Watching through the crack in the door Ned saw the girl’s act; and her
treason was immediately evident to him. Whatever darkness engrossed him
at the sight of the ignoble girl, begging for her little life even at
the cost of her lover’s, showed not at all in his white, set face.
Whatever unspeakable despair came upon him at this ruin of his ideals,
this destruction of all his hopes, it was evidenced neither in his
actions nor in the clear, cool quality of his thought.
No other crisis had ever found him better disciplined. His mind seemed
to circumscribe the whole, dread situation in an instant. He turned, met
Bess’s straightforward gaze, saw her half-smile of complete
understanding. As she leaped toward him, he snatched up their two hooded
outer coats, and his arm half encircling her, he guided her through the
door.
Whether or not she realized what had occurred he did not know, but there
was no time to tell her now. Nor were explanations necessary; trusting
him to the last she would follow where he led. “We’ll have to run for
it,” he whispered simply. “Fast as you can.”
Ned had taken in the situation, made his decision, seized the parkas,
and guided Bess through the door all in one breath: the drama of
Lenore’s tragic dishonor was still in progress in the glare of the
Northern Lights. Doomsdorf, standing back to them, did not see the two
slip out the door, snatch up their snowshoes and fly. Otherwise his
pistol would have been quick to halt them. Almost at once they were
concealed, except for their strange flickering shadows in the snow,
behind the first fringe of stunted spruce.
Ned led her straight toward the ice-bound sea. He realized at once that
their least shadow of hope lay in fast flight that might take them to
some inhabited island before Doomsdorf could overtake them; never in
giving him a chase across his own tundras. Even this chance was
tragically small, but it was all they had. To stay, to linger but a
moment, meant death from Doomsdorf’s pistol—or perhaps from some more
ingenious engine that his half-mad cunning might devise.
Only the miles of empty ice stretched before them, covered deep with
snow and unworldly in the glimmer of the Northern Lights that still
flickered wanly in the sky; yet no other path was open. They halted a
single instant in the shelter of the thickets, slipped on their
snowshoes, then mushed as fast as they could on to the beach. In
scarcely a moment they were venturing out on the ice-bound wastes.
Doomsdorf encountered their tracks as he reached the cabin door, and
guessing their intent, raced for the higher ground just above the cabin.
But when he caught sight of the fugitives, they were already out of
effective pistol range. He fired impotently until the hammer clicked
down against an empty breach, and then, still senseless with fury,
darted down to the cabin for his rifle.
But he halted before he reached the door. After all, there was no
particular hurry. He knew how many miles of ice—some of it almost
impassable—lay between his island and Tzar Island, far to the east. It
was not the journey for a man and woman, traveling without supplies.
There was no need of sending his singing lead after them. Cold and
hunger, if he gave them play, would stop them soon enough.
He had, however, other plans. He turned through the cabin door, spoke to
the sullen squaw, then began to make preparations for a journey. He took
a cold-proof wolf-hide robe, wrapped in it a great sack of pemmican, and
made it into a convenient pack for his back. Then he reloaded his
pistol, took the rifle down from the wall, and started forth down the
trail that Ned and Bess had made.
It was likely true that the cold, though not particularly intense
to-night, would master them before ever they could reach Tzar Island.
They had no food, and inner fuel is simply a matter of life and death
while traveling Arctic ice. They had no guns to procure a fox, or any
other living creatures that they might encounter on the ice fields. But
yet Doomsdorf was not content. Death of cold was hardly less merciful
than that of a bullet. Just destruction would not satisfy the fury in
his heart; the strange, dark lust that raced through his veins like
poison demanded a more direct vengeance. Particularly he did not want
Bess to die on the ice. He would simply follow them, overtake them, and
bring them back; then some really diverting thing would likely occur to
him.
It would be easy to do. There was no man in the North who could compete
with him in a fair race. The two had less than a mile start of him, and
to overtake them was but a matter of hours. On the other hand long days
of travel, one after another past all endurance, would be necessary
before they could ever hope to cross the ice ranges to reach the
settlements on Tzar Island.
To Bess first came the realization of the utter hopelessness of their
flight. She could not blind herself to this fact. Nor did she try to
hide from herself the truth: in these last, bitter months she had found
that the way of wisdom was to look truth in the face, struggling against
it to the limit of her strength, but yielding herself neither to vain
hope nor untoward despair. The reason why the flight was hopeless was
because she herself could not stand the pace. She did not have the
beginning of Ned’s strength. Soon he would have to hold back so that she
could follow with greater ease, and that meant their remorseless hunter
would catch up. The venture had got down simply to a trial of speed
between Doomsdorf, whose mighty strength gave him every advantage, and
Ned, who braved the ice with neither blankets nor food supplies. Her
presence, slowing down Ned’s speed, increased the odds against him
beyond the last frontier of hope.
