IN THE OFFICE
The setting sun shone weak and coppery above the pines as the big
four-horse tote-team dashed with a flourish into the wide clearing of
the new camp on upper Blood River. The men had not yet "knocked off,"
and from the impenetrable depths of the forest came the ring of axes
and the roar of crashing trees.
In the little blacksmith-shop a grimy-faced, leather-aproned man bent
over a piece of glowing iron which he held in long tongs, and the red
sparks radiated in showers as the hammer thumped dully on the soft
metal--thumps sharply punctuated by the clean ring of steel as the
polished face of the tool bounced merrily upon the chilled surface of
the anvil.
The feel of snow was in the air and over by the cook-shack men were
hauling fire-wood on a pole-drag. The team brought up sharply before
the door of the office which was located at one end of a long, low
building of logs, the two other rooms of which contained stoves,
chairs, and a few rough deal-tables.
Appleton leaped from the wagon and swung the ladies lightly to the
ground, while the teamster and Blood River Jack, assisted by Charlie,
proceeded to unload the outfit. The lumberman pushed open the door of
the office and glanced within. It was empty. He called one of the men
from the cook-shack and bade him build a fire in the little air-tight.
"Well, H. D., your man ain't an office foreman, anyhow," grinned
Sheridan, with a nod of approval toward the cold stove.
Sheridan was a bluff man with a bristling red mustache--the kind that
invariably chew upon their cigars as they talk.
Appleton turned to the ladies.
"Make yourselves at home," he said as the fire roared up the
stove-pipe. "Ross and I will look over the works a bit. Where is the
boss?" he asked of the man who was returning to the wood-pile.
"Out in the cuttin' somewheres; er me'be over to the rollways," replied
the man, laughing. "Big Bill he's out among 'em _all_ the time."
"By Glory! H. D., we've all got to hand it to you when it comes to
picking out men. I'd like to catch one of _my_ foremen out on the works
some time--I wouldn't know whether to fire him or double his wages!"
Sheridan mouthed his cigar, and the two turned into a skidway.
Appleton smiled. He raised a finger and touched his eyelid.
"It's the eye," he said. "Look in a man's eye, Ross. I don't give a
damn what a man's record is--what he's done or what he hasn't done. Let
me get a good look into his eye when he talks and in half a minute I'll
know whether to hire him or pass him on to you fellows. Here he comes
now."
Bill took keen delight in showing the two lumbermen about the camp.
"What's the idea of the ell on the bunk-house?" asked Appleton.
"Teamster's bunk-house," replied the foreman. "You see, I know how it
feels to be waked up at four in the morning by the teamsters piling out
of their bunks; so I built a separate bunk-house for them. The men work
too hard to have their sleep broken into that way. And another thing--I
built a couple of big rooms onto the office where the men can play
cards and smoke in the evening. I ordered a phonograph, too. I expect
it in on the tote-wagon."
Sheridan grinned skeptically and spat out part of his cigar. Appleton
made no comment.
"Come over to the office, Bill," he said. "I want you to meet the
ladies--my wife and niece and Mrs. Sheridan."
"I am afraid I am not very presentable," replied Bill dubiously as they
crossed the clearing in the lengthening shadows; but he went with them
without hesitation.
They were met at the door by a plump-faced lady of ample proportions
who was evidently fighting a losing battle with a tendency toward
_embonpoint_; and a slight, gray-haired one who stood poised upon the
split puncheon that served as a door-step.
"Ladies, this is Bill, the foreman of this camp. Mrs. Sheridan, Bill,
and my wife."
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 titles 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 passed 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,
passed on into the night.