"Sure he's going back to her!" said Joe, adding with drunken mysteriousness: "I'm just waiting for him to start!"
Stack bethought himself how he could learn more. "He makes me sick!" he said suddenly, genuine hatred making his pale eyes snap. "He thinks himself such a wonder! Treats me like dirt, he does. I wish I could bring him down a peg!"
Joe leaned over the table and extended his hand. "Put it there, pardner," he said thickly. "It does my heart good to hear you say it. Gad! I hate him till it's like an indigestion in my stomach that won't give me no rest. To think of a smooth-face kid like him getting the best of Joe Mixer drives me wild. I won't never rest easy till I do for him!"
One more drink and they were sworn allies.
"What are you going to do?" asked Stack.
"I got a couple of fellows hanging round my place," said Joe, "fellows as'll stop at nothing—a white man and a breed. I'm going to take them and follow him back to the girl. I don't know where he's left her. Then,"—Joe rubbed his greasy hands together—"the three of us'll manage to give young medico a shivaree, I guess!"
Stack, pursing up his lips, thought quickly. The situation was becoming complicated. It was clear Joe knew nothing about any gold. Perhaps he, Stack, could keep that knowledge to himself, and still play off Joe against Ralph. The size of Joe's party did not please Stack; still it offered him the only chance he was likely to get of following Ralph into the country. That was all important.
"Take me along with you," said Stack breathlessly.
"Eh?" said Joe, partly sobered. He looked the little man up and down and laughed brutally. "What good would you be?"
"I ain't much on fighting," said Stack, "but I can advise you good. I got a head on me. I got legal training."
"To hell with legal training!" said Joe. He looked at Stack cunningly. "You'll have to pay your way," he said. "I don't carry no passengers gratis."
"How much?" asked Stack anxiously.
Joe fixed him with eyes like pin-heads "Oh, well, make it a round sum for the trip," he said. "Make it two hundred and fifty."
Stack swallowed hard. "All right," he said.
Joe looked disconcerted. "Maybe it'll be more," he growled.
"A bargain's a bargain!" began Stack excitedly.
"Oh, all right! Done!" said Joe. They shook hands on it.
"Do we have to take so many men?" suggested Stack cautiously.
"We got to have the half-breed to steer," said Joe. "The other fellow'll cook. I don't travel without my cook!"
"A large party makes so much talk," murmured Stack.
"I want a lot of talk!" said Joe. "Just so's the fellow ain't warned beforehand. I want there should be talk. I want everybody to know that no man can put one over on Joe Mixer and get away with it!"
Next afternoon theTewksburyleft for Gisborne portage again, with Ralph, Joe Mixer, and Stack for passengers. Stack had said to Ralph: "I'll just make the trip up and back on her. It's a chance for a tenderfoot like me to see the country." This seemed natural enough. Perfect amity prevailed during the trip. Stack affected a great admiration for Ralph; Joe Mixer was friendly. Ralph himself held to the role of reticent good nature that he had assumed. Privately he was a good deal bothered, in the light of the story he had told at the Fort, as to how he was going to make a getaway at the portage.
They arrived at the same time as on the previous trip, and Ralph as before was invited to spend the night in the bunkhouse.
"Thanks," he said easily; "I think I'll put up a tent. I've got the craze for sleeping out of doors."
"I'll sleep out with you," said Stack.
"The mosquitoes will eat you up," said Ralph coolly. "I've got only a one man shelter."
He pitched his tent on the edge of the river bank, across a little muskeg from Mixer and Staley's buildings. He ostentatiously went to bed at an early hour. As soon as everything was quiet he crept out, and hoisting the bundle which contained his boat to his back, started to climb the portage trail.
At two o'clock he returned. Making all the rest of his baggage into a pack, he got away again before the dawn began to break. At five he was on the shore of the lake with all his belongings. At six he had his boat set up and packed, and was setting off. All these movements were reported to Joe Mixer later.
Ralph, thrusting his paddle into the water which would eventually bear him back to Nahnya, felt like an exile coming into his own country again. The world and its business, which obtruded irritatingly on his dreams, was all behind him, and when he stepped into his boat he left his matter-of-fact self on the shore. This was Nahnya's land. With the keenest satisfaction he gazed around him, letting the scene photograph itself on his brain. Ralph never forgot anything that he had once looked at squarely. Seeing the quaint islands, he smiled. "Nature's shop-window," he thought, "setting out her spring line."
Entering the little river the reeds and the lily pads presented familiar faces, and every bend recalled the previous journey, evoking the presence of Nahnya so strongly that he had an actual physical consciousness of her sitting behind him, seeing all that he saw. He played with the idea, forbearing to turn his head that he might not dispel the comforting illusion.
He had intended stopping at each place where they had spelled on the first journey, but this he found was impracticable, no matter how hard he worked. His tubby craft could never make the headway of the slender dugout, and his paddle lacked the skill of Nahnya's. In the rapids he was soon in trouble, but here the elastic sides of his coracle proved an advantage. She bounced off the rounded boulders without taking any harm. When she ran high and dry it was no great matter to step out into the shallow stream and guide her back to the channel.
Though he paddled until near dark he had to go ashore several miles short of their first camping-place. It was on a grassy point in the middle of a quiet reach of the river that he chose to spend his first night alone in the silence. Solitude, Silence, and Darkness, older than all created things, are terrific to us newest creatures with nervous systems. Very few of us know them really. In an inhabited land at any hour of any season there is no such thing as silence. Ralph sat beside his fire thrilling in the presence of the ancient sisters. He was weighed down, overwhelmed, intimidated. He felt as if he and his little fire existed like an island in an infinite void.
All this was changed by the cheery sun. He continued his journey downstream joyfully. These two days that he spent entirely cut off from his kind ever afterward lingered in Ralph's mind with a flavour distinct from all the other days of his life. Away from all the distracting business of life, nor tugged opposing ways by human associations, it was as if he had come face to face with his own self for the first time. It seemed as if the fetters of the flesh were a little loosened, enabling him to feel more keenly, and to think with a greater lucidity.
This increased sensibility was for evil as well as good. While the river seemed even lovelier, if possible, than upon the previous journey, side by side with the pleasure he had in it, a premonition of evil entered Ralph's breast. "Something is going to happen," a voice whispered to him. He sought to laugh it away, but it stuck. He could not but remember the stories that are told in the North of how men living alone in the woods become gifted with a prescience of what is to come.
With a vague feeling that escape from the danger lay ahead, he paddled until ten o'clock that night. Darkness was then falling, and his weary arms could scarcely lift the paddle. He camped on the river in the spot where they had dined on the second day of the other journey. He fell asleep with the premonition like a cold hand on his breast.
"An instant later a long dugout swept into view, with four men in it""An instant later a long dugout swept into view, with four men in it"
In the morning it awakened him all of a piece. He abruptly sat up to listen. There was no sound. "What is the matter with me?" he thought wonderingly. "Something is upon you," that still voice seemed to whisper. He looked to his gun. His heart failed him a little, he was so terribly alone. Inside him he offered up an unspoken prayer that whatever was coming might come quickly, before fear of the unknown should unman him.
