CHAPTER XVII
A BOARD CREAKS
After Morse had closed the door, Jessie listened until the crispcrunch of his footsteps had died away. She subdued an impulse to callhim back and put into words her quarrel against him.
From the table she picked up a gun-cover of moose leather she wasmaking and moved to the fireplace. Automatically her fingers fittedinto place a fringe of red cloth. (This had been cut from an oldpetticoat, but the source of the decoration would remain a secret, noton any account to be made known to him who was to receive the gift.)Usually her hands were busy ones, but now they fell away from the worklistlessly.
The pine logs crackled, lighting one end of the room and filling theair with aromatic pungency. As she gazed into the red coals her mindwas active.
She knew that her scorn of the fur-trader was a fraud. Into her hatredof him she threw an energy always primitive and sometimes savage. Buthe held her entire respect. It was not pleasant to admit this. Hermind clung to the shadowy excuse that he had been a wolfer, althoughthe Indians looked on him now as a good friend and a trader who wouldnot take advantage of them. Angus McRae himself had said there was nobetter citizen in the Northland.
No, she could not hold Tom Morse in contempt as she would have liked.But she could cherish her animosity and feed it on memories thatscorched her as the whiplash had her smooth and tender flesh. Shewould never forgive him--never. Not if he humbled himself in the dust.
Toward Angus McRae she held no grudge whatever. He had done only hisduty as he saw it. The circumstances had forced his hand, for her wordhad pledged him to punishment. But this man who had walked into herlife so roughly, mastered her by physical force, dragged her tothe ignominy of the whip, and afterward had dared to do her aservice--when she woke at night and thought of him she still burnedwith shame and anger. He had been both author and witness of herhumiliation.
The girl's reverie stirred reflection of other men, for already shehad suitors in plenty. Upon one of them her musing lingered. He hadbrought to her gifts of the friendly smile, of comradeship, of youth'sdebonair give-and-take. She did not try to analyze her feeling forWinthrop Beresford. It was enough to know that he had brought into herexistence the sparkle of joy.
For life had stalked before her with an altogether too tragic mien.In this somber land men did not laugh much. Their smiles held abackground of gravity. Icy winter reigned two thirds of the year andsummer was a brief hot blaze following no spring. Nature demanded ofthose who lived here that they struggle to find subsistence. In thatconflict human beings forgot that they had been brought into the worldto enjoy it with careless rapture.
Somewhere in the house a board, creaked. Jessie heard itinattentively, for in the bitter cold woodwork was always snapping andcracking.
Beresford had offered her a new philosophy of life. She did not quiteaccept it, yet it fascinated. He believed that the duty of happinesswas laid on people as certainly as the duty of honesty. She rememberedthat once he had said....
There had come to her no sound, but Jessie knew that some one hadopened the door and was standing on the threshold watching her. Sheturned her head. Her self-invited guest was Whaley.
Jessie rose. "What do you want?"
She was startled at the man's silent entry, ready to be alarmed ifnecessary, but not yet afraid. It was as though her thoughts waitedfor the cue he would presently give. Some instinct for safety made hercautious. She did not tell the free trader that her father and Ferguswere from home.
He looked at her, appraisingly, from head to foot, in such a way thatshe felt his gaze had stripped her.
"You know what I want. You know what I'm going to get ... some day,"he purred in his slow, feline way.
She pushed from her mind a growing apprehension.
"Father and Fergus--if you want them--"
"Have I said I wanted them?" he asked. "They're out in the woodstrappin'. I'm not lookin' for them. The two of us'll be company foreach other."
"Go," she said, anger flaring at his insolence. "Go. You've nobusiness here."
"I'm not here for business, but for pleasure, my dear."
The cold, fishy eyes in his white face gloated. Suddenly she wanted toscream and pushed back the desire scornfully. If she did, nobody wouldhear her. This had to be fought out one to one.
"Why didn't you knock?" she demanded.
"We'll say I did and that you didn't hear me," he answered suavely."What's it matter among friends anyhow?"
