At the cabin on the Gray Loon, on the fourth night of Baree’s absence,
Pierrot was smoking his pipe after a great supper of caribou tenderloin
he had brought in from the trail, and Nepeese was listening to his tale
of the remarkable shot he had made, when a sound at the door interrupted
them. Nepeese opened it, and Baree came in. The cry of welcome that was
on the girl’s lips died there instantly, and Pierrot stared as if he
could not quite believe this creature that had returned was the
wolf-dog. Three days and nights of hunger in which he could not hunt
because of the leg that dragged had put on him the marks of starvation.
Battle-scarred and covered with dried blood-clots that still clung
tenaciously to his long hair, he was a sight that drew at last a long
breath from Nepeese. A queer smile was growing in Pierrot’s face as he
leaned forward in his chair; and then slowly rising to his feet, and
looking closer, he said to Nepeese:
“_Ventre Saint Gris! Oui_, he has been to the pack, Nepeese, and the
pack turned on him. It was not a two-wolf fight—_non!_ It was the pack.
He is cut and torn in fifty places. And—_mon Dieu_, he is alive!”
In Pierrot’s voice there was growing wonder and amazement. He was
incredulous, and yet he could not disbelieve what his eyes told him.
What had happened was nothing short of a miracle, and for a time he
uttered not a word more but remained staring in silence while Nepeese
woke from her astonishment to give Baree doctoring and food. After he
had eaten ravenously of cold boiled mush she began bathing his wounds in
warm water, and after that she soothed them with bear-grease, talking to
him all the time in her soft Cree. After the pain and hunger and
treachery of his adventure, it was a wonderful homecoming for Baree. He
slept that night at the foot of the Willow’s bed. The next morning it
was the cool caress of his tongue on her hand that awakened her.
With this day they resumed the comradeship interrupted by Baree’s
temporary desertion. The attachment was greater than ever on Baree’s
part. It was he who had run away from the Willow, who had deserted her
at the call of the pack, and it seemed at times as though he sensed the
depths of his perfidy and was striving to make amends. There was
indubitably a very great change in him. He hung to Nepeese like a
shadow. Instead of sleeping at night in the spruce shelter Pierrot made
for him, he made himself a little hollow in the earth close to the cabin
door. Pierrot thought that he understood, and Nepeese thought that she
understood still more; but in reality the key to the mystery remained
with Baree himself. He no longer played as he had played before he went
off alone into the forest. He did not chase sticks, or run until he was
winded, for the pure joy of running. His puppyishness was gone. In its
place was a great worship and a rankling bitterness, a love for the girl
and a hatred for the pack and all that it stood for. Whenever he heard
the wolf-howl, it brought an angry snarl into his throat, and he would
bare his fangs until even Pierrot would draw a little away from him. But
a touch of the girl’s hand would quiet him.
In a week or two the heavier snows came, and Pierrot began making his
trips over the trap-lines. Nepeese had entered into a thrilling bargain
with him this winter. Pierrot had taken her into partnership. Every
fifth trap, every fifth deadfall, and every fifth poison-bait was to be
her own, and what they caught or killed was to bring a bit nearer to
realization a wonderful dream that was growing in the Willow’s soul.
Pierrot had promised. If they had great luck that winter, they would go
down together on the last snows to Nelson House and buy the little old
organ that was for sale there; and if the organ was sold, they would
work another winter, and get a new one.
This plan gave Nepeese an enthusiastic and tireless interest in the
trap-line. With Pierrot it was more or less a fine bit of strategy. He
would have sold his hand to give Nepeese the organ; he was determined
that she should have it, whether the fifth traps and the fifth deadfalls
and the fifth poison-baits caught the fur or not. The partnership meant
nothing so far as that was concerned. But in another way it meant to
Nepeese a business interest, the thrill of personal achievement. Pierrot
impressed on her that it made a comrade and co-worker of her on the
trail. That was his scheme: to keep her with him when he was away from
the cabin. He knew that Bush McTaggart would come again to the Gray
Loon, probably more than once during the winter. He had swift dogs, and
it was a short journey. And when McTaggart came, Nepeese must not be at
the cabin—alone.
