BACK ON THE YELLOW KNIFE
The whole affair had been so sudden that Chloe scarcely realized what
had happened before a man stepped quickly into the clearing, at the
same time slipping a revolver into its holster. The girl gazed at him
in amazement. It was Pierre Lapierre. He stepped forward, hat in
hand. Chloe glanced swiftly from the dark, handsome features to the
face of the man on the ground. The grey eyes opened for a second, and
then closed; but in that brief, fleeting glance the girl read distrust,
contempt, and silent reproach. The man's lips moved, but no sound
came--and with a laboured, fluttering sigh, he sank into
unconsciousness.
"Once more, it seems, my dear Miss Elliston, I have arrived just in
time."
A sudden repulsion for this cruel, suave killer of men flashed into the
girl's brain. "Get some water," she cried, and dropping to her knees
began to unbutton MacNair's flannel shirt.
"But--" objected Lapierre.
"Will you get some water? This is no time to argue! You can explain
later!" Lapierre turned and without a word, walked to the lake and,
taking a pail from the canoe, filled it with water. When he returned,
Chloe was tearing white bandages from a garment essentially feminine,
while Big Lena endeavoured to stanch the flow of blood from a small
wound high on the man's left breast, and another, more ragged wound
where the bullet had torn through the thick muscles of his back.
The two women worked swiftly and capably, while Lapierre waited,
frowning.
"Better hurry, Miss Elliston," he said, when the last of the bandages
was in place. "This is no place for us to be found if some of
MacNair's Indians happen along. Your canoe is ready. Mine is farther
down the lake."
"But, this man--surely----"
"Leave him there. You have done all you can do for him. His Indians
will find him."
"What!" cried Chloe. "Leave a wounded man to die in the bush!"
Lapierre stepped closer. "What would you do ?" he asked. "Surely you
cannot remain here. His Indians would kill you as they would kill a
_carcajo_." The man's face softened. "It is the way of the North," he
said sadly. "I would gladly have spared him--even though he is my
enemy. But when he whirled with his rifle upon my heart, his finger
upon the trigger, and murder in his eye, I had no alternative. It was
his life or mine. I am glad I did not kill him." The words and the
tone reassured Chloe, and when she answered, it was to speak calmly.
"We will take him with us," she said. "The Indians could not care for
him properly even if they found him. At home I have everything
necessary for the handling of just such cases."
"But, my dear Miss Elliston--think of the portages and the added
burden. His Indians----"
The girl interrupted him--"I am not asking you to help. I have a canoe
here. If you are afraid of MacNair's Indians you need not remain."
The note of scorn in the girl's voice was not lost upon Lapierre. He
flushed and answered with the quiet dignity that well became him: "I
came here, Miss Elliston, with only three canoemen. I returned
unexpectedly to your school, and when I learned that you had gone to
Snare Lake, I followed--to save you, if possible, from the hand of the
Brute."
Chloe interrupted him. "You came here for that?"
The man bowed low. "Knowing what you do of Brute MacNair, and of his
hatred of me, you surely do not believe I came here for business--or
pleasure." He drew closer, his black eyes glowing with suppressed
passion. "There is one thing a man values more than life--the life and
the safety of the woman he loves!"
Chloe's eyes dropped. "Forgive me!" she faltered. "I--I did not
know--I--Oh! don't you see? It was all so sudden. I have had no time
to think! I know you are not afraid. But, we can't leave him
here--like this."
"As you please," answered Lapierre, gently.
"It is not the way of the North; but----"
"It is the way of humanity."
"It is _your_ way--and, therefore, it is my way, also. But, let us not
waste time!" He spoke sharply to Chloe's canoemen, who sprang to the
unconscious form, and raising it from the ground, carried it to the
water's edge and deposited it in the canoe.
"Make all possible speed," he said, as Chloe preceded Big Lena into the
canoe; "I shall follow to cover your retreat."
The girl was about to protest, but at that moment the canoe shot
swiftly out into the lake, and Lapierre disappeared into the bush.
There was small need for the quarter-breed's parting injunction. The
four Indian canoemen evidently keenly alive to the desirability of
placing distance between themselves and MacNair's retainers, bent to
their paddles with a unanimity of purpose that fairly lifted the big
canoe through the water and sent the white foam curling from its bow in
tiny ripples of protest.
Hour after hour, as the craft drove southward, Chloe sat with the
wounded man's head supported in her lap and pondered deeply the things
he had told her. Now and again she gazed into the bearded face, calm,
masklike in its repose of unconsciousness, as if to penetrate behind
the mask and read the real nature of him. She realized with a feeling
almost of fear, that here was no weakling--no plastic irresolute--whose
will could be dominated by the will of a stronger; but a man, virile,
indomitable; a man of iron will who, though he scorned to stoop to
defend his position, was unashamed to vindicate it. A man whose words
carried conviction, and whose eyes compelled attention, even respect,
though the uncouth boorishness of him repelled.
