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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Man Size, by William MacLeod Raine
+
+
+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: Man Size
+
+Author: William MacLeod Raine
+
+Release Date: December 8, 2003  [eBook #10404]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAN SIZE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Josephine Paolucci, and the
+Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+MAN-SIZE
+
+BY
+
+WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE
+
+AUTHOR OF
+
+THE BIG-TOWN ROUND UP,
+
+OH, YOU TEX! ETC
+
+1922
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+CAPTAIN SIR CECIL E. DENNY, BART.
+
+OF THE FIRST THREE HUNDRED RIDERS OF THE PLAINS
+
+WHO CARRIED LAW INTO THE LONE LANDS
+
+AND MADE THE SCARLET AND GOLD
+
+A SYNONYM FOR
+
+JUSTICE, INTEGRITY, AND INDOMITABLE PLUCK
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+      I. IN THE DANGER ZONE
+
+     II. THE AMAZON
+
+    III. ANGUS McRAE DOES HIS DUTY
+
+     IV. THE WOLFERS
+
+      V. MORSE JUMPS UP TROUBLE
+
+     VI. "SOMETHING ABOUT THESE GUYS"
+
+    VII. THE MAN IN THE SCARLET JACKET
+
+   VIII. AT SWEET WATER CREEK
+
+     IX. TOM MAKES A COLLECTION
+
+      X. A CAMP-FIRE TALE
+
+     XI. C.N. MORSE TURNS OVER A LEAF
+
+    XII. TOM DUCKS TROUBLE
+
+   XIII. THE CONSTABLE BORES THROUGH DIFFICULTIES
+
+    XIV. SCARLET-COATS IN ACTION
+
+     XV. KISSING DAY
+
+    XVI. A BUSINESS DEAL
+
+   XVII. A BOARD CREAKS
+
+  XVIII. A GUN ROARS
+
+    XIX. "D' YOU WONDER SHE HATES ME?"
+
+     XX. ONISTAH READS SIGN
+
+    XXI. ON THE FRONTIER OF DESPAIR
+
+   XXII. "MY DAMN PRETTY LI'L' HIGH-STEPPIN' SQUAW"
+
+  XXIII. A FORETASTE OF HELL
+
+   XXIV. WEST MAKES A DECISION
+
+    XXV. FOR THE WEE LAMB LOST
+
+   XXVI. A RESCUE
+
+  XXVII. APACHE STUFF
+
+ XXVIII. "IS A' WELL WI' YOU, LASS?"
+
+   XXIX. NOT GOING ALONE
+
+    XXX. "M" FOR MORSE
+
+   XXXI. THE LONG TRAIL
+
+  XXXII. A PICTURE IN A LOCKET
+
+ XXXIII. INTO THE LONE LAND
+
+  XXXIV. THE MAN-HUNTERS READ SIGN
+
+   XXXV. SNOW-BLIND
+
+  XXXVI. THE WILD BEAST LEAPS
+
+ XXXVII. NEAR THE END OF A LONG CROOKED TRAIL
+
+XXXVIII. OVER A ROTTING TRAIL
+
+  XXXIX. A CREE RUNNER BRINGS NEWS
+
+     XL. "MALBROUCK S'EN VA-T-EN GUERRE"
+
+    XLI. SENSE AND NONSENSE
+
+   XLII. THE IMPERATIVE URGE
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+IN THE DANGER ZONE
+
+
+She stood on the crown of the hill, silhouetted against a sky-line of
+deepest blue. Already the sun was sinking in a crotch of the plains
+which rolled to the horizon edge like waves of a great land sea. Its
+reflected fires were in her dark, stormy eyes. Its long, slanted rays
+were a spotlight for the tall, slim figure, straight as that of a boy.
+
+The girl's gaze was fastened on a wisp of smoke rising lazily from a
+hollow of the crumpled hills. That floating film told of a camp-fire
+of buffalo chips. There was a little knitted frown of worry on her
+forehead, for imagination could fill in details of what the coulée
+held: the white canvas tops of prairie schooners, some spans of oxen
+grazing near, a group of blatant, profane whiskey-smugglers from
+Montana, and in the wagons a cargo of liquor to debauch the Bloods and
+Piegans near Fort Whoop-Up.
+
+Sleeping Dawn was a child of impulse. She had all youth's capacity for
+passionate indignation and none of the wisdom of age which tempers
+the eager desire of the hour. These whiskey-traders were ruining her
+people. More than threescore Blackfeet braves had been killed within
+the year in drunken brawls among themselves. The plains Indians would
+sell their souls for fire-water. When the craze was on them, they
+would exchange furs, buffalo robes, ponies, even their wives and
+daughters for a bottle of the poison.
+
+In the sunset glow she stood rigid and resentful, one small fist
+clenched, the other fast to the barrel of the rifle she carried. The
+evils of the trade came close to her. Fergus McRae still carried the
+gash from a knife thrust earned in a drunken brawl. It was likely that
+to-morrow he would cut the trail of the wagon wheels and again make
+a bee-line for liquor and trouble. The swift blaze of revolt found
+expression in the stamp of her moccasined foot.
+
+As dusk fell over the plains, Sleeping Dawn moved forward lightly,
+swiftly, toward the camp in the hollow of the hills. She had no
+definite purpose except to spy the lay-out, to make sure that her
+fears were justified. But through the hinterland of her consciousness
+rebellious thoughts were racing. These smugglers were wholly outside
+the law. It was her right to frustrate them if she could.
+
+Noiselessly she skirted the ridge above the coulée, moving through
+the bunch grass with the wary care she had learned as a child in the
+lodges of the tribe.
+
+Three men crouched on their heels in the glow of a camp-fire well
+up the draw. A fourth sat at a little distance from them riveting a
+stirrup leather with two stones. The wagons had been left near the
+entrance of the valley pocket some sixty or seventy yards from the
+fire. Probably the drivers, after they had unhitched the teams, had
+been drawn deeper into the draw to a spot more fully protected from
+the wind.
+
+While darkness gathered, Sleeping Dawn lay in the bunch grass with her
+eyes focused on the camp below. Her untaught soul struggled with the
+problem that began to shape itself. These men were wolfers, desperate
+men engaged in a nefarious business. They paid no duty to the British
+Government. She had heard her father say so. Contrary to law, they
+brought in their vile stuff and sold it both to breeds and tribesmen.
+They had no regard whatever for the terrible injury they did the
+natives. Their one intent was to get rich as soon as possible, so they
+plied their business openly and defiantly. For the Great Lone Land was
+still a wilderness where every man was a law to himself.
+
+The blood of the girl beat fast with the racing pulse of excitement.
+A resolution was forming in her mind. She realized the risks and
+estimated chances coolly. These men would fire to kill on any skulker
+near the camp. They would take no needless hazard of being surprised
+by a band of stray Indians. But the night would befriend her. She
+believed she could do what she had in mind and easily get away to the
+shelter of the hill creases before they could kill or capture her.
+
+A shadowy dog on the outskirt of the camp rose and barked. The girl
+waited, motionless, tense, but the men paid little heed to the
+warning. The man working at the stirrup leather got to his feet,
+indeed, carelessly, rifle in hand, and stared into the gloom; but
+presently he turned on his heel and sauntered back to his job of
+saddlery. Evidently the hound was used to voicing false alarms
+whenever a coyote slipped past or a skunk nosed inquisitively near.
+
+Sleeping Dawn followed the crest of the ridge till it fell away to
+the mouth of the coulée. She crept up behind the white-topped wagon
+nearest the entrance.
+
+An axe lay against the tongue. She picked it up, glancing at the same
+time toward the camp-fire. So far she had quite escaped notice. The
+hound lay blinking into the flames, its nose resting on crossed paws.
+
+With her hunting-knife the girl ripped the canvas from the side of the
+top. She stood poised, one foot on a spoke, the other on the axle. The
+axe-head swung in a half-circle. There was a crash of wood, a swift
+jet of spouting liquor. Again the axe swung gleaming above her head. A
+third and a fourth time it crashed against the staves.
+
+A man by the camp-fire leaped to his feet with a startled oath.
+"What's that?" he demanded sharply.
+
+From the shadows of the wagons a light figure darted. The man snatched
+up a rifle and fired. A second time, aimlessly, he sent a bullet into
+the darkness.
+
+The silent night was suddenly alive with noises. Shots, shouts, the
+barking of the dog, the slap of running feet, all came in a confused
+medley to Sleeping Dawn.
+
+She gained a moment's respite from pursuit when the traders stopped
+at the wagons to get their bearings. The first of the white-topped
+schooners was untouched. The one nearest the entrance to the coulée
+held four whiskey-casks with staves crushed in and contents seeping
+into the dry ground.
+
+Against one of the wheels a rifle rested. The girl flying in a panic
+had forgotten it till too late.
+
+The vandalism of the attack amazed the men. They could have understood
+readily enough some shots out of the shadows or a swoop down upon the
+camp to stampede and run off the saddle horses. Even a serious attempt
+to wipe out the party by a stray band of Blackfeet or Crees was an
+undertaking that would need no explaining. But why should any one do
+such a foolish, wasteful thing as this, one to so little purpose in
+its destructiveness?
+
+They lost no time in speculation, but plunged into the darkness in
+pursuit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE AMAZON
+
+
+The dog darted into the bunch grass and turned sharply to the right.
+One of the men followed it, the others took different directions.
+
+Up a gully the hound ran, nosed the ground in a circle of sniffs, and
+dipped down into a dry watercourse. Tom Morse was at heel scarcely a
+dozen strides behind.
+
+The yelping of the dog told Morse they were close on their quarry.
+Once or twice he thought he made out the vague outline of a flying
+figure, but in the night shadows it was lost again almost at once.
+
+They breasted the long slope of a low hill and took the decline
+beyond. The young plainsman had the legs and the wind of a Marathon
+runner. His was the perfect physical fitness of one who lives a clean,
+hard life in the dry air of the high lands. The swiftness and the
+endurance of the fugitive told him that he was in the wake of youth
+trained to a fine edge.
+
+Unexpectedly, in the deeper darkness of a small ravine below the hill
+spur, the hunted turned upon the hunter. Morse caught the gleam of a
+knife thrust as he plunged. It was too late to check his dive. A flame
+of fire scorched through his forearm. The two went down together,
+rolling over and over as they struggled.
+
+Startled, Morse loosened his grip. He had discovered by the feel of
+the flesh he was handling so roughly that it was a woman with whom he
+was fighting.
+
+She took advantage of his hesitation to shake free and roll away.
+
+They faced each other on their feet. The man was amazed at the young
+Amazon's fury. Her eyes were like live coals, flashing at him hatred
+and defiance. Beneath the skin smock she wore, her breath came
+raggedly and deeply. Neither of them spoke, but her gaze did not yield
+a thousandth part of an inch to his.
+
+The girl darted for the knife she had dropped. Morse was upon her
+instantly. She tried to trip him, but when they struck the ground she
+was underneath.
+
+He struggled to pin down her arms, but she fought with a barbaric
+fury. Her hard little fist beat upon his face a dozen times before he
+pegged it down.
+
+Lithe as a panther, her body twisted beneath his. Too late the flash
+of white teeth warned him. She bit into his arm with the abandon of a
+savage.
+
+"You little devil!" he cried between set teeth.
+
+He flung away any scruples he might have had and pinned fast her
+flying arms. The slim, muscular body still writhed in vain contortions
+till he clamped it fast between knees from which not even an untamed
+cayuse could free itself.
+
+She gave up struggling. They glared at each other, panting from their
+exertions. Her eyes still flamed defiance, but back of it he read
+fear, a horrified and paralyzing terror. To the white traders along
+the border a half-breed girl was a squaw, and a squaw was property
+just as a horse or a dog was.
+
+For the first time she spoke, and in English. Her voice came
+bell-clear and not in the guttural of the tribes.
+
+"Let me up!" It was an imperative, urgent, threatening.
+
+He still held her in the vice, his face close to her flaming eyes.
+"You little devil," he said again.
+
+"Let me up!" she repeated wildly. "Let me up, I tell you."
+
+"Like blazes I will. You're through biting and knifing me for one
+night." He had tasted no liquor all day, but there was the note of
+drunkenness in his voice.
+
+The terror in her grew. "If you don't let me up--"
+
+"You'll do what?" he jeered.
+
+Her furious upheaval took him by surprise. She had unseated him and
+was scrambling to her feet before he had her by the shoulders.
+
+The girl ducked her head in an effort to wrench free. She could as
+easily have escaped from steel cuffs as from the grip of his brown
+fingers.
+
+"You'd better let me go!" she cried. "You don't know who I am."
+
+"Nor care," he flung back. "You're a nitchie, and you smashed our
+kegs. That's enough for me."
+
+"I'm no such thing a nitchie[1]," she denied indignantly.
+
+[Footnote 1: In the vernacular of the Northwest Indians were
+"nitchies." (W.M.R.)]
+
+The instinct of self-preservation was moving in her. She had played
+into the hands of this man and his companions. The traders made their
+own laws and set their own standards. The value of a squaw of the
+Blackfeet was no more than that of the liquor she had destroyed. It
+would be in character for them to keep her as a chattel captured in
+war.
+
+"The daughter of a squaw-man then," he said, and there was in his
+voice the contempt of the white man for the half-breed.
+
+"I'm Jessie McRae," she said proudly.
+
+Among the Indians she went by her tribal name of Sleeping Dawn, but
+always with the whites she used the one her adopted father had given
+her. It increased their respect for her. Just now she was in desperate
+need of every ounce that would weigh in the scales.
+
+"Daughter of Angus McRae?" he asked, astonished.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"His woman's a Cree?"
+
+"His wife is," the girl corrected.
+
+"What you doin' here?"
+
+"Father's camp is near. He's hunting hides."
+
+"Did he send you to smash our whiskey-barrels?"
+
+"Angus McRae never hides behind a woman," she said, her chin up.
+
+That was true. Morse knew it, though he had never met McRae. His
+reputation had gone all over the Northland as a fearless fighting man
+honest as daylight and stern as the Day of Judgment. If this girl was
+a daughter of the old Scot, not even a whiskey-trader could safely lay
+hands on her. For back of Angus was a group of buffalo-hunters related
+to him by blood over whom he held half-patriarchal sway.
+
+"Why did you do it?" Morse demanded.
+
+The question struck a spark of spirit from her. "Because you're
+ruining my people--destroying them with your fire-water."
+
+He was taken wholly by surprise. "Do you mean you destroyed our
+property for that reason?"
+
+She nodded, sullenly.
+
+"But we don't trade with the Crees," he persisted.
+
+It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she was of the
+Blackfoot tribe and not of the Crees, but again for reasons of policy
+she was less than candid. Till she was safely out of the woods, it was
+better this man should not know she was only an adopted daughter of
+Angus McRae. She offered another reason, and with a flare of passion
+which he was to learn as a characteristic of her.
+
+"You make trouble for my brother Fergus. He shot Akokotos (Many
+Horses) in the leg when the fire-water burned in him. He was stabbed
+by a Piegan brave who did not know what he was doing. Fergus is good.
+He minds his own business. But you steal away his brains. Then he runs
+wild. It was _you_, not Fergus, that shot Akokotos. The Great Spirit
+knows you whiskey-traders, and not my poor people who destroy each
+other, are the real murderers."
+
+Her logic was feminine and personal, from his viewpoint wholly unfair.
+Moreover, one of her charges did not happen to be literally true.
+
+"We never sold whiskey to your brother--not our outfit. It was
+Jackson's, maybe. Anyhow, nobody made him buy it. He was free to take
+it or leave it."
+
+"A wolf doesn't have to eat the poisoned meat in a trap, but it eats
+and dies," she retorted swiftly and bitterly.
+
+Adroitly she had put him on the defensive. Her words had the sting of
+barbed darts.
+
+"We're not talking of wolves."
+
+"No, but of Blackfeet and Bloods and Sarcees," she burst out, again
+with that flare of feminine ferocity so out of character in an Indian
+woman or the daughter of one. "D'you think I don't know how you
+Americans talk? A good Indian is a dead Indian. No wonder we hate you
+all. No wonder the tribes fight you to the death."
+
+He had no answer for this. It was true. He had been brought up in a
+land of Indian wars and he had accepted without question the common
+view that the Sioux, the Crows, and the Cheyennes, with all their
+blood brothers, were menaces to civilization. The case for the natives
+he had never studied. How great a part broken pledges and callous
+injustice had done to drive the tribes to the war-path he did not
+know. Few of the actual frontiersmen were aware of the wrongs of the
+red men.
+
+The young man's hands fell from her arms. Hard-eyed and grim, he
+looked her over from head to foot. The short skirt and smock of
+buckskin, the moccasins of buffalo hide, all dusty and travel-stained,
+told of life in a primitive country under the simplest and hardest
+conditions.
+
+Yet the voice was clear and vibrant, the words well enunciated. She
+bloomed like a desert rose, had some quality of vital life that struck
+a spark from his imagination.
+
+What manner of girl was she? Not by any possibility would she fit into
+the specifications of the cubby-hole his mind had built for Indian
+women. The daughters even of the boisbrulés had much of the heaviness
+and stolidity of their native mothers. Jessie McRae was graceful as a
+fawn. Every turn of the dark head, every lift of the hand, expressed
+spirit and verve. She must, he thought, have inherited almost wholly
+from her father, though in her lissom youth he could find little of
+McRae's heavy solidity of mind and body.
+
+"Your brother is of the métis[2]. He's not a tribesman. And he's no
+child. He can look out for himself," Morse said at last.
+
+[Footnote 2: The half-breeds were known as "métis." The word means, of
+course, mongrel. (W.M.R.)]
+
+His choice of a word was unfortunate. It applied as much to her as to
+Fergus. Often it was used contemptuously.
+
+"Yes, and the métis doesn't matter," she cried, with the note of
+bitterness that sat so strangely on her hot-blooded, vital youth. "You
+can ride over him as though you're lords of the barren lands. You can
+ruin him for the money you make, even if he's a subject of the Great
+Mother and not of your country. He's only a breed--a mongrel."
+
+He was a man of action. He brushed aside discussion. "We'll be movin'
+back to camp."
+
+Instantly her eyes betrayed the fear she would not put into words.
+"No--no! I won't go."
+
+His lids narrowed. The outthrust of his lean jaw left no room for
+argument. "You'll go where I say."
+
+She knew it would be that way, if he dragged her by the hair of the
+head. Because she was in such evil case she tamed her pride to sullen
+pleading.
+
+"Don't take me there! Let me go to father. He'll horsewhip me. I'll
+have him do it for you. Isn't that enough? Won't that satisfy you?"
+
+Red spots smoldered like fire in his brown eyes. If he took her back
+to the traders' camp, he would have to fight Bully West for her. That
+was certain. All sorts of complications would rise. There would be
+trouble with McRae. The trade with the Indians of his uncle's firm, of
+which he was soon to be a partner, would be wrecked by the Scotchman.
+No, he couldn't take her back to the camp in the coulée. There was too
+much at stake.
+
+"Suits me. I'll take you up on that. He's to horsewhip you for that
+fool trick you played on us and to make good our loss. Where's his
+camp?"
+
+From the distance of a stone-throw a heavy, raucous voice called,
+"'Lo, Morse!"
+
+The young man turned to the girl, his lips set in a thin, hard line.
+"Bully West. The dog's gone back and is bringin' him here, I reckon.
+Like to meet him?"
+
+She knew the reputation of Bully West, notorious as a brawler and
+a libertine. Who in all the North did not know of it? Her heart
+fluttered a signal of despair.
+
+"I--I can get away yet--up the valley," she said in a whisper, eyes
+quick with fear.
+
+He smiled grimly. "You mean _we_ can."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Hit the trail."
+
+She turned and led the way into the darkness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+ANGUS McRAE DOES HIS DUTY
+
+
+The harsh shout came to them again, and with it a volley of oaths that
+polluted the night.
+
+Sleeping Dawn quickened her pace. The character of Bully West was
+sufficiently advertised in that single outburst. She conceived him
+bloated, wolfish, malignant, a man whose mind traveled through filthy
+green swamps breeding fever and disease. Hard though this young man
+was, in spite of her hatred of him, of her doubt as to what lay behind
+those inscrutable, reddish-brown eyes of his, she would a hundred
+times rather take chances with him than with Bully West. He was at
+least a youth. There was always the possibility that he might not yet
+have escaped entirely from the tenderness of boyhood.
+
+Morse followed her silently with long, tireless, strides. The girl
+continued to puzzle him. Even her manner of walking expressed
+personality. There was none of the flat-footed Indian shuffle about
+her gait. She moved lightly, springily, as one does who finds in it
+the joy of calling upon abundant strength.
+
+She was half Scotch, of course. That helped to explain her. The words
+of an old song hummed themselves through his mind.
+
+  "Yestreen I met a winsome lass, a bonny lass was she,
+   As ever climbed the mountain-side, or tripped aboon the lea;
+   She wore nae gold, nae jewels bright, nor silk nor satin rare,
+   But just the plaidie that a queen might well be proud to wear."
+
+Jessie McRae wore nothing half so picturesque as the tartan. Her
+clothes were dingy and dust-stained. But they could not eclipse the
+divine, dusky youth of her. She was slender, as a panther is, and her
+movements had more than a suggestion of the same sinuous grace.
+
+Of the absurdity of such thoughts he was quite aware. She was a
+good-looking breed. Let it go at that. In story-books there were
+Indian princesses, but in real life there were only squaws.
+
+Not till they were out of the danger zone did he speak. "Where's your
+father's camp?"
+
+She pointed toward the northwest. "You don't need to be afraid. He'll
+pay you for the damage I did."
+
+He looked at her in the steady, appraising way she was to learn as a
+peculiarity of his.
+
+"I'm not afraid," he drawled. "I'll get my pay--and you'll get yours."
+
+Color flamed into her dusky face. When she spoke there was the throb
+of contemptuous anger in her voice. "It's a great thing to be a man."
+
+"Like to crawfish, would you?"
+
+She swung on him, eyes blazing. "No. I don't ask any favors of a
+wolfer."
+
+She spat the word at him as though it were a missile. The term was one
+of scorn, used only in speaking of the worst of the whiskey-traders.
+He took it coolly, his strong white teeth flashing in a derisive
+smile.
+
+"Then this wolfer won't offer any, Miss McRae."
+
+It was the last word that passed between them till they reached the
+buffalo-hunter's camp. If he felt any compunctions, she read nothing
+of the kind in his brown face and the steady stride carrying her
+straight to punishment. She wondered if he knew how mercilessly
+twenty-year-old Fergus had been thrashed after his drunken spree among
+the Indians, how sternly Angus dispensed justice in the clan over
+which he ruled. Did he think she was an ordinary squaw, one to be
+whipped as a matter of discipline by her owner?
+
+They climbed a hill and looked down on a camp of many fires in the
+hollow below.
+
+"Is it you, lass?" a voice called.
+
+Out of the shadows thrown by the tents a big bearded man came to meet
+them. He stood six feet in his woolen socks. His chest was deep and
+his shoulders tremendously broad. Few in the Lone Lands had the
+physical strength of Angus McRae.
+
+His big hand caught the girl by the shoulder with a grip that was
+half a caress. He had been a little anxious about her and this found
+expression in a reproach.
+
+"You shouldna go out by your lane for so lang after dark, Jess. Weel
+you ken that."
+
+"I know, Father."
+
+The blue eyes beneath the grizzled brows of the hunter turned upon
+Morse. They asked what he was doing with his daughter at that time and
+place.
+
+The Montana trader answered the unspoken question, an edge of irony in
+his voice. "I found Miss McRae wanderin' around, so I brought her home
+where she would be safe and well taken care of."
+
+There was something about this Angus did not understand. At night in
+the Lone Lands, among a thousand hill pockets and shoestring draws,
+it would be only a millionth chance that would bring a man and woman
+together unexpectedly. He pushed home questions, for he was not one to
+slough any of the responsibilities that belonged to him as father of
+his family.
+
+A fat and waistless Indian woman appeared in the tent flap as the
+three approached the light. She gave a grunt of surprise and pointed
+first at Morse and then at the girl.
+
+The trader's hands were covered with blood, his shirt-sleeve soaked in
+it. Stains of it were spattered over the girl's clothes and face.
+
+The Scotchman looked at them, and his clean-shaven upper lip grew
+straight, his whole face stern. "What'll be the meanin' o' this?" he
+asked.
+
+Morse turned to the girl, fastened his eyes on her steadily, and
+waited.
+
+"Nae lees. I'll hae the truth," Angus added harshly.
+
+"I did it--with my hunting-knife," the daughter said, looking straight
+at her father.
+
+"What's that? Are ye talkin' havers, lass?"
+
+"It's the truth, Father."
+
+The Scotchman swung on the trader with a swift question, at the end of
+it a threat. "Why would she do that? Why? If you said one word to my
+lass--"
+
+"No, Father. You don't understand. I found a camp of whiskey-traders,
+and I stole up and smashed four-five kegs. I meant to slip away, but
+this man caught me. When he rushed at me I was afraid--so I slashed at
+him with my knife. We fought."
+
+"You fought," her father repeated.
+
+"He didn't know I was a girl--not at first."
+
+The buffalo-hunter passed that point. "You went to this trader's camp
+and ruined his goods?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why?"
+
+The slim girl faced her judge steadily with eyes full of apprehension.
+"Fergus," she said in a low voice, "and my people."
+
+"What aboot them?"
+
+"These traders break the law. They sell liquor to Fergus and to--"
+
+"Gin that's true, is it your business to ram-stam in an' destroy ither
+folks' property? Did I bring you up i' the fear o' the Lord to slash
+at men wi' your dirk an' fight wi' them like a wild limmer? I've been
+ower-easy wi' you. Weel, I'll do my painfu' duty the nicht, lass." The
+Scotchman's eyes were as hard and as inexorable as those of a hanging
+judge.
+
+"Yes," the girl answered in a small voice. "That's why he brought me
+home instead of taking me to his own camp. You're to whip me."
+
+Angus McRae was not used to having the law and the judgment taken out
+of his own hands. He frowned at the young man beneath heavy grizzled
+eyebrows drawn sternly together. "An' who are you to tell me how to
+govern my ain hoose?" he demanded.
+
+"My name's Morse--Tom Morse, Fort Benton, Montana, when my hat's
+hangin' up. I took up your girl's proposition, that if I didn't head
+in at our camp, but brought her here, you were to whip her and pay me
+damages for what she'd done. Me, I didn't propose it. She did."
+
+"You gave him your word on that, Jess?" her father asked.
+
+"Yes." She dragged out, reluctantly, after a moment: "With a
+horsewhip."
+
+"Then that's the way it'll be. The McRaes don't cry back on a
+bargain," the dour old buffalo-hunter said. "But first we'll look at
+this young man's arm. Get water and clean rags, Jess."
+
+Morse flushed beneath the dark tan of his cheeks. "My arm's all right.
+It'll keep till I get back to camp."
+
+"No such thing, my lad. We'll tie it up here and now. If my lass cut
+your arm, she'll bandage the wound."
+
+"She'll not. I'm runnin' this arm."
+
+McRae slammed a heavy fist down into the palm of his hand. "I'll be
+showin' you aboot that, mannie."
+
+"Hell, what's the use o' jawin'? I'm goin' to wait, I tell you."
+
+"Don't curse in my camp, Mr. Morse, or whatever your name is." The
+Scotchman's blue eyes flashed. "It's a thing I do not permeet. Nor do
+I let beardless lads tell me what they will or won't do here. Your
+wound will be washed and tied up if I have to order you hogtied first.
+So mak the best o' that."
+
+Morse measured eyes with him a moment, then gave way with a sardonic
+laugh. McRae had a full share of the obstinacy of his race.
+
+"All right. I'm to be done good to whether I like it or not. Go to
+it." The trader pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and stretched out
+a muscular, blood-stained arm. An ugly flesh wound stretched halfway
+from elbow to wrist.
+
+Jessie brought a basin, water, a towel, and clean rags. By the light
+of a lantern in the hands of her father, she washed and tied up the
+wound. Her lips trembled. Strange little rivers of fire ran through
+her veins when her finger-tips touched his flesh. Once, when she
+lifted her eyes, they met his. He read in them a concentrated passion
+of hatred.
+
+Not even when she had tied the last knot in the bandage did any of
+them speak. She carried away the towel and the basin while McRae hung
+the lantern to a nail in the tent pole and brought from inside a
+silver-mounted riding-whip. It was one he had bought as a present for
+his daughter last time he had been at Fort Benton.
+
+The girl came back and stood before him. A pulse beat fast in her
+brown throat. The eyes betrayed the dread of her soul, but they met
+without flinching those of the buffalo-hunter.
+
+The Indian woman at the tent entrance made no motion to interfere. The
+lord of her life had spoken. So it would be.
+
+With a strained little laugh Morse took a step forward. "I reckon I'll
+not stand out for my pound of flesh, Mr. McRae. Settle the damages for
+the lost liquor and I'll call it quits."
+
+The upper lip of the Scotchman was a straight line of resolution. "I'm
+not thrashing the lass to please you, but because it's in the bond and
+because she's earned it. Stand back, sir."
+
+The whip swung up and down. The girl gasped and shivered. A flame of
+fiery pain ran through her body to the toes. She set her teeth to bite
+back a scream. Before the agony had passed, the whip was winding round
+her slender body again like a red-hot snake. It fell with implacable
+rhythmic regularity.
+
+Her pride and courage collapsed. She sank to her knees with a wild
+burst of wailing and entreaties. At last McRae stopped.
+
+Except for the irregular sobbing breaths of the girl there was
+silence. The Indian woman crouched beside the tortured young thing and
+rocked the dark head, held close against her bosom, while she crooned
+a lullaby in the native tongue.
+
+McRae, white to the lips, turned upon his unwelcome guest. "You're nae
+doot wearyin' to tak the road, man. Bring your boss the morn an' I'll
+mak a settlement."
+
+Morse knew he was dismissed. He turned and walked into the darkness
+beyond the camp-fires. Unnoticed, he waited there in a hollow and
+listened. For along time there came to him the soft sound of weeping,
+and afterward the murmur of voices. He knew that the fat and shapeless
+squaw was pouring mother love from her own heart to the bleeding one
+of the girl.
+
+Somehow that brought him comfort. He had a queer feeling that he had
+been a party to some horrible outrage. Yet all that had taken place
+was the whipping of an Indian girl. He tried to laugh away the weak
+sympathy in his heart.
+
+But the truth was that inside he was a wild river of woe for her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE WOLFERS
+
+
+When Tom Morse reached camp he found Bully West stamping about in a
+heady rage. The fellow was a giant of a man, almost muscle-bound in
+his huge solidity. His shoulders were rounded with the heavy pack of
+knotted sinews they carried. His legs were bowed from much riding. It
+was his boast that he could bend a silver dollar double in the palm of
+his hand. Men had seen him twist the tail rod of a wagon into a knot.
+Sober, he was a sulky, domineering brute with the instincts of a
+bully. In liquor, the least difference of opinion became for him a
+cause of quarrel.
+
+Most men gave him a wide berth, and for the sake of peace accepted
+sneers and insults that made the blood boil.
+
+"Where you been all this time?" he growled.
+
+"Ploughin' around over the plains."
+
+"Didn't you hear me callin'?"
+
+"D'you call? I've been quite a ways from camp. Bumped into Angus
+McRae's buffalo-hunting outfit. He wants to see us to-morrow."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Something about to-night's business. Seems he knows who did it.
+Offers to settle for what we lost."
+
+Bully West stopped in his stride, feet straddled, head thrust forward.
+"What's that?"
+
+"Like I say. We're to call on him to-morrow for a settlement, you 'n'
+me."
+
+"Did McRae bust our barrels?"
+
+"He knows something about it. Didn't have time to talk long with him.
+I hustled right back to tell you."
+
+"He can come here if he wants to see me," West announced.
+
+This called for no answer and Tom gave it none. He moved across to the
+spot where the oxen were picketed and made sure the pins were still
+fast. Presently he rolled his blanket round him and looked up into a
+sky all stars. Usually he dropped asleep as soon as his head touched
+the seat of the saddle he used as a pillow. But to-night he lay awake
+for hours. He could not get out of his mind the girl he had met and
+taken to punishment. A dozen pictures of her rose before him, all of
+them mental snapshots snatched from his experience of the night. Now
+he was struggling to hold her down, his knees clamped to her writhing,
+muscular torso. Again he held her by the strong, velvet-smooth arms
+while her eyes blazed fury and defiance at him. Or her stinging words
+pelted him as she breasted the hill slopes with supple ease. Most
+vivid of all were the ones at her father's camp, especially those when
+she was under the torture of the whip.
+
+No wonder she hated him for what he had done to her.
+
+He shook himself into a more comfortable position and began to count
+stars.... Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven.... What was the use
+of stressing the affair, anyhow? She was only a half-breed. In
+ten years she would be fat, shapeless, dirty, and repellent. Her
+conversation would be reduced to grunts. The glance he had had at her
+mother was illuminating.
+
+Where was he?... One hundred eleven, twelve, thirteen.... Women had
+not obtruded much into his life. He had lived in the wind and the sun
+of the outdoors, much of the time in the saddle. Lawless he was,
+but there was a clean strain in his blood. He had always felt an
+indifferent contempt for a squaw-man. An American declassed himself
+when he went in for that sort of thing, even if he legalized the
+union by some form of marriage. In spite of her magnificent physical
+inheritance of health and vitality, in spite of the quick and
+passionate spirit that informed her, she would be the product of her
+environment and ancestry, held close to barbarism all her life. The
+man who mated with her would be dragged down to her level.
+
+Two hundred three, four, five.... How game she had been! She had
+played it out like a thoroughbred, even to telling her father that he
+was to use the horsewhip in punishing her. He had never before seen a
+creature so splendid or so spirited. Squaw or no squaw, he took off
+his hat to her.
+
+The sun had climbed the hilltop when Morse wakened.
+
+"Come an' get it!" Barney the cook was yelling at him.
+
+Bully West had changed his mind about not going to the
+buffalo-hunter's camp.
+
+"You 'n' Brad'll stay here, Barney, while me 'n' Tom are gone," he
+gave orders. "And you'll keep a sharp lookout for raiders. If any one
+shows up that you're dubious of, plug him and ask questions afterward.
+Un'erstand?"
+
+"I hear ye," replied Barney, a small cock-eyed man with a malevolent
+grin. "An' we'll do just that, boss."
+
+Long before the traders reached it, the camp of the buffalo-hunters
+advertised its presence by the stench of decaying animal matter.
+Hundreds of hides were pegged to the ground. Men and women, squatting
+on their heels, scraped bits of fat from the drying skins. Already a
+train of fifty Red River carts[3] stood ready for the homeward start,
+loaded with robes tied down by means of rawhide strips to stand the
+jolting across the plains. Not far away other women were making
+pemmican of fried buffalo meat and fat, pounded together and packed
+with hot grease in skin bags. This food was a staple winter diet and
+had too a market value for trade to the Hudson's Bay Company, which
+shipped thousands of sacks yearly to its northern posts on the Peace
+and the Mackenzie Rivers.
+
+[Footnote 3: The Red River cart was a primitive two-wheeled affair,
+made entirely of wood, without nails or metal tires. It was usually
+drawn by an ox. (W.M.R.)]
+
+The children and the sound of their laughter gave the camp a domestic
+touch. Some of the brown, half-naked youngsters, their skins
+glistening in the warm sun, were at work doing odd jobs. Others, too
+young to fetch and carry, played with a litter of puppies or with a
+wolf cub that had been caught and tamed.
+
+The whole bustling scene was characteristic of time and place. A score
+of such outfits, each with its Red River carts and its oxen, its dogs,
+its women and children, traveled to the plains each spring to hunt
+the bison. They killed thousands upon thousands of them, for it took
+several animals to make a sack of pemmican weighing one hundred fifty
+pounds. The waste was enormous, since only the choicest cuts of meat
+were used.
+
+Already the buffalo were diminishing in numbers. Vast hordes still
+roamed the plains. They could be killed by scores and hundreds. But
+the end was near. It had been several years since Colonel Dodge
+reported that he had halted his party of railroad builders two days
+to let a herd of over half a million bison pass. Such a sight was no
+longer possible. The pressure of the hunters had divided the game into
+the northern and the southern herds. Within four or five years the
+slaughter was to be so great that only a few groups of buffalo would
+be left.
+
+The significance of this extermination lay largely in its application
+to the Indians. The plains tribes were fed and clothed and armed and
+housed by means of the buffalo. Even the canoes of the lake Indians
+were made from buffalo skins. The failure of the supply reduced the
+natives from warriors to beggars.
+
+McRae came forward to meet the traders, the sleeves of his shirt
+rolled to the elbows of his muscular brown arms. He stroked a great
+red beard and nodded gruffly. It was not in his dour honest nature to
+pretend that he was glad to see them when he was not.
+
+"Well, I'm here," growled West, interlarding a few oaths as a
+necessary corollary of his speech. "What's it all about, McRae? What
+do you know about the smashing of our barrels?"
+
+"I'll settle any reasonable damage," the hunter said.
+
+Bully West frowned. He spread his legs deliberately, folded his arms,
+and spat tobacco juice upon a clean hide drying in the sun. "Hold yore
+hawsses a minute. The damage'll be enough. Don't you worry about that.
+But first off, I aim to know who raided our camp. Then I reckon I'll
+whop him till he's wore to a frazzle."
+
+Under heavy, grizzled brows McRae looked long at him. Both were
+outstanding figures by reason of personality and physique. One was a
+constructive force, the other destructive. There was a suggestion of
+the gorilla in West's long arms matted with hair, in the muscles of
+back and shoulders so gnarled and knotted that they gave him almost
+a deformed appearance. Big and broad though he was, the Scot was the
+smaller. But power harnessed and controlled expressed itself in every
+motion of the body. Moreover, the blue eyes that looked straight and
+hard out of the ruddy face told of coordination between mind and
+matter.
+
+Angus McRae was that rare product, an honest, outspoken man. He sought
+to do justice to all with whom he had dealings. Part of West's demand
+was fair, he reflected. The trader had a right to know all the facts
+in the case. But the old Hudson's Bay trapper had a great reluctance
+to tell them. His instinct to protect Jessie was strong.
+
+"I've saved ye the trouble, Mr. West. The guilty yin was o' my ain
+family. Your young man will tell ye I've done a' the horsewhippin'
+that's necessary."
+
+The big trail boss looked blackly at his helper. He would settle with
+Morse at the proper time. Now he had other business on hand.
+
+"Come clean, McRae. Who was it? There'll be nothin' doin' till I know
+that," he growled.
+
+"My daughter."
+
+West glared at him, for once astonished out of profanity.
+
+"What?"
+
+"My daughter Jessie."
+
+"Goddlemighty, d'ja mean to tell me a girl did it?" He threw back his
+head in a roar of Homeric laughter. "Ever hear the beat of that? A
+damn li'l' Injun squaw playin' her tricks on Bully West! If she was
+mine I'd tickle her back for it."
+
+The eyes in the Scotchman's granite face flashed. "Man, can you never
+say twa-three words withoot profanity? This is a God-fearin' camp.
+There's nae place here for those who tak His name in vain."
+
+"Smashed 'em with her own hands--is that what you mean? I'll give it
+to her that she's a plucky li'l' devil, even if she is a nitchie."
+
+McRae reproved him stiffly. "You'll please to remember that you're
+talking of my daughter, Mr. West. I'll allow no such language aboot
+her. You're here to settle a business matter. What do ye put the
+damage at?"
+
+They agreed on a price, to be paid in hides delivered at Whoop-Up.
+West turned and went straddling to the place where he and Morse had
+left their horses. On the way he came face to face with a girl, a
+lithe, dusky young creature, Indian brown, the tan of a hundred
+summer suns and winds painted on the oval of her lifted chin. She was
+carrying a package of sacks to the place where the pemmican was being
+made.
+
+West's eyes narrowed. They traveled up and down her slender body. They
+gloated on her.
+
+After one scornful glance which swept over and ignored Morse, the girl
+looked angrily at the man barring her way. Slowly the blood burned
+into her cheeks. For there was that in the trader's smoldering eyes
+that would have insulted any modest maiden.
+
+"You Jessie McRae?" he demanded, struck of a sudden with an idea.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You smashed my whiskey-barrels?"
+
+"My father has told you. If he says so, isn't that enough?"
+
+He slapped an immense hand on his thigh, hugely diverted. "You damn
+li'l' high-steppin' filly! Why? What in hell 'd I ever do to you?"
+
+Angus McRae strode forward, eyes blazing. He had married a Cree woman,
+had paid for her to her father seven ponies, a yard of tobacco, and a
+bottle of whiskey. His own two-fisted sons were métis. The Indian in
+them showed more plainly than the Celt. Their father accepted the fact
+without resentment. But there was in his heart a queer feeling about
+the little lass he had adopted. Her light, springing step, the lift of
+the throat and the fearlessness of the eye, the instinct in her for
+cleanliness of mind and body, carried him back forty years to the land
+of heather, to a memory of the laird's daughter whom he had worshiped
+with the hopeless adoration of a red-headed gillie. It had been the
+one romance of his life, and somehow it had reincarnated itself in
+his love for the half-breed girl. To him it seemed a contradiction of
+nature that Jessie should be related to the flat-footed squaws who
+were slaves to their lords. He could not reconcile his heart to the
+knowledge that she was of mixed blood. She was too fine, too dainty,
+of too free and imperious a spirit.
+
+"Your horses are up the hill, Mr. West," he said pointedly.
+
+It is doubtful whether the trader heard. He could not keep his
+desirous eyes from the girl.
+
+"Is she a half or a quarter-breed?" he asked McRae.
+
+"That'll be her business and mine, sir. Will you please tak the road?"
+The hunter spoke quietly, restraining himself from an outbreak. But
+his voice carried an edge.
+
+"By Gad, she's some clipper," West said, aloud to himself, just as
+though the girl had not been present.
+
+"Will you leave my daughter oot o' your talk, man?" warned the
+Scotchman.
+
+"What's ailin' you?" West's sulky, insolent eyes turned on the
+buffalo-hunter. "A nitchie's a nitchie. Me, I talk straight. But I aim
+to be reasonable too. I don't like a woman less because she's got the
+devil in her. Bully West knows how to tame 'em so they'll eat outa his
+hand. I've took a fancy to yore girl. Tha's right, McRae."
+
+"You may go to the tent, Jessie," the girl's father told her. He was
+holding his temper in leash with difficulty.
+
+"Wait a mo." The big trader held out his arm to bar the way. "Don't
+push on yore reins, McRae. I'm makin' you a proposition. Me, I'm
+lookin' for a wife, an' this here breed girl of yours suits me. Give
+her to me an' I'll call the whole thing square. Couldn't say fairer
+than that, could I?"
+
+The rugged hunter looked at the big malformed border ruffian with
+repulsion. "Man, you gi'e me a scunner," he said. "Have done wi' this
+foolishness an' be gone. The lass is no' for you or the like o' you."
+
+"Hell's hinges, you ain't standin' there tellin' me that a Cree breed
+is too good for Bully West, are you?" roared the big whiskey-runner.
+
+"A hundred times too good for you. I'd rather see the lass dead in
+her coffin than have her life ruined by you," McRae answered in dead
+earnest.
+
+"You don't get me right, Mac," answered the smuggler, swallowing his
+rage. "I know yore religious notions. We'll stand up before a sky
+pilot and have this done right. I aim to treat this girl handsome."
+
+Jessie had turned away at her father's command. Now she turned swiftly
+upon the trader, eyes flashing. "I'd rather Father would drive a
+knife in my heart than let me be married to a wolfer!" she cried
+passionately.
+
+His eyes, untrammeled by decency, narrowed to feast on the brown
+immature beauty of her youth.
+
+"Tha' so?" he jeered. "Well, the time's comin' when you'll go down on
+yore pretty knees an' beg me not to leave you. It'll be me 'n' you one
+o' these days. Make up yore mind to that."
+
+"Never! Never! I'd die first!" she exploded.
+
+Bully West showed his broken, tobacco-stained teeth in a mirthless
+grin. "We'll see about that, dearie."
+
+"March, lass. Your mother'll be needin' you," McRae said sharply.
+
+The girl looked at West, then at Morse. From the scorn of that glance
+she might have been a queen and they the riffraff of the land. She
+walked to the tent. Not once did she look back.
+
+"You've had your answer both from her and me. Let that be an end o'
+it," McRae said with finality.
+
+The trader's anger ripped out in a crackle of obscene oaths. They
+garnished the questions that he snarled. "Wha's the matter with me?
+Why ain't I good enough for yore half-breed litter?"
+
+It was a spark to gunpowder. The oaths, the insult, the whole
+degrading episode, combined to drive McRae out of the self-restraint
+he had imposed on himself. He took one step forward. With a wide sweep
+of the clenched fist he buffeted the smuggler on the ear. Taken by
+surprise, West went spinning against the wheel of a cart.
+
+The man's head sank between his shoulders and thrust forward. A sound
+that might have come from an infuriated grizzly rumbled from the hairy
+throat. His hand reached for a revolver.
+
+Morse leaped like a crouched cat. Both hands caught at West's arm. The
+old hunter was scarcely an instant behind him. His fingers closed on
+the wrist just above the weapon.
+
+"Hands off," he ordered Morse. "This is no' your quarrel."
+
+The youngster's eyes met the blazing blue ones of the Scot. His
+fingers loosened their hold. He stepped back.
+
+The two big men strained. One fought with every ounce of power in him
+to twist the arm from him till the cords and sinews strained; the
+other to prevent this and to free the wrist. It was a test of sheer
+strength.
+
+Each labored, breathing deep, his whole energy centered on coördinated
+effort of every muscle. They struggled in silence except for the
+snarling grunts of the whiskey-runner.
+
+Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the wrist began to turn from
+McRae. Sweat beads gathered on West's face. He fought furiously to
+hold his own. But the arm turned inexorably.
+
+The trader groaned. As the cords tightened and shoots of torturing
+pain ran up the arm, the huge body of the man writhed. The revolver
+fell from his paralyzed fingers. His wobbling knees sagged and
+collapsed.
+
+McRae's fingers loosened as the man slid down and caught the bull-like
+throat. His grip tightened. West fought savagely to break it. He could
+as soon have freed himself from the clamp of a vice.
+
+The Scotchman shook him till he was black in the face, then flung him
+reeling away.
+
+"Get oot, ye yellow wolf!" he roared. "Or fegs! I'll break every bone
+in your hulkin' body. Oot o' my camp, the pair o' you!"
+
+West, strangling, gasped for air, as does a catfish on the bank. He
+leaned on the cart wheel until he was able to stand. The help of Morse
+he brushed aside with a sputtered oath. His eyes never left the man
+who had beaten him. He snarled hike a whipped wolf. The hunter's
+metaphor had been an apt one. The horrible lust to kill was stamped on
+his distorted, grinning face, but for the present the will alone was
+not enough.
+
+McRae's foot was on the revolver. His son Fergus, a swarthy,
+good-looking youngster, had come up and was standing quietly behind
+his father. Other hunters were converging toward their chief.
+
+The Indian trader swore a furious oath of vengeance. Morse tried to
+lead him away.
+
+"Some day I'll get yore squaw girl right, McRae, an' then God help
+her," he threatened.
+
+The bully lurched straddling away.
+
+Morse, a sardonic grin on his lean face, followed him over the hill.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+MORSE JUMPS UP TROUBLE
+
+
+"Threw me down, didn't you?" snarled West out of the corner of his
+mouth. "Knew all the time she did it an' never let on to me. A hell of
+a way to treat a friend."
+
+Tom Morse said nothing. He made mental reservations about the word
+friend, but did not care to express them. His somber eyes watched the
+big man jerk the spade bit cruelly and rowel the bronco when it went
+into the air. It was a pleasure to West to torture an animal when no
+human was handy, though he preferred women and even men as victims.
+
+"Whad he mean when he said you could tell me how he'd settled with
+her?" he growled.
+
+"He whipped her last night when I took her back to camp."
+
+"Took her back to camp, did you? Why didn't you bring her to me? Who's
+in charge of this outfit, anyhow, young fellow, me lad?"
+
+"McRae's too big a man for us to buck. Too influential with the
+half-breeds. I figured it was safer to get her right home to him." The
+voice of the younger man was mild and conciliatory.
+
+"_You_ figured!" West's profanity polluted the clear, crisp morning
+air. "I got to have a run in with you right soon. I can see that.
+Think because you're C.N. Morse's nephew, you can slip yore funny
+business over on me. I'll show you."
+
+The reddish light glinted for a moment in the eyes of Morse, but he
+said nothing. Young though he was, he had a capacity for silence. West
+was not sensitive to atmospheres, but he felt the force of this young
+man. It was not really in his mind to quarrel with him. For one thing
+he would soon be a partner in the firm of C.N. Morse & Company, of
+Fort Benton, one of the biggest trading outfits in the country. West
+could not afford to break with the Morse interests.
+
+With their diminished cargo the traders pushed north. Their
+destination was Whoop-Up, at the junction of the Belly and the St.
+Mary's Rivers. This fort had become a rendezvous for all the traders
+within hundreds of miles, a point of supply for many small posts
+scattered along the rivers of the North.
+
+Twelve oxen were hitched to each three-wagon load. Four teams had left
+Fort Benton together, but two of them had turned east toward Wood
+Mountain before the party was out of the Assiniboine country. West had
+pushed across Lonesome Prairie to the Sweet Grass Hills and from there
+over the line into Canada.
+
+Under the best of conditions West was no pleasant traveling companion.
+Now he was in a state of continual sullen ill-temper. For the first
+time in his life he had been publicly worsted. Practically he had
+been kicked out of the buffalo camp, just as though he were a drunken
+half-breed and not one whose barroom brawls were sagas of the
+frontier.
+
+His vanity was notorious, and it had been flagrantly outraged. He
+would never be satisfied until he had found a way to get his revenge.
+More than once his simmering anger leaped out at the young fellow who
+had been a witness of his defeat. In the main he kept his rage sulkily
+repressed. If Tom Morse wanted to tell of the affair with McRae, he
+could lessen the big man's prestige. West did not want that.
+
+The outfit crossed the Milk River, skirted Pakoghkee Lake, and swung
+westward in the direction of the Porcupine Hills. Barney had been a
+trapper in the country and knew where the best grass was to be found.
+In many places the feed was scant. It had been cropped close by the
+great herds of buffalo roaming the plains. Most of the lakes were
+polluted by the bison, so that whenever possible their guide found
+camps by running water. The teams moved along the Belly River through
+the sand hills.
+
+Tom Morse was a crack shot and did the hunting for the party. The
+evening before the train reached Whoop-Up, he walked out from camp to
+try for an antelope, since they were short of fresh meat. He climbed a
+small butte overlooking the stream. His keen eyes swept the panorama
+and came to rest on a sight he had never before seen and would never
+forget.
+
+A large herd of buffalo had come down to the river crossing. They were
+swimming the stream against a strong current, their bodies low in the
+water and so closely packed that he could almost have stepped from one
+shaggy head to another. Not fifty yards from him they scrambled ashore
+and went lumbering into the hazy dusk. Something had frightened them
+and they were on a stampede. Even the river had not stopped their
+flight. The earth shook with their tread as they found their stride.
+
+That wild flight into the gathering darkness was symbolic, Morse
+fancied. The vast herds were vanishing never to return. Were they
+galloping into the Happy Hunting Ground the Indians prayed for? What
+would come of their flight? When the plains knew them no more, how
+would the Sioux and the Blackfeet and the Piegans live? Would the
+Lonesome Lands become even more desolate than they were now?
+
+"I wonder," he murmured aloud.
+
+It is certain that he could have had no vision of the empire soon to
+be built out of the desert by himself and men of his stamp. Not even
+dimly could he have conceived a picture of the endless wheat-fields
+that would stretch across the plains, of the farmers who would pour
+into the North by hundreds of thousands, of the cities which would
+rise in the sand hills as a monument to man's restless push of
+progress and his indomitable hope. No living man's imagination had yet
+dreamed of the transformation of this _terra incognita_ into one of
+the world's great granaries.
+
+The smoke of the traders' camp-fire was curling up and drifting away
+into thin veils of film before the sun showed over the horizon hills.
+The bull-teams had taken up their steady forward push while the quails
+were still flying to and from their morning water-holes.
+
+"Whoop-Up by noon," Barney predicted.
+
+"Yes, by noon," Tom Morse agreed. "In time for a real sure-enough
+dinner with potatoes and beans and green stuff."
+
+"Y' bet yore boots, an' honest to gosh gravy," added Brad Stearns,
+a thin and wrinkled little man whose leathery face and bright eyes
+defied the encroachment of time. He was bald, except for a fringe of
+grayish hair above the temples and a few long locks carefully disposed
+over his shiny crown. But nobody could have looked at him and called
+him old.
+
+They were to be disappointed.
+
+The teams struck the dusty road that terminated at the fort and
+were plodding along it to the crackling accompaniment of the long
+bull-whips.
+
+"Soon now," Morse shouted to Stearns.
+
+The little man nodded. "Mebbe they'll have green corn on the cob.
+Betcha the price of the dinner they do."
+
+"You've made a bet, dad."
+
+Stearns halted the leaders. "What's that? Listen."
+
+The sound of shots drifted to them punctuated by faint, far yells. The
+shots did not come in a fusillade. They were intermittent, died down,
+popped out again, yielded to whoops in distant crescendo.
+
+"Injuns," said Stearns. "On the peck, looks like. Crees and Blackfeet,
+maybe, but you never can tell. Better throw off the trail and dig in."
+
+West had ridden up. He nodded. "Till we know where we're at. Get busy,
+boys."
+
+They drew up the wagons in a semicircle, end to end, the oxen bunched
+inside, partially protected by a small cottonwood grove in the rear.
+
+This done, West gave further orders. "We gotta find out what's doin'.
+Chances are it's nothin' but a coupla bunches of braves with a cargo
+of redeye aboard, Tom, you an' Brad scout out an' take a look-see.
+Don't be too venturesome. Soon's you find out what the rumpus is,
+hot-foot it back and report, y' understand." The big wolfer snapped
+out directions curtly. There was no more competent wagon boss in the
+border-land than he.
+
+Stearns and Morse rode toward the fort. They deflected from the road
+and followed the river-bank to take advantage of such shrubbery as
+grew there. They moved slowly and cautiously, for in the Indian
+country one took no unnecessary chances. From the top of a small rise,
+shielded by a clump of willows, the two looked down on a field of
+battle already decided. Bullets and arrows were still flying, but the
+defiant, triumphant war-whoops of a band of painted warriors slowly
+moving toward them showed that the day was won and lost. A smaller
+group of Indians was retreating toward the swamp on the left-hand side
+of the road. Two or three dead braves lay in the grassy swale between
+the foes.
+
+"I done guessed it, first crack," Brad said. "Crees and Blackfeet.
+They sure enough do mix it whenever they get together. The Crees
+ce'tainly got the jump on 'em this time."
+
+It was an old story. From the northern woods the Crees had come
+down to trade at the fort. They had met a band of Blackfeet who had
+traveled up from the plains for the same purpose. Filled with bad
+liquor, the hereditary enemies had as usual adjourned to the ground
+outside for a settlement while the traders at the fort had locked the
+gates and watched the battle from the loopholes of the stockade.
+
+"Reckon we better blow back to camp," suggested the old plainsman.
+"Mr. Cree may be feelin' his oats heap much. White man look all same
+Blackfeet to him like as not."
+
+"Look." Morse pointed to a dip in the swale.
+
+An Indian was limping through the brush, taking advantage of such
+cover as he could find. He was wounded. His leg dragged and he moved
+with difficulty.
+
+"He'll be a good Injun mighty soon," Stearns said, rubbing his bald
+head as it shone in the sun. "Not a chance in the world for him.
+They'll git him soon as they reach the coulée. See. They're stoppin'
+to collect that other fellow's scalp."
+
+At a glance Morse had seen the situation. This was none of his affair.
+It was tacitly understood that the traders should not interfere in
+the intertribal quarrels of the natives. But old Brad's words, "good
+Injun," had carried him back to a picture of a brown, slim girl
+flashing indignation because Americans treated her race as though only
+dead Indians were good ones. He could never tell afterward what was
+the rational spring of his impulse.
+
+At the touch of the rein laid flat against its neck, the cow-pony he
+rode laid back its ears, turned like a streak of light, and leaped to
+a hand gallop. It swept down the slope and along the draw, gathering
+speed with every jump.
+
+The rider let out a "Hi-yi-yi" to attract the attention of the wounded
+brave. Simultaneously the limping fugitive and the Crees caught sight
+of the flying horseman who had obtruded himself into the fire zone.
+
+An arrow whistled past Morse. He saw a bullet throw up a spurt of dirt
+beneath the belly of his horse. The Crees were close to their quarry.
+They closed in with a run. Tom knew it would be a near thing. He
+slackened speed slightly and freed a foot from the stirrup, stiffening
+it to carry weight.
+
+The wounded Indian crouched, began to run parallel with the horse, and
+leaped at exactly the right instant. His hand caught the sleeve of his
+rescuer at the same time that the flat of his foot dropped upon the
+white man's boot. A moment, and his leg had swung across the rump of
+the pony and he had settled to the animal's back.
+
+So close was it that a running Cree snatched at the bronco's tail and
+was jerked from his feet before he could release his hold.
+
+As the cow-pony went plunging up the slope, Morse saw Brad Stearns
+silhouetted against the sky-line at the summit. His hat was gone and
+his bald head was shining in the sun. He was pumping bullets from his
+rifle at the Crees surging up the hill after his companion.
+
+Stearns swung his horse and jumped it to a lope. Side by side with
+Morse he went over the brow in a shower of arrows and slugs.
+
+"Holy mackerel, boy! What's eatin' you?" he yelled. "Ain't you got any
+sense a-tall? Don't you know better 'n to jump up trouble thataway?"
+
+"We're all right now," the younger man said. "They can't catch us."
+
+The Crees were on foot and would be out of range by the time they
+reached the hilltop.
+
+"Hmp! They'll come to our camp an' raise Cain. Why not? What business
+we got monkeyin' with their scalping sociables? It ain't neighborly."
+
+"West won't like it," admitted Morse.
+
+"He'll throw a cat fit. What do you aim to do with yore friend
+Mighty-Nigh-Lose-His-Scalp? If I know Bully--and you can bet a silver
+fox fur ag'in' a yard o' tobacco that I do--he won't give no glad hand
+to him. Not none."
+
+Morse did not know what he meant to do with him. He had let an impulse
+carry him to quixotic action. Already he was half-sorry for it, but he
+was obstinate enough to go through now he had started.
+
+When he realized the situation, Bully West exploded in language
+sulphurous. He announced his determination to turn the wounded man
+over to the Crees as soon as they arrived.
+
+"No," said Morse quietly.
+
+"No what?"
+
+"I won't stand for that. They'd murder him."
+
+"That any o' my business--or yours?"
+
+"I'm makin' it mine."
+
+The eyes of the two men crossed, as rapiers do, feeling out the
+strength back of them. The wounded Indian, tall and slender, stood
+straight as an arrow, his gaze now on one, now on the other. His face
+was immobile and expressionless. It betrayed no sign of the emotions
+within.
+
+"Show yore cards, Morse," said West. "What's yore play? I'm goin' to
+tell the Crees to take him if they want him. You'll go it alone if you
+go to foggin' with a six-shooter."
+
+The young man turned to the Indian he had rescued. He waved a hand
+toward the horse from which they had just dismounted. "Up!" he
+ordered.
+
+The Indian youth caught the point instantly. Without using the
+stirrups he vaulted to the saddle, light as a mountain lion. His bare
+heels dug into the sides of the animal, which was off as though shot
+out of a gun.
+
+Horse and rider skirted the cottonwoods and disappeared in a
+depression beyond.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+"SOMETHING ABOUT THESE GUYS"
+
+
+West glared at Morse, his heavy chin outthrust, his bowed legs wide
+apart. "You've done run on the rope long enough with me, young feller.
+Here's where you take a fall hard."
+
+The younger man said nothing. He watched, warily. Was it to be a
+gun-play? Or did the big bully mean to manhandle him? Probably the
+latter. West was vain of his reputation as a two-fisted fighter.
+
+"I'm gonna beat you up, then turn you over to the Crees," the
+infuriated man announced.
+
+"You can't do that, West. He's a white man same as you," protested
+Stearns.
+
+"This yore put-in, Brad?" West, beside himself with rage, swung on the
+little man and straddled forward a step or two threateningly.
+
+"You done said it," answered the old-timer, falling back. "An' don't
+you come closter. I'm liable to get scared, an' you'd ought not to
+forget I'm as big as you behind a six-shooter."
+
+"Here they come--like a swarm o' bees!" yelled Barney.
+
+The traders forgot, for the moment, their quarrel in the need of
+common action. West snatched up a rifle and dropped a bullet in front
+of the nearest Indian. The warning brought the Crees up short. They
+held a long consultation and one of them came forward making the peace
+sign.
+
+In pigeon English he expressed their demands.
+
+"He's gone--lit right out--stole one of our broncs. You can search the
+camp if you've a mind to," West replied.
+
+The envoy reported. There was another long pow-wow.
+
+Brad, chewing tobacco complacently behind a wagon wheel, commented
+aloud. "Can't make up their minds whether to come on an' massacree us
+or not. They got a right healthy fear of our guns. Don't blame 'em a
+bit."
+
+Some of the Crees were armed with bows and arrows, others with rifles.
+But the trade guns sold the Indians of the Northern tribes were of the
+poorest quality.[4]
+
+[Footnote 4: These flintlock muskets were inaccurate. They would not
+carry far. Their owners were in constant danger of having fingers or a
+hand blown off in explosions. The price paid for these cheap firearms
+was based on the length of them. The butt was put on the floor and
+the gun held upright. Skins laid flat were piled beside it till they
+reached the muzzle. The trader exchanged the rifle for the furs.
+(W.M.R.)]
+
+The whites, to the contrary, were armed with the latest repeating
+Winchesters. In a fight with them the natives were at a terrible
+disadvantage.
+
+The Crees realized this. A delegation of two came forward to search
+the camp. West pointed out the tracks of the horse upon which their
+tribal enemy had ridden away.
+
+They grunted, "Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!"
+
+Overbearing though he was, West was an embryonic diplomat. He filled
+a water-bucket with whiskey and handed it, with a tin cup, to the
+wrinkled old brave nearest him.
+
+"For our friends the Crees," he said. "Tell your chief my young
+man didn't understand. He thought he was rescuing a Cree from the
+Blackfeet."
+
+"Ugh! Ugh!" The Indians shuffled away with their booty.
+
+There was more talk, but the guttural protests died away before the
+temptation of the liquor. The braves drank, flung a few shots in
+bravado toward the wagons, and presently took themselves off.
+
+The traders did not renew their quarrel. West's reasons for not
+antagonizing the Morse family were still powerful as ever. He subdued
+his desire to punish the young man and sullenly gave orders to hitch
+up the teams.
+
+It was mid-afternoon when the oxen jogged into Whoop-Up. The post was
+a stockade fort, built in a square about two hundred yards long, of
+cottonwood logs dovetailed together. The buildings on each side of
+the plaza faced inward. Loopholes had been cut in the bastions as a
+protection against Indians.
+
+In the big stores was a large supply of blankets, beads, provisions,
+rifles, and clothing. The adjacent rooms were half-empty now, but in
+the spring they would be packed to the eaves with thousands of buffalo
+robes and furs brought in from outlying settlements by hunters. Later
+these would be hauled to Fort Benton and from there sent down the
+Missouri to St. Louis and other points.
+
+Morse, looking round, missed a familiar feature.
+
+"Where's the liquor?" he asked.
+
+"S-sh!" warned the clerk with whom he was talking. "Haven't you heard?
+There's a bunch of police come into the country from Winnipeg. The
+lid's on tight." His far eye drooped to the cheek in a wise wink. "If
+you've brought in whiskey, you'd better get it out of the fort and
+bury it."
+
+"That's up to West. I wouldn't advise any police to monkey with a
+cargo of his."
+
+"You don't say." The clerk's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Well, I'll
+just make a li'l' bet with you. If the North-West Mounted start to
+arrest Bully West or to empty his liquor-kegs, they'll go right
+through with the job. They're go-getters, these red-coats are."
+
+"Red-coats? Not soldiers, are they?"
+
+"Well, they are and they ain't. They're drilled an' in companies. But
+they can arrest any one they've a mind to, and their officers can try
+and sentence folks. They don't play no favorites either. Soon as they
+hear of this mix-up between the Crees and the Blackfeet they'll be
+right over askin' whyfors, and if they find who gave 'em the booze
+some one will be up to the neck in trouble and squawkin' for help."
+
+West had been talking in whispers with Reddy Madden, the owner of the
+place. He stepped to the door.
+
+"Don't onhook, Brad. We're travelin' some more first," he called to
+Stearns.
+
+The oxen plodded out of the stockade and swung to the left. A guide
+rode beside West and Morse. He was Harvey Gosse, a whiskey-runner
+known to both of them. The man was a long, loose-limbed fellow with a
+shrewd eye and the full, drooping lower lip of irresolution. It had
+been a year since either of the Fort Benton men had been in the
+country. Gosse told them of the change that was taking place in it.
+
+"Business ain't what it was, an' that ain't but half of it," the lank
+rider complained regretfully. "It ain't ever gonna be any more. These
+here red-coats are plumb ruinin' trade. Squint at a buck cross-eyed,
+whisper rum to him, an' one o' these guys jumps a-straddle o' yore
+neck right away."
+
+"How many of these--what is it you call 'em, Mounted Police?--well,
+how many of 'em are there in the country?" asked West.
+
+"Not so many. I reckon a hundred or so, far as I've heard tell."
+
+West snorted scornfully. "And you're lettin' this handful of
+tenderfeet buffalo you! Hell's hinges! Ain't none of you got any
+guts?"
+
+Gosse dragged slowly a brown hand across an unshaven chin. "I reckon
+you wouldn't call 'em tenderfeet if you met up with 'em, Bully.
+There's something about these guys--I dunno what it is exactly--but
+there's sure something that tells a fellow not to prod 'em overly
+much."
+
+"Quick on the shoot?" the big trader wanted to know.
+
+"No, it ain't that. They don't hardly ever draw a gun. They jest walk
+in kinda quiet an' easy, an' tell you it'll be thisaway. And tha's the
+way it is every crack outa the box."
+
+"Hmp!" West exuded boastful incredulity. "I reckon they haven't bumped
+into any one man-size yet."
+
+The lank whiskey-runner guided the train, by winding draws, into the
+hills back of the post. Above a small gulch, at the head of it, the
+teams were stopped and unloaded. The barrels were rolled downhill into
+the underbrush where they lay cached out of sight. From here they
+would be distributed as needed.
+
+"You boys'll take turn an' turn about watching till I've sold the
+cargo," West announced. "Arrange that among yoreselves. Tom, I'll let
+you fix up how you'll spell each other. Only thing is, one of you has
+to be here all the time, y' understand."
+
+Morse took the first watch and was followed by Stearns, who in turn
+gave place to Barney. The days grew to a week. Sometimes West appeared
+with a buyer in a cart or leading a pack-horse. Then the cached
+fire-water would be diminished by a keg or two.
+
+It was a lazy, sleepy life. There was no need for a close guard.
+Nobody knew where the whiskey was except themselves and a few
+tight-mouthed traders. Morse discovered in himself an inordinate
+capacity for sleep. He would throw himself down on the warm, sundried
+grass and fall into a doze almost instantly. When the rays of the sun
+grew too hot, it was easy to roll over into the shade of the draw.
+He could lie for hours on his back after he wakened and watch
+cloud-skeins elongate and float away, thinking of nothing or letting
+thoughts happen in sheer idle content.
+
+He had never had a girl, to use the word current among his fellows.
+His scheme of life would, he supposed, include women by and by, but
+hitherto he had dwelt in a man's world, in a universe of space and
+sunshine and blowing wind, under primitive conditions that made for
+tough muscles and a clean mind trained to meet frontier emergencies.
+But now, to his disgust, he found slipping into his reveries pictures
+of a slim, dark girl, arrow-straight, with eyes that held for him only
+scorn and loathing. The odd thing about it was that when his brain was
+busy with her a strange exultant excitement tingled through his veins.
+
+One day a queer thing happened. He had never heard of psychic
+phenomena or telepathy, but he opened his eyes from a day-dream of her
+to see Jessie McRae looking down at him.
+
+She was on an Indian cayuse, round-bellied and rough. Very erect she
+sat, and on her face was the exact expression of scornful hatred he
+had seen in his vision of her.
+
+He jumped to his feet. "You--here!"
+
+A hot color flooded her face with anger to the roots of the hair.
+Without a word, without another glance at him, she laid the bridle
+rein to the pony's neck and swung away.
+
+Unprotesting, he let her go. The situation had jumped at him too
+unexpectedly for him to know how to meet it. He stood, motionless, the
+red light in his eyes burning like distant camp-fires in the night.
+For the first time in his life he had been given the cut direct by a
+woman.
+
+Yet she wasn't a woman after all. She was a maid, with that passionate
+sense of tragedy which comes only to the very young.
+
+It was in his mind to slap a saddle on his bronco and ride after her.
+But why? Could he by sheer dominance of will change her opinion of
+him? She had grounded it on good and sufficient reasons. He was
+associated in her mind with the greatest humiliation of her life, with
+the stinging lash that had cut into her young pride and her buoyant
+courage as cruelly as it had into her smooth, satiny flesh. Was it
+likely she would listen to any regrets, any explanations? Her hatred
+of him was not a matter for argument. It was burnt into her soul as
+with a red-hot brand. He could not talk away what he had done or the
+thing that he was.
+
+She had come upon him by chance while he was asleep. He guessed that
+Angus McRae's party had reached Whoop-Up and had stopped to buy
+supplies and perhaps to sell hides and pemmican. The girl had probably
+ridden out from the stockade to the open prairie because she loved to
+ride. The rest needed no conjecture. In that lone land of vast spaces
+travelers always exchanged greetings. She had discovered him lying
+in the grass. He might be sick or wounded or dead. The custom of the
+country would bring her straight across the swales toward him to find
+out whether he needed help.
+
+Then she had seen who he was--and had ridden away.
+
+A sardonic smile of self-mockery stamped for a moment on his brown
+boyish face the weariness of the years.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE MAN IN THE SCARLET JACKET
+
+
+Morse ambled out at a road gait to take his turn at guard duty. He was
+following the principle that the longest way round is the shortest
+road to a given place. The reason for this was to ward off any
+suspicion that might have arisen if the watchers had always come and
+gone by the same trail. Therefore they started for any point of the
+compass, swung round in a wide détour, and in course of time arrived
+at the cache.
+
+There wasn't any hurry anyhow. Each day had twenty-four hours, and a
+fellow lived just as long if he didn't break his neck galloping along
+with his tail up like a hill steer on a stampede.
+
+To-day Morse dropped in toward the cache from due west. His eyes
+were open, even if the warmth of the midday sun did make him sleepy.
+Something he saw made him slip from the saddle, lead his horse into a
+draw, and move forward very carefully through the bunch grass.
+
+What he had seen was a man crouched behind some brush, looking down
+into the little gorge where the whiskey cache was--a man in leather
+boots, tight riding-breeches, scarlet jacket, and jaunty forage cap.
+It needed no second glance to tell Tom Morse that the police had run
+down the place where they had hidden their cargo.
+
+From out of the little cañon a man appeared. He was carrying a keg of
+whiskey. The man was Barney. West had no doubt sent word to him that
+he would shortly bring a buyer with him to the rendezvous.
+
+The man in the scarlet jacket rose and stepped out into the open. He
+was a few feet from Barney. In his belt there was a revolver, but he
+did not draw it.
+
+Barney stopped and stared at him, his mouth open, eyes bulging. "Where
+in Heligoland you come from?" he asked.
+
+"From Sarnia, Ontario," the red-coat answered. "Glad to meet you,
+friend. I've been looking for you several days."
+
+"For me!" said Barney blankly.
+
+"For you--and for that keg of forty-rod you're carrying. No, don't
+drop it. We can talk more comfortably while both your hands are busy."
+The constable stepped forward and picked from the ground a rifle.
+"I've been lying in the brush two hours waiting for you to get
+separated from this. Didn't want you making any mistakes in your
+excitement."
+
+"Mistakes!" repeated Barney.
+
+"Yes. You're under arrest, you know, for whiskey-smuggling."
+
+"You're one of these here border police." Barney used the rising
+inflection in making his statement.
+
+"Constable Winthrop Beresford, North-West Mounted, at your service,"
+replied the officer jauntily. He was a trim, well-set-up youth, quick
+of step and crisp of speech.
+
+"What you gonna do with me?"
+
+"Take you to Fort Macleod."
+
+It was perhaps because his eyes were set at not quite the right angles
+and because they were so small and wolfish that Barney usually aroused
+distrust. He suggested now, with an ingratiating whine in his voice,
+that he would like to see a man at Whoop-Up first.
+
+"Jes' a li'l' matter of business," he added by way of explanation.
+
+The constable guessed at his business. The man wanted to let his boss
+know what had taken place and to give him a chance to rescue him if he
+would. Beresford's duty was to find out who was back of this liquor
+running. It would be worth while knowing what man Barney wanted to
+talk with. He could afford to take a chance on the rescue.
+
+"Righto," he agreed. "You may put that barrel down now."
+
+Barney laid it down, end up. With one sharp drive of the rifle butt
+the officer broke in the top of the keg, He kicked the barrel over
+with his foot.
+
+This was the moment Morse chose for putting in an appearance.
+
+"Hello! What's doin'?" he asked casually.
+
+Beresford, cool and quiet, looked straight at him. "I'll ask _you_
+that."
+
+"Kinda expensive to irrigate the prairie that way, ain't it?"
+
+"Doesn't cost me anything. How about you?"
+
+Morse laughed at the question fired back at him so promptly. This
+young man was very much on the job. "Not a bean," the Montanan said.
+
+"Good. Then you'll enjoy the little show I'm putting on--five thousand
+dollars' worth of liquor spilt all at one time."
+
+"Holy Moses! Where is this blind tiger you're raidin'?"
+
+"Down in the gully. Lucky you happened along just by chance. You'll be
+able to carry the good news to Whoop-Up and adjacent points."
+
+"You're not really aimin' to spill all that whiskey."
+
+"That's my intention. Any objections?" The scarlet-coated officer
+spoke softly, without any edge to his voice. But Tom began to
+understand why the clerk at the trading-post had called the Mounted
+Police go-getters. This smooth-shaven lad, so easy and carefree
+of manner, had a gleam in his eye that meant business. His very
+gentleness was ominous.
+
+Tom Morse reflected swiftly. His uncle's firm had taken a chance of
+this very finale when it had sent a convoy of liquor into forbidden
+territory. Better to lose the stock than to be barred by the Canadian
+Government from trading with the Indians at all. This officer was not
+one to be bribed or bullied. He would go through with the thing he had
+started.
+
+"Why, no! How could I have any objections?" Morse said.
+
+He shot a swift, slant look at Barney, a look that told the Irishman
+to say nothing and know nothing, and that he would be protected
+against the law.
+
+"Glad you haven't," Constable Beresford replied cheerfully--so very
+cheerfully in fact that Morse suspected he would not have been much
+daunted if objections had been mentioned. "Perhaps you'll help me with
+my little job, then."
+
+The trader grinned. He might as well go the limit with the bluff he
+was playing. "Sure. I'll help you make a fourth o' July outa the kegs.
+Lead me to 'em."
+
+"You don't know where they are, of course?"
+
+"In the gully, you said," Morse replied innocently
+
+"So I did. Righto. Down you go, then." The constable turned to Barney.
+"You next, friend."
+
+A well-defined trail led down the steep side of the gulch. It ended in
+a thick growth of willow saplings. Underneath the roof of this foliage
+were more than a score of whiskey-casks.
+
+After ten minutes with the rifle butt there was nothing to show for
+the cache but broken barrels and a trough of wet sand where the liquor
+had run down the bed of the dry gully.
+
+It was time, Morse thought, to play his own small part in the
+entertainment.
+
+"After you, gentlemen," Beresford said, stepping aside to let them
+take the trail up.
+
+Morse too moved back to let Barney pass. The eyes of the two men met
+for a fraction of a second. Tom's lips framed silently one word. In
+that time a message was given and received.
+
+The young man followed Barney, the constable at his heels. Morse
+stumbled, slipped to all fours, and slid back. He flung out his arms
+to steady himself and careened back against the constable. His flying
+hands caught at the scarlet coat. His bent head and shoulders thrust
+Beresford back and down.
+
+Barney started to run.
+
+The officer struggled to hold his footing against the awkward incubus,
+to throw the man off so that he could pursue Barney. His efforts were
+vain. Morse, evidently trying to regain his equilibrium, plunged
+wildly at him and sent him ploughing into the willows. The Montanan
+landed heavily on top, pinned him down, and smothered him.
+
+The scarlet coat was a center of barrel hoops, bushes, staves, and
+wildly jerking arms and legs.
+
+Morse made heroic efforts to untangle himself from the clutter. Once
+or twice he extricated himself almost, only to lose his balance on the
+slippery bushes and come skating down again on the officer just as he
+was trying to rise.
+
+It was a scene for a moving-picture comedy, if the screen had been a
+feature of that day.
+
+When at last the two men emerged from the gulch, Barney was nowhere to
+be seen. With him had vanished the mount of Beresford.
+
+The constable laughed nonchalantly. He had just lost a prisoner, which
+was against the unwritten law of the Force, but he had gained another
+in his place. It would not be long till he had Barney too.
+
+"Pretty work," he said appreciatively. "You couldn't have done it
+better if you'd done it on purpose, could you?"
+
+"Done what?" asked Morse, with bland naïveté.
+
+"Made a pillow and a bed of me, skated on me, bowled me over like a
+tenpin."
+
+"I ce'tainly was awkward. Couldn't get my footin' at all, seemed like.
+Why, where's Barney?" Apparently the trader had just made a discovery.
+
+"Ask of the winds, 'Oh, where?'" Beresford dusted off his coat, his
+trousers, and his cap. When he had removed the evidence of the battle
+of the gulch, he set his cap at the proper angle and cocked an
+inquiring eye at the other. "I suppose you know you're under arrest."
+
+"Why, no! Am I? What for? Which of the statues, laws, and ordinances
+of Queen Vic have I been bustin' without knowin' of them?"
+
+"For aiding and abetting the escape of a prisoner."
+
+"Did I do all that? And when did I do it?"
+
+"While you were doing that war-dance on what was left of my manhandled
+geography."
+
+"Can you arrest a fellow for slippin'?"
+
+"Depends on how badly he slips. I'm going to take a chance on
+arresting you, anyhow."
+
+"Gonna take away my six-shooter and handcuff me?"
+
+"I'll take your revolver. If necessary, I'll put on the cuffs."
+
+Morse looked at him, not without admiration. The man in the scarlet
+jacket wasted nothing. There was about him no superfluity of build,
+of gesture, of voice. Beneath the close-fitting uniform the muscles
+rippled and played when he moved. His shoulders and arms were those
+of a college oarsman. Lean-flanked and clean-limbed, he was in the
+hey-day of a splendid youth. It showed in the steady eyes set wide in
+the tanned face, in the carriage of the close-cropped, curly head, in
+the spring of the step. The Montanan recognized in him a kinship of
+dynamic force.
+
+"Just what would I be doing?" the whiskey-runner asked, smiling.
+
+Beresford met his smile. "I fancy I'll find that out pretty soon. Your
+revolver, please." He held out his hand, palm up.
+
+"Let's get this straight. We're man to man. What'll you do if I find
+I've got no time to go to Fort Macleod with you?"
+
+"Take you with me."
+
+"Dead or alive?"
+
+"No, alive."
+
+"And if I won't go?" asked Morse.
+
+"Oh, you'll go." The officer's bearing radiated a quiet, imperturbable
+confidence. His hand was still extended, "_If_ you please."
+
+"No hurry. Do you know what you're up against? When I draw this gun I
+can put a bullet through your head and ride away?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Unless, of course, you plug me first."
+
+"Can't do that. Against the regulations."
+
+"Much obliged for that information. You've got only a dead man's
+chance then--if I show fight."
+
+"Better not. Game hardly worth the candle. My pals would run you
+down," the constable advised coolly.
+
+"You still intend to arrest me?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+As Morse looked at him, patient as an animal of prey, steady,
+fearless, an undramatic Anglo-Saxon who meant to go through with the
+day's work, he began to understand the power that was to make the
+North-West Mounted Police such a force in the land. The only way he
+could prevent this man from arresting him was to kill the constable;
+and if he killed him, other jaunty red-coated youths would come to
+kill or be killed. It came to him that he was up against a new order
+which would wipe Bully West and his kind from the land.
+
+He handed his revolver to Beresford. "I'll ride with you."
+
+"Good. Have to borrow your horse till we reach Whoop-Up. You won't
+mind walking?"
+
+"Not at all. Some folks think that's what legs were made for,"
+answered Morse, grinning.
+
+As he strode across the prairie beside the horse, Morse was still
+puzzling over the situation. He perceived that the strength of the
+officer's position was wholly a moral one. A lawbreaker was confronted
+with an ugly alternative. The only way to escape arrest was to commit
+murder. Most men would not go that far, and of those who would the
+great majority would be deterred because eventually punishment was
+sure. The slightest hesitation, the least apparent doubt, a flicker of
+fear on the officer's face, would be fatal to success. He won because
+he serenely expected to win, and because there was back of him a
+silent, impalpable force as irresistible as the movement of a glacier.
+
+Beresford must have known that the men who lived at Whoop-Up were
+unfriendly to the North-West Mounted. Some of them had been put out of
+business. Their property had been destroyed and confiscated. Fines
+had been imposed on them. The current whisper was that the
+whiskey-smugglers would retaliate against the constables in person
+whenever there was a chance to do so with impunity. Some day a
+debonair wearer of the scarlet coat would ride out gayly from one
+of the forts and a riderless horse would return at dusk. There were
+outlaws who would ask nothing better than a chance to dry-gulch one of
+these inquisitive riders of the plains.
+
+But Beresford rode into the stockade and swung from the saddle with
+smiling confidence. He nodded here and there casually to dark, sullen
+men who watched his movements with implacably hostile eyes.
+
+His words were addressed to Reddy Madden. "Can you let me have a horse
+for a few days and charge it to the Force? I've lost mine."
+
+Some one sniggered offensively. Barney had evidently reached Whoop-Up
+and was in hiding.
+
+"Your horse came in a while ago, constable," Madden said civilly.
+"It's in the corral back of the store."
+
+"Did it come in without a rider?" Beresford asked.
+
+The question was unnecessary. The horse would have gone to Fort
+Macleod and not have come to Whoop-Up unless a rider had guided it
+here. But sometimes one found out things from unwilling witnesses if
+one asked questions.
+
+"Didn't notice. I was in the store myself."
+
+"Thought perhaps you hadn't noticed," the officer said. "None of you
+other gentlemen noticed either, did you?"
+
+The "other gentlemen" held a dogged, sulky silence. A girl cantered
+through the gate of the stockade and up to the store. At sight of
+Morse her eyes passed swiftly to Beresford. His answered smilingly
+what she had asked. It was all over in a flash, but it told the man
+from Montana who the informer was that had betrayed to the police the
+place of the whiskey cache.
+
+To the best of her limited chance, Jessie McRae was paying an
+installment on the debt she owed Bully West and Tom Morse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+AT SWEET WATER CREEK
+
+
+Before a fire of buffalo chips Constable Beresford and his prisoner
+smoked the pipe of peace. Morse sat on his heels, legs crossed, after
+the manner of the camper. The officer lounged at full length, an elbow
+dug into the sand as a support for his head. The Montanan was
+on parole, so that for the moment at least their relations were
+forgotten.
+
+"After the buffalo--what?" asked the American. "The end of the
+Indian--is that what it means? And desolation on the plains. Nobody
+left but the Hudson's Bay Company trappers, d'you reckon?"
+
+The Canadian answered in one word. "Cattle."
+
+"Some, maybe," Morse assented. "But, holy Moses, think of the millions
+it would take to stock this country."
+
+"Bet you the country's stocked inside of five years of the time the
+buffalo are cleared out. Look at what the big Texas drives are doing
+in Colorado and Wyoming and Montana. Get over the idea that this land
+up here is a desert. That's a fool notion our school geographies are
+responsible for. Great American Desert? Great American fiddlesticks!
+It's a man's country, if you like; but I've yet to see the beat of
+it."
+
+Morse had ceased to pay attention. His head was tilted, and he was
+listening.
+
+"Some one ridin' this way," he said presently. "Hear the hoofs click
+on the shale. Who is it? I wonder. An' what do they want? When folks'
+intentions hasn't been declared it's a good notion to hold a hand you
+can raise on."
+
+Without haste and without delay Beresford got to his feet. "We'll step
+back into the shadow," he announced.
+
+"Looks reasonable to me," agreed the smuggler.
+
+They waited in the semi-darkness back of the camp-fire.
+
+Some one shouted. "Hello, the camp!" At the sound of that clear,
+bell-like voice Morse lifted his head to listen better.
+
+The constable answered the call.
+
+Two riders came into the light. One was a girl, the other a slim,
+straight young Indian in deerskin shirt and trousers. The girl swung
+from the saddle and came forward to the camp-fire. The companion of
+her ride shadowed her.
+
+Beresford and his prisoner advanced from the darkness.
+
+"Bully West's after you. He's sworn to kill you," the girl called to
+the constable.
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Onistah heard him." She indicated with a wave of her hand the
+lithe-limbed youth beside her. "Onistah was passing the stable--behind
+it, back of the corral. This West was gathering a mob to follow
+you--said he was going to hang you for destroying his whiskey."
+
+"He is, eh?" Beresford's salient jaw set. His light blue eyes gleamed
+hard and chill. He would see about that.
+
+"They'll be here soon. This West was sure you'd camp here at Sweet
+Water Creek, close to the ford." A note of excitement pulsed in the
+girl's voice. "We heard 'em once behind us on the road. You'd better
+hurry."
+
+The constable swung toward the Montanan. His eyes bored into those of
+the prisoner. Would this man keep his parole or not? He would find out
+pretty soon.
+
+"Saddle up, Morse. I'll pack my kit. We'll hit the trail."
+
+"Listen." Jessie stood a moment, head lifted. "What's that?"
+
+Onistah moved a step forward, so that for a moment the firelight
+flickered over the copper-colored face. Tom Morse made a discovery.
+This man was the Blackfoot he had rescued from the Crees.
+
+"Horses," the Indian said, and held up the fingers of both hands to
+indicate the numbers. "Coming up creek. Here soon."
+
+"We'll move back to the big rocks and I'll make a stand there,"
+the officer told the whiskey-runner. "Slap the saddles on without
+cinching. We've got no time to lose." His voice lost its curtness as
+he turned to the girl. "Miss McRae, I'll not forget this. Very likely
+you've saved my life. Now you and Onistah had better slip away
+quietly. You mustn't be seen here."
+
+"Why mustn't I?" she asked quickly. "I don't care who sees me."
+
+She looked at Morse as she spoke, head up, with that little touch of
+scornful defiance in the quivering nostrils that seemed to express a
+spirit free and unafraid. The sense of superiority is generally not a
+lovely manifestation in any human being, but there are moments when it
+tells of something fine, a disdain of actions low and mean.
+
+Morse strode away to the place where the horses were picketed. He
+could hear voices farther down the creek, caught once a snatch of
+words.
+
+"... must be somewheres near, I tell you."
+
+Noiselessly he slipped on the saddles, pulled the picket-pins, and
+moved toward the big rocks.
+
+The place was a landmark. The erosion of the ages had played strange
+tricks with the sandstone. The rocks rose like huge red toadstools or
+like prehistoric animals of vast size. One of them was known as the
+Three Bears, another as the Elephant.
+
+Among these boulders Morse found the party he had just left. The
+officer was still trying to persuade Jessie McRae to attempt escape.
+She refused, stubbornly.
+
+"There are three of us here. Onistah is a good shot. So am I. For that
+matter, if anybody is going to escape, it had better be you," she
+said.
+
+"Too late now," Morse said. "See, they've found the camp-fire."
+
+Nine or ten riders had come out of the darkness and were approaching
+the camping-ground. West was in the lead. Morse recognized Barney
+and Brad Stearns. Two of the others were half-breeds, one an Indian
+trailer of the Piegan tribe.
+
+"He must 'a' heard us comin' and pulled out," Barney said.
+
+"Then he's back in the red rocks," boomed West triumphantly.
+
+"Soon find out." Brad Stearns turned the head of his horse toward the
+rocks and shouted. "Hello, Tom! You there?"
+
+No answer came from the rocks.
+
+"Don't prove a thing," West broke out impatiently. "This fellow's got
+Tom buffaloed. Didn't he make him smash the barrels? Didn't he take
+away his six-gun from him and bring him along like he hadn't any mind
+of his own? Tom's yellow. Got a streak a foot wide."
+
+"Nothin' of the kind," denied Stearns, indignation in his voice. "I
+done brought up that boy by hand--learned him all he knows about
+ridin' and ropin'. He'll do to take along."
+
+"Hmp! He always fooled you, Brad. Different here. I'm aimin' to give
+him the wallopin' of his life when I meet up with him. And that'll be
+soon, if he's up there in the rocks. I'm goin' a-shootin'." Bully West
+drew his revolver and rode forward.
+
+The constable had disposed of his forces so that behind the cover of
+the sandstone boulders they commanded the approach. He had tried to
+persuade Jessie that this was not her fight, but a question from her
+had silenced him.
+
+"If that Bully West finds me here, after he's killed you, d' you think
+I can get him to let me go because it wasn't my fight?"
+
+She had asked it with flashing eyes, in which for an instant he had
+seen the savagery of fear leap out. Beresford was troubled. The girl
+was right enough. If West went the length of murder, he would be an
+outlaw. Sleeping Dawn would not be safe with him after she had ridden
+out to warn his enemy that he was coming. The fellow was a primeval
+brute. His reputation had run over the whole border country of
+Rupert's Land.
+
+Now he appealed to Morse. "If they get me, will you try to save Miss
+McRae? This fellow West is a devil, I hear."
+
+The officer caught a gleam of hot red eyes. "I'll 'tend to that. We'll
+mix first, him 'n' me. Question now is, do I get a gun?"
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Didn't you hear him make his brags about what he was gonna do to me?
+If there's shootin' I'm in on it, ain't I?"
+
+"No. You're a prisoner. I can't arm you unless your life is in
+danger."
+
+West pulled up his horse about sixty yards from the rocks. He shouted
+a profane order. The purport of it was that Beresford had better come
+out with his hands up if he didn't want to be dragged out by a rope
+around his neck. The man's speech crackled with oaths and obscenity.
+
+The constable stepped into the open a few yards. "What do you want?"
+he asked.
+
+"You." The whiskey-runner screamed it in a sudden gust of passion.
+"Think you can make a fool of Bully West? Think you can bust up our
+cargo an' get away with it? I'll show you where you head in at."
+
+"Don't make any mistake, West," advised the officer, his voice cold as
+the splash of ice-water. "Three of us are here, all with rifles, all
+dead shots. If you attack us, some of you are going to get killed."
+
+"Tha's a lie. You're alone--except for Tom Morse, an' he ain't fool
+enough to fight to go to jail. I've got you where I want you." West
+swung from the saddle and came straddling forward. In the uncertain
+light he looked more like some misbegotten ogre than a human being.
+
+"That's far enough," warned Beresford, not a trace of excitement in
+manner or speech. His hands hung by his sides. He gave no sign of
+knowing that he had a revolver strapped to his hip ready for action.
+
+The liquor smuggler stopped to pour out abuse. He was working himself
+up to a passion that would justify murder. The weapon in his hand
+swept wildly back and forth. Presently it would focus down to a deadly
+concentration in which all motion would cease.
+
+The torrent of vilification died on the man's lips. He stared past the
+constable with bulging eyes. From the rocks three figures had come.
+Two of them carried rifles. All three of them he recognized. His
+astonishment paralyzed the scurrilous tongue. What was McRae's girl
+doing at the camp of the officer?
+
+It was characteristic of him that he suspected the worst of her.
+Either Tom Morse or this red-coat had beaten him to his prey. Jealousy
+and outraged vanity flared up in him so that discretion vanished.
+
+The barrel of his revolver came down and began to spit flame.
+
+Beresford gave orders. "Back to the rocks." He retreated, backward,
+firing as he moved.
+
+The companions of West surged forward. Shots, shouts, the shifting
+blur of moving figures, filled the night. Under cover of the darkness
+the defenders reached again the big rocks.
+
+The constable counted noses. "Everybody all right?" he asked. Then,
+abruptly, he snapped out: "Who was responsible for that crazy business
+of you coming out into the open?"
+
+"Me," said the girl. "I wanted that West to know you weren't alone."
+
+"Didn't you know better than to let her do it?" the officer demanded
+of Morse.
+
+"He couldn't help it. He tried to keep me back. What right has he to
+interfere with me?" she wanted to know, stiffening.
+
+"You'll do as I say now," the constable said crisply. "Get back of
+that rock there, Miss McRae, and stay there. Don't move from cover
+unless I tell you to."
+
+Her dark, stormy eyes challenged his, but she moved sullenly to obey.
+Rebel though she was, the code of the frontier claimed and held her
+respect. She had learned of life that there were times when her will
+must be subordinated for the general good.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+TOM MAKES A COLLECTION
+
+
+The attackers drew back and gathered together for consultation. West's
+anger had stirred their own smoldering resentment at the police, had
+dominated them, and had brought them on a journey of vengeance. But
+they had not come out with any intention of storming a defended
+fortress. The enthusiasm of the small mob ebbed.
+
+"I reckon we done bit off more'n we can chaw," Harvey Gosse murmured,
+rubbing his bristly chin. "I ain't what you might call noways anxious
+to have them fellows spill lead into me."
+
+"Ten of us here. One man, an Injun, an' a breed girl over there. You
+lookin' for better odds, Harv?" jeered the leader of the party.
+
+"I never heard that a feller was any less dead because an Injun or a
+girl shot him," the lank smuggler retorted.
+
+"Be reasonable, Bully," urged Barney with his ingratiating whine. "We
+come out to fix the red-coat. We figured he was alone except for Tom,
+an' o' course Tom's with us. But this here's a different proposition.
+Too many witnesses ag'in' us. I reckon you ain't tellin' us it's safe
+to shoot up Angus McRae's daughter even if she is a métis."
+
+"Forget her," the big whiskey-runner snarled. "She won't be a witness
+against us."
+
+"Why won't she?"
+
+"Hell's hinges! Do I have to tell you all my plans? I'm sayin' she
+won't. That goes." He flung out a gesture of scarcely restrained rage.
+He was not one who could reason away opposition with any patience. It
+was his temperament to override it.
+
+Brad Stearns rubbed his bald head. He always did when he was working
+out a mental problem. West's declaration could mean only one of two
+things. Either the girl would not be alive to give witness or she
+would be silent because she had thrown in her lot with the big trader.
+
+The old-timer knew West's vanity and his weakness for women. From Tom
+Morse he had heard of his offer to McRae for the girl. Now he had no
+doubt what the man intended.
+
+But what of her? What of the girl he had seen at her father's camp,
+the heart's desire of the rugged old Scotchman? In the lightness
+of her step, in the lift of her head, in speech and gesture and
+expression of face, she was of the white race, an inheritor of its
+civilization and of its traditions. Only her dusky color and a certain
+wild shyness seemed born of the native blood in her. She was proud,
+passionate, high-spirited. Would she tamely accept Bully West for her
+master and go to his tent as his squaw? Brad didn't believe it. She
+would fight--fight desperately, with barbaric savagery.
+
+Her fight would avail her nothing. If driven to it, West would take
+her with him into the fastnesses of the Lone Lands. They would
+disappear from the sight of men for months. He would travel swiftly
+with her to the great river. Every sweep of his canoe paddle would
+carry them deeper into that virgin North where they could live on what
+his rifle and rod won for the pot. A little salt, pemmican, and flour
+would be all the supplies he needed to take with them.
+
+Brad had no intention of being a cat's-paw for him. The older man had
+come along to save Tom Morse from prison and for no other reason. He
+did not intend to be swept into indiscriminate crime.
