234CHAPTER XVIIA CHANGE OF FRONT
For five days the fever raged, and then it left him, a mere wreck of his former self. All through that unconscious period the strangest things had happened. Arms had lifted him up from the pillow, and hands had fed him with liquid foods. Some glorious half-seen stranger had taken him under her care; but her face was hidden in a queer mist that floated before his eyes. At times he had tried to rise from the bed, his unbalanced mind obsessed with the idea of washing for gold, but those same strange, soft hands had always succeeded in preventing this—saving once.
On that occasion he actually succeeded in getting from the bed and standing up. He carefully placed one leaden leg before the other, and235was nearly on the threshold of the door when the familiar apparition appeared.
“She doesn’t know—I’m wise to all that happened—but I know. She had to do that—poor gal!... I’ll jest go and tell her it’s all right—not to worry none....”
Two supple arms caught him. He pushed them away, rather irritably.
“Don’t butt in.... It’s her I’m thinkin’ of—Angela. She’s sure hard and cold and can’t see no good in me,... but she’s got to be happy—got to be happy.... Maybe she’s right. I’m only fit for hosses and wild women....”
He found himself in bed again, and quite unconscious of the fact that he had ever been out of it; but he still continued to ramble on in monotonous and eerie fashion, about Angela, Colorado, fifty thousand pounds, and sundry other things.
Full consciousness came early one morning. He had been lying trying to piece together all the queer things that floated to his brain through the medium of his disarranged optic nerve. He succeeded in arriving at the fact that there was a bed and he was lying on it, and that the ceiling236was comprised of rough logs.... Then an arm was placed behind his head and a mug of something hot was placed to his lips. But he didn’t drink. His sight was coming back at tremendous speed. The hazy face before him took definite shape. A pair of intensely blue eyes were fixed on him, and red shapely lips seemed to smile.
“Angela!” he gasped.
She nodded and turned her eyes down.
“Yes, it is I. Don’t talk—you are too weak.”
“But I don’t understand. Why did you come back?”
He saw the mouth quiver.
“I came back because——”
“Go on.”
“I came back because I told you a lie.... I didn’t realize then what a despicable lie it was—one that reflected upon the character of a good friend, and made me seem like dirt in your eyes.... I wanted my freedom at any price, but that price was too high.... I—I couldn’t go and let you think—that.”
Her shoulders shook, and he saw that she was trying to conceal her sobs.237
“When did you come back?” he queried in a slow voice.
“Two days after I left. I found you gone, but knew you must come back, because some of the gear was here.” She hesitated. “Did—did you go after—him?”
He nodded grimly, and she gave a little cry of terror.
“You—you found him?”
He nodded affirmatively.
“And then——?”
“I found him dying from a bad injury.”
“Dying——?”
“Yes. He’s dead now.”
She turned on him with horrified eyes.
“You—you didn’t kill him?”
“Nope. I went there for that, but the Injuns got him first.”
Tears swam in her eyes. She moved her hands nervelessly and put the painful, crucial question.
“Did he know—why you came?”
He inclined his head, much affected by her attitude of abject shame. She gave a smothered cry and sank her head into her hands.
“Don’t, don’t!” he implored. “He understood238all right, and he’s dead and gone. Forget it!”
He took the mug of hot cocoa, anxious to drop a subject which caused him as much pain as it did her. Through the frosted windows he could see the sunlit, beautiful landscape, shining with incomparable radiance. Soon the spring would come, and with it the soul-filling song of birds, breaking the long silence of the winter.
“It must be round about March,” he said. “I sure have lost count of time.”
“It’s March the third or fourth,” she replied.
He glanced round the room and was surprised to notice its tidy appearance. All the domestic utensils were clean and neatly arranged on shelves, and the window boasted a pair of curtains. He began to realize how near death he must have been—so near, indeed, but for her he would have crossed the abyss before this.
“Where did you find me?” he asked.
“Away back on the fringe of the wood. The dogs came home with the sled and I followed the tracks till I found you. I—I thought you were dead.”
“And you carried me here?”239
“I unpacked the sled and went back with it. I managed to get you on to it—the dogs did the rest.”
He gave a low sigh.
“I’ll soon be up and about again.”
“I don’t think you will. You are terribly weak—and look so ill.”
He laughed weakly.
“I ain’t much of an invalid. You’ll see.”
