CHAPTER XXI
ON THE FRONTIER OF DESPAIR
The compulsion of life had denied Jessie the niceness given girls bythe complexities of modern civilization. She had been brought up closeto raw stark nature. The habits of animals were familiar to her andthe vices of the biped man.
A traveler in the sub-Arctic is forced by the deadly cold of the Northinto a near intimacy of living with his fellows. Jessie had more thanonce taken a long sled journey with her father. On one occasion shehad slept in a filthy Indian wigwam with a dozen natives all breathingthe same foul, unventilated air. Again she had huddled up against thedogs, with her father and two French half-breeds, to keep in her thespark of life a blizzard's breath was trying to blow out.
On such a trip some of the common decencies of existence are dropped.The extreme low temperature makes it impossible for one to wash eitherface or hands without the skin chapping and breaking. Food at whichone would revolt under other circumstances is devoured eagerly.
Jessie was the kind of girl such a life had made her, withmodifications in the direction of fineness induced by McRae's sturdycharacter, her schooling at Winnipeg, and the higher plane of thefamily standard. As might have been expected, she had courage, energy,and that quality of decisive action bred by primitive conditions.
But she had retained, too, a cleanness of spirit hardly to be lookedfor in such a primeval daughter of Eve. Her imagination and herreading had saved the girl's sweet modesty. A certain detachment madeit possible for her to ignore the squalor of the actual and see itonly as a surface triviality, to let her mind dwell in inner conceptsof goodness and beauty while bestiality crossed the path she trod.
So when she found in one of the gins a lynx savage with the pain ofbruised flesh and broken bone snapped by the jaws of the trap,the girl did what needed to be done swiftly and with a minimum ofreluctance.
She was close to the second trap when the sound of webs slitheringalong the snow brought her up short. Her first thought was thatOnistah had changed his mind and followed her, but as soon as thesnowshoer came out of the thick timber, she saw that he was not anIndian.
He was a huge man, and he bulked larger by reason of the heavy fursthat enveloped him. His rate of travel was rapid enough, but there wasabout the gait an awkward slouch that reminded her of a grizzly. Somesullenness of temperament seemed to find expression in the fellow'smovements.
The hood of his fur was drawn well forward over the face. He wore blueglasses, as a protection against snow-blindness apparently. Jessiesmiled, judging him a tenderfoot; for except in March and April thereis small danger of the sun glare which destroys sight. Yet he hardlylooked like a newcomer to the North. For one thing he used the webshoes as an expert does. Before he stopped beside her, she wasprepared to revise a too hasty opinion.
Jessie recoiled at the last moment, even before she recognized him. Itwas too late to take precautions now. He caught her by the wrist andtore off his glasses, at the same time shaking back the hood.
"Glad to death to meet up with you, missie," he grinned evilly throughbroken, tobacco-stained teeth.
The blood drenched out of her heart. She looked at the man, silentand despairing. His presence here could mean to her nothing less thandisaster. The girl's white lips tried to frame words they could notutter.
"Took by surprise, ain't you?" he jeered. "But plumb pleased to seeold Bully West again, eh? It's a damn long lane that ain't got a crookin it somewheres. An' here we are at the turn together, jus' you'n'me, comfy, like I done promised it would be when I last seen you."
She writhed in a swift, abortive attempt to break his hold.
He threw back his head in a roar of laughter, then with a twist of hisfingers brought his captive to the knees.
Sharp teeth flashed in a gleam of white. He gave a roar of pain andtore away his hand. She had bit him savagely in the wrist, as she hadonce done with another man on a memorable occasion.
"Goddlemighty!" he bellowed. "You damn li'l' hell-cat!"
She was on her feet and away instantly. But one of the snowshoes hadcome off in the struggle. At each step she took the left foot plungedthrough the white crust and impeded progress.
In a dozen strides he had reached her. A great arm swung round andbuffeted the runner on the side of the head. The blow lifted the girlfrom her feet and flung her into a drift two yards away.
She looked up, dazed from the shock. The man was standing over her, ahuge, threatening, ill-shaped Colossus.
