by Rex Beach
II
News of the John Daniels strike reached Ophir in July, when a ragged,unkempt man arrived in a poling-boat. He was one of the party that hadcamped west of McGill, and he ate a raw potato with the ravenousappetite of an animal while waiting for his first meal at the Miner'sRest. Between mouthfuls he gave the word that set the town ablaze.
When he had bought a ton of grub at the A. C. store and weighed outpayment in bright pumpkin-seed gold he went to Hopper's saloon andhanded the proprietor a folded paper.
Hopper read it uncomprehendingly.
"This is a location notice, recorded in my name," the latter said,turning the document uncomprehendingly as if to see if it contained amessage on the reverse side.
The stranger nodded. "Number Four Above, on John Daniels Creek. Johnstaked for you, and told me to tell you to come. We've struck it rich."
Hopper's hand shook; he stared at the speaker in bewilderment. "JohnDaniels? I don't seem to remember him."
"He's a big slab-sided man with a deep voice and eyes like ice."
The listener started. "Is he--skookum?"
"Stronger 'n any two men--"
"God! It's--McGill!"
"I thought so, but I never saw him only once--that was in Circle. He'schanged now--got a beard. He said you done him a favor once. You're hisfriend, ain't you?"
"I am."
"What's the trouble with him?" There was a pause. "You can tell me. Heput me and my five pardners in on his strike. I'm taking grub to him andthe others."
"Oh, it was about a woman, of course. It always is. Everybody here knowsthe story. She was no good, except to look at. Feller named Barclaybrought her into the country, but Dan didn't know it, so he up andmarries her. She thought he had money, and when she found he was brokelike the rest of us she and Barclay began cuttin' up again. It wasrotten. I came near putting Barclay away, but figgered Dan wouldn't likenobody to do his work, so I told him. He went out to clean the slate,but found his wife was crazy about the skunk and always had been, so hesent 'em away together. He done it for her sake, but he warned 'em tostay off his trail, because no camp was big enough to hold all three of'em. It was blizzardy, and what did the blame' fools do but get caughtten miles below here. Cochrane brought 'em back that night on his sled.McGill was here, right where you're standing, when they were lugged in.When he seen Barclay he went after him again, figgerin', I suppose, thatGod was disgusted with his proposition and had sent the feller back tobe finished."
"Good!" said the stranger. "And he got him, eh?"
"No! Barclay wasn't more 'n half dead, and the woman fell to beggin' forhis life again. She appealed to all of us. McGill must have loved hermore 'n we give him credit for, because when he saw that neither one of'em was able to leave, he left instead. He walked right out of that doorinto the wickedest storm we had that season, and we never seen himagain. Everybody thought he froze or the wolves got him. That was a yearago last winter."
"Barclay wasn't more 'n half dead, and the woman fell tobeggin' for his life again."]
"What become of the woman?"
"Oh, her and Barclay left for Dawson on the first boat. I guess they sawwe didn't enjoy 'em here."
"And Barclay? Didn't nobody offer to bump him off?" The ragged strangerwas incredulous.
"No, we just left him and the woman alone. Most of us was kind of sorryfor her."
"Sorry? Why?"
"Well--" Hopper hesitated. "I don't think she exactly understood whatshe was doin'. You know the first winter up here is hard on tenderfeet,especially women. Most of 'em act mighty queer before they ca'm down.She'd have come to herself if McGill had given her time."
"Hm-m! It's too late now." Both men nodded. "When 'll you leave for JohnDaniels Creek?"
"When? _Now!_ I've got enough of this camp, and I'll have thesebar-fixtures packed in two hours."
* * * * *
McGill--or John Daniels, as he chose to call himself--saw his dream cometrue. The first stampeders came in August; gaunt fellows worn bysleepless days and nights during which they had fought the swift watersand the fear of pursuit. They were followed by a tiny river boat, thenan A. C. packet, loaded heavy and carrying Hopper with his bar-fixturesand fifteen barrels of whisky. She had been aground a hundred times andhad passed other stranded craft laden with men who cursed her as shegained the lead. A city of tents sprang up on the flats; it changed toone of cabins when the first snow flew. John Daniels Creek was overrun,at nights its tortuous course was lit by glowing fires, smoke hung aboveit constantly, it became pitted with prospect holes. Trails were brokento adjoining creeks where similar scenes were enacted. But of all whocame, few saw, and almost none spoke to, John Daniels himself, for henever went to town and there was no welcome at his cabin. Of course hisname was on every tongue, but he toiled underground by day and hidhimself by night. Sometimes Hopper, on his way to or from Number FourAbove, would stop over and spend an evening with him, but not often.
