his enemy in Park Lane. It was singular that he believed + this thing would occur; but he did. He had not yet made his fortune, but + he had been successful in the game of buying and selling lands, and luck + seemed to dog his path. He was fearless, and he had a keen eye for all the + points of every game—every game but love. + </p> + <p> + Yet he was born to succeed in that game too. For though his theory was, + that everything should be treated with impertinence before you could get a + proper view of it, he was markedly respectful to people. Few could resist + him; his impudence of ideas was so pleasantly mixed with delicately + suggested admiration of those to whom he talked. It was impossible that + John Malbrouck and his wife could have received him other than they did; + his was the eloquent, conquering spirit. + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + By the time he reached Lake Marigold he had shaken off all those hovering + fancies of the woods, which, after all, might only have been the + whisperings of those friendly and far-seeing spirits who liked the lad as + he journeyed through their lonely pleasure-grounds. John Malbrouck greeted + him with quiet cordiality, and Mrs. Malbrouck smiled upon him with a + different smile from that with which she had speeded him a month before; + there was in it a new light of knowledge, and Gregory could not understand + it. It struck him as singular that the lady should be dressed in finer + garments than she wore when he last saw her; though certainly her purple + became her. She wore it as if born to it; and with an air more sedately + courteous than he had ever seen, save at one house in Park Lane. Had this + rustle of fine trappings been made for him? No; the woman had a mind above + such snobbishness, he thought. He suffered for a moment the pang of a + cynical idea; but the eyes of Mrs. Malbrouck were on him and he knew that + he was as nothing before her. Her eyes—how they were fixed upon him! + Only two women had looked so truthfully at him before: his dead mother and—Margaret. + And Margaret—why, how strangely now at this instant came the thought + that she was like his Margaret! Wonder sprang to his eyes. At that moment + a door opened and a girl entered the room—a girl lissome, + sweet-faced, well-bred of manner, who came slowly towards them. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter, Mr. Thorne,” the mother briefly remarked. There was no + surprise in the girl’s face, only an even reserve of pleasure, as she held + out her hand and said: “Mr. Gregory Thorne and I are old enemies.” Gregory + Thorne’s nerve forsook him for an instant. He knew now the reason of his + vague presentiments in the woods; he understood why, one night, when he + had been more childlike than usual in his memory of the one woman who + could make life joyous for him, the voice of a voyageur, not Jacques’s nor + that of any one in camp, sang: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My dear love, she waits for me, + None other my world is adorning; + My true love I come to thee, + My dear, the white star of the morning. + Eagles spread out your wings, + Behold where the red dawn is breaking! + Hark, ‘tis my darling sings, + The flowers, the song-birds awaking; + See, where she comes to me, + My love, ah, my dear love!” + </pre> + <p> + And here she was. He raised her hand to his lips, and said: “Miss Carley, + you have your enemy at an advantage.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Carley in Park Lane, Margaret Malbrouck here in my old home,” she + replied. + </p> + <p> + There ran swiftly through the young man’s brain the brief story that + Pretty Pierre had told him. This, then, was the child who had been carried + away, and who, years after, had made captive his heart in London town! + Well, one thing was clear, the girl’s mother here seemed inclined to be + kinder to him than was the guardian grandmother—if she was the + grandmother—because they had their first talk undisturbed, it may be + encouraged; amiable mothers do such deeds at times. + </p> + <p> + “And now pray, Mr. Thorne,” she continued, “may I ask how came you here in + my father’s house after having treated me so cavalierly in London?—not + even sending a P.P.C. when you vanished from your worshippers in Vanity + Fair.” + </p> + <p> + “As for my being here, it is simply a case of blind fate; as for my + friends, the only one I wanted to be sorry for my going was behind + earthworks which I could not scale in order to leave my card, or—or + anything else of more importance; and being left as it were to the + inclemency of a winter world, I fled from—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted him. “What! the conqueror, you, flying from your Moscow?” + </p> + <p> + He felt rather helpless under her gay raillery; but he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn’t burn my kremlin behind me.” + </p> + <p> + “Your kremlin?” + </p> + <p> + “My ships, then: they—they are just the same,” he earnestly pleaded. + Foolish youth, to attempt to take such a heart by surprise and storm! + </p> + <p> + “That is very interesting,” she said, “but hardly wise. To make fortunes + and be happy in new countries, one should forget the old ones. Meditation + is the enemy of action.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s one meditation could make me conquer the North Pole, if I could + but grasp it definitely.” + </p> + <p> + “Grasp the North Pole? That would be awkward for your friends and + gratifying to your enemies, if one may believe science and history. But, + perhaps, you are in earnest after all, poor fellow! for my father tells me + you are going over the hills and far away to the moose-yards. How valiant + you are, and how quickly you grasp the essentials of fortune-making!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Malbrouck, I am in earnest, and I’ve always been in earnest in one + thing at least. I came out here to make money, and I’ve made some, and + shall make more; but just now the moose are as brands for the burning, and + I have a gun sulky for want of exercise.” + </p> + <p> + “What an eloquent warrior-temper! And to whom are your deeds of valour to + be dedicated? Before whom do you intend to lay your trophies of the + chase?” + </p> + <p> + “Before the most provoking but worshipful lady that I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is the sylvan maid? What princess of the glade has now the homage of + your impressionable heart, Mr. Thorne?” + </p> + <p> + And Gregory Thorne, his native insolence standing him in no stead, said + very humbly: + </p> + <p> + “You are that sylvan maid, that princess—ah, is this fair to me, is + it fair, I ask you?” + </p> + <p> + “You really mean that about the trophies”? she replied. “And shall you + return like the mighty khans, with captive tigers and lions, led by + stalwart slaves, in your train, or shall they be captive moose or + grizzlies?” + </p> + <p> + “Grizzlies are not possible here,” he said, with cheerful seriousness, + “but the moose is possible, and more, if you would be kinder—Margaret.” + </p> + <p> + “Your supper, see, is ready,” she said. “I venture to hope your appetite + has not suffered because of long absence from your friends.” + </p> + <p> + He could only dumbly answer by a protesting motion of the hand, and his + smile was not remarkably buoyant. + </p> + <p> + The next morning they started on their moose-hunt. Gregory Thorne was cast + down when he crossed the threshold into the winter morning without + hand-clasp or god-speed from Margaret Malbrouck; but Mrs. Malbrouck was + there, and Gregory, looking into her eyes, thought how good a thing it + would be for him, if some such face looked benignly out on him every + morning, before he ventured forth into the deceitful day. But what was the + use of wishing! Margaret evidently did not care. And though the air was + clear and the sun shone brightly, he felt there was a cheerless wind + blowing on him; a wind that chilled him; and he hummed to himself bitterly + a song of the voyageurs: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “O, O, the winter wind, the North wind, + My snow-bird, where art thou gone? + O, O, the wailing wind the night wind, + The cold nest; I am alone. + O, O, my snow-bird! + + “O, O, the waving sky, the white sky, + My snow-bird thou fliest far; + O, O, the eagle’s cry, the wild cry, + My lost love, my lonely star. + O, O, my snow-bird!” + </pre> + <p> + He was about to start briskly forward to join Malbrouck and his Indians, + who were already on their way, when he heard his name called, and, + turning, he saw Margaret in the doorway, her fingers held to the tips of + her ears, as yet unused to the frost. He ran back to where she stood, and + held out his hand. “I was afraid,” he bluntly said, “that you wouldn’t + forsake your morning sleep to say good-bye to me.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t always the custom, is it,” she replied, “for ladies to send the + very early hunter away with a tally-ho? But since you have the grace to be + afraid of anything, I can excuse myself to myself for fleeing the + pleasantest dreams to speed you on your warlike path.” + </p> + <p> + At this he brightened very much, but she, as if repenting she had given + him so much pleasure, added: “I wanted to say good-bye to my father, you + know; and—” she paused. + </p> + <p> + “And”? he added. + </p> + <p> + “And to tell him that you have fond relatives in the old land who would + mourn your early taking off; and, therefore, to beg him, for their sakes, + to keep you safe from any outrageous moose that mightn’t know how the + world needed you.” + </p> + <p> + “But there you are mistaken,” he said; “I haven’t anyone who would really + care, worse luck! except the dowager; and she, perhaps, would be consoled + to know that I had died in battle,—even with a moose,—and was + clear of the possibility of hanging another lost reputation on the family + tree, to say nothing of suspension from any other kind of tree. But, if it + should be the other way; if I should see your father in the path of an + outrageous moose—what then?” + </p> + <p> + “My father is a hunter born,” she responded; “he is a great man,” she + proudly added. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course,” he replied. “Good-bye. I’ll take him your love.—Good-bye!” + and he turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” she gaily replied; and yet, one looking closely would have + seen that this stalwart fellow was pleasant to her eyes, and as she closed + the door to his hand waving farewell to her from the pines, she said, + reflecting on his words: + </p> + <p> + “You’ll take him my love, will you? But, Master Gregory, you carry a + freight of which you do not know the measure; and, perhaps, you never + shall, though you are very brave and honest, and not so impudent as you + used to be,—and I’m not so sure that I like you so much better for + that either, Monsieur Gregory.” + </p> + <p> + Then she went and laid her cheek against her mother’s, and said: “They’ve + gone away for big game, mother dear; what shall be our quarry?” + </p> + <p> + “My child,” the mother replied, “the story of our lives since last you + were with me is my only quarry. I want to know from your own lips all that + you have been in that life which once was mine also, but far away from me + now, even though you come from it, bringing its memories without its + messages.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear, do you think that life there was so sweet to me? It meant as little + to your daughter as to you. She was always a child of the wild woods. What + rustle of pretty gowns is pleasant as the silken shiver of the maple + leaves in summer at this door? The happiest time in that life was when we + got away to Holwood or Marchurst, with the balls and calls all over.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Malbrouck smoothed her daughter’s hand gently and smiled approvingly. + </p> + <p> + “But that old life of yours, mother; what was it? You said that you would + tell me some day. Tell me now. Grandmother was fond of me—poor + grandmother! But she would never tell me anything. How I longed to be back + with you!... Sometimes you came to me in my sleep, and called to me to + come with you; and then again, when I was gay in the sunshine, you came, + and only smiled but never beckoned; though your eyes seemed to me very + sad, and I wondered if mine would not also become sad through looking in + them so—are they sad, mother?” And she laughed up brightly into her + mother’s face. + </p> + <p> + “No, dear; they are like the stars. You ask me for my part in that life. I + will tell you soon, but not now. Be patient. Do you not tire of this + lonely life? Are you truly not anxious to return to—” + </p> + <p> + “‘To the husks that the swine did eat?’ No, no, no; for, see: I was born + for a free, strong life; the prairie or the wild wood, or else to live in + some far castle in Welsh mountains, where I should never hear the voice of + the social Thou must!—oh, what a must! never to be quite free or + natural. To be the slave of the code. I was born—I know not how! but + so longing for the sky, and space, and endless woods. I think I never saw + an animal but I loved it, nor ever lounged the mornings out at Holwood but + I wished it were a hut on the mountain side, and you and father with me.” + Here she whispered, in a kind of awe: “And yet to think that Holwood is + now mine, and that I am mistress there, and that I must go back to it—if + only you would go back with me.... ah, dear, isn’t it your duty to go back + with me”? she added, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + Audrey Malbrouck drew her daughter hungrily to her bosom, and said: “Yes, + dear, I will go back, if it chances that you need me; but your father and + I have lived the best days of our lives here, and we are content. But, my + Margaret, there is another to be thought of too, is there not? And in that + case is my duty then so clear?” + </p> + <p> + The girl’s hand closed on her mother’s, and she knew her heart had been + truly read. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + The hunters pursued their way, swinging grandly along on their snow-shoes, + as they made for the Wild Hawk Woods. It would seem as if Malbrouck was + testing Gregory’s strength and stride, for the march that day was a long + and hard one. He was equal to the test, and even Big Moccasin, the chief, + grunted sound approval. But every day brought out new capacities for + endurance and larger resources; so that Malbrouck, who had known the clash + of civilisation with barbarian battle, and deeds both dour and doughty, + and who loved a man of might, regarded this youth with increasing favour. + By simple processes he drew from Gregory his aims and ambitions, and found + the real courage and power behind the front of irony—the language of + manhood and culture which was crusted by free and easy idioms. Now and + then they saw moose-tracks, but they were some days out before they came + to a moose-yard—a spot hoof-beaten by the moose; his home, from + which he strays, and to which he returns at times like a repentant + prodigal. Now the sport began. The dog-trains were put out of view, and + Big Moccasin and another Indian went off immediately to explore the + country round about. A few hours, and word was brought that there was a + small herd feeding not far away. Together they crept stealthily within + range of the cattle. Gregory Thorne’s blood leaped as he saw the noble + quarry, with their wide-spread horns, sniffing the air, in which they had + detected something unusual. Their leader, a colossal beast, stamped with + his forefoot, and threw back his head with a snort. + </p> + <p> + “The first shot belongs to you, Mr. Thorne,” said Malbrouck. “In the + shoulder, you know. You have him in good line. I’ll take the heifer.” + </p> + <p> + Gregory showed all the coolness of an old hunter, though his lips twitched + slightly with excitement. He took a short but steady aim, and fired. The + beast plunged forward and then fell on his knees. The others broke away. + Malbrouck fired and killed a heifer, and then all ran in pursuit as the + moose made for the woods. + </p> + <p> + Gregory, in the pride of his first slaughter, sprang away towards the + wounded leader, which, sunk to the earth, was shaking its great horns to + and fro. When at close range, he raised his gun to fire again, but the + moose rose suddenly, and with a wild bellowing sound rushed at Gregory, + who knew full well that a straight stroke from those hoofs would end his + moose-hunting days. He fired, but to no effect. He could not, like a + toreador, jump aside, for those mighty horns would sweep too wide a space. + He dropped on his knees swiftly, and as the great antlers almost touched + him, and he could feel the roaring breath of the mad creature in his face, + he slipped a cartridge in, and fired as he swung round; but at that + instant a dark body bore him down. He was aware of grasping those sweeping + horns, conscious of a blow which tore the flesh from his chest; and then + his knife—how came it in his hand?—with the instinct of the + true hunter. He plunged it once, twice, past a foaming mouth, into that + firm body, and then both fell together; each having fought valiantly after + his kind. + </p> + <p> + Gregory dragged himself from beneath the still heaving body, and stretched + to his feet; but a blindness came, and the next knowledge he had was of + brandy being poured slowly between his teeth, and of a voice coming + through endless distances: “A fighter, a born fighter,” it said. “The + pluck of Lucifer—good boy!” + </p> + <p> + Then the voice left those humming spaces of infinity, and said: “Tilt him + this way a little, Big Moccasin. There, press firmly, so. Now the band + steady—together—tighter—now the withes—a little + higher up—cut them here.” There was a slight pause, and then: + “There, that’s as good as an army surgeon could do it. He’ll be as sound + as a bell in two weeks. Eh, well, how do you feel now? Better? That’s + right! Like to be on your feet, would you? Wait. Here, a sup of this. + There you are.... Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the young man, faintly, “he was a beauty.” + </p> + <p> + Malbrouck looked at him a moment, thoughtfully, and then said: “Yes, he + was a beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “I want a dozen more like him, and then I shall be able to drop ‘em as + neat as, you do.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! the order is large. I’m afraid we shall have to fill it at some + other time;” and Malbrouck smiled a little grimly. + </p> + <p> + “What! only one moose to take back to the Height of Land, to—” + something in the eye of the other stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “To? Yes, to”? and now the eye had a suggestion of humour. + </p> + <p> + “To show I’m not a tenderfoot.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to show you’re not a tenderfoot. I fancy that will be hardly + necessary. Oh, you will be up, eh? Well!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m a tottering imbecile. What’s the matter with my legs?—my + prophetic soul, it hurts! Oh, I see; that’s where the old warrior’s hoof + caught me sideways. Now, I’ll tell you what, I’m going to have another + moose to take back to Marigold Lake.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I’m going to take back a young, live moose.” + </p> + <p> + “A significant ambition. For what?—a sacrifice to the gods you have + offended in your classic existence?” + </p> + <p> + “Both. A peace-offering, and a sacrifice to—a goddess.” + </p> + <p> + “Young man,” said the other, the light of a smile playing on his lips, + “‘Prosperity be thy page!’ Big Moccasin, what of this young live moose?” + </p> + <p> + The Indian shook his head doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “But I tell you I shall have that live moose, if I have to stay here to + see it grow.” + </p> + <p> + And Malbrouck liked his pluck, and wished him good luck. And the good luck + came. They travelled back slowly to the Height of Land, making a circuit. + For a week they saw no more moose; but meanwhile Gregory’s hurt quickly + healed. They had now left only eight days in which to get back to Dog Ear + River and Marigold Lake. If the young moose was to come it must come soon. + It came soon. + </p> + <p> + They chanced upon a moose-yard, and while the Indians were beating the + woods, Malbrouck and Gregory watched. + </p> + <p> + Soon a cow and a young moose came swinging down to the embankment. + Malbrouck whispered: “Now if you must have your live moose, here’s a + lasso. I’ll bring down the cow. The young one’s horns are not large. + Remember, no pulling. I’ll do that. Keep your broken chest and bad arm + safe. Now!” + </p> + <p> + Down came the cow with a plunge into the yard-dead. The lasso, too, was + over the horns of the calf, and in an instant Malbrouck was swinging away + with it over the snow. It was making for the trees—exactly what + Malbrouck desired. He deftly threw the rope round a sapling, but not too + taut, lest the moose’s horns should be injured. The plucky animal now + turned on him. He sprang behind a tree, and at that instant he heard the + thud of hoofs behind him. He turned to see a huge bull-moose bounding + towards him. He was between two fires, and quite unarmed. Those hoofs had + murder in them. But at the instant a rifle shot rang out, and he only + caught the forward rush of the antlers as the beast fell. + </p> + <p> + The young moose now had ceased its struggles, and came forward to the dead + bull with that hollow sound of mourning peculiar to its kind. Though it + afterwards struggled once or twice to be free, it became docile and was + easily taught, when its anger and fear were over. + </p> + <p> + And Gregory Thorne had his live moose. He had also, by that splendid shot, + achieved with one arm, saved Malbrouck from peril, perhaps from death. + </p> + <p> + They drew up before the house at Marigold Lake on the afternoon of the day + before Christmas, a triumphal procession. The moose was driven, a peaceful + captive with a wreath of cedar leaves around its neck—the humourous + conception of Gregory Thorne. Malbrouck had announced their coming by a + blast from his horn, and Margaret was standing in the doorway wrapped in + furs, which may have come originally from Hudson’s Bay, but which had been + deftly re-manufactured in Regent Street. + </p> + <p> + Astonishment, pleasure, beamed in her eyes. She clapped her hands gaily, + and cried: “Welcome, welcome, merry-men all!” She kissed her father; she + called to her mother to come and see; then she said to Gregory, with arch + raillery, as she held out her hand: “Oh, companion of hunters, comest thou + like Jacques in Arden from dropping the trustful tear upon the prey of + others, or bringest thou quarry of thine own? Art thou a warrior sated + with spoil, master of the sports, spectator of the fight, Prince, or + Pistol? Answer, what art thou?” + </p> + <p> + And he, with a touch of his old insolence, though with something of irony + too, for he had hoped for a different fashion of greeting, said: + </p> + <p> + “All, lady, all! The Olympian all! The player of many parts. I am + Touchstone, Jacques, and yet Orlando too.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet Orlando too, my daughter,” said Malbrouck, gravely. “He saved + your father from the hoofs of a moose bent on sacrifice. Had your father + his eye, his nerve, his power to shoot with one arm a bull moose at long + range, so!—he would not refuse to be called a great hunter, but wear + the title gladly.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret Malbrouck’s face became anxious instantly. “He saved you from + danger—from injury, father”? she slowly said, and looked earnestly + at Gregory; “but why to shoot with one arm only?” + </p> + <p> + “Because in a fight of his own with a moose—a hand-to-hand fight—he + had a bad moment with the hoofs of the beast.” + </p> + <p> + And this young man, who had a reputation for insolence, blushed, so that + the paleness which the girl now noticed in his face was banished; and to + turn the subject he interposed: + </p> + <p> + “Here is the live moose that I said I should bring. Now say that he’s a + beauty, please. Your father and I—” + </p> + <p> + But Malbrouck interrupted: + </p> + <p> + “He lassoed it with his one arm, Margaret. He was determined to do it + himself, because, being a superstitious gentleman, as well as a hunter, he + had some foolish notion that this capture would propitiate a goddess whom + he imagined required offerings of the kind.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the privilege of the gods to be merciful,” she said. “This + peace-offering should propitiate the angriest, cruellest goddess in the + universe; and for one who was neither angry nor really cruel—well, + she should be satisfied.... altogether satisfied,” she added, as she put + her cheek against the warm fur of the captive’s neck, and let it feel her + hand with its lips. + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a minute, and then with his old gay spirit all + returned, and as if to give an air not too serious to the situation, + Gregory, remembering his Euripides, said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “........let the steer bleed, + And the rich altars, as they pay their vows, + Breathe incense to the gods: for me, I rise + To better life, and grateful own the blessing.” + </pre> + <p> + “A pagan thought for a Christmas Eve,” she said to him, with her fingers + feeling for the folds of silken flesh in the throat of the moose; “but + wounded men must be humoured. And, mother dear, here are our Argonauts + returned; and—and now I think I will go.” + </p> + <p> + With a quick kiss on her father’s cheek—not so quick but he caught + the tear that ran through her happy smile—she vanished into the + house. + </p> + <p> + That night there was gladness in this home. Mirth sprang to the lips of + the men like foam on a beaker of wine, so that the evening ran towards + midnight swiftly. All the tale of the hunt was given by Malbrouck to + joyful ears; for the mother lived again her youth in the sunrise of this + romance which was being sped before her eyes; and the father, knowing that + in this world there is nothing so good as courage, nothing so base as the + shifting eye, looked on the young man, and was satisfied, and told his + story well;—told it as a brave man would tell it, bluntly as to + deeds done, warmly as to the pleasures of good sport, directly as to all. + In the eye of the young man there had come the glance of larger life, of a + new-developed manhood. When he felt that dun body crashing on him, and his + life closing with its strength, and ran the good knife home, there flashed + through his mind how much life meant to the dying, how much it ought to + mean to the living; and then this girl, this Margaret, swam before his + eyes—and he had been graver since. + </p> + <p> + He knew, as truly as if she had told him, that she could never mate with + any man who was a loiterer on God’s highway, who could live life without + some sincerity in his aims. It all came to him again in this room, so + austere in its appointments, yet so gracious, so full of the spirit of + humanity without a note of ennui, or the rust of careless deeds. As this + thought grew he looked at the face of the girl, then at the faces of the + father and mother, and the memory of his boast came back—that he + would win the stake he laid, to know the story of John and Audrey + Malbrouck before this coming Christmas morning. With a faint smile at his + own past insolent self, he glanced at the clock. It was eleven. “I have + lost my bet,” he unconsciously said aloud. + </p> + <p> + He was roused by John Malbrouck remarking: “Yes, you have lost your bet? + Well, what was it? The youth, the childlike quality in him,” flushed his + face deeply, and then, with a sudden burst of frankness, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that I had spoken. As for the bet, I deserve to be + thrashed for ever having made it; but, duffer as I am, I want you to know + that I’m something worse than duffer. The first time I met you I made a + bet that I should know your history before Christmas Day. I haven’t a word + to say for myself. I’m contemptible. I beg your pardon; for your history + is none of my business. I was really interested; that’s all; but your + lives, I believe it, as if it was in the Bible, have been great—yes, + that’s the word! and I’m a better chap for having known you, though, + perhaps, I’ve known you all along, because, you see, I’ve—I’ve been + friends with your daughter—and-well, really I haven’t anything else + to say, except that I hope you’ll forgive me, and let me know you always.” + </p> + <p> + Malbrouck regarded him for a moment with a grave smile, and then looked + toward his wife. Both turned their glances quickly upon Margaret, whose + eyes were on the fire. The look upon her face was very gentle; something + new and beautiful had come to reign there. + </p> + <p> + A moment, and Malbrouck spoke: “You did what was youthful and curious, but + not wrong; and you shall not lose your hazard. I—” + </p> + <p> + “No, do not tell me,” Gregory interrupted; “only let me be pardoned.” + </p> + <p> + “As I said, lad, you shall not lose your hazard. I will tell you the brief + tale of two lives.” + </p> + <p> + “But, I beg of you! For the instant I forgot. I have more to confess.” And + Gregory told them in substance what Pretty Pierre had disclosed to him in + the Rocky Mountains. + </p> + <p> + When he had finished, Malbrouck said: “My tale then is briefer still: I + was a common soldier, English and humble by my mother, French and noble + through my father—noble, but poor. In Burmah, at an outbreak among + the natives, I rescued my colonel from immediate and horrible death, + though he died in my arms from the injuries he received. His daughter too, + it was my fortune, through God’s Providence, to save from great danger. + She became my wife. You remember that song you sang the day we first met + you? + </p> + <p> + “It brought her father back to mind painfully. When we came to England her + people—her mother—would not receive me. For myself I did not + care; for my wife, that was another matter. She loved me and preferred to + go with me anywhere; to a new country, preferably. We came to Canada. + </p> + <p> + “We were forgotten in England. Time moves so fast, even if the records in + red-books stand. Our daughter went to her grandmother to be brought up and + educated in England—though it was a sore trial to us both—that + she might fill nobly that place in life for which she is destined. With + all she learned she did not forget us. We were happy save in her absence. + We are happy now; not because she is mistress of Holwood and Marchurst—for + her grandmother and another is dead—but because such as she is our + daughter, and—” + </p> + <p> + He said no more. Margaret was beside him, and her fingers were on his + lips. + </p> + <p> + Gregory came to his feet suddenly, and with a troubled face. + </p> + <p> + “Mistress of Holwood and Marchurst!” he said; and his mind ran over his + own great deficiencies, and the list of eligible and anxious suitors that + Park Lane could muster. He had never thought of her in the light of a + great heiress. + </p> + <p> + But he looked down at her as she knelt at her father’s knee, her eyes + upturned to his, and the tide of his fear retreated; for he saw in them + the same look she had given him when she leaned her cheek against the + moose’s neck that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + When the clock struck twelve upon a moment’s pleasant silence, John + Malbrouck said to Gregory Thorne: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you have won your Christmas hazard, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + But a softer voice than his whispered: “Are you—content—Gregory?” + </p> + <p> + The Spirits of Christmas-tide, whose paths lie north as well as south, + smiled as they wrote his answer on their tablets; for they knew, as the + man said, that he would always be content, and—which is more in the + sight of angels—that the woman would be content also. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PRAIRIE VAGABOND + </h2> + <p> + Little Hammer was not a success. He was a disappointment to the + missionaries; the officials of the Hudson’s Bay Company said he was “no + good;” the Mounted Police kept an eye on him; the Crees and Blackfeet + would have nothing to do with him; and the half-breeds were profane + regarding him. But Little Hammer was oblivious to any depreciation of his + merits, and would not be suppressed. He loved the Hudson’s Bay Company’s + Post at Yellow Quill with an unwavering love; he ranged the half-breed + hospitality of Red Deer River, regardless of it being thrown at him as he + in turn threw it at his dog; he saluted Sergeant Gellatly with a familiar + How! whenever he saw him; he borrowed tabac of the half-breed women, and, + strange to say, paid it back—with other tabac got by daily petition, + until his prayer was granted, at the H. B. C. Post. He knew neither shame + nor defeat, but where women were concerned he kept his word, and was + singularly humble. It was a woman that induced him to be baptised. The day + after the ceremony he begged “the loan of a dollar for the love of God” + from the missionary; and being refused, straightway, and for the only time + it was known of him, delivered a rumbling torrent of half-breed profanity, + mixed with the unusual oaths of the barracks. Then he walked away with + great humility. There was no swagger about Little Hammer. He was simply + unquenchable and continuous. He sometimes got drunk; but on such occasions + he sat down, or lay down, in the most convenient place, and, like Caesar + beside Pompey’s statue, wrapped his mantle about his face and forgot the + world. He was a vagabond Indian, abandoned yet self-contained, outcast yet + gregarious. No social ostracism unnerved him, no threats of the H. B. C. + officials moved him; and when in the winter of 187 he was driven from one + place to another, starving and homeless, and came at last emaciated and + nearly dead to the Post at Yellow Quill, he asked for food and shelter as + if it were his right, and not as a mendicant. + </p> + <p> + One night, shortly after his reception and restoration, he was sitting in + the store silently smoking the Company’s tabac. Sergeant Gellatly entered. + Little Hammer rose, offered his hand, and muttered, “How!” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant thrust his hand aside, and said sharply: “Whin I take y’r + hand, Little Hammer, it’ll be to put a grip an y’r wrists that’ll stay + there till y’are in quarters out of which y’ll come nayther winter nor + summer. Put that in y’r pipe and smoke it, y’ scamp!” + </p> + <p> + Little Hammer had a bad time at the Post that night. Lounging half-breeds + reviled him; the H. B. C. officials rebuked him; and travellers who were + coming and going shared in the derision, as foolish people do where one is + brow-beaten by many. At last a trapper entered, whom seeing, Little Hammer + drew his blanket up about his head. The trapper sat down very near Little + Hammer, and began to smoke. He laid his plug-tabac and his knife on the + counter beside him. Little Hammer reached over and took the knife, putting + it swiftly within his blanket. The trapper saw the act, and, turning + sharply on the Indian, called him a thief. Little Hammer chuckled + strangely and said nothing; but his eyes peered sharply above the blanket. + A laugh went round the store. In an instant the trapper, with a loud oath, + caught at the Indian’s throat; but as the blanket dropped back he gave a + startled cry. There was the flash of a knife, and he fell back dead. + Little Hammer stood above him, smiling, for a moment, and then, turning to + Sergeant Gellatly, held out his arms silently for the handcuffs. + </p> + <p> + The next day two men were lost on the prairies. One was Sergeant Gellatly; + the other was Little Hammer. The horses they rode travelled so close that + the leg of the Indian crowded the leg of the white man; and the wilder the + storm grew, the closer still they rode. A ‘poudre’ day, with its steely + air and fatal frost, was an ill thing in the world; but these entangling + blasts, these wild curtains of snow, were desolating even unto death. The + sun above was smothered; the earth beneath was trackless; the compass + stood for loss all round. + </p> + <p> + What could Sergeant Gellatly expect, riding with a murderer on his left + hand: a heathen that had sent a knife through the heart of one of the + lords of the North? What should the gods do but frown, or the elements be + at, but howling on their path? What should one hope for but that vengeance + should be taken out of the hands of mortals, and be delivered to the angry + spirits? + </p> + <p> + But if the gods were angry at the Indian, why should Sergeant Gellatly + only sway to and fro, and now laugh recklessly, and now fall sleepily + forward on the neck of his horse; while the Indian rode straight, and + neither wavered nor wandered in mind, but at last slipped from his horse + and walked beside the other? It was at this moment that the soldier heard, + “Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly,” called through the blast; and he + thought it came from the skies, or from some other world. “Me darlin’,” he + said, “have y’ come to me?” But the voice called again: “Sergeant + Gellatly, keep awake! keep awake! You sleep, you die; that’s it. Holy. + Yes. How!” Then he knew that it was Little Hammer calling in his ear, and + shaking him; that the Indian was dragging him from his horse ... his + revolver, where was it? he had forgotten... he nodded... nodded. But + Little Hammer said: “Walk, hell! you walk, yes;” and Little Hammer struck + him again and again; but one arm of the Indian was under his shoulder and + around him, and the voice was anxious and kind. Slowly it came to him that + Little Hammer was keeping him alive against the will of the spirits—but + why should they strike him instead of the Indian? Was there any sun in the + world? Had there ever been? or fire or heat anywhere, or anything but wind + and snow in all God’s universe?... Yes, there were bells ringing—soft + bells of a village church; and there was incense burning—most sweet + it was! and the coals in the censer—how beautiful, how comforting! + He laughed with joy again, and he forgot how cold, how maliciously cold, + he had been; he forgot how dreadful that hour was before he became warm; + when he was pierced by myriad needles through the body, and there was an + incredible aching at his heart. + </p> + <p> + And yet something kept thundering on his body, and a harsh voice shrieked + at him, and there were many lights dancing over his shut eyes; and then + curtains of darkness were dropped, and centuries of oblivion came; and + then—then his eyes opened to a comforting silence, and some one was + putting brandy between his teeth, and after a time he heard a voice say: + “‘Bien,’ you see he was a murderer, but he save his captor. ‘Voila,’ such + a heathen! But you will, all the same, bring him to justice—you call + it that? But we shall see.” + </p> + <p> + Then some one replied, and the words passed through an outer web of + darkness and an inner haze of dreams. “The feet of Little Hammer were like + wood on the floor when you brought the two in, Pretty Pierre—and + lucky for them you found them.... The thing would read right in a book, + but it’s not according to the run of things up here, not by a damned + sight!” + </p> + <p> + “Private Bradshaw,” said the first voice again, “you do not know Little + Hammer, nor that story of him. You wait for the trial. I have something to + say. You think Little Hammer care for the prison, the rope?—Ah, when + a man wait five years to kill—so! and it is done, he is glad + sometimes when it is all over. Sergeant Gellatly there will wish he went + to sleep forever in the snow, if Little Hammer come to the rope. Yes, I + think.” + </p> + <p> + And Sergeant Gellatly’s brain was so numbed that he did not grasp the + meaning of the words, though he said them over and over again.... Was he + dead? No, for his body was beating, beating... well, it didn’t matter... + nothing mattered... he was sinking to forgetfulness... sinking. + </p> + <p> + So, for hours, for weeks—it might have been for years—and then + he woke, clear and knowing, to “the unnatural, intolerable day”—it + was that to him, with Little Hammer in prison. It was March when his + memory and vigour vanished; it was May when he grasped the full + remembrance of himself, and of that fight for life on the prairie: of the + hands that smote him that he should not sleep; of Little Hammer the + slayer, who had driven death back discomfited, and brought his captor safe + to where his own captivity and punishment awaited him. + </p> + <p> + When Sergeant Gellatly appeared in court at the trial he refused to bear + witness against Little Hammer. “D’ ye think—does wan av y’ think—that + I’ll speak a word agin the man—haythen or no haythen—that + pulled me out of me tomb and put me betune the barrack quilts? Here’s the + stripes aff me arm, and to gaol I’ll go; but for what wint before I clapt + the iron on his wrists, good or avil, divil a word will I say. An’ here’s + me left hand, and there’s me right fut, and an eye of me too, that I’d + part with, for the cause of him that’s done a trick that your honour + wouldn’t do—an’ no shame to y’ aither—an’ y’d been where + Little Hammer was with me.” + </p> + <p> + His honour did not reply immediately, but he looked meditatively at Little + Hammer before he said quietly,—“Perhaps not, perhaps not.” + </p> + <p> + And Little Hammer, thinking he was expected to speak, drew his blanket up + closely about him and grunted, “How!” + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre, the notorious half-breed, was then called. He kissed the + Book, making the sign of the Cross swiftly as he did so, and unheeding the + ironical, if hesitating, laughter in the court. Then he said: “‘Bien,’ I + will tell you the story-the whole truth. I was in the Stony Plains. Little + Hammer was ‘good Injin’ then.... Yes, sacre! it is a fool who smiles at + that. I have kissed the Book. Dam!... He would be chief soon when old Two + Tails die. He was proud, then, Little Hammer. He go not to the Post for + drink; he sell not next year’s furs for this year’s rations; he shoot + straight.” + </p> + <p> + Here Little Hammer stood up and said: “There is too much talk. Let me be. + It is all done. The sun is set—I care not—I have killed him;” + and then he drew his blanket about his face and sat down. + </p> + <p> + But Pierre continued: “Yes, you killed him-quick, after five years—that + is so; but you will not speak to say why. Then, I will speak. The Injins + say Little Hammer will be great man; he will bring the tribes together; + and all the time Little Hammer was strong and silent and wise. Then + Brigley the trapper—well, he was a thief and coward. He come to + Little Hammer and say, ‘I am hungry and tired.’ Little Hammer give him + food and sleep. He go away. ‘Bien,’ he come back and say,—‘It is far + to go; I have no horse.’ So Little Hammer give him a horse too. Then he + come back once again in the night when Little Hammer was away, and before + morning he go; but when Little Hammer return, there lay his bride—only + an Injin girl, but his bride-dead! You see? Eh? No? Well, the Captain at + the Post he says it was the same as Lucrece.—I say it was like hell. + It is not much to kill or to die—that is in the game; but that + other, ‘mon Dieu!’ Little Hammer, you see how he hide his head: not + because he kill the Tarquin, that Brigley, but because he is a poor + ‘vaurien’ now, and he once was happy and had a wife.... What would you do, + judge honourable? ... Little Hammer, I shake your hand—so—How!” + </p> + <p> + But Little Hammer made no reply. + </p> + <p> + The judge sentenced Little Hammer to one month in gaol. He might have made + it one thousand months—it would have been the same; for when, on the + last morning of that month, they opened the door to set him free, he was + gone. That is, the Little Hammer whom the high gods knew was gone; though + an ill-nourished, self-strangled body was upright by the wall. The + vagabond had paid his penalty, but desired no more of earth. + </p> + <p> + Upon the door was scratched the one word: How! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON + </h2> + <p> + Between Archangel’s Rise and Pardon’s Drive there was but one house. It + was a tavern, and it was known as Galbraith’s Place. There was no man in + the Western Territories to whom it was not familiar. There was no + traveller who crossed the lonely waste but was glad of it, and would go + twenty miles out of his way to rest a night on a corn-husk bed which Jen + Galbraith’s hands had filled, to eat a meal that she had prepared, and to + hear Peter Galbraith’s tales of early days on the plains, when buffalo + were like clouds on the horizon, when Indians were many and hostile, and + when men called the great western prairie a wedge of the American desert. + </p> + <p> + It was night on the prairie. Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway of the + tavern sitting-room and watched a mighty beacon of flame rising before + her, a hundred yards away. Every night this beacon made a circle of light + on the prairie, and Galbraith’s Place was in the centre of the circle. + Summer and winter it burned from dusk to daylight. No hand fed it but that + of Nature. It never failed; it was a cruse that was never empty. Upon Jen + Galbraith it had a weird influence. It grew to be to her a kind of + spiritual companion, though, perhaps, she would not so have named it. This + flaming gas, bubbling up from the depths of the earth on the lonely + plains, was to her a mysterious presence grateful to her; the receiver of + her thoughts, the daily necessity in her life. It filled her too with a + kind of awe; for, when it burned, she seemed not herself alone, but + another self of her whom she could not quite understand. Yet she was no + mere dreamer. Upon her practical strength of body and mind had come that + rugged poetical sense, which touches all who live the life of mountain and + prairie. She showed it in her speech; it had a measured cadence. She + expressed it in her body; it had a free and rhythmic movement. And not Jen + alone, but many another dweller on the prairie, looked upon it with a + superstitious reverence akin to worship. A blizzard could not quench it. A + gale of wind only fed its strength. A rain-storm made a mist about it, in + which it was enshrined like a god. Peter Galbraith could not fully + understand his daughter’s fascination for this Prairie Star, as the + North-West people called it. It was not without its natural influence upon + him; but he regarded it most as a comfortable advertisement, and he + lamented every day that this never-failing gas well was not near a large + population, and he still its owner. He was one of that large family in the + earth who would turn the best things in their lives into merchandise. As + it was, it brought much grist to his mill; for he was not averse to the + exercise of the insinuating pleasures of euchre and poker in his tavern; + and the hospitality which ranchmen, cowboys, and travellers sought at his + hand was often prolonged, and also remunerative to him. + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre, who had his patrol as gamester defined, made semi-annual + visits to Galbraith’s Place. It occurred generally after the rounding-up + and branding seasons, when the cowboys and ranchmen were “flush” with + money. It was generally conceded that Monsieur Pierre would have made an + early excursion to a place where none is ever “ordered up,” if he had not + been free with the money which he so plentifully won. + </p> + <p> + Card-playing was to him a science and a passion. He loved to win for + winning’s sake. After that, money, as he himself put it, was only fit to + be spent for the good of the country, and that men should earn more. Since + he put his philosophy into instant and generous practice, active and + deadly prejudice against him did not have lengthened life. + </p> + <p> + The Mounted Police, or as they are more poetically called, the Riders of + the Plains, watched Galbraith’s Place, not from any apprehension of + violent events, but because Galbraith was suspected of infringing the + prevailing law of Prohibition, and because for some years it had been a + tradition and a custom to keep an eye on Pierre. + </p> + <p> + As Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway looking abstractedly at the beacon, + her fingers smoothing her snowy apron the while, she was thinking thus to + herself: “Perhaps father is right. If that Prairie Star were only at + Vancouver or Winnipeg instead of here, our Val could be something, more + than a prairie-rider. He’d have been different, if father hadn’t started + this tavern business. Not that our Val is bad. He isn’t; but if he had + money he could buy a ranch,—or something.” + </p> + <p> + Our Val, as Jen and her father called him, was a lad of twenty-two, one + year younger than Jen. He was prairie-rider, cattle-dealer, scout, cowboy, + happy-go-lucky vagrant,—a splendid Bohemian of the plains. As Jen + said, he was not bad; but he had a fiery, wandering spirit, touched withal + by the sunniest humour. He had never known any curb but Jen’s love and + care. That had kept him within bounds so far. All men of the prairie spoke + well of him. The great new lands have codes and standards of morals quite + their own. One enthusiastic admirer of this youth said, in Jen’s hearing, + “He’s a Christian—Val Galbraith!” That was the western way of + announcing a man as having great civic and social virtues. Perhaps the + respect for Val Galbraith was deepened by the fact that there was no + broncho or cayuse that he could not tame to the saddle. + </p> + <p> + Jen turned her face from the flame and looked away from the oasis of + warmth it made, to where the light shaded away into darkness, a darkness + that was unbroken for many a score of miles to the north and west. She + sighed deeply and drew herself up with an aggressive motion as though she + was freeing herself of something. So she was. She was trying to shake off + a feeling of oppression. Ten minutes ago the gaslighted house behind her + had seemed like a prison. She felt that she must have air, space, and + freedom. + </p> + <p> + She would have liked a long ride on the buffalo-track. That, she felt, + would clear her mind. She was no romantic creature out of her sphere, no + exotic. She was country-born and bred, and her blood had been charged by a + prairie instinct passing through three generations. She was part of this + life. Her mind was free and strong, and her body was free and healthy. + While that freedom and health was genial, it revolted against what was + gross or irregular. She loved horses and dogs, she liked to take a gun and + ride away to the Poplar Hills in search of game, she found pleasure in + visiting the Indian Reservation, and talking to Sun-in-the-North, the only + good Indian chief she knew, or that anyone else on the prairies knew. She + loved all that was strong and untamed, all that was panting with wild and + glowing life. Splendidly developed, softly sinewy, warmly bountiful, yet + without the least physical over-luxuriance or suggestiveness, Jen, with + her tawny hair and dark-brown eyes, was a growth of unrestrained, + unconventional, and eloquent life. Like Nature around her, glowing and + fresh, yet glowing and hardy. There was, however, just a strain of + pensiveness in her, partly owing to the fact that there were no women near + her, that she had, virtually, lived her life as a woman alone. + </p> + <p> + As she thus looked into the undefined horizon two things were happening: a + traveller was approaching Galbraith’s Place from a point in that horizon; + and in the house behind her someone was singing. The traveller sat erect + upon his horse. He had not the free and lazy seat of the ordinary + prairie-rider. It was a cavalry seat, and a military manner. He belonged + to that handful of men who patrol a frontier of near a thousand miles, and + are the security of peace in three hundred thousand miles of territory—the + Riders of the Plains, the North-West Mounted Police. + </p> + <p> + This Rider of the Plains was Sergeant Thomas Gellatly, familiarly known as + Sergeant Tom. Far away as he was he could see that a woman was standing in + the tavern door. He guessed who it was, and his blood quickened at the + guessing. But reining his horse on the furthest edge of the lighted + circle, he said, debatingly: “I’ve little time enough to get to the Rise, + and the order was to go through, hand the information to Inspector Jules, + and be back within forty-eight hours. Is it flesh and blood they think I + am? Me that’s just come back from a journey of a hundred miles, and sent + off again like this with but a taste of sleep and little food, and + Corporal Byng sittin’ there at Fort Desire with a pipe in his mouth and + the fat on his back like a porpoise. It’s famished I am with hunger, and + thirty miles yet to do; and she, standin’ there with a six months’ welcome + in her eye.... It’s in the interest of Justice if I halt at Galbraith’s + Place for half-an-hour, bedad! The blackguard hid away there at Soldier’s + Knee will be arrested all the sooner; for horse and man will be able the + better to travel. I’m glad it’s not me that has to take him whoever he is. + It’s little I like leadin’ a fellow-creature towards the gallows, or + puttin’ a bullet into him if he won’t come.... Now what will we do, Larry, + me boy?” this to the broncho—“Go on without bite or sup, me achin’ + behind and empty before, and you laggin’ in the legs, or stay here for the + slice of an hour and get some heart into us? Stay here is it, me boy? then + lave go me fut with your teeth and push on to the Prairie Star there.” So + saying, Sergeant Tom, whose language in soliloquy, or when excited, was + more marked by a brogue than at other times, rode away towards Galbraith’s + Place. + </p> + <p> + In the tavern at that moment, Pretty Pierrre was sitting on the + bar-counter, where temperance drinks were professedly sold, singing to + himself. His dress was singularly neat, if coarse, and his slouch hat was + worn with an air of jauntiness according well with his slight make and + almost girlish delicacy of complexion. He was puffing a cigarette, in the + breaks of the song. Peter Galbraith, tall, gaunt, and sombre-looking, sat + with his chair tilted back against the wall, rather nervously pulling at + the strips of bark of which the yielding chair-seat was made. He may or + may not have been listening to the song which had run through several + verses. Where it had come from, no one knew; no one cared to know. The + number of its verses were legion. Pierre had a sweet voice, of a + peculiarly penetrating quality; still it was low and well-modulated, like + the colour in his cheeks, which gave him his name. + </p> + <p> + These were the words he was singing as Sergeant Tom rode towards the + tavern: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The hot blood leaps in his quivering breast + Voila! ‘Tis his enemies near! + There’s a chasm deep on the mountain crest + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + They follow him close and they follow him fast, + And he flies like a mountain deer; + Then a mad, wild leap and he’s safe at last! + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + A cry and a leap and the danger’s past + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!” + </pre> + <p> + At the close of the verse, Galbraith said: “I don’t like that song. I—I + don’t like it. You’re not a father, Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not a father. I have some virtue of that. I have spared the + world something, Pete Galbraith.” + </p> + <p> + “You have the Devil’s luck; your sins never get YOU into trouble.” + </p> + <p> + A curious fire flashed in the half-breed’s eyes, and he said, quietly: + “Yes, I have great luck; but I have my little troubles at times—at + times.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re different, though, from this trouble of Val’s.” There was + something like a fog in the old man’s throat. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Val was quite foolish, you see. If he had killed a white man—Pretty + Pierre, for instance—well, there would have been a show of arrest, + but he could escape. It was an Injin. The Government cherish the Injin + much in these days. The redskin must be protected. It must be shown that + at Ottawa there is justice. That is droll—quite. Eh, bien! Val will + not try to escape. He waits too long-near twenty-four hours. Then, it is + as you see.... You have not told her?” He nodded towards the door of the + sittingroom. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. It’ll come on Jen soon enough if he doesn’t get away, and bad + enough if he does, and can’t come back to us. She’s fond of him—as + fond of him as a mother. Always was wiser than our Val or me, Jen was. + More sense than a judge, and proud but not too proud, Pierre—not too + proud. She knows the right thing to do, like the Scriptures; and she does + it too.... Where did you say he was hid?” + </p> + <p> + “In the Hollow at Soldier’s Knee. He stayed too long at Moose Horn. Injins + carried the news on to Fort Desire. When Val started south for the Border + other Injins followed, and when a halt was made at Soldier’s Knee they + pushed across country over to Fort Desire. You see, Val’s horse give out. + I rode with him so far. My horse too was broke up. What was to be done? + Well, I knew a ranchman not far from Soldier’s Knee. I told Val to sleep, + and I would go on and get the ranchman to send him a horse, while I come + on to you. Then he could push on to the Border. I saw the ranchman, and he + swore to send a horse to Val to-night. He will keep his word. He knows + Val. That was at noon to-day, and I am here, you see, and you know all. + The danger? Ah, my friend,—the Police Barracks at Archangel’s Rise! + If word is sent down there from Fort Desire before Val passes, they will + have out a big patrol, and his chances,—well, you know them, the + Riders of the Plains. But Val, I think will have luck, and get into + Montana before they can stop him. I hope; yes.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could do anything, Pierre! Can’t we—” + </p> + <p> + The half-breed interrupted: “No, we can’t do anything, Galbraith. I have + done all. The ranchman knows me. He will keep his word, by the Great + Heaven!” It would seem as if Pierre had reasons for relying on the + ranchman other than ordinary prairie courtesy to law-breakers. + </p> + <p> + “Pierre, tell me the whole story over, slow and plain. It don’t seem + nateral to think of it; but if you go over it again, perhaps I can get the + thing more reas’nable in my mind. No, it ain’t nateral to me, Pierre—our + Val running away.” The old man leaned forward and put his elbows on his + knees and his face in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, well, it was an Injin. So much. It was in self-defence—a + little, but of course to prove that. There is the difficulty. You see, + they were all drinking, and the Injin—he was a chief—-proposed—he + proposed that Val should sell him his sister, Jen Galbraith, to be the + chief’s squaw. He would give him a cayuse. Val’s blood came up quick—quite + quick. You know Val. He said between his teeth: ‘Look out, Snow Devil, you + Injin dog, or I’ll have your heart. Do you think a white girl is like a + redskin woman, to be sold as you sell your wives and daughters to the + squaw-men and white loafers, you reptile?’ Then the Injin said an ugly + word about Val’s sister, and Val shot him dead like lightning.... Yes, + that is good to swear, Galbraith. You are not the only one that curses the + law in this world. It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law.” + </p> + <p> + The old man rose and walked up and down the room in a shuffling kind of + way. His best days were done, the spring of his life was gone, and the + step was that of a man who had little more of activity and force with + which to turn the halting wheels of life. His face was not altogether + good, yet it was not evil. There was a sinister droop to the eyelids, a + suggestion of cruelty about the mouth; but there was more of good-nature + and passive strength than either in the general expression. One could see + that some genial influence had dominated what was inherently cruel and + sinister in him. Still the sinister predisposition was there. + </p> + <p> + “He can’t never come here, Pierre, can he”? he asked, despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “No, he can’t come here, Galbraith. And look: if the Riders of the Plains + should stop here to-night, or to-morrow, you will be cool—cool, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will be quite cool, Pierre.” Then he seemed to think of something + else and looked up half-curiously, half-inquiringly at the half-breed. + </p> + <p> + Pierre saw this. He whistled quietly to himself for a little, and then + called the old man over to where he sat. Leaning slightly forward he made + his reply to the look that had been bent upon him. He touched Galbraith’s + breast lightly with his delicate fingers, and said: “I have not much love + for the world, Pete Galbraith, and not much love for men and women + altogether; they are fools—nearly all. Some men—you know—treat + me well. They drink with me—much. They would make life a hell for me + if I was poor—shoot me, perhaps, quick!—if—if I didn’t + shoot first. They would wipe me with their feet. They would spoil Pretty + Pierre.” This he said with a grim kind of humour and scorn, refined in its + suppressed force. Fastidious as he was in appearance, Pierre was not vain. + He had been created with a sense of refinement that reduced the grossness + of his life; but he did not trade on it; he simply accepted it and lived + it naturally after his kind. He was not good at heart, and he never + pretended to be so. He continued: “No, I have not much love; but Val, + well, I think of him some. His tongue is straight; he makes no lies. His + heart is fire; his arms are strong; he has no fear. He does not love + Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him. He does not think of me like + the rest. So much the more when his trouble comes I help him. I help him + to the death if he needs me. To make him my friend—that is good. Eh? + Perhaps. You see, Galbraith?” + </p> + <p> + The old man nodded thoughtfully, and after a little pause said: “I have + killed Injins myself;” and he made a motion of his head backward, + suggestive of the past. + </p> + <p> + With a shrug of his shoulders the other replied “Yes, so have I—sometimes. + But the government was different then, and there were no Riders of the + Plains.” His white teeth showed menacingly under his slight moustache. + Then there was another pause. Pierre was watching the other. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you’re doing, Galbraith?” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbin’ laudanum on my gums for this toothache. Have to use it for + nuralgy, too.” + </p> + <p> + Galbraith put the little vial back in his waistcoat pocket, and presently + said: “What will you have to drink, Pretty Pierre?” That was his way of + showing gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “I am reform. I will take coffee, if Jen Galbraith will make some. Too + much broke glass inside is not good. Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Galbraith went into the sitting-room to ask Jen to make the coffee. + Pierre, still sitting on the bar-counter, sang to himself a verse of a + rough-and-ready, satirical prairie ballad: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Riders of the Plains, my boys, are twenty thousand strong + Oh, Lordy, don’t they make the prairies howl! + ‘Tis their lot to smile on virtue and to collar what is wrong, + And to intercept the happy flowin’ bowl. + + They’ve a notion, that in glory, when we wicked ones have chains + They will all be major-generals—and that! + They’re a lovely band of pilgrims are the Riders of the Plains + Will some sinner please to pass around the hat?” + </pre> + <p> + As he reached the last two lines of the verse the door opened and Sergeant + Tom entered. Pretty Pierre did not stop singing. His eyes simply grew a + little brighter, his cheek flushed ever so slightly, and there was an + increase of vigour in the closing notes. + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom smiled a little grimly, then he nodded and said: “Been at it + ever since, Pretty Pierre? You were singing the same song on the same spot + when I passed here six months ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Sergeant Tom, it is you? What brings you so far from your straw-bed + at Fort Desire?” From underneath his hat-brim Pierre scanned the face of + the trooper closely. + </p> + <p> + “Business. Not to smile on virtue, but to collar what is wrong. I guess + you ought to be ready by this time to go into quarters, Pierre. You’ve had + a long innings.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, Sergeant Tom, though I love the Irish, and your company would + make me happy. But I am so innocent, and the world—it cannot spare + me yet. But I think you come to smile on virtue, all the same, Sergeant + Tom. She is beautiful is Jen Galbraith. Ah, that makes your eye bright—so! + You Riders of the Plains, you do two things at one time. You make this + hour someone happy, and that hour someone unhappy. In one hand the soft + glove of kindness, in the other, voila! the cold glove of steel. We cannot + all be great like that, Sergeant Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “Not great, but clever. Voila, the Pretty Pierre! In one hand he holds the + soft paper, the pictures that deceive—kings, queens, and knaves; in + the other, pictures in gold and silver—money won from the pockets of + fools. And so, as you say, ‘bien,’ and we each have our way, bedad!” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom noticed that the half-breed’s eyes nearly closed, as if to + hide the malevolence that was in them. He would not have been surprised to + see a pistol drawn. But he was quite fearless, and if it was not his duty + to provoke a difficulty, his fighting nature would not shrink from giving + as good as he got. Besides, so far as that nature permitted, he hated + Pretty Pierre. He knew the ruin that this gambler had caused here and + there in the West, and he was glad that Fort Desire, at any rate, knew him + less than it did formerly. + </p> + <p> + Just then Peter Galbraith entered with the coffee, followed by Jen. When + the old man saw his visitor he stood still with sudden fear; but catching + a warning look from the eye of the half-breed, he made an effort to be + steady, and said: “Well, Jen, if it isn’t Sergeant Tom! And what brings + you down here, Sergeant Tom? After some scalawag that’s broke the law?” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom had not noticed the blanched anxiety in the father’s face; + for his eyes were seeking those of the daughter. He answered the question + as he advanced towards Jen: “Yes and no, Galbraith; I’m only takin’ orders + to those who will be after some scalawag by daylight in the mornin’, or + before. The hand of a traveller to you, Miss Jen.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes replied to his in one language; her lips spoke another. “And who + is the law-breaker, Sergeant Tom”? she said, as she took his hand. + </p> + <p> + Galbraith’s eyes strained towards the soldier till the reply came: “And I + don’t know that; not wan o’ me. I’d ridden in to Fort Desire from another + duty, a matter of a hundred miles, whin the major says to me, ‘There’s + murder been done at Moose Horn. Take these orders down to Archangel’s + Rise, and deliver them and be back here within forty-eight hours.’ And + here I am on the way, and, if I wasn’t ready to drop for want of a bite + and sup, I’d be movin’ away from here to the south at this moment.” + </p> + <p> + Galbraith was trembling with excitement. Pierre warned him by a look, and + almost immediately afterward gave him a reassuring nod, as if an important + and favourable idea had occurred to him. + </p> + <p> + Jen, looking at the Sergeant’s handsome face, said: “It’s six months to a + day since you were here, Sergeant Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “What an almanac you are, Miss!” + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre sipping his coffee here interrupted musingly: “But her + almanac is not always so reliable. So I think. When was I here last, + Ma’m’selle?” + </p> + <p> + With something like menace in her eyes Jen replied: “You were here six + months ago to-day, when you won thirty dollars from our Val; and then + again, just thirty days after that.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, so! You remember with a difference.” + </p> + <p> + A moment after, Sergeant Tom being occupied in talking to Jen, Pierre + whispered to Peter Galbraith: “His horse—then the laudanum!” + </p> + <p> + Galbraith was puzzled for a moment, but soon nodded significantly, and the + sinister droop to his eyes became more marked. He turned to the Sergeant + and said, “Your horse must be fed as well as yourself, Sergeant Tom. I’ll + look after the beast, and Jen will take care of you. There’s some fresh + coffee, isn’t there, Jen?” + </p> + <p> + Jen nodded an affirmative. Galbraith knew that the Sergeant would trust no + one to feed his horse but himself, and the offer therefore was made with + design. + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom replied instantly: “No, I’ll do it if someone will show me + the grass pile.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre slipped quietly from the counter, and said, “I know the way, + Galbraith. I will show.” + </p> + <p> + Jen turned to the sitting-room, and Sergeant Tom moved to the tavern door, + followed by Pierre, who, as he passed Galbraith, touched the old man’s + waistcoat pocket, and said: “Thirty drops in the coffee.” + </p> + <p> + Then he passed out, singing softly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And he sleepeth so well, and he sleepeth so long + The fight it was hard, my dear; + And his foes were many and swift and strong + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!” + </pre> + <p> + There was danger ahead for Sergeant Thomas Gellatly. Galbraith followed + his daughter to the sitting-room. She went to the kitchen and brought + bread, and cold venison, and prairie fowl, and stewed dried apples—the + stay and luxury of all rural Canadian homes. The coffee-pot was then + placed on the table. Then the old man said: “Better give him some of that + old cheese, Jen, hadn’t you? It’s in the cellar.” He wanted to be rid of + her for a few moments. “S’pose I had,” and Jen vanished. + </p> + <p> + Now was Galbraith’s chance. He took the vial of laudanum from his pocket, + and opened the coffee-pot. It was half full. This would not suit. Someone + else—Jen—might drink the coffee also! Yet it had to be done. + Sergeant Tom should not go on. Inspector Jules and his Riders of the + Plains must not be put upon the track of Val. Twelve hours would make all + the difference. Pour out a cup of coffee?—Yes, of course, that would + do. It was poured out quickly, and then thirty drops of laudanum were + carefully counted into it. Hark, they are coming back!—Just in time. + Sergeant Tom and Pierre enter from outside, and then Jen from the kitchen. + Galbraith is pouring another cup of coffee as they enter, and he says: + “Just to be sociable I’m goin’ to have a cup of coffee with you, Sergeant + Tom. How you Riders of the Plains get waited on hand and foot!” Did some + warning flash through Sergeant Tom’s mind or body, some mental shock or + some physical chill? For he distinctly shivered, though he was not cold. + He seemed suddenly oppressed with a sense of danger. But his eyes fell on + Jen, and the hesitation, for which he did not then try to account, passed. + Jen, clear-faced and true, invited him to sit and eat, and he, starting + half-abstractedly, responded to her “Draw nigh, Sergeant Tom,” and sat + down. Commonplace as the words were, they thrilled him, for he thought of + a table of his own in a home of his own, and the same words spoken + everyday, but without the “Sergeant,”—simply “Tom.” + </p> + <p> + He ate heartily and sipped his coffee slowly, talking meanwhile to Jen and + Galbraith. Pretty Pierre watched them all. Presently the gambler said: + “Let us go and have our game of euchre, Galbraith. Ma’m’selle can well + take care of Sergeant Tom.” + </p> + <p> + Galbraith drank the rest of his coffee, rose, and passed with Pierre into + the bar-room. Then the halfbreed said to him, “You were careful—thirty + drops?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thirty drops.” The latent cruelty of the old man’s nature was awake. + </p> + <p> + “That is right. It is sleep; not death. He will sleep so sound for half a + day, perhaps eighteen hours, and then!—Val will have a long start.” + </p> + <p> + In the sitting-room Sergeant Tom was saying: “Where is your brother, Miss + Galbraith?” He had no idea that the order in his pocket was for the arrest + of that brother. He merely asked the question to start the talk. + </p> + <p> + He and Jen had met but five or six times; but the impression left on the + minds of both was pleasant—ineradicable. Yet, as Sergeant Tom often + asked himself during the past six months, why should he think of her? The + life he led was one of severe endurance, and harshness, and austerity. + Into it there could not possibly enter anything of home. He was but a + noncommissioned officer of the Mounted Police, and beyond that he had + nothing. Ireland had not been kind to him. He had left her inhospitable + shores, and after years of absence he had but a couple of hundred dollars + laid up—enough to purchase his discharge and something over, but + nothing with which to start a home. Ranching required capital. No, it + couldn’t be thought of; and yet he had thought of it, try as he would not + to do so. And she? There was that about this man who had lived life on two + continents, in whose blood ran the warm and chivalrous Celtic fire, which + appealed to her. His physical manhood was noble, if rugged; his + disposition genial and free, if schooled, but not entirely, to that + reserve which his occupation made necessary—a reserve he would have + been more careful to maintain, in speaking of his mission a short time + back in the bar-room, if Jen had not been there. She called out the + frankest part of him; she opened the doors of his nature; she attracted + confidence as the sun does the sunflower. + </p> + <p> + To his question she replied: “I do not know where our Val is. He went on a + hunting expedition up north. We never can tell about him, when he will + turn up or where he will be to-morrow. He may walk in any minute. We never + feel uneasy. He always has such luck, and comes out safe and sound + wherever he is. Father says Val’s a hustler, and that nothing can keep in + the road with him. But he’s a little wild—a little. Still, we don’t + hector him, Sergeant Tom; hectoring never does any good, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, hectoring never does any good. And as for the wildness, if the heart + of him’s right, why that’s easy out of him whin he’s older. It’s a fine + lad I thought him, the time I saw him here. It’s his freedom I wish I had—me + that has to travel all day and part of the night, and thin part of the day + and all night back again, and thin a day of sleep and the same thing over + again. And that’s the life of me, sayin’ nothin’ of the frost and the + blizzards, and no home to go to, and no one to have a meal for me like + this whin I turn up.” And the sergeant wound up with, “Whooroo! there’s a + speech for you, Miss!” and laughed good-humouredly. For all that, there + was in his eyes an appeal that went straight to Jen’s heart. + </p> + <p> + But, woman-like, she would not open the way for him to say anything more + definite just yet. She turned the subject. And yet again, woman-like, she + knew it would lead to the same conclusion: + </p> + <p> + “You must go to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I must.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—nothing would keep you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Duty is duty, much as I’d like to stay, and you givin’ me the + bid. But my orders were strict. You don’t know what discipline means, + perhaps. It means obeyin’ commands if you die for it; and my commands were + to take a letter to Inspector Jules at Archangel’s Rise to-night. It’s a + matter of murder or the like, and duty must be done, and me that sleepy, + not forgettin’ your presence, as ever a man was and looked the world in + the face.” + </p> + <p> + He drank the rest of the coffee and mechanically set the cup down, his + eyes closing heavily as he did so. He made an effort, however, and pulled + himself together. His eyes opened, and he looked at Jen steadily for a + moment. Then he leaned over and touched her hand gently with his fingers,—Pierre’s + glove of kindness,—and said: “It’s in my heart to want to stay; but + a sight of you I’ll have on my way back. But I must go on now, though I’m + that drowsy I could lie down here and never stir again.” + </p> + <p> + Jen said to herself: “Poor fellow, poor fellow, how tired he is! I wish”—but + she withdrew her hand. He put his hand to his head, and said, absently: + “It’s my duty and it’s orders, and... what was I sayin’? The disgrace of + me if, if... bedad! the sleep’s on me; I’m awake, but I can’t open my + eyes.... If the orders of me—and a good meal... and the disgrace... + to do me duty-looked the world in the face—” + </p> + <p> + During this speech he staggered to his feet, Jen watching him anxiously + the while. No suspicion of the cause of his trouble crossed her mind. She + set it down to extreme natural exhaustion. Presently feeling the sofa + behind him, he dropped upon it, and, falling back, began to breathe + heavily. But even in this physical stupefaction he made an effort to + reassert himself, to draw himself back from the coming unconsciousness. + His eyes opened, but they were blind with sleep; and as if in a dream, he + said: “My duty... disgrace... a long sleep... Jen, dearest”—how she + started then!—“it must be done... my Jen!” and he said no more. + </p> + <p> + But these few words had opened up a world for her—a new-created + world on the instant. Her life was illuminated. She felt the fulness of a + great thought suffusing her face. A beautiful dream was upon her. It had + come to her out of his sleep. But with its splendid advent there came the + other thing that always is born with woman’s love—an almost pathetic + care of the being loved. In the deep love of women the maternal and + protective sense works in the parallels of mutual regard. In her life now + it sprang full-statured in action; love of him, care of him; his honour + her honour; his life her life. He must not sleep like this if it was his + duty to go on. Yet how utterly worn he must be! She had seen men brought + in from fighting prairie fires for three days without sleep; had watched + them drop on their beds, and lie like logs for thirty-six hours. This + sleep of her lover was, therefore, not so strange to her but it was + perilous to the performance of his duty. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Sergeant Tom,” she said. “Poor Tom,” she added; and then, with a + great flutter at the heart at last, “My Tom!” Yes, she said that; but she + said it to the beacon, to the Prairie Star, burning outside brighter, it + seemed to her, than it had ever done be fore. Then she sat down and + watched him for many minutes, thinking at the end of each that she would + wake him. But the minutes passed, his breathing grew heavier, and he did + not stir. The Prairie Star made quivering and luminous curtains of red for + the windows, and Jen’s mind was quivering in vivid waves of feeling just + the same. It seemed to her as if she was looking at life now through an + atmosphere charged with some rare, refining essence, and that in it she + stood exultingly. Perhaps she did not define it so; but that which we + define she felt. And happy are they who feel it, and, feeling it, do not + lose it in this world, and have the hope of carrying it into the next. + </p> + <p> + After a time she rose, went over to him and touched his shoulder. It + seemed strange to her to do this thing. She drew back timidly from the + pleasant shock of a new experience. Then she remembered that he ought to + be on his way, and she shook him gently, then, with all her strength, and + called to him quietly all the time, as if her low tones ought to wake him, + if nothing else could. But he lay in a deep and stolid slumber. It was no + use. She went to her seat and sat down to think. As she did so, her father + entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “Did you call, Jen”? he said; and turned to the sofa. “I was calling to + Sergeant Tom. He’s asleep there; dead-gone, father. I can’t wake him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you wake him? He is tired.” + </p> + <p> + The sinister lines in Galbraith’s face had deepened greatly in the last + hour. He went over and looked closely at the Sergeant, followed languidly + by Pierre, who casually touched the pulse of the sleeping man, and said as + casually: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, he sleep well; his pulse is like a baby; he was tired, much. He has + had no sleep for one, two, three nights, perhaps; and a good meal, it + makes him comfortable, and so you see!” + </p> + <p> + Then he touched lightly the triple chevron on Sergeant Tom’s arm, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, a man does much work for that. And then, to be moral and the friend + of the law all the time!” Pierre here shrugged his shoulders. “It is + easier to be wicked and free, and spend when one is rich, and starve when + one is poor, than to be a sergeant and wear the triple chevron. But the + sleep will do him good just the same, Jen Galbraith.” + </p> + <p> + “He said that he must go to Archangel’s Rise tonight, and be back at Fort + Desire to-morrow night.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s nothing to us, Jen,” replied Galbraith, roughly. “He’s got + his own business to look after. He and his tribe are none too good to us + and our tribe. He’d have your old father up to-morrow for selling a tired + traveller a glass of brandy; and worse than that, ay, a great sight worse + than that, mind you, Jen.” + </p> + <p> + Jen did not notice, or, at least, did not heed, the excited emphasis on + the last words. She thought that perhaps her father had been set against + the Sergeant by Pierre. + </p> + <p> + “There, that’ll do, father,” she said. “It’s easy to bark at a dead lion. + Sergeant Tom’s asleep, and you say things that you wouldn’t say if he was + awake. He never did us any harm, and you know that’s true, father.” + </p> + <p> + Galbraith was about to reply with anger; but he changed his mind and + walked into the bar-room, followed by Pierre. + </p> + <p> + In Jen’s mind a scheme had been hurriedly and clearly formed; and with + her, to form it was to put it into execution. She went to Sergeant Tom, + opened his coat, felt in the inside pocket, and drew forth an official + envelope. It was addressed to Inspector Jules at Archangel’s Rise. She put + it back and buttoned up the coat again. Then she said, with her hands + firmly clenching at her side,—“I’ll do it.” + </p> + <p> + She went into the adjoining room and got a quilt, which she threw over + him, and a pillow, which she put under his head. Then she took his cap and + the cloak which he had thrown over a chair, as if to carry them away. But + another thought occurred to her, for she looked towards the bar-room and + put them down again. She glanced out of the window and saw that her father + and Pierre had gone to lessen the volume of gas which was feeding the + flame. This, she knew, meant that her father would go to bed when he came + back to the house; and this suited her purpose. She waited till they had + entered the bar-room again, and then she went to them, and said: “I guess + he’s asleep for all night. Best leave him where he is. I’m going. + Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + When she got back to the sitting-room she said to herself: “How old + father’s looking! He seems broken up to-day. He isn’t what he used to be.” + She turned once more to look at Sergeant Tom, then she went to her room. + </p> + <p> + A little later Peter Galbraith and Pretty Pierre went to the sitting-room, + and the old man drew from the Sergeant’s pocket the envelope which Jen had + seen. Pierre took it from him. “No, Pete Galbraith. Do not be a fool. + Suppose you steal that paper. Sergeant Tom will miss it. He will + understand. He will guess about the drug, then you will be in trouble. Val + will be safe now. This Rider of the Plains will sleep long enough for + that. There, I put the paper back. He sleeps like a log. No one can + suspect the drug, and it is all as we like. No, we will not steal; that is + wrong—quite wrong”—here Pretty Pierre showed his teeth. “We + will go to bed. Come!” + </p> + <p> + Jen heard them ascend the stairs. She waited a half-hour, then she stole + into Val’s bedroom, and when she emerged again she had a bundle of clothes + across her arm. A few minutes more and she walked into the sitting-room + dressed in Val’s clothes, and with her hair closely wound on the top of + her head. + </p> + <p> + The house was still. The Prairie Star made the room light enough for her + purpose. She took Sergeant Tom’s cap and cloak and put them on. She drew + the envelope from his pocket and put it in her bosom—she showed the + woman there, though for the rest of this night she was to be a Rider of + the Plains, She of the Triple Chevron. + </p> + <p> + She went towards the door, hesitated, drew back, then paused, stooped down + quickly, tenderly touched the soldier’s brow with her lips, and said: + “I’ll do it for you. You shall not be disgraced—Tom.” + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + This was at half-past ten o’clock. At two o’clock a jaded and blown horse + stood before the door of the barracks at Archangel’s Rise. Its rider, + muffled to the chin, was knocking, and at the same time pulling his cap + down closely over his head. “Thank God the night is dusky,” he said. We + have heard that voice before. The hat and cloak are those of Sergeant Tom, + but the voice is that of Jen Galbraith. There is some danger in this act; + danger for her lover, contempt for herself if she is discovered. Presently + the door opens and a corporal appears. “Who’s there? Oh,” he added, as he + caught sight of the familiar uniform; “where from?” + </p> + <p> + “From Fort Desire. Important orders to Inspector Jules. Require fresh + horse to return with; must leave mine here. Have to go back at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said the corporal, taking the papers—“what’s your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Gellatly—Sergeant Gellatly.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, Sergeant Gellatly, this isn’t accordin’ to Hoyle—come in the + night and go in the night and not stay long enough to have a swear at the + Gover’ment. Why, you’re comin’ in, aren’t you? You’re comin’ across the + door-mat for a cup of coffee and a warm while the horse is gettin’ ready, + aren’t you, Sergeant—Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly? I’ve + heard of you, but—yes; I will hurry. Here, Waugh, this to Inspector + Jules! If you won’t step in and won’t drink and will be unsociable, + sergeant, why, come on and you shall have a horse as good as the one + you’ve brought. I’m Corporal Galna.” + </p> + <p> + Jen led the exhausted horse to the stables. Fortunately there was no + lantern used, and therefore little chance for the garrulous corporal to + study the face of his companion, even if he wished to do so. The risk was + considerable; but Jen Galbraith was fired by that spirit of self-sacrifice + which has held a world rocking to destruction on a balancing point of + safety. + </p> + <p> + The horse was quickly saddled, Jen meanwhile remaining silent. While she + was mounting, Corporal Galna drew and struck a match to light his pipe. He + held it up for a moment as though to see the face of Sergeant Gellatly. + Jen had just given a good-night, and the horse the word and a touch of the + spur at the instant. Her face, that is, such of it as could be seen above + the cloak and under the cap, was full in the light. Enough was seen, + however, to call forth, in addition to Corporal Galna’s good-night, the + exclamation, “Well, I’m blowed!” + </p> + <p> + As Jen vanished into the night a moment after, she heard a voice calling—not + Corporal Galna’s—“Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly!” She + supposed it was Inspector Jules, but she would not turn back now. Her work + was done. + </p> + <p> + A half-hour later Corporal Galna confided to Private Waugh that Sergeant + Gellatly was too damned pretty for the force—wondered if they called + him Beauty at Fort Desire—couldn’t call him Pretty Gellatly, for + there was Pretty Pierre who had right of possession to that title—would + like to ask him what soap he used for his complexion—‘twasn’t this + yellow bar-soap of the barracks, which wouldn’t lather, he’d bet his + ultimate dollar. + </p> + <p> + Waugh, who had sometime seen Sergeant Gellatly, entered into a disputation + on the point. He said that “Sergeant Tom was good-looking, a regular Irish + thoroughbred; but he wasn’t pretty, not much!—guessed Corporal Galna + had nightmare, and finally, as the interest in the theme increased in + fervour, announced that Sergeant Tom could loosen the teeth of, and knock + the spots off, any man among the Riders, from Archangel’s Rise to the + Cypress Hills. Pretty—not much—thoroughbred all over!” + </p> + <p> + And Corporal Galna replied, sarcastically,—“That he might be able + for spot dispersion of such a kind, but he had two as pretty spots on his + cheek, and as white and touch-no-tobacco teeth as any female ever had.” + Private Waugh declared then that Corporal Galna would be saying Sergeant + Gellatly wasn’t a man at all, and wore earrings, and put his hair into + papers; and when he could find no further enlargement of sarcasm, + consigned the Corporal to a fiery place of future torment reserved for + lunatics. + </p> + <p> + At this critical juncture Waugh was ordered to proceed to Inspector Jules. + A few minutes after, he was riding away toward Soldier’s Knee, with the + Inspector and another private, to capture Val Galbraith, the slayer of + Snow Devil, while four other troopers also started off in different + directions. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + It was six o’clock when Jen drew rein in the yard at Galbraith’s Place. + Through the dank humours of the darkest time of the night she had watched + the first grey streaks of dawn appear. She had caught her breath with fear + at the thought that, by some accident, she might not get back before seven + o’clock, the hour when her father rose. She trembled also at the + supposition of Sergeant Tom awaking and finding his papers gone. But her + fearfulness and excitement was not that of weakness, rather that of a + finely nervous nature, having strong elements of imagination, and, + therefore, great capacities for suffering as for joy; but yet elastic, + vigorous, and possessing unusual powers of endurance. Such natures rebuild + as fast as they are exhausted. In the devitalising time preceding the dawn + she had felt a sudden faintness come over her for a moment; but her will + surmounted it, and, when she saw the ruddy streaks of pink and red glorify + the horizon, she felt a sudden exaltation of physical strength. She was a + child of the light, she loved the warm flame of the sun, the white gleam + of the moon. Holding in her horse to give him a five minutes’ rest, she + rose in her saddle and looked round. She was alone in her circle of + vision, she and her horse. The long hillocks of prairie rolled away like + the sea to the flushed morning, and the far-off Cypress Hills broke the + monotonous skyline of the south. Already the air was dissipated of its + choking weight, and the vast solitude was filling with that sense of + freedom which night seems to shut in as with four walls, and day to widen + gloriously. Tears sprang to her eyes from a sudden rush of feeling; but + her lips were smiling. The world was so different from what it was + yesterday. Something had quickened her into a glowing life. + </p> + <p> + Then she urged the horse on, and never halted till she reached home. She + unsaddled the animal that had shared with her the hardship of the long, + hard ride, hobbled it, and entered the house quickly. No one was stirring. + Sergeant Tom was still asleep. This she saw, as she hurriedly passed in + and laid the cap and cloak where she had found them. Then, once again, she + touched the brow of the sleeper with her lips, and went to her room to + divest herself of Val’s clothes. The thing had been done without anyone + knowing of her absence. But she was frightened as she looked into the + mirror. She was haggard, and her eyes were bloodshot. Eight hours or + nearly in the saddle, at ten miles an hour, had told on her severely; as + well it might. Even a prairie-born woman, however, understands the art and + use of grooming better than a man. Warm water quickly heated at the gas, + with a little acetic acid in it, used generally for her scouring,—and + then cold water with oatmeal flour, took away in part the dulness and the + lines in the flesh. But the eyes! Jen remembered the vial of tincture of + myrrh left by a young Englishman a year ago, and used by him for + refreshing his eyes after a drinking bout. She got it, tried the tincture, + and saw and felt an immediate benefit. Then she made a cup of strong green + tea, and in ten minutes was like herself again. Now for the horse. She + went quickly out where she could not be seen from the windows of the + house, and gave him a rubbing down till he was quite dry. Then she gave + him a little water and some feed. The horse was really the touchstone of + discovery. But Jen trusted in her star. If the worst came she would tell + the tale. It must be told anyway to Sergeant Tom—but that was + different now. Even if the thing became known it would only be a thing to + be teased about by her father and others, and she could stop that. Poor + girl, as though that was the worst that was to come from her act! + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom slept deeply and soundly. He had not stirred. His breathing + was unnaturally heavy, Jen thought, but, no suspicion of foul play came to + her mind yet. Why should it? She gave herself up to a sweet and simple + sense of pride in the deed she had done for him, disturbed but slightly by + the chances of discovery, and the remembrance of the match that showed her + face at Archangel’s Rise. Her hands touched the flaxen hair of the + soldier, and her eyes grew luminous. One night had stirred all her soul to + its depths. A new woman had been born in her. Val was dear to her—her + brother Val; but she realised now that another had come who would occupy a + place that neither father, nor brother, nor any other could fill. Yet it + was a most weird set of tragic circumstances. This man before her had been + set to do a task which might deprive her brother of his life, certainly of + his freedom; that would disgrace him; her father had done a great wrong + too, had put in danger the life of the man she loved, to save his son; she + herself in doing this deed for her lover had placed her brother in + jeopardy, had crossed swords with her father’s purposes, had done the one + thing that stood between that father’s son and safety; Pretty Pierre, whom + she hated and despised, and thought to be the enemy of her brother and of + her home, had proved himself a friend; and behind it all was the brother’s + crime committed to avenge an insult to her name. + </p> + <p> + But such is life. Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners, + and the executioners of those they love. + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + An hour passed, and then Galbraith and Pierre appeared. Jen noticed that + her father went over to Sergeant Tom and rather anxiously felt his pulse. + Once in the night the old man had come down and done the same thing. + Pierre said something in an undertone. Did they think he was ill? That was + Jon’s thought. She watched them closely; but the half-breed knew that she + was watching, and the two said nothing more to each other. But Pierre + said, in a careless way: “It is good he have that sleep. He was played + out, quite.” + </p> + <p> + Jon replied, a secret triumph at her heart: “But what about his orders, + the papers he was to carry to Archangel’s Rise? What about his being back + at Fort Desire in the time given him?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not much matter about the papers. The poor devil that Inspector + Jules would arrest—well, he will get off, perhaps, but that does no + one harm. Eh, Galbraith? The law is sometimes unkind. And as for obeying + orders, why, the prairie is wide, it is a hard ride, horses go wrong;—a + little tale of trouble to Inspector Jules, another at Fort Desire, and who + is to know except Pete Galbraith, Jen Galbraith, and Pierre? Poor Sergeant + Tom. It was good he sleep so.” + </p> + <p> + Jen felt there was irony behind the smooth words of the gambler. He had a + habit of saying things, as they express it in that country, between his + teeth. That signifies what is animal-like and cruel. Galbraith stood + silent during Pierre’s remarks, but, when he had finished, said: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s all right if he doesn’t sleep too long; but there’s the trouble—too + long!” + </p> + <p> + Pierre frowned a warning, and then added, with unconcern: “I remember when + you sleep thirty hours, Galbraith—after the prairie fire, three + years ago, eh!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s so; that’s so as you say it. We’ll let him sleep till noon, + or longer—or longer, won’t we, Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, till noon is good, or longer.” + </p> + <p> + “But he shall not sleep longer if I can wake him,” said Jen. “You do not + think of the trouble all this sleeping may make for him.” + </p> + <p> + “But then—but then, there is the trouble he will make for others, if + he wakes. Think. A poor devil trying to escape the law!” + </p> + <p> + “But we have nothing to do with that, and justice is justice, Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, well, perhaps, perhaps!” Galbraith was silent. + </p> + <p> + Jen felt that so far as Sergeant Tom’s papers were concerned he was safe; + but she felt also that by noon he ought to be on his way back to Fort + Desire—after she had told him what she had done. She was anxious for + his honour. That her lover shall appear well before the world, is a thing + deep in the heart of every woman. It is a pride for which she will deny + herself, even of the presence of that lover. + </p> + <p> + “Till noon,” Jen said, “and then he must go.” + </p> + <p> + VI + </p> + <p> + Jen watched to see if her father or Pierre would notice that the horse was + changed, had been travelled during the night, or that it was a different + one altogether. As the morning wore away she saw that they did not notice + the fact. This ignorance was perhaps owing largely to the appearance of + several ranchmen from near the American border. They spent their time in + the bar-room, and when they left it was nearly noon. Still Sergeant Tom + slept. Jen now went to him and tried to wake him. She lifted him to a + sitting position, but his head fell on her shoulder. Disheartened, she + laid him down again. But now at last an undefined suspicion began to take + possession of her. It made her uneasy; it filled her with a vague sense of + alarm. Was this sleep natural? She remembered that, when her father and + others had slept so long after the prairie fire, she had waked them once + to give them drink and a little food, and they did not breathe so heavily + as he was doing. Yet what could be done? What was the matter? There was + not a doctor nearer than a hundred miles. She thought of bleeding,—the + old-fashioned remedy still used on the prairies—but she decided to + wait a little. Somehow she felt that she would receive no help from her + father or Pierre. Had they anything to do with this sleep? Was it + connected with the papers? No, not that, for they had not sought to take + them, and had not made any remark about their being gone. This showed + their unconcern on that point. She could not fathom the mystery, but the + suspicion of something irregular deepened. Her father could have no reason + for injuring Sergeant Tom; but Pretty Pierre—that was another + matter. Yet she remembered too that her father had appeared the more + anxious of the two about the Sergeant’s sleep. She recalled that he said: + “Yes, it’s all right, if he doesn’t sleep too long.” + </p> + <p> + But Pierre could play a part, she knew, and could involve others in + trouble, and escape himself. He was a man with a reputation for occasional + wickednesses of a naked, decided type. She knew that he was possessed of a + devil, of a very reserved devil, but liable to bold action on occasions. + She knew that he valued the chances of life or death no more than he + valued the thousand and one other chances of small importance, which occur + in daily experience. It was his creed that one doesn’t go till the game is + done and all the cards are played. He had a stoic indifference to events. + </p> + <p> + He might be capable of poisoning—poisoning! ah, that thought! of + poisoning Sergeant Tom for some cause. But her father? The two seemed to + act alike in the matter. Could her father approve of any harm happening to + Tom? She thought of the meal he had eaten, of the coffee he had drunk. The + coffee-was that the key? But she said to herself that she was foolish, + that her love had made her so. No, it could not be. + </p> + <p> + But a fear grew upon her, strive as she would against it. She waited + silently and watched, and twice or thrice made ineffectual efforts to + rouse him. Her father came in once. He showed anxiety; that was + unmistakable, but was it the anxiety of guilt of any kind? She said + nothing. At five o’clock matters abruptly came to a climax. Jen was in the + kitchen, but, hearing footsteps in the sitting-room, she opened the door + quietly. Her father was bending over Sergeant Tom, and Pierre was + speaking: “No, no, Galbraith, it is all right. You are a fool. It could + not kill him.” + </p> + <p> + “Kill him—kill him,” she repeated gaspingly to herself. + </p> + <p> + “You see he was exhausted; he may sleep for hours yet. Yes, he is safe, I + think.” + </p> + <p> + “But Jen, she suspects something, she—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said Pretty Pierre. He saw her standing near. She had glided + forward and stood with flashing eyes turned, now upon the one, and now + upon the other. Finally they rested on Galbraith. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what you have done to him; what you and Pretty Pierre have done + to him. You have some secret. I will know.” She leaned forward, something + of the tigress in the poise of her body. “I tell you, I will know.” Her + voice was low, and vibrated with fierceness and determination. Her eyes + glowed, and her nostrils trembled with disdain and indignation. As they + drew back,—the old man sullenly, the gambler with a slight gesture + of impatience,—she came a step nearer to them and waited, the cords + of her shapely throat swelling with excitement. A moment so, and then she + said in a tone that suggested menace, determination: + </p> + <p> + “You have poisoned him. Tell me the truth. Do you hear, father—the + truth, or I will hate you. I will make you repent it till you die.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” Pierre began. + </p> + <p> + She interrupted him. “Do not speak, Pretty Pierre. You are a devil. You + will lie. Father—!” She waited. “What difference does it make to + you, Jen?” “What difference—what difference to me? That you should + be a murderer?” + </p> + <p> + “But that is not so, that is a dream of yours, Ma’m’selle,” said Pierre. + </p> + <p> + She turned to her father again. “Father, will you tell the truth to me? I + warn you it will be better for you both.” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s brow was sullen, and his lips were twitching nervously. “You + care more for him than you do for your own flesh and blood, Jen. There’s + nothing to get mad about like that. I’ll tell you when he’s gone. ... + Let’s—let’s wake him,” he added, nervously. + </p> + <p> + He stooped down and lifted the sleeping man to a sitting posture. Pierre + assisted him. + </p> + <p> + Jen saw that the half-breed believed Sergeant Tom could be wakened, and + her fear diminished slightly, if her indignation did not. They lifted the + soldier to his feet. Pierre pressed the point of a pin deep into his arm. + Jen started forward, woman-like, to check the action, but drew back, for + she saw heroic measures might be necessary to bring him to consciousness. + But, nevertheless, her anger broke bounds, and she said: “Cowards—cowards! + What spite made you do this?” + </p> + <p> + “Damnation, Jen,” said the father, “you’ll hector me till I make you + sorry. What’s this Irish policeman to you? What’s he beside your own flesh + and blood, I say again.” + </p> + <p> + “Why does my own flesh and blood do such wicked tricks to an Irish + soldier? Why does it give poison to an Irish soldier?” + </p> + <p> + “Poison, Jen? You needn’t speak so ghost-like. It was only a dose of + laudanum; not enough to kill him. Ask Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + Inwardly she believed him, and said a Thank-God to herself, but to the + half-breed she remarked: “Yes, ask Pierre—you are behind all this! + It is some evil scheme of yours. Why did you do it? Tell the truth for + once.” Her eyes swam angrily with Pierre’s. + </p> + <p> + Pierre was complacent; he admired her wild attacks. He smiled, and + replied: “My dear, it was a whim of mine; but you need not tell him, all + the same, when he wakes. You see this is your father’s house, though the + whim is mine. But look: he is waking-the pin is good. Some cold water, + quick!” + </p> + <p> + The cold water was brought and dashed into the face of the soldier. He + showed signs of returning consciousness. The effect of the laudanum had + been intensified by the thoroughly exhausted condition of the body. + </p> + <p> + But the man was perfectly healthy, and this helped to resist the danger of + a fatal result. + </p> + <p> + Pierre kept up an intermittent speech. “Yes, it was a mere whim of mine. + Eh, he will think he has been an ass to sleep so long, and on duty, and + orders to carry to Archangel’s Rise!” Here he showed his teeth again, + white and regular like a dog’s. That was the impression they gave, his + lips were so red, and the contrast was so great. One almost expected to + find that the roof of his mouth was black, like that of a well-bred hound; + but there is no evidence available on the point. + </p> + <p> + “There, that is good,” he said. “Now set him down, Pete Galbraith. Yes—so, + so! Sergeant Tom, ah, you will wake well, soon. Now the eyes a little + wider. Good. Eh, Sergeant Tom, what is the matter? It is breakfast time—quite.” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom’s eyes opened slowly and looked dazedly before him for a + minute. Then they fell on Pierre. At first there was no recognition, then + they became consciously clearer. “Pretty Pierre, you here in the + barracks!” he said. He put his hand to his head, then rubbed his eyes + roughly and looked up again. This time he saw Jen and her father. His + bewilderment increased. Then he added: “What is the matter? Have I been + asleep? What—!” He remembered. He staggered to his feet and felt his + pockets quickly and anxiously for his letter. It was gone. + </p> + <p> + “The letter!” he said. “My orders! Who has robbed me? Faith, I remember. I + could not keep awake after I drank the coffee. My papers are gone, I tell + you, Galbraith,” he said, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to Jen: “You are not in this, Jen. Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent for a moment, then was about to answer, when he turned to + the gambler and said: “You are at the bottom of this. Give me my papers.” + But Pierre and Galbraith were as dumbfounded as the Sergeant himself to + know that the letter was gone. They were stunned beyond speech when Jen + said, flushing: “No, Sergeant Tom, I am the thief. When I could not wake + you, I took the letter from your pocket and carried it to Inspector Jules + last night,—or, rather, Sergeant Gellatly carried them. I wore his + cap and cloak and passed for him.” + </p> + <p> + “You carried that letter to Inspector Jules last night, Jen”? said the + soldier, all his heart in his voice. + </p> + <p> + Jen saw her father blanch, his mouth open blankly, and his lips refuse to + utter the words on them. For the first time she comprehended some danger + to him, to herself—to Val! + </p> + <p> + “Father, father,” she said,—“what is it?” + </p> + <p> + Pierre shrugged his shoulders and rejoined: “Eh, the devil! Such mistakes + of women. They are fools—all.” The old man put out a shaking hand + and caught his daughter’s arm. His look was of mingled wonder and despair, + as he said, in a gasping whisper, “You carried that letter to Archangel’s + Rise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, faltering now; “Sergeant Tom had said how important + it was, you remember. That it was his duty to take it to Inspector Jules, + and be back within forty-eight hours. He fell asleep. I could not wake + him. I thought, what if he were my brother—our Val. So, when you and + Pretty Pierre went to bed, I put on Val’s clothes, took Sergeant Tom’s + cloak and hat, carried the orders to Jules, and was back here by six + o’clock this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom’s eyes told his tale of gratitude. He made a step towards + her; but the old man, with a strange ferocity, motioned him back, saying, + </p> + <p> + “Go away from this house. Go quick. Go now, I tell you, or by God,—I’ll—” + </p> + <p> + Here Pretty Pierre touched his arm. + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom drew back, not because he feared but as if to get a mental + perspective of the situation. Galbraith again said to his daughter,—“Jen, + you carried them papers? You! for him—for the Law!” Then he turned + from her, and with hand clenched and teeth set spoke to the soldier: + “Haven’t you heard enough? Curse you, why don’t you go?” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom replied coolly: “Not so fast, Galbraith. There’s some mystery + in all this. There’s my sleep to be accounted for yet. You had some + reason, some”—he caught the eyes of Pierre. He paused. A light began + to dawn on his mind, and he looked at Jen, who stood rigidly pale, her + eyes fixed fearfully, anxiously, upon him. She too was beginning to frame + in her mind a possible horror; the thing that had so changed her father, + the cause for drugging the soldier. There was a silence in which Pierre + first, and then all, detected the sound of horses’ hoofs. Pierre went to + the door and looked out. He turned round again, and shrugged his shoulders + with an expression of helplessness. But as he saw Jen was about to speak, + and Sergeant Tom to move towards the door, he put up his hand to stay them + both, and said: “A little—wait!” + </p> + <p> + Then all were silent. Jen’s fingers nervously clasped and unclasped, and + her eyes were strained towards the door. Sergeant Tom stood watching her + pityingly; the old man’s head was bowed. The sound of galloping grew + plainer. It stopped. An instant and then three horsemen appeared before + the door. One was Inspector Jules, one was Private Waugh, and the other + between them was—let Jen tell who he was. With an agonised cry she + rushed from the house and threw herself against the saddle, and with her + arms about the prisoner, cried: “Oh, Val, Val, it was you! It was you they + were after. It was you that—oh no, no, no! My poor Val, and I can’t + tell you—I can’t tell you!” + </p> + <p> + Great as was her grief and self-reproach, she felt it would be cruel to + tell him the part she had taken in placing him in this position. She hated + herself, but why deepen his misery? His face was pale, but it had its old, + open, fearless look, which dissipation had not greatly marred. His eyelids + quivered, but he smiled, and touching her with his steel-bound hands, + gently said: + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Jen. It isn’t so bad. You see it was this way: Snow Devil + said something about someone that belonged to me, that cares more about me + than I deserve. Well, he died sudden, and I was there at the time. That’s + all. I was trying with the help of Pretty Pierre to get out of the + country”—and he waved his hand towards the half-breed. + </p> + <p> + “With Pretty Pierre—Pierre”? she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he isn’t all gambler. But they were too quick for me, and here I am. + Jules is a hustler on the march. But he said he’d stop here and let me see + you and dad as we go up to Fort Desire, and—there, don’t mind, Sis—don’t + mind it so!” + </p> + <p> + Her sobs had ceased, but she clung to him as if she could never let him + go. Her father stood near her, all the lines in his face deepened into + bitterness. To him Val said: “Why, dad, what’s the matter? Your hand is + shaky. Don’t you get this thing eatin’ at your heart. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t worth it. That Injin would have died if you’d been in my place, + I guess. Between you and me, I expect to give Jules the slip before we get + there.” And he laughed at the Inspector, who laughed a little austerely + too, and in his heart wished that it was anyone else he had as a prisoner + than Val Galbraith, who was a favourite with the Riders of the Plains. + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Tom had been standing in the doorway regarding this scene, and + working out in his mind the complications that had led to it. At this + point he came forward, and Inspector Jules said to him, after a curt + salutation: + </p> + <p> + “You were in a hurry last night, Sergeant Gellatly. You don’t seem so + pushed for time now. Usual thing. When a man seems over-zealous—drink, + cards, or women behind it. But your taste is good, even if, under present + circumstances”—He stopped, for he saw a threatening look in the eyes + of the other, and that other said: “We won’t discuss that matter, + Inspector, if you please. I’m going on to Fort Desire now. I couldn’t have + seen you if I’d wanted to last night.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s nonsense. If you had waited one minute longer at the barracks you + could have done so. I called to you as you were leaving, but you didn’t + turn back.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I didn’t hear you.” + </p> + <p> + All were listening to this conversation, and none more curiously than + Private Waugh. Many a time in days to come he pictured the scene for the + benefit of his comrades. Pretty Pierre, leaning against the hitching-post + near the bar-room, said languidly: + </p> + <p> + “But, Inspector, he speaks the truth—quite: that is a virtue of the + Riders of the Plains.” Val had his eyes on the half-breed, and a look of + understanding passed between them. While Val and his father and sister + were saying their farewells in few words, but with homely demonstrations, + Sergeant Tom brought his horse round and mounted it. Inspector Jules gave + the word to move on. As they started, Gellatly, who fell behind the others + slightly, leaned down and whispered: “Forgive me, Jen. You did a noble act + for me, and the life of me would prove to you that I’m grateful. It’s + sorry, sorry I am. But I’ll do what I can for Val, as sure as the heart’s + in me. Good-bye, Jen.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up with a faint hope in her eyes. “Goodbye!” she said. “I + believe you... Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes there was only a cloud of dust on the prairie to tell + where the Law and its quarry were. And of those left behind, one was a + broken-spirited old man with sorrow melting away the sinister look in his + face; one, a girl hovering between the tempest of bitterness and a storm + of self-reproach; and one a half-breed gambler, who again sat on the + bar-counter smoking a cigarette and singing to himself, as indolently as + if he were not in the presence of a painful drama of life, perhaps a + tragedy. But was the song so pointless to the occasion, after all, and was + the man so abstracted and indifferent as he seemed? For thus the song ran: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, the bird in a cage and the bird on a tree + Voila! ‘tis a different fear! + The maiden weeps and she bends the knee + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + But the bird in a cage has a friend in the tree, + And the maiden she dries her tear: + And the night is dark and no moon you see + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + When the doors are open the bird is free + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!” + </pre> + <p> + VII + </p> + <p> + These words kept ringing in Jen’s ears as she stood again in the doorway + that night with her face turned to the beacon. How different it seemed + now! When she saw it last night it was a cheerful spirit of light—a + something suggesting comfort, companionship, aspiration, a friend to the + traveller, and a mysterious, but delightful, association. In the morning + when she returned from that fortunate, yet most unfortunate, ride, it was + still burning, but its warm flame was exhausted in the glow of the + life-giving sun; the dream and delight of the night robbed of its glamour + by the garish morning; like her own body, its task done, sinking before + the unrelieved scrutiny of the day. To-night it burned with a different + radiance. It came in fiery palpitations from the earth. It made a sound + that was now like the moan of pine trees, now like the rumble of far-off + artillery. The slight wind that blew spread the topmost crest of flame + into strands of ruddy hair, and, looking at it, Jen saw herself rocked to + and fro by tumultuous emotions, yet fuller of strength and larger of life + than ever she had been. Her hot veins beat with determination, with a love + which she drove back by another, cherished now more than it had ever been, + because danger threatened the boy to whom she had been as a mother. In + twenty-four hours she had grown to the full stature of love and suffering. + </p> + <p> + There were shadows that betrayed less roundness to her face; there were + lines that told of weariness; but in her eyes there was a glowing light of + hope. She raised her face to the stars and unconsciously paraphrasing + Pierre’s song said: “Oh, the God that dost save us, hear!” + </p> + <p> + A hand touched her arm, and a voice said, huskily, “Jen, I wanted to save + him and—and not let you know of it; that’s all. You’re not keepin’ a + grudge agin me, my girl?” + </p> + <p> + She did not move nor turn her head. “I’ve no grudge, father; but—if—if + you had told me, ‘twouldn’t be on my mind that I had made it worse for + Val.” + </p> + <p> + The kindness in the voice reassured him, and he ventured to say: “I didn’t + think you’d be carin’ for one of the Riders of the Plains, Jen.” + </p> + <p> + Then the old man trembled lest she should resent his words. She seemed + about to do so, but the flush faded from her brow, and she said, simply: + “I care for Val most, father. But he didn’t know he was getting Val into + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + She suddenly quivered as a wave of emotion passed through her; and she + said, with a sob in her voice: “Oh, it’s all scrub country, father, and no + paths, and—and I wish I had a mother!” + </p> + <p> + The old man sat down in the doorway and bowed his grey head in his arms. + Then, after a moment, he whispered: + </p> + <p> + “She’s been dead twenty-two years, Jen. The day Val was born she went + away. I’d a-been a better man if she’d a-lived, Jen; and a better father.” + </p> + <p> + This was an unusual demonstration between these two. She watched him sadly + for a moment, and then, leaning over and touching him gently on the + shoulder, said: “It’s worse for you than it is for me, father. Don’t feel + so bad. Perhaps we shall save him yet.” + </p> + <p> + He caught a gleam of hope in her words: “Mebbe, Jen, mebbe!” and he raised + his face to the light. + </p> + <p> + This ritual of affection was crude and unadorned; but it was real. They + sat there for half-an-hour, silent. + </p> + <p> + Then a figure came out of the shadows behind the house and stood before + them. It was Pierre. + </p> + <p> + “I go to-morrow morning, Galbraith,” he said. The old man nodded, but did + not reply. + </p> + <p> + “I go to Fort Desire,” the gambler added. + </p> + <p> + Jen faced him. “What do you go there for, Pretty Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “It is my whim. Besides, there is Val. He might want a horse some dark + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Pierre, do you mean that?” + </p> + <p> + “As much as Sergeant Tom means what he says. Every man has his friends. + Pretty Pierre has a fancy for Val Galbraith—a little. It suits him + to go to Fort Desire. Jen Galbraith, you make a grand ride last night. You + do a bold thing—all for a man. We shall see what he will do for you. + And if he does nothing—ah! you can trust the tongue of Pretty + Pierre. He will wish he could die, instead of—Eh, bien, good-night!” + He moved away. Jen followed him. She held out her hand. It was the first + time she had ever done so to this man. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you,” she said. “I believe that you mean well to our Val. I am + sorry that I called you a devil.” He smiled. “Ma’m’selle, that is nothing. + You spoke true. But devils have their friends—and their whims. So + you see, good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe it will come out all right, Jen—mebbe!” said the old man. + </p> + <p> + But Jen did not reply. She was thinking hard, her eyes upon the Prairie + Star. Living life to the hilt greatly illumines the outlook of the mind. + She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute, and that good + is often an occasion more than a condition. + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence again. At last the old man rose to go and reduce + the volume of flame for the night; but Jen stopped him. “No, father, let + it burn all it can to-night. It’s comforting.” + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe so—mebbe!” he said. + </p> + <p> + A faint refrain came to them from within the house: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “When doors are open the bird is free + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!” + </pre> + <p> + VIII + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely morning. The prairie billowed away endlessly to the south, + and heaved away in vastness to the north; and the fresh, sharp air sent + the blood beating through the veins. In the bar-room some early traveller + was talking to Peter Galbraith. A wandering band of Indians was camped + about a mile away, the only sign of humanity in the waste. Jen sat in the + doorway culling dried apples. Though tragedies occur in lives of the + humble, they must still do the dull and ordinary task. They cannot stop to + cherish morbidness, to feed upon their sorrow; they must care for + themselves and labour for others. And well is it for them that it is so. + </p> + <p> + The Indian camp brings unpleasant memories to Jen’s mind. She knows it + belongs to old Sun-in-the-North, and that he will not come to see her now, + nor could she, or would she, go to him. Between her and that race there + can never again be kindly communion. And now she sees, for the first time, + two horsemen riding slowly in the track from Fort Desire towards + Galbraith’s Place. She notices that one sits upright, and one seems + leaning forward on his horse’s neck. She shades her eyes with her hand, + but she cannot distinguish who they are. But she has seen men tied to + their horses ride as that man is riding, when stricken with fever, bruised + by falling timber, lacerated by a grizzly, wounded by a bullet, or crushed + by a herd of buffaloes. She remembered at that moment the time that a + horse had struck Val with its forefeet, and torn the flesh from his chest, + and how he had been brought home tied to a broncho’s back. + </p> + <p> + The thought of this drove her into the house, to have Val’s bed prepared + for the sufferer, whoever he was. Almost unconsciously she put on the + little table beside the bed a bunch of everlasting prairie flowers, and + shaded the light to the point of quiet and comfort. + </p> + <p> + Then she went outside again. The travellers now were not far away. She + recognised the upright rider. It was Pretty Pierre. The other—she + could not tell. She called to her father. She had a fear which she did not + care to face alone. “See, see, father,” she said, “Pretty Pierre and—and + can it be Val?” For the moment she seemed unable to stir. But the old man + shook his head, and said: “No, Jen, it can’t be. It ain’t Val.” + </p> + <p> + Then another thought possessed her. Her lips trembled, and, throwing her + head back as does a deer when it starts to shake off its pursuers by + flight, she ran swiftly towards the riders. The traveller standing beside + Galbraith said: “That man is hurt, wounded probably. I didn’t expect to + have a patient in the middle of the plains. I’m a doctor. Perhaps I can be + of use here?” When a hundred yards away Jen recognised the recumbent + rider. A thousand thoughts flashed through her brain. What had happened? + Why was he dressed in civilian’s clothes? A moment, and she was at his + horse’s head. Another, and her warm hand clasped the pale, moist, and + wrinkled one which hung by the horse’s neck. His coat at the shoulder was + stained with blood, and there was a handkerchief about his head. This—this + was Sergeant Tom Gellatly! + </p> + <p> + She looked up at Pierre, an agony of inquiry in her eyes, and pointing + mutely to the wounded man. Pierre spoke with a tone of seriousness not + common to his voice: “You see, Jen Galbraith, it was brave. Sergeant Tom + one day resigns the Mounted Police. He leaves the Riders of the Plains. + That is not easy to understand, for he is in much favour with the + officers. But he buys himself out, and there is the end of the Sergeant + and his triple chevron. That is one day. That night, two men on a ferry + are crossing the Saskatchewan at Fort Desire. They are fired at from the + shore behind. One man is hit twice. But they get across, cut the ferry + loose, mount horses, and ride away together. The man that was hit—yes, + Sergeant Tom. The other that was not hit was Val Galbraith.” + </p> + <p> + Jen gave a cry of mingled joy and pain, and said, with Tom Gellatly’s cold + hand clasped to her bosom: “Val, our Val, is free, is safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Val is free and safe-quite. The Riders of the Plains could not cross + the river. It was too high. And so Tom Gellatly and Val got away. Val + rides straight for the American border, and the other rides here.” They + were now near the house, but Jen said, eagerly: “Go on. Tell me all.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew what had happened soon, and I rode away, too, and last night I + found Tom Gellatly lying beside his horse on the prairie. I have brought + him here to you. You two are even now, Jen Galbraith.” + </p> + <p> + They were at the tavern door. The traveller and Pierre lifted, down the + wounded and unconscious man, and brought him and laid him on Val + Galbraith’s bed. + </p> + <p> + The traveller examined the wounds in the shoulder and the head, and said: + “The head is all right. If I can get the bullet out of the shoulder he’ll + be safe enough—in time.” + </p> + <p> + The surgery was skilful but rude, for proper instruments were not at hand; + and in a few hours he, whom we shall still call Sergeant Tom, lay quietly + sleeping, the pallor gone from his face and the feeling of death from his + hand. + </p> + <p> + It was near midnight when he waked. Jen was sitting beside him. He looked + round and saw her. Her face was touched with the light that shone from the + Prairie Star. “Jen,” he said, and held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + She turned from the window and stood beside his bed. She took his + outstretched hand. “You are better, Sergeant Tom”? she said, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m better; but it’s not Sergeant Tom I am any longer, Jen.” + </p> + <p> + “I forgot that.” + </p> + <p> + “I owed you a great debt, Jen. I couldn’t remain one of the Riders of the + Plains and try to pay it. I left them. Then I tried to save Val, and I + did. I knew how to do it without getting anyone else into trouble. It is + well to know the trick of a lock and the hour that guard is changed. I had + left, but I relieved guard that night just the same. It was a new man on + watch. It’s only a minute I had; for the regular relief watch was almost + at my heels. I got Val out just in time. They discovered us, and we had a + run for it. Pretty Pierre has told you. That’s right. Val is safe now—” + </p> + <p> + In a low strained voice, interrupting him, she said, “Did Val leave you + wounded so on the prairie?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let that ate at your heart. No, he didn’t. I hurried him off, and + he didn’t know how bad I was hit. But I—I’ve paid my debt, haven’t + I, Jen?” With eyes that could not see for tears, she touched pityingly, + lovingly, the wounds on his head and shoulder, and said: “These pay a + greater debt than you ever owed me. You risked your life for me—yes, + for me. You have given up everything to do it. I can’t pay you the great + difference. No, never!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes, you can, if you will, Jen. It’s as aisy! If you’ll say + what I say, I’ll give you quit of that difference, as you call it, forever + and ever.” + </p> + <p> + “First, tell me. Is Val quite, quite safe?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he’s safe over the border by this time; and to tell you the truth, + the Riders of the Plains wouldn’t be dyin’ to arrest him again if he was + in Canada, which he isn’t. It’s little they wanted to fire at us, I know, + when we were crossin’ the river, but it had to be done, you see, and us + within sight. Will you say what I ask you, Jen?” + </p> + <p> + She did not speak, but pressed his hand ever so slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Tom Gellatly, I promise,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Tom Gellatly, I promise—” + </p> + <p> + “To give you as much—” + </p> + <p> + “To give you as much—” + </p> + <p> + “Love—” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, and then she falteringly said, “Love—” + </p> + <p> + “As you give to me-” + </p> + <p> + “As you give to me—” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ll take you poor as you are—” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ll take you poor as you are—” + </p> + <p> + “To be my husband as long as you live—” + </p> + <p> + “To be my husband as long as you live—” + </p> + <p> + “So help me, God.” + </p> + <p> + “So help me, God.” + </p> + <p> + She stooped with dropping tears, and he kissed her once. Then what was + girl in her timidly drew back, while what was woman in her, and therefore + maternal, yearned over the sufferer. + </p> + <p> + They had not seen the figure of an old man at the door. They did not hear + him enter. They only knew of Peter Galbraith’s presence when he said: + “Mebbe—mebbe I might say Amen!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THREE OUTLAWS + </h2> + <p> + The missionary at Fort Anne of the H. B. C. was violently in earnest. + Before he piously followed the latest and most amply endowed batch of + settlers, who had in turn preceded the new railway to the Fort, the word + scandal had no place in the vocabulary of the citizens. The H. B. C. had + never imported it into the Chinook language, the common meeting-ground of + all the tribes of the North; and the British men and native-born, who made + the Fort their home, or place of sojourn, had never found need for its + use. Justice was so quickly distributed, men were so open in their + conduct, good and bad, that none looked askance, nor put their actions in + ambush, nor studied innuendo. But this was not according to the new + dispensation—that is, the dispensation which shrewdly followed the + settlers, who as shrewdly preceded the railway. And, the dispensation and + the missionary were known also as the Reverend Ezra Badgley, who, on his + own declaration, in times past had “a call” to preach, and in the far East + had served as local preacher, then probationer, then went on circuit, and + now was missionary in a district of which the choice did credit to his + astuteness, and gave room for his piety and for his holy rage against the + Philistines. He loved a word for righteous mouthing, and in a moment of + inspiration pagan and scandal came to him. Upon these two words he + stamped, through them he perspired mightily, and with them he clenched his + stubby fingers—such fingers as dug trenches, or snatched lewdly at + soft flesh, in days of barbarian battle. To him all men were Pagans who + loved not the sound of his voice, nor wrestled with him in prayer before + the Lord, nor fed him with rich food, nor gave him much strong green tea + to drink. But these men were of opaque stuff, and were not dismayed, and + they called him St. Anthony, and with a prophetic and deadly patience + waited. The time came when the missionary shook his denouncing finger + mostly at Pretty Pierre, who carefully nursed his silent wrath until the + occasion should arrive for a delicate revenge which hath its hour with + every man, if, hating, he knows how to bide the will of Fate. + </p> + <p> + The hour came. A girl had been found dying on the roadside beyond the Fort + by the drunken doctor of the place and Pierre. Pierre was with her when + she died. + </p> + <p> + “An’ who’s to bury her, the poor colleen”? said Shon McGann afterwards. + </p> + <p> + Pierre musingly replied: “She is a Protestant. There is but one man.” + </p> + <p> + After many pertinent and vigorous remarks, Shon added, “A Pagan is it, he + calls you, Pierre, you that’s had the holy water on y’r forehead, and the + cross on the water, and that knows the book o’ the Mass like the cards in + a pack? Sinner y’ are, and so are we all, God save us! say I; and weavin’ + the stripes for our backs He may be, and little I’d think of Him failin’ + in that: but Pagan—faith, it’s black should be the white of the eyes + of that preachin’ sneak, and a rattle of teeth in his throat—divils + go round me!” + </p> + <p> + The half-breed, still musing, replied: “An eye for an eye, and a tooth for + a tooth—is that it, Shon?” “Nivir a word truer by song or by book, + and stand by the text, say I. For Papist I am, and Papist are you; and the + imps from below in y’r fingers whip poker is the game; and outlaws as they + call us both—you for what it doesn’t concern me, and I for a wild + night in ould Donegal—but Pagan, wurra! whin shall it be, Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “When shall it to be?” + </p> + <p> + “True for you. The teeth in his throat and a lump to his eye, and what + more be the will o’ God. Fightin’ there’ll be, av coorse; but by you I’ll + stand, and sorra inch will I give, if they’ll do it with sticks or with + guns, and not with the blisterin’ tongue that’s lied of me and me frinds—for + frind I call you, Pierre, that loved me little in days gone by. And proud + I am not of you, nor you of me; but we’ve tasted the bitter of avil days + together, and divils surround me, if I don’t go down with you or come up + with you, whichever it be! For there’s dirt, as I say on their tongues, + and over their shoulder they look at you, and not with an eye full front.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre was cool, even pensive. His lips parted slightly once or twice, and + showed a row of white, malicious teeth. For the rest, he looked as if he + were politely interested but not moved by the excitement of the other. He + slowly rolled a cigarette and replied: “He says it is a scandal that I + live at Fort Anne. Well, I was here before he came, and I shall be here + after he goes—yes. A scandal—tsh! what is that? You know the + word ‘Raca’ of the Book? Well, there shall be more ‘Raca; soon—perhaps. + No, there shall not be fighting as you think, Shon; but—” here + Pierre rose, came over, and spread his fingers lightly on Shon’s breast + “but this thing is between this man and me, Shon McGann, and you shall see + a great matter. Perhaps there will be blood, perhaps not—perhaps + only an end.” And the half-breed looked up at the Irishman from under his + dark brows so covertly and meaningly that Shon saw visions of a trouble as + silent as a plague, as resistless as a great flood. This noiseless + vengeance was not after his own heart. He almost shivered as the delicate + fingers drummed on his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Angels begird me, Pretty Pierre, but it’s little I’d like you for enemy + o’ mine; for I know that you’d wait for y’r foe with death in y’r hand, + and pity far from y’r heart; and y’d smile as you pulled the black-cap on + y’r head, and laugh as you drew the life out of him, God knows how! Arrah, + give me, sez I, the crack of a stick, the bite of a gun, or the clip of a + sabre’s edge, with a shout in y’r mouth the while!” + </p> + <p> + Though Pierre still listened lazily, there was a wicked fire in his eyes. + His words now came from his teeth with cutting precision. “I have a great + thought tonight, Shon McGann. I will tell you when we meet again. But, my + friend, one must not be too rash—no, not too brutal. Even the sabre + should fall at the right time, and then swift and still. Noise is not + battle. Well, ‘au revoir!’ To-morrow I shall tell you many things.” He + caught Shon’s hand quickly, as quickly dropped it, and went out indolently + singing a favourite song,—“Voici le sabre de mon Pere!” + </p> + <p> + It was dark. Pretty Pierre stood still, and thought for a while. At last + he spoke aloud: “Well, I shall do it, now I have him—so!” And he + opened and shut his hand swiftly and firmly. He moved on, avoiding the + more habited parts of the place, and by a roundabout came to a house + standing very close to the bank of the river. He went softly to the door + and listened. Light shone through the curtain of a window. He went to the + window and looked beneath the curtain. Then he came back to the door, + opened it very gently, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. + </p> + <p> + A man seated at a table, eating, rose; a man on whom greed had set its + mark—greed of the flesh, greed of men’s praise, greed of money. His + frame was thick-set, his body was heavily nourished, his eye was shifty + but intelligent; and a close observer would have seen something elusive, + something furtive and sinister, in his face. His lips were greasy with + meat as he stood up, and a fear sprang to his face, so that its fat looked + sickly. But he said hoarsely, and with an attempt at being brave—“How + dare you enter my house with out knocking? What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + The half-breed waved a hand protestingly towards him. “Pardon!” he said. + “Be seated, and finish your meal. Do you know me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I said, do not stop your meal. I have come to speak with you + very quietly about a scandal—a scandal, you understand. This is + Sunday night, a good time to talk of such things.” Pierre seated himself + at the table, opposite the man. + </p> + <p> + But the man replied: “I have nothing to say to you. You are—” + </p> + <p> + The half-breed interrupted: “Yes, I know, a Pagan fattening—” here + he smiled, and looked at his thin hands—“fattening for the shambles + of the damned, as you have said from the pulpit, Reverend Ezra Badgley. + But you will permit me—a sinner as you say—to speak to you + like this while you sit down and eat. I regret to disturb you, but you + will sit, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Pierre’s tone was smooth and low, almost deferential, and his eyes, wide + open now, and hot with some hidden purpose, were fixed compellingly on the + man. The missionary sat, and, having recovered slightly, fumbled with a + knife and fork. A napkin was still beneath his greasy chin. He did not + take it away. + </p> + <p> + Pierre then spoke slowly: “Yes, it is a scandal concerning a sinner—and + a Pagan.... Will you permit me to light a cigarette? Thank you.... You + have said many harsh things about me: well, as you see, I am amiable. I + lived at Fort Anne before you came. They call me Pretty Pierre. Why is my + cheek so? Because I drink no wine; I eat not much. Pardon, pork like that + on your plate—no! no! I do not take green tea as there in your cup; + I do not love women, one or many. Again, pardon, I say.” + </p> + <p> + The other drew his brows together with an attempt at pious frowning and + indignation; but there was a cold, sneering smile now turned upon him, and + it changed the frown to anxiety, and made his lips twitch, and the food he + had eaten grow heavy within him. + </p> + <p> + “I come to the scandal slowly. The woman? She was a young girl travelling + from the far East, to search for a man who had—spoiled her. She was + found by me and another. Ah, you start so!... Will you not listen?... + Well, she died to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Here the missionary gasped, and caught with both hands at the table. + </p> + <p> + “But before she died she gave two things into my hands: a packet of + letters—a man is a fool to write such letters—and a small + bottle of poison—laudanum, old-fashioned but sure. The letters were + from the man at Fort Anne—the man, you hear! The other was for her + death, if he would not take her to his arms again. Women are mad when they + love. And so she came to Fort Anne, but not in time. The scandal is great, + because the man is holy—sit down!” + </p> + <p> + The half-breed said the last two words sharply, but not loudly. They both + sat down slowly again, looking each other in the eyes. Then Pierre drew + from his pocket a small bottle and a packet of letters, and held them + before him. “I have this to say: there are citizens of Fort Anne who stand + for justice more than law; who have no love for the ways of St. Anthony. + There is a Pagan, too, an outlaw, who knows when it is time to give blow + for blow with the holy man. Well, we understand each other, ‘hein?’” + </p> + <p> + The elusive, sinister look in the missionary’s face was etched in strong + lines now. A dogged sullenness hung about his lips. He noticed that one + hand only of Pretty Pierre was occupied with the relics of the dead girl; + the other was free to act suddenly on a hip pocket. “What do you want me + to do”? he said, not whiningly, for beneath the selfish flesh and shallow + outworks there were the elements of a warrior—all pulpy now, but + they were there. + </p> + <p> + “This,” was the reply: “for you to make one more outlaw at Fort Anne by + drinking what is in this bottle—sit down, quick, by God!” He placed + the bottle within reach of the other. “Then you shall have these letters; + and there is the fire. After? Well, you will have a great sleep, the good + people will find you, they will bury you, weeping much, and no one knows + here but me. Refuse that, and there is the other, the Law—ah, the + poor girl was so very young!—and the wild Justice which is sometimes + quicker than Law. Well? well?” + </p> + <p> + The missionary sat as if paralysed, his face all grey, his eyes fixed on + the half-breed. “Are you man or devil”? he groaned at length. + </p> + <p> + With a slight, fantastic gesture Pierre replied: “It was said that a devil + entered into me at birth, but that was mere scandal—‘peut-etre.’ You + shall think as you will.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence. The sullenness about the missionary’s lips became + charged with a contempt more animal than human. The Reverend Ezra Badgley + knew that the man before him was absolute in his determination, and that + the Pagans of Fort Anne would show him little mercy, while his flock would + leave him to his fate. He looked at the bottle. The silence grew, so that + the ticking of the watch in the missionary’s pocket could be heard + plainly, having for its background of sound the continuous swish of the + river. Pretty Pierre’s eyes were never taken off the other, whose gaze, + again, was fixed upon the bottle with a terrible fascination. An hour, two + hours, passed. The fire burned lower. It was midnight; and now the watch + no longer ticked; it had fulfilled its day’s work. The missionary + shuddered slightly at this. He looked up to see the resolute gloom of the + half-breed’s eyes, and that sneering smile, fixed upon him still. Then he + turned once more to the bottle.... His heavy hand moved slowly towards it. + His stubby fingers perspired and showed sickly in the light.... They + closed about the bottle. Then suddenly he raised it, and drained it at a + draught. He sighed once heavily and as if a great inward pain was over. + Rising he took the letters silently pushed towards him, and dropped them + into the fire. He went to the window, raised it, and threw the bottle into + the river. The cork was left: Pierre pointed to it. He took it up with a + strange smile and thrust it into the coals. Then he sat down by the table, + leaning his arms upon it, his eyes staring painfully before him, and the + forgotten napkin still about his neck. Soon the eyes closed, and, with a + moan on his lips, his head dropped forward on his arms.... Pierre rose, + and, looking at the figure soon to be breathless as the baked meats about + it, said: “‘Bien,’ he was not all coward. No.” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned and went out into the night. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHON McGANN’S TOBOGAN RIDE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men; + With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes, + And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen! + + “And it’s back with the ring of the chain and the spur, + And it’s back with the sun on the hill and the moor, + And it’s back is the thought sets my pulses astir! + But I’ll never go back to Farcalladen more.” + </pre> + <p> + Shon McGann was lying on a pile of buffalo robes in a mountain hut,—an + Australian would call it a humpey,—singing thus to himself with his + pipe between his teeth. In the room, besides Shon, were Pretty Pierre, Jo + Gordineer, the Hon. Just Trafford, called by his companions simply “The + Honourable,” and Prince Levis, the owner of the establishment. Not that + Monsieur Levis, the French Canadian, was really a Prince. The name was + given to him with a humorous cynicism peculiar to the Rockies. We have + little to do with Prince Levis here; but since he may appear elsewhere, + this explanation is made. + </p> + <p> + Jo Gordineer had been telling The Honourable about the ghost of Guidon + Mountain, and Pretty Pierre was collaborating with their host in the + preparation of what, in the presence of the Law—that is of the + North-West Mounted Police—was called ginger-tea, in consideration of + the prohibition statute. + </p> + <p> + Shon McGann had been left to himself—an unusual thing; for everyone + had a shot at Shon when opportunity occurred; and never a bull’s-eye could + they make on him. His wit was like the shield of a certain personage of + mythology. + </p> + <p> + He had wandered on from verse to verse of the song with one eye on the + collaborators and an ear open to The Honourable’s polite exclamations of + wonder. Jo had, however, come to the end of his weird tale—for weird + it certainly was, told at the foot of Guidon Mountain itself, and in a + region of vast solitudes—the pair of chemists were approaching “the + supreme union of unctuous elements,” as The Honourable put it, and in the + silence that fell for a moment there crept the words of the singer: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + And it’s swift as an arrow and straight as a spear—” + </pre> + <p> + Jo Gordineer interrupted. “Say, Shon, when’ll you be through that tobogan + ride of yours? Aint there any end to it?” + </p> + <p> + But Shon was looking with both eyes now at the collaborators, and he sang + softly on: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And it’s keen as the frost when the summer-time dies, + That we rode to the glen and with never a fear.” + </pre> + <p> + Then he added: “The end’s cut off, Joey, me boy; but what’s a tobogan + ride, annyway?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to that, Pierre. I’ll be eternally shivered if he knows what a + tobogan ride is!” + </p> + <p> + “Hot shivers it’ll be for you, Joey, me boy, and no quinine over the bar + aither,” said Shon. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him what a tobogan ride is, Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + And Pretty Pierre said: “Eh, well, I will tell you. It is like-no, you + have the word precise, Joseph. Eh? What?” + </p> + <p> + Pierre then added something in French. Shon did not understand it, but he + saw The Honourable smile, so with a gentle kind of contempt he went on + singing: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And it’s hey for the hedge, and it’s hey for the wall! + And it’s over the stream with an echoing cry; + And there’s three fled for ever from old Donegal, + And there’s two that have shown how bold Irishmen die.” + </pre> + <p> + The Honourable then said, “What is that all about, Shon? I never heard the + song before.” + </p> + <p> + “No more you did. And I wish I could see the lad that wrote that song, + livin’ or dead. If one of ye’s will tell me about your tobogan rides, I’ll + unfold about Farcalladen Rise.” + </p> + <p> + Prince Levis passed the liquor. Pretty Pierre, seated on a candle-box, + with a glass in his delicate fingers, said: “Eh, well, the Honourable has + much language. He can speak, precise—this would be better with a + little lemon, just a little,—the Honourable, he, perhaps, will tell. + Eh?” + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre was showing his white teeth. At this stage in his career, he + did not love the Honourable. The Honourable understood that, but he made + clear to Shon’s mind what toboganing is. + </p> + <p> + And Shon, on his part, with fresh and hearty voice, touched here and there + by a plaintive modulation, told about that ride on Farcalladen Rise; a + tale of broken laws, and fight and fighting, and death and exile; and + never a word of hatred in it all. + </p> + <p> + “And the writer of the song, who was he”? asked the Honourable. + </p> + <p> + “A gentleman after God’s own heart. Heaven rest his soul, if he’s dead, + which I’m thinkin’ is so, and give him the luck of the world if he’s + livin’, say I. But it’s little I know what’s come to him. In the heart of + Australia I saw him last; and mates we were together after gold. And + little gold did we get but what was in the heart of him. And we parted one + day, I carryin’ the song that he wrote for me of Farcalladen Rise, and the + memory of him; and him givin’ me the word,‘I’ll not forget you, Shon, me + boy, whatever comes; remember that. And a short pull of the Three-Star + together for the partin’ salute,’ says he. And the Three-Star in one sup + each we took, as solemn as the Mass, and he went away towards Cloncurry + and I to the coast; and that’s the last that I saw of him, now three years + gone. And here I am, and I wish I was with him wherever he is.” + </p> + <p> + “What was his name”? said the Honourable. + </p> + <p> + “Lawless.” + </p> + <p> + The fingers of the Honourable trembled on his cigar. “Very interesting, + Shon,” he said, as he rose, puffing hard till his face was in a cloud of + smoke. “You had many adventures together, I suppose,” he continued. + </p> + <p> + “Adventures we had and sufferin’ bewhiles, and fun, too, to the neck and + flowin’ over.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll spin us a long yarn about them another night, Shon”? said the + Honourable. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll do it now—a yarn as long as the lies of the Government; and + proud of the chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to-night, Shon” (there was a kind of huskiness in the voice of the + Honourable); “it’s time to turn in. We’ve a long tramp over the glacier + to-morrow, and we must start at sunrise.” + </p> + <p> + The Honourable was in command of the party, though Jo Gordineer was the + guide, and all were, for the moment, miners, making for the little Goshen + Field over in Pipi Valley.—At least Pretty Pierre said he was a + miner. + </p> + <p> + No one thought of disputing the authority of the Honourable, and they all + rose. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes there was silence in the hut, save for the oracular + breathing of Prince Levis and the sparks from the fire. But the Honourable + did not sleep well; he lay and watched the fire through most of the night. + </p> + <p> + The day was clear, glowing, decisive. Not a cloud in the curve of azure, + not a shiver of wind down the canon, not a frown in Nature, if we except + the lowering shadows from the shoulders of the giants of the range. + Crowning the shadows was a splendid helmet of light, rich with the dyes of + the morning; the pines were touched with a brilliant if austere warmth. + The pride of lofty lineage and severe isolation was regnant over all. And + up through the splendour, and the shadows, and the loneliness, and the + austere warmth, must our travellers go. Must go? Scarcely that, but the + Honourable had made up his mind to cross the glacier and none sought to + dissuade him from his choice; the more so, because there was something of + danger in the business. Pretty Pierre had merely shrugged his shoulders at + the suggestion, and had said: + </p> + <p> + “‘Nom de Dieu,’ the higher we go the faster we live, that is something.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes we live ourselves to death too quickly. In my schooldays I + watched a mouse in a jar of oxygen do that;” said the Honourable. + </p> + <p> + “That is the best way to die,” remarked the halfbreed—“much.” + </p> + <p> + Jo Gordineer had been over the path before. He was confident of the way, + and proud of his office of guide. + </p> + <p> + “Climb Mont Blanc, if you will,” said the Honourable, “but leave me these + white bastions of the Selkirks.” + </p> + <p> + Even so. They have not seen the snowy hills of God who have yet to look + upon the Rocky Mountains, absolute, stupendous, sublimely grave. + </p> + <p> + Jo Gordineer and Pretty Pierre strode on together. They being well away + from the other two, the Honourable turned and said to Shon: “What was the + name of the man who wrote that song of yours, again, Shon?” + </p> + <p> + “Lawless.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but his first name?” + </p> + <p> + “Duke—Duke Lawless.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, in which the other seemed to be intently studying the + glacier above them. Then he said: “What was he like?—in appearance, + I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “A trifle more than your six feet, about your colour of hair and eyes, and + with a trick of smilin’ that would melt the heart of an exciseman, and + O’Connell’s own at a joke, barrin’ a time or two that he got hold of a + pile of papers from the ould country. By the grave of St. Shon! thin he + was as dry of fun as a piece of blotting paper. And he said at last, + before he was aisy and free again, ‘Shon,’ says he, ‘it’s better to burn + your ships behind ye, isn’t it?’ + </p> + <p> + “And I, havin’ thought of a glen in ould Ireland that I’ll never see + again, nor any that’s in it, said: ‘Not, only burn them to the water’s + edge, Duke Lawless, but swear to your own soul that they never lived but + in the dreams of the night.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You’re right there, Shon,’ says he, and after that no luck was bad + enough to cloud the gay heart of him, and bad enough it was sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “And why do you fear that he is not alive?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I met an old mate of mine one day on the Frazer, and he said that + Lawless had never come to Cloncurry; and a hard, hard road it was to + travel.” + </p> + <p> + Jo Gordineer was calling to them, and there the conversation ended. In a + few minutes the four stood on the edge of the glacier. Each man had a long + hickory stick which served as alpenstock, a bag hung at his side, and tied + to his back was his gold-pan, the hollow side in, of course. Shon’s was + tied a little lower down than the others. + </p> + <p> + They passed up this solid river of ice, this giant power at endless strife + with the high hills, up towards its head. The Honourable was the first to + reach the point of vantage, and to look down upon the vast and wandering + fissures, the frigid bulwarks, the great fortresses of ice, the ceaseless + snows, the aisles of this mountain sanctuary through which Nature’s + splendid anthems rolled. Shon was a short distance below, with his hand + over his eyes, sweeping the semi-circle of glory. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a sharp cry from Pierre: “Mon Dieu! Look!” + </p> + <p> + Shon McGann had fallen on a smooth pavement of ice. The gold-pan was + beneath him, and down the glacier he was whirled-whirled, for Shon had + thrust his heels in the snow and ice, and the gold-pan performed a series + of circles as it sped down the incline. His fingers clutched the ice and + snow, but they only left a red mark of blood behind. Must he go the whole + course of that frozen slide, plump into the wild depths below? + </p> + <p> + “‘Mon Dieu!—mon Dieu!’” said Pretty Pierre, piteously. The face of + the Honourable was set and tense. + </p> + <p> + Jo Gordineer’s hand clutched his throat as if he choked. Still Shon sped. + It was a matter of seconds only. The tragedy crowded to the awful end. + </p> + <p> + But, no. + </p> + <p> + There was a tilt in the glacier, and the gold-pan, suddenly swirling, + again swung to the outer edge, and shot over. + </p> + <p> + As if hurled from a catapult, the Irishman was ejected from the white + monster’s back. He fell on a wide shelf of ice, covered with light snow, + through which he was tunnelled, and dropped on another ledge below, near + the path by which he and his companions had ascended. “Shied from the + finish, by God!” said Jo Gordineer. “‘Le pauvre Shon!’” added Pretty + Pierre. + </p> + <p> + The Honourable was making his way down, his brain haunted by the words, + “He’ll never go back to Farcalladen more.” + </p> + <p> + But Jo was right. + </p> + <p> + For Shon McGann was alive. He lay breathless, helpless, for a moment; then + he sat up and scanned his lacerated fingers: he looked up the path by + which he had come; he looked down the path he seemed destined to go; he + started to scratch his head, but paused in the act, by reason of his + fingers. + </p> + <p> + Then he said: “It’s my mother wouldn’t know me from a can of cold meat if + I hadn’t stopped at this station; but wurrawurra, what a car it was to + come in!” He examined his tattered clothes and bare elbows; then he + unbuckled the gold-pan, and no easy task was it with his ragged fingers. + “‘Twas not for deep minin’ I brought ye,” he said to the pan, “nor for + scrapin’ the clothes from me back.” + </p> + <p> + Just then the Honourable came up. “Shon, my man... alive, thank God! How + is it with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m hardly worth the lookin’ at. I wouldn’t turn my back to ye for a + ransom.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s enough that you’re here at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ‘voila!’ this Irishman!” said Pretty Pierre, as his light fingers + touched Shon’s bruised arm gently. This from Pretty Pierre! + </p> + <p> + There was that in the voice which went to Shon’s heart. Who could have + guessed that this outlaw of the North would ever show a sign of sympathy + or friendship for anybody? But it goes to prove that you can never be + exact in your estimate of character. Jo Gordineer only said jestingly: + “Say, now, what are you doing, Shon, bringing us down here, when we might + be well into the Valley by this time?” + </p> + <p> + “That in your face and the hair aff your head,” said Shon; “it’s little + you know a tobogan ride when you see one. I’ll take my share of the grog, + by the same token.” + </p> + <p> + The Honourable uncorked his flask. Shon threw back his head with a laugh. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For it’s rest when the gallop is over, me men! + And it’s here’s to the lads that have ridden their last; + And it’s here’s—” + </pre> + <p> + But Shon had fainted with the flask in his hand and this snatch of a song + on his lips. + </p> + <p> + They reached shelter that night. Had it not been for the accident, they + would have got to their destination in the Valley; but here they were + twelve miles from it. Whether this was fortunate or unfortunate may be + seen later. Comfortably bestowed in this mountain tavern, after they had + toasted and eaten their venison and lit their pipes, they drew about the + fire. + </p> + <p> + Besides the four, there was a figure that lay sleeping in a corner on a + pile of pine branches, wrapped in a bearskin robe. Whoever it was slept + soundly. + </p> + <p> + “And what was it like—the gold-pan flyer—the tobogan ride, + Shon?” remarked Jo Gordineer. + </p> + <p> + “What was it like?—what was it like”? replied Shon. “Sure, I + couldn’t see what it was like for the stars that were hittin’ me in the + eyes. There wasn’t any world at all. I was ridin’ on a streak of + lightnin’, and nivir a rubber for the wheels; and my fingers makin’ + stripes of blood on the snow; and now the stars that were hittin’ me were + white, and thin they were red, and sometimes blue—” + </p> + <p> + “The Stars and Stripes,” inconsiderately remarked Jo Gordineer. + </p> + <p> + “And there wasn’t any beginning to things, nor any end of them; and whin I + struck the snow and cut down the core of it like a cat through a glass, I + was willin’ to say with the Prophet of Ireland—” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to pass the liniment, Pretty Pierre?” It was Jo Gordineer + said that. + </p> + <p> + What the Prophet of Israel did say—Israel and Ireland were identical + to Shon—was never told. + </p> + <p> + Shon’s bubbling sarcasm was full-stopped by the beneficent savour that, + rising now from the hands of the four, silenced all irrelevant speech. It + was a function of importance. It was not simply necessary to say How! or + Here’s reformation! or I look towards you! As if by a common instinct, the + Honourable, Jo Gordineer, and Pretty Pierre, turned towards Shon and + lifted their glasses. Jo Gordineer was going to say: “Here’s a safe foot + in the stirrups to you,” but he changed his mind and drank in silence. + </p> + <p> + Shon’s eye had been blazing with fun, but it took on, all at once, a misty + twinkle. None of them had quite bargained for this. The feeling had come + like a wave of soft lightning, and had passed through them. Did it come + from the Irishman himself? Was it his own nature acting through those who + called him “partner”? + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre got up and kicked savagely at the wood in the big fireplace. + He ostentatiously and needlessly put another log of Norfolk-pine upon the + fire. + </p> + <p> + The Honourable gaily suggested a song. + </p> + <p> + “Sing us ‘Avec les Braves Sauvages,’ Pierre,” said Jo Gordineer. + </p> + <p> + But Pierre waved his fingers towards Shon: “Shon, his song—he did + not finish—on the glacier. It is good we hear all. ‘Hein?’” + </p> + <p> + And so Shon sang: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise.” + </pre> + <p> + The sleeper on the pine branches stirred nervously, as if the song were + coming through a dream to him. At the third verse he started up, and an + eager, sun-burned face peered from the half-darkness at the singer. The + Honourable was sitting in the shadow, with his back to the new actor in + the scene. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For it’s rest when the gallop is over, my men I + And it’s here’s to the lads that have ridden their last! + And it’s here’s—” + </pre> + <p> + Shon paused. One of those strange lapses of memory came to him which come + at times to most of us concerning familiar things. He could get no further + than he did on the mountain side. He passed his hand over his forehead, + stupidly:—“Saints forgive me; but it’s gone from me, and sorra the + one can I get it; me that had it by heart, and the lad that wrote it far + away. Death in the world, but I’ll try it again! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For it’s rest when the gallop is over, my men! + And it’s here’s to the lads that have ridden their last! + And it’s here’s—” + </pre> + <p> + Again he paused. + </p> + <p> + But from the half-darkness there came a voice, a clear baritone: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And here’s to the lasses we leave in the glen, + With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past.” + </pre> + <p> + At the last words the figure strode down into the firelight. + </p> + <p> + “Shon, old friend, don’t you know me?” + </p> + <p> + Shon had started to his feet at the first note of the voice, and stood as + if spellbound. + </p> + <p> + There was no shaking of hands. Both men held each other hard by the + shoulders, and stood so for a moment looking steadily eye to eye. + </p> + <p> + Then Shon said: “Duke Lawless, there’s parallels of latitude and parallels + of longitude, but who knows the tomb of ould Brian Borhoime?” + </p> + <p> + Which was his way of saying, “How come you here”? Duke Lawless turned to + the others before he replied. His eyes fell on the Honourable. With a + start and a step backward, and with a peculiar angry dryness in his voice, + he said: + </p> + <p> + “Just Trafford!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the Honourable, smiling, “I have found you.” + </p> + <p> + “Found me! And why have you sought me? Me, Duke Lawless? I should have + thought—” + </p> + <p> + The Honourable interrupted: “To tell you that you are Sir Duke Lawless.” + </p> + <p> + “That? You sought me to tell me that?” + </p> + <p> + “I did.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure? And for naught else?” + </p> + <p> + “As I live, Duke.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes fixed on the Honourable were searching. Sir Duke hesitated, then + held out his hand. In a swift but cordial silence it was taken. Nothing + more could be said then. It is only in plays where gentlemen freely + discuss family affairs before a curious public. Pretty Pierre was busy + with a decoction. Jo Gordineer was his associate. Shon had drawn back, and + was apparently examining the indentations on his gold-pan. + </p> + <p> + “Shon, old fellow, come here,” said Sir Duke Lawless. + </p> + <p> + But Shon had received a shock. “It’s little I knew Sir Duke Lawless—” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s little you needed to know then, or need to know now, Shon, my + friend. I’m Duke Lawless to you here and henceforth, as ever I was then, + on the wallaby track.” + </p> + <p> + And Shon believed him. The glasses were ready. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give the toast,” said the Honourable with a gentle gravity. “To Shon + McGann and his Tobogan Ride!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll drink to the first half of it with all my heart,” said Sir Duke. + “It’s all I know about.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen to that divorce,” rejoined Shon. + </p> + <p> + “But were it not for the Tobogan Ride we shouldn’t have stopped here,” + said the Honourable; “and where would this meeting have been?” + </p> + <p> + “That alters the case,” Sir Duke remarked. “I take back the ‘Amen,’” said + Shon. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Whatever claims Shon had upon the companionship of Sir Duke Lawless, he + knew there were other claims that were more pressing. After the toast was + finished, with an emphasised assumption of weariness, and a hint of a long + yarn on the morrow, he picked up his blanket and started for the room + where all were to sleep. The real reason of this early departure was clear + to Pretty Pierre at once, and in due time it dawned upon Jo Gordineer. + </p> + <p> + The two Englishmen, left alone, sat for a few moments silent and smoking + hard. Then the Honourable rose, got his knapsack, and took out a small + number of papers, which he handed to Sir Duke, saying, “By slow postal + service to Sir Duke Lawless. Residence, somewhere on one of five + continents.” + </p> + <p> + An envelope bearing a woman’s writing was the first thing that met Sir + Duke’s eye. He stared, took it out, turned it over, looked curiously at + the Honourable for a moment, and then began to break the seal. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, Duke. Do not read that. We have something to say to each other + first.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke laid the letter down. “You have some explanation to make,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “It was so long ago; mightn’t it be better to go over the story again?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is best you should tell it. I am on my defence, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke leaned back, and a frown gathered on his forehead. Strikingly out + of place on his fresh face it seemed. Looking quickly from the fire to the + face of the Honourable and back again earnestly, as if the full force of + what was required came to him, he said: “We shall get the perspective + better if we put the tale in the third person. Duke Lawless was the heir + to the title and estates of Trafford Court. Next in succession to him was + Just Trafford, his cousin. Lawless had an income sufficient for a man of + moderate tastes. Trafford had not quite that, but he had his profession of + the law. At college they had been fast friends, but afterwards had drifted + apart, through no cause save difference of pursuits and circumstances. + Friends they still were and likely to be so always. One summer, when on a + visit to his uncle, Admiral Sir Clavel Lawless, at Trafford Court, where a + party of people had been invited for a month, Duke Lawless fell in love + with Miss Emily Dorset. She did him the honour to prefer him to any other + man—at least, he thought so. Her income, however, was limited like + his own. The engagement was not announced, for Lawless wished to make a + home before he took a wife. He inclined to ranching in Canada, or a + planter’s life in Queensland. The eight or ten thousand pounds necessary + was not, however, easy to get for the start, and he hadn’t the least + notion of discounting the future, by asking the admiral’s help. Besides, + he knew his uncle did not wish him to marry unless he married a woman plus + a fortune. While things were in this uncertain state, Just Trafford + arrived on a visit to Trafford Court. The meeting of the old friends was + cordial. Immediately on Trafford’s arrival, however, the current of events + changed. Things occurred which brought disaster. It was noticeable that + Miss Emily Dorset began to see a deal more of Admiral Lawless and Just + Trafford, and a deal less of the younger Lawless. One day Duke Lawless + came back to the house unexpectedly, his horse having knocked up on the + road. On entering the library he saw what turned the course of his life.” + Sir Duke here paused, sighed, shook the ashes out of his pipe with a grave + and expressive anxiety which did not properly belong to the action, and + remained for a moment, both arms on his knees, silent, and looking at the + fire. Then he continued: + </p> + <p> + “Just Trafford sat beside Emily Dorset in an attitude of—say, + affectionate consideration. She had been weeping, and her whole manner + suggested very touching confidences. They both rose on the entrance of + Lawless; but neither tried to say a word. What could they say? Lawless + apologised, took a book from the table which he had not come for, and + left.” + </p> + <p> + Again Sir Duke paused. + </p> + <p> + “The book was an illustrated Much Ado About Nothing,” said the Honourable. + </p> + <p> + “A few hours after, Lawless had an interview with Emily Dorset. He + demanded, with a good deal of feeling, perhaps,—for he was romantic + enough to love the girl,—an explanation. He would have asked it of + Trafford first if he had seen him. She said Lawless should trust her; that + she had no explanation at that moment to give. If he waited—but + Lawless asked her if she cared for him at all, if she wished or intended + to marry him? She replied lightly, ‘Perhaps, when you become Sir Duke + Lawless.’ Then Lawless accused her of heartlessness, and of encouraging + both his uncle and Just Trafford. She amusingly said, ‘Perhaps she had, + but it really didn’t matter, did it?’ For reply, Lawless said her interest + in the whole family seemed active and impartial. He bade her not vex + herself at all about him, and not to wait until he became Sir Duke + Lawless, but to give preference to seniority and begin with the title at + once; which he has reason since to believe that she did. What he said to + her he has been sorry for, not because he thinks it was undeserved, but + because he has never been able since to rouse himself to anger on the + subject, nor to hate the girl and Just Trafford as he ought. Of the dead + he is silent altogether. He never sought an explanation from Just + Trafford, for he left that night for London, and in two days was on his + way to Australia. The day he left, however, he received a note from his + banker saying that L8000 had been placed to his credit by Admiral Lawless. + Feeling the indignity of what he believed was the cause of the gift, + Lawless neither acknowledged it nor used it, not any penny of it. Five + years have gone since then, and Lawless has wandered over two continents, + a self-created exile. He has learned much that he didn’t learn at Oxford; + and not the least of all, that the world is not so bad as is claimed for + it, that it isn’t worth while hating and cherishing hate, that evil is + half-accidental, half-natural, and that hard work in the face of nature is + the thing to pull a man together and strengthen him for his place in the + universe. Having burned his ships behind him, that is the way Lawless + feels. And the story is told.” + </p> + <p> + Just Trafford sat looking musingly but imperturbably at Sir Duke for a + minute; then he said: + </p> + <p> + “That is your interpretation of the story, but not the story. Let us turn + the medal over now. And, first, let Trafford say that he has the + permission of Emily Dorset—” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke interrupted: “Of her who was Emily Dorset.” + </p> + <p> + “Of Miss Emily Dorset, to tell what she did not tell that day five years + ago. After this other reading of the tale has been rendered, her letter + and those documents are there for fuller testimony. Just Trafford’s part + in the drama begins, of course, with the library scene. Now Duke Lawless + had never known Trafford’s half-brother, Hall Vincent. Hall was born in + India, and had lived there most of his life. He was in the Indian Police, + and had married a clever, beautiful, but impossible kind of girl, against + the wishes of her parents. The marriage was not a very happy one. This was + partly owing to the quick Lawless and Trafford blood, partly to the wife’s + wilfulness. Hall thought that things might go better if he came to England + to live. On their way from Madras to Colombo he had some words with his + wife one day about the way she arranged her hair, but nothing serious. + This was shortly after tiffin. That evening they entered the harbour at + Colombo; and Hall going to his cabin to seek his wife, could not find her; + but in her stead was her hair, arranged carefully in flowing waves on the + pillow, where through the voyage her head had lain. That she had cut it + off and laid it there was plain; but she could not be found, nor was she + ever found. The large porthole was open; this was the only clue. But we + need not go further into that. Hall Vincent came home to England. He told + his brother the story as it has been told to you, and then left for South + America, a broken-spirited man. The wife’s family came on to England also. + They did not meet Hall Vincent; but one day Just Trafford met at a country + seat in Devon, for the first time, the wife’s sister. She had not known of + the relationship between Hall Vincent and the Traffords; and on a + memorable afternoon he told her the full story of the married life and the + final disaster, as Hall had told it to him.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke sprang to his feet. “You mean, Just, that—” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that Emily Dorset was the sister of Hall Vincent’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke’s brown fingers clasped and unclasped nervously. He was about to + speak, but the Honourable said: “That is only half the story—wait. + </p> + <p> + “Emily Dorset would have told Lawless all in due time, but women don’t + like to be bullied ever so little, and that, and the unhappiness of the + thing, kept her silent in her short interview with Lawless. She could not + have guessed that Lawless would go as he did. Now, the secret of her + diplomacy with the uncle—diplomacy is the best word to use—was + Duke Lawless’s advancement. She knew how he had set his heart on the + ranching or planting life. She would have married him without a penny, but + she felt his pride in that particular, and respected it. So, like a clever + girl, she determined to make the old chap give Lawless a cheque on his + possible future. Perhaps, as things progressed, the same old chap got an + absurd notion in his head about marrying her to Just Trafford, but that + was meanwhile all the better for Lawless. The very day that Emily Dorset + and Just Trafford succeeded in melting Admiral Lawless’s heart to the tune + of eight thousand, was the day that Duke Lawless doubted his friend and + challenged the loyalty of the girl he loved.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke’s eyes filled. “Great Heaven! Just—” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet for a little. You see she had taken Trafford into her scheme + against his will, for he was never good at mysteries and theatricals, and + he saw the danger. But the cause was a good one, and he joined the sweet + conspiracy, with what result these five years bear witness. Admiral + Lawless has been dead a year and a half, his wife a year. For he married + out of anger with Duke Lawless; but he did not marry Emily Dorset, nor did + he beget a child.” + </p> + <p> + “In Australia I saw a paragraph speaking of a visit made by him and Lady + Lawless to a hospital, and I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “You thought he had married Emily Dorset and—well, you had better + read that letter now.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke’s face was flushing with remorse and pain. He drew his hand + quickly across his eyes. “And you’ve given up London, your profession, + everything, just to hunt for me, to tell me this—you who would have + profited by my eternal absence! What a beast and ass I’ve been!” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all; only a bit poetical and hasty, which is not unnatural in the + Lawless blood. I should have been wild myself, maybe, if I had been in + your position; only I shouldn’t have left England, and I should have taken + the papers regularly and have asked the other fellow to explain. The other + fellow didn’t like the little conspiracy. Women, however, seem to find + that kind of thing a moral necessity. By the way, I wish when you go back + you’d send me out my hunting traps. I’ve made up my mind to—oh, + quite so—read the letter—I forgot!