As Nepeese gazed about the rock-walled end of the cañon, the prison into
which they had driven Wakayoo and Baree, Pierrot looked up again from
his skinning of the big black bear, and he muttered something that no
one but himself could have heard. “_Non_, it is not possible,” he had
said a moment before; but to Nepeese it was possible—the thought that
was in her mind. It was a wonderful thought. It thrilled her to the
depth of her wild, beautiful soul. It sent a glow into her eyes and a
deeper flush of excitement into her cheeks and lips.
As she quested the ragged edges of the little meadow for signs of the
dog-pup, her thoughts flashed back swiftly. Two years ago they had
buried her princess mother under the tall spruce near their cabin. That
day Pierrot’s sun had set for all time, and her own life was filled with
a vast loneliness. There had been three at the graveside that afternoon
as the sun went down—Pierrot, herself, and a dog, a great, powerful
husky with a white star on his breast and a white-tipped ear. He had
been her dead mother’s pet from puppyhood—her bodyguard, with her
always, even with his head resting on the side of her bed as she died.
And that night, the night of the day they buried her, the dog had
disappeared. He had gone as quietly and as completely as her spirit. No
one ever saw him after that. It was strange, and to Pierrot it was a
miracle. Deep in his heart he was filled with the wonderful conviction
that the dog had gone with his beloved Wyola into heaven.
But Nepeese had spent three winters at the Missioner’s school at Nelson
House. She had learned a great deal about white people and the real God,
and she knew that Pierrot’s thought was impossible. She believed that
her mother’s husky was either dead or had joined the wolves. Probably he
had gone to the wolves. So—was it not possible that this youngster she
and her father had pursued was of the flesh and blood of her mother’s
pet? It was more than possible. The white star on his breast, the
white-tipped ear—the fact that he had not bitten her when he might
easily have buried his fangs in the soft flesh of her arms! She was
convinced. While Pierrot skinned the bear, she began hunting for Baree.
Baree had not moved an inch from under his rock. He lay like a thing
stunned, his eyes fixed steadily on the scene of the tragedy out in the
meadow. He had seen something that he would never forget—even as he
would never quite forget his mother and Kazan and the old windfall. He
had witnessed the death of the creature he had thought all-powerful.
Wakayoo, the big bear, had not even put up a fight. Pierrot and Nepeese
had killed him _without touching him_; now Pierrot was cutting him with
a knife which shot silvery flashes in the sun; and Wakayoo made no
movement. It made Baree shiver, and he drew himself an inch farther back
under the rock, where he was already wedged as if he had been shoved
there by a strong hand.
He could see Nepeese. She came straight back to the break through which
his flight had taken him, and stood at last not more than twenty feet
from where he was hidden. Now that she stood where he could not escape,
she began weaving her shining hair into two thick braids. Baree had
taken his eyes from Pierrot, and he watched her curiously. He was not
afraid now. His nerves tingled. In him a strange and growing force was
struggling to solve a great mystery—the reason for his desire to creep
out from under his rock and approach that wonderful creature with the
shining eyes and the beautiful hair.
Baree wanted to approach. It was like an invisible string tugging at his
very heart. It was Kazan, and not Gray Wolf, calling to him back through
the centuries, a “call” that was as old as the Egyptian pyramids and
perhaps ten thousand years older. But against that desire Gray Wolf was
pulling from out the black ages of the forests. The wolf held him quiet
and motionless. Nepeese was looking about her. She was smiling. For a
moment her face was turned toward him, and he saw the white shine of her
teeth, and her beautiful eyes seemed glowing straight at him.
And then, suddenly, she dropped on her knees and peered under the rock.
Their eyes met. For at least half a minute there was not a sound.
Nepeese did not move, and her breath came so softly that Baree could not
hear it. Then she said, almost in a whisper:
“_Baree! Baree! Upi Baree!_”
It was the first time Baree had heard his name, and there was something
so soft and assuring in the sound of it that in spite of himself the dog
in him responded to it in a whimper that just reached the Willow’s ears.
