WHERE THE PATH LED
By daylight next morning every man and most of the women among the new
arrivals had disappeared into the hills--the women in spite of the
by-laws of Lee's Creek, which discriminated against their sex. When a
stampede starts it does not end with the location of one stream-bed,
nor of two; every foot of valley ground for miles on every hand is
pre-empted, in the hope that more gold will be found; each creek forms
a new district, and its discoverers adopt laws to suit their whims. The
women, therefore, hastened to participate in the discovery of new
territory and in the shaping of its government, leaving but few of
either sex to guard the tents and piles of provisions standing by the
river-bank. In two days they began to return, and straggled in at
intervals for a week thereafter, for many had gone far.
And now began a new era for Flambeau--an era of industry such as the
frontier town had never known. The woods behind rang with the
resounding discords of axes and saws and crashing timber, and new
cabins appeared on every hand, rising in a day. The sluggish air was
noisy with voices, and the edge of the forest receded gradually before
the busy pioneers, replacing the tall timbers with little, high-banked
homes of spruce and white-papered birch. From dawn till dark arose the
rhythmic rasp of men whip-sawing floor lumber to the tune of two
hundred dollars per thousand; and with the second steamer came a little
steam sawmill, which raised its shrill complaint within a week,
punctuating the busy day with its piping whistle.
The trail along the Flambeau, was dotted continuously with toiling
human beasts of burden, that floundered laboriously beneath great packs
of provisions and tools and other baggage, winding like an endless
stream of ants through the hills to "No Creek" Lee Creek, where they
re-enacted the scenes that were occurring in the town. Tents and cabins
were scattered throughout the length of the valley, lumber was sawed
for sluice-boxes, and the virginal breezes that had sucked through this
seam in the mountains since days primeval came to smell of spruce fires
and echo with the sounds of life.
A dozen tents were pitched on Lee's discovery claim, for the owner had
been besieged by men who clamored to lease a part of his ground, and,
yielding finally, he had allotted to each of them a hundred feet.
Forth-with they set about opening their portions, for the ground was
shallow, and the gold so near the surface that winter would interfere
with its extraction; wherefore, they made haste. The owner oversaw them
all, complacent in the certainty of a steady royalty accruing from the
working of his allotments.
Every day there came into Flambeau exaggerated reports of new strikes
in other spots, of strong indications and of rich prospects elsewhere.
Stories grew out of nothing, until the camp took an hysterical pleasure
in exciting itself and deceiving every stranger who came from north or
south, for the wine of discovery was in them all, and it pleased them
to distort and enlarge upon every rumor that came their way, such being
the temper of new gold-fields. They knew they were lying, and that all
other men were lying also, and yet they hearkened to each tale and
almost deceived themselves.
Burrell sought Necia at an early day and, in presence of her father,
told her that he had been approached by men who wished to lease the
claims he held for her. It would prove an inexpensive way to develop
her holdings, he said, and she would run no risk; moreover, it would be
rapid, and insure a quick return, for a lease so near to proven
territory was in great demand. After some discussion this was arranged,
and Meade, as trustee, allotted her ground in tracts, as Lee had done.
Poleon followed suit; but the trader chose to prospect his own claims,
and to that end called in a train of stiff-backed Indian packers, moved
a substantial outfit to the creek, and thereafter spent much of his
time in the hills, leaving the store to Doret. He seemed anxious to get
away from the camp and hide himself in the woods. Stark was almost
constantly occupied at his saloon, for it was a mint, and ran day and
night. Runnion was busy with the erection of a substantial structure of
squared logs, larger than the trading-post, destined as a dance-hall,
theatre, and gambling-house. Flambeau, the slumbrous, had indeed
aroused itself, stretched its limbs, and sprung into vigorous, virile,
feverish being, and the wise prophets were predicting another Dawson
for it, notwithstanding that many blank spots had been found as the
creek of Lee's finding bared its bedrock to the miners. These but
enhanced the value of the rich finds, however, for a single stroke of
good-fortune will more than offset a dozen disappointments. The truth
is, the stream was very spotted, and Leo had by chance hit upon one of
the bars where the metal had lodged, while others above and below
uncovered a bed-rock as barren as a clean-swept floor. In places they
cross-cut from rim to rim, drove tunnels and drains and drifts, sunk
shafts and opened trenches without finding a color that would ring when
dropped in the pan; but that was an old, old story, and they were used
to it.