+
+"Don't go with me, Bully," Stearns said. "Count me out. Right here's
+where I head for Whoop-Up."
+
+He turned his horse's head and rode into the darkness.
+
+West looked after him, cursing. "We're better off without the
+white-livered coyote," he said at last.
+
+"Brad ain't so fur off at that. I'd like blame well to be moseyin' to
+Whoop-Up my own self," Gosse said uneasily.
+
+"You'll stay right here an' go through with this job, Harv," West
+told him flatly. "All you boys'll do just that. If any of you's got
+a different notion we'll settle that here an' now. How about it?" He
+straddled up and down in front of his men, menacing them with knotted
+fists and sulky eyes.
+
+Nobody cared to argue the matter with him. He showed his broken teeth
+in a sour grin.
+
+"Tha's settled, then," he went on. "It's my say-so. My orders go--if
+there's no objections."
+
+His outthrust head, set low on the hunched shoulders, moved from right
+to left threateningly as his gaze passed from one to another. If there
+were any objections they were not mentioned aloud.
+
+"Now we know where we're at," he continued. "It'll be thisaway. Most
+of us will scatter out an' fire at the rocks from the front here; the
+others'll sneak round an' come up from behind--get right into the
+rocks before this bully-puss fellow knows it. If you get a chance,
+plug him in the back, but don't hurt the Injun girl. Y' understand? I
+want her alive an' not wounded. If she gets shot up, some one's liable
+to get his head knocked off."
+
+But it did not, after all, turn out quite the way West had planned it.
+He left out of account one factor--a man among the rocks who had been
+denied a weapon and any part in the fighting.
+
+The feint from the front was animated enough. The attackers scattered
+and from behind clumps of brush grass and bushes poured in a fire that
+kept the defenders busy. Barney, with the half-breeds and the Indian
+at heel, made a wide circle and crept up to the red sandstone
+outcroppings. He did not relish the job any more than those behind
+him did, but he was a creature of West and usually did as he was told
+after a bit of grumbling. It was not safe for him to refuse.
+
+To Tom Morse, used to Bully West and his ways, the frontal attack did
+not seem quite genuine. It was desultory and ineffective. Why? What
+trick did Bully have up his sleeve? Tom put himself in his place to
+see what he would do.
+
+And instantly he knew. The real attack would come from the rear. With
+the firing of the first shot back there, Bully West would charge.
+Taken on both sides the garrison would fall easy victims.
+
+The constable and Onistah were busy answering the fire of the
+smugglers. Sleeping Dawn was crouched down behind two rocks, the
+barrel of her rifle gleaming through a slit of open space between
+them. She was compromising between the orders given her and the
+anxiety in her to fight back Bully West. As much as she could she kept
+under cover, while at the same time firing into the darkness whenever
+she thought she saw a movement.
+
+Morse slipped rearward on a tour of investigation. The ground here
+fell away rather sharply, so that one coming from behind would have to
+climb over a boulder field rising to the big rocks. It took Tom only a
+casual examination to see that a surprise would have to be launched by
+way of a sort of rough natural stairway.
+
+A flat shoulder of sandstone dominated the stairway from above. Upon
+this Morse crouched, every sense alert to detect the presence of any
+one stealing up the pass. He waited, eager and yet patient. What he
+was going to attempt had its risk, but the danger whipped the blood in
+his veins to a still excitement.
+
+Occasionally, at intervals, the rifles cracked. Except for that no
+other sound came to him. He could keep no count of time. It seemed to
+him that hours slipped away. In reality it could have been only a few
+minutes.
+
+Below, from the foot of the winding stairway, there was a sound, such
+a one as might come from the grinding of loose rubble beneath the sole
+of a boot. Presently the man on the ledge heard it again, this time
+more distinctly. Some one was crawling up the rocks.
+
+Tom peered into the darkness intently. He could see nothing except the
+flat rocks disappearing vaguely in the gloom. Nor could he hear again
+the crunch of a footstep on disintegrated sandstone. His nerves grew
+taut. Could he have made a mistake? Was there another way up from
+behind?
+
+Then, at the turn of the stairway, a few feet below him, a figure rose
+in silhouette. It appeared with extraordinary caution, first a head,
+then the barrel of a rifle, finally a crouched body followed by bowed
+legs. On hands and knees it crept forward, hitching the weapon along
+beside it. Exactly opposite Morse, under the very shadow of the
+sloping ledge on which he lay, the figure rose and straightened.
+
+The man stood there for a second, making up his mind to move on. He
+was one of the half-breeds West had brought with him. Almost into his
+ear came a stern whisper.
+
+"Hands up! I've got you covered. Don't move. Don't say a word."
+
+Two arms shot skyward. In the fingers of one hand a rifle was
+clenched.
+
+Morse leaned forward and caught hold of it. "I'll take this," he said.
+The brown fingers relaxed. "Skirt round the edge of the rock there.
+Lie face down in that hollow. Got a six-shooter."
+
+He had. Morse took it from him.
+
+"If you move or speak one word, I'll pump lead into you," the Montanan
+cautioned.
+
+The half-breed looked into his chill eyes and decided to take no
+chances. He lay down on his face with hands stretched out exactly as
+ordered.
+
+His captor returned to the shoulder of rock above the trail. Presently
+another head projected itself out of the darkness. A man crept up, and
+like the first stopped to take stock of his surroundings.
+
+Against the back of his neck something cold pressed.
+
+"Stick up your hands, Barney," a voice ordered.
+
+The little man let out a yelp. "Mother o' Moses, don't shoot."
+
+"How many more of you?" asked Morse sharply.
+
+"One more."
+
+The man behind the rifle collected his weapons and put Barney
+alongside his companion. Within five minutes he had added a third man
+to the collection.
+
+With a sardonic grin he drove them before him to Beresford.
+
+"I'm a prisoner an' not in this show, you was careful to explain to
+me, Mr. Constable, but I busted the rules an' regulations to collect a
+few specimens of my own," he drawled by way of explanation.
+
+Beresford's eyes gleamed. The debonair impudence of the procedure
+appealed mightily to him. He did not know how this young fellow had
+done it, but he must have acted with cool nerve and superb daring.
+
+"Where were they? And how did you get 'em without a six-shooter?"
+
+"They was driftin' up the pass to say 'How-d'you-do?' from the back
+stairway. I borrowed a gun from one o' them. I asked 'em to come along
+with me and they reckoned they would."
+
+The booming of a rifle echoed in the rocks to the left. From out of
+them Jessie McRae came flying, something akin to terror in her face.
+
+"I've shot that West. He tried to run in on me and--and--I shot him."
+Her voice broke into an hysterical sob.
+
+"Thought I told you to keep out of this," the constable said. "I seem
+to have a lot of valuable volunteer help. What with you and friend
+Morse here--" He broke off, touched at her distress. "Never mind about
+that, Miss McRae. He had it coming to him. I'll go out and size up the
+damage to him, if his friends have had enough--and chances are they
+have."
+
+They had. Gosse advanced waving a red bandanna handkerchief as a flag
+of truce.
+
+"We got a plenty," he said frankly. "West's down, an' another of the
+boys got winged. No use us goin' on with this darned foolishness.
+We're ready to call it off if you'll turn Morse loose."
+
+Beresford had walked out to meet him. He answered, curtly. "No."
+
+The long, lank whiskey-runner rubbed his chin bristles awkwardly. "We
+'lowed maybe--"
+
+"I keep my prisoners, both Morse and Barney."
+
+"Barney!" repeated Gosse, surprised.
+
+"Yes, we've got him and two others. I don't want them. I'll turn 'em
+over to you. But not Morse and Barney. They're going to the post with
+me for whiskey-running."
+
+Gosse went back to the camp-fire, where the Whoop-Up men had carried
+their wounded leader. Except West, they were all glad to drop the
+battle. The big smuggler, lying on the ground with a bullet in his
+thigh, cursed them for a group of chicken-hearted quitters. His anger
+could not shake their decision. They knew when they had had enough.
+
+The armistice concluded, Beresford and Morse walked over to the
+camp-fire to find out how badly West was hurt.
+
+"Sorry I had to hit you, but you would have it, you know," the
+constable told him grimly.
+
+The man snapped his teeth at him like a wolf in a trap. "You didn't
+hit me, you liar. It was that li'l' hell-cat of McRae. You tell her
+for me I'll get her right for this, sure as my name's Bully West."
+
+There was something horribly menacing in his rage. In the jumping
+light of the flames the face was that of a demon, a countenance
+twisted and tortured by the impotent lust to destroy.
+
+Morse spoke, looking steadily at him in his quiet way. "I'm servin'
+notice, West, that you're to let that girl alone."
+
+There was a sound in the big whiskey-runner's throat like that of
+an infuriated wild animal. He glared at Morse, a torrent of abuse
+struggling for utterance. All that he could say was, "You damned
+traitor."
+
+The eyes of the younger man did not waver. "It goes. I'll see you're
+shot like a wolf if you harm her."
+
+The wounded smuggler's fury outleaped prudence. In a surge of
+momentary insanity he saw red. The barrel of his revolver rose
+swiftly. A bullet sang past Morse's ear. Before he could fire again,
+Harvey Gosse had flung himself on the man and wrested the weapon from
+his hand.
+
+Hard-eyed and motionless, Morse looked down at the madman without
+saying a word. It was Beresford who said ironically, "Talking about
+those who keep faith."
+
+"You hadn't oughta of done that, Bully," Gosse expostulated. "We'd
+done agreed this feud was off for to-night."
+
+"Get your horses and clear out of here," the constable ordered. "If
+this man's able to fight he's able to travel. You can make camp
+farther down the creek."
+
+A few minutes later the clatter of horse-hoofs died away. Beresford
+was alone with his prisoners and his guests.
+
+Those who were still among the big rocks came forward to the
+camp-fire. Jessie arrived before the others. She had crept to the camp
+on the heels of Beresford and Morse, driven by her great anxiety to
+find out how badly West was hurt.
+
+From the shadows of a buffalo wallow she had seen and heard what had
+taken place.
+
+One glance of troubled curiosity she flashed at Morse. What sort of
+man was this quiet, brown-faced American who smuggled whiskey in to
+ruin the tribes, who could ruthlessly hold a girl to a bargain that
+included horsewhipping for her, who for some reason of his own fought
+beside the man taking him to imprisonment, and who had flung defiance
+at the terrible Bully West on her behalf? She hated him. She always
+would. But with her dislike of him ran another feeling now, born of
+the knowledge of new angles in him.
+
+He was hard as nails, but he would do to ride the river with.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A CAMP-FIRE TALE
+
+
+Another surprise was waiting for Jessie. As soon as Onistah came into
+the circle of light, he walked straight to the whiskey-smuggler.
+
+"You save my life from Crees. Thanks," he said in English.
+
+Onistah offered his hand.
+
+The white man took it. He was embarrassed. "Oh, well, I kinda took a
+hand."
+
+The Indian was not through. "Onistah never forget. He pay some day."
+
+Tom waved this aside. "How's the leg? Seems to be all right now."
+
+Swiftly Jessie turned to the Indian and asked him a question in the
+native tongue. He answered. They exchanged another sentence or two.
+
+The girl spoke to Morse. "Onistah is my brother. I too thank you," she
+said stiffly.
+
+"Your brother! He's not Angus McRae's son, is he?"
+
+"No. And I'm not his daughter--really. I'll tell you about that," she
+said with a touch of the defensive defiance that always came into her
+manner when the subject of her birth was referred to.
+
+She did, later, over the camp-fire.
+
+It is fortunate that desire and opportunity do not always march
+together. The constable and Morse had both been dead men if Bully West
+could have killed with a wish. Sleeping Dawn would have been on the
+road to an existence worse than death. Instead, they sat in front of
+the coals of buffalo chips while the big smuggler and his companions
+rode away from an ignominious field of battle.
+
+When the constable and his prisoner had first struck camp, there had
+been two of them. Now there were six. For in addition to Jessie McRae,
+the Blackfoot, and Barney, another had come out of the night and
+hailed them with a "Hello, the camp!" This last self-invited guest was
+Brad Stearns, who had not ridden to Whoop-Up as he had announced, but
+had watched events from a distance on the chance that he might be of
+help to Tom Morse.
+
+Jessie agreed with Beresford that she must stay in camp till morning.
+There was nothing else for her to do. She could not very well ride the
+night out with Onistah on the road back to the fort. But she stayed
+with great reluctance.
+
+Her modesty was in arms. Never before had she, a girl alone, been
+forced to make camp with five men as companions, all but one of them
+almost strangers to her. The experience was one that shocked her sense
+of fitness.
+
+She was troubled and distressed, and she showed it. Her impulsiveness
+had swept her into an adventure that might have been tragic, that
+still held potentialities of disaster. For she could not forget the
+look on West's face when he had sworn to get even with her. This man
+was a terrible enemy, because of his boldness, his evil mind, and his
+lack of restraining conscience.
+
+Yet even now she could not blame herself for what she had done. The
+constable's life was at stake. It had been necessary to move swiftly
+and decisively.
+
+Sitting before the fire, Sleeping Dawn began to tell her story. She
+told it to Beresford as an apology for having ridden forty miles with
+Onistah to save his life. It was, if he chose so to accept it, an
+explanation of how she came to do so unwomanly a thing.
+
+"Onistah's mother is my mother," she said. "When I was a baby my own
+mother died. Stokimatis is her sister. I do not know who my father
+was, but I have heard he was an American. Stokimatis took me to her
+tepee and I lived there with her and Onistah till I was five or six.
+Then Angus McRae saw me one day. He liked me, so he bought me for
+three yards of tobacco, a looking-glass, and five wolf pelts."
+
+It may perhaps have been by chance that the girl's eyes met those of
+Morse. The blood burned beneath the tan of her dusky cheeks, but her
+proud eyes did not flinch while she told the damning facts about her
+parentage and life. She was of the métis, the child of an unknown
+father. So far as she knew her mother had never been married. She had
+been bought and sold like a negro slave in the South. Let any one that
+wanted to despise her make the most of all this.
+
+So far as any expression went Tom Morse looked hard as pig iron. He
+did not want to blunder, so he said nothing. But the girl would have
+been amazed if she could have read his thoughts. She seemed to him a
+rare flower that has blossomed in a foul swamp.
+
+"If Angus McRae took you for his daughter, it was because he loved
+you," Beresford said gently.
+
+"Yes." The mobile face was suddenly tender with emotion. "What can any
+father do more than he has done for me? I learned to read and write at
+his knee. He taught me the old songs of Scotland that he's so fond of.
+He tried to make me good and true. Afterward he sent me to Winnipeg to
+school for two years."
+
+"Good for Angus McRae," the young soldier said.
+
+She smiled, a little wistfully. "He wants me to be Scotch, but of
+course I can't be that even though I sing 'Should auld acquaintance'
+to him. I'm what I am."
+
+Ever since she had learned to think for herself, she had struggled
+against the sense of racial inferiority. Even in the Lone Lands men
+of education had crossed her path. There was Father Giguère, tall and
+austere and filled with the wisdom of years, a scholar who had left
+his dear France to serve on the outposts of civilization. And there
+was the old priest's devoted friend Philip Muir, of whom the story ran
+that he was heir to a vast estate across the seas. Others she had seen
+at Winnipeg. And now this scarlet-coated soldier Beresford.
+
+Instinctively she recognized the difference between them and the
+trappers and traders who frequented the North woods. In her bed at
+night she had more than once wept herself to sleep because life had
+built an impassable barrier between what she was and what she wanted
+to be.
+
+"To the Scot nobody is quite like a Scot," Beresford admitted with
+a smile. "When he wants to make you one, Mr. McRae pays you a great
+compliment"
+
+The girl flashed a look of gratitude at him and went on with her
+story. "Whenever we are near Stokimatis, I go to see her. She has
+always been very fond of me. It wasn't really for money she sold me,
+but because she knew Angus McRae could bring me up better than she
+could. I was with her to-day when Onistah came in and told us what
+this West was going to do. There wasn't time for me to reach Father. I
+couldn't trust anybody at Whoop-Up, and I was afraid if Onistah came
+alone, you wouldn't believe him. You know how people are about--about
+Indians. So I saddled a horse and rode with him."
+
+"That was fine of you. I'll never forget it, Miss McRae," the young
+soldier said quietly, his eyes for an instant full on hers. "I don't
+think I've ever met another girl who would have had the good sense and
+the courage to do it."
+
+Her eyes fell from his. She felt a queer delightful thrill run through
+her blood. He still respected her, was even grateful to her for what
+she had done. No experience in the ways of men and maids warned her
+that there was another cause for the quickened pulse. Youth had looked
+into the eyes of youth and made the world-old call of sex to sex.
+
+In a little pocket opening from the draw Morse arranged blankets for
+the girl's bed. He left Beresford to explain to her that she could
+sleep there alone without fear, since a guard would keep watch against
+any possible surprise attack.
+
+When the soldier did tell her this, Jessie smiled back her
+reassurance. "I'm not afraid--not the least littlest bit," she said
+buoyantly. "I'll sleep right away."
+
+But she did not. Jessie was awake to the finger-tips, her veins apulse
+with the flow of rushing rivers of life. Her chaotic thoughts centered
+about two men. One had followed crooked trails for his own profit.
+There was something in him hard and unyielding as flint. He would
+go to his chosen end, whatever that might be, over and through any
+obstacles that might rise. But to-night, on her behalf, he had thrown
+down the gauntlet to Bully West, the most dreaded desperado on the
+border. Why had he done it? Was he sorry because he had forced her
+father to horsewhip her? Or was his warning merely the snarl of one
+wolf at another?
+
+The other man was of a different stamp. He had brought with him from
+the world whence he had come a debonair friendliness, an ease of
+manner, a smile very boyish and charming. In his jaunty forage cap and
+scarlet jacket he was one to catch and hold the eye by reason of his
+engaging personality. He too had fought her battle. She had heard him,
+in that casually careless way of his, try to take the blame of having
+wounded West. Her happy thoughts went running out to him gratefully.
+
+Not the least cause of her gratitude was that there had not been the
+remotest hint in his manner that there was any difference between her
+and any white girl he might meet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+C.N. MORSE TURNS OVER A LEAF
+
+
+The North-West Mounted Police had authority not only to arrest, but
+to try and to sentence prisoners. The soldierly inspector who sat in
+judgment on Morse at Fort Macleod heard the evidence and stroked an
+iron-gray mustache reflectively. As he understood it, his business was
+to stop whiskey-running rather than to send men to jail. Beresford's
+report on this young man was in his favor. The inspector adventured
+into psychology.
+
+"Studied the Indians any--the effect of alcohol on them?" he asked
+Morse.
+
+"Some," the prisoner answered.
+
+"Don't you think it bad for them?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Perhaps you've been here longer than I. Isn't this whiskey-smuggling
+bad business all round?"
+
+"Not for the smuggler. Speakin' as an outsider, I reckon he does it
+because he makes money," Morse answered impersonally.
+
+"For the country, I mean. For the trapper, for the breeds, for the
+Indians."
+
+"No doubt about that."
+
+"You're a nephew of C.N. Morse, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Wish you'd take him a message from me. Tell him that it's bad
+business for a big trading firm like his to be smuggling whiskey." The
+officer raised a hand to stop the young man's protest. "Yes, I know
+you're going to tell me that we haven't proved he's been smuggling.
+We'll pass that point. Carry him my message. Just say it's bad
+business. You can tell him if you want to that we're here to put an
+end to it and we're going to do it. But stress the fact that it isn't
+good business. Understand?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very well, sir." A glint of a smile showed in the inspector's eyes.
+"I'll give you a Scotch verdict, young man. Not guilty, but don't do
+it again. You're discharged."
+
+"Barney, too?"
+
+"Hmp! He's a horse of another color. Think we'll send him over the
+plains."
+
+"Why make two bites of a cherry, sir? He can't be guilty if I'm not,"
+the released prisoner said.
+
+"Did I say you weren't?" Inspector MacLean countered.
+
+"Not worth the powder, is he, sir?" Tom insinuated nonchalantly.
+"Rather a fathead, Barney is. If he's guilty, it's not as a principal.
+You'd much better send me up."
+
+The officer laughed behind the hand that stroked the mustache. "Do you
+want to be judge and jury as well as prisoner, my lad?"
+
+"Thought perhaps my uncle would understand the spirit of your message
+better if Barney went along with me, Inspector." The brown eyes were
+open and guileless.
+
+MacLean studied the Montanan deliberately. He began to recognize
+unusual qualities in this youth.
+
+"Can't say I care for your friend Barney. He's a bad egg, or I miss my
+guess."
+
+"Not much taken with him myself. Thought if I'd get him to travel
+south with me it might save you some trouble."
+
+"It might," the Inspector agreed. "It's his first offense so far as
+I know." Under bristling eyebrows he shot a swift look at this
+self-assured youngster. He had noticed that men matured at an early
+age on the frontier. The school of emergency developed them fast.
+But Morse struck him as more competent even than the other boyish
+plainsmen he had met. "Will you be responsible for him?"
+
+The Montanan came to scratch reluctantly. He had no desire to be bear
+leader for such a doubtful specimen as Barney.
+
+"Yes," he said, after a pause.
+
+"Keep him in the States, will you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Take him along, then. Wish you luck of him."
+
+As soon as he reached Fort Benton, Tom reported to his uncle. He told
+the story of the whiskey cargo and its fate, together with his own
+adventures subsequent to that time.
+
+The head of the trading firm was a long, loose-jointed Yankee who had
+drifted West in his youth. Since then he had acquired gray hairs and
+large business interests. At Inspector MacLean's message he grinned.
+
+"Thinks it's bad business, does he?"
+
+"Told me to tell you so," Tom answered.
+
+"Didn't say why, I guess."
+
+"No."
+
+The old New Englander fished from a hip pocket a plug of tobacco, cut
+off a liberal chew, and stowed this in his cheek. Then, lounging back
+in the chair, he cocked a shrewd eye at his nephew.
+
+"Wonder what he meant."
+
+Tom volunteered no opinion. He recognized his uncle's canny habit of
+fishing in other people's minds for confirmation of what was in his
+own.
+
+"Got any idee what he was drivin' at?" the old pioneer went on.
+
+"Sorta."
+
+C.N. Morse chuckled. "Got a notion myself. Let's hear yours."
+
+"The trade with the North-West Mounted is gonna be big for a while.
+The Force needs all kinds of supplies. It'll have to deal through some
+firm in Benton as a clearin' house. He's servin' notice that unless
+C.N. Morse & Company mends its ways, it can't do business with the
+N.W.M.P."
+
+"That all?" asked the head of the firm.
+
+"That's only half of it. The other half is that no firm of
+whiskey-runners will be allowed to trade across the line."
+
+C.N. gave another little chirrup of mirth. "Keep your brains whittled
+up, don't you? Any advice you'd like to give?"
+
+Tom was not to be drawn. "None, sir."
+
+"No comments, son? Passin' it up to Uncle Newt, eh?"
+
+"You're the head of the firm. I'm hired to do as I'm told."
+
+"You figure on obeyin' orders and lettin' it go at that?"
+
+"Not quite." The young fellow's square chin jutted out. "For instance,
+I'm not gonna smuggle liquor through any more. I had my eyes opened
+this trip. You haven't been on the ground like I have. If you want a
+plain word for it, Uncle Newt--"
+
+"Speak right out in meetin', Tom. Shouldn't wonder but what I can
+stand it." The transplanted Yankee slanted at his nephew a quizzical
+smile. "I been hearin' more or less plain language for quite a spell,
+son."
+
+Tom gave it to him straight from the shoulder, quietly but without
+apology. "Sellin' whiskey to the tribes results in wholesale murder,
+sir."
+
+"Strong talk, boy," his uncle drawled.
+
+"Not too strong. You know I don't mean anything personal, Uncle Newt.
+To understand this thing you've got to go up there an' see it. The
+plains tribes up there go crazy over fire-water an' start killin' each
+other. It's a crime to let 'em have it."
+
+Young Morse began to tell stories of instances that had come under his
+own observation, of others that he had heard from reliable sources.
+Presently he found himself embarked on the tale of his adventures with
+Sleeping Dawn.
+
+The fur-trader heard him patiently. The dusty wrinkled boots of the
+merchant rested on the desk. His chair was tilted back in such a way
+that the weight of his body was distributed between the back of his
+neck, the lower end of the spine, and his heels. He looked a picture
+of sleepy, indolent ease, but Tom knew he was not missing the least
+detail.
+
+A shadow darkened the doorway of the office. Behind it straddled a
+huge, ungainly figure.
+
+"'Lo, West! How're tricks?" C.N. Morse asked in his lazy way. He did
+not rise from the chair or offer to shake hands, but that might be
+because it was not his custom to exert himself.
+
+West stopped in his stride, choking with wrath. He had caught sight of
+Tom and was glaring at him. "You're here, eh? Sneaked home to try to
+square yourself with the old man, did ya?" The trail foreman turned to
+the uncle. "I wanta tell you he double-crossed you for fair, C.N. He's
+got a heluva nerve to come back here after playin' in with the police
+the way he done up there."
+
+"I've heard something about that," the fur-trader admitted cautiously.
+"You told me Tom an' you didn't exactly gee."
+
+"He'll never drive another bull-team for me again." West tacked to his
+pronouncement a curdling oath.
+
+"We'll call that settled, then. You're through bull-whackin', Tom."
+There was a little twitch of whimsical mirth at the corners of the old
+man's mouth.
+
+"Now you're shoutin, C.N. Threw me down from start to finish, he did.
+First off, when the breed girl busted the casks, he took her home
+'stead of bringin' her to me. Then at old McRae's camp when I was
+defendin' myself, he jumped me too. My notion is from the way he acted
+that he let on to the red-coat where the cache was. Finally when I
+rode out to rescue him, he sided in with the other fellow. Hadn't been
+for him I'd never 'a' had this slug in my leg." The big smuggler
+spoke with extraordinary vehemence, spicing his speech liberally with
+sulphurous language.
+
+The grizzled Yankee accepted the foreman's attitude with a wave of the
+hand that dismissed any counterargument. But there was an ironic gleam
+in his eye.
+
+"'Nough said, West. If you're that sot on it, the boy quits the
+company pay-roll as an employee right now. I won't have him annoyin'
+you another hour. He becomes a member of the firm to-day."
+
+The big bully's jaw sagged. He stared at his lean employer as though a
+small bomb had exploded at his feet and numbed his brains. But he was
+no more surprised than Tom, whose wooden face was expressionless.
+
+"Goddlemighty! Ain't I jus' been tellin' you how he wrecked the whole
+show--how he sold out to that bunch of spies the Canadian Gov'ment has
+done sent up there?" exploded West.
+
+"Oh, I don't guess he did that," Morse, Senior, said lightly. "We
+got to remember that times are changin', West. Law's comin' into the
+country an' we old-timers oughta meet it halfway with the glad hand.
+You can't buck the Union Jack any more than you could Uncle Sam. I
+figure I've sent my last shipment of liquor across the line."
+
+"Scared, are you?" sneered the trail boss.
+
+"Maybe I am. Reckon I'm too old to play the smuggler's game. And I've
+got a hankerin' for respectability--want the firm to stand well with
+the new settlers. Legitimate business from now on. That's our motto,
+boys."
+
+"What church you been j'inin', C.N.?"
+
+"Well, maybe it'll come to that too. Think I'd make a good deacon?"
+the merchant asked amiably, untwining his legs and rising to stretch.
+
+West slammed a big fist on the table so that the inkwell and the pens
+jumped. "All I got to say is that this new Sunday-school outfit you
+aim to run won't have no use for a he-man. I'm quittin' you right
+now."
+
+The foreman made the threat as a bluff. He was the most surprised man
+in Montana when his employer called it quietly, speaking still in the
+slow, nasal voice of perfect good-nature.
+
+"Maybe you're right, West. That's for you to say, of course. You know
+your own business best. Figure out your time an' I'll have Benson
+write you a check. Hope you find a good job."
+
+The sense of baffled anger in West foamed up. His head dropped down
+and forward threateningly.
+
+"You do, eh? Lemme tell you this, C.N. I don't ask no odds of you or
+any other guy. Jes' because you're the head of a big outfit you can't
+run on me. I won't stand for it a minute."
+
+"Of course not. I'd know better'n to try that with you. No hard
+feelings even if you quit us." It was a characteristic of the New
+Englander that while he was a forceful figure in this man's country,
+he rarely quarreled with any one.
+
+"That so? Well, you listen here. I been layin' off that new pardner of
+yours because he's yore kin. Not anymore. Different now. He's liable
+to have a heluva time an' don't you forget it for a minute."
+
+The fur-trader chewed his cud imperturbably. When he spoke it Was
+still without a trace of acrimony.
+
+"Guess you'll think better of that maybe, West. Guess you're a little
+hot under the collar, ain't you? Don't hardly pay to hold grudges,
+does it? There was Rhinegoldt now. Kept nursin' his wrongs an' finally
+landed in the pen. Bad medicine, looks like to me."
+
+West was no imbecile. He understood the threat underneath the suave
+words of the storekeeper. Rhinegoldt had gone to the penitentiary
+because C.N. Morse had willed it so. The inference was that another
+lawbreaker might go for the same reason. The trail boss knew that this
+was no idle threat. Morse could put him behind the bars any time he
+chose. The evidence was in his hands.
+
+The bully glared at him. "You try that, C.N. Jus' try it once.
+There'll be a sudden death in the Morse family if you do. Mebbe two.
+Me, I'd gun you both for a copper cent. Don't fool yourself a minute."
+
+"Kinda foolish talk, West. Don't buy you anything. Guess you better
+go home an' cool off, hadn't you? I'll have your time made up to-day,
+unless you want your check right now."
+
+The broken teeth of the desperado clicked as his jaw clamped. He
+looked from the smiling, steady-eyed trader to the brown-faced youth
+who watched the scene with such cool, alert attention. He fought with
+a wild, furious impulse in himself to go through with his threat,
+to clean up and head out into the wilds. But some saving sense of
+prudence held his hand. C.N. Morse was too big game for him.
+
+"To hell with the check," he snarled, and swinging on his heel jingled
+out of the office.
+
+The nephew spoke first. "You got rid of him on purpose."
+
+"Looked that way to you, did it?" the uncle asked in his usual
+indirect way.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Guess you'd say it was because he won't fit into the new policy of
+the firm. Guess you'd say he'd always be gettin' us into trouble with
+his overbearin' and crooked ways."
+
+"That's true. He would."
+
+"Maybe it would be a good idee to watch him mighty close. They say
+he's a bad hombre. Might be unlucky for any one he got the drop on."
+
+Tom knew he was being warned. "I'll look out for him," he promised.
+
+The older man changed the subject smilingly. "Here's where C.N. Morse
+& Company turns over a leaf, son. No more business gambles. Legitimate
+trade only. That the idee you're figurin' on makin' me live up to?"
+
+"Suits me if it does you," Tom answered cheerfully, "But where do
+I come in? What's my job in the firm? You'll notice I haven't said
+'Thanks' yet."
+
+"You?" C.N. gave him a sly, dry smile. "Oh, all you have to do is to
+handle our business north of the line--buy, sell, trade, build up
+friendly relations with the Indians and trappers, keep friendly with
+the police, and a few little things like that."
+
+Tom grinned.
+
+"Won't have a thing to do, will I?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+TOM DUCKS TROUBLE
+
+
+To Tom Morse, sitting within the railed space that served for an
+office in the company store at Faraway, came a light-stepping youth in
+trim boots, scarlet jacket, and forage cap set at a jaunty angle.
+
+"'Lo, Uncle Sam," he said, saluting gayly.
+
+"'Lo, Johnnie Canuck. Where you been for a year and heaven knows how
+many months?"
+
+"Up Peace River, after Pierre Poulette, fellow who killed Buckskin
+Jerry."
+
+Tom took in Beresford's lean body, a gauntness of the boyish face,
+hollows under the eyes that had not been there when first they had
+met. There had come to him whispers of the long trek into the frozen
+Lone Lands made by the officer and his Indian guide. He could guess
+the dark and dismal winter spent by the two alone, without books,
+without the comforts of life, far from any other human being. It must
+have been an experience to try the soul. But it had not shaken the
+Canadian's blithe joy in living.
+
+"Get him?" the Montanan asked.
+
+The answer he could guess. The North-West Mounted always brought
+back those they were sent for. Already the Force was building up the
+tradition that made them for a generation rulers of half a continent.
+
+"Got him." Thus briefly the red-coat dismissed an experience that
+had taken toll of his vitality greater than five years of civilized
+existence. "Been back a week. Inspector Crouch sent me here to have a
+look-see."
+
+"At what? He ain't suspectin' any one at Faraway of stretchin',
+bendin', or bustin' the laws."
+
+Tom cocked a merry eye at his visitor. Rumor had it that Faraway was
+a cesspool of iniquity. It was far from the border. When sheriffs of
+Montana became too active, there was usually an influx of population
+at the post, of rough, hard-eyed men who crossed the line and pushed
+north to safety.
+
+"Seems to be. You're not by any chance lookin' for trouble?"
+
+"Duckin' it," answered Tom promptly.
+
+The officer smiled genially. "It's knocking at your door." His
+knuckles rapped on the desk.
+
+"If I ever bumped into a Santa Claus of joy--"
+
+"Oh, thanks!" Beresford murmured.
+
+"--you certainly ain't him. Onload your grief."
+
+"The theme of my discourse is aborigines, their dispositions,
+animadversions, and propensities," explained the constable. "According
+to the latest scientific hypotheses, the metempsychosis--"
+
+Tom threw up his hands. "Help! Help! I never studied geology none.
+Don't know this hypotenuse you're pow-wowin' about any more'n my paint
+hawss does. Come again in one syllables."
+
+"Noticed any trouble among the Crees lately--that is, any more than
+usual?"
+
+The junior partner of C.N. Morse & Company considered. "Why, yes,
+seems to me I have--heap much swagger and noise, plenty rag-chewin'
+and tomahawk swingin'."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Whiskey, likely."
+
+"Where do they get it?"
+
+Tom looked at the soldier quizzically. "Your guess is good as mine,"
+he drawled.
+
+"I'm guessing West and Whaley."
+
+Morse made no comment. Bully West had thrown in his fortune with Dug
+Whaley, a gambler who had drifted from one mining camp to another and
+been washed by the tide of circumstance into the Northwest. Ostensibly
+they supplied blankets, guns, food, and other necessities to the
+tribes, but there was a strong suspicion that they made their profit
+in whiskey smuggled across the plains.
+
+"But to guess it and to prove it are different propositions. How am
+I going to hang it on them? I can't make a bally fool of myself
+by prodding around in their bales and boxes. If I didn't find
+anything--and it'd be a long shot against me--West and his gang would
+stick their tongues in their cheeks and N.W.M.P. stock would shoot
+down. No, I've got to make sure, jump 'em, and tie 'em up by finding
+the goods on the wagons."
+
+"Fat chance," speculated Tom.
+
+"That's where you come in."
+
+"Oh, I come in there, do I? I begin to hear Old Man Trouble knockin'
+at my door like you promised. Break it kinda easy. Am I to go up an'
+ask Bully West where he keeps his fire-water cached? Or what?"
+
+"Yes. Only don't mention to him that you're asking. Your firm and his
+trade back and forth, don't they?"
+
+"Forth, but not back. When they've got to have some goods--if it's
+neck or nothing with them--they buy from us. We don't buy from them.
+You couldn't exactly call us neighborly."
+
+Beresford explained. "West's just freighted in a cargo of goods. I can
+guarantee that if he brought any liquor with him--and I've good reason
+to think he did--it hasn't been unloaded yet. To-morrow the wagons
+will scatter. I can't follow all of 'em. If I cinch Mr. West, it's got
+to be to-night."
+
+"I see. You want me to give you my blessin'. I'll come through with a
+fine big large one. Go to it, constable. Hogtie West with proof.
+Soak him good. Send him up for 'steen years. You got my sympathy an'
+approval, one for the grief you're liable to bump into, the other for
+your good intentions."
+
+The officer's grin had a touch of the proverbial Cheshire cat's
+malice. "Glad you approve. But you keep that sympathy for yourself.
+I'm asking you to pull the chestnut out of the fire for me. You'd
+better look out or you'll burn your paw."
+
+"Just remember I ain't promisin' a thing. I'm a respectable business
+man now, and, as I said, duckin' trouble."
+
+"Find out for me in which wagon the liquor is. That's all I ask."
+
+"How can I find out? I'm no mind reader."
+
+"Drift over casually and offer to buy goods. Poke around a bit. Keep
+cases on 'em. Notice the wagons they steer you away from."
+
+Tom thought it over and shook his head. "No, I don't reckon I will."
+
+"Any particular reason?"
+
+"Don't look to me hardly like playin' the game. I'm ferninst West
+every turn of the road. He's crooked as a dog's hind laig. But it
+wouldn't be right square for me to spy on him. Different with you.
+That's what you're paid for. You're out to run him down any way you
+can. He knows that. It's a game of hide an' go seek between you an'
+him. Best man wins."
+
+The red-coat assented at once. "Right you are, I'll get some one
+else." He rose to go. "See you later maybe."
+
+Tom nodded. "Sorry I can't oblige, but you see how it is."
+
+"Quite. I oughtn't to have asked you."
+
+Beresford strode briskly out of the store.
+
+Through the window Morse saw him a moment later in whispered
+conversation with Onistah. They were standing back of an outlying
+shed, in such a position that they could not be seen from the road.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE CONSTABLE BORES THROUGH DIFFICULTIES
+
+
+The early Northern dusk was falling when Beresford dropped into the
+store again. Except for two half-breeds and the clerk dickering at the
+far end of the building over half a dozen silver fox furs Morse had
+the place to himself.
+
+Yet the officer took the precaution to lower his voice. "I want an
+auger and a wooden plug the same size. Get 'em to me without anybody
+knowing it."
+
+The manager of the C.N. Morse & Company Northern Stores presently
+shoved across the counter to him a gunny-sack with a feed of oats.
+"Want it charged to the Force, I reckon?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Say, constable, I wancha to look at these moccasins I'm orderin' for
+the Inspector. Is this what he wants? Or isn't it?"
+
+Tom led the way into his office. He handed the shoe to Beresford.
+"What's doin'?" he asked swiftly, between sentences.
+
+The soldier inspected the footwear. "About right, I'd say. Thought
+you'd find what you were looking for. A fellow usually does when he
+goes at it real earnest."
+
+The eyes in the brown face were twinkling merrily.
+
+"Findin' the goods is one thing. Gettin' 'em's quite another," Tom
+suggested.
+
+The voice of one of the trappers rose in protest. "By gar, it iss what
+you call dirt cheap. I make you a present. V'la!"
+
+"Got to bore through difficulties," Beresford said. "Then you're
+liable to bump into disappointment. But you can't ever tell till you
+try."
+
+His friend began to catch the drift of the officer's purpose. He was
+looking for a liquor shipment, _and he had bought an auger to bore
+through difficulties_.
+
+Tom's eyes glowed. "Come over to the storeroom an' take a look at my
+stock. Want you to see I'm gonna have these moccasins made from good
+material."
+
+They kept step across the corral, gay, light-hearted sons of the
+frontier, both hard as nails, packed muscles rippling like those of
+forest panthers. Their years added would not total more than twoscore
+and five, but life had taken hold of them young and trained them to
+its purposes, had shot them through and through with hardihood and
+endurance and the cool prevision that forestalls disaster.
+
+"I'm in on this," the Montanan said.
+
+"Meaning?"
+
+"That I buy chips, take a hand, sit in, deal cards."
+
+The level gaze of the police officer studied him speculatively. "Now
+why this change of heart?"
+
+"You get me wrong. I'm with you to a finish in puttin' West and Whaley
+out of business. They're a hell-raisin' outfit, an' this country'll be
+well rid of 'em. Only thing is I wanta play my cards above the table.
+I couldn't spy on these men. Leastways, it didn't look quite square to
+me. But this is a bronc of another color. Lead me to that trouble you
+was promisin' a while ago."
+
+Beresford led him to it, by way of a rain-washed gully, up which they
+trod their devious path slowly and without noise. From the gully they
+snaked through the dry grass to a small ditch that had been built to
+drain the camping-ground during spring freshets. This wound into the
+midst of the wagon train encampment.
+
+The plainsmen crept along the dry ditch with laborious care. They
+advanced no single inch without first taking care to move aside any
+twig the snapping of which might betray them.
+
+From the beginning of the adventure until its climax no word was
+spoken. Beresford led, the trader followed at his heels.
+
+The voices of men drifted to them from a camp-fire in the shelter of
+the wagons. There were, Tom guessed, about four of them. Their words
+came clear through the velvet night. They talked the casual elemental
+topics common to their kind.
+
+There was a moonlit open space to be crossed. The constable took it
+swiftly with long strides, reached a wagon, and dodged under it. His
+companion held to the cover of the ditch. He was not needed closer.
+
+The officer lay flat on his back, set the point of the auger to the
+woodwork of the bed, and began to turn. Circles and half-circles of
+shavings flaked out and fell upon him. He worked steadily. Presently
+the resistance of the wood ceased. The bit had eaten its way through.
+
+Beresford withdrew the tool and tried again, this time a few inches
+from the hole he had made. The pressure lessened as before, but in a
+second or two the steel took a fresh hold. The handle moved slowly and
+steadily.
+
+A few drops of moisture dripped down, then a small stream. The
+constable held his hand under this and tasted the flow. It was rum.
+
+Swiftly he withdrew the bit, fitted the plug into the hole, and pushed
+it home.
+
+He crawled from under the wagon, skirted along the far side of it, ran
+to the next white-topped vehicle, and plumped out upon the campers
+with a short, sharp word of command.
+
+"Up with your hands! Quick!"
+
+For a moment the surprised quartette were too amazed to obey.
+
+"What in Halifax--?"
+
+"Shove 'em up!" came the crisp, peremptory order.
+
+Eight hands wavered skyward.
+
+"Is this a hold-up--or what?" one of the teamsters wanted to know
+sulkily.
+
+"Call it whatever you like. You with the fur cap hitch up the mules to
+the second wagon. Don't make a mistake and try for a getaway. You'll
+be a dead smuggler."
+
+The man hesitated. Was this red-coat alone?
+
+Tom strolled out of the ditch, a sawed-off shotgun under his arm.
+"I judge you bored through your difficulties, constable," he said
+cheerfully.
+
+"Through the bed of the wagon and the end of a rum keg. Stir your
+stumps, gentlemen of the whiskey-running brigade. We're on the way to
+Fort Edmonton if it suits you."
+
+If it did not suit them, they made no audible protest of disagreement.
+Growls were their only comment when, under direction of Beresford,
+the Montanan stripped them of their weapons and kept guard on the
+fur-capped man--his name appeared to be Lemoine--while the latter
+brought the mules to the wagon pointed out by the officer.
+
+"Hook 'em," ordered Morse curtly.
+
+The French-Indian trapper hitched the team to the wagon. Presently
+it moved beyond the circle of firelight into the darkness. Morse sat
+beside the driver, the short-barreled weapon across his knees.
+Three men walked behind the wagon. A fourth, in the uniform of the
+North-West Mounted, brought up the rear on horseback.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+SCARLET-COATS IN ACTION
+
+
+When Bully West discovered that such part of the cargo of wet goods
+as was in wagon number two had disappeared and along with it the four
+mule-skinners, his mind jumped to an instant conclusion. That it
+happened to be the wrong one was natural enough to his sulky,
+suspicious mind.
+
+"Goddlemighty, they've double-crossed us," he swore to his partner,
+with an explosion of accompanying profanity. "Figure on cleanin' up on
+the goods an' cuttin' back to the States. Tha's what they aim to do.
+Before I can head 'em off. Me, I'll show 'em they can't play monkey
+tricks on Bully West."
+
+This explanation did not satisfy Whaley. The straight black line of
+the brows above the cold eyes met in frowning thought.
+
+"I've got a hunch you're barkin' up the wrong tree," he lisped with a
+shrug of shoulders.
+
+Voice and gesture were surprising in that they were expressions of
+this personality totally unexpected. Both were almost womanlike in
+their delicacy. They suggested the purr and soft padding of a cat, an
+odd contradiction to the white, bloodless face with the inky brows.
+The eyes of "Poker" Whaley could throw fear into the most reckless
+bull-whacker on the border. They held fascinating and sinister
+possibilities of evil.
+
+"Soon see. We'll hit the trail right away after them," Bully replied.
+
+Whaley's thin lip curled. He looked at West as though he read to
+the bottom of that shallow mind and meant to make the most of his
+knowledge.
+
+"Yes," he murmured, as though to himself. "Some one ought to stay with
+the rest of the outfit, but I reckon I'd better go along. Likely you
+couldn't handle all of 'em if they showed fight."
+
+West's answer was a roar of outraged vanity. "Me! Not round up them
+tame sheep. I'll drive 'em back with their tongues hangin' out.
+Understand?"
+
+At break of day he was in the saddle. An experienced trailer, West
+found no difficulty in following the wagon tracks. No attempt had been
+made to cover the flight. The whiskey-runner could trace at a road
+gait the narrow tracks along the winding road.
+
+The country through which he traveled was the border-land between the
+plains and the great forests that rolled in unbroken stretch to the
+frozen North. Sometimes he rode over undulating prairie. Again he
+moved through strips of woodland or skirted beautiful lakes from the
+reedy edges of which ducks or geese rose whirring at his approach. A
+pair of coyotes took one long look at him and skulked into a ravine.
+Once a great moose started from a thicket of willows and galloped over
+a hill.
+
+West heeded none of this. No joy touched him as he breasted summits
+and looked down on wide sweeps of forest and rippling water. The
+tracks of the wheel rims engaged entirely his sulky, lowering gaze. If
+the brutish face reflected his thoughts, they must have been far from
+pleasant ones.
+
+The sun flooded the landscape, climbed the sky vault, slid toward the
+horizon. Dusk found him at the edge of a wooded lake.
+
+He looked across and gave a subdued whoop of triumph. From the timber
+on the opposite shore came a tenuous smoke skein. A man came to the
+water with a bucket, filled it, and disappeared in the woods. Bully
+West knew he had caught up with those he was tracking.
+
+The smuggler circled the lower end of the lake and rode through the
+timber toward the smoke. At a safe distance he dismounted, tied
+the horse to a young pine, and carefully examined his rifle. Very
+cautiously he stalked the camp, moving toward it with the skill and
+the stealth of a Sarcee scout.
+
+Camp had been pitched in a small open space surrounded by bushes.
+Through the thicket, on the south side, he picked a way, pushing away
+each sapling and weed noiselessly to make room for the passage of his
+huge body. For such a bulk of a figure he moved lightly. Twice he
+stopped by reason of the crackle of a snapping twig, but no sign of
+alarm came from his prey.
+
+They sat hunched--the four of them--before a blazing log fire,
+squatting on their heels in the comfortable fashion of the outdoors
+man the world over. Their talk was fragmentary. None gave any sign of
+alertness toward any possible approaching danger.
+
+No longer wary, West broke through the last of the bushes and
+straddled into the open.
+
+"Well, boys, hope you got some grub left for yore boss," he jeered,
+triumph riding voice and manner heavily.
+
+He waited for the startled dismay he expected. None came. The drama of
+the moment did not meet his expectation. The teamsters looked at him,
+sullenly, without visible fear or amazement. None of them rose or
+spoke.
+
+Sultry anger began to burn in West's eyes. "Thought you'd slip one
+over on the old man, eh? Thought you could put over a raw steal an'
+get away with it. Well, lemme tell you where you get off at. I'm gonna
+whale every last one of you to a frazzle. With a big club. An'
+I'm gonna drive you back to Faraway like a bunch of whipped curs.
+Understand?"
+
+Still they said nothing. It began to penetrate the thick skull of
+the trader that there was something unnatural about their crouched
+silence. Why didn't they try to explain? Or make a break for a
+getaway?
+
+He could think of nothing better to say, after a volley of curses,
+than to repeat his threat. "A thunderin' good wallopin', first off.
+Then we hit the trail together, you-all an' me."
+
+From out of the bushes behind him a voice came. "That last's a good
+prophecy, Mr. West. It'll be just as you say."
+
+The big fellow wheeled, the rifle jumping to his shoulder. Instantly
+he knew he had been tricked, led into a trap. They must have heard him
+coming, whoever they were, and left his own men for bait.
+
+From the other side two streaks of scarlet launched themselves at him.
+West turned to meet them. A third flash of red dived for his knees. He
+went down as though hit by a battering-ram.
+
+But not to stay down. The huge gorilla-shaped figure struggled to
+its feet, fighting desperately to throw off the three red-coats long
+enough to drag out a revolver. He was like a bear surrounded by
+leaping dogs. No sooner had he buffeted one away than the others
+were dragging him down. Try as he would, he could not get set. The
+attackers always staggered him before he could quite free himself for
+action. They swarmed all over him, fought close to avoid his sweeping
+lunges, hauled him to his knees by sheer weight of the pack.
+
+Lemoine flung one swift look around and saw that his captors were very
+busy. Now if ever was the time to take a hand in the mêlée. Swiftly he
+rose. He spoke a hurried word in French.
+
+"One moment, s'il vous plaît." From the bushes another man had
+emerged, one not in uniform. Lemoine had forgotten him. "Not your
+fight. Better keep out," he advised, and pointed the suggestion with a
+short-barreled shotgun.
+
+The trapper looked at him. "Is it that this iss your fight, Mistair
+Morse?" he demanded.
+
+"Fair enough. I'll keep out too."
+
+The soldiers had West down by this time. They were struggling to
+handcuff him. He fought furiously, his great arms and legs threshing
+about like flails. Not till he had worn himself out could they pinion
+him.
+
+Beresford rose at last, the job done. His coat was ripped almost from
+one shoulder. "My word, he's a whale of an animal," he panted. "If I
+hadn't chanced to meet you boys he'd have eaten me alive."
+
+The big smuggler struggled for breath. When at last he found words, it
+was for furious and horrible curses.
+
+Not till hours later did he get as far as a plain question. "What does
+this mean? Where are you taking me, you damned spies?" he roared.
+
+Beresford politely gave him information. "To the penitentiary, I hope,
+Mr. West, for breaking Her Majesty's revenue laws."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+KISSING DAY
+
+
+All week Jessie and her foster-mother Matapi-Koma had been busy
+cooking and baking for the great occasion. Fergus had brought in a
+sack full of cottontails and two skunks. To these his father had added
+the smoked hindquarters of a young buffalo, half a barrel of dried
+fish, and fifty pounds of pemmican. For Angus liked to dispense
+hospitality in feudal fashion.
+
+Ever since Jessie had opened her eyes at the sound of Matapi-Koma's
+"Koos koos kwa" (Wake up!), in the pre-dawn darkness of the wintry
+Northern morn, she had heard the crunch of snow beneath the webs of
+the footmen and the runners of the sleds. For both full-blood Crees
+and half-breeds were pouring into Faraway to take part in the
+festivities of Ooche-me-gou-kesigow (Kissing Day).
+
+The traders at the post and their families would join in the revels.
+With the exception of Morse, they had all taken Indian wives, in
+the loose marriage of the country, and for both business and family
+reasons they maintained a close relationship with the natives. Most of
+their children used the mother tongue, though they could make shift
+to express themselves in English. In this respect as in others the
+younger McRaes were superior. They talked English well. They could
+read and write. Their father had instilled in them a reverence for the
+Scriptures and some knowledge of both the Old and New Testaments. It
+was his habit to hold family prayers every evening. Usually half
+a dozen guests were present at these services in addition to his
+immediate household.
+
+With the Indians came their dogs, wolfish creatures, prick-eared and
+sharp-muzzled, with straight, bristling hair. It was twenty below
+zero, but the gaunt animals neither sought nor were given shelter.
+They roamed about in front of the fort stockade, snapping at each
+other or galloping off on rabbit hunts through the timber.
+
+The custom was that on this day the braves of the tribe kissed every
+woman they met in token of friendship and good-will. To fail of
+saluting one, young or old, was a breach of good manners. Since
+daybreak they had been marching in to Angus McRae's house and gravely
+kissing his wife and daughter.
+
+Jessie did not like it. She was a fastidious young person. But she
+could not escape without mortally offending the solemn-eyed warriors
+who offered this evidence of their esteem. As much as possible she
+contrived to be busy upstairs, but at least a dozen times she was
+fairly cornered and made the best of it.
+
+At dinner she and the other women of the fort waited on their guests
+and watched prodigious quantities of food disappear rapidly. When the
+meal was ended, the dancing began. The Crees shuffled around in a
+circle, hopping from one foot to the other in time to the beating of
+a skin drum. The half-breeds and whites danced the jigs and reels the
+former had brought with them from the Red River country. They took the
+floor in couples. The men did double-shuffles and cut pigeon wings,
+moving faster and faster as the fiddler quickened the tune till they
+gave up at last exhausted. Their partners performed as vigorously, the
+moccasined feet twinkling in and out so fast that the beads flashed.
+
+Because it was the largest building in the place, the dance was held
+in the C.N. Morse & Company store. From behind the counter Jessie
+applauded the performers. She did not care to take part herself. The
+years she had spent at school had given her a certain dignity.
+
+A flash of scarlet caught her eye. Two troopers of the Mounted
+Police had come into the room and one of them was taking off his fur
+overcoat. The trim, lean-flanked figure and close-cropped, curly head
+she recognized at once with quickened pulse. When Winthrop Beresford
+came into her neighborhood, Jessie McRae's cheek always flew a flag of
+greeting.
+
+A squaw came up to the young soldier and offered innocently her face
+for a kiss.
+
+Beresford knew the tribal custom. It was his business to help
+establish friendly relations between the Mounted and the natives. He
+kissed the wrinkled cheek gallantly. A second dusky lady shuffled
+forward, and after her a third. The constable did his duty.
+
+His roving eye caught Jessie's, and found an imp of mischief dancing
+there. She was enjoying the predicament in which he found himself. Out
+of the tail of that same eye he discovered that two more flat-footed
+squaws were headed in his direction.
+
+He moved briskly across the floor to the counter, vaulted it, and
+stood beside Jessie. She was still laughing at him.
+
+"You're afraid," she challenged. "You ran away."
+
+A little devil of adventurous mirth was blown to flame in him. "I saw
+another lady, lonely and unkissed. The Force answers every call of
+distress."
+
+Her chin tilted ever so little as she answered swiftly.
+
+  "He who will not when he may,
+  When he will he shall have nay."
+
+Before she had more than time to guess that he would really dare, the
+officer leaned forward and kissed the girl's dusky cheek.
+
+The color flamed into it. Jessie flung a quick, startled look at him.
+
+"Kissing Day, Sleeping Dawn," he said, smiling.
+
+Instantly she followed his lead. "Sleeping Dawn hopes that the Great
+Spirit will give to the soldier of the Great Mother across the seas
+many happy kissing days in his life."
+
+"And to you. Will you dance with me?"
+
+"Not to-day, thank you. I don't jig in public."
+
+"I was speaking to Miss McRae and not to Sleeping Dawn, and I was
+asking her to waltz with me."
+
+She accepted him as a partner and they took the floor. The other
+dancers by tacit consent stepped back to watch this new step, so
+rhythmic, light, and graceful. It shocked a little their sense of
+fitness that the man's arm should enfold the maiden, but they were
+full of lively curiosity to see how the dance was done.
+
+A novel excitement pulsed through the girl's veins. It was not the
+kiss alone, though that had something to do with the exhilaration that
+flooded her. Formally his kiss had meant only a recognition of
+the day. Actually it had held for both of them a more personal
+significance, the swift outreach of youth to youth. But the dance was
+an escape. She had learned at Winnipeg the waltz of the white race.
+No other girl at Faraway knew the step. She chose to think that the
+constable had asked her because this stressed the predominance of her
+father's blood in her. It was a symbol to all present that the ways of
+the Anglo-Saxon were her ways.
+
+She had the light, straight figure, the sense of rhythm, the
+instinctively instant response of the born waltzer. As she glided over
+the floor in the arms of Beresford, the girl knew pure happiness. Not
+till he was leading her back to the counter did she wake from the
+spell the music and motion had woven over her.
+
+A pair of cold eyes in a white, bloodless face watched her beneath
+thin black brows. A shock ran through her, as though she had been
+drenched with icy water. She shivered. There was a sinister menace in
+that steady, level gaze. More than once she had felt it. Deep in her
+heart she knew, from the world-old experience of her sex, that the man
+desired her, that he was biding his time with the patience and the
+ruthlessness of a panther. "Poker" Whaley had in him a power of
+dangerous evil notable in a country where bad men were not scarce.
+
+The officer whispered news to Jessie. "Bully West broke jail two weeks
+ago. He killed a guard. We're here looking for him."
+
+"He hasn't been here. At least I haven't heard it," she answered
+hurriedly.
+
+For Whaley, in his slow, feline fashion, was moving toward them.
+
+Bluntly the gambler claimed his right. "Ooche-me-gou-kesigow," he
+said.
+
+The girl shook her head. "Are you a Cree, Mr. Whaley?"
+
+For that he had an answer. "Is Beresford?"
+
+"Mr. Beresford is a stranger. He didn't know the custom--that it
+doesn't apply to me except with Indians. I was taken by surprise."
+
+Whaley was a man of parts. He had been educated for a priest, but had
+kicked over the traces. There was in him too much of the Lucifer for
+the narrow trail the father of a parish must follow.
+
+He bowed. "Then I must content myself with a dance."
+
+Jessie hesitated. It was known that he was a libertine. The devotion
+of his young Cree wife was repaid with sneers and the whiplash. But he
+was an ill man to make an enemy of. For her family's sake rather than
+her own she yielded reluctantly.
+
+Though a heavy-set man, he was an excellent waltzer. He moved evenly
+and powerfully. But in the girl's heart resentment flamed. She knew he
+was holding her too close to him, taking advantage of her modesty in a
+way she could not escape without public protest.
+
+"I'm faint," she told him after they had danced a few minutes.
+
+"Oh, you'll be all right," he said, still swinging her to the music.
+
+She stopped. "No, I've had enough." Jessie had caught sight of her
+brother Fergus at the other end of the room. She joined him. Tom Morse
+was standing by his side.
+
+Whaley nodded indifferently toward the men and smiled at Jessie, but
+that cold lip smile showed neither warmth nor friendliness. "We'll
+dance again--many times," he said.
+
+The girl's eyes flashed. "We'll have to ask Mrs. Whaley about that. I
+don't see her here to-night. I hope she's quite well."
+
+It was impossible to tell from the chill, expressionless face of the
+squaw-man whether her barb had stung or not. "She's where she belongs,
+at home in the kitchen. It's her business to be well. I reckon she is.
+I don't ask her."
+
+"You're not a demonstrative husband, then?"
+
+"Husband!" He shrugged his shoulders insolently. "Oh, well! What's in
+a name?"
+
+She knew the convenient code of his kind. They took to themselves
+Indian wives, with or without some form of marriage ceremony, and
+flung them aside when they grew tired of the tie or found it galling.
+There was another kind of squaw-man, the type represented by her
+father. He had joined his life to that of Matapi-Koma for better or
+worse until such time as death should separate them.
+
+In Jessie's bosom a generous indignation burned. There was a reason
+why just now Whaley should give his wife much care and affection.
+She turned her shoulder and began to talk with Fergus and Tom Morse,
+definitely excluding the gambler from the conversation.
+
+He was not one to be embarrassed by a snub. He held his ground,
+narrowed eyes watching her with the vigilant patience of the panther
+he sometimes made her think of. Presently he forced a reëntry.
+
+"What's this I hear about Bully West escaping from jail?"
+
+Fergus answered. "Two-three weeks ago. Killed a guard, they say. He
+was headin' west an' north last word they had of him."
+
+All of them were thinking the same thing, that the man would reach
+Faraway if he could, lie hidden till he had rustled an outfit, then
+strike out with a dog team deeper into the Lone Lands.
+
+"Here's wishin' him luck," his partner said coolly.
+
+"All the luck he deserves," amended Morse quietly.
+
+"You can't keep a good man down," Whaley boasted, looking straight at
+the other Indian trader. "I wouldn't wonder but what he'll pay a few
+debts when he gets here."
+
+Tom smiled and offered another suggestion. "If he gets here and has
+time. He'll have to hurry."
+
+His gaze shifted across the room to Beresford, alert, gay,
+indomitable, and as implacable as fate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A BUSINESS DEAL
+
+
+It was thirty below zero. The packed snow crunched under the feet of
+Morse as he moved down what served Faraway for a main street. The
+clock in the store registered mid-afternoon, but within a few minutes
+the sub-Arctic sun would set, night would fall, and aurora lights
+would glow in the west.
+
+Four false suns were visible around the true one, the whole forming a
+cross of five orbs. Each of these swam in perpendicular segments of a
+circle of prismatic colors. Even as the young man looked, the lowest
+of the cluster lights plunged out of sight. By the time he had reached
+the McRae house, darkness hung over the white and frozen land.
+
+Jessie opened the door to his knock and led him into the living-room
+of the family, where also the trapper's household ate and Fergus
+slept. It was a rough enough place, with its mud-chinked log walls and
+its floor of whipsawed lumber. But directly opposite the door was a
+log-piled hearth that radiated comfort and cheerfulness. Buffalo robes
+served as rugs and upon the walls had been hung furs of silver fox,
+timber wolves, mink, and beaver. On a shelf was a small library of not
+more than twenty-five books, but they were ones that only a lover of
+good reading would have chosen. Shakespeare and Burns held honored
+places there. Scott's poems and three or four of his novels were in
+the collection. In worn leather bindings were "Tristram Shandy,"
+and Smollett's "Complete History of England." Bunyan's "Pilgrim's
+Progress" shouldered Butler's "Hudibras" and Baxter's "The Saint's
+Everlasting Rest." Into this choice company one frivolous modern novel
+had stolen its way. "Nicholas Nickleby" had been brought from Winnipeg
+by Jessie when she returned from school. The girl had read them all
+from cover to cover, most of them many times. Angus too knew them all,
+with the exception of the upstart "storybook" written by a London
+newspaper man of whom he had never before heard.
+
+"I'm alone," Jessie explained. "Father and Fergus have gone out to the
+traps. They'll not be back till to-morrow. Mother's with Mrs. Whaley."
+
+Tom knew that the trader's wife was not well. She was expecting to be
+confined in a few weeks.
+
+He was embarrassed at being alone with the girl inside the walls of
+a house. His relations with Angus McRae reached civility, but not
+cordiality. The stern old Scotchman had never invited him to drop in
+and call. He resented the fact that through the instrumentality of
+Morse he had been forced to horsewhip the lass he loved, and the
+trader knew he was not forgiven his share in the episode and probably
+never would be. Now Tom had come only because a matter of business had
+to be settled one way or the other at once.
+
+"Blandoine is leavin' for Whoop-Up in the mornin'. I came to see your
+father about those robes. If we buy, it'll have to be now. I can send
+'em down with Blandoine," he explained.
+
+She nodded, briskly. "Father said you could have them at your price if
+you'll pay what he asked for those not split. They're good hides--cows
+and young bulls."[5]
+
+[Footnote 5: A split robe was one cut down the middle and sewn
+together with sinews. The ones skinned from the animal in a single
+piece were much more valuable, but the native women usually prepared
+the hides the other way because of the weight in handling. One of the
+reasons the Indians gave the missionaries in favor of polygamy was
+that one wife could not dress a buffalo robe without assistance. The
+braves themselves did not condescend to menial labor of this kind.
+(W.M.R.)]
+
+"It's a deal," the fur-trader said promptly. "Glad to get 'em, though
+I'm payin' all I can afford for the split ones."
+
+"I'll get the key to the storehouse," Jessie said.
+
+She walked out of the room with the springy, feather-footed step that
+distinguished her among all the women that he knew. In a few moments
+she was back. Instead of giving him the key, she put it down on the
+table near his hand.
+
+Beneath the tan the dark blood beat into his face. He knew she had
+done this in order not to run the risk of touching him.
+
+For a long moment his gaze gripped and held her. Between them passed
+speech without words. His eyes asked if he were outside the pale
+completely, if he could never wipe out the memory of that first cruel
+meeting. Hers answered proudly that, half-breed though she was, he was
+to her only a wolfer, of less interest than Black, the leader of her
+father's dog train.
+
+He picked up the key and left, wild thoughts whirling through his
+mind. He loved her. Of what use was it trying longer to disguise it
+from himself. Of the inferior blood she might be, yet his whole being
+went out to her in deep desire. He wanted her for his mate. He craved
+her in every fiber of his clean, passionate manhood, as he had never
+before longed for a woman in his life. And she hated him--hated him
+with all the blazing scorn of a young proud soul whose fine body had
+endured degradation on his account. He was a leper, to be classed with
+Bully West.
+
+Nor did he blame her. How could she feel otherwise and hold her
+self-respect. The irony of it brought a bitter smile to his lips. If
+she only knew it, the years would avenge her a hundredfold. For he had
+cut himself off from even the chance of the joy that might have been
+his.
+
+In the sky an aurora flashed with scintillating splendor. The heavens
+were aglow with ever-changing bars and columns of colored fire.
+
+Morse did not know it. Not till he had passed a dozen steps beyond a
+man in heavy furs did his mind register recognition of him as Whaley.
+He did not even wonder what business was taking the gambler toward
+Angus McRae's house.
+
+Business obtruded its claims. He arranged with Blandoine to take
+the robes out with him and walked back to the McRae storehouse. It
+adjoined the large log cabin where the Scotchman and his family lived.
+
+Blandoine and he went over the robes carefully in order that there
+should be no mistake as to which ones the trainmaster took. This done,
+Morse locked the door and handed the key to his companion.
+
+To him there was borne the sound of voices--one low and deep, the
+other swift and high. He caught no words, but he became aware that a
+queer excitement tingled through his veins. At the roots of his hair
+there was an odd, prickling sensation. He could give himself no
+reason, but some instinct of danger rang in him like a bell. The low
+bass and the light high treble--they reached him alternately, cutting
+into each other, overriding each other, clashing in agitated dissent.
+
+Then--a shrill scream for help!
+
+Morse could never afterward remember opening the door of the log
+house. It seemed to him that he burst through it like a battering-ram,
+took the kitchen in two strides, and hurled himself against the sturdy
+home-made door which led into the living-room.
+
+This checked him, for some one had slid into its socket the bar used
+as a bolt. He looked around the kitchen and found in one swift glance
+what he wanted. It was a large back log for the fireplace.
+
+With this held at full length under his arm he crashed forward. The
+wood splintered. He charged again, incited by a second call for
+succor. This time his attack dashed the bolt and socket from their
+place. Morse stumbled into the room like a drunken man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+A BOARD CREAKS
+
+
+After Morse had closed the door, Jessie listened until the crisp
+crunch of his footsteps had died away. She subdued an impulse to call
+him back and put into words her quarrel against him.
+
+From the table she picked up a gun-cover of moose leather she was
+making and moved to the fireplace. Automatically her fingers fitted
+into place a fringe of red cloth. (This had been cut from an old
+petticoat, but the source of the decoration would remain a secret, not
+on any account to be made known to him who was to receive the gift.)
+Usually her hands were busy ones, but now they fell away from the work
+listlessly.
+
+The pine logs crackled, lighting one end of the room and filling the
+air with aromatic pungency. As she gazed into the red coals her mind
+was active.
+
+She knew that her scorn of the fur-trader was a fraud. Into her hatred
+of him she threw an energy always primitive and sometimes savage. But
+he held her entire respect. It was not pleasant to admit this. Her
+mind clung to the shadowy excuse that he had been a wolfer, although
+the Indians looked on him now as a good friend and a trader who would
+not take advantage of them. Angus McRae himself had said there was no
+better citizen in the Northland.
+
+No, she could not hold Tom Morse in contempt as she would have liked.
+But she could cherish her animosity and feed it on memories that
+scorched her as the whiplash had her smooth and tender flesh. She
+would never forgive him--never. Not if he humbled himself in the dust.
+
+Toward Angus McRae she held no grudge whatever. He had done only his
+duty as he saw it. The circumstances had forced his hand, for her word
+had pledged him to punishment. But this man who had walked into her
+life so roughly, mastered her by physical force, dragged her to
+the ignominy of the whip, and afterward had dared to do her a
+service--when she woke at night and thought of him she still burned
+with shame and anger. He had been both author and witness of her
+humiliation.
+
+The girl's reverie stirred reflection of other men, for already she
+had suitors in plenty. Upon one of them her musing lingered. He had
+brought to her gifts of the friendly smile, of comradeship, of youth's
+debonair give-and-take. She did not try to analyze her feeling for
+Winthrop Beresford. It was enough to know that he had brought into her
+existence the sparkle of joy.
+
+For life had stalked before her with an altogether too tragic mien.
+In this somber land men did not laugh much. Their smiles held a
+background of gravity. Icy winter reigned two thirds of the year and
+summer was a brief hot blaze following no spring. Nature demanded of
+those who lived here that they struggle to find subsistence. In that
+conflict human beings forgot that they had been brought into the world
+to enjoy it with careless rapture.
+
+Somewhere in the house a board, creaked. Jessie heard it
+inattentively, for in the bitter cold woodwork was always snapping and
+cracking.
+
+Beresford had offered her a new philosophy of life. She did not quite
+accept it, yet it fascinated. He believed that the duty of happiness
+was laid on people as certainly as the duty of honesty. She remembered
+that once he had said....
+
+There had come to her no sound, but Jessie knew that some one had
+opened the door and was standing on the threshold watching her. She
+turned her head. Her self-invited guest was Whaley.
+
+Jessie rose. "What do you want?"
+
+She was startled at the man's silent entry, ready to be alarmed if
+necessary, but not yet afraid. It was as though her thoughts waited
+for the cue he would presently give. Some instinct for safety made her
+cautious. She did not tell the free trader that her father and Fergus
+were from home.
+
+He looked at her, appraisingly, from head to foot, in such a way that
+she felt his gaze had stripped her.
+
+"You know what I want. You know what I'm going to get ... some day,"
+he purred in his slow, feline way.
+
+She pushed from her mind a growing apprehension.
+
+"Father and Fergus--if you want them--"
+
+"Have I said I wanted them?" he asked. "They're out in the woods
+trappin'. I'm not lookin' for them. The two of us'll be company for
+each other."
+
+"Go," she said, anger flaring at his insolence. "Go. You've no
+business here."
+
+"I'm not here for business, but for pleasure, my dear."
+
+The cold, fishy eyes in his white face gloated. Suddenly she wanted to
+scream and pushed back the desire scornfully. If she did, nobody would
+hear her. This had to be fought out one to one.
+
+"Why didn't you knock?" she demanded.
+
+"We'll say I did and that you didn't hear me," he answered suavely.
+"What's it matter among friends anyhow?"
+
+"What do you want?" By sheer will power she kept her voice low.
+
+"Your mother's over at the house. I dropped in to say she'll probably
+stay all night."
+
+"Is your wife worse?"
+
+He lifted the black brows that contrasted so sharply with the pallor
+of the face. "Really you get ahead of me, my dear. I don't recall ever
+getting married."
+
+"That's a hateful thing to say," she flamed, and bit her lower lip
+with small white teeth to keep from telling the squaw-man what she
+thought of him. The Cree girl he had taken to wife was going down
+into the Valley of the Shadow to bear him a child while he callously
+repudiated her.
+
+He opened his fur coat and came to the fireplace. "I can say nicer
+things--to the right girl," he said, and looked meaningly at her.
+
+"I'll have to go get Susie Lemoine to stay with me," Jessie said
+hurriedly. "I didn't know Mother wasn't coming home."
+
+She made a move toward a fur lying across the back of a chair.
+
+He laid a hand upon her arm. "What's your rush? What are you dodgin'
+for, girl? I'm good as Susie to keep the goblins from gettin you."
+
+"Don't touch me." Her eyes sparked fire.
+
+"You're mighty high-heeled for a nitchie. I reckon you forget you're
+Sleeping Dawn, daughter of a Blackfoot squaw."
+
+"I'm Jessie McRae, daughter of Angus, and if you insult me, you'll
+have to settle with him."
+
+He gave a short snort of laughter. "Wake up, girl. What's the use of
+foolin' yourself? You're a breed. McRae's tried to forget it and so
+have you. But all the time you know damn well you're half Injun."
+
+Jessie looked at him with angry contempt, then wheeled for the door.
+
+Whaley had anticipated that and was there before her. His narrowed,
+covetous eyes held her while one hand behind his back slid the bolt
+into place.
+
+"Let me out!" she cried.
+
+"Be reasonable. I'm not aimin' to hurt you."
+
+"Stand aside and let me through."
+
+He managed another insinuating laugh. "Have some sense. Quit ridin'
+that high horse and listen while I talk to you."
+
+But she was frightened by this time as much as she was incensed. A
+drum of dread was beating in her panicky heart. She saw in his eyes
+what she had never before seen on a face that looked into hers--though
+she was to note it often in the dreadful days that followed--the
+ruthless appetite of a wild beast crouching for its kill."
+
+"Let me go! Let me go!" Her voice was shrilly out of control. "Unbar
+the door, I tell you!"
+
+"I'm a big man in this country. Before I'm through. I'll be head chief
+among the trappers for hundreds of miles. I'm offerin' you the chance
+of a lifetime. Throw in with me and you'll ride in your coach at
+Winnipeg some day." Voice and words were soft and smooth, but back of
+them Jessie felt the panther couched for its spring.
+
+She could only repeat her demand, in a cry that reached its ictus in a
+sob.
+
+"If you're dreamin' about that red-coat spy--hopin' he'll marry
+you after he's played fast and loose with you--why, forget such
+foolishness. I know his kind. When he's had his fling, he'll go back
+to his own people and settle down. He's lookin' for a woman, not a
+wife."
+
+"That's a lie!" she flung out, rage for the moment in ascendent. "Open
+that door or I'll--"
+
+Swiftly his hand shot forward and caught her wrist. "What'll you do?"
+he asked, and triumph rode in his eyes.
+
+She screamed. One of his hands clamped down over her mouth, the other
+went round her waist and drew the slim body to him. She fought,
+straining from him, throwing back her head in another lifted shriek
+for help.
+
+As well she might have matched her strength with a buffalo bull. He
+was still under forty, heavy-set, bones packed with heavy muscles. It
+seemed to her that all the power of her vital youth vanished and left
+only limp and flaccid weakness. He snatched her close and kissed the
+dusky eyes, the soft cheeks, the colorful lips....
+
+She became aware that he was holding her from him, listening. There
+was a crash of wood.
+
+Again her call for help rang out.
+
+Whaley flung her from him. He crouched, every nerve and muscle tense,
+lips drawn back in a snarl. She saw that in his hand there was a
+revolver.
+
+Against the door a heavy weight was hurled. The wood burst into
+splinters as the bolt shot from the socket. Drunkenly a man plunged
+across the threshold, staggering from the impact of the shock.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+A GUN ROARS
+
+
+The two men glared at each other, silently, their faces distorted to
+gargoyles in the leaping and uncertain light. Wary, vigilant, tense,
+they faced each other as might jungle tigers waiting for the best
+moment to attack.
+
+There was a chance for the situation to adjust itself without
+bloodshed. Whaley could not afford to kill and Morse had no desire to
+force his hand.
+
+Jessie's fear outran her judgment. She saw the menace of the revolver
+trained on her rescuer and thought the gambler was about to fire. She
+leaped for the weapon, and so precipitated what she dreaded.
+
+The gun roared. A bullet flew past Morse and buried itself in a log.
+Next instant, clinging with both hands to Whaley's wrist, Jessie found
+herself being tossed to and fro as the man struggled to free his arm.
+Flung at a tangent against the wall, she fell at the foot of the couch
+where Fergus slept.
+
+Again the blaze and roar of the revolver filled the room. Morse
+plunged head down at his enemy, still carrying the log he had used as
+a battering-ram. It caught the gambler at that point of the stomach
+known as the solar plexus. Whaley went down and out of consciousness
+like an ox that has been pole-axed.
+
+Tom picked up the revolver and dropped it into the pocket of his fur
+coat. He stooped to make sure that his foe was beyond the power of
+doing damage. Then he lifted Jessie from the corner where she lay
+huddled.
+
+"Hurt?" he asked.
+
+The girl shuddered. "No. Is he--is he killed?"
+
+"Wind knocked out of him. Nothing more."
+
+"He didn't hit you?"
+
+There was the ghost of a smile in his eyes. "No, I hit him."
+
+"He was horrid. I--I--" Again a little shiver ran through her body.
+She felt very weak at the knees and caught for a moment at the lapel
+of his coat to steady herself. Neither of them was conscious of the
+fact that she was in his arms, clinging to him while she won back
+self-control.
+
+"It's all right now. Don't worry. Lucky I came back to show Blandoine
+which furs to take."
+
+"If you hadn't--" She drew a ragged breath that was half a sob.
+
+Morse loved her the more for the strain of feminine hysteria that made
+her for the moment a soft and tender child to be comforted. He had
+known her competent, savage, disdainful, one in whom vital and
+passionate life flowed quick. He had never before seen the weakness in
+her reaching out to strength. That by sheer luck it was _his_ power to
+which she clung filled him with deep delight.
+
+He began to discount his joy lest she do it instead. His arm fell away
+from her waist.
+
+"I 'most wrecked the house," he said with a humorous glance at the
+door. "I don't always bring one o' the walls with me when I come into
+a room."
+
+"He bolted the door," she explained rather needlessly. "He wouldn't
+let me out."
+
+"I heard you call," he answered, without much more point.
+
+She glanced at the man lying on the floor. "You don't think he might
+be--" She stopped, unwilling to use the word.
+
+Tom knelt beside him and felt his heart.
+
+"It's beating," he said. And added quickly, "His eyes are open."
+
+It was true. The cold, fishy eyes had flickered open and were taking
+stock of the situation. The gambler instantly chose his line of
+defense. He spoke, presently.
+
+"What in the devil was bitin' you, Morse? Just because I was jokin'
+the girl, you come rampagin' in and knock me galley west with a big
+club. I'll not stand for that. Soon as I'm fit to handle myself, you
+and I'll have a settlement."
+
+"Get up and get out," ordered the younger man.
+
+"When I get good and ready. Don't try to run on me, young fellow. Some
+other fools have found that dangerous."
+
+Whaley sat up, groaned, and pressed his hands upon the abdomen at the
+point where he had been struck.
+
+The reddish-brown glint in the eyes of Morse advertised the cold rage
+of the Montanan. He caught the gambler by the collar and pulled him to
+his feet.
+
+"Get out, you yellow wolf!" he repeated in a low, savage voice.
+
+The white-faced trader was still wobbly on his feet. He felt both
+sore and sick at the pit of his stomach, in no mood for any further
+altercation with this hard-hitting athlete. But he would not go
+without saving his face.
+
+"I don't know what business you've got to order me out--unless--" His
+gaze included the girl for a moment, and the insult of his leer was
+unmistakable.
+
+Morse caught him by the scruff of the neck, ran him out of the room,
+and flung him down the steps into the road. The gambler tripped on the
+long buffalo coat he was wearing and rolled over in the snow. Slowly
+he got to his feet and locked eyes with the other.
+
+Rage almost choked his words. "You'll be sorry for this one o' these
+days, Morse. I'll get you right. Nobody has ever put one over on Poker
+Whaley and nobody ever will. Don't forget that."
+
+Tom Morse wasted no words. He stood silently on the steps, a splendid,
+supple figure of menacing power, and watched his foe pass down the
+road. There was in him a cruel and passionate desire to take the
+gambler and break him with his hands, to beat him till he crawled away
+a weak and wounded creature fit for a hospital. He clamped his teeth
+hard and fought down the impulse.
+
+Presently he turned and walked slowly back into the house. His face
+was still set and his hands clenched. He knew that if Whaley had hurt
+Jessie, he would have killed him with his naked fingers.
+
+"You can't stay here. Where do you want me to take you?" he asked, and
+his cold hardness reminded her of the Tom Morse who had led her to the
+whip one other night.
+
+She did not know that inside he was a caldron of emotion and that it
+was only by freezing himself he could keep down the volcanic eruption.
+
+"I'll go to Susie Lemoine's," she said in a small, obedient voice.
+
+With his hands in his pockets he stood and let he find a fur coat and
+slip into it. He had a sense of frustration. He wanted to let go of
+himself and tell all that was in his torrid heart. Instead, he encased
+himself in ice and drove her farther from him.
+
+They walked down the road side by side, neither of them speaking. She
+too was a victim of chaotic feeling. It would be long before she could
+forget how he had broken through the door and saved her.
+
+But she could not find the words to tell him so. They parted at the
+door of Lemoine's cabin with a chill "Good-night" that left them both
+unhappy and dissatisfied.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+"D'YOU WONDER SHE HATES ME?"
+
+
+To Morse came Angus McRae with the right hand of friendship the day
+after the battle in the log house.
+
+Eyes blue as Highland lochs fastened to those of the fur-trader. "Lad,
+I canna tell ye what's in my heart. 'The Lord bless thee, and keep
+thee. The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto
+thee. The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee
+peace.'"
+
+Tom, embarrassed, made light of the affair. "Lucky I was
+Johnnie-on-the-Spot."
+
+The old Scot shook his head. "No luck sent ye back to hear the
+skreigh o' the lass, but the whisper of the guid Father withoot whose
+permission not even a sparrow falls to the ground. He chose you as the
+instrument. I'll never be forgettin' what you did for my dawtie, Tom
+Morse. Jess will have thankit you, but I add mine to hers."
+
+In point of fact Jessie had not thanked him in set words. She had been
+in too great an agitation of spirit to think of it. But Morse did not
+say so.
+
+"Oh, that's all right. Any one would have done it. Mighty glad I was
+near enough. Hope she doesn't feel any worse for the shock."
+
+"Not a bit. I'm here to ask ye to let bygones be bygones. I've nursed
+a grudge, but, man, it's clean, washed oot o' my heart. Here's my
+hand, if you'll tak it."
+
+Tom did, gladly. He discovered at the same moment that the sun was
+striking sparks of light from a thousand snow crystals. It was a good
+world, if one only looked for the evidence of it.
+
+"The latchstring is always oot for you at the hame of Angus McRae.
+Will you no' drap in for a crack the nicht?" asked the trapper.
+
+"Not to-night. Sometime. I'll see." Tom found himself in the position
+of one who finds open to him a long-desired pleasure and is too shy to
+avail himself of it immediately. "Have you seen Whaley yet to-day?" he
+asked, to turn the subject.
+
+The hunter's lip grew straight and grim. "I have not. He's no' at the
+store. The clerk says a messenger called for him early this mornin'
+and he left the clachan at once. Will he be hidin' oot, do you think?"
+
+Tom shook his head. "Not Whaley. He'll bluff it through. The fellow's
+not yellow. Probably he'll laugh it off and say he was only stealin' a
+kiss an' that Miss Jessie was silly to make a fuss about it."
+
+"We'll let it go at that--after I've told him publicly what I think o'
+him."
+
+Where Whaley had been nobody in Faraway knew. When he returned at
+sunset, he went direct to the store and took off his snowshoes. He was
+knocking the packed and frozen slush from them at the moment Angus
+McRae confronted him.
+
+The trader laughed, from the lips, just as Tom had prophesied he would
+do. "I reckon I owe you an apology, McRae," he said. "That li'l'
+wild-cat of yours lost her head when I jollied her and Morse broke the
+door down like the jackass he is."
+
+The dressing-down that Angus McRae gave Whaley is still remembered
+by one or two old-timers in the Northwest. In crisp, biting words he
+freed his mind without once lapsing into profanity. He finished with a
+warning. "Tak tent you never speak to the lass again, or you an' me'll
+come to grips."
+
+The storekeeper heard him out, a sneering smile on his white face.
+Inside, he raged with furious anger, but he did not let his feelings
+come to the surface. He was a man who had the patience to wait for
+his vengeance. The longer it was delayed, the heavier would it be. A
+characteristic of his cold, callous temperament was that he took fire
+slowly, but, once lit, his hate endured like peat coals in a grate. A
+vain man, his dignity was precious to him. He writhed at the defeat
+Morse had put upon him, at his failure with Jessie, at the scornful
+public rebuke of her father. Upon all three of these some day he would
+work a sweet revenge. Like all gamblers, he followed hunches. Soon,
+one of these told him, his chance would come. When it did he would
+make all three of them sweat blood.
+
+Beresford met Tom Morse later in the day. He cocked a whimsical eye at
+the fur-trader.
+
+"I hear McRae's going to sue you for damages to his house," he said.
+
+"Where did you hear all that?" asked his friend, apparently busy
+inspecting a half-dozen beaver furs.
+
+"And Whaley, for damages to his internal machinery. Don't you know you
+can't catapult through a man's tummy with a young pine tree and not
+injure his physical geography?" the constable reproached.
+
+"When you're through spoofin' me, as you subjects of the Queen call
+it," suggested Tom.
+
+"Why, then, I'll tell you to keep an eye on Whaley. He doesn't love
+you a whole lot for what you did, and he's liable to do you up first
+chance he gets."
+
+"I'm not lookin' for trouble, but if Whaley wants a fight--"
+
+"He doesn't--not your kind of a fight. His idea will be to have you
+foul before he strikes. Walk with an eye in the back of your head.
+Sleep with it open, Don't sit at windows after lamps are lit--not
+without curtains all down. Play all your cards close." The red-coat
+spoke casually, slapping his boot with a small riding-switch. He was
+smiling. None the less Tom knew he was in dead earnest.
+
+"Sounds like good advice. I'll take it," the trader said easily.
+"Anything more on your chest?"
+
+"Why, yes. Where did Whaley go to-day? What called him out of town on
+a hurry-up trip of a few hours?"
+
+"Don't know. Do you?"
+
+"No, but I'm a good guesser."
+
+"Meanin'?"
+
+"Bully West. Holed up somewhere out in the woods. A fellow came in
+this morning and got Whaley, who snowshoed back with him at once."
+
+Tom nodded agreement. "Maybeso. Whaley was away five or six hours.
+That means he probably traveled from eight to ten miles out."
+
+"Question is, in what direction? Nobody saw him go or come--at least,
+so as to know that he didn't circle round the town and come in from
+the other side."
+
+"He'll go again, with supplies for West. Watch him."
+
+"I'll do just that."
+
+"He might send some one with them."
+
+"Yes, he might do that," admitted Beresford. "I'll keep an eye on
+the store and see what goes out. We want West. He's a cowardly
+murderer--killed the man who trusted him--shot him in the back. This
+country will be well rid of him when he's hanged for what he did to
+poor Tim Kelly."
+
+"He's a rotten bad lot, but he's dangerous. Never forget that," warned
+the fur-buyer. "If he ever gets the drop on you for a moment, you're
+gone."
+
+"Of course we may be barking up the wrong tree," the officer reflected
+aloud. "Maybe West isn't within five hundred miles of here. Maybe he
+headed off another way. But I don't think it. He had to get back to
+where he was known so as to get an outfit. That meant either this
+country or Montana. And the word is that he was seen coming this way
+both at Slide Out and crossing Old Man's River after he made his
+getaway."
+
+"He's likely figurin' on losin' himself in the North woods."
+
+"My notion, too. Say, Tom, I have an invitation from a young lady for
+you and me. I'm to bring you to supper, Jessie McRae says. To-night.
+Venison and sheep pemmican--and real plum pudding, son. You're to
+smoke the pipe of peace with Angus and warm yourself in the smiles of
+Miss Jessie and Matapi-Koma. How's the programme suit you?"
+
+Tom flushed. "I don't reckon I'll go," he said after a moment's
+deliberation.
+
+His friend clapped an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "Cards down,
+old fellow. Spill the story of this deadly feud between you and Jessie
+and I'll give you an outside opinion on it."
+
+The Montanan looked at him bleakly. "Haven't you heard? If you
+haven't, you're the only man in this country that hasn't."
+
+"You mean--about the whipping?" Beresford asked gently.
+
+"That's all," Morse answered bitterly. "Nothing a-tall. I merely had
+her horsewhipped. You wouldn't think any girl would object to that,
+would you?"
+
+"I'd like to hear the right of it. How did it happen?"
+
+"The devil was in me, I reckon. We were runnin' across the line that
+consignment of whiskey you found and destroyed near Whoop-Up. She came
+on our camp one night, crept up, and smashed some barrels. I caught
+her. She fought like a wild-cat." Morse pulled up the sleeve of his
+coat and showed a long, ragged scar on the arm. "Gave me that as a
+lil' souvenir to remember her by. You see, she was afraid I'd take her
+back to camp. So she fought. You know West. I wouldn't have taken her
+to him."
+
+"What did you do?"
+
+"After I got her down, we came to terms. I was to take her to McRae's
+camp and she was to be horsewhipped by him. My arm was hurtin' like
+sin, and I was thinkin' her only a wild young Injun."
+
+"So you took her home?"
+
+"And McRae flogged her. You know him. He's Scotch--and thorough. It
+was a sickening business. When he got through, he was white as snow. I
+felt like a murderer. D'you wonder she hates me?"
+
+Beresford's smile was winning. "Is it because she hates you that she
+wants you to come to supper to-night?"
+
+"It's because she's in debt to me--or thinks she is, for of course she
+isn't--and wants to pay it and get rid of it as soon as she can. I
+tell you, Win, she couldn't bear to touch my hand when she gave me the
+key to the storehouse the other night--laid it down on the table for
+me to pick up. It has actually become physical with her. She'd shudder
+if I touched her. I'm not going to supper there. Why should I take
+advantage of a hold I have on her generosity? No, I'll not go."
+
+And from that position Beresford could not move him.
+
+After supper the constable found a chance to see Jessie alone. She was
+working over the last touches of the gun-case.
+
+"When it's finished who gets it?" he asked, sitting down gracefully on
+the arm of a big chair.
+
+She flashed a teasing glance at him. "Who do you think deserves it?"
+
+"I deserve it," he assured her at once. "But it isn't the deserving
+always who get the rewards in this world. Very likely you'll give it
+to some chap like Tom Morse."
+
+"Who wouldn't come to supper when we asked him." She lifted steady,
+inquiring eyes. "What was the real reason he didn't come?"
+
+"Said he couldn't get away from the store because--"
+
+"Yes, I heard that. I'm asking for the real reason, Win."
+
+He gave it. "Tom thinks you hate him and he won't force himself on
+your generosity."
+
+"Oh!" She seemed to be considering that.
+
+"Do you?"
+
+"Do I what?"
+
+"Hate him."
+
+She felt a flush burning beneath the dusky brown of her cheeks. "If
+you knew what he'd done to me--"
+
+"Perhaps I do," he said, very gently.
+
+Her dark eyes studied him intently. "He told you?"
+
+"No, one hears gossip. He hates himself because of it. Tom's white,
+Jessie."
+
+"And I'm Indian. Of course that does make a difference. If he'd had a
+white girl whipped, you couldn't defend him," she flamed.
+
+"You know I didn't mean that, little pal." His sunny smile was
+disarming. "What I mean is that he's sorry for what he did. Why not
+give him a chance to be friends?"
+
+"Well, we gave him a chance to-night, didn't we? And he chose not to
+take it. What do you want me to do--go and thank him kindly for having
+me whipped?"
+
+Beresford gave up with a shrug. He knew when he had said enough. Some
+day the seed he had dropped might germinate.
+
+"Wouldn't it be a good idea to work a W.B. on that case?" he asked
+with friendly impudence. "Then if I lost it, whoever found it could
+return it."
+
+"I don't give presents to people who lose them," she parried.
+
+Her dancing eyes were very bright as they met his. She loved the trim
+lines of his clean beautiful youth and the soul expressed by them.
+
+Matapi-Koma waddled into the room and the Mounted Policeman
+transferred his attention to her. She weighed two hundred twelve
+pounds, but was not sensitive on the subject. Beresford claimed
+anxiously that she was growing thin.
+
+The Indian woman merely smiled on him benignantly. She liked him, as
+all women did. And she hoped that he would stay in the country and
+marry Sleeping Dawn.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+ONISTAH READS SIGN
+
+
+McRae fitted Jessie's snowshoes.
+
+"You'll be hame before the dark, lass," he said, a little anxiously.
+
+"Yes, Father."
+
+The hunter turned to Onistah. "She's in your care, lad. Gin the
+weather changes, or threatens to, let the traps go and strike for the
+toon. You're no' to tak chances."
+
+"Back assam weputch (very early)," promised the Blackfoot.
+
+He was proud of the trust confided to him. To him McRae was a great
+man. Among many of the trappers and the free traders the old Scot's
+word was law. They came to him with their disputes for settlement and
+abided by his decisions. For Angus was not only the patriarch of the
+clan, if such a loose confederation of followers could be called a
+clan; he was esteemed for his goodness and practical common sense.
+
+Onistah's heart swelled with an emotion that was more than vanity. His
+heart filled with gladness that Jessie should choose him as guide and
+companion to snowshoe with her out into the white forests where her
+traps were set. For the young Indian loved her dumbly, without any
+hope of reward, in much the same way that some of her rough soldiers
+must have loved Joan of Arc. Jessie was a mistress whose least whim he
+felt it a duty to obey. He had worshiped her ever since he had seen
+her, a little eager warm-hearted child, playing in his mother's
+wigwam. She was as much beyond his reach as the North Star. Yet her
+swift tender smile was for him just as it was for Fergus.
+
+They shuffled out of the village into the forest that crept up to the
+settlement on all sides. Soon they were deep in its shadows, pushing
+along the edge of a muskeg which they skirted carefully in order not
+to be hampered by its treacherous boggy footing.
+
+Jessie wore a caribou-skin capote with the fur on as a protection
+against the cold wind. Her moccasins were of smoked moose-skin
+decorated with the flower-pattern bead embroidery so much in use among
+the French half-breeds of the North. The socks inside them were of
+duffle and the leggings of strouds, both materials manufactured for
+the Hudson's Bay Company for its trappers.
+
+The day was comparatively warm, but the snow was not slushy nor very
+deep. None the less she was glad when they reached the trapping ground
+and Onistah called a halt for dinner. She was tired, from the weight
+of the snow on her shoes, and her feet were blistered by reason of the
+lacings which cut into the duffle and the tender flesh inside.
+
+Onistah built a fire of poplar, which presently crackled like a battle
+front and shot red-hot coals at them in an irregular fusillade. Upon
+this they made tea, heated pemmican and bannocks, and thawed a jar of
+preserves Jessie had made the previous summer of service berries and
+wild raspberries. Before it they dried their moccasins, socks, and
+leggings.
+
+Afterward they separated to make a round of the traps, agreeing to
+meet an hour and a half later at the place of their dinner camp.
+
+The Blackfoot found one of the small traps torn to pieces, probably by
+a bear, for he saw its tracks in the snow. He rebuilt the snare
+and baited it with parts of a rabbit he had shot. In one trap he
+discovered a skunk and in another a timber wolf. When he came in sight
+of the rendezvous, he was late.
+
+Jessie was not there. He waited half an hour in growing anxiety before
+he went to meet her. Night would fall soon. He must find her while it
+was still light enough to follow her tracks. The disasters that might
+have fallen upon her crowded his mind. A bear might have attacked her.
+She might be lost or tangled in the swampy muskeg. Perhaps she had
+accidentally shot herself.
+
+As swiftly as he could he snowshoed through the forest, following the
+plain trail she had left. It carried him to a trap from which she had
+taken prey, for it was newly baited and the snow was sprinkled with
+blood. Before he reached the second gin, the excitement in him
+quickened. Some one in snowshoes had cut her path and had deflected
+to pursue. Onistah knew that the one following was a white man. The
+points of the shoes toed out. Crees toed in, just the same on webs as
+in moccasins.
+
+His imagination was active. What white man had any business in these
+woods? Why should he leave that business to overtake Jessie McRae?
+Onistah did not quite know why he was worried, but involuntarily he
+quickened his pace.
+
+Less than a quarter of a mile farther on, he read another chapter of
+the story written in the trampled snow. There had been a struggle. His
+mistress had been overpowered. He could see where she had been flung
+into a white bank and dragged out of it. She had tried to run and had
+got hardly a dozen yards before recapture. From that point the tracks
+moved forward in a straight line, those of the smaller webs blotted
+out by the ones made by the larger. The man was driving the girl
+before him.
