XIX
In the weeks they had been together, Bill had always been careful neverto try to show Harold in a bad light. It was simply an expression ofthe inherent decency of the man: he knew that Virginia loved him, thatshe had plighted her troth to him, and as long as that love endured andthe engagement stood, he would never try to shatter her ideals in regardto him. He knew it meant only heartbreak for her to love and wed a manshe couldn't respect. He knew enough of human nature to realize thatlove often lives when respect is dead, and no possible good could comeof showing up the unworthiness that he beheld in Harold. He had nevertried to embarrass him or smirch his name. For all his indignation now,his voice was wholly cheerful and friendly when he answered.
"We're quite all right, thanks," he said. "The only casualty was thebear. A little snow on our clothes, but it will brush off. And by theway----"
He paused, and for all his even tones, Harold had a sickening andghastly fear of the sober query in Bill's eyes. "Why did you give me anunloaded gun and tell me it was full?" he went on. "Except for a gooddeal of luck there'd been a smile on the face of the grizzly--but noBill!"
He thought it only just that, in spite of Virginia's presence, Haroldexplain this grave omission. He felt that Virginia was entitled to anexplanation too, and Harold knew, from her earnest eyes, that she waswaiting his answer. He might have been arrogant and insulting to Bill,but he cared enough for Virginia's respect to wish to justify himself.He studied their faces; it was plain that they did not accuse him, evenin their most secret thoughts, of evil intent in handing Bill an almostempty gun. But by the stern code of the North sins of carelessness areno less damning than intentional ones and Harold knew that he had agreat deal to answer for.
"And by the way," Bill went on, as he waited for his reply, "I don'tremember hearing my gun off during the fray. You might explain that,too."
"I didn't shoot because I couldn't," Harold replied earnestly. "Atfirst you were between me and the bear--and then Virginia was. Itall happened so quickly that there was nothing I could do. I can'timagine why I forgot to reload the rifle. A man can't alwaysremember--everything. I thought I had. Thank God that it didn't turnout any worse than it did."
Bill nodded; the girl's face showed unspeakable relief. She was gladthat this lover of hers had logical and acceptable reasons for hisomissions. The incident was past, the issue dead. They gathered aboutthe gray grizzled form in the snow.
"Does this--help our food problem any?" Virginia asked.
"Except in an emergency--no. Virginia, you ought to try to cut thatforeleg muscle." He lifted one of the front feet of the bear in hishands. "You'd see what it would be like to try to bite it. He's anold, tough brute--worse eating than a wolf. Strong as mink and hardas rock. If we were starving, we'd cut off one of those hams in aminute; but we can wait a while at least. If we don't pick up some moregame during the day, I'll hike over to my Twenty-three Mile cabin andget the supplies I've left over there. There's a smoked caribou ham,among other things. I'll bring back a backload, anyway." Then hisvoice changed, and he looked earnestly into Virginia's eyes. "But youwon't want to hunt any more to-day. I forgot--what a shock thisexperience would be to you."
She smiled, and the paleness about her lips was almost gone. "I'mgetting used to shocks. I feel a little shaky--but it doesn't amountto anything. I want to climb up and look at the caribou trail, atleast."
"Sure enough--if you feel you can stand it. It's only a hundred yardsor so up the hill. I'd like to take old Bruin's hide, but I don't seehow we could handle it. I believe we'd better leave him with all hisclothes on, in the snow. And Heaven knows I'd like to find out what theold boy was doing out--at a time when all the other bears arehibernating."
They continued on up the creek until the grade of the hill was less,then clambered slowly up. Fifty yards up the slope they encountered theold caribou trail, but none of these wilderness creatures had been alongin recent days. They followed it a short distance, however, back in thedirection they had come and above the scene of their battle with thebear.
"No profit here," Bill said at last. "We might as well go down to thecreek bed and find better walking."
They turned, and in an instant more came back to their own tracks. Andsuddenly Bill stopped and stared at them in dumb amazement.