Hastily cooking his breakfast, he never ceased to listen; therefore he was scarcely surprised when he finally heard the most startling sound in the wilderness—human voices. An instant later a long dugout swept into view upstream with four men in it. Courage warmed Ralph's breast again; to be sure it was bad enough, but it was real.
At sight of Ralph the men in the dugout set up a shout. Arriving abreast of his camp they swung around and beached their craft below. In the bow was a white man strange to Ralph, Joe Mixer and Stack sat amidships, while the stern paddle was wielded by a handsome, muscular young half-breed. They all got out. Ralph awaited them on the top of the bank. Burly Joe approached with an anticipatory, cynical grin; little Stack kept partly behind him.
"Hello, pardner!" cried Joe.
Ralph, seeing that he actually expected to keep up the fiction of friendliness, smiled grimly. "What do you want?" he asked.
Ralph's warning of danger had served him well. Joe, seeing him cool and prepared, was completely disconcerted. "What do I want?" he repeated, falling back with a scowl. "That's a hell of a nice good-morning to hand out to a man!"
"What were you looking for?" asked Ralph, "an address of welcome?"
Joe turned purple, and shook his fist. "I'll show you!" he cried.
Little Stack stepped from behind Joe. Physical terror gave his face a greenish cast, but his chagrin at seeing his careful plans about to be destroyed was stronger still. It emboldened him to put himself in front of Joe. "Wait!" he implored. "You mustn't quarrel! Let me explain!"
Joe turned aside with a muttered oath.
A fawning note crept into Stack's voice. "We've taken the Doctor by surprise," he said. "He thinks we're spying on him. You can't hardly blame him."
"You're a good guesser, Stack," said Ralph grimly.
"It's nothing of the kind!" cried Stack virtuously. "You must remember I told you long ago I wanted to take a trip through the wilds if I could get a chance. Mr. Mixer was willing to go, so I engaged him and these men to guide me."
"Why explain?" said Ralph. "It's nothing to me. The river is free to all."
"I didn't expect this from you," said Stack, with an aggrieved air. "I thought we were friends. What have you got against me?"
"Nothing," said Ralph; "but you're in bad company."
Joe could no longer hold himself in. His face was purple. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he cried thickly. "You stinking dude! You smooth-face poisoner! You rah-rah college boy. It makes my stomach turn to hear you lisping! What are you doing in a man's country? Go home to your pink teas and your toe-dancing!"
Ralph could not help but smile at the style of Joe's invective. The smile maddened Joe. The foulest dregs of English speech were fished up to express his feelings. The other white man laughed obsequiously. He was in Joe's pay. The half-breed pitched pebbles into the stream, handsome and unconcerned. Ralph took it all steely eyed and smiling still.
"You stand there like a little Gorramighty!" cried Joe, with a string of oaths. "What can you do against the four of us? We've got you where we want you now, and you know it! You'll be singing another tune before we're done with you!"
"Now you're talking!" cried Ralph, bright-eyed. "The truth is coming out at last!"
Stack all but wrung his hands at the turn things were taking. "Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" he implored.
"Ahh! shut your head," snarled Joe. "You hate him as much as me!"
Stack turned paler still, and darted a furtive look at Ralph, and cringed and tried to smile indulgently. "Don't listen to him," he said to Ralph. "You've made him mad. He don't mean what he says. It wasn't half an hour ago he said to me, 'Won't it be sport to surprise the Doctor?' There's no need for you to quarrel like this. We don't want to intrude upon your privacy. Come to our camp to supper to-night, and talk things over quiet, and shake hands on it."
Ralph preferred Joe's honest obscenity to this. He made no answer.
"Ah! come on!" said Joe. "I'm sick of your palaver!"
He pulled the smaller man back to the dugout. Stack got in, nodding and smiling over his shoulder in a comic and pitiable attempt to propitiate the grim Ralph. They pushed off. As the dugout disappeared around the first bend below, Stack actually had the effrontery to wave his hand to Ralph.
Ralph sat down to do some hard thinking. His charming dreams were rudely shattered, and like every man suddenly roused to action, he felt a little ashamed at having been caught dreaming. He remembered precautions he might have taken had he been wide awake. When his anger cooled—in spite of the smile he had been no less angry than Joe Mixer—he was a little appalled by his situation. Four against one is heavy odds. If he had had even so much as a dog to keep watch while he slept! How could he venture to sleep and leave himself open to a night attack? He resolutely put that unnerving thought out of his head. "I shall travel exactly as if they had not come!" he decided.
The more he thought, the greater loomed his difficulties. In a manner of speaking he was trapped in the river just the same as if they had him on a road between high and unscalable walls. He could not go back against the current, and he could not leave the river. With his clumsy boat and one paddle, against their dugout and four, there was not the slightest possibility of his escaping them downstream. They were free to follow him at their leisure, and play with him like cat and mouse.
Ralph was amazed, as any open-hearted man might be, at the suddenness of the discovery that he had active and malignant enemies. Joe Mixer's hatred he instinctively understood, and returned. Those two had been formed to hate each other. He likewise understood now that the evil fire Nahnya had lighted in Joe's breast was no mere ephemeral flame. It was clear that Joe hoped to reach Nahnya through him. "I'll lead him a chase," Ralph thought grimly. This brought up the thought that Joe might be the means of keeping him from returning to Nahnya. Ralph ground his teeth at that, and understood the desire to murder that is born in men's breasts.
In Stack Ralph realized he had a more dangerous enemy than Joe. In vain he threshed his brain to discover a reason for Stack's being in Joe's galley. He had never laid eyes on the little man until they took their places in the stage together. It was true he had never thought much of the little Jackstraw, but there had never been anything but friendly exchanges between them. There was a mystery here that tantalized him.
The upshot of his cogitations was, Ralph decided to accept Stack's invitation to visit their camp that night—not to eat with them, Ralph's gorge rose at the idea, but to go after supper. "It'll surprise 'em," he thought grimly. "Nothing like bearding them in their own den. I'm bound to find out something. One man's strength isn't enough against four. I've got to use all the wits I have, too. I've got to meet them on their own ground, lie for lie. Beastly crooks! I'll go further than lying if necessary to keep them out!"
All day they remained ahead of him in the river, About nine o'clock, while it was still fully light, he came upon their camp in the accustomed camping-place where Nahnya had stopped on the second night of the previous journey; the spot where Nahnya and Ralph had effected their midnight reconciliation. There was the little grassy shelf in the bank where she had lain! The coarse voices of the men above profaned the scene horribly.
Ralph's face as he climbed the bank was serene. His greeting was as bland and off-hand as a schoolboy's. The four men were sitting on the ground playing "jackpot." As Ralph had pleasurably anticipated, their jaws dropped upon his appearance. Only Stack answered his greeting. Cards in hand, the little man jumped up obsequiously, but Joe Mixer barked at him, and he sat down abruptly. Joe scowled at his cards like a hangman. The game proceeded as if Ralph were not there.
