XV
Harold Lounsbury found to his surprise that they were not to start atonce. It soon became evident that Bill had certain other matters on hismind.
"Build a fire and put on some water to heat--fill up every pan youhave," he instructed Sindy. He himself began to cram their little stovewith wood. Harold watched with ill-concealed anxiety.
"What's that for?" he asked at last.
Bill straightened up and faced him. "You didn't think I was going totake you looking like you do, do you--into Virginia's presence? Thefirst thing on the program is--a bath."
Harold flushed: the red glow was evident even through the sootyaccumulation on his face. "It seems to me you're going a little outsideyour authority as Miss Tremont's representative. I don't know that Ineed to have any hillbilly tell me when I need a bath."
"Yes?" Bill's eyes twinkled--for the first time during their talk."Hillbilly is right--in contrast to a cultured gentleman of cities.But let me correct you. You may not know it, but I do. And you needone now." He turned once more to Sindy. "And see what you can do aboutthis gentleman's clothes, too; if he's got any clean underwear or anyother togs, load 'em out."
"Anything else?" Harold asked sarcastically.
"Several things. Have you got any kind of a razor?"
"No. I don't want one either."
"Better look around and find one. If you don't, I'll be obliged toshave you with my jackknife--and it will be inclined to pull. It'ssharp enough for skinning grizzlies but not for that growth of yours.And I'll try to trim your hair up for you a little, too. When youbathe, bathe all over--don't spare your face or your hair. Water mayseem strange at first, but you'll get used to it. And I'll go over andsit with Joe Robinson and his friend until you are ready. Thesurroundings are more appetizing. If you can polish yourself well in anhour, we'll make it through to-night."
Harold's heart burned, but he acquiesced. Then Bill turned and left himto his ablutions.
Less than an hour later Harold came mushing up the lean-to where Billwaited. And the hour had wrought a profound and amazing change in theman's appearance. He had conscientiously gone to work to cleansehimself, and he had succeeded. His hair, dull before, was a glossydark-brown now; he had shaved off the matted growth about his lips,leaving only a small, neat mustache; his hair was trimmed and carefullyparted. The man's skin had also resumed its natural shade.
For the first time Bill realized that Harold was really a ratherhandsome man. His features were much more regular than Bill's own. Thelips were fine,--just a little too fine, in fact, giving an intangiblebut unmistakable hint of cruelty. The only thing that had not changedwas his eyes. They were as smoldering and wolfish as ever.
By Bill's instructions he had loaded his back with blankets, his pistolwas at his belt, and he carried a thirty-five rifle in the hollow of hisarm.
"I'm ready," he said gruffly.
"I'm glad to hear it." Bill glanced at his watch. "It's late, but bymushing fast we can make it in by dark. I told Virginia that I'd likelyneed an extra day at least--she'll think I've worked fast. She'd knowit--if she had seen how you looked an hour ago. I was counting onfinding you somewhere along the Yuga."
"We moved up--a few weeks ago."
"There's one other thing, before we start. I want you to tell theseunderstrappers of yours to take that squaw and clear out of Clearwater.Tell 'em to take her back where she belongs--to Buckshot Dan. He'lltake her in, all right. I've been working in Miss Tremont's interestsuntil now--now I'm working in my own. This happens to be my trappingcountry. If I come back in a few weeks and find them still here there'sapt to be some considerable shedding of a bad mixture of bad blood. Inother words--skin out while you yet can."
The half-breeds, understanding perfectly, looked to Harold forconfirmation. The latter had already learned several lessons ofimportance this day, and he didn't really care to learn any more. Hisanswer was swift.
"Go, as he says," Harold directed.
Their dark faces grew sullen. The idea was evidently not to theirfavor. Then one asked a question in the Indian vernacular.
Bill was alert at once. Here was a situation that he couldn't handle.Harold glanced once at his face, saw by his expression that he wasbaffled, and answered in the same language. From the tone of his voiceBill would have said that he uttered a promise.
Once more the Indian questioned, and Harold hesitated an instant, as ifseeking an answer. It seemed to the other white man that his eye fellto the rifle that Bill carried. Then he spoke again, gesturing. Thegesture that he made was four fingers, as if in an instinctive motion,held before the Indian's eyes. Then he announced that he was ready togo.
The afternoon was almost done when they started out. The distant treeswere already dim; phantoms were gathered in the spaces between thetrunks. The two mushed swiftly through the snow.
Bill had enough memory of that glance to his rifle to prefer to walkbehind, keeping a close eye on Harold. Yet he could see no reason onearth why the man should make any attempt upon his life. The trip wasto Harold's own advantage.
He had plenty of time to think in the long walk to his cabin. Only thesnowy forest lay about him: the only sound was the crunch of their shoesin the snow, and there was nothing to distract him. Now that it wasevident that Harold had no designs upon his life, he walked with bowedhead, a dark luster in his eyes.
He had fulfilled his contract and found the missing man. Even now hewas showing him the way to Virginia. He wondered if he had been a foolto have sacrificed his own happiness for an unworthy rival. The worldgrew dreary and dark about him.
