CHAPTER XVI
IN HIDING ON HUSKIES' ISLAND
They stared at one another in silence, striving not to realise themeaning of those words; yet their meaning was unavoidable.
Both knew the legend of the _loup-garou_, the grim tradition of thepeasants of Quebec which the _coureurs des bois_ have carried withthem into every part of Canada. Often in the Klondike, when seatedround the stove on a winter's night, they had heard it retold byFrench-Canadians, in low excited whispers, with swift and frightenedturnings of the head. They had laughed at it in the daylight: yet atnight, when the tale was in the telling, it had seemed very real tothem. Then there had come that Christmas-Eve, when Jacques La Francehad been found dead in his shack, with a hole in his neck, justoutside of Dawson City. Little Baptiste had owned with tears to thecrime, and had excused himself saying that he had been compelled tothe shooting because Jacques was his dearest friend, and Jacques hadbecome a _loup-garou_ through not attending the Easter Sacrament forseven years; as everybody knew, only by the inflicting of a bloodywound on his beast's body could his soul be saved from hell.
The jury who had tried him had been composed mostly ofFrench-Canadians. When it had been proved to them that wolf tracks hadbeen found before the dead man's threshold, they had acquittedBaptiste, and had apologised for his arrest, in defiance of thejudge's disapproval.
* * * * *
Two and a half years at Murder Point had made Granger undogmatic onproblems of metempsychosis, and of the extent to which the barrierswhich hedge in Man's spiritual life may be pushed back.
It seemed not unlikely to him that there were men whose souls,consciously or unconsciously, either by reason of their crimes or forthe better accomplishment of an evil desire, could go out from theirbodies while they slept, and be changed into the forms of beasts ofprey between sunset and dawn-rise. At all events, this was aphenomenon which could not be disproved, and there were many whobelieved it true.
So he recalled unjudgingly the story of Jacques, also he remembered aninstance still nearer home--that of the Hudson Bay factor, who hadprayed to God that he might gaze with his living eyes upon hisdisembodied soul.
It was not the possibility of the fact which he doubted, butSpurling's motive in telling him such a tale.
Might he not have shown him the gold only in order to regain hisfriendship, and then have lied to him in order to restrain him frominvestigating, and, perhaps, with the purpose of sowing distrust inhis mind concerning Beorn and Eyelids? Whatever had been his purpose,_there_ was the gold; Granger was determined, in spite of the risk, tosee the Forbidden River for himself. Spurling was speaking, "And hiseyebrows meet," he said.
Granger knew to what he was referring, for, all the world over, wherethis belief is current, it is supposed that the werewolf may bedetected in his human guise by the meeting of his eyebrows, whichappear like wings, as if his soul were prepared for flight.
He was about to reply, when his hand, straying about his throat,chanced upon the silver chain by which the locket of Mordaunt wassuspended, which he had stolen from the body of Strangeways. It waslike a warning voice, recalling the past, which urged him to distrustthis man. Spurling must have seen the change, for he leant overtowards him appealingly, as if he were about to entreat him to bepatient. With a gesture of annoyance Granger rose to his feet andcommenced to walk away; but he halted sharply and drew into theshadow, signing to Spurling to keep quiet. From very far away, borneon the stillness of the night, they could hear the rhythmic beat ofseveral paddle-blades.
Crawling upon his hands and knees, Spurling joined him. "What is it?"he asked. "Is it Eyelids again?" Granger pointed up-river. "They'recoming from the west," he whispered, "and there are at least four menby the sound of the blades."
"What men come from the west at this season? Surely, they should betravelling in the opposite direction, going towards God's Voice?"
"They should be, and it is for that reason that I fear for yoursafety."
Nothing more was said, but Spurling guessed what was implied--thatthis might be a fresh messenger of justice, coming down the LastChance River to rob him of his life.
Very stealthily, taking advantage of every shadow, they crept down thehillside through the underbrush, till they came to the cove wherethey had landed. Twenty paces from the water's edge they hidthemselves, at a point from which they could command a view of thetravellers' approach.
Nearer and nearer the monotonous swirling of the water, beaten by thepaddles, came; the darkness ahead of the island shifted and tookshape; they could distinctly hear the sound of men's voices, engagedin low-pitched and angry conversation. A large canoe, carrying sixmen, which flew the red flag of the Hudson Bay Company, shot out fromthe shadows. Now they could make out some of the words which werebeing spoken by two of the travellers.