Ralph's cheeks began to burn at the implied insult, but he clapped his anger under hatches. He saw clearly enough that Joe was waiting for him to make an opening for a quarrel. Drawing closer, he coolly overlooked the game. They had a folded blanket between them to play the cards upon. In lieu of chips they used matches. The half-breed was winning. He was a fine specimen of physical manhood a year or two younger than Ralph, with a bold, conceited face. He scarcely took pains to hide his contempt for the three white men of his party, and Ralph observed that even Joe was inclined to truckle to him like a bully to one whose strength he has not measured. Stack was obsequious all around. In the third white man Ralph recognized Crusoe Campbell, a disreputable character well known up and down the river of that name. He had the reputation of being not quite right in his head, which he traded upon to his advantage. His wits were good enough to play a crafty game of poker.
So much for Ralph's observations. "A rum outfit!" he thought grimly.
When the cards were collected for a fresh deal Ralph asked coolly: "What are the stakes?"
"Nickel a match," answered Crusoe Campbell.
"Give me the worth of that," he said, throwing a five-dollar bill on the blanket. "You," he said, indicating the half-breed, "what's your name?"
"Philippe Boisvert," the breed announced swaggeringly.
Crusoe Campbell and Philippe made room between them and Ralph sat down. All looked covertly at Joe to see how he would take it. Joe, still scowling, kept his eyes down and said nothing. The game went on. Ralph's bluff was as yet uncalled.
Outwardly as cool as the ideal poker-player, Ralph was on thequi vivefor an explosion. Under stress of excitement, his spirits soared like a bird taking wing. The corners of his lips twitched provokingly, and the shine of a hidden fire glowed in his dark eyes. He bet recklessly, winning and losing with equal good humour. His good humour communicated itself to three of the other players. All men love a good gambler. The ill-assorted game became almost jolly. Only Joe grew more and more morose. His face turned an ugly brownish red, and a vein stood out ominously on his forehead.
When the explosion took place it was not directed at Ralph. Stack, carried away by the appearance of general good feeling, during a pause while the cards were being shuffled had the misfortune to say, addressing Joe and Ralph: "You two ought to shake hands and let bygones be bygones."
Joe Mixer broke out on him so violently as to be almost comic. "You sneaking little two-faced informer!" he shouted with a whole string of oaths. "Keep your lip out of my affairs, will you? I'll learn you to talk to your betters! You make me sick with your lying palaver! Get the hell out of this game anyway! You ain't man enough to play poker!"
Stack hastily retreated from the circle. The breed laughed. Crusoe Campbell quietly confiscated Stack's matches.
"Give me another box of cigarettes out of your bag," the breed said curtly.
"A half-breed issuing orders to a white man and being obeyed!" thought Ralph.
"Bring up a pail of water from the river," commanded Crusoe.
The little man had already become the camp drudge, it appeared.
Stack sat down at a little distance from the game with a childish assumption of injured dignity. During the deals Joe alternately chaffed and reviled him coarsely. Ralph could not find it in his heart to feel very sorry for the little man. "Heisa sneak," he thought. He kept his ears open for any word that might throw light on this obscure and curious situation.
After a while Stack said humbly: "Doctor Cowdray, if you please I'd like to have a word with you before you go."
"I'm damned if you do!" cried Joe. "You'd like to play him off against me, wouldn't you; and me against him, and get your private pickings off the both of us! Me and Cowdray we ain't got no use for each other. We don't make no pretences. But you! You snide! you want to square yourself with him, don't you? After telling me you trailed him all the way from the coast!"
"I have nothing to say to you!" cried Stack, with a display of childish fury that caused all three of his mates to shout with laughter.
A light broke on Ralph. Trailed all the way from the coast! To learn this was worth having come for! But why anybody should want to trail him was more of a mystery than ever. He determined to find out.
Meanwhile the game went on with four players. The fortune of the cards changed, and Joe Mixer began to win, principally from Ralph. His good humour was restored. This was as good a way to get square as any. As Ralph's pile of matches melted away, Joe triumphed insolently. He doubled and trebled the ante whenever it came to him. Finally he said:
"A dollar to draw and two to play. Does that scare you off, Doc?"
"Not at all," said Ralph coolly. "This is mild beside the play in New York clubs."
"Well, it ain't hard to win all you've got," snarled Joe.
"Three cards," said Ralph to the dealer. "This is my last hand."
He had been dealt a pair of aces. He drew another ace with a pair of sixes, and a comfortable little satisfaction warmed his breast. His face was like the Sphinx's. Joe Mixer drew two cards. Ralph, watching him narrowly, saw a tiny spark of satisfaction light his eye when he looked at them, and guessed that he held three and had drawn a pair. Revenge was as sweet to Ralph as anybody.
Joe bet in a small way, and Ralph raised him modestly. The others had dropped out. Joe raised again, and Ralph followed suit. Joe, seeing that he was not to be shaken off, began to plunge. Ralph's matches were exhausted long ago, and he threw the money on the blanket, raising Joe a dollar each time. Joe began to breathe hard and his face became as pale as a butcher's face may, except his ears, which remained a furious crimson. He raised Ralph five, and finally ten dollars at a time, hoping to bluff him out. Ralph covered his bets with a smile, and each time raised him one. A respectable little hill of greenbacks grew on the blanket. Crusoe and the breed eyed it hungrily. Finally, when it came to Joe's turn, he stopped. Little beads of perspiration had sprung out on his forehead.
"What's the matter?" asked Ralph innocently. "Are you scared off?"
"No!" cried Joe with an oath. "Ain't got no more money," he added sheepishly. "Don't carry it on the trail. Will you take my I.O.U.?"
Ralph shook his head. "A cash game, you said. I'll take back my last raise and call you instead."
Joe with a great air of bravado laid down three kings and two queens.
Ralph made believe to be dumbfoundered. Joe grinned and reached for the money with a trembling hand; whereupon Ralph counted out his three aces and his pair of little ones.
"It's a shame to take all you've got," he said softly.
Joe ardently desired to continue the poker game on borrowed capital, but Ralph pointed out that he had announced in advance his intention of retiring from the game. "I've got to sleep," he said.
"Camp here if you like," growled Joe.
Ralph shook his head. "I'll drop down the river a little piece," he said. "I want to get an early start."
"You'll have to get up early to keep ahead of us in that contraption," said Crusoe with a laugh. "It's no more than a dunnage bag stretched on a couple of half hoops!"
"You can't go down the Stanley rapids in her," said the breed. "She all bus' up."
"Don't expect to go down the Stanley rapids," said Ralph with a great air of carelessness. "I'm going up the Stanley."
He observed that Stack and Joe were listening attentively.
"You can't track her," the breed said scornfully.
"My partner is waiting for me at the Forks," lied Ralph. "He's got a dugout."
"Where the hell did you pick up a pardner?" Joe burst out, forgetting himself.
Ralph opened his eyes wide in affected surprise. "Well, say, give me time," he drawled, "and I'll tell you all my private business!"
The laugh was fairly on Joe. He flung away with a muttered curse.
