The Honor of the Big Snows

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER XX

  A KISS AND THE CONSEQUENCES

  During the week that followed, Jean's little black eyes were never fardistant from Cummins' cabin. Without being observed, he watched Melisseand Dixon, and not even to Iowaka did he give hint of his growingsuspicions. Dixon was a man whom most other men liked. There were afascinating frankness in his voice and manner, strength in his broadshoulders, and a general air of comradeship about him which won all butJean.

  The trap-line runners began leaving the post at the end of the secondweek, and after this Melisse and the young Englishman were moretogether than ever. Dixon showed no inclination to accompany thesledges, and when they were gone he and Melisse began taking walks inthe forest, when the sun was high and warm.

  It was on one of these days that Jean had gone along the edge of thecaribou swamp that lay between the barrens and the higher forest. As hestopped to examine a fresh lynx trail that cut across the path beatendown by dog and sledge, he heard the sound of voices ahead of him; anda moment later he recognized them as those of Melisse and Dixon. Hisface clouded, and his eyes snapped fire.

  "Ah, if I was only Jan Thoreau--a Jan Thoreau with the heart of Jean deGravois--what a surprise I'd give that foreigner!" he said to himself,leaping quickly from the trail into the thicket.

  He peered forth from the bushes, his loyal heart beating a wrathfultattoo when he saw that Dixon dared put his hand on Melisse's arm. Theywere coming very slowly, the Englishman bending low over the girl'sbowed head, talking to her with strange earnestness. Suddenly hestopped, and before Jean could comprehend what had happened he had bentdown and kissed her.

  With a low cry, Melisse tore herself free. For an instant she facedDixon, who stood laughing into her blazing eyes. Then she turned andran swiftly down the trail.

  A second cry fell from her startled lips when she found herself face toface with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman was smiling. His eyesglittered like black diamonds.

  "Jean, Jean!" she sobbed, running to him.

  "He has insulted you," he said softly, smiling into her white face."Run along to the post, ma belle Melisse."

  He watched her, half turned from the astonished Englishman, until shedisappeared in a twist of the trail a hundred yards away. Then he facedDixon.

  "It is the first time that our Melisse has ever suffered insult," hesaid, speaking as coolly as if to a child. "If Jan Thoreau were here,he would kill you. He is gone, and I will kill you in his place!"

  He advanced, his white teeth still gleaming in a smile, and not untilhe launched himself like a cat at Dixon's throat was the Englishmanconvinced that he meant attack. In a flash Dixon stepped a little toone side, and sent out a crashing blow that caught Jean on the side ofthe head and sent him flat upon his back in the trail.

  Half stunned, Gravois came to his feet. He did not hear the shrill cryof terror from the twist in the trail. He did not look back to seeMelisse standing there. But Dixon both saw and heard, and he laughedtauntingly over Jean's head as the little Frenchman came toward himagain, more cautiously than before.

  It was the first time that Jean had ever come into contact withscience. He darted in again, in his quick, cat-like way, and received ablow that dazed him. This time he held to his feet.

  "Bah, this is like striking a baby!" exclaimed Dixon. "What are youfighting about, Gravois? Is it a crime up here to kiss a pretty girl?"

  "I am going to kill you!" said Jean as coolly as before.

  There was something terribly calm and decisive in his voice. He was notexcited. He was not afraid. His fingers did not go near the long knifein his belt. Slowly the laugh faded from Dixon's face, and tense linesgathered around his mouth as Jean circled about him.

  "Come, we don't want trouble like this," he urged. "I'm sorry--ifMelisse didn't like it."

  "I am going to kill you!" repeated Jean.

  There was an appalling confidence in his eyes. From those eyes Dixonfound himself retreating rather than from the man. They followed him,never taking themselves from his face. The fire in them grew deeper.Two dull red spots began to glow in Jean's cheeks, and he laughedsoftly when he suddenly leaped in so that the Englishman struck athim--and missed.

