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diff --git a/6715.txt b/6715.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e3367cb --- /dev/null +++ b/6715.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6332 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Isobel, by James Oliver Curwood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Isobel + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: March 19, 2014 +Release Date: October, 2004 +[This file was first posted on January 19, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISOBEL *** + + + + +Produced by Norm Wolcott + + + + + + + Isobel + + A Romance of the Northern Trail + + by James Oliver Curwood, 1913 + + TO + CARLOTTA + WHO IS WITH ME AND TO + VIOLA + WHO FILLS FOR ME A DREAM OF THE FUTURE + I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THIS BOOK + + I + + THE MOST TERRIBLE THING IN THE WORLD + +At Point Fullerton, one thousand miles straight north of civilization, +Sergeant William MacVeigh wrote with the stub end of a pencil between +his fingers the last words of his semi-annual report to the +Commissioner of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police at Regina. + +He concluded: + + "I beg to say that I have made every effort to run down Scottie + Deane, the murderer. I have not given up hope of finding him, but I + believe that he has gone from my territory and is probably now + somewhere within the limits of the Fort Churchill patrol. We have + hunted the country for three hundred miles south along the shore of + Hudson's Bay to Eskimo Point, and as far north as Wagner Inlet. + Within three months we have made three patrols west of the Bay, + unraveling sixteen hundred miles without finding our man or word of + him. I respectfully advise a close watch of the patrols south of + the Barren Lands." + +"There!" said MacVeigh aloud, straightening his rounded shoulders with +a groan of relief. "It's done." + +From his bunk in a corner of the little wind and storm beaten cabin +which represented Law at the top end of the earth Private Pelliter +lifted a head wearily from his sick bed and said: "I'm bloomin' glad +of it, Mac. Now mebbe you'll give me a drink of water and shoot that +devilish huskie that keeps howling every now and then out there as +though death was after me." + +"Nervous?" said MacVeigh, stretching his strong young frame with +another sigh of satisfaction. "What if you had to write this twice a +year?" And he pointed at the report. + +"It isn't any longer than the letters you wrote to that girl of +yours--" + +Pelliter stopped short. There was a moment of embarrassing silence. +Then he added, bluntly, and with a hand reaching out: "I beg your +pardon, Mac. It's this fever. I forgot for a moment that-- that you +two-- had broken." + +"That's all right," said MacVeigh, with a quiver in his voice, as he +turned for the water. + +"You see," he added, returning with a tin cup, "this report is +different. When you're writing to the Big Mogul himself something gets +on your nerves. And it has been a bad year with us, Pelly. We fell +down on Scottie, and let the raiders from that whaler get away from +us. And-- By Jo, I forgot to mention the wolves!" + +"Put in a P. S.," suggested Pelliter. + +"A P. S. to his Royal Nibs!" cried MacVeigh, staring incredulously at +his mate. "There's no use of feeling your pulse any more, Pelly. The +fever's got you. You're sure out of your head." + +He spoke cheerfully, trying to bring a smile to the other's pale face. +Pelliter dropped back with a sigh. + +"No-- there isn't any use feeling my pulse," he repeated. "It isn't +sickness, Bill-- not sickness of the ordinary sort. It's in my brain-- +that's where it is. Think of it-- nine months up here, and never a +glimpse of a white man's face except yours. Nine months without the +sound of a woman's voice. Nine months of just that dead, gray world +out there, with the northern lights hissing at us every night like +snakes and the black rocks staring at us as they've stared for a +million centuries. There may be glory in it, but that's all. We're +'eroes all right, but there's no one knows it but ourselves and the +six hundred and forty-nine other men of the Royal Mounted. My God, +what I'd give for the sight of a girl's face, for just a moment's +touch of her hand! It would drive out this fever, for it's the fever +of loneliness, Mac-- a sort of madness, and it's splitting my 'ead." + +"Tush, tush!" said MacVeigh, taking his mate's hand. "Wake up, Pelly! +Think of what's coming. Only a few months more of it, and we'll be +changed. And then-- think of what a heaven you'll be entering. You'll +be able to enjoy it more than the other fellows, for they've never had +this. And I'm going to bring you back a letter-- from the little +girl--" + +Pelliter's face brightened. + +"God bless her!" he exclaimed. "There'll be letters from her-- a dozen +of them. She's waited a long time for me, and she's true to the bottom +of her dear heart. You've got my letter safe?" + +"Yes." + +MacVeigh went back to the rough little table and added still further +to his report to the Commissioner of the Royal Mounted in the +following words: + + "Pelliter is sick with a strange trouble in his head. At times I + have been afraid he was going mad, and if he lives I advise his + transfer south at an early date. I am leaving for Churchill two + weeks ahead of the usual time in order to get medicines. I also + wish to add a word to what I said about wolves in my last report. + We have seen them repeatedly in packs of from fifty to one + thousand. Late this autumn a pack attacked a large herd of + traveling caribou fifteen miles in from the Bay, and we counted the + remains of one hundred and sixty animals killed over a distance of + less than three miles. It is my opinion that the wolves kill at + least five thousand caribou in this patrol each year. + + "I have the honor to be, sir, + + "Your obedient servant, + " WILLIAM MACVEIGH, Sergeant, + "In charge of detachment." + +He folded the report, placed it with other treasures in the waterproof +rubber bag which always went into his pack, and returned to Pelliter's +side. + +"I hate to leave you alone, Pelly," he said. "But I'll make a fast +trip of it-- four hundred and fifty miles over the ice, and I'll do it +in ten days or bust. Then ten days back, mebbe two weeks, and you'll +have the medicines and the letters. Hurrah!" + +"Hurrah!" cried Pelliter. + +He turned his face a little to the wall. Something rose up in +MacVeigh's throat and choked him as he gripped Pelliter's hand. + +"My God, Bill, is that the sun?" suddenly cried Pelliter. + +MacVeigh wheeled toward the one window of the cabin. The sick man +tumbled from his bunk. Together they stood for a moment at the window, +staring far to the south and east, where a faint red rim of gold shot +up through the leaden sky. + +"It's the sun," said MacVeigh, like one speaking a prayer. + +"The first in four months," breathed Pelliter. + +Like starving men the two gazed through the window. The golden light +lingered for a few moments, then died away. Pelliter went back to his +bunk. + +Half an hour later four dogs, a sledge, and a man were moving swiftly +through the dead and silent gloom of Arctic day. Sergeant MacVeigh was +on his way to Fort Churchill, more than four hundred miles away. + +This is the loneliest journey in the world, the trip down from the +solitary little wind-beaten cabin at Point Fullerton to Fort +Churchill. That cabin has but one rival in the whole of the +Northland-- the other cabin at Herschel Island, at the mouth of the +Firth, where twenty-one wooden crosses mark twenty-one white men's +graves. But whalers come to Herschel. Unless by accident, or to break +the laws, they never come in the neighborhood of Fullerton. It is at +Fullerton that men die of the most terrible thing in the world-- +loneliness. In the little cabin men have gone mad. + +The gloomy truth oppressed MacVeigh as he guided his dog team over the +ice into the south. He was afraid for Pelliter. He prayed that +Pelliter might see the sun now and then. On the second day he stopped +at a cache of fish which they had put up in the early autumn for dog +feed. He stopped at a second cache on the fifth day, and spent the +sixth night at an Eskimo igloo at Blind Eskimo Point. Late on the +ninth day he came into Fort Churchill, with an average of fifty miles +a day to his credit. + +From Fullerton men came in nearer dead than alive when they made the +hazard in winter. MacVeigh's face was raw from the beat of the wind. +His eyes were red. He had a touch of runner's cramp. He slept for +twenty-four hours in a warm bed without stirring. When he awoke he +raged at the commanding officer of the barrack for letting him sleep +so long, ate three meals in one, and did up his business in a hurry. + +His heart warmed with pleasure when he sorted out of his mail nine +letters for Pelliter, all addressed in the same small, girlish hand. +There was none for himself-- none of the sort which Pelliter was +receiving, and the sickening loneliness within him grew almost +suffocating. + +He laughed softly as he broke a law. He opened one of Pelliter's +letters-- the last one written-- and calmly read it. It was filled +with the sweet tenderness of a girl's love, and tears came into his +red eyes. Then he sat down and answered it. He told the girl about +Pelliter, and confessed to her that he had opened her last letter. And +the chief of what he said was that it would be a glorious surprise to +a man who was going mad (only he used loneliness in place of madness) +if she would come up to Churchill the following spring and marry him +there. He told her that he had opened her letter because he loved +Pelliter more than most men loved their brothers. Then he resealed the +letter, gave his mail to the superintendent, packed his medicines and +supplies, and made ready to return. + +On this same day there came into Churchill a halfbreed who had been +hunting white foxes near Blind Eskimo, and who now and then did scout +work for the department. He brought the information that he had seen a +white man and a white woman ten miles south of the Maguse River. The +news thrilled MacVeigh. + +"I'll stop at the Eskimo camp," he said to the superintendent. "It's +worth investigating, for I never knew of a white woman north of sixty +in this country. It might be Scottie Deane." + +"Not very likely," replied the superintendent. "Scottie is a tall man, +straight and powerful. Coujag says this man was no taller than +himself, and walked like a hunchback. But if there are white people +out there their history is worth knowing." + +The following morning MacVeigh started north. He reached the +half-dozen igloos which made up the Eskimo village late the third day. +Bye-Bye, the chief man, offered him no encouragement, MacVeigh gave +him a pound of bacon, and in return for the magnificent present +Bye-Bye told him that he had seen no white people. MacVeigh gave him +another pound, and Bye-Bye added that he had not heard of any white +people. He listened with the lifeless stare of a walrus while MacVeigh +impressed upon him that he was going inland the next morning to search +for white people whom he had heard were there. That night, in a +blinding snow-storm, Bye-Bye disappeared from camp. + +MacVeigh left his dogs to rest up at the igloo village and swung +northwest on snow-shoes with the break of arctic dawn, which was but +little better than the night itself. He planned to continue in this +direction until he struck the Barren, then patrol in a wide circle +that would bring him back to the Eskimo camp the next night. From the +first he was handicapped by the storm. He lost Bye-Bye's snow-shoe +tracks a hundred yards from the igloos. All that day he searched in +sheltered places for signs of a camp or trail. In the afternoon the +wind died away, the sky cleared, and in the wake of the calm the cold +became so intense that trees cracked with reports like pistol shots. + +He stopped to build a fire of scrub bush and eat his supper on the +edge of the Barren just as the cold stars began blazing over his head. +It was a white, still night. The southern timberline lay far behind +him, and to the north there was no timber for three hundred miles. +Between those lines there was no life, and so there was no sound. On +the west the Barren thrust itself down in a long finger ten miles in +width, and across that MacVeigh would have to strike to reach the +wooded country beyond. It was over there that he had the greatest hope +of discovering a trail. After he had finished his supper he loaded his +pipe, and sat hunched close up to his fire, staring out over the +Barren. For some reason he was filled with a strange and uncomfortable +emotion, and he wished that he had brought along one of his tired dogs +to keep him company. + +He was accustomed to loneliness; he had laughed in the face of things +that had driven other men mad. But to-night there seemed to be +something about him that he had never known before, something that +wormed its way deep down into his soul and made his pulse beat faster. +He thought of Pelliter on his fever bed, of Scottie Deane, and then of +himself. After all, was there much to choose between the three of +them? + +A picture rose slowly before him in the bush-fire, and in that picture +he saw Scottie, the man-hunted man, fighting a great fight to keep +himself from being hung by the neck until he was dead; and then he saw +Pelliter, dying of the sickness which comes of loneliness, and beyond +those two, like a pale cameo appearing for a moment out of gloom, he +saw the picture of a face. It was a girl's face, and it was gone in an +instant. He had hoped against hope that she would write to him again. +But she had failed him. + +He rose to his feet with a little laugh, partly of joy and partly of +pain, as he thought of the true heart that was waiting for Pelliter. +He tied on his snow-shoes and struck out over the Barren. He moved +swiftly, looking sharply ahead of him. The night grew brighter, the +stars more brilliant. The zipp, zipp, zipp of the tails of his +snow-shoes was the only sound he heard except the first faint, hissing +monotone of the aurora in the northern skies, which came to him like +the shivering run of steel sledge runners on hard snow. + +In place of sound the night about him began to fill with ghostly life. +His shadow beckoned and grimaced ahead of him, and the stunted bush +seemed to move. His eyes were alert and questing. Within himself he +reasoned that he would see nothing, and yet some unusual instinct +moved him to caution. At regular intervals he stopped to listen and to +sniff the air for an odor of smoke. More and more he became like a +beast of prey. He left the last bush behind him. Ahead of him the +starlit space was now unbroken by a single shadow. Weird whispers came +with a low wind that was gathering in the north. + +Suddenly MacVeigh stopped and swung his rifle into the crook of his +arm. Something that was not the wind had come up out of the night. He +lifted his fur cap from his ears and listened. He heard it again, +faintly, the frosty singing of sledge runners. The sledge was +approaching from the open Barren, and he cleared for action. He took +off his heavy fur mittens and snapped them to his belt, replaced them +with his light service gloves, and examined his revolver to see that +the cylinder was not frozen. Then he stood silent and waited. + + II + + BILLY MEETS THE WOMAN + +Out of the gloom a sledge approached slowly. It took form at last in a +dim shadow, and MacVeigh saw that it would pass very near to him. He +made out, one after another, a human figure, three dogs, and the +toboggan. There was something appalling in the quiet of this specter +of life looming up out of the night. He could no longer hear the +sledge, though it was within fifty paces of him. The figure in advance +walked slowly and with bowed head, and the dogs and the sledge +followed in a ghostly line. Human leader and animals were oblivious to +MacVeigh, silent and staring in the white night. They were opposite +him before he moved. + +Then he strode out quickly, with a loud holloa. At the sound of his +voice there followed a low cry, the dogs stopped in their traces, and +the figure ran back to the sledge. MacVeigh drew his revolver. Half a +dozen long strides and he had reached the sledge. From the opposite +side a white face stared at him, and with one hand resting on the +heavily laden sledge, and his revolver at level with his waist, +MacVeigh stared back in speechless astonishment. + +For the great, dark, frightened eyes that looked across at him, and +the white, staring face he recognized as the eyes and the face of a +woman. For a moment he was unable to move or speak, and the woman +raised her hands and pushed back her fur hood so that he saw her hair +shimmering in the starlight. She was a white woman. Suddenly he saw +something in her face that struck him with a chill, and he looked down +at the thing under his hand. It was a long, rough box. He drew back a +step. + +"Good God!" he said. "Are you alone?" + +She bowed her head, and he heard her voice in a half sob. + +"Yes-- alone." + +He passed quickly around to her side. "I am Sergeant MacVeigh, of the +Royal Mounted," he said, gently. "Tell me, where are you going, and +how does it happen that you are out here in the Barren-- alone." + +Her hood had fallen upon her shoulder, and she lifted her face full to +MacVeigh. The stars shone in her eyes. They were wonderful eyes, and +now they were filled with pain. And it was a wonderful face to +MacVeigh, who had not seen a white woman's face for nearly a year. She +was young, so young that in the pale glow of the night she looked +almost like a girl, and in her eyes and mouth and the upturn of her +chin there was something so like that other face of which he had +dreamed that he reached out and took her two hesitating hands in his +own, and asked again: + +"Where are you going, and why are you out here-- alone?" + +"I am going-- down there," she said, turning her head toward the +timber-line. "I am going with him-- my husband--" + +Her voice choked her, and, drawing her hands suddenly from him, she +went to the sledge and stood facing him. For a moment there was a glow +of defiance in her eyes, as though she feared him and was ready to +fight for herself and her dead. The dogs slunk in at her feet, and +MacVeigh saw the gleam of their naked fangs in the starlight. + +"He died three days ago," she finished, quietly, "and I am taking him +back to my people, down on the Little Seul." + +"It is two hundred miles," said MacVeigh, looking at her as if she +were mad. "You will die." + +"I have traveled two days," replied the woman. "I am going on." + +"Two days-- across the Barren!" + +MacVeigh looked at the box, grim and terrible in the ghostly radiance +that fell upon it. Then he looked at the woman. She had bowed her head +upon her breast, and her shining hair fell loose and disheveled. He +saw the pathetic droop of her tired shoulders, and knew that she was +crying. In that moment a thrilling warmth flooded every fiber of his +body, and the glory of this that had come to him from out of the +Barren held him mute. To him woman was all that was glorious and good. +The pitiless loneliness of his life had placed them next to angels in +his code of things, and before him now he saw all that he had ever +dreamed of in the love and loyalty of womanhood and of wifehood. + +The bowed little figure before him was facing death for the man she +had loved, and who was dead. In a way he knew that she was mad. And +yet her madness was the madness of a devotion that was beyond fear, of +a faithfulness that made no measure of storm and cold and starvation; +and he was filled with a desire to go up to her as she stood crumpled +and exhausted against the box, to take her close in his arms and tell +her that of such a love he had built for himself the visions which had +kept him alive in his loneliness. She looked pathetically like a +child. + +"Come, little girl," he said. "We'll go on. I'll see you safely on +your way to the Little Seul. You mustn't go alone. You'd never reach +your people alive. My God, if I were he--" + +He stopped at the frightened look in the white face she lifted to him. + +"What?" she asked. + +"Nothing-- only it's hard for a man to die and lose a woman like you," +said MacVeigh. "There-- let me lift you up on the box." + +"The dogs cannot pull the load," she objected. "I have helped them--" + +"If they can't, I can," he laughed, softly; and with a quick movement +he picked her up and seated her on the sledge. He stripped off his +pack and placed it behind her, and then he gave her his rifle. The +woman looked straight at him with a tense, white face as she placed +the weapon across her lap. + +"You can shoot me if I don't do my duty," said MacVeigh. He tried to +hide the happiness that came to him in this companionship of woman, +but it trembled in his voice. He stopped suddenly, listening. + +"What was that?" + +"I heard nothing," said the woman. Her face was deadly white. Her eyes +had grown black. + +MacVeigh turned, with a word to the dogs. He picked up the end of the +babiche rope with which the woman had assisted them to drag their +load, and set off across the Barren. The presence of the dead had +always been oppressive to him, but to-night it was otherwise. His +fatigue of the day was gone, and in spite of the thing he was helping +to drag behind him he was filled with a strange elation. He was in the +presence of a woman. Now and then he turned his head to look at her. +He could feel her behind him, and the sound of her low voice when she +spoke to the dogs was like music to him. He wanted to burst forth in +the wild song with which he and Pelliter had kept up their courage in +the little cabin, but he throttled his desire and whistled instead. He +wondered how the woman and the dogs had dragged the sledge. It sank +deep in the soft drift-snow, and taxed his strength. Now and then he +paused to rest, and at last the woman jumped from the sledge and came +to his side. + +"I am going to walk," she said. "The load is too heavy." + +"The snow is soft," replied MacVeigh. "Come." + +He held out his hand to her; and, with the same strange, white look in +her face, the woman gave him her own. She glanced back uneasily toward +the box, and MacVeigh understood. He pressed her fingers a little +tighter and drew her nearer to him. Hand in hand, they resumed their +way across the Barren. MacVeigh said nothing, but his blood was +running like fire through his body. The little hand he held trembled +and started uneasily. Once or twice it tried to draw itself away, and +he held it closer. After that it remained submissively in his own, +warm and thrilling. Looking down, he could see the profile of the +woman's face. + +A long, shining tress of her hair had freed itself from under her +hood, and the light wind lifted it so that it fell across his arm. +Like a thief he raised it to his lips, while the woman looked straight +ahead to where the timber-line began to show in a thin, black streak. +His cheeks burned, half with shame, half with tumultuous joy. Then he +straightened his shoulders and shook the floating tress from his arm. + +Three-quarters of an hour later they came to the first of the timber. +He still held her hand. He was still holding it, with the brilliant +starlight falling upon them, when his chin shot suddenly into the air +again, alert and fighting, and he cried, softly: + +"What was that?" + +"Nothing," said the woman. "I heard nothing-- unless it was the wind +in the trees." + +She drew away from him. The dogs whined and slunk close to the box. +Across the Barren came a low, wailing wind. + +"The storm is coming back," said MacVeigh. "It must have been the wind +that I heard." + + III + + IN HONOR OF THE LIVING + +For a few moments after uttering those words Billy stood silent +listening for a sound that was not the low moaning of the wind far out +on the Barren. He was sure that he had heard it-- something very near, +almost at his feet, and yet it was a sound which he could not place or +understand. He looked at the woman. She was gazing steadily at him. + +"I hear it now," she said. "It is the wind. It has frightened me. It +makes such terrible sounds at times-- out on the Barren. A little +while ago-- I thought-- I heard-- a child crying--" + +Billy saw her clutch a hand at her throat, and there were both terror +and grief in the eyes that never for an instant left his face. He +understood. She was almost ready to give way under the terrible strain +of the Barren. He smiled at her, and spoke in a voice that he might +have used to a little child. + +"You are tired, little girl?" + +"Yes-- yes-- I am tired--" + +"And hungry and cold?" + +"Yes." + +"Then we will camp in the timber." + +They went on until they came to a growth of spruce so dense that it +formed a shelter from both snow and wind, with a thick carpet of brown +needles under foot. They were shut out from the stars, and in the +darkness MacVeigh began to whistle cheerfully. He unstrapped his pack +and spread out one of his blankets close to the box and wrapped the +other about the woman's shoulders. + +"You sit here while I make a fire," he said. + +He piled up dry needles over a precious bit of his birchbark and +struck a flame. In the glowing light he found other fuel, and added to +the fire until the crackling blaze leaped as high as his head. The +woman's face was hidden, and she looked as though she had fallen +asleep in the warmth of the fire. For half an hour Mac-Veigh dragged +in fuel until he had a great pile of it in readiness. + +Then he forked out a deep bed of burning coals and soon the odor of +coffee and frying bacon aroused his companion. She raised her head and +threw back the blanket with which he had covered her shoulders. It was +warm where she sat, and she took off her hood while he smiled at her +companionably from over the fire. Her reddish-brown hair tumbled about +her shoulders, rippling and glistening in the fire glow, and for a few +moments she sat with it falling loosely about her, with her eyes upon +MacVeigh. Then she gathered it between her fingers, and MacVeigh +watched her while she divided it into shining strands and pleated it +into a big braid. + +"Supper is ready," he said. "Will you eat it there?" + +She nodded, and for the first time she smiled at him. He brought bacon +and bread and coffee and other things from his pack and placed them on +a folded blanket between them. He sat opposite her, cross-legged. For +the first time he noticed that her eyes were blue and that there was a +flush in her cheeks. The flush deepened as he looked at her, and she +smiled at him again. + +The smile, the momentary drooping of her eyes, set his heart leaping, +and for a little while he was unconscious of taste in the food he +swallowed. He told her of his post away up at Point Fullerton, and of +Pelliter, who was dying of loneliness. + +"It's been a long time since I've seen a woman like you," he confided. +"And it seems like heaven. You don't know how lonely I am!" His voice +trembled. "I wish that Pelliter could see you-- just for a moment," he +added. "It would make him live again." + +Something in the soft glow of her eyes urged other words to his lips. + +"Mebbe you don't know what it means not to see a white woman in-- in-- +all this time," he went on. "You won't think that I've gone mad, will +you, or that I'm saying or doing anything that's wrong? I'm trying to +hold myself back, but I feel like shouting, I'm that glad. If Pelliter +could see you--" He reached suddenly in his pocket and drew out the +precious packet of letters. "He's got a girl down south-- just like +you," he said. "These are from her. If I get 'em up in time they'll +bring him round. It's not medicine he wants. It's woman-- just a sight +of her, and sound of her, and a touch of her hand." + +She reached across and took the letters. In the firelight he saw that +her hand was trembling. + +"Are they-- married?" she asked, softly. + +"No, but they're going to be," he cried, triumphantly. "She's the most +beautiful thing in the world, next to--" + +He paused, and she finished for him. + +"Next to one other girl-- who is yours." + +"No, I wasn't going to say that. You won't think I mean wrong, will +you, if I tell you? I was going to say next to-- you. For you've come +out of the blizzard-- like an angel to give me new hope. I was sort of +broke when you came. If you disappeared now and I never saw you again +I'd go back and fight the rest of my time out, an' dream of pleasant +things. Gawd! Do you know a man has to be put up here before he knows +that life isn't the sun an' the moon an' the stars an' the air we +breathe. It's woman-- just woman." + +He was returning the letters to his pocket. The woman's voice was +clear and gentle. To Billy it rose like sweetest music above the +crackling of the fire and the murmuring of the wind in the spruce +tops. + +"Men like you-- ought to have a woman to care for," she said. "He was +like that." + +"You mean--" His eyes sought the long, dark box. + +"Yes-- he was like that." + +"I know how you feel," he said; and for a moment he did not look at +her. "I've gone through-- a lot of it. Father an' mother and a sister. +Mother was the last, and I wasn't much more than a kid-- eighteen, I +guess-- but it don't seem much more than yesterday. When you come up +here and you don't see the sun for months nor a white face for a year +or more it brings up all those things pretty much as though they +happened only a little while ago.'" + +"All of them are-- dead?" she asked. + +"All but one. She wrote to me for a long time, and I thought she'd +keep her word. Pelly-- that's Pelliter-- thinks we've just had a +misunderstanding, and that she'll write again. I haven't told him that +she turned me down to marry another fellow. I didn't want to make him +think any unpleasant things about his own girl. You're apt to do that +when you're almost dying of loneliness." + +The woman's eyes were shining. She leaned a little toward him. + +"You should be glad," she said. "If she turned you down she wouldn't +have been worthy of you-- afterward. She wasn't a true woman. If she +had been, her love wouldn't have grown cold because you were away. It +mustn't spoil your faith-- because that is-- beautiful." + +He had put a hand into his pocket again, and drew out now a thin +package wrapped in buckskin. His face was like a boy's. + +"I might have-- if I hadn't met you," he said. "I'd like to let you +know-- some way-- what you've done for me. You and this." + +He had unfolded the buckskin, and gave it to her. In it were the big +blue petals and dried stem of a blue flower. + +"A blue flower!" she said. + +"Yes. You know what it means. The Indians call it i-o-waka, or +something like that, because they believe that it is the flower spirit +of the purest and most beautiful thing in the world. I have called it +woman." + +He laughed, and there was a joyous sort of note in the laugh. + +"You may think me a little mad," he said, "but do you care if I tell +you about that blue flower?" + +The woman nodded. There was a little quiver at her throat which Billy +did not see. + +"I was away up on the Great Bear," he said, "and for ten days and ten +nights I was in camp-- alone-- laid up with a sprained ankle. It was a +wild and gloomy place, shut in by barren ridge mountains, with stunted +black spruce all about, and those spruce were haunted by owls that +made my blood run cold nights. The second day I found company. It was +a blue flower. It grew close to my tent, as high as my knee, and +during the day I used to spread out my blanket close to it and lie +there and smoke. And the blue flower would wave on its slender stem, +an' bob at me, an' talk in sign language that I imagined I understood. +Sometimes it was so funny and vivacious that I laughed, and then it +seemed to be inviting me to a dance. And at other times it was just +beautiful and still, and seemed listening to what the forest was +saying-- and once or twice, I thought, it might be praying. Loneliness +makes a fellow foolish, you know. With the going of the sun my blue +flower would always fold its petals and go to sleep, like a little +child tired out by the day's play, and after that I would feel +terribly lonely. But it was always awake again when I rolled out in +the morning. At last the time came when I was well enough to leave. On +the ninth night I watched my blue flower go to sleep for the last +time. Then I packed. The sun was up when I went away the next morning, +and from a little distance I turned and looked back. I suppose I was +foolish, and weak for a man, but I felt like crying. Blue flower had +taught me many things I had not known before. It had made me think. +And when I looked back it was in a pool of sunlight, and it was waving +at me! It seemed to me that it was calling-- calling me back-- and I +ran to it and picked it from the stem, and it has been with me ever +since that hour. It has been my Bible an' my comrade, an' I've known +it was the spirit of the purest and the most beautiful thing in the +world-- woman. I--" His voice broke a little. "I-- I may be foolish, +but I'd like to have you take it, an' keep it-- always-- for me." + +He could see now the quiver of her lips as she looked across at him. + +"Yes, I will take it," she said. "I will take it and keep it-- +always." + +"I've been keeping it for a woman-- somewhere," he said. "Foolish +idea, wasn't it? And I've been telling you all this, when I want to +hear what happened back there, and what you are going to do when you +reach your people. Do you mind-- telling me?" + +"He died-- that's all," she replied, fighting to speak calmly. "I +promised to take him back-- to my people, And when I get there-- I +don't know-- what I shall-- do--" + +She caught her breath. A low sob broke from her lips. + +"You don't know-- what you will do--" + +Billy's voice sounded strange even to himself. He rose to his feet and +looked down into her upturned face, his hands clenched, his body +trembling with the fight he was making. Words came to his lips and +were forced back again-- words which almost won in their struggle to +tell her again that she had come to him from out of the Barren like an +angel, that within the short space since their meeting he had lived a +lifetime, and that he loved her as no man had ever loved a woman +before. Her blue eyes looked at him questioningly as he stood above +her. + +And then he saw the thing which for a moment he had forgotten-- the +long, rough box at the woman's back. His fingers dug deeper into his +palms, and with a gasping breath he turned away. A hundred paces back +in the spruce he had found a bare rock with a red bakneesh vine +growing over it. With his knife he cut off an armful, and when he +returned with it into the light of the fire the bakneesh glowed like a +mass of crimson flowers. The woman had risen to her feet, and looked +at him speechlessly as he scattered the vine over the box. He turned +to her and said, softly: + +"In honor of the dead!" + +The color had faded from her face, but her eyes shone like stars. +Billy advanced toward her with his hands reaching out. But suddenly he +stopped and stood listening. After a moment he turned and asked again: + +"What was that?" + +"I heard the dogs-- and the wind," she replied. + +"It's something cracking in my head, I guess," said MacVeigh. "It +sounded like--" He passed a hand over his forehead and looked at the +dogs huddled in deep sleep beside the sledge. The woman did not see +the shiver that passed through him. He laughed cheerfully, and seized +his ax. + +"Now for the camp," he announced. "We're going to get the storm within +an hour." + +On the box the woman carried a small tent, and he pitched it close to +the fire, filling the interior two feet deep with cedar and balsam +boughs. His own silk service tent he put back in the deeper shadows of +the spruce. When he had finished he looked questioningly at the woman +and then at the box. + +"If there is room-- I would like it in there-- with me," she said, and +while she stood with her face to the fire he dragged the box into the +tent. Then he piled fresh fuel upon the fire and came to bid her good +night. Her face was pale and haggard now, but she smiled at him, and +to MacVeigh she was the most beautiful thing in the world. Within +himself he felt that he had known her for years and years, and he took +her hands and looked down into her blue eyes and said, almost in a +whisper: + +"Will you forgive me if I'm doing wrong? You don't know how lonesome +I've been, and how lonesome I am, and what it means to me to look once +more into a woman's face. I don't want to hurt you, and I'd-- I'd"-- +his voice broke a little--"I'd give him back life if I could, just +because I've seen you and know you and-- and love you." + +She started and drew a quick, sharp breath that came almost in a low +cry. + +"Forgive me, little girl," he went on. "I may be a little mad. I guess +I am. But I'd die for you, and I'm going to see you safely down to +your people-- and-- and-- I wonder-- I wonder-- if you'd kiss me good +night--" + +Her eyes never left his face. They were dazzlingly blue in the +firelight. Slowly she drew her hands away from him, still looking +straight into his eyes, and then she placed them against each of his +arms and slowly lifted her face to him. Reverently he bent and kissed +her. + +"God bless you!" he whispered. + +For hours after that he sat beside the fire. The wind came up stronger +across the Barren; the storm broke fresh from the north, the spruce +and the balsam wailed over his head, and he could hear the moaning +sweep of the blizzard out in the open spaces. But the sounds came to +him now like a new kind of music, and his heart throbbed and his soul +was warm with joy as he looked at the little tent wherein there lay +sleeping the woman whom he loved. + +He still felt the warmth of her lips, he saw again and again the blue +softness that had come for an instant into her eyes, and he thanked +God for the wonderful happiness that had come to him. For the +sweetness of the woman's lips and the greater sweetness of her blue +eyes told him what life held for him now. A day's journey to the south +was an Indian camp. He would take her there, and would hire runners to +carry up Pelliter's medicines and his letters. Then he would go on-- +with the woman-- and he laughed softly and joyously at the glorious +news which he would take back to Pelliter a little later. For the kiss +burned on his lips, the blue eyes smiled at him still from out of the +firelit gloom, and he knew nothing but hope. + +It was late, almost midnight, when he went to bed. With the storm +wailing and twisting more fiercely