Yet she knew that somewhere deep behind that rough exterior lay a finer
sensitiveness, a gentleness of feeling, and a sympathy that had
impelled him to a deed of unconscious chivalry of which no man need be
ashamed. And in her heart Chloe knew that had she not witnessed with
her own eyes the destruction of his whiskey, she would have been
convinced of his sincerity, if not of his postulates. "He is bad, but
not _all_ bad," she murmured to herself. "A man who will fight hard,
but fairly. At all events, my journey to Snare Lake has not been
entirely in vain. He knows, now, that I have come into the North to
stay; that I am not afraid of him, and will fight him. He knows that I
am honest----"
Suddenly the very last words she had spoken to him flashed into her
mind--"Mr. Lapierre is far to the Southward"--and then Chloe closed her
eyes as if to shut out that look of mingled contempt and reproach with
which the wounded man had sunk into unconsciousness. "He thinks I lied
to him--that the whole thing was planned," she muttered, and was
conscious of a swift anger against Lapierre. Her eyes swept backward
to the brown spot in the distance which was Lapierre's canoe.
"He came up here because he thought I was in danger," she mused. "And
MacNair would have killed him. Oh, it is terrible," she moaned. "This
wild, hard wilderness, where human life is cheap; where men hate, and
kill, and maim, and break all the laws of God and man; it is all
_wrong_! Brutal, and savage, and wrong!"
The shadows lengthened, the canoe slipped into the river that leads to
Reindeer Lake, and still the tireless canoemen bent unceasingly to
their paddles. Reindeer Lake was crossed by moonlight, and a late camp
was made a mile to the westward of the portage. The camp was fireless,
and the men talked in whispers. Later Lapierre joined them, and at the
first grey hint of dawn the outfit was again astir. By noon the
five-mile portage had been negotiated, and the canoes headed down Carp
Lake, which is the northmost reach of the Yellow Knife.
The following two days showed no diminution in the efforts of the
canoemen. The wounded man's condition remained unchanged. Lapierre's
canoe followed at a distance of a mile or two, and a hundred times a
day Chloe found herself listening with strained expectancy for the
sound of the shots that would proclaim that MacNair's Indians had
overtaken them. But no shots were fired, and it was with a feeling of
intense relief that the girl welcomed the sight of her own buildings as
they loomed in the clearing on the evening of the third day.
That night Lapierre visited Chloe in the cottage, where he found her
seated beside MacNair's bed, putting the finishing touches to a
swathing of fresh bandages.
"How is he doing?" he asked, with a nod toward the injured man.
"There is no change," answered the girl, as she indicated a chair close
beside a table, upon which were a tin basin, various bottles, and
porcelain cups containing medicine, and a small pile of antiseptic
tablets. For just an instant the man's glance rested upon the tablets,
and then swiftly swept the room. It was untenanted except for the girl
and the unconscious man on the bed.
"LeFroy, it seems, has improved his time," ventured Lapierre as he
accepted the proffered chair and drew from his pocket a thick packet of
papers. "His complete list of supplies," he smiled. "With these in
your storehouse you may well expect to seriously menace the trade of
both MacNair and the Hudson Bay Company's post at Fort Rae."
Chloe glanced at the list indifferently. "It seems, Mr. Lapierre, that
your mind is always upon trade--when it is not upon the killing of men."
The quarter-breed was quick to note the disapproval of her tone, and
hastened to reply. "Surely, Miss Elliston, you cannot believe that I
regard the killing of men as a pleasure; it is a matter of deep regret
to me that twice during the short period of our acquaintance I have
been called upon to shoot a fellow man."
"Only twice! How about the shot in the night--in the camp of the
Indians, before you left for the Southward?" The sarcasm of the last
four words was not lost upon the man. "Who fired that shot? And what
was the thing that was lifted from your canoe and dropped into the
river?"
Lapierre's eyes searched hers. Did she know the truth? The chance was
against it.
"A most deplorable affair--a fight between Indians. One was killed and
we buried him in the river. I had hoped to keep this from your ears.
Such incidents are all too common in the Northland----"
"And the murderer----"
"Has escaped. But to return to the others. Both shots, as you well
know, were fired on the instant, and in neither case did I draw first."
Chloe, who had been regarding him intently, was forced to admit the
justice of his words. She noted the serious sadness of the handsome
features, the deep regret in his voice, and suddenly realized that in
both instances Lapierre's shots had been fired primarily in defence of
her.
