CHAPTER IVAT FORT GOOD HOPE
At Fort Good Hopeon the big river, the free trader Andrew Gault and his financial backer David Ogilvie, stood by the flagpole concluding their business, while the steam-launchCourierwaited in the stream below to carry Ogilvie down river.
Outside of the towns, Fort Good Hope was the most enterprising and progressive Post in that country. The original log buildings were now used as bunk-houses for the half-breed employees; while on one side rose the magnificent dwelling of the trader, built of clapboards in the “outside” style and having fancy porches with turned pillars; and on the other side the equally modern store with plate glass windows imported at God knows what expense and trouble; and a huge sign. This sign was the occasion of considerable humor throughout the country, since there was nobody who required to be told whose store it was.
This was by no means all of the improvements at Fort Good Hope. Gault had built and now operated a steamboat on the river, which connected with a line of wagons across the ninety-mile portage to Caribou Lake, and so kept him in touch with the world. By means of the steamboat he had imported an electric light plant, a sawmill and a steam process mill for grinding and bolting flour. The land along the river was rich, and Gault had established farmers there. They were only frozen out about one year in three; and that was their loss, not Gault’s. His flour, raised and milled on the spot, he was able to sell to the Indians at an enormous profit.
In spite of all this, when Gault made up his accounts with Ogilvie, the financier pursed up his mouth in a grudging fashion, and Gault who was a bitter, proud man, ground his teeth with rage.
“Your improvements are fine, fine,” said Ogilvie dryly; “the Post looks almost like a village on the railway. But my dear man, all this only returns a beggarly ten or fifteen per cent on the investment. I need not point out to you that our company is accustomed to receive two profits on every transaction. In other words we do not want the cash that you remit to us; we want fur. And I’m sorry to see that your consignments of fur have been growing less every year.”
The trader was silent out of anger; and Ogilvie went on: “The history of all the old posts is the same. With the advance of civilization the fur is always retreating. With your steamboats and your sawmills you are hastening the process, my dear Gault. At the other old posts as the fur recedes they reach after it with sub-posts and trading stations. Why don’t you do something of the sort? You are in a better strategic position than any of them, because off to the northwest here you have a vast land that is still written down unexplored on the maps. Why don’t you get that fur?”
“As you know,” muttered Gault, “on the northwest I am blanketed by Hector Blackburn.”
Ogilvie shrugged. “Why remain blanketed?” he asked.
“What do you propose?” asked Gault bitterly.
“Oh, the specific measures must be left to you,” said Ogilvie hastily. “You are the man on the ground. But of course our company will back you up in anything you undertake. The old rough stuff has gone out of fashion, but the principle is the same. To put it bluntly, Gault: buy him out or drive him out.”
“The entire resources of our company would not buy him out,” said Gault. “The man is drunk with pride at having the name of the last free trader.”
“Well then?” said Ogilvie meaningly.
“As to driving him out, I mean to do that; but I must await my opportunity. He’s in an almost impregnable position.”
“Why did you let him get in such a position?” murmured Ogilvie. “You were on the ground first.”
“He had all the luck,” said Gault bitterly.
“Why is his position so impregnable?”
“Well, for one thing he has a tribe of Indians completely under his thumb. Those are the Slavis, the most ignorant and primitive race of them all. Once they covered this whole country, but have gradually been pushed back by the Crees and other tribes. They have some other name, but I don’t know what it is. All the other Indians call them Slavis. Well, Blackburn has got this people penned up in his own country, where no whites can communicate with them. He deliberately trades on their ignorance and superstition. He has persuaded them that I am a devil and that black magic is worked at this Post, and no power under Heaven can persuade them to come within fifty miles of me.”
Ogilvie laughed. “Not bad,” he said. “Why don’t you outbid him for fur? That might work a miracle.”
“I have tried it,” said Gault grimly. “He is willing to go higher than the company is willing to let me go.”
“But surely a year or two of that, with his ruinously expensive transport would break him,” said Ogilvie.
“Blackburn is as rich as Crœsus,” said Gault bitterly; “and he’d risk every cent of it to beat me. What is more, he is entirely independent of transport. When they run out of food over there, he sends his cheaper furs to me for flour, and I have to take them, because I need the fur. Blackburn trades horses for fur. He has in the triangle between his river, the foothills and the Mud River, a vast natural range for horses. God knows how many thousands of head he has. The fame of them has spread all over the country. He can afford to sell them cheap since they cost him nothing. The Sikannis Indians bring their fur all the way from British Columbia to trade for horses. The Indians from Wabiscaw and eastward cross the river here right under my nose, carrying their fur to Blackburn for horses.”
“You say you are awaiting your opportunity,” said Ogilvie; “how will you know when that comes?”
“I have a spy at Blackburn’s Post,” said Gault. “It wasn’t easy to find him, because nobody can speak their damned language but Blackburn. This man, Etzooah, is the son of a Cree father and a Slavi mother, and is able to mix with the Slavis as one of themselves.”
“What good do you expect that to do you?”
“Etzooah talks to the Slavis in my interest. However, that is not what I am counting on.” Gault smiled disagreeably. “Blackburn is a headstrong, passionate man, and a hard drinker. He treats the Slavis like dogs. He believes there is nobody to call him to account. Some day he will go too far. Then I’ll have the law on him. He runs his whole show single-handed. Won’t tolerate a white man near him. Consequently if he were removed, even for a while, the whole thing would fall into confusion. That will be my chance.”
“I have heard there was a daughter,” said Ogilvie idly.
“Yes, a black-haired she-devil in her father’s own image!” said Gault.
“Well, good-by until next Spring,” said Ogilvie. “I wish you every success. If Blackburn were out of the way this would be the greatest Post in the country.” He looked around him with assumed regret. “You have made so many improvements it would be a pity if we had to close you out. But of course we must have the fur. . . . Good-by. . . . Good-by. . . .”
