CHAPTER XII
A FIGHT IN THE NIGHT
The days immediately following Lapierre's departure were busy days forChloe Elliston. The word had passed along the lakes and the rivers,and stolid, sullen-faced Indians stole in from the scrub to gazeapathetically at the buildings on the banks of the Yellow Knife. Chloewith pain-staking repetition, through LeFroy as interpreter, explainedto each the object of her school; with the result that a goodly numberremained and lost no time in installing themselves in the commodiousbarracks.
On the evening of the second day the girl tiptoed into the sick-roomand, bending over MacNair, was startled to encounter the steady gaze ofthe steel-grey eyes. "I thought you never would come to," she smiled."You see, I don't know much about surgery, and I was afraid perhaps--"
"Perhaps Lapierre had done his work well?"
Chloe started at the weak, almost gentle tones of the gruff voice shehad learned to associate with this man of the North. She flushed asshe met the steady, disconcerting stare of the grey eyes. "He shot onthe spur of the moment. He thought you were going to shoot him."
"And he shot from--far to the Southward?"
"Oh! You do not think--you do not believe that I deliberately _lied_to you! That I _knew_ Lapierre was on Snare Lake!" The words fellfrom her lips with an intense eagerness that carried the ring ofsincerity. The hard look faded from the man's eyes, and the beardedlips suggested just the shadow of a smile.
"No," he answered weakly; "I do not think that. But tell me, how longhave I been this way? And what has happened? For I remembernothing--after the world turned black. I am surprised that Lapierremissed me. He has the reputation for killing--at his own range."
"But he didn't miss you!" cried the girl in surprise. "It was hisbullet that--that made the world turn black."
"Aye; but it was a miss, just the same, and a miss, I am thinking, thatwill cost him dear. He should have killed me."
"Please do not talk," said the girl in sudden alarm, and taking themedicine from the table, held the spoon to the man's lips. Heswallowed its contents, and was about to speak when Chloe interruptedhim. "Please do not talk," she begged, "and I'll tell you whathappened. There is not much to tell: after we bound up your wounds webrought you here, where I could give you proper care. It took threedays to do this, and two days have passed since we arrived."
"I knew I was in your----"
Chloe flushed deeply. "Yes, in my room," she hastened to interrupthim; "but you must not talk. It was the only place I knew where youcould be quiet and--and safe."
"But, Lapierre--why did he allow it?"
Chloe flushed. "Allow it! I do not take orders from Mr. Lapierre, norfrom you, nor from anybody else. This is my school; this cottage ismine; I'll do as I please with it, and I'll bring who I please into itwithout asking permission from any one."
While she was speaking, the man's glance strayed from her flashing eyesto the face of a tarnished, smoke-blackened portrait that showedindistinct in the dull lamplight of the little room. Chloe's glancefollowed MacNair's, and as the little clock ticked sharply, both staredin silence into the lean, lined features of Tiger Elliston.
"Your eyes," murmured the man--"sometimes they are like that."Suddenly his voice strengthened. He continued to gaze at the face inthe dull gold frame. With an effort he withdrew an arm from beneaththe cover and pointed with a finger that trembled weakly. "I shouldlike to have known him," he said. "By God, yon is the face of a _man_!"
"My grandfather," muttered the girl.
"You'll love the North--when you know it," said MacNair. "Tell me, didLapierre advise you to bring me here?"
"No," answered Chloe, "he did not. He--he said to leave you; that yourIndians would care for you."
"And my Indians--did they not follow you?" Chloe shook her head. Oncemore MacNair bent a searching glance upon the girl's face. "Where isLapierre?" he asked.
"He is gone," Chloe answered. "Two days ago he left for the----" Shehesitated as there flashed through her brain the moment on Snare Lakewhen, once before, she had answered MacNair's question in almost thesame words. "_He said_ he was going to the southward," she corrected.
MacNair smiled. "I think, this time, he has gone. But why he leftwithout killing me I cannot understand. Lapierre has made a mistake."
