CHAPTER XLIV
THE MISSING BONDS
The walls of the room seemed the restraining bars of a prison, shuttingher apart from life and the right to love. She lifted the latch andflung open the door, standing upon the threshold amid the seethinginrush of the storm.
The fine snow felt good against her throbbing temples, and she staredinto the blackness whose whirling chaos voiced the violence of theheart-storm that raged within her breast. _He_ had conquered the storm!
She shivered as an icy blast sent the snow-powder flying half acrossthe room, closed the door, and resumed her tireless journey to and fro,to and fro, and at each turn she glanced at the sleeping man.
She dropped to her knees beside the bunk and looked long into hisrugged face. He, too, had suffered. She remembered the deep hurt in hiseyes at their parting. Yet he was not beaten.
She had sent him from her, heartsick and alone into the great world,and he had fought and conquered and earned a place among men.
And as the girl looked, her eyes grew tender and the pain in her heartseemed more than she could bear. When she rose to her feet the savagehatred was gone from her heart, and in its place was determination--thedetermination to win back the love of this man.
She, too, would fight, even as he had fought--and win. He had not beendiscouraged and beaten. She remembered the look upon his face as hestrode toward her that morning on the skidway in search of Leduc.
Unconsciously her tiny fists doubled, her delicate white jaw squared,and her eyes narrowed to slits, even as his had narrowed--but her lipsdid not smile.
He was _her_ man! She could give him more than this half-breed girlcould give him, and she would fight to win back her own--that which hadbeen her own from the first.
Almost at her feet upon the floor, just under the edge of the bunkwhere it had been carelessly tossed, lay his mackinaw of coarse,striped cloth. The girl stooped, drew it forth, and smoothed it out.
"His coat," she breathed almost reverently as she patted its roughfolds. "He took it off and wrapped it around Charlie. Oh, it must havebeen terrible--_terrible_!"
She was about to hang it upon its peg when something fell to the floorwith a sharp slap--a long, heavy envelope that had dropped from aragged tear in the lining where the men had ripped it from the body ofthe boy.
She hung the garment upon its peg and stooped to recover the packet.The envelope was old, and had evidently been exposed to the action ofwater, for the flap gaped open and the edges were worn through at theends. Upon one side was tightly bound a photograph, dim and indistinctfrom the rub of the coarse cloth.
Her lips tightened at the corners as she stepped to the desk and turnedup the lamp. She would see what manner of girl it was who had scored soheavily against her in this battle of hearts. She held the pictureclose to the yellow flame and stared unbelievingly at the nearlyeffaced features.
With a swift movement she tore the encircling cord from the packet andexamined it more closely. Her heart beat wildly, and the blood surgedthrough her veins in great, joyous waves. For the photograph showed,not the dark features of the Indian girl, but--_her own_!
Worn almost beyond recognition it was, with corners peeled and rolledback from the warped and water-thickened mounting--but unmistakably_her picture_.
"He cares! He does care!" she repeated over and over. "Oh, my boy! Myboy!" And then her eyes fell upon the thick envelope with its wornedges and open flap which lay unheeded upon the desk-top.
Mechanically she reached for it, and her hand came in contact with itsthick, heavily engraved contents. She raised the papers to the lightand stared; there were five in all, neatly folded, lying one uponanother.
The green background of the topmost one was faded and streaked, and athin, green wash had trickled over the edges of the others, stainingthem.
A yellow slip of paper fluttered to the desk. She picked it up and readthe almost illegible, typewritten lines. It was a memorandum addressedto Strang, Liebhardt & Co., and bearing the faded signature of HiramCarmody.
A sudden numbness overcame the girl. She sank slowly into the chair infront of the desk and stared dully from the yellowed slip of paper tothe faded green bonds.
The room seemed suddenly cold, and she stared, unseeing, at herbloodless finger-tips. She tried to think--to concentrate her mind uponthe present--but her brain refused to act, and she muttered helplessly:
"The bonds--the bonds--he took the bonds!"
Like one in a dream, she arose and replenished the fire in the littleair-tight. It had burned almost to ashes.
