A SURPRISE FOR AINLEY
"I will," answered Helen coldly, and without further preamble began the
narrative of all that had befallen her from the time she had left her
uncle's camp to inspect the beaver colony. Ainley listened for a long
time without interruption. Much of the story he already knew, though
the girl was unaware of the fact; much more he had guessed, but some
things were unknown to him, and when she gave the account of Stane's
accident at the deadfall and of the camp she had made there, he broke
out in chagrin: "That explains how it was we never found you. We must
have passed within a very few miles of you."
"You were once within a quarter of a mile of me."
"How do you know that?" he cried.
"Because I saw you and the Indian Joe pitch your camp on the shore of
the lake."
"You saw----" he began, and then stopped staring at her with
incredulous eyes.
"Yes! I watched you make your fire, and then I went back to camp, and
put out my own fire."
"Why?" he demanded harshly, though he had already guessed.
"Because I was afraid you would discover me," answered the girl calmly.
"And I, with a joyful heart, watched you departing in the morning."
Ainley rose suddenly to his feet. "Helen," he cried hoarsely, "do you
know what you are saying? You are telling me that you were glad to be
left alone in this god-forsaken wilderness with a man who was a
discharged convict? I wonder what our world would think of that
confession?"
"I do not care what our world, as you call it, would think about my
action. These few months in the wilderness have made me think little of
those conventions which have such rigid observance in the letter but
are outraged in the spirit every day."
"Our acquaintances would say----" he began, with a note of bitter
malice in his voice, but Helen interrupted him.
"I wonder what our acquaintances would say if they knew everything
about the crime for which Hubert Stane became a convict?"
As she dealt this blow the girl looked at him with ruthless eyes. Now
she was defending, not herself alone, but the memory of the man she
loved, and who out of consideration for herself had only declared his
love when he was going out to meet his death. That thought made her
merciless, and as she saw him waver under the weight of the blow and
his face grow white as the snow about them, she continued
unflinchingly.
"If they knew what I know they might say that I had made a wise choice
in remaining with a convict who had suffered for something of which he
was innocent, instead of going with the man who sent another man
to----"
"Helen! You are mad! mad!" cried Ainley in a voice so wild that one of
the Indians, dozing at the other side of the fire, started suddenly to
his feet, and looked around him as if for enemies. Ainley saw him and
checked the other wild words which sprang to his lips, and after a
moment the Indian sank down on his haunches and dropped his chin on his
breast again.
"No," answered Helen calmly. "I am not mad, I am telling the truth, as
you gave me evidence just now. You did not let me finish my sentence.
You knew what I was going to say. How did you know it? You could not
have guessed it if the facts had not been within your knowledge." She
broke off and was silent for a moment whilst Ainley stared at her with
wild eyes. "I may be in your debt for what happened this morning. I do
not know, for I do not, cannot trust you; but I will never forgive you
for what the man I loved suffered. Never!"
"You believe some lying tale of Stane's?" said Ainley, in a sneering
attempt to cover up his own discomfiture.
"I believe what he told me; I would have believed it on his word alone,
but fortunately the matter does not depend on that word only. There is
evidence, and I know where that evidence is, and I will tell you what I
am going to do. When we get to Fort Malsun, I shall get Mr. Rodwell to
equip an expedition, and I shall recover that evidence and publish it
to the world, in order to clear the memory of the man whom you have so
deeply wronged."
"There will be no need for that, fortunately, Miss Yardely!" said a
voice behind her.
The girl jumped to her feet in surprise. And Ainley took a quick step
forward as a man emerged from the shadow of the trees into the circle
of the firelight. It was the mounted policeman, Dandy Anderton, and
behind him came another man at whom Helen stared for a moment
incredulously, then with a great cry of joy ran to meet him.
"Hubert! Hubert!"
"Yes!" he answered, slipping an arm about her.
"But I thought--I thought----"
"I was afraid you might think so," he replied in answer to her unspoken
thought. "But that could not be helped. I followed after you as fast as
I could, and I was at your heels when your captors were shot down on
the lake and the snow came on."
"Oh, how glad I am that you are alive! That you have found me."
She rested against him well-content, and Stane's arm about her
tightened its grip; then they came back to the little world about them,
at the sound of the policeman's voice.
"Didn't know me, Ainley? I dare say not. I'm not quite the tailor's
mannikin that I was in the old days at the 'Varsity. Got a man's job
now, you see. And that reminds me, I'm here on duty. I happened to be
up the Little Moose when that shooting took place this morning. There's
a couple of dead Indians up there, and as I guess you had something to
do with their sudden deaths I shall have to call on you for an
explanation you know."
Ainley looked at the policeman without fear, and then for a moment his
eyes turned and rested on Helen and Stane standing together in the
shadow of a great fir-tree. It must have been a moment of exceeding
bitterness to him, but beyond a short, abrupt laugh he gave no sign of
his feelings. He turned again to the policeman. Apparently he was
perfectly cool and self-possessed. He waved a hand towards the fire.
