Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE HUNTED WOMAN
BY
JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD
Author of KAZAN, Etc.
Illustrated by
FRANK B. HOFFMAN
1915
TO MY WIFE
AND
OUR COMRADES OF THE TRAIL
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"'Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking meNorth, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is calling MacDonald.'"
A tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... "'Another o' them Dotty Dimplescome out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her a little, an'so I sent her to Bill's place'"
"A crowd was gathering.... A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmeringsilk was standing beside a huge brown bear"
"'The tunnel is closed,' she whispered.... 'That means we have justforty-five minutes to live.... Let us not lie to one another.'"
CHAPTER I
It was all new--most of it singularly dramatic and even appalling to thewoman who sat with the pearl-gray veil drawn closely about her face. Foreighteen hours she had been a keenly attentive, wide-eyed, and partlyfrightened bit of humanity in this onrush of "the horde." She had heard avoice behind her speak of it as "the horde"--a deep, thick, gruff voicewhich she knew without looking had filtered its way through a beard. Sheagreed with the voice. It was the Horde--that horde which has always beatenthe trails ahead for civilization and made of its own flesh and blood thefoundation of nations. For months it had been pouring steadily into themountains--always in and never out, a laughing, shouting, singing,blaspheming Horde, every ounce of it toughened sinew and red brawn, exceptthe Straying Angels. One of these sat opposite her, a dark-eyed girl withover-red lips and hollowed cheeks, and she heard the bearded man saysomething to his companions about "dizzy dolls" and "the little angel inthe other seat." This same voice, gruffened in its beard, had told her thatten thousand of the Horde had gone up ahead of them. Then it whisperedsomething that made her hands suddenly tighten and a hot flush sweepthrough her. She lifted her veil and rose slowly from her seat, as if torearrange her dress. Casually she looked straight into the faces of thebearded man and his companion in the seat behind. They stared. After thatshe heard nothing more of the Straying Angels, but only a wildly mysteriousconfabulation about "rock hogs," and "coyotes" that blew up wholemountains, and a hundred and one things about the "rail end." She learnedthat it was taking five hundred steers a week to feed the Horde that layalong the Grand Trunk Pacific between Hogan's Camp and the sea, and thatthere were two thousand souls at Tete Jaune Cache, which until a few monthsbefore had slumbered in a century-old quiet broken only by the Indian andhis trade. Then the train stopped in its twisting trail, and the beardedman and his companion left the car. As they passed her they glanced down.Again the veil was drawn close. A shimmering tress of hair had escaped itsbondage; that was all they saw.
"Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald,that's taking me north, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is callingMacDonald."]
The veiled woman drew a deeper breath when they were gone. She saw thatmost of the others were getting off. In her end of the car thehollow-cheeked girl and she were alone. Even in their aloneness these twowomen had not dared to speak until now. The one raised her veil again, andtheir eyes met across the aisle. For a moment the big, dark, sick-lookingeyes of the "angel" stared. Like the bearded man and his companion, she,too, understood, and an embarrassed flush added to the colour of the rougeon her cheeks. The eyes that looked across at her were blue--deep, quiet,beautiful. The lifted veil had disclosed to her a face that she could notassociate with the Horde. The lips smiled at her--the wonderful eyessoftened with a look of understanding, and then the veil was lowered again.The flush in the girl's cheek died out, and she smiled back.
"You are going to Tete Jaune?" she asked.
"Yes. May I sit with you for a few minutes? I want to ask questions--somany!"
The hollow-cheeked girl made room for her at her side.
"You are new?"
"Quite new--to this."
The words, and the manner in which they were spoken, made the other glancequickly at her companion.
"It is a strange place to go--Tete Jaune," she said. "It is a terribleplace for a woman."
"And yet you are going?"
"I have friends there. Have you?"
"No."
The girl stared at her in amazement. Her voice and her eyes were boldernow.
"And without friends you are going--_there?_" she cried. "You have nohusband--no brother----"
"What place is this?" interrupted the other, raising her veil so that shecould look steadily into the other's face. "Would you mind telling me?"
"It is Miette," replied the girl, the flush reddening her cheeks again."There's one of the big camps of the railroad builders down on the Flats.You can see it through the window. That river is the Athabasca."
"Will the train stop here very long?"
The Little Angel shrugged her thin shoulders despairingly.
"Long enough to get me into The Cache mighty late to-night," shecomplained. "We won't move for two hours."
"I'd be so glad if you could tell me where I can go for a bath andsomething to eat. I'm not very hungry--but I'm terribly dusty. I want tochange some clothes, too. Is there a hotel here?"
Her companion found the question very funny. She had a giggling fit beforeshe answered.
"You're sure new," she explained. "We don't have hotels up here. We havebed-houses, chuck-tents, and bunk-shacks. You ask for Bill's Shack downthere on the Flats. It's pretty good. They'll give you a room, plenty ofwater, and a looking-glass--an' charge you a dollar. I'd go with you, butI'm expecting a friend a little later, and if I move I may lose him.Anybody will tell you where Bill's place is. It's a red an' white stripedtent--and it's respectable."
