AN ENCOUNTER AT THE LODGE
IT WAS MID-DAY, and as they marched between the high banks on a hard
trail, Joy Gargrave’s heart grew light.
“Another hour, Babette, and we shall be home.”
“Yes,” was the reply, “home! That is what North Star is to us, and I
wonder you ever left it, Joy.”
“I was afraid,” answered Joy. “Dick Bracknell’s letter startled me. He
plainly meant to assert himself and I was glad of Sir Joseph’s summons
to England, because it helped me to get away from the complications
here.”
“It does not matter much where one goes,” answered Babette
philosophically, “one carries one’s real complications with her. Here
or there--what matters? The heart is ever the same.”
“Yes, that is true,” answered Joy, thinking of the complications of
her own life. “We are the victims of our emotions quite as much as of
circumstances.”
“Of our inexperience more than our emotions, I should say,” answered
Babette-- “of our inexperience and the ruthlessness of those who are
prepared to take advantage of them. But here, better than in most
places, we can live our own life, untrammelled, and for the most part
free from the worser cares. This lodge of ours is like a sanctuary in
the wilderness, and the serenity, the woods, the snow and the silences
have their own healing for the troubles of life.”
“Yes, but there is something to be said for companionship with one’s
own kind. I notice we are always a little excited when we have callers
at the Lodge. We----”
A rifle shot cracked in on her words, and before either of them could
speak again, a moose broke suddenly from the woods, and plunged down
the steep bank not five hundred yards ahead of them. The wolf-dogs in
the sleds gave tongue, and notwithstanding the burden behind them,
leaped forward. Joy laughed gaily.
“There’s an end of philosophic reflection. The moose is hit. I wonder
who----”
A man emerged from the woods, dropped on one knee, and sighted the
wide-horned beast. Then his shot rang, and the moose toppled over in
the snow. The hunter stood up and caught sight of the oncoming party.
He scrutinized it carefully for a moment and then waved his hand.
“It is George,” cried Babette, naming an Indian servant. “See, he
recognizes us.”
The hunter descended the bank, and instead of going to inspect his kill
waited for them to come up. As they did so a smile crumpled his grave
copper-coloured face.
“How!” he said. “Very glad to see you, Miss Joy and Miss Babette. My
words are not as my heart, for my tongue is not easy of speech. But
glad am I to behold you, glad as if your coming were the breath of the
south spring wind upon the cheek.”
Joy laughed with pleasure. “Not more glad than are we, George. And you
must not belittle that tongue of yours. If you only knew it you talk
poetry. But tell me, how are things at the Lodge? All right, I hope,
and Nanette and the papoose, they are well?”
“They are well,” answered the Indian. “But we dwell not alone. With us
are Rayner and two men of the Kwikpak tribe. They are bad men.”
“Rayner!” as she echoed the name Joy’s eyes flashed fire.
“Yes, with two bad men of the Kwikpak tribe.”
“When did they arrive?” asked Joy quickly.
“At nightfall five days ago. They were very weary, having followed the
trail hard and long. Rayner brought word from you that he stay to look
for some man, but he brought no word of your coming.”
“No, I dare say not,” answered Joy sharply. “He would not expect us
so soon. We also have pushed the trail hard. What has Mr. Rayner been
doing since he arrived, George?”
“The first day he rest and smoke and ask many questions.”
“Questions? About what?”
“He asked if Nanette or I have beheld two men, one of whom is Corporal
Bracknell, who took the Northward trail when you went southward. He ask
if we have seen him since that time, and I answer no, for it is the
truth, and Rayner he smile to himself as is the way of a man with a
hidden thought.”
“And the second man of whom he asked?”
“I know him not!” answered the Indian, “neither him nor the name of
Dick which he bore.”
“Dick!” Joy swung round to her companion. “You hear, Babette. He asks
after Dick, whose body, as he told me, he had thrust into an ice-hole.
I thought when he told me that he lied and now I know.”
She turned to the Indian again. “And the other days?”
