Chapter VII. The Tragedy In The Cabin
A few moments later Philip heard the movement of heavy feet, the openingand closing of a door, and for a time after that there was silence. HadMacGregor anticipated this, he wondered? Was this a part of the programwhich the inspector had foreseen that he would play? His blood warmedat the thought and he clenched his fists. Then he began to think morecalmly. His captors had not relieved him of his weapons. They had placedhis service cap in the box with him and had unbuckled his cartridge beltso that he would rest more comfortably. What did all this mean? For thehundredth time he asked himself the question.
Returning footsteps interrupted his thoughts. The cabin door opened,people entered, again he heard whispering voices.
He strained his ears. At first he could have sworn that he heard thesoft, low tones of a woman's voice, but they were not repeated. Handscaught hold of the box, dragged it across the floor, and then he felthimself lifted bodily, and, after a dozen steps, placed carefully uponsome object in the snow. His amazement increased when he understood whatwas occurring.
He was on a sledge. Through the air-holes in his prison he heard thescraping of strap-thongs as they were laced through the runner-slits andover the box, the restless movement of dogs, a gaping whine, the angrysnap of a pair of jaws. Then, slowly, the sledge began to move. A whipcracked loudly above him, a voice rose in a loud shout, and the dogswere urged to a trot. Again there came to Philip's ears the wheezingnotes of the accordion. By a slight effort he found that he could turnhis head sufficiently to look through a hole on a level with his eyes inthe side of the box. The sledge had turned from the dark trail into thelighted street, and stopped at last before a brilliantly lighted frontfrom which there issued the sound of coarse voices, of laughter andhalf-drunken song.
One of his captors went into the bar while the other seated himself onthe box, with one leg shutting out Philip's vision by dangling it overthe hole through which he was looking.
"What's up, Fingy?" inquired a voice.
"Wekusko," replied the man on the box, in the husky, flesh-smotheredtones of the person who had entered last into the cabin.
"Another dead one up there, eh?" persisted the same voice.
"No. Maps 'n' things f'r Hodges, up at the camp. Devil of a hurry, ain'the, to order us up at night? Tell ---- to hustle out with the bottle,will you?"
The speaker sent the lash of his whip snapping through the air in placeof supplying a name.
"Maps and things--for Hodges--Wekusko!" gasped Philip inwardly.
He listened for further information. None came, and soon the man calledFingy jumped from the box, cracked his whip with a wheezing command tothe dogs, and the sledge moved on.
And so his captors were taking him to Wekusko?--and more than that,to Hodges, chief of construction, whose life had been attempted by theprisoner whom Inspector MacGregor had ordered him to bring down!Had Fingy spoken the truth? And, if so, was this another part of themysterious plot foreseen by the inspector?
During the next half hour, in which the sledge traveled steadily overthe smooth, hard trail into the north, Philip asked himself these anda score of other questions equally perplexing. He was certain that thebeautiful young woman whom he had followed had purposely lured him intothe ambush. He considered himself her prisoner. Then why should he beconsigned, like a parcel of freight, to Hodges, her husband's accuser,and the man who demanded the full penalty of the law for his assailant?
The more he added to the questions that leaped into his mind the moremystified he became. The conflicting orders, the strange demeanor of hischief, the pathetic appeal that he had seen in the young woman's eyes,the ambush, and now this unaccountable ride to Wekusko, strapped in acoffin box, all combined to plunge him into a chaos of wonder from whichit was impossible for him to struggle forth. However, he assured himselfof two things; he was comparatively comfortable, and within two hours atthe most they would reach Hodges' headquarters, if the Wekusko camp werereally to be their destination. Something must develop then.