about him, he fell asleep. And it +was late when he awoke. The forest was filled with a moaning sound. +The fire was low. Beyond it the flap of the woman's tent was still +down, and he put on fresh fuel quietly, so that he would not awaken +her. He looked at his watch and found that he had been sleeping for +nearly seven hours. Then he returned to his tent to get the things for +breakfast. Half a dozen paces from the door flap he stopped in sudden +astonishment. + +Hanging to his tent in the form of a great wreath was the red bakneesh +which he had cut the night before, and over it, scrawled in charcoal +on the silk, there stared at him the crudely written words: + +"In honor of the living." + +With a low cry he sprang back toward the other tent, and then, as +sudden as his movement, there flashed upon him the significance of the +bakneesh wreath. The woman was saying to him what she had not spoken +in words. She had come out in the night while he was asleep and had +hung the wreath where he would see it in the morning. The blood rushed +warm and joyous through his body, and with something which was not a +laugh, but which was an exultant breath from the soul itself, he +straightened himself, and his hand fell in its old trick to his +revolver holster. It was empty. + +He dragged out his blankets, but the weapon was not between them. He +looked into the corner where he had placed his rifle. That, too, was +gone. His face grew tense and white as he walked slowly beyond the +fire to the woman's tent. With his ear at the flap he listened. There +was no sound within-- no sound of movement, of life, of a sleeper's +breath; and like one who feared to reveal a terrible picture he drew +back the flap. The balsam bed which he had made for the woman was +empty, and across it had been drawn the big rough box. He stepped +inside. The box was open-- and empty, except for a mass of worn and +hard-packed balsam boughs in the bottom. In another instant the truth +burst in all its force upon MacVeigh. The box had held life, and the +woman-- + +Something on the side of the box caught his eyes. It was a folded bit +of paper, pinned where he must see it. He tore it off and staggered +with it back into the light of day. A low, hard cry came from his lips +as he read what the woman had written to him: + + "May God bless you for being good to me. In the storm we have + gone-- my husband and I. Word came to us that you were on our + trail, and we saw your fire out on the Barren. My husband made the + box for me to keep me from cold and storm. When we saw you we + changed places, and so you met me with my dead. He could have + killed you-- a dozen times, but you were good to me, and so you + live. Some day may God give you a good woman who will love you as I + love him. He killed a man, but killing is not always murder. We + have taken your weapons, and the storm will cover our trail. But + you would not follow. I know that. For you know what it means to + love a woman, and so you know what life means to a woman when she + loves a man. MRS. ISOBEL DEANE." + + IV + + THE MAN-HUNTERS + +Like one dazed by a blow Billy read once more the words which Isobel +Deane had left for him. He made no sound after that first cry that had +broken from his lips, but stood looking into the crackling flames of +the fire until a sudden lash of the wind whipped the note from between +his fingers and sent it scurrying away in a white volley of fine snow. +The loss of the note awoke him to action. He started to pursue the bit +of paper, then stopped and laughed. It was a short, mirthless laugh, +the kind of a laugh with which a strong man covers pain. He returned +to the tent again and looked in. He flung back the tent flaps so that +the light could enter and he could see into the box. A few hours +before that box had hidden Scottie Deane, the murderer. And she was +his wife! He turned back to the fire, and he saw again the red +bakneesh hanging over his tent flap, and the words she had scrawled +with the end of a charred stick, "In honor of the living." That meant +him. Something thick and uncomfortable rose in his throat, and a blur +that was not caused by snow or wind filled his eyes. She had made a +magnificent fight. And she had won. And it suddenly occurred to him +that what she had said in the note was true, and that Scottie Deane +could easily have killed him. The next moment he wondered why he had +not done that. Deane had taken a big chance in allowing him to live. +They had only a few hours' start of him, and their trail could not be +entirely obliterated by the storm. Deane would be hampered in his +flight by the presence of his wife. He could still follow and overtake +them. They had taken his weapons, but this would not be the first time +that he had gone after his man without weapons. + +Swiftly the reaction worked in him. He ran beyond the fire, and +circled quickly until he came upon the trail of the outgoing sledge. +It was still quite distinct. Deeper in the forest it could be easily +followed. Something fluttered at his feet. It was Isobel Deane's note. +He picked it up, and again his eyes fell upon those last words that +she had written: But you would not follow. I know that. For you know +what it means to love a woman, and so you know what life means to a +woman when she loves a man. That was why Scottie Deane had not killed +him. It was because of the woman. And she had faith in him! This time +he folded the note and placed it in his pocket, where the blue flower +had been. Then he went slowly back to the fire. + +"I told you I'd give him back his life-- if I could," he said. "And I +guess I'm going to keep my word." He fell into his old habit of +talking to himself-- a habit that comes easily to one in the big open +spaces-- and he laughed as he stood beside the fire and loaded his +pipe. "If it wasn't for her!" he added, thinking of Scottie Deane. +"Gawd-- if it wasn't for her!" + +He finished loading his pipe, and lighted it, staring off into the +thicker spruce forest into which Scottie and his wife had fled. The +entire force was on the lookout for Scottie Deane. For more than a +year he had been as elusive as the little white ermine of the woods. +He had outwitted the best men in the service, and his name was known +to every man of the Royal Mounted from Calgary to Herschel Island. +There was a price on his head, and fame for the man who captured him. +Those who dreamed of promotions also dreamed of Scottie Deane; and as +Billy thought of these things something that was not the man-hunting +instinct rose in him and his blood warmed with a strange feeling of +brotherhood. Scottie Deane was more than an outlaw to him now, more +than a mere man. Hunted like a rat, chased from place to place, he +must be more than those things for a woman like Isobel Deane still to +cling to. He recalled the gentleness of her voice, the sweetness of +her face, the tenderness of her blue eyes, and for the first time the +thought came to him that such a woman could not love a man who was +wholly bad. And she did love him. A twinge of pain came with that +truth, and yet with it a thrill of pleasure. Her loyalty was a +triumph-- even for him. She had come to him like an angel out of the +storm, and she had gone from him like an angel. He was glad. A living, +breathing reality had taken the place of the dream vision in his +heart, a woman who was flesh and blood, and who was as true and as +beautiful as the blue flower he had carried against his breast. In +that moment he would have liked to grip Scottie Deane by the hand, +because he was her husband and because he was man enough to make her +love him. Perhaps it was Deane who had hung the wreath of bakneesh on +his tent and who had scribbled the words in charcoal. And Deane surely +knew of the note his wife had written. The feeling of brotherhood grew +stronger in Billy, and thought of their faith in him filled him with a +strange elation. + +The fire was growing low, and he turned to add fresh fuel. His eyes +caught sight of the box in the tent, and he dragged it out. He was +about to throw it on the fire when he hesitated and examined it more +closely. How far had they come, he wondered? It must have been from +the other side of the Barren, for Deane had built the box to protect +Isobel from the fierce winds of the open. It was built of light, dry +wood, hewn with a belt ax, and the corners were fastened with babiche +cord made of caribou skin in place of nails. The balsam that had been +placed in it for Isobel was still in the box, and Billy's heart beat a +little more quickly as he drew it out. It had been Isobel's bed. He +could see where the balsam was thicker, where her head had rested. +With a sudden breathless cry he thrust the box on the fire. + +He was not hungry, but he made himself a pot of coffee and drank it. +Until now he had not observed that the storm was growing steadily +worse. The thick, low-hanging spruce broke the force of it. Beyond the +shelter of the forest he could hear the roar of it as it swept through +the thin scrub and open spaces of the edge of the Barren. It recalled +him once more to Pelliter. In the excitement of Isobel's presence and +the shock and despair that had followed her flight he had been guilty +of partly forgetting Pelliter. By the time he reached the Eskimo +igloos there would be two days lost. Those two days might mean +everything to his sick comrade. He jumped to his feet, felt in his +pocket to see that the letters were safe, and began to arrange his +pack. Through the trees there came now fine white volleys of +blistering snow. It was like the hardest granulated sugar. A sudden +blast of it stung his eyes; and, leaving his pack and tent, he made +his way anxiously toward the more open timber and scrub. A few hundred +yards from the camp he was forced to bow his head against the snow +volleys and pull the broad flaps of his cap down over his cheeks and +ears. A hundred yards more and he stopped, sheltering himself behind a +gnarled and stunted banskian. He looked out into the beginning of the +open. It was a white and seething chaos into which he could not see +the distance of a pistol shot. The Eskimo igloos were twenty miles +across the Barren, and Billy's heart sank. He could not make it. No +man could live in the storm that was sweeping straight down from the +Arctic, and he turned back to the camp. He had scarcely made the move +when he was startled by a strange sound coming with the wind. He faced +the white blur again, a hand dropping to his empty pistol holster. It +came again, and this time he recognized it. It was a shout, a man's +voice. Instantly his mind leaped to Deane and Isobel. What miracle +could be bringing them back? + +A shadow grew out of the twisting blur of the storm. It quickly +separated itself into definite parts-- a team of dogs, a sledge, three +men. A minute more and the dogs stopped in a snarling tangle as they +saw Billy. Billy stepped forth. Almost instantly he found a revolver +leveled at his breast. + +"Put that up, Bucky Smith," he called. "If you're looking for a man +you've found the wrong one!" + +The man advanced. His eyes were red and staring. His pistol arm +dropped as he came within a yard of Billy. + +"By-- It's you, is it, Billy MacVeigh!" he exclaimed. His laugh was +harsh and unpleasant. Bucky was a corporal in the service, and when +Billy had last heard of him he was stationed at Nelson House. For a +year the two men had been in the same patrol, and there was bad blood +between them. Billy had never told of a certain affair down at Norway +House, the knowledge of which at headquarters would have meant Bucky's +disgraceful retirement from the force. But he had called Bucky out in +fair fight and had whipped him within an inch of his life. The old +hatred burned in the corporal's eyes as he stared into Billy's face. +Billy ignored the look, and shook hands with the other men. One of +them was a Hudson's Bay Company's driver, and the other was Constable +Walker, from Churchill. + +"Thought we'd never live to reach shelter," gasped Walker, as they +shook hands. "We're out after Scottie Deane, and we ain't losing a +minute. We're going to get him, too. His trail is so hot we can smell +it. My God, but I'm bushed!" + +The dogs, with the company man at their head, were already making for +the camp. Billy grinned at the corporal as they followed. + +"Had a pretty good chance to get me, if you'd been alone, didn't you, +Bucky?" he asked, in a voice that Walker did not hear. "You see, I +haven't forgotten your threat." + +There was a steely hardness behind his laugh. He knew that Bucky Smith +was a scoundrel whose good fortune was that he had never been found +out in some of his evil work. In a flash his mind traveled back to +that day at Norway House when Rousseau, the half Frenchman, had come +to him from a sick-bed to tell him that Bucky had ruined his young +wife. Rousseau, who should have been in bed with his fever, died two +days later. Billy could still hear the taunt in Bucky's voice when he +had cornered him with Rousseau's accusation, and the fight had +followed. The thought that this man was now close after Isobel and +Deane filled him with a sort of rage, and as Walker went ahead he laid +a hand on Bucky's arm. + +"I've been thinking about you of late, Bucky," he said. "I've been +thinking a lot about that affair down at Norway, an' I've been lacking +myself for not reporting it. I'm going to do it-- unless you cut a +right-angle track to the one you're taking. I'm after Scottie Deane +myself!" + +In the next breath he could have cut out his tongue for having uttered +the words. A gleam of triumph shot into Bucky's eyes. + +"I thought we was right," he said. "We sort of lost the trail in the +storm. Glad we found you to set us right. How much of a start of us +has he and that squaw that's traveling with him got?" + +Billy's mittened hands clenched fiercely. He made no reply, but +followed quickly after Walker. His mind worked swiftly. As he came in +to the fire he saw that the dogs had already dropped down in their +traces and that they were exhausted. Walker's face was pinched, his +eyes half closed by the sting of the snow. The driver was half +stretched out on the sledge, his feet to the fire. In a glance he had +assured himself that both dogs and men had gone through a long and +desperate struggle in the storm. He looked at Bucky, and this time +there was neither rancor nor threat in his voice when he spoke. + +"You fellows have had a hard time of it," he said. "Make yourselves at +home. I'm not overburdened with grub, but if you'll dig out some of +your own rations I'll get it ready while you thaw out." + +Bucky was looking curiously at the two tents. + +"Who's with you?" he asked. + +Billy shrugged his shoulders. His voice was almost affable. + +"Hate to tell you who was with me, Bucky," he laughed, "I came in late +last night, half dead, and found a half-breed camped here-- in that +silk tent. He was quite chummy-- mighty fine chap. Young fellow, too-- +almost a kid. When I got up this morning--" Billy shrugged his +shoulders again and pointed to his empty pistol holster. "Everything +was gone-- dogs, sledge, extra tent, even my rifle and automatic. He +wasn't quite bad, though, for he left me my grub. He was a funny cuss, +too. Look at that!" He pointed to the bakneesh wreath that still hung +to the front of his tent. "'In honor of the living,'" he read, aloud, +"Just a sort of reminder, you know, that he might have hit me on the +head with a club if he'd wanted to." He came nearer to Bucky, and +said, good-naturedly: "I guess you've got me beat this time, Bucky. +Scottie Deane is pretty safe from me, wherever he is. I haven't even +got a gun!" + +"He must have left a trail," remarked Bucky, eying him shrewdly. + +"He did-- out there!" + +As Bucky went to examine what was left of the trail Billy thanked +Heaven that Deane had placed Isobel on the sledge before he left camp. +There was nothing to betray her presence. Walker had unlaced their +outfit, and Billy was busy preparing a meal when Bucky returned. There +was a sneer on his lips. + +"Didn't know you was that easy," he said. "Wonder why he didn't take +his tent! Pretty good tent, isn't it?" + +He went inside. A minute later he appeared at the flap and called to +Billy. + +"Look here!" he said, and there was a tremble of excitement in his +voice. His eyes were blazing with an ugly triumph. "Your half-breed +had pretty long hair, didn't he?" + +He pointed to a splinter on one of the light tent-poles. Billy's heart +gave a sudden jump. A tress of Isobel's long, loose hair had caught in +the splinter, and a dozen golden-brown strands had remained to give +him away. For a moment he forgot that Bucky Smith was watching him. He +saw Isobel again as she had last entered the tent, her beautiful hair +flowing in a firelit glory about her, her eyes still filled with +tender gratitude. Once more he felt the warmth of her lips, the touch +of her hand, the thrill of her presence near him. Perhaps these +emotions covered any suspicious movement or word by which he might +otherwise have betrayed himself. By the time they were gone he had +recovered himself, and he turned to his companion with a low laugh. + +"It's a woman's hair, all right, Bucky. He told me all sorts of nice +things about a girl `back home.' They must have been true." + +The eyes of the two men met unflinchingly. There was a sneer on Buck's +lips; Billy was smiling. + +"I'm going to follow this Frenchman after we've had a little rest," +said the corporal, trying to cover a certain note of excitement and +triumph in his voice. "There's a woman traveling with Scottie Deane, +you know-- a white woman-- and there's only one other north of +Churchill. Of course, you're anxious to get back your stolen outfit?" + +"You bet I am," exclaimed Billy, concealing the effect of the +bull's-eye shot Bucky had made. "I'm not particularly happy in the +thought of reporting myself stripped in this sort of way. The breed +will hang to thick cover, and it won't be difficult to follow his +trail." + +He saw that Bucky was a little taken aback by his ready acquiescence, +and before the other could reply he hurried out to join Walker in the +preparation of breakfast. He made a gallon of tea, fried some bacon, +and brought out and toasted his own stock of frozen bannock. He made a +second kettle of tea while the others were eating, and shook out the +blankets in his own tent. Walker had told him that they had traveled +nearly all night. + +"Better have an hour or two of sleep before you go on," he invited. + +The driver's name was Conway. He was the first to accept Billy's +invitation. When he had finished eating, Walker followed him into the +tent. When they were gone Bucky looked hard at Billy. + +"What's your game?" he asked. + +"The Golden Rule, that's all," replied Billy, proffering his tobacco. +"The half-breed treated me square and made me comfortable, even if he +did take his pay afterward. I'm doing the same." + +"And what do you expect to take-- afterward?" + +Billy's eyes narrowed as he returned the other's searching look. + +"Bucky, I didn't think you were quite a fool," he said. "You've got a +little decency in your hide, haven't you? A man might as well be in +jail as up here without a gun. I expect you to contribute one-- when +you go after the half-breed-- you or Walker. He'll do it if you won't. +Better go in with the others. I'll keep up the fire." + +Bucky rose sullenly. He was still suspicious of Billy's hospitality, +but at the same time he could see the strength of Billy's argument and +the importance of the price he was asking. He joined Walker and +Conway. Fifteen minutes later Billy approached the tent and looked in. +The three men were in the deep sleep of exhaustion. Instantly Billy's +actions changed. He had thrown his pack outside the tent to make more +room, and he quickly slipped a spare blanket in with his provisions. +Then he entered the other tent, and a flush spread over his face, and +he felt his blood grow warmer. + +"You may be a fool, Billy MacVeigh," he laughed, softly. "You may be a +fool, but we're going to do it!" + +Gently he disentangled the long silken strands of golden brown from +the tent-pole. He wound the hair about his fingers, and it made a soft +and shining ring. It was all that he would ever possess of Isobel +Deane, and his breath came more quickly as he pressed it for a moment +to his rough and storm-beaten face. He put it in his pocket, carefully +wrapped in Isobel's note, and then once more he went back to the tent +in which the three men were sleeping. They had not moved. Walker's +holster was within reach of his hand. For a moment the temptation to +reach out and pluck the gun from it was strong. He pulled himself +away. He would win in this fight with Bucky as surely as he had won in +the other, and he would win without theft. Quickly he threw his pack +over his shoulder and struck the trail made by Deane in his flight. On +his snow-shoes he followed it in a long, swift pace. A hundred yards +from the camp he looked back for an instant. Then he turned, and his +face was grim and set. + +"If you've got to be caught, it's not going to be by that outfit back +there, Mr. Scottie Deane," he said to himself. "It's up to yours +truly, and Billy MacVeigh is the man who can do the trick, if he +hasn't got a gun!" + + V + + BILLY FOLLOWS ISOBEL + +From the first Billy could see the difficulty with which Deane and his +dogs had made their way through the soft drifts of snow piled up by +the blizzard. In places where the trees had thinned out Deane had +floundered ahead and pulled with the team. Only once in the first mile +had Isobel climbed from the sledge, and that was where traces, +toboggan, and team had all become mixed up in the snow-covered top of +a fallen tree. The fact that Deane was compelling his wife to ride +added to Billy's liking for the man. It was probable that Isobel had +not gone to sleep at all after her hard experience on the Barren, but +had lain awake planning with her husband until the hour of their +flight. If Isobel had been able to travel on snow-shoes Billy reasoned +that Deane would have left the dogs behind, for in the deep, soft snow +he could have made better time without them, and snow-shoe trails +would have been obliterated by the storm hours ago. As it was, he +could not lose them. He knew that he had no time to lose if he made +sure of beating out Bucky and his men. The suspicious corporal would +not sleep long. While he had the advantage of being comparatively +fresh, Billy's snow-shoes were smoothing and packing the trail, and +the others, if they followed, would be able to travel a mile or two an +hour faster than himself. That Bucky would follow he did not doubt for +a moment. The corporal was already half convinced that Scottie Deane +had made the trail from camp and that the hair he had found entangled +in the splinter on the tent-pole belonged to the outlaw's wife. And +Scottie Deane was too big a prize to lose. + +Billy's mind worked rapidly as he bent more determinedly to the +pursuit. He knew that there were only two things that Bucky could do +under the circumstances. Either he would follow after him with Walker +and the driver or he would come alone. If Walker and Conway +accompanied him the fight for Scottie Deane's capture would be a fair +one, and the man who first put manacles about the outlaw's wrists +would be the victor. But if he left his two companions in camp and +came after him alone-- + +The thought was not a pleasant one. He was almost sorry that he had +not taken Walker's gun. If Bucky came alone it would be with but one +purpose in mind-- to make sure of Scottie Dean by "squaring up" with +him first. Billy was sure that he had measured the man right, and that +he would not hesitate to carry out his old threat by putting a bullet +into him at the first opportunity. And here would be opportunity. The +storm would cover up any foul work he might accomplish, and his reward +would be Scottie Deane-- unless Deane played too good a hand for him. + +At thought of Deane Billy chuckled. Until now he had not taken him +fully into consideration, and suddenly it dawned upon him that there +was a bit of humor as well as tragedy in the situation. He cheerfully +conceded to himself that for a long time Deane had proved himself a +better man than either Bucky or himself, and that, after all, he was +the man who held the situation well in hand even now. He was well +armed. He was as cautions as a fox, and would not be caught napping. +And yet this thought filled Billy with satisfaction rather than fear. +Deane would be more than a match for Bucky alone if he failed in +beating out the corporal. But if he did beat him out-- + +Billy's lips set grimly, and there was a hard light in his eyes as he +glanced back over his shoulder. He would not only beat him out, but he +would capture Scottie Deane. It would be a game of fox against fox, +and he would win. No one would ever know why he was playing the game +as he had planned to play it. Bucky would never know. Down at +headquarters they would never know. And yet deep down in his heart he +hoped and believed that Isobel would guess and understand. To save +Deane, to save Isobel, he must keep them out of the hands of Bucky +Smith, and to do that he must make them his own prisoners. It would be +a terrible ordeal at first. A picture of Isobel rose before him, her +faith and trust in him broken, her face white and drawn with grief and +despair, her blue eyes flashing at him-- hatred. But he felt now that +he could stand those things. One moment-- the fatal moment, when she +would understand and know that he had remained true-- would repay him +for what he might suffer. + +He traveled swiftly for an hour, and paused then to get his wind where +the partly covered trail dipped down into a frozen swamp. Here Isobel +had climbed from the sledge and had followed in the path of the +toboggan. In places where the spruce and balsam were thick overhead +Billy could make out the imprints of her moccasins. Deane had led the +dogs in the darkness of the storm, and twice Billy found the burned +ends of matches, where he had stopped to look at his compass. He was +striking a course almost due west. At the farther edge of the swamp +the trail struck a lake, and straight across this Deane had led his +team. The worst of the storm was over now. The wind was slowly +shifting to the south and east, and the fine, steely snow had given +place to a thicker and softer downfall. Billy shuddered as he thought +of what this lake must have been a few hours before, when Isobel and +Deane had crossed it in the thick blackness of the blizzard that had +swept it like a hurricane. + +It was half a mile across the lake, and here, fifty yards from shore, +the trail was completely covered. Billy lost no time by endeavoring to +find signs of it in the open, but struck directly for the opposite +timber field and swung along in the shelter of the scrub forest. He +picked up the trail easily. Half an hour later he stopped. Spruce and +balsam grew thick about him, shutting out what was left of the wind. +Here Scottie Deane had stopped to build a fire. Close to the charred +embers was a mass of balsam boughs on which Isobel had rested. Scottie +had made a pot of boiling tea and had afterward thrown the grounds on +the snow. The warm bodies of the dogs had made smooth, round pits in +the snow, and Billy figured that the fugitives had rested for a couple +of hours. They had traveled eight miles through the blizzard without a +fire, and his heart was filled with a sickening pain as he thought of +Isobel Deane and the suffering he had brought to her. For a few +moments there swept over him a revulsion for that thing which he stood +for-- the Law. More than once in his experience he had thought that +its punishment had been greater than the crime. Isobel had suffered, +and was suffering, far more than if Deane had been captured a year +before and hanged. And Deane himself had paid a penalty greater than +death in being a witness of the suffering of the woman who had +remained loyal to him. Billy's heart went out to them in a low, +yearning cry as he looked at the balsam bed and the black char of the +fire. He wished that he could give them, life and freedom and +happiness, and his hands clenched tightly as he thought that he was +willing to surrender everything, even to his own honor, for the woman +he loved. + +Fifteen minutes after he had struck the shelter of the camp he was +again in pursuit. His blood leaped a little excitedly when he found +that Scottie Deane's trail was now almost as straight as a plumb-line +and that the sledge no longer became entangled in hidden windfalls and +brush. It was proof that it was light when Deane and Isobel had left +their camp. Isobel was walking now, and their sledge was traveling +faster. Billy encouraged his own pace, and over two or three open +spaces he broke into a long, swinging run. The trail was comparatively +fresh, and at the end of another hour he knew that they could not be +far ahead of him. He had followed through a thin swamp and had climbed +to the top of a rough ridge when he stopped. Isobel had reached the +bald cap of the ridge exhausted. The last twenty yards he could see +where Deane had assisted her; and then she had dropped down in the +snow, and he had placed a blanket under her. They had taken a drink of +tea made back over the fire, and a little of it had fallen into the +snow. It had not yet formed ice, and instinctively he dropped behind a +rock and looked down into the wooded valley at his feet. In a few +moments he began to descend. + +He had almost reached the foot of the ridge when he brought himself +short with a sudden low cry of horror. He had reached a point where +the side of the ridge seemed to have broken off, leaving a precipitous +wall. In a flash he realized what had happened. Deane and Isobel had +descended upon a "snow trap," and it had given way under their weight, +plunging them to the rocks below. For no longer than a breath he stood +still, and in that moment there came a sound from far behind that sent +a strange thrill through him. It was the howl of a dog. Bucky and his +men were in close pursuit, and they were traveling with the team. + +He swung a little to the left to escape the edge of the trap and +plunged recklessly to the bottom. Not until he saw where Scottie Deane +and the team had dragged themselves from the snow avalanche did he +breathe freely again. Isobel was safe! He laughed in his joy and wiped +the nervous sweat from his face as he saw the prints of her moccasins +where Deane had righted the sledge. And then, for the first time, he +observed a number of small red stains on the snow. Either Isobel or +Deane had been injured in the fall, perhaps slightly. A hundred yards +from the "trap" the sledge had stopped again, and from this point it +was Deane who rode and Isobel who walked! + +He followed more cautiously now. Another hundred yards and he stopped +to sniff the air. Ahead of him the spruce and balsam grew close and +thick, and from that shelter he was sure that something was coming to +him on the air. At first he thought it was the odor of the balsam. A +moment later he knew that it was smoke. + +Force of habit brought his hand for the twentieth time to his empty +pistol holster. Its emptiness added to the caution with which he +approached the thick spruce and balsam ahead of him. Taking advantage +of a mass of low snow-laden bushes, he swung out at a right angle to +the trail and began making a wide circle. He worked swiftly. Within +half or three-quarters of an hour Bucky would reach the ridge. +Whatever he accomplished must be done before then. Five minutes after +leaving the trail he caught his first glimpse of smoke and began to +edge in toward the fire. The stillness oppressed him. He drew nearer +and nearer, yet he heard no sound of voice or of the dogs. At last he +reached a point where he could look out from behind a young ground +spruce and see the fire. It was not more than thirty feet away. He +held his breath tensely at what he saw. On a blanket spread out close +to the fire lay Scottie Deane, his head pillowed on a pack-sack. There +was no sign of Isobel, and no sign of the sledge and dogs. Billy's +heart thumped excitedly as he rose to his feet. He did not stop to ask +himself where Isobel and the dogs had gone. Deane was alone, and lay +with his back toward him. Fate could not have given him a better +opportunity, and his moccasined feet fell swiftly and quietly in the +snow. He was within six feet of Scottie before the injured man heard +him, and scarcely had the other moved when he was upon him. He was +astonished at the ease with which he twisted Deane upon his back and +put the handcuffs about his wrists. The work was no sooner done than +he understood. A rag was tied about Deane's head, and it was stained +with blood. The man's arms and body were limp. He looked at Billy with +dulled eyes, and as he slowly realized what had happened a groan broke +from his lips. + +In an instant Billy was on his knees beside him. He had seen Deane +twice before, over at Churchill, but this was the first time that he +had ever looked closely into his face. It was a face worn by hardship +and mental torture. The cheeks were thinned, and the steel-gray eyes +that looked up into Billy's were reddened by weeks and months of +fighting against storm. It was the face, not of a criminal, but of a +man whom Billy would have trusted-- blonde-mustached, fearless, and +filled with that clean-cut strength which associates itself with +fairness and open fighting. Hardly had he drawn a second breath when +Billy realized why this man had not killed him when he had the chance. +Deane was not of the sort to strike in the dark or from behind. He had +let Billy live because he still believed in the manhood of man, and +the thought that he had repaid Deane's faith in him by leaping upon +him when he was down and wounded filled Billy with a bitter shame. He +gripped one of Deane's hands in his own. + +"I hate to do this, old man," he cried, quickly. "It's hell to put +those things on a man who's hurt. But I've got to do it. I didn't mean +to come-- no, s'elp me God, I didn't-- if Bucky Smith and two others +hadn't hit your trail back at the old camp. They'd have got you-- +sure. And she wouldn't have been safe with them. Understand? She +wouldn't have been safe! So I made up my mind to beat on ahead and +take you myself. I want you to understand. And you do know, I guess. +You must have heard, for I thought you were sure-enough dead in the +box, an' I swear to Heaven I meant all I said then. I wouldn't have +come. I was glad you two got away. But this Bucky is a skunk and a +scoundrel-- and mebbe if I take you-- I can help you-- later on. +They'll be here in a few minutes." + +He spoke quickly, his voice quivering with the emotion that inspired +his words, and not for an instant did Scottie Deane allow his eyes to +shift from Billy's face. When Billy stopped he still looked at him for +a moment, judging the truth of what he had heard by what he saw in the +other's face. And then Billy felt his hand tighten for an instant +about his own. + +"I guess you're pretty square, MacVeigh," he said, "and I guess it had +to come pretty soon, too. I'm not sorry that it's you-- and I know +you'll take care of her." + +"I'll do it-- if I have to fight-- and kill!" + +Billy had withdrawn his hand, and both were clenched. Into Deane's +eyes there leaped a sudden flash of fire. + +"That's what I did," he breathed, gripping his fingers hard. "I +killed-- for her. He was a skunk-- and a scoundrel-- too. And you'd +have done it!" He looked at Billy again. "I'm glad you said what you +did-- when I was in the box," he added. "If she wasn't as pure and as +sweet as the stars I'd feel different. But it's just sort of in my +bones that you'll treat her like a brother. I haven't had faith in +many men. I've got it in you." + +Billy leaned low over the other. His face was flushed, and his voice +trembled. + +"God bless you for that, Scottie!" he said. + +A sound from the forest turned both men's eyes. + +"She took the dogs and went out there a little way for a load of +wood," said Deane. "She's coming back." + +Billy had leaped to his feet, and turned his face toward the ridge. +He, too, had heard a sound-- another sound, and from another +direction. He laughed grimly as he turned to Deane. + +"And they're coming, too, Scottie," he replied. "They're climbing the +ridge. I'll take your guns, old man. It's just possible there may be a +fight!" + +He slipped Deane's revolver into his holster and quickly emptied the +chamber of the rifle that stood near. + +"Where's mine?" he asked. + +"Threw 'em away," said Deane. "Those are the only guns in the outfit." + +Billy waited while Isobel Deane came through low-hanging spruce with +the dogs. + + VI + + THE FIGHT + +There was a smile for Deane on Isobel's lips as she struggled through +the spruce, knee-deep in snow, the dogs tugging at the sledge behind +her. And then in a moment she saw MacVeigh, and the smile froze into a +look of horror on her face. She was not twenty feet distant when she +emerged into the little opening, and Billy heard the rattling cry in +her throat. She stopped, and her hands went to her breast. Deane had +half raised himself, his pale, thin face smiling encouragingly at her; +and with a wild cry Isobel rushed to him and flung herself upon her +knees at his side, her hands gripping fiercely at the steel bands +about his wrists. Billy turned away. He could hear her sobbing, and he +could hear the low, comforting voice of the injured man. A groan of +anguish rose to his own lips, and he clenched his hands hard, dreading +the terrible moment when he would have to face the woman he loved +above all else on earth. + +It was her voice that brought him about. She had risen to her feet, +and she stood before him panting like a hunted animal, and Billy saw +in her face the thing which he had feared more than the sting of +death. No longer were her blue eyes filled with the sweetness and +faith of the angel who had come to him from out of the Barren. They +were hard and terrible and filled with that madness which made him +think she was about to leap upon him. In those eyes, in the quivering +of her bare throat, in the sobbing rise and fall of her breast were +the rage, the grief, and the fear of one whose faith had turned +suddenly into the deadliest of all emotions; and Billy stood before +her without a word on his lips, his face as cold and as bloodless as +the snow under his feet. + +"And so you-- you followed-- after-- that!" + +It was all she said, and yet the voice, the significance of the +choking words, hurt him more than if she had struck him. In them there +was none of the passion