CHAPTER XCONTRABAND
Allnight long Loseis and her girls listened in trepidation, but none approached their house. In the morning, Loseis, disdaining to remain under cover any longer, sallied out of the house to find Gault, and have it out with him. Anything was better than uncertainty.
The trader was at breakfast in the kitchen of the men’s house. Seeing Loseis at the door, he rose quickly, showing a smooth, composed face, but with eyes as hard as agate. “Good morning,” he said with extreme politeness; “I trust that you received no hurt from your ducking last night. I was coming over directly to inquire. How inexcusably careless of me! I shall never forgive myself!”
Loseis waved all this aside. “I should like a few words with you,” she said as politely as he.
“Please come in,” said Gault. He indicated the inner room.
“I would be glad if you would step outside,” said Loseis.
“Certainly!”
They walked away from the door, followed by the sharp, secret glances of the Crees. Gault rubbed his upper lip. Under the mask he wore, an uneasiness made itself felt. Certainly he had not expected Loseis to look him up, nor could he guess what was coming.
She wasted no words in coming to the point. “When you heard of my father’s death you hastened over here to help me, you said. If your intentions were good, I thank you.”
“Do you doubt it?” asked Gault sharply.
She spread out her hands. “What difference does that make now? Whether you wished to help me or not it would be impossible under the present circumstances.” She paused for a moment. It required a strong nerve to say this to Andrew Gault. “I must therefore ask you to leave the Post as soon as possible.”
There was a silence. Gault stared at her incredulously. In spite of his iron self-control a blackish flush spread under his skin. Infernal passions were raging under his mask. But he fought them down. He said nothing. He fell back a step, that Loseis could not see his face without turning squarely around.
“Well?” she said sharply. “Have you nothing to say?”
“What is there to say?” he murmured.
“You could refuse to go,” said Loseis proudly. “If you refused to go, of course I could not make you.”
“I could not refuse,” said Gault with a sort of hollow reverberation of his usual full and courteous tones. “You put me in an extraordinarily difficult position. I do not think you should be left alone here; but of course I cannot stay.”
“I shall manage very well,” said Loseis.
“I am sorry you think so badly of me,” said Gault.
“Oh, I shall not think badly of you, if you will only leave me alone,” said Loseis quickly. “I shall always be grateful to you!”
Silence again. Gault literally ground his teeth. After awhile he was able to say: “You are mixing up two things together.”
“You are mistaken,” said Loseis. “The two things are quite separate in my mind. I have had all night to think them over.”
“Do you wish me to leave Mr. Moale here to assist you?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” said Loseis firmly. “Furthermore, I should be greatly obliged if you would carry Etzooah back with you.”
For the fraction of a second the flames broke through Gault’s mask. “Suppose you needed a messenger!” he cried.
“I should not choose Etzooah to be my messenger,” said Loseis quietly.
He quickly controlled himself. “Very well,” he said; “we will be off as soon as we can get our traps together. Say to-morrow morning.”
“Oh, suit your convenience, of course,” said Loseis politely.
Gault’s expression changed. His hard eyes turned askance on the girl. “Upon consideration,” he said, more smoothly than before, “I am sure we will be able to get away late this afternoon. We can make our first camp up on the prairie, where we will at least be out of your sight.”
Loseis bowed; and they parted out in the middle of the little square.
When Gault re-entered the kitchen of the men’s house, he did not speak. The expression on his face was frightful to see. One by one the Crees, making believe to have noticed nothing amiss, slipped outside. Even Moale did not care to face that look. He sauntered out after the others. Gault sat down as if to finish his meal; but he touched no food. He merely sat there with his hands on the edge of the table and his head lowered, thinking; thinking.
Finally he rose; and going into Blackburn’s room, coolly produced a key, with which he opened a wall cupboard. From it he took an earthenware jug, one of several on the shelves; and locking up the cupboard, carried the jug back to the kitchen table. Removing the cork, he smelled of the contents, but did not taste. It was a known thing in the country that Gault was not a drinking man. He called out to have Etzooah sent to him.
When the grinning Indian stood before him, Gault said curtly: “This afternoon, just before supper time, I shall be starting away from here. You are to come with me.”
Etzooah nodded.
“Etzooah,” the trader continued, fixing his burning glance on the man, “do the Slavis know the taste of whisky?”
“Wah!” said the Indian, showing his blackened teeth; “Tatateecha know it. And some of the old men. Twenty-five years ago there was a party of Klondikers went down this river. They had whisky. They hand it round. Blackburn had whisky too, but he did not give the people any.”
“Can you teach the younger men to drink it?” asked Gault with an ugly smile.
“Wah!” said Etzooah, with his silent laugh. “No need teach! All know what whisky is. The story of the white man’s stomach-warming medicine is often told over the fire.”
“Good!” said Gault. “When we leave here to-day, you may take them that jug of Blackburn’s whisky. Let it be carried out of the house with the other things when we are packing up. Just before we start, you may go down behind the house, that the white women may not see you, and give it to Mahtsonza for all. Do not tell them that I sent it. Say that you found it in Blackburn’s room, and I never missed it, because I am not a whisky-drinker.” Gault leaned across the table, and lowered his voice. “And tell them as if not meaning anything by it, that there are four more jugs in the little cupboard on the wall of Blackburn’s room.”
“All right,” said Etzooah, grinning still. “What if there is trouble after?”
“I’ll take care of that,” said Gault coolly. He had recovered his self-control.
“All right. All right,” said Etzooah.
