IN COLLINS'S CARE
For two breaths I did not know where I was. It was still snowing, and
the night was wild, such a night as we might not have again for weeks.
Any one could move in it as securely as behind a curtain, for I could
not see a yard before my face, and not a track could lie five minutes.
But suddenly the familiarity of the place hit me, till I could have
laughed out, if I had been there on any other business. Collins's long
passage had wormed behind Thompson's stope, behind the La Chance
stables; and it was no wonder he had found it easy enough to get
supplies from Charliet. All he had to do was to cross the clearing from
the jutting rock that shielded his private entrance and walk into
Charliet's kitchen door. I moved toward it, and Collins grabbed at me
through the smothering snow.
"Hang on--you don't know who's there! Wait till I ring up Charliet,
number one Wolf!" He stood back from me, and far, far off, with a
perfect illusion of distance broken by the wind, I heard a wolf howl,
once, and then twice again. If he had not stood beside me, I could not
have believed the cry came from Collins's throat. But, remembering
Dudley, it had an ill-omened sound to me.
"Shut up!" I breathed sharply.
Collins might have remembered Dudley too. "I wasn't going to do it
again," he muttered, "but I've had to use it for a signal. It's been a
fashionable kind of a sound around here, if I hadn't sense enough to
know Macartney brought the beasts that made it. But Charliet knows my
howl. He'll come out, if he's----Drop, _quick_!"
But both of us had dropped already. Some one had flung open the kitchen
door and fired a charge of buckshot out into the night. I heard it
scatter over my head, and a burst of uproar on its heels told me
Charliet's kitchen was crowded with Macartney's men. Somebody--not
Charliet--shouted over the noise, "What the devil's that for?" And
another voice yelled something about wolves and firing to scare them.
"The boss'll scare you--if you get to firing guns this night," the first
voice swore; and a man laughed, insolently. Then the kitchen door
banged, and Collins sprang up electrically.
"I don't like this one bit," he muttered. "Macartney's not in the
house, or his men wouldn't dare be yelling like that; and Charliet's not
there, either, or he'd have been out. That devil must have got him
somewhere--him and Miss Paulette! Can't you see there's not a light in
the shack, bar the kitchen one? Come on!"
But I was gone already, around the corner of the shack to Paulette's
side of it, and I knew better. There was a light--in Paulette's
room--shining through a hole in the heavy wooden shutters she had had
made for her window, long before I guessed why she wanted them and their
bars. It ran through me like fire that Macartney was in that room, deaf
to any kind of yells from the kitchen, to everything but Paulette's
voice; and nobody but a man who has had to think it can guess what that
thought was like to me, out there in the snow. I made for my own window,
but it was locked; and God knew who might be watching me out of it, as I
had watched Macartney one night, before I knew he was Hutton. I thought:
"By gad, Nick Stretton, you'll go in the front door!" For that--with me
shut up to die in Thompson's stope, and not one other soul alive to
interfere with him--was the last thing Macartney would think to lock!
Nor had he. The latch lifted just as usual, and I walked in.
The long passage through the shack was dark; and, after the storm
outside, dead silent. It was empty, too, as the living room was empty;
but what I thought of was my dream girl's door. That was open a
foot-wide space, and somebody inside it sobbed sickeningly. But if
Macartney were there he was not speaking. I daresay I forgot I had no
gun to kill him with. I crept forward in the soundless moccasins I had
reason to thank heaven were my only wear and suddenly felt Collins
beside me, in his stocking feet.
"Hang on," he breathed; "I tell you he isn't there! If he were, you
couldn't get him. One shout, and he'd have the whole gang out on us!"
I knew afterwards that he'd stubbed his toe on Marcia Wilbraham's little
revolver she'd dropped on the passage floor, and was ready to keep my
back if the gang did come; but then I hardly heard him. I stood rooted
at Paulette's door, staring in; for Paulette was not there--Macartney
was not there! What I saw was Marcia Wilbraham with her back to me,
crying hysterically, as I might have known Paulette would never cry, and
flinging out of a trunk, as if Paulette were dead or gone, every poor
little bit of clothes and oddments that were my dream girl's own!
I can't write what that made me feel. Ribbons, bits of laces, little
blue stockings, shoes, grew into a heap. And I would have been fool
enough to jump in on Marcia and shake out of her how she dared to touch
them, whether Paulette were dead or alive, if Collins had not gripped me
hard.
