In the Brooding Wild Part 8

There was an impressive pause, and the silent land seemed weighted down as with an atmosphere of gloomy presage. Nick broke it, and his voice had in it a harsh ring. The fire of pa.s.sion was once more alight in his eyes.

"It's a squaw's," he added.

"Yes, sure; a squaw's," and Ralph swallowed a deep breath as though his surroundings stifled him.

A thrill of emotion moved both men. There had leapt within them, in one great, overwhelming tide, all the old reckless craze for the shadowy creature of Victor's story. At the mere suggestion of a squaw's presence in that valley their blood-tide surged through their veins like a torrent of fire, and their pulses were set beating like sledge-hammers.

A squaw! A squaw! That was their cry. Why not the White Squaw?

Whilst Ralph gazed on ahead Nick still bent over the footprint. The delicate shape, the deep hollow of the ball of the foot, the round cup which marked the heel, and, between them, the narrow, shallow indentation which formed the high-arched instep. In fancy he built over the marks the tall, lithe, straight-limbed creature Victor had told them of. He saw the long flowing hair which fell in a shower upon her shoulders; and the beautiful eyes blue as the summer sky. In a moment his tanned face was transformed and became radiant.

Ralph, the quiet and thoughtful, was no less moved. But he turned from his brother, hugging his own antic.i.p.ations to himself, and concealing them behind a grim mask of impa.s.sivity. His eyes were bright with the same insistent idea, but he told himself that the thing was impossible.

He told himself that She lived in the north, and not even the chase of the far-travelling moose could have brought her hither from her forest home. These things he said in his caution, but he did not listen to the voice of his doubt, and his heart beat in great bounding pulsations.

Suddenly Nick sprang from the ground, and short and sharp came his words.

"Let's git on."

"Ay," replied Ralph, and he turned back to the sled.

And again the dogs laid foot to the ground; and again the voice of Nick roused the hollow echoes of the shimmering peaks; again the song of the sled-runners rose and fell in cadence brisk and sharp on the still, cold air. But all the world was changed to the men. The stillness was only the stillness which appeals to the physical senses. There was a sensation of life in the air; a feeling of living surroundings; a certain knowledge that they were no longer alone in their valley. A woman was present; _the_ woman.

The widening break of the forest gave place to a broad sloping expanse of snow-land. It was the hill down which they had travelled many thousands of times. Above, more snow-laden forest, and above that the steel of the glacier which rose till its awful limits plunged into the grey world of cloud. The dugout was not yet in view; there was a scored and riven crag, black and barren, impervious to the soft caresses of velvety snow, to be pa.s.sed ere the home which was theirs would be sighted. Besides, as yet neither of the men had turned their eyes from the trailing footprints to look ahead. Thus they came to the higher ground.

Now the barren crag seemed to thrust itself out, an impa.s.sable barrier; a mute protest at further progress; a grim, silent warning that the home beyond was no longer for them, no longer the home they had always known.

And the hard-breathing dogs toiled on, straining at their breast-harness, with bodies heaving forward, heads bent low, and quarters drooped to give them surer purchase. They, too, as though by instinct, followed the footprints. As the marks swung out to pa.s.s the jutting cliff the lead-dog followed their course; Nick, on the right of them, moved wide, and craned to obtain a first view of the hut. Suddenly he gave a great shout. The dogs dropped in their harness and crouched, snarling and snapping, their jaws clipping together with the sound of castanets, whilst their wiry manes rose upon their shoulders bristling with ferocity which had in it something of fear. Ralph reached his brother's side and peered beyond the cliff.

And as he looked his breath suddenly ceased, and one hand clutched his brother's arm with a force that bruised the softer flesh, and in silence the two men gaped at the vision which they beheld. There was what seemed an endless pause while the men and dogs alike focused their gaze upon the strange apparition.

A figure, calm, serene, stood before the door of the dugout, from which the logs had been removed. Like a sentry "at ease" the figure stood resting gracefully, leaning upon the muzzle of a long rifle. Fur crowned the head which was n.o.bly poised, and a framing of flowing dark hair showed off to perfection the marble-like whiteness of the calm, beautiful face. The robes were characteristic of the Northern Indians; beads, buckskin and fur. A tunic reached to the knees, and below that appeared "chaps," which ended where woollen stockings surmounted moosehide moccasins.

A wild, picturesque figure was this creature of the mountain solitude; and, to the wondering eyes of the two men, something which filled them with superst.i.tious awe and a primitive gladness that was almost overpowering. The dogs alone seemed to resent the intrusion. There was no joy in their att.i.tude which was one of angry protest.