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke opened the letter and read it, putting it away from him now and + then as if it hurt him, and taking it up a moment after to continue the + reading. The Honourable watched him. + </p> + <p> + At last Sir Duke rose. “Just—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think she would have me now?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know. Your outfit is not so beautiful as it used to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t chaff me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be so funereal, then.” + </p> + <p> + Under the Honourable’s matter of fact air Sir Duke’s face began to clear. + “Tell me, do you think she still cares for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know. She’s rich now—got the grandmother’s stocking. + Then there’s Pedley, of the Scots Guards; he has been doing loyal service + for a couple of years. What does the letter say?” + </p> + <p> + “It only tells the truth, as you have told it to me, but from her + standpoint; not a word that says anything but beautiful reproach and + general kindness. That is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. You see it was all four years ago, and Pedley—” + </p> + <p> + But the Honourable paused. He had punished his friend enough. He stepped + forward and laid his hand on Sir Duke’s shoulder. “Duke, you want to pick + up the threads where they were dropped. You dropped them. Ask me nothing + about the ends that Emily Dorset held. I conspire no more. But go you and + learn your fate. If one remembers, why should the other forget?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke’s light heart and eager faith came back with a rush. “I’ll start + for England at once. I’ll know the worst or the best of it before three + months are out.” The Honourable’s slow placidity turned. + </p> + <p> + “Three months.—Yes, you may do it in that time. Better go from + Victoria to San Francisco and then overland. You’ll not forget about my + hunting traps, and—oh, certainly, Gordineer; come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Say,” said Gordineer. “I don’t want to disturb the meeting, but Shon’s in + chancery somehow; breathing like a white pine, and thrashing about! He’s + red-hot with fever.” + </p> + <p> + Before he had time to say more, Sir Duke seized the candle and entered the + room. Shon was moving uneasily and suppressing the groans that shook him. + “Shon, old friend, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the pain here, Lawless,” laying his hand on his chest. + </p> + <p> + After a moment Sir Duke said, “Pneumonia!” + </p> + <p> + From that instant thoughts of himself were sunk in the care and thought of + the man who in the heart of Queensland had been mate and friend and + brother to him. He did not start for England the next day, nor for many a + day. + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre and Jo Gordineer and his party carried Sir Duke’s letters + over into the Pipi Valley, from where they could be sent on to the coast. + Pierre came back in a few days to see how Shon was, and expressed his + determination of staying to help Sir Duke, if need be. + </p> + <p> + Shon hovered between life and death. It was not alone the pneumonia that + racked his system so; there was also the shock he had received in his + flight down the glacier. In his delirium he seemed to be always with + Lawless: + </p> + <p> + “‘For it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise’—It’s share and + share even, Lawless, and ye’ll ate the rest of it, or I’ll lave ye—Did + ye say ye’d found water—Lawless—water!—Sure you’re + drinkin’ none yourself—I’ll sing it again for you then—‘And + it’s back with the ring of the chain and the spur’—‘But burn all + your ships behind you’—‘I’ll never go back to Farcalladen more!’” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke’s fingers had a trick of kindness, a suggestion of comfort, a + sense of healing, that made his simple remedies do more than natural duty. + He was doctor, nurse,—sleepless nurse,—and careful apothecary. + And when at last the danger was past and he could relax watching, he would + not go, and he did not go, till they could all travel to the Pipi Valley. + </p> + <p> + In the blue shadows of the firs they stand as we take our leave of one of + them. The Honourable and Sir Duke have had their last words, and Sir Duke + has said he will remember about the hunting traps. They understand each + other. There is sunshine in the face of all—a kind of Indian summer + sunshine, infused with the sadness of a coming winter; and theirs is the + winter of parting. Yet it is all done quietly. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll meet again, Shon,” said Sir Duke, “and you’ll remember your promise + to write to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll keep my promise, and I hope the news that’ll please you best is what + you’ll send us first from England. And if you should go to ould Donegal—I’ve + no words for me thoughts at all!” + </p> + <p> + “I know them. Don’t try to say them. We’ve not had the luck together, all + kinds and all weathers, for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke’s eyes smiled a good-bye into the smiling eyes of Shon. They were + much alike, these two, whose stations were so far apart. Yet somewhere, in + generations gone, their ancestors may have toiled, feasted, or governed, + in the same social hemisphere; and here in the mountains life was levelled + to one degree again. + </p> + <p> + Sir Duke looked round. The pines were crowding up elate and warm towards + the peaks of the white silence. The river was brawling over a broken + pathway of boulders at their feet; round the edge of a mighty mountain + crept a mule train; a far-off glacier glistened harshly in the lucid + morning, yet not harshly either, but with the rugged form of a vast + antiquity, from which these scarred and grimly austere hills had grown. + Here Nature was filled with a sense of triumphant mastery—the + mastery of ageless experience. And down the great piles there blew a wind + of stirring life, of the composure of great strength, and touched the + four, and the man that mounted now was turned to go. A quick good-bye from + him to all; a God-speed-you from the Honourable; a wave of the hand + between the rider and Shon, and Sir Duke Lawless was gone. + </p> + <p> + “You had better cook the last of that bear this morning, Pierre,” said the + Honourable. And their life went on. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ........................ +</pre> + <p> + It was eight months after that, sitting in their hut after a day’s + successful mining, the Honourable handed Shon a newspaper to read. A + paragraph was marked. It concerned the marriage of Miss Emily Dorset and + Sir Duke Lawless. + </p> + <p> + And while Shon read, the Honourable called into the tent: “Have you any + lemons for the whisky, Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + A satisfactory reply being returned, the Honourable proceeded: “We’ll + begin with the bottle of Pommery, which I’ve been saving months for this.” + </p> + <p> + The royal-flush toast of the evening belonged to Shon. + </p> + <p> + “God bless him! To the day when we see him again!” + </p> + <p> + And all of them saw that day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PERE CHAMPAGNE + </h2> + <p> + “Is it that we stand at the top of the hill and the end of the travel has + come, Pierre? Why don’t you spake?” + </p> + <p> + “We stand at the top of the hill, and it is the end.” + </p> + <p> + “And Lonely Valley is at our feet and Whiteface Mountain beyond?” + </p> + <p> + “One at our feet, and the other beyond, Shon McGann.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the sight of my eyes I wish I had in the light of the sun this + mornin’. Tell me, what is’t you see?” + </p> + <p> + “I see the trees on the foot-hills, and all the branches shine with frost. + There is a path—so wide!—between two groves of pines. On + Whiteface Mountain lies a glacier-field... and all is still.”... + </p> + <p> + “The voice of you is far-away-like, Pierre—it shivers as a hawk + cries. It’s the wind, the wind, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s not a breath of life from hill or valley.” + </p> + <p> + “But I feel it in my face.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not the breath of life you feel.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you not hear voices coming athwart the wind?... Can you see the + people at the mines?” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you what I see.” + </p> + <p> + “You told me of the pine-trees, and the glacier, and the snow—” + </p> + <p> + “And that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “But in the Valley, in the Valley, where all the miners are?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot see them.” + </p> + <p> + “For love of heaven, don’t tell me that the dark is fallin’ on your eyes + too.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Shon, I am not growing blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you not tell me what gives the ache to your words?” + </p> + <p> + “I see in the Valley—snow... snow.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a laugh you have at me in your cheek, whin I’d give years of my + ill-spent life to watch the chimney smoke come curlin’ up slow through the + sharp air in the Valley there below.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no chimney and there is no smoke in all the Valley.” + </p> + <p> + “Before God, if you’re a man, you’ll put your hand on my arm and tell me + what trouble quakes your speech.” + </p> + <p> + “Shon McGann, it is for you to make the sign of the Cross... there, while + I put my hand on your shoulder—so!” + </p> + <p> + “Your hand is heavy, Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + “This is the sight of the eyes that see. In the Valley there is snow; in + the snow of all that was, there is one poppet-head of the mine that was + called St. Gabriel... upon the poppet-head there is the figure of a + woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “She does not move—” + </p> + <p> + “She will never move?” + </p> + <p> + “She will never move.” + </p> + <p> + “The breath o’ my body hurts me.... There is death in the Valley, Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “There is death.” + </p> + <p> + “It was an avalanche—that path between the pines?” + </p> + <p> + “And a great storm after.” + </p> + <p> + “Blessed be God that I cannot behold that thing this day!... And the + woman, Pierre, the woman aloft?” + </p> + <p> + “She went to watch for someone coming, and as she watched, the avalanche + came—and she moves not.” + </p> + <p> + “Do we know that woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Who can tell?” + </p> + <p> + “What was it you whispered soft to yourself, then, Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “I whispered no word.” + </p> + <p> + “There, don’t you hear it, soft and sighin’?... Nathalie!” + </p> + <p> + “‘Mon Dieu!’ It is not of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s facin’ the poppet-head where she stands I’d be.” + </p> + <p> + “Your face is turned towards her.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is the sun?” + </p> + <p> + “The sun stands still above her head.” + </p> + <p> + “With the bitter over, and the avil past, come rest for her and all that + lie there.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, ‘bien,’ the game is done!” + </p> + <p> + “If we stay here we shall die also.” + </p> + <p> + “If we go we die, perhaps.”... + </p> + <p> + “Don’t spake it. We will go, and we will return when the breath of summer + comes from the South.” + </p> + <p> + “It shall be so.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Did you not hear—?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not hear. I only see an eagle, and it flies towards Whiteface + Mountain.” + </p> + <p> + And Shon McGann and Pretty Pierre turned back from the end of their quest—from + a mighty grave behind to a lonely waste before; and though one was + snow-blind, and the other knew that on him fell the chiefer weight of a + great misfortune, for he must provide food and fire and be as a mother to + his comrade—they had courage; without which, men are as the standing + straw in an unreaped field in winter; but having become like the hooded + pine, that keepeth green in frost, and hath the bounding blood in all its + icy branches. + </p> + <p> + And whence they came and wherefore was as thus: + </p> + <p> + A French Canadian once lived in Lonely Valley. One day great fortune came + to him, because it was given him to discover the mine St. Gabriel. And he + said to the woman who loved him, “I will go with mules and much gold, that + I have hewn and washed and gathered, to a village in the East where my + father and my mother are. They are poor, but I will make them rich; and + then I will return to Lonely Valley, and a priest shall come with me, and + we will dwell here at Whiteface Mountain, where men are men and not + children.” And the woman blessed him, and prayed for him, and let him go. + </p> + <p> + He travelled far through passes of the mountains, and came at last where + new cities lay upon the plains, and where men were full of evil and of + lust of gold. And he was free of hand and light of heart; and at a place + called Diamond City false friends came about him, and gave him champagne + wine to drink, and struck him down and robbed him, leaving him for dead. + </p> + <p> + And he was found, and his wounds were all healed: all save one, and that + was in the brain. Men called him mad. + </p> + <p> + He wandered through the land, preaching to men to drink no wine, and to + shun the sight of gold. And they laughed at him, and called him Pere + Champagne. + </p> + <p> + But one day much gold was found at a place called Reef o’ Angel; and + jointly with the gold came a plague which scars the face and rots the + body; and Indians died by hundreds and white men by scores; and Pere + Champagne, of all who were not stricken down, feared nothing, and did not + flee, but went among the sick and dying, and did those deeds which gold + cannot buy, and prayed those prayers which were never sold. And who can + count how high the prayers of the feckless go! + </p> + <p> + When none was found to bury the dead, he gave them place himself beneath + the prairie earth,—consecrated only by the tears of a fool,—and + for extreme unction he had but this: “God be merciful to me, a sinner!” + </p> + <p> + Now it happily chanced that Pierre and Shon McGann, who travelled + westward, came upon this desperate battle-field, and saw how Pere + Champagne dared the elements of scourge and death; and they paused and + laboured with him—to save where saving was granted of Heaven, and to + bury when the Reaper reaped and would not stay his hand. At last the + plague ceased, because winter stretched its wings out swiftly o’er the + plains from frigid ranges in the West. And then Pere Champagne fell ill + again. + </p> + <p> + And this last great sickness cured his madness: and he remembered whence + he had come, and what befell him at Diamond City so many moons ago. And he + prayed them, when he knew his time was come, that they would go to Lonely + Valley and tell his story to the woman whom he loved; and say that he was + going to a strange but pleasant Land, and that there he would await her + coming. He begged them that they would go at once, that she might know, + and not strain her eyes to blindness, and be sick at heart because he came + not. And he told them her name, and drew the coverlet up about his head + and seemed to sleep; but he waked between the day and dark, and gently + cried: “The snow is heavy on the mountain... and the Valley is below.... + ‘Gardez, mon Pere!’... Ah, Nathalie!” And they buried him between the dark + and dawn. + </p> + <p> + Though winds were fierce, and travel full of peril, they kept their word, + and passed along wide steppes of snow, until they entered passes of the + mountains, and again into the plains; and at last one ‘poudre’ day, when + frost was shaking like shreds of faintest silver through the air, Shon + McGann’s sight fled. But he would not turn back—a promise to a dying + man was sacred, and he could follow if he could not lead; and there was + still some pemmican, and there were martens in the woods, and wandering + deer that good spirits hunted into the way of the needy; and Pierre’s + finger along the gun was sure. + </p> + <p> + Pierre did not tell Shon that for many days they travelled woods where no + sunshine entered; where no trail had ever been, nor foot of man had trod: + that they had lost their way. Nor did he make his comrade know that one + night he sat and played a game of solitaire to see if they would ever + reach the place called Lonely Valley. Before the cards were dealt, he made + a sign upon his breast and forehead. Three times he played, and three + times he counted victory; and before three suns had come and gone, they + climbed a hill that perched over Lonely Valley. And of what they saw and + their hearts felt we know. + </p> + <p> + And when they turned their faces eastward they were as men who go to meet + a final and a conquering enemy; but they had kept their honour with the + man upon whose grave-tree Shon McGann had carved beneath his name these + words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A Brother of Aaron.” + </pre> + <p> + Upon a lonely trail they wandered, the spirits of lost travellers + hungering in their wake—spirits that mumbled in cedar thickets, and + whimpered down the flumes of snow. And Pierre, who knew that evil things + are exorcised by mighty conjuring, sang loudly, from a throat made thin by + forced fasting, a song with which his mother sought to drive away the + devils of dreams that flaunted on his pillow when a child: it was the song + of the Scarlet Hunter. And the charm sufficed; for suddenly of a cheerless + morning they came upon a trapper’s hut in the wilderness, where their + sufferings ceased, and the sight of Shon’s eyes came back. When strength + returned also, they journeyed to an Indian village, where a priest + laboured. Him they besought; and when spring came they set forth to Lonely + Valley again that the woman and the smothered dead—if it might + chance so—should be put away into peaceful graves. But thither + coming they only saw a grey and churlish river; and the poppet-head of the + mine of St. Gabriel, and she who had knelt thereon, were vanished into + solitudes, where only God’s cohorts have the rights of burial.... + </p> + <p> + But the priest prayed humbly for their so swiftly summoned souls. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SCARLET HUNTER + </h2> + <p> + “News out of Egypt!” said the Honourable Just Trafford. “If this is true, + it gives a pretty finish to the season. You think it possible, Pierre? It + is every man’s talk that there isn’t a herd of buffaloes in the whole + country; but this-eh?” + </p> + <p> + Pierre did not seem disposed to answer. He had been watching a man’s face + for some time; but his eyes were now idly following the smoke of his + cigarette as it floated away to the ceiling in fading circles. He seemed + to take no interest in Trafford’s remarks, nor in the tale that Shangi the + Indian had told them; though Shangi and his tale were both sufficiently + uncommon to justify attention. + </p> + <p> + Shon McGann was more impressionable. His eyes swam; his feet shifted + nervously with enjoyment; he glanced frequently at his gun in the corner + of the hut; he had watched Trafford’s face with some anxiety, and accepted + the result of the tale with delight. Now his look was occupied with + Pierre. + </p> + <p> + Pierre was a pretty good authority in all matters concerning the prairies + and the North. He also had an instinct for detecting veracity, having + practised on both sides of the equation. Trafford became impatient, and at + last the half-breed, conscious that he had tried the temper of his chief + so far as was safe, lifted his eyes, and, resting them casually on the + Indian, replied: “Yes, I know the place.... No, I have not been there, but + I was told-ah, it was long ago! There is a great valley between hills, the + Kimash Hills, the hills of the Mighty Men. The woods are deep and dark; + there is but one trail through them, and it is old. On the highest hill is + a vast mound. In that mound are the forefathers of a nation that is gone. + Yes, as you say, they are dead, and there is none of them alive in the + valley—which is called the White Valley—where the buffalo are. + The valley is green in summer, and the snow is not deep in winter; the + noses of the buffalo can find the tender grass. The Injin speaks the + truth, perhaps. But of the number of buffaloes, one must see. The eye of + the red man multiplies.” + </p> + <p> + Trafford looked at Pierre closely. “You seem to know the place very well. + It is a long way north where—ah yes, you said you had never been + there; you were told. Who told you?” + </p> + <p> + The half-breed raised his eyebrows slightly as he replied: “I can remember + a long time, and my mother, she spoke much and sang many songs at the + campfires.” Then he puffed his cigarette so that the smoke clouded his + face for a moment, and went on,—“I think there may be buffaloes.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s along the barrel of me gun I wish I was lookin’ at thim now,” said + McGann. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tiens,’ you will go”? inquired Pierre of Trafford. “To have a shot at + the only herd of wild buffaloes on the continent! Of course I’ll go. I’d + go to the North Pole for that. Sport and novelty I came here to see; + buffalo-hunting I did not expect. I’m in luck, that’s all. We’ll start + to-morrow morning, if we can get ready, and Shangi here will lead us; eh, + Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + The half-breed again was not polite. Instead of replying he sang almost + below his breath the words of a song unfamiliar to his companions, though + the Indian’s eyes showed a flash of understanding. These were the words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “They ride away with a waking wind, away, away! + With laughing lip and with jocund mind at break of day. + A rattle of hoofs and a snatch of song, they ride, they ride! + The plains are wide and the path is long,—so long, so wide!” + </pre> + <p> + Just Trafford appeared ready to deal with this insolence, for the + half-breed was after all a servant of his, a paid retainer. He waited, + however. Shon saw the difficulty, and at once volunteered a reply. “It’s + aisy enough to get away in the mornin’, but it’s a question how far we’ll + be able to go with the horses. The year is late; but there’s dogs beyand, + I suppose, and bedad, there y’ are!” + </p> + <p> + The Indian spoke slowly: “It is far off. There is no colour yet in the + leaf of the larch. The river-hen still swims northward. It is good that we + go. There is much buffalo in the White Valley.” + </p> + <p> + Again Trafford looked towards his follower, and again the half-breed, as + if he were making an effort to remember, sang abstractedly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “They follow, they follow a lonely trail, by day, by night, + By distant sun, and by fire-fly pale, and northern light. + The ride to the Hills of the Mighty Men, so swift they go! + Where buffalo feed in the wilding glen in sun and snow.” + </pre> + <p> + “Pierre,” said Trafford, sharply, “I want an answer to my question.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Mais, pardon,’ I was thinking... well, we can ride until the deep snows + come, then we can walk; and Shangi, he can get the dogs, maybe, one team + of dogs.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” was the reply, “one team of dogs will not be enough. We’ll bring + meat and hides, you know, as well as pemmican. We won’t cache any carcases + up there. What would be the use? We shall have to be back in the Pipi + Valley by the spring-time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the half-breed with a cold decision, “one team of dogs will + be enough; and we will not cache, and we shall be back in the Pipi Valley + before the spring, perhaps.” But this last word was spoken under his + breath. + </p> + <p> + And now the Indian spoke, with his deep voice and dignified manner: + “Brothers, it is as I have said, the trail is lonely and the woods are + deep and dark. Since the time when the world was young, no white man hath + been there save one, and behold sickness fell on him; the grave is his + end. It is a pleasant land, for the gods have blessed it to the Indian + forever. No heathen shall possess it. But you shall see the White Valley + and the buffalo. Shangi will lead, because you have been merciful to him, + and have given him to sleep in your wigwam, and to eat of your wild meat. + There are dogs in the forest. I have spoken.” + </p> + <p> + Trafford was impressed, and annoyed too. He thought too much sentiment was + being squandered on a very practical and sportive thing. He disliked + functions; speech-making was to him a matter for prayer and fasting. The + Indian’s address was therefore more or less gratuitous, and he hastened to + remark: “Thank you, Shangi; that’s very good, and you’ve put it + poetically. You’ve turned a shooting-excursion into a mediaeval romance. + But we’ll get down to business now, if you please, and make the romance a + fact, beautiful enough to send to the ‘Times’ or the New York ‘Call’. + Let’s see, how would they put it in the Call?—‘Extraordinary + Discovery—Herd of buffaloes found in the far North by an Englishman + and his Franco-Irish Party—Sport for the gods—Exodus of + ‘brules’ to White Valley!’—and so on, screeching to the end.” + </p> + <p> + Shon laughed heartily. “The fun of the world is in the thing,” he said; + “and a day it would be for a notch on a stick and a rasp of gin in the + throat. And if I get the sight of me eye on a buffalo-ruck, it’s down on + me knees I’ll go, and not for prayin’ aither. Here’s both hands up for a + start in the mornin’!” + </p> + <p> + Long before noon next day they were well on their way. Trafford could not + understand why Pierre was so reserved, and, when speaking, so ironical. It + was noticeable that the half-breed watched the Indian closely, that he + always rode behind him, that he never drank out of the same cup. The + leader set this down to the natural uncertainty of Pierre’s disposition. + He had grown to like Pierre, as the latter had come in course to respect + him. Each was a man of value after his kind. Each also had recognised in + the other qualities of force and knowledge having their generation in + experiences which had become individuality, subterranean and acute, under + a cold surface. It was the mutual recognition of these equivalents that + led the two men to mutual trust, only occasionally disturbed, as has been + shown; though one was regarded as the most fastidious man of his set in + London, the fairest-minded of friends, the most comfortable of companions; + while the other was an outlaw, a half-heathen, a lover of but one thing in + this world, the joyous god of Chance. Pierre was essentially a gamester. + He would have extracted satisfaction out of a death-sentence which was + contingent on the trumping of an ace. His only honour was the honour of + the game. + </p> + <p> + Now, with all the swelling prairie sloping to the clear horizon, and the + breath of a large life in their nostrils, these two men were caught up + suddenly, as it were, by the throbbing soul of the North, so that the + subterranean life in them awoke and startled them. Trafford conceived that + tobacco was the charm with which to exorcise the spirits of the past. + Pierre let the game of sensations go on, knowing that they pay themselves + out in time. His scheme was the wiser. The other found that fast riding + and smoking were not sufficient. He became surrounded by the ghosts of + yesterdays; and at length he gave up striving with them, and let them + storm upon him, until a line of pain cut deeply across his forehead, and + bitterly and unconsciously he cried aloud,—“Hester, ah, Hester!” + </p> + <p> + But having spoken, the spell was broken, and he was aware of the beat of + hoofs beside him, and Shangi the Indian looking at him with a half smile. + Something in the look thrilled him; it was fantastic, masterful. He + wondered that he had not noticed this singular influence before. After + all, he was only a savage with cleaner buckskin than his race usually + wore. Yet that glow, that power in the face—was he Piegan, + Blackfoot, Cree, Blood? Whatever he was, this man had heard the words + which broke so painfully from him. + </p> + <p> + He saw the Indian frame her name upon his lips, and then came the words, + “Hester—Hester Orval!” + </p> + <p> + He turned sternly, and said, “Who are you? What do you know of Hester + Orval?” + </p> + <p> + The Indian shook his head gravely, and replied, “You spoke her name, my + brother.” + </p> + <p> + “I spoke one word of her name. You have spoken two.” + </p> + <p> + “One does not know what one speaks. There are words which are as sounds, + and words which are as feelings. Those come to the brain through the ear; + these to the soul through sign, which is more than sound. The Indian hath + knowledge, even as the white man; and because his heart is open, the trees + whisper to him; he reads the language of the grass and the wind, and is + taught by the song of the bird, the screech of the hawk, the bark of the + fox. And so he comes to know the heart of the man who hath sickness, and + calls upon someone, even though it be a weak woman, to cure his sickness; + who is bowed low as beside a grave, and would stand upright. Are not my + words wise? As the thoughts of a child that dreams, as the face of the + blind, the eye of the beast, or the anxious hand of the poor, are they not + simple, and to be understood?” + </p> + <p> + Just Trafford made no reply. But behind, Pierre was singing in the + plaintive measure of a chant: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A hunter rideth the herd abreast, + The Scarlet Hunter from out of the West, + Whose arrows with points of flame are drest, + Who loveth the beast of the field the best, + The child and the young bird out of the nest, + They ride to the hunt no more, no more!” + </pre> + <p> + They travelled beyond all bounds of civilisation; beyond the northernmost + Indian villages, until the features of the landscape became more rugged + and solemn, and at last they paused at a place which the Indian called + Misty Mountain, and where, disappearing for an hour, he returned with a + team of Eskimo dogs, keen, quick-tempered, and enduring. They had all now + recovered from the disturbing sentiments of the first portion of the + journey; life was at full tide; the spirit of the hunter was on them. + </p> + <p> + At length one night they camped in a vast pine grove wrapped in coverlets + of snow and silent as death. Here again Pierre became moody and alert and + took no part in the careless chat at the camp-fire led by Shon McGann. The + man brooded and looked mysterious. Mystery was not pleasing to Trafford. + He had his own secrets, but in the ordinary affairs of life he preferred + simplicity. In one of the silences that fell between Shon’s attempts to + give hilarity to the occasion, there came a rumbling far-off sound, a + sound that increased in volume till the earth beneath them responded + gently to the vibration. Trafford looked up inquiringly at Pierre, and + then at the Indian, who, after a moment, said slowly: “Above us are the + hills of the Mighty Men, beneath us is the White Valley. It is the tramp + of buffalo that we hear. A storm is coming, and they go to shelter in the + mountains.” + </p> + <p> + The information had come somewhat suddenly, and McGann was the first to + recover from the pleasant shock: “It’s divil a wink of sleep I’ll get this + night, with the thought of them below there ripe for slaughter, and the + tumble of fight in their beards.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre, with a meaning glance from his half-closed eyes, added: “But it is + the old saying of the prairies that you do not shout dinner till you have + your knife in the loaf. Your knife is not yet in the loaf, Shon McGann.” + </p> + <p> + The boom of the trampling ceased, and now there was a stirring in the + snow-clad tree tops, and a sound as if all the birds of the North were + flying overhead. The weather began to moan and the boles of the pines to + quake. And then there came war,—a trouble out of the north, a wave + of the breath of God to show inconsequent man that he who seeks to live by + slaughter hath slaughter for his master. + </p> + <p> + They hung over the fire while the forest cracked round them, and the flame + smarted with the flying snow. And now the trees, as if the elements were + closing in on them, began to break close by, and one lurched forward + towards them. Trafford, to avoid its stroke, stepped quickly aside right + into the line of another which he did not see. Pierre sprang forward and + swung him clear, but was himself struck senseless by an outreaching + branch. + </p> + <p> + As if satisfied with this achievement, the storm began to subside. When + Pierre recovered consciousness Trafford clasped his hand and said,—“You’ve + a sharp eye, a quick thought, and a deft arm, comrade.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it was in the game. It is good play to assist your partner,” the + half-breed replied sententiously. Through all, the Indian had remained + stoical. But McGann, who swore by Trafford—as he had once sworn by + another of the Trafford race—had his heart on his lips, and said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There’s a swate little cherub that sits up aloft, + Who cares for the soul of poor Jack!” + </pre> + <p> + It was long after midnight ere they settled down again, with the wreck of + the forest round them. Only the Indian slept; the others were alert and + restless. They were up at daybreak, and on their way before sunrise, + filled with desire for prey. They had not travelled far before they + emerged upon a plateau. Around them were the hills of the Mighty Men—austere, + majestic; at their feet was a vast valley on which the light newly-fallen + snow had not hidden all the grass. Lonely and lofty, it was a world + waiting chastely to be peopled! And now it was peopled, for there came + from a cleft of the hills an army of buffaloes lounging slowly down the + waste, with tossing manes and hoofs stirring the snow into a feathery + scud. + </p> + <p> + The eyes of Trafford and McGann swam; Pierre’s face was troubled, and + strangely enough he made the sign of the cross. + </p> + <p> + At that instant Trafford saw smoke issuing from a spot on the mountain + opposite. He turned to the Indian: “Someone lives there”? he said. + </p> + <p> + “It is the home of the dead, but life is also there.” + </p> + <p> + “White man, or Indian?” + </p> + <p> + But no reply came. The Indian pointed instead to the buffalo rumbling down + the valley. Trafford forgot the smoke, forgot everything except that + splendid quarry. Shon was excited. “Sarpints alive,” he said, “look at the + troops of thim! Is it standin’ here we are with our tongues in our cheeks, + whin there’s bastes to be killed, and mate to be got, and the call to war + on the ground below! Clap spurs with your heels, sez I, and down the side + of the turf together and give ‘em the teeth of our guns!” The Irishman + dashed down the slope. In an instant, all followed, or at least Trafford + thought all followed, swinging their guns across their saddles to be ready + for this excellent foray. But while Pierre rode hard, it was at first + without the fret of battle in him, and he smiled strangely, for he knew + that the Indian had disappeared as they rode down the slope, though how + and why he could not tell. There ran through his head tales chanted at + camp-fires when he was not yet in stature so high as the loins that bore + him. They rode hard, and yet they came no nearer to that flying herd + straining on with white streaming breath and the surf of snow rising to + their quarters. Mile upon mile, and yet they could not ride these monsters + down! + </p> + <p> + Now Pierre was leading. There was a kind of fury in his face, and he + seemed at last to gain on them. But as the herd veered close to a wall of + stalwart pines, a horseman issued from the trees and joined the cattle. + The horseman was in scarlet from head to foot; and with his coming the + herd went faster, and ever faster, until they vanished into the + mountain-side; and they who pursued drew in their trembling horses and + stared at each other with wonder in their faces. + </p> + <p> + “In God’s name what does it mean”? Trafford cried. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a trick of the eye or the hand of the devil”? added Shon. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of God we shall know perhaps. If it is the hand of the devil + it is not good for us,” remarked Pierre. + </p> + <p> + “Who was the man in scarlet who came from the woods”? asked Trafford of + the half-breed. + </p> + <p> + “‘Voila,’ it is strange! There is an old story among the Indians! My + mother told many tales of the place and sang of it, as I sang to you. The + legend was this:—In the hills of the North which no white man, nor + no Injin of this time hath seen, the forefathers of the red men sleep; but + some day they will wake again and go forth and possess all the land; and + the buffalo are for them when that time shall come, that they may have the + fruits of the chase, and that it be as it was of old, when the cattle were + as clouds on the horizon. And it was ordained that one of these mighty men + who had never been vanquished in fight, nor done an evil thing, and was + the greatest of all the chiefs, should live and not die, but be as a + sentinel, as a lion watching, and preserve the White Valley in peace until + his brethren waked and came into their own again. And him they called the + Scarlet Hunter; and to this hour the red men pray to him when they lose + their way upon the plains, or Death draws aside the curtains of the wigwam + to call them forth.” + </p> + <p> + “Repeat the verses you sang, Pierre,” said Trafford. The half-breed did + so. When he came to the words, “Who loveth the beast of the field the + best,” the Englishman looked round. “Where is Shangi”? he asked. McGann + shook his head in astonishment and negation. Pierre explained: “On the + mountain-side where we ride down he is not seen—he vanish... ‘mon + Dieu,’ look!” + </p> + <p> + On the slope of the mountain stood the Scarlet Hunter with drawn bow. From + it an arrow flew over their heads with a sorrowful twang, and fell where + the smoke rose among the pines; then the mystic figure disappeared. + </p> + <p> + McGann shuddered, and drew himself together. “It is the place of spirits,” + he said; “and it’s little I like it, God knows; but I’ll follow that + Scarlet Hunter, or red devil, or whatever he is, till I drop, if the + Honourable gives the word. For flesh and blood I’m not afraid of; and the + other we come to, whether we will or not, one day.” + </p> + <p> + But Trafford said: “No, we’ll let it stand where it is for the present. + Something has played our eyes false, or we’re brought here to do work + different from buffalo-hunting. Where that arrow fell among the smoke we + must go first. Then, as I read the riddle, we travel back the way we came. + There are points in connection with the Pipi Valley superior to the hills + of the Mighty Men.” + </p> + <p> + They rode away across the glade, and through a grove of pines upon a hill, + till they stood before a log but with parchment windows. + </p> + <p> + Trafford knocked, but there was no response. He opened the door and + entered. He saw a figure rise painfully from a couch in a corner,—the + figure of a woman young and beautiful, but wan and worn. She seemed dazed + and inert with suffering, and spoke mournfully: “It is too late. Not you, + nor any of your race, nor anything on earth can save him. He is dead—dead + now.” + </p> + <p> + At the first sound of her voice Trafford started. He drew near to her, as + pale as she was, and wonder and pity were in his face. “Hester,” he said, + “Hester Orval!” + </p> + <p> + She stared at him like one that had been awakened from an evil dream, then + tottered towards him with the cry,—“Just, Just, have you come to + save me? O Just!” His distress was sad to see, for it was held in deep + repression, but he said calmly and with protecting gentleness: “Yes, I + have come to save you. Hester, how is it you are here in this strange + place—you?” + </p> + <p> + She sobbed so that at first she could not answer; but at last she cried: + “O Just, he is dead... in there, in there!... Last night, it was last + night; and he prayed that I might go with him. But I could not die + unforgiven, and I was right, for you have come out of the world to help + me, and to save me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to help you and to save you,—if I can,” he added in a whisper + to himself, for he was full of foreboding. He was of the earth, earthy, + and things that had chanced to him this day were beyond the natural and + healthy movements of his mind. He had gone forth to slay, and had been + foiled by shadows; he had come with a tragic, if beautiful, memory + haunting him, and that memory had clothed itself in flesh and stood before + him, pitiful, solitary,—a woman. He had scorned all legend and + superstition, and here both were made manifest to him. He had thought of + this woman as one who was of this world no more, and here she mourned + before him and bade him go and look upon her dead, upon the man who had + wronged him, into whom, as he once declared, the soul of a cur had + entered,—and now what could he say? He had carried in his heart the + infinite something that is to men the utmost fulness of life, which, + losing, they must carry lead upon their shoulders where they thought the + gods had given pinions. + </p> + <p> + McGann and Pierre were nervous. This conjunction of unusual things was + easier to the intelligences of the dead than the quick. The outer air was + perhaps less charged with the unnatural, and with a glance towards the + room where death was quartered, they left the hut. + </p> + <p> + Trafford was alone with the woman through whom his life had been turned + awry. He looked at her searchingly; and as he looked the mere man in him + asserted itself for a moment. She was dressed in coarse garments; it + struck him that her grief had a touch of commonness about it; there was + something imperfect in the dramatic setting. His recent experiences had + had a kind of grandeur about them; it was not thus that he had remembered + her in the hour when he had called upon her in the plains, and the Indian + had heard his cry. He felt, and was ashamed in feeling, that there was a + grim humour in the situation. The fantastic, the melodramatic, the + emotional, were huddled here in too marked a prominence; it all seemed, + for an instant, like the tale of a woman’s first novel. But immediately + again there was roused in him the latent force of loyalty to himself and + therefore to her; the story of her past, so far as he knew it, flashed + before him, and his eyes grew hot. + </p> + <p> + He remembered the time he had last seen her in an English country-house + among a gay party in which royalty smiled, and the subject was content + beneath the smile. But there was one rebellious subject, and her name was + Hester Orval. She was a wilful girl who had lived life selfishly within + the lines of that decorous yet pleasant convention to which she was born. + She was beautiful,—she knew that, and royalty had graciously + admitted it. She was warm-thoughted, and possessed the fatal strain of the + artistic temperament. She was not sure that she had a heart; and many + others, not of her sex, after varying and enthusiastic study of the + matter, were not more confident than she. But it had come at last that she + had listened with pensive pleasure to Trafford’s tale of love; and because + to be worshipped by a man high in all men’s, and in most women’s, esteem, + ministered delicately to her sweet egotism, and because she was proud of + him, she gave him her hand in promise, and her cheek in privilege, but + denied him—though he knew this not—her heart and the service + of her life. But he was content to wait patiently for that service, and he + wholly trusted her, for there was in him some fine spirit of the antique + world. + </p> + <p> + There had come to Falkenstowe, this country-house and her father’s home, a + man who bore a knightly name, but who had no knightly heart; and he told + Ulysses’ tales, and covered a hazardous and cloudy past with that + fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good, so that he roused + in her the pulse of art, which she believed was soul and life, and her + allegiance swerved. And when her mother pleaded with her, and when her + father said stern things, and even royalty, with uncommon use, rebuked her + gently, her heart grew hard; and almost on the eve of her wedding-day she + fled with her lover, and married him, and together they sailed away over + the seas. + </p> + <p> + The world was shocked and clamorous for a matter of nine days, and then it + forgot this foolish and awkward circumstance; but Just Trafford never + forgot it. He remembered all vividly until the hour, a year later, when + London journals announced that Hester Orval and her husband had gone down + with a vessel wrecked upon the Alaskan and Canadian coast. And there new + regret began, and his knowledge of her ended. + </p> + <p> + But she and her husband had not been drowned; with a sailor they had + reached the shore in safety. They had travelled inland from the coast + through the great mountains by unknown paths, and as they travelled, the + sailor died; and they came at last through innumerable hardships to the + Kimash Hills, the hills of the Mighty Men, and there they stayed. It was + not an evil land; it had neither deadly cold in winter nor wanton heat in + summer. But they never saw a human face, and everything was lonely and + spectral. For a time they strove to go eastwards or southwards but the + mountains were impassable, and in the north and west there was no hope. + Though the buffalo swept by them in the valley they could not slay them, + and they lived on forest fruits until in time the man sickened. The woman + nursed him faithfully, but still he failed; and when she could go forth no + more for food, some unseen dweller of the woods brought buffalo meat, and + prairie fowl, and water from the spring, and laid them beside her door. + </p> + <p> + She had seen the mounds upon the hill, the wide couches of the sleepers, + and she remembered the things done in the days when God seemed nearer to + the sons of men than now; and she said that a spirit had done this thing, + and trembled and was thankful. But the man weakened and knew that he + should die, and one night when the pain was sharp upon him he prayed + bitterly that he might pass, or that help might come to snatch him from + the grave. And as they sobbed together, a form entered at the door,—a + form clothed in scarlet,—and he bade them tell the tale of their + lives as they would some time tell it unto heaven. And when the tale was + told he said that succour should come to them from the south by the hand + of the Scarlet Hunter, that the nation sleeping there should no more be + disturbed by their moaning. And then he had gone forth, and with his going + there was a storm such as that in which the man had died, the storm that + had assailed the hunters in the forest yesterday. + </p> + <p> + This was the second part of Hester Orval’s life as she told it to Just + Trafford. And he, looking into her eyes, knew that she had suffered, and + that she had sounded her husband’s unworthiness. Then he turned from her + and went into the room where the dead man lay. And there all hardness + passed from him, and he understood that in the great going forth man + reckons to the full with the deeds done in that brief pilgrimage called + life; and that in the bitter journey which this one took across the dread + spaces between Here and There, he had repented of his sins, because they, + and they only, went with him in mocking company; the good having gone + first to plead where evil is a debtor and hath a prison. And the woman + came and stood beside Trafford, and whispered, “At first—and at the + last—he was kind.” + </p> + <p> + But he urged her gently from the room: “Go away,” he said; “go away. We + cannot judge him. Leave me alone with him.” + </p> + <p> + They buried him upon the hill-side, far from the mounds where the Mighty + Men waited for their summons to go forth and be the lords of the North + again. At night they buried him when the moon was at its full; and he had + the fragrant pines for his bed, and the warm darkness to cover him; and + though he is to those others resting there a heathen and an alien, it may + be that he sleeps peacefully. + </p> + <p> + When Trafford questioned Hester Orval more deeply of her life there, the + unearthly look quickened in her eyes, and she said: “Oh, nothing, nothing + is real here, but suffering; perhaps it is all a dream, but it has changed + me, changed me. To hear the tread of the flying herds, to see no being + save him, the Scarlet Hunter, to hear the voices calling in the night!... + Hush! There, do you not hear them? It is midnight—listen!” + </p> + <p> + He listened, and Pierre and Shon McGann looked at each other + apprehensively, while Shon’s fingers felt hurriedly along the beads of a + rosary which he did not hold. Yes, they heard it, a deep sonorous sound: + “Is the daybreak come?” “It is still the night,” came the reply as of one + clear voice. And then there floated through the hills more softly: “We + sleep—we sleep!” And the sounds echoed through the valley—“Sleep—sleep!” + </p> + <p> + Yet though these things were full of awe, the spirit of the place held + them there, and the fever of the hunter descended on them hotly. In the + morning they went forth, and rode into the White Valley where the buffalo + were feeding, and sought to steal upon them; but the shots from their guns + only awoke the hills, and none were slain. And though they rode swiftly, + the wide surf of snow was ever between them and the chase, and their + striving availed nothing. Day after day they followed that flying column, + and night after night they heard the sleepers call from the hills. The + desire of the thing wasted them, and they forgot to eat and ceased to talk + among themselves. But one day Shon McGann, muttering aves as he rode, + gained on the cattle, until once again the Scarlet Hunter came forth from + a cleft of the mountains, and drove the herd forward with swifter feet. + But the Irishman had learned the power in this thing, and had taught + Trafford, who knew not those availing prayers, and with these sacred + conjurations on their lips they gained on the cattle length by length, + though the Scarlet Hunter rode abreast of the thundering horde. Within + easy range, Trafford swung his gun shoulder-wards to fire, but at that + instant a cloud of snow rose up between him and his quarry so that they + all were blinded. And when they came into the clear sun again the buffalo + were gone; but flaming arrows from some unseen hunter’s bow came singing + over their heads towards the south; and they obeyed the sign, and went + back to where Hester wore her life out with anxiety for them, because she + knew the hopelessness of their quest. Women are nearer to the heart of + things. And now she begged Trafford to go southwards before winter froze + the plains impassably, and the snow made tombs of the valleys. Thereupon + he gave the word to go, and said that he had done wrong—for now the + spell was falling from him. + </p> + <p> + But she, seeing his regret, said: “Ah, Just, it could not have been + different. The passion of it was on you as it was on us, as if to teach us + that hunger for happiness is robbery, and that the covetous desire of man + is not the will of the gods. The herds are for the Mighty Men when they + awake, not for the stranger and the Philistine.” + </p> + <p> + “You have grown wise, Hester,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “No, I am sick in brain and body; but it may be that in such sickness + there is wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said, “it has turned my head, I think. Once I laughed at all such + fanciful things as these. This Scarlet Hunter, how many times have you + seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “But once.” + </p> + <p> + “What were his looks?” + </p> + <p> + “A face pale and strong, with noble eyes; and in his voice there was + something strange.” + </p> + <p> + Trafford thought of Shangi, the Indian,—where had he gone? He had + disappeared as suddenly as he had come to their camp in the South. + </p> + <p> + As they sat silent in the growing night, the door opened and the Scarlet + Hunter stood before them. “There is food,” he said, “on the threshold—food + for those who go upon a far journey to the South in the morning. Unhappy + are they who seek for gold at the rainbow’s foot, who chase the fire-fly + in the night, who follow the herds in the White Valley. Wise are they who + anger not the gods, and who fly before the rising storm. There is a path + from the valley for the strangers, the path by which they came; and when + the sun stares forth again upon the world, the way shall be open, and + there shall be safety for you until your travel ends in the quick world + whither you go. You were foolish; now you are wise. It is time to depart; + seek not to return, that we may have peace and you safety. When the world + cometh to her spring again we shall meet.” Then he turned and was gone, + with Trafford’s voice ringing after him,—“Shangi! Shangi!” + </p> + <p> + They ran out swiftly, but he had vanished. In the valley where the + moonlight fell in icy coldness a herd of cattle was moving, and their + breath rose like the spray from sea-beaten rocks, and the sound of their + breathing was borne upwards to the watchers. + </p> + <p> + At daybreak they rode down into the valley. All was still. Not a trace of + life remained; not a hoofmark in the snow, nor a bruised blade of grass. + And when they climbed to the plateau and looked back, it seemed to + Trafford and his companions, as it seemed in after years, that this thing + had been all a fantasy. But Hester’s face was beside them, and it told of + strange and unsubstantial things. The shadows of the middle world were + upon her. And yet again when they turned at the last there was no token. + It was a northern valley, with sun and snow, and cold blue shadows, and + the high hills,—that was all. + </p> + <p> + Then Hester said: “O Just, I do not know if this is life or death—and + yet it must be death, for after death there is forgiveness to those who + repent, and your face is forgiving and kind.” + </p> + <p> + And he—for he saw that she needed much human help and comfort—gently + laid his hand on hers and replied: “Hester, this is life, a new life for + both of us. Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now”—and he + folded her hand in his—“is real; and there is no such thing as + forgiveness to be spoken of between us. There shall be happiness for us + yet, please God!” + </p> + <p> + “I want to go to Falkenstowe. Will—will my mother forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + “Mothers always forgive, Hester, else half the world had slain itself in + shame.” + </p> + <p> + And then she smiled for the first time since he had seen her. This was in + the shadows of the scented pines; and a new life breathed upon her, as it + breathed upon them all, and they knew that the fever of the White Valley + had passed away from them forever. + </p> + <p> + After many hardships they came in safety to the regions of the south + country again; and the tale they told, though doubted by the race of + pale-faces, was believed by the heathen; because there was none among them + but, as he cradled at his mother’s breasts, and from his youth up, had + heard the legend of the Scarlet Hunter. + </p> + <p> + For the romance of that journey, it concerned only the man and woman to + whom it was as wine and meat to the starving. Is not love more than + legend, and a human heart than all the beasts of the field or any joy of + slaughter? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STONE + </h2> + <p> + The Stone hung on a jutting crag of Purple Hill. On one side of it, far + beneath, lay the village, huddled together as if, through being close + compacted, its handful of humanity should not be a mere dust in the + balance beside Nature’s portentousness. Yet if one stood beside The Stone, + and looked down, the flimsy wooden huts looked like a barrier at the end + of a great flume. For the hill hollowed and narrowed from The Stone to the + village, as if giants had made this concave path by trundling boulders to + that point like a funnel where the miners’ houses now formed a cul-de-sac. + On the other side of the crag was a valley also; but it was lonely and + untenanted; and at one flank of The Stone were serried legions of trees. + </p> + <p> + The Stone was a mighty and wonderful thing. Looked at from the village + direct, it had nothing but the sky for a background. At times, also, it + appeared to rest on nothing; and many declared that they could see clean + between it and the oval floor of the crag on which it rested. That was + generally in the evening, when the sun was setting behind it. Then the + light coiled round its base, between it and its pedestal, thus making it + appear to hover above the hill-point, or, planet-like, to be just settling + on it. At other times, when the light was perfectly clear and not too + strong, and the village side of the crag was brighter than the other, more + accurate relations of The Stone to its pedestal could be discovered. Then + one would say that it balanced on a tiny base, a toe of granite. But if + one looked long, especially in the summer, when the air throbbed, it + evidently rocked upon that toe; if steadily, and very long, he grew + tremulous, perhaps afraid. Once, a woman who was about to become a mother + went mad, because she thought The Stone would hurtle down the hill at her + great moment and destroy her and her child. Indians would not live either + on the village side of The Stone or in the valley beyond. They had a + legend that, some day, one, whom they called The Man Who Sleeps, would + rise from his hidden couch in the mountains, and, being angry that any + dared to cumber his playground, would hurl The Stone upon them that dwelt + at Purple Hill. But white men pay little heed to Indian legends. At one + time or another every person who had come to the village visited The + Stone. Colossal as it was, the real base on which its weight rested was + actually very small: the view from the village had not been all deceitful. + It is possible, indeed, that at one time it had really rocked, and that + the rocking had worn for it a shallow cup, or socket, in which it poised. + The first man who came to Purple Valley prospecting had often stopped his + work and looked at The Stone in a half-fear that it would spring upon him + unawares. And yet he had as often laughed at himself for doing so, since, + as he said, it must have been there hundreds of thousands of years. + Strangers, when they came to the village, went to sleep somewhat timidly + the first night of their stay, and not infrequently left their beds to go + and look at The Stone, as it hung there ominously in the light of the + moon; or listened towards it if it was dark. When the moon rose late, and + The Stone chanced to be directly in front of it, a black sphere seemed to + be rolling into the light to blot it out. + </p> + <p> + But none who lived in the village looked upon The Stone in quite the same + fashion as did that first man who had come to the valley. He had seen it + through three changing seasons, with no human being near him, and only + occasionally a shy, wandering elk, or a cloud of wild ducks whirring down + the pass, to share his companionship with it. Once he had waked in the + early morning, and, possessed of a strange feeling, had gone out to look a + The Stone. There, perched upon it, was an eagle; and though he said to + himself that an eagle’s weight was to The Stone as a feather upon the + world, he kept his face turned towards it all day; for all day the eagle + stayed. He was a man of great stature and immense strength. The thews of + his limbs stood out like soft unbreakable steel. Yet, as if to cast + derision on his strength and great proportions, God or Fate turned his + bread to ashes, gave failure into his hands where he hugely grasped at + fortune, and hung him about with misery. He discovered gold, but others + gathered it. It was his daughter that went mad, and gave birth to a dead + child in fearsome thought of The Stone. Once, when he had gone over the + hills to another mining field, and had been prevented from coming back by + unexpected and heavy snows, his wife was taken ill, and died alone of + starvation, because none in the village remembered of her and her needs. + Again, one wild night, long after, his only son was taken from his bed and + lynched for a crime that was none of his, as was discovered by his + murderers next day. Then they killed horribly the real criminal, and + offered the father such satisfaction as they could. They said that any one + of them was ready there to be killed by him; and they threw a weapon at + his feet. At this he stood looking upon them for a moment, his great + breast heaving, and his eyes glowering; but presently he reached out his + arms, and taking two of them by the throat, brought their heads together + heavily, breaking their skulls; and, with a cry in his throat like a + wounded animal, left them, and entered the village no more. But it became + known that he had built a rude but on Purple Hill, and that he had been + seen standing beside The Stone or sitting among the boulders below it, + with his face bent upon the village. Those who had come near to him said + that he had greatly changed; that his hair and beard had grown long and + strong, and, in effect, that he looked like some rugged fragment of an + antique world. + </p> + <p> + The time came when they associated The Man with The Stone: they grew to + speak of him simply as The Man. There was something natural and apt in the + association. Then they avoided these two singular dwellers on the height. + What had happened to The Man when he lived in the village became almost as + great a legend as the Indian fable concerning The Stone. In the minds of + the people one seemed as old as the other. Women who knew the awful + disasters which had befallen The Man brooded at times most timidly, + regarding him as they did at first—and even still—The Stone. + Women who carried life unborn about with them had a strange dread of both + The Stone and The Man. Time passed on, and the feeling grew that The Man’s + grief must be a terrible thing, since he lived alone with The Stone and + God. But this did not prevent the men of the village from digging gold, + drinking liquor, and doing many kinds of evil. One day, again, they did an + unjust and cruel thing. They took Pierre, the gambler, whom they had at + first sought to vanquish at his own art, and, possessed suddenly of the + high duty of citizenship, carried him to the edge of a hill and dropped + him over, thinking thereby to give him a quick death, while the vultures + would provide him a tomb. But Pierre was not killed, though to his grave—unprepared + as yet—he would bear an arm which should never be lifted higher than + his shoulder. When he waked from the crashing gloom which succeeded the + fall, he was in the presence of a being whose appearance was awesome and + massive—an outlawed god: whose hair and beard were white, whose eye + was piercing, absorbing, painful, in the long perspective of its woe. This + being sat with his great hand clasped to the side of his head. The + beginning of his look was the village, and—though the vision seemed + infinite—the village was the end of it too. Pierre, looking through + the doorway beside which he lay, drew in his breath sharply, for it seemed + at first as if The Man was an unnatural fancy, and not a thing. Behind The + Man was The Stone, which was not more motionless nor more full of age than + this its comrade. Indeed, The Stone seemed more a thing of life as it + poised above the hill: The Man was sculptured rock. His white hair was + chiselled on his broad brow, his face was a solemn pathos petrified, his + lips were curled with an iron contempt, an incalculable anger. + </p> + <p> + The sun went down, and darkness gathered about The Man. Pierre reached out + his hand, and drank the water and ate the coarse bread that had been put + near him. He guessed that trees or protruding ledges had broken his fall, + and that he had been rescued and brought here. As he lay thinking, The Man + entered the doorway, stooping much to do so. With flints he lighted a wick + which hung from a wooden bowl of bear’s oil; then kneeling, held it above + his head, and looked at Pierre. And Pierre, who had never feared anyone, + shrank from the look in The Man’s eyes. But when the other saw that Pierre + was awake, a distant kindness came upon his face, and he nodded gravely; + but he did not speak. Presently a great tremor as of pain shook all his + limbs, and he set the candle on the ground, and with his stalwart hands + arranged afresh the bandages about Pierre’s injured arm and leg. Pierre + spoke at last. + </p> + <p> + “You are The Man”? he said. The other bowed his head. + </p> + <p> + “You saved me from those devils in the valley?” A look of impregnable + hardness came into The Man’s face, but he pressed Pierre’s hand for + answer; and though the pressure was meant to be gentle, Pierre winced + painfully. The candle spluttered, and the hut filled with a sickly smoke. + The Man brought some bear skins and covered the sufferer, for, the season + being autumn, the night was cold. Pierre, who had thus spent his first + sane and conscious hour in many days, fell asleep. What time it was when + he waked he was not sure, but it was to hear a metallic click-click come + to him through the clear air of night. It was a pleasant noise as of steel + and rock: the work of some lonely stone-cutter of the hills. The sound + reached him with strange, increasing distinctness. Was this Titan that had + saved him sculpturing some figure from the metal hill? Click-click! it + vibrated as regularly as the keen pulse of a watch. He lay and wondered + for a long time, but fell asleep again; and the steely iteration went on + in his dreams. + </p> + <p> + In the morning The Man came to him, and cared for his hurts, and gave him + food; but still would speak no word. He was gone nearly all day in the + hills; yet when evening came he sought the place where Pierre had seen him + the night before, and the same weird scene was re-enacted. And again in + the night the clicking sound went on; and every night it was renewed. + Pierre grew stronger, and could, with difficulty, stand upon his feet. One + night he crept out, and made his way softly, slowly towards the sound. He + saw The Man kneeling beside The Stone, he saw a hammer rise and fall upon + a chisel; and the chisel was at the base of The Stone. The hammer rose and + fell with perfect but dreadful precision. Pierre turned and looked towards + the village below, whose lights were burning like a bunch of fire-flies in + the gloom. Again he looked at The Stone and The Man. + </p> + <p> + Then the thing came to him sharply. The Man was chiselling away the socket + of The Stone, bringing it to that point of balance where the touch of a + finger, the wing of a bird, or the whistle of a north-west wind, would + send it down upon the offending and unsuspecting village. + </p> + <p> + The thought held him paralysed. The Man had nursed his revenge long past + the thought of its probability by the people beneath. He had at first sat + and watched the village, hated, and mused dreadfully upon the thing he had + determined to do. Then he had worked a little, afterwards more, and now, + lastly, since he had seen what they had done to Pierre, with the hot but + firm eagerness of an avenging giant. Pierre had done some sad deeds in his + time, and had tasted some sweet revenges, but nothing like to this had + ever entered his brain. In that village were men who—as they thought—had + cast him to a death fit only for a coward or a cur. Well, here was the + most exquisite retaliation. Though his hand should not be in the thing, he + could still be the cynical and approving spectator. + </p> + <p> + But yet: had all those people hovering about those lights below done harm + to him? He thought there were a few—and they were women—who + would not have followed his tumbril to his death with cries of execration. + The rest would have done so,—most of them did so, not because he was + a criminal, but because he was a victim, and because human nature as it is + thirsts inordinately at times for blood and sacrifice—a living + strain of the old barbaric instinct. He remembered that most of these + people were concerned in having injured The Man. The few good women there + had vile husbands; the few pardonable men had hateful wives: the village + of Purple Hill was an ill affair. + </p> + <p> + He thought: now doubtfully, now savagely, now with irony. + </p> + <p> + The hammer and steel clicked on. + </p> + <p> + He looked at the lights of the village again. Suddenly there came to his + mind the words of a great man who sought to save a city manifold centuries + ago. He was not sure that he wished to save this village; but there was a + grim, almost grotesque, fitness in the thing that he now intended. He + spoke out clearly through the night: + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak yet but this once: + Peradventure ten righteous shall be found there.’” + </p> + <p> + The hammer stopped. There was a silence, in which the pines sighed + lightly. Then, as if speaking was a labour, The Man replied in a deep, + harsh voice: + </p> + <p> + “I will not spare it for ten’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a silence, in which Pierre felt his maimed body bend + beneath him; but presently the voice said,—“Now!” + </p> + <p> + At this the moon swung from behind a cloud. The Man stood behind The + Stone. His arm was raised to it. There was a moment’s pause—it + seemed like years to Pierre; a wind came softly crying out of the west, + the moon hurried into the dark, and then a monster sprang from its + pedestal upon Purple Hill, and, with a sound of thunder and an awful + speed, raced upon the village below. The boulders of the hillside crumbled + after it. + </p> + <p> + And Pierre saw the lights go out. + </p> + <p> + The moon shone out again for an instant, and Pierre saw that The Man stood + where The Stone had been; but when he reached the place The Man was gone. + Forever! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TALL MASTER + </h2> + <p> + The story has been so much tossed about in the mouths of Indians, and + half-breeds, and men of the Hudson’s Bay Company, that you are pretty sure + to hear only an apocryphal version of the thing as you now travel in the + North. But Pretty Pierre was at Fort Luke when the battle occurred, and, + before and after, he sifted the business thoroughly. For he had a + philosophical turn, and this may be said of him, that he never lied except + to save another from danger. In this matter he was cool and impartial from + first to last, and evil as his reputation was in many ways there were + those who believed and trusted him. Himself, as he travelled here and + there through the North, had heard of the Tall Master. Yet he had never + met anyone who had seen him; for the Master had dwelt, it was said, + chiefly among the strange tribes of the Far-Off Metal River whose faces + were almost white, and who held themselves aloof from the southern races. + The tales lost nothing by being retold, even when the historians were the + men of the H. B. C.;—-Pierre knew what accomplished liars may be + found among that Company of Adventurers trading in Hudson’s Bay, and how + their art had been none too delicately engrafted by his own people. But he + was, as became him, open to conviction, especially when, journeying to + Fort Luke, he heard what John Hybar, the Chief Factor—a man of + uncommon quality—had to say. Hybar had once lived long among those + Indians of the Bright Stone, and had seen many rare things among them. He + knew their legends of the White Valley and the Hills of the Mighty Men, + and how their distinctive character had imposed itself on the whole Indian + race of the North, so that there was none but believed, even though + vaguely, in a pleasant land not south but Arcticwards; and Pierre himself, + with Shon McGann and Just Trafford, had once had a strange experience in + the Kimash Hills. He did not share the opinion of Lazenby, the Company’s + clerk at Fort Luke, who said, when the matter was talked of before him, + that it was all hanky-panky,—which was evidence that he had lived in + London town, before his anxious relatives, sending him forth under the + delusive flag of adventure and wild life, imprisoned him in the Arctic + regions with the H. B. C. + </p> + <p> + Lazenby admired Pierre; said he was good stuff, and voted him amusing, + with an ingenious emphasis of heathen oaths; but advised him, as only an + insolent young scoundrel can, to forswear securing, by the seductive game + of poker or euchre, larger interest on his capital than the H. B. C.; + whose record, he insisted, should never be rivalled by any single man in + any single lifetime. Then he incidentally remarked that he would like to + empty the Company’s cash-box once—only once;—thus reconciling + the preacher and the sinner, as many another has done. Lazenby’s morals + were not bad, however. He was simply fond of making them appear terrible; + even when in London he was more idle than wicked. He gravely suggested at + last, as a kind of climax, that he and Pierre should go out on the pad + together. This was a mere stroke of pleasantry on his part, because, the + most he could loot in that far North were furs and caches of buffalo meat; + and a man’s capacity and use for them were limited. Even Pierre’s especial + faculty and art seemed valueless so far Polewards; but he had his beat + throughout the land, and he kept it like a perfect patrolman. He had not + been at Fort Luke for years, and he would not be there again for more + years; but it was certain that he would go on reappearing till he vanished + utterly. At the end of the first week of this visit at Fort Luke, so + completely had he conquered the place, that he had won from the Chief + Factor the year’s purchases of skins, the stores, and the Fort itself; and + every stitch of clothing owned by Lazenby: so that, if he had insisted on + the redemption of the debts, the H. B. C. and Lazenby had been naked and + hungry in the wilderness. But Pierre was not a hard creditor. He instantly + and nonchalantly said that the Fort would be useless to him, and handed it + back again with all therein, on a most humorously constructed ninety-nine + years’ lease; while Lazenby was left in pawn. Yet Lazenby’s mind was not + at certain ease; he had a wholesome respect for Pierre’s singularities, + and dreaded being suddenly called upon to pay his debt before he could get + his new clothes made, maybe, in the presence of Wind Driver, chief of the + Golden Dogs, and his demure and charming daughter, Wine Face, who looked + upon him with the eye of affection—a matter fully, but not + ostentatiously, appreciated by Lazenby. If he could have entirely + forgotten a pretty girl in South Kensington, who, at her parents’ bidding, + turned her shoulder on him, he would have married Wine Face; and so he + told Pierre. But the half-breed had only a sardonic sympathy for such + weakness. Things changed at once when Shon McGann arrived. He should have + come before, according to a promise given Pierre, but there were reasons + for the delay; and these Shon elaborated in his finely picturesque style. + </p> + <p> + He said that he had lost his way after he left the Wapiti Woods, and + should never have found it again, had it not been for a strange being who + came upon him and took him to the camp of the White Hand Indians, and + cared for him there, and sent him safely on his way again to Fort Luke. + </p> + <p> + “Sorra wan did I ever see like him,” said Shon, “with a face that was + divil this minute and saint the next; pale in the cheek, and black in the + eye, and grizzled hair flowin’ long at his neck and lyin’ like snakes on + his shoulders; and whin his fingers closed on yours, bedad! they didn’t + seem human at all, for they clamped you so cold and strong.” + </p> + <p> + “‘For they clamped you so cold and strong,’” replied Pierre, mockingly, + yet greatly interested, as one could see by the upward range of his eye + towards Shon. “Well, what more?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, squeeze the acid from y’r voice, Pierre; for there’s things that + better become you: and listen to me, for I’ve news for all here at the + Fort, before I’ve done, which’ll open y’r eyes with a jerk.” + </p> + <p> + “With a wonderful jerk, hold! let us prepare, messieurs, to be waked with + an Irish jerk!” and Pierre pensively trifled with the fringe on Shon’s + buckskin jacket, which was whisked from his fingers with smothered anger. + For a few moments he was silent; but the eager looks of the Chief Factor + and Lazenby encouraged him to continue. Besides, it was only Pierre’s way—provoking + Shon was the piquant sauce of his life. + </p> + <p> + “Lyin’ awake I was,” continued Shon, “in the middle of the night, not + bein’ able to sleep for a pain in a shoulder I’d strained, whin I heard a + thing that drew me up standin’. It was the sound of a child laughin’; so + wonderful and bright, and at the very door of me tent it seemed. Then it + faded away till it was only a breath, lovely, and idle, and swingin’. I + wint to the door and looked out. There was nothin’ there, av coorse.” “And + why ‘av coorse’”? rejoined Pierre. The Chief Factor was intent on what + Shon was saying, while Lazenby drummed his fingers on the table, his nose + in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Divils me darlin’, but ye know as well as I, that there’s things in the + world neither for havin’ nor handlin’. And that’s wan of thim, says I to + meself.... I wint back and lay down, and I heard the voice singin’ now and + comin’ nearer and nearer, and growin’ louder and louder, and then there + came with it a patter of feet, till it was as a thousand children were + dancin’ by me door. I was shy enough, I’ll own; but I pulled aside the + curtain of the tent to see again: and there was nothin’ beyand for the + eye. But the singin’ was goin’ past and recedin’ as before, till it died + away along the waves of prairie grass. I wint back and give Grey Nose, my + Injin bed-fellow, a lift wid me fut. ‘Come out of that,’ says I, ‘and tell + me if dead or alive I am.’ He got up, and there was the noise soft and + grand again, but with it now the voices of men, the flip of birds’ wings + and the sighin’ of tree tops, and behind all that the long wash of a sea + like none I ever heard.... ‘Well,’ says I to the Injin grinnin’ before me, + ‘what’s that, in the name o’ Moses?’ ‘That,’ says he, laughin’ slow in me + face, ‘is the Tall Master—him that brought you to the camp.’ Thin I + remimbered all the things that’s been said of him, and I knew it was music + I’d been hearin’ and not children’s voices nor anythin’ else at all. + </p> + <p> + “‘Come with me,’ says Grey Nose; and he took me to the door of a big tent + standin’ alone from the rest. + </p> + <p> + “‘Wait a minute,’ says he, and he put his hand on the tent curtain; and at + that there was a crash, as a million gold hammers were fallin’ on silver + drums. And we both stood still; for it seemed an army, with swords + wranglin’ and bridle-chains rattlin’, was marchin’ down on us. There was + the divil’s own uproar, as a battle was comin’ on; and a long line of + spears clashed. But just then there whistled through the larrup of sound a + clear voice callin’, gentle and coaxin’, yet commandin’ too; and the + spears dropped, and the pounding of horsehoofs ceased, and then the army + marched away; far away; iver so far away, into—” + </p> + <p> + “Into Heaven!” flippantly interjected Lazenby. “Into Heaven, say I, and be + choked to you! for there’s no other place for it; and I’ll stand by that, + till I go there myself, and know the truth o’ the thing.” Pierre here + spoke. “Heaven gave you a fine trick with words, Shon McGann. I sometimes + think Irishmen have gifts for only two things—words and women. ... + ‘Bien,’ what then?” + </p> + <p> + Shon was determined not to be angered. The occasion was too big. “Well, + Grey Nose lifted the curtain and wint in. In a minute he comes out. ‘You + can go in,’ says he. So in I wint, the Injin not comin’, and there in the + middle of the tint stood the Tall Master, alone. He had his fiddle to his + chin, and the bow hoverin’ above it. He looked at me for a long time along + the thing; then, all at once, from one string I heard the child laughin’ + that pleasant and distant, though the bow seemed not to be touchin’. Soon + it thinned till it was the shadow of a laugh, and I didn’t know whin it + stopped, he smilin’ down at the fiddle bewhiles. Then he said without + lookin’ at me,—‘It is the spirit of the White Valley and the Hills + of the Mighty Men; of which all men shall know, for the North will come to + her spring again one day soon, at the remaking of the world. They thought + the song would never be found again, but I have given it a home here.’ And + he bent and kissed the strings. After, he turned sharply as if he’d been + spoken to, and looked at someone beside him; someone that I couldn’t see. + A cloud dropped upon his face, he caught the fiddle hungrily to his + breast, and came limpin’ over to me—for there was somethin’ wrong + with his fut—and lookin’ down his hook-nose at me, says he,—‘I’ve + a word for them at Fort Luke, where you’re goin’, and you’d better be gone + at once; and I’ll put you on your way. There’s to be a great battle. The + White Hands have an ancient feud with the Golden Dogs, and they have come + from where the soft Chinook wind ranges the Peace River, to fight until no + man of all the Golden Dogs be left, or till they themselves be destroyed. + It is the same north and south,’ he wint on; ‘I have seen it all in Italy, + in Greece, in—’ but here he stopped and smiled strangely. After a + minute he wint on: ‘The White Hands have no quarrel with the Englishmen of + the Fort, and I would warn them, for Englishmen were once kind to me—and + warn also the Golden Dogs. So come with me at once,’ says he. And I did. + And he walked with me till mornin’, carryin’ the fiddle under his arm, but + wrapped in a beautiful velvet cloth, havin’ on it grand figures like the + arms of a king or queen. And just at the first whisk of sun he turned me + into a trail and give me good-bye, sayin’ that maybe he’d follow me soon, + and, at any rate, he’d be there at the battle. Well, divils betide me! I + got off the track again; and lost a day; but here I am; and there’s me + story to take or lave as you will.” + </p> + <p> + Shon paused and began to fumble with the cards on the table before him, + looking the while at the others. + </p> + <p> + The Chief Factor was the first to speak. “I don’t doubt but he told you + true about the White Hands and the Golden Dogs,” he said; “for there’s + been war and bad blood between them beyond the memory of man—at + least since the time that the Mighty Men lived, from which these date + their history. But there’s nothing to be done to-night; for if we tell old + Wind Driver, there’ll be no sleeping at the Fort. So we’ll let the thing + stand.” + </p> + <p> + “You believe all this poppy-cock, Chief”? said Lazenby to the Factor, but + laughing in Shon’s face the while. The Factor gravely replied: “I knew of + the Tall Master years ago on the Far-Off Metal River; and though I never + saw him I can believe these things—and more. You do not know this + world through and through, Lazenby; you have much to learn.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre said nothing. He took the cards from Shon and passed them to and + fro in his hand. Mechanically he dealt them out, and as mechanically they + took them up and in silence began to play. + </p> + <p> + The next day there was commotion and excitement at Fort Luke. The Golden + Dogs were making preparations for the battle. Pow-wow followed pow-wow, + and paint and feathers followed all. The H. B. C. people had little to do + but look to their guns and house everything within the walls of the Fort. + </p> + <p> + At night, Shon, Pierre, and Lazenby were seated about the table in the + common-room, the cards lying dealt before them, waiting for the Factor to + come. Presently the door opened and the Factor entered, followed by + another. Shon and Pierre sprang to their feet. + </p> + <p> + “The Tall Master,” said Shon with a kind of awe; and then stood still. + </p> + <p> + Their towering visitor slowly unloosed something he carried very carefully + and closely beneath his arm, and laid it on the table, dropping his + compass-like fingers softly on it. He bowed gravely to each, yet the bow + seemed grotesque, his body was so ungainly. With the eyes of all drawn to + him absolutely, he spoke in a low sonorous tone: “I have followed the + traveller fast”—his hand lifted gently towards Shon—“for there + are weighty concerns abroad, and I have things to say and do before I go + again to my people—and beyond.... I have hungered for the face of a + white man these many years, and his was the first I saw;”—again he + tossed a long finger towards the Irishman—“and it brought back many + things. I remember... “ He paused, then sat down; and they all did the + same. He looked at them one by one with distant kindness. “I remember,” he + continued, and his strangely articulated fingers folded about the thing on + the table beside him, “when”—here the cards caught his eye. His face + underwent a change. An eager fantastic look shot from his eye, “when I + gambled this away at Lucca,”—his hand drew the bundle closer to him—“but + I won it back again—at a price!” he gloomily added, glancing + sideways as to someone at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + He remained, eyes hanging upon space for a moment, then he recollected + himself and continued: “I became wiser; I never risked it again; but I + loved the game always. I was a gamester from the start—the artist is + always so when he is greatest,—like nature herself. And once, years + after, I played with a mother for her child—and mine. And yet once + again at Parma with”—here he paused, throwing that sharp sidelong + glance—“with the greatest gamester, for the infinite secret of Art: + and I won it; but I paid the price!... I should like to play now.” + </p> + <p> + He reached his hand, drew up five cards, and ran his eye through them. + “Play!” he said. “The hand is good—very good.... Once when I played + with the Princess—but it is no matter; and Tuscany is far away!... + Play!” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + Pierre instantly picked up the cards, with an air of cool satisfaction. He + had either found the perfect gamester or the perfect liar. He knew the + remedy for either. + </p> + <p> + The Chief Factor did not move. Shon and Lazenby followed Pierre’s action. + By their positions Lazenby became his partner. They played in silence for + a minute, the Tall Master taking all. “Napoleon was a wonderful player, + but he lost with me,” he said slowly as he played a card upon three others + and took them. + </p> + <p> + Lazenby was so taken back by this remark that, presently, he trumped his + partner’s ace, and was rewarded by a talon-like look from the Tall + Master’s eye; but it was immediately followed by one of saturnine + amusement. + </p> + <p> + They played on silently. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are a wonderful player!” he presently said to Pierre, with a look + of keen scrutiny. “Come, I will play with you—for values—the + first time in seventy-five years; then, no more!” + </p> + <p> + Lazenby and Shon drew away beside the Chief Factor. The two played. + Meanwhile Lazenby said to Shon: “The man’s mad. He talks about Napoleon as + if he’d known him—as if it wasn’t three-fourths of a century ago. + Does he think we’re all born idiots? Why, he’s not over sixty years old + now. But where the deuce did he come from with that Italian face? And the + funniest part of it is, he reminds me of someone. Did you notice how he + limped—the awkward beggar!” + </p> + <p> + Lazenby had unconsciously lifted his voice, and presently the Tall Master + turned and said to him: “I ran a nail into my foot at Leyden seventy-odd + years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s the devil himself,” rejoined Lazenby, and he did not lower his + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Many with angelic gifts are children of His Dark Majesty,” said the Tall + Master, slowly; and though he appeared closely occupied with the game, a + look of vague sadness came into his face. + </p> + <p> + For a half-hour they played in silence, the slight, delicate-featured + half-breed, and the mysterious man who had for so long been a thing of + wonder in the North, a weird influence among the Indians. + </p> + <p> + There was a strange, cold fierceness in the Tall Master’s face. He now + staked his precious bundle against the one thing Pierre prized—the + gold watch received years ago for a deed of heroism on the Chaudiere. The + half-breed had always spoken of it as amusing, but Shon at least knew that + to Pierre it was worth his right hand. + </p> + <p> + Both men drew breath slowly, and their eyes were hard. The stillness + became painful; all were possessed by the grim spirit of Chance.... The + Tall Master won. He came to his feet, his shambling body drawn together to + a height. Pierre rose also. Their looks clinched. Pierre stretched out his + hand. “You are my master at this,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The other smiled sadly. “I have played for the last time. I have not + forgotten how to win. If I had lost, uncommon things had happened. This,”—he + laid his hand on the bundle and gently undid it,—“is my oldest + friend, since the warm days at Parma... all dead... all dead.” Out of the + velvet wrapping, broidered with royal and ducal arms, and rounded by a + wreath of violets—which the Chief Factor looked at closely—he + drew his violin. He lifted it reverently to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “My good Garnerius!” he said. “Three masters played you, but I am chief of + them all. They had the classic soul, but I the romantic heart—‘les + grandes caprices.’” His head lifted higher. “I am the master artist of the + world. I have found the core of Nature. Here in the North is the wonderful + soul of things. Beyond this, far beyond, where the foolish think is only + inviolate ice, is the first song of the Ages in a very pleasant land. I am + the lost Master, and I shall return, I shall return ... but not yet... not + yet.” + </p> + <p> + He fetched the instrument to his chin with a noble pride. The ugliness of + his face was almost beautiful now. + </p> + <p> + The Chief Factor’s look was fastened on him with bewilderment; he was + trying to remember something: his mind went feeling, he knew not why, for + a certain day, a quarter of a century before, when he unpacked a box of + books and papers from England. Most of them were still in the Fort. The + association of this man with these things fretted him. + </p> + <p> + The Tall Master swung his bow upward, but at that instant there came a + knock, and, in response to a call, Wind Driver and Wine Face entered. Wine + Face was certainly a beautiful girl; and Lazenby might well have been + pardoned for throwing in his fate with such a heathen, if he despaired of + ever seeing England again. The Tall Master did not turn towards these. The + Indians sat gracefully on a bearskin before the fire. The eyes of the girl + were cast shyly upon the Man as he stood there unlike an ordinary man; in + his face a fine hardness and the cold light of the North. He suddenly + tipped his bow upward and brought it down with a most delicate crash upon + the strings. Then softly, slowly, he passed into a weird fantasy. The + Indians sat breathless. Upon them it acted more impressively than the + others: besides, the player’s eye was searching them now; he was playing + into their very bodies. And they responded with some swift shocks of + recognition crossing their faces. Suddenly the old Indian sprang up. He + thrust his arms out, and made, as if unconsciously, some fantastic yet + solemn motions. The player smiled in a far-off fashion, and presently ran + the bow upon the strings in an exquisite cry; and then a beautiful + avalanche of sound slid from a distance, growing nearer and nearer, till + it swept through the room, and imbedded all in its sweetness. + </p> + <p> + At this the old Indian threw himself forward at the player’s feet. “It is + the song of the White Weaver, the maker of the world—the music from + the Hills of the Mighty Men.... I knew it—I knew it—but never + like that. ... It was lost to the world; the wild cry of the lofty + stars....” His face was wet. + </p> + <p> + The girl too had risen. She came forward as if in a dream and reverently + touched the arm of the musician, who paused now, and was looking at them + from under his long eyelashes. She said whisperingly: “Are you a spirit? + Do you come from the Hills of the Mighty Men?” + </p> + <p> + He answered gravely: “I am no spirit. But I have journeyed in the Hills of + the Mighty Men and along their ancient hunting-grounds. This that I have + played is the ancient music of the world—the music of Jubal and his + comrades. It comes humming from the Poles; it rides laughing down the + planets; it trembles through the snow; it gives joy to the bones of the + wind.... And I am the voice of it,” he added; and he drew up his loose + unmanageable body till it looked enormous, firm, and dominant. + </p> + <p> + The girl’s fingers ran softly over to his breast. “I will follow you,” she + said, “when you go again to the Happy Valleys.” + </p> + <p> + Down from his brow there swept a faint hue of colour, and, for a breath, + his eyes closed tenderly with hers. But he straightway gathered back his + look again, his body shrank, not rudely, from her fingers, and he absently + said: “I am old-in years the father of the world. It is a man’s life gone + since, at Genoa, she laid her fingers on my breast like that. ... These + things can be no more... until the North hath its summer again; and I + stand young—the Master—upon the summits of my renown.” + </p> + <p> + The girl drew slowly back. Lazenby was muttering under his breath now; he + was overwhelmed by this change in Wine Face. He had been impressed to awe + by the Tall Master’s music, but he was piqued, and determined not to give + in easily. He said sneeringly that Maskelyne and Cooke in music had come + to life, and suggested a snake-dance. + </p> + <p> + The Tall Master heard these things, and immediately he turned to Lazenby + with an angry look on his face. His brows hung heavily over the dull fire + of his eyes; his hair itself seemed like Medusa’s, just quivering into + savage life; the fingers spread out white and claw-like upon the strings + as he curved his violin to his chin, whereof it became, as it were, a + piece. The bow shot out and down upon the instrument with a great + clangour. There eddied into a vast arena of sound the prodigious elements + of war. Torture rose from those four immeasurable chords; destruction was + afoot upon them; a dreadful dance of death supervened. + </p> + <p> + Through the Chief Factor’s mind there flashed—though mechanically, + and only to be remembered afterwards—the words of a schoolday poem. + It shuttled in and out of the music: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Wheel the wild dance, + While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud; + And call the brave to bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud.” + </pre> + <p> + The face of the player grew old and drawn. The skin was wrinkled, but + shone, the hair spread white, the nose almost met the chin, the mouth was + all malice. It was old age with vast power: conquest volleyed from the + fingers. + </p> + <p> + Shon McGann whispered aves, aching with the sound; the Chief Factor + shuddered to his feet; Lazenby winced and drew back to the wall, putting + his hand before his face as though the sounds were striking him; the old + Indian covered his head with his arms upon the floor. Wine Face knelt, her + face all grey, her fingers lacing and interlacing with pain. Only Pierre + sat with masterful stillness, his eyes never moving from the face of the + player; his arms folded; his feet firmly wedded to the floor. The sound + became strangely distressing. It shocked the flesh and angered the nerves. + Upon Lazenby it acted singularly. He cowered from it, but presently, with + a look of madness in his eyes, rushed forward, arms outstretched, as + though to seize this intolerable minstrel. There was a sudden pause in the + playing; then the room quaked with noise, buffeting Lazenby into + stillness. The sounds changed instantly again, and music of an engaging + sweetness and delight fell about them as in silver drops—an + enchanting lyric of love. Its exquisite tenderness subdued Lazenby, who, + but now, had a heart for slaughter. He dropped on his knees, threw his + head into his arms, and sobbed hard. The Tall Master’s fingers crept + caressingly along one of those heavenly veins of sound, his bow poising + softly over it. The farthest star seemed singing. + </p> + <p> + At dawn the next day the Golden Dogs were gathered for war before the + Fort. Immediately after the sun rose, the foe were seen gliding darkly out + of the horizon. From another direction came two travellers. These also saw + the White Hands bearing upon the Fort, and hurried forward. They reached + the gates of the Fort in good time, and were welcomed. One was a chief + trader from a fort in the west. He was an old man, and had been many years + in the service of the H. B. C.; and, like Lazenby, had spent his early + days in London, a connoisseur in all its pleasures; the other was a + voyageur. They had posted on quickly to bring news of this crusade of the + White Hands. + </p> + <p> + The hostile Indians came steadily to within a few hundred yards of the + Golden Dogs. Then they sent a brave to say that they had no quarrel with + the people of the Fort; and that if the Golden Dogs came on they would + battle with them alone; since the time had come for “one to be as both,” + as their Medicine Men had declared since the days of the Great Race. And + this signified that one should destroy the other. + </p> + <p> + At this all the Golden Dogs ranged into line. The sun shone brightly, the + long hedge of pine woods in the distance caught the colour of the sky, the + flowers of the plains showed handsomely as a carpet of war. The bodies of + the fighters glistened. You could see the rise and fall of their bare, + strenuous chests. They stood as their forefathers in battle, almost naked, + with crested head, gleaming axe, scalp-knife, and bows and arrows. At + first there was the threatening rustle of preparation; then a great + stillness came and stayed for a moment; after which, all at once, there + sped through the air a big shout of battle, and the innumerable twang of + flying arrows; and the opposing hosts ran upon each other. + </p> + <p> + Pierre and Shon McGann, watching from the Fort, cried out with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Divils me darlin’!” called Shon, “are we gluin’ our eyes to a chink in + the wall, whin the tangle of battle goes on beyand? Bedad, I’ll not stand + it! Look at them twistin’ the neck o’ war! Open the gates, open the gates + say I, and let us have play with our guns.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! ‘Mon Dieu!’” interrupted Pierre. “Look! The Tall Master!” + </p> + <p> + None at the Fort had seen the Tall Master since the night before. Now he + was covering the space between the walls and the battle, his hair + streaming behind him. + </p> + <p> + When he came near to the vortex of fight he raised his violin to his chin, + and instantly a piercingly sweet call penetrated the wild uproar. The Call + filled it, drained through it, wrapped it, overcame it; so that it sank + away at last like the outwash of an exhausted tide: the weft of battle + stayed unfinished in the loom. + </p> + <p> + Then from the Indian lodges came the women and children. They drew near to + the unearthly luxury of that Call, now lifting with an unbounded joy. + Battleaxes fell to the ground; the warriors quieted even where they stood + locked with their foes. The Tall Master now drew away from them, facing + the north and west. That ineffable Call drew them after him with grave + joy; and they brought their dead and wounded along. The women and children + glided in among the men and followed also. Presently one girl ran away + from the rest and came close into the great leader’s footsteps. + </p> + <p> + At that instant, Lazenby, from the wall of the Fort, cried out madly, + sprang down, opened the gates, and rushed towards the girl, crying: “Wine + Face! Wine Face!” + </p> + <p> + She did not look behind. But he came close to her and caught her by the + waist. “Come back! Come back! O my love, come back!” he urged; but she + pushed him gently from her. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Hush!” she said. “We are going to the Happy Valleys. Don’t you hear + him calling”?... And Lazenby fell back. + </p> + <p> + The Tall Master was now playing a wonderful thing, half dance, half + carnival; but with that Call still beating through it. They were passing + the Fort at an angle. All within issued forth to see. Suddenly the old + trader who had come that morning started forward with a cry; then stood + still. He caught the Factor’s arm; but he seemed unable to speak yet; his + face was troubled, his eyes were hard upon the player. + </p> + <p> + The procession passed the empty lodges, leaving the ground strewn with + their weapons, and not one of their number stayed behind. They passed away + towards the high hills of the north-west-beautiful austere barriers. + </p> + <p> + Still the trader gazed, and was pale, and trembled. They watched long. The + throng of pilgrims grew a vague mass; no longer an army of individuals; + and the music came floating back with distant charm. At last the old man + found voice. “My God, it is—” + </p> + <p> + The Factor touched his arm, interrupting him, and drew a picture from his + pocket—one but just now taken from that musty pile of books, + received so many years before. He showed it to the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said the other, “that is he.... And the world buried him forty + years ago!” + </p> + <p> + Pierre, standing near, added with soft irony: “There are strange things in + the world. He is the gamester of the world. ‘Mais’ a grand comrade also.” + </p> + <p> + The music came waving back upon them delicately but the pilgrims were + fading from view. + </p> + <p> + Soon the watchers were alone with the glowing day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CRIMSON FLAG + </h2> + <p> + Talk and think as one would, The Woman was striking to see; with + marvellous flaxen hair and a joyous violet eye. She was all pulse and + dash; but she was as much less beautiful than the manager’s wife as Tom + Liffey was as nothing beside the manager himself; and one would care + little to name the two women in the same breath if the end had been + different. When The Woman came to Little Goshen there were others of her + class there, but they were of a commoner sort and degree. She was the + queen of a lawless court, though she never, from first to last, spoke to + one of those others who were her people; neither did she hold commerce + with any of the ordinary miners, save Pretty Pierre, but he was more + gambler than miner,—and he went, when the matter was all over, and + told her some things that stripped her soul naked before her eyes. Pierre + had a wonderful tongue. It was only the gentlemen-diggers—and there + were many of them at Little Goshen—who called upon her when the + lights were low; and then there was a good deal of muffled mirth in the + white house among the pines. The rougher miners made no quarrel with this, + for the gentlemen-diggers were popular enough, they were merely sarcastic + and humorous, and said things which, coming to The Woman’s ears, made her + very merry; for she herself had an abundant wit, and had spent wild hours + with clever men. She did not resent the playful insolence that sent a + dozen miners to her house in the dead of night with a crimson flag, which + they quietly screwed to her roof; and paint, with which they deftly put a + wide stripe of scarlet round the cornice, and another round the basement. + In the morning, when she saw what had been done, she would not have the + paint removed nor the flag taken down; for, she said, the stripes looked + very well, and the other would show that she was always at home. + </p> + <p> + Now, the notable thing was that Heldon, the manager, was in The Woman’s + house on the night this was done. Tom Liffey, the lumpish guide and + trapper, saw him go in; and, days afterwards, he said to Pierre: “Divils + me own, but this is a bad hour for Heldon’s wife—she with a face + like a princess and eyes like the fear o’ God. Nivir a wan did I see like + her, since I came out of Erin with a clatter of hoofs behoind me and a + squall on the sea before. There’s wimmin there wid cheeks like roses and + buthermilk, and a touch that’d make y’r heart pound on y’r ribs; but none + that’s grander than Heldon’s wife. To lave her for that other, standin’ + hip-high in her shame, is temptin’ the fires of Heaven, that basted the + sinners o’ Sodom.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre, pausing between the whiffs of a cigarette, said: “So? But you know + more of catching foxes in winter, and climbing mountains in summer, and + the grip of the arm of an Injin girl, than of these things. You are young, + quite young in the world, Tom Liffey.” + </p> + <p> + “Young I may be with a glint o’ grey at me temples from a night o’ trouble + beyand in the hills; but I’m the man, an’ the only man, that’s climbed to + the glacier-top—God’s Playground, as they call it: and nivir a dirty + trick have I done to Injin girl or any other; and be damned to you there!” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I think you are as foolish as Shon McGann,” compassionately + replied the half-breed. + </p> + <p> + “You have almighty virtue, and you did that brave trick of the glacier; + but great men have fallen. You are not dead yet. Still, as you say, + Heldon’s wife is noble to see. She is grave and cold, and speaks little; + but there is something in her which is not of the meek of the earth. Some + women say nothing, and suffer and forgive, and take such as Heldon back to + their bosoms; but there are others—I remember a woman—bien, it + is no matter, it was long ago; but they two are as if born of one mother; + and what comes of this will be mad play—mad play.” + </p> + <p> + “Av coorse his wife may not get to know of it, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Not get to know it! ‘Tsh, you are a child—” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, I’ll say what I think, and that in y’r face! Maybe he’ll tire of + the handsome rip—for handsome she is, like a yellow lily growin’ out + o’ mud—and go back to his lawful wife, that believes he’s at the + mines, when he’s drinkin’ and colloguin’ wid a fly-away.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre slowly wheeled till he had the Irishman straight in his eye. Then + he said in a low, cutting tone: “I suppose your heart aches for the + beautiful lady, eh?” Here he screwed his slight forefinger into Tom’s + breast; then he added sharply: “‘Nom de Dieu,’ but you make me angry! You + talk too much. Such men get into trouble. And keep down the riot of that + heart of yours, Tom Liffey, or you’ll walk on the edge of knives one day. + And now take an inch of whisky and ease the anxious soul. ‘Voila!’” After + a moment he added: “Women work these things out for themselves.” Then the + two left the hut, and amiably strolled together to the centre of the + village, where they parted. It was as Pierre had said: the woman would + work the thing out for herself. Later that evening Heldon’s wife stood + cloaked and veiled in the shadows of the pines, facing the house with The + Crimson Flag. Her eyes shifted ever from the door to the flag, which was + stirred by the light breeze. Once or twice she shivered as with cold, but + she instantly stilled again, and watched. It was midnight. Here and there + beyond in the village a light showed, and straggling voices floated + faintly towards her. For a long time no sound came from the house. But at + last she heard a laugh. At that she drew something from her pocket, and + held it firmly in her hand. Once she turned and looked at another house + far up on the hill, where lights were burning. It was Heldon’s house—her + home. A sharp sound as of anguish and anger escaped her; then she fastened + her eyes on the door in front of her. + </p> + <p> + At that moment Tom Liffey was standing with his hands on his hips looking + at Heldon’s home on the hill; and he said some rumbling words, then strode + on down the road, and suddenly paused near the wife. He did not see her. + He faced the door at which she was looking, and shook his fist at it. + </p> + <p> + “A murrain on y’r sowl!” said he, “as there’s plague in y’r body, and hell + in the slide of y’r feet, like the trail of the red spider. And out o’ + that come ye, Heldon, for I know y’re there. Out of that, ye beast! ... + But how can ye go back—you that’s rolled in that sewer—to the + loveliest woman that ever trod the neck o’ the world! Damned y’ are in + every joint o’ y’r frame, and damned is y’r sowl, I say, for bringing + sorrow to her; and I hate you as much for that, as I could worship her was + she not your wife and a lady o’ blood, God save her!” + </p> + <p> + Then shaking his fist once more, he swung away slowly down the road. + During this the wife’s teeth held together as though they were of a piece. + She looked after Tom Liffey and smiled; but it was a dreadful smile. + </p> + <p> + “He worships me, that common man—worships me,” she said. “This man + who was my husband has shamed me, left me. Well—” + </p> + <p> + The door of the house opened; a man came out. His wife leaned a little + forward, and something clicked ominously in her hand. But a voice came up + the road towards them through the clear air—the voice of Tom Liffey. + The husband paused to listen; the wife mechanically did the same. The + husband remembered this afterwards: it was the key to, and the beginning + of, a tragedy. These are the words the Irishman sang: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “She was a queen, she stood up there before me, + My blood went roarin’ when she touched my hand; + She kissed me on the lips, and then she swore me + To die for her—and happy was the land.” + </pre> + <p> + A new and singular look came into her face. It trans formed her. “That,” + she said in a whisper to herself—“that! He knows the way.” + </p> + <p> + As her husband turned towards his home, she turned also. He heard the + rustle of garments, and he could just discern the cloaked figure in the + shadows. He hurried on; the figure flitted ahead of him. A fear possessed + him in spite of his will. He turned back. The figure stood still for a + moment, then followed him. He braced himself, faced about, and walked + towards it: it stopped and waited. He had not the courage. He went back + again swiftly towards the house he had left. Again he looked behind him. + The figure was standing, not far, in the pines. He wheeled suddenly + towards the house, turned a key in the door, and entered. + </p> + <p> + Then the wife went to that which had been her home: Heldon did not go + thither until the first flush of morning. Pierre, returning from an + all-night sitting at cards, met him, and saw the careworn look on his + face. The half-breed smiled. He knew that the event was doubling on the + man. When Heldon reached his house, he went to his wife’s room. It was + locked. Then he walked down to his mines with a miserable shame and anger + at his heart. He did not pass The Crimson Flag. He went by another way. + </p> + <p> + That evening, in the dusk, a woman knocked at Tom Liffey’s door. He opened + it. + </p> + <p> + “Are you alone”? she said. “I am alone, lady.” + </p> + <p> + “I will come in,” she added. “You will—come in”? he faltered. + </p> + <p> + She drew near him, and reached out and gently caught his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, with a sound almost like a sob in its intensity, and the + blood flushed to his hair. + </p> + <p> + He stepped aside, and she entered. In the light of the candle her eye + burned into his, but her face wore a shining coldness. She leaned towards + him. + </p> + <p> + “You said you could worship me,” she whispered, “and you cursed him. Well—worship + me—altogether—and that will curse him, as he has killed me.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear lady!” he said, in an awed, overwhelmed murmur; and he fell back to + the wall. + </p> + <p> + She came towards him. “Am I not beautiful”? she urged. She took his hand. + His eye swam with hers. But his look was different from hers, though he + could not know that. His was the madness of a man in a dream; hers was a + painful thing. The Furies dwelt in her. She softly lifted his hand above + his head, and whispered: “Swear.” And she kissed him. Her lips were icy, + though he did not think so. The blood tossed in his veins. He swore: but, + doing so, he could not conceive all that would be required of him. He was + hers, body and soul, and she had resolved on a grim thing.... In the + darkness, they left the hut and passed into the woods, and slowly up + through the hills. + </p> + <p> + Heldon returned to his home that night to find it empty. There were no + servants. There was no wife. Her cat and dog lay dead upon the hearthrug. + Her clothing was cut into strips. Her wedding-dress was a charred heap on + the fireplace. Her jewellery lay molten with it. Her portrait had been + torn from its frame. + </p> + <p> + An intolerable fear possessed him. Drops of sweat hung on his forehead and + his hands. He fled towards the town. He bit his finger-nails till they + bled as he passed the house in the pines. He lifted his arm as if the + flappings of The Crimson Flag were blows in his face. + </p> + <p> + At last he passed Tom Liffey’s hut. He saw Pierre, coming from it. The + look on the gambler’s face was one, of gloomy wonder. His fingers trembled + as he lighted a cigarette, and that was an unusual thing. The form of + Heldon edged within the light. Pierre dropped the match and said to him,—“You + are looking for your wife?” + </p> + <p> + Heldon bowed his head. The other threw open the door of the hut. “Come in + here,” he said. They entered. Pierre pointed to a woman’s hat on the + table. “Do you know that”? he asked, huskily, for he was moved. But Heldon + only nodded dazedly. Pierre continued: “I was to have met Tom Liffey here—to-night. + He is not here. You hoped—I suppose—to see your wife in your—home. + She is not there. He left a word on paper for me. I have torn it up. + Writing is the enemy of man. But I know where he is gone. I know also + where your wife has gone.” + </p> + <p> + Heldon’s face was of a hateful paleness.... They passed out into the + night. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going”? Heldon said. + </p> + <p> + “To God’s Playground, if we can get there.” + </p> + <p> + “To God’s Playground? To the glacier-top? You are mad.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but he and she were mad. Come on.” Then he whispered something, and + Heldon gave a great cry, and they plunged into the woods. + </p> + <p> + In the morning the people of Little Goshen, looking towards the glacier, + saw a flag (they knew afterwards that it was crimson) flying on it. Near + it were two human figures. A miner, looking through a field-glass, said + that one figure was crouching by the flag-staff, and that it was a woman. + The other figure near was a man. As the morning wore on, they saw upon a + crag of ice below the sloping glacier two men looking upwards towards the + flag. One of them seemed to shriek out, and threw up his hands, and made + as if to rush forward; but the other drew him back. + </p> + <p> + Heldon knew what revenge and disgrace may be at their worst. In vain he + tried to reach God’s Playground. Only one man knew the way, and he was + dead upon it—with Heldon’s wife: two shameless suicides.... When he + came down from the mountain the hair upon his face was white, though that + upon his head remained black as it had always been. And those frozen + figures stayed there like statues with that other crimson flag: until, one + day, a great-bodied wind swept out of the north, and, in pity, carried + them down a bottomless fissure. + </p> + <p> + But long before this happened, The Woman had fled from Little Goshen in + the night, and her house was burned to the ground. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FLOOD + </h2> + <p> + Wendling came to Fort Anne on the day that the Reverend Ezra Badgley and + an unknown girl were buried. And that was a notable thing. The man had + been found dead at his evening meal; the girl had died on the same day; + and they were buried side by side. This caused much scandal, for the man + was holy, and the girl, as many women said, was probably evil altogether. + At the graves, when the minister’s people saw what was being done, they + piously protested; but the Factor, to whom Pierre had whispered a word, + answered them gravely that the matter should go on: since none knew but + the woman was as worthy of heaven as the man. Wendling chanced to stand + beside Pretty Pierre. + </p> + <p> + “Who knows!” he said aloud, looking hard at the graves, “who knows!... She + died before him, but the dead can strike.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre did not answer immediately, for the Factor was calling the earth + down on both coffins; but after a moment he added: “Yes, the dead can + strike.” And then the eyes of the two men caught and stayed, and they knew + that they had things to say to each other in the world. + </p> + <p> + They became friends. And that, perhaps, was not greatly to Wendling’s + credit; for in the eyes of many Pierre was an outcast as an outlaw. Maybe + some of the women disliked this friendship most; since Wendling was a + handsome man, and Pierre was never known to seek them, good or bad; and + they blamed him for the other’s coldness, for his unconcerned yet + respectful eye. + </p> + <p> + “There’s Nelly Nolan would dance after him to the world’s end,” said Shon + McGann to Pierre one day; “and the Widdy Jerome herself, wid her flamin’ + cheeks and the wild fun in her eye, croons like a babe at the breast as he + slides out his cash on the bar; and over on Gansonby’s Flat there’s—” + </p> + <p> + “There’s many a fool, ‘voila,’” sharply interjected Pierre, as he pushed + the needle through a button he was sewing on his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Bedad, there’s a pair of fools here, anyway, I say; for the women might + die without lift at waist or brush of lip, and neither of ye’d say, + ‘Here’s to the joy of us, goddess, me own!’” + </p> + <p> + Pierre seemed to be intently watching the needlepoint as it pierced up the + button-eye, and his reply was given with a slowness corresponding to the + sedate passage of the needle. “Wendling, you think, cares nothing for + women? Well, men who are like that cared once for one woman, and when that + was over—But, pshaw! I will not talk. You are no thinker, Shon + McGann. You blunder through the world. And you’ll tremble as much to a + woman’s thumb in fifty years as now.” + </p> + <p> + “By the holy smoke,” said Shon, “though I tremble at that, maybe, I’ll not + tremble, as Wendling, at nothing at all.” Here Pierre looked up sharply, + then dropped his eyes on his work again. Shon lapsed suddenly into a + moodiness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Pierre, “as Wendling, at nothing at all? Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this, Pierre, for you that’s a thinker from me that’s none. I was + walking with him in Red Glen yesterday. Sudden he took to shiverin’, and + snatched me by the arm, and a mad look shot out of his handsome face. + ‘Hush!’ says he. I listened. There was a sound like the hard rattle of a + creek over stones, and then another sound behind that. ‘Come quick,’ says + he, the sweat standin’ thick on him; and he ran me up the bank—for + it was at the beginnin’ of the Glen where the sides were low—and + there we stood pantin’ and starin’ flat at each other. ‘What’s that? and + what’s got its hand on ye? for y’ are cold as death, an’ pinched in the + face, an’ you’ve bruised my arm,’ said I. And he looked round him slow and + breathed hard, then drew his fingers through the sweat on his cheek. ‘I’m + not well, and I thought I heard—you heard it; what was it like?’ + said he; and he peered close at me. ‘Like water,’ said I; ‘a little creek + near, and a flood comin’ far off.’ ‘Yes, just that,’ said he; ‘it’s some + trick of wind in the place, but it makes a man foolish, and an inch of + brandy would be the right thing.’ I didn’t say no to that. And on we came, + and brandy we had with a wish in the eye of Nelly Nolan that’d warm the + heart of a tomb.... And there’s a cud for your chewin’, Pierre. Think that + by the neck and the tail, and the divil absolve ye.” + </p> + <p> + During this, Pierre had finished with the button. He had drawn on his coat + and lifted his hat, and now lounged, trying the point of the needle with + his forefinger. When Shon ended, he said with a sidelong glance: “But what + did you think of all that, Shon?” + </p> + <p> + “Think! There it was! What’s the use of thinkin’? There’s many a trick in + the world with wind or with spirit, as I’ve seen often enough in ould + Ireland, and it’s not to be guessed by me.” Here his voice got a little + lower and a trifle solemn. “For, Pierre,” spoke he, “there’s what’s more + than life or death, and sorra wan can we tell what it is; but we’ll know + some day whin—” + </p> + <p> + “When we’ve taken the leap at the Almighty Ditch,” said Pierre, with a + grave kind of lightness. “Yes, it is all strange. But even the Almighty + Ditch is worth the doing: nearly everything is worth the doing; being + young, growing old, fighting, loving—when youth is on—hating, + eating, drinking, working, playing big games. All is worth it except two + things.” + </p> + <p> + “And what are they, bedad?” + </p> + <p> + “Thy neighbour’s wife and murder. Those are horrible. They double on a man + one time or another; always.” + </p> + <p> + Here, as in curiosity, Pierre pierced his finger with the needle, and + watched the blood form in a little globule. Looking at it meditatively and + sardonically, he said: “There is only one end to these. Blood for blood is + a great matter; and I used to wonder if it would not be terrible for a man + to see his death coming on him drop by drop, like that.” He let the spot + of blood fall to the floor. “But now I know that there is a punishment + worse than that... ‘mon Dieu!’ worse than that,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Into Shon’s face a strange look had suddenly come. “Yes, there’s something + worse than that, Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + “So, ‘bien?’” + </p> + <p> + Shon made the sacred gesture of his creed. “To be punished by the dead. + And not see them—only hear them.” And his eyes steadied firmly to + the other’s. + </p> + <p> + Pierre was about to reply, but there came the sound of footsteps through + the open door, and presently Wendling entered slowly. He was pale and + worn, and his eyes looked out with a searching anxiousness. But that did + not render him less comely. He had always dressed in black and white, and + this now added to the easy and yet severe refinement of his person. His + birth and breeding had occurred in places unfrequented by such as Shon and + Pierre; but plains and wild life level all; and men are friends according + to their taste and will, and by no other law. Hence these with Wendling. + He stretched out his hand to each without a word. The hand-shake was + unusual; he had little demonstration ever. Shon looked up surprised, but + responded. Pierre followed with a swift, inquiring look; then, in the + succeeding pause, he offered cigarettes. Wendling took one; and all, + silent, sat down. The sun streamed intemperately through the doorway, + making a broad ribbon of light straight across the floor to Wendling’s + feet. After lighting his cigarette, he looked into the sunlight for a + moment, still not speaking. Shon meanwhile had started his pipe, and now, + as if he found the silence awkward,—“It’s a day for God’s country, + this,” he said: “to make man a Christian for little or much, though he + play with the Divil betunewhiles.” Without looking at them, Wendling said, + in a low voice: “It was just such a day, down there in Quebec, when It + happened. You could hear the swill of the river, the water licking the + piers, and the saws in the Big Mill and the Little Mill as they marched + through the timber, flashing their teeth like bayonets. It’s a wonderful + sound on a hot, clear day—that wild, keen singing of the saws, like + the cry of a live thing fighting and conquering. Up from the fresh-cut + lumber in the yards there came a smell like the juice of apples, and the + sawdust, as you thrust your hand into it, was as cool and soft as the + leaves of a clove-flower in the dew. On these days the town was always + still. It looked sleeping, and you saw the heat quivering up from the + wooden walls and the roofs of cedar shingles as though the houses were + breathing.” + </p> + <p> + Here he paused, still intent on the shaking sunshine. Then he turned to + the others as if suddenly aware that he had been talking to them. Shon was + about to speak, but Pierre threw a restraining glance, and, instead, they + all looked through the doorway and beyond. In the settlement below they + saw the effect that Wendling had described. The houses breathed. A + grasshopper went clacking past, a dog at the door snapped up a fly; but + there seemed no other life of day. Wendling nodded his head towards the + distance. “It was quiet, like that. I stood and watched the mills and the + yards, and listened to the saws, and looked at the great slide, and the + logs on the river: and I said ever to myself that it was all mine—all. + Then I turned to a big house on the hillock beyond the cedars, whose + windows were open, with a cool dusk lying behind them. More than all else, + I loved to think I owned that house and what was in it.... She was a + beautiful woman. And she used to sit in a room facing the mill—though + the house fronted another way—thinking of me, I did not doubt, and + working at some delicate needle-stuff. There never had been a sharp word + between us, save when I quarrelled bitterly with her brother, and he left + the mill and went away. But she got over that mostly, though the lad’s + name was, never mentioned between us. That day I was so hungry for the + sight of her that I got my field-glass—used to watch my vessels and + rafts making across the bay—and trained it on the window where I + knew she sat. I thought, it would amuse her, too, when I went back at + night, if I told her what she had been doing. I laughed to myself at the + thought of it as I adjusted the glass.... I looked.... There was no more + laughing.... I saw her, and in front of her a man, with his back half on + me. I could not recognise him, though at the instant I thought he was + something familiar. I failed to get his face at all. Hers I found + indistinctly. But I saw him catch her playfully by the chin! After a + little they rose. He put his arm about her and kissed her, and he ran his + fingers through her hair. She had such fine golden hair—so light, + and it lifted to every breath. Something got into my brain. I know now it + was the maggot which sent Othello mad. The world in that hour was + malicious, awful.... + </p> + <p> + “After a time—it seemed ages, she and everything had receded so far—I + went... home. At the door I asked the servant who had been there. She + hesitated, confused, and then said the young curate of the parish. I was + very cool: for madness is a strange thing; you see everything with an + intense aching clearness—that is the trouble.... She was more kind + than common. I do not think I was unusual. I was playing a part well, my + grandmother had Indian blood like yours, Pierre, and I was waiting. I was + even nicely critical of her to myself. I balanced the mole on her neck + against her general beauty; the curve of her instep, I decided, was a + little too emphatic. I passed her backwards and forwards, weighing her at + every point; but yet these two things were the only imperfections. I + pronounced her an exceeding piece of art—and infamy. I was much + interested to see how she could appear perfect in her soul. I encouraged + her to talk. I saw with devilish irony that an angel spoke. And, to cap it + all, she assumed the fascinating air of the mediator—for her + brother; seeking a reconciliation between us. Her amazing art of person + and mind so worked upon me that it became unendurable; it was so exquisite—and + so shameless. I was sitting where the priest had sat that afternoon; and + when she leaned towards me I caught her chin lightly and trailed my + fingers through her hair as he had done: and that ended it, for I was + cold, and my heart worked with horrible slowness. Just as a wave poises at + its height before breaking upon the shore, it hung at every pulse-beat, + and then seemed to fall over with a sickening thud. I arose, and acting + still, spoke impatiently of her brother. Tears sprang to her eyes. Such + divine dissimulation, I thought—too good for earth. She turned to + leave the room, and I did not stay her. Yet we were together again that + night.... I was only waiting.” + </p> + <p> + The cigarette had dropped from his fingers to the floor, and lay there + smoking. Shon’s face was fixed with anxiety; Pierre’s eyes played gravely + with the sunshine. Wendling drew a heavy breath, and then went on. + </p> + <p> + “Again, next day, it was like this-the world draining the heat.... I + watched from the Big Mill. I saw them again. He leaned over her chair and + buried his face in her hair. The proof was absolute now.... I started + away, going a roundabout, that I might not be seen. It took me some time. + I was passing through a clump of cedar when I saw them making towards the + trees skirting the river. Their backs were on me. Suddenly they diverted + their steps—towards the great slide, shut off from water this last + few months, and used as a quarry to deepen it. Some petrified things had + been found in the rocks, but I did not think they were going to these. I + saw them climb down the rocky steps; and presently they were lost to view. + The gates of the slide could be opened by machinery from the Little Mill. + A terrible, deliciously malignant thought came to me. I remember how the + sunlight crept away from me and left me in the dark. I stole through that + darkness to the Little Mill. I went to the machinery for opening the + gates. Very gently I set it in motion, facing the slide as I did so. I + could see it through the open sides of the mill. I smiled to think what + the tiny creek, always creeping through a faint leak in the gates and + falling with a granite rattle on the stones, would now become. I pushed + the lever harder—harder. I saw the gates suddenly give, then fly + open, and the river sprang roaring massively through them. I heard a + shriek through the roar. I shuddered; and a horrible sickness came on + me.... And as I turned from the machinery, I saw the young priest coming + at me through a doorway!... It was not the priest and my wife that I had + killed; but my wife and her brother....” + </p> + <p> + He threw his head back as though something clamped his throat. His voice + roughened with misery. “The young priest buried them both, and people did + not know the truth. They were even sorry for me. But I gave up the mills—all; + and I became homeless... this.” + </p> + <p> + Now he looked up at the two men, and said: “I have told you because you + know something, and because there will, I think, be an end soon.” He got + up and reached out a trembling hand for a cigarette. Pierre gave him one. + “Will you walk with me”? he asked. + </p> + <p> + Shon shook his head. “God forgive you,” he replied, “I can’t do it.” + </p> + <p> + But Wendling and Pierre left the hut together. They walked for an hour, + scarcely speaking, and not considering where they went. At last Pierre + mechanically turned to go down into Red Glen. Wendling stopped short, + then, with a sighing laugh, strode on. “Shoo has told you what happened + here”? he said. + </p> + <p> + Pierre nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And you know what came once when you walked with me.... The dead can + strike,” he added. Pierre sought his eye. “The minister and the girl + buried together that day,” he said, “were—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, for behind him he heard the sharp, cold trickle of water. + Silent they walked on. It followed them. They could not get out of the + Glen now until they had compassed its length—the walls were high. + The sound grew. The men faced each other. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” said Wendling; and he reached out his hand swiftly. But Pierre + heard a mighty flood groaning on them, and he blinded as he stretched his + arm in response. He caught at Wendling’s shoulder, but felt him lifted and + carried away, while he himself stood still in a screeching wind and heard + impalpable water rushing over him. In a minute it was gone; and he stood + alone in Red Glen. + </p> + <p> + He gathered himself up and ran. Far down, where the Glen opened to the + plain, he found Wendling. The hands were wrinkled; the face was cold; the + body was wet: the man was drowned and dead. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN PIPI VALLEY + </h2> + <p> + “Divils me darlins, it’s a memory I have of a time whin luck wasn’t + foldin’ her arms round me, and not so far back aither, and I on the + wallaby track hot-foot for the City o’ Gold.” + </p> + <p> + Shon McGann said this in the course of a discussion on the prosperity of + Pipi Valley. Pretty Pierre remarked nonchalantly in reply,—“The + wallaby track—eh—what is that, Shon?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a bit of a haythen y’ are, Pierre. The wallaby track? That’s the + name in Australia for trampin’ west through the plains of the Never-Never + Country lookin’ for the luck o’ the world; as, bedad, it’s meself that + knows it, and no other, and not by book or tellin’ either, but with the + grip of thirst at me throat and a reef in me belt every hour to quiet the + gnawin’.” And Shon proceeded to light his pipe afresh. + </p> + <p> + “But the City o’ Gold-was there much wealth for you there, Shon?” + </p> + <p> + Shon laughed, and said between the puffs of smoke, “Wealth for me, is it? + Oh, mother o’ Moses! wealth of work and the pride of livin’ in the heart + of us, and the grip of an honest hand betunewhiles; and what more do y’ + want, Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman’s drooping eyelids closed a little more, and he replied, + meditatively: “Money? No, that is not Shon McGann. The good fellowship of + thirst?—yes, a little. The grip of the honest hand, quite, and the + clinch of an honest waist? Well, ‘peut-etre.’ + </p> + <p> + “Of the waist which is not honest?—tsh! he is gay—and so!” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman took his pipe from his mouth, and held it poised before him. + He looked inquiringly and a little frowningly at the other for a moment, + as if doubtful whether to resent the sneer that accompanied the words just + spoken; but at last he good-humouredly said: “Blood o’ me bones, but it’s + much I fear the honest waist hasn’t always been me portion—Heaven + forgive me!” + </p> + <p> + “‘Nom de pipe,’ this Irishman!” replied Pierre. “He is gay; of good heart; + he smiles, and the women are at his heels; he laughs, and they are on + their knees—Such a fool he is!” + </p> + <p> + Still Shon McGann laughed. + </p> + <p> + “A fool I am, Pierre, or I’d be in ould Ireland at this minute, with a + roof o’ me own over me and the friends o’ me youth round me, and brats on + me knee, and the fear o’ God in me heart.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Mais,’ Shon,” mockingly rejoined the Frenchman, “this is not Ireland, + but there is much like that to be done here. There is a roof, and there is + that woman at Ward’s Mistake, and the brats—eh, by and by?” + </p> + <p> + Shon’s face clouded. He hesitated, then replied sharply: “That woman, do + y’ say, Pierre, she that nursed me when the Honourable and meself were + taken out o’ Sandy Drift, more dead than livin’; she that brought me back + to life as good as ever, barrin’ this scar on me forehead and a stiffness + at me elbow, and the Honourable as right as the sun, more luck to him! + which he doesn’t need at all, with the wind of fortune in his back and + shiftin’ neither to right nor left.—That woman! faith, y’d better + not cut the words so sharp betune yer teeth, Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + “But I will say more—a little—just the same. She nursed you—well, + that is good; but it is good also, I think, you pay her for that, and stop + the rest. Women are fools, or else they are worse. This one? She is worse. + Yes; you will take my advice, Shon McGann.” The Irishman came to his feet + with a spring, and his words were angry. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t come well from Pretty Pierre, the gambler, to be revilin’ a + woman; and I throw it in y’r face, though I’ve slept under the same + blanket with ye, an’ drunk out of the same cup on manny a tramp, that you + lie dirty and black when ye spake ill—of my wife.” + </p> + <p> + This conversation had occurred in a quiet corner of the bar-room of the + Saints’ Repose. The first few sentences had not been heard by the others + present; but Shon’s last speech, delivered in a ringing tone, drew the + miners to their feet, in expectation of seeing shots exchanged at once. + The code required satisfaction, immediate and decisive. Shon was not + armed, and some one thrust a pistol towards him; but he did not take it. + Pierre rose, and coming slowly to him, laid a slender finger on his chest, + and said: + </p> + <p> + “So! I did not know that she was your wife. That is a surprise.” + </p> + <p> + The miners nodded assent. He continued: + </p> + <p> + “Lucy Rives your wife! Hola, Shon McGann, that is such a joke.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no joke, but God’s truth, and the lie is with you, Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + Murmurs of anticipation ran round the room; but the half-breed said: + “There will be satisfaction altogether; but it is my whim to prove what I + say first; then”—fondling his revolver—“then we shall settle. + But, see: you will meet me here at ten o’clock to-night, and I will make + it, I swear to you, so clear, that the woman is vile.” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman suddenly clutched the gambler, shook him like a dog, and + threw him against the farther wall. Pierre’s pistol was levelled from the + instant Shon moved; but he did not use it. He rose on one knee after the + violent fall, and pointing it at the other’s head, said coolly: “I could + kill you, my friend, so easy! But it is not my whim. Till ten o’clock is + not long to wait, and then, just here, one of us shall die. Is it not so?” + The Irishman did not flinch before the pistol. He said with low + fierceness, “At ten o’clock, or now, or any time, or at any place, y’ll + find me ready to break the back of the lies y’ve spoken, or be broken + meself. Lucy Rives is my wife, and she’s true and straight as the sun in + the sky. I’ll be here at ten o’clock, and as ye say, Pierre, one of us + makes the long reckoning for this.” And he opened the door and went out. + </p> + <p> + The half-breed moved to the bar, and, throwing down a handful of silver, + said: “It is good we drink after so much heat. Come on, come on, + comrades.” + </p> + <p> + The miners responded to the invitation. Their sympathy was mostly with + Shon McGann; their admiration was about equally divided; for Pretty Pierre + had the quality of courage in as active a degree as the Irishman, and they + knew that some extraordinary motive, promising greater excitement, was + behind the Frenchman’s refusal to send a bullet through Shon’s head a + moment before. + </p> + <p> + King Kinkley, the best shot in the Valley next to Pierre, had watched the + unusual development of the incident with interest; and when his glass had + been filled he said, thoughtfully: “This thing isn’t according to Hoyle. + There’s never been any trouble just like it in the Valley before. What’s + that McGann said about the lady being his wife? If it’s the case, where + hev we been in the show? Where was we when the license was around? It + isn’t good citizenship, and I hev my doubts.” + </p> + <p> + Another miner, known as the Presbyterian, added: “There’s some skulduggery + in it, I guess. The lady has had as much protection as if she was the + sister of every citizen of the place, just as much as Lady Jane here (Lady + Jane, the daughter of the proprietor of the Saints’ Repose, administered + drinks), and she’s played this stacked hand on us, has gone one better on + the sly.” + </p> + <p> + “Pierre,” said King Kinkley, “you’re on the track of the secret, and + appear to hev the advantage of the lady: blaze it—blaze it out.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre rejoined, “I know something; but it is good we wait until ten + o’clock. Then I will show you all the cards in the pack. Yes, so, ‘bien + sur.’” + </p> + <p> + And though there was some grumbling, Pierre had his way. The spirit of + adventure and mutual interest had thrown the French half-breed, the + Irishman, and the Hon. Just Trafford together on the cold side of the + Canadian Rockies; and they had journeyed to this other side, where the + warm breath from the Pacific passed to its congealing in the ranges. They + had come to the Pipi field when it was languishing. From the moment of + their coming its luck changed; it became prosperous. They conquered the + Valley each after his kind. The Honourable—he was always called that—mastered + its resources by a series of “great lucks,” as Pierre termed it, had + achieved a fortune, and made no enemies; and but two months before the day + whose incidents are here recorded, had gone to the coast on business. Shon + had won the reputation of being a “white man,” to say nothing of his + victories in the region of gallantry. He made no wealth; he only got that + he might spend. Irishman-like he would barter the chances of fortune for + the lilt of a voice or the clatter of a pretty foot. + </p> + <p> + Pierre was different. “Women, ah, no!” he would say, “they make men fools + or devils.” + </p> + <p> + His temptation lay not that way. When the three first came to the Pipi, + Pierre was a miner, simply; but nearly all his life he had been something + else, as many a devastated pocket on the east of the Rockies could bear + witness; and his new career was alien to his soul. Temptation grew greatly + on him at the Pipi, and in the days before he yielded to it he might have + been seen at midnight in his but playing solitaire. Why he abstained at + first from practising his real profession is accounted for in two ways: he + had tasted some of the sweets of honest companionship with the Honourable + and Shon, and then he had a memory of an ugly night at Pardon’s Drive a + year before, when he stood over his own brother’s body, shot to death by + accident in a gambling row having its origin with himself. These things + had held him back for a time; but he was weaker than his ruling passion. + </p> + <p> + The Pipi was a young and comparatively virgin field; the quarry was at his + hand. He did not love money for its own sake; it was the game that + enthralled him. He would have played his life against the treasury of a + kingdom, and, winning it with loaded double sixes, have handed back the + spoil as an unredeemable national debt. + </p> + <p> + He fell at last, and in falling conquered the Pipi Valley; at the same + time he was considered a fearless and liberal citizen, who could shoot as + straight as he played well. He made an excursion to another field, + however, at an opportune time, and it was during this interval that the + accident to Shon and the Honourable had happened. He returned but a few + hours before this quarrel with Shon occurred, and in the Saints’ Repose, + whither he had at once gone, he was told of the accident. While his + informant related the incident and the romantic sequence of Shon’s + infatuation, the woman passed the tavern and was pointed out to Pierre. + The half-breed had not much excitableness in his nature, but when he saw + this beautiful woman with a touch of the Indian in her contour, his pale + face flushed, and he showed his set teeth under his slight moustache. He + watched her until she entered a shop, on the signboard of which was + written—written since he had left a few months ago—Lucy Rives, + Tobacconist. + </p> + <p> + Shon had then entered the Saints’ Repose; and we know the rest. A couple + of hours after this nervous episode, Pierre might have been seen standing + in the shadow of the pines not far from the house at Ward’s Mistake, + where, he had been told, Lucy Rives lived with an old Indian woman. He + stood, scarcely moving, and smoking cigarettes, until the door opened. + Shon came out and walked down the hillside to the town. Then Pierre went + to the door, and without knocking, opened it, and entered. A woman started + up from a seat where she was sewing, and turned towards him. As she did + so, the work, Shon’s coat, dropped from her hands, her face paled, and her + eyes grew big with fear. She leaned against a chair for support—this + man’s presence had weakened her so. She stood silent, save for a slight + moan that broke from her lips, as Pierre lighted a cigarette coolly, and + then said to an old Indian woman who sat upon the floor braiding a basket: + “Get up, Ikni, and go away.” + </p> + <p> + Ikni rose, came over, and peered into the face of the half-breed. Then she + muttered: “I know you—I know you. The dead has come back again.” She + caught his arm with her bony fingers as if to satisfy herself that he was + flesh and blood, and shaking her head dolefully, went from the room. When + the door closed behind her there was silence, broken only by an + exclamation from the man. + </p> + <p> + The other drew her hand across her eyes, and dropped it with a motion of + despair. Then Pierre said, sharply: “Bien?” + </p> + <p> + “Francois,” she replied, “you are alive!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am alive, Lucy.” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered, then grew still again and whispered: “Why did you let it be + thought that you were drowned? Why? Oh, why”? she moaned. + </p> + <p> + He raised his eyebrows slightly, and between the puffs of smoke, said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah yes, my Lucy, why? It was so long ago. Let me see: so—so—ten + years. Ten years is a long time to remember, eh?” + </p> + <p> + He came towards her. She drew back; but her hand remained on the chair. He + touched the plain gold ring on her finger, and said: + </p> + <p> + “You still wear it. To think of that—so loyal for a woman! How she + remembers, holy Mother!... But shall I not kiss you, yes, just once after + eight years—my wife?” + </p> + <p> + She breathed hard and drew back against the wall, dazed and frightened, + and said: + </p> + <p> + “No, no, do not come near me; do not speak to me—ah, please, stand + back, for a moment—please!” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and continued, with mock tenderness: + </p> + <p> + “To think that things come round so! And here you have a home. But that is + good. I am tired of much travel and life all alone. The prodigal goes not + to the home, the home comes to the prodigal.” He stretched up his arms as + if with a feeling of content. + </p> + <p> + “Do you—do you not know,” she said, “that—that—” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted her: + </p> + <p> + “Do I not know, Lucy, that this is your home? Yes. But is it not all the + same? I gave you a home ten years ago—to think, ten years ago! We + quarrelled one night, and I left you. Next morning my boat was found below + the White Cascade—yes, but that was so stale a trick! It was not + worthy of Francois Rives. He would do it so much better now; but he was + young then; just a boy, and foolish. Well, sit down, Lucy, it is a long + story, and you have much to tell, how much—who knows?” She came + slowly forward and said with a painful effort: + </p> + <p> + “You did a great wrong, Francois. You have killed me. + </p> + <p> + “Killed you, Lucy, my wife! Pardon! Never in those days did you look so + charming as now—never. But the great surprise of seeing your + husband, it has made you shy, quite shy. There will be much time now for + you to change all that. It is quite pleasant to think on, Lucy.... You + remember the song we used to sing on the Chaudiere at St. Antoine? See, I + have not forgotten it— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Nos amants sont en guerre, + Vole, mon coeur, vole.’” + </pre> + <p> + He hummed the lines over and over, watching through his half-shut eyes the + torture he was inflicting. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mother of God,” she whispered, “have mercy! Can you not see, do you + not know? I am not as you left me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my wife, you are just the same; not an hour older. I am glad that + you have come to me. But how they will envy Pretty Pierre!” + </p> + <p> + “Envy—Pretty-Pierre,” she repeated, in distress; “are you Pretty + Pierre? Ah, I might have known, I might have known!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and so! Is not Pretty Pierre as good a name as Francois Rives? Is it + not as good as Shon McGann?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see it all, I see it all now!” she said mournfully. “It was with + you he quarrelled, and about me. He would not tell me what it was. You + know, then, that I am—that I am married—to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite. I know all that; but it is no marriage.” He rose to his feet + slowly, dropping the cigarette from his lips as he did so. “Yes,” he + continued, “and I know that you prefer Shon McGann to Pretty Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + She spread out her hands appealingly. + </p> + <p> + “But you are my wife, not his. Listen: do you know what I shall do? I will + tell you in two hours. It is now eight o’clock. At ten o’clock Shon McGann + will meet me at the Saints’ Repose. Then you shall know.... Ah, it is a + pity! Shon was my good friend, but this spoils all that. Wine—it has + danger; cards—there is peril in that sport; women—they make + trouble most of all.” + </p> + <p> + “O God,” she piteously said, “what did I do? There was no sin in me. I was + your faithful wife, though you were cruel to me. You left me, cheated me, + brought this upon me. It is you that has done this wickedness, not I.” She + buried her face in her hands, falling on her knees beside the chair. + </p> + <p> + He bent above her: “You loved the young avocat better, eight years ago.” + </p> + <p> + She sprang to her feet. “Ah, now I understand,” she said. “That was why + you quarrelled with me; why you deserted me. You were not man enough to + say what made you so much the—so wicked and hard, so—” + </p> + <p> + “Be thankful, Lucy, that I did not kill you then,” he interjected. + </p> + <p> + “But it is a lie,” she cried; “a lie!” + </p> + <p> + She went to the door and called the Indian woman. “Ikni,” she said. “He + dares to say evil of Andre and me. Think—of Andre!” + </p> + <p> + Ikni came to him, put her wrinkled face close to his, and said: “She was + yours, only yours; but the spirits gave you a devil. Andre, oh, oh, Andre! + The father of Andre was her father—ah, that makes your sulky eyes to + open. Ikni knows how to speak. Ikni nursed them both. If you had waited + you should have known. But you ran away like a wolf from a coal of fire; + you shammed death like a fox; you come back like the snake to crawl into + the house and strike with poison tooth, when you should be with the worms + in the ground. But Ikni knows—you shall be struck with poison too, + the Spirit of the Red Knife waits for you. Andre was her brother.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed her aside savagely: “Be still!” he said. “Get out-quick. ‘Sacre’—quick!” + </p> + <p> + When they were alone again he continued with no anger in his tone: “So, + Andre the avocat and you—that, eh? Well, you see how much trouble + has come; and now this other—a secret too. When were you married to + Shon McGann?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night,” she bitterly replied; “a priest came over from the Indian + village.” + </p> + <p> + “Last night,” he musingly repeated. “Last night I lost two thousand + dollars at the Little Goshen field. I did not play well last night; I was + nervous. In ten years I had not lost so much at one game as I did last + night. It was a punishment for playing too honest, or something; eh, what + do you think, Lucy—or something, ‘hein?’” + </p> + <p> + She said nothing, but rocked her body to and fro. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not make known the marriage with Shon?” + </p> + <p> + “He was to have told it to-night,” she said. + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a moment, then a thought flashed into his eyes, and + he rejoined with a jarring laugh, “Well, I will play a game to-night, Lucy + Rives; such a game that Pretty Pierre will never be forgotten in the Pipi + Valley—a beautiful game, just for two. And the other who will play—the + wife of Francois Rives shall see if she will wait; but she must be + patient, more patient than her husband was ten years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “What will you do—tell me, what will you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I will play a game of cards—just one magnificent game; and the + cards shall settle it. All shall be quite fair, as when you and I played + in the little house by the Chaudiere—at first, Lucy,—before I + was a devil.” + </p> + <p> + Was this peculiar softness to his last tones assumed or real? She looked + at him inquiringly; but he moved away to the window, and stood gazing down + the hillside towards the town below. His eyes smarted. + </p> + <p> + “I will die,” she said to herself in whispers—“I will die.” A minute + passed, and then Pierre turned and said to her: “Lucy, he is coming up the + hill. Listen. If you tell him that I have seen you, I will shoot him on + sight, dead. You would save him, for a little, for an hour or two—or + more? Well, do as I say; for these things must be according to the rules + of the game, and I myself will tell him all at the Saints’ Repose. He gave + me the lie there, and I will tell him the truth before them all there. + Will you do as I say?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated an instant, and then replied: “I will not tell him.” + </p> + <p> + “There is only one way, then,” he continued. “You must go at once from + here into the woods behind there, and not see him at all. Then at ten + o’clock you will come to the Saints’ Repose, if you choose, to know how + the game has ended.” + </p> + <p> + She was trembling, moaning, no longer. A set look had come into her face; + her eyes were steady and hard. She quietly replied: “Yes, I shall be + there.” + </p> + <p> + He came to her, took her hand, and drew from her finger the wedding-ring + which last night Shon McGann had placed there. She submitted passively. + Then, with an upward wave of his fingers, he spoke in a mocking lightness, + but without any of the malice which had first appeared in his tones, words + from an old French song: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I say no more, my lady + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine! + I say no more, my lady, + As nought more can be said.” + </pre> + <p> + He opened the door, motioned to the Indian woman, and, in a few moments, + the broken-hearted Lucy Rives and her companion were hidden in the pines; + and Pretty Pierre also disappeared into the shadow of the woods as Shon + McGann appeared on the crest of the hill. + </p> + <p> + The Irishman walked slowly to the door, and pausing, said to himself: “I + couldn’t run the big risk, me darlin’, without seein’ you again, God help + me! There’s danger ahead which little I’d care for if it wasn’t for you.” + </p> + <p> + Then he stepped inside the house—the place was silent; he called, + but no one answered; he threw open the doors of the rooms, but they were + empty; he went outside and called again, but no reply came, except the + flutter of a night-hawk’s wings and the cry of a whippoorwill. He went + back into the house and sat down with his head between his hands. So, for + a moment, and then he raised his head, and said with a sad smile: “Faith, + Shon, me boy, this takes the life out of you! the empty house where she + ought to be, and the smile of her so swate, and the hand of her that falls + on y’r shoulder like a dove on the blessed altar-gone, and lavin’ a chill + on y’r heart like a touch of the dead. Sure, nivir a wan of me saw any + that could stand wid her for goodness, barrin’ the angel that kissed me + good-bye with one foot in the stirrup an’ the troopers behind me, now + twelve years gone, in ould Donegal, and that I’ll niver see again, she + lyin’ where the hate of the world will vex the heart of her no more, and + the masses gone up for her soul. Twice, twice in y’r life, Shon McGann, + has the cup of God’s joy been at y’r lips, and is it both times that it’s + to spill?—Pretty Pierre shoots straight and sudden, and maybe it’s + aisy to see the end of it; but as the just God is above us, I’ll give him + the lie in his throat betimes for the word he said agin me darlin’. What’s + the avil thing that he has to say? What’s the divil’s proof he would + bring? And where is she now? Where are you, Lucy? I know the proof I’ve + got in me heart that the wreck of the world couldn’t shake, while that + light, born of Heaven, swims up to your eyes whin you look at me!” + </p> + <p> + He rose to his feet again and walked to and fro; he went once more to the + doors; he looked here and there through the growing dusk, but to no + purpose. She had said that she would not go to her shop this night; but if + not, then where could she have gone and Ikni, too? He felt there was more + awry in his life than he cared to put into thought or speech. He picked up + the sewing she had dropped and looked at it as one would regard a relic of + the dead; he lifted her handkerchief, kissed it, and put it in his breast. + He took a revolver from his pocket and examined it closely, looked round + the room as though to fasten it in his memory, and then passed out, + closing the door behind him. He walked down the hillside and went to her + shop in the one street of the town, but she was not there, nor had the lad + in charge seen her. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Pretty Pierre had made his way to the Saints’ Repose, and was + sitting among the miners indolently smoking. In vain he was asked to play + cards. His one reply was, “No, pardon, no! I play one game only to-night, + the biggest game ever played in Pipi Valley.” In vain, also, was he asked + to drink. He refused the hospitality, defying the danger that such lack of + good-fellowship might bring forth. He hummed in patches to himself the + words of a song that the ‘brules’ were wont to sing when they hunted the + buffalo: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Voila!’ it is the sport to ride— + Ah, ah the brave hunter! + + To thrust the arrow in his hide, + To send the bullet through his side + ‘Ici,’ the buffalo, ‘joli!’ + Ah, ah the buffalo!” + </pre> + <p> + He nodded here and there as men entered; but he did not stir from his + seat. He smoked incessantly, and his eyes faced the door of the bar-room + that entered upon the street. There was no doubt in the minds of any + present that the promised excitement would occur. Shon McGann was as + fearless as he was gay. And Pipi Valley remembered the day in which he had + twice risked his life to save two women from a burning building—Lady + Jane and another. And Lady Jane this evening was agitated, and once or + twice furtively looked at something under the bar-counter; in fact, a + close observer would have noticed anger or anxiety in the eyes of the + daughter of Dick Waldron, the keeper of the Saints’ Repose. Pierre would + certainly have seen it had he been looking that way. An unusual influence + was working upon the frequenters of the busy tavern. Planned, premeditated + excitement was out of their line. Unexpectedness was the salt of their + existence. This thing had an air of system not in accord with the + suddenness of the Pipi mind. The half-breed was the only one entirely at + his ease; he was languid and nonchalant; the long lashes of his half-shut + eyelids gave his face a pensive look. At last King Kinkley walked over to + him and said: “There’s an almighty mysteriousness about this event which + isn’t joyful, Pretty Pierre. We want to see the muss cleared up, of + course; we want Shon McGann to act like a high-toned citizen, and there’s + a general prejudice in favour of things bein’ on the flat of your palm, as + it were. Now this thing hangs fire, and there’s a lack of animation about + it, isn’t there?” + </p> + <p> + To this, Pretty Pierre replied: “What can I do? This is not like other + things; one had to wait; great things take time. To shoot is easy; but to + shoot is not all, as you shall see if you have a little patience. Ah, my + friend, where there is a woman, things are different. I throw a glass in + your face, we shoot, someone dies, and there it is quite plain of reason; + you play a card which was dealt just now, I call you—something, and + the swiftest finger does the trick; but in such as this, one must wait for + the sport.” + </p> + <p> + It was at this point that Shon McGann entered, looked round, nodded to + all, and then came forward to the table where Pretty Pierre sat. As the + other took out his watch, Shon said firmly but quietly: “Pierre, I gave + you the lie to-day concerning me wife, and I’m here, as I said I’d be, to + stand by the word I passed then.” + </p> + <p> + Pierre waved his fingers lightly towards the other, and slowly rose. Then + he said in sharp tones: “Yes, Shon McGann, you gave me the lie. There is + but one thing for that in Pipi Valley. You choked me; I would not take + that from a saint of heaven; but there was another thing to do first. + Well, I have done it; I said I would bring proofs—I have them.” He + paused, and now there might have been seen a shining moisture on his + forehead, and his words came menacingly from between his teeth, while the + room became breathlessly still, save that in the silence a sleeping dog + sighed heavily: “Shon McGann,” he added, “you are living with my wife.” + </p> + <p> + Twenty men drew in a sharp breath of excitement, and Shon came a step + nearer the other, and said in a strange voice: “I—am—living—with—your—wife?” + </p> + <p> + “As I say, with my wife, Lucy Rives. Francois Rives was my name ten years + ago. We quarrelled. I left her, and I never saw her again until to-night. + You went to see her two hours ago. You did not find her. Why? She was gone + because her husband, Pierre, told her to go. You want a proof? You shall + have it. Here is the wedding-ring you gave her last night.” + </p> + <p> + He handed it over, and Shon saw inside it his own name and hers. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” he said. “Did she know? Tell me she didn’t know, Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she did not know. I have truth to speak to night. I was jealous, mad, + and foolish, and I left her. My boat was found upset. They believed I was + drowned. ‘Bien,’ she waited until yesterday, and then she took you—but + she was my wife; she is my wife—and so you see!” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman was deadly pale. + </p> + <p> + “It’s an avil heart y’ had in y’ then, Pretty Pierre, and it’s an avil day + that brought this thing to pass, and there’s only wan way to the end of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “So, that is true. There is only one way,” was the reply; “but what shall + that way be? Someone must go: there must be no mistake. I have to propose. + Here on this table we lay a revolver. We will give up these which we have + in our pockets. Then we will play a game of euchre, and the winner of the + game shall have the revolver. We will play for a life. That is fair, eh—that + is fair”? he said to those around. + </p> + <p> + King Kinkley, speaking for the rest, replied: “That’s about fair. It gives + both a chance, and leaves only two when it’s over. While the woman lives, + one of you is naturally in the way. Pierre left her in a way that isn’t + handsome; but a wife’s a wife, and though Shon was all in the glum about + the thing, and though the woman isn’t to be blamed either, there’s one too + many of you, and there’s got to be a vacation for somebody. Isn’t that + so?” + </p> + <p> + The rest nodded assent. They had been so engaged that they did not see a + woman enter the bar from behind, and crouch down beside Lady Jane, a woman + whom the latter touched affectionately on the shoulder and whispered to + once or twice, while she watched the preparations for the game. + </p> + <p> + The two men sat down, Shon facing the bar and Pierre with his back to it. + </p> + <p> + The game began, neither man showing a sign of nervousness, though Shon was + very pale. The game was to finish for ten points. Men crowded about the + tables silent but keenly excited; cigars were chewed instead of smoked, + and liquor was left undrunk. At the first deal Pierre made a march, + securing two. At the next Shon made a point, and at the next also a march. + The half-breed was playing a straight game. He could have stacked the + cards, but he did not do so; deft as he was he might have cheated even the + vigilant eyes about him, but it was not so; he played as squarely as a + novice. At the third, at the fourth, deal he made a march; at the fifth, + sixth, and seventh deals, Shon made a march, a point, and a march. Both + now had eight points. At the next deal both got a point, and both stood at + nine! + </p> + <p> + Now came the crucial play. + </p> + <p> + During the progress of the game nothing had been heard save the sound of a + knuckle on the table, the flip flip of the pasteboard, or the rasp of a + heel on the floor. There was a set smile on Shon’s face—a forgotten + smile, for the rest of the face was stern and tragic. Pierre smoked + cigarettes, pausing, while his opponent was shuffling and dealing, to + light them. + </p> + <p> + Behind the bar as the game proceeded the woman who knelt beside Lady Jane + listened to every sound. Her eyes grew more agonised as the numbers, + whispered to her by her companion, climbed to the fatal ten. + </p> + <p> + The last deal was Shon’s; there was that much to his advantage. As he + slowly dealt, the woman—Lucy Rives—rose to her feet behind + Lady Jane. So absorbed were all that none saw her. Her eyes passed from + Pierre to Shon, and stayed. + </p> + <p> + When the cards were dealt, with but one point for either to gain, and so + win and save his life, there was a slight pause before the two took them + up. They did not look at one another; but each glanced at the revolver, + then at the men nearest them, and lastly, for an instant, at the cards + themselves, with their pasteboard faces of life and death turned downward. + As the players picked them up at last and spread them out fan-like, Lady + Jane slipped something into the hand of Lucy Rives. + </p> + <p> + Those who stood behind Shon McGann stared with anxious astonishment at his + hand; it contained only nine and ten spots. It was easy to see the + direction of the sympathy of Pipi Valley. The Irishman’s face turned a + slight shade paler, but he did not tremble or appear disturbed. + </p> + <p> + Pierre played his biggest card and took the point. He coolly counted one, + and said, “Game. I win.” The crowd drew back. Both rose to their feet. In + the painful silence the half-breed’s hand was gently laid on the revolver. + He lifted it, and paused slightly, his eyes fixed to the steady look in + those of Shon McGann. He raised the revolver again, till it was level with + Shon’s forehead, till it was even with his hair! Then there was a shot, + and someone fell—not Shon, but Pierre, saying, as they caught him, + “Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! From behind!” + </p> + <p> + Instantly there was another shot, and someone crashed against the bottles + in the bar. The other factor in the game, the wife, had shot at Pierre, + and then sent a bullet through her own lungs. + </p> + <p> + Shon stood for a moment as if he was turned to stone, and then his head + dropped in his arms upon the table. He had seen both shots fired, but + could not speak in time. + </p> + <p> + Pierre was severely but not dangerously wounded in the neck. + </p> + <p> + But the woman—? They brought her out from behind the counter. She + still breathed; but on her eyes was the film of coming death. She turned + to where Shon sat. Her lips framed his name, but no voice came forth. + Someone touched him on the shoulder. He looked up and caught her last + glance. He came and stooped beside her; but she had died with that one + glance from him, bringing a faint smile to her lips. And the smile stayed + when the life of her had fled—fled through the cloud over her eyes, + from the tide-beat of her pulse. It swept out from the smoke and reeking + air into the open world, and beyond, into those untried paths where all + must walk alone, and in what bitterness, known only to the Master of the + World who sees these piteous things, and orders in what fashion distorted + lives shall be made straight and wholesome in the Places of Readjustment. + </p> + <p> + Shon stood silent above the dead body. + </p> + <p> + One by one the miners went out quietly. Presently Pierre nodded towards + the door, and King Kinkley and another lifted him and carried him towards + it. Before they passed into the street he made them turn him so that he + could see Shon. He waved his hand towards her that had been his wife, and + said: “She should have shot but once and straight, Shon McGann, and then!—Eh, + ‘bien!’” + </p> + <p> + The door closed, and Shon McGann was left alone with the dead. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE + </h2> + <h3> + “The birds are going south, Antoine—see—and it is so early!” + </h3> + <p> + “Yes, Angelique, the winter will be long.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, and then: “Antoine, I heard a child cry in the night, + and I could not sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a devil-bird, my wife; it flies slowly, and the summer is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Antoine, there was a rushing of wings by my bed before the morn was + breaking.” + </p> + <p> + “The wild-geese know their way in the night, Angelique; but they flew by + the house and not near thy bed.” + </p> + <p> + “The two black squirrels have gone from the hickory tree.” + </p> + <p> + “They have hidden away with the bears in the earth; for the frost comes, + and it is the time of sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “A cold hand was knocking at my heart when I said my aves last night, my + Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + “The heart of a woman feels many strange things: I cannot answer, my + wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go also southward, Antoine, before the great winds and the wild + frost come.” + </p> + <p> + “I love thee, Angelique, but I cannot go.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not love greater than all?” + </p> + <p> + “To keep a pledge is greater.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet if evil come?” + </p> + <p> + “There is the mine.” + </p> + <p> + “None travels hither; who should find it?” + </p> + <p> + “He said to me, my wife: ‘Antoine, will you stay and watch the mine until + I come with the birds northward, again?’ and I said: ‘I will stay, and + Angelique will stay; I will watch the mine.’” + </p> + <p> + “This is for his riches, but for our peril, Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + “Who can say whither a woman’s fancy goes? It is full of guessing. It is + clouds and darkness to-day, and sunshine—so much—to-morrow. I + cannot answer.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a fear; if my husband loved me—” + </p> + <p> + “There is the mine,” he interrupted firmly. + </p> + <p> + “When my heart aches so—” + </p> + <p> + “Angelique, there is the mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my Antoine!” + </p> + <p> + And so these two stayed on the island of St. Jean, in Lake Superior, + through the purple haze of autumn, into the white brilliancy of winter, + guarding the Rose Tree Mine, which Falding the Englishman and his + companions had prospected and declared to be their Ophir. + </p> + <p> + But St. Jean was far from the ways of settlement, and there was little + food and only one hut, and many things must be done for the Rose Tree Mine + in the places where men sell their souls for money; and Antoine and + Angelique, French peasants from the parish of Ste. Irene in Quebec, were + left to guard the place of treasure, until, to the sound of the laughing + spring, there should come many men and much machinery, and the sinking of + shafts in the earth, and the making, of riches. + </p> + <p> + But when Antoine and Angelique were left alone in the waste, and God began + to draw the pale coverlet of frost slowly across land and water, and to + surround St. Jean with a stubborn moat of ice, the heart of the woman felt + some coming danger, and at last broke forth in words of timid warning. + When she once had spoken she said no more, but stayed and builded the + heaps of earth about the house, and filled every crevice against the + inhospitable Spirit of Winds, and drew her world closer and closer within + those two rooms where they should live through many months. + </p> + <p> + The winter was harsh, but the hearts of the two were strong. They loved; + and Love is the parent of endurance, the begetter of courage. And every + day, because it seemed his duty, Antoine inspected the Rose Tree Mine; and + every day also, because it seemed her duty, Angelique said many aves. And + one prayer was much with her—for spring to come early that the child + should not suffer: the child which the good God was to give to her and + Antoine. + </p> + <p> + In the first hours of each evening Antoine smoked, and Angelique sang the + old songs which their ancestors learned in Normandy. One night Antoine’s + face was lighted with a fine fire as he talked of happy days in the parish + of Ste. Irene; and with that romantic fervour of his race which the stern + winters of Canada could not kill, he sang, ‘A la Claire Fontaine,’ the + well-beloved song-child of the ‘voyageurs’’ hearts. + </p> + <p> + And the wife smiled far away into the dancing flames—far away, + because the fire retreated, retreated to the little church where they two + were wed; and she did as most good women do—though exactly why, man + the insufficient cannot declare—she wept a little through her + smiles. But when the last verse came, both smiles and tears ceased. + Antoine sang it with a fond monotony: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Would that each rose were growing + Upon the rose-tree gay, + And that the fatal rose-tree + Deep in the ocean lay. + ‘I ya longtemps que je t’aime + Jamais je ne t’oublierai.” + </pre> + <p> + Angelique’s heart grew suddenly heavy. From the rose-tree of the song her + mind fled and shivered before the leafless rose-tree by the mine; and her + old dread came back. + </p> + <p> + Of course this was foolish of Angelique; of course the wise and great + throw contumely on all such superstition; and knowing women will smile at + each other meaningly, and with pity for a dull man-writer, and will + whisper, “Of course, the child.” But many things, your majesties, are + hidden from your wisdom and your greatness, and are given to the simple—to + babes, and the mothers of babes. + </p> + <p> + It was upon this very night that Falding the Englishman sat with other men + in a London tavern, talking joyously. “There’s been the luck of Heaven,” + he said, “in the whole exploit. We’d been prospecting for months. As a + sort of try in a back-water we rowed over one night to an island and + pitched tents. Not a dozen yards from where we camped was a + rose-tree-think of it, Belgard, a rose-tree on a rag-tag island of Lake + Superior! ‘There’s luck in odd numbers, says Rory O’More.’ ‘There’s luck + here,’ said I; and at it we went just beside the rose-tree. What’s the + result? Look at that prospectus: a company with a capital of two hundred + thousand; the whole island in our hands in a week; and Antoine squatting + on it now like Bonaparte on Elbe.” + </p> + <p> + “And what does Antoine get out of this”? said Belgard. + </p> + <p> + “Forty dollars a month and his keep.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not write him off twenty shares to propitiate the gods—gifts + unto the needy, eh!—a thousand-fold—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it might be done, Belgard, if—” + </p> + <p> + But someone just then proposed the toast, “The Rose Tree Mine!” and the + souls of these men waxed proud and merry, for they had seen the investor’s + palm filled with gold, the maker of conquest. While Antoine was singing + with his wife, they were holding revel within the sound of Bow Bells. And + far into the night, through silent Cheapside, a rolling voice swelled + through much laughter thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Gai Ion la, gai le rosier, + Du joli mois de Mai.” + </pre> + <p> + The next day there were heavy heads in London; but the next day, also, a + man lay ill in the hut on the island of St. Jean. + </p> + <p> + Antoine had sung his last song. He had waked in the night with a start of + pain, and by the time the sun was halting at noon above the Rose Tree + Mine, he had begun a journey, the record of which no man has ever truly + told, neither its beginning nor its end; because that which is of the + spirit refuseth to be interpreted by the flesh. Some signs there be, but + they are brief and shadowy; the awe of It is hidden in the mind of him + that goeth out lonely unto God. + </p> + <p> + When the call goes forth, not wife nor child nor any other can hold the + wayfarer back, though he may loiter for an instant on the brink. The poor + medicaments which Angelique brings avail not; these soothing hands and + healing tones, they pass through clouds of the middle place between heaven + and earth to Antoine. It is only when the second midnight comes that, with + conscious, but pensive and far-off, eyes, he says to her: “Angelique, my + wife.” + </p> + <p> + For reply her lips pressed his cheek, and her fingers hungered for his + neck. Then: “Is there pain now Antoine?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no pain, Angelique.” + </p> + <p> + He closed his eyes slowly; her lips framed an ave. “The mine,” he said, + “the mine—until the spring.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Antoine, until the spring.