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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Isle of Retribution - -Author: Edison Marshall - -Illustrator: Douglas Duer - -Release Date: September 30, 2022 [eBook #69070] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed Proofreaders - Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net from page images - generously made available by the Internet Archive - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ISLE OF RETRIBUTION *** - -[Illustration: When he caught sight of the fugitives, they were -already out of effective pistol range. -FRONTISPIECE. _See page 308._] - - - - - THE ISLE OF - RETRIBUTION - - BY - EDISON MARSHALL - - WITH FRONTISPIECE BY - DOUGLAS DUER - - [Illustration: logo] - - BOSTON - LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY - 1923 - - - - - _Copyright, 1923_, - By Little, Brown, and Company. - - * * * * * - - Published February, 1923 - Printed in the United States of America - - - - - The Isle of Retribution - - - - - I - - -The manifold powers of circumstance were in conspiracy against Ned -Cornet this late August afternoon. No detail was important in itself. It -had been drizzling slowly and mournfully, but drizzle is not uncommon in -Seattle. Ned Cornet had been passing the time pleasantly in the Totem -Club, on Fourth Street, doing nothing in particular, nothing exceedingly -bad or good or even unusually diverting; but such was quite a customary -practice with him. Finally, Cornet’s special friend, Rodney Coburn, had -just returned from one of his hundred sojourns in far places,—this time -from an especially attractive salmon stream in Canada. - -The two young men had met in Coburn’s room at the Totem Club, and the -steward had gone thither with tall glasses and ice. Coburn had not -returned empty-handed from Canada. Besides pleasant memories of singing -reels and throbbing rods and of salmon that raced like wild sea horses -down the riffles, he had brought that which was much less -healthful,—various dark bottles of time-honored liquors. Partly in -celebration of his return, and partly because of the superior quality of -the goods that had accompanied him, his friend Ned raised his afternoon -limit from two powerful pre-dinner cocktails to no less than four richly -amber whiskies-and-sodas. Thus their meeting was auspicious, and on -leaving the club, about seven, it came about that Ned Cornet met the -rain. - -It was not enough to bother him. He didn’t even think about it. It was -only a lazy, smoky drizzle that deepened the shadows of falling twilight -and blurred the lights in the street. Ned Cornet had a fire within that -more or less occupied his thoughts. He didn’t notice the rain, and he -quite failed to observe the quick pulsation of the powerful engine in -his roadster that might otherwise have warned him that he had long since -passed the absolute limit that tolerant traffic officers could permit in -the way of speed. - -Cornet was not really drunk. His stomach was fortified, by some years of -experience, against an amount somewhere in the region of a half-pint of -the most powerful spirits,—sufficient poison to kill stone dead a good -percentage of the lower animals. Being a higher animal Ned held his -liquor surprisingly well. He was somewhat exhilarated, faintly flushed; -his eyes had a sparkle as of broken glass, and he felt distinctly warm -and friendly toward all the hurrying thousands on the street, but his -motor centers were not in the least impaired. Under stress, and by -inhaling sharply, he could deceive his own mother into thinking that he -had not had a drink. Nevertheless a pleasant recklessness was upon him, -and he couldn’t take the trouble to observe such stupid things as -traffic laws and rain-wet pavements. - -But it came about that this exhilaration was not to endure long. In a -space of time so short that it resembled some half-glimpsed incident in -a dream, Ned found himself, still at his wheel, the car crosswise in the -street and the front wheels almost touching the curb, a terrible and -ghastly sobriety upon him. Something had happened. He had gone into a -perilous skid at the corner of Fourth and Madison, the car had slid -sickeningly out of his control, and at the wrong instant a dark shape, -all too plainly another automobile, had lurched out of the murk of the -rain. There had been no sense of violent shock. All things had slid -easily, the sound at his fender was slow and gentle, and people, in the -fading light, had slow, peculiar expressions on their faces. Then a -great fear, like a sharp point, pricked him and he sprang from his seat -in one powerful leap. - -Ned Cornet had had automobiles at his command long before it was safe -for him to have his hands on them. When cold sober he drove rather too -fast, none too carefully, but had an almost incredible mastery over his -car. He knew how to pick his wheel tracks over bumpy roads, and he knew -the exact curve that a car could take with safety in rounding a corner. -Even now, in the crisis that had just been, he had handled his car like -the veteran he was. The wonder was not that he had hit the other car, -but rather, considering the speed with which he had come, that it should -continue to remain before his sight, but little damaged, instead of -being shattered into kindling and dust. His instincts had responded -rather well. It was a somewhat significant thing, to waken hope in the -breast of an otherwise despairing father, that in that stress and terror -he had kept his head, he had handled his brakes and wheel in the only -way that would be of any possible good, and almost by miracle had -avoided a smashing crash that could have easily killed him and every -occupant in the colliding car. Nevertheless it was not yet time to -receive congratulations from spectators. There had been serious -consequences enough. He was suddenly face to face with the fact that in -his haste to get home for dinner he had very likely obliterated a human -life. - -There was a curious, huddled heap on the dim pavement, just beyond the -small car he had struck. It was a girl; she lay very still, and the face -half covered by the arm seemed very white and lifeless. And blasted by a -terror such as was never known in all his wasted years, Ned leaped, -raced, and fell to his knees at her side. - -It seemed to him that the soft noise of the crash was not yet dead in -the air. It was as if he had made the intervening distance in one leap. -In that same little second his brain encompassed limitless -areas,—terror, remorse, certain vivid vistas of his past life, the -whiteness of the eyelids and the limpness of the little arms, and the -startled faces of the spectators who were hurrying toward him. His -mental mechanism, dulled before by drink, was keyed to such a degree -that the full scope of the accident went home to him in an instant. - -The car he had struck was one of the thousands of “jitneys” of which he -had so often spoken with contempt. The girl was a shopgirl or factory -worker, on her way home. Shaken with horror, but still swift and strong -from the stimulus of the crisis, he lifted her head and shoulders in his -arms. - -It was a dark second in the life of this care-free, self-indulgent son -of wealth as he stared into the white, blank, thin face before him. He -was closer to the Darkness that men know as Death than he had ever been -before,—so close that some of its shadow went into his own eyes, and -made them look like odd black holes in his white skin, quite different -from the vivid orbs that Rodney Coburn had seen over the tall glasses an -hour before. For once, Ned Cornet was face to face with stern reality. -And he waited, stricken with despair, for that face to give some sign of -life. - -It was all the matter of a second. The people who had seen the accident -and the remaining passengers of the “jitney” had not yet reached his -side. But for all that, the little instant of waiting contained more of -the stuff of life than all the rest of Ned Cornet’s time on earth. Then -the girl smiled in his face. - -“I’m not hurt,” he heard her say, seemingly in answer to some senseless -query of his. She shook her head at the same time, and she smiled as she -did it. “I know what I’m saying,” she went on. “I’m not hurt—one—bit!” - -A great elation and enthusiasm went over the little crowd that was -gathering around her. There could be no doubt but that she told the -truth. Her voice had the full ring of one whose nerves are absolutely -unimpaired. Evidently she had received but the slightest blow from one -of the cars when its momentum was all but spent. And now, with the aid -of a dozen outstretching hands, she was on her feet. - -The little drama, as if hurled in an instant from the void, was already -done. Tragedy had been averted; it was merely one of the thousands of -unimportant smash-ups that occur in a great city every year. Some of the -spectators were already moving on. In just a moment, before half a dozen -more words could be said, other cars were swinging by, and a policeman -was on the scene asking questions and jotting down license numbers. Just -for a moment he paused at Ned’s elbow. - -“Your name and address, please?” he asked coldly. - -Ned whirled, turning his eyes from the girl’s face for the first time. -“Ned Cornet,” he answered. And he gave his father’s address on Queen -Anne Hill. - -“Show up before Judge Rossman in the morning,” he ordered. “The jitney -there will send their bills to you. I’d advise you to pay ’em.” - -“I’ll pay ’em,” Ned agreed. “I’ll throw in an extra twenty to pay for -their loss of time.” - -“This young lady says she ain’t hurt,” the policeman went on. “It -certainly is no credit to you that she ain’t. There is plenty of -witnesses here if she wants to make a suit.” - -“I’ll give this young lady complete satisfaction,” Ned promised. He -turned to her in easy friendliness, a queer little crooked smile, -winning and astonishingly juvenile, appearing at his mouth. “Now let’s -get in my car. I’ll take you home—and we can talk this over.” - -They pushed together through the little circle of the curious, he helped -her courteously into the big, easy seat of his roadster, and in a moment -they were threading their way through the early evening traffic. - -“Good Lord,” the man breathed. “I wouldn’t have blamed that mob if they -had lynched me. Where do we go?” - -She directed him out Madison, into a district of humble, modest, but -respectable residences. “It’s lucky you came along—I don’t often get a -ride clear to my door.” - -“Lucky! I want to say if it wasn’t for all the luck in the world you’d -be going to the hospital instead. I’m taking all the blame for that -smash back there—I got off mighty lucky. Now let’s settle about the -dress—and a few other things. First—you’re sure you’re not hurt?” - -He was a little surprised at the gay, girlish smile about her lips. “Not -a particle. It would be nice if I could go to the hospital two weeks or -so, just to rest—but I haven’t the conscience to do it. I’m not even -scratched—just pushed over in the street. And I’m afraid I can’t even -charge you for the dress. I’ve always had too much conscience, Mr. -Cornet.” - -“Of course I’m going to pay——” - -“The dress cost only about twenty dollars—at a sale. And it doesn’t -seem to be even damaged. Of course it will have to be cleaned. To save -you the embarrassment I see growing in your face, I’ll gladly send the -bill to you if you like——” - -In the bright street light he looked up, studying her face. He had never -really observed it before. Before he had watched it for a sign of life -that was only the antithesis of death, but now he found himself -regarding it from another viewpoint. Her slender, pretty face was wholly -in keeping with her humor, her honesty, her instinctive good manners. If -she were a factory worker, hard toil had not in the least coarsened or -hardened her. Her skin had a healthy freshness, pink like the marvelous -pink of certain spring wild flowers, and she had delicate girlish -features that wholly suited his appraising eye. - -She was one of those girls who have worlds of hair to spend lavishly in -setting off piquant faces. It must have been dark brown; at least it -looked so in the street light. Below was a clear, girlish brow, with -never a line except the friendly ones of companionship and humor. Her -eyes seemed to be deeply blue, good-natured, childishly happy, amazingly -clear and luminous, a perfect index to her mood. Now they were smiling, -partly with delight in the ride and in the luxury of the car, partly -from the sheer joy of the adventure. Ned rather wished that the light -was better. He’d like to have given them further study. - -She had a pretty nose, and full, almost sensuous lips that curled easily -and softly as she smiled. Then there was a delectable glimpse of the -little hollow of a slender throat, at the collar of her dress. - -Ned found himself staring, and he didn’t know just why. He was no -stranger to women’s beauty; some degree of it was the rule rather than -the exception in the circle in which he moved; but some way this before -him now was beauty of a different kind. It was warm, and it went down -inside of him and touched some particular mood and fancy that had never -manifested itself before. He had seen such beauty, now and again, in -children—young girls with the freshness of a spring flower, just -emerging into the bloom of first womanhood, and not yet old enough for -him to meet in a social way—but it had never occurred to him that it -could linger past the “flapper” age. This girl in his car was in her -early twenties—over, rather than under—of medium height, with the -slender strength of an expert swimmer, yet her beauty was that of a -child. - -He couldn’t tell, at first, in just what her beauty lay. Other girls had -fresh skins, bright eyes, smiling lips and masses of dark, lustrous -hair,—and some of them even had the simplicity of good manners. Ned had -a quick, sure mind, and for a moment he mused over his wheel as he tried -to puzzle it out. - -In all probability it lay in the soft, girlish lines about her lips and -eyes. Curiously there was not the slightest _hardness_ about them. Some -way, this girl had missed a certain hardening process that most of his -own girl friends had undergone; the life of the twentieth century, in a -city of more than three hundred thousand, had left her unscathed. There -were only tenderness and girlish sweetness in the lines, not -sophistication, not self-love, not recklessness or selfishness that he -had some way come to expect. - -But soon after this Ned Cornet caught himself with a whispered oath. He -was positively maudlin! The excitement, the near approach to tragedy, -the influence of the liquor manifesting itself once more in his veins -were making him stare and think like a silly fool. The girl was a -particularly attractive shopgirl or factory worker, strong and athletic -for all her appealing slenderness, doubtless pretty enough to waken -considerable interest in certain of his friends who went in for that -sort of thing, but he, Ned Cornet, had other interests. The gaze he bent -upon her was suddenly indifferent. - -They were almost at their destination now, and he did not see the sudden -decline of her mood in response to his dying interest. Sensitive as a -flower to sunlight, she realized in a moment that a barrier of caste had -dropped down between them. She was silent the rest of the way. - -“Would you mind telling me what you do—in the way of work, I mean?” he -asked her, at her door. “My father has a business that employs many -girls. There might be a chance——” - -“I can do almost anything with a needle, thank you,” she told him with -perfect frankness. “Fitting, hemstitching, embroidery—I could name a -dozen other things.” - -“We employ dozens of seamstresses and fitters. I suppose I can reach you -here—after work-hours. I’ll keep you in mind.” - -An instant later he had bidden her good night and driven away, little -dreaming that, through the glass pane of the door, her lustrous blue -eyes had followed the red spark that was his tail-light till it -disappeared in the deepening gloom. - - - - - II - - -Ned Cornet kept well within the speed laws on his way back to his -father’s beautiful home on Queen Anne Hill. He was none too well pleased -with himself, and his thoughts were busy. There would be some sort of a -scene with Godfrey Cornet, the gray man whose self-amassed wealth would -ultimately settle for the damages to the “jitney” and the affront to the -municipality,—perhaps only a frown, a moment’s coldness about the lips, -but a scene nevertheless. He looked forward to it with great -displeasure. - -It was a curious thing that lately he had begun to feel vague -embarrassment and discomfiture in his father’s presence. He had been -finding it a comfort to avoid him, to go to his club on the evenings his -father spent at home, and especially to shun intimate conversation with -him. Ned didn’t know just why this was true; perhaps he had never paused -to think about it before. He simply felt more at ease away from his -father, more free to go his own way. Some way, the very look on the gray -face was a reproach. - -No one could look at Godfrey Cornet and doubt that he was the veteran of -many wars. The battles he had fought had been those of economic stress, -but they had scarred him none the less. His face was written over, like -an ancient scroll, with deep, dark lines, and every one marked him as -the fighter he was. - -Every one of his fine features told the same story. His mouth was hard -and grim, but it could smile with the kindest, most boyish pleasure on -occasion. His nose was like an eagle’s beak, his face was lean with -never a sagging muscle, his eyes, coal black, had each bright points as -of blades of steel. People always wondered at his trim, erect form, -giving little sign of his advanced years. He still looked hard as an -athlete; and so he was. He had never permitted “vile luxury’s contagion” -to corrupt his tissues. For all the luxury with which he had surrounded -his wife and son, he himself had always lived frugally: simple food, -sufficient exercise, the most personal and detailed contact with his -great business. He had fought upward from utter poverty to the -presidency and ownership of one of the greatest fur houses of his -country, partly through the exercise of the principle of absolute -business integrity, mostly through the sheer dynamic force of the man. -His competitors knew him as a fair but remorseless fighter; but his fame -carried far beyond the confines of his resident city. Bearded trappers, -running their lines through the desolate wastes of the North, were used -to seeing him come venturing up their gray rivers in the spring, -fur-clad and wind-tanned,—finding his relaxation and keeping fit by -personally attending to the buying of some of his furs. Thus it was hard -for a soft man to feel easy in his presence. - -Ned Cornet wished that he didn’t have to face him to-night. The -interview, probably short, certainly courteous, would leave him a vague -discomfort and discontent that could only be alleviated by further -drinks, many of them and strong. But there was nothing to do but face -it. Dependence was a hard lot; unlike such men as Rodney Coburn and Rex -Nard, Ned had no great income-yielding capital in his own name. He was -somewhat downcast and sullen as he entered the cheerfully lighted -hallway of his father’s house. - -In the soft light it was immediately evident that he was his father’s -son, yet there were certain marked differences between them. Warrior -blood had some way failed to come down to Ned. For all his stalwart -body, he gave no particular image of strength. There was noticeable -extra weight at his abdomen and in the flesh of his neck, and there was -also an undeniable flabbiness of his facial muscles. - -Godfrey Cornet’s hands and face were peculiarly trim and hard and brown, -but in the bright light and under careful scrutiny, his son’s showed -somewhat sallow. To a casual observer he showed unmistakable signs of an -easy life and luxurious surroundings; but the mark of prolonged -dissipation was not immediately evident. Perhaps the little triangles on -either side of his irises were not the hard, bluish-white they should -be; possibly there was the faintest beginning of a network of fine, red -lines just below the swollen flesh sacks beneath his eyes. The eyes -themselves were black and vivid, not unlike his father’s; he had a -straight, good nose, a rather crooked, friendly mouth, and the curly -brown hair of a child. As yet there was no real viciousness in his face. -There was amiable weakness, truly, but plenty of friendly boyishness and -good will. - -He took his place at the stately table so gravely and quietly that his -parent’s interest was at once wakened. His father smiled quietly at him -across the board. - -“Well, Ned,” he asked at last. “What is it to-day?” - -“Nothing very much. A very close call, though, to real tragedy. I might -as well tell you about it, as likely enough it’ll be in the papers -to-morrow. I went into a bad skid at Fourth and Madison, hit a jitney, -and before we got quite stopped managed to knock a girl over on the -pavement. Didn’t hurt her a particle. But there’s a hundred dollars’ -damage to the jit—and a pretty severe scare for your young son.” - -As he talked, his eyes met those of his father, almost as if he were -afraid to look away. The older man made little comment. He went on with -his dessert, and soon the talk veered to other matters. - -There hadn’t been any kind of a scene, after all. It was true that his -father looked rather drawn and tired,—more so than usual. Perhaps -difficult problems had come up to-day at the store. His voice had a -peculiar, subdued, quiet note that wasn’t quite familiar. Ned felt a -somber heaviness in the air. - -He did not excuse himself and hurry away as he had hoped to do. He -seemed to feel that to make such an offer would precipitate some -impending issue that he had no desire to meet. His father’s thoughts -were busy; both his wife and his son missed the usual absorbingly -interesting discourse that was a tradition at the Cornet table. The -older man finished his coffee, slowly lighted a long, sleek cigar, and -for a moment rested with elbows on the table. - -“Well, Ned, I suppose I might as well get this off my chest,” he began -at last. “Now is as auspicious a time as any. You say you got a good -scare to-day. I’m hoping that it put you in a mood so that at least you -can give me a good hearing.” - -The man spoke rather humbly. The air was electric when he paused. Ned -leaned forward. - -“It wasn’t anything—that accident to-day,” he answered in a tone of -annoyance. “It could have happened to any one on slippery pavements. But -that’s ridiculous—about a good hearing. I hope I always have heard -everything you wanted to tell me, sir.” - -“You’ve been a very attentive son.” Godfrey Cornet paused again. “The -trouble, I’m afraid, is that I haven’t been a very attentive father. -I’ve attended to my business—and little else—and now I’m paying the -piper. - -“Please bear with me. It was only a little accident, as you say. The -trouble of it is that it points the way that things are going. It could -very easily have been a terrible accident—a dead girl under your -speeding wheels, a charge of manslaughter instead of the good joke of -being arrested for speeding, a term in the penitentiary instead of a -fine. Ned, if you had killed the girl it would have been fully right and -just for you to spend a good many of the best years of your life behind -prison walls. I ask myself whether or not I would bring my influence to -bear, in that case, to keep you from going there. I’m ashamed to say -that I would. - -“You may wonder about that. I would know, in my heart, that you should -go there. I am not sure but that you should go there now, as it is. But -I would also know that I have been criminal too—criminally neglectful, -slothful, avoiding my obligations—just as much as you have been -neglectful and slothful and avoiding your obligations toward the other -residents of this city when, half-intoxicated, you drove your car at a -breakneck pace through the city streets. I can’t accuse you without also -accusing myself. Therefore I would try to keep you out of prison. In -doing that, I would see in myself further proof of my old weakness—a -weak desire to spare you when the prison might make a man of you.” - -Ned recoiled at the words, but his father threw him a quick smile. “That -cuts a little, doesn’t it? I can’t help it. Ned, your mother and I have -always loved you too well. I suppose it is one of the curses of this -age—that ease and softness have made us a hysterical, sentimental -people, and we love our children not wisely, but too well. I’ve -sheltered you, instead of exposing you to the world. The war did not -stiffen you—doubtless because you were one of the millions that never -reached the front.” - -Ned leaned forward. “That wasn’t my fault,” he said with fire. “You know -that wasn’t my fault.” - -“I know it wasn’t. The fact remains that you lost out. Let me go on. -I’ve made it easy for you, always, instead of bitter hard as I should -have done. I’ve surrounded you with luxury instead of hardship. You’ve -never done an honest day’s toil on earth. You don’t know what it is to -sweat, to be so tired you can’t stand, to wonder where the next meal is -coming from, to know what a hard and bitter thing life is! - -“A girl, thrown on the pavement. A working girl, you said—probably -homely, certainly not your idea of a girl. Perhaps, in your heart, you -think it wouldn’t have much mattered if you had killed her, except for -the awkwardness to you. She was just one of thousands. You, my son, are -Ned Cornet—one of our city’s most exalted social set, one of our -fashionable young clubmen.” - -His tone had changed to one of unspeakable bitterness. Ned leaned -forward in appeal. “That isn’t true,” he said sharply. “I’m not a damned -snob!” - -“Perhaps not. I’m not sure that I know what a snob is. I’ve never met -one—only men who have pretended to be snobs to hide their fear of me. -Let me say, though, Ned—whatever her lot, no matter how menial her -toil, your life could be spared much easier than hers. It would be -better that you should be snuffed out than that she should lose one of -her working hands. Likely you felt superior to her as you drove her -home; in reality you were infinitely inferior. She has gone much farther -than you have. She knows more of life; she is harder and better and -truer and worth more to this dark world in which we live. The world -could ill afford to lose her, a fighter, a worker. It would be better -off to lose you—a shirker, a slacker! - -“I’m not accusing you. God knows the blame is on my own head. For my -part I sprang from the world of toil—never do I go out into that -society in which you move but that I thank God for the bitter toil I -knew in youth. The reason is that it has put me infinitely above them. -Such soft friends as you have wither before my eyes, knowing well that -they can not meet me on even grounds; or else they take refuge in an air -of conceit, a pretense of caste, that deceives themselves no more than -it deceives me. They talk behind my back of my humble origin—fearfully -clothing their own nakedness with the garments of worthy, fighting men -who have preceded them—and yet their most exalted gates open before my -knock. They dare not shut their doors to me. They treat me with the -respect that is born of fear. - -“That toil, that hard schooling, has made me what I am and given me the -highest degree possible of human happiness. I find a satisfaction in -living; I am able to hold my head up among men. I have health, the -adoring love of a wonderful woman; I give service to the world. I can -see old age coming upon me without regret, without vain tears for what -might have been, without fear for whatever fate lies beyond. I am -schooled for that fate, Ned. I’ve got strength to meet it. My spirit -will not be buffeted willy-nilly in those winds that blow between the -worlds. I am a man, I’ve done man’s work, and I can hold my place with -other men in the great trials to come. - -“What those tests are, I do not know. Personally I lean toward an older -theology, one mostly outworn now, one cast away by weak men because they -are afraid to believe in it. It is not for me to say that Dante foresaw -falsely. The only thing I can not believe is the legend over the -door—‘Abandon Hope, ye who enter here.’ There is no gateway here or -hereafter that can shut out Hope. I believe that no matter how terrible -the punishment that lies within those gates, however hard the school, -there is a way through and out at last. - -“Hell is not the dream of a religious fanatic, Ned. I believe in it just -as surely as I believe in a heaven. There must be some school, some -bitter, dreadful training camp for those who leave this world unfitted -to go on to a higher, better world. Lately souls have been going there -in ever-increasing numbers. Let softness and self-indulgence and luxury -continue to degenerate this nation, and all travel will be in that -direction. My hope is yet, the urge behind all that I’m saying to you -to-night, is that you may take some other way.” - -His black eyes gleamed over the board. For the moment, he might have -been some prophet of old, preaching the Word to the hosts of Israel. The -long dining room was deathly still as he paused. Realizing that the -intensity of his feeling was wakening the somber poetry within him, -revealing his inmost, secret nature, he steadied himself, watching the -upcurling smoke of his cigar. When he spoke again his voice and words -were wholly commonplace. - -“There is no force in heaven or earth so strong as moral force,” he -said. “In the end, nothing can stand against it. If it dies in this -land, Lord help us—because we will be unable to help ourselves. We can -then no longer drive the heathen from our walls. With it, we are -great—without it we are a race of weaklings. And with luxury and ease -upon us, it seems to me I see it manifested ever less and less. - -“Ned, there’s one thing to bring it back—and that is hardship. I mean -by hardship all that is opposite to ease: self-restraint instead of -license; service instead of self-love; devotion to a cause of right -rather than to pleasure; most of all, hard work instead of ease. I’ve -heard it said, as a thing to be deplored, that shirt sleeves go to shirt -sleeves every three generations. Thank God it is so. There is nothing -like shirt sleeves, Ned, to make a man—and hard-working, bunching -muscles under them. And through my own weakness I’ve let those fine -muscles of yours grow flabby and soft. - -“Your mother and I have a lot to answer for. Both of us were busy, I -with my business, she with her household cares and social duties, and it -was easier to give you what you wanted than to refuse you things for -your own good. It was easier to let you go soft than to provide hardship -for you. It was pleasanter to give in than to hold out—and we loved you -too much to put you through what we should have put you through. We -excused you your early excesses. All young men did it, we told each -other—you were merely sowing your wild oats. Then I found, too late, -that I could not interest you in work—in business. You had always -played, and you didn’t want to stop playing. And your games weren’t -entirely harmless. - -“This thing we’ve talked over before. I’ve never been firm. I’ve let you -grow to man’s years—twenty-nine, I believe—and still be a child in -experience. The work you do around my business could be done by a -seventeen-year-old boy. You don’t know what it means to keep a business -day. You come when you like and go when you like. In your folly you are -no longer careful of the rights of other, better people—or you wouldn’t -have driven as you did to-day. You can no longer be bright and -attractive at dinner except under the stimulation of cocktails—nothing -really vicious yet, but pointing to the way things are going. Ned, I -want to make a man of you.” - -He paused again, and their eyes met over the table. All too plainly the -elder Cornet saw that his appeal had failed to go home. His son was -smiling grimly, his eyes sardonic, unmistakable contempt in the curl of -his lips. Whether he was angry or not the gray man opposite could not -tell. He hoped so in his heart—that Ned had not sunk so low that he -could no longer know the stirring urge of manly anger. A great -depression drew nigh and enfolded him. - -“This isn’t a theater,” was the calloused reply at last. “You are not -delivering a lecture to America’s school children! Strangely, I feel -quite able to take care of myself.” - -“I only wish that I could feel so too.” - -“You must think I’m a child—to try to scare me with threats of hell -fire. Father, I didn’t realize that you had this streak of puritanism in -you.” - -His father made no reply at first. Ned’s bitter smile had seemingly -passed to his own lips. “I suppose there’s no use of going on,” he said. - -“By all means go on, since you are so warmed up to your subject,” Ned -answered coldly. “I wouldn’t like to deprive you of the pleasure. You -had something on your mind: what is it?” - -“It was a real opportunity for you—a chance to show the stuff you’re -made of. It wasn’t much, truly—perhaps I have taken the whole thing too -seriously. Ned, I wonder if you like excitement.” - -“Do I? You know how I love polo——” - -“You love to watch! The point is, do you like excitement well enough to -take a slight risk of your life for it? Do you care enough about -success, on your own hook, to go through snow and ice to win it? A -chance came to-day to make from fifty to a hundred thousand dollars for -this firm; all it takes is a little nerve, a little endurance of -hardship, a little love of adventure. I hoped to interest you in it—by -so doing to get you started along the way that leads to manhood and -self-respect. You carry this off successfully, and it’s bound to give -you ambition to tackle even harder deals. It means contact with men, a -whole world of valuable experience, and a world of fun to boot. It -wouldn’t appeal to some of your cheap friends—but heaven knows, if you -don’t take it up, I’m going to do it myself.” - -“Go ahead, shoot!” Ned urged. He smiled wanly, almost superciliously at -the enthusiasm that had overswept his father’s face. The old man’s eyes -were gleaming like black diamonds. - -It was a curious thing, this love of adventure and trial and -achievement! The old man was half-mad, immersed in the Sunday-school -sentiments of a dead and moth-eaten generation, yet it was marvelous the -joy that he got out of living! He was one of an older generation, or he -would never anticipate pleasure in projects that incurred hardship, -work, responsibility, the silences of the waste places such as he knew -on his annual fur-buying expeditions. His sense of pleasure was weird; -yet he was consistent, to say the least. Now he was wildly elated from -merely _thinking_ about his great scheme,—doubtless some stupid plan to -add further prestige to the great fur house of Godfrey Cornet. Ned -himself could not find such happiness in twice the number of drinks that -were his usual wont. - -“It’s simply this,” his father went on, barely able to curb his -enthusiasm. “To-day I met Leo Schaffner at lunch, and in our talk he -gave me what I consider a real business inspiration. He tells me, in his -various jobbing houses, he has several thousand silk and velvet gowns -and coats and wraps left on his hands in the financial depression that -immediately followed the war. He was cussing his luck because he didn’t -know what to do with them. Of course they were part of the surplus that -helped glut the markets when hard times made people stop buying—stock -that was manufactured during the booming days of the war. He told me -that this finery was made of the most beautiful silks and velvets, but -all of it was a good three seasons out of style. He offered me the lot -of two thousand for—I’m ashamed to tell you how much.” - -“Almost nothing!” his son prompted him. - -“Yes. Almost nothing. And I took him up.” - -His son leaned back, keenly interested for the first time. “Good Lord, -why? You can’t go into business selling out-of-date women’s clothes!” - -“Can’t, eh? Son, while he was talking to me, it occurred to me all at -once that the least of those gowns, the poorest one in the lot, was -worth at least a marten skin! Think of it! A marten skin, from Northern -Canada and Alaska, returned the trapper around sixty dollars in 1920. -Now let me get down to brass tacks. - -“It’s true I don’t intend to sell any of those hairy old white trappers -any women’s silk gowns. But this was what I was going to have you do: -first you were to hire a good auxiliary schooner—a strong, sturdy, -seaworthy two-masted craft such as is used in northern trading. You’d -fit that craft out with a few weeks’ supplies and fill the hold with a -couple of thousand of those gowns. You’d need two or three men to run -the launch—I believe the usual crew is a pilot, a first and second -engineer, and a cook—and you’d have to have a seamstress to do fitting -and make minor alterations. Then you’d start up for Bering Sea. - -“You may not know it, but along the coast of Alaska, and throughout the -islands of Bering Sea there are hundreds of little, scattered tribes of -Indians, all of them trappers of the finest, high-priced furs. Nor do -their women dress in furs and skins altogether, either, as popular -legend would have you believe. Through their hot, long summer days they -wear dresses like American women, and the gayer and prettier the -dresses, the better they like ’em. To my knowledge, no one has ever fed -them silk—simply because silk was too high—but being women, red or -white, they’d simply go crazy over it. - -“The other factor in the combination is that the _Intrepid_, due to the -unsettled fur market, failed to do any extensive buying on her last -annual trading trip through the islands, and as a result practically all -the Indians have their full catch on hand. The _Intrepid_ is the only -trader through the particular chain of islands I have in mind—the -Skopin group, north and east of the Aleutian chain—and she’s not -counting on going up again till spring. Then she’ll reap a rich -harvest—unless you get there first. - -“The Skopin Islands are charted—any that are inhabited at all—easy to -find, easy to get to with a seaworthy launch. Every one of those Indians -you’ll find there will buy a dress for his squaw or his daughter to show -off in, during the summer, and pay for it with a fine piece of fur. For -some of the brighter, richer gowns I haven’t any doubt but that you -could get blue and silver fox. As I say, the worst of ’em is worth at -least a single marten. Considering your lack of space, I’d limit you to -marten, blue and silver fox, fisher and mink, and perhaps such other -freak furs as would bring a high price—no white fox or muskrat or -beaver, perhaps not even ermine and land otter. Ply along from island to -island, starting north and working south and west clear out among the -Aleuts, to keep out of the way of the winter, showing your dresses at -the Indian villages and trading them for furs! - -“This is August. I’m already arranging for a license. You’d have to get -going in a week. Hit as far north as you want—the farther you go the -better you will do—and then work south. Making a big chain that cuts -off the currents and the tides, the Skopin group is surrounded by an -unbroken ice sheet in midwinter, so you have to count on rounding the -Aleutian Peninsula into Pacific waters some time in November. If you -wait much longer you’re apt not to get out before spring. - -“That’s the whole story. The cargo of furs you should bring out should -be worth close to a hundred thousand. Expenses won’t be fifteen thousand -in all. It would mean work; dealing with a bunch of crafty redskins -isn’t play for boys! Maybe there’d be cold and rough weather, for Bering -Sea deserves no man’s trust. But it would be the finest sport in the -world, an opportunity to take Alaskan bear and tundra caribou—plenty of -adventure and excitement and tremendous profits to boot. It would be a -man’s job, Ned—but you’d get a kick out of it you never got out of a -booze party in your life. And we split the profits -seventy-five—twenty-five—the lion’s share to you.” - -He waited, to watch Ned’s face. The young man seemed to be musing. “I -could use fifty thousand, pretty neat,” he observed at last. - -“Yes—and don’t forget the fun you’d have.” - -“But good Lord, think of it. Three months away from Second Avenue.” - -“The finest three months of your life—worth all the rest of your -stupid, silly past time put together.” - -Almost trembling in his eagerness, the old man waited for his son’s -reply. The latter took out a cigarette, lighted it, and gazed -meditatively through the smoke. “Fifty thousand!” he whispered greedily. -“And I suppose I could stand the hardship.” - -Then he looked up, faintly smiling. “I’ll go, if Lenore will let me,” he -pronounced at last. - - - - - III - - -The exact moment that her name was on Ned’s lips, Lenore Hardenworth -herself, in her apartment in a region of fashionable apartments eight -blocks from the Cornet home, was also wondering at the perverse ways of -parents. It was strange how their selfish interests could disarrange -one’s happiest plans. All in all, Lenore was in a wretched mood, -savagely angry at the world in general and her mother in particular. - -They had had a rather unpleasant half-hour over their cigarettes. Mrs. -Hardenworth had been obdurate; Lenore’s prettiest pouts and most winsome -ways hadn’t moved her a particle. The former knew all such little wiles; -time was when she had practiced them herself with consummate art, and -she was not likely to be taken in with them in her old age! Seeing that -these were fruitless, her daughter had taken the more desperate stand of -anger, always her last resort in getting what she wanted, but to-night -it some way failed in the desired effect. There had been almost, if not -quite, a scene between these two handsome women under the chandelier’s -gleam—and the results, from Lenore’s point of view, had been absolutely -nil. Mrs. Hardenworth had calmly stood her ground. - -It was the way of the old, Lenore reflected, to give too much of their -thought and interest to their own fancied ills. Not even a daughter’s -brilliant career could stand between. And who would have guessed that -the “nervousness” her mother had complained of so long, pandered to by a -fashionable quack and nursed like a baby by the woman herself, should -ever lead to such disquieting results. The doctor had recommended a sea -voyage to the woman, and the old fool had taken him at his word. - -It was not that Lenore felt she could not spare, for some months, her -mother’s guiding influence. It was merely that sea voyages cost money, -and money, at that particular time, was scarce and growing scarcer about -the Hardenworth apartment. Lenore needed all that was available for her -own fall and winter gowns, a mink or marten coat to take the place of -her near-seal cloak, and for such entertaining as would be needed to -hold her place in her own set. Seemingly the only course that remained -was to move forward the date of her marriage to Ned, at present set for -the following spring. - -She dried her eyes, powdered her nose; and for all the late storm made a -bewitching picture as she tripped to the door in answer to her fiancé’s -knock. Lenore Hardenworth was in all probability the most beautiful girl -in her own stylish set and one of the most handsome women in her native -city. She was really well known, remembered long and in many places, for -her hair. It was simply shimmering gold, and it framed a face of -flowerlike beauty,—an even-featured, oval face, softly tinted and -daintily piquant. Hers was not a particularly warm beauty, yet it never -failed to win a second glance. She had fine, firm lips, a delicate -throat, and she had picked up an attractive way of half-dropping firm, -white lids over her gray, langourous eyes. - -No one could wonder that Lenore Hardenworth was a social success. -Besides her beauty of face, the grace of a slender but well-muscled -form, she unquestionably had a great deal of ambition and spirit. She -was well schooled in the tricks of her trade: charming and ingratiating -with her girl friends, sweet and deeply respectful to the old, and -striking a fine balance between recklessness and demureness with -available men. It can be said for Lenore that she wasted no time with -men who were not eligible, in every sense of the word. Lenore had her -way to make in this world of trial and stress. - -Long ago Ned had chosen her from among her girl friends as the most -worthy of his courtship,—a girl who could rule over his house, who -loved the life that he lived, whose personal appeal was the greatest. -Best of all, she was the product of his own time: a modern girl in every -sense of the word. The puritanism he deplored in his own parents was -conspicuously absent in her. She smoked with the ease and satisfaction -of a man; she held her liquor like a veteran; and of prudery she would -never be accused. Not that she was ever rough or crude. Indeed there was -a finesse about her harmless little immoralities that made them, to him, -wholly adorable and charming. She was always among the first to learn -the new dances, and no matter what their murky origin—whether the -Barbary Coast or some sordid tenderloin of a great Eastern city—she -seemed to be able to dance them without ever conveying the image of -vulgarity. Her idea of pleasure ran along with his. Life, at her side, -offered only the most delectable vistas. - -Besides, the man loved her. His devotion was such that it was the -subject of considerable amusement among the more sophisticated of their -set. He’d take the _egg_, rather than the _horse-and-buggy_, they told -each other, and to those inured in the newest slang, the meaning was -simply that Lenore, rather than Ned, would be head of their house. The -reason, they explained wisely, was that it spelled disaster to give too -much of one’s self to a wife these days. Such devotion put a man at a -disadvantage. The woman, sure of her husband, would be speedily bored -and soon find other interests. Of course Lenore loved him too, but she -kept herself better in hand. For all his modern viewpoint, it was to be -doubted that Ned had got completely away from the influence of a dead -and moth-eaten generation. Possibly some little vestige of his parent’s -puritanism prevailed in him still! - -Ned came in soberly, kissed the girl’s inviting lips, then sat beside -her on the big divan. Studying his grave face, she waited for him to -speak. - -“Bad news,” he said at last. - -She caught her breath in a quick gasp. It was a curious thing, -indicating, perhaps, a more devout interest in him than her friends gave -her credit for, that a sudden sense of dismay seemed to sweep over her. -Yet surely no great disaster had befallen. There was no cause to fear -that some one of the mighty arms on which they leaned for happiness—the -great fur house of Cornet, for instance—had weakened and fallen. Some -of the warm color paled in her face. - -“What is it?” She spoke almost breathlessly, and he turned toward her -with wakened interest. - -“Nothing very important,” he told her casually. “I’m afraid I startled -you with my lugubrious tones. I’ve got to go away for three months.” - -She stared a moment in silence, and a warm flush, higher and more angry -than that which had just faded, returned to her cheeks. Just for an -instant there was a vague, almost imperceptible hardening of the little -lines about her beautiful eyes. - -“Ned! You can’t! After all our plans. I won’t hear of it——” - -“Wait, dearest!” the man pleaded. “Of course I won’t go if you say -not——” - -“Of course I say not——” - -“But it’s a real opportunity—to make forty or fifty thousand. Wait till -I tell you about it, anyway.” - -He told her simply: the exact plan that his father had proposed. Her -interest quickened as he talked. She had a proper respect for wealth, -and the idea of the large profits went home speedily and surely to her -imagination, shutting out for the moment all other aspects of the -affair. And soon she found herself sitting erect, listening keenly to -his every word. - -The idea of trading obsolete gowns for beautiful furs was particularly -attractive to her. “I’ve got some old things I could spare,” she told -him eagerly. “Why couldn’t you take those with you and trade them to -some old squaw for furs?” - -“I could! I don’t see why I shouldn’t bring you back some beauties.” - -Her eyes were suddenly lustful. “I’d like some silver fox—and enough -sable for a great wrap. Oh, Ned—do you think you could get them for -me?” - -His face seemed rather drawn and mirthless as he returned her stare. It -had been too complete a victory. It can be said for the man that he had -come with the idea of persuading Lenore to let him go, to let him leave -her arms for the sake of the advantages to be accrued from the -expedition, but at least he wanted her to show some regret. He didn’t -entirely relish her sudden, unbounded enthusiasm, and the avaricious -gleam in her eyes depressed and estranged him. - -But Lenore made no response to his darkened mood. Sensitive as she -usually was, she seemed untouched by it, wholly unaware of his -displeasure. She was thinking of silver fox, and the thought was as -fascinating as that of gold to a miser. And now her mind was reaching -farther, moving in a greater orbit, and for the moment she sat almost -breathless. Suddenly she turned to him with shining eyes. - -“Ned, what kind of a trip will this be?” she asked him. - -He was more held by the undertone of excitement in her voice than by the -question itself. “What is it?” he asked. “What do you mean——?” - -“I mean—will it be a hard trip—one of danger and discomfort?” - -“I don’t think so. I’m going to get a comfortable yacht—it will be a -launch, of course, but a big, comfortable one—have a good cook and -pleasant surroundings. You know, traveling by water has got any other -method skinned. In fact, it ought to be as comfortable as staying at a -club, not to mention the sport in hunting, and so on. I don’t intend to -go too far or too long—your little Ned doesn’t like discomfort any too -well to deliberately hunt it up. I can make it just as easy a trip as I -want. It’s all in my hands—hiring crew, schooner, itinerary, and -everything. Of course, father told a wild story about cold and hardship -and danger, but I don’t believe there’s a thing in it.” - -“I don’t either. It makes me laugh, those wild and woolly stories about -the North! It’s just about as wild as Ballard! Edith Courtney went clear -to Juneau and back on a boat not long ago and didn’t have a single -adventure—except with a handsome young big-game hunter in the cabin.” - -“But Juneau—is just the beginning of Alaska!” - -“I don’t care. This hardship they talk about is all poppycock, and you -know it—and the danger too. To hear your father talk, and some of the -others of the older generation, you’d think they had been through the -infernal regions! They didn’t have the sporting instincts that’ve been -developed in the last generation, Ned. Any one of our friends would go -through what they went through and not even bother to tell about it. I -tell you this generation is better and stronger than any one that -preceded it, and their stories of privation and danger are just a -scream! I’m no more afraid of the North than I am of you.” - -She paused, and he stared at her blankly. He knew perfectly well that -some brilliant idea had occurred to her: he was simply waiting for her -to tell it. She moved nearer and slipped her hand between his. - -“Ned, I’ve a wonderful plan,” she told him. “There’s no reason why we -should be separated for three months. You say the hiring of the launch, -itinerary, and everything is in your hands. Why not take mother and me -with you?” - -“My dear——” - -“Why not? Tell me that! The doctor has just recommended her a sea trip. -Where could she get a better one? Of course you’d have to get a big, -comfortable launch——” - -“I intended to get that, anyway.” Slowly the light that shone in her -face stole into his. “Are you a good sailor——?” - -“It just happens that neither mother nor I know what sea-sickness means. -Otherwise, I’m afraid we wouldn’t find very much pleasure in the trip. -You remember the time, in Rex Nard’s yacht, off Columbia River bar? But -won’t you be in the inside passage, anyway?” - -“The inside passage doesn’t go across the Bay of Alaska—but father says -it’s all quiet water among the islands we’ll trade at, in Bering Sea. It -freezes over tight in winter, so it must be quiet.” He paused, drinking -in the advantages of the plan. They would be together; that point alone -was inducement enough for him. By one stroke an arduous, unpleasant -business venture could be turned into a pleasure trip, an excursion on a -private yacht over the wintry waters of the North. It was true that -Lenore’s point of view was slightly different, but her enthusiasm was no -less than his. The plan was a perfect answer to the problem of her -mother’s sea trip and the inevitable expense involved. She knew her -mother’s thrifty disposition; she would be only too glad to take her -voyage as the guest of her daughter’s fiancé. And both of them could -robe themselves in such furs as had never been seen on Second Avenue -before. - -“Take you—I should say I will take you—and your mother, too,” he was -exclaiming with the utmost enthusiasm and delight. “Lenore, it will be a -_regular_ party—a joy-ride such as we never took before.” - -For a moment they were silent, lost in their own musings. The wind off -the Sound signaled to them at the windows—rattling faintly like ghost -hands stretched with infinite difficulty from some dim, far-off -Hereafter. It had lately blown from Bering Sea, and perhaps it had a -message for them. Perhaps it had heard the scornful words they had -spoken of the North—of the strange, gray, forgotten world over which it -had lately swept—but there was no need to tell them that they lied. A -few days more would find them venturing northward, and they could find -out for themselves. But perhaps the wind had a note of grim, sardonic -laughter as it sped on in its ceaseless journey. - - - - - IV - - -Ned planned to rise early, but sleep was heavy upon him when he tried to -waken. It was after ten when he had finished breakfast and was ready to -begin active preparations for the excursion. His first work, of course, -was to see about hiring a launch. - -Ten minutes’ ride took him to the office of his friend, Rex Nard, -vice-president of a great marine-outfitting establishment, and five -minutes’ conversation with this gentleman told him all he wanted to -know. Yes, as it happened Nard knew of a corking craft that was at that -moment in need of a charterer, possibly just the thing that Cornet -wanted. The only difficulty, Nard explained, was that it was probably a -much better schooner than was needed for casual excursions into northern -waters. - -“This particular craft was built for a scientific expedition sent out by -one of the great museums,” Nard explained. “It isn’t just a fisherman’s -scow. She has a nifty galley and a snug little dining saloon, and two -foxy little staterooms for extra toney passengers. Quite an up-stage -little boat. Comfortable as any yacht you ever saw.” - -“Staunch and seaworthy?” - -“Man, this big-spectacled outfit that had it built took it clear into -the Arctic Sea—after walrus and polar bear and narwhal and musk ox; and -she’s built right. I’d cross the Pacific in her any day. Her present -owners bought her with the idea of putting her into coastal service, -both passengers and freight, between various of the little far northern -towns, but the general exodus out of portions of Alaska has left her -temporarily without a job.” - -“How about cargo space?” - -“I don’t know exactly—but it was big enough for several tons of walrus -and musk ox skeletons, so it ought to suit you.” - -“What do you think I could get her for?” - -“I don’t think—I know. I was talking to her owner yesterday noon. You -can get her for ninety days for five thousand dollars—seventy-five per -for a shorter time. That includes the services of four men, licensed -pilot, first and second engineer, and a nigger cook; and gas and oil for -the motor.” - -Ned stood up, his black eyes sparkling with elation, and put on his hat. -“Where do I find her?” - -“Hunt up Ole Knutsen, at this address.” Nard wrote an instant on a strip -of paper. “The name of the craft is the _Charon_.” - -“The _Charon_! My heavens, wasn’t he the old boy who piloted the lost -souls across the river Styx? If I were a bit superstitious——” - -“You’d be afraid you were headed straight for the infernal regions, eh? -It does seem to be tempting providence to ride in a boat with such a -name. Fortunately the average man Knutsen hires for his crew doesn’t -know Charon from Adam. Seamen, my boy, are the most superstitious crowd -on earth. No one can follow the sea and not be superstitious—don’t ask -me why. It gets to them, some way, inside.” - -“Sorry I can’t stay to hear a lecture on the subject.” Ned turned toward -the door. “Now for Mr. Knutsen.” - -Ned drove to the designated address, found the owner of the craft, and -executed a charter after ten minutes of conversation. Knutsen was a big, -good-natured man with a goodly share of Norse blood that had paled his -eyes and hair. Together they drew up the list of supplies. - -“Of course, we might put in some of dis stuff at nordern ports,” Knutsen -told him in the unmistakable accent of the Norse. “You’d save money, -though, by getting it here.” - -“All except one item—last but not least,” Ned assured him. “I’ve got to -stop at Vancouver.” - -“Canadian territory, eh——?” - -“Canadian whisky. Six cases of imperial quarts. We’ll be gone a long -time, and a sailor needs his grog.” - -At which the only comment was made after the door had closed and the -aristocratic fur trader had gone his way. The