CHAPTER XII
MERE BRUTE . . . OR JUST PLAIN MAN?
Ygerne, sitting very still, watched Drennen until he had passed arounda bend in the river and was lost to her sight behind a clump ofwillows. His impassioned outburst had been too frenzied not to havemoved her powerfully. But the expression in the eyes which followedhim was too complex to give any key to the one emotion standing abovethe others in her breast. When she could see him no longer she roseand followed slowly.
Because the course of the Little MacLeod is full of twists and kinks,spine of ridge and depression of ravine thrusting the stream aside orwelcoming it closer, she had no further view of him until they wereboth near the Settlement, Drennen himself already abreast of the firstbuilding at this end of the camp, his own dugout. She thought that hewas going to stop at his cabin; then she saw that he had passed on.She had suspected that the man was delirious with the fever upon him;that his brain had reeled from the impact of the blows showered upon itand had staggered from its throne. Now the suspicion came to her thatDrennen had come to her in his cups; that the thing which had loosenedhis tongue and distorted his vision was nothing more nor less thanwhiskey.
He was lurching as he walked, but bearing on swiftly. She had not beenmistaken when she had thought that he had turned in toward his cabin.But in this his action had been involuntary. He had reeled, had pausedas he caught and steadied himself, had gone on drunkenly.
There were a score of men up and down the short street. Already someof them had marked his coming. Ygerne turned hurriedly to the left,put the line of houses between her and the street, passing back doorsquickly on her way to Pere Marquette's.
Only once did Drennen stop. He ran his hand across his eyes as thoughto brush away some filmy fogginess of vision. There was impatience inthe gesture. With a little grunt of satisfaction he went on. He hadseen both Lemarc and Sefton talking with other men half way up thestreet.
As he passed Joe's he was lurching more and more, his walk grownmarkedly unsteady. His eyes were flaming and growing red; his face wassplotched with colour, hot, angry colour; he was muttering to himself,little broken, feverish, illogical outpourings of the seething passionwithin him. He passed three men who were lounging and smoking. He didnot turn his eyes toward them. They were the three big mining men,Madden and Hasbrook and Sothern. They saw him, their eyes followinghim quickly, each man with his own personal interest.
"Drunk, eh?" laughed Charlie Madden. "Suppose we draw straws to seewho takes him in tow!"
Hasbrook's sharp featured face grew shrewd in speculation, his tongueclicking nervously. Marshall Sothern's shaggy brows lowered a bit;Madden and Hasbrook had looked from Drennen to each other and to him;he alone kept his eyes hard upon the man making his way with unsteadystubbornness up the street.
When a man stood in his way Drennen thrust out his arm, pushing himaside. His eyes grew ever the more terrible with the madness of therage upon him, bloodshot and menacing. They lost Lemarc and Sefton,wandered uncertainly across the blurr of faces, glowered triumphantlyas again they found the men he sought.
He drew up with a little jerk, not ten steps from the two men who asusual were standing close together. Such had been the strangeimpressiveness of his approach that now he was greeted by a deepsilence. The only sound was his own hard breathing, then his wordswhen he burst out violently.
As though his tongue were a poisoned whip he lashed them with it.Burning denunciation exploding within his heated brain was flung off inwords to bite like spraying vitriol. His voice rose higher, shriller,grown more and more discordant. He cursed them until the blood raninto Lemarc's cheeks and seeped out of Sefton's. And when at lastwords failed and he choked a moment he flung himself upon them,bellowing inarticulate, half-smothered wrath.
Men drew back from before him. It was not their fight and they knewhow and when to shrug their shoulders and watch. Lemarc, running hishand under his coat for his knife, was struck down before the handcould come in sight again. Drennen's searching fist had found theman's forehead and the sound of the blow was like a hammer beatingagainst rock. Either Sefton had no arms upon him or had not the timeto draw. He could only oppose his physical strength against thephysical strength of a man who was an Antaeus from the madness andblood lust upon him. Sefton's white face went whiter, chalky and sickas Drennen's long arms encircled his body. Lemarc was rising slowly,his knife at last in his hand when Sefton's body, hurled far out,struck the ground.
