IN THE STORMING NIGHT
The love of these men for the fair creature of the wild had risen to
fever-heat with the abruptness of tropical sunshine. It was no passing
infatuation, but the deep-rooted, absorbing passion of strong simple
men; a passion which dominated their every act and thought; a passion
which years alone might mellow into calm affection, but which nothing
could eradicate. It had come into their lives at a time when every
faculty was at its ripest; henceforth everything would be changed. The
wild, to them, was no longer the wild they had known; it was no longer
theirs alone. Their life had gathered to itself a fresh meaning; a
meaning drawn from association with Woman, and from which it could never
return to the colourless existence of its original solitude.
With the return of Ralph to the camp the day progressed in sullen
silence. Neither of the men would give way an inch; neither would return
to the forest to complete his day's work, and even Aim-sa found their
morose antagonism something to be feared. Each watched the other until
it seemed impossible for the day to pass without the breaking of the
gathering storm. But, however, the time wore on, and the long night
closed down without anything happening to precipitate matters.
The evening was passed in the woman's company. Ralph sat silent,
brooding. While Nick, with the memory of the wild moments during which
he had held Aim-sa in his embrace fresh upon him, held a laboured
conversation with her. To him there was a sense of triumph as he sat
smoking his blackened pipe, listening to the halting phrases of the
woman, and gazing deeply into her wonderful blue eyes. And in the
ecstasy of recollection he forgot Ralph and all but his love. There was
no generosity in his heart; he had given himself up to the delights of
his passion. He claimed the fair Aim-sa to himself, and was ready to
uphold his claim so long as he had life.
All that long evening he heeded nothing of the dark expression of
Ralph's face. The furtive glances from his brother's eyes were lost upon
him, and even had he seen them their meaning would have had no terrors
for him. With all the blind selfishness of a first love he centred his
faculties upon obtaining Aim-sa's regard, and lived in the fool's
paradise of a reckless lover.
And all the time Ralph watched, and planned. The bitterness of his heart
ate into the uttermost part of his vitals, the canker mounted even to
his brain. The deep fire of hatred was now blazing furiously, and each
moment it gathered destructive force. All that was good in the man was
slowly devoured, and only a shell of fierce anger remained.
But what Nick failed to observe Aim-sa saw as plainly as only a woman
can see such things. Her bright eyes saw the fire she had kindled, and
from sheer wantonness she fanned the flame with all the art of which she
was mistress.
Slowly the hours passed. It was Nick who at last rose and gave the
signal for departure. It was an unwritten law between these two that
when one left Aim-sa's presence they both left it. Therefore Ralph
followed suit, and they retired to their sleeping-apartment.
Outside the night was fine, but the threat of storm hung heavily in the
air. The temperature had risen, a sure indication of the coming
blizzard. Ralph was the last to leave the woman's presence, and, ere he
closed the door, he looked back at the smiling face, so beautiful to
him, so seductively fair in his eyes; and the memory of the picture he
looked upon remained with him. He saw the dull-lit interior, with its
rough woodsman's belongings; the plastered walls of logs, coarse and
discoloured; the various utensils hanging suspended from five-inch
spikes driven in the black veins of timber; the blazing stove and
crooked stovepipe; the box of tin dishes and pots; the sides of bacon
hanging from the roof; the pile of sacks containing biscuit and dried
fish, the latter for the dogs; the outspread blankets which formed the
woman's bed; and in the midst of it all the dazzling presence of Aim-sa,
fair as the twilight of a summer evening.
The door closed softly, and as it closed Aim-sa rose from her blankets.
Her expression had changed, and while the men went to their humble
couches she moved about with feverish haste, attentive to the least
sound, but always hurried, and with a look of deep anxiety in her alert
eyes.
No word was spoken as the men rolled into their blankets. The thick wall
shut out all sound from within the hut. The night was intensely still
and silent. Not even was there a single wolf-howl to awaken the echoes
of the towering hills. It was as though all nature was at rest.
Nick was soon asleep. Not even the agitation of mind caused by a first
love could keep him long awake when the hour for sleep came around. With
Ralph it was different. His nature was intenser. His disposition was
capable of greater disturbance than was that of the more impetuous Nick.
He remained awake; awake and alert. He smoked in the darkness more from
habit than enjoyment. Although he could see nothing his eyes constantly
wandered in the direction of the man beside him, and he listened for the
heavy breathing which should tell him of the slumber which would endure
till the first streak of dawn shot athwart the sky. Soon it came; and
Nick snored heavily.