She did see. His recovery was amazingly rapid. He seemed to change hourly, making new flesh at an astonishing pace. His iron constitution performed miracles of transformation. In three days, despite argument, he was out of bed. On the tenth day he shouldered the shovel and the washing pan and went out to a small creek to hunt the elusive gold. But failure still dogged him. He flung down the shovel and devoted hours to thinking over the position. When the pale sun began to sink behind the multicolored peaks he came to a decision and tramped back to the shack. A meal was awaiting him, spread on a clean white cloth. He noticed that the knives had been cleaned, and that a bowl of water was heated ready for a wash, which he240badly needed. It was a pleasant but astonishing change. For the first time it brought a real sense of “home.” He half regretted the decision made but an hour before, but he meant to go through with it, hurt how it might.
“Angela,” he said. “We’re packing up to-morrow.”
She looked at him queerly.
“Where to?”
“Dawson.”
“And then——”
“The break-up is coming, and there’ll be boats out to San Francisco.”
“I see. We are going back?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Because you have failed?”
He tightened his lips and his eyes flashed.
“Nope. I ain’t failed. I’ll never let this thing beat me. I’ll git gold if I stay till I’m fifty——”
“But you said we were——”
“I kind o’ got it mixed. I meant that you should go home. See here, I’ve got enough dollars to get you back to England—and it’s about time.”
She put down her knife and fork, and he saw241a queer light gathering in her eyes. He had expected a look of joy and triumph, but it wasn’t that.
“Listen,” she said. “A year and a half ago you made a business deal. You bought me, with my own consent, for fifty thousand pounds——”
“Cut that out,” he muttered. “I ain’t sticking to that—now.”
“But I am.”
“Eh!”
“That night when I escaped from you, by a mean trick, I was glad enough—in a way. But out there, in that cruel wilderness, I came to see that a business transaction, properly conducted, is a sacred affair. When one buys a thing, it belongs to one until someone else can pay the price. That’s the position, isn’t it?”
“Nope. I can give away my property if I wish.”
“Not in this case.”
“Hell I can!”
“Hell you can’t!”
“Why not?”
“Because—I can’t accept anything from you. Food is a different matter. You fixed the conditions242yourself—‘fifty-fifty’ you called it. And that’s how it stands.”
He jerked his chair back and strode up and down the shack. This unexpected swing of the pendulum upset all his arrangements. He feared she did not understand the true state of affairs.
“Things is different—I’ve failed,” he growled.
“We’ve failed—you mean.”
“And I’m broke.”
“We’rebroke,” she corrected.
Impatiently he caught her by the arms. He lowered his voice to impress upon her the necessity of carrying out his plan.
“Don’t you see how we stand? Angela, I’m asking you to do this. I’ve only that passage money left. This ain’t the place for you——”
“Why didn’t you discover that before?”
He bit his lips at the retort.
“I guess I was looking at things squint-eyed. I bin used to rough women who were born to hardship——”
She flared up indignantly.
“And that’s just it. You want to make me less than these—wild women. Women are women all the world over. If they can suffer uncomplainingly,243so can I. If they can dig gold and mush dogs, so can I. I dug out there along the creeks when you were ill and unconscious——”
“You dug——” Words failed him.
“Yes. Iwon’tappear contemptible in your eyes. And I won’t accept gifts—not even of freedom. You bought me and paid for me, and the debt remains.”
“But I didn’t buy your—soul.”
“And I’m not giving it you,” she retorted.
He sunk his head, feeling hopelessly beaten in the argument. All the time he was conscious of inward joy. To let her go was to suffer hell. The sudden fierceness that leaped out from her only increased his insatiable desire for her. She seemed even more beautiful in the rôle of tigress than in the old frigid pose of a Greek goddess.
“Have your own way,” he said.
“I intend to. You fixed the laws and you can’t abuse them. Fifty thousand pounds is a lot of money—more, perhaps, than most men would pay for me. But one day someone may——”
He clutched her and glared into her eyes in deep resentment.244
“Do you think I would give you up for money?—my God!”
“You gave me your word,” she said. “You never go back on your word—you said so.”
He uttered a groan.
“It was fifty thousand,” she said in level tones. “I shall not forget.”
“Angela!”
“Plus ten per cent. interest,” she added tensely.
245CHAPTER XVIIIA GLEAM OF SUNSHINE
Another week, and Jim had recovered all his old strength. With the spring in close proximity, and the food supply running dangerously short, he spared neither himself nor the dogs in his last feverish endeavor to achieve success.
