CONCLUSION
The meeting at the mouth of the Mud River was the beginning of a still
longer journey for Loseis. But it was never again allowed to become an
arduous one for her. All hands, white and red, joined together to smooth
her way. She reigned the undisputed Princess of Langmuir’s party,
holding them in subjection with her smile.
After a laborious month ascending the Sinclair, plotting the river and
collecting geological data and specimens, they came to a lonely trading
outpost on the Pacific side of the mountains, called Pinnacle House. It
stood amidst wild and beautiful surroundings in a deep green valley
between parallel ranges. The pointed limestone peaks gave it its name.
How strange it was to find such homely old friends as cabbages, onions
and potatoes growing in the trader’s garden!
The trader was away on his usual summer journey to bring in supplies;
and they found his house occupied at the moment by the Reverend Patrick
Geogehagen, a famous character of the country, better known as “Patsy.”
Patsy was a brawny, bright-eyed wrestler for the Lord, with
cherry-colored cheeks, and a spreading black beard that saved him the
trouble of wearing a necktie. It was his self-imposed duty to visit and
minister to those tribes of Indians who were too poor, too disreputable
or too far away to attract the attention of the regular missionaries.
When they hailed him he was cleaning his gun at the door of the single
log shack that served both for store and dwelling at Pinnacle House, and
there was nothing in his rough dress to indicate his calling. When he
introduced himself, Conacher looked at Loseis with a quick, smiling
question and Loseis answered it with a quick, smiling assent. Conacher
whispered shamefacedly to Patsy, who thereupon gave him a frightful clap
on the back, and roared:
“Delighted, my boy!”
Conacher took Langmuir aside. The chief wagged his head in perplexity;
and scratched it, and grumbled:
“What the deuce, Conny! Such a thing was never heard of in a party
engaged on field work! What will it look like in my report? Oh, Lord!
think of the explanations I will be called on to make to all the old
women in the Department!”
“Why should it appear in the report?” said Conacher. “It’s none of the
Government’s business. Have I been any the worse worker during the past
month?”
“No, no! you’ve worked like two! . . . Hm! that’s so. Why should it
appear? . . . Go ahead, my boy; and God bless you! I bags to give the
bride away.”
As a matter of fact, it _did not_ appear. The report of Langmuir’s party
is filed away with many others equally decorous, and nobody in the
Government ever suspected that they entertained a Princess during the
summer and celebrated a wedding.
There were no wedding garments in the outfit but a great shaving,
shearing, washing and brushing-up took place. The fellows decorated the
single room of the cabin with spruce branches and flowers from the
mountain side. Loseis had to be married in breeches and boots because it
was all she had. At least her clothes were neatly mended by this time.
Her smile was the smile of a happy bride; and nobody was aware of any
incongruity. Conacher looked as frightened as every well-disposed man is
supposed to be at his wedding; and large fat tears rolled down the
bridesmaid’s dark cheeks. Up to the moment of donning his vestments
Patsy joked outrageously; he then became the priest of God. In a free
and natural state of society these abrupt contrasts are perfectly well
understood. Nobody thought the less of Patsy because he was a man as
well as a priest.
Patsy and Mary-Lou conspired together to produce the wedding-feast; and
the result, considering the meager resources of Pinnacle House,
astonished everybody. They may have been short of the fixings, but they
had five kinds of game and fish; and to polish off with, a gigantic
roly-poly pudding stuffed with currant jam.
The speeches were no better nor worse than usual. Patsy said in part:
“Sure, friends, I shall look back on this as one of the happiest days of
me life! This morning I was not aware that you people as much as
existed; this afternoon you are established as the friends of me heart,
and shall never be absent from me heart while it beats. Even parsons get
discouraged sometimes, though none of ’em would ever admit it but a
renegade like me. This mornin’ I was sittin’ at the door of this house
trying to make up my mind whether to visit the scrofulous Louchoux
Indians to the northeast, or the flea-bitten Sikannis to the southeast,
and feelin’ ready to consign ’em both to perdition. Sure, in all the
world there is not such another lousy, thieving, crack-brained,
worthless congregation as me own, I was telling meself, when along you
came with this lovely girl to remind me of the existence of beauty in
the world, and this bold lad to refresh me with the sight of manliness!