Drennen was not fighting as a man fights. Rather were his actionsthose of some enraged, cautionless beast. Rushing at Lemarc he beatfiercely at a man who chanced to stand in his way, and the man wentdown. Lemarc was on his feet now, his knife lifted. And yet Drennen,bare handed, was rushing on at him. Sefton was up too, and there was arevolver in his hand. But Drennen, snarling, his fury blind and raginghigher, took no heed of the weapon's menace. The thing in Lemarc'seyes, in Sefton's, was the thing a man must know when he sees it; andyet Drennen came on.
But another man saw and understood before it was too late. MarshallSothern who had followed Drennen with long strides, was now close tohis side. The old man's stalwart form moved swiftly, coming betweenDrennen and Sefton. With a quickness which men did not look for in aman of his age, with a strength which drove up from those who saw alittle grunt of wonder, he put out his great arms so that they wereabout Drennen's body, below his shoulders, catching his arms andholding them tight against his ribs.
"Stop!" burst out Sothern's deep-lunged roar. "Can't you see the manis sick? By God, I'll kill any man who lays a hand on him!"
Speaking he hurled his greater weight against Drennen, driving himback. Perhaps just then the strength began to run out of the youngerman's body; or perhaps some kindred frenzy was upon Marshall Sothern.Drennen, struggling and cursing, gave back; back another step; andthen, wilting like a cut flower, went down, the old man falling withand upon him. As they fell Drennen lay still, his eyes rovingwonderingly from face to face of the men crowding over him. Then hisgaze came curiously to the face so near his own, the stern, powerfulface of Sothern. An odd smile touched Drennen's lips fleetingly; heput out a freed arm so that it fell about Sothern's shoulders, his eyesclosed and consciousness went out of him with a sigh.
"Bring him over to Marquette's."
It was Charlie Madden's voice. Madden and Hasbrook were crowding theirway close to the two men in the centre of the group, but little behindSothern in keeping their eyes upon the man because of whom they werehere, for whom they were prepared to fight jealously.
"Stand back!"
Sothern's answer. He had risen, stooped a little, gathered Drennen upin his arms. After the way of men at such a time there was no givingback, rather a growing denseness of the packed throng.
"Don't you hear me?" boomed Sothern angrily. "I say stand back!"
Those directly in front of him, under his eyes, drew hesitantly aside,stepping obediently to right or left. Carrying his burden with astrength equal to that of a young Kootanie George, Marshall Sothernmade his way through the narrow lane they made for him. But he did notturn toward Pere Marquette's.
"Where are you taking him?" demanded Madden suspiciously, again forcinghis way to Sothern's elbow. "That's not the way . . ."
"I'm taking him to his own home," said Sothern calmly. "The only homehe's got, his dugout."
"Oho," cried Madden, suspicion giving place to certainty and openaccusation, while Hasbrook, combing at his beard, was muttering in alike tone. "You'll take him off to yourself, will you? Where you cando as you damned please with him? Not much."
Marshall Sothern merely shook his head and moved on, thrusting Maddento one side with his heavy shoulder. He was carrying Drennen as onemight carry a baby, an arm about the shoulders, an arm under the knees.Men offered to help him but he paid no heed to them. Leonine the manalways looked; to-day he looked the lion bearing off a wounded whelp toits den.
Expostulating, Madden dogged his heel
s, the rest following. Lemarc andSefton, speaking together, had dropped far behind; Hasbrook was closeto Madden's elbow. So they passed down the street. Ygerne Bellaire,standing now in front of Marquette's, watched them wonderingly.
Sothern came first to the dugout. The door being open, he passed inwithout stopping. He laid the inert form down gently and came back tothe door.
"Well?" he demanded, his steady eyes going to Madden.
Madden laughed sneeringly.
"If you think I'm going to stand for a high-handed play like this," hejeered, "you're damned well mistaken. You're not the only man who'sgot an interest in him. He doesn't belong to you, old man."
"They'd have killed him if it hadn't been for me," returned Sothernimperturbably. "Until he's on his feet and in his mind again he doesbelong to me. We haven't the pleasure of knowing each other very well,Charlie. But I can give you my word that when I say a thing I mean it.If you don't believe it . . . start something."