"You do him an injustice! Mr. Lapierre does not want to kill you. Heis sorry he was forced to shoot; but, as he said, it was your life orhis. And now please do be quiet, or I must leave you to yourself."
MacNair closed his eyes, and, seating herself by the table, Chloestared silently into the face of the portrait until the man's deep,regular breathing told her that he slept.
Slowly the moments passed, and the girl's gaze roved from the face ofthe portrait along the walls of the little room. Suddenly her eyesdilated in horror; for there, tight pressed against an upper pane ofthe window, whose lower sash was daintily curtained with chintz,appeared a dark, scowling face--the face of an Indian, which sheinstantly recognized as one of the two who had accompanied MacNair uponhis first visit to her clearing.
Even as she looked the face vanished, leaving the girl staringwide-eyed at the black square of the window. Curbing her impulse toawake MacNair, she stole softly from the room and, unlocking the outerdoor, sped swiftly through the darkness toward the little square oflight that glowed from the window of the store.
The distance was not great from the door of the cottage to the softsquare of radiance that showed distinctly in the darkness. But even asChloe ran, the light was suddenly extinguished, and the outlines of thebig storehouse loomed vague and huge and indistinct against the blackbackground of the encircling scrub. The girl stopped abruptly andstared uncertainly into the darkness. Her heart beat wildly. Astrange sense of terror came over her as she stood alone, surrounded bythe blackness of the clearing. Why had LeFroy extinguished his light?And why was the night so still?
She strained to catch the familiar sounds of the wilderness--the littlenight sounds to which she had grown accustomed: the bellowing of frogsin the sedges, the chirp of tree-toads, and the harsh squawk ofstartled night-fowls. Even the air seemed unnaturally still, and theceaseless drone of the mosquitoes served but to intensify the unnaturalsilence. The mosquitoes broke the spell of the nameless terror, andshe slapped viciously at her face and neck.
"I'm a fool," she muttered; "a perfect fool! LeFroy puts out his lightevery night and--and what if there are no sounds? I'm just listeningfor something to be afraid of."
She glanced backward toward her own cottage where the light stillglowed from the window. It was reassuring, that little square ofyellow lamp-light that shone softly from the window of her room. Shewas not afraid now. She would return to the cottage and lock the door.She shuddered at the thought. Before her rose the vision of that dark,shadowy face, tight-pressed against the glass. Instinctively she knewthat Indian was not alone. There were others, and--once more her eyesswept the blackness.
Suddenly the question flashed through her brain: Why should theseIndians seek to avenge MacNair--the man who held the power of life anddeath over them--who had practically forced them into servitude? Then,swift as the question, flashed the answer: It was not to avenge MacNairthey came, but, knowing he was helpless, to strike the blow that wouldfree themselves from the yoke. Had Lapierre known this? Had he left,knowing that the man's own Indians would finish the work his bullet hadonly half completed? No! Lapierre would not have done that. Did henot say: "I am glad I did not kill him"? He was thinking only of mysafety.
"We'll be safe enough till morning," she muttered. "Surely I have readsomewhere that Indians never attack in the night. Tomorrow we musthide MacNair where they cannot find him. They will murder him, nowthat he is wounded. How they must hate him! Must hate the man who hasoppressed and debauched and cheated them!"
The girl had nearly reached the door of the cottage when once more shehalted, rooted in her tracks. Out of the unnatural silence
of thenight, close upon the edge of the clearing, boomed the cry of the greathorned owl. It was a sound she had often heard here in the northernnight--this hooting of an owl; but, somehow, this sound was different.Once more her heart thumped wildly against her ribs. Her fistsclenched, and she peered tensely toward the wall of the scrub timberthat showed silent and black and impenetrable in the little light ofthe stars. Again the portentous silence and then--was it fancy, orwere there shapes, stealthy, elusive, shadowy, moving along the wall ofthe intense blackness?
A light suddenly flashed from the window of the storehouse. Itdisappeared. The great door banged sharply, and out of the blacknesssounded a rush of moccasined feet, padding the earth as they ran.
