In the Brooding Wild Part 12

"Love? Ay, love. Say, ther' ain't nothin' in the world so beautiful as you, Aim-sa, an' that's a fac'. I ain't never seen nothin' o' wimmin before, 'cep' my mother, but I guess now I've got you I can't do wi'out you, you're that soft an' pictur'-like. Ye've jest got to say right here that you're my squaw, an' everything I've got is yours, on'y they things I leave behind to Nick."

"Ah," sighed the woman, "Nick--poor Nick. He loves--Aim-sa, too. Nick is great man."

"Nick loves you? Did he get tellin' ye so?"

There was a wild, pa.s.sionate ring in Ralph's question.

The squaw nodded, and the man's expression suddenly changed. The pa.s.sionate look merged into one of fiery anger, and his eyes burned with a low, dark fire. Aim-sa saw the sudden change, but she still smiled in her soft way.

"An' you?"

The voice of the man was choking with suppressed pa.s.sion. His whole body trembled with the chaos of feeling which moved him.

The woman shook her head.

"An' what did ye say?" he went on, as she remained silent.

"Nick is great. No, Aim-sa not loves Nick."

Ralph sighed with relief, and again the fiery blood swept through his veins. He stepped up close to her and she remained quite still. The blue eyes were raised to his face and Aim-sa's lips parted in a smile. The effect was instantaneous. Ralph seized her in a forceful embrace, and held her to him whilst he gasped out the pa.s.sionate torrent of his love amidst an avalanche of kisses. And they stood thus for long, until the man calmed and spoke with more practical meaning.

"An' we go together?" he asked.

Aim-sa nodded.

"Now?"

The woman shook her head.

"No--sunrise. I wait here."

Again they stood; he clasping her unresisting form, while the touch of her flowing hair intoxicated him, and the gentle rise and fall of her bosom drove all thought wild within him.

They stood for many minutes; till at last the still night was stirred by the rustling herald of the coming storm. The long-drawn-out sigh of the wind, so sad, so weird in the darkness of night would have pa.s.sed unheeded by the man, but Aim-sa was alert, and she freed herself from his embrace.

"At sunrise," she said. "Now--sleep." And she made a sign as of laying her head upon a pillow.

Ralph stood irresolute. Suddenly Aim-sa started. Her whole bearing changed. A swift, startled gaze shot from beneath her long, curling lashes in the direction of the distant hills. A tiny glimmer of light had caught her attention and she stepped back on the instant and pa.s.sed into the hut, closing the door softly but quickly behind her. And when she had disappeared Ralph stood as one dazed.

The significance of Aim-sa's abrupt departure was lost upon him. For him there was nothing unusual in her movements. She had been there, he had held her in his arms, he had kissed her soft lips. He had tasted of love, and the mad pa.s.sion had upset his thoughtful nature. His mind and his feelings were in a whirl and he thrilled with a delicious joy. His thoughts were so vivid that all sense of that which was about him, all caution, was obscured by them. At that moment there was but one thing that mattered to him,--Aim-sa's love. All else was as nothing.

So it came that the faint light on the distant hills burned steadily; and he saw it not. So it came that a shadowy figure moved about at the forest edge below him; and he saw it not. So it came that the light breath from the mountain-top was repeated only more fiercely; and he heeded it not. In those moments he was living within himself; his thoughts were his world, and those thoughts were of the woman he had kissed and held in his arms.

Nothing gave him warning of the things which were doing about him. He saw no tribulation in the sea upon which he had embarked. He loved; that was all he knew. Presently like a sleep-walker he turned and moved around towards the deeper shadow of the lean-to. Then, when he neared the door of the shed in which his brother was, he seemed to partially awake to his surroundings. He knew that he must regain his bed without disturbing Nick. With this awakening he pulled himself together.

To-morrow at sunrise he and the squaw were to go away, and long he lay awake, thinking, thinking.

Now the shadow hovering at the forest edge became more distinct as it neared the house; it came slowly, stealing warily up the snow-clad hill.

There was no scrunch of footsteps, the snow m.u.f.fled all such sounds. It drew nearer, nearer, a tall, grey, ghostly shadow that seemed to float over the white carpet which was everywhere spread out upon the earth.

And as it came the wind rose, gusty and patchy, and the hiss of rising snow sounded stingingly upon the night air, and often beat with the force of hail against the front of the dugout.

Within a few yards of the hut the figure came to a halt. Thus it stood, immovable, a grey sombre shadow in the darkness of night. Then, after a long pause, high above the voice of the rising wind the howl of the wolf rang out. It came like a cry of woe from a lost soul; deep-toned, it lifted upon the air, only to fall and die away lost in the shriek of the wind. Thrice came the cry. Then the door of the dugout opened and Aim-sa looked out into the relentless night.