Ralph, embarking, paddled no farther than around the first bend. Here he made his camp on the same side of the river as the others. He thought it likely Stack would try to communicate with him during the night. Ralph was highly satisfied with the results of the evening's entertainment. Besides winning about fifty dollars, he had shown them he was not afraid, and he had put them, he hoped, on a false scent as to his destination.
He made a little fire, and retired under his shelter, but not to sleep. He had plenty to occupy his mind. After an hour or so he heard a rustle in the underbrush, and presently a scared voice whispering:
"Doctor Cowdray! Doctor Cowdray!"
Ralph sprang up.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" cried the voice in terror. "It's only me, Stack."
Ralph laughed.
The little man drew near, cringing. "Won't you put out the fire?" he whined. "In case any of them should come."
Ralph scattered the embers.
Stack needed no encouragement to make him speak. It came tumbling out; truth and lies, complaints and excuses all mixed. "My God! Doctor! What a terrible position I'm in!" he wailed. "I don't know which way to turn. I gave Mixer two hundred and fifty dollars to guide me through the country, and look at the way they treat me! You saw it! I have to wash the dishes, and wait on the half-breed! Me! with a college education! I'm in momentary terror of my life. I hired Mixer, thinking no wrong, and now I find him pursuing some murderous vengeance against you! If you could hear how he talks about you! Look what a position that puts me in—travelling with a gang of murderers! What must you think of me?"
Ralph listened to all this, smoking impassively. "What are you making this trip for?" he asked.
"Just to see the country," whined Stack. "Didn't I tell you that? I wish to heaven I was well out of it!"
"That's a lie," said Ralph coolly.
"Oh, Doctor Cowdray, I wouldn't lie to you! I wouldn't do such a thing!" he protested volubly.
"Did you hire Joe Mixer to bring you after me?" Ralph demanded imperatively.
"Yes," faltered Stack. "But for a purely legitimate purpose. I swear it!"
"Have you, as Joe said, been trailing me all the way from the coast?"
"Yes," he confessed. "But meaning no harm at all—purely legitimate, Doctor, purely legitimate!" His voice trailed away.
"Well I'm damned!" said Ralph. There was a silence while he smoked. "What was your purpose?" he finally demanded to know.
"It's such an improbable story I didn't dare tell you," said Stack. "And I haven't any proof of it."
"You tell me and I'll decide as to the proof," said Ralph.
Stack took a breath and began with renewed glibness: "I'm a newspaper reporter—Pacific Herald. The city editor was told you had made a big new strike up here, and he sent me to follow you in, and get the first story of it for theHerald. I had to do what I was told," he whined, "or lose my job. You can't blame me——!"
"Who told him about me?" asked Ralph astonished.
"Don't ask me," said Stack. "I've heard they have the assay office watched. I don't know."
It was obvious to Ralph from the man's silky, fawning voice that he was lying still. His gorge rose. Evidently the truth had to be terrified out of such a creature. They were sitting beside the last faint embers of the fire. Ralph shot out his hand and gripped Stack by the collar. A faint, gasping cry escaped the little man, and he went limp in Ralph's grasp.
"I have my revolver in the other hand," Ralph said in a rasping voice. "The truth now, or I'll crack your skull with it! It was you who watched the assay office."
"Yes," murmured Stack in accents of honest terror.
"You followed me up here on your own responsibility, hoping to get in on my strike?"
"Yes."
Ralph dropped him. "Now we know where we stand!" he said.
Stack, like all born liars, had an infinite capacity for swallowing his lies. Ralph had no sooner dropped him than he unblushingly appropriated the credit for his confession.
"I had to come and square myself with you," he whined. "I couldn't rest until I had come and told you the truth!"
"Well, I'm damned!" said Ralph again. "Go on!"
"You're the only friend I've got!"
"Friend!" said Ralph with a snort of scornful amusement. "This is good! Give it to me straight," he went on curiously. "What did you come here for to-night?"
Stack's voice rose to a piteous wail. "Any night I may be murdered in my blankets!"
"Sure," said Ralph coolly. "But what can I do for you?"
"Take me with you in your boat," Stack blurted out.
"Well, upon my word!" cried Ralph.
"Don't refuse! Don't refuse!" said Stack breathlessly. "They wouldn't dare touch me if I was with you. They're afraid of you. That was magnificent of you to come to their camp and sit in the game as if nothing had happened. It had its effect, I can tell you! Oh! take me with you!" he went on, stuttering in his eagerness. "I can help you escape from them. Two heads are better than one. I have a good head for planning when I'm not in mortal fear of my life!"
"Fine!" said Ralph. "And you get right in on my strike!"
"I wouldn't ask much," said Stack. "I'd be content with whatever you wanted to let me have. Why can't we work together? You need a representative outside. You've got to file a lot of dummy claims to cover the whole field. You've got to form a company. I can attend to all that for you. It's just my line!"
"Thought you said newspaper reporter?" remarked Ralph.
"That was just making out," said Stack hastily. "I know the mining business from A to Z. I've got legal training. You need me!"
"Thanks," said Ralph coolly. "I prefer to pick my own company."
"If anything happens to me it'll be on your head," whimpered Stack. "Aren't you going to take me with you?"
"No!" said Ralph in a tone there was no mistaking.
"What shall I do? What shall I do?" moaned Stack. "If you won't let me travel with you, tell me where you're going, and if I can escape from them, I'll try to reach you. In common humanity you can't refuse that!"
Ralph smiled into the darkness. "Is it possible he still thinks I am fool enough to give away my secret!" he thought. "If he does, all right!" Aloud, he said carelessly: "I've no objection to telling you that. But I won't guarantee you a welcome."
"Anyway, you're not a murderer!" whined Stack.
"It's about twenty-five miles up the Stanley River from the Grand Forks——"
"Then you were telling the truth?" said Stack with naïve surprise.
"Why not?" said Ralph coolly. "I'm not afraid of them." He bethought himself of adding a few convincing touches to his lie. "You enter a tributary that comes in on the right-hand side of the Stanley, and ascend it as far as you can go into the foothills. There you will find our camp."
"How will I know the mouth of the right tributary?" asked Stack.
"By two pine trees that lean across, one at each side, until their tops almost meet," said Ralph readily. "My partner and I call it the A River."
"Take me with you!" Stack began all over again. "You need me!"
"Cut it out!" said Ralph impatiently.
"You ought to take me with you," Stack persisted. An indescribable, sly, cringing threat crept into his whine. "Now that I know where you're going, if they torture me I might let it out in spite of myself!"
Disgust overmastered Ralph. He sprang up. "You little cur!" he cried. "Get out of here before I hurt you!"
Stack waited to hear no more.
During the next three days the two boats seesawed on the lakes and rivers, Ralph now ahead, and now Joe Mixer's party. Ralph kept much longer working hours, but the others made it up in speed. Whenever they passed each other it became the occasion for an exchange of half-serious abuse, which was only prevented from developing into a fight by Ralph's unshakable, steely smile. Ralph insisted on making out that it was all a joke. Joe was itching for a fight, but the smile cut the ground from under him. Meanwhile Ralph gave as good as he got. Stack never took part in these contests of wit. He sat in the dugout haggard and abstracted, gripping the gunwales under his skinny knuckles. When he thought Ralph's gaze rested on him, he did his best to look meek and imploring, but succeeded very ill in disguising his hatred. Joe Mixer carried a deal of liquor in his baggage as evinced by their frequent thickness of speech.
