CHAPTER XXVI
A little later, clasping hands in the lamp glow, Kent and SandyMcTrigger stood alone in the big room. In their handclasp was the warmthrill of strong men met in an immutable brotherhood. Each had faceddeath for the other. Yet this thought, subconsciously and forever apart of them, expressed itself only in the grip of their fingers and inthe understanding that lay deep in their eyes.
In Kent's face the great question was of Marette. McTrigger saw thefear of it, and slowly he smiled, a glad and yet an anxious smile, ashe looked toward the door through which Marette and the older woman hadgone.
"Thank God you have come in time!" he said, still holding Kent's hand."She thought you were dead. And I know, Kent, that it was killing her.We had to watch her at night. Sometimes she would wander out into thevalley. She said she was looking for you. It was that way tonight."
Kent gulped hard. "I understand now," he said. "It was the living soulof her that was pulling me here. I--"
He took his pack with its precious contents from his shoulders,listening to McTrigger. They sat down. What McTrigger was saying seemedof trifling consequence beside the fact that Marette was somewherebeyond the other door, alive, and that he would see her again verysoon. He did not see why McTrigger should tell him that the older womanwas his wife. Even the fact that a splendid chance had thrown Maretteupon a log wedged between two rocks in the Chute, and that this log,breaking away, had carried her to the opposite side of the river milesbelow, was trivial with the thought that only a door separated themnow. But he listened. He heard McTrigger tell how Marette had searchedfor him those days when he was lost in fever at Andre Boileau's cabin,how she had given him up for dead, and how in those same days Laselle'sbrigade had floated down, and she had come north with it. Later hewould marvel over these things, but now he listened, and his eyesturned toward the door. It was then that McTrigger drove somethinghome. It was like a shot piercing Kent's brain. McTrigger was speakingquietly of O'Connor. He said:
"But you probably came by way of Fort Simpson, Kent, and O'Connor hastold you all this. It was he who brought Marette back home through theSulphur Country."
"O'Connor!"
Kent sprang to his feet. It took McTrigger but a moment to read thetruth in his face.
"Good God, do you mean to tell me you don't know, Kent?" he whisperedtensely, rising in front of the other. "Haven't you seen O'Connor?Haven't you come in touch with the Police anywhere within the lastyear? Don't you know--?"
"I know nothing," breathed Kent.
For a space McTrigger stared at him in amazement
"I have been in hiding," said Kent. "All this time I have been keepingaway from the Police."
McTrigger drew a deep breath. Again his hands gripped Kent's, and hisvoice was incredulous, filled with a great wonder. "And you have cometo her, to her old home, believing that Marette killed Kedsty! It ishard to believe. And yet--" Into his face came suddenly a look ofgrief, almost of pain, and Kent, following his eyes, saw that he waslooking at a big stone fireplace in the end of the room.
"It was O'Connor who worked the thing out last Winter," he said,speaking with, an effort. "I must tell you before you see her again.You must understand everything. It will not do to have her tell you.See--"
Kent followed him to the fireplace. From the shelf over the stoneworkMcTrigger took a picture and gave it to him. It was a snapshot, thepicture of a bare-headed man standing in the open with the sun shiningon him.
A low cry broke from Kent's lips. It was the great, gray ghost of a manhe had seen in the lightning flare that night from the window of hishiding-place in Kedsty's bungalow.
"My brother," said McTrigger chokingly. "I loved him. For forty yearswe were comrades. And Marette belonged to us, half and half. It washe--who killed--John Barkley." And then, after a moment in whichMcTrigger fought to speak steadily, he added, "And it was he--mybrother--who also killed Inspector Kedsty."
For a matter of seconds there was a dead silence between them.McTrigger looked into the fireplace instead of at Kent. Then he said:
"He killed those men, but he didn't murder them, Kent. It couldn't becalled that. It was justice, single-man justice, without going to law.If it wasn't for Marette, I wouldn't tell you about it--not thehorrible part of it. I don't like to bring it up in my memory. ... Ithappened years ago. I was not married then, but my brother was tenyears older than I and had a wife. I think that Marette loves you asMarie loved Donald. And Donald's love was more than that. It wasworship. We came into the new mountain country, the three of us, evenbefore the big strikes at Dawson and Bonanza. It was a wild country, asavage country, and there were few women in it, but Marie came withDonald. She was beautiful, with hair and eyes like Marette's. That wasthe tragedy of it.
