CHAPTER XIIITHE FUR GOES OUT
Loseisand Paul Conacher sat on the great white bear rug before the fire. Said Loseis, concluding her tale:
“He gave me to understand through Moale, that he would stop at nothing.”
“The scoundrel!” muttered Conacher. “He was trying to terrorize you. In reality he cannot touch your rights here, unless you sign them away.”
“Sign?” said Loseis sharply. “I have signed my name four times on blank sheets of paper for Gault. I had clean forgotten that.” She described the circumstances.
“Obviously a trick,” said Conacher. “If you had known anything about banking methods, you would have seen through it.”
“I am so ignorant!” said Loseis humbly.
“How could you be expected to know!” said Conacher. He mused. “I wonder how in thunder he expects to use those signatures. . . . Were they at the top, in the middle or at the bottom of the sheets?”
“Towards the bottom,” said Loseis. “He pointed his finger, and I wrote.”
“Of course!” said Conacher. “Then he could fill in anything he wanted above your signature.”
Loseis leaned towards him. “What does it matter?” she said dreamily. “We are together!”
“You darling!”
Loseis was too happy to remain sitting still. Springing up, she threw back the little shutter. Outside it was broad day. “The day of my happiness!” she murmured. Sticking her head through the kitchen door, she called out: “Mary-Lou! Quick with my breakfast. I must set off!”
“So soon?” said Conacher. “It’s not four.”
“Gault mustn’t see me start. If he tried to interfere, you would be drawn into it, and everything spoiled.”
“He’ll see you come back.”
“That doesn’t matter. I shall have settled everything with Tatateecha then.”
“Can we depend upon the Slavis?” asked Conacher anxiously.
“If it was to fight, never! But to play a secret trick at night, oh, yes! that’s just in their line.”
“And I?” asked Conacher.
“You must stay close to the house all day. This shall be your room now . . . Ah! the happy room! Do not go near the windows. . . . Where did you leave your dug-out last night?”
“Hidden under the willows about a furlong downstream. I thought I had better communicate with you before showing myself.”
“You did right! . . . If the Slavis were here your dug-out would be discovered within an hour, but Gault will never find it. . . . You must sleep all you can to-day.”
“You must sleep too.”
“Ah! happiness has made me over! I need no sleep! . . . However, I will be sensible. I will be back from the lake in three or four hours, and will sleep all day in the kitchen. Neither of us will get any sleep to-night.”
“I don’t altogether like your plan,” said Conacher frowning. “I should be the one to stay here.”
“You are wrong in that,” said Loseis earnestly. “There is nothing of any value here. All Gault cares about is the fur. The post of danger is with the fur, and you have that.”
“Why shouldn’t you and I take it out together?”
“No! If I left the Post, it would give Gault an excuse to say that I had given up my rights here.”
“But how can I leave you alone again?”
“Ah, nothing can harm me now!” cried Loseis. “I am guarded by happiness! I will do everything quite willingly that Gault forces me to do, and just be patient until you and Gruber come back. There is a sergeant of police at the Crossing. Bring him back too. Oh, Gault will be quite different when he knows that help is on the way. He has to think of the law, then.”
Conacher was silenced: but he did not look altogether convinced. They sat down to their breakfast.
“It is like being married!” said Loseis with a sigh of content. “Mary-Lou, have you cooked enough for a man’s breakfast?”
Loseis’ own horse and her saddle were in the stable behind the men’s house; therefore unavailable. Having improvised a halter out of a piece of rope, she therefore set off on foot; and catching one of the broken horses in the meadow beyond the creek, she rode it in the Indian fashion, bareback.
At half-past eight she was back again. Turning the horse loose, she hid the halter in a bush, and returned across the stepping-stones. Gault was pacing up and down in front of his house. From this position he could not see her until she started to mount the rise. It was impossible for him to tell from what direction she had come. At sight of her, notwithstanding his self-command, his face sharpened with curiosity; and he changed his course in order to intercept her. Loseis was seized with a slight sense of panic. He must not read anything in my face! she told herself.
“Good morning,” said Gault, politely.
“Good morning,” returned Loseis. Alas! for all her care, she could feel the dimples pressing into her cheeks, and she knew that her eyes were shining. She kept her lids lowered, but that in itself was a giveaway, for she had been accustomed heretofore to look Gault straight in the eye.
By the brief silence which succeeded, she knew that his suspicions were aroused. “You are up early,” he remarked in a carefully controlled voice.
“I just went down to see if the Slavis had left a canoe that I could use,” she said carelessly.
“I did not see you go,” said Gault.
“It must have been an hour ago,” said Loseis. “I went for a walk, the morning was so pleasant.” (I should not be explaining things like this, she thought. I ought to be proud and angry with him.)
“If you want a canoe my men will make one for you,” said Gault.
“Oh, no, thank you,” said Loseis quickly. “It was just a fancy. One must have something to do.”
She had not stopped walking, and they came to her door. Loseis bowed.
“May I come in for a moment?” asked Gault.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “We are not ready for visitors so early. But if you wish to speak to me here I am.”
“Oh, it will keep until later,” said Gault. He touched his hat, and watched her through the door.