Then, without sound, Ralph sat up in his blankets. He bent his head
towards the sleeper, and, satisfied, rose softly to his feet. Opening
the door he looked out. All was profoundly quiet and black. Not a star
shone in the sky, nor was there a sign of the dancing northern lights.
And while he stood he heard for the first time that night the cry of
some distant forest creature; but the timber-wolves kept silent in the
depths below the hut. He drew the door to behind him and moved out into
the night.
Cold as it was he was consumed by a perfect fever of agitation. His
thoughts were in a state of chaos, but the one dominant note which rang
out with clarion-like distinctness was that which drew him towards
Aim-sa's door. And thither he stole softly, silently, with the tiptoeing
of a thief, and with the nervous quakings of a wrong-doer. His face was
wrought with fear, with hope, with the eagerness of expectancy.
He passed from the deeper shadows in which the lean-to was bathed, and
stood at the angle of the house. He paused, and a flurrying of the snow
at his feet warned him that he had stepped close to the burrow of one of
Nick's huskies. He moved quickly aside, and the movement brought him
beyond the angle. Then he stood stock-still, held motionless as he saw
that the door of the dugout was open and the light of the oil-lamp
within was illuminating the beaten snow which fronted the house. He held
his breath. Again and again he asked himself the meaning of the strange
phenomenon.
From where he stood he could see only the light; the doorway was hidden
by the storm-porch. But, as he strained his eyes in the direction and
craned forward, he became aware of a shadow on the snow where the lamp
threw its dull rays. Slowly he scanned the outline of it, and his mind
was moved by speculation. The shadow was uncertain, and only that which
was nearest the door was recognizable. Here there was no mistake; some
one was standing in the opening, and that some one could only be Aim-sa.
He was filled with excitement and his heart beat tumultuously; a frenzy
of delight seized upon him, and he stepped forward swiftly. A moment
later he stood confronting her.
Just for one moment Aim-sa's face took on a look of dismay, but it
passed before Ralph had time to read it. Then she smiled a glad welcome
up at the keen eyes which peered down into her own, and her voice broke
the silence in a gentle, suppressed tone.
"Quiet--quiet. The night. The storm is near. Aim-sa watches."
Ralph turned his face out upon the blackness of the valley, following
the direction of the woman's gaze.
"Ay, storm," he said mechanically, and his heart pounded within his
breast, and his breath came and went heavily. Then, in the pause which
followed, he started and looked towards the lean-to as a sound came from
that direction. He was half-fearful of his sleeping brother.
Aim-sa's eyes turned towards the rugged features before her, and her
gaze was of an intensity such as Ralph could not support in silence.
Words blundered unbidden to his lips, uncontrolled, and he spoke as a
man who scarce knows what he is saying. His mind was in the throes of a
fever, and his speech partook of the irrelevance of delirium.
"You must live with me," he said, his brows frowning with the intensity
of his passion. "You must be my wife. The white man takes a squaw, an'
he calls her 'wife,' savvee? Guess he ain't like the Injuns that has
many squaws. He jest takes one. You'll be my squaw, an' we'll go away
from here."
A smile was in the woman's blue eyes, for her memory went back to the
words Nick had spoken to her that morning.
Ralph went on.
"Guess I love you that bad as makes me crazy. Ther' ain't nothin' to
life wi'out you." His eyes lowered to the ground; then they looked
beyond her, and he gazed upon the disordered condition of the room
without observing it. "Nick don't need me here. He can have the shack
an' everything, 'cep' my haf share o' the money. Guess we'll trail north
an' pitch our camp on the Peace River. What say?"
Aim-sa's eyes were still smiling. Every word Nick had spoken was vivid
in her memory. She looked as though she would laugh aloud, but she held
herself in check, and the man took her smile for one of acquiescence and
became bolder. He stretched out his hand and caught hers in his shaking
grasp.
"The white man loves--Aim-sa," the woman said, softly, while she yielded
her two hands to him.
"Love? Ay, love. Say, ther' ain't nothin' in the world so beautiful as
you, Aim-sa, an' that's a fac'. I ain't never seen nothin' o' wimmin
before, 'cep' my mother, but I guess now I've got you I can't do wi'out
you, you're that soft an' pictur'-like. Ye've jest got to say right here
that you're my squaw, an' everything I've got is yours, on'y they things
I leave behind to Nick."
"Ah," sighed the woman, "Nick--poor Nick. He loves--Aim-sa, too. Nick is
great man."
"Nick loves you? Did he get tellin' ye so?"
There was a wild, passionate ring in Ralph's question.