Meanwhile great ash-gray pay dumps grew upon Discovery, and there wererumors of a fabulous bed-rock, inlaid with gold, but Daniels did all hisown sampling, so there was no way of verifying the reports. When thespring sluicing was finished it was said that he had cleaned up half amillion.
Daniels himself, huge, gaunt, gray-bearded, and silent, saw his goldloaded aboard the first steamer and accompanied it to the"outside"--this being his first trip to the States in ten years.
During his absence the new camp of Arcadia grew, for its fame hadspread. It changed from a formless cluster of log shacks to a small cityof sawed lumber and paint. One season had made the wilderness into afrontier town, the next made of it a metropolis. With the current thatflowed thither from the distant camps came the scum of the northcountry. Following the first tide of venturesome, strong-limbed men camethe weaklings, the maimed and crooked of body and soul, the parasitesand idlers. Among these there were women of the customary kind and anumber of men who lived upon their earnings. Barclay was one of them.
Arcadia was in the fullest riot of its growth when John Danielsreturned, late in the autumn. He had expected to find a change, but hewas unprepared for the startling transformation that greeted his eyes.It stirred him deeply, for the town was his, he had made it, his handshad given it life. He wondered if this could be his desolatecamping-place of two seasons before. Where was the melancholy forest?the brooding silence? As he walked up the front street past the paintedstores the vigorous life and optimism of the place electrified him; heheard laughter and music, the tinkle of pianos from the dance-halls, thesounds of revelry. The air was filled with clamor, it was pungent withsmoke and with the manifold odors of a city. Everywhere was activity andhaste.
Of course the news of his return spread swiftly, for he was a personage,but before the curious could mark him he had left for the creek thatbore his name, where a hundred men were preparing to drift out Discoverypay-streak under his supervision. He remained there a month, duringwhich the first gray snows turned white and brought that peculiarloneliness, that depression of spirit which marks the beginning ofwinter.
Then one day he decided to go to town. The impulse surprised him, for hehad meant to shun the place, as always, but his summer in the worldoutside had worked a change and something within him hungered forcompanionship, the glare of lights, the sight of animated faces. Then,too, he was curious to examine this town of his at closer range.
It was worth seeing, he decided proudly, during his inspection; it was asplendid, healthy camp. He walked the front street, then prowled throughthe regions behind. There were women in this part of Arcadia, and thesehe regarded distrustfully, although he was more than once arrested by aglimpse of some cozy home, and stood staring until warned by the frownsof indignant housewives that his presence was suspicious. He rememberedanother cabin like these--his own. He had never quite grown accustomedto its white curtains and china dishes and similar delights, any morethan he had grown accustomed to the presence of that wonderful,mysterious creature who
had filled the place with light. It was all partof another life, a bewildering dream too agreeable to last.
In the course of his wanderings, however, he came into a differentdistrict, one which offended him sorely. Immediately behind the saloonshe found a considerable cluster of meaner shacks which were inhabited bywomen and yet which were not homes. These gaudily curtained houseshuddled close together, as if for moral support or as if avoidingcontact with their surroundings; they crouched in the shelter of thegilded dance-halls, seeking a sort of protection in one another'sdisreputable company. From some of the windows haggard faces smiled atDaniels, and he heard sounds of a merrymaking that were particularlyoffensive at this hour. Until this moment he had regarded Arcadia withfatherly pride, and had not dreamed it was wicked, hence this discoveryenraged him. He was not a sensitive man, having trod the frontier wherevice is naked, but something about the rotten core of this new communitysickened him. It reminded him of a child diseased.
And then, as if to point the comparison, he saw a child, a tiny, fat,round-faced person leading a puppy by a string.
Now, women were strange to John Daniels, since there had been but one inhis life, and he had possessed her only briefly, but children weremysterious, incomprehensible creatures; phenomena which excited at oncehis awe and his amazement. They made him ill at ease; he had nevertouched one, with the possible exception of an Indian papoose, now andthen, therefore his present meeting constituted an experience--almost anadventure. It was a white child, too, and it gazed at him with thedisconcerting calmness of a full-grown person. Daniels was bothembarrassed and shocked at its presence in this locality. He hesitated,then summoned his courage and said, timidly:
"Say, kid, ain't you lost?"
