"Not by a damn sight!" muttered Sam.
He shook his reins, and drove on to the tune of their laughter.
His feelings were much mixed. He felt that he ought in decency to be chiefly concerned on Jennie Mackall's account, but he could not drive Bela out of his head. He was both angry and terrified at her coming. Just when he was beginning to feel free and easy she had to come and start up the old trouble in his breast. Just when men were beginning to forget the story which humiliated him, she came along and gave it new point!
Sam had to get mad at something, and, like young persons generally, he concentrated on a side issue. By the time he got into the settlement he had succeeded in working himself up to a great pitch of indignation against the Beatties, who, he told himself, had sent Jennie Mackall home to part her from him.
Reaching the company reservation, he drove boldly up the hill to ask for an explanation. Mrs. Beattie was on the porch sewing, as ever her bland, capable self.
"They tell me Miss Mackall has gone away," said Sam stiffly.
"She was taken sick last night," replied Mrs. Beattie. "We all thought it best for her to go when she had a good chance."
Sam stood undecided.
Mrs. Beattie arose.
"She left a note to bid you good-bye. I'll get it."
This was what Sam read, written in a well nigh illegible scrawl:
Dear Boy,
I cannot stay here. I am sick. I can't explain further. Can scarcely hold a pen. It's dreadful to have to go without seeing you. But don't try to follow me. I will write you from outside, when I can think more calmly. Oh, it's horrible! Oh, be careful of yourself! Don't let yourself be deceived. I would say more if I dared. Tear this up instantly. Don't forget me.
Ever thine,
Jennie.
Sam bowed stiffly to Mrs. Beattie, and turned away. The letter mystified and exasperated him. The emotion it breathed found no response in his own breast. The phrasing sounded exaggerated and silly. Why on earth should he follow? He understood the veiled reference to Bela. Little need for Jennie to warn him against her!
At the same time Sam felt mean because he experienced no greater distress at Jennie's going. Finally, manlike, he swore under his breath, and resolved again to have no more to do with women. No suspicion of the real state of affairs crossed his mind.
Returning down hill in his wagon, he had to pass the little house where they had told him Bela was. Smoke was rising from the chimney. A great disquiet attacked him; he was not thinking of Jennie at all then. He heard sounds of activity from within theshack. Wild horses could not have dragged his head around to look. Urging his horses, he got out of sight as quick as he could. But out of sight was not out of mind.
"What's the matter with me?" he asked himself irritably. "I'm my own master, I guess. Nobody can put anything over on me. What need I care if she opens a dozen restaurants? One would think I was afraid of the girl! Ridiculous! Lord! I wish she were at the other side of the world!"
There was no escaping her. During the days that followed, Bela was the principal topic of conversation around the settlement. Her place became a general rendezvous for all the white men.
Graves's young men saved the Government their rations, but took it out in horse-flesh riding around the bay to sup at Bela's. The policemen spent their hours off duty and wages there.
Stiffy and Mahooley fired their cook and went with the rest. The shack proved inadequate to hold them all, and Graves sent over a tent to be used as a kitchen annex.
Since Sam was the only white man who did not patronize the place, he had to submit to be held up on the road half a dozen times a day while they forced him to listen to the details of the last wonderful meal at Bela's.
"No bannock and sow-belly; no, sir! Real raised outside bread and genuine cow-butter from the mission. Green stuff from the mission garden. Roasted duck and prairie-chicken; stewed rabbit and broiled fish fresh out of the lake! Pudding with raisins in it, and on Sunday an apricot pie!"
Bela, it seemed, brought everybody under contribution.They told how even Mrs. Beattie, the great lady of the place, was giving her cooking lessons.
It was not only the food that made Bela's place attractive. The men told how agreeably she welcomed them, making every man feel at home. She remembered their likes and dislikes; she watched to see that their plates were kept full.
When the table was cleared they were allowed to smoke and to play cards. Bela was good for a bit of fun, too; nothing highty-tighty about her. She had a clever tongue in her head. But all fair and above-board, you understand. Lord! if any fellow got fresh he'd mighty soon be chucked out by the others. But nobody ever tried it on—there was something about her——A fine girl!
That was how the panegyrics always ended: "A fine girl, sir!" Every man felt a particular gratitude to Bela. It was a place to go nights. It combined the advantages of a home and a jolly club. Up north men were apt to grow rusty and glum for the lack of a little amusement.
All of which evidenced a new side of Bela's character. She was coming on. In such a favourable atmosphere she might well develop. It seemed that she moved like a queen among her courtiers. They scrambled to do her behests.
Poor Sam, after listening to these tales, was obliged to drive past the house of entertainment eyes front, and cook his supper in solitude at Grier's Point. He could no longer count on even an occasional companion, for nowadays everybody hurried to Bela's.
The plain fact of the matter was, he suffered torments of lonesomeness. Lying in his blankets waiting for sleep, perhaps in a cold drizzle, in his mind's ear he could hear the sounds of merriment in the shackthree miles away. As his heart weakened, he was obliged to batter himself harder and harder to keep up his rage against the cause of all his troubles.
One afternoon returning from around the bay earlier than usual, in a straight stretch of the road between the two trading posts, he saw her coming. No mistaking that slender, skirted figure with a carriage as proud and graceful as a blooded horse.
His heart set up a tremendous thumping. There was no way of avoiding a meeting, unless he turned tail and fled before her. That was not to be thought of. It was the first time they had come face to face since the unforgettable morning in Johnny Gagnon's shack.
Sam steeled himself, and commenced to whistle. He would show her! Exactly what he meant to show her he could not have told, but it necessitated a jaunty air and a rollicking whistle. It was his intention to hail her in a friendly off-hand way like any of the men might—provided his heart did not leap out of his breast before he reached her.
It did not. But as they passed he received the shock of his life. Whatever it was he expected from her, an angry scowl maybe, or an appealing look, or a scornfully averted head, he did not get it. She raised calm, smiling eyes to his and said provokingly:
"Hello, Sam!"
That was what he had meant to do, but it missed fire. He found himself gaping clownishly at her. For something had leaped out of her eyes into his, something sweet and terrible and strange that threw him into a hopeless confusion.
He whipped up his horses and banged down the trail. All night he tossed in his blankets, hungry and exasperated beyond bearing. Cursing her brought him no satisfaction at all. It rang hollowly.
