The Peace of Roaring River Part 8

"I can't offer you much of a meal, Miss Nelson," he said, seeking to make his voice as pleasant as possible. "You've probably never tried sour-dough biscuits. Mrs. Papineau's are better, but you may be able to manage one or two of these. That good woman's a mighty good cook, as cooking goes in these parts. Here's a can of condensed milk; won't you help yourself? You must really try to eat something. Do you think you could try a little cold corned beef? I have some canned stuff that's not half bad. Or it would take but a moment to broil you a partridge I got yesterday. But I'll open these sardines first."

He went to work with a large jack-knife, but she thanked him, briefly, in a low voice, and refused to accept anything but the tea and a bit of the biscuit. She wondered why he didn't also sit down to eat. It bothered her to see him hovering over her like some sort of waiter. He was probably staring at her, when her head was turned, and enjoying his dastardly jest. When she thought of those letters she had received and of all they contained of lies, of unimaginable falsehoods, the man began again to repel her like some venomous reptile. She could have shrieked out as he came near. What an actor he was! What control he held over voice and face as he pretended to know nothing about her.

His effort had been evident, from the very first instant they had met, to disclaim the slightest knowledge of her or of the reasons for her coming! She felt utterly bewildered. He answered to that name of Hugo Ennis and had admitted that this was Roaring River, as Stefan had also told her. Moreover, the big Swede knew perfectly well that she was coming and expected. In word, in action, in every move of his, this man was lying, stupidly, coa.r.s.ely, with features indifferent or pretending concern. It was unbearable.

She turned and looked at him again, swiftly but haggardly. She would never have conceived the possibility of a man dissembling so, in letters first and lying again in every move and every tone of his voice. How could he keep it so tranquil and unmoved? Yet when he came near her again, insisting on filling her cup once more, she seemed for an instant to forget the rough clothes, the mean little shack, the strange conspiracy of which she was the victim and which had aroused her pa.s.sionate protests. Over the first mouthfuls of hot tea she had nearly choked, but she had found the warm brew welcome and its odor grateful and pleasant. It mingled in some way with the scent of the balsam boughs with which the bunk was covered and over which the blankets reposed. She had experienced something like this feeling in the hospital, the first time she had been an inmate of it. It was as if again she had been very ill and awakened in an unfamiliar and bewildering place. The great weakness she experienced was something like that which she had felt in the great ward, where the rows of beds stretched before her and at either side. Some were screened, she remembered, and held the poor creatures for whom there was no longer any hope. It was as if now a turn of her head could have revealed a white-capped nurse moving silently, deftly bringing comfort. Her hands had become quite warm again; she pa.s.sed one of them over her brow as if this motion might have dispelled some strange vision.

The big dog, Maigan, came to her and laid his sharp head and pointed cold muzzle on her lap, and she stroked it, mechanically. This, at any rate, was something genuine and friendly that had come to her. Again and again she pa.s.sed her hand over the rough neck and head. At this, however, something within her broke again and her head fell once more on her arms as she sobbed,--sobbed as if her heart would break.

"I--I'm afraid you must have gone through a good deal of--of unhappiness," faltered the man, anxiously. "It--it's really too bad and I'd give anything if I could...."

But the girl lifted up her hand, as if to check his words. What right had a man who was guilty of such conduct to begin proffering a repentance that was unavailing, nay, contemptible? Did he think that a few halting words could atone for his cruelty, could dispel the evil he had wrought?

At this he kept silent again, during long minutes, appalled as men always are at the first sight of a woman's tears. He felt utterly helpless to console or advise, and was becoming more and more bewildered at this interruption of his lonely and quiet life. Since she didn't want him to speak he would hold his tongue. If she hadn't looked so dreadfully unhappy he would have deemed her an infernal nuisance and hurried her departure. But in this case how could a fellow be brutal to a poor thing that wailed like a child, that seemed weaker than one and more in need of gentle care?

Soon she rose from the table, determinedly, with some of her energy renewed by the food and hot drink.

"If you please, let us go now," she told him, firmly.

"I'm entirely at your service," he answered. "I think you had better let me lend you a cap. That thing you have on your head can hardly keep your ears from freezing. I have a new one that's never been worn.

Wait a moment."

