XIV
THE LAST STAGE
The hours of the afternoon that followed their encounter with Tom Lillywhite were long and heavy ones for Natalie and Garth. A haggard misunderstanding rode between them on the trail. Denied the all-explaining, all-healing touch of hands—or lips, the unreasonable despair of lovers seized on each; and the sunny way was plunged in murk. They rode, and camped, and ate their supper in silence; and in silence they turned in for the night. But there was little sleep for either; they lay apart, each nursing a burden of unhappiness; unable to say now what it was all about, only dreadfully conscious that they were divided.
As soon as it was light enough to see, a pale and heavy-lidded Natalie crept noiselessly out of her tent. In front of the door she saw Garth on his knees preparing to build a fire; but the hand that held the hatchet-helve had dropped nervelessly to the ground; and his eyes, fixed and staring in the torpor of miserableness, had forgotten what he had set out to do. At the sight, a rapturous peace came back to Natalie's harried soul; for, she thought, if he were so unhappy as that, he must love her in spite of all. And Garth, looking up, saw the tenderness break in her weary face, and he understood it all too. The forest sprang into leaf again for them; and presently the sun came gaily up. They became as wildly and unreasonably happy as they had just been miserable; and not a word was exchanged either way. It was not necessary. That they did not fling themselves into each other's arms at that moment, must surely be written down to their credit somewhere.
They made but a leisurely progress this day and the next. The labour of the journey was greater than at any time hitherto, for in addition to the ordinary routine of making and breaking camp twice a day, Garth had now the four horses to look after. Catching them was a task of uncertain duration, even though they were turned out hobbled; in particular, the exasperating Timoosis developed the proficiency of a very circus horse, in walking on his hind legs. And once caught, there was all the business of saddling, packing and drawing the hitch.
Besides, there was that in both their hearts which delayed them even more. No ardently desired goal awaited them at the end of this journey; on the contrary they dreaded what they were to find. The last few miles of the way together, before the inevitable came between them, was therefore very dear; and it became ever easier to say "Let's camp!" and harder to say "Let's move!"
Their boisterous jollity on the trail gave place to much quiet happiness; and there was ceaseless friendly contention, where Garth's every thought was for Natalie; and hers for him. Each was on his mettle to be worthy of the other's best. Above all they avoided the insidious danger of contact; but inevitably sometimes in the business of the camp, their hands did meet—and each to himself stored up and told over the events like secret treasures. In every labour Natalie insisted on taking her share like a man; and Garth never ceasing to upbraid her, yet loved her for it prodigiously.
Day by day, now, the leaves of the more exposed trees were yellowing; and on the second night of their journey across the portage, the first heavy frost of the season descended. Garth, under his sail-cloth at the door of the tent, awoke covered with rime.
Toward the end of the third day they had their never-to-be-forgotten first glimpse of the mighty Spirit, the dream river of the North, whose name evokes the thought of a garden in a bleak land. The unvarying flatness of the portage with its standing pools, and the interminable lofty wood that had hemmed them in for three days, had given them the sense of travelling on the bottom of the world, and that somewhere ahead must be a hill to climb. What then was their astonishment this afternoon, when, without warning they emerged from among the trees on an abrupt grassy terrace, and beheld the great river lying nearly a thousand feet below.
It was a view inimitably gorgeous and sublime. Coming so suddenly upon it they caught their breaths and gazed in silence; for there was nothing fitting to say. The high point on which they stood overlooked a deep and narrow gorge at their left, through which a little river fell to the great stream; and across this they could look up the vast trough for miles. In the distance the river seemed to rise, until one would say it issued molten from the low-hung sun itself.
It had an individual and peculiar look, like no watercourse they had seen. Its course drew a sharp line between the wooded country and the prairie. Like a figure dressed in motley, the steep southern bank was everywhere dark and wooded, while the other side, sweeping up in countless fantastic knolls and terraces, was bare, except for the brown grass, and patches of scrub-like hair in the hollows. Far back from the opposite rim of the vast trough swept the unmeasured prairie, as flat, in the whole prospect, as the country they had lately traversed.
It was the wealth of colour that most of all bewitched their eyes. The river itself was of an odd, insistent green—emerald tinged with milk; the islands on its bosom hung out the rich bottle-green of spruce; the grass on the north bank was beaver-brown; the wild-rose scrub glowed blood-crimson in the hollows; and the aspen bluffs, touched with frost, were as yellow as saffron. The wild and beautiful panorama was made complete in their eyes by a great golden eagle perched on the brink of the immediate foreground and, like themselves, gazing over. Though but a hundred yards or so distant, he contemptuously disregarded their arrival. When Garth, full of curiosity, came closer, he spread his vast wings and drifted indifferently out into space.
For a long time they gazed at the scene without speaking. It was Natalie who finally expressed their common thought.
"Wouldn't it be sweet," she said wistfully, "if our journey had no other object but to see this! With what satisfied hearts we could now turn back!"
Skirting the edge of the steep, presently the Settlement came into view far below, a hut or two along the river, hugging the base of the cliffs. The trail zigzagged gradually down, frequently doubling on itself; and whereas the eagle might have descended in a minute, it promised to be more like half an hour for them.
Garth, following his previous policy, did not intend to expose Natalie to the stares of the Settlement, until he had at least reconnoitred. Before coming on the houses, therefore, he led his little caravan off through the bush to the left; and descended to the shore of the smaller stream they had seen from above. Here, in a private glade beside the noisy brown water, they pitched their camp; and Garth, leaving Natalie armed against all eventualities, proceeded into the Settlement.
His inevitable first question at the store elicited the information that the Bishop had gone up the river to Binchinnin, Ostachegan Creek and Fort St. Pierre. Next, the name of Herbert Mabyn called forth contemptuous shrugs. None of the men could give certain information of his whereabouts, though Clearwater Lake was mentioned again. He had not been in to the post for four months; and there was a handful of letters waiting for him. Garth was referred to the breeds across the river for better news. It was clearly intimated that all self-respecting white men had cast Mabyn off.
Inquiring the means of crossing the river, the ferry was pointed out to Garth, a barge propelled with sweeps. It must be tracked up-stream for a quarter of a mile before starting across, to allow for the current, he was told. The trader offered to help him when he was ready. Garth thanking him, privately resolved to cross before the Settlement was astir next morning. He saw that his own reticence in answering questions inspired the three simultaneously with the idea that he was a detective from outside, in pursuit of Herbert Mabyn for some early sin; and he let it go at that.
Garth roused Natalie long before dawn; and they crossed the river by the first greenish light of the East. Garth handled one sweep, Natalie the other; and their labour was great. The incorrigible Timoosis, who never neglected an opportunity to make trouble, balked furiously at the ferry; and, finally driven on board and tied, managed to work the other horses up to a high state of excitement during the passage.
