Beatrice's first impulse was to run at a breakneck pace down the ridge
and about the lake into her father's camp, beseeching instant aid to the
starving man in the cave. She wished that she had a firearm with which
to signal to them and bring them at once to the cavern. And it was not
until she had descended the ridge and stood at the edge of the beaver
meadow that her delirious joy began to give way to serious, thought.
She was brought to a halt first by the sight of the horses that had
wandered about the long loop of the lake and were feeding in the rich
grass of the meadow. The full moon rising in the east had cast a
nebulous glow over the whole countryside by now; and she could make a
hasty estimation of their numbers. It was evident at once that her
father had not made the expedition alone. The large outfit implied a
party of at least three,--indicating that Ray Brent and Chan Heminway
had accompanied him.
She had only fear and disdain for these two younger men; but surely they
would not refuse aid to Ben. Yet perhaps it was best to proceed with
some caution. These were her lover's enemies; if for no other reason
than their rage at her own abduction they might be difficult to control.
Her father, in all probability, would willingly show mercy to the
helpless man in the cavern--particularly after she told him of Ben's
consideration and kindness--but she put no faith in Ray and Chan. She
knew them of old. Besides, she remembered there was a further
consideration,--that of a gold claim.
Could Ben have told her the truth when he had maintained that they would
kill him on sight if he did not destroy them first? Was it true that he
had waged the war in defense of his own rights? Weeks and months had
passed since she had seen her father's face: perhaps her old control of
him could no longer be relied upon. If indeed their ownership of a rich
claim depended upon Ben's death, Ray and Chan could not be trusted at
all.
She resolved to proceed with the utmost caution. Abruptly she turned out
of the beaver marsh, where the moonlight might reveal her, and followed
close to the edge of the timber, a course that could not be visible from
beyond the lake. She approached the lake at its far neck, then followed
back along the margin clear to the edge of the woods in which the fire
was built.
In her years in the woods Beatrice had learned to stalk, and the
knowledge was of value to her now. With never a misstep she took down a
little game trail toward the camp fire. She was within fifty yards of it
now--she could make out three dark figures seated in the circle of
firelight. Walking softly but upright she pushed within ninety feet of
the fire.
Then she waited, in doubt as to her course. She was still too far
distant to hear more than the murmur of their voices. If she could just
get near enough to catch their words she could probably glean some idea
of their attitude toward Ben. She pushed on nearer, through the dew-wet
brush.
Impelled by the excitement under which she advanced, her old agility of
motion had for the moment returned to her; and she crept softly as a
fawn between the young trees. One misstep, one rustling branch or
crackling twig might give her away; but she took each step with
consummate care, gently thrusting the tree branches from her path.
Once a rodent stirred beneath her feet, and she froze--like a hunting
wolf--in her tracks. One of the three men looked up, and she saw his
face plainly through the low spruce boughs. And for a moment she thought
that this was a stranger. It was with a distinct foreboding of disaster
that she saw, on second glance, that the man was Ray Brent.
She had never seen such change in human countenance in the space of a
few months. She did not pause to analyze it. She only knew that his eyes
were glittering and fixed; and that she herself was deeply,
unexplainably appalled. The man cursed once, blasphemously, his face
dusky and evil in the eerie firelight, but immediately turned back to
his talk. Beatrice crept closer.
Now she was near enough to catch an occasional word, but not discern
their thoughts. It was evident, however, that their conversation was of
Ben and herself,--the same topic they had discussed nights without end.
She caught her own name; once Chan used an obscene epithet as he spoke
of their enemy.
Her instincts were true and infallible to-night; and she was ever more
convinced of their deadly intentions toward Ben. It was not wise to
announce herself yet. Perhaps she would have to rely upon a course other
than a direct appeal for aid. Now her keen eyes could see the whole
camp: the three seated figures of the men, their rifles leaning near
them, their supplies spread out about the fire.
