The spot of the lake shore where Garth picketed the two horses was
something under two miles from Mabyn's hut. The way led among the trees
which filled this part of the valley of the lake; and underfoot they
could distinguish traces of an old trail. The growth ended abruptly at
the edge of a small, dry watercourse, which came down to the lake; and
issuing into the open here, the riders beheld the dreaded goal of their
long journey immediately before them.
As they crossed the stones, they were ready to fancy they could hear,
each the beating of the other's heart; and the scene before them was
bitten into their brains, to endure hideously vivid and minute while
life endured. The shack presented a three-quarter view, front and side.
It topped a gentle, uneven acclivity of grass, rising from the
watercourse at its side; while in front, the ground extended level a
hundred feet to the edge of a cut-bank. This bank rose out of the lake
sheer and loamy, to the height of a cottage roof; and over the edge hung
a tangled fringe of grass-roots.
Desolation was the cry of it all; winters upon winters had bleached the
logs of the shack silvery like old hair; the chimney had fallen; and all
four quarters of glass in the single window were out. At one time the
slope between the hut and the bed of the stream had evidently been a
theatre of industry; for the ground was pitted and hummocked and rutted;
but long ago the grass had indifferently muffled it over, like graves in
an old cemetery. In the centre of this waste stood, the picture of
dejection, an Indian-bred cayuse, miserable burlesque of the equine
species, no bigger than a donkey, and incredibly hairy and misshapen.
His back was galled; and one leg, which he painfully favoured, puffed to
treble its size at the hock. Even the great cottonwood trees springing
beyond the hut, with their shattered branches, and blotched and greenish
trunks, breathed decay. An ancient dugout, lying at the mouth of the
watercourse, was, like everything else, rotting and seamed.
And on the bench at the door of the hut sat the evil genius of the
scene; a man with his legs sprawling in front of him, and his head
fallen over and back against the wall. He made no move at their
approach; and when they came close, they saw that he slept. Pitilessly
revealed in the strong sunlight, he made a spectacle at which the most
indifferent stranger would have shuddered and sickened--and it was
reserved for the woman who had exalted him in her maiden's heart, to see
him then. His mouth hung open; he breathed stertorously; and the flies,
buzzing in and out of the open door beside him, crawled at will over his
ashen face. That his chin was freshly shaven, and his hair brushed,
added to the ghastliness. The whole picture was horribly vivid; the
littlest details of it struck on the retinas of the two observers like
blows--the oblong patch of sunlight cleaving the gloom of the shack
inside the door; six muskrat pelts above the man's head, tacked to the
logs to dry; an old foul pipe with a silver mounting, half fallen from
his relaxed fingers and spilling ashes on the bench; his old-fashioned
rifle leaning against the door-frame. Garth could have furnished the
size, the style and the make of that gun.
Natalie turned a stony face to Garth. "It is he," she whispered.
Garth thought of an old photograph she had shown him of a dark-haired
youth sitting on a horse, with a charming, imperious grace of body and
feature, in which there was something godlike and unanswerable; and
looking at this wreck of a man, toothless, bald and livid, he was struck
with awe.
"You have seen," he whispered to Natalie. "Let us ride back."
She shook her head. "I must say what I came for," she said.
"Will you dismount?" he asked.
Natalie shuddered. "Never, here!" she whispered.
In a moment she had commanded herself again. "Please speak to him," she
said.
"Mabyn!" called Garth peremptorily.
The man's lids parted. Natalie was directly in front of him. As his
sleep-stupefied eyes slowly took her in, he raised himself to an upright
position, and struck his eyeballs sharply with his knuckles.
Garth instinctively drew away a little.
"A white woman!" muttered the man, lost in amazement.
Natalie, her head slightly averted, sat her horse like a carven woman.
Fear grew apace with wonder in Mabyn's eyes; his breath quickened; he
ceaselessly passed his hand in front of his face. "Natalie!" he
muttered, still in the toneless voice of one who sleeps. "Oh, my God!
It's Natalie!"
Grasping the edge of the bench, he pulled himself to his feet; and took
a few uncertain steps toward her. He put out his hand fearfully.
Natalie sharply reined back her horse. "Don't touch me!" she said.