Angela’s attitude puzzled him not a little. Since that fierce passage of words in the shack she had made no single reference to the future. She carried on the housekeeping with increased zest. Never again were the breakfast plates found unwashed at the next meal. She began to take a pride in making the cabin as comfortable as circumstances would allow, even going to the trouble of seeking berried evergreens in the woods and transforming these into table decoration.
Occasionally she went out to meet the disappointed246Jim coming back from his fruitless expeditions, and mushed the dogs while he sat on the sled. It seemed that she had succeeded in reconciling the situation—in making the best of a bad job.
One morning Jim announced his intention of exploring a small creek not a great distance from the shack. He started off with shovel and pick and the eternal washing-pan under a leaden sky. It was then an idea came to Angela. On her journey back from her abortive flight she had noticed a creek which displayed all the characteristics of those rich, shallow claims of which the Klondyke yields so many examples. Why not undertake a prospecting trip on her own account? There was a spare shovel, pick, and pan, and she had bored holes in frozen gravel before. She decided to harness up the sled and put her plan into execution.
At noon she started off with her team on the eight-mile journey. A close study of the map had convinced her that by taking the overland route she would save at least two miles either way. But her knowledge of maps was not great, and she entirely neglected to take into consideration247the contour markings, which would immediately have warned any experienced traveler against such a passage.
The trail led up over a big hill and down a ravine, and for a mile or two was good “going.” Coming out of the ravine the configuration changed. A jumbled mass of precipitous hills and canyons confronted her. She drove the dogs to an elevated point and looked before her. The great serpentine river came to view, clearly outlined by its wooded banks, and no more than two miles distant. On the near side of the river ran the creek she sought.
She gave a sigh of relief and urged the dogs on. The road narrowed and ascended again. The mountain-side fell away, and she found herself on a narrow ledge with a vast chasm beneath. She thought of turning back, but there was no room to turn the dogs round. Catching her breath, she went carefully forward. A few small flakes of snow on her shoulders, and then the inky sky began to empty itself. It came down in a great mass, obliterating everything. A cold terror began to possess her. In the blinding snow she could not discern the path for more than a248yard or two ahead, and by the side of her yawned that dreadful chasm!
She edged in close to the perpendicular wall, peering into the whirling mass of snow. The dogs stopped, and she urged them on again, knowing that the pass must soon descend to the river.
Suddenly there was a fierce uproar among the dogs. The sled jerked forward, and commenced to move at tremendous speed. A slight wind created a funnel-like opening in the dense white cloud before her. She gave one long shriek of horror at the sight which met her eyes. The sled was on the very brink of a precipice! It hovered there for a moment—just long enough for her to fling herself sideways against the wall; then it, and the team, vanished over the side, taking a mass of snow down, down into the bottomless depths.
She crouched against the wall, petrified by what had happened. A thundering noise came up from the black hole, reverberating through the pass and over the mountains as sled and dogs were hurled to their doom. She put her fingers in her ears to keep out the dreadful sound.249
It ceased, and the great silence came again. Faint and sick, she realized that her left shoulder was aching with intense pain through contact with the rock wall.
There was nothing to be done but go back and confess the catastrophe to Jim. She stood up and commenced creeping along the dreadful path. Her left arm was hanging in useless fashion, setting up acute pain at the shoulder.
The full significance of her folly came to her. She had driven a team of dogs worth at least a thousand dollars to oblivion. Their chief means of travel was gone, and hundreds of miles lay between them and civilization. How could she confess the loss to Jim? What would he say?
For an hour she plodded on through the deep snow, her mind ranging over the past. Whatever might be said of this wild husband of hers, he had played the game as he saw it. She had to admit this. Culture and breeding were very desirable things, but had he not some other natural quality which, at the least computation, balanced these attributes? Could any man of her own set have acted with greater respect for her womanhood than he?250
Until recently she had been no companion to him—nothing but a continual drag on the wheel. She had hurt him in speech and action. She had deliberately set her mind on making clear to him his cultural and moral inferiority. In return for this he had given her to feel a complete sense of safety. Sleeping within a few feet of him she had never, for a moment, felt the slightest possibility of molestation or intrusion on his part. It had been easy to take this all for granted—because he was a wild man and she was a cultured woman. She had come to see that “wild men” did not show such a refinement of consideration, even though they might conceivably acknowledge their social inferiority. She knew of no other man with whom she could have entrusted herself as she did with this one. Moreover, he was her husband....