Conacher was waiting for her in the inner room. Loseis flung herself in his arms.
“Ah, you are really here!” she murmured. “It was not a dream! . . . If Gault could see me now!” she added with a laugh, like a chime of little bells.
Conacher pressed the hair back from her forehead. He had been watching through the window, and his face was dark. “It makes me see red to have that man speak to you,” he muttered. “What was he after?”
“Wanted to know where I’d been?” said Loseis. “Of course I didn’t tell him. But I’m afraid I gave away a good deal in my face. I have him badly worried. I hope it won’t cause him to sit up to-night, or set a watch on us.”
“All is arranged then?”
“Yes. Tatateecha will land a hundred men in the second river meadow at ten o’clock. They will wait there until it becomes dark. We’ll only have about four hours of darkness, and the moon will be shining. It cannot be helped; we must put our trust in silence. Slavis are the quietest animals there are.”
A few hours later, Loseis, sleeping in the kitchen, was awakened by Mary-Lou who said that Gault was coming across.
“He must be allowed to come in,” said Loseis. “Say that I am sleeping. It will give me a moment to prepare.”
She hastened into the other room. Awakening Conacher, she said:
“Gault is coming. I must let him in here in order to put his suspicions to sleep. Get under the bed.”
Conacher, still bemused with sleep, obeyed her; and Loseis, with a rapid survey of the room, gathered up whatever was his, and thrust it after him. The robe of raccoons’ tails hung down over the edge of the bed concealing all. She went to the door.
“Come in,” she said, affecting to conceal a yawn.
“I am sorry to have disturbed you,” said Gault smoothly. His eyes swept around the room, taking everything in. It was not that he expected to find anyone there; he was merely trying to discover what secret source of support Loseis had found. He gave her a hard look as much as to say: What are you sleeping in the morning for?
Loseis, having had time to prepare, was fully mistress of herself. “Last night I was too angry to sleep,” she said coolly.
“Hum!” said Gault, rubbing his lip. “That is what I came to talk to you about.”
Loseis held herself in polite readiness to hear what he had to say.
“We mustn’t quarrel,” said Gault. He buttered his harsh voice; but his eyes were still boring into the girl.
“I don’t wish to quarrel,” said Loseis mildly. “But when you tell me you are going to banish me from my own home . . .”
“You refuse to co-operate with me,” said Gault, spreading out his hands.
“You don’t give me a chance,” said Loseis. Inwardly she was quaking dangerously with laughter. If he knew what was under the bed!
“You are so young!” said Gault deprecatingly.
“However young I am,” said Loseis, “what is mine, is mine!”
“Well, I may have been a little too hasty,” said Gault with the air of one who was making an immense concession. “Let us try to make a fresh start.”
Loseis reflected that if she allowed a reconciliation to take place she would never be able to get rid of him. “Perhaps I have been hasty, too,” she said, “but I can’t forgive you yet. Give me another twenty-four hours . . . Come to breakfast to-morrow, and I promise to meet you half way.”
“Done!” cried Gault, showing all the big teeth. I am wearing her down! he thought. Women do not mean all they say! “Expect me at eight,” he said, making for the door.
Conacher crawled out from under the bed with a very red face. “It’s good he went!” he growled. “I couldn’t have stood it much longer. . . . What did you want to ask him to breakfast for?”
Loseis was charmed to see Conacher betraying jealousy. “While I have him here no discovery is likely to be made,” she said. “Every hour’s start that you can gain will help.”
“Well, I hope he comes after me, that’s all,” said Conacher grimly.
At ten o’clock that night Loseis and Mary-Lou came out of their house arm in arm, and stood in front of the door linked together, gazing up at the serene moon. Behind them crouched Conacher. Across the way Gault’s house was in the blackest shadow, and they could not tell but that the door might be standing open, and some one watching them from within. Making out to be lost in contemplation of the moon, the two girls, always taking care to present a double front to a possible watcher, edged to the corner of the house. Conacher then darted around behind. He was to make his way around the outside of the square and meet them beside the creek in half an hour.
Loseis went back to close the door of her house, and the girls continued their stroll. From the middle of the square they could make out that the door of Gault’s house was closed. They descended to the bank of the main stream, and came back again. Having by this maneuver satisfied themselves that they were not being followed, they returned down the rise, picked up Conacher at the creek, and crossed the meadow beyond. Upon the gravelly ridge which bounded it on the other side, they came upon Tatateecha and his silent men, squatting on the earth with their backs to the moon like a patch of little bushes.
Conacher was presented to Tatateecha as the friend of Loseis who must be obeyed in all things. Conacher himself could only issue his orders by means of signs. Being a white man, and therefore not to be trusted where absolute silence was required, he was sent down into the second meadow to wait. The little Slavis deployed in the first meadow, and slowly closing up, urged the horses slowly back over the ridge. In the second meadow they could be packed without danger of arousing the sleepers at the post. For this operation the light of the moon would be invaluable.
