CHAPTER XXIII
THE WOLF-CRY!
So sudden and unexpected had been Lapierre's _denouement_ at the handsof the Indian girl and Big Lena, that when he quitted Chloe Elliston'sliving-room the one thought in his mind was to return to his strongholdon Lac du Mort. For the first time the real seriousness of hissituation forced itself upon him. He knew that no accident had broughtthe officer of the Mounted to the Lac du Mort stronghold in companywith Bob MacNair, and he realized the utter futility of attempting anescape to the outside, since the shooting of the officer at the verywalls of the stockade.
As the husband of Chloe Elliston, the thing might have beenaccomplished. But alone or in company with the half-dozen outlaws whohad accompanied him to the school, never. There was but one courseopen to him: To return to Lac du Mort and make a stand against theauthorities and against MacNair. And the fact that the man realized inall probability it would be his last stand, was borne to theunderstanding of the men who accompanied him.
These men knew nothing of the reason for Lapierre's trip to the school,but they were not slow to perceive that whatever the reason was,Lapierre had failed in its accomplishment. For they knew Lapierre as aman who rarely lost his temper.
They knew him as one equal to any emergency--one who would shoot a mandown in cold blood for disobeying an order or relaxing vigilance, butwho would shoot with a smile rather than a frown.
Thus when Lapierre joined them in their camp at the edge of theclearing, and with a torrent of unreasoning curses ordered the dogsharnessed and the outfit got under way for Lac du Mort, they knew theircause was at best a forlorn hope.
Darkness overtook them and they camped to await the rising of the latemoon. While the men prepared the supper, Lapierre glowered upon hissled by the fire, occasionally leaping to his feet to stamp impatientlyup and down upon the snow. The leader spoke no word and none venturedto address him. The meal was eaten in silence. At its conclusion themen took heart and sprang eagerly to obey an order--the order puzzledthem not a little, but no man questioned it. For the command camecrisp and sharp, and without profanity, in a voice they well knew.Lapierre was himself again, and his black eyes gleamed wickedly as herolled a cigarette by the light of the rising moon.
The dogs were whirled upon the back-trail, and once more the outfitheaded for the school upon the bank of the Yellow Knife. It was welltoward midnight when Lapierre called a halt. They were close to theedge of the clearing. Leaving one man with the dogs and motioning theothers to follow, he stole noiselessly from tree to tree until the dullsquare of light that glowed from the window of Chloe Elliston's roomshowed distinctly through the interlacing branches. The quarters ofthe Indians were shrouded in darkness. For a long time Lapierre stoodstaring at the little square of light, while his men, motionless asstatues, blended into the shadows of the trees. The light wasextinguished. The quarter-breed moved to the edge of the clearing and,seating himself upon the root of a gnarled banskian, rapidly outlinedhis plan.
Suddenly his form stiffened and he drew close against the trunk of histree, motioning the others to do likewise. The door of the cottage hadopened. A parka-clad figure stepped from the little veranda, pauseduncertainly in the moonlight, and then, with light, swinging strides,moved directly toward the banskian. Lapierre's pulse quickened, andhis lips twisted into an evil smile. That the figure was none otherthan Chloe Elliston was easily discernible in the bright moonlight, andwith fiendish satisfaction the quarter-breed realized that the girl wasplaying directly into his hands. For, as he sat upon the sled besidethe little camp-fire, his active brain had evolved a new scheme. IfChloe Elliston could not be made to accompany him willingly, why notunwillingly?
Lapierre believed that once safely entrenched behind the barriers ofthe Bastile du Mort, he could hold out for a matter of six monthsagainst any forces which were likely to attack him. He realized thathis most serious danger was from MacNair and his Indians. For Lapierreknew MacNair. He knew that once upon his trail, MacNair wouldrelentlessly stick to that trail--the trail that must end at agrave--many graves, in fact. For as the forces stood, Lapierre knewthat many men must die, and bitterly he cursed LeFroy for disclosing toMacNair the whereabouts of the Mausers concealed in the storehouse.
The inevitable attack of the Mounted he knew would come later. For theman knew their methods. He knew that a small detachment, one officer,or perhaps two, would appear before the barricade and demand hissurrender, and when surrender was refused, a report would go in toheadquarters, and after that--Lapierre shrugged--well, that was aproblem of tomorrow. In the meantime, if he held Chloe Ellistonprisoner under threat of death, it was highly probable that he coulddeal to advantage with MacNair, and, at the proper time, with theMounted. If not--_Voila_! It was a fight to the death, anyway. Andagain Lapierre shrugged.
