In the Brooding Wild Part 20

Now Jean lighted a lamp and looked down at his victim; there was not the faintest sign of drink about him, and as Victor noticed this he cursed himself bitterly.

There was an impressive silence. Then Jean's words came slowly. He expressed no emotion, no pa.s.sion; just the purpose of a strong man who moves relentlessly on to his desired end.

Gagnon realized to the full the calamity which had befallen him.

"Ye'll wait right here till Davi' gits back. She's goin' to git her ears full o' you, I guess. Say, she was sweet on you--mighty sweet. But she's that sensible as it don't worry any. Say, you ain't goin' to marry that gal; ye never meant to. You're a skunk, an' I'd as lief choke the life out o' ye as not. But I'm goin' to pay ye sorer than that. Savvee? Ye'll bide here till Davi' comes. I'll jest fix this wedge in your mouth till I've cleared them drivers out o' the store. I don't fancy to hear your lungs exercisin' when I'm busy."

With easy deftness Jean gagged his prisoner. Then he glanced round the windowless shack to see if there was any weapon or other thing about that could possibly a.s.sist the trader to free himself. Having a.s.sured himself that all was safe he put out the light and pa.s.sed out, securing the door behind him.

CHAPTER XIII.

OUT ON THE NORTHLAND TRAIL

Noon, the following day, saw the dog-train depart on its homeward journey. The way of it was curious and said much for the simplicity of these "old hands" of the northland trail. They were giants of learning in all pertaining to their calling; infants in everything that had to do with the world of men.

Thus Jean Leblaude's task was one of no great difficulty. It was necessary that he should throw dust in their eyes. And such a dust storm he raised about their simple heads that they struck the trail utterly blinded to the events of the previous night.

While they yet slumbered Jean had freed the dogs from their traces, and unloaded the sled which bore the treasure-chest. He had restored everything to its proper place; and so he awaited the coming of the morning. He did not sleep; he watched, ready for every emergency.

When, at last, the two men stirred he was at hand. Rolling Pierre over he shook him violently till the old man sat up, staring about him in a daze. A beaker of rum was thrust against his parched lips, and he drank greedily. The generous spirit warmed the Frenchman's chilled body and roused him. Then Jean performed the same merciful operation upon Ambrose, and the two unrepentant sinners were on their legs again, with racking heads, and feeling very ill.

But Jean cared nothing for their sufferings; he wanted to be rid of them. He gave them no chance to question him; not that they had any desire to do so, in fact it was doubtful if they fully realized anything that was happening. And he launched into his carefully considered story.

"Victor's gone up to the hills 'way back ther'," he said. "Ther's been a herd o' moose come down, from the moose-yard, further north, an' he's after their pelts. Say, he left word fer you to git right on loadin' the furs, an' when ye hit the trail ye're to take three bottles o' the Rye, an' some o' the rum. He says he ain't like to be back fer nigh on three days."

And while he was speaking the two men supped their coffee, and, as they moistened their parched and burning throats, they nodded a.s.sent to all Jean had to say. At that moment Victor, or any one else, might go hang.

All they thought of was the awful thirst that a.s.sailed them.

Breakfast over, the work of loading the sleds proceeded with the utmost dispatch. Thus it was that at noon, without question, without the smallest suspicion of the night's doings, they set out for the weary "long trail."

Jean saw them go. He stood at the door of the store and watched them until they disappeared behind the rising ground of the great Divide.

Then his solemn eyes turned away indifferently, and he gazed out into the hazy distance. His gaunt face showed nothing of what was pa.s.sing in the brain behind it. He rarely displayed emotion of any sort. The Indian blood in his veins preponderated, and much of the stoical calm of the Redskin was his. Now he could wait, undisturbed, for the return of Davia. He felt that he had mastered the situation. He could not make Victor marry the sister he had wronged, but at least he could pay off the wrong in his own way, and to his entire satisfaction. Two years he had waited for the adjustment of these matters. He was glad that he had exercised patience. He might have slain Victor a hundred times over, but he had refrained, vainly hoping to see his sister righted. Besides, he knew that Davia had loved Victor, and women are peculiar. Who might say but that she would have fled from the murderer of her lover? Jean felt well satisfied on the whole. So he stood thinking and waiting with a calm mind.

