THE FUR GOES OUT
Loseis and Paul Conacher sat on the great white bear rug before the
fire. Said Loseis, concluding her tale:
“He gave me to understand through Moale, that he would stop at nothing.”
“The scoundrel!” muttered Conacher. “He was trying to terrorize you. In
reality he cannot touch your rights here, unless you sign them away.”
“Sign?” said Loseis sharply. “I have signed my name four times on blank
sheets of paper for Gault. I had clean forgotten that.” She described
the circumstances.
“Obviously a trick,” said Conacher. “If you had known anything about
banking methods, you would have seen through it.”
“I am so ignorant!” said Loseis humbly.
“How could you be expected to know!” said Conacher. He mused. “I wonder
how in thunder he expects to use those signatures. . . . Were they at
the top, in the middle or at the bottom of the sheets?”
“Towards the bottom,” said Loseis. “He pointed his finger, and I wrote.”
“Of course!” said Conacher. “Then he could fill in anything he wanted
above your signature.”
Loseis leaned towards him. “What does it matter?” she said dreamily. “We
are together!”
“You darling!”
Loseis was too happy to remain sitting still. Springing up, she threw
back the little shutter. Outside it was broad day. “The day of my
happiness!” she murmured. Sticking her head through the kitchen door,
she called out: “Mary-Lou! Quick with my breakfast. I must set off!”
“So soon?” said Conacher. “It’s not four.”
“Gault mustn’t see me start. If he tried to interfere, you would be
drawn into it, and everything spoiled.”
“He’ll see you come back.”
“That doesn’t matter. I shall have settled everything with Tatateecha
then.”
“Can we depend upon the Slavis?” asked Conacher anxiously.
“If it was to fight, never! But to play a secret trick at night, oh,
yes! that’s just in their line.”
“And I?” asked Conacher.
“You must stay close to the house all day. This shall be your room now
. . . Ah! the happy room! Do not go near the windows. . . . Where did
you leave your dug-out last night?”
“Hidden under the willows about a furlong downstream. I thought I had
better communicate with you before showing myself.”
“You did right! . . . If the Slavis were here your dug-out would be
discovered within an hour, but Gault will never find it. . . . You must
sleep all you can to-day.”
“You must sleep too.”
“Ah! happiness has made me over! I need no sleep! . . . However, I will
be sensible. I will be back from the lake in three or four hours, and
will sleep all day in the kitchen. Neither of us will get any sleep
to-night.”
“I don’t altogether like your plan,” said Conacher frowning. “I should
be the one to stay here.”
“You are wrong in that,” said Loseis earnestly. “There is nothing of any
value here. All Gault cares about is the fur. The post of danger is with
the fur, and you have that.”
“Why shouldn’t you and I take it out together?”
“No! If I left the Post, it would give Gault an excuse to say that I had
given up my rights here.”
“But how can I leave you alone again?”
“Ah, nothing can harm me now!” cried Loseis. “I am guarded by happiness!
I will do everything quite willingly that Gault forces me to do, and
just be patient until you and Gruber come back. There is a sergeant of
police at the Crossing. Bring him back too. Oh, Gault will be quite
different when he knows that help is on the way. He has to think of the
law, then.”
Conacher was silenced: but he did not look altogether convinced. They
sat down to their breakfast.
“It is like being married!” said Loseis with a sigh of content.
“Mary-Lou, have you cooked enough for a man’s breakfast?”
Loseis’ own horse and her saddle were in the stable behind the men’s
house; therefore unavailable. Having improvised a halter out of a piece
of rope, she therefore set off on foot; and catching one of the broken
horses in the meadow beyond the creek, she rode it in the Indian
fashion, bareback.
* * * * *
At half-past eight she was back again. Turning the horse loose, she hid
the halter in a bush, and returned across the stepping-stones. Gault was
pacing up and down in front of his house. From this position he could
not see her until she started to mount the rise. It was impossible for
him to tell from what direction she had come. At sight of her,
notwithstanding his self-command, his face sharpened with curiosity; and
he changed his course in order to intercept her. Loseis was seized with
a slight sense of panic. He must not read anything in my face! she told
herself.
“Good morning,” said Gault, politely.
“Good morning,” returned Loseis. Alas! for all her care, she could feel
the dimples pressing into her cheeks, and she knew that her eyes were
shining. She kept her lids lowered, but that in itself was a giveaway,
for she had been accustomed heretofore to look Gault straight in the
eye.
By the brief silence which succeeded, she knew that his suspicions were
aroused. “You are up early,” he remarked in a carefully controlled
voice.
“I just went down to see if the Slavis had left a canoe that I could
use,” she said carelessly.
“I did not see you go,” said Gault.