As the days passed, stories of another kind reached Sam's ears. It appeared that many of Bela's boarders desired to marry her, particularly the four settlers who had first arrived. They had offered themselves in due form, it was said, and, much to the satisfaction of the company in general, had been turned down in positive terms.
Whether or not this was precisely true, Husky Marr suddenly sold out his outfit and went out on a York boat, while Black Shand Fraser packed up his and trekked over to the Spirit River. Later word came back that he had built himself a raft, and had gone down to Fort Ochre, the farthest point that white men had reached.
The other two stuck it out. Big Jack Skinner philosophically abandoned his pretensions, but Joe Hagland would not take his answer. He continued to besiege Bela, and the general opinion was that he would wear her out in the end. All of which did not help smooth Sam's pillow.
Another piece of news was that old Musq'oosis had come to live with Bela and help her run her place. That night on his way back Sam saw that a teepee had been pitched beside the road near the stopping-house. In the end, as was inevitable, Sam began to argue with himself as to the wisdom of his course in staying away from Bela's.
"Every time they see me drive past it revives the story in their minds," he told himself. "They'll think I'm afraid of her. She'll think I'm afraid of her. I've got to show them all. I'm just making a fool of myself staying away. It's only a public eating-house. My money's as good as anybody else's, I guess. I'll never make good with the gang until I can mix with them there as if nothing had happened."
Bela's hands toiled with chores while her eyes dreamed of love. (Colleen Moore as Bela).
Thus do a young man's secret desires beguile him. But even when he had persuaded himself that it would be the part of wisdom to eat at Bela's, Sam did not immediately act on it. A kind of nervous dread restrained him.
One afternoon he was delayed across the bay, and as he approached the "resteraw" the fellows were already gathering for supper. Sam listened to the jovial talk and laughter coming through the door with a sore and desirous heart.
"Why can't I have a good time, too?" he asked himself rebelliously. But he did not pull up. A few yards beyond the shack he met Stiffy and Mahooley riding to supper.
"Hey, Sam!" cried the latter teasingly. "Come on in to supper. I'll blow!"
"Much obliged," said Sam good-naturedly. "My horses' feed is down at the Point. I have to be getting on."
"There's plenty feed here," said Mahooley.
Sam shook his head.
"I believe you're afraid of the girl."
The shaft went home. Sam laughed scornfully and pulled his horses' heads around. "Oh, well, since you put it that way I guess I will eat a meal off you."
Sam tied his team to a tree and walked to the door of the shack. Within those twenty paces he experienced a complete revulsion of feeling. Having cast the die, he enjoyed that wonderful lightness of heart that follows on a period of painful indecision.
"What the deuce!" he thought. "What a simpleton I am to worry myself blind! Whatever there is about Bela she doesn't exactly hate me. Why shouldn't I jolly her along? That's the best way to get square. Lord! I'm young. Why shouldn't I have my bit of fun?"
It was in this gay humour that he crossed the threshold. Within he saw a long oilcloth-covered table reaching across the room, with half a score of men sitting about it on boxes.
"Hey, fellows! Look who's here!" cried Mahooley.
A chorus of derisive welcome, more or less good-natured, greeted the new-comer.
"Why, if it ain't Sammy the stolen kid!"
"Can I believe my eyes!"
"There's pluck for you, boys!"
"You bet! Talk about walking up to the cannon's mouth!"
"Look out, Sam! The rope and the gag are ready!"
"Don't be askeared, kid, I'll pertect you from violence!"
Sam's new-found assurance was proof against their laughter.
"You fellows think you're funny, don't you?" he returned, grinning. "Believe me, your wit is second-hand!"
Mahooley stuck his head out of the back door. "Hey, Bela!" he cried. "Come look at the new boarder I brought you!"
The crowd fell silent, and every pair of eyes turned toward the door, filled with strong curiosity to see the meeting between these two. Sam felt the tension and his heart began to beat, but he stiffened his back and kept on smiling. Bela came in wearing her most unconcerned air. They were not going to get any change out of her!
"Hello, Bela!" cried Sam. "Can I have some supper?"
She looked him over coolly. "Sure," she said. "Sit down by Stiffy."
They roared with laughter at her manner. Sam laughed, too, to hide the discomfiture he privately felt. Sam took his allotted place. The laughter of the crowd was perfectly good-natured, except in the case of one man whom Sam marked.
Opposite him sat Joe Hagland. Joe stared at Sam offensively, and continued to laugh after the others had done. Sam affected not to notice him. To himself he said:
"I've got to fight Joe, big as he is. He stands in my way."
Outside in the canvas kitchen a little comedy was in progress all unknown to the boarders. Bela came back breathing quickly, and showing a red spot in either ivory cheek. Forgetting the supper, she began to dig in her dunnage bag.
Getting out a lace collar, she flew to the mirror to put it on. Her hair dissatisfied her, and she made it fluff out a little under the rich braid which crowned her brow. Finally, she ruthlessly tore a rose from her new hat and pinned it to her girdle as she had seen Jennie Mackall do.
She turned around to find old Mary Otter staring at her open-mouthed while the turnovers in the frying-pan sent up a cloud of blue smoke.
"The cakes are burning!" stormed Bela. "What's the matter with you? All that good grease! Do I pay you to spoil good food? You gone crazy, I think!"
"Somebody else crazy I think me," muttered the old woman, rescuing the frying-pan.
Bela's boarders were not a very perspicacious lot, but when she came in again to serve the dinner the dullest among them became aware of the change in her. The lace collar and the rose in her belt were significant enough, but there was more than that.
Before she had been merely the efficient hostess, friendly to all—but sexless. Now she was woman clear through; her eyes flashed with the consciousness of it, there was coquetry in every turn of her head, and a new grace in every movement of her body.
The effect on the company was not a happy one. The men lowered jealousy on Sam. The atmosphere became highly charged. Only Sam's eyes lighted with pleasure.
Sam, Bela pointedly ignored. It was on Joe that she bestowed all her smiles. No one present was deceived by her ruse excepting Joe himself, whose vanity was enormously inflated thereby. Sam's instinct told him that it was to himself her coquetry was addressed.
After the humiliations she had put upon him, it was deliciously flattering thus to see her in her own waysuing for his favour. This made him feel like a man again. He was disposed to tease her.
"Hey, Bela!" he cried. "What kind of soup is this?"
