The simple statement of the gigantic trapper swept the confidence from
Houston and left him at a disadvantage. His decision had been a hasty
one,--a thing to gain time, a scheme by which he had felt he could, at
the proper time, take Thayer off his guard and cause him to come into
the open with his plans, whatever they might be. Fate had played a
strange game with Barry Houston. It had taken a care-free,
happy-go-lucky youth and turned him into a suspicious, distrustful
person with a constantly morbid strain which struggled everlastingly
for supremacy over his usually cheery grin and his naturally optimistic
outlook upon life. For Fate had allowed Houston to live the youth of
his life in ease and brightness and lack of worry, only that it might
descend upon him with the greatest cloud that man can know. And two
years of memories, two years of bitterness, two years of ugly
recollections had made its mark. In all his dealings with Thayer,
conducted though they might have been at a distance, Barry Houston
could not place his finger upon one tangible thing that would reveal
his crookedness. But he had suspected; had come to investigate, and to
learn, even before he was ready to receive the information, that his
suspicions had been, in some wise at least, correct. To follow those
suspicions to their stopping place Barry had feigned amnesia. And it
had lasted just long enough for this grinning man who stood at the foot
of the bed to tickle his feet!
And how should that grotesque giant with his blazing red shirt and
queer little cap know of such things as amnesia and the tracing of a
deadened nerve? How should he,--then Barry suddenly tensed. Had it
been a ruse? Was this man a friend, a companion--even an accomplice of
the thin-faced, frost-gnarled Thayer--and had his simple statement been
an effort to take Barry off his guard? If so, it had not succeeded,
for Barry had made no admissions. But it all affected him curiously;
it nettled him and puzzled him. For a long time he was silent, merely
staring at the grinning features of Ba'tiste. At last:
"I should think you would wait until you could consult a doctor before
you'd say a thing like that."
"So? It has been done."
"And he told you--"
"Nothing. He does not need to even speak to Ba'teese." A great
chuckle shook the big frame "Ba'teese know as soon as _l' M'sieu
Doctaire_."
"On good terms, aren't you? When's he coming again?"
"_Parbleu_!" The big man snapped his fingers. "Peuff! Like that.
Ba'teese call heem, and he is here."
Houston blinked. Then, in spite of his aching head, and the pain of
the swollen, splint-laced arm he sat up in bed.
"What kind of--"
"Old Ba'teese, he mus' joke," came quickly and seriously from the other
man. "Ba'teese--he is heem."
"A doctor?"
Slowly the big man nodded. Barry went on "I--I--didn't know. I
thought you were just a trapper. I wondered--"
"So! That is all--jus' a trapper."
Quietly, slowly, the big man turned away from the bed and stood looking
out the window, the wolf-dog edging close to him as though in
companionship and some strange form of sympathy. There was silence for
a long time, then the voice of Ba'tiste came again, but now it was soft
and low, addressed, it seemed, not to the man on the bed, but to
vacancy.
"So! Ba'teese, he is only a trapper now. Ba'teese, he had swear he
never again stand beside a sick bed. But you--" and he turned swiftly,
a broken smile playing about his lips--"you, _mon ami_, you, when I
foun' you this morning, with your head twisted under your arm, with the
blood on your face, and the dust and dirt upon you--then you--you look
like my Pierre! And I pick you up--so!" He fashioned his arms as
though he were holding a baby, "and I look at you and I say--'Pierre!
Pierre!' But you do not answer--just like he did not answer. Then I
start back with you, and the way was rough. I take you under one
arm--so. It was steep. I must have one arm free. Then I meet
Medaine, and she laugh at me for the way I carry you. And I was glad.
Eet made Ba'teese forget."
"What?" Barry said it with the curiosity of a boy. The older man
stared hard at the crazy design of the covers.
"My Pierre," came at last. "And my Julienne. Ba'teese, he is all
alone now. Are you all alone?" The question came quickly. Barry
answered before he thought.
"Yes."
"Then you know--you know how eet feel. You know how Ba'teese think
when he look out the window. See?" He pointed, and Barry raised
himself slightly that he might follow the direction of the gesture.
Faintly, through the glass, he could see something white, rearing
itself in the shadows of the heavy pines which fringed the cabin,--a
cross. And it stood as the guardian of a mound of earth where pine
boughs had been placed in smooth precision, while a small vase, half
implanted in the earth, told of flowers in the summer season. Ba'tiste
stared at his palms. "Julienne," came at last. "My wife." Then, with
a sudden impulse, he swerved about the bed and sat down beside the sick
man. "Ba'teese--" he smiled plaintively--"like to talk about
Pierre--and Julienne. Even though eet hurt."
Barry could think only in terms of triteness.
"Have they been gone long?"
The big man counted on his fingers.
"One--two--t'ree year. Before that--_bon_!" He kissed his fingers
airily. "Old Ba'teese, he break the way--long time ago. He come down
from Montreal, with his Julienne and his Pierre--in his arm, so. He
like to feel big and strong--to help other people. So, down here where
there were few he came, and built his cabin, with his Pierre and his
Julienne. And, so happy! Then, by'm'by, Jacques Robinette come too,
with his petite Medaine--"
"That's the girl who was here?"
