Glen of the High North Part 21

"Here."

"At Glen West? He has been here, and you have seen him? Are you sure?"

"I am certain. I was with him this afternoon in the canoe. But, daddy, what is the matter? Oh, don't get angry. I didn't do anything wrong."

Jim Weston had risen to his feet, and was looking down upon his daughter. He was a powerfully-built man, of more than ordinary height.

The northern winter was in his thick hair and heavy moustache, while his steady light-blue eyes and firm, well-built chin betokened a strong will power of unyielding determination. Glen had often expressed her unbounded admiration for her father, and believed him to be the most handsome man in the world. But now he seemed like an avenging G.o.d, about to visit upon her the force of his wrath. For the first time in her life she cowered before him, and hid her face in her hands.

"And you say that your rescuer is here?" Weston at length asked. "When did he come, and where is he staying?"

"We saved him from a raft out on the lake just before that fearful storm," Glen faintly replied. "He was almost dead, and in a minute more he would have been drowned. Oh, it was terrible! He is now at Sconda's."

"Another miner's trick, I suppose, to get here," Weston growled. "It has been tried before, but with scanty success. This must be one more fool who was trying the same game."

"He is not a fool," Glen stoutly protested, lifting her eyes defiantly to her father's face. "Mr. Reynolds is a gentleman. He is different from the rest of the miners."

"What was he doing out on the lake?" her father asked.

"He got lost in the hills, and nearly died. He drifted down the Tasan River on a raft which he built. He was almost starved to death."

"And what was he doing in the hills?"

"Prospecting, so he told me. He was with Frontier Samson, and, going after a moose, lost his way."

"H'm," Weston grunted. "A trumped-up yarn, no doubt. Don't you think it looks rather suspicious?"

"It might if it were someone else. But he is different, and I believe he told me the truth."

"Well, we shall soon find out, Glen. If he begins any of his lies or fancy tales to me, he will learn his mistake. I am not going to have any young man wandering about this region, let me tell you that. It has been tried too often already, so we might as well make a special example of him in order to warn others. It's the 'Ordeal' for him, all right."

At these words Glen sprang to her feet and confronted her father. Her eyes were blazing with intense emotion, and Jim Weston stared at her in amazement. A feeling of pride welled up within him at her appearance and courage.

"You shall not lay hands on him," Glen pa.s.sionately declared. "He is an innocent man, and it would be unjust to hurt him."

"Glen, Glen, what is the meaning of this?" her father demanded. "You seem to be greatly interested in this fellow. I am surprised at you."

"I am interested, daddy. Nay, I am more than interested, for I love him with my whole heart, so there. Don't you dare to touch him."

The strain of this interview was telling upon Glen. As soon as this confession had left her lips, she was wild with regret. Why had she done this? she asked herself, as she stood with big staring eyes watching her father. What would he say? What would he not do to her?

Her body trembled, a weakness swept upon her, and sinking down into her chair, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed as if her heart would break.

If Jim Weston was astonished before, he was dumbfounded now at what his daughter had told him. His heart went out in a great rush of pity to his only child and he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her.

But he felt that he must be firm and not give way to any feeling of emotion at a time like this. Instead, he laid his hand somewhat heavily upon her shoulder.

"Does this fellow, Reynolds, know of your love?" he asked.

"No, no; he has not the least idea of it," was the low reply.

"And he has not avowed his love to you? Are you sure?"

"I am certain. He has never given the least sign that he cares for me more than if I were an ordinary acquaintance. But he is a gentleman both in word and action."

For a few minutes Jim Weston stood lost in thought. It seemed to Glen as if he would never speak. The silence of the room was so intense that she was sure her fast-beating heart could be distinctly heard.

"I must have time to think this over, Glen," her father at length informed her. "You may go now and get ready for supper. Nannie has been kept waiting too long already."

Never before had Glen heard her father speak to her in such a cold, peremptory manner. Slowly she rose to her feet and walked across the room. Her head was aching, and she was glad to get away, anywhere in order that she might be alone, and from her father's stern, accusing eyes.

She had almost reached the door, when Sconda stood suddenly before her.

She paused, while the Indian entered and walked at once toward his master.

"Well, Sconda, what is it?" the latter demanded, annoyed at the native's intrusion at this critical moment. "Anything wrong?"

Weston spoke in the Indian language, with which he was most familiar.

"Big White Chief," Sconda began, "the Golden Crest has been crossed.

Another white man is here."

"I know it," was the curt reply. "He came by water this time, so I understand."

"Not by water, Big White Chief, but through the pa.s.s, over Crooked Trail."

"He did! Why, Glen, you told me he came by way of the lake. Have you been deceiving me, girl?"

"Indeed I have not," was the emphatic and somewhat angry denial. "I am surprised that you think I would deceive you, daddy. Sconda refers to someone else. It is Curly who came by the pa.s.s, and not Mr. Reynolds."

"Curly! Curly here, did you say?" Weston almost shouted the words, and so fierce did he look that the Indian retreated a step.

"Ah, ah, Curly here," Sconda replied.

"When did he come?"

"To-day. He was caught as he came through the pa.s.s. He shot, but missed."

"Where is he now?"

"At Taku's."

Weston placed his hand to his forehead in perplexity.

"This is certainly a great home-coming," he muttered. "Trouble everywhere, with white men entering the place by lake and pa.s.s. Look, Sconda, bring Curly here in one hour. See?"

The Indian merely nodded.

"And get ready for the Ordeal at once. Savvey?"

"Ah, ah, Sconda savvey," was the reply, and with that he left the house.

Glen went, too, without another word to her father, and hurried to her own room. It was a cozy place, fitted up with every comfort, and she loved it dearly. But now it seemed to her like a prison. She longed to throw herself upon the bed and give vent to her feelings in a flood of tears. But she knew that her father would be expecting her downstairs, so it was necessary to make haste.