CHAPTER XXII
CHLOE WRITES A LETTER
When Bob MacNair, exasperated beyond all patience by Chloe Elliston'sfoolish accusation, stamped angrily from the cottage, after depositingthe wounded Ripley upon the bed, he proceeded at once to the barracks,where he sought out Wee Johnnie Tamarack, who informed him that Lapierrewas up on Snare Lake, at the head of a band of men who had alreadysucceeded in dotting the snow of the barren grounds with the black dumpsof many shafts. Whereupon he ordered Wee Johnnie Tamarack to assemblethe Indians at once at the storehouse.
No sooner had the old Indian departed upon his mission than the door ofthe barracks was pushed violently open and Big Lena entered, dragging bythe arm the thoroughly cowed figure of LeFroy. At sight of the man who,under Lapierre's orders, had wrought the destruction of his post at SnareLake, MacNair leaped forward with a snarl of anger. But before he couldreach the trembling man the form of Big Lena interposed, and MacNairfound himself swamped by a jargon of broken English that taxed to theutmost his power of comprehension.
"Ju yoost vait vun meenit. Ay tal ju som'ting gude. Dis damn LeFroy, hebane bad man. He vork by Lapierre, and he tak' de vhiskey to jourInjuns, but he don't vork no more by Lapierre; he vork by me. Ay goin'to marry him, and ju bet Ay keep him gude, or Ay bust de stove chunk'crost his head. He vork by Mees Chloe now, and he lak ju gif him chanceto show he ain't no bad man no more."
Big Lena shook the man roughly by way of emphasis, and MacNair smiled ashe noted the foolish grin with which LeFroy submitted to the inevitable.For years he had known LeFroy as a bad man, second only to Lapierre incunning and brutal cruelty; and to see him now, cowering under thedomination of his future spouse, was to MacNair the height of theridiculous--but MacNair was unmarried.
"All right," he growled, and LeFroy's relief at the happy termination ofthe interview was plainly written upon his features, for this meeting hadnot been of his own seeking. The memory of the shots which had taken offtwo of his companions that night on Snare Lake, was still fresh, and inhis desire to avoid a meeting with MacNair he had sought refuge in thekitchen. Whereupon Big Lena had taken matters into her own hands andliterally dragged him into MacNair's presence, replying to his terrifiedprotest that if MacNair was going to kill him, he was going to kill andhe might as well have it over with.
Thus it was that the relieved LeFroy leaped with alacrity to obey when, amoment later, MacNair ordered him to the storehouse to break out thenecessary provisions for a ten-days' journey for all his Indians. Sowell did the half-breed execute the order that upon MacNair's arrival atthe store-house he found LeFroy not only supplying provisions with alavish hand, but taking huge delight in passing out to the waitingIndians Lapierre's Mauser rifles and ammunition.
When MacNair, with his Indians, reached Snare Lake, it was to find thatPierre Lapierre had taken himself and his outlaws to the Lac du Mortrendezvous. Whereupon he immediately despatched thirty Indians back toLeFroy for the supplies necessary to follow Lapierre to his stronghold.Awaiting the return of the supply train, MacNair employed his remainingIndians in getting out logs for the rebuilding of his fort, and he smiledgrimly as his eyes roved over the dumps--the rich dumps which representedtwo months' well-directed labour of a gang of a hundred men.
As Chloe Elliston sat in the little living-room and listened to theimpassioned words of Lapierre, the man's chance of winning her was farbetter than at any time in the whole course of their acquaintance.Without in the least realizing it, the girl had all along held a certainregard for MacNair--a regard that was hard to explain, and that the girlherself would have been the first to disavow. She hated him! Andyet--she was forced to admit even to herself, the man fascinated her.But never until the moment of the realization of his true character, asforced upon her by the action and words of the Louchoux girl, had sheentertained the slightest suspicion that she loved him. And with thediscovery had come a sense of shame and humiliation that had all butbroken her spirit.
Her hatred for MacNair was real enough now. That hatred, the shame andhumility, and the fact that Lapierre was pleading with her as he hadnever pled before, were going far to convince the girl that her previousestimate of the quarter-breed had been a mistaken estimate, and that hewas in truth the fine, clean, educated man of the North which on thesurface he appeared to be. A man whose aim it was to deal fairly andhonourably with the Indians, and who in reality had the best interests ofhis people at heart.
No one but Chloe herself will ever know how near she came upon thatafternoon to yielding to his pleading, and laying her soul bare to him.But something interposed--fate? Destiny? The materialist smiles"supper." Be that as it may, had she yielded to Lapierre's plans, theywould have stolen from the school that very night and proceeded to FortRae, to be married by the priest at the Mission. For Lapierre, fullyalive to the danger of delay, had eloquently pleaded his cause.