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you candles—many candles, Angelique?” + </p> + <p> + “There are many, my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “The ground is as iron; one cannot dig, and the water under the ice is + cruel—is it not so, Angelique?” + </p> + <p> + “No axe could break the ground, and the water is cruel,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You will see my face until the winter is gone, my wife.” + </p> + <p> + She bowed her head, but smoothed his hand meanwhile, and her throat was + quivering. + </p> + <p> + He partly slept—his body slept, though his mind was feeling its way + to wonderful things. But near the morning his eyes opened wide, and he + said: “Someone calls out of the dark, Angelique.” + </p> + <p> + And she, with her hand on her heart, replied: “It is the cry of a dog, + Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + “But there are footsteps at the door, my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, Antoine; it is the snow beating upon the window.” + </p> + <p> + “There is the sound of wings close by—dost thou not hear them, + Angelique?” + </p> + <p> + “Wings—wings,” she falteringly said: “it is the hot blast through + the chimney; the night is cold, Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + “The night is very cold,” he said; and he trembled... “I hear, O my wife, + I hear the voice of a little child... the voice is like thine, Angelique.” + </p> + <p> + And she, not knowing what to reply, said softly: + </p> + <p> + “There is hope in the voice of a child;” and the mother stirred within + her; and in the moment he knew also that the Spirits would give her the + child in safety, that she should not be alone in the long winter. + </p> + <p> + The sounds of the harsh night had ceased—the snapping of the + leafless branches, the cracking of the earth, and the heaving of the + rocks: the Spirits of the Frost had finished their work; and just as the + grey forehead of dawn appeared beyond the cold hills, Antoine cried out + gently: “Angelique... Ah, mon Capitaine... Jesu”... and then, no more. + </p> + <p> + Night after night Angelique lighted candles in the place where Antoine + smiled on in his frozen silence; and masses were said for his soul—the + masses Love murmurs for its dead. The earth could not receive him; its + bosom was adamant; but no decay could touch him; and she dwelt alone with + this, that was her husband, until one beautiful, bitter day, when, with no + eye save God’s to see her, and no human comfort by her, she gave birth to + a man-child. And yet that night she lighted the candles at the dead man’s + head and feet, dragging herself thither in the cold; and in her heart she + said that the smile on Antoine’s face was deeper than it had been before. + </p> + <p> + In the early spring, when the earth painfully breathed away the frost that + choked it, with her child for mourner, and herself for sexton and priest, + she buried Antoine with maimed rites: but hers were the prayers of the + poor, and of the pure in heart; and she did not fret because, in the hour + that her comrade was put away into the dark, the world was laughing at the + thought of coming summer. + </p> + <p> + Before another sunrise, the owners of the island of St. Jean claimed what + was theirs; and because that which had happened worked upon their hearts, + they called the child St. Jean, and from that time forth they made him to + enjoy the goodly fruits of the Rose Tree Mine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CIPHER + </h2> + <p> + Hilton was staying his horse by a spring at Guidon Hill when he first saw + her. She was gathering may-apples; her apron was full of them. He noticed + that she did not stir until he rode almost upon her. Then she started, + first without looking round, as does an animal, dropping her head slightly + to one side, though not exactly appearing to listen. Suddenly she wheeled + on him, and her big eyes captured him. The look bewildered him. She was a + creature of singular fascination. Her face was expressive. Her eyes had + wonderful light. She looked happy, yet grave withal; it was the gravity of + an uncommon earnestness. She gazed through everything, and beyond. She was + young—eighteen or so. + </p> + <p> + Hilton raised his hat, and courteously called a good-morning at her. She + did not reply by any word, but nodded quaintly, and blinked seriously and + yet blithely on him. He was preparing to dismount. As he did so he paused, + astonished that she did not speak at all. Her face did not have a familiar + language; its vocabulary was its own. He slid from his horse, and, + throwing his arm over its neck as it stooped to the spring, looked at her + more intently, but respectfully too. She did not yet stir, but there came + into her face a slight inflection of confusion or perplexity. Again he + raised his hat to her, and, smiling, wished her a good-morning. Even as he + did so a thought sprung in him. Understanding gave place to wonder; he + interpreted the unusual look in her face. + </p> + <p> + Instantly he made a sign to her. To that her face responded with a + wonderful speech—of relief and recognition. The corners of her apron + dropped from her fingers, and the yellow may-apples fell about her feet. + She did not notice this. She answered his sign with another, rapid, + graceful, and meaning. He left his horse and advanced to her, holding out + his hand simply—for he was a simple and honest man. Her response to + this was spontaneous. The warmth of her fingers invaded him. Her eyes were + full of questioning. He gave a hearty sign of admiration. She flushed with + pleasure, but made a naive, protesting gesture. + </p> + <p> + She was deaf and dumb. + </p> + <p> + Hilton had once a sister who was a mute. He knew that amazing primal + gesture-language of the silent race, whom God has sent like one-winged + birds into the world. He had watched in his sister just such looks of + absolute nature as flashed from this girl. They were comrades on the + instant; he reverential, gentle, protective; she sanguine, candid, + beautifully aboriginal in the freshness of her cipher-thoughts. She saw + the world naked, with a naked eye. She was utterly natural. She was the + maker of exquisite, vital gesture-speech. + </p> + <p> + She glided out from among the may-apples and the long, silken grass, to + charm his horse with her hand. As she started to do so, he hastened to + prevent her, but, utterly surprised, he saw the horse whinny to her cheek, + and arch his neck under her white palm—it was very white. Then the + animal’s chin sought her shoulder and stayed placid. He had never done so + to anyone before save Hilton. Once, indeed, he had kicked a stableman to + death. He lifted his head and caught with playful shaking lips at her ear. + Hilton smiled; and so, as we said, their comradeship began. + </p> + <p> + He was a new officer of the Hudson’s Bay Company at Fort Guidon. She was + the daughter of a ranchman. She had been educated by Father Corraine, the + Jesuit missionary, Protestant though she was. He had learned the + sign-language while assistant-priest in a Parisian chapel for mutes. He + taught her this gesture-tongue, which she, taking, rendered divine; and, + with this, she learned to read and write. + </p> + <p> + Her name was Ida. + </p> + <p> + Ida was faultless. Hilton was not; but no man is. To her, however, he was + the best that man can be. He was unselfish and altogether honest, and that + is much for a man. + </p> + <p> + When Pierre came to know of their friendship he shook his head doubtfully. + One day he was sitting on the hot side of a pine near his mountain hut, + soaking in the sun. He saw them passing below him, along the edge of the + hill across the ravine. He said to someone behind him in the shade, who + was looking also, “What will be the end of that, eh?” + </p> + <p> + And the someone replied: “Faith, what the Serpent in the Wilderness + couldn’t cure.” + </p> + <p> + “You think he’ll play with her?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he’ll do it without wishin’ or willin’, maybe. It’ll be a case of + kiss and ride away.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence. Soon Pierre pointed down again. She stood upon a green + mound with a cool hedge of rock behind her, her feet on the margin of + solid sunlight, her forehead bared. Her hair sprinkled round her as she + gently threw back her head. Her face was full on Hilton. She was telling + him something. Her gestures were rhythmical, and admirably balanced. + Because they were continuous or only regularly broken, it was clear she + was telling him a story. Hilton gravely, delightedly, nodded response now + and then, or raised his eyebrows in fascinated surprise. Pierre, watching, + was only aware of vague impressions—not any distinct outline of the + tale. At last he guessed it as a perfect pastoral-birds, reaping, deer, + winds, sundials, cattle, shepherds, hunting. To Hilton it was a new + revelation. She was telling him things she had thought, she was recalling + her life. + </p> + <p> + Towards the last, she said in gesture: “You can forget the winter, but not + the spring. You like to remember the spring. It is the beginning. When the + daisy first peeps, when the tall young deer first stands upon its feet, + when the first egg is seen in the oriole’s nest, when the sap first sweats + from the tree, when you first look into the eye of your friend—these + you want to remember....” + </p> + <p> + She paused upon this gesture—a light touch upon the forehead, then + the hands stretched out, palms upward, with coaxing fingers. She seemed + lost in it. Her eyes rippled, her lips pressed slightly, a delicate wine + crept through her cheek, and tenderness wimpled all. Her soft breast rose + modestly to the cool texture of her dress. Hilton felt his blood bound + joyfully; he had the wish of instant possession. But yet he could not + stir, she held him so; for a change immediately passed upon her. She + glided slowly from that almost statue-like repose into another gesture. + Her eyes drew up from his, and looked away to plumbless distance, all + glowing and childlike, and the new ciphers slowly said: + </p> + <p> + “But the spring dies away. We can only see a thing born once. And it may + be ours, yet not ours. I have sighted the perfect Sharon-flower, far up on + Guidon, yet it was not mine; it was too distant; I could not reach it. I + have seen the silver bullfinch floating along the canon. I called to it, + and it came singing; and it was mine, yet I could not hear its song, and I + let it go; it could not be happy so with me.... I stand at the gate of a + great city, and see all, and feel the great shuttles of sounds, the roar + and clack of wheels, the horses’ hoofs striking the ground, the hammer of + bells; all: and yet it is not mine; it is far, far away from me. It is one + world, mine is another; and sometimes it is lonely, and the best things + are not for me. But I have seen them, and it is pleasant to remember, and + nothing can take from us the hour when things were born, when we saw the + spring—nothing—never!” + </p> + <p> + Her manner of speech, as this went on, became exquisite in fineness, + slower, and more dream-like, until, with downward protesting motions of + the hand, she said that “nothing—never!” Then a great sigh surged up + her throat, her lips parted slightly, showing the warm moist whiteness of + her teeth, her hands falling lightly, drew together and folded in front of + her. She stood still. + </p> + <p> + Pierre had watched this scene intently, his chin in his hands, his elbows + on his knees. Presently he drew himself up, ran a finger meditatively + along his lip, and said to himself: “It is perfect. She is carved from the + core of nature. But this thing has danger for her... ‘bien!’... ah!” + </p> + <p> + A change in the scene before him caused this last expression of surprise. + </p> + <p> + Hilton, rousing from the enchanting pantomime, took a step towards her; + but she raised her hand pleadingly, restrainingly, and he paused. With his + eyes he asked her mutely why. She did not answer, but, all at once + transformed into a thing of abundant sprightliness, ran down the hillside, + tossing up her arms gaily. Yet her face was not all brilliance. Tears hung + at her eyes. But Hilton did not see these. He did not run, but walked + quickly, following her; and his face had a determined look. Immediately, a + man rose up from behind a rock on the same side of the ravine, and shook + clenched fists after the departing figures; then stood gesticulating + angrily to himself, until, chancing to look up, he sighted Pierre, and + straightway dived into the underbrush. Pierre rose to his feet, and said + slowly: “Hilton, here may be trouble for you also. It is a tangled world.” + </p> + <p> + Towards evening Pierre sauntered to the house of Ida’s father. Light of + footstep, he came upon the girl suddenly. They had always been friends + since the day when, at uncommon risk, he rescued her dog from a freshet on + the Wild Moose River. She was sitting utterly still, her hands folded in + her lap. He struck his foot smartly on the ground. She felt the vibration, + and looked up. He doffed his hat, and she held out her hand. He smiled and + took it, and, as it lay in his, looked at it for a moment musingly. She + drew it back slowly. He was then thinking that it was the most intelligent + hand he had ever seen.... He determined to play a bold and surprising + game. He had learned from her the alphabet of the fingers—that is, + how to spell words. He knew little gesture-language. He, therefore, + spelled slowly: “Hawley is angry, because you love Hilton.” The statement + was so matter-of-fact, so sudden, that the girl had no chance. She flushed + and then paled. She shook her head firmly, however, and her fingers slowly + framed the reply: “You guess too much. Foolish things come to the idle.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw you this afternoon,” he silently urged. + </p> + <p> + Her fingers trembled slightly. “There was nothing to see.” She knew he + could not have read her gestures. “I was telling a story.” + </p> + <p> + “You ran from him—why?” His questioning was cruel that he might in + the end be kind. + </p> + <p> + “The child runs from its shadow, the bird from its nest, the fish jumps + from the water—that is nothing.” She had recovered somewhat. + </p> + <p> + But he: “The shadow follows the child, the bird comes back to its nest, + the fish cannot live beyond the water. But it is sad when the child, in + running, rushes into darkness, and loses its shadow; when the nest falls + from the tree; and the hawk catches the happy fish.... Hawley saw you + also.” + </p> + <p> + Hawley, like Ida, was deaf and dumb. He lived over the mountains, but came + often. It had been understood that, one day, she should marry him. It + seemed fitting. She had said neither yes nor no. And now? + </p> + <p> + A quick tremor of trouble trailed over her face, then it became very + still. Her eyes were bent upon the ground steadily. Presently a bird + hopped near, its head coquetting at her. She ran her hand gently along the + grass towards it. The bird tripped on it. She lifted it to her chin, at + which it pecked tenderly. Pierre watched her keenly-admiring, pitying. He + wished to serve her. At last, with a kiss upon its head, she gave it a + light toss into the air, and it soared, lark-like, straight up, and + hanging over her head, sang the day into the evening. Her eyes followed + it. She could feel that it was singing. She smiled and lifted a finger + lightly towards it. Then she spelled to Pierre this: “It is singing to me. + We imperfect things love each other.” + </p> + <p> + “And what about loving Hawley, then”? Pierre persisted. She did not reply, + but a strange look came upon her, and in the pause Hilton came from the + house and stood beside them. At this, Pierre lighted a cigarette, and with + a good-natured nod to Hilton, walked away. + </p> + <p> + Hilton stooped over her, pale and eager. “Ida,” he gestured, “will you + answer me now? Will you be my wife?” + </p> + <p> + She drew herself together with a little shiver. “No,” was her steady + reply. She ruled her face into stillness, so that it showed nothing of + what she felt. She came to her feet wearily, and drawing down a cool + flowering branch of chestnut, pressed it to her cheek. “You do not love + me”? he asked nervously. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to marry Luke Hawley,” was her slow answer. She spelled the + words. She used no gesture to that. The fact looked terribly hard and + inflexible so. Hilton was not a vain man, and he believed he was not + loved. His heart crowded to his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Please go away, now,” she begged with an anxious gesture. While the hand + was extended, he reached and brought it to his lips, then quickly kissed + her on the forehead, and walked away. She stood trembling, and as the + fingers of one hand hung at her side, they spelled mechanically these + words: “It would spoil his life. I am only a mute—a dummy!” + </p> + <p> + As she stood so, she felt the approach of someone. She did not turn + instantly, but with the aboriginal instinct, listened, as it were, with + her body; but presently faced about—to Hawley. He was red with + anger. He had seen Hilton kiss her. He caught her smartly by the arm, but, + awed by the great calmness of her face, dropped it, and fell into a fit of + sullenness. She spoke to him: he did not reply. She touched his arm: he + still was gloomy. All at once the full price of her sacrifice rushed upon + her; and overpowered her. She had no help at her critical hour, not even + from this man she had intended to bless. There came a swift revulsion, all + passions stormed in her at once. Despair was the resultant of these + forces. She swerved from him immediately, and ran hard towards the + high-banked river! + </p> + <p> + Hawley did not follow her at once: he did not guess her purpose. She had + almost reached the leaping-place, when Pierre shot from the trees, and + seized her. The impulse of this was so strong, that they slipped, and + quivered on the precipitous edge: but Pierre righted then, and presently + they were safe. + </p> + <p> + Pierre held her hard by both wrists for a moment. Then, drawing her away, + he loosed her, and spelled these words slowly: “I understand. But you are + wrong. Hawley is not the man. You must come with me. It is foolish to + die.” + </p> + <p> + The riot of her feelings, her momentary despair, were gone. It was even + pleasant to be mastered by Pierre’s firmness. She was passive. + Mechanically she went with him. Hawley approached. She looked at Pierre. + Then she turned on the other. “Yours is not the best love,” she signed to + him; “it does not trust; it is selfish.” And she moved on. + </p> + <p> + But, an hour later, Hilton caught her to his bosom, and kissed her full on + the lips.... And his right to do so continues to this day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES + </h2> + <p> + At Fort Latrobe sentiment was not of the most refined kind. Local customs + were pronounced and crude in outline; language was often highly coloured, + and action was occasionally accentuated by a pistol shot. For the first + few months of its life the place was honoured by the presence of neither + wife, nor sister, nor mother. Yet women lived there. + </p> + <p> + When some men did bring wives and children, it was noticed that the girl + Blanche was seldom seen in the streets. And, however it was, there grew + among the men a faint respect for her. They did not talk of it to each + other, but it existed. It was known that Blanche resented even the most + casual notice from those men who had wives and homes. She gave the + impression that she had a remnant of conscience. + </p> + <p> + “Go home,” she said to Harry Delong, who asked her to drink with him on + New Year’s Day. “Go home, and thank God that you’ve got a home—and a + wife.” + </p> + <p> + After Jacques, the long-time friend of Pretty Pierre, came to Fort + Latrobe, with his sulky eye and scrupulously neat attire, Blanche appeared + to withdraw still more from public gaze, though no one saw any connection + between these events. The girl also became fastidious in her dress, and + lost all her former dash and smart aggression of manner. She shrank from + the women of her class, for which, as might be expected, she was duly + reviled. But the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, + nor has it been written that a woman may not close her ears, and bury + herself in darkness, and travel alone in the desert with her people—those + ghosts of herself, whose name is legion, and whose slow white fingers mock + more than the world dare at its worst. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, she was found behind the bar of Weir’s Tavern at Cedar Point, + the resort most frequented by Jacques. Word went about among the men that + Blanche was taking a turn at religion, or, otherwise, reformation. Soldier + Joe was something sceptical on this point from the fact that she had + developed a very uncertain temper. This appeared especially noticeable in + her treatment of Jacques. She made him the target for her sharpest + sarcasm. Though a peculiar glow came to his eyes at times, he was never + roused from his exasperating coolness. When her shafts were unusually + direct and biting, and the temptation to resent was keen, he merely + shrugged his shoulders, almost gently, and said: “Eh, such women!” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, there were men at Fort Latrobe who prophesied trouble, for + they knew there was a deep strain of malice in the French half-breed which + could be the more deadly because of its rare use. He was not easily moved, + he viewed life from the heights of a philosophy which could separate the + petty from the prodigious. His reputation was not wholly disquieting; he + was of the goats, he had sometimes been found with the sheep, he preferred + to be numbered with the transgressors. Like Pierre, his one passion was + gambling. There were legends that once or twice in his life he had had + another passion, but that some Gorgon drew out his heartstrings painfully, + one by one, and left him inhabited by a pale spirit now called Irony, now + Indifference—under either name a fret and an anger to women. + </p> + <p> + At last Blanche’s attacks on Jacques called out anxious protests from men + like rollicking Soldier Joe, who said to her one night, “Blanche, there’s + a devil in Jacques. Some day you’ll startle him, and then he’ll shoot you + as cool as he empties the pockets of Freddy Tarlton over there.” + </p> + <p> + And Blanche replied: “When he does that, what will you do, Joe?” + </p> + <p> + “Do? Do?” The man stroked his beard softly. “Why, give him ditto—cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, there’s nothing to row about, is there?” And Soldier Joe was + not on the instant clever enough to answer her sophistry; but when she + left him and he had thought awhile, he said, convincingly: + </p> + <p> + “But where would you be then, Blanche?... That’s the point.” + </p> + <p> + One thing was known and certain: Blanche was earning her living by honest, + if not high-class, labour. Weir the tavern-keeper said she was “worth + hundreds” to him. But she grew pale, her eyes became peculiarly brilliant, + her voice took a lower key, and lost a kind of hoarseness it had in the + past. Men came in at times merely to have a joke at her expense, having + heard of her new life; but they failed to enjoy their own attempts at + humour. Women of her class came also, some with half-uncertain jibes, some + with a curious wistfulness, and a few with scornful oaths; but the jibes + and oaths were only for a time. It became known that she had paid the + coach fare of Miss Dido (as she was called) to the hospital at Wapiti, and + had raised a subscription for her maintenance there, heading it herself + with a liberal sum. Then the atmosphere round her became less trying; yet + her temper remained changeable, and had it not been that she was + good-looking and witty, her position might have been insecure. As it was, + she ruled in a neutral territory where she was the only woman. One night, + after an inclement remark to Jacques, in the card-room, Blanche came back + to the bar, and not noticing that, while she was gone, Soldier Joe had + entered and laid himself down on a bench in a corner, she threw her head + passionately forward on her arms as they rested on the counter, and cried: + “O my God! my God!” + </p> + <p> + Soldier Joe lay still as if sleeping, and when Blanche was called away + again he rose, stole out, went down to Freddy Tarlton’s office, and + offered to bet Freddy two to one that Blanche wouldn’t live a year. Joe’s + experience of women was limited. He had in his mind the case of a girl who + had accidentally smothered her child; and so he said: + </p> + <p> + “Blanche has something on her mind that’s killing her, Freddy. When + trouble fixes on her sort it kills swift and sure. They’ve nothing to live + for but life, and it isn’t good enough, you see, for—for—” Joe + paused to find out where his philosophy was taking him. + </p> + <p> + Freddy Tarlton finished the sentence for him: “For an inner sorrow is a + consuming fire.” + </p> + <p> + Fort Latrobe soon had an unexpected opportunity to study Soldier Joe’s + theory. One night Jacques did not appear at Weir’s Tavern as he had + engaged to do, and Soldier Joe and another went across the frozen river to + his log-hut to seek him. They found him by a handful of fire, breathing + heavily and nearly unconscious. One of the sudden and frequently fatal + colds of the mountains had fastened on him, and he had begun a war for + life. Joe started back at once for liquor and a doctor, leaving his + comrade to watch by the sick man. + </p> + <p> + He could not understand why Blanche should stagger and grow white when he + told her; nor why she insisted on taking the liquor herself. He did not + yet guess the truth. + </p> + <p> + The next day all Fort Latrobe knew that Blanche was nursing Jacques, on + what was thought to be his no-return journey. The doctor said it was a + dangerous case, and he held out little hope. Nursing might bring him + through, but the chance was very slight. Blanche only occasionally left + the sick man’s bedside to be relieved by Soldier Joe and Freddy Tarlton. + It dawned on Joe at last, it had dawned on Freddy before, what Blanche + meant by the heart-breaking words uttered that night in Weir’s Tavern. + Down through the crust of this woman’s heart had gone something both + joyful and painful. Whatever it was, it made Blanche a saving nurse, a + good apothecary; for, one night the doctor pronounced Jacques out of + danger, and said that a few days would bring him round if he was careful. + </p> + <p> + Now, for the first time, Jacques fully comprehended all Blanche had done + for him, though he had ceased to wonder at her changed attitude to him. + Through his suffering and his delirium had come the understanding of it. + When, after the crisis, the doctor turned away from the bed, Jacques + looked steadily into Blanche’s eyes, and she flushed, and wiped the wet + from his brow with her handkerchief. He took the handkerchief from her + fingers gently before Soldier Joe came over to the bed. + </p> + <p> + The doctor had insisted that Blanche should go to Weir’s Tavern and get + the night’s rest, needed so much, and Joe now pressed her to keep her + promise. Jacques added an urging word, and after a time she started. Joe + had forgotten to tell her that a new road had been made on the ice since + she had crossed, and that the old road was dangerous. Wandering with her + thoughts she did not notice the spruce bushes set up for signal, until she + had stepped on a thin piece of ice. It bent beneath her. She slipped: + there was a sudden sinking, a sharp cry, then another, piercing and + hopeless—and it was the one word—“Jacques!” Then the night was + silent as before. But someone had heard the cry. Freddy Tarlton was + crossing the ice also, and that desolating Jacques! had reached his ears. + When he found her he saw that she had been taken and the other left. But + that other, asleep in his bed at the sacred moment when she parted, + suddenly waked, and said to Soldier Joe: “Did you speak, Joe? Did you call + me?” + </p> + <p> + But Joe, who had been playing cards with himself, replied, “I haven’t said + a word.” + </p> + <p> + And Jacques then added: “Perhaps I dream—perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + On the advice of the doctor and Freddy Tarlton, the bad news was kept from + Jacques. When she did not come the next day, Joe told him that she + couldn’t; that he ought to remember she had had no rest for weeks, and had + earned a long rest. And Jacques said that was so. + </p> + <p> + Weir began preparations for the funeral, but Freddy Tarlton took them out + of his hands—Freddy Tarlton, who visited at the homes of Fort + Latrobe. But he had the strength of his convictions such as they were. He + began by riding thirty miles and back to ask the young clergyman at Purple + Hill to come and bury Blanche. She’d reformed and been baptised, Freddy + said with a sad sort of humour. And the clergyman, when he knew all, said + that he would come. Freddy was hardly prepared for what occurred when he + got back. Men were waiting for him, anxious to know if the clergyman was + coming. They had raised a subscription to cover the cost of the funeral, + and among them were men such as Harry Delong. + </p> + <p> + “You fellows had better not mix yourselves up in this,” said Freddy. + </p> + <p> + But Harry Delong replied quickly: “I am going to see the thing through.” + And the others endorsed his words. When the clergyman came, and looked at + the face of this Magdalene, he was struck by its comeliness and quiet. All + else seemed to have been washed away. On her breast lay a knot of white + roses—white roses in this winter desert. + </p> + <p> + One man present, seeing the look of wonder in the clergyman’s eyes, said + quietly: “My—my wife sent them. She brought the plant from Quebec. + It has just bloomed. She knows all about her.” + </p> + <p> + That man was Harry Delong. The keeper of his home understood the other + homeless woman. When she knew of Blanche’s death she said: “Poor girl, + poor girl!” and then she had gently added, “Poor Jacques!” + </p> + <p> + And Jacques, as he sat in a chair by the fire four days after the tragedy, + did not know that the clergyman was reading over a grave on the hillside, + words which are for the hearts of the quick as for the untenanted dead. + </p> + <p> + To Jacques’s inquiries after Blanche, Soldier Joe had made changing and + vague replies. At last he said that she was ill; then, that she was very + ill, and again, that she was better, almighty better—now. The third + day following the funeral, Jacques insisted that he would go and see her. + The doctor at length decided he should be taken to Weir’s Tavern, where, + they declared, they would tell him all. And they took him, and placed him + by the fire in the card-room, a wasted figure, but fastidious in manner + and scrupulously neat in person as of old. Then he asked for Blanche; but + even now they had not the courage for it. The doctor nervously went out, + as if to seek her; and Freddy Tarlton said, “Jacques, let us have a little + game, just for quarters, you know. Eh?” + </p> + <p> + The other replied without eagerness: “Voila, one game, then!” + </p> + <p> + They drew him to the table, but he played listlessly. His eyes shifted + ever to the door. Luck was against him. Finally he pushed over a silver + piece, and said: “The last. My money is all gone. ‘Bien!’” He lost that + too. + </p> + <p> + Just then the door opened, and a ranchman from Purple Hill entered. He + looked carelessly round, and then said loudly: + </p> + <p> + “Say, Joe, so you’ve buried Blanche, have you? Poor old girl!” + </p> + <p> + There was a heavy silence. No one replied. Jacques started to his feet, + gazed around searchingly, painfully, and presently gave a great gasp. His + hands made a chafing motion in the air, and then blood showed on his lips + and chin. He drew a handkerchief from his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon!... Pardon!” he faintly cried in apology, and put it to his mouth. + </p> + <p> + Then he fell backwards in the arms of Soldier Joe, who wiped a moisture + from the lifeless cheek as he laid the body on a bed. + </p> + <p> + In a corner of the stained handkerchief they found the word, + </p> + <p> + Blanche. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS + </h2> + <p> + Father Corraine stood with his chin in his hand and one arm supporting the + other, thinking deeply. His eyes were fixed on the northern horizon, along + which the sun was casting oblique rays; for it was the beginning of the + winter season. + </p> + <p> + Where the prairie touched the sun it was responsive and radiant; but on + either side of this red and golden tapestry there was a tawny glow and + then a duskiness which, curving round to the north and east, became blue + and cold—an impalpable but perceptible barrier rising from the + earth, and shutting in Father Corraine like a prison wall. And this shadow + crept stealthily on and invaded the whole circle, until, where the + radiance had been, there was one continuous wall of gloom, rising are upon + are to invasion of the zenith, and pierced only by some intrusive + wandering stars. + </p> + <p> + And still the priest stood there looking, until the darkness closed down + on him with an almost tangible consistency. Then he appeared to remember + himself, and turned away with a gentle remonstrance of his head, and + entered the hut behind him. He lighted a lamp, looked at it doubtfully, + blew it out, set it aside, and lighted a candle. This he set in the one + window of the room which faced the north and west. + </p> + <p> + He went to a door opening into the only other room in the hut, and with + his hand on the latch looked thoughtfully and sorrowfully at something in + the corner of the room where he stood. He was evidently debating upon some + matter,—probably the removal of what was in the corner to the other + room. If so, he finally decided to abandon the intention. He sat down in a + chair, faced the candle, again dropped his chin upon his hand, and kept + his eyes musingly on the light. He was silent and motionless a long time, + then his lips moved, and he seemed to repeat something to himself in + whispers. + </p> + <p> + Presently he took a well-worn book from his pocket, and read aloud from it + softly what seemed to be an office of his Church. His voice grew slightly + louder as he continued, until, suddenly, there ran through the words a + deep sigh which did not come from himself. He raised his head quickly, + started to his feet, and turning round, looked at that something in the + corner. It took the form of a human figure, which raised itself on an + elbow and said: “Water—water—for the love of God!” + </p> + <p> + Father Corraine stood painfully staring at the figure for a moment, and + then the words broke from him “Not dead—not dead—wonderful!” + Then he stepped quickly to a table, took therefrom a pannikin of water, + and kneeling, held it to the lips of the gasping figure of a woman, + throwing his arm round the shoulder, and supporting the head on his + breast. Again he spoke “Alive—alive! Blessed be Heaven!” + </p> + <p> + The hands of the woman seized the hand of the priest, which held the + pannikin, and kissed it, saying faintly: “You are good to me.... But I + must sleep—I must sleep—I am so tired; and I’ve—very far—to + go—across the world.” + </p> + <p> + This was said very slowly, then the head thick with brown curls dropped + again on the priest’s breast, heavy with sleep. Father Corraine, flushing + slightly at first, became now slightly pale, and his brow was a place of + war between thankfulness and perplexity. But he said something + prayerfully, then closed his lips firmly, and gently laid the figure down, + where it was immediately clothed about with slumber. Then he rose, and + standing with his eyes bent upon the sleeper and his fingers clasping each + other tightly before him, said: “Poor girl! So, she is alive. And now what + will come of it?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his grey head in doubt, and immediately began to prepare some + simple food and refreshment for the sufferer when she should awake. In the + midst of doing so he paused and repeated the words, “And what will come of + it?” Then he added: “There was no sign of pulse nor heart-beat when I + found her. But life hides itself where man cannot reach it.” + </p> + <p> + Having finished his task, he sat down, drew the book of holy offices again + from his bosom, and read it, whisperingly, for a time; then fell to + musing, and, after a considerable time, knelt down as if in prayer. While + he knelt, the girl, as if startled from her sleep by some inner shock, + opened her eyes wide and looked at him, first with bewilderment, then with + anxiety, then with wistful thankfulness. “Oh, I thought—I thought + when I awoke before that it was a woman. But it is the good Father + Corraine—Corraine, yes, that was the name.” + </p> + <p> + The priest’s clean-shaven face, long hair, and black cassock had, in her + first moments of consciousness, deceived her. Now a sharp pain brought a + moan to her lips; and this drew the priest’s attention. He rose, and + brought her some food and drink. “My daughter,” he said, “you must take + these.” Something in her face touched his sensitive mind, and he said, + solemnly: “You are alone with me and God, this hour. Be at peace. Eat.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes swam with instant tears. “I know—I am alone—with + God,” she said. Again he gently urged the food upon her, and she took a + little; but now and then she put her hand to her side as if in pain. And + once, as she did so, she said: “I’ve far to go and the pain is bad. Did + they take him away?” + </p> + <p> + Father Corraine shook his head. “I do not know of whom you speak,” he + replied. “When I went to my door this morning I found you lying there. I + brought you in, and, finding no sign of life in you, sent Featherfoot, my + Indian, to Fort Cypress for a trooper to come; for I feared that there had + been ill done to you, somehow. This border-side is but a rough country. It + is not always safe for a woman to travel alone.” + </p> + <p> + The girl shuddered. “Father,” she said “Father Corraine, I believe you + are?” (Here the priest bowed his head.) “I wish to tell you all, so that + if ever any evil did come to me, if I should die without doin’ what’s in + my heart to do, you would know, and would tell him if you ever saw him, + how I remembered, and kept rememberin’ him always, till my heart got sick + with waitin’, and I came to find him far across the seas.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me your tale, my child,” he patiently said. Her eyes were on the + candle in the window questioningly. “It is for the trooper—to guide + him,” the other remarked. “‘Tis past time that he should be here. When you + are able you can go with him to the Fort. You will be better cared for + there, and will be among women.” + </p> + <p> + “The man—the man who was kind to me—I wish I knew of him,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “I am waiting for your story, my child. Speak of your trouble, whether it + be of the mind and body, or of the soul.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall judge if it be of the soul,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “I come from far away. I lived in old Donegal since the day that I was + born there, and I had a lover, as brave and true a lad as ever trod the + world. But sorrow came. One night at Farcalladen Rise there was a crack of + arms and a clatter of fleeing hoofs, and he that I loved came to me and + said a quick word of partin’, and with a kiss—it’s burnin’ on my + lips yet—askin’ pardon, father, for speech of this to you—and + he was gone, an outlaw, to Australia. For a time word came from him. Then + I was taken ill and couldn’t answer his letters, and a cousin of my own, + who had tried to win my love, did a wicked thing. He wrote a letter to him + and told him I was dyin’, and that there was no use of farther words from + him. And never again did word come to me from him. But I waited, my heart + sick with longin’ and full of hate for the memory of the man who, when + struck with death, told me of the cruel deed he had done between us two.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, as she had to do several times during the recital, through + weariness or pain; but, after a moment, proceeded. “One day, one beautiful + day, when the flowers were like love to the eye, and the larks singin’ + overhead, and my thoughts goin’ with them as they swam until they were + lost in the sky, and every one of them a prayer for the lad livin’ yet, as + I hoped, somewhere in God’s universe—there rode a gentleman down + Farcalladen Rise. He stopped me as I walked, and said a kind good-day to + me; and I knew when I looked into his face that he had word for me—the + whisperin’ of some angel, I suppose, and I said to him as though he had + asked me for it, ‘My name is Mary Callen, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “At that he started, and the colour came quick to his face; and he said: + ‘I am Sir Duke Lawless. I come to look for Mary Callen’s grave. Is there a + Mary Callen dead, and a Mary Callen livin’? and did both of them love a + man that went from Farcalladen Rise one wild night long ago?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘There’s but one Mary Callen,’ said I, ‘but the heart of me is dead, + until I hear news that brings it to life again?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘And no man calls you wife?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + “‘No man, Sir Duke Lawless,’ answered I. ‘And no man ever could, save him + that used to write me of you from the heart of Australia; only there was + no Sir to your name then.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I’ve come to that since,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, tell me,’ I cried, with a quiverin’ at my heart, ‘tell me, is he + livin’?’ + </p> + <p> + “And he replied: ‘I left him in the Pipi Valley of the Rocky Mountains a + year ago.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘A year ago!’ said I, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “‘I’m ashamed that I’ve been so long in comin’ here,’ replied he; ‘but, of + course, he didn’t know that you were alive, and I had been parted from a + lady for years—a lover’s quarrel—and I had to choose between + courtin’ her again and marryin’ her, or comin’ to Farcalladen Rise at + once. Well, I went to the altar first.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, sir, you’ve come with the speed of the wind, for now that I’ve news + of him, it is only yesterday that he went away, not years agone. But tell + me, does he ever think of me?’ I questioned. + </p> + <p> + “‘He thinks of you,’ he said, ‘as one for whom the masses for the dead are + spoken; but while I knew him, first and last, the memory of you was with + him.’ + </p> + <p> + “With that he got off his horse, and said: ‘I’ll walk with you to his + father’s home.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You’ll not do that,’ I replied; ‘for it’s level with the ground. God + punish them that did it! And they’re lyin’ in the glen by the stream that + he loved and galloped over many a time.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘They are dead—they are dead, then,’ said he, with his bridle swung + loose on his arm and his hat off reverently. + </p> + <p> + “‘Gone home to Heaven together,’ said I, ‘one day and one hour, and a + prayer on their lips for the lad; and I closin’ their eyes at the last. + And before they went they made me sit by them and sing a song that’s + common here with us; for manny and manny of the strength and pride of + Farcalladen Rise have sailed the wide seas north and south, and + otherwhere, and comin’ back maybe and maybe not.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Hark,’ he said, very gravely, ‘and I’ll tell you what it is, for I’ve + heard him sing it, I know, in the worst days and the best days that ever + we had, when luck was wicked and big against us and we starvin’ on the + wallaby track; or when we found the turn in the lane to brighter days.’ + </p> + <p> + “And then with me lookin’ at him full in the eyes, gentleman though he + was,—for comrade he had been with the man I loved,—he said to + me there, so finely and kindly, it ought to have brought the dead back + from their graves to hear, these words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘You’ll travel far and wide, dear, but you’ll come back again, + You’ll come back to your father and your mother in the glen, + Although we should be lyin’ ‘neath the heather grasses then + You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!’ + + “‘You’ll see the icebergs sailin’ along the wintry foam, + The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans as they roam; + But you’ll not forget the rowan beside your father’s home— + You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’.’” + </pre> + <p> + Here the girl paused longer than usual, and the priest dropped his + forehead in his hand sadly. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve brought grief to your kind heart, father,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he replied, “not sorrow at all; but I was born on the Liffey + side, though it’s forty years and more since I left it, and I’m an old man + now. That song I knew well, and the truth and the heart of it too. ... I + am listening.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, together we went to the grave of the father and mother, and the + place where the home had been, and for a long time he was silent, as + though they who slept beneath the sod were his, and not another’s; but at + last he said: + </p> + <p> + “‘And what will you do? I don’t quite know where he is, though; when last + I heard from him and his comrades, they were in the Pipi Valley.’ + </p> + <p> + “My heart was full of joy; for though I saw how touched he was because of + what he saw, it was all common to my sight, and I had grieved much, but + had had little delight; and I said: + </p> + <p> + “‘There’s only one thing to be done. He cannot come back here, and I must + go to him—that is,’ said I, ‘if you think he cares for me still,—for + my heart quakes at the thought that he might have changed.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I know his heart,’ said he, ‘and you’ll find him, I doubt not, the same, + though he buried you long ago in a lonely tomb,—the tomb of a sweet + remembrance, where the flowers are everlastin’.’ Then after more words he + offered me money with which to go; but I said to him that the love that + couldn’t carry itself across the sea by the strength of the hands and the + sweat of the brow was no love at all; and that the harder was the road to + him the gladder I’d be, so that it didn’t keep me too long, and brought me + to him at last. + </p> + <p> + “He looked me up and down very earnestly for a minute, and then he said: + ‘What is there under the roof of heaven like the love of an honest woman! + It makes the world worth livin’ in.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ said I, ‘when love has hope, and a place to lay its head.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Take this,’ said he—and he drew from his pocket his watch—‘and + carry it to him with the regard of Duke Lawless, and this for yourself’—fetching + from his pocket a revolver and putting it into my hands; ‘for the prairies + are but rough places after all, and it’s better to be safe than—worried.... + Never fear though but the prairies will bring back the finest of blooms to + your cheek, if fair enough it is now, and flush his eye with pride of you; + and God be with you both, if a sinner may say that, and breakin’ no + saint’s prerogative.’ And he mounted to ride away, havin’ shaken my hand + like a brother; but he turned again before he went, and said: ‘Tell him + and his comrades that I’ll shoulder my gun and join them before the world + is a year older, if I can. For that land is God’s land, and its people are + my people, and I care not who knows it, whatever here I be.’ + </p> + <p> + “I worked my way across the sea, and stayed awhile in the East earning + money to carry me over the land and into the Pipi Valley. I joined a party + of emigrants that were goin’ westward, and travelled far with them. But + they quarrelled and separated, I goin’ with these that I liked best. One + night though, I took my horse and left; for I knew there was evil in the + heart of a man who sought me continually, and the thing drove me mad. I + rode until my horse could stumble no farther, and then I took the saddle + for a pillow and slept on the bare ground. And in the morning I got up and + rode on, seein’ no house nor human being for manny and manny a mile. When + everything seemed hopeless I came suddenly upon a camp. But I saw that + there was only one man there, and I should have turned back, but that I + was worn and ill, and, moreover, I had ridden almost upon him. But he was + kind. He shared his food with me, and asked me where I was goin’. I told + him, and also that I had quarrelled with those of my party and had left + them nothing more. He seemed to wonder that I was goin’ to Pipi Valley; + and when I had finished my tale he said: ‘Well, I must tell you that I am + not good company for you. I have a name that doesn’t pass at par up here. + To speak plain truth, troopers are looking for me, and—strange as it + may be—for a crime which I didn’t commit. That is the foolishness of + the law. But for this I’m making for the American border, beyond which, + treaty or no treaty, a man gets refuge.’ + </p> + <p> + “He was silent after that, lookin’ at me thoughtfully the while, but in a + way that told me I might trust him, evil though he called himself. At + length he said: ‘I know a good priest, Father Corraine, who has a cabin + sixty miles or more from here, and I’ll guide you to him, if so be you can + trust a half-breed and a gambler, and one men call an outlaw. If not, I’m + feared it’ll go hard with you; for the Cypress Hills are not easy travel, + as I’ve known this many a year. And should you want a name to call me, + Pretty Pierre will do, though my godfathers and godmothers did different + for me before they went to Heaven.’ And nothing said he irreverently, + father.” + </p> + <p> + Here the priest looked up and answered: “Yes, yes, I know him well—an + evil man, and yet he has suffered too... Well, well, my daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “At that he took his pistol from his pocket and handed it. ‘Take that,’ he + said. ‘It will make you safer with me, and I’ll ride ahead of you, and we + shall reach there by sundown, I hope.’ + </p> + <p> + “And I would not take his pistol, but, shamed a little, showed him the one + Sir Duke Lawless gave me. ‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘and, maybe, it’s + better that I should carry mine, for, as I said, there are anxious + gentlemen lookin’ for me, who wish to give me a quiet but dreary home. And + see,’ he added, ‘if they should come you will be safe, for they sit in the + judgment seat, and the statutes hang at their saddles, and I’ll say this + for them, that a woman to them is as a saint of God out here where women + and saints are few.’ + </p> + <p> + “I do not speak as he spoke, for his words had a turn of French; but I + knew that, whatever he was, I should travel peaceably with him. Yet I saw + that he would be runnin’ the risk of his own safety for me, and I told him + that I could not have him do it; but he talked me lightly down, and we + started. We had gone but a little distance, when there galloped over a + ridge upon us, two men of the party I had left, and one, I saw, was the + man I hated; and I cried out and told Pretty Pierre. He wheeled his horse, + and held his pistol by him. They said that I should come with them, and + they told a dreadful lie—that I was a runaway wife; but Pierre + answered them they lied. At this, one rode forward suddenly, and clutched + me at my waist to drag me from my horse. At this, Pierre’s pistol was + thrust in his face, and Pierre bade him cease, which he did; but the other + came down with a pistol showin’, and Pierre, seein’ they were determined, + fired; and the man that clutched at me fell from his horse. Then the other + drew off; and Pierre got down, and stooped, and felt the man’s heart, and + said to the other: ‘Take your friend away, for he is dead; but drop that + pistol of yours on the ground first.’ And the man did so; and Pierre, as + he looked at the dead man, added: ‘Why did he make me kill him?’ + </p> + <p> + “Then the two tied the body to the horse, and the man rode away with it. + We travelled on without speakin’ for a long time, and then I heard him say + absently: ‘I am sick of that. When once you have played shuttlecock with + human life, you have to play it to the end—that is the penalty. But + a woman is a woman, and she must be protected.’ Then afterward he turned + and asked me if I had friends in Pipi Valley; and because what he had done + for me had worked upon me, I told him of the man I was goin’ to find. And + he started in his saddle, and I could see by the way he twisted the mouth + of his horse that I had stirred him.” + </p> + <p> + Here the priest interposed: “What is the name of the man in Pipi Valley to + whom you are going?” + </p> + <p> + And the girl replied: “Ah, father, have I not told you? It is Shon McGann—of + Farcalladen Rise.” + </p> + <p> + At this, Father Corraine seemed suddenly troubled, and he looked strangely + and sadly at her. But the girl’s eyes were fastened on the candle in the + window, as if she saw her story in it; and she continued: “A colour spread + upon him, and then left him pale; and he said: ‘To Shon McGann—you + are going to him? Think of that—that!’ For an instant I thought a + horrible smile played upon his face, and I grew frightened, and said to + him: ‘You know him. You are not sorry that you are helping me? You and + Shon McGann are not enemies?’ + </p> + <p> + “After a moment the smile that struck me with dread passed, and he said, + as he drew himself up with a shake: ‘Shon McGann and I were good + friends-as good as ever shared a blanket or split a loaf, though he was + free of any evil, and I failed of any good.... Well, there came a change. + We parted. We could meet no more; but who could have guessed this thing? + Yet, hear me—I am no enemy of Shon McGann, as let my deeds to you + prove.’ And he paused again, but added presently: ‘It’s better you should + have come now than two years ago. + </p> + <p> + “And I had a fear in my heart, and to this asked him why. ‘Because then he + was a friend of mine,’ he said, ‘and ill always comes to those who are + such.’ I was troubled at this, and asked him if Shon was in Pipi Valley + yet. ‘I do not know,’ said he, ‘for I’ve travelled long and far from + there; still, while I do not wish to put doubt into your mind, I have a + thought he may be gone.... He had a gay heart,’ he continued, ‘and we saw + brave days together.’ + </p> + <p> + “And though I questioned him, he told me little more, but became silent, + scannin’ the plains as we rode; but once or twice he looked at me in a + strange fashion, and passed his hand across his forehead, and a grey look + came upon his face. I asked him if he was not well. ‘Only a kind of + fightin’ within,’ he said; ‘such things soon pass, and it is well they do, + or we should break to pieces.’ + </p> + <p> + “And I said again that I wished not to bring him into danger. And he + replied that these matters were accordin’ to Fate; that men like him must + go on when once the die is cast, for they cannot turn back. It seemed to + me a bitter creed, and I was sorry for him. Then for hours we kept an + almost steady silence, and comin’ at last to the top of a rise of land he + pointed to a spot far off on the plains, and said that you, father, lived + there; and that he would go with me still a little way, and then leave me. + I urged him to go at once, but he would not, and we came down into the + plains. He had not ridden far when he said sharply: + </p> + <p> + “‘The Riders of the Plains, those gentlemen who seek me, are there—see! + Ride on or stay, which you please. If you go you will reach the priest, if + you stay here where I shall leave you, you will see me taken perhaps, and + it may be fightin’ or death; but you will be safe with them. On the whole, + it is best, perhaps, that you should ride away to the priest. They might + not believe all that you told them, ridin’ with me as you are.’ + </p> + <p> + “But I think a sudden madness again came upon me. Rememberin’ what things + were done by women for refugees in old Donegal, and that this man had + risked his life for me, I swung my horse round nose and nose with his, and + drew my revolver, and said that I should see whatever came to him. He + prayed me not to do so wild a thing; but when I refused, and pushed on + along with him, makin’ at an angle for some wooded hills, I saw that a + smile played upon his face. We had almost reached the edge of the wood + when a bullet whistled by us. At that the smile passed and a strange look + came upon him, and he said to me: + </p> + <p> + “‘This must end here. I think you guess I have no coward’s blood; but I am + sick to the teeth of fightin’. I do not wish to shock you, but I swear, + unless you turn and ride away to the left towards the priest’s house, I + shall save those fellows further trouble by killin’ myself here; and + there,’ said he, ‘would be a pleasant place to die—at the feet of a + woman who trusted you.’ + </p> + <p> + “I knew by the look in his eye he would keep his word. “‘Oh, is this so?’ + I said. + </p> + <p> + “‘It is so,’ he replied, ‘and it shall be done quickly, for the courage to + death is on me.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘But if I go, you will still try to escape?’ I said. And he answered that + he would. Then I spoke a God-bless-you, at which he smiled and shook his + head, and leanin’ over, touched my hand, and spoke low: ‘When you see Shon + McGann, tell him what I did, and say that we are even now. Say also that + you called Heaven to bless me.’ Then we swung away from each other, and + the troopers followed after him, but let me go my way; from which, I + guessed, they saw I was a woman. And as I rode I heard shots, and turned + to see; but my horse stumbled on a hole and we fell together, and when I + waked, I saw that the poor beast’s legs were broken. So I ended its + misery, and made my way as best I could by the stars to your house; but I + turned sick and fainted at the door, and knew no more until this hour. ... + You thought me dead, father?” + </p> + <p> + The priest bowed his head, and said: “These are strange, sad things, my + child; and they shall seem stranger to you when you hear all.” + </p> + <p> + “When I hear all! Ah, tell me, father, do you know Shon McGann? Can you + take me to him?” + </p> + <p> + “I know him, but I do not know where he is. He left the Pipi Valley + eighteen months ago, and I never saw him afterwards; still I doubt not he + is somewhere on the plains, and we shall find him—we shall find him, + please Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a good lad, father?” + </p> + <p> + “He is brave, and he was always kind. He came to me before he left the + valley—for he had trouble—and said to me: ‘Father, I am going + away, and to what place is far from me to know, but wherever it is, I’ll + live a life that’s fit for men, and not like a loafer on God’s world;’ and + he gave me money for masses to be said—for the dead.” + </p> + <p> + The girl put out her hand. “Hush! hush!” she said. “Let me think. Masses + for the dead.... What dead? Not for me; he thought me dead long, long + ago.” + </p> + <p> + “No; not for you,” was the slow reply. + </p> + <p> + She noticed his hesitation, and said: “Speak. I know that there is sorrow + on him. Someone—someone—he loved?” + </p> + <p> + “Someone he loved,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “And she died?” The priest bowed his head. + </p> + <p> + “She was his wife—Shon’s wife”? and Mary Callen could not hide from + her words the hurt she felt. + </p> + <p> + “I married her to him, but yet she was not his wife.” There was a keen + distress in the girl’s voice. “Father, tell me, tell me what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, and I will tell you all. He married her, thinking, and she + thinking, that she was a widowed woman. But her husband came back. A + terrible thing happened. The woman believing, at a painful time, that he + who came back was about to take Shon’s life, fired at him, and wounded + him, and then killed herself.” + </p> + <p> + Mary Callen raised herself upon her elbow, and looked at the priest in + piteous bewilderment. “It is dreadful,” she said.... “Poor woman!... And + he had forgotten—forgotten me. I was dead to him, and am dead to him + now. There’s nothing left but to draw the cold sheet of the grave over me. + Better for me if I had never come—if I had never come, and instead + were lyin’ by his father and mother beneath the rowan.” + </p> + <p> + The priest took her wrist firmly in his. “These are not brave nor + Christian words, from a brave and Christian girl. But I know that grief + makes one’s words wild. Shon McGann shall be found. In the days when I saw + him most and best, he talked of you as an angel gone, and he had never + sought another woman had he known that you lived. The Mounted Police, the + Riders of the Plains, travel far and wide. But now, there has come from + the farther West a new detachment to Fort Cypress, and they may be able to + help us. But listen. There is something more. The man Pretty Pierre, did + he not speak puzzling words concerning himself and Shon McGann? And did he + not say to you at the last that they were even now? Well, can you not + guess?” + </p> + <p> + Mary Callen’s bosom heaved painfully and her eyes stared so at the candle + in the window that they seemed to grow one with the flame. At last a new + look crept into them; a thought made the lids close quickly as though it + burned them. When they opened again they were full of tears that shone in + the shadow and dropped slowly on her cheeks and flowed on and on, + quivering too in her throat. + </p> + <p> + The priest said: “You understand, my child?” + </p> + <p> + And she answered: “I understand. Pierre, the outlaw, was her husband.” + </p> + <p> + Father Corraine rose and sat beside the table, his book of offices open + before him. At length he said: “There is much that might be spoken; for + the Church has words for every hour of man’s life, whatever it be; but + there comes to me now a word to say, neither from prayer nor psalm, but + from the songs of a country where good women are; where however poor the + fireside, the loves beside it are born of the love of God, though the + tongue be angry now and then, the foot stumble, and the hand quick at a + blow.” Then, with a soft, ringing voice, he repeated: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces on you smile— + You’ll bide with them and love them, but you’ll long for us the while; + + For the word across the water, and the farewell by the stile— + For the true heart’s here, my darlin’.’” + </pre> + <p> + Mary Callen’s tears flowed afresh at first; but soon after the voice + ceased she closed her eyes and her sobs stopped, and Father Corraine sat + down and became lost in thought as he watched the candle. Then there went + a word among the spirits watching that he was not thinking of the candle, + or of them that the candle was to light on the way, nor even of this girl + near him, but of a summer forty years gone when he was a goodly youth, + with the red on his lip and the light in his eye, and before him, leaning + on a stile, was a lass with— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “... cheeks like the dawn of day.” + </pre> + <p> + And all the good world swam in circles, eddying ever inward until it + streamed intensely and joyously through her eyes “blue as the fairy flax.” + And he had carried the remembrance of this away into the world with him, + but had never gone back again. He had travelled beyond the seas to live + among savages and wear out his life in self-denial; and now he had come to + the evening of his life, a benignant figure in a lonely land. And as he + sat here murmuring mechanically bits of an office, his heart and mind were + with a sacred and distant past. Yet the spirits recorded both these things + on their tablets, as though both were worthy of their remembrance. + </p> + <p> + He did not know that he kept repeating two sentences over and over to + himself: + </p> + <p> + “‘Quoniam ipse liberavit me de laqueo venantium et a verbo aspero. Quoniam + angelis suis mandavit de te: ut custodiant te in omnibus viis tuis.’” + </p> + <p> + These he said at first softly to himself, but unconsciously his voice + became louder, so that the girl heard, and she said: + </p> + <p> + “Father Corraine, what are those words? I do not understand them, but they + sound comforting.” + </p> + <p> + And he, waking from his dream, changed the Latin into English, and said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘For he hath delivered me from the snare of the hunter, and from the + sharp sword. + For he hath given his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all + thy ways.’” + </pre> + <p> + “The words are good,” she said. He then told her he was going out, but + that he should be within call, saying, at the same time, that someone + would no doubt arrive from Fort Cypress soon: and he went from the house. + Then the girl rose slowly, crept lamely to a chair and sat down. Outside, + the priest paced up and down, stopping now and then, and listening as if + for horses’ hoofs. At last he walked some distance away from the house, + deeply lost in thought, and he did not notice that a man came slowly, + heavily, to the door of the hut, and opening it, entered. + </p> + <p> + Mary Callen rose from her seat with a cry in which was timidity, pity, and + something of horror; for it was Pretty Pierre. She recoiled, but seeing + how he swayed with weakness, and that his clothes had blood upon them, she + helped him to a chair. He looked up at her with an enigmatical smile, but + he did not speak. “Oh,” she whispered, “you are wounded!” + </p> + <p> + He nodded; but still he did not speak. Then his lips moved dryly. She + brought him water. He drank deeply, and a sigh of relief escaped him. “You + got here safely,” he now said. “I am glad of that—though you, too, + are hurt.” + </p> + <p> + She briefly told him how, and then he said: “Well, I suppose you know all + of me now?” + </p> + <p> + “I know what happened in Pipi Valley,” she said, timidly and wearily. + “Father Corraine told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + When she had answered him, he said: “And you are willing to speak with me + still?” + </p> + <p> + “You saved me,” was her brief, convincing reply. “How did you escape? Did + you fight?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “It is strange. I did not fight at all. As I said to you, I + was sick of blood. These men were only doing their duty. I might have + killed two or three of them, and have escaped, but to what good? When they + shot my horse, my good Sacrament,—and put a bullet into this + shoulder, I crawled away still, and led them a dance, and doubled on them; + and here I am.” + </p> + <p> + “It is wonderful that they have not been here,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is wonderful; but be very sure they will be with that candle in + the window. Why is it there?” + </p> + <p> + She told him. He lifted his brows in stoic irony, and said: “Well, we + shall have an army of them soon.” He rose again to his feet. “I do not + wish to die, and I always said that I would never go to prison. Do you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied. She went immediately to the window, took the candle + from it, and put it behind an improvised shade. No sooner was this done + than Father Corraine entered the room, and seeing the outlaw, said “You + have come here, Pierre?” And his face showed wonder and anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “I have come, mon pere, for sanctuary.” + </p> + <p> + “For sanctuary! But, my son, if I vex not Heaven by calling you so, why”—he + saw Pierre stagger slightly. “But you are wounded.” He put his arm round + the other’s shoulder, and supported him till he recovered himself. Then he + set to work to bandage anew the wound, from which Pierre himself had not + unskilfully extracted the bullet. While doing so, the outlaw said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Father Corraine, I am hunted like a coyote for a crime I did not commit. + But if I am arrested they will no doubt charge me with other things—ancient + things. Well, I have said that I should never be sent to gaol, and I never + shall; but I do not wish to die at this moment, and I do not wish to + fight. What is there left?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you come here, Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his eyes heavily to Mary Callen, and she told Father Corraine + what had been told her. When she had finished, Pierre added: + </p> + <p> + “I am no coward, as you will witness; but as I said, neither gaol nor + death do I wish. Well, if they should come here, and you said, Pierre is + not here, even though I was in the next room, they would believe you, and + they would not search. Well, I ask such sanctuary.” + </p> + <p> + The priest recoiled and raised his hand in protest. Then, after a moment, + he said: + </p> + <p> + “How do you deserve this? Do you know what you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, oui, I know it is immense, and I deserve nothing: and in return I can + offer nothing, not even that I will repent. And I have done no good in the + world; but still perhaps I am worth the saving, as may be seen in the end. + As for you, well, you will do a little wrong so that the end will be + right. So?” + </p> + <p> + The priest’s eyes looked out long and sadly at the man from under his + venerable brows, as though he would see through him and beyond him to that + end; and at last he spoke in a low, firm voice: + </p> + <p> + “Pierre, you have been a bad man; but sometimes you have been generous, + and of a few good acts I know—” + </p> + <p> + “No, not good,” the other interrupted. “I ask this of your charity.” + </p> + <p> + “There is the law, and my conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “The law! the law!” and there was sharp satire in the half-breed’s voice. + “What has it done in the West? Think, ‘mon pere!’ Do you not know a + hundred cases where the law has dealt foully? There was more justice + before we had law. Law—” And he named over swiftly, scornfully, a + score of names and incidents, to which Father Corraine listened intently. + “But,” said Pierre, gently, at last, “but for your conscience, m’sieu’, + that is greater than law. For you are a good man and a wise man; and you + know that I shall pay my debts of every kind some sure day. That should + satisfy your justice, but you are merciful for the moment, and you will + spare until the time be come, until the corn is ripe in the ear. Why + should I plead? It is foolish. Still, it is my whim, of which, perhaps, I + shall be sorry tomorrow... Hark!” he added, and then shrugged his + shoulders and smiled. There were sounds of hoof beats coming faintly to + them. Father Corraine threw open the door of the other room of the hut, + and said “Go in there—Pierre. We shall see... we shall see.” + </p> + <p> + The outlaw looked at the priest, as if hesitating; but, after, nodded + meaningly to himself, and entered the room and shut the door. The priest + stood listening. When the hoof-beats stopped, he opened the door, and went + out. In the dark he could see that men were dismounting from their horses. + He stood still and waited. Presently a trooper stepped forward and said + warmly, yet brusquely, as became his office: “Father Corraine, we meet + again!” + </p> + <p> + The priest’s face was overswept by many expressions, in which marvel and + trouble were uppermost, while joy was in less distinctness. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” he said, “it is Shon McGann.” + </p> + <p> + “Shon McGann, and no other.—I that laughed at the law for many a + year, though never breaking it beyond repair,—took your advice, + Father Corraine, and here I am, holding that law now as my bosom friend at + the saddle’s pommel. Corporal Shon McGann, at your service.” + </p> + <p> + They clasped hands, and the priest said: “You have come at my call from + Fort Cypress?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But not these others. They are after a man that’s played ducks and + drakes with the statutes—Heaven be merciful to him, I say. For + there’s naught I treasure against him; the will of God bein’ in it all, + with some doin’ of the Devil, too, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + Pretty Pierre, standing with ear to the window of the dark room, heard all + this, and he pressed his upper lip hard with his forefinger, as if + something disturbed him. + </p> + <p> + Shon continued. “I’m glad I wasn’t sent after him as all these here know; + for it’s little I’d like to clap irons on his wrists, or whistle him to + come to me with a Winchester or a Navy. So I’m here on my business, and + they’re here on theirs. Though we come together it’s because we met each + other hereaway. They’ve a thought that, maybe, Pretty Pierre has taken + refuge with you. They’ll little like to disturb you, I know. But with dead + in your house, and you givin’ the word of truth, which none other could + fall from your lips, they’ll go on their way to look elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + The priest’s face was pinched, and there was a wrench at his heart. He + turned to the others. A trooper stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + “Father Corraine,” he said, “it is my duty to search your house; but not a + foot will I stretch across your threshold if you say no, and give the word + that the man is not with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Corporal McGann,” said the priest, “the woman whom I thought was dead did + not die, as you shall see. There is no need for inquiry. But she will go + with you to Fort Cypress. As for the other, you say that Father Corraine’s + threshold is his own, and at his own command. His home is now a sanctuary—for + the afflicted.” He went towards the door. As he did so, Mary Callen, who + had been listening inside the room with shaking frame and bursting heart, + dropped on her knees beside the table, her head in her arms. The door + opened. “See,” said the priest, “a woman who is injured and suffering.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” rejoined the trooper, “perhaps it is the woman who was riding with + the half-breed. We found her dead horse.” + </p> + <p> + The priest nodded. Shon McGann looked at the crouching figure by the table + pityingly. As he looked he was stirred, he knew not why. And she, though + she did not look, knew that his gaze was on her; and all her will was + spent in holding her eyes from his face, and from crying out to him. + </p> + <p> + “And Pretty Pierre,” said the trooper, “is not here with her?” + </p> + <p> + There was an unfathomable sadness in the priest’s eyes, as, with a slight + motion of the hand towards the room, he said: “You see—he is not + here.” + </p> + <p> + The trooper and his men immediately mounted; but one of them, young Tim + Kearney, slid from his horse, and came and dropped on his knee in front of + the priest. + </p> + <p> + “It’s many a day,” he said, “since before God or man I bent a knee—more + shame to me for that, and for mad days gone; but I care not who knows it, + I want a word of blessin’ from the man that’s been out here like a saint + in the wilderness, with a heart like the Son o’ God.” + </p> + <p> + The priest looked at the man at first as if scarce comprehending this act + so familiar to him, then he slowly stretched out his hand, said some words + in benediction, and made the sacred gesture. But his face had a strange + and absent look, and he held the hand poised, even when the man had risen + and mounted his horse. One by one the troopers rode through the faint belt + of light that stretched from the door, and were lost in the darkness, the + thud of their horses’ hoofs echoing behind them. But a change had come + over Corporal Shon McGann. He looked at Father Corraine with concern and + perplexity. He alone of those who were there had caught the unreal note in + the proceedings. His eyes were bent on the darkness into which the men had + gone, and his fingers toyed for an instant with his whistle; but he said a + hard word of himself under his breath, and turned to meet Father + Corraine’s hand upon his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Shon McGann,” the priest said, “I have words to say to you concerning + this poor girl.” + </p> + <p> + “You wish to have her taken to the Fort, I suppose? What was she doing + with Pretty Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish her taken to her home.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is her home, father?” And his eyes were cast with trouble on the + girl, though he could assign no cause for that. + </p> + <p> + “Her home, Shon,”—the priest’s voice was very gentle—“her home + was where they sing such words as these of a wanderer: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘You’ll hear the wild birds singin’ beneath a brighter sky,’ + The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand and high; + But you’ll hunger for the hearthstone where a child you used to lie, + You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’.”’ +</pre> + <p> + During these words Shon’s face ran white, then red; and now he stepped + inside the door like one in a dream, and the girl’s face was lifted to his + as though he had called her. “Mary—Mary Callen!” he cried. His arms + spread out, then dropped to his side, and he fell on his knees by the + table facing her, and looked at her with love and horror warring in his + face; for the remembrance that she had been with Pierre was like the hand + of the grave upon him. Moving not at all, she looked at him, a numb + despondency in her face. Suddenly Shon’s look grew stern, and he was about + to rise; but Father Corraine put a hand on his shoulder, and said: “Stay + where you are, man—on your knees. There is your place just now. Be + not so quick to judge, and remember your own sins before you charge others + without knowledge. Listen now to me.” + </p> + <p> + And he spoke Mary Callen’s tale as he knew it, and as she had given it to + him, not forgetting to mention that she had been told the thing which had + occurred in Pipi Valley. + </p> + <p> + The heroic devotion of this woman, and Pretty Pierre’s act of friendship + to her, together with the swift panorama of his past across the seas, + awoke the whole man in Shon, as the staunch life that he had lately led + rendered it possible. There was a grave, kind look upon his face when he + rose at the ending of the tale, and came to her, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Mary, it is I who need forgiveness. Will you come now to the home you + wanted”? and he stretched his arms to her.... + </p> + <p> + An hour after, as the three sat there, the door of the other room opened, + and Pretty Pierre came out silently, and was about to pass from the hut; + but the priest put a hand on his arm, and said: + </p> + <p> + “‘Where do you go, Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + Pierre shrugged his shoulder slightly: + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. ‘Mon Dieu!’—that I have put this upon you!—you + that never spoke but the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “You have made my sin of no avail,” the priest replied; and he motioned + towards Shon McGann, who was now risen to his feet, Mary clinging to his + arm. “Father Corraine,” said Shon, “it is my duty to arrest this man; but + I cannot do it, would not do it, if he came and offered his arms for the + steel. I’ll take the wrong of this now, sir, and such shame as there is in + that falsehood on my shoulders. And she here and I, and this man too, I + doubt not, will carry your sin—as you call it—to our graves, + without shame.” + </p> + <p> + Father Corraine shook his head sadly, and made no reply, for his soul was + heavy. He motioned them all to sit down. And they sat there by the light + of a flickering candle, with the door bolted and a cassock hung across the + window, lest by any chance this uncommon thing should be seen. But the + priest remained in a shadowed corner, with a little book in his hand, and + he was long on his knees. And when morning came they had neither slept nor + changed the fashion of their watch, save for a moment now and then, when + Pierre suffered from the pain of his wound, and silently passed up and + down the little room. + </p> + <p> + The morning was half gone when Shon McGann and Mary Callen stood beside + their horses, ready to mount and go; for Mary had persisted that she could + travel—joy makes such marvellous healing. When the moment of parting + came, Pierre was not there. Mary whispered to her lover concerning this. + The priest went to the door of the but and called him. He came out slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Pierre,” said Shon, “there’s a word to be said between us that had best + be spoken now, though it’s not aisy. It’s little you or I will care to + meet again in this world. There’s been credit given and debts paid by both + of us since the hour when we first met; and it needs thinking to tell + which is the debtor now, for deeds are hard to reckon; but, before God, I + believe it’s meself;” and he turned and looked fondly at Mary Callen. + </p> + <p> + And Pierre replied: “Shon McGann, I make no reckoning close; but we will + square all accounts here, as you say, and for the last time; for never + again shall we meet, if it’s within my will or doing. But I say I am the + debtor; and if I pay not here, there will come a time!” and he caught his + shoulder as it shrunk in pain of his wound. He tapped the wound lightly, + and said with irony: “This is my note of hand for my debt, Shon McGann. + Eh, bien!” + </p> + <p> + Then he tossed his fingers indolently towards Shon, and turning his eyes + slowly to Mary Callen, raised his hat in good-bye. She put out her hand + impulsively to him, but Pierre, shaking his head, looked away. Shon put + his hand gently on her arm. “No, no,” he said in a whisper, “there can be + no touch of hands between us.” + </p> + <p> + And Pierre, looking up, added: “C’est vrai. That is the truth. You go—home. + I got to hide. So—so.” And he turned and went into the hut. + </p> + <p> + The others set their faces northward, and Father Corraine walked beside + Mary Callen’s horse, talking quietly of their future life, and speaking, + as he would never speak again, of days in that green land of their birth. + At length, upon a dividing swell of the prairie, he paused to say + farewell. + </p> + <p> + Many times the two turned to see, and he was there, looking after them; + his forehead bared to the clear inspiring wind, his grey hair blown back, + his hands clasped. Before descending the trough of a great landwave, they + turned for the last time, and saw him standing motionless, the one + solitary being in all their wide horizon. + </p> + <p> + But outside the line of vision there sat a man in a prairie hut, whose + eyes travelled over the valley of blue sky stretching away beyond the + morning, whose face was pale and cold. For hours he sat unmoving, and + when, at last, someone gently touched him on the shoulder, he only shook + his head, and went on thinking. He was busy with the grim ledger of his + life. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + An inner sorrow is a consuming fire + At first—and at the last—he was kind + Awkward for your friends and gratifying to your enemies + Carrying with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman’s love + Courage; without which, men are as the standing straw + Delicate revenge which hath its hour with every man + Evil is half-accidental, half-natural + Fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good + Freedom is the first essential of the artistic mind + Good is often an occasion more than a condition + Had the luck together, all kinds and all weathers + He does not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him + Hunger for happiness is robbery + I was born insolent + If one remembers, why should the other forget + Instinct for detecting veracity, having practised on both sides + Irishmen have gifts for only two things—words and women + It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law + It is not much to kill or to die—that is in the game + Knowing that his face would never be turned from me + Likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly animal + Longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children + Meditation is the enemy of action + Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners + More idle than wicked + Mothers always forgive + My excuses were making bad infernally worse + Noise is not battle + Nothing so good as courage, nothing so base as the shifting eye + Philosophy which could separate the petty from the prodigious + Reconciling the preacher and the sinner, as many another has + Remember your own sins before you charge others + She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute + She wasn’t young, but she seemed so + The soul of goodness in things evil + The Injin speaks the truth, perhaps—eye of red man multlpies + The Government cherish the Injin much in these days + The gods made last to humble the pride of men—there was rum + The higher we go the faster we live + The Barracks of the Free + The world is not so bad as is claimed for it + Time is the test, and Time will have its way with me + Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now is real + Where I should never hear the voice of the social Thou must + You do not shout dinner till you have your knife in the loaf +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre And His People, +[Tales of the Far North], Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE, *** + +***** This file should be named 6179-h.htm or 6179-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/7/6179/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +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: Pierre And His People, [Tales of the Far North], Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Last Updated: March 11, 2009 +Release Date: October 17, 2006 [EBook #6179] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE, *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE + +TALES OF THE FAR NORTH + +By Gilbert Parker + + + + CONTENTS + + Volume 1. + THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS + GOD'S GARRISON + A HAZARD OF THE NORTH + + + Volume 2. + A PRAIRIE VAGABOND + SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON + THREE OUTLAWS + + Volume 3. + SHON MCGANN'S TOBOGAN RIDE + PERE CHAMPAGNE + THE SCARLET HUNTER + THE STONE + + Volume 4. + THE TALL MASTER + THE CRIMSON FLAG + THE FLOOD + IN PIPI VALLEY + + Volume 5. + ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE + THE CIPHER + A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES + A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS + + + + +GENERAL INTRODUCTION + +With each volume of this subscription edition (1912) there is a special +introduction, setting forth, in so far as seemed possible, the relation +of each work to myself, to its companion works, and to the scheme of my +literary life. Only one or two things, therefore, need be said here, as +I wish God-speed to this edition, which, I trust, may help to make old +friends warmer friends and new friends more understanding. Most of the +novels and most of the short stories were suggested by incidents or +characters which I had known, had heard of intimately, or, as in +the case of the historical novels, had discovered in the works of +historians. In no case are the main characters drawn absolutely from +life; they are not portraits; and the proof of that is that no one has +ever been able to identify, absolutely, any single character in these +books. Indeed, it would be impossible for me to restrict myself to +actual portraiture. It is trite to say that photography is not art, and +photography has no charm for the artist, or the humanitarian indeed, +in the portrayal of life. At its best it is only an exhibition of outer +formal characteristics, idiosyncrasies, and contours. Freedom is +the first essential of the artistic mind. As will be noticed in the +introductions and original notes to several of these volumes, it is +stated that they possess anachronisms; that they are not portraits of +people living or dead, and that they only assume to be in harmony with +the spirit of men and times and things. Perhaps in the first few pages +of 'The Right of Way' portraiture is more nearly reached than in any +other of these books, but it was only the nucleus, if I may say so, of a +larger development which the original Charley Steele never attained. In +the novel he grew to represent infinitely more than the original ever +represented in his short life. + +That would not be strange when it is remembered that the germ of The +'Right of Way' was growing in my mind over a long period of years, and +it must necessarily have developed into a larger conception than the +original character could have suggested. The same may be said of the +chief characters in 'The Weavers'. The story of the two brothers--David +Claridge and Lord Eglington--in that book was brewing in my mind for +quite fifteen years, and the main incidents and characters of other +novels in this edition had the same slow growth. My forthcoming novel, +called 'The Judgment House', had been in my mind for nearly twenty +years and only emerged when it was full grown, as it were; when I was +so familiar with the characters that they seemed as real in all ways as +though they were absolute people and incidents of one's own experience. + +Little more need be said. In outward form the publishers have made this +edition beautiful. I should be ill-content if there was not also an +element of beauty in the work of the author. To my mind truth alone +is not sufficient. Every work of art, no matter how primitive in +conception, how tragic or how painful, or even how grotesque in +design--like the gargoyles on Notre Dame must have, too, the elements of +beauty--that which lures and holds, the durable and delightful thing. +I have a hope that these books of mine, as faithful to life as I could +make them, have also been touched here and there by the staff of beauty. +Otherwise their day will be short indeed; and I should wish for them a +day a little longer at least than my day and span. + +I launch the ship. May it visit many a port! May its freight never lie +neglected on the quays! + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +So far as my literary work is concerned 'Pierre and His People' may +be likened to a new city built upon the ashes of an old one. Let me +explain. While I was in Australia I began a series of short stories and +sketches of life in Canada which I called 'Pike Pole Sketches on the +Madawaska'. A very few of them were published in Australia, and I +brought with me to England in 1889 about twenty of them to make into a +volume. I told Archibald Forbes, the great war correspondent, of my wish +for publication, and asked him if he would mind reading the sketches and +stories before I approached a publisher. He immediately consented, and +one day I brought him the little brown bag containing the tales. + +A few days afterwards there came an invitation to lunch, and I went to +Clarence Gate, Regent's Park, to learn what Archibald Forbes thought of +my tales. We were quite merry at luncheon, and after luncheon, which +for him was a glass of milk and a biscuit, Forbes said to me, "Those +stories, Parker--you have the best collection of titles I have ever +known." He paused. I understood. To his mind the tales did not live up +to their titles. He hastily added, "But I am going to give you a letter +of introduction to Macmillan. I may be wrong." My reply was: "You need +not give me a letter to Macmillan unless I write and ask you for it." + +I took my little brown bag and went back to my comfortable rooms in an +old-fashioned square. I sat down before the fire on this bleak winter's +night with a couple of years' work on my knee. One by one I glanced +through the stories and in some cases read them carefully, and one by +one I put them in the fire, and watched them burn. I was heavy at heart, +but I felt that Forbes was right, and my own instinct told me that my +ideas were better than my performance--and Forbes was right. Nothing was +left of the tales; not a shred of paper, not a scrap of writing. They +had all gone up the chimney in smoke. There was no self-pity. I had a +grim kind of feeling regarding the thing, but I had no regrets, and I +have never had any regrets since. I have forgotten most of the titles, +and indeed all the stories except one. But Forbes and I were right; of +that I am sure. + +The next day after the arson I walked for hours where London was +busiest. The shop windows fascinated me; they always did; but that day I +seemed, subconsciously, to be looking for something. At last I found it. +It was a second-hand shop in Covent Garden. In the window there was +the uniform of an officer of the time of Wellington, and beside it--the +leather coat and fur cap of a trapper of the Hudson's Bay Company! At +that window I commenced to build again upon the ashes of last night's +fire. Pretty Pierre, the French half-breed, or rather the original of +him as I knew him when a child, looked out of the window at me. So +I went home, and sitting in front of the fire which had received my +manuscript the night before, with a pad upon my knee, I began to write +'The Patrol of the Cypress Hills' which opens 'Pierre and His People'. + +The next day was Sunday. I went to service at the Foundling Hospital in +Bloomsbury, and while listening superficially to the sermon I was also +reading the psalms. I came upon these words, "Free among the Dead +like unto them that are wounded and lie in the grave, that are out of +remembrance," and this text, which I used in the story 'The Patrol of +the Cypress Hills', became, in a sense, the text for all the stories +which came after. It seemed to suggest the lives and the end of the +lives of the workers of the pioneer world. + +So it was that Pierre and His People chiefly concerned those who had +been wounded by Fate, and had suffered the robberies of life and time +while they did their work in the wide places. It may be that my readers +have found what I tried, instinctively, to convey in the pioneer life I +portrayed--"The soul of goodness in things evil." Such, on the whole, my +observation had found in life, and the original of Pierre, with all his +mistakes, misdemeanours, and even crimes, was such an one as I would +have gone to in trouble or in hour of need, knowing that his face would +never be turned from me. + +These stories made their place at once. The 'Patrol of the Cypress +Hills' was published first in 'The Independent' of New York and in +'Macmillan's Magazine' in England. Mr. Bliss Carman, then editor of +'The Independent', eagerly published several of them--'She of the Triple +Chevron' and others. Mr. Carman's sympathy and insight were a great help +to me in those early days. The then editor of 'Macmillan's Magazine', +Mr. Mowbray Morris, was not, I think, quite so sure of the merits of +the Pierre stories. He published them, but he was a little credulous +regarding them, and he did not pat me on the back by any means. There +was one, however, who made the best that is in 'Pierre and His People' +possible; this was the unforgettable W. E. Henley, editor of The +'National Observer'. One day at a sitting I wrote a short story called +'Antoine and Angelique', and sent it to him almost before the ink was +dry. The reply came by return of post: "It is almost, or quite, as good +as can be. Send me another." So forthwith I sent him 'God's Garrison', +and it was quickly followed by 'The Three Outlaws', 'The Tall Master', +'The Flood', 'The Cipher', 'A Prairie Vagabond', and several others. At +length came 'The Stone', which brought a telegram of congratulation, and +finally 'The Crimson Flag'. The acknowledgment of that was a postcard +containing these all too-flattering words: "Bravo, Balzac!" Henley would +print what no other editor would print; he gave a man his chance to do +the boldest thing that was in him, and I can truthfully say that +the doors which he threw open gave freedom to an imagination and an +individuality of conception, for which I can never be sufficiently +grateful. + +These stories and others which appeared in 'The National Observer', in +'Macmillan's', in 'The English Illustrated Magazine' and others made +many friends; so that when the book at length came out it was received +with generous praise, though not without some criticism. It made its +place, however, at once, and later appeared another series, called 'An +Adventurer of the North', or, as it is called in this edition, 'A Romany +of the Snows'. Through all the twenty stories of this second volume the +character of Pierre moved; and by the time the last was written there +was scarcely an important magazine in the English-speaking world which +had not printed one or more of them. Whatever may be thought of the +stories themselves, or of the manner in which the life of the Far North +was portrayed, of one thing I am sure: Pierre was true to the life--to +his race, to his environment, to the conditions of pioneer life through +which he moved. When the book first came out there was some criticism +from Canada itself, but that criticism has long since died away, and it +never was determined. + +Plays have been founded on the 'Pierre' series, and one in particular, +'Pierre of the Plains', had a considerable success, with Mr. Edgar +Selwyn, the adapter, in the main part. I do not know whether, if I were +to begin again, I should have written all the Pierre stories in quite +the same way. Perhaps it is just as well that I am not able to begin +again. The stories made their own place in their own way, and that there +is still a steady demand for 'Pierre and His People' and 'A Romany of +the Snows' seems evidence that the editor of an important magazine in +New York who declined to recommend them for publication to his firm (and +later published several of the same series) was wrong, when he said that +the tales "seemed not to be salient." Things that are not "salient" +do not endure. It is twenty years since 'Pierre and His People' +was produced--and it still endures. For this I cannot but be deeply +grateful. In any case, what 'Pierre' did was to open up a field which +had not been opened before, but which other authors have exploited since +with success and distinction. 'Pierre' was the pioneer of the Far North +in fiction; that much may be said; and for the rest, Time is the test, +and Time will have its way with me as with the rest. + + + + +NOTE + +It is possible that a Note on the country portrayed in these stories may +be in keeping. Until 1870, the Hudson's Bay Company--first granted +its charter by King Charles II--practically ruled that vast region +stretching from the fiftieth parallel of latitude to the Arctic Ocean--a +handful of adventurous men entrenched in forts and posts, yet trading +with, and mostly peacefully conquering, many savage tribes. Once the +sole master of the North, the H. B. C. (as it is familiarly called) is +reverenced by the Indians and half-breeds as much as, if not more than, +the Government established at Ottawa. It has had its forts within the +Arctic Circle; it has successfully exploited a country larger than +the United States. The Red River Valley, the Saskatchewan Valley, and +British Columbia, are now belted by a great railway, and given to the +plough; but in the far north life is much the same as it was a hundred +years ago. There the trapper, clerk, trader, and factor are cast in the +mould of another century, though possessing the acuter energies of this. +The 'voyageur' and 'courier de bois' still exist, though, generally, +under less picturesque names. + +The bare story of the hardy and wonderful career of the adventurers +trading in Hudson's Bay,--of whom Prince Rupert was once chiefest,--and +the life of the prairies, may be found in histories and books of travel; +but their romances, the near narratives of individual lives, have waited +the telling. In this book I have tried to feel my way towards the heart +of that life--worthy of being loved by all British men, for it has +given honest graves to gallant fellows of our breeding. Imperfectly, of +course, I have done it; but there is much more to be told. + +When I started Pretty Pierre on his travels, I did not know--nor did +he--how far or wide his adventurers and experiences would run. They +have, however, extended from Quebec in the east to British Columbia +in the west, and from the Cypress Hills in the south to the Coppermine +River in the north. With a less adventurous man we had had fewer +happenings. His faults were not of his race, that is, French and +Indian,--nor were his virtues; they belong to all peoples. But the +expression of these is affected by the country itself. Pierre passes +through this series of stories, connecting them, as he himself connects +two races, and here and there links the past of the Hudson's Bay Company +with more modern life and Canadian energy pushing northward. Here +is something of romance "pure and simple," but also traditions and +character, which are the single property of this austere but not +cheerless heritage of our race. + +All of the tales have appeared in magazines and journals--namely, 'The +National Observer', 'Macmillan's', 'The National Review', and 'The +English Illustrated'; and 'The Independent of New York'. By the courtesy +of the proprietors of these I am permitted to republish. + + G. P. + +HARPENDEN, HERTFORDSHIRE, July, 1892. + + + + + +THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS + +"He's too ha'sh," said old Alexander Windsor, as he shut the creaking +door of the store after a vanishing figure, and turned to the big iron +stove with outstretched hands; hands that were cold both summer and +winter. He was of lean and frigid make. + +"Sergeant Fones is too ha'sh," he repeated, as he pulled out the damper +and cleared away the ashes with the iron poker. + +Pretty Pierre blew a quick, straight column of cigarette smoke into the +air, tilted his chair back, and said: "I do not know what you mean by +'ha'sh,' but he is the devil. Eh, well, there was more than one devil +made sometime in the North West." He laughed softly. + +"That gives you a chance in history, Pretty Pierre," said a voice from +behind a pile of woollen goods and buffalo skins in the centre of the +floor. The owner of the voice then walked to the window. He scratched +some frost from the pane and looked out to where the trooper in dog-skin +coat, gauntlets and cap, was mounting his broncho. The old man came +and stood near the young man,--the owner of the voice,--and said again: +"He's too ha'sh." + +"Harsh you mean, father," added the other. + +"Yes, harsh you mean, Old Brown Windsor,--quite harsh," said Pierre. + +Alexander Windsor, storekeeper and general dealer, was sometimes called +"Old Brown Windsor" and sometimes "Old Aleck," to distinguish him from +his son, who was known as "Young Aleck." + +As the old man walked back again to the stove to warm his hands, Young +Aleck continued: "He does his duty, that's all. If he doesn't wear kid +gloves while at it, it's his choice. He doesn't go beyond his duty. You +can bank on that. It would be hard to exceed that way out here." + +"True, Young Aleck, so true; but then he wears gloves of iron, of ice. +That is not good. Sometime the glove will be too hard and cold on +a man's shoulder, and then!--Well, I should like to be there," said +Pierre, showing his white teeth. + +Old Aleck shivered, and held his fingers where the stove was red hot. + +The young man did not hear this speech; from the window he was watching +Sergeant Fones as he rode towards the Big Divide. Presently he said: +"He's going towards Humphrey's place. I--" He stopped, bent his brows, +caught one corner of his slight moustache between his teeth, and did not +stir a muscle until the Sergeant had passed over the Divide. + +Old Aleck was meanwhile dilating upon his theme before a passive +listener. But Pierre was only passive outwardly. Besides hearkening +to the father's complaints he was closely watching the son. Pierre +was clever, and a good actor. He had learned the power of reserve and +outward immobility. The Indian in him helped him there. He had heard +what Young Aleck had just muttered; but to the man of the cold fingers +he said: "You keep good whisky in spite of the law and the iron glove, +Old Aleck." To the young man: "And you can drink it so free, eh, Young +Aleck?" + +The half-breed looked out of the corners of his eyes at the young +man, but he did not raise the peak of his fur cap in doing so, and his +glances askance were not seen. + +Young Aleck had been writing something with his finger-nail on the +frost of the pane, over and over again. When Pierre spoke to him thus +he scratched out the word he had written, with what seemed unnecessary +force. But in one corner it remained: + +"Mab--" + +Pierre added: "That is what they say at Humphrey's ranch." + +"Who says that at Humphrey's?--Pierre, you lie!" was the sharp and +threatening reply. The significance of this last statement had +been often attested on the prairies by the piercing emphasis of a +six-chambered revolver. It was evident that Young Aleck was in earnest. +Pierre's eyes glowed in the shadow, but he idly replied: + +"I do not remember quite who said it. Well, 'mon ami,' perhaps I lie; +perhaps. Sometimes we dream things, and these dreams are true. You call +it a lie--'bien!' Sergeant Fones, he dreams perhaps Old Aleck sells +whisky against the law to men you call whisky runners, sometimes to +Indians and half-breeds--halfbreeds like Pretty Pierre. That was a dream +of Sergeant Fones; but you see he believes it true. It is good sport, +eh? Will you not take--what is it?--a silent partner? Yes; a silent +partner, Old Aleck. Pretty Pierre has spare time, a little, to make +money for his friends and for himself, eh?" + +When did not Pierre have time to spare? He was a gambler. Unlike the +majority of half-breeds, he had a pronounced French manner, nonchalant +and debonair. + +The Indian in him gave him coolness and nerve. His cheeks had a tinge of +delicate red under their whiteness, like those of a woman. That was why +he was called Pretty Pierre. The country had, however, felt a kind of +weird menace in the name. It was used to snakes whose rattle gave +notice of approach or signal of danger. But Pretty Pierre was like the +death-adder, small and beautiful, silent and deadly. At one time he had +made a secret of his trade, or thought he was doing so. In those days +he was often to be seen at David Humphrey's home, and often in talk with +Mab Humphrey; but it was there one night that the man who was ha'sh gave +him his true character, with much candour and no comment. + +Afterwards Pierre was not seen at Humphrey's ranch. Men prophesied that +he would have revenge some day on Sergeant Fones; but he did not show +anything on which this opinion could be based. He took no umbrage +at being called Pretty Pierre the gambler. But for all that he was +possessed of a devil. + +Young Aleck had inherited some money through his dead mother from his +grandfather, a Hudson's Bay factor. He had been in the East for some +years, and when he came back he brought his "little pile" and an +impressionable heart with him. The former Pretty Pierre and his friends +set about to win; the latter, Mab Humphrey won without the trying. Yet +Mab gave Young Aleck as much as he gave her. More. Because her love +sprang from a simple, earnest, and uncontaminated life. Her purity and +affection were being played against Pierre's designs and Young Aleck's +weakness. With Aleck cards and liquor went together. Pierre seldom +drank. + +But what of Sergeant Fones? If the man that knew him best--the +Commandant--had been asked for his history, the reply would have been: +"Five years in the Service, rigid disciplinarian, best non-commissioned +officer on the Patrol of the Cypress Hills." That was all the Commandant +knew. + +A soldier-policeman's life on the frontier is rough, solitary, and +severe. Active duty and responsibility are all that make it endurable. +To few is it fascinating. A free and thoughtful nature would, however, +find much in it, in spite of great hardships, to give interest and even +pleasure. The sense of breadth and vastness, and the inspiration of pure +air could be a very gospel of strength, beauty, and courage, to such an +one--for a time. But was Sergeant Fones such an one? The Commandant's +scornful reply to a question of the kind would have been: "He is the +best soldier on the Patrol." + +And so with hard gallops here and there after the refugees of crime or +misfortune, or both, who fled before them like deer among the passes of +the hills, and, like deer at bay, often fought like demons to the death; +with border watchings, and protection and care and vigilance of the +Indians; with hurried marches at sunrise, the thermometer at fifty +degrees below zero often in winter, and open camps beneath the stars, +and no camp at all, as often as not, winter and summer; with rough +barrack fun and parade and drill and guard of prisoners; and with +chances now and then to pay homage to a woman's face, the Mounted Force +grew full of the Spirit of the West and became brown, valiant, and +hardy, with wind and weather. Perhaps some of them longed to touch, +oftener than they did, the hands of children, and to consider more the +faces of women,--for hearts are hearts even under a belted coat of +red on the Fiftieth Parallel,--but men of nerve do not blazon their +feelings. + +No one would have accused Sergeant Fones of having a heart. Men of keen +discernment would have seen in him the little Bismarck of the Mounted +Police. His name carried farther on the Cypress Hills Patrol than any +other; and yet his officers could never say that he exceeded his duty +or enlarged upon the orders he received. He had no sympathy with crime. +Others of the force might wink at it; but his mind appeared to sit +severely upright upon the cold platform of Penalty, in beholding +breaches of the statutes. He would not have rained upon the unjust as +the just if he had had the directing of the heavens. As Private Gellatly +put it: "Sergeant Fones has the fear o' God in his heart, and the law of +the land across his saddle, and the newest breech-loading at that!" +He was part of the great machine of Order, the servant of Justice, the +sentinel in the vestibule of Martial Law. His interpretation of duty +worked upward as downward. Officers and privates were acted on by the +force known as Sergeant Fones. Some people, like Old Brown Windsor, +spoke hardly and openly of this force. There were three people who never +did--Pretty Pierre, Young Aleck, and Mab Humphrey. Pierre hated him; +Young Aleck admired in him a quality lying dormant in himself--decision; +Mab Humphrey spoke unkindly of no one. Besides--but no! + +What was Sergeant Fones's country? No one knew. Where had he come from? +No one asked him more than once. He could talk French with Pierre,--a +kind of French that sometimes made the undertone of red in the +Frenchman's cheeks darker. He had been heard to speak German to a German +prisoner, and once, when a gang of Italians were making trouble on a +line of railway under construction, he arrested the leader, and, in +a few swift, sharp words in the language of the rioters, settled the +business. He had no accent that betrayed his nationality. + +He had been recommended for a commission. The officer in command had +hinted that the Sergeant might get a Christmas present. The officer +had further said: "And if it was something that both you and the +Patrol would be the better for, you couldn't object, Sergeant." But the +Sergeant only saluted, looking steadily into the eyes of the officer. +That was his reply. Private Gellatly, standing without, heard Sergeant +Fones say, as he passed into the open air, and slowly bared his forehead +to the winter sun: + +"Exactly." + +And Private Gellatly cried, with revolt in his voice, "Divils me own, +the word that a't to have been full o' joy was like the clip of a +rifle-breech." + +Justice in a new country is administered with promptitude and vigour, +or else not administered at all. Where an officer of the Mounted +Police-Soldiery has all the powers of a magistrate, the law's delay and +the insolence of office have little space in which to work. One of +the commonest slips of virtue in the Canadian West was selling whisky +contrary to the law of prohibition which prevailed. Whisky runners were +land smugglers. Old Brown Windsor had, somehow, got the reputation +of being connected with the whisky runners; not a very respectable +business, and thought to be dangerous. Whisky runners were inclined +to resent intrusion on their privacy with a touch of that biting +inhospitableness which a moonlighter of Kentucky uses toward an +inquisitive, unsympathetic marshal. On the Cypress Hills Patrol, +however, the erring servants of Bacchus were having a hard time of +it. Vigilance never slept there in the days of which these lines bear +record. Old Brown Windsor had, in words, freely espoused the cause of +the sinful. To the careless spectator it seemed a charitable siding with +the suffering; a proof that the old man's heart was not so cold as his +hands. Sergeant Fones thought differently, and his mission had just +been to warn the store-keeper that there was menacing evidence gathering +against him, and that his friendship with Golden Feather, the Indian +Chief, had better cease at once. Sergeant Fones had a way of putting +things. Old Brown Windsor endeavoured for a moment to be sarcastic. This +was the brief dialogue in the domain of sarcasm: + +"I s'pose you just lit round in a friendly sort of way, hopin' that I'd +kenoodle with you later." + +"Exactly." + +There was an unpleasant click to the word. The old man's hands got +colder. He had nothing more to say. + +Before leaving, the Sergeant said something quietly and quickly to Young +Aleck. Pierre observed, but could not hear. Young Aleck was uneasy; +Pierre was perplexed. The Sergeant turned at the door, and said in +French: "What are your chances for a Merry Christmas at Pardon's Drive, +Pretty Pierre?" Pierre answered nothing. He shrugged his shoulders, and +as the door closed, muttered, "Il est le diable." And he meant it. What +should Sergeant Fones know of that intended meeting at Pardon's Drive on +Christmas Day? And if he knew, what then? It was not against the law to +play euchre. Still it perplexed Pierre. Before the Windsors, father and +son, however, he was, as we have seen, playfully cool. + +After quitting Old Brown Windsor's store, Sergeant Fones urged his stout +broncho to a quicker pace than usual. The broncho was, like himself, +wasteful of neither action nor affection. The Sergeant had caught him +wild and independent, had brought him in, broken him, and taught him +obedience. They understood each other; perhaps they loved each other. +But about that even Private Gellatly had views in common with the +general sentiment as to the character of Sergeant Fones. The private +remarked once on this point "Sarpints alive! the heels of the one and +the law of the other is the love of them. They'll weather together like +the Divil and Death." + +The Sergeant was brooding; that was not like him. He was hesitating; +that was less like him. He turned his broncho round as if to cross the +Big Divide and to go back to Windsor's store; but he changed his mind +again, and rode on toward David Humphrey's ranch. He sat as if he had +been born in the saddle. His was a face for the artist, strong and +clear, and having a dominant expression of force. The eyes were deepset +and watchful. A kind of disdain might be traced in the curve of the +short upper lip, to which the moustache was clipped close--a good fit, +like his coat. The disdain was more marked this morning. + +The first part of his ride had been seen by Young Aleck, the second part +by Mab Humphrey. Her first thought on seeing him was one of apprehension +for Young Aleck and those of Young Aleck's name. She knew that people +spoke of her lover as a ne'er-do-weel; and that they associated his +name freely with that of Pretty Pierre and his gang. She had a dread of +Pierre, and, only the night before, she had determined to make one last +great effort to save Aleck, and if he would not be saved--strange that, +thinking it all over again, as she watched the figure on horseback +coming nearer, her mind should swerve to what she had heard of Sergeant +Fones's expected promotion. Then she fell to wondering if anyone had +ever given him a real Christmas present; if he had any friends at all; +if life meant anything more to him than carrying the law of the land +across his saddle. Again he suddenly came to her in a new thought, +free from apprehension, and as the champion of her cause to defeat the +half-breed and his gang, and save Aleck from present danger or future +perils. + +She was such a woman as prairies nurture; in spirit broad and +thoughtful and full of energy; not so deep as the mountain woman, not so +imaginative, but with more persistency, more daring. Youth to her was +a warmth, a glory. She hated excess and lawlessness, but she could +understand it. She felt sometimes as if she must go far away into the +unpeopled spaces, and shriek out her soul to the stars from the fulness +of too much life. She supposed men had feelings of that kind too, but +that they fell to playing cards and drinking instead of crying to the +stars. Still, she preferred her way. + +Once, Sergeant Fones, on leaving the house, said grimly after his +fashion: "Not Mab but Ariadne--excuse a soldier's bluntness..... +Good-bye!" and with a brusque salute he had ridden away. What he meant +she did not know and could not ask. The thought instantly came to her +mind: Not Sergeant Fones; but who? She wondered if Ariadne was born on +the prairie. What knew she of the girl who helped Theseus, her lover, to +slay the Minotaur? What guessed she of the Slopes of Naxos? How old was +Ariadne? Twenty? For that was Mab's age. Was Ariadne beautiful? She ran +her fingers loosely through her short brown hair, waving softly +about her Greek-shaped head, and reasoned that Ariadne must have been +presentable, or Sergeant Fones would not have made the comparison. She +hoped Ariadne could ride well, for she could. + +But how white the world looked this morning, and how proud and brilliant +the sky! Nothing in the plane of vision but waves of snow stretching to +the Cypress Hills; far to the left a solitary house, with its tin +roof flashing back the sun, and to the right the Big Divide. It was an +old-fashioned winter, not one in which bare ground and sharp winds make +life outdoors inhospitable. Snow is hospitable-clean, impacted snow; +restful and silent. But there was one spot in the area of white, on +which Mab's eyes were fixed now, with something different in them from +what had been there. Again it was a memory with which Sergeant Fones was +associated. One day in the summer just past she had watched him and his +company put away to rest under the cool sod, where many another lay in +silent company, a prairie wanderer, some outcast from a better life gone +by. Afterwards, in her home, she saw the Sergeant stand at the window, +looking out towards the spot where the waves in the sea of grass were +more regular and greener than elsewhere, and were surmounted by a high +cross. She said to him--for she of all was never shy of his stern ways: + +"Why is the grass always greenest there, Sergeant Fones?" + +He knew what she meant, and slowly said: "It is the Barracks of the +Free." + +She had no views of life save those of duty and work and natural joy and +loving a ne'er-do-weel, and she said: "I do not understand that." + +And the Sergeant replied: "'Free among the Dead like unto them that are +wounded and lie in the grave, who are out of remembrance.'" + +But Mab said again: "I do not understand that either." + +The Sergeant did not at once reply. He stepped to the door and gave +a short command to some one without, and in a moment his company was +mounted in line; handsome, dashing fellows; one the son of an English +nobleman, one the brother of an eminent Canadian politician, one related +to a celebrated English dramatist. He ran his eye along the line, then +turned to Mab, raised his cap with machine-like precision, and said: +"No, I suppose you do not understand that. Keep Aleck Windsor from +Pretty Pierre and his gang. Good-bye." + +Then he mounted and rode away. Every other man in the company looked +back to where the girl stood in the doorway; he did not. Private +Gellatly said, with a shake of the head, as she was lost to view: +"Devils bestir me, what a widdy she'll make!" It was understood that +Aleck Windsor and Mab Humphrey were to be married on the coming New +Year's Day. What connection was there between the words of Sergeant +Fones and those of Private Gellatly? None, perhaps. + +Mab thought upon that day as she looked out, this December morning, +and saw Sergeant Fones dismounting at the door. David Humphrey, who was +outside, offered to put up the Sergeant's horse; but he said: "No, if +you'll hold him just a moment, Mr. Humphrey, I'll ask for a drink of +something warm, and move on. Miss Humphrey is inside, I suppose?" + +"She'll give you a drink of the best to be had on your patrol, +Sergeant," was the laughing reply. "Thanks for that, but tea or coffee +is good enough for me," said the Sergeant. Entering, the coffee was soon +in the hand of the hardy soldier. Once he paused in his drinking and +scanned Mab's face closely. Most people would have said the Sergeant had +an affair of the law in hand, and was searching the face of a criminal; +but most people are not good at interpretation. Mab was speaking to the +chore-girl at the same time and did not see the look. If she could have +defined her thoughts when she, in turn, glanced into the Sergeant's +face, a moment afterwards, she would have said, "Austerity fills this +man. Isolation marks him for its own." In the eyes were only purpose, +decision, and command. Was that the look that had been fixed upon her +face a moment ago? It must have been. His features had not changed a +breath. Mab began their talk. + +"They say you are to get a Christmas present of promotion, Sergeant +Fones." + +"I have not seen it gazetted," he answered enigmatically. + +"You and your friends will be glad of it." + +"I like the service." + +"You will have more freedom with a commission." He made no reply, but +rose and walked to the window, and looked out across the snow, drawing +on his gauntlets as he did so. + +She saw that he was looking where the grass in summer was the greenest! + +He turned and said: + +"I am going to barracks now. I suppose Young Aleck will be in quarters +here on Christmas Day, Miss Mab?" + +"I think so," and she blushed. + +"Did he say he would be here?" + +"Yes." + +"Exactly." + +He looked toward the coffee. Then: "Thank you.....Good-bye." + +"Sergeant?" + +"Miss Humphrey!" + +"Will you not come to us on Christmas Day?" + +His eyelids closed swiftly and opened again. "I shall be on duty." + +"And promoted?" + +"Perhaps." + +"And merry and happy?"--she smiled to herself to think of Sergeant Fones +being merry and happy. + +"Exactly." + +The word suited him. + +He paused a moment with his fingers on the latch, and turned round as if +to speak; pulled off his gauntlet, and then as quickly put it on again. +Had he meant to offer his hand in good-bye? He had never been seen to +take the hand of anyone except with the might of the law visible in +steel. + +He opened the door with the right hand, but turned round as he stepped +out, so that the left held it while he faced the warmth of the room and +the face of the girl. The door closed. + +Mounted, and having said good-bye to Mr. Humphrey, he turned towards the +house, raised his cap with soldierly brusqueness, and rode away in the +direction of the barracks. + +The girl did not watch him. She was thinking of Young Aleck, and of +Christmas Day, now near. The Sergeant did not look back. + +Meantime the party at Windsor's store was broken up. Pretty Pierre and +Young Aleck had talked together, and the old man had heard his son say: +"Remember, Pierre, it is for the last time." Then they talked after this +fashion: + +"Ah, I know, 'mon ami;' for the last time! 'Eh, bien,' you will spend +Christmas Day with us too--no? You surely will not leave us on the day +of good fortune? Where better can you take your pleasure for the last +time? One day is not enough for farewell. Two, three; that is the magic +number. You will, eh? no? Well, well, you will come to-morrow--and--eh, +'mon ami,' where do you go the next day? Oh, 'pardon,' I forgot, you +spend the Christmas Day--I know. And the day of the New Year? Ah, Young +Aleck, that is what they say--the devil for the devil's luck. So." + +"Stop that, Pierre." There was fierceness in the tone. "I spend the +Christmas Day where you don't, and as I like, and the rest doesn't +concern you. I drink with you, I play with you--'bien!' As you say +yourself, 'bien,' isn't that enough?" + +"'Pardon!' We will not quarrel. No; we spend not the Christmas Day after +the same fashion, quite. Then, to-morrow at Pardon's Drive! Adieu!" + +Pretty Pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his white +teeth, and Aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon his +gloomy lips. But both maledictions were levelled at the same person. +Poor Aleck. + +"Poor Aleck!" That is the way we sometimes think of a good nature gone +awry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, and +against which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. Alas, for the +ne'er-do-weel! + +That night a stalwart figure passed from David Humphrey's door, carrying +with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love. The chilly outer +air of the world seemed not to touch him, Love's curtains were drawn +so close. Had one stood within "the Hunter's Room," as it was called, +a little while before, one would have seen a man's head bowed before a +woman, and her hand smoothing back the hair from the handsome brow where +dissipation had drawn some deep lines. Presently the hand raised the +head until the eyes of the woman looked full into the eyes of the man. + +"You will not go to Pardon's Drive again, will you, Aleck?" + +"Never again after Christmas Day, Mab. But I must go to-morrow. I have +given my word." + +"I know. To meet Pretty Pierre and all the rest, and for what? Oh, +Aleck, isn't the suspicion about your father enough, but you must put +this on me as well?" + +"My father must suffer for his wrong-doing if he does wrong, and I for +mine." + +There was a moment's silence. He bowed his head again. + +"And I have done wrong to us both. Forgive me, Mab." + +She leaned over and caressed his hair. "I forgive you, Aleck." + +A thousand new thoughts were thrilling through him. Yet this man had +given his word to do that for which he must ask forgiveness of the woman +he loved. But to Pretty Pierre, forgiven or unforgiven, he would keep +his word. She understood it better than most of those who read this +brief record can. Every sphere has its code of honour and duty peculiar +to itself. + +"You will come to me on Christmas morning, Aleck?" + +"I will come on Christmas morning." + +"And no more after that of Pretty Pierre?" + +"And no more of Pretty Pierre." + +She trusted him; but neither could reckon with unknown forces. + +Sergeant Fones, sitting in the barracks in talk with Private Gellatly, +said at that moment in a swift silence, "Exactly." + +Pretty Pierre, at Pardon's Drive, drinking a glass of brandy at that +moment, said to the ceiling: + +"No more of Pretty Pierre after to-morrow night, monsieur! Bien! If it +is for the last time, then it is for the last time. So....so." + +He smiled. His teeth were amazingly white. + +The stalwart figure strode on under the stars, the white night a lens +for visions of days of rejoicing to come. All evil was far from him. The +dolorous tide rolled back in this hour from his life, and he revelled in +the light of a new day. + +"When I've played my last card to-morrow night with Pretty Pierre, I'll +begin the world again," he whispered. + +And Sergeant Fones in the barracks said just then, in response to a +further remark of Private Gellatly,--"Exactly." + +Young Aleck fell to singing: + + "Out from your vineland come + Into the prairies wild; + Here will we make our home, + Father, mother, and child; + Come, my love, to our home, + Father, mother, and child, + Father, mother, and--" + +He fell to thinking again--"and child--and child,"--it was in his ears +and in his heart. + +But Pretty Pierre was singing softly to himself in the room at Pardon's +Drive: + + "Three good friends with the wine at night + Vive la compagnie! + Two good friends when the sun grows bright + Vive la compagnie! + Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour! + Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour! + Three good friends, two good friends + Vive la compagnie!" + +What did it mean? + +Private Gellatly was cousin to Idaho Jack, and Idaho Jack disliked +Pretty Pierre, though he had been one of the gang. The cousins had seen +each other lately, and Private Gellatly had had a talk with the man who +was ha'sh. It may be that others besides Pierre had an idea of what it +meant. + +In the house at Pardon's Drive the next night sat eight men, of whom +three were Pretty Pierre, Young Aleck, and Idaho Jack. Young Aleck's +face was flushed with bad liquor and the worse excitement of play. This +was one of the unreckoned forces. Was this the man that sang the tender +song under the stars last night? Pretty Pierre's face was less pretty +than usual; the cheeks were pallid, the eyes were hard and cold. Once he +looked at his partner as if to say, "Not yet." Idaho Jack saw the look; +he glanced at his watch; it was eleven o'clock. At that moment the door +opened, and Sergeant Fones entered. All started to their feet, most with +curses on their lips; but Sergeant Fones never seemed to hear anything +that could make a feature of his face alter. Pierre's hand was on his +hip, as if feeling for something. Sergeant Fones saw that; but he walked +to where Aleck stood, with his unplayed cards still in his hand, and, +laying a hand on his shoulder, said, "Come with me." + +"Why should I go with you?"--this with a drunken man's bravado. + +"You are my prisoner." + +Pierre stepped forward. "What is his crime?" he exclaimed. + +"How does that concern you, Pretty Pierre?" + +"He is my friend." + +"Is he your friend, Aleck?" + +What was there in the eyes of Sergeant Fones that forced the +reply,--"To-night, yes; to-morrow, no." + +"Exactly. It is near to-morrow; come." + +Aleck was led towards the door. Once more Pierre's hand went to his hip; +but he was looking at the prisoner, not at the Sergeant. The Sergeant +saw, and his fingers were at his belt. He opened the door. Aleck passed +out. He followed. Two horses were tied to a post. With difficulty Aleck +was mounted. Once on the way his brain began slowly to clear, but he +grew painfully cold. It was a bitter night. How bitter it might have +been for the ne'er-do-weel let the words of Idaho Jack, spoken in a long +hour's talk next day with Old Brown Windsor, show. "Pretty Pierre, after +the two were gone, said, with a shiver of curses,--'Another hour and it +would have been done, and no one to blame. He was ready for trouble. His +money was nearly finished. A little quarrel easily made, the door would +open, and he would pass out. His horse would be gone, he could not come +back; he would walk. The air is cold, quite, quite cold; and the snow is +a soft bed. He would sleep well and sound, having seen Pretty Pierre for +the last time. And now--' The rest was French and furtive." + +From that hour Idaho Jack and Pretty Pierre parted company. + +Riding from Pardon's Drive, Young Aleck noticed at last that they were +not going towards the barracks. He said: "Why do you arrest me?" + +The Sergeant replied: "You will know that soon enough. You are now +going to your own home. Tomorrow you will keep your word and go to David +Humphrey's place; the next day I will come for you. Which do you choose: +to ride with me to-night to the barracks and know why you are arrested, +or go, unknowing, as I bid you, and keep your word with the girl?" + +Through Aleck's fevered brain, there ran the words of the song he sang +before-- + + "Out from your vineland come + Into the prairies wild; + Here will we make our home, + Father, mother, and child." + +He could have but one answer. + +At the door of his home the Sergeant left him with the words, "Remember +you are on parole." + +Aleck noticed as the Sergeant rode away that the face of the sky had +changed, and slight gusts of wind had come up. At any other time his +mind would have dwelt upon the fact. It did not do so now. + +Christmas Day came. People said that the fiercest night, since the +blizzard day of 1863, had been passed. But the morning was clear and +beautiful. The sun came up like a great flower expanding. First the +yellow, then the purple, then the red, and then a mighty shield of +roses. The world was a blanket of drift, and down, and glistening +silver. + +Mab Humphrey greeted her lover with such a smile as only springs to a +thankful woman's lips. He had given his word and had kept it; and the +path of the future seemed surer. + +He was a prisoner on parole; still that did not depress him. Plans for +coming days were talked of, and the laughter of many voices filled +the house. The ne'er-do-weel was clothed and in his right mind. In the +Hunter's Room the noblest trophy was the heart of a repentant prodigal. + +In the barracks that morning a gazetted notice was posted, announcing, +with such technical language as is the custom, that Sergeant Fones was +promoted to be a lieutenant in the Mounted Police Force of the North +West Territory. When the officer in command sent for him he could not be +found. But he was found that morning; and when Private Gellatly, with a +warm hand, touching the glove of "iron and ice" that, indeed, now said: +"Sergeant Fones, you are promoted, God help you!" he gave no sign. +Motionless, stern, erect, he sat there upon his horse, beside a stunted +larch tree. The broncho seemed to understand, for he did not stir, and +had not done so for hours;--they could tell that. The bridle rein was +still in the frigid fingers, and a smile was upon the face. + +A smile upon the face of Sergeant Fones! + +Perhaps he smiled that he was going to the Barracks of the Free-- + +"Free among the Dead like unto them that are wounded and lie in the +grave, that are out of remembrance." + +In the wild night he had lost his way, though but a few miles from the +barracks. + +He had done his duty rigidly in that sphere of life where he had lived +so much alone among his many comrades. Had he exceeded his duty once in +arresting Young Aleck? + +When, the next day, Sergeant Fones lay in the barracks, over him the +flag for which he had sworn to do honest service, and his promotion +papers in his quiet hand, the two who loved each other stood beside him +for many a throbbing minute. And one said to herself, silently: "I felt +sometimes"--but no more words did she say even to herself. + +Old Aleck came in, and walked to where the Sergeant slept, wrapped close +in that white frosted coverlet which man wears but once. He stood for a +moment silent, his fingers numbly clasped. + +Private Gellatly spoke softly: "Angels betide me, it's little we knew +the great of him till he wint away; the pride, and the law--and the love +of him." + +In the tragedy that faced them this Christmas morning one at least had +seen "the love of him." Perhaps the broncho had known it before. + +Old Aleck laid a palm upon the hand he had never touched when it had +life. "He's--too--ha'sh," he said slowly. + +Private Gellatly looked up wonderingly. But the old man's eyes were wet. + + + + +GOD'S GARRISON + +Twenty years ago there was trouble at Fort o' God. "Out of this place we +get betwixt the suns," said Gyng the Factor. "No help that falls abaft +tomorrow could save us. Food dwindles, and ammunition's nearly gone, and +they'll have the cold steel in our scalp-locks if we stay. We'll creep +along the Devil's Causeway, then through the Red Horn Woods, and so +across the plains to Rupert House. Whip in the dogs, Baptiste, and be +ready all of you at midnight." + +"And Grah the Idiot--what of him"? asked Pretty Pierre. + +"He'll have to take his chance. If he can travel with us, so much the +better for him"; and the Factor shrugged his shoulders. + +"If not, so much the worse, eh"? returned Pretty Pierre. + +"Work the sum out to suit yourself. We've got our necks to save. God'll +have to help the Idiot if we can't." + +"You hear, Grah Hamon, Idiot," said Pierre an hour afterwards, "we're +going to leave Fort o' God and make for Rupert House. You've a dragging +leg, you're gone in the savvy, you have to balance yourself with your +hands as you waddle along, and you slobber when you talk; but you've got +to cut away with us quick across the Beaver Plains, and Christ'll have +to help you if we can't. That's what the Factor says, and that's how the +case stands, Idiot--'bien?'" + +"Grah want pipe--bubble--bubble--wind blow," muttered the daft one. + +Pretty Pierre bent over and said slowly: "If you stay here, Grah, the +Indian get your scalp; if you go, the snow is deep and the frost is like +a badger's tooth, and you can't be carried." + +"Oh, Oh!--my mother dead--poor Annie--by God, Grah want pipe--poor Grah +sleep in snow-bubble, bubble--Oh, Oh!--the long wind, fly away." + +Pretty Pierre watched the great head of the Idiot as it swung heavily on +his shoulders, and then said: "'Mais,' like that, so!" and turned away. + +When the party were about to sally forth on their perilous path to +safety, Gyng stood and cried angrily: "Well, why hasn't some one bundled +up that moth-eaten Caliban? Curse it all, must I do everything myself?" + +"But you see," said Pierre, "the Caliban stays at Fort o' God." + +"You've got a Christian heart in you, so help me, Heaven!" replied +the other. "No, sir, we give him a chance,--and his Maker too for that +matter, to show what He's willing to do for His misfits." + +Pretty Pierre rejoined, "Well, I have thought. The game is all against +Grah if he go; but there are two who stay at Fort o' God." + +And that is how, when the Factor and his half-breeds and trappers stole +away in silence towards the Devil's Causeway, Pierre and the Idiot +remained behind. And that is why the flag of the H. B. C. still flew +above Fort o' God in the New Year's sun just twenty years ago to-day. + +The Hudson's Bay Company had never done a worse day's work than when +they promoted Gyng to be chief factor. He loathed the heathen and he +showed his loathing. He had a heart harder than iron, a speech that +bruised worse than the hoof of an angry moose. And when at last he drove +away a band of wandering Sioux, foodless, from the stores, siege and +ambush took the place of prayer, and a nasty portion fell to Fort o' +God. For the Indians found a great cache of buffalo meat, and, having +sent the women and children south with the old men, gave constant and +biting assurances to Gyng that the heathen hath his hour, even though he +be a dog which is refused those scraps from the white man's table which +give life in the hour of need. Besides all else, there was in the Fort +the thing which the gods made last to humble the pride of men--there was +rum. + +And the morning after Gyng and his men had departed, because it was +a day when frost was master of the sun, and men grew wild for action, +since to stand still was to face indignant Death, they, who camped +without, prepared to make a sally upon the wooden gates. Pierre saw +their intent, and hid in the ground some pemmican and all the scanty +rum. Then he looked at his powder and shot, and saw that there was +little left. If he spent it on the besiegers, how should they fare for +beast and fowl in hungry days? And for his rifle he had but a brace +of bullets. He rolled these in his hand, looking upon them with a grim +smile. And the Idiot, seeing, rose and sidled towards him, and said: +"Poor Grah want pipe--bubble--bubble." Then a light of childish cunning +came into his eyes, and he touched the bullets blunderingly, and +continued: "Plenty, plenty b'longs Grah--give poor Grah pipe--plenty, +plenty, give you these." + +And Pretty Pierre after a moment replied: "So that's it, Grah?--you've +got bullets stowed away? Well, I must have them. It's a one-sided game +in which you get the tricks; but here's the pipe, Idiot--my only pipe +for your dribbling mouth--my last good comrade. Now show me the bullets. +Take me to them, daft one, quick." + +A little later the Idiot sat inside the store, wrapped in loose furs, +and blowing bubbles; while Pretty Pierre, with many handfuls of bullets +by him, waited for the attack. + +"Eh," he said, as he watched from a loophole, "Gyng and the others have +got safely past the Causeway, and the rest is possible. Well, it hurts +an idiot as much to die, perhaps, as a half-breed or a factor. It is +good to stay here. If we fight, and go out swift like Grah's bubbles, it +is the game. If we starve and sleep as did Grah's mother, then it also +is the game. It is great to have all the chances against and then to +win. We shall see." + +With a sharp relish in his eye he watched the enemy coming slowly +forward. Yet he talked almost idly to himself: "I have a thought of so +long ago. A woman--she was a mother, and it was on the Madawaska River, +and she said: 'Sometimes I think a devil was your father, an angel +sometimes. You were begot in an hour between a fighting and a mass: +between blood and heaven. And when you were born you made no cry. They +said that was a sign of evil. You refused the breast, and drank only of +the milk of wild cattle. In baptism you flung your hand before your face +that the water might not touch, nor the priest's finger make a cross +upon the water. And they said it were better if you had been born an +idiot than with an evil spirit; and that your hand would be against the +loins that bore you. But Pierre, ah Pierre, you love your mother, do you +not?'" ... And he standing now, his eye closed with the gate-chink in +front of Fort o' God, said quietly: "She was of the race that hated +these--my mother; and she died of a wound they gave her at the Tete +Blanche Hill. Well, for that you die now, Yellow Arm, if this gun has a +bullet cold enough." + +A bullet pinged through the sharp air, as the Indians swarmed towards +the gate, and Yellow Arm, the chief, fell. The besiegers paused; and +then, as if at the command of the fallen man, they drew back, bearing +him to the camp, where they sat down and mourned. + +Pierre watched them for a time; and, seeing that they made no further +move, retired into the store, where the Idiot muttered and was happy +after his kind. "Grah got pipe--blow away--blow away to Annie--pretty +soon." + +"Yes, Grah, there's chance enough that you'll blow away to Annie pretty +soon," remarked the other. + +"Grah have white eagles--fly, fly on the wind--oh, oh, bubble, bubble!" +and he sent the filmy globes floating from the pipe that a camp of +river-drivers had given the half-breed winters before. + +Pierre stood and looked at the wandering eyes, behind which were the +torturings of an immense and confused intelligence; a life that fell +deformed before the weight of too much brain, so that all tottered from +the womb into the gutters of foolishness, and the tongue mumbled of +chaos when it should have told marvellous things. And the half-breed, +the thought of this coming upon him, said: "Well, I think the matters of +hell have fallen across the things of heaven, and there is storm. If for +one moment he could think clear, it would be great." + +He bethought him of a certain chant, taught him by a medicine man in +childhood, which, sung to the waving of a torch in a place of darkness, +caused evil spirits to pass from those possessed, and good spirits to +reign in their stead. And he raised the Idiot to his feet, and brought +him, maundering, to a room where no light was. He kneeled before him +with a lighted torch of bear's fat and the tendons of the deer, and +waving it gently to and fro, sang the ancient rune, until the eye of +the Idiot, following the torch at a tangent as it waved, suddenly became +fixed upon the flame, when it ceased to move. And the words of the chant +ran through Grah's ears, and pierced to the remote parts of his being; +and a sickening trouble came upon his face, and the lips ceased to +drip, and were caught up in twinges of pain.... The chant rolled on: "Go +forth, go forth upon them, thou, the Scarlet Hunter! Drive them forth +into the wilds, drive them crying forth! Enter in, O enter in, and lie +upon the couch of peace, the couch of peace within my wigwam, thou the +wise one! Behold, I call to thee!" + +And Pierre, looking upon the Idiot, saw his face glow, and his eye +stream steadily to the light, and he said, "What is it that you see, +Grah?--speak!" + +All pitifulness and struggle had gone from the Idiot's face, and a +strong calm fell upon it, and the voice of a man that God had created +spoke slowly: "There is an end of blood. The great chief Yellow Arm is +fallen. He goeth to the plains where his wife will mourn upon his knees, +and his children cry, because he that gathered food is gone, and the +pots are empty on the fire. And they who follow him shall fight no more. +Two shall live through bitter days, and when the leaves shall shine in +the sun again, there shall good things befal. But one shall go upon a +long journey with the singing birds in the path of the white eagle. He +shall travel, and not cease until he reach the place where fools, and +children, and they into whom a devil entered through the gates of birth, +find the mothers who bore them. But the other goeth at a different +time--" At this point the light in Pretty Pierre's hand flickered and +went out, and through the darkness there came a voice, the voice of an +idiot, that whimpered: "Grah want pipe--Annie, Annie dead." + +The angel of wisdom was gone, and chaos spluttered on the lolling lips +again; the Idiot sat feeling for the pipe that he had dropped. + +And never again through the days that came and went could Pierre, by +any conjuring, or any swaying torch, make the fool into a man again. +The devils of confusion were returned forever. But there had been one +glimpse of the god. And it was as the Idiot had said when he saw with +the eyes of that god: no more blood was shed. The garrison of this fort +held it unmolested. The besiegers knew not that two men only stayed +within the walls; and because the chief begged to be taken south to die, +they left the place surrounded by its moats of ice and its trenches of +famine; and they came not back. + +But other foes more deadly than the angry heathen came, and they were +called Hunger and Loneliness. The one destroyeth the body and the other +the brain. But Grah was not lonely, nor did he hunger. He blew his +bubbles, and muttered of a wind whereon a useless thing--a film of +water, a butterfly, or a fool--might ride beyond the reach of spirit, +or man, or heathen. His flesh remained the same, and grew not less; but +that of Pierre wasted, and his eye grew darker with suffering. For man +is only man, and hunger is a cruel thing. To give one's food to feed a +fool, and to search the silent plains in vain for any living thing to +kill, is a matter for angels to do and bear, and not mere mortals. But +this man had a strength of his own like to his code of living, which was +his own and not another's. And at last, when spring leaped gaily forth +from the grey cloak of winter, and men of the H. B. C. came to relieve +Fort o' God, and entered at its gates, a gaunt man, leaning on his +rifle, greeted them standing like a warrior, though his body was like +that of one who had lain in the grave. He answered to the name of Pierre +without pride, but like a man and not as a sick woman. And huddled +on the floor beside him was an idiot fondling a pipe, with a shred of +pemmican at his lips. + +As if in irony of man's sacrifice, the All Hail and the Master of Things +permitted the fool to fulfil his own prophecy, and die of a sudden +sickness in the coming-on of summer. But he of God's Garrison that +remained repented not of his deed. Such men have no repentance, neither +of good nor evil. + + + + +A HAZARD OF THE NORTH + +Nobody except Gregory Thorne and myself knows the history of the Man and +Woman, who lived on the Height of Land, just where Dog Ear River falls +into Marigold Lake. This portion of the Height of Land is a lonely +country. The sun marches over it distantly, and the man of the East--the +braggart--calls it outcast; but animals love it; and the shades of the +long-gone trapper and 'voyageur' saunter without mourning through its +fastnesses. When you are in doubt, trust God's dumb creatures--and the +happy dead who whisper pleasant promptings to us, and whose knowledge is +mighty. Besides, the Man and Woman lived there, and Gregory Thorne +says that they could recover a lost paradise. But Gregory Thorne is +an insolent youth. The names of these people were John and Audrey +Malbrouck; the Man was known to the makers of backwoods history as +Captain John. Gregory says about that--but no, not yet!--let his first +meeting with the Man and the Woman be described in his own words, +unusual and flippant as they sometimes are; for though he is a graduate +of Trinity College, Cambridge, and a brother of a Right Honourable, he +has conceived it his duty to emancipate himself in the matter of style +in language; and he has succeeded. + +"It was autumn," he said, "all colours; beautiful and nippy on the +Height of Land; wild ducks, the which no man could number, and bear's +meat abroad in the world. I was alone. I had hunted all day, leaving my +mark now and then as I journeyed, with a cache of slaughter here, and a +blazed hickory there. I was hungry as a circus tiger--did you ever eat +slippery elm bark?--yes, I was as bad as that. I guessed from what I had +been told, that the Malbrouck show must be hereaway somewhere. I smelled +the lake miles off--oh, you could too if you were half the animal I am; +I followed my nose and the slippery-elm between my teeth, and came at a +double-quick suddenly on the fair domain. There the two sat in front of +the house like turtle-doves, and as silent as a middy after his first +kiss. Much as I ached to get my tooth into something filling, I wished +that I had 'em under my pencil, with that royal sun making a rainbow of +the lake, the woods all scarlet and gold, and that mist of purple--eh, +you've seen it?--and they sitting there monarchs of it all, like that +duffer of a king who had operas played for his solitary benefit. But +I hadn't a pencil and I had a hunger, and I said 'How!' like any +other Injin--insolent, wasn't it? Then the Man rose, and he said I was +welcome, and she smiled an approving but not very immediate smile, and +she kept her seat,--she kept her seat, my boy,--and that was the first +thing that set me thinking. She didn't seem to be conscious that there +was before her one of the latest representatives from Belgravia, not +she! But when I took an honest look at her face, I understood. I'm glad +that I had my hat in my hand, polite as any Frenchman on the threshold +of a blanchisserie: for I learned very soon that the Woman had been in +Belgravia too, and knew far more than I did about what was what. When +she did rise to array the supper table, it struck me that if Josephine +Beauharnais had been like her, she might have kept her hold on Napoleon, +and saved his fortunes; made Europe France; and France the world. I +could not understand it. Jimmy Haldane had said to me when I was asking +for Malbrouck's place on the compass,--'Don't put on any side with them, +my Greg, or you'll take a day off for penitence.' They were both tall +and good to look at, even if he was a bit rugged, with neck all wire and +muscle, and had big knuckles. But she had hands like those in a picture +of Velasquez, with a warm whiteness and educated--that's it, educated +hands. + +"She wasn't young, but she seemed so. Her eyes looked up and out at you +earnestly, yet not inquisitively, and more occupied with something in +her mind, than with what was before her. In short, she was a lady; not +one by virtue of a visit to the gods that rule o'er Buckingham Palace, +but by the claims of good breeding and long descent. She puzzled me, +eluded me--she reminded me of someone; but who? Someone I liked, because +I felt a thrill of admiration whenever I looked at her--but it was no +use, I couldn't remember. I soon found myself talking to her according +to St. James--the palace, you know--and at once I entered a bet with my +beloved aunt, the dowager--who never refuses to take my offer, though +she seldom wins, and she's ten thousand miles away, and has to take my +word for it--that I should find out the history of this Man and Woman +before another Christmas morning, which wasn't more than two months off. +You know whether or not I won it, my son." + +I had frequently hinted to Gregory that I was old enough to be his +father, and that in calling me his son, his language was misplaced; and +I repeated it at that moment. He nodded good-humouredly, and continued: + +"I was born insolent, my s--my ancestor. Well, after I had cleared a +space at the supper table, and had, with permission, lighted my pipe, +I began to talk... Oh yes, I did give them a chance occasionally; don't +interrupt.... I gossiped about England, France, the universe. From the +brief comments they made I saw they knew all about it, and understood my +social argot, all but a few words--is there anything peculiar about any +of my words? After having exhausted Europe and Asia I discussed +America; talked about Quebec, the folklore of the French Canadians, the +'voyageurs' from old Maisonneuve down. All the history I knew I rallied, +and was suddenly bowled out. For Malbrouck followed my trail from the +time I began to talk, and in ten minutes he had proved me to be a baby +in knowledge, an emaciated baby; he eliminated me from the equation. He +first tripped me on the training of naval cadets; then on the Crimea; +then on the taking of Quebec; then on the Franco-Prussian War; then, +with a sudden round-up, on India. I had been trusting to vague outlines +of history; I felt when he began to talk that I was dealing with a man +who not only knew history, but had lived it. He talked in the fewest +but directest words, and waxed eloquent in a blunt and colossal way. But +seeing his wife's eyes fixed on him intently, he suddenly pulled up, and +no more did I get from him on the subject. He stopped so suddenly that +in order to help over the awkwardness, though I'm not really sure there +was any, I began to hum a song to myself. Now, upon my soul, I didn't +think what I was humming; it was some subterranean association of +things, I suppose--but that doesn't matter here. I only state it to +clear myself of any unnecessary insolence. These were the words I was +maundering with this noble voice of mine: + + "'The news I bring, fair Lady, + Will make your tears run down + + Put off your rose-red dress so fine + And doff your satin gown! + + Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas! + And buried, too, for aye; + + I saw four officers who bore + His mighty corse away. + ............. + We saw above the laurels, + His soul fly forth amain. + + And each one fell upon his face + And then rose up again. + + And so we sang the glories, + For which great Malbrouck bled; + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine, + Great Malbrouck, he is dead.' + +"I felt the silence grow peculiar, uncomfortable. I looked up. Mrs. +Malbrouck was rising to her feet with a look in her face that would make +angels sorry--a startled, sorrowful thing that comes from a sleeping +pain. What an ass I was! Why, the Man's name was Malbrouck; her name was +Malbrouck--awful insolence! But surely there was something in the story +of the song itself that had moved her. As I afterward knew, that was it. +Malbrouck sat still and unmoved, though I thought I saw something stern +and masterful in his face as he turned to me; but again instantly +his eyes were bent on his wife with a comforting and affectionate +expression. She disappeared into the house. Hoping to make it appear +that I hadn't noticed anything, I dropped my voice a little and went on, +intending, however, to stop at the end of the verse: + + "'Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine!' + +"I ended there; because Malbrouck's heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, +and he said: 'If you please, not that song.' + +"I suspect I acted like an idiot. I stammered out apologies, went down +on my litanies, figuratively speaking, and was all the same confident +that my excuses were making bad infernally worse. But somehow the old +chap had taken a liking to me.--No, of course you couldn't understand +that. Not that he was so old, you know; but he had the way of retired +royalty about him, as if he had lived life up to the hilt, and was all +pulse and granite. Then he began to talk in his quiet way about hunting +and fishing; about stalking in the Highlands and tiger-hunting in India; +and wound up with some wonderful stuff about moose-hunting, the sport of +Canada. This made me itch like sin, just to get my fingers on a trigger, +with a full moose-yard in view. I can feel it now--the bound in the +blood as I caught at Malbrouck's arm and said: 'By George, I must kill +moose; that's sport for Vikings, and I was meant to be a Viking--or +a gladiator.' Malbrouck at once replied that he would give me some +moose-hunting in December if I would come up to Marigold Lake. I +couldn't exactly reply on the instant, because, you see, there wasn't +much chance for board and lodging thereabouts, unless--but he went on +to say that I should make his house my 'public,'perhaps he didn't say +it quite in those terms, that he and his wife would be glad to have me. +With a couple of Indians we could go north-west, where the moose-yards +were, and have some sport both exciting and prodigious. Well, I'm a +muff, I know, but I didn't refuse that. Besides, I began to see the safe +side of the bet I had made with my aunt, the dowager, and I was more +than pleased with what had come to pass so far. Lucky for you, too, you +yarn-spinner, that the thing did develop so, or you wouldn't be getting +fame and shekels out of the results of my story. + +"Well, I got one thing out of the night's experience; and it was that +the Malbroucks were no plebs., that they had had their day where plates +are blue and gold and the spoons are solid coin. But what had sent them +up here among the moose, the Indians, and the conies--whatever THEY are? +How should I get at it? Insolence, you say? Yes, that. I should come +up here in December, and I should mulct my aunt in the price of a new +breech-loader. But I found out nothing the next morning, and I left with +a paternal benediction from Malbrouck, and a smile from his wife that +sent my blood tingling as it hadn't tingled since a certain season in +London, which began with my tuneful lyre sounding hopeful numbers and +ended with it hanging on the willows. + +"When I thought it all over, as I trudged back on yesterday's track, +I concluded that I had told them all my history from my youth up until +now, and had got nothing from them in return. I had exhausted my family +records, bit by bit, like a curate in his first parish; and had gone +so far as to testify that one of my ancestors had been banished to +Australia for political crimes. Distinctly they had me at an advantage, +though, to be sure, I had betrayed Mrs. Malbrouck into something more +than a suspicion of emotion. + +"When I got back to my old camp, I could find out nothing from the other +fellows; but Jacques Pontiac told me that his old mate, Pretty Pierre, +who in recent days had fallen from grace, knew something of these people +that no one else guessed, because he had let them a part of his house +in the parish of St. Genevieve in Quebec, years before. Pierre had +testified to one fact, that a child--a girl--had been born to Mrs. +Malbrouck in his house, but all further knowledge he had withheld. +Pretty Pierre was off in the Rocky Mountains practising his +profession--chiefly poker--and was not available for information. What +did I, Gregory Thorne, want of the information anyway? That's the +point, my son. Judging from after-developments I suppose it was what the +foolish call occult sympathy. Well, where was that girl-child? Jacques +Pontiac didn't know. Nobody knew. And I couldn't get rid of Mrs. +Malbrouck's face; it haunted me; the broad brow, deep eyes, and +high-bred sweetness--all beautifully animal. Don't laugh: I find +astonishing likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly +animal. Did you never see how beautiful and modest the faces of deer +are; how chic and sensitive is the manner of a hound; nor the keen, warm +look in the eye of a well-bred mare? Why, I'd rather be a good horse +of blood and temper than half the fellows I know. You are not an animal +lover as I am; yes, even when I shoot them or fight them I admire them, +just as I'd admire a swordsman who, in 'quart,' would give me death by +the wonderful upper thrust. It's all a battle; all a game of love and +slaughter, my son, and both go together. + +"Well, as I say, her face followed me. Watch how the thing developed. By +the prairie-track I went over to Fort Desire, near the Rockies, almost +immediately after this, to see about buying a ranch with my old chum at +Trinity, Polly Cliffshawe--Polydore, you know. Whom should I meet in a +hut on the ranch but Jacques's friend, Pretty Pierre. This was luck; but +he was not like Jacques Pontiac, he was secretive as a Buddhist deity. +He had a good many of the characteristics that go to a fashionable +diplomatist: clever, wicked, cool, and in speech doing the vanishing +trick just when you wanted him. But my star of fortune was with me. One +day Silverbottle, an Indian, being in a murderous humour, put a bullet +in Pretty Pierre's leg, and would have added another, only I stopped it +suddenly. While in his bed he told me what he knew of the Malbroucks. + +"This is the fashion of it. John and Audrey Malbrouck had come to Quebec +in the year 1865, and sojourned in the parish of St. Genevieve, in the +house of the mother of Pretty Pierre. Of an inquiring turn of mind, +the French half-breed desired to know concerning the history of these +English people, who, being poor, were yet gentle, and spoke French +with a grace and accent which was to the French-Canadian patois as +Shakespeare's English is to that of Seven Dials. Pierre's methods of +inquisitiveness were not strictly dishonest. He did not open letters, +he did not besiege dispatch-boxes, he did not ask impudent questions; he +watched and listened. In his own way he found out that the man had been +a soldier in the ranks, and that he had served in India. They were most +attached to the child, whose name was Marguerite. One day a visitor, a +lady, came to them. She seemed to be the cause of much unhappiness +to Mrs. Malbrouck. And Pierre was alert enough to discover that this +distinguished-looking person desired to take the child away with her. To +this the young mother would not consent, and the visitor departed with +some chillingly-polite phrases, part English, part French, beyond the +exact comprehension of Pierre, and leaving the father and mother and +little Marguerite happy. Then, however, these people seemed to become +suddenly poorer, and Malbrouck began farming in a humble, but not +entirely successful way. The energy of the man was prodigious; but his +luck was sardonic. Floods destroyed his first crops, prices ran low, +debt accumulated, foreclosure of mortgage occurred, and Malbrouck and +the wife and child went west. + +"Five years later, Pretty Pierre saw them again at Marigold Lake: +Malbrouck as agent for the Hudson's Bay Company--still poor, but +contented. It was at this period that the former visitor again appeared, +clothed in purple and fine linen, and, strange as it may seem, succeeded +in carrying off the little child, leaving the father and mother broken, +but still devoted to each other. + +"Pretty Pierre closed his narration with these words: ''Bien,' that +Malbrouck, he is great. I have not much love of men, but he--well, if +he say,--"See, Pierre, I go to the home of the white bear and the winter +that never ends; perhaps we come back, perhaps we die; but there will +be sport for men--" 'voila!' I would go. To know one strong man in this +world is good. Perhaps, some time I will go to him--yes, Pierre, the +gambler, will go to him, and say: It is good for the wild dog that he +live near the lion. And the child, she was beautiful; she had a light +heart and a sweet way.'" + +It was with this slight knowledge that Gregory Thorne set out on his +journey over the great Canadian prairie to Marigold Lake, for his +December moose-hunt. + +Gregory has since told me that, as he travelled with Jacques Pontiac +across the Height of Land to his destination, he had uncomfortable +feelings; presentiments, peculiar reflections of the past, and +melancholy--a thing far from habitual with him. Insolence is all very +well, but you cannot apply it to indefinite thoughts; it isn't effective +with vague presentiments. And when Gregory's insolence was taken away +from him, he was very like other mortals; virtue had gone out of him; +his brown cheek and frank eye had lost something of their charm. It was +these unusual broodings that worried him; he waked up suddenly one night +calling, "Margaret! Margaret!" like any childlike lover. And that did +not please him. He believed in things that, as he said himself, "he +could get between his fingers;" he had little sympathy with morbid +sentimentalities. But there was an English Margaret in his life; and he, +like many another childlike man, had fallen in love, and with her--very +much in love indeed; and a star had crossed his love to a degree that +greatly shocked him and pleased the girl's relatives. She was the +granddaughter of a certain haughty dame of high degree, who regarded +icily this poorest of younger sons, and held her darling aloof. Gregory, +very like a blunt unreasoning lover, sought to carry the redoubt by wild +assault; and was overwhelmingly routed. The young lady, though +finding some avowed pleasure in his company, accompanied by brilliant +misunderstanding of his advances and full-front speeches, had never +given him enough encouragement to warrant his playing young Lochinvar in +Park Lane; and his cup became full when, at the close of the season, she +was whisked off to the seclusion of a country-seat, whose walls to him +were impregnable. His defeat was then, and afterwards, complete. He +pluckily replied to the derision of his relatives with multiplied +derision, demanded his inheritance, got his traps together, bought a fur +coat, and straightway sailed the wintry seas to Canada. + +His experiences had not soured his temper. He believed that every dog +has his day, and that Fate was very malicious; that it brought down the +proud, and rewarded the patient; that it took up its abode in marble +halls, and was the mocker at the feast. All this had reference, of +course, to the time when he should--rich as any nabob--return to London, +and be victorious over his enemy in Park Lane. It was singular that he +believed this thing would occur; but he did. He had not yet made his +fortune, but he had been successful in the game of buying and selling +lands, and luck seemed to dog his path. He was fearless, and he had a +keen eye for all the points of every game--every game but love. + +Yet he was born to succeed in that game too. For though his theory was, +that everything should be treated with impertinence before you could +get a proper view of it, he was markedly respectful to people. Few +could resist him; his impudence of ideas was so pleasantly mixed with +delicately suggested admiration of those to whom he talked. It was +impossible that John Malbrouck and his wife could have received him +other than they did; his was the eloquent, conquering spirit. + + + +II. + +By the time he reached Lake Marigold he had shaken off all those +hovering fancies of the woods, which, after all, might only have been +the whisperings of those friendly and far-seeing spirits who liked +the lad as he journeyed through their lonely pleasure-grounds. John +Malbrouck greeted him with quiet cordiality, and Mrs. Malbrouck smiled +upon him with a different smile from that with which she had speeded him +a month before; there was in it a new light of knowledge, and Gregory +could not understand it. It struck him as singular that the lady should +be dressed in finer garments than she wore when he last saw her; though +certainly her purple became her. She wore it as if born to it; and with +an air more sedately courteous than he had ever seen, save at one house +in Park Lane. Had this rustle of fine trappings been made for him? No; +the woman had a mind above such snobbishness, he thought. He suffered +for a moment the pang of a cynical idea; but the eyes of Mrs. Malbrouck +were on him and he knew that he was as nothing before her. Her eyes--how +they were fixed upon him! Only two women had looked so truthfully at him +before: his dead mother and--Margaret. And Margaret--why, how strangely +now at this instant came the thought that she was like his Margaret! +Wonder sprang to his eyes. At that moment a door opened and a girl +entered the room--a girl lissome, sweet-faced, well-bred of manner, who +came slowly towards them. + +"My daughter, Mr. Thorne," the mother briefly remarked. There was no +surprise in the girl's face, only an even reserve of pleasure, as she +held out her hand and said: "Mr. Gregory Thorne and I are old enemies." +Gregory Thorne's nerve forsook him for an instant. He knew now the +reason of his vague presentiments in the woods; he understood why, one +night, when he had been more childlike than usual in his memory of the +one woman who could make life joyous for him, the voice of a voyageur, +not Jacques's nor that of any one in camp, sang: + + "My dear love, she waits for me, + None other my world is adorning; + My true love I come to thee, + My dear, the white star of the morning. + Eagles spread out your wings, + Behold where the red dawn is breaking! + Hark, 'tis my darling sings, + The flowers, the song-birds awaking; + See, where she comes to me, + My love, ah, my dear love!" + +And here she was. He raised her hand to his lips, and said: "Miss +Carley, you have your enemy at an advantage." + +"Miss Carley in Park Lane, Margaret Malbrouck here in my old home," she +replied. + +There ran swiftly through the young man's brain the brief story that +Pretty Pierre had told him. This, then, was the child who had been +carried away, and who, years after, had made captive his heart in London +town! Well, one thing was clear, the girl's mother here seemed inclined +to be kinder to him than was the guardian grandmother--if she was the +grandmother--because they had their first talk undisturbed, it may be +encouraged; amiable mothers do such deeds at times. + +"And now pray, Mr. Thorne," she continued, "may I ask how came you +here in my father's house after having treated me so cavalierly +in London?--not even sending a P.P.C. when you vanished from your +worshippers in Vanity Fair." + +"As for my being here, it is simply a case of blind fate; as for my +friends, the only one I wanted to be sorry for my going was behind +earthworks which I could not scale in order to leave my card, or--or +anything else of more importance; and being left as it were to the +inclemency of a winter world, I fled from--" + +She interrupted him. "What! the conqueror, you, flying from your +Moscow?" + +He felt rather helpless under her gay raillery; but he said: + +"Well, I didn't burn my kremlin behind me." + +"Your kremlin?" + +"My ships, then: they--they are just the same," he earnestly pleaded. +Foolish youth, to attempt to take such a heart by surprise and storm! + +"That is very interesting," she said, "but hardly wise. To make +fortunes and be happy in new countries, one should forget the old ones. +Meditation is the enemy of action." + +"There's one meditation could make me conquer the North Pole, if I could +but grasp it definitely." + +"Grasp the North Pole? That would be awkward for your friends and +gratifying to your enemies, if one may believe science and history. But, +perhaps, you are in earnest after all, poor fellow! for my father tells +me you are going over the hills and far away to the moose-yards. +How valiant you are, and how quickly you grasp the essentials of +fortune-making!" + +"Miss Malbrouck, I am in earnest, and I've always been in earnest in one +thing at least. I came out here to make money, and I've made some, and +shall make more; but just now the moose are as brands for the burning, +and I have a gun sulky for want of exercise." + +"What an eloquent warrior-temper! And to whom are your deeds of valour +to be dedicated? Before whom do you intend to lay your trophies of the +chase?" + +"Before the most provoking but worshipful lady that I know." + +"Who is the sylvan maid? What princess of the glade has now the homage +of your impressionable heart, Mr. Thorne?" + +And Gregory Thorne, his native insolence standing him in no stead, said +very humbly: + +"You are that sylvan maid, that princess--ah, is this fair to me, is it +fair, I ask you?" + +"You really mean that about the trophies"? she replied. "And shall you +return like the mighty khans, with captive tigers and lions, led by +stalwart slaves, in your train, or shall they be captive moose or +grizzlies?" + +"Grizzlies are not possible here," he said, with cheerful seriousness, +"but the moose is possible, and more, if you would be kinder--Margaret." + +"Your supper, see, is ready," she said. "I venture to hope your appetite +has not suffered because of long absence from your friends." + +He could only dumbly answer by a protesting motion of the hand, and his +smile was not remarkably buoyant. + +The next morning they started on their moose-hunt. Gregory Thorne was +cast down when he crossed the threshold into the winter morning without +hand-clasp or god-speed from Margaret Malbrouck; but Mrs. Malbrouck was +there, and Gregory, looking into her eyes, thought how good a thing it +would be for him, if some such face looked benignly out on him every +morning, before he ventured forth into the deceitful day. But what was +the use of wishing! Margaret evidently did not care. And though the air +was clear and the sun shone brightly, he felt there was a cheerless +wind blowing on him; a wind that chilled him; and he hummed to himself +bitterly a song of the voyageurs: + + "O, O, the winter wind, the North wind, + My snow-bird, where art thou gone? + O, O, the wailing wind the night wind, + The cold nest; I am alone. + O, O, my snow-bird! + + "O, O, the waving sky, the white sky, + My snow-bird thou fliest far; + O, O, the eagle's cry, the wild cry, + My lost love, my lonely star. + O, O, my snow-bird!" + +He was about to start briskly forward to join Malbrouck and his Indians, +who were already on their way, when he heard his name called, and, +turning, he saw Margaret in the doorway, her fingers held to the tips +of her ears, as yet unused to the frost. He ran back to where she +stood, and held out his hand. "I was afraid," he bluntly said, "that you +wouldn't forsake your morning sleep to say good-bye to me." + +"It isn't always the custom, is it," she replied, "for ladies to send +the very early hunter away with a tally-ho? But since you have the grace +to be afraid of anything, I can excuse myself to myself for fleeing the +pleasantest dreams to speed you on your warlike path." + +At this he brightened very much, but she, as if repenting she had given +him so much pleasure, added: "I wanted to say good-bye to my father, you +know; and--" she paused. + +"And"? he added. + +"And to tell him that you have fond relatives in the old land who would +mourn your early taking off; and, therefore, to beg him, for their +sakes, to keep you safe from any outrageous moose that mightn't know how +the world needed you." + +"But there you are mistaken," he said; "I haven't anyone who would +really care, worse luck! except the dowager; and she, perhaps, would be +consoled to know that I had died in battle,--even with a moose,--and +was clear of the possibility of hanging another lost reputation on the +family tree, to say nothing of suspension from any other kind of tree. +But, if it should be the other way; if I should see your father in the +path of an outrageous moose--what then?" + +"My father is a hunter born," she responded; "he is a great man," she +proudly added. + +"Of course, of course," he replied. "Good-bye. I'll take him your +love.--Good-bye!" and he turned away. + +"Good-bye," she gaily replied; and yet, one looking closely would have +seen that this stalwart fellow was pleasant to her eyes, and as she +closed the door to his hand waving farewell to her from the pines, she +said, reflecting on his words: + +"You'll take him my love, will you? But, Master Gregory, you carry a +freight of which you do not know the measure; and, perhaps, you never +shall, though you are very brave and honest, and not so impudent as you +used to be,--and I'm not so sure that I like you so much better for that +either, Monsieur Gregory." + +Then she went and laid her cheek against her mother's, and said: +"They've gone away for big game, mother dear; what shall be our quarry?" + +"My child," the mother replied, "the story of our lives since last you +were with me is my only quarry. I want to know from your own lips all +that you have been in that life which once was mine also, but far away +from me now, even though you come from it, bringing its memories without +its messages." + +"Dear, do you think that life there was so sweet to me? It meant as +little to your daughter as to you. She was always a child of the wild +woods. What rustle of pretty gowns is pleasant as the silken shiver of +the maple leaves in summer at this door? The happiest time in that life +was when we got away to Holwood or Marchurst, with the balls and calls +all over." + +Mrs. Malbrouck smoothed her daughter's hand gently and smiled +approvingly. + +"But that old life of yours, mother; what was it? You said that you +would tell me some day. Tell me now. Grandmother was fond of me--poor +grandmother! But she would never tell me anything. How I longed to be +back with you!... Sometimes you came to me in my sleep, and called to +me to come with you; and then again, when I was gay in the sunshine, you +came, and only smiled but never beckoned; though your eyes seemed to +me very sad, and I wondered if mine would not also become sad through +looking in them so--are they sad, mother?" And she laughed up brightly +into her mother's face. + +"No, dear; they are like the stars. You ask me for my part in that life. +I will tell you soon, but not now. Be patient. Do you not tire of this +lonely life? Are you truly not anxious to return to--" + +"'To the husks that the swine did eat?' No, no, no; for, see: I was born +for a free, strong life; the prairie or the wild wood, or else to live +in some far castle in Welsh mountains, where I should never hear the +voice of the social Thou must!