The Hunted Woman

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER XV

  From the hour in which she had listened to the story of old MacDonald achange seemed to have come over Joanne. It was as if she had risen out ofherself, out of whatever fear or grief she might have possessed in her ownheart. John Aldous knew that there was some deep significance in her visitto the grave under the Saw Tooth Mountain, and that from the beginning shehad been fighting under a tremendous mental and physical strain. He hadexpected this day would be a terrible day for her; he had seen her effortsto strengthen herself for the approaching crisis that morning. He believedthat as they drew nearer to their journey's end her suspense anduneasiness, the fear which she was trying to keep from him, would, in spiteof her, become more and more evident. For these reasons the change which hesaw in her was not only delightfully unexpected but deeply puzzling. Sheseemed to be under the influence of some new and absorbing excitement. Hercheeks were flushed. There was a different poise to her head; in her voice,too, there was a note which he had not noticed before.

  It struck him, all at once, that this was a new Joanne--a Joanne who, atleast for a brief spell, had broken the bondage of oppression and fear thathad fettered her. In the narrow trail up the mountain he rode behind her,and in this he found a pleasure even greater than when he rode at herside. Only when her face was turned from him did he dare surrender himselfat all to the emotions which had transformed his soul. From behind he couldlook at her, and worship without fear of discovery. Every movement of herslender, graceful body gave him a new and exquisite thrill; every dancinglight and every darkening shadow in her shimmering hair added to the joythat no fear or apprehension could overwhelm within him now. Only in thosewonderful moments, when her presence was so near, and yet her eyes did notsee him, could he submerge himself completely in the thought of what shehad become to him and of what she meant to him.

  During the first hour of their climb over the break that led into thevalley beyond they had but little opportunity for conversation. The trailwas an abandoned Indian path, narrow, and in places extremely steep. TwiceAldous helped Joanne from her horse that she might travel afoot over placeswhich he considered dangerous. When he assisted her in the saddle again,after a stiff ascent of a hundred yards, she was panting from her exertion,and he felt the sweet thrill of her breath in his face. For a space hishappiness obliterated all thoughts of other things. It was MacDonald whobrought them back.

  They had reached the summit of the break, and through his long brasstelescope the old mountaineer was scanning the valley out of which they hadcome. Under them lay Tete Jaune, gleaming in the morning sun, and it dawnedsuddenly upon Aldous that this was the spot from which MacDonald had spiedupon his enemies. He looked at Joanne. She was breathing quickly as shelooked upon the wonder of the scene below them. Suddenly she turned, andencountered his eyes.

  "They might--follow?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "No danger of that," he assured her.

  MacDonald had dismounted, and now he lay crouched behind a rock, with histelescope resting over the top of it. He had leaned his long rifle againstthe boulder; his huge forty-four, a relic of the old Indian days, hung athis hip. Joanne saw these omens of preparedness, and her eyes shifted againto Aldous. His .303 swung from his saddle. At his waist was the heavyautomatic. She smiled. In her eyes was understanding, and something like achallenge. She did not question him again, but under her gaze Aldousflushed.

  A moment later MacDonald closed his telescope and without a word mountedhis horse. Where the descent into the second valley began he paused again.To the north through the haze of the morning sun gleamed the snow-cappedpeaks of the Saw Tooth Range. Apparently not more than an hour's ridedistant rose a huge red sandstone giant which seemed to shut in the end ofthe valley MacDonald stretched forth a long arm in its direction.

  "What we're seekin' is behind that mountain," he said. "It's ten miles fromhere." He turned to the girl. "Are you gettin' lame, Mis' Joanne?"

  Aldous saw her lips tighten.

  "No. Let us go on, please."

  She was staring fixedly at the sombre red mass of the mountain. Her eyesdid not take in the magnificent sweep of the valley below. They sawnothing of the snow-capped peaks beyond. There was something wild andunnatural in their steady gaze. Aldous dropped behind her as they began thegradual descent from the crest of the break and his own heart began to beatmore apprehensively; the old question flashed back upon him, and he feltagain the oppression that once before had held him in its grip. His eyesdid not leave Joanne. And always she was staring at the mountain behindwhich lay the thing they were seeking! It was not Joanne herself that sethis blood throbbing. Her face had not paled. Its colour was like the hecticflush of a fever. Her eyes alone betrayed her; their strange intensity--thealmost painful steadiness with which they hung to the distant mountain, anda dread of what was to come seized upon him. Again he found himself askinghimself questions which he could not answer. Why had Joanne not confidedmore fully in him? What was the deeper significance of this visit to thegrave, and of her mission in the mountains?