At one side, quite to the edge of the firelight, she saw a kyack--one of
those square boxes that are hung on a pack saddle--which seemed to be
heaped with jerked caribou or moose flesh. For the time of a breath she
could not take her eyes from it. It was food--food in plenty to sustain
Ben through his illness and the remaining weeks of their exile--and her
eyes moistened and her hands trembled at the sight. She had been taught
the meaning of famine, these last, bitter days. In reality she was now
in the first stage of starvation, experiencing the first, vague
hallucinations, the sense of incorporeality, the ever-declining
strength, the constant yearning that is nothing but the vitals'
submerged demand for food. The contents of the kyack meant _life_ to
herself and to Ben,--deliverance and safety when all seemed lost.
A daughter of the cities far to the south--even a child of
poverty--rarely could have understood the unutterable craving that
overswept her at the sight of this simple food. It was unadorned,
unaccompanied by the delicacies that most human beings have come to look
upon as essentials and to expect with every meal: it was only animal
flesh dried in the smoke and the sun. It not only attracted her
physically; but in that moment it possessed real objective beauty for
her; as it would have possessed for the most cultivated esthete that
might be standing in her place. This girl was down to the most stern
realities, and life and death hung in the balance.
She went on her hands and knees, creeping nearer. Still she did not make
the slightest false motion, creeping with an uncanny silence in the
under shrubbery. And now the words came plain.
"But we must be near," Chan was saying. "They can't be more than a mile
or so from here. We'll find 'em in the morning--"
"If he doesn't find us first and shoot up our camp," Ray replied. "I
wish we'd built our fire further into the woods. Here we've looked all
day without even finding a track except those tracks in the mud."
"They might be beyond the marsh," Neilson suggested.
"But Chan went over that way and didn't find a trace," Ray objected.
"But just the same--we'll make a real search to-morrow. I believe we'll
find the devil. And then--we can leave this hellish country and go back
in peace--if we don't want to wait for the flood."
Beatrice's eyes were on his face, wondering what growth of wickedness,
what degeneracy had so filled his cruel eyes with light and stamped his
face with evil. This was the man to whom she must look for mercy. Ben's
life, if she led the three men to the cave, would be in his hands. She
sensed from his authoritative tone that her father's control over him
was largely broken. She hovered, terrified and motionless, in her
covert.
Ray reached for his rifle, glancing at the sights and drawing the lever
back far enough to see the brass of its shells. Chan's lean face was
drawn with a cruel glee.
"You can't keep your hands off that gun, Ray," he said. "You sure are
gettin' anxious."
"I won't use it on him," Ray replied, slowly and carefully. "It's too
good for him--except maybe the stock. He didn't lead me clear out here
just to see him puff out and blow up in a minute with a rifle ball
through his head. Just the same I want the gun near me, all the time."
The two men looked at him, sardonic-eyed; and both of them seemed to
understand fully what he meant. They seemed to catch more from the slow
tones, so full of lust and frenzy that they seemed to drop from his
lips in an ugly monotone, than they did from the words themselves. They
took a certain grim amusement in these quirks of abnormal depravity that
had begun to manifest themselves in Ray. The man's fingers were wide
spread as he spoke, and his lip twitched twice, sharply, when he had
finished.
The words came clear and distinct to the listening girl. She tried to
take them literally--that Ray would not shoot Ben! _"It's too good for
him--except maybe the stock!"_ Did he mean _that_ too! Was there any
possible meaning in the world other than that he was planning some
unearthly, more terrible fate for the man she loved! She would not yet
yield to the dreadful truth, yet even now terror was clutching at her
throat, strangling her; and the cold drops were beading her brow. Still
the dark drama of the fireside continued before her eyes.
Chan suddenly turned to Neilson, evidently imbued with Ray's fervor.
"What do you think of that, old man?" he asked menacingly. Thus Chan,
too, had escaped from Neilson's dominance: plainly Ray was his idol now.
It was also plain that he recognized attributes of mercy and decency in
his grizzled leader that might interfere with his own and his
companion's plans. "What's worrying me--whether you're goin' to join in
on the sport when we catch the weasel!"
Sport! The word was more terrible to Beatrice than the vilest oath he
had used to emphasize it. She crouched, shivering. Watching intently,
she saw Ray look up, too, waiting for the reply; and her father, sensing
his lost dominance, bowed his head.
