MYSTERIOUS VISITORS
It was snowing again, driving across the lake in the hard wind and
drifting in a wonderful wreath about the cabin. To go out of doors
would have been the uttermost folly, and Stane busied himself in the
fashioning of snow-shoes which now would be necessary before they could
venture far afield. The girl was engaged in preparing a meal, and the
cabin had an air of domesticity that would probably have utterly misled
any stranger who had chanced to look in. Stane, as he worked, was very
conscious of the girl's presence, and conscious also that from time to
time his companion glanced at him, whilst he bent over the tamarack
frames, weaving in and out the webbing of caribou raw-hide. Those
glances made his heart leap, though he strove hard to appear
unconscious of them. He knew that in her, as in him, the weeks of
intimate companionship so dramatically begun had borne its inevitable
fruit. The promise she had forced from him but a few days ago came to
his mind as he stooped lower over the half-finished snow-shoe. Would he
ever be able to redeem it? Would he ever be able to tell her what was
in his heart, what indeed had been there since the moment of their
first meeting at Fort Malsun?
Between him and the desire of his heart rose those bitter years in
prison. Until the stain upon his name was removed and the judgment of
the court expurged, he felt he could not tell her what he wished, what
indeed he was sure she would not be averse to hearing. Of Helen herself
he had no doubt. She already had declared her faith in his innocence,
and the generosity of her nature in all its depth and breadth had been
revealed to him. To her, the years of his prison life were as though
they had never been, or at the most were an injustice which he had
suffered, and his name in her eyes had suffered no soiling. That if he
spoke she would respond, finely, generously, with all the fulness of
her splendid womanhood, he had no doubt. And yet, he told himself, he
must never speak until he could do so without blame; for whilst to her
the past was nothing, the people among whom she ordinarily moved would
remember, and if she united her life with his she would, like himself,
become a social exile. And there was a further reason for silence. If
he allowed the girl to commit herself to him whilst they were alive in
the wilderness, it would be said that he had taken advantage of a
rather delicate situation--using it for his selfish ends, and his pride
as a man revolted against that. He clenched his teeth at the thought,
and unconsciously frowned. No it should never be said that he----
"Why that dark scowl?" asked the girl laughingly. "Is my lord
displeased with the odours of the dinner that his servant prepares?"
Stane joined in her laughter. "I was not aware that I was frowning. The
dinner has a most appetising smell."
"If only I had a Mrs. Beeton!" sighed Helen. "Though I daresay she
wouldn't give any recipe for frozen moose and rice and beans, without
even an onion to flavour. The civilized cookery books don't deal with
the essentials. When I return to the polite world the first thing I
shall do will be to publish a pocket cookery book for happy people
stranded in the wilds!"
"Happy!" he echoed, smilingly.
"I speak for myself," she retorted lightly. "You don't suppose that I
regret these weeks away from civilization. I never was happier in my
life. I have, you will agree, proved myself. I can face an
unprecedented situation without fainting. I can cook a dinner without
killing a man who eats it. I have set a leg successfully, and built a
raft that floated safely, and reared two lodges in the wilderness. I
have no nerves, whilst nearly every woman I know is just a quivering
bundle of them. Yesterday, when I went out to the wood-pile a big lynx
came round the corner of it. His eyes simply blazed at me. Six months
ago, I should have run indoors. As it was, I threw a chunk of wood at
him and he bolted."
"You never told me," began Stane.
"What need?" interrupted the girl. "You don't inform me every time you
see a lynx!"
"But you must be careful," replied Stane anxiously. "At this season of
the year, if he is very hungry, the lynx can be a dangerous beast.
Remember his claws are like knives and he has ten of them."
"Oh, I will remember," answered Helen cheerfully. She stooped over the
pan, and then, announced: "I think this mess of savoury venison is
ready, and I don't believe our cook at home could have done it half so
well. If my lord and cobbler will put away the snow-shoe we will dine,
and after the washing up I will sleep."
It was in this spirit of lightness that she faced all the hardships
incidental to their present life, and it was little wonder that at
times, between her gaiety and her challenging presence, Stane had much
ado to keep his resolve. Half a dozen times a day his resolution was
tested, and one of the severest trials came on the afternoon of that
very day.
The snow had ceased and the night had fallen, and desiring exercise
they left the cabin together to walk in an open glade in the wood which
the strong wind had swept almost clear of snow. Except themselves there
was nothing moving. The vast stillness of the North was everywhere
about them, and a little oppressed by the silence they walked briskly
to and fro, Stane using his injured leg with a freedom that showed that
it was returning to its normal strength. Suddenly the girl laid a
mittened hand on his arm.
"What is it?" he asked quickly.
"Listen!" she said.
He stood there, her hand still on his arm, and a second or two later
caught the sound which she had previously heard. Faintly and thinned by
long distance it came, a long curdling cry.
"What----" she broke off as the cry sounded afresh, and he answered the
unfinished question.
"The hunt-cry of a wolf calling up the pack. There is nothing to fear.
It is miles away."
"Oh," she said, "I am not afraid, I was only wondering what it was."