Led by Loseis, the whole tribe then crept back in single file through the grass towards the Post. They crossed the creek, not by the stepping-stones, but higher up, immediately below the steep bank at the back of the men’s house and the little warehouse. Leaving her men at the bottom of the bank, Loseis went up to make a reconnaissance. She crept up to the wall of the men’s house, and rounding the front corner, edged, a foot at a time to the door. Laying her ear to the crack, she was rewarded by hearing heavy snores within. No watch was being kept. What had Gault to fear from two girls?
Returning to her men, Loseis gave the signal, and the business of the night began. Loseis herself removed the pole that propped the warehouse door, and let it back softly against the wall. One of the Slavis was posted close to the men’s house with instructions to croak like a bull-bat if there was any sound of movement from within. Inside the warehouse Loseis would have been thankful to use her electric torch, but was afraid of precipitating a panic amongst the Slavis. However the fur had all been divided into half loads for a horse, each half load being a load for a man. Silently the endless procession wound in and out. A long line of little men waited in the moonlight at the door. Nobody stumbled, or dropped his load. There were a hundred bundles of fur. Afterwards the pack-saddles, saddle-cloths, hitching-gear had to go. Loseis breathed a little prayer of thankfulness when at last she propped the pole against the closed door, exactly as it had been before.
There was still the grub to be got from the store; but as this was passed out through the rear window, and carried away behind the warehouse, the danger was not so great.
The easterly sky was full of cool light when the hitch was thrown over the last pack, and pulled home. The head of the train had already started. Tatateecha rode first to make the trail. Conacher lingered to say good-by to Loseis. His heart failed him.
“Ah, come too,” he urged her. “Here are plenty of spare horses. Let me take care of you!”
“No, no, dearest!” she said. “Before we had gone twenty miles Gault would be up to us, and the Slavis would stampede. We’d have to wait for Gault’s Crees after all. But if you can only get the Slavis fifty or sixty miles from home into a strange country, you couldn’t drive them away from the grub-boxes. I am hoping that two days may pass before Gault discovers the loss of the fur.”
“He will see that the horses are gone,” objected Conacher.
“They are accustomed to wander from one meadow to another along the river.”
The last Indian had passed out of sight. Conacher took the girl in his arms. “You are asking the hardest thing in the world of me,” he groaned. “And that is to leave you!”
“Ah! don’t make it harder for me,” faltered Loseis. “It is the only way!”
“Damn the fur!” said Conacher. “It makes me out a mere fortune-hunter. I wish you had nothing!”
“I’m not worrying about what you are,” said Loseis. “My heart tells me. For myself, I care nothing about the fur. It was my father’s. I would feel that I had been false to him, if I let Gault fool me out of it. I could never respect myself. I am Blackburn’s daughter. I cannot allow the name of Blackburn to become a joke in the country.”
“I’m only a tail to the Blackburn kite,” grumbled Conacher.
Loseis laughed a little, and pressed him close. “I shall make it up to you,” she whispered. “You shall be my lord and master. Isn’t that enough?”
“That makes me feel worse,” he said. “I’m not worthy. . . .”
Loseis put a loving hand over his mouth. “Enough of that talk,” she said. “You love me, don’t you?”
“Until death,” he murmured.
“Me too, until death,” she whispered passionately. “That makes us equal. This talk of fortunes and worthiness is less than nothing. . . . Now you must go.”
“They ride so slowly,” pleaded Conacher.
“Get on your horse, dearest; I must not be seen returning to-day.”
Conacher obeyed with a heavy heart. He leaned out of the saddle for a final embrace. They clung together.
“Good-by,” whispered Loseis. “Good-by, my dearest love. Come back soon!”
Swiftly withdrawing herself from him, she gave his horse a smart slap; and it carried him away.
CHAPTER XIVTHE DISCOVERY
Dawnwas rosy in the East when Loseis got home; but the moon had set, and the little square within the buildings was full of shadows. There was no stir of life about the men’s house; the door was still closed. Loseis slipped thankfully within her own door. Mary-Lou, being of no help in packing the horses, had been sent home some hours before.
In her first feeling of relief, Loseis threw herself on her bed, and was instantly asleep. But at six her subconscious anxiety awoke her again; and the instant she awakened, she was at the window. The door of the men’s house now stood open; and the two tall Crees were respectively splashing in a basin and brandishing a towel outside the door. They had learned this trick from the white man. Etzooah squatted on the ground near by, grinning derisively. The Slavis did not believe in washing. If they ever yielded to this weakness, it was in secrecy.
One of the Crees went off to the stable; and presently returned leading Gault’s own horse, a rangy, half-bred chestnut from the “outside.” Gault appeared from the house fully accoutered, and Loseis’ heart seemed to drop into a hole in her breast. Suppose he rode along the river trail; any man not absolutely blind must perceive the marks of the passage of the fur train. However, to her relief, he trotted diagonally across the square, and started up the trail behind the store.
Freshening himself up to come courting again, thought Loseis with curving lips.
Her next anxiety was that Moale, actuated by his passion for fine furs, might visit the warehouse to look them over. But Moale did not appear outside the cabin. Loseis saw smoke rising from the chimney, and supposed that he must be acting as cook for the time being. So she left the window to prepare herself for the day.
In due course Gault returned from his ride. He went within to refurbish himself; and promptly on the stroke of eight was to be seen striding across the square, very stiff and handsome and black.