Gault watched him go with rage and bitterness making his heart black. Damn all financiers and officials who fattened on the labors of better men than themselves! Gault had not told him the full history of his relations with Hector Blackburn; but no doubt Ogilvie knew anyhow, for it was common gossip throughout the fur country; how Gault and Blackburn had come to grips a dozen times during the past twenty years, and Gault had been invariably and humiliatingly worsted. He too, was a ruthless and determined man, and when he thought over these things it was almost more than he could bear.
Andrew Gault was a bachelor, living alone in his monstrosity of a yellow clapboarded house. A handsome, lean, grizzled man in his early fifties, with a cold and polished manner that one would hardly expect to find in a fur-trader. It was a point of pride with Gault never to allow himself to go slack. For all he was seven hundred miles from town, his house was well-furnished, his servants well-trained. These last were of the Cree tribe, a handsomer and more intelligent race than the miserable Slavis, but not so manageable.
Some days after the visit of Ogilvie, Gault, having finished his breakfast, remained sitting at the table, gloomily staring at the cloth, and abstractedly crumbling pellets of bread. His mind was forever traveling the same weary round without finding a way out. Thoughts of Hector Blackburn poisoned his very being. How to get back at him; how to ruin him. Ah! his enemy seemed to be intrenched at every point! Blackburn could laugh at him. Stronger measures must be taken now, for certain ruin stared Gault in the face. Somehow, Blackburn’s own weapons must be turned against him. Could not the ignorant Slavis be incited to rebellion? They must have their own medicine men or conjurers, and these fellows could generally be bought. He, Gault, must get hold of Etzooah before the next fur season set in.
Toma, Gault’s old house-servant entered the room. He was excited. “Wah! Man come from Blackburn’s Post,” he announced.
To Gault this had the effect of a miracle. He sprang to his feet. “What man?” he cried.
“Name Etzooah,” said Toma.
“Bring him to me! Bring him to me!” shouted Gault. “Let none else come in until I call.”
Toma shuffled out of the room, and Gault had time to compose himself. It was very bad policy of course, for a white man to betray his emotion before a native. The trader reseated himself.
Etzooah came sidling around the door, awe-struck at finding himself admitted to the great house, and exhibiting a witless grin. He was a small man with a bullet head set between muscular shoulders. His thick coarse hair was cut straight across his forehead in the Slavi style, and straight around at his neck behind. He wore good store clothes with a gay worsted sash about his middle. For business reasons the spy affected an air of good-natured, giggling imbecility, which would deceive nobody who knew the Indians. His little eyes were as quick and sharp as a weasel’s.
“What news?” asked Gault curtly.
“Blackburn is dead,” said Etzooah, laughing heartily and silently.
Gault caught his breath. For an instant he lost all self-control. The upper part of his body sprawled across the table; his eyes seemed to start from his head. “Dead?” he gasped; “dead? . . . You are sure?”
“I see him die,” said Etzooah, with silent pantomime of delight. “Him black horse jomp over high cut-bank. Him neck broke. Him drown afterwards. When him pull out of river him head loose lak a berry on the bush.” Etzooah illustrated.
A shock of joy does not kill. Gault stood up straight and arrogant; a warm color came into his pale cheeks, and his eyes shone like a boy’s again. “By God! this news is good to my ears!” he cried. “You shall never go hungry, Etzooah. . . . When did it happen?”
“Two days,” said Etzooah. “At noon spell. Right away I tak’ two horses; ride all night. Only stop for one little sleep yesterday.”
“Did anybody know you came?”
“No. I sneak away.”
“Hm!” said Gault stroking his chin. “Then they’ll know that you were my man all the time. . . . Oh, what does it matter now! Everything is in my hands. . . . Had Blackburn sent his fur out yet?”
“No. Roundin’ up pack horses when him kill.”
“Then that ismyfur now! . . . What will the Slavis do without their master?”
Etzooah shrugged expressively. “No can tell. Slavis lak crazy children. Not know what they do. Maybe they run wild now; kill the girl and steal the store goods. No can tell.”
Gault’s face darkened. “By God!” he cried. “If the Slavis get out of hand, it would bring in the police. I don’t want the police nosing into this. I will ride back to-day. Toma! Toma! . . . You, Etzooah, eat in my kitchen, and take a sleep. . . . Toma, you——————!”
The old man came shuffling in.
“Fetch Moale from the store. Bestir yourself! Afterwards get out my riding-suit, my saddlebags, my traveling blankets, and all things necessary for a journey!”
Joe Moale was the “bookkeeper” at Fort Good Hope, otherwise Gault’s second in command. Technically a white man, a flavor of the red race clung about him; he was probably a quarter breed. He was reputed to be a relative of Gault’s. An educated man, as able and intelligent as any white man in the company’s employ, he was as inscrutable as an Indian. He was a well-built man of middle height, not uncomely in his wooden fashion. It was impossible to guess his exact age, but he was much younger than the trader. He served Gault with absolute and unquestioning faithfulness, but there was no affection in the glance that he bent on his master. With true redskin patience he was waiting for Gault to die.
“Blackburn is dead!” cried Gault, striding up and down in his dark exultation.
“The news has already spread about the Post,” said Moale, unmoved.
“Can we both get away together?” asked Gault.
“Why not? The fur is all in. At this season Claggett can keep the store.”
“Then I want you to come with me. We must start within an hour. Round up the four smartest lads you can put your hands on, and a dozen of our best horses. We must make a good appearance, you understand. Six of us will be more than enough to handle the beggarly Slavis. . . . Blackburn is dead!” he cried for the mere pleasure of repeating the words. “And his business is ours!”
“What will you do about the girl?” asked Moale stolidly.
