The Woman from Outside

by Hulbert Footner

  CHAPTER IX

  THE FOOT

  Stonor, returning to the shack, was hailed with joy as one who mighthave come back from Hades unscathed. He told Clare just what he hadfound.

  "What do you think?" she asked anxiously.

  "Isn't it clear? He saw us coming and took to the tree. There were somany tracks around the base of the tree that I was put off. He must havebeen hidden there all the time we were looking for him and shouting. Assoon as it got dark he tried to make his get-away, but his calculationswere somewhat upset by his falling. Even after we had taken warning, hehad to risk getting into his store-room, because all his food was there.No doubt he thought we would all be in the other room, and he couldsneak in and take what he could carry. When he was scared off by Mary'sscream he started his journey without it, that's all."

  "But why _should_ he run from us--from me?"

  Stonor shrugged helplessly.

  She produced the little red book again. "Read something here," she said,turning the pages.

  Under her directing finger, while she looked aside, he read: "Thehardest thing I have to contend against is my hunger for her. Disciplineis of little avail against that. I spend whole days wrestling withmyself, trying to get the better of it, and think I have conquered, onlyto be awakened at night by wanting her worse than ever."

  "Does that sound as if he wished to escape me?" she murmured.

  In her distress of mind it did not occur to her, of course, that thiswas rather a cruel situation for Stonor. He did not answer for a moment;then said in a low tone: "I am afraid his mind is unhinged. Yousuggested it."

  "I know," she said quickly. "But I have been thinking it over. It can'tbe. Listen to this." She hastily turned the pages of the little book."What day is this?"

  "The third of July."

  "This was written June 30th, only four days ago. It is the last entry inthe book. Listen!" She read, while the tears started to her eyes:

  "I must try to get in some good books on natural history. If I couldmake better friends with the little wild things around me I need neverbe lonely. There is a young rabbit who seems disposed to hit it off withme. I toss him a bit of biscuit after breakfast every morning. He comesand waits for it now. He eats it daintily in my sight; then, with aflirt of his absurd tail for 'thank you,' scampers down to the river towash it down."

  "Those are not the thoughts of a man out of his mind."

  "No," he admitted, "but everything you have read shows him to be of asensitive, high-strung nature. On such a man the sudden shock of ourcoming----"

  "Oh, then I have waited too long!" she cried despairingly. "And now Ican never repay!"

  "Not necessarily," said Stonor with a dogged patience. "Such cases arecommon in the North. But I never knew one to be incurable."

  She took this in, and it comforted her partly; but her thoughts werestill busy with matters remote from Stonor. After a while she askedabruptly: "What do you think we ought to do?"

  "Start up the river at once," he said. "We'll hear news of him on theway. We'll overtake him in the end."

  She stared at him with troubled eyes, pondering this suggestion. At lastshe slowly shook her head. "I don't think we ought to go," she murmured.

  "What!" he cried, astonished. "You wish to stay here--after last night!Why?"

  "I don't know," she said helplessly.

  "But if the man is really not right, he needs looking after. We ought tohurry after him."

  "It seems so," she said, still with the air of those who speak what isstrange to themselves; "but I have an intuition, a premonition--I don'tknow what to call it! Something tells me that we do not yet know thetruth."

  Stonor turned away helplessly. He could not argue against a woman'sreason like this.

  "Ah, don't be impatient with me," she said appealingly. "Just waitto-day. If nothing happens during the day to throw any light on whatpuzzles us, I will make no more objections. I'll be willing to startthis afternoon, and camp up the river."

  "It will give him twelve hours' start of us."

  Her surprising answer was: "I don't think he's gone."

  * * * * *

  Stonor made his way over the old portage trail. He wished to have a lookat the Great Falls before returning up-river. Clare, waiting for whatshe could not have told, had chosen to remain at the shack, and MaryMoosa was not afraid to stay with her by daylight. Like Stonor, Marybelieved that the man had undoubtedly left the neighbourhood, and thatno further danger was to be apprehended from that quarter.

  Stonor went along abstractedly, climbing over the obstructions orcutting a way through, almost oblivious to his surroundings. His heartwas jealous and sore. His instinct told him that the man who hadprowled around the shack the night before was an evil-doer; yet Clarepersisted in exalting him to the skies. In his present temper it seemedto Stonor as if Clare purposely made his task as hard as possible forhim. In fact, the trooper had a grievance against the whole world.