He had tried to hide his own tragedy by a mask of brusqueness, even agrim humor when he had given his orders to Harold. But he hadn'tdeceived himself. His heart had been leading within him. Now he evenfelt the beginnings of bitterness, but he crushed them down with all thepower of his will. He mustn't let himself grow bitter, at least,--blackand hating and jealous. Rather he must follow his star, believe yetin its beauty and its fidelity, and never look at it through glassesdarkly. He must take what fate had given him and be content,--a fewwonderful weeks that could never come again. He had had his fling ofhappiness; the day was at an end.
It was true. As if by a grim symbolism, darkness fell over Clearwater.The form in front of him grew dim, ghostly, yet well he knew itsreality. The distant trunks blurred, faded, and were obliterated; thetrees, swept and hidden by the snow, were like silent ghosts that faded;the whole vista was like a scene in a strange and tragic dream.
The silence seemed to press him down like a malignant weight. Themysterious and eerie sorrow of the northern night went home to him asnever before.
He knew all too well the outcome of this day's work. There would be afew little moments of gratitude from Virginia; perhaps in the joy of thereunion she would even forget to give him this. He would try to smileat her, to wish her happiness; he would fight to make his voice soundlike his own. She would take Harold to her heart the same as ever. Hehad not the least hope of any other consummation. Now that Harold wasshaved and clean he was a handsome youth, and all the full sweep of herold love would go to him in an instant. In fact, her love had alreadygone to him--across thousands of miles of weary wasteland--andthrough that love she had come clear up to these terrible wilds to findhim.
His speech, his bearing seemed already changed. He was remembering thathe was a gentleman, one of Virginia's own kind. He already looked thepart. Perhaps he was already on the way toward true regeneration.It was better that he should be, for Virginia's happiness. Herhappiness--this had been the motive and the theme of Bill's work clearthrough: it was his one consolation now. In a few days the snow crustwould be firm enough to trust, and hand in hand they would go down towardBradleyburg. He would see the joy in their faces, the old luster ofwhich he himself had dreamed in Virginia's eyes. But it would not flowout to him. The holy miracle would not raise him from the dead. Hewould serve her to th
e last, and when at length they saw the roofs andtottering chimneys of Bradleyburg she would go out of his work and outof his life, never to return. In their native city Harold Lounsburywould take his old place. He's have his uncle's fortune to aid him inis struggle for success. The test of existence was not so hard downthere; he might be wholly able to hold Virginia's respect and love, andmake her happy. Such was Bill's last prayer.
They were nearing the cabin now. They saw the candlelight, like a paleghost, in the window. Virginia was still up, reading, perhaps, beforethe fire. She didn't guess what happiness Bill was bringing her acrossthe snow.
Bill could fancy her, bright eyes intent, face a little thoughtful,perhaps, but tender as the eyes of angels. He could see her hairburnished in the candlelight, the soft, gracious beauty of her face.Her lips, too,--he couldn't forget those lips of hers. A shudder ofcold passed over his frame.
He strode forward and put his hand on Harold's arm. "Wait," hecommanded. "There's one thing more."
Harold paused, and the darkness was not so dense but that this face wasvaguely revealed, sullen and questioning.
"There's one thing more," Bill repeated again. "I've brought you here.I've given you your chance--for redemption. God knows if I had mychoice I'd have killed you first. She's not going to know about thesquaw, unless you tell her. These matters are all for you to decide, Iwon't interfere."
He paused, and Harold waited. And his eager ears caught the faint throbof feeling in the low, almost muttered notes.
"But don't forget I'm there," he went on. "I work for her--until shegoes out of my charge and I'm her guide, her protector, the guardian ofher happiness. That's all I care about--her happiness. I don't knowwhether or not I did wrong to bring a squaw man to her--but if you'reman enough to hold her love and make her happy, it doesn't matter. ButI give--one warning."
His voice changed. It took on a quality of infinite and immutableprophecy In the darkness and the silence, the voice might have comefrom some higher realm, speaking the irrevocable will of the forestgods.
"She'll be more or less in your power at times, up here. I won't bewith you every minute. But if you take one jot of advantage of thatfact--either in word or deed--I'll break you and smash you and killyou in my hands!"
He waited an instant for the words to go home. Harold shivered as ifwith cold. And because in his mind already lay the vision of theirmeeting, he uttered one more sentence of instructions. He was a strongman, this son of the forest--and no man dared deny the trait--but hecould not steel himself to see that first kiss. The sight of the girl,fluttering and enraptured in Harold's arms, the soft loveliness of herlips on his, was more than he could bear.
"Go on in," he said. "She's waiting for you."
And she was. She had waited six years, dreaming all the while of hisreturn. Harold went in, and left his savior to the doubtful mercy ofthe winter forest, the darkness that had crept into his heart, and thehush that might have been the utter silence of death itself had it notbeen for the image of a faint, enraptured cry, the utterance of dreamscome true, within the cabin door.