At the end of the third day they had travelled far down the Rice River. By paddling until near dark Ralph succeeded in pitching his camp three miles in advance of the other party. It was his intention to sleep for four hours only, and then go on. According to his calculations he was within a few hours' journey of the Grand Forks, and it was essential to his plan that he get there first. He meant to watch from some place of concealment on the shore, to make sure that they turned up the Stanley River instead of continuing downstream. In case they were not deceived by his false lead, and did not leave the main stream, he had one more desperate card to play. The moon was now nearly full again, and he could be sure of a certain light until dawn.
Ralph pitched his little shelter in an opening among the willows that thickly lined this part of the bank. His boat was drawn high up on the stones below, and tied to the willow trunks. He ate a hasty supper and turned in. As he lay waiting for sleep, once again he was warned by a vague disquiet in his breast of an impending danger. He remembered this afterward. At the time he was dog-tired, and the still voice was not insistent enough to cleave the gathering mists of sleep. He soon became unconscious.
He was awakened immediately, or so it seemed to him, by a sudden outburst of drunken shouting. At the same moment his shelter collapsed on top of him. When he succeeded in freeing himself of the entangling blankets, netting, and canvas, in the dim light he saw four figures reeling about where his fire had been, kicking his belongings into the bush, and wreaking what senseless damage they could. A terrible rage nerved him in every fibre.
"You damned cowards!" he cried.
Hearing his voice, they made for him simultaneously, but Ralph retreated silently under the willows, and bided his time, peering through the branches. They searched for him, stumbling over the roots and shouting inanely.
During the next two or three minutes the scene was as confused and incredible as a nightmare. Ralph made out a swollen body swaying on the edge of the bank, outlined against the moonlight. Rushing him, he hauled off and struck him on the jaw with a savage satisfaction in the crack of it. He made to follow up the blow, but Joe was not there. He lay in a heap at the bottom of the bank. Hearing a sound behind him, in the act of whirling around, a bludgeon aimed at Ralph's head descended on his shoulder. Seizing him who had wielded it around the body, Ralph lifted him clear of the ground and flung him after Joe. This one was Crusoe Campbell. A third figure scuttled down to the water's edge without waiting to be assisted. Ralph stood in the ashes of his fire, breathing hard, and glaring around like a lion for another adversary.
The half-breed stepped from out the shadows of the willows. "Look out, white man!" he cried boastfully. "I got it in for you! I'll fix you good!"
"Come on!" cried Ralph gladly. At the same time the curious thought shot through his brain: what could the half-breed have against him? It was not Joe Mixer's quarrel; there could be no mistaking the note of personal enmity.
The moon shone down serenely indifferent. A little prize-ring was illuminated within the encircling willows. In it the two men advanced toward each other, fists up. They crashed together. This was an adversary worthy of Ralph; he fought like a white man, and he fought fair. Shrewd blows were exchanged on either side. Each quickly learned to respect the other, and thereafter fought more warily. Failing to reach Ralph's head, the breed punished him about the body. Every one of Ralph's blows was aimed in the centre of the pale ellipse that denoted the other man's face.
Ralph had an advantage in that the breed's head was somewhat fuddled. His blows began to go wild. Ralph beat him to his knees, and stood back to let him rise. As they rushed each other again, Ralph's ankles were grasped from behind, and he was flung violently to the ground, striking his head.
As from an immense distance he heard the half-breed say: "Dam' little sneak! Wat for you do that? I want lick 'im myself!"
Then the voices receded. Ralph heard them from the beach; heard a hoarse guffaw, and afterward the splashing of paddles. He understood that they had gone.
By this time he had got to his feet. He stood, reeling from the effects of his fall, and half suffocated with a cold and deadly rage. He made his way down to the water's edge. His boat was turned upside down on the stones, and the moonlight revealed several clean slashes in her canvas bottom.
"Oh! the scum!" muttered Ralph in his rage. "Unnatural beasts without decency or manliness! Malignant, cowardly, sneaking rats!"
In cutting his boat they had not done as serious damage as they doubtless aimed to do, for Ralph carried spare pieces of canvas in his baggage, and a can of waterproof gum against emergencies. He instantly set about repairing the boat, working away in the partial darkness with the pertinacity inspired by a cold rage. He had no doubt now of what he meant to do.
"They'll be sleeping sound after the booze," he thought grimly. "They think they've fixed me for a while. They won't be looking for a visit to-night."
When he had his patches affixed, he built a small fire on the stones, and held the boat over it to dry the gum.
In less than two hours she was fit to float again. He carried his fire up on the bank then, and making a blaze, hastily collected his scattered belongings. This refreshed his rage. In his impatience he flung everything into his boat higgledy-piggledy, and pushed off. He did not paddle, for fear of being carried past, but allowed the current to take him, while he searched both shores with straining eyes. No shadow was allowed to pass unexplained.
He had not gone much above a mile when he saw what he so ardently desired: their dugout drawn up on the stones. A great satisfaction diffused itself throughout his breast. Softly paddling ashore, he beached his own boat alongside, and bent his head to listen. A faint snoring from the bank overhead reassured him. He smiled scornfully. In their drunken carelessness they had actually left most of their baggage in the dugout. Ralph had no desire to starve them to death, or to deprive them of the means of ultimate escape. With suitable precautions of silence he unloaded everything on the stones. Then untying the rope by which the dugout was fastened to a tree, he heaved her adrift on the current. He didn't care much whether they heard that or not. But no alarm was raised.
Embarking in his own boat, Ralph towed the larger craft into midstream. Picturing the scene that awaited their awakening next morning, he chuckled grimly, and found his breast eased of its weight of rage. He felt not the slightest regret for what he had done; indeed he was blaming himself for the foolish compunctions that had prevented him from doing it earlier. His enemies were in no pressing danger; they possessed a store of food, also guns and ammunition. They would eventually build a raft. In the meantime he would get a start that would put him out of their reach for good. He was free of them. A great serenity descended on his spirit.
Before he cast off the dugout it occurred to him that it was better fitted to descend the rapids ahead than his own clumsy coracle. He debated the matter. An odd quirk of conscience finally prevented him from making the change. "If I use the thing," he thought, "it's the same as stealing it." On this fine distinction depended the whole subsequent course of his story. He cast the dugout adrift. There was no wind to blow it ashore and it was good for a long journey.
During the rest of the night Ralph paddled and floated with the current without seeking any further rest. Dawn found him among the islands that marked the approach of the end of the Rice River. This was where he had first been blindfolded on the previous journey, and he awaited the subsequent sights of the river with a stimulated curiosity.
