Chapter VI. Philip Follows A Pretty Face
It was late in the afternoon when Philip's instructions came from theinspector. They were tersely official in form, gave him all necessaryauthority, and ordered him to leave for Le Pas that night. Pinned to theorder was a small slip of paper, and on this MacGregor had repeated inwriting his words of a few hours before: "Whatever happens, bring backyour prisoner."
There was no signature to this slip, and the first two words wereheavily underscored. What did this double caution mean? Coming from aman like MacGregor, who was as choice as a king of his advice, Philipknew that it was of unusual significance. If it was intended as awarning, why had not the inspector given him more detail? During thehour in which he was preparing for his journey he racked his brainfor some clew to the situation. The task which he was about to performseemed simple enough. A man named Thorpe had attempted murder atWekusko. He was already a prisoner, and he was to bring him down. Thebiggest coward in Saskatchewan, or a man from a hospital bed, could dothis much, and yet--
He read the inspector's words over and over again. "Whatever happens!"In spite of himself a little stir of excitement crept into his blood.Since that thrilling hour in which he had seen Bucky Nome desert fromthe service he had not felt himself moved as now, and in a moment ofmental excitement he found himself asking a question which a few minutesbefore he would have regarded as a mark of insanity. Was it possiblethat in the whole of the Northland there could be another woman asbeautiful as Colonel Becker's wife--a woman so beautiful that she hadturned even Inspector MacGregor's head, as Mrs. Becker had turned BuckyNome's--and his? Was it possible that between these two women--betweenthis wife of an attempted murderer and Mrs. Becker there was someconnecting link--some association--
He cut his thoughts short with a low exclamation of disgust. Theabsurdity of the questions he had asked himself brought a flush intohis face. But he could not destroy the undercurrent of emotions they hadaroused. Anyway, something was going to happen. He was sure of that. Theinspector's actions, his words, his mysterious nervousness, the strangecatch in his voice as they parted, all assured him that there was agood reason for the repeated warning. And whatever did happen was to bebrought about by the woman whose girlish beauty he had looked upon inthe picture. That MacGregor was aware of the nature of his peril, if hewas to run into danger at all, he was sure, and he was equally certainthat some strong motive restrained the inspector from saying more thanhe had. Already he began to scent in the adventure ahead of him thoseelements of mystery, of excitement, even of romance, the craving forwhich was an inherited part of his being. And with these things therecame another sensation, one that surprised and disquieted him. A fewdays before his one desire had been to get out of the north country, toplace as much distance as possible between himself and Lac Bain. And nowhe found himself visibly affected by the thought that his duty was totake him once more in the direction of the woman whose sweet face hadbecome an indissoluble part of his existence. He would not see her. Evenat Wekusko he would be many days' journey from Lac Bain. But she wouldbe nearer to him, and it was this that quickened his pulse.
He was ten minutes early for his train, and employed that interval inmingling among the people at the station. MacGregor had as much as toldhim that whatever unusual thing might develop depended entirely upon theappearance of the woman and he began to look for her. She was not atthe station. Twice he walked through the coaches of his train withoutdiscovering a face that resembled that in the photograph.
It was late when he arrived at Etomami, where the sixty mile line of theHudson's Bay Railroad branches off to the north. At dawn he enteredthe caboose of the work train, which was to take him up through thewilderness to Le Pas. He was the only passenger.
"There ain't even a hand-car gone up ahead of us," informed the brakemanin response to his inquiry. "This is the only train in five days."
After all, it was to be a tame affair, in spite of the inspector'suneasiness and warnings, thought Philip. The woman was not ahead ofhim. Two days before she had been in MacGregor's office, and under thecircumstances it was impossible for her to be at Le Pas or at Wekusko,unless she had traveled steadily on dog sledge. Philip swore softly tohimself in his disappointment, ate breakfast with the train gang, wentto sleep, and awoke when they plowed their way into the snow-smotheredoutpost on the Saskatchewan.
The brakeman handed him a letter.
"This came on the Le Pas mail," he explained. "I kept it out for youinstead of sending it to the office."
"Thank you," said Philip. "A special--from headquarters. Why in thunderdidn't they send me a messenger instead of a letter, Braky? They couldhave caught me on the train."
He tore open the departmental envelope as he spoke and drew forth a bitof folded paper. It was not the official letter-head, but at a glancePhilip recognized the inspector's scrawling writing and his signature.It was one of MacGregor's quiet boasts that the man did not live whocould forge his name. An astonished whistle broke from his lips as heread these few lines:
Follow your conscience, whatever you do. Both God and man will rewardyou in the end.
