The Heart of Unaga

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER III

  THE GOING OF STEVE

  There are some personalities which never fail to permeate theirneighbourhood with their presence. Of such was Dr. Ian Ross. Hispresence never failed to impress itself. The moment he crossed thethreshold of his home the household became aware of it. There was hisbig voice, his deep-throated husky laugh. There was that strong-heartedkindly humanity always shining in his deep-set, blue eyes.

  He had returned from his surgery at the agency for his midday meal, andhis abundant toned hail reached his wife in a remote bedroom in thealmost luxurious home which he had had set up amidst the spruce woodslining the Deadwater trail.

  "Ho, Millie!" he cried. "Ho you, Mill!" he called again, without waitingfor any response.

  "I'll be right along, Mac," came back the cheerful reply.

  "Fine. But don't stop to change your gown, there's a good soul. Guessit's feed time, anyway. And not so much 'Mac.' Guess I'm Ross of theRoss of Ardairlie, which is in the Highlands of Scotland, which is partof a small group of islands, which are dumped down in the Atlantic offthe west coast of Europe. Maybe--you've heard tell."

  The man flung his wide-brimmed hat on a side table in the hall with acomfortable laugh. Then seating himself in a big chair, he ran hisfingers through his crisp iron-grey hair.

  He was a raw-boned, powerfully built man who seemed by nature the beauideal for the healing of a race of savages who regard disease asinevitable, a visitation by the powers of evil, and something which mustbe submitted to in patience lest worse befall. Almost brusque of manner,forceful, he was as strong and kindly of heart as he was skilful. He wasa product of the best Scottish school of medicine, and one of those raresouls whose whole desire in life is the relief of human suffering.Fortune had favoured him very practically. He had ample private meanswhich enabled him to accept the paltry salary the Government offered himto take charge of a herd of its coloured children up on the CaribouRiver. Furthermore he had had the good fortune to marry a Canadian womanwhose whole heart was wrapped up in him and his life's purpose.

  So these two, with their two young children, had made their way north.The man had set up an ample, even luxurious home on the confines of thereserve, and they had settled down to battle with the exterminatingdiseases, which, since the civilizing process set in, the Indian seemsto have become heir to. So far the battle had raged, for ten years, andit looked likely to last far beyond Ian Ross's lifetime.

  Whatever other successes and failures he had had during that time he hadachieved an affection from his patients quite as great as the hatredachieved by Hervey Garstaing in less than half that number of years.

  The plump round figure of Millie Ross rustled into the hall.

  "Where's Dora?"

  The man's question came without turning from the sunlit view beyond thedoorway. A wonderful stretch of undulating wood-clad country lay spreadout before him. It was a waste of virgin territory chequered withwoodland bluffs, with here and there the rigid Indian teepee polessupporting their rawhide dwellings, peeping out from all sorts ofnatural shelters.

  "Dora? Why, Dora's over with Nita Allenwood. That child spends most ofher time there now."

  Millie's cheerful, easy manner was perhaps the greatest blessing of IanRoss's life. Her happy good temper spoke of a perfectly healthy body,and a mind full of a pleasant humour.

  Dr. Ross withdrew a timepiece from his pocket.

  "Now?" he cried. "Oh, you mean because of Steve's going off on the longtrail. Five days isn't it before he goes?" He chuckled in his pleasant,tolerant fashion. "Sort of sympathetic butting in, isn't it? Guess heartand sense never were a good team. I'd say Dora's chock full of heart."

  "And it's just as well for someone around this house to have a bunch ofheart that can feel for other folks," Millie retorted promptly. "Say,you, Mac, there's two days past since word went round of Steve's going,and you haven't done a thing. Not a thing but continue to make lifemiserable for those poor neches who can't help themselves, and have tospend their play time in swallowing the dope you can't make filthyenough to please your notions of humanity."

  The man laughed up into the smiling, admonishing eyes of the woman whomeant so much to him.

  "Hell!" he cried. "What would you have me do? Isn't it my job to seethose poor devils right? Why, they'd lap up dope till you couldn't tell'em from a New York drug store. The fouler it tastes the more surelythey come back for more. I'd say I've lengthened the sick list of thisreserve till you'd think it was a Free Hospital, and there wasn't ahealthy neche, squaw, or pappoose north of 60 deg.."

  Millie picked up the hat he had flung on the side table and hung it on apeg of the coat rack.

  "What would I have you do?" she said, ignoring the rest of his remarksfor the thought in her mind, and coming back to his chair and restingher plump hand on his crisp hair. "Why something else besides think ofthese scalliwag Indians. I'm all worried to death about Nita Allenwoodand Steve."

  The man stirred uneasily under the caressing fingers.

  "So am I," he cried brusquely. "Well?"

  "That's just what it isn't," Millie had withdrawn her hand. She moved tothe doorway and gazed out into the sunlight. "I want to do something andjust don't know how to do it. I know you hate folks who 'slop over.' Butjust think of the position. Steve's going to be away for two years,according to his reckoning. They've sent Corporal Munday to take overhis post in his absence. What--what on earth is Nita to do in hisabsence? She'll get her rations, and her pay, and all that. But--shecan't live around the post sort of keeping house for this boy--Munday.She can't live there by herself anyway. Think of her by that shack withher kiddie. Two years, here in a country----Besides--"

  "'Besides' nothing," exclaimed the man with that curious irritation of atroubled mind. "Is there need of 'besides' when you think of agood-looker girl who's barely twenty-two, with as dandy a baby as I'veever set eyes on, and who I helped into daylight, sitting around withouther husband in a country that's peopled with white men whose moralswould disgrace a dog-wolf? Two years! Why, it makes me sweat thinking.If that feller Steve don't see my way of looking at things I'm going totell him just what his parents ought to've been."