Finally, when they had almost made the other shore, he succeeded in breaking his halter; and, leaping over the stern, perversely struck out for the shore they had left. Cy and Caspar, horses of no character, blindly leaped after him. For a moment a dire disaster threatened; for Timoosis, borne down by the weight of his pack, could scarcely keep his head above water; and they thought they had lost both their horse and their camp equipment. But the self-contained Emmy, who had not budged during all the excitement, merely turned her head, and sent an imperious whinny in the direction of her offspring; whereupon Timoosis, with true coltish inconsistency, turned about, and came meekly swimming after the barge, followed by the other two. Since the shore was not above twenty-five yards off he managed to win it pack and all, and staggered up on the beach, chilled, exhausted, and much chastened in mind. Warned by previous experiences, they never trusted him with anything perishable, so the damage to his pack was slight.
After an hour's travelling, they halted by the trail at sunrise to eat, and to dry out what had been wet. This part of the trail traversed the heavily wooded bottom-lands, before starting to climb the grassy steeps of the further bank. As they sat on a log discussing their bread and cocoa, a rollicking song came, as a sound comes fluctuating through the woods, now from this side, now from that, and curiously deadened. It finally resolved itself into the air of Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay with words in Cree. While it still seemed some distance away, suddenly the singer rode upon them; and reining up his horse, called the song into his surprised throat.
He was the handsomest native they had met, a young fellow of twenty-odd, lean and broad-shouldered, with flashing black eyes and high-bridged nose. His stiff-brimmed "Stetson" was tilted at a dashing angle; he had a scarlet silk handkerchief about his throat; and he sat his horse like a young prince of the woods. Whether pure redskin or breed it was impossible for them to tell; certainly there was no visible evidence of a white admixture; but in spite of his strange and savage air, there was something instantly likeable about the young man—according to Natalie he was the first native they had met who seemed human. He rode a fine black horse as bravely accoutred as would become the captain of a round-up.
He seemed disposed to be friendly; and Garth invited him to share their meal. As politeness demanded, he broke a small piece of bread, and drank some cocoa, which was plainly not at all to his taste. When he sat down he had the grace to take off his hat, something else they had not seen before in a native.
His name, he volunteered, was Gene Lafabe. Since his English was about on a par with Garth's Cree, communication was difficult. In his simplicity, the young man was continually forgetting they could not understand his language; and when Garth shook his head, only shouted the louder.
"You know Herbert Mabyn?" Garth asked.
Gene vigorously nodded his head, adding a stream of information, which, had they only understood, would have materially altered their subsequent line of action.
Garth shook his head hopelessly. "Where is he?" he asked.
Gene pointed north. "Clearwater Lake," he said; and in the twinkling of an eye, counted seventy-five with his ten fingers.
"Where is the trail?" Garth asked.
Gene shrugged. "Nomoya!" he said. "No trail!"
Garth had an inspiration. "Can you take us there?" he asked.
Considerable patience and good-humour were called for from both sides, in the arduous course of arriving at an understanding; but finally a bargain was struck. Gene, in addition to the credentials of his person, bore a highly satisfactory letter of recommendation from the company trader at the Crossing. Whatever his errand in the first place may have been, he never gave it another thought; and in half an hour blithely turned his horse's head, and took the lead on the trail.
Gene looked at every considerable tree, every little gulley, and every rise in the ground with the eye of an old friend. In a mile or so, at a place marked in no way that Garth could see, he abruptly turned out of the trail; and led them with an air of certainty through the apparently trackless woods. The trees ended at the steep rise that marked the bottom of the northern bank; and thereafter they climbed the grass.
By a devious route known to himself Gene led them through many little grassy ravines, and over ridges, gradually upward. There was no sense or order in the arrangement of the knolls and terraces and spurs of turf—the ground seemed to be pushed up anyhow, like bubbles on the surface of yeasty dough. For a while they would be swallowed in a cup-like hollow; then, surmounting a ridge, they would have a brief glimpse of the distant river behind. It was only when they reached the top that, looking back over the turbulent rounded masses of earth, they were able to comprehend the great height to which they had climbed.
Reaching level ground, Gene with a shout set off at a lope in a bee line across the prairie; and Garth bringing up the packhorses in the rear, caused the sedate Emmy to put her best foot foremost. Meanwhile, with pocket-compass and memorandum book, he made notes of the route they took; and when opportunity offered tied a strip of white cotton to a bush. It was his intention to dismiss Gene before coming to Mabyn's hut; and he wished to be sure of the way back. The guide, comprehending what he was doing, gave him to understand that Emmy could bring them back over their own tracks—unless snow should fall. But Garth was neglecting no precautions.
Garth and Natalie deplored to each other the inadequacy of their means of communication with their guide. The bright-eyed Gene had a hundred things to point out to them on the prairie, most of which they could only guess at. For one thing, he made them understand he was following in the tracks of two cayuses that had gone that way three days before. One was lame, he said, and the other dragged a travoise. All this he learned from certain marks in the grass, which the other two could not see at all. In all ways Gene proved himself a very pearl among guides. Garth, merely from watching him, learned as much trail-craft these two days as he had picked up during the weeks preceding; and Natalie confessed that his cooking put her utterly to shame.
Such was the energy of their pace that they reached the last waterhole before coming to Clearwater Lake early next afternoon. Here Garth decided to camp; for he had determined with Natalie to time their arrival at Mabyn's hut for the morning; so that after the briefest stay, they could immediately start back. Clearwater Lake was only three miles distant; and Gene was able to point out a poplar bluff marking the rise behind which it lay.
Neither Garth nor Natalie obtained much sleep that night; only Gene, wrapped in his rabbit-skin robe beyond the fire, slept the sleep of the savage or the child. They were all astir at dawn; and after eating, they parted; Gene careering south without a care on his mind; while Garth and Natalie turned their apprehensive faces toward the lake. What they were to find there they did not know; but intuition warned them it would be sufficiently painful.
When they reached the brow of the last hill, and the lake stretched vividly below them, they had no eyes for the loveliness of the prospect. The little hut at the head of the water far to the left was the first thing they saw; and it was charged with a significance that obliterated everything else. Facing the early sunlight it stood revealed with startling distinctness; and even at the distance had a ghastly look; gray, artificial and decayed in the midst of the mellow autumn loveliness.
"I will picket the packhorses down at the edge of the water," Garth said; "and we'll ride on without them. It will provide us with an obvious excuse to return immediately."
Natalie scarcely heard. Her eyes were fixed on the distant shack. "What do you suppose it hides from us?" she whispered. "Death, misery, or disgrace?"
