THE TRAIL TO PARADISE
When Ainley lifted a white, tortured face, it was to find the man whom
he had used as a tool, and whom, having used, he had tried to kill,
seated by the fire, staring at him with his evil eyes full of hate. The
others also sat watching him, all except Helen who had withdrawn to the
shadow of the wood, and was walking restlessly to and fro, unable to
witness further the downfall of a man whom she had known so well. For a
moment there was silence, then Anderton spoke.
"Would you like to hear Chigmok's story, Ainley?"
"There is no need that I should," answered Ainley with a bitter,
hopeless laugh. "I can guess it fairly well."
The mounted policeman was silent for a little time, then he remarked:
"The implications of his story are rather serious for you, Ainley."
"Oh, I know it, don't I?"
"Then you admit----"
"I admit nothing! I reserve my defence--that's the proper legal thing
to do, isn't it?"
"It is the wise thing, anyway," said Anderton.
"The wise thing," again the bitter mirthless laugh sounded. "When did I
ever do the wise thing? I suppose I may consider myself under arrest."
"Detained on suspicion," admitted the policeman. "I think I must
trouble you for your pistol and hunting-knife."
Once more Ainley laughed his bitter laugh, and unbuckling his belt
threw it to the policeman. "It isn't often you arrest an old chum," he
said.
"No!" agreed Anderton, "thank heaven! But you understand, Ainley, I've
no option. If you were my own brother it would be the same. The oath of
service is a very exacting one--'without fear or favour or affection of
or toward any person. So help me God!' A man can't----"
"Oh, you needn't apologize, Anderton, I recognize the situation well
enough. Don't mind if I lapse into silence do you? There are some
letters I want to write."
He unbuttoned his furs and taking out a pocket-book and pencil began to
write. Jean Bènard, having fed his dogs, began to prepare a meal for
himself. Anderton sat by the fire, staring into the flames, reflecting
on the irony of fate that had selected him of all men in the Mounted
Service to be the one to arrest his whilom fellow-student. Stane had
turned away and joined Helen, who still paced to and fro in the
shadows. Her face, as her lover saw, was full of trouble.
"Oh!" she whispered. "It is unbearable to watch a man one has known go
all to pieces!"
"It is certainly very sad," agreed Stane, out of whose heart all hatred
suddenly vanished. "I wish that things were not as they are."
"Let us try to forget," said Helen with a quick glance towards the
fire. "Tell me what happened when you went out of the cabin last
night."
"Well," answered her lover falling into step by her side, "when I went
out, I thought I was certainly going to my death."
"Ah, I knew that was in your mind!... But how did you escape?"
"It was a narrow thing. An Indian grappled me, and another man was
hurrying towards me with an ax. I could not get away, and a third
person appeared suddenly with a knife. I thought the knife was meant
for me, but it was not. It was meant for my antagonist, and he went
down and just after--my--my--saviour was killed by the second Indian,
who also struck at me, knocking me senseless."
"Who was the person with the knife? Someone with Jean Bènard?"
"No," answered Stane slowly, "it was the Indian girl, Miskodeed."
"Miskodeed!" cried Helen in utter surprise.
"Yes! I did not know it at the time, but we found her afterwards, Jean
Bènard and I. It was a dreadful discovery. Jean had come back to his
cabin, hoping to marry her, and she had died for me!"
"Oh," sobbed Helen in a sudden accession of grief. "I would have done
as much!"
"I know," answered Stane quietly.
"And last night when you were in the wood together, and I heard your
voices, I was jealous of that girl; last night and at other times."
"But," said the man, a note of wonder in his voice, "there was no need,
Helen. You must know that?"
"Oh yes, I know it now. But she was very beautiful and Gerald Ainley
had suggested that you--that you----. And I am sure that she loved you.
But not more than I, though she died for you!"
"I am very sure of that," answered Stane, earnestly, putting his arm
about her and trying to comfort her.
Helen sobbed convulsively. "I shall always be grateful to her, though I
was jealous of her. She saved you--for me--and she was only an Indian
girl."