During these stirring weeks of unsleeping activity Burrell saw little
of Necia, for he had many things to occupy him, and she was detained
much in the store, now that her father was away. When they met for a
moment they were sure to be interrupted, while in and around the house
Alluna seemed to be always near her. Even so, she was very happy; for
she was sustained by the constant hectic excitement that was in the air
and by her brief moments with Meade, which served to gladden her and
make of the days one long, delicious, hopeful procession of undisturbed
dreams and fancies. He was the same fond lover as on that adventurous
journey up Black Bear Creek, and wooed her with a reckless fire that
set her aglow. And so she hummed and laughed and dreamed the days away,
her happiness matching the peace and gladness of the season.
With Burrell, on the contrary, it was a season of penance and
flagellations of spirit, lightened only by the moments when he was with
her, and when she made him forget all else. This damnable indecision
goaded him to self-contempt; he despised himself for his weakness; his
social instincts and training, his sense of duty, and the amenities of
life that proud men hold dear tugged steadily, untiringly at his
reason, while the little imp of impulse sat grinning wickedly, ready to
pop out and upset all his high resolutions. It raised such a tumult in
his ears that he could not hear the other voices; it stirred his blood
till it leaped and pounded, and then ran off with him to find this tiny
brown and beaming witch who was at the bottom of it all.
No months in any clime can compare with an Arctic summer when Nature is
kind, for she crowds into this short epoch all the warmth and
brightness and splendor that is spread over longer periods in other
lands, and every growing thing rejoices riotously in scent and color
and profusion. It was on one of these heavenly days, spiced with the
faintest hint of autumn, that Necia received the news of her
good-fortune. One of her leasers came into the post to show her and
Poleon a bag of dust. He and his partner had found the pay-streak
finally, and he had come to notify her that it gave promise of being
very rich, and now that its location was demonstrated, no doubt the
other "laymen" would have it within a fortnight. As all of them were
ready to begin sluicing as soon as the ground could be stripped,
undoubtedly they would be able to take out a substantial stake before
winter settled and the first frost closed them down.
She took the news quietly but with shining eyes, though her pleasure
was no greater or more genuine than Poleon's, who grasped both her
hands in his and shouted, gleefully:
"Bien! I'm glad! You'll be riche gal for sure now, an' wear plaintee
fine dress lak' I fetch you. Jus' t'ink, you fin' gol' on your place
more queecker dan your fader, an' he's good miner, too. Ha! Dat's
bully!"
"Oh, Poleon! I'll be a fine lady, after all," she cried--"just as I've
dreamed about! Wasn't it beautiful, that pile of yellow grains and
nuggets? Dear, dear! And part of it is mine! You know I've never had
money. I wonder what it is like to be rich!"
"How I'm goin' tell you dat?"
"Oh, well, they will find it on your claims very soon."
He shook his head. "You better knock wood w'en you say dat. Mebbe I
draw de blank again; nobody can't tell. I've do de sam' t'ing before,
an' dose men w'at been workin' my groun' dey're gettin' purty blue."
"It's impossible. You're sure to strike it, or if you don't, you can
have half of what I make--I'll be too wealthy, anyhow, so you might as
well."
He laughed again, at which she suddenly remembered that he had not
laughed very much of late, or else she had been too deeply absorbed in
her own happiness to mark the lack of his songs and merriment.
"When you do become a Flambeau king," she continued, "what will you do
with yourself? Surely you won't continue that search for your far
country. It could never be so beautiful as this." She pointed to the
river that never changed, and yet was never the same, and to the
forests, slightly tinged with the signs of the coming season. "Just
look at the mountains," she mused, in a hushed voice; "see the haze
that hangs over them--the veil that God uses to cover up his
treasures." She drew a deep breath. "The breeze fairly tastes with
clean things, doesn't it? Do you know, I've often wanted to be an
animal, to have my senses sharpened--one of those wild things with a
funny, sharp, cold nose. I'd like to live in the trees and run along
the branches like a squirrel, and drink in the perfume that comes on
the wind, and eat the tender, growing things. The sun is bright enough
and the world is good enough, but I can't feel enough. I'm incomplete."
"It's very fine," agreed the Canadian. "I don' see w'y anybody would
care for livin' on dem cities w'en dere's so much nice place outside."
"Oh, but the cities must be fine also," said she, "though, of course,
they can't be as lovely as this. Won't I be glad to see them!"
"Are you goin' away?" he inquired, quickly.
"Of course." Then glimpsing his downcast face, she hastened to add,
"That is, when my claims turn out rich enough to afford it."
"Oh," he said, with relief. "Dat's different. I s'pose it mus' be purty
dull on dem beeg town; now'ere to go, not'in' to see 'cept lot of
houses."