“Oh, a miss of eighteen,” said Gault contemptuously. “She will give me no trouble . . . I’ll be her guardian, her trustee,” he added with a satanic smile.
“She’ll be rich,” said Moale.
“Not when I’m through with her.”
“I’m not referring to the Post, nor the horses,” said Moale. “Blackburn sends out near a hundred thousand dollars worth of fur per annum. He don’t import but a fraction of that in goods. The balance must be salted down somewhere.”
Gault stopped and stared. A new light of cupidity broke in his face. “Why, sure!” he said, a little bemused with the glittering picture that rose before his mind’s eye. “My mind must be wandering! Shouldn’t wonder if it amounted to a million! . . .” He went on muttering to himself: “It would be the best way anyhow. Nobody could question what I did then. And I shouldn’t be doing it for the company neither but for myself!” His voice suddenly rang out. “By God! I’ll marry the girl!”
Going to the sideboard, he examined his face anxiously in the mirror. “Joe,” he said, “if you didn’t know my age, how old would you call me?”
Whatever Moale’s thoughts might have been, he concealed them. “About thirty-eight,” he said.
“Hardly that,” said Gault confidently. “If it wasn’t for the gray in my hair I could pass for thirty-five easy. I wish to God I could lay my hands on some hair dye.”
“I can make a good black dye out of nutgalls,” said Moale.
“Well, go to it!” cried Gault. “Get a move on you now. We must sleep at Blackburn’s Post to-morrow night . . . Oh, my God! suppose we were to find that the Slavis had got out of hand and murdered the girl!”
CHAPTER VYELLOW-HEAD
Loseissat on a bench at the door of the store. The Princess was very pale, and her lips were pressed tight together. In her brave, proud eyes was to be seen the piteous, questioning look of a child: Why must I suffer so much? Just inside the door of the store Mary-Lou was squatting on the floor with her head buried in her arms. Loseis had to be brave for both.
The buildings at Blackburn’s Post formed three sides of a grassy square, the fourth side being open to the river. The store faced the river, flanked by a warehouse on each side. On Loseis’ right was the Women’s House, and opposite it Blackburn’s House and his stable. All the buildings were constructed of logs, and roofed with sods, now sprouting greenly. Nothing could have been rougher, nevertheless the buildings seemed to belong in that place; and there was a pleasing harmony in their arrangement. Out in the middle of the grassy square rose a tall flagpole.
Loseis and Mary-Lou had taken up their abode in the store. At this season of the year the stock of goods was much depleted, and Loseis was in no great concern about losing what was left; but knowing the Indian nature, she was well aware that if the Slavis were not prevented from helping themselves, they would soon get out of hand altogether.
In the store there was plenty of food to their hand; as for water, Loseis obtained it after dark by creeping down to the small stream where it wound around the flank of the little plateau. All night a little lamp burned in the window of the store. Night-attacks were not at all in the Slavis’ line; but Loseis wished them to be reminded whenever they looked that way, that somebody was on guard. All day the door of the store was allowed to stand open; while the two girls permitted themselves to be seen passing unconcernedly in and out, and performing their household tasks out in front. Their only defense lay in this appearance of unconcern.
Three days and three nights of cruel anxiety had passed, and the fourth night was approaching. Loseis had not reflected much on her situation; it simply wouldn’t bear thinking about. She had just gone ahead and done what came to her hand at the moment. During the first night the body of Jimmy Moosenose had disappeared. The Slavis either buried it hastily in some out of the way spot, or threw it in the river. Like the children they were, they believed that if only the body were hidden the crime could never be brought home to them.
None of the Slavis had ever approached the store. Apparently they were pursuing their ordinary avocations as if nothing had happened; the dogs and the children fought; the women fished, cooked the meals, and made moccasins; the men loafed and smoked. As she looked down at them the sight of their inhuman indifference caused Loseis’ heart to burn. Senseless animals! she ejaculated to herself a dozen times a day.
Mary-Lou came out of the store. The Indian girl was unable either to apply her hands to any work or to sit still. Her copper face had become grayish, and her eyes were distracted with terror. She looked down over the tepees, biting her lip.
“More have come,” she said hoarsely.
“You imagine that,” said Loseis. “I have seen nobody come.”
“They not let you see them come,” said Mary-Lou. “Sleep in their friends’ tepees. But I see more canoes in the creek.”
“Well, what of it?” said Loseis with a grand parade of indifference. “They’re harmless.”
“Like coyotes,” said Mary-Lou. “They are sitting down to wait for us to die!”
Loseis sprang up nervously. Her face was working. “You are like a raven croaking all day!” she cried. “That does no good!”
Mary-Lou caught hold of Loseis imploringly. “Let us go from here!” she begged. “All night I listen! . . . My brain is turned to ice. I don’t know what I am doing! . . . As soon as it is dark let us take horses and go. They not know until to-morrow that we are gone. Never catch us then. It is only ondred-feefty mile to Fort Good Hope. . . .”
Loseis detached the clinging hands. “It’s no good going on this way,” she said harshly. “I will not run from Slavis.”
Mary-Lou fell on her knees, clutching Loseis’ skirt, babbling incoherently in her terror. Loseis raised her face to the sky, clenching her teeth in despair. How much of this have I got to stand? she was thinking.
Then she saw the Slavis begin to run to the river bank. “Look! Look!” she cried. “Something is coming up the river!”
Mary-Lou scrambled to her feet. Whatever it was in the river, it was approaching close under the bank. They could see nothing. The Slavis were yelling and pointing.
“It is Conacher!” screamed Mary-Lou.
“NO! No! No!” cried Loseis in a voice as taut as an over-stretched violin string. “It is just a Slavi coming up river. Anything is enough to get them going.”
