The Hunted Woman

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER XIV

  To sleep after the excitement through which he had passed, and withto-morrow's uncertainties ahead of him, seemed to Aldous a physicalimpossibility. Yet he slept, and soundly. It was MacDonald who roused himthree hours later. They prepared a quick breakfast over a small fire, andAldous heated water in which he soaked his face until the strips ofcourt-plaster peeled off. The scratches were lividly evident, but, inasmuchas he had a choice of but two evils, he preferred that Joanne should seethese instead of the abominable disfigurement of court-plaster strips.

  Old Donald took one look at him through half-closed eyes.

  "You look as though you'd come out of a tussle with a grizzly," he grinned."Want some fresh court-plaster?"

  "And look as though I'd come out of a circus--no!" retorted Aldous. "I'minvited to breakfast at the Blacktons', Mac. How the devil am I going toget out of it?"

  "Tell 'em you're sick," chuckled the old hunter, who saw something funny inthe appearance of Aldous' face. "Good Lord, how I'd liked to have seen youcome through that window--in daylight!"

  Aldous led off in the direction of the trail. MacDonald followed closebehind him. It was dark--that almost ebon-black hour that precedes summerdawn in the northern mountains. The moon had long ago disappeared in thewest. When a few minutes later they paused in the little opening on thetrail Aldous could just make out the shadowy form of the old mountaineer.

  "I lost my gun when I jumped through the window, Mac," he explained."There's another thirty-eight automatic in my kit at the corral. Bringthat, and the .303 with the gold-bead sight--and plenty of ammunition.You'd better take that forty-four hip-cannon of yours along, as well asyour rifle. Wish I could civilize you, Mac, so you'd carry one of theSavage automatics instead of that old brain-storm of fifty years ago!"

  MacDonald gave a grunt of disgust that was like the whoof of a bear.

  "It's done business all that time," he growled good humouredly. "An' itain't ever made me jump through any window as I remember of, Johnny!"

  "Enough," said Aldous, and in the gloom he gripped the other's hand."You'll be there, Mac--in front of the Blacktons'--just as it's growinglight?"

  "That means in three quarters of an hour, Johnny. I'll be there. Threesaddle-horses and a pack."

  Where the trail divided they separated. Aldous went directly to theBlacktons'. As he had expected, the bungalow was alight. In the kitchen hesaw Tom, the Oriental cook, busy preparing breakfast. Blackton himself,comfortably dressed in duck trousers and a smoking-jacket, and puffing on apipe, opened the front door for him. The pipe almost fell from his mouthwhen he saw his friend's excoriated face.

  "What in the name of Heaven!" he gasped.

  "An accident," explained Aldous, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders."Blackton, I want you to do me another good turn. Tell the ladies anythingyou can think of--something reasonable. The truth is, I went through awindow--a window with plenty of glass in it. Now how the deuce can Iexplain going through a window like a gentleman?"

  With folded arms, Blackton inspected him thoughtfully for a moment.

  "You can't," he said. "But I don't think you went through a window. Ibelieve you fell over a cliff and were caught in an armful of wait-a-bitbushes. They're devilish those wait-a-bits!"

  They shook hands.

  "I'm ready to blow up with curiosity again," said Blackton. "But I'll playyour game, Aldous."

  A few minutes later Joanne and Peggy Blackton joined them. He saw again thequick flush of pleasure in Joanne's lovely face when she entered the room.It changed instantly when she saw the livid cuts in his skin. She came tohim quickly, and gave him her hand. Her lips trembled, but she did notspeak. Blackton accepted this as the psychological moment.

  "What do you think of a man who'll wander off a trail, tumble over a ledge,and get mixed up in a bunch of wait-a-bit like _that?_" he demanded,laughing as though he thought it a mighty good joke on Aldous. "Wait-a-bitthorns are worse than razors, Miss Gray," he elucidated further."They're--they're perfectly devilish, you know!"

  "Indeed they _are_," emphasized Peggy Blackton, whom her husband had givena quick look and a quicker nudge, "They're dreadful!"

  Looking straight into Joanne's eyes, Aldous guessed that she did notbelieve, and scarcely heard, the Blacktons.

  "I had a presentiment something was going to happen," she said, smiling athim. "I'm glad it was no worse than that."

