From the edge of the open Pierrot saw what had happened, and he gave a
great gasp. He drew back among the balsams. This was not a moment for
him to show himself. While his heart drummed like a hammer, his face was
filled with joy.
On her hands and knees the Willow was peering over the edge. Bush
McTaggart had disappeared. He had gone down like the great clod he was;
the water of her pool had closed over him with a dull splash that was
like a chuckle of triumph. He appeared now, beating out with his arms
and legs to keep himself afloat, while the Willow’s voice came to him in
taunting cries.
“_Bête noir!_ _Bête noir!_ Beast! Beast——”
She flung small sticks and tufts of earth down at him fiercely; and
McTaggart, looking up as he gained his equilibrium, saw her leaning so
far over that she seemed about to fall. Her long braids hung down into
the chasm, gleaming in the sun; her eyes were laughing while her lips
taunted him; he could see the flash of her white teeth.
“Beast! Beast!”
He began swimming, still looking up at her. It was a hundred yards down
the slow-going current to the beach of shale where he could climb out,
and a half of that distance she followed him, laughing and taunting him,
and flinging down sticks and pebbles. He noted that none of the sticks
or stones was large enough to hurt him. When at last his feet touched
bottom, she was gone.
Swiftly Nepeese ran back over the trail, and almost into Pierrot’s arms.
She was panting and laughing when for a moment she stopped.
“I have given him the answer, Nootawe! He is in the pool!”
Into the balsams she disappeared like a bird. Pierrot made no effort to
stop her or to follow.
“_Tonnerre de Dieu!_” he chuckled—and cut straight across for the other
trail.
* * * * *
Nepeese was out of breath when she reached the cabin. Baree, fastened to
a table-leg by a _babiche_ thong, heard her pause for a moment at the
door. Then she entered and came straight to him. During the half-hour of
her absence Baree had scarcely moved. That half-hour, and the few
minutes that had preceded it, had made tremendous impressions upon him.
Nature, heredity, and instinct were at work, clashing and readjusting,
impinging on him a new intelligence—the beginning of a new
understanding. A swift and savage impulse had made him leap at Bush
McTaggart when the Factor put his hand on the Willow’s head. It was not
reason. It was a hearkening back of the dog to that day long ago when
Kazan, his father, had killed the man-brute in the tent, the man-brute
who had dared to attempt the sacrilege of Thorpe’s wife, whom Kazan
worshipped. It was the dog—and woman.
And here again it was the woman. She had called to the great hidden
passion that was in Baree and that had come to him from Kazan. Of all
the living things in the world, he knew that he must not hurt this
creature that appeared to him through the door. He trembled as she knelt
before him again, and up through the years came the wild and glorious
surge of Kazan’s blood, overwhelming the wolf, submerging the savagery
of his birth—and with his head flat on the floor he whined softly, and
_wagged his tail_.
Nepeese gave a cry of joy.
“Baree!” she whispered, taking his head in her hands. “Baree!”
Her touch thrilled him. It sent little throbs through his body, a
tremulous quivering which she could feel and which deepened the glow in
her eyes. Gently her hand stroked his head and his back. It seemed to
Nepeese that he did not breathe. Under the caress of her hand his eyes
closed. In another moment she was talking to him, and at the sound of
her voice his eyes shot open.
“He will come here—that beast—and he will kill us,” she was saying. “He
will kill you because you bit him, Baree. Ugh, I wish you were bigger,
and stronger, so that you could take off his head for me!”
She was untying the _babiche_ from about the table-leg, and under her
breath she laughed. She was not frightened. It was a tremendous
adventure—and she throbbed with exultation at the thought of having
beaten the man-beast in her own way. She could see him in the pool
struggling and beating about like a great fish. He was just about
crawling out of the chasm now—and she laughed again as she caught Baree
up under her arm.
“Oh—_oopi-nao_—but you are heavy!” she gasped. “And yet I must carry
you—because I am going to run!”