Tired though she was from the day’s toil, she moved freshly and easily
at first. Ned broke trail, she mushed a few feet behind. She had no
sensation of cold; hardened to steel, her muscles moved like the sliding
parts of a wonderful machine. The ice was wonderfully smooth as yet,
almost like the first, thin, bay ice frozen to the depth of safety. But
already the killing pace had begun to tell. She couldn’t keep it up
forever without food and rest. And the brute behind her was tireless,
remorseless as death itself.
The Northern Lights died at last in the sky, and the two hastened on in
the wan light of a little moon that was already falling toward the west.
And now she was made aware that the night was bitter cold. It was
getting to her, in spite of her furs. But as yet she gave no sign of
distress to Ned. A great bravery had come into her heart, and already
she could see the dawn—the first aurora of ineffable beauty—of her
far-off and glorious purpose. She would not let herself stop to rest.
She would not ask Ned to slacken his pace. She was tired to the point of
anguish already; soon she would know the last stages of fatigue; but
even then she would not give sign. Out of her love for him a new
strength was born—that sublime and unnamable strength of women that is
nearest to divinity of anything upon this lowly earth—and she knew that
it would hold her up beyond the last limits of physical exhaustion. She
would not give way to unconsciousness, thus causing Ned to stop and wait
beside her till she died. None of these things would she do. Her spirit
soared with the wings of her resolve. Instead, her plan was simply to
hasten on—to keep up the pace—until she toppled forward lifeless on
the ice. She would master herself until death mastered her. Then Ned,
halting but an instant to learn the truth, could speed on alone. Thus he
would have no cause to wait for her.
He travels the fastest who travels alone. Out of his chivalry he would
never leave her so long as a spark of life remained in her body: her
course was simply to stand the pace until the last spark went out. She
could fight away unconsciousness. She knew she could; as her physical
strength ebbed, she felt this new, wondrous power sweeping through her.
He travels the fastest who travels alone. Without her, his mighty
strength of body and spirit might carry him to safety. It was a long
chance at best, over the ice mountains; but this man who mushed before
her was not of ordinary mold. The terrible training camp through which
he had passed had made of him a man of steel, giving him the lungs of a
wolf and a lion’s heart, and it was conceivable that, after unimagined
hardship, he might make Tzar Island. There he could get together a party
to rescue Lenore, and though his love for the ignoble girl was dead, his
destiny would come out right after all. It was all she dared pray for
now,—that he might find life and safety. But he was beaten at the start
if he had to wait for her.
On and on through the night they sped, over that wonderfully smooth ice,
never daring to halt: strange, wandering figures in the moonlit snow.
But Bess was not to carry her brave intent through to the end. She had
not counted on Ned’s power of observation. He suddenly halted, turned
and looked into her face.
It was wan and dim in the pale light; and yet something about its
deepening lines quickened his interest. She saw him start; and with a
single syllable of an oath, reached his hand under her hood to the track
of the artery at her throat. He needed to listen but an instant to the
fevered pulse to know the truth.
“We’re going too fast,” he told her shortly.
“No—no!” Her tone was desperate, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Wrenching back her self-control she tried to speak casually. “I can keep
up easily,” she told him. “I don’t feel it yet—I’ll tell you when I do.
We can’t ever make it if we slow up.”
He shook his head, wholly unconvinced. “I don’t know what’s got into
you, Bess. You can’t fool me. I know I feel it, good and plenty, and
you’re just running yourself to death. Doomsdorf himself can’t do any
more than kill us——”
“But he can——”
“We’re going to hit an easier pace. Believe me, he’s not running his
heart out. He’s planning on endurance, rather than speed. I was a fool
not to think about you until it began to get me.”
It was true that the killing pace had been using up the vital nervous
forces of both their bodies. Ned was suffering scarcely not at all as
yet, but he had caught the first danger signals. Bess was already
approaching the danger point of fatigue. When Ned started on again he
took a quick but fairly easy walking pace.
Yet Bess’s only impulse was to give way to tears. If their first gait
had been too fast, this was far too slow. While it was the absolute
maximum that she could endure—indeed she could not stand it without
regular rests that would ultimately put them in Doomsdorf’s hands—it
was considerably below Ned’s limit. He could not make it through at such
a pace as this. Because of her, he was destroying his own chance for
life and freedom.
They mushed on in silence, not even glancing back to keep track of
Doomsdorf. And it came about, in the last hours of the night, that the
rest both of them so direly needed was forced upon them by the powers of
nature. The moon set; and generally smooth though the ice was, they
could not go on by starlight. There was nothing to do but rest till
dawn.
“Lie down on the ice,” Ned advised, “and don’t worry about waking up.”
