CHAPTER VIITHE CLOVEN HOOF
Nextmorning before Loseis had breakfasted, Gault was back at the Women’s House, knocking deprecatingly at the door.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so early,” he said, “but I forgot something last night; and I’m holding my messenger now until I can get it from you.”
“What is that?” asked Loseis.
“May I come in?” he said smiling.
Loseis led the way into her room.
Gault had several sheets of paper in his hand. “If, as I suspect,” he began in the smooth voice which so exasperated Loseis without her knowing why, “Blackburn has sums of money lying in the bank outside, that belongs to you, of course; but you could not draw against it unless the bank was already in possession of your signature. Therefore, in order to save time, I propose to send out several specimens of your signature now. I will put them in the hands of your lawyer, who will in turn pass them on to the bank.”
This sounded all right to Loseis, who proceeded to write her name on each of the four blank sheets that Gault passed her. Loseis had had small occasion to practice the art of handwriting, and it was but slowly that she formed the great round letters of her official name.
Laurentia Blackburn
“Laurentia!” murmured Gault in a fond voice. “What an odd name.”
“I believe I was named after a chain of mountains,” said Loseis dryly.
“But how dignified and melodious!” he said. “Laurentia . . . Laurentia . . . !”
She shot an irritated glance at him through her lashes. Had the man nothing better to do than to stand there mouthing her name in that ridiculous fashion! Loseis privately detested her name. Jane would have been more to her fancy.
Gault gathered up the sheets, and made as if to go. At the door he paused: “I say,” he said, like one speaking to a child, “isn’t there something at Fort Good Hope that you would like my messenger to bring back to you? I have a regular ‘outside’ store at Good Hope, you know.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” said Loseis quickly. “Nothing at all!”
“Just the same,” said Gault with that arch smile of his, “I will see if we cannot find something that will please you!”
As he went through the door Loseis involuntarily flung up her arms crying: “Oh, give me air! Give me air!”
Mary-Lou came running in to see what was the matter.
Loseis kicked a fur rug violently to one side, and banged open the little window. “Oh, that man is like a bearskin tied over one’s head; like a feather bed upon one!” she cried. Standing back from the window she angrily apostrophized the receding figure of Gault. “Yes, you! you! If I have to see you every day I shall suffocate!” Turning around and beholding the amazed figure of Mary-Lou, Loseis suddenly embraced her, and dropping her head on her shoulder, burst into tears.
“But what is the matter?” gasped Mary-Lou.
“I don’t know!” wailed Loseis. “I must be crazy! He speaks fair and honest; he is always polite and kind . . . but . . . but Ican’t standthe man!”
Before the morning was out Gault was seen returning. Loseis, who had persuaded herself that she was a fool, schooled herself to receive him politely. He was accompanied this time by one of his Crees, who was carrying a neat leather-covered box by its handle. Gault never performed such menial tasks for himself. There was enough of the child in Loseis to be rendered intensely curious by the sight of that box.
The trader dismissed his servant at the door, and brought the box in himself. Upon being laid on the table and opened, a most fascinating and complicated little machine was revealed, all shining with nickel-plate and black lacquer. Loseis had not the remotest idea of what it was for.
“This is the typewriter; the writing-machine,” explained the trader. “I have another one at the Post which I have sent for. In the meantime I want to present this to you. I thought it might amuse you to practice on it; and it will certainly save you time. Now that you are a business woman, you will have many letters to write.”
Loseis’ heart was touched by this seeming act of kindness. She felt remorseful. “That is very good of you,” she said, blushing. “It is true, I am a miserable writer. But I shall never be able to learn this.”
“On the contrary,” said Gault. “It is very simple. Sit down at the table and I will show you now.”
Loseis obeyed; and Gault drew up another chair close beside her. He explained to her how to put the paper in; how to shift the carriage back and forth; how to start a new line. For the rest all you had to do was to strike the proper letters. In ten minutes Loseis had mastered the idea of the thing. She was fascinated with this new toy (she had possessed so few toys in her life) but was made horribly uncomfortable by the enforced proximity of Gault’s head to her own. He was chewing some sort of medicated candy that gave his breath a strong, pungent odor. Loseis hated strong smells of every kind.
“Now let me try it all by myself,” she said.
“Go ahead! Go ahead!” he said, but did not withdraw himself at all. When he saw her at a loss, he would grab hold of her finger and guide it to the right key. Loseis shivered internally.
Finally her discomfort became more than she could bear. “I cannot do a thing if you hang over me like that,” she said.
Gault leaned back in his chair with a great laugh. “So independent!” he said teasingly.
However, he held himself away from her, and Loseis proceeded with her slow punching of the keys. How strange and fascinating to see the words stand up upon the paper! She had never possessed so marvelous a toy as this. As soon as Gault was out of the way she would start a letter to Conacher. How astonished he would be!
In a minute or two Gault’s head was as close as ever to hers. Loseis tried to ignore the fact, but it was impossible to do so. She was aware, through a subtle feminine sense, that he was not paying any attention to the typewriter now. He was too still. She felt as if something precious were being drawn from her that she had no intention of yielding to any man save one.
“I’ll go on with this this afternoon,” she said nervously. “I have to do something else now.” At the same time she attempted to slide sideways out of her chair.
Gault caught her hand. “Ah, don’t stop,” he said a little thickly. “You look like such a cunning little student, bending over your work. Where did you get that wonderful black hair of yours . . . ?”
Loseis was up like a wild thing then, and backing off to the far end of the room. “How dare you! How dare you!” she said breathlessly. “Take yourself out of here, and your machine too! Or I’ll fling it after you! Did you bring it here only as an excuse to insult me!”
Gault rose also. “Well!” he cried, laughing heartily. But there was an ugly look in his eyes.
His laughter immediately brought about a reaction in Loseis. She realized that she was making far too much of a trifle. This was not the way for a well-born girl to act. She told herself that it was only because she had come to love another man that she found this one detestable. She lowered her head, and a hot blush flowed over her cheeks.