During the course of the day, Loseis cast many an anxious glance across the way. Certain obvious preparations for departure were immediately set under way; the pole on the roof was taken down, and the wire rolled up on spools; the pack-horses which had been turned out in the meadow across the creek, were rounded up, and driven into the corral attached to Blackburn’s stable. So much done, Gault could have left within an hour had he chosen, but a long time passed before any further move was made.
Finally, towards the end of the afternoon, the Crees began to carry their bedding rolls out of the kitchen. The horses were led out and saddled, their packs adjusted, and the hitches thrown. By five o’clock all was ready for the start. After another wait, Gault came marching over to the Women’s House. Loseis met him at the door.
Exhibiting his finest manner, he smiled politely. “I know this must be disagreeable to you,” he said, “but I thought it better to keep up appearances before my servants and yours. I have come to say good-by.”
“I was expecting you,” said Loseis. “I wish to return the various gifts which you . . .”
“Oh, no!” said Gault sharply. “Do not put that slight upon me before these redskins. Surely you have done enough. . . .”
“Oh,” said Loseis, “if you feel that way about it, it does not matter, of course.”
He immediately recovered himself. “Let us appear to take a friendly good-by of each other.”
“Surely,” said Loseis. “Perhaps you will take a letter out for me? I understand that the mail is carried from Fort Good Hope every month.”
“Charmed!” said Gault.
She gave him the letter which had been written during the afternoon. It was addressed to Gruber at the Crossing. She realized that if the first letters had not been sent out, this one would hardly be allowed to go; still, it was a chance that must not be neglected.
Gault, standing hat in hand, said with his polite smile: “I shall give myself the pleasure of sending over from time to time, until assistance reaches you from the outside. Though you repudiate it, I still feel responsible for you.”
Loseis smiled back—a little quizzically. Is it worth it? her smile said.
“Good-by,” said Gault, putting out his hand.
“Good-by,” said Loseis, letting hers lie within it.
He strode back to his waiting party, and swung himself into the saddle. The Crees cried to the pack-horses, and all set off briskly out of the inclosure, disappearing behind the store. Presently they were to be seen on the trail above, trotting up the incline; smart, well-found, arrogant, modeled upon the style of the old Company. Loseis breathed more freely. To be sure, they were not gone yet, for Gault had said they would camp for the night on the edge of the prairie. She was not in the least deceived by his politeness. There would be another night of anxiety to face, but not so keen as the previous night; for the violence of his rage must have abated somewhat. Loseis realized that she had not so much to fear from violence now, as from the man’s cold craft.
She went into her house. The supper was waiting. The thoughtless red girls, thinking only that Gault was gone, were all smiles. Loseis had Mary-Lou to sit down with her at table, in the effort to keep at bay that ghastly feeling of solitude that crept over her like the coming of night. Alone! Alone! Alone! And so long before she could hope for succor! She gave the girls a highly comic account of Gault’s proposal the night before, laughing loudly herself. Anything to keep the bogies at bay!
It was about an hour afterwards when they first began to realize that something was amiss in the Slavi village. There was an ungodly sound of singing going on. The Slavis frequently made the twilight hours hideous with their wordless chanting. Loseis was accustomed to it. To-night it was different; it had an insane ring; they were burlesquing their own performance, and screaming with laughter. It was significant too, that the voices of the women were not to be heard. Loseis scarcely knew what drunkenness meant, or she would have understood sooner.
She went to the little window at the end of the room which overlooked the river flat. Though it was eight o’clock the sun had not yet dropped out of sight. All the Slavi men were gathered in a rough circle around a fire on the creek bank. There was no order in the company; some lay about; some danced with extravagant gestures. The ordinary dance of the Slavis was a decorous shuffle. The women were nowhere to be seen. Every moment the scene became more confused, and the yelling louder.
Leaving the window, Loseis said: “I am going down to see what is the matter.”
Mary-Lou flung herself upon her mistress: “No! No! No!” she cried in despair.
Loseis was very pale. She firmly detached the clinging hands. “There is nothing else to be done,” she said simply. “If I do not notice this, my influence over them is gone!”
Loseis went sedately down the grassy rise, neither hurrying, nor hanging back. Her back was straight; her face composed. Her look of proud scorn lent a strange poignancy to her childishness. Her heart might have been fluttering like a frightened child’s, but nobody could have guessed it. Mary-Lou, seeing her face, wept aloud, without knowing what it was that had moved her so.
As Loseis came near, the Slavis around the fire fell quiet and still. Only one of them jumped up, and ran away, carrying something. Loseis recognized the figure of Mahtsonza. He ran across the stepping-stones of the creek, and climbed up the further bank. The rest of them were orderly enough now: but their drunken, swimming eyes and hanging mouths told a tale.
Loseis stepped into the middle of the circle. “What means this howling that beats against my ears?” she demanded. “Are your brains full of ice? (The Slavi phrase for insanity.) Is this a pack of coyotes or men?”
None answered her. They merely looked stupid.
Mahtsonza, a furlong off by this time, and feeling himself safe, turned around exhibiting the earthenware jug. He insolently turned it up to his lips.
Loseis recognized the style of the jug. Her heart sank at the young man’s act of open defiance; but no muscle of her face changed. “Now I understand,” she said coldly. “Blackburn’s whisky has been stolen.”
“No steal,” muttered the man called Ahchoogah. “It was a gift.”
“Who gave it?” demanded Loseis.
There was no answer.
Loseis stepped to the nearest tepee, and stuck her head through the opening. Within, a crowd of dejected women and children, crouched around a tiny fire on the ground.
“Where did they get it?” demanded Loseis.
A voice answered: “Etzooah brought it.”
All was clear to Loseis. She sickened with disgust that a man big and powerful as Gault could stoop to so cowardly a trick.
