CHAPTER II
THE COMING OF NO-LUCK DRENNEN
All sorts and conditions of men come to the North Woods; some becausethey want to, some because they have to. Some because they are drawnby the fine lure of adventure and the urge of the restless spirit, somebecause they are driven by that bloodhound which is the law. Alltypes, all classes. And yet now, standing jauntily upon PereMarquette's threshold, was a type of which as yet the Settlement hadhad no knowledge.
He was young and wore his black mustaches with all of the fierceness ofyouth. His boots were at once the finest and the smallest whichMacLeod's had ever seen upon a man's feet. He wore gloves, and when indue time the hands came out of the gloves, they were little like awoman's and white and soft. He was a handsome young devil-of-a-fellowwith all of the soft, graceful beauty of the far southland. His mouth,smiling now, was red lipped, his teeth a glistening white. Eyes verybig, very black, very soft, very tender, smiling too. From the crownof his wide black hat to the tall heels of his dainty boots he was sucha dandy as demanded more than a casual glance.
"_Amigos_," he cried, the door closed now, his back to it, his wide hatdescribing a slow, graceful arc as he raised it gallantly from hisblack hair, "I have the thirst of a lost soul. Who will drink with me?"
He whipped the glove from his right hand, caught his hat under his armand brought from his pocket a shining gold piece which he tossed to oneof Pere Marquette's counters. A few of the men laughed, seeing hismistake, while others murmured, "Dago," a little disgustedly andreturned their attention to their drink, gaming or talk. PereMarquette came forward briskly.
"M'sieu," he said graciously, offering his hand, "your presence honoursMamma Jeanne an' me. We are to-night fifty year marry . . . you shallput your money in your pocket, m'sieu. One does not pay to drink atthe place of Pere Marquette to-night."
The young fellow looked at him in surprise, then turned wondering eyesabout him, even peering through the open door into the further rooms asthough asking himself what manner of place was this where men drank anddid not pay. Then he laughed softly.
"Your pardon, senor," he said politely, taking the old man's profferedhand and bending over it gracefully. "Outside I was athirst like a manin hell . . ."
A queer change came over his smiling face as his eyes, journeyingbeyond the thin, black coated figure of Pere Marquette, rested upon asecluded corner of the room where in the nook by the fireplace a quietgame of cards was in progress.
"Senorita! Senorita!" he cried softly, pushing by Pere Marquette andcoming forward swiftly. "_Dispensame_! Forgive me, senorita!"
It was Ernestine, the one woman remaining in the room, ErnestineDumont, who had come from over the ridge with big Kootanie George, herlatest lover. She was sitting close to Kootanie's side now, whisperingoccasionally in his ear as a hand was dealt him, for the most partcontentedly sipping at her little glass of sweet wine as she sat backand watched. She, with the others, had turned toward the entrant, hereyes remaining upon him until now. She smiled, no doubt pleased at hisnotice, while Kootanie George, wide-shouldered, mighty limbed, thebiggest man within a hundred miles of the Settlement, glared at him infrowning wonder.
"Forgive you?" laughed Ernestine, after a quick glance at George uponwhose shoulder she laid her hand lightly. "What for?"
"I did not know that a lady was here," explained the young felloweagerly. He was almost standing over her, his eyes for her alone as heturned up his mustaches more fiercely yet and his eyes grew the moretender. "I speak roughly and not guarding my tongue which shouldsuffer and not taste wine for a week, senorita. I am ashamed."
Ernestine blushed; again several men had laughed. He had said "hell"and had apologised to her . . .
"We'll let it go this time," she laughed a trifle awkwardly. "And asfor not drinking anything. . . . Look out or you'll spill what PapaMarquette is bringing you now."
"We are all frien's, m'sieu," said Papa Marquette courteously, offeringa brimming glass. "You, too. And it is wrong that one should thirstto-night."
The other took the glass with another of his graceful bows.
"May you have other fifty years of happiness with your senora," he saidwarmly. "Your health and her health, senor." The glass, at his lips,halted and came away for a moment while he thought to introducehimself. "I am Ramon Garcia."
He said it as one might have said, "I am the King of Spain." Simplyenough but with a proud simplicity. Then he put back his head anddrank.
After that Ramon Garcia needed no coaxing to remain. He fitted intothe throng as he seemed to do all things, gracefully. Since he couldnot spend his money to-night for wine and since spend it he must heventured it pleasantly at the table where the dice rolled. Betweenthrows he made many slender cigarettes of fine tobacco and thin whitepapers; winning, he forgot to note how much in turning his eyes withtender admiration upon Ernestine Dumont, whose glance more than oncemet his; losing, he hummed languid snatches of Mexican love songs in aremarkably pure tenor voice.
Before he had been with them an hour it was evident to many, not lastof all to big Kootanie George, that the "Mex" was flirting openly withthe yellow haired Ernestine. It was equally evident that his noticedid not embarrass her as his apology had done. She curved her red lipsat him when George was not looking, she glanced down as demure as abashful school girl when her big lover was watching her. George beganto lose at his cards and when he swore at his luck did not apologise.
