CHAPTER XLIII
IN CAMP AGAIN
The violence of the storm precluded the use of horses about the camp,and the trail that slanted from the clearing to the water-hole was soondrifted high with snow, rendering useless the heavy tank-sled. Fallon,who had been placed in temporary charge of the camp, told the men intowater-shifts; barrels were lashed to strong sleds and man-hauled to thetop of the bank, where the guide-rope had been run to the water-hole.
The men of the shift formed a long line reaching from the sled to theriver, and the water dipped from the hole cut in the ice was passedfrom man to man in buckets to be dumped into the barrels anddistributed between the stables, cook-shack, bunk-house, and "house."
Darkness had fallen when the men of the afternoon shift wallowed towardthe river upon the last trip of the second day of the great blizzard.The roar of the wind as it hurled the frozen particles against theircold-benumbed faces drowned their muttered curses as, thirty strong,they pushed and hauled the cumbersome sled to the top of the bank.Seizing the buckets, they strung out, making their way down the steepslope with one hand on the guide-rope.
Suddenly the foremost man stumbled and fell. He scrambled profanely tohis knees and began feeling about in the thick darkness for his bucket.His mittened hand came into contact with the object which, protrudingfrom the snow, had tripped him, and with a vicious wrench he endeavoredto remove it from the trail. It yielded a little, but remained firmlyimbedded.
With a wild yell he forgot his bucket and began digging and clawing inthe snow, for the object he grasped was the bent ash edge of asnowshoe, and firmly lashed in the center of the webbing was themoccasined foot of a man.
Other men came, floundering and sprawling over each other in thedarkness, and the word was bellowed from lips to listening ear that aman lay buried beneath the drift.
"Dig! Ye tarriers!" roared Fallon as his heavy mittens gouged into thesnow. "Dig! Ut's th' boss!" he yelled into the ear of the nearest man."Oi know thim rackets!"
And from lip to bearded lip the word passed, and the big men of thelogs redoubled their efforts; but the fine snow had packed hard aroundthe prostrate form, and it was many minutes before they had uncoveredhim sufficiently to note the smaller body lashed tightly upon his back.The frozen lash was soon severed and the two exanimate bodies lifted ineager hands.
Buckets were left to snow under as the men crowded up the bank, howlinginto each other's ears. Big Stromberg, who bore the boss in his arms,was propelled up the steep slope by the men who crowded about him,pushing, pulling, hauling--the ground-gaining, revolving wedge of theold days of mass formation in football.
"To th' office wid um!" roared Fallon in Stromberg's ear as they milledacross the clearing. "Th' b'ys'll crowd th' bunk-house till theyhindher more thin hilp!"
The boy responded quickly to vigorous treatment and stimulants and wasremoved to his own bunk and placed under the able care of his AuntMargaret and Mrs. Sheridan.
In the office Ethel Manton, white-faced and silent, watchedbreathlessly the efforts of Appleton and Blood River Jack to revive theexhausted and half-frozen foreman. The lumber magnate unscrewed thesilver cap from a morocco-covered flask and poured out a generous doseof liquor; but before it reached the unconscious man's lips thehalf-breed stayed his hand.
"M's'u' Bill drinks no whisky," he said. "Even in the time of his greatsickness would he drink no whisky; and if you give him whisky he willbe very angry."
Appleton paused and glanced curiously from the face of the half-breedto the still form upon the bunk, and the other continued:
"It is strange--I do not know--but he told it to Jeanne one day--that,in the great city of the white man is a girl he loves. He used to drinkmuch whisky, and for that reason she sent him from her--and now hedrinks no whisky--even though this girl has married another."
Ethel stared at the speaker, wide-eyed, and the pallor of her faceincreased.
"Married another!" she gasped.
Jacques regarded her gravely. "I know nothing except it was told me byJeanne," he returned--"how he talked in the voice of the fever-spirit,that this girl would marry another. In the paper he read it--but evenso, will he drink no whisky. One week ago did he not hear how one nightin the bunk-house Leduc tried to make the little boy drink whisky? Anddid he not hunt up Leduc the next morning, and, upon the skidway, smashthe nose of him and knock four teeth from his jaw?"
The guide paused, and Appleton slowly screwed the silver top to hisflask and returned it to his pocket.
"Upon the stove is a pot of very strong coffee which Daddy Dunnigantold me to bring," Jacques went on; "and he is even now making broth inthe cook-shack. M's'u' Bill cannot die. The strong coffee and the goodbroth will bring him back to life; for he is called in the woodsThe-Man-Who-Cannot-Die.
"If he could die he would die in the blizzard. For, since blizzardswere known, has no man done a thing like this--to search for two daysand a night for one boy lost in the snow, and carry him home insafety."
The half-breed finished, and the girl, with a low cry, sank into achair and, leaning forward upon the desk, buried her face in her armswhile her shoulders shook with the violence of her sobbing.
