THE BETRAYAL
Granger had been sick and delirious for several days as a result of
exposure and starvation. Day and night Peggy had nursed him with
unwearying attention; one would have supposed that he had been always
kind to her, and that she was greatly in his debt. Since his brain had
cleared she had said little to him; but, when she touched him, he
could feel the thrill of passion that travelled through her hands. Her
face told him nothing; it was only when suddenly she raised up her
eyes that he saw the longing which they could not hide. Because her
eyes betrayed her, she rarely looked at him. He would gladly have
spoken with her frankly, but her reserve deterred him, and, moreover,
a great anxiety weighed upon his mind--he did not know how many of his
secrets and hidden intentions he had let out in his ravings. The
altered bearing of his companions made him aware that they had each
learnt something fresh about himself, one another, and the manner in
which he regarded them. The Man with the Dead Soul was alone
unchanged.
So he sat among them on his couch of furs as morosely as Beorn
himself, striving to grope his way back into the darkness from which
his mind had issued, torturing himself to remember how much his lips
had admitted during the time when his vigilance was relaxed. He could
only recall the shadows of his words and acts; the real things, which
lurked behind the shadows, continually evaded capture. Yet it seemed
to him that he must have laid bare all his life, confessing to Eyelids
and his sister his every affection and his every treachery, whether
accomplished or intended.
Then, if he had done that, he had told Peggy to her face how he was
purposing to desert her! It was this suspicion which kept him silent;
he waited for her to reveal herself. But she refused to help him; in
her looks there was no condemnation, and in her treatment of him
nothing but gentleness. Surely there should have been contempt, if she
had known _all_ about him!
Two pictures stood out so sharply from the background chaos of his
impressions, that he believed them to be veritable memories. The one
was of Peggy kneeling at his side, taking him in her arms, as though
he were a child, and laying his head upon her breast, and of himself
mistaking her for his mother or Mordaunt, and speaking to her all
manner of tenderness. The other was of his perpetual terror lest
Spurling had gone southward without him, having stolen his share of
the treasure; and of one night when Peggy to quiet him had roused up
Eyelids, who had brought in Spurling--and Spurling's hands were bound.
When he had come to himself, his first action had been to look round
for Spurling--and he was not there. Two days had now passed, and there
was still no sign of him. As his strength returned, the fear of his
delirium gained ground upon him--lest Spurling had escaped. Brooding
over the past with a sick man's fancy, he discovered a new cause for
agitation--_if Spurling had departed, he would never know the truth
about Mordaunt_. For the recovery of the gold he scarcely cared now;
the apparent actualness of Mordaunt's presence, bending over him in
his delirium, had recalled her vividly to his memory, awakening the
passion which he had striven to crush down, so that now it seemed
all-important to him that he should ask Spurling that one question,
"Was the body that was found near Forty-Mile clothed in a woman's
dress?"
The return of a certain season, which the mind has associated with a
special experience, will often arouse and poignantly concentrate an
old emotion, which has been almost forgotten throughout the other
months of the year. The arrival of Spurling, and the agony which he
had suffered when he had begun to suspect that the woman whom he loved
was dead, had happened when the snow was on the ground; perhaps it was
the sight of the frozen river and the white landscape which now caused
him to remember so furiously the vengeance which he had planned,
should Mordaunt prove to be the woman whom Spurling had murdered. So,
for the time being, the seeking of El Dorado and preserving of his own
life seemed paltry objects when compared with the asking of that
question, and the exacting, if need be, of the necessary revenge.
On the third day after the recovery of his senses he could endure his
suspicions no longer. Peggy had gone out for a little while; Eyelids
was busy in the store; only the Man with the Dead Soul was left with
him in the shack. Seizing his opportunity, he got up and dressed. He
was so weak that at first he could scarcely stand. Tottering toward
the door, he already had his hand upon the latch when Beorn arose and
followed him. Though Granger had asked him no question, "I will show
you," he said.
Outside they met Peggy returning; but her father waved her sternly
aside, and, putting his arms about Granger to support him, guided him
to the back of Bachelors' Hall. A stoutly built cabin was there, which
stood by itself and was windowless, the door of which was iron-bound
and padlocked; it was used as a cell in which Indians and half-breeds
were kept, should they grow refractory. Producing the key, he opened
the door; as they entered they were greeted with a volley of curses.
In the farthest corner lay a man, crouched on a bed of mouldy furs.
