The Promise Part 41

The ladies bowed formally, and secretly approved of the grace with which the foreman removed his cap and returned their salute.

Nevertheless, there was an icy note in Mrs. Appleton's voice as she said:

"My niece begs to be excused. She is very tired after her rather hard trip." If Bill noticed the frigidity in the tone he gave no sign.

"I imagine it has been a very trying trip for you all. However, I will offer you the best accommodations the camp affords. If you will kindly choose which of those two rooms you prefer I will have your belongings moved in at once."

"I suppose you brought cots," he added, turning to Appleton.

"Yes, everything necessary for a tenderfoot outfit."

"When the ladies have selected their room I will have your gear moved into the other," said Bill; and, with a bow to the ladies, moved off in the direction of the cook-shack.

Alone in the office, Ethel Manton gazed about upon the meager furnishings; a desk, the little air-tight stove with its huge wood-box; three wooden chairs, a trunk secured by a padlock, and a bunk neatly laid with heavy blankets.

Several pairs of boots, moccasins, and heavy mittens were ranged along the floor next to the wall, while from pegs above them hung a faded mackinaw, a slicker, and several pairs of corduroy trousers.

Tacked to the wall above the desk was a large, highly colored calendar, while upon the opposite wall hung a rifle and a belt of yellow cartridges. Her woman's eye took in the scrupulous neatness of the room and the orderly disposition of the various articles.

For the first time in her life she was in a man's room, and she felt a keen thrill of interest in her surroundings. Upon the top of the desk beside the little bracket-lamp was a short row of books.

"It is too bad," she muttered, "that he couldn't have been _nice_. How I would have enjoyed talking with him and telling him how splendid it is that he is _making good_!

"Maybe somewhere a girl is wondering where he is--and waiting day after day for word from him--and worrying her very heart out. Oh, I hope she will never know about this Jeanne--ugh! An Indian--and Uncle Appleton said he is a _gentleman_!"

She paused before the desk and idly read the t.i.tles of the books; there were a logger's manual, a few text-books on surveying and timber estimating, several of the latest novels, apparently unread and a well-thumbed copy of Browning.

"Browning! Of all things--in a log camp! Now I know there is a girl--poor thing!" Open, face downward upon the surface of the desk where it had been pushed aside to make room for a rough sketch of the camp with its outreaching skidways and cross-hauls, lay a small volume.

"And Southey!" she exclaimed under her breath, and picked up the book.

It was "Madoc," and three lines, heavily underscored, stood boldly out upon the page:

"Three things a wise man will not trust, The wind, the sunshine of an April day, And woman's plighted faith."

Over and over she read the lines, and, returning the book to its place, pondered, as she allowed her glance to rove again over the little room whose every detail bespoke intense masculinity.

"I might at least be nice to him," she murmured. "Maybe the girl _was_ horrid. And he is 'way up here, trying to forget!" Unconsciously she repeated the words of her Uncle Appleton: "He _has_ made good."

And then there flashed through her mind the words of the guide: "She is beautiful, and she loves him. She accompanied him for three days and three nights on the trail to the land of the white man, and he promised that he would come again into the woods and protect her from harm."

"This Indian girl," she whispered--"she loves him, and he persuaded her to accompany him, and when they drew near to civilization he sent her back--with a promise!"

Her lips thinned and the hot blood mounted to her cheeks. No matter what conditions sent this man into the woods, there could be no justification for _that_. She shuddered as she drew her skirts away where they brushed lightly against the blankets of his bunk, and turned toward the door.

And just at that moment the door opened, and in the gathering darkness a man stood framed in the doorway. She drew back, startled, and with the swiftness of light her glance swept him from the top of his cap to the soles of his heavy boots.

He was a large man whose features were concealed by a thick beard. His fringed and beautifully embroidered shirt of buckskin was open at the throat, as if to allow free play to the mighty muscles of his well-formed neck.

Only a few seconds he stood thus, and with a swift movement removed the cap from his head.

"You will pardon me," he said, and his eyes sought hers; "I did not know any one was here."

At the first sound of his voice the girl started. One quick step, and she stood before him, staring into his eyes. She felt her flesh grow cold, and her heart seemed gripped between the jaws of a mighty vise.

"_You!_" she gasped, and swayed unsteadily as her hand sought her throat. Her voice came dry and hard and choking as she repeated the word: "_You!_" And in that moment the man saw her face in the deepening gloom of the room.

"_Ethel!_" he cried, springing toward her with outstretched arms. Then, when she was almost within their grasp, the arms dropped, for the girl shrank from his touch and her eyes blazed.

Thus for a moment they stood facing each other, the girl--white, tense--with blazing eyes, and the big man, who fought for control of himself. Finally he spoke, and his voice was steady and very low.

"Forgive me, Ethel," he said. "For the moment I forgot that I have not the right--that there is another----"

With a low, moaning cry the girl covered her face with her hands. Even since she faced him there the thought had flashed through her brain that there might be some mistake--that the man might even yet be as he appeared to be--big and brave and _clean_.

But now--from his own lips she had heard it--"there is another"--and that other--an _Indian_!

A convulsive shudder shook her whole body, the room seemed to reel; she pressed her hands more tightly to her eyes, as if to shut out the sight of him, and the next instant all was dark, and she pitched heavily forward into the arms of the man.

For one brief moment he held her, straining her limp body to his. The hands relaxed and fell away from her pallid face, and the bearded lips bent close above the soft lips of the unconscious girl--but _only_ for a moment.

Without touching the lips, the man straightened up and, crossing to the bunk, laid the still form upon the blankets. With never a backward glance, he pa.s.sed out through the door.

It was dark in the clearing, and a couple of steps brought him face to face with Appleton, who was coming to tell his niece that the ladies'

quarters were ready.

The foreman paused and looked squarely into the face of his employer.

He slowly raised an arm and pointed to the open door of the office.

"Miss Manton," he said, "has fainted." And without waiting for a reply, pa.s.sed on into the night.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

CHARLIE FINDS A FRIEND

The following morning the camp looked out upon a white world. The threatened snow which began during the night was still falling, and from the windows the dark walls of the clearing could be seen but dimly through the riot of dancing flakes.

It was a constrained and rather glum party that sat down to breakfast shortly after daylight in the room adjoining the office, where two deal tables had been drawn together and spread with a new, white oilcloth.

Ethel Manton had entirely recovered from her syncope of the previous evening, and had offered no elucidation other than that of fatigue.

Nevertheless, not a person in the room but felt that there had been another and more immediate cause for the girl's collapse.

Charlie had begged to be allowed to "eat with the men," and the foreman had courteously declined Appleton's invitation to join the party during their stay in camp.

The dismal and sporadic attempts at conversation had slumped into an awkward silence, in the midst of which the door burst open and young Charlie catapulted into the room.

"Oh, Eth! Guess who he is!" he cried. "Guess who's the boss--the man the Indians call The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die'! It's _Bill Carmody_! And I knew him the minute I saw him, if he _has_ got whiskers all over his face and a buckskin shirt.