Pierrot’s trap-line swung into the north and west, covering in all a
matter of fifty miles, with an average of two traps, one deadfall, and a
poison-bait to each mile. It was a twisting line blazed along streams
for mink, otter, and marten, piercing the deepest forests for fisher-cat
and lynx and crossing lakes and storm-swept strips of barrens where
poison-baits could be set for fox and wolf. Halfway over this line
Pierrot had built a small log cabin, and at the end of it another, so
that a day’s work meant twenty-five miles. This was easy for Pierrot,
and not hard on Nepeese after the first few days.
All through October and November they made the trips regularly, making
the round every six days, which gave one day of rest at the cabin on the
Gray Loon and another day in the cabin at the end of the trail. To
Pierrot the winter’s work was business, the labour of his people for
many generations back; to Nepeese and Baree it was a wild and joyous
adventure that never for a day grew tiresome. Even Pierrot could not
quite immunize himself against their enthusiasm. It was infectious, and
he was happier than he had been since his sun had set that evening the
princess mother died.
They were splendid months. Fur was thick, and it was steadily cold
without bad storm. Nepeese not only carried a small pack on her
shoulders in order that Pierrot’s load might be lighter, but she trained
Baree to bear tiny shoulder-panniers which she manufactured. In these
panniers Baree carried the bait. In at least a third of the total number
of traps set there was always what Pierrot called trash—rabbits, owls,
whisky-jacks, jays, and squirrels. These, with the skin or feathers
stripped off, made up the bulk of the bait for the traps ahead.
One afternoon early in December, as they were returning to the Gray
Loon, Pierrot stopped suddenly a dozen paces ahead of Nepeese and stared
at the snow. A strange snowshoe trail had joined their own and was
heading toward the cabin. For half a minute Pierrot was silent and
scarcely moved a muscle as he stared. The trail came straight out of the
north—and off there was Lac Bain. Also they were the marks of large
snowshoes, and the stride indicated was that of a tall man. Before
Pierrot had spoken, Nepeese had guessed what they meant.
“M’sieu the Factor from Lac Bain!” she said.
Baree was sniffing suspiciously at the strange trail. They heard the low
growl in his throat, and Pierrot’s shoulders stiffened.
“Yes, the M’sieu,” he said.
The Willow’s heart beat more swiftly as they went on. She was not afraid
of McTaggart, not physically afraid; and yet something rose up in her
breast and choked her at thought of his presence on the Gray Loon. Why
was he there? It was not necessary for Pierrot to answer the question,
even had she given voice to it. She knew. The Factor from Lac Bain had
no business there—except to see her. The blood burned red in her cheeks
as she thought again of that minute on the edge of the chasm when he had
almost crushed her in his arms. Would he try _that_ again?
Pierrot, deep in his own sombre thoughts, scarcely heard the strange
laugh that came suddenly from her lips. Nepeese was listening to the
growl that was again in Baree’s throat. It was a low but terrible sound.
When half a mile from the cabin, she unslung the panniers from his
shoulders and carried them herself. Ten minutes later they saw a man
advancing to meet them.
It was not McTaggart. Pierrot recognized him, and with an audible breath
of relief waved his hand. It was DeBar, who trapped in the Barren
Country north of Lac Bain. Pierrot knew him well. They had exchanged
fox-poison. They were friends, and there was pleasure in the grip of
their hands. DeBar stared then at Nepeese.
“Tonnerre, she has grown into a woman!” he cried, and like a woman
Nepeese looked at him straight with the colour deepening in her cheeks,
as he bowed low with a courtesy that dated back a couple of centuries
beyond the trap-line.
DeBar lost no time in explaining his mission, and before they reached
the cabin Pierrot and Nepeese knew why he had come. M’sieu, the Factor
at Lac Bain, was leaving on a journey in five days, and he had sent
DeBar as a special messenger to request Pierrot to come up to assist the
clerk and the halfbreed storekeeper in his absence. Pierrot made no
comment at first. But he was thinking. Why had Bush McTaggart sent for
_him_? Why had he not chosen some one nearer? Not until a fire was
crackling in the sheet-iron stove in the cabin, and Nepeese was busily
engaged getting supper, did he voice these questions to the fox-hunter.
DeBar shrugged his shoulders.
“He asked me, at first, if I could stay. But I have a wife with a bad
lung, Pierrot. It was caught by frost last winter, and I dare not leave
her long alone. He has great faith in you. Besides, you know all the
trappers on the Company’s books at Lac Bain. So he sent for you, and
begs you not to worry about your fur-lines, as he will pay you double
what you would catch in the time you are at the Post.”