Garth could scarcely forbear groaning in the pain of his solicitude for her. "Oh, Natalie!" he said hoarsely, "I haven't done right to expose you to this!"
"I made you!" she said quickly. "Besides, it's not a question of right or wrong. As you said we would, we have only done the best we could, under the circumstances that arose."
"At least let me ride on ahead a little," he begged. "You stay with the outfit. I will hurry back."
She shook her head. "I couldn't stand the suspense," she said simply. "Do not be afraid on my account," she added; "merely looking with my outward eyes at something that always faces me within won't hurt me. Come on!"
But presently she reined up her pony again, and turning a pair of brimming eyes on him, extended her hand. "Garth!" she murmured, "I—I would like to thank you—but I can't!"
"Oh, don't!" he begged.
"Whatever we find down there," she said wistfully, "it can't make any difference, can it? We will still be the same partners of the trail?"
Garth went pale to his lips—but he contrived to smile at her. He took her hand and looked at her full. "Until death," he said quietly.
She drew her hand away, with a deep breath. "Come on," she said. "We've got to face it!"
XV
THE MEETING
The spot of the lake shore where Garth picketed the two horses was something under two miles from Mabyn's hut. The way led among the trees which filled this part of the valley of the lake; and underfoot they could distinguish traces of an old trail. The growth ended abruptly at the edge of a small, dry watercourse, which came down to the lake; and issuing into the open here, the riders beheld the dreaded goal of their long journey immediately before them.
As they crossed the stones, they were ready to fancy they could hear, each the beating of the other's heart; and the scene before them was bitten into their brains, to endure hideously vivid and minute while life endured. The shack presented a three-quarter view, front and side. It topped a gentle, uneven acclivity of grass, rising from the watercourse at its side; while in front, the ground extended level a hundred feet to the edge of a cut-bank. This bank rose out of the lake sheer and loamy, to the height of a cottage roof; and over the edge hung a tangled fringe of grass-roots.
Desolation was the cry of it all; winters upon winters had bleached the logs of the shack silvery like old hair; the chimney had fallen; and all four quarters of glass in the single window were out. At one time the slope between the hut and the bed of the stream had evidently been a theatre of industry; for the ground was pitted and hummocked and rutted; but long ago the grass had indifferently muffled it over, like graves in an old cemetery. In the centre of this waste stood, the picture of dejection, an Indian-bred cayuse, miserable burlesque of the equine species, no bigger than a donkey, and incredibly hairy and misshapen. His back was galled; and one leg, which he painfully favoured, puffed to treble its size at the hock. Even the great cottonwood trees springing beyond the hut, with their shattered branches, and blotched and greenish trunks, breathed decay. An ancient dugout, lying at the mouth of the watercourse, was, like everything else, rotting and seamed.
And on the bench at the door of the hut sat the evil genius of the scene; a man with his legs sprawling in front of him, and his head fallen over and back against the wall. He made no move at their approach; and when they came close, they saw that he slept. Pitilessly revealed in the strong sunlight, he made a spectacle at which the most indifferent stranger would have shuddered and sickened—and it was reserved for the woman who had exalted him in her maiden's heart, to see him then. His mouth hung open; he breathed stertorously; and the flies, buzzing in and out of the open door beside him, crawled at will over his ashen face. That his chin was freshly shaven, and his hair brushed, added to the ghastliness. The whole picture was horribly vivid; the littlest details of it struck on the retinas of the two observers like blows—the oblong patch of sunlight cleaving the gloom of the shack inside the door; six muskrat pelts above the man's head, tacked to the logs to dry; an old foul pipe with a silver mounting, half fallen from his relaxed fingers and spilling ashes on the bench; his old-fashioned rifle leaning against the door-frame. Garth could have furnished the size, the style and the make of that gun.
Natalie turned a stony face to Garth. "It is he," she whispered.
Garth thought of an old photograph she had shown him of a dark-haired youth sitting on a horse, with a charming, imperious grace of body and feature, in which there was something godlike and unanswerable; and looking at this wreck of a man, toothless, bald and livid, he was struck with awe.
"You have seen," he whispered to Natalie. "Let us ride back."
She shook her head. "I must say what I came for," she said.
"Will you dismount?" he asked.
Natalie shuddered. "Never, here!" she whispered.
In a moment she had commanded herself again. "Please speak to him," she said.
"Mabyn!" called Garth peremptorily.
The man's lids parted. Natalie was directly in front of him. As his sleep-stupefied eyes slowly took her in, he raised himself to an upright position, and struck his eyeballs sharply with his knuckles.
Garth instinctively drew away a little.
"A white woman!" muttered the man, lost in amazement.
Natalie, her head slightly averted, sat her horse like a carven woman.
Fear grew apace with wonder in Mabyn's eyes; his breath quickened; he ceaselessly passed his hand in front of his face. "Natalie!" he muttered, still in the toneless voice of one who sleeps. "Oh, my God! It's Natalie!"
Grasping the edge of the bench, he pulled himself to his feet; and took a few uncertain steps toward her. He put out his hand fearfully.
Natalie sharply reined back her horse. "Don't touch me!" she said.
It broke the spell that held him—but not wholly. His hands dropped to his sides; a saner light appeared in his eyes; and he looked all around, as if to convince himself of the realness of his surroundings. On Garth his eyes lingered stupidly for a moment; then impatiently returned to Natalie.
"If it's you, how did you get here?" he asked quietly enough—still bemused.
"I came over the prairie, as every one comes," she said sharply.
Mabyn frowned. "I'm wide awake," he said irritably. "I know where I am. I fell asleep on the bench half an hour ago—but," his voice deepened and swelled on the note of awe, "you, Natalie! You or your wraith! I—I can't take it in!" The faded eyes bolted, and swept wearily and unseeingly over the lake.
Natalie winced every time he spoke her name. "Try to collect yourself," she said coldly. "There is no doubt of its being I."
"The voice too!" he muttered, struck with the new thought. His eyes returned to her. "Natalie—and not changed at all!" he murmured dreamily. "But more beautiful!"
"If you please!" said Natalie haughtily.
He still stood looking at her with something the air of a bewildered child, but more of the aged lunatic. "The first time I saw her, she was on a horse," he said in his dull voice. "But she was better dressed. Where did you get those clothes?" he asked suddenly.
Natalie shot an appealing glance at Garth.
He, in his over-mastering disgust of the man, could not put away the thought that there was something feigned in this excessive bewilderment. "Come to yourself, Mabyn!" he said sharply. "We can't stop here!"