“It must have been an hour ago,” said Loseis. “I went for a walk, the
morning was so pleasant.” (I should not be explaining things like this,
she thought. I ought to be proud and angry with him.)
“If you want a canoe my men will make one for you,” said Gault.
“Oh, no, thank you,” said Loseis quickly. “It was just a fancy. One must
have something to do.”
She had not stopped walking, and they came to her door. Loseis bowed.
“May I come in for a moment?” asked Gault.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “We are not ready for visitors so early. But
if you wish to speak to me here I am.”
“Oh, it will keep until later,” said Gault. He touched his hat, and
watched her through the door.
Conacher was waiting for her in the inner room. Loseis flung herself in
his arms.
“Ah, you are really here!” she murmured. “It was not a dream! . . . If
Gault could see me now!” she added with a laugh, like a chime of little
bells.
Conacher pressed the hair back from her forehead. He had been watching
through the window, and his face was dark. “It makes me see red to have
that man speak to you,” he muttered. “What was he after?”
“Wanted to know where I’d been?” said Loseis. “Of course I didn’t tell
him. But I’m afraid I gave away a good deal in my face. I have him badly
worried. I hope it won’t cause him to sit up to-night, or set a watch on
us.”
“All is arranged then?”
“Yes. Tatateecha will land a hundred men in the second river meadow at
ten o’clock. They will wait there until it becomes dark. We’ll only have
about four hours of darkness, and the moon will be shining. It cannot be
helped; we must put our trust in silence. Slavis are the quietest
animals there are.”
A few hours later, Loseis, sleeping in the kitchen, was awakened by
Mary-Lou who said that Gault was coming across.
“He must be allowed to come in,” said Loseis. “Say that I am sleeping.
It will give me a moment to prepare.”
She hastened into the other room. Awakening Conacher, she said:
“Gault is coming. I must let him in here in order to put his suspicions
to sleep. Get under the bed.”
Conacher, still bemused with sleep, obeyed her; and Loseis, with a rapid
survey of the room, gathered up whatever was his, and thrust it after
him. The robe of raccoons’ tails hung down over the edge of the bed
concealing all. She went to the door.
“Come in,” she said, affecting to conceal a yawn.
“I am sorry to have disturbed you,” said Gault smoothly. His eyes swept
around the room, taking everything in. It was not that he expected to
find anyone there; he was merely trying to discover what secret source
of support Loseis had found. He gave her a hard look as much as to say:
What are you sleeping in the morning for?
Loseis, having had time to prepare, was fully mistress of herself. “Last
night I was too angry to sleep,” she said coolly.
“Hum!” said Gault, rubbing his lip. “That is what I came to talk to you
about.”
Loseis held herself in polite readiness to hear what he had to say.
“We mustn’t quarrel,” said Gault. He buttered his harsh voice; but his
eyes were still boring into the girl.
“I don’t wish to quarrel,” said Loseis mildly. “But when you tell me you
are going to banish me from my own home . . .”
“You refuse to co-operate with me,” said Gault, spreading out his hands.
“You don’t give me a chance,” said Loseis. Inwardly she was quaking
dangerously with laughter. If he knew what was under the bed!
“You are so young!” said Gault deprecatingly.
“However young I am,” said Loseis, “what is mine, is mine!”
“Well, I may have been a little too hasty,” said Gault with the air of
one who was making an immense concession. “Let us try to make a fresh
start.”
Loseis reflected that if she allowed a reconciliation to take place she
would never be able to get rid of him. “Perhaps I have been hasty, too,”
she said, “but I can’t forgive you yet. Give me another twenty-four
hours . . . Come to breakfast to-morrow, and I promise to meet you half
way.”
“Done!” cried Gault, showing all the big teeth. I am wearing her down!
he thought. Women do not mean all they say! “Expect me at eight,” he
said, making for the door.
Conacher crawled out from under the bed with a very red face. “It’s good
he went!” he growled. “I couldn’t have stood it much longer. . . . What
did you want to ask him to breakfast for?”
Loseis was charmed to see Conacher betraying jealousy. “While I have him
here no discovery is likely to be made,” she said. “Every hour’s start
that you can gain will help.”
“Well, I hope he comes after me, that’s all,” said Conacher grimly.
At ten o’clock that night Loseis and Mary-Lou came out of their house
arm in arm, and stood in front of the door linked together, gazing up at
the serene moon. Behind them crouched Conacher. Across the way Gault’s
house was in the blackest shadow, and they could not tell but that the
door might be standing open, and some one watching them from within.
Making out to be lost in contemplation of the moon, the two girls,
always taking care to present a double front to a possible watcher,
edged to the corner of the house. Conacher then darted around behind. He
was to make his way around the outside of the square and meet them
beside the creek in half an hour.