  Down the narrow Indian trail they passed into the thick spruce timber. Halfan hour later they came out into the grassy creek bottom of the valley.During that time Joanne did not look behind her, and John Aldous did notspeak. MacDonald turned north, and the sandstone mountain was straightahead of them. It was not like the other mountains. There was somethingsinister and sullen about it. It was ugly and broken. No vegetation grewupon it, and through the haze of sunlight its barren sides and battlementedcrags gleamed a dark and humid red after the morning mists, as if freshlystained with blood. Aldous guessed its effect upon Joanne, and hedetermined to put an end to it. Again he rode up close beside her.

  "I want you to get better acquainted with old Donald," he said. "We're sortof leaving him out in the cold, Ladygray. Do you mind if I tell him to comeback and ride with you for a while?"

  "I've been wanting to talk with him," she replied. "If you don't mind----"

  "I don't," he broke in quickly. "You'll love old Donald, Ladygray. And, ifyou can, I'd like to have you tell him all that you know about--Jane. Lethim know that I told you."

  She nodded. Her lips trembled in a smile.

  "I will," she said.

  A moment later Aldous was telling MacDonald that Joanne wanted him. The oldmountaineer stared. He drew his pipe from his mouth, beat out itshalf-burned contents, and thrust it into its accustomed pocket.

  "She wants to see me?" he asked. "God bless her soul--what for?"

  "Because she thinks you're lonesome up here alone, Mac. And lookhere"--Aldous leaned over to MacDonald--"her nerves are ready to snap. Iknow it. There's a mighty good reason why I can't relieve the strain she isunder. But you can. She's thinking every minute of that mountain up thereand the grave behind it. You go back, and talk. Tell her about the firsttime you ever came up through these valleys--you and Jane. Will you, Mac?Will you tell her that?"

  MacDonald did not reply, but he dropped behind. Aldous took up the lead. Afew minutes later he looked back, and laughed softly under his breath.Joanne and the old hunter were riding side by side in the creek bottom, andJoanne was talking. He looked at his watch. He did not look at it againuntil the first gaunt, red shoulder of the sandstone mountain began to loomover them. An hour had passed since he left Joanne. Ahead of him, perhaps amile distant, was the cragged spur beyond which--according to the sketchKeller had drawn for him at the engineers' camp--was the rough canyonleading back to the basin on the far side of the mountain. He had almostreached this when MacDonald rode up.

  "You go back, Johnny," he said, a singular softness in his hollow voice."We're a'most there."

  He cast his eyes over the western peaks, where dark clouds were shoulderingtheir way up in the face of the sun, and added:

  "There's rain in that. I'll trot on ahead with Pinto and have a tent readywhen you come. I reckon it can't be more'n a mile up the canyon."

  "And the grave, Mac?"

  "Is right close t
o where I'll pitch the tent," said MacDonald, swingingsuddenly behind the pack-horse Pinto, and urging him into a trot. "Don'twaste any time, Johnny."

  Aldous rode back to Joanne.

  "It looks like rain," he explained. "These Pacific showers come up quicklythis side of the Divide, and they drench you in a jiffy. Donald is going onahead to put up a tent."

  By the time they reached the mouth of the canyon MacDonald was out ofsight. A little creek that was a swollen torrent in spring time trickledout of the gorge. Its channel was choked with a chaotic confusion ofsandstone rock and broken slate, and up through this Aldous carefullypicked his way, followed closely by Joanne. The sky continued to darkenabove them, until at last the sun died out, and a thick and almost palpablegloom began to envelop them. Low thunder rolled through the mountains insullen, rumbling echoes. He looked back at Joanne, and was amazed to seeher eyes shining, and a smile on her lips as she nodded at him.

  "It makes me think of Henrik Hudson and his ten-pin players," she calledsoftly. "And ahead of us--is Rip Van Winkle!"

