Chapter V. Beauty-Proof
It was Pierrot who aroused Philip in the morning.
"Mon, Dieu, but you have slept like a bear," he exclaimed. "The stormhas cleared and it will be fine traveling. Eh--you have not heard? Iwonder why they are firing guns off toward Lac Bain!"
Philip jumped from his bed, and his first look was in the direction ofthe box. He was criminal enough to hope that Jacques would not discoverthat the scarf was missing.
"A moose--probably," he said. "There were tracks close up to the post aday or two ago."
He was anxious to begin their journey, and assisted Pierrot in preparingbreakfast. The sound of guns impressed upon him the possibility of someone from Lac Bain calling at the half-breed's cabin, and he wished toavoid further association with people from the post--at least for atime. At nine o'clock Pierrot bolted the door and the two set off intothe south and west. On the third day they swung to the eastward tostrike the Indians living along Reindeer Lake, and on the sixth cut atrail by compass straight for Nelson House. A week later they arrived atthe post, and Philip found a letter awaiting him calling him to PrinceAlbert. In a way the summons was a relief to him. He bade Pierrotgood-by, and set out for Le Pas in company with two Indians. From thatpoint he took the work train to Etomami, and three hours later was inPrince Albert.
"Rest up for a time, Steele," Inspector MacGregor told him, after he hadmade a personal report on Bucky Nome.
During the week that followed Philip had plenty of leisure in which totell himself that he was a fool, and that he was deliberately throwingaway what a munificent fortune had placed in his hands. MacGregor'sannouncement that he was in line for promotion in the near future didnot stir him as it would have done a few weeks before. In his littlebarracks room he laughed ironically as he recalled MacGregor's words,"We're going to make a corporal or a sergeant of you." He--PhilipSteele--millionaire, club man, son of a western king of finance--acorporal or a sergeant! For the first time the thought amused him,and then it maddened him. He had played the part of an idiot, and allbecause there had been born within him a love of adventure and the big,free life of the open. No wonder some of his old club friends regardedhim as a scapegrace and a ne'er-do-well. He had thrown away position,power, friends and home as carelessly as he might have tossed away theend of a cigar. And all--for this! He looked about his cramped quarters,a half sneer on his lips. He had tied himself to this! To his ears therecame faintly the thunder of galloping hoofs. Sergeant Moody was traininghis rookies to ride. The sneer left his lips, and was replaced bya quick, alert smile as he heard a rattle of revolver shots and thecheering of voices. After all, it was not so bad. It was a service thatmade men, and he thought of the English remittance-man, whose father wasa lord of something-or-other, and who was learning to ride and shoot outthere with red-headed, raucous-voiced Moody. There began to stir in himagain the old desire for action, and he was glad when word was sent tohim that Inspector MacGregor wished to see him in his office.
The big inspector was pacing back and forth when Philip came in.
"Sit down, Steele, sit down," he said. "Take it easy, man--and have acigar."
If MacGregor had suddenly gone into a fit Philip could not have beenmore surprised than at these words, as he stood with his cap in his handbefore the desk of the fiery-mustached inspector, who was passing hisbox of choice Havanas. There are tightly drawn lines of distinction inthe Royal Mounted. As Philip had once heard the commissioner say, "Everyman in the service is a king--but there are different degrees of kings,"and for a barracks man to be asked to sit in the inspector's officeand smoke was a sensational breach of the usual code. But as he haddistinctly heard the invitation to sit, and to smoke, Philip proceededto do both, and waited in silence for the next mine to explode under hisfeet. And there was a certain ease in his manner of doing these thingswhich would have assured most men that he was not unaccustomed tositting in the presence of greatness.
The inspector seemed to notice this. For a moment he stood squarely infront of Steele, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, a twinkle inthe cold, almost colorless eyechuckling, companionable laugh, such asfinds its vent in the fellowship of equals, but which is seldom indulgedin by a superior before an inferior in the R.N.W.M. Police.
"Mighty good cigars, eh, Steele?" he asked, turning slowly toward thewindow. "The commissioner sent 'em up to me from Regina. Nothing like agood cigar on a dreary day like this. Whew, listen to the wind--straightfrom Medicine Hat!"
For a few moments he looked out upon the cheerless drab roofs of thebarracks, with their wisps of pale smoke swirling upward into the leadensky; counted the dozen gnarled and scrubby trees, as had become a habitwith him; rested his eyes upon the black and shriveled remnants ofsummer flower-beds thrusting their frost-shrunken stalks through thesnow, and then, almost as if he were speaking to himself, he said,"Steele, are you beautyproof?"
There was no banter in his voice. It was low, so low that it had in itthe ring of something more than mere desire for answer, and whenthe inspector turned, Philip observed a thing that he had never seenbefore--a flush in MacGregor's face. His pale eyes gleamed. His voicewas filled with an intense earnestness as he repeated the question. "Iwant to know, Steele. Are you beauty-proof?"
In spite of himself Philip felt the fire rising in his own face. In thatmoment the inspector could have hit on no words that would have thrilledhim more deeply than those which he had spoken. Beauty-proof! DidMacGregor know? Was it possible-- He took a step forward, words came tohis lips, but he caught himself before he had given voice to them.
Beauty-proof!