Loseis went back to close the door of her house, and the girls continued
their stroll. From the middle of the square they could make out that the
door of Gault’s house was closed. They descended to the bank of the main
stream, and came back again. Having by this maneuver satisfied
themselves that they were not being followed, they returned down the
rise, picked up Conacher at the creek, and crossed the meadow beyond.
Upon the gravelly ridge which bounded it on the other side, they came
upon Tatateecha and his silent men, squatting on the earth with their
backs to the moon like a patch of little bushes.
Conacher was presented to Tatateecha as the friend of Loseis who must be
obeyed in all things. Conacher himself could only issue his orders by
means of signs. Being a white man, and therefore not to be trusted where
absolute silence was required, he was sent down into the second meadow
to wait. The little Slavis deployed in the first meadow, and slowly
closing up, urged the horses slowly back over the ridge. In the second
meadow they could be packed without danger of arousing the sleepers at
the post. For this operation the light of the moon would be invaluable.
Led by Loseis, the whole tribe then crept back in single file through
the grass towards the Post. They crossed the creek, not by the
stepping-stones, but higher up, immediately below the steep bank at the
back of the men’s house and the little warehouse. Leaving her men at the
bottom of the bank, Loseis went up to make a reconnaissance. She crept
up to the wall of the men’s house, and rounding the front corner, edged,
a foot at a time to the door. Laying her ear to the crack, she was
rewarded by hearing heavy snores within. No watch was being kept. What
had Gault to fear from two girls?
Returning to her men, Loseis gave the signal, and the business of the
night began. Loseis herself removed the pole that propped the warehouse
door, and let it back softly against the wall. One of the Slavis was
posted close to the men’s house with instructions to croak like a
bull-bat if there was any sound of movement from within. Inside the
warehouse Loseis would have been thankful to use her electric torch, but
was afraid of precipitating a panic amongst the Slavis. However the fur
had all been divided into half loads for a horse, each half load being a
load for a man. Silently the endless procession wound in and out. A long
line of little men waited in the moonlight at the door. Nobody stumbled,
or dropped his load. There were a hundred bundles of fur. Afterwards the
pack-saddles, saddle-cloths, hitching-gear had to go. Loseis breathed a
little prayer of thankfulness when at last she propped the pole against
the closed door, exactly as it had been before.
There was still the grub to be got from the store; but as this was
passed out through the rear window, and carried away behind the
warehouse, the danger was not so great.
The easterly sky was full of cool light when the hitch was thrown over
the last pack, and pulled home. The head of the train had already
started. Tatateecha rode first to make the trail. Conacher lingered to
say good-by to Loseis. His heart failed him.
“Ah, come too,” he urged her. “Here are plenty of spare horses. Let me
take care of you!”
“No, no, dearest!” she said. “Before we had gone twenty miles Gault
would be up to us, and the Slavis would stampede. We’d have to wait for
Gault’s Crees after all. But if you can only get the Slavis fifty or
sixty miles from home into a strange country, you couldn’t drive them
away from the grub-boxes. I am hoping that two days may pass before
Gault discovers the loss of the fur.”
“He will see that the horses are gone,” objected Conacher.
“They are accustomed to wander from one meadow to another along the
river.”
The last Indian had passed out of sight. Conacher took the girl in his
arms. “You are asking the hardest thing in the world of me,” he groaned.
“And that is to leave you!”
“Ah! don’t make it harder for me,” faltered Loseis. “It is the only
way!”
“Damn the fur!” said Conacher. “It makes me out a mere fortune-hunter. I
wish you had nothing!”
“I’m not worrying about what you are,” said Loseis. “My heart tells me.
For myself, I care nothing about the fur. It was my father’s. I would
feel that I had been false to him, if I let Gault fool me out of it. I
could never respect myself. I am Blackburn’s daughter. I cannot allow
the name of Blackburn to become a joke in the country.”
“I’m only a tail to the Blackburn kite,” grumbled Conacher.
Loseis laughed a little, and pressed him close. “I shall make it up to
you,” she whispered. “You shall be my lord and master. Isn’t that
enough?”
“That makes me feel worse,” he said. “I’m not worthy. . . .”
Loseis put a loving hand over his mouth. “Enough of that talk,” she
said. “You love me, don’t you?”
“Until death,” he murmured.
“Me too, until death,” she whispered passionately. “That makes us equal.
This talk of fortunes and worthiness is less than nothing. . . . Now you
must go.”
“They ride so slowly,” pleaded Conacher.
“Get on your horse, dearest; I must not be seen returning to-day.”
Conacher obeyed with a heavy heart. He leaned out of the saddle for a
final embrace. They clung together.
“Good-by,” whispered Loseis. “Good-by, my dearest love. Come back soon!”
Swiftly withdrawing herself from him, she gave his horse a smart slap;
and it carried him away.