HUSBAND AND WIFE
IT WAS THE end of the day, and Joy Gargrave, kneeling down on a litter
of young spruce boughs, in the shadow of a wind screen, stretched her
mittened hands towards the fire. Then she removed her face mask and
looked at her foster-sister, who having changed her moccasins was
placing the pair she had worn through the day near the fire where they
would dry slowly.
“Tired, Babette?”
“Not more than ordinary,” was the reply, “though I will own to having
found those last two miles against the wind a little trying.”
They had been travelling for a week, and were growing used to the
evil of the trail. Body stiffness no longer troubled them, and having
been inured to the task from childhood, the agony of cramp brought
on by snow-shoe work was unknown to them, the hard exercise of the
trail inducing no more than a healthy tiredness at the end of the day.
Joy stretched herself luxuriously on the spruce, and looked round.
The darkness of the woods was behind them, and in front the waste of
snow showed dimly. In the circle of firelight the Indian George was
preparing the evening meal, whilst his son Jim was feeding the dogs.
The girl watched them meditatively for a moment or two, then she spoke
to Miss La Farge--
“A little different to the Ritz, Babette!”
Babette looked up from the steaming moccasins.
“What do you mean, Joy?”
Joy waved her hand in a half circle. “Why, everything--the trees, the
snow, the darkness, the dogs, the camp-fire, George and Jim, and you
and I like a couple of Dianas.”
Babette laughed and looked round appreciatively. “It makes me think
of a picture which I saw when we were in London. It had a fancy
name--’When the World was Young,’ or something like that--and whoever
painted it knew the wilderness well. It is, as you say, a little
different to the Ritz--and ever so much better. I wonder how long we
shall be on trail, not that I’m tired of it. Even hard work has its
pleasures and compensations.”
“I do not know how long we shall be. I am content that we are on the
right trail. The strange Indian with whom George talked today told a
story of a white man, an officer of police, who had been taken to the
winter camp of his tribe with a broken leg. The leg had healed, and the
officer had departed ten days ago on the trail of a bad white man, and
he went Northward. From the description given the officer was almost
certainly Corporal Bracknell, and I have an idea that he may have news
of Dick Bracknell and be following his trail, in which case I pray that
we may come up with him soon; for if there was trouble between them,
and the Corporal killed his cousin, it would be a very terrible thing,
in view of the situation as regards the succession to Harrow Fell.”
“Yes,” answered Miss La Farge slowly, “but it is no use shutting one’s
eyes to facts. The death of Dick Bracknell would be a relief to many
people--yourself included!”
“It would be no relief to me if Dick Bracknell died by his cousin’s
hand,” answered Joy in a low voice. “It would be quite terrible; it is
more than I dare contemplate.”
“Why?” As Babette La Farge shot the question at her foster-sister she
looked at her keenly, and saw a wave of warm blood surge over the
beautiful face, and as she saw it her own grew suddenly tender. “No,”
she added hurriedly, “don’t answer the question, Joy. There is no need.
I can guess the answer, which I am sure you would not give me. I think
you are right--for everybody’s sake nothing must happen between those
two men. At all costs that must be prevented.”
She dropped the moccasins, took a couple of steps forward, and
stopping, kissed Joy’s warm cheek. “My dear,” she said, “you must not
worry. Time will unravel this dreadful tangle, and after all you are
young yet.”
Joy looked up at her trying bravely to smile, but there was the gleam
of unshed tears in her eyes. She was about to speak, when the servant
George announced that supper was ready, and she contented herself with
a glance that was full of love and gratitude.
The next morning, just before they broke camp the younger Indian, who
had been out inspecting the trail, returned with news. He had been a
little way up the river and had encountered a strange Indian in the act
of taking a marten from a trap. He had talked with this man, and when
the latter had heard who his mistress was he had betrayed considerable
excitement, and had asked him to wait for him a little time, as he
might have a message for his mistress. He had gone away, and a little
later had returned and had then told Jim that his master--a white
man--was lying sick in a cabin on a creek a little way up the river,
and that he earnestly desired that Miss Gargrave would go and speak
with him.
“Did he give his master’s name?” asked Joy, as a quick hope awoke
within her.
“No, Miss, but he hav’ yours; he say you know him. And I wonder if he
is the man we seek.”
Joy also wondered, wondered and hoped, and after consideration she
nodded her head. “Yes, I will go and see this man. He may be Corporal
Bracknell, or he may have seen him recently. In any case it is a
Christian charity to visit any stricken white man in this desolate
bush, and it will mean only a short delay. Where is the creek, Jim?”
