Joan of Arc of the North Woods Part 34

"But now he is there, and I cannot go to the men."

"In a little while you may go; he will not be there. And if he does not know what is going on up here, after his back is turned, maybe we shall have day after day to push our logs in ahead of all the others,"

explained the riverman. "They will be days worth much." Then with the imagery of his race he added, "Those days will be gold beads on our rosary, mam'selle!" He smiled into her eyes, from which the fires were departing. "Please wait here with the the others."

He whispered to several of the Indians; when he sauntered down the slope the four summoned Tarratines stole to right and left, masking themselves in the shadows, flanking the champion who was going alone.

Most of the men of the crew recognized Felix Lapierre when he walked into the circle of light. They leaped up, surrounded him, their mouths full of hilarious congratulation, of excuses why they had not attended the wedding, of awkward jokes and questions. They could not understand why he had come north so soon. He shook his head, mildly refusing to satisfy their curiosity.

Kyle stood for a time; then he resumed his pacing. He no longer had listeners. Like children, the rivermen were wholly absorbed in a new toy--a bridegroom who had so suddenly deserted the handsomest girl between Adonia and The Forks.

"Oh, let him alone," advised Kyle, whetting his new grouch. "If they ain't running away _with_ girls in this region, they're running away _from_ 'em!"

Felix swung around and faced the speaker. "Do you speak of me?" he asked, quietly.

"Take it that way if you want to."

"Your tongue seems to be very busy, I have that to say to you. From up there on the hill I heard what you have to say about M'sieu Latisan, that he has run away with a girl."

"And he has."

"You lie!"

That retort snapped the trigger on Kyle's inflamed temper. "You d.a.m.nation squaw man!" he yelped, and drove a blow at the French Canadian; and Felix, following the fighting custom of his clan of the Laurentian Valley, ducked low, leaped high, and kicked Kyle under the hook of the jaw. It was the _coup a pied_. Kyle staggered and went down.

When he struggled up and weakly attacked again, the antagonist met him face to face and smashed a stunning blow between Kyle's eyes; he fell and remained on his back.

"One for me, and one for my wife he has insult'," cried Felix. He spun around, searching their faces. "Do any of you like to back him up?"

"Not on your life," said a spokesman. "He doesn't belong in this crew."

"I'm much oblige'," said Felix, politely. He whistled, and the four Indians rushed out from the shadows. "If he is not of the crew, then if he goes away it does not matter."

He commanded the Indians, and they lifted Kyle and started off with him.

"He'll not be hurt," Felix a.s.sured the men of the crew. "He'll go down the river where it's better for him."

n.o.body offered protest. They were glad to be rid of that bellowing, insistent voice of the trouble-maker.

Their attention was wholly engaged with the involuntary departure of Kyle, and they did not observe Lapierre when he walked away; they turned to ask more questions, to be informed what this abduction signified, but Felix was nowhere to be seen. Men called but he did not reply.

Babble of comment and argument! It was a picked fight--anybody could see that. Why should Lapierre come north in the Flagg interests? Lapierre had never worked in a Flagg crew. It was begun so suddenly and was ended so soon! A minute's flash of drama against the background of the night, into which they stared with searching eyes while they made clamor like quacking ducks that had been startled from sleep by a prowler! Curiosity was lashing them. They were wonted to their reckless adventure in the white water; it had become dull toil. This affair was something real in the way of excitement, with a mystery which tantalized them. Again they called into the night, seeking an explanation.

The prologue by which the Comas agent had been removed as tempter and tale-bearer had not been staged by Felix for calculated effect; he had thought only of getting Kyle out of the way. But never was an audience in more keenly receptive mood for a sequel than were those men who crowded closely in the patch of camp-fire radiance and asked questions of one another.

To them when they were in that mood came one who made the drama more poignant. They were hushed, they blinked uncertainly, they found it unreal, unbelievable.

