The Golden Snare

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER XIV

  He tried to hide his jubilation as he talked of more cartridges. Heforgot Bram, and the Eskimos waiting outside the corral, and theapparent hopelessness of their situation. HER FATHER! He wanted toshout, or dance around the cabin with Celie in his arms. But the changethat he had seen come over her made him understand that he must keephold of himself. He dreaded to see another light come into thoseglorious blue eyes that had looked at him with such a strange andquestioning earnestness a few moments before--the fire of suspicion,perhaps even of fear if he went too far. He realized that he hadbetrayed his joy when she had said that the man in the picture was herfather. She could not have missed that. And he was not sorry. For him.there was an unspeakable thrill in the thought that to a woman, nomatter under what sun she is born, there is at least one emotion whoseunderstanding needs no words of speech. And as he had talked to her,sublimely confident that she could not understand him, she had read thebetrayal in his face. He was sure of it. And so he talked aboutcartridges. He talked, he told himself afterwards, like an excitedimbecile.

  There were no more cartridges. Celie made him understand that. All theypossessed were the four that remained in the revolver. As a matter offact this discovery did not disturb him greatly. At close quarters hewould prefer a good club to the pop-gun. Such a club, in the event of arush attack by the Eskimos, was an important necessity, and he beganlooking about the cabin to see what he could lay his hands on. Hethought of the sapling cross-pieces in Bram's bunk against the wall andtore one out. It was four feet in length and as big around as his fistat one end while at the other it tapered down so that he could grip iteasily with his hands.

  "Now we're ready for them," he said, testing the poise and swing of theclub as he stood in the center of the room. "Unless they burn us outthey'll never get through that door. I'm promising you that--s'elp meGod I am, Celie!"

  As she looked at him a flush burned in her cheeks. He was eager tofight--it seemed to her that he was almost hoping for the attack at thedoor. It made her splendidly unafraid, and suddenly she laughedsoftly--a nervous, unexpected little laugh which she could not holdback, and he turned quickly to catch the warm glow in her eyes.Something went up into his throat as she stood there looking at himlike that. He had never seen any one quite so beautiful. He dropped hisclub, and held out his hand.

  "Let's shake, Celie," he said. "I'm mighty glad you understand--we'repals."

  Unhesitatingly she gave him her hand, and in spite of the fact thatdeath lurked outside they smiled into each other's eyes. After that shewent into her room. For half an hour Philip did not see her again.

  During that half hour he measured up the situation more calmly. Herealized that the exigency was tremendously serious, and that until nowhe had not viewed it with the dispassionate coolness that characterizedthe service of the uniform he wore. Celie was accountable for that. Heconfessed the fact to himself, not without a certain pleasurablesatisfaction. He had allowed her presence, and his thoughts of her, tofill the adventure completely for him, and as a result they were nowfacing an appalling danger. If he had followed his own judgment, andhad made Bram Johnson a prisoner, as he should have done in his line ofduty, matters would have stood differently.

  For several minutes after Celie had disappeared into her room hestudied the actions of the wolves in the corral. A short time before hehad considered a method of ridding himself of Bram's watchful beasts.Now he regarded them as the one greatest protection they possessed.There were seven left. He was confident they would give warning themoment the Eskimos approached the stockade again. But would theirenemies return? The fact that only one man had attacked the wolves at atime was almost convincing evidence that they were very few innumber--perhaps only a scouting party of three or four. Otherwise, ifthey had come in force, they would have made short work of the pack.The thought became a positive conviction as he looked through thewindow. Bram had fallen a victim to a single javelin, and the scoutingparty of Kogmollocks had attempted to complete their triumph bycarrying Celie back with them to the main body. Foiled in this attempt,and with the knowledge that a new and armed enemy opposed them, theywere possibly already on their way for re-enforcements.

  If this were so there could be but one hope--and that was an immediateescape from the cabin. And between the cabin door and the freedom ofthe forest were Bram's seven wolves!

  A feeling of disgust, almost of anger, swept over him as he drewCelie's little revolver from his pocket and held it in the palm of hishand. There were four cartridges left. But what would they availagainst that horde of beasts! They would stop them no more than so manypin-pricks. And what even would the club avail? Against two or three hemight put up a fight. But against seven--

  He cursed Bram under his breath. It was curious that in that sameinstant the thought flashed upon him that the wolf-man might not havefallen a victim to the Eskimos. Was it not possible that the spyingKogmollocks had seen him go away on the hunt, and had taken advantageof the opportunity to attack the cabin? They had evidently thoughttheir task would be an easy one. What Philip saw through the window sethis pulse beating quickly with the belief that this last conjecture wasthe true one. The world outside was turning dark. The sky was growingthick and low. In half an hour a storm would break. The Eskimos hadforeseen that storm. They knew that the trail taken in their flight,after they had possessed themselves of the girl, would very soon behidden from the eyes of Bram and the keen scent of his wolves. So theyhad taken the chance--the chance to make Celie their prisoner beforeBram returned.