"She had a heart of gold," said Stane. "She came to warn me and then
stayed to do what she did!" Both were silent for a long time, the girl
thinking of Miskodeed in her flashing beauty, the other of Jean, bent
over the cold face of his dead love, and then Helen spoke again.
"But tell me! The attack on the cabin, was that man who captured
me--that man Chigmok--was he the inspirer of that?"
"I am afraid not!"
"Then it was Gerald Ainley who was to pay the price for me that the
half-breed told me of, and that is why he collapsed so utterly when
Chigmok came along just now?"
"Yes," answered Stane, simply.
"But why did he shoot down Chigmok's party?"
"Well, I think it was to get rid of witnesses who might rise up against
him. You must remember that he would be under the impression that I was
dead--killed in the attack, and that was a crime that might some day
have come to light if those men had lived. The pretended rescue was a
sufficient excuse for getting rid of the men who knew the instigator,
particularly of the half-breed."
"Yes," said Helen thoughtfully. "An idea of that sort had occurred to
me from something that Chigmok had said. But how dreadful it is to
think that a man can so conspire to--to----"
She broke off without completing her words, and Stane nodded.
"There was always a crooked strain in Ainley. But it will go hard with
him now, for the half-breed will be merciless. He is the man Anderton
was after when he came to the cabin, and his life is forfeit on another
count. He will not spare the man who bribed him to fresh crime, and
then dealt treacherously with him."
He paused in his walk and looked back towards the fire where Ainley sat
writing, with Chigmok glowering at him across the fire, whilst Anderton
sat staring abstractedly into the glowing logs. Then a stealthy
movement of the half-breed's arrested his attention. The man had thrust
his hand into his furs, and as it was withdrawn Stane caught sight of
something that gleamed in the firelight. In a flash he saw what was
about to happen, and shouted a hurried warning.
"Look out, Ainley!"
In the same second, the half-breed, standing swiftly upright, launched
himself across the fire at Ainley, knife in hand. The white man who had
looked up at Stane's sudden warning was bowled over in the snow with
the half-breed on the top of him. The knife was lifted, but never
struck, for in that second Anderton also had leaped, and gripping the
half-breed's wrist he twisted the knife from his grasp, and flinging it
away, dragged the attacker from his victim. By the time Stane had
reached the scene, Ainley was gathering up some scattered papers,
apparently none the worse for the encounter, whilst Anderton was
admonishing the half-breed.
"You're a nice lot, Chigmok. Winged as you are, I thought you were
quite safe. Now you force me to tie you up, savvy?"
He promptly proceeded to do so, whilst Ainley seated himself anew and
looked up at Stane. "Thank you, Stane! The warning was more than I
deserved from you!" Then he laughed bitterly. "The poor devil isn't to
be blamed. I have merited what he meant to do, and you know it might
have been the better way--for me."
Stane looked at him not knowing what to reply. There was something
about Ainley that moved him to sudden pity. He looked like a man who
had reached the end of hope and life, and his words were those of a man
viewing his own end as a matter of no moment. "I'm sorry, Ainley!" said
Stane awkwardly.
"So am I! But what's the use? There's no going back in life; a man can
only go forward or----"
"Or what?" asked Stane.
"Or go out!" answered the other grimly.
"You are thinking of----"
"Better for you not to know, Stane. I'm going to do the straight thing
for once in my life, as you will discover presently. Don't you worry
about me. I am plumb at the end of things and I know it. But don't
communicate any suspicions you may happen to have to Anderton. He has
set up that precious duty of his as a fetish, worships it, as you
heard. Think of Dandy Anderton of the old days on his knees at the
shrine of duty!" He gave a little laugh, and then continued, "But I
don't want to be offered on his altar, and I won't be. You can bank on
that!" He broke off and looked towards Helen, hovering on the edge of
the shadows. "If you've any sense, Stane, you'll go and persuade Helen
to lie down and rest, she must be worn out by now!"
