Joan of Arc of the North Woods Part 3

"A few times."

"I had--there were friends of mine--they were friends of a man in Adonia. His name was--let's see!" He wondered whether the faint wrinkle of a frown under the bronze-flecked hair on her forehead was as much the expression of puzzled memory as she was trying to make it seem; there did appear something not wholly ingenuous in her looks just then. "Oh, his name is Flagg."

"Echford Flagg?"

"Yes, that's it. My friends were very friendly with him, and I'd like to be able to tell them----" She hesitated.

"You have given me some news," he declared, bluntly; in his mood of the day he was finding no good qualities in mankind. "I never heard of Eck Flagg having any friends. Well, I'll take that back! I believe he's ace high among the Tarratine Indians up our way; they have made him an honorary chief. But it's no particular compliment to a white man's disposition to be able to qualify as an Indian, as I look at it."

This time he was not in doubt about the expression on her face; a sudden grimace like grief wreathed the red lips and there was more than a suspicion of tears in her eyes. He stared at her, frankly amazed.

"If I have stepped on toes I am sorry. I never did know how to talk to young ladies without making a mess sooner or later."

She returned no reply, and he went on with his food to cover his embarra.s.sment.

"Do you know Mr. Flagg?" she asked, after the silence had been prolonged.

"Not very well. But I know about him."

"What especially?"

"That he's a hard man. He never forgets or forgives an injury. Perhaps that's why he qualified so well as an Indian."

She straightened in her chair and narrowed those gray eyes. "Couldn't there have been another reason why he was chosen for such an honor?"

"I beg your pardon for pa.s.sing along to you the slurs of the north country, miss----" he paused but she did not help him with her name.

"It's mostly slurs up there," he went on, with bitterness, "and I get into the habit, myself. The Indians did have a good reason for giving Flagg that honor. He is the only one in the north who has respected the Indians' riparian rights, given by treaty and then stolen back. He pays them for hold-boom privileges when his logs are on their sh.o.r.es. They are free to come and go on his lands for birch bark and basket stuff--he's the only one who respects the old treaties. That's well known about Flagg in the north country. It's a good streak in any man, no matter what folks say about his general disposition."

"I'm glad to hear you say that much!"

She pushed back her chair slightly and began to take stock of her possessions. A sort of a panic came upon him. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, and he could not seem to lay a tongue to one of them.

He stammered something about the wet day and wondered whether it would be considered impudence if he offered to escort her, holding over her the umbrella or carrying her parcel. He had crude ideas about the matter of squiring dames. He wanted to ask her not to hurry away. "Do you live here in New York--handy by?"

The cafeteria was just off lower Broadway, and she smiled. He realized the idiocy of the question.

"I work near here! You are going home to the north soon?" The polite query was in a tone which checked all his new impulses in regard to her.

"I'm headed north right now. If there's any information I can send you----"

She shook her head slowly, but even the negative was marked by an indecisive quality, as if she were repressing some importunate desire.

"I wish you a pleasant journey, sir." All her belongings were in her hands.

"It's queer--it's almost more than queer how we happened to meet--both interested in the north country," he stuttered, wanting to detain her.

He was hoping she would make something of the matter.

But she merely acknowledged the truth of his statement, adding, "There would be more such coincidences in life if folks took the trouble to interest themselves a bit in one another and compare notes."

She started to walk away; then she whirled and came back to the table and leaned over it. Her soul of longing was in her eyes--they were filled with tears. "You're going back there," she whispered. "G.o.d bless the north country! Give a friendly pat to one of the big trees for me and say you found a girl in New York who is homesick."

She turned from him before he could summon words.

He wanted to call after her--to find out more about her. He saw her gathering up her change at the cashier's wicket. The spectacle reminded him of his own check. Even love at first sight, if such could be the strange new emotion struggling within him, could not enable him to leap the barrier of the cashier's cold stare and rush away without paying scot. He hunted for his punched check. He pawed all over the marble top of the table, rattling the dishes.

A check--it was surely all of that!

The search for it checked him till the girl was gone, mingled with the street crowds. He found the little devil of a delayer in the paper napkin which he had nervously wadded and dropped on the floor. He shoved money to the cashier and did not wait for his change. He rushed out on the street and stretched up his six stalwart feet and craned his neck and hunted for the little green toque with the white quill.

It was a vain quest.

He did not know just what the matter was with him all of a sudden. He had never had any personal experience with that which he had vaguely understood was love; he had merely viewed it from a standpoint of a disinterested observer, in the case of other men. He hated to admit, as he stood there in the drizzle, his defeat by a cafeteria check.

He remained in New York for another night, his emotions aggravatingly complex. He tried to convince his soul that he had a business reason for staying. He lied to himself and said he would make another desperate sortie on the castle of the Comas company. But he did not go there the next day. Near noon he set himself to watch the entrance of the cafeteria. When he saw a table vacant near the door he went in, secured food, and posted himself where he could view all comers.

The girl did not come.

At two o'clock, after eating three meals, he did not dare to brave the evident suspicions of that baleful cashier any longer. Undoubtedly the girl had been a casual customer like himself. He gave it up and started for the north.

CHAPTER FOUR

When Ward Latisan was home again and had laced his high boots and b.u.t.toned his belted jacket, he was wondering, in the midst of his other troubles, why he allowed the matter of a chance-met girl to play so big a part in his thoughts. The exasperating climax of his adventure with the girl, his failure to ask her name frankly, his folly of bashful backwardness in putting questions when she was at arm's length from him, his mournful certainty that he would never see her again--all conspired curiously to make her an obsession rather than a mere memory.

He had never bothered with mental a.n.a.lysis; his effort to untangle his ideas in this case merely added to his puzzlement; it was like one of those patent trick things which he had picked up in idle moments, allowing the puzzle to bedevil attention and time, intriguing his interest, to his disgust. He had felt particularly lonely and helpless when he came away from Comas headquarters; instinctively he was seeking friendly companionship--opening his heart; he had caught something, just as a man with open pores catches cold. He found the notion grimly humorous! But Latisan was not ready to own up that what he had contracted was a case of love, though young men had related to him their experiences along such lines.

He went into the woods and put himself at the head of the crews. He had the ability to inspire zeal and loyalty.

In the snowy avenues of the Walpole tract sounded the rick-tack of busy axes, the yawk of saws, and the crash of falling timber. The twitch roads, narrow trails which converged to centers like the strands of a cobweb, led to the yards where the logs were piled for the sleds; and from the yards, after the snows were deep and had been iced by watering tanks on sleds, huge loads were eased down the slopes to the landings close to the frozen Tomah.

Ward Latisan was not merely a sauntering boss, inspecting operations. He went out in the gray mornings with an ax in his hand. He understood the value of personal and active leadership. He was one with his men. They put forth extra effort because he was with them.

Therefore, when the April rains began to soften the March snow crusts and the spring flood sounded its first murmur under the blackening ice of Tomah, the Latisan logs were ready to be rolled into the river.

And then something happened!

That contract with the Walpole second cousins--p.r.o.nounced an air-tight contract by the lawyer--was p.r.i.c.ked, popped, and became nothing.

An heir appeared and proved his rights. He was the only grandson of old Isaac. The cousins did not count in the face of the grandson's claims.

In the past, in the Tomah region, there had been fict.i.tious heirs who had worked blackmail on operators who took a chance with putative heirs and tax t.i.tles. But the Latisans were faced with proofs that this heir was real and right.

Why had he waited until the cut was landed?

The Latisans pressed him with desperate questions, trying to find a way out of their trouble.