Nearer and nearer drew the unsuspecting figure of the girl. The mannoted the haughty, almost arrogant beauty of her, as the moonlightplayed upon the firm resolute features, framed by the oval of her_parka_-hood. The next instant she paused in the shadow of hisbanskian, almost at his side. Lapierre sprang to his feet and stoodfacing her there in the snow. The smile of the thin lips hardened ashe noted the sudden pallor of her face and the look of wild terror thatflashed for a moment from her eyes. And then, almost on the instant,the girl's eyes narrowed, the firm white chin thrust forward, and thered lips curled into a sneer of infinite loathing and contempt.Instinctively, Lapierre knew that the hands within the heavy mittenshad clenched into fighting fists. For an instant she faced him, andthen, drawing away as if he were some grizzly, loathsome thingpoisoning the air he breathed, she spoke. Her voice trembled with thefury of her words, and Lapierre winced to the lash of a woman's scorn.
"You--you _dog_!" she cried. "You dirty, low-lived _cur_! How _dare_you stand there grinning? How _dare_ you show your face? Oh, if Iwere a man I would--I would strangle the life from your vile, sneakingbody with my two hands!"
The words ended in a stifled cry. With a snarl, Lapierre sprang uponher, pinning her arms to her side. The next instant before his eyesloomed the form of Big Lena, who leaped toward him with upraised axswung high. In the excitement of the moment, the man had not noted herapproach. With a swift movement he succeeded in forcing the body ofthe girl between himself and the up-raised blade.
With a shrill cry of rage Lena dropped the ax and rushed to a grip.Sounded then a sickening thud, and the huge woman pitched face downwardinto the snow, while behind her one of Lapierre's outlaws tossed aheavy club into the bush and rushed to the assistance of his chief.The others came, and with incredible rapidity Chloe Elliston was gaggedand bound hand and foot, and the men were carrying her to the waitingsled.
For a moment Lapierre hesitated, gazing longingly toward the cottage ashe debated in his mind the advisability of rushing across the clearingand settling his score with Mary, the Louchoux girl, whose unexpectedappearance had turned the tide so strongly against him.
"Better let well enough alone!" he growled savagely. "I must reach Lacdu Mort ahead of MacNair." And he turned with a curse from theclearing to see an outlaw, with knife unsheathed, stooping over theunconscious form of Big Lena. The quarter-breed kicked the knife fromthe man's hand.
"Bring her along!" he ordered gruffly. "I will attend to her later."And, despite the hurt of his bruised fingers, the man grinned as henoted the venomous gleam in the leader's eye. For not only wasLapierre thinking of the proselyting of LeFroy, who had been his mosttrusted lieutenant, but of his own disarming, and the meaning stare ofthe fishlike eyes that had prompted him to abandon his attempt topoison MacNair when wounded in Chloe Elusion's room.
It was yet early when, as had become her custom, the Louchoux girldressed hurriedly and made her way to the kitchen to help Lena in thepreparation of breakfast. To her surprise she found that the fire hadnot been lighted nor was Big Lena in the little room which had beenbuilt for her adjoining the kitchen.
The quick eyes of the g
irl noted that the bed had not been disturbed,and with a sudden fear in her heart she dashed to the door of Chloe'sroom, where, receiving no answer to her frantic knocking, she pushedopen the door and entered. Chloe's bed had not been slept in, and her_parka_ was missing from its peg upon the wall.
As the Indian girl turned from the room, Harriet Penny's door opened,and she caught a glimpse of a night-capped head as the little spinsterglanced timidly out to inquire into the unusual disturbance.
"Where have they gone?" cried the girl.
"Gone? Gone?" asked Miss Penny. "What do you mean? Who has gone?"
"She's gone--Miss Elliston--and Big Lena, too. They have not slept intheir beds."
It took a half-minute for this bit of information to percolate MissPenny's understanding, and when it did she uttered a shrill scream,banged her door, turned the key, and shot the bolt upon the inside.
Alone in the living-room, the last words Chloe had spoken to herflashed through the Indian girl's mind: "I can trust you to place thisin MacNair's hands."