Norseman sat a long time -looking into the ashes of his pipe. “Six cases—by Yiminy!” he -commented, with good cheer. “If his Pop want to make money out of dis -deal he better go himself!” - - * * * * * - -There was really very little else for Ned to do. The silk gowns and -wraps that were to be his principal article of trade would not be -received for a few days at least; and seemingly he had arranged for -everything. He started leisurely back toward his father’s office. - -But yes, there was one thing more. His father had said that his staff -must include a fitter,—a woman who could ply the needle and make minor -alterations in the gowns. For a moment he mused on the pleasant -possibility that Lenore and her mother could hold up that end of the -undertaking. It would give them something to do, an interest in the -venture; it would save the cost of hiring a seamstress. But at once he -laughed at himself for the thought. He could imagine the frigid, -caste-proud Mrs. Hardenworth in the rôle of seamstress! In the first -place she likely didn’t know one end of a needle from another. If in -some humble days agone she had known how to sew, she was not the type -that would care to admit it now. He had to recognize this fact, even -though she were his sweetheart’s mother. Nor would she be likely to take -kindly to the suggestion. The belligerence with which she had always -found it necessary to support her assumption of caste would manifest -itself only too promptly should he suggest that she become a -needlewoman, even on a lark. Such larks appealed to neither Mrs. -Hardenworth nor her daughter. And neither of them would care for such -intimate relations with the squaws, native of far northern villages. The -two passengers could scarcely be induced to speak to such as these, much -less fit their dresses. No, he might as well plan on taking one of his -father’s fitters. - -And at this point in his thoughts he paused, startled. Later, when the -idea that had come to him had lost its novelty, he still wondered about -that strange little start that seemed to go all over him. It was some -time before he could convince himself of the real explanation—that, -though seamstress she was, on a plane as far different from his own -Lenore as night was from day, the friendliness and particularly the good -sportsmanship of his last night’s victim had wakened real gratitude and -friendship for her. He felt really gracious toward her, and since it was -necessary that the expedition include a seamstress, it would not be bad -at all to have her along. She had shown the best of taste on the way -home after the accident, and certainly she would offend Lenore’s and his -own sensibilities less than the average of his father’s employees. - -He knew where he could procure some one to do the fitting. Had not Bess -Gilbert, when he had left her at her door the previous evening, told him -that she knew all manner of needlecraft? Her well-modeled, athletic, -though slender form could endure such hardships as the work involved; -and she had the temperament exactly needed: adventurous, uncomplaining, -courageous. He turned at once out Madison where Bess lived. - -She was at work at that hour, a gray, sweet-faced woman told him, but he -was given directions where he might find her. Ten minutes later he was -talking to the young lady herself. - -Wholly without warmth, just like the matter of business that it was, he -told her his plan and offered her the position. It was for ninety days, -he said, and owing to the nature of the work, irregular hours and more -or less hardship, her pay would be twice that which she received in the -city. Would she care to go? - -She looked up at him with blue eyes smiling,—a smile that crept down to -her lips for all that she tried to repel it. She looked straight into -Ned’s eyes as she answered him simply, candidly, quite like a social -equal instead of a lowly employee. And there was a lilt in her voice -that caught Ned’s attention in spite of himself. - -“I haven’t had many opportunities for ocean travel,” she told him—and -whether or not she was laughing at him Ned Cornet couldn’t have sworn! -Her tone was certainly suspiciously merry. “Mr. Cornet, I’ll be glad -enough to accompany your party, any time you say.” - - - - - V - - -It was a jesting, hilarious crowd that gathered one sunlit morning to -watch the departure of the _Charon_. Rodney Coburn was there, and Rex -Nard, various matrons who were members of Mrs. Hardenworth’s bridge -club, and an outer and inner ring of satellites that gyrated around such -social suns as Ned and Lenore. Every one was very happy, and no one -seemed to take the expedition seriously. The idea of Ned Cornet, he of -the curly brown hair, in the rôle of fur trader in the frozen wastes of -the North appealed to his friends as being irresistibly comic. The -nearest approach to seriousness was Coburn’s envy. - -“I’d like to be in your shoes,” he told Ned. “Just think—a chance to -take a tundra caribou, a Kodiac bear, and maybe a polar bear and a -walrus—all in one swoop! I’ll have to hand over my laurels as a -big-game hunter when you get back, old boy!” - -“Lewis and Clark, Godspeed!” Ted Wynham, known among certain -disillusioned newspaper men as “the court jester”, announced -melodramatically from a snubbing block. “In token of our esteem and good -wishes, we wish to present you with this magic key to success and -happiness.” He held out a small bundle, the size of a jack-knife, -carefully wrapped. “You are going North, my children! You, Marco -Polo”—he bowed handsomely to Ned—“and you, our lady of the -snows,”—addressing Lenore—“and last but not least, the -chaperone”—bowing still lower to Mrs. Hardenworth, a big, handsome -woman with iron-gray hair and large, even features—“will find full use -for the enclosed magic key in the wintry, barbarous, but blessed lands -of the North. Gentleman and ladies, you are not venturing into a desert. -Indeed, it is a land flowing with milk and honey. And this little watch -charm, first aid to all explorers, the friend of all dauntless travelers -such as yourselves, explorers’ delight, in fact, will come in mighty -handy! Accept it, with our compliments!” - -He handed the package to Ned, and a great laugh went up when he revealed -its contents. It contained a gold-mounted silver cork-screw! - -Both Lenore and her mother seemed in a wonderful mood. The ninety-day -journey on those far-stretching sunlit waters seemed to promise only -happiness for them. Mrs. Hardenworth was getting her sea trip, and under -the most pleasant conditions. There would also, it seemed, be certain -chances for material advantages, none of which she intended to overlook. -In her trunk she had various of her own gowns—some of them slightly -worn, it was true; some of them stained and a trifle musty—yet suddenly -immensely valuable in her eyes. She had intended to give them to the -first charity that would condescend to accept them, but now she didn’t -even trust her own daughter with them. Somewhere in those lost and -desolate islands of the North she intended trading them for silver fox! -Ned had chest upon chest of gowns to trade; surely she would get a -chance to work in her own. Her daughter looked forward to the same -profitable enterprise, and besides, she had the anticipation of three -wonderful, happy months’ companionship with the man of her choice. - -They had dressed according to their idea of the occasion. Lenore wore a -beautifully tailored middy suit that was highly appropriate for summer -seas, but was nothing like the garb that Esquimo women wear in the fall -journeys in the Oomiacs. Mrs. Hardenworth had a smart tailored suit of -small black and white check, a small hat and a beautiful gray veil. Both -of them carried winter coats, and both were fitted out with binoculars, -cameras, and suchlike oceanic paraphernalia. Knutsen, of course, -supposed that their really heavy clothes, great mackinaws and slickers -and leather-lined woolens, such as are sometimes needed on Bering Sea, -were in the trunks he had helped to stow below. In this regard the blond -seaman, helmsman and owner of the craft, had made a slight mistake. In a -desire for a wealth of silver fox to wear home both trunks had been -filled with discarded gowns to the exclusion of almost everything else. - -Ned, in a smart yachting costume, had done rather better by himself. He -had talked with Coburn in regard to the outfit, and his duffle bag -contained most of the essentials for such a journey. And Bess’s big, -plain bag was packed full of the warmest clothes she possessed. - -Bess did not stand among the happy circle of Ned’s friends. Her mother -and sister had come down to the dock to bid her good-by, and they seemed -to be having a very happy little time among themselves. Bess herself was -childishly happy in the anticipation of the adventure. Hard would blow -the wind that could chill her, and mighty the wilderness power that -could break her spirit! - -The captain was almost ready to start the launch. McNab, the chief -engineer, was testing his engines; Forest, his assistant, stood on the -deck; and the negro cook stood grinning at the window of the galley. But -presently there was an abrupt cessation of the babble of voices in the -group surrounding Ned. - -Only Ted Wynham’s voice was left, trailing on at the high pitch he -invariably used in trying to make himself heard in a noisy crowd. It -sounded oddly loud, now that the laughter had ceased. Ted paused in the -middle of a word, startled by the silence, and a secret sense of vague -embarrassment swept all his listeners. A tall man was pushing through -the crowd, politely asking right of way, his black eyes peering under -silver brows. For some inexplicable reason the sound of frolic died -before his penetrating gaze. - -But the groups caught themselves at once. They must not show fear of -this stalwart, aged man with his prophet’s eyes. They spoke to him, -wishing him good day, and he returned their bows with faultless -courtesy. An instant later he stood before his son. - -“Mother couldn’t get down,” Godfrey Cornet said simply. “She sent her -love and good wishes. A good trip, Ned—but not too good a trip.” - -“Why not—too good a trip?” - -“A little snow, a little cold—maybe a charging Kodiac bear—fine -medicine for the spirit, Ned. Good luck!” - -He gave his hand, then turned to extend good wishes to Mrs. Hardenworth -and Lenore. He seemed to have a queer, hesitant manner when he addressed -the latter, as if he had planned to give some further, more personal -message, but now was reconsidering it. Then the little group about him -suddenly saw his face grow vivid. - -“Where’s Miss Gilbert——?” - -The group looked from one to another. As always, they were paying the -keenest attention to his every word; but they could not remember hearing -this name before. “Miss Gilbert?” his son echoed blankly. “Oh, you mean -the seamstress——” - -“Of course—the other member of your party.” - -“She’s right there, talking to her mother.” - -A battery of eyes was suddenly turned on the girl. Seemingly she had -been merely part of the landscape before, unnoticed except by such -clandestine gaze as Ted Wynham bent upon her; but in an instant, because -Godfrey Cornet had known her name, she became a personage of at least -some small measure of importance. Without knowing why she did it, Mrs. -Hardenworth drew herself up to her full height. - -Cornet walked courteously to the girl’s side and extended his hand. -“Good luck to you, and a pleasant journey,” he said, smiling down on -her. “And, Miss Gilbert, I wonder if I could give you a charge——” - -“I’ll do my best—anything you ask——” - -“I want you to look after my son Ned. He’s never been away from the -comforts of civilization before—and if a button came off, he’d never -know how to put it on. Don’t let him come to grief, Miss Gilbert. I’m -wholly serious—I know what the North is. Don’t let him take too great a -risk. Watch out for his health. There’s nothing in this world like a -woman’s care.” - -There was no ring of laughter behind him. No one liked to take the -chance that he was jesting, and no one could get away from the -uncomfortable feeling that he might be in earnest. Bess’s reply was -entirely grave. - -“I’ll remember all you told me,” she told him simply. - -“Thank you—and a pleasant voyage.” - -Even now the adventurers were getting aboard. Mrs. Hardenworth was -handing her bag to Knutsen—she had mistaken him for a cabin boy—with -instructions to carry it carefully and put it in her stateroom; Lenore -was bidding a joyous farewell to some of her more intimate friends. The -engine roared, the water churned beneath the propeller, the pilot called -some order in a strident voice. The boat moved easily from the dock. - -Swiftly it sped out into the Sound. A great shout was raised from the -dock, hands waved, farewell words blew over the sunlit waters. But there -was one of the four seafarers on the deck who seemed neither to hear nor -to see. He stood silent, a profundity of thought upon him never -experienced before. - -He was wondering at the reality of the clamor on the shore. How many -were there in the farewell party who after a few weeks would even -remember his existence? If the blond man at the wheel were in reality -Charon, piloting him to some fabled underworld from which he could never -return, how quickly he would be forgotten, how soon they would fail to -speak his name! He felt peculiarly depressed, inwardly baffled, deeply -perplexed. - -Were all his associations this same fraud? Was there nothing real or -genuine in all the fabric of his life? As he stood erect, gazing out -over the shimmering waters, Lenore suddenly gazed at him in amazement. - -For the moment there was a striking resemblance to his father about his -lips and in the unfathomable blackness of his eyes. Her own reaction was -a violent start, a swift feeling of apprehension that she could not -analyze or explain. Her instincts were sure and true: she must not let -this side of him gain the ascendency. Her very being seemed to depend on -that. - -But swiftly she called him from his preoccupation. She had something to -show him, she said,—a parting gift that Ted Wynham had left in her -stateroom. It was a dark bottle of a famous whisky, and it would suffice -their needs, he had said, until they should reach Vancouver. - - - - - VI - - -Mrs. Hardenworth had made it a point to go immediately to her stateroom, -but at once she reappeared on deck. She seemed a trifle more erect, her -gray eyes singularly wide open. - -“Ned, dear, I wonder if that fellow made a mistake when he pointed out -my stateroom,” she began rather stiffly. “I want to be sure I’ve got the -right one that you meant for me——” - -“It’s the one to the right,” Ned answered, somewhat unhappily. He -followed her along the deck, indicating the room she and her daughter -were to occupy. “Did you think he was slipping something over on you, -taking a better one himself?” - -“I didn’t know. You can’t ever tell about such men, Ned; you know that -very well. Of course, if it is the one you intended for me, I’m only too -delighted with it——” - -“It’s really the best on the ship. It’s not a big craft, you know; space -is limited. I’m sorry it’s so small and dark, and I suppose you’ve -already missed the running water. I do hope it won’t be too -uncomfortable. Of course, you can have the one on the other side, but -it’s really inferior to this——” - -“That’s the only other one? Ned, I want you to have the best one——” - -“I’m sorry to say I’m not going to have any. Miss Gilbert has to have -the other. But there’s a corking berth in the pilot house I’m going to -occupy.” - -“I’d never let Miss Gilbert have it!” The woman’s eyes flashed. “I -wouldn’t hear of it—you putting yourself out for your servant. Why -can’t she occupy the berth in the pilot house——” - -“I don’t mind at all. Really I don’t. The girl couldn’t be expected to -sleep where there are men on watch all night.” - -“It’s a shame, just the same. Here she is going to have one of the two -best staterooms all to herself.” - -At once she returned to her room; but the little scene was not without -results. In the first place it implanted a feeling of injury in Ned, -whose habits of mind made him singularly open to suggestion; and in the -second it left Mrs. Hardenworth with a distinct prejudice against Bess. -She was in a decided ill-humor until tea time, when she again joined Ned -and Lenore on the deck. - -She was not able to resist the contagion of their own high spirits, and -soon she was joining in their chat. Everything made for happiness -to-day. The air was cool and bracing, the blue waters glittered in the -sun, a quartering wind filled the sails of the _Charon_, and with the -help of the auxiliary engines whisked her rollicking northward. None of -the three could resist a growing elation, a holiday mood such as had -lately come but rarely and which was wholly worth celebrating. Soon Ned -excused himself, but reappeared at once with Ted Wynham’s parting gift. - -“It’s a rare day,” he announced solemnly. - -“And heavens! We haven’t christened the ship!” Lenore added drolly. - -“Children, children! Not yet a day out! But you mustn’t overdo it, -either of you!” Mrs. Hardenworth shook her finger to caution them. “Now, -Ned, have the colored man bring three glasses and water. I’d prefer -ginger ale with mine if you don’t mind—I’m dreadfully old-fashioned in -that regard.” - -A moment later all three had watered their liquor to their taste, and -were nodding the first “here’s how!” Then they talked quietly, enjoying -the first stir of the stimulant in their veins. - -Through the glass window of the cabin whence she had gone to read a -novel Bess watched that first imbibing with lively interest. It was her -first opportunity to observe her social superiors in their moments of -relaxation, and she didn’t quite know what to make of it. It was not -that she was wholly unfamiliar with drinking on the part of women. She -had known unfortunate girls, now and again, who had been brought to -desolation by this very thing, but she had always associated it with -squalor and brutality rather than culture and luxury. And she was -particularly impressed with the casual way these two beautiful women -took down their staggering doses. - -They didn’t seem to know what whisky was. They drank it like so much -water. Evidently they had little respect for the demon that dwells in -such poisoned waters,—a respect that in her, because of her greater -knowledge of life, was an innate fear. They were like children playing -with matches. She felt at first an instinct to warn them, to tell them -in that direction lay all that was terrible and deadly, but instantly -she knew that such a course would only make her ridiculous in their -eyes. - -But Bess needn’t have felt surprise. Their attitude was only reflective -of the recklessness that had come to be the dominant spirit of her -age,—at least among those classes from whom, because of their culture -and sophistication, the nation could otherwise look for its finest -ideals. She saw them take a second drink, and later, ostensibly hidden -from Mrs. Hardenworth’s eyes, Ned and Lenore have a sma’ wee one -together, around the corner of the pilot house. - -With that third drink the little gathering on the deck began to have the -proportions of a “party.” Of course, no one was drunk. Mrs. Hardenworth -was an old spartan at holding her liquor; Lenore and Ned were merely -stimulated and talkative. - -The older woman concealed the bottle in her stateroom, but the effects -of what had already been consumed did not at once pass away. Their -recklessness increased: it became manifest, to some small degree, in -speech. Once or twice Ned’s quips were a shade off-color, but always -rollicking laughter was the response: once Mrs. Hardenworth, half -without thinking, turned a phrase in such a way that a questionable -inference could hardly be avoided. - -“Why, mama!” Lenore exclaimed, in mock amazement. “Thank heaven you’ve -got the grace to blush.” - -“You wicked old woman,” Ned followed up with pretended gravity. “What if -our little needlewoman had heard you!” - -In reality Bess Gilbert had overheard the remark, as well as some of -Ned’s quips that had preceded it, and had been almost unable to believe -her ears. It was not that she was particularly ingenuous or innocent. As -an employee in a great factory she had a knowledge of life beyond any -that these two tenderly bred women could have hoped to gain. But always -before she had associated such speech with ill-bred and vulgar people -with whom she would not permit herself to associate, never with those -who in their attitude and thought presumed to be infinitely her -superior. - -She was not lacking in good sense; so she gave no sign of having heard. -She wondered, however, just how she would have received such sallies had -she been properly a member of their party. Wholly independent, with a -world of moral courage to support her convictions, she could not have -joined in the laughter that followed, even to avoid being conspicuous. -It would have been a situation of real embarrassment to her. - -The conclusion that she came to was that her three months’ journey on -board the _Charon_ would be beset with many complications. - -She made the very sensible resolve to avoid Ned’s society and that of -his two guests just as much as possible. She saw at once they were not -her kind of people; and only unpleasantness would result from her -intercourse with them. - -She couldn’t explain the darkening of her mood that followed this -resolve. Surely she did not lean on these three for her happiness: the -journey itself offered enough in the way of adventure and pleasure. She -anticipated hours of enjoyment with Knutsen, the Norse pilot and owner -of the boat, with McNab, the freckled, sandy-haired first engineer, and -with Forest, his young assistant. Yet the weight of unhappiness that -descended upon her was only too real. She tried in vain to shake it off. -A sensible, self-mastered girl, she hated to yield to an oppression that -seemingly had its source in her imagination only. - -Ned had seemed so fine, so cheery, so companionable the night he had -taken her home, after the accident. Yet he was showing himself a -weakling: she saw the signs of it too plainly to mistake. She saw him -not only on a far different social plane from her own, but some way -fallen in her respect. He was separated from her not only by the -unstable barrier of caste but by the stone wall of standards. She knew -life, this girl of the world of toil, and she seemed to know that all -her half-glimpsed, intangible dreams had come to nothing. - -And her decision to avoid the three aristocrats stood her in good stead -before the night was done, saving her as bitter a moment as any that had -oppressed her in all the steep path of her life. Just after the dinner -call had sounded, Lenore, Ned, and Mrs. Hardenworth had had a momentous -conference in the little dining saloon. - -The issue was silly and trivial from the first; but even insignificant -things assume dangerous proportions when heady liquor is dying in the -veins. It had been too long since Mrs. Hardenworth had had her drinks. -She was in a doubtful mood, querulous so far as her own assumption of -good breeding would permit, ready to haggle over nothing. The three of -them had come into the dining room together: none of the other occupants -of the little schooner had yet put in an appearance. - -“I see the table’s set for four,” she began. “Who’s the other place -for—Captain Knutsen?” - -“I’m afraid the captain has to mind his wheel. This isn’t an oceanic -liner. I suppose the place is set for Miss Gilbert.” - -Watching the older woman’s face, Ned discerned an almost imperceptible -hardening of the lines that stretched from the nose to the corners of -the lips. Likely he wouldn’t have observed it at all except for the fact -that he had now and then seen the same thing in Lenore, always when she -was displeased. - -“Miss Gilbert seems to fill the horizon. May I ask how many more there -are in the crew?” - -“Just McNab, Forest, and the cook. Both white men take turns at the -wheel in open water.” - -“That’s three for each table, considering one of the men has to stay at -the wheel. Why shouldn’t one of these plates be removed?” - -The woman spoke rather softly, but Ned did not mistake the fact that she -was wholly in earnest. “I don’t see why not,” he answered rather feebly. -“Except, of course—they eat at irregular hours——” - -“Listen, Ned. Be sensible. When a seamstress comes to our house she -doesn’t eat at the table with us. Not at your house either. Perhaps -you’d say that this was different, thrown together as we are on this -little boat, but I don’t see that it is different. I hope you won’t mind -my suggesting this thing to you. I’ve handled servants all my life—I -know how to get along with them with the least degree of friction—and -it’s very easy to be _too_ kind.” - -Ned looked down, his manhood oozing out of him. “But she’s a nice -girl——” - -“I don’t doubt that she is,” Lenore interrupted him. “That isn’t the -point. It isn’t through any attempt to assert superiority that mama is -saying what she is. You know we like to be alone, Ned; we don’t want to -have to include any one else in our conversation. We’re a little trio -here, and we don’t need any one else. Tell the man to take away her -plate.” - -“Of course, if you prefer it.” Half ashamed of his reluctance, he called -the negro and had the fourth plate removed. “Miss Gilbert will eat at -the second table,” he explained. When the man had gone, Ned turned in -appeal to Lenore. “She’ll be here in a minute. What shall I tell her?” - -“Just what you told the servant—that she is to wait for the second -table. Ned, you might as well make it clear in the beginning, otherwise -it will be a problem all through the trip. Wait till she comes in, then -tell her.” - -Ned agreed, and they waited for the sound of Bess’s step on the stair. -Mrs. Hardenworth’s large lips were set in a hard line: Lenore had a -curious, eager expectancy. Quietly Julius served the soup, wondering at -the ways of his superiors, the whites, and the long seconds grew into -the minutes. Still they did not see Bess’s bright face at the door. - -The soup cooled, and Mrs. Hardenworth began to grow impatient. The girl -was certainly late in responding to the dinner call! And now, because -she was fully aroused, she was no longer willing to accept that which -would have constituted, a few minutes before, a pleasant way out of the -difficulty,—the failure of the seamstress to put in an appearance. The -victorious foe, at white heat, demands more than mere surrender. The two -women, fully determined as to Ned’s proper course, were not willing the -matter should rest. - -“Send for her,” Mrs. Hardenworth urged. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t -get this done and out of the way to-night, so we won’t have to be -distressed about it again.” Her voice had a ring of conviction; there -was no doubt that, in her own mind, she had fully justified this affront -to Bess. “You’ve got to face it some time. Tell the man to ask her to -come here—and then politely designate her for the second table. She’s -an employee of yours, you are in real command of the boat, and it’s -entirely right and proper.” - -Wholly cowed, anxious to sustain the assumption of caste that their -words had inferred, he called to the negro waiter. “Please tell Miss -Gilbert to come here,” he ordered. - -A wide grin cracking his cheeks, failing wholly to understand the real -situation and assuming that “de boss” had relented in his purpose to -exclude the seamstress from the first table, the colored man sped -cheerfully away. Bess had already spoken kindly to him; Julius had -deplored the order to remove her plate almost as a personal affront. And -he failed to hear Ned’s comment that might have revealed the situation -in its true light. - -“I suppose you’re right,” he said weakly, after Julius had gone. “But I -feel like a cad, just the same.” - -Again they waited for the seamstress to come. The women were grim, -forbidding. And in a moment they heard steps at the threshold. - -But only Julius, his face beset with gloom, came through the opened -door. “De lady say she ’stremely sorry,” he pronounced, bowing. “But she -say she’s already promised Mista McNab to eat with him!” - - - - - VII - - -The _Charon_ sped straight north, out of the Sound, through the inside -passage. Days were bright; skies were clear, displaying at night a -marvelous intricacy of stars; the seas glittered from the kindly -September sun. They put in at Vancouver the night following their -departure from Seattle, loaded on certain heavy stores, and continued -their way in the lea of Vancouver Island. - -Straight north, day after day! To McNab, a man who had cruised ten years -on Alaskan waters, the air began to feel like home. It was crisp, -surging cool in the lungs, fragrant with balsam from the wooded islands. -Already Ned had begun to readjust some of his ideas in regard to the -North. It was no longer easy to believe that his father had exaggerated -its beauty and its appeal, its desolation and its vastness. It was a -strange thing for a man used to cities to go day upon day without seeing -scarcely a village beside the sea, a single human being other than those -of his own party. Here was one place, it seemed, that the hand of man -had touched but lightly if at all. - -The impression grew the farther north he went. Ever there was less sign -of habitation upon the shore. The craft passed through narrow channels -between mountains that cropped up from the sea, it skirted wooded -islands, it passed forgotten Indian villages where the totem poles stood -naked and weather-stained before the forsaken homes of the chiefs. The -glasses brought out a wonderland scene just beyond the reach of their -unaided sight,—glacier and snow-slide, lofty peaks and water-falls. The -mystic, brooding spirit of the North was already over them. - -They had touched at Ketchikan, the port of entry to Alaska, and thence -headed almost straight west, across the gulf of Alaska and toward the -far-stretching end of the Alaskan Peninsula. During these days they were -far out of sight of land, surrounded only by an immeasurable ocean that -rolled endlessly for none to see or hear. - -They were already far beyond the limits of ordinary tourist travel. The -big boats plied as far as Anchorage at the head of Cook Inlet—to the -north and east of them now—but beyond that point the traffic was -largely that of occasional coastal traders, most of them auxiliary -schooners of varying respectability. They seemed to have the ocean -almost to themselves, never to see the tip of a sail on the horizon, or -a fisherman’s craft scudding into port. And the solitude crept into the -spirits of the passengers of the _Charon_. - -It became vaguely difficult to keep up a holiday atmosphere. It was -increasingly hard to be gay, to fight down certain inner voices that had -hitherto been stifled. Some way, life didn’t seem quite the same, quite -the gay dream it had hitherto been. And yet this immeasurable vista of -desolate waters—icy cold for all the sunlight that kissed the -upreaching lips of the waves—was some way like a dream too. The brain -kept clear enough, but it was all somewhat confusing to an inner brain, -a secret self that they had scarcely been aware of before. It was hard -to say which was the more real,—the gay life they had left, the -laughter of which was still an echo in their ears, or these -far-stretching wastes of wintry waters. - -They couldn’t help but be thoughtful. Realities went home to them that -they had no desire to admit. A fervent belief in their own -sophistication had been their dominant point of view, a disillusionment -and a realism that was the tone of their generation, denying all they -could not see or hear, holding themselves superciliously aloof from that -gracious wonder and simplicity that still blesses little children; but -here was something that was inscrutably beyond them. They couldn’t laugh -it away. They couldn’t cast it off with a phrase of cheap slang; -demeaning it in order to hold firm to their own philosophy of Self. Here -was something that shook their old attitude of self-love and -self-sufficiency to its foundations. They thought they knew life, these -three; they thought they were bigger than life, that they had mastered -it and found it out and stripped all delusions from it, but now their -unutterable conceit, the pillar of their lives, was threatening to fall. -This sunlit sea was too big for them: too big and too mighty and too -old. - -The trouble with Ned’s generation was that it was a godless generation: -the same evil that razed Babylon to the dust. Ned and his kind had come -to be sufficient unto themselves. They had lost the wonder and fear of -life, and that meant nothing less than the loss of their wonder and fear -of the great Author of life. To these, life had been a game that they -thought they had mastered. They had laughed to scorn the philosophies -that a hundred generations of nobler men had built up with wondering -reverence. Made arrogant by luxury and ease, they knew of nothing too -big for them, no mystery that their contemptuous gaze could not -penetrate, no wonder that their reckless hands could not unveil. They -were drunk with their own glories, and the ultimate Source of all things -had no place in their philosophies or their thoughts. It was true that -churches flourished among them, that Charity received her due; but the -old virile faith, the reverent wonder, the mighty urge that has achieved -all things that have been worth achieving were cold and dead in their -hearts. But out here in this little, wind-blown craft, surrounded by an -immensity of desolation beyond the power of their minds to grasp, it was -hard to hold to their old complacency. Their old philosophies were -barrenly insufficient, and they couldn’t repel an ever deepening sense -of awe. The wind, sweeping over them out of the vastness, was a new -voice, striking the laughter from their lips and instilling a coldness -that was almost fear in their warm, youthful blood. The sun shone now, -but soon vast areas, not far off, would be locked tight with ice; never -the movement of a wave, never the flash of a sea-bird’s wing over the -wastes; and the thought sobered them and perhaps humbled them a little -too. Sometimes, alone on the deck at night, Ned was close to the dearest -reality, the most profound discovery that could possibly touch his life: -that the dreadful spirit of God moved upon the face of these desolate -waters, no less than, as is told in Genesis, at creation’s dawn. - -Everything would have been different if they had come in a larger boat, -for instance, one of the great liners that plied between Seattle and -Anchorage. In that case, likely they would have had no trouble in -retaining their old point of view. The brooding tone of the North would -have passed them by; the journey could still have remained a holiday -instead of the strange, wandering dream that it was. The reason was -simply that on a liner they would not have broken all ties with their -old life. There would have been games and dancing, the service of -menials, social intercourse and all the superficialities and pretenses -that had until now composed their lives. Their former standards, the -attitudes from which they regarded life, would have been unaltered. -There would have been no isolation, and thus no darkening of their -moods, no haunting uneasiness that could not be named or described, no -whispering voices heard but dimly out of the sea. They could have -remained in their own old ramparts of callousness and scorn. But here -they were alone,—lost and far on an empty sea, under an empty sky. - -There was such a little group of them, only eight in all. The ship was a -mere dot in the expanse of blue. Around them endlessly lay the sea, -swept by unknown winds, cursed by the winter’s cold, like death itself -in its infinity and its haunting fear. The life they had left behind was -already shadowed and dim: the farewell shouts, the laughter, the gaiety, -the teeming crowds that moved and were never still were all like -something imagined, unspeakably far off. Only the sea and the sky were -left, and the craft struggling wearily, ever farther into the empty -North. - -Lenore found herself oppressed by an unreasoning fear. Realities were -getting home to her, and she was afraid of them. It would have been -wiser not to come, yet she couldn’t have told why. The launch was wholly -comfortable; she was already accustomed to the cramped quarters. The men -of the crew were courteous, Ned the same devoted lover as always. The -thing was more an instinct with her: such pleasure as the trip offered -could not compensate for an obscure uneasiness, a vague but ominous -shadow over her mood and heart that was never lifted. Perhaps a wiser -and secret self within the girl, a subconsciousness which was wise with -the knowledge of the ages before ever her being emerged from the germ -plasm was even now warning her to turn back. It knew her limitations; -also it knew the dreadful, savage realm she had dared to penetrate. The -North would have no mercy for her if she were found unworthy. - -Perhaps in her heart she realized that she represented all that was the -antithesis of this far northern domain. She was the child of luxury and -ease: the tone and spirit of these wintry seas were travail and -desolation. She was the product of a generation that knew life only as a -structure that men’s civilization had built; out here was life itself, -raw and naked, stripped and bare. She was lawless, undisciplined, -knowing no code but her own desires; all these seas and the gray -fog-laden shores they swept were in the iron grip of Law that went down -to the roots of time. She had never looked beyond the surface of things; -the heart that pulsed in the breast of this wintry realm lay so deep -that only the most wise and old, devotees to nature’s secrets, could -ever hear it beat. She had the unmistakable feeling that, in an -unguarded moment, she had blundered into the camp of an enemy. Ever she -discerned a malevolence in the murmur of the wind, a veritable threat in -the soft voices of the night. - -The nights, her innate sense of artistry told her, were unspeakably -beautiful. She had never seen such stars before. They were so large, so -white, and yet so unutterably aloof. Sometimes the moon rose in a splash -of silver, and its loveliness on the far seas was a thing that words -couldn’t reach. Yet Lenore did not like things she could not put in -words. For all their beauty those magic nights dismayed and disquieted -her. They too were of the realities, and for all her past attitude of -sophistication, she found that realism was the one thing she could not -and dared not accept. Such realities as these, the wide-stretching seas -and the infinity of stars, were rapidly stripping her of her dearest -delusions; and with them, the very strongholds of her being. Heretofore -she had placed her faith in superficialities, finding strength for her -spirit and bolstering up her self-respect with such things as pride of -ancestry, social position, a certain social attitude of recklessness -that she thought became her, and most of all by refusing to believe that -life contained any depth that she had not plumbed, any terrors that she -dared not brave, any situation that she could not meet and master. But -here these things mattered not at all. Neither ancestry nor social -position could save her should the winter cold, hinted at already in the -bitter frost of the dawns, swoop down and find her unprotected. Her own -personal charm would not fight for her should she fall overboard into -the icy waters. Here was a region where recklessness could very easily -mean death; and where life itself was suddenly revealed utterly beyond -her ken. But there was no turning back. Every hour the _Charon_ bore her -farther from her home. - -Mrs. Hardenworth, whose habits of thought were more firmly established, -was only made irritable and petulant by the new surroundings. Never good -company except under the stimulation of some social gathering, she was -rapidly becoming something of a problem to Ned and Lenore. She was -irritable with the crew, on the constant verge of insult to Bess, -forecasting disaster for the entire expedition. Unlike Bess, she had -never been disciplined to meet hardship and danger; her only resource -was guile and her only courage was recklessness; so now she tried to -overcome her inner fears with a more reckless attitude toward life. It -was no longer necessary for Ned and Lenore to seek the shelter of the -pilot house for their third whisky-and-soda. She was only too glad to -take it with them. More than once the dinner hour found her glassy-eyed -and almost hysterical, only a border removed from actual drunkenness. -Never possessing any true moral strength or real good breeding, a -certain abandon began to appear in her speech. And they had not yet -rounded the Alaskan Peninsula into Bering Sea. - -To Ned, the long north and westward journey had been even more a -revelation. He also knew the fear, the disillusionment, a swift sense of -weakness when before he had been perfectly sure in his own strength; but -there was also a more complex reaction,—one that he could not analyze -or put into words. He couldn’t call it happiness. It wasn’t that, unless -the mood that follows the hearing of wonderful music is also happiness. -Perhaps that was the best comparison: the passion he felt was something -like the response made to great music. There had been times at the -opera, when all conditions were exactly favorable, that he had felt the -same, and once when he had heard Fritz Kreisler play Handel’s “Largo.” -It was a strange reaching and groping, rather than happiness. It was a -stir and thrill that touched the most secret chords of his being. - -He felt it most at night when the great, white northern stars wheeled -through the heavens. It was good to see them undulled by smoke; they -touched some side of him that had never been stirred into life before. -At such times the sea was lost in mystery. - -The truth was that Ned, by the will of the Red Gods, was perceiving -something of the real spirit of the North. A sensitive man to start -with, he caught something of its mystery and wonder of which, as yet, -Lenore had no glimpse. And the result was to bring him to the verge of a -far-reaching discovery: that of his own weakness. - -He had never admitted weakness before. He had always been so sure of -himself, so complacent, so self-sufficient. But curiously these things -were dying within him. He found himself doubting, for the first time, -the success of this northern adventure. Could he cope with the realities -that were beginning to press upon him? Would not this northern -wilderness show him up as the weakling he was? - -For the first time in his life Ned Cornet knew what realism was. He -supposed, in his city life, that he had been a realist: instead he had -only been a sophist and a mocker in an environment that was never real -from dawn to darkness. He had read books that he had acclaimed among his -young friends as masterpieces of realism—usually works whose theme and -purpose seemed to be a bald-faced portrayal of sex—but now he saw that -their very premise was one of falsehood. Here were the true -realities,—unconquerable seas and starry skies and winds from off the -waste places. - -Unlike Lenore, Ned’s regrets were not that he had ever launched forth -upon the venture. Rather he found himself regretting that he was not -better fitted to contend with it. Perhaps, after all, his father had -been right and he had been wrong. For the first time in his life Ned -felt the need of greater strength, of stronger sinews. - -What if his father had told the truth, and that strict trials awaited -him here. It was no longer easy to disbelieve him. Almost any disaster -could fall upon him here, in these wastes of sunlit water, in the very -shadow of polar ice. The sun itself had lost its warmth. It slanted down -upon them from far to the south, and it seemed to be beguiling them, -with its golden beauty on the waters, into some deadly trap that had -been set for them still farther north. It left Ned some way apprehensive -and dismayed. He wished he hadn’t been so sure of himself, that he had -taken greater pains, in his wasted years, to harden and train himself. -Perhaps he was to be weighed in the balance, and it was increasingly -hard to believe that he would not be found wanting. - -In such a mood he recalled his father’s words regarding that dread realm -of test and trial that lay somewhere beyond the world: “some bitter, -dreadful training camp for those that leave this world unfitted to go on -to a higher, better world.” He had scorned the thought at first, but now -he could hardly get it out of his mind. It suggested some sort of an -analogy with his present condition. These empty seas were playing tricks -on his imagination; he could conceive that the journey of which his -father had spoken might not be so greatly different than this. There -would be the same desolation, the same nearness of the stars, the -emptiness and mystery, the same sense of gathering, impending trial and -stress. The name of the craft was the _Charon_! The thought chilled him -and dismayed him. - -For all his boasted realism, Ned Cornet had never got away from -superstition. Man is still not far distant from the Cave and the -Squatting Place, and superstition is a specter from out the dead -centuries that haunts all his days. The coincidence that their craft, -plying through these deathly waters, should bear such a name as the -_Charon_ suddenly suggested a dark possibility to Ned. All at once this -man, heretofore so sure, so self-sufficient, so incredulous of anything -except his own continued glory and happiness and life, was face to face -with the first fear—the simple, primitive fear of death. - -Was that his fate at the journey’s end? Not mere trial, mere hardship -and stress and adventure, but uncompromising death! Was he experiencing -a premonition? Was that training camp soon to be a reality, as terribly -real as these cold seas and this sky of stars, instead of a mere figment -of an old man’s childish fancy? - -The thought troubled and haunted him, but it proved to be the best -possible influence for the man himself. For the first time in his life -Ned Cornet was awake. He had been dreaming before: for the first time he -had wakened to _life_. Fear, disaster, the dreadful omnipotence of fate -were no longer empty words to him: they were stern and immutable -realities. He knew what the wolf knows, when he howls to the winter moon -from the snow-swept ridge: that he was a child in the hands of Powers so -vast and awful that the sublimest human thought could not even reach to -them! He could see, dimly as yet but unmistakably, the shadow of that -travail that haunts men’s days from the beginning to the end. - -His father’s blood, and in some degree his father’s wisdom, was -beginning to manifest itself in him. It was only a whispered voice as -yet, wholly to be disregarded in the face of too great temptation, yet -nevertheless it was the finest and most hopeful thing in his life. And -it came particularly clear one still, mysterious night, shortly after -the dinner hour, as he faced the North from the deck of the _Charon_. - -The schooner’s auxiliary engines had pumped her through Unimak Pass by -now, the passage between Unimak and Akun Islands, and now she had -launched forth into that wide, western portal of the Arctic,—Bering -Sea. Still the wonderful succession of bright days had endured, no less -than marvelous, along the mist-swept southern shore of the peninsula, -but now the brisk, salty wind from the northwest indicated an impending -weather change. It had been a remarkably clear and windless day, and the -night that had come down, so swiftly and so soon, was of strange and -stirring beauty. The stars had an incredible luster; the sea itself was -of an unnamed purple, marvelously deep,—such a color as scientists -might find lying beyond the spectrum. And Ned’s eyes, to-night, were not -dulled by the effects of strong drink. - -For some reason that he himself could not satisfactorily explain he -hadn’t partaken of his usual afternoon whiskies-and-sodas. He simply -wasn’t in a drinking mood, steadfastly refusing to partake. Lenore, -though she had never made it a point to encourage Ned’s drinking habits, -could not help but regard the refusal as in some way a slight to -herself, and was correspondingly downcast and irritable. Wholly out of -sorts, she had let him go to the deck alone. - -The night’s beauty swept him, touching some realm of his spirit deep and -apart from his mere love of pleasing visual image. His imagination was -keenly alive, and he had a distinct feeling that the North had a -surprise in store for him to-night. Some stress and glory was impending: -what he did not know. - -Facing over the bow he suddenly perceived a faint silver radiance close -to the horizon. His first impression was that the boat had taken a -south-easternly course, and this argent gleam was merely the banner of -the rising moon. Immediately he knew better: except by the absolute -disruption of cosmic law, the moon could not rise for at least four -hours. He knew of no coast light anywhere in the region, and it was hard -to believe that he had caught the far-off glimmer of a ship’s light. -Seemingly such followers of the sea had been left far behind them. - -But as he watched the light grew. His own pulse quickened. And presently -a radiant streamer burst straight upward like a rocket, fluttered a -moment, and died away. - -A strange thrill and stir moved through the intricacy of his nerves. He -knew now what this light portended; it was known to every wayfarer in -the North, yet the keenest excitement took hold of him. It moved him -more than any painted art had ever done, more than any wonderful maze of -color and light that a master stage director could effect. The streamer -shot up again, more brightly colored now, and then a great ball of fire -rolled into the sky, exploded into a thousand flying fragments, and left -a sea of every hue in the spectrum in its wake. - -“The Northern Lights!” he told himself. A quiver of exultation passed -over him. - -There could be no mistake. This was the radiance, the glory that the Red -Gods reserve for those who seek the far northern trails. Ever the -display increased in wonder and beauty. The streamers were whisking in -all directions now, meeting with the effect of collision in the dome of -the sky, remaining there to shiver and gleam with incredible beauty; the -surging waves of light spread ever farther until, at times, the sky was -a fluttering canopy of radiance. - -He thought of calling Lenore and Mrs. Hardenworth; but some way the idea -slipped out of his mind. In a moment he was too deep in his own mood -even to remember that they existed. But not only his exterior world -faded from his consciousness. For the moment he forgot _himself_; and -with it the old self-love and self-conceit that had pervaded every -moment of his past life, colored all his views, and shaped the ends of -his destiny. All that was left was that incredible sky and its weird, -reflected glamor in the sea. - -This was _Aurora Borealis_, never to be known, in its full glory, to -those that shun the silent spaces of the North. Suddenly he felt glad -that he was here. The moment, by measure of some queer balance beyond -his sight, was worth all the rest of his past life put together. Great -trials might lie ahead, temptations might tear him down, his own -weakness and folly of the past might lay him low in some woeful disaster -of the future; yet he was glad that he had come! It was the most -profound, the most far-reaching moment of his life. - -Always he had lived close to and bound up in a man-made civilization. In -his heart he had worshipped it, rather than the urge and the inspiration -that had made it possible: he had always judged the Thing rather than -the Source. But for the first time in his life he was close to nature’s -heart. He had seen a glory, at nature’s whim, that transcended the most -glorious work of man ever beheld in his native city. He was closer to -redemption than at any time in his life. - -A few feet distant on the deck Bess’s eyes turned from the miracle in -the skies to watch the slowly growing light in Ned Cornet’s face. It was -well enough for him to find his inspiration in the majesty of nature. -Bess was a woman, and that meant that man that is born of woman was her -work and her being. She turned her eyes from God to behold this man. - -And it was well for her that Lenore was not near enough to see her face -in the wan, ghostly radiance of the Northern Lights. Her woman’s -intuition would have been quick to lay bare the secret of the girl’s -wildly leaping heart. Bess’s eyes were suddenly lustrous with a light no -less wonderful than that which played in glory in the sky. Her face was -swiftly unutterably beautiful in its tenderness and longing. - -And had she not fought against this very thing? She had not dreamed for -a moment but that she had conquered and shut away the appeal that this -man made to her heart. It would have been easy enough to conquer if he -had only remained what he had been,—selfish, reckless, self-loving, -inured to his tawdry philosophy of life. But to-night a new strength had -come into his face. Perhaps it would be gone to-morrow, but to-night his -manhood had come to him. And she couldn’t resist it. It swept her heart -as the wind sweeps a sea-bird through the sky. - - - - - VIII - - -Before ever that long night was done, clouds had overswept the sky and a -cold rain was beating upon the sea. It swept against the ports of the -little craft and brought troubled dreams to Lenore and Mrs. Hardenworth. -Bess, who knew life better than these two, to whom the whole journey had -been a joyous adventure, did not wholly escape a feeling of uneasiness -and dismay. At this latitude and season the weather was little to be -trusted. - -The drizzle changed to snow that lay white on the deck and hissed softly -in the water. As yet, however, it was nothing to fear. Snow was common -in these latitudes in September. The sudden break of winter might lead -to really serious consequences—perhaps the unpleasant prospect of being -ice-bound in some island harbor—but in all probability real winter was -still several weeks distant. The scene looked wintry enough to Lenore -and Ned, however. The air and the sky and the sea seemed choked with -snow. - -Lenore found herself wishing she had not been so contemptuous of the -North. Perhaps it would have been better not to have taken so many -worn-out dresses to trade, but to have filled her chests with woolens -and furs. Even in her big coat she couldn’t stay warm on the deck. The -wind was icy out of the Arctic seas. - -Once more the craft plied among islands; but now that they had passed -into Bering Sea the character of the land had changed. These were not -the dull-green, wooded isles met with on first entering Alaskan waters. -Wild and inhospitable though the latter had seemed, they were fairy -bowers compared to these. Nor did the mossy mainland continue to show a -marvelous beryl green through mist. - -In the first place, even the prevailing color scheme had undergone an -ominous change from blue to gray. The sun kissed the sea no more: under -the sifting snow it stretched infinitely bleak and forbidding. Gray were -the clouds in the sky that had been the purest, most serene blue. And -now even the islands had lost their varied tints. - -Evergreen forests almost always look blue at a distance,—bluish-green -when the sun is bright, bluish-black under clouds. But these voyagers -saw, with a dim, haunting dread, that the forests mostly had been left -far behind them. The islands they passed now were no longer heavily -wooded; only a few of the sheltered valleys and the south slopes of the -hills bore thickets of stunted aspen, birch, and Sitka spruce. Mostly -these too were gray, gray as granite, merely a different shade of gray -from that of the sea from which they rose. - -The truth was that these islands were far-scattered fragments of the -Barrens, those great wastes of moss and tundra between the timber belt -and the eternal ice cap of the pole. Largely treeless, wind-swept, -mostly unpeopled except for a few furtive creatures of the wild, they -seemed no part of the world that Ned and Lenore had previously known. -They were all so gray, so bleak, swept with an unearthly sadness, silent -except for the weary beat of waves upon their craggy shores. - -Mostly the islands were mere snow-swept mountains protruding above the -waters, at a distance seemingly as gray as the rest of the toneless -landscape. Only the less mountainous of the islands had human occupants, -and these were in small, far-scattered Indian villages. Seemingly they -had reached the dim, gray limits of the world: surely they must soon -turn back. Indeed, these were the Skopins, the group that comprised -Ned’s first trading ground, and Muchinoff Island, the northern-most land -in the group and the point selected as his first stopping place, from -which he would begin the long homeward journey from island to island, -was only a few days’ journey beyond. - -Yet they sped northward a while more, nothing changing except day and -night. Indeed, day and night itself seemed no longer the unvarying -reality that it used to be. Between the dark clouds and the dark sea, -night never seemed to go completely away. Day after day they caught no -glimpse of the sun. - -The islands were seen but dimly through mist, as might the outlying -shores of a Twilight Land, a place where souls might come but never -living men,—a gray and eerie training camp like that of which Ned’s -father had spoken. It was all real enough, truly, remorselessly real; -yet Ned couldn’t escape from the superstitious fear he had known at -first. The gray, desolate character of the islands seemed to bear it -out. It grew on him, rather than lessened. - -Yet his standards were changing. Things that had not concerned him a few -weeks before mattered terribly now. For instance, the bareness of the -islands oppressed him, and he found himself longing for the sight of -trees. Just trees,—bending in the wind, shaking off their leaves in the -fall. They hadn’t mattered before: he had regarded them as mere -ornaments that nature supplied for lawns and parks, if indeed he had -ever consciously regarded them at all; but now they were ever so much -more important than a hundred things that had previously seemed -absolutely essential to his life and happiness. Had his thought reached -further, he could have understood, now, the joy of Columbus—journeying -in waters scarcely less known than these—at the sight of the floating -branch; or the exultation in the Ark when the dove returned with its -sprig of greenery. - -Lately the ship had taken a northeastern turn, following the island -chain, and the cloudy, windy, rainy days found them not far from the -mainland, in a region that would be wholly ice-bound in a few weeks -more. And when they were still a full day from their turning point, -Knutsen sought out Ned on the deck. - -“Mr. Cornet, do you know where we’re getting?” he asked quietly. - -Unconsciously startled by his tone, Ned whirled toward him. “I don’t -know these waters,” he replied. “I suppose we’re approaching Muchinoff -Island.” - -“Quite a sail between here and der, yet. Mr. Cornet, we’re getting into -de most unknown and untraveled waters in all dis part of the Nort’. De -boats to Nome go way outside here, and de trut’ is I’m way out of my old -haunts. I’m traveling by chart only; neither me nor McNab, nor very many -oder people know very much the waterways between dese islands. You’re up -here to trade for furs, and you haven’t got all winter. You know dat -dese waters here, shut off from the currents, are going to be tighter -dan a drum before very many weeks. Why don’t you make your destination -Tzar Island, and start back from dere?” - -“You think it’s really dangerous?” - -“Not really dangerous, maybe, but mighty awkward if anyt’ing should go -wrong wit’ de old brig. You understan’ dat not one out of four of dese -little islands is inhabited. Some of de larger islands have only a -scattered village or two; some of ’em haven’t a living human being. -Der’s plenty and plenty of islands not even named in dis chart, and I’d -hate to hit the reefs of one after dark! Der’s no one to send S. O. S. -calls to, in case of trouble, even if we had wireless. De only boat I -know dat works carefully through dis country is anot’er trader, the -_Intrepid_—and dat won’t be along till spring. Mr. Cornet, it’s best -for you to know dat you’re in one of the most uninhabited and barren -countries——” - -“And the most dreary and generally damnable,” Ned agreed with -enthusiasm. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? Muchinoff Island isn’t -anything in my young life. I picked it out as a starting point simply -because it was the farthest north of the Skopins, but since there seems -to be plenty of territory——” - -“It will make you hump some to cover all de good territory now, -including some of the best of de Aleuts, and get around Alaskan -Peninsula before winter sets in, in earnest. Tzar Island is yust to our -nort’east. Shall I head toward it?” - -“How long will it take——” - -“Depends on de wind. Dis is a ticklish stretch of water in here, shallow -in spots, but safe enough, I guess. I think we can skim along and make -it in long before dawn.” - -“Then do it!” Ned’s face suddenly brightened. “The sooner I can shake my -legs on shore, the better I’ll like it.” - -The seaman left him, and for a moment Ned stood almost drunk with -exultation on the deck. Even now they were nearing the journey’s end. A -few hours more, and they could turn back from this dreary, accursed -wintry sea,—this gray, unpeopled desolation that had chilled his heart. -It was true that the long journey home, broken by many stops, still lay -before, but at least he would face the south! Once on his native shores, -forever out of this twilight land and away from its voice of reproach, -he could be content with his old standards, regain his old -self-confidence. He could take up his old life where he had left it, -forgetting these desolate wastes as he would a dream. - -He was a fool ever to regret his wasted days! He laughed at himself for -ever giving an instant’s thought to his father’s doleful words. The -worst of the journey was over, they had only to go back the way they had -come; and his puzzling sense of weakness, his premonition of disaster, -most of all his superstitious fear of death had been the veriest -nonsense. His imagination had simply got out of bounds. - -The old _Charon_! He had been afraid of her name. Seemingly he had -forgotten, for the time, that he was a man of the twentieth century, the -product of the most wonderful civilization the world had ever seen. He -had been frightened by old bogeys, maudlin with time-worn sentiments. -And now his old egotism had returned to him, seemingly unshaken. - -Presently he turned, made his way into the hold, and opened one of a -pile of iron-bound wooden cases. When he returned to the dining saloon -he carried a dark bottle in each hand. - -“All hands celebrate to-night!” he cried. “We’re going to go home!” - -Out of the sea the wind seemed to answer him. It swept by, laughing. - - - - - IX - - -Ned’s news was received with the keenest delight by Lenore and Mrs. -Hardenworth. The latter regained her lost amiability with promptness. -Lenore’s reaction was not dissimilar from Ned’s; in her native city she -could come into her own again. - -The bottles were greeted with shouts of delight. Ned went immediately to -the sideboard and procured half a dozen glasses. - -“All hands partake to-night,” he explained. “It’s going to be a _real_ -party.” - -He mixed whiskies-and-sodas for Lenore and Mrs. Hardenworth; then -started to make the rounds of the crew with a bottle and glasses. He did -not, however, waste time offering any to Bess. The latter had already -evinced an innate fear of it, wholly apart from sentimentality and -nonsense. She had lived in a circle and environment where strong drink -had not been merely a thing to jest over and sing songs about, to drink -lightly and receive therefrom pleasant exhilaration; but where it was a -living demon, haunting and shadowing every hour. She had no false -sophistication—her knowledge of life was all too real—and she had no -desire to toy with poison and play with fire. Both were realities to -her. She knew that they had blasted life on life, all as sturdy and -seemingly as invincible as her own. Her abstinence was not a moral issue -with her. It was simply that she knew here was a foe that met men in -their pleasant hours, greeted them in friendly ways, and then, by -insidious, slow attack, cast them down and left them miserably to die; -and she was simply afraid for her life of it. Ned, on the other hand, -would have laughed at the thought of its ever mastering him. He felt -himself immune from the tragedies that had afflicted other men. It was -part of the conceit of his generation. - -But Ned found plenty of customers for his whisky. McNab, at the wheel, -wished him happy days over two fingers of straight liquor in the glass, -and Knutsen, his pale eyes gleaming, poured himself a staggering -portion. “Go ahead,” Ned encouraged him when the seaman apologized for -his greediness. “The sky’s the limit to-night.” And Forest in the engine -room, and Julius in the kitchen absorbed a man’s-size drink with right -good will. - -Ned was able to make the rounds again before the call for dinner; and -the attitude of his guests was changed in but one instance. McNab seemed -to be measuring his liquor with exceeding care. He was a man who knew -his own limits, and he apparently did not intend to overstep them. He -took a small drink, but Knutsen, his superior, consumed as big a portion -as before. - -It was an elated, spirited trio that sat down at the little table in the -saloon. Not one of them could ever remember a happier mood. Julius -served the dinner with a flourish; and they had only laughter when a -sudden lurch of the craft slid the sugar bowl off the table to the -floor. - -“Hello, the ship’s drunk too,” Ned commented gaily. - -They were really in too glad a mood to see anything but sport in the -suddenly rocking table. The truth was that the wind had suddenly sprung -into a brisk gale, rolling heavy seas and bobbing the little craft about -like a cork. The three screamed with laughter, holding fast to their -slipping chairs, and Lenore rescued the bottle that was tipping -precariously on the buffet. - -“We’d better have a little extra one,” she told them. “I’ll be seasick -if we don’t.” - -She had to speak rather loudly to make herself heard. The wind was no -longer laughing lightly and happily at their port bows. It had suddenly -burst into a frantic roar, swelling to the proportions of a thunder clap -and dying away on a long, weird wail that filled the sky and the sea. -Instantly it burst forth loudly again, and the snow whipped against the -glass of the ports. - -Ned stood up, braced himself, and immediately poured the drinks. But it -was not only to save Lenore an attack of sea-sickness. He was also -swayed by the fact that the heat of the room seemed to be swiftly -escaping. Fortunately, there was still warmth in plenty in the bottle, -so he need not be depressed by a mere fall of temperature. He glanced -about the room, rather suspecting that one of the ports had been left -open. The saloon, however, was as tightly closed as was possible for it -to be. - -He turned at once, made his way through the gale that swept the deck, -and procured Lenore’s and Mrs. Hardenworth’s heaviest coats. He noticed -as he passed that Bess had sought refuge in the engine room. Ned waved -to her then returned to his guests. - -The room was already noticeably colder, not so much from the drop in -temperature—a thermometer would have still registered above -freezing—as from the chilling, penetrating quality of the wind that -forced an entrance as if through the ship’s seams. There seemed no -pause, now, between the mighty, roaring gusts. The long, weird wail they -had heard at first was only an overtone, in some way oppressive to the -imagination. The rattle at the window was loud for the soft sweep of -snow. Ned saw why in a moment: the snow had changed to sleet. - -There was no opportunity to make comment before Knutsen lurched into the -room. “It’s tough, isn’t it?” he commented. “Mr. Cornet, I want another -shot of dat stuff before I take de wheel.” - -Ned, not uninfluenced by his cups, extended the bottle with a roar of -laughter. “You know what’s good for you,” he commented. “Where’s McNab? -Let him have one too.” - -“He’s still at de wheel, but I don’t think he’d care for one. He’s a -funny old wolf, at times. Mrs. Hardenworth, how do you like dis -weat’er?” - -“I don’t like it very well.” She held fast to the slipping table. “Of -course, you’d tell us if there was any danger——” - -“Not a bit of danger. Yust a squall. Dis isn’t rough—you ought to see -what it would be outside dis chain of islands. But it’s mighty chilly.” -He poured the stiff drink down his great throat, then buttoned his coat -tight. - -Ned, for a moment secretly appalled by the storm, felt his old -recklessness returning. The captain said it was only a squall,—and were -they not soon to turn south? In fact, their direction now was no longer -north, but rather in an easternly direction toward Tzar Island. He was -warm now, glowing; the rocking of the boat only increased his -exhilaration. - -“There’s only three or four shots left in this bottle,” he said, holding -up the second of the two quarts he had taken from the case. “You’d -better have one more with us before you go. A man burns up lots of -whisky without hurting him any on a night like this. Then take the -bottle in with you to keep you warm at the wheel.” - -Knutsen needed no second urging. He was of a race that yields easily to -drink, and he wanted to conquer the last, least little whisper of his -fear of the night and the storm. He drank once more, pocketed the -bottle, then made his way to the pilot house. - -“You’re not going to try to ride her through?” McNab asked, as he -yielded the wheel. - -“Of course. You’re not afraid of a little flurry like dis.” - -His voice gave no sign of the four powerful drinks he had consumed. A -tough man physically, the truth was he was still a long way from actual -drunkenness. But even a small amount of liquor had a distressing effect -upon him,—a particularly unfortunate effect for one who habitually has -the lives of other human beings in his charge. He always lost the fine -edge of his caution. With drink upon him, he was willing to take a -chance. - -McNab stared into his glittering eyes, and for a moment his lips were -tightly compressed. “This isn’t a little flurry,” he answered at last -coldly. “It’s a young gale, and God knows what it will be by morning. -You know and I know we shouldn’t attempt things here that we can do with -safety in waters we’re familiar with. Right now we can run into the lea -of Ivan Island and find a harbor. There’s a good one just south of the -point.” - -“We’re not going to run into Ivan Island. I want to feel dry land. We’re -going to head on toward Tzar Island.” - -“You run a little more of that bottle down your neck and you’ll be -heading us into hell. Listen, Cap’n.” McNab paused, deeply troubled. -“You let me take the wheel, and you go in and celebrate with the party. -You won’t do any damage then.” - -“And you get back to your engine and mind your own business.” Little -angry points of light shot into Knutsen’s eyes. “And if you see Cornet, -tell him to bring up anoder bottle. Dis one’s almost empty.” - -McNab turned to the door, where for a moment he stood listening to the -wild raging of the wind. Then he climbed down into the engine room. - -There was nothing in his face, as he entered, to reveal the paths of his -thought. He was wholly casual, wholly commonplace, seemingly not in the -least alarmed. He stepped to Bess’s side, half smiling. - -“I wonder if you can help me?” he asked. - -The girl stood up, a straight, athletic figure at his side. “I’ll try, -of course.” - -“It depends—have you any influence with young Cornet?” - -Bess slowly shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she told him, -very gravely. “I have no influence with him at all. What is it you -wanted me to do?” - -“I wanted you to tell him to put up the booze. Particularly to keep the -captain from getting any more. This is a bum night. It’s against the -rules of the sea to scare passengers, but somehow, I figure you’re the -stuff that can stand it and maybe hold out. This isn’t a night to have a -shipload of drunks. There may be some tight places before the morning. - -“There’s only one way.” The girl’s lips were close to his ear, else he -couldn’t have heard in the roar of the storm and the flapping of the -sails. “Listen, McNab. How much has he got in the dining saloon?” - -“None, now, I don’t think. He only brought up two bottles, and Knutsen’s -got one of ’em—not much in it, though. They must have emptied the -other.” - -“Then we’re all clear.” She suddenly straightened, a look of unswervable -intent in her face. “McNab, it’s better to make some one—violently mad -at you—isn’t it, if maybe you can save him from trouble? If you want to -see him get ahead and make a success of a big venture—it isn’t wrong, -is it, to do something against his will that you know is right?” - -McNab looked at her as before now he had looked at strong men with whom -he had stood the watch. “What are you gettin’ at?” - -His voice was gruff, but it didn’t offend her. She felt that they were -on common ground. - -“If may be human lives are the stake, a person can’t stand by for one -man’s anger,” she went on. - -“Human lives are the first consideration,” the man answered. “That’s the -rule of the sea. Most sea rules are good rules—built on sense—all -except the one that you can’t take the wheel away from a drunken -captain. What’s your idea?” - -“You know as well as I do. I promised his father before I left that I’d -look after Ned. He was in earnest—and Ned needs looking after now if he -ever did. Mr. Cornet won’t blame me, either. Show me how to get down in -the hold.” - -McNab suddenly chuckled and patted her on the back with rough -familiarity, yet with fervent companionship. “You’ve got the stuff,” he -said. “But you can’t lift them alone. I’m with you till the last dog is -hung.” - - - - - X - - -On the exposed deck the storm met the two adventurers with a yell. For -the first time Bess knew its full fury, as the wind buffeted her, and -the sleet swept like fine shot into her face. They clung to the railing, -then fought their way to the hold. - -Hidden by the darkness and the sleet, no one saw them carry up the heavy -liquor cases and drop them into the sea. The noise of the storm -concealed the little sound they made. Finally only two bottles remained, -the last of a broken case. - -“You take one of those and ditch it in your room,” McNab advised. “I’ll -keep the other. There might come a time when we’ll find real need for -’em—as a stimulant for some one who is freezing.” - -“Take care of both of them,” Bess urged. “I’m not sure I could keep -mine, if any one asked for it.” - -“I don’t know about that. I believe I’d bet on you. And now it’s -done—forget about it.” - -Soon they crept back along the deck, McNab to his work, Bess to her -stateroom. The latter ignited the lantern that served to light her room, -and for a moment stood staring into the little mirror that hung above -her washstand. She hadn’t escaped the fear of the night and the storm -and of the bold deed she had just done. Her deep, blue eyes were wide, -her face was pale, the childlike appeal Ned had noticed long ago was -more pronounced than ever. Presently she sat down to await developments. - -They were not long in coming. She and McNab had all but encountered Ned -on his way to the hold. His bottles were empty, and the desire for -strong drink had not left him yet. In the darkness under the deck he -groped blindly for his cases. - -They seemed to evade him. Breathing hard, he sought a match, scratching -it against the wall. Then he stared in dumb and incredulous -astonishment. - -His stock of liquor was gone. Not even the cases were left. Thinking -that perhaps some shift in the position of the stores had concealed -them, he made a moment’s frantic search through the hold. Then, raging -like a child, and in imminent danger of slipping on the perilous deck, -he rushed to the pilot house. - -“Captain, do you know what became of my liquors?” he demanded. “I can’t -find them in the hold.” - -The binnacle light revealed the frenzy and desperation on his drawn -face; the mouth was no longer smiling its crooked, boyish smile. Knutsen -glanced at him once, then turned his eyes once more over his wheel. For -the moment he did not seem to be aware of Ned’s presence. He made, -however, one significant motion: his brown hand reached out to the -bottle beside him, in which perhaps two good drinks remained, and softly -set it among the shadows at his feet. - -“I say!” Ned urged. “I tell you my liquor’s gone!” - -The captain seemed to be studying the yellow path that his searchlight -cut in the darkness. The waves were white-capped and raging; the sleet -swept out of the gloom, gleamed a moment in the yellow radiance, then -sped on into the night. - -“I heard you,” Knutsen answered slowly. “I was thinking about it. I -haven’t any idea who took it—if he’s still got it, I’ll see that he -gives it back. It was a dirty trick——” - -“You don’t know, then, anything about it?” As he waited, Ned got the -unmistakable idea that the captain neither knew nor really cared. He was -more interested in retaining the two remaining drinks in his own bottle -than in helping Ned regain his lost cases. These two were enough for -him. It was wholly in keeping with that strange psychology of drunkards -that he should have no further cares. - -“Of course I don’t know anything about ’em—but I’ll help you -investigate in the morning,” he answered. “I’m very sorry, Mr. -Cornet—that it should happen aboard my ship——” - -“To hell with your ship! I’m going to investigate to-night.” - -Ned started out, but he halted in the doorway, arrested by a sudden -suspicion. Presently he whirled and made his way to Bess’s stateroom. - -He knocked sharply on the door. Bess opened it wide. Then for a long -second he stared into her deep-blue, appealing eyes. - -“I suppose you did it?” he demanded. - -She nodded. “I did it—to save you—from yourself. Not to mention -perhaps saving the ship as well.” - -His lip drew up in scorn. Angry almost to the verge of childish tears, -he could not at first trust himself to speak. “You’ve certainly taken -things into your own hands,” he told her bitterly. His wrath gathered, -breaking from him at last in a flood. “You ill-bred prude, I wish I -could never lay eyes on you again!” - -His scornful eyes saw the pain well into her face. Evidently he had gone -the limit: he couldn’t have hurt her worse with a blow of his hand. -Touched a little in spite of himself, he began to feel the first prick -of remorse. Perhaps it had done no good to speak so cruelly. Certainly -the whiskies could not be regained. Probably the fool thought she was -acting for his own good. He turned, slammed the door, and strode back to -the dining saloon. - -It was by far the most bitter moment in Bess’s life. She had done right, -but her payment was a curse from the man she had hoped to serve. All her -castles had fallen: her dreams had broken like the bubbles they were. -This was the answer to the calling in her heart and the longing in her -soul,—the spoken wish that she might pass from his sight forever. - -For the last few days, since they had entered this strange, snowy, -twilight region, she had had dreams such as she had never dared admit -into her heart before. Anything could happen up here. No wonder was too -great. It was the kind of place where men found themselves, where all -things were in proper balance, and false standards fell away. Some way, -she had been on the lookout for a miracle. But the things which had been -proven false, which could not live in this bitter world of realities, -were her own dreams! They had been the only things that had died. She -had been a fool to hope that here, at the wintry edge of the world, she -might find the happiness she had missed in her native city. The world -was with her yet, crushing her hopes as its rocky crust crushes the -fallen nestling before it learns to fly! - -But at his post McNab had already forgotten the episode of the liquor -cases. Indeed, he had forgotten many other matters of much greater -moment. At the present his mind was wholly occupied by two stern -realities,—one of them being that the storm still raged in unabated -fury, and the other that a drunken captain was driving his craft at a -breakneck speed over practically uncharted waters. - -The danger lay not only in the fact that Knutsen had disregarded McNab’s -good advice to seek shelter in one of the island harbors. Even now he -was disregarding the way of comparative safety, was not pausing to take -soundings, but was racing along before the wind instead of heading into -it with the power of the auxiliary engines. With wind and wave hurling -her forward, there would be no chance to turn back or avoid any island -reef that might suddenly loom in their path. Knutsen was trusting to his -sea gods over waters he had never sailed before, torn by storms and -lighted only by a feeble searchlight. - -Once more McNab lifted his head through the hatch into the pilot house; -and for long seconds he studied intently the flushed face over the -wheel. They hadn’t really helped matters, so far as Knutsen was -concerned, by throwing the cases overboard. Seemingly his watch would be -over before the fumes of the liquor he had already consumed died in his -brain. At present he was in its full flush: wholly reckless, obstinate, -uncertain of temper. Was there any possible good in appealing to him -further? - -“What now?” Knutsen asked gruffly. - -“You’ve forgotten all the seamanship you ever knew,” McNab returned -angrily. “There’s no hurry about reaching Tzar Island. And you’re -risking every body’s life on board, sailing the way you are.” - -“Are you captain of dis boat?” Knutsen demanded angrily. - -“No, but——” - -“Den get out of here. I know exactly what I’m doing. You’re just as safe -as——” - -But it came about that Captain Knutsen did not finish the sentence. -McNab was never to find out, from Knutsen’s lips, just how safe he was. -All at once he cried sharply in warning. - -Before ever Knutsen heard that sharp cry, he knew what lay ahead. Dulled -though his vision was, slow the processes of his brain, he saw that -curious ridge of white foam in front,—an inoffensive-looking trail of -white across their bows. At the same instant his keen ears caught a new -sound, one that was only half-revealed in the roar and beat of the -storm. - -There was not the pause of an instant before his great, muscular arms -made response. At the same instant Forest tried to apply the power of -his engines in obedience to the sharp gong from above. And then both -Knutsen and McNab braced themselves for the shock they knew would come. - -The craft seemed to leap in the water, shuddered like a living thing, -and the swath of the searchlight described a long arc into the sleet and -the storm. It may have been that Knutsen shouted again—a meaningless -sound that was lost quickly in the wind—but for seconds that seemed to -drag into interminable centuries he sat absolutely without outward sign -of motion. His great hands clutched his wheel, the muscles were set and -bunched, but it was as if the man had died and was frozen rigid in an -instant of incredible tension. His face utterly without expression, -Forest crouched beside his engines. - -There was nothing that either of them could do. The waves and wind were -a power no man could stay. All their efforts were as useless as -Knutsen’s shout; already the little ship was in the remorseless grasp of -a great billow that was hurling her toward the ridge of white foam in -front. For another instant she seemed to hang suspended, as if suddenly -taken wing, and then there was a sheer drop, a sense of falling out of -the world. A queer ripping, tearing sound, not loud at all, not half so -terrifying as the bluster of the wind, reached them from the hold. - -Cold sober, Knutsen turned in his place and gonged down certain orders -to Forest. In scarcely a moment, it seemed, they were pulling the -battens from the two little lifeboats on the deck. - - - - - XI - - -Knutsen’s brain was entirely clear and sure as he gave his orders on the -deck. His hand was steady as iron. His failure to master himself had -brought disaster, but he knew how to master a ship at a time like this. -From the instant the _Charon_ had struck the reef, he was the power upon -that storm-swept deck, and whatever hope McNab had lay in him. - -In the lantern light, blasted by the wind and in the midst of the -surging waves, the scene had little semblance to reality. It was a mad -dream from first to last, never to be clearly remembered by the -survivors: a queer, confused jumble of vivid images that could never be -straightened out. The head-light still threw its glare into the -sleet-filled night. The biting, chill wind swept over the deck and into -the darkness. The ship settled down like a leaden weight. - -Almost at once the four passengers were on deck, waiting to take their -meager chance in the lifeboats. The stress, the raging elements, those -angry seas that ever leaped higher and nearer, as if coveting their -mortal lives, most of all the terror such as had never previously -touched them, affected no two of them alike. Of the three women, Bess -alone moved forward, out of the shelter of the cabin, to be of what aid -she could. Her drawn, white face was oddly childlike in the lantern -light. Mrs. Hardenworth had been stricken and silenced by the nearing -visage of death; Lenore, almost unconscious with terror, made -strangling, sobbing sounds that the wind carried away. And in this -moment of infinite travail Ned Cornet felt his manhood stirring within -him. - -Perhaps it was merely instinct. It is true that men of the most -abandoned kind often show startling courage and nobility in a crisis. -The reason is simply that the innate virtue of the race, a light and a -glory that were implanted in the soul when the body was made in the -image of its Maker, comes to the surface and supersedes the base -impulses of degeneracy. There is no uneven distribution of that virtue: -it is as much a part of man as his hands or his skull; and the -difference between one man and another lies only in the degree in which -it is developed and made manifest and put in control over the daily -life. Perhaps the strength that rose in Ned was merely the assertion of -an inner manhood, wholly stripped of the traits that made him the -individual he was,—nothing that would endure, nothing that portended a -change and growth of character. But at least the best and strongest side -of him was in the ascendency to-night. The danger left him cool rather -than cost him his self-control. The seeming imminence of death steadied -him and nerved him. - -Bess saw him under the lantern light, and he was not the man who had -cursed her at the door of her room. For the moment all things were -forgotten except this. Likely the thing he had spoken would come true, -now. Perhaps he would get his wish. For one interminable instant in -which her heart halted in her breast—as in death—sea and wind and -storm ceased to matter. - -Ned came up, and Knutsen’s cold gaze leaped over his face. “Help me -here,” he commanded. “McNab, you help Forest and Julius launch the -larger boat.” - -There was not much launching to do. Waves were already bursting over the -deck. Knutsen turned once more. - -“We want four people in each boat,” he directed sharply. “Cornet, you -and I and Miss Hardenworth in this one. The other girl will have to get -in here too. The other boat’s slightly larger—Mrs. Hardenworth, get in -with McNab, Forest, and Julius.” - -Bess shook herself with difficulty from her revery. This was no time for -personal issues, to hearken to the voices of her inmost heart when the -captain was shouting through the storm. The only issues remaining now -were those of deliverance or disaster, life or death. Even now the white -hands of the waves were stretching toward her. Yet this terrible reality -did not hold her as it should. Instead, her thoughts still centered upon -Ned: the danger was always Ned’s instead of her own; it was Ned’s life -that was suspended by a thread above the abyss. It was hard to remember -herself: the instinct of self-preservation was not even now in the -ascendency. - -There is a blasting and primitive terror in any great convulsion of the -elements. These are man’s one reality, the eternal constant in which he -plights his faith in a world of bewildering change: the air of heaven, -the sky of stars, the unutterable expanse of sea. His spirit can not -endure to see them in tumult, broken forth from the restraint of law. -Such sights recall from the germ-plasm those first almighty terrors that -were the title page of conscious life; and they disrupt quickly the -mastery that mind, in a thousand-thousand years, has gained over -instinct. Yet for herself Bess was carried out from and beyond the -terror of the storm. She had almost forgotten it: it seemed already part -of the natural system in which she moved. She was scarcely aware that -the captain had shouted to make himself heard; that she must needs shout -to answer him: it was as if this were her natural tone of voice, and she -was no more conscious of raising it above the bellow of the storm than -are certain fisherfolk, habitants of wave-swept coasts, when they call -one to another while working about their nets. - -The reason was simply that she was thinking too hard about Ned to -remember her own danger, and thus terror could not reach her. It can -never curse and blast those who have renounced self for others; and -thus, perhaps, she had blundered into that great secret of happiness -that wise men have tried to teach since the world was new. Perhaps, in -the midst of stress and travail, she had glimpsed for an instant the -very soul of life, the star that is the hope and dream of mankind. - -But while she had forgotten her own danger, she was all too aware of the -promptings of her own heart. The issue went farther than Ned’s life. It -penetrated, in secret ways, the most intimate depths of her relations -with him. It was natural at such a time that she should remember Ned’s -danger to the exclusion of her own. The strangeness of that moment lay -in the fact that she also remembered his wishes and his words. She could -not forget their last scene together. - -“Put Mrs. Hardenworth in your boat, so she and Lenore can be together,” -she told Captain Knutsen. “I’ll get in the other.” - -The captain did not seem to hear. He continued to shout his orders. In -the work of lowering the lifeboat he had cause to lift his lantern high, -and for a moment its yellow gleam was bright upon Bess’s drawn, haggard -face. Farther off it revealed Ned, white-faced but erect in the beat of -the storm. - -In one instant’s insight, a single glimpse between the storm and the -sea, he understood that she was taking him at his word. For some reason -beyond his ken—likely beyond hers, too—she had asked to be put in -McNab’s boat so that his wish he had spoken in anger at the door of her -stateroom might come true. How silly, how trivial he had been! Those -angry words had not come from his heart: only from some false, -superficial side of him that was dying in the storm. He had never -dreamed that she would take them seriously. They were the mere spume of -a child that had not yet learned to be a man. - -“Get in with us,” he said shortly. “Don’t be silly—as I was.” Then, -lest she should mistake his sentiment: “Mrs. Hardenworth is twice your -weight, and this boat will be overloaded as it is.” - -The girl looked at him quietly, nodding her head. If he had expected -gratitude he was disappointed, for she received the invitation as merely -an actuality of her own, immutable destiny. Indeed the wings of destiny -were sweeping her forward, her life still intertwined with his, both -pawns in the vast, inscrutable movement of events. - -He helped her into the dory. Julius, who at the captain’s orders had -been rifling the cabins, threw blankets to her. Then tenderly, lending -her his strength, Ned helped Lenore over the wind-swept deck into the -bow seat of the lifeboat, nearest to the seat he would take himself. -“Buck up, my girl,” he told her, a deep, throbbing note in his voice. -“I’ll look after you.” - -Already the deck was deserted. The dim light showed that the larger -dory, containing McNab, Forest, Julius, and Mrs. Hardenworth, had -already been launched. There was no sign of them now. The darkness and -the storm had already dropped between. They could not hear a shout of -directions between the three men, not a scream of fear from the -terrified woman who was their charge. - -It was as if they had never been. Only the _Charon_ was left—her decks -awash and soon to dive and vanish beneath the waves—and their little -group in the dim gleam of the lantern. Knutsen and Ned took their places -at the oarlocks, Ned nearer the bow, Knutsen just behind. A great wave -seemed to catch them and hurl them away. - -Could they live in this little boat on these tumultuous seas? Of course -the storm was nothing compared to the tempests weathered successfully by -larger lifeboats, but it held the utmost peril here. Any moment might -see them overwhelmed. The least of those great waves, catching them just -right, might overturn them in an instant. - -Already the _Charon_ was lost in the darkness, just as the other -lifeboat had been lost an instant before. Not even Knutsen could tell in -what direction she lay. Still the waves hurried them along. The chill -wind shrieked over them, raging that they should have dared to venture -into its desolate domains. - -Could they live until the morning? Wouldn’t cold and exposure make an -end to them in the long, bitter hours to come? The odds looked so -uneven, the chances so bitterly long against them. Could their little -sparks of being, the breath of life that ever was so wan and feeble, the -little, wondering moment of self-knowledge that at best seemed only the -fabric of a dream—could these prevail against the vast, unspeakable -forces of the North? Wouldn’t the spark go out in a little while, the -breath be blown away on the wings of the wind, the self-light burn down -in the gloom? At any moment their fragile boat might strike another -submerged reef. There was no light to guide them now. They were lost and -alone in an empty ocean, helpless prey to the whims of the North. - -The pillars of their strength had fallen. Man’s civilization that had -been their god was suddenly shown as an empty idol, helpless to aid them -now. The light, the beauty, the strong cities they had loved had no -influence here: seemingly death itself could not make these things -farther distant, less availing. For the first time since they were born -Ned and Lenore were face to face with _life_, and also with the death -that shadows life. For the first time they knew the abject terror of -utter helplessness. There was nothing they could do. They were impotent -prey to whatever fate awaited them. Captain Knutsen, mighty of frame, -his blood surging fiercely through the avenues of his veins, and Bess, -schooled to hardship, were ever so much better off than they. They were -better disciplined, stronger in misfortune, better qualified to meet -danger and disaster. For no other reason than that—holding respect for -these northern seas—they were more warmly dressed, their chances were -better for ultimate survival. - -But what awaited them when the night was done? How slight was the chance -that, in this world of gray waters, they would ever encounter an -inhabited island. It was true that islands surrounded them on all sides, -but mostly they were but wastes of wind-swept tundra, not one in four -having human habitations. Mostly the islands were large, and such -habitations as there might be were scattered in sheltered valleys along -the shore, and it was wholly probable that the little boat could pass -and miss them entirely. They couldn’t survive many days on these wintry -waters. The meager supplies of food and the jugs of water in the -lifeboats would soon be exhausted, and who could come to their aid? -Which one of Ned’s friends, wishing him such a joyous farewell at the -docks, would ever pause in his play one moment to investigate his fate? - -A joy-ride! There was a savage irony in the thought of the holiday -spirit with which he had undertaken the expedition. And the voices he -had heard out of the sea had evidently told him true when they had -foretold his own death. For all his natural optimism, the odds against -him seemed too great ever to overcome. And there was but one redeeming -thought,—a thought so dimly discerned in the secret mind of the man -that it never fully reached his conscious self; so bizarre and strange -that he could only attribute it to incipient delirium. It was simply -that he had already fortified himself, in some degree, to meet the -training camp thereafter! - -The journey through the gray, mysterious seas, the nearing heart of -nature, most of all to-night’s disaster had, in some small measure, -given him added strength. It was true that his old conceit was dying in -his body. His old sense of mastery over himself and over life was shown -as a bitter delusion: rather he was revealed as the helpless prey of -forces beyond even his power to name. This self-centered man, who once -had looked on life from the seats of the scornful, felt suddenly -incompetent even to know the forces that had broken him down. Yet in -spite of all this loss, there was something gained. Instead of false -conceit he began to sense the beginnings of real self-mastery. For all -his terror, freezing his heart in his breast, he suddenly saw clear; and -he knew he had taken an upward step toward Life and Light. - -There would not be quite so long a course of training for him, in the -Hereafter. He could go through and on more quickly on account of these -past days. There _was_ a way through and out—his father had told him -that—and it wasn’t so far distant as when he had first left home. With -death so close that he could see into its cavernous eyes, such was Ned’s -one consolation as the craft drifted before the wind. - -The terror that was upon him lifted, just an instant, as he bent to hear -what Lenore was trying to tell him. Lenore was his love and his life, -the girl to whom he had plighted his troth, and his first obligation was -to her. He must see to her first. - -“I’m cold,” she was sobbing. “I’m freezing to death. Oh, Ned, I’m -freezing to death.” - -Of course it wasn’t true. Chill though the night was, the temperature -was still above freezing, and the blankets about her largely protected -her from the biting winds. She was chilled through, however, as were the -other three occupants of the craft; and the fear and the darkness were -themselves like ice in her veins. Ned’s hands were stiff, but he managed -to remove one of his own blankets and wrap it about the shoulders of the -girl. The boat lurched forward, sped by the waves and the wind. - -The night hours passed over the face of the sea. The wind raged through -the sky, biting and bitter for all their warm wraps. It was abating, -now, the waves were less high; but if anything its breath was more chill -as the hour drew toward dawn. The wind-blown sleet swept into their -faces. - -Both girls sought refuge in troubled sleep. Ned sat with his arms about -Lenore, giving her what warmth he could from his own body. Bess was -huddled in her seat. Could their less rugged constitutions stand many -hours of such cold and exposure? It was a losing game, already. The -North was too much for them. Life is a fragile thing at best: a few -hours more might easily spell the end. - -But that hour saw the return of an ancient mystery, carrying back the -soul to those gray days when the earth was without form, and void. -Darkness had been upon the face of the waters, but once more it was -divided from the day. - -Even here, seemingly at the edge of the world, the ancient miracle did -not fail. A grayness, like a mist, spread slowly; and the curtains of -darkness slowly receded. The storm was abating swiftly now; and the dawn -broke over an easily rolling sea. - -Captain Knutsen, who had sat so long in one position—his gaze fastened -on one point of the horizon—that he gave the impression of being -unconscious, suddenly started and pointed his hand. His voice, pitched -to the noise of the storm, roared out into the quiet dawn. - -“Land!” he shouted. “We’re coming to land!” - - - - - XII - - -None of the other three in the lifeboat could make out the little, gray -line on the horizon that Captain Knutsen identified as land. Ned, who -had been wide awake, prayed that he was not mistaken, yet could not find -it in his heart to believe him. Bess and Lenore both started out of -their sleep, and the former turned her head wearily, a wan smile about -her drawn lips. - -“Row, man, row!” Knutsen called happily to Ned. “The only way we can -save that girl from collapse is to get her to a fire.” His own oars -dipped, and his powerful back bent to the task. - -So the issue had got down to that! Ned knew perfectly well that Lenore -was the girl meant; in spite of the added blanket, she had fared worse -than Bess. Perhaps she had less vitality: perhaps she had not met the -night’s adversity with the same spirit. Ned was not an expert oarsman, -but it was ever to his credit that he gave all his strength to the oars. -And he found to his joy that the night’s adventure had left it largely -unimpaired. - -With the waves and the wind behind them, Knutsen saw the gray line that -was the island slowly strengthen. The time came at last, when his weaker -arms were shot through with burning pain, that Ned could also make it -out. It was still weary miles away. And there was still the dreadful -probability—three chances out of four—that it was uninhabited by human -beings. - -And death would find them quickly enough if they failed to find human -habitations. For all Knutsen’s prowess, for all that he was so obviously -a man of his hands, Ned couldn’t see any possibility of sustaining life -on one of the barren, wind-swept deserts for more than a few days at -most. They had no guns to procure meat from the wild: their little -stores of food would not last long. The cold itself, though not now -severe, would likely master them quickly. Even if they could find fuel, -they had no axe to cut it up for a fire. In all probability, they -couldn’t even build a fire in the snow and the sleet. - -The stabbing pain in his arms was ever harder to bear. He was paying the -price for his long pampering of his muscles. The time soon came when he -had to change his stroke, dipping the oars at a cheating angle. Even if -it were a matter of life and death to Lenore he couldn’t hold up. He -couldn’t stand the pace. Knutsen, however, still rowed untiringly. - -Soon the island began to take shape, revealing itself as of medium size -in comparison with many of the islands of Bering Sea, yet seemingly -large enough to support a kingdom. The gray line they had seen first -revealed itself as a low range of mountains, bare and wind-swept, -extending the full length of the island. What timber there was—meager -growths of Sitka spruce and quivering aspen—appeared only on some of -the south slopes of the hills and in scattered patches on the valley -floor. - -In the gray light of dawn the whole expanse was one of unutterable -desolation. Even the rapture that they had felt at deliverance from the -sea was some way stifled and dulled in the brooding despair that seemed -to be its very spirit. They had passed many bleak, windy islands on the -journey; but none but what were gardens compared to this. Ned tried to -rouse himself from a strange apathy, a sudden, infinite hopelessness -that fell like a shadow over him. - -Likely enough it was just a mood with him, nothing innate in the island -itself. Probably his own fatigue was playing tricks on his imagination. -Yet the solid earth seemed no longer familiar. It was as if he had -passed beyond his familiar world, known to his five senses and firm -beneath his feet, and had come to an eerie, twilight land beyond the -horizon. It was so still, lying so bleak and gray in the midst of these -endless waters, seemingly so eternally isolated from all he had known -and seen. The physical characteristics of the island enhanced, if -anything, its mysterious atmosphere. The mossy barrens that comprised -most of the island floor, the little, scattered clumps of timber, the -deep valleys through which the shining streams ran to the sea, the -rugged, shapeless hills beyond, each real in itself, combined to convey -an image of unreality. Over it all lay the snow. The whole land was -swept with it. - -It was evidently the kingdom of the wild. It was the home of caribou and -bear, fox and wolverine rather than men. And the dreadful probability -was ever more manifest that the island contained not a single hearth, a -single Indian igloo in which they might find shelter. - -The place seemed to be utterly uninhabited by human beings. The white -shore was nearing now, the craft had reached the mouth of a large harbor -formed by the emptying waters of a small river; and as yet the voyagers -could not make out a single roof, a single canoe on the shore. Knutsen -peered with straining eyes. - -“It looks bad,” he said tonelessly. “If there was a village here it -ought to be located at the mouth of that river. It’s the logical place -for a camp. They always stay near the salmon.” - -Straining, Ned suddenly saw what seemed to him a manifestation of human -inhabitants. There were clearly pronounced tracks, showing dark against -the otherwise unbroken snow, leading from the sea to a patch of heavy -forest a quarter of a mile back on the island. He pointed to them, his -eye kindling with renewed hope. - -But Knutsen shook his head. “I can’t tell from here. They might be -animal tracks.” - -The canoe pushed farther into the harbor. The roll of the waves was ever -less, and the boat rode evenly on almost quiet water. They would know -soon now. They would either find safety, or else their last, little hope -would go the way of all the others. Surely they could not live a day -unaided in this bleak, desolate land. - -But at that instant Bess, who had sat so quiet that her companions had -thought her asleep, uttered a low cry. For all its subdued tone, its -living note of hope and amazement caused both men to turn to her. Her -white face was lifted, her blue eyes shining, and she was pointing to -the fringe of timber at the end of the trail in the snow. - -“What is it?” she asked in a low tone. “Isn’t it a man?” - -Her keen eyes had beheld what Knutsen’s had missed—a dark form half in -shadow against the edge of the scrub timber. For all that it was less -than a quarter of a mile distant, both men had to strain to make it out. -The explanation lay partly in the depths of the surrounding shadows; -partly in the fact that the form was absolutely without motion. It is an -undeniable fact that only moving figures are quickly discernible in the -light and shadow of the wild places: thus the forest creatures find -their refuge from their enemies simply by standing still and so -remaining unobserved. The thing at the timber edge had evidently learned -this lesson. In its dimness and obscurity it suggested some furtive -creature native to the woods. - -Yet, for all its lack of motion, this was unmistakably a living being. -It was not just an odd-shaped stump, a dark shadow under tree limbs such -as so often misleads a big-game hunter. The brain seemed to know it, -without further verification by the senses. Bess had said it was the -form of a man, and the more intent their gaze, the more probable it -seemed that she was right. The fear that had oppressed Knutsen that it -might be merely the form of some one of the larger forest -creatures—perhaps a bear, standing erect, or a caribou facing them—was -evidently groundless. It was a man, and he was plainly standing -motionless, fully aware of and watching their approach. - -Yet the atmosphere of vagueness prevailed. He was so like a woods -creature in the instinctive way he had taken advantage of the -concealment of the shadows. It was a wonder that Bess had ever observed -him. And now, drawing closer, his proportions seemed to be considerably -larger than is customary in the human species. Now that his outline grew -plain, he loomed like a giant. There is nothing so deceptive, however, -as the size of an object seen at a distance in the wilderness. The -degree of light, the clearness of the atmosphere, the nature of the -background and surroundings all have their effect: often a snow-hare -looks as big as a fox or a porcupine as large as a bear. Ned, sharing -none of Knutsen’s inner sense of unrest, yielding at last to the rapture -of impending deliverance, raised his arms and shouted across the waters. - -“I want to be sure he sees us,” he explained quickly. - -Knutsen strove to rid himself of the unwonted dismay that took hold of -him. A deep-buried subconsciousness had suddenly manifested itself -within him, but the messages it conveyed were proven ridiculous by his -own good sense. It was the first time, however, that this inner voice -had ever led him astray. Surely this was deliverance, life instead of -what had seemed certain death, yet he was oppressed and baffled as he -had never been in his life before. - -It was soon made plain that the man had caught Ned’s signal. He lifted -his arm, then came walking down toward the water’s edge. Then Knutsen, -who until now had rowed steadily, paused with his paddles poised in the -air. - -“It’s not an Indian,” he breathed quickly. Ned turned to look at him in -amazement, yet not knowing at what he was amazed. “It’s a white man!” - -“Isn’t that all the better?” Ned demanded. “God knows I’m glad to see -any kind of a man.” - -After all, wasn’t that good sense? Trapping, fox-farming, any one of a -dozen undertakings took white men into these northern realms. Conquering -his own ridiculous fears—fears that partook of the nature of actual -forewarnings—Knutsen drove his oars with added force into the water. -The boat leaped forward: in a moment more they touched the bank. - -Their deliverer, a great blond man seemingly of Northeastern Europe, was -already at the water’s edge, watching them with a strange and -inexplicable glitter in gray, sardonic eyes. He was a mighty, bearded -man, clothed in furs; already he was bent, his hands on the bow of the -boat. Already Ned was climbing out upon the shore. - -Partly to remove the silly dismay that had overwhelmed him, partly -because it was the first thought that would come to the mind of a -wayfarer of the sea, Knutsen turned with a question. “What island is -dis?” he asked. - -The stranger turned with a grim, meaning smile. “Hell,” he answered -simply. - -Both Ned and Knutsen stood erect to stare at him. The wind made curious -whispers down through the long slit of the river valley. “Hell?” Knutsen -echoed. “Is dat its name——” - -“It’s the name I gave it. You’ll think it’s that before you get away.” - - - - - XIII - - -The stranger’s voice was deep and full, so far-carrying, so masterful, -that it might have been the articulation of the raw elements among which -he lived, rather than the utterance of human vocal chords. It held all -his listeners; it wakened Lenore from the apathy brought by cold and -exposure. They had wondered, at first, that a member of the white race -should make his home on this remote and desolate isle, but after they -had heard his voice they knew that this was his fitting environment. If -any man’s home should be here, in this lost and snowy desert, here was -the man. - -The background of the North was reflected in his voice. It was as if he -had caught its tone from the sea and the wild, through long acquaintance -with them. It was commanding, passionate, and yet, to a man of rare -sensitiveness, it would have had an unmistakable quality of beauty; at -least, something that is like beauty and which can be heard in many of -Nature’s voices: the chant of the wolf pack on the ridge, or even -certain sounds of beating waves. The explanation was simply that he had -lived so long in the North, he was so intrinsically its child in nature -and temperament, that it had begun to mold him after its own raw forces. -The fact that his voice had a deeply sardonic note was wholly in -character. The North, too, has a cruel, grim humor that breaks men’s -hearts. - -His accent was plainly not that of an American. He had not been born to -the English tongue; very plainly he had learned it, thoroughly and -laboriously. His own tongue still echoed faintly in the way he mouthed -some of his vowels, and in a distinct purring note, as of a giant cat, -in his softer sounds. - -Ned observed these things more in an inner mind, rather than with his -conscious intelligence. Outwardly he was simply listening to what the -man said. The note of dimness and unreality was wholly gone now. The -voice was indescribably vivid; the man himself was compellingly vivid -too. It was no longer to be wondered at that he had appeared of such -gigantic proportions when they had seen him across the snow. In reality -he was a giant of a man, about six feet and a half in height, huge of -body, mighty of arm and limb, weighing, stripped down to muscle and -sinew, practically three hundred pounds. Beside him, Knutsen no longer -gave the image of strength. - -Even in his own city, surrounded by the civilization that he loved, Ned -couldn’t have passed this man by with a casual glance. In the first -place there is something irresistibly compelling about mere physical -strength. The strength of this man beside the sea seemed resistless. It -was to be seen in his lithe motions; his great, long-fingered, -big-knuckled hands; in the lurch of his shoulders; in his great thighs -and long, powerful arms. He was plainly, as far as age went, at the apex -of his strength,—not over forty-one, not less than thirty-eight. He -drew up the boat with one hand, reaching the other to help Lenore out on -to the shore. - -It came about, because he reached it toward Lenore, that Ned noticed his -hand before ever he really took time to study his face. It was a mighty, -muscular hand,—a reaching, clasping, clenching, killing hand. It -crushed the lives from things that its owner didn’t like. On the back -and extending almost to the great, purple nails was blond, coarse hair. - -But it wasn’t mere brute strength that made him the compelling -personality that he was. There was also the strength of an iron purpose, -a self-confidence gained by battle with and conquest of the raw forces -of his island home. Here was a man who knew no law but his own. And he -was as remorseless as the snow that sifted down upon him. - -If Lenore’s thought processes had been the same as when she had left her -city home, she would have been stirred to envy by his garb. There was -little about him that suggested intercourse with the outside world. He -was dressed from head to foot in furs and skins of the most rare and -beautiful kinds. His jacket and trousers seemed to be of lynx, his cap -was unmistakably silver fox. But it came about that neither she nor Ned -did more than casually notice his garb: both were held and darkly -fascinated by the great, bearded face. - -The blond hair grew in a great mat about his lips and jowls. His nose -was straight, his eyebrows heavy, all his features remarkably even and -well-proportioned. But none of these lesser features could be noticed -because of the compelling attraction of his gray, vivid eyes. - -Ned didn’t know why he was startled, so carried out of himself when he -looked at them. In the first place they were the index of what was once, -and perhaps still, a lively and penetrating intelligence. This island -man, however mad he might be, was not a mere physical hulk,—an ox with -dull nerves and stupid brain. The vivid orbs indicated a nervous system -that was highly developed and sensitive, though heaven knew what slant, -what paths from the normal, the development took. They were not the eyes -of a man blind to beauty, dull to art. He was likely fully sensitive to -the dreadful, eerie beauty of his own northern home; if anything, it got -home to him too deeply and invoked in him its own terrible mood. They -were sardonic eyes too,—the eyes of a man who, secure in his own -strength, knew men’s weaknesses and knew how to make use of them. - -Yet none of these traits got down to the real soul of the man. They -didn’t even explain the wild and piercing glitter in the gray orbs. -Whatever his creed was, he was a fanatic in it. An inhuman zeal marked -every word, every glance. There is a proper balance to maintain in life, -a quietude, most of all a temperance in all things; and to lose it means -to pass beyond the pale. This island man was irremediably steeped in -some ghastly philosophy of his own; a dreadful code of life outside the -laws of heaven and earth. Some evil disease, not named in any work on -medicine, had distilled its dire toxin into his heart. - -There is no law of God or man north of sixty-three,—and the thing held -good with him. But there is devil’s law; and it was the law on which his -life was bent. - -It was the most evil, the most terrible face that any one of these four -had ever seen. The art that touched him was never true art, the art of -the soul and the heart, but something diseased, something uncanny and -diabolical, beyond the pale of life. His genius was an evil genius: they -saw it in every motion, in every line of his wicked face. - -There was no kindly warmth, no sympathy, no human understanding either -in his voice or his face. Plainly he was as remorseless as the -remorseless land in which he lived. Now, as they looked, his hairy hands -might have been the rending paws of a beast. - -Perhaps it was madness, perhaps some weird abnormality that only a great -psychologist could trace, perhaps merely wickedness without redemption, -but whatever the nature of the disease that was upon him it had had a -ghastly and inhuman influence. The heart in his breast had lost the -high, human attributes of mercy and sympathy. They knew in one glance -that here was a man that knew no restraints other than those prompted by -his own desires. In him the self-will and resolution that carries so -many men into power or crime was developed to the _nth_ power; he was a -fitting child of the savage powers of nature among which he lived. - -“Pardon me for not making myself known sooner,” he began in his deep, -sardonic voice. “My name is Doomsdorf—trapper, and seemingly owner of -this island. At least I’m the only living man on it, except yourselves.” -His speech, though careless and queerly accented, had no mark of -ignorance or ill-breeding. “I told you the island’s name—believe me, it -fits it perfectly. Welcome to it——” - -Ned straightened, white-faced. “Mr. Doomsdorf, these girls are chilled -through—one of them is near to collapse from exposure. Will you save -that till later and help me get them to a fire?” - -For all the creeping terror that was possessing his veins, Ned made a -brave effort to hold his voice steady. The man looked down at him, his -lip curling. “Pardon my negligence,” he replied easily. “Of course she -isn’t used to the cold yet—but that will come in time.” He bowed -slightly to the shivering girl on the shore. “If you follow my tracks up -to the wood, you’ll find my shack—and there’s a fire in the stove.” He -looked familiarly into her face. “You’re not really cold, you know—you -just _think_ you are. Walk fast, and it will warm you up.” - -Ned bent, seized an armful of blankets from the boat, then stepped to -Lenore’s side. “The captain will help you, Miss Gilbert,” he said to -Bess. Then he and the golden-haired girl he loved started together -through the six-inch snowfall toward the woods. Bess, stricken and -appalled, but yet not knowing which way to turn, took the trail behind -them. But Knutsen still waited on the shore, beside the boat. - -He came of a strong breed, and he was known in his own world as a strong -man. It was part of the teaching of that world, and always the instinct -of such men as he to look fate in the face, never to evade it, never to -seek shelter in false hope. He knew the world better than any of the -three who had come with him; the menace that they sensed but dimly but -which dismayed and oppressed them was only too real to him. Even now, -out of his sight, Ned was trying to make himself believe that the man -was likely but a simple trapper, distorted into a demon by the delirium -brought on by the dreadful night just passed; but Knutsen made no such -attempt. He saw in Doomsdorf a perfect embodiment of the utter -ruthlessness and brutality that the Far North sometimes bestows on its -sons. - -Knutsen knew this north country. He knew of what it was capable,—the -queer, uncanny quirks that it put in the souls of men. Doomsdorf, -incredible to Ned and Bess, was wholly plausible to him. He feared him -to the depths of his heart, yet in some measure, at least, these three -were in his charge, and if worst came to worst, he must stand between -them and this island devil with his own life. He had stayed on the shore -after the others had gone so that he might find out the truth. - -He was not long in learning. Through some innate, vague, almost -inexplicable desire to shelter his three charges and to spare them the -truth, he wanted to wait until all three of them had disappeared in the -wood; but even this was denied him. Lenore and Ned, it is true, had -already vanished into the patch of forest; but Bess seemed to be walking -slowly, waiting for him. Doomsdorf was bent, now, unloading the stores -and remaining blankets from the canoe; but suddenly, with one motion, he -showed Knutsen where he stood. - -With one great lurch of his shoulders he turned over the empty boat and -shoved it off into the sea. The first wave, catching it, drove it out of -reach. “You won’t need that again,” he said. - -With a half-uttered, sobbing gasp that no man had heard from his lips -before, Knutsen sprang to rescue it. It was the greatest error of his -life. Even he did not realize the full might and remorselessness of the -foe that opposed him, or he would never have wasted precious seconds, -put himself at a disadvantage by entering the water, in trying to -retrieve the boat. He would have struck instantly, in one absolute, -desperate attempt to wipe the danger forever from his path. But in the -instant of need, his brain did not work true. He could not exclude from -his thought the disastrous fallacy that all hope, all chances to escape -from hell lay only in this flimsy craft, floating a few feet from him in -shallow water. - -In an instant he had seized it, and standing hip-deep in the icy water, -he turned to face the blond man on the shore. The latter roared once -with savage mirth, a sound that carried far abroad the snowy desolation; -then he sobered, watching with glittering eyes. - -“Let it go,” he ordered simply. His right arm lifted slowly, as if in -inadvertence, and rested almost limp across his breast. His blond beard -hid the contemptuous curl of his lips. - -“Damn you, I won’t!” Knutsen answered. “You can’t keep us here——” - -“Let it go, I say. You are the one that’s damned. And you fool, you -don’t know the words that are written over the gates of the hell you’ve -come to—‘Abandon hope, ye who enter here!’ You and your crowd will -never leave this island till you die!” - -Knutsen’s hand moved toward his hip. In the days of the gun fights, in -the old North, it had never moved more swiftly. In this second of need -he had remembered his pistol. - -But he remembered it too late. And his hand, though fast, was infinitely -slow. The great arm that lay across Doomsdorf’s breast suddenly flashed -out and up. The blue steel of a revolver barrel streaked in the air, and -a shot cracked over the sea. - -Knutsen was already loosed from the bonds that held him. Deliverance had -come quickly. His face, black before with wrath, grew blank; and for a -long instant he groped impotently, open hands reaching. But the lead had -gone straight home; and there was no need of a second shot. The late -captain of the _Charon_ swayed, then pitched forward into the gray -waters. - - - - - XIV - - -Bess had followed the trail through the snow clear to the dark edge of -the woods when the sound of voices behind her caused her to turn. -Neither Doomsdorf nor Knutsen had spoken loudly. Indeed, their tones had -been more subdued than usual, as is often the way when men speak in -moments of absolute test. Bess had not made out the words: only the deep -silence and the movements of the wind from the sea enabled her to hear -the voices at all. Thus it was curious that she whirled, face blanching, -in knowledge of the impending crisis. - -Thereafter the drama on the shore seemed to her as something that could -not possibly be true. She saw in the deep silence Doomsdorf overturn and -push off the boat, Knutsen’s desperate effort to rescue it, the flash of -light from the former’s upraised pistol. And still immersed in that -baffling silence, the brave seaman had groped, swayed, then toppled -forward into the shallow water. - -It was a long time after that the report of the pistol reached her ears, -and even this was not enough to waken her to a sense of reality. It -sounded dull, far-off, conveying little of the terrible thing it was, -inadequate to account for the unutterable disaster that it had -occasioned. Afterward the silence closed down again. The waves rolled in -through the harbor mouth with never a pause. The dark shadow that lay -for an instant on the face of the waters slowly sank beneath. The boat -drifted ever farther out to sea. - -Except for the fact that Doomsdorf stood alone on the shore, it might -have been all the factless incident of a tragic dream. The blond man -walked closer to the water, peering; then the pistol gleamed again as he -pocketed it. The wind still brushed by, singing sadly as it went; and -the sleet swept out of the clouds. And then, knowing her need, she -strove to waken the blunted powers of her will. - -She must not yield herself to the horror that encroached upon her. Only -impotence, only disaster lay that way. She must hold steady, not break -into hopeless sobs, not fall kneeling in impotent appeal. Bess Gilbert -was of good metal, but this test that had been put upon her seemed to -wrench apart the fibers of her inmost being. But she won the fight at -last. - -Slowly she stiffened, rallying her faculties, fighting off the apathy of -terror. Presently her whole consciousness seemed to sharpen. In an -instant of clear thought she guessed, broadly, the truth of that tragedy -beside the sea; that Knutsen had died in a desperate attempt to break -free from an unspeakable trap into which he and his charges had fallen. -He had preferred to take the chance of death rather than submit to the -fate that Doomsdorf had in store for him. - -Just what that fate was and how it concerned herself, Bess dared not -guess. She had known a deadly fear of Doomsdorf at the first glance; she -had instinctively hated him as she had never hated any living creature -before; and now she knew that this was the most desperate moment of her -life. He had shown himself capable of any depth of crime; and that meant -there must be no limit to her own courage. She too must take any chance -of freedom that offered, no matter how desperate; for no evil that could -befall her seemed as terrible as his continued power over her. - -It meant she must work quick. She must not lose a single chance. The -odds were desperately long already: she must not increase them. In an -instant more he would be glancing about to see if his crime were -observed. If she could conceal the fact that she had witnessed it, he -would not be so much on guard in the moment of crisis that was to come. -Her body and soul seemed to rally to mighty effort. - -She was already at the edge of the timber. Stooping down, she made one -leap into its shelter. She was none too soon: already Doomsdorf had -looked back to see if the coast were clear. - -Everything depended on Ned, henceforth. She couldn’t work alone. With -his aid, perhaps, they could destroy this evil power under which they -had fallen before it could prepare to meet them. Doomsdorf’s cabin—a -long, log structure on the bank of a dark little stream—was only a -hundred feet distant in the wood. Now that she was out of sight of the -shore, she broke into a frenzied run. - -She had no desperate plan as yet. In Ned’s manhood alone lay her hope: -perhaps in the moment or two before Doomsdorf appeared Ned could -conceive of some plan to meet him. Perhaps there was a rifle in the -cabin! - -She fought back the instinct to scream out her story from the doorway. -At the bidding of an instinct so sure and true that it partook of a -quality of infallibility, she checked her wild pace before she crossed -the threshold. Everything depended on Ned and the cool, strong quality -of Ned’s nerves. She must not jeopardize his self-control by bursting in -upon him in frenzy, perhaps exciting him to such an extent that he would -be rendered helpless to aid her. She must keep him cool by being cool -herself. She caught her breath in a curious deep gasp, then stepped into -the room. - -Then that gasp became very nearly a sob. The way of deliverance was not -clear. A wrinkled native woman, an Aleut or an Eskimo, who was evidently -Doomsdorf’s wife, looked up at her with dark inscrutable eyes from the -opposite side of the room. - -It was a heart-breaking blow to Bess’s hopes. The presence of the woman -increased, to a dread degree, the odds against her. She was ugly, brown -as leather, heavily built; her face gave no sign that human emotion had -ever touched her heart, yet she was likely a staunch ally of their foe. - -The whole picture went home to her in a glance. Lenore was huddled in a -chair before the stove, yielding herself to the blessed warmth, already -shaking off the semi-apathy induced by the night’s chill. But as yet -there was no hope in her. She was shivering, helpless, impotent. Ned -bent over her, his arms about her, now and then giving her sips from a -cup of hot liquid that he held in his hand. His care, his tender -solicitude, struck Bess with a sense of unutterable irony. Evidently he -had no suspicion of the real truth. - -He looked up as Bess entered. Partly because the light was dim, partly -because he was absorbed in the work of caring for Lenore to the -exclusion of all other thought, he failed to see the drawn look of -horror on Bess’s face. “I’ll need a little help here, Miss Gilbert,” he -said. “I want to get this girl to bed. The night seemed to go harder -with her than with the rest of us, and rest is the best thing for her.” - -Bess almost sobbed aloud. The sound caught in her throat, but quickly -she forced it back. Ned was already himself again; the danger and stress -of the night had seemingly affected him only so far as to enscribe his -face with tired lines, to leave him somewhat hollow-eyed and drawn. In -reality, he was the man of cities come again. He was on solid earth; -food and shelter and warmth were his once more; his old self-confidence -was surging through him with the glow from the stove. He had no inkling -of the truth. His mind was far from danger. - -At that instant she knew she must work alone. She must give no sign of -her own desperation before this stolid squaw. And yet she almost -screamed with horror when she realized that any second she might hear -Doomsdorf’s step on the threshold. She glanced about till she located -the Russian’s rifle, hung on the wall almost in front of the squaw’s -chair. - -“Did you hear a shot?” she asked. With all the powers of her spirit, she -kept her voice commonplace, casual. - -“Yes,” Ned answered. “It wasn’t anything—was it?” His tone became cold. -“Will you please give me a little help with Miss Hardenworth?” - -“It was a bear—Mr. Doomsdorf shot at it with his pistol,” she went on -in the same casual way. She thought it incredible that they would not -take alarm from the wild beating of her heart. She turned easily to the -squaw. “He wants me to bring his rifle so he can shoot at it again,” she -said. “That’s it—on the wall?” - -She stepped toward the weapon. Even in her own heart she did not know -what was her plan of action after that gun was in her hands: she had not -yet given thought to the stress and desperate deed that lay before her. -She only knew that life, honor, everything that mattered in this world -depended on the developments of the next few seconds. Later, perhaps, -resistance would be crushed out of her; her cruel master would be -constantly on guard: in this little moment lay her one chance. She knew -vaguely that if she could procure the weapon, she could start down to -the shore and meet Doomsdorf on the way. Perhaps her nerve would break -soon; it could not keep up forever under such a strain. Thus her whole -universe depended on immediate action. She must not hesitate now. She -must go any lengths. Her eyes were cold and remorseless under her -straight brows. - -“Sure—take him gun,” the squaw answered her. - -She was vaguely aware that Ned was watching her in amazement. He was -speaking too, his voice coming from infinitely far off. “I’m surprised, -Miss Gilbert,” he was saying with grave displeasure. “You don’t seem to -realize that Miss Hardenworth is still in a serious condition. Perhaps -you will be willing to forget Mr. Doomsdorf’s sport for a moment——” - -But Bess hardly heard. Her hands were trembling, waiting for the feel of -the steel. Now the Indian was getting up and presently was lifting down -the weapon. But she did not put it at once into Bess’s hands. She pushed -back the lever, revealing the empty breech. Then Bess saw a slow drawing -of her lips—a cruel upturning that was seemingly as near as she could -come to a smile. - -“Sure—take him gun,” she said. “Got any shells——?” - -Bess shook her head. Her heart paused in her breast. - -“Maybe him got shells. He took ’em all out when he saw your canoe come -in.” - - - - - XV - - -If, like her husband, the brown squaw was a devotee of cruelty, she must -have received great satisfaction from the sight of that slender, girlish -figure standing in the gloom of the cabin. The fact that there were no -shells in the rifle—otherwise a desperate agent of escape—seemed -nothing less than the death of hope. The strength born of the crisis -departed swiftly from her, and her only impulse was to yield to bitter -tears. Her erect body seemed to wilt, her sensitive lips, so straight -and firm before, drooped like those of a child in some utter, -unconsolable tragedy of childhood. It was a curious thing how the light -died in her eyes. All at once they seemed to be at some strange, -below-zero point of darkness,—like black wounds in the utter whiteness -of her face. Yet the squaw gave no sign that she had seen. Her face was -impassive, that of an imperturbable Buddha that sits forever in a far -temple. - -Great terror is nothing more or less than temporary loss of hope. In -that moment Bess was finding out what real hopelessness meant, so far as -it is ever possible for human beings to know. For that moment she -couldn’t see a rift in the darkness that enfolded her. In the first -place she felt infinitely alone: Knutsen was dead; Lenore still sat -yielding to self-pity; Ned still extended to her his solicitous care. -The thing went beyond mere fear of death. She could conceive of -possibilities now wherein death would be a thing desired and prayed for; -a deliverance from a living hell that was infinitely worse. The terror -that was upon her was incomparable with any previous experience of her -life. - -Yet her eyes remained dry. Some way, she was beyond the beneficence of -tears; partly because of her terror, partly, perhaps, because the -instinct was with her yet to hide the truth from Ned and Lenore so long -as possible. Thus she was not, in the last analysis, absolutely bereft -of hope. It might be, since Ned was a man and she a woman, he would -never become the prey of Doomsdorf to such a degree as she herself. And -now there was no time to try to formulate other plans; to seek some -other gateway of escape; no time more to listen to Ned’s complaints of -her inattention to Lenore. She heard Doomsdorf’s heavy step at the door. - -The man came in, for an instant standing framed by the doorway, the -light of morning behind him. Ned looked up, expecting some inquiry as to -his own and Lenore’s condition, some word of greeting on his lips. It -came about, however, that his thought fell quickly into other channels. -Doomsdorf closed the door behind him. - -The man turned contemptuously to Ned. “What’s the matter?” he asked. - -Startled and indignant at the tone, Ned instinctively straightened. “I -didn’t say anything was the matter. Where’s Knutsen?” - -“Knutsen—has gone on. Hell didn’t suit him. He went against its -mandates the first thing. I hope it doesn’t happen again—I would hate -to lose any more of you. I’ve other plans in mind.” - -Ned hardly understood, yet his face went white. Partly it was anger -because of the unmistakable insult and contempt in Doomsdorf’s tone. -Partly it was a vague fear that his good sense would not permit him to -credit. “I don’t—I don’t understand, I’m afraid,” he remarked coldly. -“We’ll talk it over later. At present I want to know where we can put -this girl to bed. She’s in a serious condition from her last night’s -experience.” - -The lips curled under the great blond beard. “I may put her to bed, all -right—if I like her looks,” he answered evenly. “It won’t be your bed, -either.” - -Appalled, unbelieving, yet obeying a racial instinct that goes back to -the roots of time, Ned dropped the girl from his arms and leaped to his -feet. His eyes blazed with a magnificent burst of fury, and a mighty -oath was at his lips. “You——” he began. - -Yet no second word came. Doomsdorf’s great body lunged across the room -with the ferocity and might of a charging bear. His arm went out like a -javelin, great fingers extended, and clutched with the effect of a -mighty mechanical trap the younger man’s throat. He caught him as he -might catch a vicious dog he intended to kill, snatching him off his -feet. Ned’s arm lashed out impotently, and forcing through with his own -body, Doomsdorf thrust him into the corner. For a moment he battered him -back and forth, hammering his head against the wall, then let him fall -to a huddled heap on the floor. - -Lenore’s voice raised in a piercing scream of terror; but a fiercer -instinct took hold of Bess. The impulse that moved her was simply that -to fight to the death, now as well as later. A heavy hammer, evidently a -tool recently in use by Doomsdorf, lay on the window sill, and she -sprang for it with the strength of desperation. But her hand had hardly -touched it before she herself was hurled back against the log wall -behind her. - -The squaw had not sat supine in this stress. With the swiftness and -dexterity of an animal, she had sprung to intercept the deadly blow, -hurling the girl back by her hand upon the latter’s shoulder. If she -made any sound at all, it was a single, chattering sentence that was -mostly obliterated in the sound of battle. And already, before seemingly -a second was past, Doomsdorf was standing back in his place in the -center of the room. - -Except for the huddled heap in the blood-spattered corner of the cabin, -it was as if it had never happened. The squaw was again stolid, moving -slowly back to her chair; Doomsdorf breathed quietly and evenly. The two -girls stood staring in speechless horror. - -“I hope there won’t be any more of that,” Doomsdorf said quietly. “The -sooner we get these little matters straightened out, the better for all -concerned. It isn’t pleasant to be hammered to pieces, is it?” - -He took one step toward Ned, and Lenore started to scream again. But he -inflicted no further punishment. He reached a strong hand, seized Ned’s -shoulder, and snatched him to his feet. - -“Don’t try it again,” he advised. “Here in this cabin—on this island—I -do and say what I like. I don’t stand for any resentment. The next time -it won’t be so easy, and that will be too bad for everybody. You -wouldn’t be able to do your work.” - -Racked by pain but fully conscious, Ned looked into the glittering eyes. -It was no longer possible to disbelieve in this hairy giant before him. -The agony in his throat muscles was only too real. And the only recourse -that occurred to him was one of pitiful inadequacy. - -It was a moment of test for Ned, and he knew of no way to meet it except -as he met such little crises as sometimes occurred to him in his native -city. The only code of life he knew was that he practiced in his old -life: now was its time of trial. His own blood on his hands; the grim, -wicked face before him should have been enough to convince a man less -inured in his own creed of self-sufficiency and conceit; yet Ned would -not let himself believe that he had found his master. - -As a child has recourse to senseless threats, he tried to take refuge in -his old attitude of superiority. “I don’t know what you mean, and I -don’t care to,” he said at last. In pity for him Bess’s eyes filled with -tears. “I only know we won’t accept the hospitality of such men as you. -We’ll go—right now.” - -Doomsdorf’s answer was a roaring laugh of scorn. Presently he walked to -the door and threw it wide. - -But he wasn’t smiling when he turned back to face them, the morning -light on his bearded face. The sight of the North through the open door -had sobered and awed him, as it awes all men who know its power. Beyond -lay only the edge of the forest and the snow-swept barrens, stretching -down to a gray and desolate sea. - -“It’s snowing a little, isn’t it?” he said. “Just the North—keeping its -tail up and letting us know it’s here. Where, my young friend, do you -think of going?” - -“It doesn’t matter——” - -“There’s snow and cold out there.” His voice was deeply sober. “Death -too—sure as you’re standing here. A weakling like you can’t live in -that, out there. None of your kind can stand it—they’d die like so many -sheep. And as a result you have to bow down and serve the man that can!” - -Ned had no answer. The greatest fear of his life was clamping down upon -him. - -“That’s the law up here—that the weak have to serve the strong. I’ve -beat the North at its own game, and it serves me, just as you’re going -to serve me now. You’re not accepting any hospitality from me. You’re -going to pay for the warmth of this fire I’ve grubbed out of these -woods—you’ll pay for the food you eat. You can go out there if you -like—if you prefer to die. There’s no boat to carry you off. There -never will be a boat to carry you off.” - -Ned’s breath caught in a gasp. “My God, you don’t mean you’ll hold us -here by force!” - -“I mean you’re my prisoners here for the rest of your natural lives. And -you can abandon hope just as surely as if this island was the real hell -it was named for.” - -Quietly, coldly he told them their fate, these three who had been cast -up by the sea. He didn’t mince words. And for all the strangeness of the -scene—the gray light of the dawn and the snow against the window and -the noise of the wind without—they knew it was all true, not merely -some shadowed vista of an eerie dream. - -“You might as well know how you stand, first as last,” he began. “When -you once get everything through your heads, maybe we won’t have any more -trouble such as we had just now. You ought to be glad that the -seaman—Knutsen, you called him?—is sliding around on the sea bottom -instead of being here with you; he’d be a source of trouble from -beginning to end. He’d have been hard to teach, hard to master—I saw -that in the beginning—and he’d never give in short of a fight every -morning and every night. None of you, fortunately, are that way. You’ll -see how things stack up, and we’ll all get along nicely together.” - -He paused, smiling grimly; then with an explosive motion, pulled back -the lid of the stove and threw in another log. “Sit down, why don’t -you?” he invited. “I don’t insist on my servants standing up always in -my presence. You’ll have to sit down sometime, you know.” - -Lenore, wholly despondent, sank back in her seat. To show that he was -still her protector, Ned stood behind her, his hands resting on the back -of her chair. Bess stole to a little rough seat between them and the -squaw. - -A single great chair was left vacant, almost in the middle of the -circle. Doomsdorf glanced once about the room as if guarding against any -possibility of surprise attack by his prisoners, then sat down easily -himself. “Excuse me for not making you known to my woman,” he began. “In -fact, I haven’t even learned your own names. She is, translating from -the vernacular, ‘Owl-That-Never-Sleeps.’ You won’t be expected to call -her that, however—although I regret as a general thing that the -picturesque native names so often undergo such laceration on the tongues -of the whites. When I took her from her village, they gave her to me as -‘Sindy.’ You may call her that. It will do as good as any—every other -squaw from Tin City to Ketchikan is called Sindy. It means nothing, as -far as I know. - -“‘Owl-That-Never-Sleeps,’ however, fits her very well. You might make a -point of it. And if you are interested in the occult sciences, perhaps -you might explain to me how, when she was a pappoose, her parents could -understand her character and nature well enough to give her a name that -fits her so perfectly. I notice the same thing happens again and again -through these northern tribes. But I’m wandering off the point. Sindy, -you must know, speaks English and is second in command. What she says -goes. Get up and do it on the jump. - -“You’ll be interested to know that you are on one of the supposedly -uninhabited islands of the Skopin group. Other islands are grouped all -around you, making one big snow field when the ice closes down in -winter. I could give you almost your exact longitudinal position, but it -wouldn’t be the least good to you. The population consists of we five -people—and various bear, caribou, and such like. The principal -industry, as you will find out later, is furs. - -“There is no need to tell in detail how and why I came here—unlike -Caliban, I am not a native of the place. I hope you are not so deficient -as to have failed to read ‘Tempest.’ I find quite an analogy to our -present condition. Shakespeare is a great delight on wintry nights; he -remains real, when most of my other slim stock of authors fades into -air. I like ‘Merry Wives’ the best of the comedies, though—because we -have such fine fun with Falstaff. Of the tragedies I like Macbeth the -best and Lear, by far the worst; and it’s a curious paradox that I -didn’t like the ending of the first and did like the second. Macbeth and -his lady shouldn’t have fallen. They were people with a purpose, and -purpose should be allowed to triumph in art as well as in life. In life, -Macbeth would have snipped off Macduff’s head and left a distinguished -line. Lear, old and foolish, got just what was coming to him—only it -shouldn’t have been dragged over five acts. - -“But I really must get down to essentials. It’s so long since I’ve -talked to the outside world that I can’t help being garrulous. To begin -with—I came here some years ago, not entirely by my own choice. Of -course, not even the devil comes to such a hell as this from his own -choice. There’s always pressure from above.” - -He paused again, hardly aware of the horrified gaze with which his -hearers regarded him. A startling change had come over him when he spoke -again. His eyes looked red as a weasel’s in the shadowed room; the tones -of his voice were more subdued, yet throbbing with passion. - -“I remember gray walls, long ago, in Siberia,” he went on slowly and -gravely. “I was not much more than a boy, a student at a great -university—and then there were gray walls in a gray, snow-swept land, -and gray cells with barred doors, and men standing ever on watch with -loaded rifles, and thousands of human cattle in prison garb. It was -almost straight west of here, far beyond Bering Sea; and sometimes -inspectors would come, stylish people like yourselves, except that they -were bearded men of Petrograd, and look at us through the bars as at -animals in a zoo, but they never interfered with the way things were -run! How I came there doesn’t matter; what I did, and what I didn’t do. -There I found out how much toil the human back can stand without -breaking, one day like another, years without end. I knew what it was to -have a taskmaster stand over me with a whip—a whip with many tails, -with a shot and wire twisted into each. I can show you my back now if -you don’t believe me. I found out all these things, and right then there -came a desire to teach them to some one else. I was an enemy of society, -they said—so I became an enemy of society in reality. Right then I -learned a hate for such society and a desire to burn out the heart of -such weak things as you!” - -He turned to them, snarling like a beast. His voice had begun to rumble -like lavas in the bowels of the earth. There could be no question as to -the reality of this hatred. It was a storm cloud over his face; it -filled his gray eyes with searing fire, it drew his muscles till it -seemed that the arms of his chair, clutched by his hands, would be torn -from the rounds. To his listeners it was the most terribly vivid moment -of their lives. - -“I swore an oath then, by the devil himself, that if the time ever came -that I’d have opportunity, I’d show society just what kind of an enemy I -was. Sometime, I thought, that time would come. What made me think so I -can’t tell. Sometime I’d pay ’em back for all they had done to me. - -“One day the chance came to escape. While more cowardly men would have -hesitated, I pushed through and out. On the way I learned a little -lesson—that none of the larger creatures of the wild die as easily as -men. I found out that there is nothing more to killing a man that is in -your way than killing a caribou I want to eat. I didn’t feel any worse -about it afterward. After that I decided I would never compromise with a -man who was in my way. The other method was too easy. Remember it in all -our relations to come. - -“I had to come across here. I couldn’t forever escape the hue and cry -that was raised. Ultimately I landed on this little island—with Sindy -and a few steel traps. - -“In this climate we can trap almost the whole year round. We can start -putting them out in a few days more—keep them out clear till June. -Every year a ship—the _Intrepid_ that you’ve likely heard of—touches -here to buy my furs—just one trip a year—and it leaves here supplies -of all kinds in exchange. But don’t take hope from that. Hope is one -thing you want to get out of your systems. The captain of the _Intrepid_ -and his Japanese crew are the only human beings that know I live here, -except yourself—that know there’s a human occupant on this island. On -their yearly visit I’ll see to it that none of them get a sight of you. - -“Once I was used to working all day from dawn to dark, with an armed -master on guard over me. It isn’t going to be that way from now on. I’m -going to be the armed master. The next few days you’re going to spend -building yourselves a shack and cutting winter fuel. Then each of you -will have a trap line—a good stiff one, too. Every day you’ll go out -and follow your line of traps—baiting, skinning and fleshing, drying -the skins when you get to the cabins. You’ll know what it really is to -be cold, then; you’ll know what work means, too. With you three I expect -to triple my usual season’s catch, building up three times as fast the -fortune I need. - -“All my life I’ve looked forward to a chance to give society the same -kind of treatment it gave to me—and when that fortune is large enough -to work with, there will be a new dynasty arise in Russia. In the -meantime, you’re going to get the same treatment I did—hard labor for -life! You’re going to have an armed guard over you to shoot you down if -you show the least sign of mutiny. You’ll obey every command and lick my -boots if I tell you to. I said then, when the chance came, I’d grind -society down—or any representatives of society that came into my -power—just as it ground me down. This is the beginning of my triumph. -You, you three—represent all I hated. Wealth—constituted -authority—softness and ease and luxury. I’ll teach you what softness -is! You’ll know what a heaven a hard bed can be, after a day in the wind -off Bering Straits. You’ll find out what luxury is, too.” His wild laugh -blew like a wind through the room. “And incidentally, my fur output will -be increased by three, my final dream brought three times nearer. - -“What I want from you I’ll take. You’re in hell if there is such a -place—and you’ll know it plenty soon.” He turned to Ned, his lip curled -in scorn. “Your feeble arms over the chair back won’t protect that girl -if I make up my mind I want her. At present you may be safe from -that—simply because some conquests aren’t any pleasure if they’re made -with force. If I want either of you,” his gaze flashed toward Bess, “I’m -not afraid that I’ll have to descend to force to get you. - -“When I said to abandon hope I meant it. You have no boat, and I’ll give -you no chance to make one. The distance is too great across the ice ever -to make it through; besides, you won’t be given a chance to try. No -ships will come here to look for you. No matter what wealth and power -you represented down there, you’ll be forgotten soon enough. Others will -take your place, other girls will reign at the balls, and other men will -spend your money. You will be up here, as lost and forgotten as if you -were in the real hell you’ll go to in the end. - -“Even if your doting fathers should send out a search party, they will -overlook this little island. It was just a freak of the currents that -you landed here—I don’t see yet why you weren’t blown to Tzar Island, -immediately east of here. When they find you aren’t there, and pick up -any other lifeboats from your ship that in all probability landed there, -they’ll be glad enough to turn around and go back. Especially if they -see your lifeboat floating bottom upward in the water! - -“You should never have come to the North, you three! Society should -never move from the civilization that has been built to protect -it—otherwise it will find forces too big and too cruel to master. -You’re all weaklings, soft as putty—without the nerve of a ptarmigan. -Already I’ve crushed the resistance out of you. All my life I’ve dreamed -of some such chance as this, and yet you can’t fight enough to make it -interesting for me. You’ll be docile, hopeless slaves until you die.” - -He paused, scanning their pale, drawn faces. He turned to Ned first, but -the latter was too immersed in his own despair ever to return his stare. -Lenore didn’t raise her golden head to meet his eyes. But before his -gaze ever got to her, Bess was on her feet. - -“Don’t be too sure of yourself,” she cautioned quickly. He looked with -sudden amazement into her kindling eyes. “Men like you have gone in the -face of society before. You’re not so far up here that the arm of the -law can’t reach you.” - -The blond man smiled into her earnest face. “Go on, my dear,” he urged. - -“It’s got you once, and it’ll get you again. And I warn you that if you -put one indignity on us, do one thing you’ve said—you’ll pay for it in -the end—just as you’ll pay for that fiendish crime you committed -to-day.” - -As her eyes met his, straight and unfaltering, the expression of -contemptuous amazement died in his face. Presently his interest seemed -to quicken. It was as if he had seen her for the first time, searching -eyes resting first on hers, then on her lips, dropping down over her -athletic form, and again into her eyes. He seemed lost in sinister -speculations. - -Something seemed strained, ready to break. The four in the little circle -made no motion, all of them inert and frozen like characters in a dream. -And then, before that speculative, searching gaze—a gaze unlike any -that he had bent on Lenore—her eyes faltered from his. Ned felt a wild, -impotent fury like live steam in his brain. - -Bess’s little mutiny was already quelled. Her blue eyes were black with -terror. - - - - - XVI - - -Doomsdorf had seemingly achieved his purpose, and his prisoners lay -crushed in his hands. A fear infinitely worse than that of toil or -hardship had evidently killed the fighting spirit in Bess; Lenore had -been broken by Doomsdorf’s first words. And now all the structure of -Ned’s life had seemingly toppled about him. - -The lesson that Doomsdorf taught had gone deep, not to be forgotten in -any happier moment that life might have in store for him. There was no -blowing into flame the ashes of his old philosophy. It was dead and cold -in his breast; no matter what turn fate should take, his old conceit and -self-sufficiency could never come again. He was down to earth at last. -The game had been too big for him. The old Ned Cornet was dead, and only -a broken, impotent, hopeless thing was left to dwell in his battered -body. - -He had found the training camp, but it was more bitter than ever his -father had hinted that it could be. Indeed Godfrey Cornet, in those -brooding prophecies at which his son had laughed, had been all too -hopeful regarding it. He had said there was a way through and on, always -there was a way through and on; but here the only out-trail was one of -infinite shadow to an unknown destination. Death—_that_ was the way -out. _That_ was the only way. - -It was curious how easy it was to think of death. Formerly the word had -invoked a sense of something infinitely distant, nothing that could -seemingly touch him closely, a thought that never came clearly into -focus in his brain. All at once it had showed itself as the most real of -all realities. It might be his before another night, before the end of -the present hour. It had come quick enough to Knutsen. The least -resistance to Doomsdorf’s will would bring it on himself. Many things -were lies, and the false was hard to tell from the true, but in this -regard there was no chance for question. Doomsdorf would strike the life -from him in an instant at the first hint of revolt. - -It was wholly conceivable that such a thing could occur. Ned could -endure grinding toil till he died; even such personal abuse as he had -received an hour or so before might find him crushed and unresisting, -but yet there remained certain offenses that could not be endured. Ned -could not forget that both Lenore and Bess were wholly in Doomsdorf’s -power. A brutal, savage man, it was all too easy to believe that the -time would come soon when he would forget the half-promise he had given -them. The smoky gaze that he had bent toward Bess meant, perhaps, that -he was already forgetting it. In that case would there be anything for -him but to fight and die? No matter how great a weakling he had been, -the last mandate of his honor demanded that. And a bitterness ineffable -descended upon him when he realized that even such bravery could not in -the least help the two girls,—that his death would be as unavailing and -impotent as his life. - -How false he had been to himself and his birthright! He had been living -in a fool’s paradise, and he had fallen from it into hell! Esau sold his -birthright for a mess of pottage: for less return Ned had sold himself -into slavery. He had been a member of a dominant race, the son of a -mighty breed that wrested the soil from the wilderness and built strong -cities on the desolate plains; but he had wasted his patrimony of -strength and manhood. A parlor knight, he had leaned upon his father’s -sword rather than learning to wield his own; and he had fallen -vanquished the instant that he had left its flashing ring of steel. - -For in this moment of unspeakable remorse, he found he could blame no -one but himself for the disaster. Every year men traversed these -desolate waters to buy furs from the Indians; he had been in a staunch -boat, and with a little care, a little foresight, the journey could have -been made in perfect safety. It was a man’s venture, surely; but he -could have carried through if he had met it like a man instead of a -weakling. He knew perfectly that it was his own recklessness and folly -that set the cups of burning liquor before Captain Knutsen as he stood -at his wheel. It was his own unpardonable conceit, his own -self-sufficiency that made him start out to meet the North half -prepared, daring to disturb its ancient silences with the sound of his -wild revelry; and to live, in its grim desolation, the same trivial life -he lived at home. He hadn’t even brought a pistol. Sensing his weakness -and his unpreparedness, Doomsdorf hadn’t even done him the honor of -searching him for one. - -Knutsen’s death was on his own head: the life of utter wretchedness and -hopelessness and insult that lay before Lenore and Bess was his own -doing, too. It wouldn’t compensate to die in their defense, merely -leaving them continued helpless prey to Doomsdorf. He saw now, with this -new vision that had come to him, that his only possible course was to -live and do what he could in atonement. He mustn’t think of himself any -more. All his life he had thought of nothing but himself; self-love had -been his curse to the end of the chapter,—and now he could not make -himself believe but that it had been some way intertwined in his love -for Lenore. He would have liked to give himself credit for that, at -least—unselfish devotion, these past years, to Lenore—but even this -stuck in his throat. But his love for her would be unbiased by self-love -now. He would give all of himself now—holding nothing back. - -In spite of his own despair, his own bitter hopelessness, he must do -what he could to keep hope alive in Lenore and Bess. It was the only -chance he had to pay, even in the most pitiful, slight degree for what -he had done to them. He must always try to make their lot easier, doing -their work when he could, maintaining an attitude of cheer, living the -lie of hope when hope seemed dead in his breast. - -Ned Cornet was awake at last. He knew himself, his generation, the full -enormity of his own folly, the unredeemed falsehood of his old -philosophy. Better still, he knew what lay before him, not only the -remorselessness of his punishment but also his atonement: doing -willingly and cheerfully the little he could to lighten the burdens of -his innocent victims. He could have _that_ to live for, at least, doing -the feeble little that he could. And that is why, when Doomsdorf looked -at him again, he found him in some way straightened, his eyes more -steadfast, his lips in a firmer, stronger line. - -“Glad to see you’re bucking up,” he commented lightly. - -Ned turned soberly. “I _am_ bucking up,” he answered. “I see now that -you’ve gone into something you can’t get away with. Miss Gilbert was -right; in the end you’ll find yourself laid out by the heels.” - -It can be said for Ned, for the reality of his resolve, that his words -seemed to ring with conviction, giving no sign of the utter despair that -was in his heart. Of course he was speaking them for the ears of Lenore -and Bess, in order to encourage them. - -“You think so, eh?” Doomsdorf yawned and stretched his arms. “Just try -something—that’s all. And since you’re feeling so good, I don’t see why -you shouldn’t get to work. You can still put in a fairly good morning. -And you”—he turned, with the catlike swiftness that marked so many of -his movements, toward Bess—“what’s your name?” - -“You just heard him say. Miss Gilbert——” - -“You can forget you are a ‘Miss.’ You’re a squaw out here—and can do -squaw’s work. What’s your first name?” - -Bess, in her misery, looked at him with dread. “Bess Gilbert,” she -answered quietly. - -“Bess it will be. Lenore, I think you call the other—and Ned. Good -thing to know first names, since we’ve got an uncertain number of years -before us. Well, I suggest that all three of you go out and see what you -can do about wood. You’ll have to cut some and split it. I’ve been lazy -about laying in a winter store.” - -Much to his amazement, Ned stood erect, pulled down his cap over his -brown curls, and buttoned his coat. “I’ll see what we can do,” he -answered straightforwardly. “I have, though, one thing to ask.” - -“What is it——” - -“That you let the two girls take it easy to-day—and get warmed through. -If you sent them out now, weakened as they are, it might very easily -mean pneumonia and death. It’s to your interest to keep them alive.” - -“It’s to my interest, surely—but don’t rely on that to the extent of -showing too much independence. The human body can stand a lot before it -gives up the ghost. The human voice can do a lot of screaming. I know, -because I’ve seen. I don’t mind running a little risk with human life to -get my way, and I know several things, short of actual killing, that go -toward enforcing obedience and quelling mutiny.” - -Lenore, staring wildly at him, caught her breath in a sob. “You don’t -mean——” - -Doomsdorf did not look at her. He still smiled down at Ned. “You’ve -never felt a knout, have you, on the naked back?” he asked sweetly. “I -found out what they were like in Siberia, and with the hope of showing -some one else, I took one out—in my boot. It’s half-killed many a -man—but I only know one man that it’s completely killed. He was a -guard—and I found out just how many blows it takes. You can stop a -hundred—fifty—perhaps only ten before that number, and life still -lingers.” The man yawned again. “But your request is granted—so far as -Lenore is concerned. You can leave her here for me to entertain. Bess -has spirit enough to talk—she has undoubtedly spirit enough to work.” - -Ned, deeply appalled and unspeakably revolted, looked to Lenore for -directions. Her glorious head was on her arms, and she shook it in utter -misery. “I can’t go out there now,” she said. “I’ll just die if I -do—I’m so cold still, so weakened. I wish I had died out there in the -storm.” - -Ned turned once more to Doomsdorf. “She’s telling the truth—I think she -simply can’t stand to go,” he urged gravely. “But though she’s -absolutely in your power, there are some things even a beast can’t do. -You just the same as gave me your word——” - -“There are things a beast can’t do, but I’m not a beast. There’s nothing -I can’t do that I want to do. I make no promises—just the same, for -this time, I don’t think you need be afraid. I don’t take everything -that comes along in the way of a woman. I want a woman of thews!” - -Bess dared not look at him, but she felt the insult of his searching -gaze. She buttoned her coat tight, then stood waiting. An instant later -Doomsdorf was holding the door open for her as she went to her toil. - - - - - XVII - - -There were a number of axes in the little work-room that comprised one -end of the long cabin, and Doomsdorf flung three of them over his -shoulder. “Right up through here,” he urged, pointing to the little -hillside behind the cabin. “Of course I can’t let you cut fuel from -these trees so close to the house. You, as city people, surely know -something about house beautifying. You’ll have to carry the wood a -little farther—but you won’t mind, when you know it’s for the sake of -beauty.” - -The snow was noticeably deeper in the two hours since they had come. It -clung to Ned’s trouser legs almost to the knees, soaking through his -thin walking shoes; and both he and Bess found it some degree of labor -just to push through it. Doomsdorf halted them before one of the -half-grown spruce. - -“Here’s a good one,” he commented. “Just beyond is another. You can each -take one—cut them down with your axes and then hack them into two-foot -lengths for the stove. Better split each length into three pieces—the -larger ones, anyway. If you have time, you can carry it down to the -cabin.” - -He swung his axes down from his shoulder. He seemed to be handling them -with particular care, but several seconds elapsed before Ned realized -that the moment had some slight element of drama. Heretofore he had been -unable to observe that Doomsdorf was in the least on guard against his -prisoners. He had seemingly taken no obvious precautions in his own -defense. It was plain to see, however, that he did not intend to put -axes into the hands of these two foes until he had one ready to swing -himself. - -He took the handle of the largest axe in his right hand; with his left -he extended the other two implements, blades up, to Ned and Bess. “I -suppose you know we’ve had no experience——” Ned began. - -“It doesn’t matter. Just be careful the trees don’t fall on you. They -sometimes do, you know, on amateur woodsmen. The rest is plain brute -strength and awkwardness.” He handed them each, from his pocket, a piece -of dried substance that looked like bark. “Here’s a piece of jerked -caribou each—it ought to keep life in your bodies. And the sooner you -get your wood cut and split, the sooner you see any more.” - -Then he turned and left them to their toil. - -Thus began a bitter hour for Ned. He found the mere work of biting -through the thick trunk with his axe cost him his breath and strained -his patience to the limit. It wasn’t as easy as it looked. He did not -strike true; the blade made irregular white gashes in the bark; his -blows seemed to lack power. The great, ragged wound deepened but slowly. - -Finally it was half through the trunk, and yet the tree stood seemingly -as sturdy as ever. Reckless from fatigue, he chopped on more fiercely -than ever. And suddenly, with the grinding noise of breaking wood, the -tree started to fall. - -And at that instant Ned was face to face with the exigency of leaping -for his life. The tree did not fall in the direction planned. An instant -before, weary and aching and out of breath, Ned would have believed -himself incapable of swift and powerful motion. As that young spruce -shattered down toward him, like the club of a giant aimed to strike out -his life, a supernatural power seemed to snatch him to one side. Without -realization of effort, the needed muscles contracted with startling -force, and he sprang like a distance jumper to safety. - -But he didn’t jump too soon or too far. The branches of the tree lashed -at him as it descended, hurling him headlong in the snow. And thereafter -there were three things to cause him thought. - -One of them was the attitude of Bess,—the girl to whom, in weeks past, -he had shown hardly decent courtesy: the same girl whom in childish fury -he had cursed the bitter, eventful night just gone. Above the roar of -the falling tree he heard her quick, half-strangled gasp of horror. - -The sound seemed to have the qualities that made toward a perfect -after-image; because in the silence that followed, as he lay in the soft -snow, and the crash of the fallen tree echoed into nothingness, it still -lingered, every tone perfect and clear, in his mind’s ear. There was no -denying its tone of ineffable dismay. Evidently Bess was of a forgiving -disposition; in spite of his offense of the past night she had evidently -no desire to see him crushed into jelly under that giant’s blow. Some -way, it had never occurred to him that the girl would harbor a kind -thought for him again. She had been right and he had been wrong; in an -effort to serve him she had received only his curse, and her present -desperate position, worse perhaps than either his own or Lenore’s, was -due wholly to his own folly. She had not taken part in the orgy of the -night before, so not the least echo of responsibility could be put on -her. Yet she didn’t hate him. She had cried out in real agony when she -thought he was about to die. - -He thought upon this matter as he lay in the soft snow whence the -descending branches of the tree had hurled him. He didn’t have many -seconds to think about it. Further eccentricity on the part of Bess -swiftly gave him additional cause for reflection. She had not only cried -out, but she ran to him with the speed of a deer. She was by his side -almost before he was aware of the scope of the accident. - -The sobbing cry he had heard could very likely be attributed merely to -that instinctive horror that a sensitive girl would feel at an impending -tragedy, wholly apart from personal interest in the victim; but for a -few seconds Ned was absolutely at a loss to explain that drawn, white, -terrified face above him. In fear for him, Bess was almost at the point -of absolute collapse herself. Nor could mere impersonal horror explain -her flying leap to reach his side,—like a snowbird over the drifts. It -meant more than mere forgiveness for the terrible pass to which he had -brought her. In a few seconds of clear thinking he thought he saw the -truth: that even after all that was past Bess still looked to him for -her hope, that she regarded him still as her defense against Doomsdorf; -and that his death would leave her absolutely bereft. He was a man, and -she still dreamed that he might save her. - -The result was a quick sense of shame of his own inadequacy. It is not -good to know oneself a failure in the face of woman’s trust. Yet the -effect of the little scene was largely good, for it served to strengthen -Ned’s resolve to spare the girls in every way he could, and by his own -feigned hope to keep them from despair. Above all, he found an increased -admiration for Bess. Instead of a silly prude, a killjoy for the party, -she had shown herself as a sportswoman to the last fiber. She had been a -friend when she had every right to be an enemy; she had shown spirit and -character when women of lesser metal would have been irremediably -crushed. He was far