“The other days,” answered the Indian gravely, “he drink much brandy
and a little coffee, and the two bad men they go on a journey and
return yesterday. They bring news I think, for at dawn tomorrow they
depart with Rayner.”
“No! Not tomorrow,” cried Joy, “but this very day.”
“That will be as you desire, mistress. When we return----”
“Where are they going? Do you know, George?”
“They take the Northward trail. Rayner tell me that when he have drunk
much brandy. ‘From North Star to the North Star we go,’ he say, ‘you
old graven image, and when we come back the girl shall be ours!’ I do
not understand such words, for there is no girl there, but such are the
words that Rayner speak.”
Joy looked at Babette. “He knows something,” she said.
“Yes,” answered her foster-sister, “but there is one thing he does not
know, and that is a woman’s heart. He surely cannot hope----”
“I do not know what he may hope. I know what I shall do. My cousin
Adrian is intolerable in his pretensions.”
“What will you do, Joy? I begin to fancy that away from the restraints
of civilization Adrian Rayner is possibly a dangerous man. And we are
‘North of fifty-three!’”
“I do not care. I am not afraid. There is, as you once hinted, the law
of the wilderness, and at least I will be mistress in my own house.”
She turned to her servant. “We will leave you one of the sleds, George.
You will then be able to bring some of the meat home. I will talk with
you again when you arrive.”
She gave orders for one team to push on and one to remain, then as she
and her foster-sister recommenced their march she spoke again.
“I wonder why Adrian Rayner has lingered so long at North Star?”
“He has evidently been using the Lodge as his headquarters whilst he
made the necessary inquiries. Also there is another possibility,”
answered Babette.
“And what is that?”
“I have a thought that he may be desirous of assuring himself that you
have arrived here. It is only a possibility, but it is there.”
“I do not see why----”
“Why do you suppose he wished to marry you?” asked Babette quickly.
“Because he loved you? Possibly! But you are a rich woman, and I think
that may have more to do with the question than you have yet thought.
It may have more to do with his journey here than anything else. Have
you made a will, Joy?”
“No!” answered Joy quickly. “I have never thought of it. My uncle never
suggested it to me.”
“That is not surprising,” was the answer. “After Dick Bracknell, your
uncle is your next of kin. He and your cousin are your only blood
relatives. Without a will, your marriage being unknown, your estate
would fall to them if you were to die.”
Joy’s face showed a dawning horror. “Oh, but my uncle----”
“Your uncle is human, Joy, and what is more he has his difficulties.
Whilst we were at Claridge’s I overheard two men talking. I said
nothing to you at the time, regarding it as mere gossip, but they were
discussing Sir Joseph, and one of them said that he had gathered some
confounded bad eggs during the last year or two, and that he must be
very rich to stand it. Supposing he is not very rich. Supposing the bad
eggs are more than he can stand. Then your money----”
“But I cannot think that of my uncle, Babette; it is monstrous.”
“Of your uncle. No! Perhaps not! But your cousin is another matter.
Let us suppose that he knows of Sir Joseph’s losses. We know he is not
scrupulous. Knowing of your marriage to Dick Bracknell, he paid you
attention. He asked you to marry him. He even stooped to threats,
as you told me. Why? Because he wanted to be able to control your
fortune, to keep the money, some of which was badly needed. You may
shake your head, Joy, but that is at least a possibility; and that is
why I suggest that it is possible that Adrian Rayner may be desirous
of assuring himself of your arrival here. You are beginning to know
him; do you think that after his attempt to lure you into a bigamous
marriage, and after his threats, that he will be at all chary of using
any means that circumstances may offer of putting him in possession of
your fortune? I do not! And he has been drinking, if what George says
is true; and drink makes a tempted man dangerous. You must be careful,
Joy, even diplomatic if necessary.”
“I shall order him to leave North Star the moment we arrive there!”
answered Joy stubbornly. “If there is a shadow of truth in your
surmises, there is all the more reason why I should do so.”