“I am sorry,” she muttered unwillingly. “I am out of sorts this morning. I did not mean what I said.” In the very act of saying this Loseis’ heart accused her of cowardice. She felt hopelessly confused. Oh, how difficult it was to be well-bred and ladylike.
“Why, that’s all right!” cried Gault heartily. “It is perfectly natural at such a time. I’m sorry I displeased you. I assure you I feel nothing for you, but the deepest respect and sympathy! . . . I’ll leave you now. Do amuse yourself with the typewriter.”
As he walked away from the house he murmured to himself: “A skittish filly! I must proceed more slowly. Gad! it’s difficult though!” Thus he deceived himself, as middle-aged gentlemen bent on gallantry are so apt to do. He felt delightfully ardent. At the same time though, a nasty little anxiety continued to plague the back of his mind.
Meanwhile Loseis paced up and down her room, wondering for the hundredth time within the past twenty-four hours, what was the matter with her, that she felt so hopelessly divided. This was a new feeling for her. However the shining little typewriterwasfascinating. She presently sat down to compose a letter to Conacher; and forgot her troubles. Another little raft carried her letter downstream.
Every afternoon Loseis opened the store. It was a point of pride with her to comport herself in all respects towards the Slavis as if nothing had happened. She often visited their village, interesting herself in all their concerns, as she considered fitting in a prudent mistress towards her childish and feather-brained servants. They were shy with her, and none came to trade at the store. Loseis, shrugging, was content to bide her time. Hunger would tell in the end. For twenty years now, the Slavis had been accustomed to the white man’s flour, tea and sugar, and the present generation could not do without them.
Loseis and Mary-Lou sat on the bench outside the store. Mary-Lou had been reading aloud, but her mistress had silenced her, because she wished to think. Loseis was unpracticed in the exercise of thinking things over, and she found it both difficult and painful. This was the question on which she split: was Gault a scoundrel? All his acts and words seemed to be above reproach; but Loseis’ heart stubbornly misgave her. Could she trust her heart? She reflected that her father had never betrayed any hesitation in calling Gault a scoundrel; but Loseis had had plenty of examples of her father’s wrong-headedness. She adored him, but had no great opinion of his judgment. It was by his strength and energy that Blackburn had forged ahead, not by wisdom. And so the weary round continued. To one of Loseis’ downright nature it was torture to remain in a state of indecision.
At the door of Blackburn’s House fifty yards distant from where they sat, the Indian Etzooah was to be seen ostentatiously cleaning a pair of Gault’s boots. It suggested itself to Loseis as rather curious that Gault should choose the ignorant Slavi for a body-servant, when he had the more civilized Crees. She recollected that on various occasions during the past few days she had seen Etzooah hanging about looking self-conscious. The thought popped into her head that perhaps Gault had set him as a spy on her movements. Well, supposing that to be so, here was a chance to turn the tables on the trader. Through Etzooah she might be able to learn if Gault had lied to her.
She called to Etzooah in her ordinary manner of offhand assurance. When he came to her cringing and grinning in his imbecile fashion (you could read nothing in that grin of the Slavis) she said coolly:
“I need a man. There are some goods in the store to be moved.”
Leading him inside, she had him shift some bags of flour from one place to another. This done, she presented him with a plug of tobacco, and let him know that he had done all she required. They returned outside, and Loseis bade Mary-Lou go on with the reading.
Etzooah, as Loseis expected, did not leave them, but, making his face perfectly vacant, squatted down in the grass at the other side of the door, and proceeded to shave a pipeful of tobacco from the plug, careful not to spill a crumb. Loseis allowed Mary-Lou to read for awhile, then she started slightly as if a thought had just occurred to her, and motioned to the girl to stop.
“Etzooah,” she said (speaking in the Slavi tongue of course) “it comes to me that I have not thanked you for fetching Gault from Fort Good Hope. That was well done.”
Etzooah grinned. “Gault is a good man,” he said.
“You speak truth,” said Loseis gravely. “How did it come that you set off without telling me?”
“Wah!” said Etzooah, “you were attending upon the body of Blackburn. It was not right for me to go to you at such a time. I just caught some horses and went.”
“It was well thought of,” said Loseis. “How did you make yourself understood to the white men?”
“I speak the Cree,” said Etzooah.
“Wah!” said Loseis politely. “That was not known to me.”
“My father was a Cree,” said Etzooah. “It is well known.”
“I had forgotten,” said Loseis.
Without changing a muscle of her face, or raising her voice at all, Loseis shifted to English. “Etzooah,” she said, “the Slavis are saying to each other that you were false to your own people. They are angry because you brought Gault here. . . . Do not move suddenly or you are a dead man. Mahtsonza is hiding behind the corner of the store with a gun in his hands waiting to shoot you!”
Etzooah’s copper face changed to a livid ash-color. Suddenly with a single movement he bounded to his feet, and inside the door of the store. Loseis stood up with a scornful laugh.
“Go back to your master,” she said, pointing. “I only wished to find out if you could speak English. You are a spy!”
Etzooah slunk away. Still only half convinced that he had been tricked, he kept glancing fearfully over his shoulder.
Loseis was filled with a fierce exultation. Now sheknew! No more indecision. To be sure, when she reflected, her solitary and desperate situation might well appall the stoutest heart; but at the moment she was only aware of the relief of getting rid of that suffocating sense of futility. Now she would know what to do! Her father was right about Gault; and her own heart had not played her false.
She closed the store, and took Mary-Lou back to their house.