"I won't tell you the details. They were terrible. It happened whileDonald and I were out on a hunt. Three men--white men--remember that,Kent; WHITE MEN--came out of the North and stopped at the cabin. Whenwe returned, what we found there drove us mad. Marie died in Donald'sarms. And leaving her there, alone, we set out after the white-skinnedbrutes who had destroyed her. Only a blizzard saved them, Kent. Theirtrail was fresh when the storm came. Had it held off another two hours,I, too, would have killed.
"From that day Donald and I became man-hunters. We traced the backtrail of the three fiends and discovered who they were. Two years laterDonald found one of the three on the Yukon, and before he killed him hemade him verify the names of the other two. It was a long search afterthat, Kent. It has covered thirty years. Donald grew old faster than I,and I knew, after a time, that he was strangely mad. He would be gonefor months at a time, always searching for the two men. Ten yearspassed, and then, one day, in the deep of Winter, we came on a cabinhome that had been stricken with the plague--the smallpox. It was thehome of Pierre Radisson and his wife Andrea. Both were dead. But therewas a little child still living, almost a babe in arms. We took her,Donald and I. The child was--Marette."
McTrigger had spoken almost in a monotone. He had not raised his eyesfrom the ash of the fireplace. But now he looked up suddenly at Kent.
"We worshipped her from the beginning," he said, his voice a bit husky."I hoped that love for her would save Donald. It did, in a way. But itdid not cure his madness, his desire for vengeance. We came farthereast. We found this marvelous valley, and gold in the mountains,untouched by other men. We built here, and I hoped even more that theglory of this new world we had discovered would help Donald to forget.I married, and my wife loved Marette. We had a child, and then another,and both died. We loved Marette more than ever after that. Anne, mywife, was the daughter of a missioner and capable of educating Maretteup to a certain point. You will find this place filled with all kindsof books, and reading, and music. But the time came when we thought wemust send Marette to Montreal. It broke her heart. And then--a longtime after--"
McTrigger paused a moment, looking into Kent's eyes. "And then--one dayDonald came in from Dawson City, terrible in his madness, and told usthat he had found his men. One of them was John Barkley, the richtimber man, and the other was Kedsty, Inspector of Police at AthabascaLanding."
Kent made no effort to speak. His amazement, as McTrigger had gone on,was beyond the expression of words. The night held for him a cumulativeshock--the discovery that Marette was not dead, but alive, and now thediscovery that he, Jim Kent, was no longer a hunted man, and that itwas O'Connor, his old comrade, who had run the truth down. With drylips he simply nodded, urging McTrigger to continue.
"I knew what would happen if Donald went after Barkley and Kedsty,"said the older man. "And it was impossible to hold him back. He wasmad, clean mad. There was just one thing for me to do. I left herefirst, with the intention of warning the two brutes who had killedDonald's wife. I knew, with the evidence in our hands, they could donothing but make a getaway. No matter how rich or powerful they were,our evidence was complete, and through many years we had kept track ofthe movements of our witnesses. I tried to explain to Donald that wecould s
end them to prison, but there was but one thought in his poorsick mind--to kill. I was younger and beat him south. And after that Imade my fatal mistake. I thought I was far enough ahead of him to getdown to the line of rail and back before he arrived. You see, I figuredhis love for Marette would take him to Montreal first, and I had madeup my mind to tell her everything so that she might understand thenecessity of holding him if he went to her. I wrote everything to herand told her to remain in Montreal. How she did that, you know. She setout for the North as soon as she received my letter."
McTrigger's shoulders hunched lower. "Well, you know what happened,Kent. Donald got ahead of me, after all. I came the day after Barkleywas killed. I took it as a kind fate that the day preceding the killingI shot a grouse for my dinner, and as the bird was only wounded when Ipicked it up, I got blood on the sleeves of my coat. I was arrested.Kedsty, every one, was sure they had the real man. And I kept quiet,except to maintain my innocence. I could say nothing that would turnthe law on Donald's trail.