Felix MacGregor.
And this was all. There was no date, no word of explanation; even hisown name had been omitted from this second order. He picked up theenvelope which had fallen to the floor and looked at the postmark. Ithad been stamped four-thirty. It was after five, an hour later, that hehad received his verbal instructions from MacGregor! The inspectormust have written the note before their interview of the precedingafternoon--before his repeated injunction of "Whatever happens, bringback your prisoner!" But this letter was evidently intended as finalinstructions since it had been sent so as to reach him at this time.What did it mean? The question buzzed in Philip's brain, repeated itselftwenty times, fifty times, as he hurried through the gathering darknessof the semi-polar night toward the log hotel of the place. He wasconvinced that there was some hidden motive in the inspector's actions.What was he to understand?
Suddenly he stopped, a hundred yards from the glimmering lights of theLittle Saskatchewan hotel, and chuckled audibly as he stuffed his pipe.It flashed upon him now why MacGregor had chosen him instead of anordinary service man to bring down the prisoner from Wekusko. MacGregorknew that he, Philip Steele, college man and man of the world, wouldreason out the key to this little puzzle, whereas Sergeant Moody andothers of his type would turn back for explanations. And InspectorMacGregor, twenty years in the service, and recognized as the shrewdestman-hunter between the coasts, wished to give no explanation. Philip'sblood tingled with fresh excitement as the tremendous risk which theinspector himself was running, dawned upon him. Publicity of the notewhich he held in his hand would mean the disgrace and retirement even ofFelix MacGregor.
He thrust the letter in his pocket and hurried on. The lights of thesettlement were already agleam. From the edge of the frozen river therecame the sound of a wheezy accordion in a Chinese cafe, and the howlingof a dog, either struck by man or worsted in a fight. Where the morenumerous lights of the one street shone red against the black backgroundof forest, a drunken half-breed was chanting in half-Cree, half-French,the chorus of the caribou song. He heard the distant snapping of a whip,the yelping response of huskies, and a moment later a sledge and sixdogs passed him so close that he was compelled to leap from their path.This was Le Pas--the wilderness! Beyond it, just over the frozen riverwhich lay white and silent before him, stretched that endless desolationof romance and mystery which he had grown to love, a world of deepsnows, of silent-tongued men, of hardship and battle for life where thelaw of nature was the survival of the fittest, and that of man, "Dounto others as ye would that they should do unto you." Never did PhilipSteele's heart throb with the wild, free pulse of life and joy as insuch moments as these, when his fortune, his clubs, and his friendswere a thousand miles away, and he stood on the edge of the big northernUnknown.
As he had slept through the trainmen's dinner hour, he was as hungry asa wolf, and he lost no t
ime in seating himself in a warm corner of thelow, log-ceilinged dining-room of the Little Saskatchewan. Although aquarter of an hour early, he had hardly placed himself at his table whenanother person entered the room. Casually he glanced up from the twoletters which he had spread out before him. The one who had followed himwas a woman. She had turned sharply upon seeing him and seated herselfat the next table, her back so toward him that he caught only her halfprofile.
It was enough to assure him that she was young and pretty. On her headshe wore a turban of silver lynx fur, and about this she had drawn herglossy brown hair, which shone like burnished copper in the lamp-glow,and had gathered it in a bewitchingly coquettish knot low on her neck,where it shone with a new richness and a new warmth with every turn ofher head. But not once did she turn so that Philip could see more thanthe tantalizing pink of her cheek and the prettiness of her chin, whichat times was partly concealed in a collarette of the same silver graylynx fur.
He ate his supper almost mechanically, in spite of his hunger, for hismind was deep in the mysterious problem which confronted him. Half adozen times he broke in upon his thoughts to glance at the girl at theopposite table. Once he was sure that she had been looking at him andthat she had turned just in time to keep her face from him. Philipadmired pretty women, and of all beauty in woman he loved beautifulhair, so that more and more frequently his eyes traveled to the shiningwealth of copper-colored tresses near him. He had almost finished hissupper when a movement at the other table drew his eyes up squarely, andhis heart gave a sudden jump. The girl had risen. She was facing him,and as for an instant their eyes met she hesitated, as if she were onthe point of speaking. In that moment he recognized her.