"Yes," said Necia, "I've no doubt one would get tired of it soon, and
long for something to do and something really worth while, but I should
like to try it once, and I shall as soon as I'm rich enough. Won't you
come along?"
"I don' know," he said, thoughtfully; "mebbe so I stay here, mebbe so I
tak' my canoe an' go away. For long tam' I t'ink dis Flambeau she's de
promis' lan' I hear callin' to me, but I don' know yet for w'ile."
"What kind of place is that land of yours, Poleon?"
"Ha! I never see 'im, but she's been cryin' to me ever since I'm little
boy. It's a place w'ere I don' get too hot on de summer an' too col' on
de winter; it's place w'ere birds sing an' flowers blossom an' de sun
shine, an' w'ere I can sleep widout dreamin' 'bout it all de tam'."
"Why, it's the land of content--you'll never discover it by travel.
I'll tell you a secret, Poleon. I've found it--yes, I have. It lies
here." She laid her hand on her breast. "Father Barnum told me the
story of your people, and how it lives in your blood--that hunger to
find the far places; it's what drove the voyageurs and coureur du bois
from Quebec to Vancouver, and from the Mississippi to Hudson's Bay. The
wanderlust was their heritage, and they pushed on and on without rest,
like the salmon in the spring, but they were different in this: that
they never came back to die."
"Dat's me! I never see no place yet w'at I care for die on, an' I never
see no place yet w'at I care for see again 'cept dis Flambeau. I lak'
it, dis one, purty good so far, but I ain' know w'en I'm goin' get
tire'. Dat depen's." There was a look of great tenderness in his eyes
as he bent towards her and searched her face, but she was not thinking
of him, and at length he continued:
"Fader Barnum, he's goin' be here nex' Sonday for cheer up dem Injun.
Constantine she's got de letter."
"Why, that's the day after to-morrow!" cried Necia. "Oh, won't I be
glad to see him!"
"You don' get dem kin' of mans on de beeg cities," said Poleon. "I ain'
never care for preachin' much, an' dese feller w'at all de tam' pray
an' sing t'rough de nose, dey mak' me seeck. But Fader Barnum--Ba Gar!
She's the swell man."
"Do you know," said Necia, wistfully, "I've always wanted him to marry
me."
"You t'inkin' 'bout marry on some feller, eh?" said the other, with an
odd grin. "Wal! w'y not? He'll be here all day an' night. S'pose you do
it. Mos' anybody w'at ain' got some wife already will be glad for marry
on you--an' mebbe some feller w'at has got wife, too! If you don' lak'
dem, an' if you're goin' marry on SOMEBODY, you can be wife to me."
Necia laughed lightly. "I believe you WOULD marry me if I wanted you
to; you've done everything else I've ever asked. But you needn't be
afraid; I won't take you up." In all her life this man had never spoken
of love to her, and she had no hint of the dream he cherished. He had
sung his songs to her and told her stories till his frank and boyish
mind was like an open page to her; she knew the romance that was the
very fibre of him, and loved his exaggerated chivalry, for it minded
her of old tales she had read; but that he could care for her save as a
friend, as a brother--such a thought had never dawned upon her.
While they were talking a boat had drawn inshore and made fast to the
bank in front of them. An Indian landed and, approaching, entered into
talk with the Frenchman.
By-and-by Poleon turned to the girl, and said:
"Dere's'hondred marten-skin come in; you min' de store w'ile I mak'
trade wit' dis man."
Together the two went down to the boat, leaving Necia behind, and not
long after Runnion sauntered up to the store and addressed her
familiarly.
"Hello, Necia! I just heard about the strike on your claim. That's fine
and dandy."
She acknowledged his congratulations curtly, for although it was
customary for most of the old-timers to call her by her Christian name,
she resented it from this man. She chose to let it pass, however.
"I had some good news last night myself," he continued. "One of my men
has hit some good dirt, and we'll know what it means in a day or so.
I'll gamble we're into the money big, though, for I always was a lucky
cuss. Say, where's your father?"
"He's out at the mine."
"We've used up all of our bar sugar at the saloon, and I want to buy
what you've got."
"Very well, I'll get it for you."
He followed her inside, watching her graceful movements, and
attempting, with his free-and-easy insolence, to make friendly
advances, but, seeing that she refused to notice him, he became piqued,
and grew bolder.
"Look here, Necia, you're a mighty pretty girl. I've had my eye on you
ever since I landed, and the more I see of you the better I like you."
"It isn't necessary to tell me that," she replied. "The price of the
sugar will be just the same."