The cell was not often used, and was covered with decaying
fungus-growth from the dampness of the past summer. When Granger tried
to speak to him, his voice was drowned by the sort of noise that a dog
makes when it comes out from its kennel; then he saw that Spurling was
chained low down to the floor by his hands and feet, so that he could
not stand upright. With an hysteric cry of gladness he ran forward,
and was only saved from Spurling's teeth, as he bent back his head, by
Beorn, who pushed him to one side so heavily that he fell to the
ground. Then Eyelids came in, and picked him up and carried him back
to the shack.
For the next few days he had plenty of leisure to reflect. He wondered
whether Beorn's treatment of Spurling, and the fact that he had shown
him to him on the earliest occasion, was meant as a threat to himself;
or had the disclosures which he had made in his delirium given him the
impression that he also was entirely Spurling's enemy. The bearing of
Eyelids and of Peggy led him to believe that the latter supposition
was correct. His natural instinct was to free the man at once,--but
he thought better of it; Spurling would be at least kept out of
mischief there till he himself was well.
Now that his mind was at ease, he commenced to mend rapidly; when two
more days had passed, he was up and able to get about without much
help. On visiting the trading-store he found that his canoe was lying
there, just as he had brought it back; nothing of its contents had
been removed or unpacked. He sat down beside it, and tried to
formulate his plans.
So far, in spite of his illness, everything had happened for the best.
Spurling was safe until he should require him. The gold was now in his
absolute possession. Very shortly Eyelids and Beorn would set out on
their winter's hunt, leaving him, save for Peggy, free to act
unobserved. But he had made a discovery, the knowledge of which
disturbed him--that a part, at least, of the reason for Peggy's
reticence and new gentleness was that before long she would be a
mother. That fact made him feel differently towards her; he could not
now desert her, for it would mean abandoning his child.
When he pictured to himself what the Northland might do for a child
who was fatherless, especially if it were a girl, he knew that,
whatever plans he made, they must include his half-breed wife.
Moreover, her approaching maternity appealed to the chivalry in his
nature, making him ashamed that he had ever thought to leave her.
Until his child was born, at whatever risk to himself, he must
postpone his departure and lie in hiding at Murder Point. And after
that? He must take her into his confidence, as he should have done
long ago, as if she were all white. He would have to leave her behind
at first, but would make arrangements for her to follow after him when
the road was clear.
Having arrived at this point, his train of reasoning was broken off by
the appearance of Eyelids, who came to ask for two outfits, and to
inform him that he and Beorn had determined to set out on the winter
trail that night. The rest of the day was spent in preparations, and
the getting together of their teams of huskies.
Just before they left, a visit was paid to Spurling in the cabin, and
the key was handed over to Granger. While there, Granger referred to
the matter which he had been wanting to mention all day. Turning to
Eyelids, as though it were of little importance, he said, "Before you
return, as I daresay you've noticed, something will have happened. I
want you to promise me to come back for Christmas Eve, so that we may
celebrate the event." Then, throwing aside his disguise of
indifference, he spoke more earnestly, "I want you and Beorn to
promise me that."
Spurling looked sharply up from his corner; being ignorant of the
matter which Granger hinted at, he watched to see if the words
contained a reference to himself. Peggy turned her head away and began
to steal softly out. But her brother stayed her, and throwing his arm
about her shoulder, said, "I promise you; we shall return." And Beorn
gave him his hand as a sign of his assent.
They closed and locked the door on the prisoner, and the father and
son set out.
A sudden instinct for carefulness had prompted him to make that
request. At the last moment he had thought that he noticed on Beorn's
part a certain uneasiness in handing over to him the custody of
Spurling. He was afraid that the distrust might grow upon him, causing
him to return unexpectedly, perhaps just at the time when he and
Spurling were starting on their southward journey. It was to prevent
such an interference with his plans that he had named a definite time
for their next meeting, for, by so doing, he had given Beorn to
understand that he intended to remain at Murder Point throughout
December. The hinting at the birth of his child had added to his
request a show of naturalness, and had at the same time let them know
that he was aware of his wife's condition--a difficult knowledge to
communicate to people who spoke rarely, and then only of trivial
affairs. As yet he had not decided as to when he would set out, for he
hesitated between the manfully fulfilling of his new responsibility
and the callously accomplishing of his old purpose; if he should
choose the latter, he had provided for Peggy so that she would not be
left too long by herself, by the promise which he had exacted from her
brother and father to return for Christmas Eve.
For the first time he was left truly alone with her. Standing side by
side, they watched the trappers descend the Point to the pier, where
their dogs lay waiting them. The whips cracked and the teams
straightened out.
