The Woman from Outside

by Hulbert Footner

  CHAPTER III

  THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR

  At Fort Enterprise a busy time followed. The big steamboat ("big" ofcourse only for lack of anything bigger than a launch to compare with)had to be put in the water and outfitted, and the season's catch of furinventoried, baled and put aboard. By Victoria Day all was ready. Theytook the day off to celebrate with games and oratory (chiefly for thebenefit of the helpless natives) followed by a big bonfire and dance atSimon Grampierre's up the river.

  Next morning the steamboat departed up-stream, taking Captain Stinson,Mathews, and most of the native employees of the post in her crew. DocGiddings and Stonor watched her go, each with a little pain at thebreast; she was bound towards the great busy world, world of infinitedelight, of white women, lights, music, laughter and delicate feasting;in short, to them the world of romance. They envied the very bales offur aboard that were bound for the world's great market-places. On theother hand, John Gaviller watched the steamboat go with highsatisfaction. To him she represented Profit. He never knew homesickness,because he was at home. For him the world revolved around FortEnterprise. As for Gordon Strange, the remaining member of the quartettewho watched her go, no one ever really knew what he thought.

  The days that followed were the dullest in the whole year. The nativeshad departed for their summer camps, and there was no one left aroundthe post but the few breed farmers. To Stonor, who was twenty-sevenyears old, these days were filled with a strange unrest; for the comingof summer with its universal blossoming was answered by a surge in hisown youthful blood--and he had no safety-valve. A healthy instinct urgedhim to a ceaseless activity; he made a garden behind his quarters; hebuilt a canoe (none of your clumsy dug-outs, but a well-turnedPeterboro' model sheathed with bass-wood); he broke the colts of theyear. Each day he tired himself out and knew no satisfaction in hiswork, and each morning he faced the shining world with a kind of groan.Just now he had not even Tole Grampierre to talk to, for Tole, followingthe universal law, was sitting up with Berta Thomas.

  The steamboat's itinerary took her first to Spirit River Crossing, thepoint of departure for "outside" where she discharged her fur and tookon supplies for the posts further up-stream. Proceeding up to Cardiganand Fort Cheever, she got their fur and brought it back to the Crossing.Then, putting on supplies for Fort Enterprise, she hustled down homewith the current. It took her twelve days to mount the stream and six toreturn. Gaviller was immensely proud of the fact that she was the onlything in the North that ran on a pre-arranged schedule. He even sent outa timetable to the city for the benefit of intending tourists. She wasdue back at Enterprise on June 15th.

  When the morning of that day broke a delightful excitement filled thebreasts of those left at the post. As in most Company establishments, onthe most prominent point of the river-bank stood a tall flagstaff, witha little brass cannon at its foot. The flag was run up and the cannonloaded, and every five minutes during the day some one would be runningout to gaze up the river. Only Gaviller affected to be calm.

  "You're wasting your time," he would say. "Stinson tied up at Tar Islandlast night. If he comes right down he'll be here at three forty-five;and if he has to land at Carcajou for wood it will be near supper-time."

  The coming of the steamboat always held the potentialities of a dramaticsurprise, for they had no telegraph to warn them of whom or what she wasbringing. This year they expected quite a crowd. In addition to theirregular visitors, Duncan Seton, the Company inspector, and BishopTrudeau on his rounds, the government was sending in a party ofsurveyors to lay off homesteads across the river, and Mr. Pringle, theEpiscopal missionary, was returning to resume his duties. An added spiceof anticipation was lent by the fact that the latter was expected tobring his sister to keep house for him. There had been no white woman atFort Enterprise since the death of Mrs. Gaviller many years before. But,as Miss Pringle was known to be forty years old, the excitement on heraccount was not undue. Her mark would be Gaviller, the younger men said,affecting not to notice the trader's annoyance.

  Gaviller had put a big boat's whistle on his darling _Spirit River_, andthe mellow boom of it brought them on a run out of the store before shehove in sight around the islands in front of Grampierre's. Gaviller hadhis binoculars. He could no longer keep up his pretence of calmness.