The child continued to stare at him in unaffected wonder, leaving himpainfully conscious of his absurd size and forbidding appearance. Hefeared that once it had overcome its first amazement it would begin tocry and thus cover him with ignominy. But, happily for him, the puppyexperienced none of its owner's doubts and uncertainties; it flattenedits round stomach, thumped its soft paws upon the sidewalk, thenapproached the giant in a delirious series of wobbly leaps, wiggling aneloquent, if awkward, declaration of friendship.
"Fine dog-team you're driving, sonny!" Daniels smiled, congratulatinghimself upon an admirable display of wit, only to realize with a startthat he had made a mistake. Some sixth sense informed him that this wasnot a boy. It was a humiliating error.
"Say, missie, you--you don't belong here. You're plumb off your trail.That's a cinch!" He cast a worried glance over his shoulder and saw ahideous blanched face smile at him between a pair of red curtains. Heglared back at the woman, and his cheeks grew hot. Meanwhile the littlegirl continued her unwinking examination.
She wore a ridiculous fur parka, scarcely larger than Daniels's cap, andtiny mukluks that made her legs look shorter and fatter than they were.Her mittens were the littlest things he had ever seen and he wasregarding them wonderingly when she amazed him by approaching and layingone in his hand.
Now, this frank and full declaration of friendship reduced Daniels to ahelpless condition; he had never been more troubled in his life. He wasvaguely frightened, and yet he thrilled in an unaccountable manner atthe touch. He was half minded to withdraw his hand from his glove andretreat, leaving it in her possession, but thought again of these evilsurroundings, and of the responsibility that had devolved upon him withher surrender. In the midst of his dumbness the young lady burst into abubbling and intimate recital of her adventures, which doubtless wouldhave been perfectly intelligible to her mother, but which left thediscoverer of John Daniels Creek floundering for a translation.
He concealed his disgraceful ignorance by an easy assumption ofunderstanding. He nodded, he winked, he grinned. He eyed theinfinitesimal hand that lay in his, then gingerly removed his own glovethe better to safeguard its treasure, whereupon the small mittenpromptly closed over one of his big knuckled fingers. Daniels gasped andheld his digit as rigid as a pick-handle. Escape was no longer possible.
Having finished her recital the tot burst into a funny gurgle whichplainly established a deep and undying intimacy between them, then, likeall maidens who have pledged their affections, she made plain herreadiness to accompany her protector to the end of the world.
But the puppy held back and delayed progress as effectively as a ship'sanchor, so, fearing to exert too great a strain upon his extendedfinger, Daniels gave the animal bodily into her embrace. One short armencircled the dog's neck, whereupon, as if by habit, it limply resigneditself to misery. The three went slowly out of that sin-ridden place,the man dazed and delighted, the child loquacious and trustful, thepuppy with lolling tongue and legs protruding stiffly.
Daniels had mastered many dialects in his time, from Chinook to PidginEnglish, but to save himself he could make nothing out of this language.Some words were plain, but they were lost in a bubbling flow of strange,moist, lisping articulations that left the general meaning obscure.
She answered all his questions eagerly, fully, and he acknowledged:
"She knows what she's sayin', all right, but I'm as rattled as atenderfoot."
Nevertheless he derived a preposterous delight from this experience,until he realized that they were wandering aimlessly. Then thoughts of apossible encounter with a distracted parent filled him with such dismaythat he appealed to the first woman he met.
"Lady! If you know where this baby lives--"
"Certainly I know."
"Then take her home. Her mother'll think I'm a kidnapper." Danielsperspired at the thought.
The woman laughingly accepted the responsibility of a full explanation,but as she lifted the child it turned up its face to Daniels, quite as amatter of course. The rosebud lips awaited him, yet he did notunderstand. He inquired, blankly:
"_Now_ what does she want?"
"A kiss. Don't you, dearie?"
"God'lmighty!" breathed the man. Then he lowered his bearded face.
He was trembling when the strangers had gone; he felt those moist babylips against his and the sensation almost overcame him. He didn't likethe woman's appearance, but she seemed tender-hearted and--there was nobetter way of insuring the safety of his little charge than to give herover.
But that kiss! It remained upon his lips more fragrant, more holy thananything he had ever conceived. It left him conscious of his ownuncleanliness and shortcomings.
Still in a daze, he looked down at his index finger, which remainedrigid; it was blue with the cold, but he felt nothing except the claspof a tiny woolen mitt.
"_Well!_" he exploded. "I--don't _seem_ to be dreaming. She likedme--she must of--or she wouldn't of kissed me. She sure did, and I--God!I'd trade Discovery for another one."