The stranger girl thanked her, and turned for her bag. As she left the car,the Little Angel's eyes followed her with a malicious gleam that gave themthe strange glow of candles in a sepulchral cavern. The colours which sheunfurled to all seeking eyes were not secret, and yet she was filled withan inward antagonism that this stranger with the wonderful blue eyes haddared to see them and recognize them. She stared after the retreatingform--a tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure that filled her with envy anda dull sort of hatred. She did not hear a step behind her. A hand fellfamiliarly on her shoulder, and a coarse voice laughed something in her earthat made her jump up with an artificial little shriek of pleasure. The mannodded toward the end of the now empty car.
"Who's your new friend?" he asked.
"She's no friend of mine," snapped the girl. "She's another one of themDolly Dimples come out to save the world. She's that innocent she wonderswhy Tete Jaune ain't a nice place for ladies without escort. I thought I'dhelp eggicate her a little an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord,I told her it was respectable!"
She doubled over the seat in a fit of merriment, and her companion seizedthe opportunity to look out of the window.
The tall, blue-eyed stranger had paused for a moment on the last step ofthe car to pin up her veil, fully revealing her face. Then she steppedlightly to the ground, and found herself facing the sunlight and themountains. She drew a slow, deep breath between her parted lips, and turnedwonderingly, for a moment forgetful. It was the first time she had left thetrain since entering the mountains, and she understood now why some one inthe coach had spoken of the Miette Plain as Sunshine Pool. Where-ever shelooked the mountains fronted her, with their splendid green slopes reachingup to their bald caps of gray shale and reddish rock or gleaming summits ofsnow. Into this "pool"--this pocket in the mountains--the sun descend
ed ina wonderful flood. It stirred her blood like a tonic. She breathed morequickly; a soft glow coloured her cheeks; her eyes grew more deeply violetas they caught the reflection of the blue sky. A gentle wind fretted theloose tendrils of brown hair about her face. And the bearded man, staringthrough the car window, saw her thus, and for an hour after that thehollow-cheeked girl wondered at the strange change in him.
The train had stopped at the edge of the big fill overlooking the Flats. Itwas a heavy train, and a train that was helping to make history--acombination of freight, passenger, and "cattle." It had averaged eightmiles an hour on its climb toward Yellowhead Pass and the end of steel. The"cattle" had already surged from their stifling and foul-smelling cars in anoisy inundation of curiously mixed humanity. They were of a dozendifferent nationalities, and as the girl looked at them it was not withrevulsion or scorn but with a sudden quickening of heartbeat and a littlelaugh that had in it something both of wonder and of pride. This was theHorde, that crude, monstrous thing of primitive strength and passions thatwas overturning mountains in its fight to link the new Grand Trunk Pacificwith the seaport on the Pacific. In that Horde, gathered in little groups,shifting, sweeping slowly toward her and past her, she saw something asomnipotent as the mountains themselves. They could not know defeat. Shesensed it without ever having seen them before. For her the Horde now had aheart and a soul. These were the builders of empire--the man-beasts whomade it possible for Civilization to creep warily and without peril intonew places and new worlds. With a curious shock she thought of thehalf-dozen lonely little wooden crosses she had seen through the car windowat odd places along the line of rail.
And now she sought her way toward the Flats. To do this she had to climbover a track that was waiting for ballast. A car shunted past her, and onits side she saw the big, warning red placards--Dynamite. That one wordseemed to breathe to her the spirit of the wonderful energy that wasexpending itself all about her. From farther on in the mountains came thedeep, sullen detonations of the "little black giant" that had been rumblingpast her in the car. It came again and again, like the thunderous voice ofthe mountains themselves calling out in protest and defiance. And each timeshe felt a curious thrill under her feet and the palpitant touch ofsomething that was like a gentle breath in her ears. She found anothertrack on her way, and other cars slipped past her crunchingly. Beyond thissecond track she came to a beaten road that led down into the Flats, andshe began to descend.
A tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... "Another o' themDotty Dimples come out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her alittle, an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord, I told her it wasrespectable!"]
Tents shone through the trees on the bottom. The rattle of the cars grewmore distant, and she heard the hum and laughter of voices and the jargonof a phonograph. At the bottom of the slope she stepped aside to allow ateam and wagon to pass. The wagon was loaded with boxes that rattled andcrashed about as the wheels bumped over stones and roots. The driver of theteam did not look at her. He was holding back with his whole weight; hiseyes bulged a little; he was sweating, in his face was a comedy ofexpression that made the girl smile in spite of herself. Then she saw oneof the bobbing boxes and the smile froze into a look of horror. On it waspainted that ominous word--DYNAMITE!
Two men were coming behind her.