"The emeralds," he muttered. "She's rooting for them!"
I had pretty well forgotten there ever were any emeralds, and I stared
at him like a fool.
"Van Ruyne's emeralds--she thinks Miss Paulette has 'em," Collins's lips
explained soundlessly. "And they're round Macartney's own neck--I saw
them! Dunn and I were going to swipe them, only we couldn't."
I damned the emeralds. What I wanted of Marcia was to find out what had
become of Paulette. But Collins gripped me harder. "Let her see you, and
you'll never know," he breathed fiercely. "She'd give one yell, and we'd
be done. Macartney's either got the girl and Charliet, or they're lost
in the snow and he's hunting for them. Let's get some guns and go see
which; we're crazy to stay here!"
I nodded mechanically. I knew what it meant for a girl to be lost in the
snow on such a night as I had just closed the shack door on, even with
Charliet beside her; how Collins and I might tramp, search--yes, and
call, too--uselessly, beside the very drift where she lay smothered.
And then I realized I was a fool. Macartney would not give Paulette a
chance to get lost. He had her somewhere, her and Charliet, and Collins
and I had to take her from him. But something inexplicable stopped me
dead as I turned for the shack door. Macartney had never been a winter
at La Chance; he had no snowshoes. Charliet had some, I didn't know
where. But I had two pairs in my own room. That inexplicable suggestion
told me I needed them badly, though I knew it was silly; if Macartney
had Paulette he would not be marching her through the snow. All the
places I had to search for her were the stable and the assay office. And
yet----I backed Collins noiselessly past the room where Marcia was still
pulling round Paulette's trunk, with a noise that covered any we could
make, and the two of us ended up in my room in the black dark. I stood
Collins at the door while I felt for my snowshoes. I knew it was crazy,
and I was just obsessed, but I got them. I didn't get much else. I
couldn't find my rifle I had hoped for, and only a couple of boxes of
revolver cartridges were in my open trunk,--that I guessed Marcia had
gone through too. I would have felt like wringing her neck, if it had
not been for Paulette and Macartney. I had no room for outside emotions
till I knew about those two. I slid back to my doorway to get Collins,
and he was gone. Where to, I had no earthly idea. I looked to see if he
had been cracked enough to tackle Marcia, and Marcia was alone on her
knees, chucking all Paulette's things back into her trunk again. The
place suddenly felt dead quiet. Marcia had stopped sobbing, and I
believe she would have heard a mouse move,--there was that kind of a
listening look about her. And it was that minute--that unsuitable,
inimical minute--that _I_ heard some one move! Outside, on the doorstep,
somebody stumbled. The latch lifted, the door swung in,--and I jumped to
meet Macartney with not one thing on me but some fool snowshoes and a
pocketful of useless cartridges. But I brought up dead still, and rigid.
"Charliet--oh, Charliet, come _quick_," whispered Paulette. She was snow
from head to foot where she stood in the shack door. "I couldn't
find----" But she recoiled as she saw me, against the light Marcia had
burning inside her own half-open door. "Oh, my God, _Nicky_!" she cried
in a voice that brought my soul alive, that fool's soul that had lost
her. She caught at me like a child, incredulously, wildly. "Oh, Nicky!"
There was no time to ask where she'd been, nor even of Macartney. I
think the unsuitable thing I said was "Marcia!" For I heard Marcia jump
and fall over Paulette's open trunk, before she was out of her door like
one of the wolves Macartney was so fond of. I didn't think she saw us,
but she did see Collins. The thing that cut her off was his rush out of
somewhere. I heard her scream with furious terror; heard Paulette's door
bang on her; and Collins was beside me with a rifle and some dunnage I
scarcely saw in the sudden dark of the passage after that banged door.
"Run," said he, through his teeth. "Gimme that stuff! Run!" he stuffed
my snowshoes under the arm that held the rifle. "No, not that way! This
way." He cut across the clearing in the opposite direction from the hole
that led to his underground den, and it was time. Half of Macartney's
men were tearing through the passage toward Marcia's screams, and the
rest were pouring out of the kitchen door. In the storm we could only
hear them. I was carrying Paulette like a baby, and with her head
against me I could not see her face. All I could see was swirling,
stinging snow in my eyes, and the sudden dark of the bush we brought up
in. I kept along the edge of it, circling the clearing, and all but fell
over the end of Collins's jutting rock. And this time I thanked God for
the furious snow; in ten minutes there would be no sign of our tracks
from the front door to the hold the rock shielded, and there was no
earthly chance of Macartney's men picking them up before we were safe.