--oh, what a must! never to be quite free +or natural. To be the slave of the code. I was born--I know not how! but +so longing for the sky, and space, and endless woods. I think I never +saw an animal but I loved it, nor ever lounged the mornings out at +Holwood but I wished it were a hut on the mountain side, and you and +father with me." Here she whispered, in a kind of awe: "And yet to think +that Holwood is now mine, and that I am mistress there, and that I must +go back to it--if only you would go back with me.... ah, dear, isn't it +your duty to go back with me"? she added, hesitatingly. + +Audrey Malbrouck drew her daughter hungrily to her bosom, and said: +"Yes, dear, I will go back, if it chances that you need me; but your +father and I have lived the best days of our lives here, and we are +content. But, my Margaret, there is another to be thought of too, is +there not? And in that case is my duty then so clear?" + +The girl's hand closed on her mother's, and she knew her heart had been +truly read. + + + +III. + +The hunters pursued their way, swinging grandly along on their +snow-shoes, as they made for the Wild Hawk Woods. It would seem as if +Malbrouck was testing Gregory's strength and stride, for the march that +day was a long and hard one. He was equal to the test, and even Big +Moccasin, the chief, grunted sound approval. But every day brought out +new capacities for endurance and larger resources; so that Malbrouck, +who had known the clash of civilisation with barbarian battle, and deeds +both dour and doughty, and who loved a man of might, regarded this youth +with increasing favour. By simple processes he drew from Gregory his +aims and ambitions, and found the real courage and power behind the +front of irony--the language of manhood and culture which was crusted by +free and easy idioms. Now and then they saw moose-tracks, but they were +some days out before they came to a moose-yard--a spot hoof-beaten by +the moose; his home, from which he strays, and to which he returns at +times like a repentant prodigal. Now the sport began. The dog-trains +were put out of view, and Big Moccasin and another Indian went off +immediately to explore the country round about. A few hours, and word +was brought that there was a small herd feeding not far away. Together +they crept stealthily within range of the cattle. Gregory Thorne's +blood leaped as he saw the noble quarry, with their wide-spread horns, +sniffing the air, in which they had detected something unusual. Their +leader, a colossal beast, stamped with his forefoot, and threw back his +head with a snort. + +"The first shot belongs to you, Mr. Thorne," said Malbrouck. "In the +shoulder, you know. You have him in good line. I'll take the heifer." + +Gregory showed all the coolness of an old hunter, though his lips +twitched slightly with excitement. He took a short but steady aim, and +fired. The beast plunged forward and then fell on his knees. The others +broke away. Malbrouck fired and killed a heifer, and then all ran in +pursuit as the moose made for the woods. + +Gregory, in the pride of his first slaughter, sprang away towards the +wounded leader, which, sunk to the earth, was shaking its great horns to +and fro. When at close range, he raised his gun to fire again, but the +moose rose suddenly, and with a wild bellowing sound rushed at Gregory, +who knew full well that a straight stroke from those hoofs would end +his moose-hunting days. He fired, but to no effect. He could not, like +a toreador, jump aside, for those mighty horns would sweep too wide a +space. He dropped on his knees swiftly, and as the great antlers almost +touched him, and he could feel the roaring breath of the mad creature in +his face, he slipped a cartridge in, and fired as he swung round; but at +that instant a dark body bore him down. He was aware of grasping those +sweeping horns, conscious of a blow which tore the flesh from his chest; +and then his knife--how came it in his hand?--with the instinct of the +true hunter. He plunged it once, twice, past a foaming mouth, into that +firm body, and then both fell together; each having fought valiantly +after his kind. + +Gregory dragged himself from beneath the still heaving body, and +stretched to his feet; but a blindness came, and the next knowledge he +had was of brandy being poured slowly between his teeth, and of a voice +coming through endless distances: "A fighter, a born fighter," it said. +"The pluck of Lucifer--good boy!" + +Then the voice left those humming spaces of infinity, and said: "Tilt +him this way a little, Big Moccasin. There, press firmly, so. Now the +band steady--together--tighter--now the withes--a little higher up--cut +them here." There was a slight pause, and then: "There, that's as good +as an army surgeon could do it. He'll be as sound as a bell in two +weeks. Eh, well, how do you feel now? Better? That's right! Like to be +on your feet, would you? Wait. Here, a sup of this. There you are.... +Well?" + +"Well," said the young man, faintly, "he was a beauty." + +Malbrouck looked at him a moment, thoughtfully, and then said: "Yes, he +was a beauty." + +"I want a dozen more like him, and then I shall be able to drop 'em as +neat as, you do." + +"H'm! the order is large. I'm afraid we shall have to fill it at some +other time;" and Malbrouck smiled a little grimly. + +"What! only one moose to take back to the Height of Land, to--" +something in the eye of the other stopped him. + +"To? Yes, to"? and now the eye had a suggestion of humour. + +"To show I'm not a tenderfoot." + +"Yes, to show you're not a tenderfoot. I fancy that will be hardly +necessary. Oh, you will be up, eh? Well!" + +"Well, I'm a tottering imbecile. What's the matter with my legs?--my +prophetic soul, it hurts! Oh, I see; that's where the old warrior's hoof +caught me sideways. Now, I'll tell you what, I'm going to have another +moose to take back to Marigold Lake." + +"Oh?" + +"Yes. I'm going to take back a young, live moose." + +"A significant ambition. For what?--a sacrifice to the gods you have +offended in your classic existence?" + +"Both. A peace-offering, and a sacrifice to--a goddess." + +"Young man," said the other, the light of a smile playing on his lips, +"'Prosperity be thy page!' Big Moccasin, what of this young live moose?" + +The Indian shook his head doubtfully. + +"But I tell you I shall have that live moose, if I have to stay here to +see it grow." + +And Malbrouck liked his pluck, and wished him good luck. And the good +luck came. They travelled back slowly to the Height of Land, making a +circuit. For a week they saw no more moose; but meanwhile Gregory's hurt +quickly healed. They had now left only eight days in which to get back +to Dog Ear River and Marigold Lake. If the young moose was to come it +must come soon. It came soon. + +They chanced upon a moose-yard, and while the Indians were beating the +woods, Malbrouck and Gregory watched. + +Soon a cow and a young moose came swinging down to the embankment. +Malbrouck whispered: "Now if you must have your live moose, here's a +lasso. I'll bring down the cow. The young one's horns are not large. +Remember, no pulling. I'll do that. Keep your broken chest and bad arm +safe. Now!" + +Down came the cow with a plunge into the yard-dead. The lasso, too, was +over the horns of the calf, and in an instant Malbrouck was swinging +away with it over the snow. It was making for the trees--exactly what +Malbrouck desired. He deftly threw the rope round a sapling, but not too +taut, lest the moose's horns should be injured. The plucky animal now +turned on him. He sprang behind a tree, and at that instant he heard the +thud of hoofs behind him. He turned to see a huge bull-moose bounding +towards him. He was between two fires, and quite unarmed. Those hoofs +had murder in them. But at the instant a rifle shot rang out, and he +only caught the forward rush of the antlers as the beast fell. + +The young moose now had ceased its struggles, and came forward to the +dead bull with that hollow sound of mourning peculiar to its kind. +Though it afterwards struggled once or twice to be free, it became +docile and was easily taught, when its anger and fear were over. + +And Gregory Thorne had his live moose. He had also, by that splendid +shot, achieved with one arm, saved Malbrouck from peril, perhaps from +death. + +They drew up before the house at Marigold Lake on the afternoon of the +day before Christmas, a triumphal procession. The moose was driven, +a peaceful captive with a wreath of cedar leaves around its neck--the +humourous conception of Gregory Thorne. Malbrouck had announced their +coming by a blast from his horn, and Margaret was standing in the +doorway wrapped in furs, which may have come originally from Hudson's +Bay, but which had been deftly re-manufactured in Regent Street. + +Astonishment, pleasure, beamed in her eyes. She clapped her hands gaily, +and cried: "Welcome, welcome, merry-men all!" She kissed her father; +she called to her mother to come and see; then she said to Gregory, +with arch raillery, as she held out her hand: "Oh, companion of hunters, +comest thou like Jacques in Arden from dropping the trustful tear upon +the prey of others, or bringest thou quarry of thine own? Art thou a +warrior sated with spoil, master of the sports, spectator of the fight, +Prince, or Pistol? Answer, what art thou?" + +And he, with a touch of his old insolence, though with something of +irony too, for he had hoped for a different fashion of greeting, said: + +"All, lady, all! The Olympian all! The player of many parts. I am +Touchstone, Jacques, and yet Orlando too." + +"And yet Orlando too, my daughter," said Malbrouck, gravely. "He saved +your father from the hoofs of a moose bent on sacrifice. Had your father +his eye, his nerve, his power to shoot with one arm a bull moose at long +range, so!--he would not refuse to be called a great hunter, but wear +the title gladly." + +Margaret Malbrouck's face became anxious instantly. "He saved you from +danger--from injury, father"? she slowly said, and looked earnestly at +Gregory; "but why to shoot with one arm only?" + +"Because in a fight of his own with a moose--a hand-to-hand fight--he +had a bad moment with the hoofs of the beast." + +And this young man, who had a reputation for insolence, blushed, so that +the paleness which the girl now noticed in his face was banished; and to +turn the subject he interposed: + +"Here is the live moose that I said I should bring. Now say that he's a +beauty, please. Your father and I--" + +But Malbrouck interrupted: + +"He lassoed it with his one arm, Margaret. He was determined to do it +himself, because, being a superstitious gentleman, as well as a hunter, +he had some foolish notion that this capture would propitiate a goddess +whom he imagined required offerings of the kind." + +"It is the privilege of the gods to be merciful," she said. "This +peace-offering should propitiate the angriest, cruellest goddess in the +universe; and for one who was neither angry nor really cruel--well, she +should be satisfied.... altogether satisfied," she added, as she put her +cheek against the warm fur of the captive's neck, and let it feel her +hand with its lips. + +There was silence for a minute, and then with his old gay spirit all +returned, and as if to give an air not too serious to the situation, +Gregory, remembering his Euripides, said: + + "........let the steer bleed, + And the rich altars, as they pay their vows, + Breathe incense to the gods: for me, I rise + To better life, and grateful own the blessing." + +"A pagan thought for a Christmas Eve," she said to him, with her fingers +feeling for the folds of silken flesh in the throat of the moose; "but +wounded men must be humoured. And, mother dear, here are our Argonauts +returned; and--and now I think I will go." + +With a quick kiss on her father's cheek--not so quick but he caught the +tear that ran through her happy smile--she vanished into the house. + +That night there was gladness in this home. Mirth sprang to the lips of +the men like foam on a beaker of wine, so that the evening ran towards +midnight swiftly. All the tale of the hunt was given by Malbrouck to +joyful ears; for the mother lived again her youth in the sunrise of this +romance which was being sped before her eyes; and the father, knowing +that in this world there is nothing so good as courage, nothing so base +as the shifting eye, looked on the young man, and was satisfied, and +told his story well;--told it as a brave man would tell it, bluntly as +to deeds done, warmly as to the pleasures of good sport, directly as +to all. In the eye of the young man there had come the glance of larger +life, of a new-developed manhood. When he felt that dun body crashing +on him, and his life closing with its strength, and ran the good knife +home, there flashed through his mind how much life meant to the dying, +how much it ought to mean to the living; and then this girl, this +Margaret, swam before his eyes--and he had been graver since. + +He knew, as truly as if she had told him, that she could never mate with +any man who was a loiterer on God's highway, who could live life without +some sincerity in his aims. It all came to him again in this room, so +austere in its appointments, yet so gracious, so full of the spirit of +humanity without a note of ennui, or the rust of careless deeds. As this +thought grew he looked at the face of the girl, then at the faces of the +father and mother, and the memory of his boast came back--that he would +win the stake he laid, to know the story of John and Audrey Malbrouck +before this coming Christmas morning. With a faint smile at his own past +insolent self, he glanced at the clock. It was eleven. "I have lost my +bet," he unconsciously said aloud. + +He was roused by John Malbrouck remarking: "Yes, you have lost your bet? +Well, what was it? The youth, the childlike quality in him," flushed his +face deeply, and then, with a sudden burst of frankness, he said: + +"I did not know that I had spoken. As for the bet, I deserve to be +thrashed for ever having made it; but, duffer as I am, I want you to +know that I'm something worse than duffer. The first time I met you +I made a bet that I should know your history before Christmas Day. I +haven't a word to say for myself. I'm contemptible. I beg your pardon; +for your history is none of my business. I was really interested; that's +all; but your lives, I believe it, as if it was in the Bible, have been +great--yes, that's the word! and I'm a better chap for having known you, +though, perhaps, I've known you all along, because, you see, I've--I've +been friends with your daughter--and-well, really I haven't anything +else to say, except that I hope you'll forgive me, and let me know you +always." + +Malbrouck regarded him for a moment with a grave smile, and then looked +toward his wife. Both turned their glances quickly upon Margaret, whose +eyes were on the fire. The look upon her face was very gentle; something +new and beautiful had come to reign there. + +A moment, and Malbrouck spoke: "You did what was youthful and curious, +but not wrong; and you shall not lose your hazard. I--" + +"No, do not tell me," Gregory interrupted; "only let me be pardoned." + +"As I said, lad, you shall not lose your hazard. I will tell you the +brief tale of two lives." + +"But, I beg of you! For the instant I forgot. I have more to confess." +And Gregory told them in substance what Pretty Pierre had disclosed to +him in the Rocky Mountains. + +When he had finished, Malbrouck said: "My tale then is briefer still: I +was a common soldier, English and humble by my mother, French and noble +through my father--noble, but poor. In Burmah, at an outbreak among the +natives, I rescued my colonel from immediate and horrible death, though +he died in my arms from the injuries he received. His daughter too, it +was my fortune, through God's Providence, to save from great danger. +She became my wife. You remember that song you sang the day we first met +you? + +"It brought her father back to mind painfully. When we came to England +her people--her mother--would not receive me. For myself I did not care; +for my wife, that was another matter. She loved me and preferred to go +with me anywhere; to a new country, preferably. We came to Canada. + +"We were forgotten in England. Time moves so fast, even if the records +in red-books stand. Our daughter went to her grandmother to be brought +up and educated in England--though it was a sore trial to us both--that +she might fill nobly that place in life for which she is destined. +With all she learned she did not forget us. We were happy save in her +absence. We are happy now; not because she is mistress of Holwood and +Marchurst--for her grandmother and another is dead--but because such as +she is our daughter, and--" + +He said no more. Margaret was beside him, and her fingers were on his +lips. + +Gregory came to his feet suddenly, and with a troubled face. + +"Mistress of Holwood and Marchurst!" he said; and his mind ran over his +own great deficiencies, and the list of eligible and anxious suitors +that Park Lane could muster. He had never thought of her in the light of +a great heiress. + +But he looked down at her as she knelt at her father's knee, her eyes +upturned to his, and the tide of his fear retreated; for he saw in them +the same look she had given him when she leaned her cheek against the +moose's neck that afternoon. + +When the clock struck twelve upon a moment's pleasant silence, John +Malbrouck said to Gregory Thorne: + +"Yes, you have won your Christmas hazard, my boy." + +But a softer voice than his whispered: "Are you--content--Gregory?" + +The Spirits of Christmas-tide, whose paths lie north as well as south, +smiled as they wrote his answer on their tablets; for they knew, as the +man said, that he would always be content, and--which is more in the +sight of angels--that the woman would be content also. + + + + +A PRAIRIE VAGABOND + +Little Hammer was not a success. He was a disappointment to the +missionaries; the officials of the Hudson's Bay Company said he was "no +good;" the Mounted Police kept an eye on him; the Crees and Blackfeet +would have nothing to do with him; and the half-breeds were profane +regarding him. But Little Hammer was oblivious to any depreciation +of his merits, and would not be suppressed. He loved the Hudson's Bay +Company's Post at Yellow Quill with an unwavering love; he ranged the +half-breed hospitality of Red Deer River, regardless of it being thrown +at him as he in turn threw it at his dog; he saluted Sergeant Gellatly +with a familiar How! whenever he saw him; he borrowed tabac of the +half-breed women, and, strange to say, paid it back--with other tabac +got by daily petition, until his prayer was granted, at the H. B. C. +Post. He knew neither shame nor defeat, but where women were concerned +he kept his word, and was singularly humble. It was a woman that induced +him to be baptised. The day after the ceremony he begged "the loan of +a dollar for the love of God" from the missionary; and being refused, +straightway, and for the only time it was known of him, delivered a +rumbling torrent of half-breed profanity, mixed with the unusual oaths +of the barracks. Then he walked away with great humility. There was no +swagger about Little Hammer. He was simply unquenchable and continuous. +He sometimes got drunk; but on such occasions he sat down, or lay down, +in the most convenient place, and, like Caesar beside Pompey's statue, +wrapped his mantle about his face and forgot the world. He was a +vagabond Indian, abandoned yet self-contained, outcast yet gregarious. +No social ostracism unnerved him, no threats of the H. B. C. officials +moved him; and when in the winter of 187 he was driven from one place +to another, starving and homeless, and came at last emaciated and nearly +dead to the Post at Yellow Quill, he asked for food and shelter as if it +were his right, and not as a mendicant. + +One night, shortly after his reception and restoration, he was sitting +in the store silently smoking the Company's tabac. Sergeant Gellatly +entered. Little Hammer rose, offered his hand, and muttered, "How!" + +The Sergeant thrust his hand aside, and said sharply: "Whin I take y'r +hand, Little Hammer, it'll be to put a grip an y'r wrists that'll stay +there till y'are in quarters out of which y'll come nayther winter nor +summer. Put that in y'r pipe and smoke it, y' scamp!" + +Little Hammer had a bad time at the Post that night. Lounging +half-breeds reviled him; the H. B. C. officials rebuked him; and +travellers who were coming and going shared in the derision, as foolish +people do where one is brow-beaten by many. At last a trapper entered, +whom seeing, Little Hammer drew his blanket up about his head. The +trapper sat down very near Little Hammer, and began to smoke. He laid +his plug-tabac and his knife on the counter beside him. Little Hammer +reached over and took the knife, putting it swiftly within his blanket. +The trapper saw the act, and, turning sharply on the Indian, called him +a thief. Little Hammer chuckled strangely and said nothing; but his eyes +peered sharply above the blanket. A laugh went round the store. In an +instant the trapper, with a loud oath, caught at the Indian's throat; +but as the blanket dropped back he gave a startled cry. There was the +flash of a knife, and he fell back dead. Little Hammer stood above him, +smiling, for a moment, and then, turning to Sergeant Gellatly, held out +his arms silently for the handcuffs. + +The next day two men were lost on the prairies. One was Sergeant +Gellatly; the other was Little Hammer. The horses they rode travelled so +close that the leg of the Indian crowded the leg of the white man; and +the wilder the storm grew, the closer still they rode. A 'poudre' day, +with its steely air and fatal frost, was an ill thing in the world; but +these entangling blasts, these wild curtains of snow, were desolating +even unto death. The sun above was smothered; the earth beneath was +trackless; the compass stood for loss all round. + +What could Sergeant Gellatly expect, riding with a murderer on his left +hand: a heathen that had sent a knife through the heart of one of the +lords of the North? What should the gods do but frown, or the elements +be at, but howling on their path? What should one hope for but that +vengeance should be taken out of the hands of mortals, and be delivered +to the angry spirits? + +But if the gods were angry at the Indian, why should Sergeant Gellatly +only sway to and fro, and now laugh recklessly, and now fall sleepily +forward on the neck of his horse; while the Indian rode straight, and +neither wavered nor wandered in mind, but at last slipped from his horse +and walked beside the other? It was at this moment that the soldier +heard, "Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly," called through the blast; +and he thought it came from the skies, or from some other world. "Me +darlin'," he said, "have y' come to me?" But the voice called again: +"Sergeant Gellatly, keep awake! keep awake! You sleep, you die; that's +it. Holy. Yes. How!" Then he knew that it was Little Hammer calling +in his ear, and shaking him; that the Indian was dragging him from his +horse ... his revolver, where was it? he had forgotten... he nodded... +nodded. But Little Hammer said: "Walk, hell! you walk, yes;" and Little +Hammer struck him again and again; but one arm of the Indian was under +his shoulder and around him, and the voice was anxious and kind. Slowly +it came to him that Little Hammer was keeping him alive against the will +of the spirits--but why should they strike him instead of the Indian? +Was there any sun in the world? Had there ever been? or fire or heat +anywhere, or anything but wind and snow in all God's universe?... Yes, +there were bells ringing--soft bells of a village church; and there was +incense burning--most sweet it was! and the coals in the censer--how +beautiful, how comforting! He laughed with joy again, and he forgot how +cold, how maliciously cold, he had been; he forgot how dreadful that +hour was before he became warm; when he was pierced by myriad needles +through the body, and there was an incredible aching at his heart. + +And yet something kept thundering on his body, and a harsh voice +shrieked at him, and there were many lights dancing over his shut eyes; +and then curtains of darkness were dropped, and centuries of oblivion +came; and then--then his eyes opened to a comforting silence, and some +one was putting brandy between his teeth, and after a time he heard a +voice say: "'Bien,' you see he was a murderer, but he save his captor. +'Voila,' such a heathen! But you will, all the same, bring him to +justice--you call it that? But we shall see." + +Then some one replied, and the words passed through an outer web of +darkness and an inner haze of dreams. "The feet of Little Hammer were +like wood on the floor when you brought the two in, Pretty Pierre--and +lucky for them you found them.... The thing would read right in a book, +but it's not according to the run of things up here, not by a damned +sight!" + +"Private Bradshaw," said the first voice again, "you do not know Little +Hammer, nor that story of him. You wait for the trial. I have something +to say. You think Little Hammer care for the prison, the rope?--Ah, when +a man wait five years to kill--so! and it is done, he is glad sometimes +when it is all over. Sergeant Gellatly there will wish he went to sleep +forever in the snow, if Little Hammer come to the rope. Yes, I think." + +And Sergeant Gellatly's brain was so numbed that he did not grasp the +meaning of the words, though he said them over and over again.... Was he +dead? No, for his body was beating, beating... well, it didn't matter... +nothing mattered... he was sinking to forgetfulness... sinking. + +So, for hours, for weeks--it might have been for years--and then he +woke, clear and knowing, to "the unnatural, intolerable day"--it was +that to him, with Little Hammer in prison. It was March when his memory +and vigour vanished; it was May when he grasped the full remembrance of +himself, and of that fight for life on the prairie: of the hands that +smote him that he should not sleep; of Little Hammer the slayer, who had +driven death back discomfited, and brought his captor safe to where his +own captivity and punishment awaited him. + +When Sergeant Gellatly appeared in court at the trial he refused to bear +witness against Little Hammer. "D' ye think--does wan av y' think--that +I'll speak a word agin the man--haythen or no haythen--that pulled me +out of me tomb and put me betune the barrack quilts? Here's the stripes +aff me arm, and to gaol I'll go; but for what wint before I clapt the +iron on his wrists, good or avil, divil a word will I say. An' here's me +left hand, and there's me right fut, and an eye of me too, that I'd part +with, for the cause of him that's done a trick that your honour wouldn't +do--an' no shame to y' aither--an' y'd been where Little Hammer was with +me." + +His honour did not reply immediately, but he looked meditatively at +Little Hammer before he said quietly,--"Perhaps not, perhaps not." + +And Little Hammer, thinking he was expected to speak, drew his blanket +up closely about him and grunted, "How!" + +Pretty Pierre, the notorious half-breed, was then called. He kissed the +Book, making the sign of the Cross swiftly as he did so, and unheeding +the ironical, if hesitating, laughter in the court. Then he said: +"'Bien,' I will tell you the story-the whole truth. I was in the Stony +Plains. Little Hammer was 'good Injin' then.... Yes, sacre! it is a fool +who smiles at that. I have kissed the Book. Dam!... He would be chief +soon when old Two Tails die. He was proud, then, Little Hammer. He go +not to the Post for drink; he sell not next year's furs for this year's +rations; he shoot straight." + +Here Little Hammer stood up and said: "There is too much talk. Let me +be. It is all done. The sun is set--I care not--I have killed him;" and +then he drew his blanket about his face and sat down. + +But Pierre continued: "Yes, you killed him-quick, after five years--that +is so; but you will not speak to say why. Then, I will speak. The Injins +say Little Hammer will be great man; he will bring the tribes together; +and all the time Little Hammer was strong and silent and wise. Then +Brigley the trapper--well, he was a thief and coward. He come to Little +Hammer and say, 'I am hungry and tired.' Little Hammer give him food and +sleep. He go away. 'Bien,' he come back and say,--'It is far to go; I +have no horse.' So Little Hammer give him a horse too. Then he come back +once again in the night when Little Hammer was away, and before morning +he go; but when Little Hammer return, there lay his bride--only an Injin +girl, but his bride-dead! You see? Eh? No? Well, the Captain at the Post +he says it was the same as Lucrece.--I say it was like hell. It is not +much to kill or to die--that is in the game; but that other, 'mon Dieu!' +Little Hammer, you see how he hide his head: not because he kill the +Tarquin, that Brigley, but because he is a poor 'vaurien' now, and he +once was happy and had a wife.... What would you do, judge honourable? +... Little Hammer, I shake your hand--so--How!" + +But Little Hammer made no reply. + +The judge sentenced Little Hammer to one month in gaol. He might have +made it one thousand months--it would have been the same; for when, on +the last morning of that month, they opened the door to set him free, he +was gone. That is, the Little Hammer whom the high gods knew was gone; +though an ill-nourished, self-strangled body was upright by the wall. +The vagabond had paid his penalty, but desired no more of earth. + +Upon the door was scratched the one word: How! + + + + +SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON + +Between Archangel's Rise and Pardon's Drive there was but one house. It +was a tavern, and it was known as Galbraith's Place. There was no man +in the Western Territories to whom it was not familiar. There was no +traveller who crossed the lonely waste but was glad of it, and would go +twenty miles out of his way to rest a night on a corn-husk bed which Jen +Galbraith's hands had filled, to eat a meal that she had prepared, +and to hear Peter Galbraith's tales of early days on the plains, when +buffalo were like clouds on the horizon, when Indians were many and +hostile, and when men called the great western prairie a wedge of the +American desert. + +It was night on the prairie. Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway of the +tavern sitting-room and watched a mighty beacon of flame rising before +her, a hundred yards away. Every night this beacon made a circle of +light on the prairie, and Galbraith's Place was in the centre of the +circle. Summer and winter it burned from dusk to daylight. No hand fed +it but that of Nature. It never failed; it was a cruse that was never +empty. Upon Jen Galbraith it had a weird influence. It grew to be to her +a kind of spiritual companion, though, perhaps, she would not so have +named it. This flaming gas, bubbling up from the depths of the earth on +the lonely plains, was to her a mysterious presence grateful to her; the +receiver of her thoughts, the daily necessity in her life. It filled +her too with a kind of awe; for, when it burned, she seemed not herself +alone, but another self of her whom she could not quite understand. Yet +she was no mere dreamer. Upon her practical strength of body and mind +had come that rugged poetical sense, which touches all who live the life +of mountain and prairie. She showed it in her speech; it had a measured +cadence. She expressed it in her body; it had a free and rhythmic +movement. And not Jen alone, but many another dweller on the prairie, +looked upon it with a superstitious reverence akin to worship. A +blizzard could not quench it. A gale of wind only fed its strength. A +rain-storm made a mist about it, in which it was enshrined like a god. +Peter Galbraith could not fully understand his daughter's fascination +for this Prairie Star, as the North-West people called it. It was not +without its natural influence upon him; but he regarded it most as +a comfortable advertisement, and he lamented every day that this +never-failing gas well was not near a large population, and he still its +owner. He was one of that large family in the earth who would turn the +best things in their lives into merchandise. As it was, it brought +much grist to his mill; for he was not averse to the exercise of +the insinuating pleasures of euchre and poker in his tavern; and the +hospitality which ranchmen, cowboys, and travellers sought at his hand +was often prolonged, and also remunerative to him. + +Pretty Pierre, who had his patrol as gamester defined, made semi-annual +visits to Galbraith's Place. It occurred generally after the rounding-up +and branding seasons, when the cowboys and ranchmen were "flush" with +money. It was generally conceded that Monsieur Pierre would have made +an early excursion to a place where none is ever "ordered up," if he had +not been free with the money which he so plentifully won. + +Card-playing was to him a science and a passion. He loved to win for +winning's sake. After that, money, as he himself put it, was only fit +to be spent for the good of the country, and that men should earn more. +Since he put his philosophy into instant and generous practice, active +and deadly prejudice against him did not have lengthened life. + +The Mounted Police, or as they are more poetically called, the Riders +of the Plains, watched Galbraith's Place, not from any apprehension of +violent events, but because Galbraith was suspected of infringing the +prevailing law of Prohibition, and because for some years it had been a +tradition and a custom to keep an eye on Pierre. + +As Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway looking abstractedly at the +beacon, her fingers smoothing her snowy apron the while, she was +thinking thus to herself: "Perhaps father is right. If that Prairie Star +were only at Vancouver or Winnipeg instead of here, our Val could be +something, more than a prairie-rider. He'd have been different, if +father hadn't started this tavern business. Not that our Val is bad. He +isn't; but if he had money he could buy a ranch,--or something." + +Our Val, as Jen and her father called him, was a lad of twenty-two, +one year younger than Jen. He was prairie-rider, cattle-dealer, scout, +cowboy, happy-go-lucky vagrant,--a splendid Bohemian of the plains. As +Jen said, he was not bad; but he had a fiery, wandering spirit, touched +withal by the sunniest humour. He had never known any curb but Jen's +love and care. That had kept him within bounds so far. All men of the +prairie spoke well of him. The great new lands have codes and standards +of morals quite their own. One enthusiastic admirer of this youth +said, in Jen's hearing, "He's a Christian--Val Galbraith!" That was +the western way of announcing a man as having great civic and social +virtues. Perhaps the respect for Val Galbraith was deepened by the +fact that there was no broncho or cayuse that he could not tame to the +saddle. + +Jen turned her face from the flame and looked away from the oasis of +warmth it made, to where the light shaded away into darkness, a darkness +that was unbroken for many a score of miles to the north and west. She +sighed deeply and drew herself up with an aggressive motion as though +she was freeing herself of something. So she was. She was trying to +shake off a feeling of oppression. Ten minutes ago the gaslighted house +behind her had seemed like a prison. She felt that she must have air, +space, and freedom. + +She would have liked a long ride on the buffalo-track. That, she felt, +would clear her mind. She was no romantic creature out of her sphere, no +exotic. She was country-born and bred, and her blood had been charged +by a prairie instinct passing through three generations. She was part +of this life. Her mind was free and strong, and her body was free and +healthy. While that freedom and health was genial, it revolted against +what was gross or irregular. She loved horses and dogs, she liked to +take a gun and ride away to the Poplar Hills in search of game, she +found pleasure in visiting the Indian Reservation, and talking to +Sun-in-the-North, the only good Indian chief she knew, or that anyone +else on the prairies knew. She loved all that was strong and untamed, +all that was panting with wild and glowing life. Splendidly developed, +softly sinewy, warmly bountiful, yet without the least physical +over-luxuriance or suggestiveness, Jen, with her tawny hair and +dark-brown eyes, was a growth of unrestrained, unconventional, and +eloquent life. Like Nature around her, glowing and fresh, yet glowing +and hardy. There was, however, just a strain of pensiveness in her, +partly owing to the fact that there were no women near her, that she +had, virtually, lived her life as a woman alone. + +As she thus looked into the undefined horizon two things were happening: +a traveller was approaching Galbraith's Place from a point in that +horizon; and in the house behind her someone was singing. The traveller +sat erect upon his horse. He had not the free and lazy seat of the +ordinary prairie-rider. It was a cavalry seat, and a military manner. He +belonged to that handful of men who patrol a frontier of near a thousand +miles, and are the security of peace in three hundred thousand miles of +territory--the Riders of the Plains, the North-West Mounted Police. + +This Rider of the Plains was Sergeant Thomas Gellatly, familiarly +known as Sergeant Tom. Far away as he was he could see that a woman +was standing in the tavern door. He guessed who it was, and his blood +quickened at the guessing. But reining his horse on the furthest edge of +the lighted circle, he said, debatingly: "I've little time enough to get +to the Rise, and the order was to go through, hand the information to +Inspector Jules, and be back within forty-eight hours. Is it flesh and +blood they think I am? Me that's just come back from a journey of a +hundred miles, and sent off again like this with but a taste of sleep +and little food, and Corporal Byng sittin' there at Fort Desire with a +pipe in his mouth and the fat on his back like a porpoise. It's famished +I am with hunger, and thirty miles yet to do; and she, standin' there +with a six months' welcome in her eye.... It's in the interest of +Justice if I halt at Galbraith's Place for half-an-hour, bedad! The +blackguard hid away there at Soldier's Knee will be arrested all the +sooner; for horse and man will be able the better to travel. I'm glad +it's not me that has to take him whoever he is. It's little I like +leadin' a fellow-creature towards the gallows, or puttin' a bullet into +him if he won't come.... Now what will we do, Larry, me boy?" this to +the broncho--"Go on without bite or sup, me achin' behind and empty +before, and you laggin' in the legs, or stay here for the slice of an +hour and get some heart into us? Stay here is it, me boy? then lave +go me fut with your teeth and push on to the Prairie Star there." So +saying, Sergeant Tom, whose language in soliloquy, or when excited, +was more marked by a brogue than at other times, rode away towards +Galbraith's Place. + +In the tavern at that moment, Pretty Pierrre was sitting on the +bar-counter, where temperance drinks were professedly sold, singing to +himself. His dress was singularly neat, if coarse, and his slouch hat +was worn with an air of jauntiness according well with his slight make +and almost girlish delicacy of complexion. He was puffing a cigarette, +in the breaks of the song. Peter Galbraith, tall, gaunt, and +sombre-looking, sat with his chair tilted back against the wall, rather +nervously pulling at the strips of bark of which the yielding chair-seat +was made. He may or may not have been listening to the song which had +run through several verses. Where it had come from, no one knew; no one +cared to know. The number of its verses were legion. Pierre had a +sweet voice, of a peculiarly penetrating quality; still it was low and +well-modulated, like the colour in his cheeks, which gave him his name. + +These were the words he was singing as Sergeant Tom rode towards the +tavern: + + "The hot blood leaps in his quivering breast + Voila! 'Tis his enemies near! + There's a chasm deep on the mountain crest + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + They follow him close and they follow him fast, + And he flies like a mountain deer; + Then a mad, wild leap and he's safe at last! + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + A cry and a leap and the danger's past + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!" + +At the close of the verse, Galbraith said: "I don't like that song. I--I +don't like it. You're not a father, Pierre." + +"No, I am not a father. I have some virtue of that. I have spared the +world something, Pete Galbraith." + +"You have the Devil's luck; your sins never get YOU into trouble." + +A curious fire flashed in the half-breed's eyes, and he said, quietly: +"Yes, I have great luck; but I have my little troubles at times--at +times." + +"They're different, though, from this trouble of Val's." There was +something like a fog in the old man's throat. + +"Yes, Val was quite foolish, you see. If he had killed a white +man--Pretty Pierre, for instance--well, there would have been a show of +arrest, but he could escape. It was an Injin. The Government cherish +the Injin much in these days. The redskin must be protected. It must be +shown that at Ottawa there is justice. That is droll--quite. Eh, bien! +Val will not try to escape. He waits too long-near twenty-four hours. +Then, it is as you see.... You have not told her?" He nodded towards the +door of the sittingroom. + +"Nothing. It'll come on Jen soon enough if he doesn't get away, and bad +enough if he does, and can't come back to us. She's fond of him--as fond +of him as a mother. Always was wiser than our Val or me, Jen was. More +sense than a judge, and proud but not too proud, Pierre--not too proud. +She knows the right thing to do, like the Scriptures; and she does it +too.... Where did you say he was hid?" + +"In the Hollow at Soldier's Knee. He stayed too long at Moose Horn. +Injins carried the news on to Fort Desire. When Val started south for +the Border other Injins followed, and when a halt was made at Soldier's +Knee they pushed across country over to Fort Desire. You see, Val's +horse give out. I rode with him so far. My horse too was broke up. What +was to be done? Well, I knew a ranchman not far from Soldier's Knee. I +told Val to sleep, and I would go on and get the ranchman to send him +a horse, while I come on to you. Then he could push on to the Border. I +saw the ranchman, and he swore to send a horse to Val to-night. He will +keep his word. He knows Val. That was at noon to-day, and I am here, you +see, and you know all. The danger? Ah, my friend,--the Police Barracks +at Archangel's Rise! If word is sent down there from Fort Desire before +Val passes, they will have out a big patrol, and his chances,--well, you +know them, the Riders of the Plains. But Val, I think will have luck, +and get into Montana before they can stop him. I hope; yes." + +"If I could do anything, Pierre! Can't we--" + +The half-breed interrupted: "No, we can't do anything, Galbraith. I have +done all. The ranchman knows me. He will keep his word, by the Great +Heaven!" It would seem as if Pierre had reasons for relying on the +ranchman other than ordinary prairie courtesy to law-breakers. + +"Pierre, tell me the whole story over, slow and plain. It don't seem +nateral to think of it; but if you go over it again, perhaps I can +get the thing more reas'nable in my mind. No, it ain't nateral to me, +Pierre--our Val running away." The old man leaned forward and put his +elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. + +"Eh, well, it was an Injin. So much. It was in self-defence--a little, +but of course to prove that. There is the difficulty. You see, they were +all drinking, and the Injin--he was a chief---proposed--he proposed that +Val should sell him his sister, Jen Galbraith, to be the chief's squaw. +He would give him a cayuse. Val's blood came up quick--quite quick. You +know Val. He said between his teeth: 'Look out, Snow Devil, you Injin +dog, or I'll have your heart. Do you think a white girl is like a +redskin woman, to be sold as you sell your wives and daughters to the +squaw-men and white loafers, you reptile?' Then the Injin said an ugly +word about Val's sister, and Val shot him dead like lightning.... Yes, +that is good to swear, Galbraith. You are not the only one that curses +the law in this world. It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law." + +The old man rose and walked up and down the room in a shuffling kind of +way. His best days were done, the spring of his life was gone, and the +step was that of a man who had little more of activity and force with +which to turn the halting wheels of life. His face was not altogether +good, yet it was not evil. There was a sinister droop to the eyelids, a +suggestion of cruelty about the mouth; but there was more of good-nature +and passive strength than either in the general expression. One could +see that some genial influence had dominated what was inherently cruel +and sinister in him. Still the sinister predisposition was there. + +"He can't never come here, Pierre, can he"? he asked, despairingly. + +"No, he can't come here, Galbraith. And look: if the Riders of the +Plains should stop here to-night, or to-morrow, you will be cool--cool, +eh?" + +"Yes, I will be quite cool, Pierre." Then he seemed to think of +something else and looked up half-curiously, half-inquiringly at the +half-breed. + +Pierre saw this. He whistled quietly to himself for a little, and then +called the old man over to where he sat. Leaning slightly forward he +made his reply to the look that had been bent upon him. He touched +Galbraith's breast lightly with his delicate fingers, and said: "I have +not much love for the world, Pete Galbraith, and not much love for +men and women altogether; they are fools--nearly all. Some men--you +know--treat me well. They drink with me--much. They would make life a +hell for me if I was poor--shoot me, perhaps, quick!--if--if I didn't +shoot first. They would wipe me with their feet. They would spoil Pretty +Pierre." This he said with a grim kind of humour and scorn, refined in +its suppressed force. Fastidious as he was in appearance, Pierre was not +vain. He had been created with a sense of refinement that reduced the +grossness of his life; but he did not trade on it; he simply accepted it +and lived it naturally after his kind. He was not good at heart, and he +never pretended to be so. He continued: "No, I have not much love; but +Val, well, I think of him some. His tongue is straight; he makes no +lies. His heart is fire; his arms are strong; he has no fear. He does +not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him. He does not think +of me like the rest. So much the more when his trouble comes I help him. +I help him to the death if he needs me. To make him my friend--that is +good. Eh? Perhaps. You see, Galbraith?" + +The old man nodded thoughtfully, and after a little pause said: "I +have killed Injins myself;" and he made a motion of his head backward, +suggestive of the past. + +With a shrug of his shoulders the other replied "Yes, so have +I--sometimes. But the government was different then, and there were +no Riders of the Plains." His white teeth showed menacingly under his +slight moustache. Then there was another pause. Pierre was watching the +other. + +"What's that you're doing, Galbraith?" + +"Rubbin' laudanum on my gums for this toothache. Have to use it for +nuralgy, too." + +Galbraith put the little vial back in his waistcoat pocket, and +presently said: "What will you have to drink, Pretty Pierre?" That was +his way of showing gratitude. + +"I am reform. I will take coffee, if Jen Galbraith will make some. Too +much broke glass inside is not good. Yes." + +Galbraith went into the sitting-room to ask Jen to make the coffee. +Pierre, still sitting on the bar-counter, sang to himself a verse of a +rough-and-ready, satirical prairie ballad: + + "The Riders of the Plains, my boys, are twenty thousand strong + Oh, Lordy, don't they make the prairies howl! + 'Tis their lot to smile on virtue and to collar what is wrong, + And to intercept the happy flowin' bowl. + + They've a notion, that in glory, when we wicked ones have chains + They will all be major-generals--and that! + They're a lovely band of pilgrims are the Riders of the Plains + Will some sinner please to pass around the hat?" + +As he reached the last two lines of the verse the door opened and +Sergeant Tom entered. Pretty Pierre did not stop singing. His eyes +simply grew a little brighter, his cheek flushed ever so slightly, and +there was an increase of vigour in the closing notes. + +Sergeant Tom smiled a little grimly, then he nodded and said: "Been at +it ever since, Pretty Pierre? You were singing the same song on the same +spot when I passed here six months ago." + +"Eh, Sergeant Tom, it is you? What brings you so far from your straw-bed +at Fort Desire?" From underneath his hat-brim Pierre scanned the face of +the trooper closely. + +"Business. Not to smile on virtue, but to collar what is wrong. I guess +you ought to be ready by this time to go into quarters, Pierre. You've +had a long innings." + +"Not yet, Sergeant Tom, though I love the Irish, and your company would +make me happy. But I am so innocent, and the world--it cannot spare me +yet. But I think you come to smile on virtue, all the same, Sergeant +Tom. She is beautiful is Jen Galbraith. Ah, that makes your eye +bright--so! You Riders of the Plains, you do two things at one time. You +make this hour someone happy, and that hour someone unhappy. In one +hand the soft glove of kindness, in the other, voila! the cold glove of +steel. We cannot all be great like that, Sergeant Tom." + +"Not great, but clever. Voila, the Pretty Pierre! In one hand he holds +the soft paper, the pictures that deceive--kings, queens, and knaves; +in the other, pictures in gold and silver--money won from the pockets of +fools. And so, as you say, 'bien,' and we each have our way, bedad!" + +Sergeant Tom noticed that the half-breed's eyes nearly closed, as if to +hide the malevolence that was in them. He would not have been surprised +to see a pistol drawn. But he was quite fearless, and if it was not his +duty to provoke a difficulty, his fighting nature would not shrink from +giving as good as he got. Besides, so far as that nature permitted, he +hated Pretty Pierre. He knew the ruin that this gambler had caused here +and there in the West, and he was glad that Fort Desire, at any rate, +knew him less than it did formerly. + +Just then Peter Galbraith entered with the coffee, followed by Jen. +When the old man saw his visitor he stood still with sudden fear; but +catching a warning look from the eye of the half-breed, he made an +effort to be steady, and said: "Well, Jen, if it isn't Sergeant Tom! +And what brings you down here, Sergeant Tom? After some scalawag that's +broke the law?" + +Sergeant Tom had not noticed the blanched anxiety in the father's +face; for his eyes were seeking those of the daughter. He answered the +question as he advanced towards Jen: "Yes and no, Galbraith; I'm only +takin' orders to those who will be after some scalawag by daylight in +the mornin', or before. The hand of a traveller to you, Miss Jen." + +Her eyes replied to his in one language; her lips spoke another. "And +who is the law-breaker, Sergeant Tom"? she said, as she took his hand. + +Galbraith's eyes strained towards the soldier till the reply came: "And +I don't know that; not wan o' me. I'd ridden in to Fort Desire from +another duty, a matter of a hundred miles, whin the major says to me, +'There's murder been done at Moose Horn. Take these orders down to +Archangel's Rise, and deliver them and be back here within forty-eight +hours.' And here I am on the way, and, if I wasn't ready to drop for +want of a bite and sup, I'd be movin' away from here to the south at +this moment." + +Galbraith was trembling with excitement. Pierre warned him by a look, +and almost immediately afterward gave him a reassuring nod, as if an +important and favourable idea had occurred to him. + +Jen, looking at the Sergeant's handsome face, said: "It's six months to +a day since you were here, Sergeant Tom." + +"What an almanac you are, Miss!" + +Pretty Pierre sipping his coffee here interrupted musingly: "But her +almanac is not always so reliable. So I think. When was I here last, +Ma'm'selle?" + +With something like menace in her eyes Jen replied: "You were here six +months ago to-day, when you won thirty dollars from our Val; and then +again, just thirty days after that." + +"Ah, so! You remember with a difference." + +A moment after, Sergeant Tom being occupied in talking to Jen, Pierre +whispered to Peter Galbraith: "His horse--then the laudanum!" + +Galbraith was puzzled for a moment, but soon nodded significantly, and +the sinister droop to his eyes became more marked. He turned to the +Sergeant and said, "Your horse must be fed as well as yourself, Sergeant +Tom. I'll look after the beast, and Jen will take care of you. There's +some fresh coffee, isn't there, Jen?" + +Jen nodded an affirmative. Galbraith knew that the Sergeant would trust +no one to feed his horse but himself, and the offer therefore was made +with design. + +Sergeant Tom replied instantly: "No, I'll do it if someone will show me +the grass pile." + +Pierre slipped quietly from the counter, and said, "I know the way, +Galbraith. I will show." + +Jen turned to the sitting-room, and Sergeant Tom moved to the tavern +door, followed by Pierre, who, as he passed Galbraith, touched the old +man's waistcoat pocket, and said: "Thirty drops in the coffee." + +Then he passed out, singing softly: + + "And he sleepeth so well, and he sleepeth so long + The fight it was hard, my dear; + And his foes were many and swift and strong + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!" + +There was danger ahead for Sergeant Thomas Gellatly. Galbraith followed +his daughter to the sitting-room. She went to the kitchen and brought +bread, and cold venison, and prairie fowl, and stewed dried apples--the +stay and luxury of all rural Canadian homes. The coffee-pot was then +placed on the table. Then the old man said: "Better give him some of +that old cheese, Jen, hadn't you? It's in the cellar." He wanted to be +rid of her for a few moments. "S'pose I had," and Jen vanished. + +Now was Galbraith's chance. He took the vial of laudanum from his +pocket, and opened the coffee-pot. It was half full. This would not +suit. Someone else--Jen--might drink the coffee also! Yet it had to be +done. Sergeant Tom should not go on. Inspector Jules and his Riders of +the Plains must not be put upon the track of Val. Twelve hours would +make all the difference. Pour out a cup of coffee?--Yes, of course, that +would do. It was poured out quickly, and then thirty drops of laudanum +were carefully counted into it. Hark, they are coming back!--Just in +time. Sergeant Tom and Pierre enter from outside, and then Jen from the +kitchen. Galbraith is pouring another cup of coffee as they enter, and +he says: "Just to be sociable I'm goin' to have a cup of coffee with +you, Sergeant Tom. How you Riders of the Plains get waited on hand and +foot!" Did some warning flash through Sergeant Tom's mind or body, some +mental shock or some physical chill? For he distinctly shivered, though +he was not cold. He seemed suddenly oppressed with a sense of danger. +But his eyes fell on Jen, and the hesitation, for which he did not then +try to account, passed. Jen, clear-faced and true, invited him to sit +and eat, and he, starting half-abstractedly, responded to her "Draw +nigh, Sergeant Tom," and sat down. Commonplace as the words were, they +thrilled him, for he thought of a table of his own in a home of his own, +and the same words spoken everyday, but without the "Sergeant,"--simply +"Tom." + +He ate heartily and sipped his coffee slowly, talking meanwhile to Jen +and Galbraith. Pretty Pierre watched them all. Presently the gambler +said: "Let us go and have our game of euchre, Galbraith. Ma'm'selle can +well take care of Sergeant Tom." + +Galbraith drank the rest of his coffee, rose, and passed with +Pierre into the bar-room. Then the halfbreed said to him, "You were +careful--thirty drops?" + +"Yes, thirty drops." The latent cruelty of the old man's nature was +awake. + +"That is right. It is sleep; not death. He will sleep so sound for half +a day, perhaps eighteen hours, and then!--Val will have a long start." + +In the sitting-room Sergeant Tom was saying: "Where is your brother, +Miss Galbraith?" He had no idea that the order in his pocket was for the +arrest of that brother. He merely asked the question to start the talk. + +He and Jen had met but five or six times; but the impression left on +the minds of both was pleasant--ineradicable. Yet, as Sergeant Tom often +asked himself during the past six months, why should he think of +her? The life he led was one of severe endurance, and harshness, and +austerity. Into it there could not possibly enter anything of home. He +was but a noncommissioned officer of the Mounted Police, and beyond +that he had nothing. Ireland had not been kind to him. He had left her +inhospitable shores, and after years of absence he had but a couple of +hundred dollars laid up--enough to purchase his discharge and something +over, but nothing with which to start a home. Ranching required capital. +No, it couldn't be thought of; and yet he had thought of it, try as he +would not to do so. And she? There was that about this man who had +lived life on two continents, in whose blood ran the warm and chivalrous +Celtic fire, which appealed to her. His physical manhood was noble, if +rugged; his disposition genial and free, if schooled, but not entirely, +to that reserve which his occupation made necessary--a reserve he would +have been more careful to maintain, in speaking of his mission a short +time back in the bar-room, if Jen had not been there. She called out the +frankest part of him; she opened the doors of his nature; she attracted +confidence as the sun does the sunflower. + +To his question she replied: "I do not know where our Val is. He went on +a hunting expedition up north. We never can tell about him, when he will +turn up or where he will be to-morrow. He may walk in any minute. We +never feel uneasy. He always has such luck, and comes out safe and sound +wherever he is. Father says Val's a hustler, and that nothing can keep +in the road with him. But he's a little wild--a little. Still, we don't +hector him, Sergeant Tom; hectoring never does any good, does it?" + +"No, hectoring never does any good. And as for the wildness, if the +heart of him's right, why that's easy out of him whin he's older. It's a +fine lad I thought him, the time I saw him here. It's his freedom I wish +I had--me that has to travel all day and part of the night, and thin +part of the day and all night back again, and thin a day of sleep and +the same thing over again. And that's the life of me, sayin' nothin' of +the frost and the blizzards, and no home to go to, and no one to have a +meal for me like this whin I turn up." And the sergeant wound up with, +"Whooroo! there's a speech for you, Miss!" and laughed good-humouredly. +For all that, there was in his eyes an appeal that went straight to +Jen's heart. + +But, woman-like, she would not open the way for him to say anything more +definite just yet. She turned the subject. And yet again, woman-like, +she knew it would lead to the same conclusion: + +"You must go to-night?" + +"Yes, I must." + +"Nothing--nothing would keep you?" + +"Nothing. Duty is duty, much as I'd like to stay, and you givin' me the +bid. But my orders were strict. You don't know what discipline means, +perhaps. It means obeyin' commands if you die for it; and my commands +were to take a letter to Inspector Jules at Archangel's Rise to-night. +It's a matter of murder or the like, and duty must be done, and me that +sleepy, not forgettin' your presence, as ever a man was and looked the +world in the face." + +He drank the rest of the coffee and mechanically set the cup down, +his eyes closing heavily as he did so. He made an effort, however, and +pulled himself together. His eyes opened, and he looked at Jen steadily +for a moment. Then he leaned over and touched her hand gently with his +fingers,--Pierre's glove of kindness,--and said: "It's in my heart to +want to stay; but a sight of you I'll have on my way back. But I must +go on now, though I'm that drowsy I could lie down here and never stir +again." + +Jen said to herself: "Poor fellow, poor fellow, how tired he is! I +wish"--but she withdrew her hand. He put his hand to his head, and said, +absently: "It's my duty and it's orders, and... what was I sayin'? The +disgrace of me if, if... bedad! the sleep's on me; I'm awake, but I +can't open my eyes.... If the orders of me--and a good meal... and the +disgrace... to do me duty-looked the world in the face--" + +During this speech he staggered to his feet, Jen watching him anxiously +the while. No suspicion of the cause of his trouble crossed her mind. +She set it down to extreme natural exhaustion. Presently feeling the +sofa behind him, he dropped upon it, and, falling back, began to breathe +heavily. But even in this physical stupefaction he made an effort to +reassert himself, to draw himself back from the coming unconsciousness. +His eyes opened, but they were blind with sleep; and as if in a dream, +he said: "My duty... disgrace... a long sleep... Jen, dearest"--how she +started then!--"it must be done... my Jen!" and he said no more. + +But these few words had opened up a world for her--a new-created world +on the instant. Her life was illuminated. She felt the fulness of a +great thought suffusing her face. A beautiful dream was upon her. It had +come to her out of his sleep. But with its splendid advent there +came the other thing that always is born with woman's love--an almost +pathetic care of the being loved. In the deep love of women the maternal +and protective sense works in the parallels of mutual regard. In her +life now it sprang full-statured in action; love of him, care of him; +his honour her honour; his life her life. He must not sleep like this if +it was his duty to go on. Yet how utterly worn he must be! She had seen +men brought in from fighting prairie fires for three days without sleep; +had watched them drop on their beds, and lie like logs for thirty-six +hours. This sleep of her lover was, therefore, not so strange to her but +it was perilous to the performance of his duty. + +"Poor Sergeant Tom," she said. "Poor Tom," she added; and then, with a +great flutter at the heart at last, "My Tom!" Yes, she said that; +but she said it to the beacon, to the Prairie Star, burning outside +brighter, it seemed to her, than it had ever done be fore. Then she sat +down and watched him for many minutes, thinking at the end of each that +she would wake him. But the minutes passed, his breathing grew heavier, +and he did not stir. The Prairie Star made quivering and luminous +curtains of red for the windows, and Jen's mind was quivering in vivid +waves of feeling just the same. It seemed to her as if she was looking +at life now through an atmosphere charged with some rare, refining +essence, and that in it she stood exultingly. Perhaps she did not define +it so; but that which we define she felt. And happy are they who feel +it, and, feeling it, do not lose it in this world, and have the hope of +carrying it into the next. + +After a time she rose, went over to him and touched his shoulder. It +seemed strange to her to do this thing. She drew back timidly from the +pleasant shock of a new experience. Then she remembered that he ought +to be on his way, and she shook him gently, then, with all her strength, +and called to him quietly all the time, as if her low tones ought +to wake him, if nothing else could. But he lay in a deep and stolid +slumber. It was no use. She went to her seat and sat down to think. As +she did so, her father entered the room. + +"Did you call, Jen"? he said; and turned to the sofa. "I was calling to +Sergeant Tom. He's asleep there; dead-gone, father. I can't wake him." + +"Why should you wake him? He is tired." + +The sinister lines in Galbraith's face had deepened greatly in the +last hour. He went over and looked closely at the Sergeant, followed +languidly by Pierre, who casually touched the pulse of the sleeping man, +and said as casually: + +"Eh, he sleep well; his pulse is like a baby; he was tired, much. He has +had no sleep for one, two, three nights, perhaps; and a good meal, it +makes him comfortable, and so you see!" + +Then he touched lightly the triple chevron on Sergeant Tom's arm, and +said: + +"Eh, a man does much work for that. And then, to be moral and the friend +of the law all the time!" Pierre here shrugged his shoulders. "It is +easier to be wicked and free, and spend when one is rich, and starve +when one is poor, than to be a sergeant and wear the triple chevron. But +the sleep will do him good just the same, Jen Galbraith." + +"He said that he must go to Archangel's Rise tonight, and be back at +Fort Desire to-morrow night." + +"Well, that's nothing to us, Jen," replied Galbraith, roughly. "He's got +his own business to look after. He and his tribe are none too good to +us and our tribe. He'd have your old father up to-morrow for selling +a tired traveller a glass of brandy; and worse than that, ay, a great +sight worse than that, mind you, Jen." + +Jen did not notice, or, at least, did not heed, the excited emphasis on +the last words. She thought that perhaps her father had been set against +the Sergeant by Pierre. + +"There, that'll do, father," she said. "It's easy to bark at a dead +lion. Sergeant Tom's asleep, and you say things that you wouldn't say +if he was awake. He never did us any harm, and you know that's true, +father." + +Galbraith was about to reply with anger; but he changed his mind and +walked into the bar-room, followed by Pierre. + +In Jen's mind a scheme had been hurriedly and clearly formed; and with +her, to form it was to put it into execution. She went to Sergeant Tom, +opened his coat, felt in the inside pocket, and drew forth an official +envelope. It was addressed to Inspector Jules at Archangel's Rise. She +put it back and buttoned up the coat again. Then she said, with her +hands firmly clenching at her side,--"I'll do it." + +She went into the adjoining room and got a quilt, which she threw over +him, and a pillow, which she put under his head. Then she took his cap +and the cloak which he had thrown over a chair, as if to carry them +away. But another thought occurred to her, for she looked towards the +bar-room and put them down again. She glanced out of the window and saw +that her father and Pierre had gone to lessen the volume of gas which +was feeding the flame. This, she knew, meant that her father would go +to bed when he came back to the house; and this suited her purpose. She +waited till they had entered the bar-room again, and then she went to +them, and said: "I guess he's asleep for all night. Best leave him where +he is. I'm going. Good-night." + +When she got back to the sitting-room she said to herself: "How old +father's looking! He seems broken up to-day. He isn't what he used to +be." She turned once more to look at Sergeant Tom, then she went to her +room. + +A little later Peter Galbraith and Pretty Pierre went to the +sitting-room, and the old man drew from the Sergeant's pocket the +envelope which Jen had seen. Pierre took it from him. "No, Pete +Galbraith. Do not be a fool. Suppose you steal that paper. Sergeant Tom +will miss it. He will understand. He will guess about the drug, then you +will be in trouble. Val will be safe now. This Rider of the Plains will +sleep long enough for that. There, I put the paper back. He sleeps like +a log. No one can suspect the drug, and it is all as we like. No, we +will not steal; that is wrong--quite wrong"--here Pretty Pierre showed +his teeth. "We will go to bed. Come!" + +Jen heard them ascend the stairs. She waited a half-hour, then she +stole into Val's bedroom, and when she emerged again she had a bundle +of clothes across her arm. A few minutes more and she walked into the +sitting-room dressed in Val's clothes, and with her hair closely wound +on the top of her head. + +The house was still. The Prairie Star made the room light enough for her +purpose. She took Sergeant Tom's cap and cloak and put them on. She drew +the envelope from his pocket and put it in her bosom--she showed the +woman there, though for the rest of this night she was to be a Rider of +the Plains, She of the Triple Chevron. + +She went towards the door, hesitated, drew back, then paused, stooped +down quickly, tenderly touched the soldier's brow with her lips, and +said: "I'll do it for you. You shall not be disgraced--Tom." + + +III + +This was at half-past ten o'clock. At two o'clock a jaded and blown +horse stood before the door of the barracks at Archangel's Rise. Its +rider, muffled to the chin, was knocking, and at the same time pulling +his cap down closely over his head. "Thank God the night is dusky," he +said. We have heard that voice before. The hat and cloak are those of +Sergeant Tom, but the voice is that of Jen Galbraith. There is some +danger in this act; danger for her lover, contempt for herself if she +is discovered. Presently the door opens and a corporal appears. "Who's +there? Oh," he added, as he caught sight of the familiar uniform; "where +from?" + +"From Fort Desire. Important orders to Inspector Jules. Require fresh +horse to return with; must leave mine here. Have to go back at once." + +"I say," said the corporal, taking the papers--"what's your name?" + +"Gellatly--Sergeant Gellatly." + +"Say, Sergeant Gellatly, this isn't accordin' to Hoyle--come in the +night and go in the night and not stay long enough to have a swear at +the Gover'ment. Why, you're comin' in, aren't you? You're comin' across +the door-mat for a cup of coffee and a warm while the horse is gettin' +ready, aren't you, Sergeant--Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly? I've +heard of you, but--yes; I will hurry. Here, Waugh, this to Inspector +Jules! If you won't step in and won't drink and will be unsociable, +sergeant, why, come on and you shall have a horse as good as the one +you've brought. I'm Corporal Galna." + +Jen led the exhausted horse to the stables. Fortunately there was no +lantern used, and therefore little chance for the garrulous corporal to +study the face of his companion, even if he wished to do so. The +risk was considerable; but Jen Galbraith was fired by that spirit +of self-sacrifice which has held a world rocking to destruction on a +balancing point of safety. + +The horse was quickly saddled, Jen meanwhile remaining silent. While she +was mounting, Corporal Galna drew and struck a match to light his +pipe. He held it up for a moment as though to see the face of Sergeant +Gellatly. Jen had just given a good-night, and the horse the word and a +touch of the spur at the instant. Her face, that is, such of it as could +be seen above the cloak and under the cap, was full in the light. +Enough was seen, however, to call forth, in addition to Corporal Galna's +good-night, the exclamation, "Well, I'm blowed!" + +As Jen vanished into the night a moment after, she heard a voice +calling--not Corporal Galna's--"Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly!" +She supposed it was Inspector Jules, but she would not turn back now. +Her work was done. + +A half-hour later Corporal Galna confided to Private Waugh that Sergeant +Gellatly was too damned pretty for the force--wondered if they called +him Beauty at Fort Desire--couldn't call him Pretty Gellatly, for there +was Pretty Pierre who had right of possession to that title--would like +to ask him what soap he used for his complexion--'twasn't this yellow +bar-soap of the barracks, which wouldn't lather, he'd bet his ultimate +dollar. + +Waugh, who had sometime seen Sergeant Gellatly, entered into a +disputation on the point. He said that "Sergeant Tom was good-looking, +a regular Irish thoroughbred; but he wasn't pretty, not much!--guessed +Corporal Galna had nightmare, and finally, as the interest in the theme +increased in fervour, announced that Sergeant Tom could loosen the teeth +of, and knock the spots off, any man among the Riders, from Archangel's +Rise to the Cypress Hills. Pretty--not much--thoroughbred all over!" + +And Corporal Galna replied, sarcastically,--"That he might be able for +spot dispersion of such a kind, but he had two as pretty spots on his +cheek, and as white and touch-no-tobacco teeth as any female ever had." +Private Waugh declared then that Corporal Galna would be saying Sergeant +Gellatly wasn't a man at all, and wore earrings, and put his hair +into papers; and when he could find no further enlargement of sarcasm, +consigned the Corporal to a fiery place of future torment reserved for +lunatics. + +At this critical juncture Waugh was ordered to proceed to Inspector +Jules. A few minutes after, he was riding away toward Soldier's Knee, +with the Inspector and another private, to capture Val Galbraith, the +slayer of Snow Devil, while four other troopers also started off in +different directions. + + +IV + +It was six o'clock when Jen drew rein in the yard at Galbraith's Place. +Through the dank humours of the darkest time of the night she had +watched the first grey streaks of dawn appear. She had caught her breath +with fear at the thought that, by some accident, she might not get back +before seven o'clock, the hour when her father rose. She trembled also +at the supposition of Sergeant Tom awaking and finding his papers gone. +But her fearfulness and excitement was not that of weakness, rather that +of a finely nervous nature, having strong elements of imagination, and, +therefore, great capacities for suffering as for joy; but yet elastic, +vigorous, and possessing unusual powers of endurance. Such natures +rebuild as fast as they are exhausted. In the devitalising time +preceding the dawn she had felt a sudden faintness come over her for a +moment; but her will surmounted it, and, when she saw the ruddy streaks +of pink and red glorify the horizon, she felt a sudden exaltation of +physical strength. She was a child of the light, she loved the warm +flame of the sun, the white gleam of the moon. Holding in her horse to +give him a five minutes' rest, she rose in her saddle and looked round. +She was alone in her circle of vision, she and her horse. The long +hillocks of prairie rolled away like the sea to the flushed morning, +and the far-off Cypress Hills broke the monotonous skyline of the south. +Already the air was dissipated of its choking weight, and the vast +solitude was filling with that sense of freedom which night seems to +shut in as with four walls, and day to widen gloriously. Tears sprang to +her eyes from a sudden rush of feeling; but her lips were smiling. +The world was so different from what it was yesterday. Something had +quickened her into a glowing life. + +Then she urged the horse on, and never halted till she reached home. She +unsaddled the animal that had shared with her the hardship of the +long, hard ride, hobbled it, and entered the house quickly. No one was +stirring. Sergeant Tom was still asleep. This she saw, as she hurriedly +passed in and laid the cap and cloak where she had found them. Then, +once again, she touched the brow of the sleeper with her lips, and went +to her room to divest herself of Val's clothes. The thing had been done +without anyone knowing of her absence. But she was frightened as she +looked into the mirror. She was haggard, and her eyes were bloodshot. +Eight hours or nearly in the saddle, at ten miles an hour, had told +on her severely; as well it might. Even a prairie-born woman, however, +understands the art and use of grooming better than a man. Warm water +quickly heated at the gas, with a little acetic acid in it, used +generally for her scouring,--and then cold water with oatmeal flour, +took away in part the dulness and the lines in the flesh. But the eyes! +Jen remembered the vial of tincture of myrrh left by a young Englishman +a year ago, and used by him for refreshing his eyes after a drinking +bout. She got it, tried the tincture, and saw and felt an immediate +benefit. Then she made a cup of strong green tea, and in ten minutes was +like herself again. Now for the horse. She went quickly out where she +could not be seen from the windows of the house, and gave him a rubbing +down till he was quite dry. Then she gave him a little water and some +feed. The horse was really the touchstone of discovery. But Jen trusted +in her star. If the worst came she would tell the tale. It must be told +anyway to Sergeant Tom--but that was different now. Even if the thing +became known it would only be a thing to be teased about by her father +and others, and she could stop that. Poor girl, as though that was the +worst that was to come from her act! + +Sergeant Tom slept deeply and soundly. He had not stirred. His breathing +was unnaturally heavy, Jen thought, but, no suspicion of foul play +came to her mind yet. Why should it? She gave herself up to a sweet and +simple sense of pride in the deed she had done for him, disturbed but +slightly by the chances of discovery, and the remembrance of the match +that showed her face at Archangel's Rise. Her hands touched the flaxen +hair of the soldier, and her eyes grew luminous. One night had stirred +all her soul to its depths. A new woman had been born in her. Val was +dear to her--her brother Val; but she realised now that another had come +who would occupy a place that neither father, nor brother, nor any other +could fill. Yet it was a most weird set of tragic circumstances. This +man before her had been set to do a task which might deprive her brother +of his life, certainly of his freedom; that would disgrace him; her +father had done a great wrong too, had put in danger the life of the man +she loved, to save his son; she herself in doing this deed for her lover +had placed her brother in jeopardy, had crossed swords with her father's +purposes, had done the one thing that stood between that father's son +and safety; Pretty Pierre, whom she hated and despised, and thought +to be the enemy of her brother and of her home, had proved himself a +friend; and behind it all was the brother's crime committed to avenge an +insult to her name. + +But such is life. Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners, +and the executioners of those they love. + + +V + +An hour passed, and then Galbraith and Pierre appeared. Jen noticed +that her father went over to Sergeant Tom and rather anxiously felt his +pulse. Once in the night the old man had come down and done the same +thing. Pierre said something in an undertone. Did they think he was ill? +That was Jon's thought. She watched them closely; but the half-breed +knew that she was watching, and the two said nothing more to each other. +But Pierre said, in a careless way: "It is good he have that sleep. He +was played out, quite." + +Jon replied, a secret triumph at her heart: "But what about his orders, +the papers he was to carry to Archangel's Rise? What about his being +back at Fort Desire in the time given him?" + +"It is not much matter about the papers. The poor devil that Inspector +Jules would arrest--well, he will get off, perhaps, but that does no +one harm. Eh, Galbraith? The law is sometimes unkind. And as for obeying +orders, why, the prairie is wide, it is a hard ride, horses go wrong;--a +little tale of trouble to Inspector Jules, another at Fort Desire, and +who is to know except Pete Galbraith, Jen Galbraith, and Pierre? Poor +Sergeant Tom. It was good he sleep so." + +Jen felt there was irony behind the smooth words of the gambler. He had +a habit of saying things, as they express it in that country, between +his teeth. That signifies what is animal-like and cruel. Galbraith stood +silent during Pierre's remarks, but, when he had finished, said: + +"Yes, it's all right if he doesn't sleep too long; but there's the +trouble--too long!" + +Pierre frowned a warning, and then added, with unconcern: "I remember +when you sleep thirty hours, Galbraith--after the prairie fire, three +years ago, eh!" + +"Well, that's so; that's so as you say it. We'll let him sleep till +noon, or longer--or longer, won't we, Pierre?" + +"Yes, till noon is good, or longer." + +"But he shall not sleep longer if I can wake him," said Jen. "You do not +think of the trouble all this sleeping may make for him." + +"But then--but then, there is the trouble he will make for others, if he +wakes. Think. A poor devil trying to escape the law!" + +"But we have nothing to do with that, and justice is justice, Pierre." + +"Eh, well, perhaps, perhaps!" Galbraith was silent. + +Jen felt that so far as Sergeant Tom's papers were concerned he was +safe; but she felt also that by noon he ought to be on his way back to +Fort Desire--after she had told him what she had done. She was anxious +for his honour. That her lover shall appear well before the world, is a +thing deep in the heart of every woman. It is a pride for which she will +deny herself, even of the presence of that lover. + +"Till noon," Jen said, "and then he must go." + + +VI + +Jen watched to see if her father or Pierre would notice that the horse +was changed, had been travelled during the night, or that it was a +different one altogether. As the morning wore away she saw that they +did not notice the fact. This ignorance was perhaps owing largely to the +appearance of several ranchmen from near the American border. They spent +their time in the bar-room, and when they left it was nearly noon. +Still Sergeant Tom slept. Jen now went to him and tried to wake him. +She lifted him to a sitting position, but his head fell on her shoulder. +Disheartened, she laid him down again. But now at last an undefined +suspicion began to take possession of her. It made her uneasy; it filled +her with a vague sense of alarm. Was this sleep natural? She remembered +that, when her father and others had slept so long after the prairie +fire, she had waked them once to give them drink and a little food, and +they did not breathe so heavily as he was doing. Yet what could be done? +What was the matter? There was not a doctor nearer than a hundred miles. +She thought of bleeding,--the old-fashioned remedy still used on the +prairies--but she decided to wait a little. Somehow she felt that she +would receive no help from her father or Pierre. Had they anything to +do with this sleep? Was it connected with the papers? No, not that, +for they had not sought to take them, and had not made any remark about +their being gone. This showed their unconcern on that point. She +could not fathom the mystery, but the suspicion of something irregular +deepened. Her father could have no reason for injuring Sergeant Tom; but +Pretty Pierre--that was another matter. Yet she remembered too that her +father had appeared the more anxious of the two about the Sergeant's +sleep. She recalled that he said: "Yes, it's all right, if he doesn't +sleep too long." + +But Pierre could play a part, she knew, and could involve others +in trouble, and escape himself. He was a man with a reputation for +occasional wickednesses of a naked, decided type. She knew that he +was possessed of a devil, of a very reserved devil, but liable to bold +action on occasions. She knew that he valued the chances of life or +death no more than he valued the thousand and one other chances of small +importance, which occur in daily experience. It was his creed that one +doesn't go till the game is done and all the cards are played. He had a +stoic indifference to events. + +He might be capable of poisoning--poisoning! ah, that thought! of +poisoning Sergeant Tom for some cause. But her father? The two seemed to +act alike in the matter. Could her father approve of any harm happening +to Tom? She thought of the meal he had eaten, of the coffee he had +drunk. The coffee-was that the key? But she said to herself that she was +foolish, that her love had made her so. No, it could not be. + +But a fear grew upon her, strive as she would against it. She waited +silently and watched, and twice or thrice made ineffectual efforts +to rouse him. Her father came in once. He showed anxiety; that was +unmistakable, but was it the anxiety of guilt of any kind? She said +nothing. At five o'clock matters abruptly came to a climax. Jen was in +the kitchen, but, hearing footsteps in the sitting-room, she opened the +door quietly. Her father was bending over Sergeant Tom, and Pierre was +speaking: "No, no, Galbraith, it is all right. You are a fool. It could +not kill him." + +"Kill him--kill him," she repeated gaspingly to herself. + +"You see he was exhausted; he may sleep for hours yet. Yes, he is safe, +I think." + +"But Jen, she suspects something, she--" + +"Hush!" said Pretty Pierre. He saw her standing near. She had glided +forward and stood with flashing eyes turned, now upon the one, and now +upon the other. Finally they rested on Galbraith. + +"Tell me what you have done to him; what you and Pretty Pierre have +done to him. You have some secret. I will know." She leaned forward, +something of the tigress in the poise of her body. "I tell you, I +will know." Her voice was low, and vibrated with fierceness and +determination. Her eyes glowed, and her nostrils trembled with disdain +and indignation. As they drew back,--the old man sullenly, the gambler +with a slight gesture of impatience,--she came a step nearer to them +and waited, the cords of her shapely throat swelling with excitement. +A moment so, and then she said in a tone that suggested menace, +determination: + +"You have poisoned him. Tell me the truth. Do you hear, father--the +truth, or I will hate you. I will make you repent it till you die." + +"But--" Pierre began. + +She interrupted him. "Do not speak, Pretty Pierre. You are a devil. You +will lie. Father--!" She waited. "What difference does it make to you, +Jen?" "What difference--what difference to me? That you should be a +murderer?" + +"But that is not so, that is a dream of yours, Ma'm'selle," said Pierre. + +She turned to her father again. "Father, will you tell the truth to me? +I warn you it will be better for you both." + +The old man's brow was sullen, and his lips were twitching nervously. +"You care more for him than you do for your own flesh and blood, Jen. +There's nothing to get mad about like that. I'll tell you when he's +gone. ... Let's--let's wake him," he added, nervously. + +He stooped down and lifted the sleeping man to a sitting posture. Pierre +assisted him. + +Jen saw that the half-breed believed Sergeant Tom could be wakened, and +her fear diminished slightly, if her indignation did not. They lifted +the soldier to his feet. Pierre pressed the point of a pin deep into +his arm. Jen started forward, woman-like, to check the action, but drew +back, for she saw heroic measures might be necessary to bring him to +consciousness. But, nevertheless, her anger broke bounds, and she said: +"Cowards--cowards! What spite made you do this?" + +"Damnation, Jen," said the father, "you'll hector me till I make you +sorry. What's this Irish policeman to you? What's he beside your own +flesh and blood, I say again." + +"Why does my own flesh and blood do such wicked tricks to an Irish +soldier? Why does it give poison to an Irish soldier?" + +"Poison, Jen? You needn't speak so ghost-like. It was only a dose of +laudanum; not enough to kill him. Ask Pierre." + +Inwardly she believed him, and said a Thank-God to herself, but to the +half-breed she remarked: "Yes, ask Pierre--you are behind all this! +It is some evil scheme of yours. Why did you do it? Tell the truth for +once." Her eyes swam angrily with Pierre's. + +Pierre was complacent; he admired her wild attacks. He smiled, and +replied: "My dear, it was a whim of mine; but you need not tell him, all +the same, when he wakes. You see this is your father's house, though the +whim is mine. But look: he is waking-the pin is good. Some cold water, +quick!" + +The cold water was brought and dashed into the face of the soldier. He +showed signs of returning consciousness. The effect of the laudanum had +been intensified by the thoroughly exhausted condition of the body. + +But the man was perfectly healthy, and this helped to resist the danger +of a fatal result. + +Pierre kept up an intermittent speech. "Yes, it was a mere whim of mine. +Eh, he will think he has been an ass to sleep so long, and on duty, and +orders to carry to Archangel's Rise!" Here he showed his teeth again, +white and regular like a dog's. That was the impression they gave, his +lips were so red, and the contrast was so great. One almost expected +to find that the roof of his mouth was black, like that of a well-bred +hound; but there is no evidence available on the point. + +"There, that is good," he said. "Now set him down, Pete Galbraith. +Yes--so, so! Sergeant Tom, ah, you will wake well, soon. Now the eyes +a little wider. Good. Eh, Sergeant Tom, what is the matter? It is +breakfast time--quite." + +Sergeant Tom's eyes opened slowly and looked dazedly before him for a +minute. Then they fell on Pierre. At first there was no recognition, +then they became consciously clearer. "Pretty Pierre, you here in the +barracks!" he said. He put his hand to his head, then rubbed his eyes +roughly and looked up again. This time he saw Jen and her father. His +bewilderment increased. Then he added: "What is the matter? Have I been +asleep? What--!" He remembered. He staggered to his feet and felt his +pockets quickly and anxiously for his letter. It was gone. + +"The letter!" he said. "My orders! Who has robbed me? Faith, I remember. +I could not keep awake after I drank the coffee. My papers are gone, I +tell you, Galbraith," he said, fiercely. + +Then he turned to Jen: "You are not in this, Jen. Tell me." + +She was silent for a moment, then was about to answer, when he turned +to the gambler and said: "You are at the bottom of this. Give me my +papers." But Pierre and Galbraith were as dumbfounded as the Sergeant +himself to know that the letter was gone. They were stunned beyond +speech when Jen said, flushing: "No, Sergeant Tom, I am the thief. When +I could not wake you, I took the letter from your pocket and carried it +to Inspector Jules last night,--or, rather, Sergeant Gellatly carried +them. I wore his cap and cloak and passed for him." + +"You carried that letter to Inspector Jules last night, Jen"? said the +soldier, all his heart in his voice. + +Jen saw her father blanch, his mouth open blankly, and his lips refuse +to utter the words on them. For the first time she comprehended some +danger to him, to herself--to Val! + +"Father, father," she said,--"what is it?" + +Pierre shrugged his shoulders and rejoined: "Eh, the devil! Such +mistakes of women. They are fools--all." The old man put out a shaking +hand and caught his daughter's arm. His look was of mingled wonder and +despair, as he said, in a gasping whisper, "You carried that letter to +Archangel's Rise?" + +"Yes," she answered, faltering now; "Sergeant Tom had said how important +it was, you remember. That it was his duty to take it to Inspector +Jules, and be back within forty-eight hours. He fell asleep. I could not +wake him. I thought, what if he were my brother--our Val. So, when you +and Pretty Pierre went to bed, I put on Val's clothes, took Sergeant +Tom's cloak and hat, carried the orders to Jules, and was back here by +six o'clock this morning." + +Sergeant Tom's eyes told his tale of gratitude. He made a step towards +her; but the old man, with a strange ferocity, motioned him back, +saying, + +"Go away from this house. Go quick. Go now, I tell you, or by +God,--I'll--" + +Here Pretty Pierre touched his arm. + +Sergeant Tom drew back, not because he feared but as if to get a +mental perspective of the situation. Galbraith again said to his +daughter,--"Jen, you carried them papers? You! for him--for the Law!" +Then he turned from her, and with hand clenched and teeth set spoke to +the soldier: "Haven't you heard enough? Curse you, why don't you go?" + +Sergeant Tom replied coolly: "Not so fast, Galbraith. There's some +mystery in all this. There's my sleep to be accounted for yet. You had +some reason, some"--he caught the eyes of Pierre. He paused. A light +began to dawn on his mind, and he looked at Jen, who stood rigidly pale, +her eyes fixed fearfully, anxiously, upon him. She too was beginning to +frame in her mind a possible horror; the thing that had so changed her +father, the cause for drugging the soldier. There was a silence in which +Pierre first, and then all, detected the sound of horses' hoofs. Pierre +went to the door and looked out. He turned round again, and shrugged +his shoulders with an expression of helplessness. But as he saw Jen was +about to speak, and Sergeant Tom to move towards the door, he put up his +hand to stay them both, and said: "A little--wait!" + +Then all were silent. Jen's fingers nervously clasped and unclasped, and +her eyes were strained towards the door. Sergeant Tom stood watching +her pityingly; the old man's head was bowed. The sound of galloping grew +plainer. It stopped. An instant and then three horsemen appeared before +the door. One was Inspector Jules, one was Private Waugh, and the other +between them was--let Jen tell who he was. With an agonised cry she +rushed from the house and threw herself against the saddle, and with her +arms about the prisoner, cried: "Oh, Val, Val, it was you! It was you +they were after. It was you that--oh no, no, no! My poor Val, and I +can't tell you--I can't tell you!" + +Great as was her grief and self-reproach, she felt it would be cruel +to tell him the part she had taken in placing him in this position. She +hated herself, but why deepen his misery? His face was pale, but it had +its old, open, fearless look, which dissipation had not greatly +marred. His eyelids quivered, but he smiled, and touching her with his +steel-bound hands, gently said: + +"Never mind, Jen. It isn't so bad. You see it was this way: Snow Devil +said something about someone that belonged to me, that cares more about +me than I deserve. Well, he died sudden, and I was there at the time. +That's all. I was trying with the help of Pretty Pierre to get out of +the country"--and he waved his hand towards the half-breed. + +"With Pretty Pierre--Pierre"? she said. + +"Yes, he isn't all gambler. But they were too quick for me, and here I +am. Jules is a hustler on the march. But he said he'd stop here and let +me see you and dad as we go up to Fort Desire, and--there, don't mind, +Sis--don't mind it so!" + +Her sobs had ceased, but she clung to him as if she could never let him +go. Her father stood near her, all the lines in his face deepened into +bitterness. To him Val said: "Why, dad, what's the matter? Your hand is +shaky. Don't you get this thing eatin' at your heart. + +"It isn't worth it. That Injin would have died if you'd been in my +place, I guess. Between you and me, I expect to give Jules the slip +before we get there." And he laughed at the Inspector, who laughed a +little austerely too, and in his heart wished that it was anyone else +he had as a prisoner than Val Galbraith, who was a favourite with the +Riders of the Plains. + +Sergeant Tom had been standing in the doorway regarding this scene, and +working out in his mind the complications that had led to it. At this +point he came forward, and Inspector Jules said to him, after a curt +salutation: + +"You were in a hurry last night, Sergeant Gellatly. You don't seem so +pushed for time now. Usual thing. When a man seems over-zealous--drink, +cards, or women behind it. But your taste is good, even if, under +present circumstances"--He stopped, for he saw a threatening look in the +eyes of the other, and that other said: "We won't discuss that matter, +Inspector, if you please. I'm going on to Fort Desire now. I couldn't +have seen you if I'd wanted to last night." + +"That's nonsense. If you had waited one minute longer at the barracks +you could have done so. I called to you as you were leaving, but you +didn't turn back." + +"No. I didn't hear you." + +All were listening to this conversation, and none more curiously than +Private Waugh. Many a time in days to come he pictured the scene for +the benefit of his comrades. Pretty Pierre, leaning against the +hitching-post near the bar-room, said languidly: + +"But, Inspector, he speaks the truth--quite: that is a virtue of the +Riders of the Plains." Val had his eyes on the half-breed, and a look of +understanding passed between them. While Val and his father and +sister were saying their farewells in few words, but with homely +demonstrations, Sergeant Tom brought his horse round and mounted it. +Inspector Jules gave the word to move on. As they started, Gellatly, who +fell behind the others slightly, leaned down and whispered: "Forgive me, +Jen. You did a noble act for me, and the life of me would prove to you +that I'm grateful. It's sorry, sorry I am. But I'll do what I can for +Val, as sure as the heart's in me. Good-bye, Jen." + +She looked up with a faint hope in her eyes. "Goodbye!" she said. "I +believe you... Good-bye!" + +In a few minutes there was only a cloud of dust on the prairie to tell +where the Law and its quarry were. And of those left behind, one was a +broken-spirited old man with sorrow melting away the sinister look in +his face; one, a girl hovering between the tempest of bitterness and a +storm of self-reproach; and one a half-breed gambler, who again sat +on the bar-counter smoking a cigarette and singing to himself, as +indolently as if he were not in the presence of a painful drama of life, +perhaps a tragedy. But was the song so pointless to the occasion, after +all, and was the man so abstracted and indifferent as he seemed? For +thus the song ran: + + "Oh, the bird in a cage and the bird on a tree + Voila! 'tis a different fear! + The maiden weeps and she bends the knee + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + But the bird in a cage has a friend in the tree, + And the maiden she dries her tear: + And the night is dark and no moon you see + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + When the doors are open the bird is free + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!" + + +VII + +These words kept ringing in Jen's ears as she stood again in the doorway +that night with her face turned to the beacon. How different it seemed +now! When she saw it last night it was a cheerful spirit of light--a +something suggesting comfort, companionship, aspiration, a friend to the +traveller, and a mysterious, but delightful, association. In the morning +when she returned from that fortunate, yet most unfortunate, ride, it +was still burning, but its warm flame was exhausted in the glow of +the life-giving sun; the dream and delight of the night robbed of its +glamour by the garish morning; like her own body, its task done, sinking +before the unrelieved scrutiny of the day. To-night it burned with a +different radiance. It came in fiery palpitations from the earth. It +made a sound that was now like the moan of pine trees, now like the +rumble of far-off artillery. The slight wind that blew spread the +topmost crest of flame into strands of ruddy hair, and, looking at it, +Jen saw herself rocked to and fro by tumultuous emotions, yet fuller of +strength and larger of life than ever she had been. Her hot veins +beat with determination, with a love which she drove back by another, +cherished now more than it had ever been, because danger threatened the +boy to whom she had been as a mother. In twenty-four hours she had grown +to the full stature of love and suffering. + +There were shadows that betrayed less roundness to her face; there were +lines that told of weariness; but in her eyes there was a glowing light +of hope. She raised her face to the stars and unconsciously paraphrasing +Pierre's song said: "Oh, the God that dost save us, hear!" + +A hand touched her arm, and a voice said, huskily, "Jen, I wanted to +save him and--and not let you know of it; that's all. You're not keepin' +a grudge agin me, my girl?" + +She did not move nor turn her head. "I've no grudge, father; but--if--if +you had told me, 'twouldn't be on my mind that I had made it worse for +Val." + +The kindness in the voice reassured him, and he ventured to say: "I +didn't think you'd be carin' for one of the Riders of the Plains, Jen." + +Then the old man trembled lest she should resent his words. She seemed +about to do so, but the flush faded from her brow, and she said, simply: +"I care for Val most, father. But he didn't know he was getting Val into +trouble." + +She suddenly quivered as a wave of emotion passed through her; and she +said, with a sob in her voice: "Oh, it's all scrub country, father, and +no paths, and--and I wish I had a mother!" + +The old man sat down in the doorway and bowed his grey head in his arms. +Then, after a moment, he whispered: + +"She's been dead twenty-two years, Jen. The day Val was born she went +away. I'd a-been a better man if she'd a-lived, Jen; and a better +father." + +This was an unusual demonstration between these two. She watched him +sadly for a moment, and then, leaning over and touching him gently on +the shoulder, said: "It's worse for you than it is for me, father. Don't +feel so bad. Perhaps we shall save him yet." + +He caught a gleam of hope in her words: "Mebbe, Jen, mebbe!" and he +raised his face to the light. + +This ritual of affection was crude and unadorned; but it was real. They +sat there for half-an-hour, silent. + +Then a figure came out of the shadows behind the house and stood before +them. It was Pierre. + +"I go to-morrow morning, Galbraith," he said. The old man nodded, but +did not reply. + +"I go to Fort Desire," the gambler added. + +Jen faced him. "What do you go there for, Pretty Pierre?" + +"It is my whim. Besides, there is Val. He might want a horse some dark +night." + +"Pierre, do you mean that?" + +"As much as Sergeant Tom means what he says. Every man has his friends. +Pretty Pierre has a fancy for Val Galbraith--a little. It suits him to +go to Fort Desire. Jen Galbraith, you make a grand ride last night. You +do a bold thing--all for a man. We shall see what he will do for you. +And if he does nothing--ah! you can trust the tongue of Pretty Pierre. +He will wish he could die, instead of--Eh, bien, good-night!" He moved +away. Jen followed him. She held out her hand. It was the first time she +had ever done so to this man. + +"I believe you," she said. "I believe that you mean well to our Val. +I am sorry that I called you a devil." He smiled. "Ma'm'selle, that is +nothing. You spoke true. But devils have their friends--and their whims. +So you see, good-night." + +"Mebbe it will come out all right, Jen--mebbe!" said the old man. + +But Jen did not reply. She was thinking hard, her eyes upon the Prairie +Star. Living life to the hilt greatly illumines the outlook of the mind. +She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute, and that good +is often an occasion more than a condition. + +There was a long silence again. At last the old man rose to go and +reduce the volume of flame for the night; but Jen stopped him. "No, +father, let it burn all it can to-night. It's comforting." + +"Mebbe so--mebbe!" he said. + +A faint refrain came to them from within the house: + + "When doors are open the bird is free + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!" + + +VIII + +It was a lovely morning. The prairie billowed away endlessly to the +south, and heaved away in vastness to the north; and the fresh, sharp +air sent the blood beating through the veins. In the bar-room some early +traveller was talking to Peter Galbraith. A wandering band of Indians +was camped about a mile away, the only sign of humanity in the waste. +Jen sat in the doorway culling dried apples. Though tragedies occur in +lives of the humble, they must still do the dull and ordinary task. They +cannot stop to cherish morbidness, to feed upon their sorrow; they must +care for themselves and labour for others. And well is it for them that +it is so. + +The Indian camp brings unpleasant memories to Jen's mind. She knows it +belongs to old Sun-in-the-North, and that he will not come to see her +now, nor could she, or would she, go to him. Between her and that race +there can never again be kindly communion. And now she sees, for the +first time, two horsemen riding slowly in the track from Fort Desire +towards Galbraith's Place. She notices that one sits upright, and one +seems leaning forward on his horse's neck. She shades her eyes with her +hand, but she cannot distinguish who they are. But she has seen men tied +to their horses ride as that man is riding, when stricken with fever, +bruised by falling timber, lacerated by a grizzly, wounded by a bullet, +or crushed by a herd of buffaloes. She remembered at that moment the +time that a horse had struck Val with its forefeet, and torn the flesh +from his chest, and how he had been brought home tied to a broncho's +back. + +The thought of this drove her into the house, to have Val's bed prepared +for the sufferer, whoever he was. Almost unconsciously she put on the +little table beside the bed a bunch of everlasting prairie flowers, and +shaded the light to the point of quiet and comfort. + +Then she went outside again. The travellers now were not far away. She +recognised the upright rider. It was Pretty Pierre. The other--she could +not tell. She called to her father. She had a fear which she did +not care to face alone. "See, see, father," she said, "Pretty Pierre +and--and can it be Val?" For the moment she seemed unable to stir. But +the old man shook his head, and said: "No, Jen, it can't be. It ain't +Val." + +Then another thought possessed her. Her lips trembled, and, throwing +her head back as does a deer when it starts to shake off its pursuers +by flight, she ran swiftly towards the riders. The traveller standing +beside Galbraith said: "That man is hurt, wounded probably. I didn't +expect to have a patient in the middle of the plains. I'm a doctor. +Perhaps I can be of use here?" When a hundred yards away Jen recognised +the recumbent rider. A thousand thoughts flashed through her brain. What +had happened? Why was he dressed in civilian's clothes? A moment, and +she was at his horse's head. Another, and her warm hand clasped the +pale, moist, and wrinkled one which hung by the horse's neck. His coat +at the shoulder was stained with blood, and there was a handkerchief +about his head. This--this was Sergeant Tom Gellatly! + +She looked up at Pierre, an agony of inquiry in her eyes, and pointing +mutely to the wounded man. Pierre spoke with a tone of seriousness not +common to his voice: "You see, Jen Galbraith, it was brave. Sergeant Tom +one day resigns the Mounted Police. He leaves the Riders of the Plains. +That is not easy to understand, for he is in much favour with the +officers. But he buys himself out, and there is the end of the Sergeant +and his triple chevron. That is one day. That night, two men on a ferry +are crossing the Saskatchewan at Fort Desire. They are fired at from the +shore behind. One man is hit twice. But they get across, cut the ferry +loose, mount horses, and ride away together. The man that was hit--yes, +Sergeant Tom. The other that was not hit was Val Galbraith." + +Jen gave a cry of mingled joy and pain, and said, with Tom Gellatly's +cold hand clasped to her bosom: "Val, our Val, is free, is safe." + +"Yes, Val is free and safe-quite. The Riders of the Plains could not +cross the river. It was too high. And so Tom Gellatly and Val got away. +Val rides straight for the American border, and the other rides here." +They were now near the house, but Jen said, eagerly: "Go on. Tell me +all." + +"I knew what had happened soon, and I rode away, too, and last night I +found Tom Gellatly lying beside his horse on the prairie. I have brought +him here to you. You two are even now, Jen Galbraith." + +They were at the tavern door. The traveller and Pierre lifted, down +the wounded and unconscious man, and brought him and laid him on Val +Galbraith's bed. + +The traveller examined the wounds in the shoulder and the head, and +said: "The head is all right. If I can get the bullet out of the +shoulder he'll be safe enough--in time." + +The surgery was skilful but rude, for proper instruments were not at +hand; and in a few hours he, whom we shall still call Sergeant Tom, lay +quietly sleeping, the pallor gone from his face and the feeling of death +from his hand. + +It was near midnight when he waked. Jen was sitting beside him. He +looked round and saw her. Her face was touched with the light that shone +from the Prairie Star. "Jen," he said, and held out his hand. + +She turned from the window and stood beside his bed. She took his +outstretched hand. "You are better, Sergeant Tom"? she said, gently. + +"Yes, I'm better; but it's not Sergeant Tom I am any longer, Jen." + +"I forgot that." + +"I owed you a great debt, Jen. I couldn't remain one of the Riders of +the Plains and try to pay it. I left them. Then I tried to save Val, and +I did. I knew how to do it without getting anyone else into trouble. It +is well to know the trick of a lock and the hour that guard is changed. +I had left, but I relieved guard that night just the same. It was a new +man on watch. It's only a minute I had; for the regular relief watch was +almost at my heels. I got Val out just in time. They discovered us, and +we had a run for it. Pretty Pierre has told you. That's right. Val is +safe now--" + +In a low strained voice, interrupting him, she said, "Did Val leave you +wounded so on the prairie?" + +"Don't let that ate at your heart. No, he didn't. I hurried him off, and +he didn't know how bad I was hit. But I--I've paid my debt, haven't I, +Jen?" With eyes that could not see for tears, she touched pityingly, +lovingly, the wounds on his head and shoulder, and said: "These pay a +greater debt than you ever owed me. You risked your life for me--yes, +for me. You have given up everything to do it. I can't pay you the great +difference. No, never!" + +"Yes--yes, you can, if you will, Jen. It's as aisy! If you'll say what I +say, I'll give you quit of that difference, as you call it, forever and +ever." + +"First, tell me. Is Val quite, quite safe?" + +"Yes, he's safe over the border by this time; and to tell you the truth, +the Riders of the Plains wouldn't be dyin' to arrest him again if he +was in Canada, which he isn't. It's little they wanted to fire at us, I +know, when we were crossin' the river, but it had to be done, you see, +and us within sight. Will you say what I ask you, Jen?" + +She did not speak, but pressed his hand ever so slightly. + +"Tom Gellatly, I promise," he said. + +"Tom Gellatly, I promise--" + +"To give you as much--" + +"To give you as much--" + +"Love--" + +There was a pause, and then she falteringly said, "Love--" + +"As you give to me-" + +"As you give to me--" + +"And I'll take you poor as you are--" + +"And I'll take you poor as you are--" + +"To be my husband as long as you live--" + +"To be my husband as long as you live--" + +"So help me, God." + +"So help me, God." + +She stooped with dropping tears, and he kissed her once. Then what +was girl in her timidly drew back, while what was woman in her, and +therefore maternal, yearned over the sufferer. + +They had not seen the figure of an old man at the door. They did not +hear him enter. They only knew of Peter Galbraith's presence when he +said: "Mebbe--mebbe I might say Amen!" + + + + +THREE OUTLAWS + +The missionary at Fort Anne of the H. B. C. was violently in earnest. +Before he piously followed the latest and most amply endowed batch of +settlers, who had in turn preceded the new railway to the Fort, the word +scandal had no place in the vocabulary of the citizens. The H. B. C. had +never imported it into the Chinook language, the common meeting-ground +of all the tribes of the North; and the British men and native-born, who +made the Fort their home, or place of sojourn, had never found need for +its use. Justice was so quickly distributed, men were so open in their +conduct, good and bad, that none looked askance, nor put their actions +in ambush, nor studied innuendo. But this was not according to the new +dispensation--that is, the dispensation which shrewdly followed the +settlers, who as shrewdly preceded the railway. And, the dispensation +and the missionary were known also as the Reverend Ezra Badgley, who, +on his own declaration, in times past had "a call" to preach, and in the +far East had served as local preacher, then probationer, then went on +circuit, and now was missionary in a district of which the choice did +credit to his astuteness, and gave room for his piety and for his holy +rage against the Philistines. He loved a word for righteous mouthing, +and in a moment of inspiration pagan and scandal came to him. Upon these +two words he stamped, through them he perspired mightily, and with +them he clenched his stubby fingers--such fingers as dug trenches, or +snatched lewdly at soft flesh, in days of barbarian battle. To him all +men were Pagans who loved not the sound of his voice, nor wrestled with +him in prayer before the Lord, nor fed him with rich food, nor gave him +much strong green tea to drink. But these men were of opaque stuff, and +were not dismayed, and they called him St. Anthony, and with a prophetic +and deadly patience waited. The time came when the missionary shook +his denouncing finger mostly at Pretty Pierre, who carefully nursed his +silent wrath until the occasion should arrive for a delicate revenge +which hath its hour with every man, if, hating, he knows how to bide the +will of Fate. + +The hour came. A girl had been found dying on the roadside beyond the +Fort by the drunken doctor of the place and Pierre. Pierre was with her +when she died. + +"An' who's to bury her, the poor colleen"? said Shon McGann afterwards. + +Pierre musingly replied: "She is a Protestant. There is but one man." + +After many pertinent and vigorous remarks, Shon added, "A Pagan is it, +he calls you, Pierre, you that's had the holy water on y'r forehead, +and the cross on the water, and that knows the book o' the Mass like the +cards in a pack? Sinner y' are, and so are we all, God save us! say I; +and weavin' the stripes for our backs He may be, and little I'd think of +Him failin' in that: but Pagan--faith, it's black should be the white +of the eyes of that preachin' sneak, and a rattle of teeth in his +throat--divils go round me!" + +The half-breed, still musing, replied: "An eye for an eye, and a tooth +for a tooth--is that it, Shon?" "Nivir a word truer by song or by book, +and stand by the text, say I. For Papist I am, and Papist are you; and +the imps from below in y'r fingers whip poker is the game; and outlaws +as they call us both--you for what it doesn't concern me, and I for a +wild night in ould Donegal--but Pagan, wurra! whin shall it be, Pierre?" + +"When shall it to be?" + +"True for you. The teeth in his throat and a lump to his eye, and what +more be the will o' God. Fightin' there'll be, av coorse; but by you +I'll stand, and sorra inch will I give, if they'll do it with sticks or +with guns, and not with the blisterin' tongue that's lied of me and me +frinds--for frind I call you, Pierre, that loved me little in days +gone by. And proud I am not of you, nor you of me; but we've tasted the +bitter of avil days together, and divils surround me, if I don't go down +with you or come up with you, whichever it be! For there's dirt, as I +say on their tongues, and over their shoulder they look at you, and not +with an eye full front." + +Pierre was cool, even pensive. His lips parted slightly once or twice, +and showed a row of white, malicious teeth. For the rest, he looked as +if he were politely interested but not moved by the excitement of +the other. He slowly rolled a cigarette and replied: "He says it is a +scandal that I live at Fort Anne. Well, I was here before he came, and I +shall be here after he goes--yes. A scandal--tsh! what is that? You +know the word 'Raca' of the Book? Well, there shall be more 'Raca; +soon--perhaps. No, there shall not be fighting as you think, Shon; +but--" here Pierre rose, came over, and spread his fingers lightly on +Shon's breast "but this thing is between this man and me, Shon McGann, +and you shall see a great matter. Perhaps there will be blood, perhaps +not--perhaps only an end." And the half-breed looked up at the Irishman +from under his dark brows so covertly and meaningly that Shon saw +visions of a trouble as silent as a plague, as resistless as a great +flood. This noiseless vengeance was not after his own heart. He almost +shivered as the delicate fingers drummed on his breast. + +"Angels begird me, Pretty Pierre, but it's little I'd like you for enemy +o' mine; for I know that you'd wait for y'r foe with death in y'r hand, +and pity far from y'r heart; and y'd smile as you pulled the black-cap +on y'r head, and laugh as you drew the life out of him, God knows how! +Arrah, give me, sez I, the crack of a stick, the bite of a gun, or the +clip of a sabre's edge, with a shout in y'r mouth the while!" + +Though Pierre still listened lazily, there was a wicked fire in his +eyes. His words now came from his teeth with cutting precision. "I +have a great thought tonight, Shon McGann. I will tell you when we meet +again. But, my friend, one must not be too rash--no, not too brutal. +Even the sabre should fall at the right time, and then swift and still. +Noise is not battle. Well, 'au revoir!' To-morrow I shall tell you many +things." He caught Shon's hand quickly, as quickly dropped it, and went +out indolently singing a favourite song,--"Voici le sabre de mon Pere!" + +It was dark. Pretty Pierre stood still, and thought for a while. At last +he spoke aloud: "Well, I shall do it, now I have him--so!" And he opened +and shut his hand swiftly and firmly. He moved on, avoiding the more +habited parts of the place, and by a roundabout came to a house standing +very close to the bank of the river. He went softly to the door and +listened. Light shone through the curtain of a window. He went to the +window and looked beneath the curtain. Then he came back to the door, +opened it very gently, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. + +A man seated at a table, eating, rose; a man on whom greed had set its +mark--greed of the flesh, greed of men's praise, greed of money. His +frame was thick-set, his body was heavily nourished, his eye was shifty +but intelligent; and a close observer would have seen something elusive, +something furtive and sinister, in his face. His lips were greasy with +meat as he stood up, and a fear sprang to his face, so that its fat +looked sickly. But he said hoarsely, and with an attempt at being +brave--"How dare you enter my house with out knocking? What do you +want?" + +The half-breed waved a hand protestingly towards him. "Pardon!" he said. +"Be seated, and finish your meal. Do you know me?" + +"Yes, I know you." + +"Well, as I said, do not stop your meal. I have come to speak with you +very quietly about a scandal--a scandal, you understand. This is Sunday +night, a good time to talk of such things." Pierre seated himself at the +table, opposite the man. + +But the man replied: "I have nothing to say to you. You are--" + +The half-breed interrupted: "Yes, I know, a Pagan fattening--" here he +smiled, and looked at his thin hands--"fattening for the shambles of the +damned, as you have said from the pulpit, Reverend Ezra Badgley. But you +will permit me--a sinner as you say--to speak to you like this while you +sit down and eat. I regret to disturb you, but you will sit, eh?" + +Pierre's tone was smooth and low, almost deferential, and his eyes, wide +open now, and hot with some hidden purpose, were fixed compellingly on +the man. The missionary sat, and, having recovered slightly, fumbled +with a knife and fork. A napkin was still beneath his greasy chin. He +did not take it away. + +Pierre then spoke slowly: "Yes, it is a scandal concerning a sinner--and +a Pagan.... Will you permit me to light a cigarette? Thank you.... You +have said many harsh things about me: well, as you see, I am amiable. I +lived at Fort Anne before you came. They call me Pretty Pierre. Why is +my cheek so? Because I drink no wine; I eat not much. Pardon, pork like +that on your plate--no! no! I do not take green tea as there in your +cup; I do not love women, one or many. Again, pardon, I say." + +The other drew his brows together with an attempt at pious frowning and +indignation; but there was a cold, sneering smile now turned upon him, +and it changed the frown to anxiety, and made his lips twitch, and the +food he had eaten grow heavy within him. + +"I come to the scandal slowly. The woman? She was a young girl +travelling from the far East, to search for a man who had--spoiled +her. She was found by me and another. Ah, you start so!... Will you not +listen?... Well, she died to-night." + +Here the missionary gasped, and caught with both hands at the table. + +"But before she died she gave two things into my hands: a packet of +letters--a man is a fool to write such letters--and a small bottle of +poison--laudanum, old-fashioned but sure. The letters were from the +man at Fort Anne--the man, you hear! The other was for her death, if he +would not take her to his arms again. Women are mad when they love. And +so she came to Fort Anne, but not in time. The scandal is great, because +the man is holy--sit down!" + +The half-breed said the last two words sharply, but not loudly. They +both sat down slowly again, looking each other in the eyes. Then Pierre +drew from his pocket a small bottle and a packet of letters, and held +them before him. "I have this to say: there are citizens of Fort Anne +who stand for justice more than law; who have no love for the ways of +St. Anthony. There is a Pagan, too, an outlaw, who knows when it is time +to give blow for blow with the holy man. Well, we understand each other, +'hein?'" + +The elusive, sinister look in the missionary's face was etched in strong +lines now. A dogged sullenness hung about his lips. He noticed that +one hand only of Pretty Pierre was occupied with the relics of the dead +girl; the other was free to act suddenly on a hip pocket. "What do you +want me to do"? he said, not whiningly, for beneath the selfish flesh +and shallow outworks there were the elements of a warrior--all pulpy +now, but they were there. + +"This," was the reply: "for you to make one more outlaw at Fort Anne by +drinking what is in this bottle--sit down, quick, by God!" He placed the +bottle within reach of the other. "Then you shall have these letters; +and there is the fire. After? Well, you will have a great sleep, the +good people will find you, they will bury you, weeping much, and no one +knows here but me. Refuse that, and there is the other, the Law--ah, the +poor girl was so very young!--and the wild Justice which is sometimes +quicker than Law. Well? well?" + +The missionary sat as if paralysed, his face all grey, his eyes fixed on +the half-breed. "Are you man or devil"? he groaned at length. + +With a slight, fantastic gesture Pierre replied: "It was said that a +devil entered into me at birth, but that was mere scandal--'peut-etre.' +You shall think as you will." + +There was silence. The sullenness about the missionary's lips became +charged with a contempt more animal than human. The Reverend Ezra +Badgley knew that the man before him was absolute in his determination, +and that the Pagans of Fort Anne would show him little mercy, while his +flock would leave him to his fate. He looked at the bottle. The silence +grew, so that the ticking of the watch in the missionary's pocket could +be heard plainly, having for its background of sound the continuous +swish of the river. Pretty Pierre's eyes were never taken off the +other, whose gaze, again, was fixed upon the bottle with a terrible +fascination. An hour, two hours, passed. The fire burned lower. It was +midnight; and now the watch no longer ticked; it had fulfilled its day's +work. The missionary shuddered slightly at this. He looked up to see the +resolute gloom of the half-breed's eyes, and that sneering smile, fixed +upon him still. Then he turned once more to the bottle.... His heavy +hand moved slowly towards it. His stubby fingers perspired and showed +sickly in the light.... They closed about the bottle. Then suddenly he +raised it, and drained it at a draught. He sighed once heavily and as if +a great inward pain was over. Rising he took the letters silently pushed +towards him, and dropped them into the fire. He went to the window, +raised it, and threw the bottle into the river. The cork was left: +Pierre pointed to it. He took it up with a strange smile and thrust it +into the coals. Then he sat down by the table, leaning his arms upon it, +his eyes staring painfully before him, and the forgotten napkin still +about his neck. Soon the eyes closed, and, with a moan on his lips, his +head dropped forward on his arms.... Pierre rose, and, looking at the +figure soon to be breathless as the baked meats about it, said: "'Bien,' +he was not all coward. No." + +Then he turned and went out into the night. + + + + +SHON McGANN'S TOBOGAN RIDE + + "Oh, it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men; + With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes, + And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen! + + "And it's back with the ring of the chain and the spur, + And it's back with the sun on the hill and the moor, + And it's back is the thought sets my pulses astir! + But I'll never go back to Farcalladen more." + +Shon McGann was lying on a pile of buffalo robes in a mountain hut,--an +Australian would call it a humpey,--singing thus to himself with his +pipe between his teeth. In the room, besides Shon, were Pretty Pierre, +Jo Gordineer, the Hon. Just Trafford, called by his companions simply +"The Honourable," and Prince Levis, the owner of the establishment. Not +that Monsieur Levis, the French Canadian, was really a Prince. The name +was given to him with a humorous cynicism peculiar to the Rockies. +We have little to do with Prince Levis here; but since he may appear +elsewhere, this explanation is made. + +Jo Gordineer had been telling The Honourable about the ghost of Guidon +Mountain, and Pretty Pierre was collaborating with their host in +the preparation of what, in the presence of the Law--that is of the +North-West Mounted Police--was called ginger-tea, in consideration of +the prohibition statute. + +Shon McGann had been left to himself--an unusual thing; for everyone had +a shot at Shon when opportunity occurred; and never a bull's-eye could +they make on him. His wit was like the shield of a certain personage of +mythology. + +He had wandered on from verse to verse of the song with one eye on the +collaborators and an ear open to The Honourable's polite exclamations of +wonder. Jo had, however, come to the end of his weird tale--for weird +it certainly was, told at the foot of Guidon Mountain itself, and in +a region of vast solitudes--the pair of chemists were approaching "the +supreme union of unctuous elements," as The Honourable put it, and in +the silence that fell for a moment there crept the words of the singer: + + "And it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + And it's swift as an arrow and straight as a spear--" + +Jo Gordineer interrupted. "Say, Shon, when'll you be through that +tobogan ride of yours? Aint there any end to it?" + +But Shon was looking with both eyes now at the collaborators, and he +sang softly on: + + "And it's keen as the frost when the summer-time dies, + That we rode to the glen and with never a fear." + +Then he added: "The end's cut off, Joey, me boy; but what's a tobogan +ride, annyway?" + +"Listen to that, Pierre. I'll be eternally shivered if he knows what a +tobogan ride is!" + +"Hot shivers it'll be for you, Joey, me boy, and no quinine over the bar +aither," said Shon. + +"Tell him what a tobogan ride is, Pierre." + +And Pretty Pierre said: "Eh, well, I will tell you. It is like-no, you +have the word precise, Joseph. Eh? What?" + +Pierre then added something in French. Shon did not understand it, but +he saw The Honourable smile, so with a gentle kind of contempt he went +on singing: + + "And it's hey for the hedge, and it's hey for the wall! + And it's over the stream with an echoing cry; + And there's three fled for ever from old Donegal, + And there's two that have shown how bold Irishmen die." + +The Honourable then said, "What is that all about, Shon? I never heard +the song before." + +"No more you did. And I wish I could see the lad that wrote that song, +livin' or dead. If one of ye's will tell me about your tobogan rides, +I'll unfold about Farcalladen Rise." + +Prince Levis passed the liquor. Pretty Pierre, seated on a candle-box, +with a glass in his delicate fingers, said: "Eh, well, the Honourable +has much language. He can speak, precise--this would be better with a +little lemon, just a little,--the Honourable, he, perhaps, will tell. +Eh?" + +Pretty Pierre was showing his white teeth. At this stage in his career, +he did not love the Honourable. The Honourable understood that, but he +made clear to Shon's mind what toboganing is. + +And Shon, on his part, with fresh and hearty voice, touched here and +there by a plaintive modulation, told about that ride on Farcalladen +Rise; a tale of broken laws, and fight and fighting, and death and +exile; and never a word of hatred in it all. + +"And the writer of the song, who was he"? asked the Honourable. + +"A gentleman after God's own heart. Heaven rest his soul, if he's dead, +which I'm thinkin' is so, and give him the luck of the world if he's +livin', say I. But it's little I know what's come to him. In the heart +of Australia I saw him last; and mates we were together after gold. And +little gold did we get but what was in the heart of him. And we parted +one day, I carryin' the song that he wrote for me of Farcalladen Rise, +and the memory of him; and him givin' me the word,'I'll not forget you, +Shon, me boy, whatever comes; remember that. And a short pull of the +Three-Star together for the partin' salute,' says he. And the Three-Star +in one sup each we took, as solemn as the Mass, and he went away towards +Cloncurry and I to the coast; and that's the last that I saw of him, now +three years gone. And here I am, and I wish I was with him wherever he +is." + +"What was his name"? said the Honourable. + +"Lawless." + +The fingers of the Honourable trembled on his cigar. "Very interesting, +Shon," he said, as he rose, puffing hard till his face was in a cloud of +smoke. "You had many adventures together, I suppose," he continued. + +"Adventures we had and sufferin' bewhiles, and fun, too, to the neck and +flowin' over." + +"You'll spin us a long yarn about them another night, Shon"? said the +Honourable. + +"I'll do it now--a yarn as long as the lies of the Government; and proud +of the chance." + +"Not to-night, Shon" (there was a kind of huskiness in the voice of the +Honourable); "it's time to turn in. We've a long tramp over the glacier +to-morrow, and we must start at sunrise." + +The Honourable was in command of the party, though Jo Gordineer was +the guide, and all were, for the moment, miners, making for the little +Goshen Field over in Pipi Valley.--At least Pretty Pierre said he was a +miner. + +No one thought of disputing the authority of the Honourable, and they +all rose. + +In a few minutes there was silence in the hut, save for the oracular +breathing of Prince Levis and the sparks from the fire. But the +Honourable did not sleep well; he lay and watched the fire through most +of the night. + +The day was clear, glowing, decisive. Not a cloud in the curve of azure, +not a shiver of wind down the canon, not a frown in Nature, if we except +the lowering shadows from the shoulders of the giants of the range. +Crowning the shadows was a splendid helmet of light, rich with the +dyes of the morning; the pines were touched with a brilliant if austere +warmth. The pride of lofty lineage and severe isolation was regnant over +all. And up through the splendour, and the shadows, and the loneliness, +and the austere warmth, must our travellers go. Must go? Scarcely that, +but the Honourable had made up his mind to cross the glacier and none +sought to dissuade him from his choice; the more so, because there was +something of danger in the business. Pretty Pierre had merely shrugged +his shoulders at the suggestion, and had said: + +"'Nom de Dieu,' the higher we go the faster we live, that is something." + +"Sometimes we live ourselves to death too quickly. In my schooldays I +watched a mouse in a jar of oxygen do that;" said the Honourable. + +"That is the best way to die," remarked the halfbreed--"much." + +Jo Gordineer had been over the path before. He was confident of the way, +and proud of his office of guide. + +"Climb Mont Blanc, if you will," said the Honourable, "but leave me +these white bastions of the Selkirks." + +Even so. They have not seen the snowy hills of God who have yet to look +upon the Rocky Mountains, absolute, stupendous, sublimely grave. + +Jo Gordineer and Pretty Pierre strode on together. They being well away +from the other two, the Honourable turned and said to Shon: "What was +the name of the man who wrote that song of yours, again, Shon?" + +"Lawless." + +"Yes, but his first name?" + +"Duke--Duke Lawless." + +There was a pause, in which the other seemed to be intently studying the +glacier above them. Then he said: "What was he like?--in appearance, I +mean." + +"A trifle more than your six feet, about your colour of hair and eyes, +and with a trick of smilin' that would melt the heart of an exciseman, +and O'Connell's own at a joke, barrin' a time or two that he got hold of +a pile of papers from the ould country. By the grave of St. Shon! thin +he was as dry of fun as a piece of blotting paper. And he said at last, +before he was aisy and free again, 'Shon,' says he, 'it's better to burn +your ships behind ye, isn't it?' + +"And I, havin' thought of a glen in ould Ireland that I'll never see +again, nor any that's in it, said: 'Not, only burn them to the water's +edge, Duke Lawless, but swear to your own soul that they never lived but +in the dreams of the night.' + +"'You're right there, Shon,' says he, and after that no luck was bad +enough to cloud the gay heart of him, and bad enough it was sometimes." + +"And why do you fear that he is not alive?" + +"Because I met an old mate of mine one day on the Frazer, and he said +that Lawless had never come to Cloncurry; and a hard, hard road it was +to travel." + +Jo Gordineer was calling to them, and there the conversation ended. In +a few minutes the four stood on the edge of the glacier. Each man had a +long hickory stick which served as alpenstock, a bag hung at his side, +and tied to his back was his gold-pan, the hollow side in, of course. +Shon's was tied a little lower down than the others. + +They passed up this solid river of ice, this giant power at endless +strife with the high hills, up towards its head. The Honourable was the +first to reach the point of vantage, and to look down upon the vast and +wandering fissures, the frigid bulwarks, the great fortresses of ice, +the ceaseless snows, the aisles of this mountain sanctuary through which +Nature's splendid anthems rolled. Shon was a short distance below, with +his hand over his eyes, sweeping the semi-circle of glory. + +Suddenly there was a sharp cry from Pierre: "Mon Dieu! Look!" + +Shon McGann had fallen on a smooth pavement of ice. The gold-pan was +beneath him, and down the glacier he was whirled-whirled, for Shon +had thrust his heels in the snow and ice, and the gold-pan performed a +series of circles as it sped down the incline. His fingers clutched the +ice and snow, but they only left a red mark of blood behind. Must he go +the whole course of that frozen slide, plump into the wild depths below? + +"'Mon Dieu!--mon Dieu!'" said Pretty Pierre, piteously. The face of the +Honourable was set and tense. + +Jo Gordineer's hand clutched his throat as if he choked. Still Shon +sped. It was a matter of seconds only. The tragedy crowded to the awful +end. + +But, no. + +There was a tilt in the glacier, and the gold-pan, suddenly swirling, +again swung to the outer edge, and shot over. + +As if hurled from a catapult, the Irishman was ejected from the white +monster's back. He fell on a wide shelf of ice, covered with light snow, +through which he was tunnelled, and dropped on another ledge below, near +the path by which he and his companions had ascended. "Shied from the +finish, by God!" said Jo Gordineer. "'Le pauvre Shon!'" added Pretty +Pierre. + +The Honourable was making his way down, his brain haunted by the words, +"He'll never go back to Farcalladen more." + +But Jo was right. + +For Shon McGann was alive. He lay breathless, helpless, for a moment; +then he sat up and scanned his lacerated fingers: he looked up the path +by which he had come; he looked down the path he seemed destined to go; +he started to scratch his head, but paused in the act, by reason of his +fingers. + +Then he said: "It's my mother wouldn't know me from a can of cold meat +if I hadn't stopped at this station; but wurrawurra, what a car it was +to come in!" He examined his tattered clothes and bare elbows; then he +unbuckled the gold-pan, and no easy task was it with his ragged fingers. +"'Twas not for deep minin' I brought ye," he said to the pan, "nor for +scrapin' the clothes from me back." + +Just then the Honourable came up. "Shon, my man... alive, thank God! How +is it with you?" + +"I'm hardly worth the lookin' at. I wouldn't turn my back to ye for a +ransom." + +"It's enough that you're here at all." + +"Ah, 'voila!' this Irishman!" said Pretty Pierre, as his light fingers +touched Shon's bruised arm gently. This from Pretty Pierre! + +There was that in the voice which went to Shon's heart. Who could have +guessed that this outlaw of the North would ever show a sign of sympathy +or friendship for anybody? But it goes to prove that you can never be +exact in your estimate of character. Jo Gordineer only said jestingly: +"Say, now, what are you doing, Shon, bringing us down here, when we +might be well into the Valley by this time?" + +"That in your face and the hair aff your head," said Shon; "it's little +you know a tobogan ride when you see one. I'll take my share of the +grog, by the same token." + +The Honourable uncorked his flask. Shon threw back his head with a +laugh. + + "For it's rest when the gallop is over, me men! + And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last; + And it's here's--" + +But Shon had fainted with the flask in his hand and this snatch of a +song on his lips. + +They reached shelter that night. Had it not been for the accident, they +would have got to their destination in the Valley; but here they were +twelve miles from it. Whether this was fortunate or unfortunate may be +seen later. Comfortably bestowed in this mountain tavern, after they had +toasted and eaten their venison and lit their pipes, they drew about the +fire. + +Besides the four, there was a figure that lay sleeping in a corner on a +pile of pine branches, wrapped in a bearskin robe. Whoever it was slept +soundly. + +"And what was it like--the gold-pan flyer--the tobogan ride, Shon?" +remarked Jo Gordineer. + +"What was it like?--what was it like"? replied Shon. "Sure, I couldn't +see what it was like for the stars that were hittin' me in the eyes. +There wasn't any world at all. I was ridin' on a streak of lightnin', +and nivir a rubber for the wheels; and my fingers makin' stripes of +blood on the snow; and now the stars that were hittin' me were white, +and thin they were red, and sometimes blue--" + +"The Stars and Stripes," inconsiderately remarked Jo Gordineer. + +"And there wasn't any beginning to things, nor any end of them; and +whin I struck the snow and cut down the core of it like a cat through a +glass, I was willin' to say with the Prophet of Ireland--" + +"Are you going to pass the liniment, Pretty Pierre?" It was Jo Gordineer +said that. + +What the Prophet of Israel did say--Israel and Ireland were identical to +Shon--was never told. + +Shon's bubbling sarcasm was full-stopped by the beneficent savour that, +rising now from the hands of the four, silenced all irrelevant speech. +It was a function of importance. It was not simply necessary to say +How! or Here's reformation! or I look towards you! As if by a common +instinct, the Honourable, Jo Gordineer, and Pretty Pierre, turned +towards Shon and lifted their glasses. Jo Gordineer was going to say: +"Here's a safe foot in the stirrups to you," but he changed his mind and +drank in silence. + +Shon's eye had been blazing with fun, but it took on, all at once, a +misty twinkle. None of them had quite bargained for this. The feeling +had come like a wave of soft lightning, and had passed through them. Did +it come from the Irishman himself? Was it his own nature acting through +those who called him "partner"? + +Pretty Pierre got up and kicked savagely at the wood in the big +fireplace. He ostentatiously and needlessly put another log of +Norfolk-pine upon the fire. + +The Honourable gaily suggested a song. + +"Sing us 'Avec les Braves Sauvages,' Pierre," said Jo Gordineer. + +But Pierre waved his fingers towards Shon: "Shon, his song--he did not +finish--on the glacier. It is good we hear all. 'Hein?'" + +And so Shon sang: + + "Oh it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise." + +The sleeper on the pine branches stirred nervously, as if the song were +coming through a dream to him. At the third verse he started up, and an +eager, sun-burned face peered from the half-darkness at the singer. The +Honourable was sitting in the shadow, with his back to the new actor in +the scene. + + "For it's rest when the gallop is over, my men I + And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last! + And it's here's--" + +Shon paused. One of those strange lapses of memory came to him which +come at times to most of us concerning familiar things. He could get no +further than he did on the mountain side. He passed his hand over his +forehead, stupidly:--"Saints forgive me; but it's gone from me, and +sorra the one can I get it; me that had it by heart, and the lad that +wrote it far away. Death in the world, but I'll try it again! + + "For it's rest when the gallop is over, my men! + And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last! + And it's here's--" + +Again he paused. + +But from the half-darkness there came a voice, a clear baritone: + + "And here's to the lasses we leave in the glen, + With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past." + +At the last words the figure strode down into the firelight. + +"Shon, old friend, don't you know me?" + +Shon had started to his feet at the first note of the voice, and stood +as if spellbound. + +There was no shaking of hands. Both men held each other hard by the +shoulders, and stood so for a moment looking steadily eye to eye. + +Then Shon said: "Duke Lawless, there's parallels of latitude and +parallels of longitude, but who knows the tomb of ould Brian Borhoime?" + +Which was his way of saying, "How come you here"? Duke Lawless turned +to the others before he replied. His eyes fell on the Honourable. With +a start and a step backward, and with a peculiar angry dryness in his +voice, he said: + +"Just Trafford!" + +"Yes," replied the Honourable, smiling, "I have found you." + +"Found me! And why have you sought me? Me, Duke Lawless? I should have +thought--" + +The Honourable interrupted: "To tell you that you are Sir Duke Lawless." + +"That? You sought me to tell me that?" + +"I did." + +"You are sure? And for naught else?" + +"As I live, Duke." + +The eyes fixed on the Honourable were searching. Sir Duke hesitated, +then held out his hand. In a swift but cordial silence it was taken. +Nothing more could be said then. It is only in plays where gentlemen +freely discuss family affairs before a curious public. Pretty Pierre was +busy with a decoction. Jo Gordineer was his associate. Shon had drawn +back, and was apparently examining the indentations on his gold-pan. + +"Shon, old fellow, come here," said Sir Duke Lawless. + +But Shon had received a shock. "It's little I knew Sir Duke Lawless--" +he said. + +"It's little you needed to know then, or need to know now, Shon, my +friend. I'm Duke Lawless to you here and henceforth, as ever I was then, +on the wallaby track." + +And Shon believed him. The glasses were ready. + +"I'll give the toast," said the Honourable with a gentle gravity. "To +Shon McGann and his Tobogan Ride!" + +"I'll drink to the first half of it with all my heart," said Sir Duke. +"It's all I know about." + +"Amen to that divorce," rejoined Shon. + +"But were it not for the Tobogan Ride we shouldn't have stopped here," +said the Honourable; "and where would this meeting have been?" + +"That alters the case," Sir Duke remarked. "I take back the 'Amen,'" +said Shon. + + + +II + +Whatever claims Shon had upon the companionship of Sir Duke Lawless, he +knew there were other claims that were more pressing. After the toast +was finished, with an emphasised assumption of weariness, and a hint of +a long yarn on the morrow, he picked up his blanket and started for the +room where all were to sleep. The real reason of this early departure +was clear to Pretty Pierre at once, and in due time it dawned upon Jo +Gordineer. + +The two Englishmen, left alone, sat for a few moments silent and smoking +hard. Then the Honourable rose, got his knapsack, and took out a small +number of papers, which he handed to Sir Duke, saying, "By slow postal +service to Sir Duke Lawless. Residence, somewhere on one of five +continents." + +An envelope bearing a woman's writing was the first thing that met Sir +Duke's eye. He stared, took it out, turned it over, looked curiously at +the Honourable for a moment, and then began to break the seal. + +"Wait, Duke. Do not read that. We have something to say to each other +first." + +Sir Duke laid the letter down. "You have some explanation to make," he +said. + +"It was so long ago; mightn't it be better to go over the story again?" + +"Perhaps." + +"Then it is best you should tell it. I am on my defence, you know." + +Sir Duke leaned back, and a frown gathered on his forehead. Strikingly +out of place on his fresh face it seemed. Looking quickly from the fire +to the face of the Honourable and back again earnestly, as if the full +force of what was required came to him, he said: "We shall get the +perspective better if we put the tale in the third person. Duke Lawless +was the heir to the title and estates of Trafford Court. Next in +succession to him was Just Trafford, his cousin. Lawless had an income +sufficient for a man of moderate tastes. Trafford had not quite that, +but he had his profession of the law. At college they had been fast +friends, but afterwards had drifted apart, through no cause save +difference of pursuits and circumstances. Friends they still were +and likely to be so always. One summer, when on a visit to his uncle, +Admiral Sir Clavel Lawless, at Trafford Court, where a party of people +had been invited for a month, Duke Lawless fell in love with Miss Emily +Dorset. She did him the honour to prefer him to any other man--at +least, he thought so. Her income, however, was limited like his own. The +engagement was not announced, for Lawless wished to make a home before +he took a wife. He inclined to ranching in Canada, or a planter's life +in Queensland. The eight or ten thousand pounds necessary was not, +however, easy to get for the start, and he hadn't the least notion of +discounting the future, by asking the admiral's help. Besides, he knew +his uncle did not wish him to marry unless he married a woman plus +a fortune. While things were in this uncertain state, Just Trafford +arrived on a visit to Trafford Court. The meeting of the old friends +was cordial. Immediately on Trafford's arrival, however, the current +of events changed. Things occurred which brought disaster. It was +noticeable that Miss Emily Dorset began to see a deal more of Admiral +Lawless and Just Trafford, and a deal less of the younger Lawless. One +day Duke Lawless came back to the house unexpectedly, his horse having +knocked up on the road. On entering the library he saw what turned the +course of his life." Sir Duke here paused, sighed, shook the ashes out +of his pipe with a grave and expressive anxiety which did not properly +belong to the action, and remained for a moment, both arms on his knees, +silent, and looking at the fire. Then he continued: + +"Just Trafford sat beside Emily Dorset in an attitude of--say, +affectionate consideration. She had been weeping, and her whole manner +suggested very touching confidences. They both rose on the entrance of +Lawless; but neither tried to say a word. What could they say? Lawless +apologised, took a book from the table which he had not come for, and +left." + +Again Sir Duke paused. + +"The book was an illustrated Much Ado About Nothing," said the +Honourable. + +"A few hours after, Lawless had an interview with Emily Dorset. He +demanded, with a good deal of feeling, perhaps,--for he was romantic +enough to love the girl,--an explanation. He would have asked it of +Trafford first if he had seen him. She said Lawless should trust her; +that she had no explanation at that moment to give. If he waited--but +Lawless asked her if she cared for him at all, if she wished or intended +to marry him? She replied lightly, 'Perhaps, when you become Sir Duke +Lawless.' Then Lawless accused her of heartlessness, and of encouraging +both his uncle and Just Trafford. She amusingly said, 'Perhaps she +had, but it really didn't matter, did it?' For reply, Lawless said her +interest in the whole family seemed active and impartial. He bade her +not vex herself at all about him, and not to wait until he became Sir +Duke Lawless, but to give preference to seniority and begin with the +title at once; which he has reason since to believe that she did. What +he said to her he has been sorry for, not because he thinks it was +undeserved, but because he has never been able since to rouse himself +to anger on the subject, nor to hate the girl and Just Trafford as +he ought. Of the dead he is silent altogether. He never sought an +explanation from Just Trafford, for he left that night for London, and +in two days was on his way to Australia. The day he left, however, he +received a note from his banker saying that L8000 had been placed to his +credit by Admiral Lawless. Feeling the indignity of what he believed was +the cause of the gift, Lawless neither acknowledged it nor used it, +not any penny of it. Five years have gone since then, and Lawless has +wandered over two continents, a self-created exile. He has learned much +that he didn't learn at Oxford; and not the least of all, that the world +is not so bad as is claimed for it, that it isn't worth while hating and +cherishing hate, that evil is half-accidental, half-natural, and that +hard work in the face of nature is the thing to pull a man together and +strengthen him for his place in the universe. Having burned his ships +behind him, that is the way Lawless feels. And the story is told." + +Just Trafford sat looking musingly but imperturbably at Sir Duke for a +minute; then he said: + +"That is your interpretation of the story, but not the story. Let us +turn the medal over now. And, first, let Trafford say that he has the +permission of Emily Dorset--" + +Sir Duke interrupted: "Of her who was Emily Dorset." + +"Of Miss Emily Dorset, to tell what she did not tell that day five years +ago. After this other reading of the tale has been rendered, her letter +and those documents are there for fuller testimony. Just Trafford's part +in the drama begins, of course, with the library scene. Now Duke Lawless +had never known Trafford's half-brother, Hall Vincent. Hall was born +in India, and had lived there most of his life. He was in the Indian +Police, and had married a clever, beautiful, but impossible kind of +girl, against the wishes of her parents. The marriage was not a very +happy one. This was partly owing to the quick Lawless and Trafford +blood, partly to the wife's wilfulness. Hall thought that things might +go better if he came to England to live. On their way from Madras +to Colombo he had some words with his wife one day about the way she +arranged her hair, but nothing serious. This was shortly after tiffin. +That evening they entered the harbour at Colombo; and Hall going to his +cabin to seek his wife, could not find her; but in her stead was her +hair, arranged carefully in flowing waves on the pillow, where through +the voyage her head had lain. That she had cut it off and laid it there +was plain; but she could not be found, nor was she ever found. The large +porthole was open; this was the only clue. But we need not go further +into that. Hall Vincent came home to England. He told his brother the +story as it has been told to you, and then left for South America, a +broken-spirited man. The wife's family came on to England also. They did +not meet Hall Vincent; but one day Just Trafford met at a country seat +in Devon, for the first time, the wife's sister. She had not known +of the relationship between Hall Vincent and the Traffords; and on a +memorable afternoon he told her the full story of the married life and +the final disaster, as Hall had told it to him." + +Sir Duke sprang to his feet. "You mean, Just, that--" + +"I mean that Emily Dorset was the sister of Hall Vincent's wife." + +Sir Duke's brown fingers clasped and unclasped nervously. He was about +to speak, but the Honourable said: "That is only half the story--wait. + +"Emily Dorset would have told Lawless all in due time, but women don't +like to be bullied ever so little, and that, and the unhappiness of the +thing, kept her silent in her short interview with Lawless. She could +not have guessed that Lawless would go as he did. Now, the secret of her +diplomacy with the uncle--diplomacy is the best word to use--was Duke +Lawless's advancement. She knew how he had set his heart on the ranching +or planting life. She would have married him without a penny, but she +felt his pride in that particular, and respected it. So, like a clever +girl, she determined to make the old chap give Lawless a cheque on his +possible future. Perhaps, as things progressed, the same old chap got an +absurd notion in his head about marrying her to Just Trafford, but that +was meanwhile all the better for Lawless. The very day that Emily Dorset +and Just Trafford succeeded in melting Admiral Lawless's heart to the +tune of eight thousand, was the day that Duke Lawless doubted his friend +and challenged the loyalty of the girl he loved." + +Sir Duke's eyes filled. "Great Heaven! Just--" he said. + +"Be quiet for a little. You see she had taken Trafford into her scheme +against his will, for he was never good at mysteries and theatricals, +and he saw the danger. But the cause was a good one, and he joined +the sweet conspiracy, with what result these five years bear witness. +Admiral Lawless has been dead a year and a half, his wife a year. For +he married out of anger with Duke Lawless; but he did not marry Emily +Dorset, nor did he beget a child." + +"In Australia I saw a paragraph speaking of a visit made by him and Lady +Lawless to a hospital, and I thought--" + +"You thought he had married Emily Dorset and--well, you had better read +that letter now." + +Sir Duke's face was flushing with remorse and pain. He drew his hand +quickly across his eyes. "And you've given up London, your profession, +everything, just to hunt for me, to tell me this--you who would have +profited by my eternal absence! What a beast and ass I've been!" + +"Not at all; only a bit poetical and hasty, which is not unnatural in +the Lawless blood. I should have been wild myself, maybe, if I had been +in your position; only I shouldn't have left England, and I should have +taken the papers regularly and have asked the other fellow to explain. +The other fellow didn't like the little conspiracy. Women, however, seem +to find that kind of thing a moral necessity. By the way, I wish when +you go back you'd send me out my hunting traps. I've made up my mind +to--oh, quite so--read the letter--I forgot!" + +Sir Duke opened the letter and read it, putting it away from him now and +then as if it hurt him, and taking it up a moment after to continue the +reading. The Honourable watched him. + +At last Sir Duke rose. "Just--" + +"Yes? Go on." + +"Do you think she would have me now?" + +"Don't know. Your outfit is not so beautiful as it used to be." + +"Don't chaff me." + +"Don't be so funereal, then." + +Under the Honourable's matter of fact air Sir Duke's face began to +clear. "Tell me, do you think she still cares for me?" + +"Well, I don't know. She's rich now--got the grandmother's stocking. +Then there's Pedley, of the Scots Guards; he has been doing loyal +service for a couple of years. What does the letter say?" + +"It only tells the truth, as you have told it to me, but from her +standpoint; not a word that says anything but beautiful reproach and +general kindness. That is all." + +"Quite so. You see it was all four years ago, and Pedley--" + +But the Honourable paused. He had punished his friend enough. He stepped +forward and laid his hand on Sir Duke's shoulder. "Duke, you want to +pick up the threads where they were dropped. You dropped them. Ask me +nothing about the ends that Emily Dorset held. I conspire no more. +But go you and learn your fate. If one remembers, why should the other +forget?" + +Sir Duke's light heart and eager faith came back with a rush. "I'll +start for England at once. I'll know the worst or the best of it before +three months are out." The Honourable's slow placidity turned. + +"Three months.--Yes, you may do it in that time. Better go from Victoria +to San Francisco and then overland. You'll not forget about my hunting +traps, and--oh, certainly, Gordineer; come in." + +"Say," said Gordineer. "I don't want to disturb the meeting, but Shon's +in chancery somehow; breathing like a white pine, and thrashing about! +He's red-hot with fever." + +Before he had time to say more, Sir Duke seized the candle and entered +the room. Shon was moving uneasily and suppressing the groans that shook +him. "Shon, old friend, what is it?" + +"It's the pain here, Lawless," laying his hand on his chest. + +After a moment Sir Duke said, "Pneumonia!" + +From that instant thoughts of himself were sunk in the care and thought +of the man who in the heart of Queensland had been mate and friend and +brother to him. He did not start for England the next day, nor for many +a day. + +Pretty Pierre and Jo Gordineer and his party carried Sir Duke's letters +over into the Pipi Valley, from where they could be sent on to the +coast. Pierre came back in a few days to see how Shon was, and expressed +his determination of staying to help Sir Duke, if need be. + +Shon hovered between life and death. It was not alone the pneumonia that +racked his system so; there was also the shock he had received in his +flight down the glacier. In his delirium he seemed to be always with +Lawless: + +"'For it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise'--It's share and share +even, Lawless, and ye'll ate the rest of it, or I'll lave ye--Did ye +say ye'd found water--Lawless--water!--Sure you're drinkin' none +yourself--I'll sing it again for you then--'And it's back with the ring +of the chain and the spur'--'But burn all your ships behind you'--'I'll +never go back to Farcalladen more!'" + +Sir Duke's fingers had a trick of kindness, a suggestion of comfort, +a sense of healing, that made his simple remedies do more than natural +duty. He was doctor, nurse,--sleepless nurse,--and careful apothecary. +And when at last the danger was past and he could relax watching, he +would not go, and he did not go, till they could all travel to the Pipi +Valley. + +In the blue shadows of the firs they stand as we take our leave of one +of them. The Honourable and Sir Duke have had their last words, and Sir +Duke has said he will remember about the hunting traps. They understand +each other. There is sunshine in the face of all--a kind of Indian +summer sunshine, infused with the sadness of a coming winter; and theirs +is the winter of parting. Yet it is all done quietly. + +"We'll meet again, Shon," said Sir Duke, "and you'll remember your +promise to write to me." + +"I'll keep my promise, and I hope the news that'll please you best is +what you'll send us first from England. And if you should go to ould +Donegal--I've no words for me thoughts at all!" + +"I know them. Don't try to say them. We've not had the luck together, +all kinds and all weathers, for nothing." + +Sir Duke's eyes smiled a good-bye into the smiling eyes of Shon. They +were much alike, these two, whose stations were so far apart. Yet +somewhere, in generations gone, their ancestors may have toiled, +feasted, or governed, in the same social hemisphere; and here in the +mountains life was levelled to one degree again. + +Sir Duke looked round. The pines were crowding up elate and warm towards +the peaks of the white silence. The river was brawling over a broken +pathway of boulders at their feet; round the edge of a mighty mountain +crept a mule train; a far-off glacier glistened harshly in the lucid +morning, yet not harshly either, but with the rugged form of a vast +antiquity, from which these scarred and grimly austere hills had grown. +Here Nature was filled with a sense of triumphant mastery--the mastery +of ageless experience. And down the great piles there blew a wind of +stirring life, of the composure of great strength, and touched the four, +and the man that mounted now was turned to go. A quick good-bye from him +to all; a God-speed-you from the Honourable; a wave of the hand between +the rider and Shon, and Sir Duke Lawless was gone. + +"You had better cook the last of that bear this morning, Pierre," said +the Honourable. And their life went on. + + ........................ + +It was eight months after that, sitting in their hut after a day's +successful mining, the Honourable handed Shon a newspaper to read. A +paragraph was marked. It concerned the marriage of Miss Emily Dorset and +Sir Duke Lawless. + +And while Shon read, the Honourable called into the tent: "Have you any +lemons for the whisky, Pierre?" + +A satisfactory reply being returned, the Honourable proceeded: "We'll +begin with the bottle of Pommery, which I've been saving months for +this." + +The royal-flush toast of the evening belonged to Shon. + +"God bless him! To the day when we see him again!" + +And all of them saw that day. + + + + +PERE CHAMPAGNE + +"Is it that we stand at the top of the hill and the end of the travel +has come, Pierre? Why don't you spake?" + +"We stand at the top of the hill, and it is the end." + +"And Lonely Valley is at our feet and Whiteface Mountain beyond?" + +"One at our feet, and the other beyond, Shon McGann." + +"It's the sight of my eyes I wish I had in the light of the sun this +mornin'. Tell me, what is't you see?" + +"I see the trees on the foot-hills, and all the branches shine with +frost. There is a path--so wide!--between two groves of pines. On +Whiteface Mountain lies a glacier-field... and all is still."... + +"The voice of you is far-away-like, Pierre--it shivers as a hawk cries. +It's the wind, the wind, maybe." + +"There's not a breath of life from hill or valley." + +"But I feel it in my face." + +"It is not the breath of life you feel." + +"Did you not hear voices coming athwart the wind?... Can you see the +people at the mines?" + +"I have told you what I see." + +"You told me of the pine-trees, and the glacier, and the snow--" + +"And that is all." + +"But in the Valley, in the Valley, where all the miners are?" + +"I cannot see them." + +"For love of heaven, don't tell me that the dark is fallin' on your eyes +too." + +"No, Shon, I am not growing blind." + +"Will you not tell me what gives the ache to your words?" + +"I see in the Valley--snow... snow." + +"It's a laugh you have at me in your cheek, whin I'd give years of my +ill-spent life to watch the chimney smoke come curlin' up slow through +the sharp air in the Valley there below." + +"There is no chimney and there is no smoke in all the Valley." + +"Before God, if you're a man, you'll put your hand on my arm and tell me +what trouble quakes your speech." + +"Shon McGann, it is for you to make the sign of the Cross... there, +while I put my hand on your shoulder--so!" + +"Your hand is heavy, Pierre." + +"This is the sight of the eyes that see. In the Valley there is snow; in +the snow of all that was, there is one poppet-head of the mine that +was called St. Gabriel... upon the poppet-head there is the figure of a +woman." + +"Ah!" + +"She does not move--" + +"She will never move?" + +"She will never move." + +"The breath o' my body hurts me.... There is death in the Valley, +Pierre?" + +"There is death." + +"It was an avalanche--that path between the pines?" + +"And a great storm after." + +"Blessed be God that I cannot behold that thing this day!... And the +woman, Pierre, the woman aloft?" + +"She went to watch for someone coming, and as she watched, the avalanche +came--and she moves not." + +"Do we know that woman?" + +"Who can tell?" + +"What was it you whispered soft to yourself, then, Pierre?" + +"I whispered no word." + +"There, don't you hear it, soft and sighin'?... Nathalie!" + +"'Mon Dieu!' It is not of the world." + +"It's facin' the poppet-head where she stands I'd be." + +"Your face is turned towards her." + +"Where is the sun?" + +"The sun stands still above her head." + +"With the bitter over, and the avil past, come rest for her and all that +lie there." + +"Eh, 'bien,' the game is done!" + +"If we stay here we shall die also." + +"If we go we die, perhaps."... + +"Don't spake it. We will go, and we will return when the breath of +summer comes from the South." + +"It shall be so." + +"Hush! Did you not hear--?" + +"I did not hear. I only see an eagle, and it flies towards Whiteface +Mountain." + +And Shon McGann and Pretty Pierre turned back from the end of their +quest--from a mighty grave behind to a lonely waste before; and though +one was snow-blind, and the other knew that on him fell the chiefer +weight of a great misfortune, for he must provide food and fire and be +as a mother to his comrade--they had courage; without which, men are +as the standing straw in an unreaped field in winter; but having become +like the hooded pine, that keepeth green in frost, and hath the bounding +blood in all its icy branches. + +And whence they came and wherefore was as thus: + +A French Canadian once lived in Lonely Valley. One day great fortune +came to him, because it was given him to discover the mine St. Gabriel. +And he said to the woman who loved him, "I will go with mules and much +gold, that I have hewn and washed and gathered, to a village in the East +where my father and my mother are. They are poor, but I will make them +rich; and then I will return to Lonely Valley, and a priest shall come +with me, and we will dwell here at Whiteface Mountain, where men are men +and not children." And the woman blessed him, and prayed for him, and +let him go. + +He travelled far through passes of the mountains, and came at last where +new cities lay upon the plains, and where men were full of evil and of +lust of gold. And he was free of hand and light of heart; and at a place +called Diamond City false friends came about him, and gave him champagne +wine to drink, and struck him down and robbed him, leaving him for dead. + +And he was found, and his wounds were all healed: all save one, and that +was in the brain. Men called him mad. + +He wandered through the land, preaching to men to drink no wine, and +to shun the sight of gold. And they laughed at him, and called him Pere +Champagne. + +But one day much gold was found at a place called Reef o' Angel; and +jointly with the gold came a plague which scars the face and rots the +body; and Indians died by hundreds and white men by scores; and Pere +Champagne, of all who were not stricken down, feared nothing, and did +not flee, but went among the sick and dying, and did those deeds which +gold cannot buy, and prayed those prayers which were never sold. And who +can count how high the prayers of the feckless go! + +When none was found to bury the dead, he gave them place himself beneath +the prairie earth,--consecrated only by the tears of a fool,--and for +extreme unction he had but this: "God be merciful to me, a sinner!" + +Now it happily chanced that Pierre and Shon McGann, who travelled +westward, came upon this desperate battle-field, and saw how Pere +Champagne dared the elements of scourge and death; and they paused and +laboured with him--to save where saving was granted of Heaven, and to +bury when the Reaper reaped and would not stay his hand. At last the +plague ceased, because winter stretched its wings out swiftly o'er the +plains from frigid ranges in the West. And then Pere Champagne fell ill +again. + +And this last great sickness cured his madness: and he remembered whence +he had come, and what befell him at Diamond City so many moons ago. And +he prayed them, when he knew his time was come, that they would go to +Lonely Valley and tell his story to the woman whom he loved; and say +that he was going to a strange but pleasant Land, and that there he +would await her coming. He begged them that they would go at once, that +she might know, and not strain her eyes to blindness, and be sick at +heart because he came not. And he told them her name, and drew the +coverlet up about his head and seemed to sleep; but he waked between the +day and dark, and gently cried: "The snow is heavy on the mountain... +and the Valley is below.... 'Gardez, mon Pere!'... Ah, Nathalie!" And +they buried him between the dark and dawn. + +Though winds were fierce, and travel full of peril, they kept their +word, and passed along wide steppes of snow, until they entered passes +of the mountains, and again into the plains; and at last one 'poudre' +day, when frost was shaking like shreds of faintest silver through the +air, Shon McGann's sight fled. But he would not turn back--a promise to +a dying man was sacred, and he could follow if he could not lead; and +there was still some pemmican, and there were martens in the woods, and +wandering deer that good spirits hunted into the way of the needy; and +Pierre's finger along the gun was sure. + +Pierre did not tell Shon that for many days they travelled woods where +no sunshine entered; where no trail had ever been, nor foot of man had +trod: that they had lost their way. Nor did he make his comrade know +that one night he sat and played a game of solitaire to see if they +would ever reach the place called Lonely Valley. Before the cards were +dealt, he made a sign upon his breast and forehead. Three times he +played, and three times he counted victory; and before three suns had +come and gone, they climbed a hill that perched over Lonely Valley. And +of what they saw and their hearts felt we know. + +And when they turned their faces eastward they were as men who go to +meet a final and a conquering enemy; but they had kept their honour with +the man upon whose grave-tree Shon McGann had carved beneath his name +these words: + + "A Brother of Aaron." + +Upon a lonely trail they wandered, the spirits of lost travellers +hungering in their wake--spirits that mumbled in cedar thickets, and +whimpered down the flumes of snow. And Pierre, who knew that evil things +are exorcised by mighty conjuring, sang loudly, from a throat made thin +by forced fasting, a song with which his mother sought to drive away the +devils of dreams that flaunted on his pillow when a child: it was the +song of the Scarlet Hunter. And the charm sufficed; for suddenly of +a cheerless morning they came upon a trapper's hut in the wilderness, +where their sufferings ceased, and the sight of Shon's eyes came back. +When strength returned also, they journeyed to an Indian village, where +a priest laboured. Him they besought; and when spring came they set +forth to Lonely Valley again that the woman and the smothered dead--if +it might chance so--should be put away into peaceful graves. But thither +coming they only saw a grey and churlish river; and the poppet-head of +the mine of St. Gabriel, and she who had knelt thereon, were vanished +into solitudes, where only God's cohorts have the rights of burial.... + +But the priest prayed humbly for their so swiftly summoned souls. + + + + +THE SCARLET HUNTER + +"News out of Egypt!" said the Honourable Just Trafford. "If this is +true, it gives a pretty finish to the season. You think it possible, +Pierre? It is every man's talk that there isn't a herd of buffaloes in +the whole country; but this-eh?" + +Pierre did not seem disposed to answer. He had been watching a man's +face for some time; but his eyes were now idly following the smoke of +his cigarette as it floated away to the ceiling in fading circles. He +seemed to take no interest in Trafford's remarks, nor in the tale that +Shangi the Indian had told them; though Shangi and his tale were both +sufficiently uncommon to justify attention. + +Shon McGann was more impressionable. His eyes swam; his feet shifted +nervously with enjoyment; he glanced frequently at his gun in the +corner of the hut; he had watched Trafford's face with some anxiety, and +accepted the result of the tale with delight. Now his look was occupied +with Pierre. + +Pierre was a pretty good authority in all matters concerning the +prairies and the North. He also had an instinct for detecting veracity, +having practised on both sides of the equation. Trafford became +impatient, and at last the half-breed, conscious that he had tried the +temper of his chief so far as was safe, lifted his eyes, and, resting +them casually on the Indian, replied: "Yes, I know the place.... No, +I have not been there, but I was told-ah, it was long ago! There is a +great valley between hills, the Kimash Hills, the hills of the Mighty +Men. The woods are deep and dark; there is but one trail through them, +and it is old. On the highest hill is a vast mound. In that mound are +the forefathers of a nation that is gone. Yes, as you say, they are +dead, and there is none of them alive in the valley--which is called the +White Valley--where the buffalo are. The valley is green in summer, and +the snow is not deep in winter; the noses of the buffalo can find the +tender grass. The Injin speaks the truth, perhaps. But of the number of +buffaloes, one must see. The eye of the red man multiplies." + +Trafford looked at Pierre closely. "You seem to know the place very +well. It is a long way north where--ah yes, you said you had never been +there; you were told. Who told you?" + +The half-breed raised his eyebrows slightly as he replied: "I can +remember a long time, and my mother, she spoke much and sang many +songs at the campfires." Then he puffed his cigarette so that the smoke +clouded his face for a moment, and went on,--"I think there may be +buffaloes." + +"It's along the barrel of me gun I wish I was lookin' at thim now," said +McGann. + +"'Tiens,' you will go"? inquired Pierre of Trafford. "To have a shot at +the only herd of wild buffaloes on the continent! Of course I'll go. +I'd go to the North Pole for that. Sport and novelty I came here to see; +buffalo-hunting I did not expect. I'm in luck, that's all. We'll start +to-morrow morning, if we can get ready, and Shangi here will lead us; +eh, Pierre?" + +The half-breed again was not polite. Instead of replying he sang almost +below his breath the words of a song unfamiliar to his companions, +though the Indian's eyes showed a flash of understanding. These were the +words: + + "They ride away with a waking wind, away, away! + With laughing lip and with jocund mind at break of day. + A rattle of hoofs and a snatch of song, they ride, they ride! + The plains are wide and the path is long,--so long, so wide!" + +Just Trafford appeared ready to deal with this insolence, for the +half-breed was after all a servant of his, a paid retainer. He waited, +however. Shon saw the difficulty, and at once volunteered a reply. "It's +aisy enough to get away in the mornin', but it's a question how far +we'll be able to go with the horses. The year is late; but there's dogs +beyand, I suppose, and bedad, there y' are!" + +The Indian spoke slowly: "It is far off. There is no colour yet in the +leaf of the larch. The river-hen still swims northward. It is good that +we go. There is much buffalo in the White Valley." + +Again Trafford looked towards his follower, and again the half-breed, as +if he were making an effort to remember, sang abstractedly: + + "They follow, they follow a lonely trail, by day, by night, + By distant sun, and by fire-fly pale, and northern light. + The ride to the Hills of the Mighty Men, so swift they go! + Where buffalo feed in the wilding glen in sun and snow." + +"Pierre," said Trafford, sharply, "I want an answer to my question." + +"'Mais, pardon,' I was thinking... well, we can ride until the deep +snows come, then we can walk; and Shangi, he can get the dogs, maybe, +one team of dogs." + +"But," was the reply, "one team of dogs will not be enough. We'll +bring meat and hides, you know, as well as pemmican. We won't cache any +carcases up there. What would be the use? We shall have to be back in +the Pipi Valley by the spring-time." + +"Well," said the half-breed with a cold decision, "one team of dogs +will be enough; and we will not cache, and we shall be back in the Pipi +Valley before the spring, perhaps." But this last word was spoken under +his breath. + +And now the Indian spoke, with his deep voice and dignified manner: +"Brothers, it is as I have said, the trail is lonely and the woods are +deep and dark. Since the time when the world was young, no white man +hath been there save one, and behold sickness fell on him; the grave +is his end. It is a pleasant land, for the gods have blessed it to the +Indian forever. No heathen shall possess it. But you shall see the White +Valley and the buffalo. Shangi will lead, because you have been merciful +to him, and have given him to sleep in your wigwam, and to eat of your +wild meat. There are dogs in the forest. I have spoken." + +Trafford was impressed, and annoyed too. He thought too much sentiment +was being squandered on a very practical and sportive thing. He disliked +functions; speech-making was to him a matter for prayer and fasting. The +Indian's address was therefore more or less gratuitous, and he hastened +to remark: "Thank you, Shangi; that's very good, and you've put it +poetically. You've turned a shooting-excursion into a mediaeval romance. +But we'll get down to business now, if you please, and make the romance +a fact, beautiful enough to send to the 'Times' or the New York +'Call'. Let's see, how would they put it in the Call?--'Extraordinary +Discovery--Herd of buffaloes found in the far North by an Englishman and +his Franco-Irish Party--Sport for the gods--Exodus of 'brules' to White +Valley!'