and condemnation he had expected. Quietly, +almost whisperingly uttered, they stung him to the soul. He had meant +to say to her what he had said to Deane-- even more. But the crudeness +of the wilderness had made him slow of tongue, and while his heart +cried out for words Isobel turned and went to her husband. And then +there came the thing he had been expecting. Down the ridge there raced +a flurry of snow and a yelping of dogs. He loosened the revolver in +his holster, and stood in readiness when Bucky Smith ran a few paces +ahead of his men into the camp. At sight of his enemy's face, torn +between rage and disappointment, all of Billy's old coolness returned +to him. + +With a bound Bucky was at Scottie Deane's side. He looked down at his +manacled hands and at the woman who was clasping them in her own, and +then he whirled on Billy with the quickness of a cat. + +"You're a liar and a sneak!" he panted. "You'll answer for this at +headquarters. I understand now why you let 'em go back there. It was +her! She paid you-- paid you in her own way-- to free him! But she +won't pay you again--" + +At his words Deane had started as if stung by a wasp. Billy saw +Isobel's whitened face. The meaning of Buck's words had gone home to +her as swiftly as a lightning flash, and for an instant her eyes had +turned to him! Bucky got no further than those last words. Before he +could add another syllable Billy was upon him. His fist shot out-- +once, twice-- and the blows that fell sent Bucky crashing through the +fire. Billy did not wait for him to regain his feet. A red light +blazed before his eyes. He forgot the presence of Deane and Walker and +Conway. His one thought was that the scoundrel he had struck down had +flung at Isobel the deadliest insult that a man could offer a woman, +and before either Conway or Walker could make a move he was upon +Bucky. He did not know how long or how many times he struck, but when +at last Conway and Walker succeeded in dragging him away Bucky lay +upon his back in the snow, blood gushing from his mouth and nose. +Walker ran to him. Panting for breath, Billy turned toward Isobel and +Deane. He was almost sobbing. He made no effort to speak. But he saw +that the thing he had dreaded was gone. Isobel was looking at him +again-- and there was the old faith in her eyes. At last-- she +understood! Dean's handcuffed hands were clenched. The light of +brotherhood shone in his eyes, and where a moment before there had +been grief and despair in Billy's heart there came now a warm glow of +joy. Once more they had faith in him! + +Walker had raised Bucky to a sitting posture, and was wiping the blood +from his face when Billy went to them. The corporal's hand made a limp +move toward his revolver. Billy struck it away and secured the weapon. +Then he spoke to Walker. + +"There is no doubt in your mind that I hold a sergeancy in the +service, is there, Walker?" he asked. + +His tone was no longer one of comradeship. In it there was the ring of +authority. Walker was quick to understand. + +"None, sir!" + +"And you are familiar with our laws governing insubordination and +conduct unbecoming an officer of the service?" + +Walker nodded. + +"Then, as a superior officer and in the name of his Majesty the King, +I place Corporal Bucky Smith under arrest, and commission you, under +oath of the service, to take him under your guard to Churchill, along +with the letter which I shall give you for the officer in charge +there. I shall appear against him a little later with the evidence +that will outlaw him from the service. Put the handcuffs on him!" + +Stunned by the sudden change in the situation, Walker obeyed without a +word. Billy turned to Conway, the driver. + +"Deane is too badly injured to travel," he explained, " Put up your +tent for him and his wife close to the fire. You can take mine in +exchange for it as you go back." + +He went to his kit and found a pencil and paper. Fifteen minutes later +he gave Walker the letter in which he described to the commanding +officer at Churchill certain things which he knew would hold Bucky a +prisoner until he could personally appear against him. Meanwhile +Conway had put up the tent and had assisted Deane into it. Isobel had +accompanied him. Billy then had a five-minute confidential talk with +Walker, and when the constable gave instructions for Conway to prepare +the dogs for the return trip there was a determined hardness in his +eyes as he looked at Bucky. In those five minutes he had heard the +story of Rousseau, the young Frenchman down at Norway House, and of +the wife whose faithlessness had killed him. Besides, he hated Bucky +Smith, as all men hated him. Billy was confident that he could rely +upon him. + +Not until dogs and sledge were ready did Bucky utter a word. The +terrific beating he had received had stunned him for a few minutes; +but now he jumped to his feet, not waiting for the command from +Walker, and strode up close to Billy. There was a vengeful leer on his +bloody face and his eyes blazed almost white, but his voice was so low +that Conway and Walker could only hear the murmur of it. His words +were meant for Billy alone. + +"For this I'm going to kill you, MacVeigh," he said; and in spite of +Billy's contempt for the man there was a quality in the low voice that +sent a curious shiver through him. "You can send me from the service, +but you're going to die for doing it!" + +Billy made no reply, and Bucky did not wait for one. He set off at the +head of the sledge, with Conway a step behind them. Billy followed +with Walker until they reached the foot of the ridge. There they shook +hands, and Billy stood watching them until they passed over the cap of +the ridge. + +He returned to the camp slowly. Deane had emerged from the tent, +supported by Isobel. They waited for him, and in Deane's face he saw +the look that had filled it after he had struck down Bucky Smith. For +a moment he dared not look at Isobel. She saw the change in him, and +her cheeks flushed. Deane would have extended his hands, but she was +holding them tightly in her own. + +"You'd better go into the tent and keep quiet," advised Billy. "I +haven't had time yet to see if you're badly hurt." + +"It's not bad," Deane assured him. "I bumped into a rock sliding down +the ridge, and it made me sick for a few minutes." + +Billy knew that Isobel's eyes were on him, and he could almost feel +their questioning. He began to take wood from the sledge she had +loaded and throw it on the fire. He wished that Scottie and she had +remained in the tent for a little longer. His face burned and his +blood seemed like fire when he caught a glimpse of the steel cuffs +about Deane's wrists. Through the smoke he saw Isobel still clasping +her husband. He could see one of her little hands gripping at the +steel band, and suddenly he sprang across and faced them, no longer +fearing to meet Isobel's eyes or Deane's. Now his face was aflame, and +he half held out his arms to them as he spoke, as though he would +clasp them both to him in this moment of sacrifice and self-abnegation +and the dawning of new life. + +"You know-- you both know why I've done this!" he cried, "You heard +what I said back there, Deane-- when you was in the box; an' all I +said was true. She came to me out of that storm like an angel-- an' +I'll think of her as an angel all my life. I don't know much about +God-- not the God they have down there, where they take an eye for an +eye an' a tooth for a tooth and kill because some one else has killed. +But there's something up here in the big open places, something that +makes you think and makes you want to do what's right and square; an' +she's got all I know of God in that little Bible of mine-- the blue +flower. I gave the blue flower to her, an' now an' forever she's my +blue flower. I ain't ashamed to tell you, Deane, because you've heard +it before, an' you know I'm not thinking it in a sinful way. It 'll +help me if I can see her face an' hear her voice and know there's such +love as yours after you're gone. For I'm going to let you go, Deane, +old man. That's what I came for, to save you from the others an' give +you back to her. I guess mebbe you'll know-- now-- how I feel--" + +His voice choked him. Isobel's glorious eyes were looking into his +soul, and he looked straight back into them and saw all his reward +there. He turned to Deane. His key clicked in the locks to the +handcuffs, and as they fell into the snow the two men gripped hands, +and in their strong faces was that rarest of all things-- love of man +for man. + +"I'm glad you know," said Billy, softly. "It wouldn't be fair if you +didn't, Scottie. I can think of her now, an' it won't be mean and low. +And if you ever need help-- if you're down in South America or +Africa-- anywhere-- I'll come if you send word. You'd better go to +South America. That's a good place. I'll report to headquarters that +you died-- from the fall. It's a lie, but blue flower would do it, and +so will I. Sometimes, you know, the friend who lies is the only friend +who's true-- and she'd do it-- a thousand times-- for you." + +"And for you," whispered Isobel. + +She was holding out her hands, her blue eyes streaming with tears of +happiness, and for a moment Billy accepted one of them and held it in +his own. He looked over her head as she spoke. + +"God will bless you for this-- some day," she said; and a sob broke in +her voice. "He will bring you happiness-- happiness-- in what you have +dreamed of. You will find a blue flower-- sweet and pure and loyal-- +and then you will know, even more fully, what life means to me with +him." + +And then she broke down, sobbing like a child, and with her face +buried in her hands turned into the tent. + +"Gawd!" whispered Billy, drawing a deep breath. + +He looked Deane in the eyes; and Deane smiled, a rare and beautiful +smile. + +For a quarter of an hour they talked alone, and then Billy drew a +wallet from his pocket. + +"You'll need money, Scottie," he said. "I don't want you to lose a +minute in getting out of the country. Make for Vancouver. I've got +three hundred dollars here. You've got to take it or I'll shoot you!" + +He thrust the money into Deane's hands as Isobel came out of the tent. +Her eyes were red, but she was smiling; and she held something in her +hand. She showed it to the two men. It was the blue flower Billy had +given her. But now its petals were torn apart, and nine of them lay in +the palm of her hand. + +"It can't go with one." She spoke softly and the smile died on her +lips. "There are nine petals, three for each of us." + +She gave three to her husband and three to Billy, and for a moment the +men stared at them as they lay in their rough and calloused palms. +Then Billy drew out the bit of buckskin in which he had placed the +strands of Isobel's hair and slipped the blue petals in with them. +Deane had drawn a worn envelope from his pocket. Billy spoke low to +Deane. + +"I want to be alone for a while-- until dinner-time. Will you go into +the tent-- with her?" + +When they were gone Billy went to the spot where he had dropped his +pack before crawling up on Deane. He picked it up and slipped it over +his shoulders as he walked. He went swiftly back over his old trail, +and this time it was with a heart leaden with a deep and terrible +loneliness. When he reached the ridge he tried to whistle, but his +lips seemed thick, and there was something in his throat that choked +him. From the cap of the ridge he looked down. A thin mist of smoke +was rising from out of the spruce. It blurred before his eyes, and a +sobbing break came in his low cry of Isobel's name. Then he turned +once more back into the loneliness and desolation of his old life. + +"I'm coming, Pelly," he laughed, in a strained, hard way. "I haven't +given you exactly a square deal, old man, but I'll hustle and make up +for lost time!" + +A wind was beginning to moan in the spruce tops again. He was glad of +that. It promised storm. And a storm would cover up all trails. + + VII + + THE MADNESS OF PELLITER + +Away up at Fullerton Point amid the storm and crash of the arctic +gloom Pelliter fought himself through day after day of fever, waiting +for MacVeigh. At first he had been filled with hope. That first +glimpse of the sun they had seen through the little window on the +morning that Billy left for Fort Churchill had come just in time to +keep reason from snapping in his head. For three days after that he +looked through the window at the same hour and prayed moaningly for +another glimpse of that paradise in the southern sky. But the storm +through which Isobel had struggled across the Barren gathered over his +head and behind him, day after day of it, rolling and twisting and +moaning with the roar of the cracking fields of ice, bringing back +once more the thick death-gloom of the arctic night that had almost +driven him mad. He tried to think only of Billy, of his loyal +comrade's race into the south, and of the precious letters he would +bring back to him; and he kept track of the days by making pencil +marks on the door that opened out upon the gray and purple desolation +of the arctic sea. + +At last there came the day when he gave up hope. He believed that he +was dying. He counted the marks on the door and found that there were +sixteen. Just that many days ago Billy had set off with the dogs. If +all had gone well he was a third of the way back, and within another +week would be "home." + +Pelliter's thin, fever-flushed face relaxed into a wan smile as he +counted the pencil marks again. Long before that week was ended he +figured that he would be dead. The medicines-- and the letters-- would +come too late, probably four or five days too late. Straight out from +his last mark he drew a long line, and at the end of it added in a +scrawling, almost unintelligible, hand: "Dear Billy, I guess this is +going to be my last day." Then he staggered from the door to the +window. + +Out there was what was killing him-- loneliness, a maddening +desolation, a lifeless world that reached for hundreds of miles +farther than his eyes could see. To the north and east there was +nothing but ice, piled-up masses and grinning mountains of it, white +at first, of a somber gray farther off, and then purple and almost +black. There came to him now the low, never-ceasing thunder of the +undercurrents fighting their way down from the Arctic Ocean, broken +now and then by a growling roar as the giant forces sent a crack, like +a great knife, through one of the frozen mountains. He had listened to +those sounds for five months, and in those five months he had heard no +other voice but his own and MacVeigh's and the babble of an Eskimo. +Only once in four months had he seen the sun, and that was on the +morning that MacVeigh went south. So he had gone half mad. Others had +gone completely mad before him. Through the window his eyes rested on +the five rough wooden crosses that marked their graves. In the service +of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police they were called heroes. And in +a short time he, Constable Pelliter, would be numbered among them. +MacVeigh would send the whole story down to her, the true little girl +a thousand miles south; and she would always remember him-- her hero-- +and his lonely grave at Point Fullerton, the northernmost point of the +Law. But she would never see that grave. She could never come to put +flowers on it, as she put flowers on the grave of his mother; she +would never know the whole story, not a half of it-- his terrible +longing for a sound of her voice, a touch of her hand, a glimpse of +her sweet blue eyes before he died. They were to be married in August, +when his service in the Royal Mounted ended. She would be waiting for +him. And in August-- or July-- word would reach her that he had died. + +With a dry sob he turned from the window to the rough table that he +had drawn close to his bunk, and for the thousandth time he held +before his red and feverish eyes a photograph. It was a portrait of a +girl, marvelously beautiful to Tommy Pelliter, with soft brown hair +and eyes that seemed always to talk to him and tell him how much she +loved him. And for the thousandth time he turned the picture over and +read the words she had written on the back: + + "My own dear boy, remember that I am always with you, always + thinking of you, always praying for you; and I know, dear, that you + will always do what you would do if I were at your side." + +"Good Lord!" groaned Pelliter. "I can't die! I can't! I've got to +live-- to see her--" + +He dropped back on his bunk exhausted. The fires burned in his head +again. He grew dizzy, and he talked to her, or thought he was talking, +but it was only a babble of incoherent sound that made Kazan, the +one-eyed old Eskimo dog, lift his shaggy head and sniff suspiciously. +Kazan had listened to Pelliter's deliriums many times since MacVeigh +had left them alone, and soon he dropped his muzzle between his +forepaws and dozed again. A long time afterward he raised his head +once more. Pelliter was quiet. But the dog sniffed, went to the door, +whined softly, and nervously muzzled the sick man's thin hand. Then he +settled back on his haunches, turned his nose straight up, and from +his throat there came that wailing, mourning cry, long-drawn and +terrible, with which Indian dogs lament before the tepees of masters +who are newly dead. The sound aroused Pelliter. He sat up again, and +he found that once more the fire and the pain had gone from his head. + +"Kazan, Kazan," he pleaded, weakly, "it isn't time-- yet!" + +Kazan had gone to the window that looked to the west, and stood with +his forefeet on the sill. Pelliter shivered. + +"Wolves again," he said, "or mebbe a fox." + +He had grown into that habit of talking to himself, which is as common +as human life itself in the far north, where one's own voice is often +the one thing that breaks a killing monotony. He edged his way to the +window as he spoke and looked out with Kazan. Westward there stretched +the lifeless Barren illimitable and void, without rock or bush and +overhung by a sky that always made Pelliter think of a terrible +picture he had once seen of Dore's "Inferno." It was a low, thick sky, +like purple and blue granite, always threatening to pitch itself down +in terrific avalanches, and between the earth and this sky was the +thin, smothered world which MacVeigh had once called God's insane +asylum. + +Through the gloom Kazan's one eye and Pelliter's feverish vision could +not see far, but at last the man made out an object toiling slowly +toward the cabin. At first he thought it was a fox, and then a wolf, +and then, as it loomed larger, a straying caribou. Kazan whined. The +bristles along his spine rose stiff and menacing. Pelliter stared +harder and harder, with his face pressed close against the cold glass +of the window, and suddenly he gave a gasping cry of excitement. It +was a man who was toiling toward the cabin! He was bent almost double, +and he staggered in a zigzag fashion as he advanced. Pelliter made his +way feebly to the door, unbarred it, and pushed it partly open. +Overcome by weakness he fell back then on the edge of his bunk, + +It seemed an age before he heard steps. They were slow and stumbling, +and an instant later a face appeared at the door. It was a terrible +face, overgrown with beard, with wild and staring eyes; but it was a +white man's face. Pelliter had expected an Eskimo, and he sprang to +his feet with sudden strength as the stranger came in. + +"Something to eat, mate, for the love o' God give me something to +eat!" + +The stranger fell in a heap on the floor and stared up at him with the +ravenous entreaty of an animal. Pelliter's first move was to get +whisky, and the other drank it in great gulps. Then he dragged himself +to his feet, and Pelliter sank in a chair beside the table. + +"I'm sick," he said. "Sergeant MacVeigh has gone to Churchill, and I +guess I'm in a bad way. You'll have to help yourself. There's meat-- +'n' bannock--" + +Whisky had revived the new-comer. He stared at Pelliter, and as he +stared he grinned, ugly yellow teeth leering from between his matted +beard. The look cleared Pelliter's brain. For some reason which he +could not explain, his pistol hand fell to the place where he usually +carried his holster. Then he remembered that his service revolver was +under the pillow. + +"Fever," said the sailor; for Pelliter knew that he was a sailor. + +He took off his heavy coat and tossed it on the table. Then he +followed Pelliter's instructions in quest of food, and for ten minutes +ate ravenously. Not until he was through and seated opposite him at +the table did Pelliter speak. + +"Who are you, and where in Heaven's name did you come from?" he asked. + +"Blake-- Jim Blake's my name, an' I come from what I call Starvation +Igloo Inlet, thirty miles up the coast. Five months ago I was left a +hundred miles farther up to take care of a cache for the whaler John +B. Sidney, and the cache was swept away by an overflow of ice. Then we +struck south, hunting and starving, me 'n' the woman--" + +"The woman!" cried Pelliter. + +"Eskimo squaw," said Blake, producing a black pipe. "The cap'n bought +her to keep me company-- paid four sacks of flour an' a knife to her +husband up at Wagner Inlet. Got any tobacco?" + +Pelliter rose to get the tobacco. He was surprised to find that he was +steadier on his feet and that Blake's words were clearing his brain. +That had been his and MacVeigh's great fight-- the fight to put an end +to the white man's immoral trade in Eskimo women and girls, and Blake +had already confessed himself a criminal. Promise of action, quick +action, momentarily overcame his sickness. He went back with the +tobacco, and sat down. + +"Where's the woman?" be asked. + +"Back in the igloo," said Blake, filling his pipe. "We killed a walrus +up there and built an icehouse. The meat's gone. She's probably gone +by this time." He laughed coarsely across at Pelliter as he lighted +his pipe. "It seems good to get into a white man's shack again." + +"She's not dead?" insisted Pelliter. + +"Will be-- shortly," replied Blake. "She was so weak she couldn't walk +when I left. But them Eskimo animals die hard, 'specially the women." + +"Of course you're going back for her?" + +The other stared for a moment into Pelliter's flushed face, and then +laughed as though he had just heard a good joke. + +"Not on your life, my boy. I wouldn't hike that thirty miles again-- +an' thirty back-- for all the Eskimo women up at Wagner." + +The red in Pelliter's eyes grew redder as he leaned over the table. + +"See here," he said, "you're going back-- now! Do you understand? +You're going back!" + +Suddenly he stopped. He stared at Blake's coat, and with a swiftness +that took the other by surprise he reached across and picked something +from it. A startled cry broke from his lips. Between his fingers he +held a single filament of hair. It was nearly a foot long, and it was +not an Eskimo woman's hair. It shone a dull gold in the gray light +that came through the window. He raised his eyes, terrible in their +accusation of the man opposite him. + +"You lie!" he said. "She's not an Eskimo!" + +Blake had half risen, his great hands clutching the ends of the table, +his brutal face thrust forward, his whole body in an attitude that +sent Pelliter back out of his reach. He was not an instant too soon. +With an oath Blake sent the table crashing aside and sprang upon the +sick man. + +"I'll kill you!" he cried. "I'll kill you, an' put you where I've put +her, 'n' when your pard comes back I'll--" + +His hands caught Pelliter by the throat, but not before there had come +from between the sick man's lips a cry of "Kazan! Kazan!" + +With a wolfish snarl the old one-eyed sledge-dog sprang upon Blake, +and the three fell with a crash upon Pelliter's bunk. For an instant +Kazan's attack drew one of Blake's powerful hands from Pelliter's +throat, and as he turned to strike off the dog Pelliter's hand groped +out under his flattened pillow. Blake's murderous face was still +turned when he drew out his heavy service revolver; and as Blake cut +at Kazan with a long sheath-knife which he had drawn from his belt +Pelliter fired. Blake's grip relaxed. Without a groan he slipped to +the floor, and Pelliter staggered back to his feet. Kazan's teeth were +buried in Blake's leg. + +"There, there, boy," said Pelliter, pulling him away. "That was a +close one!" + +He sat down and looked at Blake. He knew that the man was dead. Kazan +was sniffing about the sailor's head with stiffened spines. And then a +ray of light flashed for an instant through the window. It was the +sun-- the second time that Pelliter had seen it in four months. A cry +of joy welled up from his heart. But it was stopped midway. On the +floor close beside Blake something glittered in the fiery ray, and +Pelliter was upon his knees in an instant. It was the short golden +hair he had snatched from the dead man's coat, and partly covering it +was the picture of his sweetheart which had fallen when the table was +overturned. With the photograph in one hand and that single thread of +woman's hair between the fingers of his other Pelliter rose slowly to +his feet and faced the window. The sun was gone. But its coming had +put a new life into him. He turned joyously to Kazan. + +"That means something, boy," he said, in a low, awed voice, "the sun, +the picture, and this! She sent it, do you hear, boy? She sent it! I +can almost hear her voice, an' she's telling me to go. `Tommy,' she's +saying, `you wouldn't be a man if you didn't go, even though you know +you're going to die on the way. You can take her something to eat,' +she's saying, boy, `an' you can just as well die in an igloo as here. +You can leave word for Billy, an' you can take her grub enough to last +until he comes, an' then he'll bring her down here, an' you'll be +buried out there with the others just the same.' That's what she's +saying, Kazan, so we're going!" He looked about him a little wildly. +"Straight up the coast," he mumbled. "Thirty miles. We might make it." + +He began filling a pack with food. Outside the door there was a small +sledge, and after he had bundled himself in his traveling-clothes he +dragged the pack to the sledge, and behind the pack tied on a bundle +of firewood, a lantern, blankets, and oil. After he had done this he +wrote a few lines to MacVeigh and pinned the paper to the door. Then +he hitched old Kazan to the sledge and started off, leaving the dead +man where he had fallen. + +"It's what she'd have us do," he said again to Kazan. "She sure would +have us do this, Kazan. God bless her dear little heart!" + + VIII + + LITTLE MYSTERY + +Pelliter hung close to the ice-bound coast. He traveled slowly, +leading the way for Kazan, who strained every muscle in his aged body +to drag the sledge. For a time the excitement of what had occurred +gave Pelliter a strength which soon began to ebb. But his old weakness +did not entirely return. He found that his worst trouble at first was +in his eyes. Weeks of fever had enfeebled his vision until the world +about him looked new and strange. He could see only a few hundred +paces ahead, and beyond this little circle everything turned gray and +black. Singularly enough, it struck him that there was some humor as +well as tragedy in the situation, that there was something to laugh at +in the fact that Kazan had but one eye, and that he was nearly blind. +He chuckled to himself and spoke aloud to the dog. + +"Makes me think of the games o' hide-'n'-seek we used to play when we +were kids, boy," he said. "She used to tie her handkerchief over my +eyes, 'n' then I'd follow her all through the old orchard, and when I +caught her it was a part of the game she'd have to let me kiss her. +Once I bumped into an apple tree--" + +The toe of his snow-shoe caught in an ice-hummock and sent him face +downward into the snow. He picked himself up and went on. + +"We played that game till we was grown-ups, old man," he went on. +"Last time we played it she was seventeen. Had her hair in a big brown +braid, an' it all came undone so that when I caught her an' took off +the handkerchief I could just see her eyes an' her mouth laughing at +me, and it was that time I hugged her up closer than ever and told her +I was going out to make a home for us. Then I came up here." + +He stopped and rubbed his eyes; and for an hour after that, as he +plodded onward, he mumbled things which neither Kazan nor any other +living thing could have understood. But whatever delirium found its +way into his voice, the fighting spark in his brain remained sane. The +igloo and the starving woman whom Blake had abandoned formed the one +living picture which he did not for a moment forget. He must find the +igloo, and the igloo was close to the sea. He could not miss it-- if +he lived long enough to travel thirty miles. It did not occur to him +that Blake might have lied-- that the igloo was farther than he had +said, or perhaps much nearer. + +It was two o'clock when he stopped to make tea. He figured that he had +traveled at least eighteen miles; the fact was he had gone but a +little over half that distance. He was not hungry, and ate nothing, +but he fed Kazan heartily of meat. The hot tea, strengthened with a +little whisky, revived him for the time more than food would have +done. + +"Twelve miles more at the most," he said to Kazan. "We'll make it. +Thank God, we'll make it!" + +If his eyes had been better he would have seen and recognized the huge +snow-covered rock called the Blind Eskimo, which was just nine miles +from the cabin. As it was, he went on, filled with hope. There were +sharper pains in his head now, and his legs dragged wearily. Day ended +at a little after two, but at this season there was not much change in +light and darkness, and Pelliter scarcely noted the difference. The +time came when the picture of the igloo and the dying woman came and +went fitfully in his brain. There were dark spaces. The fighting spark +was slowly giving way, and at last Pelliter dropped upon the sledge. + +"Go on, Kazan!" he cried, weakly. "Mush it-- go on!" + +Kazan tugged, with gaping jaws; and Pelliter's head dropped upon the +food-filled pack. + +What Kazan heard was a groan. He stopped and looked back, whining +softly. For a time he sat on his haunches, sniffing a strange thing +which had come to him in the air. Then he went on, straining a little +faster at the sledge and still whining. If Pelliter had been conscious +he would have urged him straight ahead. But old Kazan turned away from +the sea. Twice in the next ten minutes he stopped and sniffed the air, +and each time he changed his course a little. Half an hour later he +came to a white mound that rose up out of the level waste of snow, and +then he settled himself back on his haunches, lifted his shaggy head +to the dark night sky, and for the second time that day he sent forth +the weird, wailing, mourning death-howl. + +It aroused Pelliter. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, staggered to his +feet, and saw the mound a dozen paces away. Rest had cleared his brain +again. He knew that it was an igloo. He could make out the door, and +he caught up his lantern and stumbled toward it. He wasted half a +dozen matches before he could make a light. Then he crawled in, with +Kazan still in his traces close at his heels. + +There was a musty, uncomfortable odor in the snow-house. And there was +no sound, no movement. The lantern lighted up the small interior, and +on the floor Pelliter made out a heap of blankets and a bearskin. +There was no life, and instinctively he turned his eyes down to Kazan. +The dog's head was stretched out toward the blankets, his ears were +alert, his eyes burned fiercely, and a low, whining growl rumbled in +his throat. + +He looked at the blankets again, moved slowly toward them. He pulled +back the bearskin and found what Blake had told him he would find-- a +woman. For a moment he stared, and then a low cry broke from his lips +as he fell upon his knees. Blake had not lied, for it was an Eskimo +woman. She was dead. She had not died of starvation. Blake had killed +her! + +He rose to his feet again and looked about him. After all, did that +golden hair, that white woman's hair, mean nothing? What was that? He +sprang back toward Kazan, his weakened nerves shattered by a sound and +a movement from the farthest and darkest part of the igloo. Kazan +tugged at his traces, panting and whining, held back by the sledge +wedged in the door. The sound came again, a human, wailing, sobbing +cry. + +With his lantern in his hand Pelliter darted across to it. There was +another roll of blankets on the floor, and as he looked he saw the +bundle move. It took him but an instant to drop beside it, as he had +dropped beside the other, and as he drew back the damp and partly +frozen covering his heart leaped up and choked him. The lantern light +fell full upon the thin, pale face and golden head of a little child. +A pair of big frightened eyes were staring up at him; and as he knelt +there, powerless to move or speak in the face of this miracle, the +eyes closed again, and there came again the wailing, hungry note which +Kazan had first heard as they approached the igloo. Pelliter flung +back the blanket and caught the child in his arms. + +"It's a girl-- a little girl!" he almost shouted to Kazan. "Quick, +boy-- go back-- get out!" + +He laid the child upon the other blankets, and then thrust back Kazan. +He seemed suddenly possessed of the strength of two men as he tore at +his own blankets and dumped the contents of the pack out upon the +snow. "She sent us, boy," he cried, his breath coming in sobbing +gasps. "Where's the milk 'n' the stove--" + +In ten seconds more he was back in the igloo with a can of condensed +cream, a pan, and the alcohol lamp. His fingers trembled so that he +had difficulty in lighting the wick, and as he cut open the can with +his knife he saw the child's eyes flutter wide for an instant and then +close again. + +"Just a minute, a half minute," he pleaded, pouring the cream into the +pan. "Hungry, eh, little one? Hungry? Starving?" He held the pan +close down over the blue flame and gazed terrified at the white little +face near him. Its thinness and quiet frightened him. He thrust his +finger into the cream and found it warm. + +"A cup, Kazan! Why didn't I bring a cup?" He darted out again and +returned with a tin basin. In another moment the child was in his +arms, and he forced the first few drops of cream between her lips. Her +eyes shot open. Life seemed to spring into her little body; and she +drank with a loud noise, one of her tiny hands gripping him by the +wrist. The touch, the sound, the feel of life against him thrilled +Pelliter. He gave her half of what the basin contained, and then +wrapped her up warmly in his thick service blanket, so that all of her +was hidden but her face and her tangled golden hair. He held her for a +moment close to the lantern. She was looking at him now, wide-eyed and +wondering, but not frightened. + +"God bless your little soul!" he exclaimed, his amazement growing. +"Who are you, 'n' where'd you come from? You ain't more'n three years +old, if you're an hour. Where's your mama 'n' your papa?" He placed +her back on the blankets. "Now, a fire, Kazan!" he said. + +He held the lantern above his head and found the narrow vent through +the snow-and-ice wall which Blake had made for the escape of smoke. +Then he went outside for the fuel, freeing Kazan on the way. In a few +minutes more a small bright blaze of almost smokeless larchwood was +lighting up and warming the interior of the igloo. To his surprise, +Pelliter found the child asleep when he went to her again. He moved +her gently and carried the dead body of the little Eskimo woman +through the opening and half a hundred paces from the igloo. Not until +then did he stop to marvel at the strength which had returned to him. +He stretched his arms above his head and breathed deeply of the cold +air. It seemed as though something had loosened inside of him, that a +crushing weight had lifted itself from his eyes. Kazan had followed +him, and he stared down at the dog. + +"It's gone, Kazan," he cried, in a low, half-credulous voice. "I don't +feel-- sick-- any more. It's her--" + +He turned back to the igloo. The lantern and the fire made a cheerful +glow inside, and it was growing warm. He threw off his heavy coat, +drew the bearskin in front of the fire, and sat down with the child in +his arms. She still slept. Like a starving man Pelliter stared down +upon the little thin face. Gently his rough fingers stroked back the +golden curls. He smiled. A light came into his eyes. His head bent +lower and lower, slowly and a little fearfully. At last his lips +touched the child's cheek. And then his own rough grizzled face, +toughened by wind and storm and intense cold, nestled against the +little face of this new and mysterious life he had found at the top of +the world. + +Kazan listened for a time, squatted on his haunches. Then he curled +himself near the fire and slept. For a long time Pelliter sat rocking +gently back and forth, thrilled by a happiness that was growing deeper +and stronger in him each instant. He could feel the tiny beat of the +little one's heart against his breast; he could feel her breath +against his cheek; one of her little hands had gripped him by his +thumb. + +A hundred questions ran through his mind now. Who was this little +abandoned mite? Who were her father and her mother, and where were +they? How had she come to be with the Eskimo woman and Blake? Blake +was not her father; the Eskimo woman was not her mother. What tragedy +had placed her here? Somehow he was conscious of a sensation of joy as +he reasoned that he would never be able to answer these questions. She +belonged to him. He had found her. No one would ever come to +dispossess him. Without awakening her, he thrust a hand into his +breast pocket and drew out the photograph of the sweet-faced girl who +was going to be his wife. It did not occur to him now that he might +die. The old fear and the old sickness were gone. He knew that he was +going to live. + +"You," he breathed, softly, "you did it, and I know you'll be glad +when I bring her down to you." And then to the little sleeping girl: +"And if you ain't got a name I guess I'll have to call you Mystery-- +how is that?