Loseis’ nature knew no half measures. Having recognized Gault as her enemy, she was prepared to fight. She did not blink the danger of her position. She no longer had any illusions about the fate of those letters which the trader had so impressively despatched outside. She realized that Gault himself stood between her and any possible succor, and that he intended to keep her cut off from her kind until he should have obtained what he wanted. Well, she quickly resolved upon a course of action. Her only hope lay in bringing her wits into play. Gault must not be allowed to suspect that she saw through his schemes. Etzooah, she knew, would never dare confess to his master that he had betrayed himself. There was a fatuous side to Gault’s character; and she must play on that. Perhaps through his own folly she might defeat him in the end.
Suddenly Loseis clapped her hands to her head with a cry of dismay. She had suddenly recollected that all her father’s papers were in his desk in the room where Gault was sleeping, and the desk was not even locked! While he was alive of course, nobody would have dared venture into Blackburn’s room uninvited, much less touch his papers. Loseis beat her fists against her head, and groaned in bitterness. What an ignorant childish fool she had been to neglect a thing so important!
She ran to the window to look across at the men’s house. She could not tell whether Gault was within or not. On the spur of the moment she sent Mary-Lou across to invite Gault and Moale to supper with her. Mary-Lou returned to say that the two men had ridden up to the lake (ten miles distant) to have a look at the Slavi village there. Loseis then ventured across herself.
Etzooah was in the kitchen of the house. He received her with his customary witless grin, and edged in front of the door to the inner room as if to keep her out. Loseis caught her breath in astonishment, and her eyes fairly blazed on the man.
“Stand aside, dog of a redskin!” she cried. “This is my father’s house, and Gault is only a guest here at my pleasure!”
To the terrified Indian it seemed as if the little figure had grown a foot. He slunk aside, and Loseis went into her father’s room, closing the door after her.
Upon her first glance at the desk it was apparent to her that Gault had stolen a march on her; though she did not immediately understand the significance of what he had done. The desk was a handsome piece after the Colonial style made by Blackburn himself. It had four drawers below, and a flap which lifted down to form the writing table. The drawers and the flap alike were fastened shut by strips of papers, caught down by clots of sealing wax. Going closer Loseis saw that the wax had been impressed with Gault’s ring.
Loseis smiled bitterly. Her first impulse was to tear open these flimsy seals; but she held her hand. No; the damage was already done; if anything had been abstracted, how was she to know? Better to keep Gault in ignorance of the fact that she had been there. She did not believe that Etzooah would tell him, unless it occurred to Gault to question him. A Slavi never volunteers any information to a white man. The upshot was that Loseis turned around, and went home.
The invitation to supper was repeated later. When Gault came over it was a changed Loseis who greeted him. Her uncertainty was gone. Danger stimulated her; all her faculties were sharpened. She had put on one of her prettiest dresses; her dark eyes sparkled with topaz lights; and she gave Gault smile for smile. The trader was charmed. She is coming ’round, he thought; I knew she would.
Moale saw deeper. His inscrutable eyes followed Loseis with a new respect. Moale served his master very faithfully, but he was like the Slavis in one respect; he never volunteered any information.
Supper was quite a jolly occasion. Loseis listened attentively to Gault’s stories; and was prompt with her applause. The trader visibly expanded; and Moale’s expression as he watched him became even more sardonic than usual. During the course of the meal, Loseis said with an innocent air:
“Mr. Gault, all my father’s papers are in that desk in your room. Will you go over everything with me to-morrow, and explain it.”
He wagged a protesting hand in her direction. “No, no, no,” he said; “nothing must be touched until the lawyer comes.”
“That cannot be for weeks yet,” said Loseis, “and in the meantime I am curious to . . .”
“I have sealed the desk,” said Gault.
“Sealed my father’s desk?” said Loseis, opening her eyes wide.
“My dear girl, consider my position,” he said. “I am an interested party in these matters—or at least I will be so considered; and I have to lean over backwards in the effort to avoid anything which would look like taking an unfair advantage. Imagine my feelings upon retiring that first night, when I found myself alone in the room with all the private papers of my late rival in business! I was shocked; shocked. If the desk had been locked, and the key in your possession it would have been all right; but upon trying it—for my own protection, I found that it was open. Fortunately Moale was in the kitchen. I instantly called him in, and sealed up the desk in his presence.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?” asked Loseis.
“It was late. You had retired.”
“Why didn’t you speak of it next day?”
“I never thought of it. It is customary when a man dies to seal up his papers until his attorney can take charge. I did it as a matter of course.”
“Perhaps his papers are not there after all,” said Loseis.
“Perhaps not,” said Gault, with a seeming open look. “I only moved the cover with my thumb for about a quarter of an inch to find out if it was locked. I know no more than the man in the moon what the desk contains.”
Loseis lowered her eyes. What a fool he must think me! she thought—well, it is just as well that he should think me a fool.
“Did Blackburn possess a safe?” asked Gault.
“No,” said Loseis. “Nobody ever stole anything from my father.”
“I wish I could say the same,” said Gault ruefully. He went on to tell the story of the Scotch half-breed who had brought a black fox skin to his post to trade, and had then replaced it with a clumsy imitation, almost under the trader’s nose. It appeared that he had worked the trick in turn at every post on the big river; but was apprehended at Fort McMaster on his way out. Loseis, smiling at the story, permitted Gault to suppose that it had caused her to forget the sealed desk.
After the meal, Gault sent Moale away on a manifestly trumped-up errand. Loseis was not sorry to see him go. She was a little afraid of his unchanging, watchful gaze. He never spoke unless he were addressed. As for Gault, it was curious that now she knew he was her enemy, she no longer dreaded to be left alone with him.
She drew up the hammock-chair to the fire. “You must take this chair to-night,” she said. “And light one of your delicious cigars. . . . There,” she said presently, “that is just like the happy nights when my father came to sit with me.”
Gault’s smile became a little bleak. He didn’t want to be regarded as a father. He stole a look at Loseis to see if this could be an intentional dig; but her face expressed only an innocent pleasure in seeing him comfortable.
She perched herself on one of the straight-backed chairs beside him, with her heels cocked up on the rungs. “Have you ever been married, Mr. Gault?” she asked.