"What do you want?" By sheer will power she kept her voice low.
"Your mother's over at the house. I dropped in to say she'll probablystay all night."
"Is your wife worse?"
He lifted the black brows that contrasted so sharply with the pallorof the face. "Really you get ahead of me, my dear. I don't recall evergetting married."
"That's a hateful thing to say," she flamed, and bit her lower lipwith small white teeth to keep from telling the squaw-man what shethought of him. The Cree girl he had taken to wife was going downinto the Valley of the Shadow to bear him a child while he callouslyrepudiated her.
He opened his fur coat and came to the fireplace. "I can say nicerthings--to the right girl," he said, and looked meaningly at her.
"I'll have to go get Susie Lemoine to stay with me," Jessie saidhurriedly. "I didn't know Mother wasn't coming home."
She made a move toward a fur lying across the back of a chair.
He laid a hand upon her arm. "What's your rush? What are you dodgin'for, girl? I'm good as Susie to keep the goblins from gettin you."
"Don't touch me." Her eyes sparked fire.
"You're mighty high-heeled for a nitchie. I reckon you forget you'reSleeping Dawn, daughter of a Blackfoot squaw."
"I'm Jessie McRae, daughter of Angus, and if you insult me, you'llhave to settle with him."
He gave a short snort of laughter. "Wake up, girl. What's the use offoolin' yourself? You're a breed. McRae's tried to forget it and sohave you. But all the time you know damn well you're half Injun."
Jessie looked at him with angry contempt, then wheeled for the door.
Whaley had anticipated that and was there before her. His narrowed,covetous eyes held her while one hand behind his back slid the boltinto place.
"Let me out!" she cried.
"Be reasonable. I'm not aimin' to hurt you."
"Stand aside and let me through."
He managed another insinuating laugh. "Have some sense. Quit ridin'that high horse and listen while I talk to you."
But she was frightened by this time as much as she was incensed. Adrum of dread was beating in her panicky heart. She saw in his eyeswhat she had never before seen on a face that looked into hers--thoughshe was to note it often in the dreadful days that followed--theruthless appetite of a wild beast crouching for its kill."
"Let me go! Let me go!" Her voice was shrilly out of control. "Unbarthe door, I tell you!"
"I'm a big man in this country. Before I'm through. I'll be head chiefamong the trappers for hundreds of miles. I'm offerin' you the chanceof a lifetime. Throw in with me and you'll ride in your coach atWinnipeg some day." Voice and words were soft and smooth, but back ofthem Jessie felt the panther couched for its spring.
She could only repeat her demand, in a cry that reached its ictus in asob.
"If you're dreamin' about that red-coat spy--hopin' he'll marryyou after he's played fast and loose with you--why, forget suchfoolishness. I know his kind. When he's had his fling, he'll go backto his own people and settle down. He's lookin' for a woman, not awife."
"That's a lie!" she flung out, rage for the moment in ascendent. "Openthat door or I'll--"
Swiftly his hand shot forward and caught her wrist. "What'll you do?"he asked, and triumph rode in his eyes.
She screamed. One of his hands clamped down over her mouth, the otherwent round her waist and drew the slim body to him. She fought,straining from him, throwing back her head in another lifted shriekfor help.
As
well she might have matched her strength with a buffalo bull. Hewas still under forty, heavy-set, bones packed with heavy muscles. Itseemed to her that all the power of her vital youth vanished and leftonly limp and flaccid weakness. He snatched her close and kissed thedusky eyes, the soft cheeks, the colorful lips....
She became aware that he was holding her from him, listening. Therewas a crash of wood.
Again her call for help rang out.
Whaley flung her from him. He crouched, every nerve and muscle tense,lips drawn back in a snarl. She saw that in his hand there was arevolver.
Against the door a heavy weight was hurled. The wood burst intosplinters as the bolt shot from the socket. Drunkenly a man plungedacross the threshold, staggering from the impact of the shock.