"Six horses, a wagon an' old Fritz--blown to hell an' not a splinter leftto tell the story," one of them was saying. "I was there three minutesafter the explosion and there wasn't even a ravelling or a horsehair left.This dynamite's a dam' funny thing. I wouldn't be a rock-hog for amillion!"
"I'd rather be a rock-hog than Joe--drivin' down this hill a dozen times aday," replied the other.
The girl had paused again, and the two men stared at her as they were aboutto pass. The explosion of Joe's dynamite could not have startled them morethan the beauty of the face that was turned to them in a quietly appealinginquiry.
"I am looking for a place called--Bill's Shack," she said, speaking theLittle Sister's words hesitatingly. "Can you direct me to it, please?"
The younger of the two men looked at his companion without speaking. Theother, old enough to regard feminine beauty as a trap and an illusion,turned aside to empty his mouth of a quid of tobacco, bent over, andpointed under the trees.
"Can't miss it--third tent-house on your right, with canvas striped like abarber-pole. That phonnygraff you hear is at Bill's."
"Thank you."
She went on.
Behind her, the two men stood where she had left them. They did not move.The younger man seemed scarcely to breathe.
"Bill's place!" he gasped then. "I've a notion to tell her. I can'tbelieve----"
"Shucks!" interjected the other.
"But I don't. She isn't that sort. She looked like a Madonna--with theheart of her clean gone. I never saw anything so white an' so beautiful.You call me a fool if you want to--I'm goin' on to Bill's!"
He strode ahead, chivalry in his young and palpitating heart. Quickly theolder man was at his side, clutching his arm.
"Come along, you cotton-head!" he cried. "You ain't old enough or bigenough in this camp to mix in with Bill. Besides," he lied, seeing thewavering light in the youth's eyes, "I know her. She's going to the rightplace."
At Bill's place men were holding their breath and staring. They were notunaccustomed to women. But such a one as this vision that walked calmly andundisturbed in among them they had never seen. There were half a dozenlounging there, smoking and listening to the phonograph, which some one nowstopped that they might hear every word that was spoken. The girl's headwas high. She was beginning to understand that it would have been lessembarrassing to have gone hungry and dusty. But she had come this far, andshe was determined to get what she wanted--if it was to be had. The colourshone a little more vividly through the pure whiteness of her skin as shefaced Bill, leaning over his little counter. In him she recognized theBrute. It was blazoned in his face, in the hungry, seeking look of hiseyes--in the heavy pouches and thick crinkles of his neck and cheeks. Foronce Bill Quade himself was at a loss.
"I understand that you have rooms for rent," she said unemotionally. "May Ihire one until the train leaves for Tete Jaune Cache?"
The listeners behind her stiffened and leaned forward. One of them grinnedat Quade. This gave him the confidence he needed to offset the fearlessquestioning in the blue eyes. None of them noticed a newcomer in the door.Quade stepped from behind his shelter and faced her.
"This way," he said, and turned to the drawn curtains beyond them.
She followed. As the curtains closed after them a chuckling laugh broke thesilence of the on-looking group. The newcomer in the doorway emptied thebowl of his pipe, and thrust the pipe into the breast-pocket of his flannelshirt. He was bareheaded. His hair was blond, shot a little with gray. Hewas perhaps thirty-eight, no taller than the girl herself, slim-waisted,with trim, athletic shoulders. His eyes, as they rested on thestill-fluttering curtains, were a cold and steady gray. His face was thinand bronzed, his nose a trifle prominent. He was a man far from handsome,and yet there was something of fascination and strength about him. He didnot belong to the Horde. Yet he might have been the force behind it,contemptuous of the chuckling group of rough-visaged men, almost arrogantin his posture as he eyed the curtains and waited.
What he expected soon came. It was not the usual giggling, the usualexchange of badinage and coarse jest beyond the closed curtains. Quade didnot come out rubbing his huge hands, his face crinkling with a sort ofexultant satisfaction. The girl preceded him. She flung the curtains asideand stood there for a moment, her face flaming like fire, her blue eyesfilled with the flash of lightning. She came down the single step. Quadefollowed her. He put out a hand.
"Don't take offence, girly," he expostulated. "Look here--ain't itreasonable to s'pose----"
He got no farther. The man in the door had advanced, placing himself at thegirl's side. His voice was low and unexcited.
; "You have made a mistake?" he said.
She took him in at a glance--his clean-cut, strangely attractive face, hisslim build, the clear and steady gray of his eyes.
"Yes, I have made a mistake--a terrible mistake!"
"I tell you it ain't fair to take offence," Quade went on. "Now, lookhere----"
In his hand was a roll of bills. The girl did not know that a man couldstrike as quickly and with as terrific effect as the gray-eyed strangerstruck then. There was one blow, and Quade went down limply. It was sosudden that he had her outside before she realized what had happened.
"I chanced to see you go in," he explained, without a tremor in his voice."I thought you were making a mistake. I heard you ask for shelter. If youwill come with me I will take you to a friend's."
"If it isn't too much trouble for you, I will go," she said. "And forthat--in there--thank you!"