At sun-up, rounding a bend, he beheld the wide expanse of the meeting of the waters, the Grand Forks of the Spirit River. There could be no mistaking the place. The two rivers occupied the same valley; one came down from the north, one from the south; meeting head on they swung away to the eastward. The green current and the brownish struggled ceaselessly for possession of the channel. At present the Stanley was in flood, backing up the waters of the Rice River for several miles. The division between sweeping brown water and motionless green water was as sharply defined as between water and land. Poking the nose of his boat into the current, she swung around and almost rolled awash under the impact. Ralph instantly remembered the sensation which had so puzzled him while he lay blindfolded.
Soon after he began to move down on the majestic flood of the augmented river, the murmur of the great rapids crept on his ears, and his heart began to beat. This would be the first real test of his paddle. The murmur increased to a rumble, then to a roar. Finally he could make out the white-caps leaping below, like the naked arms of a multitude ceaselessly tossed to the sky in wild excitement. He appreciated the vast difference between a pretty stream brawling among the stones, and a mighty watercourse plunging over a barrier of rock.
He landed a little way above the rapids and fortified himself with an excellent breakfast. Afterward he made his way alongshore to the beginning of the turmoil to try to spy out the best place to enter it. A close view of its mightiness made him feel very small. The immeasurable flood of water swept smoothly over the hidden ledge with an oily streaked surface, moving faster and faster until it suddenly boiled up madly at the bottom. From shore to shore, nearly half a mile, the wild, white welter prevailed. Ralph received a stunning impression of the tearing, resistless might of the down-rushing water. Its roar was deafening. At the thought of tempting it with his flimsy coracle, his heart shrunk away to nothing in his breast. But it had to be done.
At first as far as he could tell one place was as bad as another to descend. Gradually he made out that by great good fortune he had chosen the right side of the river. Toward the other bank the white surface was everywhere pointed with ugly black rocks. He saw that the greatest volume of water rushed down close to the shore on which he stood. If he could keep his boat in the middle of it there was no danger of rocks. There remained the danger of those strange, great billows which curled and rolled and roared without ever advancing an inch in their paths.
He returned to his boat, fighting his terror of the place. Refusing to think of it, he worked desperately to make all snug. He got in and clung to a branch that trailed in the water, while the increasing current sucked at his little craft. He had fallen out of the habit of articulate prayer; maybe he prayed in his own way. He let go of the branch, and began to drift toward the place. He moistened his lips, and drew a long breath, and drove his paddle into the water. No turning back then.
Then he took the plunge, and was filled with an amazing exhilaration.
The struggle was brief. His boat plunged her nose right under the first curling white billow and half a ton of water fell aboard. She staggered drunkenly, and in spite of his desperate paddling swung broadside in the current. The next billow raked him from stem to stern, rolled his boat completely under and washed him clear of it. The opposed currents of the water clutched at him and racked him like whirling machinery. He came to the surface gasping, only to be flung violently against a rock, striking on his shoulder. Stunned by the buffeting and the roar, he was carried on down like a rotten log, now underneath, now on top, the plaything of every wild eddy.
Struggling instinctively, in the end he found himself somehow in still water. He crawled out on the beach and lay inert, struggling for breath and for consciousness. Very slowly the realization of his plight was forced on him. He felt no great concern. It was like something that might have happened to somebody else. There lay a poor devil cast ashore in the wilderness hundreds of miles from any fellow-creature. Everything he possessed, boat, food, matches, axe, blankets, gun and ammunition were at the bottom of the river. Out of the wreck he had saved only Nahnya's necklace, which was sewed to his shirt, and his pocketbook with money, neither article being of the slightest service to keep life in his body.
He sat up, roused by an imperious pain. Looking sideways and down at himself he was mildly impressed by the extraordinary conformation of his right shoulder—like somebody else's shoulder. It was dislocated. He could not lift his right arm. It was a mercy, if but a small one, that his faculties began to work so slowly. His first articulate thought was:
"Well, thank God! I got a skinful of breakfast before I lost it!"
A traveller might have descended through the Spirit River pass half a dozen times without suspecting the vicinity of any fellow-creatures in the hundred miles of mountains. Nevertheless there was a white man's camp at the foot of Mount Milburn. Milburn is the hoary-headed monarch that stands guard on the right-hand side of the gateway to the Rockies. It rises sheer from the river to a height of more than six thousand feet. In the country it is otherwise called the Mountain of Gold because it has long been known that one of the buttresses of its base is entirely composed of a metal-bearing quartz.
The few people of the country knew of course that Jim Sholto had established himself here with his three children for the purpose of smelting the ore in a small way, but Jim had built his shacks a quarter of a mile back from the river to avoid the inconvenient observation of the chance traveller. Jim and his two sons excavated the ore and burned it in half a dozen little furnaces of porcelain and brick, the materials for which they had brought in with immense difficulty. The venture was not highly regarded in the country. The expense of bringing in supplies was too great. They worked like beavers, it was said, for a net return no greater than day labourer's wages. Such unremitting industry accused the easy-going ways of the North.
On a brilliant afternoon in July Kitty Sholto was redding up the kitchen in the larger of the two shacks. There was a cloud on her charming face. She slapped the enamel-ware plates on the shelf with a malicious satisfaction in the clatter, and cast the dish-towels over the line, as if they had individually offended her.
Kitty was twenty years old. In her face were combined elements of gentleness and piquancy, a rare association and provoking to the other sex. The piquancy was due to her long eyes, green-gray in colour, and placed a thought obliquely in her head. Green in eyes is thought of in connection with feline qualities. There was nothing of that sort about Kitty. All the rest was gentleness. She had a small, straight nose, and an adorable mouth that turned up at the corners. Her hair, darkest brown in colour, was of the crinkly sort that reaches out tendrils. She had a soft voice, with an odd, hushed thrill in it that was all her own, and a soft and ready laugh. She was not at all the kind of girl to be given to ill-humours.
Sweeping the crumbs over the door-sill, she stood broom in hand leaning against the jamb. In one swift cast around she took in the whole scene, the exquisite, limpid sky, the polished malachite of the deciduous foliage, the rich bottle-green of the pines, the brook whipping itself white on the stones. She took it all in, and the line between her dark eyebrows deepened as if the loveliness of nature were an added affront.
Down the trail from the excavations the four ponies came plodding, each laden with a double wooden bucket of ore. Bill, the younger of Kitty's two brothers, walked behind, whistling vociferously, and tickling the rearmost beast with a switch. Bill was a tall, strong youth of twenty-two, a black Scotchman with a gleaming smile. Dumping the contents of the buckets on the little mountain of ore before the other shack, with a flick of his switch he sent the ponies trotting back one by one for another load.
Bill, pausing to fill his pipe, grinned amiably at his sister. Kitty's brothers adored her, and teased her remorselessly. "Hello, sis!" he said. "What's biting you?"
"Nothing!" she said quickly.
"You look as if the cat was dead and the milk turned," he said in the humorous style that brothers affect.
"There is no cat and I haven't tasted milk in a year and a half," said Kitty sharply.
"Take example from me!" sang Bill. "Dog-tooth Bill, the sunshine of Milburn Gulch!"
"That's all very well!" said Kitty bitterly. "Who wouldn't be gay in your shoes. You're going away to-morrow. You're going to mix with people; to see something besides trees; to have some fun! What have I got to look forward to?"