His search was soon rewarded. She had kept on but her inefficient little New York hat with its faded buds and wrinkled leaves and now tried to remove it. Her hands trembled, however, and the strain of travel had been hard. All at once, as she pulled away, her coiled hair escaped all restraint of pins and fell down upon her shoulders, in a great waving chestnut ma.s.s. At this Hugo opened the door and ran out, returning a couple of minutes later with the bag that had been left on the trunk.

"I--I expect you need some of your things," he ventured.

She looked at him with some grat.i.tude. Most men wouldn't have thought of it. Nodding her thanks she opened the thing and was compelled to pull out various articles before she could get at her comb and brush.

Her movements were still very nervous. It was embarra.s.sing to be there before that man with one's hair all undone and awry. Something fell from her hand, striking the edge of the table and toppling to the floor. There was a deafening explosion and the shack was full of the dense smoke of black powder. When Madge recovered from her terror the young man, looking very pale, had bent down and picked up the fallen weapon. For a moment she thought there was a strange look in his eyes.

"I--I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed.

"If--if you were to hit a man with that thing he'd get real mad," he said, repeating an age-worn joke. "At any rate I'm glad you were not hurt. Rather unexpected, wasn't it? I really think you'd better let me take the other sh.e.l.ls out. It's a nasty little cheap weapon and, I should judge, quite an unsafe bit of hardware for a lady to handle.

Whoever gave you that thing ought to be spanked. But--but, then, of course you didn't know it was loaded."

"I--I did know it was loaded!" cried Madge. "I--I had the man load it for me! I--I thought it might protect me from insult, perhaps, or--or let me take matters in my own hands, if need be. I--I didn't know what sort of place I would be coming to or--or what sort of man would--would receive me! I--I felt safer with it!"

Maigan was still ferreting out corners of the room, having leaped up at the shot as if the idea had come to him that some rat or chipmunk must lie dead somewhere. There nearly always was something to pick up when his master fired.

"Keep still, boy!" ordered the latter. "I think we'd better count that as a miss. I'll wait outside until you've fixed yourself up, Miss Nelson, and are ready to go. I'll have to hitch up Maigan first. As soon as you come out I'll wrap you in my blankets; you'll be quite comfortable. We haven't very far to go, anyway."

"Thank you--it--it won't take me a minute," she answered, without looking at him.

She had discovered in a corner of the shack a bit of looking-gla.s.s he used to shave by, and stood before it, never noticing that he made a rather long job of drawing on his heavy fur coat. He went out with his dog and got the sled ready, with a wry look upon his face. Then, as there was nothing more to do, he sat down upon the rough bench that stood near the door. He winced and made a grimace as his hand went up to his shoulder.

"The little fool," he told himself. "She seems to have been loaded for bear. Glad it was a thirty-two instead of a forty-five Colt. I didn't think it was anything, just a bad scratch, after the first sting of it, but it feels like fire and brimstone now. It's an infernal nuisance. Good Lord! Suppose she'd plugged herself instead of me. That would have been a fix for fair!"

This idea evidently horrified him. He had a vision of blood and tears and screams, of having to rush off to Carcajou to telegraph for the nearest doctor. Perhaps people would even have suspected him. He saw Madge with her big dark-rimmed eyes and that perfectly wonderful hair, lying dead or dying on the floor of his shack. It was utterly gruesome, unspeakable, and a strong shiver pa.s.sed over him.

"But I wonder who the deuce she was going to shoot with that thing?"

he finally asked himself. "Oh, she must be crazy, the poor little thing! It's really too bad!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'm glad you were not hurt. Rather unexpected, wasn't it"]

He then thought of what a fool he had been to give her back that gimcrack pistol. She probably had more sh.e.l.ls. He must contrive to get them away from her. There was no saying what an insane person might do.

"I wish Stefan would turn up soon," he cogitated. "I'd give a lot to find out what he knows about her. It was mighty funny his never stopping here for a minute."

CHAPTER VI

Deeper in the Wilderness

Within the shack Madge was now ready to start. Hugo's big woolen cap was pulled down well over her ears and she again wore a coat much too large for her, a thing which, in other days long gone, might have made her laugh.

As she moved to the door she hesitated. Where was she going to? What object was there in moving there or anywhere else? The wild dream that had come upon her in the big city was dispelled and nothing on earth remained but the end that must come in some way or other. Of course she had no desire to remain in this shack, but neither had she any desire for anything else. What was the use of anything she might do?

