"ARREST THAT MAN!"
Seconds passed--tense, portentous seconds--as the two stood facing each
other over the dead ashes of the little fire. Seconds in which the
white drawn features of the man engraved themselves indelibly upon
Chloe Elliston's brain. She noted the knotted muscles of the clenched
hands and the glare of the sunken eyes. Noted, also, the cringing
fear-stricken forms of the two Indians, who had awakened and lay
cowering upon their blankets. And Big Lena, whose pale-blue, fishlike
eyes stared first at one and then the other from out a face absolutely
devoid of expression.
Suddenly a fierce, consuming anger welled into the girl's heart, and
words fell from her lips in a veritable hiss of scorn: "Have you come
to kill me, too?"
"By God, it would be a good thing for the North if I should kill you!"
"A good thing for MacNair, you mean!" taunted the girl. "Yes, I think
it would. Well, there is nothing to hinder you. Of course, you would
have to kill these, also." She indicated Big Lena and the Indians.
"But what are mere lives to you?"
"They are nothing to me when the fate of my people is at stake! And at
this very moment their fate--their whole future--the future of their
children and their children's children--is at stake, as it has never
been at stake before. Many times in my life have I faced crises: but
never such a crisis as this. And always I have won, regardless of
cost--but the cost only _I_ have ever known."
His eyes glared, and he seemed a madman in his berserk rage. He drove
a huge fist into his upturned palm and fairly shouted his words: "I am
MacNair! And if there is a God in heaven, I will win! From this
moment, it is my life or Lapierre's! Since last night's outrage there
can be no truce--no quibbling--no parleying--no half-way measures! My
friends are my friends, and his friends are my enemies! The war is
on--and it will be a fight to the finish. A fight that may well
disrupt the North!" He shook his clenched fist before the face of the
girl. "I have taken the man-trail! I am MacNair! And at the end of
that trail will lie a dead man--myself or Pierre Lapierre!"
"And at the beginning of the trail lie _two_ dead men," sneered Chloe.
"Those who started for the timber----"
"And, by God, if necessary, the trail will be _paved with dead men_!
For Lapierre, the day of reckoning is at hand."
Chloe took a step forward, and with blazing eyes stood trembling with
anger before the man. "And how about _your own_ day of reckoning? You
have told me that I am a fool; but it is you who are the fool! You
killer of helpless men! You debaucher of women and children! You
trader in souls! As you say, the day of reckoning is at hand--not for
Lapierre, but for _you_! Until this day you have not taken me
seriously. I _have_ been a fool--a blind, trusting fool. You have
succeeded, in spite of what I have heard--in spite of my better
judgment--in spite even of what I have seen, in making me believe that,
possibly you had been misunderstood; had been painted blacker than you
really are. At times I almost _believed_ in you; but I have since
learned enough from the mouths of your own Indians to convince me of my
folly. And after what I saw last night--" She paused in very horror
of the thought, and MacNair glared into her outraged eyes.
"You saw that? You stood by and witnessed the ruination of my Indians?
Deliberately watched them changed from sober, industrious,
simple-hearted children of the wild into a howling, drink-crazed horde
of beasts that thirsted for blood--tore at each other's throats--and,
in the frenzy of their madness, burned their own homes, and their
winter's supplies and provisions? You stood by and saw them glutted
with the whiskey from your storehouse--by your own paid creatures----"
"Whiskey from my storehouse!" The girl's voice rose to a scream, and
MacNair interrupted her savagely:
"Aye, whiskey from your storehouse! Brought in by Lapierre, and by
Lapierre cunningly and freely given out to my Indians."
"You are crazy! You are mad! You do not know what you are saying?
But if you _do_ know, you are the most consummate liar on the face of
the earth! Of all things absurd! Is it possible that you hope by any
such preposterous and flimsy fabrication to escape the punishment which
will surely and swiftly be meted out to you? Will, you tell that to
the Mounted? And will you tell it to the judge and the jury? What
will they say when I have told my story, and have had it corroborated
by your own Indians--those Indians who have fled to my school to seek a
haven of refuge from your tyranny? I have my manifest. My goods were
inspected and passed by the Mounted----"
"Inspected and passed! And why? Because they were _your_ goods, and
the men of the Mounted have yet to suspect you. The inspection was
perfunctorily made. And as for the manifest--I did not say it was your
whiskey. I said, 'whiskey from your storehouse.' It was Lapierre's
whiskey. And he succeeded in running it in by the boldest, and at the
same time the cleverest and safest method--disguised as your freight.