Mabyn darted a startled, spiteful glance at the new speaker, and without another word, turned and went back to the bench, where he sat, burying his face in his hands. Natalie and Garth looked at each other, scarcely knowing how to act. But presently Mabyn lifted his head again; and, spying his pipe where it had fallen, picked it up, and attentively knocked out what remained of the ashes in the bowl.
Natalie thought she might venture to address him again. "I have something important to tell you," she began.
Mabyn darted a queer, furtive look at her; shame, suspicion, obsequiousness and a sudden, reborn passion all had a part in it. "Won't you shake hands with me?" he asked suddenly.
Natalie drew the long breath that invokes Patience and looked elsewhere.
"You've changed toward me," the man whined.
Indignation suddenly reddened her cheeks, and she levelled her blue eyes upon him in a glance that should have struck to his soul.
But it failed to penetrate very far. "I know I've treated you badly," he went on. "I was coming out in the spring, though; just as soon as I got things straight. I've worked like a son-of-a-gun too, but luck has always been against me." His voice gathered assurance from his own excuses.
"Never mind that now," said Natalie. "Please listen to what I have to say."
But the man, shrinking from matter hateful to his ears, strove to divert her. He struck his forehead with his knuckles, and jumped up. "By Gad! What's the matter with me!" he cried. "I never asked you in! It's a wretched hole, but such as it is——" He had turned to the door. Sudden recollection chopped off the speech midway; and he turned a furtive, frightened face over his shoulder to Natalie.
"N-never mind," he gabbled hurriedly. "Don't come in! It's not fit to receive you! It's better out here!" Little beads of sweat were springing out on his forehead.
His whole bearing had been so wild and stupefied since his waking, that they attached small importance to this display of terror. Natalie patiently essayed to speak again; but again he interrupted.
His face cleared. "You've left your outfit somewhere back on the trail," he said eagerly. "I'll go back with you; and we can talk things over quietly there!" He actually started toward the watercourse, walking with jerky, uneven steps.
Natalie made no move to follow. "I will say what I have to say here," she spoke after him.
Mabyn was voluble, scarcely coherent in his incontinent desire to take her away from the hut. Natalie waited, letting him talk himself out. Finally compelled to give in, he returned with strange, apprehensive glances around the hut, and over the summits of the hills behind. Garth thought his brain was beginning to be affected by a solitary life.
However, he now listened patiently enough.
"You have not written to your mother or to me in many months," began Natalie coldly; "and your letters for three years past have given us no information. Your mother's whole thought is of you; and through her anxiety and suspense she is worn to a shadow of what she was; the doctors tell her she has a mortal disease that must soon prevail."
In spite of herself Natalie's voice softened as she delivered her pitiful plea; but it was not from any kindness for him. "She has been very kind to me all these years," she went on, "and I, to ease her what I could of the torment of her mind during her last days, volunteered to go with her to find you. Her age and her infirmities prevented her from coming any farther than Prince George. I have been fortunate in finding friends who have assisted me the rest of the way. I have come to beg you, on behalf of your mother, to let her see you before she dies. She is waiting in Prince George. She bade me tell you that neither poverty, misfortune nor disgrace could abate any of her love for you; that she would die happy if she might once more press your hand against her cheek."
Garth watched Mabyn narrowly while Natalie was speaking. He saw by the man's rapt expression that her voice charmed his senses, while the purport of what she said was wholly lost on his consciousness. When her voice broke a little at the close, Mabyn's lips parted, and his breath came quicker—but it was no tenderness for a devoted parent, only a passion purely selfish, that caused his lack-lustre eyes to glitter again.
"These letters," concluded Natalie, drawing them forth as she spoke, "three of which I have brought from the post office, and the fourth which she gave me herself, will let you know, better than I can tell you, what she feels."
Mabyn took the letters; and thrusting them carelessly in his pocket—one fell to the ground and lay there unheeded—snatched back at Natalie's hand, and attempted to retain it. Reining her horse back, she wrenched it free.
A little shame reached the seat of Mabyn's consciousness. He reddened. "I'm not a leper," he muttered. "You came to me of your own free will, didn't you?"
"Build nothing on that!" said Natalie instantly and clearly. "I allow no claim on me!"
Mabyn quickly changed to obsequiousness. "I don't want to quarrel with you, Natalie," he whined. "Especially not after what you've just done!"
He went to his bench again; and sat heavily. Again he struck his forehead with his knuckles. "Gad! I can't yet realize it is you that is here!"
Natalie looked at Garth as much as to say that she had accomplished what she came for.
The look was not lost on Mabyn. He sprang up. "I'll do just what you want!" he said hurriedly. "I'll start for Prince George at once—to-day—this minute! God knows there's nothing to keep me here! You have a spare horse, I suppose. I've nothing but that galled cayuse and another as bad!" He uttered his cracked laugh in a tone that was intended to be ingratiating. "That's the advantage of poverty! I've no preparations to make; so lead on!"
Natalie paused irresolutely. This was a contingency she had not foreseen. She shuddered at the possibilities it opened up. In her perplexity she looked again at Garth.
"We will leave you a horse," said he curtly. "And your passage out from the lake Settlement will be arranged for."
"And what money you need," added Natalie in a low tone, and blushing painfully.
But Mabyn's feelings were not hurt. "I can go with you just as well," he blustered.
Natalie looked at Garth once more.
"You may follow us as soon as you choose," said Garth coolly. "We do not desire your company on the way."
For the first time Mabyn appeared to recognize Garth's presence on the scene. He turned a baleful eye on him; and his lips curled back over his gums. "Who are you?" he snarled, adding an oath.
"That is neither here nor there," said Garth. "I speak for Miss Bland."
"Mrs. Mabyn, you mean," sneered the other, thinking to crush him with the information.
"She does not use that name," returned Garth imperturbably.
Mabyn turned furiously to Natalie. "Who is this man?" he cried, his cracked voice sliding into falsetto; "this sleek young sprig that rides alone with you through the country! I demand to know! I have a right to know!"
"I admit no right!" Natalie said firmly.
Mabyn, beside himself with jealous rage, no longer knew what he said. "You won't explain!" he cried. "You can't explain! Here's a nasty situation for a married woman!"
Garth's self-control, stretched on the rack through all this scene, suddenly snapped in twain. Temper with Garth took the form of laughter; mocking, dangerous laughter, that issued startlingly from his grave lips.
He laughed now. "You scoundrel!" he said in cool, incisive tones—though he was not a whit less blinded by passion than Mabyn himself—"after the kind of life you've been leading up here, have you still the assurance to lay a claim upon her! And to cast a reflection on her good name! Have you no mirror to see what you are? Go in the lake, then, and see the vile record written on your face!"
