CHAPTER XX
THE HOME-COMING
Steve gave no sign. He saw no reason to admit anyone to the secret ofthat which had transpired in the store-house. He waited for the approachof an accompanying outfit, he searched to discover the supporters ofHervey Garstaing in his attempt on his life, and, failing all furtherdevelopment, he saw no use in sounding a note of alarm to disturb thosewho looked to him for leadership and protection. Besides, he was morethan reluctant to lay bare anything that could stir afresh thosememories from which only the passing of the years had brought him peace.
So he went on with his work, that work whose completion had becomewell-nigh an obsession. The dead body of Garstaing lay huddled aside,ruthlessly flung where it could least obtrude itself and interfere withthe labours upon which he was engaged. Its presence was no matter ofconcern. It lay there held safe from decay by the power of the drugwhich had robbed it of life. Later, with leisure, and when the desireprompted, Steve would dispose of it as he might dispose of any otherrefuse that displeased or disgusted him.
To a man of lesser hardihood, of less singleness of purpose such anattitude must have been impossible. But Steve had learned his lessons oflife in a ruthless school. He had no thought for any leniency towards anenemy, alive or dead. He had no reverence for the empty shell, which,in life, had contained nothing but vileness.
To the last he fought out the battle of physical endurance, and he wonout. It was a bitter, deadly struggle in which will alone turned thescale. When the last bale of Adresol was packed, and the door of thestore-house was made secure, its treasure in the keeping of its deadguardian, Steve knew that he was about to pay the price. The finalremoval of his mask found him an extremely sick man. And for two weekshe was forced to fight against the effect of the deadly toxins he hadbeen inhaling for so long. He had saved others from the risk of handlingthe Adresol. Now he was called upon to pay for his self-sacrifice.
In her silent, unquestioning fashion An-ina understood, and, for nearlytwo weeks, she watched and ministered to the man of her love withsmiling-eyed devotion. Steve never admitted his condition, and An-inanever reminded him of it. That was their way. But never in all theiryears of life together had the woman been more surely her man's devotedslave. Her every service was an expression of the happiness which theprivilege yielded her. Every thought behind her dark eyes was a prayerfor the well-being of her man.
For all the inroad the poisons had made upon him, Steve's robust,healthy body was no easy prey, and, slowly but surely, it won its wayand drove back a defeated enemy. The spirit of the man was invincible,and then, too, his knowledge of the drugs, both Adresol and thoseantitoxins which he had been forced to oppose to it, was well-nighcomplete. The dead father of Marcel had left him in no uncertainty. Hehad equipped him perfectly through his writings.
So, with the complete break-up of winter Steve was once more in hisplace at the helm of his little vessel. He was there calm, strong,resourceful, ready to deal with every matter that came along as the rushof the open season's business descended upon the fort.
It, was as well. The rush was considerable as the Sleepers roused fromtheir hibernation. An-ina, Julyman, Oolak, were all his ablelieutenants, but Steve's was the guiding mind and hand. The others werepeople of the same colour as these half Eskimos.
The hubbub and chaffer of it all went on the day long. The store wasalive with the squat, black-eyed, dusky creatures, swathed in theirArctic furs. They brought all their trade, surplus stocks of the driedAdresol weed, pelts, beaver and grey fox, wolf and seal. And for thesethey demanded equipment and supplies for the open season's hunt. Theywere mainly a good-natured and unsuspicious crowd whose guttural tonguewas harsh and very voluble. They needed handling. Essentially theyneeded handling by the white man.
Steve had been relieved for his midday meal. He was relieved by An-ina,assisted by Julyman. Oolak stood by with his club, ready for any displayof the predatory instincts that yielded to temptation.
Steve had not yet returned from the kitchen. He had finished his heartymeal and lit his pipe. He was standing before the window, from which allcovering had been removed at the advance of the open season.
The air was chill. For the moment he was staring out reflectively at theclear, bright sunlight, while the buzz of voices in the store hummedupon his ears. It was well-nigh a perfect Northern spring day. The skywas a-froth with white, sunlit clouds. But the sunlight had littlerelation to the sunlight of more temperate climates at such a season. Itwas fiercely bright against the melting snows, with a steely chill thatentirely lacked the gracious promise of budding trees and tendershooting grass. At best it spoke of the final passing of the wastes ofsnow and ice.