"No kind," she retorted. "Jus' soup."
"The reason I asked, a fellow told me you made your soup out of muskrat-tails and goose-grass."
"I put the goose-grass in for you," said Bela.
Shouts of laughter here.
Bela lowered her head and whispered in Joe's ear. Joe guffawed with an insolent stare across at Sam. Sam smiled undisturbed, for the provoking glance which had accompanied the whisper had been for him. Joe had not seen that.
"What's next?" demanded Sam.
"Wait and see," said Bela.
"They say your toasted bull-bats are out o' sight."
"I save them for my regular boarders."
"Count me in!" cried Sam. "It was only the yarns of the poisonous food that kept me away before. Now I'm inoculated I don't care!"
Sam proceeded to higher flights of wit. The other men stared. This was a new aspect of the stiff-necked young teamster they had known. They did not relish it overmuch. None of them dared talk back to Bela in just this strain.
Meanwhile Bela scorned Sam outrageously. Beneath it he perceived subtle encouragement. She enjoyed the game as much as he did, and little he cared how the men were pleased. The choicest morsels found their way to Sam's plate.
Sam's eyes were giving away more than he knew. "You are my mark!" they flashed on Bela, while he teased her, and Bela's delighted, scornful eyes answered back: "Get me if you can!"
In the end Sam announced his intention of investigating the kitchen mysteries. Bela chased him back to his seat, belabouring his back soundly with a broom-handle. The company looked on a little scandalized. They knew by instinct the close connection between love and horse-play.
The party broke up early. Up to to-night every man had felt that he had an equal chance, but now Bela was making distinctions. As soon as they finished eating, they wandered outside to smoke and make common cause against the interloper. For their usual card-game they adjourned to Stiffy and Mahooley's.
Only Joe and Sam were left, one sitting on each side of the fire with that look in his eyes that girls know of determination not to be the first to leave.
Bela came and sat down between them with sewing. Her face expressed a calm disinterestedness now. The young men showed the strain of the situation each according to his nature. Joe glowered and ground his teeth, while Sam's eyes glittered, and the corners of his mouth turned up obstinately.
"The fool!" thought the latter. "To give me such an advantage. He can't hide how sore he is. I will entertain the lady."
"That's a great little team of mine! They keep me laughing all day with their ways. They're in love with each other. At night I picket Sambo, and Dinah just sticks around. Well, the other night Sambo stole some of her oats when she wasn't looking, and she was sore. She didn't say anything, but waited till he went to sleep, then she stole off and hid behind the willows.
"Well, say, when he woke up there was a deuce of a time! He ran around that stake about a hundred times a minute, squealing like a pig at the sight of theknife. Miss Dinah, she heard him all right, but she just stayed behind the willows laughing.
"After a time she came walking back real slow, and looking somewhere else. Say, he nearly ate her up. All the way around the bay he was promising he'd never steal another oat, so help me Bob! but she was cool toward him."
Bela laughed demurely. She loved stories about animals.
While he talked on in his light style Sam was warily measuring his rival.
"It'll be the biggest job I ever tackled," he thought. "He's got thirty pounds on me, and ring training. But he's out of condition and I'm fit. He loses his head easily. I'll try to get him going. Maybe I can turn the trick. I'vegotto do it to make good up here. That would establish me for ever."
At the end of one of Sam's stories Bela stood up. "Time for go. Both!" she said succinctly.
Sam got up laughing. "Nothing uncertain about that," he said. He waited for Joe by the door.
Joe was sunk in a sullen rage. "Go ahead," he said, sneering.
"After you," Sam retorted with a smile.
Joe approached him threateningly, and they stood one on each side of the door, sizing each other up with hard eyes. The smallest move from either side would have precipitated the conflict then. Bela slipped through the other door and came around the house.
"Joe!" she called from in front.
He drove through the door, followed by Sam.
"Anyhow he didn't make me go first," thought the latter.
Bela faced them with her most scornful air. "Youare foolish! Both foolish! Lak dogs that growl. Go home!"
Somewhat sheepishly they went to their respective teams. Bela turned back into the house. As they drove out side by side they looked at each other again. Sam laughed suddenly at Joe's melodramatic scowl.
"Well, ta-ta, old scout!" he said mockingly.
"Damn you!" said Joe thickly. "Keep away from me! If you tread on my toes you're going to get hurt! I've a hard fist for them I don't like!"
Sam jeered. "Keep your toes out of my path if you don't want them trodden on. As for fists, I'll match you any time you want."
Joe drove off around the bay, and Sam headed for Grier's Point, whistling.
Next morning he awoke smiling at the sun. Somehow since yesterday the world was made over. As usual he had Grier's Point to himself. His bed was upon spruce-boughs at the edge of the stony beach. Stripping, he plunged into the icy lake, and emerged pink and gasping.
After dressing and feeding his horses, upon surveying his own grub-box—salt pork and cold bannock!—it took him about five seconds to decide to breakfast at Bela's. This meant the hard work of loading his wagon on an empty stomach. Unlocking the little warehouse, he set to work with a will.
Three hours later he drove in before the stopping-house, and, hitching his team to the tree, left them a little hay to while the time. The "resteraw" was empty. Other breakfast guests had come and gone.
"Oh, Bela!" he cried.
She stuck her head in the other door. Her expression was severely non-committal.
"Bela, my stomach's as empty as a stocking on the floor! I feel like a drawn chicken. For the love of mercy fill me up!"
"It's half-past eight," she said coldly.
"I know, but I had to load up before I could come. A couple of slices of breakfast bacon and a cup of coffee! Haven't tasted coffee in months. They say your coffee is a necktie for the gods!"
"I can't be cooking all day!" said Bela, flouncing out.
Nevertheless he heard the stove-lids clatter outside, and the sound of the kettle drawn forward. He was going to get fresh coffee at that!
In a few minutes it was set before him; not only the coffee with condensed milk, a luxury north of fifty-four, but fried fish as well, and a plate of steaming cakes. Sam fell to with a groan of ecstasy. Bela stood for a moment watching him with her inscrutable, detached air, then turned to go out.
"I say," called Sam with his mouth full, "pour yourself a cup of coffee, and come and drink it with me."
"I never eat with the boarders," she stated.
"Oh, hang it!" said Sam like a lord, "you give yourself too many airs! Go and do what you're told."
