Menotah Part 29

'Good G.o.d! don't say it's _him_--not him. What's the name, girl? Who is it?'

His voice was deep and hoa.r.s.e. The words were forced from his tongue in jerky syllables, barely intelligible. She moved her red lips--scarce knowing if she spoke. Yet a sound proceeded therefrom in a whisper, forming a word, a single name, which caused the figure to clench his fists and swear furiously. Then she almost fell upon him. 'What do you mean?' she cried pitifully. 'Tell me what you mean.'

The forbidding exterior concealed a kindly heart. He looked upon the delicate, upturned face, the small nose, moist eyes, quivering mouth, all framed within the dark wreath of hair. He saw the slight figure, already ripening into the rounded lines of maternity. He thought of the meaning of treachery to that perfect piece of humanity. There might yet be opportunity for saving the heart from death.

'It's nothing, girl,' he said in surly manner. 'I was a bit astonished for a moment.'

'No, no,' she cried, 'it was not that. I cannot be deceived so easily. I saw fear in your face, and there was pity. Ah, yes, there was pity for me; I could see it. Why--tell me why? I have always been so happy. You cannot pity me now. Why should you?'

'It's all right,' he said, with slight knowledge of comforting. 'It's all a mistake of mine, anyway. Don't you bother yourself.'

'I can't believe you. I am trying to, but it is no use. There was that pity upon your face. Ah, tell me. Tell me all--all--all.'

Her voice died into a wail of distress, as she fell on her knees and grasped his hand. This pitiless work had been performed unintentionally; the warmth and young life had been in a moment swept away by a mere suspicion of truth. Without the hut, blasts of north wind blew colder, with flurries of snow, while thin ice sheets formed slowly upon each black swamp pool.

'Where's he now?' came the abrupt question.

'I do not know. I have not seen him since noon.'

'The last boat leaves first thing in the morning.'

The echo of his words had scarcely died away, before a deep sound came vibrating along the wind from the direction of the river. Here was direct contradiction to his statement.

'To-night!' screamed Menotah, springing to the doorway. 'It is the second horn.'

The figure joined her. He was calm, though the face was vengeful. The long cloak had been cast aside, and he was now fastening a buckskin coat round his body.

'Make for the point,' he said shortly. 'Go for all you're worth. I'll meet you there. We may catch her as she pa.s.ses.'

'It is a long way, and the paths are slippery with frost.'

They escaped from the labyrinth surrounding the swamp, and, when in the open, Menotah sped along with the agility of a deer. She easily outstripped the man, who followed at his best pace, the felt hat pulled closely over his forehead, as though he were still fearful of detection.

'So long, Angus. Sorry you're not staying the night. I'll have to finish off the bottle with my own neck now. The frost's getting sharp all right. I guess it isn't safe to stay.'

'We'll soon be clear of the river, anyway. The current's strong, with wind the right way.'

'That's so. Well, good biz, Angus.'

'S'long, Alf. Keep right till I see you in the summer.'

The last rope was thrown over, a dark sail hoisted, then the boat swept down, like a huge bird, towards the tree-covered point.

Here, concealed behind a spa.r.s.e kanikanik bluff, a pa.s.senger awaited the boat. He was angry and dissatisfied enough. As minutes dragged past, he uttered many an invective against the absent personage, who had robbed him of the small treasure on which he had in great part depended for future enterprise. When the horn brayed discordantly forth, he slung the rifle carefully across his back, then crept forth to gaze along the wide reach of the river. Presently the black monster appeared. He stamped upon the rock to warm his half-frozen feet, then let himself carefully down the steep incline. A minute later he stood upon the shingle, at the spot where Muskwah had encountered his fate. The boat bore down over the cold waters, the steersman responded to his signals. With a distinct feeling of relief he found himself floating rapidly away from an inhospitable region.

Menotah did not proceed directly to the point. She turned very slightly aside to visit the hut, their rude home, which yet was for her filled and over-shadowed with the most blissful memories of life. There, she felt instinctively, might be found decisive answer to that torturing fear which now began to gnaw at the innocent heart of love. She must know at once whether the mysterious figure had erred, or whether he had spoken with the conviction that knowledge brings.

Never, not when the heart was at its lightest, had she sped through the forest with such hasty flight. Her sobbing breath--distress of mind and body--came and went in short hot stabs, as she burst from the last bushes upon the clearing. The hut was black and silent. There were no warm rays streaming from the half-open door. The only sound within was the melancholy chirping of a discursive frog.

