The Peace of Roaring River Part 21

"Oh, just some letters that pa.s.sed through this office. Let me see, where did I put them? Always indispensable to secure all doc.u.ments.

Miss Nelson gave them to me."

Very slowly he pulled the letters out of his pocket, while his keen eyes searched Sophy's face, gravely. She was distinctly ill at ease, he observed.

"There has been a queer mix-up. These doc.u.ments can hardly be called forgery, since there is no attempt to imitate the real handwriting of the person who is supposed to have written them. It's simply a clumsy attempt to deceive, as far as I can see. But the strange thing is that several letters came from New York, apparently, and have never been received. It seems that they must have come through this office and the post-office authorities will be asked to trace them. They are always glad to hear of any irregularities, of course, and will send an expert here, naturally, if mere inquiry does not suffice. Those chaps are wonderfully clever, you know. They seem to be able to find out anything they want to know. The letters I am showing you came through Carcajou, there's your stamp on the envelopes. The detective will compare this handwriting with that of every man, woman and child in Carcajou and the neighborhood, and while it is certainly disguised, there's so much of it that they will certainly find out who sent them.

It--it's going to prove devilish tough for somebody, you may be sure.

Of course I'm no lawyer and can't tell what the charge will be, perhaps conspiracy of some sort, or making use of the mails for some fraudulent or--or some prohibited purpose. But that's evidently no concern of ours and I know you'll help the authorities to the best of your ability. You will naturally do all you can because no postmaster likes to have any irregularity in his office. That sort of thing generally means taking it away from the holder and putting it in other hands. Your father would be pretty angry if anything like that happened, because while you attend to the mails, he's really the responsible party."

Miss Sophy may not have realized how keenly the doctor was looking at her. He was now feeling quite certain that his suspicions had fallen on the guilty party. Here was a jealous woman who evidently knew a good deal. Putting two and two together is the very essence of scientific thought and Dr. Starr was no beginner. Sophy's foot was beating a rapid tattoo on the floor. On her face the color kept going and coming.

"Somebody has done a very foolish thing," continued the doctor.

"Perhaps it was not realized that it was also a very wicked one. At any rate there is a lot of trouble coming. I will bid you good-day."

He turned on his heels, lighting the cigar he had bought and looking quite unconcerned. Sophy hastened around the counter and intercepted him at the door, following him out. She touched his arm.

"Do--do they suspect any one?" she asked.

"I think I may have spoken too much, Miss McGurn," answered the doctor, with a face that had suddenly become exceedingly stern.

"It is not for me to answer your question. Of course, it's in my power to tell the sheriff that there is no longer any suspicion that the shooting was otherwise than accidental, and I could perhaps also persuade Miss Nelson not to follow this matter of the letters any further. I think that she would follow my advice in the matter. But I have no intention of interfering until--until I know everything--down--to--the--last--word!"

He accentuated this by striking with his fist into an open hand, slowly, as if driving in a rebellious spike. They were alone on the little veranda of the store. Within her breast the girl's heart was throbbing with fear--with the terror of exposure and unknown punishments. She felt that this man knew the exact truth and she had the sensation of some animal cornered and seeing but a single avenue of escape.

"But I have found out everything I wanted to know, Miss McGurn," Dr.

Starr told her, suddenly. "Unless I have a written confession in my hands I shall let matters take their course. It--is--for--you--to--choose."

He looked at his watch.

"My train should be here in fifteen minutes," he told her. "After that it will be too late!"

Then the girl broke down. Wild thoughts had come and gone. If a weapon had been at hand she might, in obedience to the behest of a wild and fiery nature, have stabbed the man who so calmly faced her. But she felt utterly helpless and her fear and despair became supreme.

"I--I'll write whatever you want me to, if--if you promise not to tell!" she cried.

"I'm not quite prepared to accept conditions," he answered. "I intend to show the paper to Ennis and to Miss Nelson. They have a right to know the truth. But I can promise that they will carry the matter no farther, and that I shall see that neither the sheriff nor the post-office authorities will interfere. There are but a few minutes left now."

She rushed into the store again and went to the desk. Her father was no longer in the room. With feverish speed she wrote while the doctor bent over her, suggesting a word now and then. Finally she signed the paper and handed it to him.

"I think you had better give me those answers now," he suggested.

"Those directed to A. B. C."

From Box 17 she took the letters and handed them over without a word, and the doctor carefully placed them in his pocket with the others.

"I think you've been very wise in taking my advice, Miss McGurn," he told her. "It was the only way out of trouble. Isn't that the freight's whistle? I'll hurry off. Good-day to you."

He stepped quickly across the s.p.a.ce that separated him from the station. On the platform Joe Follansbee greeted him pleasantly.

"A fine clear day, doctor," said the station agent.

"Yes, everything is beautifully clear now," answered Dr. Starr amiably. "Shouldn't wonder if this were about the last of the cold weather."

Then he got on the caboose, where the crew welcomed him. As one of the company doctors he had the right to ride on anything that came along, and the men were always glad to see him. They made him comfortable in a corner and offered him hot tea and large soggy buns. But he thanked them, smilingly, and sat down in a corner. From his bag he took out a medical journal and was soon immersed in an exceedingly interesting article on hysteria.

Strangely enough, at that very moment Miss Sophy had run up to her room and thrown herself on the bed, face downwards and buried in a pillow. She was weeping and uttering incoherent cries. When her mother came in, alarmed, the old lady was indignantly ordered out again while the girl's feet beat against the mattress hurriedly, and she bit the knuckles of her hands.