Returning to the men she said in a voice of scorn: “Call Mahtsonza back. Drink what is left. Drink until you lie like rotten logs! When you return to yourselves you shall be punished!”
By this she meant that a fine would be entered against each man’s name on the books. Letting her eyes sweep around the circle as if to fix each face in her memory, she stepped out of the circle, and returned to her house without looking back.
The moment the door closed after her, the yelling broke out again, now with a clear note of defiance and derision. They wished her to understand that though they could not face out her strong glance, behind her back they spat at her. Looking out of the end window she could see them capering about, indulging like children in an outrageous pantomime of derision directed towards her house. Loseis quickly turned away. It was a bitter, bitter dose for her pride to swallow. “They should be whipped! They should be whipped!” she said, with the tears of anger springing to her eyes.
However, she felt a little better when she reflected that there was only one gallon of whisky between about forty men. It was only because they were totally unused to the stuff that it had affected them as quickly and so violently. The effect could not last long.
As on a former occasion at the suggestion of danger, Loseis found that the three Slavi girls had quietly vanished. “Let them go!” she said shrugging. “They would only be in our way.”
Loseis determined that she and Mary-Lou should sleep in the store. As long as she could keep them out of the store, she held the whip hand. When the two of them appeared outside the house, carrying their beds across the square, jeers and yells greeted them from below. Mary-Lou’s coppery cheeks turned grayish with fear; but Loseis’ chin went higher.
“Cowardly dogs!” she said. “If I went down there, their voices would dry up in their throats.”
As soon as it began to grow dark, she set the lighted lamp in the window of the store, to remind the Slavis that she was on guard.
Shortly afterwards the whole gang swept up into the little square within the buildings. They all carried branches and sticks; one or two had lighted brands from the fire below. Yelling and capering like demons, they piled their fuel in the center of the space, and set fire to it. In a few seconds the flames were leaping high, illuminating every corner of the square, and throwing the fantastic leaping shadows of the savages against the house fronts. Through the little window of the store, Loseis watched them with a stony face. To bring their orgy within the very confines of the Post! A hideous chill struck into her breast. If they dared so far, what might they not dare!
Soon, like the savages they were, they lost interest in their bonfire. The noise quieted down somewhat. Loseis ventured to hope that the effect of the spirit might be beginning to wear off. The jug was not visible. Presently she noticed that their attention was concentrated on her father’s house. Some of them were nosing around it like animals; others stood senselessly trying to peer through the dark panes; near the door a man was haranguing his fellows, waving his hand towards the house, Loseis could not hear his words.
The crowd around the door increased. Finally one ventured to put his hand on the latch. The door was not locked. It swung inward, and all the Slavis fell backward in affright. The same man who had opened the door, crept back on all fours, and sticking his head inside, uttered a senseless yell. The others shrieked with laughter. Still, they dared not venture in. They gathered together in a close body outside the door, and the sound of their jabbering reached Loseis faintly. Suddenly those at the back began to push, and the first ones were thrust inside. Instantly they all swept in. With a sickness of the heart, Loseis saw one run back to the fire, and snatch up a pine branch with a burning end.
The girl groaned. It affected her like an act of sacrilege. Blackburn was indeed dead when these miserable savages feared not to overrun his house. She expected to see his private papers scattered out of the door; she waited for the house to burst into flames.
However, destruction was not their present aim. They reappeared almost immediately, yelling in triumph. He who came first held another jug aloft; and others followed; Loseis counted: two . . . three . . . four! Her chin went down on her breast. Well . . . this is the end, she thought.
Mary-Lou had seen, too. “Quick! we must go!” she gasped. “They will kill now! Quick! through the little window at the back!”
Loseis slowly shook her head. “No! You can go. I stay. As long as I am here they will not dare to enter the store.”
“Look! Look!” cried Mary-Lou. “What they care now? They will kill you!”
“Maybe,” said Loseis somberly; “but I will not run from Slavis. You go.”
Mary-Lou dropped to her knees, and hid her face in Loseis’ skirt. “No! No!” she whispered. “I never leave you.”
Pandemonium had broken loose outside. Some had rifled Blackburn’s wood pile; and armful after armful of fresh fuel was thrown on the fire. The Slavis took leave of what little humanity they had. The jugs were snatched from hand to hand; tipped up to thirsty mouths; and snatched away again. But even in their drunkenness they did not fight amongst themselves. The fighting instinct was absent in this degenerate people. It was an ugly thing to see the miserable little creatures, born under the shadow of fear, and obliged to cringe to all men, now released of their fears by whisky. They expressed their freedom by throwing their heads back and howling like dogs; and by dancing around the fire with legs and arms all abroad like jumping-jacks. The great, round moon, rising a little higher to-night, looked down on this scene with her accustomed serenity.
Finally they began to turn their attention to the store. At first they did not dare to approach; but one or another would hide behind his fellows and squall derisively in the direction of Loseis. The others would laugh in the childish way of savages. These were merely animal cries, without words. Later Loseis began to hear the word Burn! cried from one to another. She shivered internally. Meanwhile the jugs were still circulating, rousing them to a pitch of frenzy.
At last a man snatched up a stick with a burning end. Instantly a dozen others followed his example. Loseis knocked out a pane of glass with her elbow; and put the barrel of her gun through the hole.
But the Slavis never reached the store. Something caused them to freeze where they stood. The whole mad, shifting scene suddenly became fixed like a picture. Then they dropped their torches and fled; vanishing in the silent manner peculiar to themselves. You could scarcely see how it happened; you looked again, and they were not there. A moment or two after the sound had reached their ears it came to Loseis within the house. It was the distant pounding of many hoofs on the trail.