Tell me this: Did you check your pieces upon their arrival at your
storehouse?"
"No; Lapierre did that, or LeFroy."
"And Lapierre, having first ascertained that I was far on the caribou
trail, succeeded in slipping the whiskey to my Indians, but he----"
"Mr. Lapierre was with me! Accuse him and you accuse me, also. He
brought me here because I wished to see for myself the condition of
your Indians--the condition of which I had so often heard."
"Was LeFroy, also, with you?"
"LeFroy was away upon a mission, and that mission was to capture two
others of your ilk--two whiskey-runners!"
MacNair laughed harshly. "Good LeFroy!" he exclaimed in derision.
"Great God, you are a fool! You yourself saw LeFroy and his satellites
rushing wildly for the shelter of the timber, when I unexpectedly
appeared among them." The light of exultation leaped into his eyes.
"I killed two of them, but LeFroy escaped. Lapierre timed his work
well. And had it not been that one of my Indians, who was a spy in
Lapierre's camp, learned of his plan and followed me across the
barrens, Lapierre would have had ample time, after the destruction of
my fort, to have scattered my Indians to the four winds. When I
learned of his plot, I forced the trail as I never had forced a trail,
in the hope of arriving in time to prevent the catastrophe. I reached
the fort too late to save my Indians from your human wolf-pack, their
homes from the flames, and my buildings and my property from
destruction. But, thank God, it is not too late to wreck my vengeance
upon the enemies of my people! For the trail is hot, and I will follow
it, if need be, to the end of the earth."
"Your love for your Indians is, indeed, touching. I witnessed a
demonstration of that love last night, when you battered and kicked and
hurled them about in their drunken and helpless condition. But, tell
me, what will become of them while you are following your trail of
blood--the trail you so fondly imagine will terminate in the death of
Lapierre, but which will, as surely and inevitably as justice itself,
lead you to a prison cell, if not the gallows?"
MacNair regarded the girl almost fiercely. "I must leave my Indians,"
he answered, "for the present, to their own devices. For the simple
reason that I cannot be in two places at the same time."
"But their supplies were burned! They will starve!" cried the girl.
"It would seem that one who really loved his Indians would have his
first thought for their welfare. But no; you prefer to take the trail
and kill men; men who may at some future time tell their story upon the
witness-stand; a story that will not sound pretty in the telling, and
that will mark the crash of your reign of tyranny. 'Safety first' is
your slogan, and your Indians may starve while you murder men." The
girl paused and suddenly became conscious that MacNair was regarding
her with a strange look in his eyes. And at his next words she could
scarcely believe her ears.
"Will you care for my Indians?"
The question staggered her. "What!" she managed to gasp.
"Just what I said," answered MacNair gruffly. "Will you care for my
Indians until such time as I shall return to them--until I have ridded
the North of Lapierre?"
"Do you mean," cried the astonished girl, "will I care for your
Indians--the same Indians who attacked my school--who only last night
fought like fiends among themselves, and burned their own homes?"
"Just that!" answered MacNair. "The Indian who warned me of Lapierre's
plot told me, also, of the arrival of your supplies--sufficient, he
said, to feed the whole North. You will not lose by it. Name your own
price, and I shall pay whatever you ask."
"Price!" flashed the girl. "Do you think I would take your gold--the
gold that has been wrung from the hearts' blood of your Indians?"
"On your own terms, then," answered MacNair. "Will you take them?
Surely this arrangement should be to your liking. Did you not tell me
yourself, upon the occasion of our first meeting, that you intended to
use every means in your power to induce my Indians to attend your
school? That you would teach them that they are free? That they owe
allegiance and servitude to no man? That you would educate and show
them they were being robbed and cheated and forced into serfdom? That
you intended to appeal to their better natures, to their manhood and
womanhood? I think those were your words. Did you not say that? And
did you mean it? Or was it the idle boast of an angry woman?"
Chloe interrupted him. "Yes, I said that, and I meant it! And I mean
it now!"