His voice moved her and thrilled her in the darkness. “I’ll set myself
to wake up at the first ray; that’s one thing I can always do.” She let
her tired body slip down on the snow, relying only on her warm fur
garments to protect her from it. Ned quickly settled beside her. “And
you’d better lie as close to me as you can.”
He was prompted only by the expedience of cold. Yet as she drew near,
pressing her body against his, it was as if some dream that she had
dared not admit, even to herself, had come true. Nothing could harm her
now. The east wind could mock at her in vain, the starry darkness had no
terror for her. The warmth of his body sped through her, dear beyond all
naming; and such a ghost as but rarely walks those empty ice fields came
and enfolded her with loving arms.
It was the Ghost of Happiness. Of course it was not real
happiness,—only its shadow, only its dim image built of the
unsubstantial stuff of dreams, yet it was an ineffable glory to her
aching heart. It was just an apparition that was born of her own vain
hopes, yet it was kindly, yielding one hour of unspeakable loveliness in
this night of woe and terror. Lying breast to breast, she could pretend
that he was hers, to-night. Of course real happiness could not come to
her; the heart that beat so steadily close to hers was never hers; yet
for this little hour she was one with him, and the ghost seemed very,
very near. She could forget the weary wastes of ice, the cold northern
stars, their ruthless enemy ever drawing nearer.
Instinctively Ned’s arms went about her, pressing her close; and
tremulous with this ghost of happiness, the high-born strength of
woman’s love surged through her again, more compelling than ever before.
Once more her purpose flamed, wan and dim at first, then slowly
brightening until its ineffable beauty filled her eyes with tears. Once
more she saw a course of action whereby Ned might have a fighting chance
for life. Her first plan, denied her because of Ned’s refusal to lead
faster than she could follow, had embodied her own unhappy death from
the simple burning up of her life forces from over-exertion; but this
that occurred to her now was not so merciful. It might easily preclude a
fate that was ten times worse than death. Yet she was only glad that she
had thought of it. She suddenly lifted her face, trying to pierce the
pressing gloom and behold Ned’s.
“I want you to promise me something, Ned,” she told him quietly.
He answered her clearly, from full wakefulness. “What is it?”
“I want you to promise—that if you see there’s no hope for me—that
you’ll go on—without me. Suppose Doomsdorf almost overtook us—and you
saw that he could seize me—but you could escape—I want you to promise
that you won’t wait.”
“To run off and desert you——”
“Listen, Ned. Use your good sense. Say I was in a place where I couldn’t
get away, and you could. Suppose we became separated somehow on the ice,
and he should be overtaking me, but you’d have a good chance to go to
safety. Oh, you would go on, wouldn’t you?” Her tone was one of infinite
pleading. “Would there be any use of your returning—and getting killed
yourself—when you couldn’t possibly save me? Don’t you see the thing to
do would be to keep on—with the hope of coming out at last—and then
getting up an expedition to rescue me? Promise me you won’t destroy what
little hope we have by doing such a foolish thing as that——”
Wondering, mystified by her earnestness, half inclined to believe that
she was at the verge of delirium from cold and exertion, his arms
tightened about her and he gave her his promise so that she might rest.
“Of course I’ll do the wise thing,” he told her. “The only thing!”
Her strong little arms responded to the embrace, and slowly, joyously
she drew his face toward hers. “Then kiss me, Ned,” she told him,
soberly yet happily, as a child might beg a kiss at bedtime. Her love
for him welled in her heart. “I want you to kiss me good night.”
Slowly, with all the tenderness of his noble manhood, he pressed his
lips to hers. “Good night, Bess,” he told her simply. For an instant,
night and cold and danger were forgotten. “Good night, little girl.”
Their lips met again, but now they did not fall away so that he could
speak. There was no need for words. His arm about her held her lips to
his, and thus they lay, forgetting the wastes of ice about them, for the
moment secure from the cruel forces that had hounded them so long. The
wind swept by unheard. The fine snow drifted before it, as if it meant
to cover them and never yield them up again. The dimmer stars faded and
vanished into the recesses of the sky.
The cold’s scourge was impotent now. The hour was like some dream of
childhood: calm, wondrous, ineffably sweet. The ghost of happiness
seemed no longer just a shadow. For the moment Bess’s fancy believed it
real.
Sleep drifted over Ned. Still with her lips on his, Bess listened till
his slow, quiet breathing told her that he was no longer conscious. She
waited an instant more, her arms trembling as she pressed him close as
she could.
“I love you, Ned,” she whispered. “Whatever I do—it’s all for love of
you.”
Then, very softly so as not to waken him, she slipped out of his embrace
and got to her feet. She started away straight north,—at right angles
to the direction that they had gone before.