“No,” said the trader, a little uncertain as to what was coming next.
“Why not?” asked Loseis.
“Well,” said he, looking noble, “I could not bear to expose the kind of woman that I wished to marry to my rude life in the wilderness.”
“How lonely you must have been!” murmured Loseis.
Gault felt reassured. This was the sort of talk a man had the right to expect from a white woman. He settled himself for a comfortable heart to heart talk by the fire. “Ah, yes,” he said with a far-away look; “I have had my bitter times! People call me a hard man; they do not know! They do not know!”
The corners of Loseis’ mouth twitched demurely. “Tell me all about yourself,” she murmured.
CHAPTER VIIIHEAVENLY MUSIC
Atnoon of the fourth day after his setting-out, Gault’s messenger returned from Fort Good Hope driving several laden pack-horses before him. The horses were unpacked at the door of Blackburn’s House, and the goods carried in. From their windows opposite, Loseis and the four Marys full of curiosity, watched and speculated on the contents of the various packages. The natural consequence of Blackburn’s having forbidden all traffic across the height of land was that Fort Good Hope loomed in the imagination of his people as a sort of fabulous place. Anything might come from there.
By and by Gault was seen coming across the grass accompanied by a breed with a canvas duffle bag over his shoulder.
“More presents for you!” cried Mary-Lou clasping her hands.
Loseis permitted all the girls to be present while the bag was unpacked. Gault disregarded them. Thrusting his arm into the bag, he produced the various articles with a tender and proprietary smile upon Loseis. The Princess at such a moment was like any other young thing; breathless with anticipation, all her difficulties and dangers forgotten. First came several packages of novels, and an exclamation of pleasure escaped her. Novels had been forbidden her; and she had had no more than tantalizing tastes of their contents in the installments appearing in the magazines which drifted to Blackburn’s Post from time to time. Next came boxes of chocolates and other candies specially packed in tin. Next bottles of perfumes of various sorts, and boxes of strongly-scented soaps. As soon as Gault was out of the way, Loseis distributed these amongst her hand-maids. Next a box of elegant writing paper; pink, with gold edges.
“For you to write to me upon when I am gone,” said Gault with his fond smile.
(May that be soon! thought Loseis.) Aloud she said: “How pretty!”
The most astonishing present came, as was most fitting, from the bottom of the bag. From a little card-board box Gault took a shining nickel cube, having a sort of cup at one end, covered with glass. When you pressed a spring in the cube, light most miraculously appeared behind the glass. Loseis took it gingerly in her hands, gazing at it with wide and wondering eyes. The four red girls drew back, a little afraid.
“Of course you can’t get the full effect of it until dark,” said Gault.
“This is the electric light of which I have read,” said Loseis in a hushed voice. “How strange and beautiful!”
“There’s a box of extra batteries when it gives out,” said the trader.
Batteries meant nothing to Loseis. The gleaming torch had laid a spell upon her imagination. She switched it on and off. How strange, how strange this little light that she summoned and dismissed with a touch of her finger, like a fairy servant!
“If you went through the Slavi village some night with that in your hand it would create a sensation,” said Gault laughing.
His laughter jarred on Loseis. “No use frightening them for nothing,” she said. “I might need it some time.”
In the beginning it would have irked Loseis very much to receive these presents from Gault, but now she felt no qualms. He is counting on getting it back many times over, she thought.
During the course of the afternoon, Loseis and her girls were astonished to see Gault’s men climbing to the roof of Blackburn’s House. Alongside the chimney they affixed a tall pole. When it was up, wires were strung from it to the top of the flagpole in the middle of the little plaza. Loseis’ curiosity could no longer contain itself. She went across to ask what they were doing.
“Wait until to-night,” said Gault, smiling. “You are dining with me to-night. Afterwards there is to be a surprise.”
That dinner was full of new things for Loseis. A crowning touch was supplied by a potted geranium in the center of the table, bearing three scarlet blossoms. Never before had that flower bloomed at Blackburn’s Post. A cry of admiration broke from Loseis.
“The parson’s sister sent it to you with her compliments,” said the trader. “She has them blooming all winter in her parlor.”
Loseis’ heart suddenly went out to this unknown sister of her own color. “What is she like?” she asked shyly.
“Oh, just what you’d expect a parson’s sister to be,” he said indifferently.
The food was strange to Loseis; but for the most part highly agreeable. First there was a queer, spicy soup. Mulligatawney, Gault called it, and Loseis laughed at the ridiculous-sounding word. It must have come out of a can, she reflected. This was followed by a great roast of beef which is extraordinarily esteemed as an article of food up North, simply because it is so hard to come by. (“A steer was slaughtered at Fort Good Hope expressly for you,” said Gault to Loseis with a bow.) With the roast beef were served potatoes and stewed tomatoes, both novel dishes at Blackburn’s Post. For dessert came on a plum pudding, likewise out of a can; and this Loseis considered the best thing she had ever tasted. There were, besides, small dishes containing olives which the guest did not like; and salted almonds which she did.
Pride forbade Loseis to betray any further curiosity concerning the “surprise” but with every mouthful she took, she was thrillingly conscious of an oblong box that rested on a small table at the side of the room, covered by a cloth. That must be the surprise of course. It had a most exciting shape.
After the table had been cleared, Gault sought to tease her, by lighting up his cigar in leisurely fashion, while he talked of indifferent matters. But he didn’t get any change out of Loseis, who sat quietly with her hands in her lap, looking at the fire.
Finally he said: “Wouldn’t you like to know what is under that cloth?”
“Whenever you are ready,” said Loseis politely.
Gault laughed, and jerked the cloth away. Loseis beheld a beautiful box of a polished red wood, having in the front of it several curious black knobs with indicators and dials above them. The whole apparatus was suggestive of magic. Gault began to turn the knobs, and Loseis, holding her breath, prepared herself for anything to happen; red and green flames perhaps, with a Jinn springing up in the middle.