“It is Conacher!” screamed Mary-Lou. “If it was a Slavi they would run down to the water. They stop on the bank. They are a little afraid. See! they look at us. It is somebody for us. It is Conacher!”
Loseis felt that if she allowed herself to believe it and was then disappointed, it would kill her. “No! No!” she said faintly. “It is too soon!”
And then the yellow head rose above the bank.
Loseis collapsed suddenly on the bench and burst into tears. Her whole body was shaken. Mary-Lou fell on her knees with a scream of joy. “Conacher! . . . Conacher!”
Loseis struggled hard to regain her self-control. “Stop that noise!” she said angrily. “Go into the store. He mustn’t think that we want him so badly!”
Laughing and crying simultaneously, Mary-Lou went staggering into the store.
Loseis remained on the bench watching, with her hands in her lap. The tears were called in; and she furtively wiped away their traces. Conacher had his two Beaver Indians with him. These lingered to fraternize with the Slavis, while the white man came striding across the natural meadow to the foot of the rise. He was bare-headed as usual. A newcomer in the country, the fame of his curly, yellow pate had already spread far and wide. Alongside the Slavis he loomed like a young giant. Loseis had seen him take a Slavi man by the collar in each hand, and lift them clear of the ground. To the waiting girl he was like a god come in answer to her prayer.
She was very quiet when he reached her, her smile tremulous. The change in her from the arrogant little Princess who had used him so despitefully on his first visit was so striking, that at first Conacher could only stand and stare. They never thought to greet each other. Finally Conacher exhibited the little black streamer, limp from being clutched in his warm hand.
“What does this mean?” he asked simply.
“My father is dead,” said Loseis. “Four days ago.”
“Oh, Heaven!” cried Conacher. “And you all alone here! What did you do?”
“I buried him,” said Loseis, spreading out her hands.
“Yourself!”
“There was no other to do it.”
“Oh, my God!”
Mary-Lou had crept out of the store again. “They kill Jimmy Moosenose,” she said, nodding in the direction of the Slavis. “And break into the store.”
“I put them out again,” said Loseis, quickly and proudly.
“Oh, God! what awful things have been happening here!” cried Conacher aghast.
His sympathy caused Loseis to tremble dangerously again. “Oh, it will be all right now,” she said swiftly. “One white man is enough to put fear into the heart of these dogs.”
Conacher looked at that brave and piteous figure, and was caught up in a very hurricane of the emotions. He was mad to enfold her in his arms; to comfort the child, to love the woman, but a feeling of chivalry restrained him. It appeared unseemly to intrude his love in the moment of her grief; he turned away abruptly, searching distractedly in his mind for some expedient to tide him over the dangerous moment.
“I must go fetch my fellows before they are contaminated by the Slavis,” he said in a strangled voice, and strode away down the slope again.
“Ah, he does not love me,” murmured Loseis with extreme sadness.
“You are wrong,” said Mary-Lou. “It was speaking in his eyes.”
“No! No! No!” said Loseis violently. Nevertheless she was secretly comforted.
She went bustling into the store. “Come! we will close up the store now, and go to our own house. Conacher will be hungry. We must cook a big meal. There is still some canned apples and canned butter in the store. Ahchoogah brought in a moose to-day. I will take a haunch of it for Conacher. I will take the biggest fish for Conacher, too. Be quick! Be quick! I will go down and get the other Marys to help you. . . .”
Later, Loseis and Conacher were sitting at the door of the Women’s House, while the appetizing odors came stealing out. A heavy constraint was upon them; they could not meet each other’s eyes. The man, looking down, marveled at the delicacy of Loseis’ shapely hands, lying loosely in her lap. What a rare, fine creature to find in these rude surroundings! Her beauty and her proud manner intimidated him. Who was he to aspire so high? The girl wondered sadly why the man did not speak. He had only to speak!
When he did speak it was not in the tone that she longed to hear. “What are you going to do?” he asked, matter-of-fact.
To Loseis the solution was simplicity itself. Conacher was to stay there, and everything go on as before. But it was not seemly for her to propose this. She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said.
“But you must have thought something about what you would do,” he said surprised. “You can’t stay here.”
Loseis’ heart sunk. She said nothing.
“Fort Good Hope cannot be but a hundred miles or so across the height of land,” he went on.
“A hundred and fifty,” said Loseis.
“I have heard there’s a white woman at Fort Good Hope,” said Conacher. “She’s the parson’s sister.”
“What do I want with the parson’s sister?” demanded Loseis with a spice of resentment.
Conacher looked at her helplessly.
I would go to Fort Good Hope to the parson with Conacher if he asked me, thought Loseis, and a deep blush overspread her neck and face. She turned away her head to hide it.
“You can’t stay here,” he said.
“I am not going to give up my father’s Post, and allow the Slavis to strip the store,” said Loseis with spirit. “Besides, the whole season’s catch of fur is stored in the warehouse, waiting to be shipped outside. It is worth many thousands of dollars.”
“How is it sent out?” asked Conacher.
“Every Spring when the grass is grown sufficiently to graze the horses, it is sent overland by pack-horse to a warehouse that my father has on the prairie near the crossing of the big river. That is three hundred miles. Jimmy Moosenose was always sent with the horses and men. Seventy horses and fifteen men beside the cook. In that warehouse they find the grub for next year and the store goods which are put there by John Gruber, my father’s outside man. They bring the grub back, and leave the fur in the warehouse, and John Gruber gets it afterwards. My father never allowed the Slavis to meet the Crees in John Gruber’s outfit. It is time for them to start now. John Gruber will be waiting many days at the Crossing.”
“But you’ve no one to send now,” said Conacher.
“Then I must go myself,” said Loseis.
“My God! not alone with a gang of redskins!” cried Conacher.
“They would not dare harm me,” said Loseis proudly.
“Maybe not,” cried Conacher violently. “But just the same I couldn’t stand for that!”
