A CHANGE OF FRONT
For five days the fever raged, and then it left him, a mere wreck of his
former self. All through that unconscious period the strangest things had
happened. Arms had lifted him up from the pillow, and hands had fed him
with liquid foods. Some glorious half-seen stranger had taken him under
her care; but her face was hidden in a queer mist that floated before his
eyes. At times he had tried to rise from the bed, his unbalanced mind
obsessed with the idea of washing for gold, but those same strange, soft
hands had always succeeded in preventing this--saving once.
On that occasion he actually succeeded in getting from the bed and
standing up. He carefully placed one leaden leg before the other, and was
nearly on the threshold of the door when the familiar apparition
appeared.
"She doesn't know--I'm wise to all that happened--but I know. She had to
do that--poor gal!... I'll jest go and tell her it's all right--not to
worry none...."
Two supple arms caught him. He pushed them away, rather irritably.
"Don't butt in.... It's her I'm thinkin' of--Angela. She's sure hard and
cold and can't see no good in me,... but she's got to be happy--got to be
happy.... Maybe she's right. I'm only fit for hosses and wild women...."
He found himself in bed again, and quite unconscious of the fact that he
had ever been out of it; but he still continued to ramble on in monotonous
and eerie fashion, about Angela, Colorado, fifty thousand pounds, and
sundry other things.
Full consciousness came early one morning. He had been lying trying to
piece together all the queer things that floated to his brain through the
medium of his disarranged optic nerve. He succeeded in arriving at the
fact that there was a bed and he was lying on it, and that the ceiling
was comprised of rough logs.... Then an arm was placed behind his head
and a mug of something hot was placed to his lips. But he didn't drink.
His sight was coming back at tremendous speed. The hazy face before him
took definite shape. A pair of intensely blue eyes were fixed on him, and
red shapely lips seemed to smile.
"Angela!" he gasped.
She nodded and turned her eyes down.
"Yes, it is I. Don't talk--you are too weak."
"But I don't understand. Why did you come back?"
He saw the mouth quiver.
"I came back because----"
"Go on."
"I came back because I told you a lie.... I didn't realize then what a
despicable lie it was--one that reflected upon the character of a good
friend, and made me seem like dirt in your eyes.... I wanted my freedom at
any price, but that price was too high.... I--I couldn't go and let you
think--that."
Her shoulders shook, and he saw that she was trying to conceal her sobs.
"When did you come back?" he queried in a slow voice.
"Two days after I left. I found you gone, but knew you must come back,
because some of the gear was here." She hesitated. "Did--did you go
after--him?"
He nodded grimly, and she gave a little cry of terror.
"You--you found him?"
He nodded affirmatively.
"And then----?"
"I found him dying from a bad injury."
"Dying----?"
"Yes. He's dead now."
She turned on him with horrified eyes.
"You--you didn't kill him?"
"Nope. I went there for that, but the Injuns got him first."
Tears swam in her eyes. She moved her hands nervelessly and put the
painful, crucial question.
"Did he know--why you came?"
He inclined his head, much affected by her attitude of abject shame. She
gave a smothered cry and sank her head into her hands.
"Don't, don't!" he implored. "He understood all right, and he's dead and
gone. Forget it!"
He took the mug of hot cocoa, anxious to drop a subject which caused him
as much pain as it did her. Through the frosted windows he could see the
sunlit, beautiful landscape, shining with incomparable radiance. Soon the
spring would come, and with it the soul-filling song of birds, breaking
the long silence of the winter.
"It must be round about March," he said. "I sure have lost count of
time."
"It's March the third or fourth," she replied.
He glanced round the room and was surprised to notice its tidy appearance.
All the domestic utensils were clean and neatly arranged on shelves, and
the window boasted a pair of curtains. He began to realize how near death
he must have been--so near, indeed, but for her he would have crossed the
abyss before this.
"Where did you find me?" he asked.
"Away back on the fringe of the wood. The dogs came home with the sled and
I followed the tracks till I found you. I--I thought you were dead."
"And you carried me here?"
"I unpacked the sled and went back with it. I managed to get you on to
it--the dogs did the rest."
He gave a low sigh.
"I'll soon be up and about again."
"I don't think you will. You are terribly weak--and look so ill."
He laughed weakly.