It felt like years before the three of us were inside the curtain of
juniper, swarming up the smooth rock face, but Collins observed
contrarily that he'd never done it so quickly. He led the way up to the
passage angle where he had pinched out his light, put down the snowshoes
and the rifle, laid something else on the ground with remarkable
caution, and walked on some feet before he lit his candle.
"Better travel light and get home. Dunn and I'll come back presently and
bring up the dunnage," he observed as blandly as if the three of us had
been for an evening stroll, and suddenly laughed as he saw me glance at
his stockinged feet. "By golly, I've left my boots in the shack, and I
haven't any others--but it was worth a pair of boots! I stubbed my toe
on Miss Wilbraham's little revolver she must have dropped on the passage
floor, and I've got it. Also, let alone her lost toy-dog gun, I got all
her ammunition and her rifle, while she was grabbing in Miss Paulette's
trunk.
"'Taffy went to my house,
Thought I was asleep.
I went to Taffy's house,
And stole a side of beef'
--as I learned when I was young. Come on, Stretton; I bet we'll be
top-sides with Macartney-Hutton yet!"
"He's out, looking for me----" but Paulette's sentence broke in a gasp.
"Why, it's Collins!" She stared incredulously in the candlelight.
"Just that," imperturbably. "Stretton can tell you all about me
presently, Miss Paulette. For now I imagine you'd sooner see a fire and
something to eat. Put her in between us, Stretton, Indian file, and
we'll take her down."
Women are queer things. Tatiana Paulina Valenka had tramped the bush
most of the day before looking for a dead man, had found him--a sight no
girl should have looked on; had run for more than her life with me, and
been through God knew what since; and she walked down that unknown, dark
passage with Collins and me as if nothing had ever happened to her. She
greeted Dunn, too; and then, as he and Collins disappeared to fetch down
our snowshoes and rifle, went straight to pieces where she and I stood
safe by their fire. "Oh, oh, oh, I thought you were dead! I saw them get
you. I can't believe--can't believe----" she gasped out in jerks, as if
she fought for her very breath, and suddenly dropped flat on Dunn's old
blanket. "Oh, Nicky," she moaned, "don't let me faint--now. _Nicky!_"
There was something in her voice--I don't know--but it made me dizzy
with sheer, clear joy. She had said my name as if I were the one man in
the world for her, as if I had risen from the dead. But I dared not say
so. I knew better than even to lift her head where she lay with closed
eyes on Dunn's blanket, but I got Collins's old tin cup to her lips
somehow and made her drink his strong coffee till it set her blood
running, as it had set mine. After a minute she sat up dizzily, but she
pushed away my bread and meat. "Presently--I'd be sick now," she
whispered. "How did you get--out of Thompson's stope? And where--I mean
I can't understand, about Collins and Dunn!"
"They got me out," said I, and explained about them. But there was no
particular surprise on Paulette's face. She never made an earthly
comment, either, when I told her they'd always known all about her and
Hutton, except, "I never thought they were dead; I told you that. I'd an
idea, too, that Charliet didn't think so either."
I had one arm round her by that time, feeding her with my other hand
like a child, with bits of bread soaked in black coffee. If I had any
thoughts they were only fear that she might move from me as soon as she
really came to herself. But Charliet's name brought me back from what
was next door to heaven. "Charliet," said I blankly; "where in the
world is he? D'ye mean he hadn't told you about Collins and Dunn? Why,
he was to bring you to them--here--hours ago!"
"Charliet was? But----" Suddenly, beyond belief, my dream girl turned
and clung to me. God knows I knelt like a statue. I was afraid to stir.
It was Dudley she loved: I was only a man who was trusted and a friend.