He felt no further interest in Arcadia; he thought only of the child andthe amazing adventure that had come to him; he could think of nothingelse during the afternoon. More than once he touched his lips timidlywith his tongue and bared his hand to stare at his big finger.
When he had dined that evening he began a leisurely round of the saloonsand gambling-halls, pausing in each to invite every one to drink, asbefitted a man of wealth. He played, more or less, without knowingwhether he won or lost, for his thoughts were directed in other andstranger channels.
The Elite was the most pretentious place of amusement in Arcadia and itwas running full blast when he strolled in, late that night. The showwas over in the theater, but a dance was going on. Beyond the people atthe gambling-tables he saw swiftly moving figures and heard the caller'sshouts through the rhythmic beat of the orchestra.
He looked on with some interest until he could engage the attention of abartender, then said:
"Call everybody up for a drink."
When the fellow eyed him distrustfully he explained:
"I'm John Daniels."
He was amused at the instant, almost ludicrous change of expression, andat the alacrity with which the crowd responded to his invitation. Theystampeded, the gam
es were deserted, the "sleepers" roused themselves,even the dancers came trooping forth with his name upon their lips. Themusic ended discordantly and the musicians followed them. The long barwas lined six deep by people who elbowed one another for a glimpse ofthe famous John Daniels. Those who succeeded beheld a huge,grim-featured man, bearded to the cheek-bones, who seemed deaf to theirremarks and heedless of their stares. His hair was long and gray, hiseyes were small and bright and hard; he looked like a Mormon elder.
It took time to serve such an assemblage, and during the delay Danielsstood motionless, vaguely resenting this curiosity. When the bartendersaid "All set!" he raised his glass and exclaimed, "Drink hearty!"
As the glass left his lips his eyes ran down the bar and along the bankof faces, clear to the end, where the dance-hall girls had squeezedthemselves in. There they rested, and widened.
His hand fell heavily, crushing the glass beneath it, for facing him,clinging to the rail as if about to fall, stood his wife. Their eyes metfairly. Daniels saw in hers the first flaming light of recognition, thenthat expression of deathly terror that he remembered; he felt the floorsinking, saw the near-by figures whirling, heard the clamor die.
After his first start not a muscle of his face moved, but his eyes beganslowly to search through the crowd as if for some one, and, seeing that,she understood. With a hand to her throat she groped her way blindly outof the crush, then made for the rear, but her knees forsook her and shepaused, leaning against the wall. It never occurred to her that shemight escape.
She knew without looking when he came toward her. He spoke in anemotionless tone, saying, "Come!" and she followed, halfswooning--followed him up the stairs to the curtained boxes that ranround the gallery.
When they were alone, she faced him, managing to utter: "So! _You_--areJohn Daniels! They said you were dead."
She expected some violence--death, perhaps, but he only looked at hersilently with an expression she could not read. She felt she mustscream. She swayed, her eyes were filmed with terror.
"Well! Why don't you do it, McGill? Why don't you--?" she cried,hysterically.
"Where is Barclay?" he inquired.
"He's here--somewhere. We came three weeks ago--We--I didn't know--"
He saw that she was not the woman he had known: she was frail, broken;her fluttering hands were thin and bloodless; she had no spirit.
"So! He's got you working, eh? You're one of these--_rustlers_!"
"I had to do something. All I know is stage work."
"This ain't stage work!"
She nodded wearily. "He made me go the--limit."
"_Made_ you! Did you get a divorce?"
"N-no!"
Daniels cursed so harshly that she flinched, although she had long sincegrown accustomed to profanity. Then he turned away, but, reading murderin his face, she seized him with fingers that were like claws.
"Wait! Don't do that!"
"You love him, don't you?"
"No, no! But--he's bad now, and--and probably drunk. He'll kill you,McGill. He's bad, I tell you--tough--don't you understand? He's bad, andhe's made me bad, too, that's why I'm here. He's not worth it, McGill;neither am I!"
"You can't stay in Arcadia, neither of you. I got out of Ophir and letyou alone, but this is my town; I can't leave it."
"We'll go," she cried, wringing her hands; "anyhow, I'll go, if you'llhelp me. But I'll need help--Oh, God! Yes, I'll need help! You don'tknow--You and he can settle things afterward."
"You want to leave him?"
"I've tried to break away, I've been trying ever since that first day inOphir, but he won't let me. I kept trying--until I learned better; nowI'm afraid. He's broken me, Dan, but you'll help me to leave him, won'tyou?"