"Get up!" he ordered harshly, and seized her by the shoulder.
She found herself on her feet, either because she had risen or becausehe had jerked her up. A ringing in the head and a nausea made fordizziness.
"I'll learn you!" he exploded with curses. "Try that again an' I'llbeat yore head off. You're Bully West's woman, un'erstand? When I say'Come!' step lively. When I say 'Go!' get a move on you."
"I'll not." Despite her fear she faced him with spirit. "My friendsare near. They'll come and settle, with you for this."
He put a check on his temper. Very likely what she said was true. Itwas not reasonable to suppose that she was alone in the forest manymiles from Faraway. She had come, of course, to look at the traps, butsome one must have accompanied her. Who? And how many? The skulkingcaution of his wild-beast nature asserted itself. He had better playsafe. Time enough to tame the girl when he had her deep in the LoneLands far from any other human being except himself. Just now thefirst need was to put many miles between them and the inevitablepursuit.
"Come," he said. "We'll go."
She started back for the snowshoe that had been torn off. Beside itlay her rifle. If she could get hold of it again--
The great hulk moved beside her, his thumb and fingers round the backof her neck. Before they reached the weapon, he twisted her aside socruelly that a flame of pain ran down her spine. She cried out.
He laughed as he stooped for the gun and the web. "Don' play none o'yore monkey tricks on Bully West. He knew it all 'fore you was born."
The pressure of his grip swung Jessie to the left. He gave her a pushthat sent her reeling and flung at her the snowshoe.
"Hump yoreself now."
She knelt and adjusted the web. She would have fought if there hadbeen the least chance of success. But there was none. Nor could sherun away. The fellow was a callous, black-hearted ruffian. He wouldshoot her down rather than see her escape. If she became stubborn andrefused to move, he would cheerfully torture her until she screamedwith agony. There was nothing he would like better. No, for thepresent she must take orders.
"Hit the trail, missie. Down past that big tree," he snapped.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Don't ask me questions. Do like I tell you."
The girl took one look at his heavy, brutal face and did as shewas told. Onistah would find her. When she did not show up at therendezvous, he would follow her trail and discover that something wasamiss. Good old Onistah never had failed her. He was true as triedsteel and in all the North woods there was no better tracker.
There would be a fight. If West saw him first, he would shoot theBlackfoot at sight. She did not need to guess that. He would do it fortwo reasons. The first was the general one that he did not want any ofher friends to know where he was. The more specific one was that healready had a grudge against the young Indian that he would be glad topay once for all.
Jessie's one hope was that Onistah would hasten to the rescue. Yet shedreaded the moment of his coming. He was a gentle soul, one of FatherGiguere's converts. It was altogether likely that he would walk intothe camp of the escaped convict openly and become a victim of themurderer's guile. Onistah did not lack courage. He would fight if hehad to do so. Indeed, she knew that he would go through fire to saveher. But bravery was not enough. She could almost have wished that herfoster-brother was as full of devilish treachery as the huge ape-manslouching at her heels. Then the chances of the battle would be moreeven.
The desperado drove her down in
to the muskeg, directing the girl'scourse with a flow of obscene and ribald profanity.
It is doubtful if she heard him. As her lithe, supple limbs carriedher from one moss hump to another, she was busy with the problem ofescape. She must get away soon. Every hour increased the danger. Thesun would sink shortly. If she were still this ruffian's prisonerwhen the long Arctic night fell, she would suffer the tortures of thedamned. She faced the fact squarely, though her cheeks blanched at theprospect and the heart inside her withered.
From the sloping side of a hummock her foot slipped and she slid intothe icy bog to her knees. Within a few minutes duffles and leggingswere frozen and she was suffering at each step.
Out of the muskeg they came into the woods. A flake of snow fell onJessie's cheek and chilled her blood. For she knew that if it came onto snow before Onistah took the trail or even before he reached theplace to which West was taking her, the chances of a rescue would bevery much diminished. A storm would wipe out the tracks they had made.
"Swing back o' the rock and into the brush," West growled. Then, asshe took the narrow trail through the brush that had grown up amonghalf a dozen small down trees, he barked a question: "Whadjasay yoreInjun name was?"