When Gault and his men rode into the little square, Loseis was standing at the open door of the store. She still had the gun over her arm. Gault flung himself off his horse.
“Good God! what has happened?” he cried. “I heard the racket clear to my camp, and jumped on my horse. Are you hurt?”
Loseis slowly shook her head.
“Is any damage done?”
Loseis indicated the empty jugs lying scattered about. “None; except that my father’s whisky has been drunk up,” she said dryly.
“My God!” cried Gault. “The brutes! I hated to leave you this afternoon, but I didn’t expect to see my fears materialize this way. Now you see, don’t you, that I was right. You cannot be left here alone.”
Loseis did not speak. She looked at him steadily, her lips curving in a slow smile of scorn. She was thinking: Let him babble! It only makes him out a fool. I shall not tell him all I know. To keep silence gives me a power over him.
CHAPTER XIA MEETING
Alongsidea vast inland sea whose further shores were lost under the horizon, a tall young white man was cooking his supper in the open. The meal was going to be better than usual, for, having been camped in the same spot for a week, he had been able to secure game. On a spit before an ingeniously constructed fireplace of stones, a wild goose was roasting. The young man turned the spit, and basted his fowl. He kept the wooden spit from catching fire by the simple expedient of basting that also. At a little distance two Indians looked on with covert scorn at their master’s elaborate arrangements. What a lot of trouble to take to eat! They had been content to impale their goose for awhile on a stick inclined over the fire; whence they snatched it scorched on one side and raw on the other.
The young man, while taking an innocent pleasure in his own ingenuity, was thinking how unsatisfactory it was to cook your own dinner. When it first began to sizzle you became weak with hunger; but the continued spectacle took the fine edge off your appetite long before the meat was done.
A dug-out nosed its slender length around a near point, and a shrill hail electrified them all.
“Conacher, thank God!” cried the young man.
The two Indians ran down to the water’s edge; but their master would not leave his goose which was browning beautifully.
From the dug-out landed an exactly similar outfit; that is to say a tall young white man and two Indians. The two white men clasped hands, and their eyes beamed on each other. However, they were shy of betraying emotion before the reds, and their greeting was distinctly casual.
“Hello, old bean! Where the hell you been? The boss has gone down the lake, leaving me to fetch you. Do you know that you’ve held up the whole blooming survey?”
“It’s a long story,” said Conacher. “Oh boy! is that a roast goose I see? Let me get my teeth into it, and then I’ll tell you.”
When they had thoroughly discussed the goose, they lighted their pipes; and Alec Jordan invited Conacher to fire away. Jordan was about three years older than Conacher; and they were tried friends. The Indians around their own fire, were out of earshot.
“What delayed you?” said Jordan. “It was downstream work all the way.”
“Gad! it’s good to have a white man to talk to!” said Conacher. “I’m damn thankful it’s you, old scout. I couldn’t have told the others.”
“But why this emotion?” asked Jordan humorously.
“Well, it concerns a woman,” said Conacher, looking away.
His friend’s face hardened. “An Indian?” he asked.
“No, damn you!” cried Conacher indignantly. “What do you think I am?”
Jordan opened his eyes. “But between here and the Rocky Mountains,” he said, “around Blackburn’s Lake, and down Blackburn’s River, what else is there?”
“There is Blackburn’s daughter?” murmured Conacher.
“Oho!” cried Jordan. “I forgot about her. . . . Indeed, I thought she was still a little girl.”
“Don’t josh it!” muttered Conacher. “This is the real thing.”
“I’m sorry, old man,” said Jordan, touching his shoulder.
“Blackburn is dead,” said Conacher.
“I knew it,” said Jordan. “The boss knew it, too. But it never occurred to us to connect your delay with his death. We figured you would have been past his Post before the date of his death.”
“I was,” said Conacher. “But I went back.”
He went on to tell the whole story; how he had first come to Blackburn’s Post, of the trader’s ungracious reception and the daughter’s scornful one; how he had gone on down the river; how the little raft had come floating by his camp with the pathetic black streamer; and how, yielding to an impulse that he had scarcely understood, he had hastened up-stream. He ended his story with the coming of Andrew Gault to Blackburn’s Post.
“I could leave her then with an easier mind,” he said. “Gault knew everything to do.”
“Sure,” said Jordan; but in so uncertain a tone, that Conacher asked him sharply:
“What’s the matter?”
Jordan looked at him queerly; and the lover’s anxious heart was filled with alarm.
“What are you keeping back?” he demanded.
“I don’t know as I ought to tell you,” said Jordan slowly.
“Why not?”
“It’s just gossip. We’ve got our work to do.”
“Do you put me or our work first?” demanded Conacher.
“Well, since you put it that way, you!” said Jordan.
“Then tell me.”
“But what can you do, now?”
“Never mind. You tell me, and I’ll make up my mind what I can do. I’m a grown man.”
“Well,” said Jordan, “when you told me that Gault had come to the aid of Blackburn’s daughter I couldn’t help but think it was like the wolf coming to save the lamb.”
“Yes, I know,” said Conacher impatiently, “something of that sort occurred to me, but hang it all! no white man could be blackguard enough to take advantage of a young girl in that situation!”
Jordan smiled affectionately at his friend. “You’re young, my son,” he murmured. “I don’t know as I would put it by Gault. . . . I suppose you’ve never heard the full story of Blackburn and Gault?”
“No, how should I?” said Conacher. “Coming from the mountains.”