A sudden sense of shame--of helplessness--came over her. Could it be
that she did not fit the North? Surely, Lapierre was entitled to her
gratitude, rather than her condemnation. Judged by his own standard,
he had done well. With a shudder she wondered if she would ever reach
the point where she could calmly regard the killing of men as a mere
incident in the day's work? She thought not. And yet--what had men
told her of Tiger Elliston? Without exception, almost, the deeds they
recounted had been deeds of violence and bloodshed. When she replied,
her voice had lost its note of disapproval.
"Forgive me," she said softly, "it has all been so different--so
strange and new, and big. I have been unable to grasp it. All my life
I have been taught to hold human life sacred. It is not you who are to
blame! Nor, is it the others. It is the kill or be killed creed--the
savage wolf creed--of the North."
The girl spoke rapidly, with her eyes upon the face of MacNair. So
absorbed was she that she did not see the slim fingers of Lapierre
steal softly across the table-top and extract two tablets from the
little pile--failed also to see the swift motion with which those
fingers dropped the tablets into a porcelain cup, across the rim of
which rested a silver spoon.
The man arose at the conclusion of her words, and crossing to her side
rested a slim hand upon the back of her chair. "No. Miss Elliston,"
he said gently, "I am not to blame nor, in a measure, are the others.
It is, as you say, the North--the crushing, terrible, alluring
North--in whose primitive creed a good man does not mean a moral one,
but one who accomplishes his purpose, even though that purpose be bad.
End, and not means, is the ethics of the lean, lone land, where human
life sinks into insignificance, beneath the immutable law of savage
might."
His eyes burned as he gazed down into the upturned face of the girl.
His hands stole lightly from the chair back and rested upon her
shoulder. For one long, intense moment, their eyes held, and then,
with a movement as swift and lithe as the spring of a panther, the man
was upon his knees beside her chair, his arms were about her, and with
no thought of resistance, Chloe felt herself drawn close against his
breast, felt the wild beating of his heart, and then--his lips were
upon hers, and she felt herself struggling feebly against the embrace
of the sinewy arms.
Only for a moment did Lapierre hold her. With a movement as sudden and
impulsive as the movement that embraced her, the arms were withdrawn,
and the man leaped swiftly to his feet. Too dazed to speak, Chloe sat
motionless, her brain in a chaotic whirl of emotion, while in her
breast outraged dignity and hot, fierce anger strove for the mastery
over a thrill, so strange to her, so new, so intense that it stirred
her to the innermost depths of her being.
Swiftly, unconsciously, her glance rested for a moment upon the lean,
bearded face of MacNair; and beside her chair, Lapierre noted the
glance, and the thin lips twisted into a smile--a cynical, sardonic
smile, that faded on the instant, as his eyes flashed toward the
doorway. For there, silent and grim as he had seen her once before,
stood Big Lena, whose china-blue eyes were fixed upon him, in that same
disconcerting, fishlike stare.
The hot blood mounted to his cheeks and suddenly receded, so that his
face showed pallid and pasty in the gloom of the darkened room. He
drew his hand uncertainly across his brow and found it damp with a
cold, moist sweat. Was it fancy, or did the china-blue, fishlike eyes
rest for just an instant upon the porcelain cup on the table? With an
effort the man composed himself, and stooping, whispered a few hurried
words into the ears of the girl who sat with her face buried in her
hands.
"Forgive me, Miss Elliston; for the moment I forgot that I had no
right. I love you! Love you more than life itself! More than my own
life--or the lives of others. It was but the impulse of an unguarded
moment that caused me to forget that I had not the right--forget that I
am a gentleman. We love as we kill in the North. And now, good-by, I
am going Southward. I will return, if it is within the power of man to
return, before the ice skims the lakes and the rivers."
He paused, but the girl remained as though she had not heard him. He
leaned closer, his lips almost upon her ear. "Please, Miss Elliston,
can you not forgive me--wish me one last bon voyage?"
Slowly, as one in a dream, Chloe offered him her hand. "Good-by!" she
said simply, in a dull, toneless voice. The man seized the hand,
pressed it lightly, and turning abruptly, crossed to the table. As he
drew his Stetson toward him, its brim came into violent contact with
the porcelain medicine cup. The cup crashed to the floor, its contents
splashing widely over the whip-sawed boards.
With a hurried word of apology he passed out of the door--passed close
beside the form of Big Lena onto whose cold, fishlike eyes the black
eyes stared insolently, even as the thin lips twisted into a
smile--cynical, sardonic, mocking.