But the tragedy was working itself out in a manner little suspected, little expected, by him. This he was soon to learn.

The grey spring snow spread itself out on every hand, only was the wood-lined hill, which stretched away to the right and left of him, and behind the hut, bare of the wintry pall. The sky was brilliant in contrast with the greyness of the world beneath it, and the sun shone high in the blue vault. Everywhere was the deadly calm of the Silent North. The presence of any moving forest beast in that brooding picture, however distant, must surely have caught the eye. There was not a living thing to be seen. These woful wastes have much to do with the rugged nature of those who dwell in the north.

Suddenly the whole prospect seemed to be electrified with a thrill of life. The change came with a swift movement of the man's quiet eyes.

Nothing had really altered in the picture, nothing had appeared, and yet that swift flash of the eyes had brought a suggestion of something which broke up the solitude as though it had never been.

Awhile, and his attention became fixed upon the long line of woods to the right. Then his ears caught a slight but distinct sound. He stood away from the doorway, and, shading his eyes from the sunlight, looked keenly along the dark shadow of the woods. No wolf or fox could have keener instinct than had this man. A sound of breaking brush, but so slight that it probably would have pa.s.sed unheeded by any other, had told him that some one approached through these woods.

He waited.

Suddenly there was movement in the shadow. The next moment a figure stepped out into the open. A figure, dressed in beaded buckskin and blanket clothing. It was Davia.

She came in haste, yet wearily. She looked slight and drooping in her mannish garments, while the pallor of her drawn face was intense. She came up to where Jean stood and would have fallen but for his support.

Her journey had been rapid and long, and she was utterly weary of body.

"Quick, let's git inside," she cried, in a choking voice. Then she added hysterically: "He's on the trail."

Without a word Jean led her into the house, and she flung herself into a seat. A little whiskey put new life into her and the colour came back to her face. She was strong, a woman bred to hards.h.i.+p and toil.

Jean waited; then he put a question with characteristic abruptness.

"Who's on the trail?"

"Who? Nick Westley. He's comin' for blood! Victor's blood!" Then Davia sprang to her feet with a look of wild alarm upon her beautiful face.

"He's killed his brother!" she added. "He's mad--ravin' mad."

The man did not move a muscle. Only his eyes darkened as he heard the announcement.

"Mad," he said, thoughtfully. "An' he's comin' fer Victor. Wal?"

Davia sat up. Her brother's calmness had a soothing effect upon her.

"Listen, an' I'll tell you."

And she told the story of the mountain tragedy, and the manner in which she watched the madman's subsequent actions until he set out for the store. And the story lost none of its intense horror in her telling.

Jean listened unemotionally and with a judicial air. Only his eyes shoved that he was in any way moved.

When she had finished he asked her, "An' when'll he git here?"

"Can't say," came the swift reply. "Maybe to-night; maybe in an hour; maybe right now. He's big an' strong, an'--an' he's mad, I know it." And a shudder of apprehension pa.s.sed over her frame.

"Fer Victor? Sure?" Jean asked again presently, like a man weighing up a difficult problem.

"Sure. He don't know you, nor me, at this layout. Ther's only Victor. I guess I don't know how he figgered it, he's that crazy, but it's Victor he's layin' fer, sure. Say, I saw him sling his gun an' his 'six.' An'

his belt was heavy with ammunition. I reckon ther's jest one thing fer us to do when a crazy man gits around with a gun. It's time to light out. Wher's Victor?" And her eyes fell upon the treasure-chest.

"Him an' me's changed places. He's back ther'." Jean jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the huts in the wood.

Davia was on her feet in an instant and her eyes sparkled angrily.

"What d'ye mean, Jean?"

The man shrugged. But his words came full of anger.

"He didn't mean marryin' ye."

"Well?" The blue eyes fairly blazed.

"The boodle," with a glance in the direction of the treasure. "He was fer jumpin' the lot."