“True, this is your first season. I’ve been in the country three summers, and I’ve picked up all the gossip. It’s one of the stock stories of the country how Blackburn and Gault have been fighting each other for twenty years, and Blackburn has beaten out Gault at every turn. Gault had to obtain financial assistance outside. But here’s a new piece of information that came to me pretty straight. Nothing can be hidden in this country. It seems that Ogilvie, Gault’s backer, told Gault on his last visit to Fort Good Hope that the Company would fire him if he didn’t succeed in putting Blackburn out of business.”
Conacher’s face darkened with anxiety. “I wish I had known that!” he muttered. “How did you hear of Blackburn’s death?”
“Yesterday, before the boss pulled out, we got mail from Good Hope by the half-breed Modest Capeau. When he left the fort the news of Blackburn’s death had come; and Gault had gone over there. . . .” Jordan hesitated, with an embarrassed glance at his friend.
“Well, out with it!” said Conacher sharply.
Jordan shrugged. “According to the gossip at Fort Good Hope, Gault said that he was going to marry the girl.”
Conacher jumped up. “Oh, my God!” he cried agitatedly. “That old man! What the devil will I do!”
Jordan followed him. “How about the girl?” he asked.
“She loves me, Alec,” said Conacher simply.
Jordan gripped his shoulder. “Old fellow . . . you deserve to be happy!” he said warmly.
“Happy!” cried Conacher bitterly. “I never should have left her!”
“But you had to leave her.”
“Oh hell, what does the government matter in a case like this. . . . Wait a minute. I must try to think this out. How far can you trust this gossip?”
“Well I’m bound to say this is more than common gossip,” admitted Jordan. “It was Joe Moale, the man closest to Gault, who told the fellows he had heard Gault swear that he would marry the girl. . . . But she won’t have him, of course. No doubt everything will be all right.”
“Oh, God! don’t try to smooth things down!” cried Conacher. “She is completely in his power. The only Indian who could speak English was murdered . . . Of course she’ll reject him! And then what? Then what? Oh, my God! think of the girl being left in the power of the man she had turned down! . . . I never should have left her. But how could I stay with all you waiting for me? . . . Well, it’s different now. I’ve done the bit of work that was entrusted to me. I can put all the data in your hands. After this they can get along without me if they have to. . . .”
“My God! Paul, what are you talking about?”
“I’m going back,” said Conacher quietly.
“Youcan’tgo back! Think of the row that would be kicked up!”
“I’ll have to face it.”
“You’ll lose your job. Where will you get another?”
“It’s true, nobody wants a geologist but the government. But I’m young; I’ll make out somehow.”
“Oh, my God! this is terrible!” cried Jordan. “We’re so shorthanded already!”
“Do you blame me?” demanded Conacher.
Jordan’s expression changed. “No, I don’t blame you, really,” he said. “Go on back, and God bless you! . . . But it’s me that’s got to face the boss. You know what he is. At the first mention of a girl he will think the worst. He’s depending on your Indians, too.”
“Take them,” said Conacher. “Your dug-out is big enough to carry all five. I couldn’t pay them anyhow. All I want of the government is enough grub to see me through.”
“It’s foolhardy to travel alone!” cried Jordan.
“That’s all right,” said Conacher. “I’m not going to break a leg this trip. I can’t afford to. The only thing that bothers me is, it’s all up-stream work. I can’t make but twenty miles a day.”
“I wish it was me,” said Jordan enviously.
CHAPTER XIIFUR
Quiteearly in the morning, Loseis, issuing out of her house, was greatly astonished to see the door of the little fur warehouse standing open, and the bales of fur being carried out by Gault’s Crees. This warehouse flanked the store on the left hand side as you faced the river; on the other side there was a similar building for the storage of flour. Loseis’ breast grew hot at the sight; and without more ado, she marched across. Gault was not in sight; Moale was directing the Crees.
“What does this mean?” demanded Loseis.
Moale turned his flat, inscrutable black eyes to the girl’s face. The dash of Indian blood lent a touch of mystery to Moale’s olive face. It was a comely face; but so expressionless it was impossible to tell the man’s age. “I beg your pardon?” he said in his pleasant voice.
“You heard me!” said Loseis in a passion. “By what authority have you broken into my warehouse, and helped yourself to my fur?”
It was quite true that Moale had opened one of the bales for no reason except the pleasure of seeing and stroking the marvelous pelts of the black foxes. He was a connoisseur. He said smoothly: “Mr. Gault’s orders, Miss. I thought you knew.”
“I did not know,” said Loseis, “and I will trouble you to have the fur carried back again, and the door locked.”
Moale scratched his head. “I’d be glad if you’d talk it over with Mr. Gault,” he said.
Loseis imperiously beckoned to the nearest Cree. “Man!” she said, “tell Gault that I would be glad to have a few words with him.”
While they waited for Gault, Moale busied himself with tying up the opened bale. He did not speak; but he looked at Loseis curiously and wistfully, when she was not aware of it.
Gault was presently to be seen approaching from the men’s house. He did not hurry himself. “Good morning,” he said, raising his hat. His manner had changed. He was still polite, but it was an insolent politeness. His eyes were as hard as glass.
Loseis welcomed the change. It permitted her to come out into the open. “Why did you give orders to get out my fur?” she asked.
“It must be sent outside without further delay,” said Gault coolly.
“Am I not to be consulted?” asked Loseis, running up her eye-brows.
“It did not seem worth while to do so,” said Gault. “You have set yourself in opposition to me at every point. Just the same I have a responsibility towards you that I am obliged to fulfill.”
“I am the mistress here,” said Loseis in a rage.
“You are not of age,” said Gault coolly.
“Well, you are not my guardian!”
“No. But whoever may take your affairs in charge, will look to me as the only man on the spot, for an accounting. If the fur is not sent out at once you would lose the market for an entire season.”