It broke the spell that held him--but not wholly. His hands dropped to
his sides; a saner light appeared in his eyes; and he looked all around,
as if to convince himself of the realness of his surroundings. On Garth
his eyes lingered stupidly for a moment; then impatiently returned to
Natalie.
"If it's you, how did you get here?" he asked quietly enough--still
bemused.
"I came over the prairie, as every one comes," she said sharply.
Mabyn frowned. "I'm wide awake," he said irritably. "I know where I am.
I fell asleep on the bench half an hour ago--but," his voice deepened
and swelled on the note of awe, "_you_, Natalie! You or your wraith!
I--I can't take it in!" The faded eyes bolted, and swept wearily and
unseeingly over the lake.
Natalie winced every time he spoke her name. "Try to collect yourself,"
she said coldly. "There is no doubt of its being I."
"The voice too!" he muttered, struck with the new thought. His eyes
returned to her. "Natalie--and not changed at all!" he murmured
dreamily. "But more beautiful!"
"If you please!" said Natalie haughtily.
He still stood looking at her with something the air of a bewildered
child, but more of the aged lunatic. "The first time I saw her, she was
on a horse," he said in his dull voice. "But she was better dressed.
Where did you get those clothes?" he asked suddenly.
Natalie shot an appealing glance at Garth.
He, in his over-mastering disgust of the man, could not put away the
thought that there was something feigned in this excessive bewilderment.
"Come to yourself, Mabyn!" he said sharply. "We can't stop here!"
Mabyn darted a startled, spiteful glance at the new speaker, and without
another word, turned and went back to the bench, where he sat, burying
his face in his hands. Natalie and Garth looked at each other, scarcely
knowing how to act. But presently Mabyn lifted his head again; and,
spying his pipe where it had fallen, picked it up, and attentively
knocked out what remained of the ashes in the bowl.
Natalie thought she might venture to address him again. "I have
something important to tell you," she began.
Mabyn darted a queer, furtive look at her; shame, suspicion,
obsequiousness and a sudden, reborn passion all had a part in it.
"Won't you shake hands with me?" he asked suddenly.
Natalie drew the long breath that invokes Patience and looked elsewhere.
"You've changed toward me," the man whined.
Indignation suddenly reddened her cheeks, and she levelled her blue eyes
upon him in a glance that should have struck to his soul.
But it failed to penetrate very far. "I know I've treated you badly,"
he went on. "I was coming out in the spring, though; just as soon as I
got things straight. I've worked like a son-of-a-gun too, but luck has
always been against me." His voice gathered assurance from his own
excuses.
"Never mind that now," said Natalie. "Please listen to what I have to
say."
But the man, shrinking from matter hateful to his ears, strove to divert
her. He struck his forehead with his knuckles, and jumped up. "By Gad!
What's the matter with me!" he cried. "I never asked you in! It's a
wretched hole, but such as it is----" He had turned to the door. Sudden
recollection chopped off the speech midway; and he turned a furtive,
frightened face over his shoulder to Natalie.
"N-never mind," he gabbled hurriedly. "Don't come in! It's not fit to
receive you! It's better out here!" Little beads of sweat were springing
out on his forehead.
His whole bearing had been so wild and stupefied since his waking, that
they attached small importance to this display of terror. Natalie
patiently essayed to speak again; but again he interrupted.
His face cleared. "You've left your outfit somewhere back on the trail,"
he said eagerly. "I'll go back with you; and we can talk things over
quietly there!" He actually started toward the watercourse, walking with
jerky, uneven steps.
Natalie made no move to follow. "I will say what I have to say here,"
she spoke after him.
Mabyn was voluble, scarcely coherent in his incontinent desire to take
her away from the hut. Natalie waited, letting him talk himself out.
Finally compelled to give in, he returned with strange, apprehensive
glances around the hut, and over the summits of the hills behind. Garth
thought his brain was beginning to be affected by a solitary life.
However, he now listened patiently enough.
"You have not written to your mother or to me in many months," began
Natalie coldly; "and your letters for three years past have given us no
information. Your mother's whole thought is of you; and through her
anxiety and suspense she is worn to a shadow of what she was; the
doctors tell her she has a mortal disease that must soon prevail."