"Yes, and you're bright, too," he declared. "That's what I like in a
woman--good looks and brains. I believe in strong methods and straight
talk, too; none of this serenading and moonlight mush for me. When I
see a girl I like, I go and get her. That's me. I make love like a man
ought to--"
"Are you making love to me?" she inquired, curiously.
"It's a little bit sudden, I know, but a man has to begin some time. I
think you'd just about suit me. We'll both have money before long, and
I'll be good to you."
The girl laughed derisively in his face.
"Now don't get sore. I mean business. I don't wear a blue coat and use
a lot of fancy words, and then throw you down when I've had my fun, and
I don't hang around and spoil your chances with other men either."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I'm no soft-talking Southerner with gold buttons and
highfalutin' ways. I don't care if you are a squaw, I'll take you--"
"Don't talk to me!" she cried, in disgust, her voice hot with anger and
resentment.
But he continued, unheeding: "Now, cut out these airs and get down to
cases. I mean what I say. I know you've been casting sheep's eyes at
Burrell, but, Lord! he wouldn't have you, no matter how rich you get.
Of course, you acted careless in going off alone with him, but I don't
mind what they're saying around camp, for I've made little slips like
that myself, and we'd get along--"
"I'll have you killed!" she hissed, through her clinched teeth, while
her whole body vibrated with passion. "I'll call Poleon and have him
shoot you!" She pointed to the river-bank a hundred yards away, where
the Canadian was busy assorting skins.
But he only laughed at her show of temper, and shrugged his shoulders
as he answered her, roughly:
"Understand me, I'm on the square. So think it over, and don't go up in
the air like a sky-rocket."
She cried out at him to "Go--go--go!" and finally he took up his
bundle, saying, as he stepped out slowly:
"All right! But I'm coming back, and you'll have to listen to me. I
don't mind being called a squaw-man. You're pretty near white, and
you're good enough for me. I'll treat you right--why, I'll even marry
you if you're dead set on it. Sure!"
She could scarcely breathe, but checked her first inclination to call
Poleon, knowing that it needed only a word from her to set that
nut-brown savage at Runnion's throat. Other thoughts began to crowd her
brain and to stifle her. The fellow's words had stabbed her
consciousness, and done something for her that gentler means would not
have accomplished; they had opened her eyes to a thing that she had
forgotten--a hideous thing that had reared its fangs once before to
strike, but which her dreams of happiness had driven out of her Eden.
All at once she saw the wrong that had been done her, and realized from
this brute's insult that those early fears had been well grounded. It
suddenly occurred to her that in all the hours she had spent with her
lover, in all those unspeakably sweet and intimate hours, there had
never been one word of marriage. He had looked into her eyes and vowed
he could not live without her, and yet he had never said the words he
should have said, the words that would bind her to him. His arms and
his lips had comforted her and stilled her fears, but after all he had
merely made love. A cold fear crept over the girl. She recalled the old
Corporal's words of a few weeks ago, and her conversation with Stark
came back to her. What if it were true--that which Runnion implied?
What if he did not intend to ask her, after all? What if he had only
been amusing himself? She cried out sharply at this, and when Doret
staggered in beneath a great load of skins he found her in a strange
excitement. When he had finished his accounting with the Indian and
dismissed him, she turned an agitated face to the Frenchman.
"Poleon," she said, "I'm in trouble. Oh, I'm in such awful trouble!"
"It's dat Runnion! I seen 'im pass on de store w'ile I'm down below."
His brows knit in a black scowl, and his voice slid off a pitch in
tone. "Wat he say, eh?"
"No, no, it's not that. He paid me a great compliment." She laughed
harshly. "Why, he asked me to marry him." The man beside her cursed at
this, but she continued: "Don't blame him for liking me--I'm the only
woman for five hundred miles around--or I was until this crowd came--so
how could he help himself? No, he merely showed me what a fool I've
been."
"I guess you better tell me all 'bout dis t'ing," said Poleon, gravely.
"You know I'm all tam' ready for help you, Necia. Wen you was little
feller an' got bust your finger you run to me queeck, an' I feex it."
"Yes, I know, dear Poleon," she assented, gratefully. "You've been a
brother to me, and I need you now more than I ever needed you before. I
can't go to father; he wouldn't understand, or else he would understand
too much, and spoil it all, his temper is so quick."
"I'm not w'at you call easy-goin' mese'f," the Canadian said, darkly,
and it was plain that he was deeply agitated, which added to the girl's
distress; but she began to speak rapidly, incoherently, her
impulsiveness giving significance to her words, so that the man had no
difficulty in following her drift. With quick insight he caught her
meaning, and punctuated her broken sentences with a series of grave
nods, assuring her that he knew and understood. He had always known, he
had always understood, it seemed.