By this time she was stranded high and dry among breakers innumerable, with never the slightest outlook towards safety. The few dollars in her pockets offered no possibility of return. This man might give her enough to get back, if she asked him. It was the least he could do.

But she would rather have torn out her tongue than ask him for money.

And it would only be going back to that dreadful city in which she had suffered so much. No, it was unthinkable! Better by far for her to lie down somewhere in that great forest and die. And now she was about to see more strangers and remain over night in new surroundings. Where would she drift to after that?

She made a gesture of despair. Her down-hanging arms straightened rigidly at her side, with the fists clenched as when one seeks to be brave in the face of impending agony. Her head was thrown back and her eyes nearly closed. In that position she remained for a moment, her brain whirling, her head on fire with a burning pain. Then the tension relaxed a little and she cast another look about her, without seeing anything, after which she pushed the door open and stepped out upon the crunching snow.

Hugo rose at once, albeit somewhat stiffly, and spoke to the dog who stood up, with head turned to watch the proceedings.

"I don't think I'd better take the trunk on this trip," he explained.

"It would make a rather heavy load for just one dog. We'll take your bag, of course, and I can bring the trunk over to-morrow morning. It will be perfectly safe there by the road. We haven't any thieves in this country, that I know of. Now will you please sit down there, in the middle. Maigan will pull you all right. I'll get the blankets."

"But--couldn't I walk? You said it was only a mile. I--I think I could manage that," ventured Madge, dully.

"I don't think you could," he answered. "I'm sure you're quite played out. In some places the snow is bound to be soft. I could give you a pair of snowshoes but you wouldn't know how to use them and they'd tire you to death. You've already had a pretty hard day, I know.

Maigan won't mind it in the least. He'd take the trunk, too, readily enough, but that would make slow going."

She obeyed. What did she care? What difference could it make? He wrapped the blankets over her, after she had sat down on an old wolfskin he had covered the sled with. After this he took a long line attached to the toboggan and pa.s.sed it over his right shoulder, pulling at the side of the dog, who toiled on briskly. When they reached the tote-road it seemed rougher than ever and the country wilder. To her right Madge could see the river that was nothing but a winding jumble of snow-capped rocks and grinding ice, with here and there patches of inky-looking water, where the ice-crust had split asunder. Also she dully noted places where the water seemed to froth up over the surface, boiling in great suds from which rose, straight up in the still air, a cloud of heavy gray vapor. The cold felt even more intense than earlier in the day. It impressed the girl as if some tremendous force were bearing down mightily upon the world and holding it in thrall. With the lowering of the sun the shadows had grown longer. After a time the slight sound of the man's snowshoes over the crackling snow, of the sc.r.a.ping toboggan, of the panting dog, began to seem to Madge like some sort of desecration of a stillness in which man was nothing and only an eternal and vengeful power reigned supreme. In spite of the patches of sunlight filtering down through branches or glaring upon the river there was now something dismal in all this, and she began to feel the cold again, penetrating, relentless, evil in its might.

They had gone about half way when, on the top of a slight rise, both dog and man stopped for a moment's rest. The latter looked quite exhausted. His face was set hard, in an expression she could not fathom.

"Really, I think I could walk," said the girl again. "There--there's no reason you should work so hard for me. And--and you look terribly tired."

"Oh, no!" he disclaimed, hastily. "I--I could pull you all by myself if--well, it's only a short distance away now, and Maigan is doing nearly all the work, anyway. I--I don't think anything I can do for you can quite make up for all that you seem to have gone through."

He looked at her, very gravely, as he sat down upon a fallen log, close at hand, after clearing off some snow with a sweep of his mitt.

There was something very sad, she thought, an expression of pain upon his face which she noted and which led her into a very natural error.

She was compelled to consider these things as evidences of regret, of a conscience that was beginning to irk him badly. Her head bent down till she was staring into her lap; she felt that tears were once more dangerously near.

No thought came to her of appealing to this man, of suing for pity and charity, but she began to speak, the words coming from a full heart that gave her pain were spoken in low tones, nearly as if she had been talking to herself.

"I--I'm thinking of the boys who were stoning the frog," she began, haltingly. "You remember. It was fun for them but death to the frog.

I--I think a good many things work that way in the world, don't--don't you, Mr. Ennis? You--you don't really look like--like a very bad man.