--and so on, screeching to the end." + +Shon laughed heartily. "The fun of the world is in the thing," he said; +"and a day it would be for a notch on a stick and a rasp of gin in the +throat. And if I get the sight of me eye on a buffalo-ruck, it's down on +me knees I'll go, and not for prayin' aither. Here's both hands up for a +start in the mornin'!" + +Long before noon next day they were well on their way. Trafford could +not understand why Pierre was so reserved, and, when speaking, so +ironical. It was noticeable that the half-breed watched the Indian +closely, that he always rode behind him, that he never drank out of +the same cup. The leader set this down to the natural uncertainty of +Pierre's disposition. He had grown to like Pierre, as the latter had +come in course to respect him. Each was a man of value after his kind. +Each also had recognised in the other qualities of force and knowledge +having their generation in experiences which had become individuality, +subterranean and acute, under a cold surface. It was the mutual +recognition of these equivalents that led the two men to mutual trust, +only occasionally disturbed, as has been shown; though one was regarded +as the most fastidious man of his set in London, the fairest-minded +of friends, the most comfortable of companions; while the other was +an outlaw, a half-heathen, a lover of but one thing in this world, the +joyous god of Chance. Pierre was essentially a gamester. He would have +extracted satisfaction out of a death-sentence which was contingent on +the trumping of an ace. His only honour was the honour of the game. + +Now, with all the swelling prairie sloping to the clear horizon, and the +breath of a large life in their nostrils, these two men were caught up +suddenly, as it were, by the throbbing soul of the North, so that the +subterranean life in them awoke and startled them. Trafford conceived +that tobacco was the charm with which to exorcise the spirits of the +past. Pierre let the game of sensations go on, knowing that they pay +themselves out in time. His scheme was the wiser. The other found that +fast riding and smoking were not sufficient. He became surrounded by the +ghosts of yesterdays; and at length he gave up striving with them, and +let them storm upon him, until a line of pain cut deeply across his +forehead, and bitterly and unconsciously he cried aloud,--"Hester, ah, +Hester!" + +But having spoken, the spell was broken, and he was aware of the beat +of hoofs beside him, and Shangi the Indian looking at him with a half +smile. Something in the look thrilled him; it was fantastic, masterful. +He wondered that he had not noticed this singular influence before. +After all, he was only a savage with cleaner buckskin than his race +usually wore. Yet that glow, that power in the face--was he Piegan, +Blackfoot, Cree, Blood? Whatever he was, this man had heard the words +which broke so painfully from him. + +He saw the Indian frame her name upon his lips, and then came the words, +"Hester--Hester Orval!" + +He turned sternly, and said, "Who are you? What do you know of Hester +Orval?" + +The Indian shook his head gravely, and replied, "You spoke her name, my +brother." + +"I spoke one word of her name. You have spoken two." + +"One does not know what one speaks. There are words which are as sounds, +and words which are as feelings. Those come to the brain through the +ear; these to the soul through sign, which is more than sound. The +Indian hath knowledge, even as the white man; and because his heart is +open, the trees whisper to him; he reads the language of the grass and +the wind, and is taught by the song of the bird, the screech of the +hawk, the bark of the fox. And so he comes to know the heart of the +man who hath sickness, and calls upon someone, even though it be a weak +woman, to cure his sickness; who is bowed low as beside a grave, and +would stand upright. Are not my words wise? As the thoughts of a child +that dreams, as the face of the blind, the eye of the beast, or the +anxious hand of the poor, are they not simple, and to be understood?" + +Just Trafford made no reply. But behind, Pierre was singing in the +plaintive measure of a chant: + + "A hunter rideth the herd abreast, + The Scarlet Hunter from out of the West, + Whose arrows with points of flame are drest, + Who loveth the beast of the field the best, + The child and the young bird out of the nest, + They ride to the hunt no more, no more!" + +They travelled beyond all bounds of civilisation; beyond the +northernmost Indian villages, until the features of the landscape became +more rugged and solemn, and at last they paused at a place which the +Indian called Misty Mountain, and where, disappearing for an hour, he +returned with a team of Eskimo dogs, keen, quick-tempered, and enduring. +They had all now recovered from the disturbing sentiments of the first +portion of the journey; life was at full tide; the spirit of the hunter +was on them. + +At length one night they camped in a vast pine grove wrapped in +coverlets of snow and silent as death. Here again Pierre became moody +and alert and took no part in the careless chat at the camp-fire led +by Shon McGann. The man brooded and looked mysterious. Mystery was +not pleasing to Trafford. He had his own secrets, but in the ordinary +affairs of life he preferred simplicity. In one of the silences that +fell between Shon's attempts to give hilarity to the occasion, there +came a rumbling far-off sound, a sound that increased in volume till the +earth beneath them responded gently to the vibration. Trafford looked up +inquiringly at Pierre, and then at the Indian, who, after a moment, said +slowly: "Above us are the hills of the Mighty Men, beneath us is the +White Valley. It is the tramp of buffalo that we hear. A storm is +coming, and they go to shelter in the mountains." + +The information had come somewhat suddenly, and McGann was the first to +recover from the pleasant shock: "It's divil a wink of sleep I'll get +this night, with the thought of them below there ripe for slaughter, and +the tumble of fight in their beards." + +Pierre, with a meaning glance from his half-closed eyes, added: "But it +is the old saying of the prairies that you do not shout dinner till you +have your knife in the loaf. Your knife is not yet in the loaf, Shon +McGann." + +The boom of the trampling ceased, and now there was a stirring in the +snow-clad tree tops, and a sound as if all the birds of the North were +flying overhead. The weather began to moan and the boles of the pines to +quake. And then there came war,--a trouble out of the north, a wave of +the breath of God to show inconsequent man that he who seeks to live by +slaughter hath slaughter for his master. + +They hung over the fire while the forest cracked round them, and +the flame smarted with the flying snow. And now the trees, as if the +elements were closing in on them, began to break close by, and one +lurched forward towards them. Trafford, to avoid its stroke, stepped +quickly aside right into the line of another which he did not see. +Pierre sprang forward and swung him clear, but was himself struck +senseless by an outreaching branch. + +As if satisfied with this achievement, the storm began to subside. +When Pierre recovered consciousness Trafford clasped his hand and +said,--"You've a sharp eye, a quick thought, and a deft arm, comrade." + +"Ah, it was in the game. It is good play to assist your partner," the +half-breed replied sententiously. Through all, the Indian had remained +stoical. But McGann, who swore by Trafford--as he had once sworn by +another of the Trafford race--had his heart on his lips, and said: + + "There's a swate little cherub that sits up aloft, + Who cares for the soul of poor Jack!" + +It was long after midnight ere they settled down again, with the wreck +of the forest round them. Only the Indian slept; the others were alert +and restless. They were up at daybreak, and on their way before sunrise, +filled with desire for prey. They had not travelled far before they +emerged upon a plateau. Around them were the hills of the Mighty +Men--austere, majestic; at their feet was a vast valley on which the +light newly-fallen snow had not hidden all the grass. Lonely and lofty, +it was a world waiting chastely to be peopled! And now it was peopled, +for there came from a cleft of the hills an army of buffaloes lounging +slowly down the waste, with tossing manes and hoofs stirring the snow +into a feathery scud. + +The eyes of Trafford and McGann swam; Pierre's face was troubled, and +strangely enough he made the sign of the cross. + +At that instant Trafford saw smoke issuing from a spot on the mountain +opposite. He turned to the Indian: "Someone lives there"? he said. + +"It is the home of the dead, but life is also there." + +"White man, or Indian?" + +But no reply came. The Indian pointed instead to the buffalo rumbling +down the valley. Trafford forgot the smoke, forgot everything except +that splendid quarry. Shon was excited. "Sarpints alive," he said, "look +at the troops of thim! Is it standin' here we are with our tongues in +our cheeks, whin there's bastes to be killed, and mate to be got, and +the call to war on the ground below! Clap spurs with your heels, sez +I, and down the side of the turf together and give 'em the teeth of our +guns!" The Irishman dashed down the slope. In an instant, all followed, +or at least Trafford thought all followed, swinging their guns across +their saddles to be ready for this excellent foray. But while Pierre +rode hard, it was at first without the fret of battle in him, and he +smiled strangely, for he knew that the Indian had disappeared as they +rode down the slope, though how and why he could not tell. There ran +through his head tales chanted at camp-fires when he was not yet in +stature so high as the loins that bore him. They rode hard, and yet they +came no nearer to that flying herd straining on with white streaming +breath and the surf of snow rising to their quarters. Mile upon mile, +and yet they could not ride these monsters down! + +Now Pierre was leading. There was a kind of fury in his face, and he +seemed at last to gain on them. But as the herd veered close to a wall +of stalwart pines, a horseman issued from the trees and joined the +cattle. The horseman was in scarlet from head to foot; and with his +coming the herd went faster, and ever faster, until they vanished into +the mountain-side; and they who pursued drew in their trembling horses +and stared at each other with wonder in their faces. + +"In God's name what does it mean"? Trafford cried. + +"Is it a trick of the eye or the hand of the devil"? added Shon. + +"In the name of God we shall know perhaps. If it is the hand of the +devil it is not good for us," remarked Pierre. + +"Who was the man in scarlet who came from the woods"? asked Trafford of +the half-breed. + +"'Voila,' it is strange! There is an old story among the Indians! My +mother told many tales of the place and sang of it, as I sang to you. +The legend was this:--In the hills of the North which no white man, nor +no Injin of this time hath seen, the forefathers of the red men sleep; +but some day they will wake again and go forth and possess all the land; +and the buffalo are for them when that time shall come, that they may +have the fruits of the chase, and that it be as it was of old, when the +cattle were as clouds on the horizon. And it was ordained that one of +these mighty men who had never been vanquished in fight, nor done an +evil thing, and was the greatest of all the chiefs, should live and not +die, but be as a sentinel, as a lion watching, and preserve the White +Valley in peace until his brethren waked and came into their own again. +And him they called the Scarlet Hunter; and to this hour the red men +pray to him when they lose their way upon the plains, or Death draws +aside the curtains of the wigwam to call them forth." + +"Repeat the verses you sang, Pierre," said Trafford. The half-breed did +so. When he came to the words, "Who loveth the beast of the field the +best," the Englishman looked round. "Where is Shangi"? he asked. McGann +shook his head in astonishment and negation. Pierre explained: "On +the mountain-side where we ride down he is not seen--he vanish... 'mon +Dieu,' look!" + +On the slope of the mountain stood the Scarlet Hunter with drawn bow. +From it an arrow flew over their heads with a sorrowful twang, and +fell where the smoke rose among the pines; then the mystic figure +disappeared. + +McGann shuddered, and drew himself together. "It is the place of +spirits," he said; "and it's little I like it, God knows; but I'll +follow that Scarlet Hunter, or red devil, or whatever he is, till I +drop, if the Honourable gives the word. For flesh and blood I'm not +afraid of; and the other we come to, whether we will or not, one day." + +But Trafford said: "No, we'll let it stand where it is for the present. +Something has played our eyes false, or we're brought here to do work +different from buffalo-hunting. Where that arrow fell among the smoke +we must go first. Then, as I read the riddle, we travel back the way we +came. There are points in connection with the Pipi Valley superior to +the hills of the Mighty Men." + +They rode away across the glade, and through a grove of pines upon a +hill, till they stood before a log but with parchment windows. + +Trafford knocked, but there was no response. He opened the door and +entered. He saw a figure rise painfully from a couch in a corner,--the +figure of a woman young and beautiful, but wan and worn. She seemed +dazed and inert with suffering, and spoke mournfully: "It is too late. +Not you, nor any of your race, nor anything on earth can save him. He is +dead--dead now." + +At the first sound of her voice Trafford started. He drew near to her, +as pale as she was, and wonder and pity were in his face. "Hester," he +said, "Hester Orval!" + +She stared at him like one that had been awakened from an evil dream, +then tottered towards him with the cry,--"Just, Just, have you come to +save me? O Just!" His distress was sad to see, for it was held in deep +repression, but he said calmly and with protecting gentleness: "Yes, I +have come to save you. Hester, how is it you are here in this strange +place--you?" + +She sobbed so that at first she could not answer; but at last she cried: +"O Just, he is dead... in there, in there!... Last night, it was last +night; and he prayed that I might go with him. But I could not die +unforgiven, and I was right, for you have come out of the world to help +me, and to save me." + +"Yes, to help you and to save you,--if I can," he added in a whisper to +himself, for he was full of foreboding. He was of the earth, earthy, +and things that had chanced to him this day were beyond the natural and +healthy movements of his mind. He had gone forth to slay, and had been +foiled by shadows; he had come with a tragic, if beautiful, memory +haunting him, and that memory had clothed itself in flesh and stood +before him, pitiful, solitary,--a woman. He had scorned all legend and +superstition, and here both were made manifest to him. He had thought +of this woman as one who was of this world no more, and here she mourned +before him and bade him go and look upon her dead, upon the man who +had wronged him, into whom, as he once declared, the soul of a cur had +entered,--and now what could he say? He had carried in his heart the +infinite something that is to men the utmost fulness of life, which, +losing, they must carry lead upon their shoulders where they thought the +gods had given pinions. + +McGann and Pierre were nervous. This conjunction of unusual things was +easier to the intelligences of the dead than the quick. The outer air +was perhaps less charged with the unnatural, and with a glance towards +the room where death was quartered, they left the hut. + +Trafford was alone with the woman through whom his life had been turned +awry. He looked at her searchingly; and as he looked the mere man in +him asserted itself for a moment. She was dressed in coarse garments; it +struck him that her grief had a touch of commonness about it; there was +something imperfect in the dramatic setting. His recent experiences +had had a kind of grandeur about them; it was not thus that he had +remembered her in the hour when he had called upon her in the plains, +and the Indian had heard his cry. He felt, and was ashamed in feeling, +that there was a grim humour in the situation. The fantastic, the +melodramatic, the emotional, were huddled here in too marked a +prominence; it all seemed, for an instant, like the tale of a woman's +first novel. But immediately again there was roused in him the latent +force of loyalty to himself and therefore to her; the story of her past, +so far as he knew it, flashed before him, and his eyes grew hot. + +He remembered the time he had last seen her in an English country-house +among a gay party in which royalty smiled, and the subject was content +beneath the smile. But there was one rebellious subject, and her name +was Hester Orval. She was a wilful girl who had lived life selfishly +within the lines of that decorous yet pleasant convention to which she +was born. She was beautiful,--she knew that, and royalty had graciously +admitted it. She was warm-thoughted, and possessed the fatal strain of +the artistic temperament. She was not sure that she had a heart; and +many others, not of her sex, after varying and enthusiastic study of the +matter, were not more confident than she. But it had come at last that +she had listened with pensive pleasure to Trafford's tale of love; +and because to be worshipped by a man high in all men's, and in most +women's, esteem, ministered delicately to her sweet egotism, and because +she was proud of him, she gave him her hand in promise, and her cheek +in privilege, but denied him--though he knew this not--her heart and +the service of her life. But he was content to wait patiently for that +service, and he wholly trusted her, for there was in him some fine +spirit of the antique world. + +There had come to Falkenstowe, this country-house and her father's home, +a man who bore a knightly name, but who had no knightly heart; and he +told Ulysses' tales, and covered a hazardous and cloudy past with that +fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good, so that he roused +in her the pulse of art, which she believed was soul and life, and her +allegiance swerved. And when her mother pleaded with her, and when her +father said stern things, and even royalty, with uncommon use, +rebuked her gently, her heart grew hard; and almost on the eve of her +wedding-day she fled with her lover, and married him, and together they +sailed away over the seas. + +The world was shocked and clamorous for a matter of nine days, and then +it forgot this foolish and awkward circumstance; but Just Trafford never +forgot it. He remembered all vividly until the hour, a year later, when +London journals announced that Hester Orval and her husband had gone +down with a vessel wrecked upon the Alaskan and Canadian coast. And +there new regret began, and his knowledge of her ended. + +But she and her husband had not been drowned; with a sailor they had +reached the shore in safety. They had travelled inland from the coast +through the great mountains by unknown paths, and as they travelled, the +sailor died; and they came at last through innumerable hardships to the +Kimash Hills, the hills of the Mighty Men, and there they stayed. It was +not an evil land; it had neither deadly cold in winter nor wanton heat +in summer. But they never saw a human face, and everything was lonely +and spectral. For a time they strove to go eastwards or southwards but +the mountains were impassable, and in the north and west there was no +hope. Though the buffalo swept by them in the valley they could not slay +them, and they lived on forest fruits until in time the man sickened. +The woman nursed him faithfully, but still he failed; and when she could +go forth no more for food, some unseen dweller of the woods brought +buffalo meat, and prairie fowl, and water from the spring, and laid them +beside her door. + +She had seen the mounds upon the hill, the wide couches of the sleepers, +and she remembered the things done in the days when God seemed nearer +to the sons of men than now; and she said that a spirit had done this +thing, and trembled and was thankful. But the man weakened and knew that +he should die, and one night when the pain was sharp upon him he prayed +bitterly that he might pass, or that help might come to snatch him from +the grave. And as they sobbed together, a form entered at the door,--a +form clothed in scarlet,--and he bade them tell the tale of their lives +as they would some time tell it unto heaven. And when the tale was told +he said that succour should come to them from the south by the hand of +the Scarlet Hunter, that the nation sleeping there should no more be +disturbed by their moaning. And then he had gone forth, and with his +going there was a storm such as that in which the man had died, the +storm that had assailed the hunters in the forest yesterday. + +This was the second part of Hester Orval's life as she told it to Just +Trafford. And he, looking into her eyes, knew that she had suffered, and +that she had sounded her husband's unworthiness. Then he turned from her +and went into the room where the dead man lay. And there all hardness +passed from him, and he understood that in the great going forth man +reckons to the full with the deeds done in that brief pilgrimage called +life; and that in the bitter journey which this one took across the +dread spaces between Here and There, he had repented of his sins, +because they, and they only, went with him in mocking company; the good +having gone first to plead where evil is a debtor and hath a prison. And +the woman came and stood beside Trafford, and whispered, "At first--and +at the last--he was kind." + +But he urged her gently from the room: "Go away," he said; "go away. We +cannot judge him. Leave me alone with him." + +They buried him upon the hill-side, far from the mounds where the Mighty +Men waited for their summons to go forth and be the lords of the North +again. At night they buried him when the moon was at its full; and he +had the fragrant pines for his bed, and the warm darkness to cover him; +and though he is to those others resting there a heathen and an alien, +it may be that he sleeps peacefully. + +When Trafford questioned Hester Orval more deeply of her life there, +the unearthly look quickened in her eyes, and she said: "Oh, nothing, +nothing is real here, but suffering; perhaps it is all a dream, but it +has changed me, changed me. To hear the tread of the flying herds, to +see no being save him, the Scarlet Hunter, to hear the voices calling +in the night!... Hush! There, do you not hear them? It is +midnight--listen!" + +He listened, and Pierre and Shon McGann looked at each other +apprehensively, while Shon's fingers felt hurriedly along the beads of a +rosary which he did not hold. Yes, they heard it, a deep sonorous sound: +"Is the daybreak come?" "It is still the night," came the reply as of +one clear voice. And then there floated through the hills more +softly: "We sleep--we sleep!" And the sounds echoed through the +valley--"Sleep--sleep!" + +Yet though these things were full of awe, the spirit of the place held +them there, and the fever of the hunter descended on them hotly. In +the morning they went forth, and rode into the White Valley where the +buffalo were feeding, and sought to steal upon them; but the shots from +their guns only awoke the hills, and none were slain. And though they +rode swiftly, the wide surf of snow was ever between them and the chase, +and their striving availed nothing. Day after day they followed that +flying column, and night after night they heard the sleepers call from +the hills. The desire of the thing wasted them, and they forgot to eat +and ceased to talk among themselves. But one day Shon McGann, muttering +aves as he rode, gained on the cattle, until once again the Scarlet +Hunter came forth from a cleft of the mountains, and drove the herd +forward with swifter feet. But the Irishman had learned the power +in this thing, and had taught Trafford, who knew not those availing +prayers, and with these sacred conjurations on their lips they gained on +the cattle length by length, though the Scarlet Hunter rode abreast +of the thundering horde. Within easy range, Trafford swung his gun +shoulder-wards to fire, but at that instant a cloud of snow rose up +between him and his quarry so that they all were blinded. And when they +came into the clear sun again the buffalo were gone; but flaming arrows +from some unseen hunter's bow came singing over their heads towards the +south; and they obeyed the sign, and went back to where Hester wore her +life out with anxiety for them, because she knew the hopelessness of +their quest. Women are nearer to the heart of things. And now she begged +Trafford to go southwards before winter froze the plains impassably, and +the snow made tombs of the valleys. Thereupon he gave the word to go, +and said that he had done wrong--for now the spell was falling from him. + +But she, seeing his regret, said: "Ah, Just, it could not have been +different. The passion of it was on you as it was on us, as if to teach +us that hunger for happiness is robbery, and that the covetous desire of +man is not the will of the gods. The herds are for the Mighty Men when +they awake, not for the stranger and the Philistine." + +"You have grown wise, Hester," he replied. + +"No, I am sick in brain and body; but it may be that in such sickness +there is wisdom." + +"Ah," he said, "it has turned my head, I think. Once I laughed at all +such fanciful things as these. This Scarlet Hunter, how many times have +you seen him?" + +"But once." + +"What were his looks?" + +"A face pale and strong, with noble eyes; and in his voice there was +something strange." + +Trafford thought of Shangi, the Indian,--where had he gone? He had +disappeared as suddenly as he had come to their camp in the South. + +As they sat silent in the growing night, the door opened and the +Scarlet Hunter stood before them. "There is food," he said, "on the +threshold--food for those who go upon a far journey to the South in the +morning. Unhappy are they who seek for gold at the rainbow's foot, +who chase the fire-fly in the night, who follow the herds in the White +Valley. Wise are they who anger not the gods, and who fly before the +rising storm. There is a path from the valley for the strangers, the +path by which they came; and when the sun stares forth again upon the +world, the way shall be open, and there shall be safety for you until +your travel ends in the quick world whither you go. You were foolish; +now you are wise. It is time to depart; seek not to return, that we may +have peace and you safety. When the world cometh to her spring again we +shall meet." Then he turned and was gone, with Trafford's voice ringing +after him,--"Shangi! Shangi!" + +They ran out swiftly, but he had vanished. In the valley where the +moonlight fell in icy coldness a herd of cattle was moving, and their +breath rose like the spray from sea-beaten rocks, and the sound of their +breathing was borne upwards to the watchers. + +At daybreak they rode down into the valley. All was still. Not a trace +of life remained; not a hoofmark in the snow, nor a bruised blade of +grass. And when they climbed to the plateau and looked back, it seemed +to Trafford and his companions, as it seemed in after years, that this +thing had been all a fantasy. But Hester's face was beside them, and +it told of strange and unsubstantial things. The shadows of the middle +world were upon her. And yet again when they turned at the last there +was no token. It was a northern valley, with sun and snow, and cold blue +shadows, and the high hills,--that was all. + +Then Hester said: "O Just, I do not know if this is life or death--and +yet it must be death, for after death there is forgiveness to those who +repent, and your face is forgiving and kind." + +And he--for he saw that she needed much human help and comfort--gently +laid his hand on hers and replied: "Hester, this is life, a new life +for both of us. Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now"--and +he folded her hand in his--"is real; and there is no such thing as +forgiveness to be spoken of between us. There shall be happiness for us +yet, please God!" + +"I want to go to Falkenstowe. Will--will my mother forgive me?" + +"Mothers always forgive, Hester, else half the world had slain itself in +shame." + +And then she smiled for the first time since he had seen her. This was +in the shadows of the scented pines; and a new life breathed upon her, +as it breathed upon them all, and they knew that the fever of the White +Valley had passed away from them forever. + +After many hardships they came in safety to the regions of the south +country again; and the tale they told, though doubted by the race of +pale-faces, was believed by the heathen; because there was none among +them but, as he cradled at his mother's breasts, and from his youth up, +had heard the legend of the Scarlet Hunter. + +For the romance of that journey, it concerned only the man and woman +to whom it was as wine and meat to the starving. Is not love more than +legend, and a human heart than all the beasts of the field or any joy of +slaughter? + + + + +THE STONE + +The Stone hung on a jutting crag of Purple Hill. On one side of it, far +beneath, lay the village, huddled together as if, through being close +compacted, its handful of humanity should not be a mere dust in the +balance beside Nature's portentousness. Yet if one stood beside The +Stone, and looked down, the flimsy wooden huts looked like a barrier at +the end of a great flume. For the hill hollowed and narrowed from +The Stone to the village, as if giants had made this concave path by +trundling boulders to that point like a funnel where the miners' houses +now formed a cul-de-sac. On the other side of the crag was a valley +also; but it was lonely and untenanted; and at one flank of The Stone +were serried legions of trees. + +The Stone was a mighty and wonderful thing. Looked at from the village +direct, it had nothing but the sky for a background. At times, also, it +appeared to rest on nothing; and many declared that they could see clean +between it and the oval floor of the crag on which it rested. That was +generally in the evening, when the sun was setting behind it. Then the +light coiled round its base, between it and its pedestal, thus making +it appear to hover above the hill-point, or, planet-like, to be just +settling on it. At other times, when the light was perfectly clear and +not too strong, and the village side of the crag was brighter than the +other, more accurate relations of The Stone to its pedestal could be +discovered. Then one would say that it balanced on a tiny base, a toe of +granite. But if one looked long, especially in the summer, when the air +throbbed, it evidently rocked upon that toe; if steadily, and very long, +he grew tremulous, perhaps afraid. Once, a woman who was about to become +a mother went mad, because she thought The Stone would hurtle down the +hill at her great moment and destroy her and her child. Indians would +not live either on the village side of The Stone or in the valley +beyond. They had a legend that, some day, one, whom they called The +Man Who Sleeps, would rise from his hidden couch in the mountains, and, +being angry that any dared to cumber his playground, would hurl The +Stone upon them that dwelt at Purple Hill. But white men pay little heed +to Indian legends. At one time or another every person who had come +to the village visited The Stone. Colossal as it was, the real base +on which its weight rested was actually very small: the view from the +village had not been all deceitful. It is possible, indeed, that at +one time it had really rocked, and that the rocking had worn for it a +shallow cup, or socket, in which it poised. The first man who came to +Purple Valley prospecting had often stopped his work and looked at The +Stone in a half-fear that it would spring upon him unawares. And yet he +had as often laughed at himself for doing so, since, as he said, it must +have been there hundreds of thousands of years. Strangers, when they +came to the village, went to sleep somewhat timidly the first night of +their stay, and not infrequently left their beds to go and look at The +Stone, as it hung there ominously in the light of the moon; or listened +towards it if it was dark. When the moon rose late, and The Stone +chanced to be directly in front of it, a black sphere seemed to be +rolling into the light to blot it out. + +But none who lived in the village looked upon The Stone in quite the +same fashion as did that first man who had come to the valley. He had +seen it through three changing seasons, with no human being near him, +and only occasionally a shy, wandering elk, or a cloud of wild ducks +whirring down the pass, to share his companionship with it. Once he had +waked in the early morning, and, possessed of a strange feeling, had +gone out to look a The Stone. There, perched upon it, was an eagle; and +though he said to himself that an eagle's weight was to The Stone as a +feather upon the world, he kept his face turned towards it all day; +for all day the eagle stayed. He was a man of great stature and immense +strength. The thews of his limbs stood out like soft unbreakable steel. +Yet, as if to cast derision on his strength and great proportions, God +or Fate turned his bread to ashes, gave failure into his hands where he +hugely grasped at fortune, and hung him about with misery. He discovered +gold, but others gathered it. It was his daughter that went mad, and +gave birth to a dead child in fearsome thought of The Stone. Once, +when he had gone over the hills to another mining field, and had been +prevented from coming back by unexpected and heavy snows, his wife was +taken ill, and died alone of starvation, because none in the village +remembered of her and her needs. Again, one wild night, long after, his +only son was taken from his bed and lynched for a crime that was none +of his, as was discovered by his murderers next day. Then they killed +horribly the real criminal, and offered the father such satisfaction as +they could. They said that any one of them was ready there to be killed +by him; and they threw a weapon at his feet. At this he stood looking +upon them for a moment, his great breast heaving, and his eyes +glowering; but presently he reached out his arms, and taking two of +them by the throat, brought their heads together heavily, breaking their +skulls; and, with a cry in his throat like a wounded animal, left them, +and entered the village no more. But it became known that he had built +a rude but on Purple Hill, and that he had been seen standing beside The +Stone or sitting among the boulders below it, with his face bent upon +the village. Those who had come near to him said that he had greatly +changed; that his hair and beard had grown long and strong, and, in +effect, that he looked like some rugged fragment of an antique world. + +The time came when they associated The Man with The Stone: they grew to +speak of him simply as The Man. There was something natural and apt in +the association. Then they avoided these two singular dwellers on the +height. What had happened to The Man when he lived in the village became +almost as great a legend as the Indian fable concerning The Stone. In +the minds of the people one seemed as old as the other. Women who knew +the awful disasters which had befallen The Man brooded at times most +timidly, regarding him as they did at first--and even still--The Stone. +Women who carried life unborn about with them had a strange dread of +both The Stone and The Man. Time passed on, and the feeling grew that +The Man's grief must be a terrible thing, since he lived alone with +The Stone and God. But this did not prevent the men of the village from +digging gold, drinking liquor, and doing many kinds of evil. One +day, again, they did an unjust and cruel thing. They took Pierre, the +gambler, whom they had at first sought to vanquish at his own art, and, +possessed suddenly of the high duty of citizenship, carried him to the +edge of a hill and dropped him over, thinking thereby to give him a +quick death, while the vultures would provide him a tomb. But Pierre was +not killed, though to his grave--unprepared as yet--he would bear an +arm which should never be lifted higher than his shoulder. When he waked +from the crashing gloom which succeeded the fall, he was in the presence +of a being whose appearance was awesome and massive--an outlawed god: +whose hair and beard were white, whose eye was piercing, absorbing, +painful, in the long perspective of its woe. This being sat with his +great hand clasped to the side of his head. The beginning of his look +was the village, and--though the vision seemed infinite--the village was +the end of it too. Pierre, looking through the doorway beside which he +lay, drew in his breath sharply, for it seemed at first as if The Man +was an unnatural fancy, and not a thing. Behind The Man was The Stone, +which was not more motionless nor more full of age than this its +comrade. Indeed, The Stone seemed more a thing of life as it poised +above the hill: The Man was sculptured rock. His white hair was +chiselled on his broad brow, his face was a solemn pathos petrified, his +lips were curled with an iron contempt, an incalculable anger. + +The sun went down, and darkness gathered about The Man. Pierre reached +out his hand, and drank the water and ate the coarse bread that had been +put near him. He guessed that trees or protruding ledges had broken his +fall, and that he had been rescued and brought here. As he lay thinking, +The Man entered the doorway, stooping much to do so. With flints +he lighted a wick which hung from a wooden bowl of bear's oil; then +kneeling, held it above his head, and looked at Pierre. And Pierre, who +had never feared anyone, shrank from the look in The Man's eyes. But +when the other saw that Pierre was awake, a distant kindness came upon +his face, and he nodded gravely; but he did not speak. Presently a great +tremor as of pain shook all his limbs, and he set the candle on the +ground, and with his stalwart hands arranged afresh the bandages about +Pierre's injured arm and leg. Pierre spoke at last. + +"You are The Man"? he said. The other bowed his head. + +"You saved me from those devils in the valley?" A look of impregnable +hardness came into The Man's face, but he pressed Pierre's hand for +answer; and though the pressure was meant to be gentle, Pierre winced +painfully. The candle spluttered, and the hut filled with a sickly +smoke. The Man brought some bear skins and covered the sufferer, for, +the season being autumn, the night was cold. Pierre, who had thus spent +his first sane and conscious hour in many days, fell asleep. What time +it was when he waked he was not sure, but it was to hear a metallic +click-click come to him through the clear air of night. It was +a pleasant noise as of steel and rock: the work of some lonely +stone-cutter of the hills. The sound reached him with strange, +increasing distinctness. Was this Titan that had saved him sculpturing +some figure from the metal hill? Click-click! it vibrated as regularly +as the keen pulse of a watch. He lay and wondered for a long time, but +fell asleep again; and the steely iteration went on in his dreams. + +In the morning The Man came to him, and cared for his hurts, and gave +him food; but still would speak no word. He was gone nearly all day in +the hills; yet when evening came he sought the place where Pierre had +seen him the night before, and the same weird scene was re-enacted. And +again in the night the clicking sound went on; and every night it was +renewed. Pierre grew stronger, and could, with difficulty, stand upon +his feet. One night he crept out, and made his way softly, slowly +towards the sound. He saw The Man kneeling beside The Stone, he saw a +hammer rise and fall upon a chisel; and the chisel was at the base of +The Stone. The hammer rose and fell with perfect but dreadful precision. +Pierre turned and looked towards the village below, whose lights were +burning like a bunch of fire-flies in the gloom. Again he looked at The +Stone and The Man. + +Then the thing came to him sharply. The Man was chiselling away the +socket of The Stone, bringing it to that point of balance where the +touch of a finger, the wing of a bird, or the whistle of a north-west +wind, would send it down upon the offending and unsuspecting village. + +The thought held him paralysed. The Man had nursed his revenge long past +the thought of its probability by the people beneath. He had at first +sat and watched the village, hated, and mused dreadfully upon the thing +he had determined to do. Then he had worked a little, afterwards more, +and now, lastly, since he had seen what they had done to Pierre, with +the hot but firm eagerness of an avenging giant. Pierre had done some +sad deeds in his time, and had tasted some sweet revenges, but nothing +like to this had ever entered his brain. In that village were men +who--as they thought--had cast him to a death fit only for a coward or +a cur. Well, here was the most exquisite retaliation. Though his hand +should not be in the thing, he could still be the cynical and approving +spectator. + +But yet: had all those people hovering about those lights below done +harm to him? He thought there were a few--and they were women--who would +not have followed his tumbril to his death with cries of execration. +The rest would have done so,--most of them did so, not because he was a +criminal, but because he was a victim, and because human nature as it is +thirsts inordinately at times for blood and sacrifice--a living strain +of the old barbaric instinct. He remembered that most of these people +were concerned in having injured The Man. The few good women there had +vile husbands; the few pardonable men had hateful wives: the village of +Purple Hill was an ill affair. + +He thought: now doubtfully, now savagely, now with irony. + +The hammer and steel clicked on. + +He looked at the lights of the village again. Suddenly there came to +his mind the words of a great man who sought to save a city manifold +centuries ago. He was not sure that he wished to save this village; but +there was a grim, almost grotesque, fitness in the thing that he now +intended. He spoke out clearly through the night: + +"'Oh, let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak yet but this once: +Peradventure ten righteous shall be found there.'" + +The hammer stopped. There was a silence, in which the pines sighed +lightly. Then, as if speaking was a labour, The Man replied in a deep, +harsh voice: + +"I will not spare it for ten's sake." + +Again there was a silence, in which Pierre felt his maimed body bend +beneath him; but presently the voice said,--"Now!" + +At this the moon swung from behind a cloud. The Man stood behind The +Stone. His arm was raised to it. There was a moment's pause--it seemed +like years to Pierre; a wind came softly crying out of the west, the +moon hurried into the dark, and then a monster sprang from its pedestal +upon Purple Hill, and, with a sound of thunder and an awful speed, raced +upon the village below. The boulders of the hillside crumbled after it. + +And Pierre saw the lights go out. + +The moon shone out again for an instant, and Pierre saw that The Man +stood where The Stone had been; but when he reached the place The Man +was gone. Forever! + + + + +THE TALL MASTER + +The story has been so much tossed about in the mouths of Indians, and +half-breeds, and men of the Hudson's Bay Company, that you are pretty +sure to hear only an apocryphal version of the thing as you now travel +in the North. But Pretty Pierre was at Fort Luke when the battle +occurred, and, before and after, he sifted the business thoroughly. For +he had a philosophical turn, and this may be said of him, that he never +lied except to save another from danger. In this matter he was cool and +impartial from first to last, and evil as his reputation was in many +ways there were those who believed and trusted him. Himself, as he +travelled here and there through the North, had heard of the Tall +Master. Yet he had never met anyone who had seen him; for the Master +had dwelt, it was said, chiefly among the strange tribes of the Far-Off +Metal River whose faces were almost white, and who held themselves aloof +from the southern races. The tales lost nothing by being retold, even +when the historians were the men of the H. B. C.;---Pierre knew what +accomplished liars may be found among that Company of Adventurers +trading in Hudson's Bay, and how their art had been none too delicately +engrafted by his own people. But he was, as became him, open to +conviction, especially when, journeying to Fort Luke, he heard what John +Hybar, the Chief Factor--a man of uncommon quality--had to say. Hybar +had once lived long among those Indians of the Bright Stone, and had +seen many rare things among them. He knew their legends of the White +Valley and the Hills of the Mighty Men, and how their distinctive +character had imposed itself on the whole Indian race of the North, so +that there was none but believed, even though vaguely, in a pleasant +land not south but Arcticwards; and Pierre himself, with Shon McGann and +Just Trafford, had once had a strange experience in the Kimash Hills. He +did not share the opinion of Lazenby, the Company's clerk at Fort Luke, +who said, when the matter was talked of before him, that it was all +hanky-panky,--which was evidence that he had lived in London town, +before his anxious relatives, sending him forth under the delusive flag +of adventure and wild life, imprisoned him in the Arctic regions with +the H. B. C. + +Lazenby admired Pierre; said he was good stuff, and voted him amusing, +with an ingenious emphasis of heathen oaths; but advised him, as only +an insolent young scoundrel can, to forswear securing, by the seductive +game of poker or euchre, larger interest on his capital than the H. B. +C.; whose record, he insisted, should never be rivalled by any single +man in any single lifetime. Then he incidentally remarked that he would +like to empty the Company's cash-box once--only once;--thus reconciling +the preacher and the sinner, as many another has done. Lazenby's +morals were not bad, however. He was simply fond of making them appear +terrible; even when in London he was more idle than wicked. He gravely +suggested at last, as a kind of climax, that he and Pierre should go out +on the pad together. This was a mere stroke of pleasantry on his part, +because, the most he could loot in that far North were furs and caches +of buffalo meat; and a man's capacity and use for them were limited. +Even Pierre's especial faculty and art seemed valueless so far +Polewards; but he had his beat throughout the land, and he kept it like +a perfect patrolman. He had not been at Fort Luke for years, and he +would not be there again for more years; but it was certain that he +would go on reappearing till he vanished utterly. At the end of the +first week of this visit at Fort Luke, so completely had he conquered +the place, that he had won from the Chief Factor the year's purchases +of skins, the stores, and the Fort itself; and every stitch of clothing +owned by Lazenby: so that, if he had insisted on the redemption of +the debts, the H. B. C. and Lazenby had been naked and hungry in +the wilderness. But Pierre was not a hard creditor. He instantly and +nonchalantly said that the Fort would be useless to him, and handed +it back again with all therein, on a most humorously constructed +ninety-nine years' lease; while Lazenby was left in pawn. Yet Lazenby's +mind was not at certain ease; he had a wholesome respect for Pierre's +singularities, and dreaded being suddenly called upon to pay his debt +before he could get his new clothes made, maybe, in the presence of Wind +Driver, chief of the Golden Dogs, and his demure and charming daughter, +Wine Face, who looked upon him with the eye of affection--a matter +fully, but not ostentatiously, appreciated by Lazenby. If he could +have entirely forgotten a pretty girl in South Kensington, who, at her +parents' bidding, turned her shoulder on him, he would have married +Wine Face; and so he told Pierre. But the half-breed had only a sardonic +sympathy for such weakness. Things changed at once when Shon McGann +arrived. He should have come before, according to a promise given +Pierre, but there were reasons for the delay; and these Shon elaborated +in his finely picturesque style. + +He said that he had lost his way after he left the Wapiti Woods, and +should never have found it again, had it not been for a strange being +who came upon him and took him to the camp of the White Hand Indians, +and cared for him there, and sent him safely on his way again to Fort +Luke. + +"Sorra wan did I ever see like him," said Shon, "with a face that was +divil this minute and saint the next; pale in the cheek, and black +in the eye, and grizzled hair flowin' long at his neck and lyin' like +snakes on his shoulders; and whin his fingers closed on yours, bedad! +they didn't seem human at all, for they clamped you so cold and strong." + +"'For they clamped you so cold and strong,'" replied Pierre, mockingly, +yet greatly interested, as one could see by the upward range of his eye +towards Shon. "Well, what more?" + +"Well, squeeze the acid from y'r voice, Pierre; for there's things that +better become you: and listen to me, for I've news for all here at the +Fort, before I've done, which'll open y'r eyes with a jerk." + +"With a wonderful jerk, hold! let us prepare, messieurs, to be waked +with an Irish jerk!" and Pierre pensively trifled with the fringe +on Shon's buckskin jacket, which was whisked from his fingers with +smothered anger. For a few moments he was silent; but the eager looks of +the Chief Factor and Lazenby encouraged him to continue. Besides, it was +only Pierre's way--provoking Shon was the piquant sauce of his life. + +"Lyin' awake I was," continued Shon, "in the middle of the night, not +bein' able to sleep for a pain in a shoulder I'd strained, whin I heard +a thing that drew me up standin'. It was the sound of a child laughin'; +so wonderful and bright, and at the very door of me tent it seemed. Then +it faded away till it was only a breath, lovely, and idle, and swingin'. +I wint to the door and looked out. There was nothin' there, av coorse." +"And why 'av coorse'"? rejoined Pierre. The Chief Factor was intent on +what Shon was saying, while Lazenby drummed his fingers on the table, +his nose in the air. + +"Divils me darlin', but ye know as well as I, that there's things in the +world neither for havin' nor handlin'. And that's wan of thim, says I to +meself.... I wint back and lay down, and I heard the voice singin' now +and comin' nearer and nearer, and growin' louder and louder, and then +there came with it a patter of feet, till it was as a thousand children +were dancin' by me door. I was shy enough, I'll own; but I pulled aside +the curtain of the tent to see again: and there was nothin' beyand for +the eye. But the singin' was goin' past and recedin' as before, till it +died away along the waves of prairie grass. I wint back and give Grey +Nose, my Injin bed-fellow, a lift wid me fut. 'Come out of that,' says +I, 'and tell me if dead or alive I am.' He got up, and there was the +noise soft and grand again, but with it now the voices of men, the flip +of birds' wings and the sighin' of tree tops, and behind all that the +long wash of a sea like none I ever heard.... 'Well,' says I to the +Injin grinnin' before me, 'what's that, in the name o' Moses?' 'That,' +says he, laughin' slow in me face, 'is the Tall Master--him that brought +you to the camp.' Thin I remimbered all the things that's been said of +him, and I knew it was music I'd been hearin' and not children's voices +nor anythin' else at all. + +"'Come with me,' says Grey Nose; and he took me to the door of a big +tent standin' alone from the rest. + +"'Wait a minute,' says he, and he put his hand on the tent curtain; and +at that there was a crash, as a million gold hammers were fallin' on +silver drums. And we both stood still; for it seemed an army, with +swords wranglin' and bridle-chains rattlin', was marchin' down on us. +There was the divil's own uproar, as a battle was comin' on; and a long +line of spears clashed. But just then there whistled through the larrup +of sound a clear voice callin', gentle and coaxin', yet commandin' too; +and the spears dropped, and the pounding of horsehoofs ceased, and then +the army marched away; far away; iver so far away, into--" + +"Into Heaven!" flippantly interjected Lazenby. "Into Heaven, say I, and +be choked to you! for there's no other place for it; and I'll stand by +that, till I go there myself, and know the truth o' the thing." Pierre +here spoke. "Heaven gave you a fine trick with words, Shon McGann. +I sometimes think Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words and +women. ... 'Bien,' what then?" + +Shon was determined not to be angered. The occasion was too big. "Well, +Grey Nose lifted the curtain and wint in. In a minute he comes out. 'You +can go in,' says he. So in I wint, the Injin not comin', and there in +the middle of the tint stood the Tall Master, alone. He had his fiddle +to his chin, and the bow hoverin' above it. He looked at me for a long +time along the thing; then, all at once, from one string I heard the +child laughin' that pleasant and distant, though the bow seemed not to +be touchin'. Soon it thinned till it was the shadow of a laugh, and I +didn't know whin it stopped, he smilin' down at the fiddle bewhiles. +Then he said without lookin' at me,--'It is the spirit of the White +Valley and the Hills of the Mighty Men; of which all men shall know, for +the North will come to her spring again one day soon, at the remaking of +the world. They thought the song would never be found again, but I have +given it a home here.' And he bent and kissed the strings. After, he +turned sharply as if he'd been spoken to, and looked at someone beside +him; someone that I couldn't see. A cloud dropped upon his face, he +caught the fiddle hungrily to his breast, and came limpin' over to +me--for there was somethin' wrong with his fut--and lookin' down his +hook-nose at me, says he,--'I've a word for them at Fort Luke, where +you're goin', and you'd better be gone at once; and I'll put you on your +way. There's to be a great battle. The White Hands have an ancient feud +with the Golden Dogs, and they have come from where the soft Chinook +wind ranges the Peace River, to fight until no man of all the Golden +Dogs be left, or till they themselves be destroyed. It is the same north +and south,' he wint on; 'I have seen it all in Italy, in Greece, in--' +but here he stopped and smiled strangely. After a minute he wint on: +'The White Hands have no quarrel with the Englishmen of the Fort, and I +would warn them, for Englishmen were once kind to me--and warn also the +Golden Dogs. So come with me at once,' says he. And I did. And he walked +with me till mornin', carryin' the fiddle under his arm, but wrapped in +a beautiful velvet cloth, havin' on it grand figures like the arms of +a king or queen. And just at the first whisk of sun he turned me into a +trail and give me good-bye, sayin' that maybe he'd follow me soon, and, +at any rate, he'd be there at the battle. Well, divils betide me! I got +off the track again; and lost a day; but here I am; and there's me story +to take or lave as you will." + +Shon paused and began to fumble with the cards on the table before him, +looking the while at the others. + +The Chief Factor was the first to speak. "I don't doubt but he told you +true about the White Hands and the Golden Dogs," he said; "for there's +been war and bad blood between them beyond the memory of man--at least +since the time that the Mighty Men lived, from which these date their +history. But there's nothing to be done to-night; for if we tell old +Wind Driver, there'll be no sleeping at the Fort. So we'll let the thing +stand." + +"You believe all this poppy-cock, Chief"? said Lazenby to the Factor, +but laughing in Shon's face the while. The Factor gravely replied: "I +knew of the Tall Master years ago on the Far-Off Metal River; and though +I never saw him I can believe these things--and more. You do not know +this world through and through, Lazenby; you have much to learn." + +Pierre said nothing. He took the cards from Shon and passed them to and +fro in his hand. Mechanically he dealt them out, and as mechanically +they took them up and in silence began to play. + +The next day there was commotion and excitement at Fort Luke. The Golden +Dogs were making preparations for the battle. Pow-wow followed pow-wow, +and paint and feathers followed all. The H. B. C. people had little to +do but look to their guns and house everything within the walls of the +Fort. + +At night, Shon, Pierre, and Lazenby were seated about the table in the +common-room, the cards lying dealt before them, waiting for the Factor +to come. Presently the door opened and the Factor entered, followed by +another. Shon and Pierre sprang to their feet. + +"The Tall Master," said Shon with a kind of awe; and then stood still. + +Their towering visitor slowly unloosed something he carried very +carefully and closely beneath his arm, and laid it on the table, +dropping his compass-like fingers softly on it. He bowed gravely to +each, yet the bow seemed grotesque, his body was so ungainly. With the +eyes of all drawn to him absolutely, he spoke in a low sonorous tone: +"I have followed the traveller fast"--his hand lifted gently towards +Shon--"for there are weighty concerns abroad, and I have things to say +and do before I go again to my people--and beyond.... I have hungered +for the face of a white man these many years, and his was the first +I saw;"--again he tossed a long finger towards the Irishman--"and it +brought back many things. I remember... " He paused, then sat down; +and they all did the same. He looked at them one by one with distant +kindness. "I remember," he continued, and his strangely articulated +fingers folded about the thing on the table beside him, "when"--here the +cards caught his eye. His face underwent a change. An eager fantastic +look shot from his eye, "when I gambled this away at Lucca,"--his hand +drew the bundle closer to him--"but I won it back again--at a price!" he +gloomily added, glancing sideways as to someone at his elbow. + +He remained, eyes hanging upon space for a moment, then he recollected +himself and continued: "I became wiser; I never risked it again; but I +loved the game always. I was a gamester from the start--the artist is +always so when he is greatest,--like nature herself. And once, years +after, I played with a mother for her child--and mine. And yet once +again at Parma with"--here he paused, throwing that sharp sidelong +glance--"with the greatest gamester, for the infinite secret of Art: and +I won it; but I paid the price!... I should like to play now." + +He reached his hand, drew up five cards, and ran his eye through them. +"Play!" he said. "The hand is good--very good.... Once when I played +with the Princess--but it is no matter; and Tuscany is far away!... +Play!" he repeated. + +Pierre instantly picked up the cards, with an air of cool satisfaction. +He had either found the perfect gamester or the perfect liar. He knew +the remedy for either. + +The Chief Factor did not move. Shon and Lazenby followed Pierre's +action. By their positions Lazenby became his partner. They played +in silence for a minute, the Tall Master taking all. "Napoleon was a +wonderful player, but he lost with me," he said slowly as he played a +card upon three others and took them. + +Lazenby was so taken back by this remark that, presently, he trumped +his partner's ace, and was rewarded by a talon-like look from the +Tall Master's eye; but it was immediately followed by one of saturnine +amusement. + +They played on silently. + +"Ah, you are a wonderful player!" he presently said to Pierre, with +a look of keen scrutiny. "Come, I will play with you--for values--the +first time in seventy-five years; then, no more!" + +Lazenby and Shon drew away beside the Chief Factor. The two played. +Meanwhile Lazenby said to Shon: "The man's mad. He talks about Napoleon +as if he'd known him--as if it wasn't three-fourths of a century ago. +Does he think we're all born idiots? Why, he's not over sixty years old +now. But where the deuce did he come from with that Italian face? And +the funniest part of it is, he reminds me of someone. Did you notice how +he limped--the awkward beggar!" + +Lazenby had unconsciously lifted his voice, and presently the Tall +Master turned and said to him: "I ran a nail into my foot at Leyden +seventy-odd years ago." + +"He's the devil himself," rejoined Lazenby, and he did not lower his +voice. + +"Many with angelic gifts are children of His Dark Majesty," said the +Tall Master, slowly; and though he appeared closely occupied with the +game, a look of vague sadness came into his face. + +For a half-hour they played in silence, the slight, delicate-featured +half-breed, and the mysterious man who had for so long been a thing of +wonder in the North, a weird influence among the Indians. + +There was a strange, cold fierceness in the Tall Master's face. He now +staked his precious bundle against the one thing Pierre prized--the gold +watch received years ago for a deed of heroism on the Chaudiere. The +half-breed had always spoken of it as amusing, but Shon at least knew +that to Pierre it was worth his right hand. + +Both men drew breath slowly, and their eyes were hard. The stillness +became painful; all were possessed by the grim spirit of Chance.... The +Tall Master won. He came to his feet, his shambling body drawn together +to a height. Pierre rose also. Their looks clinched. Pierre stretched +out his hand. "You are my master at this," he said. + +The other smiled sadly. "I have played for the last time. I have not +forgotten how to win. If I had lost, uncommon things had happened. +This,"--he laid his hand on the bundle and gently undid it,--"is my +oldest friend, since the warm days at Parma... all dead... all dead." +Out of the velvet wrapping, broidered with royal and ducal arms, +and rounded by a wreath of violets--which the Chief Factor looked at +closely--he drew his violin. He lifted it reverently to his lips. + +"My good Garnerius!" he said. "Three masters played you, but I am chief +of them all. They had the classic soul, but I the romantic heart--'les +grandes caprices.'" His head lifted higher. "I am the master artist of +the world. I have found the core of Nature. Here in the North is the +wonderful soul of things. Beyond this, far beyond, where the foolish +think is only inviolate ice, is the first song of the Ages in a very +pleasant land. I am the lost Master, and I shall return, I shall return +... but not yet... not yet." + +He fetched the instrument to his chin with a noble pride. The ugliness +of his face was almost beautiful now. + +The Chief Factor's look was fastened on him with bewilderment; he was +trying to remember something: his mind went feeling, he knew not why, +for a certain day, a quarter of a century before, when he unpacked a box +of books and papers from England. Most of them were still in the Fort. +The association of this man with these things fretted him. + +The Tall Master swung his bow upward, but at that instant there came a +knock, and, in response to a call, Wind Driver and Wine Face entered. +Wine Face was certainly a beautiful girl; and Lazenby might well have +been pardoned for throwing in his fate with such a heathen, if he +despaired of ever seeing England again. The Tall Master did not turn +towards these. The Indians sat gracefully on a bearskin before the fire. +The eyes of the girl were cast shyly upon the Man as he stood there +unlike an ordinary man; in his face a fine hardness and the cold light +of the North. He suddenly tipped his bow upward and brought it down with +a most delicate crash upon the strings. Then softly, slowly, he passed +into a weird fantasy. The Indians sat breathless. Upon them it acted +more impressively than the others: besides, the player's eye was +searching them now; he was playing into their very bodies. And they +responded with some swift shocks of recognition crossing their faces. +Suddenly the old Indian sprang up. He thrust his arms out, and made, as +if unconsciously, some fantastic yet solemn motions. The player smiled +in a far-off fashion, and presently ran the bow upon the strings in +an exquisite cry; and then a beautiful avalanche of sound slid from a +distance, growing nearer and nearer, till it swept through the room, and +imbedded all in its sweetness. + +At this the old Indian threw himself forward at the player's feet. "It +is the song of the White Weaver, the maker of the world--the music from +the Hills of the Mighty Men.... I knew it--I knew it--but never like +that. ... It was lost to the world; the wild cry of the lofty stars...." +His face was wet. + +The girl too had risen. She came forward as if in a dream and reverently +touched the arm of the musician, who paused now, and was looking at them +from under his long eyelashes. She said whisperingly: "Are you a spirit? +Do you come from the Hills of the Mighty Men?" + +He answered gravely: "I am no spirit. But I have journeyed in the Hills +of the Mighty Men and along their ancient hunting-grounds. This that I +have played is the ancient music of the world--the music of Jubal and +his comrades. It comes humming from the Poles; it rides laughing down +the planets; it trembles through the snow; it gives joy to the bones +of the wind.... And I am the voice of it," he added; and he drew up his +loose unmanageable body till it looked enormous, firm, and dominant. + +The girl's fingers ran softly over to his breast. "I will follow you," +she said, "when you go again to the Happy Valleys." + +Down from his brow there swept a faint hue of colour, and, for a breath, +his eyes closed tenderly with hers. But he straightway gathered back +his look again, his body shrank, not rudely, from her fingers, and he +absently said: "I am old-in years the father of the world. It is a man's +life gone since, at Genoa, she laid her fingers on my breast like that. +... These things can be no more... until the North hath its summer +again; and I stand young--the Master--upon the summits of my renown." + +The girl drew slowly back. Lazenby was muttering under his breath now; +he was overwhelmed by this change in Wine Face. He had been impressed to +awe by the Tall Master's music, but he was piqued, and determined not to +give in easily. He said sneeringly that Maskelyne and Cooke in music had +come to life, and suggested a snake-dance. + +The Tall Master heard these things, and immediately he turned to Lazenby +with an angry look on his face. His brows hung heavily over the dull +fire of his eyes; his hair itself seemed like Medusa's, just quivering +into savage life; the fingers spread out white and claw-like upon the +strings as he curved his violin to his chin, whereof it became, as it +were, a piece. The bow shot out and down upon the instrument with a +great clangour. There eddied into a vast arena of sound the prodigious +elements of war. Torture rose from those four immeasurable chords; +destruction was afoot upon them; a dreadful dance of death supervened. + +Through the Chief Factor's mind there flashed--though mechanically, +and only to be remembered afterwards--the words of a schoolday poem. It +shuttled in and out of the music: + + "Wheel the wild dance, + While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud; + And call the brave to bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud." + +The face of the player grew old and drawn. The skin was wrinkled, but +shone, the hair spread white, the nose almost met the chin, the mouth +was all malice. It was old age with vast power: conquest volleyed from +the fingers. + +Shon McGann whispered aves, aching with the sound; the Chief Factor +shuddered to his feet; Lazenby winced and drew back to the wall, putting +his hand before his face as though the sounds were striking him; the old +Indian covered his head with his arms upon the floor. Wine Face knelt, +her face all grey, her fingers lacing and interlacing with pain. Only +Pierre sat with masterful stillness, his eyes never moving from the face +of the player; his arms folded; his feet firmly wedded to the floor. The +sound became strangely distressing. It shocked the flesh and angered +the nerves. Upon Lazenby it acted singularly. He cowered from it, but +presently, with a look of madness in his eyes, rushed forward, arms +outstretched, as though to seize this intolerable minstrel. There was a +sudden pause in the playing; then the room quaked with noise, buffeting +Lazenby into stillness. The sounds changed instantly again, and music of +an engaging sweetness and delight fell about them as in silver drops--an +enchanting lyric of love. Its exquisite tenderness subdued Lazenby, who, +but now, had a heart for slaughter. He dropped on his knees, threw his +head into his arms, and sobbed hard. The Tall Master's fingers crept +caressingly along one of those heavenly veins of sound, his bow poising +softly over it. The farthest star seemed singing. + +At dawn the next day the Golden Dogs were gathered for war before the +Fort. Immediately after the sun rose, the foe were seen gliding darkly +out of the horizon. From another direction came two travellers. These +also saw the White Hands bearing upon the Fort, and hurried forward. +They reached the gates of the Fort in good time, and were welcomed. One +was a chief trader from a fort in the west. He was an old man, and had +been many years in the service of the H. B. C.; and, like Lazenby, had +spent his early days in London, a connoisseur in all its pleasures; the +other was a voyageur. They had posted on quickly to bring news of this +crusade of the White Hands. + +The hostile Indians came steadily to within a few hundred yards of the +Golden Dogs. Then they sent a brave to say that they had no quarrel with +the people of the Fort; and that if the Golden Dogs came on they would +battle with them alone; since the time had come for "one to be as both," +as their Medicine Men had declared since the days of the Great Race. And +this signified that one should destroy the other. + +At this all the Golden Dogs ranged into line. The sun shone brightly, +the long hedge of pine woods in the distance caught the colour of the +sky, the flowers of the plains showed handsomely as a carpet of war. +The bodies of the fighters glistened. You could see the rise and fall of +their bare, strenuous chests. They stood as their forefathers in battle, +almost naked, with crested head, gleaming axe, scalp-knife, and bows and +arrows. At first there was the threatening rustle of preparation; then a +great stillness came and stayed for a moment; after which, all at once, +there sped through the air a big shout of battle, and the innumerable +twang of flying arrows; and the opposing hosts ran upon each other. + +Pierre and Shon McGann, watching from the Fort, cried out with +excitement. + +"Divils me darlin'!" called Shon, "are we gluin' our eyes to a chink +in the wall, whin the tangle of battle goes on beyand? Bedad, I'll not +stand it! Look at them twistin' the neck o' war! Open the gates, open +the gates say I, and let us have play with our guns." + +"Hush! 'Mon Dieu!'" interrupted Pierre. "Look! The Tall Master!" + +None at the Fort had seen the Tall Master since the night before. Now +he was covering the space between the walls and the battle, his hair +streaming behind him. + +When he came near to the vortex of fight he raised his violin to his +chin, and instantly a piercingly sweet call penetrated the wild uproar. +The Call filled it, drained through it, wrapped it, overcame it; so that +it sank away at last like the outwash of an exhausted tide: the weft of +battle stayed unfinished in the loom. + +Then from the Indian lodges came the women and children. They drew near +to the unearthly luxury of that Call, now lifting with an unbounded +joy. Battleaxes fell to the ground; the warriors quieted even where they +stood locked with their foes. The Tall Master now drew away from them, +facing the north and west. That ineffable Call drew them after him with +grave joy; and they brought their dead and wounded along. The women and +children glided in among the men and followed also. Presently one girl +ran away from the rest and came close into the great leader's footsteps. + +At that instant, Lazenby, from the wall of the Fort, cried out madly, +sprang down, opened the gates, and rushed towards the girl, crying: +"Wine Face! Wine Face!" + +She did not look behind. But he came close to her and caught her by the +waist. "Come back! Come back! O my love, come back!" he urged; but she +pushed him gently from her. + +"Hush! Hush!" she said. "We are going to the Happy Valleys. Don't you +hear him calling"?... And Lazenby fell back. + +The Tall Master was now playing a wonderful thing, half dance, half +carnival; but with that Call still beating through it. They were passing +the Fort at an angle. All within issued forth to see. Suddenly the old +trader who had come that morning started forward with a cry; then stood +still. He caught the Factor's arm; but he seemed unable to speak yet; +his face was troubled, his eyes were hard upon the player. + +The procession passed the empty lodges, leaving the ground strewn with +their weapons, and not one of their number stayed behind. They passed +away towards the high hills of the north-west-beautiful austere +barriers. + +Still the trader gazed, and was pale, and trembled. They watched +long. The throng of pilgrims grew a vague mass; no longer an army of +individuals; and the music came floating back with distant charm. At +last the old man found voice. "My God, it is--" + +The Factor touched his arm, interrupting him, and drew a picture from +his pocket--one but just now taken from that musty pile of books, +received so many years before. He showed it to the old man. + +"Yes, yes," said the other, "that is he.... And the world buried him +forty years ago!" + +Pierre, standing near, added with soft irony: "There are strange things +in the world. He is the gamester of the world. 'Mais' a grand comrade +also." + +The music came waving back upon them delicately but the pilgrims were +fading from view. + +Soon the watchers were alone with the glowing day. + + + + +THE CRIMSON FLAG + +Talk and think as one would, The Woman was striking to see; with +marvellous flaxen hair and a joyous violet eye. She was all pulse and +dash; but she was as much less beautiful than the manager's wife as Tom +Liffey was as nothing beside the manager himself; and one would care +little to name the two women in the same breath if the end had been +different. When The Woman came to Little Goshen there were others of her +class there, but they were of a commoner sort and degree. She was the +queen of a lawless court, though she never, from first to last, spoke to +one of those others who were her people; neither did she hold commerce +with any of the ordinary miners, save Pretty Pierre, but he was more +gambler than miner,--and he went, when the matter was all over, and told +her some things that stripped her soul naked before her eyes. Pierre had +a wonderful tongue. It was only the gentlemen-diggers--and there were +many of them at Little Goshen--who called upon her when the lights were +low; and then there was a good deal of muffled mirth in the white house +among the pines. The rougher miners made no quarrel with this, for the +gentlemen-diggers were popular enough, they were merely sarcastic and +humorous, and said things which, coming to The Woman's ears, made her +very merry; for she herself had an abundant wit, and had spent wild +hours with clever men. She did not resent the playful insolence that +sent a dozen miners to her house in the dead of night with a crimson +flag, which they quietly screwed to her roof; and paint, with which they +deftly put a wide stripe of scarlet round the cornice, and another round +the basement. In the morning, when she saw what had been done, she would +not have the paint removed nor the flag taken down; for, she said, the +stripes looked very well, and the other would show that she was always +at home. + +Now, the notable thing was that Heldon, the manager, was in The Woman's +house on the night this was done. Tom Liffey, the lumpish guide and +trapper, saw him go in; and, days afterwards, he said to Pierre: "Divils +me own, but this is a bad hour for Heldon's wife--she with a face like a +princess and eyes like the fear o' God. Nivir a wan did I see like her, +since I came out of Erin with a clatter of hoofs behoind me and a +squall on the sea before. There's wimmin there wid cheeks like roses +and buthermilk, and a touch that'd make y'r heart pound on y'r ribs; +but none that's grander than Heldon's wife. To lave her for that other, +standin' hip-high in her shame, is temptin' the fires of Heaven, that +basted the sinners o' Sodom." + +Pierre, pausing between the whiffs of a cigarette, said: "So? But you +know more of catching foxes in winter, and climbing mountains in summer, +and the grip of the arm of an Injin girl, than of these things. You are +young, quite young in the world, Tom Liffey." + +"Young I may be with a glint o' grey at me temples from a night o' +trouble beyand in the hills; but I'm the man, an' the only man, that's +climbed to the glacier-top--God's Playground, as they call it: and nivir +a dirty trick have I done to Injin girl or any other; and be damned to +you there!" + +"Sometimes I think you are as foolish as Shon McGann," compassionately +replied the half-breed. + +"You have almighty virtue, and you did that brave trick of the glacier; +but great men have fallen. You are not dead yet. Still, as you say, +Heldon's wife is noble to see. She is grave and cold, and speaks little; +but there is something in her which is not of the meek of the earth. +Some women say nothing, and suffer and forgive, and take such as Heldon +back to their bosoms; but there are others--I remember a woman--bien, +it is no matter, it was long ago; but they two are as if born of one +mother; and what comes of this will be mad play--mad play." + +"Av coorse his wife may not get to know of it, and--" + +"Not get to know it! 'Tsh, you are a child--" + +"Faith, I'll say what I think, and that in y'r face! Maybe he'll tire of +the handsome rip--for handsome she is, like a yellow lily growin' out +o' mud--and go back to his lawful wife, that believes he's at the mines, +when he's drinkin' and colloguin' wid a fly-away." + +Pierre slowly wheeled till he had the Irishman straight in his eye. +Then he said in a low, cutting tone: "I suppose your heart aches for the +beautiful lady, eh?" Here he screwed his slight forefinger into Tom's +breast; then he added sharply: "'Nom de Dieu,' but you make me angry! +You talk too much. Such men get into trouble. And keep down the riot of +that heart of yours, Tom Liffey, or you'll walk on the edge of knives +one day. And now take an inch of whisky and ease the anxious soul. +'Voila!'" After a moment he added: "Women work these things out for +themselves." Then the two left the hut, and amiably strolled together to +the centre of the village, where they parted. It was as Pierre had +said: the woman would work the thing out for herself. Later that evening +Heldon's wife stood cloaked and veiled in the shadows of the pines, +facing the house with The Crimson Flag. Her eyes shifted ever from the +door to the flag, which was stirred by the light breeze. Once or twice +she shivered as with cold, but she instantly stilled again, and watched. +It was midnight. Here and there beyond in the village a light showed, +and straggling voices floated faintly towards her. For a long time no +sound came from the house. But at last she heard a laugh. At that she +drew something from her pocket, and held it firmly in her hand. Once she +turned and looked at another house far up on the hill, where lights were +burning. It was Heldon's house--her home. A sharp sound as of anguish +and anger escaped her; then she fastened her eyes on the door in front +of her. + +At that moment Tom Liffey was standing with his hands on his hips +looking at Heldon's home on the hill; and he said some rumbling words, +then strode on down the road, and suddenly paused near the wife. He did +not see her. He faced the door at which she was looking, and shook his +fist at it. + +"A murrain on y'r sowl!" said he, "as there's plague in y'r body, and +hell in the slide of y'r feet, like the trail of the red spider. And out +o' that come ye, Heldon, for I know y're there. Out of that, ye beast! +... But how can ye go back--you that's rolled in that sewer--to the +loveliest woman that ever trod the neck o' the world! Damned y' are in +every joint o' y'r frame, and damned is y'r sowl, I say, for bringing +sorrow to her; and I hate you as much for that, as I could worship her +was she not your wife and a lady o' blood, God save her!" + +Then shaking his fist once more, he swung away slowly down the road. +During this the wife's teeth held together as though they were of a +piece. She looked after Tom Liffey and smiled; but it was a dreadful +smile. + +"He worships me, that common man--worships me," she said. "This man who +was my husband has shamed me, left me. Well--" + +The door of the house opened; a man came out. His wife leaned a little +forward, and something clicked ominously in her hand. But a voice came +up the road towards them through the clear air--the voice of Tom Liffey. +The husband paused to listen; the wife mechanically did the same. The +husband remembered this afterwards: it was the key to, and the beginning +of, a tragedy. These are the words the Irishman sang: + + "She was a queen, she stood up there before me, + My blood went roarin' when she touched my hand; + She kissed me on the lips, and then she swore me + To die for her--and happy was the land." + +A new and singular look came into her face. It trans formed her. "That," +she said in a whisper to herself--"that! He knows the way." + +As her husband turned towards his home, she turned also. He heard the +rustle of garments, and he could just discern the cloaked figure in +the shadows. He hurried on; the figure flitted ahead of him. A fear +possessed him in spite of his will. He turned back. The figure stood +still for a moment, then followed him. He braced himself, faced about, +and walked towards it: it stopped and waited. He had not the courage. He +went back again swiftly towards the house he had left. Again he looked +behind him. The figure was standing, not far, in the pines. He wheeled +suddenly towards the house, turned a key in the door, and entered. + +Then the wife went to that which had been her home: Heldon did not go +thither until the first flush of morning. Pierre, returning from an +all-night sitting at cards, met him, and saw the careworn look on his +face. The half-breed smiled. He knew that the event was doubling on the +man. When Heldon reached his house, he went to his wife's room. It was +locked. Then he walked down to his mines with a miserable shame and +anger at his heart. He did not pass The Crimson Flag. He went by another +way. + +That evening, in the dusk, a woman knocked at Tom Liffey's door. He +opened it. + +"Are you alone"? she said. "I am alone, lady." + +"I will come in," she added. "You will--come in"? he faltered. + +She drew near him, and reached out and gently caught his hand. + +"Ah!" he said, with a sound almost like a sob in its intensity, and the +blood flushed to his hair. + +He stepped aside, and she entered. In the light of the candle her +eye burned into his, but her face wore a shining coldness. She leaned +towards him. + +"You said you could worship me," she whispered, "and you cursed him. +Well--worship me--altogether--and that will curse him, as he has killed +me." + +"Dear lady!" he said, in an awed, overwhelmed murmur; and he fell back +to the wall. + +She came towards him. "Am I not beautiful"? she urged. She took his +hand. His eye swam with hers. But his look was different from hers, +though he could not know that. His was the madness of a man in a dream; +hers was a painful thing. The Furies dwelt in her. She softly lifted +his hand above his head, and whispered: "Swear." And she kissed him. +Her lips were icy, though he did not think so. The blood tossed in his +veins. He swore: but, doing so, he could not conceive all that would be +required of him. He was hers, body and soul, and she had resolved on a +grim thing.... In the darkness, they left the hut and passed into the +woods, and slowly up through the hills. + +Heldon returned to his home that night to find it empty. There were +no servants. There was no wife. Her cat and dog lay dead upon the +hearthrug. Her clothing was cut into strips. Her wedding-dress was a +charred heap on the fireplace. Her jewellery lay molten with it. Her +portrait had been torn from its frame. + +An intolerable fear possessed him. Drops of sweat hung on his forehead +and his hands. He fled towards the town. He bit his finger-nails till +they bled as he passed the house in the pines. He lifted his arm as if +the flappings of The Crimson Flag were blows in his face. + +At last he passed Tom Liffey's hut. He saw Pierre, coming from it. +The look on the gambler's face was one, of gloomy wonder. His fingers +trembled as he lighted a cigarette, and that was an unusual thing. The +form of Heldon edged within the light. Pierre dropped the match and said +to him,--"You are looking for your wife?" + +Heldon bowed his head. The other threw open the door of the hut. "Come +in here," he said. They entered. Pierre pointed to a woman's hat on +the table. "Do you know that"? he asked, huskily, for he was moved. But +Heldon only nodded dazedly. Pierre continued: "I was to have met Tom +Liffey here--to-night. He is not here. You hoped--I suppose--to see your +wife in your--home. She is not there. He left a word on paper for me. +I have torn it up. Writing is the enemy of man. But I know where he is +gone. I know also where your wife has gone." + +Heldon's face was of a hateful paleness.... They passed out into the +night. + +"Where are you going"? Heldon said. + +"To God's Playground, if we can get there." + +"To God's Playground? To the glacier-top? You are mad." + +"No, but he and she were mad. Come on." Then he whispered something, and +Heldon gave a great cry, and they plunged into the woods. + +In the morning the people of Little Goshen, looking towards the glacier, +saw a flag (they knew afterwards that it was crimson) flying on it. Near +it were two human figures. A miner, looking through a field-glass, +said that one figure was crouching by the flag-staff, and that it was a +woman. The other figure near was a man. As the morning wore on, they +saw upon a crag of ice below the sloping glacier two men looking upwards +towards the flag. One of them seemed to shriek out, and threw up his +hands, and made as if to rush forward; but the other drew him back. + +Heldon knew what revenge and disgrace may be at their worst. In vain he +tried to reach God's Playground. Only one man knew the way, and he was +dead upon it--with Heldon's wife: two shameless suicides.... When he +came down from the mountain the hair upon his face was white, though +that upon his head remained black as it had always been. And those +frozen figures stayed there like statues with that other crimson flag: +until, one day, a great-bodied wind swept out of the north, and, in +pity, carried them down a bottomless fissure. + +But long before this happened, The Woman had fled from Little Goshen in +the night, and her house was burned to the ground. + + + + +THE FLOOD + +Wendling came to Fort Anne on the day that the Reverend Ezra Badgley and +an unknown girl were buried. And that was a notable thing. The man had +been found dead at his evening meal; the girl had died on the same day; +and they were buried side by side. This caused much scandal, for the +man was holy, and the girl, as many women said, was probably evil +altogether. At the graves, when the minister's people saw what was +being done, they piously protested; but the Factor, to whom Pierre had +whispered a word, answered them gravely that the matter should go +on: since none knew but the woman was as worthy of heaven as the man. +Wendling chanced to stand beside Pretty Pierre. + +"Who knows!" he said aloud, looking hard at the graves, "who knows!... +She died before him, but the dead can strike." + +Pierre did not answer immediately, for the Factor was calling the earth +down on both coffins; but after a moment he added: "Yes, the dead can +strike." And then the eyes of the two men caught and stayed, and they +knew that they had things to say to each other in the world. + +They became friends. And that, perhaps, was not greatly to Wendling's +credit; for in the eyes of many Pierre was an outcast as an outlaw. +Maybe some of the women disliked this friendship most; since Wendling +was a handsome man, and Pierre was never known to seek them, good or +bad; and they blamed him for the other's coldness, for his unconcerned +yet respectful eye. + +"There's Nelly Nolan would dance after him to the world's end," said +Shon McGann to Pierre one day; "and the Widdy Jerome herself, wid her +flamin' cheeks and the wild fun in her eye, croons like a babe at the +breast as he slides out his cash on the bar; and over on Gansonby's Flat +there's--" + +"There's many a fool, 'voila,'" sharply interjected Pierre, as he pushed +the needle through a button he was sewing on his coat. + +"Bedad, there's a pair of fools here, anyway, I say; for the women might +die without lift at waist or brush of lip, and neither of ye'd say, +'Here's to the joy of us, goddess, me own!'" + +Pierre seemed to be intently watching the needlepoint as it pierced up +the button-eye, and his reply was given with a slowness corresponding +to the sedate passage of the needle. "Wendling, you think, cares nothing +for women? Well, men who are like that cared once for one woman, and +when that was over--But, pshaw! I will not talk. You are no thinker, +Shon McGann. You blunder through the world. And you'll tremble as much +to a woman's thumb in fifty years as now." + +"By the holy smoke," said Shon, "though I tremble at that, maybe, I'll +not tremble, as Wendling, at nothing at all." Here Pierre looked up +sharply, then dropped his eyes on his work again. Shon lapsed suddenly +into a moodiness. + +"Yes," said Pierre, "as Wendling, at nothing at all? Well?" + +"Well, this, Pierre, for you that's a thinker from me that's none. I was +walking with him in Red Glen yesterday. Sudden he took to shiverin', and +snatched me by the arm, and a mad look shot out of his handsome face. +'Hush!' says he. I listened. There was a sound like the hard rattle of +a creek over stones, and then another sound behind that. 'Come quick,' +says he, the sweat standin' thick on him; and he ran me up the bank--for +it was at the beginnin' of the Glen where the sides were low--and there +we stood pantin' and starin' flat at each other. 'What's that? and +what's got its hand on ye? for y' are cold as death, an' pinched in the +face, an' you've bruised my arm,' said I. And he looked round him slow +and breathed hard, then drew his fingers through the sweat on his cheek. +'I'm not well, and I thought I heard--you heard it; what was it like?' +said he; and he peered close at me. 'Like water,' said I; 'a little +creek near, and a flood comin' far off.' 'Yes, just that,' said he; +'it's some trick of wind in the place, but it makes a man foolish, and +an inch of brandy would be the right thing.' I didn't say no to that. +And on we came, and brandy we had with a wish in the eye of Nelly Nolan +that'd warm the heart of a tomb.... And there's a cud for your chewin', +Pierre. Think that by the neck and the tail, and the divil absolve ye." + +During this, Pierre had finished with the button. He had drawn on his +coat and lifted his hat, and now lounged, trying the point of the needle +with his forefinger. When Shon ended, he said with a sidelong glance: +"But what did you think of all that, Shon?" + +"Think! There it was! What's the use of thinkin'? There's many a trick +in the world with wind or with spirit, as I've seen often enough in ould +Ireland, and it's not to be guessed by me." Here his voice got a little +lower and a trifle solemn. "For, Pierre," spoke he, "there's what's more +than life or death, and sorra wan can we tell what it is; but we'll know +some day whin--" + +"When we've taken the leap at the Almighty Ditch," said Pierre, with a +grave kind of lightness. "Yes, it is all strange. But even the Almighty +Ditch is worth the doing: nearly everything is worth the doing; being +young, growing old, fighting, loving--when youth is on--hating, eating, +drinking, working, playing big games. All is worth it except two +things." + +"And what are they, bedad?" + +"Thy neighbour's wife and murder. Those are horrible. They double on a +man one time or another; always." + +Here, as in curiosity, Pierre pierced his finger with the needle, and +watched the blood form in a little globule. Looking at it meditatively +and sardonically, he said: "There is only one end to these. Blood +for blood is a great matter; and I used to wonder if it would not be +terrible for a man to see his death coming on him drop by drop, like +that." He let the spot of blood fall to the floor. "But now I know that +there is a punishment worse than that... 'mon Dieu!' worse than that," +he added. + +Into Shon's face a strange look had suddenly come. "Yes, there's +something worse than that, Pierre." + +"So, 'bien?'" + +Shon made the sacred gesture of his creed. "To be punished by the dead. +And not see them--only hear them." And his eyes steadied firmly to the +other's. + +Pierre was about to reply, but there came the sound of footsteps through +the open door, and presently Wendling entered slowly. He was pale and +worn, and his eyes looked out with a searching anxiousness. But that did +not render him less comely. He had always dressed in black and white, +and this now added to the easy and yet severe refinement of his person. +His birth and breeding had occurred in places unfrequented by such as +Shon and Pierre; but plains and wild life level all; and men are friends +according to their taste and will, and by no other law. Hence these +with Wendling. He stretched out his hand to each without a word. The +hand-shake was unusual; he had little demonstration ever. Shon looked up +surprised, but responded. Pierre followed with a swift, inquiring look; +then, in the succeeding pause, he offered cigarettes. Wendling took one; +and all, silent, sat down. The sun streamed intemperately through the +doorway, making a broad ribbon of light straight across the floor +to Wendling's feet. After lighting his cigarette, he looked into the +sunlight for a moment, still not speaking. Shon meanwhile had started +his pipe, and now, as if he found the silence awkward,--"It's a day for +God's country, this," he said: "to make man a Christian for little or +much, though he play with the Divil betunewhiles." Without looking at +them, Wendling said, in a low voice: "It was just such a day, down there +in Quebec, when It happened. You could hear the swill of the river, the +water licking the piers, and the saws in the Big Mill and the Little +Mill as they marched through the timber, flashing their teeth like +bayonets. It's a wonderful sound on a hot, clear day--that wild, +keen singing of the saws, like the cry of a live thing fighting and +conquering. Up from the fresh-cut lumber in the yards there came a smell +like the juice of apples, and the sawdust, as you thrust your hand into +it, was as cool and soft as the leaves of a clove-flower in the dew. On +these days the town was always still. It looked sleeping, and you saw +the heat quivering up from the wooden walls and the roofs of cedar +shingles as though the houses were breathing." + +Here he paused, still intent on the shaking sunshine. Then he turned to +the others as if suddenly aware that he had been talking to them. Shon +was about to speak, but Pierre threw a restraining glance, and, instead, +they all looked through the doorway and beyond. In the settlement below +they saw the effect that Wendling had described. The houses breathed. A +grasshopper went clacking past, a dog at the door snapped up a fly; but +there seemed no other life of day. Wendling nodded his head towards the +distance. "It was quiet, like that. I stood and watched the mills and +the yards, and listened to the saws, and looked at the great slide, +and the logs on the river: and I said ever to myself that it was all +mine--all. Then I turned to a big house on the hillock beyond the +cedars, whose windows were open, with a cool dusk lying behind them. +More than all else, I loved to think I owned that house and what was in +it.... She was a beautiful woman. And she used to sit in a room facing +the mill--though the house fronted another way--thinking of me, I did +not doubt, and working at some delicate needle-stuff. There never had +been a sharp word between us, save when I quarrelled bitterly with +her brother, and he left the mill and went away. But she got over that +mostly, though the lad's name was, never mentioned between us. That day +I was so hungry for the sight of her that I got my field-glass--used to +watch my vessels and rafts making across the bay--and trained it on the +window where I knew she sat. I thought, it would amuse her, too, when I +went back at night, if I told her what she had been doing. I laughed +to myself at the thought of it as I adjusted the glass.... I looked.... +There was no more laughing.... I saw her, and in front of her a man, +with his back half on me. I could not recognise him, though at the +instant I thought he was something familiar. I failed to get his face at +all. Hers I found indistinctly. But I saw him catch her playfully by the +chin! After a little they rose. He put his arm about her and kissed +her, and he ran his fingers through her hair. She had such fine golden +hair--so light, and it lifted to every breath. Something got into my +brain. I know now it was the maggot which sent Othello mad. The world in +that hour was malicious, awful.... + +"After a time--it seemed ages, she and everything had receded so far--I +went... home. At the door I asked the servant who had been there. She +hesitated, confused, and then said the young curate of the parish. I was +very cool: for madness is a strange thing; you see everything with an +intense aching clearness--that is the trouble.... She was more kind +than common. I do not think I was unusual. I was playing a part well, +my grandmother had Indian blood like yours, Pierre, and I was waiting. +I was even nicely critical of her to myself. I balanced the mole on her +neck against her general beauty; the curve of her instep, I decided, was +a little too emphatic. I passed her backwards and forwards, weighing her +at every point; but yet these two things were the only imperfections. +I pronounced her an exceeding piece of art--and infamy. I was much +interested to see how she could appear perfect in her soul. I encouraged +her to talk. I saw with devilish irony that an angel spoke. And, to +cap it all, she assumed the fascinating air of the mediator--for her +brother; seeking a reconciliation between us. Her amazing art of +person and mind so worked upon me that it became unendurable; it was so +exquisite--and so shameless. I was sitting where the priest had sat that +afternoon; and when she leaned towards me I caught her chin lightly and +trailed my fingers through her hair as he had done: and that ended it, +for I was cold, and my heart worked with horrible slowness. Just as a +wave poises at its height before breaking upon the shore, it hung at +every pulse-beat, and then seemed to fall over with a sickening thud. I +arose, and acting still, spoke impatiently of her brother. Tears sprang +to her eyes. Such divine dissimulation, I thought--too good for earth. +She turned to leave the room, and I did not stay her. Yet we were +together again that night.... I was only waiting." + +The cigarette had dropped from his fingers to the floor, and lay there +smoking. Shon's face was fixed with anxiety; Pierre's eyes played +gravely with the sunshine. Wendling drew a heavy breath, and then went +on. + +"Again, next day, it was like this-the world draining the heat.... I +watched from the Big Mill. I saw them again. He leaned over her chair +and buried his face in her hair. The proof was absolute now.... I +started away, going a roundabout, that I might not be seen. It took me +some time. I was passing through a clump of cedar when I saw them making +towards the trees skirting the river. Their backs were on me. Suddenly +they diverted their steps--towards the great slide, shut off from water +this last few months, and used as a quarry to deepen it. Some petrified +things had been found in the rocks, but I did not think they were going +to these. I saw them climb down the rocky steps; and presently they were +lost to view. The gates of the slide could be opened by machinery from +the Little Mill. A terrible, deliciously malignant thought came to me. I +remember how the sunlight crept away from me and left me in the dark. I +stole through that darkness to the Little Mill. I went to the machinery +for opening the gates. Very gently I set it in motion, facing the slide +as I did so. I could see it through the open sides of the mill. I smiled +to think what the tiny creek, always creeping through a faint leak in +the gates and falling with a granite rattle on the stones, would now +become. I pushed the lever harder--harder. I saw the gates suddenly +give, then fly open, and the river sprang roaring massively through +them. I heard a shriek through the roar. I shuddered; and a horrible +sickness came on me.... And as I turned from the machinery, I saw the +young priest coming at me through a doorway!... It was not the priest +and my wife that I had killed; but my wife and her brother...." + +He threw his head back as though something clamped his throat. His voice +roughened with misery. "The young priest buried them both, and people +did not know the truth. They were even sorry for me. But I gave up the +mills--all; and I became homeless... this." + +Now he looked up at the two men, and said: "I have told you because you +know something, and because there will, I think, be an end soon." He +got up and reached out a trembling hand for a cigarette. Pierre gave him +one. "Will you walk with me"? he asked. + +Shon shook his head. "God forgive you," he replied, "I can't do it." + +But Wendling and Pierre left the hut together. They walked for an hour, +scarcely speaking, and not considering where they went. At last Pierre +mechanically turned to go down into Red Glen. Wendling stopped short, +then, with a sighing laugh, strode on. "Shoo has told you what happened +here"? he said. + +Pierre nodded. + +"And you know what came once when you walked with me.... The dead can +strike," he added. Pierre sought his eye. "The minister and the girl +buried together that day," he said, "were--" + +He stopped, for behind him he heard the sharp, cold trickle of water. +Silent they walked on. It followed them. They could not get out of the +Glen now until they had compassed its length--the walls were high. The +sound grew. The men faced each other. + +"Good-bye," said Wendling; and he reached out his hand swiftly. But +Pierre heard a mighty flood groaning on them, and he blinded as he +stretched his arm in response. He caught at Wendling's shoulder, but +felt him lifted and carried away, while he himself stood still in a +screeching wind and heard impalpable water rushing over him. In a minute +it was gone; and he stood alone in Red Glen. + +He gathered himself up and ran. Far down, where the Glen opened to the +plain, he found Wendling. The hands were wrinkled; the face was cold; +the body was wet: the man was drowned and dead. + + + + +IN PIPI VALLEY + +"Divils me darlins, it's a memory I have of a time whin luck wasn't +foldin' her arms round me, and not so far back aither, and I on the +wallaby track hot-foot for the City o' Gold." + +Shon McGann said this in the course of a discussion on the prosperity of +Pipi Valley. Pretty Pierre remarked nonchalantly in reply,--"The wallaby +track--eh--what is that, Shon?" + +"It's a bit of a haythen y' are, Pierre. The wallaby track? That's +the name in Australia for trampin' west through the plains of the +Never-Never Country lookin' for the luck o' the world; as, bedad, it's +meself that knows it, and no other, and not by book or tellin' either, +but with the grip of thirst at me throat and a reef in me belt every +hour to quiet the gnawin'." And Shon proceeded to light his pipe afresh. + +"But the City o' Gold-was there much wealth for you there, Shon?" + +Shon laughed, and said between the puffs of smoke, "Wealth for me, is +it? Oh, mother o' Moses! wealth of work and the pride of livin' in the +heart of us, and the grip of an honest hand betunewhiles; and what more +do y' want, Pierre?" + +The Frenchman's drooping eyelids closed a little more, and he replied, +meditatively: "Money? No, that is not Shon McGann. The good fellowship +of thirst?--yes, a little. The grip of the honest hand, quite, and the +clinch of an honest waist? Well, 'peut-etre.' + +"Of the waist which is not honest?--tsh! he is gay--and so!" + +The Irishman took his pipe from his mouth, and held it poised before +him. He looked inquiringly and a little frowningly at the other for a +moment, as if doubtful whether to resent the sneer that accompanied the +words just spoken; but at last he good-humouredly said: "Blood o' me +bones, but it's much I fear the honest waist hasn't always been me +portion--Heaven forgive me!" + +"'Nom de pipe,' this Irishman!" replied Pierre. "He is gay; of good +heart; he smiles, and the women are at his heels; he laughs, and they +are on their knees--Such a fool he is!" + +Still Shon McGann laughed. + +"A fool I am, Pierre, or I'd be in ould Ireland at this minute, with a +roof o' me own over me and the friends o' me youth round me, and brats +on me knee, and the fear o' God in me heart." + +"'Mais,' Shon," mockingly rejoined the Frenchman, "this is not Ireland, +but there is much like that to be done here. There is a roof, and there +is that woman at Ward's Mistake, and the brats--eh, by and by?" + +Shon's face clouded. He hesitated, then replied sharply: "That woman, do +y' say, Pierre, she that nursed me when the Honourable and meself were +taken out o' Sandy Drift, more dead than livin'; she that brought me +back to life as good as ever, barrin' this scar on me forehead and a +stiffness at me elbow, and the Honourable as right as the sun, more luck +to him! which he doesn't need at all, with the wind of fortune in his +back and shiftin' neither to right nor left.--That woman! faith, y'd +better not cut the words so sharp betune yer teeth, Pierre." + +"But I will say more--a little--just the same. She nursed you--well, +that is good; but it is good also, I think, you pay her for that, and +stop the rest. Women are fools, or else they are worse. This one? She is +worse. Yes; you will take my advice, Shon McGann." The Irishman came to +his feet with a spring, and his words were angry. + +"It doesn't come well from Pretty Pierre, the gambler, to be revilin' +a woman; and I throw it in y'r face, though I've slept under the same +blanket with ye, an' drunk out of the same cup on manny a tramp, that +you lie dirty and black when ye spake ill--of my wife." + +This conversation had occurred in a quiet corner of the bar-room of the +Saints' Repose. The first few sentences had not been heard by the others +present; but Shon's last speech, delivered in a ringing tone, drew the +miners to their feet, in expectation of seeing shots exchanged at once. +The code required satisfaction, immediate and decisive. Shon was not +armed, and some one thrust a pistol towards him; but he did not take +it. Pierre rose, and coming slowly to him, laid a slender finger on his +chest, and said: + +"So! I did not know that she was your wife. That is a surprise." + +The miners nodded assent. He continued: + +"Lucy Rives your wife! Hola, Shon McGann, that is such a joke." + +"It's no joke, but God's truth, and the lie is with you, Pierre." + +Murmurs of anticipation ran round the room; but the half-breed said: +"There will be satisfaction altogether; but it is my whim to prove what +I say first; then"--fondling his revolver--"then we shall settle. But, +see: you will meet me here at ten o'clock to-night, and I will make it, +I swear to you, so clear, that the woman is vile." + +The Irishman suddenly clutched the gambler, shook him like a dog, and +threw him against the farther wall. Pierre's pistol was levelled from +the instant Shon moved; but he did not use it. He rose on one knee after +the violent fall, and pointing it at the other's head, said coolly: +"I could kill you, my friend, so easy! But it is not my whim. Till ten +o'clock is not long to wait, and then, just here, one of us shall die. +Is it not so?" The Irishman did not flinch before the pistol. He said +with low fierceness, "At ten o'clock, or now, or any time, or at any +place, y'll find me ready to break the back of the lies y've spoken, or +be broken meself. Lucy Rives is my wife, and she's true and straight as +the sun in the sky. I'll be here at ten o'clock, and as ye say, Pierre, +one of us makes the long reckoning for this." And he opened the door and +went out. + +The half-breed moved to the bar, and, throwing down a handful of +silver, said: "It is good we drink after so much heat. Come on, come on, +comrades." + +The miners responded to the invitation. Their sympathy was mostly with +Shon McGann; their admiration was about equally divided; for Pretty +Pierre had the quality of courage in as active a degree as the Irishman, +and they knew that some extraordinary motive, promising greater +excitement, was behind the Frenchman's refusal to send a bullet through +Shon's head a moment before. + +King Kinkley, the best shot in the Valley next to Pierre, had watched +the unusual development of the incident with interest; and when his +glass had been filled he said, thoughtfully: "This thing isn't according +to Hoyle. There's never been any trouble just like it in the Valley +before. What's that McGann said about the lady being his wife? If it's +the case, where hev we been in the show? Where was we when the license +was around? It isn't good citizenship, and I hev my doubts." + +Another miner, known as the Presbyterian, added: "There's some +skulduggery in it, I guess. The lady has had as much protection as if +she was the sister of every citizen of the place, just as much as Lady +Jane here (Lady Jane, the daughter of the proprietor of the Saints' +Repose, administered drinks), and she's played this stacked hand on us, +has gone one better on the sly." + +"Pierre," said King Kinkley, "you're on the track of the secret, and +appear to hev the advantage of the lady: blaze it--blaze it out." + +Pierre rejoined, "I know something; but it is good we wait until ten +o'clock. Then I will show you all the cards in the pack. Yes, so, 'bien +sur.'" + +And though there was some grumbling, Pierre had his way. The spirit +of adventure and mutual interest had thrown the French half-breed, the +Irishman, and the Hon. Just Trafford together on the cold side of the +Canadian Rockies; and they had journeyed to this other side, where the +warm breath from the Pacific passed to its congealing in the ranges. +They had come to the Pipi field when it was languishing. From the moment +of their coming its luck changed; it became prosperous. They conquered +the Valley each after his kind. The Honourable--he was always called +that--mastered its resources by a series of "great lucks," as Pierre +termed it, had achieved a fortune, and made no enemies; and but two +months before the day whose incidents are here recorded, had gone to the +coast on business. Shon had won the reputation of being a "white man," +to say nothing of his victories in the region of gallantry. He made no +wealth; he only got that he might spend. Irishman-like he would barter +the chances of fortune for the lilt of a voice or the clatter of a +pretty foot. + +Pierre was different. "Women, ah, no!" he would say, "they make men +fools or devils." + +His temptation lay not that way. When the three first came to the +Pipi, Pierre was a miner, simply; but nearly all his life he had been +something else, as many a devastated pocket on the east of the Rockies +could bear witness; and his new career was alien to his soul. Temptation +grew greatly on him at the Pipi, and in the days before he yielded to it +he might have been seen at midnight in his but playing solitaire. Why he +abstained at first from practising his real profession is accounted for +in two ways: he had tasted some of the sweets of honest companionship +with the Honourable and Shon, and then he had a memory of an ugly night +at Pardon's Drive a year before, when he stood over his own brother's +body, shot to death by accident in a gambling row having its origin with +himself. These things had held him back for a time; but he was weaker +than his ruling passion. + +The Pipi was a young and comparatively virgin field; the quarry was at +his hand. He did not love money for its own sake; it was the game that +enthralled him. He would have played his life against the treasury of a +kingdom, and, winning it with loaded double sixes, have handed back the +spoil as an unredeemable national debt. + +He fell at last, and in falling conquered the Pipi Valley; at the same +time he was considered a fearless and liberal citizen, who could shoot +as straight as he played well. He made an excursion to another field, +however, at an opportune time, and it was during this interval that the +accident to Shon and the Honourable had happened. He returned but a few +hours before this quarrel with Shon occurred, and in the Saints' Repose, +whither he had at once gone, he was told of the accident. While his +informant related the incident and the romantic sequence of Shon's +infatuation, the woman passed the tavern and was pointed out to Pierre. +The half-breed had not much excitableness in his nature, but when he saw +this beautiful woman with a touch of the Indian in her contour, his pale +face flushed, and he showed his set teeth under his slight moustache. +He watched her until she entered a shop, on the signboard of which +was written--written since he had left a few months ago--Lucy Rives, +Tobacconist. + +Shon had then entered the Saints' Repose; and we know the rest. A +couple of hours after this nervous episode, Pierre might have been seen +standing in the shadow of the pines not far from the house at Ward's +Mistake, where, he had been told, Lucy Rives lived with an old Indian +woman. He stood, scarcely moving, and smoking cigarettes, until the door +opened. Shon came out and walked down the hillside to the town. Then +Pierre went to the door, and without knocking, opened it, and entered. +A woman started up from a seat where she was sewing, and turned towards +him. As she did so, the work, Shon's coat, dropped from her hands, her +face paled, and her eyes grew big with fear. She leaned against a chair +for support--this man's presence had weakened her so. She stood silent, +save for a slight moan that broke from her lips, as Pierre lighted a +cigarette coolly, and then said to an old Indian woman who sat upon the +floor braiding a basket: "Get up, Ikni, and go away." + +Ikni rose, came over, and peered into the face of the half-breed. Then +she muttered: "I know you--I know you. The dead has come back again." +She caught his arm with her bony fingers as if to satisfy herself that +he was flesh and blood, and shaking her head dolefully, went from the +room. When the door closed behind her there was silence, broken only by +an exclamation from the man. + +The other drew her hand across her eyes, and dropped it with a motion of +despair. Then Pierre said, sharply: "Bien?" + +"Francois," she replied, "you are alive!" + +"Yes, I am alive, Lucy." + +She shuddered, then grew still again and whispered: "Why did you let it +be thought that you were drowned? Why? Oh, why"? she moaned. + +He raised his eyebrows slightly, and between the puffs of smoke, said: + +"Ah yes, my Lucy, why? It was so long ago. Let me see: so--so--ten +years. Ten years is a long time to remember, eh?" + +He came towards her. She drew back; but her hand remained on the chair. +He touched the plain gold ring on her finger, and said: + +"You still wear it. To think of that--so loyal for a woman! How she +remembers, holy Mother!... But shall I not kiss you, yes, just once +after eight years--my wife?" + +She breathed hard and drew back against the wall, dazed and frightened, +and said: + +"No, no, do not come near me; do not speak to me--ah, please, stand +back, for a moment--please!" + +He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and continued, with mock tenderness: + +"To think that things come round so! And here you have a home. But that +is good. I am tired of much travel and life all alone. The prodigal goes +not to the home, the home comes to the prodigal." He stretched up his +arms as if with a feeling of content. + +"Do you--do you not know," she said, "that--that--" + +He interrupted her: + +"Do I not know, Lucy, that this is your home? Yes. But is it not all +the same? I gave you a home ten years ago--to think, ten years ago! We +quarrelled one night, and I left you. Next morning my boat was found +below the White Cascade--yes, but that was so stale a trick! It was not +worthy of Francois Rives. He would do it so much better now; but he was +young then; just a boy, and foolish. Well, sit down, Lucy, it is a long +story, and you have much to tell, how much--who knows?" She came slowly +forward and said with a painful effort: + +"You did a great wrong, Francois. You have killed me. + +"Killed you, Lucy, my wife! Pardon! Never in those days did you look so +charming as now--never. But the great surprise of seeing your husband, +it has made you shy, quite shy. There will be much time now for you to +change all that. It is quite pleasant to think on, Lucy.... You remember +the song we used to sing on the Chaudiere at St. Antoine? See, I have +not forgotten it-- + + "'Nos amants sont en guerre, + Vole, mon coeur, vole.'" + +He hummed the lines over and over, watching through his half-shut eyes +the torture he was inflicting. + +"Oh, Mother of God," she whispered, "have mercy! Can you not see, do you +not know? I am not as you left me." + +"Yes, my wife, you are just the same; not an hour older. I am glad that +you have come to me. But how they will envy Pretty Pierre!" + +"Envy--Pretty-Pierre," she repeated, in distress; "are you Pretty +Pierre? Ah, I might have known, I might have known!" + +"Yes, and so! Is not Pretty Pierre as good a name as Francois Rives? Is +it not as good as Shon McGann?" + +"Oh, I see it all, I see it all now!" she said mournfully. "It was with +you he quarrelled, and about me. He would not tell me what it was. You +know, then, that I am--that I am married--to him?" + +"Quite. I know all that; but it is no marriage." He rose to his feet +slowly, dropping the cigarette from his lips as he did so. "Yes," he +continued, "and I know that you prefer Shon McGann to Pretty Pierre." + +She spread out her hands appealingly. + +"But you are my wife, not his. Listen: do you know what I shall do? I +will tell you in two hours. It is now eight o'clock. At ten o'clock Shon +McGann will meet me at the Saints' Repose. Then you shall know.... +Ah, it is a pity! Shon was my good friend, but this spoils all that. +Wine--it has danger; cards--there is peril in that sport; women--they +make trouble most of all." + +"O God," she piteously said, "what did I do? There was no sin in me. +I was your faithful wife, though you were cruel to me. You left +me, cheated me, brought this upon me. It is you that has done this +wickedness, not I." She buried her face in her hands, falling on her +knees beside the chair. + +He bent above her: "You loved the young avocat better, eight years ago." + +She sprang to her feet. "Ah, now I understand," she said. "That was why +you quarrelled with me; why you deserted me. You were not man enough to +say what made you so much the--so wicked and hard, so--" + +"Be thankful, Lucy, that I did not kill you then," he interjected. + +"But it is a lie," she cried; "a lie!" + +She went to the door and called the Indian woman. "Ikni," she said. "He +dares to say evil of Andre and me. Think--of Andre!" + +Ikni came to him, put her wrinkled face close to his, and said: "She +was yours, only yours; but the spirits gave you a devil. Andre, oh, oh, +Andre! The father of Andre was her father--ah, that makes your sulky +eyes to open. Ikni knows how to speak. Ikni nursed them both. If you had +waited you should have known. But you ran away like a wolf from a coal +of fire; you shammed death like a fox; you come back like the snake to +crawl into the house and strike with poison tooth, when you should be +with the worms in the ground. But Ikni knows--you shall be struck with +poison too, the Spirit of the Red Knife waits for you. Andre was her +brother." + +He pushed her aside savagely: "Be still!" he said. "Get out-quick. +'Sacre'--quick!" + +When they were alone again he continued with no anger in his tone: "So, +Andre the avocat and you--that, eh? Well, you see how much trouble has +come; and now this other--a secret too. When were you married to Shon +McGann?" + +"Last night," she bitterly replied; "a priest came over from the Indian +village." + +"Last night," he musingly repeated. "Last night I lost two thousand +dollars at the Little Goshen field. I did not play well last night; I +was nervous. In ten years I had not lost so much at one game as I did +last night. It was a punishment for playing too honest, or something; +eh, what do you think, Lucy--or something, 'hein?'" + +She said nothing, but rocked her body to and fro. + +"Why did you not make known the marriage with Shon?" + +"He was to have told it to-night," she said. + +There was silence for a moment, then a thought flashed into his +eyes, and he rejoined with a jarring laugh, "Well, I will play a game +to-night, Lucy Rives; such a game that Pretty Pierre will never be +forgotten in the Pipi Valley--a beautiful game, just for two. And the +other who will play--the wife of Francois Rives shall see if she will +wait; but she must be patient, more patient than her husband was ten +years ago." + +"What will you do--tell me, what will you do?" + +"I will play a game of cards--just one magnificent game; and the cards +shall settle it. All shall be quite fair, as when you and I played +in the little house by the Chaudiere--at first, Lucy,--before I was a +devil." + +Was this peculiar softness to his last tones assumed or real? She looked +at him inquiringly; but he moved away to the window, and stood gazing +down the hillside towards the town below. His eyes smarted. + +"I will die," she said to herself in whispers--"I will die." A minute +passed, and then Pierre turned and said to her: "Lucy, he is coming up +the hill. Listen. If you tell him that I have seen you, I will shoot him +on sight, dead. You would save him, for a little, for an hour or two--or +more? Well, do as I say; for these things must be according to the rules +of the game, and I myself will tell him all at the Saints' Repose. He +gave me the lie there, and I will tell him the truth before them all +there. Will you do as I say?" + +She hesitated an instant, and then replied: "I will not tell him." + +"There is only one way, then," he continued. "You must go at once from +here into the woods behind there, and not see him at all. Then at ten +o'clock you will come to the Saints' Repose, if you choose, to know how +the game has ended." + +She was trembling, moaning, no longer. A set look had come into her +face; her eyes were steady and hard. She quietly replied: "Yes, I shall +be there." + +He came to her, took her hand, and drew from her finger the wedding-ring +which last night Shon McGann had placed there. She submitted passively. +Then, with an upward wave of his fingers, he spoke in a mocking +lightness, but without any of the malice which had first appeared in his +tones, words from an old French song: + + "I say no more, my lady + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine! + I say no more, my lady, + As nought more can be said." + +He opened the door, motioned to the Indian woman, and, in a few moments, +the broken-hearted Lucy Rives and her companion were hidden in the +pines; and Pretty Pierre also disappeared into the shadow of the woods +as Shon McGann appeared on the crest of the hill. + +The Irishman walked slowly to the door, and pausing, said to himself: +"I couldn't run the big risk, me darlin', without seein' you again, God +help me! There's danger ahead which little I'd care for if it wasn't for +you." + +Then he stepped inside the house--the place was silent; he called, but +no one answered; he threw open the doors of the rooms, but they were +empty; he went outside and called again, but no reply came, except the +flutter of a night-hawk's wings and the cry of a whippoorwill. He went +back into the house and sat down with his head between his hands. So, +for a moment, and then he raised his head, and said with a sad smile: +"Faith, Shon, me boy, this takes the life out of you! the empty house +where she ought to be, and the smile of her so swate, and the hand of +her that falls on y'r shoulder like a dove on the blessed altar-gone, +and lavin' a chill on y'r heart like a touch of the dead. Sure, nivir +a wan of me saw any that could stand wid her for goodness, barrin' +the angel that kissed me good-bye with one foot in the stirrup an' the +troopers behind me, now twelve years gone, in ould Donegal, and that +I'll niver see again, she lyin' where the hate of the world will vex the +heart of her no more, and the masses gone up for her soul. Twice, twice +in y'r life, Shon McGann, has the cup of God's joy been at y'r lips, and +is it both times that it's to spill?--Pretty Pierre shoots straight and +sudden, and maybe it's aisy to see the end of it; but as the just God +is above us, I'll give him the lie in his throat betimes for the word he +said agin me darlin'. What's the avil thing that he has to say? What's +the divil's proof he would bring? And where is she now? Where are you, +Lucy? I know the proof I've got in me heart that the wreck of the world +couldn't shake, while that light, born of Heaven, swims up to your eyes +whin you look at me!" + +He rose to his feet again and walked to and fro; he went once more to +the doors; he looked here and there through the growing dusk, but to no +purpose. She had said that she would not go to her shop this night; but +if not, then where could she have gone and Ikni, too? He felt there was +more awry in his life than he cared to put into thought or speech. +He picked up the sewing she had dropped and looked at it as one would +regard a relic of the dead; he lifted her handkerchief, kissed it, and +put it in his breast. He took a revolver from his pocket and examined it +closely, looked round the room as though to fasten it in his memory, +and then passed out, closing the door behind him. He walked down the +hillside and went to her shop in the one street of the town, but she was +not there, nor had the lad in charge seen her. + +Meanwhile, Pretty Pierre had made his way to the Saints' Repose, and +was sitting among the miners indolently smoking. In vain he was asked +to play cards. His one reply was, "No, pardon, no! I play one game only +to-night, the biggest game ever played in Pipi Valley." In vain, also, +was he asked to drink. He refused the hospitality, defying the danger +that such lack of good-fellowship might bring forth. He hummed in +patches to himself the words of a song that the 'brules' were wont to +sing when they hunted the buffalo: + + "'Voila!' it is the sport to ride-- + Ah, ah the brave hunter! + + To thrust the arrow in his hide, + To send the bullet through his side + 'Ici,' the buffalo, 'joli!' + Ah, ah the buffalo!" + +He nodded here and there as men entered; but he did not stir from his +seat. He smoked incessantly, and his eyes faced the door of the bar-room +that entered upon the street. There was no doubt in the minds of any +present that the promised excitement would occur. Shon McGann was as +fearless as he was gay. And Pipi Valley remembered the day in which +he had twice risked his life to save two women from a burning +building--Lady Jane and another. And Lady Jane this evening was +agitated, and once or twice furtively looked at something under the +bar-counter; in fact, a close observer would have noticed anger or +anxiety in the eyes of the daughter of Dick Waldron, the keeper of the +Saints' Repose. Pierre would certainly have seen it had he been looking +that way. An unusual influence was working upon the frequenters of the +busy tavern. Planned, premeditated excitement was out of their line. +Unexpectedness was the salt of their existence. This thing had an air +of system not in accord with the suddenness of the Pipi mind. The +half-breed was the only one entirely at his ease; he was languid and +nonchalant; the long lashes of his half-shut eyelids gave his face a +pensive look. At last King Kinkley walked over to him and said: "There's +an almighty mysteriousness about this event which isn't joyful, Pretty +Pierre. We want to see the muss cleared up, of course; we want Shon +McGann to act like a high-toned citizen, and there's a general prejudice +in favour of things bein' on the flat of your palm, as it were. Now +this thing hangs fire, and there's a lack of animation about it, isn't +there?" + +To this, Pretty Pierre replied: "What can I do? This is not like other +things; one had to wait; great things take time. To shoot is easy; but +to shoot is not all, as you shall see if you have a little patience. Ah, +my friend, where there is a woman, things are different. I throw a glass +in your face, we shoot, someone dies, and there it is quite plain of +reason; you play a card which was dealt just now, I call you--something, +and the swiftest finger does the trick; but in such as this, one must +wait for the sport." + +It was at this point that Shon McGann entered, looked round, nodded to +all, and then came forward to the table where Pretty Pierre sat. As the +other took out his watch, Shon said firmly but quietly: "Pierre, I gave +you the lie to-day concerning me wife, and I'm here, as I said I'd be, +to stand by the word I passed then." + +Pierre waved his fingers lightly towards the other, and slowly rose. +Then he said in sharp tones: "Yes, Shon McGann, you gave me the lie. +There is but one thing for that in Pipi Valley. You choked me; I would +not take that from a saint of heaven; but there was another thing to do +first. Well, I have done it; I said I would bring proofs--I have them." +He paused, and now there might have been seen a shining moisture on his +forehead, and his words came menacingly from between his teeth, while +the room became breathlessly still, save that in the silence a sleeping +dog sighed heavily: "Shon McGann," he added, "you are living with my +wife." + +Twenty men drew in a sharp breath of excitement, and Shon +came a step nearer the other, and said in a strange voice: +"I--am--living--with--your--wife?" + +"As I say, with my wife, Lucy Rives. Francois Rives was my name ten +years ago. We quarrelled. I left her, and I never saw her again until +to-night. You went to see her two hours ago. You did not find her. Why? +She was gone because her husband, Pierre, told her to go. You want a +proof? You shall have it. Here is the wedding-ring you gave her last +night." + +He handed it over, and Shon saw inside it his own name and hers. + +"My God!" he said. "Did she know? Tell me she didn't know, Pierre?" + +"No, she did not know. I have truth to speak to night. I was jealous, +mad, and foolish, and I left her. My boat was found upset. They believed +I was drowned. 'Bien,' she waited until yesterday, and then she took +you--but she was my wife; she is my wife--and so you see!" + +The Irishman was deadly pale. + +"It's an avil heart y' had in y' then, Pretty Pierre, and it's an avil +day that brought this thing to pass, and there's only wan way to the end +of it." + +"So, that is true. There is only one way," was the reply; "but what +shall that way be? Someone must go: there must be no mistake. I have +to propose. Here on this table we lay a revolver. We will give up these +which we have in our pockets. Then we will play a game of euchre, and +the winner of the game shall have the revolver. We will play for a life. +That is fair, eh--that is fair"? he said to those around. + +King Kinkley, speaking for the rest, replied: "That's about fair. It +gives both a chance, and leaves only two when it's over. While the woman +lives, one of you is naturally in the way. Pierre left her in a way that +isn't handsome; but a wife's a wife, and though Shon was all in the glum +about the thing, and though the woman isn't to be blamed either, there's +one too many of you, and there's got to be a vacation for somebody. +Isn't that so?" + +The rest nodded assent. They had been so engaged that they did not see +a woman enter the bar from behind, and crouch down beside Lady Jane, +a woman whom the latter touched affectionately on the shoulder and +whispered to once or twice, while she watched the preparations for the +game. + +The two men sat down, Shon facing the bar and Pierre with his back to +it. + +The game began, neither man showing a sign of nervousness, though Shon +was very pale. The game was to finish for ten points. Men crowded about +the tables silent but keenly excited; cigars were chewed instead of +smoked, and liquor was left undrunk. At the first deal Pierre made a +march, securing two. At the next Shon made a point, and at the next +also a march. The half-breed was playing a straight game. He could have +stacked the cards, but he did not do so; deft as he was he might have +cheated even the vigilant eyes about him, but it was not so; he played +as squarely as a novice. At the third, at the fourth, deal he made a +march; at the fifth, sixth, and seventh deals, Shon made a march, a +point, and a march. Both now had eight points. At the next deal both got +a point, and both stood at nine! + +Now came the crucial play. + +During the progress of the game nothing had been heard save the sound of +a knuckle on the table, the flip flip of the pasteboard, or the rasp of +a heel on the floor. There was a set smile on Shon's face--a forgotten +smile, for the rest of the face was stern and tragic. Pierre smoked +cigarettes, pausing, while his opponent was shuffling and dealing, to +light them. + +Behind the bar as the game proceeded the woman who knelt beside Lady +Jane listened to every sound. Her eyes grew more agonised as the +numbers, whispered to her by her companion, climbed to the fatal ten. + +The last deal was Shon's; there was that much to his advantage. As he +slowly dealt, the woman--Lucy Rives--rose to her feet behind Lady Jane. +So absorbed were all that none saw her. Her eyes passed from Pierre to +Shon, and stayed. + +When the cards were dealt, with but one point for either to gain, and so +win and save his life, there was a slight pause before the two took them +up. They did not look at one another; but each glanced at the revolver, +then at the men nearest them, and lastly, for an instant, at the +cards themselves, with their pasteboard faces of life and death turned +downward. As the players picked them up at last and spread them out +fan-like, Lady Jane slipped something into the hand of Lucy Rives. + +Those who stood behind Shon McGann stared with anxious astonishment at +his hand; it contained only nine and ten spots. It was easy to see the +direction of the sympathy of Pipi Valley. The Irishman's face turned a +slight shade paler, but he did not tremble or appear disturbed. + +Pierre played his biggest card and took the point. He coolly counted +one, and said, "Game. I win." The crowd drew back. Both rose to their +feet. In the painful silence the half-breed's hand was gently laid on +the revolver. He lifted it, and paused slightly, his eyes fixed to the +steady look in those of Shon McGann. He raised the revolver again, till +it was level with Shon's forehead, till it was even with his hair! Then +there was a shot, and someone fell--not Shon, but Pierre, saying, as +they caught him, "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! From behind!" + +Instantly there was another shot, and someone crashed against the +bottles in the bar. The other factor in the game, the wife, had shot at +Pierre, and then sent a bullet through her own lungs. + +Shon stood for a moment as if he was turned to stone, and then his head +dropped in his arms upon the table. He had seen both shots fired, but +could not speak in time. + +Pierre was severely but not dangerously wounded in the neck. + +But the woman--? They brought her out from behind the counter. She still +breathed; but on her eyes was the film of coming death. She turned +to where Shon sat. Her lips framed his name, but no voice came forth. +Someone touched him on the shoulder. He looked up and caught her last +glance. He came and stooped beside her; but she had died with that +one glance from him, bringing a faint smile to her lips. And the smile +stayed when the life of her had fled--fled through the cloud over her +eyes, from the tide-beat of her pulse. It swept out from the smoke and +reeking air into the open world, and beyond, into those untried paths +where all must walk alone, and in what bitterness, known only to the +Master of the World who sees these piteous things, and orders in what +fashion distorted lives shall be made straight and wholesome in the +Places of Readjustment. + +Shon stood silent above the dead body. + +One by one the miners went out quietly. Presently Pierre nodded towards +the door, and King Kinkley and another lifted him and carried him +towards it. Before they passed into the street he made them turn him so +that he could see Shon. He waved his hand towards her that had been +his wife, and said: "She should have shot but once and straight, Shon +McGann, and then!--Eh, 'bien!'" + +The door closed, and Shon McGann was left alone with the dead. + + + + +ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE + +"The birds are going south, Antoine--see--and it is so early!" + +"Yes, Angelique, the winter will be long." + +There was a pause, and then: "Antoine, I heard a child cry in the night, +and I could not sleep." + +"It was a devil-bird, my wife; it flies slowly, and the summer is dead." + +"Antoine, there was a rushing of wings by my bed before the morn was +breaking." + +"The wild-geese know their way in the night, Angelique; but they flew by +the house and not near thy bed." + +"The two black squirrels have gone from the hickory tree." + +"They have hidden away with the bears in the earth; for the frost comes, +and it is the time of sleep." + +"A cold hand was knocking at my heart when I said my aves last night, my +Antoine." + +"The heart of a woman feels many strange things: I cannot answer, my +wife." + +"Let us go also southward, Antoine, before the great winds and the wild +frost come." + +"I love thee, Angelique, but I cannot go." + +"Is not love greater than all?" + +"To keep a pledge is greater." + +"Yet if evil come?" + +"There is the mine." + +"None travels hither; who should find it?" + +"He said to me, my wife: 'Antoine, will you stay and watch the mine +until I come with the birds northward, again?' and I said: 'I will stay, +and Angelique will stay; I will watch the mine.'" + +"This is for his riches, but for our peril, Antoine." + +"Who can say whither a woman's fancy goes? It is full of guessing. It is +clouds and darkness to-day, and sunshine--so much--to-morrow. I cannot +answer." + +"I have a fear; if my husband loved me--" + +"There is the mine," he interrupted firmly. + +"When my heart aches so--" + +"Angelique, there is the mine." + +"Ah, my Antoine!" + +And so these two stayed on the island of St. Jean, in Lake Superior, +through the purple haze of autumn, into the white brilliancy of winter, +guarding the Rose Tree Mine, which Falding the Englishman and his +companions had prospected and declared to be their Ophir. + +But St. Jean was far from the ways of settlement, and there was little +food and only one hut, and many things must be done for the Rose Tree +Mine in the places where men sell their souls for money; and Antoine and +Angelique, French peasants from the parish of Ste. Irene in Quebec, were +left to guard the place of treasure, until, to the sound of the laughing +spring, there should come many men and much machinery, and the sinking +of shafts in the earth, and the making, of riches. + +But when Antoine and Angelique were left alone in the waste, and God +began to draw the pale coverlet of frost slowly across land and water, +and to surround St. Jean with a stubborn moat of ice, the heart of the +woman felt some coming danger, and at last broke forth in words of +timid warning. When she once had spoken she said no more, but stayed +and builded the heaps of earth about the house, and filled every crevice +against the inhospitable Spirit of Winds, and drew her world closer +and closer within those two rooms where they should live through many +months. + +The winter was harsh, but the hearts of the two were strong. They loved; +and Love is the parent of endurance, the begetter of courage. And every +day, because it seemed his duty, Antoine inspected the Rose Tree Mine; +and every day also, because it seemed her duty, Angelique said many +aves. And one prayer was much with her--for spring to come early that +the child should not suffer: the child which the good God was to give to +her and Antoine. + +In the first hours of each evening Antoine smoked, and Angelique sang +the old songs which their ancestors learned in Normandy. One night +Antoine's face was lighted with a fine fire as he talked of happy days +in the parish of Ste. Irene; and with that romantic fervour of his race +which the stern winters of Canada could not kill, he sang, 'A la Claire +Fontaine,' the well-beloved song-child of the 'voyageurs'' hearts. + +And the wife smiled far away into the dancing flames--far away, because +the fire retreated, retreated to the little church where they two were +wed; and she did as most good women do--though exactly why, man the +insufficient cannot declare--she wept a little through her smiles. But +when the last verse came, both smiles and tears ceased. Antoine sang it +with a fond monotony: + + "Would that each rose were growing + Upon the rose-tree gay, + And that the fatal rose-tree + Deep in the ocean lay. + 'I ya longtemps que je t'aime + Jamais je ne t'oublierai." + +Angelique's heart grew suddenly heavy. From the rose-tree of the song +her mind fled and shivered before the leafless rose-tree by the mine; +and her old dread came back. + +Of course this was foolish of Angelique; of course the wise and great +throw contumely on all such superstition; and knowing women will smile +at each other meaningly, and with pity for a dull man-writer, and will +whisper, "Of course, the child." But many things, your majesties, +are hidden from your wisdom and your greatness, and are given to the +simple--to babes, and the mothers of babes. + +It was upon this very night that Falding the Englishman sat with other +men in a London tavern, talking joyously. "There's been the luck of +Heaven," he said, "in the whole exploit. We'd been prospecting for +months. As a sort of try in a back-water we rowed over one night to an +island and pitched tents. Not a dozen yards from where we camped was a +rose-tree-think of it, Belgard, a rose-tree on a rag-tag island of Lake +Superior! 'There's luck in odd numbers, says Rory O'More.' 'There's luck +here,' said I; and at it we went just beside the rose-tree. What's the +result? Look at that prospectus: a company with a capital of two hundred +thousand; the whole island in our hands in a week; and Antoine squatting +on it now like Bonaparte on Elbe." + +"And what does Antoine get out of this"? said Belgard. + +"Forty dollars a month and his keep." + +"Why not write him off twenty shares to propitiate the gods--gifts unto +the needy, eh!--a thousand-fold--what?" + +"Yes; it might be done, Belgard, if--" + +But someone just then proposed the toast, "The Rose Tree Mine!" and +the souls of these men waxed proud and merry, for they had seen the +investor's palm filled with gold, the maker of conquest. While Antoine +was singing with his wife, they were holding revel within the sound of +Bow Bells. And far into the night, through silent Cheapside, a rolling +voice swelled through much laughter thus: + + "Gai Ion la, gai le rosier, + Du joli mois de Mai." + +The next day there were heavy heads in London; but the next day, also, a +man lay ill in the hut on the island of St. Jean. + +Antoine had sung his last song. He had waked in the night with a start +of pain, and by the time the sun was halting at noon above the Rose Tree +Mine, he had begun a journey, the record of which no man has ever truly +told, neither its beginning nor its end; because that which is of the +spirit refuseth to be interpreted by the flesh. Some signs there be, but +they are brief and shadowy; the awe of It is hidden in the mind of him +that goeth out lonely unto God. + +When the call goes forth, not wife nor child nor any other can hold the +wayfarer back, though he may loiter for an instant on the brink. The +poor medicaments which Angelique brings avail not; these soothing hands +and healing tones, they pass through clouds of the middle place between +heaven and earth to Antoine. It is only when the second midnight comes +that, with conscious, but pensive and far-off, eyes, he says to her: +"Angelique, my wife." + +For reply her lips pressed his cheek, and her fingers hungered for his +neck. Then: "Is there pain now Antoine?" + +"There is no pain, Angelique." + +He closed his eyes slowly; her lips framed an ave. "The mine," he said, +"the mine--until the spring." + +"Yes, Antoine, until the spring." + +"Have you candles--many candles, Angelique?" + +"There are many, my husband." + +"The ground is as iron; one cannot dig, and the water under the ice is +cruel--is it not so, Angelique?" + +"No axe could break the ground, and the water is cruel," she said. + +"You will see my face until the winter is gone, my wife." + +She bowed her head, but smoothed his hand meanwhile, and her throat was +quivering. + +He partly slept--his body slept, though his mind was feeling its way +to wonderful things. But near the morning his eyes opened wide, and he +said: "Someone calls out of the dark, Angelique." + +And she, with her hand on her heart, replied: "It is the cry of a dog, +Antoine." + +"But there are footsteps at the door, my wife." + +"Nay, Antoine; it is the snow beating upon the window." + +"There is the sound of wings close by--dost thou not hear them, +Angelique?" + +"Wings--wings," she falteringly said: "it is the hot blast through the +chimney; the night is cold, Antoine." + +"The night is very cold," he said; and he trembled... "I hear, O my +wife, I hear the voice of a little child... the voice is like thine, +Angelique." + +And she, not knowing what to reply, said softly: + +"There is hope in the voice of a child;" and the mother stirred within +her; and in the moment he knew also that the Spirits would give her the +child in safety, that she should not be alone in the long winter. + +The sounds of the harsh night had ceased--the snapping of the leafless +branches, the cracking of the earth, and the heaving of the rocks: +the Spirits of the Frost had finished their work; and just as the grey +forehead of dawn appeared beyond the cold hills, Antoine cried out +gently: "Angelique... Ah, mon Capitaine... Jesu"... and then, no more. + +Night after night Angelique lighted candles in the place where Antoine +smiled on in his frozen silence; and masses were said for his soul--the +masses Love murmurs for its dead. The earth could not receive him; its +bosom was adamant; but no decay could touch him; and she dwelt alone +with this, that was her husband, until one beautiful, bitter day, when, +with no eye save God's to see her, and no human comfort by her, she gave +birth to a man-child. And yet that night she lighted the candles at the +dead man's head and feet, dragging herself thither in the cold; and in +her heart she said that the smile on Antoine's face was deeper than it +had been before. + +In the early spring, when the earth painfully breathed away the frost +that choked it, with her child for mourner, and herself for sexton and +priest, she buried Antoine with maimed rites: but hers were the prayers +of the poor, and of the pure in heart; and she did not fret because, +in the hour that her comrade was put away into the dark, the world was +laughing at the thought of coming summer. + +Before another sunrise, the owners of the island of St. Jean claimed +what was theirs; and because that which had happened worked upon their +hearts, they called the child St. Jean, and from that time forth they +made him to enjoy the goodly fruits of the Rose Tree Mine. + + + + +THE CIPHER + +Hilton was staying his horse by a spring at Guidon Hill when he first +saw her. She was gathering may-apples; her apron was full of them. He +noticed that she did not stir until he rode almost upon her. Then she +started, first without looking round, as does an animal, dropping her +head slightly to one side, though not exactly appearing to listen. +Suddenly she wheeled on him, and her big eyes captured him. The look +bewildered him. She was a creature of singular fascination. Her face was +expressive. Her eyes had wonderful light. She looked happy, yet grave +withal; it was the gravity of an uncommon earnestness. She gazed through +everything, and beyond. She was young--eighteen or so. + +Hilton raised his hat, and courteously called a good-morning at her. She +did not reply by any word, but nodded quaintly, and blinked seriously +and yet blithely on him. He was preparing to dismount. As he did so he +paused, astonished that she did not speak at all. Her face did not have +a familiar language; its vocabulary was its own. He slid from his horse, +and, throwing his arm over its neck as it stooped to the spring, looked +at her more intently, but respectfully too. She did not yet stir, but +there came into her face a slight inflection of confusion or perplexity. +Again he raised his hat to her, and, smiling, wished her a good-morning. +Even as he did so a thought sprung in him. Understanding gave place to +wonder; he interpreted the unusual look in her face. + +Instantly he made a sign to her. To that her face responded with a +wonderful speech--of relief and recognition. The corners of her apron +dropped from her fingers, and the yellow may-apples fell about her feet. +She did not notice this. She answered his sign with another, rapid, +graceful, and meaning. He left his horse and advanced to her, holding +out his hand simply--for he was a simple and honest man. Her response +to this was spontaneous. The warmth of her fingers invaded him. Her +eyes were full of questioning. He gave a hearty sign of admiration. She +flushed with pleasure, but made a naive, protesting gesture. + +She was deaf and dumb. + +Hilton had once a sister who was a mute. He knew that amazing primal +gesture-language of the silent race, whom God has sent like one-winged +birds into the world. He had watched in his sister just such looks of +absolute nature as flashed from this girl. They were comrades on the +instant; he reverential, gentle, protective; she sanguine, candid, +beautifully aboriginal in the freshness of her cipher-thoughts. She saw +the world naked, with a naked eye. She was utterly natural. She was the +maker of exquisite, vital gesture-speech. + +She glided out from among the may-apples and the long, silken grass, to +charm his horse with her hand. As she started to do so, he hastened +to prevent her, but, utterly surprised, he saw the horse whinny to her +cheek, and arch his neck under her white palm--it was very white. Then +the animal's chin sought her shoulder and stayed placid. He had never +done so to anyone before save Hilton. Once, indeed, he had kicked a +stableman to death. He lifted his head and caught with playful shaking +lips at her ear. Hilton smiled; and so, as we said, their comradeship +began. + +He was a new officer of the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Guidon. She was +the daughter of a ranchman. She had been educated by Father Corraine, +the Jesuit missionary, Protestant though she was. He had learned the +sign-language while assistant-priest in a Parisian chapel for mutes. He +taught her this gesture-tongue, which she, taking, rendered divine; and, +with this, she learned to read and write. + +Her name was Ida. + +Ida was faultless. Hilton was not; but no man is. To her, however, he +was the best that man can be. He was unselfish and altogether honest, +and that is much for a man. + +When Pierre came to know of their friendship he shook his head +doubtfully. One day he was sitting on the hot side of a pine near his +mountain hut, soaking in the sun. He saw them passing below him, along +the edge of the hill across the ravine. He said to someone behind him in +the shade, who was looking also, "What will be the end of that, eh?" + +And the someone replied: "Faith, what the Serpent in the Wilderness +couldn't cure." + +"You think he'll play with her?" + +"I think he'll do it without wishin' or willin', maybe. It'll be a case +of kiss and ride away." + +There was silence. Soon Pierre pointed down again. She stood upon a +green mound with a cool hedge of rock behind her, her feet on the margin +of solid sunlight, her forehead bared. Her hair sprinkled round her as +she gently threw back her head. Her face was full on Hilton. She was +telling him something. Her gestures were rhythmical, and admirably +balanced. Because they were continuous or only regularly broken, it was +clear she was telling him a story. Hilton gravely, delightedly, nodded +response now and then, or raised his eyebrows in fascinated surprise. +Pierre, watching, was only aware of vague impressions--not any distinct +outline of the tale. At last he guessed it as a perfect pastoral-birds, +reaping, deer, winds, sundials, cattle, shepherds, hunting. To Hilton +it was a new revelation. She was telling him things she had thought, she +was recalling her life. + +Towards the last, she said in gesture: "You can forget the winter, but +not the spring. You like to remember the spring. It is the beginning. +When the daisy first peeps, when the tall young deer first stands upon +its feet, when the first egg is seen in the oriole's nest, when the sap +first sweats from the tree, when you first look into the eye of your +friend--these you want to remember...." + +She paused upon this gesture--a light touch upon the forehead, then the +hands stretched out, palms upward, with coaxing fingers. She seemed +lost in it. Her eyes rippled, her lips pressed slightly, a delicate wine +crept through her cheek, and tenderness wimpled all. Her soft breast +rose modestly to the cool texture of her dress. Hilton felt his blood +bound joyfully; he had the wish of instant possession. But yet he could +not stir, she held him so; for a change immediately passed upon her. She +glided slowly from that almost statue-like repose into another gesture. +Her eyes drew up from his, and looked away to plumbless distance, all +glowing and childlike, and the new ciphers slowly said: + +"But the spring dies away. We can only see a thing born once. And it may +be ours, yet not ours. I have sighted the perfect Sharon-flower, far up +on Guidon, yet it was not mine; it was too distant; I could not reach +it. I have seen the silver bullfinch floating along the canon. I called +to it, and it came singing; and it was mine, yet I could not hear its +song, and I let it go; it could not be happy so with me.... I stand at +the gate of a great city, and see all, and feel the great shuttles of +sounds, the roar and clack of wheels, the horses' hoofs striking the +ground, the hammer of bells; all: and yet it is not mine; it is far, +far away from me. It is one world, mine is another; and sometimes it is +lonely, and the best things are not for me. But I have seen them, and +it is pleasant to remember, and nothing can take from us the hour when +things were born, when we saw the spring--nothing--never!" + +Her manner of speech, as this went on, became exquisite in fineness, +slower, and more dream-like, until, with downward protesting motions of +the hand, she said that "nothing--never!" Then a great sigh surged up +her throat, her lips parted slightly, showing the warm moist whiteness +of her teeth, her hands falling lightly, drew together and folded in +front of her. She stood still. + +Pierre had watched this scene intently, his chin in his hands, his +elbows on his knees. Presently he drew himself up, ran a finger +meditatively along his lip, and said to himself: "It is perfect. She +is carved from the core of nature. But this thing has danger for her... +'bien!'... ah!" + +A change in the scene before him caused this last expression of +surprise. + +Hilton, rousing from the enchanting pantomime, took a step towards her; +but she raised her hand pleadingly, restrainingly, and he paused. With +his eyes he asked her mutely why. She did not answer, but, all at +once transformed into a thing of abundant sprightliness, ran down +the hillside, tossing up her arms gaily. Yet her face was not all +brilliance. Tears hung at her eyes. But Hilton did not see these. He +did not run, but walked quickly, following her; and his face had a +determined look. Immediately, a man rose up from behind a rock on the +same side of the ravine, and shook clenched fists after the departing +figures; then stood gesticulating angrily to himself, until, chancing to +look up, he sighted Pierre, and straightway dived into the underbrush. +Pierre rose to his feet, and said slowly: "Hilton, here may be trouble +for you also. It is a tangled world." + +Towards evening Pierre sauntered to the house of Ida's father. Light of +footstep, he came upon the girl suddenly. They had always been friends +since the day when, at uncommon risk, he rescued her dog from a freshet +on the Wild Moose River. She was sitting utterly still, her hands folded +in her lap. He struck his foot smartly on the ground. She felt the +vibration, and looked up. He doffed his hat, and she held out her hand. +He smiled and took it, and, as it lay in his, looked at it for a moment +musingly. She drew it back slowly. He was then thinking that it was the +most intelligent hand he had ever seen.... He determined to play a +bold and surprising game. He had learned from her the alphabet of the +fingers--that is, how to spell words. He knew little gesture-language. +He, therefore, spelled slowly: "Hawley is angry, because you love +Hilton." The statement was so matter-of-fact, so sudden, that the girl +had no chance. She flushed and then paled. She shook her head firmly, +however, and her fingers slowly framed the reply: "You guess too much. +Foolish things come to the idle." + +"I saw you this afternoon," he silently urged. + +Her fingers trembled slightly. "There was nothing to see." She knew he +could not have read her gestures. "I was telling a story." + +"You ran from him--why?" His questioning was cruel that he might in the +end be kind. + +"The child runs from its shadow, the bird from its nest, the fish jumps +from the water--that is nothing." She had recovered somewhat. + +But he: "The shadow follows the child, the bird comes back to its nest, +the fish cannot live beyond the water. But it is sad when the child, in +running, rushes into darkness, and loses its shadow; when the nest falls +from the tree; and the hawk catches the happy fish.... Hawley saw you +also." + +Hawley, like Ida, was deaf and dumb. He lived over the mountains, but +came often. It had been understood that, one day, she should marry him. +It seemed fitting. She had said neither yes nor no. And now? + +A quick tremor of trouble trailed over her face, then it became very +still. Her eyes were bent upon the ground steadily. Presently a bird +hopped near, its head coquetting at her. She ran her hand gently along +the grass towards it. The bird tripped on it. She lifted it to her +chin, at which it pecked tenderly. Pierre watched her keenly-admiring, +pitying. He wished to serve her. At last, with a kiss upon its head, she +gave it a light toss into the air, and it soared, lark-like, straight +up, and hanging over her head, sang the day into the evening. Her eyes +followed it. She could feel that it was singing. She smiled and lifted +a finger lightly towards it. Then she spelled to Pierre this: "It is +singing to me. We imperfect things love each other." + +"And what about loving Hawley, then"? Pierre persisted. She did not +reply, but a strange look came upon her, and in the pause Hilton +came from the house and stood beside them. At this, Pierre lighted a +cigarette, and with a good-natured nod to Hilton, walked away. + +Hilton stooped over her, pale and eager. "Ida," he gestured, "will you +answer me now? Will you be my wife?" + +She drew herself together with a little shiver. "No," was her steady +reply. She ruled her face into stillness, so that it showed nothing of +what she felt. She came to her feet wearily, and drawing down a cool +flowering branch of chestnut, pressed it to her cheek. "You do not love +me"? he asked nervously. + +"I am going to marry Luke Hawley," was her slow answer. She spelled the +words. She used no gesture to that. The fact looked terribly hard and +inflexible so. Hilton was not a vain man, and he believed he was not +loved. His heart crowded to his throat. + +"Please go away, now," she begged with an anxious gesture. While the +hand was extended, he reached and brought it to his lips, then quickly +kissed her on the forehead, and walked away. She stood trembling, and +as the fingers of one hand hung at her side, they spelled mechanically +these words: "It would spoil his life. I am only a mute--a dummy!" + +As she stood so, she felt the approach of someone. She did not turn +instantly, but with the aboriginal instinct, listened, as it were, with +her body; but presently faced about--to Hawley. He was red with anger. +He had seen Hilton kiss her. He caught her smartly by the arm, but, awed +by the great calmness of her face, dropped it, and fell into a fit of +sullenness. She spoke to him: he did not reply. She touched his arm: +he still was gloomy. All at once the full price of her sacrifice rushed +upon her; and overpowered her. She had no help at her critical hour, +not even from this man she had intended to bless. There came a swift +revulsion, all passions stormed in her at once. Despair was the +resultant of these forces. She swerved from him immediately, and ran +hard towards the high-banked river! + +Hawley did not follow her at once: he did not guess her purpose. She had +almost reached the leaping-place, when Pierre shot from the trees, and +seized her. The impulse of this was so strong, that they slipped, and +quivered on the precipitous edge: but Pierre righted then, and presently +they were safe. + +Pierre held her hard by both wrists for a moment. Then, drawing her +away, he loosed her, and spelled these words slowly: "I understand. +But you are wrong. Hawley is not the man. You must come with me. It is +foolish to die." + +The riot of her feelings, her momentary despair, were gone. It was +even pleasant to be mastered by Pierre's firmness. She was passive. +Mechanically she went with him. Hawley approached. She looked at Pierre. +Then she turned on the other. "Yours is not the best love," she signed +to him; "it does not trust; it is selfish." And she moved on. + +But, an hour later, Hilton caught her to his bosom, and kissed her full +on the lips.... And his right to do so continues to this day. + + + + +A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES + +At Fort Latrobe sentiment was not of the most refined kind. Local +customs were pronounced and crude in outline; language was often highly +coloured, and action was occasionally accentuated by a pistol shot. For +the first few months of its life the place was honoured by the presence +of neither wife, nor sister, nor mother. Yet women lived there. + +When some men did bring wives and children, it was noticed that the girl +Blanche was seldom seen in the streets. And, however it was, there grew +among the men a faint respect for her. They did not talk of it to each +other, but it existed. It was known that Blanche resented even the +most casual notice from those men who had wives and homes. She gave the +impression that she had a remnant of conscience. + +"Go home," she said to Harry Delong, who asked her to drink with him on +New Year's Day. "Go home, and thank God that you've got a home--and a +wife." + +After Jacques, the long-time friend of Pretty Pierre, came to Fort +Latrobe, with his sulky eye and scrupulously neat attire, Blanche +appeared to withdraw still more from public gaze, though no one saw any +connection between these events. The girl also became fastidious in her +dress, and lost all her former dash and smart aggression of manner. She +shrank from the women of her class, for which, as might be expected, +she was duly reviled. But the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air +have nests, nor has it been written that a woman may not close her ears, +and bury herself in darkness, and travel alone in the desert with her +people--those ghosts of herself, whose name is legion, and whose slow +white fingers mock more than the world dare at its worst. + +Suddenly, she was found behind the bar of Weir's Tavern at Cedar Point, +the resort most frequented by Jacques. Word went about among the men +that Blanche was taking a turn at religion, or, otherwise, reformation. +Soldier Joe was something sceptical on this point from the fact that +she had developed a very uncertain temper. This appeared especially +noticeable in her treatment of Jacques. She made him the target for her +sharpest sarcasm. Though a peculiar glow came to his eyes at times, he +was never roused from his exasperating coolness. When her shafts were +unusually direct and biting, and the temptation to resent was keen, +he merely shrugged his shoulders, almost gently, and said: "Eh, such +women!" + +Nevertheless, there were men at Fort Latrobe who prophesied trouble, +for they knew there was a deep strain of malice in the French half-breed +which could be the more deadly because of its rare use. He was not +easily moved, he viewed life from the heights of a philosophy which +could separate the petty from the prodigious. His reputation was not +wholly disquieting; he was of the goats, he had sometimes been found +with the sheep, he preferred to be numbered with the transgressors. Like +Pierre, his one passion was gambling. There were legends that once or +twice in his life he had had another passion, but that some Gorgon drew +out his heartstrings painfully, one by one, and left him inhabited by a +pale spirit now called Irony, now Indifference--under either name a fret +and an anger to women. + +At last Blanche's attacks on Jacques called out anxious protests from +men like rollicking Soldier Joe, who said to her one night, "Blanche, +there's a devil in Jacques. Some day you'll startle him, and then he'll +shoot you as cool as he empties the pockets of Freddy Tarlton over +there." + +And Blanche replied: "When he does that, what will you do, Joe?" + +"Do? Do?" The man stroked his beard softly. "Why, give him ditto--cold." + +"Well, then, there's nothing to row about, is there?" And Soldier Joe +was not on the instant clever enough to answer her sophistry; but when +she left him and he had thought awhile, he said, convincingly: + +"But where would you be then, Blanche?... That's the point." + +One thing was known and certain: Blanche was earning her living by +honest, if not high-class, labour. Weir the tavern-keeper said she was +"worth hundreds" to him. But she grew pale, her eyes became peculiarly +brilliant, her voice took a lower key, and lost a kind of hoarseness +it had in the past. Men came in at times merely to have a joke at her +expense, having heard of her new life; but they failed to enjoy +their own attempts at humour. Women of her class came also, some with +half-uncertain jibes, some with a curious wistfulness, and a few with +scornful oaths; but the jibes and oaths were only for a time. It became +known that she had paid the coach fare of Miss Dido (as she was called) +to the hospital at Wapiti, and had raised a subscription for her +maintenance there, heading it herself with a liberal sum. Then the +atmosphere round her became less trying; yet her temper remained +changeable, and had it not been that she was good-looking and witty, +her position might have been insecure. As it was, she ruled in a neutral +territory where she was the only woman. One night, after an inclement +remark to Jacques, in the card-room, Blanche came back to the bar, and +not noticing that, while she was gone, Soldier Joe had entered and laid +himself down on a bench in a corner, she threw her head passionately +forward on her arms as they rested on the counter, and cried: "O my God! +my God!" + +Soldier Joe lay still as if sleeping, and when Blanche was called away +again he rose, stole out, went down to Freddy Tarlton's office, and +offered to bet Freddy two to one that Blanche wouldn't live a year. +Joe's experience of women was limited. He had in his mind the case of a +girl who had accidentally smothered her child; and so he said: + +"Blanche has something on her mind that's killing her, Freddy. When +trouble fixes on her sort it kills swift and sure. They've nothing to +live for but life, and it isn't good enough, you see, for--for--" Joe +paused to find out where his philosophy was taking him. + +Freddy Tarlton finished the sentence for him: "For an inner sorrow is a +consuming fire." + +Fort Latrobe soon had an unexpected opportunity to study Soldier Joe's +theory. One night Jacques did not appear at Weir's Tavern as he had +engaged to do, and Soldier Joe and another went across the frozen +river to his log-hut to seek him. They found him by a handful of +fire, breathing heavily and nearly unconscious. One of the sudden and +frequently fatal colds of the mountains had fastened on him, and he had +begun a war for life. Joe started back at once for liquor and a doctor, +leaving his comrade to watch by the sick man. + +He could not understand why Blanche should stagger and grow white when +he told her; nor why she insisted on taking the liquor herself. He did +not yet guess the truth. + +The next day all Fort Latrobe knew that Blanche was nursing Jacques, on +what was thought to be his no-return journey. The doctor said it was +a dangerous case, and he held out little hope. Nursing might bring him +through, but the chance was very slight. Blanche only occasionally left +the sick man's bedside to be relieved by Soldier Joe and Freddy Tarlton. +It dawned on Joe at last, it had dawned on Freddy before, what Blanche +meant by the heart-breaking words uttered that night in Weir's Tavern. +Down through the crust of this woman's heart had gone something both +joyful and painful. Whatever it was, it made Blanche a saving nurse, +a good apothecary; for, one night the doctor pronounced Jacques out +of danger, and said that a few days would bring him round if he was +careful. + +Now, for the first time, Jacques fully comprehended all Blanche had done +for him, though he had ceased to wonder at her changed attitude to him. +Through his suffering and his delirium had come the understanding of +it. When, after the crisis, the doctor turned away from the bed, Jacques +looked steadily into Blanche's eyes, and she flushed, and wiped the wet +from his brow with her handkerchief. He took the handkerchief from her +fingers gently before Soldier Joe came over to the bed. + +The doctor had insisted that Blanche should go to Weir's Tavern and get +the night's rest, needed so much, and Joe now pressed her to keep her +promise. Jacques added an urging word, and after a time she started. Joe +had forgotten to tell her that a new road had been made on the ice since +she had crossed, and that the old road was dangerous. Wandering with her +thoughts she did not notice the spruce bushes set up for signal, +until she had stepped on a thin piece of ice. It bent beneath her. She +slipped: there was a sudden sinking, a sharp cry, then another, piercing +and hopeless--and it was the one word--"Jacques!" Then the night was +silent as before. But someone had heard the cry. Freddy Tarlton was +crossing the ice also, and that desolating Jacques! had reached his +ears. When he found her he saw that she had been taken and the other +left. But that other, asleep in his bed at the sacred moment when she +parted, suddenly waked, and said to Soldier Joe: "Did you speak, Joe? +Did you call me?" + +But Joe, who had been playing cards with himself, replied, "I haven't +said a word." + +And Jacques then added: "Perhaps I dream--perhaps." + +On the advice of the doctor and Freddy Tarlton, the bad news was kept +from Jacques. When she did not come the next day, Joe told him that she +couldn't; that he ought to remember she had had no rest for weeks, and +had earned a long rest. And Jacques said that was so. + +Weir began preparations for the funeral, but Freddy Tarlton took them +out of his hands--Freddy Tarlton, who visited at the homes of Fort +Latrobe. But he had the strength of his convictions such as they were. +He began by riding thirty miles and back to ask the young clergyman at +Purple Hill to come and bury Blanche. She'd reformed and been baptised, +Freddy said with a sad sort of humour. And the clergyman, when he +knew all, said that he would come. Freddy was hardly prepared for what +occurred when he got back. Men were waiting for him, anxious to know if +the clergyman was coming. They had raised a subscription to cover the +cost of the funeral, and among them were men such as Harry Delong. + +"You fellows had better not mix yourselves up in this," said Freddy. + +But Harry Delong replied quickly: "I am going to see the thing through." +And the others endorsed his words. When the clergyman came, and looked +at the face of this Magdalene, he was struck by its comeliness and +quiet. All else seemed to have been washed away. On her breast lay a +knot of white roses--white roses in this winter desert. + +One man present, seeing the look of wonder in the clergyman's eyes, said +quietly: "My--my wife sent them. She brought the plant from Quebec. It +has just bloomed. She knows all about her." + +That man was Harry Delong. The keeper of his home understood the other +homeless woman. When she knew of Blanche's death she said: "Poor girl, +poor girl!" and then she had gently added, "Poor Jacques!" + +And Jacques, as he sat in a chair by the fire four days after the +tragedy, did not know that the clergyman was reading over a grave on +the hillside, words which are for the hearts of the quick as for the +untenanted dead. + +To Jacques's inquiries after Blanche, Soldier Joe had made changing and +vague replies. At last he said that she was ill; then, that she was very +ill, and again, that she was better, almighty better--now. The third day +following the funeral, Jacques insisted that he would go and see her. +The doctor at length decided he should be taken to Weir's Tavern, where, +they declared, they would tell him all. And they took him, and placed +him by the fire in the card-room, a wasted figure, but fastidious in +manner and scrupulously neat in person as of old. Then he asked for +Blanche; but even now they had not the courage for it. The doctor +nervously went out, as if to seek her; and Freddy Tarlton said, +"Jacques, let us have a little game, just for quarters, you know. Eh?" + +The other replied without eagerness: "Voila, one game, then!" + +They drew him to the table, but he played listlessly. His eyes shifted +ever to the door. Luck was against him. Finally he pushed over a silver +piece, and said: "The last. My money is all gone. 'Bien!'" He lost that +too. + +Just then the door opened, and a ranchman from Purple Hill entered. He +looked carelessly round, and then said loudly: + +"Say, Joe, so you've buried Blanche, have you? Poor old girl!" + +There was a heavy silence. No one replied. Jacques started to his feet, +gazed around searchingly, painfully, and presently gave a great gasp. +His hands made a chafing motion in the air, and then blood showed on his +lips and chin. He drew a handkerchief from his breast. + +"Pardon!... Pardon!" he faintly cried in apology, and put it to his +mouth. + +Then he fell backwards in the arms of Soldier Joe, who wiped a moisture +from the lifeless cheek as he laid the body on a bed. + +In a corner of the stained handkerchief they found the word, + +Blanche. + + + + +A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS + +Father Corraine stood with his chin in his hand and one arm supporting +the other, thinking deeply. His eyes were fixed on the northern horizon, +along which the sun was casting oblique rays; for it was the beginning +of the winter season. + +Where the prairie touched the sun it was responsive and radiant; but on +either side of this red and golden tapestry there was a tawny glow and +then a duskiness which, curving round to the north and east, became blue +and cold--an impalpable but perceptible barrier rising from the earth, +and shutting in Father Corraine like a prison wall. And this shadow +crept stealthily on and invaded the whole circle, until, where the +radiance had been, there was one continuous wall of gloom, rising are +upon are to invasion of the zenith, and pierced only by some intrusive +wandering stars. + +And still the priest stood there looking, until the darkness closed down +on him with an almost tangible consistency. Then he appeared to remember +himself, and turned away with a gentle remonstrance of his head, and +entered the hut behind him. He lighted a lamp, looked at it doubtfully, +blew it out, set it aside, and lighted a candle. This he set in the one +window of the room which faced the north and west. + +He went to a door opening into the only other room in the hut, and with +his hand on the latch looked thoughtfully and sorrowfully at something +in the corner of the room where he stood. He was evidently debating +upon some matter,--probably the removal of what was in the corner to the +other room. If so, he finally decided to abandon the intention. He sat +down in a chair, faced the candle, again dropped his chin upon his hand, +and kept his eyes musingly on the light. He was silent and motionless +a long time, then his lips moved, and he seemed to repeat something to +himself in whispers. + +Presently he took a well-worn book from his pocket, and read aloud from +it softly what seemed to be an office of his Church. His voice grew +slightly louder as he continued, until, suddenly, there ran through the +words a deep sigh which did not come from himself. He raised his +head quickly, started to his feet, and turning round, looked at that +something in the corner. It took the form of a human figure, which +raised itself on an elbow and said: "Water--water--for the love of God!" + +Father Corraine stood painfully staring at the figure for a moment, and +then the words broke from him "Not dead--not dead--wonderful!" Then +he stepped quickly to a table, took therefrom a pannikin of water, and +kneeling, held it to the lips of the gasping figure of a woman, throwing +his arm round the shoulder, and supporting the head on his breast. Again +he spoke "Alive--alive! Blessed be Heaven!" + +The hands of the woman seized the hand of the priest, which held the +pannikin, and kissed it, saying faintly: "You are good to me.... But +I must sleep--I must sleep--I am so tired; and I've--very far--to +go--across the world." + +This was said very slowly, then the head thick with brown curls dropped +again on the priest's breast, heavy with sleep. Father Corraine, +flushing slightly at first, became now slightly pale, and his brow was a +place of war between thankfulness and perplexity. But he said something +prayerfully, then closed his lips firmly, and gently laid the figure +down, where it was immediately clothed about with slumber. Then he +rose, and standing with his eyes bent upon the sleeper and his fingers +clasping each other tightly before him, said: "Poor girl! So, she is +alive. And now what will come of it?" + +He shook his grey head in doubt, and immediately began to prepare some +simple food and refreshment for the sufferer when she should awake. In +the midst of doing so he paused and repeated the words, "And what will +come of it?" Then he added: "There was no sign of pulse nor heart-beat +when I found her. But life hides itself where man cannot reach it." + +Having finished his task, he sat down, drew the book of holy offices +again from his bosom, and read it, whisperingly, for a time; then fell +to musing, and, after a considerable time, knelt down as if in prayer. +While he knelt, the girl, as if startled from her sleep by some inner +shock, opened her eyes wide and looked at him, first with bewilderment, +then with anxiety, then with wistful thankfulness. "Oh, I thought--I +thought when I awoke before that it was a woman. But it is the good +Father Corraine--Corraine, yes, that was the name." + +The priest's clean-shaven face, long hair, and black cassock had, in her +first moments of consciousness, deceived her. Now a sharp pain brought +a moan to her lips; and this drew the priest's attention. He rose, and +brought her some food and drink. "My daughter," he said, "you must take +these." Something in her face touched his sensitive mind, and he said, +solemnly: "You are alone with me and God, this hour. Be at peace. Eat." + +Her eyes swam with instant tears. "I know--I am alone--with God," she +said. Again he gently urged the food upon her, and she took a little; +but now and then she put her hand to her side as if in pain. And once, +as she did so, she said: "I've far to go and the pain is bad. Did they +take him away?" + +Father Corraine shook his head. "I do not know of whom you speak," he +replied. "When I went to my door this morning I found you lying there. +I brought you in, and, finding no sign of life in you, sent Featherfoot, +my Indian, to Fort Cypress for a trooper to come; for I feared that +there had been ill done to you, somehow. This border-side is but a rough +country. It is not always safe for a woman to travel alone." + +The girl shuddered. "Father," she said "Father Corraine, I believe you +are?" (Here the priest bowed his head.) "I wish to tell you all, so that +if ever any evil did come to me, if I should die without doin' what's in +my heart to do, you would know, and would tell him if you ever saw him, +how I remembered, and kept rememberin' him always, till my heart got +sick with waitin', and I came to find him far across the seas." + +"Tell me your tale, my child," he patiently said. Her eyes were on the +candle in the window questioningly. "It is for the trooper--to guide +him," the other remarked. "'Tis past time that he should be here. When +you are able you can go with him to the Fort. You will be better cared +for there, and will be among women." + +"The man--the man who was kind to me--I wish I knew of him," she said. + +"I am waiting for your story, my child. Speak of your trouble, whether +it be of the mind and body, or of the soul." + +"You shall judge if it be of the soul," she answered. + +"I come from far away. I lived in old Donegal since the day that I was +born there, and I had a lover, as brave and true a lad as ever trod the +world. But sorrow came. One night at Farcalladen Rise there was a crack +of arms and a clatter of fleeing hoofs, and he that I loved came to me +and said a quick word of partin', and with a kiss--it's burnin' on my +lips yet--askin' pardon, father, for speech of this to you--and he was +gone, an outlaw, to Australia. For a time word came from him. Then I was +taken ill and couldn't answer his letters, and a cousin of my own, who +had tried to win my love, did a wicked thing. He wrote a letter to him +and told him I was dyin', and that there was no use of farther words +from him. And never again did word come to me from him. But I waited, my +heart sick with longin' and full of hate for the memory of the man who, +when struck with death, told me of the cruel deed he had done between us +two." + +She paused, as she had to do several times during the recital, through +weariness or pain; but, after a moment, proceeded. "One day, one +beautiful day, when the flowers were like love to the eye, and the larks +singin' overhead, and my thoughts goin' with them as they swam until +they were lost in the sky, and every one of them a prayer for the +lad livin' yet, as I hoped, somewhere in God's universe--there rode a +gentleman down Farcalladen Rise. He stopped me as I walked, and said a +kind good-day to me; and I knew when I looked into his face that he had +word for me--the whisperin' of some angel, I suppose, and I said to him +as though he had asked me for it, 'My name is Mary Callen, sir.' + +"At that he started, and the colour came quick to his face; and he said: +'I am Sir Duke Lawless. I come to look for Mary Callen's grave. Is there +a Mary Callen dead, and a Mary Callen livin'? and did both of them love +a man that went from Farcalladen Rise one wild night long ago?' + +"'There's but one Mary Callen,' said I, 'but the heart of me is dead, +until I hear news that brings it to life again?' + +"'And no man calls you wife?' he asked. + +"'No man, Sir Duke Lawless,' answered I. 