It was the girl in the photograph, older, more beautiful--the same soft,sweet contour of face, the same dark eyes that had looked at him inMacGregor's office, filled with an indescribable sadness now, instead ofthe laughing joy of girlhood. In another moment he would have respondedto her hesitation, to the pathetic tremble of her lips, but before wordscould form themselves she had turned and was gone. And yet at thedoor, even as she disappeared, he saw her face turned to him again,pleadingly, entreatingly, as if she knew his mission and sent to him asilent prayer for mercy.
Thrusting back his chair, he caught up his hat from a rack and followed.He was in time to see her pass through the low door out into the night.Without hesitation his mind had leaped to a definite purpose. He wouldovertake her outside, introduce himself, and then perhaps he wouldunderstand the conflicting orders of Inspector MacGregor.
The girl was passing swiftly down the main street when he took up thepursuit. Suddenly she turned into a path dug through the snow that ledriverward. Ahead of her there was only the starlit gloom of night andthe distant blackness of the wilderness edge. Philip's blood ran alittle faster. She had expected that he would follow, knew that he wasclose behind her, and had turned down into this deserted place that theymight not be observed! He made no effort now to overtake her, but keptthe same distance between them, whistling carelessly and knowing thatshe would stop to wait for him. Ahead of them there loomed up out ofthe darkness a clump of sapling spruce, and into their shadow the girldisappeared.
A dozen paces more and Philip himself was buried in the thick gloom. Heheard quick, light footsteps in the snow-crust ahead of him. Then therecame another sound--a step close behind him, a noise of disturbed brush,a low voice which was not that of a woman, and before his hand couldslip, to the holster at his belt a human form launched itself upon himfrom the side, and a second form from behind, and under their weighthe fell a helpless heap into the snow. Powerful hands wrenched his armsbehind his back and other hands drew a cloth about his mouth. A stoutcord was twisted around his wrists, his legs were tied, and then hiscaptors relieved him of their weight.
Not a word had been spoken during the brief struggle. Not a word wasspoken now as his mysterious assailants hoisted him between them andfollowed in the footsteps of the woman. Scarcely a hundred paces beyondthe spruce the dark shadow of a cabin came into view. Into this he wascarried and placed on something which he took to be a box. Then a lightwas struck.
For the first time Philip's astonished eyes had a view of his captors.One of them was an old man, a giant in physique, with a long gray beardand grayish yellow hair that fell to his shoulders. His companion wasscarcely more than a boy, yet in his supple body, as he moved about,Philip recognized the animal-like strength of the forest breed. A wordspoken in a whisper by the boy revealed the fact that the two werefather and son. From that side of the room which was at Philip's backthey dragged forth a long pine box, and were engaged in this occupationwhen the door opened and a third man entered. Never had Philip looked ona more unprepossessing face than that of the newcomer, in whose littleblack eyes there seemed to be a gloating triumph as he leered at theprisoner. He was short, with a huge breadth of shoulders. His eyes andmouth and nose were all but engulfed in superfluous flesh, and as heturned from Philip to the man and boy over the box he snapped the jointsof his fingers in a startling manner.
"Howdy, howdy!" he wheezed, like one afflicted with asthma. "Good!good!" With these four words he lapsed into the silence of the older manand the boy.
As the box was dragged full into the light, a look of horror shot intoPhilip's eyes. It was the rough-box of a coffin! Without a word, andapparently without a signal, the three surrounded him and lifted himbodily into it. To his surprise he found himself lying upon somethingsoft, as if the interior of his strange prison had been padded withcushions. Then, with extreme caution, his arms were freed from under hisback and strapped to his side, and other straps, broad and firm, werefastened from side to side of the box across his limbs and body, asif there were danger of his flying up and out through the top. Anothermoment and a shadow fell above him, pitch gloom engulfed him.
They were dragging on the cover to the box! He heard the rapid beatingof a hammer, the biting of nails into wood, and he writhed and struggledto free his hands, to cry out, to gain the use of his legs, but not thefraction of an inch could he relieve himself of his fetters. After atime his straining muscles relaxed, and he stopped to get his breath andlisten. Faintly there came to him the sound of subdued voices, and hecaught a glimmer of light, then another, and still a third. He saw nowthat half a dozen holes had been bored into the cover and sides of thebox. The discovery brought with it a sense of relief. At least he wasnot to be suffocated. He found, after an interval, that he was evencomfortable, and that his captors had not only given him a bed to lieupon, but had placed a pillow under his head.