Mabyn was staggered. Garth's terrible scorn penetrated the last wrappings of the warmly nurtured ego within. He shot a startled glance at Garth; and from Garth to the hut and behind, as if wondering how much he knew.
Garth was not through with him. He slipped his stirrups, preparatory to leaping off his horse. Natalie trembled at the quiet man's new aspect.
"Garth!" she entreated urgently.
The sound of her voice recalled him to himself. Settling back in his saddle, he abruptly turned his horse, and went off a little way, struggling to regain his self-command.
Mabyn, misunderstanding, was vastly lifted up by this word of Natalie's, and the writhing ego within hastened to repair the horrid breach Garth had made. He approached her, hidden by her horse from Garth.
"Oh, Natalie!" he gabbled whiningly; "don't listen to him. He's a low cur! But he can't make trouble between you and me! Send him away! Natalie, I seem to have acted badly; but I can explain everything! Circumstances were all against me! In my heart I've never swerved from you! I dream of you every night in my lonesomeness! Wherever I look I see your face before my eyes!"
It was the old trick of passionate speech; Natalie remembered the very words of old; but the man—she averted her head from the hideous spectacle. She was afraid to move or cry out, sure that Garth in his present mind would kill him if he heard.
Mabyn, conceiving nothing of the sublime irony of the figure he made, continued to plead. "Natalie, don't turn away from me! You took me for better or worse, remember! You found me at a disadvantage to-day; I don't look like this ordinarily. And you can make whatever you like of me! Remember the old days at home! I am the same man—Bert—your Bert! Look—he can't see us—I kneel to you as I did then!"
And down he went on his knees, stretching out his arms to her.
There was an odd, slight sound behind him. They both looked—and froze in the attitude of looking. Garth from his station, seeing the new look of horror overspread Natalie's face, spurred to join her.
There, clinging to the corner of the cabin for support, stood the figure of a woman. Her brown skin was blanched to a livid yellow; and her eyes were the eyes of one dead from a shock. She swayed forward from the waist as if her backbone could no longer support her. At her feet a tin pail emptied wild cherries on the ground.
Mabyn scrambled to his feet, shamed, chagrined, furious. "What do you want around here?" he cried brutally—even now seeking to outface her.
The piteous, stricken girl moistened her lips; and essayed more than once to speak, before any words came. "'Erbe't, who is this woman?" she said quite simply at last.
"What is that to you?" he blustered roughly, thinking to beat her down; perhaps to kill her outright with cruelty. "This is my wife!"
"Oh, no! no!" whispered Natalie, sick with the sight of so much misery.
It is doubtful if the girl heard her. She tottered forward; and seized and clung to Mabyn's arm. Her breast was heaved on hard, quick pants like a wounded animal's; and her eyes were as frantic, and as inhuman.
"'Erbe't, who am I?" she breathed.
Mabyn, seeing that Natalie heard and understood, beside himself, and reckless with rage, flung out his arm, throwing her heavily to the ground. "You! damn you!" he cried. "You're just my——"
Natalie, with a low cry of horror, instinctively clapped her heels to her horse's ribs, and set off down the hill. Garth wheeled after her.
"Oh, stay—stay and help her!" she gasped.
"You come first!" said Garth grimly.
Mabyn, as Natalie turned, sprang after her; and running desperately, managed to cling to her stirrup. Casting off the last vestiges of manliness he wept and prayed her to wait for him. Her horse, Caspar, kicked out wildly, and struck him off. He lay on the ground sobbing and cursing; striving to drag himself along with clawing hands.
Just before they gained the watercourse, Garth looked over his shoulder; and his heart leapt into his throat. The brown woman was reaching for Mabyn's rifle. He shouted a warning; and desperately strove to throw his horse behind Natalie. But it was too late. Hard upon his voice, the shot rang. A strange, low cry broke from Natalie; and she reeled in her saddle. Garth, spurring ahead, grasped Caspar's bridle, and caught her from falling. A pang, far more dreadful than the hurt of a bullet, smote his own breast.
XVI
NATALIE WOUNDED
The frightened horses struggled over the watercourse, and gained the trees before Garth, hampered as he was, succeeded in drawing their heads together, and stopping them. Slipping out of the saddle without loosening his grasp of Natalie, he lifted her off, ever careful to shield her from possible further shots with his own body. He remembered Mabyn's was a single-shot weapon; and he counted on the time it would take the Indian woman to obtain ammunition, and reload. Quickly and tenderly laying Natalie on the ground under shelter of a stump, he unslung his own rifle. But as he dropped to his knee, and raised it, he saw the woman on the edge of the cut-bank swing the stock of her gun around her head, and send the weapon spinning out over the water. Meanwhile Mabyn was running up the hill toward her with significant action. No immediate further danger threatened. Garth put the pair out of his mind, and bent over Natalie. What happened to the woman at Mabyn's hands was a matter of indifference to him now.
Natalie's left arm hung useless; and a soaking crimson stain spread broadly on her sleeve between elbow and shoulder. Her face had gone chalky white, her eyes were half closed, and her teeth were set painfully in her blue nether lip. To see his sparkling, vivid Natalie brought so low, was a sight to open all the doors of Garth's brain to madness. His heart swelled suffocatingly with rage and grief, but there was no time for that, when every faculty he possessed must be concentrated on saving her; and forcing it back, he picked her up again with infinite tenderness. His first and instinctive thought was to return and seize the hut; so that he might at least have a roof to cover her. He suspected the other two were now without arms; but even if they had a weapon, he had a better one; was a sure shot; and was on his guard.
At the first move he made in the direction of the hut, Natalie, whom he had thought unconscious, divined his intention.
"Garth! Not in his house!" she murmured feverishly. "I will not go in there! I will not!"
He paused in a painful perplexity. "But dearest, there is no other house," he said.
"Put me down in the open air," she begged. "It would suffocate me! I will not endure it!"
So Garth turned back among the trees. He strode over the dead leaves and the pine needles to the lake shore. Here, between the willows that grew thickly at the water's verge, and the heavier timber, extended an open strip of grass, still fresh and green. He laid his burden down upon it; and, rolling up his coat, put it under her head for a pillow.
He hastily cut away her sleeve, exposing the injury. The ball had passed through, making a clean opening where it entered, and a jagged wound whence it issued. It was clear the bone was broken; but from the character of the bleeding, even Garth could see that the artery was uninjured. He brought water from the lake in his hat, and gently washed the wound; but even in this he doubted if he did right; for the water was cold—but he had nothing in which to heat it. The best he could do was to take the chill out of it by pressing the handkerchief between his hot hands.