She was glad she was making things a little more pleasant for him. She saw that his natural gayety andjoie de vivre, long subdued, were again welling up within him. But yesterday she had heard him singing, coming back from his day’s unfruitful task. She knew herself to be the251cause of that song. It was rather pleasant to reflect upon.
Now she must tell him of the loss of the dog-team, brought about by her impetuosity and disregard for his position as leader of the expedition.
She came upon the cabin and entered it, to find him still away. She took off her snow-covered garments with great difficulty, for her injured arm hurt her at the least movement. She was putting the kettle on the stove when he entered.
“Gee! but I thought we’d done with snow,” he ejaculated. “But I guess this is the last drop.”
He shook off his muklucks and flung the bearskin parkha into a corner. With his usual quick introspection he noticed that something was amiss.
“Anythin’ wrong?” he queried.
He touched her on the injured arm and she winced with pain.
“Hello, you ain’t hurt your arm?”
She nodded.252
“Jim, I’ve done an awful thing. I’ve lost the dog-team.”
She saw him start, and realized the full extent of the loss. To her surprise his furrowed brows relaxed and he smiled whimsically.
“Things do sure happen at the wrong time. But how did you manage that?”
She told him in low, self-reproachful tones, and winced again as a movement of the injured arm brought agony.
“Say, that’s bad.”
“Yes. I know. Without the dogs——”
“Oh, darn the dogs! I meant your arm. It’s hurting you a heap. Ain’t you had a look at it?”
“Not yet. It’s rather a job getting my dress undone.”
He promptly walked across the room, and in a few seconds came back with two huge red handkerchiefs.
“Sit you down,” he ordered. “We’ll start on this right now. How do you manage this arrangement?”
“It—it unbuttons at the back,” she stammered.
She felt his big inexperienced hand at work on the buttons, and soon her dress was slipped over253the injured shoulder. A little hiss escaped him as the round white arm came to view, with a hideous black bruise around the shoulder-joint. She stole one look at his face, and saw his perturbed countenance surveying the injury.
“Move your arm a little—that way.”
She did so with a groan.
“Good—there ain’t nothin’ broke.”
He soaked the handkerchief in cold water and tied up the arm with astonishing skill. Then he fashioned a sling with the other handkerchief, and carefully bent her arm and tucked it inside the latter.
“How’s that?”
She smiled gratefully.
“It seems much easier.”
“Sure! It’ll be fine in a day or two. You sit down here and I’ll git some tea.”
Without waiting to see this order obeyed, he ran to the stove and poked the fire into a blaze. The singing kettle began to boil, and a few minutes later they were having tea.
She watched him carefully, and knew that the loss of the dogs was worrying him. Yet he had254made so light of that, and so much of her comparatively trivial injury!
“About them dawgs, Angela?”
“Yes.”
“It’s kinder unfortunate, because grub’s low and it’s a hell of a way to Dawson. I guess we’ll have to pack up to-morrow and git going. We can do a bit o’ digging on the way back.”
Her eyes shone strangely.
“It was all my fault, Jim.”
“Bound to happen at times,” he said. “Dawgs is the silliest things. See here, you’re worrying some over that, ain’t you now?”
“I—I know what it means—to you.”
“It don’t mean nothin’ so long as you didn’t go over that cliff with ’em. We’ll make Dawson all right. I’ve bin up against bigger trouble than this.”
He jumped up and commenced vigorously to wash up the cups and saucers, talking rapidly all the while and refusing to allow her to lend a hand.
“I done this for years, back there in Medicine Bow,” he said. “Gee, them were times! There wasn’t water enough to make tea with in the255summer. Me and my two chums used to buy a pail of water for twenty dollars. It had to serve the three of us a whole day. We washed in it, and then drank it——”
“Ugh!”
“Wal, if we’d drank it first we couldn’t have washed in it after. I guess them chaps had logic. When wedidstrike a spring, gold wasn’t in it for excitement. It was like finding heaven. Hookey swore he’d never touch whisky again, and he didn’t until we hit the next saloon.”
She laughed merrily as he turned and dried his wet hands.
“It’s good to hear you laugh,” he said. “If you’d only laugh sometimes, Angela, I wouldn’t care a damn about short rations. I seen men laugh on the plains when the chances were that two hours later their scalps would be hanging at the belts of Injuns. I was only a kid then ... but laughing is a fine thing. You can’t beat a man who laughs.”