  The first big drops were beginning to fall when they came to an open place.The gorge swung to the right; on their left the rocks gave place to arolling meadow of buffalo grass, and Aldous knew they had reached thebasin. A hundred yards up the slope was a fringe of timber, and as helooked he saw smoke rising out of this. The sound of MacDonald's axe cameto them. He turned to Joanne, and he saw that she understood. They were attheir journey's end. Perhaps her fingers gripped her rein a little moretightly. Perhaps it was imagination that made him think there was a slighttremble in her voice when she said:

  "This--is the place?"

  "Yes. It should be just above the timber. I believe I can see the upperbreak of the little box canyon Keller told me about."

  She rode without speaking until they entered the timber. They were just intime. As he lifted her down from her horse the clouds opened, and the rainfell in a deluge. Her hair was wet when he got her in the tent. MacDonaldhad spread out a number of blankets, but he had disappeared. Joanne sankdown upon them with a little shiver. She looked up at Aldous. It was almostdark in the tent, and her eyes were glowing strangely. Over them thethunder crashed deafeningly. For a few minutes it was a continual roar,shaking the mountains with mighty reverberations that were like theexplosions of giant guns. Aldous stood holding the untied flap against thebeat of the rain. Twice he saw Joanne's lips form words. At last he heardher say:

  "Where is Donald?"

  He tied the flap, and dropped down on the edge of the blankets before heanswered her.

  "Probably out in the open watching the lightning, and letting the raindrench him," he said. "I've never known old Donald to come in out of arain, unless it was cold. He was tying up the horses when I ran in herewith you."

  He believed she was shivering, yet he knew she was not cold. In the halfgloom of the tent he wanted to reach over and take her hand.

  For a few minutes longer there was no break in the steady downpour and thecrashing of the thunder. Then, as suddenly as the storm had broken, itbegan to subside. Aldous rose and flung back the tent-flap.

  "It is almost over," he said. "You had better remain in the tent a littlelonger, Ladygray. I will go out and see if MacDonald has succeeded indrowning himself."

  Joanne did not answer, and Aldous stepped outside. He knew where to findthe old hunter. He had gone up to the end of the timber, and probably thisminute was in the little box canyon searching for the grave. It was amatter of less than a hundred yards to the upper fringe of timber, and whenAldous came out of this he stood on the summit of the grassy divide thatseparated the tiny lake Keller had described from the canyon. It was lessthan a rifle shot distant, and on the farther side of it MacDonald wasalready returning. Aldous hurried down to meet him. He did not speak whenthey met, but his companion answered the question in his eyes, while thewater dripped in streams from his drenched hair and beard.

  "It's there," he said, pointing back. "Just behind that big black rock.There's a slab over it, an' you've got the name right. It's MortimerFitzHugh."

  Above them the clouds were splitting asunder. A shaft of sunlight brokethrough, and as they stood looking over the little lake the shaftbroadened, and the sun swept in golden triumph over the mountains.MacDonald beat his limp hat against his knee, and with his other handdrained the water from his beard.

  "What you goin' to do?" he asked.

  Aldous turned toward the timber. Joanne herself answered the question. Shewas coming up the slope. In a few moments she stood beside them. First shelooked down upon the lake. Then her eyes turned to Aldous. There was noneed for speech. He held out his hand, and without hesitation she gave himher own. MacDonald understood. He walked down ahead of them toward theblack rock. When he came to the rock he paused. Aldous and Joanne passedhim. Then they, too, stopped, and Aldous freed the girl's hand.

  With an unexpectedness that was startling they had come upon the grave. Yetnot a sound escaped Joanne's lips. Aldous could not see that she wasbreathing. Less than ten paces from them was the mound, protected by itscairn of stones; and over the stones rose a weather-stained slab in theform of a cross. One glance at the grave and Aldous riveted his eyes uponJoanne. For a full minute she stood as motionless as though the last breathhad left her body. Then, slowly, she advanced. He could not see her face.He followed, quietly, step by step as she moved. For another minute sheleaned over the slab, making out the fine-seared letters of the name. Herbody was bent forward; her two hands were clenched tightly at her side.Even more slowly than she had advanced she turned toward Aldous andMacDonald. Her face was dead white. She lifted her hands to her breast, andclenched them there.