When it came, it let her down suddenly from that awful suspense. It was not startling at all, but sweet. Music mysteriously filled the room, coming, not from that box, but from an unknown source. It melted the heart with its sweetness. It resembled the music of a violin with which Loseis was familiar, but infinitely fuller and richer, with strange, deep undertones that caused delicious shivers to run up the girl’s spine.
“Oh, what is it? What is it?” she murmured.
“Music from Heaven,” said Gault grinning.
For a moment she believed him. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the entrancing sounds. It was too beautiful, too beautiful to be of this earth. Yet it was not strange; it seemed like something she had always been waiting for; it satisfied a longing. It caused her to think of her father and of her lover. The thoughts of death and of love became intermingled in her mind, intolerably sweet and bitter. The tears swelled under her eyelids.
Then Gault destroyed the spell that he himself had evoked. “It’s coming through fine, to-night,” he remarked to Moale. “No interference.”
Loseis dropped down to earth. A recollection came to her. “It is the radio,” she said quietly. “I have read of that, too.”
It was a music of many voices, now loud, now soft; one voice then another spoke above them all; then all were raised together. Shrill, merry voices running up and down like laughter; voices as plaintive as the laughter of loons at dusk; deep, sonorous voices that suggested courage and endurance. Loseis tried in vain to pick out the tune. It had a meaning; but one could not grasp it. It was like listening to the whole world.
“What makes such music?” she whispered.
“Orchestra,” he said.
Loseis had met with this word in books; but she did not know the meaning. She would not ask.
“A whole crowd of instruments together,” said Gault. “Little fiddles, medium size fiddles, and big fiddles; wooden horns and brass horns of every size and shape; and a row of drums.”
“Where is it coming from?” she asked.
“From the station in Calgary.”
Loseis was lifted up on the wings of wonder again. From Calgary! A thousand miles away! She visualized the long ten miles ride to the Lake; and tried to imagine a hundred times ten miles. It was too much; the mind could not take it in. She thought of the night outside, and suddenly it became clear to her why the silence of Northern nights was so profoundly disturbing. It was not a silence at all; the night was full of these voices from all over the world, winging through the sky, and the heart was sensible to them, though the ears were deaf.
“How do you do it? How do you do it?” murmured Loseis.
“Oh, it would take old Marconi to explain that,” said the trader laughing.
Ah! will Paul and I ever listen to such music together? thought Loseis.
The music came to an end. After a pause a man began to speak. This affected Loseis even more strangely than the music. A man speaking to them in a quiet, friendly voice, as if he was there beside them! And he was not there. A spirit was amongst them without its body. Awe gripped Loseis. She shivered, and looked over her shoulder. Gault watching her, chuckled, and she shrank sharply into herself again.
The man was giving a humorous account of how he went with his wife to buy a hat. He spoke of the crowds of people in the streets, and the gayly decorated shop windows. Loseis was too much filled with wonder of the voice to pay heed to the story. He said: “I met her at the Palliser Hotel this afternoon.” Yet he was a thousand miles away! He said: “I took her into the restaurant, and when she said she wasn’t hungry, I prepared myself for the worst.” Gault and Moale laughed, and Loseis looked at them in surprise. A thousand miles! A thousand miles.
It was a jolly, friendly voice that reassured the child’s heart of Loseis. And it was clear that he was speaking to others whom he knew to be as honest and kind as himself. Loseis had a sudden vision of the populous, kindly world lying outside, and her breast yearned over it. The friendly voice seemed to bring her so close, to admit her to that world. But a realization of her loneliness swept over her. There was that thousand miles of prairie, muskeg and forest lying between. Alone! Alone! worse than alone, for she was hedged about with false and lying men who wished her ill. Ah! If she could only communicate with the honest people, they would not let her come to harm. Drawn quite out of herself, Loseis rose to her feet, stretching out her arms.
“Oh, if I could only speak to him!” she murmured.
Gault laughed heartily. “That would require a whole transmitting station,” he said. “Quite a different matter from getting it.”
Loseis dropped back in her chair. She glanced at the trader with involuntary dislike. What a coarse animal under his fine manners! she thought.
When the concert came to an end, Gault said: “To-morrow night, we’ll get the Slavis into the kitchen, and spring it on them,” he said laughing. “Lordy! what a scatteration there will be!”
Loseis got up to go. “You will do what you like, of course,” she said coldly. “But do not expect me to come.”
“But why?” asked the surprised Gault.
“It’s a beautiful, wonderful thing,” said Loseis, looking wistfully at the red box. “I should not care to see it made a mock of.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” said Gault quickly, “no Slavis! I brought this over solely to give you pleasure, Princess!”
CHAPTER IXAN UPSET
Gaultand Moale were breakfasting in the men’s house.
“How about the fur here?” asked Moale.
“All in good time,” said his master.
“Have you got the key to the warehouse?”
“Yes. But of course I have to make out that it’s sealed up in the desk.”
“I don’t see what you expect to gain by that bit of flummery,” said Moale.
“No?” said Gault sarcastically. “I am keeping the girl out of her father’s papers, am I not? . . . I know what I am doing. Suppose some one should come in here? Everything would be found in order; Blackburn’s will, his accounts, his letters. I have taken nothing, because there was nothing I wanted; it was sufficient for me to read it all.”
“What was in his will?” said Moale curiously.
“Oh, he left everything to the girl, of course. That doesn’t signify anything, because if there was no will, the courts would award it to her anyway.”
“Well, I’d like fine to have a look at that fur,” said Moale with glittering eyes. Fur was his passion. If he had other passions, he kept them hid.
“You are to keep away from the warehouse for the present,” said Gault peremptorily.
“I have read the inventory,” said Moale. “There are ten black fox skins of the first quality. I have never seen so many at one time. Those alone will bring from a thousand to fifteen hundred each. Besides the silver and the cross foxes; the mink, otter and fisher. The whole lot is worth well above a hundred thousand at present prices.”