  She withdrew her hand, and turned to Peggy Blackton. To John's delight shehad arranged her wonderful shining hair in a braid that rippled in a thick,sinuous rope of brown and gold below her hips. Peggy Blackton had in someway found a riding outfit for her slender figure, a typical mountainoutfit, with short divided skirt, loose blouse, and leggings. She had neverlooked more beautiful to him. Her night's rest had restored the colour toher soft cheeks and curved lips; and in her eyes, when she looked at himagain, there was a strange, glowing light that thrilled him. During thenext half-hour he almost forgot his telltale disfigurements. At breakfastPaul and Peggy Blackton were beautifully oblivious of them. Once or twicehe saw in Joanne's clear eyes a look which made him suspect that she hadguessed very near to the truth.

  MacDonald was prompt to the minute. Gray day, with its bars of golden tint,was just creeping over the shoulders of the eastern mountains when he rodeup to the Blacktons'. The old hunter was standing close to the horse whichJoanne was to ride when Aldous brought her out. Joanne gave him her hand,and for a moment MacDonald bowed his shaggy head over it. Five minuteslater they were trailing up the rough wagon-road, MacDonald in the lead,and Joanne and Aldous behind, with the single pack horse between.

  For several miles this wagon-trail reached back through the thick timberthat filled the bottom between the two ranges of mountains. They hadtravelled but a short distance when Joanne drew her horse close in besideAldous.

  "I want to know what happened last night," she said. "Will you tell me?"

  Aldous met her eyes frankly. He had made up his mind that she would believeonly the truth, and he had decided to tell her at least a part of that. Hewould lay his whole misadventure to the gold. Leaning over the pommel ofhis saddle he recounted the occurrences of the night before, beginning withhis search for Quade and the half-breed, and his experience with the womanwho rode the bear. He left out nothing--except all mention of herself. Hedescribed the events lightly, not omitting those parts which appealed tohim as being very near to comedy.

  In spite of his effort to rob the affair of its serious aspect his recitalhad a decided effect upon Joanne. For some time after he had finished oneof her small gloved hands clutched tightly at the pommel of her saddle; herbreath came more quickly; the colour had ebbed from her cheeks, and shelooked straight ahead, keeping her eyes from meeting his. He began tobelieve that in some way she was convinced he had not told her the wholetruth, and was possibly displeased, when she again turned her face to him.It was tense and white. In it was the fear which, for a few minutes, shehad tried to keep from him.

  "They would have killed you?" she breathed.

  "Perhaps they would only have given me a good scare," said Aldous. "But Ididn't have time to wait and find out. I was very anxious to see MacDonaldagain. So I went through the window!"

  "No, they would have killed you," said Joanne. "Perhaps I did wrong, Mr.Aldous, but I confided--a little--in Peggy Blackton last night. She seemedlike a sister. I love her. And I wanted to confide in some one--a woman,like her. It wasn't much, but I told her what happened at Miette: aboutyou, and Quade, and how I saw him at the station, and again--later,following us. And then--she told me! Perhaps she didn't know how it wasfrightening me, but she told me all about these men--Quade and Culver Rann.And now I'm more afraid of Culver Rann than Quade, and I've never seen him.They can't hurt me. But I'm afraid for you!"

  At her words a joy that was like the heat of a fire leaped into his brain.

  "For me?" he said. "Afraid--for me?"

  "Yes. Why shouldn't I be, if I know that you are in danger?
" she askedquietly. "And now, since last night, and the discovery of your secret bythese men, I am terrified. Quade has followed you here. Mrs. Blackton toldme that Culver Rann was many times more dangerous than Quade. Only a littlewhile ago you told me you did not care for riches. Then why do you go forthis gold? Why do you run the risk? Why----"

  He waited. The colour was flooding back into her face in an excited,feverish flush. Her blue eyes were dark as thunder-clouds in theirearnestness.

  "Don't you understand?" she went on. "It was because of me that youincurred this deadly enmity of Quade's. If anything happens to you, I shallhold myself responsible!"

  "No, you will not be responsible," replied Aldous, steadying the tremble inhis voice. "Besides, nothing is going to happen. But you don't know howhappy you have made me by taking this sort of an interest in me. It--itfeels good," he laughed.

