A FACE AT THE TENT-DOOR
"Look," cried Helen. "Look!"
They had almost reached the cabin on the return journey and were full
in view of the lake. As she cried the words she pointed over its
snow-laden surface, and Stane, looking in the direction indicated, saw
that which made his heart leap. A dog-team was coming up the lake, with
a man on snow-shoes packing the trail in front.
"Who can it be?" asked the girl in some excitement.
"The owner of the cabin--for a certainty!" answered Stane, conscious of
a sudden relief from the anxiety which the morning had brought.
"Then," answered the girl quietly, "you wait to welcome him, whilst I
go and prepare a meal."
She passed into the cabin, whilst Stane walked down to the shore of the
lake. The traveller whoever he was, was making directly for the cabin,
and watching, Stane saw that he walked wearily as if he had come far,
or was suffering from some weakness. It was quite an appreciable time
before he saw Stane standing to welcome him, and when he did so, he
gave a joyous shout. Stane answered the hail, and a few minutes later
when the man halted his dogs he saw that he was mistaken in concluding
the new-comer was the owner of the cabin, for he was garbed in the
winter dress of the Nor-west Mounted Police.
"Cheero," said the policeman in greeting. "Where's Jean Bènard?"
Stane shook his head. "Don't know. Is Jean Bènard the owner of the
cabin?"
At this question the policeman glanced at him sharply.
"Don't you know that? Who in thunder--Stane! By Christopher!" As he
made the recognition the new-comer held out his mittened hand. "Well
this is a pleasure. Don't you know me, old man?"
Stane looked at him as he shook his hand. "I think I do," he said.
"Your Dandy Anderton, aren't you?"
"Used to be," laughed the other. "Now I'm Trooper Richard Alland
Anderton of the R.N.W.M.P., and no more a dandy. But I'm mortal glad to
see you, Stane, particularly as I'm a little knocked. I hurt my
shoulder this morning, as----" He broke off suddenly as the sound of
movement came from the cabin, and asked quickly. "You've got a mate?"
"Yes," answered Stane, with a short laugh, "as good a mate as a man
could have, a mate that happens to be a lady!"
"A lady!" Anderton whistled. "Up here! By Jove! you've both got pluck."
"Well, you see, Anderton, it's not exactly a matter of choice. We were
stranded together, and this cabin happened to offer itself. But loose
your dogs, and come and be introduced!"
"Right-o!" replied the policeman. "I'll be with you in two jiffs."
Stane entered the cabin to prepare Helen. As he did so the girl looked
up from the stove. "Is he the owner of our palace?"
"No; he is an old Oxford acquaintance of mine, who is now in the
Mounted Police."
"Then we shall not suffer eviction?" she laughed, and to Stane it
seemed there was an odd note of relief in her voice.
"No; but he spells deliverance. You see if he can't do anything for us
himself he can carry the news of our whereabouts to Fort Malsun,
and----"
At that moment a whip-stock hammered at the cabin-door, and a second
later Trooper Anderton entered. For a moment he was a little taken
aback by the girl's appearance, then Stane made the introduction.
"Miss Yardely; Mr. Anderton!"
"Miss Yardely!" the policeman cried. "Are you Sir James Yardely's
niece, who was lost a few months ago?"
"The very same," answered Helen smilingly.
"There's a reward out for your discovery--five thousand dollars, no
less."
"I didn't know I was worth so much," laughed the girl.
"Your uncle makes it; and half the trappers in the north are keeping a
look-out for you; for it is known that you were found by some one----"
"There is my saviour," interrupted Helen, nodding towards Stane.
"Lucky fellow," laughed the policeman. "How did it happen?"
"Perhaps Mr. Stane will tell you later," answered the girl, "and if he
doesn't, I will. But I don't want this moose steak to spoil. I take a
pride in my cookery."
She laughed and turned again to the stove. Both the men watched her
admiringly for a moment, and then Anderton asked: "Been up here long,
Stane?"