Loseis’ sad heart looked up a little. He did care a little what became of her.
And then he spoiled it by adding: “No white man could!”
“We must find somebody to go with you,” he presently went on; “and then you can continue on outside with your father’s agent.”
“There is all the grub and store goods waiting to come in,” objected Loseis.
“That will have to be sold,” said Conacher. “The Company will buy it.”
“There are all my father’s horses across the river,” said Loseis; “many thousands of head. During the summer hay must be cut for them around the shores of our lake; or next winter they will starve.”
“But my dear girl,” said Conacher, “you cannot go on doing business here now that he is gone!”
“Why not?” demanded Loseis.
“Why . . . why . . .” stammered Conacher. “A woman trader! Why such a thing was never heard of!”
“Well, it will be heard of now,” said Loseis.
Conacher ascribed this to mere bravado. What a spirited little thing she was! Like a plucky boy; but with all the sweetness of a woman. “We must send to Fort Good Hope for help,” he said.
“Do not speak to me again of Fort Good Hope!” said Loseis. “Gault, the trader there, was my father’s enemy.”
Conacher knew nothing of the feuds of the country. “Yes, yes,” he said soothingly; “but a tragedy like this wipes out old scores. Gault would not take advantage of your situation.”
“You are an outsider,” she said. “You do not know Gault.”
“No man would!” insisted Conacher.
“I will not hand over my father’s Post to Gault!” cried Loseis. “That would bring my father out of his grave!”
“Not hand it over to him,” protested Conacher. “But just let him advise you. He is the only one that can tell you what is best to do; who can arrange things. There is no other white man within hundreds of miles.”
Then it had to come out. “I already know what to do,” said Loseis, very low. “If you would help me, we could do it all together.”
Conacher groaned, and clutched his head. “Oh, God! you don’t understand!” he cried. “And what must you be thinking of me! What a chance to be offered to a man, and I can’t take it!” He tried desperately to explain to her. “You see, I am not free like the men of this country. I am a government employee, tied hand and foot to my work. My whole Summer’s work has been laid out for me. And my little piece is only a part of a great survey of this whole country. I am appointed to join with another party at Great Slave Lake on a certain date, and we in turn must proceed up the Liard River to another rendezvous on the Yukon. If I fail, the whole fails. Don’t you understand?”
She did not wholly understand. “I heard you tell it,” she said a little sullenly.
Conacher jumped up, and paced the grass in an agony of indecision. He was teetering on the brink. If Loseis had raised her eyes to his face, he would have fallen at her feet, and allowed the government to go to the devil. But she kept her eyes sullenly down. And then before either spoke again, with a smart thudding of hoofs and creaking of saddle leathers, a well-turned out company of six men and several spare horses came down the trail behind the Post, and trotted out into the little plaza.
Gault had caught sight of Conacher’s yellow head as soon as he came over the brow of the hill. He reined up sharply, his face going pinched and ugly. “A white man here!” he said furiously to Moale. “Who the devil can he be?”
Moale drew up at his side. “That will be Conacher,” he said in his unconcerned way. “I have heard talk of his yellow head.”
“Ayoungman!” said Gault; and cursed him thickly and fervently.
“He’s on a government survey down to Great Slave Lake and beyond,” said Moale indifferently. “He won’t be able to interfere with us.”
But Gault rode down the hill with a black heart. The young man had got in his innings first; and now fifty-three must stand comparison with twenty-three, and the dyed black head be measured against the famous golden one.
By the time he rode around the buildings of the Post his face was perfectly composed and solicitous, of course. He sat his horse with conscious grace. Flinging himself off, he tossed the reins to one of the Crees, and came quickly to Loseis.
“Miss Blackburn,” he said, “the moment I heard of your terrible loss I jumped on my horse to come to you. I cannot express to you how shocked and grieved I am. Your father and I were not good friends, but that is all past now. Believe me, I am most completely at your service.”
The watching Conacher considered that this was very handsomely said. How much better than he could do it! he thought with a sigh. He had no reason to share in Loseis’ suspicions of Gault. A load was lifted from the young man’s heart. Gault’s fine outfit inspired confidence. Loseis would be all right now, and he could go on about his work. But before he left he would ask her to wait for him. The idea that this old man might prove to be a rival, never entered Conacher’s honest heart.
Loseis received Gault with a manner no less finished and proud than his own. “You are welcome,” she said gravely. “My father’s house”—she indicated the building opposite—“is at your disposal. If you wish to put up your horses the stable is behind it. Or you can turn them out anywhere. Dinner here in half an hour.”
Gault bowing, expressed his thanks. He then turned inquiringly towards Conacher.
That young man said: “I am Paul Conacher of the geological survey.”
Gault thrust out his hand with the appearance of the greatest cordiality. “I am delighted to meet you,” he said. “It is a great satisfaction to find that Miss Blackburn is not alone here.” He gave Conacher a meaning glance that suggested as between man and man it would be well for them to discuss the situation together.
This was quite in line with Conacher’s ideas, and the two walked off together towards the house opposite. Loseis watched them go under stormy brows. She saw Gault place his hand affectionately on the young man’s shoulder, and her lip curled.
CHAPTER VITHE DINNER PARTY
Gaultand Conacher returned to the Women’s House for dinner. Gault had changed to a well-cut black suit with linen of the finest quality, and a little discreet but handsome jewelry. Poor Conacher, having no change, showed up at a disadvantage beside him. When they beheld Loseis both men caught their breath in astonishment. She was wearing one of the “outside” dresses which her father had been accustomed to import that he might have the pleasure of seeing her in them. This one was of black velvet cunningly and simply draped, and showing no touch of color. Around her neck hung a string of pearls that made Gault open his eyes; not the one with the gold nuggets; but a long plain string of beautifully matched stones. The innocent Conacher had no notion but that it was a string of pearl beads such as his sisters wore.
