Ralph argued desperately against his own convictions. He had had such
proof of Nahnya's foresightedness that he could not but believe she was
right now as she had been before. "I know I can't hold a gun," he
cried, "but I can advise you! There are other things. If there is any
risk to be taken it is my right! My life is worth nothing to me!"
Nahnya turned from him sharply. She issued a quick order in Cree, and
Ralph was seized by the three Indian youths and Philippe. He was
helpless in their hands. At the sight of his pain-distorted face Kitty
screamed. Nahnya spoke peremptorily, and thereafter they handled him
more gently. Nahnya herself kept her back turned to him. They wound a
rope loosely about Ralph's body, pinning both his arms. Ralph drained
the dregs of his bitter cup. He did not speak again.
"You take them out to Jim Sholto," Nahnya said in English to Philippe.
"You tell Jim Sholto not to let him loose till he tak' him away from
here, so he not make trouble."
After a pause she went on. "After, you go to Joe Mixer. You tell him
it is too late to come in to-night. Tell him come to-morrow. Tell him
Annie Crossfox will not fight."
Philippe started to protest.
"It is my plan," said Nahnya coolly. "I tell you all when it is time.
You mus' stay in Joe Mixer's camp to-night. Soon as light comes you
mus' get up. You mus' leave their camp without wake them up. You mus'
go up the gulch past the hole in the rock and around the bend. I wait
for you there.
"Start now!" she went on. "Take a blanket and plenty ammunition and
dry moose meat. Cache it by the hole in the rock when you go out.
Bring it in the morning. You are going on a long trip."
Philippe muttered sullenly in Cree.
"I tell you in the morning," said Nahnya coolly. "You don' have to go
unless you want."
Philippe shrugged. He turned to make ready. "I have a blanket at Joe
Mixer's camp," he said.
"Take mine," said Nahnya. "Leave your blanket lie there when you get
up, so they not know right away that you gone away."
The preparations were quickly made. Nahnya sent one of the boys back
to the stream for a handful of gold dust, that Philippe might have
something to show for his journey. All this while Ralph stood still
and silent, looking straight before him. There was something proud in
his abasement. His face was composed except for the eyes which glowed
with a kind of exaltation of pain. He was thinking with a sombre
satisfaction of the bottomless black hole that sucked in the stream
entire. "A step off the bridge ends it!" he said to himself, and was
impatient to get there.
As they turned to start down beside the stream, Nahnya, alarmed by
Ralph's silence, stole a look into his face. To her foreseeing eyes
his intention was written there as clearly as if he had proclaimed it.
She became deathly pale.
"Wait!" she said faintly. "I--I will go with you through the cave.
Wait for me inside." To Ralph, she said, without looking at him: "I
want speak with you."
A spasm of reawakened hope, doubt, pain convulsed his face. It was the
pain that a man peacefully dead of asphyxiation feels when the reviving
oxygen is forced into his lungs, dragging him back over the border.
Nevertheless, Nahnya saw that he had given up his grim intention.
Philippe, Ralph, and Kitty disappeared inside the cave. Nahnya drew
St. Jean Bateese a little way up the slope apart from the boys, and
made him sit beside her at the edge of the rocks. "St. Jean," she said
quietly, "I go away now. I not come back."
The old man turned horrified eyes on her. He began to protest
breathlessly. As he looked in her quiet, resolute face the uselessness
of it was borne on him, and his quavering voice died away.
"It is the best to do," Nahnya went on. "I think it all out. I am
half white. I not belong here. In this place we want begin a new red
race, strong and free. I am half white. Look what trouble and danger
I bring on you. I will go away. All shall go on as we plan."
"The white men will break in to-morrow!" wailed St. Jean.
"The white men will never come in--this way," said Nahnya from between
firm lips. "I will fix that."
The tears coursed down St. Jean's withered cheeks; he stroked Nahnya's
hand imploringly. "I am old!" he whimpered.
"You are wise!" said Nahnya. "Add your wisdom to Charley's strength,
and make him a man. He will be the head man when you are gone. Make
him know all the tales of our people, and all that they knew how to do,
so nothing is forgotten. Nobody mus' know but you that I not come
back. Let them look for me while the summer passes. By and by you can
say you have a feeling I am dead. The young ones will forget!"
The old man moaned, and letting his head fall on his breast, wound his
gnarled fingers in his sparse locks.
"The boys will see you," Nahnya said sharply. "It is from you they
learn how to bear pain!"
After a brief struggle with himself he lifted his head. The tears had
ceased to flow, and the seamed face was composed into the ancient stoic
mask of the race; the old hands still trembled piteously, and groped
for Nahnya's hand.
"So much we talk together," she went on, "you know all that is in my
mind. When the spring come again, and the sap run in the trees, it is
time for the children to marry. You shall marry them with a cross. My
mot'er mus' teach Ahahweh all there is to do when the time come for the
girls to bear children.
"No man will ever come in or go out this way," Nahnya continued. "If
ever there is a famine, or you have great need to go out, there is
another way. Go across the divide into the valley to the north, and at
the top of that valley is a little stream going out between the
mountains. After many days' hard travel it will bring you to the
Stanley River. You mus' not tell Charley of this way until he is wise,
or until you feel yourself about to die. The knowledge of this way
mus' be kept. Many years from now more wives will be needed for the
young men. The children of brothers and sisters must not marry. Their
children will not be strong."
"All shall be done as you say," murmured St. Jean Bateese.
Nahnya dropped her hand over his. Giving it a quick pressure, she
sprang up, and climbed the hill until she was high enough to overlook
the trees. Here she turned. There was no mask on her face now. Her
eyes brooded with an infinite wistful yearning over the lovely
panorama--the lake shimmering like a peacock's breast; the verdant,
white-stemmed shores; the kingly mountains basking smokily under the
westering sun. To the left were the tiny tepees with their delicate
smoke spirals, and a suggestion of women's figures moving in front.
Nahnya turned with agitated hands, and, scrambling down over the rocks,
disappeared within the cave.
The old man sat where she had left him, staring on the ground, a
trembling hand outspread on either knee.
Nahnya saw the yellow eye of Philippe's torch gleaming far within the
cavern, and she did not pause to light one for herself. She came upon
the three waiting beside the hole that swallowed the stream. Philippe
sat on a jutting rock, smoking quietly; Kitty was huddled on the sandy
floor, and Ralph was moving restlessly up and down.
Hearing her coming, he sprang toward her, bound as he was, softly
crying her name with a passionate relief and gladness in his voice.
This was what Kitty had to listen to. Even in the uncertain light of
the torch Nahnya saw the yearning and the pain in his eyes. Kitty had
to see it, too. Nahnya could not support the look.
"Let us get on!" she said quickly.
Philippe had already replaced the frail bridge over the hole. He
crossed first, followed by Kitty; then Ralph, with Nahnya watching him
close. At the other side Nahnya, stooping, affected to busy herself
with the lacing of her moccasin. Philippe and Kitty passed ahead a
little; Ralph stuck close to Nahnya. As the light went on he could not
see what she was doing, but he heard the scrape of the logs as she
pulled the little bridge toward her, and heard the structure knock
against the rocky walls as it went down.
"Nahnya!" he cried, amazed. "Aren't you going back?"
"No," she murmured.