He found a delicious, subtle pleasure in ordering her about. As for Bela, she gasped a little and stared, then her eyes fell—perhaps she liked it too. Anyhow, she shrugged indifferently, cast a look out of the window to see if anyone was coming up the road, and disappeared in the kitchen. Presently she returned with a steaming cup, and, sitting opposite Sam, stirred it slowly without looking up.
Sam's eyes twinkled wickedly. "That's better. You know with all these fellows coming around and praising up your grub and everything, you're beginning to thinkyou're the regular queen of Beaver Bay. You need to be taken down a peg!"
"What do you care?" she asked.
"Bless you, I don't care," replied Sam. "I'm only telling you for your own good. I don't like to see a nice girl get her head turned."
"What's the matter wit' you so quick?" retorted Bela. "You're talkin' pretty big since yesterday."
Sam laughed delightedly. His soul was not deceived by her scornful airs, nor was hers by his pretended hectoring. While they abused each other, each was thrilled by the sense of the other's nearness. Moreover, each knew how it was with the other.
Sam, having eaten his fill, planted his elbows, and leaned nearer to her across the narrow board. She did not draw back. Under the table their moccasined feet touched by accident, and each breast was shaken. Bela slowly drew her foot away. Their heads involuntarily came closer. The sweetness that emanated from her almost overpowered him.
His breath came quicker; his eyes were languorous and teasing. Bela gave him her eyes and he saw into them a thousand fathoms deep. It was that exquisite moment when the heart sees what the tongue will not yet acknowledge, when nearness is sweeter than touch. Yet he said with curling lip:
"You need a master!"
And she answered scornfully: "You couldn't do it."
There was a sound of wheels outside. They sprang up. Sam swore under his breath. Bela looked out of the door.
"It's Joe," she said.
Sam hardened.
"You've got to go," she said swiftly and peremptorily."You've finished eating. I won't have no trouble here."
Sam scowled. "Well—I'll go after he comes in," he returned doggedly. "I won't run away at the sight of him."
Joe entered with a sullen air. He had already seen Sam's team outside.
"Morning," said Sam. His was the temper that is scrupulously polite to an enemy.
Joe muttered in his throat.
"Well, I'm just off," observed Sam. "How's the mud?"
Joe sneered. "No worse than usual," he replied.
It was hard for Sam to go after the sneer. He hesitated. But he had promised. He looked at Bela, but she would not meet his eye. Finally he shrugged and went out. They heard him talking to his horses outside. Joe, scowling and avoiding Bela's eye, dropped into the seat the other man had vacated.
"Breakfast," he muttered.
Bela knew very well that it was his custom to eat before he started out in the morning. She said nothing, but glanced at the clock on the dresser.
"Ah, you'll feed him any time he wants!" snarled Joe.
"I treat everybody the same," she answered coolly. "You can have breakfast if you want."
"Well, I do," he muttered.
She went into the kitchen and started her preparations. Returning, she cleared away the dirty dishes, not, however, before Joe had marked the second cup on the table.
When she put his food before him he said: "Get yourself a cup of coffee and sit down with me." Hewas really trying to be agreeable, not, however, with much success.
"I got work to do," Bela mildly objected.
He instantly flared up again. "Ah! I thought you treated everybody the same!"
Bela shrugged, and, bringing coffee, sat down opposite him.
There was a silence. Joe, merely playing with the food on his plate, watched her with sullen, pained eyes, trying to solve the riddle of her. One could almost see the simple mental operations. Sam got along with her by jollying her. Very well, he would do the same.
"I ain't such a bad sort when I'm took right," he began, with a ghastly attempt to be facetious.
"No?"
"I like my joke as well as another."
"Yes?"
"You're a deep one!" he said with a leer, "but you can't fool me."
"Eat your breakfast," said Bela.
"This mysteriousness is a bluff!"
"Maybe."
Lacking encouragement, he couldn't keep this up long. He fell silent again, staring at her hungrily. Suddenly, with a sound between an oath and a groan, he swept the dishes aside. Bela sprang up warily, but he was too quick for her. Flinging an arm across, he seized her wrist.
"By George! I can't stand it any longer!" he cried. "What's behind that smooth face of yours? Ain't you got no heart making a man burn in hell like me?"
"Let go my arm!" said Bela.
"You're mine!" he cried. "You've got to be! I've said it, and I stick to it. If any man tries to come between us I'll kill him!"
"Let go my arm!" she repeated.
"Not without a kiss!"
Instantly Bela was galvanized into action. Some men are foredoomed to choose the wrong moment. Joe was hopelessly handicapped by the table between them. He could not use his strength. As he sought to draw her toward him Bela, with her free hand, dealt him a stinging buffet on the ear.
They fell among the dishes. The coffee scalded him, and he momentarily relaxed his hold. Bela wriggled clear, unkissed. Joe capsized of his own weight, and, slipping off the end of the table, found himself on his back among broken dishes on the floor.
He picked himself up, scarcely improved in temper. Bela had disappeared. He sat down to wait for her, dogged, sheepish, a little inclined to weep out of self-pity.
Even now he would not admit the fact that she might like another man—a small, insignificant man—better than himself. Joe was the kind of man who will not take a refusal.
In a few minutes, getting no sign of her, he got up and looked into the tent kitchen. Old Mary Otter was there, alone, washing dishes with a perfectly bland face.
"Where's Bela?" he demanded, scowling.
"Her gone to company house for see Beattie's wife mak' jam puddin'," answered Mary.
Joe strode out of the door scowling and drove away. His horses suffered for his anger.
Joe found the usual group of gossipers in the store of the French outfit. Beside the two traders, there were two of the latest arrivals from the outside, a policeman off duty, and young Mattison, of the surveying party, who had ridden in on a message from Graves, and was taking his time about starting back.
Up north it is unfashionable to be in a hurry. Of them all only Stiffy, in his little compartment at the back, was busy. He was totting up his beloved figures.
Joe found them talking about the night before, with references to Sam in no friendly strain. Joe had the wit to conceal from them a part of the rage that was consuming him, though it was not easy to do so. He sat down in the background, and for the most part kept his mouth shut. Anything that anybody could say against Sam was meat and drink to him.
"Blest if I can see what the girl sees in him," said Mahooley. "There are better men for her to pick from."
"He's spoiled our fun, damn him!" said another. "The place won't be the same again."