The squaw nodded, and the man's expression suddenly changed. The
passionate look merged into one of fiery anger, and his eyes burned with
a low, dark fire. Aim-sa saw the sudden change, but she still smiled in
her soft way.
"An' you?"
The voice of the man was choking with suppressed passion. His whole body
trembled with the chaos of feeling which moved him.
The woman shook her head.
"An' what did ye say?" he went on, as she remained silent.
"Nick is great. No, Aim-sa not loves Nick."
Ralph sighed with relief, and again the fiery blood swept through his
veins. He stepped up close to her and she remained quite still. The blue
eyes were raised to his face and Aim-sa's lips parted in a smile. The
effect was instantaneous. Ralph seized her in a forceful embrace, and
held her to him whilst he gasped out the passionate torrent of his love
amidst an avalanche of kisses. And they stood thus for long, until the
man calmed and spoke with more practical meaning.
"An' we go together?" he asked.
Aim-sa nodded.
"Now?"
The woman shook her head.
"No--sunrise. I wait here."
Again they stood; he clasping her unresisting form, while the touch of
her flowing hair intoxicated him, and the gentle rise and fall of her
bosom drove all thought wild within him.
They stood for many minutes; till at last the still night was stirred by
the rustling herald of the coming storm. The long-drawn-out sigh of the
wind, so sad, so weird in the darkness of night would have passed
unheeded by the man, but Aim-sa was alert, and she freed herself from
his embrace.
"At sunrise," she said. "Now--sleep." And she made a sign as of laying
her head upon a pillow.
Ralph stood irresolute. Suddenly Aim-sa started. Her whole bearing
changed. A swift, startled gaze shot from beneath her long, curling
lashes in the direction of the distant hills. A tiny glimmer of light
had caught her attention and she stepped back on the instant and passed
into the hut, closing the door softly but quickly behind her. And when
she had disappeared Ralph stood as one dazed.
The significance of Aim-sa's abrupt departure was lost upon him. For him
there was nothing unusual in her movements. She had been there, he had
held her in his arms, he had kissed her soft lips. He had tasted of
love, and the mad passion had upset his thoughtful nature. His mind and
his feelings were in a whirl and he thrilled with a delicious joy. His
thoughts were so vivid that all sense of that which was about him, all
caution, was obscured by them. At that moment there was but one thing
that mattered to him,--Aim-sa's love. All else was as nothing.
So it came that the faint light on the distant hills burned steadily;
and he saw it not. So it came that a shadowy figure moved about at the
forest edge below him; and he saw it not. So it came that the light
breath from the mountain-top was repeated only more fiercely; and he
heeded it not. In those moments he was living within himself; his
thoughts were his world, and those thoughts were of the woman he had
kissed and held in his arms.
Nothing gave him warning of the things which were doing about him. He
saw no tribulation in the sea upon which he had embarked. He loved; that
was all he knew. Presently like a sleep-walker he turned and moved
around towards the deeper shadow of the lean-to. Then, when he neared
the door of the shed in which his brother was, he seemed to partially
awake to his surroundings. He knew that he must regain his bed without
disturbing Nick. With this awakening he pulled himself together.
To-morrow at sunrise he and the squaw were to go away, and long he lay
awake, thinking, thinking.
Now the shadow hovering at the forest edge became more distinct as it
neared the house; it came slowly, stealing warily up the snow-clad hill.
There was no scrunch of footsteps, the snow muffled all such sounds. It
drew nearer, nearer, a tall, grey, ghostly shadow that seemed to float
over the white carpet which was everywhere spread out upon the earth.
And as it came the wind rose, gusty and patchy, and the hiss of rising
snow sounded stingingly upon the night air, and often beat with the
force of hail against the front of the dugout.
Within a few yards of the hut the figure came to a halt. Thus it stood,
immovable, a grey sombre shadow in the darkness of night. Then, after a
long pause, high above the voice of the rising wind the howl of the wolf
rang out. It came like a cry of woe from a lost soul; deep-toned, it
lifted upon the air, only to fall and die away lost in the shriek of the
wind. Thrice came the cry. Then the door of the dugout opened and Aim-sa
looked out into the relentless night.
The figure moved forward again. It drew near to the door, and, in the
light, the grey swathing of fur became apparent, and the cavernous hood
lapping about the head identified the Spirit of the Moosefoot Indians.
Then followed a low murmur of voices. And again the woman moved back
into the hut. The grey figure waited, and a moment later Aim-sa came to
him again. Shortly after the door closed and the Spirit moved silently
away.