"I ain't much of an invalid. You'll see."
She did see. His recovery was amazingly rapid. He seemed to change hourly,
making new flesh at an astonishing pace. His iron constitution performed
miracles of transformation. In three days, despite argument, he was out of
bed. On the tenth day he shouldered the shovel and the washing pan and
went out to a small creek to hunt the elusive gold. But failure still
dogged him. He flung down the shovel and devoted hours to thinking over
the position. When the pale sun began to sink behind the multicolored
peaks he came to a decision and tramped back to the shack. A meal was
awaiting him, spread on a clean white cloth. He noticed that the knives
had been cleaned, and that a bowl of water was heated ready for a wash,
which he badly needed. It was a pleasant but astonishing change. For the
first time it brought a real sense of "home." He half regretted the
decision made but an hour before, but he meant to go through with it, hurt
how it might.
"Angela," he said. "We're packing up to-morrow."
She looked at him queerly.
"Where to?"
"Dawson."
"And then----"
"The break-up is coming, and there'll be boats out to San Francisco."
"I see. We are going back?"
"That's about the size of it."
"Because you have failed?"
He tightened his lips and his eyes flashed.
"Nope. I ain't failed. I'll never let this thing beat me. I'll git gold if
I stay till I'm fifty----"
"But you said we were----"
"I kind o' got it mixed. I meant that you should go home. See here, I've
got enough dollars to get you back to England--and it's about time."
She put down her knife and fork, and he saw a queer light gathering in
her eyes. He had expected a look of joy and triumph, but it wasn't that.
"Listen," she said. "A year and a half ago you made a business deal. You
bought me, with my own consent, for fifty thousand pounds----"
"Cut that out," he muttered. "I ain't sticking to that--now."
"But I am."
"Eh!"
"That night when I escaped from you, by a mean trick, I was glad
enough--in a way. But out there, in that cruel wilderness, I came to see
that a business transaction, properly conducted, is a sacred affair. When
one buys a thing, it belongs to one until someone else can pay the price.
That's the position, isn't it?"
"Nope. I can give away my property if I wish."
"Not in this case."
"Hell I can!"
"Hell you can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because--I can't accept anything from you. Food is a different matter.
You fixed the conditions yourself--'fifty-fifty' you called it. And
that's how it stands."
He jerked his chair back and strode up and down the shack. This unexpected
swing of the pendulum upset all his arrangements. He feared she did not
understand the true state of affairs.
"Things is different--I've failed," he growled.
"_We've failed_--you mean."
"And I'm broke."
"_We're_ broke," she corrected.
Impatiently he caught her by the arms. He lowered his voice to impress
upon her the necessity of carrying out his plan.
"Don't you see how we stand? Angela, I'm asking you to do this. I've only
that passage money left. This ain't the place for you----"
"Why didn't you discover that before?"
He bit his lips at the retort.
"I guess I was looking at things squint-eyed. I bin used to rough women
who were born to hardship----"
She flared up indignantly.
"And that's just it. You want to make me less than these--wild women.
Women are women all the world over. If they can suffer uncomplainingly,
so can I. If they can dig gold and mush dogs, so can I. I dug out there
along the creeks when you were ill and unconscious----"
"You dug----" Words failed him.
"Yes. I _won't_ appear contemptible in your eyes. And I won't accept
gifts--not even of freedom. You bought me and paid for me, and the debt
remains."
"But I didn't buy your--soul."
"And I'm not giving it you," she retorted.
He sunk his head, feeling hopelessly beaten in the argument. All the time
he was conscious of inward joy. To let her go was to suffer hell. The
sudden fierceness that leaped out from her only increased his insatiable
desire for her. She seemed even more beautiful in the role of tigress than
in the old frigid pose of a Greek goddess.
"Have your own way," he said.
"I intend to. You fixed the laws and you can't abuse them. Fifty thousand
pounds is a lot of money--more, perhaps, than most men would pay for me.
But one day someone may----"
He clutched her and glared into her eyes in deep resentment.
"Do you think I would give you up for money?--my God!"
"You gave me your word," she said. "You never go back on your word--you
said so."
He uttered a groan.
"It was fifty thousand," she said in level tones. "I shall not forget."
"Angela!"
"Plus ten per cent. interest," she added tensely.