Her hand was still on his arm, and suddenly their eyes met. Something
in the grey of hers pierced him like a stab of flame. A fierce joy
sprang up within him, filling him with a wild intoxication. His own
eyes burned. He saw the girl's gladness glow in her glance, beheld the
warm blood surge in her face, and fervent words leaped to his lips,
clamouring for utterance. Almost he was overcome, then Helen removed
her hand, and turned as the blood cry of gathering wolves broke through
the stillness. He did not speak, and Helen herself was silent as they
turned towards the cabin, but each had seen deep into the other's
heart, and had felt the call that is the strongest call on earth, the
call of kind to kind, or mate to mate.
Back in the cabin, the man turned feverishly to the task of snow-shoe
making on which he had been engaged. Through his mind with monotonous
reiteration beat a phrase that he had read long ago, where, he had
forgotten. "My salvation is in work, my salvation is in work!" He
worked like a man possessed, without looking up, whilst the girl busied
herself with unnecessary tasks. She also knew what he knew, and she
held him in a new respect for his silence, understanding the reason
therefor, and presently when her leaping heart had steadied a little
she began to talk, on indifferent topics, desiring to break a silence
that was full of constraint.
"I saw you looking at the traps there, this morning. Are you thinking
of using them?"
"Yes," he answered, "I am going to start a trapping line. It will give
me something to do; and the walk will excercise my leg. If the owner of
the cabin returns we shall be able to pay him rent with the pelts I
take."
"Isn't it time he was here now, if he is coming?"
"Yes! But he may be delayed."
"Or he may not intend to return. He may have found a new locality for
his operations."
"When he went away he meant to return, or why did he leave his traps
here?"
"You think he will come back then?"
"I hope so!"
"And when he comes you will lure him to take us to Fort Malsun?"
"That is my idea," replied Stane, bending over the webbing.
"You are anxious to get away from here, then?"
"I am thinking of you," he answered quickly. "I know what a full winter
in the North means."
"And if I get to Fort Malsun, do you think I shall escape the winter?"
"No, but you will have company."
"I have company now," she retorted smilingly, "and believe me I do not
feel at all lonely."
"I was thinking you would have the factor's wife for----"
"Pooh!" was the challenging reply. "Do you think a woman cannot live
without women?"
He offered no answer to the question, feeling that they were in the
danger zone again; and after a moment deliberately turned the
conversation backward.
"If I have luck with the traps, you may be able to have a set of furs
for a memento of your sojourn here!"
"Oh!" she laughed back, "if that is the only memento I am to have----"
"Yes?" he asked.
For a moment she did not speak, and when she did there was provocation
in her voice. "Well, I shall be disappointed, that is all."
He did not ask why. He knew; and his very silence told Helen that he
knew, and for a moment both of them were conscious of the surging of
that elemental force which had made itself felt out in the forest.
Then the stillness was broken by a sound outside. Both of them heard
it, and listened carefully.
"Crunch! crunch! crunch!"
Some one on snow-shoes was walking round the cabin. Whoever it was had
halted by the door. Was he coming in? Half a minute passed during which
they waited without moving, then Stane flashed a look at his companion.
She was leaning forward, a look of curiosity and expectancy on her
face, but not a single sign of fear.
He rose slowly from his seat, put the unfinished snow-shoe on the
table, and crept towards the door. Whoever the intruder was he had not
moved, and Stane had an odd fancy that he was listening there on the
other side of the rough timbers. He meant to surprise him, but was
disappointed in his purpose, for when he reached the door it was to
find that the wooden bar had been dropped in position by Helen when
they had re-entered the cabin. The bar fitted tightly across the door,
and though he tried his best to move it without noise he failed. The
bar stuck, and when at last he threw the door open, and stepped outside
he knew that he was too late. He looked into the gathering night. His
first swift glance was towards the dark shadows under the trees. There
was no one there. He swung round towards the lake, and dimly through
the darkness descried a figure retreating rapidly northwards. He looked
closely, then suffering something of a surprise, gave a quick hail.
The retreating figure never paused, and never looked round, but kept on
in a bee-line over the untrodden snow. Stane knew that it was useless
to follow, and the bitter cold was already pinching his face and hands
and chilling him to the bone. He turned and hurried into the hut,
flinging the door to behind him, and as he did so, Helen rose to her
feet.
"You saw him?" she cried in some excitement.
"No. I saw her!" answered Stane. "It was a woman."
Helen's surprise was as complete as his own had been. "A woman! Are you
sure?"
"I do not think that I can possibly have been mistaken."
"But who--and why should she come here only to run away?"
"I do not know. I cannot guess, but when I went to the door, I had no
idea that whoever was outside was standing there listening."
"It is very mysterious," said Helen thoughtfully, then suddenly
something occurred to her, and she looked quickly at Stane as if she
were going to speak. He caught the glance.
"You were about to say something?"
"Yes," answered Helen giving a curt little laugh. "But I think I will
keep it to myself. It was only a quite silly idea that occurred to me."