Stane gave him an approximate date, and explained the situation by
recounting his accident. The other nodded sympathetically. "You were
lucky to have Miss Yardely with you. I had a narrow shave myself this
morning. Just as I was starting from my last camp, a tree that two
minutes before looked as stable as a pyramid, collapsed. It caught me
on the shoulder and knocked me flying. Lucky thing I fell clear; but it
gave me a nasty jar, and my left arm is a little out of action, with
the soreness. I oughtn't to have taken the trail this morning, and
wouldn't, only I'm in a tremendous hurry--a running quarry you know."
"Who is it?" asked Stane.
"A breed, wanted for murder. He's been running for months, making this
way and there's an idea that he's sought sanctuary with his mother's
tribe at the top end of this lake."
"Ah, then there is an encampment up here?"
"Yes. Didn't you know?"
Stane gave an account of the mysterious visit of the previous night and
of the stranger they had seen in the wood that morning and the
policeman listened carefully.
"The girl's a puzzler," he said, "but the stranger may be my man. He
knows his life is forfeit, and he's ripe for any sort of crime. I guess
I'll move on after him when I've had a rest."
"We'll go with you," answered Stane thoughtfully, "we may be able to
get dogs from the camp."
"It's just possible," agreed Anderton, "if the Indians will sell. If
not, then I'll carry the news of you back to Fort Malsun, and the
factor there will send for you like a shot." He was silent for a
moment, watching Helen as she laid the table; then he said
hesitatingly. "By the by, Stane, did you ever get to the bottom of that
unfortunate affair of yours in England?"
"No," was the reply, given with some bitterness, "but the jury did."
"Oh rot!" exclaimed the other. "Nobody who knew you really believes
that."
"I have met one man up here who apparently does!"
"Who is that?"
"Ainley! You remember----"
"Ainley! Why, man, he----" He broke off suddenly, with a look at the
girl.
"Yes?" said Stane, "you need not mind Miss Yardely. She knows I have
been in prison."
"Yes!" answered Helen quickly, "and I am very sure he ought not to have
been."
"It was a damnable shame!" broke out the policeman. "But the facts were
against you at the time, Stane. The hand-writing experts----"
"Oh the likenesses were there, right enough," interrupted Stane, "and I
certainly had been in Harcroft's rooms, alone, and I suppose in company
with his cheque book. Also I had lost rather a pot of money on the
boat-race, and I am bound to admit all the other incriminating
circumstances."
"Yes, but you don't know everything. Long after you--er--went down,
Jarlock, who was in our set, told me something about Ainley."
"What was that?" asked Stane quickly.
"Well, it was that just at that time, Ainley was broke and borrowing
money right and left, and that he had forged Jarlock's name to a bill.
Jarlock became aware of the fact through the bill being presented to
him for payment, and he tackled Ainley about the business. Ainley owned
up, and Jarlock let the thing go, for old acquaintance' sake. But just
about the time of your trouble he left the 'Varsity and went on a trip
to the Cape, and it was a full year after before he even heard what had
befallen you. It made him think of his own affair with Ainley, and when
he met me months afterwards he took me into his confidence. We talked
the matter over carefully, and knowing you as we both did, we reached
the conclusion that you were innocent and that Ainley was the guilty
man."
"Any evidence?"
"No, nothing beyond that matter of the bill. We judged by general
principles. Ainley always was something of a rotter, you know."
Stane laughed a trifle bitterly. "He's by way of becoming a personage
of importance today. But I think you're right, the more so since I
encountered him up here."
He gave a brief account of his meeting with Ainley, told how he had
waited for him on two successive nights, and how on the second night he
had been kidnapped without any apparent reason. The policeman listened
carefully and at the end nodded his head.
"Looks fishy!" he commented. "The fellow was afraid of you." Then after
a moment he asked, "Your question? The question you wanted to ask
Ainley, I mean. What was it?"
"It was about a sheet of paper with some writing on it. You shall see
it."
He felt in his hip-pocket, and producing a small letter-case, took out
a thin packet wrapped in oiled silk. Opening it, he unfolded a sheet of
foolscap and handed it to the other.