“Quite that,” said Gault. “But I’m playing for a bigger stake, and I don’t intend to jeopardize it by making any premature move.”
“How much is the girl worth?” asked Moale slyly.
“I don’t know,” said the other coolly.
Moale lowered his eyes; he knew very well that Gault was lying; but did not care to let him see that he knew. Presently he said: “The news of Blackburn’s death will be all over by now. That fool Etzooah let it out at our post before I could stop his mouth. And Conacher carried the news north with him.”
“I had no thought of keeping it secret,” said Gault.
“How about Gruber, then? If you keep him waiting too long at the Crossing, he’s likely to come down here to see what’s up.”
“I’ve written to Gruber telling him that if he will wait a few weeks, I’ll send him the fur as soon as I can arrange matters.”
“Maybe that letter won’t satisfy him.”
“Well, if he comes he shall have the fur. It will be a good way of getting him away from here again.”
“I should hate to see that fur get out of our hands,” said Moale. “That’s real; that’s the goods! Whereas the other thing . . .” He shrugged.
“You’re a fool,” said Gault contemptuously. “The girl is all but ready to drop into my arms. All I need is a little time.”
Moale looked down at his plate again.
In spite of the confidence that Gault had expressed, this conversation brought forward the little worrying anxiety that lingered in the back of his mind. Here were the days passing one after another, and could it be honestly said that he was making progress with Loseis? Sometimes he was sure he was—sometimes not so sure. She was such a baffling creature; at one moment as open and easily moved as a child and the next moment revealing a maturity of mind and an originality that startled him. At other times she was as provoking and secretive as an Indian. To be sure of late she had been generally friendly, even sympathetic; but try as he would, he could not get their relations on the man and woman plane, the plane of courtship. Loseis eluded him like a sprite.
In his heart Gault cursed the time that must be wasted in wooing a civilized miss. They managed such things better in a simpler state of society, when the girl would have been hit over the head, and dragged off without more ado. Women have never really become civilized, he thought; they need to be beaten still. Well, having an eye to the outside world, he could not actually do this, but should he not apply the principle? Perhaps he had been too gentle, too considerate a wooer. That only set her up in her own opinion. It was ridiculous to suppose that a mere slip of a girl who didn’t know her own mind could resist a mature and strong-willed man like himself. The time had come for him to overbear her by the mere force of his personality. She would thank him for it in the end. A Loseis, humbled and loving; Ah! what a seductive picture!
Gault had his horse brought, and mounting, rode across to the Women’s House, well aware that he appeared to the best advantage on a horse. He knocked at the door without dismounting, and when Loseis appeared, she was obliged to look up at him, proudly holding his seat, and making believe to soothe his horse, while secretly fretting him with his off heel. But no light of admiration appeared in Loseis’ clear eyes. She took horsemanship as a matter of course.
“Will you ride up to the lake with me?” asked Gault. “I have grub for two. I think you ought to show yourselves to the Slavis just to remind them that you are the mistress here.”
Loseis cocked an eye at the sky. It was like an inverted bowl of palest turquoise. “Surely!” she cried. “I’m longing for a ride. Give me five minutes to change my skirt.”
Mary-Rose was sent running to fetch Loseis’ horse.
Loseis and her horse appeared simultaneously. This was the first time that Gault had beheld the girl’s riding costume. It comprised Strathcona boots; breeches; a blue flannel shirt; and a flat-brimmed man’s hat set crookedly on one side of her head. The shirt was open at the neck, and under the collar she had knotted a gay red and yellow kerchief. She turned up her face to the sky, all open, drinking in the light with joy; and Gault, observing her hair, softer and blacker than anything else in Nature, the tender brilliance of her eyes, and her flower-petal lips, felt a pain like a needle go through his breast, and lost his sense of mastery.
He thought: The devil is in it, that she is able to hurt me so! She must never be allowed to suspect her power.
Loseis vaulted on her horse. They trotted down the rise, and passing between the tepees, splashed through the small stream. Clawing their way up the further bank, their horses broke into a gallop in the clean grass. Summer had pronounced her benediction on the North, and the world was like a freshly painted picture. Loseis, who was ahead, sang out:
“Oh, what a day for a ride!” To herself she added: “If that was Conacher pounding along behind, I should be the happiest girl alive!”
Their way led more or less close to the river. There were but two horse trails leaving Blackburn’s Post; that to Fort Good Hope, and this one which, after circling the easterly shore of Blackburn’s Lake, struck south to the distant rendezvous near the Crossing. Rich bottom lands alternated with occasional gravelly ridges to be crossed. Conversation was impossible; for horses trained to the trail will not travel abreast; however Gault, knowing that they would be out all day, was content to bide his time.
Descending into a lush meadow, already fetlock deep in grass, Loseis clapped heels to her horse, and set off, yelling like an Indian. Her sorrel mare laid her ears back and went like the wind. She would have yelled too if she could. The sight brought that needle-pain back to Gault’s breast, by reminding him that his day for yelling and running was forever past.
In another meadow they came upon a herd of horses quietly feeding, and Loseis paused to look them over. These were the broken horses kept on this side, while the wild horses ranged across the river. Blackburn on the day he was killed, had been engaged in rounding up these horses to take out the fur.
When they rode up on top of the ridge which formed the cut-bank known as Swallow Bend, all Loseis’ gayety was quenched. She slipped out of her saddle, and without speaking, handed her rein to Gault to hold. Creeping to the edge of the bank, she looked over. In the gravelly stuff below she could easily follow the marks where the horses had first struck, and then rolled down into the water. A wild regret filled her heart, and her tears ran fast.
They were still falling when she returned to Gault, and silently received her rein. Her grief was as natural and spontaneous as her gayety had been an hour before. The ageing man bit his lip and cursed her in his heart for being so beautiful.
