Molly and Jeff spent the next few days making detailed arrangements for
the entertainment of Staritsa and Templeton when they should come
gliding down the river. In Big Eagle they had an ally not to be
despised, strong as a bull, crafty, and faithful to the death; but even
with this help they were three against four, and they must overcome this
disadvantage by strategy.
“We must separate them before we make our attack,” Jeff explained. “It’s
our best chance. We must think of some way to separate the canoes.”
Molly made no suggestion at once, but repeated the message to Big Eagle.
He grunted derisively. He saw no use in such tactics.
“Maybe lay on bank. Current swing’m in close. Shoot ’m in canoe!”
Certainly Big Eagle had the idea, the primitive and therefore the
natural idea, as Jeff had to agree on looking the matter squarely in the
face. But civilization had at least reached above this. He shook his
head, smiling.
“If we could only decoy the two white men away from the Indians,” the
girl said thoughtfully. “We could—if we had the right kind of excuse—”
Her words trailed off, simply because the intentness of her thought
precluded articulation. Presently the dreamy luster left her eyes, and
she was seen to grope with her finger ends down into the pocket of her
jacket. Apparently satisfied, a little, sly pucker at her lips conveyed
an idea of quaint humor, peculiarly her own. “Jeff, I believe I see a
way to separate them. I think of a bait they can’t refuse to take. Jeff,
what is the prize Staritsa is working for?”
“I suppose—Alaska!”
“Yes, but what does he want to get out of it himself? He is not
altruistic by a long way, or patriotic either, and I understand he
followed Karl out here partly to escape a scandal he was involved in,
partly to recoup broken fortunes. Jeff, the thing he wants is—gold.”
“Yes. I suppose we all want that.”
“Good fishermen used to tell me that the best bait is the particular
kind that the fish are feeding on. We should work the same principle in
catching men.” She paused again, and a little thoughtful line hovered on
her clear brow. “My friend, I believe I see the way to win.”
In a few words she confided her plan. Much of its success depended on
Big Eagle, but he was an intelligent native, entirely to be trusted.
Molly took it upon herself to coach him in his part, making him go over
it again and again until he was perfect in it. Dissimulation is a
natural gift of savage peoples—as every one knows who has seen some of
the more picturesque native pageants—and the bronzed Indian seemed to
take real pleasure in the enterprise. In the first place, Big Eagle had
certain debts of his own to pay. In the second, these two white people
were among his lesser gods. They had won from him that strange adoration
which members of an inferior race sometimes bear to the whites—not
often seen, but as inexplicable as the love that a noble dog bears his
master.
The hill just back of the camp commanded a view of the long azure curve
of the river, and here Big Eagle watched for a distant glimpse of two
canoes. To a white man this kind of sentry duty would have been almost
intolerable—the long hours of waiting with only the trees and the chill
November wind for company—but the Indian thrived on it. Inexhaustible
patience is a noticeable trait of the American aborigines, simply
because it is an essential attribute to the success of savage methods of
hunting; and so still the native crouched, his eyes fastened on the
sheen of the distant river, that he seemed an appurtenance to the
landscape, and the little, restless, furtive woods people went about
their hillside occupations without heeding him. Sometimes Jeff or Molly
relieved him, and since there was no occasion for watching after
nightfall—the voyageurs would certainly camp on the shore at night—he
found the post quite to his liking.
The fifth afternoon after his arrival he saw what looked like a pair of
ducks swimming on the furthest curve of the river. His quiet eyes peered
from under his lowered brows until their wings flashed in the wan,
winter light; then he turned and ran silently as a wolf down the hill to
Jeff’s camp. The white man saw him come and guessed his tidings, but
because he had glimpsed something of Indian psychology, he still sat
quietly at the door of the cabin.
“They come,” the native began in evident excitement. “Big Eagle see
’m—”
Jeff looked up steadily into the bronzed face. “Is that so, Big Eagle?
That means we’ll have to get busy.” He puffed once at his pipe, yawned,
and quietly knocked the ashes on to the ground.