Not only was MacNair upon his trail--MacNair the relentless, theindomitable--but also the word had passed in the North, and the men ofthe Mounted--those inscrutable sentinels of the silence whose watchwordis "get the man"--were aroused to avenge a comrade. And Lapierrerealized with a chill in his heart that he was "the man"! His one chancelay in a timely marriage with Chloe Elliston, and a quick dash for theStates. If the dash succeeded, he had nothing to fear. Even if itfailed, and he fell into the hands of the Mounted--with the Ellistonmillions behind him, he felt he could snap his fingers in the face of thelaw. Men of millions do not serve time.
For the men who awaited him in the Bastile du Mort, Lapierre gave nothought. He would stand by them as long as it furthered his own ends tostand by them. When they ceased to be a factor in his own safety, theycould shift for themselves, even as he, Lapierre, was shifting forhimself. Someone has said every man has his price. It is certain thatevery man has his limit beyond which he may not go.
Lapierre, a man of consummate nerve, had put forth a final effort to savehimself. Had put forth the best effort that was in him to induce ChloeElliston to marry him. He had found the girl kinder, more receptive thanhe had dared hope. His spirits arose to a point they had never beforeattained. Success seemed within his grasp. Then, suddenly, just as hisfingers were about to close upon the prize--the prize that meant to himlife and plenty, instead of death--the Louchoux girl, a passing folly ofa bygone day, had suddenly risen up and confronted him--and he knew thathis cause was lost.
Lapierre had reached his limit of control, and when he turned at thesound of the Indian girl's voice, his hand instinctively flew to hisbelt. In his rage at the sudden turn of events, he became for theinstant a madman, whose one thought was to destroy her who had wroughtthe harm. The next instant the snarl died upon his lips and his handdropped limply to his side. In two strides Big Lena was upon him and herthick fingers bit deep into his shoulder as she spun him to face her--toface the polished bit of the keen-edged ax which the huge womanflourished carelessly within an inch of his nose.
The fingers released their grip, Lapierre's gun was jerked from itsholster, and a moment later thumped heavily upon the floor of the kitchenfifteen feet away, while the woman pointed grimly toward the overturnedchair. Lapierre righted the chair, and as he sank into it, Chloe, whohad stared dumbfounded upon the scene, saw that little beads of sweatstood out sharply against the pallor of his bloodless brow. As from agreat distance the words of the Louchoux girl fell upon her ears. Shewas speaking rapidly, and the finger which she pointed at Lapierretrembled violently.
"You lied!" cried the girl. "You have always lied! You lied when youtold me we were married. You lied when you said you would return! Sincecoming to this school I have learned much. Many things have I learnedthat I never knew before. When you said you would return, I believedyou--even as my mother believed my father when he went away in the shipmany years ago, and left me a babe in arms to live or to die among theteepees of the Louchoux, the people of my mother, who was the mother ofhis child. My mother has not been to the school, and she believ
es someday my father will return. For many years she has waited, has starved,and has suffered--always watching for my father's return. And thefactors have laughed, and the rivermen taunted her with being the motherof a fatherless child! Ah, she has paid! Always the Indian women mustpay! And I have paid also. All my life have I been hungry, and in thewinter I have always been cold.
"Then you came with your laughing lips and your words of love and I wentwith you, and you took me to distant rivers. All through the summerthere was plenty to eat in our teepee. I was happy, and for the firsttime in my life my heart was glad--for I loved you! And then came thewinter, and the freezing up of the rivers, and the day you told me youmust return to the southward--to the land of the white men--without me.And I believed you even when they told me you would not return. I wasbrave--for that is the way of love, to believe, and to hope, and to bebrave."
The girl's voice faltered, and the trembling hand gripped the back of thechair upon which she leaned heavily for support.
"All my life have I paid," she continued, bitterly. "Yet, it was notenough. Years, when the children of the trappers had at times plenty toeat I was always hungry and cold.
"When you came into my life I thought at last I had paid in full--that mymother and I both had paid for her belief in the white man's word. Ah,if I had known! I should have known, for well I remember, it was uponthe day before--before I went away with you--that I told you of myfather, and of how we always went North in the winter, knowing that againhis ship would winter in the ice of the Bufort Sea. And you heard thestory and laughed, and you said that my father would not return--that thewhite men never return. And when I grew afraid, you told me that youwere part Indian. That your people were my people. I was a fool! Ilistened to your words!"