The figure moved forward again. It drew near to the door, and, in the light, the grey swathing of fur became apparent, and the cavernous hood lapping about the head identified the Spirit of the Moosefoot Indians.

Then followed a low murmur of voices. And again the woman moved back into the hut. The grey figure waited, and a moment later Aim-sa came to him again. Shortly after the door closed and the Spirit moved silently away.

All was profoundly dark. The darkness of the night was a darkness that could be felt, for the merciless blizzard of the northern lat.i.tudes was raging at its full height. The snow-fog had risen and all sign of trail or footstep was swept from the icy carpet. It was a cruel night, and surely one fit for the perpetration of cruel deeds.

And so the night pa.s.sed. The elements warring with the fury of wildcats, with the shrieking of fiends, with the roaring of artillery, with the merciless severity of the bitter north. And while the storm swept the valley the two brothers slept; even Ralph, although torn by such conflicting emotions, was lulled, and finally won to sleep by the raging elements whose voices he had listened to ever since his cradle days.

But even his slumbers were broken, and strange visions haunted his night hours. There was none of the peacefulness of his usual repose--the repose of a man who has performed his allotted daylight task. He tossed and twisted within his sleeping-bag. He talked disjointedly and flung his arms about; and, finally, while yet it was dark, he awoke.

Springing into a sitting posture, he peered about him in the darkness.

Everything came back to his mind with a rush. He remembered his appointment at sunrise, and he wondered how long he had slept. Again he crept to the shed door. Again he looked out and finally pa.s.sed out. Nick still slumbered heavily.

The fury of the elements was unabated and they buffeted him; but he looked around and saw the grey daylight illuminating the snow-fog, and he knew that though sunrise was near it was not yet. He pa.s.sed around the hut, groping with his hands upon the building until he came to the door. Here he paused. He would awake Aim-sa that she might prepare for her flight with him. There was much to be done. He was about to knock but altered his mind and tried the latch. It yielded to his touch and the door swung back.

He did not pause to wonder, although he knew that it was Aim-sa's custom to secure the door. He pa.s.sed within, and in a hoa.r.s.e whisper called out the name that was so dear to him. There came no answer and he stood still, his senses tense with excitement. He called again, again. Still there was no answer. Now he closed the door, which creaked over the snow covering the sill. He stood listening lest Nick should be moving on the other side of the wall, and to ascertain if Aim-sa had awakened and was fearful at the intrusion. But no sound except the rage of the storm came to him.

His impatience could no longer be restrained; he plunged his hand into the pocket of his buckskin shirt and drew out a box of matches. A moment later a light flashed out, and in one sweeping, comprehensive glance around him he realized the truth. The hut was empty. "Gone, gone," he muttered, while, in rapid survey, his eyes glanced from one familiar object to another.

Everything was out of place, there were signs of disorder everywhere; and the woman was gone.

Suddenly the wind rushed upon the house with wild violence and set everything in the place a-clatter. He lit the lamp. Then he seemed to collect himself and went over and felt the stove. It was ice cold. The blankets were laid out upon the floor in the usual spread of the daytime. They had not been slept in.

Into his eyes there leapt a strange, wild look. The truth was forcing itself upon him, and his heart was racked with torment.

"She's gone," he muttered again, "an'," as an afterthought, "it's storming terrible. Wher'? Why?"

He stood again for awhile like a man utterly at a loss. Then he began to move, not quietly or with any display of stealth. He was no longer the self-contained trapper, but a man suddenly bereft of that which he holds most dear. He ran noisily from point to point, prying here, there, and everywhere for some sign which could tell him whither she had gone. But there was nothing to help him, nothing that could tell him that which he would know. She had gone, vanished, been spirited away in the storm.

He was suddenly inspired. It was the realization of the condition of the night which put the thought into his head. With a bound he sprang back to the door and flung it open. To an extent the storm-porch was sheltered, and little drift-snow had blown in to cover the traces of footsteps. Down he dropped upon hands and knees. Instantly all his trailing instincts were bent upon his task. Yes, there were footprints, many, many. There were his own, large moccasins of home manufacture.

There were Aim-sa's, clear, delicate, and small. And whose were those other two? He ran his finger over the outline as though to impress the shape more certainly upon his mind.

"Wide toe," he muttered, "long heel, an' high instep. Large, large, too.

By G----, they're Injun!"

He gave out the last words in a shout which rang high above the noise of the storm; he sprang to his feet and dashed out around to the lean-to.

At the door he met his brother. Nick had been roused by his brother's cry.

Seeing the expression of Ralph's face the larger man stood.

"By Gar!" he cried. Then he waited, fearing he knew not what.

"She's gone," shouted Ralph. "Gone, gone, can't ye hear?" he roared.

"Gone, an' some darned neche's been around. She's gone, in the blizzard.

Come!"

And he seized Nick by the arm and dragged him round to the door of the dugout.