"Do? Do?" The man stroked his beard softly. "Why, give him ditto--
cold."
"Well, then, there's nothing to row about, is there?" And Soldier Joe
was not on the instant clever enough to answer her sophistry; but when
she left him and he had thought awhile, he said, convincingly:
"But where would you be then, Blanche? . . . That's the point."
One thing was known and certain: Blanche was earning her living by
honest, if not high-class, labour. Weir the tavern-keeper said she was
"worth hundreds" to him. But she grew pale, her eyes became peculiarly
brilliant, her voice took a lower key, and lost a kind of hoarseness it
had in the past. Men came in at times merely to have a joke at her
expense, having heard of her new life; but they failed to enjoy their own
attempts at humour. Women of her class came also, some with half-
uncertain jibes, some with a curious wistfulness, and a few with scornful
oaths; but the jibes and oaths were only for a time. It became known
that she had paid the coach fare of Miss Dido (as she was called) to the
hospital at Wapiti, and had raised a subscription for her maintenance
there, heading it herself with a liberal sum. Then the atmosphere round
her became less trying; yet her temper remained changeable, and had it
not been that she was good-looking and witty, her position might have
been insecure. As it was, she ruled in a neutral territory where she was
the only woman. One night, after an inclement remark to Jacques, in the
card-room, Blanche came back to the bar, and not noticing that, while she
was gone, Soldier Joe had entered and laid himself down on a bench in a
corner, she threw her head passionately forward on her arms as they
rested on the counter, and cried: "O my God! my God!"
Soldier Joe lay still as if sleeping, and when Blanche was called away
again he rose, stole out, went down to Freddy Tarlton's office, and
offered to bet Freddy two to one that Blanche wouldn't live a year.
Joe's experience of women was limited. He had in his mind the case
of a girl who had accidentally smothered her child; and so he said:
"Blanche has something on her mind that's killing her, Freddy. When
trouble fixes on her sort it kills swift and sure. They've nothing to
live for but life, and it isn't good enough, you see, for--for--"
Joe paused to find out where his philosophy was taking him.
Freddy Tarlton finished the sentence for him: "For an inner sorrow is a
consuming fire."
Fort Latrobe soon had an unexpected opportunity to study Soldier Joe's
theory. One night Jacques did not appear at Weir's Tavern as he had
engaged to do, and Soldier Joe and another went across the frozen river
to his log-hut to seek him. They found him by a handful of fire,
breathing heavily and nearly unconscious. One of the sudden and
frequently fatal colds of the mountains had fastened on him, and he had
begun a war for life. Joe started back at once for liquor and a doctor,
leaving his comrade to watch by the sick man.
He could not understand why Blanche should stagger and grow white when he
told her; nor why she insisted on taking the liquor herself. He did not
yet guess the truth.
The next day all Fort Latrobe knew that Blanche was nursing Jacques, on
what was thought to be his no-return journey. The doctor said it was a
dangerous case, and he held out little hope. Nursing might bring
him through, but the chance was very slight. Blanche only occasionally
left the sick man's bedside to be relieved by Soldier Joe and Freddy
Tarlton. It dawned on Joe at last, it had dawned on Freddy before, what
Blanche meant by the heart-breaking words uttered that night in Weir's
Tavern. Down through the crust of this woman's heart had gone something
both joyful and painful. Whatever it was, it made Blanche a saving
nurse, a good apothecary; for, one night the doctor pronounced Jacques
out of danger, and said that a few days would bring him round if he was
careful.
Now, for the first time, Jacques fully comprehended all Blanche had done
for him, though he had ceased to wonder at her changed attitude to him.
Through his suffering and his delirium had come the understanding of it.
When, after the crisis, the doctor turned away from the bed, Jacques
looked steadily into Blanche's eyes, and she flushed, and wiped the wet
from his brow with her handkerchief. He took the handkerchief from her
fingers gently before Soldier Joe came over to the bed.
The doctor had insisted that Blanche should go to Weir's Tavern and get
the night's rest, needed so much, and Joe now pressed her to keep her
promise. Jacques added an urging word, and after a time she started.
Joe had forgotten to tell her that a new road had been made on the ice
since she had crossed, and that the old road was dangerous. Wandering
with her thoughts she did not notice the spruce bushes set up for signal,
until she had stepped on a thin piece of ice. It bent beneath her. She
slipped: there was a sudden sinking, a sharp cry, then another, piercing
and hopeless--and it was the one word--"Jacques!" Then the night was
silent as before. But someone had heard the cry. Freddy Tarlton was
crossing the ice also, and that desolating Jacques! had reached his ears.
When he found her he saw that she had been taken and the other left.
But that other, asleep in his bed at the sacred moment when she parted,
suddenly waked, and said to Soldier Joe: "Did you speak, Joe? Did you
call me?"
But Joe, who had been playing cards with himself, replied, "I haven't
said a word."