"And you say that you believe he's innocent! Well then I tell you thathe's a damned scoundrel. If he didn't actually kill him, it wasn't forlack of the desire; you may bet your sweet life on that. In any case,he's a demoralising influence in the district, and it's best for allparties that he should be put out of the way."
A second voice interrupted at this point; it seemed to be arguing andtrying to conciliate, but its tones were so low and spoken so rapidlythat it was only possible to gather its general intention. The firstvoice spoke again.
"I don't care about the other man; there's no sense in looking forhim. He's probably dead by now. But the fellows I can't stand arethese blamed private traders; they're always up to some dirty work.When I get my chance of putting one of them out of business, I don'thesitate. To hell with all private traders, I say."
The canoe had now drawn level with the cove, so that Granger was ableto recognise its occupants. In the stern sat the Indian steersman,with a rifle ready to his hand. Next to him sat a large red-beardedman, broad in the shoulders, massive in the jowl, almost brutal in hisevidence of strength; even in that dusky light one could feel that hisface was clenched in a scowl, and that his eyes were piercingly grayand cruel. Facing him, with his back towards the prow, sat PereAntoine, a little bent forward, gesticulating with his hands, hiswhole attitude that of one who is trying to explain and persuade.After him came the remaining three Indian and half-breed paddle-men,sharp-featured and unemotional, stooping vigorously to their work.
"And what do you propose doing?" asked Pere Antoine.
"Why, what I've already told you a dozen times--treat him like a maddog. I shall arrest him at once, and take him back with me as prisonerto God's Voice. When once I've got him there, I shall make him confessand get together sufficient evidence to have him hanged. This wholeaffair has been a scandal, and I'm going to put a stop to it. I shallmake an example of this man. Why, soon it won't be safe to travelanywhere, unless you go protected. He must have had a nice lot ofruffians for his friends, if this fellow Spurling was a specimen. Andnow they've taken to paying him visits. . . ."
The canoe bore the speaker out of earshot, leaving the listeners withthe sentence uncompleted.
Granger was aroused from some very uncomfortable imaginings bySpurling, who, touching him on the elbow, exclaimed in surprise, "Why,it isn't me; it's you they're after!"
Then, when he received no answer, he asked, "What is it that you havedone?"
It was Cain accusing Judas with a vengeance.
"Done! I've done nothing," Granger exclaimed, pushing him aside;"Robert Pilgrim is mistaken."
"That's what we all say, until we are forced to own up."
But Granger was not listening to what Spurling said; he was torturedwith the truth of one sentence which he had heard that night. "If hedidn't actually kill him, it wasn't for lack of the desire." How hadRobert Pilgrim guessed that? As he himself had confessed toStrangeways, he had been tempted at first to let him go on his wayunwarned, and take his chances of falling through the ice. Eventuallyhe had cautioned him, but so late and in such a manner that his wordshad only had the effect of skilfully forwarding his earlier baseinte
ntion. _If he had not actually killed him, it was not for lack ofthe desire._ And by how much was he superior to this man, crouching athis side, whom he had so often condemned and had again condemned thatnight?
Spurling answered that question for him. Rising to his feet andstretching his cramped arms and legs, he remarked, "Well, of course,if you won't take me into your confidence, there's nothing more to besaid. If you don't want to tell me, I won't trouble you by askingagain; but it seems to me that we're both in the one boat now."
This new sense of equality with his companion, though it was only anequality in crime, had suddenly brought about a change for the betterin Spurling. He carried himself freely, in the old defiant manner, andhad lost his attitude of cringing subservience. At first Granger hadit in his heart to hate him for the change, knowing, as he did, thatit arose from an unhesitating acceptance of this chance-heard,unproved assertion of his own kindred degradation. But soon the hatredgave way to another emotion, which, perhaps, had its genesis in amemory of those earlier days, when this man had been willing to standbetween him and the world. In gazing upon him, looking so big andpowerful, he was comforted with a sense that his misery was shared. Alatter-day writer has wisely recorded, "I have observed that the mereknowing that other people have been tried as we have been tried is aconsolation to us, and that we are relieved by the assurance that oursufferings are not special and peculiar. In the worst of maladies, thehealing effect which is produced by the visit of a friend who cansimply say, 'I have endured all that,' is most marked."
And it was this consolation which Granger now began to experience inSpurling's presence.
Though the separate circumstances which lay behind their commonaccusation were utterly different, the one man being innocent of theinfamy wherewith he was charged and the other guilty, their danger wasthe same.