-- my Little Mystery." + +When he looked from the picture again Little Mystery's eyes were open +and gazing up at him. He dropped the picture and made a lunge for the +pan of cream warming before the fire. The child drank as hungrily as +before, with Pelliter babbling incoherent nonsense into her baby ears. +When she had done he picked up the photograph, with a sudden and +foolish inspiration that she might understand. + +"Looky," he cried. "Pretty--" + +To his astonishment and joy, Little Mystery put out a hand and placed +the tip of her tiny forefinger on the girl's face. Then she looked up +into Pelliter's eyes. + +"Mama," she lisped. + +Pelliter tried to speak, but something rose like a knot in his throat +and choked him. A fire leaped all at once through his body; the joy of +that one word blinded him with hot tears. When he spoke at last his +voice was broken, like a sobbing woman's. + +"That's it." he said. "You're right, little one. She's your mama!" + + IX + + THE SECRET OF THE DEAD + +On the eighth day after Pelliter found the Eskimo igloo Billy MacVeigh +came up through a gray dawn with his footsore dogs, his letters, and +his medicines. He had traveled all of the preceding night, and his +feet dragged heavily. It was with a feeling of fear that he at last +saw the black cliffs of Fullerton rising above the ice. He dreaded the +first opening of the cabin door. What would he find? During the past +forty-eight hours he had figured on Pelliter's chances, and they were +two to one that he would find his partner dead in his bunk. + +And if not, if Pelliter still lived, what a tale there would be to +tell the sick man! For he knew that he must tell some one, and +Pelliter would keep his secret. And he would understand. Day after +day, as he had hurried straight into the north, Billy's loneliness and +heartbreak weighed more and more heavily upon him. He tried to force +Isobel out of his thoughts, but it was impossible. A thousand visions +of her rose before him, and each mile that he drew himself farther +away from her seemed only to add to the nearness of her spirit at his +side and to the strange pain in his heart that rose now and then to +his lips in sobbing breaths that he fought with himself to stifle. And +yet, with his own grief and hopelessness, he experienced more and more +each day a compensating joy. It was the joy of knowing that he had +given back life and hope to Isobel and her husband. Each day he +figured their progress along with his own. From the Eskimo village he +had sent a messenger back to Churchill with a long report for the +officer in command there, and in that report he had lied. He reported +Scottie Deane as having died of the injury he had received in the +snow-slide. Not for a moment had he regretted the falsehood. He also +promised to report at Churchill to testify against Bucky Smith as soon +as he reached Pelliter and put him on his feet. + +On this last day, as he saw the towering cliffs of Fullerton ahead of +him, he wondered how much he would tell to Pelliter if he found him +alive. Mentally he rehearsed the amazing story of what came to him +that night on the Barren, of the dogs coming across the snow, the +great, dark, frightened eyes of the woman, and the long, narrow box on +the sledge. He would tell pelliter all that. He would tell how he had +made a camp for her that night, and how, later, he had told her that +he loved her and had begged one kiss. And then the disclosures of the +morning, the deserted tent, the empty box, the little note from +Isobel, and the revelation that the box had contained the living body +of the man for whom he and Pelliter had patrolled this desolate +country for two thousand miles. But would he tell the truth of what +had happened after that? + +He quickened his tired pace as the dogs climbed up from the ice of the +Bay to the sloping ridge, and stared hard ahead of him. The dogs +tugged harder as the smell of home entered their nostrils. At last the +roof of the cabin came in view. MacVeigh's bloodshot eyes were like an +animal's in their eagerness. + +"Pelly, old boy," he gasped to himself. "Pelly--" + +He stared harder. And then he spoke a low word to the dogs and +stopped. He wiped his face. A deep breath of relief fell from his +lips. + +Straight up from the chimney of the cabin there rose a thick column of +smoke! + +He came up to the door of the cabin quietly, wondering why Pelliter +did not see him or hear the three or four sharp yelps the dogs had +given. He twisted off his snow-shoes, chuckling as he thought of the +surprise he would give his mate. His hand was on the door latch when +he stopped. The smile left his lips. Startled wonderment filled his +face as he bent close to the door and listened, and for a moment his +heart throbbed with a terrible fear. He had returned too late-- +perhaps a day-- two days. Pelliter had gone mad! He could hear him +raving inside, filling the cabin with a laughter that sent a chill of +horror through his veins. Mad! A sob broke from his lips, and he +turned his face up to the gray sky. And then the laughter turned to +song. It was the sweet love song which Pelliter had told him that the +girl down south used to sing to him when they were alone out under the +stars. Suddenly it broke off short, and in its place he heard another +sound. With a cry he opened the door and burst in. + +"My God!" he cried. "Pelly-- Pelly--" + +Pelliter was on his knees in the middle of the floor. But it was not +the look of wonderment and joy in his face that Billy saw first. He +stared at the little golden-haired creature on the floor in front of +him. He had traveled hard, almost day and night, and for an instant it +flashed upon him that what he saw was not real. Before he could move +or speak again Pelliter was on his feet, wringing his hands and almost +crying in his gladness. There was no sign of fever or madness in his +face now. Like one in a dream Billy heard what he said. + +"God bless you, Billy! I'm glad you've come!" he cried. "We've been +waiting 'n' watching, and not more'n a minute ago we were at the +window looking along the edge of the Bay through the binoculars. You +must have been under the ridge. My God! A little while ago I thought I +was dying-- I thought I was alone in the world-- alone-- alone. But +look-- look, Billy, I've got a fam'ly!" + +Little Mystery had climbed to her feet. She was looking at Billy +wonderingly, her golden curls tousled about her pretty face, and +gripping two or three of Pelliter's old letters in her tiny hand. And +then she smiled at Billy and held out the letters to him. In an +instant he had dropped Pelliter's hands and caught her up in his arms. + +"I've got letters for you in my pocket, Pelly," he gasped. "But-- +first-- you've got to tell me who she is and where you got her--" + +Briefly Pelliter told of Blake's visit, the fight, and of the finding +of Little Mystery. + +"I'd have died if it hadn't been for her, Billy," he finished. "She +brought me back to life. But I don't know who she is or where she came +from. There wasn't anything in his pockets or in the igloo to tell. I +buried him out there-- shallow-- so you could take a look when you +came back." + +He snatched like a starving man for food at the letters MacVeigh +pulled from his pocket. While he read Billy sat down with Little +Mystery on his knees. She laughed and put her warm little hands up to +his rough face. Her eyes were blue, like Isobel's; and suddenly he +crushed his face close down against her soft curls and held her so +close to him that for a moment she was frightened. A little later +Pelliter looked up. His eyes shone, his thin face was radiant with +joy. + +"God bless the sweetest little girl in the world, Billy!" he +whispered, huskily. "She says she's lonely for me. She tells me to +hurry-- hurry down there to her. She says that if I don't come soon +she'll come up to me! Read 'em, Billy!" + +He looked in astonishment at the change which he saw in MacVeigh's +face. Billy accepted the letters mechanically and placed them on the +edge of the bunk near which he was sitting. + +"I'll read them-- after a while," he said, slowly. + +Little Mystery clambered from his knee and ran to Pelliter. Billy was +staring straight into the other's face. + +"You're sure you've told me everything, Pelly? There wasn't anything +in his pockets? You searched well?" + +"Yes. There was nothing." + +"But-- you were sick--" + +"That's why I buried him shallow," interrupted Pelliter. "He's close +to the last cross, just under the ice and snow. I wanted you to look-- +for yourself." + +Billy rose to his feet. He took Little Mystery in his arms again and +looked closely in her face. There was a strange look in his eyes. She +laughed at him, but he did not seem to notice it. And then he held her +out to Pelliter. + +"Pelly, did you ever-- ever notice eyes-- very closely?" he asked. +"Blue eyes?" + +Pelliter stared at him amazed. + +"My Jeanne has blue eyes--" + +"And have they little brown dots in them like a wood violet?" + +"No-o-o--" + +"They're blue, just blue, ain't they?" + +"Yes." + +"And I suppose most all blue eyes are just blue, without the little +brown spots. Wouldn't you think so?" + +"What in Heaven's name are you driving at?" demanded Pelliter. + +"I just wanted you to notice that her eyes have little brown spots in +them," replied Billy. "I've only seen one other pair of eyes-- just +like hers." He turned toward the door. "I'm going out to care for the +dogs and dig up Blake," he added. "I can't rest until I've seen him." + +Pelliter placed Little Mystery on her feet. + +"I'll see to the dogs," he said. "But I don't want to look at Blake +again." + +The two men went out, and while Pelliter led the dogs to a lean-to +behind the cabin Billy began to work with an ax and spade at the spot +his comrade had pointed out to him. Ten minutes later he came to +Blake. An excitement which he had tried to hide from Pelliter overcame +his sense of horror as he dragged out the stiff and frozen corpse of +the man. It was a terrible picture that the dead man made, with his +coarse bearded face turned up to the sky and his teeth still snarling +as they had snarled on the day he died. Billy knew most men who had +come into the north above Churchill, but he had never looked upon +Blake before. It was probable that the dead man had told a part of the +truth, and that he was a sailor left on the upper coast by some +whaler. He shivered as he began going through his pockets. Each moment +added to his disappointment. He found a few things-- a knife, two +keys, several coins, a fire-flint, and other articles-- but there was +no letter or writing of any kind, and that was what he had hoped to +find. There was nothing that might solve the mystery of the miracle +that had descended upon them. He rolled the dead man into the grave, +covered him over, and went into the cabin. + +Pelliter was in his usual place-- on his hands and knees, with Little +Mystery astride his back. He paused in a mad race across the cabin +floor and looked up with inquiring eyes. The little girl held up her +arms, and MacVeigh tossed her half-way to the ceiling and then hugged +her golden head close up to his chilled face. Pelliter jumped to his +feet; his face grew serious as Billy looked at him over the child's +tousled curls. + +"I found nothing-- absolutely nothing of any account," he said. + +He placed Little Mystery on one of the bunks and faced the other with +a puzzled look in his eyes. + +"I wish you hadn't been in a fever on that day of the fight, Pelly," +he said. "He must have said something-- something that would give us a +clue." + +"Mebbe he did, Billy," replied Pelliter, looking with a shiver at the +few things MacVeigh had placed on the cabin table. "But there's no use +worrying any more about it. It ain't in reason that she's got any +people up here, six hundred miles from the shack of a white man that +'d own a little beauty like her. She's mine. I found her. She's mine +to keep." + +He sat down at the table, and MacVeigh sat down opposite him, smiling +sympathetically into Pelliter's eyes. + +"I know you want her-- want her bad, Pelly," he said. "And I know the +girl would love her. But she's got people-- somewhere, and it's our +duty to find 'em. She didn't drop out of a balloon, Pelly. Do you +suppose-- the dead man-- might be her father?" + +It was the first time he had asked this question, and he noted the +other's sudden shudder of revulsion. + +"I've thought of that. But it can't be. He was a beast, and she-- +she's a little angel. Billy, her mother must have been beautiful. And +that's what made me guess-- fear--" + +Pelliter wiped his face uneasily, and the two young men stared into +each other's eyes. MacVeigh leaned forward, waiting. + +"I figured it all out last night, lying awake there in my bunk," +continued Pelliter, "and as the second best friend I have on earth I +want to ask you not to go any farther, Billy. She's mine. My Jeanne, +down there, will love her like a real mother, and we'll bring her up +right. But if you go on, Billy, you'll find something unpleasant-- I-- +I-- swear you will!" + +"You know--" + +"I've guessed," interrupted the other. "Billy, sometimes a beast-- a +man beast-- holds an attraction for a woman, and Blake was that sort +of a beast. You remember-- two years ago-- a sailor ran away with the +wife of a whaler's captain away up at Narwhale Inlet. Well--" + +Again the two men stared silently at each other. MacVeigh turned +slowly toward the child. She had fallen asleep, and he could see the +dull shimmer of her golden curls as they lay scattered over Pelliter's +pillow. + +"Poor little devil!" he exclaimed, softly. + +"I believe that woman was Little Mystery's mother," Pelliter went on. +"She couldn't bear to leave the little kid when she went with Blake, +so she took her along. Some women do that. And after a time she died. +Then Blake took up with an Eskimo woman. You know what happened after +that. We don't want Little Mystery to know all this when she grows up. +It's better not. She's too little to remember, ain't she? She won't +ever know." + +"I remember the ship," said Billy, not taking his eyes off Little +Mystery. "She was the Silver Seal. Her captain's name was Thompson." + +He did not look at Pelliter, but he could feel the quick, tense +stiffening of the other's body. There was a moment's silence. Then +Pelliter spoke in a low, unnatural voice. + +"Billy, you ain't going to hunt him up, are you? That wouldn't be fair +to me or to the kid. My Jeanne 'll love her, an' mebbe-- mebbe some +day your kid 'll come along an' marry her--" + +MacVeigh rose to his feet. Pelliter did not see the sudden look of +grief that shot into his face. + +"What do you say, Billy?" + +"Think it over, Pelly," came back Billy's voice, huskily. "Think it +over. I don't want to hurt you, and I know you think a lot of her, +but-- think it over. You wouldn't rob her father, would you? An' she's +all he's got left of the woman. Think it over, Pelly, good 'n' hard. +I'm going to bed an' sleep a week!" + + X + + IN DEFIANCE OF THE LAW + +Billy slept all that day and the night that followed, and Pelliter did +not awaken him. He aroused himself from his long sleep of exhaustion +an hour or two before dawn of the following morning, and for the first +time he had the opportunity of going over with himself all the things +that had happened since his return to Fullerton Point. His first +thought was Pelliter and Little Mystery. He could hear his comrade's +deep breathing in the bunk opposite him, and again he wondered if +Pelliter had told him everything. Was it possible that Blake had said +nothing to reveal Little Mystery's identity, and that the igloo and +the dead Eskimo woman had not given up the secret? It seemed +inconceivable that there would not be something in the igloo that +would help to clear up the mystery. And yet, after all, he had faith +in Pelliter. He knew that he would keep nothing from him even though +it meant possession of the child. And then his mind leaped to Isobel +Deane. Her eyes were blue, and they had in them those same little +spots of brown he had found in Little Mystery's. They were unusual +eyes, and he had noticed the brown in them because it had added to +their loveliness and had made him think of the violets he had told +Pelliter about. Was it possible, he asked himself, that there could be +some association between Isobel and Little Mystery? He confessed that +it was scarcely conceivable, and yet it was impossible for him to get +the thought out of his mind. + +Before Pelliter awoke he had determined upon his own course of action. +He would say nothing of what had happened to himself on the Barren, at +least not for a time. He would not tell of his meeting with Isobel and +her husband or of what had followed. Until he was absolutely certain +that Pelliter was keeping nothing from him he would not confide the +secret of his own treachery to him. For he had been a traitor-- to the +Law. He realized that. He could tell the story, with its fictitious +ending, before they set out for Churchill, where he would give +evidence against Bucky Smith. Meanwhile he would watch Pelliter, and +wait for him to reveal whatever he might have hidden from him. He knew +that if Pelliter was concealing something he was inspired by his +almost insane worship of the little girl he had found who had saved +him from madness and death. He smiled in the darkness as he thought +that if Pelliter were working to achieve his own end-- possession of +Little Mystery-- he was inspired by emotions no more selfish than his +own in giving back life to Isobel Deane and her husband. On that score +they were even. + +He was up and had breakfast started before Pelliter awoke. Little +Mystery was still sleeping, and the two men moved about softly in +their moccasined feet. On this morning the sun shone brilliantly over +the southern ice-fields, and Pelliter aroused Little Mystery so that +she might see it before it disappeared. But to-day it did not drop +below the gray murkiness of the snow-horizon for nearly an hour. After +breakfast Pelliter read his letters again, and then Billy read them. +In one of the letters the girl had put a tress of sunny hair, and +Pelliter kissed it shamelessly before his comrade. + +"She says she's making the dress she's going to wear when we're +married, and that if I don't come home before it's out of style she'll +never marry me at all," he cried, joyously. "Look there, on that page +she's told me all about it. You're-- you're goin' to be there, ain't +you, Billy?" + +"If I can make it, Pelly." + +"If you can make it! I thought you was going out of the Service when I +did." + +"I've sort of changed my mind." + +"And you're going to stick?" + +"Mebbe for another three years." + +Life in the cabin was different after this. Pelliter and Little +Mystery were happy, and Billy fought with himself every hour to keep +down his own gloom and despair. The sun helped him. It rose earlier +each day and remained longer in the sky, and soon the warmth of it +began to soften the snow underfoot. The vast fields of ice began to +give evidence of the approach of spring, and the air was more and more +filled with the thunderous echoes of the "break up." Great floes broke +from the shore-runs, and the sea began to open. Down from the north +the powerful arctic currents began to move their grinding, roaring +avalanches. But it was a full month before Billy was sure that +Pelliter was strong enough to begin the long trip south. Even then he +waited for another week. + +Late one afternoon he went out alone and stood on the cliff watching +the thunderous movement of arctic ice out in the Roes Welcome. +Standing motionless fifty paces from the little storm-beaten cabin +that represented Law at this loneliest outpost on the American +continent, he looked like a carven thing of dun-gray rock, with a +dun-gray world over his head and on all sides of him, broken only in +its terrific monotony of deathlike sameness by the darker gloom of the +sky and the whiter and ghostlier gloom that hung over the ice-fields. +The wind was still bitter, and his vision was shut in by a near +horizon which Billy had often thought of as the rim of hell. On this +afternoon his heart was as leaden as the day. Under his feet the +frozen earth shivered with the rumbling reverberations of the crashing +and breaking mountains of ice. His ears were filled with a dull and +steady roar, like the echoes of distant thunder, broken now and then-- +when an ice-mountain split asunder-- with a report like that of a +thirteen-inch gun. There were curious wailings, strange screeching +sounds, and heartbreaking moanings in the air. Two days before +MacVeigh had heard the roar of the ice ten miles inland, where he had +gone for caribou. + +But he scarcely heard that roar now. He was looking toward the warring +fields of ice, but he did not see them. It was not the dead gloom and +the gray monotony that weighted his heart, but the sounds that he +heard now and then in the cabin-- the laughing of Little Mystery and +of Pelliter. A few days more and he would lose them. And after that +what would be left for him? A cry broke from his lips, and he gripped +his hands in despair. He would be alone. There was no one waiting for +him down in that world to which Pelliter was going, no girl to meet +him, no father, no mother-- nothing. He laughed in his pain as he +faced the cold wind from the north. The sting of that wind was like +the mocking ghost of his own past life. For all his life he had known +only the stings of pain and of loneliness. And then, suddenly, there +came Pelliter's words to him again-- "Mebbe some day you'll have a +kid." A flood of warmth swept through his veins, and in the moment of +forgetfulness and hope which came with it he turned his eyes into the +south and west and saw the sweet face and upturned lips of Isobel +Deane. + +He pulled himself together with a low laugh and faced the breaking +seas of ice and the north. The gloom of night had drawn the horizon +nearer. The rumble and thunder of crumbling floes came from out of a +purple chaos that was growing blue-black in the distance. For several +minutes he stood listening and looking into nothingness. The breaking +of the ice, the moaning discontent in the air, and the growling +monotone of the giant currents had driven other men mad; but they held +a fascination for him. He knew what was happening, and he could almost +measure the strength of the unseen hands of nature. No sound was new +or strange to him. But now, as he stood there, there rose above all +the other tumult a sound that he had not heard before. His body became +suddenly tense and alert as he faced squarely to the north. For a full +minute he listened, and then turned and ran to the cabin. + +Pelliter had lighted a lamp, and in its glow Billy's face shone white +with excitement. + +"Good God, Pelly, come here!" he cried from the door. + +As Pelliter ran out he gripped him by the shoulders. + +"Listen!" he commanded. "Listen to that!" + +"Wolves!" said Pelliter. + +The wind was rising, and sent a whistling blast through the open door +of the cabin. It awakened Little Mystery, who sat up with frightened +cries. + +"No, it's not wolves," cried MacVeigh, and it did not sound like +MacVeigh's voice that spoke. "I never heard wolves like that. Listen!" + +He clutched Pelliter's arm as on a fresh burst of the wind there came +the strange and terrible sound from out of the night. It was rapidly +drawing nearer-- a wailing burst of savage voice, as if a great wolf +pack had struck the fresh and blood-stained trail of game. But with +this there was the other and more fearful sound, a shrieking and +yelping as if half-human creatures were being torn by the fangs of +beasts. As Pelliter and MacVeigh stood waiting for something to appear +out of the gray-and-black mystery of the night they heard a sound that +was like the slow tolling of a thing that was half bell and half drum. + +"It's not wolves," shouted Billy. "Whatever it is, there's men with +it! Hurry, Pelly, into the cabin with our dogs and sledge! Those are +dogs we hear-- dogs who are howling because they smell us-- and there +are hundreds of 'em! Where there's dogs there's men-- but who in +Heaven's name can they be?" + +He dragged the sledge into the cabin while Pelliter unleashed the +huskies from the lean-to. When he came in with the dogs Pelliter +locked and bolted the door. + +Billy slipped a clipful of cartridges into his big-game Remington. His +carbine was already on the table, and as Pelliter stood staring at him +in indecision he pulled out two Savage automatics from under his bunk +and gave one of them to his companion. His face was white and set. + +"Better get ready, Pelly," he said, quietly. "I've been in this +country a long time, and I tell you they're dogs and men. Did you hear +the drum? It's made of seal belly, and there's a bell on each side of +it. They're Eskimos, and there isn't an Eskimo village within two +hundred miles of us this winter. They're Eskimos, and they're not on a +hunt, unless it's for us!" + +In an instant Pelliter was buckling on his revolver and +cartridge-belt. He grinned as he looked at the wicked little +blue-steeled Savage. + +"I hope you ain't mistaken, Billy," he said, "for it 'll be the first +excitement we've had in a year." + +None of his enthusiasm revealed itself in MacVeigh's face. + +"The Eskimo never fights until he's gone mad, Pelly," he said, "and +you know what madmen are. I can't guess what they've got to fight +over, unless they want our grub. But if they do--" He moved toward the +door, his swift-firing Remington in his hand. "Be ready to cover me, +Pelly. I'm going out. Don't fire until you hear me shoot." + +He opened the door and stepped out. The howling had ceased now, but +there came in its place strange barking voices and a cracking which +Billy knew was made by the long Eskimo whips. He advanced to meet many +dim forms which he saw breaking out of the wall of gloom, raising his +voice in a loud holloa. From the Doorway Pelliter saw him suddenly +lost in a mass of dogs and men, and half flung his carbine to his +shoulder. But there was no shooting from MacVeigh. A score of sledges +had drawn up about him, and the whips of dozens of little black men +cracked viciously as their dogs sank upon their bellies in the snow. +Both men and dogs were tired, and Billy saw that they had been running +long and hard. Still as quick as animals the little men gathered about +him, their white-and-black eyes staring at him out of round, thick, +dumb-looking faces. He noted that they were half a hundred strong, and +that all were armed, many with their little javelin-like narwhal +harpoons, some with spears, and others with rifles. From the circle of +strangely dressed and hideously visaged beings that had gathered about +him one advanced and began talking to him in a language that was like +the rapid clack of knuckle bones. + +"Kogmollocks!" Billy groaned, and he lifted both hands to show that he +did not understand. Then he raised his voice. "Nuna-talmute," he +cried. "Nuna-talmute-- Nuna-talmute! Ain't there one of that lingo +among you?" + +He spoke directly to the chief man, who stared at him in silence for a +moment and then pointed both short arms toward the lighted cabin. + +"Come on!" said Billy. He caught the little Eskimo by one of his thick +arms and led him boldly through the breach that was made for them in +the circle. The chief man's voice broke out in a few words of command, +like a dozen quick, sharp yelps of a dog, and six other Eskimos +dropped in behind them. + +"Kogmollocks-- the blackest-hearted little devils alive when it comes +to trading wives and fighting," said MacVeigh to Pelliter, as he came +up at the head of the seven little black men. " Watch the door, Pelly. +They're coming in." + +He stepped into the cabin, and the Eskimos followed. From Pelliter's +bunk Little Mystery looked at the strange visitors with eyes which +suddenly widened with surprise and joy, and in another moment she had +given the strange story that Pelliter or Billy had ever heard her +utter. Scarcely had that cry fallen from her lips when one of the +Eskimos sprang toward her. His black hands were already upon her, +dragging the child from the bunk, when with a warning yell of rage +Pelliter leaped from the door and sent him crashing back among his +companions. In another instant both men were facing the seven Eskimos +with leveled automatics. + +"If you fire don't shoot to kill!" commanded MacVeigh. + +The chief man was pointing to Little Mystery, his weird voice rising +until it was almost a scream. Suddenly he doubled himself back and +raised his javelin. Simultaneously two streams of fire leaped from the +automatics. The javelin dropped to the floor, and with a shrill cry +which was half pain and half command the leader staggered back to the +door, a stream of blood running from his wounded hand. The others +sprang out ahead of him, and Pelliter closed and bolted the door. When +he turned MacVeigh was closing and slipping the bolts to the heavy +barricades of the two windows. From Pelliter's bunk Little Mystery +looked at them and laughed. + +"So it's you?" said Billy, coming to her, and breathing hard. "It's +you they want, eh? Now, I wonder why?" + +Pelliter's face was flushed with excitement. He was reloading his +automatic. There was almost a triumph in his eyes as he met MacVeigh's +questioning gaze. + +They stood and listened, heard only the rumbling monotone of the +drifting ice-- not the breath of a sound from the scores of men and +dogs. + +"We've given them a lesson," said Pelliter, at last, smiling with the +confidence of a man who was half a tenderfoot among the little brown +men. + +Billy pointed to the door. + +"That door is about the only place vulnerable to their bullets," he +said, as though he had not heard Pelliter. "Keep out of its range. I +don't believe what guns they've got are heavy enough to penetrate the +logs. Your bunk is out of line and safe." + +He went to Little Mystery, and his stern face relaxed into a smile as +she put up her arms to greet him. + +"So it's you, is it?" he asked again, taking her warm little face and +soft curls between his two hands. "They want you, an' they want you +bad. Well, they can have grub, an' they can have me, but"-- he looked +up to meet Pelliter's eyes-- "I'm damned if they can have you," he +finished. + +Suddenly the night was broken by another sound, the sharp, explosive +crack of rifles. They could hear the beat of bullets against the log +wall of the cabin. One crashed through the door, tearing away a +splinter as wide as a man's arm, and as MacVeigh nodded to the path of +the bullet he laughed. Pelliter had heard that laugh before. He knew +what it meant. He knew what the death-whiteness of MacVeigh's face +meant. It was not fear, but something more terrible than fear. His own +face was flushed. That is the difference in men. + +MacVeigh suddenly darted across the danger zone to the opposite half +of the cabin. + +"If that's your game, here goes," he cried. "Now, damn y', you're so +anxious to fight-- get at it 'n' fight!" + +He spoke the last words to Pelliter. Billy always swore when he went +into action. + + XI + + THE NIGHT OF PERIL + +On his own side of the cabin Pelliter began tugging at a small, thin +block laid between two of the logs. The shooting outside had ceased +when the two men opened up the loopholes that commanded a range +seaward. Almost immediately it began again, the dull red flashes +showing the location of the Eskimos, who had drawn back to the ridge +that sloped down to the Bay. As the last of five shots left his +Remington Billy pulled in his gun and faced across to Pelliter, who +was already reloading. + +"Pelly, I don't want to croak," he said, "but this is the last of Law +at Fullerton Point-- for you and me. Look at that!" + +He raised the muzzle of his rifle to one of the logs over his head. +Pelliter could see the fresh splinters sticking out. + +"They've got some heavy calibers," continued Billy, "and they've +hidden behind the slope, where they're safe from us for a thousand +years. As soon as it grows light enough to see they'll fill this shack +as full of holes as an old cheese." + +As if to verify his words a single shot rang out and a bullet plowed +through a log so close to Pelliter that the splinters flew into his +face. + +"I know these little devils, Pelly," went on MacVeigh. "If they were +Nuna-talmutes you could scare 'em with a sky-rocket. But they're +Kogmollocks. They've murdered the crews of half a dozen whalers, and I +shouldn't wonder if they'd got the kid in some such way. They wouldn't +let us off now, even if we gave her up. It wouldn't do. They know +better than to let the Law get any evidence against them. If we're +killed and the cabin burned, who's going to say what happened to us? +There's just two things for us to do--" + +Another fusillade of shots came from the snow ridge, and a third +bullet crashed into the cabin. + +"Just two things," Billy went on, as he completely shaded the dimly +burning lamp. "We can stay here 'n' die-- or run." + +"Run!" + +This was an unknown word in the Service, and in Pelliter's voice there +were both amazement and contempt. + +"Yes, run," said Billy, quietly. "Run-- for the kid's sake." + +It was almost dark in the cabin, and Pelliter came close to his +companion. + +"You mean--" + +"That it's the only way to save the kid. We might give her up, then +fight it out, but that means she'd go back to the Eskimos, 'n' mebbe +never be found again. The men and dogs out there are bushed. We are +fresh. If we can get away from the cabin we can beat 'em out." + +"We'll run, then," said Pelliter. He went to Little Mystery, who sat +stunned into silence by the strange things that were happening, and +hugged her up in his arms, his back turned to the possible bullet that +might come through the wall. "We're going to run, little sweetheart," +he mumbled, half laughingly, in her curls. + +Billy began to pack, and Pelliter put Little Mystery down on the bunk +and started to harness the six dogs, ranging them close along the +wall, with old one-eyed Kazan, the hero who had saved him from Blake, +in the lead. Outside the firing had ceased. It was evident that the +Eskimos had made up their minds to save their ammunition until dawn. + +Fifteen minutes sufficed to load the sledge; and while Pelliter was +fastening the sledge traces MacVeigh bundled Little Mystery into her +thick fur coat. The sleeves caught, and he turned it back, exposing +the white edge of the lining. On that lining was something which drew +him down close, and when the strange cry that fell from his lips drew +Pelliter's eyes toward him he was staring down into Little Mystery's +upturned face with the look of one who saw a vision. + +"Mother of Heaven!" he gasped, "she's--" He caught himself, and +smothered Little Mystery up close to him for a moment before he +brought her to the sledge. "She's the bravest little kid in the +world," he finished; and Pelliter wondered at the strangeness of his +voice. He tucked her into a nest made of blankets and then tied her in +securely with babiche rope. Pelliter stood up first and saw the +hungry, staring look in MacVeigh's face as he kept his eyes steadily +upon Little Mystery. + +"What's the matter, Mac?" he asked. "Are you very much afraid-- for +her?" + +"No," said MacVeigh, without lifting his head. "If you're ready, +Pelly, open the door." He rose to his feet and picked up his rifle. He +did not seem like the old MacVeigh; but the dogs were nipping and +whining, and there was no time for Pelliter's questions. + +"I'm going out first, Billy," he said. "You can make up your mind +they're watching the cabin pretty close, and as soon as the dogs nose +the open air they'll begin yapping 'n' let 'em on to us. We can't risk +her under fire. So I'm going to back along the edge of the ridge and +give it to 'em as fast as I can work the gun. They'll all turn to me, +and that's the time for you to open the door and make your getaway. +I'll be with you inside of five minutes." + +He turned out the lights as he spoke. Then he opened the door and +slipped out into the darkness without a protesting word from MacVeigh. +Hardly had he gone when the latter fell upon his knees beside Little +Mystery and in the deep gloom crushed his rough face down against her +soft, warm little body. + +"So it's you, is it?" he cried, softly; and then he mumbled things +which the little girl could not possibly have understood. + +Suddenly he sprang to his feet and ran to the door with a word to +faithful old Kazan, the leader. + +From far down the snow-ridge there came the rapid firing of Pelliter's +rifle. + +For a moment Billy waited, his hand on the door, to give the watching +Eskimos time to turn their attention toward Pelliter. He could perhaps +have counted fifty before he gave Kazan the leash and the six dogs +dragged the sledge out into the night. With his humanlike intelligence +old Kazan swung quickly after his master, and the team darted like a +streak into the south and west, giving tongue to that first sharp, +yapping voice which it is impossible to beat or train out of a band of +huskies. As he ran Billy looked back over his shoulder. In the +hundred-yard stretch of gray bloom between the cabin and the +snow-ridge he saw three figures speeding like wolves. In a flash the +meaning of this unexpected move of the Eskimos dawned upon him. They +were cutting Pelliter off from the cabin and his course of flight. + +"Go it, Kazan!" he cried, fiercely, bending low over the leader. +"Moo-hoosh-- moo-hoosh-- moo-hoosh, old man!" And Kazan leaped into a +swift run, nipping and whining at the empty air. + +Billy stopped and whirled about. Two other figures had joined the +first three, and he opened fire. One of the running Eskimos pitched +forward with a cry that rose shrill and scarcely human above the +moaning and roar of the ice-fields, and the other four fell flat upon +the snow to escape the hail of lead that sang close over their heads. +From the snow-ridge there came a fusillade of shots, and a single +figure darted like a streak in MacVeigh's direction. He knew that it +was Pelliter; and, running slowly after Kazan and the sledge, he +rammed a fresh clipful of cartridges into the chamber of his rifle. +The figures in the open had risen again, and Pelliter's automatic +Savage trailed out a stream of fire as he ran. He was breathing +heavily when he reached Billy. + +"Kazan has got the kid well in the lead," shouted the latter. "God +bless that old scoundrel! I believe he's human." + +They set off swiftly, and the thick night soon engulfed all signs of +the Eskimos. Ahead of them the sledge loomed up slowly, and when they +reached it both men thrust their rifles under the blanket straps. Thus +relieved of their weight, they forged ahead of Kazan. + +"Moo-hoosh-- moo-hoosh!" encouraged Billy. + +He glanced at Pelliter on the opposite side. His comrade was running +with one arm raised at the proper angle to reserve breath and +endurance; the other hung straight and limp at his side. A sudden fear +shot through him, and he darted ahead of the lead dog to Pelliter's +side. He