  Suddenly he realized that his brain was simply chasing itself incircles. Stopping short, he shook himself much like a dog on issuingfrom the water. His will was to shake off the horrors of the past nightand his dread of the future. Better sense told him that only weaknesslay in dwelling on these things. Let things fall as they would, he wouldmeet them like a man, he hoped, and no more could be asked of him. Inthe meantime he would not worry himself into a stew. He went on with alighter breast.

  From the cutting in the trail Stonor saw that someone had travelled thatway a while before, probably during the previous season, for the cuts ongreen wood were half-healed. It was clear, from the amount of cutting hehad been obliged to do, that this traveller was the first that way inmany years. Stonor further saw from the style of his axe-work that hewas a white man; a white man chops a sapling with one stroke cleanthrough: a red man makes two chops, half-way through on each side. Thiswas pretty conclusive evidence that Imbrie had first come fromdown-river.

  This trail had not been used since, and Stonor, remembering thesuggestion in Imbrie's diary that he frequently visited the falls,supposed that he had some other way of reaching there. He determined tosee if it was practicable to make his way along the beach on the wayback.

  The trail did not take him directly to the falls, but in a certain placehe saw signs of an old side-path striking off towards the river, and,following this, he was brought out on a plateau of rock immediatelyabove the spot where the river stepped off into space. Here he stood fora moment to prepare himself for the sight before looking over. His eyewas caught by some ends of string fluttering from the branches of a bushbeside him. He was at a loss to account for their presence until heremembered Etzooah and his humble offerings to the Old Man. Here Etzooahhad tied his tobacco-bags.

  Approaching the brink, the river smoothed itself a little as ifgathering its forces for the leap, and over the edge itself it slippedsmoothly. It was true to a certain extent that the cataract muffled itsown voice, but the earth trembled. The gorge below offered a superbprospect. After the invariable flatness and tameness of the shoresabove, the sudden cleft in the world impressed the beholder stunningly.

  Then Stonor went to the extreme edge and looked over. A deep, dull roarsmote upon his ears; he was bewildered and satisfied. Knowing the Indianpropensity to exaggerate, he had half expected to find merely a cascadewilder than anything above; or perhaps a wide straggling series offalls. It was neither. The entire river gathered itself up, and plungedsheer into deep water below. The river narrowed down at the brink, andthe volume of water was stupendous. The drop was over one hundred feet.The water was of the colour of strong tea, and as it fell it drew overits brown sheen a lovely, creamy fleece of foam. Tight little curls ofspray puffed out of the falling water like jets of smoke, and, spreadingand descending, merged into the white cloud that rolled about the footof the falls. This cloud itself billowed up in successive undulationslike full draperies, only to spread out and vanish in the sunshine.

  Stonor had the sol
emn feeling that comes to the man who knows himself tobe among the first of his race to gaze on a great natural wonder. Heand Imbrie alone had seen this sight. What of the riddle of Imbrie?Doctor, magician, skulker in the night, madman perhaps--and Clare'shusband! Must he be haunted by him all his life? But the noble spectaclebefore Stonor's eyes calmed his nerves. All will be clear in the end, hetold himself. And nothing could destroy his thought of Clare.

  * * * * *

  He would liked to have remained for hours, but everything drew him backto the shack. He started back along the beach. On the whole it waseasier going than by the encumbered trail. There were no obstaclesexcept the low precipice that has been mentioned, and that proved to beno great matter to climb around. Meanwhile every foot of the rapidoffered a fascinating study to the river-man. This rapid seemed to goagainst all the customary rules for rapids. Nowhere in all its tornexpanse could Stonor pick a channel; the rocks stuck up everywhere. Henoticed that one could have returned in a canoe in safety from the verybrink of the falls by means of the back-waters that crept up the shore.

  His attention was caught by a log-jam out in the rapid. He had scarcelynoticed it the day before while searching for tracks. Two great rocks,that stuck out of the water close together where the current ranswiftest, had at some time caught an immense fallen tree squarely ontheir shoulders, and the pressure of the current held it there. Anothertree had caught on the obstruction, and another, and now the fantasticpile reared itself high out of the water.

  At the moment Stonor had no weightier matter on his mind than to puzzlehow this had come about. Suddenly his blood ran cold to perceive whatlooked like a human foot sticking out of the water at the bottom of thepile. He violently rubbed his eyes, thinking that they deceived him.But there was no mistake. It _was_ a foot, clad in a moccasin of theordinary style of the country. While Stonor looked it was agitated backand forth as in a final struggle. With a sickened breast, heinstinctively looked around for some means of rescue. But he immediatelyrealized that the owner of the foot was long past aid. The movement wasdue simply to the action of the current.