The table was laid for four in Loseis’ own room. She seated Moale facing her; Conacher at her right; Gault at her left. The trader who was sensitive to these little things, bit his lip at this arrangement, but was obliged to put up with it. Conacher never noticed that he had been given the seat of honor. There was fine china and silver on the table; and the food was wonderful, including delicacies which Gault himself could not command at Fort Good Hope, such as currant jelly; the joint of moose meat cunningly larded with bacon, and served with cranberry sauce; an apple pie. The three comely Marys in black dresses and snowy aprons moved noiselessly about the table, while Mary-Lou oversaw all in the kitchen.
To Conacher, after weeks on the trail, it was like a taste of Heaven; and Gault was obliged to confess to himself that the establishment while rude, nevertheless had a better style than his own. Loseis with her hair done up on top of her head looked like a Princess indeed, and the trader gloated at the thought of seeing her enthroned athistable. He pictured a glorious future for Fort Good Hope. The thought of Conacher gave him little concern now. He had put down the young man to his own satisfaction as a fool.
The trader dominated the table. The lamplight was favorable to him, and he knew it. None would have thought of terming him an old man. His manner was perfection. Open-browed, courteous, half-apologetic, he kept them entertained with stories of the country; and both of the young people were to a certain extent fascinated by his charm. During the meal business was not to be touched upon.
“Ah! what a privilege it is to have a lady at the table!” said Gault wrinkling up his eyes, and showing his big white teeth.
(Rather like the wolf in the fairy-tale; thought Loseis; but I suppose some would call him a fine-looking man.)
“Hear! Hear!” said Conacher. The young man felt like a hobbledehoy alongside the elegant Gault; but he harbored no malice. Poor Conacher’s heart was oppressed by the sight of Loseis in her bravery. Could this be the rude little spitfire that he had dared to laugh at upon their first meeting?
“That is what we miss in the North,” Gault went on; “the civilizing touch of lovely woman! It is terrible the way men go to seed in this country. It is a fact that when a man’s manners go, his morals are bound to go too. Ah! my dear Miss Blackburn, if we had more like you to grace our lonely posts we’d all be better men!”
(Why haven’t I the face to say such things? thought Conacher.)
Loseis smiled a little wanly. She was secretly confused by the trader’s glibness. She had never known a man like this.
Later they sat down in front of the small fire that had been lighted to drive away the evening chill; Loseis in her hammock-chair, the men on either hand sitting stiffly in the straight-up-and-down chairs that Blackburn had carved. What remained on the table was silently whisked into the kitchen.
“You may smoke if you wish,” said Loseis.
Gault produced, wonder of wonders! a full cigar case, and offered it to the younger man. The fragrance of the genuine Havana spread around.
“Well!” said Conacher; “I never expected to get anything like this north of Fifty-eight.”
“Oh, with my improved transport,” said Gault carelessly, “I can have in pretty much anything I want.”
It now became necessary to speak of business. Gault inquired if the season’s fur had been sent out.
“No,” said Loseis.
The trader might almost be said to have purred upon hearing that. Indeed, fearing himself that he might be betraying too much complacency about the mouth, he rubbed his upper lip, and gave a little cough. “I will charge myself with that,” he said comfortably. “Make your mind quite easy.”
Loseis looked unhappy, but said nothing.
“Of course,” Gault went on with the air of one who must be fair at whatever cost to himself, “being your father’s competitor, his rival as you might say, it is not proper that I should be your sole advisor.”
Loseis looked at him in surprise. Dared he to speak of that? Her confusion increased. This man was too much for her.
“I am mighty glad that Conacher is here,” said Gault.
“But I must return down the river to-night,” said Conacher. “I am already many days behind my schedule.”
Loseis’ eyes were close-hid now. “To-night?” she echoed softly. “But you paddled all last night to get here.”
Conacher affected to laugh, while his hungry eyes sought her averted face. Loseis could have read there that he didn’t want to go; but she wouldn’t look. “Oh, going downstream’s a cinch,” said Conacher. “Two of us can sleep at a time in the dug-out, while the third man keeps her in the middle of the current.”
Loseis was silent.
“To-night!” said Gault. “Ah, that’s too bad! . . . However, I can take my measures before you go . . . Does your father employ a man of business, a lawyer, outside?” he asked Loseis.
“None that I know of,” she said, “except John Gruber.”
“Ah, Gruber,” said Gault in his purring voice (Moale at the other end of the row, listened to all this with a face like a sardonic mask), “an excellent fellow, too. But too ignorant a man to serve you in this crisis. . . . I am sure your father must have had wide interests outside of the fur business,” he said insinuatingly.
“If he had, I know nothing about it,” said Loseis. “He got business letters every year when the outfit came in, but he did not show them to me. I know nothing of business.”
“Of course not,” said Gault soothingly. “Have you looked for those letters since his death?” he asked, betraying more eagerness than was perhaps in the best of taste.
“No,” said Loseis, shortly.
Gault was pulled up short. “Hm!” he said, stroking his chin. “Hm! . . .” Finally he got a fresh start. “Well, if Blackburn employed an attorney outside, Gruber will know his name. Gruber carried all his letters out, and brought the answers back. I will write to Gruber. And if Blackburn has no lawyer already, I will send for the best one obtainable, and will arrange special means of transport for him. We’ll have him here in five or six weeks at the outside. Lastly I will send for a sergeant and detail of the police, so that the murder of Jimmy Moosenose can be investigated. Until they come, in order that the Slavis may not take fright, we will allow them to suppose that the murder has been forgotten.”
Conacher nodded in agreement with this; Loseis felt that she was being crowded to one side.