Just below the lake they forded the main stream through a brawling shallow rapid, the Slavi village being on the other side. Scores of tepees rose here, as well as several log shacks built in imitation of the white man for winter use. Their coming was beheld from afar, and a tremendous commotion arose in the village; the news was shrieked from tepee to tepee. Upon their entrance a dead silence fell; and the Slavis, like school children all adopted a look of vacant stupidity as a cover for their embarrassment. Loseis did not dismount; but rode up and down, speaking to this one and that.
Tatateecha, the head man of all the Slavis came to her stirrup. He was a round little man, distinguished amongst all the tribe by his fleshiness. The responsibilities of headship had given him more steadiness of character too, but not much more. Loseis did not hold him accountable for the excesses at the Post. Tatateecha made a flowery speech of welcome to Loseis; and another to Gault.
“You are wasting your breath,” remarked Loseis. “He does not understand your tongue.”
“Is he the trader now?” asked Tatateecha slyly.
“No!” said Loseis with a flash of her eyes. “He is my guest. . . . Do you wish to trade with him?” she added.
“No! No!” said Tatateecha earnestly. “He has the name of a hard trader. They tell me that the people at Fort Good Hope are always poor.”
“Very well, then,” said Loseis. “Serve me, and I will deal with you justly and fairly as my father did. You never knew want when he was alive.”
Tatateecha’s eyes twinkled. To be talking in this manner under the very nose of the proud Gault appealed to the Slavi sense of humor.
“This man wishes me ill,” Loseis went on. “He would take my post from me. I look to you and your people to be my friends, and help me to keep what is my own.”
Tatateecha in his redskin style swore fealty. Unfortunately he was not to be trusted far.
“I have another thing to say,” Loseis went on. “The man who fetched this man into our country—I do not name him because this man would hear me; you know the man I mean. That false person is this person’s spy, so beware how you open your hearts to him. I have finished.”
Loseis and Gault rode on. They left Tatateecha looking rather scared, but Loseis told herself that at least her speaking to him would do no harm.
“What were you talking about?” asked Gault.
“Oh, he was apologizing for the way his people behaved in the store, and I was telling him it had better not happen again,” said Loseis carelessly.
Beyond the village the land rose to a low bluff which commanded a prospect of the lake. Here they turned out their horses, and sat down in the grass to eat. After the pleasant, diversified country they had ridden through, an astonishing panorama met their eyes. The whole earth suddenly flattened out. They were upon the only bit of high ground that approached the lake. In front of them a sea of water and a sea of grass stretched to the horizon; and it was impossible to say where the one ended and the other began. On either hand in the far distance ran the bordering hills. The only thing there was in sight to break that tremendous flatness was a flock of wild swans a mile or more away, fluttering their wings in the sun.
When they had satisfied their hunger, Gault bethought himself that it was time to take a firm tone with Loseis. He said bluntly:
“Do you know, you’re a damn pretty girl.”
He prepared himself for an explosion; but Loseis surprised him again.
“Of course I know it,” she said coolly; looking at him with a slanting smile.
“How do you know it? You’ve never seen any white girls.”
“Oh, one knows such things anyhow,” she said shrugging.
“Has any man ever told you?” demanded Gault.
“No,” said Loseis, clear-eyed as the sky; but thinking of Conacher nevertheless.
“Well, I’m telling you,” said Gault.
“Thanks,” said Loseis with a quick smile.
The smile annoyed the trader. It seemed to express something other than gratitude. “Do you know what they sometimes call me?” he asked.
Loseis shook her head.
“Kid-Glove Gault. An allusion to my manner, of course. Everybody knows that it conceals an iron hand. I have been through a hard school, and I have come out hard. I choose to be courteous because I despise those who surround me. I have taught myself to stand alone.”
Loseis became very uncomfortable. Why does he tell me all this? she thought.
“Look at me!” he said peremptorily.
She shook her head, pressing her lips together. If I did, I should burst out laughing in his face, she thought.
Gault was not ill-pleased by her refusal. It seemed to testify to his power. “There is another side to my nature,” he went on, “which I have never revealed to a living soul. All the softer feelings which other men scatter in a hundred directions I have saved up for one!”
Mercy! ejaculated Loseis to herself.
“But it is not to be given lightly,” said Gault. “I am a proud, jealous, and violent man. I may be led by one whom I trust, but never driven. I shall never let down my guard until I am assured that the one I have chosen is worthy . . .”
This sort of talk put Loseis on pins and needles—she could not have told why. Her body twitched, and her face was all drawn up in a knot of comical distaste. She kept her head averted from Gault. Oh, if he wouldonlystop! she was saying to herself.
“. . . of my confidence,” he went on; “such is my character. I am not trying to excuse it. I have long been indifferent to both praise and blame. The woman who places her hand in mine must . . .”
Loseis could stand no more. Springing to her feet, she ran back towards the place where the horses were grazing.
“Excuse me a moment,” she called over her shoulder. “I must water my horse.”
Gault with a black face had sprung up to follow her. But he checked himself. That would betooludicrous for one of his years and dignity. Besides, she could probably run faster than he. He ground his teeth with rage. “A coquette!” he muttered. “By God! I’ll tame her!”
All the way home he glowered at her back, but Loseis could not see that.
After supper she went across to hear the radio concert in some trepidation; but Gault received her with his usual smooth and well-controlled face; and she felt relieved. He treated her with the most exquisite courtesy. This high manner may have concealed terrible fires within; but Loseis was not worrying about that. She gave herself up to the music.
After it was over, Gault walked home with her. That rare day had been succeeded by a still rarer night. Low in the southerly sky hung a great round moon. Measured by the standards of southerly latitudes, the moon behaves very eccentrically up there. After describing a short arc across the southern sky, she would go down in an hour or so not far from where she had risen. In the meantime she held the world in a breathless spell of beauty. In that magical light the rude buildings of the Post created a picture of old romance. There was a silvery bloom upon the grass; and the velvety black shadows suggested unutterable meanings that caught at the heart. The shadow of Gault’s house reached almost to Loseis’ door.