These things, however, were not concerning Steve. It was one of thosemoments of solitude in which he could give run to the thoughts that mostnearly concerned him. His eyes had parted from the shadowy smile whichthey usually wore before the eyes of others. Just now they were scarcelyhappy, and the drawn brows suggested a lurking trouble that disturbedhim. He was thinking of Marcel. Ever since the visitation of HerveyGarstaing, Marcel had rarely been out of his thoughts.
He removed his pipe and passed a hand across his broad brow. It was agesture of weariness. There were no eyes to witness the action, so heattempted no disguise. It mattered little enough to him that the wholeworld about him was awakening. It mattered nothing to him that the whiteworld was passing, and the rivers were starting to flood. The featheredworld might wing to greet the new-born season. It might darken the skywith its legions. Such things had no power to stir his pulses, any morethan had the thought of the great triumph he had achieved over thedesperate Arctic elements, if all was not well with--Marcel.
This was his haunting fear. He was thinking of Marcel--and this whitegirl, Keeko. Even when he had listened to the delighted tones of An-ina,as she told him the story which she had obtained from the boy's ownlips, his fears had been stirred. The woman's delight had been thesimple delight of a woman in such romance. That side of it had left himcold. He knew the Northern world, his world, too well. He knew the typeof woman that haunted the habitations of man in such regions as Unaga.And so he had feared for Marcel.
Since that time had happened those things which warned him of awide-flung conspiracy of which his secret trade in Adresol was thecentre. Oh, yes, it had needed but one flash of inspiration to warn himof this thing, and his concern was that this beautiful white woman,Keeko, was a link in the chain of the conspiracy with which he wassurrounded.
He saw the hand of Lorson Harris in it, guiding, prompting, from thatoffice he knew so well in Seal Bay.
Hervey Garstaing was his tool. There could be no doubt as to that towhich the man had sunk. It was the simple logic of such a career as his.A man reduced to haunting Mallard's in his endeavour to escape the lawmust inevitably sink lower and lower. Garstaing was a Northern man.Sooner or later the Northern wilderness would claim him. The next stepwould be the embrace of Lorson Harris. No man "on the crook" north of60 deg. could escape that. Then--? But there was no need to look further inthat direction.
But this girl, or woman, this Keeko--her very name suggested to him thevampire creatures haunting the muddy shores of Seal Bay--had discoveredMarcel last summer. Marcel, a boy. A boy in years--a child in mind. Shewould be beautiful. Oh, yes, Lorson Harris would see to that. She wouldbe possessed of every art and wile of the women of her trade. It wouldbe too pitifully easy. She must have returned to her headquarters withthe secret he had held so long hidden. And then the coming of themurderer to complete the task Lorson Harris had set.
Now Marcel had gone again to meet this Delilah. He had returned to herin all his splendid youth to be dragged down, down to those backwatersof vice in which her life was spent. Or, having achieved her purpose,would she meet him again? Would she not rather have gone to receive thereward of her betrayal? Anyway it mattered so little. Her mischief wascomplete. Body and soul, this youth was doubtless hers. What manner ofman would he return?
This
it was that haunted Steve throughout the long hours of each passingday. Mind and heart had been set on one great purpose of selfishness. Hehad gambled his life against overwhelming odds for the sake of thisyouth. He had won out at terrific cost to himself. And now the joy ofhis thought was submerged in the prospect of that moral destructionwhich the evil scheming of Lorson Harris had brought about.
The hopelessness of it all was in simple proportion to the strength anddepth of the love and parental affection of the man's heart. But he knewthat until the naked truth, however hideous, was revealed he mustcontinue the labours that were his. If the merciless hand of LorsonHarris had destroyed the simple soul of Marcel, then Lorson should payas he little dr----
Steve started. His depressed brows lightened. His eyes, so full ofbrooding, widened as he listened. The sound of a voice, big, strong,reached him over the guttural buzz of the trading Sleepers' tones.
"Uncle Steve? He's back. He's--safe?"
The tone was urgent. It was Marcel. And there was that note of force andanxiety in his voice which Steve never remembered to have heard before.
Impulse urged him. It was quite beyond his power to restrain it. Hewaited not a moment for An-ina's reply. Snatching his pipe from hismouth he shouted swift response as he made for the store.
