THE CLOVEN HOOF
Next morning before Loseis had breakfasted, Gault was back at the
Women’s House, knocking deprecatingly at the door.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so early,” he said, “but I forgot something
last night; and I’m holding my messenger now until I can get it from
you.”
“What is that?” asked Loseis.
“May I come in?” he said smiling.
Loseis led the way into her room.
Gault had several sheets of paper in his hand. “If, as I suspect,” he
began in the smooth voice which so exasperated Loseis without her
knowing why, “Blackburn has sums of money lying in the bank outside,
that belongs to you, of course; but you could not draw against it unless
the bank was already in possession of your signature. Therefore, in
order to save time, I propose to send out several specimens of your
signature now. I will put them in the hands of your lawyer, who will in
turn pass them on to the bank.”
This sounded all right to Loseis, who proceeded to write her name on
each of the four blank sheets that Gault passed her. Loseis had had
small occasion to practice the art of handwriting, and it was but slowly
that she formed the great round letters of her official name.
_Laurentia Blackburn_
“Laurentia!” murmured Gault in a fond voice. “What an odd name.”
“I believe I was named after a chain of mountains,” said Loseis dryly.
“But how dignified and melodious!” he said. “Laurentia . . . Laurentia
. . . !”
She shot an irritated glance at him through her lashes. Had the man
nothing better to do than to stand there mouthing her name in that
ridiculous fashion! Loseis privately detested her name. Jane would have
been more to her fancy.
Gault gathered up the sheets, and made as if to go. At the door he
paused: “I say,” he said, like one speaking to a child, “isn’t there
something at Fort Good Hope that you would like my messenger to bring
back to you? I have a regular ‘outside’ store at Good Hope, you know.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” said Loseis quickly. “Nothing at all!”
“Just the same,” said Gault with that arch smile of his, “I will see if
we cannot find something that will please you!”
As he went through the door Loseis involuntarily flung up her arms
crying: “Oh, give me air! Give me air!”
Mary-Lou came running in to see what was the matter.
Loseis kicked a fur rug violently to one side, and banged open the
little window. “Oh, that man is like a bearskin tied over one’s head;
like a feather bed upon one!” she cried. Standing back from the window
she angrily apostrophized the receding figure of Gault. “Yes, you! you!
If I have to see you every day I shall suffocate!” Turning around and
beholding the amazed figure of Mary-Lou, Loseis suddenly embraced her,
and dropping her head on her shoulder, burst into tears.
“But what is the matter?” gasped Mary-Lou.
“I don’t know!” wailed Loseis. “I must be crazy! He speaks fair and
honest; he is always polite and kind . . . but . . . but I _can’t stand_
the man!”
* * * * *
Before the morning was out Gault was seen returning. Loseis, who had
persuaded herself that she was a fool, schooled herself to receive him
politely. He was accompanied this time by one of his Crees, who was
carrying a neat leather-covered box by its handle. Gault never performed
such menial tasks for himself. There was enough of the child in Loseis
to be rendered intensely curious by the sight of that box.
The trader dismissed his servant at the door, and brought the box in
himself. Upon being laid on the table and opened, a most fascinating and
complicated little machine was revealed, all shining with nickel-plate
and black lacquer. Loseis had not the remotest idea of what it was for.
“This is the typewriter; the writing-machine,” explained the trader. “I
have another one at the Post which I have sent for. In the meantime I
want to present this to you. I thought it might amuse you to practice on
it; and it will certainly save you time. Now that you are a business
woman, you will have many letters to write.”
Loseis’ heart was touched by this seeming act of kindness. She felt
remorseful. “That is very good of you,” she said, blushing. “It is true,
I am a miserable writer. But I shall never be able to learn this.”
“On the contrary,” said Gault. “It is very simple. Sit down at the table
and I will show you now.”
Loseis obeyed; and Gault drew up another chair close beside her. He
explained to her how to put the paper in; how to shift the carriage back
and forth; how to start a new line. For the rest all you had to do was
to strike the proper letters. In ten minutes Loseis had mastered the
idea of the thing. She was fascinated with this new toy (she had
possessed so few toys in her life) but was made horribly uncomfortable
by the enforced proximity of Gault’s head to her own. He was chewing
some sort of medicated candy that gave his breath a strong, pungent
odor. Loseis hated strong smells of every kind.
“Now let me try it all by myself,” she said.
“Go ahead! Go ahead!” he said, but did not withdraw himself at all. When
he saw her at a loss, he would grab hold of her finger and guide it to
the right key. Loseis shivered internally.
Finally her discomfort became more than she could bear. “I cannot do a
thing if you hang over me like that,” she said.
Gault leaned back in his chair with a great laugh. “So independent!” he
said teasingly.