"After that, things happened quickly. You, my friend, made your falseconfession to save one who had done you a poor service years ago.Almost simultaneously with that, Marette had come. She came quietly, inthe night, and went straight to Kedsty. She told him everything, showedhim the written evidence, telling him this evidence was in the hands ofothers and would be used if anything happened to her. Her power overhim was complete. As the price of her secrecy she demanded my release,and in that black hour your confession gave Kedsty his opportunity.
"He knew you were lying. He knew it was Donald who had killed Barkley.Yet he was willing to sacrifice you to save himself. And Maretteremained in his house, waiting and watching for Donald, while Isearched for him on the trails. That is why she secretly lived inKedsty's house. She knew that Donald would come there sooner or later,if I did not find him and get him away. And she was plotting how tosave you.
"She loved you, Kent--from that first hour she came to you in thehospital. And she tried to exact your freedom also as an added pricefor her secrecy. But Kedsty had become like a cornered tiger. If hefreed you, he saw his whole world crumbling under his feet. He, too,went a little mad, I think. He told Marette that he would not free you,that he would go to the hangman first. Then, Kent, came the night ofyour freedom, and a little later--Donald came to Kedsty's home. It washe whom you saw that night out in the storm. He entered and killedKedsty.
"Something dragged Marette down to the room that night. She foundKedsty in his chair--dead. Donald was gone. It was then that you foundher there. Kent, she loved you--and you will never know how her heartbled when she let you think she had killed Kedsty. She has told meeverything. It was her fear for Donald, her desire to keep all possiblesuspicion from him until he was safe, that compelled her not to confideeven in you. Later, when she knew that Donald must be safe, she wasgoing to tell you. And then--you were separated at the Chute."McTrigger paused, and Kent saw him choke back a grief that was stilllike the fresh cut of a knife in his heart.
"And O'Connor found out all this?"
McTrigger nodded. "Yes. He defied Kedsty's command to go to FortSimpson and was on his way back to Athabasca Landing when he found mybrother. It is strange how all things happened, Kent. But I guess Godmust have meant it that way. Donald was dying. And in dying, for aspace, his old reason returned to him. It was from him, before he died,that O'Connor learned everything. The story is known everywhere now. Itis marvelous that you did not hear--"
There came an interruption, the opening of a door. Anne McTrigger stoodlooking at them where a little time before she had disappeared withMarette. There was a glad smile in her face. Her dark eyes were glowingwith a new happiness. First they rested on McTrigger's face, and thenon Kent's.
"Marette is much better," she said in her soft voice. "She is waitingto see you, M'sieu Kent. Will you come now?"
Like one in a dream Kent went toward her. He picked up his pack, forwith its precious contents it had become to him like his own flesh andblood. And as the woman led the way and Kent followed her, McTriggerdid not move from the fireplace. In a little while Anne McTrigger cameback into the room. Her beautiful eyes were aglow. She was smilingsoftly, and putting her arms about the shoulders of the man at thefireplace, she whispered:
"I have looked at the night through the window, Malcolm. I think thatthe stars are bigger and brighter than they have been in a long time.And the Watcher seems like a living god up in the sky. Come, please."
She took his hand, and Malcolm went with her. Over their heads burned aglory of stars. The wind came gently up the valley, cool with thefreshness of the mountain-tops, sweet with the smell of meadow andflowers. And when the woman pointed through the glow, Malcolm McTriggerlooked up at the Watcher, and for an instant he fancied that he sawwhat she had seen--something that was life instead of death, a glow ofunderstanding and of triumph in the mighty face of stone above the lacemists of the clouds. For a long time they walked on, and deep in theheart of the woman a voice cried out again and again that the Watcherknew, and that it was a living joy she saw up there, for up to thatunmoving and voiceless god of the mountains she had cried and laughedand sung--and even prayed; and with her Marette had also done thesethings, until at last the pulse and beat of women's souls had given aspirit to a form of rock.
Back in the chateau which Malcolm McTrigger and his brother Donald hadbuilt of logs, in a room whose windows faced the Watcher himself,Marette was unveiling the last of mystery for Jim Kent. And this, too,was her hour of triumph. Her lips were red and warm with the flushbrought there by Kent's love.