Something in her manner, the curtness of her laugh, her way of
speaking, puzzled Stane, and moved him to press for an answer. "Never
mind the silliness," he said. "Tell me?"
"It really is not worth while," she answered with a little laugh, and
notwithstanding the laughter, Stane knew that it was useless to press
her further, and desisted from doing so.
For a little time he sat silent, staring into the stove, wondering what
was in his companion's mind, whilst the girl herself followed the odd
thought which had occurred to her. Was the woman who had twice ventured
into the neighbourhood of the cabin without revealing herself,
Miskodeed? It was very possible, for what other woman was there likely
to be in the locality who could have sufficient interest in them as to
visit them in such fashion? As she pursued the idea Ainley's
suggestions came back to her with hateful force, and she remembered the
Indian girl's attitude after Stane's departure. Other things she
remembered and her mind echoed the words which had awakened the man's
anger at the time they were uttered.
"Behold an idyll of the land!"
She remembered the girl's wild beauty, her manifest interest in Stane,
and once again she was conscious of the hot flame of jealousy in her
heart. It stung her to think that possibly this man, whom she had
learned to love, had an interest in this girl, who though no better
than a savage was rarely beautiful. She laughed in sudden bitterness
and scorn of herself, and at the laugh Stane turned quickly towards
her.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Just a thought!" she answered easily, though her face flushed.
Stane did not ask her what the thought was. He was conscious of
something enigmatic in her attitude, and her evident reserve for a
second time prevented him from pursuing the matter further. He waited a
moment, then he uttered the thought which had been in his own mind.
"When the storm is over and there is a crust on the snow we will go
exploring together. We may find the camp from which this woman comes.
If the air keeps still through the night, it will be quite easy to
follow her trail in the snow."
Helen looked at him with eyes half-veiled under her long lashes. Did he
suspect who the intruder was?
"You are very anxious to find this woman of mystery?" she asked.
"Not particularly so," he laughed in reply, "but I shall be very glad
to find out who our neighbours are, and to learn whether we can secure
any help from them."
The girl was reassured by the unconcerned answer. It seemed clear now
that Miskodeed had not even occurred to his mind, and the reserve in
her manner disappeared.
"You think we shall be dependent on their help?" she asked. "You are
afraid that we shall not weather through by ourselves?"
Stane laughed again. "Oh no! I have no fears on that score; but it will
depend on their possession of dogs whether we have to camp here all
winter or not; for we could not possibly make Fort Malsun without them,
particularly as I do not know the overland trail. Not that the
knowledge is really essential now, since judging from the fact that
Ainley went down the lake it seems likely that there is a way to Malsun
river in that direction. But we simply must have dogs."
"Then in the morning we follow the mysterious one's trail?"
"Yes, if there is no wind or snow in the night."
But in the night there was both wind and snow and on the morrow the
woman's trail was quite obliterated and the snow on the lake made
travelling impossible. Helen Yardely noted the fact without regret.
"There will be no exploring party today," she said, "so I will go and
look at my rabbit snares."
"And I will accompany you," answered Stane, "the walk in the snow will
help to take the stiffness out of my leg."
They set out together, but had gone but a little way when the girl gave
a sharp "Hist!"
"What is it?" he asked quietly, thinking that she had seen game of some
kind.
"There is a man in those bushes in front of us," she answered in a
whisper.
"A man. Are you sure?"
"I am quite sure. I saw him slip across that open space there. He has a
gun."
The bushes she had indicated were about three hundred yards away, and
Stane examined them keenly. He could see nothing, however, and at the
conclusion of his scrutiny he said: "I will go forward. You remain
here, Miss Yardely."
"No," she answered. "I will go with you, I would rather."
They advanced together, Stane with his rifle ready for action, since a
presence that avoided them might well prove to be an inimical one. He
watched the bushes steadily as they advanced but saw nothing and when
they reached them, thinking that the girl had been mistaken, he thrust
his way through them. Then he stood quite still with an anxious look
upon his face. There was no one behind the bushes, but there were the
marks of moccasined feet in the snow. He looked down at them, then
followed the direction of them with his eyes, and stared into the
forest, and as he did so, in its dim recesses, thought he saw the
figure of a man slip behind a tree. He still waited and watched, but
the figure did not re-appear, then Helen who had walked round the
bushes spoke.
"There _was_ some one here!"
"Yes," he answered, "and whoever it was did not wish to encounter us.
He has made his way into the wood."
"What do you think it means?"
"I do not know," he answered, "but I am afraid that there are hostile
Indians about us."
"You think they are watching the cabin--watching us, for a chance to
attack?"
"It has that appearance," answered Stane quietly.
The girl was silent for a moment, then she gave a little laugh that had
in it a ring of courage. "I am not afraid, but I wish we had another
rifle."
Stane flashed at her a glance of admiration, then gave another long
look into the silent wood which now seemed full of menace.
"Perhaps we had better return to the cabin."
"No," answered the girl stubbornly. "We will look at the snares first.
I'm not going to be frightened from my dinner by a wandering Indian."
And they went forward together.