  His brain whirled dizzily. A foot? Whose foot? Imbrie's? There was noother man anywhere near. But Imbrie knew the place so well he could nothave been carried down, unless he had chosen to end his life that way.And his anxiety to obtain food the night before did not suggest that hehad any intention of putting himself out of the way. Perhaps it was anIndian drowned up-river and carried down. But they would surely haveheard of the accident on the way. More likely Imbrie. If his brain wasunhinged, who could say what wild impulse might seize him? Was this thereason for Clare's premonition? If it was Imbrie, how could he tell her?

  Stonor forced down the mounting horror that constricted his throat, andsoberly bethought himself of what he must do. Useless to speculate onwhose the body might be; he had to find out. He examined the place upand down with fresh care. The log-jam was about half-a-mile above thefalls, and a slightly lesser distance below Imbrie's shack. It wasnearer his side of the river than the other; say, fifty yards of tornwhite water lay between the drift-pile and the beach. To wade or swimout was out of the question. On the other hand, the strongest flow ofwater, the channel such as it was, set directly for the obstruction, andit might be possible to drop down on it from above--if one provided somemeans for getting back again. Stonor marked the position of every rock,every reef above, and little by little made his plan.

  He returned to the shack. In her present state of nerves he dared nottell Clare of what he had found. In any case he might be mistaken in hissupposition as to the identity of the body. In that case she need neverbe told. He was careful to present himself with a smooth face.

  "Any news?" cried Clare eagerly. "You've been gone so long!"

  He shook his head. "Anything here?"

  "Nothing. I am ready to go now as soon as we have eaten."

  Stonor, faced with the necessity of suddenly discovering some reason fordelaying their start, stroked his chin. "Have you slept?" he asked.

  "How could I sleep?"

  "I don't think you ought to start until you've had some sleep."

  "I can sleep later."

  "I need sleep too. And Mary."

  "Of course! How selfish of me! We can start towards evening, then."

  While Clare was setting the biscuits to the fire in the shack, andStonor was chopping wood outside, Mary came out for an armful of wood.The opportunity of speaking to her privately was too good to be missed.

  "Mary," said Stonor. "There's a dead body caught in the rapids belowhere."

  "Wah!" she cried, letting the wood fall. "You teenk it is _him_?"

  "I don't know. I suppose so. I've got to find out."

  "Find out? In the rapids? How you goin' find out? You get carry over thefalls!"

  "Not so loud! I've got it all doped out. I'm taking no unnecessarychances. But I'll need you to help me."

  "I not help you," said Mary rebelliously. "I not help you drownyourself--for a dead man. He's dead anyhow. If you go over the fallswhat we do? What we do?"

  "Easy! I told you I had a good plan. Wait and see what it is. Get her tosleep this afternoon, and we'll try to pull it off before she wakes. Nowrun on in, or she'll wonder what we're talking about. Don't showanything in your face."

  Mary's prime accomplishment lay in hiding her feelings. She picked upher wood, and went stolidly into the shack.

  Stonor, searching among Imbrie's things, was much reassured to find atracking-line. This, added to his own line, would give him six hundredfeet of rope, which he judged ample for his purpose. He spliced the twowhile the meal was preparing.

  "What's that for?" Clare asked.

  "To help us up-stream."

  As soon as he had eaten he went back to the beach. His movements herewere invisible to those in the shack. He carried the remainingbark-canoe on his back down the beach to a point about a hundred andfifty yards above the log-jam. This was to be his point of departure. Hetook a fresh survey of the rapids, and went over and over in his mindthe course he meant to take.

  After cutting off several short lengths that he required for variouspurposes, Stonor fastened the end of the line to a tree on the edge ofthe bank; the other end he made fast to the stern of the canoe--not tothe point of the stern, but to the stern-thwart where it joined thegunwale. This was designed to hold the canoe at an angle against thecurrent that would keep her out in the stream. The slack of the line wascoiled neatly on the beach.

  With one of the short lengths Stonor then made an offset from this linenear where it was fastened to the thwart, and passed it around his ownbody under the arms. Thus, if the canoe smashed on the rocks orswamped, by cutting the line at the thwart the strain would betransferred to Stonor's body, and the canoe could be left to its fate.Another short length with a loop at the end was made fast at the otherend of the thwart. This was for the purpose of making fast to thelog-jam while Stonor worked to free the body. A third piece of line hecarried around his neck. This was to secure the body.