However, he held himself away from her, and Loseis proceeded with her
slow punching of the keys. How strange and fascinating to see the words
stand up upon the paper! She had never possessed so marvelous a toy as
this. As soon as Gault was out of the way she would start a letter to
Conacher. How astonished he would be!
In a minute or two Gault’s head was as close as ever to hers. Loseis
tried to ignore the fact, but it was impossible to do so. She was aware,
through a subtle feminine sense, that he was not paying any attention to
the typewriter now. He was too still. She felt as if something precious
were being drawn from her that she had no intention of yielding to any
man save one.
“I’ll go on with this this afternoon,” she said nervously. “I have to do
something else now.” At the same time she attempted to slide sideways
out of her chair.
Gault caught her hand. “Ah, don’t stop,” he said a little thickly. “You
look like such a cunning little student, bending over your work. Where
did you get that wonderful black hair of yours . . . ?”
Loseis was up like a wild thing then, and backing off to the far end of
the room. “How dare you! How dare you!” she said breathlessly. “Take
yourself out of here, and your machine too! Or I’ll fling it after you!
Did you bring it here only as an excuse to insult me!”
Gault rose also. “Well!” he cried, laughing heartily. But there was an
ugly look in his eyes.
His laughter immediately brought about a reaction in Loseis. She
realized that she was making far too much of a trifle. This was not the
way for a well-born girl to act. She told herself that it was only
because she had come to love another man that she found this one
detestable. She lowered her head, and a hot blush flowed over her
cheeks.
“I am sorry,” she muttered unwillingly. “I am out of sorts this morning.
I did not mean what I said.” In the very act of saying this Loseis’
heart accused her of cowardice. She felt hopelessly confused. Oh, how
difficult it was to be well-bred and ladylike.
“Why, that’s all right!” cried Gault heartily. “It is perfectly natural
at such a time. I’m sorry I displeased you. I assure you I feel nothing
for you, but the deepest respect and sympathy! . . . I’ll leave you now.
Do amuse yourself with the typewriter.”
As he walked away from the house he murmured to himself: “A skittish
filly! I must proceed more slowly. Gad! it’s difficult though!” Thus he
deceived himself, as middle-aged gentlemen bent on gallantry are so apt
to do. He felt delightfully ardent. At the same time though, a nasty
little anxiety continued to plague the back of his mind.
Meanwhile Loseis paced up and down her room, wondering for the hundredth
time within the past twenty-four hours, what was the matter with her,
that she felt so hopelessly divided. This was a new feeling for her.
However the shining little typewriter _was_ fascinating. She presently
sat down to compose a letter to Conacher; and forgot her troubles.
Another little raft carried her letter downstream.
* * * * *
Every afternoon Loseis opened the store. It was a point of pride with
her to comport herself in all respects towards the Slavis as if nothing
had happened. She often visited their village, interesting herself in
all their concerns, as she considered fitting in a prudent mistress
towards her childish and feather-brained servants. They were shy with
her, and none came to trade at the store. Loseis, shrugging, was content
to bide her time. Hunger would tell in the end. For twenty years now,
the Slavis had been accustomed to the white man’s flour, tea and sugar,
and the present generation could not do without them.
Loseis and Mary-Lou sat on the bench outside the store. Mary-Lou had
been reading aloud, but her mistress had silenced her, because she
wished to think. Loseis was unpracticed in the exercise of thinking
things over, and she found it both difficult and painful. This was the
question on which she split: was Gault a scoundrel? All his acts and
words seemed to be above reproach; but Loseis’ heart stubbornly misgave
her. Could she trust her heart? She reflected that her father had never
betrayed any hesitation in calling Gault a scoundrel; but Loseis had had
plenty of examples of her father’s wrong-headedness. She adored him, but
had no great opinion of his judgment. It was by his strength and energy
that Blackburn had forged ahead, not by wisdom. And so the weary round
continued. To one of Loseis’ downright nature it was torture to remain
in a state of indecision.
At the door of Blackburn’s House fifty yards distant from where they
sat, the Indian Etzooah was to be seen ostentatiously cleaning a pair of
Gault’s boots. It suggested itself to Loseis as rather curious that
Gault should choose the ignorant Slavi for a body-servant, when he had
the more civilized Crees. She recollected that on various occasions
during the past few days she had seen Etzooah hanging about looking
self-conscious. The thought popped into her head that perhaps Gault had
set him as a spy on her movements. Well, supposing that to be so, here
was a chance to turn the tables on the trader. Through Etzooah she might
be able to learn if Gault had lied to her.
She called to Etzooah in her ordinary manner of offhand assurance. When
he came to her cringing and grinning in his imbecile fashion (you could
read nothing in that grin of the Slavis) she said coolly:
“I need a man. There are some goods in the store to be moved.”