He looked so astonished, so inexpressibly baffled, that for a moment histwo companions were stricken silent. Virginia's heart leaped in herthroat. Yet the tracks contained no message for her.
"What's the matter?" Harold asked. "What do you see?"
Bill caught himself and looked up. "Nothing very important--butmighty astonishing at that. We've just walked in a two-hundred-yardcircle, up the creek to where we climbed the hill, back along the hillin this direction, and then down. And we haven't crossed that grizzly'stracks anywhere."
"Well, what of it?"
"Man, this snow has been here for weeks, with very little change. Doyou mean to tell me that a lively, hungry bear is going to stay thatlong in one place unless he's asleep? Virginia, as sure as you livewe--or somethin'--wakened that bear out of hibernation. And his denis somewhere in that two-hundred-yard circle."
"There's probably a cave in the rock," Harold suggested. "And I'm moreinterested in the cabin and dinner than I am in it."
"Nevertheless, I've never looked into a den of hibernation, and I'vealways wanted to know what they're like. It will only take a minute.Come on--it will be worth seeing."
But Harold had very special and particular reasons why such a courseappealed to him not at all. "Yes--and maybe find a couple of otherbears in there, in the dark and no chance to fight. I'm not interested,anyway. Go and look, if you like."
"I will, if you don't mind. Do you want to come too, Virginia? There'sno danger--really there isn't. If this had been an old she-bear wemight have found some cubs, but these old males travel around bythemselves."
"I certainly wouldn't stay away," the girl replied. And her interestwas real: the study of the forest life about her had been an everincreasing delight. She felt that she would greatly like to peer intoone of those dark, mysterious dens where that most mysterious Americananimal, the grizzly, lies in deep coma through the long, winter months.
"It will only take a minute. We haven't got to back-track him more thana hundred yards at most. We'll be back in a minute, Harold. And if youdon't mind--I'll take my own gun."
They exchanged rifles, and Virginia and Bill started back toward thefallen grizzly. But the exploration of the winter lair had not been theonly thing Bill had in view. He also had certain words to say toVirginia,--words that he could scarcely longer repress, and which hecouldn't have spoken with ease in Harold's presence. But now that theywere alone, the sentences wouldn't shape on his lips.
He mushed a while in silence. "I suppose I haven't got to tell you,Virginia," he said at last. "That you--your own courage--saved mylife."
She looked up to him with lustrous eyes. The man thrilled to the lastlittle nerve. In her comradeship for him their luster was almost likethat of which he had dreamed so often. "I know it's true," she answeredfrankly. "And I'm glad that--that it was mine, and not somebodyelse's." She too seemed to be having difficulty in shaping herthoughts. "I've never been happier about any other thing. Topay--just a little bit of debt. But in paying it, I incurred another--sothe obligation is just as big as ever. You know--you saved my life,too."
He nodded. This was no time for deception, for pretty lies.
"I saw you throw yourself in front of me," she went on. "I cannever forget it. I'll see that picture, over and over again, till Idie--how you plunged through the snow and got in front. So since weeach did for the other--the only thing we could do--there's nothingmore to be said about it. Isn't that so, Bill?"
The man agreed, but his lips trembled as they never did during thecharge of the grizzly.
"I've learned a lesson up here--that words aren't much good and
don'tseem to get anywhere." The girl spoke softly. "Only deeds count.After they're done, there is nothing much--that one can say."
So they did not speak of the matter again. They came to the bear's bodyand back-tracked him through the snow. They pushed through the youngspruce from whose limbs the grizzly had knocked the snow. They theycame out upon the cavern mouth.
Instantly Bill understood how the fall of the tree had knocked away thesnow from the maw. "There's been a landslide here too, or a snowslide,"he said. "You see--only the top of the cave mouth is left open. Thedirt's piled around the bottom."
He crawled up over the pile of rocks and dirt and, stooping, steppedwithin the cavern. The girl was immediately behind him. Back five feetfrom the opening the interior was dark as night: the cavern walls, grayat the mouth, slowly paled and faded and were obliterated in the gloom.But there was no stir of life in the darkness, no sign of any otherhabitant. But the walls themselves, where the light from withoutrevealed them, held Bill's fascinated gaze.