Appleton crossed to her side and laid a hand gently upon her shoulder.
"Come, Ethel," he said; "this has been too much for you. Let me takeyou to the house."
But the girl shook her head. She raised her eyes, wet with tears, andwith an effort controlled her voice.
"My place is here--with _him_," she said softly as she arose, and,walking to the side of the cot, looked down at the set face of theunconscious man. "Leave me alone now. There is nothing you can do. Iwill stay with him while you sleep. Draw your cot close to the wall,and if I need you I will knock. Jacques will go to the cook-shack," sheadded, turning to the half-breed, "and when the broth is ready bring itto me."
The men obeyed without question, and as the office door closed behindthem the girl dropped to her knees beside the bunk and, throwing herarms about the man's neck, pressed her soft cheek close against hisbearded face.
The little tin lamp in its bracket beside the row of books on the topof the desk was turned low and its yellow light illuminated dimly theinterior of the rough room. She slipped into an easier position and,seated upon the floor at the edge of the low bunk, drew his head closeagainst her breast. At the touch--the feel of this strong man lyinghelpless in her arms--the long-pent yearning of her soul burst thestudied bonds of its restraint and through her whole body swept thetorrent of a mighty love.
Resistlessly it engulfed every nerve and fiber of her--wave upon waveof wild, primitive passion surged through her veins until her heartseemed bursting with the sweet, intense pain of it. Fiercely, in thehot, quick flame of passion, she strained him to her breast and herlips sought his in an abandon of feverish kisses.
And in that moment she knew that, in all the world of men, this man was_her_ man. Always he had dominated her life--always she had known thisgreat love, had fought against it, and feared it--and always she hadheld it in check.
But now, alone in the night, with the man lying helpless in her arms,this mighty passion welled to the bursting of restraint.
Her heart, subservient no longer to the will of her brain nor to creedsnor the tenets of convention, had this night come into its own, and sheloved with the hot, savage mate-love of her pristine forebears.
The man's lips moved feebly upon hers and the closed eyelids fluttered.The girl sprang to the stove and returned a second later bearing athick porcelain cup steaming with strong, black coffee.
She raised his head upon her arm and, holding the cup, let part of itscontents trickle between his lips. He strangled weakly and swallowed.
Again she tilted the cup and again he swallowed. "My darling! Mydarling!" she sobbed as the fluttering eyelids half opened and the lipsmoved, and then leaned close to catch their faintest murmur.
"Jeanne," he whispered, "Jeanne, little girl----" and then the lipsceased to move, he shuddere
d slightly through the length of him, hiseyes closed, and he slept.
The thick cup thudded heavily upon the floor and its contents splashedunheeded over her gown, as the girl sat motionless, staring past thebunk at the blank wall of logs.
The little nickel-plated alarm-clock ticked loudly in sharp, insistentthrees, as she sat, white of face, with set lips and unwinking eyesstaring stonily at the parallel logs of the wall.
Centuries of supercultivation and the refinement of breeding wereconcentrated in that white-lipped, cold-eyed stare, which is theheart-mask of the _recherche_ woman of empire. And then--the maskdropped.
The inevitable artificiality of years of unconscious eugenic selectionmelted in a breath before the fierce onrush of savage emotion. The girlsprang to her feet as the hot blood surged to her face and pacedfrantically back and forth in a fume of primordial hate. Her smallfists clenched till pink nails bit deep into soft, pink palms. Hernostrils dilated, quivering; her eyes flashed, and the breath hissedthrough her lips in deep sobs of impotent rage against the woman whohad robbed her of this man's love and whose name was upon his lips inthe first moment of his awakening.
She paused and gazed into the face of the man who was the hero of herfondest dreams--the man who had overcome obstacles, who defied dangerand death, and had won, with his two hands and the great force of hispersonality, the respect and devotion of the big men of the roughcountry.
And he was hers--never had he been aught else but hers--and she hadlost him! Wildly she resumed her restless pacing, while the words ofthe half-breed rang in her ears: "She is beautiful, and she loves him."
She halted abruptly, and in her eye flashed a momentary ray of hope;the man had said, not "He loves her," but, "She loves him." Could itbe--but, no, there were his own words, spoken at the time of theirfirst meeting in the gloom of this very room: "I forgot that I have notthe right--that there is another."
And was it not _her_ name that sprang to his lips in thehalf-consciousness of a few moments ago? In her mind she pictured thewild, dark beauty of the other girl, and in the jealous fury of herheart could have torn her in pieces with her two hands.
"M's'u' Bill drinks no whisky"--the dream of her life had beenrealized, but in the realization she had been beaten--all her hopes andprayers, the long, bitter hours of her soul-anguish, which burned andgnawed beneath the stoicism and apathy her environment demanded, hadgone for naught, and she, who had borne the brunt of the long battle,was brushed aside and forgotten.
The spoils belonged to another--and that other, an _Indian_!
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