+
+Who was he? Where was he taking her? For what purpose? Onistah could
+not guess. He knew that McRae had made enemies, as any forceful
+character on the frontier must. The Scotchman had kicked out lazy
+ne'er-do-wells from his camp. As a free trader he had matched himself
+against the Hudson's Bay Company. But of those at war with him few
+would stoop to revenge themselves on his daughter. The Blackfoot had
+not heard of the recent trouble between Whaley and the McRaes, nor had
+the word reached him that Bully West was free again. Wherefore he was
+puzzled at what the signs on the snow told him.
+
+Yet he knew he had read them correctly. The final proof of it to him
+was that Jessie broke trail and not the man. If he were a friend he
+would lead the way. He was at her heels because he wanted to make sure
+that she did not try to escape or to attack him.
+
+The tracks led down into the muskeg. It was spitting snow, but he had
+no difficulty in seeing where the trail led from hummock to hummock in
+the miry earth. The going here was difficult, for the thick moss was
+full of short, stiff brush that caught the webbed shoes and tripped
+the traveler. It was hard to find level footing. The mounds were
+uneven, and more than once Onistah plunged knee-deep from one into the
+swamp.
+
+He crossed the muskeg and climbed an ascent into the woods, swinging
+sharply to the right. There was no uncertainty as to the direction of
+the tracks in the snow. If they veered for a few yards, it was only to
+miss a tree or to circle down timber. Whoever he might be, the man who
+had taken Jessie prisoner knew exactly where he was going.
+
+The Blackfoot knew by the impressions of the webs that he was a large,
+heavy man. Once or twice he saw stains of tobacco juice on the snow.
+The broken bits of a whiskey-bottle flung against a tree did not tend
+to reassure him.
+
+He saw smoke. It came from a tangle of undergrowth in a depression of
+the forest. Very cautiously, with the patience of his race, he circled
+round the cabin through the timber and crept up to it on hands and
+knees. Every foot of the way he took advantage of such cover as was to
+be had.
+
+The window was a small, single-paned affair built in the end opposite
+the door. Onistah edged close to it and listened. He heard the drone
+of voices, one heavy and snarling, another low and persuasive.
+
+His heart jumped at the sound of a third voice, a high-pitched treble.
+He would have known it among a thousand. It had called to him in
+the swirl of many a wind-swept storm. He had heard it on the long
+traverse, in the stillness of the lone night, at lakeside camps built
+far from any other human being. His imagination had heard it on
+the summer breeze as he paddled across a sun-drenched lake in his
+birch-bark canoe.
+
+The Blackfoot raised his head till he could look through the window.
+
+Jessie McRae sat on a stool facing him. Two men were in the room. One
+strode heavily up and down while the other watched him warily.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+ON THE FRONTIER OF DESPAIR
+
+
+The compulsion of life had denied Jessie the niceness given girls by
+the complexities of modern civilization. She had been brought up close
+to raw stark nature. The habits of animals were familiar to her and
+the vices of the biped man.
+
+A traveler in the sub-Arctic is forced by the deadly cold of the North
+into a near intimacy of living with his fellows. Jessie had more than
+once taken a long sled journey with her father. On one occasion she
+had slept in a filthy Indian wigwam with a dozen natives all breathing
+the same foul, unventilated air. Again she had huddled up against the
+dogs, with her father and two French half-breeds, to keep in her the
+spark of life a blizzard's breath was trying to blow out.
+
+On such a trip some of the common decencies of existence are dropped.
+The extreme low temperature makes it impossible for one to wash either
+face or hands without the skin chapping and breaking. Food at which
+one would revolt under other circumstances is devoured eagerly.
+
+Jessie was the kind of girl such a life had made her, with
+modifications in the direction of fineness induced by McRae's sturdy
+character, her schooling at Winnipeg, and the higher plane of the
+family standard. As might have been expected, she had courage, energy,
+and that quality of decisive action bred by primitive conditions.
+
+But she had retained, too, a cleanness of spirit hardly to be looked
+for in such a primeval daughter of Eve. Her imagination and her
+reading had saved the girl's sweet modesty. A certain detachment made
+it possible for her to ignore the squalor of the actual and see it
+only as a surface triviality, to let her mind dwell in inner concepts
+of goodness and beauty while bestiality crossed the path she trod.
+
+So when she found in one of the gins a lynx savage with the pain of
+bruised flesh and broken bone snapped by the jaws of the trap,
+the girl did what needed to be done swiftly and with a minimum of
+reluctance.
+
+She was close to the second trap when the sound of webs slithering
+along the snow brought her up short. Her first thought was that
+Onistah had changed his mind and followed her, but as soon as the
+snowshoer came out of the thick timber, she saw that he was not an
+Indian.
+
+He was a huge man, and he bulked larger by reason of the heavy furs
+that enveloped him. His rate of travel was rapid enough, but there was
+about the gait an awkward slouch that reminded her of a grizzly. Some
+sullenness of temperament seemed to find expression in the fellow's
+movements.
+
+The hood of his fur was drawn well forward over the face. He wore blue
+glasses, as a protection against snow-blindness apparently. Jessie
+smiled, judging him a tenderfoot; for except in March and April there
+is small danger of the sun glare which destroys sight. Yet he hardly
+looked like a newcomer to the North. For one thing he used the web
+shoes as an expert does. Before he stopped beside her, she was
+prepared to revise a too hasty opinion.
+
+Jessie recoiled at the last moment, even before she recognized him. It
+was too late to take precautions now. He caught her by the wrist and
+tore off his glasses, at the same time shaking back the hood.
+
+"Glad to death to meet up with you, missie," he grinned evilly through
+broken, tobacco-stained teeth.
+
+The blood drenched out of her heart. She looked at the man, silent
+and despairing. His presence here could mean to her nothing less than
+disaster. The girl's white lips tried to frame words they could not
+utter.
+
+"Took by surprise, ain't you?" he jeered. "But plumb pleased to see
+old Bully West again, eh? It's a damn long lane that ain't got a crook
+in it somewheres. An' here we are at the turn together, jus' you'n'
+me, comfy, like I done promised it would be when I last seen you."
+
+She writhed in a swift, abortive attempt to break his hold.
+
+He threw back his head in a roar of laughter, then with a twist of his
+fingers brought his captive to the knees.
+
+Sharp teeth flashed in a gleam of white. He gave a roar of pain and
+tore away his hand. She had bit him savagely in the wrist, as she had
+once done with another man on a memorable occasion.
+
+"Goddlemighty!" he bellowed. "You damn li'l' hell-cat!"
+
+She was on her feet and away instantly. But one of the snowshoes had
+come off in the struggle. At each step she took the left foot plunged
+through the white crust and impeded progress.
+
+In a dozen strides he had reached her. A great arm swung round and
+buffeted the runner on the side of the head. The blow lifted the girl
+from her feet and flung her into a drift two yards away.
+
+She looked up, dazed from the shock. The man was standing over her, a
+huge, threatening, ill-shaped Colossus.
+
+"Get up!" he ordered harshly, and seized her by the shoulder.
+
+She found herself on her feet, either because she had risen or because
+he had jerked her up. A ringing in the head and a nausea made for
+dizziness.
+
+"I'll learn you!" he exploded with curses. "Try that again an' I'll
+beat yore head off. You're Bully West's woman, un'erstand? When I say
+'Come!' step lively. When I say 'Go!' get a move on you."
+
+"I'll not." Despite her fear she faced him with spirit. "My friends
+are near. They'll come and settle, with you for this."
+
+He put a check on his temper. Very likely what she said was true. It
+was not reasonable to suppose that she was alone in the forest many
+miles from Faraway. She had come, of course, to look at the traps, but
+some one must have accompanied her. Who? And how many? The skulking
+caution of his wild-beast nature asserted itself. He had better play
+safe. Time enough to tame the girl when he had her deep in the Lone
+Lands far from any other human being except himself. Just now the
+first need was to put many miles between them and the inevitable
+pursuit.
+
+"Come," he said. "We'll go."
+
+She started back for the snowshoe that had been torn off. Beside it
+lay her rifle. If she could get hold of it again--
+
+The great hulk moved beside her, his thumb and fingers round the back
+of her neck. Before they reached the weapon, he twisted her aside so
+cruelly that a flame of pain ran down her spine. She cried out.
+
+He laughed as he stooped for the gun and the web. "Don' play none o'
+yore monkey tricks on Bully West. He knew it all 'fore you was born."
+
+The pressure of his grip swung Jessie to the left. He gave her a push
+that sent her reeling and flung at her the snowshoe.
+
+"Hump yoreself now."
+
+She knelt and adjusted the web. She would have fought if there had
+been the least chance of success. But there was none. Nor could she
+run away. The fellow was a callous, black-hearted ruffian. He would
+shoot her down rather than see her escape. If she became stubborn and
+refused to move, he would cheerfully torture her until she screamed
+with agony. There was nothing he would like better. No, for the
+present she must take orders.
+
+"Hit the trail, missie. Down past that big tree," he snapped.
+
+"Where are you taking me?"
+
+"Don't ask me questions. Do like I tell you."
+
+The girl took one look at his heavy, brutal face and did as she
+was told. Onistah would find her. When she did not show up at the
+rendezvous, he would follow her trail and discover that something was
+amiss. Good old Onistah never had failed her. He was true as tried
+steel and in all the North woods there was no better tracker.
+
+There would be a fight. If West saw him first, he would shoot the
+Blackfoot at sight. She did not need to guess that. He would do it for
+two reasons. The first was the general one that he did not want any of
+her friends to know where he was. The more specific one was that he
+already had a grudge against the young Indian that he would be glad to
+pay once for all.
+
+Jessie's one hope was that Onistah would hasten to the rescue. Yet she
+dreaded the moment of his coming. He was a gentle soul, one of Father
+Giguère's converts. It was altogether likely that he would walk into
+the camp of the escaped convict openly and become a victim of the
+murderer's guile. Onistah did not lack courage. He would fight if he
+had to do so. Indeed, she knew that he would go through fire to save
+her. But bravery was not enough. She could almost have wished that her
+foster-brother was as full of devilish treachery as the huge ape-man
+slouching at her heels. Then the chances of the battle would be more
+even.
+
+The desperado drove her down into the muskeg, directing the girl's
+course with a flow of obscene and ribald profanity.
+
+It is doubtful if she heard him. As her lithe, supple limbs carried
+her from one moss hump to another, she was busy with the problem of
+escape. She must get away soon. Every hour increased the danger. The
+sun would sink shortly. If she were still this ruffian's prisoner
+when the long Arctic night fell, she would suffer the tortures of the
+damned. She faced the fact squarely, though her cheeks blanched at the
+prospect and the heart inside her withered.
+
+From the sloping side of a hummock her foot slipped and she slid into
+the icy bog to her knees. Within a few minutes duffles and leggings
+were frozen and she was suffering at each step.
+
+Out of the muskeg they came into the woods. A flake of snow fell on
+Jessie's cheek and chilled her blood. For she knew that if it came on
+to snow before Onistah took the trail or even before he reached the
+place to which West was taking her, the chances of a rescue would be
+very much diminished. A storm would wipe out the tracks they had made.
+
+"Swing back o' the rock and into the brush," West growled. Then, as
+she took the narrow trail through the brush that had grown up among
+half a dozen small down trees, he barked a question: "Whadjasay yore
+Injun name was?"
+
+"My name is Jessie McRae," she answered with a flash of angry pride.
+"You know who I am--the daughter of Angus McRae. And if you do me any
+harm, he'll hunt you down and kill you like a wolf."
+
+He caught her by the arm and whirled the girl round. His big yellow
+canines snapped like tusks and he snarled at her through clenched
+jaws. "Did you hear yore master's voice? I said, what was yore squaw
+name?"
+
+She almost shrieked from the pain of his fingers' savage clutch into
+her flesh. The courage died out of her arteries.
+
+"Sleeping Dawn they called me."
+
+"Too long," he pronounced. "I'll call you Dawn." The sight of her
+terror of him, the foretaste of the triumph he was to enjoy, restored
+him for a moment to a brutal good-humor. "An' when I yell 'Dawn' at
+you o' mornin's, it'll be for you to hump yoreself an' git up to build
+the fires and rustle breakfast. I'll treat you fine if you behave, but
+if you git sulky, you'll taste the dog-whip. I'm boss. You'll have
+a heluva time if you don't come runnin' when I snap my fingers.
+Un'erstand?"
+
+She broke down in a wailing appeal to whatever good there was in him.
+"Let me go back to Father! I know you've broke prison. If you're good
+to me, he'll help you escape. You know he has friends everywhere.
+They'll hide you from the red-coats. He'll give you an outfit to get
+away--money--anything you want. Oh, let me go, and--and--"
+
+He grinned, and the sight of his evil mirth told her she had failed.
+
+"Didn't I tell you I'd git you right some day? Didn't I promise Angus
+McRae I'd pay him back aplenty for kickin' me outa his hide camp?
+Ain't you the lil' hell-cat that busted my whiskey-kegs, that ran to
+the red-coat spy an' told him where the cache was, that shot me up
+when I set out to dry-gulch him, as you might say? Where do you figure
+you got a license to expect Bully West to listen to Sunday-school pap
+about being good to you? You're my squaw, an' lucky at that you got a
+real two-fisted man. Hell's hinges! What's eatin' you?"
+
+"Never!" she cried. "It's true what I told you once. I'd rather die.
+Oh, if you've got a spark of manhood in you, don't make me kill
+myself. I'm just a girl. If I ever did you wrong, I'm sorry. I'll make
+it right. My father--"
+
+"Listen." His raucous voice cut through her entreaties. "I've heard
+more'n plenty about McRae. All I want o' him is to get a bead on
+him once with a rifle. Get me? Now this other talk--about killin'
+yoreself--nothin' to it a-tall. Go to it if tha's how you feel. Yore
+huntin'-knife's right there in yore belt." He reached forward and
+plucked it from its sheath, then handed it to her blade first,
+stepping back a pace at once to make sure she did not use it on him.
+"You got yore chance now. Kill away. I'll stand right here an' see
+nobody interferes with you."
+
+She shifted the knife and gripped the handle. A tumult seethed in
+her brain. She saw nothing but that evil, grinning face, hideous and
+menacing. For a moment murder boiled up in her, red-hot and sinister.
+If she could kill him now as he stood jeering at her--drive the blade
+into that thick bull neck....
+
+The madness passed. She could not do it even if it were within
+her power. The urge to kill was not strong enough. It was not
+overwhelming. And in the next thought she knew, too, that she could
+not kill herself either. The blind need to live, the animal impulse of
+self-preservation, at whatever cost, whatever shame, was as yet more
+powerful than the horror of the fate impending.
+
+She flung the knife down into the snow in a fury of disgust and
+self-contempt.
+
+His head went back in a characteristic roar of revolting mirth. He had
+won. Bully West knew how to conquer 'em, no matter how wild they were.
+
+With feet dragging, head drooped, and spirits at the zero hour, Jessie
+moved down a ravine into sight of a cabin. Smoke rose from the chimney
+languidly.
+
+"Home," announced West.
+
+To the girl, at the edge of desperation, that log house appeared as
+the grave of her youth. All the pride and glory and joy that had made
+life so vital a thing were to be buried here. When next she came out
+into the sunlight she would be a broken creature--the property of this
+horrible caricature of a man.
+
+Her captor opened the door and pushed the girl inside.
+
+She stood on the threshold, eyes dilating, heart suddenly athrob with
+hope.
+
+A man sitting on a stool before the open fire turned his head to see
+who had come in.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+"MY DAMN PRETTY LI'L' HIGH-STEPPIN' SQUAW"
+
+
+The man on the stool was Whaley.
+
+One glance at the girl and one at West's triumphant gargoyle grin was
+enough. He understood the situation better than words could tell it.
+
+To Jessie, at this critical moment of her life, even Whaley seemed a
+God-send. She pushed across the room awkwardly, not waiting to free
+herself of the webs packed with snow. In the dusky eyes there was a
+cry for help.
+
+"Save me from him!" she cried simply, as a child might have done. "You
+will, won't you?"
+
+The black eyebrows in the cold, white face drew to a line. The
+gambler's gaze, expressionless as a blank wall, met hers steadily.
+
+"Why don't you send for your friend Morse?" he asked. "He's in that
+business. I ain't."
+
+It was as though he had struck her in the face. The eyes that clung to
+his we're horror-filled. Did there really live men so heartless that
+they would not lift a hand to snatch a child from a ferocious wolf?
+
+West's laughter barked out, rapacious and savage. "She's mine, jus'
+like I said she'd be. My damn pretty li'l' high-steppin' squaw."
+
+His partner looked at him bleakly. "Oh, she's yours, is she?"
+
+"You bet yore boots. I'll show her--make her eat outa my hand,"
+boasted the convict.
+
+"Will you show McRae too--and all his friends, as well as the
+North-West Mounted? Will you make 'em all eat out of your hands?"
+
+"Whadjamean?"
+
+"Why, I had a notion you were loaded up with trouble and didn't need
+to hunt more," sneered the gambler. "I had a notion the red-coats were
+on your heels to take you across the plains to hang you."
+
+"I'll learn 'em about that," the huge fugitive bragged. "They say
+I'm a killer. Let it ride. I'll sure enough let 'em see they're good
+guessers."
+
+Whaley shrugged his shoulders and looked at him with cold contempt.
+"You've got a bare chance for a getaway if you travel light and fast.
+I'd want long odds to back it," he said coolly.
+
+"Tha's a heluva thing to tell a friend," West snarled.
+
+"It's the truth. Take it or leave it. But if you try to bull this
+through your own way and don't let me run it, you're done for."
+
+"How done for?"
+
+The gambler did not answer. He turned to Jessie. "Unless you want your
+feet to freeze, you'd better get those duffles off."
+
+The girl took off her mits and tried to unfasten the leggings after
+she had kicked the snowshoes from her feet. But her stiff fingers
+could not loosen the knots.
+
+The free trader stooped and did it for her while West watched him
+sulkily. Jessie unwound the cloth and removed moccasins and duffles.
+She sat barefooted before the fire, but not too close.
+
+"If they're frozen I'll get snow," Whaley offered.
+
+"They're not frozen, thank you," she answered.
+
+"Whadjamean done for?" repeated West.
+
+His partner's derisive, scornful eye rested on him. "Use your brains,
+man. The Mounted are after you hot and heavy. You know their record.
+They get the man they go after. Take this fellow Beresford, the one
+that jugged you."
+
+The big ruffian shook a furious fist in the air. "Curse him!" he
+shouted, and added a dozen crackling oaths.
+
+"Curse him and welcome," Whaley replied. "But don't fool yourself
+about him. He's a go-getter. Didn't he go up Peace River after Pierre
+Poulette? Didn't he drag him back with cuffs on 'most a year later?
+That's what you've got against you, three hundred red-coats like him."
+
+"You tryin' to scare me?" demanded West sullenly.
+
+"I'm trying to hammer some common sense into your head. Your chance
+for a safe getaway rests on one thing. You've got to have friends in
+the Lone Lands who'll hide you till you can slip out of the country.
+Can you do that if the trappers--friends of McRae, nearly all of
+'em--carry the word of what you did to this girl?"
+
+"I'm gonna take her with me." West stuck doggedly to his idea. He knew
+what he wanted. His life was forfeit, anyhow. He might as well go
+through to a finish.
+
+From where she sat before the great fire Jessie's whisper reached
+Whaley. "Don't let him, please." It was an ineffective little wail
+straight from the heart.
+
+Whaley went on, as though he had not heard. "It's your deal, not mine.
+I'm just telling you. Take this girl along, and your life's not worth
+a plugged nickel."
+
+"Hell's hinges! In two days she'll be crazy about me. Tha's how I am
+with women."
+
+"In two days she'll hate the ground you walk on, if she hasn't killed
+herself or you by that time."
+
+Waves of acute pain were pricking into Jessie's legs from the pink
+toes to the calves. She was massaging them to restore circulation and
+had to set her teeth to keep from crying.
+
+But her subconscious mind was wholly on what passed between the men.
+She knew that Whaley was trying to reëstablish over the other the
+mental dominance he had always held. It was a frail enough tenure, no
+doubt, likely to be upset at any moment by vanity, suspicion, or heady
+gusts of passion. In it, such as it was, lay a hope. Watching the
+gambler's cold, impassive face, the stony look in the poker eyes, she
+judged him tenacious and strong-willed. For reasons of his own he was
+fighting her battle. He had no intention of letting West take her with
+him.
+
+Why? What was the motive in the back of his mind? She acquitted the
+man of benevolence. If his wishes chanced to march with hers, it was
+because of no altruism. He held a bitter grudge against Angus McRae
+and incidentally against her for the humiliation of his defeat at the
+hands of Morse. To satisfy this he had only to walk out of the house
+and leave her to an ugly fate. Why did he not do this? Was he playing
+a deep game of his own in which she was merely a pawn?
+
+She turned the steaming duffles over on the mud hearth to dry the
+other side. She drew back the moccasins and the leggings that the heat
+might not scorch them. The sharp pain waves still beat into her feet
+and up her limbs. To change her position she drew up a stool and sat
+on it. This she had pushed back to a corner of the fireplace.
+
+For Bully West was straddling up and down the room, a pent volcano
+ready to explode. He knew Whaley's advice was good. It would be
+suicide to encumber himself with this girl in his flight. But he had
+never disciplined his desires. He wanted her. He meant to take her.
+Passion, the lust for revenge, the bully streak in him that gloated at
+the sight of some one young and fine trembling before him: all these
+were factors contributing to the same end. By gar, he would have what
+he had set his mind on, no matter what Whaley said.
+
+Jessie knew the fellow was dangerous as a wounded buffalo bull in a
+corral. He would have his way if he had to smash and trample down
+any one that opposed him. Her eyes moved to Whaley's black-browed,
+bloodless face. How far would the gambler go in opposition to the
+other?
+
+As her glance shifted back to West, it was arrested at the window.
+The girl's heart lost a beat, then sang a paean of joy. For the
+copper-colored face of Onistah was framed in the pane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+A FORETASTE OF HELL
+
+
+Jessie's eyes flew to West and to Whaley. As yet neither of them had
+seen the Blackfoot. She raised a hand and pretended to brush back a
+lock of hair.
+
+The Indian recognized it as a signal that she had seen him. His head
+disappeared.
+
+Thoughts in the girl's mind raced. If Winthrop Beresford or Tom Morse
+had been outside instead of Onistah, she would not have attempted to
+give directions. Either of them would have been more competent than
+she to work out the problem. But the Blackfoot lacked initiative. He
+would do faithfully whatever he was told to do, but any independent
+action attempted by him was likely to be indecisive. She could not
+conceive of Onistah holding his own against two such men as these
+except by slaughtering them from the window before they knew he was
+there. He had not in him sufficient dominating ego.
+
+Whaley was an unknown quantity. It was impossible to foresee how he
+would accept the intrusion of Onistah. Since he was playing his own
+game, the chances are that he would resent it. In West's case there
+could be no doubt. If it was necessary to his plans, he would not
+hesitate an instant to kill the Indian.
+
+Reluctantly, she made up her mind to send him back to Faraway for
+help. He would travel fast. Within five hours at the outside he ought
+to be back with her father or Beresford. Surely, with Whaley on her
+side, she ought to be safe till then.
+
+She caught sight of Onistah again, his eyes level with the
+window-sill. He was waiting for instructions.
+
+Jessie gave them to him straight and plain. She spoke to Whaley, but
+for the Blackfoot's ear.
+
+"Bring my father here. At once. I want him. Won't you, please?"
+
+Whaley's blank poker stare focused on her. "The last word I had from
+Angus McRae was to keep out of your affairs. I can take a hint without
+waiting for a church to fall on me. Get some one else to take your
+messages."
+
+"If you're going back to town I thought--perhaps--you'd tell him how
+much I need him," she pleaded. "Then he'd come--right away."
+
+Onistah's head vanished. He knew what he had to do and no doubt was
+already on the trail. Outside it was dark. She could hear the swirling
+of the wind and the beat of sleet against the window-pane. A storm was
+rising. She prayed it might not be a blizzard. Weather permitting, her
+father should be here by eight or nine o'clock.
+
+West, straddling past, snarled at her. "Get Angus McRae outa yore
+head. Him an' you's come to the partin' o' the ways. You're travelin'
+with me now. Un'erstand?"
+
+His partner, sneering coldly, offered a suggestion. "If you expect
+to travel far you'd better get your webs to hitting snow. This girl
+wasn't out looking at the traps all by herself. Her trail leads
+straight here. Her friends are probably headed this way right now."
+
+"Tha's right." West stopped in his stride. His slow brain stalled.
+"What d' you reckon I better do? If there's only one or two we
+might--"
+
+"No," vetoed Whaley. "Nothing like that. Your play is to get out. And
+keep getting out when they crowd you. No killing."
+
+"Goddlemighty, I'm a wolf, not a rabbit. If they crowd me, I'll sure
+pump lead," the desperado growled. Then, "D' you mean light out
+to-night?"
+
+"To-night."
+
+"Where'll I go?"
+
+"Porcupine Creek, I'd say. There's an old cabin there Jacques Perritot
+used to live in. The snow'll blot out our tracks."
+
+"You goin' too?"
+
+"I'll see you that far," Whaley answered briefly.
+
+"Better bring down the dogs from the coulée, then."
+
+The gambler looked at him with the cool insolence that characterized
+him. "When did I hire out as your flunkey, West?"
+
+The outlaw's head was thrust forward and down. He glared at his
+partner, who met this manifestation of anger with hard eyes into which
+no expression crept. West was not insane enough to alienate his last
+ally. He drew back sullenly.
+
+"All right. I'll go, since you're so particular." As his heavy body
+swung round awkwardly, the man's eyes fell on Jessie. She had
+lifted one small foot and was starting to pull on one of the duffle
+stockings. He stood a moment, gloating over the beautifully shaped
+ankle and lower limb, then slouched forward and snatched her up from
+the stool into his arms.
+
+His savage, desirous eyes had given her an instant's warning. She was
+half up before his arms, massive as young trees, dragged her into his
+embrace.
+
+"But before I go I'll have a kiss from my squaw," he roared. "Just to
+show her that Bully West has branded her and claims ownership."
+
+She fought, fiercely, desperately, pushing against his rough bearded
+face and big barrel chest with all the force in her lithe young body.
+She was as a child to him. His triumphant laughter pealed as he
+crushed her warm soft trunk against his own and buried her in his
+opened coat. With an ungentle hand he forced round the averted head
+till the fear-filled eyes met his.
+
+"Kiss yore man," he ordered.
+
+The girl said nothing. She still struggled to escape, using every
+ounce of strength she possessed.
+
+The fury of her resistance amused him. He laughed again, throwing back
+the heavy bristling jaw in a roar of mirth.
+
+"Yore man--yore master," he amended.
+
+He smothered her with his foul kisses, ravished her lips, her eyes,
+the soft hot cheeks, the oval of the chin, and the lovely curve of
+the throat. She was physically nauseated when he flung her from him
+against the wall and strode from the room with another horrible whoop
+of exultation.
+
+She clung to the wall, panting, eyes closed. A shocking sense of
+degradation flooded her soul. She felt as though she were drowning in
+it, fathoms deep. Her lids fluttered open and she saw the gambler. He
+was still sitting on the stool. A mocking, cynical smile was in the
+eyes that met Jessie's.
+
+"And Tom Morse--where, oh, where is he?" the man jeered.
+
+A chill shook her. Dry sobs welled up in her throat. She was lost.
+For the first time she knew the cold clutch of despair at her heart.
+Whaley did not intend to lift a hand for her. He had sat there and let
+West work his will.
+
+"Angus McRae gave me instructions aplenty," he explained maliciously.
+"I was to keep my hands off you. I was to mind my own business. When
+you see him again--if you ever do--will you tell him I did exactly as
+he said?"
+
+She did not answer. What was there to say? In the cabin was no sound
+except that of her dry, sobbing breath.
+
+Whaley rose and came across the room. He had thrown aside the
+gambler's mask of impassivity. His eyes were shining strangely.
+
+"I'm going--now--out into the storm. What about you? If you're here
+when West comes back, you know what it means. Make your choice. Will
+you go with me or stay with him?"
+
+"You're going home?"
+
+"Yes." His smile was enigmatic. It carried neither warmth nor
+conviction.
+
+The man had played his cards well. He had let West give her a
+foretaste of the hell in store for her. Anything rather than that, she
+thought. And surely Whaley would take her home. He was no outlaw, but
+a responsible citizen who must go back to Faraway to live. He had to
+face her father and Winthrop Beresford of the Mounted--and Tom Morse.
+He would not harm her. He dared not.
+
+But she took one vain precaution. "You promise to take me to my
+father. You'll not--be like him." A lift of the head indicated the man
+who had just gone out.
+
+"He's a fool. I'm not. That's the difference." He shrugged his
+shoulders. "Make your own choice. If you'd rather stay here--"
+
+But she had made it. She was getting hurriedly into her furs and was
+putting on her mittens. Already she had adjusted the snowshoes.
+
+"We'd better hurry," she urged. "He might come back."
+
+"It'll be bad luck for him if he does," the gambler said coolly. "You
+ready?"
+
+She nodded that she was.
+
+In another moment they were out of the warm room and into the storm.
+The wind was coming in whistling gusts, carrying with it a fine sleet
+that whipped the face and stung the eyeballs. Before she had been out
+in the storm five minutes, Jessie had lost all sense of direction.
+
+Whaley was an expert woodsman. He plunged into the forest, without
+hesitation, so surely that she felt he must know where he was going.
+The girl followed at his heels, head down against the blast.
+
+Before this day she had not for months taken a long trip on webs. Leg
+muscles, called into use without training, were sore and stiff. In the
+darkness the soft snow piled up on the shoes. Each step became a drag.
+The lacings and straps lacerated her tender flesh till she knew her
+duffles were soaked with blood. More than once she dropped back so far
+that she lost sight of Whaley. Each time he came back with words of
+encouragement and good cheer.
+
+"Not far now," he would promise. "Across a little bog and then camp.
+Keep coming."
+
+Once he found her sitting on the snow, her back to a tree.
+
+"You'd better go on alone. I'm done," she told him drearily.
+
+He was not angry at her. Nor did he bully or browbeat.
+
+"Tough sledding," he said gently. "But we're 'most there. Got to keep
+going. Can't quit now."
+
+He helped Jessie to her feet and led the way down into a spongy
+morass. The brush slapped her face. It caught in the meshes of her
+shoes and flung her down. The miry earth, oozing over the edges of the
+frames, clogged her feet and clung to them like pitch.
+
+Whaley did his best to help, but when at last she crept up to the
+higher ground beyond the bog every muscle ached with fatigue.
+
+They were almost upon it before she saw a log cabin looming out of the
+darkness.
+
+She sank on the floor exhausted. Whaley disappeared into the storm
+again. Sleepily she wondered where he was going. She must have dozed,
+for when her eyes next reported to the brain, there was a brisk fire
+of birch bark burning and her companion was dragging broken bits of
+dead and down timber into the house.
+
+"Looks like she's getting her back up for a blizzard. Better have
+plenty of fuel in," he explained.
+
+"Where are we?" she asked drowsily.
+
+"Cabin on Bull Creek," he answered. "Better get off your footwear."
+
+While she did this her mind woke to activity. Why had he brought her
+here? They had no food. How would they live if a blizzard blew up and
+snowed them in? And even if they had supplies, how could she live
+alone for days with this man in a cabin eight by ten?
+
+As though he guessed what was in her mind, he answered plausibly
+enough one of the questions.
+
+"No chance to reach Faraway. Too stormy. It was neck or nothing. Had
+to take what we could get."
+
+"What'll we do if--if there's a blizzard?" she asked timidly.
+
+"Sit tight."
+
+"Without food?"
+
+"If it lasts too long, I'll have to wait for a lull and make a try for
+Faraway. No use worrying. We can't help what's coming. Got to face the
+music."
+
+Her eyes swept the empty cabin. No bed. No table. One home-made
+three-legged stool. A battered kettle. It was an uninviting prospect,
+even if she had not had to face possible starvation while she was
+caged with a stranger who might any minute develop wolfish hunger for
+her as he had done only forty-eight hours before.
+
+He did not look at her steadily. His gaze was in the red glow of the
+fire a good deal. She talked, and he answered in monosyllables. When
+he looked at her, his eyes glowed with the hot red light reflected
+from the fire, Live coals seemed to burn in them.
+
+In spite of the heat a little shiver ran down her spine.
+
+Silence became too significant. She was afraid of it. So she talked,
+persistently, at times a little hysterically. Her memory was good. If
+she liked a piece of poetry, she could learn it by reading it over
+a few times. So, in her desperation, she "spoke pieces" to this man
+whose face was a gray mask, just as the girls had done at her school
+in Winnipeg.
+
+Often, at night camps, she had recited for her father. If she had no
+dramatic talent, at least she had a sweet, clear voice, an earnestness
+that never ranted, and some native or acquired skill in handling
+inflections.
+
+"Do you like Shakespeare?" she asked. "My father's very fond of him.
+I know parts of several of the plays. 'Henry V' now. That's good.
+There's a bit where he's talking to his soldiers before they fight the
+French. Would you like that?"
+
+"Go on," he said gruffly, sultry eyes on the fire.
+
+With a good deal of spirit she flung out the gallant lines. He began
+to watch her, vivid, eager, so pathetically anxious to entertain him
+with her small stock of wares.
+
+  "But, if it be a sin to covet honor,
+  I am the most offending soul alive."
+
+There was about her a quality very fine and taking. He caught it first
+in those two lines, and again when her full young voice swelled to
+English Harry's prophecy.
+
+  "And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
+  From this day to the ending of the world,
+  But we in it shall be remembered.
+  We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
+  For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
+  Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
+  This day shall gentle his condition:
+  And gentlemen in England now abed
+  Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
+  And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
+  That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."
+
+As he watched her, old memories stirred in him. He had come from a
+good family in the Western Reserve, where he had rough-and-tumbled up
+through the grades into High School. After a year here he had gone
+to a Catholic School, Sacred Heart College, and had studied for the
+priesthood. He recalled his mother, a gentle, white-haired old lady,
+with fond pride in him; his father, who had been the soul of honor. By
+some queer chance she had lit on the very lines that he had learned
+from the old school reader and recited before an audience the last day
+prior to vacation.
+
+He woke from his reveries to discover that she was giving him
+Tennyson, that fragment from "Guinevere" when Arthur tells her of the
+dream her guilt has tarnished. And as she spoke there stirred in him
+the long-forgotten aspirations of his youth.
+
+  "... for indeed I knew
+  Of no more subtle master under heaven
+  Than is the maiden passion for a maid,
+  Not only to keep down the base in man,
+  But teach high thought and amiable words
+  And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
+  And love of truth, and all that makes a man."
+
+His eyes were no longer impassive. There was in them, for the moment
+at least, a hunted, haggard look. He saw himself as he was, in a blaze
+of light that burned down to his very soul.
+
+And he saw her too transformed--not a half-breed, the fair prey of any
+man's passion, but a clean, proud, high-spirited white girl who lived
+in the spirit as well as the flesh.
+
+"You're tired. Better lie down and sleep," he told her, very gently.
+
+Jessie looked at him, and she knew she was safe. She might sleep
+without fear. This man would not harm her any more than Beresford
+or Morse would have done. Some chemical change had occurred in his
+thoughts that protected her. She did not know what it was, but her
+paean of prayer went up to heaven in a little rush of thanksgiving.
+
+She did not voice her gratitude to him. But the look she gave him was
+more expressive than words.
+
+Out of the storm a voice raucous and profane came to them faintly.
+
+"Ah, crapaud Wulf, pren' garde. Yeu-oh! (To the right!) Git down to
+it, Fox. Sacre demon! Cha! Cha! (To the left!)"
+
+Then the crack of a whip and a volley of oaths.
+
+The two in the cabin looked at each other. One was white to the lips.
+The other smiled grimly. It was the gambler that spoke their common
+thought.
+
+"Bully West, by all that's holy!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+WEST MAKES A DECISION
+
+
+Came to those in the cabin a string of oaths, the crack of a whip
+lashing out savagely, and the yelps of dogs from a crouching, cowering
+team.
+
+Whaley slipped a revolver from his belt to the right-hand pocket of
+his fur coat.
+
+The door burst open. A man stood on the threshold, a huge figure
+crusted with snow, beard and eyebrows ice-matted. He looked like the
+storm king who had ridden the gale out of the north. This on the
+outside, at a first glance only. For the black scowl he flung at his
+partner was so deadly that it seemed to come red-hot from a furnace of
+hate and evil passion.
+
+"Run to earth!" he roared. "Thought you'd hole up, you damned fox,
+where I wouldn't find you. Thought you'd give Bully West the slip,
+you'n' that li'l' hell-cat. Talk about Porcupine Creek, eh? Tried to
+send me mushin' over there while you'n' her--"
+
+What the fellow said sent a hot wave creeping over the girl's face to
+the roots of her hair. The gambler did not speak, but his eyes, filmed
+and wary, never lifted from the other's bloated face.
+
+"Figured I'd forget the ol' whiskey cache, eh? Figured you could gimme
+the double-cross an' git away with it? Hell's hinges, Bully West's no
+fool! He's forgot more'n you ever knew."
+
+The man swaggered forward, the lash of the whip trailing across the
+puncheon floor. Triumph rode in his voice and straddled in his gait.
+He stood with his back to the fireplace absorbing heat, hands behind
+him and feet set wide. His eyes gloated over the victims he had
+trapped. Presently he would settle with both of them.
+
+"Not a word to say for yoreselves, either one o' you," he jeered.
+"Good enough. I'll do what talkin' 's needed, then I'll strip the hide
+off'n both o' you." With a flirt of the arm he sent the lash of the
+dog-whip snaking out toward Jessie.
+
+She shrank back against the wall, needlessly. It was a threat, not an
+attack; a promise of what was to come.
+
+"Let her alone." They were the first words Whaley had spoken. In his
+soft, purring voice they carried out the suggestion of his crouched
+tenseness. If West was the grizzly bear, the other was the forest
+panther, more feline, but just as dangerous.
+
+The convict looked at him, eyes narrowed, head thrust forward and
+down. "What's that?"
+
+"I said to let her alone."
+
+West's face heliographed amazement. "Meanin'--?"
+
+"Meaning exactly what I say. You'll not touch her."
+
+It was a moment before this flat defiance reached the brain of the big
+man through the penumbra of his mental fog. When it did, he strode
+across the room with the roar of a wild animal and snatched the girl
+to him. He would show whether any one could come between him and his
+woman.
+
+In three long steps Whaley padded across the floor. Something cold and
+round pressed against the back of the outlaw's tough red neck.
+
+"Drop that whip."
+
+The order came in a low-voiced imperative. West hesitated. This
+man--his partner--would surely never shoot him about such a trifle.
+Still--
+
+"What's eatin' you?" he growled. "Put up that gun. You ain't fool
+enough to shoot."
+
+"Think that hard enough and you'll never live to know better. Hands
+off the girl."
+
+The slow brain of West functioned. He had been taken wholly by
+surprise, but as his cunning mind Worked the situation out, he saw how
+much it would be to Whaley's profit to get rid of him. The gambler
+would get the girl and the reward for West's destruction. He would
+inherit his share of their joint business and would reinstate himself
+as a good citizen with the Mounted and with McRae's friends.
+
+Surlily the desperado yielded. "All right, if you're so set on it."
+
+"Drop the whip."
+
+The fingers of West opened and the handle fell to the floor. Deftly
+the other removed a revolver from its place under the outlaw's left
+armpit.
+
+West glared at him. That moment the fugitive made up his mind that he
+would kill Whaley at the first good opportunity. A tide of poisonous
+hatred raced through his veins. Its expression but not its virulence
+was temporarily checked by wholesome fear. He must be careful that the
+gambler did not get him first.
+
+His voice took on a whine intended for good-fellowship. "I reckon
+I was too pre-emtory. O' course I was sore the way you two left me
+holdin' the sack. Any one would 'a' been now, wouldn't they? But no
+use friends fallin' out. We got to make the best of things."
+
+Whaley's chill face did not warm. He knew the man with whom he was
+dealing. When he began to butter his phrases, it was time to look out
+for him. He would forget that his partner had brought him from Faraway
+a dog-team with which to escape, that he was supplying him with funds
+to carry him through the winter. He would remember only that he had
+balked and humiliated him.
+
+"Better get into the house the stuff from the sled," the gambler said.
+"And we'll rustle wood. No telling how long this storm'll last."
+
+"Tha's right," agreed West. "When I saw them sun dogs to-day I figured
+we was in for a blizzard. Too bad you didn't outfit me for a longer
+trip."
+
+A gale was blowing from the north, carrying on its whistling breath
+a fine hard sleet that cut the eyeballs like powdered glass. The men
+fought their way to the sled and wrestled with the knots of the frozen
+ropes that bound the load. The lumps of ice that had gathered round
+these had to be knocked off with hammers before they could be freed.
+When they staggered into the house with their packs, both men
+were half-frozen. Their hands were so stiff that the fingers were
+jointless.
+
+They stopped only long enough to limber up the muscles. Whaley handed
+to Jessie the revolver he had taken from West.
+
+"Keep this," he said. His look was significant. It told her that in
+the hunt for wood he might be blinded by the blizzard and lost. If he
+failed to return and West came back alone, she would know what to do
+with it.
+
+Into the storm the two plunged a second time. They carried ropes and
+an axe. Since West had arrived, the gale had greatly increased. The
+wind now was booming in deep, sullen roars and the temperature had
+fallen twenty degrees already. The sled dogs were nowhere to be seen
+or heard. They had burrowed down into the snow where the house would
+shelter them from the hurricane as much as possible.
+
+The men reached the edge of the creek. They struggled in the frozen
+drifts with such small dead trees as they could find. In the darkness
+Whaley used the axe as best he could at imminent risk to his legs.
+Though they worked only a few feet apart, they had to shout to make
+their voices carry.
+
+"We better be movin' back," West called through his open palms. "We
+got all we can haul."
+
+They roped the wood and dragged it over the snow in the direction
+they knew the house to be. Presently they found the sled and from it
+deflected toward the house.
+
+Jessie had hot tea waiting for them. They kicked off their webs and
+piled the salvaged wood into the other end of the cabin, after which
+they hunkered down before the fire to drink tea and eat pemmican and
+bannocks.
+
+They had with them about fifty pounds of frozen fish for the dogs and
+provisions enough to last the three of them four or five meals. Whaley
+had brought West supplies enough to carry him only to Lookout, where
+he was to stock for a long traverse into the wilds.
+
+As the hours passed there grew up between the gambler and the girl a
+tacit partnership of mutual defense. No word was spoken of it, but
+each knew that the sulky brute in the chimney corner was dangerous. He
+would be held by no scruples of conscience, no laws of friendship or
+decency. If the chance came he would strike.
+
+The storm raged and howled. It flung itself at the cabin with what
+seemed a ravenous and implacable fury. The shriek of it was now
+like the skirling of a thousand bagpipes, again like the wailing of
+numberless lost souls.
+
+Inside, West snored heavily, his ill-shaped head drooping on the big
+barrel chest of the man. Jessie slept while Whaley kept guard. Later
+she would watch in her turn.
+
+There were moments when the gale died down, but only to roar again
+with a frenzy of increased violence.
+
+The gray day broke and found the blizzard at its height.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+FOR THE WEE LAMB LOST
+
+
+Beresford, in front of the C.N. Morse & Company trading-post, watched
+his horse paw at the snow in search of grass underneath. It was a sign
+that the animal was prairie-bred. On the plains near the border grass
+cures as it stands, retaining its nutriment as hay. The native pony
+pushes the snow aside with its forefoot and finds its feed. But in the
+timber country of the North grass grows long and coarse. When its sap
+dries out, it rots.
+
+The officer was thinking that he had better put both horse and cariole
+up for the winter. It was time now for dogs and sled. Even in summer
+this was not a country for horses. There were so many lakes that a
+birch-bark canoe covered the miles faster.
+
+Darkness was sweeping down over the land, and with it the first flakes
+of a coming storm. Beresford had expected this, for earlier in the day
+he had seen two bright mock suns in the sky. The Indians had told
+him that these sun dogs were warnings of severe cold and probably a
+blizzard.
+
+Out of the edge of the forest a man on snowshoes came. He was moving
+fast. Beresford, watching him idly, noticed that he toed in. Therefore
+he was probably a Cree trapper. But the Crees were usually indolent
+travelers. They did not cover ground as this man was doing.
+
+The man was an Indian. The soldier presently certified his first guess
+as to that. But not until the native was almost at the store did he
+recognize him as Onistah.
+
+The Blackfoot wasted no time in leading up to what he had to say.
+"Sleeping Dawn she prisoner of Bully West and Whaley. She say bring
+her father. She tell me bring him quick"
+
+Beresford's body lost its easy grace instantly and became rigid. His
+voice rang with sharp authority.
+
+"Where is she?"
+
+"She at Jasper's cabin on Cache Creek. She frightened."
+
+As though the mention of Sleeping Dawn's name had reached him by some
+process of telepathy, Tom Morse had come out and stood in the door of
+the store. The trooper wheeled to him.
+
+"Get me a dog-team, Tom. That fellow West has got Jessie McRae with
+him on Cache Creek. We've got to move quick."
+
+The storekeeper felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his
+heart. He glanced up at the lowering night. "Storm brewing. We'll get
+started right away." Without a moment's delay he disappeared inside
+the store to make his preparations.
+
+Onistah carried the news to McRae.
+
+The blood washed out of the ruddy-whiskered face of the Scot, but his
+sole comment was a Scriptural phrase of faith. "I have been young, and
+now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken..."
+
+It was less than half an hour later that four men and a dog-train
+moved up the main street of Faraway and disappeared in the forest.
+Morse broke trail and McRae drove the tandem. Onistah, who had already
+traveled many miles, brought up the rear. The trooper exchanged places
+with Morse after an hour's travel.
+
+They were taking a short-cut and it led them through dead and down
+timber that delayed the party. Tom was a good axeman, and more than
+once he had to chop away obstructing logs. At other times by main
+strength the men lifted or dragged the sled over bad places.
+
+The swirling storm made it difficult to know where they were going or
+to choose the best way. They floundered through deep snow and heavy
+underbrush, faces bleeding from the whip of willow switches suddenly
+released and feet so torn by the straps of the snowshoes that the
+trail showed stains of blood which had soaked from the moccasins.
+
+Onistah, already weary, began to lag. They dared not wait for him.
+There was, they felt, not a moment to be lost. McRae's clean-shaven
+upper lip was a straight, grim surface. He voiced no fears, no doubts,
+but the others knew from their own anxiety how much he must be
+suffering.
+
+The gale increased. It drove in bitter blasts of fine stinging sleet.
+When for a few hundred yards they drew out of the thick forest into an
+open grove, it lashed them so furiously they could scarcely move in
+the teeth of it.
+
+The dogs were whimpering at their task. More than once they stopped,
+exhausted by the wind against which they were battling. Their eyes
+turned dumbly to McRae for instructions. He could only drive them back
+to the trail Morse was breaking.
+
+The train was one of the best in the North. The leader was a large
+St. Bernard, weighing about one hundred sixty pounds, intelligent,
+faithful, and full of courage. He stood thirty-four inches high at his
+fore shoulder. Not once did Cuffy falter. Even when the others quit,
+he was ready to put his weight to the load.
+
+Through the howling of the wind Beresford shouted into the ear of
+Morse. "Can't be far now. Question is can we find Jasper's in this
+blizzard."
+
+Morse shook his head. It did not seem likely. Far and near were words
+which had no meaning. A white, shrieking monster seemed to be hemming
+them in. Their world diminished to the space their outstretched arms
+could reach. The only guide they had was Cache Creek, along the bank
+of which they were traveling. Jasper's deserted cabin lay back from
+it a few hundred yards, but Tom had not any data to tell him when he
+ought to leave the creek.
+
+Cuffy solved the problem for him. The St. Bernard stopped, refused
+the trail Beresford and Morse were beating down in the deep snow. He
+raised his head, seemed to scent a haven, whined, and tried to plunge
+to the left.
+
+McRae came forward and shouted to his friends. "We'll gi'e Cuffy his
+head. He'll maybe ken mair than we do the nicht."
+
+The trail-breakers turned from the creek, occasionally stopping to
+make sure Cuffy was satisfied. Through heavy brush they forced a way
+into a coulée. The St. Bernard led them plump against the wall of a
+cabin.
+
+There was a light inside, the fitful, leaping glow of fire flames.
+The men stumbled through drifts to the door, McRae in the lead. The
+Scotchman found the latch and flung open the door. The other two
+followed him inside.
+
+The room was empty.
+
+At first they could not believe their eyes. It was not reasonable to
+suppose that any sane human beings would have left a comfortable house
+to face such a storm. But this was just what they must have done. The
+state of the fire, which was dying down to hot coals, told them it had
+not been replenished for hours. West and Whaley clearly had decided
+they were not safe here and had set out for another hiding-place.
+
+The men looked at each other in blank silence. The same thought was
+in the mind of all. For the present they must give up the pursuit.
+It would not be possible to try to carry on any farther in such
+a blizzard. Yet the younger men waited for McRae to come to his
+decision. If he called on them to do more, they would make a try with
+him.
+
+"We'll stay here," Angus said quietly. "Build up the fire, lads, and
+we'll cast back for Onistah."
+
+Neither of the others spoke. They knew it must have cost the Scotchman
+a pang to give up even for the night. He had done it only because he
+recognized that he had no right to sacrifice all their lives in vain.
+
+The dogs took the back trail reluctantly. The sled had been unloaded
+and was lighter. Moreover, they followed a trail already broken except
+where the sweep of the wind had filled it up. McRae cheered them to
+their work.
+
+"Up wi' ye, Koona! Guid dog. Cha, cha! You'll be doin' gran' work,
+Cuffy. Marché!"
+
+Morse stumbled over Onistah where he lay in the trail. The Blackfoot
+was still conscious, though he was drowsing into that sleep which is
+fatal to Arctic travelers caught in a blizzard. He had crawled on
+hands and feet through the snow after his knees failed him. It must
+have been only a few minutes after he completely collapsed that they
+found him.
+
+He was given a gulp or two of whiskey and put on the sled. Again the
+dogs buckled to the pull. A quarter of an hour later the party reached
+the cabin.
+
+Onistah was given first aid. Feet and face were rubbed with snow to
+restore circulation and to prevent frost-bite. He had been rescued in
+time to save him from any permanent ill effects.
+
+In the back of all their minds lay a haunting fear. What had become
+of Jessie? There was a chance that the blizzard had caught the party
+before it reached its destination. Neither West nor Whaley was an
+inexperienced musher. They knew the difficulties of sub-Arctic travel
+and how to cope with them. But the storm had blown up with unusual
+swiftness.
+
+Even if the party had reached safety, the girl's troubles were not
+ended. With the coming of darkness her peril would increase. As long
+as Whaley was with West there was hope. The gambler was cold-blooded
+as a fish, but he had the saving sense of sanity. If he meant to
+return to Faraway--and there was no reason why he should not--he dared
+not let any harm befall the girl. But West was a ruffian unmitigated.
+His ruthless passion might drive him to any evil.
+
+In front of the fire they discussed probabilities. Where had the two
+free traders taken the girl? Not far, in the face of such a storm.
+They canvassed places likely to serve as retreats for West.
+
+Once McRae, speaking out of his tortured heart, made an indirect
+reference to what all of them were thinking. He was looking somberly
+into the fire as he spoke.
+
+"Yea, the darkness hideth not from Thee, but the night shineth as the
+day: the darkness and the light are both alike to Thee."
+
+He found in his religion a stay and comfort. If he knew that under
+cover of darkness evil men do evil deeds, he could reassure himself
+with the promise that the hairs of his daughter's head were numbered
+and that she was under divine protection.
+
+From a pocket next his shirt he drew a small package in oilskin. It
+was a Bible he had carried many years. By the light of the leaping
+flames he read a chapter from the New Testament and the twenty-third
+Psalm, after which the storm-bound men knelt while he prayed that God
+would guard and keep safe "the wee lamb lost in the tempest far frae
+the fold."
+
+Morse and Beresford were tough as hickory withes. None in the North
+woods had more iron in the blood than they. Emergencies had tested
+them time and again. But neither of them was ashamed to kneel with the
+big rugged Scotchman while he poured his heart out in a petition for
+his lass. The security of the girl whom all four loved each in his own
+way was out of the hands of her friends. To know that McRae had found
+a sure rock upon which to lean brought the younger men too some
+measure of peace.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+A RESCUE
+
+
+The gray day wore itself away into the deeper darkness of early dusk.
+Like a wild beast attacking its prey, the hurricane still leaped with
+deep and sullen roars at the little cabin on Bull Creek. It beat upon
+it in wild, swirling gusts. It flung blasts of wind, laden with snow
+and sleet, against the log walls and piled drifts round them almost to
+the eaves.
+
+Long since Whaley had been forced to take the dogs into the cabin to
+save them from freezing to death. It was impossible for any of the
+three human beings to venture out for more than a few minutes at a
+time. Even then they had to keep close to the walls in order not to
+lose contact with the house.
+
+When feeding-time came the dogs made pandemonium. They were
+half-famished, as teams in the Lone Lands usually are, and the smell
+of the frozen fish thawing before the fire set them frantic. West and
+Whaley protected Jessie while she turned the fish. This was not easy.
+The plunging animals almost rushed the men off their feet. They had
+to be beaten back cruelly with the whip-stocks, for they were wild as
+wolves and only the sharpest pain would restrain them.
+
+The half-thawed fish were flung to them in turn. There was a snarl, a
+snap of the jaws, a gulp, and the fish was gone. Over one or two that
+fell in the pack the train worried and fought, with sharp yelps
+and growls, until the last fragment had been torn to pieces and
+disappeared.
+
+Afterward the storm-bound trio drank tea and ate pemmican, still
+fighting back the pack. West laid open the nose of one in an ugly cut
+with the iron-bound end of his whip-butt. Perhaps he was not wholly to
+blame. Many of the dog-trains of the North are taught to understand
+nothing but the sting of the whip and will respond only to brutal
+treatment.
+
+The second night was a repetition of the first. The three were divided
+into two camps. Whaley or Jessie McRae watched West every minute.
+There was a look in his eye they distrusted, a sulky malice back of
+which seemed to smoke banked fires of murderous desire. He lay on the
+floor and slept a good deal in short cat-naps. Apparently his dreams
+were not pleasant. He would growl incoherently through set teeth and
+clench great hairy fists in spasms of rage. Out of these he wakened
+with a start to glare around suspiciously at the others. It was clear
+the thought was in the back of his mind that they might destroy him
+while he was asleep.
+
+Throughout the third day the storm continued unabated. Whaley and
+West discussed the situation. Except for a few pounds of fish, their
+provisions were gone. If the blizzard did not moderate, they would
+soon face starvation.
+
+During the night the wind died down. Day broke clear, a faint and
+wintry sun in the sky.
+
+To West the other man made a proposal. "Have to get out and hunt food.
+We'll find caribou in some of the coulées along the creek. What say?"
+
+The convict looked at him with sly cunning. "How about this girl?
+Think I'm gonna leave her to mush out an' put the police on my trail?
+No, sir. I'll take her snowshoes with me."
+
+Whaley shrugged his shoulders. "She couldn't find her way home if she
+had shoes. But please yourself about that."
+
+West's shifty gaze slid over him. The proposal of a hunt suited him.
+He must have a supply of food to carry him to Lookout. Whaley was a
+good shot and an expert trailer. If there were caribou or moose in the
+vicinity, he was likely to make a kill. In any event there would be
+hundreds of white rabbits scurrying through the woods. He decided
+craftily to make use of the gambler, and after he was through with
+him--
+
+The men took with them part of the tea and enough fish to feed the
+dogs once. They expected to find game sufficient to supply themselves
+and stock up for a few days. Whaley insisted on leaving Jessie her
+rifle, in order that she might shoot a rabbit or two if any ventured
+near the cabin. She had three frozen fish and a handful of tea.
+
+Before they started Whaley drew Jessie aside. "Can't say how long
+we'll be gone. Maybe two days--or three. You'll have to make out with
+what you've got till we get back." He hesitated a moment, then his
+cold, hard eyes held fast to hers. "Maybe only one of us will come
+back. Keep your eyes open. If there's only one of us--and it's
+West--don't let him get into the house. Shoot him down. Take his
+snowshoes and the team. Follow the creek down about five miles, then
+strike southwest till you come to Clear Lake. You know your way home
+from there."
+
+Her dark eyes dilated. "Do you think he means to--to--?"
+
+The man nodded. "He's afraid of me--thinks I mean to set the police on
+his trail. If he can he'll get rid of me. But not yet--not till we've
+got a couple of caribou. I'll be watching him all the time."
+
+"How can you watch him while you're hunting?"
+
+He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. It was quite true that West could
+shoot him in the back during the hunt. But Whaley knew the man pretty
+well. He would make sure of meat before he struck. After the sled was
+loaded, Whaley did not intend to turn his back on the fellow.
+
+Jessie had not been brought up in the North woods for nothing. She had
+seen her brother Fergus make many a rabbit snare. Now she contrived
+to fashion one out of some old strips of skin she found in the cabin.
+After she had bent down a young sapling and fastened it to a fallen
+log, she busied herself making a second one.
+
+Without snowshoes she did not find it possible to travel far, but she
+managed to shoot a fox that adventured near the hut in the hope of
+finding something to fill its lean and empty paunch.
+
+Before leaving, Whaley had brought into the house a supply of wood,
+but Jessie added to this during the day by hauling birch poles from
+the edge of the creek.
+
+Darkness fell early. The girl built up a roaring fire piled the wood
+up against the door so that nobody could get in without waking her.
+The rifle lay close at hand. She slept long and soundly. When she
+shook the drowsiness from her eyes, the sun was shining through the
+window.
+
+She breakfasted on stew made from a hindquarter of fox. After she had
+visited her snares and reset one that had been sprung, she gathered
+balsam boughs for a bed and carried them to the house to dry before
+the fire. Whaley had left her a small hatchet, and with this she began
+to shape a snowshoe from a piece of the puncheon floor. All day she
+worked at this, and by night had a rough sort of wooden ski that might
+serve at need. With red-hot coals, during the long evening, she burned
+holes in it through which to put the straps. The skin of the fox, cut
+into long strips, would do for thongs. It would be a crude, primitive
+device, but she thought that at a pinch she might travel a few miles
+on it. To-morrow she would make a mate for it, she decided.
+
+Except for the bed of balsam boughs, her arrangements for the night
+were just as they had been the first day. Again she built up a big
+fire, piled the wood in front of the door, and put the rifle within
+reach. Again she was asleep almost at once, within a minute of the
+time when she nestled down to find a soft spot in the springy mattress
+she had made.
+
+Jessie worked hard on the second ski. By noon she had it pretty well
+shaped. Unfortunately a small split in the wood developed into a
+larger one. She was forced to throw it aside and begin on another
+piece.
+
+A hundred times her eyes had lifted to sweep the snow field for any
+sign of the hunters' return. Now, looking out of the window without
+much expectation of seeing them, her glance fell on a traveler, a
+speck of black on a sea of white. Her heart began to beat a drum of
+excitement. She waited, eyes riveted, expecting to see a second figure
+and a dog-team top the rise and show in silhouette.
+
+None appeared. The man advanced steadily. He did not look backward.
+Evidently he had no companion. Was this lone traveler West?
+
+Jessie picked up the rifle and made sure that it was in good working
+order. A tumultuous river seemed to beat through her temples. The
+pulses in her finger-tips were athrob.
+
+Could she do this dreadful thing, even to save honor and life, though
+she knew the man must be twice a murderer? Once she had tried and
+failed, while he stood taunting her with his horrible, broken-toothed
+grin. And once, in the stress of battle, she had wounded him while he
+was attacking.
+
+The moving black speck became larger. It came to her presently with
+certainty that this was not West. He moved more gracefully, more
+lightly, without the heavy slouching roll.... And then she knew he was
+not Whaley either. One of her friends! A little burst of prayer welled
+out of her heart.
+
+She left the cabin and went toward the man. He waved a hand to her and
+she flung up a joyful gesture in answer. For her rescuer was Onistah.
+
+Jessie found herself with both hands in his, biting her lower lip to
+keep back tears. She could not speak for the emotion that welled up in
+her.
+
+"You--all well?" he asked, with the imperturbable facial mask of his
+race that concealed all emotion.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Good," he went on. "Your father pray the Great Spirit keep you safe."
+
+"Where is Father?"
+
+He looked in the direction from which he had come. "We go Jasper's
+cabin--your father, red soldier, American trader, Onistah. You gone.
+Big storm--snow--sleet. No can go farther. Then your father he pray.
+We wait till Great Spirit he say, 'No more wind, snow,' Then we move
+camp. All search--go out find you." He pointed north, south, east, and
+west. "The Great Spirit tell me to come here. I say, 'Sleeping Dawn
+she with God, for Jesus' sake, Amen.'"
+
+"You dear, dear boy," she sobbed.
+
+"So I find you. Hungry?"
+
+"No. I shot a fox."
+
+"Then we go now." He looked at her feet. "Where your snowshoes?"
+
+"West took them to keep me here. I'm making a pair. Come. We'll finish
+them."
+
+They moved toward the house. Onistah stopped. The girl followed his
+eyes. They were fastened on a laden dog-train with two men moving
+across a lake near the shore of which the cabin had been built.
+
+Her fear-filled gaze came back to the Indian. "It's West and Mr.
+Whaley. What'll we do?"
+
+Already he was kneeling, fumbling with the straps of his snowshoes.
+"You go find your father. Follow trail to camp. Then you send him
+here. I hide in woods."
+
+"No--no. They'll find you, and that West would shoot you."
+
+"Onistah know tricks. They no find him."
+
+He fastened the snow-webs on her feet while she was still protesting.
+She glanced again at the dog-train jogging steadily forward. If she
+was going, it must be at once. Soon it would be too late for either of
+them to escape.
+
+"You will hide in the woods, won't you, so they can't find you?" she
+implored.
+
+He smiled reassurance. "Go," he said.
+
+Another moment, and she was pushing over the crust along the trail by
+which the Blackfoot had come.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+APACHE STUFF
+
+
+The hunters brought back three caribou and two sacks of rabbits,
+supplies enough to enable West to reach Lookout. The dogs were
+stronger than when they had set out, for they had gorged themselves on
+the parts of the game unfit for human use.
+
+Nothing had been said by either of the men as to what was to be done
+with Jessie McRae, but the question was in the background of both
+their thoughts, just as was the growing anger toward each other that
+consumed them. They rarely spoke. Neither of them let the other drop
+behind him. Neither had slept a wink the previous night. Instead, they
+had kept themselves awake with hot tea. Fagged out after a day of hard
+hunting, each was convinced his life depended on wakefulness. West's
+iron strength had stood the strain without any outward signs of
+collapse, but Whaley was stumbling with fatigue as he dragged himself
+along beside the sled.
+
+The bad feeling between the partners was near the explosion point. It
+was bound to come before the fugitive started on his long trip north.
+The fellow had a single-track mind. He still intended to take the girl
+with him. When Whaley interfered, there would be a fight. It could not
+come too soon to suit West. His brooding had reached the point where
+he was morally certain that the gambler meant to betray him to the
+police and set them on his track.
+
+Smoke was rising from the chimney of the hut. No doubt the McRae girl
+was inside, waiting for them with a heart of fear fluttering in
+her bosom. Whaley's thin lips set grimly. Soon now it would be a
+show-down.
+
+There was a moment's delay at the door, each hanging back under
+pretense of working at the sled. There was always the chance that the
+one who went first might get a shot in the back.
+
+West glanced at the big mittens on the other's hands, laughed hardily,
+and pushed into the cabin. A startled grunt escaped him.
+
+"She's gone," he called out.
+
+"Probably in the woods back here--rabbit-shooting likely. She can't
+have gone far without snowshoes," Whaley said.
+
+The big man picked up the ski Jessie had made. "Looky here."
+
+Whaley examined it. "She might have made a pair of 'em and got away.
+Hope so."
+
+The yellow teeth of the convict showed in a snarl. "Think I don't see
+yore game? Playin' up to McRae an' the red-coats. I wouldn't put it by
+you to sell me out."
+
+The gambler's ice-cold eyes bored into West. Was it to be now?
+
+West was not quite ready. His hands were cold and stiff. Besides, the
+other was on guard and the fugitive was not looking for an even break.
+
+"Oh, well, no use rowin' about that. I ain't gonna chew the rag with
+you. It'll be you one way an' me another pretty soon," he continued,
+shifty eyes dodging.
+
+"About the girl--easy to find out, I say. She sure didn't fly away.
+Must 'a' left tracks. We'll take a look-see."
+
+Again Whaley waited deferentially, with a sardonic and mirthless grin,
+to let the other pass first. There were many tracks close to the cabin
+where they themselves, as well as the girl, had moved to and fro.
+Their roving glances went farther afield.
+
+Plain as the swirling waters in the wake of a boat stretched the
+tracks of a snowshoer across the lower end of the lake.
+
+They pushed across to examine them closer, following them a dozen
+yards to the edge of the ice-field. The sign written there on that
+white page told a tale to both of the observers, but it said more to
+one than to the other.
+
+"Some one's been here," West cried with a startled oath.
+
+"Yes," agreed Whaley. He did not intend to give any unnecessary
+information.
+
+"An' lit out again. Must 'a' gone to git help for the girl."
+
+"Yes," assented the gambler, and meant "No."
+
+What he read from the writing on the snow was this: Some one had come
+and some one had gone. But the one who had come was not the one who
+had gone. An Indian had made the first tracks. He could tell it by
+the shape of the webs and by the way the traveler had toed in. The
+outward-bound trail was different. Some one lighter of build was
+wearing the snowshoes, some one who took shorter steps and toed out.
+
+"See. She run out to meet him. Here's where her feet kept sinkin' in,"
+West said.
+
+The other nodded. Yes, she had hurried to meet him but that was not
+all he saw. There was the impression of a knee in the snow. It was an
+easy guess that the man had knelt to take off the shoes and adjust
+them to the girl's feet.
+
+"An' here's where she cut off into the woods," the convict went on.
+"She's hidin' up there now. I'm hittin' the trail after her hot-foot."
+
+Whaley's derisive smile vanished almost before it appeared. What he
+knew was his own business. If West wanted to take a walk in the woods,
+it was not necessary to tell him that a man was waiting for him there
+behind some tree.
+
+"Think I'll follow this fellow," Whaley said, with a lift of the hand
+toward the tracks that led across the lake. "We've got to find out
+where he went. If the Mounted are hot on our trail, we want to know
+it."
+
+"Sure." West assented craftily, eyes narrowed to conceal the thoughts
+that crawled through his murderous brain. "We gotta know that."
+
+He believed Whaley was playing into his hands. The man meant to betray
+him to the police. He would never reach them. And he, Bully West,
+would at last be alone with the girl, nobody to interfere with him.
+
+The gambler was used to taking chances. He took one now and made his
+first mistake in the long duel he had been playing with West. The
+eagerness of the fellow to have him gone was apparent. The convict
+wanted him out of the way so that he could go find the girl. Evidently
+he thought that Whaley was backing down as gracefully as he could.
+
+"I'll start right after him. Back soon," the gambler said casually.
+
+"Yes, soon," agreed West.
+
+Their masked eyes still clung to each other, wary and watchful. As
+though without intent Whaley backed away, still talking to the other.
+He wanted to be out of revolver range before he turned. West also was
+backing clumsily, moving toward the sled. The convict wheeled and slid
+rapidly to it.
+
+Whaley knew his mistake now. West's rifle lay on the sled and the man
+was reaching for it.
+
+The man on the ice-field did the only thing possible. He bent low and
+traveled fast. When the first shot rang out he was nearly a hundred
+fifty yards away. He crumpled down into the snow and lay still.
+
+West's hands were cold, his fingers stiff. He had not been sure of his
+aim. Now he gave a whoop of triumph. That was what happened to any one
+who interfered with Bully West. He fired again at the still huddled
+heap on the lake.
+
+Presently he would go out there and make sure the man was dead. Just
+now he had more important business, an engagement to meet a girl in
+the woods back of the house.
+
+"Got him good," he told himself aloud. "He sure had it comin' to him,
+the damned traitor."
+
+To find the McRae girl could not be difficult. She had left tracks as
+she waded away in the deep snow. There was no chance for her to hide.
+Nor could she have gone far without webs. The little catamount might,
+of course, shoot him. He had to move carefully, not to give her an
+opportunity.
+
+As he went forward he watched every tree, every stick of timber behind
+which she might find cover to ambush him. He was not of a patient
+temperament, but life in the wilds had taught him to subdue when he
+must his gusty restlessness. Now he took plenty of time. He was in a
+hurry to hit the trail with his train and be off, but he could not
+afford to be in such great haste as to stop a bullet with his body.
+
+He called to her. "Where you at, Dawn? I ain't aimin' to hurt you
+none. Come out an' quit devilin' me."
+
+Then, when his wheedling brought no answer, he made the forest ring
+with threats of what he would do to her when he caught her unless she
+came to him at once.
+
+Moving slowly forward, he came to the end of the tracks that had been
+made in the snow. They ended abruptly, in a thicket of underbrush. His
+first thought was that she must be hidden here, but when he had beat
+through it half a dozen times, he knew this was impossible. Then where
+was she?
+
+He had told Whaley that she could not fly away. But if she hadn't
+flown, what had become of her? There were no trees near enough to
+climb without showing the impressions of her feet in the snow as she
+moved to the trunk. He had an uneasy sense that she was watching him
+all the time from some hidden place near at hand. He looked up into
+the branches of the trees. They were heavy with snow which had not
+been shaken from them.
+
+West smothered a laugh and an oath. He saw the trick now. She must
+have back-tracked carefully, at each step putting her feet in exactly
+the same place as when she had moved forward. Of course! The tracks
+showed where she had brushed the deep drifts occasionally when the
+moccasin went in the second time.
+
+It was slow business, for while he studied the sign he must keep a
+keen eye cocked against the chance of a shot from his hidden prey.
+
+Twice he quartered over the ground before he knew he had reached the
+place where the back-tracking ceased. Close to the spot was a pine.
+A pile of snow showed where a small avalanche had plunged down. That
+must have been when she disturbed it on the branches in climbing.
+
+His glance swept up the trunk and came to a halt. With his rifle he
+covered the figure crouching close to it on the far side.
+
+"Come down," he ordered.
+
+He was due for one of the surprises of his life. The tree-dweller slid
+down and stood before him. It was not Jessie McRae, but a man, an
+Indian, the Blackfoot who had ridden out with the girl once to spoil
+his triumph over the red-coat Beresford.
+
+For a moment he stood, stupefied, jaw fallen and mouth open. "Whad you
+doin' here?" he asked at last.
+
+"No food my camp. I hunt," Onistah said.
+
+"Tha's a lie. Where's the McRae girl?"
+
+The slim Indian said nothing. His face was expressionless as a blank
+wall.
+
+West repeated the question. He might have been talking to a block of
+wood for all the answer he received. His crafty, cruel mind churned
+over the situation.
+
+"Won't talk, eh? We'll see about that. You got her hid somewheres an'
+I'm gonna find where. I'll not stand for yore Injun tricks. Drop that
+gun an' marchê-back to the cabin. Un'erstand?"
+
+Onistah did as he was told.
+
+They reached the cabin. There was one thing West did not get hold of
+in his mind. Why had not the Blackfoot shot him from the tree? He had
+had a score of chances. The reason was not one the white man would be
+likely to fathom. Onistah had not killed him because the Indian was a
+Christian. He had learned from Father Giguère that he must turn the
+other cheek.
+
+West, revolver close at hand, cut thongs from the caribou skins.
+He tied his captive hand and foot, then removed his moccasins and
+duffles. From the fire he raked out a live coal and put it on a flat
+chip. This he brought across the room.
+
+"Changed yore mind any? Where's the girl?" he demanded.
+
+Onistah looked at him, impassive as only an Indian can be.
+
+"Still sulky, eh? We'll see about that."
+
+The convict knelt on the man's ankles and pushed the coal against the
+naked sole of the brown foot.
+
+An involuntary deep shudder went through the Blackfoot's body. The
+foot twitched. An acrid odor of burning flesh filled the room. No
+sound came from the locked lips.
+
+The tormentor removed the coal. "I ain't begun to play with you yet.
+I'm gonna give you some real Apache stuff 'fore I'm through. Where's
+the girl? I'm gonna find out if I have to boil you in grease."
+
+Still Onistah said nothing.
+
+West brought another coal. "We'll try the other foot," he said.
+
+Again the pungent acrid odor rose to the nostrils.
+
+"How about it now?" the convict questioned.
+
+No answer came. This time Onistah had fainted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+"IS A' WELL WI' YOU, LASS?"
+
+
+Jessie's shoes crunched on the snow-crust. She traveled fast. In spite
+of Onistah's assurance her heart was troubled for him. West and Whaley
+would study the tracks and come to at least an approximation of the
+truth. She did not dare think of what the gorilla-man would do to her
+friend if they captured him.
+
+And how was it possible that they would not find him? His footsteps
+would be stamped deep in the snow. He could not travel fast. Since he
+had become a Christian, the Blackfoot, with the simplicity of a mind
+not used to the complexities of modern life, accepted the words of
+Jesus literally. He would not take a human life to save his own.
+
+She blamed herself for escaping at his expense. The right thing would
+have been to send him back again for her father. But West had become
+such a horrible obsession with her that the sight of him even at a
+distance had put her in a panic.
+
+From the end of the lake she followed the trail Onistah had made. It
+took into the woods, veering sharply to the right. The timber was
+open. Even where the snow was deep, the crust was firm enough to hold.
+
+In her anxiety it seemed that hours passed. The sun was still fairly
+high, but she knew how quickly it sank these winter days.
+
+She skirted a morass, climbed a long hill, and saw before her another
+lake. On the shore was a camp. A fire was burning, and over this a man
+stooping.
+
+At the sound of her call, the man looked up. He rose and began to run
+toward her. She snowshoed down the hill, a little blindly, for the
+mist of glad tears brimmed her eyes.
+
+Straight into Beresford's arms she went. Safe at last, she began to
+cry. The soldier petted her, with gentle words of comfort.
+
+"It's all right now, little girl. All over with. Your father's here.
+See! He's coming. We'll not let anything harm you."
+
+McRae took the girl into his arms and held her tight. His rugged face
+was twisted with emotion. A dam of ice melted in his heart. The voice
+with which he spoke, broken with feeling, betrayed how greatly he was
+shaken.
+
+"My bairn! My wee dawtie! To God be the thanks."
+
+She clung to him, trying to control her sobs. He stroked her hair and
+kissed her, murmuring Gaelic words of endearment. A thought pierced
+him, like a sword-thrust.
+
+He held her at arm's length, a fierce anxiety in his haggard face. "Is
+a' well wi' you, lass?" he asked, almost harshly.
+
+She understood his question. Her level eyes met his. They held no
+reservations of shame. "All's well with me, Father. Mr. Whaley was
+there the whole time. He stood out against West. He was my friend."
+She stopped, enough said.
+
+"The Lord be thankit," he repeated again, devoutly.
+
+Tom Morse, rifle in hand, had come from the edge of the woods and was
+standing near. He had heard her first call, had seen her go to the
+arms of Beresford direct as a hurt child to those of its mother, and
+he had drawn reasonable conclusions from that. For under stress
+the heart reveals itself, he argued, and she had turned simply and
+instinctively to the man she loved. He stood now outside the group,
+silent. Inside him too a river of ice had melted. His haunted, sunken
+eyes told the suffering he had endured. The feeling that flooded him
+was deeper than joy. She had been dead and was alive again. She had
+been lost and was found.
+
+"Where have you been?" asked Beresford. "We've been looking for days."
+
+"In a cabin on Bull Creek. Mr. Whaley took me there, but West
+followed."
+
+"How did you get away?"
+
+"We were out of food. They went hunting. West took my snowshoes.
+Onistah came. He saw them coming back and gave me his shoes. He went
+and hid in the woods. But they'll see his tracks. They'll find him. We
+must hurry back."
+
+"Yes," agreed McRae. "I'm thinkin' if West finds the lad, he'll do him
+ill."
+
+Morse spoke for the first time, his voice dry as a chip. "We'd better
+hurry on, Beresford and I. You and Miss McRae can bring the sled."
+
+McRae hesitated, but assented. There might be desperate need of haste.
+"That'll be the best way. But you'll be carefu', lad. Yon West's a
+wolf. He'd as lief kill ye baith as look at ye."
+
+The younger men were out of sight over the brow of the hill long
+before McRae and Jessie had the dogs harnessed.
+
+"You'll ride, lass," the father announced.
+
+She demurred. "We can go faster if I walk. Let me drive. Then you can
+break trail where the snow's soft."
+
+"No. You'll ride, my dear. There's nae sic a hurry. The lads'll do
+what's to be done. On wi' ye."
+
+Jessie got into the cariole and was bundled up to the tip of the nose
+with buffalo robes, the capote of her own fur being drawn over the
+head and face. For riding in the sub-Arctic winter is a freezing
+business.
+
+"Marché,"[6] ordered McRae.
+
+[Footnote: Most of the dogs of the North were trained by trappers
+who talked French and gave commands in that language. Hence even
+the Anglo-Saxon drivers used in driving a good many words of that
+language. (W.M.R.)]
+
+Cuffy led the dogs up the hill, following the trail already broken.
+The train made good time, but to Jessie it seemed to crawl. She was
+tortured with anxiety for Onistah. An express could not have carried
+her fast enough. It was small comfort to tell herself that Onistah was
+a Blackfoot and knew every ruse of the woods. His tracks would lead
+straight to him and the veriest child could follow them. Nor could she
+persuade herself that Whaley would stand between him and West's anger.
+To the gambler Onistah was only a nitchie.
+
+The train passed out of the woods to the shore of the lake. Here the
+going was better. The sun was down and the snow-crust held dogs and
+sled. A hundred fifty yards from the cabin McRae pulled up the team.
+He moved forward and examined the snow.
+
+With a heave Jessie flung aside the robes that wrapped her and jumped
+from the cariole. An invisible hand seemed to clutch tightly at her
+throat. For what she and her father had seen were crimson splashes
+in the white. Some one or something had been killed or wounded here.
+Onistah, of course! He must have changed his mind, tried to follow
+her, and been shot by West as he was crossing the lake.
+
+She groaned, her heart heavy.
+
+McRae offered comfort. "He'll likely be only wounded. The lads wouldna
+hae moved him yet if he'd no' been livin'."
+
+The train moved forward, Jessie running beside Angus.
+
+Morse came to the door. He closed it behind him.
+
+"Onistah?" cried Jessie.
+
+"He's been--hurt. But we were in time. He'll get well."
+
+"West shot him? We saw stains in the snow."
+
+"No. He shot Whaley."
+
+"Whaley?" echoed McRae.
+
+"Yes. Wanted to get rid of him. Thought your daughter was hidden in
+the woods here. Afraid, too, that Whaley would give him up to the
+North-West Mounted."
+
+"Then Whaley's dead?" the Scotchman asked.
+
+"No. West hadn't time right then to finish the job. Pretty badly hurt,
+though. Shot in the side and in the thigh."
+
+"And West?"
+
+"We came too soon. He couldn't finish his deviltry. He lit out over
+the hill soon as he saw us."
+
+They went into the house.
+
+Jessie walked straight to where Onistah lay on the balsam boughs and
+knelt beside him. Beresford was putting on one of his feet a cloth
+soaked in caribou oil.
+
+"What did he do to you?" she cried, a constriction of dread at her
+heart.
+
+A ghost of a smile touched the immobile face of the native. "Apache
+stuff, he called it."
+
+"But--"
+
+"West burned his feet to make him tell where you were," Beresford told
+her gently.
+
+"Oh!" she cried, in horror.
+
+"Good old Onistah. He gamed it out. Wouldn't say a word. West saw us
+coming and hit the trail."
+
+"Is he--is he--?"
+
+"He's gone."
+
+"I mean Onistah."
+
+"Suffering to beat the band, but not a whimper out of him. He's not
+permanently hurt--be walking around in a week or two."
+
+"You poor boy!" the girl cried softly, and she put her arm under the
+Indian's head to lift it to an easier position.
+
+The dumb lips of the Blackfoot did not thank her, but the dark eyes
+gave her the gratitude of a heart wholly hers.
+
+All that night the house was a hospital. The country was one where men
+had learned to look after hurts without much professional aid. In a
+rough way Angus McRae was something of a doctor. He dressed the wounds
+of both the injured, using the small medical kit he had brought with
+him.
+
+Whaley was a bit of a stoic himself. The philosophy of his class was
+to take good fortune or ill undemonstratively. He was lucky to be
+alive. Why whine about what must be?
+
+But as the fever grew on him with the lengthening hours, he passed
+into delirium. Sometimes he groaned with pain. Again he fell into
+disconnected babble of early days. He was back again with his father
+and mother, living over his wild and erring youth.
+
+"... Don't tell Mother. I'll square it all right if you keep it from
+her.... Rotten run of cards. Ninety-seven dollars. You'll have to
+wait, I tell you.... Mother, Mother, if you won't cry like that ..."
+
+McRae used the simple remedies he had. In themselves they were, he
+knew, of little value. He must rely on good nursing and the man's
+hardy constitution to pull him through.
+
+With Morse and Beresford he discussed the best course to follow. It
+was decided that Morse should take Onistah and Jessie back to Faraway
+next day and return with a load of provisions. Whaley's fever must run
+its period. It was impossible to tell yet whether he would live or
+die, but for some days at least it would not be safe to move him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+NOT GOING ALONE
+
+
+"Morse, I've watched ye through four-five days of near-hell. I ken
+nane I'd rather tak wi' me as a lone companion on the long traverse.
+You're canny an' you're bold. That's why I'm trustin' my lass to your
+care. It's a short bit of a trip, an' far as I can see there's nae
+danger. But the fear's in me. That's the truth, man. Gie me your word
+you'll no' let her oot o' your sight till ye hand her ower to my wife
+at Faraway."
+
+Angus clamped a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder. His blue eyes
+searched steadily those of the trader.
+
+"I'll not let her twenty yards from me any time. That's a promise,
+McRae," the trader said quietly.
+
+Well wrapped from the wind, Onistah sat in the cariole.
+
+Jessie kissed the Scotchman fondly, laughing at him the while. "You're
+a goose, Father. I'm all right. You take good care of yourself. That
+West might come back here."
+
+"No chance of that. West will never come back except at the end of
+a rope. He's headed for the edge of the Barrens, or up that way
+somewhere," Beresford said. "And inside of a week I'll be north-bound
+on his trail myself."
+
+Jessie was startled, a good deal distressed. "I'd let him go. He'll
+meet a bad end somewhere. If he never comes back, as you say he won't,
+then he'll not trouble us."
+
+The soldier smiled grimly. "That's not the way of the Mounted. Get the
+fellow you're sent after. That's our motto. I've been assigned the job
+of bringing in West and I've got to get him."
+
+"You don't mean you're going up there alone to bring back that--that
+wolf-man?"
+
+"Oh, no," the trooper answered lightly. "I'll have a Cree along as a
+guide."
+
+"A Cree," she scoffed. "What good will he be if you find West? He'll
+not help you against him at all."
+
+"Not what he's with me for. I'm not supposed to need any help to bring
+back one man."
+
+"It's--it's just suicide to go after him alone," she persisted. "Look
+what he did to the guard at the prison, to Mr. Whaley, to Onistah!
+He's just awful--hardly human."
+
+"The lad's under orders, lass," McRae told her. "Gin they send him
+into the North after West, he'll just have to go. He canna argy-bargy
+aboot it."
+
+Jessie gave up, reluctantly.
+
+The little cavalcade started. Morse drove. The girl brought up the
+rear.
+
+Her mind was still on the hazard of the journey Beresford must take.
+When Morse stopped to rest the dogs for a few moments, she tucked up
+Onistah again and recurred to the subject.
+
+"I don't think Win Beresford should go after West alone except for a
+Cree guide. The Inspector ought to send another constable with him. Or
+two more. If he knew that man--how cruel and savage he is--"
+
+Tom Morse spoke quietly. "He's not going alone. I'll be with him."
+
+She stared. "You?"
+
+"Yes. Sworn in as a deputy constable."
+
+"But--he didn't say you were going when I spoke to him about it a
+little while ago."
+
+"He didn't know. I've made up my mind since."
+
+In point of fact he had come to a decision three seconds before he
+announced it.
+
+Her soft eyes applauded him. "That'll be fine. His friends won't
+worry so much if you're with him. But--of course you know it'll be a
+horrible trip--and dangerous."
+
+"No picnic," he admitted.
+
+She continued to look at him, her cheeks flushed and her face vivid.
+"You must like Win a lot. Not many men would go."
+
+"We're good friends," Morse answered dryly. "Anyhow, I owe West
+something on my own account."
+
+The real reason why he was going he had not given. During the days she
+had been lost he had been on the rack of torture. He did not want her
+to suffer months of such mental distress while the man she loved was
+facing alone the peril of his grim work in the white Arctic desert.
+
+They resumed the journey.
+
+Jessie said no more. She would not mention the subject again probably.
+But it would be a great deal in her thoughts. She lived much of the
+time inside herself with her own imagination. This had the generosity
+and the enthusiasm of youth. She wanted to believe people fine and
+good and true. It warmed her to discover unexpected virtues in them.
+
+Mid-afternoon brought them to Faraway. They drove down the main street
+of the village to McRae's house while the half-breeds cheered from the
+door of the Morse store.
+
+Jessie burst into the big family room where Matapi-Koma sat bulging
+out from the only rocking-chair in the North woods.
+
+"Oh, Mother--Mother!" the girl cried, and hugged the Cree woman with
+all the ardent young savagery of her nature.
+
+The Indian woman's fat face crinkled to an expansive smile. She had
+stalwart sons of her own, but no daughters except this adopted child.
+Jessie was very dear to her.
+
+In a dozen sentences the girl poured out her story, the words tumbling
+pell-mell over each other in headlong haste.
+
+Matapi-Koma waddled out to the sled. "Onistah stay here," she said,
+and beamed on him. "Blackfoot all same Cree to Matapi-Koma when he
+friend Jessie. Angus send word nurse him till he well again."
+
+Tom carried the Indian into the house so that his feet would not touch
+the ground. Jessie had stayed in to arrange the couch where Fergus
+usually slept.
+
+She followed Morse to the door when he left. "We'll have some things
+to send back to Father when you go. I'll bring them down to the store
+to-morrow morning," she said. "And Mother wants you to come to supper
+to-night. Don't you dare say you're too busy."
+
+He smiled at the intimate feminine fierceness of the injunction. The
+last few hours had put them on a somewhat different footing. He would
+accept such largesse as she was willing to offer. He recognized the
+spirit in which it was given. She wanted to show her appreciation of
+what he had done for her and was about to do for the man she loved.
+Nor would Morse meet her generosity in a churlish spirit.
+
+"I'll be here when the gong rings," he told her heartily.
+
+"Let's see. It's nearly three now. Say five o'clock," she decided.
+
+"At five I'll be knockin' on the door."
+
+She flashed at him a glance both shy and daring. "And I'll open it
+before you break through and bring it with you."
+
+The trader went away with a queer warmth in his heart he had not known
+for many a day. The facts did not justify this elation, this swift
+exhilaration of blood, but to one who has starved for long any food is
+grateful.
+
+Jessie flew back into the house. She had a busy two hours before her.
+"Mother, Mr. Morse is coming to dinner. What's in the house?"
+
+"Fergus brought a black-tail in yesterday."
+
+"Good. I know what I'll have. But first off, I want a bath. Lots of
+hot water, and all foamy with soap. I've got to hurry. You can peel
+the potatoes if you like. And fix some of those young onions. They're
+nice. And Mother--I'll let you make the biscuits. That's all. I'll do
+the rest."
+
+The girl touched a match to the fire that was set in her room. She
+brought a tin tub and hot water and towels. Slim and naked she
+stood before the roaring logs and reveled in her bath. The sense of
+cleanliness was a luxury delicious. When she had dressed herself
+from the soles of her feet up in clean clothes, she felt a new and
+self-respecting woman.
+
+She did not pay much attention to the psychology of dress, but she
+knew that when she had on the pretty plaid that had come from Fort
+Benton, and when her heavy black hair was done up just right, she
+had twice the sex confidence she felt in old togs. Jessie would have
+denied indignantly that she was a coquette. None the less she was
+intent on conquest. She wanted this quiet, self-contained American to
+like her.
+
+The look she had seen in his red-brown eyes at times tantalized her.
+She could not read it. That some current of feeling about her raced
+deep in him she divined, but she did not know what it was. He had a
+way of letting his steady gaze rest on her disturbingly. What was he
+thinking? Did he despise her? Was he, away down out of sight, the kind
+of man toward women that West and Whaley were? She wouldn't believe
+it. He had never taken an Indian woman to live with him. There was not
+even a rumor that he had ever taken an interest in any Cree girl. Of
+course she did not like him--not the way she did Win Beresford or even
+Onistah--but she was glad he held himself aloof. It would have greatly
+disappointed her to learn of any sordid intrigue involving him.
+
+Jessie rolled up her sleeves and put on a big apron. She saw that
+the onions and the potatoes were started and the venison ready for
+broiling. From a chest of drawers she brought one of the new white
+linen tablecloths of which she was inordinately proud. She would not
+trust any one but herself to set the table. Morse had come from a good
+family. He knew about such things. She was not going to let him go
+away thinking Angus McRae's family were barbarians, even though his
+wife was a Cree and his children of the half-blood.
+
+On the table she put a glass dish of wild-strawberry jam. In the
+summer she had picked the fruit herself, just as she had gathered the
+saskatoon berries sprinkled through the pemmican she was going to use
+for the rubaboo.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+"M" FOR MORSE
+
+
+Two in the village bathed that day. The other was Tom Morse. He
+discarded his serviceable moccasins, his caribou-skin capote with the
+fur on, his moose-skin trousers, and his picturesque blanket shirt.
+For these he substituted the ungainly clothes of civilization, a pair
+of square-toed boots, a store suit, a white shirt.
+
+This was not the way Faraway dressed for gala occasions, but in
+several respects the trader did not choose to follow the habits of the
+North. At times he liked to remind himself that he was an American and
+not a French half-breed born in the woods.
+
+As he had promised, he was at the McRaes' by the appointed hour.
+Jessie opened to his knock.
+
+The girl almost took his breath. He had not realized how attractive
+she was. In her rough outdoor costumes she had a certain naïve
+boyishness, a very taking quality of vital energy that was sexless.
+But in the house dress she was wearing now, Jessie was wholly
+feminine. The little face, cameo-fine and clear-cut, the slender body,
+willow-straight, had the soft rounded curves that were a joy to the
+eye. He had always thought of her as dark, but to his surprise he
+found her amazingly fair for one of the métis blood.
+
+A dimpled smile flashed him welcome. "You did come, then?"
+
+"Is it the wrong night? Weren't you expectin' me?" he asked in
+pretended alarm.
+
+"I was and I wasn't. It wouldn't have surprised me if you had decided
+you were too busy to come."
+
+"Not when Miss Jessie McRae invites me."
+
+"She invited you once before," the girl reminded him.
+
+"Then she asked me because she thought she ought. Is that why I'm
+asked this time?"
+
+She laughed. "You mustn't look a gift dinner in the mouth."
+
+They were by this time in the big family room. She relieved him of his
+coat. He walked over to the couch upon which Onistah lay.
+
+"How goes it? Tough sleddin'?" he asked.
+
+The bronze face of the Blackfoot was immobile. He must still have been
+in great pain from the burnt feet, but he gave no sign of it.
+
+"Onistah find good friends," he answered simply.
+
+Tom looked round the room, and again there came to him the sense of
+home. Logs roared and snapped in the great fireplace. The table, set
+with the dishes and the plated silver McRae had imported from the
+States, stirred in him a pleasure that was almost poignant. The books,
+the organ, the quaint old engravings Angus had brought with him when
+he crossed the ocean: all of these touched the trader nearly. He was
+in exile, living a bachelor life under the most primitive conditions.
+The atmosphere of this house penetrated to every fiber of his being.
+It filled him with an acute hunger. Here were love and friendly
+intercourse and all the daily, homely routine that made life
+beautiful.
+
+And here was the girl that he loved, vivid, vital, full of charm. The
+swift deftness and grace of her movements enticed him. The inflections
+of her warm, young voice set his pulses throbbing as music sometimes
+did. An ardent desire of her flooded him. She was the most winsome
+creature under heaven--but she was not for him.
+
+Matapi-Koma sat at the head of the table, a smiling and benignant
+matron finished in copper. She had on her best dress, a beaded
+silk with purple satin trimmings, brought by a Red River cart from
+Winnipeg, accompanied with a guarantee from the trader that Queen
+Victoria had none better. The guarantee was worth what it was worth,
+but Matapi-Koma was satisfied. Never had she seen anything so grand.
+That Angus McRae could afford to buy it for her proved him a great
+chief.
+
+Jessie waited on the table herself. She set upon it such a dinner as
+neither of her guests had eaten in years. Venison broiled to a turn,
+juicy, succulent mallard ducks from the cold storage of their larder,
+mashed potatoes with gravy, young boiled onions from Whoop-Up,
+home-made rubaboo of delicious flavor, hot biscuits and
+wild-strawberry jam! And finally, with the tea, a brandy-flavored plum
+pudding that an old English lady at Winnipeg had taught Jessie how to
+make.
+
+Onistah ate lying on the couch. Afterward, filled to repletion, with
+the sense of perfect contentment a good dinner brings, the two young
+men stuffed their pipes and puffed strata of smoke toward the log
+rafters of the room. Jessie cleared the table, then sat down and
+put the last stitches in the gun-case she had been working at
+intermittently for a month. It was finished, but she had not till now
+stitched the initials into the cloth.
+
+As the swift fingers of the girl flashed back and forth, both men
+watched, not too obviously, the profile shadowed by the dark,
+abundant, shining hair. The picture of her was an intimate one, but
+Tom's tricky imagination tormented him with one of still nearer
+personal association. He saw her in his own house, before his own
+fireside, a baby clinging to her skirt. Then, resolutely, he put the
+mental etching behind him. She loved his friend Beresford, a man out
+of a thousand, and of course he loved her. Had he not seen her go
+straight to his arms after her horrible experience with West?
+
+Matapi-Koma presently waddled out of the room and they could hear the
+clatter of dishes.
+
+"I told her I'd help her wash them if she'd wait," explained Jessie.
+"But she'd rather do them now and go to bed. My conscience is clear,
+anyhow." She added with a little bubble of laughter, "And I don't have
+to do the work. Is that the kind of a conscience you have, Mr. Morse?"
+
+"If I were you my conscience would tell me that I couldn't go and
+leave my guests," he answered.
+
+She raked him with a glance of merry derision. "Oh, I know how yours
+works. I wouldn't have it for anything. It's an awf'lly bossy one.
+It's sending you out to the Barrens with Win Beresford just because
+he's your friend."
+
+"Not quite. I have another reason too," he replied.
+
+"Yes, I know. You don't like West. Nobody does. My father doesn't--or
+Fergus--or Mr. Whaley--but they're not taking the long trail after him
+as you are. You can't get out of it that way."
+
+She had not, of course, hit on the real reason for going that
+supplemented his friendship for the constable and he did not intend
+that she should.
+
+"It doesn't matter much why I'm going. Anyhow, it'll be good for me.
+I'm gettin' soft and fat. After I've been out in the deep snows a
+month or so, I'll have taken up my belt a notch or two. It's time I
+wrestled with a blizzard an' tried livin' on lean rabbit.[7]"
+
+[Footnote 7: Rabbit is about the poorest meat in the North. It is lean
+and stringy, furnishes very little nourishment and not much fat,
+and is not a muscle-builder. In a country where, oil and grease
+are essentials, such food is not desirable. The Indians ate great
+quantities of them. (W.M.R.)]
+
+Her gaze swept his lean, hard, compact body. "Yes, you look soft," she
+mocked. "Father said something of that sort when he looked at that
+door there you came through."
+
+Tom had been watching her stitching. He offered a comment now,
+perhaps, to change the subject. It is embarrassing for a modest man to
+talk about himself.
+
+"You're workin' that 'W' upside down," he said.
+
+"Am I? Who said, it was a 'W'?"
+
+"I guessed it might be."