Stane nodded and turned away, and after a little more walking to and
fro, Helen sought the tent, whilst Stane, after a word or two with
Anderton and Jean Bènard, rolled himself in his sleeping furs, though
with little hope of sleep. He lay awake some time and frequently opened
his eyes to see Ainley still bent over his pocket-book, but presently
drowsiness came over him. The last time his eyes alighted on Ainley the
latter had ceased to write and was sitting staring into the fire with
sombre eyes. Then sleep overtook him completely.
He awoke in the grey dawn with Anderton's voice in his ears, and with a
powdery snow driving into his eyes.
"What----"
"Ainley's gone. I left one of the Indians to watch--not that I thought
there was any very real need--but the beggar slept, and Ainley
evidently took the opportunity to bolt."
"Has he taken dogs?" asked Stane quickly.
"No, nor anything else that I can see. He has even left his pocket-book
behind with some pages bent over and addressed to you. Here it is! Out
of the wood it must be snowing like the very devil, and he can't go
far. I'm going after him with Jean Bènard, and I want you to look after
Chigmok and these Indians of Ainley's."
"All right, Anderton! But you won't catch Ainley, you know."
"Why not?"
"Because," was the reply given with quiet significance, "I am afraid
that Ainley has gone very far indeed."
A light of comprehension came into the policeman's eyes, and he
whistled thoughtfully.
"You think----" he began and stopped.
"I am quite sure that Ainley has started on the longest trail of all.
Why didn't he take dogs? How long can he last in this wilderness
without? And as you say outside the wood it must be snowing
heavily--which way has he gone?"
"His tracks are on the backward trail----"
"To the open country--and in a blizzard. Anderton, old man, let him go.
You must guess what he is about----"
"Maybe I do," answered Anderton quietly.
"And you'll only be wasting your strength for nothing."
"I hope to God you're right!" broke out the policeman vehemently. "But
all the same I've got to follow him--Duty's duty--but you don't suppose
I'm keen on taking an old pal to be hanged at Regina. I'm glad Ainley
had the sense and grit to take the long trail on his own. But I'm bound
to try and stop him; though I thank heaven that he has an hour's start.
Now I must go. Keep your eye on Chigmok, he stands for my honour and
credit much more than Ainley, because of his original crime. So long!"
He turned away and disappeared into the forest on the backward trail
with Jean Bènard, and half an hour afterwards Helen emerged from her
tent to find him bent over Ainley's pocket-book with a troubled look in
his eyes.
"What is it?" she asked looking round. "Where is Mr. Ainley and where
are----"
"Ainley went away in the night. The others have gone after him. They
will not catch him--at least I pray not."
"You think he will get away?"
"He has taken a trail where they are not likely to follow."
"Oh!" cried Helen with a sob. "You mean that he--that he----?"
"Yes! He hinted his intention to me last night----"
"And you did not try to stop him?" she cried almost reproachfully.
"No! Why should I? If you will think, Helen, you will find many reasons
why this was the only thing for Ainley. He has left a long note in his
pocket-book and a confession which clears me of that affair at Oxford.
There is a note also for you--perhaps you would like to take the book
and read the note to me as well."
He handed her the pocket-book and watched her as she returned to the
little tent, then began to busy himself with preparations for
breakfast. Half an hour later Helen emerged again. Her eyes were red
with weeping.
"I have torn my note out," she said, "there it is." She held a crumpled
ball of paper in her hand. "It is the saddest thing I ever read. He
tells me that he was responsible for my going adrift, that he
deliberately broke my paddle in order that he might find me and pose as
a hero, because he wanted me to marry him and knew that I worshipped
heroism. He says that he had made what reparation was possible to you
and that you will be able to clear your name. He prays for our
happiness, and--and--he hints at what he was about to do, because he
finishes with the old cry of the gladiators--'Hail Cæsar, we who are
about to die, salute thee!' Oh! It is so sad!... No eyes but mine shall
ever read it--and I--shall never read it again."
She moved her hand slightly and the crumpled ball rolled into the blaze
of the fire. She watched the flickering flame leap up, and die down,
then she turned to her lover with streaming eyes.