did not speak, but touched the other's arm. + +"One of the little devil's winged me," gasped Pelliter. "It's not +bad." + +He was breathing as though the short run was already winding him, and +without a word Billy ran up to Kazan's head and stopped the team +within twenty paces. The open blade of his knife was ripping up +Pelliter's sleeve before his comrade could find words to object. +Pelliter was bleeding, and bleeding hard. His face was shot with pain. +The bullet had passed through the fleshy part of his forearm, but had +fortunately missed the main artery. With the quick deftness of the +wilderness-trained surgeon Billy drew the wound close and bound it +tightly with his own and Pelliter's handkerchiefs. Then he thrust +Pelliter toward the sledge. + +"You've got to ride, Pelly," he said. "If you don't you'll go under, +and that means all of us." + +Far behind them there rose the yapping and howling of dogs. + +"They're after us with the dogs!" groaned Pelliter. "I can't ride. +I've got to run-- and fight!" + +"You get on the sledge, or I'll stave your head in!" commanded +MacVeigh. "Face the enemy, Pelly, and give 'em hell. You've got three +rifles there. You can do the shooting while I hustle on the dogs. And +keep yourself in front of her," he added, pointing to the almost +completely buried Little Mystery. + + XII + + LITTLE MYSTERY FINDS HER OWN + +After convincing Pelliter that he must ride on the sledge Billy ran on +ahead, and the dogs started with their heavier load. + +"Now for the timber-line," he called down to Kazan. "It's fifty miles, +old boy, and you've got to make it by dawn. If we don't--" + +He left the words unfinished, but Kazan tugged harder, as if he had +heard and understood. The sledge had reached the unbroken sweep of the +Barren now, and MacVeigh felt the wind in his face. It was blowing +from the north and west, and with it came sudden gusts filled with +fine particles of snow. After a few moments he fell back to see that +Little Mystery's face was completely covered. Pelliter was crouching +low on the sledge, his feet braced in the blanket straps. His wound +and the uncomfortable sensation of riding backward on a swaying sledge +were making him dizzy, and he wondered if what he saw creeping up out +of the night was a result of this dizziness or a reality. There was no +sound from behind. But a darker spot had grown within his vision, at +times becoming larger, then almost disappearing. Twice he raised his +rifle. Twice he lowered it again, convinced that the thing behind was +only a shadowy fabric of his imagination. It was possible that their +pursuers would lose trace of them in the darkness, and so he held his +fire. + +He was staring at the shadow when from out of it there leaped a little +spurt of flame, and a bullet sang past the sledge, a yard to the +right. It was a splendid shot. There was a marksman with the shadow, +and Pelliter replied so quickly that the first shot had not died away +before there followed the second. Five times his automatic sent its +leaden messengers back into the night, and at the fifth shot there +came a wild outburst of pain from one of the Eskimo dogs. + +"Hurrah!" shouted Billy. "That's one team out of business, Pelly. We +can beat 'em in a running fight!" + +He heard the quick metallic snap of fresh cartridges as Pelliter +slipped them into the chamber of his rifle, but beyond that sound, the +wind, and the straining of the huskies there was no other. A grim +silence fell behind. The roar of the distant ice grew less. The earth +no longer seemed to shudder under their feet at the terrific +explosions of the crumbling bergs. But in place of these the wind was +rising and the fine snow was thickening. Billy no longer turned to +look behind. He stared ahead and as far as he could see on each side +of them. At the end of half an hour the panting dogs dropped into a +walk, and he walked close beside his comrade. + +"They've given it up," groaned Pelliter, weakly. "I'm glad of it, Mac, +for I'm-- I'm-- dizzy." He was lying on the sledge now, with his head +bolstered up on a pile of blankets. + +"You know how the wolves hunt, Pelly," said MacVeigh-- "in a +moon-shape half circle, you know, that closes in on the running game +from in front? Well, that's how the Eskimos hunt, and I'm wondering if +they're trying to get ahead of us-- off there, and off there." He +motioned to the north and the south. + +"They can't," replied Pelliter, raising himself to his elbow with an +effort. "Their dogs are bushed. Let me walk, Mac. I can--" He fell +back with a sudden low cry. "Gawd, but I'm dizzy--" + +MacVeigh halted the dogs, and while they dropped upon their bellies, +panting and licking up the snow, he kneeled beside Pelliter. Darkness +concealed the fear in his eyes and face. His voice was strong and +cheerful. + +"You've got to lie still, Pelly," he warned, arranging the blankets so +that the wounded man could rest comfortably. "You've got a pretty bad +nip, and it's best for all of us that you don't make a move. You're +right about the Eskimos and their dogs. They're bushed, and they've +given the chase up as a bad job, so what's the use of making a fool of +yourself? Ride it out, Pelly. Go to sleep with Little Mystery if you +can. She thinks she's in a cradle." + +He got up and started the dogs. For a long time he was alone. Little +Mystery was sleeping and Pelliter was quiet. Now and then he dropped +his mittened hand on Kazan's head, and the faithful old leader whined +softly at his touch. With the others it was different. They snapped +viciously, and he kept his distance. He went on for hours, halting the +team now and then for a few minutes' rest. He struck a match each time +and looked at Pelliter. His comrade breathed heavily, with his eyes +closed. Once, long after midnight, he opened them and stared at the +flare of the match and into MacVeigh's white face. + +"I'm all right, Billy," he said. "Let me walk--" + +MacVeigh forced him back gently, and went on. He was alone until the +first cold, gray break of dawn. Then he stopped, gave each of the dogs +a frozen fish, and with the fuel on the sledge built a small fire. He +scraped up snow for tea, and hung the pail over the fire. He was +frying bacon and toasting hard bannock biscuits when Pelliter aroused +himself and sat up. Billy did not see him until he faced about. + +"Good morning, Pelly," he grinned. "Have a good nap?" + +Pelliter groped about on the sledge. + +"Wish I could find a club," he growled. "I'd-- I'd brain you! You let +me sleep!" + +He thrust out his uninjured arm, and the two shook hands. Once or +twice before they had done this after hours of great peril. It was not +an ordinary handshake. + +Billy rose to his feet. Half a mile away the edge of the big forest +for which they had been fighting rose out of the dawn gloom. + +"If I'd known that," he said, pointing, "we'd have camped in shelter. +Fifty miles, Pelly. Not so bad, was it?" + +Behind them the gray Barren was lifting itself into the light of day. +The two men ate and drank tea. During those few minutes neither gave +attention to the forest or the Barren. Billy was ravenously hungry. +Pelliter could not get enough of the tea. And then their attention +went to Little Mystery, who awoke with a wailing protest at the +smothering cover of blankets over her face. Billy dug her out and held +her up to view the strange change since yesterday. It was then that +Kazan stopped licking his ashy chops to send up a wailing howl. + +Both men turned their eyes toward the forest. Halfway between a figure +was toiling slowly toward them. It was a man, and Billy gave a low cry +of astonishment. + +But Kazan was facing the gray Barren, and he howled again, long and +menacingly. The other dogs took up the cry, and when Pelliter and +MacVeigh followed the direction of their warning they stood for a full +quarter of a minute as if turned into stone. + +A mile away the Barren was dotted with a dozen swiftly moving sledges +and a score of running men! + +After all, their last stand was to be made at the edge of the +timber-line! + +In such situations men like MacVeigh and Pelliter do not waste +precious moments in prearranging actions in words. Their mental +processes are instantaneous and correlative-- and they act. Without a +word Billy replaced Little Mystery in her nest without even giving her +a sip of the warm tea, and by the time the dogs were straightened in +their traces Pelliter was handing him his Remington. + +"I've ranged it for three hundred and fifty yards," he said. "We won't +want to waste our fire until they come that near." + +They set out at a trot, Pelliter running with his wounded arm down at +his side. Suddenly the lone figure between them and the forest +disappeared. It had fallen flat in the snow, where it lay only a black +speck. In a moment it rose again and advanced. Both Pelliter and Billy +were looking when it fell for a second time. + +An unpleasant laugh came from MacVeigh's lips. + +The figure was climbing to its feet for the fifth time, and was only +on its hands and knees when the sledge drew up. It was a white man. +His head was bare, his face deathlike. His neck was open to the cold +wind, and, to the others' astonishment, he wore no heavier garment +over his dark flannel shirt. His eyes burned wildly from out of a +shaggy growth of beard and hair, and he was panting like one who had +traveled miles instead of a few hundred yards. + +All this Billy saw at a glance, and then he gave a sudden unbelieving +cry. The man's red eyes rested on his, and every fiber in his body +seemed for a moment to have lost the power of action. He gasped and +stared, and Pelliter started as if stung at the words which came first +from his lips. + +"Deane-- Scottie Deane!" + +An amazed cry broke from Pelliter. He looked at MacVeigh, his chief. +He made an involuntary movement forward, but Billy was ahead of him. +He had flung down his rifle, and in an instant was on his knees at +Deane's side, supporting his emaciated figure in his arms. + +"Good God! what does this mean, old man?" he cried, forgetting +Pelliter. "What has happened? Why are you away up here? And where-- +where-- is she?" + +He had gripped Deane's hand. He was holding him tight; and Deane, +looking up into his eyes, saw that he was no longer looking into the +face of the Law, but that of a brother. He smiled feebly. + +"Cabin-- back there-- in edge-- woods," he gasped. "Saw you-- coming. +Thought mebbe you'd pass-- so-- came out. I'm done for-- dying." + +He drew a deep breath and tried to assist himself as Billy raised him +to his feet. A little wailing cry came from the sledge. Startled, +Deane turned his eyes toward that cry. + +"My God!" he screamed. + +He tore himself away from Billy and flung himself upon his knees +beside Little Mystery, sobbing and talking like a madman as he clasped +the frightened child in his arms. With her he leaped to his feet with +new strength. + +"She's mine-- mine!" he cried, fiercely. "She's what brought me back! +I was going for her! Where did you get her? How--" + +There came to them now in sudden chorus the wild voice of the Eskimo +dogs out on the plain. Deane heard the cry and faced with the others +in their direction. They were not more than half a mile away, bearing +down upon them swiftly. Billy knew that there was not a moment to +lose. In a flash it had leaped upon him that in some way Deane and +Isobel and Little Mystery were associated with that avenging horde, +and as quickly as he could he told Deane what had happened. Sanity had +come back into Deane's eyes, and no sooner had he heard than he ran +out in the face of the army of little brown men with Little Mystery in +his arms. MacVeigh and Pelliter could hear him calling to them from a +distance. They were in the edge of the forest when Deane met the +Eskimos. There was a long wait, and then Deane and Little Mystery came +back-- on a sledge drawn by Eskimo dogs. Beside the sledge walked the +chief who had been wounded in the cabin at Fullerton Point. Deane was +swaying, his head was bowed half upon his breast, and the chief and +another Eskimo were supporting him. He nodded to the right, and a +hundred yards away they found a cabin. The powerful little northerners +carried him in, still clutching Little Mystery in his arms, and he +made a motion for Billy to follow him-- alone. Inside the cabin they +placed him on a low bunk, and with a weak cough he beckoned Billy to +his side. MacVeigh knew what that cough meant. The sick man had +suffered terrible exposure, and the tissue of his lungs was sloughing +away. It was death, the most terrible death of the north. + +For a few moments Deane lay panting, clasping one of Billy's hands. +Little Mystery slipped to the floor and began to investigate the +cabin. Deane smiled into Billy's eyes. + +"You've come again-- just in time," he said, quite steadily. "Seems +queer, don't it, Billy?" + +For the first time he spoke the other's name as if he had known him a +lifetime. Billy covered him over gently with one of the blankets, and +in spite of himself his eyes sought about him questioningly. Deane saw +the look. + +"She didn't come," he whispered. "I left her--" + +He broke off with a racking cough that brought a crimson stain to his +lips. Billy felt a choking grief. + +"You must be quiet," he said. "Don't try to talk now. You have no +fire, and I will build one. Then I'll make you something hot." + +He went to move away, but one of Deane's hands detained him. + +"Not until I've said something to you, Billy," he insisted. "You +know-- you understand. I'm dying. It's liable to come any minute now, +and I've got to tell you-- things. You must understand-- before I go. +I won't be long. I killed a man, but I'm-- not sorry. He tried to +insult her-- my wife-- an' you-- you'd have killed him, too. You +people began to hunt me, and for safety we went far north-- among the +Eskimos-- an' lived there-- long time. The Eskimos-- they loved the +little girl an' wife, specially little Isobel. Thought them angels-- +some sort. Then we heard you were goin' to hunt for me-- up there-- +among the Eskimos. So we set out with the box. Box was for her-- to +keep her from fearful cold. We didn't dare take the baby-- so we left +her up there. We were going back-- soon-- after you'd made your hunt. +When we saw your fire on the edge of the Barren she made me get in the +box-- an' so-- so you found us. You know-- after that. You thought it +was-- coffin-- an' she told you I was dead. You were good-- good to +her-- an' you must go down there where she is, and take little Isobel. +We were goin' to do as you said-- an' go to South America. But we had +to have the baby, an' I came back. Should have told you. We knew +that-- afterward. But we were afraid-- to tell the secret-- even to +you--" + +He stopped, panting and coughing. Billy was crushing both his thin, +cold hands in his own. He found no word to say. He waited, fighting to +stifle the sobbing grief in his breath. + +"You were good-- good-- good-- to her," repeated Deane, weakly, "You +loved her-- an' it was right-- because you thought I was dead an' she +was alone an' needed help. I'm glad-- you love her. You've been good-- +'n' honest-- an I want some one like you to love her an' care for her. +She ain't got nobody but me-- an' little Isobel. I'm glad-- glad-- +I've found a man-- like you!" + +He suddenly wrenched his hands free and took Billy's tense face +between them, staring straight into his eyes. + +"An'-- an'-- I give her to you," he said. "She's an angel, and she's +alone-- needs some one-- an' you-- you'll be good to her. You must go +down to her-- Pierre Couchee's cabin-- on the Little Beaver. An' +you'll be good to her-- good to her--" + +"I will go to her," said Billy, softly. "And I swear here on my knees +before the great and good God that I will do what an honorable man +should do!" + +Deane's rigid body relaxed, and he sank back on his blankets with a +sigh of relief. + +"I worried-- for her," he said. "I've always believed in a God-- +though I killed a man-- an' He sent you here in time!" A sudden +questioning light came into his eyes. "The man who stole little +Isobel," he breathed-- "who was he?" + +"Pelliter-- the man out there-- killed him when he came to the cabin," +said Billy. "He said his name was Blake-- Jim Blake." + +"Blake! Blake! Blake!" Again Deane's voice rose from the edge of death +to a shriek. "Blake, you say? A great coarse sailorman, with red +hair-- red beard-- yellow teeth like a walrus! Blake-- Blake--" He +sank back again, with a thrilling, half-mad laugh. "Then-- then it's +all been a mistake-- a funny mistake," he said; and his eyes closed, +and his voice spoke the words as though he were uttering them from out +of a dream. + +Billy saw that the end was near. He bent down to catch the dying man's +last words. Deane's hands were as cold as ice. His lips were white. +And then Deane whispered: + +"We fought-- I thought I killed him-- an' threw him into the sea. His +right name was Samuelson. You knew him-- by that name-- but he went +often-- by Blake-- Jim Blake. So-- so-- I'm not a murderer-- after +all. An' he-- he came back for revenge-- and-- stole-- little-- +Isobel. I'm-- I'm-- not-- a-- murderer. You-- you-- will-- tell-- her. +You'll tell her-- I didn't kill him-- after all. You'll tell her-- +an'-- be-- good-- good--" + +He smiled. Billy bent lower. + +"Again I swear before the good God that I will do what an honorable +man should do," he replied. + +Deane made no answer. He did not hear. The smile did not fade entirely +from his lips. But Billy knew that in this moment death had come in +through the cabin door. With a groan of anguish he dropped Deane's +stiffening hand. Little Isobel pattered across the floor to his side. +She laughed; and suddenly Billy turned and caught her in his arms, +and, crumpled down there on the floor beside the one brother he had +known in life, he sobbed like a woman. + + XIII + + THE TWO GODS + +It was little Isobel who pulled MacVeigh together, and after a little +he rose with her in his arms and turned her from the wall while he +covered Deane's face with the end of a blanket. Then he went to the +door. The Eskimos were building fires. Pelliter was seated on the +sledge a short distance from the cabin, and at Billy's call he came +toward him. + +"If you don't mind, you can take her over to one of the fires for a +little while," said Billy. "Scottie is dead. Try and make the chief +understand," + +He did not wait for Pelliter to question him, but closed the door +quietly and went back to Deane. He drew off the blanket and gazed for +a moment into the still, bearded face. + +"My Gawd, an' she's waitin' for you, 'n' looking for you, an' thinks +you're coming back soon," he whispered. "You 'n' the kid!" + +Reverently he began the task ahead of him. One after another he went +into Deane's pockets and drew forth what he found. In one pocket there +was a small knife, some cartridges, and a match box. He knew that +Isobel would prize these and keep them because her husband had carried +them, and he placed them in a handkerchief along with other things he +found. Last of all he found in Deane's breast pocket a worn and faded +envelope. He peered into the open end before he placed it on the +little pile, and his heart gave a sudden throb when he saw the blue +flower petals Isobel had given him. When he was done he crossed +Deane's hands upon his breast. He was tying the ends of the +handkerchief when the door opened softly behind him. + +The little dark chief entered. He was followed by four other Eskimos. +They had left their weapons outside. They seemed scarcely to breathe +as they ranged themselves in a line and looked down upon Scottie +Deane. Not a sign of emotion came into their expressionless faces, not +the flicker of an eyelash did the immobility of their faces change. In +a low, clacking monotone they began to speak, and there was no +expression of grief in their voices. Yet Billy understood now that in +the hearts of these little brown men Scottie Deane stood enshrined +like a god. Before he was cold in death they had come to chant his +deeds and his virtues to the unseen spirits who would wait and watch +at his side until the beginning of the new day. For ten minutes the +monotone continued. Then the five men turned and without a word, +without looking at him, went out of the cabin. Billy followed them, +wondering if Deane had convinced them that he and Pelliter were his +friends. If he had not done that he feared that there would still be +trouble over little Isobel. He was delighted when he found Pelliter +talking with one of the men. + +"I've found a flunkey here whose lingo I can get along with," cried +Pelliter. "I've been telling 'em what bully friends we are, and have +made 'em understand all about Blake. I've shaken hands with them all +three or four times, and we feel pretty good. Better mix a little. +They don't like the idea of giving us the kid, now that Scottie's +dead. They're asking for the woman." + +Half an hour later MacVeigh and Pelliter returned to the cabin. At the +end of that time he was confident that the Eskimos would give them no +further trouble and that they expected to leave Isobel in their +possession. The chief, however, had given Billy to understand that +they reserved the right to bury Deane. + +Billy felt that he was now in a position where he would have to tell +Pelliter some of the things that had happened to him on his return to +Churchill. He had reported Deane's death as having occurred weeks +before as the result of a fall, and when he returned to Fort Churchill +he knew that he would have to stick to that story. Unless Pelliter +knew of Isobel, his love for her, and his own defiance of the Law in +giving them their freedom, his comrade might let out the truth and +ruin him. + +In the cabin they sat down at the table. Pelliter's arm was in a +sling. His face was drawn and haggard and blackened by powder. He drew +his revolver, emptied it of cartridges, and gave it to little Isobel +to play with. He kept up his spirits among the Eskimos, but he made no +effort to conceal his dejection now. + +"I've lost her," he said, looking at Billy. "You're going to take her +to her mother?" + +"Yes." + +"It hurts. You don't know how it's goin' to hurt to lose her," he +said. + +MacVeigh leaned across the table and spoke earnestly. + +"Yes, I know what it means, Pelly," he replied. "I know what it means +to love some one-- and lose. I know. Listen." + +Quickly he told Pelliter the story of the Barren, of the coming of +Isobel, the mother, of the kiss she had given him, and of the flight, +the pursuit, the recapture, and of that final moment when he had taken +the steel cuffs from Deane's wrists. Once he had begun the story he +left nothing untold, even to the division of the blue-flower petals +and the tress of Isobel's hair. He drew both from his pocket and +showed them to Pelliter, and at the tremble in his voice there came a +mistiness in his comrade's eyes. When he had finished Pelliter reached +across with his one good arm and gripped the other's hand. + +"An' what she said about the blue flower is comin' true, Billy," he +whispered. "It's bringing happiness to you, just as she said, for +you're going down to her--" + +MacVeigh interrupted him. + +"No, it's not," he said, softly. "She loved him-- as much as the girl +down there will ever love you, Pelly, and when I tell her what has +happened-- her heart will break. That can't bring happiness-- for me +!" + +The hours of that day bore leaden weights for Billy. The two men made +their plans. A number of the Eskimos agreed to accompany Pelliter as +far as Eskimo Point, whence he would make his way alone to Churchill. +Billy would strike south to the Little Beaver in search of Couchee's +cabin and Isobel. He was glad when night came. It was late when he +went to the door, opened it, and looked out. + +In the edge of the timber-line it was black, black not only with the +gloom of night, but with the concentrated darkness of spruce and +balsam and a sky so low and thick that one could almost hear the +wailing swish of it overhead like the steady sobbing of surf on a +seashore. It was black, save for the small circles of light made by +the Eskimo fires, about which half a hundred of the little brown men +sat or crouched. The masters of the camp were all awake, but twice as +many dogs, exhausted and footsore, lay curled in heaps, as inanimate +as if dead. There was present a strange silence and a strange and +unnatural gloom that was not of the night alone, a silence broken only +by the low moaning of the wind out on the Barren, the restlessness in +the air above the tree-tops, and the crackling of the fires. The +Eskimos were as motionless as so many dead men. Their round, +expressionless eyes were wide open. They sat or crouched with their +backs to the Barren, their faces turned into the still deeper +blackness of the forest. Some distance away, like a star, there +gleamed the small and steady light in the cabin window. For two hours +the eyes of those about the fires had been fixed on that light. And at +intervals there had risen from among the stony-faced watchers the +little chief, whose clacking voice joined for a few moments each time +the wailing of the wind, the swish of the low-hanging sky, and the +crackling of the fires. But there was sound of no other voice or +movement. He alone moved and spoke, for to the others the clacking +sounds he made was speech, words spoken each time for the man who lay +dead in the cabin. + +A dozen times Pelliter and MacVeigh had looked out to the fires, and +looked each time at the hour. This time Billy said: + +"They're moving, Pelly! They're jumping to their feet and coming this +way!" He looked at his watch again. "They're mighty good guessers. +It's a quarter after twelve. When a chief or a big man dies they bury +him in the first hour of the new day. They're coming after Deane." + +He opened the door and stepped out into the night. Pelliter joined +him. The Eskimos advanced without a sound and stopped in a shadowy +group twenty paces from the cabin. Five of these little fur-clad men +detached themselves from the others and filed into the cabin, with the +chief man at their head. As they bent over Deane they began to chant a +low monotone which awakened little Isobel, who sat up and stared +sleepily at the strange scene. Billy went to her and gathered her +close in his arms. She was sleeping again when he put her down among +the blankets. The Eskimos were gone with their burden. He could hear +the low chanting of the tribe. + +"I found her, and I thought she was mine," said Pelliter's low voice +at his side. "But she ain't, Billy. She's yours." + +MacVeigh broke in on him as though he had not heard. + +"You better get to bed, Pelly," he warned. "That arm needs rest. I'm +going out to see where they bury him." + +He put on his cap and heavy coat and went as far as the door, then +turned back. From his kit he took a belt-ax and nails. + +The wind was blowing more strongly over the Barren, and MacVeigh could +no longer hear the low lament of the Eskimos. He moved toward their +fires, and found them deserted of men, only the dogs remained in their +deathlike sleep. And then, far down the edge of the timber, he saw a +flare of light. Five minutes later he stood hidden in a deep shadow, a +few paces from the Eskimos. They had dug the grave early in the +evening, out on the great snow-plain, free of the trees; and as the +fire they had built lighted up their dark, round faces MacVeigh saw +the five little black men who had borne forth Scottie Deane leaning +over the shallow hole in the frozen earth. Scottie was already gone. +The earth and ice and frozen moss were falling in upon him, and not a +sound fell now from the thick lips of his savage mourners. In a few +minutes the crude work was done, and like a thin black shadow the +natives filed back to their camp. Only one remained, sitting +cross-legged at the head of the grave, his long narwhal spear at his +back. It was O-gluck-gluck, the Eskimo chief, guarding the dead man +from the devils who come to steal body and soul during the first few +hours of burial. + +Billy went deeper into the forest until he found a thin, straight +sapling, which he cut down with half a dozen strokes of his belt-ax. +From the sapling he stripped the bark, and then he chopped off a third +of its length and nailed it crosswise to what remained. After that he +sharpened the bottom end and returned to the grave, carrying the cross +over his shoulder. Stripped to whiteness, it gleamed in the firelight. +The Eskimo watcher stared at it for a moment, his dull eyes burning +darker in the night, for he knew that after this two gods, and not +one, were to guard the grave. Billy drove the cross deep, and as the +blows of his ax fell upon it the Eskimo slunk back until he was +swallowed in the gloom. When MacVeigh was done he pulled off his cap. +But it was not to pray. + +"I'm sorry, old man," he said to what was under the cross. "God knows +I'm sorry. I wish you was alive. I wish you was going back to her-- +with the kid-- instid o' me. But I'll keep that promise. I swear it. +I'll do-- what's right-- by her." + +From the forest he looked back. The Eskimo chief had returned to his +somber watch. The cross gleamed a ghostly white against the thick +blackness of the Barren. He turned his face away for the last time, +and there filled him the oppression of a leaden hand, a thing that was +both dread and fear. Scottie Deane was dead-- dead and in his grave, +and yet he walked with him now at his side. He could feel the +presence, and that presence was like a warning, stirring strange +thoughts within him. He turned back to the cabin and entered softly. +Pelliter was asleep. Little Isobel was breathing the sweet +forgetfulness of childhood. He stooped and kissed her silken curls, +and for a long time he stood with one of those soft curls between his +fingers. In a few years more, he thought, it would be the darker gold +and brown of the woman's hair-- of the woman he loved. Slowly a great +peace entered into him. After all, there was more than hope ahead for +him. She-- the older Isobel-- knew that he loved her as no other man +in the world could love her. He had given proof of that. And now he +was going to her. + + XIV + + THE SNOW-MAN + +After his return from the scene of burial Billy undressed, put out the +light, and went to bed. He fell asleep quickly, and his slumber was +filled with many dreams. They were sweet and joyous at first, and he +lived again his first meeting with the woman; he was once more in the +presence of her beauty, her purity, her faith and confidence in him. +And then more trouble visions came to him. He awoke twice, and each +time he sat up, filled with the shuddering dread that had come to him +at the graveside. + +A third time he awakened, and he struck a match to look at his watch. +It was four o'clock. He was still exhausted. His limbs ached from the +tremendous strain of the fifty-mile race across the Barren, but he +could no longer sleep. Something-- he did not attempt to ask himself +what it was-- was urging him to action. He got up and dressed. + +When Pelliter awoke two hours later MacVeigh's pack and sledge were +ready for the trip south. While they ate their breakfast the two men +finished their plans. When the hour of parting came Billy left his +comrade alone with little Isobel and went out to hitch up the dogs. +When he returned there was a fresh redness in Pelliter's eyes, and he +puffed out thick clouds of smoke from his pipe to hide his face. +MacVeigh thought of that parting often in the days that followed. +Pelliter stood last in the door, and in his face was a look which +MacVeigh wished that he had not seen. In his own heart was the dread +and the fear, the thing which he could not name. + +For hours he could not shake off the gloom that oppressed him. He +strode at the head of old Kazan, the leader, striking a course due +south by compass. When he fell back for the third time to look at +little Isobel he found the child buried deep in her blankets sound +asleep. She did not awake until he stopped to make tea at noon. It was +four o'clock when he halted again to make camp in the shelter of a +clump of tall spruce. Isobel had slept most of the day. She was wide +awake now, laughing at him as he dug her out of her nest. + +"Give me a kiss," he demanded. + +Isobel complied, putting her two little hands to his face. + +"You're a-- a little peach," he cried. "There ain't been a whimper out +of you all day. And now we're going to have a fire-- a big fire." + +He set about his work, whistling for the first time since morning. He +set up his silk Service tent, cut spruce and balsam boughs until he +had them a foot deep inside, and then dragged in wood for half an +hour. By that time it was dark and the big fire was softening the snow +for thirty feet around. He had taken off Isobel's thick, swaddling +coat, and the child's pretty face shone pink in the fireglow. The +light danced red and gold in her tangled curls, and as they ate +supper, both on the same blanket, Billy saw opposite him more and more +of what he knew he would find in the woman. When they had finished he +produced a small pocket comb and drew Isobel close up to him. One by +one he smoothed the tangles out of her curls, his heart beating +joyously as the silken touch of them ran through his fingers. Once he +had felt that same soft touch of the woman's hair against his face. It +had been an accidental caress, but he had treasured it in his memory. +It seemed real again now, and the thrill of it made him place little +Isobel alone again on the blanket, while he rose to his feet. He threw +fresh fuel on the fire, and then he found that the warmth had softened +the snow until it clung to his feet. The discovery gave him an +inspiration. A warmth that was not of the fire leaped into his face, +and he gathered up the softened snow, raking it into piles with a +snow-shoe; and before Isobel's astonished and delighted eyes there +grew into shape a snow-man almost as big as himself. He gave it arms +and a head, and eyes of charred wood, and when it was done he placed +his own cap on the crown of it and his pipe in its mouth. Little +Isobel screamed with delight, and together, hand in hand, they danced +around and around it, just as he and the other girls and boys had +danced years and years ago. And when they stopped there were tears of +laughter and joy in the child's eyes and a filmy mist of another sort +in Billy's. + +It was the snow-man that brought back to him years and years of lost +hopes. They flooded in upon him until it seemed as though the old life +was the life of yesterday and waiting for him now just beyond the edge +of the black forest. Long after Isobel was asleep in the tent he sat +and looked at the snow-man; and more and more his heart sang with a +new joy, until it seemed as though he must rise and cry out in the +eagerness and hope that filled him. In the snow-man, slowly melting +before the fire, there was a heart and a soul and voice. It was +calling to him, urging him as nothing in the world had ever urged him +before. He would go back to the old home down in God's country, to the +old playmates who were men and women now. They would welcome him-- and +they would welcome the woman. For he would take her. For the first +time he made himself believe that she would go. And there, hand in +hand, they would follow his boyhood footprints over the meadows and +through the hills, and he would gather flowers for her in place of the +mother that was gone, and he would tell her all the old stories of the +days that were passed. + +It was the snow-man! + + XV + + LE MORT ROUGE-- AND ISOBEL + +Until late that night Billy sat beside his campfire with the snow-man. +Strange and new thoughts had come to him, and among these was the +wondering one asking himself why he had never built a snow-man before. +When he went to bed he dreamed of the snow-man and of little Isobel; +and the little girl's laughter and happiness when she saw the curious +form the dissolving snow-man had taken in the heat of the fire when +she awoke the following morning filled him again with those boyish +visions of happiness that he had seen just ahead of him. At other +times he would have told himself that he was no longer reasonable. +After they had breakfasted and started on the day's journey he laughed +and talked with baby Isobel, and a dozen times in the forenoon he +picked her up in his arms and carried her behind the dogs. + +"We're going home," he kept telling her over and over again. "We're +going home-- down to mama-- mama-- mama!" He emphasized that; and each +time Isobel's pretty mouth formed the word mama after him his heart +leaped exultantly. By the end of that day it had become the sweetest +word in the world to him. He tried mother, but his little comrade +looked at him blankly, and he did not like it himself. "Mama, mama, +mama," he said a hundred times that night beside their campfire, and +before he tucked her away in her warm blankets he said something to +her about "Now I lay me down to sleep." Isobel was too tired and +sleepy to comprehend much of that. Even after she was deep in slumber +and Billy sat alone smoking his pipe he whispered that sweetest word +in the world to himself, and took out the tress of shining hair and +gazed at it joyously in the glow of the fire. By the end of the next +day little Isobel could say almost the whole of the prayer his own +mother had taught him years and years and years ago, so far back that +his vision of her was not that of a woman, but of an elusive and +wonderful angel; and the fourth day at noon she lisped the whole of it +without a word of assistance from him. + +On the morning of the fifth day Billy struck the Gray Beaver, and +little Isobel grew serious at the change in him. He no longer amused +her, but urged the dogs along, never for an instant relaxing his +vigilant quest for a sign of smoke, a trail, a blazed tree. At his +heart there began to burn a suspense that was almost suffocating. In +these last hours before he was to see Isobel there came the inevitable +reaction within him. Gloom oppressed him where a little while before +joyous anticipation had given him hope. The one terrible thought drove +out all others now-- he was bringing her news of death, her husband's +death. And to Isobel he knew that Deane had meant all that the world +held of joy or hope-- Deane and the baby. + +It was like a shock when he came suddenly upon the cabin, in the edge +of a small clearing. For a moment he hesitated. Then he took Isobel in +his arms and went to the door. It was slightly ajar, and after +knocking upon it with his fist he thrust it open and entered. + +There was no one in the room in which he found himself, but there was +a stove and a fire. At the end of the room was a second door, and it +opened slowly. In another moment Isobel stood there. He had never seen +her as he saw her now, with the light from a window falling upon her. +She was dressed in a loose gown, and her long hair fell in disheveled +profusion over her shoulders and bosom. MacVeigh would have cried out +her name-- he had told himself a hundred times what he would first say +to her-- but what he saw in her face startled him and held him silent +while their eyes met. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips burned an +unnatural red. Her eyes were glowing with strange fires. She looked at +him first, and her hands clutched at her bosom, crumpling the masses +of her lustrous hair. Not until she had looked into his eyes did she +recognize what he carried in his arms. When he held the child out to +her she sprang forward with the strangest cry he had ever heard. + +"My baby!" she almost shrieked. "My baby-- my baby--" + +She staggered back and sank into a chair near a table, with little +Isobel clasped to her breast. For a time Billy heard only those words +in her dry, sobbing voice as she crushed her burning face down against +her child's. He knew that she was sick, that it was fever which had +sent the hot flush into her cheeks. He gulped hard, and went near to +her. Trembling, he put out a hand and touched her. She looked up. A +bit of that old, glorious light leaped into her eyes, the light which +he had seen when in gratitude she had given him her lips to kiss. + +"You?" she whispered. "You-- brought her--" + +She caught his hand, and the soft smother of her loose hair fell over +it. He could feel the quick rise and fall of her bosom. + +"Yes," he said. + +There was a demand in her face, her eyes, her parted lips. He went on, +her hand clasping his tighter, until he could feel the swift beating +of her heart. He had never thought that he could tell the story in as +few words as he told it now, with more and more of the glorious light +creeping into Isobel's eyes. She stopped breathing when he told her of +the fight in the cabin and the death of the man who had stolen little +Isobel. A hundred words more brought him to the edge of the forest. He +stopped there. But she still questioned him in silence. She drew him +down nearer, until he could feel her breath. There was something +terrible in the demand of her eyes. He tried to find words to say, but +something rose up in his throat and choked him. She saw his effort. + +"Go on," she said, softly. + +"And then-- I brought her to you," he said. + +"You met him?" + +Her question was so sudden that it startled him, and in an instant he +had betrayed himself. + +Little Isobel slipped to the floor, and Isobel stood up. She came near +to him, as she came that marvelous night out on the Barren, and in her +eyes there was the same prayer as she put her two hands up to him and +looked straight into his face. + +He thought it would be easier. But it was terrible. She did not move. +No sound came from her tight-drawn lips as he told her of the meeting +with Deane, and of her husband's illness. She guessed what was coming +before he had spoken it. At his words, telling of death, she drew away +from him slowly. She did not cry out. Her only evidence that she had +heard and understood was the low moan that fell from her lips. She +covered her face with her hands and stood for a moment an arm's length +away, and in that moment all the force of his great love for her swept +upon MacVeigh in an overwhelming flood. He opened his arms, longing to +gather her into them and comfort her as he would have comforted a +little child. In that love he would willingly have dropped dead at her +feet if he could have given back to her the man she had lost. She +raised her head in time to see his outstretched arms, she saw the love +and the pleading in his face, and into her own eyes there leaped the +fire of a tigress. + +"You-- you--" she cried. "It was you who killed him! He had done no +wrong-- save to protect me and avenge me from the insult of a brute! +He had done no wrong. But the Law-- your Law-- set you after him, and +you hunted him like a beast; you drove him from our home, from me and +the baby. You hunted him until he died up there-- alone. You-- you +killed him." + +With a sudden cry she turned and caught up little Isobel and ran +toward the other door. And as she disappeared into the room from which +she had first appeared Billy heard her moaning those terrible words. + +"You-- you-- you--" + +Like a man who had been struck a blow he swayed back to the outer +door. Near his dogs and sledge he met Pierre Couchee and his +half-French wife coming in from their trap line. He scarcely knew what +explanation he gave to the half-breed, who helped him to put up his +tent. But when the latter left to follow his wife into the cabin he +said: + +"She ess seek, ver' seek. An' she grow more seek each day until-- mon +Dieu!-- my wife, she ess scare!" + +He cut a few balsam boughs and spread out his blankets, but did not +trouble to build a fire. When the half-breed returned to say that +supper was waiting he told him that he was not hungry, and that he was +going to sleep. He doubled himself up under his blankets, silent and +staring, even neglecting to feed the dogs. He was awake when the stars +appeared. He was awake when the moon rose. He was still awake when the +light went out in Pierre Couchee's cabin. The snow-man was gone from +his vision-- home and hope. He had never been hurt as he was hurt now. +He was yet awake when the moon passed far over his head, sank behind +the wilderness to the west, and blackness came. Toward dawn he fell +into an uneasy slumber, and from that sleep he was awakened by Pierre +Couchee's voice. + +When he opened his eyes it was day, and the half-breed stood at the +opening of the tent. His face was filled with horror. His voice was +almost a scream when he saw that MacVeigh was awake and sitting up. + +"The great God in heaven!" he cried. "It is the plague, m'sieur-- le +mort rouge-- the small pox! She is dying--" + +MacVeigh was on his feet, gripping him by the arms. + +He turned and ran toward the cabin, and Billy saw that the +half-breed's team was harnessed, and that Pierre's wife was bringing +forth blankets and bundles. He did not wait to question them, but +hurried into the plague-stricken cabin. From the woman's room came a +low moaning, and he rushed in and fell upon his knees at her side. Her +face was flushed with the fever, half hidden in the disheveled masses +of her hair. She recognized him, and her dark eyes burned madly. + +"Take-- the baby!" she panted. "My God-- go-- go with her!" + +Tenderly he put out a hand and stroked back her hair from her face. + +"You are sick-- sick with the bad fever," he said, gently. + +"Yes-- yes, it is that. I did not think-- until last night-- what it +might be. You-- you love me! Then take her-- take the baby and go-- +go-- go!" + +All his old strength came back to him now. He felt no fear. He smiled +down into her face, and the silken touch of her hair set his heart +leaping and the love into his eyes. + +"I will take her out there," he said. "But she is all right-- Isobel." +He spoke her name almost pleadingly. "She is all right. She will not +take the fever." + +He picked up the child and carried her out into the larger room. +Pierre and his wife were at the door. They were dressed for travel, as +he had seen them come in off the trap line the evening before. He +dropped Isobel and sprang in front of them. + +"What do you mean?" he demanded. "You are not going away! You cannot +go!" He turned almost fiercely upon the woman. "She will die-- if you +do not stay and care for her. You shall not run away!" + +"It is the plague," said Pierre. "It is death to remain!" + +"You shall stay!" said MacVeigh, still speaking to Pierre's wife. "You +are the one woman-- the only woman-- within a hundred miles. She will +die without you. You shall stay if I have to tie you!" + +With the quickness of a cat Pierre raised the butt of the heavy +dog-whip which he held in his hand and it came down with a sickening +thud on Billy's head. As he staggered into the middle of the cabin +floor, groping blindly for a moment before he fell, he heard a +strange, terrified cry, and in the open inner door he saw the +white-robed figure of Isobel Deane. Then he sank down into a pit of +blackness. + +It was Isobel's face that he first saw when he came from out of that +black pit. He knew that it was her voice calling to him before he had +opened his eyes. He felt the touch of her hands, and when he looked up +her loose, soft hair swept his breast. His head was bolstered up, and +so he could look straight into her face. It frightened him. He knew +now what she had been saying to him as he lay there upon the floor. + +"You must get up! You must go!" he heard her mooning. "You must take +my baby away. And you-- you-- must go!" + +He pulled himself half erect, then rose to his feet, swaying a little. +He came to her then, with the look in his face she had first seen out +on the Barren when he had told her that he was going with her through +the forest. + +"No, I am not going away," he said, firmly, and yet with that same old +gentleness in his voice. "If I go you will die. So I am going to +stay." + +She stared at him, speechless. + +"You-- you can't," she gasped, at last. "Don't you see-- don't you +understand? I'm a woman-- and you can't. You must take her-- my baby-- +and go for help." + +"There is no help," said MacVeigh, quietly. "Within a few hours you +will be helpless. I am going to stay and-- and-- I swear to God I will +care for you-- as he-- would have done. He made me promise that-- to +care for you-- to stick by you--" + +She looked straight into his eyes. He saw the twitching of her throat, +the quiver of her lips. In another moment she would have fallen if he +had not put a supporting arm about her. + +"If-- anything-- happens," she gasped, brokenly, "you will take care-- +of her-- my baby--" + +"Yes-- always." + +"And if I-- get well--" + +Her head swayed dizzily and dropped to his breast. + +"If I get-- well--" + +"Yes," he urged. "Yes--" + +"If I--" + +He saw her struggle and fail. + +"Yes, I know-- I understand," he cried, quickly, as she grew heavier +in his arms. "If you get well I will go. I swear to do that. I will go +away. No one will ever know-- no one-- in the whole world. And I will +be good to you-- and care for you--" + +He stopped, brushed back her hair, and looked into her face. Then he +carried her into the inner room; and when he came out little Isobel +was crying. + +"You poor little kid," he cried, and caught her up in his arms. "You +poor little--" + +The child smiled at him through her tears, and Billy suddenly sat down +on the edge of the table. + +"You've been a little brick from the beginning, and you're going to +keep it up, little one," he said, taking her pretty face between his +two big hands. "You've got to be good, for we're going to have a-- +a--" He turned away, and finished under his breath. "We're going to +have a devil of a time!" + + XVI + + THE LAW-- MURDERER OF MEN + +Seated on the table, little Isobel looked up into Billy's face and +laughed, and when the laugh ended in a half wail Billy found that his +fingers had tightened on her little shoulder until they hurt. He +tousled her hair to bring back her good-humor, and put her on the +floor. Then he went back to the partly open door. It was quiet in the +darkened room. He listened for a breath or a sob, and could hear +neither. A curtain was drawn over the one window, and he could but +indistinctly make out the darker shadow where Isobel lay on the bed. +His heart beat faster as he softly called Isobel's name. There was no +answer. He looked back. Little Isobel had found something on the floor +and was amusing herself with it. Again he called the mother, and still +there was no answer. He was filled with a sort of horror. He wanted to +go over to the dark shadow and assure himself that she was breathing, +but a hand seemed to thrust him back. And then, piercing him like a +knife, there came again those low, moaning words of accusation: + +"It was you-- it was you-- it was you--" + +In that voice, low and moaning as it was, he recognized some of +Pelliter's madness. It was the fever. He fell back a step and drew a +hand across his forehead. It was damp, clammy with a cold +perspiration. He felt a burning pain where he had been struck, and a +momentary dizziness made him stagger. Then, with a tremendous effort, +he threw himself together and turned to the little girl. As he carried +her out through the door into the fresh air Isobel's feverish words +still followed him: + +"It was you-- you-- you-- you!" + +The cold air did him good, and he hurried toward the tent with baby +Isobel. As he deposited her among the blankets and bearskins the +hopelessness of his position impressed itself swiftly upon him. The +child could not remain in the cabin, and yet she would not be immune +from danger in the tent, for he would have to spend a part of his time +with her. He shuddered as he thought of what it might mean. For +himself he had no fear of the dread disease that had stricken Isobel. +He had run the risk of contagion several times before and had remained +unscathed, but his soul trembled with fear as he looked into little +Isobel's bright blue eyes and tenderly caressed the soft curls about +her face, If Couchee and his wife had only taken her! At thought of +them he sprang suddenly to his feet. + +"Looky, little one, you've got to stay here!" he commanded. +"Understand? I'm going to pin down the tent-flap, and you mustn't cry. +If I don't get that damned half-breed, dead or alive, my name ain't +Billy MacVeigh." + +He fastened the tent-flap so that Isobel could not escape, and left +her alone, quiet and wondering. Loneliness was not new to her. +Solitude did not frighten her; and, listening with his ear close to +the canvas, Billy soon heard her playing with the armful of things he +had scattered about her. He hurried to the dogs and harnessed them to +the sledge. Couchee and his wife did not have over half an hour the +start of him-- three-quarters at the most. He would run the race of +his life for an hour or two, overtake them, and bring them back at the +point of his revolver. If there had to be a fight he would fight. + +Where the trail struck into the forest he hesitated, wondering if he +would not make better speed by leaving the team and sledge behind. The +excited actions of the dogs decided him. They were sniffing at the +scent left in the snow by the rival huskies, and were waiting eagerly +for the command to pursue. Billy snapped his whip over their heads. + +"You want a fight, do you, boys?" he cried. "So do I. Get on with you! +M'hoosh! M'hoosh!" + +Billy dropped upon his knees on the sledge as the dogs leaped ahead. +They needed no guidance, but followed swiftly in Couchee's trail. Five +minutes later they broke into thin timber, and then came out into a +narrow plain, dotted with stunted scrub, through which ran the Beaver. +Here the snow was soft and drifted, and Billy ran behind, hanging to +the tail-rope to keep the sledge from leaving him if the dogs should +develop an unexpected spurt. He could see that Couchee was exerting +every effort to place distance between himself and the plague-stricken +cabin, and it suddenly struck Billy that something besides fear of le +mort rouge was adding speed to his heels. It was evident that the +half-breed was spurred on by the thought of the blow he had struck in +the cabin. Possibly he believed that he was a murderer, and Billy +smiled as he observed where Couchee had whipped his dogs at a run +through the soft drifts. He brought his own team down to a walk, +convinced that the half-breed had lost his head, and that he would +bush himself and his dogs within a few miles. He was confident, now +that he would overtake them somewhere on the plain. + +With the elation of this thought there came again the sudden, +sickening pain in his head. It was over in an instant, but in that +moment the snow had turned black, and he had flung out his arms to +keep himself from falling. The babiche rope had slipped from his hand, +and when things cleared before his eyes again the sledge was twenty +yards ahead of him. He overtook it, and dropped upon it, panting as +though he had run a race. He laughed as he recovered himself, and +looked over the gray backs of the tugging dogs, but in the same breath +the laugh was cut short on his lips. It was as if a knife-blade had +run in one lightning thrust from the back of his neck to his brain, +and he fell forward on his face with a cry of pain. After all, +Couchee's blow had done the work. He realized that, and made an effort +to call the dogs to a stop. For five minutes they went on, unheeding +the half-dozen weak commands that he called out from the darkness that +had fallen thickly about him. When at last he pulled himself up from +his face and the snow turned white again, the dogs had halted. They +were tangled in their traces and sniffing at the snow. + +Billy sat up. Darkness and pain left him as swiftly as they had come. +He saw Couchee's trail ahead, and then he looked at the dogs. They had +swung at right angles to the sledge and had pulled the nose of it deep +into a drift. With a sharp cry of command he sent the lash of his whip +among them and went to the leader's head. The dogs slunk to their +bellies, snarling at him. + +"What the devil--" he began, and stopped. + +He stared at the snow. Straight out from Couchee's trail there ran +another-- a snow-shoe trail. For a moment he thought that Couchee or +his wife had for some reason struck out a distance from their sledge. +A second glance assured him that in this supposition he was wrong. +Both the half-breed and his wife wore the long, narrow "bush" +snow-shoes, and this second trail was made by the big, basket-shaped +shoes worn by Indians and trappers on the Barrens. In addition to +this, the trail was well beaten. Whoever had traveled it recently had +gone over it many times before, and Billy gave utterance to his joy in +a low cry. He had struck a trap line. The trapper's cabin could not be +far away, and the trapper himself had passed that way not many minutes +since. He examined the two trails and found where the blunt, round +point of a snow-shoe had covered an imprint left by Couchee, and at +this discovery Billy made a megaphone of his mittened hands and gave +utterance to the long, wailing holloa of the forest man. It was a cry +that would carry a mile. Twice he shouted, and the second time there +came a reply. It was not far distant, and he responded with a third +and still louder shout. In a flash there came again the terrible pain +in his head, and he sank down on the sledge. This time he was roused +from his stupor by the barking and snarling of the dogs and the voice +of a man. When he lifted his head out of his arms he saw some one +close to the dogs. He made an effort to rise, and staggered half to +his feet. Then he fell back, and the darkness closed in about him more +thickly than before. When he opened his eyes again he was in a cabin. +He was conscious of warmth. The first sound that he heard was the +crackling of a fire and the closing of a stove door. And then he heard +some one say: + +"S'help me God, if it ain't Billy MacVeigh!" + +He stared up into the face that was looking down at him. It was a +white man's face, covered with a scrubby red beard. The beard was new, +but the eyes and the voice he would have recognized anywhere. For two +years he had messed with Rookie McTabb down at Norway and Nelson +House. McTabb had quit the Service because of a bad leg. + +"Rookie!" he gasped. + +He drew himself up, and McTabb's hands grasped his shoulders. + +"S'help me, if it ain't Billy MacVeigh!" he exclaimed again, amazement +in his voice and face. "Joe brought you in five minutes ago, and I +ain't had a straight squint at you until now. Billy MacVeigh! Well, +I'm--" He stopped to stare at Billy's forehead, where there was a +stain of blood. "Hurt?" he demanded, sharply. "Was it that damned +half-breed?" + +Billy was gripping his hands now. Over near the stove, still kneeling +before the closed door, he saw the dark face of an Indian turned +toward him. + +"It was Couchee," he said. "He hit me with the butt of his whip, and +I've had funny spells ever since. Before I have another I want to tell +you what I'm up against, Rookie. My Gawd, it's a funny chance that ran +me up against you-- just in time! Listen." + +He told McTabb briefly of Scottie Deane's death, of Couchee's flight +from the cabin, and the present situation there. + +"There isn't a minute to lose," he finished, tightening his hold on +McTabb's hand. "There's the kid and the mother, and I've got to get +back to them, Rookie. The rest is up to you. We've got to get a woman. +If we don't-- soon--" + +He rose to his feet and stood there looking at McTabb. The other +nodded. + +"I understand," he said. "You're in a bad fix, Billy. It's two hundred +miles to the nearest white woman, away over near Du Brochet. You +couldn't get an Indian to go within half a mile of a cabin that's +struck by the plague, and I doubt if this white woman would come. The +only game I can see is to send to Fort Churchill or Nelson House and +have the force send up a nurse. It will take two weeks." + +Billy gave a gesture of despair. Indian Joe had listened attentively, +and now rose quietly from his position in front of the stove. + +"There's Indian camp over on Arrow Lake," he said, facing Billy. "I +know squaw there who not afraid of plague." + +"Sure as fate!" cried McTabb, exultantly. "Joe's mother is over there, +and if there is anything on earth she won't do for Joe I can't guess +what it is. Early this winter she came a hundred and fifty miles-- +alone-- to pay him a visit. She'll come. Go after her, Joe. I'll go +Billy MacVeigh's bond to get the Service to pay her five dollars a day +from the hour she starts!" He turned to Billy. "How's your head?" he +asked. + +"Better. It was the run that fixed me, I guess." + +"Then we'll go over to Couchee's cabin and I'll bring back the kid." + +They left Joe preparing for his three-day trip into the south and +east, and outside the cabin McTabb insisted on Billy riding behind the +dogs. They struck back for Couchee's trail, and when they came to it +McTabb laughed. + +"I'll bet they're running like rabbits," he said. "What in thunder did +you expect to do if you caught 'em, Billy? Drag the woman back by the +hair of 'er 'ead? I'm glad you tumbled where you did. You've got to +beat a lynx to beat Couchee. He'd have perforated you from behind a +snow-drift sure as your name's Billy MacVeigh." + +Billy felt that an immense load had been lifted from him, and he was +partly inclined to tell his companion more about Isobel and himself. +This, however, he did not do. As McTabb strode ahead and urged on the +dogs he figured on the chances of Joe and his mother returning within +a week. During that time he would be alone with Isobel, and in spite +of the horrible fear that never for a moment left his heart it was +impossible for him not to feel a thrill of pleasure at the thought. +Those would be days of agony for himself as well as for her, and yet +he would be near, always near, the woman he loved. And little Isobel +would be safe in Rookie's cabin. If anything happened-- + +His hands gripped the edges of the sledge at the thought that leaped +into his brain. It was Pelliter's thought. If anything happened to +Isobel the little girl would be his own, forever and forever. He +thrust the thought from him as if it were the plague itself. Isobel +would live. He would make her live, If she died-- + +McTabb heard the low cry that broke from his lips. He could not keep +it back. Good God, if she went, how empty the world would be! He might +never see her again after these days of terror that were ahead of him; +but if she lived, and he knew that the sun was shining in her bright +hair, and that her blue eyes still looked up at the stars, and that in +her sweet prayers she sometimes thought of him-- along with Deane-- +life could not be quite so lonely for him. + +McTabb had dropped back to his side. + +"Head hurt?" he asked. + +"A little," lied Billy. "There's a level stretch ahead, Rookie. Hustle +up the dogs!" + +Half an hour later the sledge drew up in front of Couchee's cabin. +Billy pointed to the tent. + +"The little one is in there," he said. "Go over an' get acquainted, +Rookie. I'm going to take a look inside to see if everything is all +right." + +He entered the cabin quietly and closed the door softly behind him. +The inner door was as he had left it, partly open, and he looked in, +with a wildly beating heart. He could no longer hesitate. He stepped +in and spoke her name. + +"Isobel!" + +There was a movement on the bed, and he was startled by the suddenness +with which Isobel sprang to her feet. She drew aside the heavy curtain +from the window and stood in the light. For a moment Billy saw her +blue eyes filled with a strange fire as she stared at him. There was a +wild flush in her cheeks, and he could hear her dry breath as it came +from between her parted lips. Her hair was still undone and covered +her in a shimmering veil. + +"I've found a trapper's cabin, Isobel, and we're taking the baby +there," he went on. "She will be safe. And we're sending for help-- +for a woman--" + +He stopped, horror striking him dumb. He saw more plainly the feverish +madness in Isobel's eyes. She dropped the curtain, and they were in +gloom. The whispered words he heard were more terrible than the +madness in her eyes. + +"You won't kill her?" she pleaded. "You won't kill my baby? You won't +kill her--" + +She staggered, back toward the bed, whispering the words over and over +again. Not until she had dropped upon it did Billy move. The blood in +his body seemed to have turned cold. Be dropped upon his knees at her +side. His hand buried itself in the soft smother of her hair, but he +no longer felt the touch of it. He tried to speak, but words would not +come. And then, suddenly, she thrust him back, and he could see the +glow of her eyes in the half darkness. For a moment she seemed to have +fought herself out of her delirium. + +"It was you-- you-- who helped to kill him!" she panted. "It was the +Law-- and you are the Law. It kills-- kills-- kills-- and it never +gives back when it makes a mistake. He was innocent, but you and the +Law hounded him until he died. You are the murderers. You killed him. +You have killed me. And you will never be punished-- never-- never-- +because you are the Law-- and because the Law can kill-- kill-- +kill--" + +She dropped back, moaning, and MacVeigh crouched at her side, his +fingers buried in her hair, with no words to say. In a moment she +breathed easier. He felt her tense body relax. He forced himself to +his feet and dragged himself into the outer room, closing the door +after him. Even in her delirium Isobel had spoken the truth. Forever +she had digged for him a black abyss between them. The Law had killed +Scottie Deane. And he was the Law. And for the Law there was no +punishment, even though it took the life of an innocent man. + +He went outside. McTabb was in the tent. The gloom of evening was +closing in on a desolate world. Overhead the sky was thick, and +suddenly, with a great cry, Billy flung his arms straight up over his +head and cursed that Law which could not be punished, the Law that had +killed Scottie Deane. For he was that Law, and Isobel had called him a +murderer. + + XVII + + ISOBEL FACES THE ABYSS + +It was not the face of MacVeigh-- the old MacVeigh-- that Rookie +McTabb, the ex-constable, looked into a few moments later. Days of +sickness could have laid no heavier hand upon him than had those few +minutes in the darkened room of the cabin. His face was white and +drawn. There were tense lines at the corners of his mouth and +something strange and disquieting in his eyes. McTabb did not see the +change until he came out into what remained of the day with little +Isobel in his arms. Then he stared. + +"That blow got you bad," he said. "You look sick. Mebbe I'd better +stay with you here to-night." + +"No, you hadn't," replied Billy, trying to throw off what he knew the +other saw. "Take the kid over to the cabin. A night's sleep and I'll +be as lively as a cat. I'm going to vaccinate her before you go." + +He went into the tent and dug out from his pack the small rubber pouch +in which he carried a few medicines and a roll of medicated cotton. In +a small bottle there were three vaccine points. He returned with these +and the cotton. + +"Watch her close," he said, as he rolled back the child's sleeve. "I'm +going to give you an extra point, and if this doesn't work by the +seventh or eighth day you must do the job over again." + +With the point of his knife he began to work gently on baby Isobel's +tender pink skin. He had expected that she would cry. But she was not +frightened, and her big blue eyes followed his movements wonderingly. +At last it began to hurt, and her lips quivered. But she made no +sound, and as tears welled into her eyes Billy dropped his knife and +caught her up close to his breast. + +"God bless your dear little heart," he cried, smothering his face in +her silken curls. "You've been hurt so much, an' you've froze, an' +you've starved, an' you ain't never said a word about it since that +day up at Fullerton! Little sweetheart--" + +McTabb heard him whispering things, and little Isobel's arms crept +tightly about his neck. After a little Billy held her out to him +again, and a part of what Rookie had seen in his face was gone. + +"It won't hurt any more," he said, as he rubbed the vaccine point over +the red spot on her arm. "You don't want to be sick, do you? And that +'ll keep you from being sick. There--" + +He wound a strip of the cotton about her arm, tied it, and gave part +of what remained to McTabb. Then he took her in his arms again and +kissed her warm face and her soft curls, and after that bundled her in +furs and put her on the sledge. Rookie was straightening out the dogs +when, like a thief, he clipped off one of the curls with his knife. +Isobel laughed gleefully when she saw the curl between his fingers. +Before McTabb had turned it was in his pocket. + +"I won't see her again-- soon," MacVeigh said; and he tried to keep a +thickness out of his voice. "That is, I-- I won't see her to-- to +handle her. I'll come over now and then an' look at her from the edge +of the woods. You bring 'er out, Rookie, an' don't you dare to let her +know I'm out there. She wouldn't know what it meant if I didn't come +to her." + +He watched them as they disappeared into the gloom of night, and when +they had gone a groan of anguish broke from his lips. For he knew that +little Isobel was going from him forever. He would see her again-- +from the edge of the forest; but he would never hold her in his arms, +nor feel again her tender arms about his neck or the soft smother of +her hair against his face. Long before the dread menace of the plague +was lifted from the cabin and from himself he would be gone. For that +was what Isobel, the mother, had demanded, and he would keep his +promise to her. She would never know what happened in these days of +her delirium. She would not have to face him afterward. He knew +already how he would go. When help came he would slip away quietly +some night, and the big wilderness would swallow him up. His plans +seemed to come without thought on his own part. He would go to Fort +Churchill and testify against Bucky Smith. And then he would quit the +Service. His term of enlistment expired in a month, and he would not +re-enlist. "It was the Law that killed him-- and you are the Law. It +kills-- kills-- kills-- and it never gives back when it makes a +mistake." Under the dark sky those words seemed never to end in his +ears, and each moment they added to his hatred of the thing of which +he had been a part for years. He seemed to hear Isobel's accusing +voice in the low soughing of the night wind in the spruce tops; and in +the stillness of the world that hung heavy and close about him the +words chased each other through his brain until they seemed to leave +behind them a path of fire. + +"It kills-- kills-- kills-- and it never gives back when it makes a +mistake." + +His lips were set tensely as he faced the cabin. He remembered now +more than one instance where the Law had killed and had never given +back. That was a part of the game of man-hunting. But he had never +thought of it in Isobel's way until she had painted for him in those +few half-mad, accusing words a picture of himself. The fact that he +had fought for Scottie Deane and had given him his freedom did not +exonerate himself in his own eyes now. It was because of himself and +Pelliter chiefly that Deane and Isobel had been forced to seek refuge +among the Eskimos. From Fullerton they had watched and hunted for him +as they would have hunted for an animal. He saw himself as Isobel must +see him now-- the murderer of her husband. He was glad, as he returned +to the cabin, that he had happened to come in the second or third day +of her fever. He dreaded her sanity now more than her delirium, + +He lighted a tin lamp in the cabin and listened for a moment at the +inner door. Isobel was quiet. For the first time he made a more +careful note of the cabin. Couchee and his wife had left plenty of +food. He had noticed a frozen haunch of venison hanging outside the +cabin, and he went out and chopped off several pieces of the meat. He +did not feel hungry enough to prepare food for himself, but put the +meat in a pot and placed it on the stove, that he might have broth for +Isobel. + +He began to find signs of her presence in the room as he moved about. +Hanging on a wooden peg in the log wall he saw a scarf which he knew +belonged to her. Under the scarf there was a pair of her shoes, and +then he noticed that the crude cabin table was covered with a litter +of stuff which he had not observed before. There were needles and +thread, some cloth, a pair of gloves, and a red bow of ribbon which +Isobel had worn at her throat. What held his eyes were two bundles of +old letters tied with blue ribbon, and a third pile, undone and +scattered. In the light of the lamp he saw that all of the writing on +the envelopes was in the same hand. The top envelope on the first pile +was addressed to "Mrs. Isobel Deane, Prince Albert, Saskatchewan"; the +first envelope of the other bundle to "Miss Isobel Rowland, Montreal, +Canada." Billy's heart choked him as he gathered the loose letters in +his hands and placed them, with the others, on a little shelf above +the table. He knew that they were letters from Deane, and that in her +fever and loneliness Isobel had been reading them when he brought to +her news of her husband's death. + +He was about to remove the other articles from the table where a +folded newspaper clipping was uncovered by the removal of the cloth. +It was a half page from a Montreal daily, and out of it there looked +straight up at him the face of Isobel Deane. It was a younger, more +girlish-looking face, but to him it was not half so beautiful as the +face of the Isobel who had come to him from out of the Barren. His +fingers trembled and his breath came more quickly as he held the paper +in the light and read the few lines under the picture: + + ISOBEL ROWLAND, ONE OF THE LAST OF MONTREAL'S DAUGHTERS OF THE + NORTH, WHO HAS SACRIFICED A FORTUNE FOR LOVE OF A YOUNG ENGINEER + +In spite of the feeling of shame that crept over him at thus allowing +himself to be drawn into a past sacred to Isobel and the man who had +died, Billy's eyes sought the date-line. The paper was eight years +old. And then he read what followed. In those few minutes, as the +cold, black type revealed to him the story of Isobel and Deane, he +forgot that he was in the cabin, and that he could almost hear the +breathing of the woman whose sweet romance had ended now in tragedy. +He was with Deane that day, years ago, when he had first looked into +Isobel's eyes in the little old cemetery of nameless and savage dead +at Ste. Anne de Beaupre; he heard the tolling of the ancient bell in +the church that had stood on the hillside for more than two hundred +and fifty years; and he could hear Deane's voice as he told Isobel the +story of that bell and how, in the days of old, it had often called +the settlers in to fight against the Indians. And then, as he read on, +he could feel the sudden thrill in Deane's blood when Isobel had told +him who she was, and that Pierre Radisson, one of the great lords of +the north, had been her great-grandfather; that he had brought +offerings to the little old church, and that he had fought there and +died close by, and that his body was somewhere among the nameless and +unmarked dead. It was a beautiful story, and MacVeigh saw more of it +between the lines than could ever have been printed. Once he had gone +to Ste. Anne de Beaupre to see the pilgrims and the miracles there, +and there flashed before him the sunlit slope overlooking the broad +St. Lawrence, where Isobel and Deane had afterward met, and where she +had told him how large a part the little old cracked bell, the ancient +church, and the plot of nameless dead had played in her life ever +since she could remember. His blood grew hot as he read of what +followed the beginning of love at the pilgrims' shrine. Isobel had no +father or mother, the paper said. Her uncle and guardian was an iron +master of the old blood-- the blood that had been a part of the +wilderness and the great company since the day the first "gentlemen +adventurers" came over with Prince Rupert. He lived alone with Isobel +in a big white house on the top of a hill, shut in by stone walls and +iron pickets, and looked out upon the world with the cold hauteur of a +feudal lord. He was young David Deane's enemy from the moment he first +heard about him, largely because he was nothing more than a struggling +mining engineer, but chiefly because he was an American and had come +from across the border. The stone walls and iron pickets were made a +barrier to him. The heavy gates never opened for him. Then had come +the break. Isobel, loyal in her love, had gone to Deane. The story +ended there. + +For a few moments Billy stood with the paper in his hand, the type a +blur before his eyes. He could almost see Isobel's old home in +Montreal. It was on the steep, shaded road leading up to Mount Royal, +where he had once watched a string of horses "tacking" with their +two-wheeled carts of coal in their arduous journey to Sir George +Allen's basement at the end of it. He remembered how that street had +held a curious sort of fascination for him, with