"May as well make ourselves comfortable. It's rather a long story I
have to tell. Where are your dogs?"
"Back in the wood--anchored. I'll slip back and fetch them."
"No," said Stane, "I will go back for them."
He turned, and Helen turned with him.
"You don't mind," she whispered.
"Mind!"
She walked by his side, a hand on his arm. Once when they were well in
the shadows of the wood they stopped, and with his arm about her he
kissed her.
"My dear!" he whispered, "my dear."
Helen said nothing immediately, but gave a little sobbing laugh of
gladness. Then after a moment she asked, "How did you escape? How did
you find me?"
"It is too long a story to tell you the whole of it just now. But right
in the nick of time, when I was expecting to die, the owner of our
cabin, Jean Bènard came back. He saved my life; but as he knew nothing
about you, the attackers got away with you, but as soon as he heard my
story he got ready to pursue, and having found out that your kidnappers
were making for the Little Moose we took a short cut and waited for
you. We were at your heels when the rifles fired from the shore----"
"Then you _were_ with that second sledge?"
"Yes, I and Jean Bènard!"
"I saw you and I wondered," cried Helen. "But the half-breed had told
me you were dead."
"We lost you in the snow," said Stane, continuing his explanation, "but
found Anderton, and though the snow was as bad as ever, after a time we
started to search for your trail. Jean Bènard found it deep in the wood
where we were searching, knowing the lake was impossible for any one to
travel in the storm, and after he had made the discovery, Anderton and
I started to track you."
"And where is Jean Bènard?" asked Helen quickly. "I want to thank him
for saving you, for bringing joy back to me when I thought that it was
dead for ever."
"He is following us, he will be here, presently."
"Then I shall see him?"
"I hope so. But we must hurry on, dear. The dogs----"
"Bother the dogs--."
"But I want to hear Gerald Ainley's explanation. It is important that I
should."
"I have already heard it," said Helen quickly. "It is full of lies."
"You think so?"
"I know it."
"All the more reason that I should hear it with Anderton. There is much
more behind all this than you know, Helen."
"Perhaps I guess something of what lies behind."
"I do not think you can. It is an extraordinary story, and there will
be a _dénouement_ presently that will surprise Ainley. Come!"
They moved forward together, found the dogs, and having righted the
sledge by which they had been anchored, they returned to the camp.
Ainley, pipe in hand, apparently quite cool, was talking. He gave one
glance at the couple as they re-entered the circle of light, watched
Stane for a moment as he stooped to unharness the dogs, and then
continued the story he had been telling glibly and evenly.
"Having got the news, I made straight for the cabin, and had the
ill-luck to arrive there half an hour too late. One of the men found a
dead man, who, from the description, I mistook for Stane there, and we
also found a wounded Indian, who, with a little persuasion, told us
what he knew, which was that a half-breed, of the name of Chigmok,
inflamed with love for Miss Yardely, had carried her off, designing to
make her his squaw. I understand this Chigmok is what the Indians call
a bad man--but perhaps you know him?"
He broke off and looked directly at Anderton as he spoke, and waited
for a reply. The mounted policeman nodded, and as casually as he could
replied: "Yes, I have met him. He is--no good."
As the policeman replied, Helen, who was watching Ainley's face, saw a
subtle change come over it. For one moment it lost its assurance and a
flicker of doubt came in the eyes. The girl divined that he had
suddenly grown uncertain of his ground, and to her it was noticeable
that after Anderton's reply Ainley's glibness left him, and that he
spoke hesitatingly, haltingly, with frequent pauses, like a man
uncertain of his words.
"Then, by all accounts, you have met a regular rogue, Anderton! But to
resume, the Indian told us that Chigmok had carried off Miss Yardely.
Under pressure he told also the place for which the half-breed was
making, a desolate district, little travelled--the Lake of the Little
Moose. Know it?"
"Yes, I was there this morning; Stane and I have just come from there."
Again the flicker of doubt came in Ainley's eyes, and in the glow of
the firelight, Helen saw a look of apprehension come on his face. It
was there for but a moment, then it was gone, but in that moment the
girl had seen deeply into Ainley's heart, and knew that fear was
rapidly mounting there.
"Ah! you also followed Chigmok's trail, I suppose. But I was there
first. I followed a shorter route and I was at his camp waiting for him
when he showed up. I saw Miss Yardely on the sledge, and as for the
moment we were three against three, I felt that it was not an occasion
when chances should be taken, so we fired from the bushes on the three
kidnappers and shot them down. Then as there was another sledge coming
on behind, I removed Miss Yardely to my own sledge, and to escape
further trouble we pushed the dogs hard till we got here.... And that's
about all, I think."
He fell silent for a moment, and sat there watching the two white men
and the white girl who had heard the conclusion of his narrative. They
remained quite still, and not one of the three spoke. Ainley evidently
found the silence too much for his nerves, for after a little time had
passed in profound silence, he flashed out irritably:
"Well, what do you think of my story?"
