From the window, her face screened by the folds of the curtain which she
had made for it, the Willow saw what happened outside. She was not
smiling now. She was breathing quickly, and her body was tense. Bush
McTaggart paused not a dozen feet from the window and shook hands with
Pierrot, her father. She heard McTaggart’s coarse voice, his boisterous
greeting, and then she saw him showing Pierrot what he carried under his
arm. There came to her distinctly his explanation of how he had caught
his captive in a rabbit-snare. He unwrapped the blanket. Nepeese gave a
cry of amazement. In an instant she was out beside them. She did not
look at McTaggart’s red face, blazing in its joy and exultation.
“It is Baree!” she cried.
She took the bundle from McTaggart and turned to Pierrot.
“Tell him that Baree belongs to me,” she said.
She hurried into the cabin. McTaggart looked after her, stunned and
amazed. Then he looked at Pierrot. A man half blind could have seen that
Pierrot was as amazed as he. Nepeese had not spoken to him—the Factor of
Lac Bain! She had not _looked_ at him! And she had taken the dog from
him with as little concern as though he had been a wooden man. The red
in his face deepened as he stared from Pierrot to the door through which
she had gone, and which she had closed behind her.
On the floor of the cabin Nepeese dropped on her knees and finished
unwrapping the blanket. She was not afraid of Baree. She had forgotten
McTaggart. And then, as Baree rolled in a limp heap on the floor, she
saw his half-closed eyes and the dry blood on his jaws, and the light
left her face as swiftly as the sun is shadowed by a cloud. “Baree,” she
cried softly. “Baree—Baree!”
She partly lifted him in her two hands. Baree’s head sagged. His body
was numbed until he was powerless to move. His legs were without
feeling. He could scarcely see. But he heard her voice! It was the same
voice that had come to him that day he had felt the sting of the bullet,
the voice that had pleaded with him under the rock!
The voice of the Willow thrilled Baree. It seemed to stir the sluggish
blood in his veins, and he opened his eyes wider and saw again the
wonderful stars that had glowed at him so softly the day of Wakayoo’s
death. One of the Willow’s long braids fell over her shoulder, and he
smelled again the sweet scent of her hair as her hand caressed him and
her voice talked to him. Then she got up suddenly and left him, and he
did not move while he waited for her. In a moment she was back with a
basin of water and a cloth. Gently she washed the blood from his eyes
and mouth. And still Baree made no move. He scarcely breathed. But
Nepeese saw the little quivers that shot through his body when her hand
touched him, like electric shocks.
“He beat you with a club,” she was saying, her dark eyes within a foot
of Baree’s. “He beat you! That man-beast!”
There came an interruption. The door opened, and the man-beast stood
looking down on them, a grin on his red face. Instantly Baree showed
that he was alive. He sprang back from under the Willow’s hand with a
sudden snarl and faced McTaggart. The hair of his spine stood up like a
brush; his fangs gleamed menacingly, and his eyes burned like living
coals.
“There is a devil in him,” said McTaggart. “He is wild—born of the wolf.
You must be careful or he will take off a hand, _ka sakahet_!” It was
the first time he had called her that lover’s name in Cree—_sweetheart_!
Her heart pounded. She bent her head for a moment over her clenched
hands, and McTaggart—looking down on what he thought was her
confusion—laid his hand caressingly on her hair. From the door Pierrot
had heard the word, and now he saw the caress, and he raised a hand as
if to shut out the sight of a sacrilege.
“_Mon Dieu!_” he breathed.
In the next instant he had given a sharp cry of wonder that mingled with
a sudden yell of pain from McTaggart. Like a flash Baree had darted
across the floor and fastened his teeth in the Factor’s leg. They had
bitten deep before McTaggart freed himself with a powerful kick. With an
oath he snatched his revolver from its holster. The Willow was ahead of
him. With a little cry she darted to Baree and caught him in her arms.
As she looked up at McTaggart, her soft, bare throat was within a few
inches of Baree’s naked fangs. Her eyes blazed.
“You beat him!” she cried. “He hates you—hates you——”
[Illustration: With an oath McTaggart snatched his revolver from its
holster. The Willow was ahead of him. With a little cry she darted to
Baree and caught him in her arms.... Her eyes blazed. “You beat him!”
she cried. “He hates you—hates you—hates you.”]
“Let him go!” called Pierrot in an agony of fear.
“_Mon Dieu!_ I say let him go or he will tear the life from you!”
“He hates you—hates you—hates you——” the Willow was repeating over and
over again into McTaggart’s startled face. Then suddenly she turned to
her father. “No, he will not tear the life from me,” she cried. “See! It
is Baree. Did I not tell you that? It is Baree! Is it not proof that he
defended me——”
“From me!” gasped McTaggart, his face darkening.
Pierrot advanced and laid a hand on McTaggart’s arm. He was smiling.
“Let us leave them to fight it out between themselves, m’sieu,” he said.