Everything they possessed that might have been of service was two miles off; and might just as well have been a hundred; for Garth could not think of leaving her; and he shrank from the thought of inflicting the agony it would cause her to be carried so far. And even suppose they gained their own camp, the situation would be little improved; for how was he in his ignorance to undertake the delicate task of setting the shattered bone; of improvising splints and bandages; and supplying, what a glance at the ugly wound showed to be needful, antiseptics? A surgeon, whatever his skill, rarely dares trust the steadiness of his hand on the bodies of those he loves; what then was Garth to do, who had no skill at all?
He had his dark hour then, tasting ultimate despair. He sat beside her, gripping his dull head between his hands, and striving desperately to contrive, where there was nothing to contrive with. Oh, the pity and the wrong of it, that it was she who must be hurt! he thought; and how joyfully he would have taken it himself to relieve her. He bled inwardly; and the physical pain of the most hideous wounds could not equal the agony he experienced in his helplessness.
Meanwhile the wound momentarily changed. The arm began to swell and darken; and Garth knew there was no time to lose. He made one attempt to proceed, kneading the flesh of the arm very gently to explore the broken ends of the bone—but Natalie's piteous cry of pain completely unmanned him. He desisted, shaking like a leaf, and sick with compassion; and he knew he would never be able to do it.
What seemed like an age passed; though it was no more than a few minutes. He was bending over her, doing what little he could to ease her pain; and with knotted brows rapidly considering, and rejecting, one after another, the desperate expedients that suggested themselves. Suddenly looking up he perceived among the trees, at the distance of a few paces, Rina standing. Hot anger instantly welled up in his breast, and made a red blur before his eyes. Rina's sex was no protection to her then. He picked up his gun.
Observing the action, Rina mutely spread her hands, palms outward. Her entire aspect had changed; the storm of passion had passed; and she stood contrite and sullen. It was impossible for the blindest passion to shoot at a figure in such an attitude. Garth lowered his gun; but he still kept it across his knees, and his face did not relax. The woman was loathsome to him.
"What do you want?" he demanded coldly.
Rina came a little closer. "I sorry," she said sulkily—like a child unwillingly confessing a fault. "I t'ink I go looney for a while. I not hear right. I t'ink she try to tak' my 'osban' from me!"
Garth glanced at the suffering Natalie with contracted brows. "That's all very well!" he said bitterly. "But it can't undo what's done!"
"I can mak' her well, maybe," said Rina, still affecting indifference. "I know what to do. My mot'er, she teach me. If you let me look at her, I tell you."
A wild hope sprang up in Garth's breast. If the girl were only able to help Natalie, his hate of her could very well content itself a while. But dare he trust her? With keen, hard eyes he sought to read her face. Her own eyes avoided his; and she made a picture of savage indifference; but as he looked he saw two great tears roll down her cheeks. In his desperate situation it was well worth the risk.
Raising his gun, he said coldly: "You may look at her. If you try to injure her, I will send a bullet through your head."
Receiving the permission, Rina came forward, careless of the threatening gun; and dropped to her knees beside Natalie. She examined the wound on both sides; and felt of the fracture with delicate fingers. To judge of the normal position of the bones, she manipulated her own arm. Garth never took his eyes from her; but she was tenderer with the patient than he could have been.
Finally she raised a mask-like face to Garth. "I can fix it," she said. "If you let me."
Whatever her private feelings were, she had a confident air, that could not but convey some assurance to him. He nodded silently; after what he had suffered, he scarcely dared believe in such good fortune.
Rina quickly rose. "You mak' a fire to heat water," she said coolly. "I go to bring everyt'ing."
With the words, she was gone among the trees; and Garth, overjoyed to be able to do something with his hands, hastened to build a fire.
Before he really expected her, she was back with what she needed, a pot for heating the water, a basin, several kinds of herbs, some strips of yellowed linen for bandages, a blanket and a knife. While the water was heating, she cut a deep segment of the smooth white bark of a young poplar for a splint—the curve of it was judged to a nicety to fit Natalie's arm. During the operation of setting the bone, Garth watched her unswervingly, clenching his teeth to bear the spectacle of Natalie's agony. For every pang of hers he suffered a sharper; the sweat coursed down his face.
But at last it was over; the wound washed and fomented with bruised leaves, the splint fitted snug, and the whole neatly bandaged. Natalie, wrapped in the blanket, soon fell into the sleep of exhaustion.
Rina looked at the pale and shaken Garth with an odd expression. "If you have whiskey, better tak' a drink," she suggested.
Garth had his flask; and he obeyed without question.
Throughout the operation, Rina had preserved an admirable, professional air, intent and impersonal; and when necessary she had brusquely ordered Garth to help her. Now that it was all over her face altered; she continued to kneel at Natalie's side, gazing at her soft hair, and the whiteness of her skin with a kind of sad and jealous wonder.
Garth on the alert at the change, which portended he knew not what explosion of passion in the savage woman's breast, ordered her from Natalie's side. She obeyed, resuming her sullen mask, but lingered near him, plainly full of some question she desired to ask. He observed for the first, a purpling bruise above her temple. Rina saw his eyes upon it, and her colour changed.
"I run against a tree," she hastily volunteered.
At the same time her hand stole to her throat to hide certain marks on its dusky roundness. Garth knew instinctively that she was loyally lying. Mabyn had beaten her. He wondered how far the wish to serve the woman she had injured was Rina's own impulse and how far she had been forced to it by Mabyn. He began dimly to conceive that the red woman had good qualities.
At last the question on her breast was spoken. "Who is she?" she asked, pointing sullenly at the sleeping Natalie.
Garth rapidly considered what he should answer. He could not pretend to himself that he had forgiven the woman; but since Natalie's pain was mitigated he was cooler; and his sense of justice forced it home on him that Rina, too, had been through her ordeal. In his present desperate situation, his only chance of assistance lay in her—Mabyn was an egomaniac, and utterly irresponsible. Frankness had served Garth in good stead before this; and finally he told her the plain truth in such terms that she could understand.
"This feeling Mabyn has for her," he insisted in the end, "is only a passing one. If we can get her out of his sight all will go on as before."
Rina nodded. Her inscrutable face softened a little, he thought. "I on'erstan' now," she said quietly. "So I not go crazy wit' t'inking about it."
Garth was glad he had told her.
Rina stood studying him with her strange and secret air. "You love her ver' moch," she said suddenly, pointing to Natalie.
Garth bent over the sleeping figure in a way that answered her better than words.
"I t'ink she love you too," said Rina gravely. "When I 'urt her, she try not to cry because it 'urt you so bad."
A slow red crept under Garth's skin. He hated to betray himself under the eyes of the red woman; and he bustled about, averting his face from her. "When can she be moved?" he asked, brusquely changing the subject.