  And why, Philip asked himself, did these savage little barbarians ofthe north want HER? The fighting she had pictured for him had notstartled him. For a long time the Kogmollocks had been making trouble.In the last year they had killed a dozen white men along the uppercoast, including two American explorers and a missionary. Three patrolshad been sent to Coronation Gulf and Bathurst Inlet since August. Withthe first of those patrols, headed by Olaf Anderson, the Swede, he hadcome within an ace of going himself. A rumor had come down to Churchilljust before he left for the Barrens that Olaf's party of five men hadbeen wiped out. It was not difficult to understand why the Eskimos hadattacked Celie Armin's father and those who had come ashore with himfrom the ship. It was merely a question of lust for white men's bloodand white men's plunder, and strangers in their country would naturallybe regarded as easy victims. The mysterious and inexplicable part ofthe affair was their pursuit of the girl. In this pursuit theKogmollocks had come far beyond the southernmost boundary of theirhunting grounds. Philip was sufficiently acquainted with the Eskimos toknow that in their veins ran very little of the red-blooded passion ofthe white man. Matehood was more of a necessity imposed by nature thana joy in their existence, and it was impossible for him to believe thateven Celie Armin's beauty had roused the desire for possession amongthem.

  His attention turned to the gathering of the storm. The amazingswiftness with which the gray day was turning into the dark gloom ofnight fascinated him and he almost called to Celie that she might lookupon the phenomenon with him. It was piling in from the vast Barrens tothe north and east and for a time it was accompanied by a stillnessthat was oppressive. He could no longer distinguish a movement in thetops of the cedars and banskian pine beyond the corral. In the corralitself he caught now and then the shadowy, flitting movement of thewolves. He did not hear Celie when she came out of her room. Sointently was he straining his eyes to penetrate the thickening pall ofgloom that he was unconscious of her presence until she stood close athis side. There was something in the awesome darkening of the worldthat brought them closer in that moment, and without speaking Philipfound her hand and held it in his own. They heard then a low whisperingsound--a sound that came creeping up out of the end of the world like aliving thing; a whisper so vast that, after a little, it seemed to fillthe universe, growing louder and louder until it was no longer awhisper but a moaning, shrieking wail. It was appalling as the firstblast of it swept over the cabin. No other place in the
world is therestorm like the storm that sweeps over the Great Barren; no other placein the world where storm is filled with such a moaning, shriekingtumult of VOICE. It was not new to Philip. He had heard it when itseemed to him that ten thousand little children were crying under therolling and twisting onrush of the clouds; he had heard it when itseemed to him the darkness was filled with an army of laughing,shrieking madmen--storm out of which rose piercing human shrieks andthe sobbing grief of women's voices. It had driven people mad. Throughthe long dark night of winter, when for five months they caught noglimpse of the sun, even the little brown Eskimos went keskwao anddestroyed themselves because of the madness that was in that storm.

  And now it swept over the cabin, and in Celie's throat there rose alittle sob. So swiftly had darkness gathered that Philip could nolonger see her, except where her face made a pale shadow in the gloom,but he could feel the tremble of her body against him. Was it only thismorning that he had first seen her, he asked himself? Was it not along, long time ago, and had she not in that time become, flesh andsoul, a part of him? He put out his arms. Warm and trembling andunresisting in that thick gloom she lay within them. His soul rose in awild ecstasy and rode on the wings of the storm. Closer he held heragainst his breast, and he said:

  "Nothing can hurt you, dear. Nothing--nothing--"

  It was a simple and meaningless thing to say--that, and only that. Andyet he repeated it over and over again, holding her closer and closeruntil her heart was throbbing against his own. "Nothing can hurt you.Nothing--nothing--"

  He bent his head. Her face was turned up to him, and suddenly he wasthrilled by the warm sweet touch of her lips. He kissed her. She didnot strain away from him. He felt--in that darkness--the wild fire inher face.

  "Nothing can hurt you, nothing--nothing--" he cried almost sobbingly inhis happiness.

  Suddenly there came a blast of the storm that rocked the cabin like thebutt of a battering-ram, and in that same moment there came from justoutside the window a shrieking cry such as Philip had never heard inall his life before. And following the cry there rose above the tumultof the storm the howling of Bram Johnson's wolves.