CHAPTER XXIX
NOT GOING ALONE
"Morse, I've watched ye through four-five days of near-hell. I kennane I'd rather tak wi' me as a lone companion on the long traverse.You're canny an' you're bold. That's why I'm trustin' my lass to yourcare. It's a short bit of a trip, an' far as I can see there's naedanger. But the fear's in me. That's the truth, man. Gie me your wordyou'll no' let her oot o' your sight till ye hand her ower to my wifeat Faraway."
Angus clamped a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder. His blue eyessearched steadily those of the trader.
"I'll not let her twenty yards from me any time. That's a promise,McRae," the trader said quietly.
Well wrapped from the wind, Onistah sat in the cariole.
Jessie kissed the Scotchman fondly, laughing at him the while. "You'rea goose, Father. I'm all right. You take good care of yourself. ThatWest might come back here."
"No chance of that. West will never come back except at the end ofa rope. He's headed for the edge of the Barrens, or up that waysomewhere," Beresford said. "And inside of a week I'll be north-boundon his trail myself."
Jessie was startled, a good deal distressed. "I'd let him go. He'llmeet a bad end somewhere. If he never comes back, as you say he won't,then he'll not trouble us."
The soldier smiled grimly. "That's not the way of the Mounted. Get thefellow you're sent after. That's our motto. I've been assigned the jobof bringing in West and I've got to get him."
"You don't mean you're going up there alone to bring back that--thatwolf-man?"
"Oh, no," the trooper answered lightly. "I'll have a Cree along as aguide."
"A Cree," she scoffed. "What good will he be if you find West? He'llnot help you against him at all."
"Not what he's with me for. I'm not supposed to need any help to bringback one man."
"It's--it's just suicide to go after him alone," she persisted. "Lookwhat he did to the guard at the prison, to Mr. Whaley, to Onistah!He's just awful--hardly human."
"The lad's under orders, lass," McRae told her. "Gin they send himinto the North after West, he'll just have to go. He canna argy-bargyaboot it."
Jessie gave up, reluctantly.
The little cavalcade started. Morse drove. The girl brought up therear.
Her mind was still on the hazard of the journey Beresford must take.When Morse stopped to rest the dogs for a few moments, she tucked upOnistah again and recurred to the subject.
"I don't think Win Beresford should go after West alone except for aCree guide. The Inspector ought to send another constable with him. Ortwo more. If he knew that man--how cruel and savage he is--"
Tom Morse spoke quietly. "He's not going alone. I'll be with him."
She stared. "You?"
"Yes. Sworn in as a deputy constable."
"But--he didn't say you were going when I spoke to him about it alittle while ago."
"He didn't know. I've made up my mind since."
In point of fact he had come to a decision three seconds before heannounced it.
Her soft eyes applauded him. "That'll be fine. His friends won'tworry so much if you're with him. But--of course you know it'll be ahorrible trip--and dangerous."
"No picnic," he admitted.
She continued to look at him, her cheeks flushed and her face vivid."You must like Win a lot. Not many men would go."
"We're good friends," Morse answered dryly. "Anyhow, I owe Westsomething on my own account."
The real reason why he was going he had not given. During the days shehad been lost he had been on the rack of torture. He did not want herto suffer months of such mental distress while the man she loved wasfacing alone the peril of his grim work in the white Arctic desert.
They resumed the journey.
Jessie said no more. She would not mention the subject again probably.But it would be a great deal in her thoughts. She lived much of thetime inside herself with her own imagination. This had the generosityand the enthusiasm of youth. She wanted to believe people fine andgood and true. It warmed her to discover unexpected virtues in them.
Mid-afternoon brought them to Faraway. They drove down the main streetof the village to McRae's house while the half-breeds cheered from thedoor of the Morse store.
Jessie burst into the big family room where Matapi-Koma sat bulgingout from the only rocking-chair in the North woods.
"Oh, Mother--Mother!" the girl cried, and hugged the Cree woman withall the ardent young savagery of her nature.