+
+"You're a bad guesser. It's an 'M.' 'M' stands for McRae, doesn't it?"
+
+"Yes, and 'W' for Winthrop," he said with a little flare of boldness.
+
+A touch of soft color flagged her cheeks. "And 'I' for impudence," she
+retorted with a smile that robbed the words of offense.
+
+He was careful not to risk outstaying his welcome. After an hour he
+rose to go. His good-bye to Matapi-Koma and Onistah was made in the
+large living-room.
+
+Jessie followed him to the outside door.
+
+He gave her a word of comfort as he buttoned his coat, "Don't you
+worry about Win. I'll keep an eye on him."
+
+"Thank you. And he'll keep one on you, I suppose."
+
+He laughed. That reversal of the case was a new idea to him. The
+prettiest girl in the North was not holding her breath till he
+returned safely. "I reckon," he said. "We'll team together fine."
+
+"Don't be foolhardy, either of you," she cautioned.
+
+"No," he promised, and held out his hand. "Good-bye, if I don't see
+you in the mornin'."
+
+He did not know she was screwing up her courage and had been for half
+an hour to do something she had never done before. She plunged at it,
+a tide of warm blood beating into her face beneath the tan.
+
+"'M' is for Morse too, and 'T' for Tom," she said.
+
+With the same motion she thrust the gun-case into his hand and him out
+of the door.
+
+He stood outside, facing a closed door, the bit of fancy-work in his
+mittens. An exultant electric tingle raced through his veins. She had
+given him a token of friendship he would cherish all his life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+THE LONG TRAIL
+
+
+For four days Whaley lay between life and death. There were hours when
+the vital current in him ebbed so low that McRae thought it was the
+beginning of the end. But after the fifth day he began definitely to
+mend. His appetite increased. The fever in him abated. The delirium
+passed away. Just a week from the time he had been wounded, McRae put
+him on the cariole and took him to town over the hard crust of the
+snow.
+
+Beresford returned from Fort Edmonton a few hours later, carrying with
+him an appointment for Morse as guide and deputy constable.
+
+"Maintiens le droit," said the officer, clapping his friend on the
+shoulder. "You're one of us now. A great chance for a short life you've
+got. Time for the insurance companies to cancel any policies they may
+have on you."
+
+Morse smiled. He was only a deputy, appointed temporarily, but it
+pleased him to be chosen even in this capacity as a member of the most
+efficient police force in the world. "Maintiens le droit" was the
+motto of the Mounted. Tom did not intend that the morale of that body
+should suffer through him if he could help it.
+
+Angus McRae had offered his dog-train for the pursuit and Beresford
+had promptly accepted. The four dogs of the Scotch trapper were far
+and away better than any others that could be picked up in a hurry.
+They had stamina, and they were not savage and wolfish like most of
+those belonging to the Indians and even to the Hudson's Bay Company.
+
+Supplies for the trip had been gathered by Morse. From the Crees he
+had bought two hundred pounds of dried fish for the dogs. Their own
+provisions consisted of pemmican, dried caribou meat, flour, salt,
+tea, and tobacco.
+
+All Faraway was out to see the start. The travelers would certainly
+cover hundreds and perhaps thousands of miles before their return.
+Even in that country of wide spaces, where men mushed far when the
+rivers and lakes were closed, this was likely to prove an epic trip.
+
+Beresford cracked the long lash and Cuffy leaned forward in the
+traces. The tangle of dogs straightened out and began to move. A
+French voyageur lifted his throat in a peculiar shout that was half
+a bark. Indians and half-breeds snowshoed down the street beside
+the sled. At the door of the McRae house stood Angus, his wife, and
+daughter.
+
+"God wi' you haith," the trapper called.
+
+Jessie waved a scarf, and Beresford, who had spent the previous
+evening with her, threw up a hand in gay greeting.
+
+The calvacade drew to the edge of the woods. Morse looked back. A slim
+figure, hardly distinguishable in the distance, still stood in front
+of the McRae house fluttering the scarf.
+
+A turn in the trail hid her. Faraway was shut out of view.
+
+For four or five miles the trappers stayed with them. It was rather a
+custom of the North to speed travelers on their way in this fashion.
+At the edge of the first lake the Indians and half-breeds said
+good-bye and turned back.
+
+Morse moved onto the ice and broke trail. The dogs followed in
+tandem--Cuffy, Koona, Bull, and Caesar. They traveled fast over the
+ice and reached the woods beyond. The timber was not thick. Beyond
+this was a second lake, a larger one. By the time they had crossed
+this, the sun was going down.
+
+The men watched for a sheltered place to camp and as soon as they
+found one, they threw off the trail to the edge of the woods, drawing
+up the sledge back of them as a wind-break. They gathered pine for
+fuel and cut balsam boughs for beds. It had come on to snow, and they
+ate supper with their backs to the drive of the flakes, the hoods of
+their furs drawn over their heads.
+
+The dogs sat round in a half-circle watching them and the frozen fish
+thawing before the fire. Their faces, tilted a little sideways, ears
+cocked and eyes bright, looked anxiously expectant. When the fish were
+half-thawed, Morse tossed them by turn to the waiting animals, who
+managed to get rid of their supper with a snap and a gulp. Afterward
+they burrowed down in the snow and fell asleep.
+
+On the blazing logs Beresford had put two kettles filled with snow.
+These he refilled after the snow melted, until enough water was in
+them. Into one kettle he put a piece of fat caribou meat. The other
+was to make tea.
+
+Using their snowshoes as shovels, they scraped a place clear and
+scattered balsam boughs on it. On this they spread an empty flour
+sack, cut open at the side. Tin plates and cups served as dish.
+
+Their supper consisted of soggy bannocks, fat meat, and tea. While
+they ate, the snow continued to fall. It was not unwelcome, for so
+long as this lasted the cold could not be intolerable. Moreover,
+snow makes a good white blanket and protects against sudden drops in
+temperature.
+
+They changed their moccasins and duffles and pulled on as night-wear
+long buffalo-skin boots, hood, mufflers, and fur mits. A heavy fur
+robe and a blanket were added. Into these last they snuggled down,
+wrapping themselves up so completely that a tenderfoot would have
+smothered for lack of air.
+
+Before they retired, they could hear the ice on the lake cracking like
+distant thunder. The trees back of them occasionally snapped from the
+cold with reports that sounded like pistol shots.
+
+In five minutes both men were asleep. They lay with their heads
+entirely covered, as the Indians did. Not once during the night did
+they stir. To disarrange their bedding and expose the nose or the
+hands to the air would be to risk being frozen.
+
+Morse woke first. He soon had a roaring fire. Again there were two
+kettles on it, one for fat meat and the other for strong tea. No
+fish were thawing before the heat, for dogs are fed only once a day.
+Otherwise they get sleepy and sluggish, losing the edge of their
+keenness.
+
+They were off to an early start. There was a cold head wind that was
+uncomfortable. For hours they held to the slow, swinging stride of the
+webs. Sometimes the trail was through the forest, sometimes in and out
+of brush and small timber. Twice during the day they crossed lakes and
+hit up a lively pace. Once they came to a muskeg, four miles across,
+and had to plough over the moss hags while brush tangled their feet
+and slapped their faces.
+
+Cuffy was a prince of leaders. He seemed to know by some sixth sense
+the best way to wind through underbrush and over swamps. He was
+master of the train and ruled by strength and courage as well as
+intelligence. Bull had ideas of his own, but after one sharp brush
+with Cuffy, from which he had emerged ruffled and bleeding, the native
+dog relinquished claim to dominance.
+
+The travelers made about fifteen miles before noon. They came to a
+solitary tepee, built on the edge of a lake with a background of
+snow-burdened spruce. This lodge was constructed of poles arranged
+cone-shaped side by side, the chinks between plastered with moss
+wedged in to fill every crevice. A thin wisp of smoke rose from an
+open space in the top.
+
+At the sound of the yelping dogs a man lifted the moose-skin curtain
+that served as a door. He was an old and wrinkled Cree. His face was
+so brown and tough and netted with seams that it resembled a piece of
+alligator leather. From out of it peered two very small bright eyes.
+
+"Ugh! Ugh!" he grunted.
+
+This appeared to be all the English that he knew. Beresford tried him
+in French and discovered he had a smattering of it. After a good many
+attempts, the soldier found that he had seen no white man with a
+dog-train in many moons. The Cree lived there alone, it appeared, and
+trapped for a living. Why he was separated from all his kin and tribal
+relations the young Canadian could not find out at the time. Later he
+learned that the old fellow was an outcast because he had once shown
+the white feather in a battle with Blackfeet fifty years earlier.
+
+Before they left, the travelers discovered that he knew two more words
+of English. One was rum, the other tobacco. He begged for both. They
+left him a half-foot of tobacco. The scant supply of whiskey they had
+brought was for an emergency.
+
+Just before night fell, Morse shot two ptarmigan in the woods. These
+made a welcome addition to their usual fare.
+
+Though both the men were experienced in the use of snowshoes, their
+feet were raw from the chafing of the thongs. Before the camp-fire
+they greased the sore places with tallow. In a few days the irritation
+due to the webs would disappear and the leg muscles brought into
+service by this new and steady shuffle would harden and grow fit.
+
+They had built a wind-break of brush beside the sled and covered the
+ground with spruce boughs after clearing away the snow. Here they
+rested after supper, drying socks, duffles, and moccasins, which were
+wet with perspiration, before the popping fire.
+
+Beresford pulled out his English briar pipe and Tom one picked from
+the Company stock. Smoke wreathed their heads while they lounged
+indolently on the spruce bed and occasionally exchanged a remark. They
+knew each other well enough for long silences. When they talked, it
+was because they had something to say.
+
+The Canadian looked at his friend's new gun-case and remarked with a
+gleam in his eye:
+
+"I spoke for that first, Tom. Had miners on it, I thought."
+
+The American laughed sardonically. "It was a present for a good boy,"
+he explained. "I've a notion somebody was glad I was mushin' with you
+on this trip. Maybe you can guess why. Anyhow, I drew a present out of
+it."
+
+"I see you did," Beresford answered, grinning.
+
+"I'm to look after you proper an' see you're tucked up."
+
+"Oh, that's it?"
+
+"That's just it."
+
+The constable looked at him queerly, started to say something, then
+changed his mind.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+A PICTURE IN A LOCKET
+
+
+It was characteristic of McRae that he had insisted on bringing Whaley
+to his own home to recuperate. "It's nursin' you need, man, an' guid
+food. Ye'll get baith at the hoose."
+
+The trader protested, and was overruled. His Cree wife was not just
+now able to look after him. McRae's wife and daughter made good his
+promise, and the wounded man thrived under their care.
+
+On an afternoon Whaley lay on the bed in his room smoking. Beside him
+sat Lemoine, also puffing at a pipe. The trapper had brought to the
+ex-gambler a strange tale of a locket and a ring he had seen bought
+by a half-breed from a Blackfoot squaw who claimed to have had it
+eighteen years. He had just finished telling of it when Jessie knocked
+at the door and came into the room with a bowl of caribou broth.
+
+Whaley pretended to resent this solicitude, but his objection was a
+fraud. He liked this girl fussing over him. His attitude toward her
+was wholly changed. Thinking of her as a white girl, he looked at her
+with respect.
+
+"No more slops," he said. "Bring me a good caribou steak and I'll say
+thank you."
+
+"You're to eat what Mother sends," she told him.
+
+Lemoine had risen from the chair on which he had been sitting. He
+stared at her, a queer look of puzzled astonishment in his eyes.
+Jessie became aware of his gaze and flashed on him a look of
+annoyance.
+
+"Have you seen a ghost, Mr. Lemoine?" she asked.
+
+"By gar, maybeso, Miss Jessie. The picture in the locket, it jus' lak
+you--same hair, same eyes, same smile."
+
+"What picture in what locket?"
+
+"The locket I see at Whoop-Up, the one Pierre Roubideaux buy from old
+Makoye-kin's squaw."
+
+"A picture of a Blackfoot?"
+
+"No-o. Maybe French--maybe from the 'Merican country. I do not know."
+
+Whaley took the pipe from his mouth and sat up, the chill eyes in his
+white face fixed and intent. "Go back to Whoop-Up, Lemoine. Buy
+that locket and that ring for me from Pierre Roubideaux. See
+Makoye-kin--and his squaw. Find out where she got it--and when. Run
+down the whole story."
+
+The trapper took off a fur cap and scratched his curly poll.
+"Mais--pourquois? All that will take money, is it not so?"
+
+"I'll let you have the money. Spend what you need, but account for it
+to me afterward."
+
+Jessie felt the irregular beat of a hammer inside her bosom. "What is
+it you think, Mr. Whaley?" she cried softly.
+
+"I don't know what I think. Probably nothing to it. But there's a
+locket. We know that. With a picture that looks like you, Lemoine here
+thinks. We'd better find out whose picture it is, hadn't we?"
+
+"Yes, but--Do you mean that maybe it has something to do with me? How
+can it? The sister of Stokimatis was my mother. Onistah is my cousin.
+Ask Stokimatis. She knows. What could this woman of the picture be to
+me?"
+
+Jessie could not understand the fluttering pulse in her throat. She
+had not doubted that her mother was a Blackfoot. All the romance of
+her clouded birth centered around the unknown father who had died when
+she was a baby. Stokimatis had not been very clear about that. She had
+never met the man, according to the story she had told Sleeping Dawn.
+Neither she nor those of her tribal group knew anything of him. Was
+there a mystery about his life? In her childish dreams Jessie had
+woven one. He was to her everything desirable, for he was the tie that
+bound her to all the higher standards of life she craved.
+
+"I don't know. Likely it's all a mare's nest. Find Stokimatis,
+Lemoine, and bring her back with you. Well see what she can tell us.
+And get the locket and the ring, with the story back of them."
+
+Again Lemoine referred to the cost. He would have to take his
+dog-train to Whoop-Up, and from there out to the creek where Pierre
+Roubideaux was living. Makoye-kin and his family might be wintering
+anywhere within a radius of a hundred miles. Was there any use in
+going out on such a wild-hare chase?
+
+Whaley thought there was and said so with finality. He did not give
+his real reason, which was that he wanted to pay back to McRae and his
+daughter the debt he owed. They had undoubtedly saved his life after
+he had treated her outrageously. There was already one score to his
+credit, of course. He had saved her from West. But he felt the balance
+still tipped heavily against him. And he was a man who paid his debts.
+
+It was this factor of his make-up--the obligation of old associations
+laid upon him--that had taken him out to West with money, supplies,
+and a dog-train to help his escape.
+
+Jessie went out to find her father. Her eagerness to see him outflew
+her steps. This was not a subject she could discuss with Matapi-Koma.
+The Cree woman would not understand what a tremendous difference it
+made if she could prove her blood was wholly of the superior race. Nor
+could Jessie with tact raise such a point. It involved not only the
+standing of Matapi-Koma herself, but also of her sons.
+
+The girl found McRae in the storeroom looking over a bundle of
+assorted pelts--marten, fox, mink, and beaver. The news tumbled from
+her lips in excited exclamations.
+
+"Oh, Father, guess! Mr. Lemoine saw a picture--a Blackfoot woman had
+it--old Makoye-kin's wife--and she sold it. And he says it was like
+me--exactly. Maybe it was my aunt--or some one. My father's sister!
+Don't you think?"
+
+"I'll ken what I think better gin ye'll just quiet doon an' tell me a'
+aboot it, lass."
+
+She told him. The Scotchman took what she had to say with no outward
+sign of excitement. None the less his blood moved faster. He wanted
+no change in the relations between them that would interfere with the
+love she felt for him. To him it did not matter whether she was of the
+pure blood or of the métis. He had always ignored the Indian in her.
+She was a precious wildling of beauty and delight. By nature she was
+of the ruling race. There was in her nothing servile or dependent,
+none of the inertia that was so marked a mental characteristic of
+the Blackfoot and the Cree. Her slender body was compact of fire and
+spirit. She was alive to her finger-tips.
+
+None the less he was glad on her account. Since it mattered to her
+that she was a half-blood, he would rejoice, too, if she could prove
+the contrary. Or, if she could trace her own father's family, he would
+try to be glad for her.
+
+With his rough forefinger he touched gently the tender curve of the
+girl's cheek. "I'm thinkin' that gin ye find relatives across the
+line, auld Angus McRae will be losin' his dawtie."
+
+She flew into his arms, her warm, young face pressed against his
+seamed cheek.
+
+"Never--never! You're my father--always that no matter what I find.
+You taught me to read and nursed me when I was sick. Always you've
+cared for me and been good to me. I'll never have any real father but
+you," she cried passionately.
+
+He stroked her dark, abundant hair fondly. "My lass, I've gi'en ye all
+the love any yin could gi'e his ain bairn. I doot I've been hard on ye
+at times, but I'm a dour auld man an' fine ye ken my heart was woe for
+ye when I was the strictest."
+
+She could count on the fingers of one hand the times when he had said
+as much. Of nature he was a bit of Scotch granite externally. He was
+sentimental. Most of his race are. But he guarded the expression of it
+as though it were a vice.
+
+"Maybe Onistah has heard his mother say something about it," Jessie
+suggested.
+
+"Like enough. There'll be nae harm in askin' the lad."
+
+But the Blackfoot had little to tell. He had been told by Stokimatis
+that Sleeping Dawn was his cousin, but he had never quite believed it.
+Once, when he had pressed his mother with questions, she had smiled
+deeply and changed the subject. His feeling was, and had always been,
+that there was some mystery about the girl's birth. Stokimatis either
+knew what it was or had some hint of it.
+
+His testimony at least tended to support the wild hopes flaming in the
+girl's heart.
+
+Lemoine started south for Whoop-Up at break of day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+INTO THE LONE LAND
+
+
+Into Northern Lights the pursuers drove after a four-day traverse.
+Manders, of the Mounted, welcomed them with the best he had. No news
+had come to him from the outside for more than two months, and after
+his visitors were fed and warmed, they lounged in front of a roaring
+log fire while he flung questions at them of what the world and its
+neighbor were doing.
+
+Manders was a dark-bearded man, big for the North-West Police. He
+had two hobbies. One was trouble in the Balkans, which he was always
+prophesying. The other was a passion for Sophocles, which he read in
+the original from a pocket edition. Start him on the chariot race in
+"Elektra" and he would spout it while he paced the cabin and gestured
+with flashing eyes. For he was a Rugby and an Oxford man, though born
+with the wanderlust in his heart. Some day he would fall heir to a
+great estate in England, an old baronetcy which carried with it manors
+and deer parks and shaven lawns that had taken a hundred years to
+grow. Meanwhile he lived on pemmican and sour bannocks. Sometimes
+he grumbled, but his grumbling was a fraud. He was here of choice,
+because he was a wild ass of the desert and his ears heard only the
+call of adventure. Of such was the North-West Mounted.
+
+Presently, when the stream of his curiosity as to the outside began to
+dry, Beresford put a few questions of his own. Manders could give him
+no information. He was in touch with the trappers for a radius of a
+hundred miles of which Northern Lights was the center, but no word had
+come to him of a lone traveler with a dog-train passing north.
+
+"Probably striking west of here," the big black Englishman suggested.
+
+Beresford's face twisted to a wry, humorous grimace. East, west, or
+north, they would have to find the fellow and bring him back.
+
+The man-hunters spent a day at Northern Lights to rest the dogs and
+restock their supplies. They overhauled their dunnage carefully,
+mended the broken moose-skin harness, and looked after one of the
+animals that had gone a little lame from a sore pad. From a French
+half-breed they bought additional equipment much needed for the trail.
+He was a gay, good-looking youth in new fringed leather hunting-shirt,
+blue Saskatchewan cap trimmed with ribbons, and cross belt of scarlet
+cloth. His stock in trade was dog-shoes, made of caribou-skin by his
+wife, and while in process of tanning soaked in some kind of liquid
+that would prevent the canines from eating them off their feet.
+
+The temperature was thirty-five below zero when they left the post and
+there were sun dogs in the sky. Manders had suggested that they had
+better wait a day or two, but the man-hunters were anxious to be on
+the trail. They had a dangerous, unpleasant job on hand. Both of them
+wanted it over with as soon as possible.
+
+They headed into the wilds. The road they made was a crooked
+path through the white, unbroken forest. They saw many traces of
+fur-bearing animals, but did not stop to do any hunting. The intense
+cold and the appearance of the sky were whips to drive them fast. In
+the next two or three days they passed fifteen or twenty lakes. Over
+these they traveled rapidly, but in the portages and the woods they
+had to pack the snow, sometimes cut out obstructing brush, and again
+help the dogs over rough or heavy places.
+
+The blizzard caught them the third day. They fought their way through
+the gathering storm across a rather large lake to the timber's
+edge. Here they cleared away a space about nine feet square and cut
+evergreen boughs from the trees to cover it. At one side of this,
+Morse built the fire while Beresford unharnessed the dogs and thawed
+out a mess of frozen fish for them. Presently the kettles were
+bubbling on the fire. The men ate supper and drew the sled up as a
+barricade against the wind.
+
+The cold had moderated somewhat and it had come on to snow. All night
+a sleety, wind-driven drizzle beat upon them. They rose from an
+uncomfortable night to a gloomy day.
+
+They consulted about what was best to do. Their camp was in a poor
+place, among a few water-logged trees that made a poor, smoky fire. It
+had little shelter from the storm, and there was no evidence of fair
+weather at hand.
+
+"Better tackle the next traverse," Morse advised. "Once we get across
+the lake we can't be worse off than we are here."
+
+"Righto!" assented Beresford.
+
+They packed their supplies, harnessed the dogs, and were off. Into the
+storm they drove, head down, buffeted by a screaming wind laden with
+stinging sleet that swept howling across the lake. All about them they
+heard the sharp reports of cracking ice. At any moment a fissure might
+open, and its width might be an inch or several yards. In the blinding
+gale they could see nothing. Literally, they had to feel their way.
+
+Morse went ahead to test the ice, Cuffy following close at his heels.
+The water rushes up after a fissure and soon freezes over. The danger
+is that one may come to it too soon.
+
+This was what happened. Morse, on his snowshoes, crossed the thinly
+frozen ice safely. Cuffy, a step or two behind the trail-breaker,
+plunged through into the water. The prompt energy of Beresford saved
+the other dogs. He stopped them instantly and threw his whole weight
+back to hold the sled. The St. Bernard floundered in the water for a
+few moments and tried to reach Morse. The harness held Cuffy back.
+Beresford ran to the edge of the break and called him. A second or two
+later he was helping to drag the dog back upon the firm ice.
+
+In the bitter cold the matted coat of the St. Bernard, froze stiff.
+Cuffy knew his danger. The instant the sled, was across the crack, he
+plunged at the load and went forward with such speed that he seemed
+almost to drag the other dogs with him.
+
+Fortunately the shore was near, not more than three or four miles
+away. Within half an hour land was reached. A forest came down to the
+edge of the lake. From the nearer trees Morse sliced birch bark. An
+abundance of fairly dry wood was at hand. Before a roaring fire Cuffy
+lay on a buffalo robe and steamed. Within an hour he was snuggling a
+contented nose up to Beresford's caressing hand.
+
+Fagged out, the travelers went to bed early. Long before daybreak they
+were up. The blizzard had died down during the night. It left behind
+a crusted trail over which the dogs moved fast. The thermometer had
+again dropped sharply and the weather was bitter cold. Before the
+lights of an Indian village winked at them through the trees, they
+had covered nearly forty miles. In the wintry afternoon darkness they
+drove up.
+
+The native dogs were barking a welcome long before they came jingling
+into the midst of the tepees. Bucks, squaws, and papooses tumbled
+out to see them with guttural exclamations of greeting. Some of the
+youngsters and one or two of the maidens had never before seen a white
+man.
+
+A fast and furious mêlée interrupted conversation. The wolfish dogs
+of the village were trying out the mettle of the four strangers. The
+snarling and yelping drowned all other sounds until the gaunt horde
+of sharp-muzzled; stiff-haired brutes had been beaten back by savage
+blows from the whip and by quick thrusts of a rifle butt.
+
+The head man of the group invited the two whites into the largest hut.
+Morse and Beresford sat down before a smoky fire and carried on a
+difficult dialogue. They divided half a yard of tobacco among the men
+present and gave each of the women a small handful of various-colored
+beads.
+
+They ate sparingly of a stew made of fish, the gift of their hosts.
+In turn the officers had added to the menu a large piece of fat moose
+which was devoured with voracity.
+
+The Indians, questioned, had heard a story of a white man traveling
+alone through the Lone Lands with a dog-train. He was a giant of a
+fellow and surly, the word had gone out. Who he was or where he was
+going they did not know, but he seemed to be making for the great
+river in the north. That was the sum and substance of what Beresford
+learned from them about West by persistent inquiry.
+
+After supper, since it was so bitterly cold outside, the man-hunters
+slept in the tepee of the chief. Thirteen Indians too slept there. Two
+of them were the head man's wives, six were his children, one was a
+grandchild. Who the rest of the party were or what relation they bore
+to him, the guests did not learn.
+
+The place was filthy and the air was vile. Before morning both the
+young whites regretted they had not taken chances outside.
+
+"Not ever again," Beresford said with frank disgust after they had set
+out next day. "I'll starve if I have to. I'll freeze if I must. But,
+by Jove! I'll not eat Injun stew or sleep in a pot-pourri of nitchies.
+Not good enough."
+
+Tom grinned. "While I was eatin' the stew, I thought I could stand
+sleepin' there even if I gagged at the eats, and while I was tryin' to
+sleep, I made up my mind if I had to choose one it would be the stew.
+Next time we're wrastlin' with a blizzard, we'll know enough to be
+thankful for our mercies. We'll be able to figure it might be a lot
+worse."
+
+That afternoon they killed a caribou and got much-needed fresh meat
+for themselves and the dogs. Unfortunately, while carrying the
+hind-quarters to the sled, Beresford slipped and strained a tendon
+in the left leg. He did not notice it much at the time, but after an
+hour's travel the pain increased. He found it difficult to keep pace
+with the dogs.
+
+They were traversing a ten-mile lake. Morse proposed that they camp as
+soon as they reached the edge of it.
+
+"Better get on the sled and ride till then," he added.
+
+Beresford shook his head. "No, I'll carry on all right. Got to grin
+and bear it. The sled's overloaded anyhow. You trot along and I'll
+tag. Time you've got the fires built and all the work done, I'll loaf
+into camp."
+
+Tom made no further protest. "All right. Take it easy. I'll unload and
+run back for you."
+
+The Montanan found a good camp-site, dumped the supplies, and left
+Cuffy as a guard. With the other dogs he drove back and met the
+officer. Beresford was still limping doggedly forward. Every step sent
+a shoot of pain through him, but he set his teeth and kept moving.
+
+None the less he was glad to see the empty sled. He tumbled on and let
+the others do the work.
+
+At camp he scraped the snow away with a shoe while Morse cut spruce
+boughs and chopped wood for the fire.
+
+Beresford suffered a good deal from his knee that night. He did not
+sleep much, and when day came it was plain he could not travel. The
+camp-site was a good one. There was plenty of wood, and the shape of
+the draw in which they were located was a protection from the cold
+wind. The dogs would be no worse for a day or two of rest. The
+travelers decided to remain here as long as might be necessary.
+
+Tom went hunting. He brought back a bag of four ptarmigan late in
+the afternoon. Fried, they were delicious. The dogs stood round in
+a half-circle and caught the bones tossed to them. Crunch--
+crunch--crunch. The bones no longer were. The dogs, heads cocked
+on one side, waited expectantly for more tender tidbits.
+
+"Saw deer tracks. To-morrow I'll have a try for one," Morse said.
+
+The lame man hobbled down to the lake next day, broke the ice, and
+fished for jack pike. He took back to camp with him all he could
+carry.
+
+On the fourth day his knee was so much improved that he was able to
+travel slowly. They were glad to see that night the lights of Fort
+Desolation, as one of the Mounted had dubbed the post on account of
+its loneliness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+THE MAN-HUNTERS READ SIGN
+
+
+In the white North travelers are few and far. It is impossible for one
+to pass through the country without leaving a record of his progress
+written on the terrain and in the minds of the natives. The fugitive
+did not attempt concealment. He had with him now an Indian guide and
+was pushing into the Barren Lands. There was no uncertainty about his
+movements. From Fort Chippewayan he had swung to the northwest in the
+line of the great frozen lakes, skirting Athabasca and following the
+Great Slave River to the lake of the same name. This he crossed at the
+narrowest point, about where the river empties into it, and headed for
+the eastern extremity of Lake La Martre.
+
+On his heels, still far behind, trod the two pursuers, patient,
+dogged, and inexorable. They had left far in the rear the out-forts of
+the Mounted and the little settlements of the free traders. Already
+they were deep in the Hudson's Bay Company trapping-grounds. Ahead of
+them lay the Barrens, stretching to the inlets of the Arctic Ocean.
+
+The days were drawing out and the nights getting shorter. The
+untempered sun of the Northland beat down on the cold snow crystals
+and reflected a million sparks of light. In that white field the glare
+was almost unbearable. Both of them wore smoked glasses, but even with
+these their eyes continually smarted. They grew red and swollen. If
+time had not been so great an element in their journey, they would
+have tried to travel only after sunset. But they could not afford
+this. West would keep going as long and as fast as he could.
+
+Each of them dreaded snow-blindness. They knew the sign of it--a
+dreadful pain, a smarting of the eyeballs as though hot burning sand
+were being flung against them. In camp at night they bathed their
+swollen lids and applied a cool and healing salve.
+
+Meanwhile the weeks slipped into months and still they held like
+bulldogs to the trail of the man they were after.
+
+The silence of the wide, empty white wastes surrounded them, except
+for an occasional word, the whine of a dog, and the slithering crunch
+of the sled-runners. From unfriendly frozen deserts they passed,
+through eternal stillness, into the snow wilderness that seemed to
+stretch forever. When they came to forests, now thinner, smaller, and
+less frequent, they welcomed them as they would an old friend.
+
+"He's headin' for Great Bear, looks like," Morse suggested one morning
+after an hour in which neither of them had spoken.
+
+"I was wondering when you'd chirp up, Tom," Beresford grinned
+cheerfully. "Sometimes I think I'm fed up for life on the hissing of
+snowshoe runners. The human voice sure sounds good up here. Yes, Great
+Bear Lake. And after that, where?"
+
+"Up the lake, across to the Mackenzie, and down it to the ocean, I'd
+say. He's makin' for the whaling waters. Herschel Island maybe. He's
+hoping to bump into a whaler and get down on it to 'Frisco."
+
+"Your guess is just as good as any," the Canadian admitted. "He's
+cut out a man-sized job for himself. I'll say that for him. It's a
+five-to-one bet he never gets through alive, even if we don't nab
+him."
+
+"What else can he do? He's got to keep going or be dragged back to be
+hanged. I'd travel too if I were in his place."
+
+"So would I. He's certainly hitting her up. Wish he'd break his leg
+for a week or two," the constable said airily.
+
+They swung into a dense spruce swamp and jumped up a half-grown bear.
+He was so close to them that Tom, who was breaking trail, could see
+his little shining eyes. Morse was carrying his rifle, in the hope
+that he might see a lynx or a moose. The bear turned to scamper away,
+but the intention never became a fact. A bullet crashed through the
+head and brought the animal down.
+
+An hour later they reached an Indian camp on the edge of a lake. On
+stages, built well up from the ground, drying fish were hanging out of
+reach of the dogs. These animals came charging toward the travelers
+as usual, lean, bristling, wolfish creatures that never had been
+half-tamed.
+
+Beresford lashed them back with the whip. Indians came out from the
+huts, matted hair hanging over their eyes. After the usual greetings
+and small presents had been made, the man-hunters asked questions.
+
+"Great Bear Lake--wah-he-o-che (how far)?"
+
+The head man opened his eyes. Nobody in his right mind went to the
+great water at this time of year. It was maybe fifteen, maybe twenty
+days' travel. Who could tell? Were all the fair skins mad? Only three
+days since another dog-train had passed through driven by a big shaggy
+man who had left them no presents after he had bought fish. Three
+whites in as many days, and before that none but voyageur half-breeds
+in twice that number of years.
+
+The trooper let out a boyish whoop. "Gaining fast. Only three days
+behind him, Tom. If our luck stands up, he'll never reach the Great
+Bear."
+
+There was reason back of Beresford's exultant shout. At least one of
+West's dogs had bleeding feet. This the stained snow on the trail
+told them. Either the big man had no shoes for the animals or was too
+careless to use them when needed, the constable had suggested to his
+friend.
+
+"It's not carelessness," Morse said. "It's his bullying nature. Likely
+he's got the shoes, only he won't put 'em on. He'll beat the poor
+brute over the head instead and curse his luck when he breaks down.
+He's too bull-headed to be a good driver."
+
+On the fourth day after this they came upon one of the minor tragedies
+of sub-Arctic travel. The skeleton of a dog lay beside the trail. Its
+bones had been picked clean by its ravenous cannibal companions.
+
+"Three left," Beresford commented. "He'll be figuring on picking up
+another when he meets any Indians or Eskimos."
+
+"If he does it won't be any good to work with his train. I believe
+we've got him. He isn't twenty-five miles ahead of us right now."
+
+"I'd put it at twenty. In about three days now the fireworks will
+begin."
+
+It was the second day after this that they began to notice something
+peculiar about the trail they were following. Hitherto it had taken
+a straight line, except when the bad terrain had made a détour
+advisable. Now it swayed uncertainly, much as a drunken man staggers
+down a street.
+
+"What's wrong with him? It can't be liquor. Yet if he's not drunk,
+what's got into him?" the soldier asked aloud, expecting no answer
+that explained this phenomenon.
+
+Tom shook his head. "See. The Indian's drivin' now. He follows a
+straight enough line. You can tell he's at the tail line by the shape
+of the webs. And West's still lurchin' along in a crazy way. He fell
+down here. Is he sick, d' you reckon?"
+
+"Give it up. Anyhow, he's in trouble. We'll know soon enough what it
+is. Before night now we'll maybe see them."
+
+Before they had gone another mile, the trail in the snow showed
+another peculiarity. It made a wide half-circle and was heading south
+again.
+
+"He's given up. What's that mean? Out of grub, d' you think?"
+Beresford asked.
+
+"No. If they had been, he'd have made camp and gone hunting. We
+crossed musk-ox sign to-day, you know."
+
+"Righto. Can't be that. He must be sick."
+
+They kept their eyes open. At any moment now they were likely to make
+a discovery. Since they were in a country of scrubby brush they moved
+cautiously to prevent an ambush. There was just a possibility that the
+fugitive might have caught sight of them and be preparing an
+unwelcome surprise. But it was a possibility that did not look like a
+probability.
+
+"Something gone 'way off in his plans," Morse said after they had
+mushed on the south trail for an hour. "Looks like he don't know what
+he's doing. Has he gone crazy?"
+
+"Might be that. Men do in this country a lot. We don't know what a
+tough time he's been through."
+
+"I'll bet he's bucked blizzards aplenty in the last two months. Notice
+one thing. West's trailin' after the guide like a lamb. He's makin' a
+sure-enough drunk track. See how the point of his shoe caught the snow
+there an' flung him down. The Cree stopped the sled right away so West
+could get up. Why did he do that? And why don't West ever stray a foot
+outa the path that's broke? That's not like him. He's always boss o'
+the outfit--always leadin'."
+
+Beresford was puzzled, too. "I don't get the situation. It's been
+pretty nearly a thousand miles that we've been following this
+trail--eight hundred, anyhow. All the way Bully West has stamped his
+big foot on it as boss. Now he takes second place. The reason's beyond
+me."
+
+His friend's mind jumped at a conclusion. "I reckon I know why he's
+followin' the straight and narrow path. The guide's got a line round
+his waist and West's tied to it."
+
+"Why?"
+
+The sun's rays, reflected from the snow in a blinding, brilliant
+glare, smote Morse full in the eyes. For days the white fields had
+been very trying to the sight. There had been moments when black spots
+had flickered before him, when red-hot sand had been flung against his
+eyeballs if he could judge by the burning sensation.
+
+He knew now, in a flash, what was wrong with West.
+
+To Beresford he told it in two words.
+
+The constable slapped his thigh. "Of course. That's the answer."
+
+Night fell, the fugitives still not in sight. The country was so rough
+that they might be within a mile or two and yet not be seen.
+
+"Better camp, I reckon," Morse suggested.
+
+"Yes. Here. We'll come up with them to-morrow."
+
+They were treated that evening to an indescribably brilliant
+pyrotechnic display in the heavens. An aurora flashed across the sky
+such as neither of them had ever seen before. The vault was aglow with
+waves of red, violet, and purple that danced and whirled, with fickle,
+inconstant flashes of gold and green and yellow bars. A radiant
+incandescence of great power lit the arch and flooded it with light
+that poured through the cathedral windows of the Most High.
+
+At daybreak they were up. Quickly they breakfasted and loaded. The
+trail they followed was before noon a rotten one, due to a sudden rise
+in the temperature, but it still bore south steadily.
+
+They reached the camp where West and his guide had spent the night.
+Another chapter of the long story of the trail was written here. The
+sled and the guide had gone on south, but West had not been with them.
+His webs went wandering off at an angle, hesitant and uncertain.
+Sometimes they doubled across the track he had already made.
+
+Beresford was breaking trail. His hand shot straight out. In the
+distance there was a tiny black speck in the waste of white. It moved.
+
+Even yet the men who had come to bring the law into the Lone Lands did
+not relax their vigilance. They knew West's crafty, cunning mind.
+This might be a ruse to trap them. When they left the sled and moved
+forward, it was with rules ready. The hunters stalked their prey as
+they would have done a musk ox. Slowly, noiselessly, they approached.
+
+The figure was that of a huge man. He sat huddled in the snow, his
+back to them. Despair was in the droop of the head and the set of the
+bowed shoulders.
+
+One of the dogs howled. The big torso straightened instantly. The
+shaggy head came up. Bully West was listening intently. He turned and
+looked straight at them, but he gave no sign of knowing they were
+there. The constable took a step and the hissing of the shoe-runner
+sounded.
+
+"I'm watchin' you, Stomak-o-sox," the heavy voice of the convict
+growled. "Can't fool me. I see every step you're takin'."
+
+It was an empty boast, almost pathetic in its futility. Morse and
+Beresford moved closer, still without speech.
+
+West broke into violent, impotent cursing. "You're there, you damned
+wood Cree! Think I don't know? Think I can't see you? Well, I can.
+Plain as you can see me. You come here an' get me, or I'll skin you
+alive like I done last week. Hear me?"
+
+The voice rose to a scream. It betrayed terror--the horrible deadly
+fear of being left alone to perish in the icy wastes of the North.
+
+Beresford crept close and waved a hand in front of the big man's eyes.
+West did not know it. He babbled vain and foolish threats at his
+guide.
+
+The convict had gone blind--snow-blind, and Stomak-o-sox had left him
+alone to make a push for his own life while there was still time.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+SNOW-BLIND
+
+
+West grinned up at the officer, his yellow canines showing like
+tusks. His matted face was an unlovely sight. In it stark, naked fear
+struggled with craftiness and cruelty.
+
+"Good you came back--good for you. I ain't blind. I been foolin' you
+all along. Wanted, to try you out. Now we'll mush. Straight for the
+big lake. North by west like we been going. Un'erstand, Stomak-o-sox?
+I'll not beat yore head off this time, but if you ever try any monkey
+tricks with Bully West again--" He let the threat die out in a sound
+of grinding teeth.
+
+Beresford spoke. His voice was gentle. Vile though this murderer
+was, there was something pitiable in his condition. One cannot see a
+Colossus of strength and energy stricken to helplessness without some
+sense of compassion.
+
+"It's not Stomak-o-sox. We're two of the North-West Mounted. You're
+under arrest for breaking prison and for killing Tim Kelly."
+
+The information stunned West. He stared up out of sightless eyes. So
+far as he had known, no member of the Mounted was within five hundred
+miles of him. Yet the law had stretched out its long arm to snatch
+him back from this Arctic waste after he had traveled nearly fifteen
+hundred miles. It was incredible that there could exist such a police
+force on earth.
+
+"Got me, did you?" he growled. He added the boast that he could not
+keep back. "Well, you'd never 'a' got me if I hadn't gone blind--never
+in this world. There ain't any two of yore damned spies could land
+Bully West when he's at himself."
+
+"Had breakfast?"
+
+He broke into a string of curses. "No, our grub's runnin' low. That
+wood Cree slipped away with all we had. Wish I'd killed him last week
+when I skinned him with the dog-whip."
+
+"How long have you been blind?"
+
+"It's been comin' on two-three days. This damned burnin' glare from
+the snow. Yesterday they give out completely. I tied myself by a line
+to the Injun. Knew I couldn't trust him. After all I done for him
+too."
+
+"Did you know he was traveling south with you--had been since
+yesterday afternoon?"
+
+"No, was he?" Again West fell into his natural speech of invective.
+"When I meet up with him, I'll sure enough fill him full o' slugs," he
+concluded savagely.
+
+"You're not likely to meet him again. We've come to take you back to
+prison."
+
+Morse brought the train up and the hungry man was fed. They treated
+his eyes with the simple remedies the North knows and bound them with
+a handkerchief to keep out the fierce light reflected from the snow.
+
+Afterward, they attached him by a line to the driver. He stumbled
+along behind. Sometimes he caught his foot or slipped and plunged down
+into the snow. Nobody had ever called him a patient man. Whenever any
+mishap occurred, he polluted the air with his vile speech.
+
+They made slow progress, for the pace had to be regulated to suit the
+prisoner.
+
+Day succeeded day, each with its routine much the same as the one
+before. They made breakfast, broke camp, packed, and mushed. The swish
+of the runners sounded from morning till night fell. Food began to run
+scarce. Once they left the blind man at the camp while they
+hunted wood buffalo. It was a long, hard business. They came back
+empty-handed after a two-day chase, but less than a mile from camp
+they sighted a half-grown polar bear and dropped it before the animal
+had a chance to move.
+
+One happy hour they got through the Land of Little Sticks and struck
+the forests again.
+
+They had a blazing fire again for the first time in six weeks. Brush
+and sticks and logs went into it till it roared furiously.
+
+Morse turned from replenishing it to notice that West had removed the
+bandage from his eyes.
+
+"Better keep it on," the young man advised.
+
+"I was changin' it. Too tight. Gives me a headache," the convict
+answered sulkily.
+
+"Can you see anything at all yet?"
+
+"Not a thing. Looks to me like I never would."
+
+Tom turned his head for him, so that he faced the blaze squarely. "No
+light at all?"
+
+"Nope. Don't reckon I ever will see."
+
+"Maybe you will. I've known' cases of snow-blindness where they
+couldn't see for a month an' came out all right."
+
+"Hurts like blazes," growled the big fellow.
+
+"I know. But not as bad as it did, does it? That salve has helped
+some."
+
+The two young fellows took care of the man as though he had been a
+brother. They bathed his eyes, fed him, guided him, encouraged him. He
+was a bad lot--the worst that either of them had known. But he was
+in trouble and filled with self-pity. Never ill before, a giant of
+strength and energy, his condition now apparently filled him with
+despair.
+
+He would sit hunched down before the fire, head bowed in his hands, a
+mountain of dole and woe. Sometimes he talked, and he blamed every one
+but himself for his condition. He never had had a square deal. Every
+one was against him. It was a rotten world. Then he would fall to
+cursing God and man.
+
+In some ways he was less trouble than if he had been able to see. He
+was helpless and had to trust to them. His safety depended on their
+safety. He could not strike at them without injuring himself. No
+matter how much he cringed at the thought of being dragged back to
+punishment, he shrank still more from the prospect of death in the
+snow wastes. The situation galled him. Every decent word he gave them
+came grudgingly, and he still snarled and complained and occasionally
+bullied as though he had the whip hand.
+
+"A nice specimen of _ursus horribilis_," Beresford murmured to his
+companion one day. "Thought he was game, anyhow, but he's a yellow
+quitter. Acts as though we were to blame for his blindness and for
+what's waiting for him at the end of the journey. I like a man to
+stand the gaff when it's prodding him."
+
+Morse nodded. "Look out for him. I've got a notion in the back o' my
+head that he's beginning to see again. He'd kill us in a holy minute
+if he dared. Only his blindness keeps him from it. What do you say?
+Shall we handcuff him nights?"
+
+"Not necessary," the constable said. "He can't see a thing. Watch him
+groping for that stick."
+
+"All his brains run to cunning. Don't forget that. Why should he have
+to feel so long for that stick? He laid it down himself a minute ago.
+Tryin' to slip one over on us maybe."
+
+The Canadian looked at the lean, brown face of his friend and grinned.
+"I've a notion our imaginations too are getting a bit jumpy. We've had
+one bully time on this trip--with the reverse English. It's all in the
+day's work to buck blizzards and starve and freeze, though I wouldn't
+be surprised if our systems were pretty well fed up with grief before
+we caught Mr. Bully West. Since then--well, you couldn't call him a
+cheerful traveling companion, could you? A dozen times a day I want to
+rip loose and tell him how much I don't think of him."
+
+"Still--"
+
+"We'll keep an eye on him. If necessary, it'll be the bracelets for
+him. I'd hate to have the Inspector send in a report to headquarters,
+'Constable Beresford missing in the line of duty.' I've a prejudice
+against being shot in the back."
+
+"That's one of the reasons I'm here--to see you're not if I can help
+it."
+
+Beresford's boyish face lit up. He understood what his friend meant.
+"Say, Faraway isn't New York or London or even Toronto. But how'd you
+like to be sitting down to one of Jessie McRae's suppers? A bit of
+broiled venison done to a juicy turn, potatoes, turnips, hot biscuits
+spread with raspberry jam. By jove, it makes the mouth water."
+
+"And a slice of plum puddin' to top off with," suggested Morse,
+bringing his own memory into play. "Don't ask me how I'd like it.
+That's a justifiable excuse for murder. Get busy on that rubaboo. Our
+guest's howlin' for his dinner."
+
+The faint suspicions of Morse made the officers more wary. They
+watched their prisoner a little closer. Neither of them quite believed
+that he was recovering his sight. It was merely a possibility to be
+guarded against.
+
+But the guess of Morse had been true. It had been a week since flashes
+of light had first come to West faintly. He began to distinguish
+objects in a hazy way. Every day he could see better. Now he could
+tell Morse from Beresford, one dog from another. Give him a few more
+days and he would have as good vision as before he had gone blind.
+
+All this he hid cunningly, as a miser does his gold. For his warped,
+cruel brain was planning death to these two men. After that, another
+plunge into the North for life and freedom.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+THE WILD BEAST LEAPS
+
+
+Tom Morse was chopping wood. He knew how to handle an axe. His strokes
+fell sure and strong, with the full circling sweep of the expert.
+
+The young tree crashed down and he began to lop off its branches.
+Halfway up the trunk he stopped and raised his head to listen.
+
+No sound had come to him. None came now. But dear as a bell he heard
+the voice of Win Beresford calling.
+
+"_Help! Help!_"
+
+It was not a cry that had issued from his friend's throat. Tom knew
+that. But it was real. It had sprung out of his dire need from the
+heart, perhaps in the one instant of time left him, and it had leaped
+silently across space straight to the heart of his friend.
+
+Tom kicked into his snowshoes and began to run. He held the axe in his
+hand, gripped near the haft. A couple of hundred yards, perhaps, lay
+between him and camp, which was just over the brow of a small hill.
+The bushes flew past as he swung to his stride. Never had he skimmed
+the crust faster, but his feet seemed to be weighted with lead. Then,
+as he topped the rise, he saw the disaster he had dreaded.
+
+The constable was crumpling to the ground, his body slack and inert,
+while the giant slashed at him with a dub of firewood he had snatched
+from the ground. The upraised arm of the soldier broke the force of
+the blow, but Morse guessed by the way the arm fell that the bone had
+snapped.
+
+At the sound of the scraping runners, West whirled. He lunged
+savagely. Even as Tom ducked, a sharp pain shot through his leg from
+the force of the glancing blow. The axe-head swung like a circle of
+steel. It struck the convict's fur cap. The fellow went down like an
+ox in a slaughter-house.
+
+Tom took one look at him and ran to his friend. Beresford was a sorry
+sight. He lay unconscious, head and face battered, the blood from his
+wounds staining the snow.
+
+The man-hunters had come into the wilderness prepared for emergencies.
+Jessie McRae had prepared a small medicine case as a present for the
+constable. Morse ran to the sled and found this. He unrolled bandages
+and after he had washed the wounds bound them. As he was about to
+examine the arm, he glanced up.
+
+For a fraction of a second West's wolfish eyes glared at him before
+they took on again the stare of blindness. The man had moved. He had
+hitched himself several yards nearer a rifle which stood propped
+against a balsam.
+
+The revolver of the deputy constable came to light. "Stop right where
+you're at. Don't take another step."
+
+The convict snarled rage, but he did not move. Some sure instinct
+warned him what the cold light in the eyes of his captor meant, that
+if he crept one inch farther toward the weapon he would die in his
+tracks.
+
+"He--he jumped me," the murderer said hoarsely.
+
+"Liar! You've been shammin' for a week to get a chance at us. I'd like
+to gun you now and be done with it."
+
+"Don't." West moistened dry lips. "Honest to God he jumped me. Got mad
+at somethin' I said. I wouldn't lie to you, Tom."
+
+Morse kept him covered, circled round him to the rifle, and from there
+to the sled. One eye still on the desperado, he searched for the steel
+handcuffs. They were gone. He knew instantly that some time within the
+past day or two West had got a chance to drop them in the snow.
+
+He found rawhide thongs.
+
+"Lie in the snow, face down," he ordered. "Hands behind you and
+crossed at the wrists."
+
+Presently the prisoner was securely tied. Morse fastened him to the
+sled and returned to Beresford.
+
+The arm was broken above the wrist, just as he had feared. He set it
+as best he could, binding it with splints.
+
+The young officer groaned and opened his eyes. He made a motion to
+rise.
+
+"Don't get up," said Morse. "You've been hurt."
+
+"Hurt?" Beresford's puzzled gaze wandered to the prisoner. A flash
+of understanding lit it. "He asked me--to light--his pipe--and when
+I--turned--he hit--me--with a club," the battered man whispered.
+
+"About how I figured it."
+
+"Afraid--I'm--done--in."
+
+"Not yet, old pal. We'll make a fight for it," the Montanan answered.
+
+"I'm sick." The soldier's head sank down. His eyes closed.
+
+All the splendid, lithe strength of his athletic youth had been beaten
+out of him. To Morse it looked as though he were done for. Was it
+possible for one to take such a terrific mauling and not succumb? If
+he were at a hospital, under the care of expert surgeons and nurses,
+with proper food and attention, he might have a chance in a hundred.
+But in this Arctic waste, many hundred miles from the nearest doctor,
+no food but the coarsest to eat, it would be a miracle if he survived.
+
+The bitter night was drawing in. Morse drove West in front of him to
+bring back the wood he had been cutting. He made the man prepare the
+rubaboo for their supper. After the convict had eaten, he bound his
+hands again and let him lie down in his blankets beside the fire.
+
+Morse did not sleep. He sat beside his friend and watched the fever
+mount in him till he was wildly delirious. Such nursing as was
+possible he gave.
+
+The prisoner, like a chained wild beast, glowered at him hungrily. Tom
+knew that if West found a chance to kill, he would strike. No scruple
+would deter him. The fellow was without conscience, driven by the fear
+of the fate that drew nearer with every step southward. His safety and
+the desire of revenge marched together. Beresford was out of the way.
+It would be his companion's turn next.
+
+After a time the great hulk of a man fell asleep and snored
+stertorously. But Tom did not sleep. He dared not. He had to keep
+vigilant guard to save both his friend's life and his own. For though
+West's hands were tied, it would be the work of only a minute to burn
+away with a live coal the thongs that bound them.
+
+The night wore away. There was no question of travel. Beresford was
+in the grip of a raging fever and could not be moved. Morse made West
+chop wood while he stood over him, rifle in hand. They were short of
+food and had expected to go hunting next day. The supplies might last
+at best six or seven more meals. What was to be done then? Morse could
+not go and leave West where he could get at the man who had put him in
+prison and with a dog-train to carry him north. Nor could he let West
+have a rifle with which to go in search of game.
+
+There were other problems that made the situation impossible. Another
+night was at hand, and again Tom must keep awake to save himself and
+his friend from the gorilla-man who watched him, gloated over him,
+waited for the moment to come when he could safely strike. And after
+that there would be other nights--many of them.
+
+What should he do? What could he do? While he sat beside the delirious
+officer, Tom pondered that question. On the other side of the fire lay
+the prisoner. Triumph--a horrible, cruel, menacing triumph--rode in
+his eye and strutted in his straddling walk when he got up. His hour
+was coming. It was coming fast.
+
+Once Tom fell asleep for a cat-nap. He caught himself nodding, and
+with a jerk flung back his head and himself to wakefulness. In the air
+was a burning odor.
+
+Instinct told him what it was. West had been tampering with the
+rawhide thongs round his wrists, had been trying to burn them away.
+
+He made sure that the fellow was still fast, then drank a tin cup of
+strong tea. After he had fed the sick man a little caribou broth,
+persuading him with infinite patience to take it, a spoonful at a
+time, Morse sat down again to wear out the hours of darkness.
+
+The problem that pressed on him could no longer be evaded. A stark
+decision lay before him. To postpone it was to choose one of the
+alternatives. He knew now, almost beyond any possibility of doubt,
+that either West must die or else he and his friend. If he had not
+snatched himself awake so promptly an hour ago, Win and he would
+already be dead men. It might be that the constable was going to die,
+anyhow, but he had a right to his chance of life.
+
+On the other hand there was one rigid rule of the North-West Mounted.
+The Force prided itself on living up to it literally. When a man
+was sent out to get a prisoner, _he brought him in alive_. It was
+a tradition. The Mounted did not choose the easy way of killing
+lawbreakers because of the difficulty of capturing them. They walked
+through danger, usually with aplomb, got their man, and brought him
+in.
+
+That was what Beresford had done with Pierre Poulette after the
+Frenchman had killed Buckskin Jerry. He had followed the man for
+months, captured him, lived with him alone for a fourth of a year in
+the deep snows, and brought him back to punishment. It was easy enough
+to plead that this situation was a wholly different one. Pierre
+Poulette was no such dangerous wild beast as Bully West. Win did not
+have with him a companion wounded almost to death who had to be nursed
+back to health, one struck down by the prisoner treacherously. There
+was just a fighting chance for the officers to get back to Desolation
+if West was eliminated from the equation. Tom knew he would have a
+man's work cut out for him to win through--without the handicap of the
+prisoner.
+
+Deep in his heart he believed that it was West's life or theirs. It
+wasn't humanly possible, in addition to all the other difficulties
+that pressed on him, to guard this murderer and bring him back for
+punishment. There was no alternative, it seemed to Tom. Thinking could
+not change the conditions. It might be sooner, it might be later, but
+under existing circumstances the desperado would find his chance to
+attack, _if he were alive to take it_.
+
+The fellow's life was forfeit. As soon as he was turned over to the
+State, it would be exacted of him. Since his assault on Beresford,
+surely he had lost all claim to consideration as a human being.
+
+Just now there were only three men in the world so far as they were
+concerned. These three constituted society. Beresford, his mind still
+wandering with incoherent mutterings, was a non-voting member. He,
+Tom Morse, must be judge and jury. He must, if the prisoner were
+convicted, play a much more horrible role. In the silence of the cold
+sub-Arctic night he fought the battle out while automatically he
+waited on his friend.
+
+West snored on the other side of the fire.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+NEAR THE END OF A LONG CROOKED TRAIL
+
+
+When West awoke, Morse was whittling on a piece of wood with his sharp
+hunting-knife. It was a flat section from a spruce, and it had been
+trimmed with an axe till it resembled a shake in shape.
+
+The outlaw's curiosity overcame his sullenness at last. It made him
+jumpy, anyhow, to sit there in silence except for the muttering of the
+sick man.
+
+"Whajamakin'?" he demanded.
+
+Morse said nothing. He smoothed the board to his satisfaction, then
+began lettering on it with a pencil.
+
+"I said whajadoin'," growled West, after another silence.
+
+The special constable looked at him, and in the young man's eyes there
+was something that made the murderer shiver.
+
+"I'm making a tombstone."
+
+"What?" West felt a drench of ice at his heart.
+
+"A marker for a grave."
+
+"For--for him? Maybe he won't die. Looks better to me. Fever ain't so
+high."
+
+"It's not for him."
+
+West moistened his dry lips with his tongue. "You will have yore li'l
+joke, eh? Who's it for?"
+
+"For you."
+
+"For me?" The man's fear burst from him in a shriek. "Whajamean for
+me?"
+
+From the lettering Morse read aloud. "'Bully West, Executed, Some
+Time late in March, 1875.'" And beneath it, "'May God Have Mercy on
+His Soul.'"
+
+Tiny beads of sweat gathered on the convict's clammy forehead. "You
+aimin' to--to murder me?" he asked hoarsely.
+
+"To execute you."
+
+"With--without a trial? My God, you can't do that! I got a right to a
+trial."
+
+"You've been tried--and condemned. I settled all that in the night."
+
+"But--it ain't legal. Goddlemighty, you got no _right_ to act
+thataway. All you can do is to take me back to the courts." The heavy
+voice broke again to a scream.
+
+Morse slipped the hunting-knife back into its case. He looked steadily
+at the prisoner. In his eyes there was no anger, no hatred. But back
+of the sadness in them was an implacable resolution.
+
+"Courts and the law are a thousand miles away," he said. "You know
+your crimes. You murdered Tim Kelly treacherously. You planned to
+spoil an innocent girl's life by driving her to worse than death.
+You shot your partner in the back after he did his best to help you
+escape. You tortured Onistah and would have killed him if we hadn't
+come in time. You assaulted my friend here and he'll probably die from
+his wounds. It's the end of the long trail for you, Bully West. Inside
+of half an hour you will be dead. If you've anything to say--if you
+can make your peace with heaven--don't waste a moment."
+
+The face of West went gray. He stared at the other man, the
+horror-filled eyes held fascinated. "You--you're tryin' to scare me,"
+he faltered. "You wouldn't do that. You couldn't. It ain't allowed by
+the Commissioner." One of the bound arms twitched involuntarily. The
+convict knew that he was lost. He had a horrible conviction that this
+man meant to do as he had said.
+
+The face of Morse was inexorable as fate itself, but inside he was a
+river of rushing sympathy. This man was bad. He himself had forced the
+circumstances that made it impossible to let him live. None the less
+Tom felt like a murderer. The thing he had to do was so horribly
+cold-blooded. If this had been a matter between the two of them, he
+could at least have given the fellow a chance for his life. But not
+now--not with Win Beresford in the condition he was. If he were going
+to save his friend, he could not take the chances of a duel.
+
+"Ten minutes now," Morse said. His voice was hoarse and low. He felt
+his nerves twitching, a tense aching in the throat.
+
+"I always liked you fine, Tom," the convict pleaded desperately. "Me
+'n' you was always good pals. You wouldn't do me dirt thataway now. If
+you knew the right o' things--how that Kelly kep' a-devilin' me, how
+Whaley was layin' to gun me when he got a chanct, how I stood up for
+the McRae girl an' protected her against him. Goddlemighty, man, you
+ain't aimin' to kill me like a wolf!" The shriek of uncontrollable
+terror lifted into his voice once more. "I ain't ready to die. Gimme a
+chance, Tom. I'll change my ways. I swear I will. I'll do like you say
+every minute. I'll nurse Beresford. Me, I'm a fine nurse. If you'll
+gimme a week--jus' one more week. That ain't much to ask. So's I can
+git ready."
+
+The man slipped to his knees and began to crawl toward Morse. The
+young man got up, his teeth set. He could not stand much of this sort
+of thing without collapsing himself.
+
+"Get up," he said. "We're going over the hill there."
+
+"No--no--no!"
+
+It took Morse five minutes to get the condemned man to his feet. The
+fellow's face was ashen. His knees shook.
+
+Tom was in almost as bad a condition himself.
+
+Beresford's high voice cut in. In his delirium he was perhaps living
+over again his experience with Pierre Poulette.
+
+"Maintiens le droit. Get your man and bring him in. Tough sledding.
+Never mind. Go through, old fellow. Bring him in. That's what you're
+sent for. Hogtie him. Drag him with a rope around his neck. Get him
+back somehow."
+
+The words struck Tom motionless. It was as though some voice were
+speaking to him through the sick man's lips. He waited.
+
+"Righto, sir," the soldier droned on. "See what I can do, sir. Have
+a try at it, anyhow." And again he murmured the motto of the Mounted
+Police.
+
+Tom had excused himself for what he thought it was his duty to do on
+the ground that it was not humanly possible to save his friend and
+bring West back. It came to him in a flash that the Mounted Police
+were becoming so potent a power for law and order because they never
+asked whether the job assigned them was possible. They went ahead and
+did it or died trying to do it. It did not matter primarily whether
+Beresford and he got back alive or not. If West murdered them, other
+red-coats would take the trail and get him.
+
+What he, Tom Morse, had to do was to carry on. He could not choose the
+easy way, even though it was a desperately hard one for him. He could
+not make himself a judge over this murderer, with power of life and
+death. The thing that had been given him to do was to bring West to
+Faraway. He had no choice in the matter. Win or lose, he had to play
+the hand out as it was dealt him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+OVER A ROTTING TRAIL
+
+
+Tom believed that Beresford's delirious words had condemned them both
+to death. He could not nurse his friend, watch West night and day,
+keep the camp supplied with food, and cover the hundreds of miles
+of bleak snow fields which stretched between them and the nearest
+settlement. He did not think that any one man lived who was capable of
+succeeding in such a task.
+
+Yet his first feeling was of immediate relief. The horrible duty that
+had seemed to be laid upon him was not a duty at all. He saw his
+course quite simply. All he had to do was to achieve the impossible.
+If he failed in it, he would go down like a soldier in the day's work.
+He would have, anyhow, no torturings of conscience, no blight resting
+upon him till the day of his death.
+
+"You're reprieved, West," he announced simply.
+
+The desperado staggered to the sled and leaned against it faintly. His
+huge body swayed. The revulsion was almost too much for him.
+
+"I--I--knowed you couldn't treat an old pardner thataway, Tom," he
+murmured.
+
+Morse took the man out to a fir tree. He carried with him a blanket, a
+buffalo robe, and a part of the dog harness.
+
+"Whad you aimin' to do?" asked West uneasily. He was not sure yet that
+he was out of the woods.
+
+"Roll up in the blankets," ordered Morse.
+
+The fellow looked at his grim face and did as he was told. Tom tied
+him to the tree, after making sure that his hands were fast behind
+him.
+
+"I'll freeze here," the convict complained.
+
+The two officers were lean and gaunt from hard work and insufficient
+nourishment, but West was still sleek and well padded with flesh.
+He had not missed a meal, and during the past weeks he had been a
+passenger. All the hard work, the packing at portages, the making of
+camp, the long, wearing days of hunting, had fallen upon the two whose
+prisoner he was. He could stand a bit of hardship, Tom decided.
+
+"No such luck," he said brusquely. "And I wouldn't try to break away
+if I were you. I can't kill you, but I'll thrash you with the dog-whip
+if you make me any trouble."
+
+Morse called Cuffy and set the dog to watch the bound man. He did not
+know whether the St. Bernard would do this, but he was glad to see
+that the leader of the train understood at once and settled down in
+the snow to sleep with one eye watchful of West.
+
+Tom returned to his friend. He knew he must concentrate his efforts to
+keep life in the battered body of the soldier. He must nurse and feed
+him judiciously until the fever wore itself out.
+
+While he was feeding Win broth, he fell asleep with the spoon in his
+hand. He jerkily flung back his head and opened his eyes. Cuffy still
+lay close to the prisoner, evidently prepared for an all-night vigil
+with short light naps from which the least movement would instantly
+arouse him.
+
+"I'm all in. Got to get some sleep," Morse said to himself, half
+aloud.
+
+He wrapped in his blankets. When his eyes opened, the sun was beating
+down from high in the heavens. He had slept from one day into the
+next. Even in his sleep he had been conscious of some sound drumming
+at his ears. It was the voice of West.
+
+"You gonna sleep all day? Don't we get any grub? Have I gotta starve
+while you pound yore ear?"
+
+Hurriedly Tom flung aside his wraps. He leaped to his feet, a new man,
+his confidence and vitality all restored.
+
+The fire had died to ashes. He could hear the yelping of the dogs in
+the distance. They were on a private rabbit hunt of their own, all of
+them but Cuffy. The St. Bernard still lay in the snow watching West.
+
+Beresford's delirium was gone and his fever was less. He was very
+weak, but Tom thought he saw a ghost of the old boyish grin flicker
+indomitably into his eyes. As Tom looked at the swathed and bandaged
+head, for the first time since the murderous attack he allowed
+himself to hope. The never-say-die spirit of the man and the splendid
+constitution built up by a clean outdoor life might pull him through
+yet.
+
+"West was afraid you never were going to wake up, Tom. It worried him.
+You know how fond of you he is," the constable said weakly.
+
+Morse was penitent. "Why didn't you wake me, Win? You must be dying of
+thirst."
+
+"I could do with a drink," he admitted. "But you needed that sleep.
+Every minute of it."
+
+Tom built up the fire and thawed snow. He gave Beresford a drink and
+then fed more of the broth to him. He made breakfast for the prisoner
+and himself.
+
+Afterward, he took stock of their larder. It was almost empty. "Enough
+flour and pemmican for another mess of rubaboo. Got to restock right
+away or our stomachs will be flat as a buffalo bull's after a long
+stampede."
+
+He spoke cheerfully, yet he and Beresford both knew a hunt for game
+might be unsuccessful. Rabbits would not do. He had to provide enough
+to feed the dogs as well as themselves. If he did not get a moose, a
+bear, or caribou, they would face starvation.
+
+Tom redressed the wounds of the trooper and examined the splints on
+the arm to make sure they had not become disarranged during the night
+in the delirium of the sick man.
+
+"Got to leave you, Win. Maybe for a day or more. I'll have plenty of
+wood piled handy for the fire--and broth all ready to heat. Think you
+can make out?"
+
+The prospect could not have been an inviting one for the wounded man,
+but he nodded quite as a matter of course.
+
+"I'll be all right. Take your time. Don't spoil your hunt worrying
+about me."
+
+Yet it was with extreme reluctance Tom had made up his mind to go. He
+would take the dog-train with him--and West, unarmed, of course. He
+had to take him on Beresford's account, because he dared not leave
+him. But as he looked at his friend, all the supple strength stricken
+out of him, weak and helpless as a sick child, he felt a queer tug at
+the heart. What assurance had he that he would find him still alive on
+his return?
+
+Beresford knew what he was thinking. He smiled, the gentle,
+affectionate smile of the very ill. "It's all right, old fellow. Got
+to buck up and carry on, you know. Look out--for West. Don't give him
+any show at you. Never trust him--not for a minute. Remember he's--a
+wolf." His weak hand gripped Tom's in farewell.
+
+The American turned away hurriedly, not to show the tears that
+unexpectedly brimmed his lids. Though he wore the hard surface of the
+frontier, his was a sensitive soul. He was very fond of this gay,
+gallant youth who went out to meet adventure as though it were a lover
+with whom he had an appointment. They had gone through hell together,
+and the fires of the furnace had proved the Canadian true gold. After
+all, Tom was himself scarcely more than a boy in years. He cherished,
+deep hidden in him, the dreams and illusions that long contact with
+the world is likely to dispel. At New Haven and Cambridge lads of his
+age were larking beneath the elms and playing childish pranks on each
+other.
+
+West drove the team. Tom either broke trail or followed. He came
+across plenty of tracks, but most of them were old ones. He recognized
+the spoor of deer, bear, and innumerable rabbits. Toward noon fresh
+caribou tracks crossed their path. The slot pointed south. Over a soft
+and rotting trail Morse swung round in pursuit.
+
+They made heavy going of it. He had to break trail through slushy
+snow. His shoes broke through the crust and clogged with the sludgy
+stuff so that his feet were greatly weighted. Fatigue pressed like a
+load on his shoulders. The dogs and West wallowed behind.
+
+By night probably the trail would be much better, but they dared not
+wait till then. The caribou would not stop to suit the convenience of
+the hunters. This might be the last shot in the locker. Every dragging
+lift of the webs carried Morse farther from camp, but food had to be
+found and in quantity.
+
+It was close to dusk when Tom guessed they were getting near the herd.
+He tied the train to a tree and pushed on with West. Just before
+nightfall he sighted the herd grazing on muskeg moss. There were about
+a dozen in all. The wind was fortunately right.
+
+Tom motioned to West not to follow him. On hands and knees the hunter
+crept forward, taking advantage of such cover as he could find. It was
+a slow, cold business, but he was not here for pleasure. A mistake
+might mean the difference between life and death for him and Win
+Beresford.
+
+For a stalker to determine the precise moment when to shoot is usually
+a nice decision. Perhaps he can gain another dozen yards on his prey.
+On the other hand, by moving closer he may startle them and lose his
+chance. With so much at stake Tom felt for the second time in his life
+the palsy that goes with buck fever.
+
+A buck flung up his head and sniffed toward the hidden danger. Tom
+knew the sign of startled doubt. Instantly his trembling ceased. He
+aimed carefully and fired. The deer dropped in its tracks. Again he
+fired--twice--three times. The last shot was a wild one, sent on a
+hundredth chance. The herd vanished in the gathering darkness.
+
+Tom swung forward exultant, his webs swishing swiftly over the snow.
+He had dropped two. A second buck had fallen, risen, run fifty yards,
+and come to earth again. The hunter's rifle was ready in case either
+of the caribou sprang up. He found the first one dead, the other badly
+wounded. At once he put the buck out of its pain.
+
+West came slouching out of the woods at Tom's signal. Directed by the
+officer, he made a fire and prepared for business. The stars were
+out as they dressed the meat and cooked a large steak on the coals.
+Afterward they hung the caribou from the limb of a spruce, drawing
+them high enough so that no prowling wolves could reach the game.
+
+With the coming of night the temperature had fallen and the snow
+hardened. The crust held beneath their webs as they returned to
+the sled. West wanted to camp where the deer had been killed. He
+protested, with oaths, in his usual savage growl, that he was dead
+tired and could not travel another step.
+
+But he did. Beneath the stars the hunters mushed twenty miles back to
+camp. They made much better progress by reason of the frozen trail and
+the good meal they had eaten.
+
+It was daybreak when Morse sighted the camp-fire smoke. His heart
+leaped. Beresford must have been able to keep it alive with fuel.
+Therefore he had been alive an hour or two ago at most.
+
+Dogs and men trudged into camp ready to drop with fatigue.
+
+Beresford, from where he lay, waved a hand at Tom. "Any luck?" he
+asked.
+
+"Two caribou."
+
+"Good. I'll be ready for a steak to-morrow."
+
+Morse looked at him anxiously. The glaze had left his eyes. He was no
+longer burning up with fever. Both voice and movements seemed stronger
+than they had been twenty-four hours earlier.
+
+"Bully for you, Win," he answered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+A CREE RUNNER BRINGS NEWS
+
+
+"Don't you worry about that lad, Jessie. He's got as many lives as a
+cat--and then some. I've knew him ever since he was knee-high to a
+grasshopper."
+
+Brad Stearns was talking. He sat in the big family room at the McRae
+house and puffed clouds of tobacco, smoke to the rafters.
+
+"Meaning Mr. Beresford?" asked Jessie demurely. She was patching a
+pair of leather trousers for Fergus and she did not raise her eyes
+from the work.
+
+"Meanin' Tom Morse," the old-timer said. "Not but what Beresford's a
+good lad too. Sand in his craw an' a kick like a mule in his fist. But
+he was brought up somewheres in the East, an' o' course he's a leetle
+mite less tough than Tom. No, sir. Tom'll bob up one o' these here
+days good as ever. Don't you worry none about that. Why, he ain't been
+gone but--lemme see, a week or so better'n four months. When a man's
+got to go to the North Pole an' back, four months--"
+
+Beneath her long lashes the girl slanted a swift look at Brad. "That
+makes twice you've told me in two minutes not to worry about Mr.
+Morse. Do I look peaked? Am I lying awake nights thinking about him,
+do you think?" She held up the renewed trousers and surveyed her
+handiwork critically.
+
+Brad gazed at her through narrowed lids. "I'll be doggoned if I know
+whether you are or you ain't. I'd bet a pair o' red-topped boots it's
+one of them lads. 'Course Beresford's got a red coat an' spurs that
+jingle an' a fine line o' talk. Tom he ain't got ary one o' the three.
+But if it's a man you're lookin' for, a two-fisted man who--"
+
+A wave of mirth crossed Jessie's face like a ripple on still water.
+Her voice mimicked his. "Why do you want to saw off an old maid on
+that two-fisted man you've knew ever since he was knee-high to a
+grasshopper? What did he ever do to you that was so doggoned mean?"
+
+"Now looky here, you can laugh at me all you've a mind to. All I'm
+sayin' is--"
+
+"Oh, I'm not laughing at you," she interposed hurriedly with an
+assumption of anxiety her bubbling eyes belied. "If you could show me
+how to get your two-fisted man when he comes back--or even the one
+with the red coat and the spurs and the fine line of talk--"
+
+"I ain't sayin' he ain't a man from the ground up too," Brad broke in.
+"Considerin' his opportunities he's a right hefty young fellow. But
+Tom Morse he--"
+
+"That's it exactly. Tom Morse he--"
+
+"Keep right on makin' fun o' me. Tom Morse he's a man outa ten
+thousand, an' I don't know as I'm coverin' enough population at that."
+
+"And you're willing to make a squaw-man of him. Oh, Mr. Stearns!"
+
+He looked at her severely. "You got no license to talk thataway,
+Jessie McRae. You're Angus McRae's daughter an' you been to Winnipeg
+to school. Anyways, after what Lemoine found out--"
+
+"What did he find out? Pierre Roubideaux couldn't tell him anything
+about the locket and the ring. Makoye-kin said he got it from his
+brother who was one of a party that massacred an American outfit of
+trappers headed for Peace River. He doesn't know whether the picture
+of the woman in the locket was that of one of the women in the camp.
+All we've learned is that I look like a picture of a white woman found
+in a locket nearly twenty years ago. That doesn't take us very far,
+does it?"
+
+"Well, Stokimatis may know something. When Onistah comes back with
+her, we'll get the facts straight."
+
+McRae came into the room. "News, lass," he cried, and his voice rang.
+"A Cree runner's just down frae Northern Lights. He says the lads were
+picked up by some trappers near Desolation. One o' them's been badly
+hurt, but he's on the mend. Which yin I dinna ken. What wi' starvation
+an' blizzards an' battles they've had a tough time. But the word is
+they're doing fine noo."
+
+"West?" asked Brad. "Did they get him?"
+
+"They got him. Dragged him back to Desolation with a rope round his
+neck. Hung on to him while they were slam-bangin' through blizzards
+an' runnin' a race wi' death to get back before they starved. Found
+him up i' the Barrens somewhere, the story is. He'll be hangit at the
+proper time an' place. It's in the Word. 'They that take the sword
+shall perish with the sword.' Matthew 26:52."
+
+Brad let out the exultant rebel yell he had learned years before in
+the Confederate army. "What'd I tell you about that boy? Ain't I
+knowed him since he was a li'l' bit of a tad? He's a go-getter, Tom
+is. Y'betcha!"
+
+Jessie's heart was singing too, but she could not forbear a friendly
+gibe at him. "I suppose Win Beresford wasn't there at all. He hadn't a
+thing to do with it, had he?"
+
+The old cowpuncher raised a protesting hand. "I ain't said a word
+against him. Now have I, McRae? Nothin' a-tall. All I done said was
+that I been tellin' everybody Tom would sure enough bring back Bully
+West with him."
+
+The girl laughed. "You're daffy about that boy you brought up by hand.
+I'll not argue with you."
+
+"They're both good lads," the Scotchman summed up, and passed to his
+second bit of news. "Onistah and Stokimatis are in frae the Blackfoot
+country. They stoppit at the store, but they'll be alang presently. I
+had a word wi' Onistah. We'll wait for him here."
+
+"Did he say what he'd found out?" Jessie cried.
+
+"Only that he had brought back the truth. That'll be the lad knockin'
+at the door."
+
+Jessie opened, to let in Onistah and his mother. Stokimatis and the
+girl gravitated into each other's arms, as is the way with women who
+are fond of each other. The Indian is stolid, but Jessie had the habit
+of impetuosity, of letting her feelings sweep her into demonstration.
+Even the native women she loved were not proof against it.
+
+McRae questioned Stokimatis.
+
+Without waste of words the mother of Onistah told the story she had
+traveled hundreds of miles to tell.
+
+Sleeping Dawn was not the child of her sister. When the attack had
+been made on the white trappers bound for Peace River, the mother of a
+baby had slipped the infant under an iron kettle. After the massacre
+her sister had found the wailing little atom of humanity. The Indian
+woman had recently lost her own child. She hid the babe and afterward
+was permitted to adopt it. When a few months later she died of
+smallpox, Stokimatis had inherited the care of the little one. She had
+named it Sleeping Dawn. Later, when the famine year came, she had sold
+the child to Angus McRae.
+
+That was all she knew. But it was enough for Jessie. She did not know
+who her parents had been. She never would know, beyond the fact that
+they were Americans and that her mother had been a beautiful girl
+whose eyes laughed and danced. But this knowledge made a tremendous
+difference to her. She belonged to the ruling race and not to the
+métis, just as much as Win Beresford and Tom Morse did.
+
+She tried to hide her joy, was indeed ashamed of it. For any
+expression of it seemed like a reproach to Matapi-Koma and Onistah and
+Stokimatis, to her brother Fergus and in a sense even to her father.
+None the less her blood beat fast. What she had just found out meant
+that she could aspire to the civilization of the whites, that she
+had before her an outlook, was not to be hampered by the limitations
+imposed upon her by race.
+
+The heart in the girl sang a song of sunshine dancing on grass, of
+meadowlarks flinging out their carefree notes of joy. Through it like
+a golden thread ran for a motif little melodies that had to do with a
+man who had staggered into Fort Desolation out of the frozen North,
+sick and starved and perhaps wounded, but still indomitably captain of
+his soul.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+"MALBROUCK S'EN VA-T-EN GUERRE"
+
+
+Inspector MacLean was present in person when the two man-hunters of
+the North-West Mounted returned to Faraway. Their reception was in the
+nature of a pageant. Gayly dressed voyageurs and trappers, singing
+old river songs that had been handed down to them from their fathers,
+unharnessed the dogs and dragged the cariole into town. In it sat
+Beresford, still unfit for long and heavy mushing. Beside it slouched
+West, head down, hands tied behind his back, the eyes from the matted
+face sending sidling messages of hate at the capering crowd. At his
+heels moved Morse, grim and tireless, an unromantic figure of dominant
+efficiency.
+
+Long before the worn travelers and their escort reached the village,
+Jessie could hear the gay lilt of the chantey that heralded their
+coming:
+
+  "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre,
+   Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine."
+
+The girl hummed it herself, heart athrob with excitement. She found
+herself joining in the cheer of welcome that rose joyously when the
+cavalcade drew into sight. In her cheeks fluttered eager flags of
+greeting. Tears brimmed the soft eyes, so that she could hardly
+distinguish Tom Morse and Win Beresford, the one lean and gaunt and
+grim, the other pale and hollow-eyed from illness, but scattering
+smiles of largesse. For her heart was crying, in a paraphrase of the
+great parable, "He was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is
+found."
+
+Beresford caught sight of the Inspector's face and chuckled like
+a schoolboy caught in mischief. This gay procession, with its
+half-breeds in tri-colored woolen coats, its gay-plumed voyageurs
+suggesting gallant troubadours of old in slashed belts and tassels,
+was not quite the sort of return to set Inspector MacLean cheering.
+Externally, at least, he was a piece of military machinery. A trooper
+did his work, and that ended it. In the North-West Mounted it was not
+necessary to make a gala day of it because a constable brought in his
+man. If he didn't bring him in--well, that would be another and a
+sadder story for the officer who fell down on the assignment.
+
+As soon as Beresford and Morse had disposed of their prisoner and
+shaken off their exuberant friends, they reported to the Inspector.
+He sat at a desk and listened dryly to their story. Not till they had
+finished did he make any comment.
+
+"You'll have a week's furlough to recuperate, Constable Beresford.
+After that report to the Writing-on-Stone detachment for orders.
+Here's a voucher for your pay, Special Constable Morse. I'll say
+to you both that it was a difficult job well done." He hesitated a
+moment, then proceeded to free his mind. "As for this Roman triumph
+business--victory procession with prisoners chained to your chariot
+wheels--quite unnecessary, I call it."
+
+Beresford explained, smilingly. "We really couldn't help it, sir. They
+were bound to make a Roman holiday out of us whether we wanted to or
+not. You know how excitable the French are. Had to have their little
+frolic out of it."
+
+"Not the way the Mounted does business. You know that, Beresford.
+We don't want any fuss and feathers--any fol-de-rol--this
+mironton-ton-ton stuff. Damn it, sir, you liked it. I could see you
+eat it up. D'you s'pose I haven't eyes in my head?"
+
+The veneer of sobriety Beresford imposed on his countenance refused to
+stay put.
+
+MacLean fumed on. "Hmp! Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre, eh? Very
+pretty. Very romantic, no doubt. But damned sentimental tommyrot, just
+the same."
+
+"Yes, sir," agreed the constable, barking into a cough just in time to
+cut off a laugh.
+
+"Get out!" ordered the Inspector, and there was the glimmer of a
+friendly smile in his own eyes. "And I'll expect you both to dine with
+me to-night. Six o'clock sharp. I'll hear that wonderful story in more
+detail. And take care of yourself, Beresford. You don't look strong
+yet. I'll make that week two or three if necessary."
+
+"Thank you, sir."
+
+"Hmp! Don't thank me. Earned it, didn't you? What are you hanging
+around for? Get out!"
+
+Constable Beresford had his revenge. As he passed the window,
+Inspector MacLean heard him singing. The words that drifted to the
+commissioned office! were familiar.
+
+  "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre,
+   Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine."
+
+MacLean smiled at the irrepressible youngster. Like most people, he
+responded to the charm of Winthrop Beresford. He could forgive him a
+touch of debonair impudence if necessary.
+
+It happened that his heart was just now very warm toward both these
+young fellows. They had come through hell and had upheld the best
+traditions of the Force. Between the lines of the story they had told
+he gathered that they had shaved the edge of disaster a dozen times.
+But they had stuck to their guns like soldiers. They had fought it out
+week after week, hanging to their man with bulldog pluck. And when at
+last they were found almost starving in camp, they were dividing their
+last rabbit with the fellow they were bringing out to be hanged.
+
+The Inspector walked to the window and looked down the street after
+them. His lips moved, but no sound came from them. The rhythmic motion
+of them might have suggested, if there had been anybody present to
+observe, that his mind was running on the old river song.
+
+  "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre,
+  Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+SENSE AND NONSENSE
+
+
+Beresford speaking, to an audience of one, who listened with soft dark
+eyes aglow and sparkling.
+
+"He's the best scout ever came over the border, Jessie. Trusty as
+steel, stands the gaff without whining, backs his friends to the
+limit, and plays the game out till the last card's dealt and the last
+trick lost. Tom Morse is a man in fifty thousand."
+
+"I know another," she murmured. "Every word you've said is true for
+him too."
+
+"He's a wonder, that other." admitted the soldier dryly. "But we're
+talking about Tom now. I tell you that iron man dragged West and me
+out of the Barrens by the scruff of our necks. Wouldn't give up.
+Wouldn't quit. The yellow in West came out half a dozen times. When
+the ten-day blizzard caught us, he lay down and yelped like a cur. I
+wouldn't have given a plugged six-pence for our chances. But Tom went
+out into it, during a little lull, and brought back with him a timber
+wolf. How he found it, how he killed it, Heaven alone knows. He was
+coated with ice from head to foot. That wolf kept us and the dogs
+alive for a week. Each day, when the howling of the blizzard died down
+a bit, Tom made West go down with him to the creek and get wood.
+It must have been a terrible hour. They'd come back so done up, so
+frozen, they could hardly stagger in with their jags of pine for the
+fire. I never heard the man complain--not once. He stood up to it the
+way Tom Sayers used to."
+
+The girl felt a warm current of life prickling swiftly through her. "I
+love to hear you talk so generously of him."
+
+"Of my rival?" he said, smiling. "How else can I talk? The scoundrel
+has been heaping on me those coals of fire we read about. I haven't
+told you half of it--how he nursed me like a woman and looked after me
+so that I wouldn't take cold, how he used to tuck me up in the sled
+with a hot stone at my feet and make short days' runs in order not to
+wear out my strength. By Jove, it was a deucedly unfair advantage he
+took of me."
+
+"Is he your rival?" she asked.
+
+"Isn't he?"
+
+"In business?"
+
+"How demure Miss McRae is," he commented. "Observe those long
+eyelashes flutter down to the soft cheeks."
+
+"In what book did you read that?" she wanted to know.
+
+"In that book of suffering known as experience," he sighed, eyes
+dancing.
+
+"If you're trying to tell me that you're in love with some girl--"
+
+"Haven't I been trying to tell you for a year?"
+
+Her eyes flashed a challenge at him. "Take care, sir. First thing you
+know you'll be on thin ice. You might break through."
+
+"And if I did--"
+
+"Of course I'd snap you up before you could bat an eye. Is there a
+girl living that wouldn't? And I'm almost an old maid. Don't forget
+that. I'm to gather rosebuds while I may, because time's flying so
+fast, some poet says."
+
+"Time stands still for you, my dear," he bowed, with a gay imitation
+of the grand manner.
+
+"Thank you." Her smile mocked him. She had flirted a good deal with
+this young man and understood him very well. He had no intention
+whatever of giving up the gay hazards of life for any adventure so
+enduring as matrimony. Moreover, he knew she knew it. "But let's stick
+to the subject. While you're proposing--"
+
+"How you help a fellow along!" he laughed. "Am I proposing?"
+
+"Of course you are. But I haven't found out yet whether it's for
+yourself or Mr. Morse."
+
+"A good suggestion--novel, too. For us both, let's say. You take your
+choice." He flung out a hand in a gay debonair gesture.
+
+"You've told his merits, but I don't think I ever heard yours
+mentioned," she countered. "If you'd recite them, please."
+
+"It's a subject I can do only slight justice." He bowed again.
+"Sergeant Beresford, at your service, of the North-West Mounted."
+
+"Sergeant! Since when?"
+
+"Since yesterday. Promoted for meritorious conduct in the line of
+duty. My pay is increased to one dollar and a quarter a day. In case
+happily your choice falls on me, don't squander it on silks and
+satins, on trips to Paris and London--"
+
+"If I choose you, it won't be for your wealth," she assured him.
+
+"Reassured, fair lady. I proceed with the inventory of Sergeant
+Beresford's equipment as a future husband. Fond, but, alas! fickle. A
+family black sheep, or if not black, at least striped. Likely not to
+plague you long, if he's sent on many more jobs like the last. Said
+to be good-tempered, but not docile. Kind, as men go, but a
+ne'er-do-well, a prodigal, a waster. Something whispers in my ear that
+he'll make a better friend than a husband."
+
+"A twin fairy is whispering the same in my ear," the girl nodded.
+"At least a better friend to Jessie McRae. But I think he has a poor
+advocate in you. The description is not a flattering one. I don't even
+recognize the portrait."
+
+"But Tom Morse--"
+
+"Exactly, Tom Morse. Haven't you rather taken the poor fellow for
+granted?" She felt an unexpected blush burn into her cheek. It stained
+the soft flesh to her throat. For she was discovering that the
+nonsense begun so lightly was embarrassing. She did not want to talk
+about the feelings of Tom Morse toward her. "It's all very well to
+joke, but--"
+
+"Shall I ask him?" he teased.
+
+She flew into a mild near-panic. "If you dare, Win Beresford!" The
+flash in her eyes was no longer mirth. "We'll talk about something
+else. I don't think it's very nice of us to--to--"
+
+"Tom retired from conversational circulation," he announced. "Shall we
+talk of cats or kings?"
+
+"Tell me your plans, now you've been promoted."
+
+"Plans? Better men make 'em. I touch my hat, say, 'Yes, sir,' and help
+work 'em out. Coming back to Tom for a minute, have you heard that
+the Colonel has written him a letter of thanks for the distinguished
+service rendered by him to the Mounted and suggesting that a permanent
+place of importance can be found for him on the Force if he'll take
+it?"
+
+"No. Did he? Isn't that just fine?" The soft glow had danced into her
+eyes again. "He won't take it, will he?"
+
+"What do you think?" His eyes challenged hers coolly. He was willing,
+if he could, to discover whether Jessie was in love with his friend.
+
+"Oh, I don't think he should," she said quickly. "He has a good
+business. It's getting better all the time. He's a coming man. And of
+course he'd get hard jobs in the Mounted, the way you do."
+
+"That's a compliment, if it's true," he grinned.
+
+"I dare say, but that doesn't make it any safer."
+
+"They couldn't give him a harder one than you did when you sent him
+into the Barrens to bring back West." His eyes, touched with humor
+and yet disconcertingly intent on information, were fixed steadily on
+hers.
+
+The girl's cheeks flew color signals. "Why do you say that? I didn't
+ask him to go. He volunteered."
+
+"Wasn't it because you wanted him to?"
+
+"I should think you'd be the last man to say that," she protested
+indignantly. "He was your friend, and he didn't want you to run so
+great a risk alone."
+
+"Then you didn't want him to go?"
+
+"If I did, it was for you. Maybe he blames me for it, but I don't see
+how _you_ can. You've just finished telling me he saved your life a
+dozen times."
+
+"Did I say I was blaming you?" His warm, affectionate smile begged
+pardon if he had given offense. "I was just trying to get it straight.
+You wanted him to go that time, but you wouldn't want him to go again.
+Is that it?"
+
+"I wouldn't want either of you to go again. What are you driving at,
+Win Beresford?"
+
+"Oh, nothing!" He laughed. "But if you think Tom's too good to waste
+on the Mounted, you'd better tell him so while there's still time.
+He'll make up his mind within a day or two."
+
+"I don't see him. He never comes here."
+
+"I wonder why."
+
+Jessie sometimes wondered why herself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+THE IMPERATIVE URGE
+
+
+The reason why Tom did not go to see Jessie was that he longed to do
+so in every fiber of his being. His mind was never freed for a moment
+from the routine of the day's work that it did not automatically turn
+toward her. If he saw a woman coming down the street with the free
+light step only one person in Faraway possessed, his heart would begin
+to beat faster. In short, he suffered that torment known as being in
+love.
+
+He dared not go to see her for fear she might discover it. She was the
+sweetheart of his friend. It was as natural as the light of day that
+she turn to Win Beresford with the gift of her love. Nobody like him
+had ever come into her life. His gay courage, his debonair grace,
+the good manners of that outer world such a girl must crave, the
+affectionate touch of friendliness in his smile: how could any woman
+on this forsaken edge of the Arctic resist them?
+
+She could not, of course, let alone one so full of the passionate
+longing for life as Jessie McRae.
+
+If Tom could have looked on her unmoved, if he could have subdued
+or concealed the ardent fire inside him, he would have gone to call
+occasionally as though casually. But he could not trust himself. He
+was like a volcano ready for eruption. Already he was arranging with
+his uncle to put a subordinate here and let him return to Benton.
+Until that could be accomplished, he tried to see her as little as
+possible.
+
+But Jessie was a child of the imperative urge. She told herself fifty
+times that it was none of her business if he did accept the offer of a
+place in the North-West Mounted. He could do as he pleased. Why should
+she interfere? And yet--and yet--
+
+She found a shadow of excuse for herself in the fact that it had been
+through her that he had offered himself as a special constable. He
+might think she wanted him to enlist permanently. So many girls were
+foolish about the red coats of soldiers. She had noticed that among
+her school-girl friends at Winnipeg. If she had any influence with him
+at all, she did not want it thrown on that side of the scale.
+
+But of course he probably did not care what she thought. Very likely
+it was her vanity that whispered to her he had gone North with Win
+Beresford partly to please her. Still, since she was his friend, ought
+she not to just drop an offhand hint that he was a more useful citizen
+where he was than in the Mounted? He couldn't very well resent that,
+could he? Or think her officious? Or forward?
+
+She contrived little plans to meet him when he would be alone and she
+could talk with him, but she rejected these because she was afraid he
+would see through them. It had become of first importance to her that
+Tom Morse should not think she had any but a superficial interest in
+him.
+
+When at last she did meet him, it was by pure chance. Dusk was
+falling. She was passing the yard where his storehouse was. He wheeled
+out and came on her plumply face to face. Both were taken by surprise
+completely. Out of it neither could emerge instantly with casual words
+of greeting.
+
+Jessie felt her pulses throb. A queer consternation paralyzed the
+faculties that ought to have come alertly to her rescue. She stood,
+awkwardly silent, in a shy panic to her pulsing finger-tips. Later she
+would flog herself scornfully for her folly, but this did not help in
+the least now.
+
+"I--I was just going to Mr. Whaley's with a little dress Mother made
+for the baby," she said at last.
+
+"It's a nice baby," was the best he could do.
+
+"Yes. It's funny. You know Mr. Whaley didn't care anything about it
+before--while it was very little. But now he thinks it's wonderful.
+I'm so glad he does."
+
+She was beginning to get hold of herself, to emerge from the emotional
+crisis into which this meeting had plunged her. It had come to her
+consciousness that he was as perturbed as she, and a discovery of this
+nature always brings a woman composure.
+
+"He treats his wife a lot better too."
+
+"There was room for it," he said dryly.
+
+"She's a nice little thing."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Conversation, which had been momentarily brisk, threatened to die out
+for lack of fuel. Anything was better than significant silences in
+which she could almost hear the hammering of her heart.
+
+"Win Beresford told me about the offer you had to go into the
+Mounted," she said, plunging.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Will you accept?"
+
+He looked at her, surprised. "Didn't Win tell you? I said right away I
+couldn't accept. He knew that."
+
+"Oh! I don't believe he did tell me. Perhaps you hadn't decided
+then." Privately she was determining to settle some day with Winthrop
+Beresford for leading her into this. He had purposely kept silent, she
+knew now, in the hope that she would talk to Tom Morse about it. "But
+I'm glad you've decided against going in."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It's dangerous, and I don't think it has much future."
+
+"Win likes it."
+
+"Yes, Win does. He'll get a commission one of these days."
+
+"He deserves one. I--I hope you'll both be very happy."
+
+He was walking beside her. Quickly her glance flashed up at him. Was
+that the reason he had held himself so aloof from her?
+
+"I think we shall, very likely, if you mean Win and I. He's always
+happy, isn't he? And I try to be. I'm sorry he's leaving this part of
+the country. Writing-on-Stone is a long way from here. He may never
+get back. I'll miss him a good deal. Of course you will too."
+
+This was plain enough, but Tom could not accept it at face value.
+Perhaps she meant that she would miss him until Win got ready to send
+for her. An idea lodged firmly in the mind cannot be ejected at an
+instant's notice.
+
+"Yes, I'll miss him. He's a splendid fellow. I've never met one like
+him, so staunch and cheerful and game. Sometime I'd like to tell you
+about that trip we took. You'd be proud of him."
+
+"I'm sure all his friends are," she said, smiling a queer little smile
+that was lost in the darkness.
+
+"He was a very sick man, in a great deal of pain, and we had a rather
+dreadful time of it. Of course it hit him far harder than it did
+either West or me. But never a whimper out of him from first to last.
+Always cheerful, always hopeful, with a little joke or a snatch of a
+song, even when it looked as though we couldn't go on another day.
+He's one out of ten thousand."
+
+"I heard him say that about another man--only I think he said one in
+fifty thousand," she made comment, almost in a murmur.
+
+"Any girl would be lucky to have such a man for a husband," he added
+fatuously.
+
+"Yes. I hope he'll find some nice one who will appreciate him."
+
+This left no room for misunderstanding. Tom's brain whirled. "You--you
+and he haven't had any--quarrel?"
+
+"No. What made you think so?"
+
+"I don't know. I suppose I'm an idiot. But I thought--"
+
+He stopped. She took up his unfinished sentence.
+
+"You thought wrong."