In spite of herself Natalie's voice softened as she delivered her
pitiful plea; but it was not from any kindness for him. "She has been
very kind to me all these years," she went on, "and I, to ease her what
I could of the torment of her mind during her last days, volunteered to
go with her to find you. Her age and her infirmities prevented her from
coming any farther than Prince George. I have been fortunate in finding
friends who have assisted me the rest of the way. I have come to beg
you, on behalf of your mother, to let her see you before she dies. She
is waiting in Prince George. She bade me tell you that neither poverty,
misfortune nor disgrace could abate any of her love for you; that she
would die happy if she might once more press your hand against her
cheek."
Garth watched Mabyn narrowly while Natalie was speaking. He saw by the
man's rapt expression that her voice charmed his senses, while the
purport of what she said was wholly lost on his consciousness. When her
voice broke a little at the close, Mabyn's lips parted, and his breath
came quicker--but it was no tenderness for a devoted parent, only a
passion purely selfish, that caused his lack-lustre eyes to glitter
again.
"These letters," concluded Natalie, drawing them forth as she spoke,
"three of which I have brought from the post office, and the fourth
which she gave me herself, will let you know, better than I can tell
you, what she feels."
Mabyn took the letters; and thrusting them carelessly in his pocket--one
fell to the ground and lay there unheeded--snatched back at Natalie's
hand, and attempted to retain it. Reining her horse back, she wrenched
it free.
A little shame reached the seat of Mabyn's consciousness. He reddened.
"I'm not a leper," he muttered. "You came to me of your own free will,
didn't you?"
"Build nothing on that!" said Natalie instantly and clearly. "I allow no
claim on me!"
Mabyn quickly changed to obsequiousness. "I don't want to quarrel with
you, Natalie," he whined. "Especially not after what you've just done!"
He went to his bench again; and sat heavily. Again he struck his
forehead with his knuckles. "Gad! I can't yet realize it is you that is
here!"
Natalie looked at Garth as much as to say that she had accomplished what
she came for.
The look was not lost on Mabyn. He sprang up. "I'll do just what
you want!" he said hurriedly. "I'll start for Prince George at
once--to-day--this minute! God knows there's nothing to keep me here! You
have a spare horse, I suppose. I've nothing but that galled cayuse and
another as bad!" He uttered his cracked laugh in a tone that was intended
to be ingratiating. "That's the advantage of poverty! I've no preparations
to make; so lead on!"
Natalie paused irresolutely. This was a contingency she had not foreseen.
She shuddered at the possibilities it opened up. In her perplexity she
looked again at Garth.
"We will leave you a horse," said he curtly. "And your passage out from
the lake Settlement will be arranged for."
"And what money you need," added Natalie in a low tone, and blushing
painfully.
But Mabyn's feelings were not hurt. "I can go with you just as well," he
blustered.
Natalie looked at Garth once more.
"You may follow us as soon as you choose," said Garth coolly. "We do not
desire your company on the way."
For the first time Mabyn appeared to recognize Garth's presence on the
scene. He turned a baleful eye on him; and his lips curled back over his
gums. "Who are _you_?" he snarled, adding an oath.
"That is neither here nor there," said Garth. "I speak for Miss Bland."
"Mrs. Mabyn, you mean," sneered the other, thinking to crush him with
the information.
"She does not use that name," returned Garth imperturbably.
Mabyn turned furiously to Natalie. "Who is this man?" he cried, his
cracked voice sliding into falsetto; "this sleek young sprig that rides
alone with you through the country! I demand to know! I have a right to
know!"
"I admit no right!" Natalie said firmly.
Mabyn, beside himself with jealous rage, no longer knew what he said.
"You won't explain!" he cried. "You _can't_ explain! Here's a nasty
situation for a married woman!"
Garth's self-control, stretched on the rack through all this scene,
suddenly snapped in twain. Temper with Garth took the form of laughter;
mocking, dangerous laughter, that issued startlingly from his grave
lips.
He laughed now. "You scoundrel!" he said in cool, incisive tones--though
he was not a whit less blinded by passion than Mabyn himself--"after the
kind of life you've been leading up here, have you still the assurance
to lay a claim upon _her_! And to cast a reflection on _her_ good name!