From the edge of the timber--from the direction of the shadowyshapes--came a long, thin spurt of flame, and the silence was broken bythe roar of a smooth-bore rifle. The next instant the roar wasincreased tenfold, and from the loopholes high on the walls of thestorehouse flashed other thin red spurts of flame.
Terror-stricken, Chloe dashed for the cottage. Along the entire lengthof the timber-line, spikes of flame belched forth, and the crash androar of rifles drowned the rush of the moccasin feet. A form dashedpast her in the darkness, and then another, forcing Chloe from thepath. The terrified girl realized that these forms were speedingstraight for the door of the cottage. Her first thought was forMacNair. He would be murdered as he slept.
She redoubled her efforts, feeling blindly in the darkness for the paththat led toward the square of light. In her ears sounded the sharpjangle of smashing glass. Her foot caught in a vine, and she crashedheavily forward almost at the door. All about her guns roared; fromthe edge of the scrub, from the river-bank, and from the corners of thelong log dormitories. Bullets whined above her like angry mosquitoes,and thudded dully against the logs of the cottage.
Again sounded the sharp jangle of glass. She struggled to her knees,and was hurled backward as the huge form of an Indian tripped over herand sprawled, cursing, at her side. The door of the cottage burstsuddenly open, and in the long quadrangle of light the forms of the twoIndians who had passed her stood out distinctly. The girl gave aquick, short sob of relief. They were LeFroy's Indians! At the soundthe man on the ground thrust his face close to hers and with a quickgrunt of surprise scrambled to his feet. Chloe felt her arm seized,and realized that she was being dragged toward the door of the cottagethrough which the other two Indians had disappeared. She was jerkedroughly across the threshold, and lay huddled up on the floor. TheIndian released his hold on her arm and, stepping across her body,reached for the door.
Outside, the roar of the guns was incessant. Suddenly, close at hand,Chloe heard a quick, wicked spat, and the Indian reeled from thedoorway, whirled as on a pivot, and crashed, face downward, across thetable. There was a loud rattle of porcelain dishes, a rifle rangsharply upon the floor boards, and Chloe gazed in horrid fascination asthe limp form of the Indian slipped slowly from the table. Itsmomentum increased, and the back of the man's head struck the floorwith a sickening thump. The face turned toward her--a face wet anddripping with the rich red blood that oozed thickly from the irregularhole in the forehead where the soft, round ball from a smooth bore hadtorn into the brain. The wide eyes stared stonily into her own. Thejaws sagged open, and the nearly severed tongue protruded from betweenthe fang-like yellow teeth.
Someone blew out the lamp. The door slammed shut. Chloe felt stronghands beneath her shoulders; the voice of Big Lena sounded in her ears,and she was being guided through the pitch blackness to the door of herown room. The lamp by the bedside had also been extinguished, and thegirl glanced toward the window, which showed in the feeble starlight apattern of jagged panes. One of the Indians who had preceded her intothe cottage thrust the barrel of a rifle through the aperture and firedrapidly at the flashes of flame in the clearing.
In the other room someone was shrieking, and Chloe recognized the voiceof Harriet Penny. Big Lena left her side, and a moment later theshrieking ceased, or, rather, quieted to a series of terrified, chokinggrunts and muffled cries, as though something soft and thick had beenforcibly applied as a gag. Chloe groped her way blindly toward thebed, where she had left the wounded man. Her feet stumbled awkwardlythrough the confusion of debris that was the wreck of the over-turnedmedicine table.
"Are you hurt?" she gasped as she sank trembling upon the edge of thebed. Close beside her sounded the sharp snap of metal as the Indianjammed fresh cartridges into his magazine.
"No!" said a voice in her ear. "I'm not hurt. Are you?" Chloe shookher head, forgetting that in the intense blackness she had returned noanswer. There was a movement upon the bed; a huge hand closed roughlyabout her arm. The Indian was firing again.
"Tell me, are you hurt?" rasped a voice in her ear. And her arm wasshaken almost fiercely.