"It is a very interesting story," said Anderton at last.
A quick look of relief came into Ainley's face. "You think I was
justified in shooting down those three kidnappers then?"
"On the face of things--yes! If your story is the correct one there is
not the slightest doubt that you followed the right course."
"You don't doubt its correctness?" flashed Ainley.
"I have not said so," answered the policeman gravely, "but so far, as
you will see, I have only your word for it."
"The two men who are with me can corroborate," replied Ainley.
"That will be helpful, of course," said Anderton. "But I am not trying
the case, Ainley, I am only making the necessary inquiries that I may
make my report at the Post. And I had better warn you that you may have
a little trouble about this matter. Things in the North here are not
like they were a few years back, when any wandering white man felt
himself justified in potting any Indian whose presence he considered
inimical. The administration of the Territories is very tender towards
the natives under its charge, and watchful of their interests. It is
bound to be. Since it expects the red man to accept its laws, it can do
no less than compel whites to honour them."
"Oh I know all that," said Ainley, a trifle contemptuously. "But you
won't claim that the circumstances of this affair are anything but
extraordinary."
"No," agreed the policeman, "I think they are very extraordinary."
Something significant in his tones caused Ainley to look at him
questioningly. The policeman, whose face was like a mask, was staring
into the fire, and did not catch the look. Ainley made as if to speak,
then changed his mind and remained silent. After a little time Anderton
spoke again.
"Seems a long time since we three men foregathered at Oxford."
"Yes," agreed Ainley, apparently relieved at the change of subject. "A
good bit of water has gone down the Isis since then."
"And all the circumstances considered it is rather a coincidence that
we three should meet like this in the wilderness."
"It certainly is dramatic," admitted Ainley. "Quite a Drury Lane
drama."
"More so than you know, Ainley," answered Anderton quickly. "Stane, let
Ainley have a look at that piece of paper you carry about with you."
A moment later Stane had opened the oilskin packet, and was unfolding
the sheet of note-paper. Ainley watched him in amazement, and then as
Stane held the paper towards him, and he bent over it, a look of
consternation came on his face, and a quick oath broke from his lips.
"God in heaven!"
"You had better put that paper in safety, again, Stane," said the
policeman quickly. "Ainley recognized it first glance."
"It's a lie," cried Ainley. "I've never seen the thing in my life
before!"
"Your tongue lies better than your face, Ainley. Just now your face
told the truth. You have seen that paper before. You saw it at Oxford
when you prepared yourself for the forgery that sent Stane to prison.
You----"
"I'll not stand it!" cried Ainley jumping to his feet. "You are
charging me with a crime of which a judge and jury found Stane guilty.
It is insufferable. You can't expect any man to sit still."
"Where did you find that paper, Stane?" interrupted the policeman
brusquely.
"In a copy of Jowett's Plato which Ainley had borrowed from me, and
which he returned to my scout after I was arrested."
"It's a barefaced lie! A plot!" cried Ainley. "I'm surprised at you,
Anderton--a representative of the law too--lending yourself to such an
absurd charge. You ought to know better."
"I know more than you think, Ainley. You remember Jarlock who was in
our set--?"
"Jarlock!" The name broke from Ainley in a tone of consternation.
"Yes, Jarlock! A good fellow, Jarlock. A friend who could forgive a
friend his faults, who indeed could on occasion overlook a crime when
he thought it was the crime of a hard-pressed man."
"What in thunder are you gassing about?" cried Ainley blusteringly.
"About Jarlock and a certain promissory note which he paid, a note
which bore your name and his. Your signature was quite genuine.
Jarlock's--well, Jarlock denied it, and you owned that you----"
"He told?" said Ainley. "The cur told?"
"Yes, he told me in confidence, after he had heard of Stane's denial of
the charge for which he was imprisoned. You see he believed in Stane,
as I did myself----"
"And you would make me the scapegoat for Stane's crime." Ainley laughed
harshly. "I will see you hung first," he cried. "I----"
He broke off abruptly as a sound of yelping dogs sounded from the wood,
and stared into the darkness. Anderton rose from his seat.
"I expect that will be Jean Bènard," he said quietly.
"Jean Bènard? Who is Jean Bènard?" cried Ainley.
"He is the man who Stane and I left to bring Chigmok along."
"Chigmok!"
"Yes, you see, Ainley, Chigmok was not dead as you meant him to be. He
was only winged, and he was able to tell his story which was a much
more interesting story than yours, and as I beg leave to think, a much
more truthful one."
Ainley did not reply. He stood staring into the darkness with wild
eyes. The glow of the fire revealed a terrible look on his face--the
look of a man who in a single moment has seen his life go suddenly to
pieces. He stood there dumb, his face working painfully, and then, as
the dog-team broke into the circle of the firelight, he fell back into
his seat by the fire in utter collapse, his face hidden in his hands.