The girl dropped heavily into her chair and buried her face in her arms.
"And now I know," she sobbed, "that I have not even begun to pay!"
Suddenly she leaped to her feet and, dashing around the table placedherself between Lapierre and Chloe, who had listened white-lipped to herwords. Once more the voice of the Louchoux girl rang through theroom--high-pitched and thin with anger now--and the eyes that glared intothe eyes of Lapierre blazed black with fury.
"You have lied to her! But you cannot harm her! With my own ears Iheard your words! The same words I heard from your lips before, upon thebanks of the far-off rivers, and the words are lies--lies--lies!"--thevoice rose to a shriek--"the white woman is good! She is my friend! Shehas taught me much, and now, I will save her."
With a swift movement she caught the carving-knife from the table andsprang toward the defenceless Lapierre. "I will cut your heart in littlebits and feed it to the dogs!"
Once more the hand of Big Lena wrenched the knife from the girl's grasp.And once more the huge Swedish woman fixed Lapierre with her vacuousstare. Then slowly she raised her arm and pointed toward the door: "Jugit! And never ju don't come back no more. Ay don't lat ju go 'cause Aylak' ju, but Ay bane 'fraid dis leetle girl she cut ju up and feed ju tode dogs, and Ay no lak' for git dem dogs poison!"
And Lapierre tarried not for further orders. Pausing only to recover hishat from its peg on the wall, he opened the outer door and with onesidewise malevolent glance toward the little group at the table, slunkhurriedly from the room.
Hardly had the door closed behind him than Chloe, who had sat as onestunned during the girl's accusation and her later outburst of fury,leaped to her feet and seized her arm in a convulsive grip. "Tell me!"she cried; "what do you mean? Speak! Speak, can't you? What is thisyou have said? What is it all about?"
"Why it is he, Pierre Lapierre. He is the free-trader of whom I toldyou. The man who--who deceived me into believing I was his wife."
"But," cried Chloe, staring at her in astonishment. "I thought--Ithought MacNair was the man!"
"No! No! No!" cried the girl. "Not MacNair! Pierre Lapierre, he isthe man! He who sat in that chair, and whose heart I would cut into tinybits that you shall not be made to pay, even as I have paid, forlistening to the words of his lips."
"But," faltered Chloe, "I don't--I don't understand. Surely, you, fearMacNair. Surely, that night when he came into the room, carrying thewounded policeman, you fled from him in terror."
"MacNair is a white man----"
"But why should you fear him?"
"I fear him," she answered, "because among the Indians--among theLouchoux--the people of my mother, and among the Eskimoes, he is called'The Bad Man of the North.' I hated him because Lapierre taught me tohate him. I do not hate him now, nor do I fear him. But among theIndians and among the free-traders he is both hated and feared. Hechases the free-traders from the rivers, and he kills them and destroystheir whiskey. For he has said, like the men of the soldier-police, thatthe red man shall drink no whiskey. But the red men like the whiskey.Their life is hard and they do not have much happiness, and the whiskeyof the white man makes them happy. And in the days before MacNair theycould get much whiskey, but now the free-traders fear him, and onlysometimes do they dare to bring whiskey to the land of the far-off rivers.
"At the posts my people may trade for food and for guns and for clothing,but they may not buy whiskey. But the free-traders sell whiskey. Alsothey will trade for the women. But MacNair has said they shall not tradefor the women. At times, when men think he is far away, he comesswooping through the North with his Snare Lake Indians at his heels, andthey chase the free-traders from the rivers. And on the shores of thefrozen sea he chases the whalemen from the Eskimo villages even to theirships which lie far out from the coast, locked in the grip of theice-pack.
"For these things I have hated and feared him. Since I have been here atthe school I have learned much. Both from your teachings, and fromtalking with the women of MacNair's Indians. I know now that MacNair isgood, and that the factors and the soldier-police and the priest spokewords of truth, and that Lapierre and the free-traders lied!"
As the Indian girl poured forth her story, Chloe Elliston listened as onein a dream. What was this she was saying, that it was Lapierre who soldwhiskey to the Indians, and MacNair who stood firm, and struck mightyblows for the right of things? Surely, this girl's mind wasunhinged--or, had something gone wrong with her own brain? Was itpossible she had heard aright?
Suddenly she remembered the words of Corporal Ripley, when he asked herto withdraw the charge of murder against MacNair: "In the North we knowsomething of MacNair's work." And again: "We know the North needs menlike MacNair."
Could it be possible that after all--with the thought there flashed intothe girl's mind the scene on Snare Lake. Had she not seen with her owneyes the evidence of this man's work among the Indians! With a gestureof appeal she turned to Big Lena.