Slowly she stretched in an arm. It was bare and round and soft. He might
have darted forward the length of his body and buried his fangs in it
easily. But something held him back. He knew that it was not an enemy;
he knew that the dark eyes shining at him so wonderfully were not filled
with the desire to harm—and the voice that came to him softly was like a
strange and thrilling music.
“_Baree! Baree! Upi Baree!_”
Over and over again the Willow called to him like that, while on her
face she tried to draw herself a few inches farther under the rock. She
could not reach him. There was still a foot between her hand and Baree,
and she could not wedge herself in an inch more. And then she saw where
on the other side of the rock there was a hollow, shut in by a stone. If
she had removed the stone, and come in that way——
She drew herself out and stood once more in the sunshine. Her heart
thrilled. Pierrot was busy over his bear—and she would not call him. She
made an effort to move the stone which closed in the hollow under the
big boulder, but it was wedged in tightly. Then she began digging with a
stick. If Pierrot had been there, his sharp eyes would have discovered
the significance of that stone, which was not larger than a water pail.
Possibly for centuries it had lain there, its support keeping the huge
rock from toppling down, just as an ounce-weight may swing the balance
of a wheel that weighs a ton.
Five minutes—and Nepeese could move the stone. She tugged at it. Inch by
inch she dragged it out until at last it lay at her feet and the opening
was ready for her body. She looked again toward Pierrot. He was still
busy, and she laughed softly as she untied a big red-and-white Bay
handkerchief from about her shoulders. With this she would secure Baree.
She dropped on her hands and knees and then lowered herself flat on the
ground and began crawling into the hollow under the boulder.
Baree had moved. With the back of his head flattened against the rock,
he had heard something which Nepeese had not heard; he had felt a slow
and growing pressure, and from this pressure he had dragged himself
slowly—and the pressure still followed. The mass of rock was settling!
Nepeese did not see or hear or understand. She was calling to him more
and more pleadingly:
“Baree—Baree—Baree——”
Her head and shoulders and both arms were under the rock now. The glow
of her eyes was very close to Baree. He whined. The thrill of a great
and impending danger stirred in his blood. And then——
In that moment Nepeese felt the pressure of the rock on her shoulder,
and into the eyes that had been glowing softly at Baree there shot a
sudden wild look of horror. And then there came from her lips a cry that
was not like any other sound Baree had ever heard in the
wilderness—wild, piercing, filled with agonized fear. Pierrot did not
hear that first cry. But he heard the second and the third—and then
scream after scream as the Willow’s tender body was slowly crushed under
the settling mass. He ran toward it with the speed of the wind. The
cries were weaker—dying away. He saw Baree as he came out from under the
rock and ran into the cañon, and in the same instant he saw a part of
the Willow’s dress and her moccasined feet. The rest of her was hidden
under the death-trap. Like a madman Pierrot began digging. When a few
moments later he drew Nepeese out from under the boulder she was white
and deathly still. Her eyes were closed. His hand could not feel that
she was living, and a great moan of anguish rose out of his soul. But he
knew how to fight for a life. He tore open her dress and found that she
was not crushed as he had feared. Then he ran for water. When he
returned, the Willow’s eyes were open and she was gasping for breath.
“The blessed saints be praised!” sobbed Pierrot, falling on his knees at
her side. “_Nepeese, ma Nepeese!_”
She smiled at him, with her two hands on her bare breast, and Pierrot
hugged her up to him, forgetting the water he had run so hard to get.
Still later, when he got down on his knees and peered under the rock,
his face turned white and he said:
“_Mon Dieu_, if it had not been for that little hollow in the earth,
Nepeese——”
He shuddered, and said no more. But Nepeese, happy in her salvation,
made a movement with her hand and said, smiling at him:
“I would have been like—_that_. Ah, _mon père_, I hope I shall never
have a lover like that rock!”
Pierrot’s face darkened as he bent over her.
“_Non!_” he said fiercely. “Never!”
He was thinking again of McTaggart, the factor at Lac Bain, and his
hands clenched while his lips softly touched the Willow’s hair.