away now from the old barriers of caste. There was -no reason, on this barren, dreadful isle, why he shouldn’t accept all -the friendship she would give him and give his own in return. - -But this subject was only one of three that suddenly wakened him to -increased mental activity. If he were amazed at Bess, he was no less -amazed at himself. He had been tired out, hopeless, out of wind, hardly -able to swing his arms, and yet he had managed to leap out of seeming -certain death. The unmistakable inference was that the body in which his -spirit had dwelt for thirty years had strength and possibilities of -which hitherto he had been unaware. In the second of crisis he had shown -a perfect coördination of brain and muscle, an accuracy of transmission -of the brain-messages that were conducted along his nerves, and a -certain sureness of instinct that he had never dreamed he possessed. It -would have been very easy to have jumped the wrong way. Yet he had -jumped the right way—the only possible way to avoid death—choosing -infallibly the nearest point of safety and hurling himself directly -toward it. Perhaps it would have been better to have stayed where he -was, to have let the tree crush the life out of him and be done with -Hell Isle for good, yet a power beyond himself had carried him out of -danger. The point offered interesting possibilities. Could it be that he -had had the makings of a man in him all these years and had never been -aware of it? Could he dare hope that this side of him might be -developed, in the hard years to come, so that he might be better able to -endure the grinding toil and hardship? The thought wasn’t really -_hope_—he didn’t believe that _hope_ would ever visit him again—it was -only an instant’s rift, dim as twilight, in the gloom of his despair. -The most he could ever hope to do was to fortify himself in order to -take more and more of the girl’s hardship upon his shoulders. - -Thirdly he gave some thought to the matter of felling trees. It was a -more complex matter than he had at first supposed. Evidently he had gone -about it in the wrong way. It would pay to have more respect for the -woodsman’s science if he did not wish to come to an early end beneath a -falling tree. He might not be so quick to dodge again. - -Bess was staring wide-eyed into his face; and he smiled quietly in -reassurance. “Not hurt at all,” he told her. Quickly he climbed to his -feet. “See that you don’t do the same thing that I did.” - -Delighted that he had not been hurt but a little aghast at what heart’s -secret she might have revealed in running to his aid, she started to go -back to her toil. But Ned had already reached some conclusions about -tree-felling. He walked with her to her fallen axe, then inspected the -deep cut she had already made in her tree. - -“You’re doing the same thing I did, sure enough,” he observed. “The tree -will fall your way and crush you. Let me think.” - -A moment later he took his axe and put in a few more strokes in the same -place. It was the danger point, he thought: a deeper cut might fell the -tree prematurely. Presently he crossed to the opposite side, signaled -Bess out of danger, and began to hack the tree again, making a cut -somewhat above that started on the other side of the trunk. He chopped -sturdily; and in a moment the tree started to fall, safely and in an -opposite direction. - -He uttered some small sound of triumph; but it was a real tragedy to -have the tree fall against a near-by tree and lodge. Again he had failed -to exercise proper foresight. - -There was nothing to do but climb into the adjoining tree with his axe -and laboriously cut the lodged tree away. In the meantime Bess went to -work on the first tree felled, trimming it of its limbs so to cut it -into lengths. - -Ned joined her at the work, but long before the first tree was cut into -fuel, both were at the edge of utter exhaustion. The point of fatigue he -had reached that morning in rowing, when he had rested from the sheer -inability to take another stroke, was already far past. There had been a -point, some time back, when every muscle of his body had throbbed with a -burning ache, when pain crept all over him like a slow fire, but that -too was largely passed now. His brain was dulled; he felt baffled and -estranged as if in a dream. It was more like a nightmare now,—his axe -swinging eternally in his arms, the chips flying, one after another. - -He seemed to move so slowly. Hours were passing, one after another, and -still great lengths of the trees remained to cut and split. But they -couldn’t stop and rest. They dared not return to the cabin till the work -was done: the brute that was their master would be glad of an excuse to -lay on the lash. They had been taught what mercy to expect from him. -Here was one reality that their fatigue could not blunt: their cruel -master waiting in the cabin. As the rest of their conscious world faded -and dimmed he was ever more vivid, ever more real. The time soon came -when he filled all the space in their thoughts. - -For Ned life was suddenly immensely simplified. All the complexities of -his old life had suddenly ceased to matter: indeed that had perished -from his consciousness. The world was forgotten, he had no energy to -waste in remembering how he had come hence, even who he was. From the -supreme egoist, knowing no world but that of which his own ego was the -orbit, to a faltering child hardly aware of his own identity: thus had -Ned changed in a single night. The individual who had been Ned Cornet -had almost ceased to be; and in his place was a helpless pawn of a cruel -and remorseless fate. - -He knew Fate now. Through the mists of this nightmare that was upon him -he saw the Jester with his bells. And as he looked, the sharp, ironic -face grew savage, brutal, half-covered with blond hair; the motley -became a cap of silver fox. But this changed too, as his axe swung in -the air. Once more the face was sharp, but still unutterably terrible to -see; but it was livid now, as if sulphurous flames were playing upon it. -And the foot—he saw the foot plain against the snow. It was -unspeakable, filling him with cold horror all his length. It was some -way cloven and ghastly. - -The vision passed, broken and dissolved by the noise of the axe on the -tough wood. He knew Fate now. He had seen him in all his forms. In his -folly he had scorned him, taunted him by his insolence, had dared to -dream that he was greater than Fate, immune from his persecution. If -this torment ended now, he had paid the price. He had atoned for -everything already if he did not lift the axe again. Yet only eternity -lay ahead. - -Doomsdorf had seemed almost incredible to him at first. It was as if he -couldn’t possibly be true: a figment of nightmare that would vanish as -soon as he wakened. But he was real enough now. Nothing was left to him -but the knowledge how real he was. - -He must not rest, he must not pause till the work was done. The fact -that Bess had fallen, fainting, in the snow, did not affect him; he must -swing his axe and hew the wood. Day was dying. Grayness was creeping in -from the sea. It was like the essence of the sea itself, all gray, gray -like his dreams, gray like the ashes of his hopes. He must finish the -two trees before the darkness came down and kept him from seeing where -to sink the blade. Otherwise it wouldn’t matter—day or night, one year -or another. Time had ceased to count; seemingly it had almost ceased to -move. But the _knout_ would be waiting, hardened and sharp with wire, if -he didn’t do his work. Cold fear laid hold of him again. - -He did not know that this cold that was upon him was not only that of -fear. His clothes had been wet through by perspiration and melted snow, -and now the bitter winds off the sea were getting to him. Still he swung -his axe. It was always harder to strike true; the tough lengths took -ever more blows to split. The time soon came when he was no longer aware -of the blows against the wood. The axe swung automatically in his arms; -even sense of effort was gone from him. The only reality that lived in -him now, in that misty twilight, was the knowledge that he must get -through. - -It was too dark to see, now, how much of the work remained. The night -was cheating him, after all. He struck once more at the tough length -that lay at his feet—a piece at which he had already struck uncounted -blows. He gave all his waning strength to the effort. - -The length split open, but the axe slipped out of his bleeding hands, -falling somewhere in the shadows beyond. He must crawl after it; he -didn’t know how many more lengths there were to split. It was strange -that he couldn’t keep his feet. And how deep and still was the night -that dropped over him! - -How long he groped for the axe handle in the snow he never knew. But he -lay still at last. Twilight deepened about him, and the wind wept like a -ghost risen from the sea. The very flame of his life was burning down to -embers. - -Thus it came about that Doomsdorf missed the sound of his axe against -the wood. Swinging a lantern, a titantic figure among the snow-laden -trees, he tramped down to investigate. Bess, semi-conscious again, -wakened when the lantern light danced into her eyes. But it took him -some little time to see Ned’s dark form in the snow. - -The reason was, it was lying behind a mighty pile of split fuel. The -light showed that only green branches, too small to be of value, -remained of the two spruce. And Doomsdorf grunted, a wondering oath, -deep in his throat. - -They had been faithful slaves. Putting his mighty arm around them, each -in turn, he half carried, half dragged them into the warmth of the -cabin. - - - - - XVIII - - -Ned was spared the misery and despair that overswept Doomsdorf’s cabin -the first night of his imprisonment. His master dropped him on the floor -by the stove, and there he lay, seemingly without life, the whole night -through. Even the sound of the wind could not get down into that dim -region of half-coma where he was: he heard neither its weird chant on -the cabin roof, or that eerie, sobbing song that it made to the sea, -seemingly the articulation of the troubled soul of the universe. He did -not see the snow piling deeper on the window ledge; nor sit straining in -the dreadful, gathering silence of the Arctic night. The promised reward -of food was not his because he could not get up to take it. - -Yet he was not always deeply insensible. Sometimes he would waken with a -knowledge of wracking pain in his muscles, and sometimes cold would -creep over him. Once he came to himself with the realization that some -one was administering to him. Soft, gentle hands were removing his wet, -outer garments, rolling him gently over in order to get at them, -slipping off his wet shoes and stockings. A great tenderness swept over -him, and he smiled wanly in the lantern light. - -Since he was a child, before the world was ever too much with him, no -living human being had seen him smile in quite this way. It was a smile -of utter simplicity, childishly sweet, and yet brave too,—as if he were -trying to hearten some one who was distressed about him. He didn’t feel -the dropping tears that were the answer to that smile, nor feel the -heart’s glow, dear beyond all naming, that it wakened. To the girl who, -scarcely able herself to stand erect, had crept from her warm cot to -serve him, it seemed almost to atone for everything, to compensate for -all she had endured. - -“Lenore?” the man whispered feebly. - -But there was no spoken answer out of the shadow at the edge of the -lantern light. Perhaps there was the faint sound, like a gasp, almost as -if a terrible truth that was for an instant forgotten had been recalled -again; and perhaps the administering hands halted in their work for one -part of an instant. But at once they continued to ply about him, so -strong and capable, and yet so ineffably gentle. It couldn’t be Lenore, -of course. No wonder,—Lenore had suffered grievously from the events of -the past night. In his half-delirium it occurred to him that it might be -his mother. There had been times in the past, when his mother had come -to his bedside in this same way, with this same gentleness, during his -boyhood sicknesses. But he couldn’t remain awake to think about it. His -wet, clinging clothes had been removed, and blankets, already warmed, -were being wrapped about him. He fell into deep, restful sleep. - -But it ended all too soon. A great hand shook him, snatching him into a -sitting position, and a great, bearded face, unspeakably terrible in the -weird, yellow light of the lantern, showed close to his own. “Up and -out,” he was shouting. “It’ll be light enough to work by the time you -have breakfast. Out before I boot you out.” - -He meant what he said. Already his cruel boot was drawn back. Ned’s -conscious world returned to him in one mighty sweep, like a cruel, white -light bursting upon tired eyes. The full dreadfulness of his lot, -forgotten in his hours of sleep, was recalled more vividly than ever. It -wasn’t just a dream, to be dispersed on wakening. Even yesterday’s -blessed murk of unreality, dimming everything and dulling all his -perceptions, was gone now that he was refreshed by sleep. His brain -worked clear, and he saw all things as they were. And the black wall of -hopelessness seemed unbroken. - -Yet instantly he remembered Lenore. At least he must continue to try to -shelter her—even to make conditions easy as possible for Bess. His love -for the former was the one happiness of his past life that he had left; -and he didn’t forget his obligation to the latter. Bess was already up, -building up the fire at Doomsdorf’s command, but Lenore, with whom she -had slept, still lay sobbing on her cot. - -Ned pulled on his clothes, scarcely wondering at the fact that they were -hanging, miraculously dry, back of the stove; and immediately hurried to -Lenore’s side. He forgot his own aching muscles in distress for her; and -his arms went about her, drawing her face to his own. - -“Oh, my girl, you mustn’t cry,” he told her, with a world of compassion -in his tone. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t you know I will——?” - -But with tragic face Lenore drew back from his arms. “_How_ can you take -care of me?” she asked with immeasurable bitterness. “Can you stand -against that brute——?” - -“Hush——!” - -“Of course you can’t. You’re even afraid to speak his name.” - -“Oh, my dear! Don’t draw away.” The man’s voice was pleading. “I was -just afraid he’d take some awful punishment from you. Of course I’m -helpless now——” - -“Then how can you take care of me?” she demanded again, for a moment -forgetting her despair in her anger at him. “Can you make him let me -stay in bed, instead of going out to die in this awful snow? -Death—that’s all there’s here for me. And the quicker it comes the -better.” - -She sobbed again, and he tried in vain to comfort her. “We’ll come -through,” he whispered. “I’ll make everything as light as I can——” - -But she thrust off his caressing hands. “I don’t want you to touch me,” -she told him tragically. “You can’t make things light for me, in this -living hell. And until you can protect me from that man, and save me, -you can keep your kisses. Oh, why did you ever bring me here?” - -“I suppose—because I loved you.” - -“You showed it, in taking me into this awful land in an unsafe boat. You -can keep your love. I wish I’d never seen you.” - -Just a moment his hands dropped to his sides, and he showed her the -white, drawn visage of utter despair. Yet he must not hold these words -against her. Surely she had cause for them; perhaps she would find him -some tenderness when she saw how hard he had tried to serve her, to ease -her lot. Her last words recalled his own that he had spoken to Bess -aboard the _Charon_: if he had railed as he had to Bess for such little -cause, at least he must not blame Lenore, even considering the fact of -their love, in such a moment as this. He _had_ brought her from her home -and to this pass. Save for him, she would be safe in her native city, -not a slave to an inhuman master on this godless island. - -He looked down at her steadfastly. “I can’t keep my love,” he told her -earnestly. “I gave it to you long ago, and it’s yours still. That love -is the one thing I have left to live for here; the one thing that’s left -of my old life. I’m going to continue to watch over you, to help you all -I can, to do as much of your work as possible; to stand between you and -Doomsdorf with my own life. I’ve learned, in this last day, that love is -a spar to cling to when everything else is lost, the most important and -the greatest blessing of all. And I’m not going to stop loving you, -whether you want me to or not. I’m going to fight for you—to the end.” - -“And in the end I’ll die,” she commented bitterly. - -Doomsdorf reëntered the room then, gazing at them in amused contempt, -and Ned instinctively straightened. - -“I trust you’re not hatching mutiny?” the sardonic voice came out. - -“Not just now,” Ned answered with some spirit. “There’s not much use to -hatch mutiny, things being as they are.” - -“You don’t say! There’s a rifle on the wall——” - -“Always empty——” - -“But the pistol I carry is always loaded. Why don’t you try to take it -away from me?” Then his voice changed, surly and rumbling again. “But -enough of that nonsense. You know what would happen to you if you tried -anything—I’ve told you that already. There’s work to do to-day. There’s -got to be another cabin—logs cut, built up, roof put on—a place for -the three of you to bunk. That’s the work to-day. The three of you ought -to get a big piece of it done to-day——” - -“Miss Hardenworth? Is she well enough? Couldn’t she help your wife with -the housework to-day?” - -“It will take all three of you to do the work I’ll lay out. Lenore can -learn to do her stint with the others. And hereafter, when you address -me, call me ‘Sir.’ A mere matter of employer’s discipline——” - -Because he knew his master, Ned nodded in agreement. “Yes, sir,” he -returned simply. “One thing else. I can’t be expected to do real work in -this kind of clothes. You’ve laid out furs and skins for the girls; I -want to get something too that will keep me warm and dry.” - -“I’m not responsible for the clothes you brought with you. You should -have had greater respect for the North. Besides, it gives me pleasure, I -assure you, to see you dressed as you are. It tones up the whole party.” - -Stripped of his late conceit that might otherwise have concealed it from -him, Ned caught every vestige of the man’s irony. “Do I get the warm -clothes?” he demanded bluntly. - -“When you earn them,” was the answer. “In a few days more you’ll be -running out your traps, and everything you catch, at first, you can -keep. You’ve got to prove yourself smarter than the animals before you -get the right to wear their skins.” - - - - - XIX - - -The previous day and night had been full of revelation for Ned; and as -he started forth from the cabin with his axe, there occurred a little -scene that tended even further to illustrate his changing viewpoint. -Gloating with triumph at the younger man’s subjection, Doomsdorf called -sardonically from the cabin doorway. - -“I trust I can’t help you in any way?” he asked. - -Discerning the premeditated insult in his tone, Ned whirled to face him. -Then for an instant he stood shivering with wrath. - -“Yes,” he answered. His promise to say “sir” was forgotten in his rage. -“You can at least treat me with the respect deserved by a good workman.” - -The words came naturally to his lips. It was as if they reflected a -thought that he had considered long, instead of the inspiration of the -moment. The truth was that, four days before, he had never known that -good work and good workmen were entitled to respect. The world’s labor -had seemed apart from his life; the subject a stupid one not worth his -thought and interest. In one terrible day Ned had found out what the -word work meant. He had learned what a reality it was. All at once he -saw in it a possible answer to life itself. - -He stood aghast at the magnitude of his discovery. Why, _work_ was the -beginning and the end of everything. Reaching back to the beginnings of -creation, extending clear until the last soul in heaven had passed on -and through the training camp of the last hereafter, it was the thing -that counted most. He had never thought about it in particular before. -Strangely it had not even occurred to him that the civilization that he -worshipped, all the luxury and richness that he loved, had been possible -only through the toil of human hands and brains. - -Suddenly he knew that his father had been right and he had been wrong. -The life of the humblest worker had been worth more than his. It would -have been better for him to die, that long-ago night of the automobile -accident, than for Bess to lose one of her working hands! He had been -contemptuous of work and workers, but had not his own assumption of -superiority been chiefly based upon the achievements of working men who -had gone before him? What could he claim for himself that could even put -him on the par with the great mass of manhood, much less make him their -superior? He had played when there was work to do, shirked his load when -the backs of better men were bent. - -In his heart Ned had been a little ashamed of his father. He had felt it -would have been more to his credit if the wealth that sustained him -should have originated several generations farther back, instead of by -the sole efforts of Godfrey Cornet. It had made Ned himself feel almost -like one of the _nouveaux riches_. The more the blood of success was -thinned, it seemed, the bluer it was; and it wasn’t easy to confess, -especially to certain young English bloods, that the name emblazoned in -electric lights across a great house of trade was, but one generation -removed, his own. He had particularly deplored his father’s tendency to -mention, in any company, his own early struggles, the poverty from which -he sprung. But how true and genuine was the shame he felt now at that -false shame! In this moment of revelation he saw his father plainly and -knew him for the sturdy old warrior, the man of prowess, most of all for -the sterling aristocrat that he was. He was a good workman: need -anything more be said? - -Ever since his college days he had snubbed him, patronized him, -disregarded his teachings whereby he might have come into his own -manhood. He had never respected good work or good workmen; and now it -was fitting retribution that he should spend his natural life in the -most grinding, bitter work. Even now he was making amends for his folly -at the hands of the most cruel, ironical fate that could befall him. His -axe was in his arms; his savage taskmaster faced him from the cabin -doorway. - -All these thoughts coursed through Ned’s keenly wakened brain in an -instant. They seemed as instantaneous as the flood of wrath that had -swept through him at Doomsdorf’s irony. And now would he suffer some -unspeakable punishment for insolence to his master? - -But little, amused lines came about Doomsdorf’s fierce eyes. “A good -workman, eh?” he echoed. “Yes, you did work fair enough yesterday. Wait -just a minute.” - -He turned into his door, in a moment reappearing with a saw and several -iron wedges from among his supplies of tools. He put them in Ned’s -hands, and the latter received them with a delight never experienced at -any favor of fortune in the past. The great penalty of such a life as he -had lived, wherein almost every material thing came into his hands at -his wish, is that it costs the power to feel delight, the simple joy and -gratitude of children; but evidently Ned was learning how again. Just a -saw of steel and wedges of iron for splitting! Workmen’s tools that he -once regarded with contempt. But oh, they would save him many a weary -hour of labor. The saw could cut through the fallen logs in half the -time he could hack them with his axe; they could be split in half the -number of strokes with the aid of the wedges. - -He went to his toil; and he was a little amazed at how quickly he felled -the first of the tall spruce. Seemingly his yesterday’s toil had -bestowed upon him certain valuable knowledge. His strokes seemed to be -more true: they even had a greater degree of power for the same amount -of effort. There were certain angles by which he could get the best -results: he would learn them, too—sooner or later. - -As he worked, the stiffness and pain that yesterday’s toil had left in -his muscles seemed to pass away. The axe swung easily in his arms. When -the first tree was chopped down, he set Lenore and Bess at trimming off -the branches and sawing twelve-foot logs for the hut. - -It came about that he chopped down several trees before the two girls -had finished cutting and trimming the first. Seemingly Lenore had not -yet recovered from the trying experience of two nights before, for she -wholly failed to do any part of the work. What was done at this end of -the labor Bess did alone. The unmistakable inference was that Ned would -have to double his own speed in order to avoid the lash at night. - -Yet he felt no resentment. Lenore was even more inured to luxury and -ease than he himself: evidently the grinding physical labor was -infinitely beyond her. Bess, however, still toiled bravely with axe and -saw. - -The day turned out to be not greatly different from the one preceding. -Again Ned worked to absolute exhaustion: the only apparent change seemed -to be that he accomplished a greater amount of work before he finally -fell insensible in the snow. This was the twilight hour, and prone in -the snow he lay like a warrior among his fallen. About him was a ring of -trees chopped down and, with Bess’s aid, trimmed of their limbs, notched -and sawed into lengths for the cabin. They had only to be lifted, one -upon another, to form the cabin walls. - -Bess had collapsed too as the twilight hour drew on; and Lenore alone -was able to walk unaided to the shack. Again Ned lay insensible on the -floor beside the stove, but to-night, long past the supper hour, he was -able to remove his own wet clothes and to devour some of the unsavory -left-overs from the meal. Again the night fell over Hell Island, -tremulous and throbbing with all the mighty passions of the wild, and -again dawn came with its gray light on the snow. And like some -insensible, mechanical thing Ned rose to toil again. - -The third day was given to lifting the great logs, one upon another, for -the walls of the cabin. It was, in reality, the hardest work he had yet -done, as to shift each log into place took every ounce of lifting power -the man had. The girls could help him but little here, for both of them -together did not seem to be able to handle an end of the great logs. He -found he had to lift each end in turn. - -Yet he was able to drag to the cabin to-night, and torpid with fatigue, -take his place at the crude supper table. He was hardly conscious that -he was eating—lifting the food to his mouth as mechanically as he had -lifted the great logs into place toward the end of the day—and the -faces opposite him were as those seen in a dream, never in the full -light, vague and dim like ghosts. Sometimes he tried to smile at one of -them—as if by a long-remembered instinct—and sometimes one of the -assembled group—a different face than that to which he addressed his -smiles—seemed to be smiling at him, deep-blue eyes curiously lustrous -as if with tears. Then there was a brown, inscrutable face that just now -and then appeared out of the shadow, and a stealing, slipping, silent -some one that belonged to it,—some one that now and then brought food -and put it on the table. - -But none of these faces went home to him like the great, hairy visage of -the demon that sat opposite. Ned eyed him covertly throughout the meal, -wondering every time he moved in his chair if he were getting up to -procure his whip, flinching every time the great arm moved swiftly -across the table. He didn’t remember getting up from his chair, -stripping off part of his wet clothes and falling among the blankets -that Doomsdorf had left for his use on the floor. Almost at once it was -dawn again. - -A new, more vivid consciousness was upon him when he wakened. The -stabbing ache in his legs and arms was mostly worn off now; but there -was a sharp pain in the small of his back that at first seemed -absolutely unendurable. But it wailed, too, as he went to the work of -finishing the cabin, laying the roof and hanging the crude door. To-day -he was conscious of greater physical power, of more prolonged effort -without fatigue. The whole island world was more vivid and clear than -ever before. - -It was with a certain vague quality of pleasure that he regarded this -cabin he had built with his own hands, finished now, except for the -chinking of the logs. It was the first creative work he had ever done, -and he looked at it and saw that it was good. - -He could forget, now, the dreadful, heart-breaking toil he had put into -it. It had almost killed him, but he was no worse for it now. Indeed his -arms were somewhat stronger, he was even better equipped to meet the -next, greater task that Doomsdorf appointed him. It was curious that, -slave of a cruel taskmaster that he was, he experienced a dim echo of -something that was akin to a new self-respect. - -These logs, laid one upon another, were visible proof that so far he had -stood the gaff! He had done killing work, yet he still lived to do more. -The fear that his spirit would fly from his exhausted frame at the end -of one of these bitter days could soon be discarded; seemingly he could -toil from dawn to dark, eat his fill, and in a night’s sleep build -himself up for another day of toil. More and more of Lenore’s work could -be laid on his ever-strengthening shoulders. - -The cabin itself was roomy and snug: here he could find seclusion from -Doomsdorf and his imperturbable squaw. It was blessing enough just to be -out of his sight in the long winter nights after supper, no more to -watch every movement of his arm! Besides, he was down to realities, and -it was a mighty satisfaction to know that here was a lasting shelter -from the storm and the cold. The Arctic winter was falling swiftly, and -here was his defense. - -Doomsdorf gave him a rusted, discarded stove; and it was almost joy to -see it standing in its place! With Doomsdorf’s permission, he devoted a -full day to procuring fuel for it. - -Four days more the three of them worked at the task of laying in -fuel,—Ned doing the lion’s share of the work, of course; Bess toiling -to the limit of her fine, young strength; Lenore making the merest -pretense. The result of the latter’s idleness was, of course, that her -two companions had to divide her share of work between them. Every day -Doomsdorf allotted them certain duties,—so many trees to cut up into -stove wood, or some other, no less arduous duty; and he seemed to have -an uncanny ability to drive them just short of actual, complete -exhaustion. The fact that Lenore shirked her share meant that at the -close of every day, in order to complete the allotment provided, Ned and -Bess had to drive themselves beyond that point, practically to the -border of utter collapse. The short rests that they might otherwise have -allowed themselves, those blessed moments of relaxation wherein the -run-down batteries of their energy were recharged, they dared not take. -The result was hour upon hour of such sustained toil that it seemed -impossible that human frames could bear the strain. - -But the seemingly impossible came to pass, and every day found them -stronger for their tasks. Evidently the human body has incredible powers -of adaptation to new environment. While, at the end of the day’s toil, -it seemed beyond all possibility that they could ever stagger back to -the cabins, when the only wish they had left was to lie still in the -snow and let the bitter cold take its toll, yet a few minutes’ -relaxation in the warmth of the stove always heartened them and gave -them strength to take their places at the supper table. As the days -passed, it was no longer necessary to seek their cots the instant they -left the table. They took to lingering a little while in the crude -chairs about the stove, mostly sitting silent in absolute dejection, but -sometimes exchanging a few, primitive thoughts. Very little mattered to -them now but food and shelter and sleep. They were down to the absolute -essentials. As the days passed, however, they began to take time for -primitive, personal toilets. They took to washing their faces and hands: -Bess and Lenore even combed out the snarls in their hair with -Doomsdorf’s broken comb. Then the two girls dressed their tresses into -two heavy braids, to be worn Indian fashion in front of the shoulders, -the method that required the least degree of care. - -They consumed great quantities of food,—particularly Bess and Ned. What -would have been a full day’s rations in their own home, enough -concentrated nutriment to put them in bed with indigestion, did not -suffice for a single meal. Never before had Ned really known the love of -food—red meat, the fair, good bread, rice grains white and fluffed—but -it came upon him quickly enough now. Before, his choice had run toward -women’s foods, exotic sauces, salads and ices and relishes, foods that -tickled the palate but gave no joy to the inner man; but now he wanted -inner fuel, plenty of it and unadorned. He cared little how it was -cooked, whether or not it had seasoning. The sweet taste of meat was -loved by him now,—great, thick, half-done steaks of nutritious caribou. -He didn’t miss butter on his bread. He would eat till he could hold no -more, hardly chewing his food; and as he lay asleep, the inner agents of -his body would draw from it the stuff of life with which was built up -his shattered tissue. - -The physical change was manifest in a few days. His spare flesh went -away as if in a single night, and then hard muscle began to take its -place. His flesh looked firmer; sagging fat was gone from his face; his -skin—pasty white before—was brownish-red from the scourge of the wind. -Now the manly hair began to mat about his lips and jowls. A hardening -manifested itself in his speech. The few primitive sentences, spoken in -the tired-out sessions about the stove, became him more than hours of -his former chatter. He no longer gabbled lightly like a girl, his speech -full of quirks and affectations: he spoke in blunt, short sentences, -with blunt, short words, and his meaning was immediately plain. - -He was standing the gaff! Every day found him with greater physical -mastery. Yet it was not altogether innate strength, or simple chemical -energy derived from the enormous quantities of food he consumed that -kept him on his feet. More than once, as the bitter night came down to -find him toiling, a strange, wan figure in the snow, he was all but -ready to give up. The physical side of him was conquered; the primitive -desire for life no longer manifested itself in his spirit. Just to fall -in the snow, to let his tired legs wilt under him, perhaps to creep a -little way back into the thicket where Doomsdorf’s lantern would fail to -reveal him: then he would be free of this dreadful training camp for -good! The sleep that would come upon him then would not be cursed with -the knowledge of a coming dawn, as gray and hopeless as the twilight -just departed! He would be safe then from Doomsdorf’s lash! The Arctic -wind would convey his wretched spirit far beyond the madman’s power to -follow; his aching, bleeding hands would heal in some Gentleness far -away. The fear of which psychologists speak, that of the leap into -darkness that is glibly said to be the last conscious instinct, was -absolutely absent. Death was a word to conjure with no more. It was no -harder for him to think of than the fall of a tree beneath his axe. The -terror that surrounded it was ever only a specter: and in the clear -vision that came to him in those terrible twilights, only realities were -worth the effort of thought. The physical torture of staggering through -the snow back to the cabin was so infinitely worse than any conception -that he could retain of death; the life that stretched before him was so -absolutely bereft of hope that the elemental dread of what lay beyond -would not have restrained him an instant. The thing went deeper than -that. The reason why he did not yield to the almost irresistible desire -to lie down and let the North take its toll had its fount in the secret -places of the man’s soul. He was beyond the reach of fear for himself, -but his love for Lenore mastered him yet. - -He must not leave Lenore. He had given his love to her, and this love -was a thousand times more compelling than any fear could possibly be. He -must stand up, he must go on through,—for the sake of this dream that -counted more than life. Was not her happiness in his whole charge? Did -he not constitute her one defense against Doomsdorf’s persecutions? He -must live on, carrying as many of her burdens as he could. - -Bess too knew an urge beyond herself; but she would not have found it so -easy to get it into concrete thought. Perhaps women care less about -_cause_ and more about _effect_, willing to follow impulse and scarcely -feeling the need of justifying every action with a laborious thought -process. In her own heart Bess knew she must not falter, she must not -give up. Whence that knowledge came she had no idea, and she didn’t -care. There was need of her too on this wretched, windy island. She had -her place here; certain obligations had been imposed upon her. She -didn’t try to puzzle out what these obligations were. Perhaps she was -afraid of the heart’s secret that might be revealed to her. Her instinct -was simply to stay and play her part. - -The only one of the three to whom the fear of death was still a reality -was Lenore, simply because the full horror of the island had not yet -gone home to her. She thought she knew the worst; in reality, she had no -inkling of it. So far Ned had succeeded in sheltering her from it. - -How long he could continue to do so, in any perceptible degree, he did -not know. In the first place he had the girl herself to contend with: -now that she was recovering, Lenore would likely enough insist on doing -her own share of the work. Besides, the problem was greatly complicated, -now that the winter’s supply of fuel was laid by, and the real season’s -activities about to begin. Could he spare her such bitter, terrible -hours that he and Bess must endure, following the trap lines over the -wild? Must she be cursed and lashed and tortured by the cold, know the -torment of worn-out muscles, only to be rewarded by the knout for -failing to bring in a sufficient catch of furs? Doomsdorf would be more -exacting, rather than more lenient, in these months to come. He had been -willing enough for Ned to do Lenore’s share in the work of laying in -winter fuel; but the size of the fur catch was a matter of greater -moment to him. It was unthinkable that Ned could handle to the best -advantage both Lenore’s trap line and his own. Work as hard as he might, -long into the night hours, one man couldn’t possibly return two men’s -catch. For Lenore’s sake Ned regarded the beginning of the trapping -season with dread, although for himself he had cause to anticipate it. - -He hadn’t forgotten that the first furs taken would be his, and he -needed them sorely enough. Indeed, the matter was beginning to be of -paramount importance to his health and life. The clothes he had worn -from the _Charon_, flimsy as the life of which they had been a part, -were rapidly wearing out. They didn’t turn the rain, and they were not -nearly warm enough for the bitter weather to come. Ned did not forget -that the month was only October; that according to Doomsdorf, real -winter would not break over them for a few weeks, at least. The snow -flurries, the frost, the bitter nights were just the merest hint of what -was to come, he said: the wail of the biting wind at night just the -far-off trumpet call of an advancing enemy. A man could go thinly garbed -on such days as this and, except for an aching chill throughout his -frame, suffer no disagreeable consequences; but such wouldn’t hold true -in the forty-below-zero weather that impended. Only fur and the thickest -woolens could avail in the months to come. - -Besides, the trapper’s life offered more of interest than that of the -woodchopper. It would carry him through those gray valleys and over the -rugged hills that now, when he had time to look about him, seemed to -invite his exploration. Best of all, the work would largely carry him -away from Doomsdorf’s presence. If only he could spare Lenore, not only -by permission of Doomsdorf but by the consent of the girl herself. - -The matter came up that night while Doomsdorf was sorting out some of -his smaller traps. “We’ll light out to-morrow,” he said. “The sooner we -get these things set, the better. The water furs seem to be absolutely -prime already—I’m sure the land furs must be too. I wonder if you three -have any idea what you’re going to do.” - -Ned saw an opportunity to speak for Lenore, but Doomsdorf’s speech ran -on before he could take it. “I don’t suppose you do,” he said. “Of -course, I’m going to show you—nevertheless it would help some if any of -you knew an otter from a lynx. You may not know it, but this island -contains a good many square miles—to trap it systematically requires -many lines and hundreds of traps. I’ve already laid out three -lines—sometimes I’ve trapped one, and sometimes another. Two of ’em are -four-day lines, and one a five-day line—that is, they take four and -five days respectively to get around. On each one I’ve built series of -huts, or shacks, all of them with a stove and supplies of food, and you -put up in them for the night. They are a day’s march apart, giving you -time to pick up your skins, reset, and so on, as you go. Believe me, you -won’t have any time to loaf. After you get into the cabins at night, eat -your supper and get some of the frost out of your blood, you’ll enjoy -thawing out and skinning the animals you’ve caught in your trap. If it’s -a big animal, dead and frozen and too big to carry, you’ll have to make -a fire out in the snow and thaw him out there. So you see you’ll have -varied experience. - -“You’ll be away from me and this cabin for days at a time, but if you’re -figuring on any advantage from that, just put it out of your mind, the -sooner the better. Maybe you think you can sneak enough time to make a -boat, smuggle it down to the water, and cast off. Let me assure you -you’ll have no time to sneak. Besides, this patch of timber right here -is nearer to the shore than any other patch on the island—you’d simply -have no chance to get away with it. If you think you could cross the ice -to Tzar Island, after winter breaks, you’re barking up the wrong tree -too. In my daily hunts I’ll manage to get up on one of these ridges, and -I can keep a pretty fair watch of you over these treeless hills. You’d -never get more than a few hours’ start; and they wouldn’t help you at -all on the ice fields! I trust there’s no need to mention penalties. You -already know about that. - -“And maybe you are thinking it will be easy enough to slack—not trying -to catch much, so you won’t have many skins to flesh and stretch—maybe -hiding what you do catch. I’ll just say this. I have a pretty good idea -how this country runs—just how many skins each line yields with fair -trapping. I’m going to increase that estimate by twenty per cent.—and -that’s to be your minimum. I won’t say what that amount is now. But if -at the end of the season you’re short—by one skin—look out! It means -that you’ll have to be about twenty per cent. smarter and more -industrious than the average trapper.” - -“But man——” Ned protested. “We’re not experienced——” - -“You’ll learn quick enough. Aren’t you the dominant race? And I warn you -again—you’d better drop bitter tears every time you find where a -wolverine has been along and eaten an ermine out of a trap!” - -The man was not jesting. They knew him well enough by now; the piercing -glitter of his keen, gray eyes, the odd fixation about his pupils that -was always manifest when he was most in earnest, was plainly in evidence -now. Thus it was with the most profound amazement that Lenore’s -companions suddenly saw her beautiful mouth curling in a smile. - -For themselves they were lost in despair. All too plainly Doomsdorf had -merely hinted at the cruel rigors of the trapper’s trail. Yet Lenore was -smiling. - -Then Ned saw, with a queer little tug of his heart, that the smile was -not meant for him. It was not a gracious signal of her love, meant to -encourage him in his despair. A woman herself, and understanding women, -Bess never dreamed for an instant that it was; she knew only too well -the thought and the aim behind that sudden, dazzling sunshine in -Lenore’s face. Yet her only reaction, beyond amazement, was a swift -surge of tenderness and pity for Ned. - -Lenore was smiling at Doomsdorf. She was looking straight into his gray -eyes. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely pink; her eyes were smiling too; -she presented an image of ineffable beauty. That was what hurt -worse,—the fact that her beauty had never seemed more genuine than now. -It was the mask of falsehood, yet her smile was as radiant as any he -remembered of their most holy moments together. He had not dreamed that -any emotion except her love for him could call such a light into her -face. It had been, to him, the lasting proof that she was his, the very -symbol of the ideal of integrity and genuineness that he made of her; -yet now he saw her use it as a wile to win some favor from this beast in -human form. The very sacredness of their relations was somehow -questioned. The tower of his faith seemed to be tottering. - -Yet he forced away the dismay that seemed to cloud him, then began to -watch with keenest interest. Not even this man of iron could wholly -resist her smile. In a single instant she had captured his mood: he was -not so fixed in his intent. - -“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much good to you, as a trapper,” she began -quietly, her voice of cloying sweetness. “I’m afraid I’d only get in the -way and scare the little—ermines, you call them?—out of the country. -Mr. Doomsdorf, do you know how well I can keep house?” - -Doomsdorf looked at her, grinning in contempt, yet not wholly -unresponsive to the call she was making to him. “Can’t say as I do——” - -“You don’t know how I can cook, either,—make salads, and desserts, and -things like that. You’d better let me stay here and help your wife with -the housework. I’d really be of some value, then.” - -For an instant the wind seemed to pause on the roof; and all of them sat -in startled silence. The only movement was that of Sindy, imperturbable -as ever, rocking back and forth in her chair; and the sound she made had -a slow and regular cadence, as of a great clock. Ned sat staring at his -hands; Bess’s gaze rested first on him, then on the two principals of -the little drama who still sat smiling as if in understanding. Ned -needn’t have worried about Lenore insisting on doing her share of the -rigorous, outdoor work. The difficulty that he had anticipated in -persuading her to let him lighten her burdens had not been serious, -after all. - -And really there was little cause for his own depression. Lenore meant -exactly what she said. After all, this was his own plan,—that she -should remain and help Sindy with the housework and the caring for such -skins as Doomsdorf himself took, thus avoiding the heart-breaking -hardship of the trap lines. Nor could he hold against her the lie in her -smile. It was her whole right to use it in her own behalf: to use any -wile she could to gain her ends. He was a fool to suppose that there was -a moral issue involved! The old moral teaching against compromise with -the devil didn’t hold here. Perhaps Bess and himself could get farther, -make their toil easier, if they also fawned on Doomsdorf. The fact that -he would sooner wear his hands to the bone or die beneath the lash did -not imply moral superiority. It simply showed that he was of different -make-up. The same with Bess; she was simply of a different breed. - -And the wile was not without results. The usual scoffing refusal did not -come at once to the bearded lips. Perhaps her master was flattered that -Lenore was so tamed, perhaps he wished to reward her attitude of -friendliness so that Bess might take example. Lenore had never moved him -with the same fire as Bess: perhaps by showing leniency now, the latter -could be brought to this same pass! Besides, Lenore was the weakest of -the three and he had thus less desire to break what little spirit she -had, rather preferring, by complying with her request, to heap fresh -burdens of toil and hardship on these two proud-spirited ones before -him. - -“You want to stay here with Sindy and me, eh?” he commented at last. -“Well, Sindy might like some help. I’m willing—but I’ll leave it up to -your two friends. They’ll have to work all the harder to make up for -it—especially Bess. I was going to have you two girls work together.” - -He watched Ned’s face with keenest interest. The younger man flushed in -his earnestness, his adoring gaze on Lenore. - -“I’m only too glad to make it easier for you,” he said, his crooked, -boyish smile dim at his lips. “That’s the one thing that matters—to -help you all I can. In this case, though—Bess is the one to say.” - -Lenore perceptibly stiffened as Ned’s gaze turned to Bess. It didn’t -flatter her that her lover should even take Bess into his consideration. -She had grown accustomed to receiving his every duty. - -But it came about that Lenore and her little jealousies did not even -find a place in Bess’s thought. She returned Ned’s gaze, her eyes -lustrous as if with tears, and she understood wholly the prayer that was -in his heart. - -“Of course she may stay here,” she said. “We’ll make out somehow.” - - - - - XX - - -Doomsdorf’s trap lines lay in great circles, coinciding at various -points in order to reduce the number of cabins needed to work them, and -ultimately swinging back to the home cabin in the thicket beside the -sea. They were very simple to follow, he explained—Bess’s line running -up the river to the mouth of a great tributary that flowed from the -south, the camp being known as the Eagle Creek cabin; thence up the -tributary to its forks, known as the Forks cabin, up the left-hand forks -to its mother springs, the Spring cabin, and then straight down the -ridge to the home cabin, four days’ journey in all. She couldn’t miss -any of the three huts, Doomsdorf explained, as all of them were located -in the open barrens, on the banks of the creeks she was told to follow. -Doomsdorf drew for her guidance a simple map that would remove all -danger of going astray. - -Ned’s route was slightly more complicated, yet nothing that the veriest -greenhorn could not follow. It took him first to what Doomsdorf called -his Twelve-Mile cabin at the very head of the little stream on which the -home cabin was built, thence following a well-blazed trail along an -extensive though narrow strip of timber, a favorable country for marten, -to the top of the ridge, around the glacier, and down to the hut that -Bess occupied the third night out, known as the Forks cabin; thence up -the right-hand fork to its mother spring, the Thirty-Mile cabin; over -the ridge and down to the sea, the Sea cabin; and thence, trapping -salt-water mink and otter, to the home cabin, five days’ journey in all. -“If you use your head, you can’t get off,” Doomsdorf explained. “If you -don’t, no one will ever take the trouble to look you up.” - -As if smiling upon their venture, nature gave them a clear dawn in which -to start forth. The squaw and Bess started up from the river mouth -together, the former in the rôle of teacher; Ned and Doomsdorf followed -up the little, silvery creek that rippled past the home cabin. And for -the first time since his landing on Hell Island Ned had a chance really -to look about him. - -It was the first time he had been out of sight of the cabin and thus -away from the intangible change that the mere presence of man works on -the wild. All at once, as the last vestige of the white roof was -concealed behind the snow-laden branches of the spruce, he found himself -in the very heart of the wilderness. It was as if he had passed from one -world to another. - -Even the air was different. It stirred and moved and throbbed in a way -he couldn’t name, as if mighty, unnamable passions seemed about to be -wakened. He caught a sense of a resistless power that could crush him to -earth at a whim, of vast forces moving by fixed, invisible law; he felt -that secret, wondering awe which to the woodsman means the nearing -presence of the Red Gods. Only the mighty powers of nature were in -dominion here: the lashing snows of winter, the bitter cold, the wind -that wept by unheard by human ears. Ned was closer to the heart of -nature, and thus to the heart of life, than he had ever been before. - -He had no words to express the mood that came upon him. The wind that -crept through the stunted spruce trees expressed it better than he; it -was in the song that the wolf pack rings to sing on winter nights; in -the weird complaint that the wild geese called down from the clouds. -What little sound there was, murmuring branches and fallen aspen leaves, -fresh on the snow, rustling faintly together and serving only to -accentuate the depth of the silence, had this same, eerie -motif,—nothing that could be put in words, nothing that ever came -vividly into his consciousness, but which laid bare the very soul and -spirit of life. Cold and hunger, an ancient persecution whose reason no -man knew, a never-to-be-forgotten fear of a just but ruthless God! - -This was the land untamed. There was not, at first, a blaze on a tree, -the least sign that human beings had ever passed that way before. It was -the land-that-used-to-be, unchanged seemingly since the dim beginnings -of the world. Blessed by the climbing sun of spring, warm and gentle in -the summer, moaning its old complaint when the fall winds swept through -the branches, lashed by the storms of winter,—thus it had lain a -thousand-thousand years. And now, a little way up the stream, there was -more tangible sign that this was the kingdom of the wild. Instead of an -unpeopled desert, it was shown to be teeming with life. They began to -see the trails of the forest creatures in the snow. - -Sometimes they paused before the delicate imprint of a fox, like a snow -etching made by a master hand; sometimes the double track of marten and -his lesser cousin, the ermine; once the great cowlike mark of a caribou, -seeking the pale-green reindeer moss that hung like tresses from the -trees. Seemingly every kind of northern animal of which Ned had ever -heard had immediately preceded them through the glade. - -“Where there’s timber, there’s marten,” Doomsdorf explained. “Marten, I -suppose you know, are the most valuable furs we take, outside of silver -and blue fox—and one of the easiest taken. The marten’s such a ruthless -hunter that he doesn’t look what he’s running into. You won’t find them -far on the open barrens, but they are in hundreds in the long, narrow -timber belt between Twelve-Mile cabin, to-night’s stop, and Forks cabin -that you’ll hit to-morrow night. And we’ll make our first set right -here.” - -He took one of the traps from Ned’s shoulder and showed him how to make -the set. The bait was placed a few feet above the trap, in this case, on -the trunk of the tree, so that to reach it the marten would almost -certainly spring the trap. - -“Put ’em fairly thick through here,” Doomsdorf advised. “Lay more -emphasis on fox and lynx in the open barrens.” He stepped back from the -set. “Do you think you can find this place again?” - -Ned looked it over with minute care, marking it in relation to certain -dead trees that lay across the creek. “I think I can.” - -“That’s the very essential of trapping, naturally. It will come to be -second nature after a while—without marking it by trees or anything. -You’ll have better than a hundred traps; and it isn’t as easy as it -looks. Remember, I won’t be with you the next time you pass this way.” - -They tramped on, and Doomsdorf pointed out where a wolverine had come -down the glade and crossed the creek. “You’ll curse at the very name of -wolverine before the season’s done,” Doomsdorf told him, as Ned paused -to study the imprint. “He’s the demon of the snow so far as the trapper -is concerned. Nevertheless, you’ll want to take a skin for your own use. -It’s the one fur for the hood of a parka—you can wear it over your -mouth in fifty below and it doesn’t get covered with ice from your -breath. But you’ll have to be a smarter man than I think you are to -catch him.” - -A few minutes later the timber became to be more noticeably stunted, the -trees farther and farther apart, and soon they were in the open. These -were the barren lands, deep moss or rich marsh grass already heavy with -snow; and the only trees remaining were a few willow, quivering aspen, -and birch along the bank of the creek. From time to time the two men -stopped to place their traps, Doomsdorf explaining the various “sets”, -how to conceal the cold steel of which most all creatures have such an -instinctive fear, and how to eliminate the human smell that might -otherwise keep the more cunning of the fur-bearers from the bait. Once -they paused before a great, cruel instrument of iron, seemingly much too -large to be a trap, that had been left at the set from the previous -trapping season. - -“Lift it,” Doomsdorf advised. Ned bent, finding the iron itself heavy in -his arms. - -“No creature’s going to walk away with that on his leg, is he?” - -“No? That’s all you know about it. I’ll admit that you wouldn’t care to -walk with it very far. You would see why I didn’t take it into shelter -at the close of the season—although of course it’s easy enough to haul -on a sled. You notice it’s attached to a chain, and