“You used to laugh then?”
“Sure!”
“But not now!”
He stared out through the window.256
“Maybe that’s why I’m being beaten,” he said.
She stood up and touched him on the arm.
“I don’t think you’ll ever be beaten,” she said.
He shook his head, almost fearful of meeting those clear, beautiful eyes of hers.
“Only one thing in the world can beat me,” he said. “And that is the thing which above all others I’m mad to get; and it ain’t gold.”
He spent the evening packing up the gear and the food that remained, ready for the journey down the river. The home-made sled was again requisitioned, after undergoing sundry repairs. Late in the evening Angela, from the inner room, called him. Nervously he went inside, to find her with her wonderful hair flowing over her shoulders and her dress half undone.
“I—I can’t get it off,” she complained.
He attended to the stubborn buttons and pulled the top down over her shoulders. On the threshold of the door he called back.
“Good-night, Angela.”
She stood surveying him intently, and then came towards him.
“Whatever lies before us, don’t think me ungrateful. I’ll try to be a good comrade in the257future if you’ll let me. You’ve suffered so much.... It was never my wish that you should suffer. Even a bought wife has—a soul.”
He saw the swell of her bosom below the pure white shoulders. All her intoxicating beauty seemed to be pleading to him. Her lips, made for kissing, were like alluring blossoms of spring. For a moment he stood drunk with passionate desire. Then he touched her fingers lightly and went outside.
258CHAPTER XIXTHE CRISIS
It was spring on the Yukon—the radiant, glorious spring that is sandwiched between the intense winter and the dank, enervating summer. Birds sang in the woods, their liquid voices accompanied by the deep noise of the river, belching its millions of tons of ice into the Bering Sea. In the lower valleys the snow had vanished, and the rich green carpet of the earth shimmered in the clear sunlight.
South of Fort Yukon Angela and Jim were threading their way through a pine-forest. Both carried packs on their backs, for the sled had been discarded but a few days before, having served them faithfully for a hundred-odd miles.
Jim found a small clearing and slung the huge pack from his shoulders. Angela discarded her smaller pack and came to help him rig up the tent.259
“Better than the winter, eh?” he queried, as an inquisitive bird came and hopped around them.
“In many ways, but the winter’s wonderful enough when one has grown acclimatized. I shall never forget those mountains and the glory of the sunset.... Are we far from Dawson?”
“Two hundred miles or so.”
“And will the food last out?”
That was the crucial question. Until the river traffic began the purchase of food was almost an impossibility. She saw Jim’s face tighten, as it had tightened every time she had broached the subject. A week before he had insisted that the remaining food be equally divided, since they now both engaged in the search for gold—that eternally elusive mineral that seemed as far away as ever. The beans and flour and canned meat had been duly apportioned, and placed in their respective sacks. When they separated for the day each took his food with him, cooking it in primitive fashion in the open.
For the last few days Angela had been anxious about Jim. He seemed to have changed in an extraordinary manner. His cheeks were thinner and his eyes looked dead. Yet he was merry260enough when at nights they forgathered around the fire and told their respective tales of vain searching.
She was frying some beans over the fire when he rose and pointed back through the wood.
“I guess I’ll jest go along and prospect the lay of the land from the hill,” he said.
“But aren’t you going to have something to eat?”
“Nope—not now. I ain’t hungry. I’ll be back again in no time.”
She ate her meal reflectively. It was queer that he should want to go to the hill, when but recently they had passed over it and had taken their bearings from the ice-laden river that lay to the east! Despite his assurance of excellent health she knew something was wrong with him. But what?
A little later she followed the path he had taken. The thickly grown wood was alive with spirit of spring. Small animals scampered underfoot, and overhead a bird breathed forth its soul in incomparable song. She stopped for a minute to listen to the latter—clear-throated as an English nightingale—singing away as261though winter and the stark desolation had never been. A slight breeze moaned among the tree-tops, and woodland scents were wafted to her nostrils. Adown the gale came the slanting rays of the setting sun, red and wonderful and warm.