Quite a picture, thought Loseis in a detached way; but not for my album. She spoke through the door to Mary-Lou. “Let him wait in the kitchen for a moment. We must not appear to be too eager.”
When she opened the door, Gault was standing there, hand on hip, looking every inch the chief, and fully aware of it. He presented a smooth face to her, with a hard and wary eye. He did not know exactly what to expect. Loseis, making her own face expressionless, greeted him politely.
“Come in,” she said.
The table was ready spread in the inner room, and they sat down to it, outvying each other in cool politeness. Gault was thinking: She asked me here this morning. It’s up to her to show her hand. And Loseis was thinking: I have everything to gain by keeping him guessing. Let him make the first move. So it was:
“This fried rabbit is delicious, Miss Blackburn.”
“I’m glad you like it. I was sorry there was no other fresh meat. The Slavis say that a man may starve on rabbit.”
“The Slavis may say so: but it satisfies me. I can never get it cooked so well as this. It needs a woman.”
“But I have read that the most famous cooks are always men.”
“Oh, I was speaking of our country. I have had many a good man cook on the trail; but they seem to lose their cunning in a house.”
“My usual cook is the Slavi girl that I call Mary-Ann,” said Loseis. “But she has run off with the others.”
Gault shrugged in a commiserating fashion. This was getting on dangerous ground.
The trader was at a serious disadvantage in this fencing, because he wanted the girl, wanted her intolerably, whereas she was indifferent to him. Gault did not know the cause for it; but his senses were aware that Loseis was revealing a new beauty these past two days. Her dark eyes were fuller and more beaming; her very skin seemed to radiate a mysterious quality of light. All this made the man a little sick at heart; but he could not altogether give up hope, either. She asked me to breakfast, he told himself; what does that mean but that she is beginning to come round. Very often a woman is most scornful just at the moment when she is preparing to give in. I should hang off a little now.
Meanwhile Loseis was thinking: Five hours! They will be making their first spell. Fifteen miles. I told Tatateecha to cut it down to three hours on the first day. Then five hours on the trail, and camp for the night thirty miles from here. Gault’s Crees cannot arrive before to-morrow night at the earliest. My people will then have sixty miles start.
Loseis’ beauty teased Gault to such an extent that he was forced to make overtures to bring a little warmth into that composed face. “Shall I send to the lake village to fetch Mary-Ann back?” he asked.
“Oh, no!” said Loseis. “I prefer to ignore her. I shall be in a better position to deal with her when she comes crawling back of her own accord.”
“I was merely thinking of your comfort,” said Gault.
“You are very kind.”
Gault could no longer keep it in. “Well, am I forgiven!” he asked in a jolly sort of way.
Loseis gave him no answering smile. “I am no longer angry with you,” she said coolly. “I am just neutral. I am waiting to see what happens.”
Gault was a good deal dashed. She is just playing with me! he thought angrily. But Oh God! that pure, pale skin, that proud averted glance! With an immense effort he controlled himself. “There is no need for you to leave this place,” he said with a reasonable air.
Instead of showing the gratitude that he expected, she said in a slightly surprised voice: “Of course there isn’t!”
“But if we are to remain here together,” he said, nettled, “you must make it possible for me to work with you.”
“It seems to me that you are putting the cart before the horse,” said Loseis softly.
Gault ground his teeth together. This child to be taking such a tone to him! “My dear girl!” he said loftily, “I must be the one to decide what is best for us until some better qualified person appears.”
Loseis thought: I must not make him too angry. I must lead him along. She said in a more amicable tone: “We are just talking in a circle.”
Gault contrived to laugh again. “Of course we are!” he cried. “Well, what do you propose? You promised to meet me half way.”
“I will do anything that you suggest,” said Loseis with an alluring mildness, “provided you explain the reasons for it.”
The blood rushed to Gault’s pale face. He had to restrain himself from reaching for her hand. “That is all I could ask!” he cried.
“Yes,” Loseis slyly went on, “I will even go out to Fort Good Hope when you send the fur, if it is necessary.”
A doubt occurred to the trader—this was such a violent face-about: but she looked so adorable when she said it, that he waved the doubt away. “Splendid!” he cried. “I now say to you that there is not the slightest necessity for your going to Fort Good Hope!”
Loseis smiled at him at last, a slow, oblique, curious smile, having infinitely more meaning than the trader suspected. It carried him clean off his feet. His hand shot out.
“Shake!” he cried.
Loseis could not control the impulse of her blood that forced her to rise suddenly (she had finished her breakfast) and to say with cool distaste: “Oh, please not. I hate to paw.”
And Gault’s blood was aware of the true significance of that recoil, but his vanity would not acknowledge it. He sat glowering at her half-hurt, half-angry, a pathetic sight at fifty-three. “Oh, sorry,” he said in a flat voice. “It is instinctive amongst men.”
“I know,” said Loseis, trying to smooth things over. “But I am not a man. . . . Do smoke one of your delicious cigars. I have missed them during the last few days.”
Gault allowed himself to be deceived. “My pet weakness!” he said, smiling at Loseis rather killingly.