Nick broke the silence.

"White--white," he murmured, without knowledge that he spoke aloud.

Ralph's face was working. His excitement, slow to rise, now overwhelmed him, and he answered in a similar tone.

"That hair," he muttered. "Dark, dark; an' them chaps wi' beads of Injun patte'n. An' the muzzle-loadin' weapin."

Nick took up the argument as his brother broke off.

"It's a squaw, too."

"Her eyes, he says, was blue," Ralph murmured, breathing hard.

"An' she was leanin' on a gun," Nick added softly.

"It's--"

"By Gar! It is!"

Nick turned to the dogs with the wild impetuosity of a man who knows not the meaning of patience. His fiery orders fairly hurled the brutes at their task, and the sled leapt forward. On, on, they sped, till they halted within a few yards of the silent figure.

The woman showed no signs of fear, a matter which both men set down to the fact that she was a queen among her own people. She still stood in the position in which she had watched their approach. There was not a quiver of the delicate eyelids, not a tremor of the perfect mouth.

Proud, haughty, and masked by the impa.s.sivity of the Indian races, she awaited the coming of the strangers.

And as men and dogs halted there was an awkwardness. How should they address her? They consulted, and their whisperings were loud enough to reach her ears. They did not attempt to suppress their tones unduly.

This woman, they knew, did not understand the tongue of the whites, and probably knew only the language of the Moosefoot people. Therefore they spoke unguardedly. They admitted to each other the woman's ident.i.ty.

Ralph was for speaking to her in Cree; Nick for the language of signs.

And while they talked the woman looked on. Had they been keenly observant they would have seen the shadow of an occasional smile curl the corners of her beautiful lips. As it was they saw only the superb form, and eyes so wondrously blue, shining like sapphires from an oval face framed with waves of black hair.

At last Ralph advanced toward her.

"You're welcome to our shack," he said, in Cree.

The woman shook her beautiful head, but smiled upon him; and the simple soul felt the blood rush from heart to head.

"Try signs," said Nick impatiently. "How's the White Squaw o' the Moosefoots goin' to savvee a low-down bat like Cree. I sed so 'fore."

The blue eyes were turned on Nick with a deep inscrutable smile. Nick felt that life at her feet was the only life possible.

And Ralph resorted to signs, while Nick alternated his attention between his idolatrous, silent worship of the lovely woman and clubbing his dogs into quiescence. Their angry protests seemed to express something more abiding than mere displeasure at the intrusion of a stranger. They seemed to feel a strong instinctive antagonism toward this beautiful woman.

Ralph persisted with his signs. The woman read them easily and replied in her own sign-language, which was wonderful to behold. Ralph and Nick read it as though they were listening to a familiar tongue.

She told them that she was Aim-sa, which is the Moosefoot for "Blue-Sky"; and that she was the White Squaw, the queen of her people.

She indicated that she was out on a "long trail" hunting, and that she had found herself in this valley, with a snow-storm coming on. She had seen the dugout and had sought its shelter, intending to remain there until the storm had pa.s.sed. She made it clear to them that a bull moose and four cows had entered the valley. She had trailed them for many days. She asked the brothers if, when the storm had pa.s.sed, they would join her in the hunt.

And to all she said Ralph replied in his less perfect signs, prompted by Nick with blundering impetuosity; and, at the end of the parley, a perfect harmony prevailed. Two great rough men, with hearts as simple and trusting as those of infants, led this stranger into their home, and made it clear that the place was hers for so long as she chose to accept their hospitality.

A fire was kindled. A meal was cooked. The hut grew warm and comforting.

The dogs outside yelped pitifully and often snuffed angrily at the sill of the door. And the White Squaw calmly accepted the throne of that silent world, which had so long known only the joint rule of the two brothers. She looked out upon her subjects with eyes which drove them wild with adoration, but which said nothing but that which she chose to convey. Nor did her features betray one single thought that might chance to be pa.s.sing in the brain behind. She wore an impenetrable mask of reserve while she watched the effect of the womanly power she wielded.

And that night saw a change in the ordering of the trappers' household.

The two men talked it over after their meal. Ralph broached the subject.

He waved his arm, the bowl of his pipe gripped in his h.o.r.n.y hand, while its stem indicated the entire hut.

"Hers," he said. And his eyes were dragged from the object of his solicitude and turned upon Nick.

His brother nodded as he puffed at his pipe.

"The shed," Ralph went on. "The huskies must burrow in the snow."

Again Nick nodded.

"Wants sweepin' some," observed Ralph again.