"You have your chance," growled MacNair, "I impose no restrictions. I
shall command them to obey you; even to attend your school, if you
wish! You will hardly have time to do them much harm. As I told you,
the North is not ready for your education. But I know that you are
honest. You are a fool, and the time is not far distant when you
yourself will realize this; when you will learn that you have become
the unwitting dupe of one of the shrewdest and most diabolical
scoundrels that ever drew breath. Again I tell you that some day you
and I shall be friends! At this moment you hate me. But I know it is
through ignorance you hate. I have small patience with your ignorance;
but, also, at this moment you are the only person in all the North with
whom I would trust my Indians. Lapierre, from now on, will be past
charming them. I shall see to it that he is kept so busy in the matter
of saving his own hide that he will have scant time for deviltry."
Still Chloe appeared to hesitate. And through MacNair's mind flashed
the memory of the rapier-blade eyes that stared from out the dull gold
frame of the portrait that hung upon the wall of the little
cottage---eyes that were the eyes of the girl before him.
"Well," he asked with evident impatience, "are you _afraid_ of these
Indians?"
The flashing eyes of the girl told him that the shot had struck home.
"No!" she cried. "I am not afraid! Send your Indians to me, if you
will; and when you send them, bid good-by to them forever."
MacNair nodded. "I will send them," he answered, and, turning abruptly
upon his heel, disappeared into the scrub.
The journey down the Yellow Knife consumed six days, and it was a
journey fraught with many hardships for Chloe Elliston, unaccustomed as
she was to trail travel. The little-used trail, following closely the
bank of the stream, climbed low, rock-ribbed ridges, traversed black
spruce swamps, and threaded endlessly in and out of the scrub timber.
Nevertheless, the girl held doggedly to the slow pace set by the
canoemen.
When at last, foot-sore and weary, with nerves a-jangle, and with every
muscle in her body protesting with its own devilishly ingenious ache
against the overstrain of the long, rough miles and the chill misery of
damp blankets, she arrived at the school, Lapierre was nowhere to be
found. For the wily quarter-breed, knowing that MacNair would
instantly suspect the source of the whiskey, had, upon his arrival,
removed the remaining casks from the storehouse, and conveyed them with
all haste to his stronghold on Lac du Mort.
Upon her table in the cottage, Chloe found a brief note to the effect
that Lapierre had been, forced to hasten to the eastward to aid LeFroy
in dealing with the whiskey-runners. The girl had scant time to think
of Lapierre, however, for upon the morning after her arrival, MacNair
appeared, accompanied by a hundred or more dejected and woe-begone
Indians. Despite the fact that Chloe had known them only as fierce
roisterers she was forced to admit that they looked harmless and
peaceful enough, under the chastening effect of a week of starvation.
MacNair wasted no time, but striding up to the girl, who stood upon the
veranda of her cottage, plunged unceremoniously into the business at
hand.
"Do not misunderstand me," he began gruffly. "I did not bring my
Indians here to receive the benefits of your education, nor as a sop to
your anger, nor for any other reason than to procure for them food and
shelter until such time as I myself can provide for them. If they were
trappers this would be unnecessary. But they have long since abandoned
the trap-lines, and in the whole village there could not be found
enough traps to supply one tenth of their number with the actual
necessities of life. I have sent runners to the young men upon the
barren grounds, with orders to continue the caribou kill and bring the
meat to you here. I have given my Indians their instructions. They
will cause you no trouble, and will be subject absolutely to your
commands. And now, I must be on my way. I must pick up the trail of
Lapierre. And when I return, I shall confront you with evidence that
will prove to you beyond a doubt that the words I have spoken are true!"
"And I will confront you," retorted the girl, "with evidence that will
place you behind prison bars for the rest of your life!" Again Chloe
saw in the grey eyes the twinkle that held more than the suspicion of a
smile.
"I think I would make but a poor prisoner," the man answered. "But if
I am to be a prisoner I warn you that I will run the prison. I am
MacNair!" Something in the man's look--he was gazing straight into her
eyes with a peculiar intense gaze--caused the girl to start, while a
sudden indescribable feeling of fear, of helplessness before this man,
flashed over her. The feeling passed in an instant and she sneered
boldly into MacNair's face.