"No!" she managed to gasp, struggling to free herself. "But oh, it'sall too, too horrible, too awful! There is a dead man in the otherroom. He is one of LeFroy's Indians. One of _my_ Indians, and theyshot him!"
"I'm damned glad of it!" growled MacNair thickly, and Chloe leaped fromthe bed. The coarse brutality of the man was inconceivable. In hermingled emotion of rage and loathing, she hated this man with a fierce,savage hatred that could kill. She knew now why men called him BruteMacNair. The name fitted! These Indians had rushed from the securityof the fortlike storehouse upon the first intimation of danger toprotect the defenseless quartet in the cottage--the three women and thewounded, helpless man. In the very doorway of the cottage one had beenkilled--killed facing the enemy--the savage blood-thirsty horde who,having learned of the plight of their oppressor, had taken the warpathto venge their wrongs. Surely MacNair must know that this man had diedas much in the defense of him as of the women. And yet, when helearned of the death of this man, he had said: "I am damned glad of it!"
How long Chloe stood there speechless, trembling, with her heart fairlybursting with rage, she did not know. Time ceased to be. Suddenly sherealized that the room was no longer in intense darkness. Objectsappeared dim and indistinct: the bed with the wounded man, the contentsof the table strewn in confusion upon the floor, and the Indianshooting from the window. Then the flare of flames met her eyes. Thewalls of the storehouse stood out distinctly from its black backgroundof timber. Savage forms appeared in the clearing, gliding stealthilyfrom stump to stump.
The light grew brighter. She could hear now, mingled with the sharpcrack of the rifles, the dull roar of flames. The dormitories wereburning! This added to her consuming rage. Her eyes seemed fairly toglow as she fixed them upon the pale face of MacNair, who had struggledto a sitting posture. She took a step toward the bed. A dull red spotshowed on either cheek. A bullet ripped through the window andsplintered the dull gold frame of Tiger Elliston's portrait, but thegirl had lost all sense of fear. She shook her clenched fist in thebearded face of the man, and her voice quavered high and thin.
"You--you--_damn you_!" she cried. "I wish I'd left you back there tothe mercy of your savages! You're a brute--a fiend! It would serveyou right if I should give you up to them! He--the man who waskilled--was trying to save you from the righteous wrath of those youhave ground down and oppressed!"
MacNair ignored her words, and as his eyes met hers squarely, theybetrayed not the slightest emotion. The pallid features showed tenseand drawn in the growing firelight. His gaze projected past her to thelean face of Tiger Elliston.
"You are a fighter at heart," he said slowly addressing the girl. "Youare his flesh and blood and he was a fighter. He won to victory overthe bodies of his enemies. In his eyes I can see it."
"He was no coward!" flashed the girl. "He never won to victory overthe bodies of his friends!" With an effort the man reached for hisclothing, which hung from a peg near the head of the bed.
"Where are you going?" cried the girl sharply.
"I am going," MacNair answered gravely, looking straight into her eyes,"to take my
Indians back to Snare Lake."
"They will kill you!" she cried impulsively.
"They will not!" MacNair smiled; "but if they do, you will be glad.Did you not say----"
The girl faced swiftly away, and at the same moment the Indian at thewindow staggered backward, dropping his rifle and cursing horribly inthe only English he knew, as he clutched frantically at his shoulder.Chloe turned. MacNair was lacing his boots. He raised himself weaklyto his feet, swaying uncertainly, with his hand pressed against hischest, and laughed harshly into the pain-twisted features of the Indian.
"When the last of yon dogs gets his bullet, I can leave this place insafety."
"What do you mean?" cried the girl, her eyes blazing.
"I mean," rasped the man, "that you are a fool! You have listened toLapierre and you have easily become his dupe. There is no Indian inhis employ who would not kill me. They have had their orders. Haveyou stopped to reflect that the brave Lapierre did not himself remainto stem this attack? To protect me from my Indians?"
The sneer in MacNair's voice was not lost upon the girl, who drewherself up haughtily.