its massive stone +walls, its old French homes, and that old atmosphere still clinging to +it of the Montreal of a hundred years ago. Twelve years before he had +gone there first and carved his name on the wooden stairway leading to +the top of the mountain. Isobel had been there then. Perhaps it was +she he had heard singing behind one of the walls. + +He put the paper with the letters, making a note of the uncle's name. +If anything happened it would be his duty to send word to him-- +perhaps. And then, deliberately, he tore into little pieces the slip +of paper on which he had written the name. Geoffrey Renaud had cast +off his niece. And if she died why should he-- Billy MacVeigh-- tell +him anything about little Isobel? Since Isobel's terrible castigation +of himself and the Law duty had begun to hold a diferent meaning for +him. + +Several times during the next hour Billy listened at the door. Then he +made some tea and toast and took the broth from the stove. He went +into the room, leaving these on the hearth of the stove so that they +would not grow cold. He heard Isobel move, and as he went to her side +she gave a little breathless cry. + +"David-- David-- is it you?" she moaned. "Oh, David, I'm so glad you +have come!" + +Billy stood over her. In the darkness his face was ashen gray, for +like a flash of fire in the lightless room the truth rushed upon him. +Shock and fever had done their work. And in her delirium Isobel +believed that he was Deane, her husband. In the gloom he saw that she +was reaching up her arms to him. + +"David!" she whispered; and in her voice there were a love and +gladness that thrilled and terrified him to the quick of his soul. + + XVIII + + THE FULFILMENT OF A PROMISE + +In the space of silence that followed Isobel's whispered words there +came to Billy a realization of the crisis which he faced. The thought +of surrendering himself to his first impulse, and of taking Deane's +place in these hours of Isobel's fever, filled him instantly with a +revulsion that sent him back a step from the bed, his hands clenched +until his nails hurt his calloused palms. + +"No, no, I am not David," he began, but the words died in his throat. + +To tell her that, to make her know the truth-- that her husband was +dead-- might kill her now. Hope, belief that he was alive and with +her, would help to make her live. So quickly that he could not have +spoken his thoughts in words these things flashed upon him. If Deane +were alive and at her side his presence would save her. And if she +believed that he was Deane he would save her. In the end she would +never know. He remembered how Pelliter had forgotten things that had +happened in his delirium. To Isobel, when she awakened into sanity, it +would only seem like a dream at most. A few words from him then would +convince her of that. If necessary, he would tell her that she had +talked much about David in her fever and had imagined him with her. +She would have no suspicion that he had played that part. + +Isobel had waited a moment, but now she whispered again, as if a +little frightened at his silence. + +"David-- David--" + +He stepped back quickly to the bed and his hands met those reaching up +to him. They were hot and dry, and Isobel's fingers tightened about +his own almost fiercely, and drew his hands down on her breast. She +gave a sigh, as though she would rest easier now that his hands were +touching her. + +"I have been making some broth for you," he said, scarcely daring to +speak. "Will you take some of it, Isobel? You must-- and sleep." + +He felt the pressure of Isobel's hands, and she spoke to him so calmly +that for a breath he thought that she must surely be herself again. + +"I don't like the dark, David," she said. "I can't see you. And I want +to do up my hair. Will you bring in a light?" + +"Not until you are better," he whispered. "A light will hurt your +eyes. I will stay with you-- near you--" + +She raised a hand in the darkness, and it stroked his face. In that +touch were all the love and gentleness that had lived for the man who +was dead, and the caress thrilled Billy until it seemed as though what +was in his heart must burst forth in a sobbing breath. Suddenly her +hand left his face, and he heard her moving restlessly. + +"My hair-- David--" + +He put out a hand, and it fell in the soft smother of her hair. It was +tangled about her face and neck, and he lifted her gently while he +drew out the thick masses of it. He did not dare to speak while he +smoothed out the rich tresses and pleated them into a braid. Isobel +sighed restfully when he had done. + +"I am going to get the broth now," he said then. + +He went into the outer room where the lamp was lighted. Not until he +took up the cup of broth did he notice how his hand trembled. A bit of +the broth spilled on the floor, and he dropped a piece of the toast. +He, too, was passing through the crucible with Isobel Deane. + +He went back and lifted her so that her head rested against his +shoulder and the warmth of her hair lay against his cheek and neck. +Obediently she ate the half-dozen bits of toast he moistened in the +broth, and then drank a few sips of the liquid. She would have rested +there after that, with her face turned against his, and Billy knew +that she would have slept. But he lowered her gently to the pillow. + +"You must go to sleep now," he urged, softly. "Good night--" + +"David!" + +"Yes--" + +"You-- you-- haven't-- kissed-- me--" + +There was a childish plaint in her voice, and with a sob in his own +breath he bent over her. For an instant her arms clung about his neck. +He felt the sweet, thrilling touch of her warm lips, and then he drew +himself back; and, with her "Good night, David" following him to the +door, he went into the outer room, and with a strange, broken cry +flung himself on the cot in which Couchee had slept. + +It was an hour before he raised his face from the blankets. Yet he had +not slept. In that hour, and in the half-hour that had preceded it in +Isobel's room, there had come lines into his face which made him look +older. Once Isobel had kissed him, and he had treasured that kiss as +the sweetest thing that had come to him in all his life. And to-night +she had given him more than that, for there had been love, and not +gratitude alone, in the warmth of her lips, in the caress of her hands +and arms, and in the pressure of her feverish face against his own. +But they brought him none of the pleasure of that which she had given +to him on the Barren. Grief-stricken, he rose and faced the door. In +spite of the fact that he knew there was no alternative for him, he +regarded himself as worse than a thief. He was taking an advantage of +her which filled him with a repugnance for himself, and he prayed for +the hour when sanity would return to her, though it brought back the +heartbreak and despair that were now lost in the oblivion of her +fever. Always in the northland there is somewhere the dread trail of +le mort rouge, the "red death," and he was well acquainted with the +course it would have to run. He believed that the fever had stricken +Isobel the third or fourth day before, and there would follow three or +four days more in which she would not be herself. Then would come the +reaction. She would awaken to the truth then that her husband was +dead, and that he had been with her alone all that time. + +He listened for a moment at the door. Isobel was resting quietly, and +he went out of the cabin without making a sound. The night had grown +blacker and gloomier. There was not a rift in the sullen darkness of +the sky over him. A wind had risen from out of the north and east, +just enough of a wind to set the tree-tops moaning and fill the +closed-in world about him with uneasy sound. He walked toward the tent +where little Isobel had been, and there was something in the air that +choked him. He wished that he had not sent all of the dogs with +McTabb. A terrible loneliness oppressed him. It was like a clammy hand +smothering his heart in its grip, and it made him sick. He turned and +looked at the light in the cabin. Isobel was there, and he had thought +that where she was he could never be lonely. But he knew now that +there lay between them a gulf which an eternity could not bridge. + +He shuddered, for with the night wind it seemed to him that there came +again the presence of Scottie Deane. He gripped his hands and stared +out into a pit of blackness. It was as if he had heard the Wild +Horsemen passing that way, panting and galloping through the spruce +tops on their mission of gathering the souls of the dead. Deane was +with him, as his spirit had been with him on that night he had +returned to Pelliter after putting the cross over Scottie's grave. And +in a moment or two the feeling of that presence seemed to lift the +smothering weight from his heart. He knew that Deane could understand, +and the presence comforted him. He went to the tent and looked in, +though there was nothing to see. And then he turned back to the cabin. +Thought of the grave with its sapling cross brought home to him his +duty to the woman. From the rubber pouch he brought forth his pad of +paper and a pencil. + +For more than an hour after that he worked. steadily in the dull glow +of the lamp. He knew that Isobel would return to Deane. It might be +soon-- or a long time from now. But she would go. And step by step he +mapped out for her the trail that led to the little cabin on the edge +of the Barren. And after that he wrote in his big, rough hand what was +overflowing from his heart. + +"May God take care of you always. I would give my life to give you +back his. I won't let his grave be lost. I will go back some day and +plant blue flowers over it. I guess you will never know what I would +do to give him back to you and make you happy." + +He knew that he had not promised what he would fail to do. He would +return to the lonely grave on the edge of the Barren. There was +something that called him to it now, something that he could not +understand, and which came of his own desolation. He folded the pages +of paper, wrapped them in a clean sheet, and wrote Isobel Deans's name +on the outside. Then he placed the packet with the letters on the +shelf over the table. He knew that she would find it with them. + +What happened during the terrible week that followed that night no one +but MacVeigh would ever know. To him they were seven days of a fight +whose memory would remain with him until the end of time. Sleepless +nights and almost sleepless days. A bitter struggle, almost without +rest, with the horrible specter that ever hovered within the inner +room. A struggle that drew his cheeks in and put deep lines in his +face; a struggle during which Isobel's voice spoke tenderly and +pleadingly with him in one hour and bitterly in the next. He felt the +caress of her hands. More than once she drew him down to the soft +thrill of her feverish lips. And then, in more terrible moments, she +accused him of hunting to death the man who lay back under the sapling +cross. The three days of torment lengthened into four, and the four +into seven, To the bottom of his soul he suffered, for he understood +what it all meant for him. On the third and the fifth and the seventh +days he went over to McTabb's cabin, and Rookie came out and talked +with him at a distance through a birchbark megaphone. On the seventh +day there was still no news of Indian Joe and his mother. And on this +day Billy played his last part as Deane. He went into her room at noon +with broth and toast and a dish of water, and after she had eaten a +little he lifted her and made a prop of blankets at her back so that +he could brush out and braid her beautiful hair. It was light in the +room in spite of the curtain which he kept closely drawn. Outside the +sun was shining brightly, and the pale luster of it came through the +curtain and lit up the rich tresses he was brushing. When he was done +he lowered her gently to her pillow. She was looking at him strangely. +And then, with a shock that seemed to turn him cold to the depths of +his soul, he saw what was in her eyes. Sanity and reason. He saw +swiftly gathering in them the old terror, the old grief-- recognition +of his true self! He waited to hear no word, but turned as he had done +a hundred times before and left the room. + +In the outer room he stood for a few silent minutes, gathering +strength for the ordeal that was near. The end was at hand-- for him. +He choked back his weakness, and after a time returned to the inner +door. But now he did not go in as he had entered before. He knocked. +It was the first time. And Isobel's voice bade him enter. + +His heart was filled with a sudden throbbing pain when he saw that she +had turned so that she lay with her face turned away from him. He bent +over her and said, softly: + +"You are better. The danger is past." + +"I am better and-- and-- it is over?" he heard her whisper. + +"Yes." + +"The-- the baby?" + +"Is well-- yes." + +There was a moment's silence. The room seemed to tremble with it. Then +she said, faintly: + +"You have been alone?" + +"Yes-- alone-- for seven days." + +She turned her eyes upon him fully. He could see the glow of them in +the faint light. It seemed to him that she was reading him to the +depths of his soul, and that in this moment she knew! She knew that he +had taken the part of David, and suddenly she turned her face away +from him again with a strange, choking sob. He could feel her +trembling. She seemed, struggling for breath and strength, and he +heard again the words "You-- you-- you--" + +"Yes, yes-- I know-- I understand," he said, and his heart choked him. +"You must be quiet-- now. I promised you that if you got well I would +go. And-- I will. No one will ever know. I will go." + +"And you will never come to me again?" Her voice was terribly quiet +and cold. + +"Never," he said. "I swear that." + +She had drawn away from him now until he could see nothing of her but +the shimmer of her thick braid where it lay in a ray of light. But he +could hear her sobbing breath. She scarcely knew when he left the +room, he went so quietly. He closed her door after him, and this time +he latched it. The outer door was open, and suddenly he heard that for +which he had been waiting and listening-- the short, sharp yelping of +dogs, and a human voice. + +In three leaps he was out in the open. Halfway across the narrow +clearing Indian Joe had halted with his team. One glance at the sledge +showed Billy that Joe's mother had not failed him. A thin, weazened +little old woman scrambled from a pile of bearskins as he ran toward +them. She had sunken eyes that watched his approach with a ratlike +glitter, and her naked hands were so emaciated that they looked like +claws; but in spite of her unprepossessing appearance Billy almost +hugged her in his delight at their coming. Maballa was her name, +Rookie had told him, and she understood and could talk English better +than her son. Billy told her of the condition in the cabin, and when +he had finished she took a small pack from the sledge, cackled a few +words to Indian Joe, and followed him without a moment's hesitation. +That she had no fear of the plague added to Billy's feeling of relief. +As soon as she had taken off her hood and heavy blanket she went +fearlessly into the inner room, and a moment later Billy heard her +talking to Isobel. + +It took him but a few moments to gather up the few things he possessed +and put them in his pack. Then he went out and took down his tent. +Indian Joe had already gone, and he followed in his trail. An hour +later McTabb appeared at the door of his cabin, summoned by Billy's +shout. He circled about and came up with the wind, until he stood +within fifty paces of MacVeigh. Billy told him what he was going to +do. He was going to Churchill, and would leave Isobel and the baby in +his care. From Fort Churchill he would send back an escort to take the +woman and little Isobel down to civilization. He wanted fresh +clothes-- anything he could wear. Those he had on he would be +compelled to burn. He suggested that he could get into one of Indian +Joe's outfits, if he had any spare garments, and McTabb went back to +the cabin, returning a few minutes later with an armful of clothes. + +"Here's everything you'll need, except an undershirt an' drawers," +said McTabb, placing them in a pile on the snow. "I'll wait a little +while you're changing. Better burn those quick. The wind might change, +and I don't want to be caught in a whiff of it." + +He moved to a safe distance while Billy secured the clothes and went +into the timber. From a birch tree he pulled off a pile of bark, and +as he stripped he put his old clothes on it. McTabb could hear the +crackling and snapping of the fire when Billy reappeared arrayed in +Indian Joe's "second best"-- buckskin trousers, a worn and tattered +fur coat, a fisher-skin cap, and moccasins a size too small for him. +For fifteen minutes the two men talked, McTabb still drawing the +dead-line at fifty paces. Then he went back and brought up Billy's +dogs and sledge. + +"I'd like to shake hands with you, Billy," he apologized, "but I guess +it's best not to. I don't suppose-- we'd dare-- bring out the kid?" + +"No," said Billy. "Good-by, Mac. I'll see you-- sometime-- later. Just +go back-- an' bring her to the door, will you? I don't want her to +know I'm here, an' I'll take a look at her from the bush. She wouldn't +understand, you know, if she knew I was here an' wouldn't come up an' +see her." + +He concealed himself among the spruce as McTabb went into the cabin. A +moment later he reappeared. Isobel was in his arms, and Billy gulped +back a sob. For an instant she turned her face his way, and he could +see that she was pointing in his direction as Rookie talked to her, +and then for another instant the sun lit up the child's hair with a +golden fire, as he had first seen it on that wonderful day at +Fullerton. He wanted to cry out one word to her-- at least one-- but +what came was only the sob he had fought to keep back. He turned his +face into the forest. And this time he knew that the parting was +final. + + XIX + + A PILGRIMAGE TO THE BARREN + +The fourth night after he had left the plague-stricken cabin Billy was +camped on Lame Otter Creek, one hundred and eighty miles from Fort +Churchill, over on Hudson's Bay. He had eaten his supper, and was +smoking his pipe. It was a clear and glorious night, with the sky +afire with stars and a full moon. Several times Billy had stared at +the moon. It was what the Indians called "the bleeding moon"-- red as +blood, with an uneven, dripping edge. It was the Indian superstition +that it meant misfortune to those who did not keep it at their backs. +For seven consecutive nights it had made a red trail through the skies +in that terrible year of plague nineteen years before, when a quarter +of the forest population of the north had died. Since then it had been +known as the "plague moon." Billy had seen it only twice before. He +was not superstitious, but to-night he was filled with a strange +sensation of uneasiness. He laughed an unpleasant laugh as he stared +into the crackling birch flames and wondered what new misfortune could +come to him. + +And then, slowly, something seemed to come to him from out of the +wonderful night like a quieting hand to still the pain in his broken +heart. At last, once more, he was home. For the wind-swept Barrens and +the forest had been his home, and more than once he had told himself +that life away from them would be impossible for him. More deeply than +ever this thought came to him to-night. He had become a part of them +and they a part of him. And as he looked up again at the red moon the +sight of it no longer brought him uneasiness, but a strange sort of +joy. For an hour he sat there, and the fire died down. About him the +rustle and whisper of the wild closed in nearer. It was his world, and +he breathed more deeply and listened. Lonely and sick at heart, he +felt the life and sympathy and love of it creeping into him, grieving +with him in his grief, warming him with its hope, pledging him again +the eternal friendship of its trees, its mountains, and all of the +wild that it held therein. A hundred times, in that strange man-play +that comes of loneliness in the far north, he had given life and form +to the star shadows about him, to the shadows of the tall spruce, the +twisted shrub, the rocks, and even the mountains. And now it was no +longer play. With each hour that passed this night, and with each day +and night that followed, they became more real to MacVeigh; and the +fires he built in the black gloom painted him pictures as they had +never painted them before; and the trees and the rocks and the twisted +shrub comforted him more and more in his loneliness, and gave to him +the presence of life in their movement, in the coming and going of +their shadow forms. Everywhere they were the same old friends, +unvarying and changeless. The spruce shadow of to-night, nodding to +him in its silent way, was the same that nodded to him last night-- a +hundred nights ago; the stars were the same, the winds whispering to +him in the tree-tops were the same, everything was as it was +yesterday-- years ago. He knew that in these things, and in these +things alone, he would always possess Isobel. She would return to +civilization, and the shifting scenes of life down there would soon +make her forget him-- almost. But in his world there was no change. +Ten years from now he might go over their old trail and still find the +charred remains of the campfire he had built for her that night beside +the Barren. The wilderness would bear memory of her so long as he was +a part of it; and now, as he came nearer to Churchill, he knew that he +would always be a part of it. + +Three weeks after he had left Couchee's cabin he came into Fort +Churchill. A month had changed him so that the factor did not +recognize him at first. The inspector in charge stared at him twice, +and then cried, "My God, is it you, MacVeigh?" To Pelliter alone, who +was waiting for him, did Billy tell all that had happened down on the +Little Beaver. There were several letters waiting for him at +Churchill, and one of these told him that a silver property in which +he was interested over at Cobalt had turned out well and that his +share in the sale was something over ten thousand dollars. He used +this unexpected piece of good-fortune as an excuse to the inspector +when he refused to re-enlist. A week after his arrival at Churchill +Bucky Smith was dishonorably discharged from the Service. There were +several near them when Bucky came up to him with a smile on his face +and offered to shake hands. + +"I don't bear you any ill-will, Billy," he said, loud enough for the +others to hear. "Only you've made a big mistake." And then, in words +for Billy's ears alone, he added: "Remember what I promised you! I'll +kill you for this if I have to hunt you round the world!" + +A few days later Pelliter left on the last of the slush snows in an +effort to reach Nelson House before the sledging was gone. + +"I wish you'd go with me, Billy," he entreated for the hundredth time. +"My girl 'd love to have you come, an' you know how I'd like it." + +But Billy could not be moved. + +"I'll come and see you some day-- when you've got the kid," he +promised, trying to laugh, as he shook hands for the last time with +his old comrade. + +For three days after Pelliter's departure he remained at the post. On +the morning of the fourth, with his pack on his back and without dogs, +he struck off into the north and west. + +"I think I'll spend next winter at Fond du Lac," he told the +inspector. "If there's any mail for me you can send it there if you +have a chance, and if I'm not at Fond du Lac it can be returned to +Churchill." + +He said Fond du Lac because Deane's grave lay between Churchill and +the old Hudson's Bay Company's post over in the country of the +Athabasca. The Barrens were the one thing that called to him now-- the +one thing to which he dared respond. He would keep his promise to +Isobel and visit Scottie's grave. At least he tried to make himself +believe that he was keeping a promise. But deep in him there was an +undercurrent of feeling which he could not explain. It was as if there +were a spirit with him at times, walking at his side, and hovering +about his campfire at nights, and when he gave himself up to the right +mood he felt that it was the presence of Deane. He believed in strong +friendship, but he had never believed in the love of man for man. He +had not thought that such a thing could exist, except, perhaps, +between father and son. With him, in all the castles he had built and +the dreams he had dreamed, the alpha and omega of love had remained +with woman. For the first time he knew what it meant to love a man-- +the memory of a man. + +Something held him from telling the secret of his mission at Churchill +even to Pelliter. The evening before he left he had smuggled an ax +into the edge of the forest, and the second day he found use for this. +He came to a straight-grained, thick birch, eighteen inches in +diameter, and he put up his tent fifty paces from it. Before he rolled +himself in his blankets that night he had cut down the tree. The next +day he chopped off the butt, and before another nightfall had hewn out +a slab two inches thick, a foot wide, and three feet long. When he +took up the trail into the north and west again the following morning +he left the ax behind. + +The fourth night he worked with his hunting-knife and his belt-ax, +thinning down the slab and making it smooth. The fifth and the sixth +nights he passed in the same way, and he ended the sixth night by +heating the end of a small iron rod in the fire and burning the first +three letters of Deane's epitaph on the slab. For a time he was +puzzled, wondering whether he should use the name Scottie or David. He +decided on David. + +He did not travel fast, for to him spring was the most beautiful of +all seasons in the wilderness. It was underfoot and overhead now. The +snow-floods were singing between the ridges and gathering in the +hollows. The poplar buds were swollen almost to the bursting point, +and the bakneesh vines were as red as blood with the glow of new life. +Seventeen days after he left Churchill he came to the edge of the big +Barren. For two days he swung westward, and early in the forenoon of +the third looked out over the gray waste, dotted with moving caribou, +over which he and Pelliter had raced ahead of the Eskimos with little +Isobel. He went to the cabin first and entered. It was evident that no +one had been there since he had left, On the bunk where Deane had died +he found one of baby Isobel's little mittens. He had wondered where +she had lost it, and had made her a new one of lynx-skin on the way +down to Couchee's cabin. The tiny bed that he had made for her on the +floor was as she had last slept in it, and in the part of a blanket +that he had used as a pillow was still the imprint of her head. On the +wall hung a pair of old trousers that Deane had worn. Billy looked at +these things, standing silently, with his pack at his feet. There was +something in the cabin that closed in about him and choked him, and he +struggled to overcome it by whistling. His lips seemed thick. At last +he turned and went to the grave. + +The foxes had been there, and had dug a little about the sapling +cross. There was no other change. During the remainder of the forenoon +Billy cut down a heavier sapling and sunk the butt of it three feet +into the half-frozen earth at the head of Deane's grave. Then, with +spikes he had brought with him, he nailed on the slab. He believed +that no one would ever know what the words on that slab meant-- no one +except himself and the spirit of Scottie Deane. With the end of the +heated rod he had burned into the wood: + + DAVID DEANE + + Died Feb. 27, 1908 + + BELOVED OF ISOBEL AND THE ONE + + WHO WISHES HE COULD TAKE + + YOUR PLACE AND GIVE + + YOU BACK TO + + HER + + W. M. April 15, 1908 + +He did not stop when it was time for dinner, but carried rocks from a +ridge a couple of hundred yards away, and built a cairn four feet high +around the sapling, so that storm or wild animals could not knock it +down. Then he began a search in the warmest and sunniest parts of the +forest, where the green tips of plant life were beginning to reveal +themselves. He found snowflowers, redglow, and bakneesh, and dug up +root after root, and at last, peeping out from between two rocks, he +found the arrowlike tip of a blue flower. The bakneesh roots he +planted about the cairn, and the blue flower he planted by itself at +the head of the grave. + +It was long past midday when he returned to the cabin, and once more +he was oppressed by the appalling loneliness of it. It was not as he +had thought it would be. Deane's spirit and companionship had seemed +to be nearer to him beside his campfires and in the forest. He cooked +a meal over the stove, but the snapping of the fire seemed strange and +unnatural in the deserted room. Even the air he breathed was heavy +with the oppression of death and broken hopes. He found it difficult +to swallow the food he had cooked, though he had eaten nothing since +morning. When he was done he looked at his watch. It was four o'clock. +The northern sun had dropped behind the distant forests and was +followed now by the thickening gloom of early evening. For a few +moments Billy stood motionless outside the cabin. Behind him an owl +hooted its lonely mating-song. Over his head a brush sparrow +twittered. It was that hour, just between the end of day and the +beginning of night, when the wilderness holds its breath and all is +still. Billy clenched his hands and listened. He could not keep back +the break that was in his breath. Something out there in the silence +and the gathering darkness was calling him-- calling him away from the +cabin, away from the grave, and the gray, dead waste of the Barren. He +turned back into the cabin and put his things into the pack. He took +the little mitten to keep with his other treasures, and then he went +out and closed the door behind him. He passed close to the grave and +for the last time gazed upon the spot where Deane lay buried. + +"Good-by, old man," he whispered. Goodby--" + +The owl hooted louder as he turned his face into the west. It made him +shiver, and he hurried his steps into the unbroken wilderness that lay +for hundreds of miles between him and the post at Fond du Lac. + + XX + + THE LETTER + +Days and weeks and months of a loneliness which Billy had never known +before followed after his pilgrimage to Deane's grave. It was more +than loneliness. He had known loneliness, the heartbreak and the +longing of it, in the black and silent chaos of the arctic night; he +had almost gone mad of it, and he had seen Pelliter nearly die for a +glimpse of the sun and the sound of a voice. But this was different. +It was something that ate deeper at his soul each day and each night +that he lived. He had believed that thought of Isobel and his memories +of her would make him happier, even though he never saw her again. But +in this he was mistaken. The wilderness does not lend to +forgetfulness, and each day her voice seemed nearer and more real to +him, and she became more and more insistently a part of his thoughts. +Never an hour of the day passed that he did not ask himself where she +was. He hoped that she and the baby Isobel had returned to the old +home in Montreal, where they would surely find friends and be cared +for. And yet the dread was upon him that she had remained in the +wilderness, that her love for Deane would keep her there, and that she +would find a woman's work at some post between the Height of Land and +the Barrens. At times there possessed him an overwhelming desire to +return to McTabb's cabin and find where they had gone. But he fought +against this desire as a man fights against death. He knew that once +he surrendered himself to the temptation to be near her again he would +lose much that he had won in his struggle during the days of plague in +Couchee's cabin. + +So his feet carried him steadily westward, while the invisible hands +tugged at him from behind. He did not go straight to Fond du Lac, but +spent nearly three weeks with a trapper whom he ran across on the +Pipestone River. It was June when he struck Fond du Lac, and he +remained there a month. He had more than half expected to pass the +winter there, but the factor at the post proved a disagreeable +acquaintance, and he did not like the country. So early in July he set +out deeper into the Athabasca country to the west, followed the +northern shore of the big lake, and two months later came to Fort +Chippewyan, near the mouth of the Slave River. + +He struck Chippewyan at a fortunate time. A government geological and +map-making party was just preparing to leave for the terra incognita +between the Great Slave and the Great Bear, and the three men who had +come up from Ottawa urged Billy to join them. He jumped at the +opportunity, and remained with them until the party returned to the +Mackenzie River by the way of Fort Providence five months later. He +remained at Fort Providence until late spring, and then came down to +Fort Wrigley, where he had several friends in the service. Fifteen +months of wandering had had their effect upon him. He could no longer +resist the call of the wanderlust. It urged him from place to place, +and stronger and stronger grew in him the desire to return to his old +country along the shores of the big Bay far to the west. He had partly +planned to join the railroad builders on the new trans-continental in +the mountains of British Columbia, but in August, instead of finding +himself at Edmonton or Tete Jaune Cache, he was at Prince Albert, +three hundred and fifty miles to the east. From this point he struck +northward with a party of company men into the Lac La Ronge country, +and in October swung eastward alone through the Sissipuk and Burntwood +waterways to Nelson House. He continued northward after a week's rest, +and on the eighteenth of December the first of the two great storms +which made the winter of 1909-10 one of the most tragic in the history +of the far northern people overtook him thirty miles from York +Factory. It took him five days to reach the post, where he was held up +for several weeks. These were the first of those terrible weeks of +famine and intense cold during which more than fifteen hundred people +died in the north country. From the Barren Lands to the edge of the +southern watershed the earth lay under from four to six feet of snow, +and from the middle of December until late in January the temperature +did not rise above forty degrees below zero, and remained for the most +of the time between fifty and sixty. From all points in the wilderness +reports of starvation and death came to the company's posts. Trap +lines could not be followed because of the intense cold. Moose, +caribou, and even the furred animals had buried themselves under the +snow. Indians and half-breeds dragged themselves into the posts. Twice +at York Factory Billy saw mothers who brought dead babies in their +arms. One day a white trapper came in with his dogs and sledge, and on +the sledge, wrapped in a bearskin, was his wife, who had died fifty +miles back in the forest. + +During these terrible weeks Billy found it impossible to keep Isobel +and the baby Isobel out of his mind night or day. The fear grew in him +that somewhere in the wilderness they were suffering as others were +suffering. So obsessed did he become with the thought that he had a +terrible dream one night, and in that dream baby Isobel's face +appeared to him, a deathlike mask, white and cold and thinned by +starvation. The vision decided him. He would go to Fort Churchill, and +if McTabb had not been driven in he would go to his cabin, over on the +Little Beaver, and learn what had become of Isobel and the little +girl. A few days later, on the twenty-seventh day of January, there +came a sudden rise in the temperature, and Billy prepared at once to +take advantage of the change. A half-breed, on his way to Churchill, +accompanied him, and they set out together the following morning. On +the twentieth of February they arrived at Fort Churchill. + +Billy went immediately to detachment headquarters. There had been +several changes in two years, and there was only one of the old force +to shake hands with him. His first inquiry was about McTabb and Isobel +Deane. Neither was at Churchill, nor had been there since the arrival +of the new officer in charge. But there was mail for Billy-- three +letters. There had been half a dozen others, but they were now +following up his old trails somewhere out in the wilderness. These +three had been returned recently from Fond du Lac. One was from +Pelliter, the fourth he had written, he said, without an answer. The +"kid" had come-- a girl-- and he wondered if Billy was dead. The +second letter was from his Cobalt partner. + +The third he turned over several times before he opened it. It did not +look much like a letter. It was torn and ragged at the edges, and was +so soiled and water-stained that the address on it was only partly +legible. It had been to Fond du Lac, and from there it had followed +him to Fort Chippewyan. He opened it and found that the writing inside +was scarcely more legible than the inscription on the envelope. The +last words were quite plain, and he gave a low cry when he found that +it was from Rookie McTabb. + +He went close to a window and tried to make out what McTabb had +written. Here and there, where water had not obliterated the writing, +he could make out a line or a few words. Nearly all was gone but the +last paragraph, and when Billy came to this and read the first words +of it his heart seemed all at once to die within him, and he could not +see. Word by word he made out the rest after that, and when he was +done he turned his stony face to the white whirl of the storm outside +the window, his lips as dry as though he had passed through a fever. + +A part of that last paragraph was unintelligible, but enough was left +to tell him what had happened in the cabin down on the Little Beaver. + +McTabb had written: + + "We thought she was getting well... took sick again.... did + everything... could. But it didn't do any good,... died just five + weeks to a day after you left. We buried her just behind the cabin. + God... that kid... You don't know how I got to love her, Billy.... + give her up..." + +McTabb had written a dozen lines after that, but all of them were a +water-stained and unintelligible blur. + +Billy crushed the letter in his hand. The new inspector wondered what +terrible news he had received as he