Her shadow flitted across the threshold, then she sprang to the opposite corner, to dig away the loose dust soil with her trembling, slender fingers. The box of yellow stones. By this time she knew he would not depart without them, for he had lately explained to her their value.

Search was short and unrewarded. Then, when she perceived pursuit to be vain, she began more fully to comprehend the meaning of that look of pity which had so bewildered her trusting mind. His rifle, that usually leaned in the angle of the wall--why was it gone? He would not be hunting that night. Many other small articles, now remembered and looked for with sharp tension of memory--where were they? Above all, why did he stay out so late? Where was he?'

'Gone!' moaned the north wind, as it crept wailing into the hut. 'Gone!'

cried her shuddering heart. 'Gone!' whispered each dull, inanimate object of her surrounding.

'Forsaken! Abandoned! Betrayed!'

So shrieked every waving tree, each lashing bush, the separate patches of white gra.s.s, awesome in the night. Her tired and bruised feet sped along once again. The eyes, burning and tortured, stared frightfully upon the black, distant headland, where the last pitiable hope of life joy yet reposed.

On and on, through the growing rigours of the night, while the heart that knew not sorrow slowly broke and died.

After the boat had drifted away, McAuliffe lit up his pipe and made his way back to the fort over the crisp, frost-spangled gra.s.s. An otter cap had taken the place of summer's straw bonnet; thick woollen gloves wadded his great hands; above the breeches he wore Arctic socks, secured at the knee with gaudy little ta.s.sels. Standing by the water had made him chilly, so he reflected cheerfully upon the black bottle which awaited him behind the blot of yellow light ahead.

'Goldam! the cold's a terror,' he remarked to himself. 'And I'm stiff as a frozen-in gold eye. Why, Kit, my girl! Where have you sprung from?

Where's your pard, eh?'

He patted the grey mare, as she emerged from the bush with a soft whinny. 'You'd be a lot better fixed in your stable, night like this.

Not much of a place, eh, old woman? Too strong on the ventilation question, I guess. Better than fooling around here, though.'

He pulled off a glove and rubbed the frost from her soft nostrils Then he noticed she was trembling and breathing strangely. Her white breath floated along the cold wind like steam clouds. Repeatedly she turned her head to sniff into the darkness behind.

'Something up,' mused the Factor. 'Kitty's scared, or she wouldn't play the old fool like this. I reckon there's someone there behind.'

The mare backed violently, almost throwing him down. 'Goldam! you're no chicken on my toes, I tell you, Kit. What's wrong with you, anyway?' He craned his neck forward, and presently muttered, 'Heard a sort of sound then. Kitty's derned cute. She don't rocket around for nothing.'

The breath released by the utterance of such words had scarce floated away, before the bushes parted with sudden movement. The following second a figure ran forth by the mare's side, and disappeared instantly in the darkness. McAuliffe had peered beneath the animal's neck, and, as the auroral lights shot for an instant into brilliancy, his eyes fell, for a breath only, upon that face, that figure. Then he shambled to his knees and embraced a frost-coated rock with hoa.r.s.e exclamations, while the mare cantered briskly across the open s.p.a.ce, snorting fiercely.

'I've got 'em,' moaned the Factor, rocking himself backward and forward in the strange, ghost-like light. 'I've been warned of 'em, and now they've come. O Lord! O Lord! I never prayed in my life, and it's too late now. Besides, I wouldn't know what to say. Now I'll have to go away and be locked up in an asylum presently, while the little blue and green devils hop and tumble around all the time. I drank square with Angus right along, and never mixed. There was only brandy, anyway. Now I've got 'em. I'm an old moonhead from this night forward. O Lord! O Lord!'

'He won't come back again,' the dark figure was saying, half kindly, half angrily.

The two stood upon the wind-swept headland. The boat had long since vanished into the night. Below rushed the mighty river, type of eternity's unceasing course. Above, the aurora flashed red shafts, while a soft moaning filled the sky.

She was sobbing fearfully. 'He has only gone for a short time. He desires something--for me, perhaps. Then he will return to me.'

The other placed a rough hand on her arm. 'It's no good, girl. You've just got to look square at a nasty truth. We all have to at times. He's gone by this last boat. He couldn't get back if he wanted to.'

Her head was bent, the face concealed in small fingers. 'But he loved me,' she wailed.

Her companion laughed hoa.r.s.ely. 'He said so. Lamont was always clever with his tongue. But he can't love, girl. He hasn't got the heart for it.'

She looked at him with sore, tearful eyes. 'You know him, then?'