This little mummery was exceeding good for Big Eagle. It steadied him;
and indeed, so susceptible are the savage peoples to suggestion, that
some of Jeff’s self-control passed to him. “Big Eagle go now—get in
canoe?” he asked.
“Yes. You know your part. Big Eagle, if the ruse doesn’t work—if they
won’t come, Big Eagle—what you do?”
“Tip ’m canoe. Play didn’t mean to. Act like help pick ’m up white
man’s. Tip ’m other canoe.”
“That’s the idea. We’ll be there to help ’em out of the water when they
swim ashore. They will swim to our bank because they’ll be close to it.
However, I don’t think you’ll have to tip the canoes. You know your
part.”
Big Eagle did not follow this, but Molly swiftly translated. The native
then turned and trotted away down toward the river, cool and able to
handle his part. Molly at once procured her revolver and strapped it on
her slim waist, while Jeff got his rifle. They were ready for their
work.
“It will take fifteen minutes more, at least, before they’ll get into
shouting distance of Big Eagle,” Jeff said. “Perhaps we shouldn’t let
him start down so soon. A long wait might play havoc with his nerves.”
“Don’t worry about Big Eagle,” Molly assured him. “He’ll do his part.
Any nervousness he shows they will attribute to fear. They know he’s a
runaway from Sitka; treachery is the last thing they’ll think of.”
“Good. Just the same, Molly, there’s some risk. There is some risk even
if he does do his part and lead them up to us. You never know how two
men are going to react even to such a situation as this. They
might—open fire.”
The most friendly, cheerful smile danced into her face. It was not just
at her lips—a feigned smile, to encourage him—nor was it merely a
message of tenderness. It was in her eyes and her raised brows; she had
smiled with something like joy in their mutual adventure, perhaps even
in anticipation of a great patriotic service that was in their hands to
do. He glimpsed her gay, brave soul as never before. He sensed her
greatness, never to lose faith in it again. “They’ll wish they hadn’t,
if they do,” she told him. “If I see one of them reach for a pistol—”
“I know, Molly. We have taken every precaution for safety—”
“For _my_ safety,” she corrected him. “You are taking the only possible
risk.”
“Something might happen—to either of us,” he persisted, “and that’s the
reason, Molly, that before we go into this thing—I have something to
tell you.”
There was only a glimmer of her smile left now, a wistful and childlike
fragment; and the profundities of mortal nature which were thus
revealed—the fact that her mood now could be compatible with her
intrepidity of a moment before—moved him to wonder.
“What is it, Jeff?”
“If this thing goes through—the way we want it to go through—I want
you to know that you get all the credit. You are the hero of this
affair, all the way through. It has been your influence, more than
anything else, that has put me on the right track at last. It has been
your brains and your courage and your inspiration that has held me up.”
“But what could I have done alone! A woman can’t make a lone struggle,
Jeff; there always has to be some one to fight for, if she is to go on.
A woman can’t fight for a principle, Jeff, unless it has personal
meaning for her. Where would I have been without you?”
“We have only a moment now, before we make this last, big play,” Jeff
went on. “No one can tell how it will turn out, so I want to tell
you—only I can’t tell you—what these weeks with you have meant to me.
You’ve made life worth living again. You’ve given me a theme to fight
for. You have put some of your own ideals in me. And most of all, you
have blessed me with the finest companionship, the dearest
loving-kindness that I ever thought to find in this world. I’d go on my
knees to you, if it would do any good, to beg forgiveness for all of my
folly toward you. And no matter what happens from now on, I’ll never
cease to bless you and worship you. From now on my life is yours—to do
with as you will.”
He could not tell more than this—with words. Yet the shine in his eyes
spoke volumes, and his arms, widening to let her in, were eloquent. For
a certain time they stood thus, lost to the world that wheels in space,
swept through the vault of heaven on a dream-world of their own,
glorified by that old mystery which—beyond the reach of doubt or
scorn—proves Godhead to lost, lonely human souls. He felt her heart
pulsing against his own. He knew the sweetness of her lips.