+
+
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,10231 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Man Size, by William MacLeod Raine
+
+
+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: Man Size
+
+Author: William MacLeod Raine
+
+Release Date: December 8, 2003  [eBook #10404]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAN SIZE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Josephine Paolucci, and the
+Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+MAN-SIZE
+
+BY
+
+WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE
+
+AUTHOR OF
+
+THE BIG-TOWN ROUND UP,
+
+OH, YOU TEX! ETC
+
+1922
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+CAPTAIN SIR CECIL E. DENNY, BART.
+
+OF THE FIRST THREE HUNDRED RIDERS OF THE PLAINS
+
+WHO CARRIED LAW INTO THE LONE LANDS
+
+AND MADE THE SCARLET AND GOLD
+
+A SYNONYM FOR
+
+JUSTICE, INTEGRITY, AND INDOMITABLE PLUCK
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+      I. IN THE DANGER ZONE
+
+     II. THE AMAZON
+
+    III. ANGUS McRAE DOES HIS DUTY
+
+     IV. THE WOLFERS
+
+      V. MORSE JUMPS UP TROUBLE
+
+     VI. "SOMETHING ABOUT THESE GUYS"
+
+    VII. THE MAN IN THE SCARLET JACKET
+
+   VIII. AT SWEET WATER CREEK
+
+     IX. TOM MAKES A COLLECTION
+
+      X. A CAMP-FIRE TALE
+
+     XI. C.N. MORSE TURNS OVER A LEAF
+
+    XII. TOM DUCKS TROUBLE
+
+   XIII. THE CONSTABLE BORES THROUGH DIFFICULTIES
+
+    XIV. SCARLET-COATS IN ACTION
+
+     XV. KISSING DAY
+
+    XVI. A BUSINESS DEAL
+
+   XVII. A BOARD CREAKS
+
+  XVIII. A GUN ROARS
+
+    XIX. "D' YOU WONDER SHE HATES ME?"
+
+     XX. ONISTAH READS SIGN
+
+    XXI. ON THE FRONTIER OF DESPAIR
+
+   XXII. "MY DAMN PRETTY LI'L' HIGH-STEPPIN' SQUAW"
+
+  XXIII. A FORETASTE OF HELL
+
+   XXIV. WEST MAKES A DECISION
+
+    XXV. FOR THE WEE LAMB LOST
+
+   XXVI. A RESCUE
+
+  XXVII. APACHE STUFF
+
+ XXVIII. "IS A' WELL WI' YOU, LASS?"
+
+   XXIX. NOT GOING ALONE
+
+    XXX. "M" FOR MORSE
+
+   XXXI. THE LONG TRAIL
+
+  XXXII. A PICTURE IN A LOCKET
+
+ XXXIII. INTO THE LONE LAND
+
+  XXXIV. THE MAN-HUNTERS READ SIGN
+
+   XXXV. SNOW-BLIND
+
+  XXXVI. THE WILD BEAST LEAPS
+
+ XXXVII. NEAR THE END OF A LONG CROOKED TRAIL
+
+XXXVIII. OVER A ROTTING TRAIL
+
+  XXXIX. A CREE RUNNER BRINGS NEWS
+
+     XL. "MALBROUCK S'EN VA-T-EN GUERRE"
+
+    XLI. SENSE AND NONSENSE
+
+   XLII. THE IMPERATIVE URGE
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+IN THE DANGER ZONE
+
+
+She stood on the crown of the hill, silhouetted against a sky-line of
+deepest blue. Already the sun was sinking in a crotch of the plains
+which rolled to the horizon edge like waves of a great land sea. Its
+reflected fires were in her dark, stormy eyes. Its long, slanted rays
+were a spotlight for the tall, slim figure, straight as that of a boy.
+
+The girl's gaze was fastened on a wisp of smoke rising lazily from a
+hollow of the crumpled hills. That floating film told of a camp-fire
+of buffalo chips. There was a little knitted frown of worry on her
+forehead, for imagination could fill in details of what the coulee
+held: the white canvas tops of prairie schooners, some spans of oxen
+grazing near, a group of blatant, profane whiskey-smugglers from
+Montana, and in the wagons a cargo of liquor to debauch the Bloods and
+Piegans near Fort Whoop-Up.
+
+Sleeping Dawn was a child of impulse. She had all youth's capacity for
+passionate indignation and none of the wisdom of age which tempers
+the eager desire of the hour. These whiskey-traders were ruining her
+people. More than threescore Blackfeet braves had been killed within
+the year in drunken brawls among themselves. The plains Indians would
+sell their souls for fire-water. When the craze was on them, they
+would exchange furs, buffalo robes, ponies, even their wives and
+daughters for a bottle of the poison.
+
+In the sunset glow she stood rigid and resentful, one small fist
+clenched, the other fast to the barrel of the rifle she carried. The
+evils of the trade came close to her. Fergus McRae still carried the
+gash from a knife thrust earned in a drunken brawl. It was likely that
+to-morrow he would cut the trail of the wagon wheels and again make
+a bee-line for liquor and trouble. The swift blaze of revolt found
+expression in the stamp of her moccasined foot.
+
+As dusk fell over the plains, Sleeping Dawn moved forward lightly,
+swiftly, toward the camp in the hollow of the hills. She had no
+definite purpose except to spy the lay-out, to make sure that her
+fears were justified. But through the hinterland of her consciousness
+rebellious thoughts were racing. These smugglers were wholly outside
+the law. It was her right to frustrate them if she could.
+
+Noiselessly she skirted the ridge above the coulee, moving through
+the bunch grass with the wary care she had learned as a child in the
+lodges of the tribe.
+
+Three men crouched on their heels in the glow of a camp-fire well
+up the draw. A fourth sat at a little distance from them riveting a
+stirrup leather with two stones. The wagons had been left near the
+entrance of the valley pocket some sixty or seventy yards from the
+fire. Probably the drivers, after they had unhitched the teams, had
+been drawn deeper into the draw to a spot more fully protected from
+the wind.
+
+While darkness gathered, Sleeping Dawn lay in the bunch grass with her
+eyes focused on the camp below. Her untaught soul struggled with the
+problem that began to shape itself. These men were wolfers, desperate
+men engaged in a nefarious business. They paid no duty to the British
+Government. She had heard her father say so. Contrary to law, they
+brought in their vile stuff and sold it both to breeds and tribesmen.
+They had no regard whatever for the terrible injury they did the
+natives. Their one intent was to get rich as soon as possible, so they
+plied their business openly and defiantly. For the Great Lone Land was
+still a wilderness where every man was a law to himself.
+
+The blood of the girl beat fast with the racing pulse of excitement.
+A resolution was forming in her mind. She realized the risks and
+estimated chances coolly. These men would fire to kill on any skulker
+near the camp. They would take no needless hazard of being surprised
+by a band of stray Indians. But the night would befriend her. She
+believed she could do what she had in mind and easily get away to the
+shelter of the hill creases before they could kill or capture her.
+
+A shadowy dog on the outskirt of the camp rose and barked. The girl
+waited, motionless, tense, but the men paid little heed to the
+warning. The man working at the stirrup leather got to his feet,
+indeed, carelessly, rifle in hand, and stared into the gloom; but
+presently he turned on his heel and sauntered back to his job of
+saddlery. Evidently the hound was used to voicing false alarms
+whenever a coyote slipped past or a skunk nosed inquisitively near.
+
+Sleeping Dawn followed the crest of the ridge till it fell away to
+the mouth of the coulee. She crept up behind the white-topped wagon
+nearest the entrance.
+
+An axe lay against the tongue. She picked it up, glancing at the same
+time toward the camp-fire. So far she had quite escaped notice. The
+hound lay blinking into the flames, its nose resting on crossed paws.
+
+With her hunting-knife the girl ripped the canvas from the side of the
+top. She stood poised, one foot on a spoke, the other on the axle. The
+axe-head swung in a half-circle. There was a crash of wood, a swift
+jet of spouting liquor. Again the axe swung gleaming above her head. A
+third and a fourth time it crashed against the staves.
+
+A man by the camp-fire leaped to his feet with a startled oath.
+"What's that?" he demanded sharply.
+
+From the shadows of the wagons a light figure darted. The man snatched
+up a rifle and fired. A second time, aimlessly, he sent a bullet into
+the darkness.
+
+The silent night was suddenly alive with noises. Shots, shouts, the
+barking of the dog, the slap of running feet, all came in a confused
+medley to Sleeping Dawn.
+
+She gained a moment's respite from pursuit when the traders stopped
+at the wagons to get their bearings. The first of the white-topped
+schooners was untouched. The one nearest the entrance to the coulee
+held four whiskey-casks with staves crushed in and contents seeping
+into the dry ground.
+
+Against one of the wheels a rifle rested. The girl flying in a panic
+had forgotten it till too late.
+
+The vandalism of the attack amazed the men. They could have understood
+readily enough some shots out of the shadows or a swoop down upon the
+camp to stampede and run off the saddle horses. Even a serious attempt
+to wipe out the party by a stray band of Blackfeet or Crees was an
+undertaking that would need no explaining. But why should any one do
+such a foolish, wasteful thing as this, one to so little purpose in
+its destructiveness?
+
+They lost no time in speculation, but plunged into the darkness in
+pursuit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE AMAZON
+
+
+The dog darted into the bunch grass and turned sharply to the right.
+One of the men followed it, the others took different directions.
+
+Up a gully the hound ran, nosed the ground in a circle of sniffs, and
+dipped down into a dry watercourse. Tom Morse was at heel scarcely a
+dozen strides behind.
+
+The yelping of the dog told Morse they were close on their quarry.
+Once or twice he thought he made out the vague outline of a flying
+figure, but in the night shadows it was lost again almost at once.
+
+They breasted the long slope of a low hill and took the decline
+beyond. The young plainsman had the legs and the wind of a Marathon
+runner. His was the perfect physical fitness of one who lives a clean,
+hard life in the dry air of the high lands. The swiftness and the
+endurance of the fugitive told him that he was in the wake of youth
+trained to a fine edge.
+
+Unexpectedly, in the deeper darkness of a small ravine below the hill
+spur, the hunted turned upon the hunter. Morse caught the gleam of a
+knife thrust as he plunged. It was too late to check his dive. A flame
+of fire scorched through his forearm. The two went down together,
+rolling over and over as they struggled.
+
+Startled, Morse loosened his grip. He had discovered by the feel of
+the flesh he was handling so roughly that it was a woman with whom he
+was fighting.
+
+She took advantage of his hesitation to shake free and roll away.
+
+They faced each other on their feet. The man was amazed at the young
+Amazon's fury. Her eyes were like live coals, flashing at him hatred
+and defiance. Beneath the skin smock she wore, her breath came
+raggedly and deeply. Neither of them spoke, but her gaze did not yield
+a thousandth part of an inch to his.
+
+The girl darted for the knife she had dropped. Morse was upon her
+instantly. She tried to trip him, but when they struck the ground she
+was underneath.
+
+He struggled to pin down her arms, but she fought with a barbaric
+fury. Her hard little fist beat upon his face a dozen times before he
+pegged it down.
+
+Lithe as a panther, her body twisted beneath his. Too late the flash
+of white teeth warned him. She bit into his arm with the abandon of a
+savage.
+
+"You little devil!" he cried between set teeth.
+
+He flung away any scruples he might have had and pinned fast her
+flying arms. The slim, muscular body still writhed in vain contortions
+till he clamped it fast between knees from which not even an untamed
+cayuse could free itself.
+
+She gave up struggling. They glared at each other, panting from their
+exertions. Her eyes still flamed defiance, but back of it he read
+fear, a horrified and paralyzing terror. To the white traders along
+the border a half-breed girl was a squaw, and a squaw was property
+just as a horse or a dog was.
+
+For the first time she spoke, and in English. Her voice came
+bell-clear and not in the guttural of the tribes.
+
+"Let me up!" It was an imperative, urgent, threatening.
+
+He still held her in the vice, his face close to her flaming eyes.
+"You little devil," he said again.
+
+"Let me up!" she repeated wildly. "Let me up, I tell you."
+
+"Like blazes I will. You're through biting and knifing me for one
+night." He had tasted no liquor all day, but there was the note of
+drunkenness in his voice.
+
+The terror in her grew. "If you don't let me up--"
+
+"You'll do what?" he jeered.
+
+Her furious upheaval took him by surprise. She had unseated him and
+was scrambling to her feet before he had her by the shoulders.
+
+The girl ducked her head in an effort to wrench free. She could as
+easily have escaped from steel cuffs as from the grip of his brown
+fingers.
+
+"You'd better let me go!" she cried. "You don't know who I am."
+
+"Nor care," he flung back. "You're a nitchie, and you smashed our
+kegs. That's enough for me."
+
+"I'm no such thing a nitchie[1]," she denied indignantly.
+
+[Footnote 1: In the vernacular of the Northwest Indians were
+"nitchies." (W.M.R.)]
+
+The instinct of self-preservation was moving in her. She had played
+into the hands of this man and his companions. The traders made their
+own laws and set their own standards. The value of a squaw of the
+Blackfeet was no more than that of the liquor she had destroyed. It
+would be in character for them to keep her as a chattel captured in
+war.
+
+"The daughter of a squaw-man then," he said, and there was in his
+voice the contempt of the white man for the half-breed.
+
+"I'm Jessie McRae," she said proudly.
+
+Among the Indians she went by her tribal name of Sleeping Dawn, but
+always with the whites she used the one her adopted father had given
+her. It increased their respect for her. Just now she was in desperate
+need of every ounce that would weigh in the scales.
+
+"Daughter of Angus McRae?" he asked, astonished.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"His woman's a Cree?"
+
+"His wife is," the girl corrected.
+
+"What you doin' here?"
+
+"Father's camp is near. He's hunting hides."
+
+"Did he send you to smash our whiskey-barrels?"
+
+"Angus McRae never hides behind a woman," she said, her chin up.
+
+That was true. Morse knew it, though he had never met McRae. His
+reputation had gone all over the Northland as a fearless fighting man
+honest as daylight and stern as the Day of Judgment. If this girl was
+a daughter of the old Scot, not even a whiskey-trader could safely lay
+hands on her. For back of Angus was a group of buffalo-hunters related
+to him by blood over whom he held half-patriarchal sway.
+
+"Why did you do it?" Morse demanded.
+
+The question struck a spark of spirit from her. "Because you're
+ruining my people--destroying them with your fire-water."
+
+He was taken wholly by surprise. "Do you mean you destroyed our
+property for that reason?"
+
+She nodded, sullenly.
+
+"But we don't trade with the Crees," he persisted.
+
+It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she was of the
+Blackfoot tribe and not of the Crees, but again for reasons of policy
+she was less than candid. Till she was safely out of the woods, it was
+better this man should not know she was only an adopted daughter of
+Angus McRae. She offered another reason, and with a flare of passion
+which he was to learn as a characteristic of her.
+
+"You make trouble for my brother Fergus. He shot Akokotos (Many
+Horses) in the leg when the fire-water burned in him. He was stabbed
+by a Piegan brave who did not know what he was doing. Fergus is good.
+He minds his own business. But you steal away his brains. Then he runs
+wild. It was _you_, not Fergus, that shot Akokotos. The Great Spirit
+knows you whiskey-traders, and not my poor people who destroy each
+other, are the real murderers."
+
+Her logic was feminine and personal, from his viewpoint wholly unfair.
+Moreover, one of her charges did not happen to be literally true.
+
+"We never sold whiskey to your brother--not our outfit. It was
+Jackson's, maybe. Anyhow, nobody made him buy it. He was free to take
+it or leave it."
+
+"A wolf doesn't have to eat the poisoned meat in a trap, but it eats
+and dies," she retorted swiftly and bitterly.
+
+Adroitly she had put him on the defensive. Her words had the sting of
+barbed darts.
+
+"We're not talking of wolves."
+
+"No, but of Blackfeet and Bloods and Sarcees," she burst out, again
+with that flare of feminine ferocity so out of character in an Indian
+woman or the daughter of one. "D'you think I don't know how you
+Americans talk? A good Indian is a dead Indian. No wonder we hate you
+all. No wonder the tribes fight you to the death."
+
+He had no answer for this. It was true. He had been brought up in a
+land of Indian wars and he had accepted without question the common
+view that the Sioux, the Crows, and the Cheyennes, with all their
+blood brothers, were menaces to civilization. The case for the natives
+he had never studied. How great a part broken pledges and callous
+injustice had done to drive the tribes to the war-path he did not
+know. Few of the actual frontiersmen were aware of the wrongs of the
+red men.
+
+The young man's hands fell from her arms. Hard-eyed and grim, he
+looked her over from head to foot. The short skirt and smock of
+buckskin, the moccasins of buffalo hide, all dusty and travel-stained,
+told of life in a primitive country under the simplest and hardest
+conditions.
+
+Yet the voice was clear and vibrant, the words well enunciated. She
+bloomed like a desert rose, had some quality of vital life that struck
+a spark from his imagination.
+
+What manner of girl was she? Not by any possibility would she fit into
+the specifications of the cubby-hole his mind had built for Indian
+women. The daughters even of the boisbrules had much of the heaviness
+and stolidity of their native mothers. Jessie McRae was graceful as a
+fawn. Every turn of the dark head, every lift of the hand, expressed
+spirit and verve. She must, he thought, have inherited almost wholly
+from her father, though in her lissom youth he could find little of
+McRae's heavy solidity of mind and body.
+
+"Your brother is of the metis[2]. He's not a tribesman. And he's no
+child. He can look out for himself," Morse said at last.
+
+[Footnote 2: The half-breeds were known as "metis." The word means, of
+course, mongrel. (W.M.R.)]
+
+His choice of a word was unfortunate. It applied as much to her as to
+Fergus. Often it was used contemptuously.
+
+"Yes, and the metis doesn't matter," she cried, with the note of
+bitterness that sat so strangely on her hot-blooded, vital youth. "You
+can ride over him as though you're lords of the barren lands. You can
+ruin him for the money you make, even if he's a subject of the Great
+Mother and not of your country. He's only a breed--a mongrel."
+
+He was a man of action. He brushed aside discussion. "We'll be movin'
+back to camp."
+
+Instantly her eyes betrayed the fear she would not put into words.
+"No--no! I won't go."
+
+His lids narrowed. The outthrust of his lean jaw left no room for
+argument. "You'll go where I say."
+
+She knew it would be that way, if he dragged her by the hair of the
+head. Because she was in such evil case she tamed her pride to sullen
+pleading.
+
+"Don't take me there! Let me go to father. He'll horsewhip me. I'll
+have him do it for you. Isn't that enough? Won't that satisfy you?"
+
+Red spots smoldered like fire in his brown eyes. If he took her back
+to the traders' camp, he would have to fight Bully West for her. That
+was certain. All sorts of complications would rise. There would be
+trouble with McRae. The trade with the Indians of his uncle's firm, of
+which he was soon to be a partner, would be wrecked by the Scotchman.
+No, he couldn't take her back to the camp in the coulee. There was too
+much at stake.
+
+"Suits me. I'll take you up on that. He's to horsewhip you for that
+fool trick you played on us and to make good our loss. Where's his
+camp?"
+
+From the distance of a stone-throw a heavy, raucous voice called,
+"'Lo, Morse!"
+
+The young man turned to the girl, his lips set in a thin, hard line.
+"Bully West. The dog's gone back and is bringin' him here, I reckon.
+Like to meet him?"
+
+She knew the reputation of Bully West, notorious as a brawler and
+a libertine. Who in all the North did not know of it? Her heart
+fluttered a signal of despair.
+
+"I--I can get away yet--up the valley," she said in a whisper, eyes
+quick with fear.
+
+He smiled grimly. "You mean _we_ can."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Hit the trail."
+
+She turned and led the way into the darkness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+ANGUS McRAE DOES HIS DUTY
+
+
+The harsh shout came to them again, and with it a volley of oaths that
+polluted the night.
+
+Sleeping Dawn quickened her pace. The character of Bully West was
+sufficiently advertised in that single outburst. She conceived him
+bloated, wolfish, malignant, a man whose mind traveled through filthy
+green swamps breeding fever and disease. Hard though this young man
+was, in spite of her hatred of him, of her doubt as to what lay behind
+those inscrutable, reddish-brown eyes of his, she would a hundred
+times rather take chances with him than with Bully West. He was at
+least a youth. There was always the possibility that he might not yet
+have escaped entirely from the tenderness of boyhood.
+
+Morse followed her silently with long, tireless, strides. The girl
+continued to puzzle him. Even her manner of walking expressed
+personality. There was none of the flat-footed Indian shuffle about
+her gait. She moved lightly, springily, as one does who finds in it
+the joy of calling upon abundant strength.
+
+She was half Scotch, of course. That helped to explain her. The words
+of an old song hummed themselves through his mind.
+
+  "Yestreen I met a winsome lass, a bonny lass was she,
+   As ever climbed the mountain-side, or tripped aboon the lea;
+   She wore nae gold, nae jewels bright, nor silk nor satin rare,
+   But just the plaidie that a queen might well be proud to wear."
+
+Jessie McRae wore nothing half so picturesque as the tartan. Her
+clothes were dingy and dust-stained. But they could not eclipse the
+divine, dusky youth of her. She was slender, as a panther is, and her
+movements had more than a suggestion of the same sinuous grace.
+
+Of the absurdity of such thoughts he was quite aware. She was a
+good-looking breed. Let it go at that. In story-books there were
+Indian princesses, but in real life there were only squaws.
+
+Not till they were out of the danger zone did he speak. "Where's your
+father's camp?"
+
+She pointed toward the northwest. "You don't need to be afraid. He'll
+pay you for the damage I did."
+
+He looked at her in the steady, appraising way she was to learn as a
+peculiarity of his.
+
+"I'm not afraid," he drawled. "I'll get my pay--and you'll get yours."
+
+Color flamed into her dusky face. When she spoke there was the throb
+of contemptuous anger in her voice. "It's a great thing to be a man."
+
+"Like to crawfish, would you?"
+
+She swung on him, eyes blazing. "No. I don't ask any favors of a
+wolfer."
+
+She spat the word at him as though it were a missile. The term was one
+of scorn, used only in speaking of the worst of the whiskey-traders.
+He took it coolly, his strong white teeth flashing in a derisive
+smile.
+
+"Then this wolfer won't offer any, Miss McRae."
+
+It was the last word that passed between them till they reached the
+buffalo-hunter's camp. If he felt any compunctions, she read nothing
+of the kind in his brown face and the steady stride carrying her
+straight to punishment. She wondered if he knew how mercilessly
+twenty-year-old Fergus had been thrashed after his drunken spree among
+the Indians, how sternly Angus dispensed justice in the clan over
+which he ruled. Did he think she was an ordinary squaw, one to be
+whipped as a matter of discipline by her owner?
+
+They climbed a hill and looked down on a camp of many fires in the
+hollow below.
+
+"Is it you, lass?" a voice called.
+
+Out of the shadows thrown by the tents a big bearded man came to meet
+them. He stood six feet in his woolen socks. His chest was deep and
+his shoulders tremendously broad. Few in the Lone Lands had the
+physical strength of Angus McRae.
+
+His big hand caught the girl by the shoulder with a grip that was
+half a caress. He had been a little anxious about her and this found
+expression in a reproach.
+
+"You shouldna go out by your lane for so lang after dark, Jess. Weel
+you ken that."
+
+"I know, Father."
+
+The blue eyes beneath the grizzled brows of the hunter turned upon
+Morse. They asked what he was doing with his daughter at that time and
+place.
+
+The Montana trader answered the unspoken question, an edge of irony in
+his voice. "I found Miss McRae wanderin' around, so I brought her home
+where she would be safe and well taken care of."
+
+There was something about this Angus did not understand. At night in
+the Lone Lands, among a thousand hill pockets and shoestring draws,
+it would be only a millionth chance that would bring a man and woman
+together unexpectedly. He pushed home questions, for he was not one to
+slough any of the responsibilities that belonged to him as father of
+his family.
+
+A fat and waistless Indian woman appeared in the tent flap as the
+three approached the light. She gave a grunt of surprise and pointed
+first at Morse and then at the girl.
+
+The trader's hands were covered with blood, his shirt-sleeve soaked in
+it. Stains of it were spattered over the girl's clothes and face.
+
+The Scotchman looked at them, and his clean-shaven upper lip grew
+straight, his whole face stern. "What'll be the meanin' o' this?" he
+asked.
+
+Morse turned to the girl, fastened his eyes on her steadily, and
+waited.
+
+"Nae lees. I'll hae the truth," Angus added harshly.
+
+"I did it--with my hunting-knife," the daughter said, looking straight
+at her father.
+
+"What's that? Are ye talkin' havers, lass?"
+
+"It's the truth, Father."
+
+The Scotchman swung on the trader with a swift question, at the end of
+it a threat. "Why would she do that? Why? If you said one word to my
+lass--"
+
+"No, Father. You don't understand. I found a camp of whiskey-traders,
+and I stole up and smashed four-five kegs. I meant to slip away, but
+this man caught me. When he rushed at me I was afraid--so I slashed at
+him with my knife. We fought."
+
+"You fought," her father repeated.
+
+"He didn't know I was a girl--not at first."
+
+The buffalo-hunter passed that point. "You went to this trader's camp
+and ruined his goods?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why?"
+
+The slim girl faced her judge steadily with eyes full of apprehension.
+"Fergus," she said in a low voice, "and my people."
+
+"What aboot them?"
+
+"These traders break the law. They sell liquor to Fergus and to--"
+
+"Gin that's true, is it your business to ram-stam in an' destroy ither
+folks' property? Did I bring you up i' the fear o' the Lord to slash
+at men wi' your dirk an' fight wi' them like a wild limmer? I've been
+ower-easy wi' you. Weel, I'll do my painfu' duty the nicht, lass." The
+Scotchman's eyes were as hard and as inexorable as those of a hanging
+judge.
+
+"Yes," the girl answered in a small voice. "That's why he brought me
+home instead of taking me to his own camp. You're to whip me."
+
+Angus McRae was not used to having the law and the judgment taken out
+of his own hands. He frowned at the young man beneath heavy grizzled
+eyebrows drawn sternly together. "An' who are you to tell me how to
+govern my ain hoose?" he demanded.
+
+"My name's Morse--Tom Morse, Fort Benton, Montana, when my hat's
+hangin' up. I took up your girl's proposition, that if I didn't head
+in at our camp, but brought her here, you were to whip her and pay me
+damages for what she'd done. Me, I didn't propose it. She did."
+
+"You gave him your word on that, Jess?" her father asked.
+
+"Yes." She dragged out, reluctantly, after a moment: "With a
+horsewhip."
+
+"Then that's the way it'll be. The McRaes don't cry back on a
+bargain," the dour old buffalo-hunter said. "But first we'll look at
+this young man's arm. Get water and clean rags, Jess."
+
+Morse flushed beneath the dark tan of his cheeks. "My arm's all right.
+It'll keep till I get back to camp."
+
+"No such thing, my lad. We'll tie it up here and now. If my lass cut
+your arm, she'll bandage the wound."
+
+"She'll not. I'm runnin' this arm."
+
+McRae slammed a heavy fist down into the palm of his hand. "I'll be
+showin' you aboot that, mannie."
+
+"Hell, what's the use o' jawin'? I'm goin' to wait, I tell you."
+
+"Don't curse in my camp, Mr. Morse, or whatever your name is." The
+Scotchman's blue eyes flashed. "It's a thing I do not permeet. Nor do
+I let beardless lads tell me what they will or won't do here. Your
+wound will be washed and tied up if I have to order you hogtied first.
+So mak the best o' that."
+
+Morse measured eyes with him a moment, then gave way with a sardonic
+laugh. McRae had a full share of the obstinacy of his race.
+
+"All right. I'm to be done good to whether I like it or not. Go to
+it." The trader pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and stretched out
+a muscular, blood-stained arm. An ugly flesh wound stretched halfway
+from elbow to wrist.
+
+Jessie brought a basin, water, a towel, and clean rags. By the light
+of a lantern in the hands of her father, she washed and tied up the
+wound. Her lips trembled. Strange little rivers of fire ran through
+her veins when her finger-tips touched his flesh. Once, when she
+lifted her eyes, they met his. He read in them a concentrated passion
+of hatred.
+
+Not even when she had tied the last knot in the bandage did any of
+them speak. She carried away the towel and the basin while McRae hung
+the lantern to a nail in the tent pole and brought from inside a
+silver-mounted riding-whip. It was one he had bought as a present for
+his daughter last time he had been at Fort Benton.
+
+The girl came back and stood before him. A pulse beat fast in her
+brown throat. The eyes betrayed the dread of her soul, but they met
+without flinching those of the buffalo-hunter.
+
+The Indian woman at the tent entrance made no motion to interfere. The
+lord of her life had spoken. So it would be.
+
+With a strained little laugh Morse took a step forward. "I reckon I'll
+not stand out for my pound of flesh, Mr. McRae. Settle the damages for
+the lost liquor and I'll call it quits."
+
+The upper lip of the Scotchman was a straight line of resolution. "I'm
+not thrashing the lass to please you, but because it's in the bond and
+because she's earned it. Stand back, sir."
+
+The whip swung up and down. The girl gasped and shivered. A flame of
+fiery pain ran through her body to the toes. She set her teeth to bite
+back a scream. Before the agony had passed, the whip was winding round
+her slender body again like a red-hot snake. It fell with implacable
+rhythmic regularity.
+
+Her pride and courage collapsed. She sank to her knees with a wild
+burst of wailing and entreaties. At last McRae stopped.
+
+Except for the irregular sobbing breaths of the girl there was
+silence. The Indian woman crouched beside the tortured young thing and
+rocked the dark head, held close against her bosom, while she crooned
+a lullaby in the native tongue.
+
+McRae, white to the lips, turned upon his unwelcome guest. "You're nae
+doot wearyin' to tak the road, man. Bring your boss the morn an' I'll
+mak a settlement."
+
+Morse knew he was dismissed. He turned and walked into the darkness
+beyond the camp-fires. Unnoticed, he waited there in a hollow and
+listened. For along time there came to him the soft sound of weeping,
+and afterward the murmur of voices. He knew that the fat and shapeless
+squaw was pouring mother love from her own heart to the bleeding one
+of the girl.
+
+Somehow that brought him comfort. He had a queer feeling that he had
+been a party to some horrible outrage. Yet all that had taken place
+was the whipping of an Indian girl. He tried to laugh away the weak
+sympathy in his heart.
+
+But the truth was that inside he was a wild river of woe for her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE WOLFERS
+
+
+When Tom Morse reached camp he found Bully West stamping about in a
+heady rage. The fellow was a giant of a man, almost muscle-bound in
+his huge solidity. His shoulders were rounded with the heavy pack of
+knotted sinews they carried. His legs were bowed from much riding. It
+was his boast that he could bend a silver dollar double in the palm of
+his hand. Men had seen him twist the tail rod of a wagon into a knot.
+Sober, he was a sulky, domineering brute with the instincts of a
+bully. In liquor, the least difference of opinion became for him a
+cause of quarrel.
+
+Most men gave him a wide berth, and for the sake of peace accepted
+sneers and insults that made the blood boil.
+
+"Where you been all this time?" he growled.
+
+"Ploughin' around over the plains."
+
+"Didn't you hear me callin'?"
+
+"D'you call? I've been quite a ways from camp. Bumped into Angus
+McRae's buffalo-hunting outfit. He wants to see us to-morrow."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Something about to-night's business. Seems he knows who did it.
+Offers to settle for what we lost."
+
+Bully West stopped in his stride, feet straddled, head thrust forward.
+"What's that?"
+
+"Like I say. We're to call on him to-morrow for a settlement, you 'n'
+me."
+
+"Did McRae bust our barrels?"
+
+"He knows something about it. Didn't have time to talk long with him.
+I hustled right back to tell you."
+
+"He can come here if he wants to see me," West announced.
+
+This called for no answer and Tom gave it none. He moved across to the
+spot where the oxen were picketed and made sure the pins were still
+fast. Presently he rolled his blanket round him and looked up into a
+sky all stars. Usually he dropped asleep as soon as his head touched
+the seat of the saddle he used as a pillow. But to-night he lay awake
+for hours. He could not get out of his mind the girl he had met and
+taken to punishment. A dozen pictures of her rose before him, all of
+them mental snapshots snatched from his experience of the night. Now
+he was struggling to hold her down, his knees clamped to her writhing,
+muscular torso. Again he held her by the strong, velvet-smooth arms
+while her eyes blazed fury and defiance at him. Or her stinging words
+pelted him as she breasted the hill slopes with supple ease. Most
+vivid of all were the ones at her father's camp, especially those when
+she was under the torture of the whip.
+
+No wonder she hated him for what he had done to her.
+
+He shook himself into a more comfortable position and began to count
+stars.... Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven.... What was the use
+of stressing the affair, anyhow? She was only a half-breed. In
+ten years she would be fat, shapeless, dirty, and repellent. Her
+conversation would be reduced to grunts. The glance he had had at her
+mother was illuminating.
+
+Where was he?... One hundred eleven, twelve, thirteen.... Women had
+not obtruded much into his life. He had lived in the wind and the sun
+of the outdoors, much of the time in the saddle. Lawless he was,
+but there was a clean strain in his blood. He had always felt an
+indifferent contempt for a squaw-man. An American declassed himself
+when he went in for that sort of thing, even if he legalized the
+union by some form of marriage. In spite of her magnificent physical
+inheritance of health and vitality, in spite of the quick and
+passionate spirit that informed her, she would be the product of her
+environment and ancestry, held close to barbarism all her life. The
+man who mated with her would be dragged down to her level.
+
+Two hundred three, four, five.... How game she had been! She had
+played it out like a thoroughbred, even to telling her father that he
+was to use the horsewhip in punishing her. He had never before seen a
+creature so splendid or so spirited. Squaw or no squaw, he took off
+his hat to her.
+
+The sun had climbed the hilltop when Morse wakened.
+
+"Come an' get it!" Barney the cook was yelling at him.
+
+Bully West had changed his mind about not going to the
+buffalo-hunter's camp.
+
+"You 'n' Brad'll stay here, Barney, while me 'n' Tom are gone," he
+gave orders. "And you'll keep a sharp lookout for raiders. If any one
+shows up that you're dubious of, plug him and ask questions afterward.
+Un'erstand?"
+
+"I hear ye," replied Barney, a small cock-eyed man with a malevolent
+grin. "An' we'll do just that, boss."
+
+Long before the traders reached it, the camp of the buffalo-hunters
+advertised its presence by the stench of decaying animal matter.
+Hundreds of hides were pegged to the ground. Men and women, squatting
+on their heels, scraped bits of fat from the drying skins. Already a
+train of fifty Red River carts[3] stood ready for the homeward start,
+loaded with robes tied down by means of rawhide strips to stand the
+jolting across the plains. Not far away other women were making
+pemmican of fried buffalo meat and fat, pounded together and packed
+with hot grease in skin bags. This food was a staple winter diet and
+had too a market value for trade to the Hudson's Bay Company, which
+shipped thousands of sacks yearly to its northern posts on the Peace
+and the Mackenzie Rivers.
+
+[Footnote 3: The Red River cart was a primitive two-wheeled affair,
+made entirely of wood, without nails or metal tires. It was usually
+drawn by an ox. (W.M.R.)]
+
+The children and the sound of their laughter gave the camp a domestic
+touch. Some of the brown, half-naked youngsters, their skins
+glistening in the warm sun, were at work doing odd jobs. Others, too
+young to fetch and carry, played with a litter of puppies or with a
+wolf cub that had been caught and tamed.
+
+The whole bustling scene was characteristic of time and place. A score
+of such outfits, each with its Red River carts and its oxen, its dogs,
+its women and children, traveled to the plains each spring to hunt
+the bison. They killed thousands upon thousands of them, for it took
+several animals to make a sack of pemmican weighing one hundred fifty
+pounds. The waste was enormous, since only the choicest cuts of meat
+were used.
+
+Already the buffalo were diminishing in numbers. Vast hordes still
+roamed the plains. They could be killed by scores and hundreds. But
+the end was near. It had been several years since Colonel Dodge
+reported that he had halted his party of railroad builders two days
+to let a herd of over half a million bison pass. Such a sight was no
+longer possible. The pressure of the hunters had divided the game into
+the northern and the southern herds. Within four or five years the
+slaughter was to be so great that only a few groups of buffalo would
+be left.
+
+The significance of this extermination lay largely in its application
+to the Indians. The plains tribes were fed and clothed and armed and
+housed by means of the buffalo. Even the canoes of the lake Indians
+were made from buffalo skins. The failure of the supply reduced the
+natives from warriors to beggars.
+
+McRae came forward to meet the traders, the sleeves of his shirt
+rolled to the elbows of his muscular brown arms. He stroked a great
+red beard and nodded gruffly. It was not in his dour honest nature to
+pretend that he was glad to see them when he was not.
+
+"Well, I'm here," growled West, interlarding a few oaths as a
+necessary corollary of his speech. "What's it all about, McRae? What
+do you know about the smashing of our barrels?"
+
+"I'll settle any reasonable damage," the hunter said.
+
+Bully West frowned. He spread his legs deliberately, folded his arms,
+and spat tobacco juice upon a clean hide drying in the sun. "Hold yore
+hawsses a minute. The damage'll be enough. Don't you worry about that.
+But first off, I aim to know who raided our camp. Then I reckon I'll
+whop him till he's wore to a frazzle."
+
+Under heavy, grizzled brows McRae looked long at him. Both were
+outstanding figures by reason of personality and physique. One was a
+constructive force, the other destructive. There was a suggestion of
+the gorilla in West's long arms matted with hair, in the muscles of
+back and shoulders so gnarled and knotted that they gave him almost
+a deformed appearance. Big and broad though he was, the Scot was the
+smaller. But power harnessed and controlled expressed itself in every
+motion of the body. Moreover, the blue eyes that looked straight and
+hard out of the ruddy face told of coordination between mind and
+matter.
+
+Angus McRae was that rare product, an honest, outspoken man. He sought
+to do justice to all with whom he had dealings. Part of West's demand
+was fair, he reflected. The trader had a right to know all the facts
+in the case. But the old Hudson's Bay trapper had a great reluctance
+to tell them. His instinct to protect Jessie was strong.
+
+"I've saved ye the trouble, Mr. West. The guilty yin was o' my ain
+family. Your young man will tell ye I've done a' the horsewhippin'
+that's necessary."
+
+The big trail boss looked blackly at his helper. He would settle with
+Morse at the proper time. Now he had other business on hand.
+
+"Come clean, McRae. Who was it? There'll be nothin' doin' till I know
+that," he growled.
+
+"My daughter."
+
+West glared at him, for once astonished out of profanity.
+
+"What?"
+
+"My daughter Jessie."
+
+"Goddlemighty, d'ja mean to tell me a girl did it?" He threw back his
+head in a roar of Homeric laughter. "Ever hear the beat of that? A
+damn li'l' Injun squaw playin' her tricks on Bully West! If she was
+mine I'd tickle her back for it."
+
+The eyes in the Scotchman's granite face flashed. "Man, can you never
+say twa-three words withoot profanity? This is a God-fearin' camp.
+There's nae place here for those who tak His name in vain."
+
+"Smashed 'em with her own hands--is that what you mean? I'll give it
+to her that she's a plucky li'l' devil, even if she is a nitchie."
+
+McRae reproved him stiffly. "You'll please to remember that you're
+talking of my daughter, Mr. West. I'll allow no such language aboot
+her. You're here to settle a business matter. What do ye put the
+damage at?"
+
+They agreed on a price, to be paid in hides delivered at Whoop-Up.
+West turned and went straddling to the place where he and Morse had
+left their horses. On the way he came face to face with a girl, a
+lithe, dusky young creature, Indian brown, the tan of a hundred
+summer suns and winds painted on the oval of her lifted chin. She was
+carrying a package of sacks to the place where the pemmican was being
+made.
+
+West's eyes narrowed. They traveled up and down her slender body. They
+gloated on her.
+
+After one scornful glance which swept over and ignored Morse, the girl
+looked angrily at the man barring her way. Slowly the blood burned
+into her cheeks. For there was that in the trader's smoldering eyes
+that would have insulted any modest maiden.
+
+"You Jessie McRae?" he demanded, struck of a sudden with an idea.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You smashed my whiskey-barrels?"
+
+"My father has told you. If he says so, isn't that enough?"
+
+He slapped an immense hand on his thigh, hugely diverted. "You damn
+li'l' high-steppin' filly! Why? What in hell 'd I ever do to you?"
+
+Angus McRae strode forward, eyes blazing. He had married a Cree woman,
+had paid for her to her father seven ponies, a yard of tobacco, and a
+bottle of whiskey. His own two-fisted sons were metis. The Indian in
+them showed more plainly than the Celt. Their father accepted the fact
+without resentment. But there was in his heart a queer feeling about
+the little lass he had adopted. Her light, springing step, the lift of
+the throat and the fearlessness of the eye, the instinct in her for
+cleanliness of mind and body, carried him back forty years to the land
+of heather, to a memory of the laird's daughter whom he had worshiped
+with the hopeless adoration of a red-headed gillie. It had been the
+one romance of his life, and somehow it had reincarnated itself in
+his love for the half-breed girl. To him it seemed a contradiction of
+nature that Jessie should be related to the flat-footed squaws who
+were slaves to their lords. He could not reconcile his heart to the
+knowledge that she was of mixed blood. She was too fine, too dainty,
+of too free and imperious a spirit.
+
+"Your horses are up the hill, Mr. West," he said pointedly.
+
+It is doubtful whether the trader heard. He could not keep his
+desirous eyes from the girl.
+
+"Is she a half or a quarter-breed?" he asked McRae.
+
+"That'll be her business and mine, sir. Will you please tak the road?"
+The hunter spoke quietly, restraining himself from an outbreak. But
+his voice carried an edge.
+
+"By Gad, she's some clipper," West said, aloud to himself, just as
+though the girl had not been present.
+
+"Will you leave my daughter oot o' your talk, man?" warned the
+Scotchman.
+
+"What's ailin' you?" West's sulky, insolent eyes turned on the
+buffalo-hunter. "A nitchie's a nitchie. Me, I talk straight. But I aim
+to be reasonable too. I don't like a woman less because she's got the
+devil in her. Bully West knows how to tame 'em so they'll eat outa his
+hand. I've took a fancy to yore girl. Tha's right, McRae."
+
+"You may go to the tent, Jessie," the girl's father told her. He was
+holding his temper in leash with difficulty.
+
+"Wait a mo." The big trader held out his arm to bar the way. "Don't
+push on yore reins, McRae. I'm makin' you a proposition. Me, I'm
+lookin' for a wife, an' this here breed girl of yours suits me. Give
+her to me an' I'll call the whole thing square. Couldn't say fairer
+than that, could I?"
+
+The rugged hunter looked at the big malformed border ruffian with
+repulsion. "Man, you gi'e me a scunner," he said. "Have done wi' this
+foolishness an' be gone. The lass is no' for you or the like o' you."
+
+"Hell's hinges, you ain't standin' there tellin' me that a Cree breed
+is too good for Bully West, are you?" roared the big whiskey-runner.
+
+"A hundred times too good for you. I'd rather see the lass dead in
+her coffin than have her life ruined by you," McRae answered in dead
+earnest.
+
+"You don't get me right, Mac," answered the smuggler, swallowing his
+rage. "I know yore religious notions. We'll stand up before a sky
+pilot and have this done right. I aim to treat this girl handsome."
+
+Jessie had turned away at her father's command. Now she turned swiftly
+upon the trader, eyes flashing. "I'd rather Father would drive a
+knife in my heart than let me be married to a wolfer!" she cried
+passionately.
+
+His eyes, untrammeled by decency, narrowed to feast on the brown
+immature beauty of her youth.
+
+"Tha' so?" he jeered. "Well, the time's comin' when you'll go down on
+yore pretty knees an' beg me not to leave you. It'll be me 'n' you one
+o' these days. Make up yore mind to that."
+
+"Never! Never! I'd die first!" she exploded.
+
+Bully West showed his broken, tobacco-stained teeth in a mirthless
+grin. "We'll see about that, dearie."
+
+"March, lass. Your mother'll be needin' you," McRae said sharply.
+
+The girl looked at West, then at Morse. From the scorn of that glance
+she might have been a queen and they the riffraff of the land. She
+walked to the tent. Not once did she look back.
+
+"You've had your answer both from her and me. Let that be an end o'
+it," McRae said with finality.
+
+The trader's anger ripped out in a crackle of obscene oaths. They
+garnished the questions that he snarled. "Wha's the matter with me?
+Why ain't I good enough for yore half-breed litter?"
+
+It was a spark to gunpowder. The oaths, the insult, the whole
+degrading episode, combined to drive McRae out of the self-restraint
+he had imposed on himself. He took one step forward. With a wide sweep
+of the clenched fist he buffeted the smuggler on the ear. Taken by
+surprise, West went spinning against the wheel of a cart.
+
+The man's head sank between his shoulders and thrust forward. A sound
+that might have come from an infuriated grizzly rumbled from the hairy
+throat. His hand reached for a revolver.
+
+Morse leaped like a crouched cat. Both hands caught at West's arm. The
+old hunter was scarcely an instant behind him. His fingers closed on
+the wrist just above the weapon.
+
+"Hands off," he ordered Morse. "This is no' your quarrel."
+
+The youngster's eyes met the blazing blue ones of the Scot. His
+fingers loosened their hold. He stepped back.
+
+The two big men strained. One fought with every ounce of power in him
+to twist the arm from him till the cords and sinews strained; the
+other to prevent this and to free the wrist. It was a test of sheer
+strength.
+
+Each labored, breathing deep, his whole energy centered on cooerdinated
+effort of every muscle. They struggled in silence except for the
+snarling grunts of the whiskey-runner.
+
+Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the wrist began to turn from
+McRae. Sweat beads gathered on West's face. He fought furiously to
+hold his own. But the arm turned inexorably.
+
+The trader groaned. As the cords tightened and shoots of torturing
+pain ran up the arm, the huge body of the man writhed. The revolver
+fell from his paralyzed fingers. His wobbling knees sagged and
+collapsed.
+
+McRae's fingers loosened as the man slid down and caught the bull-like
+throat. His grip tightened. West fought savagely to break it. He could
+as soon have freed himself from the clamp of a vice.
+
+The Scotchman shook him till he was black in the face, then flung him
+reeling away.
+
+"Get oot, ye yellow wolf!" he roared. "Or fegs! I'll break every bone
+in your hulkin' body. Oot o' my camp, the pair o' you!"
+
+West, strangling, gasped for air, as does a catfish on the bank. He
+leaned on the cart wheel until he was able to stand. The help of Morse
+he brushed aside with a sputtered oath. His eyes never left the man
+who had beaten him. He snarled hike a whipped wolf. The hunter's
+metaphor had been an apt one. The horrible lust to kill was stamped on
+his distorted, grinning face, but for the present the will alone was
+not enough.
+
+McRae's foot was on the revolver. His son Fergus, a swarthy,
+good-looking youngster, had come up and was standing quietly behind
+his father. Other hunters were converging toward their chief.
+
+The Indian trader swore a furious oath of vengeance. Morse tried to
+lead him away.
+
+"Some day I'll get yore squaw girl right, McRae, an' then God help
+her," he threatened.
+
+The bully lurched straddling away.
+
+Morse, a sardonic grin on his lean face, followed him over the hill.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+MORSE JUMPS UP TROUBLE
+
+
+"Threw me down, didn't you?" snarled West out of the corner of his
+mouth. "Knew all the time she did it an' never let on to me. A hell of
+a way to treat a friend."
+
+Tom Morse said nothing. He made mental reservations about the word
+friend, but did not care to express them. His somber eyes watched the
+big man jerk the spade bit cruelly and rowel the bronco when it went
+into the air. It was a pleasure to West to torture an animal when no
+human was handy, though he preferred women and even men as victims.
+
+"Whad he mean when he said you could tell me how he'd settled with
+her?" he growled.
+
+"He whipped her last night when I took her back to camp."
+
+"Took her back to camp, did you? Why didn't you bring her to me? Who's
+in charge of this outfit, anyhow, young fellow, me lad?"
+
+"McRae's too big a man for us to buck. Too influential with the
+half-breeds. I figured it was safer to get her right home to him." The
+voice of the younger man was mild and conciliatory.
+
+"_You_ figured!" West's profanity polluted the clear, crisp morning
+air. "I got to have a run in with you right soon. I can see that.
+Think because you're C.N. Morse's nephew, you can slip yore funny
+business over on me. I'll show you."
+
+The reddish light glinted for a moment in the eyes of Morse, but he
+said nothing. Young though he was, he had a capacity for silence. West
+was not sensitive to atmospheres, but he felt the force of this young
+man. It was not really in his mind to quarrel with him. For one thing
+he would soon be a partner in the firm of C.N. Morse & Company, of
+Fort Benton, one of the biggest trading outfits in the country. West
+could not afford to break with the Morse interests.
+
+With their diminished cargo the traders pushed north. Their
+destination was Whoop-Up, at the junction of the Belly and the St.
+Mary's Rivers. This fort had become a rendezvous for all the traders
+within hundreds of miles, a point of supply for many small posts
+scattered along the rivers of the North.
+
+Twelve oxen were hitched to each three-wagon load. Four teams had left
+Fort Benton together, but two of them had turned east toward Wood
+Mountain before the party was out of the Assiniboine country. West had
+pushed across Lonesome Prairie to the Sweet Grass Hills and from there
+over the line into Canada.
+
+Under the best of conditions West was no pleasant traveling companion.
+Now he was in a state of continual sullen ill-temper. For the first
+time in his life he had been publicly worsted. Practically he had
+been kicked out of the buffalo camp, just as though he were a drunken
+half-breed and not one whose barroom brawls were sagas of the
+frontier.
+
+His vanity was notorious, and it had been flagrantly outraged. He
+would never be satisfied until he had found a way to get his revenge.
+More than once his simmering anger leaped out at the young fellow who
+had been a witness of his defeat. In the main he kept his rage sulkily
+repressed. If Tom Morse wanted to tell of the affair with McRae, he
+could lessen the big man's prestige. West did not want that.
+
+The outfit crossed the Milk River, skirted Pakoghkee Lake, and swung
+westward in the direction of the Porcupine Hills. Barney had been a
+trapper in the country and knew where the best grass was to be found.
+In many places the feed was scant. It had been cropped close by the
+great herds of buffalo roaming the plains. Most of the lakes were
+polluted by the bison, so that whenever possible their guide found
+camps by running water. The teams moved along the Belly River through
+the sand hills.
+
+Tom Morse was a crack shot and did the hunting for the party. The
+evening before the train reached Whoop-Up, he walked out from camp to
+try for an antelope, since they were short of fresh meat. He climbed a
+small butte overlooking the stream. His keen eyes swept the panorama
+and came to rest on a sight he had never before seen and would never
+forget.
+
+A large herd of buffalo had come down to the river crossing. They were
+swimming the stream against a strong current, their bodies low in the
+water and so closely packed that he could almost have stepped from one
+shaggy head to another. Not fifty yards from him they scrambled ashore
+and went lumbering into the hazy dusk. Something had frightened them
+and they were on a stampede. Even the river had not stopped their
+flight. The earth shook with their tread as they found their stride.
+
+That wild flight into the gathering darkness was symbolic, Morse
+fancied. The vast herds were vanishing never to return. Were they
+galloping into the Happy Hunting Ground the Indians prayed for? What
+would come of their flight? When the plains knew them no more, how
+would the Sioux and the Blackfeet and the Piegans live? Would the
+Lonesome Lands become even more desolate than they were now?
+
+"I wonder," he murmured aloud.
+
+It is certain that he could have had no vision of the empire soon to
+be built out of the desert by himself and men of his stamp. Not even
+dimly could he have conceived a picture of the endless wheat-fields
+that would stretch across the plains, of the farmers who would pour
+into the North by hundreds of thousands, of the cities which would
+rise in the sand hills as a monument to man's restless push of
+progress and his indomitable hope. No living man's imagination had yet
+dreamed of the transformation of this _terra incognita_ into one of
+the world's great granaries.
+
+The smoke of the traders' camp-fire was curling up and drifting away
+into thin veils of film before the sun showed over the horizon hills.
+The bull-teams had taken up their steady forward push while the quails
+were still flying to and from their morning water-holes.
+
+"Whoop-Up by noon," Barney predicted.
+
+"Yes, by noon," Tom Morse agreed. "In time for a real sure-enough
+dinner with potatoes and beans and green stuff."
+
+"Y' bet yore boots, an' honest to gosh gravy," added Brad Stearns,
+a thin and wrinkled little man whose leathery face and bright eyes
+defied the encroachment of time. He was bald, except for a fringe of
+grayish hair above the temples and a few long locks carefully disposed
+over his shiny crown. But nobody could have looked at him and called
+him old.
+
+They were to be disappointed.
+
+The teams struck the dusty road that terminated at the fort and
+were plodding along it to the crackling accompaniment of the long
+bull-whips.
+
+"Soon now," Morse shouted to Stearns.
+
+The little man nodded. "Mebbe they'll have green corn on the cob.
+Betcha the price of the dinner they do."
+
+"You've made a bet, dad."
+
+Stearns halted the leaders. "What's that? Listen."
+
+The sound of shots drifted to them punctuated by faint, far yells. The
+shots did not come in a fusillade. They were intermittent, died down,
+popped out again, yielded to whoops in distant crescendo.
+
+"Injuns," said Stearns. "On the peck, looks like. Crees and Blackfeet,
+maybe, but you never can tell. Better throw off the trail and dig in."
+
+West had ridden up. He nodded. "Till we know where we're at. Get busy,
+boys."
+
+They drew up the wagons in a semicircle, end to end, the oxen bunched
+inside, partially protected by a small cottonwood grove in the rear.
+
+This done, West gave further orders. "We gotta find out what's doin'.
+Chances are it's nothin' but a coupla bunches of braves with a cargo
+of redeye aboard, Tom, you an' Brad scout out an' take a look-see.
+Don't be too venturesome. Soon's you find out what the rumpus is,
+hot-foot it back and report, y' understand." The big wolfer snapped
+out directions curtly. There was no more competent wagon boss in the
+border-land than he.
+
+Stearns and Morse rode toward the fort. They deflected from the road
+and followed the river-bank to take advantage of such shrubbery as
+grew there. They moved slowly and cautiously, for in the Indian
+country one took no unnecessary chances. From the top of a small rise,
+shielded by a clump of willows, the two looked down on a field of
+battle already decided. Bullets and arrows were still flying, but the
+defiant, triumphant war-whoops of a band of painted warriors slowly
+moving toward them showed that the day was won and lost. A smaller
+group of Indians was retreating toward the swamp on the left-hand side
+of the road. Two or three dead braves lay in the grassy swale between
+the foes.
+
+"I done guessed it, first crack," Brad said. "Crees and Blackfeet.
+They sure enough do mix it whenever they get together. The Crees
+ce'tainly got the jump on 'em this time."
+
+It was an old story. From the northern woods the Crees had come
+down to trade at the fort. They had met a band of Blackfeet who had
+traveled up from the plains for the same purpose. Filled with bad
+liquor, the hereditary enemies had as usual adjourned to the ground
+outside for a settlement while the traders at the fort had locked the
+gates and watched the battle from the loopholes of the stockade.
+
+"Reckon we better blow back to camp," suggested the old plainsman.
+"Mr. Cree may be feelin' his oats heap much. White man look all same
+Blackfeet to him like as not."
+
+"Look." Morse pointed to a dip in the swale.
+
+An Indian was limping through the brush, taking advantage of such
+cover as he could find. He was wounded. His leg dragged and he moved
+with difficulty.
+
+"He'll be a good Injun mighty soon," Stearns said, rubbing his bald
+head as it shone in the sun. "Not a chance in the world for him.
+They'll git him soon as they reach the coulee. See. They're stoppin'
+to collect that other fellow's scalp."
+
+At a glance Morse had seen the situation. This was none of his affair.
+It was tacitly understood that the traders should not interfere in
+the intertribal quarrels of the natives. But old Brad's words, "good
+Injun," had carried him back to a picture of a brown, slim girl
+flashing indignation because Americans treated her race as though only
+dead Indians were good ones. He could never tell afterward what was
+the rational spring of his impulse.
+
+At the touch of the rein laid flat against its neck, the cow-pony he
+rode laid back its ears, turned like a streak of light, and leaped to
+a hand gallop. It swept down the slope and along the draw, gathering
+speed with every jump.
+
+The rider let out a "Hi-yi-yi" to attract the attention of the wounded
+brave. Simultaneously the limping fugitive and the Crees caught sight
+of the flying horseman who had obtruded himself into the fire zone.
+
+An arrow whistled past Morse. He saw a bullet throw up a spurt of dirt
+beneath the belly of his horse. The Crees were close to their quarry.
+They closed in with a run. Tom knew it would be a near thing. He
+slackened speed slightly and freed a foot from the stirrup, stiffening
+it to carry weight.
+
+The wounded Indian crouched, began to run parallel with the horse, and
+leaped at exactly the right instant. His hand caught the sleeve of his
+rescuer at the same time that the flat of his foot dropped upon the
+white man's boot. A moment, and his leg had swung across the rump of
+the pony and he had settled to the animal's back.
+
+So close was it that a running Cree snatched at the bronco's tail and
+was jerked from his feet before he could release his hold.
+
+As the cow-pony went plunging up the slope, Morse saw Brad Stearns
+silhouetted against the sky-line at the summit. His hat was gone and
+his bald head was shining in the sun. He was pumping bullets from his
+rifle at the Crees surging up the hill after his companion.
+
+Stearns swung his horse and jumped it to a lope. Side by side with
+Morse he went over the brow in a shower of arrows and slugs.
+
+"Holy mackerel, boy! What's eatin' you?" he yelled. "Ain't you got any
+sense a-tall? Don't you know better 'n to jump up trouble thataway?"
+
+"We're all right now," the younger man said. "They can't catch us."
+
+The Crees were on foot and would be out of range by the time they
+reached the hilltop.
+
+"Hmp! They'll come to our camp an' raise Cain. Why not? What business
+we got monkeyin' with their scalping sociables? It ain't neighborly."
+
+"West won't like it," admitted Morse.
+
+"He'll throw a cat fit. What do you aim to do with yore friend
+Mighty-Nigh-Lose-His-Scalp? If I know Bully--and you can bet a silver
+fox fur ag'in' a yard o' tobacco that I do--he won't give no glad hand
+to him. Not none."
+
+Morse did not know what he meant to do with him. He had let an impulse
+carry him to quixotic action. Already he was half-sorry for it, but he
+was obstinate enough to go through now he had started.
+
+When he realized the situation, Bully West exploded in language
+sulphurous. He announced his determination to turn the wounded man
+over to the Crees as soon as they arrived.
+
+"No," said Morse quietly.
+
+"No what?"
+
+"I won't stand for that. They'd murder him."
+
+"That any o' my business--or yours?"
+
+"I'm makin' it mine."
+
+The eyes of the two men crossed, as rapiers do, feeling out the
+strength back of them. The wounded Indian, tall and slender, stood
+straight as an arrow, his gaze now on one, now on the other. His face
+was immobile and expressionless. It betrayed no sign of the emotions
+within.
+
+"Show yore cards, Morse," said West. "What's yore play? I'm goin' to
+tell the Crees to take him if they want him. You'll go it alone if you
+go to foggin' with a six-shooter."
+
+The young man turned to the Indian he had rescued. He waved a hand
+toward the horse from which they had just dismounted. "Up!" he
+ordered.
+
+The Indian youth caught the point instantly. Without using the
+stirrups he vaulted to the saddle, light as a mountain lion. His bare
+heels dug into the sides of the animal, which was off as though shot
+out of a gun.
+
+Horse and rider skirted the cottonwoods and disappeared in a
+depression beyond.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+"SOMETHING ABOUT THESE GUYS"
+
+
+West glared at Morse, his heavy chin outthrust, his bowed legs wide
+apart. "You've done run on the rope long enough with me, young feller.
+Here's where you take a fall hard."
+
+The younger man said nothing. He watched, warily. Was it to be a
+gun-play? Or did the big bully mean to manhandle him? Probably the
+latter. West was vain of his reputation as a two-fisted fighter.
+
+"I'm gonna beat you up, then turn you over to the Crees," the
+infuriated man announced.
+
+"You can't do that, West. He's a white man same as you," protested
+Stearns.
+
+"This yore put-in, Brad?" West, beside himself with rage, swung on the
+little man and straddled forward a step or two threateningly.
+
+"You done said it," answered the old-timer, falling back. "An' don't
+you come closter. I'm liable to get scared, an' you'd ought not to
+forget I'm as big as you behind a six-shooter."
+
+"Here they come--like a swarm o' bees!" yelled Barney.
+
+The traders forgot, for the moment, their quarrel in the need of
+common action. West snatched up a rifle and dropped a bullet in front
+of the nearest Indian. The warning brought the Crees up short. They
+held a long consultation and one of them came forward making the peace
+sign.
+
+In pigeon English he expressed their demands.
+
+"He's gone--lit right out--stole one of our broncs. You can search the
+camp if you've a mind to," West replied.
+
+The envoy reported. There was another long pow-wow.
+
+Brad, chewing tobacco complacently behind a wagon wheel, commented
+aloud. "Can't make up their minds whether to come on an' massacree us
+or not. They got a right healthy fear of our guns. Don't blame 'em a
+bit."
+
+Some of the Crees were armed with bows and arrows, others with rifles.
+But the trade guns sold the Indians of the Northern tribes were of the
+poorest quality.[4]
+
+[Footnote 4: These flintlock muskets were inaccurate. They would not
+carry far. Their owners were in constant danger of having fingers or a
+hand blown off in explosions. The price paid for these cheap firearms
+was based on the length of them. The butt was put on the floor and
+the gun held upright. Skins laid flat were piled beside it till they
+reached the muzzle. The trader exchanged the rifle for the furs.
+(W.M.R.)]
+
+The whites, to the contrary, were armed with the latest repeating
+Winchesters. In a fight with them the natives were at a terrible
+disadvantage.
+
+The Crees realized this. A delegation of two came forward to search
+the camp. West pointed out the tracks of the horse upon which their
+tribal enemy had ridden away.
+
+They grunted, "Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!"
+
+Overbearing though he was, West was an embryonic diplomat. He filled
+a water-bucket with whiskey and handed it, with a tin cup, to the
+wrinkled old brave nearest him.
+
+"For our friends the Crees," he said. "Tell your chief my young
+man didn't understand. He thought he was rescuing a Cree from the
+Blackfeet."
+
+"Ugh! Ugh!" The Indians shuffled away with their booty.
+
+There was more talk, but the guttural protests died away before the
+temptation of the liquor. The braves drank, flung a few shots in
+bravado toward the wagons, and presently took themselves off.
+
+The traders did not renew their quarrel. West's reasons for not
+antagonizing the Morse family were still powerful as ever. He subdued
+his desire to punish the young man and sullenly gave orders to hitch
+up the teams.
+
+It was mid-afternoon when the oxen jogged into Whoop-Up. The post was
+a stockade fort, built in a square about two hundred yards long, of
+cottonwood logs dovetailed together. The buildings on each side of
+the plaza faced inward. Loopholes had been cut in the bastions as a
+protection against Indians.
+
+In the big stores was a large supply of blankets, beads, provisions,
+rifles, and clothing. The adjacent rooms were half-empty now, but in
+the spring they would be packed to the eaves with thousands of buffalo
+robes and furs brought in from outlying settlements by hunters. Later
+these would be hauled to Fort Benton and from there sent down the
+Missouri to St. Louis and other points.
+
+Morse, looking round, missed a familiar feature.
+
+"Where's the liquor?" he asked.
+
+"S-sh!" warned the clerk with whom he was talking. "Haven't you heard?
+There's a bunch of police come into the country from Winnipeg. The
+lid's on tight." His far eye drooped to the cheek in a wise wink. "If
+you've brought in whiskey, you'd better get it out of the fort and
+bury it."
+
+"That's up to West. I wouldn't advise any police to monkey with a
+cargo of his."
+
+"You don't say." The clerk's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Well, I'll
+just make a li'l' bet with you. If the North-West Mounted start to
+arrest Bully West or to empty his liquor-kegs, they'll go right
+through with the job. They're go-getters, these red-coats are."
+
+"Red-coats? Not soldiers, are they?"
+
+"Well, they are and they ain't. They're drilled an' in companies. But
+they can arrest any one they've a mind to, and their officers can try
+and sentence folks. They don't play no favorites either. Soon as they
+hear of this mix-up between the Crees and the Blackfeet they'll be
+right over askin' whyfors, and if they find who gave 'em the booze
+some one will be up to the neck in trouble and squawkin' for help."
+
+West had been talking in whispers with Reddy Madden, the owner of the
+place. He stepped to the door.
+
+"Don't onhook, Brad. We're travelin' some more first," he called to
+Stearns.
+
+The oxen plodded out of the stockade and swung to the left. A guide
+rode beside West and Morse. He was Harvey Gosse, a whiskey-runner
+known to both of them. The man was a long, loose-limbed fellow with a
+shrewd eye and the full, drooping lower lip of irresolution. It had
+been a year since either of the Fort Benton men had been in the
+country. Gosse told them of the change that was taking place in it.
+
+"Business ain't what it was, an' that ain't but half of it," the lank
+rider complained regretfully. "It ain't ever gonna be any more. These
+here red-coats are plumb ruinin' trade. Squint at a buck cross-eyed,
+whisper rum to him, an' one o' these guys jumps a-straddle o' yore
+neck right away."
+
+"How many of these--what is it you call 'em, Mounted Police?--well,
+how many of 'em are there in the country?" asked West.
+
+"Not so many. I reckon a hundred or so, far as I've heard tell."
+
+West snorted scornfully. "And you're lettin' this handful of
+tenderfeet buffalo you! Hell's hinges! Ain't none of you got any
+guts?"
+
+Gosse dragged slowly a brown hand across an unshaven chin. "I reckon
+you wouldn't call 'em tenderfeet if you met up with 'em, Bully.
+There's something about these guys--I dunno what it is exactly--but
+there's sure something that tells a fellow not to prod 'em overly
+much."
+
+"Quick on the shoot?" the big trader wanted to know.
+
+"No, it ain't that. They don't hardly ever draw a gun. They jest walk
+in kinda quiet an' easy, an' tell you it'll be thisaway. And tha's the
+way it is every crack outa the box."
+
+"Hmp!" West exuded boastful incredulity. "I reckon they haven't bumped
+into any one man-size yet."
+
+The lank whiskey-runner guided the train, by winding draws, into the
+hills back of the post. Above a small gulch, at the head of it, the
+teams were stopped and unloaded. The barrels were rolled downhill into
+the underbrush where they lay cached out of sight. From here they
+would be distributed as needed.
+
+"You boys'll take turn an' turn about watching till I've sold the
+cargo," West announced. "Arrange that among yoreselves. Tom, I'll let
+you fix up how you'll spell each other. Only thing is, one of you has
+to be here all the time, y' understand."
+
+Morse took the first watch and was followed by Stearns, who in turn
+gave place to Barney. The days grew to a week. Sometimes West appeared
+with a buyer in a cart or leading a pack-horse. Then the cached
+fire-water would be diminished by a keg or two.
+
+It was a lazy, sleepy life. There was no need for a close guard.
+Nobody knew where the whiskey was except themselves and a few
+tight-mouthed traders. Morse discovered in himself an inordinate
+capacity for sleep. He would throw himself down on the warm, sundried
+grass and fall into a doze almost instantly. When the rays of the sun
+grew too hot, it was easy to roll over into the shade of the draw.
+He could lie for hours on his back after he wakened and watch
+cloud-skeins elongate and float away, thinking of nothing or letting
+thoughts happen in sheer idle content.
+
+He had never had a girl, to use the word current among his fellows.
+His scheme of life would, he supposed, include women by and by, but
+hitherto he had dwelt in a man's world, in a universe of space and
+sunshine and blowing wind, under primitive conditions that made for
+tough muscles and a clean mind trained to meet frontier emergencies.
+But now, to his disgust, he found slipping into his reveries pictures
+of a slim, dark girl, arrow-straight, with eyes that held for him only
+scorn and loathing. The odd thing about it was that when his brain was
+busy with her a strange exultant excitement tingled through his veins.
+
+One day a queer thing happened. He had never heard of psychic
+phenomena or telepathy, but he opened his eyes from a day-dream of her
+to see Jessie McRae looking down at him.
+
+She was on an Indian cayuse, round-bellied and rough. Very erect she
+sat, and on her face was the exact expression of scornful hatred he
+had seen in his vision of her.
+
+He jumped to his feet. "You--here!"
+
+A hot color flooded her face with anger to the roots of the hair.
+Without a word, without another glance at him, she laid the bridle
+rein to the pony's neck and swung away.
+
+Unprotesting, he let her go. The situation had jumped at him too
+unexpectedly for him to know how to meet it. He stood, motionless, the
+red light in his eyes burning like distant camp-fires in the night.
+For the first time in his life he had been given the cut direct by a
+woman.
+
+Yet she wasn't a woman after all. She was a maid, with that passionate
+sense of tragedy which comes only to the very young.
+
+It was in his mind to slap a saddle on his bronco and ride after her.
+But why? Could he by sheer dominance of will change her opinion of
+him? She had grounded it on good and sufficient reasons. He was
+associated in her mind with the greatest humiliation of her life, with
+the stinging lash that had cut into her young pride and her buoyant
+courage as cruelly as it had into her smooth, satiny flesh. Was it
+likely she would listen to any regrets, any explanations? Her hatred
+of him was not a matter for argument. It was burnt into her soul as
+with a red-hot brand. He could not talk away what he had done or the
+thing that he was.
+
+She had come upon him by chance while he was asleep. He guessed that
+Angus McRae's party had reached Whoop-Up and had stopped to buy
+supplies and perhaps to sell hides and pemmican. The girl had probably
+ridden out from the stockade to the open prairie because she loved to
+ride. The rest needed no conjecture. In that lone land of vast spaces
+travelers always exchanged greetings. She had discovered him lying
+in the grass. He might be sick or wounded or dead. The custom of the
+country would bring her straight across the swales toward him to find
+out whether he needed help.
+
+Then she had seen who he was--and had ridden away.
+
+A sardonic smile of self-mockery stamped for a moment on his brown
+boyish face the weariness of the years.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE MAN IN THE SCARLET JACKET
+
+
+Morse ambled out at a road gait to take his turn at guard duty. He was
+following the principle that the longest way round is the shortest
+road to a given place. The reason for this was to ward off any
+suspicion that might have arisen if the watchers had always come and
+gone by the same trail. Therefore they started for any point of the
+compass, swung round in a wide detour, and in course of time arrived
+at the cache.
+
+There wasn't any hurry anyhow. Each day had twenty-four hours, and a
+fellow lived just as long if he didn't break his neck galloping along
+with his tail up like a hill steer on a stampede.
+
+To-day Morse dropped in toward the cache from due west. His eyes
+were open, even if the warmth of the midday sun did make him sleepy.
+Something he saw made him slip from the saddle, lead his horse into a
+draw, and move forward very carefully through the bunch grass.
+
+What he had seen was a man crouched behind some brush, looking down
+into the little gorge where the whiskey cache was--a man in leather
+boots, tight riding-breeches, scarlet jacket, and jaunty forage cap.
+It needed no second glance to tell Tom Morse that the police had run
+down the place where they had hidden their cargo.
+
+From out of the little canon a man appeared. He was carrying a keg of
+whiskey. The man was Barney. West had no doubt sent word to him that
+he would shortly bring a buyer with him to the rendezvous.
+
+The man in the scarlet jacket rose and stepped out into the open. He
+was a few feet from Barney. In his belt there was a revolver, but he
+did not draw it.
+
+Barney stopped and stared at him, his mouth open, eyes bulging. "Where
+in Heligoland you come from?" he asked.
+
+"From Sarnia, Ontario," the red-coat answered. "Glad to meet you,
+friend. I've been looking for you several days."
+
+"For me!" said Barney blankly.
+
+"For you--and for that keg of forty-rod you're carrying. No, don't
+drop it. We can talk more comfortably while both your hands are busy."
+The constable stepped forward and picked from the ground a rifle.
+"I've been lying in the brush two hours waiting for you to get
+separated from this. Didn't want you making any mistakes in your
+excitement."
+
+"Mistakes!" repeated Barney.
+
+"Yes. You're under arrest, you know, for whiskey-smuggling."
+
+"You're one of these here border police." Barney used the rising
+inflection in making his statement.
+
+"Constable Winthrop Beresford, North-West Mounted, at your service,"
+replied the officer jauntily. He was a trim, well-set-up youth, quick
+of step and crisp of speech.
+
+"What you gonna do with me?"
+
+"Take you to Fort Macleod."
+
+It was perhaps because his eyes were set at not quite the right angles
+and because they were so small and wolfish that Barney usually aroused
+distrust. He suggested now, with an ingratiating whine in his voice,
+that he would like to see a man at Whoop-Up first.
+
+"Jes' a li'l' matter of business," he added by way of explanation.
+
+The constable guessed at his business. The man wanted to let his boss
+know what had taken place and to give him a chance to rescue him if he
+would. Beresford's duty was to find out who was back of this liquor
+running. It would be worth while knowing what man Barney wanted to
+talk with. He could afford to take a chance on the rescue.
+
+"Righto," he agreed. "You may put that barrel down now."
+
+Barney laid it down, end up. With one sharp drive of the rifle butt
+the officer broke in the top of the keg, He kicked the barrel over
+with his foot.
+
+This was the moment Morse chose for putting in an appearance.
+
+"Hello! What's doin'?" he asked casually.
+
+Beresford, cool and quiet, looked straight at him. "I'll ask _you_
+that."
+
+"Kinda expensive to irrigate the prairie that way, ain't it?"
+
+"Doesn't cost me anything. How about you?"
+
+Morse laughed at the question fired back at him so promptly. This
+young man was very much on the job. "Not a bean," the Montanan said.
+
+"Good. Then you'll enjoy the little show I'm putting on--five thousand
+dollars' worth of liquor spilt all at one time."
+
+"Holy Moses! Where is this blind tiger you're raidin'?"
+
+"Down in the gully. Lucky you happened along just by chance. You'll be
+able to carry the good news to Whoop-Up and adjacent points."
+
+"You're not really aimin' to spill all that whiskey."
+
+"That's my intention. Any objections?" The scarlet-coated officer
+spoke softly, without any edge to his voice. But Tom began to
+understand why the clerk at the trading-post had called the Mounted
+Police go-getters. This smooth-shaven lad, so easy and carefree
+of manner, had a gleam in his eye that meant business. His very
+gentleness was ominous.
+
+Tom Morse reflected swiftly. His uncle's firm had taken a chance of
+this very finale when it had sent a convoy of liquor into forbidden
+territory. Better to lose the stock than to be barred by the Canadian
+Government from trading with the Indians at all. This officer was not
+one to be bribed or bullied. He would go through with the thing he had
+started.
+
+"Why, no! How could I have any objections?" Morse said.
+
+He shot a swift, slant look at Barney, a look that told the Irishman
+to say nothing and know nothing, and that he would be protected
+against the law.
+
+"Glad you haven't," Constable Beresford replied cheerfully--so very
+cheerfully in fact that Morse suspected he would not have been much
+daunted if objections had been mentioned. "Perhaps you'll help me with
+my little job, then."
+
+The trader grinned. He might as well go the limit with the bluff he
+was playing. "Sure. I'll help you make a fourth o' July outa the kegs.
+Lead me to 'em."
+
+"You don't know where they are, of course?"
+
+"In the gully, you said," Morse replied innocently
+
+"So I did. Righto. Down you go, then." The constable turned to Barney.
+"You next, friend."
+
+A well-defined trail led down the steep side of the gulch. It ended in
+a thick growth of willow saplings. Underneath the roof of this foliage
+were more than a score of whiskey-casks.
+
+After ten minutes with the rifle butt there was nothing to show for
+the cache but broken barrels and a trough of wet sand where the liquor
+had run down the bed of the dry gully.
+
+It was time, Morse thought, to play his own small part in the
+entertainment.
+
+"After you, gentlemen," Beresford said, stepping aside to let them
+take the trail up.
+
+Morse too moved back to let Barney pass. The eyes of the two men met
+for a fraction of a second. Tom's lips framed silently one word. In
+that time a message was given and received.
+
+The young man followed Barney, the constable at his heels. Morse
+stumbled, slipped to all fours, and slid back. He flung out his arms
+to steady himself and careened back against the constable. His flying
+hands caught at the scarlet coat. His bent head and shoulders thrust
+Beresford back and down.
+
+Barney started to run.
+
+The officer struggled to hold his footing against the awkward incubus,
+to throw the man off so that he could pursue Barney. His efforts were
+vain. Morse, evidently trying to regain his equilibrium, plunged
+wildly at him and sent him ploughing into the willows. The Montanan
+landed heavily on top, pinned him down, and smothered him.
+
+The scarlet coat was a center of barrel hoops, bushes, staves, and
+wildly jerking arms and legs.
+
+Morse made heroic efforts to untangle himself from the clutter. Once
+or twice he extricated himself almost, only to lose his balance on the
+slippery bushes and come skating down again on the officer just as he
+was trying to rise.
+
+It was a scene for a moving-picture comedy, if the screen had been a
+feature of that day.
+
+When at last the two men emerged from the gulch, Barney was nowhere to
+be seen. With him had vanished the mount of Beresford.
+
+The constable laughed nonchalantly. He had just lost a prisoner, which
+was against the unwritten law of the Force, but he had gained another
+in his place. It would not be long till he had Barney too.
+
+"Pretty work," he said appreciatively. "You couldn't have done it
+better if you'd done it on purpose, could you?"
+
+"Done what?" asked Morse, with bland naivete.
+
+"Made a pillow and a bed of me, skated on me, bowled me over like a
+tenpin."
+
+"I ce'tainly was awkward. Couldn't get my footin' at all, seemed like.
+Why, where's Barney?" Apparently the trader had just made a discovery.
+
+"Ask of the winds, 'Oh, where?'" Beresford dusted off his coat, his
+trousers, and his cap. When he had removed the evidence of the battle
+of the gulch, he set his cap at the proper angle and cocked an
+inquiring eye at the other. "I suppose you know you're under arrest."
+
+"Why, no! Am I? What for? Which of the statues, laws, and ordinances
+of Queen Vic have I been bustin' without knowin' of them?"
+
+"For aiding and abetting the escape of a prisoner."
+
+"Did I do all that? And when did I do it?"
+
+"While you were doing that war-dance on what was left of my manhandled
+geography."
+
+"Can you arrest a fellow for slippin'?"
+
+"Depends on how badly he slips. I'm going to take a chance on
+arresting you, anyhow."
+
+"Gonna take away my six-shooter and handcuff me?"
+
+"I'll take your revolver. If necessary, I'll put on the cuffs."
+
+Morse looked at him, not without admiration. The man in the scarlet
+jacket wasted nothing. There was about him no superfluity of build,
+of gesture, of voice. Beneath the close-fitting uniform the muscles
+rippled and played when he moved. His shoulders and arms were those
+of a college oarsman. Lean-flanked and clean-limbed, he was in the
+hey-day of a splendid youth. It showed in the steady eyes set wide in
+the tanned face, in the carriage of the close-cropped, curly head, in
+the spring of the step. The Montanan recognized in him a kinship of
+dynamic force.
+
+"Just what would I be doing?" the whiskey-runner asked, smiling.
+
+Beresford met his smile. "I fancy I'll find that out pretty soon. Your
+revolver, please." He held out his hand, palm up.
+
+"Let's get this straight. We're man to man. What'll you do if I find
+I've got no time to go to Fort Macleod with you?"
+
+"Take you with me."
+
+"Dead or alive?"
+
+"No, alive."
+
+"And if I won't go?" asked Morse.
+
+"Oh, you'll go." The officer's bearing radiated a quiet, imperturbable
+confidence. His hand was still extended, "_If_ you please."
+
+"No hurry. Do you know what you're up against? When I draw this gun I
+can put a bullet through your head and ride away?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Unless, of course, you plug me first."
+
+"Can't do that. Against the regulations."
+
+"Much obliged for that information. You've got only a dead man's
+chance then--if I show fight."
+
+"Better not. Game hardly worth the candle. My pals would run you
+down," the constable advised coolly.
+
+"You still intend to arrest me?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+As Morse looked at him, patient as an animal of prey, steady,
+fearless, an undramatic Anglo-Saxon who meant to go through with the
+day's work, he began to understand the power that was to make the
+North-West Mounted Police such a force in the land. The only way he
+could prevent this man from arresting him was to kill the constable;
+and if he killed him, other jaunty red-coated youths would come to
+kill or be killed. It came to him that he was up against a new order
+which would wipe Bully West and his kind from the land.
+
+He handed his revolver to Beresford. "I'll ride with you."
+
+"Good. Have to borrow your horse till we reach Whoop-Up. You won't
+mind walking?"
+
+"Not at all. Some folks think that's what legs were made for,"
+answered Morse, grinning.
+
+As he strode across the prairie beside the horse, Morse was still
+puzzling over the situation. He perceived that the strength of the
+officer's position was wholly a moral one. A lawbreaker was confronted
+with an ugly alternative. The only way to escape arrest was to commit
+murder. Most men would not go that far, and of those who would the
+great majority would be deterred because eventually punishment was
+sure. The slightest hesitation, the least apparent doubt, a flicker of
+fear on the officer's face, would be fatal to success. He won because
+he serenely expected to win, and because there was back of him a
+silent, impalpable force as irresistible as the movement of a glacier.
+
+Beresford must have known that the men who lived at Whoop-Up were
+unfriendly to the North-West Mounted. Some of them had been put out of
+business. Their property had been destroyed and confiscated. Fines
+had been imposed on them. The current whisper was that the
+whiskey-smugglers would retaliate against the constables in person
+whenever there was a chance to do so with impunity. Some day a
+debonair wearer of the scarlet coat would ride out gayly from one
+of the forts and a riderless horse would return at dusk. There were
+outlaws who would ask nothing better than a chance to dry-gulch one of
+these inquisitive riders of the plains.
+
+But Beresford rode into the stockade and swung from the saddle with
+smiling confidence. He nodded here and there casually to dark, sullen
+men who watched his movements with implacably hostile eyes.
+
+His words were addressed to Reddy Madden. "Can you let me have a horse
+for a few days and charge it to the Force? I've lost mine."
+
+Some one sniggered offensively. Barney had evidently reached Whoop-Up
+and was in hiding.
+
+"Your horse came in a while ago, constable," Madden said civilly.
+"It's in the corral back of the store."
+
+"Did it come in without a rider?" Beresford asked.
+
+The question was unnecessary. The horse would have gone to Fort
+Macleod and not have come to Whoop-Up unless a rider had guided it
+here. But sometimes one found out things from unwilling witnesses if
+one asked questions.
+
+"Didn't notice. I was in the store myself."
+
+"Thought perhaps you hadn't noticed," the officer said. "None of you
+other gentlemen noticed either, did you?"
+
+The "other gentlemen" held a dogged, sulky silence. A girl cantered
+through the gate of the stockade and up to the store. At sight of
+Morse her eyes passed swiftly to Beresford. His answered smilingly
+what she had asked. It was all over in a flash, but it told the man
+from Montana who the informer was that had betrayed to the police the
+place of the whiskey cache.
+
+To the best of her limited chance, Jessie McRae was paying an
+installment on the debt she owed Bully West and Tom Morse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+AT SWEET WATER CREEK
+
+
+Before a fire of buffalo chips Constable Beresford and his prisoner
+smoked the pipe of peace. Morse sat on his heels, legs crossed, after
+the manner of the camper. The officer lounged at full length, an elbow
+dug into the sand as a support for his head. The Montanan was
+on parole, so that for the moment at least their relations were
+forgotten.
+
+"After the buffalo--what?" asked the American. "The end of the
+Indian--is that what it means? And desolation on the plains. Nobody
+left but the Hudson's Bay Company trappers, d'you reckon?"
+
+The Canadian answered in one word. "Cattle."
+
+"Some, maybe," Morse assented. "But, holy Moses, think of the millions
+it would take to stock this country."
+
+"Bet you the country's stocked inside of five years of the time the
+buffalo are cleared out. Look at what the big Texas drives are doing
+in Colorado and Wyoming and Montana. Get over the idea that this land
+up here is a desert. That's a fool notion our school geographies are
+responsible for. Great American Desert? Great American fiddlesticks!
+It's a man's country, if you like; but I've yet to see the beat of
+it."
+
+Morse had ceased to pay attention. His head was tilted, and he was
+listening.
+
+"Some one ridin' this way," he said presently. "Hear the hoofs click
+on the shale. Who is it? I wonder. An' what do they want? When folks'
+intentions hasn't been declared it's a good notion to hold a hand you
+can raise on."
+
+Without haste and without delay Beresford got to his feet. "We'll step
+back into the shadow," he announced.
+
+"Looks reasonable to me," agreed the smuggler.
+
+They waited in the semi-darkness back of the camp-fire.
+
+Some one shouted. "Hello, the camp!" At the sound of that clear,
+bell-like voice Morse lifted his head to listen better.
+
+The constable answered the call.
+
+Two riders came into the light. One was a girl, the other a slim,
+straight young Indian in deerskin shirt and trousers. The girl swung
+from the saddle and came forward to the camp-fire. The companion of
+her ride shadowed her.
+
+Beresford and his prisoner advanced from the darkness.
+
+"Bully West's after you. He's sworn to kill you," the girl called to
+the constable.
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Onistah heard him." She indicated with a wave of her hand the
+lithe-limbed youth beside her. "Onistah was passing the stable--behind
+it, back of the corral. This West was gathering a mob to follow
+you--said he was going to hang you for destroying his whiskey."
+
+"He is, eh?" Beresford's salient jaw set. His light blue eyes gleamed
+hard and chill. He would see about that.
+
+"They'll be here soon. This West was sure you'd camp here at Sweet
+Water Creek, close to the ford." A note of excitement pulsed in the
+girl's voice. "We heard 'em once behind us on the road. You'd better
+hurry."
+
+The constable swung toward the Montanan. His eyes bored into those of
+the prisoner. Would this man keep his parole or not? He would find out
+pretty soon.
+
+"Saddle up, Morse. I'll pack my kit. We'll hit the trail."
+
+"Listen." Jessie stood a moment, head lifted. "What's that?"
+
+Onistah moved a step forward, so that for a moment the firelight
+flickered over the copper-colored face. Tom Morse made a discovery.
+This man was the Blackfoot he had rescued from the Crees.
+
+"Horses," the Indian said, and held up the fingers of both hands to
+indicate the numbers. "Coming up creek. Here soon."
+
+"We'll move back to the big rocks and I'll make a stand there,"
+the officer told the whiskey-runner. "Slap the saddles on without
+cinching. We've got no time to lose." His voice lost its curtness as
+he turned to the girl. "Miss McRae, I'll not forget this. Very likely
+you've saved my life. Now you and Onistah had better slip away
+quietly. You mustn't be seen here."
+
+"Why mustn't I?" she asked quickly. "I don't care who sees me."
+
+She looked at Morse as she spoke, head up, with that little touch of
+scornful defiance in the quivering nostrils that seemed to express a
+spirit free and unafraid. The sense of superiority is generally not a
+lovely manifestation in any human being, but there are moments when it
+tells of something fine, a disdain of actions low and mean.
+
+Morse strode away to the place where the horses were picketed. He
+could hear voices farther down the creek, caught once a snatch of
+words.
+
+"... must be somewheres near, I tell you."
+
+Noiselessly he slipped on the saddles, pulled the picket-pins, and
+moved toward the big rocks.
+
+The place was a landmark. The erosion of the ages had played strange
+tricks with the sandstone. The rocks rose like huge red toadstools or
+like prehistoric animals of vast size. One of them was known as the
+Three Bears, another as the Elephant.
+
+Among these boulders Morse found the party he had just left. The
+officer was still trying to persuade Jessie McRae to attempt escape.
+She refused, stubbornly.
+
+"There are three of us here. Onistah is a good shot. So am I. For that
+matter, if anybody is going to escape, it had better be you," she
+said.
+
+"Too late now," Morse said. "See, they've found the camp-fire."
+
+Nine or ten riders had come out of the darkness and were approaching
+the camping-ground. West was in the lead. Morse recognized Barney
+and Brad Stearns. Two of the others were half-breeds, one an Indian
+trailer of the Piegan tribe.
+
+"He must 'a' heard us comin' and pulled out," Barney said.
+
+"Then he's back in the red rocks," boomed West triumphantly.
+
+"Soon find out." Brad Stearns turned the head of his horse toward the
+rocks and shouted. "Hello, Tom! You there?"
+
+No answer came from the rocks.
+
+"Don't prove a thing," West broke out impatiently. "This fellow's got
+Tom buffaloed. Didn't he make him smash the barrels? Didn't he take
+away his six-gun from him and bring him along like he hadn't any mind
+of his own? Tom's yellow. Got a streak a foot wide."
+
+"Nothin' of the kind," denied Stearns, indignation in his voice. "I
+done brought up that boy by hand--learned him all he knows about
+ridin' and ropin'. He'll do to take along."
+
+"Hmp! He always fooled you, Brad. Different here. I'm aimin' to give
+him the wallopin' of his life when I meet up with him. And that'll be
+soon, if he's up there in the rocks. I'm goin' a-shootin'." Bully West
+drew his revolver and rode forward.
+
+The constable had disposed of his forces so that behind the cover of
+the sandstone boulders they commanded the approach. He had tried to
+persuade Jessie that this was not her fight, but a question from her
+had silenced him.
+
+"If that Bully West finds me here, after he's killed you, d' you think
+I can get him to let me go because it wasn't my fight?"
+
+She had asked it with flashing eyes, in which for an instant he had
+seen the savagery of fear leap out. Beresford was troubled. The girl
+was right enough. If West went the length of murder, he would be an
+outlaw. Sleeping Dawn would not be safe with him after she had ridden
+out to warn his enemy that he was coming. The fellow was a primeval
+brute. His reputation had run over the whole border country of
+Rupert's Land.
+
+Now he appealed to Morse. "If they get me, will you try to save Miss
+McRae? This fellow West is a devil, I hear."
+
+The officer caught a gleam of hot red eyes. "I'll 'tend to that. We'll
+mix first, him 'n' me. Question now is, do I get a gun?"
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Didn't you hear him make his brags about what he was gonna do to me?
+If there's shootin' I'm in on it, ain't I?"
+
+"No. You're a prisoner. I can't arm you unless your life is in
+danger."
+
+West pulled up his horse about sixty yards from the rocks. He shouted
+a profane order. The purport of it was that Beresford had better come
+out with his hands up if he didn't want to be dragged out by a rope
+around his neck. The man's speech crackled with oaths and obscenity.
+
+The constable stepped into the open a few yards. "What do you want?"
+he asked.
+
+"You." The whiskey-runner screamed it in a sudden gust of passion.
+"Think you can make a fool of Bully West? Think you can bust up our
+cargo an' get away with it? I'll show you where you head in at."
+
+"Don't make any mistake, West," advised the officer, his voice cold as
+the splash of ice-water. "Three of us are here, all with rifles, all
+dead shots. If you attack us, some of you are going to get killed."
+
+"Tha's a lie. You're alone--except for Tom Morse, an' he ain't fool
+enough to fight to go to jail. I've got you where I want you." West
+swung from the saddle and came straddling forward. In the uncertain
+light he looked more like some misbegotten ogre than a human being.
+
+"That's far enough," warned Beresford, not a trace of excitement in
+manner or speech. His hands hung by his sides. He gave no sign of
+knowing that he had a revolver strapped to his hip ready for action.
+
+The liquor smuggler stopped to pour out abuse. He was working himself
+up to a passion that would justify murder. The weapon in his hand
+swept wildly back and forth. Presently it would focus down to a deadly
+concentration in which all motion would cease.
+
+The torrent of vilification died on the man's lips. He stared past the
+constable with bulging eyes. From the rocks three figures had come.
+Two of them carried rifles. All three of them he recognized. His
+astonishment paralyzed the scurrilous tongue. What was McRae's girl
+doing at the camp of the officer?
+
+It was characteristic of him that he suspected the worst of her.
+Either Tom Morse or this red-coat had beaten him to his prey. Jealousy
+and outraged vanity flared up in him so that discretion vanished.
+
+The barrel of his revolver came down and began to spit flame.
+
+Beresford gave orders. "Back to the rocks." He retreated, backward,
+firing as he moved.
+
+The companions of West surged forward. Shots, shouts, the shifting
+blur of moving figures, filled the night. Under cover of the darkness
+the defenders reached again the big rocks.
+
+The constable counted noses. "Everybody all right?" he asked. Then,
+abruptly, he snapped out: "Who was responsible for that crazy business
+of you coming out into the open?"
+
+"Me," said the girl. "I wanted that West to know you weren't alone."
+
+"Didn't you know better than to let her do it?" the officer demanded
+of Morse.
+
+"He couldn't help it. He tried to keep me back. What right has he to
+interfere with me?" she wanted to know, stiffening.
+
+"You'll do as I say now," the constable said crisply. "Get back of
+that rock there, Miss McRae, and stay there. Don't move from cover
+unless I tell you to."
+
+Her dark, stormy eyes challenged his, but she moved sullenly to obey.
+Rebel though she was, the code of the frontier claimed and held her
+respect. She had learned of life that there were times when her will
+must be subordinated for the general good.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+TOM MAKES A COLLECTION
+
+
+The attackers drew back and gathered together for consultation. West's
+anger had stirred their own smoldering resentment at the police, had
+dominated them, and had brought them on a journey of vengeance. But
+they had not come out with any intention of storming a defended
+fortress. The enthusiasm of the small mob ebbed.
+
+"I reckon we done bit off more'n we can chaw," Harvey Gosse murmured,
+rubbing his bristly chin. "I ain't what you might call noways anxious
+to have them fellows spill lead into me."
+
+"Ten of us here. One man, an Injun, an' a breed girl over there. You
+lookin' for better odds, Harv?" jeered the leader of the party.
+
+"I never heard that a feller was any less dead because an Injun or a
+girl shot him," the lank smuggler retorted.
+
+"Be reasonable, Bully," urged Barney with his ingratiating whine. "We
+come out to fix the red-coat. We figured he was alone except for Tom,
+an' o' course Tom's with us. But this here's a different proposition.
+Too many witnesses ag'in' us. I reckon you ain't tellin' us it's safe
+to shoot up Angus McRae's daughter even if she is a metis."
+
+"Forget her," the big whiskey-runner snarled. "She won't be a witness
+against us."
+
+"Why won't she?"
+
+"Hell's hinges! Do I have to tell you all my plans? I'm sayin' she
+won't. That goes." He flung out a gesture of scarcely restrained rage.
+He was not one who could reason away opposition with any patience. It
+was his temperament to override it.
+
+Brad Stearns rubbed his bald head. He always did when he was working
+out a mental problem. West's declaration could mean only one of two
+things. Either the girl would not be alive to give witness or she
+would be silent because she had thrown in her lot with the big trader.
+
+The old-timer knew West's vanity and his weakness for women. From Tom
+Morse he had heard of his offer to McRae for the girl. Now he had no
+doubt what the man intended.
+
+But what of her? What of the girl he had seen at her father's camp,
+the heart's desire of the rugged old Scotchman? In the lightness
+of her step, in the lift of her head, in speech and gesture and
+expression of face, she was of the white race, an inheritor of its
+civilization and of its traditions. Only her dusky color and a certain
+wild shyness seemed born of the native blood in her. She was proud,
+passionate, high-spirited. Would she tamely accept Bully West for her
+master and go to his tent as his squaw? Brad didn't believe it. She
+would fight--fight desperately, with barbaric savagery.
+
+Her fight would avail her nothing. If driven to it, West would take
+her with him into the fastnesses of the Lone Lands. They would
+disappear from the sight of men for months. He would travel swiftly
+with her to the great river. Every sweep of his canoe paddle would
+carry them deeper into that virgin North where they could live on what
+his rifle and rod won for the pot. A little salt, pemmican, and flour
+would be all the supplies he needed to take with them.
+
+Brad had no intention of being a cat's-paw for him. The older man had
+come along to save Tom Morse from prison and for no other reason. He
+did not intend to be swept into indiscriminate crime.