Leading him inside, she had him shift some bags of flour from one place
to another. This done, she presented him with a plug of tobacco, and let
him know that he had done all she required. They returned outside, and
Loseis bade Mary-Lou go on with the reading.
Etzooah, as Loseis expected, did not leave them, but, making his face
perfectly vacant, squatted down in the grass at the other side of the
door, and proceeded to shave a pipeful of tobacco from the plug, careful
not to spill a crumb. Loseis allowed Mary-Lou to read for awhile, then
she started slightly as if a thought had just occurred to her, and
motioned to the girl to stop.
“Etzooah,” she said (speaking in the Slavi tongue of course) “it comes
to me that I have not thanked you for fetching Gault from Fort Good
Hope. That was well done.”
Etzooah grinned. “Gault is a good man,” he said.
“You speak truth,” said Loseis gravely. “How did it come that you set
off without telling me?”
“Wah!” said Etzooah, “you were attending upon the body of Blackburn. It
was not right for me to go to you at such a time. I just caught some
horses and went.”
“It was well thought of,” said Loseis. “How did you make yourself
understood to the white men?”
“I speak the Cree,” said Etzooah.
“Wah!” said Loseis politely. “That was not known to me.”
“My father was a Cree,” said Etzooah. “It is well known.”
“I had forgotten,” said Loseis.
Without changing a muscle of her face, or raising her voice at all,
Loseis shifted to English. “Etzooah,” she said, “the Slavis are saying
to each other that you were false to your own people. They are angry
because you brought Gault here. . . . Do not move suddenly or you are a
dead man. Mahtsonza is hiding behind the corner of the store with a gun
in his hands waiting to shoot you!”
Etzooah’s copper face changed to a livid ash-color. Suddenly with a
single movement he bounded to his feet, and inside the door of the
store. Loseis stood up with a scornful laugh.
“Go back to your master,” she said, pointing. “I only wished to find out
if you could speak English. You are a spy!”
Etzooah slunk away. Still only half convinced that he had been tricked,
he kept glancing fearfully over his shoulder.
Loseis was filled with a fierce exultation. Now she _knew_! No more
indecision. To be sure, when she reflected, her solitary and desperate
situation might well appall the stoutest heart; but at the moment she
was only aware of the relief of getting rid of that suffocating sense of
futility. Now she would know what to do! Her father was right about
Gault; and her own heart had not played her false.
She closed the store, and took Mary-Lou back to their house.
Loseis’ nature knew no half measures. Having recognized Gault as her
enemy, she was prepared to fight. She did not blink the danger of her
position. She no longer had any illusions about the fate of those
letters which the trader had so impressively despatched outside. She
realized that Gault himself stood between her and any possible succor,
and that he intended to keep her cut off from her kind until he should
have obtained what he wanted. Well, she quickly resolved upon a course
of action. Her only hope lay in bringing her wits into play. Gault must
not be allowed to suspect that she saw through his schemes. Etzooah, she
knew, would never dare confess to his master that he had betrayed
himself. There was a fatuous side to Gault’s character; and she must
play on that. Perhaps through his own folly she might defeat him in the
end.
Suddenly Loseis clapped her hands to her head with a cry of dismay. She
had suddenly recollected that all her father’s papers were in his desk
in the room where Gault was sleeping, and the desk was not even locked!
While he was alive of course, nobody would have dared venture into
Blackburn’s room uninvited, much less touch his papers. Loseis beat her
fists against her head, and groaned in bitterness. What an ignorant
childish fool she had been to neglect a thing so important!
She ran to the window to look across at the men’s house. She could not
tell whether Gault was within or not. On the spur of the moment she sent
Mary-Lou across to invite Gault and Moale to supper with her. Mary-Lou
returned to say that the two men had ridden up to the lake (ten miles
distant) to have a look at the Slavi village there. Loseis then ventured
across herself.
Etzooah was in the kitchen of the house. He received her with his
customary witless grin, and edged in front of the door to the inner room
as if to keep her out. Loseis caught her breath in astonishment, and her
eyes fairly blazed on the man.
“Stand aside, dog of a redskin!” she cried. “This is my father’s house,
and Gault is only a guest here at my pleasure!”
To the terrified Indian it seemed as if the little figure had grown a
foot. He slunk aside, and Loseis went into her father’s room, closing
the door after her.
Upon her first glance at the desk it was apparent to her that Gault had
stolen a march on her; though she did not immediately understand the
significance of what he had done. The desk was a handsome piece after
the Colonial style made by Blackburn himself. It had four drawers below,
and a flap which lifted down to form the writing table. The drawers and
the flap alike were fastened shut by strips of papers, caught down by
clots of sealing wax. Going closer Loseis saw that the wax had been
impressed with Gault’s ring.