  "Three twenty-eight!" he cried, excitedly. "Didn't I tell you! Who sayswe can't keep time up here! She'll run her plank ashore at threeforty-five to the dot!"

  "There she is!" they cried, as she poked her nose around the islands.

  "Good old tub!"

  "By God! she's a pretty sight--white as a swan!"

  "And floats like one!"

  "Some class to that craft, sir!"

  Meanwhile Gaviller was nervously focussing his binoculars. "By Golly!there's a big crowd on deck!" he cried. "Must be ten or twelve besidethe crew!"

  "Can you see the petticoat?" asked Doc Giddings. "Gee! I hope she cancook!"

  "Wait a minute! Yes--there she is!--Hello! By God, boys, there's two ofthem!"

  "Two!"

  "Go on, you're stringing us!"

  "The other must be a breed."

  "No, sir, she's got a white woman's hat on, a stylish hat. And now I cansee her white face!"

  "John, for the lova Mike let me look!"

  But the trader held him off obdurately. "I believe she's young. She's alittle woman beside the other. I believe she's good-looking! All the menare crowding around her."

  Stonor's heart set up an unaccountable beating. "Ah, it'll be the wifeof one of the surveyors," he said, with the instinct of guarding againsta disappointment.

  "No, sir! If her husband was aboard the other men wouldn't be crowdingaround like that."

  "No single woman under forty would dare venture up here. She'd bemobbed."

  "Might be a pleasant sort of experience for her."

  Doc Giddings had at last secured possession of the glasses. "She _is_good-looking!" he cried. "Glory be, she's a peach! I can see her smile!"

  The boat was soon close enough for the binoculars to be dispensed with.To Stonor the whole picture was blurred, save for the one slender,fragile figure clad in the well-considered dress of a lady, perfect indetail. Of her features he was aware at first only of a beaming, wistfulsmile that plucked at his heartstrings with a strange sharpness. Even atthat distance she gave out something that changed him for ever, and heknew it. He gazed, entirely self-forgetful, with rapt eyes and partedlips that would have caused the other men to shout with laughter--hadthey not been gazing, too. The man who dwells in a world full ofcharming women never knows what they may mean to a man. Let him beexiled, and he'll find out. In that moment the smouldering uneasinesswhich had made Stonor a burden to himself of late burst into flame, andhe knew what was the matter. He beheld his desire.

  As the steamboat swept by below them, Stonor automatically dipped theflag, and Gaviller touched off the old muzzle-loader, which vented amagnificent roar for its size. The whistle replied. The _Spirit River_waltzed gracefully around in the stream, and, coming back against thecurrent, pushed her nose softly into the mud of the strand. They randown to meet her. Hawsers were passed ashore and made fast, and theplank run out.

  Gaviller and the others went aboard, and first greetings were exchangedon the forward deck of the steamboat. Stonor, afflicted with a suddendiffidence, hung in the background. He wished to approach her bydegrees. Meanwhile he was taking her in. He scarcely dared look at herdirectly, but his gaze thirstily drank in her outlying details, so tospeak. Her small, well-shod feet were marvellous to him; likewise herexquisite silken ankles. He observed that she walked with stiff, short,delicate steps, like a high-bred filly. He was enchanted with theslight, graceful gesticulation of her gloved hand. When he finallybrought himself to look at her eyes he was not disappointed; deep bluewere they, steady, benignant, and of a heart-disquieting wistfulness.Other items, by the way, were a little straight nose, absurd andlovable, and lips fresh and bright as a child's. All the men weresta
nding about her with deferential bared heads, and the finest thing(in Stonor's mind) was that she displayed no self-consciousness in thistrying situation; none of the cooings, the gurglings, the flirtatiousflutterings that bring the sex into disrepute. Her back was as straightas a plucky boy's and her chin up like the same.