"Cheer up, sis," said Bill with jocular solicitude. "What can we do about it? The little iron chest has to be carried out. It's getting too heavy to be left lying around loose. And there's next year's grub to be brought in."
"Certainly, I know you're obliged to go," said Kitty.
"If you could go in my place you'd be welcome," said Dick. "But it's too hard a trip both out and in again. You and Dick couldn't do it alone."
"I know it," said Kitty stiffly. "You don't have to explain."
"And we can't take you with us, because the old man can't keep the plant going, and cook his own grub, too."
"I wouldn't think of leaving him alone," said Kitty indignantly.
Bill began to grin again. "Cheer up, the worst is yet to come!" he cried. "We'll be back in six weeks with a scow full of good things! What'll I bring her from town for a present? A silk dress?"
"A lot of good a silk dress would do me!" Kitty said scornfully. "Who do I ever see from one month to another?"
"Ah, there we have her trouble!" cried Bill. He began to sing and to caper absurdly:
"Kitty is mad and I am glad,For I know how to please her;A bottle of wine to make her shineAnd a nice young man to squeeze her!"
"You're horrid!" cried Kitty, frowning and blushing.
"Give me the specifications," Bill went on, with an air of serious gravity. "Blond, brunette, or albino? Heavy, welter, or light weight? Kind of disposition you prefer, and amount of purse to be put up before you enter the ring? I'll bring the candidate back with me if I have to sandbag him!"
Kitty retired into the house, slamming the door. Bill, with a whoop, started up the trail after his horses.
When the cabin was put to rights there was nothing more that Kitty was obliged to do until it was time to start the supper. On such occasions she was accustomed to help her father in the "works," as they called the other shack, but the furnaces had been cold for a week now, while all hands joined to get out enough ore to keep them fed while the boys were away. There was plenty of work that Kitty might have done, but she was in a mood to dream and to nourish her grievances. She might have gone up to the excavation to help, but she dreaded male raillery. She finally turned in the other direction and followed the path down to the river.
It ended in a little glade that had been a camping-place since time out of mind. In the middle of the place was a fire-hole, centuries old, maybe. Upright posts were driven on either side, with a bar across and wooden hooks of assorted sizes waiting for the bails of the next traveller's pots. In front of Kitty as she stood beside the fireplace the river stretched its smooth jade-green flood across to the base of the mountain opposite, and at her left hand the limpid waters of the creek mingled with the thicker current.
Below the camping-place stretched a bank of fine yellow sand precipitated by the eddies in times of high water. Partly drawn up on the sand was a dugout. The Sholtos kept their two boats cached in the creek, but this one had been got out in preparation for the journey next day. It was the happy-go-lucky Bill who had left it where it was without tying it, forgetful of the sudden rises of the river in hot weather.
Kitty got in the dugout, and sat down in the stern, where she might trail her hands in the water, while she thought things out and dreamed her dreams. All unwittingly Bill had discovered to her the very source of her discontent, and she was disturbed and ashamed. It was true that she wanted a young man! Here she was twenty years old; it was jocularly granted by her brothers that she was not exactly a fright; yet she had never had a young man. What was worse there was no young man, at least of her own colour, within hundreds of miles, and she was doomed to her present imprisonment for at least another year. Twenty-two loomed ahead like old age itself. "What chance will I have then!" she thought dejectedly. Behind this was the hot-cheeked, nagging thought: what business had a nice girl to be desiring a young man, anyway!
But after a while the lovely afternoon began to have its way with her, and the disquieting thoughts melted by imperceptible degrees into deceitful, charming daydreams. She was lying in the bottom of the boat with her arm on the gunwale, and her head on her arm. Her eyes were bent upstream as far as she could see. He will come down the river, she dreamed. "Perhaps he is just around the bend at this moment. I should not be surprised. But what if he should come when I am not here, and be carried past! That is not possible! If he is the right one, some power will lead him directly to me! What is he like? Tall and slender, with round, strong arms, and a wonderful light in his eyes. He will not be surprised to see me either. He will say: 'I have found you!' And I will say quite simply: 'I have been waiting for you,' and everything will be understood."
Following the usual course of day-dreams, Kitty little by little lost the direction of this beautiful story, and picture began to succeed picture without any help from her. She found herself climbing the higher slopes of Mount Milburn hand in hand with the youth whose face was hidden from her; up into the intoxicating air of the summits. Then presto! without so much of an effort as the wink of an eyelid they were transported to the busy streets of town, and looked into the bewildering shop-windows without any surprise at all. Then they walked between endless rows of silk dresses hung on hooks, and all the dresses were hers, but she couldn't decide which one she liked the best, and was much distressed. And he said: "Don't worry; I have a paper boat to sail down Milburn Creek in." And she answered: "We'll never get up again," without caring in the least. And then they danced to delicious music that issued from a row of trees like the pipes of an organ.
With a long sigh Kitty stretched herself luxuriously in the bottom of the dugout, and ceased to dream. If any young man had come along then and had seen her thus, her head on her folded arm, her lashes on her cheeks, and a dream-smile tilting the corners of her mouth, it is safe to say he would never have been the same again afterward.
She awakened as quietly as she had fallen asleep, and lay for a while gazing up between the sides of the dugout at the delicate clear sky, which had not changed while she slept. Gradually she became aware of missing something; it was the turbulent voice of Milburn Creek, never stilled in her ears at home. At the same time the dugout rocked gently with her, filling her with an unexplained fear. She quickly sat up.
The heart in her breast turned cold. She was adrift in midstream. Mount Milburn had disappeared and the even more familiar limestone face of Stanhope, opposite their camp. Strange mountain shapes surrounded her, and unfamiliar shores. Her eyes darted up and down the dugout; there was no paddle; nothing! The swirling green eddies smiled at her horribly, like things biding their time. Blank, hideous terror descended on her, scattering her faculties.
There was worse in store. Sweeping around a bend, she saw far down the river the white horses leaping in the sunshine. She knew the place, the Grumbler rapids; up and down river they bore a sinister reputation. She stared at the place, fascinated with horror. The river was so smiling, sunny, and beautiful, she could not believe that there was the end of all; the very white-caps below seemed to be leaping in play. And she herself, twenty years old, and full of the zest of living—it was not possible! But the ever-increasing voice of the place warned her, there waited Death, sure and dreadful. And nothing might stop her deliberate progress between the green shores. She must sit with her hands in her lap and watch it coming step by step.
Kitty's very softness and gentleness shielded her. She could not take in so much horror. Her eyes widened; she struggled for her breath—and collapsed in the bottom of the dugout.
When consciousness and sight returned, she found a strange, dark face bending over her. She was lying on firm ground beside the river. The roar of the rapids filled the air. Seeing Kitty's eyes open, and the light of reason return, the face broke into a beautiful and kind smile. Kitty, without understanding clearly, was immensely reassured. It was a girl not much older than herself.
"You all right now," the girl said.
"What happened?" asked Kitty faintly.
"You near get in the rapids."
The recollection of her terror rushed back over her almost drowning Kitty's senses again.