He stepped outside, closing the door after him softly. He brought outhis pipe, knocked the dead tobacco from it and filled it afresh,lighting it before Madden and Hasbrook, consulting together in anundertone, had found anything to say. His eyes were calm and steady;there was even a hint of a smile in them as they rested upon Madden'seager, angry face. There had been no threat in his last words. But hehad meant them.
There was but one door to the dugout; it was closed, and more thanthat, Marshall Sothern stood calmly in front of it. Drennen was insideand he was going to stay there. Madden muttered something; Sothernlifted his brows enquiringly and Madden did not repeat. The situationbeing neither without interest or humour, some of the men laughed.Madden considered swiftly: Drennen was unconscious; Sothern could donothing with him immediately. He drew Hasbrook aside and the two wentslowly up the street.
Sothern beckoned a man he knew in the crowd, a little fellow namedJimmie Andrews.
"Get a horse," he said quietly. "I want you to carry a couple ofletters to Lebarge for me. If you can't get a horse any other way buyone. Come back as soon as you're ready to start. I'll have theletters ready."
He turned back into the dugout, closed the door and dropped the woodenbar into place. Jimmie Andrews went hastily after a horse and twentyminutes later rode out of MacLeod's Settlement, headed for therailroad. He carried a letter to the Superintendent of theNorthwestern. The second letter was addressed to Dr. Thos. Levitt.
During the two days which followed the Settlement went tip-toe. No manof them saw David Drennen except now and then through the door whenMarshall Sothern had opened it for the warm midday air. There were menin the street who offered wagers that he was going to die and, what wasmore to the point, that he would die without telling where he had foundgold. Sothern ministered to him day and night, letting no one in,having his own meals sent here, sitting by the bunk or at the doorstep,smoking. When a passer-by asked, "How's he gettin' along?" Sothern'sanswer was always the same: "Slowly."
Drennen had been through much privation and hardship before hisdiscovery, severe bodily punishment and fatigue thereafter. On top ofphysical suffering had been imposed the mental stress, the veritablemad agony and strife of the dual emotions which Ygerne had inspired inhim. It was in the cards that he should come near death; but that heshould not die. A man's destiny is characterised at times by aninstinct of savagery; it tortures him until his sense of pain is dulledand lost in unconsciousness; then it lets him grow strong again forfresh tortures.
After the forty-eight hours had passed Jimmie Andrews had returnedbringing the physician with him. Dr. Levitt had stayed twenty-fourhours and had gone again, saying that there was nothing for him to dothat Sothern could not do as well. He rather thought that Drennen'sbeautiful physique would pull him through. But it would take time,careful attention, rest and properly administered nourishment.
"Can't you get a woman to help?" he asked as he was going. "I don'tgive a damn what kind she is. One fool of a woman is worth a dozen menat times like this." He pocketed his fee, bestowed upon Sothern agratuitous wink with the words, "I guess it's a good investment foryou, eh? Madden and Hasbrook look as sore as saddle boils."
Drennen slept much but restlessly. When he was awake he stared withclouded, troubled eyes at the smoke-blackened ceiling or out of thedoor at the willows or into Sothern's rugged face. His fever ragedhigh, his body burning with it, his brain a turbulent melting potwherein strange fancies passed through odd, vaporous forms. Heconfused events of a far-off childhood with occurrences of yesterday.He was a little boy, gone black-berrying, and Ygerne Bellaire went withhim. His dugout was a cabin in the Yukon where he had lived a year, orit was a speeding train carrying him away from an old home and into thewilderness. There were times when Marshall Sothern, bending over him,was an enemy, torturing him. Times when the old man was his own fatherand Drennen put out his hands to him, his face alight. Times when thesick man cursed and reviled him. Times when he broke into shoutingsong or laughter or raved of his gold. But most often did he speak thename Ygerne; now tenderly, now sneeringly, now with a love thatyearned, now a hatred which shook him terribly and left him exhausted.
The doctor had gotten back to Lebarge before Marshall Sothern sent forYgerne. She came without delay.
"This man is very sick," he told her, bending a searching look at herfrom under brows shaggy in thought. "He talks of you very much. Doeshe love you or does he hate you?"
She looked at him coolly, her gaze defying him to pry into matterswhich did not concern him. He understood the look and said calmly:
"I want him to get well. There are reasons why he has got to get well."
"I know," she laughed at him. "Good, golden reasons!"