The girl stood behind him, silent, wondering what was in his mind."This cave--I've never seen a cave just like this. Virginia----"
The man stepped forward and scratched a match on the stone. It flared;the shadows raced away. Then Bill's breath caught in a half-sob.
Instantly he smothered the match. The darkness dropped around them likea curtain. But in that instant of light Bill beheld a scene that toreat his heart. Against the cavern wall, lost in the irremediabledarkness, he had seen a strange, white shape--a ghostly thing that laystill and caught the match's gleam--a grim relic of dead years.
He turned to the girl, and his voice was almost steady when he spoke."You'd better go out, Virginia--into the light," he advised.
"Why? Is it--_danger?_"
"Not danger." His voice in the silence thrilled her and moved her."Only wickedness. But it isn't anything you'd like to see."
The single match-flare had revealed him the truth. For one littlefraction of an instant he had thought that the white form, so grimand silent against the stone, revealed some forest tragedy of yearsago,--a human prey dragged to a wild beast's lair. But the shape of thecavern, the character of its walls, and a thousand other clews told thestory plainly. The thing he had seen was a naked skeleton, flesh andgarments having dropped away in the years; and the grizzly had simplymade his lair in the old shaft of his father's mine. Bill had found hisfather's sepulcher at last!
* * * * *
For a moment he stood dreaming in the gloom. He understood, now, whyhis previous search had never revealed the mine. He had supposed thathis father had operated along some stream, washing the gold from itsgravel: it had never occurred to him that he had dug a shaft. In allprobability, considering the richness of their content, they hadburrowed into the hill and had found an old bed of the stream, hadcarried the gravel to the water's edge in buckets, and washed it out.He had never looked for tunnels and shafts: if he had done so, it wasdoubtful if he could have found the hidden cavern. The snowslide ofsome years before had covered up all outward signs of their work, struckdown the trees they had blazed, and covered the ashes of their own campfires. The girl's voice in the darkness called him from his musings.
"I believe I understand," she said. "You've found your mine--and yourfather's body."
"Yes. Just a skeleton."
"I'm not afraid. Do you want me to stay?"
"I'd love to have you, if you will. Some way--it takes away a lot ofmy bitterness--to have you here."
It was true. It seemed wholly fitting that she should be with him as heexplored the cavern. It was almost as if the tragedy of his father'sdeath concerned her, too.
"I can hold matches," she told him. She came up close, and for a momenther hand, groping, closed on his,--a soft, dear pressure that spokemore than any words. When it was released he lighted another match.
They stood together, looking down at the skeleton. But she wasn't quiteprepared for what she saw. A little cry of horror rang strangely in thedark shaft.
This had been no natural death. Undoubtedly the elder Bronson had beenstruck down from behind, as he worked, and he lay just as he fell.There was one wound in the skull, round and ghastly, and in a momentthey saw the weapon that made it. A rusted pick, such as miners use,lay beside the body.
"I won't try to do much to-day," the man told her, "except to see up oneof my cornerposts and erect a claim notice. My father's notice has ofcourse rotted away in the years and the monument that probably stood outthere beyond the creek bed was covered in snowslide. You see, a claimis made by putting up four stone monuments--one at each corner of thearea claimed. We'll be starting down in a day or two, and I'll registerthe claim. Then I'll come back--and give these poor bones decentburial."
From there he walked back to the end of the shaft, scratching anothermatch. It was wholly evident that the mine was only scratched. He heldthe light close, studying the rear wall of the cave. It was simply agravel bed, verifying his guess that here lay an old bed of the creek.In the first handful of stone he scraped out he found a half-ouncenugget.
"It's rich?" she asked.
"Beyond what I ever dreamed. But there's nothing more we can do now.I've made my find at least--but it doesn't seem to make me--as happyas it ought to. Of course that man--there against the wall--wouldnaturally keep a man from being very happy. Of, if I could only findand kill the devil who did it!"