  During the course of these preparations Mary joined him. She reportedthat Clare was fast asleep. Stonor made a little prayer that she mightnot awaken till this business was over.

  He explained to Mary what he was about, and showed her her part. Shelistened sullenly, but, seeing that his mind was made up, shrugged atthe uselessness of opposing his will. Mary was to pay out the ropeaccording to certain instructions, and afterwards to haul him in.

  Finally, after reassuring himself of the security of all his knots, hedivested himself of hat, tunic, and boots and stepped into the canoe. Heshook hands with Mary, took his knife between his teeth, and pushed off.He made as much as he could out of the back-water alongshore, and then,heading diagonally up-stream, shot out into the turmoil, paddling like aman possessed in order to make sure of getting far enough out before thecurrent swept him abreast of his destination. Mary, according toinstructions, paid out the rope freely. Before starting he had markedevery rock in hi
s course, and he avoided them now by instinct. Histhinking had been done beforehand. He worked like a machine.

  He saw that he was going to make it, with something to spare. When hehad the log-jam safely under his quarter, he stopped paddling, and,bringing the canoe around, drifted down on it. There was plenty ofwater out here. He held up a hand to Mary, and according topre-arrangement she gradually took up the strain on the line. The canoeslowed up, and the current began to race past.

  So far so good. The line held the canoe slightly broached to thecurrent, thus the pressure of the current itself kept him from edgingashore. The log-pile loomed up squarely ahead of him. Mary let him downon it hand over hand. He manoeuvred himself abreast an immense logpointing up and down river, alongside of which the current slippedsilkily. Casting his loop over the stump of a branch, he was held fastand the strain was taken off Mary's arms.

  The moccasined foot protruded from the water at the bow of his canoe. Hesoon saw the impossibility of attempting to work from the frail canoe,so he untied the rope which bound him to it, and pulled himself out onthe logs. The rope from the shore was still around his body in case of aslip. He was taking no unnecessary chances.

  The body was caught in some way under the same great log that his canoewas fastened to. The current tore at the projecting foot with a snarl.The foot oscillated continually under the pull, and sometimesdisappeared altogether, only to spring back into sight with a ghastlylife-like motion. Stonor cautiously straddled the log, and gropedbeneath it. His principal anxiety was that log and all might come awayfrom the jam and be carried down, but there was little danger that hisinsignificant weight would disturb so great a bulk.

  The body was caught in the fork of a branch underneath. He succeeded infreeing the other foot. He guessed that a smart pull up-stream wouldliberate the whole, but in that case the current would almost surelysnatch it from his grasp. He saw that it would be an impossible taskfrom his insecure perch to drag the body out on the log, and in turnload it into the fragile canoe. His only chance lay in towing it ashore.

  So, with the piece of line he had brought for the purpose, he lashed thefeet together, and made the other end fast to the bow-thwart of thecanoe. Then he got in and adjusted his stern-line as before--it becamethe bow-line for the return journey. In case it should become necessaryto cut adrift from the canoe, he took the precaution of passing a linedirect from his body to that which he meant to tow. When all was readyhe signalled to Mary to haul in.

  Now began the most difficult half of his journey. On the strength ofMary's arms depended the freeing of the body. It came away slowly.Stonor had an instant's glimpse of the ghastly tow bobbing astern,before settling down to the business in hand. For awhile all went well,though the added pull of the submerged body put a terrific strain onMary. Fortunately she was as strong as a man. Stonor aided her all hecould with his paddle, but that was little. He was kept busy fending hisegg-shell craft off the rocks. He had instructed Mary, as the slackaccumulated, to walk gradually up the beach. This was to avoid thedanger of the canoe's broaching too far to the current. But Mary couldnot do it under the increased load. The best she could manage was tobrace her body against the stones, and pull in hand over hand.

  As the line shortened Stonor saw that he was going to have trouble.Instead of working in-shore, the canoe was edging further into thestream, and ever presenting a more dangerous angle to the tearingcurrent. Mary had pulled in about a third of the line, when suddenly thecanoe, getting the current under her dead rise, darted out intomid-stream like a fish at the end of a line, and hung there cantingdangerously. The current snarled along the gunwale like an animalpreparing to crush its prey.