"Who is this fellow Sam?" asked one of the newcomers.
"A damn ornery little cook who's got his head swole," muttered Joe.
"He kept his place till he got a team to drive," said Mattison.
"We kep' him in it, you mean."
"What for did you want to give him the job of teaming, Mahooley?" asked Mattison.
"Matter of business," replied the trader carelessly. "He was on the spot."
"Well, you can get plenty more now. Why not fire him?"
Mahooley looked a little embarrassed.
"Business is business," he said. "I don't fancy him myself, but he's working all right."
Joe's perceptions were sharpened by hate. He saw Mahooley's hesitation, and began speculating on what reason the trader could have for not wanting to discharge Sam. He scented a mystery. Casting back in his mind, he began to fit a number of little things together.
Once, he remembered, somebody had told Mahooley one of the black horses had gone lame, and Mahooley had replied unthinkingly that it was not his concern. Why had he said that? Was somebody besides Mahooley backing Sam? If he could explode the mystery, maybe it would give him a handle against his rival.
"Well, I shouldn't think you'd let an ex-cook put it all over you," remarked the stranger.
This was too much for Joe's self-control. A dull, bricky flush crept under his skin.
"Put it over nothing!" he growled. "You come over to Bela's to-night if you want to see how I handle a cook!"
"Who is the old guy camped beside Bela's shack?" asked the stranger.
"Musq'oosis, a kind of medicine man of her tribe," answered Mahooley.
"Is he her father?"
"No; her father was a white man."
"Who was he?" Joe asked.
Mahooley shrugged. "Search me! Long before my time."
"If old Musq'oosis is no relation, what does he hang around for?" asked the first questioner.
"Oh, he's always kind of looked after her," said Mahooley. "The other Indians hate her. They think she's too uppish."
"She feeds him; I guess that's reason enough for him to stick around," remarked Mattison.
Here Stiffy spoke up from his cubby-hole: "Hell! Musq'oosis don't need anybody to feed him. He's well fixed. Got a first-class credit balance."
Joe, ever on the watch, saw Mahooley turn his head abruptly and scowl at his partner. Stiffy closed his mouth suddenly. Joe, possessed by a single idea, jumped to the conclusion that Musq'oosis had something to do with the mystery he was on the track of. Anyhow, he determined to find out.
"A good balance?" he asked carelessly.
"I mean for an Indian," returned Stiffy quickly. "Nothing to speak of."
Joe was unconvinced. He bided his time.
The talk drifted on to other matters. Joe sat thrashing his brain for an expedient whereby he might get a sight of Musq'oosis's account on Stiffy's ledger.
By and by a breed came in with the news that a York boat was visible, approaching Grier's Point. This provided a welcome diversion for the company. A discussion arose as to whether it would be Stiffy and Mahooley's first boat of the season, or additional supplies for Graves. Finally they decided to ride down to the Point and see.
"Come on, Joe," said one.
Joe assumed an air of laziness. "What's the use?" he said. "I'll stay here and talk to Stiffy."
When they had gone Joe still sat cudgelling his brain. He was not fertile in expedients. He was afraid to speak even indirectly of the matter on his breast for fear of alarming Stiffy by betraying too much eagerness. Finally an idea occurred to him.
"I say, Stiffy, how does my account stand?"
The trader told him his balance.
"What!" cried Joe, affecting indignation. "I know it's more than that. You've made a mistake somewhere."
This touched Stiffy at his weakest. "I never make a mistake!" he returned with heat. "You fellows go along ordering stuff, and expect your balance to stay the same, like the widow's cruse. Come and look for yourself!"
This was what Joe desired. He slouched over, grumbling. Stiffy explained how the debits were on one side, the credits on the other. Each customer had a page to himself. Joe observed that before turning up his account Stiffy had consulted an index in a separate folder.
Joe allowed himself to be reluctantly satisfied, and returned to his seat by the stove. He was advanced by learning how the book was kept, but the grand difficulty remained to be solved; how to get a look at it without Stiffy's knowledge.
Here fortune unexpectedly favoured him. When he was not adding up his columns, Stiffy was for ever taking stock. By rights, he should have been the chief clerk of a great city emporium. Before the others returned he began to count the articles on the shelves.
He struck a difficulty in the cans of condensed milk.Repeated countings gave the same total. "By Gad, we've been robbed!" he cried. "Unless there's still a case in the loft."
He hastened to the stairs. The instant his weight creaked on the boards overhead the burly, lounging figure by the stove sprang into activity. Joe darted on moccasined feet to Stiffy's little sanctum, and with swift fingers turned up M in the index.
"Musq'oosis; page 452." Silently opening the big book, he thumbed the pages. The noises from upstairs kept him exactly informed of what Stiffy was doing.
Joe found the place, and there, in Stiffy's neat copper plate, was spread out all that he wished to know. It took him but a moment to get the hang of it. On the debit side: "To team, Sambo and Dinah, with wagon and harness, $578.00." Under this were entered various advances to Sam. On the other side Joe read: "By order on Gilbert Beattie, $578.00." Below were the different amounts paid by Graves for hauling.
Joe softly closed the book. So it was Musq'oosis who employed Sam! And Musq'oosis was a kind of guardian of Bela! It did not require much effort of the imagination to see a connection here. Joe's triumph in his discovery was mixed with a bitter jealousy.
However, he was pretty sure that Sam was ignorant of who owned the team he drove, and he saw an opportunity to work a pretty piece of mischief. But first he must make still more sure.
When Stiffy, having found the missing case, came downstairs again, Joe apparently had not moved.
A while later Joe entered the company store, and addressed himself to Gilbert Beattie concerning a plough he said he was thinking of importing. Beattie,seeing a disposition in the other man to linger and talk, encouraged it. This was new business. In any case, up north no man declines the offer of a gossip. Strolling outside, they sat on a bench at the door in the grateful sunshine.
From where they were they could see Bela's shack below, with smoke rising from the cook tent and the old man's tepee alongside. Musq'oosis himself was squatting at the door, engaged upon some task with his nimble fingers. Consequently, no management on Joe's part was required to bring the conversation around to him. Seeing the trader's eye fall there, he had only to say:
"Great old boy, isn't he?"
"One of the best," said Beattie warmly. "The present generation doesn't produce 'em! He's as honest as he is intelligent, too. Any trader in the country would let him have anything he wanted to take. His word is as good as his bond."