After a time the husband answered, more to himself than to her: "I guessI'm even with _you_, anyhow. You've gone to hell, hand in hand with him.I won't interfere--not that way. I s'pose he beats you?"
She nodded, and saw his bearded face twitch. "Yes, and he'll make melike these other women--you understand? I've fought until I'm tired,worn out. I'm in a trap, McGill, and--I'm afraid--afraid for the littlesoul I have left."
"You sprung the trap," he told her, bitterly.
But his wife had seen a way to freedom and clutched at it with desperatepersistence.
"Listen! I want to talk to you. Come with me for a minute."
"Come? Why?"
"Never mind. Oh, it's all right. You owe me something, for I still haveyour name. Do this for me, please! It's only a step."
He yielded to her imploring eyes and followed grudgingly down the backstairs and into the night, wondering the while at his own weakness. Sheled the way, bareheaded, heedless of the cold. They were in thatill-favored district he had penetrated earlier in the day, but if it hadbeen offensive then it was doubly so now, with its muffled sounds ofdebauchery and wickedness. She paused finally, fumbling at the door ofone miserable structure, whereupon he growled:
"You live here? You're worse than--"
"'Sh-h!" She laid a finger on her lips as she let him in and lit a lamp,then she beckoned him toward the single rear room, shading the lightwith one hand and inviting him silently to peer over her shoulder.
The surprise of what he saw struck McGill dumb, for there in a crib laythe tiny lass who had befriended him that afternoon. Her lips werepouting sweetly, her face was flushed with dreams, one plump little armwas outside the covers, and just below the doubled fist McGill saw thedeep dimpled bracelet of babyhood. Her presence made of these squalidsurroundings a place of purity; the room became suddenly a shrine.
"The son-of-a-gun!" said McGill, inanely, then his face darkened oncemore. "I know her," he announced, grimly. "What are _you_ doing withthat kid--in this hell-hole?"
From the alleyways near by came a burst of ribaldry, but the woman'sface was shining when she answered:
"Why, she's mine--my baby. We have no other home."
He did not--could not--speak, so she said, simply:
"Now you see why I must leave Barclay, and--all this."
"_Your_ baby!" McGill's eyes dropped to the index finger of his righthand, then he touched his lips curiously.
"Barclay won't let me run straight. I've always wanted to, and now Imust, for the baby's sake." When this brought no response she continued,with growing intensity, but in a lowered tone. "She'll begin tounderstand things before long. She'll hear about him--and me. Then what?She'll think for herself, and she'll never forget a thing like that,never. How can she grow up to be good if she learns the truth? Itwouldn't let her. Nobody could stay good around Barclay. Even Icouldn't, and I was a woman when I met him. I'm decent, inside, McGill.Honestly I am, and I've been sorry every day since you left. Oh, I'vepaid for what I did! And I'll pay more, if I have to, but she mustn't bepart of the price. No! You've got to help me. Don't you see?"
She mistook his gesture of bewilderment for one of refusal, then hurriedto one final, frenzied appeal, although at a fearful cost to herself. Itwas this which had come to her in the dance-hall; it was this that shehad led up to without allowing herself time in which to weaken.
"Listen! She shouldn't stay with me, even if I get away; it wouldn't begood for her; besides, Barclay would find us some time; or, if hedidn't, I'm too sick to last much longer. Then she'd be alone. You'rerich, McGill. You're John Daniels. You'll have to take her--not for mysake, understand, but--"
"_I?_" The man started. "I take Barclay's baby? Great God!"
There was a moment of silence during which the wife strove to steadyherself, then she said:
"She's not his--she's yours--ours."
McGill uttered a great cry. It issued from the depths of his being andracked him dreadfully. He swung ponderously toward the rear room, thenfell to trembling so that he could not proceed. He stared at the woman,lifted his hands, then dropped them; his lips shook. A fretful, sleepycomplaint issued from the chamber, at which the mother raised a warningfinger, and the necessity for silence calmed him more quickly thanan
ything else could have done.
"_My--baby!_" he whispered, while he felt something melt within him andwas filled with such an aching joy that he sobbed with the agony of it.
His wife's punishment overflowed when he breathed, fiercely:
"Then give her to me. You can't keep her. You can't touch her. You ain'tfit."
She bowed her head in assent, although his torture was nothing ascompared with hers.
"You'll help me get away from Barclay, won't you?" she asked, supportingherself unsteadily.
"Barclay! I forgot him! He's the one that did all this, ain't he? Hebrought you to--this; and my baby, too. He made her live among womenlike these. He raised her in slime--" The speaker's face became slowly,frightfully distorted.