  When Stonor saw that his turn was approaching to be introduced, he wasseized outright with panic. He slipped inside the vessel and made hisway back to where the engineer was wiping his rods. He greeted Mathewswith a solicitude that surprised the dour Scotchman. He stood theremaking conversation until he heard everybody in the bow go ashore.Afterwards he was seized with fresh panic upon realizing that delayingthe inevitable introduction could not but have the effect of singlinghim out and making him more conspicuous when it came about.

  John Gaviller carried Miss Pringle and the charming unknown up to theclap-boarded villa until the humble shack attached to the Englishmission could be made fit to receive them. Stonor went for a long walkto cool his fevered blood. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself. Byhis timidity, not to use a stronger word, he had lost precious hours;indeed, now that he had missed his first opportunity, he might beoverlooked altogether. The other men would not be likely to help him outat all. A cold chill struck to his breast at the thought. He resolved tomarch right up to the guns of her eyes on his return. But he made ascore of conflicting resolutions in the course of his walk. Meanwhile hedidn't yet know whether she were Miss or Mrs., or what was her errand atFort Enterprise. True, he could have gone back and asked any of the menwho came on the boat, but nothing in the world could have induced him tospeak of her to anyone just then.

  When he got back, it was to find the post in a fever of preparation.John Gaviller had asked every white man to his house to dinner to meetthe ladies. It was to be a real "outside" dinner party, and there was asudden, frantic demand for collars, cravats and presentable foot-wear.Nobody at the post had a dress-suit but Gaviller himself.

  Of them all only Stonor had no sartorial problems; his new uniform andhis Strathcona boots polished according to regulations were all he hadand all he needed. He surveyed the finished product in his little mirrorwith strong dissatisfaction. "Ornery-looking cuss," he thought. But aman is no judge of his own looks. A disinterested observer might havegiven a different verdict. A young man less well favoured by naturewould have gazed at Stonor's long-limbed ease with helpless envy. He hadthat rare type of figure that never becomes encumbered with fat. Thegrace of youth and the strength of maturity met there. He would make apattern colonel if he lived. Under the simple lines of his uniform oneapprehended the ripple and play of unclogged muscles. If all men werelike Stonor the tailor's task would be a sinecure.

  As to his face, mention has already been made of the sober gazelightened by a suggestion of sly mirthfulness. In a company wheresprightliness was the great desideratum, Stonor, no doubt, would havebeen considered slow. Men with strong reserves are necessarily a littleslow in coming into action; they are apt, too, as a decent cover fortheir feelings, to affect more slowness than they feel. A woman canrarely look at that kind of man without feeling a secret desire to rousehim; there is so clearly something to rouse. It was Stonor's hair whichhad given rise to the quaint name the native maidens had applied to him,the "Gold-piece." It was not yellow hair, as we call it, but a shinylight brown, and under the savage attack of his brushes the shine wasaccentuated.

  The guests were received in the drawing-room of Enterprise House, whichwas rarely opened nowadays. It had a charming air of slightlyold-fashioned gentility, just as its dead mistress had left it, and therough Northerners came in with an abashed air. John Gaviller,resplendent in the dress-suit, stood by the piano, with the little ladyon one hand and the large lady on the other, and one after another themen marched up and made their obeisances. The actual introduction provedto be not so terrible an ordeal as Stonor had feared--or perhaps it ismore proper to say, that it was so terrible he was numbed and feltnothing. It was all over in a minute. "Miss Starling!" the name rangthrough his consciousness like the sound of silver bells.

  Face to face Stonor saw her but dimly through the mist of too muchfeeling. She treated him exactly the same as the others, that is to say,she was kind, smiling, interested, and personally inscrutable. Stonorwas glad that there was another man pressing close at his heels, for hefelt that he could stand no more just then. He was passed on to MissPringle. Of this lady it need only be said that she was a large-sizeclergyman's sister, a good soul, pious and kindly. She has little to dowith this tale.

