Harold caught the note of scorn in Virginia's voice, and he had an
instant of sobriety. He looked at her with eager eyes. The poison in
his veins had enhanced her beauty to him; his eyes leapt quickly over her
slender form. It would pay to be careful, he thought. He didn't want
to lose her now. But in an instant his reckless mood returned.
"Where I lived? What do you care, as long as I'm here? I suppose Bill
has already told you, the dirty----"
"Don't say it," Virginia cautioned quickly. "I wouldn't answer for the
consequences."
But for all her brave words, terror swept her. She remembered that Bill
was helpless and blind. "Bill has told me nothing. It wouldn't be like
him to tell me things--that might make me unhappy."
"Sing another little song about him, why don't you?" Harold scorned.
"I haven't heard you talk anything else for a month. But what do I
care?" He tried to steady himself, to control his erring tongue. "But,
Virginia--that's all right, if he's one of your friends. He's good
enough according to his lights--but you can't expect much from some
one who's never been outside these tall woods! No wonder he couldn't
see a joke, or take a drink with a gentleman. He hasn't the chances,
the environment--that's it, environment--that you and I have had.
And speaking of drinks----"
He went to the table again and poured his cup half full. Then with
unsteady hand he poured an equal portion for the two Indians. They took
their cups with burning eyes, and Harold raised his own drink aloft.
"A little toast--and everybody stand up," he cried. "We're going to
drink to Virginia! To my future wife, gentleman--the lady who's
promised me her hand! Look at her there, you breeds--the most
beautiful woman that ever came to the North! Drink her down!"
The burning poison poured into their throats. Virginia glanced again at
her pistol, but Joe still stood, half-covering it with his arm. Her
face was no longer merely anxious. All color had swept from it; her
eyes were wide and pleading. But there was no one to give aid to-night.
Bill sat, helpless and blind, against the wall.
She had not dared to resent aloud the bandying of her name, the insult
of their searching eyes upon her beauty. It seemed to her that she
heard a half-muttered exclamation from Bill, but his face belied it.
And in reality the man's thoughts were as busy as never before.
He opened his eyes, struggling for vision. But he could not make out
the forms of the men at all, except when they crossed in front of the
candles. The candles themselves were mere points of yellow between his
lids. One of the candles was sitting just beside him, on a shelf; the
other was on the table. He tried to locate the position of all four of
his fellow-occupants of the cabin,--Virginia at one end of the table,
Joe at the other, Pete opposite him on the other side of the stove,
Harold standing in the middle of the room, babbling in his drunkenness.
But the first exhilaration of the drink was dying now, giving way to a
more dangerous mood. Even Harold was less talkative: the tones of his
voice had harshened. The two Indians, when they spoke at all, were
surly and threatening.
The moments passed. For a breath the cabin was still. Only too well
Bill knew that matters were approaching the explosive stage. A single
word might invoke murderous passions that would turn the cabin into
shambles. The men drank the third time, emptying the first quart and
beginning upon the second.
"You're a pretty little witch," Harold addressed Virginia. "You're hard
to kiss, but your kisses are worth having. What you think about that,
Joe? Aren't I tellin' you the truth?"
Joe! Bill's first impression had been right, after all. His face made
no sign, but he shifted in his chair. For all the ease and almost
inertness with which he sat, his muscles were wholly ready for such
command as his mind might give them,--to spring instantly to their
full power for a fight to the death. Virginia heard the name too, and
her fears increased.
"Joe?" she repeated. "You know him, then?"
"Of course I know Joe. He's an old friend. He's one that Bill told
never to show his face in this part of Clearwater again--but you don't
see anything happening to him, do you?"
He waited, hoping Bill would make response. But the latter was holding
hard, waiting for the moment of crisis, hoping yet that it might be
avoided. There was time enough when Virginia was safe and his sight had
returned him to answer such speeches as this.
"You see he hasn't anything to say," Harold gloated. "I asked you a
question, Joe--about Virginia. Didn't I tell the truth?"
The girl flinched, then caught herself with a half-sob. She resolved to
make one more appeal. "Oh Harold--please--please be careful what
you say," she pleaded. "You're drunk now--but don't forget you were a
gentleman--once. Don't drink any more. Don't let these Indians drink
any more, either."
"A gentleman once, eh? So you don't think I'm one any more. But Bill,
there--he's one, ain't he? It seems to me you've been getting kind of
bossy around here, lately--and the women of we northern men don't
behave that way."
"I'm not your woman, thank God--and I ask you to be careful."