+
+"Don't go with me, Bully," Stearns said. "Count me out. Right here's
+where I head for Whoop-Up."
+
+He turned his horse's head and rode into the darkness.
+
+West looked after him, cursing. "We're better off without the
+white-livered coyote," he said at last.
+
+"Brad ain't so fur off at that. I'd like blame well to be moseyin' to
+Whoop-Up my own self," Gosse said uneasily.
+
+"You'll stay right here an' go through with this job, Harv," West
+told him flatly. "All you boys'll do just that. If any of you's got
+a different notion we'll settle that here an' now. How about it?" He
+straddled up and down in front of his men, menacing them with knotted
+fists and sulky eyes.
+
+Nobody cared to argue the matter with him. He showed his broken teeth
+in a sour grin.
+
+"Tha's settled, then," he went on. "It's my say-so. My orders go--if
+there's no objections."
+
+His outthrust head, set low on the hunched shoulders, moved from right
+to left threateningly as his gaze passed from one to another. If there
+were any objections they were not mentioned aloud.
+
+"Now we know where we're at," he continued. "It'll be thisaway. Most
+of us will scatter out an' fire at the rocks from the front here; the
+others'll sneak round an' come up from behind--get right into the
+rocks before this bully-puss fellow knows it. If you get a chance,
+plug him in the back, but don't hurt the Injun girl. Y' understand? I
+want her alive an' not wounded. If she gets shot up, some one's liable
+to get his head knocked off."
+
+But it did not, after all, turn out quite the way West had planned it.
+He left out of account one factor--a man among the rocks who had been
+denied a weapon and any part in the fighting.
+
+The feint from the front was animated enough. The attackers scattered
+and from behind clumps of brush grass and bushes poured in a fire that
+kept the defenders busy. Barney, with the half-breeds and the Indian
+at heel, made a wide circle and crept up to the red sandstone
+outcroppings. He did not relish the job any more than those behind
+him did, but he was a creature of West and usually did as he was told
+after a bit of grumbling. It was not safe for him to refuse.
+
+To Tom Morse, used to Bully West and his ways, the frontal attack did
+not seem quite genuine. It was desultory and ineffective. Why? What
+trick did Bully have up his sleeve? Tom put himself in his place to
+see what he would do.
+
+And instantly he knew. The real attack would come from the rear. With
+the firing of the first shot back there, Bully West would charge.
+Taken on both sides the garrison would fall easy victims.
+
+The constable and Onistah were busy answering the fire of the
+smugglers. Sleeping Dawn was crouched down behind two rocks, the
+barrel of her rifle gleaming through a slit of open space between
+them. She was compromising between the orders given her and the
+anxiety in her to fight back Bully West. As much as she could she kept
+under cover, while at the same time firing into the darkness whenever
+she thought she saw a movement.
+
+Morse slipped rearward on a tour of investigation. The ground here
+fell away rather sharply, so that one coming from behind would have to
+climb over a boulder field rising to the big rocks. It took Tom only a
+casual examination to see that a surprise would have to be launched by
+way of a sort of rough natural stairway.
+
+A flat shoulder of sandstone dominated the stairway from above. Upon
+this Morse crouched, every sense alert to detect the presence of any
+one stealing up the pass. He waited, eager and yet patient. What he
+was going to attempt had its risk, but the danger whipped the blood in
+his veins to a still excitement.
+
+Occasionally, at intervals, the rifles cracked. Except for that no
+other sound came to him. He could keep no count of time. It seemed to
+him that hours slipped away. In reality it could have been only a few
+minutes.
+
+Below, from the foot of the winding stairway, there was a sound, such
+a one as might come from the grinding of loose rubble beneath the sole
+of a boot. Presently the man on the ledge heard it again, this time
+more distinctly. Some one was crawling up the rocks.
+
+Tom peered into the darkness intently. He could see nothing except the
+flat rocks disappearing vaguely in the gloom. Nor could he hear again
+the crunch of a footstep on disintegrated sandstone. His nerves grew
+taut. Could he have made a mistake? Was there another way up from
+behind?
+
+Then, at the turn of the stairway, a few feet below him, a figure rose
+in silhouette. It appeared with extraordinary caution, first a head,
+then the barrel of a rifle, finally a crouched body followed by bowed
+legs. On hands and knees it crept forward, hitching the weapon along
+beside it. Exactly opposite Morse, under the very shadow of the
+sloping ledge on which he lay, the figure rose and straightened.
+
+The man stood there for a second, making up his mind to move on. He
+was one of the half-breeds West had brought with him. Almost into his
+ear came a stern whisper.
+
+"Hands up! I've got you covered. Don't move. Don't say a word."
+
+Two arms shot skyward. In the fingers of one hand a rifle was
+clenched.
+
+Morse leaned forward and caught hold of it. "I'll take this," he said.
+The brown fingers relaxed. "Skirt round the edge of the rock there.
+Lie face down in that hollow. Got a six-shooter."
+
+He had. Morse took it from him.
+
+"If you move or speak one word, I'll pump lead into you," the Montanan
+cautioned.
+
+The half-breed looked into his chill eyes and decided to take no
+chances. He lay down on his face with hands stretched out exactly as
+ordered.
+
+His captor returned to the shoulder of rock above the trail. Presently
+another head projected itself out of the darkness. A man crept up, and
+like the first stopped to take stock of his surroundings.
+
+Against the back of his neck something cold pressed.
+
+"Stick up your hands, Barney," a voice ordered.
+
+The little man let out a yelp. "Mother o' Moses, don't shoot."
+
+"How many more of you?" asked Morse sharply.
+
+"One more."
+
+The man behind the rifle collected his weapons and put Barney
+alongside his companion. Within five minutes he had added a third man
+to the collection.
+
+With a sardonic grin he drove them before him to Beresford.
+
+"I'm a prisoner an' not in this show, you was careful to explain to
+me, Mr. Constable, but I busted the rules an' regulations to collect a
+few specimens of my own," he drawled by way of explanation.
+
+Beresford's eyes gleamed. The debonair impudence of the procedure
+appealed mightily to him. He did not know how this young fellow had
+done it, but he must have acted with cool nerve and superb daring.
+
+"Where were they? And how did you get 'em without a six-shooter?"
+
+"They was driftin' up the pass to say 'How-d'you-do?' from the back
+stairway. I borrowed a gun from one o' them. I asked 'em to come along
+with me and they reckoned they would."
+
+The booming of a rifle echoed in the rocks to the left. From out of
+them Jessie McRae came flying, something akin to terror in her face.
+
+"I've shot that West. He tried to run in on me and--and--I shot him."
+Her voice broke into an hysterical sob.
+
+"Thought I told you to keep out of this," the constable said. "I seem
+to have a lot of valuable volunteer help. What with you and friend
+Morse here--" He broke off, touched at her distress. "Never mind about
+that, Miss McRae. He had it coming to him. I'll go out and size up the
+damage to him, if his friends have had enough--and chances are they
+have."
+
+They had. Gosse advanced waving a red bandanna handkerchief as a flag
+of truce.
+
+"We got a plenty," he said frankly. "West's down, an' another of the
+boys got winged. No use us goin' on with this darned foolishness.
+We're ready to call it off if you'll turn Morse loose."
+
+Beresford had walked out to meet him. He answered, curtly. "No."
+
+The long, lank whiskey-runner rubbed his chin bristles awkwardly. "We
+'lowed maybe--"
+
+"I keep my prisoners, both Morse and Barney."
+
+"Barney!" repeated Gosse, surprised.
+
+"Yes, we've got him and two others. I don't want them. I'll turn 'em
+over to you. But not Morse and Barney. They're going to the post with
+me for whiskey-running."
+
+Gosse went back to the camp-fire, where the Whoop-Up men had carried
+their wounded leader. Except West, they were all glad to drop the
+battle. The big smuggler, lying on the ground with a bullet in his
+thigh, cursed them for a group of chicken-hearted quitters. His anger
+could not shake their decision. They knew when they had had enough.
+
+The armistice concluded, Beresford and Morse walked over to the
+camp-fire to find out how badly West was hurt.
+
+"Sorry I had to hit you, but you would have it, you know," the
+constable told him grimly.
+
+The man snapped his teeth at him like a wolf in a trap. "You didn't
+hit me, you liar. It was that li'l' hell-cat of McRae. You tell her
+for me I'll get her right for this, sure as my name's Bully West."
+
+There was something horribly menacing in his rage. In the jumping
+light of the flames the face was that of a demon, a countenance
+twisted and tortured by the impotent lust to destroy.
+
+Morse spoke, looking steadily at him in his quiet way. "I'm servin'
+notice, West, that you're to let that girl alone."
+
+There was a sound in the big whiskey-runner's throat like that of
+an infuriated wild animal. He glared at Morse, a torrent of abuse
+struggling for utterance. All that he could say was, "You damned
+traitor."
+
+The eyes of the younger man did not waver. "It goes. I'll see you're
+shot like a wolf if you harm her."
+
+The wounded smuggler's fury outleaped prudence. In a surge of
+momentary insanity he saw red. The barrel of his revolver rose
+swiftly. A bullet sang past Morse's ear. Before he could fire again,
+Harvey Gosse had flung himself on the man and wrested the weapon from
+his hand.
+
+Hard-eyed and motionless, Morse looked down at the madman without
+saying a word. It was Beresford who said ironically, "Talking about
+those who keep faith."
+
+"You hadn't oughta of done that, Bully," Gosse expostulated. "We'd
+done agreed this feud was off for to-night."
+
+"Get your horses and clear out of here," the constable ordered. "If
+this man's able to fight he's able to travel. You can make camp
+farther down the creek."
+
+A few minutes later the clatter of horse-hoofs died away. Beresford
+was alone with his prisoners and his guests.
+
+Those who were still among the big rocks came forward to the
+camp-fire. Jessie arrived before the others. She had crept to the camp
+on the heels of Beresford and Morse, driven by her great anxiety to
+find out how badly West was hurt.
+
+From the shadows of a buffalo wallow she had seen and heard what had
+taken place.
+
+One glance of troubled curiosity she flashed at Morse. What sort of
+man was this quiet, brown-faced American who smuggled whiskey in to
+ruin the tribes, who could ruthlessly hold a girl to a bargain that
+included horsewhipping for her, who for some reason of his own fought
+beside the man taking him to imprisonment, and who had flung defiance
+at the terrible Bully West on her behalf? She hated him. She always
+would. But with her dislike of him ran another feeling now, born of
+the knowledge of new angles in him.
+
+He was hard as nails, but he would do to ride the river with.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A CAMP-FIRE TALE
+
+
+Another surprise was waiting for Jessie. As soon as Onistah came into
+the circle of light, he walked straight to the whiskey-smuggler.
+
+"You save my life from Crees. Thanks," he said in English.
+
+Onistah offered his hand.
+
+The white man took it. He was embarrassed. "Oh, well, I kinda took a
+hand."
+
+The Indian was not through. "Onistah never forget. He pay some day."
+
+Tom waved this aside. "How's the leg? Seems to be all right now."
+
+Swiftly Jessie turned to the Indian and asked him a question in the
+native tongue. He answered. They exchanged another sentence or two.
+
+The girl spoke to Morse. "Onistah is my brother. I too thank you," she
+said stiffly.
+
+"Your brother! He's not Angus McRae's son, is he?"
+
+"No. And I'm not his daughter--really. I'll tell you about that," she
+said with a touch of the defensive defiance that always came into her
+manner when the subject of her birth was referred to.
+
+She did, later, over the camp-fire.
+
+It is fortunate that desire and opportunity do not always march
+together. The constable and Morse had both been dead men if Bully West
+could have killed with a wish. Sleeping Dawn would have been on the
+road to an existence worse than death. Instead, they sat in front of
+the coals of buffalo chips while the big smuggler and his companions
+rode away from an ignominious field of battle.
+
+When the constable and his prisoner had first struck camp, there had
+been two of them. Now there were six. For in addition to Jessie McRae,
+the Blackfoot, and Barney, another had come out of the night and
+hailed them with a "Hello, the camp!" This last self-invited guest was
+Brad Stearns, who had not ridden to Whoop-Up as he had announced, but
+had watched events from a distance on the chance that he might be of
+help to Tom Morse.
+
+Jessie agreed with Beresford that she must stay in camp till morning.
+There was nothing else for her to do. She could not very well ride the
+night out with Onistah on the road back to the fort. But she stayed
+with great reluctance.
+
+Her modesty was in arms. Never before had she, a girl alone, been
+forced to make camp with five men as companions, all but one of them
+almost strangers to her. The experience was one that shocked her sense
+of fitness.
+
+She was troubled and distressed, and she showed it. Her impulsiveness
+had swept her into an adventure that might have been tragic, that
+still held potentialities of disaster. For she could not forget the
+look on West's face when he had sworn to get even with her. This man
+was a terrible enemy, because of his boldness, his evil mind, and his
+lack of restraining conscience.
+
+Yet even now she could not blame herself for what she had done. The
+constable's life was at stake. It had been necessary to move swiftly
+and decisively.
+
+Sitting before the fire, Sleeping Dawn began to tell her story. She
+told it to Beresford as an apology for having ridden forty miles with
+Onistah to save his life. It was, if he chose so to accept it, an
+explanation of how she came to do so unwomanly a thing.
+
+"Onistah's mother is my mother," she said. "When I was a baby my own
+mother died. Stokimatis is her sister. I do not know who my father
+was, but I have heard he was an American. Stokimatis took me to her
+tepee and I lived there with her and Onistah till I was five or six.
+Then Angus McRae saw me one day. He liked me, so he bought me for
+three yards of tobacco, a looking-glass, and five wolf pelts."
+
+It may perhaps have been by chance that the girl's eyes met those of
+Morse. The blood burned beneath the tan of her dusky cheeks, but her
+proud eyes did not flinch while she told the damning facts about her
+parentage and life. She was of the metis, the child of an unknown
+father. So far as she knew her mother had never been married. She had
+been bought and sold like a negro slave in the South. Let any one that
+wanted to despise her make the most of all this.
+
+So far as any expression went Tom Morse looked hard as pig iron. He
+did not want to blunder, so he said nothing. But the girl would have
+been amazed if she could have read his thoughts. She seemed to him a
+rare flower that has blossomed in a foul swamp.
+
+"If Angus McRae took you for his daughter, it was because he loved
+you," Beresford said gently.
+
+"Yes." The mobile face was suddenly tender with emotion. "What can any
+father do more than he has done for me? I learned to read and write at
+his knee. He taught me the old songs of Scotland that he's so fond of.
+He tried to make me good and true. Afterward he sent me to Winnipeg to
+school for two years."
+
+"Good for Angus McRae," the young soldier said.
+
+She smiled, a little wistfully. "He wants me to be Scotch, but of
+course I can't be that even though I sing 'Should auld acquaintance'
+to him. I'm what I am."
+
+Ever since she had learned to think for herself, she had struggled
+against the sense of racial inferiority. Even in the Lone Lands men
+of education had crossed her path. There was Father Giguere, tall and
+austere and filled with the wisdom of years, a scholar who had left
+his dear France to serve on the outposts of civilization. And there
+was the old priest's devoted friend Philip Muir, of whom the story ran
+that he was heir to a vast estate across the seas. Others she had seen
+at Winnipeg. And now this scarlet-coated soldier Beresford.
+
+Instinctively she recognized the difference between them and the
+trappers and traders who frequented the North woods. In her bed at
+night she had more than once wept herself to sleep because life had
+built an impassable barrier between what she was and what she wanted
+to be.
+
+"To the Scot nobody is quite like a Scot," Beresford admitted with
+a smile. "When he wants to make you one, Mr. McRae pays you a great
+compliment"
+
+The girl flashed a look of gratitude at him and went on with her
+story. "Whenever we are near Stokimatis, I go to see her. She has
+always been very fond of me. It wasn't really for money she sold me,
+but because she knew Angus McRae could bring me up better than she
+could. I was with her to-day when Onistah came in and told us what
+this West was going to do. There wasn't time for me to reach Father. I
+couldn't trust anybody at Whoop-Up, and I was afraid if Onistah came
+alone, you wouldn't believe him. You know how people are about--about
+Indians. So I saddled a horse and rode with him."
+
+"That was fine of you. I'll never forget it, Miss McRae," the young
+soldier said quietly, his eyes for an instant full on hers. "I don't
+think I've ever met another girl who would have had the good sense and
+the courage to do it."
+
+Her eyes fell from his. She felt a queer delightful thrill run through
+her blood. He still respected her, was even grateful to her for what
+she had done. No experience in the ways of men and maids warned her
+that there was another cause for the quickened pulse. Youth had looked
+into the eyes of youth and made the world-old call of sex to sex.
+
+In a little pocket opening from the draw Morse arranged blankets for
+the girl's bed. He left Beresford to explain to her that she could
+sleep there alone without fear, since a guard would keep watch against
+any possible surprise attack.
+
+When the soldier did tell her this, Jessie smiled back her
+reassurance. "I'm not afraid--not the least littlest bit," she said
+buoyantly. "I'll sleep right away."
+
+But she did not. Jessie was awake to the finger-tips, her veins apulse
+with the flow of rushing rivers of life. Her chaotic thoughts centered
+about two men. One had followed crooked trails for his own profit.
+There was something in him hard and unyielding as flint. He would
+go to his chosen end, whatever that might be, over and through any
+obstacles that might rise. But to-night, on her behalf, he had thrown
+down the gauntlet to Bully West, the most dreaded desperado on the
+border. Why had he done it? Was he sorry because he had forced her
+father to horsewhip her? Or was his warning merely the snarl of one
+wolf at another?
+
+The other man was of a different stamp. He had brought with him from
+the world whence he had come a debonair friendliness, an ease of
+manner, a smile very boyish and charming. In his jaunty forage cap and
+scarlet jacket he was one to catch and hold the eye by reason of his
+engaging personality. He too had fought her battle. She had heard him,
+in that casually careless way of his, try to take the blame of having
+wounded West. Her happy thoughts went running out to him gratefully.
+
+Not the least cause of her gratitude was that there had not been the
+remotest hint in his manner that there was any difference between her
+and any white girl he might meet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+C.N. MORSE TURNS OVER A LEAF
+
+
+The North-West Mounted Police had authority not only to arrest, but
+to try and to sentence prisoners. The soldierly inspector who sat in
+judgment on Morse at Fort Macleod heard the evidence and stroked an
+iron-gray mustache reflectively. As he understood it, his business was
+to stop whiskey-running rather than to send men to jail. Beresford's
+report on this young man was in his favor. The inspector adventured
+into psychology.
+
+"Studied the Indians any--the effect of alcohol on them?" he asked
+Morse.
+
+"Some," the prisoner answered.
+
+"Don't you think it bad for them?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Perhaps you've been here longer than I. Isn't this whiskey-smuggling
+bad business all round?"
+
+"Not for the smuggler. Speakin' as an outsider, I reckon he does it
+because he makes money," Morse answered impersonally.
+
+"For the country, I mean. For the trapper, for the breeds, for the
+Indians."
+
+"No doubt about that."
+
+"You're a nephew of C.N. Morse, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Wish you'd take him a message from me. Tell him that it's bad
+business for a big trading firm like his to be smuggling whiskey." The
+officer raised a hand to stop the young man's protest. "Yes, I know
+you're going to tell me that we haven't proved he's been smuggling.
+We'll pass that point. Carry him my message. Just say it's bad
+business. You can tell him if you want to that we're here to put an
+end to it and we're going to do it. But stress the fact that it isn't
+good business. Understand?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very well, sir." A glint of a smile showed in the inspector's eyes.
+"I'll give you a Scotch verdict, young man. Not guilty, but don't do
+it again. You're discharged."
+
+"Barney, too?"
+
+"Hmp! He's a horse of another color. Think we'll send him over the
+plains."
+
+"Why make two bites of a cherry, sir? He can't be guilty if I'm not,"
+the released prisoner said.
+
+"Did I say you weren't?" Inspector MacLean countered.
+
+"Not worth the powder, is he, sir?" Tom insinuated nonchalantly.
+"Rather a fathead, Barney is. If he's guilty, it's not as a principal.
+You'd much better send me up."
+
+The officer laughed behind the hand that stroked the mustache. "Do you
+want to be judge and jury as well as prisoner, my lad?"
+
+"Thought perhaps my uncle would understand the spirit of your message
+better if Barney went along with me, Inspector." The brown eyes were
+open and guileless.
+
+MacLean studied the Montanan deliberately. He began to recognize
+unusual qualities in this youth.
+
+"Can't say I care for your friend Barney. He's a bad egg, or I miss my
+guess."
+
+"Not much taken with him myself. Thought if I'd get him to travel
+south with me it might save you some trouble."
+
+"It might," the Inspector agreed. "It's his first offense so far as
+I know." Under bristling eyebrows he shot a swift look at this
+self-assured youngster. He had noticed that men matured at an early
+age on the frontier. The school of emergency developed them fast.
+But Morse struck him as more competent even than the other boyish
+plainsmen he had met. "Will you be responsible for him?"
+
+The Montanan came to scratch reluctantly. He had no desire to be bear
+leader for such a doubtful specimen as Barney.
+
+"Yes," he said, after a pause.
+
+"Keep him in the States, will you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Take him along, then. Wish you luck of him."
+
+As soon as he reached Fort Benton, Tom reported to his uncle. He told
+the story of the whiskey cargo and its fate, together with his own
+adventures subsequent to that time.
+
+The head of the trading firm was a long, loose-jointed Yankee who had
+drifted West in his youth. Since then he had acquired gray hairs and
+large business interests. At Inspector MacLean's message he grinned.
+
+"Thinks it's bad business, does he?"
+
+"Told me to tell you so," Tom answered.
+
+"Didn't say why, I guess."
+
+"No."
+
+The old New Englander fished from a hip pocket a plug of tobacco, cut
+off a liberal chew, and stowed this in his cheek. Then, lounging back
+in the chair, he cocked a shrewd eye at his nephew.
+
+"Wonder what he meant."
+
+Tom volunteered no opinion. He recognized his uncle's canny habit of
+fishing in other people's minds for confirmation of what was in his
+own.
+
+"Got any idee what he was drivin' at?" the old pioneer went on.
+
+"Sorta."
+
+C.N. Morse chuckled. "Got a notion myself. Let's hear yours."
+
+"The trade with the North-West Mounted is gonna be big for a while.
+The Force needs all kinds of supplies. It'll have to deal through some
+firm in Benton as a clearin' house. He's servin' notice that unless
+C.N. Morse & Company mends its ways, it can't do business with the
+N.W.M.P."
+
+"That all?" asked the head of the firm.
+
+"That's only half of it. The other half is that no firm of
+whiskey-runners will be allowed to trade across the line."
+
+C.N. gave another little chirrup of mirth. "Keep your brains whittled
+up, don't you? Any advice you'd like to give?"
+
+Tom was not to be drawn. "None, sir."
+
+"No comments, son? Passin' it up to Uncle Newt, eh?"
+
+"You're the head of the firm. I'm hired to do as I'm told."
+
+"You figure on obeyin' orders and lettin' it go at that?"
+
+"Not quite." The young fellow's square chin jutted out. "For instance,
+I'm not gonna smuggle liquor through any more. I had my eyes opened
+this trip. You haven't been on the ground like I have. If you want a
+plain word for it, Uncle Newt--"
+
+"Speak right out in meetin', Tom. Shouldn't wonder but what I can
+stand it." The transplanted Yankee slanted at his nephew a quizzical
+smile. "I been hearin' more or less plain language for quite a spell,
+son."
+
+Tom gave it to him straight from the shoulder, quietly but without
+apology. "Sellin' whiskey to the tribes results in wholesale murder,
+sir."
+
+"Strong talk, boy," his uncle drawled.
+
+"Not too strong. You know I don't mean anything personal, Uncle Newt.
+To understand this thing you've got to go up there an' see it. The
+plains tribes up there go crazy over fire-water an' start killin' each
+other. It's a crime to let 'em have it."
+
+Young Morse began to tell stories of instances that had come under his
+own observation, of others that he had heard from reliable sources.
+Presently he found himself embarked on the tale of his adventures with
+Sleeping Dawn.
+
+The fur-trader heard him patiently. The dusty wrinkled boots of the
+merchant rested on the desk. His chair was tilted back in such a way
+that the weight of his body was distributed between the back of his
+neck, the lower end of the spine, and his heels. He looked a picture
+of sleepy, indolent ease, but Tom knew he was not missing the least
+detail.
+
+A shadow darkened the doorway of the office. Behind it straddled a
+huge, ungainly figure.
+
+"'Lo, West! How're tricks?" C.N. Morse asked in his lazy way. He did
+not rise from the chair or offer to shake hands, but that might be
+because it was not his custom to exert himself.
+
+West stopped in his stride, choking with wrath. He had caught sight of
+Tom and was glaring at him. "You're here, eh? Sneaked home to try to
+square yourself with the old man, did ya?" The trail foreman turned to
+the uncle. "I wanta tell you he double-crossed you for fair, C.N. He's
+got a heluva nerve to come back here after playin' in with the police
+the way he done up there."
+
+"I've heard something about that," the fur-trader admitted cautiously.
+"You told me Tom an' you didn't exactly gee."
+
+"He'll never drive another bull-team for me again." West tacked to his
+pronouncement a curdling oath.
+
+"We'll call that settled, then. You're through bull-whackin', Tom."
+There was a little twitch of whimsical mirth at the corners of the old
+man's mouth.
+
+"Now you're shoutin, C.N. Threw me down from start to finish, he did.
+First off, when the breed girl busted the casks, he took her home
+'stead of bringin' her to me. Then at old McRae's camp when I was
+defendin' myself, he jumped me too. My notion is from the way he acted
+that he let on to the red-coat where the cache was. Finally when I
+rode out to rescue him, he sided in with the other fellow. Hadn't been
+for him I'd never 'a' had this slug in my leg." The big smuggler
+spoke with extraordinary vehemence, spicing his speech liberally with
+sulphurous language.
+
+The grizzled Yankee accepted the foreman's attitude with a wave of the
+hand that dismissed any counterargument. But there was an ironic gleam
+in his eye.
+
+"'Nough said, West. If you're that sot on it, the boy quits the
+company pay-roll as an employee right now. I won't have him annoyin'
+you another hour. He becomes a member of the firm to-day."
+
+The big bully's jaw sagged. He stared at his lean employer as though a
+small bomb had exploded at his feet and numbed his brains. But he was
+no more surprised than Tom, whose wooden face was expressionless.
+
+"Goddlemighty! Ain't I jus' been tellin' you how he wrecked the whole
+show--how he sold out to that bunch of spies the Canadian Gov'ment has
+done sent up there?" exploded West.
+
+"Oh, I don't guess he did that," Morse, Senior, said lightly. "We
+got to remember that times are changin', West. Law's comin' into the
+country an' we old-timers oughta meet it halfway with the glad hand.
+You can't buck the Union Jack any more than you could Uncle Sam. I
+figure I've sent my last shipment of liquor across the line."
+
+"Scared, are you?" sneered the trail boss.
+
+"Maybe I am. Reckon I'm too old to play the smuggler's game. And I've
+got a hankerin' for respectability--want the firm to stand well with
+the new settlers. Legitimate business from now on. That's our motto,
+boys."
+
+"What church you been j'inin', C.N.?"
+
+"Well, maybe it'll come to that too. Think I'd make a good deacon?"
+the merchant asked amiably, untwining his legs and rising to stretch.
+
+West slammed a big fist on the table so that the inkwell and the pens
+jumped. "All I got to say is that this new Sunday-school outfit you
+aim to run won't have no use for a he-man. I'm quittin' you right
+now."
+
+The foreman made the threat as a bluff. He was the most surprised man
+in Montana when his employer called it quietly, speaking still in the
+slow, nasal voice of perfect good-nature.
+
+"Maybe you're right, West. That's for you to say, of course. You know
+your own business best. Figure out your time an' I'll have Benson
+write you a check. Hope you find a good job."
+
+The sense of baffled anger in West foamed up. His head dropped down
+and forward threateningly.
+
+"You do, eh? Lemme tell you this, C.N. I don't ask no odds of you or
+any other guy. Jes' because you're the head of a big outfit you can't
+run on me. I won't stand for it a minute."
+
+"Of course not. I'd know better'n to try that with you. No hard
+feelings even if you quit us." It was a characteristic of the New
+Englander that while he was a forceful figure in this man's country,
+he rarely quarreled with any one.
+
+"That so? Well, you listen here. I been layin' off that new pardner of
+yours because he's yore kin. Not anymore. Different now. He's liable
+to have a heluva time an' don't you forget it for a minute."
+
+The fur-trader chewed his cud imperturbably. When he spoke it Was
+still without a trace of acrimony.
+
+"Guess you'll think better of that maybe, West. Guess you're a little
+hot under the collar, ain't you? Don't hardly pay to hold grudges,
+does it? There was Rhinegoldt now. Kept nursin' his wrongs an' finally
+landed in the pen. Bad medicine, looks like to me."
+
+West was no imbecile. He understood the threat underneath the suave
+words of the storekeeper. Rhinegoldt had gone to the penitentiary
+because C.N. Morse had willed it so. The inference was that another
+lawbreaker might go for the same reason. The trail boss knew that this
+was no idle threat. Morse could put him behind the bars any time he
+chose. The evidence was in his hands.
+
+The bully glared at him. "You try that, C.N. Jus' try it once.
+There'll be a sudden death in the Morse family if you do. Mebbe two.
+Me, I'd gun you both for a copper cent. Don't fool yourself a minute."
+
+"Kinda foolish talk, West. Don't buy you anything. Guess you better
+go home an' cool off, hadn't you? I'll have your time made up to-day,
+unless you want your check right now."
+
+The broken teeth of the desperado clicked as his jaw clamped. He
+looked from the smiling, steady-eyed trader to the brown-faced youth
+who watched the scene with such cool, alert attention. He fought with
+a wild, furious impulse in himself to go through with his threat,
+to clean up and head out into the wilds. But some saving sense of
+prudence held his hand. C.N. Morse was too big game for him.
+
+"To hell with the check," he snarled, and swinging on his heel jingled
+out of the office.
+
+The nephew spoke first. "You got rid of him on purpose."
+
+"Looked that way to you, did it?" the uncle asked in his usual
+indirect way.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Guess you'd say it was because he won't fit into the new policy of
+the firm. Guess you'd say he'd always be gettin' us into trouble with
+his overbearin' and crooked ways."
+
+"That's true. He would."
+
+"Maybe it would be a good idee to watch him mighty close. They say
+he's a bad hombre. Might be unlucky for any one he got the drop on."
+
+Tom knew he was being warned. "I'll look out for him," he promised.
+
+The older man changed the subject smilingly. "Here's where C.N. Morse
+& Company turns over a leaf, son. No more business gambles. Legitimate
+trade only. That the idee you're figurin' on makin' me live up to?"
+
+"Suits me if it does you," Tom answered cheerfully, "But where do
+I come in? What's my job in the firm? You'll notice I haven't said
+'Thanks' yet."
+
+"You?" C.N. gave him a sly, dry smile. "Oh, all you have to do is to
+handle our business north of the line--buy, sell, trade, build up
+friendly relations with the Indians and trappers, keep friendly with
+the police, and a few little things like that."
+
+Tom grinned.
+
+"Won't have a thing to do, will I?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+TOM DUCKS TROUBLE
+
+
+To Tom Morse, sitting within the railed space that served for an
+office in the company store at Faraway, came a light-stepping youth in
+trim boots, scarlet jacket, and forage cap set at a jaunty angle.
+
+"'Lo, Uncle Sam," he said, saluting gayly.
+
+"'Lo, Johnnie Canuck. Where you been for a year and heaven knows how
+many months?"
+
+"Up Peace River, after Pierre Poulette, fellow who killed Buckskin
+Jerry."
+
+Tom took in Beresford's lean body, a gauntness of the boyish face,
+hollows under the eyes that had not been there when first they had
+met. There had come to him whispers of the long trek into the frozen
+Lone Lands made by the officer and his Indian guide. He could guess
+the dark and dismal winter spent by the two alone, without books,
+without the comforts of life, far from any other human being. It must
+have been an experience to try the soul. But it had not shaken the
+Canadian's blithe joy in living.
+
+"Get him?" the Montanan asked.
+
+The answer he could guess. The North-West Mounted always brought
+back those they were sent for. Already the Force was building up the
+tradition that made them for a generation rulers of half a continent.
+
+"Got him." Thus briefly the red-coat dismissed an experience that
+had taken toll of his vitality greater than five years of civilized
+existence. "Been back a week. Inspector Crouch sent me here to have a
+look-see."
+
+"At what? He ain't suspectin' any one at Faraway of stretchin',
+bendin', or bustin' the laws."
+
+Tom cocked a merry eye at his visitor. Rumor had it that Faraway was
+a cesspool of iniquity. It was far from the border. When sheriffs of
+Montana became too active, there was usually an influx of population
+at the post, of rough, hard-eyed men who crossed the line and pushed
+north to safety.
+
+"Seems to be. You're not by any chance lookin' for trouble?"
+
+"Duckin' it," answered Tom promptly.
+
+The officer smiled genially. "It's knocking at your door." His
+knuckles rapped on the desk.
+
+"If I ever bumped into a Santa Claus of joy--"
+
+"Oh, thanks!" Beresford murmured.
+
+"--you certainly ain't him. Onload your grief."
+
+"The theme of my discourse is aborigines, their dispositions,
+animadversions, and propensities," explained the constable. "According
+to the latest scientific hypotheses, the metempsychosis--"
+
+Tom threw up his hands. "Help! Help! I never studied geology none.
+Don't know this hypotenuse you're pow-wowin' about any more'n my paint
+hawss does. Come again in one syllables."
+
+"Noticed any trouble among the Crees lately--that is, any more than
+usual?"
+
+The junior partner of C.N. Morse & Company considered. "Why, yes,
+seems to me I have--heap much swagger and noise, plenty rag-chewin'
+and tomahawk swingin'."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Whiskey, likely."
+
+"Where do they get it?"
+
+Tom looked at the soldier quizzically. "Your guess is good as mine,"
+he drawled.
+
+"I'm guessing West and Whaley."
+
+Morse made no comment. Bully West had thrown in his fortune with Dug
+Whaley, a gambler who had drifted from one mining camp to another and
+been washed by the tide of circumstance into the Northwest. Ostensibly
+they supplied blankets, guns, food, and other necessities to the
+tribes, but there was a strong suspicion that they made their profit
+in whiskey smuggled across the plains.
+
+"But to guess it and to prove it are different propositions. How am
+I going to hang it on them? I can't make a bally fool of myself
+by prodding around in their bales and boxes. If I didn't find
+anything--and it'd be a long shot against me--West and his gang would
+stick their tongues in their cheeks and N.W.M.P. stock would shoot
+down. No, I've got to make sure, jump 'em, and tie 'em up by finding
+the goods on the wagons."
+
+"Fat chance," speculated Tom.
+
+"That's where you come in."
+
+"Oh, I come in there, do I? I begin to hear Old Man Trouble knockin'
+at my door like you promised. Break it kinda easy. Am I to go up an'
+ask Bully West where he keeps his fire-water cached? Or what?"
+
+"Yes. Only don't mention to him that you're asking. Your firm and his
+trade back and forth, don't they?"
+
+"Forth, but not back. When they've got to have some goods--if it's
+neck or nothing with them--they buy from us. We don't buy from them.
+You couldn't exactly call us neighborly."
+
+Beresford explained. "West's just freighted in a cargo of goods. I can
+guarantee that if he brought any liquor with him--and I've good reason
+to think he did--it hasn't been unloaded yet. To-morrow the wagons
+will scatter. I can't follow all of 'em. If I cinch Mr. West, it's got
+to be to-night."
+
+"I see. You want me to give you my blessin'. I'll come through with a
+fine big large one. Go to it, constable. Hogtie West with proof.
+Soak him good. Send him up for 'steen years. You got my sympathy an'
+approval, one for the grief you're liable to bump into, the other for
+your good intentions."
+
+The officer's grin had a touch of the proverbial Cheshire cat's
+malice. "Glad you approve. But you keep that sympathy for yourself.
+I'm asking you to pull the chestnut out of the fire for me. You'd
+better look out or you'll burn your paw."
+
+"Just remember I ain't promisin' a thing. I'm a respectable business
+man now, and, as I said, duckin' trouble."
+
+"Find out for me in which wagon the liquor is. That's all I ask."
+
+"How can I find out? I'm no mind reader."
+
+"Drift over casually and offer to buy goods. Poke around a bit. Keep
+cases on 'em. Notice the wagons they steer you away from."
+
+Tom thought it over and shook his head. "No, I don't reckon I will."
+
+"Any particular reason?"
+
+"Don't look to me hardly like playin' the game. I'm ferninst West
+every turn of the road. He's crooked as a dog's hind laig. But it
+wouldn't be right square for me to spy on him. Different with you.
+That's what you're paid for. You're out to run him down any way you
+can. He knows that. It's a game of hide an' go seek between you an'
+him. Best man wins."
+
+The red-coat assented at once. "Right you are, I'll get some one
+else." He rose to go. "See you later maybe."
+
+Tom nodded. "Sorry I can't oblige, but you see how it is."
+
+"Quite. I oughtn't to have asked you."
+
+Beresford strode briskly out of the store.
+
+Through the window Morse saw him a moment later in whispered
+conversation with Onistah. They were standing back of an outlying
+shed, in such a position that they could not be seen from the road.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE CONSTABLE BORES THROUGH DIFFICULTIES
+
+
+The early Northern dusk was falling when Beresford dropped into the
+store again. Except for two half-breeds and the clerk dickering at the
+far end of the building over half a dozen silver fox furs Morse had
+the place to himself.
+
+Yet the officer took the precaution to lower his voice. "I want an
+auger and a wooden plug the same size. Get 'em to me without anybody
+knowing it."
+
+The manager of the C.N. Morse & Company Northern Stores presently
+shoved across the counter to him a gunny-sack with a feed of oats.
+"Want it charged to the Force, I reckon?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Say, constable, I wancha to look at these moccasins I'm orderin' for
+the Inspector. Is this what he wants? Or isn't it?"
+
+Tom led the way into his office. He handed the shoe to Beresford.
+"What's doin'?" he asked swiftly, between sentences.
+
+The soldier inspected the footwear. "About right, I'd say. Thought
+you'd find what you were looking for. A fellow usually does when he
+goes at it real earnest."
+
+The eyes in the brown face were twinkling merrily.
+
+"Findin' the goods is one thing. Gettin' 'em's quite another," Tom
+suggested.
+
+The voice of one of the trappers rose in protest. "By gar, it iss what
+you call dirt cheap. I make you a present. V'la!"
+
+"Got to bore through difficulties," Beresford said. "Then you're
+liable to bump into disappointment. But you can't ever tell till you
+try."
+
+His friend began to catch the drift of the officer's purpose. He was
+looking for a liquor shipment, _and he had bought an auger to bore
+through difficulties_.
+
+Tom's eyes glowed. "Come over to the storeroom an' take a look at my
+stock. Want you to see I'm gonna have these moccasins made from good
+material."
+
+They kept step across the corral, gay, light-hearted sons of the
+frontier, both hard as nails, packed muscles rippling like those of
+forest panthers. Their years added would not total more than twoscore
+and five, but life had taken hold of them young and trained them to
+its purposes, had shot them through and through with hardihood and
+endurance and the cool prevision that forestalls disaster.
+
+"I'm in on this," the Montanan said.
+
+"Meaning?"
+
+"That I buy chips, take a hand, sit in, deal cards."
+
+The level gaze of the police officer studied him speculatively. "Now
+why this change of heart?"
+
+"You get me wrong. I'm with you to a finish in puttin' West and Whaley
+out of business. They're a hell-raisin' outfit, an' this country'll be
+well rid of 'em. Only thing is I wanta play my cards above the table.
+I couldn't spy on these men. Leastways, it didn't look quite square to
+me. But this is a bronc of another color. Lead me to that trouble you
+was promisin' a while ago."
+
+Beresford led him to it, by way of a rain-washed gully, up which they
+trod their devious path slowly and without noise. From the gully they
+snaked through the dry grass to a small ditch that had been built to
+drain the camping-ground during spring freshets. This wound into the
+midst of the wagon train encampment.
+
+The plainsmen crept along the dry ditch with laborious care. They
+advanced no single inch without first taking care to move aside any
+twig the snapping of which might betray them.
+
+From the beginning of the adventure until its climax no word was
+spoken. Beresford led, the trader followed at his heels.
+
+The voices of men drifted to them from a camp-fire in the shelter of
+the wagons. There were, Tom guessed, about four of them. Their words
+came clear through the velvet night. They talked the casual elemental
+topics common to their kind.
+
+There was a moonlit open space to be crossed. The constable took it
+swiftly with long strides, reached a wagon, and dodged under it. His
+companion held to the cover of the ditch. He was not needed closer.
+
+The officer lay flat on his back, set the point of the auger to the
+woodwork of the bed, and began to turn. Circles and half-circles of
+shavings flaked out and fell upon him. He worked steadily. Presently
+the resistance of the wood ceased. The bit had eaten its way through.
+
+Beresford withdrew the tool and tried again, this time a few inches
+from the hole he had made. The pressure lessened as before, but in a
+second or two the steel took a fresh hold. The handle moved slowly and
+steadily.
+
+A few drops of moisture dripped down, then a small stream. The
+constable held his hand under this and tasted the flow. It was rum.
+
+Swiftly he withdrew the bit, fitted the plug into the hole, and pushed
+it home.
+
+He crawled from under the wagon, skirted along the far side of it, ran
+to the next white-topped vehicle, and plumped out upon the campers
+with a short, sharp word of command.
+
+"Up with your hands! Quick!"
+
+For a moment the surprised quartette were too amazed to obey.
+
+"What in Halifax--?"
+
+"Shove 'em up!" came the crisp, peremptory order.
+
+Eight hands wavered skyward.
+
+"Is this a hold-up--or what?" one of the teamsters wanted to know
+sulkily.
+
+"Call it whatever you like. You with the fur cap hitch up the mules to
+the second wagon. Don't make a mistake and try for a getaway. You'll
+be a dead smuggler."
+
+The man hesitated. Was this red-coat alone?
+
+Tom strolled out of the ditch, a sawed-off shotgun under his arm.
+"I judge you bored through your difficulties, constable," he said
+cheerfully.
+
+"Through the bed of the wagon and the end of a rum keg. Stir your
+stumps, gentlemen of the whiskey-running brigade. We're on the way to
+Fort Edmonton if it suits you."
+
+If it did not suit them, they made no audible protest of disagreement.
+Growls were their only comment when, under direction of Beresford,
+the Montanan stripped them of their weapons and kept guard on the
+fur-capped man--his name appeared to be Lemoine--while the latter
+brought the mules to the wagon pointed out by the officer.
+
+"Hook 'em," ordered Morse curtly.
+
+The French-Indian trapper hitched the team to the wagon. Presently
+it moved beyond the circle of firelight into the darkness. Morse sat
+beside the driver, the short-barreled weapon across his knees.
+Three men walked behind the wagon. A fourth, in the uniform of the
+North-West Mounted, brought up the rear on horseback.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+SCARLET-COATS IN ACTION
+
+
+When Bully West discovered that such part of the cargo of wet goods
+as was in wagon number two had disappeared and along with it the four
+mule-skinners, his mind jumped to an instant conclusion. That it
+happened to be the wrong one was natural enough to his sulky,
+suspicious mind.
+
+"Goddlemighty, they've double-crossed us," he swore to his partner,
+with an explosion of accompanying profanity. "Figure on cleanin' up on
+the goods an' cuttin' back to the States. Tha's what they aim to do.
+Before I can head 'em off. Me, I'll show 'em they can't play monkey
+tricks on Bully West."
+
+This explanation did not satisfy Whaley. The straight black line of
+the brows above the cold eyes met in frowning thought.
+
+"I've got a hunch you're barkin' up the wrong tree," he lisped with a
+shrug of shoulders.
+
+Voice and gesture were surprising in that they were expressions of
+this personality totally unexpected. Both were almost womanlike in
+their delicacy. They suggested the purr and soft padding of a cat, an
+odd contradiction to the white, bloodless face with the inky brows.
+The eyes of "Poker" Whaley could throw fear into the most reckless
+bull-whacker on the border. They held fascinating and sinister
+possibilities of evil.
+
+"Soon see. We'll hit the trail right away after them," Bully replied.
+
+Whaley's thin lip curled. He looked at West as though he read to
+the bottom of that shallow mind and meant to make the most of his
+knowledge.
+
+"Yes," he murmured, as though to himself. "Some one ought to stay with
+the rest of the outfit, but I reckon I'd better go along. Likely you
+couldn't handle all of 'em if they showed fight."
+
+West's answer was a roar of outraged vanity. "Me! Not round up them
+tame sheep. I'll drive 'em back with their tongues hangin' out.
+Understand?"
+
+At break of day he was in the saddle. An experienced trailer, West
+found no difficulty in following the wagon tracks. No attempt had been
+made to cover the flight. The whiskey-runner could trace at a road
+gait the narrow tracks along the winding road.
+
+The country through which he traveled was the border-land between the
+plains and the great forests that rolled in unbroken stretch to the
+frozen North. Sometimes he rode over undulating prairie. Again he
+moved through strips of woodland or skirted beautiful lakes from the
+reedy edges of which ducks or geese rose whirring at his approach. A
+pair of coyotes took one long look at him and skulked into a ravine.
+Once a great moose started from a thicket of willows and galloped over
+a hill.
+
+West heeded none of this. No joy touched him as he breasted summits
+and looked down on wide sweeps of forest and rippling water. The
+tracks of the wheel rims engaged entirely his sulky, lowering gaze. If
+the brutish face reflected his thoughts, they must have been far from
+pleasant ones.
+
+The sun flooded the landscape, climbed the sky vault, slid toward the
+horizon. Dusk found him at the edge of a wooded lake.
+
+He looked across and gave a subdued whoop of triumph. From the timber
+on the opposite shore came a tenuous smoke skein. A man came to the
+water with a bucket, filled it, and disappeared in the woods. Bully
+West knew he had caught up with those he was tracking.
+
+The smuggler circled the lower end of the lake and rode through the
+timber toward the smoke. At a safe distance he dismounted, tied
+the horse to a young pine, and carefully examined his rifle. Very
+cautiously he stalked the camp, moving toward it with the skill and
+the stealth of a Sarcee scout.
+
+Camp had been pitched in a small open space surrounded by bushes.
+Through the thicket, on the south side, he picked a way, pushing away
+each sapling and weed noiselessly to make room for the passage of his
+huge body. For such a bulk of a figure he moved lightly. Twice he
+stopped by reason of the crackle of a snapping twig, but no sign of
+alarm came from his prey.
+
+They sat hunched--the four of them--before a blazing log fire,
+squatting on their heels in the comfortable fashion of the outdoors
+man the world over. Their talk was fragmentary. None gave any sign of
+alertness toward any possible approaching danger.
+
+No longer wary, West broke through the last of the bushes and
+straddled into the open.
+
+"Well, boys, hope you got some grub left for yore boss," he jeered,
+triumph riding voice and manner heavily.
+
+He waited for the startled dismay he expected. None came. The drama of
+the moment did not meet his expectation. The teamsters looked at him,
+sullenly, without visible fear or amazement. None of them rose or
+spoke.
+
+Sultry anger began to burn in West's eyes. "Thought you'd slip one
+over on the old man, eh? Thought you could put over a raw steal an'
+get away with it. Well, lemme tell you where you get off at. I'm gonna
+whale every last one of you to a frazzle. With a big club. An'
+I'm gonna drive you back to Faraway like a bunch of whipped curs.
+Understand?"
+
+Still they said nothing. It began to penetrate the thick skull of
+the trader that there was something unnatural about their crouched
+silence. Why didn't they try to explain? Or make a break for a
+getaway?
+
+He could think of nothing better to say, after a volley of curses,
+than to repeat his threat. "A thunderin' good wallopin', first off.
+Then we hit the trail together, you-all an' me."
+
+From out of the bushes behind him a voice came. "That last's a good
+prophecy, Mr. West. It'll be just as you say."
+
+The big fellow wheeled, the rifle jumping to his shoulder. Instantly
+he knew he had been tricked, led into a trap. They must have heard him
+coming, whoever they were, and left his own men for bait.
+
+From the other side two streaks of scarlet launched themselves at him.
+West turned to meet them. A third flash of red dived for his knees. He
+went down as though hit by a battering-ram.
+
+But not to stay down. The huge gorilla-shaped figure struggled to
+its feet, fighting desperately to throw off the three red-coats long
+enough to drag out a revolver. He was like a bear surrounded by
+leaping dogs. No sooner had he buffeted one away than the others
+were dragging him down. Try as he would, he could not get set. The
+attackers always staggered him before he could quite free himself for
+action. They swarmed all over him, fought close to avoid his sweeping
+lunges, hauled him to his knees by sheer weight of the pack.
+
+Lemoine flung one swift look around and saw that his captors were very
+busy. Now if ever was the time to take a hand in the melee. Swiftly he
+rose. He spoke a hurried word in French.
+
+"One moment, s'il vous plait." From the bushes another man had
+emerged, one not in uniform. Lemoine had forgotten him. "Not your
+fight. Better keep out," he advised, and pointed the suggestion with a
+short-barreled shotgun.
+
+The trapper looked at him. "Is it that this iss your fight, Mistair
+Morse?" he demanded.
+
+"Fair enough. I'll keep out too."
+
+The soldiers had West down by this time. They were struggling to
+handcuff him. He fought furiously, his great arms and legs threshing
+about like flails. Not till he had worn himself out could they pinion
+him.
+
+Beresford rose at last, the job done. His coat was ripped almost from
+one shoulder. "My word, he's a whale of an animal," he panted. "If I
+hadn't chanced to meet you boys he'd have eaten me alive."
+
+The big smuggler struggled for breath. When at last he found words, it
+was for furious and horrible curses.
+
+Not till hours later did he get as far as a plain question. "What does
+this mean? Where are you taking me, you damned spies?" he roared.
+
+Beresford politely gave him information. "To the penitentiary, I hope,
+Mr. West, for breaking Her Majesty's revenue laws."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+KISSING DAY
+
+
+All week Jessie and her foster-mother Matapi-Koma had been busy
+cooking and baking for the great occasion. Fergus had brought in a
+sack full of cottontails and two skunks. To these his father had added
+the smoked hindquarters of a young buffalo, half a barrel of dried
+fish, and fifty pounds of pemmican. For Angus liked to dispense
+hospitality in feudal fashion.
+
+Ever since Jessie had opened her eyes at the sound of Matapi-Koma's
+"Koos koos kwa" (Wake up!), in the pre-dawn darkness of the wintry
+Northern morn, she had heard the crunch of snow beneath the webs of
+the footmen and the runners of the sleds. For both full-blood Crees
+and half-breeds were pouring into Faraway to take part in the
+festivities of Ooche-me-gou-kesigow (Kissing Day).
+
+The traders at the post and their families would join in the revels.
+With the exception of Morse, they had all taken Indian wives, in
+the loose marriage of the country, and for both business and family
+reasons they maintained a close relationship with the natives. Most of
+their children used the mother tongue, though they could make shift
+to express themselves in English. In this respect as in others the
+younger McRaes were superior. They talked English well. They could
+read and write. Their father had instilled in them a reverence for the
+Scriptures and some knowledge of both the Old and New Testaments. It
+was his habit to hold family prayers every evening. Usually half
+a dozen guests were present at these services in addition to his
+immediate household.
+
+With the Indians came their dogs, wolfish creatures, prick-eared and
+sharp-muzzled, with straight, bristling hair. It was twenty below
+zero, but the gaunt animals neither sought nor were given shelter.
+They roamed about in front of the fort stockade, snapping at each
+other or galloping off on rabbit hunts through the timber.
+
+The custom was that on this day the braves of the tribe kissed every
+woman they met in token of friendship and good-will. To fail of
+saluting one, young or old, was a breach of good manners. Since
+daybreak they had been marching in to Angus McRae's house and gravely
+kissing his wife and daughter.
+
+Jessie did not like it. She was a fastidious young person. But she
+could not escape without mortally offending the solemn-eyed warriors
+who offered this evidence of their esteem. As much as possible she
+contrived to be busy upstairs, but at least a dozen times she was
+fairly cornered and made the best of it.
+
+At dinner she and the other women of the fort waited on their guests
+and watched prodigious quantities of food disappear rapidly. When the
+meal was ended, the dancing began. The Crees shuffled around in a
+circle, hopping from one foot to the other in time to the beating of
+a skin drum. The half-breeds and whites danced the jigs and reels the
+former had brought with them from the Red River country. They took the
+floor in couples. The men did double-shuffles and cut pigeon wings,
+moving faster and faster as the fiddler quickened the tune till they
+gave up at last exhausted. Their partners performed as vigorously, the
+moccasined feet twinkling in and out so fast that the beads flashed.
+
+Because it was the largest building in the place, the dance was held
+in the C.N. Morse & Company store. From behind the counter Jessie
+applauded the performers. She did not care to take part herself. The
+years she had spent at school had given her a certain dignity.
+
+A flash of scarlet caught her eye. Two troopers of the Mounted
+Police had come into the room and one of them was taking off his fur
+overcoat. The trim, lean-flanked figure and close-cropped, curly head
+she recognized at once with quickened pulse. When Winthrop Beresford
+came into her neighborhood, Jessie McRae's cheek always flew a flag of
+greeting.
+
+A squaw came up to the young soldier and offered innocently her face
+for a kiss.
+
+Beresford knew the tribal custom. It was his business to help
+establish friendly relations between the Mounted and the natives. He
+kissed the wrinkled cheek gallantly. A second dusky lady shuffled
+forward, and after her a third. The constable did his duty.
+
+His roving eye caught Jessie's, and found an imp of mischief dancing
+there. She was enjoying the predicament in which he found himself. Out
+of the tail of that same eye he discovered that two more flat-footed
+squaws were headed in his direction.
+
+He moved briskly across the floor to the counter, vaulted it, and
+stood beside Jessie. She was still laughing at him.
+
+"You're afraid," she challenged. "You ran away."
+
+A little devil of adventurous mirth was blown to flame in him. "I saw
+another lady, lonely and unkissed. The Force answers every call of
+distress."
+
+Her chin tilted ever so little as she answered swiftly.
+
+  "He who will not when he may,
+  When he will he shall have nay."
+
+Before she had more than time to guess that he would really dare, the
+officer leaned forward and kissed the girl's dusky cheek.
+
+The color flamed into it. Jessie flung a quick, startled look at him.
+
+"Kissing Day, Sleeping Dawn," he said, smiling.
+
+Instantly she followed his lead. "Sleeping Dawn hopes that the Great
+Spirit will give to the soldier of the Great Mother across the seas
+many happy kissing days in his life."
+
+"And to you. Will you dance with me?"
+
+"Not to-day, thank you. I don't jig in public."
+
+"I was speaking to Miss McRae and not to Sleeping Dawn, and I was
+asking her to waltz with me."
+
+She accepted him as a partner and they took the floor. The other
+dancers by tacit consent stepped back to watch this new step, so
+rhythmic, light, and graceful. It shocked a little their sense of
+fitness that the man's arm should enfold the maiden, but they were
+full of lively curiosity to see how the dance was done.
+
+A novel excitement pulsed through the girl's veins. It was not the
+kiss alone, though that had something to do with the exhilaration that
+flooded her. Formally his kiss had meant only a recognition of
+the day. Actually it had held for both of them a more personal
+significance, the swift outreach of youth to youth. But the dance was
+an escape. She had learned at Winnipeg the waltz of the white race.
+No other girl at Faraway knew the step. She chose to think that the
+constable had asked her because this stressed the predominance of her
+father's blood in her. It was a symbol to all present that the ways of
+the Anglo-Saxon were her ways.
+
+She had the light, straight figure, the sense of rhythm, the
+instinctively instant response of the born waltzer. As she glided over
+the floor in the arms of Beresford, the girl knew pure happiness. Not
+till he was leading her back to the counter did she wake from the
+spell the music and motion had woven over her.
+
+A pair of cold eyes in a white, bloodless face watched her beneath
+thin black brows. A shock ran through her, as though she had been
+drenched with icy water. She shivered. There was a sinister menace in
+that steady, level gaze. More than once she had felt it. Deep in her
+heart she knew, from the world-old experience of her sex, that the man
+desired her, that he was biding his time with the patience and the
+ruthlessness of a panther. "Poker" Whaley had in him a power of
+dangerous evil notable in a country where bad men were not scarce.
+
+The officer whispered news to Jessie. "Bully West broke jail two weeks
+ago. He killed a guard. We're here looking for him."
+
+"He hasn't been here. At least I haven't heard it," she answered
+hurriedly.
+
+For Whaley, in his slow, feline fashion, was moving toward them.
+
+Bluntly the gambler claimed his right. "Ooche-me-gou-kesigow," he
+said.
+
+The girl shook her head. "Are you a Cree, Mr. Whaley?"
+
+For that he had an answer. "Is Beresford?"
+
+"Mr. Beresford is a stranger. He didn't know the custom--that it
+doesn't apply to me except with Indians. I was taken by surprise."
+
+Whaley was a man of parts. He had been educated for a priest, but had
+kicked over the traces. There was in him too much of the Lucifer for
+the narrow trail the father of a parish must follow.
+
+He bowed. "Then I must content myself with a dance."
+
+Jessie hesitated. It was known that he was a libertine. The devotion
+of his young Cree wife was repaid with sneers and the whiplash. But he
+was an ill man to make an enemy of. For her family's sake rather than
+her own she yielded reluctantly.
+
+Though a heavy-set man, he was an excellent waltzer. He moved evenly
+and powerfully. But in the girl's heart resentment flamed. She knew he
+was holding her too close to him, taking advantage of her modesty in a
+way she could not escape without public protest.
+
+"I'm faint," she told him after they had danced a few minutes.
+
+"Oh, you'll be all right," he said, still swinging her to the music.
+
+She stopped. "No, I've had enough." Jessie had caught sight of her
+brother Fergus at the other end of the room. She joined him. Tom Morse
+was standing by his side.
+
+Whaley nodded indifferently toward the men and smiled at Jessie, but
+that cold lip smile showed neither warmth nor friendliness. "We'll
+dance again--many times," he said.
+
+The girl's eyes flashed. "We'll have to ask Mrs. Whaley about that. I
+don't see her here to-night. I hope she's quite well."
+
+It was impossible to tell from the chill, expressionless face of the
+squaw-man whether her barb had stung or not. "She's where she belongs,
+at home in the kitchen. It's her business to be well. I reckon she is.
+I don't ask her."
+
+"You're not a demonstrative husband, then?"
+
+"Husband!" He shrugged his shoulders insolently. "Oh, well! What's in
+a name?"
+
+She knew the convenient code of his kind. They took to themselves
+Indian wives, with or without some form of marriage ceremony, and
+flung them aside when they grew tired of the tie or found it galling.
+There was another kind of squaw-man, the type represented by her
+father. He had joined his life to that of Matapi-Koma for better or
+worse until such time as death should separate them.
+
+In Jessie's bosom a generous indignation burned. There was a reason
+why just now Whaley should give his wife much care and affection.
+She turned her shoulder and began to talk with Fergus and Tom Morse,
+definitely excluding the gambler from the conversation.
+
+He was not one to be embarrassed by a snub. He held his ground,
+narrowed eyes watching her with the vigilant patience of the panther
+he sometimes made her think of. Presently he forced a reentry.
+
+"What's this I hear about Bully West escaping from jail?"
+
+Fergus answered. "Two-three weeks ago. Killed a guard, they say. He
+was headin' west an' north last word they had of him."
+
+All of them were thinking the same thing, that the man would reach
+Faraway if he could, lie hidden till he had rustled an outfit, then
+strike out with a dog team deeper into the Lone Lands.
+
+"Here's wishin' him luck," his partner said coolly.
+
+"All the luck he deserves," amended Morse quietly.
+
+"You can't keep a good man down," Whaley boasted, looking straight at
+the other Indian trader. "I wouldn't wonder but what he'll pay a few
+debts when he gets here."
+
+Tom smiled and offered another suggestion. "If he gets here and has
+time. He'll have to hurry."
+
+His gaze shifted across the room to Beresford, alert, gay,
+indomitable, and as implacable as fate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A BUSINESS DEAL
+
+
+It was thirty below zero. The packed snow crunched under the feet of
+Morse as he moved down what served Faraway for a main street. The
+clock in the store registered mid-afternoon, but within a few minutes
+the sub-Arctic sun would set, night would fall, and aurora lights
+would glow in the west.
+
+Four false suns were visible around the true one, the whole forming a
+cross of five orbs. Each of these swam in perpendicular segments of a
+circle of prismatic colors. Even as the young man looked, the lowest
+of the cluster lights plunged out of sight. By the time he had reached
+the McRae house, darkness hung over the white and frozen land.
+
+Jessie opened the door to his knock and led him into the living-room
+of the family, where also the trapper's household ate and Fergus
+slept. It was a rough enough place, with its mud-chinked log walls and
+its floor of whipsawed lumber. But directly opposite the door was a
+log-piled hearth that radiated comfort and cheerfulness. Buffalo robes
+served as rugs and upon the walls had been hung furs of silver fox,
+timber wolves, mink, and beaver. On a shelf was a small library of not
+more than twenty-five books, but they were ones that only a lover of
+good reading would have chosen. Shakespeare and Burns held honored
+places there. Scott's poems and three or four of his novels were in
+the collection. In worn leather bindings were "Tristram Shandy,"
+and Smollett's "Complete History of England." Bunyan's "Pilgrim's
+Progress" shouldered Butler's "Hudibras" and Baxter's "The Saint's
+Everlasting Rest." Into this choice company one frivolous modern novel
+had stolen its way. "Nicholas Nickleby" had been brought from Winnipeg
+by Jessie when she returned from school. The girl had read them all
+from cover to cover, most of them many times. Angus too knew them all,
+with the exception of the upstart "storybook" written by a London
+newspaper man of whom he had never before heard.
+
+"I'm alone," Jessie explained. "Father and Fergus have gone out to the
+traps. They'll not be back till to-morrow. Mother's with Mrs. Whaley."
+
+Tom knew that the trader's wife was not well. She was expecting to be
+confined in a few weeks.
+
+He was embarrassed at being alone with the girl inside the walls of
+a house. His relations with Angus McRae reached civility, but not
+cordiality. The stern old Scotchman had never invited him to drop in
+and call. He resented the fact that through the instrumentality of
+Morse he had been forced to horsewhip the lass he loved, and the
+trader knew he was not forgiven his share in the episode and probably
+never would be. Now Tom had come only because a matter of business had
+to be settled one way or the other at once.
+
+"Blandoine is leavin' for Whoop-Up in the mornin'. I came to see your
+father about those robes. If we buy, it'll have to be now. I can send
+'em down with Blandoine," he explained.
+
+She nodded, briskly. "Father said you could have them at your price if
+you'll pay what he asked for those not split. They're good hides--cows
+and young bulls."[5]
+
+[Footnote 5: A split robe was one cut down the middle and sewn
+together with sinews. The ones skinned from the animal in a single
+piece were much more valuable, but the native women usually prepared
+the hides the other way because of the weight in handling. One of the
+reasons the Indians gave the missionaries in favor of polygamy was
+that one wife could not dress a buffalo robe without assistance. The
+braves themselves did not condescend to menial labor of this kind.
+(W.M.R.)]
+
+"It's a deal," the fur-trader said promptly. "Glad to get 'em, though
+I'm payin' all I can afford for the split ones."
+
+"I'll get the key to the storehouse," Jessie said.
+
+She walked out of the room with the springy, feather-footed step that
+distinguished her among all the women that he knew. In a few moments
+she was back. Instead of giving him the key, she put it down on the
+table near his hand.
+
+Beneath the tan the dark blood beat into his face. He knew she had
+done this in order not to run the risk of touching him.
+
+For a long moment his gaze gripped and held her. Between them passed
+speech without words. His eyes asked if he were outside the pale
+completely, if he could never wipe out the memory of that first cruel
+meeting. Hers answered proudly that, half-breed though she was, he was
+to her only a wolfer, of less interest than Black, the leader of her
+father's dog train.
+
+He picked up the key and left, wild thoughts whirling through his
+mind. He loved her. Of what use was it trying longer to disguise it
+from himself. Of the inferior blood she might be, yet his whole being
+went out to her in deep desire. He wanted her for his mate. He craved
+her in every fiber of his clean, passionate manhood, as he had never
+before longed for a woman in his life. And she hated him--hated him
+with all the blazing scorn of a young proud soul whose fine body had
+endured degradation on his account. He was a leper, to be classed with
+Bully West.
+
+Nor did he blame her. How could she feel otherwise and hold her
+self-respect. The irony of it brought a bitter smile to his lips. If
+she only knew it, the years would avenge her a hundredfold. For he had
+cut himself off from even the chance of the joy that might have been
+his.
+
+In the sky an aurora flashed with scintillating splendor. The heavens
+were aglow with ever-changing bars and columns of colored fire.
+
+Morse did not know it. Not till he had passed a dozen steps beyond a
+man in heavy furs did his mind register recognition of him as Whaley.
+He did not even wonder what business was taking the gambler toward
+Angus McRae's house.
+
+Business obtruded its claims. He arranged with Blandoine to take
+the robes out with him and walked back to the McRae storehouse. It
+adjoined the large log cabin where the Scotchman and his family lived.
+
+Blandoine and he went over the robes carefully in order that there
+should be no mistake as to which ones the trainmaster took. This done,
+Morse locked the door and handed the key to his companion.
+
+To him there was borne the sound of voices--one low and deep, the
+other swift and high. He caught no words, but he became aware that a
+queer excitement tingled through his veins. At the roots of his hair
+there was an odd, prickling sensation. He could give himself no
+reason, but some instinct of danger rang in him like a bell. The low
+bass and the light high treble--they reached him alternately, cutting
+into each other, overriding each other, clashing in agitated dissent.
+
+Then--a shrill scream for help!
+
+Morse could never afterward remember opening the door of the log
+house. It seemed to him that he burst through it like a battering-ram,
+took the kitchen in two strides, and hurled himself against the sturdy
+home-made door which led into the living-room.
+
+This checked him, for some one had slid into its socket the bar used
+as a bolt. He looked around the kitchen and found in one swift glance
+what he wanted. It was a large back log for the fireplace.
+
+With this held at full length under his arm he crashed forward. The
+wood splintered. He charged again, incited by a second call for
+succor. This time his attack dashed the bolt and socket from their
+place. Morse stumbled into the room like a drunken man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+A BOARD CREAKS
+
+
+After Morse had closed the door, Jessie listened until the crisp
+crunch of his footsteps had died away. She subdued an impulse to call
+him back and put into words her quarrel against him.
+
+From the table she picked up a gun-cover of moose leather she was
+making and moved to the fireplace. Automatically her fingers fitted
+into place a fringe of red cloth. (This had been cut from an old
+petticoat, but the source of the decoration would remain a secret, not
+on any account to be made known to him who was to receive the gift.)
+Usually her hands were busy ones, but now they fell away from the work
+listlessly.
+
+The pine logs crackled, lighting one end of the room and filling the
+air with aromatic pungency. As she gazed into the red coals her mind
+was active.
+
+She knew that her scorn of the fur-trader was a fraud. Into her hatred
+of him she threw an energy always primitive and sometimes savage. But
+he held her entire respect. It was not pleasant to admit this. Her
+mind clung to the shadowy excuse that he had been a wolfer, although
+the Indians looked on him now as a good friend and a trader who would
+not take advantage of them. Angus McRae himself had said there was no
+better citizen in the Northland.
+
+No, she could not hold Tom Morse in contempt as she would have liked.
+But she could cherish her animosity and feed it on memories that
+scorched her as the whiplash had her smooth and tender flesh. She
+would never forgive him--never. Not if he humbled himself in the dust.
+
+Toward Angus McRae she held no grudge whatever. He had done only his
+duty as he saw it. The circumstances had forced his hand, for her word
+had pledged him to punishment. But this man who had walked into her
+life so roughly, mastered her by physical force, dragged her to
+the ignominy of the whip, and afterward had dared to do her a
+service--when she woke at night and thought of him she still burned
+with shame and anger. He had been both author and witness of her
+humiliation.
+
+The girl's reverie stirred reflection of other men, for already she
+had suitors in plenty. Upon one of them her musing lingered. He had
+brought to her gifts of the friendly smile, of comradeship, of youth's
+debonair give-and-take. She did not try to analyze her feeling for
+Winthrop Beresford. It was enough to know that he had brought into her
+existence the sparkle of joy.
+
+For life had stalked before her with an altogether too tragic mien.
+In this somber land men did not laugh much. Their smiles held a
+background of gravity. Icy winter reigned two thirds of the year and
+summer was a brief hot blaze following no spring. Nature demanded of
+those who lived here that they struggle to find subsistence. In that
+conflict human beings forgot that they had been brought into the world
+to enjoy it with careless rapture.
+
+Somewhere in the house a board, creaked. Jessie heard it
+inattentively, for in the bitter cold woodwork was always snapping and
+cracking.
+
+Beresford had offered her a new philosophy of life. She did not quite
+accept it, yet it fascinated. He believed that the duty of happiness
+was laid on people as certainly as the duty of honesty. She remembered
+that once he had said....
+
+There had come to her no sound, but Jessie knew that some one had
+opened the door and was standing on the threshold watching her. She
+turned her head. Her self-invited guest was Whaley.
+
+Jessie rose. "What do you want?"
+
+She was startled at the man's silent entry, ready to be alarmed if
+necessary, but not yet afraid. It was as though her thoughts waited
+for the cue he would presently give. Some instinct for safety made her
+cautious. She did not tell the free trader that her father and Fergus
+were from home.
+
+He looked at her, appraisingly, from head to foot, in such a way that
+she felt his gaze had stripped her.
+
+"You know what I want. You know what I'm going to get ... some day,"
+he purred in his slow, feline way.
+
+She pushed from her mind a growing apprehension.
+
+"Father and Fergus--if you want them--"
+
+"Have I said I wanted them?" he asked. "They're out in the woods
+trappin'. I'm not lookin' for them. The two of us'll be company for
+each other."
+
+"Go," she said, anger flaring at his insolence. "Go. You've no
+business here."
+
+"I'm not here for business, but for pleasure, my dear."
+
+The cold, fishy eyes in his white face gloated. Suddenly she wanted to
+scream and pushed back the desire scornfully. If she did, nobody would
+hear her. This had to be fought out one to one.
+
+"Why didn't you knock?" she demanded.
+
+"We'll say I did and that you didn't hear me," he answered suavely.
+"What's it matter among friends anyhow?"
+
+"What do you want?" By sheer will power she kept her voice low.
+
+"Your mother's over at the house. I dropped in to say she'll probably
+stay all night."
+
+"Is your wife worse?"
+
+He lifted the black brows that contrasted so sharply with the pallor
+of the face. "Really you get ahead of me, my dear. I don't recall ever
+getting married."
+
+"That's a hateful thing to say," she flamed, and bit her lower lip
+with small white teeth to keep from telling the squaw-man what she
+thought of him. The Cree girl he had taken to wife was going down
+into the Valley of the Shadow to bear him a child while he callously
+repudiated her.
+
+He opened his fur coat and came to the fireplace. "I can say nicer
+things--to the right girl," he said, and looked meaningly at her.
+
+"I'll have to go get Susie Lemoine to stay with me," Jessie said
+hurriedly. "I didn't know Mother wasn't coming home."
+
+She made a move toward a fur lying across the back of a chair.
+
+He laid a hand upon her arm. "What's your rush? What are you dodgin'
+for, girl? I'm good as Susie to keep the goblins from gettin you."
+
+"Don't touch me." Her eyes sparked fire.
+
+"You're mighty high-heeled for a nitchie. I reckon you forget you're
+Sleeping Dawn, daughter of a Blackfoot squaw."
+
+"I'm Jessie McRae, daughter of Angus, and if you insult me, you'll
+have to settle with him."
+
+He gave a short snort of laughter. "Wake up, girl. What's the use of
+foolin' yourself? You're a breed. McRae's tried to forget it and so
+have you. But all the time you know damn well you're half Injun."
+
+Jessie looked at him with angry contempt, then wheeled for the door.
+
+Whaley had anticipated that and was there before her. His narrowed,
+covetous eyes held her while one hand behind his back slid the bolt
+into place.
+
+"Let me out!" she cried.
+
+"Be reasonable. I'm not aimin' to hurt you."
+
+"Stand aside and let me through."
+
+He managed another insinuating laugh. "Have some sense. Quit ridin'
+that high horse and listen while I talk to you."
+
+But she was frightened by this time as much as she was incensed. A
+drum of dread was beating in her panicky heart. She saw in his eyes
+what she had never before seen on a face that looked into hers--though
+she was to note it often in the dreadful days that followed--the
+ruthless appetite of a wild beast crouching for its kill."
+
+"Let me go! Let me go!" Her voice was shrilly out of control. "Unbar
+the door, I tell you!"
+
+"I'm a big man in this country. Before I'm through. I'll be head chief
+among the trappers for hundreds of miles. I'm offerin' you the chance
+of a lifetime. Throw in with me and you'll ride in your coach at
+Winnipeg some day." Voice and words were soft and smooth, but back of
+them Jessie felt the panther couched for its spring.
+
+She could only repeat her demand, in a cry that reached its ictus in a
+sob.
+
+"If you're dreamin' about that red-coat spy--hopin' he'll marry
+you after he's played fast and loose with you--why, forget such
+foolishness. I know his kind. When he's had his fling, he'll go back
+to his own people and settle down. He's lookin' for a woman, not a
+wife."
+
+"That's a lie!" she flung out, rage for the moment in ascendent. "Open
+that door or I'll--"
+
+Swiftly his hand shot forward and caught her wrist. "What'll you do?"
+he asked, and triumph rode in his eyes.
+
+She screamed. One of his hands clamped down over her mouth, the other
+went round her waist and drew the slim body to him. She fought,
+straining from him, throwing back her head in another lifted shriek
+for help.
+
+As well she might have matched her strength with a buffalo bull. He
+was still under forty, heavy-set, bones packed with heavy muscles. It
+seemed to her that all the power of her vital youth vanished and left
+only limp and flaccid weakness. He snatched her close and kissed the
+dusky eyes, the soft cheeks, the colorful lips....
+
+She became aware that he was holding her from him, listening. There
+was a crash of wood.
+
+Again her call for help rang out.
+
+Whaley flung her from him. He crouched, every nerve and muscle tense,
+lips drawn back in a snarl. She saw that in his hand there was a
+revolver.
+
+Against the door a heavy weight was hurled. The wood burst into
+splinters as the bolt shot from the socket. Drunkenly a man plunged
+across the threshold, staggering from the impact of the shock.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+A GUN ROARS
+
+
+The two men glared at each other, silently, their faces distorted to
+gargoyles in the leaping and uncertain light. Wary, vigilant, tense,
+they faced each other as might jungle tigers waiting for the best
+moment to attack.
+
+There was a chance for the situation to adjust itself without
+bloodshed. Whaley could not afford to kill and Morse had no desire to
+force his hand.
+
+Jessie's fear outran her judgment. She saw the menace of the revolver
+trained on her rescuer and thought the gambler was about to fire. She
+leaped for the weapon, and so precipitated what she dreaded.
+
+The gun roared. A bullet flew past Morse and buried itself in a log.
+Next instant, clinging with both hands to Whaley's wrist, Jessie found
+herself being tossed to and fro as the man struggled to free his arm.
+Flung at a tangent against the wall, she fell at the foot of the couch
+where Fergus slept.
+
+Again the blaze and roar of the revolver filled the room. Morse
+plunged head down at his enemy, still carrying the log he had used as
+a battering-ram. It caught the gambler at that point of the stomach
+known as the solar plexus. Whaley went down and out of consciousness
+like an ox that has been pole-axed.
+
+Tom picked up the revolver and dropped it into the pocket of his fur
+coat. He stooped to make sure that his foe was beyond the power of
+doing damage. Then he lifted Jessie from the corner where she lay
+huddled.
+
+"Hurt?" he asked.
+
+The girl shuddered. "No. Is he--is he killed?"
+
+"Wind knocked out of him. Nothing more."
+
+"He didn't hit you?"
+
+There was the ghost of a smile in his eyes. "No, I hit him."
+
+"He was horrid. I--I--" Again a little shiver ran through her body.
+She felt very weak at the knees and caught for a moment at the lapel
+of his coat to steady herself. Neither of them was conscious of the
+fact that she was in his arms, clinging to him while she won back
+self-control.
+
+"It's all right now. Don't worry. Lucky I came back to show Blandoine
+which furs to take."
+
+"If you hadn't--" She drew a ragged breath that was half a sob.
+
+Morse loved her the more for the strain of feminine hysteria that made
+her for the moment a soft and tender child to be comforted. He had
+known her competent, savage, disdainful, one in whom vital and
+passionate life flowed quick. He had never before seen the weakness in
+her reaching out to strength. That by sheer luck it was _his_ power to
+which she clung filled him with deep delight.
+
+He began to discount his joy lest she do it instead. His arm fell away
+from her waist.
+
+"I 'most wrecked the house," he said with a humorous glance at the
+door. "I don't always bring one o' the walls with me when I come into
+a room."
+
+"He bolted the door," she explained rather needlessly. "He wouldn't
+let me out."
+
+"I heard you call," he answered, without much more point.
+
+She glanced at the man lying on the floor. "You don't think he might
+be--" She stopped, unwilling to use the word.
+
+Tom knelt beside him and felt his heart.
+
+"It's beating," he said. And added quickly, "His eyes are open."
+
+It was true. The cold, fishy eyes had flickered open and were taking
+stock of the situation. The gambler instantly chose his line of
+defense. He spoke, presently.
+
+"What in the devil was bitin' you, Morse? Just because I was jokin'
+the girl, you come rampagin' in and knock me galley west with a big
+club. I'll not stand for that. Soon as I'm fit to handle myself, you
+and I'll have a settlement."
+
+"Get up and get out," ordered the younger man.
+
+"When I get good and ready. Don't try to run on me, young fellow. Some
+other fools have found that dangerous."
+
+Whaley sat up, groaned, and pressed his hands upon the abdomen at the
+point where he had been struck.
+
+The reddish-brown glint in the eyes of Morse advertised the cold rage
+of the Montanan. He caught the gambler by the collar and pulled him to
+his feet.
+
+"Get out, you yellow wolf!" he repeated in a low, savage voice.
+
+The white-faced trader was still wobbly on his feet. He felt both
+sore and sick at the pit of his stomach, in no mood for any further
+altercation with this hard-hitting athlete. But he would not go
+without saving his face.
+
+"I don't know what business you've got to order me out--unless--" His
+gaze included the girl for a moment, and the insult of his leer was
+unmistakable.
+
+Morse caught him by the scruff of the neck, ran him out of the room,
+and flung him down the steps into the road. The gambler tripped on the
+long buffalo coat he was wearing and rolled over in the snow. Slowly
+he got to his feet and locked eyes with the other.
+
+Rage almost choked his words. "You'll be sorry for this one o' these
+days, Morse. I'll get you right. Nobody has ever put one over on Poker
+Whaley and nobody ever will. Don't forget that."
+
+Tom Morse wasted no words. He stood silently on the steps, a splendid,
+supple figure of menacing power, and watched his foe pass down the
+road. There was in him a cruel and passionate desire to take the
+gambler and break him with his hands, to beat him till he crawled away
+a weak and wounded creature fit for a hospital. He clamped his teeth
+hard and fought down the impulse.
+
+Presently he turned and walked slowly back into the house. His face
+was still set and his hands clenched. He knew that if Whaley had hurt
+Jessie, he would have killed him with his naked fingers.
+
+"You can't stay here. Where do you want me to take you?" he asked, and
+his cold hardness reminded her of the Tom Morse who had led her to the
+whip one other night.
+
+She did not know that inside he was a caldron of emotion and that it
+was only by freezing himself he could keep down the volcanic eruption.
+
+"I'll go to Susie Lemoine's," she said in a small, obedient voice.
+
+With his hands in his pockets he stood and let he find a fur coat and
+slip into it. He had a sense of frustration. He wanted to let go of
+himself and tell all that was in his torrid heart. Instead, he encased
+himself in ice and drove her farther from him.
+
+They walked down the road side by side, neither of them speaking. She
+too was a victim of chaotic feeling. It would be long before she could
+forget how he had broken through the door and saved her.
+
+But she could not find the words to tell him so. They parted at the
+door of Lemoine's cabin with a chill "Good-night" that left them both
+unhappy and dissatisfied.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+"D'YOU WONDER SHE HATES ME?"
+
+
+To Morse came Angus McRae with the right hand of friendship the day
+after the battle in the log house.
+
+Eyes blue as Highland lochs fastened to those of the fur-trader. "Lad,
+I canna tell ye what's in my heart. 'The Lord bless thee, and keep
+thee. The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto
+thee. The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee
+peace.'"
+
+Tom, embarrassed, made light of the affair. "Lucky I was
+Johnnie-on-the-Spot."
+
+The old Scot shook his head. "No luck sent ye back to hear the
+skreigh o' the lass, but the whisper of the guid Father withoot whose
+permission not even a sparrow falls to the ground. He chose you as the
+instrument. I'll never be forgettin' what you did for my dawtie, Tom
+Morse. Jess will have thankit you, but I add mine to hers."
+
+In point of fact Jessie had not thanked him in set words. She had been
+in too great an agitation of spirit to think of it. But Morse did not
+say so.
+
+"Oh, that's all right. Any one would have done it. Mighty glad I was
+near enough. Hope she doesn't feel any worse for the shock."
+
+"Not a bit. I'm here to ask ye to let bygones be bygones. I've nursed
+a grudge, but, man, it's clean, washed oot o' my heart. Here's my
+hand, if you'll tak it."
+
+Tom did, gladly. He discovered at the same moment that the sun was
+striking sparks of light from a thousand snow crystals. It was a good
+world, if one only looked for the evidence of it.
+
+"The latchstring is always oot for you at the hame of Angus McRae.
+Will you no' drap in for a crack the nicht?" asked the trapper.
+
+"Not to-night. Sometime. I'll see." Tom found himself in the position
+of one who finds open to him a long-desired pleasure and is too shy to
+avail himself of it immediately. "Have you seen Whaley yet to-day?" he
+asked, to turn the subject.
+
+The hunter's lip grew straight and grim. "I have not. He's no' at the
+store. The clerk says a messenger called for him early this mornin'
+and he left the clachan at once. Will he be hidin' oot, do you think?"
+
+Tom shook his head. "Not Whaley. He'll bluff it through. The fellow's
+not yellow. Probably he'll laugh it off and say he was only stealin' a
+kiss an' that Miss Jessie was silly to make a fuss about it."
+
+"We'll let it go at that--after I've told him publicly what I think o'
+him."
+
+Where Whaley had been nobody in Faraway knew. When he returned at
+sunset, he went direct to the store and took off his snowshoes. He was
+knocking the packed and frozen slush from them at the moment Angus
+McRae confronted him.
+
+The trader laughed, from the lips, just as Tom had prophesied he would
+do. "I reckon I owe you an apology, McRae," he said. "That li'l'
+wild-cat of yours lost her head when I jollied her and Morse broke the
+door down like the jackass he is."
+
+The dressing-down that Angus McRae gave Whaley is still remembered
+by one or two old-timers in the Northwest. In crisp, biting words he
+freed his mind without once lapsing into profanity. He finished with a
+warning. "Tak tent you never speak to the lass again, or you an' me'll
+come to grips."
+
+The storekeeper heard him out, a sneering smile on his white face.
+Inside, he raged with furious anger, but he did not let his feelings
+come to the surface. He was a man who had the patience to wait for
+his vengeance. The longer it was delayed, the heavier would it be. A
+characteristic of his cold, callous temperament was that he took fire
+slowly, but, once lit, his hate endured like peat coals in a grate. A
+vain man, his dignity was precious to him. He writhed at the defeat
+Morse had put upon him, at his failure with Jessie, at the scornful
+public rebuke of her father. Upon all three of these some day he would
+work a sweet revenge. Like all gamblers, he followed hunches. Soon,
+one of these told him, his chance would come. When it did he would
+make all three of them sweat blood.
+
+Beresford met Tom Morse later in the day. He cocked a whimsical eye at
+the fur-trader.
+
+"I hear McRae's going to sue you for damages to his house," he said.
+
+"Where did you hear all that?" asked his friend, apparently busy
+inspecting a half-dozen beaver furs.
+
+"And Whaley, for damages to his internal machinery. Don't you know you
+can't catapult through a man's tummy with a young pine tree and not
+injure his physical geography?" the constable reproached.
+
+"When you're through spoofin' me, as you subjects of the Queen call
+it," suggested Tom.
+
+"Why, then, I'll tell you to keep an eye on Whaley. He doesn't love
+you a whole lot for what you did, and he's liable to do you up first
+chance he gets."
+
+"I'm not lookin' for trouble, but if Whaley wants a fight--"
+
+"He doesn't--not your kind of a fight. His idea will be to have you
+foul before he strikes. Walk with an eye in the back of your head.
+Sleep with it open, Don't sit at windows after lamps are lit--not
+without curtains all down. Play all your cards close." The red-coat
+spoke casually, slapping his boot with a small riding-switch. He was
+smiling. None the less Tom knew he was in dead earnest.
+
+"Sounds like good advice. I'll take it," the trader said easily.
+"Anything more on your chest?"
+
+"Why, yes. Where did Whaley go to-day? What called him out of town on
+a hurry-up trip of a few hours?"
+
+"Don't know. Do you?"
+
+"No, but I'm a good guesser."
+
+"Meanin'?"
+
+"Bully West. Holed up somewhere out in the woods. A fellow came in
+this morning and got Whaley, who snowshoed back with him at once."
+
+Tom nodded agreement. "Maybeso. Whaley was away five or six hours.
+That means he probably traveled from eight to ten miles out."
+
+"Question is, in what direction? Nobody saw him go or come--at least,
+so as to know that he didn't circle round the town and come in from
+the other side."
+
+"He'll go again, with supplies for West. Watch him."
+
+"I'll do just that."
+
+"He might send some one with them."
+
+"Yes, he might do that," admitted Beresford. "I'll keep an eye on
+the store and see what goes out. We want West. He's a cowardly
+murderer--killed the man who trusted him--shot him in the back. This
+country will be well rid of him when he's hanged for what he did to
+poor Tim Kelly."
+
+"He's a rotten bad lot, but he's dangerous. Never forget that," warned
+the fur-buyer. "If he ever gets the drop on you for a moment, you're
+gone."
+
+"Of course we may be barking up the wrong tree," the officer reflected
+aloud. "Maybe West isn't within five hundred miles of here. Maybe he
+headed off another way. But I don't think it. He had to get back to
+where he was known so as to get an outfit. That meant either this
+country or Montana. And the word is that he was seen coming this way
+both at Slide Out and crossing Old Man's River after he made his
+getaway."
+
+"He's likely figurin' on losin' himself in the North woods."
+
+"My notion, too. Say, Tom, I have an invitation from a young lady for
+you and me. I'm to bring you to supper, Jessie McRae says. To-night.
+Venison and sheep pemmican--and real plum pudding, son. You're to
+smoke the pipe of peace with Angus and warm yourself in the smiles of
+Miss Jessie and Matapi-Koma. How's the programme suit you?"
+
+Tom flushed. "I don't reckon I'll go," he said after a moment's
+deliberation.
+
+His friend clapped an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "Cards down,
+old fellow. Spill the story of this deadly feud between you and Jessie
+and I'll give you an outside opinion on it."
+
+The Montanan looked at him bleakly. "Haven't you heard? If you
+haven't, you're the only man in this country that hasn't."
+
+"You mean--about the whipping?" Beresford asked gently.
+
+"That's all," Morse answered bitterly. "Nothing a-tall. I merely had
+her horsewhipped. You wouldn't think any girl would object to that,
+would you?"
+
+"I'd like to hear the right of it. How did it happen?"
+
+"The devil was in me, I reckon. We were runnin' across the line that
+consignment of whiskey you found and destroyed near Whoop-Up. She came
+on our camp one night, crept up, and smashed some barrels. I caught
+her. She fought like a wild-cat." Morse pulled up the sleeve of his
+coat and showed a long, ragged scar on the arm. "Gave me that as a
+lil' souvenir to remember her by. You see, she was afraid I'd take her
+back to camp. So she fought. You know West. I wouldn't have taken her
+to him."
+
+"What did you do?"
+
+"After I got her down, we came to terms. I was to take her to McRae's
+camp and she was to be horsewhipped by him. My arm was hurtin' like
+sin, and I was thinkin' her only a wild young Injun."
+
+"So you took her home?"
+
+"And McRae flogged her. You know him. He's Scotch--and thorough. It
+was a sickening business. When he got through, he was white as snow. I
+felt like a murderer. D'you wonder she hates me?"
+
+Beresford's smile was winning. "Is it because she hates you that she
+wants you to come to supper to-night?"
+
+"It's because she's in debt to me--or thinks she is, for of course she
+isn't--and wants to pay it and get rid of it as soon as she can. I
+tell you, Win, she couldn't bear to touch my hand when she gave me the
+key to the storehouse the other night--laid it down on the table for
+me to pick up. It has actually become physical with her. She'd shudder
+if I touched her. I'm not going to supper there. Why should I take
+advantage of a hold I have on her generosity? No, I'll not go."
+
+And from that position Beresford could not move him.
+
+After supper the constable found a chance to see Jessie alone. She was
+working over the last touches of the gun-case.
+
+"When it's finished who gets it?" he asked, sitting down gracefully on
+the arm of a big chair.
+
+She flashed a teasing glance at him. "Who do you think deserves it?"
+
+"I deserve it," he assured her at once. "But it isn't the deserving
+always who get the rewards in this world. Very likely you'll give it
+to some chap like Tom Morse."
+
+"Who wouldn't come to supper when we asked him." She lifted steady,
+inquiring eyes. "What was the real reason he didn't come?"
+
+"Said he couldn't get away from the store because--"
+
+"Yes, I heard that. I'm asking for the real reason, Win."
+
+He gave it. "Tom thinks you hate him and he won't force himself on
+your generosity."
+
+"Oh!" She seemed to be considering that.
+
+"Do you?"
+
+"Do I what?"
+
+"Hate him."
+
+She felt a flush burning beneath the dusky brown of her cheeks. "If
+you knew what he'd done to me--"
+
+"Perhaps I do," he said, very gently.
+
+Her dark eyes studied him intently. "He told you?"
+
+"No, one hears gossip. He hates himself because of it. Tom's white,
+Jessie."
+
+"And I'm Indian. Of course that does make a difference. If he'd had a
+white girl whipped, you couldn't defend him," she flamed.
+
+"You know I didn't mean that, little pal." His sunny smile was
+disarming. "What I mean is that he's sorry for what he did. Why not
+give him a chance to be friends?"
+
+"Well, we gave him a chance to-night, didn't we? And he chose not to
+take it. What do you want me to do--go and thank him kindly for having
+me whipped?"
+
+Beresford gave up with a shrug. He knew when he had said enough. Some
+day the seed he had dropped might germinate.
+
+"Wouldn't it be a good idea to work a W.B. on that case?" he asked
+with friendly impudence. "Then if I lost it, whoever found it could
+return it."
+
+"I don't give presents to people who lose them," she parried.
+
+Her dancing eyes were very bright as they met his. She loved the trim
+lines of his clean beautiful youth and the soul expressed by them.
+
+Matapi-Koma waddled into the room and the Mounted Policeman
+transferred his attention to her. She weighed two hundred twelve
+pounds, but was not sensitive on the subject. Beresford claimed
+anxiously that she was growing thin.
+
+The Indian woman merely smiled on him benignantly. She liked him, as
+all women did. And she hoped that he would stay in the country and
+marry Sleeping Dawn.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+ONISTAH READS SIGN
+
+
+McRae fitted Jessie's snowshoes.
+
+"You'll be hame before the dark, lass," he said, a little anxiously.
+
+"Yes, Father."
+
+The hunter turned to Onistah. "She's in your care, lad. Gin the
+weather changes, or threatens to, let the traps go and strike for the
+toon. You're no' to tak chances."
+
+"Back assam weputch (very early)," promised the Blackfoot.
+
+He was proud of the trust confided to him. To him McRae was a great
+man. Among many of the trappers and the free traders the old Scot's
+word was law. They came to him with their disputes for settlement and
+abided by his decisions. For Angus was not only the patriarch of the
+clan, if such a loose confederation of followers could be called a
+clan; he was esteemed for his goodness and practical common sense.
+
+Onistah's heart swelled with an emotion that was more than vanity. His
+heart filled with gladness that Jessie should choose him as guide and
+companion to snowshoe with her out into the white forests where her
+traps were set. For the young Indian loved her dumbly, without any
+hope of reward, in much the same way that some of her rough soldiers
+must have loved Joan of Arc. Jessie was a mistress whose least whim he
+felt it a duty to obey. He had worshiped her ever since he had seen
+her, a little eager warm-hearted child, playing in his mother's
+wigwam. She was as much beyond his reach as the North Star. Yet her
+swift tender smile was for him just as it was for Fergus.
+
+They shuffled out of the village into the forest that crept up to the
+settlement on all sides. Soon they were deep in its shadows, pushing
+along the edge of a muskeg which they skirted carefully in order not
+to be hampered by its treacherous boggy footing.
+
+Jessie wore a caribou-skin capote with the fur on as a protection
+against the cold wind. Her moccasins were of smoked moose-skin
+decorated with the flower-pattern bead embroidery so much in use among
+the French half-breeds of the North. The socks inside them were of
+duffle and the leggings of strouds, both materials manufactured for
+the Hudson's Bay Company for its trappers.
+
+The day was comparatively warm, but the snow was not slushy nor very
+deep. None the less she was glad when they reached the trapping ground
+and Onistah called a halt for dinner. She was tired, from the weight
+of the snow on her shoes, and her feet were blistered by reason of the
+lacings which cut into the duffle and the tender flesh inside.
+
+Onistah built a fire of poplar, which presently crackled like a battle
+front and shot red-hot coals at them in an irregular fusillade. Upon
+this they made tea, heated pemmican and bannocks, and thawed a jar of
+preserves Jessie had made the previous summer of service berries and
+wild raspberries. Before it they dried their moccasins, socks, and
+leggings.
+
+Afterward they separated to make a round of the traps, agreeing to
+meet an hour and a half later at the place of their dinner camp.
+
+The Blackfoot found one of the small traps torn to pieces, probably by
+a bear, for he saw its tracks in the snow. He rebuilt the snare
+and baited it with parts of a rabbit he had shot. In one trap he
+discovered a skunk and in another a timber wolf. When he came in sight
+of the rendezvous, he was late.
+
+Jessie was not there. He waited half an hour in growing anxiety before
+he went to meet her. Night would fall soon. He must find her while it
+was still light enough to follow her tracks. The disasters that might
+have fallen upon her crowded his mind. A bear might have attacked her.
+She might be lost or tangled in the swampy muskeg. Perhaps she had
+accidentally shot herself.
+
+As swiftly as he could he snowshoed through the forest, following the
+plain trail she had left. It carried him to a trap from which she had
+taken prey, for it was newly baited and the snow was sprinkled with
+blood. Before he reached the second gin, the excitement in him
+quickened. Some one in snowshoes had cut her path and had deflected
+to pursue. Onistah knew that the one following was a white man. The
+points of the shoes toed out. Crees toed in, just the same on webs as
+in moccasins.
+
+His imagination was active. What white man had any business in these
+woods? Why should he leave that business to overtake Jessie McRae?
+Onistah did not quite know why he was worried, but involuntarily he
+quickened his pace.
+
+Less than a quarter of a mile farther on, he read another chapter of
+the story written in the trampled snow. There had been a struggle. His
+mistress had been overpowered. He could see where she had been flung
+into a white bank and dragged out of it. She had tried to run and had
+got hardly a dozen yards before recapture. From that point the tracks
+moved forward in a straight line, those of the smaller webs blotted
+out by the ones made by the larger. The man was driving the girl
+before him.