  For a few paces he dropped behind her, where the overhead spruce boughsleft but the space for a single rider between. Then, again, he drew upclose beside her.

  "I was going to tell you about this gold," he said. "It isn't the goldwe're going after."

  He leaned over until his hand rested on her saddle-bow.

  "Look ahead," he went on, a curious softness in his voice. "Look atMacDonald!"

  The first shattered rays of the sun were breaking over the mountains andreflecting their glow in the valley. Donald MacDonald had lifted his faceto the sunrise; out from under his battered hat the morning breeze sweepingthrough the valley of the Frazer tossed his shaggy hair; his great owl-graybeard swept his breast; his broad, gaunt shoulders were hunched a littleforward as he looked into the east. Again Aldous looked into Joanne's eyes.

  "It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me north, Ladygray. Andit's not the gold that is taking MacDonald. It is strange, almostunbelievedly strange--what I am going to tell you. To-day we are seeking agrave--for you. And up there, two hundred miles in the north, another graveis calling MacDonald. I am going with him. It just happens that the gold isthere. You wouldn't guess that for more than forty years that blessed oldwanderer ahead of us has loved a dead woman, would you? You wouldn't thinkthat for nearly half a century, year in and year out, winter and summeralike, he has tramped the northern mountains--a lost spirit with but onedesire in life--to find at last her resting-place? And yet it is so,Ladygray. I guess I am the only living creature to whom he has opened hisheart in many a long year. A hundred times beside our campfire I havelistened to him, until at last his story seems almost to be a part of myown. He may be a little mad, but it is a beautiful madness."

  He paused.

  "Yes," whispered Joanne. "Go on--John Aldous."

  "It's--hard to tell," he continued. "I can't put the feeling of it inwords, the spirit of it, the wonder of it. I've tried to write it, and Icouldn't. Her name was Jane. He has never spoken of her by any other namethan that, and I've never asked for the rest of it. They were kids whentheir two families started West over the big prairies in Conestoga wagons.They grew up sweethearts. Both of her parents, and his mother, died beforethey were married. Then, a little later, his father died, and they werealone. I can imagine what their love must have been. I have seen it stillliving in his eyes, and I have seen it in his strange hour-long dreamsafter he has talked of her. They were always together. He has told me howthey roamed the mountains hand in hand in their hunts; how she was comradeand chum when he went prospecting. He has opened his lonely old heart tome--a great deal. He's told me how they used to be alone for months at atime in the mountains, the things they used to do, and how she would singfor him beside their campfire at night. 'She had a voice sweet as anangel,' I remember he told me once. Then, more than forty years ago, camethe gold-rush away up in the Stikine River country. They went. They joineda little party of twelve--ten men and two women. This party wandered farout of the beaten paths of the other gold-seekers. And at last they foundgold."

  Ahead of them Donald MacDonald had turned in his saddle and was lookingback. For a moment Aldous ceased speaking.

  "Please--go on!" said Joanne.

  "They found gold," repeated Aldous. "They found so much of it, Ladygray,that some of them went mad--mad as beasts. It was placer gold--loose gold,and MacDonald says that one day he and Jane filled their pockets withnuggets. Then something happened. A great storm came; a storm that filledthe mountains with snow through which no living creature as heavy as a manor a horse could make its way. It came a month earlier than they hadexpected, and from the beginning they were doomed. Their supplies werealmost gone.

  "I can't tell you the horrors of the weeks and months that followed, as oldDonald has told them to me, Joanne. You must imagine. Only, when you aredeep in the mountains, and the snow comes, you are like a rat in a trap. Sothey were caught--eleven men and three women. They who could make theirbeds in sheets of yellow gold, but who had no food. The horses were lost inthe storm. Two of their frozen carcasses were found and used for food. Twoof the men set out on snowshoes, leaving their gold behind, and probablydied.

  "Then the first terrible thing happened. Two men quarrelled over a can ofbeans, and one was killed. He was the husband of one of the women. The nextterrible thing happened to her--and there was a fight. On one side therewere young Donald and the husband of the other woman; on the otherside--the beasts. The husband was killed, and Donald and Jane sought refugein the log cabin they had built. That night they fled, taking what littlefood they possessed, and what blankets they could carry. They knew theywere facing death. But they went together, hand in hand.