"Why, surely, boy," he cried. "It don't seem to me there's a thing northof 60 deg. to do me hurt."
* * * * *
The two men were standing in the doorway of the store, just where theyhad met. Outside were two dog trains newly drawn up, and four figures,stranger figures, were moving about them.
Inside the store the clamour of traffic went on undisturbed by the newarrival. Oolak, with his club, continued to shepherd the queer, squatcreatures he despised. Julyman was at the rough counter at the commandof An-ina, whose outward calm was a perfect mask for the feelingsstirred at the unexpected return of Marcel. It was all so characteristicof these people, for all there were momentous words and happeningspassing, for all Marcel was conveying news of the threat to their liveswhich had brought him at such speed back to his home.
The older man, broad of shoulder, sturdy under his rough buckskin, wasno match for the youngster who towered over him. And that which helacked in stature was made up for in the undisturbed expression of hisface. Marcel was urgent in his youthful grasp of the threatovershadowing. Steve, while apparently listening to him, seemed to beabsorbed in the movements of the strangers beyond the door.
Marcel's story was a brief outline, almost disjointed. It was the story,roughly, as Keeko had brought it to him. He told of the purpose of theman Nicol, bribed by Lorson Harris to steal the secret of their trade.He told of Nicol's confession to Keeko that he had located thewhereabouts of the fort, and his purpose forthwith to raid it, and wipeout its occupants, and so earn the price of his crime. He told ofKeeko's ultimate terror of this creature's proposals to herself and ofthe desperate nature of her flight from Fort Duggan to warn Marcel, andseek his protection.
It was all told without a thought for anything beyond the urgency of thethreat, and his own youthful absorption in the girl who had taught himthe meaning of love. In that supreme moment he had no thought for thething that had driven Steve out into the winter wilderness, fightingthe battle of his great purpose. He had no thought for the success orfailure that had attended him. Steve was there in the flesh, the same"Uncle" Steve he had always known. It was sufficient. An-ina, too, wasthere, safe and well, and the sight of her had banished his worstanxieties. The lover's selfishness was his. Keeko was outside. She hadcome with him to his home. She had promised him the fulfilment of hisman's great desire. Where then was the blame? Steve had no thought ofblame in his mind. And An-ina? An-ina's complete happiness lay in thefact of her boy's return.
"Say, Uncle," Marcel cried in conclusion, with impulsive vehemence."It's been one hell of a trip. It certainly has. And I'd say a fellerdon't know one haf the deviltry of this forsaken country till he's hitit haf thawed."
"No." Steve smiled at the four figures he was watching as there flashedthrough his mind the recollection of the journey of a white man, and awoman, and two Indians, and a child at such a time of year a good manyseasons ago.
"You're right, Uncle," Marcel went on, without observing the smile. "Butit just needed a woman to show the way, I guess," he cried, in a wave ofburning enthusiasm. "Keeko had us well-nigh hollering help from thestart. She set the gait. She showed us the way. She guessed that warningneeded to get through quick, with An-ina here alone. And she meant tosave her if the work of it killed her. She's just the greatest ever.She's the bravest, the best----"
Steve nodded.
"Yes. I guess she's all you say."
The older man's eyes had come back to the handsome face lit withpassionate enthusiasm. There was a twinkle of dry humour in them.
"I know, boy," he said gently. "I get all that. That's why I want to getright out now and hand her thanks and welcome to your home. Guess it'snot my way to have folks who've made near five hundred miles to do megood service, standing around waiting while I'm asked to pass 'emwelcome. Guess I want to shake this white girl, with the queer Indianname, by the hand. I want to make her just as welcome as I know how. Doyou feel like helping me that way?"
In a moment a great laugh broke, through the shadow of disappointmentthat had fallen upon Marcel's eyes at the other's first words.
"You can just kick me, Uncle Steve," he cried. "You surely can. GuessI'm every sort of crazy fool, trying to tell you the thing that'sKeeko's to tell. But I didn't think," he added, passing a hand acrosshis forehead. "I don't seem to be able to just now. You see--Say comeright along."
* * * * *
"So you're--Keeko."