"Don't think I'm unwomanly, Poleon, for I'm not. I may be foolish and
faithful and too trusting, but I'm not--unmaidenly. You see, I've never
been like other girls--and he was so fine, so different, he made me
love him--it's part of a soldier's training, I suppose. It was so sweet
to be near him, and to hear him tell of himself and all the world he
knows--I just let myself drift. I'm afraid--I'm afraid I listened too
well, and my ears heard more than he said--my head is so full of books,
you know."
"He should have know' dat, too," said Poleon.
"Yes," she flared up. "He knew I was only an Indian girl."
The only color in Doret's face lay now in his cheeks, where the sun had
put it; but he smiled at her--his warm, engaging smile--and laid his
great brown hand upon her shoulder softly.
"I've look' in hees eye an' I'm always t'ink he's good man. I don'
never t'ink he'll mak' fun of poor little gal."
"But he has, Poleon; that's just what he has done." She came near to
breaking down, and finished, pathetically, "They're telling the story
on the street, so Runnion says."
"Dat's easy t'ing for feex," he said. "Runnion, she don' spread no more
story lak' dat."
"I don't care what they say. I want the truth. I want to know what he
means, what his intentions are. He swears he loves me, and yet he has
never asked me to marry him. He has gone too far; he has made a fool of
me to amuse himself, and--and I couldn't see it until to-day. He's
laughing at me, Poleon, he's laughing at me now! Oh, I can't bear it!"
The Frenchman took up his wide hat from the counter and placed it
carefully upon his head, but she stopped him as he moved towards the
door, for she read the meaning of the glare in his eyes.
"Wait till you understand--wait, I say! He hasn't done anything yet."
"Dat's de trouble. I'm goin' mak' 'im do somet'ing."
"No, no! It isn't that; it's these doubts that are killing me--I'm not
sure--"
"I hear plaintee," he said. "Dere's no tam' for monkey roun'."
"I tell you he may be honest," she declared. "He may mean to marry me,
but I've got to know. That's why I came to you; that's what you must
find out for me."
"I'm good trader, Necia," said the Canadian, after a moment. "I'll mak'
bargain wit' you now. If he say yes, he'll marry you, I don' ask no
more; but if he say no, you geeve 'im to me. Is it go?"
She hesitated, while he continued, musingly, "I don' see how no man on
all dis worl' could lef' you go." Then to her, "Wal, is it bargain?"
"Yes," she said, the Indian blood speaking now; "but you must learn the
truth, there must be no mistake--that would be terrible."
"Dere ain' goin' be no mistak'."
"If he should refuse, I--I'll marry SOME one, quick. I won't be laughed
at by this camp; I won't be a joke. Oh, Poleon! I've given myself to
him just as truly as if--well, he--he has taken my first kiss."
Doret smote his hands together at this and began to roll his head
backward from side to side, as if in some great pain, but his lips were
dry and silent. After a moment the spell left him, the fire died down,
leaving only a dumb agony in its place. She came closer and continued:
"I'll never let them point at me and say, 'There goes the squaw
that--he threw away.'"
"You mak' dis very hard t'ing for me," he said, wearily.
"Listen," she went on, lashing herself with pity and scorn. "You say
Father Barnum will be here on Sunday. Well--I'll marry some one, I
don't care who!" Then, with a sudden inspiration, she cried, "I'll
marry you--you said I could be a wife to you."
He uttered a sharp cry. "You mean dat, Necia?"
"Yes," she declared. "Why not? You'll do it for my sake, won't you?"
"Would you stan' up wit' me 'longside of de pries', lovin' dat oder
feller all de tam'?" he asked, queerly.
"Yes, YES! I'd rather it was you than anybody, but married I'll be on
Sunday. I'll never let them laugh at me."
Doret held his silence for a moment, then he looked up and said, in
level tones:
"It's easy t'ing for go an' ask 'im, but you mus' hear hees answer wit'
your own ears--den you can't t'ink I'm lyin'. I'll fetch 'im 'ere on
dis place if you feex it for hide you'se'f behin' dose post." He
indicated a bundle of furs that were suspended against a pillar, and
which offered ample room for concealment. "Dere's goin' be no lies
to-day."
He pulled himself together and went out, with the tired gait of an old
man, his great shock head bowed low. A few moments later he returned.
"I've sent li'l' Jean for 'im. You get in dere out of sight--an' wait."