Rina shook her head. "I not know," she said. "Maybe she have fever. Three, four week maybe."
Garth's heart sunk heavily, as he considered their scanty supplies, the approach of winter—and, more dangerous still, the fruitful opportunities of conflict the weeks would offer to four souls so strangely opposed, and so strangely bound together in the wilderness.
"What is Mabyn doing now?" he asked suddenly.
Rina's face instantly became as blank as plaster. "I not talk to you about him," she said coolly.
Garth was conscious of receiving a rebuke.
"But I help you," she added presently. "I go bring your outfit in."
Before she went, she brewed a draught for Natalie with some of the herbs she had brought; and instructed Garth to administer it when she woke. For an instant all Garth's suspicions returned; and he looked at her hard. Rina, divining his thought, coolly lifted the pail to her lips, and drank of it. Once more he felt himself rebuked.
Left alone, his thoughts reverted to Mabyn. What would he have been plotting all this time? he wondered; what stand would he take in this new posture of affairs? It was too much to hope, he decided, that one so selfish and so jealous could be persuaded to sink his animosity against Garth, for the purpose of serving Natalie while she lay injured. Garth's business had made him more or less familiar with the workings of the diseased ego; and he was convinced that Mabyn, if for nothing else, hated him intolerably for having been the spectator of his repulse by Natalie.
As time passed, Natalie began to stir and mutter in her sleep and Garth, bending over her, fearful of fever, put the man out of his head. Returning to her from the edge of the lake, with cloths wrung out of cold water, he found her with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Send him away! Send him away!" she muttered. "I cannot have him near me!"
At first he thought her mind wandered, but following the direction of her eyes, he saw the figure of a man skulking among the trees; and his face grimmed. Soothing her, he offered Rina's drink; and it had an immediate effect. She dropped off to sleep again. Then Garth picked up his gun and strode toward Mabyn.
The man waited for him with an air oddly mixed of fear and bravado. As Garth came close he smiled in a way that he intended to be ingratiating—but Mabyn's smile only rendered him more hideous. Garth's first look made sure that both his hands were empty.
"Is there anything I can do?" Mabyn asked with apparent solicitude.
"Yes, keep away from here," returned Garth curtly. "If I catch you within a hundred yards of my camp, I'll wing you so you won't move again as long as we're here."
Mabyn assumed an aggrieved expression. "You needn't take that tone," he grumbled. "I came in friendliness. I want to have a talk with you."
"I'm listening," said Garth.
Mabyn twisted uneasily. "Damn it! How can a man make friendly advances when you're standing over him with a gun!" he said.
"Say what you've got to say, or clear out," said Garth.
The aggrieved air proving ineffectual, Mabyn substituted offended silence; offered to go; and came back. "Well, look here!" he said at last. "This is it. Here are the three of us up here——"
"Four," amended Garth.
"Well, four if you like," said Mabyn. "We're stuck here together. We can't afford to quarrel. We've got to have some working agreement."
"Is that all?" said Garth uncompromisingly.
Mabyn looked around with the air of a much-tried man, appealing to the bystanders—that they were only indifferent trees, rather spoiled the effect. "I wouldn't take this from any man if it wasn't that I was bent on avoiding trouble," he blustered.
Garth suppressed the scornful inclination to laugh.
"Look here," began Mabyn afresh, with a reasonable air. "I came to offer you the shack for Natalie. She can't sleep in the open in her condition."
"Much obliged," said Garth coolly. "I intended to take it in the first place. But Miss Bland refused to allow herself to be carried there."
Mabyn's eyes bolted. His control over his facial muscles was imperfect; and the struggle between the open character he desired to convey, and the secret feelings that tortured him, was plain. "What are you going to do?" he asked.
"Build her a house," said Garth.
Mabyn, turning his back, appeared to be considering.
"Is that all you have to say?" asked Garth.
The other turned a face of obstinate friendliness and good will. "Look here—" he began all over. "I don't know your name——"
Garth informed him.
"Well, Pevensey, I'm sorry for what passed this morning. I regret what I said. I was only half awake; and scarcely knew what I did. Will you overlook it?"
"Talk is cheap," said Garth guardedly. "I will be guided by your actions henceforth." But his voice was milder; for an apology could not help but speak to his sense of generosity.
Mabyn, encouraged, amplified his penitent, ingratiating air. "As to the future," he said, "I mean to show you. You'll soon be satisfied!" He came closer. "In the meantime let's make a truce! Shake hands on it!"
Garth thoroughly distrusted the man; but he could see no harm to Natalie in accepting his offer, while privately determining to relax none of his vigilance. It was only too true, as Mabyn had said; neither could afford to quarrel. Mabyn had no gun, and Garth could not leave Natalie's side for an instant.
"I am willing," said Garth readily. "But it's understood this doesn't affect what I said before. You are not to come within a hundred yards of this camp!"
Mabyn shrugged, as at the unworthiness of Garth's suspicions.
"You agree to it?" Garth persisted.
"All right!" said Mabyn—a shade too readily. "Shake!"
Garth shifted his gun; and advanced to take Mabyn's hand. The man could not keep an ugly little gleam from showing in his shifty gray eye; and Garth stopped abruptly. Mabyn sneered. Garth, fired by one of the imperious impulses of the blood of youth, strode forward and grasped the extended hand defiantly.
He saw instantly his mistake. Mabyn's face was suddenly transfigured by the deadly hatred he had long repressed. His right hand closed on Garth's like a vice; and at the same time a knife slipped out of his sleeve into the other hand. He jerked the surprised Garth halfway round; and aimed a blow between his shoulders. Garth was oddly conscious of the fresh marks of the whetstone on the blade of the knife. With the incredible swiftness of our subconscious moves, he dropped his useless gun; and twisting his body around, flung up his free hand, and warded the descending blow. Seizing Mabyn's wrist, he flung himself forward to bear the other back.
It was all very brief. Mabyn, braced to receive Garth's weight, held his ground. Inspired with a febrile strength, he enjoyed a temporary advantage. Unable to reach Garth's back, he thrust desperately at his face, his neck—but only stabbed the air. They were locked together with their arms crossed—surely as strange a posture as ever men fought in! But Mabyn had staked all on the first blow; and that failing, there could be but one result. His fictitious strength suddenly failing, he collapsed in Garth's arms. Garth wrenched his hand free and hurled him to the ground, where he lay, livid and sobbing for breath. The attack had been contrived with devilish cunning; but every design this man undertook in life was foredoomed to failure.
Garth secured the knife; and stood looking down at the broken wretch, with strong waves of disgust welling over him. He laughed briefly.
"Too contemptible to kill!" he said; and turned on his heel.