that chain to a -toggle.” - -“Toggle” was a word that Ned had never heard before, but which plainly -represented a great log, or drag, to which the trap chain was attached. -Ned gazed, and another foolish question came to his lips. “You use that -because there isn’t a tree handy?” he asked. - -“If there was a tree handy, I’d use it just the same,” Doomsdorf -explained. “There’s no holding the animal I catch in that trap by -chaining him fast. No matter how big the tree or how stout the chain, -he’d break loose—or else he’d pull out his foot. You’ve got to give him -play. That’s why we use a toggle.” - -“You don’t mean he drags that great thing——” - -“No, only about halfway across the island before I can possibly overtake -him and shoot him, bellowing like a devil every step of the way. -Moreover, the toggle has to be chained near the end, rather than in the -middle—otherwise he’ll catch the ends back of a couple of tree trunks -and break loose. Now set the trap.” - -It took nearly all of Ned’s strength to push down the powerful springs -and set the great jaws. The fact that he didn’t know just how to go -about it impeded him too. And when he stood erect again, he found -Doomsdorf watching him with keenest interest. - -“I didn’t think you were man enough to do it,” he commented. “You’ll say -that’s quite a trap, won’t you?” - -“It’s quite a trap,” Ned agreed shortly. “What kind of an elephant do -you take in it?” - -“No kind of an elephant, but one of the grandest mammals that ever -lived, at that. I don’t trap them much, because I hardly get enough for -their skins to pay for handling them—you can guess they’re immensely -bulky. There’s a fair price for their skulls, too, but the skull alone -is a fair load for a weak back. Last year I needed a few hides for the -cabin. Did you ever hear of the Kodiac bear?” - -“Good Lord! One bear can’t move all that.” - -Doomsdorf stood erect, and his eyes gleamed. Evidently the great, savage -monarch of the islands of which he spoke was some way close to his own -savage heart. “He can move your heart into your throat just to look at -him!” he said. “One of the grandest mammals that ever lived—the great, -brown bear of the islands. Of course, you ought to know he’s by all odds -the biggest bear on earth, he and the polar bear just north of here—and -the biggest carnivorous animal on earth, for that matter. Your lions, -your tigers wouldn’t last a minute under those great hooks of his. He’d -tear your whole chest out in one swipe. This seems to be about the -northern limit of his range—the big brownies go all the way from -Admiralty Islands, in the south, clear up to here, with very little -variation as to size and color. There are not many on the Skopins—but -going around with just an axe and a hunting knife for weapons, you’ll be -glad there aren’t any more. At this point their range begins to -coincide, to some slight degree, with the polar bear—but of course just -a stray gets down below the Arctic circle. You’ve got to have a whole -caribou carcass to interest the old devil in the way of bait. And now -I’ll show you how to outfox him.” - -He cut a slender whip, about half an inch in diameter, from a near-by -willow, and thrusting both ends into the ground in front of the trap, -made an arch. “When the old boy comes along, he’ll lift his front foot -right over that arch, to avoid stepping on anything that looks so -unstable, and then straight down into the trap,” Doomsdorf explained. -“If it was heavy wood, he’d rest his foot on it and miss the trap.” - -A few minutes later they came to what seemed to Ned a new and -interesting geological formation. It seemed to be a noisy waterfall of -three or four feet, behind which the creek was dammed to the proportions -of a small, narrow lake. Yet the dam itself didn’t appear to be a -natural formation of rock. It looked more like driftwood, but it was -inconceivable that mere drift could be piled in this ordered way. - -Keenly interested, he bent to examine it. Farther up the creek some -heavy body struck the water with a mighty splash. It was too swift, -however, for him to see what it was. There were no power plants or mill -wheels here, and thus it was difficult to believe that human hands had -gone to the great labor of building such a dam. Only one explanation -remained. - -“It must be a beaver dam,” he said. - -“You’re right for once,” Doomsdorf agreed. “Did you ever see better -engineering? Even the dam is built in an arch—the strongest formation -known to man—to withstand the waters. Sometime I’ll tell you how they -do it—there isn’t as much premeditated cunning in it as you think. Do -you know what a beaver looks like?” - -“Got big teeth——” - -“Correct. It has to have ’em to cut all this wood. Likely enough the -little devils go considerable distances up and down this creek to get -their materials. Sometimes they’ll dig great canals for floating the -sticks they use in their dams. - -“A big beaver weighs about fifty pounds—and he’s about the handiest boy -to trap there is. You’ll wonder what the purpose of these dams is. As -far as I can make out, simply to keep the water at one level. You know -these little streams rise and fall like the tides. They’ve learned, in a -few hundred thousand years of their development, that it doesn’t pay to -build a nice house and then have the creek come up and wash it away and -drown them out. When they put down their winter food, they want to be -sure it’s going to be there when they want it—neither washed away nor -high and dry out of water. The solution was—to build a dam. Now I’ll -show you how to catch a beaver.” - -It seemed to Ned that the logical place to lay the trap was on the -beaver house itself—a great pile of sticks and mud. But Doomsdorf -explained that a trap set on the house itself so alarmed the animals -that the entire colony was likely to desert the dam. Instead, the trap -was set just below the surface of the water at a landing,—a place where -the beaver went in and out of the water in the course of their daily -work. - -No bait was used this time. The trap was covered with fine mud with the -idea that the beaver would blunder into it either on leaving or entering -the water. A heavy sack of little stones from the creek bed was attached -to the chain, and a long wire, leading from this, was fastened securely -to a tree on the creek bank. The arrangement was really a merciful one -to the beaver. The instant the trap was sprung, the animal’s instinct -was to dive into deep water. Of course he dragged the heavy sack with -him and was unable to rise again. The beaver, contrary to expectations, -can not live in water indefinitely. An air-breathing mammal, he drowns -almost as quickly as a human being would under the same circumstances. - -They placed a second trap on the dam itself, then encircling the meadow, -continued on up the stream. From time to time they made their sets, as -this was a favorable region for mink and otter, two of the most -beautiful and valuable furs. - -Time was passing swiftly for Ned. There was even a quality of enjoyment -in his reaction to the day’s toil. Now as they mounted to the higher -levels, he was ever more impressed by the very magnitude of the -wilderness about—stretching for miles in every direction to the shores -of the sea. The weary wastes got to him and stirred his imagination as -never before. He found, when he paused to make the sets, that a certain -measure of excitement was upon him. Evidently there was a tang and -flavor in this snow-swept wilderness through which he moved to make the -blood flow swiftly in the veins. - -Partly it lay in the constant happening of the unexpected. Every few -rods brought its little adventure: perhaps a far-off glimpse of a fox; -perhaps a flock of hardy waterfowl, tardy in starting south, flushing up -with a thunderous beat of wings from the water; perhaps the swift dive -of that dreadful little killer, the mink; possibly the track of a -venerable old bear, already drowsy and contemplating hibernation, who -had but recently passed that way. But perhaps the greater impulse for -excitement lay in the expectation of what the next turn in the trail -might bring forth. There were only tracks here, but the old bear himself -might launch forth into a deadly charge from the next thicket of birch -trees. The fox was only a fleet shadow far away, but any moment they -might run into him face to face, in the act of devouring his prey. Ned -found that his senses had miraculously sharpened, that many little -nerves of which hitherto he had been unaware had wakened into life and -were tingling just under the skin. Until fatigue came heavily upon -him—only the first hint of it had yet come to his thighs and back—this -particular part of his daily duties need never oppress him. - -But this dim, faltering hope was forgotten in the travail of the next -few hours. The load of heavy traps on his back; the labor of tramping -through the snow; most of all the loss of bodily heat through his -flimsy, snow-wet clothes soon rewarded him for daring to seek happiness -on this desert of despair. As the gray afternoon advanced, his quickened -spirit fell again: once more his senses were dulled, and the crooked, -boyish half-smile that had begun to manifest itself faded quickly from -his lips. Doomsdorf still marched in his easy, swinging gait; and ever -it was a harder fight to keep pace. Yet he dared not lag behind. His -master’s temper was ever uncertain in these long, tired hours of -afternoon. - -Tired out, weakened, aching in every muscle and not far from the -absolute limit of exhaustion, Ned staggered to the cabin door at last. -He had put out all the traps he had brought from the home cabin: thence -his course lay along a blazed trail that skirted the edge of the narrow -timber belt, over the ridge to the Forks cabin. Doomsdorf entered, then -in the half-light stood regarding the younger man who had followed him -in. - -Ned tried to stand erect. He must not yield yet to the almost -irresistible impulse to throw himself down on the floor and rest. He -dared not risk Doomsdorf’s anger; how did he know what instruments of -torture the latter’s satanic ingenuity might contrive in this lonely -cabin! Nor was his mood to be trusted to-night. His gray eyes shone with -suppressed excitement; and likely enough he would be glad of an excuse -for some diversion to pass the hours pleasantly. It was very lonely and -strange out here, in the open, in the full sweep of the wind over the -barren lands. - -But Ned wasn’t aware of Doomsdorf’s plans. The great blond man stretched -his arms, yawning, buttoned his coat tighter about him, and turned to -go. “I’ll see you in about five days,” he remarked laconically. - -Ned wakened abruptly from his revery. “You mean—you aren’t going to -show me anything more?” - -“There’s nothing more you can’t learn by yourself—by hard experience. -I’ve given you your map and your directions for the trap line. A baby -couldn’t miss it. There’s traps on the wall—scatter ’em along between -here and the Forks cabin. There you will find another bunch to put -between there and Thirty-Mile cabin. So on clear around. Over your head -you see the stretchers.” - -Ned looked up, and over the rafters, among other supplies, were laid a -large number of small boards, planed smooth and of different sizes. - -“I’ve shown you how to set your traps, for every kind of an animal,” -Doomsdorf went on. “You ought to be able to do the rest. By the time you -come around, we’ll likely have freezing weather—that means you’ll have -to thaw out your animals before you skin them. If it’s a big animal, -dead in the trap, too heavy to carry into camp, you’ll have to make a -fire in the snow and thaw him out there. Otherwise bring ’em in. You saw -me skin that otter I shot—skin all the smaller animals the same way. -Simply split ’em under the legs and peel ’em out toward the head, as you -would a banana. Of course you’ll spoil plenty of skins at first, so far -as market value is concerned, but they’ll be all right for your own use. -The closer you can skin them, the less fat you leave on the pelts, the -less you’ll have to flesh them when you get to your cabin. When you -can’t strip off any more fat, turn ’em wrong side out on one of those -boards—stretching them tight. Use the biggest board you can put in. -Then hang ’em up in the cabin to dry. A skin like a beaver, that you -slit up the belly and which comes off almost round, nail on the wall. -All the little tricks of the trade will come in time. - -“Here and here and here”—he paused, to put in Ned’s hands a clasp -hunting knife, razor sharp, a small pocket hone to whet his tools, and a -light axe that had been hanging back of the stove—“are some things -you’ll need. The time will come when you’ll need snowshoes, too. I ought -to make you make them yourself, but you’d never get it done and I’d -never get any furs. There’s a pair on the rafters. Now I’m going to -tramp back to the cabin to spend the night—in more agreeable company.” - -For a moment the two men stood regarding each other in absolute silence. -Then Doomsdorf’s keen ears, eager for such sounds, caught the whisper of -Ned’s troubled breathing. Presently a leering smile flashed through the -blond beard. - -It was as he thought. Ned’s mind was no longer on furs. His face had -been drawn and dark with fatigue, but now a darker cloud spread across -it, like a storm through open skies, as some blood-curdling thought made -ghastly progress through his brain. At first it was only startled -amazement, then swift disbelief—the manifestation of that strange quirk -in human consciousness that ever tries to shield the spirit from the -truth—and finally terror, stark and without end. It showed in the -tragic loosening of every facial muscle; in the cold drops that came out -at the edge of the brown, waving hair; in the slow, fixed light in his -eyes. - -This was what Doomsdorf loved. He had seen the same look in the faces of -prisoners—newly come to a stockade amid the snow and still hopeful that -the worst they had heard had been overdrawn—on seeing certain -implements of initiation; and it had been a source of considerable -amusement to him. This was the thing that his diseased soul craved. As -the young man reached imploring hands to his own great forearms, he -hurled him away with a ringing laugh. - -“You mean—you and Lenore will be alone——” Ned asked. - -“You saw the squaw start out with Bess?” was the triumphant answer. “But -why should you care? It was Lenore’s own wish to stay. She’d take me and -comfort any time, sooner than endure the cold with you. Of such stuff, -my boy, are women made.” - -The hands reached out again, clasping tight upon Doomsdorf’s forearms. -Ned’s face, lifeless and white as a stone, was no longer loose with -terror. A desperate fury had brought him to the verge of madness. - -“That’s a foul lie!” he shouted, reckless of Doomsdorf’s retaliation. -“She didn’t dream that you would do that——” - -Doomsdorf struck him off, hurling him against the wall; but it was not -with the idea of inflicting punishment. Amused at his impotent rage, his -blow was not the driving shoulder blow which, before now, had broken a -human jaw to fragments. Nor did he carry through, hammering his victim -into insensibility at his leisure. - -“That gets you a little, doesn’t it?” he taunted. Ned straightened, -staring at him as if he were a ghost. “Your sweetheart—that you’d sworn -was yours to the last ditch! I don’t mean that she’d give herself -willingly to me—yet. She’s just the kind of girl I’d expect a weakling -like yourself to pick out—the type that would sooner go wrong than -endure hardship. And that’s why she’s more or less safe, for the time -being at least, from me. Even if Sindy wasn’t coming back home -to-night—probably already there—you wouldn’t have to fear.” - -Ned could not speak, but Doomsdorf looked at him with the fire of a -zealot in his eyes. - -“I don’t want anything that’s that easy,” he said with infinite -contempt. “Sometimes the game is harder. I take back something I -inferred a moment ago—that _all_ women would do the same. The best of -them, the most of them, still will go through hell for an idea; and -that’s the kind whose spirit is worth while to break. Do you know any -one who right now, likely enough, is trudging along through this hellish -snow with forty pounds of traps over her back?” - -Ned shuddered, hurling off his doubt, believing yet in the fidelity of -his star. “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” he answered. - -“That’s what Bess Gilbert is doing, and you know it. There, young man, -is a woman worthy of my steel!” - -He turned and strode out the door. Ned was left to his thoughts and the -still, small voices of the waste places, alone with the wilderness night -whose word was the master word of life, and with the wind that sobbed -unhappy secrets as it swept his cabin roof. He couldn’t help but listen, -there in the twilight. Thus the work of training Ned Cornet’s soul went -on, strengthening him to stand erect when that stern officer, the Truth, -looked into his eyes; teaching him the mastery of that bright sword of -fortitude and steadfastness whereby he could parry the most pitiless -blows of fate. - - - - - XXI - - -Thus began a week of trial for Ned. For the first time in his life he -was thrown wholly upon his own resources, standing or falling by his own -worth. Should he fall insensible in the snow there were none to seek him -and bring him into shelter. If he should go astray and miss the cabins -there was no one to set him on the right path again. He was meeting the -wilderness alone, and face to face. - -Cooking his meals, cutting the fuel and building the fires that kept him -warm, meeting the storm in its fury and fighting a lone fight from the -gray of dawn to the day’s gray close, Ned made the long circuit of his -trap line. The qualities that carried him far in his home city—such -things as wealth and position and culture—were as dust here. His -reliance now was the axe on his shoulder and the hunting knife at his -hip; but most of all his own stamina, his own steadfastness, the cunning -of his brain and the strength of his sinews. And every day found him -stronger and better able to meet the next. - -Certain muscles most used in tugging through the snow, seemingly worn to -shreds the first day’s march, strengthened under the stress, and he -found he did his daily stint with ever greater ease. Ever he handled the -little, daily crises with greater skill, and this with less loss of -vital energy: the crossing of a swollen stream or a perilous morass; or -the climbing of a slippery glacier. Every day the wilderness unrolled -its pages to his eyes. - -The little daily encounters with the wild life were ever a greater -delight. He found pleasure in trying to guess the identity of the -lesser, scurrying people he met on the trail: he found a moving beauty -in the far-off glimpse of the running pack, in a vivid silhouette on the -ridge at twilight; the sight of a bull caribou tossing his far-spreading -antlers sent his blood moving fast in his veins. By the grace of the Red -Gods he was afforded the excitement of being obliged to backtrack two -hundred yards in order gracefully to yield the trail to a great, surly -Alaskan bear already seeking a lair for his winter sleep. - -He crossed the divide to Forks cabin, followed the springs to -Thirty-Mile cabin, descended to the sea, and along the shore to the home -cabin, just as he had been told to do. He put out his traps as he went -in what seemed to him the most likely places, using every wile Doomsdorf -had taught him to increase his chances for a catch. In spite of the fact -that he went alone, the second day was ever so much easier than the -first; and he came into the home cabin only painfully tired, but not -absolutely exhausted, on the fifth. Of course he didn’t forget that, -other things being equal, these first five days were his easiest days. -Actual trapping had not yet started: he had not been obliged to stop, -thaw out and skin such larger animals as would be found dead in his -traps; nor yet work late into the night fleshing and stretching the -pelts. A greater factor was the moderate weather: light snowfall and -temperature above freezing, a considerable variance from the deadly -blizzards that would ensue. - -All through the five days he had strengthened himself with the thought -that Lenore awaited him at the journey’s end; and she had never seemed -so lovely to him as when, returning in the gray twilight, he saw her -standing framed in the lighted doorway of the home cabin. She had -suffered no ill-treatment in his absence. The great fear that had been -upon his heart was groundless, after all: her face was fresh, her eyes -bright, she was not lost in despair. In spite of his aching muscles, his -face lighted with hopefulness and relief that was almost happiness. - -Doubtless it was his own eagerness that made her seem so slow in coming -into his arms; and his own great fire that caused her to seem to lack -warmth. He had been boyishly anticipatory, foolishly exultant. Yet it -was all sweet enough. The girl fluttered a single instant in his arms, -and he felt repaid for everything. - -“Let me go,” she whispered tensely, when his arms tried to hold her. -“Don’t let Doomsdorf see. He might kill you——” - -But it came about that she didn’t finish the warning. Presently she felt -his arms turn to steel. She felt herself thrust back until her eyes -looked straight into his. - -She had never seen Ned in this mood before. Indeed she couldn’t ever -remember experiencing the sensation that swept her now: secretly -appalled at him, burnt with his fire, wavering beneath his will. She -didn’t know he had arms like that. His face, when she tried to meet it, -hardly seemed his own. The flesh was like gray iron, the eyes cold as -stones. - -“What has Doomsdorf to do with it?” he demanded. “Has he any claim on -you?” - -“Of course not,” she hastened to reply. “He’s treated me as well as -could be expected. But you know—he makes claims on us all.” - -The fact could not be denied. Ned turned from her, nestling to the fire -for warmth. - -The happiness he had expected in this long-awaited night had failed to -materialize. He ate his great meal, sat awhile in sporadic conversation -with the girl in the snug cabin; then went wearily to his blankets. He -hardly knew what was missing. Her beauty was no less; it was enhanced, -if anything, by the flush of the wind on her cheeks. Yet she didn’t -understand what he had been doing, what he had been through. He held her -interest but slightly as he told of his adventures on the trail. When in -turn she talked to him, it was of her own wrongs; and the old quick, -eager sympathy somehow failed to reach his heart. But it was all he -could expect on this terrible island. He must thank what gods there were -for the one kiss she had given him—and be content. All happiness was -clouded here. - -Often, in the little hour after supper about the stove, he wakened from -his revery to find that he had been thinking about Bess. She had come in -from her line the previous day and had gone out again; and he had not -dreamed that her absence could leave such a gap in their little circle. -He had hardly regarded her at all, yet he found himself missing her. She -was always so high-spirited, encouraging him with her own high heart. Of -course the very fact that they were just three, exiled among foes, would -make her absence keenly felt. The mere bond of common humanity would do -that. Yet he found himself wishing that he had shown greater -appreciation of her kindness, her courage, her sweet solicitude for him. -On her lonely trap line out in the wastes it was as if she had gone -forever. He found himself resenting the fact that Lenore had but cold -assent to his praise of her, wholly unappreciative of the fact that her -own ease was due largely to Bess’s offer to do additional work. - -But his blankets gave him slumber, and he rose in the early hours, -breakfasted, and started out on his lonely trap line. He was not a -little excited as to the results of this morning’s tramp. Every skin he -took was his, to protect his own body from the bitter, impending cold. - -The first few traps had not been sprung. Out-witting the wild creatures -was seemingly not the easy thing he had anticipated. The bait had been -stolen from a marten trap at the edge of the barrens, but the jaws had -failed to go home, and a subsequent light snowfall had concealed the -tracks by which he might have identified the thief. Was this the answer -to his high hopes? But he had cause to halt when he neared the trap on -the beaver dam. - -For a moment he couldn’t locate the trap. Then he saw that the wire, -fastened securely to the bank, had become mysteriously taut. Not daring -to hope he began to tug it in. - -At the end of the wire he found his trap, and in the trap was a large -beaver, drowned and in prime condition. - -The moment was really a significant one for Ned. The little traps of -steel, placed here and there through the wilderness, had seemed a -doubtful project at best; but now they had shown results. The incident -gave him added confidence in himself and his ability to battle -successfully these perilous wilds. The rich, warm skin would help to -clothe him, and he would easily catch others to complete his wardrobe. - -The beaver was of course not frozen; and the skin stripped off easily -under the little, sawing strokes of his skinning knife. He was rather -surprised at its size. It came off nearly round, and it would stretch -fully thirty-two inches in diameter. Washing it carefully, he put it -over his back and started on. - -Other traps yielded pelts in his long day’s march. The trap on the -beaver landing contained a muskrat; he found several more of the same -furred rodents in his traps along the creek; and small skins though they -were, he had a place for every one. Once an otter, caught securely by -the hind leg, showed fight and had to be dispatched by a blow on the -head with a club; and once he was startled when a mink, scarcely larger -than his hand, leaped from the snowy weeds, trap and all, straight for -his ankle. - -There was no more ferocious creature in all the mammalian world than -this. “Little Death,” was a name for him in an aboriginal tongue; and it -was perfectly in accord with his disposition. His eyes were scarlet; he -opened his rapacious jaws so wide that they resembled those of a deadly -serpent; he screamed again and again in the most appalling fury. This -was the demon of the Little People: the snaky Stealth that murdered the -nestlings in the dead of night; the cruel and remorseless hunter whose -red eyes froze the snowshoe hare with terror. - -Tired out, barely able to stand erect, yet wholly content with his day’s -catch, Ned made the cabin in the twilight, built his fire, and cooked -his meager supper. After supper he skinned out such little animals as he -had not taken time to skin on the trail, fleshed and stretched his -pelts, then hung them up to dry. He was almost too tired to remove his -wet garments when the work was done. He hardly remembered drawing the -blankets over him. - -Thus ended the first of a long series of arduous days. The hardship was -incomparably greater than that endured by the great run of those hardy -men, the northern trappers, not only because of his inadequate clothes, -but because the line had been laid out by a giant’s rule. Doomsdorf had -spaced his cabins according to his own idea of a full day’s work, and -that meant they were nearly twice as far apart as those of the average -trap line. Bess had been given the line he had laid out for his squaw, -hardly half so rigorous, yet all the average man would care to attempt. - -But in spite of the hardship, the wrack of cold, the fatigue that crept -upon him like a dreadful sickness, Ned had many moments of comparative -pleasure. One of these moments, seemingly yielding him much more delight -than the occasion warranted, occurred at the end of the second day of -actual trapping. - -This day’s march had taken him to the Forks cabin; and there, as -twilight drew about him, he was amazed to hear the nearing sound of -footsteps in the snow. Some one was coming laboriously toward him, with -the slow, dragging tread of deep fatigue. - -The thing made no sense at all. Human companionship, in these gray and -melancholy wastes, was beyond the scope of the imagination. For a moment -he stared in dumb bewilderment like a man at the first seizure of -madness. Then he sprang through the door and out on the snowy slope. - -It was not just a whim of the fancy. A dim form moved toward him out of -the grayness, hastening, now that his lantern light gleamed on the snow. -Presently Ned saw the truth. - -It was Bess, of course. At this point their lines coincided. It was her -third stop, and since she had left the home cabin a day ahead of him, -she was perfectly on schedule. He could hardly explain the delight that -flashed through him at the sight of her. In this loneliness and silence -mere human companionship was blessing enough. - -His appearance in the doorway was not a surprise to Bess. She had -counted the days carefully, and she knew his schedule would bring him -here. But now she was too near dead with fatigue to give him more than a -smile. - -The night that ensued was one of revelation to Ned. His first cause of -wonder was the well of reserve strength that suddenly manifested itself -in the hour of need. He had not dreamed but that he was at the edge of -collapse from the long day’s toil; his brain had been dull with fatigue, -and he was almost too tired to build his fire, yet he found himself a -tower of strength in caring for the exhausted girl. It was as if his own -fatigue had mysteriously vanished when he became aware of hers. - -With scarcely a word he lifted her to the cot, covered her with a -blanket, and in spite of her protests, went speedily about the work of -cooking her supper. It was a strange thing what pleasure it gave him to -see the warm glow of the life stream flow back into her blanched cheeks, -and her deep, blue eyes fill again with light. Heretofore this twilight -hour, at the end of a bitter day, had been the worst hour of all; but -to-night it was the best. He hadn’t dreamed that so much pleasure could -be gained simply by serving others. In addition to some of the simple -staples that he found among the cabin’s supplies, he served her, as a -great surprise, the plump, white breast of a ptarmigan that he had found -in one of his ermine traps; and it was somehow a deep delight to see her -little, white teeth stripping the flesh from the bone. He warmed her up -with hot coffee; then sat beside her while the night deepened at the -window. - -They had a quiet hour of talk before he drew the blankets about her -shoulders and left her to drift away in sleep. He was unexplainably -exultant; light-hearted for all this drear waste that surrounded him. -This little hut of logs was home, to-night. The cold could not come in; -the wind would clamor at the roof in vain. - -He did her work for her to-night. He skinned the smaller animals she had -brought in, then fleshed and stretched all the pelts she had taken. -After preparing his own skins, he made a hard bed for himself on the -floor of the hut. - -It was with real regret that they took different ways in the dawn. Ned’s -last office was to prepare kindling for her use on her next visit to the -cabin four days hence—hardly realizing that he was learning a little -trick of the woodsman’s trade that would stand him in good stead in many -a dreadful twilight to come. Only the veriest tenderfoot plans on -cutting his kindling when he finishes his day’s toil. The tried -woodsman, traveling wilderness trails, does such work in the morning, -before fatigue lays hold of him. The thing goes farther: even when he -does not expect to pass that way again he is careful to leave the -kindling pile for the next comer. Like all the traditions of the North, -it is founded on necessity: the few seconds thus saved in striking the -flame have more than once, at the end of a bitter day, saved the flame -of a sturdy life. This is the hour when seconds count. The hands are -sometimes too cold to hold the knife: the tired spirit despairs at this -labor of cutting fuel. It is very easy, then, to lie still and rest and -let the cold take its toll. - -The trails of these two trappers often crossed, in the weeks to come. -They kept close track of each other’s schedules, and they soon worked -out a system whereby they could meet at the Forks cabin at almost every -circuit. They arranged it wholly without embarrassment, each of them -appreciating the other’s need for companionship. By running a few traps -toward the interior from the forks, Bess made an excuse to take five -days to her route; and for once Doomsdorf seemed to fail to see her real -motive. Perhaps he thought she was merely trying to increase her catch, -thus hoping to avoid the penalties he had threatened. - -Ned found to his amazement that they had many common interests. They -were drawn together not only by their toil, and by their mutual fear of -Doomsdorf’s lash; but they also shared a deep and growing interest in -the wilderness about them. The wild life was an absorbing study in -itself. They taught each other little tricks of the trapper’s trade, -narrated the minor adventures of their daily toil; they were of mutual -service in a hundred different ways. No longer did Ned go about his work -in the flimsy clothes of the city. Out of the pelts he had dried she -helped to make him garments and moccasins as warm and serviceable as her -own, supplied through an unexpected burst of generosity on Doomsdorf’s -part soon after their arrival on the island. They brought their hardest -problems to the Forks cabin and solved them together. - -As the winter advanced upon them, they found an increasing need of -mutual help. The very problem of living began to demand their best -coöperation. The winter was more rigorous than they had ever dreamed in -their most despairing moments, so that coöperation was no longer a -matter of pleasure, but the stark issue of life itself. The spirit, -alone and friendless, yielded quickly in such times as these. - -It got to be a mystery with them after while, why they hadn’t given up -long since, instead of playing this dreadful, nightmare game to its -ultimate end of horror and death. Why were they such fools as to keep up -the hopeless fight, day after day through the intense cold, bending -their backs to the killing labor, when at any moment they might find -rest and peace? They did not have to look far. Freedom was just at their -feet. Just to fall, to lie still; and the frost would creep swiftly -enough into their veins. Sleep would come soon, the delusion of warmth, -and then Doomsdorf’s lash could never threaten them again. But they -found no answer to the question. It was as if a power beyond themselves -was holding them up. It was as if there was a debt to pay before they -could find rest. - -Day after day the snow sifted down, ever laying a deeper covering over -the island, bending down the limbs of the strong trees, obscuring all -things under this cold infinity of white. The traps had to be -laboriously dug out and reset, again and again. These were the days when -the old “sourdough” on the mainland remained within his cabin, merely -venturing to the door after fuel; but Ned and Bess knew no such mercy. -Their fate was to struggle on through those ever-deepening drifts until -they died. Driven by a cruel master they dared not rest even a day. -Walking was no longer possible without snowshoes; and even these sank -deep in the soft drifts, the webs filling with snow, so that to walk a -mile was the most bitter, heart-breaking labor. Yet their fate was to -plow on, one day upon another,—strange, dim figures in the gray, -whirling flakes—the full, bitter distances between their cabins. To try -to lay out meant death, certain and very soon. Moreover they could not -even move with their old leisure. The days were constantly shorter, just -a ray of light between great curtains of darkness; and only by mushing -at the fastest possible walking pace were they able to make it through. - -When the skies cleared, an undreamed degree of cold took possession of -the land. Seemingly every trickle of moving water was already frozen -hard, the sea sheltered by the island chain was an infinity of ice, -snow-swept as was the rest of the weary landscape, but now the breath -froze on the beard, and the eyelids one upon another. The fingers froze -in the instant that the fur gloves were removed, and the hottest fires -could hardly warm the cabins. And on these clear, bitter nights the -Northern Lights were an ineffable glory in the sky. - -A strange atmosphere of unreality began to cloud their familiar world. -They found it increasingly hard to believe in their own consciousnesses; -to convince themselves they were still struggling onward instead of -lying lifeless in the snow. It was all dim like a dream,—snow and -silence and emptiness, and the Northern Lights lambent in the sky. And -for a time this was the only mercy that remained. Their perceptions were -blunted: they were hardly aware of the messages of pain and torture that -the nerves brought to the brain. And then, as ever, there came a certain -measure of readjustment. - -Their bodies built up to endure even such hardship as this. The fact -that the snow at last packed was a factor too: they were able to skim -over the white crust at a pace even faster than the best time they had -made in early fall. They mastered the trapper’s craft, learning how to -skin a beaver with the fewest number of strokes, and in such a manner -that the minimum amount of painstaking fleshing was required; and how to -bait and set the traps in the fastest possible time. They learned their -own country, and thus the best, easiest, and quickest routes from cabin -to cabin. - -The result was that at last the companionship between Bess and Ned, -forgotten in the drear horror of the early winter months, was revived. -Again they had pleasant hours about the stove at the Forks cabin, -sometimes working at pelts, sometimes even enjoying the unheard-of -luxury of a few minutes of idleness. While before they had come in -almost too tired to be aware of each other’s existence, now they were -fresh enough to exchange a few, simple friendly words—even, on rare -occasions, to enjoy a laugh together over some little disaster of the -trail. The time came when they knew each other extremely well. In their -hours of talk they plumbed each other’s most secret views and -philosophies, and helped to solve each other’s spiritual problems. - -Very naturally, and scarcely aware of the fact themselves, they had come -to be the best of companions. As Ned once said, when a night of -particular beauty stirred his imagination and loosened his stern lips, -they had been “through hell” together; and the finest, most enduring -companionship was only to have been expected. But it went farther than a -quiet sort of satisfaction in each other’s presence. Each had got to -know approximately what the other would do in any given case; and that -meant that they afforded mutual security. They had mutual trust and -confidence, which was no little satisfaction on this island of peril. -Blunted and dulled before, their whole consciousness now seemed to -sharpen and waken; they not only regarded each other with greater -confidence: their whole outlook had undergone significant change. During -the first few months of early winter they had moved over their terrible -trails like mechanical machines, doing all they had to do by instinct, -whether eating, sleeping, or working; self-consciousness had been almost -forgotten, self-identity nearly lost. But now they were themselves -again, looking forward keenly to their little meetings, their interests -ever reaching farther, the first beginnings of a new poise and -self-confidence upon them. They had stood the gaff! They had come -through. - -Ned’s hours with Lenore, however, gave him less satisfaction than they -had at first. She somehow failed to understand what he had been through. -He had found out what real hardship meant, and he couldn’t help but -resent, considering her own comparative comfort, her attitude of -self-pity. Always she wept for deliverance from the island, never -letting Ned forget that his own folly had brought her hither; always -expecting solicitude instead of giving it; always willing to receive all -the help that Ned could give her, but never willing to sacrifice one -whit of her own comfort to ease his lot. Because he had done man’s work, -and stood up under it, he found himself expecting more and more from -her,—and failing to receive it. Her lack of sportsmanship was -particularly distressing to him at a time when sobbing and complaints -could only tear down his own hard-fought-for spirit to endure. Most of -all he resented her attitude toward Bess. She had no sympathy for what -the girl had been through, even refusing to listen to Ned’s tales of -her. And she seemed to resent all of Ned’s kindnesses to her. - -Slowly, by the school of hardship and conquest over hardship, Ned Cornet -was winning a new self-mastery, a new self-confidence to take the place -of the self-conceit that had brought him to disaster. But the first real -moment of wakening was also one of peril,—on the trapping trail one -clear afternoon toward the bitter close of January. - -He had been quietly following that portion of his trap line that -followed the timber belt between the Twelve-Mile cabin and Forks cabin, -and the blazed trail had led him into the depths of a heavy thicket of -young spruce. He had never felt more secure. The midwinter silence lay -over the land; the cold and fearful beauty of a snow-swept wilderness -had hold of his spirit; the specter of terror and death that haunted -these wintry wastes was nowhere manifest to his sight. The only hint of -danger that the Red Gods afforded him did not half penetrate his -consciousness and did not in the least call him from his pleasant -fancies. It was only a glimpse of green where the snow had been shaken -from a compact little group of sapling spruce just beside one of his -sets. Likely the wind had caught the little trees just right; perhaps -some unfortunate little fur-bearer, a marten perhaps, or a fisher, had -sprung back and forth among the little trees in an effort to free -himself from the trap. He walked up quietly, located the tree to which -the trap chain was attached, bent and started to draw the trap from the -small, dense thicket whence some creature had dragged it. He was only -casually interested in what manner of poor, frozen creature would be -revealed between the steel jaws. The beauty of the day had wholly taken -his mind from his work. - -One moment, and the forest was asleep about him; the little trees looked -sadly burdened with their loads of snow. The next, and the man was -hurled to the ground by a savage, snarling thing that leaped from the -covert like the snow demon it was; and white, gleaming fangs were -flashing toward his throat. - - - - - XXII - - -Except for the impediment of the trap on the creature’s foot, there -would have been but one blow to that battle in the snow. White fangs -would have gone home where they were aimed, and all of Ned Cornet’s -problems would have been simply and promptly solved. There would have -been a few grotesque sounds, carrying out among the impassive -trees,—such sounds as a savage hound utters over his bone, and perhaps, -a strange motif carrying through, a few weird whisperings, ever growing -fainter, from a torn throat that could no longer convey the full tones -of speech; and perhaps certain further motion, perhaps a wild moment of -odd, frenzied leaping back and forth, fangs flashing here and there over -a form that still shivered as if with bitter cold. But these things -would not have endured long: the sounds, like wakeful children, speedily -hiding and losing themselves in the great curtains of silence and the -wilderness itself swiftly returning to its slumber. Drifting snow dust, -under the wind, would have soon paled and finally obliterated the -crimson stain among the little trees. - -Ned would have been removed from Doomsdorf’s power in one swiftly -passing instant, the wilderness forgetting the sound of his snowshoes in -its silent places. All things would be, so far as mortal eyes can -discern, as if his soul had never found lodging in his body. - -This was not some little fur-bearer, helpless in the trap. It was no -less a creature than that great terror of the snow, a full-grown Arctic -wolf, almost as white as the drifts he hunted through. Only the spruce -trees knew how this fierce and cunning hunter came to snare his foot in -the jaws of a marten trap. Nor could any sensible explanation be made -why the great wolf did not break the chain with one lunge of his -powerful body, instead of slinking into the coverts and waiting -developments. The ways of the wild creatures quite often fail of any -kind of an explanation; and it is a bold woodsman who will say what any -particular creature will do under any particular condition. When he saw -Ned’s body within leaping range, he knew the desperate impulse to fight. - -None of the lower creatures are introspective in regard to their -impulses. They follow them without regard to consequences. The wolf -leaped with incredible speed and ferocity. The human body is not built -to stand erect under such a blow: the mighty, full-antlered caribou -would have gone down the same way. - -The chain of the trap broke like a spring as he leaped. The steel leash -that is often used to restrain a savage dog would have broken no less -quickly. There was no visible recoil: what little resistance there was -seemingly did not in the least retard the blow. It did, however, affect -its accuracy. That fact alone saved Ned from instant death. - -But as the wolf lunged toward him to complete his work—after the manner -of some of the beasts of prey when they fail to kill at the first -leap—an inner man of might seemed to waken in Ned’s prone body. A great -force came to life within him. He lunged upward and met the wolf in the -teeth. - -Months before, when a falling tree had lashed down at him, he had seen a -hint of this same, innate power. It was nothing peculiar to him: most -men, sooner or later, see it manifested in some hour of crisis. But -since that long-ago day it had been immeasurably enhanced and increased. -While his outer, physical body had been developing, it had been -strengthening too. Otherwise it would have been of little avail against -that slashing, leaping, frenzied demon of the snow. - -This inner power hurled him into a position of defense; but it would -have saved him only an instant if it had not been for its staunch allies -of muscles of tempered steel. For months they had been in training for -just such a test as this; but Ned himself had never realized anything of -their true power. He hadn’t known that his nerves were as finely keyed -as a delicate electrical instrument, so that they might convey the -commands of his brain with precision and dispatch. He suddenly wakened -to find himself a marvelous fighting machine, with certain powers of -resistance against even such a foe as this. - -A great surge of strength, seemingly without physical limitation, poured -through him. In one great bound he overcame the deadly handicap of his -own prone position, springing up with terrible, reaching, snatching -hands and clasping arms. Some way, he did not know how, he hurled that -hundred pounds of living steel from his body before the white fangs -could go home. - -But there was not an instant’s pause. Desperate with fury, the wolf -sprang in again,—a long, white streak almost too fast for the eye to -follow. But he did not find Ned at a disadvantage now. The man had -wrenched to one side to hurl the creature away, but he had already -caught his balance and had braced to meet the second onslaught. A -white-hot fury had descended upon him, too—obliterating all sense of -terror, yielding him wholly to such fighting instincts as might be -innate within him. Nor did they betray him, these inner voices. They -directed the frightful power of his muscles in the one way that served -him best. - -Ned did not wait to catch the full force of that blow. His powerful -thighs, made iron hard in these last bitter weeks, drove him out and up -in an offensive assault. His long body seemed to meet that of the wolf -full in the air. Then they rolled together into the drifts. - -Ned landed full on top of the body of the wolf; and with a mighty surge -of his whole frame he tried to strengthen his own advantageous position. -His mighty knee clasped at the animal’s breast, pressing with all his -strength with the deadly intention of crushing the ribs upon the wild -heart. And he gave no heed to the clawing feet. His instincts told him -surely that in the white fangs alone lay his danger. With one arm he -encircled the shaggy neck; with the other he tried to turn the great -muzzle from his flesh. - -The wolf wriggled free, sending home one vicious bite into the flesh -just under the arm; and for a breath both contestants seemed to be -playing some weird, pinwheel game in the snow. The silence of the -everlasting wild was torn to shreds by the noise of battle,—the frantic -snarling of the wolf, the wild shouts of this madman who had just found -his strength. No moment of Ned’s life had ever been fraught with such -passion; none had ever been of such lightning vividness. He fought as he -had never dreamed he could fight; and the glory of battle was upon him. - -It might be that Doomsdorf could have picked up the great white creature -by the scruff of the neck and beat his brains out against a tree. Yet -Ned knew, in some cool, back part of his mind, that this was a foe -worthy of the best steel of any man, however powerful. Even men of -unusually great strength would have been helpless in an instant before -those slashing fangs. Yet never for an instant did he lose hope. Bracing -himself, he clamped down again with mighty knees on the wolf’s breast. - -Again the slashing fangs caught him, but he was wholly unaware of the -pain. The muscles of his arms snapped tight against the skin, the great -tendons drew, and he jerked the mighty head around and back. - -Then for a moment both contestants seemed to lie motionless in the snow. -The wolf lay like a great hound before the fireside,—fore legs -stretched in front, body at full length. Ned lay at one side, the -animal’s body between his knees, one arm around his neck, the other -thrusting back the great head. The whole issue of life or death, victory -or defeat, was suddenly immensely simplified. It depended solely on -whether or not Ned had the physical might to push back the shaggy head -and shatter the vertebræ. - -There was no sense of motion. Rather they were like figures in metal, a -great artist’s theme of incredible stress. Ned’s face was drawn and -black from congested blood. His lips were drawn back, the tendons of his -hand, free of the glove, seemed about to break through the skin. For -that long moment Ned called on every ounce of strength of his body and -soul. Only his body’s purely physical might could force back the fierce -head the ghastly inch that was needed; only the high-born spirit of -strength, the mighty urge by which man holds dominion over earth and -sea, could give him resolution to stand the incredible strain. - -Time stood still. A thousand half-crazed fancies flew through his mind. -His life blood seemed to be starting from his pores, and his heart was -tearing itself to shreds in his breast. But the wolf was quivering now. -Its eyes were full of strange, unworldly fire. And then Ned gave a last, -terrific wrench. - -A bone broke with a distinct crack in the utter silence. And as he fell -forward, spent, the great white form slacked down and went limp in his -arms. - -Like a man who had been asleep Ned regained his feet. The familiar world -of snow and forest rushed back to him, deep in the enchantment of the -winter silence; and it was as if the battle had never occurred. Such -warlike sounds as had been uttered were smothered in the stillness. - -Yet the sleeve of his fur coat was torn, and dark red drops were -dripping from his fingers. They made crimson spots in the immaculate -snow. And just at his feet a white wolf lay impotent, never again to -strike terror into his heart by its wild, unearthly chant on the ridge. -The two had met, here in the wolf’s own snows; and now one lay dead at -his conqueror’s feet. - -Whose was the strength that had laid him low! Whose mighty muscles had -broken that powerful neck! Vivid consciousness swept back to Ned; and -with it a deep and growing exultation that thrilled the inmost chords of -his being. It was an ancient madness, the heritage of savage days when -man and beast fought for dominance in the open places; but it had not -weakened and dimmed in the centuries. His eye kindled, and he stood -shivering with excitement over his dead. - -He had conquered. He had fought his way to victory. And was there any -reason in heaven or earth why he should not fight on to freedom—out of -Doomsdorf’s power? The moving spirit of inspiration seemed to bear him -aloft. - -Drunk with his own triumph, Ned could not immediately focus his -attention on any definite train of thought. At first he merely gave -himself up to dreams, a luxury that since the first day on the island he -had never permitted himself. For many moments after the exultation of -his victory had begun to pass away, he was still so entranced by dreams -of freedom that he could not consider ways and means. - -The word freedom had come to have a tangible meaning for him in these -last dreadful months; its very idea was dear beyond any power of his to -tell. It was so beloved a thing that at first his cold logic could not -take hold of it: its very thought brought a luster as of tears to his -eyes and a warm glow, as in the first drifting of sleep, to his brain. -He had found out what freedom meant and how unspeakably beautiful it -was. In his native city, however, he had taken it as a matter of course. -Because it was everywhere around him he was no more conscious of it than -the air he breathed; and he felt secret scorn of much of the sentimental -eloquence concerning it. It had failed to get home to him, and many of -his generation had forgotten it, just as they had forgotten the Author -of their lives. It was merely something that feeble old men, amusing in -their earnestness and their badges of the Grand Army so proudly worn on -their tattered clothes, spoke of with a curious, deep solemnity, which a -scattered few of his friends, from certain hard-fighting divisions, had -learned on battlefields in France; but which was of little importance in -his own life. When he did think of it at all he was very likely to -confuse it with license. Now and then, when heady liquor had hold of -him, he had amused his friends with quite a lecture concerning -freedom,—particularly in its relation to the Volstead act. But the old -urge and devotion that was the life theme of hundreds of generations -that had preceded him had seemed cold in his spirit. - -He had learned the truth up here. He had found out it was the outer gate -to all happiness; and everything else worth while was wholly dependent -upon it. As he stood in this little snowy copse beside the dead wolf, -even clearer vision came to him concerning it. Was it not the dream of -the ages? Was not all struggle upward toward this one star,—not only -economic and religious freedom, but freedom from the tyranny of the -elements, from the scourge of disease, from the soiling hand of -ignorance and want? And what quality made for dominance as much as love -of freedom? - -It was a familiar truth that no race was great without this love. -Suddenly he saw that this was the first quality of greatness, whether in -nations or individuals. The degree of this love was the degree of worth -itself; and only the fawning weakling, the soul lost to honor and -self-respect, was content to live beneath a master’s lash when there was -a fighting chance for liberty! - -A fighting chance! The phrase meant nothing less than the chance of -death. But all through the loner roll of the centuries the bravest men -had defied this chance; and they would not lift their helmets to those -that eschewed it. But now he knew the truth of that stern old law of -tribes and nations,—a law sometimes forgotten yet graven on the -everlasting stone—that he who will not risk his life for liberty does -not deserve to live it. The thing held good with him now. _It held good -with Bess and Lenore as well._ - -_That was the test!