She watched the yellow flames lick hungrily at the bubbling pitch ofthe knot she had thrown upon the coals, and glanced from the flaringflames to the little pile of green papers--and back again at the littleflames that climbed higher about the resinous chunk.
"Why not?" she muttered. "They can never prove he took them, and hewould think that they were lost." For a long time she sat, thinking,and then she closed the stove and returned to the desk.
"I stood by him when his father accused him," she murmured, "when Ithought he was innocent. And now--oh, I can't! I can't give him up!"Her voice quavered pitifully, and she clutched at the hurt in herthroat.
"I can't!" she gasped again. "He needs me now. He is mine! _Mine!_" shecried fiercely. "We will work it out together. He was weak then--butnow he is strong. I will tell him that I know, and persuade him toreturn them. And then he will be clean--brave and strong and _clean_!"
She started nervously at the sound of a fumbling at the latch. Hastilycatching up the bonds, she thrust them into the bosom of her gown andturned to face Blood River Jack, who entered, bearing a steaming pailof broth and a larger pail covered with a clean white cloth.
Behind him Daddy Dunnigan noisily stamped the snow from his feet. Theold man hobbled to the side of the bunk and looked intently into theface of the sleeper, and, stooping, held his ear close to the man'sheart.
With a satisfied nod he turned to the girl, who stood close by hisside.
"He's shlaypin' foine," he said, and the little red-rimmed eyes lookedstraight into the eyes of blue. "But, miss, hear-rt-hunger has kiltmore good min thin belly-hunger--ye'll foind th' _broth_ in yonbuckut."
He joined the half-breed, who waited in silence. At the door he turnedand again addressed the girl.
"In th' big buckut's ye're oun snack. Ate ut befoor ut gits cowld.Phwin ye're done, wake um up an' make um dhrink some coffee an' all hec'n howld av th' broth. He's th' bist man in th' woods, an' ut's up toyou to pull um t'rough."
Before the girl could reply the door closed and the two men wereswallowed up in the storm.
Ethel was surprised to find that she was hungry, and the appetizingluncheon which old Daddy Dunnigan had carefully prepared and packed forher was soon disposed of.
The hands of the little alarm-clock pointed to two as she crossed andknelt at the side of the sleeping man. She leaned over and kissed hisforehead--his lips--and whispered softly into his ear.
"Bill--Bill, _dear_."
She blushed at the sound of the word, and glanced hurriedly about theroom, but there was no one to hear, and the man slept on undisturbed bythe tiny whisper. She laid a hand upon his shoulder and shook himgently.
"Bill--wake up!" He stirred slightly, and a sigh escaped him.
"Come, wake up, dear, you must eat."
This time she did not blush at the word, and the shaking became morevigorous. Carmody moved uneasily, grunted, and opened his eyes. Ethelstarted at the steady gaze of the grey eyes so close to her own. Thegrey eyes closed and he passed a hand slowly across them.
"A dream," he muttered, and the girl leaned closer.
"No, Bill," she whispered, "it is not a dream. I am here--Ethel--don'tyou know me?"
"Ethel," he repeated, and the name seemed to linger on his lips. "Wemust get back to her, kid, she is worrying--come--mush, kid--mush!" Thegirl laid a soft hand on his forehead and smoothed back the tangledhair.
"Bill, dear," she whispered,
with her lips close to his, "Charlie issafe. And you are safe, here in the office--with me."
Bill seemed suddenly to grasp the situation.
"Ethel!" he exclaimed. And then, in a dull, tired voice, "I--I broughthim back to you." His eyes closed, and he turned his face toward thewall.
Ethel poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove, and returning,seated herself upon the edge of the bunk. Deftly her arm slipped underhis head, and she held the cup to his lips. Bill drank greedily to thelast drop, and the girl filled another cup with broth.
This time he helped a little, and she raised him higher and pillowedhis head against her breast. He sipped the broth hungrily, but veryslowly, pausing a long time between sips.
Ethel's body thrilled at the touch of him, the little hand that heldthe cup trembled, and the man, close-pressed against her soft breast,heard the wild pounding of her heart.
