XV

Not until the silken flap of the tent had fallen behind Jeanne did

power of movement and speech return to Philip. He called her name and

straggled to a sitting posture. Then he staggered to his feet. He could

scarcely stand. Shooting pains passed like flashes of electricity

through his body. His right arm was numb and stiff, and he found that

it was thickly bandaged. His head ached, his legs could hardly support

him. He went to raise his left hand to his head, but stopped it in

front of him, while a slow smile of understanding crept over his face.

It was swollen and covered with livid bruises. He wondered if his body

looked that way, and sank down exhausted upon his balsam bed. A minute

later Pierre returned with a cup of broth in his hand.

Philip looked at him with less feverish eyes now. There was an

unaccountable change in the half-breed's appearance, as there had been

in Jeanne's. His face seemed thinner. There was a deep gloom in his

eyes, a dejected droop to his shoulders. Philip accepted the broth, and

drank it slowly, without speaking. He felt strengthened. Then he looked

steadily at Pierre. The old pride had fallen from Pierre like a mask.

His eyes dropped under Philip's gaze.

Philip held up a hand.

"Pierre!"

The half-breed grasped it and waited. His lips tightened.

"What is the matter?" demanded Philip. "What has happened to Jeanne?

You say she was not hurt--"

"By the rocks, M'sieur," interrupted Pierre, quickly, kneeling beside

Philip. "Listen. It is best that I tell you. You are a man, you will

understand, without being told all. From Churchill I brought news which

it was necessary for me to tell Jeanne. It was terrible news, and she

is distressed under its weight. Your honor will not allow you to

inquire further, M'sieur. I can tell you no more than this--that it is

a grief which belongs to but one person on earth--herself. I ask you to

help me. Be blind to her unhappiness, M'sieur. Believe that it is the

distress of the peril through which she has passed. A little later I

will tell you all, and you will understand. But it is impossible now. I

confide this much in you--I ask you this--because--"

Pierre's eyes were half closed, and he looked as though unseeing over

Philip's head.

"I ask you this," he repeated, softly, "because I have guessed--that

you love her."

A cry of joy burst from Philip's lips.

"I do, Pierre--I do--I do--"

"I have guessed it," said Pierre. "You will help me--to save her!"

"Until death!"

"Then you will go with us to Fort o' God, and from there you will go at

once to your camp on Blind Indian Lake."

Philip felt the sweat breaking out over his face. He was still weak.

His voice was unnatural, and trembled.

"You know--" he gasped.

"Yes, I know, M'sieur," replied Pierre. "I know that you are in charge

there, and Jeanne knows. We knew who you were before we appointed to

meet you on the cliff. You must return to your men."

Philip was silent. For the moment every hope was crushed within him.

He looked at Pierre. The half-breed's eyes were glowing, his haggard

cheeks were flushed.

"And this is necessary?"

"It is absolutely necessary, M'sieur."

"Then I will go. But first, Pierre, I must know a little more. I cannot

go entirely blind. Do they fear my men--at Fort o' God?"

"No, M'sieur."

"One more question, Pierre. Who is Lord Fitzhugh Lee?"

For an instant Pierre's eyes widened. They grew black, and burned with

a strange, threatening fire. He rose slowly to his feet, and placed

both hands upon Philip's shoulders. For a full minute the two men

stared into each other's face. Then Pierre spoke. His voice was soft

and low, scarcely above a murmur, but it was filled with something that

struck a chill to Philip's heart.

"I would kill you before I would answer that question, M'sieur," he

said. "No other person has ever done for Jeanne and I what you have

done. We owe you more than we can ever repay. Yet if you insist upon an

answer to that question you make of me an enemy; if you breathe that

name to Jeanne, you turn her away from you forever."

Without another word he left the tent.

For many minutes Philip sat motionless where Pierre had left him. The

earth seemed suddenly to have dropped from under his feet, leaving him

in an illimitable chaos of mind. Gregson had deserted him, with almost

no word of explanation, and he would have staked his life upon

Gregson's loyalty. Under other circumstances his unaccountable action

would have been a serious blow. But now it was overshadowed by the

mysterious change that had come over Jeanne. A few hours before she had

been happy, laughing and singing as they drew nearer to Fort o' God;

each hour had added to the brightness of her eyes, the gladness in her

voice. The change had come with Pierre, and at the bottom of it all was

Lord Fitzhugh Lee. Pierre had warned him not to mention Lord Fitzhugh's

name to Jeanne, and yet only a short time before he had spoken the name

boldly before Jeanne, and she had betrayed no sign of recognition or of

fear. More than that, she had assured him that she had never heard the

name before, that it was not known at Fort o' God.

Philip bowed his head in his hands, and his fingers clutched in his

hair. What did it all mean? He went back to the scene on the cliff,

when Pierre had roused himself at the sound of the name; he thought of

all that had happened since Gregson had come to Churchill, and the

result was a delirium of thought that made his temples throb. He was

sure--now--of but few things. He loved Jeanne--loved her more than he

had ever dreamed that he could love a woman, and he believed that it

would be impossible for her to tell him a falsehood. He was confident

that she had never heard of Lord Fitzhugh until Pierre overtook them in

their flight from Churchill. He could see but one thing to do, and that

was to follow Pierre's advice, accepting his promise that in the end

everything would come out right. He had faith in Pierre.

He rose to his feet and went to the tent-flap. An embarrassing thought

came to him, and he stopped, a flush of feverish color suddenly

mounting into his pale cheeks. He had kissed Jeanne in the chasm, when

death thundered in their faces. He had kissed her again and again, and

in those kisses he had declared his love. He was glad, and yet sorry;

the knowledge that she must know of his love filled him with happiness,

and yet with it there was the feeling that it would place a distance

between him and Jeanne.