“I’ll start my letters off to Fort Good Hope at sun-up,” Gault went on. “Unfortunately my steamboat has gone up to the head of navigation, and won’t be back for a month; but by the time the messenger reaches the post, my launch will have returned from carrying Mr. Ogilvie down to the Chutes. The launch can make the Crossing in a week. Gruber will be waiting there.”
It all sounded so businesslike and proper, Loseis could take no exception to it. The smooth voice, arranging everything, afflicted her with a sort of despair.
After some desultory talk, Gault arose, saying: “With your permission I will go and write my letters now, so that Conacher may see them before he goes.”
Loseis bowed in acquiescence. She thought: I can talk to Conacher while he is away. But Gault looked sharply from one to another, and added in his polite way: “I’d be glad of your help in composing them, Conacher.” Loseis’ heart sunk. The two went out together arm in arm. Moale followed his master as a matter of course.
Loseis was left staring into the fire. Mary-Lou came to the door and looked at her full of loving solicitude; but Loseis made believe not to know that she was there. The simple Mary-Lou could be of no help to her in this situation. Loseis, whose nature it was to act instantaneously without thinking, was all at sea on this flood of words. Everything was mixed up in her mind. Maybe Gault is a true man, she thought; maybe he means what he says. Conacher is satisfied. And if he is lying what can I do anyhow? I know nothing.
In due course they returned (without Moale) and the letters were laid before Loseis. It appeared that Gault packed a little typewriter in his outfit, and Loseis, though she looked at the letters indifferently, secretly marveled at the neat clear printing. How could one contend against a man like this! She scarcely read the letters. The lengthy sentences merely dizzied her.
It goes without saying that they were admirably expressed letters. There is no need of reproducing them here, since Gault had not the slightest intention of letting them reach their destinations. They were to be conveniently lost en route.
“I am satisfied if Conacher is,” said Loseis.
“Mr. Gault has thought of everything,” said Conacher.
Soon Conacher said, affecting to make light of his heavy heart: “Well, I’ve sent my men down to launch the dug-out. I must be getting aboard.”
Gault said quickly in his hearty way: “I’ll go down and see you off.”
Conacher looked wistfully at Loseis, and hesitated.
Loseis rebelled at last. She did not feel able to dispute Gault in matters of business, but if he dared to interfere with her own private concerns, let him look out! She stood up very quickly, and her chin went up. “First I want to take Conacher to the store, and give him some grub to take,” she said coolly. “You wait here, Mr. Gault.” Her eyes sought his unafraid, and the trader’s eyes trailed away.
“Why of course!” he said in his hearty way. But his affable smile had a sickly look now. As they went through the door he shot a baleful glance after them. That was a black half hour for him, obliged to sit there, grinding his big teeth and picturing the two young creatures together in the dark. Just when everything had seemed to be going his way, too!
Outside, the black sky was crowded with stars big and little, all focused on that pair of mortal lovers. The earth was so still one seemed to hear the whisper of starlight. Loseis drew a great breath of relief. Why that load was suddenly lifted from her breast she could not have told. She involuntarily slipped her hand under Conacher’s arm, and he pressed it hard against his ribs. They walked, pressing close together, the blond head brooding low over the black one. There was no confession of love. They were still afraid of that word. And anyhow this was confession enough. With happiness their hearts became as breathlessly still as the night.
“Let’s not go to the store,” whispered Conacher. “I don’t need any grub.”
“I just said that,” whispered Loseis. “I wanted to be with you.”
“Oh, you dear! . . . you dear! . . . you dear!” he murmured tremulously.
Loseis pressed his arm. “Let’s go down on the flat,” she whispered. “He might come to the door to watch us.”
They went down the grassy slope. For a long time they did not speak. They walked at a snail’s pace, arms linked, hands clasped, and heads leaning together. At last a little whimpering sound was heard from Loseis. That brave heart owned its weakness at last.
“Oh, Paul!” she faltered. “Oh Paul,mustyou go?”
“I must! I must!” he cried in pain. “But I will arrange things just as quick as I can, and come back.”
“It will be so long!” she said sadly.
“But at least you are safe now.”
“Oh, safe . . . maybe!”
“If you are afraid, come with me. I will take care of you.”
“No,” she said quickly. “That would not be acting right towards my father. . . . I am not afraid of any danger. But . . . but I cannot see what is before me! I do not like that man!”
“He seems to be on the square,” said Conacher anxiously. “He has provided for everything better than I could.”
“It is so terrible for me to have to be with somebody I do not like,” said Loseis.
“You have your own house,” said Conacher. “And your girls. You need only talk to him about business matters.”
“He is so ugly!” said Loseis.
“You silly girl!” said Conacher fondly. “Gault’s considered a very fine-looking man!”
“Not to me! . . . You are beautiful, my Paul. In the dark I can see your beauty!”
“Oh, Loseis! you must not say such things!” he said, genuinely distressed. “It is not fitting from you to me!”
“Why?” she asked wilfully.
“Because . . . because . . . by comparison with you I . . . Oh, Loseis, I ought to be kneeling at your feet!”
“What good would you be to my feet?” she asked, nestling against him. “I like it better this way.”
Conacher laughed suddenly and delightedly in his throat.
“Well . . . ?” said Loseis, leaving her interrogation in the air.
“What is it?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh, you make mesayit!” she cried vexatiously. “Do you think I am beautiful?”
The question rendered him nearly speechless. He pressed her hand hard against his cheek. “Oh, Loseis!” he stammered. “I . . . I . . . you . . . I can’t tell you. I’m just a blundering fool when it comes to expressing my feelings. Why, you have made a new world for me. When I think of your face it drives me out of my senses. I can’t think of the words for it!”
She pillowed her cheek happily in the hollow inside his shoulder. “Then you must find words!” she said. “You must never stop telling me. My ears are greedy to hear it. Of all the world, I only care to be beautiful for you!”