She hurried outside. Pierrot had not come, and she darted swiftly into
the balsams back of the cabin, with Baree hung in the crook of her arm,
like a sack filled at both ends and tied in the middle. He felt like
that, too. But he still had no inclination to wriggle himself free.
Nepeese ran with him until her arm ached. Then she stopped and put him
down on his feet, holding to the end of the caribou-skin thong that was
tied about his neck. She was prepared for any lunge he might make to
escape. She expected that he would make an attempt, and for a few
moments she watched him closely, while Baree, with his feet on earth
once more, looked about him. And then the Willow spoke to him softly.
“You are not going to run away, Baree. _Non_, you are going to stay with
me, and we will kill that man-beast if he dares do to me again what he
did back there.” She flung back the loose hair from about her flushed
face, and for a moment she forgot Baree as she thought of that
half-minute at the edge of the chasm. He was looking straight up at her
when her glance fell on him again. “_Non_, you are not going to run
away—you are going to follow me,” she whispered. “Come.”
The _babiche_ string tightened about Baree’s neck as she urged him to
follow. It was like another rabbit-snare, and he braced his forefeet and
bared his fangs just a little. The Willow did not pull. Fearlessly she
put her hand on his head again. From the direction of the cabin came a
shout, and at the sound of it she took Baree up under her arm once more.
“_Bête noir—bête noir!_” she called back tauntingly, but only loud
enough to be heard a few yards away. “Go back to Lac Bain—_owases_—you
wild beast!”
Nepeese began to make her way swiftly through the forest. It grew deeper
and darker, and there were no trails. Three times in the next half-hour
she stopped to put Baree down and rest her arm. Each time she pleaded
with him coaxingly to follow her. The second and third times Baree
wriggled and wagged his tail, but beyond those demonstrations of his
satisfaction at the turn his affairs had taken he would not go. When the
string tightened around his neck, he braced himself; once he
growled—again he snapped viciously at the _babiche_. So Nepeese
continued to carry him.
They came at last into an open. It was a tiny meadow in the heart of the
forest, not more than three or four times as big as the cabin; underfoot
the grass was soft and green, and thick with flowers. Straight through
the heart of this little oasis trickled a streamlet across which the
Willow jumped with Baree under her arm, and on the edge of the rill was
a small wigwam made of freshly cut spruce- and balsam-boughs. Into her
diminutive _mekewap_ the Willow thrust her head to see that things were
as she had left them yesterday. Then, with a long breath of relief, she
put down her four-legged burden and fastened the end of the _babiche_ to
one of the cut spruce-limbs.
Baree burrowed himself back into the wall of the wigwam, and with head
alert—and eyes wide open—watched attentively what happened after this.
Not a movement of the Willow escaped him. She was radiant—and happy. Her
laugh, sweet and wild as a bird’s trill, set Baree’s heart throbbing
with a desire to jump about with her among the flowers.
For a time Nepeese seemed to forget Baree. Her wild blood raced with the
joy of her triumph over the Factor from Lac Bain. She saw him again,
floundering about in the pool—pictured him at the cabin now, soaked and
angry, demanding of _mon père_ where she had gone. And _mon père_, with
a shrug of his shoulders, was telling him that he didn’t know—that
probably she had run off into the forest. It did not enter into her head
that in tricking Bush McTaggart in that way she had played with
dynamite. She did not foresee the peril that in an instant would have
stamped the wild flush from her face and curdled the blood in her
veins—did not guess that McTaggart had become for her a deadlier menace
than ever.
Nepeese knew that he was angry. But what had she to fear? _Mon père_
would be angry, too, if she told him what had happened at the edge of
the chasm. But she would not tell him. He might kill the beast from Lac
Bain. A factor was great. But Pierrot, her father, was greater. It was
an unlimited faith in her, born of her mother. Perhaps even now Pierrot
was sending him back to Lac Bain, telling him that his business was
there. But she would not return to the cabin to see. She would wait
here. _Mon père_ would understand—and he knew where to find her when the
beast was gone. But it would have been such fun to throw sticks at him
as he went!