"Too bad he's up against it in his old age," suggested Joe.
"Up against it, what do you mean?" asked Beattie.
"Well, he can't do much any more. And he doesn't seem to have any folks."
"Oh, Musq'oosis has something put by for a rainy day!" said Beattie. "For years he carried a nice little balance on my books."
"What did he do with it, then?" asked Joe carelessly.
Beattie suspected nothing more in this than idle talk.
"Transferred it to the French outfit," he said with a shrug. "I suppose he wanted Mahooley to know he's a man of means. He can't have spent any of it. I'll probably get it back some day."
"How did he get it in the first place?" asked Joe casually. "Out of fur?"
"No," said Beattie; "he was in some kind of partnership with a man called Walter Forest, a white man. Forest died, and the amount was transferred to Musq'oosis. It's twenty years ago. I inherited the debt from my predecessor here."
Joe, seeing that the trader had nothing more of special interest to tell him, let the talk pass on to other matters. By and by he rose, saying:
"Guess I'll go down and talk to the old boy until dinner's ready."
"It is always profitable," said Beattie. "Come in again."
"I'll let you know about the plough," said Joe.
"Hello, Musq'oosis!" began Joe facetiously. "Fine weather for old bones, eh?"
"Ver' good," replied Musq'oosis blandly. The old man had no great liking for this burly youth with the comely, self-indulgent face, nor did he relish his style of address; however, being a philosopher and a gentleman, this did not appear in his face. "Sit down," he added hospitably.
Musq'oosis was making artificial flies against the opening of the trout season next month. With bits of feather, hair, and thread he was turning out wonderfully lifelike specimens—not according to the conventional varieties, but as a result of his own half-century's experience on neighbouring streams. A row of the completed product was stuck in a smooth stick, awaiting possible customers.
"Out of sight!" said Joe, examining them.
"I t'ink maybe sell some this year," observed Musq'oosis. "Plenty new men come."
"How much?" asked Joe.
"Four bits."
"I'll take a couple. There's a good stream beside my place."
"Stick 'em in your hat."
After this transaction Musq'oosis liked Joe a little better. He entered upon an amiable dissertation on fly-fishing, to which Joe gave half an ear, while he debated how to lead up to what he really wanted to know. In the end it came out bluntly.
"Say, Musq'oosis, what do you know about a fellow called Walter Forest?"
Musq'oosis looked at Joe, startled. "You know him?" he asked.
"Yes," said Joe. Recollecting that Beattie had told him the man had been dead twenty years, he hastily corrected himself. "That is, not exactly. Not personally."
"Uh!" said Musq'oosis.
"I thought I'd ask you, you're such an old-timer."
"Um!" said Musq'oosis again. There was nothing in this so far to arouse his suspicions. But on principle he disliked to answer questions. Whenever it was possible he answered a question by asking another.
"Did you know him?" persisted Joe.
"Yes," replied Musq'oosis guardedly.
"What like man was he?"
"What for you want know?"
"Oh, a fellow asked me to find out," answered Joe vaguely. He gained assurance as he proceeded. "Fellow I met in Prince George. When he heard I was coming up here he said: 'See if you can find out what's become of Walter Forest. Ain't heard from him in twenty year.'"
"What this fellow call?" asked Musq'oosis.
"Er—George Smith," Joe improvised. "Big, dark-complected guy. Traveller in the cigar line."
Musq'oosis nodded.
"Walter Forest died twenty year ago," he said.
"How?" asked Joe.
"Went through the ice wit' his team."
"You don't say!" said Joe. "Well! Well! I said I'd write and tell George."
Joe was somewhat at a loss how to go on. He said "Well! Well!" again. Finally he asked: "Did you know him well?"
"He was my friend," said Musq'oosis.
"Tell me about him," said Joe. "So I can write, you know."
Musq'oosis was proud of his connection with Walter Forest. There was no reason why he should not tell the story to anybody. Had he not urged upon Bela to use her own name? It never occurred to him that anyone could trace the passage of the father's bequest from one set of books to the other. So in his simple way he told the story of Walter Forest's life and death in the country.
"Well! Well!" exclaimed Joe. "Smitty will be interested. You said he was married. Did he leave any family?"
"His baby come after," said Musq'oosis. "Two months."
"What's become of it?"
Musq'oosis nodded toward the shack. "That is Bela," he said.
Joe clenched his hands to keep from betraying a start. This was what he wanted. He bit his lip to hide the cruel smile that spread upon it.
"Why you smile?" asked Musq'oosis.
"No reason," replied Joe hastily. "I thought her name was Bela Charley."
"Her mot'er marry Charley Fish-Eater after," explained Musq'oosis. "People forget Walter Forest's baby. So call Bela Charley. Right name Bela Forest."
"Well," said Joe, "that's quite a story. Did he leave any property?"
Musq'oosis glanced at him sharply. His suspicions began to be aroused. "No," he said shortly.
"That's a lie!" thought Joe. Now that he had learned what he wanted to know, he took no further pains to hide his sneers. "I'll tell Smitty that Forest's got a fine girl for a daughter," he said, rising.
Musq'oosis's eyes followed him a little anxiously into the house.
The dinner-hour was drawing near, but none of the boarders had arrived yet. Joe found Bela putting the plates and cups on the table. Seeing him, she stood fast without fear, merely glancing over her shoulder to make sure her retreat was open.
"Hello!" said Joe, affecting a boisterous air. "Am I the first?"
She declined to unbend. "You got be'ave if you comin' here," she said coldly.
"Got to, eh? That's a nice way to speak to a friend."
"If you don' act decent you can't come here no more," she said firmly.
"How are you going to stop me?" he demanded truculently.
"I tell the ot'er boys," she said coolly. "They keep you out."
"You won't do that," he returned, sneering.
"You find out pretty soon."
"You won't do that," he repeated. "Because I got something on you now."
She looked at him sharply. Then shrugged scornfully. "Everybody know all about me."
"There's something Sam don't know yet."
In spite of herself, she was betrayed into a sharp movement. Joe laughed.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
It was his humour to be mysterious. "Never mind. I know what I know."
Bela unconcernedly resumed her work. "You jus' bluffin'," she said.