From near at hand came another sound—a noise as of one slashing at the earth. Carefully she made her way in the direction of the noise, curious as to its meaning. She peered round a tree, and saw something which took her breath away. Jim was kneeling on the ground, hacking with his jack-knife at the earth. Then from the excavated foot or so he took a root, scraped it with the knife, and began to gnaw it like a dog. She had heard of edible roots, on which half-starved Indians in the North managed to subsist for long periods. But for Jim to do this.... Her brain reeled at the sight. The significance of it dawned upon her. He was afraid of the future. He knew the food could not last out, and was saving his rations for the time of emergency. That was the meaning of those thinning cheeks and the dead eyes. He was famished with hunger...!
With a choke she ran towards him, holding up262her hands with horror. He tried to hide the root he was chewing, but became aware that she had seen it, and that she knew the true motive of his expedition.
“Jim, why, you’re starving! Why didn’t you tell me?”
He stood up and put the knife into his pocket.
“’Tain’t as bad as all that,” he said casually. “Gotta make that grub pan out, somehow. I told you I was rough—an animal. Don’t look so plumb sober. I lived for a month on roots once....”
“Come back!” she cried imperiously. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had a right to know!”
He said nothing. There was nothing to be said. She didn’t know what starvation was really like, and he did. She led him back to the camp, her face flushed and her eyes moist.
“Now sit down. I’m going to cook you a good meal, and you are going to eat it. Where’s your grub sack?”
His mouth closed down with a snap. If she saw the grub sack the whole truth must come out, and he didn’t want that.
“I’ve had my meal,” he replied. “Don’t263trouble now. I ain’t a bit hungry. Them roots is sure wonderful when you git used——”
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and looked round for his kit. Seeing it a few yards away she rose from her knees and made for it, but his hand came out and stopped her.
“Angela,” he said hoarsely. “We got days to go yet....”
She put his arm aside and reached the pile of kit. The sack in which his food was carried was a white canvas one, easily distinguished from the rest. She turned over one or two things and found it—flat and empty.
“Gone—all gone!”
She stood with it hanging from her fingers as a suspicion entered her mind. Slowly she came to him, her bosom throbbing madly.
“What have you done with it?”
“I guess I’ve bin a bit too free with it.”
“What have you done with it?” she reiterated.
“Wal, it’s gone, and squealing won’t help matters.”
“Where has it gone?”
“Where does food usually go? See here, Angela—I’m right sorry about it all. Maybe264I’ll shoot a bird to-morrow, and then I’ll have a gormandizing jag.”
But the stratagem failed to have effect. She was thinking of the apparent inexhaustibility of her own supply. Two nights before she had heard him go from the tent, and the next morning the ring which he usually wore on his finger was found in her sack. Moreover, the contents had seemed strangely increased. She saw it all now. The bag slipped from her fingers and she covered her face with her hands.
“I know!... I know now!” she burst out. “I’ve been eating your food as well as my own. You have been replenishing my supply from your own sack. All this time you’ve been famished with hunger, and you’ve let me go on eating—living on your hunger. Oh, God! don’t you see how mean I feel?” Then her eyes flashed and her tone changed. “But you had no right to do it. How dare you?”
“I guess I’d dare a lot of things for certain reasons. See here, you’ve bin through a hell of a lot up here, but you’ve never suffered hunger, and it wouldn’t be good for you, I’m thinking. Cold and frostbite is one thing, and hunger’s265another. There’s nothin’ like starvation to freeze up your heart. It’s like a red-hot iron inside, gittin’ redder and redder.... Shootin’ a starvin’ dog’s a mercy, I reckon.”
“Is it any worse for me than you?”
“Yep.”
With that dogmatic assertion he relapsed into silence. Angela flew to her own small supply of food and produced the requisities for a good meal. The mixture was soon spluttering over the fire, emitting odors almost unendurable to the hungry, watching Jim. Angela turned it out on to a plate.
“Come along,” she said.
“I told you——”
She went to him and put her arm round him.
“If you’ve any regard for me—if you want to make me happy, eat that.”
It was the first time she had ever displayed any real depth of feeling, and it was like balm to him. But his obstinacy prevailed, for in the dish was a normal day’s ration for the two of them.
“Maybe you think we’ll drop across food on trail, but we won’t. There’s nothin’ to be got266until the first freighter comes up the river. Better put it back.”
She took her arm away and went to the dish.
“If you won’t eat, I’ll throw it away—I swear I will!”
“Angela!”
“It’s your own maxim, your own teaching—share and share alike. I won’t recognize any other doctrine. It shall go to the birds unless....”
She meant what she said, and he knew it.
“All right—I’ll eat,” he mumbled.