In sight of the darkly flowing river they came to a stop. They could hear the murmuring voices of the two Beaver Indians at the water’s edge. They drew apart. For a long while they stood there not touching each other in dumb unhappiness and constraint. They were both new at this lovemaking business.
“Well,” said Conacher at last, like a schoolboy trying to carry it off flippantly, “I must make a break . . .”
“Oh!” she cried, hurt to the quick. “Is that all you care?”
He dropped his absurd pretense. “It is like death to leave you now,” he murmured, brokenly.
“Well, good-by,” she said suddenly in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. And turned as if to run forthwith.
He caught hold of her. “No! No!” he cried. “Not like this!”
She struggled in his arms. “Let me go! Let me go!” she whispered in a desperate voice. “I can’t stand these good-bys. I like a thing ended quickly. . . . Let me go!”
Holding her within one arm he tried to turn up her face to his. “Loseis . . . dearest . . . before I go,” he whispered imploringly. “Please, Loseis. . . . To remember all those lonely nights . . .”
She resisted with all her strength. “No! No! No! No! Not yet! If you kiss me I shall never be able to let you go! . . . Ah, let me go while I want to go!”
That naïve cry touched his heart. He released her. The instant she was released she lost all her desire to run. She stood there in front of him, very still.
“You had better go,” he said shakily.
“Put your hands behind your back!” she whispered breathlessly. “Stoop down a little.”
He obeyed.
Like lightning her arms went around his neck, and her lips were pressed hard against his. Then like a shadow she was gone. Through the dark her caressing whisper came back to him.
“Come back soon, dear!”
When Loseis got back to the Women’s House, Gault was sitting there by the fire, smoking a fresh cigar. He sprang up with a pleasant, fatherly sort of smile. His eyes dwelt lightly on Loseis’s face, but she had an impression just the same, that they were boring into her. Well, let them bore! At the business of hiding her heart she was fully his match. She showed him a smooth, untroubled face.
“Has he gone?” asked Gault.
“I expect so,” said Loseis. “I did not go down the hill with him.”
Gault rubbed his lip. He didn’t know whether or not to believe her.
He felt his way carefully. “Conacher seems like a fine young fellow,” he remarked. “Have you known him long?”
Loseis remained standing by the fire. “Oh, he stopped here for three days,” she said coolly. “But I scarcely saw him then.”
“How did he learn so soon of your father’s death?”
“I never thought to ask him,” said Loseis with a clear brow. “By moccasin telegraph, I suppose. The Slavis are continually traveling up and down the river.”
“It is too bad that he is in the government employ,” said Gault.
Loseis had no intention of discussing the man she loved with another man. She remained silent. She had a good capacity for holding her tongue. It was her only defense against Gault’s smooth talk; and it was a better defense than she realized.
Gault was obliged to go on and answer the question without its having been asked. “They never come to anything,” he said. “They are no more than clerks all their lives.”
“So I have heard,” said Loseis indifferently.
Gault was deceived by her coolness. He argued that she was too young to be able to hide her feelings so consummately. She did not care for the young geologist. Their meetings had been too few and brief for any serious damage to be worked. He began to feel better.
“How did you learn of my father’s death?” asked Loseis unexpectedly.
Gault determined to tell the truth, since it must become known anyway. “The Indian Etzooah brought me the news. Did you not send him?”
“No,” said Loseis.
“Well!” said Gault with an air of astonishment. “I suppose he must have started off blindly on his own account.”
“I didn’t know he could speak English,” said Loseis.
“He can’t. Only Cree.”
“Nobody here knew that he could speak Cree, either,” said Loseis.
Gault allowed the subject to drop. “While you were away I have been sitting here thinking over your affairs,” he said, enveloping Loseis with his smile.
Oh, Heaven! she thought; is he going to start talking again? How can I endure it without Conacher here to keep me in countenance! In desperation she feigned to hide a yawn behind her hand.
Gault had no recourse but to take the hint. “You are worn out!” he said solicitously. “And no wonder. I will retire now. And to-morrow we can talk.”
Loseis’ heart sunk. To-morrow!—and all the succeeding to-morrows! Should she never be able to escape his talk! “You are very kind,” she murmured politely.
“Good-night,” said Gault, offering her his hand.
Loseis either had to give him hers, or come to an open quarrel. With an inward shiver of repulsion, she laid her hand within his, keeping her eyes close hid. “Good-night,” she murmured.
Good God! how beautiful she is! thought Gault; with her mixture of haughty pride and shyness (for so he took it). I’d take her if she didn’t have a cent! A genuine desire was mingled with the calculation in his eyes; he bared his teeth in what he intended to be an ardent smile. In his youth Gault had been famous for his big white teeth, and he did not realize that their luster was somewhat diminished. For a moment he clung to the cool, limp hand.
“My dear, dear girl!” he murmured. “If you only knew how my heart goes out to you in this hour of affliction. My only desire is to serve you!”
Loseis gritted her teeth in a torment of repulsion. Grinning at her in that disgusting way, while his hard eyes sought to pry into her heart? She couldfeelhis grin, though she kept her eyes down. Her hand trembled with the desire to snatch itself away, and smack his leering old face. But above all she was determined that Blackburn’s daughter should not be revealed to this fine gentleman as a savage uncultured girl, and she commanded her repulsion.
“Good-night . . . good-night,” repeated Gault with a touch of archness, that looked to the future. He hastened out with a debonair swing. Loseis’ fiery eyes bored holes in his back.
Crossing the grass, Gault exulted within himself. “A half-formed child,” he thought; “an experienced man can make whatever he chooses of her! And by God, what natural elegance! what pride! what beauty! I am in luck!”
While within the room he had just left, Loseis scowled at her offending hand, and rubbed it violently on her skirt.