“Up the river a little way, miss. The man he waits at the point where
it joins the river.”
“Then Miss La Farge and I will go on ahead, and you can come on behind,
and if you do not overtake us, you can await us at the mouth of the
creek.”
The two girls started off, and presently reached the creek, where
stamping his feet in the snow, Dick Bracknell’s man, Joe, awaited
them. Both of them glanced at him keenly, but he was a stranger to
them, and then Joy addressed him.
“Your master, where is he?”
The Indian pointed up the creek. “Him sick man, I take you to him!”
Without waiting for further words the man turned in his tracks and
swung up the creek at such a pace that the two girls had hard work to
keep up with him. Joy questioned the man as to his master’s name, but
the man either did not or would not understand, for he merely shook his
head, and pressed forward. In a few minutes they reached the little
cabin at the edge of the trees, and maintaining a wooden face, the
Indian swung the door open and motioned them to enter.
Joy pressed forward eagerly with her foster-sister at her heels. The
Indian softly closed the door behind them, an evil smile wrinkling
his scarred face, then going to the rear of the hut, a moment later
he appeared with a bow and some arrows in his hand, and entering the
shadow of the trees, he began to walk towards the mouth of the creek.
... As she entered the cabin Joy Gargrave looked quickly about her.
The only light came through a parchment window and from the improvised
stove, and in the semi-darkness, at first, she could see nothing.
But after a moment she discerned a tall figure standing but a little
way from her. The face was in shadow, and she could not make out the
features, but as her eyes fell on him, the man gave vent to a thin,
choking laugh.
“Good morning, my dear Joy! This is an unexpected pleasure!”
At the sound of the voice Joy started, and with a dawning fear in her
eyes leaned forward and stared into the haggard face before her. As she
did so, her fear increased, and she asked suddenly, “Who are you, that
you should address me in that way?”
“Then you do not recognize me?” asked the voice mockingly. “I am not
surprised. Time has wrought inevitable changes--but of course, it
does not change the constant heart. Look again, my dear, and you will
see----”
Overwhelming fear surged in the girl’s heart. She knew who this haggard
man was; indeed, she had known from the first word that he had spoken,
and now she turned abruptly towards the door as if to flee. The door
was closed, and as she stretched a hand towards the wooden latch, the
thin cackling laugh broke out again.
“The door is fastened, my dear Joy--on the outside. I remember how
you ran from me at Alcombe, and when I arranged this joyous meeting,
I foresaw that you might be startled, that you might try to repeat
that old folly; therefore I took steps--and my man Joe keeps the door
outside. But I am glad to see you, dear wife, most unfeignedly glad to
see you, and there is no need that you should hurry away; indeed, I am
afraid that until I give permission for you to go, you will have to
remain here.”
“What do you want?” asked Joy, striving in vain to keep her voice
steady.
“What do I want?” there was an accent of mock surprise in Dick
Bracknell’s voice as he echoed the question, and then he laughed again
in a way that made the girl shiver. “What a question to ask a husband
who has not seen his wife since his marriage morning! Really, my dear,
such a question ought to be quite unnecessary.”
He broke off as his cough took him, and for perhaps half a minute he
was shaken by it, and could not speak. When he resumed it was in a
different tone.
“Sit down,” he said, “I want to talk to you, and there is no need that
you stand on ceremony in your husband’s house. I regret the scarcity of
chairs, but there is a log by the fire there--and if you will accept
the advice of an expert you will throw off your furs.... You won’t?
Well, self-will is one of the characteristics of your sex, and no doubt
you will please yourself. But all the same allow me to express my
gratitude to you that you should have left your home in mid-winter to
come and look for me. Such solicitude is beyond what I had ex----”
“I was not looking for you,” Joy broke in. “You are the last person I
was expecting to meet!”
“Is that so?” The mockery had gone out of Bracknell’s voice now, and
there was a dangerous ring in it. The eyes in the haggard face were
blazing, and to both the girls it was clear that he had much ado to
keep himself in hand. “You dare to tell me that--me, your lawful
husband? Perhaps you will tell me for whom you did leave your home
then? Whom you were following and seeking on a winter trail?”