Without telling him anything of Strangeways' death or entering intoany explanation of the reasons for which he was suspected, Grangerdetermined to face, without dispute, the premier fact in thecase--that he was hunted for his life as was Spurling--and to plan forthe future with him, as though he were his fellow-criminal in resultas well as in intent.
They returned to their former station, on the rock beneath thesolitary pine, from which they could command a view of the approach tothe island on every side, and there lay themselves down, so thattheir presence might not be observed. Then Granger spoke, "Well, andwhat is to be done?" he said.
Spurling's answer was brief and to the point. "Hide here till the wayis clear; then seek out the Forbidden River, and afterwards escape."
"But Eyelids knows where we are, and he may betray us?"
"Yes, but he does not know, unless you have told him, that I am a manwith a price upon his head; and it is me, not you, whom he hates."
"And we have no food."
"If the worst comes to the worst, we have the huskies; and it seems tome that the priest was your friend--and then there is your wife."
Even in his present predicament Granger could not restrain a smile,for it had not occurred to him to rely on Peggy for help--_his wife_.
"Yes," he replied grimly, "there is my wife."
But before the night was over he had occasion to regret his sneer.They had agreed to keep watch, turn and turn about, two hours at astretch. Spurling was on guard, when Granger was aroused by thefurious yelping of the huskies on the shore which was nearest to theriver-bank.
Peering cautiously over the edge of the rock, they could see thatsomething was swimming down the current, making for the island, butwhether man or animal they could not yet discern. As it came nearerthey saw that it was a head, upon which was balanced a burden, whichthe swimmer supported with one hand. Running down to where the huskieswere gathered, they cuffed them into silence, and there waited. Thelaboured breathing grew louder and louder; presently a face waslifted clear of the water, which Granger recognised. Turning toSpurling, as he stepped into the river to help the swimmer out, hewhispered, "It's Peggy."
He caught her in his arms, and, taking her bundle from her, drew hersafe to land. She was naked and shivered in the cold night air--aslender statue of bronze. Her hair hung dripping about her shoulders,and her eyes were bright with excitement. Granger thought, as he gazedon her, that he had never realised how beautiful she was. Freed fromher conventional European garments, there was a grace of rebellionabout her which brought her into harmony with the forest environment,which was also unconfined.
But she had come to the island on a serious errand, and with nothought of being admired. Drawing her husband to one side, she toldhim that he would find a revolver and food, sufficient for three days,in the bundle which she had brought, and advised him to lie quietly onthe island until Robert Pilgrim should have gone away. She told himthat Pere Antoine was his friend, and was doing his best to save him.When Granger asked her how she had known where he was, she repliedthat Eyelids had told her, but that she had made him promise to tellno one else, so that even Antoine was in ignorance of his whereabouts.She had given them to understand that he had set out for God's Voice aweek ago, and had simulated surprise and grave concern that he had notarrived before the factor's departure; but she added, "They know thatI am lying."
When Granger referred to the murder with which he was charged, andbegan hurriedly to explain why he had not told her about it, shebecame strangely perturbed, and cut him short, saying that she mustget back to the store before her absence was observed. It was quiteevident to him that she had not for a moment doubted but that he wasguilty; it was also evident that so small a misdemeanour as killing aman was not reckoned in her code of morals as being very blameworthy.He felt hurt at her lack of faith in his integrity; but afterwards,when he came to think things over, was amazed at her unswervingloyalty in spite of that deficiency.
He watched her plunge into the river on her return journey, swimacross, run lightly up the bank to where her clothes were lying, anddisappear in the gloom of the forest.
"If I could only learn to care for her," he thought, "even here, inKeewatin, I might have something left to live for." And then, in thesolemnity which precedes the sunrise, made conscious of the emptinesswhich her departure had left, he added, "And I do begin to care."
It was noticeable that in all that she had said, she had made noreference to Spurling. For the next three days they lay in hiding, noone coming near them, either friend or enemy. To occupy the time, andforget their anxiety, as though they were not men who dwelt beneaththe shadow of death, they talked of their old quest, making plans forthe future, and mapping out with their fingers in the dust new routes,by the following of which El Dorado might be attained. And it was thusthat they strove to escape the pain of the realness of theirpresent--by entering into a faery land, sufficiently remote from lifeto remain unthreatened.