Would I marry them? says he, blushing. Would I marry them? I was ready
to throw my cap in the air at such a chance! That is jam in the life of
a forgotten missionary. I consider that in joining these two I have
performed the best act of me life. The country ought to profit by it.
Here’s to the newly married pair! May they live long and obey the
scriptural injunction!”
To which Conacher answered:
“. . . Er . . . you fellows and the Reverend Patsy . . . I rise to say
. . . er . . . that is, to thank you . . . I’m not much of a speaker
. . .”
“No?” queried a sarcastic voice.
“That’s all right, Jordan. You can laugh. I’ll live to see you married
yet. . . . Where was I? . . . I only wanted to say, only you interrupt
me all the time . . . er . . . to thank you on behalf of Miss Blackburn
. . .”
Uproarious laughter drowned him out.
“What’s the matter with you all! . . . Oh, I see. I mean the lady beside
me, m-m-m-my w-w-w-wife. The late Miss Blackburn . . .”
Renewed laughter.
“Oh, to hell with you!” said Conacher plumping down in his seat
laughing. “If any man thinks he can make a better speech let’s hear it!”
Next morning they resumed their work on the river. For two weeks longer
they toiled up through or around the innumerable rapids, canyons,
whirlpools, and waterfalls of the upper Sinclair, before they finally
arrived at the little lake in which it took its source.
Here Langmuir gave Conacher leave to press on ahead while the party
cleaned up its work for the season. So Conacher, Loseis and Mary-Lou
crossed a famous pass and descending the mountain on the other side,
plunged all at once into the civilization which Loseis had never seen.
Everything in the busy little coast town was strange to her; the close
ranks of shops and houses; locomotives; automobiles; electric light and
water from a tap. The Princess was too aristocratic in spirit to betray
vulgar amazement; she merely looked and listened quietly. Not until she
was alone with her husband did she reveal the wonder and astonishment of
her childish heart. For the man it was a wonderful experience to
introduce so fresh and ardent a soul to the great world.
There was a short voyage by sea; then the return eastward by railroad
over the mountains to the city of Prince George.
In Prince George they had no difficulty in finding John Gruber, who when
he was not running Blackburn’s outfit into the country, or bringing out
his furs, ran a stable in town, and bought and sold horses. They found
him in his little office, a tall, strong man with a heavy, honest red
face, and a bald red poll surrounded by a fringe of red hair. Gruber had
not visited Blackburn’s Post since Loseis was a child; and he did not
immediately recognize her.
“I am Laurentia Blackburn,” she said.
“What!” cried Gruber, staring. “Why . . . of course you are! . . . Well,
I’m damned!”
“That’s what everybody says!” said Loseis with a rueful smile.
“Where did you come from?” demanded Gruber.
Loseis started to tell her story, but Gruber instantly silenced her.
“Wait! Wait!” he cried. “We must do everything regular and proper!”
Snatching up his hat, he hustled them through the streets to a tall
office building. Here after ascending in an elevator (a fresh marvel to
Loseis) they burst unceremoniously into the private office of a little,
round, white-haired old gentleman, startling him almost out of his wits.
“Here is Blackburn’s daughter!” shouted Gruber.
“God bless my soul!” cried the old gentleman, agitatedly removing his
glasses. “What proof have you of that?”
“I’ve got the proof of my own eyes!”
“Quietly! Quietly!” pleaded the old soul. “Sit down all. Let us proceed
in due order if you please.”
It turned out that this was Hector Blackburn’s lawyer, David Chichester.
In simple graphic sentences, Loseis told the two men her story, while
they glanced at each other in astonishment, and murmured in indignation
and sympathy.
When she had come to the end, Mr. Chichester said gravely: “We all felt
that there was something that needed to be explained; but we had nothing
to go on.”
“You have later news than mine,” said Loseis eagerly; “Mr. Gruber has
been into the country and out again. What has happened?”