+
+Who was he? Where was he taking her? For what purpose? Onistah could
+not guess. He knew that McRae had made enemies, as any forceful
+character on the frontier must. The Scotchman had kicked out lazy
+ne'er-do-wells from his camp. As a free trader he had matched himself
+against the Hudson's Bay Company. But of those at war with him few
+would stoop to revenge themselves on his daughter. The Blackfoot had
+not heard of the recent trouble between Whaley and the McRaes, nor had
+the word reached him that Bully West was free again. Wherefore he was
+puzzled at what the signs on the snow told him.
+
+Yet he knew he had read them correctly. The final proof of it to him
+was that Jessie broke trail and not the man. If he were a friend he
+would lead the way. He was at her heels because he wanted to make sure
+that she did not try to escape or to attack him.
+
+The tracks led down into the muskeg. It was spitting snow, but he had
+no difficulty in seeing where the trail led from hummock to hummock in
+the miry earth. The going here was difficult, for the thick moss was
+full of short, stiff brush that caught the webbed shoes and tripped
+the traveler. It was hard to find level footing. The mounds were
+uneven, and more than once Onistah plunged knee-deep from one into the
+swamp.
+
+He crossed the muskeg and climbed an ascent into the woods, swinging
+sharply to the right. There was no uncertainty as to the direction of
+the tracks in the snow. If they veered for a few yards, it was only to
+miss a tree or to circle down timber. Whoever he might be, the man who
+had taken Jessie prisoner knew exactly where he was going.
+
+The Blackfoot knew by the impressions of the webs that he was a large,
+heavy man. Once or twice he saw stains of tobacco juice on the snow.
+The broken bits of a whiskey-bottle flung against a tree did not tend
+to reassure him.
+
+He saw smoke. It came from a tangle of undergrowth in a depression of
+the forest. Very cautiously, with the patience of his race, he circled
+round the cabin through the timber and crept up to it on hands and
+knees. Every foot of the way he took advantage of such cover as was to
+be had.
+
+The window was a small, single-paned affair built in the end opposite
+the door. Onistah edged close to it and listened. He heard the drone
+of voices, one heavy and snarling, another low and persuasive.
+
+His heart jumped at the sound of a third voice, a high-pitched treble.
+He would have known it among a thousand. It had called to him in
+the swirl of many a wind-swept storm. He had heard it on the long
+traverse, in the stillness of the lone night, at lakeside camps built
+far from any other human being. His imagination had heard it on
+the summer breeze as he paddled across a sun-drenched lake in his
+birch-bark canoe.
+
+The Blackfoot raised his head till he could look through the window.
+
+Jessie McRae sat on a stool facing him. Two men were in the room. One
+strode heavily up and down while the other watched him warily.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+ON THE FRONTIER OF DESPAIR
+
+
+The compulsion of life had denied Jessie the niceness given girls by
+the complexities of modern civilization. She had been brought up close
+to raw stark nature. The habits of animals were familiar to her and
+the vices of the biped man.
+
+A traveler in the sub-Arctic is forced by the deadly cold of the North
+into a near intimacy of living with his fellows. Jessie had more than
+once taken a long sled journey with her father. On one occasion she
+had slept in a filthy Indian wigwam with a dozen natives all breathing
+the same foul, unventilated air. Again she had huddled up against the
+dogs, with her father and two French half-breeds, to keep in her the
+spark of life a blizzard's breath was trying to blow out.
+
+On such a trip some of the common decencies of existence are dropped.
+The extreme low temperature makes it impossible for one to wash either
+face or hands without the skin chapping and breaking. Food at which
+one would revolt under other circumstances is devoured eagerly.
+
+Jessie was the kind of girl such a life had made her, with
+modifications in the direction of fineness induced by McRae's sturdy
+character, her schooling at Winnipeg, and the higher plane of the
+family standard. As might have been expected, she had courage, energy,
+and that quality of decisive action bred by primitive conditions.
+
+But she had retained, too, a cleanness of spirit hardly to be looked
+for in such a primeval daughter of Eve. Her imagination and her
+reading had saved the girl's sweet modesty. A certain detachment made
+it possible for her to ignore the squalor of the actual and see it
+only as a surface triviality, to let her mind dwell in inner concepts
+of goodness and beauty while bestiality crossed the path she trod.
+
+So when she found in one of the gins a lynx savage with the pain of
+bruised flesh and broken bone snapped by the jaws of the trap,
+the girl did what needed to be done swiftly and with a minimum of
+reluctance.
+
+She was close to the second trap when the sound of webs slithering
+along the snow brought her up short. Her first thought was that
+Onistah had changed his mind and followed her, but as soon as the
+snowshoer came out of the thick timber, she saw that he was not an
+Indian.
+
+He was a huge man, and he bulked larger by reason of the heavy furs
+that enveloped him. His rate of travel was rapid enough, but there was
+about the gait an awkward slouch that reminded her of a grizzly. Some
+sullenness of temperament seemed to find expression in the fellow's
+movements.
+
+The hood of his fur was drawn well forward over the face. He wore blue
+glasses, as a protection against snow-blindness apparently. Jessie
+smiled, judging him a tenderfoot; for except in March and April there
+is small danger of the sun glare which destroys sight. Yet he hardly
+looked like a newcomer to the North. For one thing he used the web
+shoes as an expert does. Before he stopped beside her, she was
+prepared to revise a too hasty opinion.
+
+Jessie recoiled at the last moment, even before she recognized him. It
+was too late to take precautions now. He caught her by the wrist and
+tore off his glasses, at the same time shaking back the hood.
+
+"Glad to death to meet up with you, missie," he grinned evilly through
+broken, tobacco-stained teeth.
+
+The blood drenched out of her heart. She looked at the man, silent
+and despairing. His presence here could mean to her nothing less than
+disaster. The girl's white lips tried to frame words they could not
+utter.
+
+"Took by surprise, ain't you?" he jeered. "But plumb pleased to see
+old Bully West again, eh? It's a damn long lane that ain't got a crook
+in it somewheres. An' here we are at the turn together, jus' you'n'
+me, comfy, like I done promised it would be when I last seen you."
+
+She writhed in a swift, abortive attempt to break his hold.
+
+He threw back his head in a roar of laughter, then with a twist of his
+fingers brought his captive to the knees.
+
+Sharp teeth flashed in a gleam of white. He gave a roar of pain and
+tore away his hand. She had bit him savagely in the wrist, as she had
+once done with another man on a memorable occasion.
+
+"Goddlemighty!" he bellowed. "You damn li'l' hell-cat!"
+
+She was on her feet and away instantly. But one of the snowshoes had
+come off in the struggle. At each step she took the left foot plunged
+through the white crust and impeded progress.
+
+In a dozen strides he had reached her. A great arm swung round and
+buffeted the runner on the side of the head. The blow lifted the girl
+from her feet and flung her into a drift two yards away.
+
+She looked up, dazed from the shock. The man was standing over her, a
+huge, threatening, ill-shaped Colossus.
+
+"Get up!" he ordered harshly, and seized her by the shoulder.
+
+She found herself on her feet, either because she had risen or because
+he had jerked her up. A ringing in the head and a nausea made for
+dizziness.
+
+"I'll learn you!" he exploded with curses. "Try that again an' I'll
+beat yore head off. You're Bully West's woman, un'erstand? When I say
+'Come!' step lively. When I say 'Go!' get a move on you."
+
+"I'll not." Despite her fear she faced him with spirit. "My friends
+are near. They'll come and settle, with you for this."
+
+He put a check on his temper. Very likely what she said was true. It
+was not reasonable to suppose that she was alone in the forest many
+miles from Faraway. She had come, of course, to look at the traps, but
+some one must have accompanied her. Who? And how many? The skulking
+caution of his wild-beast nature asserted itself. He had better play
+safe. Time enough to tame the girl when he had her deep in the Lone
+Lands far from any other human being except himself. Just now the
+first need was to put many miles between them and the inevitable
+pursuit.
+
+"Come," he said. "We'll go."
+
+She started back for the snowshoe that had been torn off. Beside it
+lay her rifle. If she could get hold of it again--
+
+The great hulk moved beside her, his thumb and fingers round the back
+of her neck. Before they reached the weapon, he twisted her aside so
+cruelly that a flame of pain ran down her spine. She cried out.
+
+He laughed as he stooped for the gun and the web. "Don' play none o'
+yore monkey tricks on Bully West. He knew it all 'fore you was born."
+
+The pressure of his grip swung Jessie to the left. He gave her a push
+that sent her reeling and flung at her the snowshoe.
+
+"Hump yoreself now."
+
+She knelt and adjusted the web. She would have fought if there had
+been the least chance of success. But there was none. Nor could she
+run away. The fellow was a callous, black-hearted ruffian. He would
+shoot her down rather than see her escape. If she became stubborn and
+refused to move, he would cheerfully torture her until she screamed
+with agony. There was nothing he would like better. No, for the
+present she must take orders.
+
+"Hit the trail, missie. Down past that big tree," he snapped.
+
+"Where are you taking me?"
+
+"Don't ask me questions. Do like I tell you."
+
+The girl took one look at his heavy, brutal face and did as she
+was told. Onistah would find her. When she did not show up at the
+rendezvous, he would follow her trail and discover that something was
+amiss. Good old Onistah never had failed her. He was true as tried
+steel and in all the North woods there was no better tracker.
+
+There would be a fight. If West saw him first, he would shoot the
+Blackfoot at sight. She did not need to guess that. He would do it for
+two reasons. The first was the general one that he did not want any of
+her friends to know where he was. The more specific one was that he
+already had a grudge against the young Indian that he would be glad to
+pay once for all.
+
+Jessie's one hope was that Onistah would hasten to the rescue. Yet she
+dreaded the moment of his coming. He was a gentle soul, one of Father
+Giguere's converts. It was altogether likely that he would walk into
+the camp of the escaped convict openly and become a victim of the
+murderer's guile. Onistah did not lack courage. He would fight if he
+had to do so. Indeed, she knew that he would go through fire to save
+her. But bravery was not enough. She could almost have wished that her
+foster-brother was as full of devilish treachery as the huge ape-man
+slouching at her heels. Then the chances of the battle would be more
+even.
+
+The desperado drove her down into the muskeg, directing the girl's
+course with a flow of obscene and ribald profanity.
+
+It is doubtful if she heard him. As her lithe, supple limbs carried
+her from one moss hump to another, she was busy with the problem of
+escape. She must get away soon. Every hour increased the danger. The
+sun would sink shortly. If she were still this ruffian's prisoner
+when the long Arctic night fell, she would suffer the tortures of the
+damned. She faced the fact squarely, though her cheeks blanched at the
+prospect and the heart inside her withered.
+
+From the sloping side of a hummock her foot slipped and she slid into
+the icy bog to her knees. Within a few minutes duffles and leggings
+were frozen and she was suffering at each step.
+
+Out of the muskeg they came into the woods. A flake of snow fell on
+Jessie's cheek and chilled her blood. For she knew that if it came on
+to snow before Onistah took the trail or even before he reached the
+place to which West was taking her, the chances of a rescue would be
+very much diminished. A storm would wipe out the tracks they had made.
+
+"Swing back o' the rock and into the brush," West growled. Then, as
+she took the narrow trail through the brush that had grown up among
+half a dozen small down trees, he barked a question: "Whadjasay yore
+Injun name was?"
+
+"My name is Jessie McRae," she answered with a flash of angry pride.
+"You know who I am--the daughter of Angus McRae. And if you do me any
+harm, he'll hunt you down and kill you like a wolf."
+
+He caught her by the arm and whirled the girl round. His big yellow
+canines snapped like tusks and he snarled at her through clenched
+jaws. "Did you hear yore master's voice? I said, what was yore squaw
+name?"
+
+She almost shrieked from the pain of his fingers' savage clutch into
+her flesh. The courage died out of her arteries.
+
+"Sleeping Dawn they called me."
+
+"Too long," he pronounced. "I'll call you Dawn." The sight of her
+terror of him, the foretaste of the triumph he was to enjoy, restored
+him for a moment to a brutal good-humor. "An' when I yell 'Dawn' at
+you o' mornin's, it'll be for you to hump yoreself an' git up to build
+the fires and rustle breakfast. I'll treat you fine if you behave, but
+if you git sulky, you'll taste the dog-whip. I'm boss. You'll have
+a heluva time if you don't come runnin' when I snap my fingers.
+Un'erstand?"
+
+She broke down in a wailing appeal to whatever good there was in him.
+"Let me go back to Father! I know you've broke prison. If you're good
+to me, he'll help you escape. You know he has friends everywhere.
+They'll hide you from the red-coats. He'll give you an outfit to get
+away--money--anything you want. Oh, let me go, and--and--"
+
+He grinned, and the sight of his evil mirth told her she had failed.
+
+"Didn't I tell you I'd git you right some day? Didn't I promise Angus
+McRae I'd pay him back aplenty for kickin' me outa his hide camp?
+Ain't you the lil' hell-cat that busted my whiskey-kegs, that ran to
+the red-coat spy an' told him where the cache was, that shot me up
+when I set out to dry-gulch him, as you might say? Where do you figure
+you got a license to expect Bully West to listen to Sunday-school pap
+about being good to you? You're my squaw, an' lucky at that you got a
+real two-fisted man. Hell's hinges! What's eatin' you?"
+
+"Never!" she cried. "It's true what I told you once. I'd rather die.
+Oh, if you've got a spark of manhood in you, don't make me kill
+myself. I'm just a girl. If I ever did you wrong, I'm sorry. I'll make
+it right. My father--"
+
+"Listen." His raucous voice cut through her entreaties. "I've heard
+more'n plenty about McRae. All I want o' him is to get a bead on
+him once with a rifle. Get me? Now this other talk--about killin'
+yoreself--nothin' to it a-tall. Go to it if tha's how you feel. Yore
+huntin'-knife's right there in yore belt." He reached forward and
+plucked it from its sheath, then handed it to her blade first,
+stepping back a pace at once to make sure she did not use it on him.
+"You got yore chance now. Kill away. I'll stand right here an' see
+nobody interferes with you."
+
+She shifted the knife and gripped the handle. A tumult seethed in
+her brain. She saw nothing but that evil, grinning face, hideous and
+menacing. For a moment murder boiled up in her, red-hot and sinister.
+If she could kill him now as he stood jeering at her--drive the blade
+into that thick bull neck....
+
+The madness passed. She could not do it even if it were within
+her power. The urge to kill was not strong enough. It was not
+overwhelming. And in the next thought she knew, too, that she could
+not kill herself either. The blind need to live, the animal impulse of
+self-preservation, at whatever cost, whatever shame, was as yet more
+powerful than the horror of the fate impending.
+
+She flung the knife down into the snow in a fury of disgust and
+self-contempt.
+
+His head went back in a characteristic roar of revolting mirth. He had
+won. Bully West knew how to conquer 'em, no matter how wild they were.
+
+With feet dragging, head drooped, and spirits at the zero hour, Jessie
+moved down a ravine into sight of a cabin. Smoke rose from the chimney
+languidly.
+
+"Home," announced West.
+
+To the girl, at the edge of desperation, that log house appeared as
+the grave of her youth. All the pride and glory and joy that had made
+life so vital a thing were to be buried here. When next she came out
+into the sunlight she would be a broken creature--the property of this
+horrible caricature of a man.
+
+Her captor opened the door and pushed the girl inside.
+
+She stood on the threshold, eyes dilating, heart suddenly athrob with
+hope.
+
+A man sitting on a stool before the open fire turned his head to see
+who had come in.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+"MY DAMN PRETTY LI'L' HIGH-STEPPIN' SQUAW"
+
+
+The man on the stool was Whaley.
+
+One glance at the girl and one at West's triumphant gargoyle grin was
+enough. He understood the situation better than words could tell it.
+
+To Jessie, at this critical moment of her life, even Whaley seemed a
+God-send. She pushed across the room awkwardly, not waiting to free
+herself of the webs packed with snow. In the dusky eyes there was a
+cry for help.
+
+"Save me from him!" she cried simply, as a child might have done. "You
+will, won't you?"
+
+The black eyebrows in the cold, white face drew to a line. The
+gambler's gaze, expressionless as a blank wall, met hers steadily.
+
+"Why don't you send for your friend Morse?" he asked. "He's in that
+business. I ain't."
+
+It was as though he had struck her in the face. The eyes that clung to
+his we're horror-filled. Did there really live men so heartless that
+they would not lift a hand to snatch a child from a ferocious wolf?
+
+West's laughter barked out, rapacious and savage. "She's mine, jus'
+like I said she'd be. My damn pretty li'l' high-steppin' squaw."
+
+His partner looked at him bleakly. "Oh, she's yours, is she?"
+
+"You bet yore boots. I'll show her--make her eat outa my hand,"
+boasted the convict.
+
+"Will you show McRae too--and all his friends, as well as the
+North-West Mounted? Will you make 'em all eat out of your hands?"
+
+"Whadjamean?"
+
+"Why, I had a notion you were loaded up with trouble and didn't need
+to hunt more," sneered the gambler. "I had a notion the red-coats were
+on your heels to take you across the plains to hang you."
+
+"I'll learn 'em about that," the huge fugitive bragged. "They say
+I'm a killer. Let it ride. I'll sure enough let 'em see they're good
+guessers."
+
+Whaley shrugged his shoulders and looked at him with cold contempt.
+"You've got a bare chance for a getaway if you travel light and fast.
+I'd want long odds to back it," he said coolly.
+
+"Tha's a heluva thing to tell a friend," West snarled.
+
+"It's the truth. Take it or leave it. But if you try to bull this
+through your own way and don't let me run it, you're done for."
+
+"How done for?"
+
+The gambler did not answer. He turned to Jessie. "Unless you want your
+feet to freeze, you'd better get those duffles off."
+
+The girl took off her mits and tried to unfasten the leggings after
+she had kicked the snowshoes from her feet. But her stiff fingers
+could not loosen the knots.
+
+The free trader stooped and did it for her while West watched him
+sulkily. Jessie unwound the cloth and removed moccasins and duffles.
+She sat barefooted before the fire, but not too close.
+
+"If they're frozen I'll get snow," Whaley offered.
+
+"They're not frozen, thank you," she answered.
+
+"Whadjamean done for?" repeated West.
+
+His partner's derisive, scornful eye rested on him. "Use your brains,
+man. The Mounted are after you hot and heavy. You know their record.
+They get the man they go after. Take this fellow Beresford, the one
+that jugged you."
+
+The big ruffian shook a furious fist in the air. "Curse him!" he
+shouted, and added a dozen crackling oaths.
+
+"Curse him and welcome," Whaley replied. "But don't fool yourself
+about him. He's a go-getter. Didn't he go up Peace River after Pierre
+Poulette? Didn't he drag him back with cuffs on 'most a year later?
+That's what you've got against you, three hundred red-coats like him."
+
+"You tryin' to scare me?" demanded West sullenly.
+
+"I'm trying to hammer some common sense into your head. Your chance
+for a safe getaway rests on one thing. You've got to have friends in
+the Lone Lands who'll hide you till you can slip out of the country.
+Can you do that if the trappers--friends of McRae, nearly all of
+'em--carry the word of what you did to this girl?"
+
+"I'm gonna take her with me." West stuck doggedly to his idea. He knew
+what he wanted. His life was forfeit, anyhow. He might as well go
+through to a finish.
+
+From where she sat before the great fire Jessie's whisper reached
+Whaley. "Don't let him, please." It was an ineffective little wail
+straight from the heart.
+
+Whaley went on, as though he had not heard. "It's your deal, not mine.
+I'm just telling you. Take this girl along, and your life's not worth
+a plugged nickel."
+
+"Hell's hinges! In two days she'll be crazy about me. Tha's how I am
+with women."
+
+"In two days she'll hate the ground you walk on, if she hasn't killed
+herself or you by that time."
+
+Waves of acute pain were pricking into Jessie's legs from the pink
+toes to the calves. She was massaging them to restore circulation and
+had to set her teeth to keep from crying.
+
+But her subconscious mind was wholly on what passed between the men.
+She knew that Whaley was trying to reestablish over the other the
+mental dominance he had always held. It was a frail enough tenure, no
+doubt, likely to be upset at any moment by vanity, suspicion, or heady
+gusts of passion. In it, such as it was, lay a hope. Watching the
+gambler's cold, impassive face, the stony look in the poker eyes, she
+judged him tenacious and strong-willed. For reasons of his own he was
+fighting her battle. He had no intention of letting West take her with
+him.
+
+Why? What was the motive in the back of his mind? She acquitted the
+man of benevolence. If his wishes chanced to march with hers, it was
+because of no altruism. He held a bitter grudge against Angus McRae
+and incidentally against her for the humiliation of his defeat at the
+hands of Morse. To satisfy this he had only to walk out of the house
+and leave her to an ugly fate. Why did he not do this? Was he playing
+a deep game of his own in which she was merely a pawn?
+
+She turned the steaming duffles over on the mud hearth to dry the
+other side. She drew back the moccasins and the leggings that the heat
+might not scorch them. The sharp pain waves still beat into her feet
+and up her limbs. To change her position she drew up a stool and sat
+on it. This she had pushed back to a corner of the fireplace.
+
+For Bully West was straddling up and down the room, a pent volcano
+ready to explode. He knew Whaley's advice was good. It would be
+suicide to encumber himself with this girl in his flight. But he had
+never disciplined his desires. He wanted her. He meant to take her.
+Passion, the lust for revenge, the bully streak in him that gloated at
+the sight of some one young and fine trembling before him: all these
+were factors contributing to the same end. By gar, he would have what
+he had set his mind on, no matter what Whaley said.
+
+Jessie knew the fellow was dangerous as a wounded buffalo bull in a
+corral. He would have his way if he had to smash and trample down
+any one that opposed him. Her eyes moved to Whaley's black-browed,
+bloodless face. How far would the gambler go in opposition to the
+other?
+
+As her glance shifted back to West, it was arrested at the window.
+The girl's heart lost a beat, then sang a paean of joy. For the
+copper-colored face of Onistah was framed in the pane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+A FORETASTE OF HELL
+
+
+Jessie's eyes flew to West and to Whaley. As yet neither of them had
+seen the Blackfoot. She raised a hand and pretended to brush back a
+lock of hair.
+
+The Indian recognized it as a signal that she had seen him. His head
+disappeared.
+
+Thoughts in the girl's mind raced. If Winthrop Beresford or Tom Morse
+had been outside instead of Onistah, she would not have attempted to
+give directions. Either of them would have been more competent than
+she to work out the problem. But the Blackfoot lacked initiative. He
+would do faithfully whatever he was told to do, but any independent
+action attempted by him was likely to be indecisive. She could not
+conceive of Onistah holding his own against two such men as these
+except by slaughtering them from the window before they knew he was
+there. He had not in him sufficient dominating ego.
+
+Whaley was an unknown quantity. It was impossible to foresee how he
+would accept the intrusion of Onistah. Since he was playing his own
+game, the chances are that he would resent it. In West's case there
+could be no doubt. If it was necessary to his plans, he would not
+hesitate an instant to kill the Indian.
+
+Reluctantly, she made up her mind to send him back to Faraway for
+help. He would travel fast. Within five hours at the outside he ought
+to be back with her father or Beresford. Surely, with Whaley on her
+side, she ought to be safe till then.
+
+She caught sight of Onistah again, his eyes level with the
+window-sill. He was waiting for instructions.
+
+Jessie gave them to him straight and plain. She spoke to Whaley, but
+for the Blackfoot's ear.
+
+"Bring my father here. At once. I want him. Won't you, please?"
+
+Whaley's blank poker stare focused on her. "The last word I had from
+Angus McRae was to keep out of your affairs. I can take a hint without
+waiting for a church to fall on me. Get some one else to take your
+messages."
+
+"If you're going back to town I thought--perhaps--you'd tell him how
+much I need him," she pleaded. "Then he'd come--right away."
+
+Onistah's head vanished. He knew what he had to do and no doubt was
+already on the trail. Outside it was dark. She could hear the swirling
+of the wind and the beat of sleet against the window-pane. A storm was
+rising. She prayed it might not be a blizzard. Weather permitting, her
+father should be here by eight or nine o'clock.
+
+West, straddling past, snarled at her. "Get Angus McRae outa yore
+head. Him an' you's come to the partin' o' the ways. You're travelin'
+with me now. Un'erstand?"
+
+His partner, sneering coldly, offered a suggestion. "If you expect
+to travel far you'd better get your webs to hitting snow. This girl
+wasn't out looking at the traps all by herself. Her trail leads
+straight here. Her friends are probably headed this way right now."
+
+"Tha's right." West stopped in his stride. His slow brain stalled.
+"What d' you reckon I better do? If there's only one or two we
+might--"
+
+"No," vetoed Whaley. "Nothing like that. Your play is to get out. And
+keep getting out when they crowd you. No killing."
+
+"Goddlemighty, I'm a wolf, not a rabbit. If they crowd me, I'll sure
+pump lead," the desperado growled. Then, "D' you mean light out
+to-night?"
+
+"To-night."
+
+"Where'll I go?"
+
+"Porcupine Creek, I'd say. There's an old cabin there Jacques Perritot
+used to live in. The snow'll blot out our tracks."
+
+"You goin' too?"
+
+"I'll see you that far," Whaley answered briefly.
+
+"Better bring down the dogs from the coulee, then."
+
+The gambler looked at him with the cool insolence that characterized
+him. "When did I hire out as your flunkey, West?"
+
+The outlaw's head was thrust forward and down. He glared at his
+partner, who met this manifestation of anger with hard eyes into which
+no expression crept. West was not insane enough to alienate his last
+ally. He drew back sullenly.
+
+"All right. I'll go, since you're so particular." As his heavy body
+swung round awkwardly, the man's eyes fell on Jessie. She had
+lifted one small foot and was starting to pull on one of the duffle
+stockings. He stood a moment, gloating over the beautifully shaped
+ankle and lower limb, then slouched forward and snatched her up from
+the stool into his arms.
+
+His savage, desirous eyes had given her an instant's warning. She was
+half up before his arms, massive as young trees, dragged her into his
+embrace.
+
+"But before I go I'll have a kiss from my squaw," he roared. "Just to
+show her that Bully West has branded her and claims ownership."
+
+She fought, fiercely, desperately, pushing against his rough bearded
+face and big barrel chest with all the force in her lithe young body.
+She was as a child to him. His triumphant laughter pealed as he
+crushed her warm soft trunk against his own and buried her in his
+opened coat. With an ungentle hand he forced round the averted head
+till the fear-filled eyes met his.
+
+"Kiss yore man," he ordered.
+
+The girl said nothing. She still struggled to escape, using every
+ounce of strength she possessed.
+
+The fury of her resistance amused him. He laughed again, throwing back
+the heavy bristling jaw in a roar of mirth.
+
+"Yore man--yore master," he amended.
+
+He smothered her with his foul kisses, ravished her lips, her eyes,
+the soft hot cheeks, the oval of the chin, and the lovely curve of
+the throat. She was physically nauseated when he flung her from him
+against the wall and strode from the room with another horrible whoop
+of exultation.
+
+She clung to the wall, panting, eyes closed. A shocking sense of
+degradation flooded her soul. She felt as though she were drowning in
+it, fathoms deep. Her lids fluttered open and she saw the gambler. He
+was still sitting on the stool. A mocking, cynical smile was in the
+eyes that met Jessie's.
+
+"And Tom Morse--where, oh, where is he?" the man jeered.
+
+A chill shook her. Dry sobs welled up in her throat. She was lost.
+For the first time she knew the cold clutch of despair at her heart.
+Whaley did not intend to lift a hand for her. He had sat there and let
+West work his will.
+
+"Angus McRae gave me instructions aplenty," he explained maliciously.
+"I was to keep my hands off you. I was to mind my own business. When
+you see him again--if you ever do--will you tell him I did exactly as
+he said?"
+
+She did not answer. What was there to say? In the cabin was no sound
+except that of her dry, sobbing breath.
+
+Whaley rose and came across the room. He had thrown aside the
+gambler's mask of impassivity. His eyes were shining strangely.
+
+"I'm going--now--out into the storm. What about you? If you're here
+when West comes back, you know what it means. Make your choice. Will
+you go with me or stay with him?"
+
+"You're going home?"
+
+"Yes." His smile was enigmatic. It carried neither warmth nor
+conviction.
+
+The man had played his cards well. He had let West give her a
+foretaste of the hell in store for her. Anything rather than that, she
+thought. And surely Whaley would take her home. He was no outlaw, but
+a responsible citizen who must go back to Faraway to live. He had to
+face her father and Winthrop Beresford of the Mounted--and Tom Morse.
+He would not harm her. He dared not.
+
+But she took one vain precaution. "You promise to take me to my
+father. You'll not--be like him." A lift of the head indicated the man
+who had just gone out.
+
+"He's a fool. I'm not. That's the difference." He shrugged his
+shoulders. "Make your own choice. If you'd rather stay here--"
+
+But she had made it. She was getting hurriedly into her furs and was
+putting on her mittens. Already she had adjusted the snowshoes.
+
+"We'd better hurry," she urged. "He might come back."
+
+"It'll be bad luck for him if he does," the gambler said coolly. "You
+ready?"
+
+She nodded that she was.
+
+In another moment they were out of the warm room and into the storm.
+The wind was coming in whistling gusts, carrying with it a fine sleet
+that whipped the face and stung the eyeballs. Before she had been out
+in the storm five minutes, Jessie had lost all sense of direction.
+
+Whaley was an expert woodsman. He plunged into the forest, without
+hesitation, so surely that she felt he must know where he was going.
+The girl followed at his heels, head down against the blast.
+
+Before this day she had not for months taken a long trip on webs. Leg
+muscles, called into use without training, were sore and stiff. In the
+darkness the soft snow piled up on the shoes. Each step became a drag.
+The lacings and straps lacerated her tender flesh till she knew her
+duffles were soaked with blood. More than once she dropped back so far
+that she lost sight of Whaley. Each time he came back with words of
+encouragement and good cheer.
+
+"Not far now," he would promise. "Across a little bog and then camp.
+Keep coming."
+
+Once he found her sitting on the snow, her back to a tree.
+
+"You'd better go on alone. I'm done," she told him drearily.
+
+He was not angry at her. Nor did he bully or browbeat.
+
+"Tough sledding," he said gently. "But we're 'most there. Got to keep
+going. Can't quit now."
+
+He helped Jessie to her feet and led the way down into a spongy
+morass. The brush slapped her face. It caught in the meshes of her
+shoes and flung her down. The miry earth, oozing over the edges of the
+frames, clogged her feet and clung to them like pitch.
+
+Whaley did his best to help, but when at last she crept up to the
+higher ground beyond the bog every muscle ached with fatigue.
+
+They were almost upon it before she saw a log cabin looming out of the
+darkness.
+
+She sank on the floor exhausted. Whaley disappeared into the storm
+again. Sleepily she wondered where he was going. She must have dozed,
+for when her eyes next reported to the brain, there was a brisk fire
+of birch bark burning and her companion was dragging broken bits of
+dead and down timber into the house.
+
+"Looks like she's getting her back up for a blizzard. Better have
+plenty of fuel in," he explained.
+
+"Where are we?" she asked drowsily.
+
+"Cabin on Bull Creek," he answered. "Better get off your footwear."
+
+While she did this her mind woke to activity. Why had he brought her
+here? They had no food. How would they live if a blizzard blew up and
+snowed them in? And even if they had supplies, how could she live
+alone for days with this man in a cabin eight by ten?
+
+As though he guessed what was in her mind, he answered plausibly
+enough one of the questions.
+
+"No chance to reach Faraway. Too stormy. It was neck or nothing. Had
+to take what we could get."
+
+"What'll we do if--if there's a blizzard?" she asked timidly.
+
+"Sit tight."
+
+"Without food?"
+
+"If it lasts too long, I'll have to wait for a lull and make a try for
+Faraway. No use worrying. We can't help what's coming. Got to face the
+music."
+
+Her eyes swept the empty cabin. No bed. No table. One home-made
+three-legged stool. A battered kettle. It was an uninviting prospect,
+even if she had not had to face possible starvation while she was
+caged with a stranger who might any minute develop wolfish hunger for
+her as he had done only forty-eight hours before.
+
+He did not look at her steadily. His gaze was in the red glow of the
+fire a good deal. She talked, and he answered in monosyllables. When
+he looked at her, his eyes glowed with the hot red light reflected
+from the fire, Live coals seemed to burn in them.
+
+In spite of the heat a little shiver ran down her spine.
+
+Silence became too significant. She was afraid of it. So she talked,
+persistently, at times a little hysterically. Her memory was good. If
+she liked a piece of poetry, she could learn it by reading it over
+a few times. So, in her desperation, she "spoke pieces" to this man
+whose face was a gray mask, just as the girls had done at her school
+in Winnipeg.
+
+Often, at night camps, she had recited for her father. If she had no
+dramatic talent, at least she had a sweet, clear voice, an earnestness
+that never ranted, and some native or acquired skill in handling
+inflections.
+
+"Do you like Shakespeare?" she asked. "My father's very fond of him.
+I know parts of several of the plays. 'Henry V' now. That's good.
+There's a bit where he's talking to his soldiers before they fight the
+French. Would you like that?"
+
+"Go on," he said gruffly, sultry eyes on the fire.
+
+With a good deal of spirit she flung out the gallant lines. He began
+to watch her, vivid, eager, so pathetically anxious to entertain him
+with her small stock of wares.
+
+  "But, if it be a sin to covet honor,
+  I am the most offending soul alive."
+
+There was about her a quality very fine and taking. He caught it first
+in those two lines, and again when her full young voice swelled to
+English Harry's prophecy.
+
+  "And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
+  From this day to the ending of the world,
+  But we in it shall be remembered.
+  We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
+  For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
+  Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
+  This day shall gentle his condition:
+  And gentlemen in England now abed
+  Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
+  And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
+  That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."
+
+As he watched her, old memories stirred in him. He had come from a
+good family in the Western Reserve, where he had rough-and-tumbled up
+through the grades into High School. After a year here he had gone
+to a Catholic School, Sacred Heart College, and had studied for the
+priesthood. He recalled his mother, a gentle, white-haired old lady,
+with fond pride in him; his father, who had been the soul of honor. By
+some queer chance she had lit on the very lines that he had learned
+from the old school reader and recited before an audience the last day
+prior to vacation.
+
+He woke from his reveries to discover that she was giving him
+Tennyson, that fragment from "Guinevere" when Arthur tells her of the
+dream her guilt has tarnished. And as she spoke there stirred in him
+the long-forgotten aspirations of his youth.
+
+  "... for indeed I knew
+  Of no more subtle master under heaven
+  Than is the maiden passion for a maid,
+  Not only to keep down the base in man,
+  But teach high thought and amiable words
+  And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
+  And love of truth, and all that makes a man."
+
+His eyes were no longer impassive. There was in them, for the moment
+at least, a hunted, haggard look. He saw himself as he was, in a blaze
+of light that burned down to his very soul.
+
+And he saw her too transformed--not a half-breed, the fair prey of any
+man's passion, but a clean, proud, high-spirited white girl who lived
+in the spirit as well as the flesh.
+
+"You're tired. Better lie down and sleep," he told her, very gently.
+
+Jessie looked at him, and she knew she was safe. She might sleep
+without fear. This man would not harm her any more than Beresford
+or Morse would have done. Some chemical change had occurred in his
+thoughts that protected her. She did not know what it was, but her
+paean of prayer went up to heaven in a little rush of thanksgiving.
+
+She did not voice her gratitude to him. But the look she gave him was
+more expressive than words.
+
+Out of the storm a voice raucous and profane came to them faintly.
+
+"Ah, crapaud Wulf, pren' garde. Yeu-oh! (To the right!) Git down to
+it, Fox. Sacre demon! Cha! Cha! (To the left!)"
+
+Then the crack of a whip and a volley of oaths.
+
+The two in the cabin looked at each other. One was white to the lips.
+The other smiled grimly. It was the gambler that spoke their common
+thought.
+
+"Bully West, by all that's holy!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+WEST MAKES A DECISION
+
+
+Came to those in the cabin a string of oaths, the crack of a whip
+lashing out savagely, and the yelps of dogs from a crouching, cowering
+team.
+
+Whaley slipped a revolver from his belt to the right-hand pocket of
+his fur coat.
+
+The door burst open. A man stood on the threshold, a huge figure
+crusted with snow, beard and eyebrows ice-matted. He looked like the
+storm king who had ridden the gale out of the north. This on the
+outside, at a first glance only. For the black scowl he flung at his
+partner was so deadly that it seemed to come red-hot from a furnace of
+hate and evil passion.
+
+"Run to earth!" he roared. "Thought you'd hole up, you damned fox,
+where I wouldn't find you. Thought you'd give Bully West the slip,
+you'n' that li'l' hell-cat. Talk about Porcupine Creek, eh? Tried to
+send me mushin' over there while you'n' her--"
+
+What the fellow said sent a hot wave creeping over the girl's face to
+the roots of her hair. The gambler did not speak, but his eyes, filmed
+and wary, never lifted from the other's bloated face.
+
+"Figured I'd forget the ol' whiskey cache, eh? Figured you could gimme
+the double-cross an' git away with it? Hell's hinges, Bully West's no
+fool! He's forgot more'n you ever knew."
+
+The man swaggered forward, the lash of the whip trailing across the
+puncheon floor. Triumph rode in his voice and straddled in his gait.
+He stood with his back to the fireplace absorbing heat, hands behind
+him and feet set wide. His eyes gloated over the victims he had
+trapped. Presently he would settle with both of them.
+
+"Not a word to say for yoreselves, either one o' you," he jeered.
+"Good enough. I'll do what talkin' 's needed, then I'll strip the hide
+off'n both o' you." With a flirt of the arm he sent the lash of the
+dog-whip snaking out toward Jessie.
+
+She shrank back against the wall, needlessly. It was a threat, not an
+attack; a promise of what was to come.
+
+"Let her alone." They were the first words Whaley had spoken. In his
+soft, purring voice they carried out the suggestion of his crouched
+tenseness. If West was the grizzly bear, the other was the forest
+panther, more feline, but just as dangerous.
+
+The convict looked at him, eyes narrowed, head thrust forward and
+down. "What's that?"
+
+"I said to let her alone."
+
+West's face heliographed amazement. "Meanin'--?"
+
+"Meaning exactly what I say. You'll not touch her."
+
+It was a moment before this flat defiance reached the brain of the big
+man through the penumbra of his mental fog. When it did, he strode
+across the room with the roar of a wild animal and snatched the girl
+to him. He would show whether any one could come between him and his
+woman.
+
+In three long steps Whaley padded across the floor. Something cold and
+round pressed against the back of the outlaw's tough red neck.
+
+"Drop that whip."
+
+The order came in a low-voiced imperative. West hesitated. This
+man--his partner--would surely never shoot him about such a trifle.
+Still--
+
+"What's eatin' you?" he growled. "Put up that gun. You ain't fool
+enough to shoot."
+
+"Think that hard enough and you'll never live to know better. Hands
+off the girl."
+
+The slow brain of West functioned. He had been taken wholly by
+surprise, but as his cunning mind Worked the situation out, he saw how
+much it would be to Whaley's profit to get rid of him. The gambler
+would get the girl and the reward for West's destruction. He would
+inherit his share of their joint business and would reinstate himself
+as a good citizen with the Mounted and with McRae's friends.
+
+Surlily the desperado yielded. "All right, if you're so set on it."
+
+"Drop the whip."
+
+The fingers of West opened and the handle fell to the floor. Deftly
+the other removed a revolver from its place under the outlaw's left
+armpit.
+
+West glared at him. That moment the fugitive made up his mind that he
+would kill Whaley at the first good opportunity. A tide of poisonous
+hatred raced through his veins. Its expression but not its virulence
+was temporarily checked by wholesome fear. He must be careful that the
+gambler did not get him first.
+
+His voice took on a whine intended for good-fellowship. "I reckon
+I was too pre-emtory. O' course I was sore the way you two left me
+holdin' the sack. Any one would 'a' been now, wouldn't they? But no
+use friends fallin' out. We got to make the best of things."
+
+Whaley's chill face did not warm. He knew the man with whom he was
+dealing. When he began to butter his phrases, it was time to look out
+for him. He would forget that his partner had brought him from Faraway
+a dog-team with which to escape, that he was supplying him with funds
+to carry him through the winter. He would remember only that he had
+balked and humiliated him.
+
+"Better get into the house the stuff from the sled," the gambler said.
+"And we'll rustle wood. No telling how long this storm'll last."
+
+"Tha's right," agreed West. "When I saw them sun dogs to-day I figured
+we was in for a blizzard. Too bad you didn't outfit me for a longer
+trip."
+
+A gale was blowing from the north, carrying on its whistling breath
+a fine hard sleet that cut the eyeballs like powdered glass. The men
+fought their way to the sled and wrestled with the knots of the frozen
+ropes that bound the load. The lumps of ice that had gathered round
+these had to be knocked off with hammers before they could be freed.
+When they staggered into the house with their packs, both men
+were half-frozen. Their hands were so stiff that the fingers were
+jointless.
+
+They stopped only long enough to limber up the muscles. Whaley handed
+to Jessie the revolver he had taken from West.
+
+"Keep this," he said. His look was significant. It told her that in
+the hunt for wood he might be blinded by the blizzard and lost. If he
+failed to return and West came back alone, she would know what to do
+with it.
+
+Into the storm the two plunged a second time. They carried ropes and
+an axe. Since West had arrived, the gale had greatly increased. The
+wind now was booming in deep, sullen roars and the temperature had
+fallen twenty degrees already. The sled dogs were nowhere to be seen
+or heard. They had burrowed down into the snow where the house would
+shelter them from the hurricane as much as possible.
+
+The men reached the edge of the creek. They struggled in the frozen
+drifts with such small dead trees as they could find. In the darkness
+Whaley used the axe as best he could at imminent risk to his legs.
+Though they worked only a few feet apart, they had to shout to make
+their voices carry.
+
+"We better be movin' back," West called through his open palms. "We
+got all we can haul."
+
+They roped the wood and dragged it over the snow in the direction
+they knew the house to be. Presently they found the sled and from it
+deflected toward the house.
+
+Jessie had hot tea waiting for them. They kicked off their webs and
+piled the salvaged wood into the other end of the cabin, after which
+they hunkered down before the fire to drink tea and eat pemmican and
+bannocks.
+
+They had with them about fifty pounds of frozen fish for the dogs and
+provisions enough to last the three of them four or five meals. Whaley
+had brought West supplies enough to carry him only to Lookout, where
+he was to stock for a long traverse into the wilds.
+
+As the hours passed there grew up between the gambler and the girl a
+tacit partnership of mutual defense. No word was spoken of it, but
+each knew that the sulky brute in the chimney corner was dangerous. He
+would be held by no scruples of conscience, no laws of friendship or
+decency. If the chance came he would strike.
+
+The storm raged and howled. It flung itself at the cabin with what
+seemed a ravenous and implacable fury. The shriek of it was now
+like the skirling of a thousand bagpipes, again like the wailing of
+numberless lost souls.
+
+Inside, West snored heavily, his ill-shaped head drooping on the big
+barrel chest of the man. Jessie slept while Whaley kept guard. Later
+she would watch in her turn.
+
+There were moments when the gale died down, but only to roar again
+with a frenzy of increased violence.
+
+The gray day broke and found the blizzard at its height.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+FOR THE WEE LAMB LOST
+
+
+Beresford, in front of the C.N. Morse & Company trading-post, watched
+his horse paw at the snow in search of grass underneath. It was a sign
+that the animal was prairie-bred. On the plains near the border grass
+cures as it stands, retaining its nutriment as hay. The native pony
+pushes the snow aside with its forefoot and finds its feed. But in the
+timber country of the North grass grows long and coarse. When its sap
+dries out, it rots.
+
+The officer was thinking that he had better put both horse and cariole
+up for the winter. It was time now for dogs and sled. Even in summer
+this was not a country for horses. There were so many lakes that a
+birch-bark canoe covered the miles faster.
+
+Darkness was sweeping down over the land, and with it the first flakes
+of a coming storm. Beresford had expected this, for earlier in the day
+he had seen two bright mock suns in the sky. The Indians had told
+him that these sun dogs were warnings of severe cold and probably a
+blizzard.
+
+Out of the edge of the forest a man on snowshoes came. He was moving
+fast. Beresford, watching him idly, noticed that he toed in. Therefore
+he was probably a Cree trapper. But the Crees were usually indolent
+travelers. They did not cover ground as this man was doing.
+
+The man was an Indian. The soldier presently certified his first guess
+as to that. But not until the native was almost at the store did he
+recognize him as Onistah.
+
+The Blackfoot wasted no time in leading up to what he had to say.
+"Sleeping Dawn she prisoner of Bully West and Whaley. She say bring
+her father. She tell me bring him quick"
+
+Beresford's body lost its easy grace instantly and became rigid. His
+voice rang with sharp authority.
+
+"Where is she?"
+
+"She at Jasper's cabin on Cache Creek. She frightened."
+
+As though the mention of Sleeping Dawn's name had reached him by some
+process of telepathy, Tom Morse had come out and stood in the door of
+the store. The trooper wheeled to him.
+
+"Get me a dog-team, Tom. That fellow West has got Jessie McRae with
+him on Cache Creek. We've got to move quick."
+
+The storekeeper felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his
+heart. He glanced up at the lowering night. "Storm brewing. We'll get
+started right away." Without a moment's delay he disappeared inside
+the store to make his preparations.
+
+Onistah carried the news to McRae.
+
+The blood washed out of the ruddy-whiskered face of the Scot, but his
+sole comment was a Scriptural phrase of faith. "I have been young, and
+now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken..."
+
+It was less than half an hour later that four men and a dog-train
+moved up the main street of Faraway and disappeared in the forest.
+Morse broke trail and McRae drove the tandem. Onistah, who had already
+traveled many miles, brought up the rear. The trooper exchanged places
+with Morse after an hour's travel.
+
+They were taking a short-cut and it led them through dead and down
+timber that delayed the party. Tom was a good axeman, and more than
+once he had to chop away obstructing logs. At other times by main
+strength the men lifted or dragged the sled over bad places.
+
+The swirling storm made it difficult to know where they were going or
+to choose the best way. They floundered through deep snow and heavy
+underbrush, faces bleeding from the whip of willow switches suddenly
+released and feet so torn by the straps of the snowshoes that the
+trail showed stains of blood which had soaked from the moccasins.
+
+Onistah, already weary, began to lag. They dared not wait for him.
+There was, they felt, not a moment to be lost. McRae's clean-shaven
+upper lip was a straight, grim surface. He voiced no fears, no doubts,
+but the others knew from their own anxiety how much he must be
+suffering.
+
+The gale increased. It drove in bitter blasts of fine stinging sleet.
+When for a few hundred yards they drew out of the thick forest into an
+open grove, it lashed them so furiously they could scarcely move in
+the teeth of it.
+
+The dogs were whimpering at their task. More than once they stopped,
+exhausted by the wind against which they were battling. Their eyes
+turned dumbly to McRae for instructions. He could only drive them back
+to the trail Morse was breaking.
+
+The train was one of the best in the North. The leader was a large
+St. Bernard, weighing about one hundred sixty pounds, intelligent,
+faithful, and full of courage. He stood thirty-four inches high at his
+fore shoulder. Not once did Cuffy falter. Even when the others quit,
+he was ready to put his weight to the load.
+
+Through the howling of the wind Beresford shouted into the ear of
+Morse. "Can't be far now. Question is can we find Jasper's in this
+blizzard."
+
+Morse shook his head. It did not seem likely. Far and near were words
+which had no meaning. A white, shrieking monster seemed to be hemming
+them in. Their world diminished to the space their outstretched arms
+could reach. The only guide they had was Cache Creek, along the bank
+of which they were traveling. Jasper's deserted cabin lay back from
+it a few hundred yards, but Tom had not any data to tell him when he
+ought to leave the creek.
+
+Cuffy solved the problem for him. The St. Bernard stopped, refused
+the trail Beresford and Morse were beating down in the deep snow. He
+raised his head, seemed to scent a haven, whined, and tried to plunge
+to the left.
+
+McRae came forward and shouted to his friends. "We'll gi'e Cuffy his
+head. He'll maybe ken mair than we do the nicht."
+
+The trail-breakers turned from the creek, occasionally stopping to
+make sure Cuffy was satisfied. Through heavy brush they forced a way
+into a coulee. The St. Bernard led them plump against the wall of a
+cabin.
+
+There was a light inside, the fitful, leaping glow of fire flames.
+The men stumbled through drifts to the door, McRae in the lead. The
+Scotchman found the latch and flung open the door. The other two
+followed him inside.
+
+The room was empty.
+
+At first they could not believe their eyes. It was not reasonable to
+suppose that any sane human beings would have left a comfortable house
+to face such a storm. But this was just what they must have done. The
+state of the fire, which was dying down to hot coals, told them it had
+not been replenished for hours. West and Whaley clearly had decided
+they were not safe here and had set out for another hiding-place.
+
+The men looked at each other in blank silence. The same thought was
+in the mind of all. For the present they must give up the pursuit.
+It would not be possible to try to carry on any farther in such
+a blizzard. Yet the younger men waited for McRae to come to his
+decision. If he called on them to do more, they would make a try with
+him.
+
+"We'll stay here," Angus said quietly. "Build up the fire, lads, and
+we'll cast back for Onistah."
+
+Neither of the others spoke. They knew it must have cost the Scotchman
+a pang to give up even for the night. He had done it only because he
+recognized that he had no right to sacrifice all their lives in vain.
+
+The dogs took the back trail reluctantly. The sled had been unloaded
+and was lighter. Moreover, they followed a trail already broken except
+where the sweep of the wind had filled it up. McRae cheered them to
+their work.
+
+"Up wi' ye, Koona! Guid dog. Cha, cha! You'll be doin' gran' work,
+Cuffy. Marche!"
+
+Morse stumbled over Onistah where he lay in the trail. The Blackfoot
+was still conscious, though he was drowsing into that sleep which is
+fatal to Arctic travelers caught in a blizzard. He had crawled on
+hands and feet through the snow after his knees failed him. It must
+have been only a few minutes after he completely collapsed that they
+found him.
+
+He was given a gulp or two of whiskey and put on the sled. Again the
+dogs buckled to the pull. A quarter of an hour later the party reached
+the cabin.
+
+Onistah was given first aid. Feet and face were rubbed with snow to
+restore circulation and to prevent frost-bite. He had been rescued in
+time to save him from any permanent ill effects.
+
+In the back of all their minds lay a haunting fear. What had become
+of Jessie? There was a chance that the blizzard had caught the party
+before it reached its destination. Neither West nor Whaley was an
+inexperienced musher. They knew the difficulties of sub-Arctic travel
+and how to cope with them. But the storm had blown up with unusual
+swiftness.
+
+Even if the party had reached safety, the girl's troubles were not
+ended. With the coming of darkness her peril would increase. As long
+as Whaley was with West there was hope. The gambler was cold-blooded
+as a fish, but he had the saving sense of sanity. If he meant to
+return to Faraway--and there was no reason why he should not--he dared
+not let any harm befall the girl. But West was a ruffian unmitigated.
+His ruthless passion might drive him to any evil.
+
+In front of the fire they discussed probabilities. Where had the two
+free traders taken the girl? Not far, in the face of such a storm.
+They canvassed places likely to serve as retreats for West.
+
+Once McRae, speaking out of his tortured heart, made an indirect
+reference to what all of them were thinking. He was looking somberly
+into the fire as he spoke.
+
+"Yea, the darkness hideth not from Thee, but the night shineth as the
+day: the darkness and the light are both alike to Thee."
+
+He found in his religion a stay and comfort. If he knew that under
+cover of darkness evil men do evil deeds, he could reassure himself
+with the promise that the hairs of his daughter's head were numbered
+and that she was under divine protection.
+
+From a pocket next his shirt he drew a small package in oilskin. It
+was a Bible he had carried many years. By the light of the leaping
+flames he read a chapter from the New Testament and the twenty-third
+Psalm, after which the storm-bound men knelt while he prayed that God
+would guard and keep safe "the wee lamb lost in the tempest far frae
+the fold."
+
+Morse and Beresford were tough as hickory withes. None in the North
+woods had more iron in the blood than they. Emergencies had tested
+them time and again. But neither of them was ashamed to kneel with the
+big rugged Scotchman while he poured his heart out in a petition for
+his lass. The security of the girl whom all four loved each in his own
+way was out of the hands of her friends. To know that McRae had found
+a sure rock upon which to lean brought the younger men too some
+measure of peace.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+A RESCUE
+
+
+The gray day wore itself away into the deeper darkness of early dusk.
+Like a wild beast attacking its prey, the hurricane still leaped with
+deep and sullen roars at the little cabin on Bull Creek. It beat upon
+it in wild, swirling gusts. It flung blasts of wind, laden with snow
+and sleet, against the log walls and piled drifts round them almost to
+the eaves.
+
+Long since Whaley had been forced to take the dogs into the cabin to
+save them from freezing to death. It was impossible for any of the
+three human beings to venture out for more than a few minutes at a
+time. Even then they had to keep close to the walls in order not to
+lose contact with the house.
+
+When feeding-time came the dogs made pandemonium. They were
+half-famished, as teams in the Lone Lands usually are, and the smell
+of the frozen fish thawing before the fire set them frantic. West and
+Whaley protected Jessie while she turned the fish. This was not easy.
+The plunging animals almost rushed the men off their feet. They had
+to be beaten back cruelly with the whip-stocks, for they were wild as
+wolves and only the sharpest pain would restrain them.
+
+The half-thawed fish were flung to them in turn. There was a snarl, a
+snap of the jaws, a gulp, and the fish was gone. Over one or two that
+fell in the pack the train worried and fought, with sharp yelps
+and growls, until the last fragment had been torn to pieces and
+disappeared.
+
+Afterward the storm-bound trio drank tea and ate pemmican, still
+fighting back the pack. West laid open the nose of one in an ugly cut
+with the iron-bound end of his whip-butt. Perhaps he was not wholly to
+blame. Many of the dog-trains of the North are taught to understand
+nothing but the sting of the whip and will respond only to brutal
+treatment.
+
+The second night was a repetition of the first. The three were divided
+into two camps. Whaley or Jessie McRae watched West every minute.
+There was a look in his eye they distrusted, a sulky malice back of
+which seemed to smoke banked fires of murderous desire. He lay on the
+floor and slept a good deal in short cat-naps. Apparently his dreams
+were not pleasant. He would growl incoherently through set teeth and
+clench great hairy fists in spasms of rage. Out of these he wakened
+with a start to glare around suspiciously at the others. It was clear
+the thought was in the back of his mind that they might destroy him
+while he was asleep.
+
+Throughout the third day the storm continued unabated. Whaley and
+West discussed the situation. Except for a few pounds of fish, their
+provisions were gone. If the blizzard did not moderate, they would
+soon face starvation.
+
+During the night the wind died down. Day broke clear, a faint and
+wintry sun in the sky.
+
+To West the other man made a proposal. "Have to get out and hunt food.
+We'll find caribou in some of the coulees along the creek. What say?"
+
+The convict looked at him with sly cunning. "How about this girl?
+Think I'm gonna leave her to mush out an' put the police on my trail?
+No, sir. I'll take her snowshoes with me."
+
+Whaley shrugged his shoulders. "She couldn't find her way home if she
+had shoes. But please yourself about that."
+
+West's shifty gaze slid over him. The proposal of a hunt suited him.
+He must have a supply of food to carry him to Lookout. Whaley was a
+good shot and an expert trailer. If there were caribou or moose in the
+vicinity, he was likely to make a kill. In any event there would be
+hundreds of white rabbits scurrying through the woods. He decided
+craftily to make use of the gambler, and after he was through with
+him--
+
+The men took with them part of the tea and enough fish to feed the
+dogs once. They expected to find game sufficient to supply themselves
+and stock up for a few days. Whaley insisted on leaving Jessie her
+rifle, in order that she might shoot a rabbit or two if any ventured
+near the cabin. She had three frozen fish and a handful of tea.
+
+Before they started Whaley drew Jessie aside. "Can't say how long
+we'll be gone. Maybe two days--or three. You'll have to make out with
+what you've got till we get back." He hesitated a moment, then his
+cold, hard eyes held fast to hers. "Maybe only one of us will come
+back. Keep your eyes open. If there's only one of us--and it's
+West--don't let him get into the house. Shoot him down. Take his
+snowshoes and the team. Follow the creek down about five miles, then
+strike southwest till you come to Clear Lake. You know your way home
+from there."
+
+Her dark eyes dilated. "Do you think he means to--to--?"
+
+The man nodded. "He's afraid of me--thinks I mean to set the police on
+his trail. If he can he'll get rid of me. But not yet--not till we've
+got a couple of caribou. I'll be watching him all the time."
+
+"How can you watch him while you're hunting?"
+
+He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. It was quite true that West could
+shoot him in the back during the hunt. But Whaley knew the man pretty
+well. He would make sure of meat before he struck. After the sled was
+loaded, Whaley did not intend to turn his back on the fellow.
+
+Jessie had not been brought up in the North woods for nothing. She had
+seen her brother Fergus make many a rabbit snare. Now she contrived
+to fashion one out of some old strips of skin she found in the cabin.
+After she had bent down a young sapling and fastened it to a fallen
+log, she busied herself making a second one.
+
+Without snowshoes she did not find it possible to travel far, but she
+managed to shoot a fox that adventured near the hut in the hope of
+finding something to fill its lean and empty paunch.
+
+Before leaving, Whaley had brought into the house a supply of wood,
+but Jessie added to this during the day by hauling birch poles from
+the edge of the creek.
+
+Darkness fell early. The girl built up a roaring fire piled the wood
+up against the door so that nobody could get in without waking her.
+The rifle lay close at hand. She slept long and soundly. When she
+shook the drowsiness from her eyes, the sun was shining through the
+window.
+
+She breakfasted on stew made from a hindquarter of fox. After she had
+visited her snares and reset one that had been sprung, she gathered
+balsam boughs for a bed and carried them to the house to dry before
+the fire. Whaley had left her a small hatchet, and with this she began
+to shape a snowshoe from a piece of the puncheon floor. All day she
+worked at this, and by night had a rough sort of wooden ski that might
+serve at need. With red-hot coals, during the long evening, she burned
+holes in it through which to put the straps. The skin of the fox, cut
+into long strips, would do for thongs. It would be a crude, primitive
+device, but she thought that at a pinch she might travel a few miles
+on it. To-morrow she would make a mate for it, she decided.
+
+Except for the bed of balsam boughs, her arrangements for the night
+were just as they had been the first day. Again she built up a big
+fire, piled the wood in front of the door, and put the rifle within
+reach. Again she was asleep almost at once, within a minute of the
+time when she nestled down to find a soft spot in the springy mattress
+she had made.
+
+Jessie worked hard on the second ski. By noon she had it pretty well
+shaped. Unfortunately a small split in the wood developed into a
+larger one. She was forced to throw it aside and begin on another
+piece.
+
+A hundred times her eyes had lifted to sweep the snow field for any
+sign of the hunters' return. Now, looking out of the window without
+much expectation of seeing them, her glance fell on a traveler, a
+speck of black on a sea of white. Her heart began to beat a drum of
+excitement. She waited, eyes riveted, expecting to see a second figure
+and a dog-team top the rise and show in silhouette.
+
+None appeared. The man advanced steadily. He did not look backward.
+Evidently he had no companion. Was this lone traveler West?
+
+Jessie picked up the rifle and made sure that it was in good working
+order. A tumultuous river seemed to beat through her temples. The
+pulses in her finger-tips were athrob.
+
+Could she do this dreadful thing, even to save honor and life, though
+she knew the man must be twice a murderer? Once she had tried and
+failed, while he stood taunting her with his horrible, broken-toothed
+grin. And once, in the stress of battle, she had wounded him while he
+was attacking.
+
+The moving black speck became larger. It came to her presently with
+certainty that this was not West. He moved more gracefully, more
+lightly, without the heavy slouching roll.... And then she knew he was
+not Whaley either. One of her friends! A little burst of prayer welled
+out of her heart.
+
+She left the cabin and went toward the man. He waved a hand to her and
+she flung up a joyful gesture in answer. For her rescuer was Onistah.
+
+Jessie found herself with both hands in his, biting her lower lip to
+keep back tears. She could not speak for the emotion that welled up in
+her.
+
+"You--all well?" he asked, with the imperturbable facial mask of his
+race that concealed all emotion.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Good," he went on. "Your father pray the Great Spirit keep you safe."
+
+"Where is Father?"
+
+He looked in the direction from which he had come. "We go Jasper's
+cabin--your father, red soldier, American trader, Onistah. You gone.
+Big storm--snow--sleet. No can go farther. Then your father he pray.
+We wait till Great Spirit he say, 'No more wind, snow,' Then we move
+camp. All search--go out find you." He pointed north, south, east, and
+west. "The Great Spirit tell me to come here. I say, 'Sleeping Dawn
+she with God, for Jesus' sake, Amen.'"
+
+"You dear, dear boy," she sobbed.
+
+"So I find you. Hungry?"
+
+"No. I shot a fox."
+
+"Then we go now." He looked at her feet. "Where your snowshoes?"
+
+"West took them to keep me here. I'm making a pair. Come. We'll finish
+them."
+
+They moved toward the house. Onistah stopped. The girl followed his
+eyes. They were fastened on a laden dog-train with two men moving
+across a lake near the shore of which the cabin had been built.
+
+Her fear-filled gaze came back to the Indian. "It's West and Mr.
+Whaley. What'll we do?"
+
+Already he was kneeling, fumbling with the straps of his snowshoes.
+"You go find your father. Follow trail to camp. Then you send him
+here. I hide in woods."
+
+"No--no. They'll find you, and that West would shoot you."
+
+"Onistah know tricks. They no find him."
+
+He fastened the snow-webs on her feet while she was still protesting.
+She glanced again at the dog-train jogging steadily forward. If she
+was going, it must be at once. Soon it would be too late for either of
+them to escape.
+
+"You will hide in the woods, won't you, so they can't find you?" she
+implored.
+
+He smiled reassurance. "Go," he said.
+
+Another moment, and she was pushing over the crust along the trail by
+which the Blackfoot had come.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+APACHE STUFF
+
+
+The hunters brought back three caribou and two sacks of rabbits,
+supplies enough to enable West to reach Lookout. The dogs were
+stronger than when they had set out, for they had gorged themselves on
+the parts of the game unfit for human use.
+
+Nothing had been said by either of the men as to what was to be done
+with Jessie McRae, but the question was in the background of both
+their thoughts, just as was the growing anger toward each other that
+consumed them. They rarely spoke. Neither of them let the other drop
+behind him. Neither had slept a wink the previous night. Instead, they
+had kept themselves awake with hot tea. Fagged out after a day of hard
+hunting, each was convinced his life depended on wakefulness. West's
+iron strength had stood the strain without any outward signs of
+collapse, but Whaley was stumbling with fatigue as he dragged himself
+along beside the sled.
+
+The bad feeling between the partners was near the explosion point. It
+was bound to come before the fugitive started on his long trip north.
+The fellow had a single-track mind. He still intended to take the girl
+with him. When Whaley interfered, there would be a fight. It could not
+come too soon to suit West. His brooding had reached the point where
+he was morally certain that the gambler meant to betray him to the
+police and set them on his track.
+
+Smoke was rising from the chimney of the hut. No doubt the McRae girl
+was inside, waiting for them with a heart of fear fluttering in
+her bosom. Whaley's thin lips set grimly. Soon now it would be a
+show-down.
+
+There was a moment's delay at the door, each hanging back under
+pretense of working at the sled. There was always the chance that the
+one who went first might get a shot in the back.
+
+West glanced at the big mittens on the other's hands, laughed hardily,
+and pushed into the cabin. A startled grunt escaped him.
+
+"She's gone," he called out.
+
+"Probably in the woods back here--rabbit-shooting likely. She can't
+have gone far without snowshoes," Whaley said.
+
+The big man picked up the ski Jessie had made. "Looky here."
+
+Whaley examined it. "She might have made a pair of 'em and got away.
+Hope so."
+
+The yellow teeth of the convict showed in a snarl. "Think I don't see
+yore game? Playin' up to McRae an' the red-coats. I wouldn't put it by
+you to sell me out."
+
+The gambler's ice-cold eyes bored into West. Was it to be now?
+
+West was not quite ready. His hands were cold and stiff. Besides, the
+other was on guard and the fugitive was not looking for an even break.
+
+"Oh, well, no use rowin' about that. I ain't gonna chew the rag with
+you. It'll be you one way an' me another pretty soon," he continued,
+shifty eyes dodging.
+
+"About the girl--easy to find out, I say. She sure didn't fly away.
+Must 'a' left tracks. We'll take a look-see."
+
+Again Whaley waited deferentially, with a sardonic and mirthless grin,
+to let the other pass first. There were many tracks close to the cabin
+where they themselves, as well as the girl, had moved to and fro.
+Their roving glances went farther afield.
+
+Plain as the swirling waters in the wake of a boat stretched the
+tracks of a snowshoer across the lower end of the lake.
+
+They pushed across to examine them closer, following them a dozen
+yards to the edge of the ice-field. The sign written there on that
+white page told a tale to both of the observers, but it said more to
+one than to the other.
+
+"Some one's been here," West cried with a startled oath.
+
+"Yes," agreed Whaley. He did not intend to give any unnecessary
+information.
+
+"An' lit out again. Must 'a' gone to git help for the girl."
+
+"Yes," assented the gambler, and meant "No."
+
+What he read from the writing on the snow was this: Some one had come
+and some one had gone. But the one who had come was not the one who
+had gone. An Indian had made the first tracks. He could tell it by
+the shape of the webs and by the way the traveler had toed in. The
+outward-bound trail was different. Some one lighter of build was
+wearing the snowshoes, some one who took shorter steps and toed out.
+
+"See. She run out to meet him. Here's where her feet kept sinkin' in,"
+West said.
+
+The other nodded. Yes, she had hurried to meet him but that was not
+all he saw. There was the impression of a knee in the snow. It was an
+easy guess that the man had knelt to take off the shoes and adjust
+them to the girl's feet.
+
+"An' here's where she cut off into the woods," the convict went on.
+"She's hidin' up there now. I'm hittin' the trail after her hot-foot."
+
+Whaley's derisive smile vanished almost before it appeared. What he
+knew was his own business. If West wanted to take a walk in the woods,
+it was not necessary to tell him that a man was waiting for him there
+behind some tree.
+
+"Think I'll follow this fellow," Whaley said, with a lift of the hand
+toward the tracks that led across the lake. "We've got to find out
+where he went. If the Mounted are hot on our trail, we want to know
+it."
+
+"Sure." West assented craftily, eyes narrowed to conceal the thoughts
+that crawled through his murderous brain. "We gotta know that."
+
+He believed Whaley was playing into his hands. The man meant to betray
+him to the police. He would never reach them. And he, Bully West,
+would at last be alone with the girl, nobody to interfere with him.
+
+The gambler was used to taking chances. He took one now and made his
+first mistake in the long duel he had been playing with West. The
+eagerness of the fellow to have him gone was apparent. The convict
+wanted him out of the way so that he could go find the girl. Evidently
+he thought that Whaley was backing down as gracefully as he could.
+
+"I'll start right after him. Back soon," the gambler said casually.
+
+"Yes, soon," agreed West.
+
+Their masked eyes still clung to each other, wary and watchful. As
+though without intent Whaley backed away, still talking to the other.
+He wanted to be out of revolver range before he turned. West also was
+backing clumsily, moving toward the sled. The convict wheeled and slid
+rapidly to it.
+
+Whaley knew his mistake now. West's rifle lay on the sled and the man
+was reaching for it.
+
+The man on the ice-field did the only thing possible. He bent low and
+traveled fast. When the first shot rang out he was nearly a hundred
+fifty yards away. He crumpled down into the snow and lay still.
+
+West's hands were cold, his fingers stiff. He had not been sure of his
+aim. Now he gave a whoop of triumph. That was what happened to any one
+who interfered with Bully West. He fired again at the still huddled
+heap on the lake.
+
+Presently he would go out there and make sure the man was dead. Just
+now he had more important business, an engagement to meet a girl in
+the woods back of the house.
+
+"Got him good," he told himself aloud. "He sure had it comin' to him,
+the damned traitor."
+
+To find the McRae girl could not be difficult. She had left tracks as
+she waded away in the deep snow. There was no chance for her to hide.
+Nor could she have gone far without webs. The little catamount might,
+of course, shoot him. He had to move carefully, not to give her an
+opportunity.
+
+As he went forward he watched every tree, every stick of timber behind
+which she might find cover to ambush him. He was not of a patient
+temperament, but life in the wilds had taught him to subdue when he
+must his gusty restlessness. Now he took plenty of time. He was in a
+hurry to hit the trail with his train and be off, but he could not
+afford to be in such great haste as to stop a bullet with his body.
+
+He called to her. "Where you at, Dawn? I ain't aimin' to hurt you
+none. Come out an' quit devilin' me."
+
+Then, when his wheedling brought no answer, he made the forest ring
+with threats of what he would do to her when he caught her unless she
+came to him at once.
+
+Moving slowly forward, he came to the end of the tracks that had been
+made in the snow. They ended abruptly, in a thicket of underbrush. His
+first thought was that she must be hidden here, but when he had beat
+through it half a dozen times, he knew this was impossible. Then where
+was she?
+
+He had told Whaley that she could not fly away. But if she hadn't
+flown, what had become of her? There were no trees near enough to
+climb without showing the impressions of her feet in the snow as she
+moved to the trunk. He had an uneasy sense that she was watching him
+all the time from some hidden place near at hand. He looked up into
+the branches of the trees. They were heavy with snow which had not
+been shaken from them.
+
+West smothered a laugh and an oath. He saw the trick now. She must
+have back-tracked carefully, at each step putting her feet in exactly
+the same place as when she had moved forward. Of course! The tracks
+showed where she had brushed the deep drifts occasionally when the
+moccasin went in the second time.
+
+It was slow business, for while he studied the sign he must keep a
+keen eye cocked against the chance of a shot from his hidden prey.
+
+Twice he quartered over the ground before he knew he had reached the
+place where the back-tracking ceased. Close to the spot was a pine.
+A pile of snow showed where a small avalanche had plunged down. That
+must have been when she disturbed it on the branches in climbing.
+
+His glance swept up the trunk and came to a halt. With his rifle he
+covered the figure crouching close to it on the far side.
+
+"Come down," he ordered.
+
+He was due for one of the surprises of his life. The tree-dweller slid
+down and stood before him. It was not Jessie McRae, but a man, an
+Indian, the Blackfoot who had ridden out with the girl once to spoil
+his triumph over the red-coat Beresford.
+
+For a moment he stood, stupefied, jaw fallen and mouth open. "Whad you
+doin' here?" he asked at last.
+
+"No food my camp. I hunt," Onistah said.
+
+"Tha's a lie. Where's the McRae girl?"
+
+The slim Indian said nothing. His face was expressionless as a blank
+wall.
+
+West repeated the question. He might have been talking to a block of
+wood for all the answer he received. His crafty, cruel mind churned
+over the situation.
+
+"Won't talk, eh? We'll see about that. You got her hid somewheres an'
+I'm gonna find where. I'll not stand for yore Injun tricks. Drop that
+gun an' marche-back to the cabin. Un'erstand?"
+
+Onistah did as he was told.
+
+They reached the cabin. There was one thing West did not get hold of
+in his mind. Why had not the Blackfoot shot him from the tree? He had
+had a score of chances. The reason was not one the white man would be
+likely to fathom. Onistah had not killed him because the Indian was a
+Christian. He had learned from Father Giguere that he must turn the
+other cheek.
+
+West, revolver close at hand, cut thongs from the caribou skins.
+He tied his captive hand and foot, then removed his moccasins and
+duffles. From the fire he raked out a live coal and put it on a flat
+chip. This he brought across the room.
+
+"Changed yore mind any? Where's the girl?" he demanded.
+
+Onistah looked at him, impassive as only an Indian can be.
+
+"Still sulky, eh? We'll see about that."
+
+The convict knelt on the man's ankles and pushed the coal against the
+naked sole of the brown foot.
+
+An involuntary deep shudder went through the Blackfoot's body. The
+foot twitched. An acrid odor of burning flesh filled the room. No
+sound came from the locked lips.
+
+The tormentor removed the coal. "I ain't begun to play with you yet.
+I'm gonna give you some real Apache stuff 'fore I'm through. Where's
+the girl? I'm gonna find out if I have to boil you in grease."
+
+Still Onistah said nothing.
+
+West brought another coal. "We'll try the other foot," he said.
+
+Again the pungent acrid odor rose to the nostrils.
+
+"How about it now?" the convict questioned.
+
+No answer came. This time Onistah had fainted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+"IS A' WELL WI' YOU, LASS?"
+
+
+Jessie's shoes crunched on the snow-crust. She traveled fast. In spite
+of Onistah's assurance her heart was troubled for him. West and Whaley
+would study the tracks and come to at least an approximation of the
+truth. She did not dare think of what the gorilla-man would do to her
+friend if they captured him.
+
+And how was it possible that they would not find him? His footsteps
+would be stamped deep in the snow. He could not travel fast. Since he
+had become a Christian, the Blackfoot, with the simplicity of a mind
+not used to the complexities of modern life, accepted the words of
+Jesus literally. He would not take a human life to save his own.
+
+She blamed herself for escaping at his expense. The right thing would
+have been to send him back again for her father. But West had become
+such a horrible obsession with her that the sight of him even at a
+distance had put her in a panic.
+
+From the end of the lake she followed the trail Onistah had made. It
+took into the woods, veering sharply to the right. The timber was
+open. Even where the snow was deep, the crust was firm enough to hold.
+
+In her anxiety it seemed that hours passed. The sun was still fairly
+high, but she knew how quickly it sank these winter days.
+
+She skirted a morass, climbed a long hill, and saw before her another
+lake. On the shore was a camp. A fire was burning, and over this a man
+stooping.
+
+At the sound of her call, the man looked up. He rose and began to run
+toward her. She snowshoed down the hill, a little blindly, for the
+mist of glad tears brimmed her eyes.
+
+Straight into Beresford's arms she went. Safe at last, she began to
+cry. The soldier petted her, with gentle words of comfort.
+
+"It's all right now, little girl. All over with. Your father's here.
+See! He's coming. We'll not let anything harm you."
+
+McRae took the girl into his arms and held her tight. His rugged face
+was twisted with emotion. A dam of ice melted in his heart. The voice
+with which he spoke, broken with feeling, betrayed how greatly he was
+shaken.
+
+"My bairn! My wee dawtie! To God be the thanks."
+
+She clung to him, trying to control her sobs. He stroked her hair and
+kissed her, murmuring Gaelic words of endearment. A thought pierced
+him, like a sword-thrust.
+
+He held her at arm's length, a fierce anxiety in his haggard face. "Is
+a' well wi' you, lass?" he asked, almost harshly.
+
+She understood his question. Her level eyes met his. They held no
+reservations of shame. "All's well with me, Father. Mr. Whaley was
+there the whole time. He stood out against West. He was my friend."
+She stopped, enough said.
+
+"The Lord be thankit," he repeated again, devoutly.
+
+Tom Morse, rifle in hand, had come from the edge of the woods and was
+standing near. He had heard her first call, had seen her go to the
+arms of Beresford direct as a hurt child to those of its mother, and
+he had drawn reasonable conclusions from that. For under stress
+the heart reveals itself, he argued, and she had turned simply and
+instinctively to the man she loved. He stood now outside the group,
+silent. Inside him too a river of ice had melted. His haunted, sunken
+eyes told the suffering he had endured. The feeling that flooded him
+was deeper than joy. She had been dead and was alive again. She had
+been lost and was found.
+
+"Where have you been?" asked Beresford. "We've been looking for days."
+
+"In a cabin on Bull Creek. Mr. Whaley took me there, but West
+followed."
+
+"How did you get away?"
+
+"We were out of food. They went hunting. West took my snowshoes.
+Onistah came. He saw them coming back and gave me his shoes. He went
+and hid in the woods. But they'll see his tracks. They'll find him. We
+must hurry back."
+
+"Yes," agreed McRae. "I'm thinkin' if West finds the lad, he'll do him
+ill."
+
+Morse spoke for the first time, his voice dry as a chip. "We'd better
+hurry on, Beresford and I. You and Miss McRae can bring the sled."
+
+McRae hesitated, but assented. There might be desperate need of haste.
+"That'll be the best way. But you'll be carefu', lad. Yon West's a
+wolf. He'd as lief kill ye baith as look at ye."
+
+The younger men were out of sight over the brow of the hill long
+before McRae and Jessie had the dogs harnessed.
+
+"You'll ride, lass," the father announced.
+
+She demurred. "We can go faster if I walk. Let me drive. Then you can
+break trail where the snow's soft."
+
+"No. You'll ride, my dear. There's nae sic a hurry. The lads'll do
+what's to be done. On wi' ye."
+
+Jessie got into the cariole and was bundled up to the tip of the nose
+with buffalo robes, the capote of her own fur being drawn over the
+head and face. For riding in the sub-Arctic winter is a freezing
+business.
+
+"Marche,"[6] ordered McRae.
+
+[Footnote: Most of the dogs of the North were trained by trappers
+who talked French and gave commands in that language. Hence even
+the Anglo-Saxon drivers used in driving a good many words of that
+language. (W.M.R.)]
+
+Cuffy led the dogs up the hill, following the trail already broken.
+The train made good time, but to Jessie it seemed to crawl. She was
+tortured with anxiety for Onistah. An express could not have carried
+her fast enough. It was small comfort to tell herself that Onistah was
+a Blackfoot and knew every ruse of the woods. His tracks would lead
+straight to him and the veriest child could follow them. Nor could she
+persuade herself that Whaley would stand between him and West's anger.
+To the gambler Onistah was only a nitchie.
+
+The train passed out of the woods to the shore of the lake. Here the
+going was better. The sun was down and the snow-crust held dogs and
+sled. A hundred fifty yards from the cabin McRae pulled up the team.
+He moved forward and examined the snow.
+
+With a heave Jessie flung aside the robes that wrapped her and jumped
+from the cariole. An invisible hand seemed to clutch tightly at her
+throat. For what she and her father had seen were crimson splashes
+in the white. Some one or something had been killed or wounded here.
+Onistah, of course! He must have changed his mind, tried to follow
+her, and been shot by West as he was crossing the lake.
+
+She groaned, her heart heavy.
+
+McRae offered comfort. "He'll likely be only wounded. The lads wouldna
+hae moved him yet if he'd no' been livin'."
+
+The train moved forward, Jessie running beside Angus.
+
+Morse came to the door. He closed it behind him.
+
+"Onistah?" cried Jessie.
+
+"He's been--hurt. But we were in time. He'll get well."
+
+"West shot him? We saw stains in the snow."
+
+"No. He shot Whaley."
+
+"Whaley?" echoed McRae.
+
+"Yes. Wanted to get rid of him. Thought your daughter was hidden in
+the woods here. Afraid, too, that Whaley would give him up to the
+North-West Mounted."
+
+"Then Whaley's dead?" the Scotchman asked.
+
+"No. West hadn't time right then to finish the job. Pretty badly hurt,
+though. Shot in the side and in the thigh."
+
+"And West?"
+
+"We came too soon. He couldn't finish his deviltry. He lit out over
+the hill soon as he saw us."
+
+They went into the house.
+
+Jessie walked straight to where Onistah lay on the balsam boughs and
+knelt beside him. Beresford was putting on one of his feet a cloth
+soaked in caribou oil.
+
+"What did he do to you?" she cried, a constriction of dread at her
+heart.
+
+A ghost of a smile touched the immobile face of the native. "Apache
+stuff, he called it."
+
+"But--"
+
+"West burned his feet to make him tell where you were," Beresford told
+her gently.
+
+"Oh!" she cried, in horror.
+
+"Good old Onistah. He gamed it out. Wouldn't say a word. West saw us
+coming and hit the trail."
+
+"Is he--is he--?"
+
+"He's gone."
+
+"I mean Onistah."
+
+"Suffering to beat the band, but not a whimper out of him. He's not
+permanently hurt--be walking around in a week or two."
+
+"You poor boy!" the girl cried softly, and she put her arm under the
+Indian's head to lift it to an easier position.
+
+The dumb lips of the Blackfoot did not thank her, but the dark eyes
+gave her the gratitude of a heart wholly hers.
+
+All that night the house was a hospital. The country was one where men
+had learned to look after hurts without much professional aid. In a
+rough way Angus McRae was something of a doctor. He dressed the wounds
+of both the injured, using the small medical kit he had brought with
+him.
+
+Whaley was a bit of a stoic himself. The philosophy of his class was
+to take good fortune or ill undemonstratively. He was lucky to be
+alive. Why whine about what must be?
+
+But as the fever grew on him with the lengthening hours, he passed
+into delirium. Sometimes he groaned with pain. Again he fell into
+disconnected babble of early days. He was back again with his father
+and mother, living over his wild and erring youth.
+
+"... Don't tell Mother. I'll square it all right if you keep it from
+her.... Rotten run of cards. Ninety-seven dollars. You'll have to
+wait, I tell you.... Mother, Mother, if you won't cry like that ..."
+
+McRae used the simple remedies he had. In themselves they were, he
+knew, of little value. He must rely on good nursing and the man's
+hardy constitution to pull him through.
+
+With Morse and Beresford he discussed the best course to follow. It
+was decided that Morse should take Onistah and Jessie back to Faraway
+next day and return with a load of provisions. Whaley's fever must run
+its period. It was impossible to tell yet whether he would live or
+die, but for some days at least it would not be safe to move him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+NOT GOING ALONE
+
+
+"Morse, I've watched ye through four-five days of near-hell. I ken
+nane I'd rather tak wi' me as a lone companion on the long traverse.
+You're canny an' you're bold. That's why I'm trustin' my lass to your
+care. It's a short bit of a trip, an' far as I can see there's nae
+danger. But the fear's in me. That's the truth, man. Gie me your word
+you'll no' let her oot o' your sight till ye hand her ower to my wife
+at Faraway."
+
+Angus clamped a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder. His blue eyes
+searched steadily those of the trader.
+
+"I'll not let her twenty yards from me any time. That's a promise,
+McRae," the trader said quietly.
+
+Well wrapped from the wind, Onistah sat in the cariole.
+
+Jessie kissed the Scotchman fondly, laughing at him the while. "You're
+a goose, Father. I'm all right. You take good care of yourself. That
+West might come back here."
+
+"No chance of that. West will never come back except at the end of
+a rope. He's headed for the edge of the Barrens, or up that way
+somewhere," Beresford said. "And inside of a week I'll be north-bound
+on his trail myself."
+
+Jessie was startled, a good deal distressed. "I'd let him go. He'll
+meet a bad end somewhere. If he never comes back, as you say he won't,
+then he'll not trouble us."
+
+The soldier smiled grimly. "That's not the way of the Mounted. Get the
+fellow you're sent after. That's our motto. I've been assigned the job
+of bringing in West and I've got to get him."
+
+"You don't mean you're going up there alone to bring back that--that
+wolf-man?"
+
+"Oh, no," the trooper answered lightly. "I'll have a Cree along as a
+guide."
+
+"A Cree," she scoffed. "What good will he be if you find West? He'll
+not help you against him at all."
+
+"Not what he's with me for. I'm not supposed to need any help to bring
+back one man."
+
+"It's--it's just suicide to go after him alone," she persisted. "Look
+what he did to the guard at the prison, to Mr. Whaley, to Onistah!
+He's just awful--hardly human."
+
+"The lad's under orders, lass," McRae told her. "Gin they send him
+into the North after West, he'll just have to go. He canna argy-bargy
+aboot it."
+
+Jessie gave up, reluctantly.
+
+The little cavalcade started. Morse drove. The girl brought up the
+rear.
+
+Her mind was still on the hazard of the journey Beresford must take.
+When Morse stopped to rest the dogs for a few moments, she tucked up
+Onistah again and recurred to the subject.
+
+"I don't think Win Beresford should go after West alone except for a
+Cree guide. The Inspector ought to send another constable with him. Or
+two more. If he knew that man--how cruel and savage he is--"
+
+Tom Morse spoke quietly. "He's not going alone. I'll be with him."
+
+She stared. "You?"
+
+"Yes. Sworn in as a deputy constable."
+
+"But--he didn't say you were going when I spoke to him about it a
+little while ago."
+
+"He didn't know. I've made up my mind since."
+
+In point of fact he had come to a decision three seconds before he
+announced it.
+
+Her soft eyes applauded him. "That'll be fine. His friends won't
+worry so much if you're with him. But--of course you know it'll be a
+horrible trip--and dangerous."
+
+"No picnic," he admitted.
+
+She continued to look at him, her cheeks flushed and her face vivid.
+"You must like Win a lot. Not many men would go."
+
+"We're good friends," Morse answered dryly. "Anyhow, I owe West
+something on my own account."
+
+The real reason why he was going he had not given. During the days she
+had been lost he had been on the rack of torture. He did not want her
+to suffer months of such mental distress while the man she loved was
+facing alone the peril of his grim work in the white Arctic desert.
+
+They resumed the journey.
+
+Jessie said no more. She would not mention the subject again probably.
+But it would be a great deal in her thoughts. She lived much of the
+time inside herself with her own imagination. This had the generosity
+and the enthusiasm of youth. She wanted to believe people fine and
+good and true. It warmed her to discover unexpected virtues in them.
+
+Mid-afternoon brought them to Faraway. They drove down the main street
+of the village to McRae's house while the half-breeds cheered from the
+door of the Morse store.
+
+Jessie burst into the big family room where Matapi-Koma sat bulging
+out from the only rocking-chair in the North woods.
+
+"Oh, Mother--Mother!" the girl cried, and hugged the Cree woman with
+all the ardent young savagery of her nature.
+
+The Indian woman's fat face crinkled to an expansive smile. She had
+stalwart sons of her own, but no daughters except this adopted child.
+Jessie was very dear to her.
+
+In a dozen sentences the girl poured out her story, the words tumbling
+pell-mell over each other in headlong haste.
+
+Matapi-Koma waddled out to the sled. "Onistah stay here," she said,
+and beamed on him. "Blackfoot all same Cree to Matapi-Koma when he
+friend Jessie. Angus send word nurse him till he well again."
+
+Tom carried the Indian into the house so that his feet would not touch
+the ground. Jessie had stayed in to arrange the couch where Fergus
+usually slept.
+
+She followed Morse to the door when he left. "We'll have some things
+to send back to Father when you go. I'll bring them down to the store
+to-morrow morning," she said. "And Mother wants you to come to supper
+to-night. Don't you dare say you're too busy."
+
+He smiled at the intimate feminine fierceness of the injunction. The
+last few hours had put them on a somewhat different footing. He would
+accept such largesse as she was willing to offer. He recognized the
+spirit in which it was given. She wanted to show her appreciation of
+what he had done for her and was about to do for the man she loved.
+Nor would Morse meet her generosity in a churlish spirit.
+
+"I'll be here when the gong rings," he told her heartily.
+
+"Let's see. It's nearly three now. Say five o'clock," she decided.
+
+"At five I'll be knockin' on the door."
+
+She flashed at him a glance both shy and daring. "And I'll open it
+before you break through and bring it with you."
+
+The trader went away with a queer warmth in his heart he had not known
+for many a day. The facts did not justify this elation, this swift
+exhilaration of blood, but to one who has starved for long any food is
+grateful.
+
+Jessie flew back into the house. She had a busy two hours before her.
+"Mother, Mr. Morse is coming to dinner. What's in the house?"
+
+"Fergus brought a black-tail in yesterday."
+
+"Good. I know what I'll have. But first off, I want a bath. Lots of
+hot water, and all foamy with soap. I've got to hurry. You can peel
+the potatoes if you like. And fix some of those young onions. They're
+nice. And Mother--I'll let you make the biscuits. That's all. I'll do
+the rest."
+
+The girl touched a match to the fire that was set in her room. She
+brought a tin tub and hot water and towels. Slim and naked she
+stood before the roaring logs and reveled in her bath. The sense of
+cleanliness was a luxury delicious. When she had dressed herself
+from the soles of her feet up in clean clothes, she felt a new and
+self-respecting woman.
+
+She did not pay much attention to the psychology of dress, but she
+knew that when she had on the pretty plaid that had come from Fort
+Benton, and when her heavy black hair was done up just right, she
+had twice the sex confidence she felt in old togs. Jessie would have
+denied indignantly that she was a coquette. None the less she was
+intent on conquest. She wanted this quiet, self-contained American to
+like her.
+
+The look she had seen in his red-brown eyes at times tantalized her.
+She could not read it. That some current of feeling about her raced
+deep in him she divined, but she did not know what it was. He had a
+way of letting his steady gaze rest on her disturbingly. What was he
+thinking? Did he despise her? Was he, away down out of sight, the kind
+of man toward women that West and Whaley were? She wouldn't believe
+it. He had never taken an Indian woman to live with him. There was not
+even a rumor that he had ever taken an interest in any Cree girl. Of
+course she did not like him--not the way she did Win Beresford or even
+Onistah--but she was glad he held himself aloof. It would have greatly
+disappointed her to learn of any sordid intrigue involving him.
+
+Jessie rolled up her sleeves and put on a big apron. She saw that
+the onions and the potatoes were started and the venison ready for
+broiling. From a chest of drawers she brought one of the new white
+linen tablecloths of which she was inordinately proud. She would not
+trust any one but herself to set the table. Morse had come from a good
+family. He knew about such things. She was not going to let him go
+away thinking Angus McRae's family were barbarians, even though his
+wife was a Cree and his children of the half-blood.
+
+On the table she put a glass dish of wild-strawberry jam. In the
+summer she had picked the fruit herself, just as she had gathered the
+saskatoon berries sprinkled through the pemmican she was going to use
+for the rubaboo.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+"M" FOR MORSE
+
+
+Two in the village bathed that day. The other was Tom Morse. He
+discarded his serviceable moccasins, his caribou-skin capote with the
+fur on, his moose-skin trousers, and his picturesque blanket shirt.
+For these he substituted the ungainly clothes of civilization, a pair
+of square-toed boots, a store suit, a white shirt.
+
+This was not the way Faraway dressed for gala occasions, but in
+several respects the trader did not choose to follow the habits of the
+North. At times he liked to remind himself that he was an American and
+not a French half-breed born in the woods.
+
+As he had promised, he was at the McRaes' by the appointed hour.
+Jessie opened to his knock.
+
+The girl almost took his breath. He had not realized how attractive
+she was. In her rough outdoor costumes she had a certain naive
+boyishness, a very taking quality of vital energy that was sexless.
+But in the house dress she was wearing now, Jessie was wholly
+feminine. The little face, cameo-fine and clear-cut, the slender body,
+willow-straight, had the soft rounded curves that were a joy to the
+eye. He had always thought of her as dark, but to his surprise he
+found her amazingly fair for one of the metis blood.
+
+A dimpled smile flashed him welcome. "You did come, then?"
+
+"Is it the wrong night? Weren't you expectin' me?" he asked in
+pretended alarm.
+
+"I was and I wasn't. It wouldn't have surprised me if you had decided
+you were too busy to come."
+
+"Not when Miss Jessie McRae invites me."
+
+"She invited you once before," the girl reminded him.
+
+"Then she asked me because she thought she ought. Is that why I'm
+asked this time?"
+
+She laughed. "You mustn't look a gift dinner in the mouth."
+
+They were by this time in the big family room. She relieved him of his
+coat. He walked over to the couch upon which Onistah lay.
+
+"How goes it? Tough sleddin'?" he asked.
+
+The bronze face of the Blackfoot was immobile. He must still have been
+in great pain from the burnt feet, but he gave no sign of it.
+
+"Onistah find good friends," he answered simply.
+
+Tom looked round the room, and again there came to him the sense of
+home. Logs roared and snapped in the great fireplace. The table, set
+with the dishes and the plated silver McRae had imported from the
+States, stirred in him a pleasure that was almost poignant. The books,
+the organ, the quaint old engravings Angus had brought with him when
+he crossed the ocean: all of these touched the trader nearly. He was
+in exile, living a bachelor life under the most primitive conditions.
+The atmosphere of this house penetrated to every fiber of his being.
+It filled him with an acute hunger. Here were love and friendly
+intercourse and all the daily, homely routine that made life
+beautiful.
+
+And here was the girl that he loved, vivid, vital, full of charm. The
+swift deftness and grace of her movements enticed him. The inflections
+of her warm, young voice set his pulses throbbing as music sometimes
+did. An ardent desire of her flooded him. She was the most winsome
+creature under heaven--but she was not for him.
+
+Matapi-Koma sat at the head of the table, a smiling and benignant
+matron finished in copper. She had on her best dress, a beaded
+silk with purple satin trimmings, brought by a Red River cart from
+Winnipeg, accompanied with a guarantee from the trader that Queen
+Victoria had none better. The guarantee was worth what it was worth,
+but Matapi-Koma was satisfied. Never had she seen anything so grand.
+That Angus McRae could afford to buy it for her proved him a great
+chief.
+
+Jessie waited on the table herself. She set upon it such a dinner as
+neither of her guests had eaten in years. Venison broiled to a turn,
+juicy, succulent mallard ducks from the cold storage of their larder,
+mashed potatoes with gravy, young boiled onions from Whoop-Up,
+home-made rubaboo of delicious flavor, hot biscuits and
+wild-strawberry jam! And finally, with the tea, a brandy-flavored plum
+pudding that an old English lady at Winnipeg had taught Jessie how to
+make.
+
+Onistah ate lying on the couch. Afterward, filled to repletion, with
+the sense of perfect contentment a good dinner brings, the two young
+men stuffed their pipes and puffed strata of smoke toward the log
+rafters of the room. Jessie cleared the table, then sat down and
+put the last stitches in the gun-case she had been working at
+intermittently for a month. It was finished, but she had not till now
+stitched the initials into the cloth.
+
+As the swift fingers of the girl flashed back and forth, both men
+watched, not too obviously, the profile shadowed by the dark,
+abundant, shining hair. The picture of her was an intimate one, but
+Tom's tricky imagination tormented him with one of still nearer
+personal association. He saw her in his own house, before his own
+fireside, a baby clinging to her skirt. Then, resolutely, he put the
+mental etching behind him. She loved his friend Beresford, a man out
+of a thousand, and of course he loved her. Had he not seen her go
+straight to his arms after her horrible experience with West?
+
+Matapi-Koma presently waddled out of the room and they could hear the
+clatter of dishes.
+
+"I told her I'd help her wash them if she'd wait," explained Jessie.
+"But she'd rather do them now and go to bed. My conscience is clear,
+anyhow." She added with a little bubble of laughter, "And I don't have
+to do the work. Is that the kind of a conscience you have, Mr. Morse?"
+
+"If I were you my conscience would tell me that I couldn't go and
+leave my guests," he answered.
+
+She raked him with a glance of merry derision. "Oh, I know how yours
+works. I wouldn't have it for anything. It's an awf'lly bossy one.
+It's sending you out to the Barrens with Win Beresford just because
+he's your friend."
+
+"Not quite. I have another reason too," he replied.
+
+"Yes, I know. You don't like West. Nobody does. My father doesn't--or
+Fergus--or Mr. Whaley--but they're not taking the long trail after him
+as you are. You can't get out of it that way."
+
+She had not, of course, hit on the real reason for going that
+supplemented his friendship for the constable and he did not intend
+that she should.
+
+"It doesn't matter much why I'm going. Anyhow, it'll be good for me.
+I'm gettin' soft and fat. After I've been out in the deep snows a
+month or so, I'll have taken up my belt a notch or two. It's time I
+wrestled with a blizzard an' tried livin' on lean rabbit.[7]"
+
+[Footnote 7: Rabbit is about the poorest meat in the North. It is lean
+and stringy, furnishes very little nourishment and not much fat,
+and is not a muscle-builder. In a country where, oil and grease
+are essentials, such food is not desirable. The Indians ate great
+quantities of them. (W.M.R.)]
+
+Her gaze swept his lean, hard, compact body. "Yes, you look soft," she
+mocked. "Father said something of that sort when he looked at that
+door there you came through."
+
+Tom had been watching her stitching. He offered a comment now,
+perhaps, to change the subject. It is embarrassing for a modest man to
+talk about himself.
+
+"You're workin' that 'W' upside down," he said.
+
+"Am I? Who said, it was a 'W'?"
+
+"I guessed it might be."