  It was the science of the forest man pitted against that of anotherworld. For sport Jean had played with wounded lynx; his was thequickness of sight, of instinct--without the other's science; thequickness of the great loon that had often played this same game withhis rifle-fire, of the sledge-dog whose ripping fangs carried death soquickly that eyes could not follow.

  A third and a fourth time he came within striking distance, andescaped. He half drew his knife, and at the movement Dixon sprang backuntil his shoulders touched the brush. Smilingly Gravois unsheathed theblade and tossed it behind him in the trail. His eyes were like aserpent's in their steadiness, and the muscles of his body were drawnas tight as steel springs, ready to loose themselves when the chancecame.

  There were tricks in his fighting as well as in the other's, and adawning of it began to grow upon Dixon. He dropped his arms to hisside, inviting Jean within reach. Suddenly the little Frenchmanstraightened. His glittering eyes shot from the Englishman's face tothe brush behind him, and a piercing yell burst from his lips.Involuntarily Dixon started, half turning his face, and before he hadcome to his guard Gravois flung himself under his arms, striking withthe full force of his body against his antagonist's knees.

  Together they went down in the trail. There was only one sciencenow--that of the forest man. The lithe, brown fingers, that could havecrushed the life of a lynx, fastened themselves around the Englishman'sman's throat, and there came one gasping, quickly throttled cry as theytightened in their neck-breaking grip.

  "I will kill you!" said Jean again.

  Dixon's arms fell limply to his side. His eyes bulged from theirsockets, his mouth was agape, but Jean did not see. His face was buriedon the other's shoulder, the whole life of him in the grip. He wouldnot have raised his head for a full minute longer had there not come asudden interruption--the terrified voice of Melisse, the frantictearing of her hands at his hands.

  "He is dead!" she shrieked. "You have killed him, Jean!"

  He loosed his fingers and sat up. Melisse staggered back, clutchingwith her hands at her breast, her face as white as the snow.

  "You have killed him!"

  Jean looked into Dixon's eyes.

  "He is not dead," he said, rising and going to her side. "Come, machere, run home to Iowaka. I will not kill him." Her slender form shookwith agonized sobs as he led her to the turn in the trail. "Run home toIowaka," he repeated gently. "I will not kill him, Melisse."

  He went back to Dixon and rubbed snow over the man's face.

  "Mon Dieu, but it was near to it!" he exclaimed, as there came aflicker of life into the eyes. "A little more, and he would have beenwith the missioner!"

  He dragged the Englishman to the side of the trail, and set his back toa tree. When he saw that fallen foeman's breath was coming morestrongly, he followed slowly after Melisse.

  Unobserved, he went into the store and washed the blood from his face,chuckling with huge satisfaction when he looked at himself in thelittle glass which hung over the wash-basin.

  "Ah, my sweet Iowaka, but would you guess now that Jean de Gravois hadreceived two clouts on the side of the head that almost sent him intothe blessed hereafter? I would not have had you see it for all the goldin this world!"

  A little later he went to the cabin. Iowaka and the children were atCroisset's, and he sat down to smoke a pipe. Scarce had he begunsending up blue clouds of smoke when the door opened and Melisse camein.

  "Hello, ma chere," he cried gaily, laughing at her with a wave of hispipe.

  In an instant she had flung the shawl from her head and was upon herknees at his feet, her white face turned up to him pleadingly, herbreath falling upon him in panting, sobbing excitement.

  "Jean, Jean!" she whispered, stretching up her hands to his face."Please tell me that you will
never tell Jan--please tell me that younever will, Jean--never, never, never!"

  "I will say nothing, Melisse."

  "Never, Jean?"

  "Never."

  For a sobbing breath she dropped her head upon his knees. Then,suddenly, she drew down his face and kissed him.

  "Thank you, Jean, for what you have done!"

  "Mon Dieu!" gasped Jean when she had gone. "What if Iowaka had beenhere then?"