XVII
THE CLUE TO RINA
Rina brought all four horses handily through the wood, bringing up the rear on the back of old Cy. She slipped off beside Garth, and looked in the direction where Natalie lay.
"Still sleeping," Garth said.
As Rina's eyes fell on him, they suddenly widened; and plain fear broke through the mask of her face. "'Erbe't been here!" she said breathlessly.
"How do you know?" he said in surprise.
Rina pointed to his belt. "You got his knife!" she said. "How you get his knife?"
"He tried to murder me with it," said Garth, watching her face narrowly.
Rina had no more thought for Natalie. "Where is he?" she said agitatedly. "W'at you do to him?"
"I let him go," Garth said carelessly. "Murder is not exactly in my line."
"He try to kill you an' you let him go!" she breathed incredulously. Plainly such magnanimity was outside her ken. She walked away from him, considering it.
Presently she came back with a swift glide. "You got to promise me not to 'urt 'Erbe't!" she said, threateningly and passionately.
"If he attacks me, I defend myself—and her," Garth said coolly.
Rina studied the ground. It was impossible for him to tell what was going on behind her inscrutable eyes. In a moment she went to Natalie as if nothing had happened; and dropping beside her, listened attentively to her breathing. Garth, ever watchful, followed her close. When she arose, they moved off a little to avoid disturbing the patient; and Rina briefly instructed Garth what he should do during the night.
Garth, not satisfied with merely knowing what to do, asked the reason of her various measures; whereupon Rina became suddenly evasive.
"But I must know why you do these things," he insisted.
Rina looked away. "I not tell you," she said coolly.
"What does this mean?" he demanded, surprised and frowning.
Rina met his eyes. "Nobody but me can mak' her well," she said boldly. "I mak' her well if you not 'urt 'Erbe't. If you go after 'Erbe't, she can die. I not look at her no more!"
This at least was honest; and Garth could respect such an opponent. "He's safe!" he said coolly. "Provided he keeps away from here."
Rina vouchsafed no comment. "I come to-morrow," she said and disappeared through the trees.
The horses offered Garth his next problem. Since immediately they were turned out they would bolt for the sweet grass of the prairie above, there was no way in which he could secure them from Mabyn, or keep them within reach against a time of need. They might stray for miles over the plains before he could leave Natalie long enough to round them up. But there was no help for it; the beasts would all die of starvation, if he attempted to keep them in his camp. There was a little grass between the willows and the timber; and he determined to keep old Cy picketed nearby, to be sure of one mount in the case of an emergency. The other three he hobbled, hung a bell around Emmy's neck, and turned them loose.
He was now able to make Natalie more comfortable. Putting up her tent, he spread a bed of balsam within, and her own blankets upon it. The next time she awoke, he carried her inside; and at the door of the tent, where he could look at her, and speak to her, he cooked her the best invalid's supper the grub-box and his own skill could afford. This same grub-box was an ever-fresh cause of anxiety to him; allowing for liberal contributions from his own gun, he could not see much more than a week's supply for two. This he kept to himself, however, while he joked and made light of their situation for Natalie's benefit. She was very quiet; she did not suffer much, she said; but she had little humour to talk. When Garth thought of her, only the day before, galloping over the prairie, he ground his teeth afresh. But the silver lining of this blackest cloud of his was that in her weakness she clung to him unreservedly.
Some time after supper she fell asleep again; and Garth prepared for his night-long vigil. His head was much too busy to allow of any desire for sleep. Sitting in the dark, he faced the situation open-eyed. There they were in the remotest wilderness, imprisoned in the narrow valley by Natalie's injury for weeks to come; with insufficient food and inclement weather in prospect, and without the remotest chance of succour from the outside. Moreover, there hovered about them an implacable and half-insane enemy, whose busy brain was bent on Garth's destruction. The outlook was enough to unnerve the strongest; there were things in it that Garth in his courage could only glance at, and hurriedly avert the eyes of his mind.
The night was so still he could hear the breathing of the horse at fifty paces. He had let the fire die down, for fear its loud crackling would awaken Natalie. Overhead the Northern lights flung their ragged pennons across the zenith, with a ghostly echo of rustling. He suddenly became conscious of distant human voices in the void of stillness; and presently distinguished the voice of Mabyn. Rina's answers he could not hear, though he sensed a second voice. The sound was from the neighbourhood of the hut.
Garth was tempted by the opportunity to discover at the same time the plans of his enemy, and Rina's true disposition toward himself. He glanced at Natalie; she had but lately fallen asleep, and was sleeping soundly; there were no animals abroad that could harm her; he need be gone but half an hour. The rôle of eavesdropper was not at all attractive to him; but he felt he had no right to refuse to use any weapon that offered. Finally he fastened the flaps of Natalie's tent, replenished the fire, and stole away through the trees.
He crossed the stony watercourse to the left of the usual place and mounted the slope. Coming closer, he satisfied himself that the speakers were sitting on the bench at the door of the shack. In the darkness he almost fell across the figure of the little cayuse, prone in the grass. The animal scrambled to its feet and trotted away. Garth paused, listening, his heart in his throat—but Mabyn's voice presently went on undisturbed.
He finally gained the top of the rise; and let himself down in the grass, distant some thirty feet from them. A flash of lightning—or even the lighting of a lantern would have revealed him clearly.
He instantly understood that he was the subject of their talk.
"It's his life or mine," in Mabyn's blustering whine were the first words he distinctly heard.
"He could kill you to-day, and he let you go," Rina quietly returned.
"That's a lie!" blustered Mabyn. "How do you know?" he added inconsequentially.
"He tak' your knife from you. I saw it in his belt," said Rina. "And he let you go."
Mabyn made no reply.
"He say to me he not 'urt you, if you keep away from there," Rina went on.
"Keep away!" Mabyn fumed. "This is my place! I'll go where I choose on it! He's trespassing on my land! I've a right to drive him off! I've a right to kill him if he doesn't go!"
"He will hear you!" said Rina warningly.
"Let him hear me!" said the man—nevertheless he lowered his voice. "They're a quarter-mile off," he added.
"Listen!" said Rina.
Over the lake, from an immeasurable distance, came throbbing the imbecile laughter of a loon.
"Loon, him three miles off," said Rina significantly.
Thereafter, Mabyn spoke in a whisper; a wheedling note crept into his voice. "That was a good scheme of yours, going to the camp to set the girl's arm," he said. "Now we can find out all they do!"
"I not go to find out," said Rina sadly. "I go for I sorry I 'urt her. I shoot her jus' lak a breed I am!"
Mabyn paid no attention to this. "Keep your eyes open when you're in their camp every day," he urged. "See how much food they have; find out where he keeps the shells for his gun. If you could only steal the gun!"