_ It was the last, cruel trial in the Training Camp -of Life. - -Deeply moved and exalted, he lifted his face to the cold, blue skies as -if for strength. For the instant he stood almost motionless, oblivious -to his wounds and his torn clothes, a figure of unmistakable dignity in -those desolate drifts. He knew what he must do. He too must stand trial, -bravely and without flinching. For Ned Cornet had come into his manhood. - - - - - XXIII - - -In a little while Ned stripped the pelt from the warm body of the wolf -and continued down his line of traps. He was able to think more -coherently now and consider methods and details. And by the same token -of clear thought, he was brought face to face with the fact of the -almost insuperable obstacles in his path. - -For all he could see now, Doomsdorf had surrounded them with a stone -wall. He had seemingly thought of everything, prepared for every -contingency, and left them not the slightest gateway to hope. - -Plans for freedom first of all seemingly had to include Doomsdorf’s -death. That was the first essential, and the last. Could they succeed in -striking the life from their master, they could wait in the cabin until -the trader _Intrepid_ should touch their island in the spring. It can be -said for Ned that he conjectured upon the plan without the slightest -whisper of remorse, the least degree of false sentiment. The fact that -their master was, more or less, a human being did not change the course -of his thought whatever. He would hurl that wicked soul out of the world -with never an instant’s pity, and his only prayer would be that it might -fall into the real hell that he had tried to imitate on earth. There -could be no question about that. If, through some mercy, the brute lay -helpless for a single second at his feet, it would be time enough for -the deed Ned had in mind. His arm would never falter, his cruel axe -would shatter down as pitilessly as upon some savage beast of the -forest. He had not forgotten what the three of them had endured. - -The difficulty lay in finding an opening of attack. Doomsdorf’s rifle -was never loaded except when it was in his arms, and he wore his pistol -in his belt, day and night. For all his hopelessness, Ned had noticed, -half inadvertently, that he always took precautions against a night -attack. The squaw slept on the outside of their cot and would be as -difficult to pass without arousing as a sleeping dog. The cabin itself -was bolted, not to be entered without waking both occupants; and the -three prisoners of course slept in the newer cabin. - -Bess had told him of Doomsdorf’s encounter with Knutsen, describing with -particular emphasis the speed with which the murderer had whipped out -his pistol. He could get it into action long before Ned could lay bare -his clasp knife. Indeed, mighty man that he was, he could crush Ned to -earth with one bound at the latter’s first offensive movement. And -Doomsdorf was always particularly watchful when Ned carried his axe. - -Yet the fact remained that in his axe alone lay the only possible hope -of success. Some time Ned might see an opportunity to swing it down: -perhaps he could think of some wile to put Doomsdorf at a disadvantage. -It was inconceivable that they should try to escape without first -rendering Doomsdorf helpless to follow them. They could attempt neither -to conceal themselves on the island, or cross the ice straight to Tzar -Island without the absolute certainty of being hunted down and punished. -What form that punishment would take Ned dared not guess. - -It was true that Doomsdorf kept but a perfunctory watch over Ned and -Bess while they plied their trap lines. But long ago he had explained to -them the hopelessness of attempting to load their backs with food and -strike off across the ice on the slim chance of encountering some -inhabited island. The plan, he had said, had not been worth a thought, -and even now, in spite of his new courage, Ned found that it promised -little. In the first place, to venture out into that infinity of ice, -where there was not a stick of fuel and the polar wind was an icy demon -day and night, meant simply to die without great question or any -considerable delay. The islands were many, but the gray ice between them -insuperably broad and rough. As Doomsdorf had said, they could not get -much of a start; scarcely a day went by but that Doomsdorf, from some -point of vantage where his daily hunting excursions carried him, -discerned the distant forms of one or both of his two trappers across -the snowy barrens; and he would be quick to investigate if they were -missing. His powerful legs and mighty strength would enable him to -overtake the runaways in the course of a few hours. But lastly, settling -the matter once and for all, there was the subject of Lenore. He could -neither smuggle her out nor leave her to Doomsdorf’s vengeance. - -The plan might be worth considering, except for her. Of course, the odds -would be tragically long on the side of failure; but all he dared pray -for was a fighting chance. As matters lay, it was wholly out of the -question. - -Seemingly the only course was to lie low, always to be on the watch for -the moment of opportunity. Some time, perhaps, their master’s vigilance -would relax. Just one little instant of carelessness on his part might -show the way. Perhaps the chance would come when the _Intrepid_ put into -the island to buy the season’s furs, if indeed life dwelt in his own -body until that time. Ned didn’t forget that long, weary months of -winter still lay between. - -He concluded that he would not take Lenore into his confidence at once. -That would come later,—when he had something definite to propose. -Lately she had not shown great confidence in him, scorning his ability -to shelter her and serve her; and of course she would have only contempt -for any such vague hope as this. He had nothing to offer now but the -assurance of his own growing sense of power. As yet his hope lay wholly -in the realization of the late growth and development of his own -character. So far as material facts went, the barriers between her and -her liberty were as insuperable as ever. He would not be able to -encourage her: more likely, by her contempt, she would jeopardize his -own belief in himself. Besides, for all his great love for her, he could -not make himself believe that she was of fighting metal. He found, in -this moment of analysis of her soul, that he could not look to her for -aid. She was his morning star, all that he could ask in woman, and he -had chosen her for her worth and beauty, rather than for a helpmate, a -fortress at his side. Yes, coöperation with her might injure, rather -than increase, his chances for success. - -He dismissed in an instant the idea of telling Bess. His loyalty to -Lenore demanded that, at least. She must not go where his own betrothed -was excluded. If the thought came that Bess, by light of courage and -fortitude, had already gone where in weakness and self-pity Lenore could -not possibly follow—the windy snow fields and the bitter crests of the -rugged hills—he pushed it sternly from him. The whole thing was a -matter of instinct with him, perhaps a wish to shield himself from -invidious comparisons of the two girls. He would have liked to convince -himself that Lenore could be his ally, but he was wholly unable to do -so. Realizing that, he preferred to believe that Bess was likewise -incompetent. But he knew he must not let his mind dwell to any great -length upon the subject. He might be forced to change his mind. - -He must make a lone fight. He must follow a lone trail—like the old -gray pack leader whose sluts cannot keep pace. - -Thereafter, day and night, Ned watched his chances. Never he climbed to -the top of the ridge but that he searched, with straining eyes, for the -glimpse of a dog-sledge on the horizon, or perhaps the faint line of a -distant island. On the nights that he spent at the home cabin, he made -an intense study of Doomsdorf’s most minor habits, trying to uncover -some little failing, some trifling carelessness that might give him his -opportunity. He made it a point to leave his axe in easy reaching -distance; his clasp knife, in a holster of fur, was always open in his -pocket, always ready to his hand. All day, down the weary length of his -trap line, he considered ways and means. - -Simply because the wild continued to train him, he was ever stronger for -this great, ultimate trial. Not only his intent was stronger, his -courage greater, but his body also continued its marvelous development. -His muscles were like those of a grizzly: great bunches of tendons, hard -as stone, moving under his white skin. Every motion was lithe and -strong; his energy was a never-failing fountain; his eyes were vivid and -clear against the old-leather hue of his face. - -There was no longer an unpleasant discoloration in the whites of his -eyes. They were a cold, hard, pale blue; and the little network of lines -that had once shown faintly at his cheek bones had completely faded. His -hands had killing strength; his neck was a brown pillar of muscle. -Health was upon him, in its full glory, to the full meaning of the word. - -He found, to his great amazement, that his mental powers had similarly -developed. His thought was more clear, and it flowed in deeper channels. -It was no effort for him now to follow one line of thought to its -conclusion. The tendency to veer off in the direction of least -resistance had been entirely overcome. He could be of some aid, now, in -the fur house of Godfrey Cornet. He felt he would like to match wits -with his father’s competitors. - -He would need not only this great physical strength, but also his -enhanced mental powers in the trial and stress that were to come. -Doomsdorf’s tyranny could not be endured forever; they were being borne -along toward a crisis as if on an ocean current. And for all his growth, -Ned never made the fatal mistake of considering himself a physical match -for Doomsdorf. Over and above the fact that the latter was armed with -rifle and pistol, Ned was still a child in his hands. It was simply a -case of intrinsic limitations. It was as if the wolf, chain-lightning -savagery that he is, should try to lay low the venerable grizzly bear. - -Sooner or later the crisis would fall upon them,—a fit of savage anger -on Doomsdorf’s part, or a wrong that could not be endured, even if death -were the penalty for rebellion. Moreover, Ned could not escape the -haunting fear that such a crisis was actually imminent. Doomsdorf’s mood -was an uncertain thing at best; and lately it had taken a turn for the -worse. He was not getting the satisfaction that he had anticipated out -of Ned’s slavery; the situation had lost its novelty, and he was open to -any Satanic form of diversion that might occur to him. Ned had mastered -his trap lines, had stood the gaff and was a better man on account of -it; and it was time his master provided additional entertainment for -him. In these dark, winter days he remembered the Siberian prison with -particular vividness, and at such times the steely glitter was more -pronounced in his eyes, and certain things that he had seen lingered -ever in his mind. He kept remembering strange ghosts of men, toiling in -the snow till they died, and souls that went out screaming under the -lash; and such remembrances moved him with a dark, unspeakable lust. He -thought he would like to bring these memory-pictures to life. Besides, -his attitude toward Bess was ever more sinister. He followed her motions -with a queer, searching, speculative gaze; and now and then he offered -her little favors. - -If he could only be held in restraint a few months more. Ned knew -perfectly that the longer the crisis could be averted, the better his -chance for life and liberty. He would have more opportunity to make -preparations, to lay plans. Besides, every day that he followed his trap -line he was better trained—in character and mind and body—for the test -to come. The work of bringing out Ned Cornet’s manhood had never ceased. - -Every day he had learned more of those savage natural forces that find -clearest expression in the North. He knew the wind and the cold, -snow-slide and blizzard, but also he knew hunger and fear and travail -and pain. All these things taught him what they had to teach, and all of -them served to shape him into the man he had grown to be. And one still, -clear afternoon the North sent home a new realization of its power. - -He was working that part of the line from his Twelve-Mile cabin over the -ridge toward the Forks cabin,—his old rendezvous with Bess. He was -somewhat late in crossing the range to-day. He had taken several of the -larger fur-bearers and had been obliged to skin them laboriously, first -thawing them out over a fire in the snow, so that midafternoon found him -just emerging from the thick copse where he had killed the white wolf. -The blazed trail took him around the shoulder of the ridge, clear to the -edge of a little, deeply seamed glacier such as crowns so many of the -larger hills in the far North. - -Few were the wild creatures that traversed this icy desolation, so his -trap line had been laid out around the glacier, following the blazed -trail in the scrub timber. But to-day the long way round was -particularly grievous to his spirit. More than a mile could be saved by -leaving the timber and climbing across the ice, and only a few sets, -none of which had ever proved especially productive, would be missed. In -his first few weeks the danger of going astray had kept him close to his -line, but he was not obliged to take it into consideration now. He knew -his country end to end. - -Without an instant’s hesitation he turned from the trail straight over -the snowy summit toward the cabin. The cut-off would save him the -annoyance of making camp after dark. And since he had climbed it once -before, he scarcely felt the need of extra caution. - -The crossing, however, was not quite the same as on the previous -occasion. Before the ice had been covered, completely across, with a -heavy snowfall, no harder to walk on than the open barrens. He soon -found now that the snow prevailed only to the summit of the glacier, and -the descent beyond the summit had been swept clean by the winds. - -Below him stretched a half-mile of glare ice, ivory white like the fangs -of some fabulous beast-of-prey. Here and there it was gashed with -crevices,—those deep glacier chasms into which a stone falls in -silence. For a moment Ned regarded it with considerable displeasure: - -He was not equipped for ice scaling. Perhaps it was best not to try to -go on. But as he waited, the long way down and around seemed to grow in -his imagination. It was that deadly hour of late afternoon when the -founts of energy run low and the thought-mechanism is dulled by -fatigue;—and some way, he felt his powers of resistance slipping away -from him. He forget, for the moment, the _Fear_ that is the very soul of -wisdom. - -He decided to take a chance. He removed his snowshoes and ventured -carefully out upon the ice. - -It was easier than it looked. His moccasins clung very well. Steadily -gaining confidence, he walked at a faster pace. The slope was not much -on this side, the glacier ending in an abrupt cliff many hundred feet in -height, so he felt little need of especial precaution. It was, in fact, -the easiest walking that he had had since his arrival upon the island, -so he decided not to turn off clear until he reached the high ground -just to one side of the ice cliff. He crawled down a series of shelves, -picked his way about a jagged promontory, and fetched up at last at the -edge of a dark crevice scarcely fifty feet from the edge of the snow. - -The crevice was not much over five feet wide at this point, and looking -along, he saw that a hundred yards to his right it ended in a snowbank. -But there was no need of following it down. He could leap it at a -standing jump: with a running start he could bound ten feet beyond. - -He was tired, eager to get to camp,—and this was the zero hour. He drew -back three paces, preparatory to making the leap. - -As he halted he was somewhat amazed at the incredible depth of silence -that enthralled this icy realm. It seemed to him, except for the beat of -his own heart, the absolute zero of silence,—not a whimper of wind or -the faintest rustle of whisking snow dust. All the wilderness world -seemed to be straining—listening. The man leaped forward. - -At that instant the North gave him some sign of its power. His first -running step was firm, but at the second his moccasin failed to hold, -slipping straight back. He pitched forward on his hands and knees, -grasping at the hard, slippery ice. - -But he had not realized his momentum. He experienced a strange instant -of hovering, of infinite suspense; and then the realization, like a -flash of lightning, of complete and immutable disaster. There was no -sense of fast motion. He slid rather slowly, with that sickening -helplessness that so often characterizes the events of a tragic dream; -and the wilderness seemed still to be waiting, watching, in unutterable -indifference. Then he pitched forward into the crevice. - -To Ned it seemed beyond the least, last possibility of hope that he -should ever know another conscious second. The glacier crevices were all -incredibly deep, and he would fall as a stone falls, crushed at last on -the lightless floor of the glacier so far below that no sound might rise -to disturb this strange immensity of silence. It was always thus with -wilderness deaths. There is no sign that the Red Gods ever see. All -things remain as they were,—the eternal silence, the wild creatures -absorbed in their occupations; the trees never lifting their bowed heads -from their burdens of snow. Ned did not dream that mortal eyes would -ever rest upon his form again, vanishing without trace except for the -axe that had fallen at the edge of the crevice and the imprint of his -snowshoes on the trail behind. There was no reason in heaven or earth -for doubting but that this ivory glacier would be his sepulcher forever. - -In that little instant the scope of his mind was incredibly vast. His -thought was more clear and true than ever before in his life, and it was -faster than the lightning in the sky. It reached back throughout his -years; it encompassed in full his most subtle and intricate relations -with life. There was no sense of one thought coming after another. The -focus of his attention had been immeasurably extended; and all that he -knew, and all that he was and had been, was before his eyes in one -great, infinite vista. - -He still had time in plenty to observe the immensity of the silence; the -fact that his falling had not disturbed, to the least fraction of a -degree, the vast imperturbability of the stretching snow fields about -him. In that same instant, because of the seeming certainty of his end, -he really escaped from fear. Fear in its true sense is a relation that -living things have with the uncertainties of the future: a device of -nature by which the species are warned of danger, but it can serve no -purpose when judgment is signed and sealed. This was not danger but -seeming certainty; and the mind was too busy with other subjects to give -place to such a useless thing as fear. - -By the same token he could not truly be said to hope. Hope also is the -handmaiden of uncertainty. Glancing back, there was no great sense of -regret. Seemingly dispatched irrevocably out of the world, in that flash -of an instant he was suddenly almost indifferent toward it. He -remembered Lenore clearly, seeing her more vividly than he had ever seen -her before, but she was like an old photograph found buried in a -forgotten drawer,—recalling something that was of greatest moment once, -but which no longer mattered. Perhaps, seemingly facing certain death, -he was as one of the dead, seeing everything in the world from an -indifferent and detached viewpoint. - -All these thoughts swept him in a single fraction of an instant as he -plunged into darkness. And all of them were unavailing. The uncertainty -that shadows the lives of men held sway once more; and with it a ghastly -and boundless terror. - -He was not to die at once. There was still hope of life. He fetched up, -as if by a miracle, on an icy shelf ten feet below the mouth of the -crevice,—with sheer walls rising on each side. - - - - - XXIV - - -Ned knew what fear was, well enough, as he lay in the darkened chasm, -staring up at the white line of the crevice above him. The old love of -life welled back, sweeping his spirit as in a flood, and with it all the -hopes and fears of which life is made. He remembered Lenore, now. Her -image was not just a lovely photograph of a past day,—a silvery -daguerreotype of a happiness forgotten. He remembered again his debt of -service to her, his dear companionship for Bess, his dreams of escape -from the island. Rallying his scattered faculties, he tried to analyze -his desperate position. - -The shelf on which he had fallen was scarcely wider than his body, and -only because it projected at an upward incline from the sheer wall had -he come to rest upon it. It was perhaps fifty feet long, practically on -a level all the way. The wall was sheer for ten feet above him; beyond -the shelf was only the impenetrable darkness of the crevice, extending -apparently into the bowels of the earth. - -Could he climb the wall? There was no other conceivable possibility of -rescue. No one knew where he was; no one would come to look for him. -Moreover, his escape must be immediate,—within a few hours at most. -There was no waiting for Doomsdorf to come to look for him in the -morning light. He was dressed in the warmest clothes, but even these -could not repel the frightful cold of the glaciers. - -Cool-headed, with perfect self-mastery, he shifted himself on the ledge -to determine if he had been injured in the fall. He was drawn and -shuddering with pain, but that alone was not an index. Often the more -serious injuries result in a temporary paralysis that precludes pain. If -any bones were broken he was beaten at the start. But his arms and legs -moved in obedience to his will, and there seemed nothing to fear from -this. - -Very cautiously, in imminent danger of pitching backward into the abyss, -he climbed to his feet. He was a tall man, but his hands, reaching up, -did not come within two feet of the ledge. And there was nothing -whatever for his hands to cling to. - -If only there were irregularities in the ice. With a surge of hope he -thought of his axe. - -This tool, however, had either fallen into the crevice or had dropped -from his shoulder and lay on the ice above. But there remained his clasp -knife. He drew it carefully from his pocket. - -Already he felt the icy chill of the glacier stealing through him, the -cold fingers of death itself. He must lose no time in going to work. He -began to cut, two feet above the ledge, a sharp-edged hole in the ice. - -Brittle ice is not easy to cut with a knife. It was a slow, painful -process. He knew at once that he must work with care,—any irregular cut -would not give him foothold. But Ned was working for his life; and his -hand was facile as never before. - -He finished the cut at last, then started on another a foot above. He -hewed out a foothold with great care. - -In spite of his warm gloves and the hard exercise of cutting, the -numbing, biting frost was getting to his fingers. But he mustn’t let his -hand grow stiff and awkward. He did not forget that the handholds, to -which his fingers must cling, were yet to be made. They had to be -finished with even greater skill than the footholds. Very wisely, he -turned to them next. - -He made the first of them as high as he could reach. Then he put one in -about a foot below. Three more footholds were put in at about -twelve-inch intervals between. - -At that point he found it necessary to stop and spend a few of his -precious moments in rest. He must not let fatigue dull him and take the -cunning from his hand. But the first stage of the work was -done;—deliverance looked already immeasurably nearer. If he could climb -up, then cling on and cut a new hold! Placing the knife between his -teeth, he put his moccasin into the first foothold and pulled himself -up. - -It did not take long, however, to convince him that the remaining work -bordered practically on the impossible. These holes in the ice were not -like irregularities in stone. The fingers slipped over them: it was -almost impossible to cling on with both hands, much less one. But -clinging with all his might, he tried to free his right hand to procure -his knife. - -He made it at last, and at a frightful cost of nervous energy succeeded -in cutting some sort of a gash in the icy wall above his head. Standing -so close he could not look up, it was impossible to do more than hack -out a ragged hole. And because life lay this way and no other, he put -the blade once more between his teeth, reached his right hand into the -hole, and tried to pull himself up again. - -But disaster, bitter and complete, followed that attempt. His numbing -hands failed to hold under the strain, and he slipped all the way back -to his shelf. Something rang sharply against the ice wall, far below -him. - -He did not hear it again; but the truth went home to him in one -despairing instant. Try as hard as he could, his jaws had released their -hold upon the knife, and it had fallen into the depths of the crevice -below. He was not in the least aware of the vicious wound its blade had -cut in his shoulder, of the warm blood that was trickling down under his -furs. He only knew, with that cold fatalism with which the woodsman -regards life, that he had fought a good fight,—and he had lost. - -There was no use of trying any more. He had no other knife or axe, no -tool that could hack a hole in the icy wall. What other things he -carried about him—the furs on his back, his box of safety matches, and -other minor implements of his trade—could not help him in the least. -And soon it became increasingly difficult to think either upon the fight -he had made or the fate that awaited him. - -It was hard to remember anything but the growing cold. - -It hurt worst in his hands. So he took to rubbing his hands together, -hard as he could. He felt the blood surge back into them, and soon they -were fairly warm in the great mittens of fur. - -Directly he settled back on his icy shelf and drew the pelts he had -taken that day over his shoulders. There was but one hope left; and such -as it was, it was curiously allied with despair. He hoped that he had -heard true that when frost steals into the veins it comes with -gentleness and ease. Perhaps he would simply go to sleep. - -It wouldn’t be a long time. In fact, a great drowsiness, not unpleasant -but rather peaceful, was already settling upon him. The cold of the -glacier was deadly. Not many moments remained of his time on earth. The -death that dwells in the Arctic ice is mercifully swift. - -He had counted on hours, at least. He had even anticipated lingering far -into the night. But this was only _moments_! The cleft above him was -still distinctly gray. - -The ice was creeping again into his fingers. But he wouldn’t try to -shake it out again. And now, little, stabbing blades of cold were -beginning to pierce his heart. - -But likely he would go to sleep before they really began to trouble him. -The northern night deepened around him. The wind sprang up and moved -softly over the pale ice above him. The day was done. - - - - - XXV - - -Bess had made good time along her line that day. She had not forgotten -that this was the day of her rendezvous with Ned, and by walking -swiftly, eschewing even short rests, carrying her larger trophies into -the cabin to skin rather than halting and thawing them out over a fire, -she arrived at the Forks hut at midafternoon. She began at once to make -preparations for Ned’s coming. - -She built a roaring fire in the little, rusted stove, knowing well the -blessing it would be to the tired trapper, coming in with his load of -furs. She started supper so that the hot meal would be ready upon his -arrival. Then she began to watch the hillside for his coming. - -It always gave her a pleasant glow to see the little, moving spot of -black at the edge of the timber. Because of a vague depression that she -had been unable all day to shake off, she anticipated it especially now. -They always had such cheery times together, perched on opposite sides of -the little stove. To Bess they redeemed the whole, weary week of toil. -It was true that their relations were of companionship only; but this -was dear enough. If, long ago, her dreams had gone out to him with -deeper meaning, surely she had conquered them by now,—never to set her -heart leaping at a friendly word, never to carry her, at the edge of -slumber, into a warm, beloved realm of exquisite fancy. Bess had -undergone training too. These days in the snow had strengthened her and -steeled her to face the truth; and even, in a measure, to reconcile -herself to the truth. She had tried to make her heart content with what -she had, and surely she was beginning to succeed. - -Ned was a little past his usual time to-night. Her depression deepened, -and she couldn’t fight it off. This North was so remorseless and so -cruel, laying so many pitfalls for the unsuspecting. It was strange what -blind terror swept through her at just the thought of disaster befalling -Ned. It made her doubt herself, her own mastery of her heart. She never -considered the dangers that lay in her own path, only those in his. At -the end of a miserable hour she straightened, scarcely able to believe -her eyes. - -On the glare ice of the glacier, a mile straight up the ridge from the -cabin, she saw the figure of a man. Far as it was, one glance told her -it was not merely a creature of the wild, a bear disturbed in his winter -sleep or a caribou standing facing her. It was Ned, of course, taking -the perilous path over the ice, instead of keeping to the blazed trail -of his trap line. On the slight downward slope toward her, clearly -outlined against the white ice, she could see every step he took. - -He was walking boldly over the glassy surface. Didn’t he know its -terrors, the danger of slipping on the icy shelves and falling to his -death, the deep crevices shunned by the wild creatures? She watched -every step with anxious gaze. When he was almost to safety she saw him -stop, draw back a few paces, and then come forward at a leaping pace. - -What happened thereafter came too fast for her eyes to follow. One -instant she saw his form distinctly as he ran. The next, and the ice lay -white and bare in the wan light, and Ned had disappeared as if by a -magician’s magic. - -For one moment she gazed in growing horror. There was no ice promontory -behind which he was hidden, nor did he reappear again. And peering -closely, she made out a faint, dark line, like a pencil mark on the ice, -just where Ned had disappeared. - -The truth went home in a flash. The dark line indicated a crevice, to -the bottom of which no living thing may fall and live. Yet to such -little wild creatures, red-eyed ermine and his fellows that might have -been watching her from the snow in front, Bess gave no outward sign that -she had seen or that she understood. - -She stood almost motionless at first. Her eyes were toneless, lightless -holes in her white face; the face itself seemed utterly blank. She -seemed to be drawing within herself, into an eerie dream world of her -own, as if seeking shelter from some dire, unthinkable thing that lay -without. She was hardly conscious, as far as the usual outward -consciousness is concerned; unaware of herself, unaware of the snow -fields about her and the deepening cold; unaware of the onward march of -time. She seemed like a child, hovering between life and death in the -scourge of some dread, childhood malady. - -Slowly her lips drew in a smile; a smile ineffably sweet, tender as the -watch of angels. It was as if the dying child had smiled to reassure its -sobbing mother, to tell her that all was well, that she must dry her -tears. “It isn’t true,” she whispered, there in the stillness. “It -couldn’t be true—not to Ned. There is some way out—some mistake.” - -She turned into the cabin, bent, and added fresh fuel to the stove. Its -heat scorched her face, and she put up her hand to shield it. The cabin -should be warm, when she brought Ned home. She mustn’t let the cold -creep in. She must not forget the _cold_, always watching for every -little opening. Perhaps he would want food too: she glanced into the -iron pot on the stove. Then, acting more by instinct than by conscious -thought, she began to look about for such tools as she would need in the -work to follow. - -There was a piece of rope, used once on a hand sled, hanging on the -wall; but it was only about eight feet in length. Surely it was not long -enough to aid her, yet it was all she had. Next, she removed a blanket -from her cot and threw it over her shoulder. There might be need of this -too,—further protection against the cold. - -Heretofore she had moved slowly, hardly aware of her own acts; but now -she was beginning to master herself again. She mustn’t linger here. She -must make her spirit waken to life, her muscles spring to action. -Carrying her rope and her blanket, she went out the door, closed it -behind her, and started up toward the glacier. - -Only one thing was real in that long mile; and all things else were -vague and shadowy as faces in a remembered dream. The one reality was -the dark line, ever broader and more distinct, that lay across the ice -where Ned had disappeared. The hope she had clung to all the way, that -it was merely a shallow hollow in the ice and not one of the dread -crevices that seem to go to the bowels of the earth, was evidently -without the foundation of fact. - -Weary lifetimes passed away before ever she reached the first, steep -cliff of the glacier. She had to follow along its base, on to the high -ground toward which Ned had been heading, finally crossing back to the -smooth table of the glacier itself. There was no chance for a mistake -now. The gash in the ice was all too plain. - -At last she stood at the very edge of the yawning seam, staring down -into the unutterable blackness below. Not even _light_ could exist in -the murky depths of the crevice, much less fragile human life. The day -was not yet dead, twilight was still gray about her; but the crevice -itself seemed full of ink clear to its mouth. And Ned’s axe, lying just -at the edge of the chasm, showed where he had fallen. - -There was no use of seeking farther; of calling into the lightless -depths. The story was all too plain. Very quietly, she lay down on the -ice, trying to peer into the blackness below; but it was with no hope of -bringing the fallen back to her again. Ned was lost to her, as a falling -star is lost to the star clusters in the sky. - -It never occurred to her that she would ever get upon her feet again. -The game had been played and lost. There was no need of braving the snow -again, of fighting her way down the trap line in the bitter dawns. The -star she had followed had fallen; the flame of her altar had burned out. - -She knew now why she had ever fought the fight at all. It was not -through any love of life, or any hope of deliverance in the end. It had -all been for Ned. She had denied it before, but the truth was plain -enough now. It was her love for Ned that had kept her shoulders straight -under the killing labor, had sheltered her spirit from the curse of cold -and storm, that had borne her aloft out of the power of this savage land -to harm. She knew now why she had not given up long since. - -Was that the way of woman’s heart, to sustain her through a thousand -unutterable miseries only that she might be crushed in the end? Was life -no more than this? She had been content to live on, to endure all, just -to be near him and watch over him to the end; but there was no need of -lingering now. The fire in the cabin could burn down, and the fire of -her spirit could flicker out in the ever-deepening cold. - -She had tried to blind herself to the truth, yet always, in the secret -places of her soul, she had known. It was not that she ever had hope of -Ned’s love. Lenore would get that: Ned’s devotion to her had never -faltered yet. But it was enough just to be near, to work beside him, to -care for him to the full limit of her mortal power. She knew now that -all the tears she had shed had been for him: not for the lash of cold on -her own body, but on his; not for her own miseries, but those that had -so often brought Ned clear into the shadow of death. And now the final -blow had fallen. She could lie still on the ice and let the wind cry by -in triumph above her. - -She had loved every little moment with him, on the nights of their -rendezvous. She had loved him even at first, before ever his manhood -came upon him, but her love had been an infinite, an ineffable thing in -these last few weeks of his greatness. She had watched his slow growth; -every one of his victories had been a victory to her; and she had loved -every fresh manifestation of his new strength. But oh, she had loved his -boyishness too. His queer, crooked smile, his brown hair curling over -his brow, his laugh and his eyes,—all had moved her and glorified her -beyond any power of hers to tell. - -She called his name into the chasm depths, and some measure of -self-control returned to her when she heard the weird, rolling echo. -Perhaps she shouldn’t give up yet. It wouldn’t be Ned’s way to yield to -despair until the last, faint flame of hope had burned out. Perhaps the -crevice was not of such vast depth as she had been taught to believe. -Perhaps even now the man she loved was lying, shattered but not dead, -only a few feet below her in the darkness. She had come swiftly; perhaps -the deadly cold had not yet had time to claim him. She called again, -loudly as she could. - -And that cry did not go unheard. Ned had given up but a few moments -before Bess had come, and her full voice carried clearly into the -strange, misty realm of semi-consciousness into which he had drifted. -And this manhood that had lately grown upon him would not let him shut -his ears to this sobbing appeal. His own voice, sounding weird and -hollow as the voice of the dead in that immeasurable abyss, came back in -answer. - -“Here I am, Bess,” he said. “You’ll have to work quick.” - - - - - XXVI - - -It was bitter hard for Ned to fight his way back through death’s -twilight. The cold had hold of him, its triumph was near, and it would -not let him go without a savage battle that seemed to wrack the man in -twain. So far as his own wishes went, he only wanted to drift on, -farther and farther into the twilight ocean, and never return to the -cursed island again. But Bess was calling him, and he couldn’t deny her. -Perhaps in a distant cabin Lenore called him too. - -Indeed, the call upon him was more urgent than ever before. Before, his -thought had always been for Lenore, but Bess too was a factor now. In -that utter darkness Ned saw more clearly than ever before in his life, -and while his eyes searched only for Lenore, he kept seeing Bess too. -Bess with her never-failing smile of encouragement, her soft beauty that -had held him, in spite of himself, on their nights at Forks cabin. Her -need of him was real, threatened by Doomsdorf as she was, and he mustn’t -leave her sobbing so forlornly on the ice above. Lenore was first, of -course,—his duty to her reason enough for making a mighty fight. But -Bess’s pleading moved him deeply. - -He summoned every ounce of courage and determination that he had and -tried to shake the frost from his brain. “You’ll have to work quick,” he -warned again. His voice was stronger now, but softened with a tenderness -beyond her most reckless dreams. “Don’t be too hopeful—I haven’t much -left in me. What can you do?” - -The girl who answered him was in no way the lost and hopeless mortal -that had lain sobbing on the ice. Her scattered, weakened faculties had -swept back to her in all their strength, at the first sound of his -voice. _He was alive_, and it is the code of the North, learned in these -dreadful months, that so long as a spark still glows the battle must not -be given over. There was something to fight for now. The fighting side -of her that Ned had seen so often swept swiftly into dominance. At once -she was a cold blade, true and sure; brain and body in perfect -discipline. - -“How far are you?” she asked. “I can’t see——” - -“About ten feet—but I can’t get up without help.” - -“Can you stand up?” - -“Yes.” Forcing himself to the last ounce of his nerve and courage, he -drew himself erect. Reaching upward, his hands were less than a yard -from the top of the crevice. - -Bess did not make the mistake of trying to reach down to him. She -conquered the impulse at once, realizing that any weight at all, -unsupported as she was, would draw her into the ravine. Even the rope -would be of no use until she had something firm to which to attach it. - -“I’ve dug holes most of the way up,” he told her. “I might try to climb -’em, with a little help——” - -“Are you at the bottom of the crevice?” - -“The bottom is hundreds of feet below me. I’m on a ledge about three -feet wide.” - -“Then stand still till I can really help you. I can’t pull you now -without being pulled in myself, and if you’d fall back you’d probably -roll off the ledge. The ice is like glass. Ned, are you good for ten -minutes more——” - -“I don’t know——” - -“It’s the only chance.” Again her tone was pleading. “Keep the blood -moving for ten minutes more, Ned. Oh, tell me you’ll try——” - -Deep in the gloom she thought she heard him laugh—only a few, little -syllables, wan and strange in the silence—and it was all the answer she -needed. He would fight on for ten minutes more. He would struggle -against the cold until she could rescue him. - -“Here’s a blanket,” she told him swiftly. “Put it around you, if you -can, without danger of rolling off.” - -She dropped him the great covering she had brought; then in a single, -deerlike motion, she leaped the narrow crevice. On the opposite side she -procured Ned’s axe; then she turned, and half running, half gliding on -the ice, sped toward the nearest timber,—a number of stunted spruce two -hundred yards distant at the far edge of the glacier. - -Bess had need of her woodsman’s knowledge now. Never before had her -blows been so true, so telling on the tough wood. Before, in the fuel -cutting of months before, she had wielded the axe in fear of the lash, -but to-day she worked for Ned’s life, for the one dream that mattered -yet. Almost at once she had done her work and was started back with a -tough pole, eight feet long and four inches in diameter, balanced on her -sturdy shoulder. - -Ned was still strong enough to answer her call when she returned, and -the dim light still permitted him to see her lay the pole she had cut as -a bridge across the crevice, cutting notches in the ice to hold it firm. -Swiftly she tied one end of her rope to the pole and dropped the other -to him. - -“Can you climb up?” she asked him. Everything had centered down to -this—whether he still had strength to climb the rope. - -“Just watch me,” was the answer. - -From that instant, she knew that she had won. The spirit behind his -words would never falter, with victory so near. He dug his moccasins -into the holes he had hacked in the ice, meanwhile working upward, hand -over hand. To fall meant to die,—but Ned didn’t fall. - -It was a hard fight, weakened as he was, but soon the girl’s reaching -hands caught his sleeve, then his coat; finally they were fastened -firmly, lifting with all the girl’s strength, under the great arms. His -hand seized the pole, and he gave a great upward lunge. And then he was -lying on the ice beside her, fighting for breath, not daring to believe -that he was safe. - -But the usual cool, half-mirthful remark that, in many little crises, -Ned had learned to expect from Bess was not forthcoming to-night. Nor -were the sounds in the twilight merely those of heavy breathing. The -strain was over, and Bess had given way to the urge of her heart at -last. Her tears flowed unchecked, whether of sorrow or happiness even -she did not know. - -The man crawled toward her, moved by an urge beyond him, and for a -single moment his strong arms pressed her close. “Don’t cry, little -pal,” he told her. He smiled, a strangely boyish, happy smile, into her -eyes. Very softly, reverently he kissed her wet eyelids, then stilled -her trembling lips with his own. He smiled again, a great good-humor -taking hold of him. “You’re too big a girl to cry!” - -It was he, to-night, who had to relieve with humor a situation that -would have soon been out of bounds. Yet all at once he saw that the -little sentence had meaning far beyond what he had intended. She _had_ -shown bigness to-night,—a greatness of spirit and strength that left -him wondering and reverent. The battle she had fought to save his life -was no less than his own waged with the white wolf, weeks before. - -Here was another who had stood the gaff! She too knew what it was to -take the fighting chance. Presently he knew, by light of this adventure -on the ice, that Bess was more than mere companion in toil and hardship, -some one to shelter and protect. She was a _comrade-at-arms_,—such a -fortress of strength as the best of women have always been to the men -they loved. - -He did not know whether or not she loved him. It didn’t affect the point -that, in a crisis, she had shown the temper of her steel! He did not -stand alone henceforth. In the struggle for freedom that was to come -here was an ally on whom, to the very gates of death, he could -implicitly rely. - - - - - XXVII - - -When food and warmth had brought complete recovery, Ned took up with -Bess the problem of deliverance from the island. He found that for weeks -she had been thinking along the same line, and like him, she had as yet -failed to hit upon any plan that offered the least chance for success. -The subject held them late into the night. - -There was no need of a formal pact between them. Each of them realized -that if ever the matter came to the crisis, the other could be relied -upon to the last ditch. They stood together on that. Whatever the one -attempted, the other would carry through. And because of their mutual -trust, both felt more certain than ever of their ultimate triumph. - -They took different trails in the dawn, following the long circle of -their trap lines. All the way they pondered on this same problem, -conceiving a plan only to reject it because of some unsurmountable -obstacle to its success; dwelling upon the project every hour and -dreaming about it at night. But Ned was far as ever from a conclusion -when, three days later, he followed the beach on the way to the home -cabin. - -He had watched with deadened interest the drama of the wild things about -him these last days; but when he was less than a mile from home he had -cause to remember it again. To his great amazement he found at the edge -of the ice the fresh track of one of the large island bears. - -There was nothing to tell for sure what had awakened the great creature -prematurely from its winter sleep. The expected date of awakening was -still many weeks off. But the grizzly is notoriously irregular in his -habits; and experienced naturalists have long since ceased to be -surprised at whatever he may do. Ned reasoned at once that the present -mild weather had merely beguiled the old veteran from his lair (the size -of the track indicated a patriarch among the bears) and he was simply -enjoying the late winter sunlight until a cold spell should drive him in -again. - -The sight of the great imprint was a welcome one to Ned, not alone -because the wakening forecasted, perhaps, an early spring, but because -he was in immediate need of bear fur. His own coat was worn; besides, he -was planning a suit of cold-proof garments for Lenore, to be used -perhaps in their final flight across the ice. And he saw at once that -conditions were favorable for trapping the great creature. - -Scarcely a quarter of a mile ahead, in a little pass that led through -the shore crags down to the beach, Doomsdorf had left one of his most -powerful bear traps. Ned had seen it many times as he had clambered -through on a short cut to the cabin. Because it lay in a natural runway -for game—one of the few spots where the shore crags could be easily -surmounted—it was at least possible that the huge bear might fall into -it, on his return to his lair in the hills. - -Ned hurried on, and in a few moments had dug out the great trap from its -covering of snow. For a moment he actually doubted his power to set it. -It was of obsolete type, mighty-springed, and its jaws were of a width -forbidden by all laws of trapping in civilized lands, yet Ned did not -doubt its efficiency. Its mighty irons had rusted; but not even a bear’s -incalculable might could shatter them. - -This was not to be a bait set, so his success depended upon the skill -with which he concealed the trap. First he carefully refilled the -excavation he had made in digging out the trap; then he dug a shallow -hole in the snow in the narrowest part of the pass. Here he set the -trap, utilizing all the power of his mighty muscles, and spread a light -covering of snow above. - -It was a delicate piece of work. Ned had no wish for the cruel jaws to -snap shut as he was working above them. But his heart was in the -venture, for all his hatred of the cruelty of the device; and he covered -up his tracks with veteran’s skill. Then he quietly withdrew, retracing -his steps and following the shore line toward the home cabin. - -Surely the mighty strength that had set the powerful spring and the -skill that covered up all traces of his work could succeed at last in -freeing him from slavery. - - * * * * * - -Bess had reached the shelter first, and she was particularly relieved to -see Ned’s tall form swinging toward her along the shore. Doomsdorf was -in a particularly ominous mood to-night. The curious glitter in his -magnetic eyes was more pronounced than she had ever seen it,—catlike in -the shadows, steely in the lantern light; and his cruel savagery was -just at the surface, ready to be wakened. Worst of all, the gaze he bent -toward her was especially eager to-night, horrible to her as the cold -touch of a reptile. - -Every time she glanced up she found him regarding her, and he followed -her with his eyes when she moved. Yet she dared not seek shelter in the -new cabin, for the simple reason that she was afraid Doomsdorf would -follow her there. Until Ned came, her defense was solely the presence of -Lenore and the squaw. - -There was no particular warmth in her meeting with Ned. Doomsdorf’s eyes -were still upon her, and she was careful to keep any hint of the new -understanding out of her face and eyes. Ned’s weather-beaten countenance -was as expressionless as Sindy’s own. - -He refused to be depressed, at once, by the air of suspense and -impending disaster that hung over the cabin. Thus was the day of his -home-coming—looked forward to throughout the bitter days of his trap -line—and was not Lenore waiting, beautiful in the lantern light, for -him to speak to her? Yet the old exultation was somehow missing -to-night. His thoughts kept turning back to the pact he had made with -Bess—to their dream of deliverance. What was more curious, Lenore’s -lack of warmth that had come to be a matter of course in their weekly -meetings almost failed to hurt. His mind was so busy with the problem of -their freedom that he escaped the usual despondency that had crept upon -him so many times before. - -It was a peculiar paradox that while this was his day of days, the one -day in five that seemed to justify his continued life, it was always the -most hopeless and miserable, simply because of Lenore’s attitude toward -him. It wasn’t entirely her failure to respond to his own ardor. The -inevitable disappointment lay as much in his own attitude toward her. It -was as much the things she did as those she failed to do that depressed -him; the questions she asked, her patronage of Bess, her self-pitying -complaints. Always he experienced a sense of some great -omission,—perhaps only his failure to feel the old delight and -exultation that the mere fact of her presence used to impart to him. He -found it increasingly hard to give full attention to her; to let his -eyes dwell always on her beauty and his ears give heed to her wrongs. - -She found him preoccupied, and as a result increased her complaints. But -they left him cold to-night. Her lot was happiness itself compared to -that of Bess, and yet Bess’s spirit of good sportsmanship and courage -was entirely absent in her. But he must not keep comparing her with -Bess. Destruction lay that way! He must continue to adore her for her -beauty, the charm that used to hold him entranced. - -She was all he had asked for in his old life. If they ever gained -freedom, he would, in all probability, find in her all that he could -desire in the future. They could take up their old love anew, and -doubtless she would give him all the happiness he had a right to -expect—more than he deserved. Likely enough, if the test ever came, she -would show that her metal too was the finest, tempered steel! At least -he could continue to believe in her until he had cause to lose faith. - -And the test was not far distant now. He was not blind to the gathering -storm; at any moment there might ensue a crisis that would embroil all -three of them in a struggle to the death. Not one of them could escape, -Lenore no more than himself or Bess. She was one of the -triumvirate,—and surely she would stand with them to the last. - -If the crisis could only be postponed until they had made full -preparations for it! Yet in one glance, in which he traced down -Doomsdorf’s fiery gaze and found it centered upon Bess, he knew that any -instant might bring the storm! - -He felt his own anger rising. A dark fury, scarcely controllable, swept -over him at the insult of that creeping, serpent gaze upon Bess’s -beauty. But he mustn’t give way to it yet. He must hold himself for the -last, dread instant of need. - -The four of them gathered about the little, rough table, and again the -squaw served them, from the shadows. It was a strange picture, there in -the lantern light,—the imperturbable face of the squaw, always half in -shadow; the lurid wild-beast eyes of Doomsdorf gleaming under his shaggy -brows; Lenore’s beauty a thing to hold the eyes; and Bess horrified and -fearful at what the next moment might bring. Hardly a word was exchanged -from the meal’s beginning to its end. Bess tried to talk, so as to -divert Doomsdorf’s sinister thoughts, but the words would not come to -her lips. The man seemed eager to finish the meal. - -As soon as they had moved from the table toward the little stove, and -the squaw had begun the work of clearing away the dishes, Doomsdorf -halted at Bess’s side. For a moment he gazed down at her, a great hand -resting on her chair. - -“You’re a pretty little hell-cat,” he told her, in curiously muffled -tones. “What makes you such a fighter?” - -She tried to meet his eyes. “I have to be, in this climate,” she -answered. “Where would you get your furs——” - -He uttered one great hoarse syllable, as if in the beginning of -laughter. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You’d sooner walk -ten miles through the snow than give an inch, wouldn’t you?” His hand -reached, closing gently upon her arm, and a shiver of repulsion passed -over her. “That’s a fine little muscle—but you don’t want to work it -off. Why don’t you show a little friendship?” - -The girl looked with difficulty into his great, drawn face. Ned -stiffened, wondering if the moment of crisis were at hand at last. -Lenore watched appalled, but the native went on about her tasks as if -she hadn’t heard. - -“You can’t expect—much friendship—from a prisoner,” Bess told him -brokenly. Her face, so white in the yellow lantern light, her trembling -lips, most of all the appeal for mercy in her child’s eyes—raised to -this beast compared with whom even the North was merciful—wakened -surging, desperate anger in Ned. The room turned red before his eyes, -his muscles quivered, and he was rapidly reaching that point wherein his -self-control, on which life itself depended, was jeopardized. Yet he -must hold himself with an iron hand. He must wait to the last instant of -need. Everything depended on that, in avoiding the crisis until he had -made some measure of preparation. - -The loss of his long-bladed skinning knife increased the odds against -him. He had put considerable reliance in its hair-splitting blade; and -since he had perfected the sheath of caribou leather whereby he could -keep it open in his pocket, he had hoped that it might be the means of -freedom. In the three days since its loss he had been obliged to carry -one of the butcher knives from the supplies at Forks cabin,—a sharp -enough implement, but without the dagger point that would be so deadly -in close work. However, he moved his arm so that he could reach the hilt -of the knife in one motion. - -But with the uncanny watchfulness of a cat Doomsdorf saw the movement. -For one breath Ned’s life was suspended by a hair: Doomsdorf’s first -impulse was to seize his pistol and bore the younger man through and -through with lead. It was a mere madman’s whim that he refrained: he had -a more entertaining fate in store for Ned when affairs finally reached a -crisis. He leered down in contempt. - -“Your little friend seems to be getting nervous,” he remarked easily to -Bess. “So not to disturb him further, let’s you and I go to the new -cabin. I’ve taken some fine pelts lately—I want you to see them. You -need a new coat.” - -He seemed to be aware of the gathering suspense, and it thrilled his -diseased nerves with exultation. But there was, from his listeners, but -one significant response at first to the evil suggestion that he made -with such iniquitous fires in his wild eyes and such a strange, -suppressed tone in his voice. Bess’s expression did not change. It had -already revealed the uttermost depths of dread. Ned still held himself, -cold, now, as a serpent, waiting for his chance. But the squaw paused a -single instant in her work. For one breath they failed to hear the -clatter of her pans. But seemingly indifferent, she immediately went -back to her toil. - -Bess shook her head in desperate appeal. “Wait till morning,” she -pleaded. “I’m tired now——” - -Ned saw by the gathering fury of their master’s face that her refusal -would only bring on the crisis, so he leaped swiftly into the breach. -“Sure, Bess, let’s go to look at them,” he said. “I’m anxious to see ’em -too——” - -Doomsdorf whirled to him, and his gaze was as a trial of fire to Ned. -Yet the latter did not flinch. For a long second they regarded each -other in implacable hatred, and then Doomsdorf’s sudden start told that -he had been visited by inspiration. His leering look of contempt was -almost a smile. “Sure, come along,” he said. “I’ve got something to say -to you too. To spare Lenore’s feelings—we’ll go to the other cabin.” - -Ned was not in the least deceived by this reference to Lenore. Doomsdorf -had further cause, other than regard for Lenore’s sensibilities, for -continuing their conversation in the other cabin. What it was Ned did -not know, and he dared not think. And he had a vague impression that -while he and Doomsdorf had waged their battle of eyes, Bess had -mysteriously moved from her position. He had left her just at -Doomsdorf’s right; when he saw her again she was fully ten feet distant, -within a few feet of the cupboards where the squaw kept many of the food -supplies, and now was busy with her parka of caribou skin. - -She led the way out into the clear, icy night. It was one of those -still, clear, late winter evenings, not so cold as it had been, when the -frozen, snow-swept world gave no image of reality to the senses. The -snow wastes and the velvet depths of the sky were lurid, flashing with a -thousand ever-changing hues from the giant kaleidoscope of the Northern -Lights. Moved and held by this wonder that never grows old to the -northern man, Doomsdorf halted them just without the cabin door. - -As they watched, the procession of colors suddenly ceased, leaving world -and sky an incredible monochrome in red. It was wanly red at first, but -the warm hue slowly deepened until one could imagine that the spirits of -all the dead, aroused for some cosmic holiday, were lighting flares of -red fire. It was a strange sight even for these latitudes; but this -lambent mystery is ever beyond the ken of man. The name that Doomsdorf -had given his island had never seemed so fitting as now. In the carmine -glow the bearded face of the master of the isle was suddenly the -red-hued visage of Satan. - -But the light died away at last, and the falling darkness called them -back to themselves. The lust that fired Doomsdorf’s blood, the fear like -the Arctic cold in the veins of Ned and Bess was all worldly enough. For -a moment he studied their pale, tense faces. - -“There’s no need of going farther,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice. -“There was no need of even coming here. You seem to be forgetting, you -two, where you are—all the things I told you at first.” - -He paused, and his voice had dropped, and the tone was strange and even, -dreadful to hear, when he spoke again. “I’ve evidently been too easy -with you,” he went on. “I’ll see that I correct that fault in the -future. You, Ned, made a serious mistake when you interfered in this -matter to-night. I’ll see if I can’t teach you to keep your place. And -Bess—long ago I told you that your body and your soul were mine—to do -with what I liked. You seemed to have forgotten—but I intend that you -will call it to mind—again.” - -But Ned still faced him when he paused, eyes steadfast, his face an iron -gray in the wan light. His training had been hard and true, and he still -found strength to stand erect. - -“I want to tell you this—in reply,” he answered in the clear, firm -voice of one who has mastered fear. “We know well enough what you can do -to us. But that doesn’t mean that we’re going to yield to you—to every -one of your evil wishes. Life isn’t so pleasant to either of us that -we’ll submit to everything in order to live. No matter what you do to -me—I know what I’ll do to you if you try to carry out your wicked -designs by force.” - -Doomsdorf eyed him calmly, but the smile of contempt was wholly gone -from his lips. “You’ll show fight?” he asked. - -“With every ounce I’ve got! You may master me—with every advantage of -weapons and physical strength—but you’ll have to kill me first. Bess -will kill herself before she’ll yield to you. You won’t be better -off—you’ll simply have no one to do your trapping for you. It isn’t -worth it, Doomsdorf.” - -He eyed them a moment, coolly and casually. “When I want anything, Ned, -I want it bad enough to pay all I’ve got for it,” he said in a -remarkably even tone. “Don’t presume that I value your lives so much -that I’ll turn one step from my course. Besides, Ned—you won’t be -here!” - -Ned’s eyes widened, as he tried to read his meaning. Doomsdorf laughed -softly in the silence. “You won’t be here!” he repeated. “You fool—do -you think I’d let you get in my way? It will rest as it is to-night. -To-morrow morning you start out to tend your traps—and you will tend -Bess’s lines as well as your own. She will stay here—with me—from now -on.” - -Ned felt his muscles hardening to steel. “I won’t leave her to you——” - -“You won’t? Don’t make any mistake on that point. If you are not on your -way by sun-up, you get a hundred—from the _knout_. You won’t be able to -leave for some time after that—but neither will you be able to -interfere with what doesn’t concern you. I’ll give you a few in the -dawn—just as a sample to show what they’re like. Nor am I afraid of -Bess killing herself. It’s cold and dark here, but it’s colder and -darker—There. She’ll stand a lot before she’ll do that.” - -“That’s definite?” Ned asked. - -“The truest words I ever spoke. I’ve never gone back on a promise yet.” - -“And believe me, I won’t go back on mine. If that’s all you have to -say——” - -“That’s quite all. Think it over—you’ll find it isn’t so bad. And -now—good night.” - -He bowed to them, in mock politeness. Then he turned back into his -cabin. - -For a moment his two prisoners stood inert, utterly motionless in the -wan light. Ned started to turn to her, still held by his own dark -thoughts, but at the first glance of her white, set face he whirled in -the most breathless amazement. It was in no way the stricken, terrified -countenance that he had seen a few moments before. The lips were firm, -the eyes deep and strange; even in the half-light he could see her look -of inexorable purpose. - -Some great resolve had come to her,—some sweeping emotion that might -even be akin to hope. Was she planning suicide? Was _that_ the meaning -of this new look of iron resolution in her face? He could conceive of no -other explanation; in self-inflicted death alone lay deliverance from -Doomsdorf’s lust. He dared not hope for any happier freedom. - -He reached groping hands to hers. “You don’t mean”—he gasped, hardly -able to make his lips move in speech—“you don’t intend——?” - -“To kill myself? Not yet, by a long way.” The girl’s hand slipped -cautiously out from the pocket of her jacket, showing him what seemed to -be a small, square box of tin. But the light was too dim for him to make -out the words on the paper label. “I got this from the shelf—just as we -left the cabin.” - -The hopeful tones in her voice was the happiest sound Ned had heard -since he had come to the island. - -“What is it?” he whispered. - -“Nothing very much—but yet—a chance for freedom. Come into the cabin -where we can scratch a match.” - -They moved into the newer hut of logs, and there Bess showed him the -humble article in which lay her hopes. It was merely a tin of fine snuff -from among Doomsdorf’s personal supplies. - - - - - XXVIII - - -Talking in an undertone, not to be heard through the log walls, Bess and -Ned made their hasty plans for deliverance. They gave no sign of the -excitement under which they worked. Seemingly they were unshaken by the -fact that life or death was the issue of the next hour,—the realization -that the absolute crisis was upon them at last. Bess did not recall, in -word or look, the trying experience just passed through. Like Ned she -was wholly self-disciplined, her mind moving cool and sure. Never had -their wilderness training stood them in better stead. - -Here, in the cabin they occupied, the assault must be made. The reason -was simply that their plan was defeated at the outset if they attempted -to master Doomsdorf in the squaw’s presence. For all her seeming -impassiveness, she would be like a panther in her lord’s defense: Bess -had had full evidence of that fact the first day in the cabin. And it -was easier to decoy Doomsdorf here than to attempt to entice the squaw -away from her own house. - -The fact that their two enemies must be handled singly required the -united efforts of not only Ned and Bess, but Lenore. Two must wait here, -as in ambush, and the third must make some pretext to entice Doomsdorf -from his cabin. This, the easiest part of the work, could fall to -Lenore. Both Ned and Bess realized that in their own hands must lie the -success or failure of the actual assault. - -The plan, on perfection, was really very simple. As soon as Lenore came, -she would be sent back to the cabin to bring Doomsdorf. She would need -no further excuse than that Bess had asked to see him: Ned’s knowledge -of the brute’s psychology told him that. The scene just past would be -fresh in his mind, and it would be wholly characteristic of his -measureless arrogance that he would at once assume that Bess had come to -terms. He would read in the request a vindication of his own philosophy, -the triumph of his own ruthless methods; and it would be balm to his -tainted soul to come and hear her beg forgiveness. Likely he would -anticipate complete surrender. - -Neither of the two conspirators could do this part of the work so well -as Lenore. For Bess to summon Doomsdorf herself was of course out of the -question; he might easily demand to hear her surrender on the spot. If -Ned went, inviting Doomsdorf to a secret conference with Bess, he would -invite suspicion if he reëntered the newer cabin with him; his obvious -course would be to remain outside and leave the two together. Besides, -Lenore was the natural emissary: a woman herself and thus more likely -chosen for woman’s delicate missions, she was also closer to Doomsdorf -than any other of the three, the one most likely to act as a -confidential agent. Doomsdorf would certainly comply with Bess’s request -to meet him in her cabin. The fact of the squaw’s presence would be -sufficient explanation to him why she would not care to confer with him -in his own. - -Ned would be waiting in the newer cabin when Lenore and Doomsdorf -returned. He would immediately excuse himself and pass out the door, at -the same instant that Bess extended a chair for Doomsdorf. And the -instant that he was seated Bess would dash a handful of the blinding -snuff into his eyes. - -Ned’s axe leaned just without the cabin door. Doomsdorf would notice it -as he went in: otherwise his suspicions might be aroused. And in his -first instant of agony and blindness, Ned would seize the weapon, dash -back through the door, and make the assault. - -The plan was more than a mere fighting chance. It would take Doomsdorf -off his guard. Ned had full trust in Bess’s ability to do her part of -the work; as to his own, he would strike the life from their brute -master with less compassion than he would slay a wolf. He could find no -break, no weak link in the project. - -They had scarcely perfected the plan before Lenore appeared, on the way -to her cot. Just an instant she halted, her face and golden head a glory -in the soft light, as she regarded their glittering eyes. - -Their eyes alone, luridly bright, told the story. Perhaps Ned was -slightly pale; nothing that could not be explained by the inroads made -upon him in the critical hour just passed. Perhaps Bess was faintly -flushed at the cheek bones. But those cold, shining eyes held her and -appalled her. “What is it?” she demanded. - -Ned moved toward her, reaching for her hands. For a breath he gazed into -her lovely face. “Bess wants you to go—and tell Doomsdorf—to come -here,” he told her. His voice was wholly steady, every word clearly -enunciated; if anything, he spoke somewhat more softly and evenly than -usual. “Just tell him that she wants to see him.” - -She took her eyes from his, glancing about with unmistakable -apprehension. - -“Why?” she demanded. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed.” - -“He _will_ be disturbed, before we’re done,” Ned told her grimly. “Just -say that—that she wants to see him. He’ll come—he’ll merely think it -has to do with some business we’ve just been talking over. Go at once, -Lenore—before he goes to bed. That’s your part—to bring him here. You -can leave him at the door if you like—you can even stay at the other -cabin while he comes.” - -Her searching eyes suddenly turned in fascinated horror to Bess. -Standing near the open door, so that the room might not be filled with -the dust of the snuff and thus convey a warning to Doomsdorf, she was -emptying the contents of the snuff-box into her handkerchief. Her eyes -gleamed under her brows, and her hands were wholly steady. Lenore -shivered a little, her hands pressing Ned’s. - -“What does it mean——?” - -“Liberty! _That’s_ what it means, if the plan goes through.” For the -first time Ned’s voice revealed suppressed emotion. Liberty! He spoke -the word as a devout man speaks of God. “It’s the only chance—now or -never,” he went on with perfect coldness. “You’ve got to hold up and do -your share—I know you can. If we succeed—and we’ve got every -chance—it’s freedom, escape from this island and Doomsdorf. If we fail, -it’s likely death—but death couldn’t be any worse than this. So we’ve -nothing to lose—and everything to gain.” - -Was it not true? Have not the greatest of all peoples always known that -it is better to die than to live as slaves? It was the very slogan of -the ages—the great inspiration without which human beings are not fit -to live. Overswept by their ardor Lenore turned back through the door. - -Her instructions were simple. The easiest task of the three was hers. -Bess took one of the crude chairs, her handkerchief—clutched as if she -had been weeping—in her lap. Ned sat down in one of the other chairs, -intending to arise and excuse himself the instant Doomsdorf appeared. -His muscles burned under his skin. - -It was only about fifty yards to the cabin. If Doomsdorf came at all, it -would be in the space of a few seconds. Lenore started out bravely: her -part of the task would be over in a moment. Just a few steps in the -glare of the Northern Lights, just a few listless words to Doomsdorf, -and liberty might easily be her reward. All the triumphs she had once -known might be hers again; luxury instead of hardship, flattery instead -of scorn—freedom instead of slavery. But what if the plan failed? Ned -had spoken bluntly, but beyond all shadow of doubt he had told the -truth. _Death_ would be the answer to all failure. Destruction for all -three. - -The door of the cabin closed behind her, and Lenore was alone with the -night. The night was rather temperate, for these latitudes, yet her -first sensation was one of cold. It seemed to be creeping into her -spirit, laying its blasting hand upon her heart. The stars appalled her, -the Northern Lights were unutterably dreadful. She tried to walk faster, -but instead she found herself walking more slowly. - -The wind stirred through the little spruce, whispering, whimpering, -trying to reach her ear with messages to which she dared not listen, -chilling her to the core, appalling her with its hushed, half-articulate -song of woe and death. There was nothing but Death on these snowy hills. -It walked them alone. It was Death that looked into her eyes now, so -close she could feel its icy hand on hers, its hollow visage leering -close to her own. Life might be hateful, its persecutions never done, -but Death was darkness, oblivion, a mystery and a terror beyond the -reach of thought. - -So faint that it seemed some secret voice within her own being, the -long-drawn singsong cry of a starving wolf trembled down to her from a -distant ridge. Here was another who knew about Death. He knew the woe -and the travail that is life, utter subservience to the raw forces of -the North; and yet he dared not die. This was the basic instinct. -Compared to it freedom was a feeble urge that was soon forgotten. This -whole wintry world was peopled with living creatures who hated life and -yet who dared not leave it. The forces of the North were near and -commanding to-night: they were showing her up, stripping her of her -delusions, laying bare the secret places of her heart and soul, testing -her as she had never been tested before. - -Could she too take the fighting chance? Could she too rise above this -awful first fear: master it, scorn it, go her brave way in the face of -it? - -But before ever she found her answer, she found herself at the cabin -door. It seemed to her that she had crossed the intervening distance on -the wings of the wind. In as short a time more Doomsdorf could reach the -newer cabin,—and the issue would be decided. Either they would be free, -or under the immutable sentence of death; not just Bess and Ned, but -herself too. She would pay the price with the rest. The wind would sweep -over the island and never hear her voice mingling with its own. For her, -the world would cease to be. The fire was warm and kindly in the hearth, -but she was renouncing it, for she knew not what of cold and terror. Not -just Ned and Bess would pay the price, but she too. Listless, terrified -almost to the verge of collapse, she turned the knob and opened the -door. Doomsdorf had not yet gone to his blankets; otherwise the great -bolt of iron would be in place. He was still sitting before the great, -glowing stove, dreaming his savage dreams. The girl halted before him, -leaning against a chair. - -At first her tongue could hardly shape the words. Her throat filled, her -heart faltered in her breast. “Bess—asked to see you,” she told him at -last. “She says for you to come—to her cabin.” - -The man regarded her with quickening interest, yet without the slightest -trace of suspicion. It seemed almost incredible that he did not see the -withering terror behind those blanched cheeks and starting eyes and -immediately guess its cause: only his own colossal arrogance saved the -plot at the outset. He was simply so triumphant by what seemed to be -Bess’s surrender, so drunk with his success in handling a problem that -at first had seemed so difficult, that the idea of conspiracy could not -even occur to him. He hardly saw the girl before him; if he had noticed -her at first, she was forgotten at once in his exultation. Even the -lifeless tone in which she spoke made no impression upon him: he only -heard her words. - -He got up at once. Lenore stared at him as if in a nightmare. She had -hoped in her deepest heart that he would refuse to come, that the great -test of her soul could be avoided, but already he was starting out the -door. She had done her part; she could wait here, if she liked, till the -thing was settled. In a few seconds more she would know her fate. - -Yet she couldn’t stay here and wait. To Doomsdorf’s surprise, she -followed him through the door, into the glare of the Northern Lights. -She did not know what impulse moved her; she was only aware of the -growing cold of terror. Not only Ned and Bess would pay the price if the -plan failed. She must pay too. The thought haunted her, every step, -every wild beat of her heart. - -All her life her philosophy had been of Self. And now, that Self was -once more in the forefront of her consciousness, she found her wild -excitement passed away, her brain working clear and sure. The night -itself terrified her no more. She was beyond such imaginative fears as -that: remembrance of _Self_, her _own_ danger and destiny, was making a -woman of her again. Only a fool forgot _Self_ for a dream. Only a madman -risked dear life for an ideal. Once more she was down to realities: she -was steadied and calmed, able to balance one thing with another. And now -she had at her command a superlative craft, even a degree of cunning. - -She must not forget that lately her position had been one of comparative -comfort. She was a slave, fawning upon a brute in human form, but the -cold had mostly spared her; and she knew nothing of the terrible -hardships that had been the share of Ned and Bess. Yet she was taking -equal risks with them. It is better to live and hate life than to die; -it is better to be a living slave than a dead freeman. Besides, lately -she had been awarded even greater comforts, won by fawning upon her -master. Her privileges would be taken swiftly from her if the plan -failed. She would not be able to persuade Doomsdorf that she was -guiltless of the plot; she had been the agent in decoying him to the -cabin, and likely enough, since her work took her among the various -cabin stores, he would attribute to her the finding and smuggling out of -the tin of snuff. If the plot failed, Doomsdorf would punish her part -with death,—or else with pain and hardship hardly less than death. If -Bess failed to reach his eyes with the blinding snuff, if Ned’s axe -missed its mark, _she as well as they would be utterly lost_. - -Doomsdorf was walking swiftly; already he was halfway from the door. The -desperate fight for freedom was almost at hand. But what was freedom -compared to the fear and darkness that is death? - -The ideal sustained her no more. It brought no fire to her frozen heart. -It was an empty word, nothing that could thrill and move one of her kind -and creed. Its meaning flickered out for her, and terror, infinite and -irresistible, seized her like a storm. - -There were no depths of ignominy beyond her now. She cried out shrilly -and incoherently, then stumbling through the snow, caught Doomsdorf’s -arm. “No, no,” she cried, fawning with lips and hands. “Don’t go in -there—they’re going to try to kill you. I didn’t have anything to do -with it—I swear I didn’t—and don’t make me suffer when I’ve saved -you——” - -He shook her roughly, until the torrent of her words had ceased, and she -was silenced beneath his lurid gaze. - -“You say—they’ve got a trap laid for me?” he demanded. - -Her hands clasped before him. “Yes, but I say I’m not guilty——” - -He pushed her contemptuously from him, and she fell in the snow. Then, -with a half-animal snarl that revealed all too plainly his murderous -rage, he drew his pistol from his holster and started on. - - - - - XXIX - - -Watching through the crack in the door Ned saw the girl’s act; and her -treason was immediately evident to him. Whatever darkness engrossed him -at the sight of the ignoble girl, begging for her little life even at -the cost of her lover’s, showed not at all in his white, set face. -Whatever unspeakable despair came upon him at this ruin of his ideals, -this destruction of all his hopes, it was evidenced neither in his -actions nor in the clear, cool quality of his thought. - -No other crisis had ever found him better disciplined. His mind seemed -to circumscribe the whole, dread situation in an instant. He turned, met -Bess’s straightforward gaze, saw her half-smile of complete -understanding. As she leaped toward him, he snatched up their two hooded -outer coats, and his arm half encircling her, he guided her through the -door. - -Whether or not she realized what had occurred he did not know, but there -was no time to tell her now. Nor were explanations necessary; trusting -him to the last she would follow where he led. “We’ll have to run for -it,” he whispered simply. “Fast as you can.” - -Ned had taken in the situation, made his decision, seized the parkas, -and guided Bess through the door all in one breath: the drama of -Lenore’s tragic dishonor was still in progress in the glare of the -Northern Lights. Doomsdorf, standing back to them, did not see the two -slip out the door, snatch up their snowshoes and fly. Otherwise his -pistol would have been quick to halt them. Almost at once they were -concealed, except for their strange flickering shadows in the snow, -behind the first fringe of stunted spruce. - -Ned led her straight toward the ice-bound sea. He realized at once that -their least shadow of hope lay in fast flight that might take them to -some inhabited island before Doomsdorf could overtake them; never in -giving him a chase across his own tundras. Even this chance was -tragically small, but it was all they had. To stay, to linger but a -moment, meant death from Doomsdorf’s pistol—or perhaps from some more -ingenious engine that his half-mad cunning might devise. - -Only the miles of empty ice stretched before them, covered deep with -snow and unworldly in the glimmer of the Northern Lights that still -flickered wanly in the sky; yet no other path was open. They halted a -single instant in the shelter of the thickets, slipped on their -snowshoes, then mushed as fast as they could on to the beach. In -scarcely a moment they were venturing out on the ice-bound wastes. - -Doomsdorf encountered their tracks as he reached the cabin door, and -guessing their intent, raced for the higher ground just above the cabin. -But when he caught sight of the fugitives, they were already out of -effective pistol range. He fired impotently until the hammer clicked -down against an empty breach, and then, still senseless with fury, -darted down to the cabin for his rifle. - -But he halted before he reached the door. After all, there was no -particular hurry. He knew how many miles of ice—some of it almost -impassable—lay between his island and Tzar Island, far to the east. It -was not the journey for a man and woman, traveling without supplies. -There was no need of sending his singing lead after them. Cold and -hunger, if he gave them play, would stop them soon enough. - -He had, however, other plans. He turned through the cabin door, spoke to -the sullen squaw, then began to make preparations for a journey. He took -a cold-proof wolf-hide robe, wrapped in it a great sack of pemmican, and -made it into a convenient pack for his back. Then he reloaded his -pistol, took the rifle down from the wall, and started forth down the -trail that Ned and Bess had made. - -It was likely true that the cold, though not particularly intense -to-night, would master them before ever they could reach Tzar Island. -They had no food, and inner fuel is simply a matter of life and death -while traveling Arctic ice. They had no guns to procure a fox, or any -other living creatures that they might encounter on the ice fields. But -yet Doomsdorf was not content. Death of cold was hardly less merciful -than that of a bullet. Just destruction would not satisfy the fury in -his heart; the strange, dark lust that raced through his veins like -poison demanded a more direct vengeance. Particularly he did not want -Bess to die on the ice. He would simply follow them, overtake them, and -bring them back; then some really diverting thing would likely occur to -him. - -It would be easy to do. There was no man in the North who could compete -with him in a fair race. The two had less than a mile start of him, and -to overtake them was but a matter of hours. On the other hand long days -of travel, one after another past all endurance, would be necessary -before they could ever hope to cross the ice ranges to reach the -settlements on Tzar Island. - -To Bess first came the realization of the utter hopelessness of their -flight. She could not blind herself to this fact. Nor did she try to -hide from herself the truth: in these last, bitter months she had found -that the way of wisdom was to look truth in the face, struggling against -it to the limit of her strength, but yielding herself neither to vain -hope nor untoward despair. The reason why the flight was hopeless was -because she herself could not stand the pace. She did not have the -beginning of Ned’s strength. Soon he would have to hold back so that she -could follow with greater ease, and that meant their remorseless hunter -would catch up. The venture had got down simply to a trial of speed -between Doomsdorf, whose mighty strength gave him every advantage, and -Ned, who braved the ice with neither blankets nor food supplies. Her -presence, slowing down Ned’s speed, increased the odds against him -beyond the last frontier of hope. - -Tired though she was from the day’s toil, she moved freshly and easily -at first. Ned broke trail, she mushed a few feet behind. She had no -sensation of cold; hardened to steel, her muscles moved like the sliding -parts of a wonderful machine. The ice was wonderfully smooth as yet, -almost like the first, thin, bay ice frozen to the depth of safety. But -already the killing pace had begun to tell. She couldn’t keep it up -forever without food and rest. And the brute behind her was tireless, -remorseless as death itself. - -The Northern Lights died at last in the sky, and the two hastened on in -the wan light of a little moon that was already falling toward the west. -And now she was made aware that the night was bitter cold. It was -getting to her, in spite of her furs. But as yet she gave no sign of -distress to Ned. A great bravery had come into her heart, and already -she could see the dawn—the first aurora of ineffable beauty—of her -far-off and glorious purpose. She would not let herself stop to rest. -She would not ask Ned to slacken his pace. She was tired to the point of -anguish already; soon she would know the last stages of fatigue; but -even then she would not give sign. Out of her love for him a new -strength was born—that sublime and unnamable strength of women that is -nearest to divinity of anything upon this lowly earth—and she knew that -it would hold her up beyond the last limits of physical exhaustion. She -would not give way to unconsciousness, thus causing Ned to stop and wait -beside her till she died. None of these things would she do. Her spirit -soared with the wings of her resolve. Instead, her plan was simply to -hasten on—to keep up the pace—until she toppled forward lifeless on -the ice. She would master herself until death mastered her. Then Ned, -halting but an instant to learn the truth, could speed on alone. Thus he -would have no cause to wait for her. - -He travels the fastest who travels alone. Out of his chivalry he would -never leave her so long as a spark of life remained in her body: her -course was simply to stand the pace until the last spark went out. She -could fight away unconsciousness. She knew she could; as her physical -strength ebbed, she felt this new, wondrous power sweeping through her. - -He travels the fastest who travels alone. Without her, his mighty -strength of body and spirit might carry him to safety. It was a long -chance at best, over the ice mountains; but this man who mushed before -her was not of ordinary mold. The terrible training camp through which -he had passed had made of him a man of steel, giving him the lungs of a -wolf and a lion’s heart, and it was conceivable that, after unimagined -hardship, he might make Tzar Island. There he could get together a party -to rescue Lenore, and though his love for the ignoble girl was dead, his -destiny would come out right after all. It was all she dared pray for -now,—that he might find life and safety. But he was beaten at the start -if he had to wait for her. - -On and on through the night they sped, over that wonderfully smooth ice, -never daring to halt: strange, wandering figures in the moonlit snow. -But Bess was not to carry her brave intent through to the end. She had -not counted on Ned’s power of observation. He suddenly halted, turned -and looked into her face. - -It was wan and dim in the pale light; and yet something about its -deepening lines quickened his interest. She saw him start; and with a -single syllable of an oath, reached his hand under her hood to the track -of the artery at her throat. He needed to listen but an instant to the -fevered pulse to know the truth. - -“We’re going too fast,” he told her shortly. - -“No—no!” Her tone was desperate, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. -Wrenching back her self-control she tried to speak casually. “I can keep -up easily,” she told him. “I don’t feel it yet—I’ll tell you when I do. -We can’t ever make it if we slow up.” - -He shook his head, wholly unconvinced. “I don’t know what’s got into -you, Bess. You can’t fool me. I know I feel it, good and plenty, and -you’re just running yourself to death. Doomsdorf himself can’t do any -more than kill us——” - -“But he can——” - -“We’re going to hit an easier pace. Believe me, he’s not running his -heart out. He’s planning on endurance, rather than speed. I was a fool -not to think about you until it began to get me.” - -It was true that the killing pace had been using up the vital nervous -forces of both their bodies. Ned was suffering scarcely not at all as -yet, but he had caught the first danger signals. Bess was already -approaching the danger point of fatigue. When Ned started on again he -took a quick but fairly easy walking pace. - -Yet Bess’s only impulse was to give way to tears. If their first gait -had been too fast, this was far too slow. While it was the absolute -maximum that she could endure—indeed she could not stand it without -regular rests that would ultimately put them in Doomsdorf’s hands—it -was considerably below Ned’s limit. He could not make it through at such -a pace as this. Because of her, he was destroying his own chance for -life and freedom. - -They mushed on in silence, not even glancing back to keep track of -Doomsdorf. And it came about, in the last hours of the night, that the -rest both of them so direly needed was forced upon them by the powers of -nature. The moon set; and generally smooth though the ice was, they -could not go on by starlight. There was nothing to do but rest till -dawn. - -“Lie down on the ice,” Ned advised, “and don’t worry about waking up.” -His voice moved her and thrilled her in the darkness. “I’ll set myself -to wake up at the first ray; that’s one thing I can always do.” She let -her tired body slip down on the snow, relying only on her warm fur -garments to protect her from it. Ned quickly settled beside her. “And -you’d better lie as close to me as you can.” - -He was prompted only by the expedience of cold. Yet as she drew near, -pressing her body against his, it was as if some dream that she had -dared not admit, even to herself, had come true. Nothing could harm her -now. The east wind could mock at her in vain, the starry darkness had no -terror for her. The warmth of his body sped through her, dear beyond all -naming; and such a ghost as but rarely walks those empty ice fields came -and enfolded her with loving arms. - -It was the Ghost of Happiness. Of course it was not real -happiness,—only its shadow, only its dim image built of the -unsubstantial stuff of dreams, yet it was an ineffable glory to her -aching heart. It was just an apparition that was born of her own vain -hopes, yet it was kindly, yielding one hour of unspeakable loveliness in -this night of woe and terror. Lying breast to breast, she could pretend -that he was hers, to-night. Of course real happiness could not come to -her; the heart that beat so steadily close to hers was never hers; yet -for this little hour she was one with him, and the ghost seemed very, -very near. She could forget the weary wastes of ice, the cold northern -stars, their ruthless enemy ever drawing nearer. - -Instinctively Ned’s arms went about her, pressing her close; and -tremulous with this ghost of happiness, the high-born strength of -woman’s love surged through her again, more compelling than ever before. -Once more her purpose flamed, wan and dim at first, then slowly -brightening until its ineffable beauty filled her eyes with tears. Once -more she saw a course of action whereby Ned might have a fighting chance -for life. Her first plan, denied her because of Ned’s refusal to lead -faster than she could follow, had embodied her own unhappy death from -the simple burning up of her life forces from over-exertion; but this -that occurred to her now was not so merciful. It might easily preclude a -fate that was ten times worse than death. Yet she was only glad that she -had thought of it. She suddenly lifted her face, trying to pierce the -pressing gloom and behold Ned’s. - -“I want you to promise me something, Ned,” she told him quietly. - -He answered her clearly, from full wakefulness. “What is it?” - -“I want you to promise—that if you see there’s no hope for me—that -you’ll go on—without me. Suppose Doomsdorf almost overtook us—and you -saw that he could seize me—but you could escape—I want you to promise -that you won’t wait.” - -“To run off and desert you——” - -“Listen, Ned. Use your good sense. Say I was in a place where I couldn’t -get away, and you could. Suppose we became separated somehow on the ice, -and he should be overtaking me, but you’d have a good chance to go to -safety. Oh, you would go on, wouldn’t you?” Her tone was one of infinite -pleading. “Would there be any use of your returning—and getting killed -yourself—when you couldn’t possibly save me? Don’t you see the thing to -do would be to keep on—with the hope of coming out at last—and then -getting up an expedition to rescue me? Promise me you won’t destroy what -little hope we have by doing such a foolish thing as that——” - -Wondering, mystified by her earnestness, half inclined to believe that -she was at the verge of delirium from cold and exertion, his arms -tightened about her and he gave her his promise so that she might rest. -“Of course I’ll do the wise thing,” he told her. “The only thing!” - -Her strong little arms responded to the embrace, and slowly, joyously -she drew his face toward hers. “Then kiss me, Ned,” she told him, -soberly yet happily, as a child might beg a kiss at bedtime. Her love -for him welled in her heart. “I want you to kiss me good night.” - -Slowly, with all the tenderness of his noble manhood, he pressed his -lips to hers. “Good night, Bess,” he told her simply. For an instant, -night and cold and danger were forgotten. “Good night, little girl.” - -Their lips met again, but now they did not fall away so that he could -speak. There was no need for words. His arm about her held her lips to -his, and thus they lay, forgetting the wastes of ice about them, for the -moment secure from the cruel forces that had hounded them so long. The -wind swept by unheard. The fine snow drifted before it, as if it meant -to cover them and never yield them up again. The dimmer stars faded and -vanished into the recesses of the sky. - -The cold’s scourge was impotent now. The hour was like some dream of -childhood: calm, wondrous, ineffably sweet. The ghost of happiness -seemed no longer just a shadow. For the moment Bess’s fancy believed it -real. - -Sleep drifted over Ned. Still with her lips on his, Bess listened till -his slow, quiet breathing told her that he was no longer conscious. She -waited an instant more, her arms trembling as she pressed him close as -she could. - -“I love you, Ned,” she whispered. “Whatever I do—it’s all for love of -you.” - -Then, very softly so as not to waken him, she slipped out of his embrace -and got to her feet. She started away straight north,—at right angles -to the direction that they had gone before. - - - - - XXX - - -Ned’s instincts had been trained like the rest of him, and they watched -over him while he slept. They aroused him from sleep as soon as it was -light enough to pick his way over the rough ice that lay in front, yet -as if in realization of his physical need of rest, not an instant -sooner. He sprang up to find the dawn, gray over the ice-bound sea. - -But the miracle of the morning, even the possibility that Doomsdorf had -made time while he slept and was now almost upon him did not hold his -thought an instant. His mind could not reach beyond the tragic fact that -he was alone. Bess was gone, vanished like a spirit that had never been -in the gray dawn. - -The moment was one of cruel but wonderful revelation to Ned. It was as -if some unspeakable blessing had come to one who was blind, but before -ever sight came to him, it was snatched away. As sleep had fallen over -him, he had suddenly been close to the most profound discovery, the -greatest truth yet of his earthly life; but now only its image remained. -Bess had been in his arms, her lips against his, but now his arms were -empty and his lips were cold. - -She had gone. Her tracks led straight north through the snow. The most -glorious hour life had ever given him had faded like a dream. Whence lay -this glory, the source of his wonder as well as the crushing despair -that now was upon him he might have seen in one more glance; in one -moment’s scrutiny of his soul he might have laid bare a heart’s secret -that had eluded him for all these past weary weeks. But there was no -time for such now. Bess had gone, and he must follow her. This was the -one truth left in an incredible heaven and earth. - -Her last words swept through his memory. They gave him the key: his -deductions followed swift and sure by the process of remorseless logic. -In a single moment he knew the dreadful truth: Bess had not gone on in -the expectation of Ned overtaking her, thus saving a few moments of his -precious time. She had not gone east at all. She knew the stars as well -as he did: she would have never, except by some secret purpose, turned -north instead of east. He saw the truth all too plain. - -“Say we became separated somehow on the ice,” she had told him before he -slept, “and he should be overtaking me but you’d have a chance to go on -to safety!” To quiet her, he had given her his promise to go on and -leave her to her fate; and now she had _purposely separated_ herself -from him. She had gone to decoy Doomsdorf from his trail. - -She had chosen the direction that would give Doomsdorf the longest chase -and take him farthest from Ned’s trail. He couldn’t follow them both. -The morning light would show him that his two fugitives had separated; -and she had reasoned soundly in thinking that their enemy would pursue -her, rather than Ned. His lust for her was too commanding for him to -take any other course. While he pursued her, Ned would have every chance -to hurry on eastward to the safety of Tzar Island. - -Had he not promised that if he found he could not aid her, he would go -on alone? Realizing that she was holding him back, had she not put -herself where it would be impossible for him to give her further aid. It -would only mean capture and death, certain as the brightening dawn, for -him to follow and attempt to come between her and Doomsdorf. On the -other hand, this was his chance: while their savage foe ran north in -pursuit of Bess, Ned himself could put a distance between them that -could hardly be overtaken. There was nothing to gain by following -her—her capture at Doomsdorf’s hands was an ultimate certainty—only -his own life to lose. - -She had reasoned true. Together their flight was hopeless. Alone, he had -a chance. By leading Doomsdorf from his trail she had increased mightily -that chance. The affair was all one sided. Yet, not knowing why, he took -the side of folly. - -Never for a moment did he even consider going on and leaving her to her -fate. He could not aid her, and yet in one moment more he had launched -forth on her trail, faster than he had ever mushed before. He had no -inward battle, no sense of sacrifice. There was not even a temptation to -take the way of safety. In these last months he had been lifted far -beyond the reach of any such feeble voice as that. - -He sped as fast as he could along the dim trail she had made. The dawn, -icy-breathed, soon out-distanced him, permitting him to see Bess’s -fleeing form before he had scarcely begun to overtake her. She was just -a dark shadow at first against the stretching fields of white; but he -never lost sight of her after that. With the brightening dawn he saw her -ever more distinctly. - -And in the middle distance, west of both of them, he saw the huge, dark -form of Doomsdorf bearing down upon her. - -She had guessed right as to Doomsdorf. Catching sight of her, he had -left their double trail to overtake her. Hoping and believing that Ned -had taken his chance of safety and was fleeing eastward, she was leading -his enemy ever farther and farther north, away from him. - -He was a strong man, this Cornet who had fought the North, but the -bitter, scalding tears shot into his eyes at the sight of that strange, -hopeless drama on the ice. But not one of them was in self-pity. They -were all for the slight figure of the girl, trying still to save him, -running so hopelessly from the brute who was even now upon her. To Ned, -the scene had lost its quality of horror. It was only unspeakably tragic -there behind the rising curtains of the dawn. - -She was trying to dodge him now, cutting back and forth as a mouse might -try to dodge the talons of a cat,—still trying to save a few little -seconds for Ned. She wasn’t aware yet that her trial was all in vain. In -an attempt to hold Doomsdorf off as long as possible, she had not paused -one instant to assure herself that Ned had gone on east. He had given -her his word; likely she trusted him implicitly. The man’s heart seemed -to swell, ready to break, in pity for her. - -A moment later he saw her slip on the ice, and in dread silence, -Doomsdorf’s arms went about her. Neither of them had apparently observed -Ned. They only became aware of him as his great shout, half in rage, -half in defiance, reached them across the ice. - -It was really an instinctive cry. Partly the impulse behind it was to -warn Doomsdorf of his presence, hoping thus to call his attention from -Bess and thus save the girl immediate insult at his hands. And kneeling -upon the girl’s form, like a great bear upon its living prey, Doomsdorf -looked up and saw him. - -Even at the distance that separated them the startled movement of his -head revealed his unutterable amazement. Doubtless he thought that Ned -was miles to the east by now. The amazement gave way to boundless -triumph as Ned walked calmly toward him. Then while he held the girl -prone on the ice with his great knee, Doomsdorf’s rifle made blue -lightning in the air. - -Ned’s response was to throw his arms immediately into the air in token -of complete surrender. He was thinking coolly, his faculties in perfect -control; and he knew he must not attempt resistance now. Only death lay -that way; at that range Doomsdorf could shatter him lifeless to the ice -with one shot from the heavy rifle. It wasn’t enough just to die, thus -taking a quick road out of Doomsdorf’s power. Such a course would not -aid Bess. And to Bess he owed his duty—to aid Bess, in every way he -could, was his last dream. - -At first he had had to play the cruel game for the sake of Lenore. That -obligation was past now; but it had never, at its greatest, moved him -with one-half the ardor as this he bore to Bess. He must not go this -route to freedom, or any other, until Bess could go with him. He must -not leave her in Doomsdorf’s power. - -That much was sure. Self-inflicted death did not come into the Russian’s -calculations—he was too close to the beasts for that—so he would not -be on guard. Whatever befell, this gate was always open. Ned would play -the game through to the end, at her side. - -Doomsdorf watched him approach in silence. The triumphant gloating that -Ned expected did not come to pass; evidently their brute master was in -too savage a mood even for this. “Wait where you are,” he ordered -simply, “or I’ll blow your head off. I’ll be ready for you in a minute.” - -He bent, and with one motion jerked Bess to her feet. Then in silence, -still guarding them with his rifle, he pointed them their way,—back to -his cabin on the island. - -It was a long and bitter march across that desolate ice. Except for a -share of his pemmican that Doomsdorf distributed, for expedience rather -than through any impulse of mercy, Bess could have hardly lasted out. -They walked almost in silence, Ned in front, then Bess, their captor -bringing up the rear; a strange death march over those frozen seas. - -This was the end. The fight was done; there was no thought or dream but -that the last, fighting chance was lost. Ned knew he was going to his -death: any other possibility was utterly beyond hope. The only wonder he -had left was what form his death would take. There was no shadow of -mercy on the evil face of his captor. - -Bess knew that her portion was also death, simply because the white, -pure flame that was her life could not abide in the body that was prey -to Doomsdorf. Death itself would cheat those terrible, ravishing hands: -this was as certain a conviction as any she had ever known in all the -brief dream of her life. Whether it would be brought about by her own -hand, by the merciful, caressing touch of her lover’s knife, or whether -simply by outraged nature, snatching her out of Doomsdorf’s power, she -neither knew nor cared. - -The file trudged on. Ned led the way unguided. The hours passed. The dim -shadow of the shore crags strengthened. And another twilight was laying -its first shadows on the snow as they stepped upon the snowy beach. - -It was at this point that Bess suddenly experienced an inexplicable -quickening of her pulse, an untraced but breathless excitement that was -wholly apart from the fact that she was nearing the cabin of her -destiny. The air itself seemed curiously hushed, electric, as if a great -storm were gathering; the moment was poignant with a breathless -suspense. She could not have told why. Warning of impending, great -events had been transmitted to her through some unguessed -under-consciousness; some way, somehow, she knew that it had reached her -from the mind of the man who walked in front. Fiery thoughts were -leaping through Ned’s brain, and some way they had passed their flame to -her. - -A moment later Ned turned to her, ostensibly to help her up the steep -slope of the beach. She saw with amazement that his face was stark white -and that his eyes glowed like live coals. Yet no message was conveyed to -Doomsdorf, tramping behind. It was only her own closeness to him, her -love that brought her soul to his, that told her of some far-reaching -and terrific crisis that was at hand at last. - -“_Walk exactly in my steps!_” he whispered under his breath. It was only -the faintest wisp of sound, no louder than his own breathing; yet Bess -caught every word. She did not have to be told that there was infinite -urgency behind the command. Her nerves seemed to leap and twitch; yet -outwardly there was no visible sign that a message had been passed -between them. - -Now Ned was leading up toward the shore crags, into a little pass -between the rocks that was the natural egress from the beach on to the -hills behind. He walked easily, one step after another in regular -cadence: only his glowing eyes could have told that this instant had, by -light of circumstances beyond Bess’s ken, become the most crucial in his -life. And it was a strange and ironic thing that the knowledge he relied -on now, the facility that might turn defeat into victory, was not some -finesse gained in his years of civilized living, no cultural growth from -some great university far to the south, but merely one of the basic -tricks of a humble trade. - -Doomsdorf had told him, once, that a good trapper must learn to mark his -sets. Any square yard of territory must be so identified, in the mind’s -eye, that the trapper can return, days later, walk straight to it and -know its every detail. Ned Cornet had learned his trade. He was a -trapper; and he knew this snowy pass as an artist knows his canvas. He -stepped boldly through. - -Bess walked just behind, stepping exactly in his tracks. Her heart -raced. It was not merely because the full truth was hidden from her that -she walked straight and unafraid. She would always follow bravely where -Ned led. Now both of them had passed through the little, narrow gap -between lofty, snow-swept crags. Doomsdorf trudged just behind. - -Then something sharp and calamitous as a lightning bolt seemed to strike -the pass. There was a loud ring and clang of metal, the sharp crack of a -snowshoe frame broken to kindling, and then, obliterating both, a wild -bellow of human agony like that of a mighty grizzly wounded to the -death. Ned and Bess had passed in safety, but Doomsdorf had stepped -squarely into the great bear trap that Ned had set the evening before. - -The cruel jaws snapped with a clang of iron and the crunch of flesh. The -shock, more than any human frame could endure, hurled Doomsdorf to his -knees; yet so mighty was his physical stamina that he was able to retain -his grip on his rifle. And the instant that he went down Ned turned, -leaping with savage fury to strike out his hated life before he could -rise again. - -He was upon him before Doomsdorf could raise his rifle. As he sprang he -drew his knife from its sheath, and it cut a white path through the -gathering dusk. And now their arms went about each other in a final -struggle for mastery. - -Caught though he was in the trap, Doomsdorf was not beaten yet. He met -that attack with incredible power. His great hairy hand caught Ned’s arm -as it descended, and though he could not hold it, he forced him to drop -the blade. With the other he reached for his enemy’s throat. - -This was the final conflict; yet of such might were these contestants, -so terrible the fury of their onslaughts, that both knew at once that -the fight was one of seconds. These two mighty men gave all they had. -The fingers clutched and closed at Ned’s throat. The right hand of the -latter, from which the blade had fallen, tugged at the pistol butt at -Doomsdorf’s holster. - -Bess leaped in, like a she-wolf in defense of her cubs, but one great -sweep of Doomsdorf’s arm hurled her unconscious in the snow. There were -to be no outside forces influencing this battle. The trap at Doomsdorf’s -foot was Ned’s only advantage; and he had decoyed his enemy into it by -his own cunning. It was man to man at last: a cruel war settled for good -and all. - -It could endure but an instant more. Already those iron fingers were -crushing out Ned’s life. So closely matched were the two foes, so -terrible their strength, that their bodies scarcely moved at all; each -held the other in an iron embrace, Ned tugging with his left hand at the -fingers that clutched his throat, Doomsdorf trying to prevent his foe -from drawing the pistol that he wore at his belt and turning it against -him. - -It was the last war; and now it had become merely a question of which -would break first. They lay together in the snow, utterly silent, -motionless, for all human eyes could see, their faces white with agony, -every muscle exerting its full, terrific pressure. Ever Doomsdorf’s -fingers closed more tightly at Ned’s throat; ever Ned’s right hand drew -slowly at the pistol at Doomsdorf’s belt. - -Neither the gun nor the strangling fingers would be needed in a moment -more. The strain itself would soon shatter and destroy their mortal -hearts. The night seemed to be falling before Ned’s eyes; his familiar, -snowy world was dark with the nearing shadow of death. But the pistol -was free of the holster now, and he was trying to turn it in his hand. - -It took all the strength of his remaining consciousness to exert a last, -vital ounce of pressure. Then there was a curious low sound, muffled and -dull as sounds heard in a dream. And dreams passed over him, like waves -over water, as he relaxed at last, breathing in great sobs, in the -reddened drifts. - -Bess, emerging into consciousness, crawled slowly toward him. He felt -the blessing of her nearing presence even in his half-sleep. But -Doomsdorf, their late master, lay curiously inert, his foot still held -by the cruel jaws of iron. A great beast-of-prey had fallen in the trap; -and the killer-gun had sped a bullet, ranging upward and shattering his -wild heart. - - * * * * * - -All this was just a page in Hell Island’s history. She had had one -dynasty a thousand-thousand years before ever Doomsdorf made his first -track in her spotless snows; and all that had been done and endured was -not more than a ripple in the tides that beat upon her shores. With a -new spring she came into her own again. Spring brought the _Intrepid_, -sputtering through the new passages between the floes; and the old -island kings returned to rule before ever the masts of the little craft -had faded and vanished in the haze. - -The _Intrepid_ had taken cargo other than the usual bales of furs. The -sounds of human voices were no more to be heard in the silences, and the -wolf was no longer startled, fear and wonder at his heart, by the sight -of a tall living form on the game trails. The traps were moss-covered -and lost, and the wind might rage the night through at the cabin window, -and no one would hear and no one would be afraid. - -The savage powers of the wild held undisputed sway once more, not again -to be set at naught by these self-knowing mortals with a law unto -themselves. Henceforth all law was that of the wild, never to be -questioned or disobeyed. - -It may have been that sometimes, on winter nights, the wolf pack would -meet a strange, great shadow on the snow fields: but if so, it was only -the one-time master of the island, uneasy in his cold bed; and it was -nothing they need fear or to turn them from the trail. It was just a -shadow that hurried by, a wan figure buffeted by the wind, in the eerie -flare of the Northern Lights. And even this would pass in time. He would -be content to sleep, and let the snow drift deeper over his head. - -Even the squaw had gone on the _Intrepid_ to join her people in a -distant tribe. But there is no need to follow her, or the three that had -taken ship with her. On the headlong journey south to spread the word of -their rescue, of their halting at the first port to send word and to -learn that the occupants of the second lifeboat had been rescued from -Tzar Island months before, of Godfrey Cornet’s glory at the sight of his -son’s face and the knowledge of the choice he had made, of the light and -shadow of their life trails in the cities of men, there is nothing that -need be further scrutinized. To Hell Island they were forgotten. The -windy snow fields knew them no more. - -Yet for all they were bitterly cruel, the wilds had been kind too. They -had shown the gold from the dross. They had revealed to Ned the way of -happiness,—and it led him straight into Bess’s arms. There he could -rest at the end of his day’s toil, there he found not only love and -life, but the sustenance of his spirit, the soul of strength by which he -might stand erect and face the light. - -Thus they had found a safe harbor where the Arctic wind might never -chill them; a hearth where such terror as dwelt in the dark outside -could not come in. - - THE END - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Note: - -A few obvious punctuation errors have been corrected without note. - -A cover has been created for this ebook and is placed in the public -domain. - -[End of _The Isle of Retribution_ by Edison Marshall] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ISLE OF RETRIBUTION *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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