"You were right to let him go, my dear! I--I pray God they will not
find him."
"I also!" said Stane.
... They waited an hour, two hours, saying little, neither trying to
hide from the other the anxiety each felt, and then through the mist of
snow between the trees came Anderton and Jean Bènard. Stane flashed a
question at the policeman, who shook his head.
"Thank God!" said Stane, whilst Jean Bènard looked at Helen.
"Zee deaths een zee snow, eet ees nodings! I know. I haf seen a man die
so. Eet ees as gentle as a woman's hand."
And as he finished speaking Helen turned and went to the little tent to
pray for the repose of the man who had sinned, but had made the last
complete reparation.
* * * * *
Two days later, when the storm had blown itself out, all of them took
the trail to Fort Malsun, and at the end of the first day reached a
small river that was unknown to Stane.
"Where does this go to?" he asked over the camp fire at night, pointing
to the frozen waterway.
"It makes a big bend and falls into the river above Fort Malsun," said
Anderton.
"And the other way? Where does it come from?"
"Don't know!" answered Anderton. "Never travelled it!"
"But I haf," said Jean Bènard. "I haf been up eet fiftee miles. Two
days' trail from here dere ees an Engleesh Mission, where a married
priest preach zee Gospel to zee Indians. He ees vaire good man, who
laugh like an angel!"
A musing look came on Stane's face, and he sat for some time in
thought, then when the opportunity came he walked with Helen on the
edge of the wood, conversing earnestly. A burst of light laughter
reached the men by the camp fire and Jean Bènard looked round.
"What ees ze saying of your countrymen, p'liceman? 'Youth eet veel be
served!' It veel snatch eet's happiness from zee jaws of death,
eetself."
"Yes! And these two deserve the happiness they will get!"
When Stane and Helen returned to the fire, the former, whilst Anderton
was busy elsewhere, spent some time in conversation with Jean Bènard,
who, after a few moments, cried enthusiastically:
"By gar! Dat ees a great plan, m'sieu! Zee dogs an' zee stores I would
giv' dem you eef I vos not so poor a mans! But you can buy dem--wid
pleasure!"
"Very well! But not a word to Anderton till morning."
"Right, m'sieu. I understand. You an' your mees you giv' zee p'licemans
one beeg surprise! Eees not dat so?"
"That is it," laughed Stane.
And Anderton's surprise was complete. Whilst it was yet dark and the
stars were twinkling frostily, the three dog-teams were harnessed on
the river trail.
Then the policeman made the discovery that Jean Bènard's team was
headed upstream.
"Hallo, Jean," he cried, "are you going to leave us?"
"Not I, M'sieu Anderton," said the trapper with a grin. "I go wid you
to Fort Malsun to help you look after Chigmok an' zee odders. But I zee
team sold to M'sieu Stane, an' he goes to zee Engleesh Mission."
"To the English Mission!" Then a light broke on the policeman, and he
turned to where Stane and Helen stood together, with laughter in their
eyes. "I could shake you--shake you both," he said. "It is a pretty
game to cheat me out of the job of best man. But, Great Christopher!
it's the tip-top thing to do, to marry before you go out of the
wilderness."
"That missionary," laughed Stane, "is a Godsend. It would be folly not
to use the opportunity he represents."
"So I should think if I were in your shoes," laughed Anderton, joining
in the laughter.
"And Jean says he laughs like an angel," cried Helen gaily. "I want to
see him, naturally. I have never seen an angel laugh!"
"But I have! And so has Stane," replied the policeman. "How soon do you
take the trail to Paradise? We'll wait and see you start!"
"We're ready now," said Stane.
"Then it's time you were off!"
Hands were shaken, good-byes said, then Stane stepped ahead of the
dogs, whilst Helen took her place at the gee-pole.
"Moosh! Moosh!" cried Jean to the dogs.
Then amid cries of well-wishes they started off on their trail to the
English Mission, and overhead the lights of the Aurora, flaming
suddenly, lit the trail with splendour.
THE END