walked out into the blinding chaos +of the storm. + + XXI + + THE FIGHTING SPARK + +For ten minutes Billy buried himself blindly in the storm. He scarcely +knew which direction he took, but at last he found himself in the +shelter of the forest, and he was whispering Isobel's name over and +over again to himself. + +"Dead-- dead--" he moaned. "She is dead-- dead--" + +And then there rushed upon him, crushing back his deeper grief, a +thought of the baby Isobel. She was still with McTabb down on the +Little Beaver. In the blur of the storm he read again what he could +make out of Rookie's letter. Something in that last paragraph struck +him with a deadly fear. "God... that kid... You, don't know how I got +to love her, Billy,... give her up..." + +What did it mean? What had McTabb told him in that part of the letter +that was gone? + +The reaction came as he put the letter back into his pocket. He walked +swiftly back to the inspector's office. + +"I'm going down to the Little Beaver. I'm going to start to-day," he +said. "Who is there in Churchill that I can get to go with me?" + +Two hours later Billy was ready to start, with an Indian as a +companion. Dogs could not be had for love or money, and they set out +on snowshoes with two weeks' supply of provisions, striking south and +west. The remainder of that day and the next they traveled with but +little rest. Each hour that passed added to Billy's mad impatience to +reach McTabb's cabin. + +With the morning of the third day began the second of those two +terrible storms which swept over the northland in that winter of +famine and death. In spite of the Indian's advice to build a permanent +camp until the temperature rose again Billy insisted on pushing ahead. +The fifth night, in the wild Barren country west of the Etawney, his +Indian failed to keep up the fire, and when Billy investigated he +found him half dead with a strange sickness. He made the Indian's +balsam shelter snow and wind proof, cut wood, and waited. The +temperature continued to fall, and the cold became intense. Each day +the provisions grew less, and at last the time came when Billy knew +that he was standing face to face with the Great Peril. He went +farther and farther from camp in his search for game. Even the brush +sparrows and snow-hawks were gone. Once the thought came to him that +be might take what food was left and accept the little chance that +remained of saving himself. But the idea never got farther than a +first thought. On the twelfth day the Indian died. It was a terrible +day. There was food for another twenty-four hours. + +Billy packed it, together with his blankets and a few pieces of +tinware. He wondered if the Indian had died of a contagious disease. +Anyway, he made up his mind to put out the warning for others if they +came that way, and over the dead Indian's balsam shelter he planted a +sapling, and at the end of the sapling he fastened a strip of red +cotton cloth-- the plague signal of the north. + +Than he struck out through the deep snows and the twisting storm, +knowing that there was no more than one chance in a thousand ahead of +him, and that the one chance was to keep the wind at his back. + +At the end of his first day's struggle Billy built himself a camp in a +bit of scrub timber which was not much more than bush. He had observed +that the timber and that every tree and bush he had passed since noon +was stripped and dead on the side that faced the north. He cooked and +ate his last food the following day, and went on. The small timber +turned to scrub, and the scrub, in time, to vast snow wastes over +which the storm swept mercilessly. All this day he looked for game, +for a flutter of bird life; he chewed bark, and in the afternoon got a +mouthful of foxbite, which made his throat swell until he could +scarcely breathe. At night he made tea, but had nothing to eat. His +hunger was acute and painful. It was torture the next day-- the +third-- for the process of starvation is a rapid one in this country +where only the fittest survive on from four to five meals a day. He +camped, built a small bush-fire at night, and slept. He almost failed +to rouse himself on the morning that followed, and when he staggered +to his feet and felt the cutting sting of the storm still in his face +and heard the swishing wail of it over the Barren he knew that at last +the hour had come when he was standing face to face with the Almighty. + +For some strange reason he was not frightened at the situation. He +found that even over the level spaces he could scarce drag his +snow-shoes, but this had ceased to alarm him as he had been alarmed at +first. He went on, hour after hour, weaker and weaker. Within himself +there was still life which reasoned that if death were to come it +could not come in a better way. It at least promised to be painless-- +even pleasant. The sharp, stinging pains of hunger, like little +electrical knives piercing him, were gone; he no longer experienced a +sensation of intense cold; he almost felt that he could lie down in +the drifted snow and sleep peacefully. He knew what it would be-- a +sleep without end, with the arctic foxes to pick his bones afterward-- +and so he resisted the temptation and forced himself onward. The storm +still swept straight west from Hudson's Bay, bringing with it endless +volleys of snow, round and hard as fine shot, snow that had at first +seemed to pierce his flesh and which swished past his feet as if +trying to trip him and tossed itself in windrows and mountains in his +path. If he could only find timber, shelter! That was what he worked +for now. When he had last looked at his watch it was nine o'clock in +the morning; now it was late in the afternoon. It might as well have +been night. The storm had long since half blinded him. He could not +see a dozen paces ahead. But the little life in him still reasoned +bravely. It was a heroic spark of life, a fighting spark, and hard to +put out. It told him that when he came to shelter he would at least +feel it, and that he must fight until the last. The pack on his back +held no significance and no weight for him. He might have traveled a +mile or ten miles an hour and he would not have sensed the difference. +Most men would have buried themselves in the snow and died in comfort, +dreaming the pleasant dreams that come as a sort of recompense to the +unfortunate who dies of starvation and cold. But the fighting spark +commanded Billy to die upon his feet if he died at all. It was this +spark which brought him at last to a bit of timber thick enough to +give him shelter from wind and snow. It burned a little more warmly +then. It flared up and gave him new vision. And then, for the first +time, he realized that it must be night. For a light was burning ahead +of him, and all else was gloom. His first thought was that it was a +campfire miles and miles away. Then it drew nearer, until he knew that +it was a light in a cabin window. He dragged himself toward it, and +when he came to the door he tried to shout. But no sound fell from his +swollen lips. It seemed an hour before he could twist his feet out of +his snow-shoes. Then he groped for a latch, pressed against the door, +and plunged in. + +What he saw was like a picture suddenly revealed for an instant by a +flashlight. In the cabin there were four men. Two sat at a table +directly in front of him. One held a dice box poised in the air, and +had turned a rough, bearded face toward him. The other was a younger +man, and in this moment it struck Billy as strange that he should be +clutching a can of beans between his hands. A third man stared from +where he had been looking down upon the dice-play of the other two. As +Billy came in he was in the act of lowering a half-filled bottle from +his lips. The fourth man sat on the edge of a bunk, with a face so +white and thin that he might have been taken for a corpse if it had +not been for the dark glare in his sunken eyes. Billy smelled the odor +of whisky; he smelled food. He saw no sign of welcome in the faces +turned toward him, but he advanced upon them, mumbling incoherently. +And then the spark, the fighting spark in him, gave out, and he +crumpled down on the floor. He heard a voice which came to him from a +great distance, and which said, "Who the hell is this?" and then, +after what seemed to be a long time, he heard that same voice say, +"Pitch him back into the snow." + +After that he lost consciousness. But in that last moment between +light and darkness he experienced a strange thrill that made him want +to spring to his feet, for it seemed to him that he had recognized the +voice that had said "Pitch him back into the snow." + + XXII + + INTO THE SOUTH + +A long time before he awoke Billy knew that he was not in the snow, +and that hot stuff was running down his throat. When he opened his +eyes there was no longer a light burning in the cabin. It was day. He +felt strangely comfortable, but there was something in the cabin that +stirred him from his rest. It was the odor of frying bacon. All of his +hunger had come back. The joy of life, of anticipation, shone in his +thin face as he pulled himself up. Another face-- the bearded face-- +red-eyed, almost animal-like in its fierce questioning, bent over him. + +"Where's your grub, pardner?" + +The question was like a stab. Billy did not hear his own voice as he +explained. + +"Got none!" The bearded man's voice was like a bellow as he turned +upon the others, "He's got no grub!" + +In that moment Billy choked back the cry on his lips. He knew the +voice now-- and the man. It was Bucky Smith! He half rose to his feet +and then dropped back. Bucky had not recognized him. His own beard, +shaggy hair, and pinched face had saved him from recognition. Fate had +played his way. + +"We'll divvy up, Bucky," came a weak voice. It was from the thin, +white-faced man who had sat corpselike on the edge of his bunk the +night before. + +"Divvy hell!" growled the other. "It's up to you-- you 'n' Sweedy. +You're to blame!" + +You're to blame! + +The words struck upon Billy's ears with a chill of horror. Starvation +was in the cabin. He had fallen among animals instead of men. He saw +the thin-faced man who had spoken for him sitting again on the edge of +his bunk. Mutely he looked to the others to see who was Sweedy. He was +the young man who had clutched the can of beans. It was he who was +frying bacon over the sheet-iron stove. + +"We'll divvy, Henry and I," he said. "I told you that last night." He +looked over at Billy. "Glad you're better," he greeted. "You see, +you've struck us at a bad time. We're on our last legs for grub. Our +two Indians went out to hunt a week ago and never came back. They're +dead, or gone, and we're as good as dead if the storm doesn't let up +pretty soon. You can have some of our grub-- Henry's and mine." + +It was a cold invitation, lacking warmth or sympathy, and Billy felt +that even this man wished that he had died before he reached the +cabin. But the man was human; he had at least not cast his voice with +the one that had wanted to throw him back into the snow, and he tried +to voice his gratitude and at the same time to hide his hunger. He saw +that there were three thin slices of bacon in the frying-pan, and it +struck him that it would be bad taste to reveal a starvation appetite +in the face of such famine. Bucky was looking straight at him as he +limped to his feet, and he was sure now that the man he had driven +from the Service had not recognized him. He approached Sweedy. + +"You saved my life," he said, holding out a hand. "Will you shake?" + +Sweedy shook hands limply. + +"It's hell," he said, in a low voice. "We'd have had beans this +morning if I hadn't shook dice with him last night." He nodded toward +Bucky, who was cutting open the top of a can. "He won!" + +"My God--" began Billy. + +He didn't finish. Sweedy turned the meat, and added: + +"He won a square meal off me yesterday-- a quarter of a pound of +bacon. Day before that he won Henry's last can of beans. He's got his +share under his blanket over there, and swears he'll shoot any one who +goes to monkeyin' with his bed-- so you'd better fight shy of it. +Thompson-- he isn't up yet-- chose the whisky for his share, so you'd +better fight shy of him, too. Henry and I'll divvy up with you." + +"Thanks," said Billy, the one word choking him. + +Henry came from his bunk, bent and wabbling. He looked like a dying +man, and for the first time Billy noticed that his hair was gray. He +was a little man, and his thin hands shook as he held them out over +the stove and nodded to Billy. Bucky had opened his can, and +approached the stove with a pan of water, coming in beside Billy +without noticing him. He brought with him a foul odor of stale tobacco +smoke and whisky. After he had put his water over the fire he turned +to one of the bunks and with half a dozen coarse epithets roused +Thompson, who sat up stupidly, still half drunk. Henry had gone to a +small table, and Sweedy followed him with the bacon. Billy did not +move. He forgot his hunger. His pulse was beating quickly. Sensations +filled him which he had never known or imagined before. Was it +possible that these were people of his own kind? Had a madness of some +sort driven all human instincts from them? He saw Thompson's red eyes +fastened upon him, and he turned his face to escape their questioning, +stupid leer. Bucky was turning out the can of beans he had won. Beyond +him the door creaked, and Billy heard the wail of the storm. It came +to him now as a friendly sort of sound. + +"Better draw up, pardner," he heard Sweedy say. "Here's your share." + +One of the thin slices of bacon and a hard biscuit were waiting for +him on a tin plate. He ate as ravenously as Henry and Sweedy, and +drank a cup of hot tea. In two minutes the meal was over. It was +terribly inadequate. The few mouthfuls of food stirred up all his +craving, and he found it impossible to keep his eyes from Bucky Smith +and his beans. Bucky was the only one who seemed well fed, and his +horror increased when Henry bent over him and said, in a low whisper: +"He didn't get my beans fair. I had three aces and a pair, of deuces, +an' he took it on three fives and two sixes. When I objected he called +me a liar an' hit me. Them's my beans, or Sweedy's!" There was +something almost like murder in the little man's red eyes. + +Billy remained silent. He did not care to talk or question. No one +asked him who he was or whence he came, and he felt no inclination to +know more of the men he had fallen among. Bucky finished, wiped his +mouth with his hand, and looked across at Billy. + +"How about going out with me to get some wood?" he demanded. + +"I'm ready," replied Billy. + +For the first time he took notice of himself. He was lame and +sickeningly weak, but apparently sound in other ways. The intense cold +had not frozen his ears or feet. He put on his heavy moccasins, his +thick coat and fur cap, and followed Bucky to the door. He was filled +with a strange uneasiness. He was sure that his old enemy had not +recognized him, and yet he felt that recognition might come at any +moment. If Bucky recognized him-- when they were out alone-- + +He was not afraid, but he shivered. He was too weak to put up a fight. +He did not catch the ugly leer which Bucky turned upon Thompson. But +Henry did, and his little eyes grew smaller and blacker. On snow-shoes +the two men went out into the storm, Bucky carrying an ax. He led the +way through the bit of thin timber, and across a wide open over which +the storm swept so fiercely that their trail was covered behind them +as they traveled. Billy figured that they had gone a quarter of a mile +when they came to the edge of a ravine so steep that it was almost a +precipice. For the first time Bucky touched him. He seized him by the +arm, and in his voice there was an inhuman, taunting triumph. + +"Didn't think I knew you, did you, Billy?" he asked. "Well, I did, and +I've just been waiting to get you out alone. Remember my promise, +Billy? I've changed my mind since then. I ain't going to kill you. +It's too risky. It's safer to let you die-- by yourself-- as you're +goin' to die to-day or to-night. If you come back to the cabin-- I'll +shoot you!" + +With a movement so quick that Billy had no chance to prepare himself +for it Bucky sent him plunging headlong down the side of the ravine. +The deep snow saved him in the long fall. For a few moments Billy lay +stunned. Then he staggered to his feet and looked up. Bucky was gone. +His first thought was to return to the cabin. He could easily find it +and confront Bucky there before the others. And yet he did not move. +His inclination to go back grew less and less, and after a brief +hesitation he made up his mind to continue the struggle for life by +himself. After all, his situation would not be much more desperate +than that of the men he was leaving behind in the cabin. He buttoned +himself up closely, saw that his snow-shoes were securely fastened, +and climbed the opposite side of the ridge. + +The timber thinned out again, and Billy struck out boldly into the low +bush. As he went he wondered what would happen in the cabin. He +believed that Henry, of the four, would not pull through alive, and +that Bucky would come out best. It was not until the following summer +that he learned the facts of Henry's madness, and of the terrible +manner in which he avenged himself on Bucky Smith by sticking a knife +under the latter's ribs. + +Billy now found himself in a position to measure the amount of energy +contained in a slice of bacon and a cold biscuit. It was not much. +Long before noon his old weakness was upon him again. He found even +greater difficulty in dragging his feet over the snow, and it seemed +now as though all ambition had left him, and that even the fighting +spark was becoming disheartened. He made up his mind to go on until +the beginning of night, then he would stop, build a fire, and go to +sleep in its warmth. + +During the afternoon he passed out of the scrub into a rougher +country. His progress was slower, but more comfortable, for at times +he found himself protected from the wind. A gloom darker and more +somber than that of the storm was falling about him when he came to +what appeared to be the end of the Barren country. The earth dropped +away from under his feet, and far below him, in a ravine shut out from +wind and storm, he saw the black tops of thick spruce. He began to +scramble downward. His eyes were no longer fit to judge distance or +chance, and he slipped. He slipped a dozen times in the first five +minutes, and then there came the time when he did not make a recovery, +but plunged down the side of the mountain like a rock. He stopped with +a terrific jar, and for the first time during the fall he wanted to +cry out with pain. But the voice that he heard did not come from his +own lips. It was another voice-- and then two, three, many of them, it +seemed to him. His dazed eyes caught glimpses of dark objects +floundering in the deep snow about him, and just beyond these objects +were four or five tall mounds of snow, like tents, arranged in a +circle. He knew what they meant. He had fallen into an Indian camp. In +his joy he tried to call out words of greeting, but he had no tongue. +Then the floundering figures caught him up, and he was carried to the +circle of snow mounds. The last that he knew was that warmth was +entering his lungs. + +It was a face that he first saw after that, a face that seemed to come +to him slowly from out of night, approaching nearer and nearer until +he knew that it was a girl's face, with great, dark, strangely shining +eyes. In these first moments of his returning consciousness the +whimsical thought came to him that he was dying and the face was a +part of a pleasant dream. If that were not so, he had fallen at last +among friends. His eyes opened wider, he moved, and the face drew +back. Movement stimulated returning life, and reason rehabilitated +itself in great bounds. In a dozen flashes he went over all that had +happened up to the point where he had fallen down the mountain and +into the Cree camp. Straight above him he saw the funnel-like peak of +a large birch wigwam, and beyond his feet he saw an opening in the +birch-bark wall through which there drifted a blue film of smoke. He +was in a wigwam. It was warm and exceedingly comfortable. Wondering if +he was hurt, he moved. The movement drew a sharp exclamation of pain +from him. It was the first real sound he had made, and in an instant +the face was over him again. He saw it plainly this time, with its +dark eyes and oval cheeks framed between two great braids of black +hair. A hand touched his brow, cool and gentle, and a low voice +soothed him in half a dozen musical words. The girl was a Cree. + +At the sound of her voice an indian woman came up beside the girl, +looked down at him for a moment, and then went to the door of the +wigwam, speaking in a low voice to some one who was outside. When she +returned a man followed in after her. He was old and bent, and his +face was thin. His cheek-bones shone, so tightly was the skin drawn +over them. Behind him came a younger man, as straight as a tree, with +strong shoulders and a head set like a piece of bronze sculpture. This +man carried in his hand a frozen fish, which he gave to the woman. As +he gave it to her he spoke words in Cree which Billy understood. + +"It is the last fish." + +For a moment a terrible hand gripped at Billy's heart and almost +stopped its beating. He saw the woman take the fish and cut it into +two equal parts with a knife, and one of these parts she dropped into +a pot of boiling water which hung over the stone fireplace built under +the vent in the wall. They were dividing with him their last fish! He +made an effort and sat up. The younger man came to him and put a +bearskin at his back. He had picked up some of the patois of +half-blood French and English. + +"You seek," he said, "you hurt-- and hungry! You have eat soon." + +He motioned with his hand to the boiling pot. There was not a flicker +of animation in his splendid face. There was something god-like in his +immobility, something that was awesome in the way he moved and +breathed. He sat in silence as the half of the last fish was brought +by the girl; and not until Billy stopped eating, choked by the +knowledge that he was taking life from these people, did he speak, and +then it was to urge him to finish the fish. When he had done, Billy +spoke to the Indian in Cree. Instantly the Indian reached over his +hand, his face lighting up, and Billy gripped it hard. Mukoki told him +what had happened. There had been a camp of twenty-two, and there were +now fifteen. Seven had died-- four men, two women, and one child. Each +day during the great storm the men had gone out on their futile search +for game, and every few days one of them had failed to return. Thus +four had died. The dogs were eaten. Corn and fish were gone; there +remained but a little flour, and this was for the women and the +children. The men had eaten nothing but bark and roots for five days. +And there seemed to be no hope. It was death to stray far from camp. +That morning two men had set out for the nearest post, but Mukoki said +calmly that they would never return. + +That night and the next day and the terrible night and day that +followed were filled with hours that Billy would never forget. He had +sprained one hip badly in his fall, and could not rise from the cot +Mukoki was often at his side, his face thinner, his eyes more +lusterless. The second day, late in the afternoon, there came a low +wailing grief from one of the tepees, a moaning sound that pitched +itself to the key of the storm until it seemed to be a part of it. A +child had died, and the mother was mourning. That night another of the +camp huntsmen failed to return at dusk. But the next day there came at +the same time the end of both storm and famine. With dawn the sun +shone. And early in the day one of the hunters ran in from the forest +nearly crazed with joy. He had ventured farther away than the others, +and had found a moose-yard. He had killed two of the animals and +brought with him meat for the first feast. + +This last great storm of the winter of 1910 passed well into the +"break-up" season, and, once the temperature began to rise, the change +was swift. Within a week the snow was growing soft underfoot. Two days +later Billy hobbled from his cot for the first time. And then, in the +passing of a single day and night, the glory of the northern spring +burst upon the wilderness. The sun rose warm and golden. From the +sides of the mountains and in the valleys water poured forth in +rippling, singing floods. The red bakneesh glowed on bared rocks. +Moose-birds and jays and wood-thrushes flitted about the camp, and the +air was filled with the fragrant smells of new life bursting from +earth and tree and shrub. + +With return of health and strength Billy's impatience to reach +McTabb's cabin grew hourly. He would have set out before his hip was +in condition to travel had not Mukoki kept him back. At last the day +came when he bade his forest friends good-by and started into the +south. + + XXIII + + AT THE END OF THE TRAIL + +The long days and nights of inactivity which Billy had passed in the +Indian camp had given him the opportunity to think more calmly of the +tragedy which had come into his life, and with returning strength he +had drawn himself partly out from the pit of hopelessness and despair +into which he had fallen. Deane was dead. Isobel was dead. But the +baby Isobel still lived; and in the hope of finding and claiming her +for his own he built other dreams for himself out of the ashes of all +that had gone for him. He believed that he would find McTabb at the +cabin and he would find the child there. So confident had he been that +Isobel would live that he had not told McTabb of the uncle who had +driven her from the old home in Montreal. He was glad that he had kept +this to himself, for there would not be much of a chance of Rookie +having found the child's relative. And he made up his mind that he +would not give the little Isobel up. He would keep her for himself. He +would return to civilization, for he would have her to live for. He +would build a home for her, with a garden and dogs and birds and +flowers. With his silver-claim money he had fifteen thousand dollars +laid away, and she would never know what it meant to be poor. He would +educate her and buy her a piano and she would have no end of pretty +dresses and things to make her a lady. They would be together and +inseparable always, and when she grew up he prayed deep down in his +soul that she would be like the older Isobel, her mother. + +His grief was deep. He knew that he could never forget, and that the +old memories of the wilderness and of the woman he had loved would +force themselves upon him, year after year, with their old pain. But +these new thoughts and plans for the child made his grief less +poignant. + +It was late in the afternoon of a day that had been filled with +sunlight and the warmth of spring that he came to the Little Beaver, a +short distance above McTabb's cabin. He almost ran from there to the +clearing, and the sun was just sinking behind the forest in the west +when he paused on the edge of the break in the forest and saw the +cabin. It was from here that he had last seen little Isobel. The bush +behind which he had concealed himself was less than a dozen paces +away. He noticed this, and then he observed things which made his +heart sink in a strange, cold way. A path had led into the forest at +the point where he stood. Now it was almost obliterated by a tangle of +last year's weeds and plants. Rookie must have made a new path, he +thought. And then, fearfully, he looked about the clearing and at the +cabin. Everywhere there was the air of desolation. There was no smoke +rising from the chimney. The door was closed. There were no evidences +of life outside. Not the sound of a dog, of a laugh, or of a voice +broke the dead stillness. + +Scarcely breathing, Billy advanced, his heart choked more and more by +the fear that gripped him. The door to the cabin was not barred. He +opened it. There was nothing inside. The old stove was broken. The +bare cots had not been used for months-- perhaps for two years. As he +took another step an ermine scampered away ahead of him. He heard the +mouselike squeal of its young a moment later under the sapling floor. +He went back to the door and stood in the open. + +"My God!" he moaned. + +He looked in the direction of Couchee's cabin, where Isobel had died. +Was there a chance there, he wondered? There was little hope, but he +started quickly over the old trail. The gloom of evening fell swiftly +about him. It was almost dark when he reached the other clearing. And +again his voice broke in a groaning cry. There was no cabin here. +McTabb had burned it after the passing of the plague. Where it had +stood was now a black and charred mass, already partly covered by the +verdure of the wilderness. Billy gripped his hands hard and walked +back from it searchingly. A few steps away he found what McTabb had +told him that he would find, a mound and a sapling cross. And then, in +spite of all the fighting strength that was in him, he flung himself +down upon Isobel's grave, and a great, broken cry of grief burst from +his lips. + +When he raised his head a long time afterward the stars were +shimmering in the sky. It was a wonderfully still night, and all that +he could hear was the ripple and song of the spring floods in the +Little Beaver. He rose silently to his feet and stood for a few +moments as motionless as a statue over the grave. Then he turned and +went back over the old trail, and from the edge of the clearing he +looked back and whispered to himself and to her: + +"I'll come back for you, Isobel. I'll come back." + +At McTabb's cabin he had left his pack. He put the straps over his +shoulder and started south again. There was but one move for him to +make now. McTabb was known at Le Pas. He got his supplies and sold his +furs there. Some one at Le Pas would know where he had gone with +little Isobel. + +Not until he was several miles distant from the scene of death and his +own broken hopes did he spread out his blanket and lie down for the +night. He was up and had breakfast at dawn. On the fourth day he came +to the little wilderness outpost-- the end of rail-- on the +Saskatchewan. Within an hour he discovered that Rookie McTabb had not +been to Le Pas for nearly two years. No one had seen him with a child. +That same night a construction train was leaving for Etomami, down on +the main line, and Billy lost no time in making up his mind what he +would do. He would go to Montreal. If little Isobel was not there she +was still somewhere in the wilderness with McTabb. Then he would +return, and he would find her if it took him a lifetime. + +Days and nights of travel followed, and during those days and nights +Billy prayed that he would not find her in Montreal. If by some chance +McTabb had discovered her relatives, if Isobel had revealed her secret +to him before she died, his last hope in life was gone. He did not +think of wasting time in the purchase of new clothes. That would have +meant the missing of a train. He still wore his wilderness outfit, +even to his fur cap. As he traveled farther eastward people began to +regard him curiously. He got the porter to shave off his beard. But +his hair was long. His moccasins and German socks were ragged and +torn, and there were rents in his caribou-skin coat and his heavy +Hudson's Bay sweater-shirt. The hardships he had gone through had left +their lines in his face. There was something about him, outside of his +strange attire, that made men look at him more than once. Women, more +keenly observant than the men, saw the deep-seated grief in his eyes. +As he approached Montreal he kept himself more and more aloof from the +others. + +When at last the train came to a stop at the big station in the heart +of the city he walked through the gates and strode up the hill toward +Mount Royal. It was an hour or more past noon, and he had eaten +nothing since morning. But he had no thought of hunger. Twenty minutes +later he was at the foot of the street on which Isobel had told him +that she had lived. One by one he passed the old houses of brick and +stone, sheltered behind their solid walls. There had been no change in +the years since he had been there. Half-way up the hill to the base of +the mountain he saw an old gardener trimming ivy about an ancient +cannon near a driveway. He stopped and asked: + +"Can you tell me where Geoffrey Renaud lives?" + +The old gardener looked at him curiously for a moment without +speaking. Then he said: + +"Renaud? Geoffrey Renaud? That is his house up there behind the +red-sandstone wall. Is it the house you want to see-- or Renaud?" + +"Both," said Billy. + +"Geoffrey Renaud has been dead for three years," informed the +gardener. "Are you a-- relative?" + +"No, no," cried Billy, trying to keep his voice steady as he asked the +next question. "There are others there. Who are they?" + +The old man shook his head. + +"I don't know." + +"There is a little girl there-- four-- five years old, with golden +hair--" + +"She was playing in the garden when I came along a few moments ago," +replied the gardener. "I heard her-- with the dog--" + +Billy waited to hear no more. Thanking his informant, he walked +swiftly up the hill to the red-sandstone wall. Before he came to the +rusted iron gate he, too, heard a child's laughter, and it set his +heart beating wildly. It was just over the wall. In his eagerness he +thrust the toe of his moccasined foot into a break in the stone and +drew himself up. He looked down into a great garden, and a dozen steps +away, close to a thick clump of shrubbery, he saw a child playing with +a little puppy. The sun gleamed in her golden hair. He heard her +joyous laughter; and then, for an instant, her face was turned toward +him. + +In that moment he forgot everything, and with a great, glad cry he +drew himself up and sprang to the ground on the other side. + +"Isobel-- Isobel-- my little Isobel!" + +He was beside her, on his knees, with her in his hungry arms, and for +a brief space the child was so frightened that she held her breath and +stared at him without a sound. + +"Don't you know me-- don't you know me--" he almost sobbed. "Little +Mystery-- Isobel--" + +He heard a sound, a strange, stifled cry, and he looked up. From +behind the shrubbery there had come a woman, and she was staring at +Billy MacVeigh with a face as white as chalk. He staggered to his +feet, and he believed that at last he had gone mad. For it was the +vision of Isobel Deane that he saw there, and her blue eyes were +glowing at him as he had seen them for an instant that night a long +time ago on the edge of the Barren. He could not speak. And then, as +he staggered another step back toward the wall, he held out his ragged +arms, without knowing what he was doing, and called her name as he had +spoken it a hundred times at night beside his lonely campfires. +Starvation, his injury, weeks of illness, and his almost superhuman +struggle to reach McTabb's cabin, and after that civilization, had +consumed his last strength. For days he had lived on the reserve +forces of a nervous energy that slipped away from him now, leaving him +dizzy and swaying. He fought to overcome the weakness that seemed to +have taken the last ounce of strength from his exhausted body, but in +spite of his strongest efforts the sunlit garden suddenly darkened +before his eyes. In that moment the vision became real, and as he +turned toward the wall Isobel Deane called him by name; and in another +moment she was at his side, clutching him almost fiercely by the arms +and calling him by name over and over again. The weakness and +dizziness passed from him in a moment, but in that space he seemed +only to realize that he must get back-- over the wall. + +"I wouldn't have come-- but-- I-- I-- thought you were-- dead," he +said. "They told me-- you were dead. I'm glad-- glad-- but I wouldn't +have come--" + +She felt the weight of him for an instant on her arm. She knew the +things that were in his face-- starvation, pain, the signs of ravage +left behind by fever. In these moments Billy did not see the wonderful +look that had come into her own face or the wonderful glow in her +eyes. + +"It was Indian Joe's mother who died," he heard her say. "And since +then we have been waiting-- waiting-- waiting-- little Isobel and I. I +went away north, to David's grave, and I saw what you had done, and +what you had burned into the wood. Some day, I knew, you'd come back +to me. We've been waiting-- for you--" + +Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but Billy heard it; and all +at once his dizziness was gone, and he saw the sunlight shining in +Isobel's bright hair and the look in her face and eyes. + +"I'm sorry-- sorry-- so sorry I said what I did-- about you-- killing +him," she went on. "You remember-- I said that if I got well--" + +"Yes--" + +"And you thought I meant that if I got well you should go away-- and +you promised-- and kept your promise. But I couldn't finish. It didn't +seem right-- then. I wanted to tell you-- out there-- that I was +sorry-- and that if I got well you could come to me again-- some day +somewhere-- and then--" + +"Isobel!" + +"And now-- you may tell me again what you told me out on the Barren-- +a long time ago." + +"Isobel-- Isobel--" + +"You understand"-- she spoke softly-- "you understand, it cannot +happen now-- perhaps not for another year. But now"-- she drew a +little nearer-- "you may kiss me," she said. "And then you must kiss +little Isobel. And we don't want you to go very far away again. It's +lonely-- terribly lonely all by ourselves in the city-- and we're glad +you've come-- so glad--" + +Her voice broke to a sobbing whisper, and as Billy opened his great, +ragged arms and caught her to him he heard that whisper again, saying, +"We're glad-- glad-- glad you've come back to us." + +"And I-- may-- stay?" + +She raised her face, glorious in its welcome. + +"If you want me-- still." + +At last he believed. But he could not speak. He bent his face to hers, +and for a moment they stood thus, while from behind the shrubbery came +the sound of little Isobel's joyous laughter. + + THE END + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Isobel, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISOBEL *** + +***** This file should be named 6715.txt or 6715.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/1/6715/ + +Produced by Norm Wolcott + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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