All was profoundly dark. The darkness of the night was a darkness that
could be felt, for the merciless blizzard of the northern latitudes was
raging at its full height. The snow-fog had risen and all sign of trail
or footstep was swept from the icy carpet. It was a cruel night, and
surely one fit for the perpetration of cruel deeds.
And so the night passed. The elements warring with the fury of wildcats,
with the shrieking of fiends, with the roaring of artillery, with the
merciless severity of the bitter north. And while the storm swept the
valley the two brothers slept; even Ralph, although torn by such
conflicting emotions, was lulled, and finally won to sleep by the raging
elements whose voices he had listened to ever since his cradle days.
But even his slumbers were broken, and strange visions haunted his night
hours. There was none of the peacefulness of his usual repose--the
repose of a man who has performed his allotted daylight task. He tossed
and twisted within his sleeping-bag. He talked disjointedly and flung
his arms about; and, finally, while yet it was dark, he awoke.
Springing into a sitting posture, he peered about him in the darkness.
Everything came back to his mind with a rush. He remembered his
appointment at sunrise, and he wondered how long he had slept. Again he
crept to the shed door. Again he looked out and finally passed out. Nick
still slumbered heavily.
The fury of the elements was unabated and they buffeted him; but he
looked around and saw the grey daylight illuminating the snow-fog, and
he knew that though sunrise was near it was not yet. He passed around
the hut, groping with his hands upon the building until he came to the
door. Here he paused. He would awake Aim-sa that she might prepare for
her flight with him. There was much to be done. He was about to knock
but altered his mind and tried the latch. It yielded to his touch and
the door swung back.
He did not pause to wonder, although he knew that it was Aim-sa's custom
to secure the door. He passed within, and in a hoarse whisper called out
the name that was so dear to him. There came no answer and he stood
still, his senses tense with excitement. He called again, again. Still
there was no answer. Now he closed the door, which creaked over the snow
covering the sill. He stood listening lest Nick should be moving on the
other side of the wall, and to ascertain if Aim-sa had awakened and was
fearful at the intrusion. But no sound except the rage of the storm came
to him.
His impatience could no longer be restrained; he plunged his hand into
the pocket of his buckskin shirt and drew out a box of matches. A moment
later a light flashed out, and in one sweeping, comprehensive glance
around him he realized the truth. The hut was empty. "Gone, gone," he
muttered, while, in rapid survey, his eyes glanced from one familiar
object to another.
Everything was out of place, there were signs of disorder everywhere;
and the woman was gone.
Suddenly the wind rushed upon the house with wild violence and set
everything in the place a-clatter. He lit the lamp. Then he seemed to
collect himself and went over and felt the stove. It was ice cold. The
blankets were laid out upon the floor in the usual spread of the
daytime. They had not been slept in.
Into his eyes there leapt a strange, wild look. The truth was forcing
itself upon him, and his heart was racked with torment.
"She's gone," he muttered again, "an'," as an afterthought, "it's
storming terrible. Wher'? Why?"
He stood again for awhile like a man utterly at a loss. Then he began to
move, not quietly or with any display of stealth. He was no longer the
self-contained trapper, but a man suddenly bereft of that which he holds
most dear. He ran noisily from point to point, prying here, there, and
everywhere for some sign which could tell him whither she had gone. But
there was nothing to help him, nothing that could tell him that which he
would know. She had gone, vanished, been spirited away in the storm.
He was suddenly inspired. It was the realization of the condition of the
night which put the thought into his head. With a bound he sprang back
to the door and flung it open. To an extent the storm-porch was
sheltered, and little drift-snow had blown in to cover the traces of
footsteps. Down he dropped upon hands and knees. Instantly all his
trailing instincts were bent upon his task. Yes, there were footprints,
many, many. There were his own, large moccasins of home manufacture.
There were Aim-sa's, clear, delicate, and small. And whose were those
other two? He ran his finger over the outline as though to impress the
shape more certainly upon his mind.
"Wide toe," he muttered, "long heel, an' high instep. Large, large, too.
By G----, they're Injun!"
He gave out the last words in a shout which rang high above the noise of
the storm; he sprang to his feet and dashed out around to the lean-to.
At the door he met his brother. Nick had been roused by his brother's
cry.
Seeing the expression of Ralph's face the larger man stood.
"By Gar!" he cried. Then he waited, fearing he knew not what.
"She's gone," shouted Ralph. "Gone, gone, can't ye hear?" he roared.
"Gone, an' some darned neche's been around. She's gone, in the blizzard.
Come!"
And he seized Nick by the arm and dragged him round to the door of the
dugout.