The two men looked at each other again. Gruber said: “Show her the
newspaper, Mr. Chichester. That tells the whole story.”
From a drawer of his desk, Mr. Chichester produced a copy of the local
newspaper now some weeks old, folded in such a manner as to bring into
prominence the story that he desired them to read. They were instantly
aware of the staring headlines:
ROMANTIC TRAGEDY OF THE NORTH
Young Couple End All for Love
Loseis and Conacher read with their heads close together:
“John Gruber, the well-known horse-dealer and traveler of Prince George,
returned yesterday from his annual trip into northern Athabasca bringing
news of a strange and poignant tragedy at Blackburn’s Post, a distant
trading station in the unexplored portion of the province.
“For many years Mr. Gruber has acted as agent for Hector Blackburn, the
last of the powerful free traders, who maintained an almost baronial
state in the midst of his vast domain. Each year it has been Mr.
Gruber’s custom to take in the year’s supplies for the Post. At a point
about half way he would meet the outfit sent out by Hector Blackburn and
exchange the store goods for the season’s catch of furs. This year Mr.
Gruber waited in vain at the rendezvous. After several weeks had passed,
a rumor reached him that Hector Blackburn had been killed by an accident
early in June. He then pushed through the rest of the way to Blackburn’s
Post.
“He found Mr. Andrew Gault of Fort Good Hope, one of the best-known fur
traders in the country, in charge there. Mr. Gault was well-nigh
prostrated by a terrible happening which had taken place only two or
three days before Mr. Gruber’s arrival. Laurentia Blackburn, the late
trader’s only child, had killed herself by leaping from a high cliff
into the river, in company with her lover, a young man named Paul
Conacher attached to the Geological Survey.
“It was on June third that Hector Blackburn was killed by a fall from
his horse. His death left his daughter, a young girl, entirely alone and
unprotected in that savage spot. There were no other white persons at
Blackburn’s Post. Moreover it was surrounded by a tribe of ignorant
Indians who began to get out of hand as soon as the firm control of
Hector Blackburn was removed. Mr. Gault, hearing of these things,
immediately rode to the girl’s assistance from his Post one hundred and
fifty miles away.
“At first the girl evinced nothing but gratitude at his coming. She
freely put all her affairs into Mr. Gault’s experienced hands, giving
him a power of attorney to transact the necessary business. Mr. Gault
sent out for Hector Blackburn’s attorney who is the well-known lawyer,
Mr. David Chichester, of this city; but this letter unluckily was lost
somewhere on the long journey.
“A few days later the young man, Conacher, turned up at Blackburn’s
Post. He too had heard of Blackburn’s death, and was attracted by the
rich prize offered in his only child and heiress. A handsome young man,
of good address, his conquest of the inexperienced girl was all too
easy. Conacher wished to get her business into his own hands, and so
worked upon her mind with base insinuations that she turned against her
best friend, Mr. Gault.
“Mr. Gault meanwhile, as was clearly his duty, was preparing to send out
the season’s fur to Mr. Gruber. By every means in his power, Conacher
sought to prevent this. He was finally guilty of the murder of an Indian
named Etzooah, a messenger of Mr. Gault’s, under circumstances of
peculiar atrocity. The Indian was garroted as he rode through the woods,
by a line stretched across the trail by Conacher. It then became Mr.
Gault’s duty to apprehend the young man and send him out to justice. But
the infatuated girl sheltered him in her own house; and standing at the
door with a gun, dared Mr. Gault to come and take him.
“Mr. Gault sent out for the police; and in the meantime contented
himself with watching the house to prevent the murderer’s escape. His
messenger, taking a different route, passed Mr. Gruber on the way in;
and as a matter of fact the police arrived two days after Gruber. But
everything was over then. On the third night Conacher and the girl
escaped from the house, and obtaining possession of a dug-out, fled
across the river. Closely pursued by Mr. Gault, they sought a refuge on
top of a high cut-bank opposite the Post. When their pursuers closed in
on them, seeing capture, disgrace and separation ahead, they joined
hands and with a weird good-by ringing through the night, leaped over
the edge of the gravelly cliff and were drowned in the river below.