Half an hour later, feeling a hundred per cent. better, he rose to his feet and entered the tent, where Angela was busily engaged putting down the blankets on improvised mattresses of gathered moss and young bracken.
“See,” she said, “I’ve split up the food again. How long will it last if eked out?”
He turned out one of the sacks and ran his eye over the contents.
“Two days, at a pinch.”
“And how soon can we make Dawson?”
“A week, hard plugging.”267
“Then it looks as though the ’pinch’ will have to be resorted to—and expanded.”
He saw she was smiling as she tucked his bottom blanket carefully under the moss.
“When you put it that way we can make anything,” he said. “If I had a canoe we could push up the river a good deal faster than overland, but I ain’t got one—and that’s the rub.”
“Then we’ll have to depend on luck.”
“No friend o’ mine. Luck don’t cut much ice up here.”
Angela shook her head. She had a slight suspicion that luck had not entirely deserted them. Though the future seemed black and threatening, were there not compensating elements? There were worse things than dying in the wilderness with a “wild man.”
268CHAPTER XXCOMPLICATIONS
Devinne’s trading-post was not the sort of place one expected to find in Alaska. Devinne himself was a queer customer, a man of good education and birth. That he chose to establish a trading-post on the upper reaches of the Yukon was a mystery to all who knew him. The real reason was a secret in the heart of Devinne, and had reference to a quarrel in a Parisian club in which a blow had been struck in a moment of pardonable fury, resulting in the death of a revered citizen of Paris.
Devinne found the Yukon district a comparatively “healthy” spot. He had started the trading-post four years back, and had prospered very considerably. He had started in a small way, taking trips into Indian villages and bargaining for furs. A man of quick intelligence, he soon acquired a substantial knowledge of most of the269queer Indian dialects, which proved a tremendous asset from a business point of view.
After one year’s profitable trading he had built the “post.” It was a fairly commodious affair, boasting three rooms upstairs and three below, plus a long shed attached to the rear of the main building where he carried on his business, with two half-breed assistants, who slept in the shed itself.
A year after the post was completed Natalie, Devinne’s only daughter, a woman of uncertain age, came out to keep house for him. Natalie had all the quick passions of her Southern mother, which doubtlessly accounted for the sudden rupture between herself and her husband after but a brief span of married life.
Two years in Alaska had not changed her nature. Unlike Devinne, she was quick to anger. She ruled her father as completely as she had ruled her husband, until that worthy sought refuge under the wing of another, less tyrannous, woman.
On this night, in late May, Natalie and her father sat in the big front room which afforded them an uninterrupted view of the river. Natalie270was busy at crochet-work, and Devinne was going over some accounts with a view to finding what profit the year had yielded. Judging by his frequent purrs and sighs, the result was not displeasing. Natalie looked up.
“Well?” she queried, in French.
“Another good season and we’ll be able to get away.”
“Where to?”
“Los Angeles would not be so bad. A good, equable climate, a little society, and a club or two—ah!”
“But is it safe?”
He furrowed his brows.
“We’ll risk it. Four years is a long time, and I think I am changed somewhat. You won’t be sorry to leave this country—ma cherie?”
Natalie put down her crochet.
“No. It seems a waste of one’s life. Mon Dieu, I am tired of it.”
Devinne cocked up his ears as two shrill hoots came from the river. He sprang to the window and saw the dim light of a ship going up the river.
“It’s the oldTopekaback again. She’s early271this season, which is fortunate, for we’re badly in need of that consignment. ’Chips’ will have to get up to Dawson to-morrow and bring the stuff back. Maybe the piano is aboard.”
“Was it wise to get the piano, when we are leaving next fall?”
“We can sell it—at a profit, too.... What’s that?”
“That” was a sharp rap on the outer door. It was repeated again in a few seconds. Callers were unusual at that time of the day, but all callers were welcome enough in Alaska. Natalie ran out and unbarred the door. In the dim light she saw the figure of a big man supporting a woman, who was obviously on the verge of utter collapse.
“Why, vat is it?” she ejaculated in her broken English.
“It’s all that’s left of us,” growled a voice. “I guess we’re nearly beat.”
He staggered, and Natalie ran to the mute figure of Angela. “Father, father!” she cried.
Devinne appeared in a second, and took in the situation at a glance. While Jim relinquished272Angela to the excited Natalie, Devinne took him by the arm and led him into the sitting-room.