It had ceased to occur to him that there was peril in his strangeposition. If that were so, would his captors have left him in possessionof his weapons, even imprisoned as he was? If they had intended himharm, would they have cushioned his box and placed a pillow under hishead so that the cloth about his mouth would not cause him discomfort?It struck him as peculiarly significant, now that he had sufferedno injury in the short struggle on the trail, that no threats orintimidation had been offered after his capture. This was a part of thegame which he was to play! He became more and more certain of it asthe minutes passed, and there occurred to him again and again theinspector's significant words, "Whatever happens!" MacGregor had spokenthe words with particular emphasis, had repeated them more than once.Were they intended to give him a warning of this, to put him on his,guard, as well as at his ease?
And with these thoughts, many, conflicting and mystifying, he found itimpossible to keep from associating other thoughts of Bucky Nome, andof the woman whom he now frankly confessed to himself that he loved.If conditions had been a little different, if the incidents had notoccurred just as they had, he have suspected the hand of Bucky Nome inwhat was transpiring now. But he discarded that suspicion the instantthat it came to him. That which remained with him more and more deeplyas the minutes passed was a mental picture of the two women--of thiswoman who was fighting to save her husband, and of the other, whom heloved, and for whom he had fought to save her for her husband. It waswith a dull feeling of pain that he compared the love, the faith, andthe honor of this woman whose husband had committed a crime with thatone night's indiscretion of Mrs. Becker. It was in her eyes and facethat he had seen a purity like that of an angel, and the pain seemed tostab him deeper when he thought that, after all, it was the criminal'swife who was proving herself, not Mrs. Becker.
He strove to unburden his mind for a time, and turned his head so thathe could peer through the hole in the side of the box. The moon hadrisen, and now and then he caught flashes of the white snow in theopens, but more frequently only the black shadows of the forest throughwhich they were passing. They had not left Le Pas more than two hoursbehind when the sledge stopped again and Philip saw a few scatteredlights a short distance away.
"Must be Wekusko," he thought. "Hello, what's that?"
A voice came sharply from the opposite side of the box.
"Is that you, Fingy?" it demanded. "What the devil have you got there?"
"Your maps and things, sir," replied Fingy hoarsely. "Couldn't come upto-morrow, so thought we'd do it to-night."
Philip heard the closing of a door, and footsteps crunched in the snowclose to his ears.
"Love o' God!" came the voice again. "What's this you've brought them upin, Fingy?"
"Coffin box, sir. Only thing the maps'd fit into, and it's been layin'around useless since MacVee kem down in it Mebby you can find use forit, later," he chuckled grewsomely. "Ho-ho-ho! mebby you can!"
A moment later the box was lifted and Philip knew that he was beingcarried up a step and through a door, then with a suddenness thatstartled him he found himself standing upright. His prison had been seton end!
"Not that way, man," objected Hodges, for Philip was now certain thathe was in the presence of the chief of construction. "Put it down--overthere in the corner."
"Not on your life," retorted Fingy, cracking his finger bones fiercely."See here. Mister Hodges, I ain't a coward, but I b'lieve in bein'to the dead, 'n' to a box that's held one. It says on that red card,'Head--This end up,' an', s'elp me, it's going to be up, unless youput it down. I ain't goin' to be ha'nted by no ghosts! Ho, ho, ho--"He approached close to the box. "I'll take this red card off, MisterHodges. It ain't nat'ral when there ain't nothing but maps 'n' things init."
If the cloth had not been about his mouth, it is possible that Philipwould not have restrained audible expression of his astonishment at whathappened an instant later. The card was torn off, and a ray of lightshot into his eyes. Th
rough a narrow slit not more than a quarter of aninch wide, and six inches long, he found himself staring out into theroom. The Fingy was close behind him. And in the rear of these two,as if eager for their departure, was Hodges, chief of construction.No sooner had the men gone than Hodges turned back to the table in thecenter of the office. It was not difficult for Philip to see that theman's face was flushed and that he was laboring under some excitement.He sat down, fumbled over some papers, rose quickly to his feet, lookedat his watch, and began pacing back and forth across the room.