Her face was like the wild roses he had crushed under his feet all thatday. For in this hour the world had come to her, and had prostrateditself at her feet. The sacred contents of the pack were in her lap asshe leaned back in the great blanketed and pillowed chair that had beenher invalid's nest for many days. But it was an invalid's nest nolonger. The floods of life were pounding through her body again, and inthat hour when Malcolm McTrigger and his wife were gone, Kent lookedupon the miracle of its change. And now Marette gave to him a littlepacket, and while Kent opened it she raised both hands to her head andunbound her hair so that it fell about her in shining and gloriousconfusion.
Kent, unwrapping a last bit of tissue-paper, found in his hands a longtress of hair.
"See, Jeems, it has grown fast since I cut it that night."
She leaned a little toward him, parting her hair with slim, whitefingers so that he saw again where the hair had been clipped the nightof Kedsty's death.
And then she said: "You may keep it always if you want to, Jeems, for Icut it from my head when I left you in the room below, and whenyou--almost--believed I had killed Kedsty. It was this--"
She gave him another packet, and her lips tightened a little as Kentunwrapped it, and another tress of hair shimmered in the lamp glow.
"That was father Donald's," she whispered.
"It--it was all he had left of Marie, his wife. And that night--whenKedsty died--"
"I understand," cried Kent, stopping her. "He choked Kedsty with ituntil he was dead. And when I found it around Kedsty's neck--you--youlet me think it was yours--to save father Donald!"
She nodded. "Yes, Jeems. If the police had come, they would havethought I was guilty. I planned to let them think so until fatherDonald was safe. But all the time I had here in my breast this othertress, which would prove that I was innocent--when the time came. Andnow, Jeems--"
She smiled at him again and reached out her hands. "Oh, I feel sostrong! And I want to take you out now--and show you myvalley--Jeems--our valley--yours and mine--in the starlight. Nottomorrow, Jeems. But tonight. Now."
A little later the Watcher looked down on them, even as it had lookeddown on another man and another woman who had preceded them. But thestars were bigger and brighter, and the white cap of snow that restedon the Watcher's head like a crown caught the faint gleam of a far-awaylight; and after that, slowly and wonderfully, other snow-crestedmountain-tops caught that g
reeting radiance of the moon. But it was theWatcher who stood out like a mighty god among them all, and when theycame to the elbow in the plain, Marette drew Kent down beside her on agreat flat rock and laughed softly as she held his hand tightly in herlap.
"Always, from a little child, I have sat and played on this rock, withthe Watcher looking, like that," she said in a low voice. "I have grownto love him, Jeems. And I have always believed that he was gazing offthere, night and day, into the east, watching for something that wascoming to me. Now I know. It was you, Jeems. And, Jeems, when I wasaway--down there in the big city--"
Her fingers gripped his thumb in their old way, and Kent waited.
"It was the Watcher that made me want to come home most of all," shewent on, a bit of tremble in her voice. "Oh, I grew lonely for him, andI could see him in my dreams at night, watching, watching, watching,and sometimes even calling me. Jeems, do you see that hump on his leftshoulder, like a great epaulet?"
"Yes, I see," said Kent.
"Beyond that, on a straight line from here--hundreds of miles away--areDawson City, the Yukon, the big gold country, men, women, civilization.Father Malcolm and father Donald have never found but one trail to thisside of the mountains, and I have been over it three times--to Dawson.But the Watcher's back is on those things. Sometimes I imagine it washe who built those great ramparts through which few men come. He wantsthis valley alone. And so do I. Alone--with you, and with my people."
Kent drew her close in his arms. "When you are stronger," he whispered,"we will go over that hidden trail together, past the Watcher, towardDawson. For it must be that over there--we will find--a missioner--" Hepaused.
"Please go on, Jeems."
"And you will be--my wife."
"Yes, yes, Jeems--forever and ever. But, Jeems"--her arms crept upabout his neck--"very soon it will be the first of August."
"Yes--?"
"And in that month there come through the mountains, each year, a manand a woman to visit us--mother Anne's father and mother. And motherAnne's father--"
"Yes--?"
"Is a missioner, Jeems."
And Kent, looking up in this hour of his triumph and joy, believed thatin the Watcher's face he caught for an instant the passing radiance ofa smile.
THE END
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