It was in this land of the imagination that they had first met, andformed their friendship. Revisiting it in one another's company, thehideousness of what had happened was, for the time being, blotted out;they renewed their former intimacy and passion. With the mention offamiliar names, kind associations of bygone pleasures were aroused,and the old affection sprang to life. They shrank from any allusion tosuch things as had befallen them since their London days. Yetcontinually, in the midst of the most eager conversation, one or otherof them would glance up, and cast his eyes along the river to theeastward, remembering Murder Point. It was in the early dawn of thefourth day, when, gazing toward the store, Granger descried two redsquares of sail flapping against the sunrise. It was his lookout, andSpurling was asleep. He aroused him, bending over him and crying, "TheYork boats are coming from Crooked Creek; we shall be rid of RobertPilgrim now." When Spurling was thoroughly awake and had seen thesails for himself, he asked him to explain. Then Granger told him how,in the summer of every year, the outposts of the Hudson Bay Companysend in their winter's catch of furs to the head fort of theirdistrict, which in this case was God's Voice, where the skins arebaled and graded, and dispatched to the London headquarters--which,bein
g the most important duty of a factor's year, meant that RobertPilgrim would have to return in order to superintend.
All through the long June day they waited, hoping to see their enemy'sdeparture; but the sails had been lowered and nothing was now visibleof the York boats save their tall bare masts jutting above theriver-banks. At times they would see groups of voyageurs, walkingdistantly among the trees, perhaps assisting the factor in one lastlazy search for the fugitive. As the heat of the afternoon increased,even these disappeared. But, when evening was come, they saw, to theirgreat joy, that the sails were hoisted again; and presently, borne tothem over the brooding stillness, they heard the cries of the rowersand the thud of the heavy oars in the wooden rowlocks. Those soundsmeant freedom to them; they trembled in their excitement.
Peering out from between the bushes, they watched the approach of thetwo black galleys, each with its eight oarsmen and cargo of piled-upbales, like pirate craft returning with their spoils. The flashing ofthe gawdy scarves of the men, the motion of their bodies as they stoodup for the stroke, flung their weight upon the enormous oars, and satdown at the finish, only to rise up again with monotonous shouts ofencouragement, the banging of the sail against the mast, the ripplingof the water as the prow pressed forward--all these spoke of life tothe watchers, of endeavour, and bravery, and travel, causing theirblood to redouble its pace and their hope to arise. There was stillone doubt which troubled them, lest, in spite of the need of hispresence at the fort, the enmity of Robert Pilgrim should havepersuaded him to stay. But that was soon laid to rest, when in thebows of the leading York boat they saw his canoe, and later, as thesail swung round, caught a glimpse of the red-bearded man himself,seated in the stern. Antoine was by his side. As the boat passed by,they strained their ears to catch any scrap of conversation whichmight be of use to them in making their escape. But the noise of thevoyageurs and of the wind in the sail was deafening, moreover the boatwas making good headway, so that they only overheard one phrase:
"You've brought me on a fool's errand. You say the man is dead, andyou've shown me his grave, and yet. . . ." It was Pilgrim who wasspeaking; but before he had finished his sentence, his voice wasdrowned in the shouting of the men and the splashing of the blades.
Granger, having watched them out of sight, turned to Spurling with asigh of relief. "Thank God, they've gone," he said.
Then he noticed that his companion was deadly pale. "What's the matternow," he asked; "are you so badly cut up at parting with such dearfriends?"
"Did you hear what he said?" gasped Spurling, pushing his face nearer,and staring Granger squarely between the eyes. "Did you hear what hesaid? 'You say the man is dead, and you've shown me his grave, andyet. . . .' And yet what? Can you guess how that sentence was going toend?"
Granger was bewildered by his ferocious earnestness. He could notimagine its purpose, or what had caused it. "Why, of course I heardwhat he said," he replied. "I suppose Antoine's been trying topersuade the factor that I am dead, and he's loath to believe it."
"If that is what he meant all the better for us, but I doubt it."
But why he doubted it Granger could not get him to confess; so,turning his mind to other thoughts, like a sensible man, he set aboutlaunching the canoe, preparatory to the return to Murder Point. Thelast sight they saw as they paddled away, was the four gray huskies,which Spurling had brought with him on his first arrival, seated ontheir haunches in a row by the water's edge, raising their dismalvoices to the sky. "Looks as though those damned beasts were doingtheir best to call Pilgrim back," said Spurling.