Have you no mirror to see what you are? Go in the lake, then, and see
the vile record written on your face!"
Mabyn was staggered. Garth's terrible scorn penetrated the last
wrappings of the warmly nurtured ego within. He shot a startled glance
at Garth; and from Garth to the hut and behind, as if wondering how much
he knew.
Garth was not through with him. He slipped his stirrups, preparatory to
leaping off his horse. Natalie trembled at the quiet man's new aspect.
"Garth!" she entreated urgently.
The sound of her voice recalled him to himself. Settling back in his
saddle, he abruptly turned his horse, and went off a little way,
struggling to regain his self-command.
Mabyn, misunderstanding, was vastly lifted up by this word of Natalie's,
and the writhing ego within hastened to repair the horrid breach Garth
had made. He approached her, hidden by her horse from Garth.
"Oh, Natalie!" he gabbled whiningly; "don't listen to him. He's a low
cur! But he can't make trouble between you and me! Send him away!
Natalie, I seem to have acted badly; but I can explain everything!
Circumstances were all against me! In my heart I've never swerved from
you! I dream of you every night in my lonesomeness! Wherever I look I
see your face before my eyes!"
It was the old trick of passionate speech; Natalie remembered the very
words of old; but the man--she averted her head from the hideous
spectacle. She was afraid to move or cry out, sure that Garth in his
present mind would kill him if he heard.
Mabyn, conceiving nothing of the sublime irony of the figure he made,
continued to plead. "Natalie, don't turn away from me! You took me for
better or worse, remember! You found me at a disadvantage to-day; I
don't look like this ordinarily. And you can make whatever you like of
me! Remember the old days at home! I am the same man--Bert--your Bert!
Look--he can't see us--I kneel to you as I did then!"
And down he went on his knees, stretching out his arms to her.
There was an odd, slight sound behind him. They both looked--and froze
in the attitude of looking. Garth from his station, seeing the new look
of horror overspread Natalie's face, spurred to join her.
There, clinging to the corner of the cabin for support, stood the figure
of a woman. Her brown skin was blanched to a livid yellow; and her eyes
were the eyes of one dead from a shock. She swayed forward from the
waist as if her backbone could no longer support her. At her feet a tin
pail emptied wild cherries on the ground.
Mabyn scrambled to his feet, shamed, chagrined, furious. "What do you
want around here?" he cried brutally--even now seeking to outface her.
The piteous, stricken girl moistened her lips; and essayed more than
once to speak, before any words came. "'Erbe't, who is this woman?" she
said quite simply at last.
"What is that to you?" he blustered roughly, thinking to beat her down;
perhaps to kill her outright with cruelty. "This is my wife!"
"Oh, no! no!" whispered Natalie, sick with the sight of so much misery.
It is doubtful if the girl heard her. She tottered forward; and seized
and clung to Mabyn's arm. Her breast was heaved on hard, quick pants
like a wounded animal's; and her eyes were as frantic, and as inhuman.
"'Erbe't, who am I?" she breathed.
Mabyn, seeing that Natalie heard and understood, beside himself, and
reckless with rage, flung out his arm, throwing her heavily to the
ground. "You! damn you!" he cried. "You're just my----"
Natalie, with a low cry of horror, instinctively clapped her heels to
her horse's ribs, and set off down the hill. Garth wheeled after her.
"Oh, stay--stay and help her!" she gasped.
"You come first!" said Garth grimly.
Mabyn, as Natalie turned, sprang after her; and running desperately,
managed to cling to her stirrup. Casting off the last vestiges of
manliness he wept and prayed her to wait for him. Her horse, Caspar,
kicked out wildly, and struck him off. He lay on the ground sobbing and
cursing; striving to drag himself along with clawing hands.
Just before they gained the watercourse, Garth looked over his shoulder;
and his heart leapt into his throat. The brown woman was reaching for
Mabyn's rifle. He shouted a warning; and desperately strove to throw
his horse behind Natalie. But it was too late. Hard upon his voice, the
shot rang. A strange, low cry broke from Natalie; and she reeled in her
saddle. Garth, spurring ahead, grasped Caspar's bridle, and caught her
from falling. A pang, far more dreadful than the hurt of a bullet, smote
his own breast.