  The strain on Mary was frightful. She was extended at full length withher legs braced against an outcrop of rock. Stonor could see heragonized expression. He shouted to her to slack off the line, but ofcourse the roar of the water drowned his puny voice. In dumb-play hetried desperately to show her what to do, but Mary was possessed of butone idea, to hang on until her arms were pulled out.

  The canoe tipped inch by inch, and the boiling water crept up itsfreeboard. Finally it swept in, and Stonor saw that all was over withthe canoe. With a single stroke of his knife he severed the rope at thethwart behind him; with another stroke the rope in front. When the tugcame on his body he was jerked clean out of the canoe. It passed out ofhis reckoning. By the drag behind him, he knew he still had the deadbody safe.

  He instinctively struck out, but the tearing water, mocking his feebleefforts, buffeted him this way and that as with the swing of giant arms.Sometimes he was spun helplessly on the end of his line like atrolling-spoon. He was flung sideways around a boulder and pressed thereby the hands of the current until it seemed the breath was slowlyleaving his body. Dazed, blinded, gasping, he somehow managed tostruggle over it, and was cast further in-shore. The tendency of thecurrent was to sweep him in now. If he could only keep alive! The stoneswere thicker in-shore. He was beaten first on one side, then the other.All his conscious efforts were reduced to protecting his head from therocks with his arms.

  The water may have been but a foot or two deep, but of course he couldgain no footing. He still dragged his leaden burden. All the breath wasknocked out of him under the continual blows, but he was conscious of nopain. The last few moments were a blank. He found himself in theback-water, and expended his last ounce of strength in crawling out onhands and knees on the beach. He cast himself flat, sobbing for breath.

  Mary came running to his aid. He was able to nod to her reassuringly,and in the ecstasy of her relief, she sat down suddenly, and wept like awhite woman. Stonor gathered himself together and sat up groaning. Theonset of pain was well-nigh unendurable. He felt literally as if hisflesh all over had been pounded to a jelly. But all his limbs,fortunately, responded to their functions.

  "Lie still," Mary begged of him.

  He shook his head. "I must keep moving, or I'll become as helpless as alog."

  The nameless thing was floating in the back-water. Together they draggedit out on the stones. It was Stonor's first sight of that which had costhim such pains to secure. He nerved himself to bear it. Mary was no finelady, but she turned her head away. The man's face was totallyunrecognizable by reason of the battering it had received on the rocks;his clothes were partly in ribbons; there was a gaping wound in thebreast.

  For the rest, as far as Stonor could judge, it was the body of a youngman, and a comely one. His skin was dark like that of an Italian, or awhite man with a quarter or eighth strain of Indian blood in his veins.Stonor was astonished by this fact; nothing that he had heard hadsuggested that Imbrie was not as white as himself. This put a new lookon affairs. For an instant Stonor doubted. But the man's hand waswell-formed and well-kept; and in what remained of his clothes one couldstill see the good materials and the neatness. In fact, it could be noneother than Imbrie.

  He was roused from his contemplation of the gruesome object by a sharpexclamation from Mary. Looking up, he saw Clare a quarter of a mileaway, hastening to them along the beach. His heart sank.

  "Go to her," he said quickly. "Keep her from coming here."

  Mary hastened away. Stonor followed more slowly, disguising his sorenessas best he could. For him it was cruel going over the stones--yet allthe way he was oddly conscious of the beauty of the wild cascade,sweeping down between its green shores.

  As he had feared, Clare refused to be halted by Mary. Thrusting theIndian woman aside, she came on to Stonor.

  "What's the matter?" she cried stormily. "Why did you both leave me? Whydoes she try to stop me?--Why! you're all wet! Where's your tunic, yourboots? You're in pain!"

  "Come to the house," he said. "I'll tell you."

  She would not be put off. "What has happened? I insist on knowing now!What is there down there I mustn't see?"

  "Be guided by me," he pleaded. "Come away, and I'll tell youeverything."

  "I _will_ see!" she cried. "Do you wish to put me out of my mind withsuspense?"


  He saw that it was perhaps kinder not to oppose her. "I have found abody in the river," he said. "Do not look at it. Let me tell you."

  She broke away from him. "I must know the worst," she muttered.

  He let her go. She ran on down the beach, and he hobbled after. Shestopped beside the body, and looked down with wide, wild eyes. Onedreadful low cry escaped her.

  "Ernest!"

  She collapsed. Stonor caught her sagging body. Her head fell limply backover his arm.