Marcel was standing by, looking on with a smiling happiness lighting hisface. But he was not observing. Observation at such a moment wasimpossible to him. He was feasting his happy eyes on the girl's prettyface under the brown fur cap which had been tilted from her forehead. Hewas looking for her approval of Uncle Steve, and her smiling blue eyesseemed to him all sufficient.
Had he been less concerned with Keeko he must have discovered that whichwas looking out of Steve's eyes. It was a curious, searching look thathad something startled in it. He must have become aware that, for allthe older man's self-restraint, something was stirring within him,something that robbed him of a composure that the dangers and trials ofthe life that was his had on power to rob him of. Uncle Steve wassmiling responsively, a gentle, kindly smile, but it was utterlypowerless to deny the other expression.
Keeko withdrew her hands which had been held for a moment in both ofSteve's.
"Yes," she said, something shyly. "I'm Keeko."
"Keeko." Steve's echo of the name was reflective. "It's a queer name."
The startled look had passed out of his eyes. But his intent regardremained almost embarrassing. Then, quite suddenly, as the girl turned alittle helplessly, and her gaze settled itself upon the great figure ofMarcel, he seemed to become aware this was so. He, too, promptly glancedaway, taking in the three Indians standing beside the dogs.
"Here, say," he cried authoritatively. "Unhitch those dogs and fix thesleds. You boys best get the sleds unloaded."
Then he turned again to Keeko.
"I want to hand you a big show piece talk, Keeko," he said with quietease. "I want to say how glad I am you came along with this boy of ours,and to thank you for the things you figgered to do for us. I guess wearen't going to let the thought of this feller--Nicol--worry us grey.And Lorson Harris, big as he may be in Seal Bay, don't cut much ice uphere in the heart of Unaga. We've the measure of most things takenthat's likely to hand us worry. There's a home right here for you, forjust as long as you two fancy. I take it you've fixed things up betweenyou. Guess it scared me when I first heard tell of you, and I don't needto tell you why I was scared. Now I've seen you it isn't that way. No,"he added, in contemplative fashion. "I kind of thank Providence. Hesent you where y
ou found our boy, and later made things so you camealong--to home. My dear, I'm just glad." Then he added in response tothe wonderful light which his words brought into the girl's pretty eyes:"Say, just come right in. An-ina's inside. She'll get you rested andfed. And she'll hand you a mother's welcome, same as I do a--father's."
The girl made no movement to obey. The tenderness, the simple kindlinessthat rang in Steve's tones, was so utterly different from anything shehad ever listened to in the hard years of nomadic life she had beenforced to live. In contrast, the memory of her days at Fort Duggan lefther shuddering. The memory of the pitiful subterfuges to which she andher dead mother had been forced to resort in the hope of saving her fromthe merciless hands of the beast of prey who had ruined so utterly theirlives, was something that seemed to belong to some hideous nightmare.For perhaps the first time since the iron of life had entered into herwoman's soul she wanted to fall to a-weeping. In her speechlessnesstears actually rose to her eyes. She was weary, weary of limb with thehardship of her journey. But now, in the reaction of Steve's welcome,she realized, too, an utter weariness of mind. But her tears were savedfrom overflowing. She looked to the smiling Marcel, and, with a littlehelpless gesture, held out her hands.
It was all so unlike the woman who had faced every hardship on thetrail. It was all so unlike the strong courage which Marcel knew. Hecaught her hands in his, and drew her to his side. Then, together, theypassed on to the store, while Steve's eyes followed them, and theIndians remained at the work they had been set.
Once Keeko and Marcel had vanished within the store there was no longerneed for disguise. Steve's smile passed out of his eyes. A great lightof startled wonder took its place. Unconsciously he turned in thedirection of the store-house, concealing its great burden ofAdresol--and that other.
For a while he stood there. Then a sound broke from him. It was asingle, low-muttered word.
"Keeko!"
He moved away. He passed on to the open gateway of the stockade andgazed far out towards the south-west. The sunlight upon the melting snowwas well-nigh blinding. But it troubled him not at all. His eyes were nolonger seeing. They were absorbed in a deep contemplation, visualizingscenes that rose up at him out of the dim, distant past. He was thinkingof that moment of parting, when he had gazed down into the great blueeyes of his baby girl as she was held up to him by her erring mother.
"Keeko!" he muttered again. "Coqueline!" Then, after a long, almostinterminable pause: "Nita!"