"So she's coming," he chuckled gleefully.
"She's coming, at last!" He looked at his watch again, straightenedhis cravat before a mirror, and rubbed his hands with a low laugh. "Thelittle beauty has surrendered," he went on, his face turning for aninstant toward the coffin box. "And it's time--past time."
A light knock sounded at the door, and the chief sprang to open it. Afigure darted past him, and for but a breath a white, beautiful face wasturned toward Philip and his prison--the face of the young woman whom hehad seen but two hours before in Le Pas, the face that had pleaded withhim that night, that had smiled upon him from the photograph, and thatseemed to be masked now in a cold marble-like horror, as its gloriouseyes, like pools of glowing fire, seemed searching him out through thatnarrow slit in the coffin box.
Hodges had advanced, with arms reaching out, and the woman turned with alow, sobbing breath breaking from her lips.
Another step and Hodges would have taken her in his arms, but she evadedhim with a quick movement, and pointed to a chair at one side of thetable.
"Sit down!" she cried softly. "Sit down, and listen!"
Was it fancy, or did her eyes turn with almost a prayer in them to thebox against the wall? Philip's heart was beating like a drum. That oneword he knew was intended for him.
"Sit down," she repeated, as Hodges hesitated. "Sit down--there--and Iwill sit here. Before--before you touch me, I want an understanding. Youwill let me talk, and listen--listen!"
Again that one word--"listen!"-Philip knew was intended for him.
The chief had dropped into his chair, and his visitor seated herselfopposite him, with her face toward Philip. She flung back the fur fromabout her shoulders, and took off her fur turban, so that the light ofthe big hanging lamp fell full upon the glory of her hair, and setoff more vividly the ivory pallor of her cheeks, in which a short timebefore Philip had seen the rich crimson glow of life, and something thatwas not fear.
"We must come to an understanding," she repeated, fixing her eyessteadily upon the man before her. "I would sacrifice my life forhim--for my husband--and you are demanding that I do more than that. Imust be sure of the reward!"
Hodges leaned forward eagerly, as if about to speak, but she interruptedhim.
"Listen!" she cried, a fire beginning to burn through the whitenessof her cheeks. "It was you who urged him to come up here when, throughmisfortune, we lost our little home down in Marion. You offered himwork, and he accepted it, believing you a friend. He still thought youa friend when I knew that you were a traitor, planning and schemingto wreck his life, and mine. He would not listen when I spoke to him,without arousing his suspicions, of my abhorrence of you. He trustedyou. He was ready to fight for you. And you--you--"
In her excitement the young woman's hands gripped the edges of thetable. For a few moments her breath seemed to choke her, and then shecontinued, her voice trembling with passion.
"And you--you followed me about like a serpent, making every hour ofmy life one of misery, because he believed in you, and I dared not tellhim. So I kept it from him--until that night you came to our cabin whenhe was away, and dared to take me in your arms, to kiss me, and I--Itold him then, and he hunted you down and would have killed you ifthere hadn't been others near to give you help. My God, I love him morebecause of that! But I was wrong. I should have killed you!"
She stopped, her breath breaking in a sob.
With a sudden movement Hodges sprang from his chair and came toward her,his face flushed, his lips smiling; but, quicker than he, Thorpe's wifewas upon her feet, and from his prison Philip saw the rapid rising andfalling of her bosom, the threatening fire in her beautiful eyes as shefaced him.
"Ah, but you are beautiful!" he heard the man say.
With a cry, in which there was mingled all the passion and gloating joyof triumph, Hodges caught her in his arms. In that moment every vein inPhilip's body seemed flooded with fire. He saw the woman's face again,now tense and white in an agony of terror, saw her struggle to freeherself, heard the smothered cry that fell from her lips. For the firsttime he strained to free himself, to cry out through the thick bandagethat gagged him. The box trembled. His mightiest effort almost sent itcrashing to the floor. Sweating, powerless, he looked again through thenarrow slit. In the struggle the woman's hair had loosened, and tumblednow in shining masses down her back. Her hands were gripping at Hodges'throat. Then one of them crept down to her bosom, and with that movementthere came a terrible, muffled report. With a groan the chief staggeredback and sank to the floor.