For here was a girl, far north at the head of the drive in the season of the roaring waters. She came slowly from the night and stood at the edge of the circle of light. She was wearing Latisan's jacket and cap--there was no mistaking the colors, the checkings and the stripes; a drive master needs to signal his whereabouts to a crew just as a fire captain must make himself conspicuous by what he wears.

They glanced at her garb, amazed by it. Then her face claimed all their attention, for she said to them, her voice steady, her eyes meeting theirs frankly, "I have overheard the talk a man has just made about a girl who coaxed Ward Latisan away from his work here. I am the girl."

It seemed as if men had been holding their breath since her appearance; in the profound silence the exhalations of that breath could be heard.

"But Ward Latisan did not run away with me from his duty. My being here answers that lie. And I have even a better answer--a reason why I would be the last one in the world to interfere willingly with his work this spring." She stepped close to them, nearer the fire, so that they could see what she held forth, tightly clutched in both hands. "This is Echford Flagg's cant dog--he told me it would be known by all his men.

He gave it into my keeping for a sign that he has sent me north. And I have a right to carry it. I am Lida Kennard. I am Echford Flagg's granddaughter."

Behind her came crowding the Tarratines.

"Men have deserted from your crew. Here are others to take their places," she announced with pride.

She was dealing with men who were bashed by utter stupefaction; she noted it and her self-reliance grew steadier. She drove the point of the cant dog into the soft duff with a manner after the heart of Flagg himself. She spread her freed hands to them in appeal. "I have come here to tell you the truth."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Latisan had pitched the tune for that drive when he started it.

It was a tune in quick tempo, with the staccato clangor of the kettle drums of the dynamite when he burst the icy sheathing of the waters in order to dump the first logs in.

When he was on the job the directing wand of his pick pole kept everything jumping.

Even when he was away for a few days his men toiled with the spirit that he had left with them. They had adopted his cause and shared his righteous resentment against the tactics of the Three C's.

They were able to work on without his guidance, after a fashion, but for the fight that was ahead of them down the river they had depended on his captainship. Therefore, Kyle with his scandals and reports and his urging had been in a way to break down their morale. When they reflected, they realized it. And it had been a wicked thing to face--the prospect that they might quit! With Latisan of the Latisans present with them, pursuing an honest vengeance, there were lift and sweep and swing which made their toil an adventure rather than plain drudgery.

Then that day when rumor and Kyle and Latisan's protracted absence had nigh killed courage!

But then, the inspiring night which had brought the granddaughter of Echford Flagg with her story, her confession, her plea, and her still strong faith in the awakening of Ward Latisan when he was able to know the truth! She did not gloss her own involuntary fault; she was frank in the statement that she loved the man whom she had harmed by her mistake.

She knew it was the truth; she took them into her confidence. Then there was more than mere courage in the men of the drive--they were sharers in the spirit of romance which put the dynamic zeal of fanatics behind those logs. The girl's cause was linked with Latisan's and was a compelling force.

Like racing horses the Flagg timber rushed along, crowding the river from side to side.

The stream drives, breaking the bonds of the ice, had caught the top pitch of the floods and were hurled into the boiling rapids.

But there was more than the mere thrust of the roaring waters behind those tumbling logs.

The Flagg drive had a soul that year!

It was what the Comas corporation lacked.

Behind the Flagg logs were honest men, pityingly loyal--still to Latisan--and behind the toilers was a dominating spirit that was a combination of courage, wild enthusiasm, loyalty, and devotion in a campaign that now was entered upon with tempestuous fervor in the presence of Lida Kennard. When that fervor went smashing against the Three C's crowd the men who were animated only by a corporation's wages became cowards and stepped aside and gave the champions the right of way.

The slogan of Flagg men was, "Gangway for the girl!"

They had taken up her cause; they had enrolled themselves with a perfect abandon of all considerations of self; for them, getting down that timber was merely a means to a much-desired end.