“You will do as you please, Joy,” replied her foster-sister, breaking
into a smile, “and at any rate we have the big battalions on our side.
With the drivers and George, and George’s son, Jim, we shall be able to
enforce your will.”
“And I shall do so,” answered Joy. “Here I am strong enough to
disregard his threats.”
As it happened, the first person they encountered when they left the
river trail and swung into the clearing which led to the Lodge, was
Adrian Rayner. He was walking towards the river, with a rifle in the
crook of his arm, and as he saw them swinging towards him, he halted
suddenly, and remained quite still, until Joy reached him. The look on
his face betrayed his surprise, and to Joy it was clear that he had not
expected to encounter her before his departure from the lodge. He stood
there a little nonplussed and it was Joy who spoke first.
“You have not wasted time, Cousin Adrian,” she said, and there was an
unmistakable edge to her tones.
“No,” he answered with an awkward laugh. “I promised you I would find
that man who was in the wood when you shot your hus----”
“No!” she interrupted sharply, “not when I did, but when you shot my
husband!”
There was accusation in her eyes, her voice, and Rayner visibly quailed
before it. Then he cried--
“What confounded nonsense is this?”
“It is not nonsense,” she answered. “It is at least a possibility. You
were in the wood that night, and you had a rifle with you. There were
two shots, and one of them hit Dick Bracknell. One of those shots came
from my rifle, but from whose rifle did the second come? Yours! I say.”
“Mine!” he cried harshly. “You must be mad. You cannot have thought
over what you are saying.”
“No,” she countered, “I am not mad, I am quite sane, and I have thought
a great deal over the matter.”
“But why should I shoot Dick Bracknell masquerading as Koona Dick? He
was not my husband?”
“No,” replied Joy coolly, “but he was mine, and you had somehow become
aware of the fact. If I am not mistaken, you yourself aspired to marry
me----”
“Men _are_ sometimes smitten with madness,” he interposed sneeringly.
“But there is another possibility that I can suggest to you, of which
you do not seem to have thought. That precious corporal who was here;
he had a gun! Also, I fancy that he would find the death of Dick
Bracknell no heartbreaking business, as it would bring him within a
step of the succession to Harrow Fell; and as Jeff Bracknell is now
dead, it puts him absolutely on the doorstep. Have you thought of that?”
“There is no need that I should,” answered Joy promptly. “Roger
Bracknell had no knowledge that the man whom he knew as Koona Dick was
his cousin, until he picked up a note which Dick had written to me,
which was some time after the firing had taken place. I know that, and
your suggestion is merely preposterous.”
“You think so,” he laughed. “I wonder why?” Something in his tones
brought the blood flaming to Joy Gargrave’s face. Her eyes flashed
indignantly. Rayner laughed again brutally.
“Not that there is any need for wonder,” he said maliciously. “You seem
to be in great vogue with the Bracknells. It must be a family weakness
for----”
“How dare you?” She took a step forward, and suddenly raised the dog
whip in her hand. Rayner backed quickly, and instinctively raised his
hand. But the long lash smote him on the face, and he gave vent to a
savage oath.
“You--virago! Would you?”
He had lost complete control of himself, and what would have happened
is only to be conjectured, but at that moment the Indian George stepped
quietly from behind some tall bushes. He still carried his rifle, and
though there was an impassive look on his brown face, his eyes were
blazing. The white man saw him, and as he met those eyes, the wrath in
him was checked. The Indian spoke no word, but very deliberately opened
the breech of his rifle, as if to assure himself that it was loaded.
Then he closed it and looked at Rayner again, and at that second look
the white man shivered, for in it he saw something threatening and
ominous, which unsealed the springs of fear within him. Joy was the
first to speak.
“George,” she said, addressing her henchman, “Mr. Rayner takes the
trail in an hour. Anything he needs for his journey he is to have; but
he goes within the hour, and never again is he to visit North Star. Do
you understand?”
The Indian nodded his head in grave assent, and without another look at
Adrian Rayner, Joy turned and went up the road towards the house.