For a moment, stupefied by what she had done, Thorpe's wife stood withsmoking pistol in her hand, gazing upon the still form at her feet.Then, slowly, like one facing a terrible accuser, she turned straightto the coffin box. The weapon that she held fell to the floor. Without atremor in her beautiful face she went to one side of the room, pickedup a small belt-ax, and began prying off the cover to Philip's prison.There was still no hesitation, no tremble of fear in her face or handswhen the cover gave way and Philip stood revealed, his face as white asher own and bathed in a perspiration of excitement and horror. Calmlyshe took away the cloth about his mouth, loosened the straps about hislegs and arms and body, and then she stood back, still speechless, herhands clutching at her bosom while she waited for him to step forth.
His first movement was to fall upon his knees beside Hodges. He bowedhis head, listened, and held his hand under the man's waistcoat. Thenhe looked up. The woman was bending over him, her eyes meeting his ownunflinchingly.
"He is dead!" he said quietly.
"Yes, my brother, he is dead!"
The sweet, low tones of the woman's voice rose scarcely above a whisper.The meaning of her words sank into his very soul.
"My sister--" he repeated, hardly knowing that the words were on hislips. "My--"
"Or--your wife," she interrupted, and her hand rested gently for amoment upon his shoulder. "Or your wife--what would you have had herdo?"
Her voice--the gentleness of her touch, sent his mind flashing back tothat other tragic moment in a little cabin far north, when he had almostkilled a man, and for less than this that he had heard and seen. Itseemed, for an instant, as though the voice so near to him was coming,faintly, pleadingly, from that other woman at Lac Bain--the womanwho had almost caused a tragedy similar to this, only with the sexeschanged. He would have excused Colonel Becker for killing Bucky Nome,for defending his own honor and his wife's. And here--now--was a womanwho had fought and killed for her own honor, and to save her husband.His sister--his wife--Would he have had them do this? Would he have Mrs.Becker, the woman he loved, defend her honor as this woman had defendedhers? Would he not have loved her ten times--a hundred times--more fordoing so?
He rose to his feet, making an effort to steel himself against thejustice of what he had seen--against the glory of love, of womanhood, oftriumph which he saw shining in her eyes.
"I understand now," he said. "You had me brought here--in this way--thatI might hear what was said, and use it as evidence. But--"
"Oh, my God, I did not mean to do this," she cried, as if knowing whathe was about to say. "I thought that if he betrayed his vileness toyou--if he knew that the world would know, through you, how he hadattempted to destroy a home, and how he offered my husband's freedom inexchange for--but you saw, you heard, you must understand! He would notdare to go on when he knew that all this would become public. My husbandwould have been free. But now--"
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sp; "You have killed him," said Philip.
There was no sympathy in his voice. It was the cold, passionlessaccusation of a man of the law, and the woman bowed her face in herhands. He put on his service cap, tightened his belt, and touched hergently on the arm.
"Do you know where your husband is confined?" he asked. "I will take youthere, and you may remain with him to-night."
She brightened instantly. "Yes," she said.
"Come!"
They passed through the door, closing it carefully behind them, and thewoman led the way to a dark, windowless building a hundred yards fromthe dead chief's headquarters.
"This is the camp prison," she whispered.
A man clad in a great bear-skin coat was on guard at the door. In themoonlight he recognized Philip's uniform.
"Here are orders from the inspector," said Philip, holding outMacGregor's letter. "I am to have charge of the prisoner. Mrs. Thorpe isto spend the night with him."
A moment later the door was opened and the woman passed in. As he turnedaway Philip heard a low sobbing cry, a man's startled voice. Then thedoor swung heavily on its hinges and there was silence.