For a few strides they moved toward the opposite bank and then, to
Granger's amazement, wheeled to the left, and commenced travelling
up-river to the west. The loaded sleds swung lightly over the ice and,
as he listened, the shouting of the drivers and the yelping of the
huskies grew fainter, till they were no more heard. He was made
terribly afraid by the direction they had taken, for he knew that
Beorn's trapping grounds had always lain to the northwards, and never
around God's Voice; they were still less likely to do so now, since he
had quarrelled with the factor. Then why had he gone to the west?
He turned to the girl at his side to question her, "Did you know that
they were going there?" he said. She did not answer him; he saw that
her eyes were intently fixed upon the bend. Her lips moved, and her
hands made the sign of the cross upon her breast as if she were
praying. Without replying, she entered the shack.
He did not follow her, for his feelings were changed with anger. He
felt that, whether knowingly or unknowingly, they had betrayed him
through their secretiveness. While he had been absent they must have
heard that Spurling was a man with a price upon his head. They might
even have learnt it from Pilgrim at the time of his June visit, but
had not laid hands upon him because he had appeared to be his friend.
But now since their return, in his delirium he had probably uttered
words concerning Spurling which had left them with the impression that
he desired his death--and had given them their excuse for gratifying
their own covetousness and revenge for the Forbidden River trespass.
Even what he had said to them about returning for Christmas Eve might
have been taken as having a double meaning, referring not only to the
birth of the child, but also to the thousand-dollar reward to be
gained by the arrest. Spoken as it was, in the prison-cabin, that was
most likely how it had been taken. Since they had accepted him as
their confederate, it seemed evident that they did not know that the
arrest of Spurling might entail his own hanging. If all that he had
conjectured was true, he had now no option but to release Spurling and
to make good his escape with him at once; for from Murder Point to
God's Voice was no more than seventy miles. At once! But he would not
be strong enough to travel for some days yet, and Spurling could not
be in very excellent condition for such a journey--to be thrown into
an out-house and left there for a fortnight, with back bent double and
arms and legs bound, is not the best kind of training.
Before doing anything rash he would talk to Peggy, and find out how
much she knew about it. Following her into the shack, he made fast the
door and threw himself on the pile of furs which had been his couch.
The lamp was not lighted, but the stove was red-hot and scattered an
angry glare. He called to her; she came to him timidly from the far
end of the room and sat down beside him. He commenced abruptly by
telling her that the man who was chained out there in the cabin was a
murderer. Did she know that? She nodded. How did she know that? She
shuddered, and pointed with her hand out of the window in the
direction of the bend.
He did not gather what she meant, but for the present he let it pass.
And did she know that there were a thousand dollars offered for
Spurling's capture? She shrugged her shoulders, and again gave her
assent. Then, raising himself on his elbow, he asked her plainly, "Is
that what Eyelids has gone to get?"
She smiled down at him as though she were owning to something worthy;
"I hope so," she said.
"Why do you hope so," he asked in a hard voice; "because of the
money?"
She drew back from him as though he had affronted her. "No, not for
that," she said, speaking slowly.
"Then why?"
"Because he is trying to take you away from me."
"And you think that when the Mounted Police have hanged him that it
will be all right, and I shall stay here?"
She did not answer him, but he knew that she was thinking of her
child. "Whether Spurling escapes or is taken," he said, "will make no
difference to my doings. I cannot stay; they are hunting for me,
because they think I also am a murderer."
She turned sharply round. "But we are doing this to save you; we
thought that you agreed and understood. When you have given them this
man, they will pardon you, and you will be allowed to stay."
"Who told you that? Was it Antoine?"
"Robert Pilgrim."
He laughed in her face. "Bah! Robert Pilgrim!" he exclaimed. "He told
you that, and you believed him! Why, you little fool, he doesn't care
a curse what happens to Spurling, whether he's caught or gets away;
it's me that he's anxious to put to death. But he couldn't have told
you that when we were in hiding on Huskies' Island, or you'd have
betrayed us then."
"He sent word to us by a messenger while you were away. But, if I had
known, I shouldn't have betrayed you then, for this man seemed to be
at that time your friend."
"Then why have you done so now?"
"Because he has become your enemy and you hate him; and because there
is no other way of saving you for my child and for myself. He is
trying to take you away from me." She spoke in a fierce strained
whisper, kneeling, with her hands spread out before her, and her head
thrown back.
"You haven't saved me," he said, rising to his feet angrily; "all
you've done is to place the rope about my neck."