'And no man ever could, save +him that used to write me of you from the heart of Australia; only there +was no Sir to your name then.' + +"'I've come to that since,' said he. + +"'Oh, tell me,' I cried, with a quiverin' at my heart, 'tell me, is he +livin'?' + +"And he replied: 'I left him in the Pipi Valley of the Rocky Mountains a +year ago.' + +"'A year ago!' said I, sadly. + +"'I'm ashamed that I've been so long in comin' here,' replied he; 'but, +of course, he didn't know that you were alive, and I had been parted +from a lady for years--a lover's quarrel--and I had to choose between +courtin' her again and marryin' her, or comin' to Farcalladen Rise at +once. Well, I went to the altar first.' + +"'Oh, sir, you've come with the speed of the wind, for now that I've +news of him, it is only yesterday that he went away, not years agone. +But tell me, does he ever think of me?' I questioned. + +"'He thinks of you,' he said, 'as one for whom the masses for the dead +are spoken; but while I knew him, first and last, the memory of you was +with him.' + +"With that he got off his horse, and said: 'I'll walk with you to his +father's home.' + +"'You'll not do that,' I replied; 'for it's level with the ground. God +punish them that did it! And they're lyin' in the glen by the stream +that he loved and galloped over many a time.' + +"'They are dead--they are dead, then,' said he, with his bridle swung +loose on his arm and his hat off reverently. + +"'Gone home to Heaven together,' said I, 'one day and one hour, and a +prayer on their lips for the lad; and I closin' their eyes at the last. +And before they went they made me sit by them and sing a song that's +common here with us; for manny and manny of the strength and pride +of Farcalladen Rise have sailed the wide seas north and south, and +otherwhere, and comin' back maybe and maybe not.' + +"'Hark,' he said, very gravely, 'and I'll tell you what it is, for I've +heard him sing it, I know, in the worst days and the best days that ever +we had, when luck was wicked and big against us and we starvin' on the +wallaby track; or when we found the turn in the lane to brighter days.' + +"And then with me lookin' at him full in the eyes, gentleman though +he was,--for comrade he had been with the man I loved,--he said to me +there, so finely and kindly, it ought to have brought the dead back from +their graves to hear, these words: + + "'You'll travel far and wide, dear, but you'll come back again, + You'll come back to your father and your mother in the glen, + Although we should be lyin' 'neath the heather grasses then + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'!' + + "'You'll see the icebergs sailin' along the wintry foam, + The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans as they roam; + But you'll not forget the rowan beside your father's home-- + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'.'" + +Here the girl paused longer than usual, and the priest dropped his +forehead in his hand sadly. + +"I've brought grief to your kind heart, father," she said. + +"No, no," he replied, "not sorrow at all; but I was born on the Liffey +side, though it's forty years and more since I left it, and I'm an old +man now. That song I knew well, and the truth and the heart of it too. +... I am listening." + +"Well, together we went to the grave of the father and mother, and the +place where the home had been, and for a long time he was silent, as +though they who slept beneath the sod were his, and not another's; but +at last he said: + +"'And what will you do? I don't quite know where he is, though; when +last I heard from him and his comrades, they were in the Pipi Valley.' + +"My heart was full of joy; for though I saw how touched he was because +of what he saw, it was all common to my sight, and I had grieved much, +but had had little delight; and I said: + +"'There's only one thing to be done. He cannot come back here, and +I must go to him--that is,' said I, 'if you think he cares for me +still,--for my heart quakes at the thought that he might have changed.' + +"'I know his heart,' said he, 'and you'll find him, I doubt not, the +same, though he buried you long ago in a lonely tomb,--the tomb of a +sweet remembrance, where the flowers are everlastin'.' Then after more +words he offered me money with which to go; but I said to him that the +love that couldn't carry itself across the sea by the strength of the +hands and the sweat of the brow was no love at all; and that the harder +was the road to him the gladder I'd be, so that it didn't keep me too +long, and brought me to him at last. + +"He looked me up and down very earnestly for a minute, and then he +said: 'What is there under the roof of heaven like the love of an honest +woman! It makes the world worth livin' in.' + +"'Yes,' said I, 'when love has hope, and a place to lay its head.' + +"'Take this,' said he--and he drew from his pocket his watch--'and +carry it to him with the regard of Duke Lawless, and this for +yourself'--fetching from his pocket a revolver and putting it into my +hands; 'for the prairies are but rough places after all, and it's better +to be safe than--worried.... Never fear though but the prairies will +bring back the finest of blooms to your cheek, if fair enough it is +now, and flush his eye with pride of you; and God be with you both, if +a sinner may say that, and breakin' no saint's prerogative.' And he +mounted to ride away, havin' shaken my hand like a brother; but he +turned again before he went, and said: 'Tell him and his comrades that +I'll shoulder my gun and join them before the world is a year older, if +I can. For that land is God's land, and its people are my people, and I +care not who knows it, whatever here I be.' + +"I worked my way across the sea, and stayed awhile in the East earning +money to carry me over the land and into the Pipi Valley. I joined a +party of emigrants that were goin' westward, and travelled far with +them. But they quarrelled and separated, I goin' with these that I liked +best. One night though, I took my horse and left; for I knew there was +evil in the heart of a man who sought me continually, and the thing +drove me mad. I rode until my horse could stumble no farther, and then +I took the saddle for a pillow and slept on the bare ground. And in the +morning I got up and rode on, seein' no house nor human being for manny +and manny a mile. When everything seemed hopeless I came suddenly upon +a camp. But I saw that there was only one man there, and I should have +turned back, but that I was worn and ill, and, moreover, I had ridden +almost upon him. But he was kind. He shared his food with me, and asked +me where I was goin'. I told him, and also that I had quarrelled with +those of my party and had left them nothing more. He seemed to wonder +that I was goin' to Pipi Valley; and when I had finished my tale he +said: 'Well, I must tell you that I am not good company for you. I have +a name that doesn't pass at par up here. To speak plain truth, troopers +are looking for me, and--strange as it may be--for a crime which I +didn't commit. That is the foolishness of the law. But for this I'm +making for the American border, beyond which, treaty or no treaty, a man +gets refuge.' + +"He was silent after that, lookin' at me thoughtfully the while, but in +a way that told me I might trust him, evil though he called himself. At +length he said: 'I know a good priest, Father Corraine, who has a cabin +sixty miles or more from here, and I'll guide you to him, if so be you +can trust a half-breed and a gambler, and one men call an outlaw. If +not, I'm feared it'll go hard with you; for the Cypress Hills are not +easy travel, as I've known this many a year. And should you want a name +to call me, Pretty Pierre will do, though my godfathers and godmothers +did different for me before they went to Heaven.' And nothing said he +irreverently, father." + +Here the priest looked up and answered: "Yes, yes, I know him well--an +evil man, and yet he has suffered too... Well, well, my daughter?" + +"At that he took his pistol from his pocket and handed it. 'Take that,' +he said. 'It will make you safer with me, and I'll ride ahead of you, +and we shall reach there by sundown, I hope.' + +"And I would not take his pistol, but, shamed a little, showed him the +one Sir Duke Lawless gave me. 'That's right,' he said, 'and, maybe, +it's better that I should carry mine, for, as I said, there are anxious +gentlemen lookin' for me, who wish to give me a quiet but dreary home. +And see,' he added, 'if they should come you will be safe, for they sit +in the judgment seat, and the statutes hang at their saddles, and I'll +say this for them, that a woman to them is as a saint of God out here +where women and saints are few.' + +"I do not speak as he spoke, for his words had a turn of French; but I +knew that, whatever he was, I should travel peaceably with him. Yet I +saw that he would be runnin' the risk of his own safety for me, and I +told him that I could not have him do it; but he talked me lightly down, +and we started. We had gone but a little distance, when there galloped +over a ridge upon us, two men of the party I had left, and one, I saw, +was the man I hated; and I cried out and told Pretty Pierre. He wheeled +his horse, and held his pistol by him. They said that I should come +with them, and they told a dreadful lie--that I was a runaway wife; but +Pierre answered them they lied. At this, one rode forward suddenly, +and clutched me at my waist to drag me from my horse. At this, Pierre's +pistol was thrust in his face, and Pierre bade him cease, which he did; +but the other came down with a pistol showin', and Pierre, seein' they +were determined, fired; and the man that clutched at me fell from his +horse. Then the other drew off; and Pierre got down, and stooped, and +felt the man's heart, and said to the other: 'Take your friend away, for +he is dead; but drop that pistol of yours on the ground first.' And the +man did so; and Pierre, as he looked at the dead man, added: 'Why did he +make me kill him?' + +"Then the two tied the body to the horse, and the man rode away with it. +We travelled on without speakin' for a long time, and then I heard him +say absently: 'I am sick of that. When once you have played shuttlecock +with human life, you have to play it to the end--that is the penalty. +But a woman is a woman, and she must be protected.' Then afterward he +turned and asked me if I had friends in Pipi Valley; and because what he +had done for me had worked upon me, I told him of the man I was goin' +to find. And he started in his saddle, and I could see by the way he +twisted the mouth of his horse that I had stirred him." + +Here the priest interposed: "What is the name of the man in Pipi Valley +to whom you are going?" + +And the girl replied: "Ah, father, have I not told you? It is Shon +McGann--of Farcalladen Rise." + +At this, Father Corraine seemed suddenly troubled, and he looked +strangely and sadly at her. But the girl's eyes were fastened on the +candle in the window, as if she saw her story in it; and she continued: +"A colour spread upon him, and then left him pale; and he said: 'To Shon +McGann--you are going to him? Think of that--that!' For an instant I +thought a horrible smile played upon his face, and I grew frightened, +and said to him: 'You know him. You are not sorry that you are helping +me? You and Shon McGann are not enemies?' + +"After a moment the smile that struck me with dread passed, and he +said, as he drew himself up with a shake: 'Shon McGann and I were good +friends-as good as ever shared a blanket or split a loaf, though he +was free of any evil, and I failed of any good.... Well, there came a +change. We parted. We could meet no more; but who could have guessed +this thing? Yet, hear me--I am no enemy of Shon McGann, as let my deeds +to you prove.' And he paused again, but added presently: 'It's better +you should have come now than two years ago. + +"And I had a fear in my heart, and to this asked him why. 'Because then +he was a friend of mine,' he said, 'and ill always comes to those who +are such.' I was troubled at this, and asked him if Shon was in Pipi +Valley yet. 'I do not know,' said he, 'for I've travelled long and far +from there; still, while I do not wish to put doubt into your mind, I +have a thought he may be gone.... He had a gay heart,' he continued, +'and we saw brave days together.' + +"And though I questioned him, he told me little more, but became silent, +scannin' the plains as we rode; but once or twice he looked at me in +a strange fashion, and passed his hand across his forehead, and a grey +look came upon his face. I asked him if he was not well. 'Only a kind of +fightin' within,' he said; 'such things soon pass, and it is well they +do, or we should break to pieces.' + +"And I said again that I wished not to bring him into danger. And he +replied that these matters were accordin' to Fate; that men like him +must go on when once the die is cast, for they cannot turn back. It +seemed to me a bitter creed, and I was sorry for him. Then for hours we +kept an almost steady silence, and comin' at last to the top of a rise +of land he pointed to a spot far off on the plains, and said that you, +father, lived there; and that he would go with me still a little way, +and then leave me. I urged him to go at once, but he would not, and we +came down into the plains. He had not ridden far when he said sharply: + +"'The Riders of the Plains, those gentlemen who seek me, are there--see! +Ride on or stay, which you please. If you go you will reach the priest, +if you stay here where I shall leave you, you will see me taken perhaps, +and it may be fightin' or death; but you will be safe with them. On the +whole, it is best, perhaps, that you should ride away to the priest. +They might not believe all that you told them, ridin' with me as you +are.' + +"But I think a sudden madness again came upon me. Rememberin' what +things were done by women for refugees in old Donegal, and that this man +had risked his life for me, I swung my horse round nose and nose with +his, and drew my revolver, and said that I should see whatever came to +him. He prayed me not to do so wild a thing; but when I refused, and +pushed on along with him, makin' at an angle for some wooded hills, I +saw that a smile played upon his face. We had almost reached the edge +of the wood when a bullet whistled by us. At that the smile passed and a +strange look came upon him, and he said to me: + +"'This must end here. I think you guess I have no coward's blood; but +I am sick to the teeth of fightin'. I do not wish to shock you, but I +swear, unless you turn and ride away to the left towards the priest's +house, I shall save those fellows further trouble by killin' myself +here; and there,' said he, 'would be a pleasant place to die--at the +feet of a woman who trusted you.' + +"I knew by the look in his eye he would keep his word. "'Oh, is this +so?' I said. + +"'It is so,' he replied, 'and it shall be done quickly, for the courage +to death is on me.' + +"'But if I go, you will still try to escape?' I said. And he answered +that he would. Then I spoke a God-bless-you, at which he smiled and +shook his head, and leanin' over, touched my hand, and spoke low: 'When +you see Shon McGann, tell him what I did, and say that we are even now. +Say also that you called Heaven to bless me.' Then we swung away from +each other, and the troopers followed after him, but let me go my way; +from which, I guessed, they saw I was a woman. And as I rode I heard +shots, and turned to see; but my horse stumbled on a hole and we fell +together, and when I waked, I saw that the poor beast's legs were +broken. So I ended its misery, and made my way as best I could by the +stars to your house; but I turned sick and fainted at the door, and knew +no more until this hour. ... You thought me dead, father?" + +The priest bowed his head, and said: "These are strange, sad things, my +child; and they shall seem stranger to you when you hear all." + +"When I hear all! Ah, tell me, father, do you know Shon McGann? Can you +take me to him?" + +"I know him, but I do not know where he is. He left the Pipi Valley +eighteen months ago, and I never saw him afterwards; still I doubt not +he is somewhere on the plains, and we shall find him--we shall find him, +please Heaven." + +"Is he a good lad, father?" + +"He is brave, and he was always kind. He came to me before he left the +valley--for he had trouble--and said to me: 'Father, I am going away, +and to what place is far from me to know, but wherever it is, I'll live +a life that's fit for men, and not like a loafer on God's world;' and he +gave me money for masses to be said--for the dead." + +The girl put out her hand. "Hush! hush!" she said. "Let me think. Masses +for the dead.... What dead? Not for me; he thought me dead long, long +ago." + +"No; not for you," was the slow reply. + +She noticed his hesitation, and said: "Speak. I know that there is +sorrow on him. Someone--someone--he loved?" + +"Someone he loved," was the reply. + +"And she died?" The priest bowed his head. + +"She was his wife--Shon's wife"? and Mary Callen could not hide from her +words the hurt she felt. + +"I married her to him, but yet she was not his wife." There was a keen +distress in the girl's voice. "Father, tell me, tell me what you mean." + +"Hush, and I will tell you all. He married her, thinking, and she +thinking, that she was a widowed woman. But her husband came back. A +terrible thing happened. The woman believing, at a painful time, that he +who came back was about to take Shon's life, fired at him, and wounded +him, and then killed herself." + +Mary Callen raised herself upon her elbow, and looked at the priest in +piteous bewilderment. "It is dreadful," she said.... "Poor woman!... And +he had forgotten--forgotten me. I was dead to him, and am dead to him +now. There's nothing left but to draw the cold sheet of the grave over +me. Better for me if I had never come--if I had never come, and instead +were lyin' by his father and mother beneath the rowan." + +The priest took her wrist firmly in his. "These are not brave nor +Christian words, from a brave and Christian girl. But I know that grief +makes one's words wild. Shon McGann shall be found. In the days when +I saw him most and best, he talked of you as an angel gone, and he had +never sought another woman had he known that you lived. The Mounted +Police, the Riders of the Plains, travel far and wide. But now, there +has come from the farther West a new detachment to Fort Cypress, and +they may be able to help us. But listen. There is something more. The +man Pretty Pierre, did he not speak puzzling words concerning himself +and Shon McGann? And did he not say to you at the last that they were +even now? Well, can you not guess?" + +Mary Callen's bosom heaved painfully and her eyes stared so at the +candle in the window that they seemed to grow one with the flame. At +last a new look crept into them; a thought made the lids close quickly +as though it burned them. When they opened again they were full of tears +that shone in the shadow and dropped slowly on her cheeks and flowed on +and on, quivering too in her throat. + +The priest said: "You understand, my child?" + +And she answered: "I understand. Pierre, the outlaw, was her husband." + +Father Corraine rose and sat beside the table, his book of offices open +before him. At length he said: "There is much that might be spoken; for +the Church has words for every hour of man's life, whatever it be; but +there comes to me now a word to say, neither from prayer nor psalm, but +from the songs of a country where good women are; where however poor the +fireside, the loves beside it are born of the love of God, though the +tongue be angry now and then, the foot stumble, and the hand quick at a +blow." Then, with a soft, ringing voice, he repeated: + + "'New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces on you smile-- + You'll bide with them and love them, but you'll long for us the while; + + For the word across the water, and the farewell by the stile-- + For the true heart's here, my darlin'.'" + +Mary Callen's tears flowed afresh at first; but soon after the voice +ceased she closed her eyes and her sobs stopped, and Father Corraine +sat down and became lost in thought as he watched the candle. Then there +went a word among the spirits watching that he was not thinking of the +candle, or of them that the candle was to light on the way, nor even +of this girl near him, but of a summer forty years gone when he was +a goodly youth, with the red on his lip and the light in his eye, and +before him, leaning on a stile, was a lass with-- + + "... cheeks like the dawn of day." + +And all the good world swam in circles, eddying ever inward until it +streamed intensely and joyously through her eyes "blue as the fairy +flax." And he had carried the remembrance of this away into the world +with him, but had never gone back again. He had travelled beyond the +seas to live among savages and wear out his life in self-denial; and now +he had come to the evening of his life, a benignant figure in a lonely +land. And as he sat here murmuring mechanically bits of an office, his +heart and mind were with a sacred and distant past. Yet the spirits +recorded both these things on their tablets, as though both were worthy +of their remembrance. + +He did not know that he kept repeating two sentences over and over to +himself: + +"'Quoniam ipse liberavit me de laqueo venantium et a verbo aspero. +Quoniam angelis suis mandavit de te: ut custodiant te in omnibus viis +tuis.'" + +These he said at first softly to himself, but unconsciously his voice +became louder, so that the girl heard, and she said: + +"Father Corraine, what are those words? I do not understand them, but +they sound comforting." + +And he, waking from his dream, changed the Latin into English, and said: + + "'For he hath delivered me from the snare of the hunter, and from the + sharp sword. + For he hath given his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all + thy ways.'" + +"The words are good," she said. He then told her he was going out, but +that he should be within call, saying, at the same time, that someone +would no doubt arrive from Fort Cypress soon: and he went from the +house. Then the girl rose slowly, crept lamely to a chair and sat +down. Outside, the priest paced up and down, stopping now and then, and +listening as if for horses' hoofs. At last he walked some distance away +from the house, deeply lost in thought, and he did not notice that a man +came slowly, heavily, to the door of the hut, and opening it, entered. + +Mary Callen rose from her seat with a cry in which was timidity, pity, +and something of horror; for it was Pretty Pierre. She recoiled, but +seeing how he swayed with weakness, and that his clothes had blood upon +them, she helped him to a chair. He looked up at her with an enigmatical +smile, but he did not speak. "Oh," she whispered, "you are wounded!" + +He nodded; but still he did not speak. Then his lips moved dryly. She +brought him water. He drank deeply, and a sigh of relief escaped him. +"You got here safely," he now said. "I am glad of that--though you, too, +are hurt." + +She briefly told him how, and then he said: "Well, I suppose you know +all of me now?" + +"I know what happened in Pipi Valley," she said, timidly and wearily. +"Father Corraine told me." + +"Where is he?" + +When she had answered him, he said: "And you are willing to speak with +me still?" + +"You saved me," was her brief, convincing reply. "How did you escape? +Did you fight?" + +"No," he said. "It is strange. I did not fight at all. As I said to you, +I was sick of blood. These men were only doing their duty. I might have +killed two or three of them, and have escaped, but to what good? When +they shot my horse, my good Sacrament,--and put a bullet into this +shoulder, I crawled away still, and led them a dance, and doubled on +them; and here I am." + +"It is wonderful that they have not been here," she said. + +"Yes, it is wonderful; but be very sure they will be with that candle in +the window. Why is it there?" + +She told him. He lifted his brows in stoic irony, and said: "Well, we +shall have an army of them soon." He rose again to his feet. "I do not +wish to die, and I always said that I would never go to prison. Do you +understand?" + +"Yes," she replied. She went immediately to the window, took the candle +from it, and put it behind an improvised shade. No sooner was this done +than Father Corraine entered the room, and seeing the outlaw, said "You +have come here, Pierre?" And his face showed wonder and anxiety. + +"I have come, mon pere, for sanctuary." + +"For sanctuary! But, my son, if I vex not Heaven by calling you so, +why"--he saw Pierre stagger slightly. "But you are wounded." He put +his arm round the other's shoulder, and supported him till he recovered +himself. Then he set to work to bandage anew the wound, from which +Pierre himself had not unskilfully extracted the bullet. While doing so, +the outlaw said to him: + +"Father Corraine, I am hunted like a coyote for a crime I did not +commit. But if I am arrested they will no doubt charge me with other +things--ancient things. Well, I have said that I should never be sent to +gaol, and I never shall; but I do not wish to die at this moment, and I +do not wish to fight. What is there left?" + +"How do you come here, Pierre?" + +He lifted his eyes heavily to Mary Callen, and she told Father Corraine +what had been told her. When she had finished, Pierre added: + +"I am no coward, as you will witness; but as I said, neither gaol nor +death do I wish. Well, if they should come here, and you said, Pierre +is not here, even though I was in the next room, they would believe you, +and they would not search. Well, I ask such sanctuary." + +The priest recoiled and raised his hand in protest. Then, after a +moment, he said: + +"How do you deserve this? Do you know what you ask?" + +"Ah, oui, I know it is immense, and I deserve nothing: and in return I +can offer nothing, not even that I will repent. And I have done no good +in the world; but still perhaps I am worth the saving, as may be seen +in the end. As for you, well, you will do a little wrong so that the end +will be right. So?" + +The priest's eyes looked out long and sadly at the man from under his +venerable brows, as though he would see through him and beyond him to +that end; and at last he spoke in a low, firm voice: + +"Pierre, you have been a bad man; but sometimes you have been generous, +and of a few good acts I know--" + +"No, not good," the other interrupted. "I ask this of your charity." + +"There is the law, and my conscience." + +"The law! the law!" and there was sharp satire in the half-breed's +voice. "What has it done in the West? Think, 'mon pere!' Do you not know +a hundred cases where the law has dealt foully? There was more justice +before we had law. Law--" And he named over swiftly, scornfully, a score +of names and incidents, to which Father Corraine listened intently. +"But," said Pierre, gently, at last, "but for your conscience, m'sieu', +that is greater than law. For you are a good man and a wise man; and you +know that I shall pay my debts of every kind some sure day. That should +satisfy your justice, but you are merciful for the moment, and you will +spare until the time be come, until the corn is ripe in the ear. Why +should I plead? It is foolish. Still, it is my whim, of which, perhaps, +I shall be sorry tomorrow... Hark!" he added, and then shrugged his +shoulders and smiled. There were sounds of hoof beats coming faintly to +them. Father Corraine threw open the door of the other room of the hut, +and said "Go in there--Pierre. We shall see... we shall see." + +The outlaw looked at the priest, as if hesitating; but, after, nodded +meaningly to himself, and entered the room and shut the door. The priest +stood listening. When the hoof-beats stopped, he opened the door, and +went out. In the dark he could see that men were dismounting from their +horses. He stood still and waited. Presently a trooper stepped forward +and said warmly, yet brusquely, as became his office: "Father Corraine, +we meet again!" + +The priest's face was overswept by many expressions, in which marvel and +trouble were uppermost, while joy was in less distinctness. + +"Surely," he said, "it is Shon McGann." + +"Shon McGann, and no other.--I that laughed at the law for many a +year, though never breaking it beyond repair,--took your advice, Father +Corraine, and here I am, holding that law now as my bosom friend at the +saddle's pommel. Corporal Shon McGann, at your service." + +They clasped hands, and the priest said: "You have come at my call from +Fort Cypress?" + +"Yes. But not these others. They are after a man that's played ducks and +drakes with the statutes--Heaven be merciful to him, I say. For there's +naught I treasure against him; the will of God bein' in it all, with +some doin' of the Devil, too, maybe." + +Pretty Pierre, standing with ear to the window of the dark room, heard +all this, and he pressed his upper lip hard with his forefinger, as if +something disturbed him. + +Shon continued. "I'm glad I wasn't sent after him as all these here +know; for it's little I'd like to clap irons on his wrists, or whistle +him to come to me with a Winchester or a Navy. So I'm here on my +business, and they're here on theirs. Though we come together it's +because we met each other hereaway. They've a thought that, maybe, +Pretty Pierre has taken refuge with you. They'll little like to disturb +you, I know. But with dead in your house, and you givin' the word of +truth, which none other could fall from your lips, they'll go on their +way to look elsewhere." + +The priest's face was pinched, and there was a wrench at his heart. He +turned to the others. A trooper stepped forward. + +"Father Corraine," he said, "it is my duty to search your house; but not +a foot will I stretch across your threshold if you say no, and give the +word that the man is not with you." + +"Corporal McGann," said the priest, "the woman whom I thought was dead +did not die, as you shall see. There is no need for inquiry. But she +will go with you to Fort Cypress. As for the other, you say that Father +Corraine's threshold is his own, and at his own command. His home is now +a sanctuary--for the afflicted." He went towards the door. As he did so, +Mary Callen, who had been listening inside the room with shaking frame +and bursting heart, dropped on her knees beside the table, her head +in her arms. The door opened. "See," said the priest, "a woman who is +injured and suffering." + +"Ah," rejoined the trooper, "perhaps it is the woman who was riding with +the half-breed. We found her dead horse." + +The priest nodded. Shon McGann looked at the crouching figure by the +table pityingly. As he looked he was stirred, he knew not why. And she, +though she did not look, knew that his gaze was on her; and all her will +was spent in holding her eyes from his face, and from crying out to him. + +"And Pretty Pierre," said the trooper, "is not here with her?" + +There was an unfathomable sadness in the priest's eyes, as, with a +slight motion of the hand towards the room, he said: "You see--he is not +here." + +The trooper and his men immediately mounted; but one of them, young Tim +Kearney, slid from his horse, and came and dropped on his knee in front +of the priest. + +"It's many a day," he said, "since before God or man I bent a knee--more +shame to me for that, and for mad days gone; but I care not who knows +it, I want a word of blessin' from the man that's been out here like a +saint in the wilderness, with a heart like the Son o' God." + +The priest looked at the man at first as if scarce comprehending this +act so familiar to him, then he slowly stretched out his hand, said some +words in benediction, and made the sacred gesture. But his face had a +strange and absent look, and he held the hand poised, even when the man +had risen and mounted his horse. One by one the troopers rode through +the faint belt of light that stretched from the door, and were lost in +the darkness, the thud of their horses' hoofs echoing behind them. But a +change had come over Corporal Shon McGann. He looked at Father Corraine +with concern and perplexity. He alone of those who were there had caught +the unreal note in the proceedings. His eyes were bent on the darkness +into which the men had gone, and his fingers toyed for an instant with +his whistle; but he said a hard word of himself under his breath, and +turned to meet Father Corraine's hand upon his arm. + +"Shon McGann," the priest said, "I have words to say to you concerning +this poor girl." + +"You wish to have her taken to the Fort, I suppose? What was she doing +with Pretty Pierre?" + +"I wish her taken to her home." + +"Where is her home, father?" And his eyes were cast with trouble on the +girl, though he could assign no cause for that. + +"Her home, Shon,"--the priest's voice was very gentle--"her home was +where they sing such words as these of a wanderer: + + "'You'll hear the wild birds singin' beneath a brighter sky,' + The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand and high; + But you'll hunger for the hearthstone where a child you used to lie, + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'."' + +During these words Shon's face ran white, then red; and now he stepped +inside the door like one in a dream, and the girl's face was lifted to +his as though he had called her. "Mary--Mary Callen!" he cried. His arms +spread out, then dropped to his side, and he fell on his knees by the +table facing her, and looked at her with love and horror warring in his +face; for the remembrance that she had been with Pierre was like the +hand of the grave upon him. Moving not at all, she looked at him, a numb +despondency in her face. Suddenly Shon's look grew stern, and he was +about to rise; but Father Corraine put a hand on his shoulder, and said: +"Stay where you are, man--on your knees. There is your place just now. +Be not so quick to judge, and remember your own sins before you charge +others without knowledge. Listen now to me." + +And he spoke Mary Callen's tale as he knew it, and as she had given it +to him, not forgetting to mention that she had been told the thing which +had occurred in Pipi Valley. + +The heroic devotion of this woman, and Pretty Pierre's act of friendship +to her, together with the swift panorama of his past across the seas, +awoke the whole man in Shon, as the staunch life that he had lately led +rendered it possible. There was a grave, kind look upon his face when he +rose at the ending of the tale, and came to her, saying: + +"Mary, it is I who need forgiveness. Will you come now to the home you +wanted"? and he stretched his arms to her.... + +An hour after, as the three sat there, the door of the other room +opened, and Pretty Pierre came out silently, and was about to pass from +the hut; but the priest put a hand on his arm, and said: + +"'Where do you go, Pierre?" + +Pierre shrugged his shoulder slightly: + +"I do not know. 'Mon Dieu!'--that I have put this upon you!--you that +never spoke but the truth." + +"You have made my sin of no avail," the priest replied; and he motioned +towards Shon McGann, who was now risen to his feet, Mary clinging to his +arm. "Father Corraine," said Shon, "it is my duty to arrest this man; +but I cannot do it, would not do it, if he came and offered his arms for +the steel. I'll take the wrong of this now, sir, and such shame as there +is in that falsehood on my shoulders. And she here and I, and this man +too, I doubt not, will carry your sin--as you call it--to our graves, +without shame." + +Father Corraine shook his head sadly, and made no reply, for his soul +was heavy. He motioned them all to sit down. And they sat there by the +light of a flickering candle, with the door bolted and a cassock hung +across the window, lest by any chance this uncommon thing should be +seen. But the priest remained in a shadowed corner, with a little book +in his hand, and he was long on his knees. And when morning came they +had neither slept nor changed the fashion of their watch, save for a +moment now and then, when Pierre suffered from the pain of his wound, +and silently passed up and down the little room. + +The morning was half gone when Shon McGann and Mary Callen stood beside +their horses, ready to mount and go; for Mary had persisted that she +could travel--joy makes such marvellous healing. When the moment +of parting came, Pierre was not there. Mary whispered to her lover +concerning this. The priest went to the door of the but and called him. +He came out slowly. + +"Pierre," said Shon, "there's a word to be said between us that had best +be spoken now, though it's not aisy. It's little you or I will care to +meet again in this world. There's been credit given and debts paid by +both of us since the hour when we first met; and it needs thinking to +tell which is the debtor now, for deeds are hard to reckon; but, before +God, I believe it's meself;" and he turned and looked fondly at Mary +Callen. + +And Pierre replied: "Shon McGann, I make no reckoning close; but we will +square all accounts here, as you say, and for the last time; for never +again shall we meet, if it's within my will or doing. But I say I am the +debtor; and if I pay not here, there will come a time!" and he caught +his shoulder as it shrunk in pain of his wound. He tapped the wound +lightly, and said with irony: "This is my note of hand for my debt, Shon +McGann. Eh, bien!" + +Then he tossed his fingers indolently towards Shon, and turning his eyes +slowly to Mary Callen, raised his hat in good-bye. She put out her hand +impulsively to him, but Pierre, shaking his head, looked away. Shon put +his hand gently on her arm. "No, no," he said in a whisper, "there can +be no touch of hands between us." + +And Pierre, looking up, added: "C'est vrai. That is the truth. You +go--home. I got to hide. So--so." And he turned and went into the hut. + +The others set their faces northward, and Father Corraine walked beside +Mary Callen's horse, talking quietly of their future life, and speaking, +as he would never speak again, of days in that green land of their +birth. At length, upon a dividing swell of the prairie, he paused to say +farewell. + +Many times the two turned to see, and he was there, looking after them; +his forehead bared to the clear inspiring wind, his grey hair blown +back, his hands clasped. Before descending the trough of a great +landwave, they turned for the last time, and saw him standing +motionless, the one solitary being in all their wide horizon. + +But outside the line of vision there sat a man in a prairie hut, whose +eyes travelled over the valley of blue sky stretching away beyond the +morning, whose face was pale and cold. For hours he sat unmoving, and +when, at last, someone gently touched him on the shoulder, he only shook +his head, and went on thinking. He was busy with the grim ledger of his +life. + + ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + + An inner sorrow is a consuming fire + At first--and at the last--he was kind + Awkward for your friends and gratifying to your enemies + Carrying with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love + Courage; without which, men are as the standing straw + Delicate revenge which hath its hour with every man + Evil is half-accidental, half-natural + Fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good + Freedom is the first essential of the artistic mind + Good is often an occasion more than a condition + Had the luck together, all kinds and all weathers + He does not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him + Hunger for happiness is robbery + I was born insolent + If one remembers, why should the other forget + Instinct for detecting veracity, having practised on both sides + Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words and women + It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law + It is not much to kill or to die--that is in the game + Knowing that his face would never be turned from me + Likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly animal + Longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children + Meditation is the enemy of action + Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners + More idle than wicked + Mothers always forgive + My excuses were making bad infernally worse + Noise is not battle + Nothing so good as courage, nothing so base as the shifting eye + Philosophy which could separate the petty from the prodigious + Reconciling the preacher and the sinner, as many another has + Remember your own sins before you charge others + She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute + She wasn't young, but she seemed so + The soul of goodness in things evil + The Injin speaks the truth, perhaps--eye of red man multlpies + The Government cherish the Injin much in these days + The gods made last to humble the pride of men--there was rum + The higher we go the faster we live + The Barracks of the Free + The world is not so bad as is claimed for it + Time is the test, and Time will have its way with me + Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now is real + Where I should never hear the voice of the social Thou must + You do not shout dinner till you have your knife in the loaf + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre And His People, +[Tales of the Far North], Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE, *** + +***** This file should be named 6179.txt or 6179.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/7/6179/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +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: Pierre And His People, [Tales of the Far North], Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6179] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on August 27, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE, BY PARKER *** + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + +[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the +file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an +entire meal of them. D.W.] + + + + + +PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE + +TALES OF THE FAR NORTH + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 1. + + + +CONTENTS + +Volume 1. +THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS +GOD'S GARRISON +A HAZARD OF THE NORTH + +Volume 2. +A PRAIRIE VAGABOND +SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON +THREE OUTLAWS + +Volume 3. +SHON MCGANN'S TOBOGAN RIDE +PERE CHAMPAGNE +THE SCARLET HUNTER +THE STONE + +Volume 4. +THE TALL MASTER +THE CRIMSON FLAG +THE FLOOD +IN PIPI VALLEY + +Volume 5. +ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE +THE CIPHER +A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES +A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS + + + + +GENERAL INTRODUCTION + +With each volume of this subscription edition (1912) there is a special +introduction, setting forth, in so far as seemed possible, the relation +of each work to myself, to its companion works, and to the scheme of my +literary life. Only one or two things, therefore, need be said here, as I +wish God-speed to this edition, which, I trust, may help to make old +friends warmer friends and new friends more understanding. Most of the +novels and most of the short stories were suggested by incidents or +characters which I had known, had heard of intimately, or, as in the case +of the historical novels, had discovered in the works of historians. In +no case are the main characters drawn absolutely from life; they are not +portraits; and the proof of that is that no one has ever been able to +identify, absolutely, any single character in these books. Indeed, it +would be impossible for me to restrict myself to actual portraiture. It +is trite to say that photography is not art, and photography has no charm +for the artist, or the humanitarian indeed, in the portrayal of life. +At its best it is only an exhibition of outer formal characteristics, +idiosyncrasies, and contours. Freedom is the first essential of the +artistic mind. As will be noticed in the introductions and original +notes to several of these volumes, it is stated that they possess +anachronisms; that they are not portraits of people living or dead, and +that they only assume to be in harmony with the spirit of men and times +and things. Perhaps in the first few pages of 'The Right of Way' +portraiture is more nearly reached than in any other of these books, but +it was only the nucleus, if I may say so, of a larger development which +the original Charley Steele never attained. In the novel he grew to +represent infinitely more than the original ever represented in his short +life. + +That would not be strange when it is remembered that the germ of The +'Right of Way' was growing in my mind over a long period of years, and +it must necessarily have developed into a larger conception than the +original character could have suggested. The same may be said of the +chief characters in 'The Weavers'. The story of the two brothers--David +Claridge and Lord Eglington--in that book was brewing in my mind for +quite fifteen years, and the main incidents and characters of other +novels in this edition had the same slow growth. My forthcoming novel, +called 'The Judgment House', had been in my mind for nearly twenty years +and only emerged when it was full grown, as it were; when I was so +familiar with the characters that they seemed as real in all ways as +though they were absolute people and incidents of one's own experience. + +Little more need be said. In outward form the publishers have made this +edition beautiful. I should be ill-content if there was not also an +element of beauty in the work of the author. To my mind truth alone +is not sufficient. Every work of art, no matter how primitive in +conception, how tragic or how painful, or even how grotesque in design +--like the gargoyles on Notre Dame must have, too, the elements of +beauty--that which lures and holds, the durable and delightful thing. +I have a hope that these books of mine, as faithful to life as I could +make them, have also been touched here and there by the staff of beauty. +Otherwise their day will be short indeed; and I should wish for them a +day a little longer at least than my day and span. + +I launch the ship. May it visit many a port! May its freight never lie +neglected on the quays! + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +So far as my literary work is concerned 'Pierre and His People' may be +likened to a new city built upon the ashes of an old one. Let me +explain. While I was in Australia I began a series of short stories +and sketches of life in Canada which I called 'Pike Pole Sketches on the +Madawaska'. A very few of them were published in Australia, and I +brought with me to England in 1889 about twenty of them to make into a +volume. I told Archibald Forbes, the great war correspondent, of my wish +for publication, and asked him if he would mind reading the sketches and +stories before I approached a publisher. He immediately consented, and +one day I brought him the little brown bag containing the tales. + +A few days afterwards there came an invitation to lunch, and I went to +Clarence Gate, Regent's Park, to learn what Archibald Forbes thought of +my tales. We were quite merry at luncheon, and after luncheon, which for +him was a glass of milk and a biscuit, Forbes said to me, "Those stories, +Parker--you have the best collection of titles I have ever known." He +paused. I understood. To his mind the tales did not live up to their +titles. He hastily added, "But I am going to give you a letter of +introduction to Macmillan. I may be wrong." My reply was: "You need not +give me a letter to Macmillan unless I write and ask you for it." + +I took my little brown bag and went back to my comfortable rooms in an +old-fashioned square. I sat down before the fire on this bleak winter's +night with a couple of years' work on my knee. One by one I glanced +through the stories and in some cases read them carefully, and one by one +I put them in the fire, and watched them burn. I was heavy at heart, but +I felt that Forbes was right, and my own instinct told me that my ideas +were better than my performance--and Forbes was right. Nothing was left +of the tales; not a shred of paper, not a scrap of writing. They had all +gone up the chimney in smoke. There was no self-pity. I had a grim kind +of feeling regarding the thing, but I had no regrets, and I have never +had any regrets since. I have forgotten most of the titles, and indeed +all the stories except one. But Forbes and I were right; of that I am +sure. + +The next day after the arson I walked for hours where London was busiest. +The shop windows fascinated me; they always did; but that day I seemed, +subconsciously, to be looking for something. At last I found it. It was +a second-hand shop in Covent Garden. In the window there was the uniform +of an officer of the time of Wellington, and beside it--the leather coat +and fur cap of a trapper of the Hudson's Bay Company! At that window I +commenced to build again upon the ashes of last night's fire. Pretty +Pierre, the French half-breed, or rather the original of him as I knew +him when a child, looked out of the window at me. So I went home, and +sitting in front of the fire which had received my manuscript the night +before, with a pad upon my knee, I began to write 'The Patrol of the +Cypress Hills' which opens 'Pierre and His People'. + +The next day was Sunday. I went to service at the Foundling Hospital in +Bloomsbury, and while listening superficially to the sermon I was also +reading the psalms. I came upon these words, "Free among the Dead like +unto them that are wounded and lie in the grave, that are out of +remembrance," and this text, which I used in the story 'The Patrol of the +Cypress Hills', became, in a sense, the text for all the stories which +came after. It seemed to suggest the lives and the end of the lives of +the workers of the pioneer world. + +So it was that Pierre and His People chiefly concerned those who had been +wounded by Fate, and had suffered the robberies of life and time while +they did their work in the wide places. It may be that my readers have +found what I tried, instinctively, to convey in the pioneer life I +portrayed--"The soul of goodness in things evil." Such, on the whole, +my observation had found in life, and the original of Pierre, with all +his mistakes, misdemeanours, and even crimes, was such an one as I would +have gone to in trouble or in hour of need, knowing that his face would +never be turned from me. + +These stories made their place at once. The 'Patrol of the Cypress +Hills' was published first in 'The Independent' of New York and in +'Macmillan's Magazine' in England. Mr. Bliss Carman, then editor of 'The +Independent', eagerly published several of them--'She of the Triple +Chevron' and others. Mr. Carman's sympathy and insight were a great help +to me in those early days. The then editor of 'Macmillan's Magazine', +Mr. Mowbray Morris, was not, I think, quite so sure of the merits of the +Pierre stories. He published them, but he was a little credulous +regarding them, and he did not pat me on the back by any means. There +was one, however, who made the best that is in 'Pierre and His People' +possible; this was the unforgettable W. E. Henley, editor of The +'National Observer'. One day at a sitting I wrote a short story called +'Antoine and Angelique', and sent it to him almost before the ink was +dry. The reply came by return of post: "It is almost, or quite, as good +as can be. Send me another." So forthwith I sent him 'God's Garrison', +and it was quickly followed by 'The Three Outlaws', 'The Tall Master', +'The Flood', 'The Cipher', 'A Prairie Vagabond', and several others. At +length came 'The Stone', which brought a telegram of congratulation, and +finally 'The Crimson Flag'. The acknowledgment of that was a postcard +containing these all too-flattering words: "Bravo, Balzac!" Henley would +print what no other editor would print; he gave a man his chance to do +the boldest thing that was in him, and I can truthfully say that the +doors which he threw open gave freedom to an imagination and an +individuality of conception, for which I can never be sufficiently +grateful. + +These stories and others which appeared in 'The National Observer', in +'Macmillan's', in 'The English Illustrated Magazine' and others made many +friends; so that when the book at length came out it was received with +generous praise, though not without some criticism. It made its place, +however, at once, and later appeared another series, called 'An +Adventurer of the North', or, as it is called in this edition, 'A Romany +of the Snows'. Through all the twenty stories of this second volume the +character of Pierre moved; and by the time the last was written there was +scarcely an important magazine in the English-speaking world which had +not printed one or more of them. Whatever may be thought of the stories +themselves, or of the manner in which the life of the Far North was +portrayed, of one thing I am sure: Pierre was true to the life--to his +race, to his environment, to the conditions of pioneer life through which +he moved. When the book first came out there was some criticism from +Canada itself, but that criticism has long since died away, and it never +was determined. + +Plays have been founded on the 'Pierre' series, and one in particular, +'Pierre of the Plains', had a considerable success, with Mr. Edgar +Selwyn, the adapter, in the main part. I do not know whether, if I were +to begin again, I should have written all the Pierre stories in quite the +same way. Perhaps it is just as well that I am not able to begin again. +The stories made their own place in their own way, and that there is +still a steady demand for 'Pierre and His People' and 'A Romany of the +Snows' seems evidence that the editor of an important magazine in New +York who declined to recommend them for publication to his firm (and +later published several of the same series) was wrong, when he said that +the tales "seemed not to be salient." Things that are not "salient" do +not endure. It is twenty years since 'Pierre and His People' was +produced--and it still endures. For this I cannot but be deeply +grateful. In any case, what 'Pierre' did was to open up a field which +had not been opened before, but which other authors have exploited since +with success and distinction. 'Pierre' was the pioneer of the Far North +in fiction; that much may be said; and for the rest, Time is the test, +and Time will have its way with me as with the rest. + + + + +NOTE + +It is possible that a Note on the country portrayed in these stories may +be in keeping. Until 1870, the Hudson's Bay Company--first granted its +charter by King Charles II--practically ruled that vast region stretching +from the fiftieth parallel of latitude to the Arctic Ocean--a handful of +adventurous men entrenched in forts and posts, yet trading with, and +mostly peacefully conquering, many savage tribes. Once the sole master +of the North, the H. B. C. (as it is familiarly called) is reverenced by +the Indians and half-breeds as much as, if not more than, the Government +established at Ottawa. It has had its forts within the Arctic Circle; it +has successfully exploited a country larger than the United States. The +Red River Valley, the Saskatchewan Valley, and British Columbia, are now +belted by a great railway, and given to the plough; but in the far north +life is much the same as it was a hundred years ago. There the trapper, +clerk, trader, and factor are cast in the mould of another century, +though possessing the acuter energies of this. The 'voyageur' and +'courier de bois' still exist, though, generally, under less picturesque +names. + +The bare story of the hardy and wonderful career of the adventurers +trading in Hudson's Bay,--of whom Prince Rupert was once chiefest,--and +the life of the prairies, may be found in histories and books of travel; +but their romances, the near narratives of individual lives, have waited +the telling. In this book I have tried to feel my way towards the heart +of that life--worthy of being loved by all British men, for it has given +honest graves to gallant fellows of our breeding. Imperfectly, of +course, I have done it; but there is much more to be told. + +When I started Pretty Pierre on his travels, I did not know--nor did he +--how far or wide his adventurers and experiences would run. They have, +however, extended from Quebec in the east to British Columbia in the +west, and from the Cypress Hills in the south to the Coppermine River +in the north. With a less adventurous man we had had fewer happenings. +His faults were not of his race, that is, French and Indian,--nor were +his virtues; they belong to all peoples. But the expression of these +is affected by the country itself. Pierre passes through this series of +stories, connecting them, as he himself connects two races, and here and +there links the past of the Hudson's Bay Company with more modern life +and Canadian energy pushing northward. Here is something of romance +"pure and simple," but also traditions and character, which are the +single property of this austere but not cheerless heritage of our race. + +All of the tales have appeared in magazines and journals--namely, 'The +National Observer', 'Macmillan's', 'The National Review', and 'The +English Illustrated'; and 'The Independent of New York'. By the courtesy +of the proprietors of these I am permitted to republish. + + G. P. + +HARPENDEN, +HERTFORDSHIRE, +July, 1892. + + + + + +BOOK 1. + +THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS +GOD'S GARRISON +A HAZARD OF THE NORTH + + + +THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS + +"He's too ha'sh," said old Alexander Windsor, as he shut the creaking +door of the store after a vanishing figure, and turned to the big iron +stove with outstretched hands; hands that were cold both summer and +winter. He was of lean and frigid make. + +"Sergeant Fones is too ha'sh," he repeated, as he pulled out the damper +and cleared away the ashes with the iron poker. + +Pretty Pierre blew a quick, straight column of cigarette smoke into the +air, tilted his chair back, and said: "I do not know what you mean by +'ha'sh,' but he is the devil. Eh, well, there was more than one devil +made sometime in the North West." He laughed softly. + +"That gives you a chance in history, Pretty Pierre," said a voice from +behind a pile of woollen goods and buffalo skins in the centre of the +floor. The owner of the voice then walked to the window. He scratched +some frost from the pane and looked out to where the trooper in dog-skin +coat, gauntlets and cap, was mounting his broncho. The old man came and +stood near the young man,--the owner of the voice,--and said again: "He's +too ha'sh." + +"Harsh you mean, father," added the other. + +"Yes, harsh you mean, Old Brown Windsor,--quite harsh," said Pierre. + +Alexander Windsor, storekeeper and general dealer, was sometimes called +"Old Brown Windsor" and sometimes "Old Aleck," to distinguish him from +his son, who was known as "Young Aleck." + +As the old man walked back again to the stove to warm his hands, Young +Aleck continued: "He does his duty, that's all. If he doesn't wear kid +gloves while at it, it's his choice. He doesn't go beyond his duty. +You can bank on that. It would be hard to exceed that way out here." + +"True, Young Aleck, so true; but then he wears gloves of iron, of ice. +That is not good. Sometime the glove will be too hard and cold on a +man's shoulder, and then!--Well, I should like to be there," said Pierre, +showing his white teeth. + +Old Aleck shivered, and held his fingers where the stove was red hot. + +The young man did not hear this speech; from the window he was watching +Sergeant Fones as he rode towards the Big Divide. Presently he said: +"He's going towards Humphrey's place. I--" He stopped, bent his brows, +caught one corner of his slight moustache between his teeth, and did not +stir a muscle until the Sergeant had passed over the Divide. + +Old Aleck was meanwhile dilating upon his theme before a passive +listener. But Pierre was only passive outwardly. Besides hearkening to +the father's complaints he was closely watching the son. Pierre was +clever, and a good actor. He had learned the power of reserve and +outward immobility. The Indian in him helped him there. He had heard +what Young Aleck had just muttered; but to the man of the cold fingers he +said: "You keep good whisky in spite of the law and the iron glove, Old +Aleck." To the young man: "And you can drink it so free, eh, Young +Aleck?" + +The half-breed looked out of the corners of his eyes at the young man, +but he did not raise the peak of his fur cap in doing so, and his glances +askance were not seen. + +Young Aleck had been writing something with his finger-nail on the frost +of the pane, over and over again. When Pierre spoke to him thus he +scratched out the word he had written, with what seemed unnecessary +force. But in one corner it remained: + +"Mab--" + +Pierre added: "That is what they say at Humphrey's ranch." + +"Who says that at Humphrey's?--Pierre, you lie!" was the sharp and +threatening reply. The significance of this last statement had been +often attested on the prairies by the piercing emphasis of a six- +chambered revolver. It was evident that Young Aleck was in earnest. +Pierre's eyes glowed in the shadow, but he idly replied: + +"I do not remember quite who said it. Well, 'mon ami,' perhaps I lie; +perhaps. Sometimes we dream things, and these dreams are true. You call +it a lie--'bien!' Sergeant Fones, he dreams perhaps Old Aleck sells +whisky against the law to men you call whisky runners, sometimes to +Indians and half-breeds--halfbreeds like Pretty Pierre. That was a dream +of Sergeant Fones; but you see he believes it true. It is good sport, +eh? Will you not take--what is it?--a silent partner? Yes; a silent +partner, Old Aleck. Pretty Pierre has spare time, a little, to make +money for his friends and for himself, eh?" + +When did not Pierre have time to spare? He was a gambler. Unlike the +majority of half-breeds, he had a pronounced French manner, nonchalant +and debonair. + +The Indian in him gave him coolness and nerve. His cheeks had a tinge of +delicate red under their whiteness, like those of a woman. That was why +he was called Pretty Pierre. The country had, however, felt a kind of +weird menace in the name. It was used to snakes whose rattle gave notice +of approach or signal of danger. But Pretty Pierre was like the death- +adder, small and beautiful, silent and deadly. At one time he had made +a secret of his trade, or thought he was doing so. In those days he was +often to be seen at David Humphrey's home, and often in talk with Mab +Humphrey; but it was there one night that the man who was ha'sh gave him +his true character, with much candour and no comment. + +Afterwards Pierre was not seen at Humphrey's ranch. Men prophesied that +he would have revenge some day on Sergeant Fones; but he did not show +anything on which this opinion could be based. He took no umbrage at +being called Pretty Pierre the gambler. But for all that he was +possessed of a devil. + +Young Aleck had inherited some money through his dead mother from his +grandfather, a Hudson's Bay factor. He had been in the East for some +years, and when he came back he brought his "little pile" and an +impressionable heart with him. The former Pretty Pierre and his friends +set about to win; the latter, Mab Humphrey won without the trying. Yet +Mab gave Young Aleck as much as he gave her. More. Because her love +sprang from a simple, earnest, and uncontaminated life. Her purity and +affection were being played against Pierre's designs and Young Aleck's +weakness. With Aleck cards and liquor went together. Pierre seldom +drank. + +But what of Sergeant Fones? If the man that knew him best--the +Commandant--had been asked for his history, the reply would have been: +"Five years in the Service, rigid disciplinarian, best non-commissioned +officer on the Patrol of the Cypress Hills." That was all the Commandant +knew. + +A soldier-policeman's life on the frontier is rough, solitary, and +severe. Active duty and responsibility are all that make it endurable. +To few is it fascinating. A free and thoughtful nature would, however, +find much in it, in spite of great hardships, to give interest and even +pleasure. The sense of breadth and vastness, and the inspiration of pure +air could be a very gospel of strength, beauty, and courage, to such an +one--for a time. But was Sergeant Fones such an one? The Commandant's +scornful reply to a question of the kind would have been: "He is the best +soldier on the Patrol." + +And so with hard gallops here and there after the refugees of crime or +misfortune, or both, who fled before them like deer among the passes of +the hills, and, like deer at bay, often fought like demons to the death; +with border watchings, and protection and care and vigilance of the +Indians; with hurried marches at sunrise, the thermometer at fifty +degrees below zero often in winter, and open camps beneath the stars, and +no camp at all, as often as not, winter and summer; with rough barrack +fun and parade and drill and guard of prisoners; and with chances now and +then to pay homage to a woman's face, the Mounted Force grew full of the +Spirit of the West and became brown, valiant, and hardy, with wind and +weather. Perhaps some of them longed to touch, oftener than they did, +the hands of children, and to consider more the faces of women,--for +hearts are hearts even under a belted coat of red on the Fiftieth +Parallel,--but men of nerve do not blazon their feelings. + +No one would have accused Sergeant Fones of having a heart. Men of keen +discernment would have seen in him the little Bismarck of the Mounted +Police. His name carried farther on the Cypress Hills Patrol than any +other; and yet his officers could never say that he exceeded his duty +or enlarged upon the orders he received. He had no sympathy with crime. +Others of the force might wink at it; but his mind appeared to sit +severely upright upon the cold platform of Penalty, in beholding breaches +of the statutes. He would not have rained upon the unjust as the just if +he had had the directing of the heavens. As Private Gellatly put it: +"Sergeant Fones has the fear o' God in his heart, and the law of the land +across his saddle, and the newest breech-loading at that!" He was part +of the great machine of Order, the servant of Justice, the sentinel in +the vestibule of Martial Law. His interpretation of duty worked upward +as downward. Officers and privates were acted on by the force known as +Sergeant Fones. Some people, like Old Brown Windsor, spoke hardly and +openly of this force. There were three people who never did--Pretty +Pierre, Young Aleck, and Mab Humphrey. Pierre hated him; Young Aleck +admired in him a quality lying dormant in himself--decision; Mab Humphrey +spoke unkindly of no one. Besides--but no! + +What was Sergeant Fones's country? No one knew. Where had he come from? +No one asked him more than once. He could talk French with Pierre, +--a kind of French that sometimes made the undertone of red in the +Frenchman's cheeks darker. He had been heard to speak German to a German +prisoner, and once, when a gang of Italians were making trouble on a line +of railway under construction, he arrested the leader, and, in a few +swift, sharp words in the language of the rioters, settled the business. +He had no accent that betrayed his nationality. + +He had been recommended for a commission. The officer in command had +hinted that the Sergeant might get a Christmas present. The officer had +further said: "And if it was something that both you and the Patrol would +be the better for, you couldn't object, Sergeant." But the Sergeant only +saluted, looking steadily into the eyes of the officer. That was his +reply. Private Gellatly, standing without, heard Sergeant Fones say, as +he passed into the open air, and slowly bared his forehead to the winter +sun: + +"Exactly." + +And Private Gellatly cried, with revolt in his voice, "Divils me own, the +word that a't to have been full o' joy was like the clip of a rifle- +breech." + +Justice in a new country is administered with promptitude and vigour, +or else not administered at all. Where an officer of the Mounted Police- +Soldiery has all the powers of a magistrate, the law's delay and the +insolence of office have little space in which to work. One of the +commonest slips of virtue in the Canadian West was selling whisky +contrary to the law of prohibition which prevailed. Whisky runners were +land smugglers. Old Brown Windsor had, somehow, got the reputation of +being connected with the whisky runners; not a very respectable business, +and thought to be dangerous. Whisky runners were inclined to resent +intrusion on their privacy with a touch of that biting inhospitableness +which a moonlighter of Kentucky uses toward an inquisitive, unsympathetic +marshal. On the Cypress Hills Patrol, however, the erring servants of +Bacchus were having a hard time of it. Vigilance never slept there in +the days of which these lines bear record. Old Brown Windsor had, +in words, freely espoused the cause of the sinful. To the careless +spectator it seemed a charitable siding with the suffering; a proof that +the old man's heart was not so cold as his hands. Sergeant Fones thought +differently, and his mission had just been to warn the store-keeper that +there was menacing evidence gathering against him, and that his +friendship with Golden Feather, the Indian Chief, had better cease at +once. Sergeant Fones had a way of putting things. Old Brown Windsor +endeavoured for a moment to be sarcastic. This was the brief dialogue in +the domain of sarcasm: + +"I s'pose you just lit round in a friendly sort of way, hopin' that I'd +kenoodle with you later." + +"Exactly." + +There was an unpleasant click to the word. The old man's hands got +colder. He had nothing more to say. + +Before leaving, the Sergeant said something quietly and quickly to Young +Aleck. Pierre observed, but could not hear. Young Aleck was uneasy; +Pierre was perplexed. The Sergeant turned at the door, and said in +French: "What are your chances for a Merry Christmas at Pardon's Drive, +Pretty Pierre?" Pierre answered nothing. He shrugged his shoulders, and +as the door closed, muttered, "Il est le diable." And he meant it. What +should Sergeant Fones know of that intended meeting at Pardon's Drive on +Christmas Day? And if he knew, what then? It was not against the law to +play euchre. Still it perplexed Pierre. Before the Windsors, father and +son, however, he was, as we have seen, playfully cool. + +After quitting Old Brown Windsor's store, Sergeant Fones urged his stout +broncho to a quicker pace than usual. The broncho was, like himself, +wasteful of neither action nor affection. The Sergeant had caught him +wild and independent, had brought him in, broken him, and taught him +obedience. They understood each other; perhaps they loved each other. +But about that even Private Gellatly had views in common with the general +sentiment as to the character of Sergeant Fones. The private remarked +once on this point "Sarpints alive! the heels of the one and the law of +the other is the love of them. They'll weather together like the Divil +and Death." + +The Sergeant was brooding; that was not like him. He was hesitating; +that was less like him. He turned his broncho round as if to cross the +Big Divide and to go back to Windsor's store; but he changed his mind +again, and rode on toward David Humphrey's ranch. He sat as if he had +been born in the saddle. His was a face for the artist, strong and +clear, and having a dominant expression of force. The eyes were deepset +and watchful. A kind of disdain might be traced in the curve of the +short upper lip, to which the moustache was clipped close--a good fit, +like his coat. The disdain was more marked this morning. + +The first part of his ride had been seen by Young Aleck, the second part +by Mab Humphrey. Her first thought on seeing him was one of apprehension +for Young Aleck and those of Young Aleck's name. She knew that people +spoke of her lover as a ne'er-do-weel; and that they associated his name +freely with that of Pretty Pierre and his gang. She had a dread of +Pierre, and, only the night before, she had determined to make one last +great effort to save Aleck, and if he would not be saved--strange that, +thinking it all over again, as she watched the figure on horseback coming +nearer, her mind should swerve to what she had heard of Sergeant Fones's +expected promotion. Then she fell to wondering if anyone had ever given +him a real Christmas present; if he had any friends at all; if life meant +anything more to him than carrying the law of the land across his saddle. +Again he suddenly came to her in a new thought, free from apprehension, +and as the champion of her cause to defeat the half-breed and his gang, +and save Aleck from present danger or future perils. + +She was such a woman as prairies nurture; in spirit broad and thoughtful +and full of energy; not so deep as the mountain woman, not so +imaginative, but with more persistency, more daring. Youth to her was a +warmth, a glory. She hated excess and lawlessness, but she could +understand it. She felt sometimes as if she must go far away into the +unpeopled spaces, and shriek out her soul to the stars from the fulness +of too much life. She supposed men had feelings of that kind too, but +that they fell to playing cards and drinking instead of crying to the +stars. Still, she preferred her way. + +Once, Sergeant Fones, on leaving the house, said grimly after his +fashion: "Not Mab but Ariadne--excuse a soldier's bluntness..... +Good-bye!" and with a brusque salute he had ridden away. What he meant +she did not know and could not ask. The thought instantly came to her +mind: Not Sergeant Fones; but who? She wondered if Ariadne was born on +the prairie. What knew she of the girl who helped Theseus, her lover, to +slay the Minotaur? What guessed she of the Slopes of Naxos? How old was +Ariadne? Twenty? For that was Mab's age. Was Ariadne beautiful? She +ran her fingers loosely through her short brown hair, waving softly +about her Greek-shaped head, and reasoned that Ariadne must have been +presentable, or Sergeant Fones would not have made the comparison. +She hoped Ariadne could ride well, for she could. + +But how white the world looked this morning, and how proud and brilliant +the sky! Nothing in the plane of vision but waves of snow stretching to +the Cypress Hills; far to the left a solitary house, with its tin roof +flashing back the sun, and to the right the Big Divide. It was an old- +fashioned winter, not one in which bare ground and sharp winds make life +outdoors inhospitable. Snow is hospitable-clean, impacted snow; restful +and silent. But there was one spot in the area of white, on which Mab's +eyes were fixed now, with something different in them from what had been +there. Again it was a memory with which Sergeant Fones was associated. +One day in the summer just past she had watched him and his company put +away to rest under the cool sod, where many another lay in silent +company, a prairie wanderer, some outcast from a better life gone by. +Afterwards, in her home, she saw the Sergeant stand at the window, +looking out towards the spot where the waves in the sea of grass were +more regular and greener than elsewhere, and were surmounted by a high +cross. She said to him--for she of all was never shy of his stern ways: + +"Why is the grass always greenest there, Sergeant Fones?" + +He knew what she meant, and slowly said: "It is the Barracks of the +Free." + +She had no views of life save those of duty and work and natural joy and +loving a ne'er-do-weel, and she said: "I do not understand that." + +And the Sergeant replied: "'Free among the Dead like unto them that are +wounded and lie in the grave, who are out of remembrance.'" + +But Mab said again: "I do not understand that either." + +The Sergeant did not at once reply. He stepped to the door and gave a +short command to some one without, and in a moment his company was +mounted in line; handsome, dashing fellows; one the son of an English +nobleman, one the brother of an eminent Canadian politician, one related +to a celebrated English dramatist. He ran his eye along the line, then +turned to Mab, raised his cap with machine-like precision, and said: "No, +I suppose you do not understand that. Keep Aleck Windsor from Pretty +Pierre and his gang. Good-bye." + +Then he mounted and rode away. Every other man in the company looked +back to where the girl stood in the doorway; he did not. Private +Gellatly said, with a shake of the head, as she was lost to view: "Devils +bestir me, what a widdy she'll make!" It was understood that Aleck +Windsor and Mab Humphrey were to be married on the coming New Year's Day. +What connection was there between the words of Sergeant Fones and those +of Private Gellatly? None, perhaps. + +Mab thought upon that day as she looked out, this December morning, and +saw Sergeant Fones dismounting at the door. David Humphrey, who was +outside, offered to put up the Sergeant's horse; but he said: "No, if +you'll hold him just a moment, Mr. Humphrey, I'll ask for a drink of +something warm, and move on. Miss Humphrey is inside, I suppose?" + +"She'll give you a drink of the best to be had on your patrol, Sergeant," +was the laughing reply. "Thanks for that, but tea or coffee is good +enough for me," said the Sergeant. Entering, the coffee was soon in the +hand of the hardy soldier. Once he paused in his drinking and scanned +Mab's face closely. Most people would have said the Sergeant had an +affair of the law in hand, and was searching the face of a criminal; but +most people are not good at interpretation. Mab was speaking to the +chore-girl at the same time and did not see the look. If she could have +defined her thoughts when she, in turn, glanced into the Sergeant's face, +a moment afterwards, she would have said, "Austerity fills this man. +Isolation marks him for its own." In the eyes were only purpose, +decision, and command. Was that the look that had been fixed upon her +face a moment ago? It must have been. His features had not changed a +breath. Mab began their talk. + +"They say you are to get a Christmas present of promotion, Sergeant +Fones." + +"I have not seen it gazetted," he answered enigmatically. + +"You and your friends will be glad of it." + +"I like the service." + +"You will have more freedom with a commission." He made no reply, but +rose and walked to the window, and looked out across the snow, drawing on +his gauntlets as he did so. + +She saw that he was looking where the grass in summer was the greenest! + +He turned and said: + +"I am going to barracks now. I suppose Young Aleck will be in quarters +here on Christmas Day, Miss Mab?" + +"I think so," and she blushed. + +"Did he say he would be here?" + +"Yes." + +"Exactly." + +He looked toward the coffee. Then: "Thank you.....Good-bye." + +"Sergeant?" + +"Miss Humphrey!" + +"Will you not come to us on Christmas Day?" + +His eyelids closed swiftly and opened again. "I shall be on duty." + +"And promoted?" + +"Perhaps." + +"And merry and happy?"--she smiled to herself to think of Sergeant Fones +being merry and happy. + +"Exactly." + +The word suited him. + +He paused a moment with his fingers on the latch, and turned round as if +to speak; pulled off his gauntlet, and then as quickly put it on again. +Had he meant to offer his hand in good-bye? He had never been seen to +take the hand of anyone except with the might of the law visible in +steel. + +He opened the door with the right hand, but turned round as he stepped +out, so that the left held it while he faced the warmth of the room and +the face of the girl. The door closed. + +Mounted, and having said good-bye to Mr. Humphrey, he turned towards the +house, raised his cap with soldierly brusqueness, and rode away in the +direction of the barracks. + +The girl did not watch him. She was thinking of Young Aleck, and of +Christmas Day, now near. The Sergeant did not look back. + +Meantime the party at Windsor's store was broken up. Pretty Pierre and +Young Aleck had talked together, and the old man had heard his son say: +"Remember, Pierre, it is for the last time." Then they talked after this +fashion: + +"Ah, I know, 'mon ami;' for the last time! 'Eh, bien,' you will spend +Christmas Day with us too--no? You surely will not leave us on the day +of good fortune? Where better can you take your pleasure for the last +time? One day is not enough for farewell. Two, three; that is the magic +number. You will, eh? no? Well, well, you will come to-morrow--and--eh, +'mon ami,' where do you go the next day? Oh, 'pardon,' I forgot, you +spend the Christmas Day--I know. And the day of the New Year? Ah, Young +Aleck, that is what they say--the devil for the devil's luck. So." + +"Stop that, Pierre." There was fierceness in the tone. "I spend the +Christmas Day where you don't, and as I like, and the rest doesn't +concern you. I drink with you, I play with you--'bien!' As you say +yourself, 'bien,' isn't that enough?" + +"'Pardon!' We will not quarrel. No; we spend not the Christmas Day +after the same fashion, quite. Then, to-morrow at Pardon's Drive! +Adieu!" + +Pretty Pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his white +teeth, and Aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon his +gloomy lips. But both maledictions were levelled at the same person. +Poor Aleck. + +"Poor Aleck!" That is the way we sometimes think of a good nature gone +awry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, and +against which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. Alas, for the +ne'er-do-weel! + +That night a stalwart figure passed from David Humphrey's door, carrying +with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love. The chilly outer +air of the world seemed not to touch him, Love's curtains were drawn so +close. Had one stood within "the Hunter's Room," as it was called, a +little while before, one would have seen a man's head bowed before a +woman, and her hand smoothing back the hair from the handsome brow where +dissipation had drawn some deep lines. Presently the hand raised the +head until the eyes of the woman looked full into the eyes of the man. + +"You will not go to Pardon's Drive again, will you, Aleck?" + +"Never again after Christmas Day, Mab. But I must go to-morrow. I have +given my word." + +"I know. To meet Pretty Pierre and all the rest, and for what? Oh, +Aleck, isn't the suspicion about your father enough, but you must put +this on me as well?" + +"My father must suffer for his wrong-doing if he does wrong, and I for +mine." + +There was a moment's silence. He bowed his head again. + +"And I have done wrong to us both. Forgive me, Mab." + +She leaned over and caressed his hair. "I forgive you, Aleck." + +A thousand new thoughts were thrilling through him. Yet this man had +given his word to do that for which he must ask forgiveness of the woman +he loved. But to Pretty Pierre, forgiven or unforgiven, he would keep +his word. She understood it better than most of those who read this +brief record can. Every sphere has its code of honour and duty peculiar +to itself. + +"You will come to me on Christmas morning, Aleck?" + +"I will come on Christmas morning." + +"And no more after that of Pretty Pierre?" + +"And no more of Pretty Pierre." + +She trusted him; but neither could reckon with unknown forces. + +Sergeant Fones, sitting in the barracks in talk with Private Gellatly, +said at that moment in a swift silence, "Exactly." + +Pretty Pierre, at Pardon's Drive, drinking a glass of brandy at that +moment, said to the ceiling: + +"No more of Pretty Pierre after to-morrow night, monsieur! Bien! If it +is for the last time, then it is for the last time. So....so." + +He smiled. His teeth were amazingly white. + +The stalwart figure strode on under the stars, the white night a lens for +visions of days of rejoicing to come. All evil was far from him. The +dolorous tide rolled back in this hour from his life, and he revelled in +the light of a new day. + +"When I've played my last card to-morrow night with Pretty Pierre, I'll +begin the world again," he whispered. + +And Sergeant Fones in the barracks said just then, in response to a +further remark of Private Gellatly,--"Exactly." + +Young Aleck fell to singing: + + "Out from your vineland come + Into the prairies wild; + Here will we make our home, + Father, mother, and child; + Come, my love, to our home, + Father, mother, and child, + Father, mother, and--" + +He fell to thinking again--"and child--and child,"--it was in his ears +and in his heart. + +But Pretty Pierre was singing softly to himself in the room at Pardon's +Drive: + + "Three good friends with the wine at night + Vive la compagnie! + Two good friends when the sun grows bright + Vive la compagnie! + Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour! + Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour! + Three good friends, two good friends + Vive la compagnie!" + +What did it mean? + +Private Gellatly was cousin to Idaho Jack, and Idaho Jack disliked Pretty +Pierre, though he had been one of the gang. The cousins had seen each +other lately, and Private Gellatly had had a talk with the man who was +ha'sh. It may be that others besides Pierre had an idea of what it +meant. + +In the house at Pardon's Drive the next night sat eight men, of whom +three were Pretty Pierre, Young Aleck, and Idaho Jack. Young Aleck's +face was flushed with bad liquor and the worse excitement of play. This +was one of the unreckoned forces. Was this the man that sang the tender +song under the stars last night? Pretty Pierre's face was less pretty +than usual; the cheeks were pallid, the eyes were hard and cold. Once he +looked at his partner as if to say, "Not yet." Idaho Jack saw the look; +he glanced at his watch; it was eleven o'clock. At that moment the door +opened, and Sergeant Fones entered. All started to their feet, most with +curses on their lips; but Sergeant Fones never seemed to hear anything +that could make a feature of his face alter. Pierre's hand was on his +hip, as if feeling for something. Sergeant Fones saw that; but he walked +to where Aleck stood, with his unplayed cards still in his hand, and, +laying a hand on his shoulder, said, "Come with me." + +"Why should I go with you?"--this with a drunken man's bravado. + +"You are my prisoner." + +Pierre stepped forward. "What is his crime?" he exclaimed. + +"How does that concern you, Pretty Pierre?" + +"He is my friend." + +"Is he your friend, Aleck?" + +What was there in the eyes of Sergeant Fones that forced the reply,-- +"To-night, yes; to-morrow, no." + +"Exactly. It is near to-morrow; come." + +Aleck was led towards the door. Once more Pierre's hand went to his hip; +but he was looking at the prisoner, not at the Sergeant. The Sergeant +saw, and his fingers were at his belt. He opened the door. Aleck passed +out. He followed. Two horses were tied to a post. With difficulty +Aleck was mounted. Once on the way his brain began slowly to clear, but +he grew painfully cold. It was a bitter night. How bitter it might have +been for the ne'er-do-weel let the words of Idaho Jack, spoken in a long +hour's talk next day with Old Brown Windsor, show. "Pretty Pierre, after +the two were gone, said, with a shiver of curses,--'Another hour and it +would have been done, and no one to blame. He was ready for trouble. +His money was nearly finished. A little quarrel easily made, the door +would open, and he would pass out. His horse would be gone, he could not +come back; he would walk. The air is cold, quite, quite cold; and the +snow is a soft bed. He would sleep well and sound, having seen Pretty +Pierre for the last time. And now--' The rest was French and furtive." + +From that hour Idaho Jack and Pretty Pierre parted company. + +Riding from Pardon's Drive, Young Aleck noticed at last that they were +not going towards the barracks. He said: "Why do you arrest me?" + +The Sergeant replied: "You will know that soon enough. You are now going +to your own home. Tomorrow you will keep your word and go to David +Humphrey's place; the next day I will come for you. Which do you choose: +to ride with me to-night to the barracks and know why you are arrested, +or go, unknowing, as I bid you, and keep your word with the girl?" + +Through Aleck's fevered brain, there ran the words of the song he sang +before-- + + "Out from your vineland come + Into the prairies wild; + Here will we make our home, + Father, mother, and child." + +He could have but one answer. + +At the door of his home the Sergeant left him with the words, "Remember +you are on parole." + +Aleck noticed as the Sergeant rode away that the face of the sky had +changed, and slight gusts of wind had come up. At any other time his +mind would have dwelt upon the fact. It did not do so now. + +Christmas Day came. People said that the fiercest night, since the +blizzard day of 1863, had been passed. But the morning was clear and +beautiful. The sun came up like a great flower expanding. First the +yellow, then the purple, then the red, and then a mighty shield of roses. +The world was a blanket of drift, and down, and glistening silver. + +Mab Humphrey greeted her lover with such a smile as only springs to a +thankful woman's lips. He had given his word and had kept it; and the +path of the future seemed surer. + +He was a prisoner on parole; still that did not depress him. Plans for +coming days were talked of, and the laughter of many voices filled the +house. The ne'er-do-weel was clothed and in his right mind. In the +Hunter's Room the noblest trophy was the heart of a repentant prodigal. + +In the barracks that morning a gazetted notice was posted, announcing, +with such technical language as is the custom, that Sergeant Fones was +promoted to be a lieutenant in the Mounted Police Force of the North West +Territory. When the officer in command sent for him he could not be +found. But he was found that morning; and when Private Gellatly, with +a warm hand, touching the glove of "iron and ice" that, indeed, now said: +"Sergeant Fones, you are promoted, God help you!" he gave no sign. +Motionless, stern, erect, he sat there upon his horse, beside a stunted +larch tree. The broncho seemed to understand, for he did not stir, and +had not done so for hours;--they could tell that. The bridle rein was +still in the frigid fingers, and a smile was upon the face. + +A smile upon the face of Sergeant Fones! + +Perhaps he smiled that he was going to the Barracks of the Free-- + +"Free among the Dead like unto them that are wounded and lie in the +grave, that are out of remembrance." + +In the wild night he had lost his way, though but a few miles from the +barracks. + +He had done his duty rigidly in that sphere of life where he had lived so +much alone among his many comrades. Had he exceeded his duty once in +arresting Young Aleck? + +When, the next day, Sergeant Fones lay in the barracks, over him the flag +for which he had sworn to do honest service, and his promotion papers in +his quiet hand, the two who loved each other stood beside him for many a +throbbing minute. And one said to herself, silently: "I felt sometimes" +--but no more words did she say even to herself. + +Old Aleck came in, and walked to where the Sergeant slept, wrapped close +in that white frosted coverlet which man wears but once. He stood for a +moment silent, his fingers numbly clasped. + +Private Gellatly spoke softly: "Angels betide me, it's little we knew the +great of him till he wint away; the pride, and the law--and the love of +him." + +In the tragedy that faced them this Christmas morning one at least had +seen "the love of him." Perhaps the broncho had known it before. + +Old Aleck laid a palm upon the hand he had never touched when it had +life. "He's--too--ha'sh," he said slowly. + +Private Gellatly looked up wonderingly. But the old man's eyes were wet. + + + + + + + +GOD'S GARRISON + +Twenty years ago there was trouble at Fort o' God. "Out of this place we +get betwixt the suns," said Gyng the Factor. "No help that falls abaft +tomorrow could save us. Food dwindles, and ammunition's nearly gone, and +they'll have the cold steel in our scalp-locks if we stay. We'll creep +along the Devil's Causeway, then through the Red Horn Woods, and so +across the plains to Rupert House. Whip in the dogs, Baptiste, and be +ready all of you at midnight." + +"And Grah the Idiot--what of him"? asked Pretty Pierre. + +"He'll have to take his chance. If he can travel with us, so much the +better for him"; and the Factor shrugged his shoulders. + +"If not, so much the worse, eh"? returned Pretty Pierre. + +"Work the sum out to suit yourself. We've got our necks to save. God'll +have to help the Idiot if we can't." + +"You hear, Grah Hamon, Idiot," said Pierre an hour afterwards, "we're +going to leave Fort o' God and make for Rupert House. You've a dragging +leg, you're gone in the savvy, you have to balance yourself with your +hands as you waddle along, and you slobber when you talk; but you've got +to cut away with us quick across the Beaver Plains, and Christ'll have to +help you if we can't. That's what the Factor says, and that's how the +case stands, Idiot--'bien?'" + +"Grah want pipe--bubble--bubble--wind blow," muttered the daft one. + +Pretty Pierre bent over and said slowly: "If you stay here, Grah, the +Indian get your scalp; if you go, the snow is deep and the frost is like +a badger's tooth, and you can't be carried." + +"Oh, Oh!--my mother dead--poor Annie--by God, Grah want pipe--poor Grah +sleep in snow-bubble, bubble--Oh, Oh!--the long wind, fly away." + +Pretty Pierre watched the great head of the Idiot as it swung heavily on +his shoulders, and then said: "'Mais,' like that, so!" and turned away. + +When the party were about to sally forth on their perilous path to +safety, Gyng stood and cried angrily: "Well, why hasn't some one bundled +up that moth-eaten Caliban? Curse it all, must I do everything myself?" + +"But you see," said Pierre, "the Caliban stays at Fort o' God." + +"You've got a Christian heart in you, so help me, Heaven!" replied the +other. "No, sir, we give him a chance,--and his Maker too for that +matter, to show what He's willing to do for His misfits." + +Pretty Pierre rejoined, "Well, I have thought. The game is all against +Grah if he go; but there are two who stay at Fort o' God." + +And that is how, when the Factor and his half-breeds and trappers stole +away in silence towards the Devil's Causeway, Pierre and the Idiot +remained behind. And that is why the flag of the H. B. C. still flew +above Fort o' God in the New Year's sun just twenty years ago to-day. + +The Hudson's Bay Company had never done a worse day's work than when they +promoted Gyng to be chief factor. He loathed the heathen and he showed +his loathing. He had a heart harder than iron, a speech that bruised +worse than the hoof of an angry moose. And when at last he drove away a +band of wandering Sioux, foodless, from the stores, siege and ambush took +the place of prayer, and a nasty portion fell to Fort o' God. For the +Indians found a great cache of buffalo meat, and, having sent the women +and children south with the old men, gave constant and biting assurances +to Gyng that the heathen hath his hour, even though he be a dog which is +refused those scraps from the white man's table which give life in the +hour of need. Besides all else, there was in the Fort the thing which +the gods made last to humble the pride of men--there was rum. + +And the morning after Gyng and his men had departed, because it was a day +when frost was master of the sun, and men grew wild for action, since to +stand still was to face indignant Death, they, who camped without, +prepared to make a sally upon the wooden gates. Pierre saw their intent, +and hid in the ground some pemmican and all the scanty rum. Then he +looked at his powder and shot, and saw that there was little left. If he +spent it on the besiegers, how should they fare for beast and fowl in +hungry days? And for his rifle he had but a brace of bullets. He rolled +these in his hand, looking upon them with a grim smile. And the Idiot, +seeing, rose and sidled towards him, and said: "Poor Grah want pipe-- +bubble--bubble." Then a light of childish cunning came into his eyes, +and he touched the bullets blunderingly, and continued: "Plenty, plenty +b'longs Grah--give poor Grah pipe--plenty, plenty, give you these." + +And Pretty Pierre after a moment replied: "So that's it, Grah?--you've +got bullets stowed away? Well, I must have them. It's a one-sided game +in which you get the tricks; but here's the pipe, Idiot--my only pipe for +your dribbling mouth--my last good comrade. Now show me the bullets. +Take me to them, daft one, quick." + +A little later the Idiot sat inside the store, wrapped in loose furs, and +blowing bubbles; while Pretty Pierre, with many handfuls of bullets by +him, waited for the attack. + +"Eh," he said, as he watched from a loophole, "Gyng and the others have +got safely past the Causeway, and the rest is possible. Well, it hurts +an idiot as much to die, perhaps, as a half-breed or a factor. It is +good to stay here. If we fight, and go out swift like Grah's bubbles, +it is the game. If we starve and sleep as did Grah's mother, then it +also is the game. It is great to have all the chances against and then +to win. We shall see." + +With a sharp relish in his eye he watched the enemy coming slowly +forward. Yet he talked almost idly to himself: "I have a thought of so +long ago. A woman--she was a mother, and it was on the Madawaska River, +and she said: 'Sometimes I think a devil was your father, an angel +sometimes. You were begot in an hour between a fighting and a mass: +between blood and heaven. And when you were born you made no cry. They +said that was a sign of evil. You refused the breast, and drank only of +the milk of wild cattle. In baptism you flung your hand before your face +that the water might not touch, nor the priest's finger make a cross upon +the water. And they said it were better if you had been born an idiot +than with an evil spirit; and that your hand would be against the loins +that bore you. But Pierre, ah Pierre, you love your mother, do you +not?'" . . . And he standing now, his eye closed with the gate-chink +in front of Fort o' God, said quietly: "She was of the race that hated +these--my mother; and she died of a wound they gave her at the Tete +Blanche Hill. Well, for that you die now, Yellow Arm, if this gun has a +bullet cold enough." + +A bullet pinged through the sharp air, as the Indians swarmed towards the +gate, and Yellow Arm, the chief, fell. The besiegers paused; and then, +as if at the command of the fallen man, they drew back, bearing him to +the camp, where they sat down and mourned. + +Pierre watched them for a time; and, seeing that they made no further +move, retired into the store, where the Idiot muttered and was happy +after his kind. "Grah got pipe--blow away--blow away to Annie--pretty +soon." + +"Yes, Grah, there's chance enough that you'll blow away to Annie pretty +soon," remarked the other. + +"Grah have white eagles--fly, fly on the wind--oh, oh, bubble, bubble!" +and he sent the filmy globes floating from the pipe that a camp of river- +drivers had given the half-breed winters before. + +Pierre stood and looked at the wandering eyes, behind which were the +torturings of an immense and confused intelligence; a life that fell +deformed before the weight of too much brain, so that all tottered from +the womb into the gutters of foolishness, and the tongue mumbled of chaos +when it should have told marvellous things. And the half-breed, the +thought of this coming upon him, said: "Well, I think the matters of hell +have fallen across the things of heaven, and there is storm. If for one +moment he could think clear, it would be great." + +He bethought him of a certain chant, taught him by a medicine man in +childhood, which, sung to the waving of a torch in a place of darkness, +caused evil spirits to pass from those possessed, and good spirits to +reign in their stead. And he raised the Idiot to his feet, and brought +him, maundering, to a room where no light was. He kneeled before him +with a lighted torch of bear's fat and the tendons of the deer, and +waving it gently to and fro, sang the ancient rune, until the eye of the +Idiot, following the torch at a tangent as it waved, suddenly became +fixed upon the flame, when it ceased to move. And the words of the chant +ran through Grah's ears, and pierced to the remote parts of his being; +and a sickening trouble came upon his face, and the lips ceased to drip, +and were caught up in twinges of pain. . . . The chant rolled on: +"Go forth, go forth upon them, thou, the Scarlet Hunter! Drive them +forth into the wilds, drive them crying forth! Enter in, O enter in, and +lie upon the couch of peace, the couch of peace within my wigwam, thou +the wise one! Behold, I call to thee!" + +And Pierre, looking upon the Idiot, saw his face glow, and his eye stream +steadily to the light, and he said, "What is it that you see, Grah?-- +speak!" + +All pitifulness and struggle had gone from the Idiot's face, and a strong +calm fell upon it, and the voice of a man that God had created spoke +slowly: "There is an end of blood. The great chief Yellow Arm is fallen. +He goeth to the plains where his wife will mourn upon his knees, and his +children cry, because he that gathered food is gone, and the pots are +empty on the fire. And they who follow him shall fight no more. Two +shall live through bitter days, and when the leaves shall shine in the +sun again, there shall good things befal. But one shall go upon a long +journey with the singing birds in the path of the white eagle. He shall +travel, and not cease until he reach the place where fools, and children, +and they into whom a devil entered through the gates of birth, find the +mothers who bore them. But the other goeth at a different time--" +At this point the light in Pretty Pierre's hand flickered and went out, +and through the darkness there came a voice, the voice of an idiot, that +whimpered: "Grah want pipe--Annie, Annie dead." + +The angel of wisdom was gone, and chaos spluttered on the lolling lips +again; the Idiot sat feeling for the pipe that he had dropped. + +And never again through the days that came and went could Pierre, by any +conjuring, or any swaying torch, make the fool into a man again. The +devils of confusion were returned forever. But there had been one +glimpse of the god. And it was as the Idiot had said when he saw with +the eyes of that god: no more blood was shed. The garrison of this fort +held it unmolested. The besiegers knew not that two men only stayed +within the walls; and because the chief begged to be taken south to die, +they left the place surrounded by its moats of ice and its trenches of +famine; and they came not back. + +But other foes more deadly than the angry heathen came, and they were +called Hunger and Loneliness. The one destroyeth the body and the other +the brain. But Grah was not lonely, nor did he hunger. He blew his +bubbles, and muttered of a wind whereon a useless thing--a film of water, +a butterfly, or a fool--might ride beyond the reach of spirit, or man, +or heathen. His flesh remained the same, and grew not less; but that of +Pierre wasted, and his eye grew darker with suffering. For man is only +man, and hunger is a cruel thing. To give one's food to feed a fool, and +to search the silent plains in vain for any living thing to kill, is a +matter for angels to do and bear, and not mere mortals. But this man had +a strength of his own like to his code of living, which was his own and +not another's. And at last, when spring leaped gaily forth from the grey +cloak of winter, and men of the H. B. C. came to relieve Fort o' God, and +entered at its gates, a gaunt man, leaning on his rifle, greeted them +standing like a warrior, though his body was like that of one who had +lain in the grave. He answered to the name of Pierre without pride, but +like a man and not as a sick woman. And huddled on the floor beside him +was an idiot fondling a pipe, with a shred of pemmican at his lips. + +As if in irony of man's sacrifice, the All Hail and the Master of Things +permitted the fool to fulfil his own prophecy, and die of a sudden +sickness in the coming-on of summer. But he of God's Garrison that +remained repented not of his deed. Such men have no repentance, neither +of good nor evil. + + + + + + +A HAZARD OF THE NORTH + +Nobody except Gregory Thorne and myself knows the history of the Man and +Woman, who lived on the Height of Land, just where Dog Ear River falls +into Marigold Lake. This portion of the Height of Land is a lonely +country. The sun marches over it distantly, and the man of the East-- +the braggart--calls it outcast; but animals love it; and the shades of +the long-gone trapper and 'voyageur' saunter without mourning through its +fastnesses. When you are in doubt, trust God's dumb creatures--and the +happy dead who whisper pleasant promptings to us, and whose knowledge is +mighty. Besides, the Man and Woman lived there, and Gregory Thorne says +that they could recover a lost paradise. But Gregory Thorne is an +insolent youth. The names of these people were John and Audrey +Malbrouck; the Man was known to the makers of backwoods history as +Captain John. Gregory says about that--but no, not yet!--let his first +meeting with the Man and the Woman be described in his own words, unusual +and flippant as they sometimes are; for though he is a graduate of +Trinity College, Cambridge, and a brother of a Right Honourable, he has +conceived it his duty to emancipate himself in the matter of style in +language; and he has succeeded. + +"It was autumn," he said, "all colours; beautiful and nippy on the Height +of Land; wild ducks, the which no man could number, and bear's meat +abroad in the world. I was alone. I had hunted all day, leaving my mark +now and then as I journeyed, with a cache of slaughter here, and a blazed +hickory there. I was hungry as a circus tiger--did you ever eat slippery +elm bark?--yes, I was as bad as that. I guessed from what I had been +told, that the Malbrouck show must be hereaway somewhere. I smelled the +lake miles off--oh, you could too if you were half the animal I am; I +followed my nose and the slippery-elm between my teeth, and came at a +double-quick suddenly on the fair domain. There the two sat in front of +the house like turtle-doves, and as silent as a middy after his first +kiss. Much as I ached to get my tooth into something filling, I wished +that I had 'em under my pencil, with that royal sun making a rainbow of +the lake, the woods all scarlet and gold, and that mist of purple--eh, +you've seen it?--and they sitting there monarchs of it all, like that +duffer of a king who had operas played for his solitary benefit. But +I hadn't a pencil and I had a hunger, and I said 'How!' like any other +Injin--insolent, wasn't it? Then the Man rose, and he said I was +welcome, and she smiled an approving but not very immediate smile, and +she kept her seat,--she kept her seat, my boy,--and that was the first +thing that set me thinking. She didn't seem to be conscious that there +was before her one of the latest representatives from Belgravia, not she! +But when I took an honest look at her face, I understood. I'm glad that +I had my hat in my hand, polite as any Frenchman on the threshold of a +blanchisserie: for I learned very soon that the Woman had been in +Belgravia too, and knew far more than I did about what was what. When +she did rise to array the supper table, it struck me that if Josephine +Beauharnais had been like her, she might have kept her hold on Napoleon, +and saved his fortunes; made Europe France; and France the world. I could +not understand it. Jimmy Haldane had said to me when I was asking for +Malbrouck's place on the compass,--'Don't put on any side with them, my +Greg, or you'll take a day off for penitence.' They were both tall and +good to look at, even if he was a bit rugged, with neck all wire and +muscle, and had big knuckles. But she had hands like those in a picture +of Velasquez, with a warm whiteness and educated--that's it, educated +hands. + +"She wasn't young, but she seemed so. Her eyes looked up and out at you +earnestly, yet not inquisitively, and more occupied with something in her +mind, than with what was before her. In short, she was a lady; not one +by virtue of a visit to the gods that rule o'er Buckingham Palace, but by +the claims of good breeding and long descent. She puzzled me, eluded me +--she reminded me of someone; but who? Someone I liked, because I felt a +thrill of admiration whenever I looked at her--but it was no use, I +couldn't remember. I soon found myself talking to her according to St. +James--the palace, you know--and at once I entered a bet with my beloved +aunt, the dowager--who never refuses to take my offer, though she seldom +wins, and she's ten thousand miles away, and has to take my word for it-- +that I should find out the history of this Man and Woman before another +Christmas morning, which wasn't more than two months off. You know +whether or not I won it, my son." + +I had frequently hinted to Gregory that I was old enough to be his +father, and that in calling me his son, his language was misplaced; and I +repeated it at that moment. He nodded good-humouredly, and continued: + +"I was born insolent, my s--my ancestor. Well, after I had cleared a +space at the supper table, and had, with permission, lighted my pipe, +I began to talk. . . Oh yes, I did give them a chance occasionally; +don't interrupt. . . . I gossiped about England, France, the +universe. From the brief comments they made I saw they knew all about +it, and understood my social argot, all but a few words--is there +anything peculiar about any of my words? After having exhausted Europe +and Asia I discussed America; talked about Quebec, the folklore of the +French Canadians, the 'voyageurs' from old Maisonneuve down. All the +history I knew I rallied, and was suddenly bowled out. For Malbrouck +followed my trail from the time I began to talk, and in ten minutes he +had proved me to be a baby in knowledge, an emaciated baby; he eliminated +me from the equation. He first tripped me on the training of naval +cadets; then on the Crimea; then on the taking of Quebec; then on the +Franco-Prussian War; then, with a sudden round-up, on India. I had been +trusting to vague outlines of history; I felt when he began to talk that +I was dealing with a man who not only knew history, but had lived it. +He talked in the fewest but directest words, and waxed eloquent in a +blunt and colossal way. But seeing his wife's eyes fixed on him +intently, he suddenly pulled up, and no more did I get from him +on the subject. He stopped so suddenly that in order to help over the +awkwardness, though I'm not really sure there was any, I began to hum a +song to myself. Now, upon my soul, I didn't think what I was humming; +it was some subterranean association of things, I suppose--but that +doesn't matter here. I only state it to clear myself of any unnecessary +insolence. These were the words I was maundering with this noble voice +of mine: + + "'The news I bring, fair Lady, + Will make your tears run down + + Put off your rose-red dress so fine + And doff your satin gown! + + Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas! + And buried, too, for aye; + + I saw four officers who bore + His mighty corse away. + ............. + We saw above the laurels, + His soul fly forth amain. + + And each one fell upon his face + And then rose up again. + + And so we sang the glories, + For which great Malbrouck bled; + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine, + Great Malbrouck, he is dead.' + +"I felt the silence grow peculiar, uncomfortable. I looked up. Mrs. +Malbrouck was rising to her feet with a look in her face that would make +angels sorry--a startled, sorrowful thing that comes from a sleeping +pain. What an ass I was! Why, the Man's name was Malbrouck; her name +was Malbrouck--awful insolence! But surely there was something in the +story of the song itself that had moved her. As I afterward knew, +that was it. Malbrouck sat still and unmoved, though I thought I saw +something stern and masterful in his face as he turned to me; but again +instantly his eyes were bent on his wife with a comforting and +affectionate expression. She disappeared into the house. Hoping to make +it appear that I hadn't noticed anything, I dropped my voice a little and +went on, intending, however, to stop at the end of the verse: + + "'Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine!' + +"I ended there; because Malbrouck's heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, +and he said: 'If you please, not that song.' + +"I suspect I acted like an idiot. I stammered out apologies, went down +on my litanies, figuratively speaking, and was all the same confident +that my excuses were making bad infernally worse. But somehow the old +chap had taken a liking to me.--No, of course you couldn't understand +that. Not that he was so old, you know; but he had the way of retired +royalty about him, as if he had lived life up to the hilt, and was all +pulse and granite. Then he began to talk in his quiet way about hunting +and fishing; about stalking in the Highlands and tiger-hunting in India; +and wound up with some wonderful stuff about moose-hunting, the sport of +Canada. This made me itch like sin, just to get my fingers on a trigger, +with a full moose-yard in view. I can feel it now--the bound in the +blood as I caught at Malbrouck's arm and said: 'By George, I must kill +moose; that's sport for Vikings, and I was meant to be a Viking--or a +gladiator.' Malbrouck at once replied that he would give me some moose- +hunting in December if I would come up to Marigold Lake. I couldn't +exactly reply on the instant, because, you see, there wasn't much chance +for board and lodging thereabouts, unless--but he went on to say that I +should make his house my 'public,'perhaps he didn't say it quite in those +terms, that he and his wife would be glad to have me. With a couple of +Indians we could go north-west, where the moose-yards were, and have some +sport both exciting and prodigious. Well, I'm a muff, I know, but I +didn't refuse that. Besides, I began to see the safe side of the bet I +had made with my aunt, the dowager, and I was more than pleased with what +had come to pass so far. Lucky for you, too, you yarn-spinner, that the +thing did develop so, or you wouldn't be getting fame and shekels out of +the results of my story. + +"Well, I got one thing out of the night's experience; and it was that the +Malbroucks were no plebs., that they had had their day where plates are +blue and gold and the spoons are solid coin. But what had sent them up +here among the moose, the Indians, and the conies--whatever THEY are? +How should I get at it? Insolence, you say? Yes, that. I should come +up here in December, and I should mulct my aunt in the price of a new +breech-loader. But I found out nothing the next morning, and I left +with a paternal benediction from Malbrouck, and a smile from his wife +that sent my blood tingling as it hadn't tingled since a certain season +in London, which began with my tuneful lyre sounding hopeful numbers and +ended with it hanging on the willows. + +"When I thought it all over, as I trudged back on yesterday's track, I +concluded that I had told them all my history from my youth up until now, +and had got nothing from them in return. I had exhausted my family +records, bit by bit, like a curate in his first parish; and had gone so +far as to testify that one of my ancestors had been banished to Australia +for political crimes. Distinctly they had me at an advantage, though, +to be sure, I had betrayed Mrs. Malbrouck into something more than +a suspicion of emotion. + +"When I got back to my old camp, I could find out nothing from the other +fellows; but Jacques Pontiac told me that his old mate, Pretty Pierre, +who in recent days had fallen from grace, knew something of these people +that no one else guessed, because he had let them a part of his house +in the parish of St. Genevieve in Quebec, years before. Pierre had +testified to one fact, that a child--a girl--had been born to Mrs. +Malbrouck in his house, but all further knowledge he had withheld. +Pretty Pierre was off in the Rocky Mountains practising his profession +--chiefly poker--and was not available for information. What did I, +Gregory Thorne, want of the information anyway? That's the point, my +son. Judging from after-developments I suppose it was what the foolish +call occult sympathy. Well, where was that girl-child? Jacques Pontiac +didn't know. Nobody knew. And I couldn't get rid of Mrs. Malbrouck's +face; it haunted me; the broad brow, deep eyes, and high-bred sweetness +--all beautifully animal. Don't laugh: I find astonishing likenesses +between the perfectly human and the perfectly animal. Did you never see +how beautiful and modest the faces of deer are; how chic and sensitive is +the manner of a hound; nor the keen, warm look in the eye of a well-bred +mare? Why, I'd rather be a good horse of blood and temper than half the +fellows I know. You are not an animal lover as I am; yes, even when I +shoot them or fight them I admire them, just as I'd admire a swordsman +who, in 'quart,' would give me death by the wonderful upper thrust. It's +all a battle; all a game of love and slaughter, my son, and both go +together. + +"Well, as I say, her face followed me. Watch how the thing developed. +By the prairie-track I went over to Fort Desire, near the Rockies, almost +immediately after this, to see about buying a ranch with my old chum at +Trinity, Polly Cliffshawe--Polydore, you know. Whom should I meet in a +hut on the ranch but Jacques's friend, Pretty Pierre. This was luck; but +he was not like Jacques Pontiac, he was secretive as a Buddhist deity. +He had a good many of the characteristics that go to a fashionable +diplomatist: clever, wicked, cool, and in speech doing the vanishing +trick just when you wanted him. But my star of fortune was with me. One +day Silverbottle, an Indian, being in a murderous humour, put a bullet in +Pretty Pierre's leg, and would have added another, only I stopped it +suddenly. While in his bed he told me what he knew of the Malbroucks. + +"This is the fashion of it. John and Audrey Malbrouck had come to Quebec +in the year 1865, and sojourned in the parish of St. Genevieve, in the +house of the mother of Pretty Pierre. Of an inquiring turn of mind, the +French half-breed desired to know concerning the history of these English +people, who, being poor, were yet gentle, and spoke French with a grace +and accent which was to the French-Canadian patois as Shakespeare's +English is to that of Seven Dials. Pierre's methods of inquisitiveness +were not strictly dishonest. He did not open letters, he did not besiege +dispatch-boxes, he did not ask impudent questions; he watched and +listened. In his own way he found out that the man had been a soldier in +the ranks, and that he had served in India. They were most attached to +the child, whose name was Marguerite. One day a visitor, a lady, came to +them. She seemed to be the cause of much unhappiness to Mrs. Malbrouck. +And Pierre was alert enough to discover that this distinguished-looking +person desired to take the child away with her. To this the young mother +would not consent, and the visitor departed with some chillingly-polite +phrases, part English, part French, beyond the exact comprehension of +Pierre, and leaving the father and mother and little Marguerite happy. +Then, however, these people seemed to become suddenly poorer, and +Malbrouck began farming in a humble, but not entirely successful way. +The energy of the man was prodigious; but his luck was sardonic. Floods +destroyed his first crops, prices ran low, debt accumulated, foreclosure +of mortgage occurred, and Malbrouck and the wife and child went west. + +"Five years later, Pretty Pierre saw them again at Marigold Lake: +Malbrouck as agent for the Hudson's Bay Company--still poor, but +contented. It was at this period that the former visitor again appeared, +clothed in purple and fine linen, and, strange as it may seem, succeeded +in carrying off the little child, leaving the father and mother broken, +but still devoted to each other. + +"Pretty Pierre closed his narration with these words: ''Bien,' that +Malbrouck, he is great. I have not much love of men, but he--well, if he +say,--"See, Pierre, I go to the home of the white bear and the winter +that never ends; perhaps we come back, perhaps we die; but there will be +sport for men--" 'voila!' I would go. To know one strong man in this +world is good. Perhaps, some time I will go to him--yes, Pierre, the +gambler, will go to him, and say: It is good for the wild dog that he +live near the lion. And the child, she was beautiful; she had a light +heart and a sweet way.'" + +It was with this slight knowledge that Gregory Thorne set out on his +journey over the great Canadian prairie to Marigold Lake, for his +December moose-hunt. + +Gregory has since told me that, as he travelled with Jacques Pontiac +across the Height of Land to his destination, he had uncomfortable +feelings; presentiments, peculiar reflections of the past, and melancholy +--a thing far from habitual with him. Insolence is all very well, but +you cannot apply it to indefinite thoughts; it isn't effective with vague +presentiments. And when Gregory's insolence was taken away from him, he +was very like other mortals; virtue had gone out of him; his brown cheek +and frank eye had lost something of their charm. It was these unusual +broodings that worried him; he waked up suddenly one night calling, +"Margaret! Margaret!" like any childlike lover. And that did not +please him. He believed in things that, as he said himself, "he could +get between his fingers;" he had little sympathy with morbid +sentimentalities. But there was an English Margaret in his life; and he, +like many another childlike man, had fallen in love, and with her--very +much in love indeed; and a star had crossed his love to a degree that +greatly shocked him and pleased the girl's relatives. She was the +granddaughter of a certain haughty dame of high degree, who regarded +icily this poorest of younger sons, and held her darling aloof. Gregory, +very like a blunt unreasoning lover, sought to carry the redoubt by wild +assault; and was overwhelmingly routed. The young lady, though finding +some avowed pleasure in his company, accompanied by brilliant +misunderstanding of his advances and full-front speeches, had never given +him enough encouragement to warrant his playing young Lochinvar in Park +Lane; and his cup became full when, at the close of the season, she was +whisked off to the seclusion of a country-seat, whose walls to him were +impregnable. His defeat was then, and afterwards, complete. He pluckily +replied to the derision of his relatives with multiplied derision, +demanded his inheritance, got his traps together, bought a fur coat, +and straightway sailed the wintry seas to Canada. + +His experiences had not soured his temper. He believed that every dog +has his day, and that Fate was very malicious; that it brought down the +proud, and rewarded the patient; that it took up its abode in marble +halls, and was the mocker at the feast. All this had reference, of +course, to the time when he should--rich as any nabob--return to London, +and be victorious over his enemy in Park Lane. It was singular that he +believed this thing would occur; but he did. He had not yet made his +fortune, but he had been successful in the game of buying and selling +lands, and luck seemed to dog his path. He was fearless, and he had a +keen eye for all the points of every game--every game but love. + +Yet he was born to succeed in that game too. For though his theory was, +that everything should be treated with impertinence before you could get +a proper view of it, he was markedly respectful to people. Few could +resist him; his impudence of ideas was so pleasantly mixed with +delicately suggested admiration of those to whom he talked. It was +impossible that John Malbrouck and his wife could have received him +other than they did; his was the eloquent, conquering spirit. + + + +II. + +By the time he reached Lake Marigold he had shaken off all those hovering +fancies of the woods, which, after all, might only have been the +whisperings of those friendly and far-seeing spirits who liked the lad +as he journeyed through their lonely pleasure-grounds. John Malbrouck +greeted him with quiet cordiality, and Mrs. Malbrouck smiled upon him +with a different smile from that with which she had speeded him a month +before; there was in it a new light of knowledge, and Gregory could not +understand it. It struck him as singular that the lady should be dressed +in finer garments than she wore when he last saw her; though certainly +her purple became her. She wore it as if born to it; and with an air +more sedately courteous than he had ever seen, save at one house in Park +Lane. Had this rustle of fine trappings been made for him? No; the +woman had a mind above such snobbishness, he thought. He suffered for +a moment the pang of a cynical idea; but the eyes of Mrs. Malbrouck were +on him and he knew that he was as nothing before her. Her eyes--how they +were fixed upon him! Only two women had looked so truthfully at him +before: his dead mother and--Margaret. And Margaret--why, how strangely +now at this instant came the thought that she was like his Margaret! +Wonder sprang to his eyes. At that moment a door opened and a girl +entered the room--a girl lissome, sweet-faced, well-bred of manner, +who came slowly towards them. + +"My daughter, Mr. Thorne," the mother briefly remarked. There was no +surprise in the girl's face, only an even reserve of pleasure, as she +held out her hand and said: "Mr. Gregory Thorne and I are old enemies." +Gregory Thorne's nerve forsook him for an instant. He knew now the +reason of his vague presentiments in the woods; he understood why, one +night, when he had been more childlike than usual in his memory of the +one woman who could make life joyous for him, the voice of a voyageur, +not Jacques's nor that of any one in camp, sang: + + "My dear love, she waits for me, + None other my world is adorning; + My true love I come to thee, + My dear, the white star of the morning. + Eagles spread out your wings, + Behold where the red dawn is breaking! + Hark, 'tis my darling sings, + The flowers, the song-birds awaking; + See, where she comes to me, + My love, ah, my dear love!" + +And here she was. He raised her hand to his lips, and said: "Miss +Carley, you have your enemy at an advantage." + +"Miss Carley in Park Lane, Margaret Malbrouck here in my old home," she +replied. + +There ran swiftly through the young man's brain the brief story that +Pretty Pierre had told him. This, then, was the child who had been +carried away, and who, years after, had made captive his heart in London +town! Well, one thing was clear, the girl's mother here seemed inclined +to be kinder to him than was the guardian grandmother--if she was the +grandmother--because they had their first talk undisturbed, it may be +encouraged; amiable mothers do such deeds at times. + +"And now pray, Mr. Thorne," she continued, "may I ask how came you here +in my father's house after having treated me so cavalierly in London?-- +not even sending a P.P.C. when you vanished from your worshippers in +Vanity Fair." + +"As for my being here, it is simply a case of blind fate; as for my +friends, the only one I wanted to be sorry for my going was behind +earthworks which I could not scale in order to leave my card, or--or +anything else of more importance; and being left as it were to the +inclemency of a winter world, I fled from--" + +She interrupted him. "What! the conqueror, you, flying from your +Moscow?" + +He felt rather helpless under her gay raillery; but he said: + +"Well, I didn't burn my kremlin behind me." + +"Your kremlin?" + +"My ships, then: they--they are just the same," he earnestly pleaded. +Foolish youth, to attempt to take such a heart by surprise and storm! + +"That is very interesting," she said, "but hardly wise. To make fortunes +and be happy in new countries, one should forget the old ones. +Meditation is the enemy of action." + +"There's one meditation could make me conquer the North Pole, if I could +but grasp it definitely." + +"Grasp the North Pole? That would be awkward for your friends and +gratifying to your enemies, if one may believe science and history. But, +perhaps, you are in earnest after all, poor fellow! for my father tells +me you are going over the hills and far away to the moose-yards. How +valiant you are, and how quickly you grasp the essentials of fortune- +making!" + +"Miss Malbrouck, I am in earnest, and I've always been in earnest in one +thing at least. I came out here to make money, and I've made some, and +shall make more; but just now the moose are as brands for the burning, +and I have a gun sulky for want of exercise." + +"What an eloquent warrior-temper! And to whom are your deeds of valour +to be dedicated? Before whom do you intend to lay your trophies of the +chase?" + +"Before the most provoking but worshipful lady that I know." + +"Who is the sylvan maid? What princess of the glade has now the homage +of your impressionable heart, Mr. Thorne?" + +And Gregory Thorne, his native insolence standing him in no stead, said +very humbly: + +"You are that sylvan maid, that princess--ah, is this fair to me, is it +fair, I ask you?" + +"You really mean that about the trophies"? she replied. "And shall you +return like the mighty khans, with captive tigers and lions, led by +stalwart slaves, in your train, or shall they be captive moose or +grizzlies?" + +"Grizzlies are not possible here," he said, with cheerful seriousness, +"but the moose is possible, and more, if you would be kinder--Margaret." + +"Your supper, see, is ready," she said. "I venture to hope your appetite +has not suffered because of long absence from your friends." + +He could only dumbly answer by a protesting motion of the hand, and his +smile was not remarkably buoyant. + +The next morning they started on their moose-hunt. Gregory Thorne was +cast down when he crossed the threshold into the winter morning without +hand-clasp or god-speed from Margaret Malbrouck; but Mrs. Malbrouck was +there, and Gregory, looking into her eyes, thought how good a thing it +would be for him, if some such face looked benignly out on him every +morning, before he ventured forth into the deceitful day. But what was +the use of wishing! Margaret evidently did not care. And though the air +was clear and the sun shone brightly, he felt there was a cheerless wind +blowing on him; a wind that chilled him; and he hummed to himself +bitterly a song of the voyageurs: + + "O, O, the winter wind, the North wind, + My snow-bird, where art thou gone? + O, O, the wailing wind the night wind, + The cold nest; I am alone. + O, O, my snow-bird! + + "O, O, the waving sky, the white sky, + My snow-bird thou fliest far; + O, O, the eagle's cry, the wild cry, + My lost love, my lonely star. + O, O, my snow-bird!" + +He was about to start briskly forward to join Malbrouck and his Indians, +who were already on their way, when he heard his name called, and, +turning, he saw Margaret in the doorway, her fingers held to the tips of +her ears, as yet unused to the frost. He ran back to where she stood, +and held out his hand. "I was afraid," he bluntly said, "that you +wouldn't forsake your morning sleep to say good-bye to me." + +"It isn't always the custom, is it," she replied, "for ladies to send the +very early hunter away with a tally-ho? But since you have the grace to +be afraid of anything, I can excuse myself to myself for fleeing the +pleasantest dreams to speed you on your warlike path." + +At this he brightened very much, but she, as if repenting she had given +him so much pleasure, added: "I wanted to say good-bye to my father, you +know; and--" she paused. + +"And"? he added. + +"And to tell him that you have fond relatives in the old land who would +mourn your early taking off; and, therefore, to beg him, for their sakes, +to keep you safe from any outrageous moose that mightn't know how the +world needed you." + +"But there you are mistaken," he said; "I haven't anyone who would +really care, worse luck! except the dowager; and she, perhaps, would be +consoled to know that I had died in battle,--even with a moose,--and was +clear of the possibility of hanging another lost reputation on the family +tree, to say nothing of suspension from any other kind of tree. But, if +it should be the other way; if I should see your father in the path of an +outrageous moose--what then?" + +"My father is a hunter born," she responded; "he is a great man," she +proudly added. + +"Of course, of course," he replied. "Good-bye. I'll take him your +love.--Good-bye!" and he turned away. + +"Good-bye," she gaily replied; and yet, one looking closely would have +seen that this stalwart fellow was pleasant to her eyes, and as she +closed the door to his hand waving farewell to her from the pines, she +said, reflecting on his words: + +"You'll take him my love, will you? But, Master Gregory, you carry a +freight of which you do not know the measure; and, perhaps, you never +shall, though you are very brave and honest, and not so impudent as you +used to be,--and I'm not so sure that I like you so much better for that +either, Monsieur Gregory." + +Then she went and laid her cheek against her mother's, and said: "They've +gone away for big game, mother dear; what shall be our quarry?" + +"My child," the mother replied, "the story of our lives since last you +were with me is my only quarry. I want to know from your own lips all +that you have been in that life which once was mine also, but far away +from me now, even though you come from it, bringing its memories without +its messages." + +"Dear, do you think that life there was so sweet to me? It meant as +little to your daughter as to you. She was always a child of the wild +woods. What rustle of pretty gowns is pleasant as the silken shiver of +the maple leaves in summer at this door? The happiest time in that life +was when we got away to Holwood or Marchurst, with the balls and calls +all over." + +Mrs. Malbrouck smoothed her daughter's hand gently and smiled +approvingly. + +"But that old life of yours, mother; what was it? You said that you +would tell me some day. Tell me now. Grandmother was fond of me--poor +grandmother! But she would never tell me anything. How I longed to be +back with you!.... Sometimes you came to me in my sleep, and called to me +to come with you; and then again, when I was gay in the sunshine, you +came, and only smiled but never beckoned; though your eyes seemed to me +very sad, and I wondered if mine would not also become sad through +looking in them so--are they sad, mother?" And she laughed up brightly +into her mother's face. + +"No, dear; they are like the stars. You ask me for my part in that life. +I will tell you soon, but not now. Be patient. Do you not tire of this +lonely life? Are you truly not anxious to return to--" + +"'To the husks that the swine did eat?' No, no, no; for, see: I was born +for a free, strong life; the prairie or the wild wood, or else to live in +some far castle in Welsh mountains, where I should never hear the voice +of the social Thou must!--oh, what a must! never to be quite free or +natural. To be the slave of the code. I was born--I know not how! but +so longing for the sky, and space, and endless woods. I think I never +saw an animal but I loved it, nor ever lounged the mornings out at +Holwood but I wished it were a hut on the mountain side, and you and +father with me." Here she whispered, in a kind of awe: "And yet to think +that Holwood is now mine, and that I am mistress there, and that I must +go back to it--if only you would go back with me.... ah, dear, isn't it +your duty to go back with me"? she added, hesitatingly. + +Audrey Malbrouck drew her daughter hungrily to her bosom, and said: "Yes, +dear, I will go back, if it chances that you need me; but your father and +I have lived the best days of our lives here, and we are content. +But, my Margaret, there is another to be thought of too, is there not? +And in that case is my duty then so clear?" + +The girl's hand closed on her mother's, and she knew her heart had been +truly read. + + + +III. + +The hunters pursued their way, swinging grandly along on their snow- +shoes, as they made for the Wild Hawk Woods. It would seem as if +Malbrouck was testing Gregory's strength and stride, for the march that +day was a long and hard one. He was equal to the test, and even Big +Moccasin, the chief, grunted sound approval. But every day brought out +new capacities for endurance and larger resources; so that Malbrouck, +who had known the clash of civilisation with barbarian battle, and deeds +both dour and doughty, and who loved a man of might, regarded this youth +with increasing favour. By simple processes he drew from Gregory his +aims and ambitions, and found the real courage and power behind the front +of irony--the language of manhood and culture which was crusted by free +and easy idioms. Now and then they saw moose-tracks, but they were some +days out before they came to a moose-yard--a spot hoof-beaten by the +moose; his home, from which he strays, and to which he returns at times +like a repentant prodigal. Now the sport began. The dog-trains were put +out of view, and Big Moccasin and another Indian went off immediately to +explore the country round about. A few hours, and word was brought that +there was a small herd feeding not far away. Together they crept +stealthily within range of the cattle. Gregory Thorne's blood leaped as +he saw the noble quarry, with their wide-spread horns, sniffing the air, +in which they had detected something unusual. Their leader, a colossal +beast, stamped with his forefoot, and threw back his head with a snort. + +"The first shot belongs to you, Mr. Thorne," said Malbrouck. "In the +shoulder, you know. You have him in good line. I'll take the heifer." + +Gregory showed all the coolness of an old hunter, though his lips +twitched slightly with excitement. He took a short but steady aim, and +fired. The beast plunged forward and then fell on his knees. The others +broke away. Malbrouck fired and killed a heifer, and then all ran in +pursuit as the moose made for the woods. + +Gregory, in the pride of his first slaughter, sprang away towards the +wounded leader, which, sunk to the earth, was shaking its great horns to +and fro. When at close range, he raised his gun to fire again, but the +moose rose suddenly, and with a wild bellowing sound rushed at Gregory, +who knew full well that a straight stroke from those hoofs would end his +moose-hunting days. He fired, but to no effect. He could not, like a +toreador, jump aside, for those mighty horns would sweep too wide a +space. He dropped on his knees swiftly, and as the great antlers almost +touched him, and he could feel the roaring breath of the mad creature in +his face, he slipped a cartridge in, and fired as he swung round; but at +that instant a dark body bore him down. He was aware of grasping those +sweeping horns, conscious of a blow which tore the flesh from his chest; +and then his knife--how came it in his hand?--with the instinct of the +true hunter. He plunged it once, twice, past a foaming mouth, into that +firm body, and then both fell together; each having fought valiantly +after his kind. + +Gregory dragged himself from beneath the still heaving body, and +stretched to his feet; but a blindness came, and the next knowledge he +had was of brandy being poured slowly between his teeth, and of a voice +coming through endless distances: "A fighter, a born fighter," it said. +"The pluck of Lucifer--good boy!" + +Then the voice left those humming spaces of infinity, and said: "Tilt him +this way a little, Big Moccasin. There, press firmly, so. Now the band +steady--together--tighter--now the withes--a little higher up--cut them +here." There was a slight pause, and then: "There, that's as good as an +army surgeon could do it. He'll be as sound as a bell in two weeks. Eh, +well, how do you feel now? Better? That's right! Like to be on your +feet, would you? Wait. Here, a sup of this. There you are. . . . +Well?" + +"Well," said the young man, faintly, "he was a beauty." + +Malbrouck looked at him a moment, thoughtfully, and then said: "Yes, he +was a beauty." + +"I want a dozen more like him, and then I shall be able to drop 'em as +neat as, you do." + +"H'm! the order is large. I'm afraid we shall have to fill it at some +other time;" and Malbrouck smiled a little grimly. + +"What! only one moose to take back to the Height of Land, to--" something +in the eye of the other stopped him. + +"To? Yes, to"? and now the eye had a suggestion of humour. + +"To show I'm not a tenderfoot." + +"Yes, to show you're not a tenderfoot. I fancy that will be hardly +necessary. Oh, you will be up, eh? Well!" + +"Well, I'm a tottering imbecile. What's the matter with my legs?--my +prophetic soul, it hurts! Oh, I see; that's where the old warrior's hoof +caught me sideways. Now, I'll tell you what, I'm going to have another +moose to take back to Marigold Lake." + +"Oh?" + +"Yes. I'm going to take back a young, live moose." + +"A significant ambition. For what?--a sacrifice to the gods you have +offended in your classic existence?" + +"Both. A peace-offering, and a sacrifice to--a goddess." + +"Young man," said the other, the light of a smile playing on his lips, +"'Prosperity be thy page!' Big Moccasin, what of this young live moose?" + +The Indian shook his head doubtfully. + +"But I tell you I shall have that live moose, if I have to stay here to +see it grow." + +And Malbrouck liked his pluck, and wished him good luck. And the good +luck came. They travelled back slowly to the Height of Land, making a +circuit. For a week they saw no more moose; but meanwhile Gregory's hurt +quickly healed. They had now left only eight days in which to get back +to Dog Ear River and Marigold Lake. If the young moose was to come +it must come soon. It came soon. + +They chanced upon a moose-yard, and while the Indians were beating the +woods, Malbrouck and Gregory watched. + +Soon a cow and a young moose came swinging down to the embankment. +Malbrouck whispered: "Now if you must have your live moose, here's a +lasso. I'll bring down the cow. The young one's horns are not large. +Remember, no pulling. I'll do that. Keep your broken chest and bad arm +safe. Now!" + +Down came the cow with a plunge into the yard-dead. The lasso, too, was +over the horns of the calf, and in an instant Malbrouck was swinging away +with it over the snow. It was making for the trees--exactly what +Malbrouck desired. He deftly threw the rope round a sapling, but not too +taut, lest the moose's horns should be injured. The plucky animal now +turned on him. He sprang behind a tree, and at that instant he heard the +thud of hoofs behind him. He turned to see a huge bull-moose bounding +towards him. He was between two fires, and quite unarmed. Those hoofs +had murder in them. But at the instant a rifle shot rang out, and he +only caught the forward rush of the antlers as the beast fell. + +The young moose now had ceased its struggles, and came forward to the +dead bull with that hollow sound of mourning peculiar to its kind. +Though it afterwards struggled once or twice to be free, it became docile +and was easily taught, when its anger and fear were over. + +And Gregory Thorne had his live moose. He had also, by that splendid +shot, achieved with one arm, saved Malbrouck from peril, perhaps from +death. + +They drew up before the house at Marigold Lake on the afternoon of the +day before Christmas, a triumphal procession. The moose was driven, a +peaceful captive with a wreath of cedar leaves around its neck--the +humourous conception of Gregory Thorne. Malbrouck had announced their +coming by a blast from his horn, and Margaret was standing in the doorway +wrapped in furs, which may have come originally from Hudson's Bay, +but which had been deftly re-manufactured in Regent Street. + +Astonishment, pleasure, beamed in her eyes. She clapped her hands gaily, +and cried: "Welcome, welcome, merry-men all!" She kissed her father; she +called to her mother to come and see; then she said to Gregory, with arch +raillery, as she held out her hand: "Oh, companion of hunters, comest +thou like Jacques in Arden from dropping the trustful tear upon the prey +of others, or bringest thou quarry of thine own? Art thou a warrior +sated with spoil, master of the sports, spectator of the fight, Prince, +or Pistol? Answer, what art thou?" + +And he, with a touch of his old insolence, though with something of irony +too, for he had hoped for a different fashion of greeting, said: + +"All, lady, all! The Olympian all! The player of many parts. I am +Touchstone, Jacques, and yet Orlando too." + +"And yet Orlando too, my daughter," said Malbrouck, gravely. "He saved +your father from the hoofs of a moose bent on sacrifice. Had your father +his eye, his nerve, his power to shoot with one arm a bull moose at long +range, so!--he would not refuse to be called a great hunter, but wear the +title gladly." + +Margaret Malbrouck's face became anxious instantly. "He saved you from +danger--from injury, father"? she slowly said, and looked earnestly at +Gregory; "but why to shoot with one arm only?" + +"Because in a fight of his own with a moose--a hand-to-hand fight--he had +a bad moment with the hoofs of the beast." + +And this young man, who had a reputation for insolence, blushed, so that +the paleness which the girl now noticed in his face was banished; and to +turn the subject he interposed: + +"Here is the live moose that I said I should bring. Now say that he's a +beauty, please. Your father and I--" + +But Malbrouck interrupted: + +"He lassoed it with his one arm, Margaret. He was determined to do it +himself, because, being a superstitious gentleman, as well as a hunter, +he had some foolish notion that this capture would propitiate a goddess +whom he imagined required offerings of the kind." + +"It is the privilege of the gods to be merciful," she said. "This peace- +offering should propitiate the angriest, cruellest goddess in the +universe; and for one who was neither angry nor really cruel--well, she +should be satisfied.... altogether satisfied," she added, as she put her +cheek against the warm fur of the captive's neck, and let it feel her +hand with its lips. + +There was silence for a minute, and then with his old gay spirit all +returned, and as if to give an air not too serious to the situation, +Gregory, remembering his Euripides, said: + + ". . . . . . . .let the steer bleed, + And the rich altars, as they pay their vows, + Breathe incense to the gods: for me, I rise + To better life, and grateful own the blessing." + +"A pagan thought for a Christmas Eve," she said to him, with her fingers +feeling for the folds of silken flesh in the throat of the moose; "but +wounded men must be humoured. And, mother dear, here are our Argonauts +returned; and--and now I think I will go." + +With a quick kiss on her father's cheek--not so quick but he caught the +tear that ran through her happy smile--she vanished into the house. + +That night there was gladness in this home. Mirth sprang to the lips of +the men like foam on a beaker of wine, so that the evening ran towards +midnight swiftly. All the tale of the hunt was given by Malbrouck to +joyful ears; for the mother lived again her youth in the sunrise of this +romance which was being sped before her eyes; and the father, knowing +that in this world there is nothing so good as courage, nothing so base +as the shifting eye, looked on the young man, and was satisfied, and told +his story well;--told it as a brave man would tell it, bluntly as to +deeds done, warmly as to the pleasures of good sport, directly as to all. +In the eye of the young man there had come the glance of larger life, of +a new-developed manhood. When he felt that dun body crashing on him, and +his life closing with its strength, and ran the good knife home, there +flashed through his mind how much life meant to the dying, how much it +ought to mean to the living; and then this girl, this Margaret, swam +before his eyes--and he had been graver since. + +He knew, as truly as if she had told him, that she could never mate with +any man who was a loiterer on God's highway, who could live life without +some sincerity in his aims. It all came to him again in this room, so +austere in its appointments, yet so gracious, so full of the spirit of +humanity without a note of ennui, or the rust of careless deeds. As this +thought grew he looked at the face of the girl, then at the faces of the +father and mother, and the memory of his boast came back--that he would +win the stake he laid, to know the story of John and Audrey Malbrouck +before this coming Christmas morning. With a faint smile at his own past +insolent self, he glanced at the clock. It was eleven. "I have lost my +bet," he unconsciously said aloud. + +He was roused by John Malbrouck remarking: "Yes, you have lost your bet? +Well, what was it"? The youth, the childlike quality in him," flushed +his face deeply, and then, with a sudden burst of frankness, he said: + +"I did not know that I had spoken. As for the bet, I deserve to be +thrashed for ever having made it; but, duffer as I am, I want you to know +that I'm something worse than duffer. The first time I met you I made a +bet that I should know your history before Christmas Day. I haven't a +word to say for myself. I'm contemptible. I beg your pardon; for your +history is none of my business. I was really interested; that's all; but +your lives, I believe it, as if it was in the Bible, have been great-- +yes, that's the word! and I'm a better chap for having known you, +though, perhaps, I've known you all along, because, you see, I've--I've +been friends with your daughter--and-well, really I haven't anything else +to say, except that I hope you'll forgive me, and let me know you +always." + +Malbrouck regarded him for a moment with a grave smile, and then looked +toward his wife. Both turned their glances quickly upon Margaret, whose +eyes were on the fire. The look upon her face was very gentle; something +new and beautiful had come to reign there. + +A moment, and Malbrouck spoke: "You did what was youthful and curious, +but not wrong; and you shall not lose your hazard. I--" + +"No, do not tell me," Gregory interrupted; "only let me be pardoned." + +"As I said, lad, you shall not lose your hazard. I will tell you the +brief tale of two lives." + +"But, I beg of you! For the instant I forgot. I have more to confess." +And Gregory told them in substance what Pretty Pierre had disclosed to +him in the Rocky Mountains. + +When he had finished, Malbrouck said: "My tale then is briefer still: I +was a common soldier, English and humble by my mother, French and noble +through my father--noble, but poor. In Burmah, at an outbreak among the +natives, I rescued my colonel from immediate and horrible death, though +he died in my arms from the injuries he received. His daughter too, it +was my fortune, through God's Providence, to save from great danger. She +became my wife. You remember that song you sang the day we first met +you? + +"It brought her father back to mind painfully. When we came to England +her people--her mother--would not receive me. For myself I did not care; +for my wife, that was another matter. She loved me and preferred to go +with me anywhere; to a new country, preferably. We came to Canada. + +"We were forgotten in England. Time moves so fast, even if the records +in red-books stand. Our daughter went to her grandmother to be brought +up and educated in England--though it was a sore trial to us both--that +she might fill nobly that place in life for which she is destined. With +all she learned she did not forget us. We were happy save in her +absence. We are happy now; not because she is mistress of Holwood and +Marchurst--for her grandmother and another is dead--but because such as +she is our daughter, and--" + +He said no more. Margaret was beside him, and her fingers were on his +lips. + +Gregory came to his feet suddenly, and with a troubled face. + +"Mistress of Holwood and Marchurst!" he said; and his mind ran over his +own great deficiencies, and the list of eligible and anxious suitors that +Park Lane could muster. He had never thought of her in the light of a +great heiress. + +But he looked down at her as she knelt at her father's knee, her eyes +upturned to his, and the tide of his fear retreated; for he saw in them +the same look she had given him when she leaned her cheek against the +moose's neck that afternoon. + +When the clock struck twelve upon a moment's pleasant silence, John +Malbrouck said to Gregory Thorne: + +"Yes, you have won your Christmas hazard, my boy." + +But a softer voice than his whispered: "Are you--content--Gregory?" + +The Spirits of Christmas-tide, whose paths lie north as well as south, +smiled as they wrote his answer on their tablets; for they knew, as the +man said, that he would always be content, and--which is more in the +sight of angels--that the woman would be content also. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Awkward for your friends and gratifying to your enemies +Carrying with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love +Freedom is the first essential of the artistic mind +I was born insolent +Knowing that his face would never be turned from me +Likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly animal +Longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children +Meditation is the enemy of action +My excuses were making bad infernally worse +Nothing so good as courage, nothing so base as the shifting eye +She wasn't young, but she seemed so +The Barracks of the Free +The gods made last to humble the pride of men--there was rum +The soul of goodness in things evil +Time is the test, and Time will have its way with me +Where I should never hear the voice of the social Thou must + + + + + + +PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE + +TALES OF THE FAR NORTH + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 2. + + +A PRAIRIE VAGABOND +SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON +THREE OUTLAWS + + + + +A PRAIRIE VAGABOND + +Little Hammer was not a success. He was a disappointment to the +missionaries; the officials of the Hudson's Bay Company said he was +"no good;" the Mounted Police kept an eye on him; the Crees and Blackfeet +would have nothing to do with him; and the half-breeds were profane +regarding him. But Little Hammer was oblivious to any depreciation +of his merits, and would not be suppressed. He loved the Hudson's Bay +Company's Post at Yellow Quill with an unwavering love; he ranged the +half-breed hospitality of Red Deer River, regardless of it being thrown +at him as he in turn threw it at his dog; he saluted Sergeant Gellatly +with a familiar How! whenever he saw him; he borrowed tabac of the half- +breed women, and, strange to say, paid it back--with other tabac got by +daily petition, until his prayer was granted, at the H. B. C. Post. He +knew neither shame nor defeat, but where women were concerned he kept his +word, and was singularly humble. It was a woman that induced him to be +baptised. The day after the ceremony he begged "the loan of a dollar for +the love of God" from the missionary; and being refused, straightway, and +for the only time it was known of him, delivered a rumbling torrent of +half-breed profanity, mixed with the unusual oaths of the barracks. Then +he walked away with great humility. There was no swagger about Little +Hammer. He was simply unquenchable and continuous. He sometimes got +drunk; but on such occasions he sat down, or lay down, in the most +convenient place, and, like Caesar beside Pompey's statue, wrapped his +mantle about his face and forgot the world. He was a vagabond Indian, +abandoned yet self-contained, outcast yet gregarious. No social +ostracism unnerved him, no threats of the H. B. C. officials moved him; +and when in the winter of 187_ he was driven from one place to another, +starving and homeless, and came at last emaciated and nearly dead to the +Post at Yellow Quill, he asked for food and shelter as if it were his +right, and not as a mendicant. + +One night, shortly after his reception and restoration, he was sitting +in the store silently smoking the Company's tabac. Sergeant Gellatly +entered. Little Hammer rose, offered his hand, and muttered, "How!" + +The Sergeant thrust his hand aside, and said sharply: "Whin I take y'r +hand, Little Hammer, it'll be to put a grip an y'r wrists that'll stay +there till y'are in quarters out of which y'll come nayther winter nor +summer. Put that in y'r pipe and smoke it, y' scamp!" + +Little Hammer had a bad time at the Post that night. Lounging half- +breeds reviled him; the H. B. C. officials rebuked him; and travellers +who were coming and going shared in the derision, as foolish people do +where one is brow-beaten by many. At last a trapper entered, whom +seeing, Little Hammer drew his blanket up about his head. The trapper +sat down very near Little Hammer, and began to smoke. He laid his plug- +tabac and his knife on the counter beside him. Little Hammer reached +over and took the knife, putting it swiftly within his blanket. The +trapper saw the act, and, turning sharply on the Indian, called him a +thief. Little Hammer chuckled strangely and said nothing; but his eyes +peered sharply above the blanket. A laugh went round the store. In an +instant the trapper, with a loud oath, caught at the Indian's throat; but +as the blanket dropped back he gave a startled cry. There was the flash +of a knife, and he fell back dead. Little Hammer stood above him, +smiling, for a moment, and then, turning to Sergeant Gellatly, held +out his arms silently for the handcuffs. + +The next day two men were lost on the prairies. One was Sergeant +Gellatly; the other was Little Hammer. The horses they rode travelled so +close that the leg of the Indian crowded the leg of the white man; and +the wilder the storm grew, the closer still they rode. A 'poudre' day, +with its steely air and fatal frost, was an ill thing in the world; but +these entangling blasts, these wild curtains of snow, were desolating +even unto death. The sun above was smothered; the earth beneath was +trackless; the compass stood for loss all round. + +What could Sergeant Gellatly expect, riding with a murderer on his left +hand: a heathen that had sent a knife through the heart of one of the +lords of the North? What should the gods do but frown, or the elements +be at, but howling on their path? What should one hope for but that +vengeance should be taken out of the hands of mortals, and be delivered +to the angry spirits? + +But if the gods were angry at the Indian, why should Sergeant Gellatly +only sway to and fro, and now laugh recklessly, and now fall sleepily +forward on the neck of his horse; while the Indian rode straight, and +neither wavered nor wandered in mind, but at last slipped from his horse +and walked beside the other? It was at this moment that the soldier +heard, "Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly," called through the blast; +and he thought it came from the skies, or from some other world. "Me +darlin'," he said, "have y' come to me?" But the voice called again: +"Sergeant Gellatly, keep awake! keep awake! You sleep, you die; that's +it. Holy. Yes. How!" Then he knew that it was Little Hammer calling +in his ear, and shaking him; that the Indian was dragging him from his +horse . . . his revolver, where was it? he had forgotten . . . he +nodded . . . nodded. But Little Hammer said: "Walk, hell! you walk, +yes;" and Little Hammer struck him again and again; but one arm of the +Indian was under his shoulder and around him, and the voice was anxious +and kind. Slowly it came to him that Little Hammer was keeping him alive +against the will of the spirits--but why should they strike him instead +of the Indian? Was there any sun in the world? Had there ever been? or +fire or heat anywhere, or anything but wind and snow in all God's +universe? . . . Yes, there were bells ringing--soft bells of a +village church; and there was incense burning--most sweet it was! and the +coals in the censer--how beautiful, how comforting! He laughed with joy +again, and he forgot how cold, how maliciously cold, he had been; he +forgot how dreadful that hour was before he became warm; when he was +pierced by myriad needles through the body, and there was an incredible +aching at his heart. + +And yet something kept thundering on his body, and a harsh voice shrieked +at him, and there were many lights dancing over his shut eyes; and then +curtains of darkness were dropped, and centuries of oblivion came; and +then--then his eyes opened to a comforting silence, and some one was +putting brandy between his teeth, and after a time he heard a voice say: +"'Bien,' you see he was a murderer, but he save his captor. 'Voila,' +such a heathen! But you will, all the same, bring him to justice--you +call it that? But we shall see." + +Then some one replied, and the words passed through an outer web of +darkness and an inner haze of dreams. "The feet of Little Hammer were +like wood on the floor when you brought the two in, Pretty Pierre--and +lucky for them you found them. . . . The thing would read right in a +book, but it's not according to the run of things up here, not by a +damned sight!" + +"Private Bradshaw," said the first voice again, "you do not know Little +Hammer, nor that story of him. You wait for the trial. I have something +to say. You think Little Hammer care for the prison, the rope?--Ah, when +a man wait five years to kill--so! and it is done, he is glad sometimes +when it is all over. Sergeant Gellatly there will wish he went to sleep +forever in the snow, if Little Hammer come to the rope. Yes, I think." + +And Sergeant Gellatly's brain was so numbed that he did not grasp the +meaning of the words, though he said them over and over again. . . . +Was he dead? No, for his body was beating, beating . . . well, it +didn't matter . . . nothing mattered . . . he was sinking to +forgetfulness . . . sinking. + +So, for hours, for weeks--it might have been for years--and then he woke, +clear and knowing, to "the unnatural, intolerable day"--it was that to +him, with Little Hammer in prison. It was March when his memory and +vigour vanished; it was May when he grasped the full remembrance of +himself, and of that fight for life on the prairie: of the hands that +smote him that he should not sleep; of Little Hammer the slayer, who had +driven death back discomfited, and brought his captor safe to where his +own captivity and punishment awaited him. + +When Sergeant Gellatly appeared in court at the trial he refused to bear +witness against Little Hammer. "D' ye think--does wan av y' think--that +I'll speak a word agin the man--haythen or no haythen--that pulled me out +of me tomb and put me betune the barrack quilts? Here's the stripes aff +me arm, and to gaol I'll go; but for what wint before I clapt the iron on +his wrists, good or avil, divil a word will I say. An' here's me left +hand, and there's me right fut, and an eye of me too, that I'd part with, +for the cause of him that's done a trick that your honour wouldn't do-- +an' no shame to y' aither--an' y'd been where Little Hammer was with me." + +His honour did not reply immediately, but he looked meditatively at +Little Hammer before he said quietly,--"Perhaps not, perhaps not." + +And Little Hammer, thinking he was expected to speak, drew his blanket up +closely about him and grunted, "How!" + +Pretty Pierre, the notorious half-breed, was then called. He kissed the +Book, making the sign of the Cross swiftly as he did so, and unheeding +the ironical, if hesitating, laughter in the court. Then he said: +"'Bien,' I will tell you the story-the whole truth. I was in the Stony +Plains. Little Hammer was 'good Injin' then. . . . Yes, sacre! it +is a fool who smiles at that. I have kissed the Book. Dam! . . . He +would be chief soon when old Two Tails die. He was proud, then, Little +Hammer. He go not to the Post for drink; he sell not next year's furs +for this year's rations; he shoot straight." + +Here Little Hammer stood up and said: "There is too much talk. Let me +be. It is all done. The sun is set--I care not--I have killed him;" +and then he drew his blanket about his face and sat down. + +But Pierre continued: "Yes, you killed him-quick, after five years--that +is so; but you will not speak to say why. Then, I will speak. The +Injins say Little Hammer will be great man; he will bring the tribes +together; and all the time Little Hammer was strong and silent and wise. +Then Brigley the trapper--well, he was a thief and coward. He come to +Little Hammer and say, 'I am hungry and tired.' Little Hammer give him +food and sleep. He go away. 'Bien,' he come back and say,--'It is far +to go; I have no horse.' So Little Hammer give him a horse too. Then he +come back once again in the night when Little Hammer was away, and before +morning he go; but when Little Hammer return, there lay his bride--only +an Injin girl, but his bride-dead! You see? Eh? No? Well, the Captain +at the Post he says it was the same as Lucrece.--I say it was like hell. +It is not much to kill or to die--that is in the game; but that other, +'mon Dieu!' Little Hammer, you see how he hide his head: not because he +kill the Tarquin, that Brigley, but because he is a poor 'vaurien' now, +and he once was happy and had a wife. . . . What would you do, judge +honourable? . . . Little Hammer, I shake your hand--so--How!" + +But Little Hammer made no reply. + +The judge sentenced Little Hammer to one month in gaol. He might have +made it one thousand months--it would have been the same; for when, on +the last morning of that month, they opened the door to set him free, he +was gone. That is, the Little Hammer whom the high gods knew was gone; +though an ill-nourished, self-strangled body was upright by the wall. +The vagabond had paid his penalty, but desired no more of earth. + +Upon the door was scratched the one word: How! + + + + + + +SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON + +Between Archangel's Rise and Pardon's Drive there was but one house. It +was a tavern, and it was known as Galbraith's Place. There was no man in +the Western Territories to whom it was not familiar. There was no +traveller who crossed the lonely waste but was glad of it, and would go +twenty miles out of his way to rest a night on a corn-husk bed which Jen +Galbraith's hands had filled, to eat a meal that she had prepared, and to +hear Peter Galbraith's tales of early days on the plains, when buffalo +were like clouds on the horizon, when Indians were many and hostile, and +when men called the great western prairie a wedge of the American desert. + +It was night on the prairie. Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway of the +tavern sitting-room and watched a mighty beacon of flame rising before +her, a hundred yards away. Every night this beacon made a circle of +light on the prairie, and Galbraith's Place was in the centre of the +circle. Summer and winter it burned from dusk to daylight. No hand fed +it but that of Nature. It never failed; it was a cruse that was never +empty. Upon Jen Galbraith it had a weird influence. It grew to be to +her a kind of spiritual companion, though, perhaps, she would not so have +named it. This flaming gas, bubbling up from the depths of the earth on +the lonely plains, was to her a mysterious presence grateful to her; the +receiver of her thoughts, the daily necessity in her life. It filled her +too with a kind of awe; for, when it burned, she seemed not herself +alone, but another self of her whom she could not quite understand. Yet +she was no mere dreamer. Upon her practical strength of body and mind +had come that rugged poetical sense, which touches all who live the life +of mountain and prairie. She showed it in her speech; it had a measured +cadence. She expressed it in her body; it had a free and rhythmic +movement. And not Jen alone, but many another dweller on the prairie, +looked upon it with a superstitious reverence akin to worship. A +blizzard could not quench it. A gale of wind only fed its strength. A +rain-storm made a mist about it, in which it was enshrined like a god. +Peter Galbraith could not fully understand his daughter's fascination for +this Prairie Star, as the North-West people called it. It was not +without its natural influence upon him; but he regarded it most as a +comfortable advertisement, and he lamented every day that this never- +failing gas well was not near a large population, and he still its owner. +He was one of that large family in the earth who would turn the best +things in their lives into merchandise. As it was, it brought much grist +to his mill; for he was not averse to the exercise of the insinuating +pleasures of euchre and poker in his tavern; and the hospitality which +ranchmen, cowboys, and travellers sought at his hand was often prolonged, +and also remunerative to him. + +Pretty Pierre, who had his patrol as gamester defined, made semi-annual +visits to Galbraith's Place. It occurred generally after the rounding-up +and branding seasons, when the cowboys and ranchmen were "flush" with +money. It was generally conceded that Monsieur Pierre would have made an +early excursion to a place where none is ever "ordered up," if he had not +been free with the money which he so plentifully won. + +Card-playing was to him a science and a passion. He loved to win for +winning's sake. After that, money, as he himself put it, was only fit +to be spent for the good of the country, and that men should earn more. +Since he put his philosophy into instant and generous practice, active +and deadly prejudice against him did not have lengthened life. + +The Mounted Police, or as they are more poetically called, the Riders of +the Plains, watched Galbraith's Place, not from any apprehension of +violent events, but because Galbraith was suspected of infringing the +prevailing law of Prohibition, and because for some years it had been a +tradition and a custom to keep an eye on Pierre. + +As Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway looking abstractedly at the beacon, +her fingers smoothing her snowy apron the while, she was thinking thus to +herself: "Perhaps father is right. If that Prairie Star were only at +Vancouver or Winnipeg instead of here, our Val could be something, more +than a prairie-rider. He'd have been different, if father hadn't started +this tavern business. Not that our Val is bad. He isn't; but if he had +money he could buy a ranch,--or something." + +Our Val, as Jen and her father called him, was a lad of twenty-two, one +year younger than Jen. He was prairie-rider, cattle-dealer, scout, +cowboy, happy-go-lucky vagrant,--a splendid Bohemian of the plains. As +Jen said, he was not bad; but he had a fiery, wandering spirit, touched +withal by the sunniest humour. He had never known any curb but Jen's +love and care. That had kept him within bounds so far. All men of the +prairie spoke well of him. The great new lands have codes and standards +of morals quite their own. One enthusiastic admirer of this youth said, +in Jen's hearing, "He's a Christian--Val Galbraith!" That was the +western way of announcing a man as having great civic and social virtues. +Perhaps the respect for Val Galbraith was deepened by the fact that there +was no broncho or cayuse that he could not tame to the saddle. + +Jen turned her face from the flame and looked away from the oasis of +warmth it made, to where the light shaded away into darkness, a darkness +that was unbroken for many a score of miles to the north and west. She +sighed deeply and drew herself up with an aggressive motion as though she +was freeing herself of something. So she was. She was trying to shake +off a feeling of oppression. Ten minutes ago the gaslighted house behind +her had seemed like a prison. She felt that she must have air, space, +and freedom. + +She would have liked a long ride on the buffalo-track. That, she felt, +would clear her mind. She was no romantic creature out of her sphere, no +exotic. She was country-born and bred, and her blood had been charged by +a prairie instinct passing through three generations. She was part of +this life. Her mind was free and strong, and her body was free and +healthy. While that freedom and health was genial, it revolted against +what was gross or irregular. She loved horses and dogs, she liked to +take a gun and ride away to the Poplar Hills in search of game, she found +pleasure in visiting the Indian Reservation, and talking to Sun-in-the- +North, the only good Indian chief she knew, or that anyone else on the +prairies knew. She loved all that was strong and untamed, all that was +panting with wild and glowing life. Splendidly developed, softly sinewy, +warmly bountiful, yet without the least physical over-luxuriance or +suggestiveness, Jen, with her tawny hair and dark-brown eyes, was a +growth of unrestrained, unconventional, and eloquent life. Like Nature +around her, glowing and fresh, yet glowing and hardy. There was, +however, just a strain of pensiveness in her, partly owing to the fact +that there were no women near her, that she had, virtually, lived her +life as a woman alone. + +As she thus looked into the undefined horizon two things were happening: +a traveller was approaching Galbraith's Place from a point in that +horizon; and in the house behind her someone was singing. The traveller +sat erect upon his horse. He had not the free and lazy seat of the +ordinary prairie-rider. It was a cavalry seat, and a military manner. +He belonged to that handful of men who patrol a frontier of near a +thousand miles, and are the security of peace in three hundred thousand +miles of territory--the Riders of the Plains, the North-West Mounted +Police. + +This Rider of the Plains was Sergeant Thomas Gellatly, familiarly known +as Sergeant Tom. Far away as he was he could see that a woman was +standing in the tavern door. He guessed who it was, and his blood +quickened at the guessing. But reining his horse on the furthest edge of +the lighted circle, he said, debatingly: "I've little time enough to get +to the Rise, and the order was to go through, hand the information to +Inspector Jules, and be back within forty-eight hours. Is it flesh and +blood they think I am? Me that's just come back from a journey of a +hundred miles, and sent off again like this with but a taste of sleep and +little food, and Corporal Byng sittin' there at Fort Desire with a pipe +in his mouth and the fat on his back like a porpoise. It's famished I am +with hunger, and thirty miles yet to do; and she, standin' there with a +six months' welcome in her eye. . . . It's in the interest of Justice +if I halt at Galbraith's Place for half-an-hour, bedad! The blackguard +hid away there at Soldier's Knee will be arrested all the sooner; for +horse and man will be able the better to travel. I'm glad it's not me +that has to take him whoever he is. It's little I like leadin' a fellow- +creature towards the gallows, or puttin' a bullet into him if he won't +come. . . . Now what will we do, Larry, me boy? "this to the +broncho--"Go on without bite or sup, me achin' behind and empty before, +and you laggin' in the legs, or stay here for the slice of an hour and +get some heart into us? Stay here is it, me boy? then lave go me fut +with your teeth and push on to the Prairie Star there." So saying, +Sergeant Tom, whose language in soliloquy, or when excited, was more +marked by a brogue than at other times, rode away towards Galbraith's +Place. + +In the tavern at that moment, Pretty Pierrre was sitting on the bar- +counter, where temperance drinks were professedly sold, singing to +himself. His dress was singularly neat, if coarse, and his slouch hat +was worn with an air of jauntiness according well with his slight make +and almost girlish delicacy of complexion. He was puffing a cigarette, +in the breaks of the song. Peter Galbraith, tall, gaunt, and sombre- +looking, sat with his chair tilted back against the wall, rather +nervously pulling at the strips of bark of which the yielding chair-seat +was made. He may or may not have been listening to the song which had +run through several verses. Where it had come from, no one knew; no one +cared to know. The number of its verses were legion. Pierre had a sweet +voice, of a peculiarly penetrating quality; still it was low and well- +modulated, like the colour in his cheeks, which gave him his name. + +These were the words he was singing as Sergeant Tom rode towards the +tavern: + + "The hot blood leaps in his quivering breast + Voila! 'Tis his enemies near! + There's a chasm deep on the mountain crest + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + They follow him close and they follow him fast, + And he flies like a mountain deer; + Then a mad, wild leap and he's safe at last! + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + A cry and a leap and the danger's past + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!" + +At the close of the verse, Galbraith said: "I don't like that song. I--I +don't like it. You're not a father, Pierre." + +"No, I am not a father. I have some virtue of that. I have spared the +world something, Pete Galbraith." + +"You have the Devil's luck; your sins never get YOU into trouble." + +A curious fire flashed in the half-breed's eyes, and he said, quietly: +"Yes, I have great luck; but I have my little troubles at times--at +times." + +"They're different, though, from this trouble of Val's." There was +something like a fog in the old man's throat. + +"Yes, Val was quite foolish, you see. If he had killed a white man-- +Pretty Pierre, for instance--well, there would have been a show of +arrest, but he could escape. It was an Injin. The Government cherish +the Injin much in these days. The redskin must be protected. It must be +shown that at Ottawa there is justice. That is droll--quite. Eh, bien! +Val will not try to escape. He waits too long-near twenty-four hours. +Then, it is as you see. . . . You have not told her?" He nodded +towards the door of the sittingroom. + +"Nothing. It'll come on Jen soon enough if he doesn't get away, and bad +enough if he does, and can't come back to us. She's fond of him--as fond +of him as a mother. Always was wiser than our Val or me, Jen was. More +sense than a judge, and proud but not too proud, Pierre--not too proud. +She knows the right thing to do, like the Scriptures; and she does it +too. . . . Where did you say he was hid?" + +"In the Hollow at Soldier's Knee. He stayed too long at Moose Horn. +Injins carried the news on to Fort Desire. When Val started south for +the Border other Injins followed, and when a halt was made at Soldier's +Knee they pushed across country over to Fort Desire. You see, Val's +horse give out. I rode with him so far. My horse too was broke up. +What was to be done? Well, I knew a ranchman not far from Soldier's +Knee. I told Val to sleep, and I would go on and get the ranchman to +send him a horse, while I come on to you. Then he could push on to the +Border. I saw the ranchman, and he swore to send a horse to Val +to-night. He will keep his word. He knows Val. That was at noon to- +day, and I am here, you see, and you know all. The danger? Ah, my +friend,--the Police Barracks at Archangel's Rise! If word is sent down +there from Fort Desire before Val passes, they will have out a big +patrol, and his chances,--well, you know them, the Riders of the Plains. +But Val, I think will have luck, and get into Montana before they can +stop him. I hope; yes." + +"If I could do anything, Pierre! Can't we--" + +The half-breed interrupted: "No, we can't do anything, Galbraith. I have +done all. The ranchman knows me. He will keep his word, by the Great +Heaven!" It would seem as if Pierre had reasons for relying on the +ranchman other than ordinary prairie courtesy to law-breakers. + +"Pierre, tell me the whole story over, slow and plain. It don't seem +nateral to think of it; but if you go over it again, perhaps I can get +the thing more reas'nable in my mind. No, it ain't nateral to me, +Pierre--our Val running away." The old man leaned forward and put his +elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. + +"Eh, well, it was an Injin. So much. It was in self-defence--a little, +but of course to prove that. There is the difficulty. You see, they +were all drinking, and the Injin--he was a chief---proposed--he proposed +that Val should sell him his sister, Jen Galbraith, to be the chief's +squaw. He would give him a cayuse. Val's blood came up quick--quite +quick. You know Val. He said between his teeth: 'Look out, Snow Devil, +you Injin dog, or I'll have your heart. Do you think a white girl is +like a redskin woman, to be sold as you sell your wives and daughters to +the squaw-men and white loafers, you reptile?' Then the Injin said an +ugly word about Val's sister, and Val shot him dead like lightning.... +Yes, that is good to swear, Galbraith. You are not the only one that +curses the law in this world. It is not Justice that fills the gaols, +but Law." + +The old man rose and walked up and down the room in a shuffling kind of +way. His best days were done, the spring of his life was gone, and the +step was that of a man who had little more of activity and force with +which to turn the halting wheels of life. His face was not altogether +good, yet it was not evil. There was a sinister droop to the eyelids, a +suggestion of cruelty about the mouth; but there was more of good-nature +and passive strength than either in the general expression. One could +see that some genial influence had dominated what was inherently cruel +and sinister in him. Still the sinister predisposition was there. + +"He can't never come here, Pierre, can he"? he asked, despairingly. + +"No, he can't come here, Galbraith. And look: if the Riders of the +Plains should stop here to-night, or to-morrow, you will be cool--cool, +eh?" + +"Yes, I will be quite cool, Pierre." Then he seemed to think of +something else and looked up half-curiously, half-inquiringly at the +half-breed. + +Pierre saw this. He whistled quietly to himself for a little, and then +called the old man over to where he sat. Leaning slightly forward he +made his reply to the look that had been bent upon him. He touched +Galbraith's breast lightly with his delicate fingers, and said: "I have +not much love for the world, Pete Galbraith, and not much love for men +and women altogether; they are fools--nearly all. Some men--you know-- +treat me well. They drink with me--much. They would make life a hell +for me if I was poor--shoot me, perhaps, quick!