"My, how you hate yourself!" she cried. "And how long is it, Mr. Brute
MacNair--" was it fancy, or did the man wince at the emphasis of the
name? She repeated, with added emphasis, "Mr. Brute MacNair, since you
have deemed it worth your while to furnish me with evidence? You told
me once, I believe, that you cared nothing for my opinion. Is it
possible that you hope at this late day to flatter me with my own
importance?"
MacNair, in no wise perturbed, regarded her gravely. "No," he answered
"It is not that, it is--" He paused as if at a loss for words. "I do
not know why," he continued, "unless, perhaps, it is because--because
you have no fear of me. That you do not fear to take your life into
your hands in defence of what you think is right. It may be that I
have learned a certain respect for you. Certainly I do not pity you.
At times you have made me very angry with your foolish blundering,
until I remember it is honest blundering, and that some day you will
know the North, and will know that north of sixty, men are not measured
by your little rule of thumb. Always I have gone my way, caring no
more for the approval of others than I have for their hatred or
scoffing. I know the North! Why should I care for the opinion of
others? If they do not know, so much the worse for them. The
reputation of being a fool injures no one. Had I not been thought a
fool by the men of the Hudson Bay Company they would not have sold me
the barren grounds whose sands are loaded with gold."
"And yet you said _I_ was a fool," interrupted Chloe. "According to
your theory, that fact should redound to my credit."
MacNair answered without a smile. "I did not say that _being_ a fool
injured no one. You _are_ a fool. Of your reputation I know nothing,
nor care." He turned abruptly on his heel and walked to the
storehouse, leaving the girl, speechless with anger, standing upon the
veranda of the cottage, as she watched his swinging shoulders disappear
from sight around the corner of the log building.
With flushed face, Chloe turned toward the river, and instantly her
attention centred upon the figure of a man, who swung out of the timber
and approached across the clearing in long, easy strides. She regarded
the man closely. Certainly he was no one she had ever seen before. He
was very near now, and at the distance of a few feet, paused and bowed,
as he swept the Stetson from his head. The girl's heart gave a wild
bound of joy. The man wore the uniform of the Mounted!
"Miss Elliston?" he asked.
"Yes," answered Chloe, as her glance noted the clear-cut, almost boyish
lines of the weather-bronzed face.
"I am Corporal Ripley, ma'am, at your service. I happened on a Fort
Rae Injun--a Dog Rib, a few days since, and he told me some kind of a
yarn about a band of Yellow Knives that had attacked your post some
time during the summer. I couldn't get much out of him because he
could speak only a few words of English, and I can't speak any Dog Rib.
Besides, you can't go much on what an Indian tells you. When you come
to sift down their dope, it generally turns out to be nine parts lies
and the other part divided between truth, superstition, and guess-work.
Constable Darling, at Fort Resolution, said he'd received no complaint,
so I didn't hurry through."
With a swift glance toward the storehouse, into which MacNair had
disappeared, Chloe motioned the man into the cottage. "The--the attack
was nothing," she hastened to assure him. "But there is something--a
complaint that I wish to make against a man who is, and has been for
years, doing all in his power to debauch and brutalize the Indians of
the North." The girl paced nervously up and down as she spoke, and she
noted that the youthful officer leaned forward expectantly, his wide
boyish eyes narrowed to slits.
"Yes," he urged eagerly, "who is this man? And have you got the
evidence to back your charge? For I take it from your words you intend
to make a charge."
"Yes," answered Chloe. "I do intend to make a charge, and I have my
evidence. The man is MacNair. Brute MacNair he is called----"
"What! MacNair of Snare Lake--Bob MacNair of the barren grounds?"
"Yes, Bob MacNair of the barren grounds." A moment of silence followed
her words. A silence during which the officer's face assumed a
troubled expression.
"You are sure there is no mistake?" he asked at length.
"There is no mistake!" flashed the girl. "With my own eyes I have seen
enough to convict a dozen men!"
Even as she spoke, a form passed the window, and a heavy tread sounded
on the veranda. Stepping quickly to the door, Chloe flung it open, and
pointing toward MacNair, who stood, rifle in hand, cried; "Officer,
arrest that man!"
Corporal Ripley, who had risen to his feet, stood gazing from one to
the other; while MacNair, speechless, stared straight into the eyes of
the girl.