Loseis turned away biting her lip. Whenever he began to talk in this vein with glib use of legal and business terms, she was helpless. Her instinct told her that he was merely cloaking his evil intentions in smooth words, but she had not experience enough to be able to strike through to the truth.
“Besides,” Gault went on, “if we do not get the fur to the Crossing, Gruber will get tired of waiting for it.”
Loseis caught at this. “So,” she said, “you are sending it to Gruber, then?”
“I expect to,” said Gault cautiously, “but I must reserve myself full freedom of action. He has got to satisfy me that he can dispose of it to the best advantage of your interests.”
“When does it go?” asked Loseis.
“To-morrow morning.”
“By the usual route?”
“No. I am sending it to Fort Good Hope; and thence by my launch to the Crossing.”
Loseis felt that here was a point she could stick on. “I would rather have it go by pack train as usual, direct to the Crossing over the prairie,” she said.
“That would take two weeks longer.”
“Just the same, I request you to send it in that manner.”
“I must decline.”
The red flags flew in Loseis’ cheeks. “You have said that it was my fur,” she said. “Very well, I order you to send it out as I desire.”
Gault, cool and hard; frankly enjoying the spectacle of her anger, said: “And I decline to do so.”
Loseis observing that she was furnishing him with enjoyment, contrived by a miracle to control herself. “Thank you very much,” she said coolly. “I was just trying to find out where I stood. Shall you accompany the consignment?”
“No,” said Gault darkly, “I remain here to look after you.”
Loseis bowed, and marched back to her own house. Gault looked after her, rubbing his lip. His thin mouth was twisted with anger and bitterness. By God! there was a spirit in the girl! Never had she seemed so desirable to him as at that moment. Moale too, looked after her with a deep wistfulness in his mysterious eyes. The tang of red blood cut him off from any hopes in that direction.
Loseis put her feet down like a little princess; but her eyes were stinging with tears. She conducted an orderly retreat, while her heart was bursting with mortification. It was intolerable to be so proud and so helpless. Helpless! Helpless! Her sex, her loneliness, her ignorance delivered her three times over into the power of this man. She was certain now that he intended to rob her, and she could do nothing!
During the whole day the preparations went on. The pack-saddles were got out; and the fur was divided into lots of a suitable size for a horse load. Gault sent Moale to the Women’s House with a polite message requesting Loseis to come to the store to issue the necessary grub. She proudly handed over the key, telling them to take what they required, and leave a memorandum of it.
In the afternoon the horses were rounded up. As many were put into the corral as it would hold, and the rest picketed in the square. Upwards of seventy horses were required for the entire outfit. To make any sort of progress between twelve and fifteen men would be needed to pack and unpack the horses twice a day. Moale and two of the Crees were going, while the other two remained to wait upon Gault. Loseis observed that Ahchoogah, Mittahgah and others of the Slavis who had accompanied the fur train on other years, were working willingly enough with the horses. This started a train of thought in her mind.
Gault is too strong for me, she told herself; why shouldn’t I trick him if I can?
With the passing of danger, the three Slavi girls had come sidling back into the kitchen of the Women’s House, and Loseis indifferently took them in, partly because she was accustomed to having them wait on her; and partly because they furnished a useful link with the Slavi village below. She now called Mary-Belle to her.
“Can it be true,” she asked, “that Ahchoogah, Mittahgah, and other men are going to Fort Good Hope? That place is dangerous for Slavi men.”
“Wah! they would not go to that place!” said Mary-Belle with a look of terror. “There is bad medicine in that place! Gault has said if they will drive the horses as far as the red spring, the water of which makes men and horses sick and well again, he will give each man a Stetson hat and a mouth-organ. Blackburn never had mouth-organs in his store. The red spring is half way between the two rivers. Gault says for the Slavis to leave the horses there and come home. Musqua (one of the Crees) is riding fast to bring the Crees from Fort Good Hope. Moale and Watusk (the other Cree) will watch the horses and the fur at the red spring until they come. So there is no harm.”
Loseis let the subject drop.
After supper, choosing a moment when she believed that Gault and Moale were still at the table, she went over to the store. Fastening the door behind her, she climbed through the back window, and making her way down to the creek shore, followed it down to the Slavi village. Of course if Gault happened to look out of the end window of his house, he could see her amongst the Slavis; but then it would be too late to interfere with her purpose.
The air was still full of a pleasant warmth, and the Slavis having just eaten, were squatting in groups outside the tepees, laughing and chatting in their ceremonious way. It is only in the presence of a white man that the Indian is taciturn. By this time the men had thrown off the alcoholic poison which had made them sick for days, and a general feeling of well-being was in the air. Fathers fondled their little sons, and abused their womenfolk; and the latter accepted it with equanimity.
At the approach of Loseis a dread silence fell upon them, and they drew a walled look over their dark faces. It was the first time she had visited them since that terrible night, and they expected the worst. But Loseis was bent on playing a part to-night. Her face was as smooth as their own, and much blander. Allowing them to suppose that she had forgotten what had happened, she addressed this one and that by name with grave politeness; promised a mother medicine for her sick child, and handed out peppermint lozenges to the little boys who were the idols of the tribe. Nobody would have thought of giving the little girls candy.
Loseis sat down on an overturned dug-out, with the manner of one who is prepared to hold agreeable discourse. The Slavis began to gather round, but always with that absurd pretense of not letting their left hands know what their right hands were doing. Loseis was very wonderful to them, too wonderful to inspire affection; awe was nearer the word.