They were tempted outside. Loseis’ gaze involuntarily swept the heavens. No cloud in sight; not the filmiest of vapors to dim the inverted bowl of blue. There would be no rain for days. It was well.
“What are you expecting?” asked Gault smiling.
“Oh, nothing!” she said with a shrug. “My father always looked at the sky when he came out of doors. I suppose I caught the habit from him. . . . Shall we walk down to the river? Things have been so mixed up lately, all my habits are broken up. I need exercise.”
“Delighted!” said Gault. “. . . There is not going to be any more quarreling, is there?” he added with his fond smile.
“I hope not,” said Loseis demurely.
They paused at the edge of the river bank. The view was filled in by the bold high point opposite, with the old grave and the new grave side by side on top within the extended palings. The sight of the grassy mound and the earthy mound aroused a poignant emotion in Loseis.
Dotheyknow what I am going through? she wondered. Ah! I hope not! I should not want their peace to be disturbed!
Gault, watching the girl’s face, said with a heavy gravity: “I have not yet had the opportunity to visit Blackburn’s grave. I trust I may be permitted to pay that tribute. He was a great man!”
Loseis turned back from the river. She did not care to share her emotion withhim. The hypocritical words sickened her slightly. “Of course!” she said coolly. “Why not?”
A hard nature! said Gault to himself.
However as they sauntered back through the grass, which was now bestarred with pale crocuses, Loseis exerted herself to charm him, and God knows that was not difficult. Matters went swimmingly again. Gault expanded. He could see himself bending elegantly and solicitously to the slim and lovely girl. It was a sensation one had never experienced in that rude country.
As they mounted the rise to the little plateau, Gault was saying: “I am expecting my men back to-morrow afternoon with some fresh supplies from Good Hope. I trust you will give me the pleasure of dining with me. The fare will not be as good as that you provide, but perhaps it will have an element of novelty. . . .”
And at that moment they perceived Moale running towards them like a madman.
Loseis’ heart sank. All her trouble to fool him was for nothing, then! Immediately afterwards she went hard all over. Now for it! Well, let it come!
“The fur is gone!” yelled Moale.
“What!” cried Gault, with an affronted air, that was almost comic.
“The warehouse is empty!” cried Moale waving his arms. “Gone! Gone! All gone!” Nothing else could so have aroused that wooden man.
Gault and Loseis now stood at the top of the rise. The trader turned to the girl with a towering look. “By God!” he said, softly at first, then louder: “By God! . . . You have hidden the fur!”
Loseis, holding herself very straight, looked away with a maddening air of unconcern, and held her tongue.
“She has sent it out!” cried Moale. “The saddles are gone; the horses are gone! I have sent Watusk along the trail to pick up their tracks.”
“Where is the fur?” demanded Gault of Loseis.
She reflected that the truth was bound to come out immediately. “I have sent it out,” she said coolly. “It was mine.”
The two men stared at her open-mouthed, bereft of speech. Finally Gault got his breath back, and his anger.
“You foolish girl!” he cried. “You have lost it then! The Slavis are useless without a leader.”
Loseis thought it just as well to let them know that they had more than the Slavis to deal with. “They have a leader,” she said with an offhand air. “My friend Mr. Conacher is in charge of the pack-train.” How sweet it was to flick that name so carelessly in Gault’s rage-distorted face.
Another silence. Gault’s face looked perfectly witless in its astonishment. Then it crimsoned, and the storm broke. In his passion the man’s coarse nature brazenly revealed itself.
“You lying hussy!” he cried. “All the time you’ve been showing me your demure face, you’ve been secretly receiving your lover! Lies! Lies! Lies! Nothing but lies behind that smooth face! All morning you have been lying to me to pave the way for his escape! . . .”
The girl faced him, surprised at first, then royal in her anger. “How dare you!” she cried. “You accuse me of lying, you!you!Why should I not lie to you? You, whose whole presence here has been a lie since you told me Etzooah could not speak English! You! with your mouth full of hypocritical talk, pretending to be my friend while you plotted to rob me! You unspeakable blackguard! It was lucky for me that I found a true friend!”
Gault’s face turned blackish; and his lips drew back over his teeth. He raised his clenched fists over his head as if to strike Loseis down. But the scared Moale touched his arm, and the blow never descended. A terrible shudder went through Gault’s frame. He turned and strode stiffly away. At the door of his house he curtly dismissed Moale, and went in alone.
Inside her own door, Loseis’ knees weakened under her, and she was glad to sink into a chair. She covered her face in the effort to shut out that truly frightful picture of rage. After all she was only a girl. Ah! how thankful she would have been to have Conacher at her side then!
Her weakness was but momentary. She hastened to the window, standing far enough back to keep her face from showing at the pane. It was essential for her to know what Gault was going to do. Suppose he and his men rode after Conacher, she would have to follow, and let the Post look after itself. Impossible to remain inactive! Her horse was as good as the best. Should she not ride at once to warn Conacher? Her horse was in the stable with Gault’s horses. But there were other horses she might catch. No! No! First she must see what Gault was going to do.
