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CHAPTER XXX
"M" FOR MORSE
Two in the village bathed that day. The other was Tom Morse. Hediscarded his serviceable moccasins, his caribou-skin capote with thefur on, his moose-skin trousers, and his picturesque blanket shirt.For these he substituted the ungainly clothes of civilization, a pairof square-toed boots, a store suit, a white shirt.
This was not the way Faraway dressed for gala occasions, but inseveral respects the trader did not choose to follow the habits of theNorth. At times he liked to remind himself that he was an American andnot a French half-breed born in the woods.
As he had promised, he was at the McRaes' by the appointed hour.Jessie opened to his knock.
The girl almost took his breath. He had not realized how attractiveshe was. In her rough outdoor costumes she had a certain naiveboyishness, a very taking quality of vital energy that was sexless.But in the house dress she was wearing now, Jessie was whollyfeminine. The little face, cameo-fine and clear-cut, the slender body,willow-straight, had the soft rounded curves that were a joy to theeye. He had always thought of her as dark, but to his surprise hefound her amazingly fair for one of the metis blood.
A dimpled smile flashed him welcome. "You did come, then?"
"Is it the wrong night? Weren't you expectin' me?" he asked inpretended alarm.
"I was and I wasn't. It wouldn't have surprised me if you had decidedyou were too busy to come."
"Not when Miss Jessie McRae invites me."
"She invited you once before," the girl reminded him.
"Then she asked me because she thought she ought. Is that why I'masked this time?"
She laughed. "You mustn't look a gift dinner in the mouth."
They were by this time in the big family room. She relieved him of hiscoat. He walked over to the couch upon which Onistah lay.
"How goes it? Tough sleddin'?" he asked.
The bronze face of the Blackfoot was immobile. He must still have beenin great pain from the burnt feet, but he gave no sign of it.
"Onistah find good friends," he answered simply.
Tom looked round the room, and again there came to him the sense ofhome. Logs roared and snapped in the great fireplace. The table, setwith the dishes and the plated silver McRae had imported from theStates, stirred in him a pleasure that was almost poignant. The books,the organ, the quaint old engravings Angus had brought with him whenhe crossed the ocean: all of these touched the trader nearly. He wasin exile, living a bachelor life under the most primitive conditions.The atmosphere of this house penetrated to every fiber of his being.It filled him with an acute hunger. Here were love and friendlyintercourse and all the daily, homely routine that made lifebeautiful.
And here was the girl that he loved, vivid, vital, full of charm. Theswift deftness and grace of her movements enticed him. The inflectionsof her warm, young voice set his pulses throbbing as music sometimesdid. An ardent desire of her flooded him. She was the most winsomecreature under heaven--but she was not for him.
Matapi-Koma sat at the head of the table, a smiling and benignantmatron finished in copper. She had on her best dress, a beadedsilk with purple satin trimmings, brought by a Red River cart fromWinnipeg, accompanied with a guarantee from the trader that QueenVictoria had none better. The guarantee was worth what it was worth,but Matapi-Koma was satisfied. Never had she seen anything so grand.That Angus McRae could afford to buy it for her proved him a greatchief.
Jessie waited on the table herself. She set upon it such a dinner asneither of her guests had eaten in years. Venison broiled to a turn,juicy, succulent mallard ducks from the cold storage of their larder,mashed potatoes with gravy, young boiled onions from Whoop-Up,home-made rubaboo of delicious flavor, hot biscuits andwild-strawberry jam! And finally, with the tea, a brandy-flavored plumpudding that an old English lady at Winnipeg had taught Jessie how tomake.
Onistah ate lying on the couch. Afterward, filled to repletion, withthe sense of perfect contentment a good dinner brings, the two youngmen stuffed their pipes and puffed strata of smoke toward the lografters of the room. Jessie cleared the table, then sat down andput the last stitches in the gun-case she had been working atintermittently for a month. It was finished, but she had not till nowstitched the initials into the cloth.
As the swift fingers of the girl flashed back and forth, both menwatched, not too obviously, the profile shadowed by the dark,abundant, shining hair. The picture of her was an intimate one, butTom's tricky imagination tormented him with one of still nearerpersonal association. He saw her in his own house, before his ownfireside, a baby clinging to her skirt. Then, resolutely, he put themental etching behind him. She loved his friend Beresford, a man outof a thousand, and of course he loved her. Had he not seen her gostraight to his arms after her horrible experience with West?
Matapi-Koma presently waddled out of the room and they could hear theclatter of dishes.
"I told her I'd help her wash them if she'd wait," explained Jessie."But she'd rather do them now and go to bed. My conscience is clear,anyhow." She added with a little bubble of laughter, "And I don't haveto do the work. Is that the kind of a conscience you have, Mr. Morse?"
"If I were you my conscience would tell me that I couldn't go andleave my guests," he answered.
She raked him with a glance of merry derision. "Oh, I know how yoursworks. I wouldn't have it for anything. It's an awf'lly bossy one.It's sending you out to the Barrens with Win Beresford just becausehe's your friend."
"Not quite. I have another reason too," he replied.
"Yes, I know. You don't like West. Nobody does. My father doesn't--orFergus--or Mr. Whaley--but they're not taking the long trail after himas you are. You can't get out of it that way."
She had not, of course, hit on the real reason for going thatsupplemented his friendship for the constable and he did not intendthat she should.
"It doesn't matter much why I'm going. Anyhow, it'll be good for me.I'm gettin' soft and fat. After I've been out in the deep snows amonth or so, I'll have taken up my belt a notch or two. It's time Iwrestled with a blizzard an' tried livin' on lean rabbit.[7]"
[Footnote 7: Rabbit is about the poorest meat in the North. It is leanand stringy, furnishes very little nourishment and not much fat,and is not a muscle-builder. In a country where, oil and greaseare essentials, such food is not desirable. The Indians ate greatquantities of them. (W.M.R.)]
Her gaze swept his lean, hard, compact body. "Yes, you look soft," shemocked. "Father said something of that sort when he looked at thatdoor there you came through."
Tom had been watching her stitching. He offered a comment now,perhaps, to change the subject. It is embarrassing for a modest man totalk about himself.
"You're workin' that 'W' upside down," he said.
"Am I? Who said, it was a 'W'?"
"I guessed it might be."
"You're a bad guesser. It's an 'M.' 'M' stands for McRae, doesn't it?"
"Yes, and 'W' for Winthrop," he said with a little flare of boldness.
A touch of soft color flagged her cheeks. "And 'I' for impudence," sheretorted with a smile that robbed the words of offense.
He was careful not to risk outstaying his welcome. After an hour herose to go. His good-bye to Matapi-Koma and Onistah was made in thelarge living-room.
Jessie followed him to the outside door.
He gave her a word of comfort as he buttoned his coat, "Don't youworry about Win. I'll keep an eye on him."
"Thank you. And he'll keep one on you, I suppose."
He laughed. That reversal of the case was a new idea to him. Theprettiest girl in the North was not holding her breath till hereturned safely. "I reckon," he said. "We'll team together fine."
"Don't be foolhardy, either of you," she cautioned.
"No," he promised, and held out his hand. "Good-bye, if I don't seeyou in the mornin'."
He did not know she was screwing up her courage and had been for halfan hour to do something she had never done before. She plu
nged at it,a tide of warm blood beating into her face beneath the tan.
"'M' is for Morse too, and 'T' for Tom," she said.
With the same motion she thrust the gun-case into his hand and him outof the door.
He stood outside, facing a closed door, the bit of fancy-work in hismittens. An exultant electric tingle raced through his veins. She hadgiven him a token of friendship he would cherish all his life.