At first she talked of the stage of water in the river; the promise of a full crop of berries; the scarcity of rabbit; all subjects of first-rate importance to the Slavis. Ahchoogah, the oldest man present, in order to prove how bold he was, undertook to answer her politely to her face. When Loseis perceived that she had gathered the audience she wanted, she went on casually:
“The wind is from the setting sun. There will be no rain. It is well. The men who are going to-morrow will see Fort Good Hope in five sleeps.”
A tremor of uneasiness passed through her listeners. “No, no!” said Ahchoogah. “We are not going to Fort Good Hope. At the red spring we will turn back.”
“That is Gault’s talk,” said Loseis courteously. “All know that Gault’s talk hides a snare. When you get to the red spring you will not want to turn back. Gault’s medicine will draw you on. It is very strong medicine. It’s name is electricity. I know it, because Gault brought me a little piece of it when he came here. The girls at my house have told you that. It opens its eye in the dark.”
Loseis paused to allow this to sink in. She fancied that she perceived fear behind the blank masks of the Slavis; but could not be sure. None spoke.
“I have heard of many strange things at Fort Good Hope,” she went on with an air of indifference that the Slavis could not outdo. “Men say that Gault is Old Man’s partner. Old Man say to Gault; I lend you my strong medicine, but when you die you must be a dog to my sledge. Gault thinks he will cheat Old Man, by going away to the white man’s country to die. Maybe so. I do not know such things. I hear them told.”
She paused again. The men looked down their noses. A woman crept to Loseis’ feet, and twitched her skirt.
“Loseis, tell my son not to go,” she said tremulously.
“If he wants to go, what is that to me?” said Loseis with an air of surprise. “He will see strange things. When Gault claps his hands—Wah! there is light. Gault catches the voices of the air on his wires and brings them into his room. He did that in my father’s house and I made him stop, because I did not want the Powerful Ones to fix their eyes on me! Etzooah has told you these things. At Fort Good Hope Gault keeps great beasts fastened to the earth. They have fire in their bellies and they do his bidding. When they open their mouths you can see the fire, and steam hisses through their nostrils as from many kettles in one. When they are hungry they scream so that a man falls flat on the ground to hear it. These fiery beasts eat men too, and Gault is always worried because he has no men to spare. So he is glad when strangers come to Fort Good Hope.”
Loseis rose, feeling that she could hardly better this conclusion. She held out her hand in turn to Ahchoogah, to Mittahgah, to Mahtsonza and the others there that she knew were going next day. “Good-by. . . . Good-by. You are good hunters. You bring me plenty of fur. I am sorry that you go.”
She returned home. It was impossible to tell how the Slavis would react next day; but she had done her best.
Early next morning Loseis was at her window. Nothing was changed. The horses were still picketed in the square; and the Crees were lounging about the doorway of the men’s house. The lordly Crees had no notion of bestirring themselves while there were Slavis to do the hard work. By and by Gault appeared in the doorway, and with vigorous pantomime of anger evidently demanded to know why nothing had been started. He was told; whereupon Etzooah was dispatched down to the Slavi village in a hurry.
From the other window Loseis watched Etzooah haranguing the Slavis, and expostulating with them. It was all in vain. He was finally obliged to return cringing to Gault, shrugging, spreading out his hands in significant by-play. Gault’s face turned black, and he aimed a furious kick at Etzooah, that the wily redskin dodged. Gault went inside; while Etzooah slipped around the house. Gault reappeared carrying an ugly quirt. Summoning his Crees with a jerk of the head, he set off down the rise. The tall redskins followed with cruel grins of anticipation.
Back at the end window, Loseis saw the miserable little Slavis driven like sheep by the five tall men. But sheep were never used so brutally. The sneaking Etzooah, reappearing from the creek-bed, pointed out the wanted ones, who were driven up the rise with incontinent kicks and cuffs, and the furious lashing of the whip. Squeezing their bodies together to offer as small a mark as possible, the diminutive savages darted this way and that, to find that they could only escape punishment by running straight ahead. The Crees yelled with laughter. The Slavis, cowering, made haste to start packing the horses, and Loseis made up her mind that she had lost.
Oscillating between the two windows, she presently saw that the Slavis below were striking their tepees, and piling everything pell-mell into the canoes, and she took heart again. She knew the Slavis better than Gault did. Either Gault did not notice what the people were about, or he disdained them. There was no interference with them. They presently set off in a cloud up-river, paddling as if the devil were behind them. So precipitate was their departure that a small boy who had gone down amongst the willows to set muskrat snares, returned to find his village wiped off the flat. After prowling around to see if by chance any scraps of food had been overlooked, the child set off composedly up-river by the horse-track.
Soon afterwards Loseis perceived that Gault was having trouble with his gang. In the process of saddling the pack-horses, some of the Slavis had disappeared. The four Crees were sent off in different directions to round them up. This was a fatal move, because Gault and Moale could not possibly watch all the others, and Etzooah would always play double. The Slavis, on their part, have an uncanny faculty of choosing the moment when no eye is upon them to fade away silently: to slip behind a building, to roll down the creek bank, to lose themselves in the bush of the hillside. In spite of Gault’s whip, and his terrible voice, his crew literally melted away before his eyes. After making long detours, they would rejoin their people somewhere above. Even weakness is not without its resources.
When the Crees returned empty-handed, the Slavis were reduced to five. These were all but surrounded; nevertheless, it was presently discovered that there were but four, without anybody being able to say what had become of the fifth. In any case it would have been impossible for such a small number of men to pack and unpack seventy horses twice a day. Gault gave up. The remaining Slavis were dismissed with kicks, and the trader, doubtless in a hellish rage, strode back to his house. Near the door, the grinning Etzooah spoke to him. For an instant Gault showed a murderous face in Loseis’ direction; then went inside. Loseis experienced a feeling of the sweetest triumph.
