IN THE BLOOD
Dunvegan hastened after Desirée Lazard and overtook her near her uncle's
cabin. Pierre himself had gone in ahead.
"Wait a moment, Desirée," he begged. "I want you to promise me
something. I'll have no peace till you do. Macleod has ordered me to
build at once the new post on the site I selected----"
"Kamattawa?" she queried.
"Yes. It is to hold the Nor'westers in check."
Desirée smiled. "The company of my father!" she reproved gently.
"Would that there were no need to fight them!" Dunvegan breathed. "Would
that I might stay here! But I cannot. And it is torture for me to go
with fear and doubt in my mind. I want your solemn promise that this
man Ferguson shall have no speech with you."
"Why?" She was looking at him with her head turned sidewise like a saucy
bird.
"Why?" Bruce echoed. "Surely you don't mean that. You know what he is.
You saw to-day what he has done. They say he is hard set after you. And
your heart should recoil from the very idea. Why? You don't mean it,
Desirée. You are not that shallow!"
Her eyes suddenly softened. "Forgive me, Bruce. I was only tormenting
you. I promise. I freely promise." She thrust both hands in his.
Dunvegan's blood leaped at the contact, but he controlled himself.
"That's well, Desirée," he murmured. "That's so much gained. And what I
gain I never lose. Perhaps when I come back I may gain still more!"
His gaze had a hunger in it. The whole strong manliness of his honest
nature was pleading for what she had hitherto denied him. Desirée felt
the strength of his passion and lowered her glance.
There were people passing, but foot by foot in her maddening elusiveness
Desirée had drawn from the trail till she was hidden behind the outer
cabin door which swung half open. Dunvegan, his shoulders wedged in the
opening, tried to read her face.
"In a few days I'll be gone to build Kamattawa," he went on. "Give me
some hope before I go. Don't send me away without a shred of
encouragement, Desirée."
Wide-eyed she gazed at him. She was flushed, her manner all uncertain.
Her breath came quickly. Abruptly she flung out her arms in a swift
gesture of pity.
"Bruce," she cried, "it might be some time--if--if things were
different."
"How?"
"If you didn't hold so strongly to the Hudson's Bay Company."
Dunvegan stepped back, his lips closed grimly.
"Would you--ever break your allegiance?" Desirée faltered.
"Never while my blood runs!"
"Oh, your proud spirit!" she lamented. "And mine as proud! It's no use,
Bruce. It's no use."
She sprang up on the steps, but Dunvegan caught her by the arms.
"Don't," she protested. "There are people passing."
"They can't see," he replied feverishly. "You musn't go like this
without telling me more. Why will you keep this barrier between us?"
"I have vowed I will never wed a man except he be of my own company."
"But why? What is the loyalty of old service to a woman?"
"As much as to a man. Remember every man of the companies was bred of
woman. It is a matter of blood. And loyalty to the Northwest Company is
in my blood."
Because the feminine soul of her was beyond his understanding, the chief
trader was smitten with bitterness and anger. "And you will forever
swear by these Nor'westers?" he demanded. "You will swear by a lot of
frontier ruffians herded under the leadership of such a scoundrel as
Black Ferguson? Tell me that!"
"I must," Desirée answered.
Dunvegan turned on his heel without another word.
But Desirée was flying after him as he reached the trail. Her hand was
on his shoulder.
"Bruce," she panted.
He stopped. His face was cold, impassive.
"Well?"
"I must because--my--my father died with them. His spirit is in me."
Both her hands were on his shoulders now. She was very much in earnest,
and it hurt her that he should in any way misconstrue her motives.
"There are times," she continued, "when I feel I hate the Hudson's Bay
Company and all its servants. But at those times I always have to amend
my hatred. Not _all_ its servants! Don't you understand?"
She let him fathom her eyes, and he understood. There he caught a gleam
of something he had never surprised before. The joy of the discovery
ran through him like exultant fire.
He prisoned both the wrists at his shoulders. "Desirée, you care! You
care a little!"
"Yes," she breathed, and still unwillingly, "I care--a little!"
With the partial confession she wrenched free and rushed blindly
indoors.