Though Mr. Gault searched for the bodies for many days, they were not
found.
“The police conducted an investigation into the sad circumstances. As a
result, Sergeant Ferrie in charge of the detail expressed himself as
satisfied that Mr. Gault had done all that any man could do in such an
inexpressibly distressing situation. Mr. Gault remains in charge of the
Post until such time as the Courts may issue letters of administration.
No heirs are known.”
Conacher and Loseis looked at each other in amazement.
“By Heaven! what an infernally clever story!” cried Conacher. “I am not
surprised that even the police were taken in.”
“God brought us through all our dangers especially so that we could show
this man up!” said Loseis.
“We must decide on a course of action,” said Mr. Chichester fussily.
“There can be but one course for my husband and me,” said Loseis
quickly. “We will start back for our Post to-morrow.”
“Naturally,” said Conacher.
The other two looked a little flabbergasted at this instant decision.
“The season is growing late,” objected Gruber. “Light snows have already
fallen. Ice will be running in the rivers by the time you get there.”
“But the trip _can_ be made!” said Loseis.
“Oh, yes, it can be made.”
“Then we’ll make it.”
“One moment,” said Mr. Chichester dryly. “I suppose you know that you
have other property beside the fur business.”
“Have I?” said Loseis.
He handed her a sort of statement from amongst his papers. Loseis looked
at it, and shook her head.
“I don’t understand it,” she said, passing it to Conacher.
As he studied it, Conacher’s face paled. “Good God!” he muttered.
“According to this you are worth over a million dollars. . . . Oh, after
what they have said about me, this is terrible!”
“You’ll have to make the best of it!” said Mr. Chichester with a dry
twinkle.
Loseis showed a face of quaint distress. “My dear Paul,” she murmured,
“I’m so sorry! So sorry! I didn’t know anything about it. It wasn’t my
fault, was it!”
* * * * *
Gruber, who headed the party, breathed with relief when he led them
through a pass in the hills down to the edge of the wide meadows
surrounding Blackburn’s Lake. October had come in; and during their long
ride across the prairie they had met with more than one snow-storm.
Fortunately for them the snow had melted; had it remained lying on the
prairie, or had they experienced one of the early blizzards that are not
unknown at this season, their position would have been serious. Now,
with the shelter of the timber at hand, they were safe.
The party was well outfitted of course; but even so, what with the snow,
the hard frosts at night and the raw, biting winds by day, traveling had
been intensely disagreeable. They carried a small tent for the two
women. Gruber had three hot-heads in his company who could not brook the
slightest delay. Besides Loseis and Conacher there was young Sergeant
Ferrie of the Mounted Police who was no less eager than the other two to
bring down retribution on the head of Andrew Gault. The policeman’s
professional pride had been wounded. With three troopers he had joined
the party at the Crossing. Mary-Lou was also of the party; and six Cree
half-breeds from Miwasa Landing. They had upwards of twenty horses.
They slept for the last time on the same little point of high land
running out into the meadows, where Conacher had been surprised by
Etzooah four months before. The days were growing short now. About
eleven o’clock next morning they were riding past the Slavi village on
the opposite side of the river. The inhabitants lined up to watch them
pass, in silent consternation. Even at the distance they could not have
failed to recognize Loseis and the famous yellow head of Conacher.
“Some of them could jump in a canoe and get to the Post with the aid of
the current before we could,” suggested Conacher.
“They have no love for Gault,” said Loseis. “There is no reason why they
should warn them. The Slavis never look for trouble.”
“Even if he should be warned, he’s got nowhere to run except back to his
own Post,” Gruber pointed out. “And there he’d only run into the arms of
the other party of police who went down the big river.”
“Just the same,” said Sergeant Ferrie, frowning, “I’ve no intention of
letting any other party take him. He belongs to me!”
They urged their weary horses on a little faster.