--if--if I didn't shoot +first. They would wipe me with their feet. They would spoil Pretty +Pierre." This he said with a grim kind of humour and scorn, refined in +its suppressed force. Fastidious as he was in appearance, Pierre was not +vain. He had been created with a sense of refinement that reduced the +grossness of his life; but he did not trade on it; he simply accepted it +and lived it naturally after his kind. He was not good at heart, and he +never pretended to be so. He continued: "No, I have not much love; but +Val, well, I think of him some. His tongue is straight; he makes no +lies. His heart is fire; his arms are strong; he has no fear. He does +not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him. He does not think +of me like the rest. So much the more when his trouble comes I help him. +I help him to the death if he needs me. To make him my friend--that is +good. Eh? Perhaps. You see, Galbraith?" + +The old man nodded thoughtfully, and after a little pause said: "I have +killed Injins myself;" and he made a motion of his head backward, +suggestive of the past. + +With a shrug of his shoulders the other replied "Yes, so have I-- +sometimes. But the government was different then, and there were no +Riders of the Plains." His white teeth showed menacingly under his +slight moustache. Then there was another pause. Pierre was watching the +other. + +"What's that you're doing, Galbraith?" + +"Rubbin' laudanum on my gums for this toothache. Have to use it for +nuralgy, too." + +Galbraith put the little vial back in his waistcoat pocket, and presently +said: "What will you have to drink, Pretty Pierre?" That was his way of +showing gratitude. + +"I am reform. I will take coffee, if Jen Galbraith will make some. Too +much broke glass inside is not good. Yes." + +Galbraith went into the sitting-room to ask Jen to make the coffee. +Pierre, still sitting on the bar-counter, sang to himself a verse of a +rough-and-ready, satirical prairie ballad: + + "The Riders of the Plains, my boys, are twenty thousand strong + Oh, Lordy, don't they make the prairies howl! + 'Tis their lot to smile on virtue and to collar what is wrong, + And to intercept the happy flowin' bowl. + + They've a notion, that in glory, when we wicked ones have chains + They will all be major-generals--and that! + They're a lovely band of pilgrims are the Riders of the Plains + Will some sinner please to pass around the hat?" + +As he reached the last two lines of the verse the door opened and +Sergeant Tom entered. Pretty Pierre did not stop singing. His eyes +simply grew a little brighter, his cheek flushed ever so slightly, and +there was an increase of vigour in the closing notes. + +Sergeant Tom smiled a little grimly, then he nodded and said: "Been at it +ever since, Pretty Pierre? You were singing the same song on the same +spot when I passed here six months ago." + +"Eh, Sergeant Tom, it is you? What brings you so far from your straw-bed +at Fort Desire?" From underneath his hat-brim Pierre scanned the face of +the trooper closely. + +"Business. Not to smile on virtue, but to collar what is wrong. I guess +you ought to be ready by this time to go into quarters, Pierre. You've +had a long innings." + +"Not yet, Sergeant Tom, though I love the Irish, and your company would +make me happy. But I am so innocent, and the world--it cannot spare me +yet. But I think you come to smile on virtue, all the same, Sergeant +Tom. She is beautiful is Jen Galbraith. Ah, that makes your eye bright +--so! You Riders of the Plains, you do two things at one time. You make +this hour someone happy, and that hour someone unhappy. In one hand the +soft glove of kindness, in the other, voila! the cold glove of steel. +We cannot all be great like that, Sergeant Tom." + +"Not great, but clever. Voila, the Pretty Pierre! In one hand he holds +the soft paper, the pictures that deceive--kings, queens, and knaves; in +the other, pictures in gold and silver--money won from the pockets of +fools. And so, as you say, 'bien,' and we each have our way, bedad!" + +Sergeant Tom noticed that the half-breed's eyes nearly closed, as if to +hide the malevolence that was in them. He would not have been surprised +to see a pistol drawn. But he was quite fearless, and if it was not his +duty to provoke a difficulty, his fighting nature would not shrink from +giving as good as he got. Besides, so far as that nature permitted, he +hated Pretty Pierre. He knew the ruin that this gambler had caused here +and there in the West, and he was glad that Fort Desire, at any rate, +knew him less than it did formerly. + +Just then Peter Galbraith entered with the coffee, followed by Jen. When +the old man saw his visitor he stood still with sudden fear; but catching +a warning look from the eye of the half-breed, he made an effort to be +steady, and said: "Well, Jen, if it isn't Sergeant Tom! And what brings +you down here, Sergeant Tom? After some scalawag that's broke the law?" + +Sergeant Tom had not noticed the blanched anxiety in the father's face; +for his eyes were seeking those of the daughter. He answered the +question as he advanced towards Jen: "Yes and no, Galbraith; I'm only +takin' orders to those who will be after some scalawag by daylight in +the mornin', or before. The hand of a traveller to you, Miss Jen." + +Her eyes replied to his in one language; her lips spoke another. "And +who is the law-breaker, Sergeant Tom"? she said, as she took his hand. + +Galbraith's eyes strained towards the soldier till the reply came: +"And I don't know that; not wan o' me. I'd ridden in to Fort Desire from +another duty, a matter of a hundred miles, whin the major says to me, +'There's murder been done at Moose Horn. Take these orders down to +Archangel's Rise, and deliver them and be back here within forty-eight +hours.' And here I am on the way, and, if I wasn't ready to drop for +want of a bite and sup, I'd be movin' away from here to the south at this +moment." + +Galbraith was trembling with excitement. Pierre warned him by a look, +and almost immediately afterward gave him a reassuring nod, as if an +important and favourable idea had occurred to him. + +Jen, looking at the Sergeant's handsome face, said: "It's six months to a +day since you were here, Sergeant Tom." + +"What an almanac you are, Miss!" + +Pretty Pierre sipping his coffee here interrupted musingly: "But her +almanac is not always so reliable. So I think. When was I here last, +Ma'm'selle?" + +With something like menace in her eyes Jen replied: "You were here six +months ago to-day, when you won thirty dollars from our Val; and then +again, just thirty days after that." + +"Ah, so! You remember with a difference." + +A moment after, Sergeant Tom being occupied in talking to Jen, Pierre +whispered to Peter Galbraith: "His horse--then the laudanum!" + +Galbraith was puzzled for a moment, but soon nodded significantly, and +the sinister droop to his eyes became more marked. He turned to the +Sergeant and said, "Your horse must be fed as well as yourself, Sergeant +Tom. I'll look after the beast, and Jen will take care of you. There's +some fresh coffee, isn't there, Jen?" + +Jen nodded an affirmative. Galbraith knew that the Sergeant would trust +no one to feed his horse but himself, and the offer therefore was made +with design. + +Sergeant Tom replied instantly: "No, I'll do it if someone will show me +the grass pile." + +Pierre slipped quietly from the counter, and said, "I know the way, +Galbraith. I will show." + +Jen turned to the sitting-room, and Sergeant Tom moved to the tavern +door, followed by Pierre, who, as he passed Galbraith, touched the old +man's waistcoat pocket, and said: "Thirty drops in the coffee." + +Then he passed out, singing softly: + + "And he sleepeth so well, and he sleepeth so long + The fight it was hard, my dear; + And his foes were many and swift and strong + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!" + +There was danger ahead for Sergeant Thomas Gellatly. Galbraith followed +his daughter to the sitting-room. She went to the kitchen and brought +bread, and cold venison, and prairie fowl, and stewed dried apples--the +stay and luxury of all rural Canadian homes. The coffee-pot was then +placed on the table. Then the old man said: "Better give him some of +that old cheese, Jen, hadn't you? It's in the cellar." He wanted to be +rid of her for a few moments. "S'pose I had," and Jen vanished. + +Now was Galbraith's chance. He took the vial of laudanum from his +pocket, and opened the coffee-pot. It was half full. This would not +suit. Someone else--Jen--might drink the coffee also! Yet it had to be +done. Sergeant Tom should not go on. Inspector Jules and his Riders of +the Plains must not be put upon the track of Val. Twelve hours would +make all the difference. Pour out a cup of coffee?--Yes, of course, that +would do. It was poured out quickly, and then thirty drops of laudanum +were carefully counted into it. Hark, they are coming back!--Just in +time. Sergeant Tom and Pierre enter from outside, and then Jen from the +kitchen. Galbraith is pouring another cup of coffee as they enter, and +he says: "Just to be sociable I'm goin' to have a cup of coffee with you, +Sergeant Tom. How you Riders of the Plains get waited on hand and foot!" +Did some warning flash through Sergeant Tom's mind or body, some mental. +shock or some physical chill? For he distinctly shivered, though he was +not cold. He seemed suddenly oppressed with a sense of danger. But his +eyes fell on Jen, and the hesitation, for which he did not then try to +account, passed. Jen, clear-faced and true, invited him to sit and eat, +and he, starting half-abstractedly, responded to her "Draw nigh, Sergeant +Tom," and sat down. Commonplace as the words were, they thrilled him, +for he thought of a table of his own in a home of his own, and the same +words spoken everyday, but without the "Sergeant,"--simply "Tom." + +He ate heartily and sipped his coffee slowly, talking meanwhile to Jen +and Galbraith. Pretty Pierre watched them all. Presently the gambler +said: "Let us go and have our game of euchre, Galbraith. Ma'm'selle can +well take care of Sergeant Tom." + +Galbraith drank the rest of his coffee, rose, and passed with Pierre into +the bar-room. Then the halfbreed said to him, "You were careful--thirty +drops?" + +"Yes, thirty drops." The latent cruelty of the old man's nature was +awake. + +"That is right. It is sleep; not death. He will sleep so sound for half +a day, perhaps eighteen hours, and then!--Val will have a long start." + +In the sitting-room Sergeant Tom was saying: "Where is your brother, Miss +Galbraith?" He had no idea that the order in his pocket was for the +arrest of that brother. He merely asked the question to start the talk. + +He and Jen had met but five or six times; but the impression left on the +minds of both was pleasant--ineradicable. Yet, as Sergeant Tom often +asked himself during the past six months, why should he think of her? +The life he led was one of severe endurance, and harshness, and +austerity. Into it there could not possibly enter anything of home. He +was but a noncommissioned officer of the Mounted Police, and beyond that +he had nothing. Ireland had not been kind to him. He had left her +inhospitable shores, and after years of absence he had but a couple of +hundred dollars laid up--enough to purchase his discharge and something +over, but nothing with which to start a home. Ranching required capital. +No, it couldn't be thought of; and yet he had thought of it, try as he +would not to do so. And she? There was that about this man who had +lived life on two continents, in whose blood ran the warm and chivalrous +Celtic fire, which appealed to her. His physical manhood was noble, if +rugged; his disposition genial and free, if schooled, but not entirely, +to that reserve which his occupation made necessary--a reserve he would +have been more careful to maintain, in speaking of his mission a short +time back in the bar-room, if Jen had not been there. She called out the +frankest part of him; she opened the doors of his nature; she attracted +confidence as the sun does the sunflower. + +To his question she replied: "I do not know where our Val is. He went on +a hunting expedition up north. We never can tell about him, when he will +turn up or where he will be to-morrow. He may walk in any minute. We +never feel uneasy. He always has such luck, and comes out safe and sound +wherever he is. Father says Val's a hustler, and that nothing can keep +in the road with him. But he's a little wild--a little. Still, we don't +hector him, Sergeant Tom; hectoring never does any good, does it?" + +"No, hectoring never does any good. And as for the wildness, if the +heart of him's right, why that's easy out of him whin he's older. It's a +fine lad I thought him, the time I saw him here. It's his freedom I wish +I had--me that has to travel all day and part of the night, and thin part +of the day and all night back again, and thin a day of sleep and the same +thing over again. And that's the life of me, sayin' nothin' of the frost +and the blizzards, and no home to go to, and no one to have a meal for me +like this whin I turn up." And the sergeant wound up with, "Whooroo! +there's a speech for you, Miss!" and laughed good-humouredly. For all +that, there was in his eyes an appeal that went straight to Jen's heart. + +But, woman-like, she would not open the way for him to say anything more +definite just yet. She turned the subject. And yet again, woman-like, +she knew it would lead to the same conclusion: + +"You must go to-night?" + +"Yes, I must." + +"Nothing--nothing would keep you?" + +"Nothing. Duty is duty, much as I'd like to stay, and you givin' me the +bid. But my orders were strict. You don't know what discipline means, +perhaps. It means obeyin' commands if you die for it; and my commands +were to take a letter to Inspector Jules at Archangel's Rise to-night. +It's a matter of murder or the like, and duty must be done, and me that +sleepy, not forgettin' your presence, as ever a man was and looked the +world in the face." + +He drank the rest of the coffee and mechanically set the cup down, his +eyes closing heavily as he did so. He made an effort, however, and +pulled himself together. His eyes opened, and he looked at Jen steadily +for a moment. Then he leaned over and touched her hand gently with his +fingers,--Pierre's glove of kindness,--and said: "It's in my heart to +want to stay; but a sight of you I'll have on my way back. But I must go +on now, though I'm that drowsy I could lie down here and never stir +again." + +Jen said to herself: "Poor fellow, poor fellow, how tired he is! I +wish"--but she withdrew her hand. He put his hand to his head, and said, +absently: "It's my duty and it's orders, and . . . what was I sayin'? +The disgrace of me if, if . . . bedad! the sleep's on me; I'm awake, +but I can't open my eyes. . . . If the orders of me--and a good meal +. . . and the disgrace . . . to do me duty-looked the world in the +face--" + +During this speech he staggered to his feet, Jen watching him anxiously +the while. No suspicion of the cause of his trouble crossed her mind. +She set it down to extreme natural exhaustion. Presently feeling the +sofa behind him, he dropped upon it, and, falling back, began to breathe +heavily. But even in this physical stupefaction he made an effort to +reassert himself, to draw himself back from the coming unconsciousness. +His eyes opened, but they were blind with sleep; and as if in a dream, +he said: "My duty . . . disgrace . . . a long sleep . . . Jen, +dearest"--how she started then!--"it must be done . . . my Jen!" and +he said no more. + +But these few words had opened up a world for her--a new-created world on +the instant. Her life was illuminated. She felt the fulness of a great +thought suffusing her face. A beautiful dream was upon her. It had come +to her out of his sleep. But with its splendid advent there came the +other thing that always is born with woman's love--an almost pathetic +care of the being loved. In the deep love of women the maternal and +protective sense works in the parallels of mutual regard. In her life +now it sprang full-statured in action; love of him, care of him; his +honour her honour; his life her life. He must not sleep like this if it +was his duty to go on. Yet how utterly worn he must be! She had seen +men brought in from fighting prairie fires for three days without sleep; +had watched them drop on their beds, and lie like logs for thirty-six +hours. This sleep of her lover was, therefore, not so strange to her. +but it was perilous to the performance of his duty. + +"Poor Sergeant Tom," she said. "Poor Tom," she added; and then, with a +great flutter at the heart at last, "My Tom!" Yes, she said that; but +she said it to the beacon, to the Prairie Star, burning outside brighter, +it seemed to her, than it had ever done be fore. Then she sat down and +watched him for many minutes, thinking at the end of each that she would +wake him. But the minutes passed, his breathing grew heavier, and he did +not stir. The Prairie Star made quivering and luminous curtains of red +for the windows, and Jen's mind was quivering in vivid waves of feeling +just the same. It seemed to her as if she was looking at life now +through an atmosphere charged with some rare, refining essence, and that +in it she stood exultingly. Perhaps she did not define it so; but that +which we define she felt. And happy are they who feel it, and, feeling +it, do not lose it in this world, and have the hope of carrying it into +the next. + +After a time she rose, went over to him and touched his shoulder. It +seemed strange to her to do this thing. She drew back timidly from the +pleasant shock of a new experience. Then she remembered that he ought to +be on his way, and she shook him gently, then, with all her strength, and +called to him quietly all the time, as if her low tones ought to wake +him, if nothing else could. But he lay in a deep and stolid slumber. It +was no use. She went to her seat and sat down to think. As she did so, +her father entered the room. + +"Did you call, Jen"? he said; and turned to the sofa. "I was calling to +Sergeant Tom. He's asleep there; dead-gone, father. I can't wake him." + +"Why should you wake him? He is tired." + +The sinister lines in Galbraith's face had deepened greatly in the last +hour. He went over and looked closely at the Sergeant, followed +languidly by Pierre, who casually touched the pulse of the sleeping man, +and said as casually: + +"Eh, he sleep well; his pulse is like a baby; he was tired, much. +He has had no sleep for one, two, three nights, perhaps; and a good meal, +it makes him comfortable, and so you see!" + +Then he touched lightly the triple chevron on Sergeant Tom's arm, and +said: + +"Eh, a man does much work for that. And then, to be moral and the friend +of the law all the time!" Pierre here shrugged his shoulders. "It is +easier to be wicked and free, and spend when one is rich, and starve when +one is poor, than to be a sergeant and wear the triple chevron. But the +sleep will do him good just the same, Jen Galbraith." + +"He said that he must go to Archangel's Rise tonight, and be back at Fort +Desire to-morrow night." + +"Well, that's nothing to us, Jen," replied Galbraith, roughly. "He's got +his own business to look after. He and his tribe are none too good to us +and our tribe. He'd have your old father up to-morrow for selling a +tired traveller a glass of brandy; and worse than that, ay, a great sight +worse than that, mind you, Jen." + +Jen did not notice, or, at least, did not heed, the excited emphasis on +the last words. She thought that perhaps her father had been set against +the Sergeant by Pierre. + +"There, that'll do, father," she said. "It's easy to bark at a dead +lion. Sergeant Tom's asleep, and you say things that you wouldn't say if +he was awake. He never did us any harm, and you know that's true, +father." + +Galbraith was about to reply with anger; but he changed his mind and +walked into the bar-room, followed by Pierre. + +In Jen's mind a scheme had been hurriedly and clearly formed; and with +her, to form it was to put it into execution. She went to Sergeant Tom, +opened his coat, felt in the inside pocket, and drew forth an official +envelope. It was addressed to Inspector Jules at Archangel's Rise. She +put it back and buttoned up the coat again. Then she said, with her +hands firmly clenching at her side,--"I'll do it." + +She went into the adjoining room and got a quilt, which she threw over +him, and a pillow, which she put under his head. Then she took his cap +and the cloak which he had thrown over a chair, as if to carry them away. +But another thought occurred to her, for she looked towards the bar-room +and put them down again. She glanced out of the window and saw that her +father and Pierre had gone to lessen the volume of gas which was feeding +the flame. This, she knew, meant that her father would go to bed when he +came back to the house; and this suited her purpose. She waited till +they had entered the bar-room again, and then she went to them, and said: +"I guess he's asleep for all night. Best leave him where he is. I'm +going. Good-night." + +When she got back to the sitting-room she said to herself: "How old +father's looking! He seems broken up to-day. He isn't what he used to +be." She turned once more to look at Sergeant Tom, then she went to her +room. + +A little later Peter Galbraith and Pretty Pierre went to the sitting- +room, and the old man drew from the Sergeant's pocket the envelope which +Jen had seen. Pierre took it from him. "No, Pete Galbraith. Do not be +a fool. Suppose you steal that paper. Sergeant Tom will miss it. He +will understand. He will guess about the drug, then you will be in +trouble. Val will be safe now. This Rider of the Plains will sleep long +enough for that. There, I put the paper back. He sleeps like a log. No +one can suspect the drug, and it is all as we like. No, we will not +steal; that is wrong--quite wrong"--here Pretty Pierre showed his teeth. +"We will go to bed. Come!" + +Jen heard them ascend the stairs. She waited a half-hour, then she stole +into Val's bedroom, and when she emerged again she had a bundle of +clothes across her arm. A few minutes more and she walked into the +sitting-room dressed in Val's clothes, and with her hair closely wound on +the top of her head. + +The house was still. The Prairie Star made the room light enough for her +purpose. She took Sergeant Tom's cap and cloak and put them on. She +drew the envelope from his pocket and put it in her bosom--she showed the +woman there, though for the rest of this night she was to be a Rider of +the Plains, She of the Triple Chevron. + +She went towards the door, hesitated, drew back, then paused, stooped +down quickly, tenderly touched the soldier's brow with her lips, and +said: "I'll do it for you. You shall not be disgraced--Tom." + + + + +III + +This was at half-past ten o'clock. At two o'clock a jaded and blown +horse stood before the door of the barracks at Archangel's Rise. Its +rider, muffled to the chin, was knocking, and at the same time pulling +his cap down closely over his head. "Thank God the night is dusky," he +said. We have heard that voice before. The hat and cloak are those of +Sergeant Tom, but the voice is that of Jen Galbraith. There is some +danger in this act; danger for her lover, contempt for herself if she is +discovered. Presently the door opens and a corporal appears. "Who's +there? Oh," he added, as he caught sight of the familiar uniform; "where +from?" + +"From Fort Desire. Important orders to Inspector Jules. Require fresh +horse to return with; must leave mine here. Have to go back at once." + +"I say," said the corporal, taking the papers--"what's your name?" + +"Gellatly--Sergeant Gellatly." + +"Say, Sergeant Gellatly, this isn't accordin' to Hoyle--come in the night +and go in the night and not stay long enough to have a swear at the +Gover'ment. Why, you're comin' in, aren't you? You're comin' across the +door-mat for a cup of coffee and a warm while the horse is gettin' ready, +aren't you, Sergeant--Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly? I've heard +of you, but--yes; I will hurry. Here, Waugh, this to Inspector Jules! +If you won't step in and won't drink and will be unsociable, sergeant, +why, come on and you shall have a horse as good as the one you've +brought. I'm Corporal Galna." + +Jen led the exhausted horse to the stables. Fortunately there was no +lantern used, and therefore little chance for the garrulous corporal to +study the face of his companion, even if he wished to do so. The risk +was considerable; but Jen Galbraith was fired by that spirit of self- +sacrifice which has held a world rocking to destruction on a balancing +point of safety. + +The horse was quickly saddled, Jen meanwhile remaining silent. While she +was mounting, Corporal Galna drew and struck a match to light his pipe. +He held it up for a moment as though to see the face of Sergeant +Gellatly. Jen had just given a good-night, and the horse the word and a +touch of the spur at the instant. Her face, that is, such of it as could +be seen above the cloak and under the cap, was full in the light. Enough +was seen, however, to call forth, in addition to Corporal Galna's good- +night, the exclamation," Well, I'm blowed!" + +As Jen vanished into the night a moment after, she heard a voice calling +--not Corporal Galna's--"Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly!" She +supposed it was Inspector Jules, but she would not turn back now. Her +work was done. + +A half-hour later Corporal Galna confided to Private Waugh that Sergeant +Gellatly was too damned pretty for the force--wondered if they called him +Beauty at Fort Desire--couldn't call him Pretty Gellatly, for there was +Pretty Pierre who had right of possession to that title--would like to +ask him what soap he used for his complexion--'twasn't this yellow bar- +soap of the barracks, which wouldn't lather, he'd bet his ultimate +dollar. + +Waugh, who had sometime seen Sergeant Gellatly, entered into a +disputation on the point. He said that "Sergeant Tom was good-looking, +a regular Irish thoroughbred; but he wasn't pretty, not much!--guessed +Corporal Galna had nightmare, and finally, as the interest in the theme +increased in fervour, announced that Sergeant Tom could loosen the teeth +of, and knock the spots off, any man among the Riders, from Archangel's +Rise to the Cypress Hills. Pretty--not much--thoroughbred all over!" + +And Corporal Galna replied, sarcastically,--"That he might be able for +spot dispersion of such a kind, but he had two as pretty spots on his +cheek, and as white and touch-no-tobacco teeth as any female ever had." +Private Waugh declared then that Corporal Galna would be saying Sergeant +Gellatly wasn't a man at all, and wore earrings, and put his hair into +papers; and when he could find no further enlargement of sarcasm, +consigned the Corporal to a fiery place of future torment reserved +for lunatics. + +At this critical juncture Waugh was ordered to proceed to Inspector +Jules. A few minutes after, he was riding away toward Soldier's Knee, +with the Inspector and another private, to capture Val Galbraith, the +slayer of Snow Devil, while four other troopers also started off in +different directions. + + + + +IV + +It was six o'clock when Jen drew rein in the yard at Galbraith's Place. +Through the dank humours of the darkest time of the night she had watched +the first grey streaks of dawn appear. She had caught her breath with +fear at the thought that, by some accident, she might not get back before +seven o'clock, the hour when her father rose. She trembled also at the +supposition of Sergeant Tom awaking and finding his papers gone. But her +fearfulness and excitement was not that of weakness, rather that of a +finely nervous nature, having strong elements of imagination, and, +therefore, great capacities for suffering as for joy; but yet elastic, +vigorous, and possessing unusual powers of endurance. Such natures +rebuild as fast as they are exhausted. In the devitalising time +preceding the dawn she had felt a sudden faintness come over her for a +moment; but her will surmounted it, and, when she saw the ruddy streaks +of pink and red glorify the horizon, she felt a sudden exaltation of +physical strength. She was a child of the light, she loved the warm +flame of the sun, the white gleam of the moon. Holding in her horse to +give him a five minutes' rest, she rose in her saddle and looked round. +She was alone in her circle of vision, she and her horse. The long +hillocks of prairie rolled away like the sea to the flushed morning, and +the far-off Cypress Hills broke the monotonous skyline of the south. +Already the air was dissipated of its choking weight, and the vast +solitude was filling with that sense of freedom which night seems to shut +in as with four walls, and day to widen gloriously. Tears sprang to her +eyes from a sudden rush of feeling; but her lips were smiling. The world +was so different from what it was yesterday. Something had quickened her +into a glowing life. + +Then she urged the horse on, and never halted till she reached home. She +unsaddled the animal that had shared with her the hardship of the long, +hard ride, hobbled it, and entered the house quickly. No one was +stirring. Sergeant Tom was still asleep. This she saw, as she hurriedly +passed in and laid the cap and cloak where she had found them. Then, +once again, she touched the brow of the sleeper with her lips, and went +to her room to divest herself of Val's clothes. The thing had been done +without anyone knowing of her absence. But she was frightened as she +looked into the mirror. She was haggard, and her eyes were bloodshot. +Eight hours or nearly in the saddle, at ten miles an hour, had told on +her severely; as well it might. Even a prairie-born woman, however, +understands the art and use of grooming better than a man. Warm water +quickly heated at the gas, with a little acetic acid in it, used +generally for her scouring,--and then cold water with oatmeal flour, took +away in part the dulness and the lines in the flesh. But the eyes! Jen +remembered the vial of tincture of myrrh left by a young Englishman a +year ago, and used by him for refreshing his eyes after a drinking bout. +She got it, tried the tincture, and saw and felt an immediate benefit. +Then she made a cup of strong green tea, and in ten minutes was like +herself again. Now for the horse. She went quickly out where she could +not be seen from the windows of the house, and gave him a rubbing down +till he was quite dry. Then she gave him a little water and some feed. +The horse was really the touchstone of discovery. But Jen trusted in her +star. If the worst came she would tell the tale. It must be told anyway +to Sergeant Tom--but that was different now. Even if the thing became +known it would only be a thing to be teased about by her father and +others, and she could stop that. Poor girl, as though that was the worst +that was to come from her act! + +Sergeant Tom slept deeply and soundly. He had not stirred. His +breathing was unnaturally heavy, Jen thought, but, no suspicion of foul +play came to her mind yet. Why should it? She gave herself up to a +sweet and simple sense of pride in the deed she had done for him, +disturbed but slightly by the chances of discovery, and the remembrance +of the match that showed her face at Archangel's Rise. Her hands touched +the flaxen hair of the soldier, and her eyes grew luminous. One night +had stirred all her soul to its depths. A new woman had been born in +her. Val was dear to her--her brother Val; but she realised now that +another had come who would occupy a place that neither father, nor +brother, nor any other could fill. Yet it was a most weird set of tragic +circumstances. This man before her had been set to do a task which might +deprive her brother of his life, certainly of his freedom; that would +disgrace him; her father had done a great wrong too, had put in danger +the life of the man she loved, to save his son; she herself in doing this +deed for her lover had placed her brother in jeopardy, had crossed swords +with her father's purposes, had done the one thing that stood between +that father's son and safety; Pretty Pierre, whom she hated and despised, +and thought to be the enemy of her brother and of her home, had proved +himself a friend; and behind it all was the brother's crime committed to +avenge an insult to her name. + +But such is life. Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners, +and the executioners of those they love. + + + + +V + +An hour passed, and then Galbraith and Pierre appeared. Jen noticed that +her father went over to Sergeant Tom and rather anxiously felt his pulse. +Once in the night the old man had come down and done the same thing. +Pierre said something in an undertone. Did they think he was ill? That +was Jon's thought. She watched them closely; but the half-breed knew +that she was watching, and the two said nothing more to each other. But +Pierre said, in a careless way: "It is good he have that sleep. He was +played out, quite." + +Jon replied, a secret triumph at her heart: "But what about his orders, +the papers he was to carry to Archangel's Rise? What about his being +back at Fort Desire in the time given him?" + +"It is not much matter about the papers. The poor devil that Inspector +Jules would arrest--well, he will get off, perhaps, but that does no one +harm. Eh, Galbraith? The law is sometimes unkind. And as for obeying +orders, why, the prairie is wide, it is a hard ride, horses go wrong; +--a little tale of trouble to Inspector Jules, another at Fort Desire, +and who is to know except Pete Galbraith, Jen Galbraith, and Pierre? +Poor Sergeant Tom. It was good he sleep so." + +Jen felt there was irony behind the smooth words of the gambler. He had +a habit of saying things, as they express it in that country, between his +teeth. That signifies what is animal-like and cruel. Galbraith stood +silent during Pierre's remarks, but, when he had finished, said: + +"Yes, it's all right if he doesn't sleep too long; but there's the +trouble--too long!" + +Pierre frowned a warning, and then added, with unconcern: "I remember +when you sleep thirty hours, Galbraith--after the prairie fire, three +years ago, eh!" + +"Well, that's so; that's so as you say it. We'll let him sleep till +noon, or longer--or longer, won't we, Pierre?" + +"Yes, till noon is good, or longer." + +"But he shall not sleep longer if I can wake him," said Jen. "You do not +think of the trouble all this sleeping may make for him." + +"But then--but then, there is the trouble he will make for others, if he +wakes. Think. A poor devil trying to escape the law!" + +"But we have nothing to do with that, and justice is justice, Pierre." + +"Eh, well, perhaps, perhaps!" Galbraith was silent. + +Jen felt that so far as Sergeant Tom's papers were concerned he was safe; +but she felt also that by noon he ought to be on his way back to Fort +Desire--after she had told him what she had done. She was anxious for +his honour. That her lover shall appear well before the world, is a +thing deep in the heart of every woman. It is a pride for which she will +deny herself, even of the presence of that lover. + +"Till noon," Jen said, "and then he must go." + + + + +VI + +Jen watched to see if her father or Pierre would notice that the horse +was changed, had been travelled during the night, or that it was a +different one altogether. As the morning wore away she saw that they did +not notice the fact. This ignorance was perhaps owing largely to the +appearance of several ranchmen from near the American border. They spent +their time in the bar-room, and when they left it was nearly noon. Still +Sergeant Tom slept. Jen now went to him and tried to wake him. She +lifted him to a sitting position, but his head fell on her shoulder. +Disheartened, she laid him down again. But now at last an undefined +suspicion began to take possession of her. It made her uneasy; it filled +her with a vague sense of alarm. Was this sleep natural? She remembered +that, when her father and others had slept so long after the prairie +fire, she had waked them once to give them drink and a little food, and +they did not breathe so heavily as he was doing. Yet what could be done? +What was the matter? There was not a doctor nearer than a hundred miles. +She thought of bleeding,--the old-fashioned remedy still used on the +prairies--but she decided to wait a little. Somehow she felt that she +would receive no help from her father or Pierre. Had they anything to +do with this sleep? Was it connected with the papers? No, not that, for +they had not sought to take them, and had not made any remark about their +being gone. This showed their unconcern on that point. She could not +fathom the mystery, but the suspicion of something irregular deepened. +Her father could have no reason for injuring Sergeant Tom; but Pretty +Pierre--that was another matter. Yet she remembered too that her father +had appeared the more anxious of the two about the Sergeant's sleep. She +recalled that he said: "Yes, it's all right, if he doesn't sleep too +long." + +But Pierre could play a part, she knew, and could involve others in +trouble, and escape himself. He was a man with a reputation for +occasional wickednesses of a naked, decided type. She knew that he was +possessed of a devil, of a very reserved devil, but liable to bold action +on occasions. She knew that he valued the chances of life or death no +more than he valued the thousand and one other chances of small +importance, which occur in daily experience. It was his creed that one +doesn't go till the game is done and all the cards are played. He had a +stoic indifference to events. + +He might be capable of poisoning--poisoning! ah, that thought! of +poisoning Sergeant Tom for some cause. But her father? The two seemed +to act alike in the matter. Could her father approve of any harm +happening to Tom? She thought of the meal he had eaten, of the coffee +he had drunk. The coffee-was that the key? But she said to herself that +she was foolish, that her love had made her so. No, it could not be. + +But a fear grew upon her, strive as she would against it. She waited +silently and watched, and twice or thrice made ineffectual efforts to +rouse him. Her father came in once. He showed anxiety; that was +unmistakable, but was it the anxiety of guilt of any kind? She said +nothing. At five o'clock matters abruptly came to a climax. Jen was in +the kitchen, but, hearing footsteps in the sitting-room, she opened the +door quietly. Her father was bending over Sergeant Tom, and Pierre was +speaking: "No, no, Galbraith, it is all right. You are a fool. It could +not kill him." + +"Kill him--kill him," she repeated gaspingly to herself. + +"You see he was exhausted; he may sleep for hours yet. Yes, he is safe, +I think." + +"But Jen, she suspects something, she--" + +"Hush!" said Pretty Pierre. He saw her standing near. She had glided +forward and stood with flashing eyes turned, now upon the one, and now +upon the other. Finally they rested on Galbraith. + +"Tell me what you have done to him; what you and Pretty Pierre have done +to him. You have some secret. I will know." She leaned forward, +something of the tigress in the poise of her body. "I tell you, I will +know." Her voice was low, and vibrated with fierceness and +determination. Her eyes glowed, and her nostrils trembled with disdain +and indignation. As they drew back,--the old man sullenly, the gambler +with a slight gesture of impatience,--she came a step nearer to them and +waited, the cords of her shapely throat swelling with excitement. A +moment so, and then she said in a tone that suggested menace, +determination: + +"You have poisoned him. Tell me the truth. Do you hear, father--the +truth, or I will hate you. I will make you repent it till you die." + +"But--" Pierre began. + +She interrupted him. "Do not speak, Pretty Pierre. You are a devil. +You will lie. Father--!" She waited. "What difference does it make to +you, Jen?" "What difference--what difference to me? That you should be +a murderer?" + +"But that is not so, that is a dream of yours, Ma'm'selle," said Pierre. + +She turned to her father again. "Father, will you tell the truth to me? +I warn you it will be better for you both." + +The old man's brow was sullen, and his lips were twitching nervously. +"You care more for him than you do for your own flesh and blood, Jen. +There's nothing to get mad about like that. I'll tell you when he's +gone. . . . Let's--let's wake him," he added, nervously. + +He stooped down and lifted the sleeping man to a sitting posture. Pierre +assisted him. + +Jen saw that the half-breed believed Sergeant Tom could be wakened, and +her fear diminished slightly, if her indignation did not. They lifted +the soldier to his feet. Pierre pressed the point of a pin deep into his +arm. Jen started forward, woman-like, to check the action, but drew +back, for she saw heroic measures might be necessary to bring him to +consciousness. But, nevertheless, her anger broke bounds, and she said: +"Cowards--cowards! What spite made you do this?" + +"Damnation, Jen," said the father, "you'll hector me till I make you +sorry. What's this Irish policeman to you? What's he beside your own +flesh and blood, I say again." + +"Why does my own flesh and blood do such wicked tricks to an Irish +soldier? Why does it give poison to an Irish soldier?" + +"Poison, Jen? You needn't speak so ghost-like. It was only a dose of +laudanum; not enough to kill him. Ask Pierre." + +Inwardly she believed him, and said a Thank-God to herself, but to the +half-breed she remarked: "Yes, ask Pierre--you are behind all this! +It is some evil scheme of yours. Why did you do it? Tell the truth for +once." Her eyes swam angrily with Pierre's. + +Pierre was complacent; he admired her wild attacks. He smiled, and +replied: "My dear, it was a whim of mine; but you need not tell him, all +the same, when he wakes. You see this is your father's house, though the +whim is mine. But look: he is waking-the pin is good. Some cold water, +quick!" + +The cold water was brought and dashed into the face of the soldier. He +showed signs of returning consciousness. The effect of the laudanum had +been intensified by the thoroughly exhausted condition of the body. + +But the man was perfectly healthy, and this helped to resist the danger +of a fatal result. + +Pierre kept up an intermittent speech. "Yes, it was a mere whim of mine. +Eh, he will think he has been an ass to sleep so long, and on duty, and +orders to carry to Archangel's Rise!" Here he showed his teeth again, +white and regular like a dog's. That was the impression they gave, his +lips were so red, and the contrast was so great. One almost expected to +find that the roof of his mouth was black, like that of a well-bred +hound; but there is no evidence available on the point. + +"There, that is good," he said. "Now set him down, Pete Galbraith. +Yes--so, so! Sergeant Tom, ah, you will wake well, soon. Now the eyes +a little wider. Good. Eh, Sergeant Tom, what is the matter? It is +breakfast time--quite." + +Sergeant Tom's eyes opened slowly and looked dazedly before him for a +minute. Then they fell on Pierre. At first there was no recognition, +then they became consciously clearer. "Pretty Pierre, you here in the +barracks!" he said. He put his hand to his head, then rubbed his eyes +roughly and looked up again. This time he saw Jen and her father. His +bewilderment increased. Then he added: "What is the matter? Have I been +asleep? What--!" He remembered. He staggered to his feet and felt his +pockets quickly and anxiously for his letter. It was gone. + +"The letter!" he said. "My orders! Who has robbed me? Faith, I +remember. I could not keep awake after I drank the coffee. My papers +are gone, I tell you, Galbraith," he said, fiercely. + +Then he turned to Jen: "You are not in this, Jen. Tell me." + +She was silent for a moment, then was about to answer, when he turned +to the gambler and said: "You are at the bottom of this. Give me my +papers." But Pierre and Galbraith were as dumbfounded as the Sergeant +himself to know that the letter was gone. They were stunned beyond +speech when Jen said, flushing: "No, Sergeant Tom, I am the thief. When +I could not wake you, I took the letter from your pocket and carried it +to Inspector Jules last night,--or, rather, Sergeant Gellatly carried +them. I wore his cap and cloak and passed for him." + +"You carried that letter to Inspector Jules last night, Jen"? said the +soldier, all his heart in his voice. + +Jen saw her father blanch, his mouth open blankly, and his lips refuse to +utter the words on them. For the first time she comprehended some danger +to him, to herself--to Val! + +"Father, father," she said,--" what is it?" + +Pierre shrugged his shoulders and rejoined: "Eh, the devil! Such +mistakes of women. They are fools--all." The old man put out a shaking +hand and caught his daughter's arm. His look was of mingled wonder and +despair, as he said, in a gasping whisper, "You carried that letter to +Archangel's Rise?" + +"Yes," she answered, faltering now; "Sergeant Tom had said how important +it was, you remember. That it was his duty to take it to Inspector +Jules, and be back within forty-eight hours. He fell asleep. I could +not wake him. I thought, what if he were my brother--our Val. So, when +you and Pretty Pierre went to bed, I put on Val's clothes, took Sergeant +Tom's cloak and hat, carried the orders to Jules, and was back here by +six o'clock this morning." + +Sergeant Tom's eyes told his tale of gratitude. He made a step towards +her; but the old man, with a strange ferocity, motioned him back, saying, + +"Go away from this house. Go quick. Go now, I tell you, or by God,-- +I'll--" + +Here Pretty Pierre touched his arm. + +Sergeant Tom drew back, not because he feared but as if to get a mental +perspective of the situation. Galbraith again said to his daughter,-- +"Jen, you carried them papers? You! for him--for the Law!" Then he +turned from her, and with hand clenched and teeth set spoke to the +soldier: "Haven't you heard enough? Curse you, why don't you go?" + +Sergeant Tom replied coolly: "Not so fast, Galbraith. There's some +mystery in all this. There's my sleep to be accounted for yet. You had +some reason, some"--he caught the eyes of Pierre. He paused. A light +began to dawn on his mind, and he looked at Jen, who stood rigidly pale, +her eyes fixed fearfully, anxiously, upon him. She too was beginning to +frame in her mind a possible horror; the thing that had so changed her +father, the cause for drugging the soldier. There was a silence in which +Pierre first, and then all, detected the sound of horses' hoofs. Pierre +went to the door and looked out. He turned round again, and shrugged his +shoulders with an expression of helplessness. But as he saw Jen was +about to speak, and Sergeant Tom to move towards the door, he put up his +hand to stay them both, and said: "A little--wait!" + +Then all were silent. Jen's fingers nervously clasped and unclasped, and +her eyes were strained towards the door. Sergeant Tom stood watching her +pityingly; the old man's head was bowed. The sound of galloping grew +plainer. It stopped. An instant and then three horsemen appeared before +the door. One was Inspector Jules, one was Private Waugh, and the other +between them was--let Jen tell who he was. With an agonised cry she +rushed from the house and threw herself against the saddle, and with her +arms about the prisoner, cried: "Oh, Val, Val, it was you! It was you +they were after. It was you that--oh no, no, no! My poor Val, and I +can't tell you--I can't tell you!" + +Great as was her grief and self-reproach, she felt it would be cruel to +tell him the part she had taken in placing him in this position. She +hated herself, but why deepen his misery? His face was pale, but it had +its old, open, fearless look, which dissipation had not greatly marred. +His eyelids quivered, but he smiled, and touching her with his steel- +bound hands, gently said: + +"Never mind, Jen. It isn't so bad. You see it was this way: Snow Devil +said something about someone that belonged to me, that cares more about +me than I deserve. Well, he died sudden, and I was there at the time. +That's all. I was trying with the help of Pretty Pierre to get out of +the country"--and he waved his hand towards the half-breed. + +"With Pretty Pierre--Pierre"? she said. + +"Yes, he isn't all gambler. But they were too quick for me, and here I +am. Jules is a hustler on the march. But he said he'd stop here and let +me see you and dad as we go up to Fort Desire, and--there, don't mind, +Sis--don't mind it so!" + +Her sobs had ceased, but she clung to him as if she could never let him +go. Her father stood near her, all the lines in his face deepened into +bitterness. To him Val said: "Why, dad, what's the matter? Your hand +is shaky. Don't you get this thing eatin' at your heart. + +"It isn't worth it. That Injin would have died if you'd been in my place, +I guess. Between you and me, I expect to give Jules the slip before we +get there." And he laughed at the Inspector, who laughed a little +austerely too, and in his heart wished that it was anyone else he had as +a prisoner than Val Galbraith, who was a favourite with the Riders of the +Plains. + +Sergeant Tom had been standing in the doorway regarding this scene, and +working out in his mind the complications that had led to it. At this +point he came forward, and Inspector Jules said to him, after a curt +salutation: + +"You were in a hurry last night, Sergeant Gellatly. You don't seem so +pushed for time now. Usual thing. When a man seems over-zealous--drink, +cards, or women behind it. But your taste is good, even if, under +present circumstances"--He stopped, for he saw a threatening look in the +eyes of the other, and that other said: "We won't discuss that matter, +Inspector, if you please. I'm going on to Fort Desire now. I couldn't +have seen you if I'd wanted to last night." + +"That's nonsense. If you had waited one minute longer at the barracks +you could have done so. I called to you as you were leaving, but you +didn't turn back." + +"No. I didn't hear you." + +All were listening to this conversation, and none more curiously than +Private Waugh. Many a time in days to come he pictured the scene for the +benefit of his comrades. Pretty Pierre, leaning against the hitching- +post near the bar-room, said languidly: + +"But, Inspector, he speaks the truth--quite: that is a virtue of the +Riders of the Plains." Val had his eyes on the half-breed, and a look of +understanding passed between them. While Val and his father and sister +were saying their farewells in few words, but with homely demonstrations, +Sergeant Tom brought his horse round and mounted it. Inspector Jules +gave the word to move on. As they started, Gellatly, who fell behind the +others slightly, leaned down and whispered: "Forgive me, Jen. You did +a noble act for me, and the life of me would prove to you that I'm +grateful. It's sorry, sorry I am. But I'll do what I can for Val, +as sure as the heart's in me. Good-bye, Jen." + +She looked up with a faint hope in her eyes. "Goodbye!" she said. +"I believe you . . . Good-bye!" + +In a few minutes there was only a cloud of dust on the prairie to tell +where the Law and its quarry were. And of those left behind, one was a +broken-spirited old man with sorrow melting away the sinister look in his +face; one, a girl hovering between the tempest of bitterness and a storm +of self-reproach; and one a half-breed gambler, who again sat on the bar- +counter smoking a cigarette and singing to himself, as indolently as if +he were not in the presence of a painful drama of life, perhaps a +tragedy. But was the song so pointless to the occasion, after all, and +was the man so abstracted and indifferent as he seemed? For thus the +song ran: + + "Oh, the bird in a cage and the bird on a tree + Voila! 'tis a different fear! + The maiden weeps and she bends the knee + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + But the bird in a cage has a friend in the tree, + And the maiden she dries her tear: + And the night is dark and no moon you see + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! + When the doors are open the bird is free + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!" + + + + +VII + +These words kept ringing in Jen's ears as she stood again in the doorway +that night with her face turned to the beacon. How different it seemed +now! When she saw it last night it was a cheerful spirit of light--a +something suggesting comfort, companionship, aspiration, a friend to the +traveller, and a mysterious, but delightful, association. In the morning +when she returned from that fortunate, yet most unfortunate, ride, it was +still burning, but its warm flame was exhausted in the glow of the life- +giving sun; the dream and delight of the night robbed of its glamour by +the garish morning; like her own body, its task done, sinking before the +unrelieved scrutiny of the day. To-night it burned with a different +radiance. It came in fiery palpitations from the earth. It made a sound +that was now like the moan of pine trees, now like the rumble of far-off +artillery. The slight wind that blew spread the topmost crest of flame +into strands of ruddy hair, and, looking at it, Jen saw herself rocked to +and fro by tumultuous emotions, yet fuller of strength and larger of life +than ever she had been. Her hot veins beat with determination, with a +love which she drove back by another, cherished now more than it had ever +been, because danger threatened the boy to whom she had been as a mother. +In twenty-four hours she had grown to the full stature of love and +suffering. + +There were shadows that betrayed less roundness to her face; there were +lines that told of weariness; but in her eyes there was a glowing light +of hope. She raised her face to the stars and unconsciously paraphrasing +Pierre's song said: "Oh, the God that dost save us, hear!" + +A hand touched her arm, and a voice said, huskily, "Jen, I wanted to save +him and--and not let you know of it; that's all. You're not keepin' a +grudge agin me, my girl?" + +She did not move nor turn her head. "I've no grudge, father; but--if-- +if you had told me, 'twouldn't be on my mind that I had made it worse for +Val." + +The kindness in the voice reassured him, and he ventured to say: "I +didn't think you'd be carin' for one of the Riders of the Plains, Jen." + +Then the old man trembled lest she should resent his words. She seemed +about to do so, but the flush faded from her brow, and she said, simply: +"I care for Val most, father. But he didn't know he was getting Val into +trouble." + +She suddenly quivered as a wave of emotion passed through her; and she +said, with a sob in her voice: "Oh, it's all scrub country, father, and +no paths, and--and I wish I had a mother!" + +The old man sat down in the doorway and bowed his grey head in his arms. +Then, after a moment, he whispered: + +"She's been dead twenty-two years, Jen. The day Val was born she went +away. I'd a-been a better man if she'd a-lived, Jen; and a better +father." + +This was an unusual demonstration between these two. She watched him +sadly for a moment, and then, leaning over and touching him gently on the +shoulder, said: "It's worse for you than it is for me, father. Don't +feel so bad. Perhaps we shall save him yet." + +He caught a gleam of hope in her words: "Mebbe, Jen, mebbe!" and he +raised his face to the light. + +This ritual of affection was crude and unadorned; but it was real. They +sat there for half-an-hour, silent. + +Then a figure came out of the shadows behind the house and stood before +them. It was Pierre. + +"I go to-morrow morning, Galbraith," he said. The old man nodded, but +did not reply. + +"I go to Fort Desire," the gambler added. + +Jen faced him. "What do you go there for, Pretty Pierre?" + +"It is my whim. Besides, there is Val. He might want a horse some dark +night." + +"Pierre, do you mean that?" + +"As much as Sergeant Tom means what he says. Every man has his friends. +Pretty Pierre has a fancy for Val Galbraith--a little. It suits him to +go to Fort Desire. Jen Galbraith, you make a grand ride last night. You +do a bold thing--all for a man. We shall see what he will do for you. +And if he does nothing--ah! you can trust the tongue of Pretty Pierre. +He will wish he could die, instead of--Eh, bien, good-night!" He moved +away. Jen followed him. She held out her hand. It was the first time +she had ever done so to this man. + +"I believe you," she said. "I believe that you mean well to our Val. I +am sorry that I called you a devil." He smiled. "Ma'm'selle, that is +nothing. You spoke true. But devils have their friends--and their +whims. So you see, good-night." + +"Mebbe it will come out all right, Jen--mebbe!" said the old man. + +But Jen did not reply. She was thinking hard, her eyes upon the Prairie +Star. Living life to the hilt greatly illumines the outlook of the mind. +She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute, and that good +is often an occasion more than a condition. + +There was a long silence again. At last the old man rose to go and +reduce the volume of flame for the night; but Jen stopped him. "No, +father, let it burn all it can to-night. It's comforting." + +"Mebbe so--mebbe!" he said. + +A faint refrain came to them from within the house: + + "When doors are open the bird is free + Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!" + + + + +VIII + +It was a lovely morning. The prairie billowed away endlessly to the +south, and heaved away in vastness to the north; and the fresh, sharp air +sent the blood beating through the veins. In the bar-room some early +traveller was talking to Peter Galbraith. A wandering band of Indians +was camped about a mile away, the only sign of humanity in the waste. +Jen sat in the doorway culling dried apples. Though tragedies occur in +lives of the humble, they must still do the dull and ordinary task. They +cannot stop to cherish morbidness, to feed upon their sorrow; they must +care for themselves and labour for others. And well is it for them that +it is so. + +The Indian camp brings unpleasant memories to Jen's mind. She knows it +belongs to old Sun-in-the-North, and that he will not come to see her +now, nor could she, or would she, go to him. Between her and that race +there can never again be kindly communion. And now she sees, for the +first time, two horsemen riding slowly in the track from Fort Desire +towards Galbraith's Place. She notices that one sits upright, and one +seems leaning forward on his horse's neck. She shades her eyes with her +hand, but she cannot distinguish who they are. But she has seen men tied +to their horses ride as that man is riding, when stricken with fever, +bruised by falling timber, lacerated by a grizzly, wounded by a bullet, +or crushed by a herd of buffaloes. She remembered at that moment the +time that a horse had struck Val with its forefeet, and torn the flesh +from his chest, and how he had been brought home tied to a broncho's +back. + +The thought of this drove her into the house, to have Val's bed prepared +for the sufferer, whoever he was. Almost unconsciously she put on the +little table beside the bed a bunch of everlasting prairie flowers, and +shaded the light to the point of quiet and comfort. + +Then she went outside again. The travellers now were not far away. She +recognised the upright rider. It was Pretty Pierre. The other--she +could not tell. She called to her father. She had a fear which she did +not care to face alone. "See, see, father," she said, "Pretty Pierre +and--and can it be Val?" For the moment she seemed unable to stir. But +the old man shook his head, and said: "No, Jen, it can't be. It ain't +Val." + +Then another thought possessed her. Her lips trembled, and, throwing her +head back as does a deer when it starts to shake off its pursuers by +flight, she ran swiftly towards the riders. The traveller standing +beside Galbraith said: "That man is hurt, wounded probably. I didn't +expect to have a patient in the middle of the plains. I'm a doctor. +Perhaps I can be of use here?" When a hundred yards away Jen recognised +the recumbent rider. A thousand thoughts flashed through her brain. +What had happened? Why was he dressed in civilian's clothes? A moment, +and she was at his horse's head. Another, and her warm hand clasped the +pale, moist, and wrinkled one which hung by the horse's neck. His coat +at the shoulder was stained with blood, and there was a handkerchief +about his head. This--this was Sergeant Tom Gellatly! + +She looked up at Pierre, an agony of inquiry in her eyes, and pointing +mutely to the wounded man. Pierre spoke with a tone of seriousness not +common to his voice: "You see, Jen Galbraith, it was brave. Sergeant Tom +one day resigns the Mounted Police. He leaves the Riders of the Plains. +That is not easy to understand, for he is in much favour with the +officers. But he buys himself out, and there is the end of the Sergeant +and his triple chevron. That is one day. That night, two men on a ferry +are crossing the Saskatchewan at Fort Desire. They are fired at from the +shore behind. One man is hit twice. But they get across, cut the ferry +loose, mount horses, and ride away together. The man that was hit--yes, +Sergeant Tom. The other that was not hit was Val Galbraith." + +Jen gave a cry of mingled joy and pain, and said, with Tom Gellatly's +cold hand clasped to her bosom: "Val, our Val, is free, is safe." + +"Yes, Val is free and safe-quite. The Riders of the Plains could not +cross the river. It was too high. And so Tom Gellatly and Val got away. +Val rides straight for the American border, and the other rides here." +They were now near the house, but Jen said, eagerly: "Go on. Tell me +all." + +"I knew what had happened soon, and I rode away, too, and last night I +found Tom Gellatly lying beside his horse on the prairie. I have brought +him here to you. You two are even now, Jen Galbraith." + +They were at the tavern door. The traveller and Pierre lifted, down the +wounded and unconscious man, and brought him and laid him on Val +Galbraith's bed. + +The traveller examined the wounds in the shoulder and the head, and said: +"The head is all right. If I can get the bullet out of the shoulder +he'll be safe enough--in time." + +The surgery was skilful but rude, for proper instruments were not at +hand; and in a few hours he, whom we shall still call Sergeant Tom, lay +quietly sleeping, the pallor gone from his face and the feeling of death +from his hand. + +It was near midnight when he waked. Jen was sitting beside him. He +looked round and saw her. Her face was touched with the light that shone +from the Prairie Star. "Jen," he said, and held out his hand. + +She turned from the window and stood beside his bed. She took his +outstretched hand. "You are better, Sergeant Tom"? she said, gently. + +"Yes, I'm better; but it's not Sergeant Tom I am any longer, Jen." + +"I forgot that." + +"I owed you a great debt, Jen. I couldn't remain one of the Riders of +the Plains and try to pay it. I left them. Then I tried to save Val, +and I did. I knew how to do it without getting anyone else into trouble. +It is well to know the trick of a lock and the hour that guard is +changed. I had left, but I relieved guard that night just the same. +It was a new man on watch. It's only a minute I had; for the regular +relief watch was almost at my heels. I got Val out just in time. They +discovered us, and we had a run for it. Pretty Pierre has told you. +That's right. Val is safe now--" + +In a low strained voice, interrupting him, she said, "Did Val leave you +wounded so on the prairie?" + +"Don't let that ate at your heart. No, he didn't. I hurried him off, +and he didn't know how bad I was hit. But I--I've paid my debt, haven't +I, Jen?" With eyes that could not see for tears, she touched pityingly, +lovingly, the wounds on his head and shoulder, and said: "These pay a +greater debt than you ever owed me. You risked your life for me--yes, +for me. You have given up everything to do it. I can't pay you the +great difference. No, never!" + +"Yes--yes, you can, if you will, Jen. It's as aisy! If you'll say what +I say, I'll give you quit of that difference, as you call it, forever and +ever." + +"First, tell me. Is Val quite, quite safe?" + +"Yes, he's safe over the border by this time; and to tell you the truth, +the Riders of the Plains wouldn't be dyin' to arrest him again if he was +in Canada, which he isn't. It's little they wanted to fire at us, +I know, when we were crossin' the river, but it had to be done, you see, +and us within sight. Will you say what I ask you, Jen?" + +She did not speak, but pressed his hand ever so slightly. + +"Tom Gellatly, I promise," he said. + +"Tom Gellatly, I promise--" + +"To give you as much--" + +"To give you as much--" + +"Love--" + +There was a pause, and then she falteringly said, "Love--" + +"As you give to me-" + +"As you give to me--" + +"And I'll take you poor as you are--" + +"And I'll take you poor as you are--" + +"To be my husband as long as you live--" + +"To be my husband as long as you live--" + +"So help me, God." + +"So help me, God." + +She stooped with dropping tears, and he kissed her once. Then what was +girl in her timidly drew back, while what was woman in her, and therefore +maternal, yearned over the sufferer. + +They had not seen the figure of an old man at the door. They did not +hear him enter. They only knew of Peter Galbraith's presence when he +said: "Mebbe--mebbe I might say Amen!" + + + + + + +THREE OUTLAWS + +The missionary at Fort Anne of the H. B. C. was violently in earnest. +Before he piously followed the latest and most amply endowed batch of +settlers, who had in turn preceded the new railway to the Fort, the word +scandal had no place in the vocabulary of the citizens. The H. B. C. had +never imported it into the Chinook language, the common meeting-ground of +all the tribes of the North; and the British men and native-born, who +made the Fort their home, or place of sojourn, had never found need for +its use. Justice was so quickly distributed, men were so open in their +conduct, good and bad, that none looked askance, nor put their actions in +ambush, nor studied innuendo. But this was not according to the new +dispensation--that is, the dispensation which shrewdly followed the +settlers, who as shrewdly preceded the railway. And, the dispensation +and the missionary were known also as the Reverend Ezra Badgley, who, on +his own declaration, in times past had "a call" to preach, and in the far +East had served as local preacher, then probationer, then went on +circuit, and now was missionary in a district of which the choice did +credit to his astuteness, and gave room for his piety and for his holy +rage against the Philistines. He loved a word for righteous mouthing, +and in a moment of inspiration pagan and scandal came to him. Upon these +two words he stamped, through them he perspired mightily, and with them +he clenched his stubby fingers--such fingers as dug trenches, or snatched +lewdly at soft flesh, in days of barbarian battle. To him all men were +Pagans who loved not the sound of his voice, nor wrestled with him in +prayer before the Lord, nor fed him with rich food, nor gave him much +strong green tea to drink. But these men were of opaque stuff, and were +not dismayed, and they called him St. Anthony, and with a prophetic and +deadly patience waited. The time came when the missionary shook his +denouncing finger mostly at Pretty Pierre, who carefully nursed his +silent wrath until the occasion should arrive for a delicate revenge +which hath its hour with every man, if, hating, he knows how to bide the +will of Fate. + +The hour came. A girl had been found dying on the roadside beyond the +Fort by the drunken doctor of the place and Pierre. Pierre was with her +when she died. + +"An' who's to bury her, the poor colleen"? said Shon McGann afterwards. + +Pierre musingly replied: "She is a Protestant. There is but one man." + +After many pertinent and vigorous remarks, Shon added, "A Pagan is it, he +calls you, Pierre, you that's had the holy water on y'r forehead, and the +cross on the water, and that knows the book o' the Mass like the cards in +a pack? Sinner y' are, and so are we all, God save us! say I; and +weavin' the stripes for our backs He may be, and little I'd think of Him +failin' in that: but Pagan--faith, it's black should be the white of the +eyes of that preachin' sneak, and a rattle of teeth in his throat--divils +go round me!" + +The half-breed, still musing, replied: "An eye for an eye, and a tooth +for a tooth--is that it, Shon?" "Nivir a word truer by song or by book, +and stand by the text, say I. For Papist I am, and Papist are you; and +the imps from below in y'r fingers whip poker is the game; and outlaws as +they call us both--you for what it doesn't concern me, and I for a wild +night in ould Donegal--but Pagan, wurra! whin shall it be, Pierre?" + +"When shall it to be?" + +"True for you. The teeth in his throat and a lump to his eye, and what +more be the will o' God. Fightin' there'll be, av coorse; but by you +I'll stand, and sorra inch will I give, if they'll do it with sticks or +with guns, and not with the blisterin' tongue that's lied of me and me +frinds--for frind I call you, Pierre, that loved me little in days gone +by. And proud I am not of you, nor you of me; but we've tasted the +bitter of avil days together, and divils surround me, if I don't go down +with you or come up with you, whichever it be! For there's dirt, as I +say on their tongues, and over their shoulder they look at you, and not +with an eye full front." + +Pierre was cool, even pensive. His lips parted slightly once or twice, +and showed a row of white, malicious teeth. For the rest, he looked as +if he were politely interested but not moved by the excitement of the +other. He slowly rolled a cigarette and replied: "He says it is a +scandal that I live at Fort Anne. Well, I was here before he came, and I +shall be here after he goes--yes. A scandal--tsh! what is that? You +know the word 'Raca' of the Book? Well, there shall be more 'Raca; soon +--perhaps. No, there shall not be fighting as you think, Shon; but--" +here Pierre rose, came over, and spread his fingers lightly on Shon's +breast "but this thing is between this man and me, Shon McGann, and you +shall see a great matter. Perhaps there will be blood, perhaps not-- +perhaps only an end." And the half-breed looked up at the Irishman from +under his dark brows so covertly and meaningly that Shon saw visions of a +trouble as silent as a plague, as resistless as a great flood. This +noiseless vengeance was not after his own heart. He almost shivered as +the delicate fingers drummed on his breast. + +"Angels begird me, Pretty Pierre, but it's little I'd like you for enemy +o' mine; for I know that you'd wait for y'r foe with death in y'r hand, +and pity far from y'r heart; and y'd smile as you pulled the black-cap on +y'r head, and laugh as you drew the life out of him, God knows how! +Arrah, give me, sez I, the crack of a stick, the bite of a gun, or the +clip of a sabre's edge, with a shout in y'r mouth the while!" + +Though Pierre still listened lazily, there was a wicked fire in his eyes. +His words now came from his teeth with cutting precision. "I have a +great thought tonight, Shon McGann. I will tell you when we meet again. +But, my friend, one must not be too rash--no, not too brutal. Even the +sabre should fall at the right time, and then swift and still. Noise is +not battle. Well, 'au revoir!' To-morrow I shall tell you many things." +He caught Shon's hand quickly, as quickly dropped it, and went out +indolently singing a favourite song,--"Voici le sabre de mon Pere!" + +It was dark. Pretty Pierre stood still, and thought for a while. At +last he spoke aloud: "Well, I shall do it, now I have him--so!" And he +opened and shut his hand swiftly and firmly. He moved on, avoiding the +more habited parts of the place, and by a roundabout came to a house +standing very close to the bank of the river. He went softly to the door +and listened. Light shone through the curtain of a window. He went to +the window and looked beneath the curtain. Then he came back to the +door, opened it very gently, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. + +A man seated at a table, eating, rose; a man on whom greed had set its +mark--greed of the flesh, greed of men's praise, greed of money. His +frame was thick-set, his body was heavily nourished, his eye was shifty +but intelligent; and a close observer would have seen something elusive, +something furtive and sinister, in his face. His lips were greasy with +meat as he stood up, and a fear sprang to his face, so that its fat +looked sickly. But he said hoarsely, and with an attempt at being brave +--"How dare you enter my house with out knocking? What do you want?" + +The half-breed waved a hand protestingly towards him. "Pardon!" he +said. "Be seated, and finish your meal. Do you know me?" + +"Yes, I know you." + +"Well, as I said, do not stop your meal. I have come to speak with you +very quietly about a scandal--a scandal, you understand. This is Sunday +night, a good time to talk of such things." Pierre seated himself at the +table, opposite the man. + +But the man replied: "I have nothing to say to you. You are--" + +The half-breed interrupted: "Yes, I know, a Pagan fattening--" here he +smiled, and looked at his thin hands--"fattening for the shambles of the +damned, as you have said from the pulpit, Reverend Ezra Badgley. But you +will permit me--a sinner as you say--to speak to you like this while you +sit down and eat. I regret to disturb you, but you will sit, eh?" + +Pierre's tone was smooth and low, almost deferential, and his eyes, wide +open now, and hot with some hidden purpose, were fixed compellingly on +the man. The missionary sat, and, having recovered slightly, fumbled +with a knife and fork. A napkin was still beneath his greasy chin. He +did not take it away. + +Pierre then spoke slowly: "Yes, it is a scandal concerning a sinner--and +a Pagan. . . . Will you permit me to light a cigarette? Thank you +. . . . You have said many harsh things about me: well, as you see, +I am amiable. I lived at Fort Anne before you came. They call me Pretty +Pierre. Why is my cheek so? Because I drink no wine; I eat not much. +Pardon, pork like that on your plate--no! no! I do not take green tea +as there in your cup; I do not love women, one or many. Again, pardon, +I say." + +The other drew his brows together with an attempt at pious frowning and +indignation; but there was a cold, sneering smile now turned upon him, +and it changed the frown to anxiety, and made his lips twitch, and the +food he had eaten grow heavy within him. + +"I come to the scandal slowly. The woman? She was a young girl +travelling from the far East, to search for a man who had--spoiled her. +She was found by me and another. Ah, you start so! . . . Will you +not listen? . . . Well, she died to-night." + +Here the missionary gasped, and caught with both hands at the table. + +"But before she died she gave two things into my hands: a packet of +letters--a man is a fool to write such letters--and a small bottle of +poison--laudanum, old-fashioned but sure. The letters were from the man +at Fort Anne--the man, you hear! The other was for her death, if he +would not take her to his arms again. Women are mad when they love. +And so she came to Fort Anne, but not in time. The scandal is great, +because the man is holy--sit down!" + +The half-breed said the last two words sharply, but not loudly. They +both sat down slowly again, looking each other in the eyes. Then Pierre +drew from his pocket a small bottle and a packet of letters, and held +them before him. "I have this to say: there are citizens of Fort Anne +who stand for justice more than law; who have no love for the ways of +St. Anthony. There is a Pagan, too, an outlaw, who knows when it is +time to give blow for blow with the holy man. Well, we understand each +other, 'hein?'" + +The elusive, sinister look in the missionary's face was etched in strong +lines now. A dogged sullenness hung about his lips. He noticed that one +hand only of Pretty Pierre was occupied with the relics of the dead girl; +the other was free to act suddenly on a hip pocket. "What do you want +me to do"? he said, not whiningly, for beneath the selfish flesh and +shallow outworks there were the elements of a warrior--all pulpy now, +but they were there. + +"This," was the reply: "for you to make one more outlaw at Fort Anne by +drinking what is in this bottle--sit down, quick, by God!" He placed the +bottle within reach of the other. "Then you shall have these letters; +and there is the fire. After? Well, you will have a great sleep, the +good people will find you, they will bury you, weeping much, and no one +knows here but me. Refuse that, and there is the other, the Law--ah, +the poor girl was so very young!--and the wild Justice which is sometimes +quicker than Law. Well? well?" + +The missionary sat as if paralysed, his face all grey, his eyes fixed on +the half-breed. "Are you man or devil"? he groaned at length. + +With a slight, fantastic gesture Pierre replied: "It was said that a +devil entered into me at birth, but that was mere scandal--'peut-etre.' +You shall think as you will." + +There was silence. The sullenness about the missionary's lips became +charged with a contempt more animal than human. The Reverend Ezra +Badgley knew that the man before him was absolute in his determination, +and that the Pagans of Fort Anne would show him little mercy, while his +flock would leave him to his fate. He looked at the bottle. The silence +grew, so that the ticking of the watch in the missionary's pocket could +be heard plainly, having for its background of sound the continuous swish +of the river. Pretty Pierre's eyes were never taken off the other, whose +gaze, again, was fixed upon the bottle with a terrible fascination. An +hour, two hours, passed. The fire burned lower. It was midnight; and +now the watch no longer ticked; it had fulfilled its day's work. The +missionary shuddered slightly at this. He looked up to see the resolute +gloom of the half-breed's eyes, and that sneering smile, fixed upon him +still. Then he turned once more to the bottle. . . . His heavy hand +moved slowly towards it. His stubby fingers perspired and showed sickly +in the light. . . . They closed about the bottle. Then suddenly he +raised it, and drained it at a draught. He sighed once heavily and as if +a great inward pain was over. Rising he took the letters silently pushed +towards him, and dropped them into the fire. He went to the window, +raised it, and threw the bottle into the river. The cork was left: +Pierre pointed to it. He took it up with a strange smile and thrust it +into the coals. Then he sat down by the table, leaning his arms upon it, +his eyes staring painfully before him, and the forgotten napkin still +about his neck. Soon the eyes closed, and, with a moan on his lips, his +head dropped forward on his arms. . . . Pierre rose, and, looking at +the figure soon to be breathless as the baked meats about it, said: +"'Bien,' he was not all coward. No." + +Then he turned and went out into the night. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Delicate revenge which hath its hour with every man +Good is often an occasion more than a condition +He does not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him +It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law +It is not much to kill or to die--that is in the game +Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners +Noise is not battle +She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute +The Government cherish the Injin much in these days + + + + + + +PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE + +TALES OF THE FAR NORTH + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 3. + + +SHON MCGANN'S TOBOGAN RIDE +PERE CHAMPAGNE +THE SCARLET HUNTER +THE STONE + + + + +SHON McGANN'S TOBOGAN RIDE + + "Oh, it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men; + With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes, + And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen! + + "And it's back with the ring of the chain and the spur, + And it's back with the sun on the hill and the moor, + And it's back is the thought sets my pulses astir! + But I'll never go back to Farcalladen more." + + +Shon McGann was lying on a pile of buffalo robes in a mountain hut,--an +Australian would call it a humpey,--singing thus to himself with his pipe +between his teeth. In the room, besides Shon, were Pretty Pierre, Jo +Gordineer, the Hon. Just Trafford, called by his companions simply "The +Honourable," and Prince Levis, the owner of the establishment. Not that +Monsieur Levis, the French Canadian, was really a Prince. The name was +given to him with a humorous cynicism peculiar to the Rockies. We have +little to do with Prince Levis here; but since he may appear elsewhere, +this explanation is made. + +Jo Gordineer had been telling The Honourable about the ghost of Guidon +Mountain, and Pretty Pierre was collaborating with their host in the +preparation of what, in the presence of the Law--that is of the North- +West Mounted Police--was called ginger-tea, in consideration of the +prohibition statute. + +Shon McGann had been left to himself--an unusual thing; for everyone had +a shot at Shon when opportunity occurred; and never a bull's-eye could +they make on him. His wit was like the shield of a certain personage of +mythology. + +He had wandered on from verse to verse of the song with one eye on the +collaborators and an ear open to The Honourable's polite exclamations of +wonder. Jo had, however, come to the end of his weird tale--for weird it +certainly was, told at the foot of Guidon Mountain itself, and in a +region of vast solitudes--the pair of chemists were approaching "the +supreme union of unctuous elements," as The Honourable put it, and in the +silence that fell for a moment there crept the words of the singer: + + "And it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + And it's swift as an arrow and straight as a spear--" + +Jo Gordineer interrupted. "Say, Shon, when'll you be through that +tobogan ride of yours? Aint there any end to it?" + +But Shon was looking with both eyes now at the collaborators, and he sang +softly on: + + "And it's keen as the frost when the summer-time dies, + That we rode to the glen and with never a fear." + +Then he added: "The end's cut off, Joey, me boy; but what's a tobogan +ride, annyway?" + +"Listen to that, Pierre. I'll be eternally shivered if he knows what a +tobogan ride is!" + +"Hot shivers it'll be for you, Joey, me boy, and no quinine over the bar +aither," said Shon. + +"Tell him what a tobogan ride is, Pierre." + +And Pretty Pierre said: "Eh, well, I will tell you. It is like-no, you +have the word precise, Joseph. Eh? What?" + +Pierre then added something in French. Shon did not understand it, but +he saw The Honourable smile, so with a gentle kind of contempt he went on +singing: + + "And it's hey for the hedge, and it's hey for the wall! + And it's over the stream with an echoing cry; + And there's three fled for ever from old Donegal, + And there's two that have shown how bold Irishmen die." + +The Honourable then said, "What is that all about, Shon? I never heard +the song before." + +"No more you did. And I wish I could see the lad that wrote that song, +livin' or dead. If one of ye's will tell me about your tobogan rides, +I'll unfold about Farcalladen Rise." + +Prince Levis passed the liquor. Pretty Pierre, seated on a candle-box, +with a glass in his delicate fingers, said: "Eh, well, the Honourable has +much language. He can speak, precise--this would be better with a little +lemon, just a little,--the Honourable, he, perhaps, will tell. Eh?" + +Pretty Pierre was showing his white teeth. At this stage in his career, +he did not love the Honourable. The Honourable understood that, but he +made clear to Shon's mind what toboganing is. + +And Shon, on his part, with fresh and hearty voice, touched here and +there by a plaintive modulation, told about that ride on Farcalladen +Rise; a tale of broken laws, and fight and fighting, and death and exile; +and never a word of hatred in it all. + +"And the writer of the song, who was he"? asked the Honourable. + +"A gentleman after God's own heart. Heaven rest his soul, if he's dead, +which I'm thinkin' is so, and give him the luck of the world if he's +livin', say I. But it's little I know what's come to him. In the heart +of Australia I saw him last; and mates we were together after gold. And +little gold did we get but what was in the heart of him. And we parted +one day, I carryin' the song that he wrote for me of Farcalladen Rise, +and the memory of him; and him givin' me the word,'I'll not forget you, +Shon, me boy, whatever comes; remember that. And a short pull of the +Three-Star together for the partin' salute,' says he. And the Three-Star +in one sup each we took, as solemn as the Mass, and he went away towards +Cloncurry and I to the coast; and that's the last that I saw of him, now +three years gone. And here I am, and I wish I was with him wherever he +is." + +"What was his name"? said the Honourable. + +"Lawless." + +The fingers of the Honourable trembled on his cigar. "Very interesting, +Shon," he said, as he rose, puffing hard till his face was in a cloud of +smoke. "You had many adventures together, I suppose," he continued. + +"Adventures we had and sufferin' bewhiles, and fun, too, to the neck and +flowin' over." + +"You'll spin us a long yarn about them another night, Shon"? said the +Honourable. + +"I'll do it now--a yarn as long as the lies of the Government; and proud +of the chance." + +"Not to-night, Shon" (there was a kind of huskiness in the voice of the +Honourable); "it's time to turn in. We've a long tramp over the glacier +to-morrow, and we must start at sunrise." + +The Honourable was in command of the party, though Jo Gordineer was the +guide, and all were, for the moment, miners, making for the little Goshen +Field over in Pipi Valley.--At least Pretty Pierre said he was a miner. + +No one thought of disputing the authority of the Honourable, and they all +rose. + +In a few minutes there was silence in the hut, save for the oracular +breathing of Prince Levis and the sparks from the fire. But the +Honourable did not sleep well; he lay and watched the fire through most +of the night. + +The day was clear, glowing, decisive. Not a cloud in the curve of azure, +not a shiver of wind down the canon, not a frown in Nature, if we except +the lowering shadows from the shoulders of the giants of the range. +Crowning the shadows was a splendid helmet of light, rich with the dyes +of the morning; the pines were touched with a brilliant if austere +warmth. The pride of lofty lineage and severe isolation was regnant over +all. And up through the splendour, and the shadows, and the loneliness, +and the austere warmth, must our travellers go. Must go? Scarcely that, +but the Honourable had made up his mind to cross the glacier and none +sought to dissuade him from his choice; the more so, because there was +something of danger in the business. Pretty Pierre had merely shrugged +his shoulders at the suggestion, and had said: + +"'Nom de Dieu,' the higher we go the faster we live, that is something." + +"Sometimes we live ourselves to death too quickly. In my schooldays I +watched a mouse in a jar of oxygen do that;" said the Honourable. + +"That is the best way to die," remarked the halfbreed--"much." + +Jo Gordineer had been over the path before. He was confident of the way, +and proud of his office of guide. + +"Climb Mont Blanc, if you will," said the Honourable, "but leave me these +white bastions of the Selkirks." + +Even so. They have not seen the snowy hills of God who have yet to look +upon the Rocky Mountains, absolute, stupendous, sublimely grave. + +Jo Gordineer and Pretty Pierre strode on together. They being well away +from the other two, the Honourable turned and said to Shon: "What was the +name of the man who wrote that song of yours, again, Shon?" + +"Lawless." + +"Yes, but his first name?" + +"Duke--Duke Lawless." + +There was a pause, in which the other seemed to be intently studying the +glacier above them. Then he said: "What was he like?--in appearance, I +mean." + +"A trifle more than your six feet, about your colour of hair and eyes, +and with a trick of smilin' that would melt the heart of an exciseman, +and O'Connell's own at a joke, barrin' a time or two that he got hold of +a pile of papers from the ould country. By the grave of St. Shon! thin +he was as dry of fun as a piece of blotting paper. And he said at last, +before he was aisy and free again, 'Shon,' says he, 'it's better to burn +your ships behind ye, isn't it?' + +"And I, havin' thought of a glen in ould Ireland that I'll never see +again, nor any that's in it, said: 'Not, only burn them to the water's +edge, Duke Lawless, but swear to your own soul that they never lived but +in the dreams of the night.' + +"'You're right there, Shon,' says he, and after that no luck was bad +enough to cloud the gay heart of him, and bad enough it was sometimes." + +"And why do you fear that he is not alive?" + +"Because I met an old mate of mine one day on the Frazer, and he said +that Lawless had never come to Cloncurry; and a hard, hard road it was to +travel." + +Jo Gordineer was calling to them, and there the conversation ended. +In a few minutes the four stood on the edge of the glacier. Each man had +a long hickory stick which served as alpenstock, a bag hung at his side, +and tied to his back was his gold-pan, the hollow side in, of course. +Shon's was tied a little lower down than the others. + +They passed up this solid river of ice, this giant power at endless +strife with the high hills, up towards its head. The Honourable was the +first to reach the point of vantage, and to look down upon the vast and +wandering fissures, the frigid bulwarks, the great fortresses of ice, the +ceaseless snows, the aisles of this mountain sanctuary through which +Nature's splendid anthems rolled. Shon was a short distance below, with +his hand over his eyes, sweeping the semi-circle of glory. + +Suddenly there was a sharp cry from Pierre: "Mon Dieu! Look!" + +Shon McGann had fallen on a smooth pavement of ice. The gold-pan was +beneath him, and down the glacier he was whirled-whirled, for Shon had +thrust his heels in the snow and ice, and the gold-pan performed a series +of circles as it sped down the incline. His fingers clutched the ice and +snow, but they only left a red mark of blood behind. Must he go the +whole course of that frozen slide, plump into the wild depths below? + +"'Mon Dieu!--mon Dieu!'" said Pretty Pierre, piteously. The face of the +Honourable was set and tense. + +Jo Gordineer's hand clutched his throat as if he choked. Still Shon +sped. It was a matter of seconds only. The tragedy crowded to the awful +end. + +But, no. + +There was a tilt in the glacier, and the gold-pan, suddenly swirling, +again swung to the outer edge, and shot over. + +As if hurled from a catapult, the Irishman was ejected from the white +monster's back. He fell on a wide shelf of ice, covered with light snow, +through which he was tunnelled, and dropped on another ledge below, near +the path by which he and his companions had ascended. "Shied from the +finish, by God!" said Jo Gordineer. "'Le pauvre Shon!'" added Pretty +Pierre. + +The Honourable was making his way down, his brain haunted by the words, +"He'll never go back to Farcalladen more." + +But Jo was right. + +For Shon McGann was alive. He lay breathless, helpless, for a moment; +then he sat up and scanned his lacerated fingers: he looked up the path +by which he had come; he looked down the path he seemed destined to go; +he started to scratch his head, but paused in the act, by reason of his +fingers. + +Then he said: "It's my mother wouldn't know me from a can of cold meat +if I hadn't stopped at this station; but wurrawurra, what a car it was to +come in!" He examined his tattered clothes and bare elbows; then he +unbuckled the gold-pan, and no easy task was it with his ragged fingers. +"'Twas not for deep minin' I brought ye," he said to the pan, "nor for +scrapin' the clothes from me back." + +Just then the Honourable came up. "Shon, my man . . . alive, thank +God! How is it with you?" + +"I'm hardly worth the lookin' at. I wouldn't turn my back to ye for a +ransom." + +"It's enough that you're here at all." + +"Ah, 'voila!' this Irishman!" said Pretty Pierre, as his light fingers +touched Shon's bruised arm gently. This from Pretty Pierre! + +There was that in the voice which went to Shon's heart. Who could have +guessed that this outlaw of the North would ever show a sign of sympathy +or friendship for anybody? But it goes to prove that you can never be +exact in your estimate of character. Jo Gordineer only said jestingly: +"Say, now, what are you doing, Shon, bringing us down here, when we might +be well into the Valley by this time?" + +"That in your face and the hair aff your head," said Shon; "it's little +you know a tobogan ride when you see one. I'll take my share of the +grog, by the same token." + +The Honourable uncorked his flask. Shon threw back his head with a +laugh. + + "For it's rest when the gallop is over, me men! + And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last; + And it's here's--" + +But Shon had fainted with the flask in his hand and this snatch of a song +on his lips. + +They reached shelter that night. Had it not been for the accident, they +would have got to their destination in the Valley; but here they were +twelve miles from it. Whether this was fortunate or unfortunate may be +seen later. Comfortably bestowed in this mountain tavern, after they had +toasted and eaten their venison and lit their pipes, they drew about the +fire. + +Besides the four, there was a figure that lay sleeping in a corner on a +pile of pine branches, wrapped in a bearskin robe. Whoever it was slept +soundly. + +"And what was it like--the gold-pan flyer--the tobogan ride, Shon?" +remarked Jo Gordineer. + +"What was it like?--what was it like"? replied Shon. "Sure, I couldn't +see what it was like for the stars that were hittin' me in the eyes. +There wasn't any world at all. I was ridin' on a streak of lightnin', +and nivir a rubber for the wheels; and my fingers makin' stripes of blood +on the snow; and now the stars that were hittin' me were white, and thin +they were red, and sometimes blue--" + +"The Stars and Stripes," inconsiderately remarked Jo Gordineer. + +"And there wasn't any beginning to things, nor any end of them; and whin +I struck the snow and cut down the core of it like a cat through a glass, +I was willin' to say with the Prophet of Ireland--" + +"Are you going to pass the liniment, Pretty Pierre?" It was Jo Gordineer +said that. + +What the Prophet of Israel did say--Israel and Ireland were identical to +Shon--was never told. + +Shon's bubbling sarcasm was full-stopped by the beneficent savour that, +rising now from the hands of the four, silenced all irrelevant speech. +It was a function of importance. It was not simply necessary to say How! +or Here's reformation! or I look towards you! As if by a common +instinct, the Honourable, Jo Gordineer, and Pretty Pierre, turned towards +Shon and lifted their glasses. Jo Gordineer was going to say: "Here's a +safe foot in the stirrups to you," but he changed his mind and drank in +silence. + +Shon's eye had been blazing with fun, but it took on, all at once, a +misty twinkle. None of them had quite bargained for this. The feeling +had come like a wave of soft lightning, and had passed through them. Did +it come from the Irishman himself? Was it his own nature acting through +those who called him "partner"? + +Pretty Pierre got up and kicked savagely at the wood in the big +fireplace. He ostentatiously and needlessly put another log of Norfolk- +pine upon the fire. + +The Honourable gaily suggested a song. + +"Sing us 'Avec les Braves Sauvages,' Pierre," said Jo Gordineer. + +But Pierre waved his fingers towards Shon: "Shon, his song--he did not +finish--on the glacier. It is good we hear all. 'Hein?'" + +And so Shon sang: + + "Oh it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise." + +The sleeper on the pine branches stirred nervously, as if the song were +coming through a dream to him. At the third verse he started up, and an +eager, sun-burned face peered from the half-darkness at the singer. The +Honourable was sitting in the shadow, with his back to the new actor in +the scene. + + "For it's rest when the gallop is over, my men I + And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last! + And it's here's--" + +Shon paused. One of those strange lapses of memory came to him which +come at times to most of us concerning familiar things. He could get no +further than he did on the mountain side. He passed his hand over his +forehead, stupidly:--"Saints forgive me; but it's gone from me, and sorra +the one can I get it; me that had it by heart, and the lad that wrote it +far away. Death in the world, but I'll try it again! + + "For it's rest when the gallop is over, my men! + And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last! + And it's here's--" + +Again he paused. + +But from the half-darkness there came a voice, a clear baritone: + + "And here's to the lasses we leave in the glen, + With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past." + +At the last words the figure strode down into the firelight. + +"Shon, old friend, don't you know me?" + +Shon had started to his feet at the first note of the voice, and stood as +if spellbound. + +There was no shaking of hands. Both men held each other hard by the +shoulders, and stood so for a moment looking steadily eye to eye. + +Then Shon said: "Duke Lawless, there's parallels of latitude and +parallels of longitude, but who knows the tomb of ould Brian Borhoime?" + +Which was his way of saying, "How come you here"? Duke Lawless turned to +the others before he replied. His eyes fell on the Honourable. With a +start and a step backward, and with a peculiar angry dryness in his +voice, he said: + +"Just Trafford!" + +"Yes," replied the Honourable, smiling, "I have found you." + +"Found me! And why have you sought me? Me, Duke Lawless? I should have +thought--" + +The Honourable interrupted: "To tell you that you are Sir Duke Lawless." + +"That? You sought me to tell me that?" + +"I did." + +"You are sure? And for naught else?" + +"As I live, Duke." + +The eyes fixed on the Honourable were searching. Sir Duke hesitated, +then held out his hand. In a swift but cordial silence it was taken. +Nothing more could be said then. It is only in plays where gentlemen +freely discuss family affairs before a curious public. Pretty Pierre was +busy with a decoction. Jo Gordineer was his associate. Shon had drawn +back, and was apparently examining the indentations on his gold-pan. + +"Shon, old fellow, come here," said Sir Duke Lawless. + +But Shon had received a shock. "It's little I knew Sir Duke Lawless--" +he said. + +"It's little you needed to know then, or need to know now, Shon, my +friend. I'm Duke Lawless to you here and henceforth, as ever I was then, +on the wallaby track." + +And Shon believed him. The glasses were ready. + +"I'll give the toast," said the Honourable with a gentle gravity. "To +Shon McGann and his Tobogan Ride!" + +"I'll drink to the first half of it with all my heart," said Sir Duke. +"It's all I know about." + +"Amen to that divorce," rejoined Shon. + +"But were it not for the Tobogan Ride we shouldn't have stopped here," +said the Honourable; "and where would this meeting have been?" + +"That alters the case," Sir Duke remarked. "I take back the 'Amen,'" +said Shon. + + + +II + +Whatever claims Shon had upon the companionship of Sir Duke Lawless, +he knew there were other claims that were more pressing. After the toast +was finished, with an emphasised assumption of weariness, and a hint of a +long yarn on the morrow, he picked up his blanket and started for the +room where all were to sleep. The real reason of this early departure +was clear to Pretty Pierre at once, and in due time it dawned upon Jo +Gordineer. + +The two Englishmen, left alone, sat for a few moments silent and smoking +hard. Then the Honourable rose, got his knapsack, and took out a small +number of papers, which he handed to Sir Duke, saying, "By slow postal +service to Sir Duke Lawless. Residence, somewhere on one of five +continents." + +An envelope bearing a woman's writing was the first thing that met Sir +Duke's eye. He stared, took it out, turned it over, looked curiously at +the Honourable for a moment, and then began to break the seal. + +"Wait, Duke. Do not read that. We have something to say to each other +first." + +Sir Duke laid the letter down. "You have some explanation to make," he +said. + +"It was so long ago; mightn't it be better to go over the story again?" + +"Perhaps." + +"Then it is best you should tell it. I am on my defence, you know." + +Sir Duke leaned back, and a frown gathered on his forehead. Strikingly +out of place on his fresh face it seemed. Looking quickly from the fire +to the face of the Honourable and back again earnestly, as if the full +force of what was required came to him, he said: "We shall get the +perspective better if we put the tale in the third person. Duke Lawless +was the heir to the title and estates of Trafford Court. Next in +succession to him was Just Trafford, his cousin. Lawless had an income +sufficient for a man of moderate tastes. Trafford had not quite that, +but he had his profession of the law. At college they had been fast +friends, but afterwards had drifted apart, through no cause save +difference of pursuits and circumstances. Friends they still were and +likely to be so always. One summer, when on a visit to his uncle, +Admiral Sir Clavel Lawless, at Trafford Court, where a party of people +had been invited for a month, Duke Lawless fell in love with Miss Emily +Dorset. She did him the honour to prefer him to any other man--at least, +he thought so. Her income, however, was limited like his own. The +engagement was not announced, for Lawless wished to make a home before he +took a wife. He inclined to ranching in Canada, or a planter's life in +Queensland. The eight or ten thousand pounds necessary was not, however, +easy to get for the start, and he hadn't the least notion of discounting +the future, by asking the admiral's help. Besides, he knew his uncle did +not wish him to marry unless he married a woman plus a fortune. While +things were in this uncertain state, Just Trafford arrived on a visit to +Trafford Court. The meeting of the old friends was cordial. Immediately +on Trafford's arrival, however, the current of events changed. Things +occurred which brought disaster. It was noticeable that Miss Emily +Dorset began to see a deal more of Admiral Lawless and Just Trafford, +and a deal less of the younger Lawless. One day Duke Lawless came back +to the house unexpectedly, his horse having knocked up on the road. +On entering the library he saw what turned the course of his life." +Sir Duke here paused, sighed, shook the ashes out of his pipe with a +grave and expressive anxiety which did not properly belong to the action, +and remained for a moment, both arms on his knees, silent, and looking at +the fire. Then he continued: + +"Just Trafford sat beside Emily Dorset in an attitude of--say, +affectionate consideration. She had been weeping, and her whole manner +suggested very touching confidences. They both rose on the entrance of +Lawless; but neither tried to say a word. What could they say? Lawless +apologised, took a book from the table which he had not come for, and +left." + +Again Sir Duke paused. + +"The book was an illustrated Much Ado About Nothing," said the +Honourable. + +"A few hours after, Lawless had an interview with Emily Dorset. +He demanded, with a good deal of feeling, perhaps,--for he was romantic +enough to love the girl,--an explanation. He would have asked it of +Trafford first if he had seen him. She said Lawless should trust her; +that she had no explanation at that moment to give. If he waited--but +Lawless asked her if she cared for him at all, if she wished or intended +to marry him? She replied lightly, 'Perhaps, when you become Sir Duke +Lawless.' Then Lawless accused her of heartlessness, and of encouraging +both his uncle and Just Trafford. She amusingly said, 'Perhaps she had, +but it really didn't matter, did it?' For reply, Lawless said her +interest in the whole family seemed active and impartial. He bade her +not vex herself at all about him, and not to wait until he became Sir +Duke Lawless, but to give preference to seniority and begin with the +title at once; which he has reason since to believe that she did. What +he said to her he has been sorry for, not because he thinks it was +undeserved, but because he has never been able since to rouse himself to +anger on the subject, nor to hate the girl and Just Trafford as he ought. +Of the dead he is silent altogether. He never sought an explanation from +Just Trafford, for he left that night for London, and in two days was on +his way to Australia. The day he left, however, he received a note from +his banker saying that L8000 had been placed to his credit by Admiral +Lawless. Feeling the indignity of what he believed was the cause of the +gift, Lawless neither acknowledged it nor used it, not any penny of it. +Five years have gone since then, and Lawless has wandered over two +continents, a self-created exile. He has learned much that he didn't +learn at Oxford; and not the least of all, that the world is not so bad +as is claimed for it, that it isn't worth while hating and cherishing +hate, that evil is half-accidental, half-natural, and that hard work in +the face of nature is the thing to pull a man together and strengthen him +for his place in the universe. Having burned his ships behind him, that +is the way Lawless feels. And the story is told." + +Just Trafford sat looking musingly but imperturbably at Sir Duke for a +minute; then he said: + +"That is your interpretation of the story, but not the story. Let us +turn the medal over now. And, first, let Trafford say that he has the +permission of Emily Dorset--" + +Sir Duke interrupted: "Of her who was Emily Dorset." + +"Of Miss Emily Dorset, to tell what she did not tell that day five years +ago. After this other reading of the tale has been rendered, her letter +and those documents are there for fuller testimony. Just Trafford's part +in the drama begins, of course, with the library scene. Now Duke Lawless +had never known Trafford's half-brother, Hall Vincent. Hall was born in +India, and had lived there most of his life. He was in the Indian +Police, and had married a clever, beautiful, but impossible kind of girl, +against the wishes of her parents. The marriage was not a very happy +one. This was partly owing to the quick Lawless and Trafford blood, +partly to the wife's wilfulness. Hall thought that things might go +better if he came to England to live. On their way from Madras to +Colombo he had some words with his wife one day about the way she +arranged her hair, but nothing serious. This was shortly after tiffin. +That evening they entered the harbour at Colombo; and Hall going to his +cabin to seek his wife, could not find her; but in her stead was her +hair, arranged carefully in flowing waves on the pillow, where through +the voyage her head had lain. That she had cut it off and laid it there +was plain; but she could not be found, nor was she ever found. The large +porthole was open; this was the only clue. But we need not go further +into that. Hall Vincent came home to England. He told his brother the +story as it has been told to you, and then left for South America, a +broken-spirited man. The wife's family came on to England also. They +did not meet Hall Vincent; but one day Just Trafford met at a country +seat in Devon, for the first time, the wife's sister. She had not known +of the relationship between Hall Vincent and the Traffords; and on a +memorable afternoon he told her the full story of the married life and +the final disaster, as Hall had told it to him." + +Sir Duke sprang to his feet. "You mean, Just, that--" + +"I mean that Emily Dorset was the sister of Hall Vincent's wife." + +Sir Duke's brown fingers clasped and unclasped nervously. He was about +to speak, but the Honourable said: "That is only half the story--wait. + +"Emily Dorset would have told Lawless all in due time, but women don't +like to be bullied ever so little, and that, and the unhappiness of the +thing, kept her silent in her short interview with Lawless. She could +not have guessed that Lawless would go as he did. Now, the secret of her +diplomacy with the uncle--diplomacy is the best word to use--was Duke +Lawless's advancement. She knew how he had set his heart on the ranching +or planting life. She would have married him without a penny, but she +felt his pride in that particular, and respected it. So, like a clever +girl, she determined to make the old chap give Lawless a cheque on his +possible future. Perhaps, as things progressed, the same old chap got an +absurd notion in his head about marrying her to Just Trafford, but that +was meanwhile all the better for Lawless. The very day that Emily Dorset +and Just Trafford succeeded in melting Admiral Lawless's heart to the +tune of eight thousand, was the day that Duke Lawless doubted his friend +and challenged the loyalty of the girl he loved." + +Sir Duke's eyes filled. "Great Heaven! Just--" he said. + +"Be quiet for a little. You see she had taken Trafford into her scheme +against his will, for he was never good at mysteries and theatricals, and +he saw the danger. But the cause was a good one, and he joined the sweet +conspiracy, with what result these five years bear witness. Admiral +Lawless has been dead a year and a half, his wife a year. For he married +out of anger with Duke Lawless; but he did not marry Emily Dorset, nor +did he beget a child." + +"In Australia I saw a paragraph speaking of a visit made by him and Lady +Lawless to a hospital, and I thought--" + +"You thought he had married Emily Dorset and--well, you had better read +that letter now." + +Sir Duke's face was flushing with remorse and pain. He drew his hand +quickly across his eyes. "And you've given up London, your profession, +everything, just to hunt for me, to tell me this--you who would have +profited by my eternal absence! What a beast and ass I've been!" + +"Not at all; only a bit poetical and hasty, which is not unnatural in the +Lawless blood. I should have been wild myself, maybe, if I had been in +your position; only I shouldn't have left England, and I should have +taken the papers regularly and have asked the other fellow to explain. +The other fellow didn't like the little conspiracy. Women, however, seem +to find that kind of thing a moral necessity. By the way, I wish when +you go back you'd send me out my hunting traps. I've made up my mind +to--oh, quite so--read the letter--I forgot!" + +Sir Duke opened the letter and read it, putting it away from him now and +then as if it hurt him, and taking it up a moment after to continue the +reading. The Honourable watched him. + +At last Sir Duke rose. "Just--" + +"Yes? Go on." + +"Do you think she would have me now?" + +"Don't know. Your outfit is not so beautiful as it used to be." + +"Don't chaff me." + +"Don't be so funereal, then." + +Under the Honourable's matter of fact air Sir Duke's face began to clear. +"Tell me, do you think she still cares for me?" + +"Well, I don't know. She's rich now--got the grandmother's stocking. +Then there's Pedley, of the Scots Guards; he has been doing loyal service +for a couple of years. What does the letter say?" + +"It only tells the truth, as you have told it to me, but from her +standpoint; not a word that says anything but beautiful reproach and +general kindness. That is all." + +"Quite so. You see it was all four years ago, and Pedley--" + +But the Honourable paused. He had punished his friend enough. He +stepped forward and laid his hand on Sir Duke's shoulder. "Duke, you +want to pick up the threads where they were dropped. You dropped them. +Ask me nothing about the ends that Emily Dorset held. I conspire no +more. But go you and learn your fate. If one remembers, why should the +other forget?" + +Sir Duke's light heart and eager faith came back with a rush. "I'll +start for England at once. I'll know the worst or the best of it before +three months are out." The Honourable's slow placidity turned. + +"Three months.--Yes, you may do it in that time. Better go from Victoria +to San Francisco and then overland. You'll not forget about my hunting +traps, and--oh, certainly, Gordineer; come in." + +"Say," said Gordineer. "I don't want to disturb the meeting, but Shon's +in chancery somehow; breathing like a white pine, and thrashing about! +He's red-hot with fever." + +Before he had time to say more, Sir Duke seized the candle and entered +the room. Shon was moving uneasily and suppressing the groans that shook +him. "Shon, old friend, what is it?" + +"It's the pain here, Lawless," laying his hand on his chest. + +After a moment Sir Duke said, "Pneumonia!" + +From that instant thoughts of himself were sunk in the care and thought +of the man who in the heart of Queensland had been mate and friend and +brother to him. He did not start for England the next day, nor for many +a day. + +Pretty Pierre and Jo Gordineer and his party carried Sir Duke's letters +over into the Pipi Valley, from where they could be sent on to the coast. +Pierre came back in a few days to see how Shon was, and expressed his +determination of staying to help Sir Duke, if need be. + +Shon hovered between life and death. It was not alone the pneumonia +that racked his system so; there was also the shock he had received in +his flight down the glacier. In his delirium he seemed to be always +with Lawless: + +"'For it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise'--It's share and share +even, Lawless, and ye'll ate the rest of it, or I'll lave ye--Did ye say +ye'd found water--Lawless--water!--Sure you're drinkin' none yourself-- +I'll sing it again for you then--'And it's back with the ring of the +chain and the spur'--'But burn all your ships behind you'--'I'll never go +back to Farcalladen more!'" + +Sir Duke's fingers had a trick of kindness, a suggestion of comfort, +a sense of healing, that made his simple remedies do more than natural +duty. He was doctor, nurse,--sleepless nurse,--and careful apothecary. +And when at last the danger was past and he could relax watching, he +would not go, and he did not go, till they could all travel to the Pipi +Valley. + +In the blue shadows of the firs they stand as we take our leave of one +of them. The Honourable and Sir Duke have had their last words, and Sir +Duke has said he will remember about the hunting traps. They understand +each other. There is sunshine in the face of all--a kind of Indian +summer sunshine, infused with the sadness of a coming winter; and theirs +is the winter of parting. Yet it is all done quietly. + +"We'll meet again, Shon," said Sir Duke, "and you'll remember your +promise to write to me." + +"I'll keep my promise, and I hope the news that'll please you best is +what you'll send us first from England. And if you should go to ould +Donegal--I've no words for me thoughts at all!" + +"I know them. Don't try to say them. We've not had the luck together, +all kinds and all weathers, for nothing." + +Sir Duke's eyes smiled a good-bye into the smiling eyes of Shon. They +were much alike, these two, whose stations were so far apart. Yet +somewhere, in generations gone, their ancestors may have toiled, feasted, +or governed, in the same social hemisphere; and here in the mountains +life was levelled to one degree again. + +Sir Duke looked round. The pines were crowding up elate and warm towards +the peaks of the white silence. The river was brawling over a broken +pathway of boulders at their feet; round the edge of a mighty mountain +crept a mule train; a far-off glacier glistened harshly in the lucid +morning, yet not harshly either, but with the rugged form of a vast +antiquity, from which these scarred and grimly austere hills had grown. +Here Nature was filled with a sense of triumphant mastery--the mastery +of ageless experience. And down the great piles there blew a wind of +stirring life, of the composure of great strength, and touched the four, +and the man that mounted now was turned to go. A quick good-bye from him +to all; a God-speed-you from the Honourable; a wave of the hand between +the rider and Shon, and Sir Duke Lawless was gone. + +"You had better cook the last of that bear this morning, Pierre," said +the Honourable. And their life went on. + + ........................ + +It was eight months after that, sitting in their hut after a day's +successful mining, the Honourable handed Shon a newspaper to read. +A paragraph was marked. It concerned the marriage of Miss Emily Dorset +and Sir Duke Lawless. + +And while Shon read, the Honourable called into the tent: "Have you any +lemons for the whisky, Pierre?" + +A satisfactory reply being returned, the Honourable proceeded: "We'll +begin with the bottle of Pommery, which I've been saving months for +this." + +The royal-flush toast of the evening belonged to Shon. + +"God bless him! To the day when we see him again!" + +And all of them saw that day. + + + + + + +PERE CHAMPAGNE + +"Is it that we stand at the top of the hill and the end of the travel has +come, Pierre? Why don't you spake?" + +"We stand at the top of the hill, and it is the end." + +"And Lonely Valley is at our feet and Whiteface Mountain beyond?" + +"One at our feet, and the other beyond, Shon McGann." + +"It's the sight of my eyes I wish I had in the light of the sun this +mornin'. Tell me, what is't you see?" + +"I see the trees on the foot-hills, and all the branches shine with +frost. There is a path--so wide!--between two groves of pines. On +Whiteface Mountain lies a glacier-field . . . and all is still." . . . + +"The voice of you is far-away-like, Pierre--it shivers as a hawk cries. +It's the wind, the wind, maybe." + +"There's not a breath of life from hill or valley." + +"But I feel it in my face." + +"It is not the breath of life you feel." + +"Did you not hear voices coming athwart the wind? . . . Can you see the +people at the mines?" + +"I have told you what I see." + +"You told me of the pine-trees, and the glacier, and the snow--" + +"And that is all." + +"But in the Valley, in the Valley, where all the miners are?" + +"I cannot see them." + +"For love of heaven, don't tell me that the dark is fallin' on your eyes +too." + +"No, Shon, I am not growing blind." + +"Will you not tell me what gives the ache to your words?" + +"I see in the Valley--snow . . . snow." + +"It's a laugh you have at me in your cheek, whin I'd give years of my +ill-spent life to watch the chimney smoke come curlin' up slow through +the sharp air in the Valley there below." + +"There is no chimney and there is no smoke in all the Valley." + +"Before God, if you're a man, you'll put your hand on my arm and tell me +what trouble quakes your speech." + +"Shon McGann, it is for you to make the sign of the Cross . . . there, +while I put my hand on your shoulder--so!" + +"Your hand is heavy, Pierre." + +"This is the sight of the eyes that see. In the Valley there is snow; +in the snow of all that was, there is one poppet-head of the mine that +was called St. Gabriel . . . upon the poppet-head there is the figure +of a woman." + +"Ah!" + +"She does not move--" + +"She will never move?" + +"She will never move." + +"The breath o' my body hurts me. . . . There is death in the Valley, +Pierre?" + +"There is death." + +"It was an avalanche--that path between the pines?" + +"And a great storm after." + +"Blessed be God that I cannot behold that thing this day! . . . And +the woman, Pierre, the woman aloft?" + +"She went to watch for someone coming, and as she watched, the avalanche +came--and she moves not." + +"Do we know that woman?" + +"Who can tell?" + +"What was it you whispered soft to yourself, then, Pierre?" + +"I whispered no word." + +"There, don't you hear it, soft and sighin'? . . . Nathalie!" + +"'Mon Dieu!' It is not of the world." + +"It's facin' the poppet-head where she stands I'd be." + +"Your face is turned towards her." + +"Where is the sun?" + +"The sun stands still above her head." + +"With the bitter over, and the avil past, come rest for her and all that +lie there." + +"Eh, 'bien,' the game is done!" + +"If we stay here we shall die also." + +"If we go we die, perhaps." . . . + +"Don't spake it. We will go, and we will return when the breath of +summer comes from the South." + +"It shall be so." + +"Hush! Did you not hear--?" + +"I did not hear. I only see an eagle, and it flies towards Whiteface +Mountain." + +And Shon McGann and Pretty Pierre turned back from the end of their +quest--from a mighty grave behind to a lonely waste before; and though +one was snow-blind, and the other knew that on him fell the chiefer +weight of a great misfortune, for he must provide food and fire and be as +a mother to his comrade--they had courage; without which, men are as the +standing straw in an unreaped field in winter; but having become like the +hooded pine, that keepeth green in frost, and hath the bounding blood in +all its icy branches. + +And whence they came and wherefore was as thus: + +A French Canadian once lived in Lonely Valley. One day great fortune +came to him, because it was given him to discover the mine St. Gabriel. +And he said to the woman who loved him, "I will go with mules and much +gold, that I have hewn and washed and gathered, to a village in the East +where my father and my mother are. They are poor, but I will make them +rich; and then I will return to Lonely Valley, and a priest shall come +with me, and we will dwell here at Whiteface Mountain, where men are men +and not children." And the woman blessed him, and prayed for him, and +let him go. + +He travelled far through passes of the mountains, and came at last where +new cities lay upon the plains, and where men were full of evil and of +lust of gold. And he was free of hand and light of heart; and at a place +called Diamond City false friends came about him, and gave him champagne +wine to drink, and struck him down and robbed him, leaving him for dead. + +And he was found, and his wounds were all healed: all save one, and that +was in the brain. Men called him mad. + +He wandered through the land, preaching to men to drink no wine, and to +shun the sight of gold. And they laughed at him, and called him Pere +Champagne. + +But one day much gold was found at a place called Reef o' Angel; and +jointly with the gold came a plague which scars the face and rots the +body; and Indians died by hundreds and white men by scores; and Pere +Champagne, of all who were not stricken down, feared nothing, and did not +flee, but went among the sick and dying, and did those deeds which gold +cannot buy, and prayed those prayers which were never sold. And who can +count how high the prayers of the feckless go! + +When none was found to bury the dead, he gave them place himself beneath +the prairie earth,--consecrated only by the tears of a fool,--and for +extreme unction he had but this: "God be merciful to me, a sinner!" + +Now it happily chanced that Pierre and Shon McGann, who travelled +westward, came upon this desperate battle-field, and saw how Pere +Champagne dared the elements of scourge and death; and they paused and +laboured with him--to save where saving was granted of Heaven, and to +bury when the Reaper reaped and would not stay his hand. At last the +plague ceased, because winter stretched its wings out swiftly o'er the +plains from frigid ranges in the West. And then Pere Champagne fell ill +again. + +And this last great sickness cured his madness: and he remembered whence +he had come, and what befell him at Diamond City so many moons ago. And +he prayed them, when he knew his time was come, that they would go to +Lonely Valley and tell his story to the woman whom he loved; and say that +he was going to a strange but pleasant Land, and that there he would +await her coming. He begged them that they would go at once, that she +might know, and not strain her eyes to blindness, and be sick at heart +because he came not. And he told them her name, and drew the coverlet up +about his head and seemed to sleep; but he waked between the day and +dark, and gently cried: "The snow is heavy on the mountain . . . and +the Valley is below. . . . 'Gardez, mon Pere!' . . . Ah, Nathalie!" +And they buried him between the dark and dawn. + +Though winds were fierce, and travel full of peril, they kept their word, +and passed along wide steppes of snow, until they entered passes of the +mountains, and again into the plains; and at last one 'poudre' day, when +frost was shaking like shreds of faintest silver through the air, Shon +McGann's sight fled. But he would not turn back--a promise to a dying +man was sacred, and he could follow if he could not lead; and there was +still some pemmican, and there were martens in the woods, and wandering +deer that good spirits hunted into the way of the needy; and Pierre's +finger along the gun was sure. + +Pierre did not tell Shon that for many days they travelled woods where no +sunshine entered; where no trail had ever been, nor foot of man had trod: +that they had lost their way. Nor did he make his comrade know that one +night he sat and played a game of solitaire to see if they would ever +reach the place called Lonely Valley. Before the cards were dealt, he +made a sign upon his breast and forehead. Three times he played, and +three times he counted victory; and before three suns had come and gone, +they climbed a hill that perched over Lonely Valley. And of what they +saw and their hearts felt we know. + +And when they turned their faces eastward they were as men who go to meet +a final and a conquering enemy; but they had kept their honour with the +man upon whose grave-tree Shon McGann had carved beneath his name these +words: + + "A Brother of Aaron." + +Upon a lonely trail they wandered, the spirits of lost travellers +hungering in their wake--spirits that mumbled in cedar thickets, and +whimpered down the flumes of snow. And Pierre, who knew that evil things +are exorcised by mighty conjuring, sang loudly, from a throat made thin +by forced fasting, a song with which his mother sought to drive away the +devils of dreams that flaunted on his pillow when a child: it was the +song of the Scarlet Hunter. And the charm sufficed; for suddenly of a +cheerless morning they came upon a trapper's hut in the wilderness, where +their sufferings ceased, and the sight of Shon's eyes came back. When +strength returned also, they journeyed to an Indian village, where a +priest laboured. Him they besought; and when spring came they set forth +to Lonely Valley again that the woman and the smothered dead--if it might +chance so--should be put away into peaceful graves. But thither coming +they only saw a grey and churlish river; and the poppet-head of the mine +of St. Gabriel, and she who had knelt thereon, were vanished into +solitudes, where only God's cohorts have the rights of burial. . . . + +But the priest prayed humbly for their so swiftly summoned souls. + + + + + + +THE SCARLET HUNTER + +"News out of Egypt!" said the Honourable Just Trafford. "If this is +true, it gives a pretty finish to the season. You think it possible, +Pierre? It is every man's talk that there isn't a herd of buffaloes in +the whole country; but this-eh?" + +Pierre did not seem disposed to answer. He had been watching a man's +face for some time; but his eyes were now idly following the smoke of his +cigarette as it floated away to the ceiling in fading circles. He seemed +to take no interest in Trafford's remarks, nor in the tale that Shangi +the Indian had told them; though Shangi and his tale were both +sufficiently uncommon to justify attention. + +Shon McGann was more impressionable. His eyes swam; his feet shifted +nervously with enjoyment; he glanced frequently at his gun in the corner +of the hut; he had watched Trafford's face with some anxiety, and +accepted the result of the tale with delight. Now his look was occupied +with Pierre. + +Pierre was a pretty good authority in all matters concerning the prairies +and the North. He also had an instinct for detecting veracity, having +practised on both sides of the equation. Trafford became impatient, and +at last the half-breed, conscious that he had tried the temper of his +chief so far as was safe, lifted his eyes, and, resting them casually on +the Indian, replied: "Yes, I know the place. . . . No, I have not +been there, but I was told-ah, it was long ago! There is a great valley +between hills, the Kimash Hills, the hills of the Mighty Men. The woods +are deep and dark; there is but one trail through them, and it is old. +On the highest hill is a vast mound. In that mound are the forefathers +of a nation that is gone. Yes, as you say, they are dead, and there is +none of them alive in the valley--which is called the White Valley--where +the buffalo are. The valley is green in summer, and the snow is not deep +in winter; the noses of the buffalo can find the tender grass. The Injin +speaks the truth, perhaps. But of the number of buffaloes, one must see. +The eye of the red man multiplies." + +Trafford looked at Pierre closely. "You seem to know the place very +well. It is a long way north where--ah yes, you said you had never been +there; you were told. Who told you?" + +The half-breed raised his eyebrows slightly as he replied: "I can +remember a long time, and my mother, she spoke much and sang many songs +at the campfires." Then he puffed his cigarette so that the smoke +clouded his face for a moment, and went on,--"I think there may be +buffaloes." + +"It's along the barrel of me gun I wish I was lookin' at thim now," said +McGann. + +"'Tiens,' you will go"? inquired Pierre of Trafford. "To have a shot at +the only herd of wild buffaloes on the continent! Of course I'll go. +I'd go to the North Pole for that. Sport and novelty I came here to see; +buffalo-hunting I did not expect. I'm in luck, that's all. We'll start +to-morrow morning, if we can get ready, and Shangi here will lead us; eh, +Pierre?" + +The half-breed again was not polite. Instead of replying he sang almost +below his breath the words of a song unfamiliar to his companions, though +the Indian's eyes showed a flash of understanding. These were the words: + + "They ride away with a waking wind, away, away! + With laughing lip and with jocund mind at break of day. + A rattle of hoofs and a snatch of song, they ride, they ride! + The plains are wide and the path is long,--so long, so wide!" + +Just Trafford appeared ready to deal with this insolence, for the half- +breed was after all a servant of his, a paid retainer. He waited, +however. Shon saw the difficulty, and at once volunteered a reply. +"It's aisy enough to get away in the mornin', but it's a question how far +we'll be able to go with the horses. The year is late; but there's dogs +beyand, I suppose, and bedad, there y' are!" + +The Indian spoke slowly: "It is far off. There is no colour yet in the +leaf of the larch. The river-hen still swims northward. It is good that +we go. There is much buffalo in the White Valley." + +Again Trafford looked towards his follower, and again the half-breed, +as if he were making an effort to remember, sang abstractedly: + + "They follow, they follow a lonely trail, by day, by night, + By distant sun, and by fire-fly pale, and northern light. + The ride to the Hills of the Mighty Men, so swift they go! + Where buffalo feed in the wilding glen in sun and snow." + +"Pierre," said Trafford, sharply, "I want an answer to my question." + +"'Mais, pardon,' I was thinking . . . well, we can ride until the deep +snows come, then we can walk; and Shangi, he can get the dogs, maybe, one +team of dogs." + +"But," was the reply, "one team of dogs will not be enough. We'll bring +meat and hides, you know, as well as pemmican. We won't cache any +carcases up there. What would be the use? We shall have to be back in +the Pipi Valley by the spring-time." + +"Well," said the half-breed with a cold decision, "one team of dogs will +be enough; and we will not cache, and we shall be back in the Pipi Valley +before the spring, perhaps." But this last word was spoken under his +breath. + +And now the Indian spoke, with his deep voice and dignified manner: +"Brothers, it is as I have said, the trail is lonely and the woods are +deep and dark. Since the time when the world was young, no white man +hath been there save one, and behold sickness fell on him; the grave is +his end. It is a pleasant land, for the gods have blessed it to the +Indian forever. No heathen shall possess it. But you shall see the +White Valley and the buffalo. Shangi will lead, because you have been +merciful to him, and have given him to sleep in your wigwam, and to eat +of your wild meat. There are dogs in the forest. I have spoken." + +Trafford was impressed, and annoyed too. He thought too much sentiment +was being squandered on a very practical and sportive thing. He disliked +functions; speech-making was to him a matter for prayer and fasting. The +Indian's address was therefore more or less gratuitous, and he hastened +to remark: "Thank you, Shangi; that's very good, and you've put it +poetically. You've turned a shooting-excursion into a mediaeval romance. +But we'll get down to business now, if you please, and make the romance a +fact, beautiful enough to send to the 'Times' or the New York 'Call'. +Let's see, how would they put it in the Call?--'Extraordinary Discovery +--Herd of buffaloes found in the far North by an Englishman and his +Franco-Irish Party--Sport for the gods--Exodus of 'brules' to White +Valley!'--and so on, screeching to the end." + +Shon laughed heartily. "The fun of the world is in the thing," he said; +"and a day it would be for a notch on a stick and a rasp of gin in the +throat. And if I get the sight of me eye on a buffalo-ruck, it's down on +me knees I'll go, and not for prayin' aither. Here's both hands up for a +start in the mornin'!" + +Long before noon next day they were well on their way. Trafford could +not understand why Pierre was so reserved, and, when speaking, so +ironical. It was noticeable that the half-breed watched the Indian +closely, that he always rode behind him, that he never drank out of the +same cup. The leader set this down to the natural uncertainty of +Pierre's disposition. He had grown to like Pierre, as the latter had +come in course to respect him. Each was a man of value after his kind. +Each also had recognised in the other qualities of force and knowledge +having their generation in experiences which had become individuality, +subterranean and acute, under a cold surface. It was the mutual +recognition of these equivalents that led the two men to mutual trust, +only occasionally disturbed, as has been shown; though one was regarded +as the most fastidious man of his set in London, the fairest-minded of +friends, the most comfortable of companions; while the other was an +outlaw, a half-heathen, a lover of but one thing in this world, the +joyous god of Chance. Pierre was essentially a gamester. He would have +extracted satisfaction out of a death-sentence which was contingent on +the trumping of an ace. His only honour was the honour of the game. + +Now, with all the swelling prairie sloping to the clear horizon, and the +breath of a large life in their nostrils, these two men were caught up +suddenly, as it were, by the throbbing soul of the North, so that the +subterranean life in them awoke and startled them. Trafford conceived +that tobacco was the charm with which to exorcise the spirits of the +past. Pierre let the game of sensations go on, knowing that they pay +themselves out in time. His scheme was the wiser. The other found that +fast riding and smoking were not sufficient. He became surrounded by the +ghosts of yesterdays; and at length he gave up striving with them, and +let them storm upon him, until a line of pain cut deeply across his +forehead, and bitterly and unconsciously he cried aloud,--"Hester, ah, +Hester!" + +But having spoken, the spell was broken, and he was aware of the beat of +hoofs beside him, and Shangi the Indian looking at him with a half smile. +Something in the look thrilled him; it was fantastic, masterful. He +wondered that he had not noticed this singular influence before. After +all, he was only a savage with cleaner buckskin than his race usually +wore. Yet that glow, that power in the face--was he Piegan, Blackfoot, +Cree, Blood? Whatever he was, this man had heard the words which broke +so painfully from him. + +He saw the Indian frame her name upon his lips, and then came the words, +"Hester--Hester Orval!" + +He turned sternly, and said, "Who are you? What do you know of Hester +Orval?" + +The Indian shook his head gravely, and replied, "You spoke her name, my +brother." + +"I spoke one word of her name. You have spoken two." + +"One does not know what one speaks. There are words which are as sounds, +and words which are as feelings. Those come to the brain through the +ear; these to the soul through sign, which is more than sound. The +Indian hath knowledge, even as the white man; and because his heart is +open, the trees whisper to him; he reads the language of the grass and +the wind, and is taught by the song of the bird, the screech of the hawk, +the bark of the fox. And so he comes to know the heart of the man who +hath sickness, and calls upon someone, even though it be a weak woman, +to cure his sickness; who is bowed low as beside a grave, and would stand +upright. Are not my words wise? As the thoughts of a child that dreams, +as the face of the blind, the eye of the beast, or the anxious hand of +the poor, are they not simple, and to be understood?" + +Just Trafford made no reply. But behind, Pierre was singing in the +plaintive measure of a chant: + + "A hunter rideth the herd abreast, + The Scarlet Hunter from out of the West, + Whose arrows with points of flame are drest, + Who loveth the beast of the field the best, + The child and the young bird out of the nest, + They ride to the hunt no more, no more!" + +They travelled beyond all bounds of civilisation; beyond the northernmost +Indian villages, until the features of the landscape became more rugged +and solemn, and at last they paused at a place which the Indian called +Misty Mountain, and where, disappearing for an hour, he returned with a +team of Eskimo dogs, keen, quick-tempered, and enduring. They had all +now recovered from the disturbing sentiments of the first portion of the +journey; life was at full tide; the spirit of the hunter was on them. + +At length one night they camped in a vast pine grove wrapped in coverlets +of snow and silent as death. Here again Pierre became moody and alert +and took no part in the careless chat at the camp-fire led by Shon +McGann. The man brooded and looked mysterious. Mystery was not pleasing +to Trafford. He had his own secrets, but in the ordinary affairs of life +he preferred simplicity. In one of the silences that fell between Shon's +attempts to give hilarity to the occasion, there came a rumbling far-off +sound, a sound that increased in volume till the earth beneath them +responded gently to the vibration. Trafford looked up inquiringly at +Pierre, and then at the Indian, who, after a moment, said slowly: "Above +us are the hills of the Mighty Men, beneath us is the White Valley. It +is the tramp of buffalo that we hear. A storm is coming, and they go to +shelter in the mountains." + +The information had come somewhat suddenly, and McGann was the first to +recover from the pleasant shock: "It's divil a wink of sleep I'll get +this night, with the thought of them below there ripe for slaughter, and +the tumble of fight in their beards." + +Pierre, with a meaning glance from his half-closed eyes, added: "But it +is the old saying of the prairies that you do not shout dinner till you +have your knife in the loaf. Your knife is not yet in the loaf, Shon +McGann." + +The boom of the trampling ceased, and now there was a stirring in the +snow-clad tree tops, and a sound as if all the birds of the North were +flying overhead. The weather began to moan and the boles of the pines to +quake. And then there came war,--a trouble out of the north, a wave of +the breath of God to show inconsequent man that he who seeks to live by +slaughter hath slaughter for his master. + +They hung over the fire while the forest cracked round them, and the +flame smarted with the flying snow. And now the trees, as if the +elements were closing in on them, began to break close by, and one +lurched forward towards them. Trafford, to avoid its stroke, stepped +quickly aside right into the line of another which he did not see. +Pierre sprang forward and swung him clear, but was himself struck +senseless by an outreaching branch. + +As if satisfied with this achievement, the storm began to subside. When +Pierre recovered consciousness Trafford clasped his hand and said,-- +"You've a sharp eye, a quick thought, and a deft arm, comrade." + +"Ah, it was in the game. It is good play to assist your partner," the +half-breed replied sententiously. Through all, the Indian had remained +stoical. But McGann, who swore by Trafford--as he had once sworn by +another of the Trafford race--had his heart on his lips, and said: + + "There's a swate little cherub that sits up aloft, + Who cares for the soul of poor Jack!" + +It was long after midnight ere they settled down again, with the wreck of +the forest round them. Only the Indian slept; the others were alert and +restless. They were up at daybreak, and on their way before sunrise, +filled with desire for prey. They had not travelled far before they +emerged upon a plateau. Around them were the hills of the Mighty Men-- +austere, majestic; at their feet was a vast valley on which the light +newly-fallen snow had not hidden all the grass. Lonely and lofty, it was +a world waiting chastely to be peopled! And now it was peopled, for +there came from a cleft of the hills an army of buffaloes lounging slowly +down the waste, with tossing manes and hoofs stirring the snow into a +feathery scud. + +The eyes of Trafford and McGann swam; Pierre's face was troubled, and +strangely enough he made the sign of the cross. + +At that instant Trafford saw smoke issuing from a spot on the mountain +opposite. He turned to the Indian: "Someone lives there"? he said. + +"It is the home of the dead, but life is also there." + +"White man, or Indian?" + +But no reply came. The Indian pointed instead to the buffalo rumbling +down the valley. Trafford forgot the smoke, forgot everything except +that splendid quarry. Shon was excited. "Sarpints alive," he said, +"look at the troops of thim! Is it standin' here we are with our tongues +in our cheeks, whin there's bastes to be killed, and mate to be got, and +the call to war on the ground below! Clap spurs with your heels, sez I, +and down the side of the turf together and give 'em the teeth of our +guns!" The Irishman dashed down the slope. In an instant, all followed, +or at least Trafford thought all followed, swinging their guns across +their saddles to be ready for this excellent foray. But while Pierre +rode hard, it was at first without the fret of battle in him, and he +smiled strangely, for he knew that the Indian had disappeared as they +rode down the slope, though how and why he could not tell. There ran +through his head tales chanted at camp-fires when he was not yet in +stature so high as the loins that bore him. They rode hard, and yet they +came no nearer to that flying herd straining on with white streaming +breath and the surf of snow rising to their quarters. Mile upon mile, +and yet they could not ride these monsters down! + +Now Pierre was leading. There was a kind of fury in his face, and he +seemed at last to gain on them. But as the herd veered close to a wall +of stalwart pines, a horseman issued from the trees and joined the +cattle. The horseman was in scarlet from head to foot; and with his +coming the herd went faster, and ever faster, until they vanished into +the mountain-side; and they who pursued drew in their trembling horses +and stared at each other with wonder in their faces. + +"In God's name what does it mean"? Trafford cried. + +"Is it a trick of the eye or the hand of the devil"? added Shon. + +"In the name of God we shall know perhaps. If it is the hand of the +devil it is not good for us," remarked Pierre. + +"Who was the man in scarlet who came from the woods"? asked Trafford of +the half-breed. + +"'Voila,' it is strange! There is an old story among the Indians! My +mother told many tales of the place and sang of it, as I sang to you. +The legend was this:--In the hills of the North which no white man, nor +no Injin of this time hath seen, the forefathers of the red men sleep; +but some day they will wake again and go forth and possess all the land; +and the buffalo are for them when that time shall come, that they may +have the fruits of the chase, and that it be as it was of old, when the +cattle were as clouds on the horizon. And it was ordained that one of +these mighty men who had never been vanquished in fight, nor done an evil +thing, and was the greatest of all the chiefs, should live and not die, +but be as a sentinel, as a lion watching, and preserve the White Valley +in peace until his brethren waked and came into their own again. And him +they called the Scarlet Hunter; and to this hour the red men pray to him +when they lose their way upon the plains, or Death draws aside the +curtains of the wigwam to call them forth." + +"Repeat the verses you sang, Pierre," said Trafford. The half-breed did +so. When he came to the words, "Who loveth the beast of the field the +best," the Englishman looked round. "Where is Shangi"? he asked. +McGann shook his head in astonishment and negation. Pierre explained: +"On the mountain-side where we ride down he is not seen--he vanish . . . +'mon Dieu,' look!" + +On the slope of the mountain stood the Scarlet Hunter with drawn bow. +From it an arrow flew over their heads with a sorrowful twang, and fell +where the smoke rose among the pines; then the mystic figure disappeared. + +McGann shuddered, and drew himself together. "It is the place of +spirits," he said; "and it's little I like it, God knows; but I'll follow +that Scarlet Hunter, or red devil, or whatever he is, till I drop, if the +Honourable gives the word. For flesh and blood I'm not afraid of; and +the other we come to, whether we will or not, one day." + +But Trafford said: "No, we'll let it stand where it is for the present. +Something has played our eyes false, or we're brought here to do work +different from buffalo-hunting. Where that arrow fell among the smoke +we must go first. Then, as I read the riddle, we travel back the way we +came. There are points in connection with the Pipi Valley superior to +the hills of the Mighty Men." + +They rode away across the glade, and through a grove of pines upon a +hill, till they stood before a log but with parchment windows. + +Trafford knocked, but there was no response. He opened the door and +entered. He saw a figure rise painfully from a couch in a corner,--the +figure of a woman young and beautiful, but wan and worn. She seemed +dazed and inert with suffering, and spoke mournfully: "It is too late. +Not you, nor any of your race, nor anything on earth can save him. He is +dead--dead now." + +At the first sound of her voice Trafford started. He drew near to her, +as pale as she was, and wonder and pity were in his face. "Hester," he +said, "Hester Orval!" + +She stared at him like one that had been awakened from an evil dream, +then tottered towards him with the cry,--"Just, Just, have you come to +save me? O Just!" His distress was sad to see, for it was held in deep +repression, but he said calmly and with protecting gentleness: "Yes, I +have come to save you. Hester, how is it you are here in this strange +place--you?" + +She sobbed so that at first she could not answer; but at last she cried: +"O Just, he is dead . . . in there, in there! . . . Last night, it +was last night; and he prayed that I might go with him. But I could not +die unforgiven, and I was right, for you have come out of the world to +help me, and to save me." + +"Yes, to help you and to save you,--if I can," he added in a whisper to +himself, for he was full of foreboding. He was of the earth, earthy, and +things that had chanced to him this day were beyond the natural and +healthy movements of his mind. He had gone forth to slay, and had been +foiled by shadows; he had come with a tragic, if beautiful, memory +haunting him, and that memory had clothed itself in flesh and stood +before him, pitiful, solitary,--a woman. He had scorned all legend and +superstition, and here both were made manifest to him. He had thought of +this woman as one who was of this world no more, and here she mourned +before him and bade him go and look upon her dead, upon the man who had +wronged him, into whom, as he once declared, the soul of a cur had +entered,--and now what could he say? He had carried in his heart the +infinite something that is to men the utmost fulness of life, which, +losing, they must carry lead upon their shoulders where they thought the +gods had given pinions. + +McGann and Pierre were nervous. This conjunction of unusual things was +easier to the intelligences of the dead than the quick. The outer air +was perhaps less charged with the unnatural, and with a glance towards +the room where death was quartered, they left the hut. + +Trafford was alone with the woman through whom his life had been turned +awry. He looked at her searchingly; and as he looked the mere man in him +asserted itself for a moment. She was dressed in coarse garments; it +struck him that her grief had a touch of commonness about it; there was +something imperfect in the dramatic setting. His recent experiences had +had a kind of grandeur about them; it was not thus that he had remembered +her in the hour when he had called upon her in the plains, and the Indian +had heard his cry. He felt, and was ashamed in feeling, that there was +a grim humour in the situation. The fantastic, the melodramatic, the +emotional, were huddled here in too marked a prominence; it all seemed, +for an instant, like the tale of a woman's first novel. But immediately +again there was roused in him the latent force of loyalty to himself and +therefore to her; the story of her past, so far as he knew it, flashed +before him, and his eyes grew hot. + +He remembered the time he had last seen her in an English country-house +among a gay party in which royalty smiled, and the subject was content +beneath the smile. But there was one rebellious subject, and her name +was Hester Orval. She was a wilful girl who had lived life selfishly +within the lines of that decorous yet pleasant convention to which she +was born. She was beautiful,--she knew that, and royalty had graciously +admitted it. She was warm-thoughted, and possessed the fatal strain of +the artistic temperament. She was not sure that she had a heart; and +many others, not of her sex, after varying and enthusiastic study of the +matter, were not more confident than she. But it had come at last that +she had listened with pensive pleasure to Trafford's tale of love; and +because to be worshipped by a man high in all men's, and in most women's, +esteem, ministered delicately to her sweet egotism, and because she was +proud of him, she gave him her hand in promise, and her cheek in +privilege, but denied him--though he knew this not--her heart and the +service of her life. But he was content to wait patiently for that +service, and he wholly trusted her, for there was in him some fine spirit +of the antique world. + +There had come to Falkenstowe, this country-house and her father's home, +a man who bore a knightly name, but who had no knightly heart; and he +told Ulysses' tales, and covered a hazardous and cloudy past with that +fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good, so that he roused +in her the pulse of art, which she believed was soul and life, and her +allegiance swerved. And when her mother pleaded with her, and when her +father said stern things, and even royalty, with uncommon use, rebuked +her gently, her heart grew hard; and almost on the eve of her wedding-day +she fled with her lover, and married him, and together they sailed away +over the seas. + +The world was shocked and clamorous for a matter of nine days, and then +it forgot this foolish and awkward circumstance; but Just Trafford never +forgot it. He remembered all vividly until the hour, a year later, when +London journals announced that Hester Orval and her husband had gone down +with a vessel wrecked upon the Alaskan and Canadian coast. And there new +regret began, and his knowledge of her ended. + +But she and her husband had not been drowned; with a sailor they had +reached the shore in safety. They had travelled inland from the coast +through the great mountains by unknown paths, and as they travelled, the +sailor died; and they came at last through innumerable hardships to the +Kimash Hills, the hills of the Mighty Men, and there they stayed. It was +not an evil land; it had neither deadly cold in winter nor wanton heat in +summer. But they never saw a human face, and everything was lonely and +spectral. For a time they strove to go eastwards or southwards but the +mountains were impassable, and in the north and west there was no hope. +Though the buffalo swept by them in the valley they could not slay them, +and they lived on forest fruits until in time the man sickened. The +woman nursed him faithfully, but still he failed; and when she could go +forth no more for food, some unseen dweller of the woods brought buffalo +meat, and prairie fowl, and water from the spring, and laid them beside +her door. + +She had seen the mounds upon the hill, the wide couches of the sleepers, +and she remembered the things done in the days when God seemed nearer to +the sons of men than now; and she said that a spirit had done this thing, +and trembled and was thankful. But the man weakened and knew that he +should die, and one night when the pain was sharp upon him he prayed +bitterly that he might pass, or that help might come to snatch him from +the grave. And as they sobbed together, a form entered at the door,-- +a form clothed in scarlet,--and he bade them tell the tale of their lives +as they would some time tell it unto heaven. And when the tale was told +he said that succour should come to them from the south by the hand of +the Scarlet Hunter, that the nation sleeping there should no more be +disturbed by their moaning. And then he had gone forth, and with his +going there was a storm such as that in which the man had died, the storm +that had assailed the hunters in the forest yesterday. + +This was the second part of Hester Orval's life as she told it to Just +Trafford. And he, looking into her eyes, knew that she had suffered, and +that she had sounded her husband's unworthiness. Then he turned from her +and went into the room where the dead man lay. And there all hardness +passed from him, and he understood that in the great going forth man +reckons to the full with the deeds done in that brief pilgrimage called +life; and that in the bitter journey which this one took across the dread +spaces between Here and There, he had repented of his sins, because they, +and they only, went with him in mocking company; the good having gone +first to plead where evil is a debtor and hath a prison. And the woman +came and stood beside Trafford, and whispered, "At first--and at the +last--he was kind." + +But he urged her gently from the room: "Go away," he said; "go away. We +cannot judge him. Leave me alone with him." + +They buried him upon the hill-side, far from the mounds where the Mighty +Men waited for their summons to go forth and be the lords of the North +again. At night they buried him when the moon was at its full; and he +had the fragrant pines for his bed, and the warm darkness to cover him; +and though he is to those others resting there a heathen and an alien, +it may be that he sleeps peacefully. + +When Trafford questioned Hester Orval more deeply of her life there, the +unearthly look quickened in her eyes, and she said: "Oh, nothing, nothing +is real here, but suffering; perhaps it is all a dream, but it has +changed me, changed me. To hear the tread of the flying herds, to see no +being save him, the Scarlet Hunter, to hear the voices calling in the +night! . . . Hush! There, do you not hear them? It is midnight-- +listen!" + +He listened, and Pierre and Shon McGann looked at each other +apprehensively, while Shon's fingers felt hurriedly along the beads of a +rosary which he did not hold. Yes, they heard it, a deep sonorous sound: +"Is the daybreak come?" "It is still the night," came the reply as of +one clear voice. And then there floated through the hills more softly: +"We sleep--we sleep!" And the sounds echoed through the valley--"Sleep +--sleep!" + +Yet though these things were full of awe, the spirit of the place held +them there, and the fever of the hunter descended on them hotly. In the +morning they went forth, and rode into the White Valley where the buffalo +were feeding, and sought to steal upon them; but the shots from their +guns only awoke the hills, and none were slain. And though they rode +swiftly, the wide surf of snow was ever between them and the chase, and +their striving availed nothing. Day after day they followed that flying +column, and night after night they heard the sleepers call from the +hills. The desire of the thing wasted them, and they forgot to eat and +ceased to talk among themselves. But one day Shon McGann, muttering aves +as he rode, gained on the cattle, until once again the Scarlet Hunter +came forth from a cleft of the mountains, and drove the herd forward with +swifter feet. But the Irishman had learned the power in this thing, and +had taught Trafford, who knew not those availing prayers, and with these +sacred conjurations on their lips they gained on the cattle length by +length, though the Scarlet Hunter rode abreast of the thundering horde. +Within easy range, Trafford swung his gun shoulder-wards to fire, but at +that instant a cloud of snow rose up between him and his quarry so that +they all were blinded. And when they came into the clear sun again the +buffalo were gone; but flaming arrows from some unseen hunter's bow came +singing over their heads towards the south; and they obeyed the sign, +and went back to where Hester wore her life out with anxiety for them, +because she knew the hopelessness of their quest. Women are nearer to +the heart of things. And now she begged Trafford to go southwards before +winter froze the plains impassably, and the snow made tombs of the +valleys. Thereupon he gave the word to go, and said that he had done +wrong--for now the spell was falling from him. + +But she, seeing his regret, said: "Ah, Just, it could not have been +different. The passion of it was on you as it was on us, as if to teach +us that hunger for happiness is robbery, and that the covetous desire of +man is not the will of the gods. The herds are for the Mighty Men when +they awake, not for the stranger and the Philistine." + +"You have grown wise, Hester," he replied. + +"No, I am sick in brain and body; but it may be that in such sickness +there is wisdom." + +"Ah," he said, "it has turned my head, I think. Once I laughed at all +such fanciful things as these. This Scarlet Hunter, how many times have +you seen him?" + +"But once." + +"What were his looks?" + +"A face pale and strong, with noble eyes; and in his voice there was +something strange." + +Trafford thought of Shangi, the Indian,--where had he gone? He had +disappeared as suddenly as he had come to their camp in the South. + +As they sat silent in the growing night, the door opened and the Scarlet +Hunter stood before them. "There is food," he said, "on the threshold-- +food for those who go upon a far journey to the South in the morning. +Unhappy are they who seek for gold at the rainbow's foot, who chase the +fire-fly in the night, who follow the herds in the White Valley. Wise +are they who anger not the gods, and who fly before the rising storm. +There is a path from the valley for the strangers, the path by which they +came; and when the sun stares forth again upon the world, the way shall +be open, and there shall be safety for you until your travel ends in the +quick world whither you go. You were foolish; now you are wise. It is +time to depart; seek not to return, that we may have peace and you +safety. When the world cometh to her spring again we shall meet." Then +he turned and was gone, with Trafford's voice ringing after him,--" +Shangi! Shangi!" + +They ran out swiftly, but he had vanished. In the valley where the +moonlight fell in icy coldness a herd of cattle was moving, and their +breath rose like the spray from sea-beaten rocks, and the sound of their +breathing was borne upwards to the watchers. + +At daybreak they rode down into the valley. All was still. Not a trace +of life remained; not a hoofmark in the snow, nor a bruised blade of +grass. And when they climbed to the plateau and looked back, it seemed +to Trafford and his companions, as it seemed in after years, that this +thing had been all a fantasy. But Hester's face was beside them, and it +told of strange and unsubstantial things. The shadows of the middle +world were upon her. And yet again when they turned at the last there +was no token. It was a northern valley, with sun and snow, and cold blue +shadows, and the high hills,--that was all. + +Then Hester said: "O Just, I do not know if this is life or death--and +yet it must be death, for after death there is forgiveness to those who +repent, and your face is forgiving and kind." + +And he--for he saw that she needed much human help and comfort--gently +laid his hand on hers and replied: "Hester, this is life, a new life for +both of us. Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now"--and he +folded her hand in his--"is real; and there is no such thing as +forgiveness to be spoken of between us. There shall be happiness +for us yet, please God!" + +"I want to go to Falkenstowe. Will--will my mother forgive me?" + +"Mothers always forgive, Hester, else half the world had slain itself in +shame." + +And then she smiled for the first time since he had seen her. This was +in the shadows of the scented pines; and a new life breathed upon her, +as it breathed upon them all, and they knew that the fever of the White +Valley had passed away from them forever. + +After many hardships they came in safety to the regions of the south +country again; and the tale they told, though doubted by the race of +pale-faces, was believed by the heathen; because there was none among +them but, as he cradled at his mother's breasts, and from his youth up, +had heard the legend of the Scarlet Hunter. + +For the romance of that journey, it concerned only the man and woman to +whom it was as wine and meat to the starving. Is not love more than +legend, and a human heart than all the beasts of the field or any joy of +slaughter? + + + + + + +THE STONE + +The Stone hung on a jutting crag of Purple Hill. On one side of it, far +beneath, lay the village, huddled together as if, through being close +compacted, its handful of humanity should not be a mere dust in the +balance beside Nature's portentousness. Yet if one stood beside The +Stone, and looked down, the flimsy wooden huts looked like a barrier at +the end of a great flume. For the hill hollowed and narrowed from The +Stone to the village, as if giants had made this concave path by +trundling boulders to that point like a funnel where the miners' houses +now formed a cul-de-sac. On the other side of the crag was a valley +also; but it was lonely and untenanted; and at one flank of The Stone +were serried legions of trees. + +The Stone was a mighty and wonderful thing. Looked at from the village +direct, it had nothing but the sky for a background. At times, also, it +appeared to rest on nothing; and many declared that they could see clean +between it and the oval floor of the crag on which it rested. That was +generally in the evening, when the sun was setting behind it. Then the +light coiled round its base, between it and its pedestal, thus making it +appear to hover above the hill-point, or, planet-like, to be just +settling on it. At other times, when the light was perfectly clear and +not too strong, and the village side of the crag was brighter than the +other, more accurate relations of The Stone to its pedestal could be +discovered. Then one would say that it balanced on a tiny base, a toe of +granite. But if one looked long, especially in the summer, when the air +throbbed, it evidently rocked upon that toe; if steadily, and very long, +he grew tremulous, perhaps afraid. Once, a woman who was about to become +a mother went mad, because she thought The Stone would hurtle down the +hill at her great moment and destroy her and her child. Indians would +not live either on the village side of The Stone or in the valley beyond. +They had a legend that, some day, one, whom they called The Man Who +Sleeps, would rise from his hidden couch in the mountains, and, being +angry that any dared to cumber his playground, would hurl The Stone upon +them that dwelt at Purple Hill. But white men pay little heed to Indian +legends. At one time or another every person who had come to the village +visited The Stone. Colossal as it was, the real base on which its weight +rested was actually very small: the view from the village had not been +all deceitful. It is possible, indeed, that at one time it had really +rocked, and that the rocking had worn for it a shallow cup, or socket, in +which it poised. The first man who came to Purple Valley prospecting had +often stopped his work and looked at The Stone in a half-fear that it +would spring upon him unawares. And yet he had as often laughed at +himself for doing so, since, as he said, it must have been there hundreds +of thousands of years. Strangers, when they came to the village, went to +sleep somewhat timidly the first night of their stay, and not +infrequently left their beds to go and look at The Stone, as it hung +there ominously in the light of the moon; or listened towards it if it +was dark. When the moon rose late, and The Stone chanced to be directly +in front of it, a black sphere seemed to be rolling into the light to +blot it out. + +But none who lived in the village looked upon The Stone in quite the same +fashion as did that first man who had come to the valley. He had seen it +through three changing seasons, with no human being near him, and only +occasionally a shy, wandering elk, or a cloud of wild ducks whirring down +the pass, to share his companionship with it. Once he had waked in the +early morning, and, possessed of a strange feeling, had gone out to look +a The Stone. There, perched upon it, was an eagle; and though he said to +himself that an eagle's weight was to The Stone as a feather upon the +world, he kept his face turned towards it all day; for all day the eagle +stayed. He was a man of great stature and immense strength. The thews +of his limbs stood out like soft unbreakable steel. Yet, as if to cast +derision on his strength and great proportions, God or Fate turned his +bread to ashes, gave failure into his hands where he hugely grasped at +fortune, and hung him about with misery. He discovered gold, but others +gathered it. It was his daughter that went mad, and gave birth to a dead +child in fearsome thought of The Stone. Once, when he had gone over the +hills to another mining field, and had been prevented from coming back by +unexpected and heavy snows, his wife was taken ill, and died alone of +starvation, because none in the village remembered of her and her needs. +Again, one wild night, long after, his only son was taken from his bed +and lynched for a crime that was none of his, as was discovered by his +murderers next day. Then they killed horribly the real criminal, and +offered the father such satisfaction as they could. They said that any +one of them was ready there to be killed by him; and they threw a weapon +at his feet. At this he stood looking upon them for a moment, his great +breast heaving, and his eyes glowering; but presently he reached out his +arms, and taking two of them by the throat, brought their heads together +heavily, breaking their skulls; and, with a cry in his throat like a +wounded animal, left them, and entered the village no more. But it +became known that he had built a rude but on Purple Hill, and that he had +been seen standing beside The Stone or sitting among the boulders below +it, with his face bent upon the village. Those who had come near to him +said that he had greatly changed; that his hair and beard had grown long +and strong, and, in effect, that he looked like some rugged fragment of +an antique world. + +The time came when they associated The Man with The Stone: they grew to +speak of him simply as The Man. There was something natural and apt in +the association. Then they avoided these two singular dwellers on the +height. What had happened to The Man when he lived in the village became +almost as great a legend as the Indian fable concerning The Stone. In +the minds of the people one seemed as old as the other. Women who knew +the awful disasters which had befallen The Man brooded at times most +timidly, regarding him as they did at first--and even still--The Stone. +Women who carried life unborn about with them had a strange dread of both +The Stone and The Man. Time passed on, and the feeling grew that The +Man's grief must be a terrible thing, since he lived alone with The Stone +and God. But this did not prevent the men of the village from digging +gold, drinking liquor, and doing many kinds of evil. One day, again, +they did an unjust and cruel thing. They took Pierre, the gambler, whom +they had at first sought to vanquish at his own art, and, possessed +suddenly of the high duty of citizenship, carried him to the edge of a +hill and dropped him over, thinking thereby to give him a quick death, +while the vultures would provide him a tomb. But Pierre was not killed, +though to his grave--unprepared as yet--he would bear an arm which should +never be lifted higher than his shoulder. When he waked from the +crashing gloom which succeeded the fall, he was in the presence of a +being whose appearance was awesome and massive--an outlawed god: whose +hair and beard were white, whose eye was piercing, absorbing, painful, +in the long perspective of its woe. This being sat with his great hand +clasped to the side of his head. The beginning of his look was the +village, and--though the vision seemed infinite--the village was the end +of it too. Pierre, looking through the doorway beside which he lay, drew +in his breath sharply, for it seemed at first as if The Man was an +unnatural fancy, and not a thing. Behind The Man was The Stone, which +was not more motionless nor more full of age than this its comrade. +Indeed, The Stone seemed more a thing of life as it poised above the +hill: The Man was sculptured rock. His white hair was chiselled on his +broad brow, his face was a solemn pathos petrified, his lips were curled +with an iron contempt, an incalculable anger. + +The sun went down, and darkness gathered about The Man. Pierre reached +out his hand, and drank the water and ate the coarse bread that had been +put near him. He guessed that trees or protruding ledges had broken his +fall, and that he had been rescued and brought here. As he lay thinking, +The Man entered the doorway, stooping much to do so. With flints he +lighted a wick which hung from a wooden bowl of bear's oil; then +kneeling, held it above his head, and looked at Pierre. And Pierre, who +had never feared anyone, shrank from the look in The Man's eyes. But +when the other saw that Pierre was awake, a distant kindness came upon +his face, and he nodded gravely; but he did not speak. Presently a great +tremor as of pain shook all his limbs, and he set the candle on the +ground, and with his stalwart hands arranged afresh the bandages about +Pierre's injured arm and leg. Pierre spoke at last. + +"You are The Man"? he said. The other bowed his head. + +"You saved me from those devils in the valley?" A look of impregnable +hardness came into The Man's face, but he pressed Pierre's hand for +answer; and though the pressure was meant to be gentle, Pierre winced +painfully. The candle spluttered, and the hut filled with a sickly +smoke. The Man brought some bear skins and covered the sufferer, for, +the season being autumn, the night was cold. Pierre, who had thus spent +his first sane and conscious hour in many days, fell asleep. What time +it was when he waked he was not sure, but it was to hear a metallic +click-click come to him through the clear air of night. It was a +pleasant noise as of steel and rock: the work of some lonely stone-cutter +of the hills. The sound reached him with strange, increasing +distinctness. Was this Titan that had saved him sculpturing some figure +from the metal hill? Click-click! it vibrated as regularly as the keen +pulse of a watch. He lay and wondered for a long time, but fell asleep +again; and the steely iteration went on in his dreams. + +In the morning The Man came to him, and cared for his hurts, and gave him +food; but still would speak no word. He was gone nearly all day in the +hills; yet when evening came he sought the place where Pierre had seen +him the night before, and the same weird scene was re-enacted. And again +in the night the clicking sound went on; and every night it was renewed. +Pierre grew stronger, and could, with difficulty, stand upon his feet. +One night he crept out, and made his way softly, slowly towards the +sound. He saw The Man kneeling beside The Stone, he saw a hammer rise +and fall upon a chisel; and the chisel was at the base of The Stone. The +hammer rose and fell with perfect but dreadful precision. Pierre turned +and looked towards the village below, whose lights were burning like a +bunch of fire-flies in the gloom. Again he looked at The Stone and The +Man. + +Then the thing came to him sharply. The Man was chiselling away the +socket of The Stone, bringing it to that point of balance where the touch +of a finger, the wing of a bird, or the whistle of a north-west wind, +would send it down upon the offending and unsuspecting village. + +The thought held him paralysed. The Man had nursed his revenge long past +the thought of its probability by the people beneath. He had at first +sat and watched the village, hated, and mused dreadfully upon the thing +he had determined to do. Then he had worked a little, afterwards more, +and now, lastly, since he had seen what they had done to Pierre, with the +hot but firm eagerness of an avenging giant. Pierre had done some sad +deeds in his time, and had tasted some sweet revenges, but nothing like +to this had ever entered his brain. In that village were men who--as +they thought--had cast him to a death fit only for a coward or a cur. +Well, here was the most exquisite retaliation. Though his hand should +not be in the thing, he could still be the cynical and approving +spectator. + +But yet: had all those people hovering about those lights below done harm +to him? He thought there were a few--and they were women--who would not +have followed his tumbril to his death with cries of execration. The +rest would have done so,--most of them did so, not because he was a +criminal, but because he was a victim, and because human nature as it is +thirsts inordinately at times for blood and sacrifice--a living strain of +the old barbaric instinct. He remembered that most of these people were +concerned in having injured The Man. The few good women there had vile +husbands; the few pardonable men had hateful wives: the village of Purple +Hill was an ill affair. + +He thought: now doubtfully, now savagely, now with irony. + +The hammer and steel clicked on. + +He looked at the lights of the village again. Suddenly there came +to his mind the words of a great man who sought to save a city manifold +centuries ago. He was not sure that he wished to save this village; but +there was a grim, almost grotesque, fitness in the thing that he now +intended. He spoke out clearly through the night: + +"'Oh, let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak yet but this once: +Peradventure ten righteous shall be found there.'" + +The hammer stopped. There was a silence, in which the pines sighed +lightly. Then, as if speaking was a labour, The Man replied in a deep, +harsh voice: + +"I will not spare it for ten's sake." + +Again there was a silence, in which Pierre felt his maimed body bend +beneath him; but presently the voice said,--"Now!" + +At this the moon swung from behind a cloud. The Man stood behind The +Stone. His arm was raised to it. There was a moment's pause--it seemed +like years to Pierre; a wind came softly crying out of the west, the moon +hurried into the dark, and then a monster sprang from its pedestal upon +Purple Hill, and, with a sound of thunder and an awful speed, raced upon +the village below. The boulders of the hillside crumbled after it. + +And Pierre saw the lights go out. + +The moon shone out again for an instant, and Pierre saw that The Man +stood where The Stone had been; but when he reached the place The Man was +gone. Forever! + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +At first--and at the last--he was kind +Courage; without which, men are as the standing straw +Evil is half-accidental, half-natural +Fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good +Had the luck together, all kinds and all weathers +Hunger for happiness is robbery +If one remembers, why should the other forget +Instinct for detecting veracity, having practised on both sides +Mothers always forgive +The higher we go the faster we live +The Injin speaks the truth, perhaps--eye of red man multipies +The world is not so bad as is claimed for it +Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now is real +You do not shout dinner till you have your knife in the loaf + + + + + + +PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE + +TALES OF THE FAR NORTH + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 4. + + +THE TALL MASTER +THE CRIMSON FLAG +THE FLOOD +IN PIPI VALLEY + + + + +THE TALL MASTER + +The story has been so much tossed about in the mouths of Indians, and +half-breeds, and men of the Hudson's Bay Company, that you are pretty +sure to hear only an apocryphal version of the thing as you now travel in +the North. But Pretty Pierre was at Fort Luke when the battle occurred, +and, before and after, he sifted the business thoroughly. For he had a +philosophical turn, and this may be said of him, that he never lied +except to save another from danger. In this matter he was cool and +impartial from first to last, and evil as his reputation was in many ways +there were those who believed and trusted him. Himself, as he travelled +here and there through the North, had heard of the Tall Master. Yet he +had never met anyone who had seen him; for the Master had dwelt, it was +said, chiefly among the strange tribes of the Far-Off Metal River whose +faces were almost white, and who held themselves aloof from the southern +races. The tales lost nothing by being retold, even when the historians +were the men of the H. B. C.;---Pierre knew what accomplished liars may +be found among that Company of Adventurers trading in Hudson's Bay, and +how their art had been none too delicately engrafted by his own people. +But he was, as became him, open to conviction, especially when, +journeying to Fort Luke, he heard what John Hybar, the Chief Factor-- +a man of uncommon quality--had to say. Hybar had once lived long among +those Indians of the Bright Stone, and had seen many rare things among +them. He knew their legends of the White Valley and the Hills of the +Mighty Men, and how their distinctive character had imposed itself on the +whole Indian race of the North, so that there was none but believed, even +though vaguely, in a pleasant land not south but Arcticwards; and Pierre +himself, with Shon McGann and Just Trafford, had once had a strange +experience in the Kimash Hills. He did not share the opinion of Lazenby, +the Company's clerk at Fort Luke, who said, when the matter was talked of +before him, that it was all hanky-panky,--which was evidence that he had +lived in London town, before his anxious relatives, sending him forth +under the delusive flag of adventure and wild life, imprisoned him in the +Arctic regions with the H. B. C. + +Lazenby admired Pierre; said he was good stuff, and voted him amusing, +with an ingenious emphasis of heathen oaths; but advised him, as only an +insolent young scoundrel can, to forswear securing, by the seductive game +of poker or euchre, larger interest on his capital than the H. B. C.; +whose record, he insisted, should never be rivalled by any single man in +any single lifetime. Then he incidentally remarked that he would like to +empty the Company's cash-box once--only once;--thus reconciling the +preacher and the sinner, as many another has done. Lazenby's morals were +not bad, however. He was simply fond of making them appear terrible; +even when in London he was more idle than wicked. He gravely suggested +at last, as a kind of climax, that he and Pierre should go out on the pad +together. This was a mere stroke of pleasantry on his part, because, the +most he could loot in that far North were furs and caches of buffalo +meat; and a man's capacity and use for them were limited. Even Pierre's +especial faculty and art seemed valueless so far Polewards; but he had +his beat throughout the land, and he kept it like a perfect patrolman. +He had not been at Fort Luke for years, and he would not be there again +for more years; but it was certain that he would go on reappearing till +he vanished utterly. At the end of the first week of this visit at Fort +Luke, so completely had he conquered the place, that he had won from the +Chief Factor the year's purchases of skins, the stores, and the Fort +itself; and every stitch of clothing owned by Lazenby: so that, if he had +insisted on the redemption of the debts, the H. B. C. and Lazenby had +been naked and hungry in the wilderness. But Pierre was not a hard +creditor. He instantly and nonchalantly said that the Fort would be +useless to him, and handed it back again with all therein, on a most +humorously constructed ninety-nine years' lease; while Lazenby was left +in pawn. Yet Lazenby's mind was not at certain ease; he had a wholesome +respect for Pierre's singularities, and dreaded being suddenly called +upon to pay his debt before he could get his new clothes made, maybe, in +the presence of Wind Driver, chief of the Golden Dogs, and his demure and +charming daughter, Wine Face, who looked upon him with the eye of +affection--a matter fully, but not ostentatiously, appreciated by +Lazenby. If he could have entirely forgotten a pretty girl in South +Kensington, who, at her parents' bidding, turned her shoulder on him, he +would have married Wine Face; and so he told Pierre. But the half-breed +had only a sardonic sympathy for such weakness. Things changed at once +when Shon McGann arrived. He should have come before, according to a +promise given Pierre, but there were reasons for the delay; and these +Shon elaborated in his finely picturesque style. + +He said that he had lost his way after he left the Wapiti Woods, and +should never have found it again, had it not been for a strange being who +came upon him and took him to the camp of the White Hand Indians, and +cared for him there, and sent him safely on his way again to Fort Luke. + +"Sorra wan did I ever see like him," said Shon, with a face that was +divil this minute and saint the next; pale in the cheek, and black in the +eye, and grizzled hair flowin' long at his neck and lyin' like snakes on +his shoulders; and whin his fingers closed on yours, bedad! they didn't +seem human at all, for they clamped you so cold and strong." + +"'For they clamped you so cold and strong,'" replied Pierre, mockingly, +yet greatly interested, as one could see by the upward range of his eye +towards Shon. "Well, what more?" + +"Well, squeeze the acid from y'r voice, Pierre; for there's things that +better become you: and listen to me, for I've news for all here at the +Fort, before I've done, which'll open y'r eyes with a jerk." + +"With a wonderful jerk, hold! let us prepare, messieurs, to be waked with +an Irish jerk!" and Pierre pensively trifled with the fringe on Shon's +buckskin jacket, which was whisked from his fingers with smothered anger. +For a few moments he was silent; but the eager looks of the Chief Factor +and Lazenby encouraged him to continue. Besides, it was only Pierre's +way--provoking Shon was the piquant sauce of his life. + +"Lyin' awake I was," continued Shon, "in the middle of the night, not +bein' able to sleep for a pain in a shoulder I'd strained, whin I heard a +thing that drew me up standin'. It was the sound of a child laughin'; so +wonderful and bright, and at the very door of me tent it seemed. Then it +faded away till it was only a breath, lovely, and idle, and swingin'. I +wint to the door and looked out. There was nothin' there, av coorse." +"And why 'av coorse'"? rejoined Pierre. The Chief Factor was intent on +what Shon was saying, while Lazenby drummed his fingers on the table, his +nose in the air. + +"Divils me darlin', but ye know as well as I, that there's things in the +world neither for havin' nor handlin'. And that's wan of thim, says I to +meself. . . . I wint back and lay down, and I heard the voice singin' +now and comin' nearer and nearer, and growin' louder and louder, and then +there came with it a patter of feet, till it was as a thousand children +were dancin' by me door. I was shy enough, I'll own; but I pulled aside +the curtain of the tent to see again: and there was nothin' beyand for +the eye. But the singin' was goin' past and recedin' as before, till it +died away along the waves of prairie grass. I wint back and give Grey +Nose, my Injin bed-fellow, a lift wid me fut. 