They paused there; and Loseis looked around her with a tight breast. (Is he somewhere under this moon thinking of me?) “This is the night of the whole year!” she said.
“Well, we are free, white, and twenty-one,” said Gault. “Why go to bed? . . . The best place to see moonlight is on the river. Come out in a canoe with me for an hour.”
Loseis’ intuition warned her not to go—but one does not always listen to one’s intuitions. She was tempted. He can’t do any more than talk, she thought; I guess I can stand it. I shall be looking at the moonlight, and thinking of the other one. “Very well,” she said.
“Go in and get a coat,” he said. “I’ll come back for you in two minutes.”
He hastened back to his own kitchen. One of his Crees was sent down to the creek mouth to find a canoe. Of the others, one played a banjo and all could sing the old-fashioned songs that are still current in the far North. These were stationed on a bench outside the kitchen door with orders to sing,not loud. After all there was something magnificent about Gault. In his dark way he had imagination. But he was fifty-three years old!
When they got down to the water’s edge the Cree was holding the canoe for them to step into. By Gault’s orders he had chosen not one of the usual bark canoes of the Slavis which are little more than paper boats, but a dug-out of which there were several lying in the creek. These heavier and roomier craft are however, no more stable than the others. Loseis perceived that a nest of blankets and pillows had been arranged for her in the bottom.
“Oh, I like to paddle,” she said.
“Give me the pleasure of looking at you in the moonlight,” murmured Gault.
Again Loseis felt strong compunctions; but it seemed too ridiculous to back out then; especially with the Indian looking on. She got in; and Gault, taking his place in the stern, paddled out into the main stream.
Heading the canoe down river, he allowed it to drift. That brought Loseis reclining under his eyes in the full shine of the moon; while he, sitting up on the thwart, was blackly silhouetted against the light. Presumably it was very lovely on the river—Loseis observed how the face of the water seemed to be powdered with moon-dust; and at any other time her heart would have been melted by the distant strumming of the banjo, and the muted voices; but now it was all spoiled for her by that silhouette. How could she think of Conacher while the other man’s eyes were boring into her. She was sorry she had come. She became sorrier when Gault began to speak.
“You are beautiful!” he said in a masterful voice. “I want you!”
At first Loseis was only conscious of astonishment.
“Want me?” she echoed blankly.
“To-morrow I shall send over to my Post for the parson,” he went on, coolly. “He may bring his sister with him to attend upon you. We shall be married in your house. It will be more fitting.”
Loseis was literally struck dumb. She sat up straight, trying to peer into the shadowy face that was almost invisible to her, her mouth hanging open like a child’s.
Gault laughed fondly. “Do not look so frightened,” he murmured. “I will take good care of you . . . little sweetheart.”
A little strained note of laughter was surprised out of the girl. The last word sounded so funny, shaped by those stiff old lips.
Gault ascribed it to nerves. It did not put him off at all. “As soon as we are married,” he went on. “Let us take advantage of the Summer season to make a trip outside. A handsome spirited girl like you will enjoy seeing the cities. You shall have everything that your heart desires. And we will be able to attend to the business of your father’s estate. I don’t mean places like Edmonton or Calgary. What would you say to New York . . . London?”
As he talked on a chill of terror struck to Loseis’ breast. He seemed so very sure of himself! The fond, elderly voice made her feel like a little girl again. “Do Ihave tomarry him?” she asked herself, trembling.
The river was very high. The muddy borders which would show themselves later, were now completely covered. The overhanging willows trailed their branches in deep water. Without noticing it, they had drifted close to the easterly shore.
Gault’s ardor increased. He dropped forward in the bottom of the dug-out, and crept closer to Loseis. Putting a hand down on either side of her for support and balance, he strained towards her. Loseis got a hateful whiff of the scented breath again.
“Seal it with a kiss, sweetheart,” he murmured.
Loseis’ blood rebelled, and all uncertainty left her. She was no longer the child, but an aroused woman. She wriggled her body further forward in the dug-out, out of his reach.
“Easy! Easy!” he cried sharply; “or you’ll have us over!”
“Marry you!” cried Loseis with a burst of clear laughter that flayed him raw. “You ugly old man! The husband I have chosen is not like you!”
Gault drew in his breath with a moan of rage; and, careless of the danger, began to creep towards her. At that instant a willow branch brushed against the girl’s hair. Springing up, Loseis embraced a whole mass of the leaves within her arms, and swung herself out. Under the violent propulsion of her body, the narrow craft rolled over in a twinkling, and Gault was precipitated into the water.
Loseis sank into the icy water up to her neck, and hung there, dangling from her branches. For a moment there was silence; then Gault’s head emerged from the river, and the night was shattered by a roar for help. Loseis saw him seize the canoe, and knew that he was in no danger of drowning. He was no more than twenty feet from her, but drifting away on the current.
Loseis worked her way along her slender branches, to thicker branches, and finally gained a footing on firm ground. Gault, drifting downstream continued to roar for help. Making her way across the flat below the Post, Loseis met Moale, and the Crees running in response to their master’s cries. The Slavi village was in an uproar.
“Gault is in the river,” said Loseis coolly. “He’s in no danger. Get canoes and go after him.”
Reaching her own house Loseis found the terror-stricken girls huddled in a group. At the sight of her drenched clothing, Mary-Lou clasped her hands tragically.
“What has happened?” she gasped.
Loseis did not answer her immediately, but only leaned back against the door with widening eyes. For suddenly she had realized whathadhappened, and was appalled by the certain consequences. She alone there with that pack of terrified girls!
“Bar the door,” she said. “Shutter the windows. We’ll have to stand a siege now! . . . No, wait!” she cried as they moved to obey her. “We must have weapons. The men won’t be back for half an hour. I’ll fetch guns from the store!”