  "It is his name," she said, and there was something repressed and terriblein her low voice. "It is his name!"

  She was looking straight into the eyes of John Aldous, and he saw that shewas fighting to say something which she had not spoken. Suddenly she cameto him, and her two hands caught his arm.

  "It is terrible--what I am going to ask of you," she struggled. "You willthink I am a ghoul. But I must have proof! I must--I must!"

  She was staring wildly at him, and all at once there leapt fiercely throughhim a dawning of the truth. The name was there, seared by hot iron in thatslab of wood. The name! But under the cairn of stones----

  Behind them MacDonald had heard. He towered beside them now. His greatmountain-twisted hands drew Joanne a step back, and strange gentleness wasin his voice as he said:

  "You an' Johnny go back an' build a fire, Mis' Joanne. I'll find theproof!"

  "Come," said Aldous, and he held out his hand again.

  MacDonald hurried on ahead of them. When they reached the camp he was gone,so that Joanne did not see the pick and shovel which he carried back. Shewent into the tent and Aldous began building a fire where MacDonald's hadbeen drowned out. There was little reason for a fire; but he built it, andfor fifteen minutes added pitch-heavy fagots of storm-killed jack-pine andspruce to it, until the flames leapt a dozen feet into the air. Half adozen times he was impelled to return to the grave and assist MacDonald inhis gruesome task. But he knew that MacDonald had meant that he should staywith Joanne. If he returned, she might follow.

  He was surprised at the quickness with which MacDonald performed his work.Not more than half an hour had passed when a low whistle drew his eyes to aclump of dwarf spruce back in the timber. The mountaineer was standingthere, holding something in his hand. With a backward glance to see thatJoanne had not come from the tent, Aldous hastened to him. What he couldsee of MacDonald's face was the lifeless colour of gray ash. His eyesstared as if he had suffered a strange and unexpected shock. He went tospeak, but no words came through his beard. In his hand he held his fadedred neck-handkerchief. He gave it to Aldous.

  "It wasn't deep," he said. "It was shallow, turribly shallow, Johnny--justunder the stone!"

  His voice was husky and unnatural.

  There was something heavy in the handkerchief, and a shudder passed through
Aldous as he placed it on the palm of his hand and unveiled its contents.He could not repress an exclamation when he saw what MacDonald had brought.In his hand, with a single thickness of the wet handkerchief between theobjects and his flesh, lay a watch and a ring. The watch was of gold. Itwas tarnished, but he could see there were initials, which he could notmake out, engraved on the back of the case. The ring, too, was of gold. Itwas one of the most gruesome ornaments Aldous had ever seen. It was in theform of a coiled and writhing serpent, wide enough to cover half of one'smiddle finger between the joints. Again the eyes of the two men met, andagain Aldous observed that strange, stunned look in the old hunter's face.He turned and walked back toward the tent, MacDonald following him slowly,still staring, his long gaunt arms and hands hanging limply at his side.

  Joanne heard them, and came out of the tent. A choking cry fell from herlips when she saw MacDonald. For a moment one of her hands clutched at thewet canvas of the tent, and then she swayed forward, knowing what JohnAldous had in his hand. He stood voiceless while she looked. In that tensehalf-minute when she stared at the objects he held it seemed to him thather heart-strings must snap under the strain. Then she drew back fromthem, her eyes filled with horror, her hands raised as if to shut out thesight of them, and a panting, sobbing cry broke from between her pallidlips.

  "Oh, my God!" she breathed. "Take them away--take them away!"

  She staggered back to the tent, and stood there with her hands covering herface. Aldous turned to the old hunter and gave him the things he held.

  A moment later he stood alone where the three had been, staring now asJoanne had stared, his heart beating wildly.

  For Joanne, in entering the tent, had uncovered her face; it was not griefthat he saw there, but the soul of a woman new-born. And as his own soulresponded in a wild rejoicing, MacDonald, going over the summit and downinto the hollow, mumbled in his beard:

  "God ha' mercy on me! I'm doin' it for her an' Johnny, an' because she'slike my Jane!"