Loseis smiled bitterly. Her first impulse was to tear open these flimsy
seals; but she held her hand. No; the damage was already done; if
anything had been abstracted, how was she to know? Better to keep Gault
in ignorance of the fact that she had been there. She did not believe
that Etzooah would tell him, unless it occurred to Gault to question
him. A Slavi never volunteers any information to a white man. The upshot
was that Loseis turned around, and went home.
The invitation to supper was repeated later. When Gault came over it was
a changed Loseis who greeted him. Her uncertainty was gone. Danger
stimulated her; all her faculties were sharpened. She had put on one of
her prettiest dresses; her dark eyes sparkled with topaz lights; and she
gave Gault smile for smile. The trader was charmed. She is coming
’round, he thought; I knew she would.
Moale saw deeper. His inscrutable eyes followed Loseis with a new
respect. Moale served his master very faithfully, but he was like the
Slavis in one respect; he never volunteered any information.
Supper was quite a jolly occasion. Loseis listened attentively to
Gault’s stories; and was prompt with her applause. The trader visibly
expanded; and Moale’s expression as he watched him became even more
sardonic than usual. During the course of the meal, Loseis said with an
innocent air:
“Mr. Gault, all my father’s papers are in that desk in your room. Will
you go over everything with me to-morrow, and explain it.”
He wagged a protesting hand in her direction. “No, no, no,” he said;
“nothing must be touched until the lawyer comes.”
“That cannot be for weeks yet,” said Loseis, “and in the meantime I am
curious to . . .”
“I have sealed the desk,” said Gault.
“Sealed my father’s desk?” said Loseis, opening her eyes wide.
“My dear girl, consider my position,” he said. “I am an interested party
in these matters—or at least I will be so considered; and I have to
lean over backwards in the effort to avoid anything which would look
like taking an unfair advantage. Imagine my feelings upon retiring that
first night, when I found myself alone in the room with all the private
papers of my late rival in business! I was shocked; shocked. If the desk
had been locked, and the key in your possession it would have been all
right; but upon trying it—for my own protection, I found that it was
open. Fortunately Moale was in the kitchen. I instantly called him in,
and sealed up the desk in his presence.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?” asked Loseis.
“It was late. You had retired.”
“Why didn’t you speak of it next day?”
“I never thought of it. It is customary when a man dies to seal up his
papers until his attorney can take charge. I did it as a matter of
course.”
“Perhaps his papers are not there after all,” said Loseis.
“Perhaps not,” said Gault, with a seeming open look. “I only moved the
cover with my thumb for about a quarter of an inch to find out if it was
locked. I know no more than the man in the moon what the desk contains.”
Loseis lowered her eyes. What a fool he must think me! she
thought—well, it is just as well that he should think me a fool.
“Did Blackburn possess a safe?” asked Gault.
“No,” said Loseis. “Nobody ever stole anything from my father.”
“I wish I could say the same,” said Gault ruefully. He went on to tell
the story of the Scotch half-breed who had brought a black fox skin to
his post to trade, and had then replaced it with a clumsy imitation,
almost under the trader’s nose. It appeared that he had worked the trick
in turn at every post on the big river; but was apprehended at Fort
McMaster on his way out. Loseis, smiling at the story, permitted Gault
to suppose that it had caused her to forget the sealed desk.
After the meal, Gault sent Moale away on a manifestly trumped-up errand.
Loseis was not sorry to see him go. She was a little afraid of his
unchanging, watchful gaze. He never spoke unless he were addressed. As
for Gault, it was curious that now she knew he was her enemy, she no
longer dreaded to be left alone with him.
She drew up the hammock-chair to the fire. “You must take this chair
to-night,” she said. “And light one of your delicious cigars. . . .
There,” she said presently, “that is just like the happy nights when my
father came to sit with me.”
Gault’s smile became a little bleak. He didn’t want to be regarded as a
father. He stole a look at Loseis to see if this could be an intentional
dig; but her face expressed only an innocent pleasure in seeing him
comfortable.
She perched herself on one of the straight-backed chairs beside him,
with her heels cocked up on the rungs. “Have you ever been married, Mr.
Gault?” she asked.
“No,” said the trader, a little uncertain as to what was coming next.
“Why not?” asked Loseis.
“Well,” said he, looking noble, “I could not bear to expose the kind of
woman that I wished to marry to my rude life in the wilderness.”
“How lonely you must have been!” murmured Loseis.
Gault felt reassured. This was the sort of talk a man had the right to
expect from a white woman. He settled himself for a comfortable heart to
heart talk by the fire. “Ah, yes,” he said with a far-away look; “I have
had my bitter times! People call me a hard man; they do not know! They
do not know!”
The corners of Loseis’ mouth twitched demurely. “Tell me all about
yourself,” she murmured.