It was covered with writing, and as Anderton looked at it, he saw that
the writing was made up of two names, written over and over again, the
names being those of Hubert Stane and Eric Harcroft. At first the
character of the handwriting of the two names was widely different, but
presently the separate characteristics were blended with a distinct
leaning towards those of Harcroft, though some of the characteristics
of the earlier writing of Stane's name still survived, though at the
bottom of the sheet only Harcroft's name was written, and that a dozen
times. The policeman whistled as he studied it.
"Where did you get this, Stane?"
"I found it in a copy of Plato which Ainley had borrowed from me. It
was returned before the forgery turned up, and that paper slipped out
when I was going through my possessions after my release from Dartmoor.
What do you make of it?"
"It is perfectly plain what the meaning of it is," answered Anderton
with conviction. "Whoever did this was blending two handwritings for
some purpose or other, and the purpose is not difficult to guess."
"That is what I felt when I saw it, and when the significance of it
dawned on me, I set out to find Ainley that I might ask him the meaning
of it. He had left England, and no one whom I could ask knew his
whereabouts. Things were very difficult for me at home and so I came
out here, stumbled on Ainley--and you know the rest."
Helen Yardely had listened to the talk of the two men without speaking,
but now she broke in. "I do not wonder Gerald Ainley did not keep his
promise to see you at Fort Malsun. I only wonder that when he arranged
for your deportation, as he surely did, he did not arrange for your
death."
"He does not know I have this paper," answered Stane with a grateful
look towards her. "But when I do meet him----"
He did not finish the sentence, and after a moment the girl announced
that the meal was ready. As they ate, Anderton glanced from time to
time at the man whom he had known as a careless youth at Oxford. He
noted the hardness of the eyes, the greying hair, the deep lines of the
face, and was moved to a sudden burst of indignation.
"Confound the man, Stane! If I were in your place I should be tempted
to shoot him! But that's too good for him."
"I will do that which will be worse for him," answered Stane quietly,
"I will make him own up."
The two who heard him, looking at his resolute face, had no doubt that
he would keep his word, and as each reflected what he must have been
through, neither was sorry for Gerald Ainley or had any compunction at
the thought of what might happen to him.
The meal was finished without any further reference to the past, and
after a smoke, Anderton threw on his furs and went outside. Presently
he returned and announced his intention of going up the lake to the
Indian encampment.
"The weather is going to hold, and it really is of the utmost
importance for me to find out whether my man is here or not. I'm not in
the best form after my accident this morning, but there's nothing else
for it, and if the fellow has left, I shall have to follow at his
heels, and wear him down. It is the only way. Duty is duty in my force,
I can assure you."
Stane looked at Helen, then he said: "We will accompany you, Anderton.
You represent the law, and in your company we are much more likely to
receive attention and get what we want than if we go alone, whilst
further, if the mysterious visits we have had were hostile in
intention, the fact that we are known to you will tend to check them."
"Something in that!" agreed the policeman.
When Anderton had harnessed his dogs they started off, making directly
up the lake, and within two hours sighted about half a score of winter
tepees pitched near the store, and with sheltering woods on three sides
of them. As they came into view, with the smoke of the fires curling
upward in the still air, the policeman nodded.
"The end of a journey of two hundred miles; or the beginning of one
that may take me into the Barrens, and up to the Arctic. Lord, what a
life this is!"
He laughed as he spoke, and both those who heard him, knew that he
found the life a good one, and was without regret for the choice he had
made.
As they drew nearer the camp, two or three men, and perhaps a dozen
women, with twice that number of children came from the tepees to look
at them, and when the dogs came to a halt, one of the men stepped
forward. He was an old man, and withered-looking, but with a light of
cunning in his bleared eyes.
"What want," he asked. "Me, Chief George."
The policeman looked at the bent figure clothed in mangy-looking furs,
with a dirty capote over all, and then gave a swift glance at his
companions, the eyelid nearest to them fluttering down in a slow wink.
A second later he was addressing the chief in his own tongue.
"I come," he said, "from the Great White Chief, to take away one who is
a slayer of women. It is said that he has refuge in thy lodges."
The Indian's dirty face gave no sign of any resentment. "There is no
such man in my lodges."
"But I have heard there is, a man who is the son of thy sister, with a
white father."