Without a second thought for Miss Penny, she rushed into her room,recovered the letter from its hiding-place beneath the pillow, thrustit into the bosom of her gown, and hastily prepared for the trail.
In the kitchen she made up a light pack of provisions, and, with noother thought than to find MacNair, opened the door and stepped outinto the keen, frosty air. The girl knew only that Snare Lake laysomewhere up the river, but this gave her little concern, as no snowhad fallen since MacNair had departed with his Indians a week before,and she knew his trail would be plain.
From her window Harriet Penny watched the departure of the girl, andbefore she was half-way across the clearing the little woman appearedin the doorway, commanding, begging, pleading in shrill falsetto, notto be left alone. Hearing the cries, the girl quickened her pace, andwithout so much as a backward glance passed swiftly down the steepslope to the river.
Born to the snow-trail, the Louchoux girl made good time. During themonth she had spent at Chloe's school she had for the first time in herlife been sufficiently clothed and fed, and now with the young musclesof her body well nourished and in the pink of condition she fairly flewover the trail.
Hour after hour she kept up the pace without halting. She passed themouth of the small tributary upon which she had first seen Chloe. Theplace conjured vivid memories of the white woman and all she had donefor her and meant to her--memories that served as a continual spur toher flying feet. It was well toward noon when, upon rounding a sharpbend, she came suddenly face to face with the Indians and the dog-teamsthat MacNair had despatched for provisions.
She bounded among them like a flash, singled out Wee Johnnie Tamarack,and proceeded to deluge the old man with an avalanche of words. Whenfinally she paused for sheer lack of breath, the old Indian, who hadunderstood but the smallest fragment of what she had said, remainedobviously unimpressed. Whereupon the girl produced the letter, whichshe waved before his face, accompanying the act with another tirade ofwords of which the Indian understood less than he had of the previousoutburst.
Wee Johnnie Tamarack took his orders only from MacNair. MacNair hadsaid, "Go to the school for provisions," and to the school he must go.Nevertheless, the sight of the letter impressed him. For in theNorthland His Majesty's mail is held sacred and must be carried to itsdestination, though the heavens fall.
To the mind of Wee Johnnie Tamarack a letter was "mail," and the factthat its status might be altered by the absence of His Majesty's stampupon its corner was an affair beyond the old man's comprehension.
Therefore he ordered the other Indians to continue their journey, and,motioning the girl to a place on the sled, headed his dogs northwardand sent them skimming over the back-trail.
Wee Johnnie Tamarack was counted one of the best dog-mushers in theNorth, and as the girl had succeeded in implanting in the old man'smind an urgent need of haste, he exerted his talent to the utmost.Mile after mile, behind the flying feet of the tireless _malamutes_,the sled-runners slipped smoothly over the crust of the ice-hard snow.
And at midnight of the second day they dashed across the smooth surfaceof the lake and brought up with a rush before the door of MacNair's owncabin, which luckily had been spared by the flames.
It was a record drive, for a "two-man" load--that drive of Wee JohnnieTamarack's, having clipped twelve hours from a thirty-six-hour trail.
MacNair's door flew open to their frantic pounding. The girl thrustthe letter into his hand, and with a supreme effort told what she knewof the disappearance of Chloe and Big Lena. Whereupon, she threwherself at full length upon the floor and immediately sank into aprofound sleep.
MacNair fumbled upon the shelf for a candle and, lighting it, seatedhimself beside the table, and tore the envelope from the letter. Neverin his life had the man read words penned by the hand of a woman. Thefingers that held the letter trembled, and he wondered at the wildbeating of his heart.
The story of the Louchoux girl had aroused in him a sudden fear. Hewondered vaguely that the disappearance of Chloe Elliston could havecaused the dull hurt in his breast. The pages in his hand were like noletter he had ever received. There was somethingpersonal--intimate--about them. His huge fingers gripped them lightly,and he turned them over and over in his hand, gazing almost in awe uponthe bold, angular writing. Then, very slowly, he began to read thewords.
Unconsciously, he read them aloud, and as he read a strange lump arosein his throat so that his voice became husky and the words faltered.He read the letter through to the end. He leaped to his feet andstrode rapidly up and down the room, his fists clenched and his breathcoming in great gasps.