The Indian woman's fat face crinkled to an expansive smile. She hadstalwart sons of her own, but no daughters except this adopted child.Jessie was very dear to her.
In a dozen sentences the girl poured out her story, the words tumblingpell-mell over each other in headlong haste.
Matapi-Koma waddled out to the sled. "Onistah stay here," she said,and beamed on him. "Blackfoot all same Cree to Matapi-Koma when hefriend Jessie. Angus send word nurse him till he well again."
Tom carried the Indian into the house so that his feet would not touchthe ground. Jessie had stayed in to arrange the couch where Fergususually slept.
She followed Morse to the door when he left. "We'll have some thingsto send back to Father when you go. I'll bring them down to the storeto-morrow morning," she said. "And Mother wants you to come to supperto-night. Don't you dare say you're too busy."
He smiled at the intimate feminine fierceness of the injunction. Thelast few hours had put them on a somewhat different footing. He wouldaccept such largesse as she was willing to offer. He recognized thespirit in which it was given. She wanted to show her appreciation ofwhat he had done for her and was about to do for the man she loved.Nor would Morse meet her generosity in a churlish spirit.
"I'll be here when the gong rings," he told her heartily.
"Let's see. It's nearly three now. Say five o'clock," she decided.
"At five I'll be knockin' on the door."
She flashed at him a glance both shy and daring. "And I'll open itbefore you break through and bring it with you."
The trader went away with a queer warmth in his heart he had not knownfor many a day. The facts did not justify this elation, this swiftexhilaration of blood, but to one who has starved for long any food isgrateful.
Jessie flew back into the house. She had a busy two hours before her."Mother, Mr. Morse is coming to dinner. What's in the house?"
"Fergus brought a black-tail in yesterday."
"Good. I know what I'll have. But first off, I want a bath. Lots ofhot water, and all foamy with soap. I've got to hurry. You can peelthe potatoes if you like. And fix some of those young onions. They'renice. And Mother--I'll let you make the biscuits. That's all. I'll dothe rest."
The girl touched a match to the fire that was set in her room. Shebrought a tin tub and hot water and towels. Slim and naked shestood before the roaring logs and reveled in her bath. The sense ofcleanliness was a luxury delicious. When she had dressed herselffrom the soles of her feet up in clean clothes, she felt a new andself-respecting woman.
She did not pay much attention to the psychology of dress, but sheknew that when she had on the pretty plaid that had come from FortBenton, and when her heavy black hair was done up just right, shehad twice the sex confidence she felt in old togs. Jessie would havedenied indignantly that she was a coquette. None the less she wasintent on conquest. She wanted this quiet, self-contained American tolike her.
The look she had seen in his red-brown eyes at times tantalized her.She could not read it. That some current of feeling about her raceddeep in him she divined, but she did not know what it was. He had away of letting his steady gaze rest on her disturbingly. What was hethinking? Did he despise her? Was he, away down out of sight, the kindof man toward women that West and Whaley were? She wouldn't believeit. He had never taken an Indian woman to live with him. There was noteven a rumor that he had ever taken an interest in any Cree girl. Ofcourse she did not like him--not the way she did Win Beresford or evenOnistah--but she was glad he held
himself aloof. It would have greatlydisappointed her to learn of any sordid intrigue involving him.
Jessie rolled up her sleeves and put on a big apron. She saw thatthe onions and the potatoes were started and the venison ready forbroiling. From a chest of drawers she brought one of the new whitelinen tablecloths of which she was inordinately proud. She would nottrust any one but herself to set the table. Morse had come from a goodfamily. He knew about such things. She was not going to let him goaway thinking Angus McRae's family were barbarians, even though hiswife was a Cree and his children of the half-blood.
On the table she put a glass dish of wild-strawberry jam. In thesummer she had picked the fruit herself, just as she had gathered thesaskatoon berries sprinkled through the pemmican she was going to usefor the rubaboo.
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