"Oh, I'm bluffing, am I?" snarled Joe. He was the picture of a bad-tempered schoolboy. "If you don't treat me right you'll see if I am. I'll out with the story to-night before them all, before Sam."
"What story?" asked Bela. "You crazy, I t'ink."
"The story of how you're paying Sam's wages."
Bela stopped dead, and went pale. She struggled hard to command herself. "It's a lie!" she said.
"Like fun it is!" cried Joe, triumphing. "I got it bit by bit, and pieced it all together. I'm a little too clever for you, I guess. I know the whole thing now. How your father left the money to Musq'oosis when he died, and Musq'oosis bought the team from Mahooley, and made him give it to Sam to drive. I can see Sam's face when I tell that and hear all the fellows laugh."
Bela abandoned the useless attempt to bluff it out. She came opposite to where he was sitting, and put her hands on the table. "If you tell that I kill you!" she said softly.
Joe leaned back. "Pooh! You can't scare a man with threats like that. After I tell the mischief's done, anyhow."
"I will kill you!" she said again.
Joe laughed. "I'll take my chance of it." Hitting out at random, he said: "I'll bet it was you scared the white woman into fits!"
To save herself Bela could not help betraying it in her face. Joe laughed uproariously.
"Gad! That'll make another good story to tell!"
"I will kill you!" repeated Bela dully.
Something in her desperate eyes warned him that one might press a primitive nature too far. He changed his tone.
"Mind you, I don't say I'm going to tell. I don't mean to tell if you do what I want."
"What you want?" she asked softly with glittering eyes.
"Not to be treated like dirt under anybody's feet, that's all," he replied threateningly. "To be treated as good as anybody else. You understand me?"
"I mak' no promise," said Bela.
"Well you know what you've got to expect if you don't."
On the afternoon of the same day, Sam, clattering back from Graves's camp in his empty wagon, suddenly came upon Musq'oosis squatting like a little Buddha under a willow bush.
The spot was at the edge of the wide flats at the head of Beaver Bay. Immediately beyond the road turned and followed the higher ground along the water into the settlement. It was about half a mile to Bela's shack. Musq'oosis rose, and Sam pulled up.
"Come aboard," invited Sam. "What are you waiting up here for?"
"Waitin' for you," replied Musq'oosis.
He climbed into the wagon-box and Sam chirruped to his horses. The nervous little beasts stretched their flanks and were off at a bound. The whole outfit was in a hurry. Sam was hoping to be the first to arrive at the stopping-house.
Musq'oosis laid a claw on his arm. "Drive slow," he said. "I want talk. Too much bang and shake."
Sam reluctantly pulled his team into a walk. "Anything up?" he asked.
Musq'oosis shrugged, and answered the question with another. "Anybody comin' be'ind you?"
"Not near," replied Sam. "They weren't ready to start when I left. And I've come quick."
"Good!" said Musq'oosis.
"What's the dope?" asked Sam curiously.
"Stiffy and Mawoolie's York boat come to-day," said Musq'oosis conversationally. "Bring summer outfit. Plenty all kind goods. Bring newspapers three weeks old."
"I heard all that," said Sam. "Mattison brought word around the bay."
"There's measles in the Indians out Tepiskow Lake."
Sam glanced sidewise at his passenger. "Is this what you wanted to tell me?"
Musq'oosis shrugged.
"Out with it!" said Sam. "I want to get a word with Bela before the gang comes."
"Don't stop at Bela's to-night," said Musq'oosis.
Sam frowned. "So that's it! Why not?"
"Goin' be bad trouble I t'ink."
"I know," said Sam. "Joe's been talking big around the settlement all day. Mattison told that, too."
Musq'oosis looked at him surprised. "You know it, and you want go! You can't fight Joe. Too much big!"
"Maybe," said Sam grimly; "but I'll do my damnedest."
Musq'oosis was silent for a moment. Evidently this contingency had not entered into his calculations.
"Bela can't have no trouble there," he finally suggested. "If the place get a bad name Gilbert Beattie put her out."
Sam was taken aback. "I'm sorry!" he said, frowning. "I never thought of that. But I've got to consider myself a little, too. I can't let Joe bluff me out. Nice name I'd get around here."
"Nobody 'spec' you fight big man lak Joe."
"I've got to do it just the same."
"Only to-night."
"What good putting it off? To-morrow it would be the same. I'm just beginning to get on. I've got to make good! Lord! I know what it is to be the under dog! No more of that! Joe can lay me out cold, but I'll never quit!"
"If Beattie put Bela out, she got no place to go," pleaded Musq'oosis.
Sam scowled helplessly. "What can I do?" he asked. "Bela's nearly done for me already up here. She shouldn't ask this of me. I'll put it up to her. She'll understand."
"No use stoppin'," said Musq'oosis. "Bela send me up road tell you not stop to-night."
Sam, in his helplessness, swore under his breath and fell silent for awhile. Finally his face cleared a little. "Tell you what I'll do," he said. "I won't stop now and let them find me there. I'll drive on down to the point and fix my horses for the night. Then I'll walk back. By that time everybody will be there. They will see that I'm not afraid to come, anyhow. The rest is up to Bela. She can refuse to let me in if she wants. And if Joe wants to mix things up, I'll oblige him down the road a piece."
"All right, I tell Bela," said Musq'oosis. "Let me down now. Not want anybody know I talk to you."
Sam pulled up. As the old man was about to get down he offered Sam his hand.
"Ain't you little bit scare of Joe?" he asked curiously.
Sam smiled wryly. "Sure!" he confessed. "I'm a whole lot scared of him. Hasn't he got thirty pounds on me, weight and reach beside. It's because I'm so scared that I can't take anything from him. Do you understand that?"
"I on'er stan'," the old Indian said pithily. "WalterForest tell me lak that long tam ago. You brave lak him, I t'ink."
Sam shook his head. "'Tisn't a case of bravery, but of plumb necessity!"
From the window of the French outfit store Sam was seen driving down to Grier's Point.
"Scared off!" cried Joe with a great laugh. "Lucky for him, too!"
An hour later Bela was feeding the largest number of men that had ever gathered in her shack. Except the policeman on duty, and Gilbert Beattie, every white man in the district had been drawn by the word passed from mouth to mouth that there was "going to be something doing to-night."
Even Musq'oosis, who had never before ventured among the white men without a particular invitation, came in. He did not eat at the table, but sat on the floor in the corner, watching and listening with bright eyes, like some queer, philosophic little ape.