His wife went swiftly to him; she struggled to fend him away from thedoor, but he moved irresistibly. They wrestled breathlessly so as not toawaken the child, while she begged him in the baby's name not to go, notto bring blood upon her; but he plucked her arms from around him andwent out, closing the door softly.
When he had gone Mrs. McGill stood motionless, her eyes closed, herpalms pressed over her ears as if to shut out a sound she dreaded.
Barclay was dealing "bank" in one of the saloons when McGill entered andcame toward him down the full length of the room. They recognized eachother as their eyes met, and the former sat back stiffly in his chair,feeling that the dead had risen. What he saw written in the face of thebearded man drove the blood from his cheeks, for it was something he haddreaded in his dreams. He knew himself to be cornered, and fear set hisnerves to jumping so uncontrollably that when he snatched the Colt'sfrom its drawer and fired blindly, he missed. The place was crowded, andit broke into a frightful confusion at the first shot.
None of those present told the same tale of what immediately followed,but the stories agreed in this, that John Daniels neither hesitated norquickened his approach, although Barclay emptied his gun so swiftly thatthe echoes blended, then snapped it on a spent cartridge as the twoclinched. Curious ones later searched out the bullet-marks in wall andceiling which showed beyond doubt the nervous panic under which thegambler had gone to pieces, and so long as the building stood theyremained objects of great interest.
Now McGill--or Daniels, as he was known to the onlookers--never wentarmed, having yet to feel the need of other weapons than his hands. Hetore the gun from his victim's grasp, then mauled him with it sofearfully that men shouted at him and hid their faces. Meanwhile he wasspeaking, growling something into Barclay's ears. No one understood whatit was he said until the confusion died and they heard these words:
"--And you'll go with my brand on you where everybody 'll read it andknow you're a rat."
Next he did something that a great many had heard of but few, even ofthe old-timers, had witnessed. He gun-branded his enemy. Barclay waslittle more than a pulp by this time; he lay face up across thefaro-table with McGill's fingers at his throat. They thought the olderman was about to brain him, but instead he turned the revolver in hishand and drew the thin, sharp-edged sight across Barclay's forehead fromtemple to temple, then from forelock to bridge of nose. A stream ofblood followed as the sight ripped through to the skull like a dullscalpel, leaving a ragged disfiguring cross above the gambler's eyes; itscarred the bone; it formed a hideous mutilation that would last as longas the fellow lived, and constitute a brand of infamy to single him outfrom ten thousand, telling the story of his dishonor.
When he had finished, McGill raised the wretch bodily and flung him halfacross the room as if he were unclean, then, without a glance to rightor left, he went forth as he had come.
His wife was waiting with her ears covered, but she saw the blood on hishands when she opened her eyes, and cried out.
"It's his," he told her, roughly. "I don't think I killed him. I triednot to, for her sake." He inclined his head toward the inner door. "Butit was hard to hold in, after all this time. He'll never trouble youagain."
"When do you--mean to take the baby?" she whispered.
"Now--She--"
"No, no! Not yet. Let her stay here a little while--till I'm strongenough to let her go. Just a little while, McGill. You're a good man.Don't you understand?" She was palsied, incoherent with dread; in hereyes was a look of death.
But he held out his empty arms, crying, hoarsely, "Let me have mykiddie!"
So she went in and gathered up the sleeping babe.
It may have been the father's heart-beats that awakened the little onewhen she lay against his breast; at any rate the blue eyes opened andstared up at him gravely. Astonishment, alarm gave way to recognition;she smiled drowsily and her lids closed again, then a tiny hand curledabout one of McGill's fingers.
His face was wet when he raised it to the stricken woman and said,gently, "We'll go now, if you're ready, Alice."
"What do you--?" She stared at him wildly. "You don't want _me_, McGill;not after all I've done, all I--am?"
"I've always wanted you," he told her, simply. "You'll have to come, for_she_ needs you." Holding the baby close with one arm, he extended theother to his wife, but she drew back, choking.
"Not yet!" she managed to say through her tears. "Not until you know I'mnot all bad--only weak."
He took her hand and together they went out, walking slowly so as not toawaken the child.
THE END
Books by REX BEACH
THE CRIMSON GARDENIA AND OTHER TALES OF ADVENTURE.HEART OF THE SUNSET.THE AUCTION BLOCK.THE IRON TRAIL.THE NET.THE NE'ER-DO-WELL.THE SPOILERS.THE BARRIER.THE SILVER HORDE.GOING SOME.