CHAPTER VIII
DELIRIUM
It is not the people that have led still and uneventful lives who arebest prepared for emergencies. They are not trained to face crises, tomake prompt and just decisions. Joan had made but two such resolutionsin her life; the first when she had followed Pierre, the second whenshe had kept Holliwell's books in defiance of her husband's jealousy.The leaving her father had been the result of long and painfulthought. Now, in a few hours, events had crashed about her so that herwhole life, outer and inner, had been shattered. Beyond the pain andfever of her wound there was an utter confusion of her faculties.Before she fainted she had, indeed, made a distinct resolve to leavePierre. It was this purpose, working subconsciously on her will, asmuch as the urgent pressure of the stranger, that took her pastPierre's body out into the dawn and sent her on that rash journey ofhers in the footsteps of an unknown man. This being seemed to her thenhardly human. Mysteriously he had stepped in out of the night,mysteriously he had condemned Pierre, and in self-defense, for Joanhad seen Pierre draw his gun and fire, he had killed her husband. Now,just as mysteriously, as inevitably it seemed to her, he took commandof her life. She was a passive, shipwrecked thing--a derelict. She hadlittle thought and no care for her life.
As the silent day slowly brightened through its glare of clouds, sheplodded on, setting her snowshoes in the tracks her leader made. Thepain in her shoulder steadily increased, more and more absorbed herconsciousness. She saw little but the lean, resolute figure that wentbefore her, turning back now and then with a look and a smile thatwere a compelling mixture of encouragement, pity, and command. She didnot know that they were traveling north and west toward the wildestand most desolate country, that every time she set down her foot sheset it down farther from humanity. She began soon to be a littlelight-headed and thought that she was following Pierre.
At noon they entered the woods, and her guide came beside her and ledher through fallen timber and past pitfalls of soft snow. Suddenly, "Ican't go no more," she sobbed, and stopped, swaying. At that he tookher in his arms and carried her a few hundred feet till they entered acabin under the shelter of firs.
"It's the ranger-station," said he; "the ranger told me that I couldmake use of it on my way back. We can pass the night here."
Joan knew that he had carried her across a strange room and put her ona strange bed. He took off her snowshoes, and she lay watching himlight a fire in the cold, clean stove and cook a meal from suppliesleft by the owner of the house. She was trying now to remember who hewas, what had happened, and why she was in such misery and pain.Sometimes she knew that he was her father and that she was at home inthat wretched shack up Lone River, and an ineffable satisfaction wouldrelax her cramped mind; sometimes, just as clearly, she knew that hewas Pierre who had taken her away to some strange place, and, in thiscertainty, she was even more content. But always the horrible flame onher shoulder burnt her again to the confusion of half-consciousness.He wasn't John Carver, he wasn't Pierre. Who, in God's name, was he?And why was she here alone with him? She could not frame a question;she had a fear that, if she began to speak, she would scream and rave,would tell impossible, secret, sacred things. So she held herself tosilence, to a savage watchfulness, to a battle with delirium.
The man brought her a cup of strong coffee and held up her head sothat she could drink it, but it nauseated her and she thrust it weaklyaway, asking for cold water. After she had drunk this, her mindcleared for an instant and she tried to stand up.
"I must go back to Pierre now," she said, looking about with wild butresolute eyes.
"Lie still," said the stranger gently. "You're not fit to stir. Trustme. It's all right. You're quite safe. Get rested and well, then youmay go wherever you like. I want only to help you."
The reassuring tone, the promising words coerced her and she droppedback. Presently, in spite of pain, she slept.
She woke and slept in fever for many hours, vaguely aware, at times,that she was traveling. She felt the motion of a sled under her andknew that she was lying on the warm hide of some freshly killed beastand that a blanket and a canvas covering protected her from a swirl ofsnow. Then she thought she heard a voice babbling queerly and saw aface quite terribly different from other human faces. The covering wastaken from her, snowflakes touched her cheek, a lantern shone in hereyes, and she was lifted and carried into a warm, pleasant-smellingplace from which were magically and completely banished all sound andbitterness of storm. She tried to see where she was, but her eyeslooked on incredible colors and confusions, so she shut them andpassively allowed herself to be handled by deft hands. She knew onlythat delicious coolness, cleanliness, and softness were given to herbody, that the pain in her shoulder was soothed, that dreamlessly sheslept.
The Branding Iron Page 8