FREE!
Ambrose put off with a heart big with compassion for the piteous little
figure he was leaving behind him. His impotence to aid her poisoned
the joy of his escape.
The worst of it was that it was impossible for him to return the
feeling she had for him--even though Colina were lost to him forever.
Her unlucky passion almost forbade him to be the one to aid her.
Yet he had profited by that passion to make his escape. He must find
some way.
As he drove his paddle into the breast of the dark river, and put one
point of willows after another between him and danger, it must be
confessed that his spirits rose steadily.
Never had his nostrils tasted anything sweeter than the smell of warm
river water on the chill air, nor his eyes beheld a friendlier sight
than the cheery stars. The one who fares forth does not repine.
After all he had only known Nesis for two days; she was fine and
plucky--but he could not love her, and that was all there was to it.
He had matters nearer his heart than the sad fate of an Indian maiden.
Master of his actions once more it was time for him to consider what to
do to get out of the coil he was in. Nesis passed into the back of his
mind.
No desire for sleep hampered him. He had had enough of sleeping the
past two weeks. His arms had ached for this exercise. There was a
fair current, and the willows moved by at a respectable rate.
He estimated that he could put forty miles between him and the Kakisa
village by morning. The pleasant taste of freedom was heightened by
the spice of heading into the unknown, and by night.
Night returns a rare sympathy to those who cultivate her. Ambrose, so
far as he knew, was the first white man ever to travel this way. This
river had no voice. The night was so still one could almost fancy one
heard the stars.
Sometimes the looming shapes of islands confused him as to his course,
but if he held his paddle the canoe would of itself choose the main
current.
He had no apprehension as to what each bend in the stream would reveal,
for with the experienced riverman's intuition he looked for a change in
the character of the shores to warn him of any interruption of the
current's smooth flow.
"Like old times, old fel'!" he said to his dumb partner.
Job's tail thumped on the gunwale. Ambrose contended that at night Job
purposely turned stern formost to the most convenient hard object that
his signals might be audible.
"To-night is ours anyway, old fel'," said Ambrose. "Let's enjoy it
while we can. The worst is yet to come!"
It was many a day since Job had heard this jocular note in his master's
voice. He wriggled a little and whined in his eagerness to reach him.
Job knew better than to attempt to move much in the bark canoe.
In due course the miracle of dawn was enacted on the river. The world
stole out of the dark like a woman wan with watching. First the line
of tree-tops on either bank became blackly silhouetted against the
graying sky, then little by little the masses of trees and bushes
resolved into individuals.
Perspective came into being, afterward atmosphere, and finally color.
The scene was as cool and delicate as that presented to a diver on the
floor of the sea. As the light increased it was as if he mounted into
shallower water toward the sun.
The first distinctive note of color was the astonishing green of the
goosegrass springing in the mud left by the falling water; then the
current itself became a rich, brown with creamy flakes of foam sailing
down like little vessels. While Ambrose looked, the world blossomed
from a pale nun into a ruddy matron.
With the rising of the sun the need of sleep began to afflict him. He
had thought he never would need sleep again. His paddle became leaden
in his hands, and Olympian yawns prostrated him.
He did not wish to take the time to sleep as yet, but he resolved to
stimulate his flagging energies with bread and hot tea.
Landing on a point of stones, he built a fire, and hung his little
copper pot over it. The sight of everything he had been provided with
brought the thought of Nesis sharply home again, and sobered him.
Here was everything a traveler might require, even including two extra
pairs of moccasins, worked, he was sure, by herself. "How can I ever
repay her?" he thought uncomfortably.
Job was gyrating madly up and down the beach to express his joy at
their deliverance. Ambrose was aroused from a drowsy contemplation of
the fire by an urgent bark from the dog.
Looking up, he was frozen with astonishment to behold another bark
canoe sweeping around the bend above. When motion returned to him, his
hand instinctively shot out toward the gun. But there was only one
figure. It was a woman--it was Nesis!
Ambrose dropped the gun and, jumping up, swore helplessly under his
breath. He stared at the oncoming boat, fascinated with perplexity.
During the few seconds between his first sight of it and its grounding
at his feet, the complications bound to follow on her coming presented
themselves with a horrible clearness. His face turned grim.
Nesis, landing, could not face his look. She flung up an arm over her
eyes. "Ah, don't look so mad to me!" she faltered.
"God help us!" muttered Ambrose. "What will we do now?"
She sank down in a heap at his feet. "Don't, don't hate me or I die!"'
she wailed.
It was impossible for him to remain angry with the forlorn little
creature. He laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Get up," he said with a sigh. "I'm not blaming you. The question
is--what are we going to do?"
She lifted her head. "I go with you," she whispered breathlessly. "I
help you in the rapids. I bake bread for you. I watch at night."
He shook his head. "You've got to go back," he said sternly.
"No! No!" she cried, wringing her hands. "I can' go back no more!
Las' night when you go I fall down. I think I goin' die. I sorry I
not die. I want jump in river; but the priest say that is a bad thing.
"I can' go back to Watusk's teepee no more. If he touch me I got kill
him! That is bad, too! I don't know what to do! I want be good so I
see my fat'er bam-by!"
Ambrose groaned.
She thought he was relenting, and came and wound her arms about him.
"Tak' me wit' you," she pleaded like a little child. "I be good,
Angleysman!"
Ambrose firmly detached the imploring arms. "You mustn't do that," he
said as to a child. "We've got to think hard what to do."
"Ah, you hate me!" she wailed.
"That's nonsense!" he said sharply. "I am your friend. I will never
forget what you did for me!"
He took an abrupt turn up and down the stones, trying to think what to
do. "Look here," he said finally. "I've got to hurt you. I should
have told you before, but I couldn't bring myself to hurt you. I can't
love you the way you want. I'm in love with another woman."