The Cree, Watusk, returned, and the four men were hanging around outside the door, at a loss what to do. Suddenly Moale went in as if summoned by a call. He immediately reappeared, spoke to the others, and they all went into the corral and stable. In due course they came out leading all of Gault’s remaining horses, eight in number, ready saddled; some to be ridden, others to carry packs. They began to carry out their belongings from the house.
Now I must start! thought Loseis in a fever. But a more prudent voice restrained her. You mustn’t let Gault see what you’re going to do!
When the little train was ready, Gault came out of the house. To Loseis’ astonishment he kept on across the square. He was coming to speak to her. She began to tremble all over. Just the same, she was glad that she had stayed. She went to the door, and waited for him in an unconcerned pose. He should never guess that her heart was pounding.
Gault had only partly succeeded in regaining his composure. He was lividly pale; his lips moved with a curious stiffness; and there was an ominous triangular furrow etched in his forehead. Without looking directly at Loseis, he said in a controlled voice:
“I have done my best to look after your affairs. You have rejected my efforts at every turn. Well, if you have found somebody else to advise you, there is nothing further for me to do here. I am returning to Fort Good Hope.”
With that, he faced about, and went to his horse. Loseis had not said anything at all. The others were waiting in the saddle; and as soon as Gault mounted they set off, Gault staring stiffly ahead of him, the others looking askance at the girl lounging in the doorway. Around the store, and up the side hill at the back.
The instant they were out of sight Loseis sprang into action. Without waiting for so much as coat or hat, she ran across to the stable, and flung saddle on her horse. It was perfectly evident to her that Gault was still lying. If he had, as he pretended, given up in disgust, he would have ridden away without a word. The fact that he felt it necessary to advertise his giving up was to her proof positive that he was not giving up at all.
Mary-Lou, seeing her mistress prepare to ride away, realized that she would be left the last living soul at Blackburn’s Post. Panic seized her. Running across the square, she met Loseis leading her horse out of the stable.
“Take me! Take me!” she gasped.
Loseis was obliged to curb her headlong desire to be off. “Well . . . well . . .” she said impatiently. “The buckskin is in the stable. I will saddle him for you. Run back to the house. Fetch some grub. Shove my riding clothes in a saddlebag. I’ll change on the trail.”
As she tightened girths, Loseis reflected: Etzooah is familiar with the triangle of country between the two trails, from having trapped it in the winter. There is no cross trail, but it would be possible to lead their horses through the bush, and across the coulee. Take a little time, though. I shall be on the southerly trail ahead of them. . . . But suppose they steal back here first to spy on me . . . ?
A hard little smile wreathed Loseis’ lips. Hastily tying the horses to the corral fence, she flew across the grass again. Meeting Mary-Lou coming out of the house, she ordered her to put down the things, and help her. In the house, Loseis tore the mattress off her bed, and dragging it into the kitchen ripped it open. It was stuffed with moss. Wetting the moss from the barrel of water which stood within the door, she arranged it in the fireplace in such a way that it would smolder a little at a time.
“That will last out the day,” she said smiling. “Come on; let’s go!”
CHAPTER XVSHADOWING
Loseisand Mary-Lou rode hard through the river-meadows and over the gravelly ridges. There was no danger that anyone who followed would be able to pick out the prints of their horses’ hoofs in the confusion of tracks left by the fur train. When they gained the shelter of the wooded country, some six miles from the Post, Loseis pulled up to a walk. It is impossible to think at a gallop. She wished to canvass all the possibilities of the situation again.
She thought: The further they went along the trail before striking across, the harder it would be to get over. Therefore if they intended to come this way they would turn off as soon as possible. They would now be behind me. . . . But I do notknowthat Gault intends to ride after the fur, though that is the likeliest thing for him to do. How foolish I would look if I dashed ahead to warn Conacher, and then Gault never came. Gault might be planning to steal back to the Post, and seize it. Or he might have some devilish trick in mind that would never occur to me. . . . I will not ride on until I make sure that he is on this trail.
It is impossible to hide with horses alongside a traveled trail. The horses are certain to betray you by whinnying at the approach of other horses. Therefore, Loseis was obliged to ride on four miles further to the Slavi village at the foot of the lake. Here she sent Mary-Lou across the river with instructions to turn the horses out, and to lose herself amongst the Slavis.
Loseis walked back along the wooded trail, looking for a suitable place of concealment. The river ran close alongside. On the river there was a fringe of berry bushes at the base of the trees; but the water sparkled through the interstices of the stems. No room to hide there. The other side was more open; a thick brown carpet of pine needles that smothered all undergrowth. Loseis began to run in feverish impatience. Suppose she was surprised before she could hide herself.
At last in a place where the sun broke through, she came upon a thick clump of the high-bush cranberry on the inshore side of the trail. She walked up and down the trail surveying it from every angle. It would serve! She crept in, careful to leave no tell-tale marks of her passage. She constructed herself a little cave amongst the leaves, that would permit of a certain freedom of movement without betraying her by a rustle. Here she crouched within two yards of the trail.