The old Indian looked as if considering the matter for a moment, then
he said slowly. "My sister's son was here, but he departed four days
ago."
"Whither went he?"
The Indian waved his hand northward. "Towards the Great Barrens. He
took with him all our dogs."
"Done!" said the policeman with a quick glance at Stane. "It is certain
there are no dogs here, or we should have heard or seen them."
He turned to the Indian again, whilst Stane looked at Helen. "You heard
that, Miss Yardely? Our exile is not yet over."
"Apparently not," agreed Helen smilingly.
Stane again gave his attention to the conversation between his friend
and the Indian, but half a minute later, happening to glance at the
girl, he surprised a look of intense interest on her face. She was
looking towards a tepee that stood a little apart from the rest, and
wondering what it was that interested her, Stane asked, "What is it,
Miss Yardely? You seem to have found something very interesting."
Helen laughed a little confusedly. "It was only a girl's face at a
tent-door. I was wondering whether the curiosity of my sex would bring
her into the open or not."
Stane himself glanced at the tepee in question, the moose-hide flap of
which was down. Apparently the girl inside had overcome her curiosity,
and preferred the warmth of the tepee to the external cold. He grew
absorbed in the conversation again, but Helen still watched the tepee;
for the face she had seen was that of Miskodeed, and she knew that the
thought she had entertained as to the identity of the woman of mystery,
who had fled from the neighbourhood of the cabin, was the right one.
Presently a mittened hand drew aside the tent-flap ever so small a way;
and Helen smiled to herself.
Though she could see nothing through the tiny aperture so made, she
knew, as certainly as if she herself had been standing in the tepee,
that Miskodeed was watching them with interested eyes. Unconsciously
she drew herself upright, and flashed a challenging glance towards the
invisible spectator, visioning the Indian girl's wild beauty and
matching it, as a jealous woman will, against her own. Not till Stane
addressed her did she take her eyes from the tepee.
"Anderton's through," he said. "His man has gone northward; and as you
heard there are no dogs here. We shall have to go back to the cabin.
Anderton tried to persuade the chief to send a couple of his young men
with a message down to Fort Malsun, but the fellow says it is
impossible in this weather to make the journey without dogs, which I
dare say is true enough."
"Then," said the girl with a gay laugh, "we have a further respite."
"Respite?" he said wonderingly.
"Yes--from civilization. I am not absolutely yearning for it yet."
She laughed again as she spoke, and Stane laughed with her, though he
did not notice the glance she flashed at the closed tepee. Then
Anderton turned abruptly from Chief George.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I have done what I could for you two, but this
noble red man either won't or can't help you. I shall have to push on,
but the first chance I get I'll send word on to Factor Rodwell. If only
I could turn back----"
"Please don't worry about us, Mr. Anderton," interrupted Helen
cheerfully. "We shall be all right."
"'Pon my word, I believe you will, Miss Yardely," answered the
policeman in admiration. He looked down the lake, and then added: "No
use my going back. It will only be time wasted. I will say good-bye
here. Keep cheerful, old man," he said to Stane. "You'll work clear of
that rotten business at Oxford yet. I feel it in my bones."
Helen moved a little away, and the policeman lowered his voice, "Lucky
beggar! You'll ask me to be best man, won't you?"
"Best man!"
"Pooh, man! I've got eyes in my head, haven't I?" Without giving Stane
a chance to reply, he walked towards Helen.
"Keep cheerful, Miss Yardely, and don't let Stane get dumpy about the
past."
"I think you have effectually saved him from that," she answered
quietly.
"Jolly glad if I have! He's a good fellow, is Hubert. Till our next
meeting! Au revoir, Miss Yardely! So long, Stane!" The next moment he
turned to his dogs. "Moosh! Moosh--Michele!"
The leading dog gave a little yelp. The harness tightened, and the sled
began to move. Ten seconds later the man who carried the law through
the frozen North was ahead of his sled, breaking the trail, and Stane
and Helen had turned in the direction of their cabin, the girl with one
last glance over her shoulder at the tepee, at the opening of which
Miskodeed's beautiful face had now revealed itself, her eyes following
the man whom once she had done her best to help.