CHAPTER XV

The Peace of Roaring River

It is particularly in the great north countries that the season changes from the lion into the lamb, with a swiftness that is perfectly bewildering. The sick man was getting well. Over a week since, Dr. Starr had declared that all danger had pa.s.sed. And as the days went by the cold that had shackled the land disappeared so that the frosted limbs by the great falls wept off their coating of gems, and the earth, in great patches, began to show new verdure. Then had come twenty-four hours of a pelting, crashing rain, that had melted away more snow and ice. After the rain was over and the sky had cleared again, Madge had gone out and stood by the brink of the great falls, where she watched the thundering turbid flood as it madly rushed into the great pit below. Incessantly great cakes of ice poised on the brown-white edge above for an instant, and hurled themselves furiously into the chasm as if bent on everlasting devastation. The river itself was rising swiftly and from time to time the great logs that had remained stranded in the upper reaches of the river also plunged into the vortex, where they twisted and sank and rose, endlessly.

There was something fascinating in this vast turmoil of mighty forces, in this leaping forth of a great river now liberated and escaping towards the great lakes and thence to the ocean. Hitherto Madge had gazed upon them timidly, with sudden shivers, as if all this had represented part of the great peril of life and actually threatened her. But now it seemed to have become a part of the immensity of this world, a fragment of the wondrous heritage of nations still to be born. And just as the flood still had a long journey to travel ere it found rest in the Atlantic's bosom, so now Madge felt that her own course represented but the beginning of a new and greater life.

In spite of many nights spent at that bedside, she looked far better and more robust than when she had first reached Roaring River. Courage had returned to her and with it the will to endure, to live, to seize upon her share of the wondrous glory of this new world that was so fresh and beautiful. And yet her thoughts were very sober; she did not feel that she had reached utter happiness. Her life would now be one of usefulness, according to the doctor's promise. She felt that faces might become cheerier at her coming and that little children--the children of other people--would welcome her and crow out their little joy.

Several long nights of quiet rest had built her up into a woman that was no longer the factory drudge or the recent inmate of hospitals.

One of the Papineau children had come over to remain with Hugo, lest he should need anything. Madge attended him during the day, concocting things on the stove, dressing the fast closing wound and administering the drugs left by the doctor, with the greatest punctuality, and the man's eyes followed her every motion, generally in silence. She also spoke little. It was as if, upon both of them, a timidity had come that made it hard for them to exchange thoughts. The first time he had wanted to speak of the problem of her coming she failed to encourage him.

"I know all that happened now," she told him, "and I have long known that you were not at fault, in any way. Indeed, I feel grateful for your forbearance when I first came. But, if you don't mind, we won't speak of it again. It--it distresses me."

He saw plainly that she had blushed, in spite of the fact that she turned her head swiftly away, and remained silent until she came again with a teaspoonful of something he must swallow.

So she sat down again and her mind reverted to the future, which was certainly immeasurably splendid and promising, as compared to the outlook of a fortnight before. In her pockets were the letters she had written to this man. Dr. Starr had brought them to her one day, when Hugo was already able to listen and understand.

"I think they were intended for me," said the latter, gently.

"No!" exclaimed Madge, reddening and leaping from her stool. "Please give them to me, Dr. Starr. They were sent to an utterly unknown man.

They were replies to letters you never sent and therefore they're not yours. Please--I--I'd rather you didn't see them!"

The young man had nodded, quietly.

"Of course they're yours," he acknowledged. "We--we won't mention them again, if it's your wish."

"Indeed--indeed it is. They were just a cry for help--for a chance to live--perhaps for a little happiness. Dr. Starr has now offered me all these things and I have accepted--ever so gratefully. I--I had taken a step that was utter folly, yes, absolute madness. But now the most wonderful good fortune has brought me the fulfilment of these desires and I want to forget all the rest--the burning shame I have felt as well as the terror with which I approached whatever was in store for me. That part of it will pa.s.s away like some bad dream, I hope.

It's--it's kind of you not to insist on seeing these letters."

"That's all right, Miss Nelson," said the doctor, soothingly. "Hugo, my lad, you owe a good deal to your nurse and I'm glad that you're properly grateful and not unduly curious."

But Hugo called Maigan to him, without answering, and patted the animal's head, after which he remarked that the days were getting much longer.

Came another day when the patient was able to get up, with the aid of Stefan and his nurse, and manifested the usual surprise of the strong man after illness. It was astonishing that his legs were so weak, and he couldn't understand the dizzy sensations in his head.

After a time he became able to use his arm a little, very cautiously, and his joy was great when it served him to handle a fork, for the first time since he had been ill.

And so now she was standing beside these great falls, thinking very deeply. She was disappointed at herself because she did not feel properly happy and grateful; indeed, she was dropping in her own estimation. If any one, a month before, had placed before her the prospect of honest toil among friendly faces, of usefulness that would benefit her while gaining grat.i.tude from others, she would have deemed herself the happiest woman in the world. Yes, the world should have been a very beautiful and kindly place, now that hunger and pain were eliminated, now that the coming of spring would cause sap to surge up the trees so that the branches would soon clothe themselves in the tender glory of new leaf.a.ge. Her own existence was on the verge of a fresh new growth that might lead to greater things, and yet she reproached herself because she could not become conscious of a real happiness, of a glorious achievement that had been like an unexpected manna coming to starvelings in a desert. She felt nothing but a quiet acquiescence in the new conditions and accepted her new destiny with a sigh.