It was very difficult to compose her impatient blood to wait. The swollen river moved down, whispering and sucking under the bank. Overhead a smooth, smoky-colored whisky-jack fluttered like a shadow from branch to branch, cocking a suspicious eye down at her. Would he betray her? thought Loseis anxiously. However he made up his mind after awhile that she was a fixture, and faded away. In the distance Loseis could hear the children and the dogs of the Slavi village. A dozen times within a quarter hour Loseis looked at her watch; and each time put it to her ear to make sure it had not stopped.
A whole hour passed, and another one on top of that. Loseis was beginning to ask herself if she were not on a fool’s errand. What ought she to do? What ought she to do? Then she heard a sound that caused all uncertainty to vanish: hoof-beats on the hard-packed trail. It was then two o’clock. As the sound drew closer her brow knitted; only one horse; that was not what she had expected; why should they send one man in pursuit of Conacher?
A minute later Etzooah rode by in the trail. He was not hurrying himself at all; his horse was single-footing it gently; and the Indian rode with his near leg thrown over the saddle horn, his body all relaxed and shaking in the untidy native style. Etzooah, unaware of being observed, looked thoroughly well pleased with himself. He hummed a chant under his breath, and from force of habit his beady black eyes watched on every side of him. Sharp as they were they perceived nothing amiss in the clump of high-bush cranberry.
When he had passed, Loseis after making sure that there were no more coming, issued out of her hiding place, and started back for her horse, considering. Her first impulse was to ride after Etzooah, but she dismissed it with a shake of the head. No! No personal danger threatened Conacher from Etzooah’s coming. This was just part of some tricky game that Gault was playing. Etzooah might safely be left to Conacher to handle. She must find out what Gault was about. There lay the real danger.
Obtaining her horse, and bidding Mary-Lou to remain where she was, Loseis rode back towards the post. Having ridden about two miles, an intuition warned her to dismount and lead her horse, that she might not give undue warning of her passage. Shortly afterwards the mare suddenly threw up her head and whickered. A moment later Loseis heard more hoof-beats; several horses this time, pounding in a measured way that suggested they were being ridden by men.
Turning her horse, Loseis mounted and rode back a hundred yards or so to a small stream that fell into the river. Dismounting in the water, she cut her mare sharply across the withers, sending her galloping on in the direction of the Indian village. Wading up the little stream, she presently climbed the bank, and making a detour among the pines, pressed herself close in to the stem of a young tree, with branches growing down to the ground. It was not a perfect hiding-place; she was further from the trail.
The riders approached. They were walking their horses now. Gault, Moale and one of the Crees; the other, Watusk, was missing. They had left their pack-horses behind them. So they are not going far! thought Loseis. Gault’s face, when he was alone with his men, wore an expression that he had never permitted Loseis to see; a look of naked brutality that made the girl shiver. It is the natural expression of that face, she thought.
Even before she could see their faces, Loseis heard Gault and Moale talking back and forth. The first words she heard distinctly were spoken by Gault. He said:
“It must have been somewhere along here. I heard a horse run off along the trail. I had not heard it before that. Sounded like some one might have been waiting here.”
“A loose horse startled away by our coming,” suggested Moale. “There are plenty of them along the river.”
“They don’t often run alone,” Gault pointed out.
“A Slavi, then. I suspect they prowl up and down this trail.”
“We don’t want them prowling around us,” growled the trader.
“Let Musqua cry like the Weh-ti-go,” said Moale.
The Cree, grinning, threw back his head and uttered the long-drawn, wailing screech that is supposed to be the cry of that dreadful spirit.
“They will say that it is Blackburn,” said Moale chuckling.
There was a silence.
“We mustn’t go too far,” said Gault. “Or we’ll be on top of the Slavi village.”
“What are you looking for?” asked Moale.
“A dead tree alongside the trail that we can pull over.”
For some reason these words struck a cold fear into Loseis’ breast. The riders passed out of earshot.
The trail wound in and out among the trunks as woodland trails do, and you could never see more than twenty-five yards or so ahead or behind. As soon as the men had gone, Loseis issued from her hiding-place, and started to follow on foot. She could still hear the murmur of their voices but not what they said. The leisureliness of their progress puzzled her. They were not going much further. What could they be up to? And the remaining Cree; what had become of him?
She heard them pass through the little stream that crossed the trail. A short distance beyond they stopped, apparently for the purpose of holding a consultation. Loseis approached as close as she dared, but could not make out their words. After awhile they left the trail. From the sounds that reached her, Loseis understood that they were leading their horses away amongst the trees. She went forward as far as the stream, and ascended the bed of it, thus keeping roughly parallel with the course they were taking.
For a couple of hundred yards back from the river, the forest was perfectly flat, and for the most part clear of undergrowth. The ground then rose steeply, and on the hillside young trees and bushes crowded up. The little stream came down through a ravine full of bowlders. Loseis, concentrating on the faculty of hearing, gathered that men and horses had made their way back to the foot of the rise, where they had gone into camp for a spell.
She climbed up the side of the ravine to a point well above their heads, and then edged cautiously around the hill until she was directly over the voices. Thereupon she began to let herself down softly, softly, an inch at a time, choosing every foothold with circumspection, snaking her body through the bushes with care not to create the slightest rustling. Loseis as a child had not played with the Slavi children for nothing.