"Surely, Lena, you remember that night on Snare Lake? You saw MacNair'sIndians, drunk as fiends--and the buildings all on fire? You saw MacNairkicking and knocking them about? And you saw him fire the shots thatkilled two men? Speak, can't you? Did you see these things? Did I seethem? Was I dreaming? Or am I dreaming now?"
Big Lena shifted her weight ponderously, and the stare of the china-blueeyes met steadily the half-startled eyes of the girl. "Yah, Ay seen dasall right. Dem Injuns dey awful drunk das night and MacNair he come'long and schlap dem and kick dem 'round. But das gude for dem. Dey gotit comin'. Dey should not ought to drink Lapierre's vhiskey."
"Lapierre's whiskey!" cried the girl. "Are you crazy?"
"Naw, Ay tank Ay ain't so crazy. Lapierre he fool ju long tam'."
"What do you mean," asked Chloe.
"Ah, das a'right," answered the woman. "He fool ju gude, but he ain'tfool Big Lena. Ay know all about him for a jear."
"But," pursued the girl, "Lapierre was with us that night!"
Lena shrugged. "Yah, Lapierre very smart. He send LeFroy 'long wit' dasvhiskey. Den v'en he know MacNair's Injuns git awful drunk, he tak' ju'long for see it."
"LeFroy!" cried Chloe. "Why,
LeFroy was off to the eastward trying torun down some whiskey-runners."
Big Lena laughed derisively. "How ju fin' out?" she asked.
Chloe hesitated. "Why--why, Lapierre told me."
Again Big Lena laughed. "Yah, Lapierre tal ju, but, LeFroy, he don'tknow nuthin' 'bout no vhiskey-runners. Only him and Lapierre dos all devhiskey-running in dis country. LeFroy, he tal me all 'bout das. Hetak' das vhiskey up dere and he sell it to MacNair's Injuns, and MacNairshoot after him and kill two LeFroy's men. Ay goin' marry LeFroy, and hetal me de trut'. He 'fraid to lie to me, or Ay break him in two.LeFroy, he bane gude man now, he quit Lapierre. Ju bet ju if he don'tbane gude Ay gif him haal. Ay tal him it bane gude t'ing if MacNair killhim das night.
"Den MacNair come on de school and brung de policeman, LeFroy he 'fraidfor scart, and he goin' hide in de kitchen, and Ay drag him out and brunghim 'long to see MacNair. LeFroy, he 'fraid lak' haal. He squealMacNair goin' kill him. But Ay tal him das ain't much loss annyhow. Ifhe goin' kill him it's besser he kill him now, den Ay ain't got to bodderwit' him no more. But MacNair, he don't kill him. Ay tal him LeFroygoin' to be gude man now, and den MacNair he laugh, and tal LeFroy to go'long and git out de grub."
"But," cried Chloe, "you say you have known all about Lapierre for ayear, and you knew all the time that MacNair was right, and Lapierre waswrong, and you let me go blindly on thinking Lapierre was my friend, andtreating MacNair as I did! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Ju got yoost so manny eyes lak' me!" retorted the woman. "Ju neffer askme vat Ay tank 'bout MacNair and 'bout Lapierre. And Ay neffer tal judas 'cause Ay tank it besser ju fin' out yourself. Ay know ju got tofin' das out sometam'. Den ju believe it. Ju know lot 'bout vat standsin de books, but das mos' lak' MacNair say: 'bout lot t'ing, you damnfool!"
Chloe gasped. It was the longest speech Big Lena had ever made. And thegirl learned that when the big woman chose she could speak straight fromthe shoulder.
Harriet Penny gasped also. She pushed back her chair, and shook anoutraged finger at Big Lena. "Go into the kitchen where you belong!" shecried. "I really cannot permit such language in my presence. You areunspeakably coarse!"
Chloe whirled on the little woman like a flash. "You shut up, HatPenny!" she snapped savagely. "You don't happen to do the permittingaround here. If your ears are too delicate to listen to _the truth_ youbetter go into your own room and shut the door." And then crossingswiftly to her own room, she opened the door, but before entering sheturned to Big Lena, "Make a pot of strong coffee," she ordered, "andbring it to me here."
A few minutes later when the woman entered and deposited the traycontaining coffee-pot, cream-pitcher, and sugar-bowl upon the table, shefound Chloe striding up and down the room. There was a new light in thegirl's eyes, and, very much to Big Lena's surprise, she turned suddenlyupon her and throwing her arms about the massive shoulders, planted akiss squarely upon the wide, flat mouth.