After a little Nepeese returned to Baree. She brought him water and gave
him a piece of raw fish. For hours they were alone, and with each hour
there grew stronger in Baree the desire to follow the girl in every
movement she made, to crawl close to her when she sat down, to feel the
touch of her dress, of her hand—and hear her voice. But he did not show
this desire. He was still a little savage of the forests—a four-footed
barbarian born half of a wolf and half of a dog; and he lay still. With
Umisk he would have played. With Oohoomisew he would have fought. At
Bush McTaggart he would have bared his fangs, and buried them deep when
the chance came. But the girl was different. Like the Kazan of old, he
had begun to worship. If the Willow had freed Baree, he would not have
run away. If she had left him, he would possibly have followed her—at a
distance. His eyes were never away from her. He watched her build a
small fire and cook a piece of the fish. He watched her eat her dinner.
It was quite late in the afternoon when she came and sat down close to
him, with her lap full of flowers which she twined in the long, shining
braids of her hair. Then, playfully, she began beating Baree with the
end of one of these braids. He shrank under the soft blows, and with
that low, birdlike laughter in her throat, Nepeese drew his head into
her lap where the scatter of flowers lay. She talked to him. Her hand
stroked his head. Then it remained still, so near that he wanted to
thrust out his warm red tongue and caress it. He breathed in the
flower-scented perfume of it—and lay as if dead. It was a glorious
moment. Nepeese, looking down on him, could not see that he was
breathing.
There came an interruption. It was the snapping of a dry stick. Through
the forest Pierrot had come with the stealth of a cat, and when they
looked up, he stood at the edge of the open. Baree knew that it was not
Bush McTaggart. But it was a man-beast! Instantly his body stiffened
under the Willow’s hand. He drew back slowly and cautiously from her
lap, and as Pierrot advanced, Baree snarled. The next instant Nepeese
had risen and had run to Pierrot. The look in her father’s face alarmed
her.
“What has happened, _mon père_?” she cried.
Pierrot shrugged his shoulders.
“Nothing, _ma Nepeese_—except that you have roused a thousand devils in
the heart of the Factor from Lac Bain, and that——”
He stopped as he saw Baree, and pointed at him.
“Last night when M’sieu the Factor caught him in a snare, he bit
M’sieu’s hand. M’sieu’s hand is swollen twice its size, and I can see
his blood turning black. It is _pechipoo_.”
“_Pechipoo!_” gasped Nepeese.
She looked into Pierrot’s eyes. They were dark, and filled with a
sinister gleam—a flash of exultation, she thought.
“Yes, it is the blood-poison,” said Pierrot. A gleam of cunning shot
into his eyes as he looked over his shoulder, and nodded. “I have hidden
the medicine—and told him there is no time to lose in getting back to
Lac Bain. And he is afraid—that devil! He is waiting. With that
blackening hand, he is afraid to start back alone—and so I go with him.
And—listen, _ma Nepeese_. We will be away by sundown, and there is
something you must know before I go.”
Baree saw them there, close together in the shadows thrown by the tall
spruce trees. He heard the low murmur of their voices—chiefly of
Pierrot’s, and at last he saw Nepeese put her two arms up around the
man-beast’s neck, and then Pierrot went away again into the forest. He
thought that the Willow would never turn her face toward him after that.
For a long time she stood looking in the direction which Pierrot had
taken. And when after a time she turned and came back to Baree, she did
not look like the Nepeese who had been twining flowers in her hair. The
laughter was gone from her face and eyes. She knelt down beside him and
with sudden fierceness she cried:
“It is _pechipoo_, Baree! It was you—you—who put the poison in his
blood. And I hope he dies! For I am afraid—afraid!”
She shivered.
Perhaps it was in this moment that the Great Spirit of things meant
Baree to understand—that at last it was given him to comprehend that his
day had dawned, that the rising and the setting of his sun no longer
existed in the sky but in this girl whose hand rested on his head. He
whined softly, and inch by inch he dragged himself nearer to her until
again his head rested in the hollow of her lap.