Jeanne was the first to see him when he came out of the tent. She was

sitting beside a small balsam shelter, and Pierre was busy over a fire,

with his back turned to them. For a moment the two looked at each other

in silence, and then Jeanne came toward him, holding out one of her

hands. He saw that she was making a strong effort to appear natural,

but there was something in his own face that made her attempt a poor

one. The hand that she gave him trembled. Her lips quivered. For the

first time her eyes failed to meet his own in their limpid frankness.

"Pierre has told you what happened," she said. "It was a miracle, and I

owe you my life. I have had my punishment for being so careless." She

tried to laugh at him now, and drew her hand away. "I wasn't beaten

against the rocks, like you, but--"

"It was terrible," interrupted Philip, remembering Pierre's words, and

eager to put her at ease. "You have stood up under it beautifully. I am

afraid of after effects. You must not collapse under the strain now."

Pierre heard his last words and a smile flashed over his dark face as

he encountered Philip's glance.

"It is true, M'sieur," he said. "I know of no other woman who would

have stood up under such a thing as Jeanne has done. MON DIEU, when I

found a part of the canoe wreckage far below I thought that both of you

were dead!"

Philip began to feel that he had foolishly overestimated his strength.

There was a weakness in his limbs that surprised him, and a sudden

chill replaced the fever in his blood. Jeanne placed her hand upon his

arm and thrust him gently toward the tent.

"You must not exert yourself," she said, watching the pallor in his

face. "You must be quiet, until after dinner."

He obeyed the pressure of her hand. Pierre followed into the tent, and

for a moment he was compelled to lean heavily upon the half-breed.

"It is the reaction, M'sieur," said Pierre. "You are weak after the

fever. If you could sleep--"

"I can," murmured Philip, dizzily, dropping upon his balsam. "But,

Pierre--"

"Yes, M'sieur."

"I have something--to say to you--no questions--"

"Not now, M'sieur."

Philip heard the rustling of the flap, and Pierre was gone. He felt

more comfortable lying down. Dizziness and nausea left him, and he

slept. It was the deep, refreshing sleep that always follows the

awakening from fever. When he awoke he felt like his old self, and went

outside. Pierre was alone; a blanket was drawn across the front of the

balsam shelter, and the half-breed nodded toward it in response to

Philip's inquiring glance.

Philip ate lightly of the food which Pierre had ready for him. When he

had finished he leaned close to him, and said:

"You have warned me to ask no questions, and I am going to ask none.

But you have not forbidden me to tell you things which I know. I am

going to talk to you about Lord Fitzhugh Lee."

Pierre's dark eyes flashed.

"M'sieur--"

"Listen!" demanded Philip. "I seek your confidence no further. But I

shall tell you what I know of Lord Fitzhugh Lee, if it makes us fight.

Do you understand? I insist upon this because you have as good as told

me that this man is your enemy, and that he is at the bottom of

Jeanne's trouble. He is also my enemy. And after I have told you

why--you may change your determination to keep me a stranger to your

trouble. If not--well, you can hold your tongue then as well as now."

Quickly, without moving his eyes from Pierre's face, Philip told his

own story of Lord Fitzhugh Lee. And as he continued a strange change

came over the half-breed. When he came to the letters revealing the

plot to turn the northerners against his company a low cry escaped

Pierre's lips. His eyes seemed starting from his head. Drops of sweat

burst out upon his face. His fingers worked convulsively, something

rose in his throat and choked him. When Philip had done he buried his

face in his hands. For a few moments he remained thus, and then

suddenly looked up. Livid spots burned in his cheeks, and he fairly

hissed at Philip.

"M'sieur, if this is not the truth--if this is a lie--"

He stopped. Something in Philip's eyes told him to go no further. He

was fearless, and he saw more than fearlessness in Philip's face. Such

men believe, when they come together.

"It is the truth," said Philip.

With a low, strained laugh Pierre held out his hand as a pledge of his

faith.

"I believe in you, M'sieur," he said, and it seemed an effort for him

to speak. "Do you know what I would have thought, if you had told this

to Jeanne before I came?"

"No."

"I would have thought, M'sieur, that she threw herself purposely into

the death of the Big Thunder rocks."

"My God, you mean--"

"That is all, M'sieur. I can say no more. Ah, there is Jeanne!" he

cried, more loudly. "Now we will take down the tent, and go."

Jeanne stood a dozen steps behind them when Philip turned. She greeted

him with a smile, and hastened to assist Pierre in gathering up the

things about the camp. Philip was not blind to her efforts to evade

him. He could see that it was a relief to her when they were at last in

Pierre's canoe, and headed up the river. They traveled till late in the

evening, and set up Jeanne's tent by starlight. The journey was

continued at dawn. Late the following afternoon the Little Churchill

swept through a low, woodless country, called the White Fox Barren. It

was a narrow barren and across it lay the forest and the ridge

mountains. Behind these mountains and the forest the sun was setting.

Above all else there rose out of the gathering gloom of evening a

single ridge, a towering mass of rock which caught the last glow of the

sun, and blazed like a signal-fire.

The canoe stopped. Jeanne and Pierre both gazed toward the great rock.

Then Jeanne, who was in the bow, turned her face to Philip, and the

glow of the rock itself suffused her cheeks as she pointed over the

barren.

"M'sieur Philip," she said, "there is Fort o' God!"