His voice in the gloom was charged with immeasurable feeling. She hadnever seen this side of him before. Here was primeval emotion, thedesired for vengeance, filial obligation, hate that knew no mercy andcould never be forgotten. She understood, now, the savage feuds thatsometimes spring up among the mountain people, unable to forget a blowor an injury. She had the first inkling of how deeply his father'smurder had influenced him.
But his face was calm when they emerged into the light. They walkedover to the creek, and beneath its overhanging banks there were the snowhad not swept, he found enough rocks for his monument. He gathered them,carried them in armfuls to a place fifty yards beyond the creek and downit, level with such a turn in the hillside above, beyond which the oldcreek bed obviously could not lie; then heaped them into a moment. Thenhe drew an old letter from his coat pocket, and searching farther, founda stub of a pencil. Virginia looked over his shoulders as he wrote.
One hundred yards up the stream Harold watched them, dumbfounded as towhat they were doing. He saw Bill finish the writing, then place thelarger on the monument, fastening it down with a large stone. Then hecame mushing toward them.
So intent were they upon their work that they didn't notice him until hewas almost up to them. But both of them would have paused in wonder ifthey had observed the curious mixture of emotions upon his lips. Hislips hung loose, his eyes protruded, and something that might have beengreed, or might have been jealousy or some other unguessed emotion drewand harshened his features.
"You've found a mine?" he asked.
Virginia looked up, joyful at Bill's good fortune. "We've found hisfather's mine--the old shaft where the bear was been sleeping. Butthere's a dreadful side of it too."
"Show me where it is. I want to see it. Take me into it,Virginia--right away----"
Bill had a distinct sensation of revulsion at the thought of this mangoing into his father's sepulcher, and he didn't know why. It was aninstinct too deeply buried for him to trace. But he tried to force itdown. There was no reason why Virginia's fiance shouldn't view his mine.Already, Virginia was pointing out the way.
"You can claim half to it," he was whispering into her ear. "You werethe one with him when he found it."
"I can--but I won't," she replied coldly. "He asked me to go withhim. The thought's unworthy of you, Harold."
But he was in no mood to be humbled by her disapproval. Curiously, hewas intensely excited. He mushed away toward the cavern mouth.
Two minutes later he stood in the darkness of the funnel, fumbling for amatch.
"Gold, gold, gold," he whispered. "Heaps and heaps of it--whatI've always hunted. And Bill had to find it. That devil had to walkright into it."
He was sickened by the thought that except for his own cowardice hewould have accompanied them into the den. At least he should have donethat much, he told himself, to atone for his conduct during the bear'scharge. Then he would have been in a position to claim half themine--and get it too. Dark thoughts, curiously engrossing and lustful,thronged his mind.
He found a match at least and it flared in the darkness. And the whiteskeleton lay just at his feet.
He drew back, startled, but instantly recognized his poise. He kneltwith unexplicable intentness. He too saw the ghastly wound and its grimconnection with the rusted pick. And he bent, slowly, like a man who istrying to control an unwonted eagerness, lifted the pick in his arms.
His fingers seemed to curl around it, like those of a miser around hisgold. Some way, his grasp seemed caressing. Oh, it was easy to handleand lift! How naturally it swung in his arms! What a deadly blow thecruel point could inflict! Just one little tap had been needed.Bronson had rocked and fallen, no longer to hold his share in the mine'sgold. If there were an enemy before him now, one tap, and one alone wasall that would be needed.
He could picture the scene of some twenty years before; the flickeringcandles, the gray walls covered with dancing shadows, the yellowgold,--beautiful in the light. He could see Bronson working,--always theplodder, always the fool! Behind him Rutheford, his partner, the pickin his arms and his brave intent in his brain. Then one swiftstroke----
Harold did not know that at the thought his muscles made involuntaryresponse. He swung the pick down, imagining the blow, with a ferocityand viciousness that would have been terrible to see.
In the darkness his face was drawn and savage, and ugly fires glowed andsmoldered and flamed in his eyes.
The Snowshoe Trail Page 19