  "At last Donald found a great cave in the side of a mountain. I have apicture of that cave in my brain--a deep, warm cave, with a floor of softwhite sand, a cave into which the two exhausted fugitives stumbled, stillhand in hand, and which was home. But they found it a little too late.Three days later Jane died. And there is another picture in my brain--apicture of young Donald sitting there in the cave, clasping in his arms thecold form of the one creature in the world that he loved; moaning andsobbing over her, calling upon her to come back to life, to open her eyes,to speak to him--until at last his brain cracked and he went mad. That iswhat happened. He went mad."

  Joanne's breath was coming brokenly through her lips. Unconsciously she hadclasped her fingers about the hand Aldous rested on her pommel.

  "How long he remained in the cave with his dead, MacDonald has never beenable to say," he resumed.

  "He doesn't know whether he buried his wife or left her lying on the sandfloor of the cave. He doesn't know how he got out of the mountains. But hedid, and his mind came back. And since then, Joanne--for a matter of fortyyears--his life has been spent in trying to find that cave. All those yearshis search was unavailing. He could find no trace of the little hiddenvalley in which the treasure-seekers found their bonanza of gold. No wordof it ever came out of the mountains; no other prospector ever stumbledupon it. Year after year Donald went into the North; year after year hecame out as the winter set in, but he never gave up hope.

  "Then he began spending winter as well as summer in that forgottenworld--forgotten because the early gold-rush was over, and the oldTelegraph trail was travelled more by wolves than men. And always, Donaldhas told me, his beloved Jane's spirit was with him in his wanderings overthe mountains, her hand leading him, her voice whispering to him in theloneliness of the long nights. Think of it, Joanne! Forty years of that!Forty years of a strange, beautiful madness, forty years of undying love,of faith, of seeking and never finding! And this spring old Donald camealmost to the end of his quest. He knows, now; he knows where that littletreasure valley is hidden in the mountains, he knows where to find thecave!"

  "He found her--he found her?" she cried. "After all those years--he foundher?"

  "Almost," said Aldous softly. "But the great finale in the tragedy ofDonald MacDonald's life is yet to come, Ladygray. It will come when oncemore he stands in the soft white sand of that cavern floor, and sometimesI tremble when I think that when that moment comes I will be at his side.To me
it will be terrible. To him it will be--what? That hour has not quitearrived. It happened this way: Old Donald was coming down from the North onthe early slush snows this spring when he came to a shack in which a manwas almost dead of the smallpox. It was DeBar, the half-breed.

  "Fearlessly MacDonald nursed him. He says it was God who sent him to thatshack. For DeBar, in his feverish ravings, revealed the fact that he hadstumbled upon that little Valley of Gold for which MacDonald had searchedthrough forty years. Old Donald knew it was the same valley, for thehalf-breed raved of dead men, of rotting buckskin sacks of yellow nuggets,of crumbling log shacks, and of other things the memories of which stabbedlike knives into Donald's heart. How he fought to save that man! And, atlast, he succeeded.

  "They continued south, planning to outfit and go back for the gold. Theywould have gone back at once, but they had no food and no horses. Foot byfoot, in the weeks that followed, DeBar described the way to the hiddenvalley, until at last MacDonald knew that he could go to it as straight asan eagle to its nest. When they reached Tete Jaune he came to me. And Ipromised to go with him, Ladygray--back to the Valley of Gold. He calls itthat; but I--I think of it as The Valley of Silent Men. It is not the gold,but the cavern with the soft white floor that is calling us."

  In her saddle Joanne had straightened. Her head was thrown back, her lipswere parted, and her eyes shone as the eyes of a Joan of Arc must haveshone when she stood that day before the Hosts.

  "And this man, the half-breed, has sold himself--for a woman?" she said,looking straight ahead at the bent shoulders of old MacDonald.

  "Yes, for a woman. Do you ask me why I go now? Why I shall fight, iffighting there must be?"

  She turned to him. Her face was a blaze of glory.

  "No, no, no!" she cried. "Oh, John Aldous! if I were only a man, that Imight go with you and stand with you two in that Holy Sepulchre--theCavern----If I were a man, I'd go--and, yes, I would fight!"

  And Donald MacDonald, looking back, saw the two clasping hands across thetrail. A moment later he turned his horse from the broad road into a narrowtrail that led over the range.