“They are two little firebrands, and we are not safe. If she is
bitten——”
He shrugged his shoulders. A great load had been lifted from them
suddenly. His voice was soft and persuasive. And now the anger had gone
out of the Willow’s face. A coquettish uplift of her eyes caught
McTaggart, and she looked straight at him half smiling, as she spoke to
her father:
“I will join you soon, _mon père_—you and M’sieu the Factor from Lac
Bain!”
There were undeniable little devils in her eyes, McTaggart
thought—little devils laughing full at him as she spoke, setting his
brain afire and his blood to running wildly. Those eyes—full of dancing
witches! How he would tame them and play with them—very soon now! He
followed Pierrot outside. In his exultation he no longer felt the smart
of Baree’s teeth.
“I will show you my new cariole that I have made for winter, m’sieu,”
said Pierrot as the door closed behind them.
* * * * *
Half an hour later Nepeese came out of the cabin. She could see that
Pierrot and the Factor had been talking about something that had not
been pleasant to her father. His face was strained. She caught in his
eyes the smoulder of fire which he was trying to smother, as one might
smother flames under a blanket. McTaggart’s jaws were set, but his eyes
flared up with pleasure when he saw her. She knew what it was about. The
Factor from Lac Bain had been demanding his answer of Pierrot, and
Pierrot had been telling him what she had insisted upon—that he must
come to her. And he was coming! She turned with a quick beating of the
heart and hurried down a little path. She heard McTaggart’s footsteps
behind her, and threw the flash of a smile over her shoulder. But her
teeth were set tight. The nails of her fingers were cutting into the
palms of her hands.
Pierrot stood without moving. He watched them as they disappeared into
the edge of the forest, Nepeese still a few steps ahead of McTaggart.
Out of his breast rose a sharp breath.
“_Par les mille cornes du diable!_” he swore softly. “Is it
possible—that she smiles from her heart at that beast? _Non!_ It is
impossible. And yet—if it is so——”
One of his brown hands tightened convulsively about the handle of the
knife in his belt, and slowly he began to follow them.
McTaggart did not hurry to overtake Nepeese. She was following the
narrow path deeper into the forest, and he was glad of that. They would
be alone—away from Pierrot. He was ten steps behind her, and again the
Willow smiled at him over her shoulder. Her body moved sinuously and
swiftly. She was keeping accurate measurement of the distance between
them—but McTaggart did not guess that this was why she looked back every
now and then. He was satisfied to let her go on. When she turned from
the narrow trail into a side path that scarcely bore the mark of travel,
his heart gave an exultant jump. If she kept on, he would very soon have
her alone—a good distance from the cabin. The blood ran hot in his face.
He did not speak to her, through fear that she would stop. Ahead of them
he heard the rumble of water. It was the creek running through the
chasm.
Nepeese was making straight for that sound. With a little laugh she
started to run, and when she stood at the edge of the chasm, McTaggart
was fully fifty yards behind her. Twenty feet sheer down there was a
deep pool between the rock walls, a pool so deep that it was like blue
ink. She turned to face the Factor from Lac Bain. He had never looked
more like a red beast to her. Until this moment she had been unafraid.
But now—in an instant—he terrified her. Before she could speak what she
had planned to say, he was at her side, and had taken her face between
his two great hands, his coarse fingers twining in the silken strands of
her thick braids where they fell over her shoulders at the neck.
“_Ka sakahet!_” he cried passionately. “Pierrot said you would have an
answer for me. But I need no answer now. You are mine! Mine!”
She gave a cry. It was a gasping, broken cry. His arms were about her
like bands of iron, crushing her slender body, shutting off her breath,
turning the world almost black for her. She could neither struggle nor
cry out. She felt the hot passion of his lips on her face, heard his
voice—and then came a moment’s freedom, and air into her strangled
lungs. Pierrot was calling! He had come to the fork in the trail, and he
was calling the Willow’s name!
McTaggart’s hot hand came over her mouth.
“Don’t answer,” she heard him say.
Strength—anger—hatred flared up in her, and fiercely she struck the hand
down. Something in her wonderful eyes held McTaggart. They blazed into
his very soul.
“_Bête noir!_” she panted at him, freeing herself from the last touch of
his hands. “Beast—black beast!” Her voice trembled, and her face flamed.
“See—I came to show you my pool—and tell you what you wanted to hear—and
you—you—have crushed me like a beast—like a great rock——See! down
there—it is my pool!”
She had not planned it like this. She had intended to be smiling, even
laughing, in this moment. But McTaggart had spoiled them—her carefully
made plans! And yet, as she pointed, the Factor from Lac Bain looked for
an instant over the edge of the chasm. And then she laughed—laughed as
she gave him a sudden shove from behind.
“And that is my answer, M’sieu le Facteur from Lac Bain!” she cried
tauntingly as he plunged headlong into the deep pool between the rock
walls.