On the way to the Point they talked matters over, and determined that,since they had no time to waste, they would stop at the store only solong as was necessary for the getting together of an outfit, and woulddepart for the Forbidden River that night. Eyelids and Beorn were tobe left in charge at Murder Point, which would serve to flatter atleast one of them, and would keep them occupied. If they should demandan explanation for this sudden going away, the answer was obvious,that Granger did not choose to be arrested by the factor of God'sVoice. There was only one embarrassment which stood in their way,which was that in Granger's absence the boat would probably arrivefrom Garnier, Parwin and Wrath, bringing articles of trade in exchangefor his year's collection of furs, letters of instructions from thepartners for the future conduct of their interests, and expecting tocarry back to Winnipeg his annual statement of accounts. He made uphis mind to meet this difficulty by ordering Peggy to tell thepartners that he was dead. Such a report, he calculated, were itbelieved and properly circulated, would help him greatly in his escapefrom Keewatin, when he had gathered his gold on the Forbidden Riverand was ready to go out. This course of action had been suggested tohim by the unfinished sentence of Robert Pilgrim, which they hadoverheard.
As they drew near the Point, they were struck with the profoundness ofits quiet. They themselves had experienced so great a change in theirfour days of absence, so much of emotional strife and perturbation,that they were somehow surprised to find it unaltered. Beorn, asusual, was sitting on the pier-head, smoking his pipe; he did not lookup or recognise them. Eyelids, on the other side of the river, wassetting his evening nets: he nodded to Granger from across the water,smiled and went on with his work. On entering the shack, theydiscovered Peggy busily engaged over the evening meal, as though theyhad forwarned her as to when they would arrive. Her face betrayedneither annoyance nor pleasure--she might never have visited Huskies'Island. In the presence of so much that was commonplace, Spurling'sfantastic account of what had happened to him on the Forbidden Riverseemed absurd and outrageous.
It took them two hours to prepare their outfit and carry it down tothe canoe; they were in no hurry to set out, for so long as they wereon the Last Chance they intended to travel only by night.
No one seemed to notice their doings, and even they themselves,becoming infected with the quiet of their surroundings, graduallyceased from conversing, and, except for an occasional necessaryquestion, did their work in silence. At last, when it had grown asdark as it ever is in June time in Keewatin, signalling to one anotherwith their eyes, they agreed that it was time to set out. Spurlinghaving stepped down to the pier, Granger looked round for Peggy. Hefound her sitting in the grass a few paces behind him; she had comethere so gently that he had been unaware of her nearness. Taking hisplace beside her, he commenced to speak to her the words which he hadplanned to say. She listened attentively, making no sign which wouldbetray her state of mind. "Do you understand?" he asked her; and shefor answer bowed her head.
Thinking that she was indifferent as to what became of him, he rose tohis feet, saying in a hard voice, "Good-bye. I must be going. Thankyou for what you did for me on the island!" He had turned his back anddescended the mound a few paces, when he felt her clinging to hishand, pressing it against her cheek, and he knew that she was crying.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked, bending down to her.
"Don't go, don't go," she whispered.
"Why not, Peggy? I've not been of much use to you. I don't thinkyou'll miss me."
"I hate that man," she panted.
"But why?"
"Because he's taking you away from me; and, though you may return fromthis journey, there will come a day when you will not return and Ishall be left alone."
Granger was surprised at her display of passion--she had seemed to himso cold. He had come to think of her as only a squaw-wife: but it wasthe white woman in her who had spoken those words. He tried to comforther, denying her doubts and talking to her as though she had been afrightened child. But throughout all that he said she kept onwhispering, "He is taking you away from me. One day he will see to itthat you do not return."
And had Granger stopped to think, he would have known that what shesaid was true; for, when once his dream of El Dorado had becomecapable of accomplishment, she would be to him as nothing. He heardSpurling calling him by name. Lifting her to her feet, he kissed herupon the mouth, and, amazed at his own kindnes
s, as though he had donesomething shameful, ran down the mound, stepped into the canoe, andlaunched out.
Bending forward to Spurling, who was sitting in the bows, "It's ElDorado or death this time," he whispered. Spurling did not answer him,but he saw him crouch his shoulders as if to avoid a lash, and heardhis mutter, like the echo of his own voice, "_Or death_."
The canoe was travelling heavily, for Spurling had stopped paddling.Granger was about to expostulate with him when, watching him moreattentively, he discovered that his eyes were fixed upon the bend. Asthey drew nearer, and were passing by, his body trembled and he buriedhis face in his hands. Not until the bend was behind him did he takeup his paddle--and then he flung himself into the work with frenzy, asone who fled.