Bob MacNair was fighting. Fighting against an irresistible impulse--animpulse as new and strange to him as though born of another world--animpulse to find Chloe Elliston, to take her in his arms, and to crushher close against his wildly pounding heart.
Minutes passed as the man strode up and down the length of the littleroom, and then once more he seated himself at the table and read theletter through.
"DEAR MR. MACNAIR:
"I cannot leave the North without this little word to you. I havelearned many things since I last saw you--things I should have learnedlong ago. You were right about the Indians, about Lapierre, about_me_. I know now that I have been a fool. Lapierre always removed hishat in my presence, therefore he was a gentleman! Oh, what a fool Iwas!
"I will not attempt to apologize. I have been too _nasty_, and_hateful_, and _mean_ for any apology. You said once that some day weshould be friends. I am reminding you of this because I want you tothink of me as a friend. Wherever I may be, I will think ofyou--always. Of the splendid courage of the man who, surrounded bytreachery and intrigue and the vicious attacks of the powers that prey,dares to stand upon his convictions and to fight alone for the good ofthe North--for the cause of those who will never be able to fight forthemselves.
"It will not be necessary to tell you that I shall go straight to theheadquarters of the Mounted and withdraw my charge against you. I haveheard of your lawless raids into the far North; I think they are_splendid_! Keep the good work up! Shoot as straight as you can--asstraight as you shot that night on Snare Lake. I should love to standat your side and shoot, too. But that can never be.
"Just a word more. Lena is going to marry LeFroy; and, knowing Lena asI do, I think his reformation is assured. I am leaving everything tothem. The contents of the storehouse will set them up as independenttraders.
"And now farewell. I want you to have my most valued possession, theportrait of my grandfather, Tiger Elliston, the man I have alwaysadmired more than any other until----"
Until what? wondered MacNair. The word had been crossed out, and hefinished the letter still wondering.
"When you look at the picture in its splintered frame, think sometimesof the 'fool moose-calf,' who, having succeeded by the narrowest marginin eluding the fangs of 'the wolf' is returning, wiser, to itsmountains.
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"Yours very truly--and very, very repentantly,
"CHLOE ELLISTON."
Bob MacNair lost his fight. He arose once more, his great frametrembling in the grip of a new thrill. He stretched his great arms tothe southward in a silent sign of surrender. He sought not to dodgethe issue, strange and wonderful as it seemed to him. He loved thiswoman--loved her as he knew he could love no other--as he had neverdreamed it was in the heart of man to love.
And then, with the force of a blow, came the realization that thiswoman--his woman--was at that very instant, in all probability, at themercy of a fiend who would stop at nothing to gain his own ends.
He leaped to the door.
"By God, I'll tear his heart out!" he roared as he wrenched at thelatch. And the next instant the shores of Snare Lake echoed to thewild weird sound of the wolf-cry--the call of MacNair to his clan!Other calls and other summons might be ignored upon provocation, butwhen the terrible wolf-cry shattered the silence of the forestMacNair's Indians rushed to his side.
Only death itself could deter them from fore-gathering at the sound ofthe wolf-cry. Before the echoes of MacNair's voice had died away darkforms were speeding through the moonlight. From all directions theycame; from the cabins that yet remained standing, from the tentspitched close against the unburned walls of the stockade, from rudewickiups of skins and of brushwood.
Old men and young men they answered the call, and each in his hand borea rifle. MacNair snapped a few quick orders. Men rushed to harnessthe dog-teams while others provisioned the sleds for the trail.
With one arm MacNair swung the Louchoux girl from the floor, and,picking up his rifle, dashed out into the night.
Wee Johnnie Tamarack, just in from a twenty-four-hour trail, stood atthe head of MacNair's own dogs--the seven great Athabasca River dogsthat had carried him into the North. With a cry to his Indians tofollow and to bring the Louchoux girl, MacNair threw himself belly-wiseonto his sled, gave voice to a weird cry as his dogs shot out acrossthe white snow-level of Snare Lake, and headed south-ward toward theYellow Knife.
He laughed aloud as he glanced over the back-trail and noted that halfof his Indians were already following. He had chosen that last crywell. Never before had the Indians heard it from the white man's lips,and they thrilled at the sound to the marrow. The blood surged throughthe veins of the wild men as it had not surged in long decades. _Itwas the war-cry of the Yellow Knives_!
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