Suddenly he looked up into her eyes. Her face flushed crimson, and theswift down-sweep of the long lashes hid the soft, blue eyes from theintense, burning gaze of the hard grey ones. In confusion she avertedher face.
There was a swift movement beside her, and the next instant strong armswere about her, and she heard, as from afar, the heavy thud as theporcelain cup struck the floor.
Vainly she struggled in a sudden frenzy of panic to free herself fromthe embrace of the encircling arms, and her heart was filled with agreat, passionate gladness at the futility of her tiny efforts as shefelt herself drawn closer and ever closer against the mighty chest ofthe big man whom, in spite of herself, and of his own shortcomings andweaknesses, she loved with the savage abandon that is the wonder-loveof woman. She knew, too, that the deep music in her ears was the soundof his voice which came in short, stabbing, half-sentences.
"Ethel! Ethel! Little girl--you are mine, mine, _mine_! You _do_ loveme! Darling, better than life itself, I love you. I have always lovedyou! Tell me, dear, it was all a lie--about St. Ledger. Tell me youlove me, dearest!"
The bearded lips found hers, and for answer, her struggles ceased, herbody relaxed against his body, her soft arms stole timidly about hisneck, and there was a wild singing in her heart.
"And there has never been another?" she whispered a few minutes lateras she sat close beside him and watched him sip hot broth from thethick cup. The grey eyes twinkled.
"Don't you _know_, sweetheart, that there has never been another? Why,you have known me all my life!" But the blue eyes were serious.
"I mean, since--since you went away?" For answer the man raised his armand pointed toward the opposite wall.
"Hand me that mackinaw," he said. Ethel gasped and stared at him wideeyed. "The _mackinaw_--that old striped coat next to the slicker," hesmiled.
"But----" she stifled the protest, and the man wondered at the suddenpallor of her face.
"Hand it here," he repeated, "there is something I want to show you."
Without a word the girl crossed the room and, removing the mackinawfrom its peg, laid it upon the blanket within reach of his hand. Hedrew it to him, and the girl watched in silence while he ran hisfingers over the lining.
He plunged his arm to the elbow into the ragged hole and explored tothe very corners the space between the lining and the cloth. With ablank expression of disappointment he looked up at her.
"They are gone," he said in a low voice. "My letters and my picture._Your_ letters, dear--and _your_ picture----"
"Letters!" the girl gasped, leaning forward and staring into his eyes.
"Why, yes, darling. There were only a few. You wrote them when I was inEurope. They were all I had--those few little letters, and thephotograph. You remember--the one you gave me----"
"But--I don't understand----"
"I always kept it on my desk at home," he continued, ignoring theinterruption. "And your letters, too--all sealed in a big envelope. Andthe morning I went away I bound the picture to the envelope and put itin my pocket, and I have always kept it with me.
"A thousand times, dear, I have looked at the picture. It has been myfetish--the little amulet that keeps a man from harm. And whether ornot it has succeeded, dear heart, you must judge for yourself."
"But, the letters--you never took them out--never read them?" The manwas surprised at the intense eagerness of her tone.
"No," he answered, "I never read them. You see, it got to be a sort ofgame with me. It was a big game that I played against myself, and whenI was sure I had won I was going to open the letters."
He paused and looked into the girl's eyes. "And then, one day Ihappened to read in an old newspaper the account of your engagement toSt. Ledger. I almost lost the game, then--but I didn't. And--afterthat--the letters never were the same, and I--I just played the game to_win_."
There were tears in the girl's eyes, and she clutched at his hand.
"But the bonds?" she cried. The man regarded her with a puzzled look.
"Bonds--bonds--what bonds?"
"Why, the bonds you were to have delivered to Strang, Liebhardt & Co.Securities, or something."
Bill stared uncomprehendingly, then suddenly he laughed.
"Oh! Those! Why, I handed them over to father. You see, Dad handed itto me pretty straight that morning. In fact, he--er--fired me. So Igave him the bonds and----"
The sentence was never finished. With a glad cry the girl flung herselfupon him, and to his unutterable wonder sobbed and sobbed.
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