“It’s good fortune that led you here. How long have you been without food?”
“Two days.”
“We’ll soon put that right. Don’t talk till you’ve eaten. I’ll get you something to take the edge off while Natalie cooks a sound meal.”
He left Jim reclining on the couch, and came back with a loaf of bread and some canned beef. Jim eyed the food with ravenous eyes.
“Where’s Angela?” he queried.
“Angela?—who is—ah yes, your companion. You haven’t told me your name.”
“Conlan—Jim Conlan.”
“And the lady?”
“My—my sister.”
He started to see Angela standing in the doorway, her arm linked in that of Natalie. She regarded him in amazement as the untruth left his lips, and then came and sat down at the table.
“You vill excuse me. I go make something verra nice,” said Natalie, and vanished into the kitchen.273
“Now go ahead,” said Devinne. “Regard that ashors-d’œuvretill the supper is ready.”
They partook of the good home-made bread, and of the meat, Devinne regarding them with kindly eyes.
“It’s a good thing the steamer is early, or we might have been as badly off as you. We have but a week’s supply, but the new lot will be down in a day or two.... Where have you come from?”
“Endicott,” said Jim. “We lost our dogs and got delayed some. Gee, but food is a wonderful thing!”
Natalie came in and discreetly removed the remainder of the loaf and the meat.
“No more, pleece,” she said. “You vill haf no room for zat supper. I haf him on the stove now.”
She laughed merrily, not a little pleased at this unexpected invasion. For months she had seen no one but wandering Indians and grizzled miners. It was a delight to hold conversation with a pretty woman—not to mention a strapping son of Hercules, like unto nothing she had ever seen before.274
Jim found Devinne a charming and interesting host. Over a pipe they discussed New York and London, these being Devinne’s idea of paradise, a point of view which Jim scarcely shared. By the time supper was ready they all felt like old friends. Natalie, much to Angela’s embarrassment, displayed particular interest in Jim.
“But your brother—he ees magnifique! Such eyes—such limbs! Mon Dieu, but I haf nevaire seen one lak him. And you go all zat way wit’ him?—you are verra brave—and so beautiful.”
Angela would have liked to return the compliment—for the French woman was beautiful enough, and fascinating to her finger-tips—but she felt annoyed that Jim should have placed her in this position. Why should he attempt to pass her off as his sister? It was unpardonable! And here was this French woman regarding him with eyes of obvious admiration. Angela felt a queer little stab in the region of her heart.
“I can trade you some food the day after to-morrow, Conlan,” said Devinne.
“I guess I’ll be making Dawson to-morrow.”
“Nonsense! If you succeed in getting food there, it will be at famine price. Better stay.275Nay, I insist. It isn’t often we have the pleasure of meeting good company, and we claim you as guests for at least two days.”
Jim glanced at Angela and saw her mouth twitch. For some reason Angela was keen to get away, but nevertheless there was sound reasoning in Devinne’s argument. At Dawson food would fetch a fabulous price, until the freights could bring in bigger supplies. Devinne, with his acute business acumen, had insured a certain supply by ordering the stuff at the close of the last season and paying freightage in advance.
Jim intimated that he would wait for the arrival of the food, much to Angela’s chagrin and to Natalie’s unconcealed joy.
“We’ll have to rig you up a bed in the next room, Conlan,” said Devinne. “We only boast one spare room upstairs, and ladies come first—even in Alaska.”
“Sure!”
“So you’ve no luck at prospecting?”
“Nope. I guess we came too late.”
Devinne shook his head.
“This country is full of gold, but it’s just luck in finding it. I know old-timers who have276mushed their legs off without striking a cent. On the other hand young Cheechakos, without a grain of experience, have gone straight to the gold and made millions. You aren’t giving up?”
“I never give up,” growled Jim. “But there’s my—my sister to be considered. ’Tain’t a kind thing to yank a woman over the trail in winter.”
Devinne agreed with a nod of his head. Conlan puzzled him a good deal. It was amazing that he should be the brother of that beautiful blonde girl, who spoke in cultured tones and was as different from him as chalk is from cheese. There lurked the suspicions that their relationship was other than brother and sister, but being a cleanminded man he strove to banish the thought.
In the meantime Natalie was showing Angela the sleeping-room reserved for her, and talking at a tremendous rate about “La Belle France” and all the things she had sacrificed—among these latter she omitted to include her late husband. Doubtless she no longer regarded him as a sacrifice!