Five minutes later Philip was bending again over the dead man. Asurprising transformation had come over him now. His face was flushedand his strong teeth shone in sneering hatred as he covered the bodywith a blanket. On the wall hung a pair of overalls and a working-man'sheavy coat. These and Hodges' hat he quickly put on in place of his ownuniform. Once more he went out into the night.
This time he came up back of the prison. The guard was pacing back andforth in his beaten path, so thickly muffled about the ears that he didnot hear Philip's cautious footsteps behind him. When he turned he foundthe muzzle of a revolver within arm's length of his face.
"Hands up!" commanded Philip.
The astonished man obeyed without a word.
"If you make a move or the slightest sound I'll kill you!" continuedPhilip threateningly. "Drop your hands behind you--there, like that!"
With the quickness and skill which he had acquired under Sergeant Moodyhe secured the guard's wrists with one of the coffin box straps, andgagged him with the same cloth that had been used upon himself. He hadobserved that his prisoner carried the key to the padlocked cabin in oneof his coat pockets, and after possessing himself of this he made himseat himself in the deep shadow, strapped his ankles, and then unlockedthe prison door.
There was a light inside, and from beyond this the white faces of theman and the woman stared at him as he entered. The man was leaning backin his cot, and Philip knew that the wife had risen suddenly, for onearm was still encircling his shoulders, and a hand was resting on hischeek as if she had been stroking it caressingly when he interruptedthem. Her beautiful, startled eyes gazed at him half defiantly now.
He advanced into the light, took off his hat, and smiled.
With a cry Thorpe's wife sprang to her feet.
"Sh-h-h-h-h!" warned Philip, raising a hand and pointing to the doorbehind them.
Thorpe had risen. Without a word Philip advanced and held out his hand.Only half understanding, the prisoner reached forth his own. As, foran instant, the two men stood in this position, one smiling, the othertransfixed with wonder, there came a stifled, sobbing cry from behind.Philip turned. The woman stood in the lamp glow, her arms reaching outto him--to both--and never, not even at Lac Bain, had he seen a womanmore beautiful than Thorpe's wife at that moment.
As if nothing had happened, he went to the table, where there was a penand ink and a pad of paper.
"Perhaps your wife hasn't told you everything that has happenedto-night, Thorpe," he said. "If she hasn't, she will--soon. Now,listen!"
He had pulled a small book from an inner pocket and was writing.
"My name is Steele, Philip Steele, of the Royal Mounted. Down in ChicagoI've got a father, Philip Egbert Steele, a banker, who's worth half adozen millions or so. You're going down to him as fast as dog-sledge andtrain can carry you, and you'll give him this note. It says that yourname is Johnson, and that for my sake he's going to put you onyour feet, so that it is going to be pretty blamed comfortable foryourself--and the noblest little woman I've ever met. Do you understand,Thorpe?"
He looked up. Thorpe's wife had gone to her husband. She stood now, halfin his arms, and looking at him; as they were, they reminded him of acouple who had played the finale in a drama which he had seen a yearbefore.
"There is one favor which you must do me, Thorpe," he went on. "Athome I am rich. Up here I'm only Phil Steele, of the Royal Mounted. I'mtelling you so that you won't think that I'm stripping myself when Imake you take this. It's a little ready cash, and a check for a thousanddollars. Some day, if you want to, you can pay it back. Now hustleup and get on your clothes. I imagine that your friends are somewherenear--with the sledge that brought me up from Le Pas. Tomorrow, ofcourse, I shall be compelled to take up the pursuit. But if you hurry Idon't believe that I shall catch you."
He rose and put on his hat, leaving the money and the check on thetable. The woman staggered toward him, the man following in a dazed,stunned sort of way. He saw the woman's arms reaching out to him again,a look in her beautiful face that he would never forget.
In another moment he had opened the door and was gone.