As time passed, and Sam did not turn up, the company was frankly disappointed. They abused him thoughtlessly, forgetting in their chagrin at losing a sensation, that Sam might have declined a contest so unequal with entire honour. Bela kept her eyes down to hide their angry glitter at the men's comments.
Joe Hagland was in the highest spirits. In him this took the form of boisterousness and arrogance. Not only did he usurp the place at the head of the table, but he held everybody off from the place at his right.
"That's reserved," he said to all comers.
As in every party of men, there was an obsequious element that encouraged Joe with flattery. Among the sturdier spirits, however, Big Jack, Mahooley, Coulson, an honest resentment developed.
In particular they objected to Joe's changed air toward Bela. He was not openly insulting to her, but into his voice had crept a peremptory note apparent to every ear. He called her attention to empty plates, and otherwise acted the part of a host. In reality he was imitating Sam's manner of the night before, but the effect was different.
If Bela had shown any resentment it would have been all up with Joe. They would have thrown him out in less time than it takes to tell. But Bela did his bidding with a cold, suppressed air. The other men watched her, astonished and uneasy. None had ever seen her like this.
When the dinner was fairly under way it transpired who the vacant place was for.
"Come and sit down, Bela!" cried Joe. "Lend us the light of your handsome face to eat by. Have something yourself. Don't be a stranger at your own table!"
Big Jack scowled into his plate, and Coulson bit his lip. Their hands itched for Joe's collar. Unfortunately among men, no man likes to be the first to administer a public rebuke. The least sign from Bela would have been sufficient, but she gave them none. She made believe not to have heard Joe. He repeated his invitation in louder tones.
"I never sit," she said quietly.
"Time that rule was broken!" cried Joe.
"I busy."
"Hang it, let the old woman serve! Every man has had one plateful. Come and talk to me."
All eyes were on Bela. She hesitated, then went and sat as Joe commanded. The other men could scarcely believe their eyes. Bela to take orders in public likethis! Her inscrutable exterior gave no indication of what was passing within.
There was, perhaps, a hint of pain, anger in her eyes, but hidden so deep they could not see it. The obvious inference was that Joe had won her at last. She went down in their estimation. Every man shrugged, so to speak, and let Joe have his way.
That youth swelled with gratified vanity. He heightened his jocular air; his gallantry had an insolent ring. "Say, we'll pay double if you let us look at you while we eat. You'll save money, too; we won't eat so much. We'll take you for dessert!"
The other men were uneasy. If this was Joe's and Bela's way of making love they wished they would do it in private. They were slow-thinking men, accustomed to taking things at face value. Like all men, they were shy of inquiring too far into an emotional situation.
Bela did not eat, but sat still, silent and walled-up. At such moments she was pure Indian. Long afterward the men recollected the picture she made that night, still and dignified as a death mask.
Joe could not leave Sam alone. "I wonder where our friend the ex-cook is to-night?" he inquired facetiously of the company. "Boiling his own pot at the Point, I suppose. He don't seem to hanker much for the society of men. That's as it should be. Men and cooks don't gee."
Anyone looking closely would have seen Bela's breast rise and fall ominously, but no one looked closely. Her face gave no sign.
"Sam was a little too big for his shoes last night," Joe went on. "To-day I guess he thinks better——"
"Hello! Somebody talking about me?" cried a cheerful voice from the door.
Sixteen men turned their heads as one. They saw Sam by the door smiling. Bela involuntarily jumped up, and the box she was sitting on fell over. Joe, caught up in the middle of a sentence, stared with his mouth open, a comic expression of dismay fixed on his features.
Sam came in. His eyes were shining with excitement.
"What's the matter?" he asked, laughing. "You all look as if you saw a ghost!" To Bela he said: "Don't disturb yourself. I've had my supper. I just walked up for a bit of sociability before turning in, if you've no objection."
He waited with a significant air for her to speak. There was nothing naive about Sam's light manner; he was on thequi vivefor whatever might come.
Bela tried to answer him, and could not. Her iron will was no longer able to hide the evidences of agitation. Her lips were parted and her breath was coming fast. She kept her eyes down.
There was a highly charged silence in the shack. All knew that the turn of the drama depended on the next word to be spoken. They watched Bela, bright-eyed.
By this time Joe had partly recovered his self-possession. "Let him go!" he said roughly. "We don't want no cooks around!"
Sam ignored him. "Can I stay?" he asked Bela, smiling with a peculiar hardness. "If you don't want me, all right. But it must come from you."
Bela raised her eyes imploringly to him and let them fall again.
Sam refused to take it for an answer.
"Can I stay?" he asked again.
"Ah, tell him to go before he's thrown out!" cried Joe.
That settled it. Bela's head went up with a jerk, and her eyes flashed savagely at Joe. To Sam she said clearly: "Come in, my house is open to all."
"Thanks," said Sam.
Bela glared at Joe, defying him to do his worst. Joe refused her challenge. His eyes bolted. He scowled and muttered under his breath.
Sam, taking in the situation, walked quickly to Bela's place, and picking up the box sat on it, and smiled directly into Joe's discomfited face.
That move won him more than one friend in the shack. Young Coulson's eyes sparkled with admiration. Big Jack frowned at Sam, divided between old resentment and new respect.
Sam quickly followed up his advantage.
"Seems you weren't expecting me this evening," he said quietly. "I wouldn't have missed it for a lot. Heard there was going to be something special doing. How about it, Joe?"
Joe was no match for him at this kind of game. He looked away, muttering.
"What's on, boys?" asked Sam. "Vaudeville or parlour charades?"
He won a hearty laugh by it, and once more Joe felt the situation slipping away from him. Finally he thought of a way of getting back at Sam.
"Bela!" he cried roughly. "You bring another box and sit down here."
Sam stared, genuinely amazed at his tone.
"There is no room," said Bela in a wooden voice.
"You bring over a box!" cried Joe peremptorily.
Sam's face was grim. "My friend, that's no way to speak to a lady," he said softly.
This was the kind of opening Joe wanted. "What the hell is it to you?" he shouted.
"And that's no way to speak to a man!"
"A man, no; but plenty good enough for a—cook!"
At Sam's elbow was a cup with tea-dregs in the bottom. He picked it up with a casual air and tossed the contents into Joe's face.