"You could hardly expect me to let him off easy--seeing what he did to
my daughter--"
"What he done to your daughter ain't all--I don't care if he treated her
like a queen of the realm all the time," Ray interrupted harshly. "That
makes no difference to neither me nor Chan. The main thing is--he
brought us out here, away from the claim--and gave us months of the
worst hell I ever hope to spend. I guess you ain't forgotten what Chan
found out in Snowy Gulch--that the claim's recorded--in old Hiram's
name. This Darby's got a letter in his pocket from Hiram's brother that
would stand in any court. We've got to get that first. If Darby was an
angel I'd mash him under my heel just the same; we've gone too far to
start crawfishing. Just let me see him tied up in front of me--"
Beatrice did not linger to hear more. She had her answer: only in Ben's
continued concealment lay the least hope of his salvation. These wolves
about the fire meant what they said. But already her plans were shaping;
and now she saw the light.
In the kyack of venison lay her own and her lover's safety: it contained
enough nutritious food to sustain them until the fall rains could swell
the Yuga and enable them to escape down to the Indian encampment. Her
mind was swift and keen as never before: swiftly she perfected the last
detail of her plan. The canoe, due to Ben's foresight, was securely
hidden in a maze of tall reeds on the lake shore: they were certain to
overlook it. The cavern, however, was almost certain to be discovered in
the next day's search. They must make their escape to-night.
Ben, though terribly weakened, would be able to walk a short distance
with her help. They could slip into the deepest forest, concealing
themselves in the coverts until the three men had given up the search
and gone away. She would take their robes and blankets to keep them
warm; a camp fire would of course reveal their hiding place. The work
could easily be accomplished in the midnight shadows: deliverance,
salvation, life itself depended on the tide of fate in the next few
hours.
She intended to steal the kyack of dried meat without which Ben and
herself could not live. She crept back farther into the underbrush; then
waited, scarcely breathing, while the fire died down. Already the three
men were preparing to go to their bunks. Chan had already lain down; her
father was removing his coat and boots. Ray, however, still sat in the
firelight.
The moments passed. Would he never rise and go? The fire, however, was
dying: its circle of ruddy light ever drew inward. The kyack was quite
in the shadow now, yet she dared not attempt its theft until the three
men were asleep. She waited, thrilling with excitement.
Chan and Neilson were seemingly asleep, and now Ray was knocking the
ashes from his pipe. He yawned, stretching wide his arms; then, as if
held by some intriguing thought, sat almost motionless, gazing into the
graying coals. Presently Beatrice heard him curse, softly, in the
shadows.
He got up, and removing his outer coat, rolled in his blankets. The
night hours began their mystic march across the face of the wilderness.
Now was the time to act. As far as she could tell, the three men were
deeply asleep: at least the likelihood would be as great as at any time
later in the night. The fire was a heap of gray ashes except for its
red-hot center: the kyack was in gloom. Very softly she crept through
the thickets, meanwhile encircling the dying fire, and came up behind
it.
Now it was almost in reach: now her hands were at its loops. She started
to lift it in her arms.
But disaster still dogged her trail. Ray Brent had been too wary of
attack, to-night, to sink easily into deep slumber. He heard the soft
movement as Beatrice lifted the heavy canvas bag off the ground; and
with a startled oath sprang to his feet.
He leaped like a panther. "Who's there?" he cried.
Sensing immediate discovery the girl placed all her hope in flight.
Perhaps yet she could lose her pursuers in the darkness. Still trying to
hold the kyack of food that meant life to Ben, she turned and darted
into the shadows.
Like a wolf Ray sped after her. The moonlight showed her fleeing figure
in the trees, and shouting aloud he sprang through the coverts to
intercept her flight. The chase was of short duration thereafter.
Emburdened by the heavy box she could not watch her step; and a
protruding root caught cruelly at her ankle. She was hurled with
stunning force to the ground.
Desperate and intent, but in realization of impending triumph, Ray's
strong arms went about her.