He laughed, softly, as the inspector had laughed a few moments before.But there was a strange tenseness in his face--something which MacGregorsaw, but could not understand.
"Beauty-proof?" He repeated the words, looking keenly at the other."Yes, I think I am, sir."
"You think you are?"
"I am quite sure that I am. Inspector. That is as far as I can go."
The inspector seated himself at his desk and opened a drawer. From it hetook a photograph. For some time he gazed at it in silence, puffing outclouds of smoke from his cigar. Then, without lifting his eyes fromthe picture, he said: "I am going to put you up against a queer case,Steele, and the strangest thing about it is its very simplicity. It's ajob for the greenest rookie in the service, and yet I swear that thereisn't another man in Saskatchewan to whom I would talk as I am about totalk to you. Rather paradoxical, isn't it?"
"Rather," agreed Philip.
"And yet not when you come to understand the circumstances," continuedthe inspector, placing the photograph face down on the table and lookingat the other through a purple cloud of tobacco smoke. "You see, Steele,I know who you are. I know that your father is Philip Steele, the bigChicago banker. I know that you are up here for romance and adventurerather than for any other thing there is in the service. I know, too,that you are no prairie chicken, and that most of your life has beenspent where you see beautiful women every hour of the day, and wheresoft voices and tender smiles aren't the most wonderful things in theworld, as they sometimes are up here. Fact is, we have a way of our ownof running down records--"
"And a confounded clever one it must be," interrupted Philipirreverently. "Had you any--any particular reason for supposing me to be'beauty-proof,' as you call it?" he added coldly.
"I've told you my only reason," said the inspector, leaning over hisdesk. "You've seen so many pretty faces, Steele, and you've associatedwith them so long that one up here isn't going to turn your head. Now--"
MacGregor hesitated, and laughed. The flush grew deeper in his cheeks,and he looked again at the photograph.
"I'm going to be frank with you," he went on. "This young woman calledon me yesterday, and within a quarter of an hour--fifteen minutes, mindyou!--she had me going like a fool! Understand? I'm not proof--againsther--and yet I'm growing old in the service and haven't had a loveaffair since--a long time ago. I'm going to send you up to the Wekuskocam
p, above Le Pas, to bring down a prisoner. The man is her husband,and he almost killed Hodges, who is chief of construction up there.The minimum he'll get is ten years, and this woman is moving heavenand earth to save him. So help me God, Steele, if I was one of theyoungsters, and she came to me as she did yesterday, I believe I'd lethim give me the slip! But it mustn't happen. Understand? It mustn'thappen. We've got to bring that man down, and we've got to give him thelaw. Simple thing, isn't it--this bringing a prisoner down from Wekusko!Any rookie could do it, couldn't he? And yet--"
The inspector paused to light his cigar, which had gone out. Then headded: "If you'll do this, Steele--and care for it--I'll see that youget your promotion."
As he finished, he tossed the photograph across the desk. "That's she.Don't ask me how I got the picture."
A curious thrill shot through Philip as he picked up the bit ofcardboard. It was a wondrously sweet face that looked squarely out ofit into his eyes, a face so youthful, so filled with childishprettiness that an exclamation of surprise rose to his lips. Underother circumstances he would have sworn that it was the picture of aschool-girl. He looked up, about to speak, but MacGregor had turnedagain to the window, clouds of smoke about his head. He spoke withoutturning his head.
"That was taken nearly ten years ago," he said, and Philip knew that hewas making an effort to keep an unnatural break out of his voice. "Butthere has been little change--almost none. His name is Thorpe. I willsend you a written order this afternoon and you can start to-night."
Philip rose, and waited.
"Is there nothing more?" he asked, after a moment. "This woman--"
"There is nothing more," interrupted the inspector, still looking outthrough the window.
"Only this, Steele--you must bring him back. Whatever happens, bringback your prisoner."
As he turned to leave, Philip fancied that he caught something else--astifled, choking breath, a sound that made him turn his head again as hewent through the door. The inspector had not moved.
"Now what the deuce does this mean?" he asked himself, closing the doorsoftly behind him. "You're up against something queer this time, PhilipSteele, I'll wager dollars to doughnuts. Promotion for bringing in aprisoner! What in thunder--"
He stopped for a moment in one of the cleared paths. From the biglow roofed drill enclosure a hundred yards away came the dull thud ofgalloping hoofs and the voice of Sergeant Moody thundering instructionsto the rookies. Moody had a heart like flint and would have facedblazing cannon to perform his duty. He had grown old and ugly inthe service and was as beauty-proof as an ogre of stone. Why hadn'tMacGregor sent him?
Beauty-proof! The words sent a swift rush of thought, of regret, ofthe old homesickness and longing through Philip as he returned to hisquarters. He wondered just how much MacGregor knew, and he sat down tobring up before him for the thousandth time a vision of the two facesthat had played their part in his life--the face of the girl at home,as beautiful as a Diane de Poitiers, as soulless as a sphinx, who hadoffered herself to him in return for his name and millions, and ofthat other which he had met away up in the frozen barrens of Lac Bain.Beauty-proof! He laughed and loaded his pipe. MacGregor had made a goodguess, even though he did not know what had passed that winter beforehe came north to seek adventure, or of the fight he had made for anotherwoman, with Mr. Bucky Nome--deserter!