"And I repeat that warning." Bill spoke gravely, quietly from his
chair. "You're acting like a rotter, Harold, and you know it. Shut up
the bottle and try to hold yourself--and then remember what you've
been saying. Remember that I'm still here--and if I'm not able to
avenge an insult now, the time is coming when I will. And I've got one
weapon _now_ that I won't hesitate to use. I mean--an answer to a
question of a while ago. If you want to keep her love, be careful."
The Indians turned to him, the murder-madness darkening their faces.
Pete's hand began to steal toward his hip. He had no ancestral
precedent for the use of a miner's pick for such work as faced him now.
And he held high regard for the thin, cruel blade.
"Do you think I care?" Harold answered. "Tell her if you want to--all
about Sindy and everything else. Do you think I'm ashamed of it? I've
heard all I want to from you too--and I'll say and drink what I
please."
Bill had no answer at first. He had thought that this threat might
bring Harold to time; he had supposed that the man valued Virginia's
love as much as he, in a similar position, would have valued it. Harold
turned to the girl. "So you're _not_ my woman, eh?"
"No, no, no! I never will be!" The girl's eyes were blazing, and she
had forgotten her fear in her magnificent wrath. "I suppose--you were
a squaw man. These Indians are your own friends."
Harold smiled cruelly. "Yes, a squaw man. And these are my friends.
Don't you suppose I've known--for the last week--you were just
fooling me along, all the time fondling Bill? Sindy at least was
faithful--and her form wouldn't take anything from yours."
Pete, watching Joe, was somewhat amazed at the curious start the man
made. His searching gaze had leaped over the girl's form; his dark,
smoldering eyes suddenly blazed red. There was no other word than red.
They were like two coals of fire.
There ensued a moment of strange and menacing silence. Pete chuckled,
already receptive to Joe's thought. Harold turned to stare at him.
Joe put his pipe to his lips, then fumbled at his pocket. He seemed to
search in vain. "Will you give me a match, please, lady?" he asked.
The tone was strange, thick and strained, yet Virginia's heart thrilled
with hope. The request was a welcome interlude in a quarrel that was
already rapidly approaching the fighting stage. Perhaps if these men
started to smoke, their blood would cool; she had known of old that
tobacco was a wonderful bromide to overstretched nerves. He turned
quickly to the shelf above Bill's head and procured half a dozen matches
from the box.
As her back was turned she heard Pete laugh again,--one evil syllable
that filled her with instinctive horror. Her wide eyes turned to him;
he was watching her intently. Then she stepped back to give Joe the
matches.
Instinctively her eyes turned to the wall for a reassuring sight of her
pistol. It was gone from its place.
For an instant she stared in horrified amazement. The matches dropped
idly from her hand. A sob caught in her throat, a sob of hopeless and
utter terror, but she fought a brave little fight to suppress it. She
knew she must appear to be brave; at least she must do this much. She
looked at Joe; his evil, leering face told her only too plainly that his
eager hand had seized and secreted her pistol. Pete's face was drawn
too; Harold only looked bewildered.
He was her last hope, but in one instant's scrutiny she saw that this
had vanished, too. Some terrible thought had sobered and engrossed him.
Now he was eyeing her like a witless thing, his features drawn, his eyes
burning. The moment was charged with ineffable suspense.
"What is it, Virginia?" Bill asked.
"One of these men--" she answered brokenly--"has taken my pistol. I
want him to give it back----"
The circle laughed then,--a harsh and sinister sound that filled her
with inexpressible horror. For a moment she stood motionless in the
center of that leering circle, her eyes wide, her face white as
death,--a slight figure, trying to hard to stand straight, crushed and
defenseless, only her eyes pleading in last appeal. Instinctively her
lips whispered a prayer.
Joe spoke then, a single sentence in the vernacular for Harold's ears.
With one gesture he indicated Harold, himself, and Pete in turn, then
pointed to the girl. His face was hideous with eagerness.
Harold started at the words, but at first made no answer. He had lost
her anyway; there was no need of further restraint. The silence, the
stress, most of all the burning liquor flung a wild and devastating
flame through his veins, a dreadful madness seized his brain. There was
no saving grace, no impulse of manhood, no memory of virtue to hold him
back.
His degeneracy was complete. He could not go lower. His father's
wicked blood pulsed in his veins; the final brutality that the North
bestows upon those it conquers was upon him. He answered with a curse.
"Why not?" he said. "The slut's thrown me over. When I'm through you
can do what you want. And crack the skull of that mole with the pick
and throw him out in the snow."
The two Indians lurched forward at his words. Bill left his chair in a
mighty leap.