+
+"You're a bad guesser. It's an 'M.' 'M' stands for McRae, doesn't it?"
+
+"Yes, and 'W' for Winthrop," he said with a little flare of boldness.
+
+A touch of soft color flagged her cheeks. "And 'I' for impudence," she
+retorted with a smile that robbed the words of offense.
+
+He was careful not to risk outstaying his welcome. After an hour he
+rose to go. His good-bye to Matapi-Koma and Onistah was made in the
+large living-room.
+
+Jessie followed him to the outside door.
+
+He gave her a word of comfort as he buttoned his coat, "Don't you
+worry about Win. I'll keep an eye on him."
+
+"Thank you. And he'll keep one on you, I suppose."
+
+He laughed. That reversal of the case was a new idea to him. The
+prettiest girl in the North was not holding her breath till he
+returned safely. "I reckon," he said. "We'll team together fine."
+
+"Don't be foolhardy, either of you," she cautioned.
+
+"No," he promised, and held out his hand. "Good-bye, if I don't see
+you in the mornin'."
+
+He did not know she was screwing up her courage and had been for half
+an hour to do something she had never done before. She plunged at it,
+a tide of warm blood beating into her face beneath the tan.
+
+"'M' is for Morse too, and 'T' for Tom," she said.
+
+With the same motion she thrust the gun-case into his hand and him out
+of the door.
+
+He stood outside, facing a closed door, the bit of fancy-work in his
+mittens. An exultant electric tingle raced through his veins. She had
+given him a token of friendship he would cherish all his life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+THE LONG TRAIL
+
+
+For four days Whaley lay between life and death. There were hours when
+the vital current in him ebbed so low that McRae thought it was the
+beginning of the end. But after the fifth day he began definitely to
+mend. His appetite increased. The fever in him abated. The delirium
+passed away. Just a week from the time he had been wounded, McRae put
+him on the cariole and took him to town over the hard crust of the
+snow.
+
+Beresford returned from Fort Edmonton a few hours later, carrying with
+him an appointment for Morse as guide and deputy constable.
+
+"Maintiens le droit," said the officer, clapping his friend on the
+shoulder. "You're one of us now. A great chance for a short life you've
+got. Time for the insurance companies to cancel any policies they may
+have on you."
+
+Morse smiled. He was only a deputy, appointed temporarily, but it
+pleased him to be chosen even in this capacity as a member of the most
+efficient police force in the world. "Maintiens le droit" was the
+motto of the Mounted. Tom did not intend that the morale of that body
+should suffer through him if he could help it.
+
+Angus McRae had offered his dog-train for the pursuit and Beresford
+had promptly accepted. The four dogs of the Scotch trapper were far
+and away better than any others that could be picked up in a hurry.
+They had stamina, and they were not savage and wolfish like most of
+those belonging to the Indians and even to the Hudson's Bay Company.
+
+Supplies for the trip had been gathered by Morse. From the Crees he
+had bought two hundred pounds of dried fish for the dogs. Their own
+provisions consisted of pemmican, dried caribou meat, flour, salt,
+tea, and tobacco.
+
+All Faraway was out to see the start. The travelers would certainly
+cover hundreds and perhaps thousands of miles before their return.
+Even in that country of wide spaces, where men mushed far when the
+rivers and lakes were closed, this was likely to prove an epic trip.
+
+Beresford cracked the long lash and Cuffy leaned forward in the
+traces. The tangle of dogs straightened out and began to move. A
+French voyageur lifted his throat in a peculiar shout that was half
+a bark. Indians and half-breeds snowshoed down the street beside
+the sled. At the door of the McRae house stood Angus, his wife, and
+daughter.
+
+"God wi' you haith," the trapper called.
+
+Jessie waved a scarf, and Beresford, who had spent the previous
+evening with her, threw up a hand in gay greeting.
+
+The calvacade drew to the edge of the woods. Morse looked back. A slim
+figure, hardly distinguishable in the distance, still stood in front
+of the McRae house fluttering the scarf.
+
+A turn in the trail hid her. Faraway was shut out of view.
+
+For four or five miles the trappers stayed with them. It was rather a
+custom of the North to speed travelers on their way in this fashion.
+At the edge of the first lake the Indians and half-breeds said
+good-bye and turned back.
+
+Morse moved onto the ice and broke trail. The dogs followed in
+tandem--Cuffy, Koona, Bull, and Caesar. They traveled fast over the
+ice and reached the woods beyond. The timber was not thick. Beyond
+this was a second lake, a larger one. By the time they had crossed
+this, the sun was going down.
+
+The men watched for a sheltered place to camp and as soon as they
+found one, they threw off the trail to the edge of the woods, drawing
+up the sledge back of them as a wind-break. They gathered pine for
+fuel and cut balsam boughs for beds. It had come on to snow, and they
+ate supper with their backs to the drive of the flakes, the hoods of
+their furs drawn over their heads.
+
+The dogs sat round in a half-circle watching them and the frozen fish
+thawing before the fire. Their faces, tilted a little sideways, ears
+cocked and eyes bright, looked anxiously expectant. When the fish were
+half-thawed, Morse tossed them by turn to the waiting animals, who
+managed to get rid of their supper with a snap and a gulp. Afterward
+they burrowed down in the snow and fell asleep.
+
+On the blazing logs Beresford had put two kettles filled with snow.
+These he refilled after the snow melted, until enough water was in
+them. Into one kettle he put a piece of fat caribou meat. The other
+was to make tea.
+
+Using their snowshoes as shovels, they scraped a place clear and
+scattered balsam boughs on it. On this they spread an empty flour
+sack, cut open at the side. Tin plates and cups served as dish.
+
+Their supper consisted of soggy bannocks, fat meat, and tea. While
+they ate, the snow continued to fall. It was not unwelcome, for so
+long as this lasted the cold could not be intolerable. Moreover,
+snow makes a good white blanket and protects against sudden drops in
+temperature.
+
+They changed their moccasins and duffles and pulled on as night-wear
+long buffalo-skin boots, hood, mufflers, and fur mits. A heavy fur
+robe and a blanket were added. Into these last they snuggled down,
+wrapping themselves up so completely that a tenderfoot would have
+smothered for lack of air.
+
+Before they retired, they could hear the ice on the lake cracking like
+distant thunder. The trees back of them occasionally snapped from the
+cold with reports that sounded like pistol shots.
+
+In five minutes both men were asleep. They lay with their heads
+entirely covered, as the Indians did. Not once during the night did
+they stir. To disarrange their bedding and expose the nose or the
+hands to the air would be to risk being frozen.
+
+Morse woke first. He soon had a roaring fire. Again there were two
+kettles on it, one for fat meat and the other for strong tea. No
+fish were thawing before the heat, for dogs are fed only once a day.
+Otherwise they get sleepy and sluggish, losing the edge of their
+keenness.
+
+They were off to an early start. There was a cold head wind that was
+uncomfortable. For hours they held to the slow, swinging stride of the
+webs. Sometimes the trail was through the forest, sometimes in and out
+of brush and small timber. Twice during the day they crossed lakes and
+hit up a lively pace. Once they came to a muskeg, four miles across,
+and had to plough over the moss hags while brush tangled their feet
+and slapped their faces.
+
+Cuffy was a prince of leaders. He seemed to know by some sixth sense
+the best way to wind through underbrush and over swamps. He was
+master of the train and ruled by strength and courage as well as
+intelligence. Bull had ideas of his own, but after one sharp brush
+with Cuffy, from which he had emerged ruffled and bleeding, the native
+dog relinquished claim to dominance.
+
+The travelers made about fifteen miles before noon. They came to a
+solitary tepee, built on the edge of a lake with a background of
+snow-burdened spruce. This lodge was constructed of poles arranged
+cone-shaped side by side, the chinks between plastered with moss
+wedged in to fill every crevice. A thin wisp of smoke rose from an
+open space in the top.
+
+At the sound of the yelping dogs a man lifted the moose-skin curtain
+that served as a door. He was an old and wrinkled Cree. His face was
+so brown and tough and netted with seams that it resembled a piece of
+alligator leather. From out of it peered two very small bright eyes.
+
+"Ugh! Ugh!" he grunted.
+
+This appeared to be all the English that he knew. Beresford tried him
+in French and discovered he had a smattering of it. After a good many
+attempts, the soldier found that he had seen no white man with a
+dog-train in many moons. The Cree lived there alone, it appeared, and
+trapped for a living. Why he was separated from all his kin and tribal
+relations the young Canadian could not find out at the time. Later he
+learned that the old fellow was an outcast because he had once shown
+the white feather in a battle with Blackfeet fifty years earlier.
+
+Before they left, the travelers discovered that he knew two more words
+of English. One was rum, the other tobacco. He begged for both. They
+left him a half-foot of tobacco. The scant supply of whiskey they had
+brought was for an emergency.
+
+Just before night fell, Morse shot two ptarmigan in the woods. These
+made a welcome addition to their usual fare.
+
+Though both the men were experienced in the use of snowshoes, their
+feet were raw from the chafing of the thongs. Before the camp-fire
+they greased the sore places with tallow. In a few days the irritation
+due to the webs would disappear and the leg muscles brought into
+service by this new and steady shuffle would harden and grow fit.
+
+They had built a wind-break of brush beside the sled and covered the
+ground with spruce boughs after clearing away the snow. Here they
+rested after supper, drying socks, duffles, and moccasins, which were
+wet with perspiration, before the popping fire.
+
+Beresford pulled out his English briar pipe and Tom one picked from
+the Company stock. Smoke wreathed their heads while they lounged
+indolently on the spruce bed and occasionally exchanged a remark. They
+knew each other well enough for long silences. When they talked, it
+was because they had something to say.
+
+The Canadian looked at his friend's new gun-case and remarked with a
+gleam in his eye:
+
+"I spoke for that first, Tom. Had miners on it, I thought."
+
+The American laughed sardonically. "It was a present for a good boy,"
+he explained. "I've a notion somebody was glad I was mushin' with you
+on this trip. Maybe you can guess why. Anyhow, I drew a present out of
+it."
+
+"I see you did," Beresford answered, grinning.
+
+"I'm to look after you proper an' see you're tucked up."
+
+"Oh, that's it?"
+
+"That's just it."
+
+The constable looked at him queerly, started to say something, then
+changed his mind.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+A PICTURE IN A LOCKET
+
+
+It was characteristic of McRae that he had insisted on bringing Whaley
+to his own home to recuperate. "It's nursin' you need, man, an' guid
+food. Ye'll get baith at the hoose."
+
+The trader protested, and was overruled. His Cree wife was not just
+now able to look after him. McRae's wife and daughter made good his
+promise, and the wounded man thrived under their care.
+
+On an afternoon Whaley lay on the bed in his room smoking. Beside him
+sat Lemoine, also puffing at a pipe. The trapper had brought to the
+ex-gambler a strange tale of a locket and a ring he had seen bought
+by a half-breed from a Blackfoot squaw who claimed to have had it
+eighteen years. He had just finished telling of it when Jessie knocked
+at the door and came into the room with a bowl of caribou broth.
+
+Whaley pretended to resent this solicitude, but his objection was a
+fraud. He liked this girl fussing over him. His attitude toward her
+was wholly changed. Thinking of her as a white girl, he looked at her
+with respect.
+
+"No more slops," he said. "Bring me a good caribou steak and I'll say
+thank you."
+
+"You're to eat what Mother sends," she told him.
+
+Lemoine had risen from the chair on which he had been sitting. He
+stared at her, a queer look of puzzled astonishment in his eyes.
+Jessie became aware of his gaze and flashed on him a look of
+annoyance.
+
+"Have you seen a ghost, Mr. Lemoine?" she asked.
+
+"By gar, maybeso, Miss Jessie. The picture in the locket, it jus' lak
+you--same hair, same eyes, same smile."
+
+"What picture in what locket?"
+
+"The locket I see at Whoop-Up, the one Pierre Roubideaux buy from old
+Makoye-kin's squaw."
+
+"A picture of a Blackfoot?"
+
+"No-o. Maybe French--maybe from the 'Merican country. I do not know."
+
+Whaley took the pipe from his mouth and sat up, the chill eyes in his
+white face fixed and intent. "Go back to Whoop-Up, Lemoine. Buy
+that locket and that ring for me from Pierre Roubideaux. See
+Makoye-kin--and his squaw. Find out where she got it--and when. Run
+down the whole story."
+
+The trapper took off a fur cap and scratched his curly poll.
+"Mais--pourquois? All that will take money, is it not so?"
+
+"I'll let you have the money. Spend what you need, but account for it
+to me afterward."
+
+Jessie felt the irregular beat of a hammer inside her bosom. "What is
+it you think, Mr. Whaley?" she cried softly.
+
+"I don't know what I think. Probably nothing to it. But there's a
+locket. We know that. With a picture that looks like you, Lemoine here
+thinks. We'd better find out whose picture it is, hadn't we?"
+
+"Yes, but--Do you mean that maybe it has something to do with me? How
+can it? The sister of Stokimatis was my mother. Onistah is my cousin.
+Ask Stokimatis. She knows. What could this woman of the picture be to
+me?"
+
+Jessie could not understand the fluttering pulse in her throat. She
+had not doubted that her mother was a Blackfoot. All the romance of
+her clouded birth centered around the unknown father who had died when
+she was a baby. Stokimatis had not been very clear about that. She had
+never met the man, according to the story she had told Sleeping Dawn.
+Neither she nor those of her tribal group knew anything of him. Was
+there a mystery about his life? In her childish dreams Jessie had
+woven one. He was to her everything desirable, for he was the tie that
+bound her to all the higher standards of life she craved.
+
+"I don't know. Likely it's all a mare's nest. Find Stokimatis,
+Lemoine, and bring her back with you. Well see what she can tell us.
+And get the locket and the ring, with the story back of them."
+
+Again Lemoine referred to the cost. He would have to take his
+dog-train to Whoop-Up, and from there out to the creek where Pierre
+Roubideaux was living. Makoye-kin and his family might be wintering
+anywhere within a radius of a hundred miles. Was there any use in
+going out on such a wild-hare chase?
+
+Whaley thought there was and said so with finality. He did not give
+his real reason, which was that he wanted to pay back to McRae and his
+daughter the debt he owed. They had undoubtedly saved his life after
+he had treated her outrageously. There was already one score to his
+credit, of course. He had saved her from West. But he felt the balance
+still tipped heavily against him. And he was a man who paid his debts.
+
+It was this factor of his make-up--the obligation of old associations
+laid upon him--that had taken him out to West with money, supplies,
+and a dog-train to help his escape.
+
+Jessie went out to find her father. Her eagerness to see him outflew
+her steps. This was not a subject she could discuss with Matapi-Koma.
+The Cree woman would not understand what a tremendous difference it
+made if she could prove her blood was wholly of the superior race. Nor
+could Jessie with tact raise such a point. It involved not only the
+standing of Matapi-Koma herself, but also of her sons.
+
+The girl found McRae in the storeroom looking over a bundle of
+assorted pelts--marten, fox, mink, and beaver. The news tumbled from
+her lips in excited exclamations.
+
+"Oh, Father, guess! Mr. Lemoine saw a picture--a Blackfoot woman had
+it--old Makoye-kin's wife--and she sold it. And he says it was like
+me--exactly. Maybe it was my aunt--or some one. My father's sister!
+Don't you think?"
+
+"I'll ken what I think better gin ye'll just quiet doon an' tell me a'
+aboot it, lass."
+
+She told him. The Scotchman took what she had to say with no outward
+sign of excitement. None the less his blood moved faster. He wanted
+no change in the relations between them that would interfere with the
+love she felt for him. To him it did not matter whether she was of the
+pure blood or of the metis. He had always ignored the Indian in her.
+She was a precious wildling of beauty and delight. By nature she was
+of the ruling race. There was in her nothing servile or dependent,
+none of the inertia that was so marked a mental characteristic of
+the Blackfoot and the Cree. Her slender body was compact of fire and
+spirit. She was alive to her finger-tips.
+
+None the less he was glad on her account. Since it mattered to her
+that she was a half-blood, he would rejoice, too, if she could prove
+the contrary. Or, if she could trace her own father's family, he would
+try to be glad for her.
+
+With his rough forefinger he touched gently the tender curve of the
+girl's cheek. "I'm thinkin' that gin ye find relatives across the
+line, auld Angus McRae will be losin' his dawtie."
+
+She flew into his arms, her warm, young face pressed against his
+seamed cheek.
+
+"Never--never! You're my father--always that no matter what I find.
+You taught me to read and nursed me when I was sick. Always you've
+cared for me and been good to me. I'll never have any real father but
+you," she cried passionately.
+
+He stroked her dark, abundant hair fondly. "My lass, I've gi'en ye all
+the love any yin could gi'e his ain bairn. I doot I've been hard on ye
+at times, but I'm a dour auld man an' fine ye ken my heart was woe for
+ye when I was the strictest."
+
+She could count on the fingers of one hand the times when he had said
+as much. Of nature he was a bit of Scotch granite externally. He was
+sentimental. Most of his race are. But he guarded the expression of it
+as though it were a vice.
+
+"Maybe Onistah has heard his mother say something about it," Jessie
+suggested.
+
+"Like enough. There'll be nae harm in askin' the lad."
+
+But the Blackfoot had little to tell. He had been told by Stokimatis
+that Sleeping Dawn was his cousin, but he had never quite believed it.
+Once, when he had pressed his mother with questions, she had smiled
+deeply and changed the subject. His feeling was, and had always been,
+that there was some mystery about the girl's birth. Stokimatis either
+knew what it was or had some hint of it.
+
+His testimony at least tended to support the wild hopes flaming in the
+girl's heart.
+
+Lemoine started south for Whoop-Up at break of day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+INTO THE LONE LAND
+
+
+Into Northern Lights the pursuers drove after a four-day traverse.
+Manders, of the Mounted, welcomed them with the best he had. No news
+had come to him from the outside for more than two months, and after
+his visitors were fed and warmed, they lounged in front of a roaring
+log fire while he flung questions at them of what the world and its
+neighbor were doing.
+
+Manders was a dark-bearded man, big for the North-West Police. He
+had two hobbies. One was trouble in the Balkans, which he was always
+prophesying. The other was a passion for Sophocles, which he read in
+the original from a pocket edition. Start him on the chariot race in
+"Elektra" and he would spout it while he paced the cabin and gestured
+with flashing eyes. For he was a Rugby and an Oxford man, though born
+with the wanderlust in his heart. Some day he would fall heir to a
+great estate in England, an old baronetcy which carried with it manors
+and deer parks and shaven lawns that had taken a hundred years to
+grow. Meanwhile he lived on pemmican and sour bannocks. Sometimes
+he grumbled, but his grumbling was a fraud. He was here of choice,
+because he was a wild ass of the desert and his ears heard only the
+call of adventure. Of such was the North-West Mounted.
+
+Presently, when the stream of his curiosity as to the outside began to
+dry, Beresford put a few questions of his own. Manders could give him
+no information. He was in touch with the trappers for a radius of a
+hundred miles of which Northern Lights was the center, but no word had
+come to him of a lone traveler with a dog-train passing north.
+
+"Probably striking west of here," the big black Englishman suggested.
+
+Beresford's face twisted to a wry, humorous grimace. East, west, or
+north, they would have to find the fellow and bring him back.
+
+The man-hunters spent a day at Northern Lights to rest the dogs and
+restock their supplies. They overhauled their dunnage carefully,
+mended the broken moose-skin harness, and looked after one of the
+animals that had gone a little lame from a sore pad. From a French
+half-breed they bought additional equipment much needed for the trail.
+He was a gay, good-looking youth in new fringed leather hunting-shirt,
+blue Saskatchewan cap trimmed with ribbons, and cross belt of scarlet
+cloth. His stock in trade was dog-shoes, made of caribou-skin by his
+wife, and while in process of tanning soaked in some kind of liquid
+that would prevent the canines from eating them off their feet.
+
+The temperature was thirty-five below zero when they left the post and
+there were sun dogs in the sky. Manders had suggested that they had
+better wait a day or two, but the man-hunters were anxious to be on
+the trail. They had a dangerous, unpleasant job on hand. Both of them
+wanted it over with as soon as possible.
+
+They headed into the wilds. The road they made was a crooked
+path through the white, unbroken forest. They saw many traces of
+fur-bearing animals, but did not stop to do any hunting. The intense
+cold and the appearance of the sky were whips to drive them fast. In
+the next two or three days they passed fifteen or twenty lakes. Over
+these they traveled rapidly, but in the portages and the woods they
+had to pack the snow, sometimes cut out obstructing brush, and again
+help the dogs over rough or heavy places.
+
+The blizzard caught them the third day. They fought their way through
+the gathering storm across a rather large lake to the timber's
+edge. Here they cleared away a space about nine feet square and cut
+evergreen boughs from the trees to cover it. At one side of this,
+Morse built the fire while Beresford unharnessed the dogs and thawed
+out a mess of frozen fish for them. Presently the kettles were
+bubbling on the fire. The men ate supper and drew the sled up as a
+barricade against the wind.
+
+The cold had moderated somewhat and it had come on to snow. All night
+a sleety, wind-driven drizzle beat upon them. They rose from an
+uncomfortable night to a gloomy day.
+
+They consulted about what was best to do. Their camp was in a poor
+place, among a few water-logged trees that made a poor, smoky fire. It
+had little shelter from the storm, and there was no evidence of fair
+weather at hand.
+
+"Better tackle the next traverse," Morse advised. "Once we get across
+the lake we can't be worse off than we are here."
+
+"Righto!" assented Beresford.
+
+They packed their supplies, harnessed the dogs, and were off. Into the
+storm they drove, head down, buffeted by a screaming wind laden with
+stinging sleet that swept howling across the lake. All about them they
+heard the sharp reports of cracking ice. At any moment a fissure might
+open, and its width might be an inch or several yards. In the blinding
+gale they could see nothing. Literally, they had to feel their way.
+
+Morse went ahead to test the ice, Cuffy following close at his heels.
+The water rushes up after a fissure and soon freezes over. The danger
+is that one may come to it too soon.
+
+This was what happened. Morse, on his snowshoes, crossed the thinly
+frozen ice safely. Cuffy, a step or two behind the trail-breaker,
+plunged through into the water. The prompt energy of Beresford saved
+the other dogs. He stopped them instantly and threw his whole weight
+back to hold the sled. The St. Bernard floundered in the water for a
+few moments and tried to reach Morse. The harness held Cuffy back.
+Beresford ran to the edge of the break and called him. A second or two
+later he was helping to drag the dog back upon the firm ice.
+
+In the bitter cold the matted coat of the St. Bernard, froze stiff.
+Cuffy knew his danger. The instant the sled, was across the crack, he
+plunged at the load and went forward with such speed that he seemed
+almost to drag the other dogs with him.
+
+Fortunately the shore was near, not more than three or four miles
+away. Within half an hour land was reached. A forest came down to the
+edge of the lake. From the nearer trees Morse sliced birch bark. An
+abundance of fairly dry wood was at hand. Before a roaring fire Cuffy
+lay on a buffalo robe and steamed. Within an hour he was snuggling a
+contented nose up to Beresford's caressing hand.
+
+Fagged out, the travelers went to bed early. Long before daybreak they
+were up. The blizzard had died down during the night. It left behind
+a crusted trail over which the dogs moved fast. The thermometer had
+again dropped sharply and the weather was bitter cold. Before the
+lights of an Indian village winked at them through the trees, they
+had covered nearly forty miles. In the wintry afternoon darkness they
+drove up.
+
+The native dogs were barking a welcome long before they came jingling
+into the midst of the tepees. Bucks, squaws, and papooses tumbled
+out to see them with guttural exclamations of greeting. Some of the
+youngsters and one or two of the maidens had never before seen a white
+man.
+
+A fast and furious melee interrupted conversation. The wolfish dogs
+of the village were trying out the mettle of the four strangers. The
+snarling and yelping drowned all other sounds until the gaunt horde
+of sharp-muzzled; stiff-haired brutes had been beaten back by savage
+blows from the whip and by quick thrusts of a rifle butt.
+
+The head man of the group invited the two whites into the largest hut.
+Morse and Beresford sat down before a smoky fire and carried on a
+difficult dialogue. They divided half a yard of tobacco among the men
+present and gave each of the women a small handful of various-colored
+beads.
+
+They ate sparingly of a stew made of fish, the gift of their hosts.
+In turn the officers had added to the menu a large piece of fat moose
+which was devoured with voracity.
+
+The Indians, questioned, had heard a story of a white man traveling
+alone through the Lone Lands with a dog-train. He was a giant of a
+fellow and surly, the word had gone out. Who he was or where he was
+going they did not know, but he seemed to be making for the great
+river in the north. That was the sum and substance of what Beresford
+learned from them about West by persistent inquiry.
+
+After supper, since it was so bitterly cold outside, the man-hunters
+slept in the tepee of the chief. Thirteen Indians too slept there. Two
+of them were the head man's wives, six were his children, one was a
+grandchild. Who the rest of the party were or what relation they bore
+to him, the guests did not learn.
+
+The place was filthy and the air was vile. Before morning both the
+young whites regretted they had not taken chances outside.
+
+"Not ever again," Beresford said with frank disgust after they had set
+out next day. "I'll starve if I have to. I'll freeze if I must. But,
+by Jove! I'll not eat Injun stew or sleep in a pot-pourri of nitchies.
+Not good enough."
+
+Tom grinned. "While I was eatin' the stew, I thought I could stand
+sleepin' there even if I gagged at the eats, and while I was tryin' to
+sleep, I made up my mind if I had to choose one it would be the stew.
+Next time we're wrastlin' with a blizzard, we'll know enough to be
+thankful for our mercies. We'll be able to figure it might be a lot
+worse."
+
+That afternoon they killed a caribou and got much-needed fresh meat
+for themselves and the dogs. Unfortunately, while carrying the
+hind-quarters to the sled, Beresford slipped and strained a tendon
+in the left leg. He did not notice it much at the time, but after an
+hour's travel the pain increased. He found it difficult to keep pace
+with the dogs.
+
+They were traversing a ten-mile lake. Morse proposed that they camp as
+soon as they reached the edge of it.
+
+"Better get on the sled and ride till then," he added.
+
+Beresford shook his head. "No, I'll carry on all right. Got to grin
+and bear it. The sled's overloaded anyhow. You trot along and I'll
+tag. Time you've got the fires built and all the work done, I'll loaf
+into camp."
+
+Tom made no further protest. "All right. Take it easy. I'll unload and
+run back for you."
+
+The Montanan found a good camp-site, dumped the supplies, and left
+Cuffy as a guard. With the other dogs he drove back and met the
+officer. Beresford was still limping doggedly forward. Every step sent
+a shoot of pain through him, but he set his teeth and kept moving.
+
+None the less he was glad to see the empty sled. He tumbled on and let
+the others do the work.
+
+At camp he scraped the snow away with a shoe while Morse cut spruce
+boughs and chopped wood for the fire.
+
+Beresford suffered a good deal from his knee that night. He did not
+sleep much, and when day came it was plain he could not travel. The
+camp-site was a good one. There was plenty of wood, and the shape of
+the draw in which they were located was a protection from the cold
+wind. The dogs would be no worse for a day or two of rest. The
+travelers decided to remain here as long as might be necessary.
+
+Tom went hunting. He brought back a bag of four ptarmigan late in
+the afternoon. Fried, they were delicious. The dogs stood round in
+a half-circle and caught the bones tossed to them. Crunch--
+crunch--crunch. The bones no longer were. The dogs, heads cocked
+on one side, waited expectantly for more tender tidbits.
+
+"Saw deer tracks. To-morrow I'll have a try for one," Morse said.
+
+The lame man hobbled down to the lake next day, broke the ice, and
+fished for jack pike. He took back to camp with him all he could
+carry.
+
+On the fourth day his knee was so much improved that he was able to
+travel slowly. They were glad to see that night the lights of Fort
+Desolation, as one of the Mounted had dubbed the post on account of
+its loneliness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+THE MAN-HUNTERS READ SIGN
+
+
+In the white North travelers are few and far. It is impossible for one
+to pass through the country without leaving a record of his progress
+written on the terrain and in the minds of the natives. The fugitive
+did not attempt concealment. He had with him now an Indian guide and
+was pushing into the Barren Lands. There was no uncertainty about his
+movements. From Fort Chippewayan he had swung to the northwest in the
+line of the great frozen lakes, skirting Athabasca and following the
+Great Slave River to the lake of the same name. This he crossed at the
+narrowest point, about where the river empties into it, and headed for
+the eastern extremity of Lake La Martre.
+
+On his heels, still far behind, trod the two pursuers, patient,
+dogged, and inexorable. They had left far in the rear the out-forts of
+the Mounted and the little settlements of the free traders. Already
+they were deep in the Hudson's Bay Company trapping-grounds. Ahead of
+them lay the Barrens, stretching to the inlets of the Arctic Ocean.
+
+The days were drawing out and the nights getting shorter. The
+untempered sun of the Northland beat down on the cold snow crystals
+and reflected a million sparks of light. In that white field the glare
+was almost unbearable. Both of them wore smoked glasses, but even with
+these their eyes continually smarted. They grew red and swollen. If
+time had not been so great an element in their journey, they would
+have tried to travel only after sunset. But they could not afford
+this. West would keep going as long and as fast as he could.
+
+Each of them dreaded snow-blindness. They knew the sign of it--a
+dreadful pain, a smarting of the eyeballs as though hot burning sand
+were being flung against them. In camp at night they bathed their
+swollen lids and applied a cool and healing salve.
+
+Meanwhile the weeks slipped into months and still they held like
+bulldogs to the trail of the man they were after.
+
+The silence of the wide, empty white wastes surrounded them, except
+for an occasional word, the whine of a dog, and the slithering crunch
+of the sled-runners. From unfriendly frozen deserts they passed,
+through eternal stillness, into the snow wilderness that seemed to
+stretch forever. When they came to forests, now thinner, smaller, and
+less frequent, they welcomed them as they would an old friend.
+
+"He's headin' for Great Bear, looks like," Morse suggested one morning
+after an hour in which neither of them had spoken.
+
+"I was wondering when you'd chirp up, Tom," Beresford grinned
+cheerfully. "Sometimes I think I'm fed up for life on the hissing of
+snowshoe runners. The human voice sure sounds good up here. Yes, Great
+Bear Lake. And after that, where?"
+
+"Up the lake, across to the Mackenzie, and down it to the ocean, I'd
+say. He's makin' for the whaling waters. Herschel Island maybe. He's
+hoping to bump into a whaler and get down on it to 'Frisco."
+
+"Your guess is just as good as any," the Canadian admitted. "He's
+cut out a man-sized job for himself. I'll say that for him. It's a
+five-to-one bet he never gets through alive, even if we don't nab
+him."
+
+"What else can he do? He's got to keep going or be dragged back to be
+hanged. I'd travel too if I were in his place."
+
+"So would I. He's certainly hitting her up. Wish he'd break his leg
+for a week or two," the constable said airily.
+
+They swung into a dense spruce swamp and jumped up a half-grown bear.
+He was so close to them that Tom, who was breaking trail, could see
+his little shining eyes. Morse was carrying his rifle, in the hope
+that he might see a lynx or a moose. The bear turned to scamper away,
+but the intention never became a fact. A bullet crashed through the
+head and brought the animal down.
+
+An hour later they reached an Indian camp on the edge of a lake. On
+stages, built well up from the ground, drying fish were hanging out of
+reach of the dogs. These animals came charging toward the travelers
+as usual, lean, bristling, wolfish creatures that never had been
+half-tamed.
+
+Beresford lashed them back with the whip. Indians came out from the
+huts, matted hair hanging over their eyes. After the usual greetings
+and small presents had been made, the man-hunters asked questions.
+
+"Great Bear Lake--wah-he-o-che (how far)?"
+
+The head man opened his eyes. Nobody in his right mind went to the
+great water at this time of year. It was maybe fifteen, maybe twenty
+days' travel. Who could tell? Were all the fair skins mad? Only three
+days since another dog-train had passed through driven by a big shaggy
+man who had left them no presents after he had bought fish. Three
+whites in as many days, and before that none but voyageur half-breeds
+in twice that number of years.
+
+The trooper let out a boyish whoop. "Gaining fast. Only three days
+behind him, Tom. If our luck stands up, he'll never reach the Great
+Bear."
+
+There was reason back of Beresford's exultant shout. At least one of
+West's dogs had bleeding feet. This the stained snow on the trail
+told them. Either the big man had no shoes for the animals or was too
+careless to use them when needed, the constable had suggested to his
+friend.
+
+"It's not carelessness," Morse said. "It's his bullying nature. Likely
+he's got the shoes, only he won't put 'em on. He'll beat the poor
+brute over the head instead and curse his luck when he breaks down.
+He's too bull-headed to be a good driver."
+
+On the fourth day after this they came upon one of the minor tragedies
+of sub-Arctic travel. The skeleton of a dog lay beside the trail. Its
+bones had been picked clean by its ravenous cannibal companions.
+
+"Three left," Beresford commented. "He'll be figuring on picking up
+another when he meets any Indians or Eskimos."
+
+"If he does it won't be any good to work with his train. I believe
+we've got him. He isn't twenty-five miles ahead of us right now."
+
+"I'd put it at twenty. In about three days now the fireworks will
+begin."
+
+It was the second day after this that they began to notice something
+peculiar about the trail they were following. Hitherto it had taken
+a straight line, except when the bad terrain had made a detour
+advisable. Now it swayed uncertainly, much as a drunken man staggers
+down a street.
+
+"What's wrong with him? It can't be liquor. Yet if he's not drunk,
+what's got into him?" the soldier asked aloud, expecting no answer
+that explained this phenomenon.
+
+Tom shook his head. "See. The Indian's drivin' now. He follows a
+straight enough line. You can tell he's at the tail line by the shape
+of the webs. And West's still lurchin' along in a crazy way. He fell
+down here. Is he sick, d' you reckon?"
+
+"Give it up. Anyhow, he's in trouble. We'll know soon enough what it
+is. Before night now we'll maybe see them."
+
+Before they had gone another mile, the trail in the snow showed
+another peculiarity. It made a wide half-circle and was heading south
+again.
+
+"He's given up. What's that mean? Out of grub, d' you think?"
+Beresford asked.
+
+"No. If they had been, he'd have made camp and gone hunting. We
+crossed musk-ox sign to-day, you know."
+
+"Righto. Can't be that. He must be sick."
+
+They kept their eyes open. At any moment now they were likely to make
+a discovery. Since they were in a country of scrubby brush they moved
+cautiously to prevent an ambush. There was just a possibility that the
+fugitive might have caught sight of them and be preparing an
+unwelcome surprise. But it was a possibility that did not look like a
+probability.
+
+"Something gone 'way off in his plans," Morse said after they had
+mushed on the south trail for an hour. "Looks like he don't know what
+he's doing. Has he gone crazy?"
+
+"Might be that. Men do in this country a lot. We don't know what a
+tough time he's been through."
+
+"I'll bet he's bucked blizzards aplenty in the last two months. Notice
+one thing. West's trailin' after the guide like a lamb. He's makin' a
+sure-enough drunk track. See how the point of his shoe caught the snow
+there an' flung him down. The Cree stopped the sled right away so West
+could get up. Why did he do that? And why don't West ever stray a foot
+outa the path that's broke? That's not like him. He's always boss o'
+the outfit--always leadin'."
+
+Beresford was puzzled, too. "I don't get the situation. It's been
+pretty nearly a thousand miles that we've been following this
+trail--eight hundred, anyhow. All the way Bully West has stamped his
+big foot on it as boss. Now he takes second place. The reason's beyond
+me."
+
+His friend's mind jumped at a conclusion. "I reckon I know why he's
+followin' the straight and narrow path. The guide's got a line round
+his waist and West's tied to it."
+
+"Why?"
+
+The sun's rays, reflected from the snow in a blinding, brilliant
+glare, smote Morse full in the eyes. For days the white fields had
+been very trying to the sight. There had been moments when black spots
+had flickered before him, when red-hot sand had been flung against his
+eyeballs if he could judge by the burning sensation.
+
+He knew now, in a flash, what was wrong with West.
+
+To Beresford he told it in two words.
+
+The constable slapped his thigh. "Of course. That's the answer."
+
+Night fell, the fugitives still not in sight. The country was so rough
+that they might be within a mile or two and yet not be seen.
+
+"Better camp, I reckon," Morse suggested.
+
+"Yes. Here. We'll come up with them to-morrow."
+
+They were treated that evening to an indescribably brilliant
+pyrotechnic display in the heavens. An aurora flashed across the sky
+such as neither of them had ever seen before. The vault was aglow with
+waves of red, violet, and purple that danced and whirled, with fickle,
+inconstant flashes of gold and green and yellow bars. A radiant
+incandescence of great power lit the arch and flooded it with light
+that poured through the cathedral windows of the Most High.
+
+At daybreak they were up. Quickly they breakfasted and loaded. The
+trail they followed was before noon a rotten one, due to a sudden rise
+in the temperature, but it still bore south steadily.
+
+They reached the camp where West and his guide had spent the night.
+Another chapter of the long story of the trail was written here. The
+sled and the guide had gone on south, but West had not been with them.
+His webs went wandering off at an angle, hesitant and uncertain.
+Sometimes they doubled across the track he had already made.
+
+Beresford was breaking trail. His hand shot straight out. In the
+distance there was a tiny black speck in the waste of white. It moved.
+
+Even yet the men who had come to bring the law into the Lone Lands did
+not relax their vigilance. They knew West's crafty, cunning mind.
+This might be a ruse to trap them. When they left the sled and moved
+forward, it was with rules ready. The hunters stalked their prey as
+they would have done a musk ox. Slowly, noiselessly, they approached.
+
+The figure was that of a huge man. He sat huddled in the snow, his
+back to them. Despair was in the droop of the head and the set of the
+bowed shoulders.
+
+One of the dogs howled. The big torso straightened instantly. The
+shaggy head came up. Bully West was listening intently. He turned and
+looked straight at them, but he gave no sign of knowing they were
+there. The constable took a step and the hissing of the shoe-runner
+sounded.
+
+"I'm watchin' you, Stomak-o-sox," the heavy voice of the convict
+growled. "Can't fool me. I see every step you're takin'."
+
+It was an empty boast, almost pathetic in its futility. Morse and
+Beresford moved closer, still without speech.
+
+West broke into violent, impotent cursing. "You're there, you damned
+wood Cree! Think I don't know? Think I can't see you? Well, I can.
+Plain as you can see me. You come here an' get me, or I'll skin you
+alive like I done last week. Hear me?"
+
+The voice rose to a scream. It betrayed terror--the horrible deadly
+fear of being left alone to perish in the icy wastes of the North.
+
+Beresford crept close and waved a hand in front of the big man's eyes.
+West did not know it. He babbled vain and foolish threats at his
+guide.
+
+The convict had gone blind--snow-blind, and Stomak-o-sox had left him
+alone to make a push for his own life while there was still time.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+SNOW-BLIND
+
+
+West grinned up at the officer, his yellow canines showing like
+tusks. His matted face was an unlovely sight. In it stark, naked fear
+struggled with craftiness and cruelty.
+
+"Good you came back--good for you. I ain't blind. I been foolin' you
+all along. Wanted, to try you out. Now we'll mush. Straight for the
+big lake. North by west like we been going. Un'erstand, Stomak-o-sox?
+I'll not beat yore head off this time, but if you ever try any monkey
+tricks with Bully West again--" He let the threat die out in a sound
+of grinding teeth.
+
+Beresford spoke. His voice was gentle. Vile though this murderer
+was, there was something pitiable in his condition. One cannot see a
+Colossus of strength and energy stricken to helplessness without some
+sense of compassion.
+
+"It's not Stomak-o-sox. We're two of the North-West Mounted. You're
+under arrest for breaking prison and for killing Tim Kelly."
+
+The information stunned West. He stared up out of sightless eyes. So
+far as he had known, no member of the Mounted was within five hundred
+miles of him. Yet the law had stretched out its long arm to snatch
+him back from this Arctic waste after he had traveled nearly fifteen
+hundred miles. It was incredible that there could exist such a police
+force on earth.
+
+"Got me, did you?" he growled. He added the boast that he could not
+keep back. "Well, you'd never 'a' got me if I hadn't gone blind--never
+in this world. There ain't any two of yore damned spies could land
+Bully West when he's at himself."
+
+"Had breakfast?"
+
+He broke into a string of curses. "No, our grub's runnin' low. That
+wood Cree slipped away with all we had. Wish I'd killed him last week
+when I skinned him with the dog-whip."
+
+"How long have you been blind?"
+
+"It's been comin' on two-three days. This damned burnin' glare from
+the snow. Yesterday they give out completely. I tied myself by a line
+to the Injun. Knew I couldn't trust him. After all I done for him
+too."
+
+"Did you know he was traveling south with you--had been since
+yesterday afternoon?"
+
+"No, was he?" Again West fell into his natural speech of invective.
+"When I meet up with him, I'll sure enough fill him full o' slugs," he
+concluded savagely.
+
+"You're not likely to meet him again. We've come to take you back to
+prison."
+
+Morse brought the train up and the hungry man was fed. They treated
+his eyes with the simple remedies the North knows and bound them with
+a handkerchief to keep out the fierce light reflected from the snow.
+
+Afterward, they attached him by a line to the driver. He stumbled
+along behind. Sometimes he caught his foot or slipped and plunged down
+into the snow. Nobody had ever called him a patient man. Whenever any
+mishap occurred, he polluted the air with his vile speech.
+
+They made slow progress, for the pace had to be regulated to suit the
+prisoner.
+
+Day succeeded day, each with its routine much the same as the one
+before. They made breakfast, broke camp, packed, and mushed. The swish
+of the runners sounded from morning till night fell. Food began to run
+scarce. Once they left the blind man at the camp while they
+hunted wood buffalo. It was a long, hard business. They came back
+empty-handed after a two-day chase, but less than a mile from camp
+they sighted a half-grown polar bear and dropped it before the animal
+had a chance to move.
+
+One happy hour they got through the Land of Little Sticks and struck
+the forests again.
+
+They had a blazing fire again for the first time in six weeks. Brush
+and sticks and logs went into it till it roared furiously.
+
+Morse turned from replenishing it to notice that West had removed the
+bandage from his eyes.
+
+"Better keep it on," the young man advised.
+
+"I was changin' it. Too tight. Gives me a headache," the convict
+answered sulkily.
+
+"Can you see anything at all yet?"
+
+"Not a thing. Looks to me like I never would."
+
+Tom turned his head for him, so that he faced the blaze squarely. "No
+light at all?"
+
+"Nope. Don't reckon I ever will see."
+
+"Maybe you will. I've known' cases of snow-blindness where they
+couldn't see for a month an' came out all right."
+
+"Hurts like blazes," growled the big fellow.
+
+"I know. But not as bad as it did, does it? That salve has helped
+some."
+
+The two young fellows took care of the man as though he had been a
+brother. They bathed his eyes, fed him, guided him, encouraged him. He
+was a bad lot--the worst that either of them had known. But he was
+in trouble and filled with self-pity. Never ill before, a giant of
+strength and energy, his condition now apparently filled him with
+despair.
+
+He would sit hunched down before the fire, head bowed in his hands, a
+mountain of dole and woe. Sometimes he talked, and he blamed every one
+but himself for his condition. He never had had a square deal. Every
+one was against him. It was a rotten world. Then he would fall to
+cursing God and man.
+
+In some ways he was less trouble than if he had been able to see. He
+was helpless and had to trust to them. His safety depended on their
+safety. He could not strike at them without injuring himself. No
+matter how much he cringed at the thought of being dragged back to
+punishment, he shrank still more from the prospect of death in the
+snow wastes. The situation galled him. Every decent word he gave them
+came grudgingly, and he still snarled and complained and occasionally
+bullied as though he had the whip hand.
+
+"A nice specimen of _ursus horribilis_," Beresford murmured to his
+companion one day. "Thought he was game, anyhow, but he's a yellow
+quitter. Acts as though we were to blame for his blindness and for
+what's waiting for him at the end of the journey. I like a man to
+stand the gaff when it's prodding him."
+
+Morse nodded. "Look out for him. I've got a notion in the back o' my
+head that he's beginning to see again. He'd kill us in a holy minute
+if he dared. Only his blindness keeps him from it. What do you say?
+Shall we handcuff him nights?"
+
+"Not necessary," the constable said. "He can't see a thing. Watch him
+groping for that stick."
+
+"All his brains run to cunning. Don't forget that. Why should he have
+to feel so long for that stick? He laid it down himself a minute ago.
+Tryin' to slip one over on us maybe."
+
+The Canadian looked at the lean, brown face of his friend and grinned.
+"I've a notion our imaginations too are getting a bit jumpy. We've had
+one bully time on this trip--with the reverse English. It's all in the
+day's work to buck blizzards and starve and freeze, though I wouldn't
+be surprised if our systems were pretty well fed up with grief before
+we caught Mr. Bully West. Since then--well, you couldn't call him a
+cheerful traveling companion, could you? A dozen times a day I want to
+rip loose and tell him how much I don't think of him."
+
+"Still--"
+
+"We'll keep an eye on him. If necessary, it'll be the bracelets for
+him. I'd hate to have the Inspector send in a report to headquarters,
+'Constable Beresford missing in the line of duty.' I've a prejudice
+against being shot in the back."
+
+"That's one of the reasons I'm here--to see you're not if I can help
+it."
+
+Beresford's boyish face lit up. He understood what his friend meant.
+"Say, Faraway isn't New York or London or even Toronto. But how'd you
+like to be sitting down to one of Jessie McRae's suppers? A bit of
+broiled venison done to a juicy turn, potatoes, turnips, hot biscuits
+spread with raspberry jam. By jove, it makes the mouth water."
+
+"And a slice of plum puddin' to top off with," suggested Morse,
+bringing his own memory into play. "Don't ask me how I'd like it.
+That's a justifiable excuse for murder. Get busy on that rubaboo. Our
+guest's howlin' for his dinner."
+
+The faint suspicions of Morse made the officers more wary. They
+watched their prisoner a little closer. Neither of them quite believed
+that he was recovering his sight. It was merely a possibility to be
+guarded against.
+
+But the guess of Morse had been true. It had been a week since flashes
+of light had first come to West faintly. He began to distinguish
+objects in a hazy way. Every day he could see better. Now he could
+tell Morse from Beresford, one dog from another. Give him a few more
+days and he would have as good vision as before he had gone blind.
+
+All this he hid cunningly, as a miser does his gold. For his warped,
+cruel brain was planning death to these two men. After that, another
+plunge into the North for life and freedom.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+THE WILD BEAST LEAPS
+
+
+Tom Morse was chopping wood. He knew how to handle an axe. His strokes
+fell sure and strong, with the full circling sweep of the expert.
+
+The young tree crashed down and he began to lop off its branches.
+Halfway up the trunk he stopped and raised his head to listen.
+
+No sound had come to him. None came now. But dear as a bell he heard
+the voice of Win Beresford calling.
+
+"_Help! Help!_"
+
+It was not a cry that had issued from his friend's throat. Tom knew
+that. But it was real. It had sprung out of his dire need from the
+heart, perhaps in the one instant of time left him, and it had leaped
+silently across space straight to the heart of his friend.
+
+Tom kicked into his snowshoes and began to run. He held the axe in his
+hand, gripped near the haft. A couple of hundred yards, perhaps, lay
+between him and camp, which was just over the brow of a small hill.
+The bushes flew past as he swung to his stride. Never had he skimmed
+the crust faster, but his feet seemed to be weighted with lead. Then,
+as he topped the rise, he saw the disaster he had dreaded.
+
+The constable was crumpling to the ground, his body slack and inert,
+while the giant slashed at him with a dub of firewood he had snatched
+from the ground. The upraised arm of the soldier broke the force of
+the blow, but Morse guessed by the way the arm fell that the bone had
+snapped.
+
+At the sound of the scraping runners, West whirled. He lunged
+savagely. Even as Tom ducked, a sharp pain shot through his leg from
+the force of the glancing blow. The axe-head swung like a circle of
+steel. It struck the convict's fur cap. The fellow went down like an
+ox in a slaughter-house.
+
+Tom took one look at him and ran to his friend. Beresford was a sorry
+sight. He lay unconscious, head and face battered, the blood from his
+wounds staining the snow.
+
+The man-hunters had come into the wilderness prepared for emergencies.
+Jessie McRae had prepared a small medicine case as a present for the
+constable. Morse ran to the sled and found this. He unrolled bandages
+and after he had washed the wounds bound them. As he was about to
+examine the arm, he glanced up.
+
+For a fraction of a second West's wolfish eyes glared at him before
+they took on again the stare of blindness. The man had moved. He had
+hitched himself several yards nearer a rifle which stood propped
+against a balsam.
+
+The revolver of the deputy constable came to light. "Stop right where
+you're at. Don't take another step."
+
+The convict snarled rage, but he did not move. Some sure instinct
+warned him what the cold light in the eyes of his captor meant, that
+if he crept one inch farther toward the weapon he would die in his
+tracks.
+
+"He--he jumped me," the murderer said hoarsely.
+
+"Liar! You've been shammin' for a week to get a chance at us. I'd like
+to gun you now and be done with it."
+
+"Don't." West moistened dry lips. "Honest to God he jumped me. Got mad
+at somethin' I said. I wouldn't lie to you, Tom."
+
+Morse kept him covered, circled round him to the rifle, and from there
+to the sled. One eye still on the desperado, he searched for the steel
+handcuffs. They were gone. He knew instantly that some time within the
+past day or two West had got a chance to drop them in the snow.
+
+He found rawhide thongs.
+
+"Lie in the snow, face down," he ordered. "Hands behind you and
+crossed at the wrists."
+
+Presently the prisoner was securely tied. Morse fastened him to the
+sled and returned to Beresford.
+
+The arm was broken above the wrist, just as he had feared. He set it
+as best he could, binding it with splints.
+
+The young officer groaned and opened his eyes. He made a motion to
+rise.
+
+"Don't get up," said Morse. "You've been hurt."
+
+"Hurt?" Beresford's puzzled gaze wandered to the prisoner. A flash
+of understanding lit it. "He asked me--to light--his pipe--and when
+I--turned--he hit--me--with a club," the battered man whispered.
+
+"About how I figured it."
+
+"Afraid--I'm--done--in."
+
+"Not yet, old pal. We'll make a fight for it," the Montanan answered.
+
+"I'm sick." The soldier's head sank down. His eyes closed.
+
+All the splendid, lithe strength of his athletic youth had been beaten
+out of him. To Morse it looked as though he were done for. Was it
+possible for one to take such a terrific mauling and not succumb? If
+he were at a hospital, under the care of expert surgeons and nurses,
+with proper food and attention, he might have a chance in a hundred.
+But in this Arctic waste, many hundred miles from the nearest doctor,
+no food but the coarsest to eat, it would be a miracle if he survived.
+
+The bitter night was drawing in. Morse drove West in front of him to
+bring back the wood he had been cutting. He made the man prepare the
+rubaboo for their supper. After the convict had eaten, he bound his
+hands again and let him lie down in his blankets beside the fire.
+
+Morse did not sleep. He sat beside his friend and watched the fever
+mount in him till he was wildly delirious. Such nursing as was
+possible he gave.
+
+The prisoner, like a chained wild beast, glowered at him hungrily. Tom
+knew that if West found a chance to kill, he would strike. No scruple
+would deter him. The fellow was without conscience, driven by the fear
+of the fate that drew nearer with every step southward. His safety and
+the desire of revenge marched together. Beresford was out of the way.
+It would be his companion's turn next.
+
+After a time the great hulk of a man fell asleep and snored
+stertorously. But Tom did not sleep. He dared not. He had to keep
+vigilant guard to save both his friend's life and his own. For though
+West's hands were tied, it would be the work of only a minute to burn
+away with a live coal the thongs that bound them.
+
+The night wore away. There was no question of travel. Beresford was
+in the grip of a raging fever and could not be moved. Morse made West
+chop wood while he stood over him, rifle in hand. They were short of
+food and had expected to go hunting next day. The supplies might last
+at best six or seven more meals. What was to be done then? Morse could
+not go and leave West where he could get at the man who had put him in
+prison and with a dog-train to carry him north. Nor could he let West
+have a rifle with which to go in search of game.
+
+There were other problems that made the situation impossible. Another
+night was at hand, and again Tom must keep awake to save himself and
+his friend from the gorilla-man who watched him, gloated over him,
+waited for the moment to come when he could safely strike. And after
+that there would be other nights--many of them.
+
+What should he do? What could he do? While he sat beside the delirious
+officer, Tom pondered that question. On the other side of the fire lay
+the prisoner. Triumph--a horrible, cruel, menacing triumph--rode in
+his eye and strutted in his straddling walk when he got up. His hour
+was coming. It was coming fast.
+
+Once Tom fell asleep for a cat-nap. He caught himself nodding, and
+with a jerk flung back his head and himself to wakefulness. In the air
+was a burning odor.
+
+Instinct told him what it was. West had been tampering with the
+rawhide thongs round his wrists, had been trying to burn them away.
+
+He made sure that the fellow was still fast, then drank a tin cup of
+strong tea. After he had fed the sick man a little caribou broth,
+persuading him with infinite patience to take it, a spoonful at a
+time, Morse sat down again to wear out the hours of darkness.
+
+The problem that pressed on him could no longer be evaded. A stark
+decision lay before him. To postpone it was to choose one of the
+alternatives. He knew now, almost beyond any possibility of doubt,
+that either West must die or else he and his friend. If he had not
+snatched himself awake so promptly an hour ago, Win and he would
+already be dead men. It might be that the constable was going to die,
+anyhow, but he had a right to his chance of life.
+
+On the other hand there was one rigid rule of the North-West Mounted.
+The Force prided itself on living up to it literally. When a man
+was sent out to get a prisoner, _he brought him in alive_. It was
+a tradition. The Mounted did not choose the easy way of killing
+lawbreakers because of the difficulty of capturing them. They walked
+through danger, usually with aplomb, got their man, and brought him
+in.
+
+That was what Beresford had done with Pierre Poulette after the
+Frenchman had killed Buckskin Jerry. He had followed the man for
+months, captured him, lived with him alone for a fourth of a year in
+the deep snows, and brought him back to punishment. It was easy enough
+to plead that this situation was a wholly different one. Pierre
+Poulette was no such dangerous wild beast as Bully West. Win did not
+have with him a companion wounded almost to death who had to be nursed
+back to health, one struck down by the prisoner treacherously. There
+was just a fighting chance for the officers to get back to Desolation
+if West was eliminated from the equation. Tom knew he would have a
+man's work cut out for him to win through--without the handicap of the
+prisoner.
+
+Deep in his heart he believed that it was West's life or theirs. It
+wasn't humanly possible, in addition to all the other difficulties
+that pressed on him, to guard this murderer and bring him back for
+punishment. There was no alternative, it seemed to Tom. Thinking could
+not change the conditions. It might be sooner, it might be later, but
+under existing circumstances the desperado would find his chance to
+attack, _if he were alive to take it_.
+
+The fellow's life was forfeit. As soon as he was turned over to the
+State, it would be exacted of him. Since his assault on Beresford,
+surely he had lost all claim to consideration as a human being.
+
+Just now there were only three men in the world so far as they were
+concerned. These three constituted society. Beresford, his mind still
+wandering with incoherent mutterings, was a non-voting member. He,
+Tom Morse, must be judge and jury. He must, if the prisoner were
+convicted, play a much more horrible role. In the silence of the cold
+sub-Arctic night he fought the battle out while automatically he
+waited on his friend.
+
+West snored on the other side of the fire.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+NEAR THE END OF A LONG CROOKED TRAIL
+
+
+When West awoke, Morse was whittling on a piece of wood with his sharp
+hunting-knife. It was a flat section from a spruce, and it had been
+trimmed with an axe till it resembled a shake in shape.
+
+The outlaw's curiosity overcame his sullenness at last. It made him
+jumpy, anyhow, to sit there in silence except for the muttering of the
+sick man.
+
+"Whajamakin'?" he demanded.
+
+Morse said nothing. He smoothed the board to his satisfaction, then
+began lettering on it with a pencil.
+
+"I said whajadoin'," growled West, after another silence.
+
+The special constable looked at him, and in the young man's eyes there
+was something that made the murderer shiver.
+
+"I'm making a tombstone."
+
+"What?" West felt a drench of ice at his heart.
+
+"A marker for a grave."
+
+"For--for him? Maybe he won't die. Looks better to me. Fever ain't so
+high."
+
+"It's not for him."
+
+West moistened his dry lips with his tongue. "You will have yore li'l
+joke, eh? Who's it for?"
+
+"For you."
+
+"For me?" The man's fear burst from him in a shriek. "Whajamean for
+me?"
+
+From the lettering Morse read aloud. "'Bully West, Executed, Some
+Time late in March, 1875.'" And beneath it, "'May God Have Mercy on
+His Soul.'"
+
+Tiny beads of sweat gathered on the convict's clammy forehead. "You
+aimin' to--to murder me?" he asked hoarsely.
+
+"To execute you."
+
+"With--without a trial? My God, you can't do that! I got a right to a
+trial."
+
+"You've been tried--and condemned. I settled all that in the night."
+
+"But--it ain't legal. Goddlemighty, you got no _right_ to act
+thataway. All you can do is to take me back to the courts." The heavy
+voice broke again to a scream.
+
+Morse slipped the hunting-knife back into its case. He looked steadily
+at the prisoner. In his eyes there was no anger, no hatred. But back
+of the sadness in them was an implacable resolution.
+
+"Courts and the law are a thousand miles away," he said. "You know
+your crimes. You murdered Tim Kelly treacherously. You planned to
+spoil an innocent girl's life by driving her to worse than death.
+You shot your partner in the back after he did his best to help you
+escape. You tortured Onistah and would have killed him if we hadn't
+come in time. You assaulted my friend here and he'll probably die from
+his wounds. It's the end of the long trail for you, Bully West. Inside
+of half an hour you will be dead. If you've anything to say--if you
+can make your peace with heaven--don't waste a moment."
+
+The face of West went gray. He stared at the other man, the
+horror-filled eyes held fascinated. "You--you're tryin' to scare me,"
+he faltered. "You wouldn't do that. You couldn't. It ain't allowed by
+the Commissioner." One of the bound arms twitched involuntarily. The
+convict knew that he was lost. He had a horrible conviction that this
+man meant to do as he had said.
+
+The face of Morse was inexorable as fate itself, but inside he was a
+river of rushing sympathy. This man was bad. He himself had forced the
+circumstances that made it impossible to let him live. None the less
+Tom felt like a murderer. The thing he had to do was so horribly
+cold-blooded. If this had been a matter between the two of them, he
+could at least have given the fellow a chance for his life. But not
+now--not with Win Beresford in the condition he was. If he were going
+to save his friend, he could not take the chances of a duel.
+
+"Ten minutes now," Morse said. His voice was hoarse and low. He felt
+his nerves twitching, a tense aching in the throat.
+
+"I always liked you fine, Tom," the convict pleaded desperately. "Me
+'n' you was always good pals. You wouldn't do me dirt thataway now. If
+you knew the right o' things--how that Kelly kep' a-devilin' me, how
+Whaley was layin' to gun me when he got a chanct, how I stood up for
+the McRae girl an' protected her against him. Goddlemighty, man, you
+ain't aimin' to kill me like a wolf!" The shriek of uncontrollable
+terror lifted into his voice once more. "I ain't ready to die. Gimme a
+chance, Tom. I'll change my ways. I swear I will. I'll do like you say
+every minute. I'll nurse Beresford. Me, I'm a fine nurse. If you'll
+gimme a week--jus' one more week. That ain't much to ask. So's I can
+git ready."
+
+The man slipped to his knees and began to crawl toward Morse. The
+young man got up, his teeth set. He could not stand much of this sort
+of thing without collapsing himself.
+
+"Get up," he said. "We're going over the hill there."
+
+"No--no--no!"
+
+It took Morse five minutes to get the condemned man to his feet. The
+fellow's face was ashen. His knees shook.
+
+Tom was in almost as bad a condition himself.
+
+Beresford's high voice cut in. In his delirium he was perhaps living
+over again his experience with Pierre Poulette.
+
+"Maintiens le droit. Get your man and bring him in. Tough sledding.
+Never mind. Go through, old fellow. Bring him in. That's what you're
+sent for. Hogtie him. Drag him with a rope around his neck. Get him
+back somehow."
+
+The words struck Tom motionless. It was as though some voice were
+speaking to him through the sick man's lips. He waited.
+
+"Righto, sir," the soldier droned on. "See what I can do, sir. Have
+a try at it, anyhow." And again he murmured the motto of the Mounted
+Police.
+
+Tom had excused himself for what he thought it was his duty to do on
+the ground that it was not humanly possible to save his friend and
+bring West back. It came to him in a flash that the Mounted Police
+were becoming so potent a power for law and order because they never
+asked whether the job assigned them was possible. They went ahead and
+did it or died trying to do it. It did not matter primarily whether
+Beresford and he got back alive or not. If West murdered them, other
+red-coats would take the trail and get him.
+
+What he, Tom Morse, had to do was to carry on. He could not choose the
+easy way, even though it was a desperately hard one for him. He could
+not make himself a judge over this murderer, with power of life and
+death. The thing that had been given him to do was to bring West to
+Faraway. He had no choice in the matter. Win or lose, he had to play
+the hand out as it was dealt him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+OVER A ROTTING TRAIL
+
+
+Tom believed that Beresford's delirious words had condemned them both
+to death. He could not nurse his friend, watch West night and day,
+keep the camp supplied with food, and cover the hundreds of miles
+of bleak snow fields which stretched between them and the nearest
+settlement. He did not think that any one man lived who was capable of
+succeeding in such a task.
+
+Yet his first feeling was of immediate relief. The horrible duty that
+had seemed to be laid upon him was not a duty at all. He saw his
+course quite simply. All he had to do was to achieve the impossible.
+If he failed in it, he would go down like a soldier in the day's work.
+He would have, anyhow, no torturings of conscience, no blight resting
+upon him till the day of his death.
+
+"You're reprieved, West," he announced simply.
+
+The desperado staggered to the sled and leaned against it faintly. His
+huge body swayed. The revulsion was almost too much for him.
+
+"I--I--knowed you couldn't treat an old pardner thataway, Tom," he
+murmured.
+
+Morse took the man out to a fir tree. He carried with him a blanket, a
+buffalo robe, and a part of the dog harness.
+
+"Whad you aimin' to do?" asked West uneasily. He was not sure yet that
+he was out of the woods.
+
+"Roll up in the blankets," ordered Morse.
+
+The fellow looked at his grim face and did as he was told. Tom tied
+him to the tree, after making sure that his hands were fast behind
+him.
+
+"I'll freeze here," the convict complained.
+
+The two officers were lean and gaunt from hard work and insufficient
+nourishment, but West was still sleek and well padded with flesh.
+He had not missed a meal, and during the past weeks he had been a
+passenger. All the hard work, the packing at portages, the making of
+camp, the long, wearing days of hunting, had fallen upon the two whose
+prisoner he was. He could stand a bit of hardship, Tom decided.
+
+"No such luck," he said brusquely. "And I wouldn't try to break away
+if I were you. I can't kill you, but I'll thrash you with the dog-whip
+if you make me any trouble."
+
+Morse called Cuffy and set the dog to watch the bound man. He did not
+know whether the St. Bernard would do this, but he was glad to see
+that the leader of the train understood at once and settled down in
+the snow to sleep with one eye watchful of West.
+
+Tom returned to his friend. He knew he must concentrate his efforts to
+keep life in the battered body of the soldier. He must nurse and feed
+him judiciously until the fever wore itself out.
+
+While he was feeding Win broth, he fell asleep with the spoon in his
+hand. He jerkily flung back his head and opened his eyes. Cuffy still
+lay close to the prisoner, evidently prepared for an all-night vigil
+with short light naps from which the least movement would instantly
+arouse him.
+
+"I'm all in. Got to get some sleep," Morse said to himself, half
+aloud.
+
+He wrapped in his blankets. When his eyes opened, the sun was beating
+down from high in the heavens. He had slept from one day into the
+next. Even in his sleep he had been conscious of some sound drumming
+at his ears. It was the voice of West.
+
+"You gonna sleep all day? Don't we get any grub? Have I gotta starve
+while you pound yore ear?"
+
+Hurriedly Tom flung aside his wraps. He leaped to his feet, a new man,
+his confidence and vitality all restored.
+
+The fire had died to ashes. He could hear the yelping of the dogs in
+the distance. They were on a private rabbit hunt of their own, all of
+them but Cuffy. The St. Bernard still lay in the snow watching West.
+
+Beresford's delirium was gone and his fever was less. He was very
+weak, but Tom thought he saw a ghost of the old boyish grin flicker
+indomitably into his eyes. As Tom looked at the swathed and bandaged
+head, for the first time since the murderous attack he allowed
+himself to hope. The never-say-die spirit of the man and the splendid
+constitution built up by a clean outdoor life might pull him through
+yet.
+
+"West was afraid you never were going to wake up, Tom. It worried him.
+You know how fond of you he is," the constable said weakly.
+
+Morse was penitent. "Why didn't you wake me, Win? You must be dying of
+thirst."
+
+"I could do with a drink," he admitted. "But you needed that sleep.
+Every minute of it."
+
+Tom built up the fire and thawed snow. He gave Beresford a drink and
+then fed more of the broth to him. He made breakfast for the prisoner
+and himself.
+
+Afterward, he took stock of their larder. It was almost empty. "Enough
+flour and pemmican for another mess of rubaboo. Got to restock right
+away or our stomachs will be flat as a buffalo bull's after a long
+stampede."
+
+He spoke cheerfully, yet he and Beresford both knew a hunt for game
+might be unsuccessful. Rabbits would not do. He had to provide enough
+to feed the dogs as well as themselves. If he did not get a moose, a
+bear, or caribou, they would face starvation.
+
+Tom redressed the wounds of the trooper and examined the splints on
+the arm to make sure they had not become disarranged during the night
+in the delirium of the sick man.
+
+"Got to leave you, Win. Maybe for a day or more. I'll have plenty of
+wood piled handy for the fire--and broth all ready to heat. Think you
+can make out?"
+
+The prospect could not have been an inviting one for the wounded man,
+but he nodded quite as a matter of course.
+
+"I'll be all right. Take your time. Don't spoil your hunt worrying
+about me."
+
+Yet it was with extreme reluctance Tom had made up his mind to go. He
+would take the dog-train with him--and West, unarmed, of course. He
+had to take him on Beresford's account, because he dared not leave
+him. But as he looked at his friend, all the supple strength stricken
+out of him, weak and helpless as a sick child, he felt a queer tug at
+the heart. What assurance had he that he would find him still alive on
+his return?
+
+Beresford knew what he was thinking. He smiled, the gentle,
+affectionate smile of the very ill. "It's all right, old fellow. Got
+to buck up and carry on, you know. Look out--for West. Don't give him
+any show at you. Never trust him--not for a minute. Remember he's--a
+wolf." His weak hand gripped Tom's in farewell.
+
+The American turned away hurriedly, not to show the tears that
+unexpectedly brimmed his lids. Though he wore the hard surface of the
+frontier, his was a sensitive soul. He was very fond of this gay,
+gallant youth who went out to meet adventure as though it were a lover
+with whom he had an appointment. They had gone through hell together,
+and the fires of the furnace had proved the Canadian true gold. After
+all, Tom was himself scarcely more than a boy in years. He cherished,
+deep hidden in him, the dreams and illusions that long contact with
+the world is likely to dispel. At New Haven and Cambridge lads of his
+age were larking beneath the elms and playing childish pranks on each
+other.
+
+West drove the team. Tom either broke trail or followed. He came
+across plenty of tracks, but most of them were old ones. He recognized
+the spoor of deer, bear, and innumerable rabbits. Toward noon fresh
+caribou tracks crossed their path. The slot pointed south. Over a soft
+and rotting trail Morse swung round in pursuit.
+
+They made heavy going of it. He had to break trail through slushy
+snow. His shoes broke through the crust and clogged with the sludgy
+stuff so that his feet were greatly weighted. Fatigue pressed like a
+load on his shoulders. The dogs and West wallowed behind.
+
+By night probably the trail would be much better, but they dared not
+wait till then. The caribou would not stop to suit the convenience of
+the hunters. This might be the last shot in the locker. Every dragging
+lift of the webs carried Morse farther from camp, but food had to be
+found and in quantity.
+
+It was close to dusk when Tom guessed they were getting near the herd.
+He tied the train to a tree and pushed on with West. Just before
+nightfall he sighted the herd grazing on muskeg moss. There were about
+a dozen in all. The wind was fortunately right.
+
+Tom motioned to West not to follow him. On hands and knees the hunter
+crept forward, taking advantage of such cover as he could find. It was
+a slow, cold business, but he was not here for pleasure. A mistake
+might mean the difference between life and death for him and Win
+Beresford.
+
+For a stalker to determine the precise moment when to shoot is usually
+a nice decision. Perhaps he can gain another dozen yards on his prey.
+On the other hand, by moving closer he may startle them and lose his
+chance. With so much at stake Tom felt for the second time in his life
+the palsy that goes with buck fever.
+
+A buck flung up his head and sniffed toward the hidden danger. Tom
+knew the sign of startled doubt. Instantly his trembling ceased. He
+aimed carefully and fired. The deer dropped in its tracks. Again he
+fired--twice--three times. The last shot was a wild one, sent on a
+hundredth chance. The herd vanished in the gathering darkness.
+
+Tom swung forward exultant, his webs swishing swiftly over the snow.
+He had dropped two. A second buck had fallen, risen, run fifty yards,
+and come to earth again. The hunter's rifle was ready in case either
+of the caribou sprang up. He found the first one dead, the other badly
+wounded. At once he put the buck out of its pain.
+
+West came slouching out of the woods at Tom's signal. Directed by the
+officer, he made a fire and prepared for business. The stars were
+out as they dressed the meat and cooked a large steak on the coals.
+Afterward they hung the caribou from the limb of a spruce, drawing
+them high enough so that no prowling wolves could reach the game.
+
+With the coming of night the temperature had fallen and the snow
+hardened. The crust held beneath their webs as they returned to
+the sled. West wanted to camp where the deer had been killed. He
+protested, with oaths, in his usual savage growl, that he was dead
+tired and could not travel another step.
+
+But he did. Beneath the stars the hunters mushed twenty miles back to
+camp. They made much better progress by reason of the frozen trail and
+the good meal they had eaten.
+
+It was daybreak when Morse sighted the camp-fire smoke. His heart
+leaped. Beresford must have been able to keep it alive with fuel.
+Therefore he had been alive an hour or two ago at most.
+
+Dogs and men trudged into camp ready to drop with fatigue.
+
+Beresford, from where he lay, waved a hand at Tom. "Any luck?" he
+asked.
+
+"Two caribou."
+
+"Good. I'll be ready for a steak to-morrow."
+
+Morse looked at him anxiously. The glaze had left his eyes. He was no
+longer burning up with fever. Both voice and movements seemed stronger
+than they had been twenty-four hours earlier.
+
+"Bully for you, Win," he answered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+A CREE RUNNER BRINGS NEWS
+
+
+"Don't you worry about that lad, Jessie. He's got as many lives as a
+cat--and then some. I've knew him ever since he was knee-high to a
+grasshopper."
+
+Brad Stearns was talking. He sat in the big family room at the McRae
+house and puffed clouds of tobacco, smoke to the rafters.
+
+"Meaning Mr. Beresford?" asked Jessie demurely. She was patching a
+pair of leather trousers for Fergus and she did not raise her eyes
+from the work.
+
+"Meanin' Tom Morse," the old-timer said. "Not but what Beresford's a
+good lad too. Sand in his craw an' a kick like a mule in his fist. But
+he was brought up somewheres in the East, an' o' course he's a leetle
+mite less tough than Tom. No, sir. Tom'll bob up one o' these here
+days good as ever. Don't you worry none about that. Why, he ain't been
+gone but--lemme see, a week or so better'n four months. When a man's
+got to go to the North Pole an' back, four months--"
+
+Beneath her long lashes the girl slanted a swift look at Brad. "That
+makes twice you've told me in two minutes not to worry about Mr.
+Morse. Do I look peaked? Am I lying awake nights thinking about him,
+do you think?" She held up the renewed trousers and surveyed her
+handiwork critically.
+
+Brad gazed at her through narrowed lids. "I'll be doggoned if I know
+whether you are or you ain't. I'd bet a pair o' red-topped boots it's
+one of them lads. 'Course Beresford's got a red coat an' spurs that
+jingle an' a fine line o' talk. Tom he ain't got ary one o' the three.
+But if it's a man you're lookin' for, a two-fisted man who--"
+
+A wave of mirth crossed Jessie's face like a ripple on still water.
+Her voice mimicked his. "Why do you want to saw off an old maid on
+that two-fisted man you've knew ever since he was knee-high to a
+grasshopper? What did he ever do to you that was so doggoned mean?"
+
+"Now looky here, you can laugh at me all you've a mind to. All I'm
+sayin' is--"
+
+"Oh, I'm not laughing at you," she interposed hurriedly with an
+assumption of anxiety her bubbling eyes belied. "If you could show me
+how to get your two-fisted man when he comes back--or even the one
+with the red coat and the spurs and the fine line of talk--"
+
+"I ain't sayin' he ain't a man from the ground up too," Brad broke in.
+"Considerin' his opportunities he's a right hefty young fellow. But
+Tom Morse he--"
+
+"That's it exactly. Tom Morse he--"
+
+"Keep right on makin' fun o' me. Tom Morse he's a man outa ten
+thousand, an' I don't know as I'm coverin' enough population at that."
+
+"And you're willing to make a squaw-man of him. Oh, Mr. Stearns!"
+
+He looked at her severely. "You got no license to talk thataway,
+Jessie McRae. You're Angus McRae's daughter an' you been to Winnipeg
+to school. Anyways, after what Lemoine found out--"
+
+"What did he find out? Pierre Roubideaux couldn't tell him anything
+about the locket and the ring. Makoye-kin said he got it from his
+brother who was one of a party that massacred an American outfit of
+trappers headed for Peace River. He doesn't know whether the picture
+of the woman in the locket was that of one of the women in the camp.
+All we've learned is that I look like a picture of a white woman found
+in a locket nearly twenty years ago. That doesn't take us very far,
+does it?"
+
+"Well, Stokimatis may know something. When Onistah comes back with
+her, we'll get the facts straight."
+
+McRae came into the room. "News, lass," he cried, and his voice rang.
+"A Cree runner's just down frae Northern Lights. He says the lads were
+picked up by some trappers near Desolation. One o' them's been badly
+hurt, but he's on the mend. Which yin I dinna ken. What wi' starvation
+an' blizzards an' battles they've had a tough time. But the word is
+they're doing fine noo."
+
+"West?" asked Brad. "Did they get him?"
+
+"They got him. Dragged him back to Desolation with a rope round his
+neck. Hung on to him while they were slam-bangin' through blizzards
+an' runnin' a race wi' death to get back before they starved. Found
+him up i' the Barrens somewhere, the story is. He'll be hangit at the
+proper time an' place. It's in the Word. 'They that take the sword
+shall perish with the sword.' Matthew 26:52."
+
+Brad let out the exultant rebel yell he had learned years before in
+the Confederate army. "What'd I tell you about that boy? Ain't I
+knowed him since he was a li'l' bit of a tad? He's a go-getter, Tom
+is. Y'betcha!"
+
+Jessie's heart was singing too, but she could not forbear a friendly
+gibe at him. "I suppose Win Beresford wasn't there at all. He hadn't a
+thing to do with it, had he?"
+
+The old cowpuncher raised a protesting hand. "I ain't said a word
+against him. Now have I, McRae? Nothin' a-tall. All I done said was
+that I been tellin' everybody Tom would sure enough bring back Bully
+West with him."
+
+The girl laughed. "You're daffy about that boy you brought up by hand.
+I'll not argue with you."
+
+"They're both good lads," the Scotchman summed up, and passed to his
+second bit of news. "Onistah and Stokimatis are in frae the Blackfoot
+country. They stoppit at the store, but they'll be alang presently. I
+had a word wi' Onistah. We'll wait for him here."
+
+"Did he say what he'd found out?" Jessie cried.
+
+"Only that he had brought back the truth. That'll be the lad knockin'
+at the door."
+
+Jessie opened, to let in Onistah and his mother. Stokimatis and the
+girl gravitated into each other's arms, as is the way with women who
+are fond of each other. The Indian is stolid, but Jessie had the habit
+of impetuosity, of letting her feelings sweep her into demonstration.
+Even the native women she loved were not proof against it.
+
+McRae questioned Stokimatis.
+
+Without waste of words the mother of Onistah told the story she had
+traveled hundreds of miles to tell.
+
+Sleeping Dawn was not the child of her sister. When the attack had
+been made on the white trappers bound for Peace River, the mother of a
+baby had slipped the infant under an iron kettle. After the massacre
+her sister had found the wailing little atom of humanity. The Indian
+woman had recently lost her own child. She hid the babe and afterward
+was permitted to adopt it. When a few months later she died of
+smallpox, Stokimatis had inherited the care of the little one. She had
+named it Sleeping Dawn. Later, when the famine year came, she had sold
+the child to Angus McRae.
+
+That was all she knew. But it was enough for Jessie. She did not know
+who her parents had been. She never would know, beyond the fact that
+they were Americans and that her mother had been a beautiful girl
+whose eyes laughed and danced. But this knowledge made a tremendous
+difference to her. She belonged to the ruling race and not to the
+metis, just as much as Win Beresford and Tom Morse did.
+
+She tried to hide her joy, was indeed ashamed of it. For any
+expression of it seemed like a reproach to Matapi-Koma and Onistah and
+Stokimatis, to her brother Fergus and in a sense even to her father.
+None the less her blood beat fast. What she had just found out meant
+that she could aspire to the civilization of the whites, that she
+had before her an outlook, was not to be hampered by the limitations
+imposed upon her by race.
+
+The heart in the girl sang a song of sunshine dancing on grass, of
+meadowlarks flinging out their carefree notes of joy. Through it like
+a golden thread ran for a motif little melodies that had to do with a
+man who had staggered into Fort Desolation out of the frozen North,
+sick and starved and perhaps wounded, but still indomitably captain of
+his soul.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+"MALBROUCK S'EN VA-T-EN GUERRE"
+
+
+Inspector MacLean was present in person when the two man-hunters of
+the North-West Mounted returned to Faraway. Their reception was in the
+nature of a pageant. Gayly dressed voyageurs and trappers, singing
+old river songs that had been handed down to them from their fathers,
+unharnessed the dogs and dragged the cariole into town. In it sat
+Beresford, still unfit for long and heavy mushing. Beside it slouched
+West, head down, hands tied behind his back, the eyes from the matted
+face sending sidling messages of hate at the capering crowd. At his
+heels moved Morse, grim and tireless, an unromantic figure of dominant
+efficiency.
+
+Long before the worn travelers and their escort reached the village,
+Jessie could hear the gay lilt of the chantey that heralded their
+coming:
+
+  "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre,
+   Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine."
+
+The girl hummed it herself, heart athrob with excitement. She found
+herself joining in the cheer of welcome that rose joyously when the
+cavalcade drew into sight. In her cheeks fluttered eager flags of
+greeting. Tears brimmed the soft eyes, so that she could hardly
+distinguish Tom Morse and Win Beresford, the one lean and gaunt and
+grim, the other pale and hollow-eyed from illness, but scattering
+smiles of largesse. For her heart was crying, in a paraphrase of the
+great parable, "He was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is
+found."
+
+Beresford caught sight of the Inspector's face and chuckled like
+a schoolboy caught in mischief. This gay procession, with its
+half-breeds in tri-colored woolen coats, its gay-plumed voyageurs
+suggesting gallant troubadours of old in slashed belts and tassels,
+was not quite the sort of return to set Inspector MacLean cheering.
+Externally, at least, he was a piece of military machinery. A trooper
+did his work, and that ended it. In the North-West Mounted it was not
+necessary to make a gala day of it because a constable brought in his
+man. If he didn't bring him in--well, that would be another and a
+sadder story for the officer who fell down on the assignment.
+
+As soon as Beresford and Morse had disposed of their prisoner and
+shaken off their exuberant friends, they reported to the Inspector.
+He sat at a desk and listened dryly to their story. Not till they had
+finished did he make any comment.
+
+"You'll have a week's furlough to recuperate, Constable Beresford.
+After that report to the Writing-on-Stone detachment for orders.
+Here's a voucher for your pay, Special Constable Morse. I'll say
+to you both that it was a difficult job well done." He hesitated a
+moment, then proceeded to free his mind. "As for this Roman triumph
+business--victory procession with prisoners chained to your chariot
+wheels--quite unnecessary, I call it."
+
+Beresford explained, smilingly. "We really couldn't help it, sir. They
+were bound to make a Roman holiday out of us whether we wanted to or
+not. You know how excitable the French are. Had to have their little
+frolic out of it."
+
+"Not the way the Mounted does business. You know that, Beresford.
+We don't want any fuss and feathers--any fol-de-rol--this
+mironton-ton-ton stuff. Damn it, sir, you liked it. I could see you
+eat it up. D'you s'pose I haven't eyes in my head?"
+
+The veneer of sobriety Beresford imposed on his countenance refused to
+stay put.
+
+MacLean fumed on. "Hmp! Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre, eh? Very
+pretty. Very romantic, no doubt. But damned sentimental tommyrot, just
+the same."
+
+"Yes, sir," agreed the constable, barking into a cough just in time to
+cut off a laugh.
+
+"Get out!" ordered the Inspector, and there was the glimmer of a
+friendly smile in his own eyes. "And I'll expect you both to dine with
+me to-night. Six o'clock sharp. I'll hear that wonderful story in more
+detail. And take care of yourself, Beresford. You don't look strong
+yet. I'll make that week two or three if necessary."
+
+"Thank you, sir."
+
+"Hmp! Don't thank me. Earned it, didn't you? What are you hanging
+around for? Get out!"
+
+Constable Beresford had his revenge. As he passed the window,
+Inspector MacLean heard him singing. The words that drifted to the
+commissioned office! were familiar.
+
+  "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre,
+   Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine."
+
+MacLean smiled at the irrepressible youngster. Like most people, he
+responded to the charm of Winthrop Beresford. He could forgive him a
+touch of debonair impudence if necessary.
+
+It happened that his heart was just now very warm toward both these
+young fellows. They had come through hell and had upheld the best
+traditions of the Force. Between the lines of the story they had told
+he gathered that they had shaved the edge of disaster a dozen times.
+But they had stuck to their guns like soldiers. They had fought it out
+week after week, hanging to their man with bulldog pluck. And when at
+last they were found almost starving in camp, they were dividing their
+last rabbit with the fellow they were bringing out to be hanged.
+
+The Inspector walked to the window and looked down the street after
+them. His lips moved, but no sound came from them. The rhythmic motion
+of them might have suggested, if there had been anybody present to
+observe, that his mind was running on the old river song.
+
+  "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre,
+  Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+SENSE AND NONSENSE
+
+
+Beresford speaking, to an audience of one, who listened with soft dark
+eyes aglow and sparkling.
+
+"He's the best scout ever came over the border, Jessie. Trusty as
+steel, stands the gaff without whining, backs his friends to the
+limit, and plays the game out till the last card's dealt and the last
+trick lost. Tom Morse is a man in fifty thousand."
+
+"I know another," she murmured. "Every word you've said is true for
+him too."
+
+"He's a wonder, that other." admitted the soldier dryly. "But we're
+talking about Tom now. I tell you that iron man dragged West and me
+out of the Barrens by the scruff of our necks. Wouldn't give up.
+Wouldn't quit. The yellow in West came out half a dozen times. When
+the ten-day blizzard caught us, he lay down and yelped like a cur. I
+wouldn't have given a plugged six-pence for our chances. But Tom went
+out into it, during a little lull, and brought back with him a timber
+wolf. How he found it, how he killed it, Heaven alone knows. He was
+coated with ice from head to foot. That wolf kept us and the dogs
+alive for a week. Each day, when the howling of the blizzard died down
+a bit, Tom made West go down with him to the creek and get wood.
+It must have been a terrible hour. They'd come back so done up, so
+frozen, they could hardly stagger in with their jags of pine for the
+fire. I never heard the man complain--not once. He stood up to it the
+way Tom Sayers used to."
+
+The girl felt a warm current of life prickling swiftly through her. "I
+love to hear you talk so generously of him."
+
+"Of my rival?" he said, smiling. "How else can I talk? The scoundrel
+has been heaping on me those coals of fire we read about. I haven't
+told you half of it--how he nursed me like a woman and looked after me
+so that I wouldn't take cold, how he used to tuck me up in the sled
+with a hot stone at my feet and make short days' runs in order not to
+wear out my strength. By Jove, it was a deucedly unfair advantage he
+took of me."
+
+"Is he your rival?" she asked.
+
+"Isn't he?"
+
+"In business?"
+
+"How demure Miss McRae is," he commented. "Observe those long
+eyelashes flutter down to the soft cheeks."
+
+"In what book did you read that?" she wanted to know.
+
+"In that book of suffering known as experience," he sighed, eyes
+dancing.
+
+"If you're trying to tell me that you're in love with some girl--"
+
+"Haven't I been trying to tell you for a year?"
+
+Her eyes flashed a challenge at him. "Take care, sir. First thing you
+know you'll be on thin ice. You might break through."
+
+"And if I did--"
+
+"Of course I'd snap you up before you could bat an eye. Is there a
+girl living that wouldn't? And I'm almost an old maid. Don't forget
+that. I'm to gather rosebuds while I may, because time's flying so
+fast, some poet says."
+
+"Time stands still for you, my dear," he bowed, with a gay imitation
+of the grand manner.
+
+"Thank you." Her smile mocked him. She had flirted a good deal with
+this young man and understood him very well. He had no intention
+whatever of giving up the gay hazards of life for any adventure so
+enduring as matrimony. Moreover, he knew she knew it. "But let's stick
+to the subject. While you're proposing--"
+
+"How you help a fellow along!" he laughed. "Am I proposing?"
+
+"Of course you are. But I haven't found out yet whether it's for
+yourself or Mr. Morse."
+
+"A good suggestion--novel, too. For us both, let's say. You take your
+choice." He flung out a hand in a gay debonair gesture.
+
+"You've told his merits, but I don't think I ever heard yours
+mentioned," she countered. "If you'd recite them, please."
+
+"It's a subject I can do only slight justice." He bowed again.
+"Sergeant Beresford, at your service, of the North-West Mounted."
+
+"Sergeant! Since when?"
+
+"Since yesterday. Promoted for meritorious conduct in the line of
+duty. My pay is increased to one dollar and a quarter a day. In case
+happily your choice falls on me, don't squander it on silks and
+satins, on trips to Paris and London--"
+
+"If I choose you, it won't be for your wealth," she assured him.
+
+"Reassured, fair lady. I proceed with the inventory of Sergeant
+Beresford's equipment as a future husband. Fond, but, alas! fickle. A
+family black sheep, or if not black, at least striped. Likely not to
+plague you long, if he's sent on many more jobs like the last. Said
+to be good-tempered, but not docile. Kind, as men go, but a
+ne'er-do-well, a prodigal, a waster. Something whispers in my ear that
+he'll make a better friend than a husband."
+
+"A twin fairy is whispering the same in my ear," the girl nodded.
+"At least a better friend to Jessie McRae. But I think he has a poor
+advocate in you. The description is not a flattering one. I don't even
+recognize the portrait."
+
+"But Tom Morse--"
+
+"Exactly, Tom Morse. Haven't you rather taken the poor fellow for
+granted?" She felt an unexpected blush burn into her cheek. It stained
+the soft flesh to her throat. For she was discovering that the
+nonsense begun so lightly was embarrassing. She did not want to talk
+about the feelings of Tom Morse toward her. "It's all very well to
+joke, but--"
+
+"Shall I ask him?" he teased.
+
+She flew into a mild near-panic. "If you dare, Win Beresford!" The
+flash in her eyes was no longer mirth. "We'll talk about something
+else. I don't think it's very nice of us to--to--"
+
+"Tom retired from conversational circulation," he announced. "Shall we
+talk of cats or kings?"
+
+"Tell me your plans, now you've been promoted."
+
+"Plans? Better men make 'em. I touch my hat, say, 'Yes, sir,' and help
+work 'em out. Coming back to Tom for a minute, have you heard that
+the Colonel has written him a letter of thanks for the distinguished
+service rendered by him to the Mounted and suggesting that a permanent
+place of importance can be found for him on the Force if he'll take
+it?"
+
+"No. Did he? Isn't that just fine?" The soft glow had danced into her
+eyes again. "He won't take it, will he?"
+
+"What do you think?" His eyes challenged hers coolly. He was willing,
+if he could, to discover whether Jessie was in love with his friend.
+
+"Oh, I don't think he should," she said quickly. "He has a good
+business. It's getting better all the time. He's a coming man. And of
+course he'd get hard jobs in the Mounted, the way you do."
+
+"That's a compliment, if it's true," he grinned.
+
+"I dare say, but that doesn't make it any safer."
+
+"They couldn't give him a harder one than you did when you sent him
+into the Barrens to bring back West." His eyes, touched with humor
+and yet disconcertingly intent on information, were fixed steadily on
+hers.
+
+The girl's cheeks flew color signals. "Why do you say that? I didn't
+ask him to go. He volunteered."
+
+"Wasn't it because you wanted him to?"
+
+"I should think you'd be the last man to say that," she protested
+indignantly. "He was your friend, and he didn't want you to run so
+great a risk alone."
+
+"Then you didn't want him to go?"
+
+"If I did, it was for you. Maybe he blames me for it, but I don't see
+how _you_ can. You've just finished telling me he saved your life a
+dozen times."
+
+"Did I say I was blaming you?" His warm, affectionate smile begged
+pardon if he had given offense. "I was just trying to get it straight.
+You wanted him to go that time, but you wouldn't want him to go again.
+Is that it?"
+
+"I wouldn't want either of you to go again. What are you driving at,
+Win Beresford?"
+
+"Oh, nothing!" He laughed. "But if you think Tom's too good to waste
+on the Mounted, you'd better tell him so while there's still time.
+He'll make up his mind within a day or two."
+
+"I don't see him. He never comes here."
+
+"I wonder why."
+
+Jessie sometimes wondered why herself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+THE IMPERATIVE URGE
+
+
+The reason why Tom did not go to see Jessie was that he longed to do
+so in every fiber of his being. His mind was never freed for a moment
+from the routine of the day's work that it did not automatically turn
+toward her. If he saw a woman coming down the street with the free
+light step only one person in Faraway possessed, his heart would begin
+to beat faster. In short, he suffered that torment known as being in
+love.
+
+He dared not go to see her for fear she might discover it. She was the
+sweetheart of his friend. It was as natural as the light of day that
+she turn to Win Beresford with the gift of her love. Nobody like him
+had ever come into her life. His gay courage, his debonair grace,
+the good manners of that outer world such a girl must crave, the
+affectionate touch of friendliness in his smile: how could any woman
+on this forsaken edge of the Arctic resist them?
+
+She could not, of course, let alone one so full of the passionate
+longing for life as Jessie McRae.
+
+If Tom could have looked on her unmoved, if he could have subdued
+or concealed the ardent fire inside him, he would have gone to call
+occasionally as though casually. But he could not trust himself. He
+was like a volcano ready for eruption. Already he was arranging with
+his uncle to put a subordinate here and let him return to Benton.
+Until that could be accomplished, he tried to see her as little as
+possible.
+
+But Jessie was a child of the imperative urge. She told herself fifty
+times that it was none of her business if he did accept the offer of a
+place in the North-West Mounted. He could do as he pleased. Why should
+she interfere? And yet--and yet--
+
+She found a shadow of excuse for herself in the fact that it had been
+through her that he had offered himself as a special constable. He
+might think she wanted him to enlist permanently. So many girls were
+foolish about the red coats of soldiers. She had noticed that among
+her school-girl friends at Winnipeg. If she had any influence with him
+at all, she did not want it thrown on that side of the scale.
+
+But of course he probably did not care what she thought. Very likely
+it was her vanity that whispered to her he had gone North with Win
+Beresford partly to please her. Still, since she was his friend, ought
+she not to just drop an offhand hint that he was a more useful citizen
+where he was than in the Mounted? He couldn't very well resent that,
+could he? Or think her officious? Or forward?
+
+She contrived little plans to meet him when he would be alone and she
+could talk with him, but she rejected these because she was afraid he
+would see through them. It had become of first importance to her that
+Tom Morse should not think she had any but a superficial interest in
+him.
+
+When at last she did meet him, it was by pure chance. Dusk was
+falling. She was passing the yard where his storehouse was. He wheeled
+out and came on her plumply face to face. Both were taken by surprise
+completely. Out of it neither could emerge instantly with casual words
+of greeting.
+
+Jessie felt her pulses throb. A queer consternation paralyzed the
+faculties that ought to have come alertly to her rescue. She stood,
+awkwardly silent, in a shy panic to her pulsing finger-tips. Later she
+would flog herself scornfully for her folly, but this did not help in
+the least now.
+
+"I--I was just going to Mr. Whaley's with a little dress Mother made
+for the baby," she said at last.
+
+"It's a nice baby," was the best he could do.
+
+"Yes. It's funny. You know Mr. Whaley didn't care anything about it
+before--while it was very little. But now he thinks it's wonderful.
+I'm so glad he does."
+
+She was beginning to get hold of herself, to emerge from the emotional
+crisis into which this meeting had plunged her. It had come to her
+consciousness that he was as perturbed as she, and a discovery of this
+nature always brings a woman composure.
+
+"He treats his wife a lot better too."
+
+"There was room for it," he said dryly.
+
+"She's a nice little thing."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Conversation, which had been momentarily brisk, threatened to die out
+for lack of fuel. Anything was better than significant silences in
+which she could almost hear the hammering of her heart.
+
+"Win Beresford told me about the offer you had to go into the
+Mounted," she said, plunging.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Will you accept?"
+
+He looked at her, surprised. "Didn't Win tell you? I said right away I
+couldn't accept. He knew that."
+
+"Oh! I don't believe he did tell me. Perhaps you hadn't decided
+then." Privately she was determining to settle some day with Winthrop
+Beresford for leading her into this. He had purposely kept silent, she
+knew now, in the hope that she would talk to Tom Morse about it. "But
+I'm glad you've decided against going in."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It's dangerous, and I don't think it has much future."
+
+"Win likes it."
+
+"Yes, Win does. He'll get a commission one of these days."
+
+"He deserves one. I--I hope you'll both be very happy."
+
+He was walking beside her. Quickly her glance flashed up at him. Was
+that the reason he had held himself so aloof from her?
+
+"I think we shall, very likely, if you mean Win and I. He's always
+happy, isn't he? And I try to be. I'm sorry he's leaving this part of
+the country. Writing-on-Stone is a long way from here. He may never
+get back. I'll miss him a good deal. Of course you will too."
+
+This was plain enough, but Tom could not accept it at face value.
+Perhaps she meant that she would miss him until Win got ready to send
+for her. An idea lodged firmly in the mind cannot be ejected at an
+instant's notice.
+
+"Yes, I'll miss him. He's a splendid fellow. I've never met one like
+him, so staunch and cheerful and game. Sometime I'd like to tell you
+about that trip we took. You'd be proud of him."
+
+"I'm sure all his friends are," she said, smiling a queer little smile
+that was lost in the darkness.
+
+"He was a very sick man, in a great deal of pain, and we had a rather
+dreadful time of it. Of course it hit him far harder than it did
+either West or me. But never a whimper out of him from first to last.
+Always cheerful, always hopeful, with a little joke or a snatch of a
+song, even when it looked as though we couldn't go on another day.
+He's one out of ten thousand."
+
+"I heard him say that about another man--only I think he said one in
+fifty thousand," she made comment, almost in a murmur.
+
+"Any girl would be lucky to have such a man for a husband," he added
+fatuously.
+
+"Yes. I hope he'll find some nice one who will appreciate him."
+
+This left no room for misunderstanding. Tom's brain whirled. "You--you
+and he haven't had any--quarrel?"
+
+"No. What made you think so?"
+
+"I don't know. I suppose I'm an idiot. But I thought--"
+
+He stopped. She took up his unfinished sentence.
+
+"You thought wrong."
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAN SIZE***
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