"Mr. Lapierre," she answered, "could hardly be charged withanticipating this attack, nor could he be blamed for not altering hisplans to fight _your_ battles."
MacNair laughed. "The idea of Lapierre fighting _my_ battles is,indeed, unique. And you may be sure that Lapierre will not fight hisown battles--as long as he can find others to fight them for him. MissElliston, this attack _was_ anticipated. Lapierre knew to a certaintythat when my Indians read the signs, and learned what had happenedthere on the shore of Snare Lake, their vengeance would not bedelayed." He looked straight into the eyes of the girl. "Did you armyour Indians?"
"I did not!" answered Chloe. "I brought no guns."
"Then where did your Indians get their rifles?"
"Well, really, Mr. MacNair, I cannot tell you. Possibly at the sameplace your Indians got theirs. The Indians, who have come to me hereare hunters and trappers. Is it so extraordinary that men who arehunters should own guns?"
"Your ignorance would be amusing, if it were not tragic!" retortedMacNair. And picking up the gun which the wounded Indian had dropped,held it before the eyes of the girl. "The hunters of the North, MissElliston, do not equip themselves with Mausers."
"With Mausers!" cried the girl. "You mean----"
"I mean just this," broke in MacNair, "that your Indians were armed tokill men, not animals. With, or without, your knowledge or sanction,your Indians have been supplied with the best rifles obtainable. Yourschool is Lapierre's fort!" Thrusting the rifle into the hands of thegirl, he brushed past her and with difficulty made his way through theintervening room to the outer door, which he threw open.
Chloe followed. Outside the firing continued with undiminishedintensity, but the girl was conscious of no sense of fear. Her eyesswept the room, flooded now by the glare of the flaring flames. Besidethe stove stood Big Lena, an ax gripped tightly in her strong hands.The remaining Indian lay upon the floor, firing slowly through aloophole punched in the chinking. At the doorway MacNair turned, andin the strong light Chloe noticed that his face was haggard and drawnwith pain.
"I thank you." he said, touching his bandaged chest, "for your nursing.It has probably saved my life."
"Come back! They will kill you!" MacNair ignored her warning. "Youhave one redeeming feature," cried the girl. "At least, you are asbrutal toward yourself as toward others."
MacNair laughed harshly. "I thank you," he said and staggered out intothe fire-lit clearing. Dully, Chloe noticed that the Indian who hadbeen firing from the floor slipped stealthily through the doorway and,dropping to his knee, raised his rifle. The next instant the girl'seyes widened in horror. The gun was pointed squarely at MacNair'sback. She tried to cry out, but no sound came. It seemed minutes thatthe Indian sighted as he knelt there in the clearing. And then--hepulled the trigger. There was a sharp, metallic click, followed by amuttered imprecation. The man jerked down the rifle and reaching intohis pocket, produced long yellow cartridges, which he jammed into themagazine.
The horror of it! The diabolical deliberation of the man spurred thegirl to a fury she had never known. In that moment her one thought wasto kill--to kill with her hands--to rend--to tear--and to maim! Forthe first time she realized that the thing in her hand was a gun.
Again the Indian was raising his rifle. The girl twisted and jerked atthe bolt of her own gun. It was locked. The next instant, with aloud, animal-like cry, she leaped for the doorway, trampling, as shepassed, with a wild, fierce joy upon the upturned staring face of thedead Indian.
Out in the clearing the flames roared and crackled. Rifles spat. Andbefore her the Indian was again lining his sights. Grasping the heavyrifle by the barrel, Chloe whirled it high above her and brought itdown with a crash upon the head of the kneeling savage. The mancrumpled as dead men crumple--in an ugly, twisted heap. Fierce, swiftexultation shot through the girl's brain as she stood beside theformless thing on the ground. She looked up--squarely into the eyes ofMacNair, who had turned at the sound of her outcry.
"I said you would fight!" called the man. "I have seen it in youreyes. They are the eyes of the man on the wall."
Then, abruptly, he turned and disappeared in the direction of the river.
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