"Ah, _oui_. I am _l' M'sieu Doctaire_. I look after the sick for
ten--twenty--thirty mile. Jacques he have more head. He buy land." A
great sweep of the arm seemed to indicate all outdoors. "Ev'where--the
pine and spruce, it was Jacques! By'm'by, he go on and leave Medaine
alone. Then she go 'way to school, but ev' summer she come back and
live in the big house. And Ba'teese glad--because he believe some day
she love Pierre and Pierre love her and--"
Another silence. At last:
"And then war came. My Pierre, he is but eighteen. But he go.
Ba'teese want him to go. Julienne, she say nothing--she cry at night.
But she want him to go too. Medaine, she tell funny stories about her
age and she go too. It was lonely. Ba'teese was big. Ba'teese was
strong. And Julienne say to him, 'You too--you go. You may save a
life.' And Ba'teese went."
"To France?"
Ba'tiste bowed his head.
"Long time Ba'teese look for his Pierre. Long time he look for
Medaine. But no. Then--" his face suddenly contorted "--one night--in
the cathedral at St. Menehould, I find heem. But Pierre not know his
_père_. He not answer Ba'teese when he call 'Pierre! Pierre!' Here,
and here, and here--" the big man pointed to his breast and face and
arms--"was the shrapnel. He sigh in my arms--then he is gone.
Ba'teese ask that night for duty on the line. He swear never again to
be _l' M'sieu Doctaire_. All his life he help--help--help--but when
the time come, he cannot help his own. And by'm'by, Ba'teese come
home--and find that."
He pointed out into the shadows beneath the pines.
"She had died?"
"Died!" The man's face had gone suddenly purple. His eyes were
glaring, his hands upraised and clutched. "No! Murder! Murder, mon
ami! Murder! Lost Wing--he Medaine's Indian--he find her--so! In a
heap on the floor--and a bullet through her brain. And the money we
save, the ten thousan' dollar--eet is gone! Murder!"
A shudder went over the young man on the bed. His face blanched. His
lips lost their color. For a moment, as the big French-Canadian bent
over him, he stared with glazed, unseeing eyes, at last to turn dully
at the sharp, questioning voice of the trapper:
"Murder--you know murder?"
There was a long moment of silence. Then, as though with an effort
which took his every atom of strength, Houston shook himself, as if to
throw some hateful, vicious thing from him, and turned, with a parrying
question:
"Did you ever find who did it?"
"No. But sometime--Ba'teese not forget. Ba'teese always wait.
Ba'teese always look for certain things--that were in the deed-box.
There was jewelry--Ba'teese remember. Sometime--" Then he switched
again. "Why you look so funny? Huh? Why you get pale--?"
"Please--" Barry Houston put forth a hand. "Please--" Then he
straightened. "Ba'tiste, I'm in your hands. You can help me, or you
can harm me. You know I was shamming when I acted as though I had lost
my identity. Now--now you know there's something else. Will you--"
He ceased suddenly and sank back. From without there had come the
sound of steps. A moment later, the door opened, and shadows of a man
and a girl showed on the floor. Thayer and Medaine had returned. Soon
they were in the room, the girl once more standing in the doorway,
regarding Barry with a quizzical, half-wondering gaze, the man coming
forward and placing one gnarled hand on the Canadian's shoulder,
staring over his head down into the eyes of the injured man on the bed.
"I couldn't go back to the mill without making one more try," he
explained. "Has he shown any signs yet?"
Barry watched Ba'teese closely. But the old man's face was a blank.
"Signs? Of what?"
"Coming to--remembering who he is."
"Oh." Ba'tiste shrugged his shoulders. "I have give eet up."
"Then--"
"So far Ba'teese is concern'," and he looked down on the bed with a
glance which told Barry far more than words, "he is already name. He
is M'sieu Nobody. I can get no more."
Thayer scratched his head. He turned.
"Anyway, I'm going to make one more attempt at it. See what you can
do, Medaine."
The girl came forward then, half smiling, and seated herself beside the
bed. She took Barry's hand in hers, then with a laugh turned to Thayer.
"What shall I do? Make love to him?"
"Why not?" It was old Ba'tiste edging forward, the twinkle once more
in his eyes. "Bon--good! Make love to him."
"Do you suppose it would help?" The girl was truly serious now.
"Why not?"
"I don't think--" Thayer had edged forward, nervously. Ba'tiste
pushed him gently.
"Peuff! And when did M'sieu Thayer become _l' M'sieu Doctaire_?
Ba'teese say ask him if he like you."
Medaine laughed.
"Do you like me?"
Brown eyes met blue eyes. A smile passed between them. It was with an
effort that Houston remembered that he was only playing a part.
"I certainly do!"
"Ask him, 'Do you like me better than anybody you ever--'"
"What sense is there to all this?"