"You all right," the girl repeated in a cheery, matter-of-fact tone that was just what Kitty needed. "I was working on the shore," she went on, "and I see a canoe come floating down. I think it is foolish to let a good boat get broke on the rocks, so I get my boat and paddle for it, but there isn't much time. I come to it, and I look in. Wah! there is you!"
"Oh, it was horrible! horrible!" murmured Kitty, shaken by strong shudders.
"Forget it," said the girl. "You all right now."
"How did you get me ashore?" Kitty asked.
"It was not much," the girl said with a shrug. "I was too near the rapids to save both boats, so I jump in yours and let mine go down. It was pretty hard paddling," she went on, smiling; "we were on the wrong side for the deep water. Long time we jus' stand still out there, and not go up or down. Then we come in slow, slow. There is a tree fallen down beside the water, and I catch hold just in time."
"You have saved my life!" murmured Kitty.
"Cut it out!" said the dark girl gruffly. "It was worth it for the boat alone."
"But you lost your boat," said Kitty.
The other shook her head. "It is stuck on the rocks down there," she said. "I will get it after."
Strength and self-command came back to Kitty, and she sat up. The two girls measured each other with glances of shy, strong curiosity. Each was a surprising discovery to the other.
"You are Kitty Sholto," said the dark girl.
"How did you know that?" exclaimed Kitty, opening her eyes.
"There is no other white girl in the country."
"I don't know you," said Kitty.
The other shrugged and smiled a little. "There are plenty red girls," she said. "I am Annie Crossfox."
"Where do you live?"
Nahnya pointed vaguely downstream. "My people are the Sapi Indians," she said.
"But that is way down by the canyon," said Kitty. "Do you travel so far by yourself?"
"I like travel by myself," Nahnya said deprecatingly. "I hunt and I fish. People think I am crazy. They say it is like a man!"
Each thought the other a wonderful creature. Nahnya marvelled at the colour of Kitty's eyes, green-gray like the Spirit River itself, and her cheeks like snow—snow with the light of the setting sun upon it. Her delicacy and gentleness seemed like the qualities of a superior creature. Kitty for her part was no less admiring of Nahnya's strength and courage. The gentle Kitty like most girls had often wished that she had been born in one of her brother's places. To be able to go where one pleased like a man! this stirred her imagination. Each of these lonely girls was hungry for a woman friend; therein lay the explanation of their kind and wistful looks upon each other.
Kitty was soon quite herself again. Only at intervals did the recollection of her terror cause her to catch her breath, and send the colour flying from her cheeks. A lesser fear succeeded.
"How will I get home?" she said. "Dad and the boys! They will be frantic, poor things!"
"Have they another boat?" asked Nahnya.
Kitty nodded.
"Then they will come look for you soon," said Nahnya calmly. "It is all right."
Kitty was much reassured.
By degrees the two girls felt their way toward intimate speech. "I am so surprise I find a white girl in this country," Nahnya said in her quaint, soft Mission English. "When I look in your boat I am thinking nothing at all. And there you are! I am so surprise almost we both go in the rapids!"
Kitty explained how she had been carried off.
"Yes, all day the water rise," said Nahnya.
"If you hadn't been there!" said Kitty, and all her terrors returned.
"We must eat," said Nahnya energetically. "I have tea and bread and meat across the river. We must track for half a mile before I can cross. You have only a short line on your boat. I will track, and you push out with a pole."
Nahnya went ahead with the end of the line, while Kitty, according to instructions, walked abreast of the dugout, and kept it off shore, and steered it around obstructions with her pole. Kitty had never worked harder. Nahnya thought she was sparing her, but Kitty had to struggle desperately over the stones and the tree trunks and around the edge of cut-banks in order to keep up. The dugout acted like a thing inspired by personal malice against them. Kitty insisted that it went out of its way to find stones to stick on, and if she fell so much as a yard behind, it instantly drove its nose into the bank. Whenever it was necessary Nahnya waded unconcernedly into the icy water, and Kitty, not to be outdone, followed suit, shivering.
When they finally arrived opposite the spot whence Nahnya had first set out to Kitty's aid, Kitty distinguished a wide, flat rock and a little stream that emptied beside it. Nahnya told off the white girl to make a fire while she went for the supplies. Kitty enviously watched her assured handling of the canoe. Heading upstream enough to equalize the pull of the current, Nahnya crossed the river as straight as a ruled line, and in twenty minutes was back with everything they needed.
Hanging their stockings and moccasins to dry, they extended their pink and white and pink and brown toes side by side to the fire, and ate their supper. Meanwhile they were progressing in friendship by long leaps. With a girl and, moreover, a girl so gentle as Kitty, Nahnya did not feel obliged to wall up her breast, and the natural warmth of her nature had way. Lengthy girl confidences were exchanged.
"I never talk to a white girl like this," Nahnya said shyly. "Though I have live among white people, and watch the girls, and think about them much."
"What did you think about white girls?" Kitty asked with her charming smile.
"Always I am thinking how are they different from me," said Nahnya.
"Different?" echoed Kitty. "You are not really different from me."
"I am half white," said Nahnya. "Inside I feel the same as white people. But white people treat me different from them."
"I don't understand," said Kitty.
"When I go to the Mission school," said Nahnya, "the sisters teach us: 'Think no evil, and evil will pass you by.'"
"That is true," said Kitty.
Nahnya sadly shook her head. "It is true for you," she said; "not for me. When I went among the white people I thought no evil, but evil wrap me so close as a blanket over my head."
"I—I do not understand," faltered Kitty.
"Why should you?" said Nahnya. "Nobody is bad to you. Only to me. So always I am wondering what is different in me. I do not understand it, but I know it."
"Do you—do you mean men?" asked the startled Kitty.
Nahnya was silent.
"But all men are not bad," said Kitty, thinking of her honest, jolly brothers.
"Not all men," admitted Nahnya. "Once I know a white man—at first he was crazy. But he change. He look at me cleanly, and speak honest. But always I am thinking this different thing is in me, and I send him away. And always I think what is this different thing in me?"
Kitty, looking at her with troubled eyes, made no reply.
"Now I have scare you!" said Nahnya remorsefully. "You think I mus' be bad, because others think I am so!"
"No," said Kitty, "it is my own ignorance that I am scared of. I don't know anything. I don't know what to say."
"Say not'ing!" cried Nahnya, bending a quick look of contrite affection on her. "Me, I talk too much! Always I want talk to some one who is like me, and I am near crazy with talk that I cannot speak. My people, they are good people, but they do not know me. My mot'er not know me. I am strange to her. She is scare of me. Always I think if I could be friends with a white woman, we could talk. And to-day the river bring you to me, so I think it is like magic. And my tongue, she shoot the rapids of talk! I am sorry I scare you!"
"You don't scare me a bit!" protested Kitty. "I like to have you talk to me. I'm talking to you, too. Tell me about the white man," she said shyly, "the one you liked."
Nahnya was startled. For an instant the old walled look darkened her face. "I not say I like any white man," she said quickly. "I not want any man."
Kitty hung her head a little. "That's what we say," she murmured with a burst of shy candour; "but how true is it?"