At last Ramon Garcia wearied of the dice. He pocketed his winnings andpushed back his chair. A guitar in its case in a corner of the roomhad caught his roving eye. Standing with his back to the wall, leaningindolently, he sent his white fingers wandering across the strings andhis eyes drifting bade to find those of Ernestine Dumont. Then throughthe discordance of other voices, of clicking chips, rustling cards,dice snapped down upon the hard table tops, chink of glass and bottleneck, the voice of Ramon Garcia, liberated softly, filled the room withits richness as a room is filled with the perfume of flowers. Suchmusic as he made did not often come into the North Woods, and men . . .and one woman . . . listened.
He sang it in the Spanish, a tongue which no other man here understood.Yet they must all guess the meaning of the words. They were lovewords, tenderly lilted. And they were being sung to Ernestine Dumont.There was a little smile upon young Ramon's lips, a hint of gaylaughter in his voice and in his soft eyes a deal of love making.Kootanie George scowled, Ernestine twirled her glass in her fingers,one or two men laughed.
When he had done Ramon Garcia swept his fingers across the strings in asort of mournful regret. Then, when there was a sudden clapping ofhands, he bowed, smiled and sang again, this time putting the words ofhis little song, the same song, into English:
"The perfume of roses, of little red roses; (Thou art a rose, oh, so sweet, _corazon_!) The laugh of the water who falls in the fountain; (Thou art the fountain of love, _corazon_!) The brightness of stars, of little stars golden; (_Estrella de mi vida_! My little life star!) The shine of the moon through the magnolia tree; I am so sad till thou come, _mi amor_! _Dios_! It is sweet to be young and to love! More sweet than wine . . . to be young and to love!"
In the clapping of hands which broke out when he had done Ernestine'swas to be heard above Kootanie George's grunt of disgust.
"No man talk, that," he snorted, careless of who heard. "Dam' slush."
"Your deal, Koot," laughed Blunt Rand, the American trapper from theheadwaters of the Little MacLeod. "Don't let the Mexican gent spoilyour play that-away. Deal 'em up, why don't you?"
Kootanie George glared at Rand and gathered in the cards. Heunderstood as did Ernestine and the others at the table the gibe whichlay under Rand's words. The American's fancies, too, had run towardErnestine Dumont not so long ago, and she had not deigned to takenotice of him after the coming of Kootanie.
"Mexican gent, huh?" said George slowly. "If you mean Greaser whydon't you say Greaser?"<
br />
Ramon Garcia had again approached the table. He stopped suddenly asGeorge's snarl came to him, and his white teeth showed for a quickflash under his lifted lip. Then, his eyes smiling darkly, he came onagain, bending intimately over Ernestine's chair.
"They are dancing over there," he said softly. "Will you dance withme, senorita?"
George merely looked at them sidewise. Ernestine glanced up sharplyand for a moment indecision stood easily readable in her eyes. Thenshe shook her head.
"Not now," she said quietly. "Maybe after a while. I don't know.Anyway not now."
"_Gracias_, senorita." He thanked her quite as though she had takenhis proffered arm. And turning away he went back to the game of diceand his wine glass. Kootanie laughed.
"Better look out for him, Koot," grinned Blunt Rand. "Them kind carrycold steel sharp on both edges. They get it between your shoulderblades and then twist it. It's awful uncomfortable."
Rand had drunk his share of toasts to the eternal joy of the Marquettesand the drinking had given to his tongue a wee bit of recklessness, tohis heart a little venom. Out of a clear sky, his words fallingcrisply through the little silence, he demanded of no one in particularand in all seeming innocence:
"What's happened to No-luck Drennen? I ain't seen him here of late."
Kootanie George turned his head slowly and stared at him. Rand wasfingering his cards, his eyes hastily busied with their corners.George turned from him to Ernestine. She bit her lips and a spurt ofred leaped up into her cheeks. Her eyes met his a moment, steely andhard. Then they went to Blunt Rand, as bright and hateful as twindaggers.
The man upon Rand's right started to laugh. He altered his mind asKootanie George's eyes turned slowly upon him and changed the laugh toa cough behind his hand. Nobody offered to answer the question; it wasaccepted as one of those utterances put into the form of aninterrogation merely for rhetorical reasons and requiring no reply.For it was common talk through the camps that No-luck Drennen had donethe impossible and gotten blood from a turnip; in other words that hehad drawn love out of the heart of Ernestine Dumont. And it was knownthat the miracle had been a twin wonder in that Drennen had refused tosee and when he had at last seen had refused to accept. Ernestine'slove had been like Ernestine herself, reckless. And, yes, Drennen hadlaughed at her. He had told her brutally that he had no more use for awoman in his life than he had for a cat. Certainly not for a womanlike her. His words had been given after Drennen's fashion; like aslap in the face. All this had been less than a year ago.
Elated at the success with which his words had met, Blunt Rand laughed.Again Kootanie George looked at him steadily.
"What are you lookin' for Drennen for?" he asked quietly.
"Oh, nothin'," rejoined the other lightly. "Only when I come throughLittle Smoky the other day an ol' flame of his asked about him. TheFire Bird they call her. Know her?"
Ernestine Dumont's face grew a shade redder in its mortification evenwhile she knew that the man was lying to tease her. Then she sat backwith a little gasp and even slow moving Kootanie George turned quicklyas a heavy voice called from the door:
"You're a liar, Blunt Rand."
It was No-luck Drennen just come in and standing now, his hat far backupon his head, his hands upon his hips, staring across the room atBlunt Rand.
Wolf Breed Page 2