"My name is Jessie McRae," she answered with a flash of angry pride."You know who I am--the daughter of Angus McRae. And if you do me anyharm, he'll hunt you down and kill you like a wolf."
He caught her by the arm and whirled the girl round. His big yellowcanines snapped like tusks and he snarled at her through clenchedjaws. "Did you hear yore master's voice? I said, what was yore squawname?"
She almost shrieked from the pain of his fingers' savage clutch intoher flesh. The courage died out of her arteries.
"Sleeping Dawn they called me."
"Too long," he pronounced. "I'll call you Dawn." The sight of herterror of him, the foretaste of the triumph he was to enjoy, restoredhim for a moment to a brutal good-humor. "An' when I yell 'Dawn' atyou o' mornin's, it'll be for you to hump yoreself an' git up to buildthe fires and rustle breakfast. I'll treat you fine if you behave, butif you git sulky, you'll taste the dog-whip. I'm boss. You'll havea heluva time if you don't come runnin' when I snap my fingers.Un'erstand?"
She broke down in a wailing appeal to whatever good there was in him."Let me go back to Father! I know you've broke prison. If you're goodto me, he'll help you escape. You know he has friends everywhere.They'll hide you from the red-coats. He'll give you an outfit to getaway--money--anything you want. Oh, let me go, and--and--"
He grinned, and the sight of his evil mirth told her she had failed.
"Didn't I tell you I'd git you right some day? Didn't I promise AngusMcRae I'd pay him back aplenty for kickin' me outa his hide camp?Ain't you the lil' hell-cat that busted my whiskey-kegs, that ran tothe red-coat spy an' told him where the cache was, that shot me upwhen I set out to dry-gulch him, as you might say? Where do you figureyou got a license to expect Bully West to listen to Sunday-school papabout being good to you? You're my squaw, an' lucky at that you got areal two-fisted man. Hell's hinges! What's eatin' you?"
"Never!" she cried. "It's true what I told you once. I'd rather die.Oh, if you've got a spark of manhood in you, don't make me killmyself. I'm just a girl. If I ever did you wrong, I'm sorry. I'll makeit right. My father--"
"Listen." His raucous voice cut through her entreaties. "I've heardmore'n plenty about McRae. All I want o' him is to get a bead onhim once with a rifle. Get me? Now this other talk--about killin'yoreself--nothin' to it a-tall. Go to it if tha's how you feel. Yorehuntin'-knife's right there in yore belt." He reached forward andplucked it from its sheath, then handed it to her blade first,stepping back a pace at once to make sure she did not use it on him."You got yore chance now. Kill away. I'll stand right here an' seenobody interferes with you."
She shifted the knife and gripped the handle. A tumult seethed inher brain. She saw nothing but that evil, grinning face, hideous andmenacing. For a moment murder boiled up in her, red-hot and sinister.If she could kill him now as he stood jeering at her--drive the bladeinto that thick bull neck....
The madness passed. She could not do it even if it were withinher power. The urge to kill was not strong enough. It was notoverwhelming. And in the next thought she knew, too, that she couldnot kill herself either. The blind need to live, the animal impulse ofself-preservation, at whatever cost, whatever shame, was as yet morepowerful than the horror of the fate impending.
She flung the knife down into the snow in a fury of disgust andself-contempt.
His head went back in a characteristic roar of revolting mirth. He hadwon. Bully West knew how to conquer 'em, no matter how wild they were.
With feet dragging, head drooped, and spirits at the zero hour, Jessiemoved down a ravine into sight of a cabin. Smoke rose from the chimneylanguidly.
"Home," announced West.
To the girl, at the edge of desperation, that log house appeared asthe grave of her youth. All the pride and glory and joy that had madelife so vital a thing were to be buried here. When next she came outinto the sunlight she would be a broken creature--the property of thishorrible caricature of a man.
Her captor opened the door and pushed the girl inside.
She stood on the threshold, eyes dilating, heart suddenly athrob withhope.
A man sitting on a stool before the open fire turned his head to seewho had come in.
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