Suspecting that Gault might make a dash for freedom at the sight of
them, Ferrie determined to send a party across country to head him off
on the other trail. Two of the white troopers and two Crees were
allotted to this duty. They turned off on the same ridge a mile from the
Post that Gault had used. In order to give them time to reach their
post, the rest of the party halted for their midday meal in the hollow
beyond.
When they started out again, Ferrie took command. He wished Loseis and
Mary-Lou to remain in that spot with a guard; but Loseis would not hear
of it. Much to her disgust she was forced to bring up the rear of the
train. As they came in sight of the Post the men’s faces were grim. It
had a deserted look. Gault had never succeeded in persuading the Slavis
to return, and the grassy meadow below the buildings, yellow now, was
empty. When they cantered up into the little square within the
buildings, that was empty too: Women’s House, store, warehouses,
Blackburn’s House; doors closed and chimneys cold. The bars of the
corral were down.
The men paused to consult. Presently the sound of approaching hoofs was
heard; and the four men sent across country rode into the square,
driving before them four mounted Indians, who were immediately
recognizable as belonging to Gault; one of them indeed was Watusk, whom
Loseis and Conacher had good cause to remember. He was brought up to
Sergeant Ferrie.
“Where is Gault?” demanded the policeman.
“We leave him here, half hour ago,” answered Watusk sullenly. “He tell
us to go home.”
“Told you to go home!” said Ferrie, astonished.
“He know you are coming,” Watusk went on impassively. “This man
Hooliam,” pointing to one of his companions, “was at the Slavi village
to see a girl when you ride past. He jomp in a canoe and paddle fas’ to
tell Gault that Blackburn’s daughter and Yellowhead are not dead. They
are comin’ back with four red-coats.”
“What did Gault say to that?” Ferrie asked with a hard smile.
“He jus’ smile,” said Watusk. “He look on the groun’ and tap his leg
with his little whip. Bam-bye he say: ‘All right, boys. Get your horses
and ride home. I will wait here for them.’ And we go.”
“Then he’s still here!” cried Ferrie.
Watusk pointed to Blackburn’s house.
“Gault! Come out!” cried Ferrie in a strong voice.
There was no answer.
Ferrie tried the door of the house, and found it barred on the inside.
He signified to his men that they were to fetch one of the heavy poles
from the corral. Using it as a battering-ram, after two or three blows,
the door burst in. Ferrie and Conacher entered the house together.
They found Gault sitting upright in the kitchen in one of Blackburn’s
carved chairs. For one dreadful instant they thought that he was
laughing at them; in the next they perceived that he was dead. His
wide-open eyes were bereft of all sense; his lower jaw was hanging down
in a dreadful, idiotic grimace. Yet he sat as straight in the
high-backed chair as in life. It was only upon looking closer that they
discovered that the man with a strange, last impulse of vanity had tied
himself into the chair, that he might be discovered facing his enemies
in an upright position. There was a band of canvas around his chest! and
another around his forehead; the broad-brimmed Stetson was jammed
rakishly down on his head over the band. He had then shot himself
through the heart with a revolver, which had slipped from his hand to
the floor.
The young men jerked their hats off; and their grim faces softened a
little.
“Well, he’s paid,” said Conacher. “We can’t feel any more hard feelings
against him!”
“It’s better so,” said Ferrie. “Nobody would want this ugly case
advertised by a trial.”
Such was Andrew Gault’s requiem.
They returned outside the house, hat in hand, and all the others knew at
a glance what they had found.
If Gault in his strange preparations for death had hoped to leave upon
Loseis a last impression of his power, his aim was not realized. She
betrayed no wish to look at him again. Loseis’ verdict was more merciful
than the young men’s.
“So he is dead!” she murmured, clinging to Conacher’s arm. “He _would_
kill himself, of course. . . . Poor fellow! He had never known love when
he was young. When he was old love mocked him, and it drove him
mad. . . . Ah! how lucky _we_ are, my dearest dear!”
They returned to the house across the way where they had known such
dreadful days and nights. But the spell of dread was lifted now. Their
breasts were calm and free.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where
multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer
errors occur.
There are two occasions where a word appears to be missing in
the original printed book. These places have been marked with a
comment.