Joy felt her face flush suddenly. Could she tell him? she asked
herself, and immediately her mind answered “No!” In the wild mood that
was on him Dick Bracknell would be sure to put a false interpretation
on any explanation that she might offer him. Realizing this she was
silent, and a moment later he broke out again, wrathfully--
“You won’t tell me? You’re ashamed to tell me, I suppose. But accept
my assurances that there is no need. I already know. My cousin Roger
is the favoured man, is he not? You start at that! Then it is all true
what I have heard, that not only is he to supplant me at Harrow Fell,
but in my wife’s affections also? Well, that is not going to happen. I
will have Harrow Fell and you also--and you first, my Joy, for there
shall be no cuckoo in my nest.... Yes, I will have Harrow Fell. I can
face five years at Portland or at Parkhurst for that. But first, I will
have you. You are here, in your husband’s house, where you have come of
your own accord, and here you remain. Take off your furs!”
To Joy it was clear that Dick Bracknell was almost insanely jealous,
and her face blanched as the possibilities of the situation flashed
themselves upon her. The man took a step forward as if to enforce
his order, and she shrank back against the rough logs of the shack.
Bracknell laughed savagely, but the next moment there came an
intervention.
“Stand back, Mr. Bracknell!”
The speaker was Miss La Farge, and as she stepped resolutely forward,
holding a small but serviceable looking machine pistol in her hand,
Dick Bracknell came to a standstill.
“What----”
“Do as I tell you. Lay a finger on Joy, and I will shoot you. She may
be your wife, but she is my more-than-sister, and I will brook no
violence from you.”
Bracknell looked at her irresolutely. It was very clear to him that she
would keep her word, and after a moment he stepped back and laughed to
cover his discomfiture.
“A she-lynx--and with claws! Well, time is on my side. You will grow
tired of standing there, and Joe will be back in a minute or two, then
I shall know how to deal with you.”
Babette did not even reply to him. She glanced at the door and
addressed herself to Joy.
“Try and open the door, Joy.”
Joy sprang to the door, and lifting the wooden latch tugged hard at the
door. Dick Bracknell watched her with amused eyes, and when all her
efforts failed, he spoke again.
“It is no use, my dear Joy. The door is fastened on the outside. We are
all prisoners until Joe returns.”
“No!” replied Miss La Farge stubbornly. “Not until then. Our men will
be here in a few minutes if we do not meet them at the mouth of the
creek. Then----”
A sharp cry of agony sounded somewhere outside, and as it reached
them, the girl’s speech suddenly froze.
“What was that?” asked Joy, looking at Bracknell.
A deep frown had come upon his face, and there was apprehension in his
voice as he replied, “I--I do not know. Some one may have been hurt.
I----”
He was still speaking, haltingly, when the crash of a rifle broke on
his words, followed by a shout, and that in turn by a great stillness.
The three people in the shack looked at one another helplessly.
The girls’ faces were white, and Bracknell’s features showed wrathful.
In silence they waited and nothing further happened. Half an hour
passed, during which the girls whispered to each other, and still the
silence outside was maintained, and to those in the cabin it seemed to
hold a menace of mysterious things. Another half hour crept by, and
then Bracknell spoke hoarsely--
“Something must have happened, or the Indian would have been back
before this. And your men--you said they were to meet you at the mouth
of the creek!”
“Yes,” answered Joy composedly. “And no doubt they are waiting there
now.”
“I am afraid not,” answered her husband. “Something has occurred--what,
we must find out!” He glanced at the window of skin parchment, then
added, “That is the only way. We must cut that out. One of us must
climb through and open the door----”
“Joy shall go!” said Miss La Farge firmly.
“It doesn’t matter who goes! This is a business of life and death.
There is an axe in the corner there. If one of you will use it, I shall
be obliged. I am afraid that the state of my lungs does not permit much
exertion on my part.”
Babette looked at Joy, who, finding the ax, attacked the window, and
a moment later the freezing air drove into the cabin. When the rough
frame was quite clear the man nodded at her. His manner was now very
quiet and betrayed nothing of the jealous rage which had possessed him
an hour ago.
“Go through, Joy. Take the axe with you. You may need it to knock out
the staple. Have no fear,” he said as she visibly hesitated. “I give
you my word that this is no trap. Believe me, I am very anxious for the
safety of all of us.”
Joy glanced once at him. It was plain to her that he was sincere, and
two seconds later she climbed to the window and dropped down into the
snow. A minute later the door swung open, and she was joined by Babette
and Dick Bracknell. All three stood there looking down the creek. No
sound reached them. Everywhere was the appalling inscrutable silence of
the Northern wilderness.