"Ah, Lena," she cried, happily, "you--you are a dear!" And the Swedishwoman, with unexpected gentleness, patted the girl's shoulder, and as shepassed out of the door smiled broadly.
For an hour Chloe paced up and down the little room. At first she couldscarcely bring herself to realize that the two men, MacNair and Lapierre,had changed places. She remembered that in that very room she had morethan once pictured that very thing. As the conviction grew upon her, herpulse quickened. Never before had she been so supremely--so wildlyhappy. There was a strange barbaric singing in her heart, as for thefirst time she saw MacNair--the real MacNair at his true worth. MacNair,the big man, the really great man, strong and brave, alone in the Northfighting, night and day, against the snarling wolves of the world-waste.Fighting for the good of his Indians and the right of things as theyshould be.
Her mind dwelt upon the fine courage and the patience of him. Sherecalled the hurt look in his eyes when she ordered his arrest. Sheremembered his words to the officer--words of kindly apology for her ownblind folly. She penetrated the rough exterior, and read the realgentleness of his soul. And then, with a shame and mortification thatalmost overwhelmed her, she saw herself as she must appear to him. Sherecollected how she had accused him, had sneered at him, had called him aliar and a thief, a murderer, and worse.
Tears streamed unheeded from her eyes as she recalled the unconsciouspathos of his words as he stood beside his mother's grave. And the lookof reproach with which he sank, to the ground when Lapierre's bullet laidhim low. Her heart thrilled at the memory of the blazing wrath of him,the cold gleam of his eyes, the wicked snap of his iron jaw, as he said,"I have taken the man-trail!" She remembered the words he had oncespoken: "When you have learned the North, we shall be friends." Shewondered now if possibly this thing could ever be? Had she learned theNorth? Could she ever atone in his eyes for her cocksureness, her blindegotism?
Chloe quickened her pace, as if to walk away and leave these thingsbehind. How she hated herself! It seemed to her, in her shame andmortification, that she could never look into this man's eyes again. Herglance strayed to the portrait of Tiger Elliston that stared down at herfrom its bullet-shattered frame upon the wall. The eyes of the portraitseemed to bore deep into her own, and the words of MacNair flashedthrough her brain--the words he had used as he gazed into the eyes ofthat selfsame portrait.
Unconsciously--fiercely she repeated those words aloud: "By God! Yon isthe face of a _man_!" She started at the sound of her own voice. Andthen, like liquid flame, it seemed to the girl the blood of TigerElliston seethed and boiled in her veins--spurring her on to _do_!
"Do what?" she questioned. "What was there left to _do_, for one who hadblundered so miserably?"
Like a flash came the answer. She had done MacNair a great wrong. Shemust right that wrong, or at least admit it. She must own her error andoffer an apology.
Seating herself at the table, she seized a pen and wrote rapidly for along, long time. And then for a long time more she sat buried inthought, and at the end of an hour she arose and tore up the pages shehad written, and sat down again and penned another letter which sheplaced in an envelope addressed with the name of MacNair. This done shetook the letter, tiptoed across the living-room, and pushing open theLouchoux girl's door entered and seated herself upon the edge of the bed.The Indian girl was wide awake. A brown hand stole from beneath thecovers and clasped reassuringly about Chloe's fingers.
She handed the girl the letter.
"I can trust you," she said, "to place this in MacNair's hands. Go tosleep now, I will talk further with you tomorrow." And with a hurriedgood-night, Chloe returned to her own room.
She blew out the lamp and threw herself fully dressed upon the bed.Sleep would not come. She stared long at the little patch of moonlightthat showed upon the bare floor. She tried to think, but her heart wasfilled with a strange restlessness. Arising from the bed, she crossed tothe window and stared out across the moonlit clearing toward the darkedge of the forest--the mysterious forest whose depths seemed black withsinister mystery--whose trees bed-coned, stretching out their brancheslike arms.
A strange restlessness came over her. The confines of the little roomseemed smothering--crushing her. Crossing to the row of pegs she drew onher _parka_ and heavy mittens, and tiptoeing to the outer door, passedout into the night, crossed the moonlit clearing, and steppedhalf-fearfully into the deep shadow of the forest--to the call of thebeckoning arms.
As her form was swallowed up in the blackness, another form--a giganticfigure that bore clutched in the grasp of a capable hand the helve of anax, upon the polished steel of whose double-bitted blade the moonbeamsgleamed cruelly--slipped from the door of the kitchen and followedswiftly in the wake of the girl. Big Lena was taking no chances.