However, within an hour, two of the Crees with their bedding and grub set off on the easterly trail, and her heart sunk again. In four or five days they would be back with a swarm of Crees from Fort Good Hope. What good would four days do her? She had only succeeded in prolonging the agony.
Seeing the last of their people disappear, the Slavi girls exhibited the frantic, unreasoning fear of half-broken horses deserted by the herd. Loseis scornfully let them go. They slipped around behind the Women’s House, and were not seen again.
The pack-horses had been turned out again; and the fur carried back into the little warehouse. The lock of the warehouse had been forced out of respect to Gault’s pretense that the key was sealed up in Blackburn’s desk, and no other lock was put on. The door was held shut by a propped pole.
Meanwhile Gault had not returned the key to the store; and after waiting a few hours, Loseis sent Mary-Lou across the square with a polite request for it. The girl returned without it, and bearing a message equally polite, to the effect that henceforward Gault would relieve Miss Blackburn of the trouble of attending upon the store. Until her duly constituted representative arrived, he would administer it together with the rest of her property.
Loseis was never the one to take this lying down. She instantly marched over to the store. The door was fastened with a padlock through staples. Loseis bethought herself that there were crow-bars somewhere about the post. However she found an easier way. Gault had overlooked the fact that the little back window was out. Loseis climbed through, and obtaining a file and a new lock from the store, returned to the front of the building and set to work. It was a long job in her inexperienced hands; but she was supported by the agreeable thought that Gault was watching her. By the end of the afternoon she found herself inside. Putting in the rear window, she fastened the new lock, and returned to her house to supper dangling the keys from thumb and forefinger.
After supper Moale came over. Loseis received him at the outer door. Whatever his private feelings may have been did not appear. He said in an impassive voice:
“Mr. Gault instructs me to say that you and your girl must prepare to go out to Fort Good Hope when the fur goes in four or five days’ time. He can no longer take the responsibility of keeping you here while the Slavis are in open rebellion.”
Loseis laughed scornfully. “He can always find respectable-sounding words, can’t he?” she said. “You’re a white man, aren’t you? I should think you would feel ashamed to be the carrier of such lying words.”
Moale’s face changed not a muscle. Some secret feeling made him proof against her scorn. He was not altogether white. He had not looked directly in her face.
Loseis’ temper got the better of her. “You tell Gault, I shan’t go!” she cried.
In his even voice Moale said: “I am instructed to say that Mr. Gault is prepared for that.”
Loseis shut the door.
During the hours that followed she walked up and down her room, half beside herself with balked rage. What possible answer was there to this latest threat of Gault’s. He had hinted at using force. He intended to lay hands on her. To Loseis’ flaming blood there were only two possible answers: to kill herself or to kill Gault. The first alternative she immediately rejected; that was the counsel of weakness. Nothing would please Gault better than for her to kill herself. She would kill Gault then, before he should lay hands on her. But ah!daredshe take the life of a white man? She had had so vivid an experience of death taking a man in his strength.
Besides there were three other men. She could not hope to shoot them all before she was seized. She would be carried out anyhow. She visualized the horrors of a trial of which she knew so little; she imagined the cloud of lies that would beat her down. She had no one to speak for her but Mary-Lou; and Mary-Lou would never be allowed to speak. And if she were, the simple red girl would be struck dumb with terror. Disgraced! Disgraced! thought Loseis. Parted from Conacher without hope in this life. She buried her face in her hands. I must not kill him! she thought in terror. I must not let myself kill him. . . . But how can I help it if he lays hands on me!
If Gault had come over without warning to seize her, Loseis would have snatched up a gun, and shot him without thinking about it. But with devilish cunning he had sent to tell her of his intention. He was giving her four days in which to go mad with trying to find a way out when there was none.
Mary-Lou was terrified by the expression on her mistress’ face. She held out her arms imploringly. “Please . . . please to go to bed,” she whispered. “You will sleep. To-morrow you feel better.”
“Sleep!” cried Loseis. “I shall never sleep again!”
“Please . . . please,” persisted Mary-Lou. “Please stop walking.”
“Go to bed, you,” said Loseis angrily. “Let me be by myself. Close the door after you.”
Mary-Lou went sadly out.
Loseis pressed her knuckles against her temples. I must be quiet! she told herself. I must think what I am doing! . . . Quiet! The only thing that would quiet me would be to go across and call him to the door and shoot him! Ah, then I could sleep! . . . I must not think such things! I must not! I must always be telling myself it would not end things to kill him; it would only begin worse things! . . . But what is the use? I know I shall suddenly kill him! If he lays hands on me! . . . If I were a man he would not dare! She flung her arms above her head. “O God! why didn’t you make me a man! It is too hard to be a girl!”
It had been dark for some time. To-night the silence was even more complete, for no child whimpered in the tepees, and no Slavi dog barked. Loseis was pulled up all standing by hearing a gentle tapping on the glass of the window alongside the kitchen door. These nights the inside shutters were always closed. She instinctively flew to her gun which was standing in the corner; but put it down again, smiling scornfully at herself. It was not in this manner that an attack would be made.
Returning to the window, she said firmly: “Who is there?”
A whisper came winging back: “Conacher.”
Loseis’ heart failed her; her legs wavered under her; she struggled to get her breath. Then in a flash life and joy came crowding back until she felt as if she would burst. She clapped a hand over her mouth to hold in the rising scream of joy. Gault must not know! “Oh, Paul! . . . Oh, Paul!” she murmured, fumbling blindly for the latch of the door.