"Oh, Nicky, you don't know," she cried, "you don't know! You and I ran
straight _into_ some of Dick Hutton's men when we raced out of the
shack. And you threw me--just picked me up like a puppy and threw
me--out of their way, into the deep snow. I heard them get you, but I
was half smothered; I couldn't either see or speak. But I heard Dick
shout from somewhere to 'chuck Stretton into Thompson's old stope!' I
thought it meant they'd killed you; that it was another man I'd let--be
murdered!"
She caught her breath as if something stabbed her, and I know it stabbed
me to think I was just "another man" to her. But I knelt steady. I had
been a fool to think it was I she cared for, personally, and whether she
did or not she needed my arm. "Well?" I asked. "Next?"
"I was scrambling out of the snow," I felt her shiver against me, "only
before I could stand up Charliet raced up from somewhere and shoved me
straight down in the drift again. He said Dick was looking for me, and
to lie still, while he got him away; then to race for the shack and hide
just outside the front door, till he came for me--but before he could
finish Dick ran down on the two of us, with a lantern. He'd have fallen
over me, if Charliet hadn't stopped him by yelling that I'd run for the
bush. I think he grabbed the lantern--but anyhow, they both tore off. I
got to the shack, but----Oh, Nicky, I couldn't wait there. I----"
"Well?" It seemed to be the only word in my brain.
"I went down to Thompson's stope. But I was too late. The men had walled
you in with rocks, and I couldn't move them. I tried!" (I thought she
must hear the leap my heart gave. I know I shut my jaws to keep my
tongue between my teeth at the thought of her trying to dig her way in
to me, the only friend she had in the world except a French-Canadian
cook.) "I----Oh, I thought if I could find Charliet we might do
something! I went back to look for him, and I found _you_----Oh, I found
you!" Her arms were still on my shoulders as I knelt by her, and
suddenly her voice turned low and anxious. "What do you suppose became
of Charliet? He's so faithful. We can't leave him for Dick to turn on
when he can't find me!"
I was not thinking of Charliet. I couldn't honestly care what had become
of him, with my dream girl in my arms. I may as well tell the truth; I
forgot Dudley, too. I don't know what mad words would have come out of
my mouth if Paulette had not pushed me away violently. What was left of
her coffee upset; I got to my feet with the empty cup in my hand, just
as Collins and Dunn and their candle emerged round the boulder. I
remembered long afterwards that it was before I had answered Paulette
one word about myself, Thompson's stope, anything. But then all I did
was to stare at something Collins was carrying carefully in his two
hands. "What's that?" I said--just to say something.
"Some new kind of high explosive Wilbraham got to try and never did,"
Collins returned casually. "Saw it in his office to-night and thought it
was better with us than with Macartney. Don't know just how it works, so
I'm treating it gingerly." He moved on into the darkness of his own
tunnel and came back empty-handed. "What are we going to do--first?" he
inquired calmly.
I took a look at Paulette. Whether it was from Collins's casual mention
of Dudley's name or not, she was ghastly. Who she was looking at I
don't know; but it wasn't at me.
"Sleep," said I grimly. "Two of us need it, if you and Dunn don't.
Macartney can't get us to-night." Though of that I was none too sure.
Charliet might get rattled any moment and give us away. But there was no
good in sticking at trifles.
But Collins was an astute devil. "He won't," he rejoined as calmly as if
I had spoken of Charliet out loud. "He won't get hurt, either; you can
bank on that. Make up that fire, Dunn, and we'll give Miss Paulette the
blankets."
We did, where she lay at one side. We three men dropped like dogs in a
row in front of the fire. I was next Paulette, with the space of a foot
or so between us. I had not known how dead weary I was till I stretched
out flat. Collins and Dunn may have slept; I don't know; but Paulette
certainly did, as soon as she got her head down. I thought I lay and
watched the fire, but I must have slept, too. For I woke--with my heart
drumming as if I'd heard the trump for the Last Judgment, and Paulette's
hand in mine. I must have flung out my arm till I touched her, and her
little fingers were tight round my hard, dirty hand, clinging to it. I
lay in heaven, in the dark of a frowsy cave we might be hunted out of
any minute, with the dying glow of the fire in my eyes and my dream
girl's hand in mine. And suddenly, like a blow, I heard her whisper in
her sleep, "Dudley! Oh, dear Dudley!"
I was only Nicky Stretton, and a fool. I lay in the dark with a heart
like a stone and a girl's warm, clinging hand in mine.