"Blooey! And why should you ask? Why should you stand with a frown on
your face? Peuff! It is ugly enough already!" To Barry, it was quite
evident that there was some purpose behind the actions of Old Ba'tiste,
and certainly more than mere pleasantry in his words. "You ask Medaine
to help Ba'teese, and then _facher vous_! Enough. Ask him, Medaine."
"But--" the girl was laughing now, her eyes beaming, a slight flush
apparent in her cheeks--"maybe he doesn't want me to--"
"Oh, but I do!" There was something in the tone of Barry Houston which
made the color deepen. "I--I like it."
"That's enough!" Thayer, black-featured, his gnarled hands clenched
into ugly knots, came abruptly forward. "I thought this was a serious
thing; I didn't know you were going to turn it into a burlesque!"
"Perhaps M'sieu Thayer has studied the practice of medicine?"
"No. But--"
"Nor, pardon, the practice of politeness. Ba'teese will not need your
help."
"Whether you need it or not, I'll come back when you're through with
this infernal horseplay. I--"
"Ba'teese choose his guests."
"You mean--"
"Ba'teese mean what he say."
"Very well, then. Come on, Medaine."
The girl, apparently without a thought of the air of proprietorship in
the man's tone, rose, only to face Ba'tiste. The Canadian glowered at
her.
"And are you chattel?" he stormed. "Do you stand in the cup of his
hand that he shall tell you when to rise and when to sit, when to walk
and where to go?"
She turned.
"You were abrupt, Fred. I'm glad Ba'tiste reminded me. Personally, I
don't see why I should have been drawn into this at all, or why I
should be made the butt of a quarrel over some one I never saw before."
"I'm sorry--terribly sorry." Barry was speaking earnestly and holding
forth his hand. "I shouldn't have answered you that way--I'm--"
"We'll forget it all." A flashing smile had crossed the girl's lips.
"Fred never knows how to take Ba'tiste. They're always quarreling this
way. The only trouble is that Fred--" and she turned to face him
piquantly--"always takes in the whole world when he gets mad. And that
includes me. I think," and the little nose took a more upward turn
than ever, "that Ba'tiste is entirely right, Fred. You talked to me as
though I were a sack of potatoes. I won't go with you, and I won't see
you until you can apologize."
"There's nothing to apologize for!"
Thayer jammed on his hat and stamped angrily out the door. Medaine
watched him with laughing eyes.
"He'll write me a letter to-night," came quietly. Then, "Lost Wing!"
"Ugh!" It was a grunt from outside.
"I just wanted to be sure you were there. Call me when Mr. Thayer has
passed the ridge."
"Ugh!"
Medaine turned again to Ba'tiste, a childish appearance of confidence
in her eyes, her hand lingering on the chair by the bed.
"Were you really fooling, Ba'tiste--or shall we continue?"
"Perhaps--" the twinkle still shone in the old man's eyes--"but not
now. Perhaps--sometime. So mebbe sometime you--"
"Wah--hah--hai-i-e-e-e!" The Sioux had called from without. Medaine
turned.
"When you need me, Ba'tiste," she answered, with a smile that took in
also the eager face on the bed, "I'll be glad to help you. Good-by."
That too included Barry, and he answered it with alacrity. Then for a
moment after she had gone, he lay scowling at Ba'tiste, who once more,
in a weakened state of merriment, had reeled to the wall, followed as
usual by his dog, and leaned there, hugging his sides. Barry growled:
"You're a fine doctor! Just when you had me cured, you quit! I'd
forgotten I even had a broken arm."
"So?" Ba'tiste straightened. "You like her, eh? You like the petite
Medaine?"
"How can I help it?"
"_Bon_! Good! I like you to like Medaine. You no like Thayer?"
"Less every minute."
"Bon! I no like heem. He try to take Pierre's place with Medaine.
And Pierre, he was strong and tall and straight. Pierre, he could
smile--_bon_! Like you can smile. You look like my Pierre!" came
frankly.
"Thanks, Ba'tiste." Barry said it in wholehearted manner. "You don't
know how grateful I am for a little true friendliness."
"Grateful? Peuff! You? Bah, you shall go back, and they will ask who
helped you when you were hurt, and you--you will not even remember what
is the name."
"Hardly that." Barry pulled thoughtfully at the covers. "In the first
place, I'm not going back, and in the second, I haven't enough true
friends to forget so easily. I--I--" Then his jaw dropped and he lay
staring ahead, out to the shadows beneath the pines and the stalwart
cross which kept watch there. "I--"
"You act funny again. You act like you act when I talk about my
Julienne. Why you do eet?"
Barry Houston did not answer at once. Old scenes were flooding through
his brain, old agonies that reflected themselves upon his features, old
sorrows, old horrors. His eyes grew cold and lifeless, his hands white
and drawn, his features haggard. The chuckle left the lips of Ba'tiste
Renaud. He moved swiftly, almost sinuously to the bed, and gripped the
younger man by his uninjured arm. His eyes came close to Barry
Houston, his voice was sharp, tense, commanding:
"You! Why you act like that when I talk about murder? Why you get
pale, huh? Why you get pale?"