"If he loves you, as I have a mind he does," Sothern went on quietly,"I think that you could do more to help him than any one else. If hehates you you might do more harm than good. That is why I asked."
"He is delirious?"
"A great deal of the time; not always."
Her brows puckered thoughtfully.
"I think," she said at last, "that he loves me and hates me . . . both!But I'll come in and see if I can be of any help. I, too, have goodreasons for wanting him to live."
So the door to Drennen's dugout was opened to Ygerne Bellaire. But tono one else in the Settlement; Marshall Sothern saw to that. Maddencame, Hasbrook came; but they did not get their feet across the rudethreshold. They grumbled, Madden in particular. They accused Sothernof taking an unfair advantage; of keeping the delirious man under hisown eye and ear that he might seek to steal his secret from him; ofplotting with Ygerne to aid in the same end. But, say what they mightoutside, they did not come in.
"We'll see which is the greater, his love for me or his hate," the girlhad said. She sat down by the bed, laying her hand softly upon thebared arm which Drennen had flung out. He turned, looking at her withfrowning eyes. In silence she waited. Sothern, standing by the door,his eyes watchful as they passed back and forth from her face toDrennen's, was silent. For a score of seconds Drennen's gaze wasunfaltering. Then, with a little sigh, he drew her hand close to him,rested his cheek against it and went to sleep. Sothern, looking now atthe girl's face, saw it flush as though with pleasure.
Now she was at the dugout almost as much as Marshall Sothern. The longhours of the day she spent at the bedside, going to her own room onlywhen it grew dark. And even in the night, once Sothern sent for her.Drennen had called for her; had grown violent when she was denied tohim and would not be quieted when Sothern sought to reason with him.So Ygerne, dressing hurriedly, her sweater about her, came.
"Why do you come to me that way?"
Drennen had lifted himself upon his elbow, calling out angrily.
"What do you mean?" she asked wondering.
"In that miserable sweater!" he cried. "That's good enough for otherwomen, not for you."
And he made her go back and put on the dress she had worn that nightwhen she had dined with him
. She argued with him but he insisted. Hewould have none of her in her sweater.
"Oh, well," she said, and went out. Sothern thought that she had gonefor good. His eyes narrowed and stared speculatively when in a littleshe came in again. Drennen smiled, openly approved of the Ygerne whomhe had sought to kiss, took her hands, kissed them and holding themgrew quiet.
He grew stronger almost steadily after that. He had much fever anddelirium, but his wounds healed and he ceased to lose ground as he hadbeen doing. In his ravings he made much passionate love to Ygerne, histones running from the gentleness of supplication to the flame of hotavowal. In lucid moments of sanity he accepted her presence as a quitenatural condition, too utterly exhausted by the periods of deliriumthrough which he had passed to ask questions. A few times, indeed, herailed at her as he had done when he had come upon her on the riverbank. But for the most part his attitude answered over and over thequestion Ygerne had implied when first she had come to his side; hislove was greater than his hate.
Then there came a day when David Drennen was the old David Drennen oncemore. He awoke with clear eyes and clear brain. He saw both MarshallSothern and Ygerne Bellaire. He closed his eyes swiftly. He mustthink. As he thought, remembering a little, guessing more, a hardsmile, the old bitter smile came to his lips. He opened his eyes againand lifted himself upon his elbow. The eyes which met Sothern's wereas hard as steel; they ignored the girl entirely.
"I've been sick?" he said coolly. "Well, I'm not sick any longer. Ina day or so I'll be around again. Then I'll pay you for your trouble."
And seeing from the look in Sothern's eyes that the rude insult hadregistered he laughed and turned his face away from them. Sothern andthe girl stepped outside together, without a word.
"He is just plain brute!" the girl cried with passionate contempt.
The old man shook his head gravely. He laid his hand very gently uponher shoulder, his unexpected familiarity drawing a quick questioninglook from her.
"Little girl," he said thoughtfully, "he's just plain man, that's all;man hammered and beaten awry by the vicious little gods of mischance.If there's anything good left in him it's his love for you. There is atime coming when I am going to wield the destinies of one of thegreatest corporations in the West. My responsibility then, compared toyours now, will be as a grain of sand to Old Ironhead up yonder."
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