NEE-TAH-WEE-GAN'S PROOF
When Corrigal pushed Millington into the hall and closed the door the
Fort James manager realized that his career with the Hudson's Bay was
at an end. Yet even in that moment of defeat his mind began searching
for something that might again place the advantage in his hands. He
stormed across the hall, opened the door of his bedroom and slammed it
shut. Then, walking softly, he went back to the door Corrigal had just
closed.
The silence mystified him. There was no sound of voices in the living
room and he could not hear the district manager's moccasin-clad feet as
he paced back and forth.
At last Corrigal began to speak. Straining breathlessly, Millington
listened to his surrender, to the confession of his mistake and to the
agony of a strong man's heart as he told of his infant son and what he
had hoped for him.
Yet Millington only grinned. Out of that halting, fervid declaration,
"I am not your father but--but I wish I were," there had come to him an
idea. He waited a few minutes, listening, and then slipped down the
hall to the kitchen and out into the winter night.
Millington had had a two-fold purpose in getting Nee-tah-wee-gan to
aid him in the _windigo_ plan. He had heard early in the winter that
she was living in the bush a hundred miles west of Fort James and when
Donald pressed him hard and he had resorted to false entries to mislead
Corrigal he had sent for her.
But while he saw how she could lend truth to the report that Donald had
become a _windigo_, his real purpose had been to discover, if possible,
what proof she had of the story she had told him two years before. He
had tried to get it then, to destroy it, and his persistence had driven
Nee-tah-wee-gan away. Now he wanted it more than ever, for with it in
his possession he believed he could make a trade with Corrigal.
Once outside he hurried past the warehouse to the old cabin in which
Nee-tah-wee-gan lived. He found her squatting on the floor beside a
little stove.
"We were both fools," he began. "We may as well leave. We can never win
now."
"Why?" she demanded in quick alarm.
"You have always wanted to see Norton driven out of the service,
crushed by his own father?"
"Yes! Yes! And when that time comes I----"
"It will never come," he interrupted harshly. "They are holding a love
feast over in the dwelling house. The 'big trader' said he is not
Norton's father and Norton believed him."
"It is a lie!" Nee-tah-wee-gan shrieked. "He is Wen-dah-ban's father! I
have the proof!"
"You couldn't prove anything to them now. Corrigal has asked Norton to
come back to the Hudson's Bay and Norton will do it. He is stronger
than ever before and he and his father are good friends."
The effect of his statement was exactly as he had expected.
Nee-tah-wee-gan was stunned. All the life seemed to have gone out of
her. The eyes that had always blazed were dull. Her thin, bent body
appeared to wither and sink into a ridiculously small heap on the floor.
"Your thirty years of hate have all gone for nothing," he taunted.
Instantly she was aroused to such a fury as Millington had never seen
before. He shrank before its white-hot malignancy as if she were some
terrible monster. He even forgot why he had come, what he had wished to
learn.
"Fool!" she cried. "Do you think I cannot still win, that I cannot make
them both suffer until they die?"
"You can't," he declared. "They're friends now, the best of friends,
and in a few years Norton himself will be the 'big trader.'"
"Yes, but Wen-dah-ban will always think he is an Indian and everyone
else will always think so. He can never marry the white girl at Fort
Bruce. People will always point their fingers at him when he turns his
back and say, 'He is an Indian.'"
"Don't deceive yourself. Norton may as well be all white now for all
you can do to him. Corrigal is his friend and Corrigal is the 'big
chief.' No, you and I are beaten, Nee-tah-wee-gan."
The old woman did not speak for a moment and then she looked up
cunningly.
"And you say Wen-dah-ban will marry the white girl at Fort Bruce?"
Millington saw she was trying to bait him.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"That is not the way of a brave man. You say Wen-dah-ban cannot be
driven back to a wigwam. Are you going to let him live to win the white
girl and become the 'big trader'?"
Millington knew her suggestion was pure folly. Even if he had the
courage he saw that he could never accomplish it and escape. The whole
north would be at his heels in an instant. But in her words he saw the
way to the thing he must have.
"Perhaps it could be done," he said thoughtfully as he stared at the
floor.
"The trails are silent and Wen-dah-ban walks alone. I am a poor old
woman, weak from many years, but you are young and strong and hate
Wen-dah-ban as I hate him."
"You want me to kill him?"
"To want is one thing and to do is another. Will you, or are you
afraid?"
Millington looked down into her evil old eyes. He knew she was seeking
to make a bargain.
"I am not afraid," he declared, "not if it wins me what I am seeking.
I want to make the 'big trader' suffer."
"You hate John Corrigal?" and there was a savage exultation in her
voice. "Then do as I am asking."
"But I am not a fool. What if I did kill Norton, to-night? If he is not
Corrigal's son, if you cannot prove your story to the 'big trader,'
then I have accomplished nothing."
"The story is true."
"Bah! Your hate has made you believe it."
"Long hating has made me wise. I saw the way when you thought we were
beaten. When you have killed Wen-dah-ban, when he is dead and there is
no hope, I will go to John Corrigal and tell him--tell him it is his
own son he has lost. Then he will suffer. It is for that I have waited."
"You think Corrigal will believe?" he sneered.
"But you believe."
"No. It is a silly story. I'm through with it."
He turned as if disgusted and put his hand on the latch.
"But if I prove it to you," Nee-tah-wee-gan cried, and there was
despair in her voice.
"You have no proof!" he retorted.
"Look, white man."
He saw her fumbling at her throat, reaching for something in her
waist. She found it but did not withdraw her hand, and she looked up
searchingly.
"You will kill Wen-dah-ban?"
"If I know your story is true."
She opened her hand and disclosed a small leather bag suspended by a
thong around her neck. Her claw-like fingers tore it open and pulled
out a tiny gold ring.
"That was on Wen-dah-ban's finger," she said. "It has the white
woman's name inside. It was hers when she was a baby. I took it off
Wen-dah-ban's finger and ever since it has been in this bag. I have
only to show it to Corrigal and he will know I speak the truth."
Millington leaned forward as she held up the circlet of gold. He
knew it was proof, an indisputable bit of evidence. With it in his
possession he could save himself from Corrigal's wrath, could make
terms that would insure his retention in the Hudson's Bay service.
Slowly he leaned farther forward, staring at the ring, and when he
believed he was close enough his right hand shot out and closed over
Nee-tah-wee-gan's.
Instantly she became a raging fury. A shrill scream burst from her lips
and she fought to keep the ring. Millington, straining to wrench it
from her, struck her in the face. Nee-tah-wee-gan's grip did not loosen
and as he used both hands to seize the prize she struggled to her
knees. The next moment her teeth bit into the flesh of his right hand
until they met.
Millington jerked free with an oath and as he sprang back the woman
got to her feet and retreated to a table. He saw her reaching toward
a shelf and then she charged with a long butcher knife. He opened the
door and fled.