She flung away from him, shoulder up as if he had raised a whip. Her
face turned ugly.
"You love white woman!" she hissed with extraordinary passion. "Colina
Gaviller! I know! I hate her! She proud and wicked woman. She hate
my people!" Nesis's eyes flamed up with a kind of bitter triumph. Her
voice rose shrilly.
"She hate you, too! Always she is bad to you. I know that, too. What
you want wit' Colina Gaviller? Are you a dog to lie down when she beat
you?"
Ambrose's eyes gleamed ominously. "Stop it!" he cried. "You don't
know what you're talking about." His look intimidated her. The fury of
jealousy subsided to a sullen muttering. "I hate her! She bad to the
people. She want starve the people. She think her yellow horse better
than an Indian!"
Ambrose, seeing her lip begin to tremble and her eyes fill, relented.
"Stop it," he said mildly. "No use for us to quarrel."
She suddenly broke into a storm of weeping and cast herself down,
hiding her face in her arms. Ambrose could think of nothing better to
do than let her weep herself out. He sat down on a boulder.
She came creeping to him at last, utterly humbled. "Angleysman, tak'
me wit' you," she murmured, clasping her hands before him. Her breath
was still caught with sobs. "I not expec' you marry me. I not bot'er
you wit' much talk lak' a wife. I jus' be your little servant. You
not want me, you say: Go 'way. I jus' wait till you want me again."
Ambrose turned his head away. He had never imagined a man having to go
through with anything like this.
"Always, always I work for you," she whispered. "Let Colina Gaviller
marry you. She not mind me. I guess she not mind that little dog you
love. I jus' poor, common red girl. She think not'ing of me!"
Ambrose laughed a bitter note at the picture she called up. "That
would hardly work," he said.
"But tak' me wit' you," she implored. She finally ventured to lay her
cheek on his knee.
He laid a hand on her hair. "Listen, you baby," he said, "and try to
understand me. You know that they are going to try to put off all this
trouble on me. They will say I made the Indians do bad. They will say
I tried to kill John Gaviller. The police will arrest me, and there
will be a trial. You know what that is."
"Everybody see you not a bad man," she said.
"It's not as simple as that," he said with a wry smile. "I have nobody
to speak for me but myself. Now, if you go away with me everybody will
say: 'Ambrose Doane stole Watusk's wife away from him. Ambrose Doane
is a bad man.' And then they will not believe me when I say I did not
lead the Indians into wrong; I did not try to kill John Gaviller."
"I speak for you," cried Nesis. "I tell Gordon Strange and Watusk fix
all trouble together."
"If you go with me, they will not believe you either," said Ambrose
patiently. "They will say: 'Nesis is crazy about Ambrose Doane. He
makes her say whatever he wants.'"
"It is the truth I am crazy 'bout you," said Nesis.
Ambrose sighed. "Listen to me. I tell you straight, if you go with me
it will ruin me. I am as good as a jailbird already."
She gave her head an impatient shake. "I not understand," she said
sadly. "You say it. I guess it is truth."
There was a silence. Nesis's childlike brows were bent into a frown.
She glanced into his face to see if there was any reprieve from the
hard sentence. Finally she said very low:
"Angleysman, you got go to jail if you tak' me?"
"Sure as fate!" he said sadly.
She got up very slowly. "I guess I ver' foolish," she murmured. She
waited, obviously to give him a chance to speak. He was mum.
"I go back now," she whispered heart-brokenly, and turned toward her
canoe.
With her hand on the prow she waited again, not looking at him, hoping
against hope. There was something crushed and palpitating in her
aspect like a wounded bird. Ambrose felt like a monster of cruelty.
Suddenly a fresh fear attacked him. "Nesis," he asked, "how will you
explain being away overnight? They will connect it with my escape.
What will they do to you?"
She turned her head, showing him a painful little smile. "You not
think of that before," she murmured. "I not care what they do by me.
You not love me."
He strode to her and clapped a rough hand on her shoulder. "Here, I
couldn't have them hurt you!" he cried harshly. "You baby! You come
with me. I'm in as bad as I can be already. A little more or less
won't make any difference. I'll chance it, anyway. You come with me!"
"Oh, my Angleysman!" she breathed, and sank a little limp heap at his
feet.
Ambrose blew up the forgotten fire and made tea. Nesis quickly
revived. Having made up his mind to take her, he put the best possible
face on it.
There were to be no more reproaches. Her pitiful anxiety not to anger
him again made him wince. Her eyes never left his face. If he so much
as frowned at an uncomfortable thought they became tragic.
"Look here, I'm not a brute!" he cried, exasperated.
Nesis looked foolish, and quickly turned her head away.
Over their tea and bannock they became almost cheerful. Motion had
made them both hungry.
Ambrose glanced at their slender store. "We'll never hang out to the
lake at this rate," he said laughing.
"I set rabbit snare when we sleep," Nesis said quickly. "I catch fish.
I shoot wild duck."
"Shall we leave one of the canoes?" asked Ambrose.
She shook her head vigorously. "Each tak' one. Maybe one bus' in
rapids. You sleep in your canoe now. I pull you."
Ambrose shook his head. "No sleep until to-night," he said.
Ambrose was lighting his pipe and Nesis was gathering up the things
when suddenly Job sprang up, barking furiously. At the same moment
half a score of dark faces rose above the bank behind them, and
gun-barrels stuck up.
Among the ten was a distorted, snarling, yellow face. Ambrose snatched
up his own gun. Nesis uttered a gasping cry; such a sound of terror
Ambrose had never heard.
"Shoot me!" she gasped, crawling toward him. "You shoot me!
Angleysman, quick! Shoot me!"
Her heartrending cries had so confused him, he was seized before he
could raise his gun.