  In Stonor's eyes she proved to have a great merit, for she was disposedto talk exclusively about Miss Starling. Stonor's ears were long forthat. From her talk he gathered three main facts: (a) that MissStarling's given name was Clare (enchanting syllable!); (b) that the twoladies had become acquainted for the first time on the way into thecountry; (c) that Miss Starling was going back with the steamboat. "Ofcourse!" thought Stonor, with his heart sinking slowly like awater-logged branch.

  "Isn't she plucky!" said Miss Pringle enthusiastically.

  "She looks it," said Stonor, with a sidelong glance at the object of herencomium.

  "To make this trip, I mean, all by herself."

  "Is it just to see the country?" asked Stonor diffidently.

  "Oh, don't you know? She's on the staff of the _Winnipeg News-Herald_,and is writing up the trip for her paper."

  Stonor instantly made up his mind to spend his next leave in Winnipeg.His relief was due in October.

  John Gaviller could do things in good style when he was moved to it. Thetable was gay with silver under candle-light. Down the centre wereplaced great bowls of painter's brush, the rose of the prairies. Andwith the smiling ladies to grace the head of the board, it was like aglimpse of a fairer world to the men of the North. Miss Pringle was onGaviller's right, Miss Starling on his left. Stonor was about half-waydown the table, and fortunately on the side opposite the younger lady,where he could gaze his fill.

  She was wearing a pink evening dress trimmed with silver, that toStonor's unaccustomed eyes seemed like gossamer and moonshine. He wasentranced by her throat and by the appealing loveliness of her thinarms. "How could I ever have thought a fat woman beautiful!" he askedhimself. She talked with her arms and her delightfully restlessshoulders. Stonor had heard somewhere that this was a sign of a warmheart. For the first time he had a view of her hair; it was dark andwarm and plentiful, and most cunningly arranged.

  Stonor was totally unaware of what he was eating. From others, later, helearned of the triumph of the kitchen--and all at three hours' notice.Fortunately for him, everybody down the table was hanging on the talk atthe head, so that no efforts in that direction were required of him. Hewas free to listen and dream.

  "Somewhere in the world there is a man who will be privileged some dayto sit across the table from her at every meal! Not in a crowd likethis, but at their own table in their own house. Probably quite anordinary fellow, too, certainly not worthy of his luck. With her eyesfor him alone, and her lovely white arms!--While other men are batchingit alone. Things are not evenly divided in this world, for sure! If thatman went to hell afterwards it wouldn't any more than square things."

  In answer to a question he heard her say: "Oh, don't ask me aboutWinnipeg! All cities are so ordinary and usual! I want to hear aboutyour country. Tell me stories about the fascinating silent places."

  "Well, as it happens," said Gaviller, speaking slowly to give his wordsa proper effect, "we have a first-class mystery on hand just atpresent."

  "Oh, tell me all about it!" she said, as he meant her to.

  "A fellow, a white man, has appeared from nowhere at all, and sethimself up beside the Swan River, an unexplored stream away to thenorth-west of here. There he is, and no one knows how he got there.We've never laid eyes on him, but the Indians bring us marvellous talesof his 'strong medicine,' meaning magic, you know. They say he firstappeared from under the great falls of the Swan River. They describe himas a sort of embod
iment of the voice of the Falls, but we suspect thereis a more natural explanation, because he sends into the post for thefood of common humans, and gets a bundle of magazines and papers byevery mail. They come addressed to Doctor Ernest Imbrie. Our poor Dochere is as jealous as a cat of his reputation as a healer!"

  Gaviller was rewarded with a general laugh, in which her silvery toneswere heard.

  "Oh, tell me more about him!" she cried.

  Of all the men who were watching her there was not one who observed anychange in her face. Afterwards they remembered this with wonder. Yetthere was something in her voice, her manner, the way she kept her chinup perhaps, that caused each man to think as her essential quality:

  "She's game!"

  The whole story of Imbrie as they knew it was told, with all theembroidery that had been unconsciously added during the past months.