'Come out of that,' says +I, 'and tell me if dead or alive I am.' He got up, and there was the +noise soft and grand again, but with it now the voices of men, the flip +of birds' wings and the sighin' of tree tops, and behind all that the +long wash of a sea like none I ever heard. . . . 'Well,' says I to +the Injin grinnin' before me, 'what's that, in the name o' Moses?' +'That,' says he, laughin' slow in me face, 'is the Tall Master--him that +brought you to the camp.' Thin I remimbered all the things that's been +said of him, and I knew it was music I'd been hearin' and not children's +voices nor anythin' else at all. + +"'Come with me,' says Grey Nose; and he took me to the door of a big tent +standin' alone from the rest. + +"'Wait a minute,' says he, and he put his hand on the tent curtain; and at +that there was a crash, as a million gold hammers were fallin' on silver +drums. And we both stood still; for it seemed an army, with swords +wranglin' and bridle-chains rattlin', was marchin' down on us. There was +the divil's own uproar, as a battle was comin' on; and a long line of +spears clashed. But just then there whistled through the larrup of sound +a clear voice callin', gentle and coaxin', yet commandin' too; and the +spears dropped, and the pounding of horsehoofs ceased, and then the army +marched away; far away; iver so far away, into--" + +"Into Heaven!" flippantly interjected Lazenby. "Into Heaven, say I, and +be choked to you! for there's no other place for it; and I'll stand by +that, till I go there myself, and know the truth o' the thing." Pierre +here spoke. "Heaven gave you a fine trick with words, Shon McGann. I +sometimes think Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words and women. +. . . 'Bien,' what then?" + +Shon was determined not to be angered. The occasion was too big. "Well, +Grey Nose lifted the curtain and wint in. In a minute he comes out. +'You can go in,' says he. So in I wint, the Injin not comin', and there +in the middle of the tint stood the Tall Master, alone. He had his +fiddle to his chin, and the bow hoverin' above it. He looked at me for a +long time along the thing; then, all at once, from one string I heard the +child laughin' that pleasant and distant, though the bow seemed not to be +touchin'. Soon it thinned till it was the shadow of a laugh, and I +didn't know whin it stopped, he smilin' down at the fiddle bewhiles. +Then he said without lookin' at me,--'It is the spirit of the White +Valley and the Hills of the Mighty Men; of which all men shall know, for +the North will come to her spring again one day soon, at the remaking of +the world. They thought the song would never be found again, but I have +given it a home here.' And he bent and kissed the strings. After, he +turned sharply as if he'd been spoken to, and looked at someone beside +him; someone that I couldn't see. A cloud dropped upon his face, he +caught the fiddle hungrily to his breast, and came limpin' over to me-- +for there was somethin' wrong with his fut--and lookin' down his hook- +nose at me, says he,--'I've a word for them at Fort Luke, where you're +goin', and you'd better be gone at once; and I'll put you on your way. +There's to be a great battle. The White Hands have an ancient feud with +the Golden Dogs, and they have come from where the soft Chinook wind +ranges the Peace River, to fight until no man of all the Golden Dogs be +left, or till they themselves be destroyed. It is the same north and +south,' he wint on; 'I have seen it all in Italy, in Greece, in--' but +here he stopped and smiled strangely. After a minute he wint on: 'The +White Hands have no quarrel with the Englishmen of the Fort, and I would +warn them, for Englishmen were once kind to me--and warn also the Golden +Dogs. So come with me at once,' says he. And I did. And he walked with +me till mornin', carryin' the fiddle under his arm, but wrapped in a +beautiful velvet cloth, havin' on it grand figures like the arms of a +king or queen. And just at the first whisk of sun he turned me into a +trail and give me good-bye, sayin' that maybe he'd follow me soon, and, +at any rate, he'd be there at the battle. Well, divils betide me! I got +off the track again; and lost a day; but here I am; and there's me story +to take or lave as you will." + +Shon paused and began to fumble with the cards on the table before him, +looking the while at the others. + +The Chief Factor was the first to speak. "I don't doubt but he told you +true about the White Hands and the Golden Dogs," he said; "for there's +been war and bad blood between them beyond the memory of man--at least +since the time that the Mighty Men lived, from which these date their +history. But there's nothing to be done to-night; for if we tell old +Wind Driver, there'll be no sleeping at the Fort. So we'll let the thing +stand." + +"You believe all this poppy-cock, Chief"? said Lazenby to the Factor, +but laughing in Shon's face the while. The Factor gravely replied: +"I knew of the Tall Master years ago on the Far-Off Metal River; and +though I never saw him I can believe these things--and more. You do not +know this world through and through, Lazenby; you have much to learn." + +Pierre said nothing. He took the cards from Shon and passed them to and +fro in his hand. Mechanically he dealt them out, and as mechanically +they took them up and in silence began to play. + +The next day there was commotion and excitement at Fort Luke. The Golden +Dogs were making preparations for the battle. Pow-wow followed pow-wow, +and paint and feathers followed all. The H. B. C. people had little to +do but look to their guns and house everything within the walls of the +Fort. + +At night, Shon, Pierre, and Lazenby were seated about the table in the +common-room, the cards lying dealt before them, waiting for the Factor to +come. Presently the door opened and the Factor entered, followed by +another. Shon and Pierre sprang to their feet. + +"The Tall Master," said Shon with a kind of awe; and then stood still. + +Their towering visitor slowly unloosed something he carried very +carefully and closely beneath his arm, and laid it on the table, dropping +his compass-like fingers softly on it. He bowed gravely to each, yet the +bow seemed grotesque, his body was so ungainly. With the eyes of all +drawn to him absolutely, he spoke in a low sonorous tone: "I have +followed the traveller fast"--his hand lifted gently towards Shon--"for +there are weighty concerns abroad, and I have things to say and do before +I go again to my people--and beyond. . . . I have hungered for the +face of a white man these many years, and his was the first I saw;"-- +again he tossed a long finger towards the Irishman--"and it brought back +many things. I remember. . . . " He paused, then sat down; and they +all did the same. He looked at them one by one with distant kindness. +"I remember," he continued, and his strangely articulated fingers folded +about the thing on the table beside him, "when"--here the cards caught +his eye. His face underwent a change. An eager fantastic look shot from +his eye, "when I gambled this away at Lucca,"--his hand drew the bundle +closer to him--"but I won it back again--at a price!" he gloomily added, +glancing sideways as to someone at his elbow. + +He remained, eyes hanging upon space for a moment, then he recollected +himself and continued: "I became wiser; I never risked it again; but I +loved the game always. I was a gamester from the start--the artist is +always so when he is greatest,--like nature herself. And once, years +after, I played with a mother for her child--and mine. And yet once +again at Parma with"--here he paused, throwing that sharp sidelong +glance--"with the greatest gamester, for the infinite secret of Art: and +I won it; but I paid the price! . . . I should like to play now." + +He reached his hand, drew up five cards, and ran his eye through them. +"Play!" he said. "The hand is good--very good. . . . Once when I +played with the Princess--but it is no matter; and Tuscany is far away! +. . . Play!" he repeated. + +Pierre instantly picked up the cards, with an air of cool satisfaction. +He had either found the perfect gamester or the perfect liar. He knew +the remedy for either. + +The Chief Factor did not move. Shon and Lazenby followed Pierre's +action. By their positions Lazenby became his partner. They played in +silence for a minute, the Tall Master taking all. "Napoleon was a +wonderful player, but he lost with me," he said slowly as he played a +card upon three others and took them. + +Lazenby was so taken back by this remark that, presently, he trumped +his partner's ace, and was rewarded by a talon-like look from the Tall +Master's eye; but it was immediately followed by one of saturnine +amusement. + +They played on silently. + +"Ah, you are a wonderful player!" he presently said to Pierre, with a +look of keen scrutiny. "Come, I will play with you--for values--the +first time in seventy-five years; then, no more!" + +Lazenby and Shon drew away beside the Chief Factor. The two played. +Meanwhile Lazenby said to Shon: "The man's mad. He talks about Napoleon +as if he'd known him--as if it wasn't three-fourths of a century ago. +Does he think we're all born idiots? Why, he's not over sixty years old +now. But where the deuce did he come from with that Italian face? And +the funniest part of it is, he reminds me of someone. Did you notice how +he limped--the awkward beggar!" + +Lazenby had unconsciously lifted his voice, and presently the Tall Master +turned and said to him: "I ran a nail into my foot at Leyden seventy-odd +years ago." + +"He's the devil himself," rejoined Lazenby, and he did not lower his +voice. + +"Many with angelic gifts are children of His Dark Majesty," said the Tall +Master, slowly; and though he appeared closely occupied with the game, a +look of vague sadness came into his face. + +For a half-hour they played in silence, the slight, delicate-featured +half-breed, and the mysterious man who had for so long been a thing of +wonder in the North, a weird influence among the Indians. + +There was a strange, cold fierceness in the Tall Master's face. He now +staked his precious bundle against the one thing Pierre prized--the gold +watch received years ago for a deed of heroism on the Chaudiere. The +half-breed had always spoken of it as amusing, but Shon at least knew +that to Pierre it was worth his right hand. + +Both men drew breath slowly, and their eyes were hard. The stillness +became painful; all were possessed by the grim spirit of Chance. . . . +The Tall Master won. He came to his feet, his shambling body drawn +together to a height. Pierre rose also. Their looks clinched. Pierre +stretched out his hand. "You are my master at this," he said. + +The other smiled sadly. "I have played for the last time. I have not +forgotten how to win. If I had lost, uncommon things had happened. +This,"--he laid his hand on the bundle and gently undid it,--"is my +oldest friend, since the warm days at Parma . . . all dead . . . all +dead." Out of the velvet wrapping, broidered with royal and ducal arms, +and rounded by a wreath of violets--which the Chief Factor looked at +closely--he drew his violin. He lifted it reverently to his lips. + +"My good Garnerius!" he said. "Three masters played you, but I am chief +of them all. They had the classic soul, but I the romantic heart--'les +grandes caprices.'" His head lifted higher. "I am the master artist of +the world. I have found the core of Nature. Here in the North is the +wonderful soul of things. Beyond this, far beyond, where the foolish +think is only inviolate ice, is the first song of the Ages in a very +pleasant land. I am the lost Master, and I shall return, I shall return +. . . but not yet . . . not yet." + +He fetched the instrument to his chin with a noble pride. The ugliness +of his face was almost beautiful now. + +The Chief Factor's look was fastened on him with bewilderment; he was +trying to remember something: his mind went feeling, he knew not why, +for a certain day, a quarter of a century before, when he unpacked a box +of books and papers from England. Most of them were still in the Fort. +The association of this man with these things fretted him. + +The Tall Master swung his bow upward, but at that instant there came a +knock, and, in response to a call, Wind Driver and Wine Face entered. +Wine Face was certainly a beautiful girl; and Lazenby might well have +been pardoned for throwing in his fate with such a heathen, if he +despaired of ever seeing England again. The Tall Master did not turn +towards these. The Indians sat gracefully on a bearskin before the fire. +The eyes of the girl were cast shyly upon the Man as he stood there +unlike an ordinary man; in his face a fine hardness and the cold light of +the North. He suddenly tipped his bow upward and brought it down with a +most delicate crash upon the strings. Then softly, slowly, he passed +into a weird fantasy. The Indians sat breathless. Upon them it acted +more impressively than the others: besides, the player's eye was +searching them now; he was playing into their very bodies. And they +responded with some swift shocks of recognition crossing their faces. +Suddenly the old Indian sprang up. He thrust his arms out, and made, as +if unconsciously, some fantastic yet solemn motions. The player smiled +in a far-off fashion, and presently ran the bow upon the strings in an +exquisite cry; and then a beautiful avalanche of sound slid from a +distance, growing nearer and nearer, till it swept through the room, and +imbedded all in its sweetness. + +At this the old Indian threw himself forward at the player's feet. "It +is the song of the White Weaver, the maker of the world--the music from +the Hills of the Mighty Men. . . . I knew it--I knew it--but never +like that. . . . It was lost to the world; the wild cry of the lofty +stars. . . ." His face was wet. + +The girl too had risen. She came forward as if in a dream and reverently +touched the arm of the musician, who paused now, and was looking at them +from under his long eyelashes. She said whisperingly: "Are you a spirit? +Do you come from the Hills of the Mighty Men?" + +He answered gravely: "I am no spirit. But I have journeyed in the Hills +of the Mighty Men and along their ancient hunting-grounds. This that I +have played is the ancient music of the world--the music of Jubal and his +comrades. It comes humming from the Poles; it rides laughing down the +planets; it trembles through the snow; it gives joy to the bones of the +wind. . . . And I am the voice of it," he added; and he drew up his +loose unmanageable body till it looked enormous, firm, and dominant. + +The girl's fingers ran softly over to his breast. "I will follow you," +she said, "when you go again to the Happy Valleys." + +Down from his brow there swept a faint hue of colour, and, for a breath, +his eyes closed tenderly with hers. But he straightway gathered back his +look again, his body shrank, not rudely, from her fingers, and he +absently said: "I am old-in years the father of the world. It is a man's +life gone since, at Genoa, she laid her fingers on my breast like that. +. . . These things can be no more . . . until the North hath its +summer again; and I stand young--the Master--upon the summits of my +renown." + +The girl drew slowly back. Lazenby was muttering under his breath now; +he was overwhelmed by this change in Wine Face. He had been impressed to +awe by the Tall Master's music, but he was piqued, and determined not to +give in easily. He said sneeringly that Maskelyne and Cooke in music had +come to life, and suggested a snake-dance. + +The Tall Master heard these things, and immediately he turned to Lazenby +with an angry look on his face. His brows hung heavily over the dull +fire of his eyes; his hair itself seemed like Medusa's, just quivering +into savage life; the fingers spread out white and claw-like upon the +strings as he curved his violin to his chin, whereof it became, as it +were, a piece. The bow shot out and down upon the instrument with a +great clangour. There eddied into a vast arena of sound the prodigious +elements of war. Torture rose from those four immeasurable chords; +destruction was afoot upon them; a dreadful dance of death supervened. + +Through the Chief Factor's mind there flashed--though mechanically, and +only to be remembered afterwards--the words of a schoolday poem. It +shuttled in and out of the music: + + "Wheel the wild dance, + While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud; + And call the brave to bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud." + +The face of the player grew old and drawn. The skin was wrinkled, but +shone, the hair spread white, the nose almost met the chin, the mouth was +all malice. It was old age with vast power: conquest volleyed from the +fingers. + +Shon McGann whispered aves, aching with the sound; the Chief Factor +shuddered to his feet; Lazenby winced and drew back to the wall, putting +his hand before his face as though the sounds were striking him; the old +Indian covered his head with his arms upon the floor. Wine Face knelt, +her face all grey, her fingers lacing and interlacing with pain. Only +Pierre sat with masterful stillness, his eyes never moving from the face +of the player; his arms folded; his feet firmly wedded to the floor. The +sound became strangely distressing. It shocked the flesh and angered the +nerves. Upon Lazenby it acted singularly. He cowered from it, but +presently, with a look of madness in his eyes, rushed forward, arms +outstretched, as though to seize this intolerable minstrel. There was a +sudden pause in the playing; then the room quaked with noise, buffeting +Lazenby into stillness. The sounds changed instantly again, and music of +an engaging sweetness and delight fell about them as in silver drops--an +enchanting lyric of love. Its exquisite tenderness subdued Lazenby, who, +but now, had a heart for slaughter. He dropped on his knees, threw his +head into his arms, and sobbed hard. The Tall Master's fingers crept +caressingly along one of those heavenly veins of sound, his bow poising +softly over it. The farthest star seemed singing. + +At dawn the next day the Golden Dogs were gathered for war before the +Fort. Immediately after the sun rose, the foe were seen gliding darkly +out of the horizon. From another direction came two travellers. These +also saw the White Hands bearing upon the Fort, and hurried forward. +They reached the gates of the Fort in good time, and were welcomed. One +was a chief trader from a fort in the west. He was an old man, and had +been many years in the service of the H. B. C.; and, like Lazenby, had +spent his early days in London, a connoisseur in all its pleasures; the +other was a voyageur. They had posted on quickly to bring news of this +crusade of the White Hands. + +The hostile Indians came steadily to within a few hundred yards of the +Golden Dogs. Then they sent a brave to say that they had no quarrel with +the people of the Fort; and that if the Golden Dogs came on they would +battle with them alone; since the time had come for "one to be as both," +as their Medicine Men had declared since the days of the Great Race. +And this signified that one should destroy the other. + +At this all the Golden Dogs ranged into line. The sun shone brightly, +the long hedge of pine woods in the distance caught the colour of the +sky, the flowers of the plains showed handsomely as a carpet of war. The +bodies of the fighters glistened. You could see the rise and fall of +their bare, strenuous chests. They stood as their forefathers in battle, +almost naked, with crested head, gleaming axe, scalp-knife, and bows and +arrows. At first there was the threatening rustle of preparation; then +a great stillness came and stayed for a moment; after which, all at once, +there sped through the air a big shout of battle, and the innumerable +twang of flying arrows; and the opposing hosts ran upon each other. + +Pierre and Shon McGann, watching from the Fort, cried out with +excitement. + +"Divils me darlin'!" called Shon, "are we gluin' our eyes to a chink in +the wall, whin the tangle of battle goes on beyand? Bedad, I'll not +stand it! Look at them twistin' the neck o' war! Open the gates, open +the gates say I, and let us have play with our guns." + +"Hush! 'Mon Dieu!'" interrupted Pierre. "Look! The Tall Master!" + +None at the Fort had seen the Tall Master since the night before. Now he +was covering the space between the walls and the battle, his hair +streaming behind him. + +When he came near to the vortex of fight he raised his violin to his +chin, and instantly a piercingly sweet call penetrated the wild uproar. +The Call filled it, drained through it, wrapped it, overcame it; so that +it sank away at last like the outwash of an exhausted tide: the weft of +battle stayed unfinished in the loom. + +Then from the Indian lodges came the women and children. They drew near +to the unearthly luxury of that Call, now lifting with an unbounded joy. +Battleaxes fell to the ground; the warriors quieted even where they stood +locked with their foes. The Tall Master now drew away from them, facing +the north and west. That ineffable Call drew them after him with grave +joy; and they brought their dead and wounded along. The women and +children glided in among the men and followed also. Presently one girl +ran away from the rest and came close into the great leader's footsteps. + +At that instant, Lazenby, from the wall of the Fort, cried out madly, +sprang down, opened the gates, and rushed towards the girl, crying: "Wine +Face! Wine Face!" + +She did not look behind. But he came close to her and caught her by the +waist. "Come back! Come back! O my love, come back!" he urged; but +she pushed him gently from her. + +"Hush! Hush!" she said. "We are going to the Happy Valleys. Don't you +hear him calling"? . . . And Lazenby fell back. + +The Tall Master was now playing a wonderful thing, half dance, half +carnival; but with that Call still beating through it. They were passing +the Fort at an angle. All within issued forth to see. Suddenly the old +trader who had come that morning started forward with a cry; then stood +still. He caught the Factor's arm; but he seemed unable to speak yet; +his face was troubled, his eyes were hard upon the player. + +The procession passed the empty lodges, leaving the ground strewn with +their weapons, and not one of their number stayed behind. They passed +away towards the high hills of the north-west-beautiful austere barriers. + +Still the trader gazed, and was pale, and trembled. They watched long. +The throng of pilgrims grew a vague mass; no longer an army of +individuals; and the music came floating back with distant charm. +At last the old man found voice. "My God, it is--" + +The Factor touched his arm, interrupting him, and drew a picture from his +pocket--one but just now taken from that musty pile of books, received so +many years before. He showed it to the old man. + +"Yes, yes," said the other, "that is he. . . . And the world buried +him forty years ago!" + +Pierre, standing near, added with soft irony: "There are strange things +in the world. He is the gamester of the world. 'Mais' a grand comrade +also." + +The music came waving back upon them delicately but the pilgrims were +fading from view. + +Soon the watchers were alone with the glowing day. + + + + + + +THE CRIMSON FLAG + +Talk and think as one would, The Woman was striking to see; with +marvellous flaxen hair and a joyous violet eye. She was all pulse and +dash; but she was as much less beautiful than the manager's wife as Tom +Liffey was as nothing beside the manager himself; and one would care +little to name the two women in the same breath if the end had been +different. When The Woman came to Little Goshen there were others of her +class there, but they were of a commoner sort and degree. She was the +queen of a lawless court, though she never, from first to last, spoke to +one of those others who were her people; neither did she hold commerce +with any of the ordinary miners, save Pretty Pierre, but he was more +gambler than miner,--and he went, when the matter was all over, and told +her some things that stripped her soul naked before her eyes. Pierre had +a wonderful tongue. It was only the gentlemen-diggers--and there were +many of them at Little Goshen--who called upon her when the lights were +low; and then there was a good deal of muffled mirth in the white house +among the pines. The rougher miners made no quarrel with this, for the +gentlemen-diggers were popular enough, they were merely sarcastic and +humorous, and said things which, coming to The Woman's ears, made her +very merry; for she herself had an abundant wit, and had spent wild hours +with clever men. She did not resent the playful insolence that sent a +dozen miners to her house in the dead of night with a crimson flag, which +they quietly screwed to her roof; and paint, with which they deftly put a +wide stripe of scarlet round the cornice, and another round the basement. +In the morning, when she saw what had been done, she would not have the +paint removed nor the flag taken down; for, she said, the stripes looked +very well, and the other would show that she was always at home. + +Now, the notable thing was that Heldon, the manager, was in The Woman's +house on the night this was done. Tom Liffey, the lumpish guide and +trapper, saw him go in; and, days afterwards, he said to Pierre: "Divils +me own, but this is a bad hour for Heldon's wife--she with a face like a +princess and eyes like the fear o' God. Nivir a wan did I see like her, +since I came out of Erin with a clatter of hoofs behoind me and a squall +on the sea before. There's wimmin there wid cheeks like roses and +buthermilk, and a touch that'd make y'r heart pound on y'r ribs; but none +that's grander than Heldon's wife. To lave her for that other, standin' +hip-high in her shame, is temptin' the fires of Heaven, that basted the +sinners o' Sodom." + +Pierre, pausing between the whiffs of a cigarette, said: "So? But you +know more of catching foxes in winter, and climbing mountains in summer, +and the grip of the arm of an Injin girl, than of these things. You are +young, quite young in the world, Tom Liffey." + +"Young I may be with a glint o' grey at me temples from a night o' +trouble beyand in the hills; but I'm the man, an' the only man, that's +climbed to the glacier-top--God's Playground, as they call it: and nivir +a dirty trick have I done to Injin girl or any other; and be damned to +you there!" + +"Sometimes I think you are as foolish as Shon McGann," compassionately +replied the half-breed. + +"You have almighty virtue, and you did that brave trick of the glacier; +but great men have fallen. You are not dead yet. Still, as you say, +Heldon's wife is noble to see. She is grave and cold, and speaks little; +but there is something in her which is not of the meek of the earth. +Some women say nothing, and suffer and forgive, and take such as Heldon +back to their bosoms; but there are others--I remember a woman--bien, it +is no matter, it was long ago; but they two are as if born of one mother; +and what comes of this will be mad play--mad play." + +"Av coorse his wife may not get to know of it, and--" + +"Not get to know it! 'Tsh, you are a child--" + +"Faith, I'll say what I think, and that in y'r face! Maybe he'll tire of +the handsome rip--for handsome she is, like a yellow lily growin' out o' +mud--and go back to his lawful wife, that believes he's at the mines, +when he's drinkin' and colloguin' wid a fly-away." + +Pierre slowly wheeled till he had the Irishman straight in his eye. Then +he said in a low, cutting tone: "I suppose your heart aches for the +beautiful lady, eh?" Here he screwed his slight forefinger into Tom's +breast; then he added sharply: "'Nom de Dieu,' but you make me angry! +You talk too much. Such men get into trouble. And keep down the riot of +that heart of yours, Tom Liffey, or you'll walk on the edge of knives one +day. And now take an inch of whisky and ease the anxious soul. 'Voila!'" +After a moment he added: "Women work these things out for themselves." +Then the two left the hut, and amiably strolled together to the centre of +the village, where they parted. It was as Pierre had said: the woman +would work the thing out for herself. Later that evening Heldon's wife +stood cloaked and veiled in the shadows of the pines, facing the house +with The Crimson Flag. Her eyes shifted ever from the door to the flag, +which was stirred by the light breeze. Once or twice she shivered as +with cold, but she instantly stilled again, and watched. It was +midnight. Here and there beyond in the village a light showed, and +straggling voices floated faintly towards her. For a long time no sound +came from the house. But at last she heard a laugh. At that she drew +something from her pocket, and held it firmly in her hand. Once she +turned and looked at another house far up on the hill, where lights were +burning. It was Heldon's house--her home. A sharp sound as of anguish +and anger escaped her; then she fastened her eyes on the door in front of +her. + +At that moment Tom Liffey was standing with his hands on his hips looking +at Heldon's home on the hill; and he said some rumbling words, then +strode on down the road, and suddenly paused near the wife. He did not +see her. He faced the door at which she was looking, and shook his fist +at it. + +"A murrain on y'r sowl!" said he, "as there's plague in y'r body, and +hell in the slide of y'r feet, like the trail of the red spider. And out +o' that come ye, Heldon, for I know y're there. Out of that, ye beast! +. . . But how can ye go back--you that's rolled in that sewer--to the +loveliest woman that ever trod the neck o' the world! Damned y' are in +every joint o' y'r frame, and damned is y'r sowl, I say, for bringing +sorrow to her; and I hate you as much for that, as I could worship her +was she not your wife and a lady o' blood, God save her!" + +Then shaking his fist once more, he swung away slowly down the road. +During this the wife's teeth held together as though they were of a +piece. She looked after Tom Liffey and smiled; but it was a dreadful +smile. + +"He worships me, that common man--worships me," she said. "This man who +was my husband has shamed me, left me. Well--" + +The door of the house opened; a man came out. His wife leaned a little +forward, and something clicked ominously in her hand. But a voice came +up the road towards them through the clear air--the voice of Tom Liffey. +The husband paused to listen; the wife mechanically did the same. The +husband remembered this afterwards: it was the key to, and the beginning +of, a tragedy. These are the words the Irishman sang: + + "She was a queen, she stood up there before me, + My blood went roarin' when she touched my hand; + She kissed me on the lips, and then she swore me + To die for her--and happy was the land." + +A new and singular look came into her face. It trans formed her. +"That," she said in a whisper to herself--"that! He knows the way." + +As her husband turned towards his home, she turned also. He heard the +rustle of garments, and he could just discern the cloaked figure in the +shadows. He hurried on; the figure flitted ahead of him. A fear +possessed him in spite of his will. He turned back. The figure stood +still for a moment, then followed him. He braced himself, faced about, +and walked towards it: it stopped and waited. He had not the courage. +He went back again swiftly towards the house he had left. Again he +looked behind him. The figure was standing, not far, in the pines. He +wheeled suddenly towards the house, turned a key in the door, and +entered. + +Then the wife went to that which had been her home: Heldon did not go +thither until the first flush of morning. Pierre, returning from an all- +night sitting at cards, met him, and saw the careworn look on his face. +The half-breed smiled. He knew that the event was doubling on the man. +When Heldon reached his house, he went to his wife's room. It was +locked. Then he walked down to his mines with a miserable shame and +anger at his heart. He did not pass The Crimson Flag. He went by +another way. + +That evening, in the dusk, a woman knocked at Tom Liffey's door. He +opened it. + +"Are you alone"? she said. "I am alone, lady." + +"I will come in," she added. "You will--come in"? he faltered. + +She drew near him, and reached out and gently caught his hand. + +"Ah!" he said, with a sound almost like a sob in its intensity, and the +blood flushed to his hair. + +He stepped aside, and she entered. In the light of the candle her eye +burned into his, but her face wore a shining coldness. She leaned +towards him. + +"You said you could worship me," she whispered, "and you cursed him. +Well--worship me--altogether--and that will curse him, as he has killed +me." + +"Dear lady!" he said, in an awed, overwhelmed murmur; and he fell back +to the wall. + +She came towards him. "Am I not beautiful"? she urged. She took his +hand. His eye swam with hers. But his look was different from hers, +though he could not know that. His was the madness of a man in a dream; +hers was a painful thing. The Furies dwelt in her. She softly lifted +his hand above his head, and whispered: "Swear." And she kissed him. +Her lips were icy, though he did not think so. The blood tossed in his +veins. He swore: but, doing so, he could not conceive all that would be +required of him. He was hers, body and soul, and she had resolved on a +grim thing. . . . In the darkness, they left the hut and passed into +the woods, and slowly up through the hills. + +Heldon returned to his home that night to find it empty. There were no +servants. There was no wife. Her cat and dog lay dead upon the +hearthrug. Her clothing was cut into strips. Her wedding-dress was a +charred heap on the fireplace. Her jewellery lay molten with it. Her +portrait had been torn from its frame. + +An intolerable fear possessed him. Drops of sweat hung on his forehead +and his hands. He fled towards the town. He bit his finger-nails till +they bled as he passed the house in the pines. He lifted his arm as if +the flappings of The Crimson Flag were blows in his face. + +At last he passed Tom Liffey's hut. He saw Pierre, coming from it. The +look on the gambler's face was one, of gloomy wonder. His fingers +trembled as he lighted a cigarette, and that was an unusual thing. The +form of Heldon edged within the light. Pierre dropped the match and said +to him,--"You are looking for your wife?" + +Heldon bowed his head. The other threw open the door of the hut. "Come +in here," he said. They entered. Pierre pointed to a woman's hat on the +table. "Do you know that"? he asked, huskily, for he was moved. But +Heldon only nodded dazedly. Pierre continued: "I was to have met Tom +Liffey here--to-night. He is not here. You hoped--I suppose--to see +your wife in your--home. She is not there. He left a word on paper for +me. I have torn it up. Writing is the enemy of man. But I know where +he is gone. I know also where your wife has gone." + +Heldon's face was of a hateful paleness. . . . They passed out into +the night. + +"Where are you going"? Heldon said. + +"To God's Playground, if we can get there." + +"To God's Playground? To the glacier-top? You are mad." + +"No, but he and she were mad. Come on." Then he whispered something, +and Heldon gave a great cry, and they plunged into the woods. + +In the morning the people of Little Goshen, looking towards the glacier, +saw a flag (they knew afterwards that it was crimson) flying on it. Near +it were two human figures. A miner, looking through a field-glass, said +that one figure was crouching by the flag-staff, and that it was a woman. +The other figure near was a man. As the morning wore on, they saw upon a +crag of ice below the sloping glacier two men looking upwards towards the +flag. One of them seemed to shriek out, and threw up his hands, and made +as if to rush forward; but the other drew him back. + +Heldon knew what revenge and disgrace may be at their worst. In vain he +tried to reach God's Playground. Only one man knew the way, and he was +dead upon it--with Heldon's wife: two shameless suicides. . . . When +he came down from the mountain the hair upon his face was white, though +that upon his head remained black as it had always been. And those +frozen figures stayed there like statues with that other crimson flag: +until, one day, a great-bodied wind swept out of the north, and, in pity, +carried them down a bottomless fissure. + +But long before this happened, The Woman had fled from Little Goshen in +the night, and her house was burned to the ground. + + + + + + +THE FLOOD + +Wendling came to Fort Anne on the day that the Reverend Ezra Badgley and +an unknown girl were buried. And that was a notable thing. The man had +been found dead at his evening meal; the girl had died on the same day; +and they were buried side by side. This caused much scandal, for the man +was holy, and the girl, as many women said, was probably evil altogether. +At the graves, when the minister's people saw what was being done, they +piously protested; but the Factor, to whom Pierre had whispered a word, +answered them gravely that the matter should go on: since none knew but +the woman was as worthy of heaven as the man. Wendling chanced to stand +beside Pretty Pierre. + +"Who knows!" he said aloud, looking hard at the graves, "who knows!.... +She died before him, but the dead can strike." + +Pierre did not answer immediately, for the Factor was calling the earth +down on both coffins; but after a moment he added: "Yes, the dead can +strike." And then the eyes of the two men caught and stayed, and they +knew that they had things to say to each other in the world. + +They became friends. And that, perhaps, was not greatly to Wendling's +credit; for in the eyes of many Pierre was an outcast as an outlaw. +Maybe some of the women disliked this friendship most; since Wendling was +a handsome man, and Pierre was never known to seek them, good or bad; and +they blamed him for the other's coldness, for his unconcerned yet +respectful eye. + +"There's Nelly Nolan would dance after him to the world's end," said Shon +McGann to Pierre one day; "and the Widdy Jerome herself, wid her flamin' +cheeks and the wild fun in her eye, croons like a babe at the breast as +he slides out his cash on the bar; and over on Gansonby's Flat there's--" + +"There's many a fool, 'voila,'" sharply interjected Pierre, as he pushed +the needle through a button he was sewing on his coat. + +"Bedad, there's a pair of fools here, anyway, I say; for the women might +die without lift at waist or brush of lip, and neither of ye'd say, +'Here's to the joy of us, goddess, me own!'" + +Pierre seemed to be intently watching the needlepoint as it pierced up +the button-eye, and his reply was given with a slowness corresponding to +the sedate passage of the needle. "Wendling, you think, cares nothing +for women? Well, men who are like that cared once for one woman, and +when that was over--But, pshaw! I will not talk. You are no thinker, +Shon McGann. You blunder through the world. And you'll tremble as much +to a woman's thumb in fifty years as now." + +"By the holy smoke," said Shon, "though I tremble at that, maybe, I'll +not tremble, as Wendling, at nothing at all." Here Pierre looked up +sharply, then dropped his eyes on his work again. Shon lapsed suddenly +into a moodiness. + +"Yes," said Pierre, "as Wendling, at nothing at all? Well?" + +"Well, this, Pierre, for you that's a thinker from me that's none. I was +walking with him in Red Glen yesterday. Sudden he took to shiverin', and +snatched me by the arm, and a mad look shot out of his handsome face. +'Hush!' says he. I listened. There was a sound like the hard rattle of +a creek over stones, and then another sound behind that. 'Come quick,' +says he, the sweat standin' thick on him; and he ran me up the bank--for +it was at the beginnin' of the Glen where the sides were low--and there +we stood pantin' and starin' flat at each other. 'What's that? and +what's got its hand on ye? for y' are cold as death, an' pinched in the +face, an' you've bruised my arm,' said I. And he looked round him slow +and breathed hard, then drew his fingers through the sweat on his cheek. +'I'm not well, and I thought I heard--you heard it; what was it like?' +said he; and he peered close at me. 'Like water,' said I; 'a little +creek near, and a flood comin' far off.' 'Yes, just that,' said he; 'it's +some trick of wind in the place, but it makes a man foolish, and an inch +of brandy would be the right thing.' I didn't say no to that. And on we +came, and brandy we had with a wish in the eye of Nelly Nolan that'd warm +the heart of a tomb. . . . And there's a cud for your chewin', +Pierre. Think that by the neck and the tail, and the divil absolve ye." + +During this, Pierre had finished with the button. He had drawn on his +coat and lifted his hat, and now lounged, trying the point of the needle +with his forefinger. When Shon ended, he said with a sidelong glance: +"But what did you think of all that, Shon?" + +"Think! There it was! What's the use of thinkin'? There's many a trick +in the world with wind or with spirit, as I've seen often enough in ould +Ireland, and it's not to be guessed by me." Here his voice got a little +lower and a trifle solemn. "For, Pierre," spoke he, "there's what's more +than life or death, and sorra wan can we tell what it is; but we'll know +some day whin--" + +"When we've taken the leap at the Almighty Ditch," said Pierre, with a +grave kind of lightness. "Yes, it is all strange. But even the Almighty +Ditch is worth the doing: nearly everything is worth the doing; being +young, growing old, fighting, loving--when youth is on--hating, eating, +drinking, working, playing big games. All is worth it except two +things." + +"And what are they, bedad?" + +"Thy neighbour's wife and murder. Those are horrible. They double on a +man one time or another; always." + +Here, as in curiosity, Pierre pierced his finger with the needle, and +watched the blood form in a little globule. Looking at it meditatively +and sardonically, he said: "There is only one end to these. Blood for +blood is a great matter; and I used to wonder if it would not be terrible +for a man to see his death coming on him drop by drop, like that." He +let the spot of blood fall to the floor. "But now I know that there is a +punishment worse than that . . . 'mon Dieu!' worse than that," he +added. + +Into Shon's face a strange look had suddenly come. "Yes, there's +something worse than that, Pierre." + +"So, 'bien?'" + +Shon made the sacred gesture of his creed. "To be punished by the dead. +And not see them--only hear them." And his eyes steadied firmly to the +other's. + +Pierre was about to reply, but there came the sound of footsteps through +the open door, and presently Wendling entered slowly. He was pale and +worn, and his eyes looked out with a searching anxiousness. But that did +not render him less comely. He had always dressed in black and white, +and this now added to the easy and yet severe refinement of his person. +His birth and breeding had occurred in places unfrequented by such as +Shon and Pierre; but plains and wild life level all; and men are friends +according to their taste and will, and by no other law. Hence these with +Wendling. He stretched out his hand to each without a word. The hand- +shake was unusual; he had little demonstration ever. Shon looked up +surprised, but responded. Pierre followed with a swift, inquiring look; +then, in the succeeding pause, he offered cigarettes. Wendling took one; +and all, silent, sat down. The sun streamed intemperately through the +doorway, making a broad ribbon of light straight across the floor to +Wendling's feet. After lighting his cigarette, he looked into the +sunlight for a moment, still not speaking. Shon meanwhile had started +his pipe, and now, as if he found the silence awkward,--"It's a day for +God's country, this," he said: "to make man a Christian for little or +much, though he play with the Divil betunewhiles." Without looking at +them, Wendling said, in a low voice: "It was just such a day, down there +in Quebec, when It happened. You could hear the swill of the river, the +water licking the piers, and the saws in the Big Mill and the Little Mill +as they marched through the timber, flashing their teeth like bayonets. +It's a wonderful sound on a hot, clear day--that wild, keen singing of +the saws, like the cry of a live thing fighting and conquering. Up from +the fresh-cut lumber in the yards there came a smell like the juice of +apples, and the sawdust, as you thrust your hand into it, was as cool and +soft as the leaves of a clove-flower in the dew. On these days the town +was always still. It looked sleeping, and you saw the heat quivering up +from the wooden walls and the roofs of cedar shingles as though the +houses were breathing." + +Here he paused, still intent on the shaking sunshine. Then he turned to +the others as if suddenly aware that he had been talking to them. Shon +was about to speak, but Pierre threw a restraining glance, and, instead, +they all looked through the doorway and beyond. In the settlement below +they saw the effect that Wendling had described. The houses breathed. +A grasshopper went clacking past, a dog at the door snapped up a fly; but +there seemed no other life of day. Wendling nodded his head towards the +distance. "It was quiet, like that. I stood and watched the mills and +the yards, and listened to the saws, and looked at the great slide, and +the logs on the river: and I said ever to myself that it was all mine-- +all. Then I turned to a big house on the hillock beyond the cedars, +whose windows were open, with a cool dusk lying behind them. More than +all else, I loved to think I owned that house and what was in it. . . . +She was a beautiful woman. And she used to sit in a room facing the +mill--though the house fronted another way--thinking of me, I did not +doubt, and working at some delicate needle-stuff. There never had been a +sharp word between us, save when I quarrelled bitterly with her brother, +and he left the mill and went away. But she got over that mostly, though +the lad's name was, never mentioned between us. That day I was so hungry +for the sight of her that I got my field-glass--used to watch my vessels +and rafts making across the bay--and trained it on the window where I +knew she sat. I thought, it would amuse her, too, when I went back at +night, if I told her what she had been doing. I laughed to myself at the +thought of it as I adjusted the glass. . . . I looked. . . . +There was no more laughing. . . . I saw her, and in front of her a +man, with his back half on me. I could not recognise him, though at the +instant I thought he was something familiar. I failed to get his face at +all. Hers I found indistinctly. But I saw him catch her playfully by +the chin! After a little they rose. He put his arm about her and kissed +her, and he ran his fingers through her hair. She had such fine golden +hair--so light, and it lifted to every breath. Something got into my +brain. I know now it was the maggot which sent Othello mad. The world +in that hour was malicious, awful. . . . + +"After a time--it seemed ages, she and everything had receded so far-- +I went . . . home. At the door I asked the servant who had been +there. She hesitated, confused, and then said the young curate of the +parish. I was very cool: for madness is a strange thing; you see +everything with an intense aching clearness--that is the trouble. . . . +She was more kind than common. I do not think I was unusual. I was +playing a part well, my grandmother had Indian blood like yours, Pierre, +and I was waiting. I was even nicely critical of her to myself. I +balanced the mole on her neck against her general beauty; the curve of +her instep, I decided, was a little too emphatic. I passed her backwards +and forwards, weighing her at every point; but yet these two things were +the only imperfections. I pronounced her an exceeding piece of art--and +infamy. I was much interested to see how she could appear perfect in her +soul. I encouraged her to talk. I saw with devilish irony that an angel +spoke. And, to cap it all, she assumed the fascinating air of the +mediator--for her brother; seeking a reconciliation between us. Her +amazing art of person and mind so worked upon me that it became +unendurable; it was so exquisite--and so shameless. I was sitting where +the priest had sat that afternoon; and when she leaned towards me I +caught her chin lightly and trailed my fingers through her hair as he +had done: and that ended it, for I was cold, and my heart worked with +horrible slowness. Just as a wave poises at its height before breaking +upon the shore, it hung at every pulse-beat, and then seemed to fall over +with a sickening thud. I arose, and acting still, spoke impatiently of +her brother. Tears sprang to her eyes. Such divine dissimulation, +I thought--too good for earth. She turned to leave the room, and I did +not stay her. Yet we were together again that night. . . . I was +only waiting." + +The cigarette had dropped from his fingers to the floor, and lay there +smoking. Shon's face was fixed with anxiety; Pierre's eyes played +gravely with the sunshine. Wendling drew a heavy breath, and then went +on. + +"Again, next day, it was like this-the world draining the heat. . . . +I watched from the Big Mill. I saw them again. He leaned over her chair +and buried his face in her hair. The proof was absolute now. . . . +I started away, going a roundabout, that I might not be seen. It took me +some time. I was passing through a clump of cedar when I saw them making +towards the trees skirting the river. Their backs were on me. Suddenly +they diverted their steps--towards the great slide, shut off from water +this last few months, and used as a quarry to deepen it. Some petrified +things had been found in the rocks, but I did not think they were going +to these. I saw them climb down the rocky steps; and presently they were +lost to view. The gates of the slide could be opened by machinery from +the Little Mill. A terrible, deliciously malignant thought came to me. +I remember how the sunlight crept away from me and left me in the dark. +I stole through that darkness to the Little Mill. I went to the +machinery for opening the gates. Very gently I set it in motion, facing +the slide as I did so. I could see it through the open sides of the +mill. I smiled to think what the tiny creek, always creeping through a +faint leak in the gates and falling with a granite rattle on the stones, +would now become. I pushed the lever harder--harder. I saw the gates +suddenly give, then fly open, and the river sprang roaring massively +through them. I heard a shriek through the roar. I shuddered; and a +horrible sickness came on me. . . . And as I turned from the +machinery, I saw the young priest coming at me through a doorway! . . . +It was not the priest and my wife that I had killed; but my wife and her +brother. . . ." + +He threw his head back as though something clamped his throat. His voice +roughened with misery. "The young priest buried them both, and people +did not know the truth. They were even sorry for me. But I gave up the +mills--all; and I became homeless . . . this." + +Now he looked up at the two men, and said: "I have told you because you +know something, and because there will, I think, be an end soon." He got +up and reached out a trembling hand for a cigarette. Pierre gave him +one. "Will you walk with me"? he asked. + +Shon shook his head. "God forgive you," he replied, "I can't do it." + +But Wendling and Pierre left the hut together. They walked for an hour, +scarcely speaking, and not considering where they went. At last Pierre +mechanically turned to go down into Red Glen. Wendling stopped short, +then, with a sighing laugh, strode on. "Shoo has told you what happened +here"? he said. + +Pierre nodded. + +"And you know what came once when you walked with me.... The dead can +strike," he added. Pierre sought his eye. "The minister and the girl +buried together that day," he said, "were--" + +He stopped, for behind him he heard the sharp, cold trickle of water. +Silent they walked on. It followed them. They could not get out of the +Glen now until they had compassed its length--the walls were high. The +sound grew. The men faced each other. + +"Good-bye," said Wendling; and he reached out his hand swiftly. But +Pierre heard a mighty flood groaning on them, and he blinded as he +stretched his arm in response. He caught at Wendling's shoulder, but +felt him lifted and carried away, while he himself stood still in a +screeching wind and heard impalpable water rushing over him. In a minute +it was gone; and he stood alone in Red Glen. + +He gathered himself up and ran. Far down, where the Glen opened to the +plain, he found Wendling. The hands were wrinkled; the face was cold; +the body was wet: the man was drowned and dead. + + + + + + +IN PIPI VALLEY + +"Divils me darlins, it's a memory I have of a time whin luck wasn't +foldin' her arms round me, and not so far back aither, and I on the +wallaby track hot-foot for the City o' Gold." + +Shon McGann said this in the course of a discussion on the prosperity of +Pipi Valley. Pretty Pierre remarked nonchalantly in reply,--"The wallaby +track--eh--what is that, Shon?" + +"It's a bit of a haythen y' are, Pierre. The wallaby track? That's the +name in Australia for trampin' west through the plains of the Never-Never +Country lookin' for the luck o' the world; as, bedad, it's meself that +knows it, and no other, and not by book or tellin' either, but with the +grip of thirst at me throat and a reef in me belt every hour to quiet the +gnawin'." And Shon proceeded to light his pipe afresh. + +"But the City o' Gold-was there much wealth for you there, Shon?" + +Shon laughed, and said between the puffs of smoke, "Wealth for me, is it? +Oh, mother o' Moses! wealth of work and the pride of livin' in the heart +of us, and the grip of an honest hand betunewhiles; and what more do y' +want, Pierre?" + +The Frenchman's drooping eyelids closed a little more, and he replied, +meditatively: "Money? No, that is not Shon McGann. The good fellowship +of thirst?--yes, a little. The grip of the honest hand, quite, and the +clinch of an honest waist? Well, 'peut-etre.' + +"Of the waist which is not honest?--tsh! he is gay--and so!" + +The Irishman took his pipe from his mouth, and held it poised before him. +He looked inquiringly and a little frowningly at the other for a moment, +as if doubtful whether to resent the sneer that accompanied the words +just spoken; but at last he good-humouredly said: "Blood o' me bones, but +it's much I fear the honest waist hasn't always been me portion--Heaven +forgive me!" + +"'Nom de pipe,' this Irishman!" replied Pierre. "He is gay; of good +heart; he smiles, and the women are at his heels; he laughs, and they are +on their knees--Such a fool he is!" + +Still Shon McGann laughed. + +"A fool I am, Pierre, or I'd be in ould Ireland at this minute, with a +roof o' me own over me and the friends o' me youth round me, and brats +on me knee, and the fear o' God in me heart." + +"'Mais,' Shon," mockingly rejoined the Frenchman, "this is not Ireland, +but there is much like that to be done here. There is a roof, and there +is that woman at Ward's Mistake, and the brats--eh, by and by?" + +Shon's face clouded. He hesitated, then replied sharply: "That woman, do +y' say, Pierre, she that nursed me when the Honourable and meself were +taken out o' Sandy Drift, more dead than livin'; she that brought me back +to life as good as ever, barrin' this scar on me forehead and a stiffness +at me elbow, and the Honourable as right as the sun, more luck to him! +which he doesn't need at all, with the wind of fortune in his back and +shiftin' neither to right nor left. --That woman! faith, y'd better not +cut the words so sharp betune yer teeth, Pierre." + +"But I will say more--a little--just the same. She nursed you--well, +that is good; but it is good also, I think, you pay her for that, and +stop the rest. Women are fools, or else they are worse. This one? She +is worse. Yes; you will take my advice, Shon McGann." The Irishman came +to his feet with a spring, and his words were angry. + +"It doesn't come well from Pretty Pierre, the gambler, to be revilin' +a woman; and I throw it in y'r face, though I've slept under the same +blanket with ye, an' drunk out of the same cup on manny a tramp, that you +lie dirty and black when ye spake ill--of my wife." + +This conversation had occurred in a quiet corner of the bar-room of the +Saints' Repose. The first few sentences had not been heard by the others +present; but Shon's last speech, delivered in a ringing tone, drew the +miners to their feet, in expectation of seeing shots exchanged at once. +The code required satisfaction, immediate and decisive. Shon was not +armed, and some one thrust a pistol towards him; but he did not take it. +Pierre rose, and coming slowly to him, laid a slender finger on his +chest, and said: + +"So! I did not know that she was your wife. That is a surprise." + +The miners nodded assent. He continued: + +"Lucy Rives your wife! Hola, Shon McGann, that is such a joke." + +"It's no joke, but God's truth, and the lie is with you, Pierre." + +Murmurs of anticipation ran round the room; but the half-breed said: +"There will be satisfaction altogether; but it is my whim to prove what +I say first; then"--fondling his revolver--"then we shall settle. But, +see: you will meet me here at ten o'clock to-night, and I will make it, +I swear to you, so clear, that the woman is vile." + +The Irishman suddenly clutched the gambler, shook him like a dog, and +threw him against the farther wall. Pierre's pistol was levelled from +the instant Shon moved; but he did not use it. He rose on one knee after +the violent fall, and pointing it at the other's head, said coolly: "I +could kill you, my friend, so easy! But it is not my whim. Till ten +o'clock is not long to wait, and then, just here, one of us shall die. +Is it not so?" The Irishman did not flinch before the pistol. He said +with low fierceness, "At ten o'clock, or now, or any time, or at any +place, y'll find me ready to break the back of the lies y've spoken, or +be broken meself. Lucy Rives is my wife, and she's true and straight as +the sun in the sky. I'll be here at ten o'clock, and as ye say, Pierre, +one of us makes the long reckoning for this." And he opened the door and +went out. + +The half-breed moved to the bar, and, throwing down a handful of silver, +said: "It is good we drink after so much heat. Come on, come on, +comrades." + +The miners responded to the invitation. Their sympathy was mostly with +Shon McGann; their admiration was about equally divided; for Pretty +Pierre had the quality of courage in as active a degree as the Irishman, +and they knew that some extraordinary motive, promising greater +excitement, was behind the Frenchman's refusal to send a bullet +through Shon's head a moment before. + +King Kinkley, the best shot in the Valley next to Pierre, had watched the +unusual development of the incident with interest; and when his glass had +been filled he said, thoughtfully: "This thing isn't according to Hoyle. +There's never been any trouble just like it in the Valley before. What's +that McGann said about the lady being his wife? If it's the case, where +hev we been in the show? Where was we when the license was around? It +isn't good citizenship, and I hev my doubts." + +Another miner, known as the Presbyterian, added: "There's some +skulduggery in it, I guess. The lady has had as much protection as if +she was the sister of every citizen of the place, just as much as Lady +Jane here (Lady Jane, the daughter of the proprietor of the Saints' +Repose, administered drinks), and she's played this stacked hand on us, +has gone one better on the sly." + +"Pierre," said King Kinkley, "you're on the track of the secret, and +appear to hev the advantage of the lady: blaze it--blaze it out." + +Pierre rejoined, "I know something; but it is good we wait until ten +o'clock. Then I will show you all the cards in the pack. Yes, so, +'bien sur.'" + +And though there was some grumbling, Pierre had his way. The spirit of +adventure and mutual interest had thrown the French half-breed, the +Irishman, and the Hon. Just Trafford together on the cold side of the +Canadian Rockies; and they had journeyed to this other side, where the +warm breath from the Pacific passed to its congealing in the ranges. +They had come to the Pipi field when it was languishing. From the moment +of their coming its luck changed; it became prosperous. They conquered +the Valley each after his kind. The Honourable--he was always called +that--mastered its resources by a series of "great lucks," as Pierre +termed it, had achieved a fortune, and made no enemies; and but two +months before the day whose incidents are here recorded, had gone to the +coast on business. Shon had won the reputation of being a "white man," +to say nothing of his victories in the region of gallantry. He made no +wealth; he only got that he might spend. Irishman-like he would barter +the chances of fortune for the lilt of a voice or the clatter of a pretty +foot. + +Pierre was different. "Women, ah, no!" he would say, "they make men +fools or devils." + +His temptation lay not that way. When the three first came to the Pipi, +Pierre was a miner, simply; but nearly all his life he had been something +else, as many a devastated pocket on the east of the Rockies could bear +witness; and his new career was alien to his soul. Temptation grew +greatly on him at the Pipi, and in the days before he yielded to it he +might have been seen at midnight in his but playing solitaire. Why he +abstained at first from practising his real profession is accounted for +in two ways: he had tasted some of the sweets of honest companionship +with the Honourable and Shon, and then he had a memory of an ugly night +at Pardon's Drive a year before, when he stood over his own brother's +body, shot to death by accident in a gambling row having its origin with +himself. These things had held him back for a time; but he was weaker +than his ruling passion. + +The Pipi was a young and comparatively virgin field; the quarry was at +his hand. He did not love money for its own sake; it was the game that +enthralled him. He would have played his life against the treasury of a +kingdom, and, winning it with loaded double sixes, have handed back the +spoil as an unredeemable national debt. + +He fell at last, and in falling conquered the Pipi Valley; at the same +time he was considered a fearless and liberal citizen, who could shoot as +straight as he played well. He made an excursion to another field, +however, at an opportune time, and it was during this interval that the +accident to Shon and the Honourable had happened. He returned but a few +hours before this quarrel with Shon occurred, and in the Saints' Repose, +whither he had at once gone, he was told of the accident. While his +informant related the incident and the romantic sequence of Shon's +infatuation, the woman passed the tavern and was pointed out to Pierre. +The half-breed had not much excitableness in his nature, but when he saw +this beautiful woman with a touch of the Indian in her contour, his pale +face flushed, and he showed his set teeth under his slight moustache. +He watched her until she entered a shop, on the signboard of which was +written--written since he had left a few months ago--Lucy Rives, +Tobacconist. + +Shon had then entered the Saints' Repose; and we know the rest. A couple +of hours after this nervous episode, Pierre might have been seen standing +in the shadow of the pines not far from the house at Ward's Mistake, +where, he had been told, Lucy Rives lived with an old Indian woman. He +stood, scarcely moving, and smoking cigarettes, until the door opened. +Shon came out and walked down the hillside to the town. Then Pierre went +to the door, and without knocking, opened it, and entered. A woman +started up from a seat where she was sewing, and turned towards him. +As she did so, the work, Shon's coat, dropped from her hands, her face +paled, and her eyes grew big with fear. She leaned against a chair for +support--this man's presence had weakened her so. She stood silent, save +for a slight moan that broke from her lips, as Pierre lighted a cigarette +coolly, and then said to an old Indian woman who sat upon the floor +braiding a basket: "Get up, Ikni, and go away." + +Ikni rose, came over, and peered into the face of the half-breed. Then +she muttered: "I know you--I know you. The dead has come back again." +She caught his arm with her bony fingers as if to satisfy herself that he +was flesh and blood, and shaking her head dolefully, went from the room. +When the door closed behind her there was silence, broken only by an +exclamation from the man. + +The other drew her hand across her eyes, and dropped it with a motion of +despair. Then Pierre said, sharply: "Bien?" + +"Francois," she replied, "you are alive!" + +"Yes, I am alive, Lucy." + +She shuddered, then grew still again and whispered: "Why did you let it +be thought that you were drowned? Why? Oh, why"? she moaned. + +He raised his eyebrows slightly, and between the puffs of smoke, said: + +"Ah yes, my Lucy, why? It was so long ago. Let me see: so--so--ten +years. Ten years is a long time to remember, eh?" + +He came towards her. She drew back; but her hand remained on the chair. +He touched the plain gold ring on her finger, and said: + +"You still wear it. To think of that--so loyal for a woman! How she +remembers, holy Mother! . . . But shall I not kiss you, yes, just +once after eight years--my wife?" + +She breathed hard and drew back against the wall, dazed and frightened, +and said: + +"No, no, do not come near me; do not speak to me--ah, please, stand back, +for a moment--please!" + +He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and continued, with mock tenderness: + +"To think that things come round so! And here you have a home. But that +is good. I am tired of much travel and life all alone. The prodigal +goes not to the home, the home comes to the prodigal." He stretched up +his arms as if with a feeling of content. + +"Do you--do you not know," she said, "that--that--" + +He interrupted her: + +"Do I not know, Lucy, that this is your home? Yes. But is it not all +the same? I gave you a home ten years ago--to think, ten years ago! +We quarrelled one night, and I left you. Next morning my boat was found +below the White Cascade--yes, but that was so stale a trick! It was not +worthy of Francois Rives. He would do it so much better now; but he was +young then; just a boy, and foolish. Well, sit down, Lucy, it is a long +story, and you have much to tell, how much--who knows?" She came slowly +forward and said with a painful effort: + +"You did a great wrong, Francois. You have killed me. + +"Killed you, Lucy, my wife! Pardon! Never in those days did you look so +charming as now--never. But the great surprise of seeing your husband, +it has made you shy, quite shy. There will be much time now for you to +change all that. It is quite pleasant to think on, Lucy. . . . You +remember the song we used to sing on the Chaudiere at St. Antoine? See, +I have not forgotten it-- + + "'Nos amants sont en guerre, + Vole, mon coeur, vole.'" + +He hummed the lines over and over, watching through his half-shut eyes +the torture he was inflicting. + +"Oh, Mother of God," she whispered, "have mercy! Can you not see, do you +not know? I am not as you left me." + +"Yes, my wife, you are just the same; not an hour older. I am glad that +you have come to me. But how they will envy Pretty Pierre!" + +"Envy--Pretty-Pierre," she repeated, in distress; "are you Pretty Pierre? +Ah, I might have known, I might have known!" + +"Yes, and so! Is not Pretty Pierre as good a name as Francois Rives? +Is it not as good as Shon McGann?" + +"Oh, I see it all, I see it all now!" she said mournfully. "It was with +you he quarrelled, and about me. He would not tell me what it was. You +know, then, that I am--that I am married--to him?" + +"Quite. I know all that; but it is no marriage." He rose to his feet +slowly, dropping the cigarette from his lips as he did so. "Yes," he +continued, "and I know that you prefer Shon McGann to Pretty Pierre." + +She spread out her hands appealingly. + +"But you are my wife, not his. Listen: do you know what I shall do? +I will tell you in two hours. It is now eight o'clock. At ten o'clock +Shon McGann will meet me at the Saints' Repose. Then you shall know.... +Ah, it is a pity! Shon was my good friend, but this spoils all that. +Wine--it has danger; cards--there is peril in that sport; women--they +make trouble most of all." + +"O God," she piteously said, "what did I do? There was no sin in me. +I was your faithful wife, though you were cruel to me. You left me, +cheated me, brought this upon me. It is you that has done this +wickedness, not I." She buried her face in her hands, falling on her +knees beside the chair. + +He bent above her: "You loved the young avocat better, eight years ago." + +She sprang to her feet. "Ah, now I understand,' she said. "That was why +you quarrelled with me; why you deserted me. You were not man enough to +say what made you so much the--so wicked and hard, so--" + +"Be thankful, Lucy, that I did not kill you then," he interjected. + +"But it is a lie," she cried; "a lie!" + +She went to the door and called the Indian woman. "Ikni," she said. +"He dares to say evil of Andre and me. Think--of Andre!" + +Ikni came to him, put her wrinkled face close to his, and said: "She was +yours, only yours; but the spirits gave you a devil. Andre, oh, oh, +Andre! The father of Andre was her father--ah, that makes your sulky +eyes to open. Ikni knows how to speak. Ikni nursed them both. If you +had waited you should have known. But you ran away like a wolf from a +coal of fire; you shammed death like a fox; you come back like the snake +to crawl into the house and strike with poison tooth, when you should be +with the worms in the ground. But Ikni knows--you shall be struck with +poison too, the Spirit of the Red Knife waits for you. Andre was her +brother." + +He pushed her aside savagely: "Be still!" he said. "Get out-quick. +'Sacre'--quick!" + +When they were alone again he continued with no anger in his tone: "So, +Andre the avocat and you--that, eh? Well, you see how much trouble has +come; and now this other--a secret too. When were you married to Shon +McGann?" + +"Last night," she bitterly replied; "a priest came over from the Indian +village." + +"Last night," he musingly repeated. "Last night I lost two thousand +dollars at the Little Goshen field. I did not play well last night; +I was nervous. In ten years I had not lost so much at one game as I did +last night. It was a punishment for playing too honest, or something; +eh, what do you think, Lucy--or something, 'hein?'" + +She said nothing, but rocked her body to and fro. + +"Why did you not make known the marriage with Shon?" + +"He was to have told it to-night," she said. + +There was silence for a moment, then a thought flashed into his eyes, and +he rejoined with a jarring laugh, "Well, I will play a game to-night, +Lucy Rives; such a game that Pretty Pierre will never be forgotten in the +Pipi Valley--a beautiful game, just for two. And the other who will +play--the wife of Francois Rives shall see if she will wait; but she must +be patient, more patient than her husband was ten years ago." + +"What will you do--tell me, what will you do?" + +"I will play a game of cards--just one magnificent game; and the cards +shall settle it. All shall be quite fair, as when you and I played in +the little house by the Chaudiere--at first, Lucy,--before I was a +devil." + +Was this peculiar softness to his last tones assumed or real? She looked +at him inquiringly; but he moved away to the window, and stood gazing +down the hillside towards the town below. His eyes smarted. + +"I will die," she said to herself in whispers--"I will die." A minute +passed, and then Pierre turned and said to her: "Lucy, he is coming up +the hill. Listen. If you tell him that I have seen you, I will shoot +him on sight, dead. You would save him, for a little, for an hour or +two--or more? Well, do as I say; for these things must be according to +the rules of the game, and I myself will tell him all at the Saints' +Repose. He gave me the lie there, and I will tell him the truth before +them all there. Will you do as I say?" + +She hesitated an instant, and then replied: "I will not tell him." + +"There is only one way, then," he continued. "You must go at once from +here into the woods behind there, and not see him at all. Then at ten +o'clock you will come to the Saints' Repose, if you choose, to know how +the game has ended." + +She was trembling, moaning, no longer. A set look had come into her +face; her eyes were steady and hard. She quietly replied: "Yes, I shall +be there." + +He came to her, took her hand, and drew from her finger the wedding-ring +which last night Shon McGann had placed there. She submitted passively. +Then, with an upward wave of his fingers, he spoke in a mocking +lightness, but without any of the malice which had first appeared in his +tones, words from an old French song: + + "I say no more, my lady + Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine! + I say no more, my lady, + As nought more can be said." + +He opened the door, motioned to the Indian woman, and, in a few moments, +the broken-hearted Lucy Rives and her companion were hidden in the pines; +and Pretty Pierre also disappeared into the shadow of the woods as Shon +McGann appeared on the crest of the hill. + +The Irishman walked slowly to the door, and pausing, said to himself: +"I couldn't run the big risk, me darlin', without seein' you again, God +help me! There's danger ahead which little I'd care for if it wasn't for +you." + +Then he stepped inside the house--the place was silent; he called, but no +one answered; he threw open the doors of the rooms, but they were empty; +he went outside and called again, but no reply came, except the flutter +of a night-hawk's wings and the cry of a whippoorwill. He went back into +the house and sat down with his head between his hands. So, for a +moment, and then he raised his head, and said with a sad smile: "Faith, +Shon, me boy, this takes the life out of you! the empty house where she +ought to be, and the smile of her so swate, and the hand of her that +falls on y'r shoulder like a dove on the blessed altar-gone, and lavin' +a chill on y'r heart like a touch of the dead. Sure, nivir a wan of me +saw any that could stand wid her for goodness, barrin' the angel that +kissed me good-bye with one foot in the stirrup an' the troopers behind +me, now twelve years gone, in ould Donegal, and that I'll niver see +again, she lyin' where the hate of the world will vex the heart of her no +more, and the masses gone up for her soul. Twice, twice in y'r life, +Shon McGann, has the cup of God's joy been at y'r lips, and is it both +times that it's to spill?--Pretty Pierre shoots straight and sudden, and +maybe it's aisy to see the end of it; but as the just God is above us, +I'll give him the lie in his throat betimes for the word he said agin me +darlin'. What's the avil thing that he has to say? What's the divil's +proof he would bring? And where is she now? Where are you, Lucy? I +know the proof I've got in me heart that the wreck of the world couldn't +shake, while that light, born of Heaven, swims up to your eyes whin you +look at me!" + +He rose to his feet again and walked to and fro; he went once more to the +doors; he looked here and there through the growing dusk, but to no +purpose. She had said that she would not go to her shop this night; but +if not, then where could she have gone and Ikni, too? He felt there was +more awry in his life than he cared to put into thought or speech. He +picked up the sewing she had dropped and looked at it as one would regard +a relic of the dead; he lifted her handkerchief, kissed it, and put it in +his breast. He took a revolver from his pocket and examined it closely, +looked round the room as though to fasten it in his memory, and then +passed out, closing the door behind him. He walked down the hillside and +went to her shop in the one street of the town, but she was not there, +nor had the lad in charge seen her. + +Meanwhile, Pretty Pierre had made his way to the Saints' Repose, and was +sitting among the miners indolently smoking. In vain he was asked to +play cards. His one reply was, "No, pardon, no! I play one game only +to-night, the biggest game ever played in Pipi Valley." In vain, also, +was he asked to drink. He refused the hospitality, defying the danger +that such lack of good-fellowship might bring forth. He hummed in +patches to himself the words of a song that the 'brules' were wont to +sing when they hunted the buffalo: + + "'Voila!' it is the sport to ride-- + Ah, ah the brave hunter! + + To thrust the arrow in his hide, + To send the bullet through his side + 'Ici,' the buffalo, 'joli!' + Ah, ah the buffalo!" + +He nodded here and there as men entered; but he did not stir from his +seat. He smoked incessantly, and his eyes faced the door of the bar-room +that entered upon the street. There was no doubt in the minds of any +present that the promised excitement would occur. Shon McGann was as +fearless as he was gay. And Pipi Valley remembered the day in which he +had twice risked his life to save two women from a burning building--Lady +Jane and another. And Lady Jane this evening was agitated, and once or +twice furtively looked at something under the bar-counter; in fact, a +close observer would have noticed anger or anxiety in the eyes of the +daughter of Dick Waldron, the keeper of the Saints' Repose. Pierre would +certainly have seen it had he been looking that way. An unusual +influence was working upon the frequenters of the busy tavern. Planned, +premeditated excitement was out of their line. Unexpectedness was the +salt of their existence. This thing had an air of system not in accord +with the suddenness of the Pipi mind. The half-breed was the only one +entirely at his ease; he was languid and nonchalant; the long lashes of +his half-shut eyelids gave his face a pensive look. At last King Kinkley +walked over to him and said: "There's an almighty mysteriousness about +this event which isn't joyful, Pretty Pierre. We want to see the muss +cleared up, of course; we want Shon McGann to act like a high-toned +citizen, and there's a general prejudice in favour of things bein' on the +flat of your palm, as it were. Now this thing hangs fire, and there's a +lack of animation about it, isn't there?" + +To this, Pretty Pierre replied: "What can I do? This is not like other +things; one had to wait; great things take time. To shoot is easy; but +to shoot is not all, as you shall see if you have a little patience. +Ah, my friend, where there is a woman, things are different. I throw a +glass in your face, we shoot, someone dies, and there it is quite plain +of reason; you play a card which was dealt just now, I call you-- +something, and the swiftest finger does the trick; but in such as this, +one must wait for the sport." + +It was at this point that Shon McGann entered, looked round, nodded to +all, and then came forward to the table where Pretty Pierre sat. As the +other took out his watch, Shon said firmly but quietly: "Pierre, I gave +you the lie to-day concerning me wife, and I'm here, as I said I'd be, +to stand by the word I passed then." + +Pierre waved his fingers lightly towards the other, and slowly rose. +Then he said in sharp tones: "Yes, Shon McGann, you gave me the lie. +There is but one thing for that in Pipi Valley. You choked me; I would +not take that from a saint of heaven; but there was another thing to do +first. Well, I have done it; I said I would bring proofs--I have them." +He paused, and now there might have been seen a shining moisture on his +forehead, and his words came menacingly from between his teeth, while the +room became breathlessly still, save that in the silence a sleeping dog +sighed heavily: "Shon McGann," he added, "you are living with my wife." + +Twenty men drew in a sharp breath of excitement, and Shon came a step +nearer the other, and said in a strange voice: "I--am--living--with-- +your--wife?" + +"As I say, with my wife, Lucy Rives. Francois Rives was my name ten +years ago. We quarrelled. I left her, and I never saw her again until +to-night. You went to see her two hours ago. You did not find her. +Why? She was gone because her husband, Pierre, told her to go. You want +a proof? You shall have it. Here is the wedding-ring you gave her last +night." + +He handed it over, and Shon saw inside it his own name and hers. + +"My God!" he said. "Did she know? Tell me she didn't know, Pierre?" + +"No, she did not know. I have truth to speak to night. I was jealous, +mad, and foolish, and I left her. My boat was found upset. They +believed I was drowned. 'Bien,' she waited until yesterday, and then +she took you--but she was my wife; she is my wife--and so you see!" + +The Irishman was deadly pale. + +"It's an avil heart y' had in y' then, Pretty Pierre, and it's an avil +day that brought this thing to pass, and there's only wan way to the end +of it." + +"So, that is true. There is only one way," was the reply; "but what +shall that way be? Someone must go: there must be no mistake. I have +to propose. Here on this table we lay a revolver. We will give up these +which we have in our pockets. Then we will play a game of euchre, and +the winner of the game shall have the revolver. We will play for a life. +That is fair, eh--that is fair"? he said to those around. + +King Kinkley, speaking for the rest, replied: "That's about fair. It +gives both a chance, and leaves only two when it's over. While the woman +lives, one of you is naturally in the way. Pierre left her in a way that +isn't handsome; but a wife's a wife, and though Shon was all in the glum +about the thing, and though the woman isn't to be blamed either, there's +one too many of you, and there's got to be a vacation for somebody. +Isn't that so?" + +The rest nodded assent. They had been so engaged that they did not see +a woman enter the bar from behind, and crouch down beside Lady Jane, +a woman whom the latter touched affectionately on the shoulder and +whispered to once or twice, while she watched the preparations for the +game. + +The two men sat down, Shon facing the bar and Pierre with his back to it. + +The game began, neither man showing a sign of nervousness, though Shon +was very pale. The game was to finish for ten points. Men crowded about +the tables silent but keenly excited; cigars were chewed instead of +smoked, and liquor was left undrunk. At the first deal Pierre made a +march, securing two. At the next Shon made a point, and at the next also +a march. The half-breed was playing a straight game. He could have +stacked the cards, but he did not do so; deft as he was he might have +cheated even the vigilant eyes about him, but it was not so; he played as +squarely as a novice. At the third, at the fourth, deal he made a march; +at the fifth, sixth, and seventh deals, Shon made a march, a point, and a +march. Both now had eight points. At the next deal both got a point, +and both stood at nine! + +Now came the crucial play. + +During the progress of the game nothing had been heard save the sound of +a knuckle on the table, the flip flip of the pasteboard, or the rasp of a +heel on the floor. There was a set smile on Shon's face--a forgotten +smile, for the rest of the face was stern and tragic. Pierre smoked +cigarettes, pausing, while his opponent was shuffling and dealing, to +light them. + +Behind the bar as the game proceeded the woman who knelt beside Lady Jane +listened to every sound. Her eyes grew more agonised as the numbers, +whispered to her by her companion, climbed to the fatal ten. + +The last deal was Shon's; there was that much to his advantage. As he +slowly dealt, the woman--Lucy Rives--rose to her feet behind Lady Jane. +So absorbed were all that none saw her. Her eyes passed from Pierre to +Shon, and stayed. + +When the cards were dealt, with but one point for either to gain, and so +win and save his life, there was a slight pause before the two took them +up. They did not look at one another; but each glanced at the revolver, +then at the men nearest them, and lastly, for an instant, at the cards +themselves, with their pasteboard faces of life and death turned +downward. As the players picked them up at last and spread them out fan- +like, Lady Jane slipped something into the hand of Lucy Rives. + +Those who stood behind Shon McGann stared with anxious astonishment at +his hand; it contained only nine and ten spots. It was easy to see the +direction of the sympathy of Pipi Valley. The Irishman's face turned a +slight shade paler, but he did not tremble or appear disturbed. + +Pierre played his biggest card and took the point. He coolly counted +one, and said, "Game. I win." The crowd drew back. Both rose to their +feet. In the painful silence the half-breed's hand was gently laid on +the revolver. He lifted it, and paused slightly, his eyes fixed to the +steady look in those of Shon McGann. He raised the revolver again, till +it was level with Shon's forehead, till it was even with his hair! Then +there was a shot, and someone fell--not Shon, but Pierre, saying, as they +caught him, "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! From behind!" + +Instantly there was another shot, and someone crashed against the bottles +in the bar. The other factor in the game, the wife, had shot at Pierre, +and then sent a bullet through her own lungs. + +Shon stood for a moment as if he was turned to stone, and then his head +dropped in his arms upon the table. He had seen both shots fired, but +could not speak in time. + +Pierre was severely but not dangerously wounded in the neck. + +But the woman--? They brought her out from behind the counter. She +still breathed; but on her eyes was the film of coming death. She turned +to where Shon sat. Her lips framed his name, but no voice came forth. +Someone touched him on the shoulder. He looked up and caught her last +glance. He came and stooped beside her; but she had died with that one +glance from him, bringing a faint smile to her lips. And the smile +stayed when the life of her had fled--fled through the cloud over her +eyes, from the tide-beat of her pulse. It swept out from the smoke and +reeking air into the open world, and beyond, into those untried paths +where all must walk alone, and in what bitterness, known only to the +Master of the World who sees these piteous things, and orders in what +fashion distorted lives shall be made straight and wholesome in the +Places of Readjustment. + +Shon stood silent above the dead body. + +One by one the miners went out quietly. Presently Pierre nodded towards +the door, and King Kinkley and another lifted him and carried him towards +it. Before they passed into the street he made them turn him so that he +could see Shon. He waved his hand towards her that had been his wife, +and said: "She should have shot but once and straight, Shon McGann, and +then!--Eh, 'bien!'" + +The door closed, and Shon McGann was left alone with the dead. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words and women +More idle than wicked +Reconciling the preacher and the sinner, as many another has + + + + + + +PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE + +TALES OF THE FAR NORTH + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 5. + + +ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE +THE CIPHER +A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES +A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS + + + + +ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE + +"The birds are going south, Antoine--see--and it is so early!" + +"Yes, Angelique, the winter will be long." + +There was a pause, and then: "Antoine, I heard a child cry in the night, +and I could not sleep." + +"It was a devil-bird, my wife; it flies slowly, and the summer is dead." + +"Antoine, there was a rushing of wings by my bed before the morn was +breaking." + +"The wild-geese know their way in the night, Angelique; but they flew by +the house and not near thy bed." + +"The two black squirrels have gone from the hickory tree." + +"They have hidden away with the bears in the earth; for the frost comes, +and it is the time of sleep." + +"A cold hand was knocking at my heart when I said my aves last night, my +Antoine." + +"The heart of a woman feels many strange things: I cannot answer, my +wife." + +"Let us go also southward, Antoine, before the great winds and the wild +frost come." + +"I love thee, Angelique, but I cannot go." + +"Is not love greater than all?" + +"To keep a pledge is greater." + +"Yet if evil come?" + +"There is the mine." + +"None travels hither; who should find it?" + +He said to me, my wife: 'Antoine, will you stay and watch the mine until +I come with the birds northward, again?' and I said: 'I will stay, and +Angelique will stay; I will watch the mine.'" + +"This is for his riches, but for our peril, Antoine." + +"Who can say whither a woman's fancy goes? It is full of guessing. It +is clouds and darkness to-day, and sunshine--so much--to-morrow. I +cannot answer." + +"I have a fear; if my husband loved me--" + +"There is the mine," he interrupted firmly. + +"When my heart aches so--" + +"Angelique, there is the mine." + +"Ah, my Antoine!" + +And so these two stayed on the island of St. Jean, in Lake Superior, +through the purple haze of autumn, into the white brilliancy of winter, +guarding the Rose Tree Mine, which Falding the Englishman and his +companions had prospected and declared to be their Ophir. + +But St. Jean was far from the ways of settlement, and there was little +food and only one hut, and many things must be done for the Rose Tree +Mine in the places where men sell their souls for money; and Antoine and +Angelique, French peasants from the parish of Ste. Irene in Quebec, were +left to guard the place of treasure, until, to the sound of the laughing +spring, there should come many men and much machinery, and the sinking of +shafts in the earth, and the making, of riches. + +But when Antoine and Angelique were left alone in the waste, and God +began to draw the pale coverlet of frost slowly across land and water, +and to surround St. Jean with a stubborn moat of ice, the heart of the +woman felt some coming danger, and at last broke forth in words of timid +warning. When she once had spoken she said no more, but stayed and +builded the heaps of earth about the house, and filled every crevice +against the inhospitable Spirit of Winds, and drew her world closer and +closer within those two rooms where they should live through many months. + +The winter was harsh, but the hearts of the two were strong. They loved; +and Love is the parent of endurance, the begetter of courage. And every +day, because it seemed his duty, Antoine inspected the Rose Tree Mine; +and every day also, because it seemed her duty, Angelique said many aves. +And one prayer was much with her--for spring to come early that the child +should not suffer: the child which the good God was to give to her and +Antoine. + +In the first hours of each evening Antoine smoked, and Angelique sang the +old songs which their ancestors learned in Normandy. One night Antoine's +face was lighted with a fine fire as he talked of happy days in the +parish of Ste. Irene; and with that romantic fervour of his race which +the stern winters of Canada could not kill, he sang, 'A la Claire +Fontaine,' the well-beloved song-child of the 'voyageurs'' hearts. + +And the wife smiled far away into the dancing flames--far away, because +the fire retreated, retreated to the little church where they two were +wed; and she did as most good women do--though exactly why, man the +insufficient cannot declare--she wept a little through her smiles. But +when the last verse came, both smiles and tears ceased. Antoine sang it +with a fond monotony: + + "Would that each rose were growing + Upon the rose-tree gay, + And that the fatal rose-tree + Deep in the ocean lay. + 'I ya longtemps que je t'aime + Jamais je ne t'oublierai." + +Angelique's heart grew suddenly heavy. From the rose-tree of the song +her mind fled and shivered before the leafless rose-tree by the mine; and +her old dread came back. + +Of course this was foolish of Angelique; of course the wise and great +throw contumely on all such superstition; and knowing women will smile +at each other meaningly, and with pity for a dull man-writer, and will +whisper, "Of course, the child." But many things, your majesties, are +hidden from your wisdom and your greatness, and are given to the simple +--to babes, and the mothers of babes. + +It was upon this very night that Falding the Englishman sat with other +men in a London tavern, talking joyously. "There's been the luck of +Heaven," he said, "in the whole exploit. We'd been prospecting for +months. As a sort of try in a back-water we rowed over one night to an +island and pitched tents. Not a dozen yards from where we camped was a +rose-tree-think of it, Belgard, a rose-tree on a rag-tag island of Lake +Superior! 'There's luck in odd numbers, says Rory O'More.' 'There's +luck here,' said I; and at it we went just beside the rose-tree. What's +the result? Look at that prospectus: a company with a capital of two +hundred thousand; the whole island in our hands in a week; and Antoine +squatting on it now like Bonaparte on Elbe." + +"And what does Antoine get out of this"? said Belgard. + +"Forty dollars a month and his keep." + +"Why not write him off twenty shares to propitiate the gods--gifts unto +the needy, eh!--a thousand-fold--what?" + +"Yes; it might be done, Belgard, if--" + +But someone just then proposed the toast, "The Rose Tree Mine!" and the +souls of these men waxed proud and merry, for they had seen the +investor's palm filled with gold, the maker of conquest. While Antoine +was singing with his wife, they were holding revel within the sound of +Bow Bells. And far into the night, through silent Cheapside, a rolling +voice swelled through much laughter thus: + + "Gai Ion la, gai le rosier, + Du joli mois de Mai." + +The next day there were heavy heads in London; but the next day, also, +a man lay ill in the hut on the island of St. Jean. + +Antoine had sung his last song. He had waked in the night with a start +of pain, and by the time the sun was halting at noon above the Rose Tree +Mine, he had begun a journey, the record of which no man has ever truly +told, neither its beginning nor its end; because that which is of the +spirit refuseth to be interpreted by the flesh. Some signs there be, but +they are brief and shadowy; the awe of It is hidden in the mind of him +that goeth out lonely unto God. + +When the call goes forth, not wife nor child nor any other can hold the +wayfarer back, though he may loiter for an instant on the brink. The +poor medicaments which Angelique brings avail not; these soothing hands +and healing tones, they pass through clouds of the middle place between +heaven and earth to Antoine. It is only when the second midnight comes +that, with conscious, but pensive and far-off, eyes, he says to her: +"Angelique, my wife." + +For reply her lips pressed his cheek, and her fingers hungered for his +neck. Then: "Is there pain now Antoine?" + +"There is no pain, Angelique." + +He closed his eyes slowly; her lips framed an ave. "The mine," he said, +"the mine--until the spring." + +"Yes, Antoine, until the spring." + +"Have you candles--many candles, Angelique?" + +"There are many, my husband." + +"The ground is as iron; one cannot dig, and the water under the ice is +cruel--is it not so, Angelique?" + +"No axe could break the ground, and the water is cruel," she said. + +"You will see my face until the winter is gone, my wife." + +She bowed her head, but smoothed his hand meanwhile, and her throat was +quivering. + +He partly slept--his body slept, though his mind was feeling its way to +wonderful things. But near the morning his eyes opened wide, and he +said: "Someone calls out of the dark, Angelique." + +And she, with her hand on her heart, replied: "It is the cry of a dog, +Antoine." + +"But there are footsteps at the door, my wife." + +"Nay, Antoine; it is the snow beating upon the window." + +"There is the sound of wings close by--dost thou not hear them, +Angelique?" + +"Wings--wings," she falteringly said: "it is the hot blast through the +chimney; the night is cold, Antoine." + +"The night is very cold," he said; and he trembled. . . "I hear, O my +wife, I hear the voice of a little child . . . the voice is like thine, +Angelique." + +And she, not knowing what to reply, said softly: + +"There is hope in the voice of a child;" and the mother stirred within +her; and in the moment he knew also that the Spirits would give her the +child in safety, that she should not be alone in the long winter. + +The sounds of the harsh night had ceased--the snapping of the leafless +branches, the cracking of the earth, and the heaving of the rocks: the +Spirits of the Frost had finished their work; and just as the grey +forehead of dawn appeared beyond the cold hills, Antoine cried out +gently: "Angelique . . . Ah, mon Capitaine . . . Jesu" . . . +and then, no more. + +Night after night Angelique lighted candles in the place where Antoine +smiled on in his frozen silence; and masses were said for his soul--the +masses Love murmurs for its dead. The earth could not receive him; its +bosom was adamant; but no decay could touch him; and she dwelt alone with +this, that was her husband, until one beautiful, bitter day, when, with +no eye save God's to see her, and no human comfort by her, she gave birth +to a man-child. And yet that night she lighted the candles at the dead +man's head and feet, dragging herself thither in the cold; and in her +heart she said that the smile on Antoine's face was deeper than it had +been before. + +In the early spring, when the earth painfully breathed away the frost +that choked it, with her child for mourner, and herself for sexton and +priest, she buried Antoine with maimed rites: but hers were the prayers +of the poor, and of the pure in heart; and she did not fret because, +in the hour that her comrade was put away into the dark, the world was +laughing at the thought of coming summer. + +Before another sunrise, the owners of the island of St. Jean claimed what +was theirs; and because that which had happened worked upon their hearts, +they called the child St. Jean, and from that time forth they made him to +enjoy the goodly fruits of the Rose Tree Mine. + + + + + +THE CIPHER + +Hilton was staying his horse by a spring at Guidon Hill when he first +saw her. She was gathering may-apples; her apron was full of them. He +noticed that she did not stir until he rode almost upon her. Then she +started, first without looking round, as does an animal, dropping her +head slightly to one side, though not exactly appearing to listen. +Suddenly she wheeled on him, and her big eyes captured him. The look +bewildered him. She was a creature of singular fascination. Her face +was expressive. Her eyes had wonderful light. She looked happy, yet +grave withal; it was the gravity of an uncommon earnestness. She gazed +through everything, and beyond. She was young--eighteen or so. + +Hilton raised his hat, and courteously called a good-morning at her. She +did not reply by any word, but nodded quaintly, and blinked seriously and +yet blithely on him. He was preparing to dismount. As he did so he +paused, astonished that she did not speak at all. Her face did not have +a familiar language; its vocabulary was its own. He slid from his horse, +and, throwing his arm over its neck as it stooped to the spring, looked +at her more intently, but respectfully too. She did not yet stir, but +there came into her face a slight inflection of confusion or perplexity. +Again he raised his hat to her, and, smiling, wished her a good-morning. +Even as he did so a thought sprung in him. Understanding gave place to +wonder; he interpreted the unusual look in her face. + +Instantly he made a sign to her. To that her face responded with a +wonderful speech--of relief and recognition. The corners of her apron +dropped from her fingers, and the yellow may-apples fell about her feet. +She did not notice this. She answered his sign with another, rapid, +graceful, and meaning. He left his horse and advanced to her, holding +out his hand simply--for he was a simple and honest man. Her response to +this was spontaneous. The warmth of her fingers invaded him. Her eyes +were full of questioning. He gave a hearty sign of admiration. She +flushed with pleasure, but made a naive, protesting gesture. + +She was deaf and dumb. + +Hilton had once a sister who was a mute. He knew that amazing primal +gesture-language of the silent race, whom God has sent like one-winged +birds into the world. He had watched in his sister just such looks of +absolute nature as flashed from this girl. They were comrades on the +instant; he reverential, gentle, protective; she sanguine, candid, +beautifully aboriginal in the freshness of her cipher-thoughts. She saw +the world naked, with a naked eye. She was utterly natural. She was the +maker of exquisite, vital gesture-speech. + +She glided out from among the may-apples and the long, silken grass, to +charm his horse with her hand. As she started to do so, he hastened to +prevent her, but, utterly surprised, he saw the horse whinny to her +cheek, and arch his neck under her white palm--it was very white. Then +the animal's chin sought her shoulder and stayed placid. He had never +done so to anyone before save Hilton. Once, indeed, he had kicked a +stableman to death. He lifted his head and caught with playful shaking +lips at her ear. Hilton smiled; and so, as we said, their comradeship +began. + +He was a new officer of the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Guidon. She was +the daughter of a ranchman. She had been educated by Father Corraine, +the Jesuit missionary, Protestant though she was. He had learned the +sign-language while assistant-priest in a Parisian chapel for mutes. He +taught her this gesture-tongue, which she, taking, rendered divine; and, +with this, she learned to read and write. + +Her name was Ida. + +Ida was faultless. Hilton was not; but no man is. To her, however, he +was the best that man can be. He was unselfish and altogether honest, +and that is much for a man. + +When Pierre came to know of their friendship he shook his head +doubtfully. One day he was sitting on the hot side of a pine near his +mountain hut, soaking in the sun. He saw them passing below him, along +the edge of the hill across the ravine. He said to someone behind him +in the shade, who was looking also," What will be the end of that, eh?" + +And the someone replied: "Faith, what the Serpent in the Wilderness +couldn't cure." + +"You think he'll play with her?" + +"I think he'll do it without wishin' or willin', maybe. It'll be a case +of kiss and ride away." + +There was silence. Soon Pierre pointed down again. She stood upon a +green mound with a cool hedge of rock behind her, her feet on the margin +of solid sunlight, her forehead bared. Her hair sprinkled round her as +she gently threw back her head. Her face was full on Hilton. She was +telling him something. Her gestures were rhythmical, and admirably +balanced. Because they were continuous or only regularly broken, it was +clear she was telling him a story. Hilton gravely, delightedly, nodded +response now and then, or raised his eyebrows in fascinated surprise. +Pierre, watching, was only aware of vague impressions--not any distinct +outline of the tale. At last he guessed it as a perfect pastoral-birds, +reaping, deer, winds, sundials, cattle, shepherds, hunting. To Hilton it +was a new revelation. She was telling him things she had thought, she +was recalling her life. + +Towards the last, she said in gesture: "You can forget the winter, but +not the spring. You like to remember the spring. It is the beginning. +When the daisy first peeps, when the tall young deer first stands upon +its feet, when the first egg is seen in the oriole's nest, when the sap +first sweats from the tree, when you first look into the eye of your +friend--these you want to remember. . . ." + +She paused upon this gesture--a light touch upon the forehead, then the +hands stretched out, palms upward, with coaxing fingers. She seemed lost +in it. Her eyes rippled, her lips pressed slightly, a delicate wine +crept through her cheek, and tenderness wimpled all. Her soft breast +rose modestly to the cool texture of her dress. Hilton felt his blood +bound joyfully; he had the wish of instant possession. But yet he could +not stir, she held him so; for a change immediately passed upon her. She +glided slowly from that almost statue-like repose into another gesture. +Her eyes drew up from his, and looked away to plumbless distance, all +glowing and childlike, and the new ciphers slowly said: + +"But the spring dies away. We can only see a thing born once. And it +may be ours, yet not ours. I have sighted the perfect Sharon-flower, far +up on Guidon, yet it was not mine; it was too distant; I could not reach +it. I have seen the silver bullfinch floating along the canon. I called +to it, and it came singing; and it was mine, yet I could not hear its +song, and I let it go; it could not be happy so with me. . . . +I stand at the gate of a great city, and see all, and feel the great +shuttles of sounds, the roar and clack of wheels, the horses' hoofs +striking the ground, the hammer of bells; all: and yet it is not mine; +it is far, far away from me. It is one world, mine is another; and +sometimes it is lonely, and the best things are not for me. But I have +seen them, and it is pleasant to remember, and nothing can take from us +the hour when things were born, when we saw the spring--nothing--never!" + +Her manner of speech, as this went on, became exquisite in fineness, +slower, and more dream-like, until, with downward protesting motions of +the hand, she said that "nothing--never!" Then a great sigh surged up +her throat, her lips parted slightly, showing the warm moist whiteness of +her teeth, her hands falling lightly, drew together and folded in front +of her. She stood still. + +Pierre had watched this scene intently, his chin in his hands, his elbows +on his knees. Presently he drew himself up, ran a finger meditatively +along his lip, and said to himself: "It is perfect. She is carved from +the core of nature. But this thing has danger for her. . . . +'bien!' . . . ah!" + +A change in the scene before him caused this last expression of surprise. + +Hilton, rousing from the enchanting pantomime, took a step towards her; +but she raised her hand pleadingly, restrainingly, and he paused. With +his eyes he asked her mutely why. She did not answer, but, all at once +transformed into a thing of abundant sprightliness, ran down the +hillside, tossing up her arms gaily. Yet her face was not all +brilliance. Tears hung at her eyes. But Hilton did not see these. +He did not run, but walked quickly, following her; and his face had a +determined look. Immediately, a man rose up from behind a rock on the +same side of the ravine, and shook clenched fists after the departing +figures; then stood gesticulating angrily to himself, until, chancing +to look up, he sighted Pierre, and straightway dived into the underbrush. +Pierre rose to his feet, and said slowly: "Hilton, here may be trouble +for you also. It is a tangled world." + +Towards evening Pierre sauntered to the house of Ida's father. Light of +footstep, he came upon the girl suddenly. They had always been friends +since the day when, at uncommon risk, he rescued her dog from a freshet +on the Wild Moose River. She was sitting utterly still, her hands folded +in her lap. He struck his foot smartly on the ground. She felt the +vibration, and looked up. He doffed his hat, and she held out her hand. +He smiled and took it, and, as it lay in his, looked at it for a moment +musingly. She drew it back slowly. He was then thinking that it was the +most intelligent hand he had ever seen. . . . He determined to play a +bold and surprising game. He had learned from her the alphabet of the +fingers--that is, how to spell words. He knew little gesture-language. +He, therefore, spelled slowly: "Hawley is angry, because you love +Hilton." The statement was so matter-of-fact, so sudden, that the girl +had no chance. She flushed and then paled. She shook her head firmly, +however, and her fingers slowly framed the reply: "You guess too much. +Foolish things come to the idle." + +"I saw you this afternoon," he silently urged. + +Her fingers trembled slightly. "There was nothing to see." She knew he +could not have read her gestures. "I was telling a story." + +"You ran from him--why?" His questioning was cruel that he might in the +end be kind. + +"The child runs from its shadow, the bird from its nest, the fish jumps +from the water--that is nothing." She had recovered somewhat. + +But he: "The shadow follows the child, the bird comes back to its nest, +the fish cannot live beyond the water. But it is sad when the child, in +running, rushes into darkness, and loses its shadow; when the nest falls +from the tree; and the hawk catches the happy fish. . . . Hawley saw +you also." + +Hawley, like Ida, was deaf and dumb. He lived over the mountains, but +came often. It had been understood that, one day, she should marry him. +It seemed fitting. She had said neither yes nor no. And now? + +A quick tremor of trouble trailed over her face, then it became very +still. Her eyes were bent upon the ground steadily. Presently a bird +hopped near, its head coquetting at her. She ran her hand gently along +the grass towards it. The bird tripped on it. She lifted it to her +chin, at which it pecked tenderly. Pierre watched her keenly-admiring, +pitying. He wished to serve her. At last, with a kiss upon its head, +she gave it a light toss into the air, and it soared, lark-like, straight +up, and hanging over her head, sang the day into the evening. Her eyes +followed it. She could feel that it was singing. She smiled and lifted +a finger lightly towards it. Then she spelled to Pierre this: "It is +singing to me. We imperfect things love each other." + +"And what about loving Hawley, then"? Pierre persisted. She did not +reply, but a strange look came upon her, and in the pause Hilton came +from the house and stood beside them. At this, Pierre lighted a +cigarette, and with a good-natured nod to Hilton, walked away. + +Hilton stooped over her, pale and eager. "Ida," he gestured, "will you +answer me now? Will you be my wife?" + +She drew herself together with a little shiver. "No," was her steady +reply. She ruled her face into stillness, so that it showed nothing of +what she felt. She came to her feet wearily, and drawing down a cool +flowering branch of chestnut, pressed it to her cheek. "You do not love +me"? he asked nervously. + +"I am going to marry Luke Hawley," was her slow answer. She spelled the +words. She used no gesture to that. The fact looked terribly hard and +inflexible so. Hilton was not a vain man, and he believed he was not +loved. His heart crowded to his throat. + +"Please go away, now," she begged with an anxious gesture. While the +hand was extended, he reached and brought it to his lips, then quickly +kissed her on the forehead, and walked away. She stood trembling, and as +the fingers of one hand hung at her side, they spelled mechanically these +words: "It would spoil his life. I am only a mute--a dummy!" + +As she stood so, she felt the approach of someone. She did not turn +instantly, but with the aboriginal instinct, listened, as it were, with +her body; but presently faced about--to Hawley. He was red with anger. +He had seen Hilton kiss her. He caught her smartly by the arm, but, awed +by the great calmness of her face, dropped it, and fell into a fit of +sullenness. She spoke to him: he did not reply. She touched his arm: he +still was gloomy. All at once the full price of her sacrifice rushed +upon her; and overpowered her. She had no help at her critical hour, not +even from this man she had intended to bless. There came a swift +revulsion, all passions stormed in her at once. Despair was the +resultant of these forces. She swerved from him immediately, and ran +hard towards the high-banked river! + +Hawley did not follow her at once: he did not guess her purpose. She had +almost reached the leaping-place, when Pierre shot from the trees, and +seized her. The impulse of this was so strong, that they slipped, and +quivered on the precipitous edge: but Pierre righted then, and presently +they were safe. + +Pierre held her hard by both wrists for a moment. Then, drawing her +away, he loosed her, and spelled these words slowly: "I understand. But +you are wrong. Hawley is not the man. You must come with me. It is +foolish to die." + +The riot of her feelings, her momentary despair, were gone. It was +even pleasant to be mastered by Pierre's firmness. She was passive. +Mechanically she went with him. Hawley approached. She looked at +Pierre. Then she turned on the other. "Yours is not the best love," she +signed to him; "it does not trust; it is selfish." And she moved on. + +But, an hour later, Hilton caught her to his bosom, and kissed her full +on the lips. . . . And his right to do so continues to this day. + + + + + + +A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES + +At Fort Latrobe sentiment was not of the most refined kind. Local +customs were pronounced and crude in outline; language was often highly +coloured, and action was occasionally accentuated by a pistol shot. For +the first few months of its life the place was honoured by the presence +of neither wife, nor sister, nor mother. Yet women lived there. + +When some men did bring wives and children, it was noticed that the girl +Blanche was seldom seen in the streets. And, however it was, there grew +among the men a faint respect for her. They did not talk of it to each +other, but it existed. It was known that Blanche resented even the most +casual notice from those men who had wives and homes. She gave the +impression that she had a remnant of conscience. + +"Go home," she said to Harry Delong, who asked her to drink with him on +New Year's Day. "Go home, and thank God that you've got a home--and a +wife." + +After Jacques, the long-time friend of Pretty Pierre, came to Fort +Latrobe, with his sulky eye and scrupulously neat attire, Blanche +appeared to withdraw still more from public gaze, though no one saw any +connection between these events. The girl also became fastidious in her +dress, and lost all her former dash and smart aggression of manner. She +shrank from the women of her class, for which, as might be expected, she +was duly reviled. But the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air +have nests, nor has it been written that a woman may not close her ears, +and bury herself in darkness, and travel alone in the desert with her +people--those ghosts of herself, whose name is legion, and whose slow +white fingers mock more than the world dare at its worst. + +Suddenly, she was found behind the bar of Weir's Tavern at Cedar Point, +the resort most frequented by Jacques. Word went about among the men +that Blanche was taking a turn at religion, or, otherwise, reformation. +Soldier Joe was something sceptical on this point from the fact that she +had developed a very uncertain temper. This appeared especially +noticeable in her treatment of Jacques. She made him the target for her +sharpest sarcasm. Though a peculiar glow came to his eyes at times, he +was never roused from his exasperating coolness. When her shafts were +unusually direct and biting, and the temptation to resent was keen, he +merely shrugged his shoulders, almost gently, and said: "Eh, such women!" + +Nevertheless, there were men at Fort Latrobe who prophesied trouble, +for they knew there was a deep strain of malice in the French half-breed +which could be the more deadly because of its rare use. He was not +easily moved, he viewed life from the heights of a philosophy which could +separate the petty from the prodigious. His reputation was not wholly +disquieting; he was of the goats, he had sometimes been found with the +sheep, he preferred to be numbered with the transgressors. Like Pierre, +his one passion was gambling. There were legends that once or twice in +his life he had had another passion, but that some Gorgon drew out his +heartstrings painfully, one by one, and left him inhabited by a pale +spirit now called Irony, now Indifference--under either name a fret and +an anger to women. + +At last Blanche's attacks on Jacques called out anxious protests from +men like rollicking Soldier Joe, who said to her one night, "Blanche, +there's a devil in Jacques. Some day you'll startle him, and then he'll +shoot you as cool as he empties the pockets of Freddy Tarlton over +there." + +And Blanche replied: "When he does that, what will you do, Joe?" + +"Do? Do?" The man stroked his beard softly. "Why, give him ditto-- +cold." + +"Well, then, there's nothing to row about, is there?" And Soldier Joe +was not on the instant clever enough to answer her sophistry; but when +she left him and he had thought awhile, he said, convincingly: + +"But where would you be then, Blanche? . . . That's the point." + +One thing was known and certain: Blanche was earning her living by +honest, if not high-class, labour. Weir the tavern-keeper said she was +"worth hundreds" to him. But she grew pale, her eyes became peculiarly +brilliant, her voice took a lower key, and lost a kind of hoarseness it +had in the past. Men came in at times merely to have a joke at her +expense, having heard of her new life; but they failed to enjoy their own +attempts at humour. Women of her class came also, some with half- +uncertain jibes, some with a curious wistfulness, and a few with scornful +oaths; but the jibes and oaths were only for a time. It became known +that she had paid the coach fare of Miss Dido (as she was called) to the +hospital at Wapiti, and had raised a subscription for her maintenance +there, heading it herself with a liberal sum. Then the atmosphere round +her became less trying; yet her temper remained changeable, and had it +not been that she was good-looking and witty, her position might have +been insecure. As it was, she ruled in a neutral territory where she was +the only woman. One night, after an inclement remark to Jacques, in the +card-room, Blanche came back to the bar, and not noticing that, while she +was gone, Soldier Joe had entered and laid himself down on a bench in a +corner, she threw her head passionately forward on her arms as they +rested on the counter, and cried: "O my God! my God!" + +Soldier Joe lay still as if sleeping, and when Blanche was called away +again he rose, stole out, went down to Freddy Tarlton's office, and +offered to bet Freddy two to one that Blanche wouldn't live a year. +Joe's experience of women was limited. He had in his mind the case +of a girl who had accidentally smothered her child; and so he said: + +"Blanche has something on her mind that's killing her, Freddy. When +trouble fixes on her sort it kills swift and sure. They've nothing to +live for but life, and it isn't good enough, you see, for--for--" +Joe paused to find out where his philosophy was taking him. + +Freddy Tarlton finished the sentence for him: "For an inner sorrow is a +consuming fire." + +Fort Latrobe soon had an unexpected opportunity to study Soldier Joe's +theory. One night Jacques did not appear at Weir's Tavern as he had +engaged to do, and Soldier Joe and another went across the frozen river +to his log-hut to seek him. They found him by a handful of fire, +breathing heavily and nearly unconscious. One of the sudden and +frequently fatal colds of the mountains had fastened on him, and he had +begun a war for life. Joe started back at once for liquor and a doctor, +leaving his comrade to watch by the sick man. + +He could not understand why Blanche should stagger and grow white when he +told her; nor why she insisted on taking the liquor herself. He did not +yet guess the truth. + +The next day all Fort Latrobe knew that Blanche was nursing Jacques, on +what was thought to be his no-return journey. The doctor said it was a +dangerous case, and he held out little hope. Nursing might bring +him through, but the chance was very slight. Blanche only occasionally +left the sick man's bedside to be relieved by Soldier Joe and Freddy +Tarlton. It dawned on Joe at last, it had dawned on Freddy before, what +Blanche meant by the heart-breaking words uttered that night in Weir's +Tavern. Down through the crust of this woman's heart had gone something +both joyful and painful. Whatever it was, it made Blanche a saving +nurse, a good apothecary; for, one night the doctor pronounced Jacques +out of danger, and said that a few days would bring him round if he was +careful. + +Now, for the first time, Jacques fully comprehended all Blanche had done +for him, though he had ceased to wonder at her changed attitude to him. +Through his suffering and his delirium had come the understanding of it. +When, after the crisis, the doctor turned away from the bed, Jacques +looked steadily into Blanche's eyes, and she flushed, and wiped the wet +from his brow with her handkerchief. He took the handkerchief from her +fingers gently before Soldier Joe came over to the bed. + +The doctor had insisted that Blanche should go to Weir's Tavern and get +the night's rest, needed so much, and Joe now pressed her to keep her +promise. Jacques added an urging word, and after a time she started. +Joe had forgotten to tell her that a new road had been made on the ice +since she had crossed, and that the old road was dangerous. Wandering +with her thoughts she did not notice the spruce bushes set up for signal, +until she had stepped on a thin piece of ice. It bent beneath her. She +slipped: there was a sudden sinking, a sharp cry, then another, piercing +and hopeless--and it was the one word--"Jacques!" Then the night was +silent as before. But someone had heard the cry. Freddy Tarlton was +crossing the ice also, and that desolating Jacques! had reached his ears. +When he found her he saw that she had been taken and the other left. +But that other, asleep in his bed at the sacred moment when she parted, +suddenly waked, and said to Soldier Joe: "Did you speak, Joe? Did you +call me?" + +But Joe, who had been playing cards with himself, replied, "I haven't +said a word." + +And Jacques then added: "Perhaps I dream--perhaps." + +On the advice of the doctor and Freddy Tarlton, the bad news was kept +from Jacques. When she did not come the next day, Joe told him that she +couldn't; that he ought to remember she had had no rest for weeks, and +had earned a long rest. And Jacques said that was so. + +Weir began preparations for the funeral, but Freddy Tarlton took them out +of his hands--Freddy Tarlton, who visited at the homes of Fort Latrobe. +But he had the strength of his convictions such as they were. He began +by riding thirty miles and back to ask the young clergyman at Purple Hill +to come and bury Blanche. She'd reformed and been baptised, Freddy said +with a sad sort of humour. And the clergyman, when he knew all, said +that he would come. Freddy was hardly prepared for what occurred when he +got back. Men were waiting for him, anxious to know if the clergyman was +coming. They had raised a subscription to cover the cost of the funeral, +and among them were men such as Harry Delong. + +"You fellows had better not mix yourselves up in this," said Freddy. + +But Harry Delong replied quickly: "I am going to see the thing through." +And the others endorsed his words. When the clergyman came, and looked +at the face of this Magdalene, he was struck by its comeliness and quiet. +All else seemed to have been washed away. On her breast lay a knot of +white roses--white roses in this winter desert. + +One man present, seeing the look of wonder in the clergyman's eyes, said +quietly: "My--my wife sent them. She brought the plant from Quebec. It +has just bloomed. She knows all about her." + +That man was Harry Delong. The keeper of his home understood the other +homeless woman. When she knew of Blanche's death she said: "Poor girl, +poor girl!" and then she had gently added, "Poor Jacques!" + +And Jacques, as he sat in a chair by the fire four days after the +tragedy, did not know that the clergyman was reading over a grave on +the hillside, words which are for the hearts of the quick as for the +untenanted dead. + +To Jacques's inquiries after Blanche, Soldier Joe had made changing and +vague replies. At last he said that she was ill; then, that she was very +ill, and again, that she was better, almighty better--now. The third day +following the funeral, Jacques insisted that he would go and see her. +The doctor at length decided he should be taken to Weir's Tavern, where, +they declared, they would tell him all. And they took him, and placed +him by the fire in the card-room, a wasted figure, but fastidious in +manner and scrupulously neat in person as of old. Then he asked for +Blanche; but even now they had not the courage for it. The doctor +nervously went out, as if to seek her; and Freddy Tarlton said, "Jacques, +let us have a little game, just for quarters, you know. Eh?" + +The other replied without eagerness: "Voila, one game, then!" + +They drew him to the table, but he played listlessly. His eyes shifted +ever to the door. Luck was against him. Finally he pushed over a silver +piece, and said: "The last. My money is all gone. 'Bien!'" He lost +that too. + +Just then the door opened, and a ranchman from Purple Hill entered. He +looked carelessly round, and then said loudly: + +"Say, Joe, so you've buried Blanche, have you? Poor old girl!" + +There was a heavy silence. No one replied. Jacques started to his feet, +gazed around searchingly, painfully, and presently gave a great gasp. +His hands made a chafing motion in the air, and then blood showed on his +lips and chin. He drew a handkerchief from his breast. + +"Pardon! . . . Pardon!" he faintly cried in apology, and put it to +his mouth. + +Then he fell backwards in the arms of Soldier Joe, who wiped a moisture +from the lifeless cheek as he laid the body on a bed. + +In a corner of the stained handkerchief they found the word, + +Blanche. + + + + + + +A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS + +Father Corraine stood with his chin in his hand and one arm supporting +the other, thinking deeply. His eyes were fixed on the northern horizon, +along which the sun was casting oblique rays; for it was the beginning of +the winter season. + +Where the prairie touched the sun it was responsive and radiant; but on +either side of this red and golden tapestry there was a tawny glow and +then a duskiness which, curving round to the north and east, became blue +and cold--an impalpable but perceptible barrier rising from the earth, +and shutting in Father Corraine like a prison wall. And this shadow +crept stealthily on and invaded the whole circle, until, where the +radiance had been, there was one continuous wall of gloom, rising are +upon are to invasion of the zenith, and pierced only by some intrusive +wandering stars. + +And still the priest stood there looking, until the darkness closed down +on him with an almost tangible consistency. Then he appeared to remember +himself, and turned away with a gentle remonstrance of his head, and +entered the hut behind him. He lighted a lamp, looked at it doubtfully, +blew it out, set it aside, and lighted a candle. This he set in the one +window of the room which faced the north and west. + +He went to a door opening into the only other room in the hut, and with +his hand on the latch looked thoughtfully and sorrowfully at something in +the corner of the room where he stood. He was evidently debating upon +some matter,--probably the removal of what was in the corner to the other +room. If so, he finally decided to abandon the intention. He sat down +in a chair, faced the candle, again dropped his chin upon his hand, and +kept his eyes musingly on the light. He was silent and motionless a long +time, then his lips moved, and he seemed to repeat something to himself +in whispers. + +Presently he took a well-worn book from his pocket, and read aloud from +it softly what seemed to be an office of his Church. His voice grew +slightly louder as he continued, until, suddenly, there ran through the +words a deep sigh which did not come from himself. He raised his head +quickly, started to his feet, and turning round, looked at that something +in the corner. It took the form of a human figure, which raised itself +on an elbow and said: "Water--water--for the love of God!" + +Father Corraine stood painfully staring at the figure for a moment, and +then the words broke from him "Not dead--not dead--wonderful!" Then he +stepped quickly to a table, took therefrom a pannikin of water, and +kneeling, held it to the lips of the gasping figure of a woman, throwing +his arm round the shoulder, and supporting the head on his breast. Again +he spoke "Alive--alive! Blessed be Heaven!" + +The hands of the woman seized the hand of the priest, which held the +pannikin, and kissed it, saying faintly: "You are good to me. . . . +But I must sleep--I must sleep--I am so tired; and I've--very far--to go +--across the world." + +This was said very slowly, then the head thick with brown curls dropped +again on the priest's breast, heavy with sleep. Father Corraine, +flushing slightly at first, became now slightly pale, and his brow was a +place of war between thankfulness and perplexity. But he said something +prayerfully, then closed his lips firmly, and gently laid the figure +down, where it was immediately clothed about with slumber. Then he rose, +and standing with his eyes bent upon the sleeper and his fingers clasping +each other tightly before him, said: "Poor girl! So, she is alive. And +now what will come of it?" + +He shook his grey head in doubt, and immediately began to prepare some +simple food and refreshment for the sufferer when she should awake. In +the midst of doing so he paused and repeated the words, "And what will +come of it?" Then he added: "There was no sign of pulse nor heart-beat +when I found her. But life hides itself where man cannot reach it." + +Having finished his task, he sat down, drew the book of holy offices +again from his bosom, and read it, whisperingly, for a time; then fell to +musing, and, after a considerable time, knelt down as if in prayer. +While he knelt, the girl, as if startled from her sleep by some inner +shock, opened her eyes wide and looked at him, first with bewilderment, +then with anxiety, then with wistful thankfulness. "Oh, I thought-- +I thought when I awoke before that it was a woman. But it is the good +Father Corraine--Corraine, yes, that was the name." + +The priest's clean-shaven face, long hair, and black cassock had, in her +first moments of consciousness, deceived her. Now a sharp pain brought +a moan to her lips; and this drew the priest's attention. He rose, and +brought her some food and drink. "My daughter," he said, "you must take +these." Something in her face touched his sensitive mind, and he said, +solemnly: "You are alone with me and God, this hour. Be at peace. Eat." + +Her eyes swam with instant tears. "I know--I am alone--with God," she +said. Again he gently urged the food upon her, and she took a little; +but now and then she put her hand to her side as if in pain. And once, +as she did so, she said: "I've far to go and the pain is bad. Did they +take him away?" + +Father Corraine shook his head. "I do not know of whom you speak," he +replied. "When I went to my door this morning I found you lying there. +I brought you in, and, finding no sign of life in you, sent Featherfoot, +my Indian, to Fort Cypress for a trooper to come; for I feared that there +had been ill done to you, somehow. This border-side is but a rough +country. It is not always safe for a woman to travel alone." + +The girl shuddered. "Father," she said "Father Corraine, I believe you +are?" (Here the priest bowed his head.) "I wish to tell you all, so +that if ever any evil did come to me, if I should die without doin' +what's in my heart to do, you would know, and would tell him if you ever +saw him, how I remembered, and kept rememberin' him always, till my heart +got sick with waitin', and I came to find him far across the seas." + +"Tell me your tale, my child," he patiently said. Her eyes were on the +candle in the window questioningly. "It is for the trooper--to guide +him," the other remarked. "'Tis past time that he should be here. When +you are able you can go with him to the Fort. You will be better cared +for there, and will be among women." + +"The man--the man who was kind to me--I wish I knew of him," she said. + +"I am waiting for your story, my child. Speak of your trouble, whether +it be of the mind and body, or of the soul." + +"You shall judge if it be of the soul," she answered. + +"I come from far away. I lived in old Donegal since the day that I was +born there, and I had a lover, as brave and true a lad as ever trod the +world. But sorrow came. One night at Farcalladen Rise there was a crack +of arms and a clatter of fleeing hoofs, and he that I loved came to me +and said a quick word of partin', and with a kiss--it's burnin' on my +lips yet--askin' pardon, father, for speech of this to you--and he was +gone, an outlaw, to Australia. For a time word came from him. Then I +was taken ill and couldn't answer his letters, and a cousin of my own, +who had tried to win my love, did a wicked thing. He wrote a letter to +him and told him I was dyin', and that there was no use of farther words +from him. And never again did word come to me from him. But I waited, +my heart sick with longin' and full of hate for the memory of the man +who, when struck with death, told me of the cruel deed he had done +between us two." + +She paused, as she had to do several times during the recital, through +weariness or pain; but, after a moment, proceeded. "One day, one +beautiful day, when the flowers were like love to the eye, and the larks +singin' overhead, and my thoughts goin' with them as they swam until they +were lost in the sky, and every one of them a prayer for the lad livin' +yet, as I hoped, somewhere in God's universe--there rode a gentleman down +Farcalladen Rise. He stopped me as I walked, and said a kind good-day to +me; and I knew when I looked into his face that he had word for me--the +whisperin' of some angel, I suppose, and I said to him as though he had +asked me for it, 'My name is Mary Callen, sir.' + +"At that he started, and the colour came quick to his face; and he said: +'I am Sir Duke Lawless. I come to look for Mary Callen's grave. Is +there a Mary Callen dead, and a Mary Callen livin'? and did both of them +love a man that went from Farcalladen Rise one wild night long ago?' + +"'There's but one Mary Callen,' said I, 'but the heart of me is dead, +until I hear news that brings it to life again?' + +"'And no man calls you wife?' he asked. + +"'No man, Sir Duke Lawless,' answered I. 'And no man ever could, save +him that used to write me of you from the heart of Australia; only there +was no Sir to your name then.' + +"'I've come to that since,' said he. + +"'Oh, tell me,' I cried, with a quiverin' at my heart, 'tell me, is he +livin'?' + +"And he replied: 'I left him in the Pipi Valley of the Rocky Mountains a +year ago.' + +"'A year ago!' said I, sadly. + +"'I'm ashamed that I've been so long in comin' here,' replied he; 'but, +of course, he didn't know that you were alive, and I had been parted from +a lady for years--a lover's quarrel--and I had to choose between courtin' +her again and marryin' her, or comin' to Farcalladen Rise at once. Well, +I went to the altar first.' + +"'Oh, sir, you've come with the speed of the wind, for now that I've news +of him, it is only yesterday that he went away, not years agone. But +tell me, does he ever think of me?' I questioned. + +"'He thinks of you,' he said, 'as one for whom the masses for the dead +are spoken; but while I knew him, first and last, the memory of you was +with him.' + +"With that he got off his horse, and said: 'I'll walk with you to his +father's home.' + +"'You'll not do that,' I replied; 'for it's level with the ground. God +punish them that did it! And they're lyin' in the glen by the stream +that he loved and galloped over many a time.' + +"'They are dead--they are dead, then,' said he, with his bridle swung +loose on his arm and his hat off reverently. + +"'Gone home to Heaven together,' said I, 'one day and one hour, and a +prayer on their lips for the lad; and I closin' their eyes at the last. +And before they went they made me sit by them and sing a song that's +common here with us; for manny and manny of the strength and pride of +Farcalladen Rise have sailed the wide seas north and south, and +otherwhere, and comin' back maybe and maybe not.' + +"'Hark,' he said, very gravely, 'and I'll tell you what it is, for I've +heard him sing it, I know, in the worst days and the best days that ever +we had, when luck was wicked and big against us and we starvin' on the +wallaby track; or when we found the turn in the lane to brighter days.' + +"And then with me lookin' at him full in the eyes, gentleman though he +was,--for comrade he had been with the man I loved,--he said to me there, +so finely and kindly, it ought to have brought the dead back from their +graves to hear, these words: + + "'You'll travel far and wide, dear, but you'll come back again, + You'll come back to your father and your mother in the glen, + Although we should be lyin' 'neath the heather grasses then + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'!' + + "'You'll see the icebergs sailin' along the wintry foam, + The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans as they roam; + But you'll not forget the rowan beside your father's home-- + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'.'" + +Here the girl paused longer than usual, and the priest dropped his +forehead in his hand sadly. + +"I've brought grief to your kind heart, father," she said. + +"No, no," he replied, "not sorrow at all; but I was born on the Liffey +side, though it's forty years and more since I left it, and I'm an old +man now. That song I knew well, and the truth and the heart of it too. +. . . I am listening." + +"Well, together we went to the grave of the father and mother, and the +place where the home had been, and for a long time he was silent, as +though they who slept beneath the sod were his, and not another's; +but at last he said: + +"'And what will you do? I don't quite know where he is, though; when +last I heard from him and his comrades, they were in the Pipi Valley.' + +"My heart was full of joy; for though I saw how touched he was because of +what he saw, it was all common to my sight, and I had grieved much, but +had had little delight; and I said: + +"'There's only one thing to be done. He cannot come back here, and I +must go to him--that is,' said I, 'if you think he cares for me still, +--for my heart quakes at the thought that he might have changed.' + +"'I know his heart,' said he, 'and you'll find him, I doubt not, the +same, though he buried you long ago in a lonely tomb,--the tomb of a +sweet remembrance, where the flowers are everlastin'.' Then after more +words he offered me money with which to go; but I said to him that the +love that couldn't carry itself across the sea by the strength of the +hands and the sweat of the brow was no love at all; and that the harder +was the road to him the gladder I'd be, so that it didn't keep me too +long, and brought me to him at last. + +"He looked me up and down very earnestly for a minute, and then he said: +'What is there under the roof of heaven like the love of an honest woman! +It makes the world worth livin' in.' + +"'Yes,' said I, 'when love has hope, and a place to lay its head.' + +"'Take this,' said he--and he drew from his pocket his watch--'and carry +it to him with the regard of Duke Lawless, and this for yourself'-- +fetching from his pocket a revolver and putting it into my hands; 'for +the prairies are but rough places after all, and it's better to be safe +than--worried. . . . Never fear though but the prairies will bring +back the finest of blooms to your cheek, if fair enough it is now, and +flush his eye with pride of you; and God be with you both, if a sinner +may say that, and breakin' no saint's prerogative.' And he mounted to +ride away, havin' shaken my hand like a brother; but he turned again +before he went, and said: 'Tell him and his comrades that I'll shoulder +my gun and join them before the world is a year older, if I can. For +that land is God's land, and its people are my people, and I care not +who knows it, whatever here I be.' + +"I worked my way across the sea, and stayed awhile in the East earning +money to carry me over the land and into the Pipi Valley. I joined a +party of emigrants that were goin' westward, and travelled far with them. +But they quarrelled and separated, I goin' with these that I liked best. +One night though, I took my horse and left; for I knew there was evil in +the heart of a man who sought me continually, and the thing drove me mad. +I rode until my horse could stumble no farther, and then I took the +saddle for a pillow and slept on the bare ground. And in the morning I +got up and rode on, seein' no house nor human being for manny and manny a +mile. When everything seemed hopeless I came suddenly upon a camp. But +I saw that there was only one man there, and I should have turned back, +but that I was worn and ill, and, moreover, I had ridden almost upon him. +But he was kind. He shared his food with me, and asked me where I was +goin'. I told him, and also that I had quarrelled with those of my party +and had left them nothing more. He seemed to wonder that I was goin' to +Pipi Valley; and when I had finished my tale he said: 'Well, I must tell +you that I am not good company for you. I have a name that doesn't pass +at par up here. To speak plain truth, troopers are looking for me, and +--strange as it may be--for a crime which I didn't commit. That is the +foolishness of the law. But for this I'm making for the American border, +beyond which, treaty or no treaty, a man gets refuge.' + +"He was silent after that, lookin' at me thoughtfully the while, but in a +way that told me I might trust him, evil though he called himself. At +length he said: 'I know a good priest, Father Corraine, who has a cabin +sixty miles or more from here, and I'll guide you to him, if so be you +can trust a half-breed and a gambler, and one men call an outlaw. If +not, I'm feared it'll go hard with you; for the Cypress Hills are not +easy travel, as I've known this many a year. And should you want a name +to call me, Pretty Pierre will do, though my godfathers and godmothers +did different for me before they went to Heaven.' And nothing said he +irreverently, father." + +Here the priest looked up and answered: "Yes, yes, I know him well--an +evil man, and yet he has suffered too . . . Well, well, my daughter?" + +"At that he took his pistol from his pocket and handed it. 'Take that,' +he said. 'It will make you safer with me, and I'll ride ahead of you, +and we shall reach there by sundown, I hope.' + +"And I would not take his pistol, but, shamed a little, showed him the +one Sir Duke Lawless gave me. 'That's right,' he said, 'and, maybe, it's +better that I should carry mine, for, as I said, there are anxious +gentlemen lookin' for me, who wish to give me a quiet but dreary home. +And see,' he added, 'if they should come you will be safe, for they sit +in the judgment seat, and the statutes hang at their saddles, and I'll +say this for them, that a woman to them is as a saint of God out here +where women and saints are few.' + +"I do not speak as he spoke, for his words had a turn of French; but I +knew that, whatever he was, I should travel peaceably with him. Yet I +saw that he would be runnin' the risk of his own safety for me, and I +told him that I could not have him do it; but he talked me lightly down, +and we started. We had gone but a little distance, when there galloped +over a ridge upon us, two men of the party I had left, and one, I saw, +was the man I hated; and I cried out and told Pretty Pierre. He wheeled +his horse, and held his pistol by him. They said that I should come with +them, and they told a dreadful lie--that I was a runaway wife; but Pierre +answered them they lied. At this, one rode forward suddenly, and +clutched me at my waist to drag me from my horse. At this, Pierre's +pistol was thrust in his face, and Pierre bade him cease, which he did; +but the other came down with a pistol showin', and Pierre, seein' they +were determined, fired; and the man that clutched at me fell from his +horse. Then the other drew off; and Pierre got down, and stooped, and +felt the man's heart, and said to the other: 'Take your friend away, for +he is dead; but drop that pistol of yours on the ground first.' And the +man did so; and Pierre, as he looked at the dead man, added: 'Why did he +make me kill him?' + +"Then the two tied the body to the horse, and the man rode away with it. +We travelled on without speakin' for a long time, and then I heard him +say absently: 'I am sick of that. When once you have played shuttlecock +with human life, you have to play it to the end--that is the penalty. +But a woman is a woman, and she must be protected.' Then afterward he +turned and asked me if I had friends in Pipi Valley; and because what he +had done for me had worked upon me, I told him of the man I was goin' to +find. And he started in his saddle, and I could see by the way he +twisted the mouth of his horse that I had stirred him." + +Here the priest interposed: "What is the name of the man in Pipi Valley +to whom you are going?" + +And the girl replied: "Ah, father, have I not told you? It is Shon +McGann--of Farcalladen Rise." + +At this, Father Corraine seemed suddenly troubled, and he looked +strangely and sadly at her. But the girl's eyes were fastened on the +candle in the window, as if she saw her story in it; and she continued: +"A colour spread upon him, and then left him pale; and he said: 'To Shon +McGann--you are going to him? Think of that--that!' For an instant I +thought a horrible smile played upon his face, and I grew frightened, and +said to him: 'You know him. You are not sorry that you are helping me? +You and Shon McGann are not enemies?' + +"After a moment the smile that struck me with dread passed, and he said, +as he drew himself up with a shake: 'Shon McGann and I were good friends- +as good as ever shared a blanket or split a loaf, though he was free of +any evil, and I failed of any good.... Well, there came a change. We +parted. We could meet no more; but who could have guessed this thing? +Yet, hear me--I am no enemy of Shon McGann, as let my deeds to you +prove.' And he paused again, but added presently: 'It's better you should +have come now than two years ago. + +"And I had a fear in my heart, and to this asked him why. 'Because then +he was a friend of mine,' he said, 'and ill always comes to those who are +such.' I was troubled at this, and asked him if Shon was in Pipi Valley +yet. 'I do not know,' said he, 'for I've travelled long and far from +there; still, while I do not wish to put doubt into your mind, I have a +thought he may be gone. . . . He had a gay heart,' he continued, 'and +we saw brave days together.' + +"And though I questioned him, he told me little more, but became silent, +scannin' the plains as we rode; but once or twice he looked at me in a +strange fashion, and passed his hand across his forehead, and a grey look +came upon his face. I asked him if he was not well. 'Only a kind of +fightin' within,' he said; 'such things soon pass, and it is well they +do, or we should break to pieces.' + +"And I said again that I wished not to bring him into danger. And he +replied that these matters were accordin' to Fate; that men like him must +go on when once the die is cast, for they cannot turn back. It seemed to +me a bitter creed, and I was sorry for him. Then for hours we kept an +almost steady silence, and comin' at last to the top of a rise of land he +pointed to a spot far off on the plains, and said that you, father, lived +there; and that he would go with me still a little way, and then leave +me. I urged him to go at once, but he would not, and we came down into +the plains. He had not ridden far when he said sharply: + +"'The Riders of the Plains, those gentlemen who seek me, are there--see! +Ride on or stay, which you please. If you go you will reach the priest, +if you stay here where I shall leave you, you will see me taken perhaps, +and it may be fightin' or death; but you will be safe with them. On the +whole, it is best, perhaps, that you should ride away to the priest. +They might not believe all that you told them, ridin' with me as you +are.' + +"But I think a sudden madness again came upon me. Rememberin' what +things were done by women for refugees in old Donegal, and that this man +had risked his life for me, I swung my horse round nose and nose with +his, and drew my revolver, and said that I should see whatever came to +him. He prayed me not to do so wild a thing; but when I refused, and +pushed on along with him, makin' at an angle for some wooded hills, I saw +that a smile played upon his face. We had almost reached the edge of the +wood when a bullet whistled by us. At that the smile passed and a +strange look came upon him, and he said to me: + +"'This must end here. I think you guess I have no coward's blood; but I +am sick to the teeth of fightin'. I do not wish to shock you, but I +swear, unless you turn and ride away to the left towards the priest's +house, I shall save those fellows further trouble by killin' myself here; +and there,' said he, 'would be a pleasant place to die--at the feet of a +woman who trusted you.' + +"I knew by the look in his eye he would keep his word. "'Oh, is this +so?' I said. + +"'It is so,' he replied, 'and it shall be done quickly, for the courage +to death is on me.' + +"'But if I go, you will still try to escape?' I said. And he answered +that he would. Then I spoke a God-bless-you, at which he smiled and +shook his head, and leanin' over, touched my hand, and spoke low: 'When +you see Shon McGann, tell him what I did, and say that we are even now. +Say also that you called Heaven to bless me.' Then we swung away from +each other, and the troopers followed after him, but let me go my way; +from which, I guessed, they saw I was a woman. And as I rode I heard +shots, and turned to see; but my horse stumbled on a hole and we fell +together, and when I waked, I saw that the poor beast's legs were broken. +So I ended its misery, and made my way as best I could by the stars to +your house; but I turned sick and fainted at the door, and knew no more +until this hour. . . . You thought me dead, father?" + +The priest bowed his head, and said: "These are strange, sad things, my +child; and they shall seem stranger to you when you hear all." + +"When I hear all! Ah, tell me, father, do you know Shon McGann? Can you +take me to him?" + +"I know him, but I do not know where he is. He left the Pipi Valley +eighteen months ago, and I never saw him afterwards; still I doubt not he +is somewhere on the plains, and we shall find him--we shall find him, +please Heaven." + +"Is he a good lad, father?" + +"He is brave, and he was always kind. He came to me before he left the +valley--for he had trouble--and said to me: 'Father, I am going away, and +to what place is far from me to know, but wherever it is, I'll live a +life that's fit for men, and not like a loafer on God's world;' and he +gave me money for masses to be said--for the dead." + +The girl put out her hand. "Hush! hush!" she said. "Let me think. +Masses for the dead.... What dead? Not for me; he thought me dead long, +long ago." + +"No; not for you," was the slow reply. + +She noticed his hesitation, and said: "Speak. I know that there is +sorrow on him. Someone--someone--he loved?" + +"Someone he loved," was the reply. + +"And she died?" The priest bowed his head. + +"She was his wife--Shon's wife"? and Mary Callen could not hide from her +words the hurt she felt. + +"I married her to him, but yet she was not his wife." There was a keen +distress in the girl's voice. "Father, tell me, tell me what you mean." + +"Hush, and I will tell you all. He married her, thinking, and she +thinking, that she was a widowed woman. But her husband came back. +A terrible thing happened. The woman believing, at a painful time, that +he who came back was about to take Shon's life, fired at him, and wounded +him, and then killed herself." + +Mary Callen raised herself upon her elbow, and looked at the priest in +piteous bewilderment. "It is dreadful," she said. . . . "Poor woman! +. . . And he had forgotten--forgotten me. I was dead to him, and am +dead to him now. There's nothing left but to draw the cold sheet of the +grave over me. Better for me if I had never come--if I had never come, +and instead were lyin' by his father and mother beneath the rowan." + +The priest took her wrist firmly in his. "These are not brave nor +Christian words, from a brave and Christian girl. But I know that grief +makes one's words wild. Shon McGann shall be found. In the days when I +saw him most and best, he talked of you as an angel gone, and he had +never sought another woman had he known that you lived. The Mounted +Police, the Riders of the Plains, travel far and wide. But now, there +has come from the farther West a new detachment to Fort Cypress, and they +may be able to help us. But listen. There is something more. The man +Pretty Pierre, did he not speak puzzling words concerning himself and +Shon McGann? And did he not say to you at the last that they were even +now? Well, can you not guess?" + +Mary Callen's bosom heaved painfully and her eyes stared so at the candle +in the window that they seemed to grow one with the flame. At last a new +look crept into them; a thought made the lids close quickly as though it +burned them. When they opened again they were full of tears that shone +in the shadow and dropped slowly on her cheeks and flowed on and on, +quivering too in her throat. + +The priest said: "You understand, my child?" + +And she answered: "I understand. Pierre, the outlaw, was her husband." + +Father Corraine rose and sat beside the table, his book of offices open +before him. At length he said: "There is much that might be spoken; for +the Church has words for every hour of man's life, whatever it be; but +there comes to me now a word to say, neither from prayer nor psalm, but +from the songs of a country where good women are; where however poor the +fireside, the loves beside it are born of the love of God, though the +tongue be angry now and then, the foot stumble, and the hand quick at a +blow." Then, with a soft, ringing voice, he repeated: + + "'New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces on you smile-- + You'll bide with them and love them, but you'll long for us the while; + + For the word across the water, and the farewell by the stile-- + For the true heart's here, my darlin'.'" + +Mary Callen's tears flowed afresh at first; but soon after the voice +ceased she closed her eyes and her sobs stopped, and Father Corraine sat +down and became lost in thought as he watched the candle. Then there +went a word among the spirits watching that he was not thinking of the +candle, or of them that the candle was to light on the way, nor even of +this girl near him, but of a summer forty years gone when he was a goodly +youth, with the red on his lip and the light in his eye, and before him, +leaning on a stile, was a lass with-- + + " . . . cheeks like the dawn of day." + +And all the good world swam in circles, eddying ever inward until it +streamed intensely and joyously through her eyes "blue as the fairy +flax." And he had carried the remembrance of this away into the world +with him, but had never gone back again. He had travelled beyond the +seas to live among savages and wear out his life in self-denial; and now +he had come to the evening of his life, a benignant figure in a lonely +land. And as he sat here murmuring mechanically bits of an office, his +heart and mind were with a sacred and distant past. Yet the spirits +recorded both these things on their tablets, as though both were worthy +of their remembrance. + +He did not know that he kept repeating two sentences over and over to +himself: + +"'Quoniam ipse liberavit me de laqueo venantium et a verbo aspero. +Quoniam angelis suis mandavit de te: ut custodiant te in omnibus viis +tuis.'" + +These he said at first softly to himself, but unconsciously his voice +became louder, so that the girl heard, and she said: + +"Father Corraine, what are those words? I do not understand them, but +they sound comforting." + +And he, waking from his dream, changed the Latin into English, and said: + + "'For he hath delivered me from the snare of the hunter, and from the + sharp sword. + For he hath given his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all + thy ways.'" + +"The words are good," she said. He then told her he was going out, but +that he should be within call, saying, at the same time, that someone +would no doubt arrive from Fort Cypress soon: and he went from the house. +Then the girl rose slowly, crept lamely to a chair and sat down. +Outside, the priest paced up and down, stopping now and then, and +listening as if for horses' hoofs. At last he walked some distance away +from the house, deeply lost in thought, and he did not notice that a man +came slowly, heavily, to the door of the hut, and opening it, entered. + +Mary Callen rose from her seat with a cry in which was timidity, pity, +and something of horror; for it was Pretty Pierre. She recoiled, but +seeing how he swayed with weakness, and that his clothes had blood upon +them, she helped him to a chair. He looked up at her with an enigmatical +smile, but he did not speak. "Oh," she whispered, "you are wounded!" + +He nodded; but still he did not speak. Then his lips moved dryly. She +brought him water. He drank deeply, and a sigh of relief escaped him. +"You got here safely," he now said. "I am glad of that--though you, too, +are hurt." + +She briefly told him how, and then he said: "Well, I suppose you know all +of me now?" + +"I know what happened in Pipi Valley," she said, timidly and wearily. +"Father Corraine told me." + +"Where is he?" + +When she had answered him, he said: "And you are willing to speak with me +still?" + +"You saved me," was her brief, convincing reply. "How did you escape? +Did you fight?" + +"No," he said. "It is strange. I did not fight at all. As I said to +you, I was sick of blood. These men were only doing their duty. I might +have killed two or three of them, and have escaped, but to what good? +When they shot my horse, my good Sacrament,--and put a bullet into this +shoulder, I crawled away still, and led them a dance, and doubled on +them; and here I am." + +"It is wonderful that they have not been here," she said. + +"Yes, it is wonderful; but be very sure they will be with that candle in +the window. Why is it there?" + +She told him. He lifted his brows in stoic irony, and said: "Well, we +shall have an army of them soon." He rose again to his feet. "I do not +wish to die, and I always said that I would never go to prison. Do you +understand?" + +"Yes," she replied. She went immediately to the window, took the candle +from it, and put it behind an improvised shade. No sooner was this done +than Father Corraine entered the room, and seeing the outlaw, said "You +have come here, Pierre?" And his face showed wonder and anxiety. + +"I have come, mon pere, for sanctuary." + +"For sanctuary! But, my son, if I vex not Heaven by calling you so, +why"--he saw Pierre stagger slightly. "But you are wounded." He put his +arm round the other's shoulder, and supported him till he recovered +himself. Then he set to work to bandage anew the wound, from which +Pierre himself had not unskilfully extracted the bullet. While doing so, +the outlaw said to him: + +"Father Corraine, I am hunted like a coyote for a crime I did not commit. +But if I am arrested they will no doubt charge me with other things-- +ancient things. Well, I have said that I should never be sent to gaol, +and I never shall; but I do not wish to die at this moment, and I do not +wish to fight. What is there left?" + +"How do you come here, Pierre?" + +He lifted his eyes heavily to Mary Callen, and she told Father Corraine +what had been told her. When she had finished, Pierre added: + +"I am no coward, as you will witness; but as I said, neither gaol nor +death do I wish. Well, if they should come here, and you said, Pierre is +not here, even though I was in the next room, they would believe you, and +they would not search. Well, I ask such sanctuary." + +The priest recoiled and raised his hand in protest. Then, after a +moment, he said: + +"How do you deserve this? Do you know what you ask?" + +"Ah, oui, I know it is immense, and I deserve nothing: and in return I +can offer nothing, not even that I will repent. And I have done no good +in the world; but still perhaps I am worth the saving, as may be seen in +the end. As for you, well, you will do a little wrong so that the end +will be right. So?" + +The priest's eyes looked out long and sadly at the man from under his +venerable brows, as though he would see through him and beyond him to +that end; and at last he spoke in a low, firm voice: + +"Pierre, you have been a bad man; but sometimes you have been generous, +and of a few good acts I know--" + +"No, not good," the other interrupted. "I ask this of your charity." + +"There is the law, and my conscience." + +"The law! the law!" and there was sharp satire in the half-breed's voice. +"What has it done in the West? Think, 'mon pere!' Do you not know a +hundred cases where the law has dealt foully? There was more justice +before we had law. Law--" And he named over swiftly, scornfully, a +score of names and incidents, to which Father Corraine listened intently. +"But," said Pierre, gently, at last, "but for your conscience, m'sieu', +that is greater than law. For you are a good man and a wise man; and you +know that I shall pay my debts of every kind some sure day. That should +satisfy your justice, but you are merciful for the moment, and you will +spare until the time be come, until the corn is ripe in the ear. Why +should I plead? It is foolish. Still, it is my whim, of which, perhaps, +I shall be sorry tomorrow . . . Hark!" he added, and then shrugged +his shoulders and smiled. There were sounds of hoof beats coming faintly +to them. Father Corraine threw open the door of the other room of the +hut, and said "Go in there--Pierre. We shall see . . . we shall see." + +The outlaw looked at the priest, as if hesitating; but, after, nodded +meaningly to himself, and entered the room and shut the door. The priest +stood listening. When the hoof-beats stopped, he opened the door, and +went out. In the dark he could see that men were dismounting from their +horses. He stood still and waited. Presently a trooper stepped forward +and said warmly, yet brusquely, as became his office: "Father Corraine, +we meet again!" + +The priest's face was overswept by many expressions, in which marvel and +trouble were uppermost, while joy was in less distinctness. + +"Surely," he said, "it is Shon McGann." + +"Shon McGann, and no other.--I that laughed at the law for many a year, +though never breaking it beyond repair,--took your advice, Father +Corraine, and here I am, holding that law now as my bosom friend at the +saddle's pommel. Corporal Shon McGann, at your service." + +They clasped hands, and the priest said: "You have come at my call from +Fort Cypress?" + +"Yes. But not these others. They are after a man that's played ducks +and drakes with the statutes--Heaven be merciful to him, I say. For +there's naught I treasure against him; the will of God bein' in it all, +with some doin' of the Devil, too, maybe." + +Pretty Pierre, standing with ear to the window of the dark room, heard +all this, and he pressed his upper lip hard with his forefinger, as if +something disturbed him. + +Shon continued. "I'm glad I wasn't sent after him as all these here +know; for it's little I'd like to clap irons on his wrists, or whistle +him to come to me with a Winchester or a Navy. So I'm here on my +business, and they're here on theirs. Though we come together it's +because we met each other hereaway. They've a thought that, maybe, +Pretty Pierre has taken refuge with you. They'll little like to disturb +you, I know. But with dead in your house, and you givin' the word of +truth, which none other could fall from your lips, they'll go on their +way to look elsewhere." + +The priest's face was pinched, and there was a wrench at his heart. He +turned to the others. A trooper stepped forward. + +"Father Corraine," he said, "it is my duty to search your house; but not +a foot will I stretch across your threshold if you say no, and give the +word that the man is not with you." + +"Corporal McGann," said the priest, "the woman whom I thought was dead +did not die, as you shall see. There is no need for inquiry. But she +will go with you to Fort Cypress. As for the other, you say that Father +Corraine's threshold is his own, and at his own command. His home is now +a sanctuary--for the afflicted." He went towards the door. As he did +so, Mary Callen, who had been listening inside the room with shaking +frame and bursting heart, dropped on her knees beside the table, her head +in her arms. The door opened. "See," said the priest, "a woman who is +injured and suffering." + +"Ah," rejoined the trooper, "perhaps it is the woman who was riding with +the half-breed. We found her dead horse." + +The priest nodded. Shon McGann looked at the crouching figure by the +table pityingly. As he looked he was stirred, he knew not why. And she, +though she did not look, knew that his gaze was on her; and all her will +was spent in holding her eyes from his face, and from crying out to him. + +"And Pretty Pierre," said the trooper, "is not here with her?" + +There was an unfathomable sadness in the priest's eyes, as, with a slight +motion of the hand towards the room, he said: "You see--he is not here." + +The trooper and his men immediately mounted; but one of them, young Tim +Kearney, slid from his horse, and came and dropped on his knee in front +of the priest. + +"It's many a day," he said, "since before God or man I bent a knee--more +shame to me for that, and for mad days gone; but I care not who knows it, +I want a word of blessin' from the man that's been out here like a saint +in the wilderness, with a heart like the Son o' God." + +The priest looked at the man at first as if scarce comprehending this act +so familiar to him, then he slowly stretched out his hand, said some +words in benediction, and made the sacred gesture. But his face had a +strange and absent look, and he held the hand poised, even when the man +had risen and mounted his horse. One by one the troopers rode through +the faint belt of light that stretched from the door, and were lost in +the darkness, the thud of their horses' hoofs echoing behind them. But a +change had come over Corporal Shon McGann. He looked at Father Corraine +with concern and perplexity. He alone of those who were there had caught +the unreal note in the proceedings. His eyes were bent on the darkness +into which the men had gone, and his fingers toyed for an instant with +his whistle; but he said a hard word of himself under his breath, and +turned to meet Father Corraine's hand upon his arm. + +"Shon McGann," the priest said, "I have words to say to you concerning +this poor girl," + +"You wish to have her taken to the Fort, I suppose? What was she doing +with Pretty Pierre?" + +"I wish her taken to her home." + +"Where is her home, father?" And his eyes were cast with trouble on the +girl, though he could assign no cause for that. + +"Her home, Shon,"--the priest's voice was very gentle--"her home was +where they sing such words as these of a wanderer: + + "'You'll hear the wild birds singin' beneath a brighter sky,' + The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand and high; + But you'll hunger for the hearthstone where a child you used to lie, + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'."' + +During these words Shon's face ran white, then red; and now he stepped +inside the door like one in a dream, and the girl's face was lifted to +his as though he had called her. "Mary--Mary Callen!" he cried. His +arms spread out, then dropped to his side, and he fell on his knees by +the table facing her, and looked at her with love and horror warring in +his face; for the remembrance that she had been with Pierre was like the +hand of the grave upon him. Moving not at all, she looked at him, a numb +despondency in her face. Suddenly Shon's look grew stern, and he was +about to rise; but Father Corraine put a hand on his shoulder, and said: +"Stay where you are, man--on your knees. There is your place just now. +Be not so quick to judge, and remember your own sins before you charge +others without knowledge. Listen now to me." + +And he spoke Mary Callen's tale as he knew it, and as she had given it to +him, not forgetting to mention that she had been told the thing which had +occurred in Pipi Valley. + +The heroic devotion of this woman, and Pretty Pierre's act of friendship +to her, together with the swift panorama of his past across the seas, +awoke the whole man in Shon, as the staunch life that he had lately led +rendered it possible. There was a grave, kind look upon his face when he +rose at the ending of the tale, and came to her, saying: + +"Mary, it is I who need forgiveness. Will you come now to the home you +wanted"? and he stretched his arms to her. . . . + +An hour after, as the three sat there, the door of the other room opened, +and Pretty Pierre came out silently, and was about to pass from the hut; +but the priest put a hand on his arm, and said: + +"'Where do you go, Pierre?" + +Pierre shrugged his shoulder slightly: + +"I do not know. 'Mon Dieu!'--that I have put this upon you!--you that +never spoke but the truth." + +"You have made my sin of no avail," the priest replied; and he motioned +towards Shon McGann, who was now risen to his feet, Mary clinging to his +arm. "Father Corraine," said Shon, "it is my duty to arrest this man; +but I cannot do it, would not do it, if he came and offered his arms for +the steel. I'll take the wrong of this now, sir, and such shame as there +is in that falsehood on my shoulders. And she here and I, and this man +too, I doubt not, will carry your sin--as you call it--to our graves, +without shame." + +Father Corraine shook his head sadly, and made no reply, for his soul was +heavy. He motioned them all to sit down. And they sat there by the +light of a flickering candle, with the door bolted and a cassock hung +across the window, lest by any chance this uncommon thing should be seen. +But the priest remained in a shadowed corner, with a little book in his +hand, and he was long on his knees. And when morning came they had +neither slept nor changed the fashion of their watch, save for a moment +now and then, when Pierre suffered from the pain of his wound, and +silently passed up and down the little room. + +The morning was half gone when Shon McGann and Mary Callen stood beside +their horses, ready to mount and go; for Mary had persisted that she +could travel--joy makes such marvellous healing. When the moment of +parting came, Pierre was not there. Mary whispered to her lover +concerning this. The priest went to the door of the but and called him. +He came out slowly. + +"Pierre," said Shon, "there's a word to be said between us that had best +be spoken now, though it's not aisy. It's little you or I will care to +meet again in this world. There's been credit given and debts paid by +both of us since the hour when we first met; and it needs thinking to +tell which is the debtor now, for deeds are hard to reckon; but, before +God, I believe it's meself;" and he turned and looked fondly at Mary +Callen. + +And Pierre replied: "Shon McGann, I make no reckoning close; but we will +square all accounts here, as you say, and for the last time; for never +again shall we meet, if it's within my will or doing. But I say I am the +debtor; and if I pay not here, there will come a time!" and he caught +his shoulder as it shrunk in pain of his wound. He tapped the wound +lightly, and said with irony: "This is my note of hand for my debt, Shon +McGann. Eh, bien!" + +Then he tossed his fingers indolently towards Shon, and turning his eyes +slowly to Mary Callen, raised his hat in good-bye. She put out her hand +impulsively to him, but Pierre, shaking his head, looked away. Shon put +his hand gently on her arm. "No, no," he said in a whisper, "there can +be no touch of hands between us." + +And Pierre, looking up, added: "C'est vrai. That is the truth. You go-- +home. I got to hide. So--so." And he turned and went into the hut. + +The others set their faces northward, and Father Corraine walked beside +Mary Callen's horse, talking quietly of their future life, and speaking, +as he would never speak again, of days in that green land of their birth. +At length, upon a dividing swell of the prairie, he paused to say +farewell. + +Many times the two turned to see, and he was there, looking after them; +his forehead bared to the clear inspiring wind, his grey hair blown back, +his hands clasped. Before descending the trough of a great landwave, +they turned for the last time, and saw him standing motionless, the one +solitary being in all their wide horizon. + +But outside the line of vision there sat a man in a prairie hut, whose +eyes travelled over the valley of blue sky stretching away beyond the +morning, whose face was pale and cold. For hours he sat unmoving, and +when, at last, someone gently touched him on the shoulder, he only shook +his head, and went on thinking. He was busy with the grim ledger of his +life. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +An inner sorrow is a consuming fire +Philosophy which could separate the petty from the prodigious +Remember your own sins before you charge others + + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE "PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE": + +An inner sorrow is a consuming fire +At first--and at the last--he was kind +Awkward for your friends and gratifying to your enemies +Carrying with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love +Courage; without which, men are as the standing straw +Delicate revenge which hath its hour with every man +Evil is half-accidental, half-natural +Fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good +Freedom is the first essential of the artistic mind +Good is often an occasion more than a condition +Had the luck together, all kinds and all weathers +He does not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him +Hunger for happiness is robbery +I was born insolent +If one remembers, why should the other forget +Instinct for detecting veracity, having practised on both sides +Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words and women +It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law +It is not much to kill or to die--that is in the game +Knowing that his face would never be turned from me +Likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly animal +Longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children +Meditation is the enemy of action +Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners +More idle than wicked +Mothers always forgive +My excuses were making bad infernally worse +Noise is not battle +Nothing so good as courage, nothing so base as the shifting eye +Philosophy which could separate the petty from the prodigious +Reconciling the preacher and the sinner, as many another has +Remember your own sins before you charge others +She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute +She wasn't young, but she seemed so +The soul of goodness in things evil +The Injin speaks the truth, perhaps--eye of red man multipies +The Government cherish the Injin much in these days +The gods made last to humble the pride of men--there was rum +The higher we go the faster we live +The Barracks of the Free +The world is not so bad as is claimed for it +Time is the test, and Time will have its way with me +Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now is real +Where I should never hear the voice of the social Thou must +You do not shout dinner till you have your knife in the loaf + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE, BY PARKER *** + +********** This file should be named gp07w10.txt or gp07w10.zip *********** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, gp07w11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, gp07w10a.txt + +This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + +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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