She discovered at last that they had established themselves at the base of a gigantic bowlder embedded in the side of the hill. The smoke of their little fire was rising over the top. Loseis, descending from above, worked her body by slow degrees out on top of the bowlder, where she lay perfectly hidden, about fifteen feet above their heads. It would have been too risky to attempt to peep over the edge of the stone, but whether she could see them was immaterial to her, so she could hear.
Her cautious progress around the hillside had consumed a good bit of time, and when she arrived above the camp it was still. For a long time she could hear nothing but the uneasy nosing of the horses, that had no forage in that spot. They must have been tied, for they did not move about. Loseis knew the men were still below her, for she detected a faint aroma of tobacco, apart from the fumes of burning pine. At last, startlingly, Gault’s quiet voice resolved itself out of the stillness. He might have been speaking to herself.
“No, don’t put any more on. If any of the Slavis happen to be traveling up on the bench, the smoke would attract them. Just keep it going until we’re ready to eat.”
Moale asked: “When will you eat?”
Gault replied: “We can only eat once. Put it off until evening.”
Then silence again. Loseis feared that that which she so desired to hear must already have been talked out between them.
By and by she heard a horse single-footing it rapidly in the trail.
“Here comes Watusk,” said Moale.
From the sounds which succeeded Loseis made out that Musqua had been stationed alongside the trail to intercept Watusk. They could presently be heard approaching with the horse, through the trees below. As soon as they were within speaking distance Gault said sharply:
“Well?”
A voice, presumably Watusk’s, replied: “Blackburn’s daughter, and the Beaver girl are at the post.”
The listening Loseis smiled to herself.
“Did you see them?” asked Gault.
“N’moya. They were in the house. How could I look in the house without showing myself? There was smoke coming out of the chimney. For an hour I watched it from the branches of a pine tree where the trail goes over the hill.”
“Maybe Blackburn’s daughter had left the Indian behind.”
“N’moya.”
“Watusk is right,” put in Moale’s voice. “After everybody else was gone, no Indian would stay there alone; not with that new-made grave in sight!”
“It is well,” grumbled Gault.
There was more talk about eating. Gault indifferently told the breeds they could take theirs if they wanted, but they would get no more until morning.
More time passed. As is always the case with men waiting an event, they found but little to say to each other. Sometimes the Crees discussed their own concerns in low tones. Sometimes they all fell silent for so long that Loseis supposed they had fallen asleep. Then suddenly Gault and Moale took up the thread of a conversation as if it had been dropped but a moment before.
“Couldn’t we hang a noose in the trail?” asked Moale.
“No way of keeping a noose spread,” returned Gault. “It’s better to stretch the tracking line across the trail from tree to tree at such a height that it will catch him under the chin. I hope it breaks his damn neck. Most likely though, it will only yank him off his horse.”
Loseis’ blood slowly congealed as she listened. There could be no doubt who the “him” was that they referred to.
“Then we’ll jump on him,” Gault went on; “and tie him up, and lay him in the trail, and pull the tree over. I’ve got it all figured out. The branches of that tree will stick out over the edge of the bank, consequently the trunk will lie flat on the ground and break his back.”
“It may not kill him outright,” suggested Moale.
Loseis heard a horrible chuckle. Gault said: “Oh, I’ll stick around until he dies. I don’t care if he lingers a bit. I hope he’ll have sense enough to take in what I’ve got to tell him. If he lingers too long I’ll stop his breath. You fellows can ride on. I’ve got the best horse. I’ll overtake you. We’ll all have to ride like hell to get to Fort Good Hope in time to establish a proper alibi.”
There was a brief silence, then:
“But there won’t be any trouble. Unless he’s found to-morrow, the coyotes and the wolverines will have picked him clean. And in any case the fallen tree, the broken back will tell their own tale. I’ll recover the letter, of course, before I leave him.”
“Hadn’t we better keep a watch alongside the trail?” Moale asked uneasily.
“Why?”
“He might come along before dark?”
“Impossible. I told Etzooah after he had located the camp, not to show himself until the position of the sun showed eight o’clock. You can trust a Slavi to keep cover. If Conacher jumped on his horse that minute and ran him the whole way he couldn’t get back here till near midnight.”
At last they had named their intended victim!
“My only fear is that it may be daylight before he gets here,” said Gault. “But of course we’ll get him anyhow.”
“He may suspect a trick, and not come at all.”
“Oh, sure!” said Gault unconcernedly. “But we had a damn persuasive argument to use. If he don’t come by daylight we’ll go after him.”
“And afterwards,” said Moale, “what you going to do afterwards?”
Again the chuckle! “By and by I’ll ride back to Blackburn’s Post to resume my courtship.”
“She’ll be mourning for the other one then.”
“What of it? It wouldn’t be the first time that a woman consoled herself with the next best thing. It’s a very good time to tackle a woman. She’s tender then.”
Loseis had heard enough. She commenced to work herself backward off the rock. She inched her way up hill in the same manner that she had come down. She was doubly careful now, for another life beside her own depended on her success. When she had got high enough to be out of earshot, she turned in the other direction from that she had come, and making a wide detour, regained the trail a good furlong beyond Gault’s camp, and set off to recover her horse.