“And—Nepeese?” said Pierrot. “M’sieu expects me to bring her?”
From the stove the Willow bent her head to listen, and her heart leaped
free again at DeBar’s answer.
“He said nothing about that. But surely—it will be a great change for
li’le m’selle.”
Pierrot nodded.
“Possibly, _Netootam_.”
They discussed the matter no more that night. But for hours Pierrot was
still, thinking, and a hundred times he asked himself that same
question: Why had McTaggart sent for _him_? He was not the only man well
known to the trappers on the Company’s books. There was Wassoon, for
instance, the halfbreed Scandinavian whose cabin was less than four
hours’ journey from the post—or Baroche, the white-bearded old Frenchman
who lived yet nearer and whose word was as good as the Bible. It must
be, he told himself finally, that M’sieu had sent for _him_ because he
wanted to win over the father of Nepeese and gain the friendship of
Nepeese herself. For this was undoubtedly a very great honour that the
Factor was conferring on him. And yet, deep down in his heart, he was
filled with suspicion.
When DeBar was about to leave the next morning, Pierrot said:
“Tell M’sieu that I will leave for Lac Bain the day after to-morrow.”
After DeBar had gone, he said to Nepeese:
“And you shall remain here, _ma chérie_. I will not take you to Lac
Bain. I have had a dream that M’sieu will not go on a journey, but that
he has lied, and that he will be sick when I arrive at the post. And
yet, if it should happen that you care to go——”
Nepeese straightened suddenly, like a reed that has been caught by the
wind.
“_Non!_” she cried, so fiercely that Pierrot laughed, and rubbed his
hands.
So it happened that on the second day after the fox-hunter’s visit
Pierrot left for Lac Bain, with Nepeese in the door waving him good-bye
until he was out of sight.
* * * * *
On the morning of this same day Bush McTaggart rose from his bed while
it was still dark. The time had come. He had hesitated at murder—at the
killing of Pierrot; and in his hesitation he had found a better way.
There could be no escape for Nepeese.
It was a wonderful scheme, so easy of accomplishment, so inevitable in
its outcome. And all the time Pierrot would think he was away to the
east on a mission!
He ate his breakfast before dawn, and was on the trail before it was yet
light. Purposely he struck due east, so that in coming up from the south
and west Pierrot would not strike his sledge tracks. For he had made up
his mind now that Pierrot must never know and must never have a
suspicion, even though it cost him so many more miles to travel that he
would not reach the Gray Loon until the second day. It was better to be
a day late, after all, as it was possible that something might have
delayed Pierrot. So he made no effort to travel fast.
There was a vast amount of brutal satisfaction to McTaggart in
anticipating what was about to happen, and he revelled in it to the
full. There was no chance for disappointment. He was positive that
Nepeese would not accompany her father to Lac Bain. She would be at the
cabin on the Gray Loon—alone.
This aloneness was to Nepeese burdened with no thought of danger. There
were times, now, when the thought of being alone was pleasant to her,
when she wanted to dream by herself, when she visioned things into the
mysteries of which she would not admit even Pierrot. She was growing
into womanhood—just the sweet, closed bud of womanhood as yet—still a
girl with the soft velvet of girlhood in her eyes, yet with the mystery
of woman stirring gently in her soul, as if the Great Hand were
hesitating between awakening her and letting her sleep a little longer.
At these times, when the opportunity came to steal hours by herself, she
would put on the red dress and do up her wonderful hair as she saw it in
the pictures of the magazines Pierrot had sent up twice a year from
Nelson House.
On the second day of Pierrot’s absence Nepeese dressed herself like
this, but to-day she let her hair cascade in a shining glory about her,
and about her forehead bound a circlet of red ribbon. She was not yet
done. To-day she had marvellous designs. On the wall close to her mirror
she had tacked a large page from a woman’s magazine, and on this page
was a lovely vision of curls. Fifteen hundred miles north of the sunny
California studio in which the picture had been taken, Nepeese, with
pouted red lips and puckered forehead, was fighting to master the
mystery of the other girl’s curls!
She was looking into her mirror, her face flushed and her eyes aglow in
the excitement of the struggle to fashion one of the coveted ringlets
from a tress that fell away below her hips, when the door opened behind
her, and Bush McTaggart walked in.