  "And what's your way of thinking, Mac?" enquired his wife with theconfidence of certain knowledge.

  "My way? My way?" the man exploded, his blue eyes widening withincredulity. "Why, the way he's got to look. The way sense lies. Thatgirl and her kiddie have got to come right along here and camp with ustill the boy gets back. There's going to be no darn nonsense," he addedthreateningly, as though Millie were protesting. "She's going to comeright here, where you can keep your dandy eye on her till----"

  "Eyes--plural, Mac." Millie's smile was a goodly match for the summerday.

  The doctor flung his head back in a deep-throated guffaw.

  "Have it your own way," he cried. "One or two, they don't miss much.Anyway, I guessed I'd put it to you before I went over to fix thingsup."

  "Sure," laughed Millie comfortably. "You most generally ask my consentbefore you get busy." Then, in a moment, she became serious. "But you'reright, Mac," she said. "Dora and I have been talking that way ever sincewe heard. And Mabel swears she's going to write the Commissioner ofPolice all she thinks about it, and that's 'some.' It's cruel sendingoff a married man on a trip like that without fixing things for hiswife. You see and fix things, Mac. Nita's just as welcome as a ray ofsunshine right here with us. It's a shame! It's a wicked downrightshame! And Steve ought to know better than to stand for it. He oughtto----"

  "He can't kick." The man shook his head. "He's looking to get asuperintendentship. A kick would fix that for good. No, he's got no kickcoming. You need to understand the Police force right. It's no usetalking that way. It's the work of the force first, last, and all thetime. Everything else is nowhere, and the womenfolk, whom theydiscourage, last of all. And mind you, they're right. You can't run afamily, and this hellish country at the same time. If the Police weren'twhat they were it would need seventy tho
usand of them instead of sevenhundred to make this territory better than a sink of crime for every lowdown skunk who can't keep out of penitentiary anywhere else. This thinghas me so worried I haven't appetite enough to care it's gone my feedtime by a quarter hour. Isn't Miss Prue through with the darn potatoes,or--something?"

  Millie laughed indulgently.

  "I'll get along and see. You see, Miss Prue's a good and God-fearingsquaw, when she isn't smoking her pipe or sitting asleep over thecook-stove. Anyway, I'll chase her up," and she bustled off in thedirection of the kitchen.

  Left to himself Ian Ross forgot entirely that he was awaiting hisdinner. His deep-set eyes were turned to the view beyond the door, andhis thoughts were still further afield. He was thinking of the pretty,eager face he had watched at the bachelors' dance at Deadwater. He wasthinking of the men who had approached Nita with the ceremony which hadso delighted her. He was old enough and wise enough to appreciate fullythe dangers she would be confronted with in Steve's absence, dangerswhich it was more than likely Steve could not realize.

  He liked Steve. For all their disparity of years a great friendshipexisted between them. Steve was a man who would succeed in anything heundertook. The doctor was sure of that. But--and this was the matterthat troubled him most--Steve had utter and complete faith in his wife,the same as he had in all those who possessed his regard. Steve was aman of single, simple purpose. Strong as a lion in the open battle wherethe danger was apparent, but in the more subtle dangers of life he was achild.

  Well, there were men in their world who constituted just one of thosegrave subtle dangers to Steve in Steve's absence. Ian Ross shared witheverybody else the hatred of Hervey Garstaing. He had seen Garstaing andNita together at the dance. He had seen them together at other times.Oh,--he had never seen anything that was not perhaps perfectlylegitimate. But he knew Hervey Garstaing better than most people atDeadwater. He saw far more of him than he desired. And Hervey was agood-looking man. Nita was young and full of a youthful desire for agood time. And then Hervey was also an unscrupulous hound whom it wouldhave given the doctor the greatest pleasure in life to shoot.

  * * * * *

  Ian Ross laughed out loud as he strode through the woods on his way tothe police post. A thought had occurred to him which pleased his simplemind mightily. It was not a very profound thought. And the humour of itwas difficult to detect. But it pleased him, and he had to laugh, andwhen he laughed the echoes rang. It had occurred to him that it took aman of real brain to be a perfect "damn fool."

  The inspiration of his thought was undoubtedly Steve Allenwood. SteveAllenwood and his affairs had occupied his thoughts all the morning, andhad interfered with a due appreciation of the dinner he had just eaten.He was perturbed, and Millie had set the match to the powder train ofhis emotions and energies. His admiration for Steve was as unstinted ashis sympathy for the call that had been suddenly made on him. But heknew Steve, and realized the difficulties that lay before him incarrying out the programme of kindly purpose Millie and he had workedout over their midday meal. It was this which had brought him to theconclusion which had inspired his laugh.

  In that brief instant the complete silence of the woods about him hadbeen broken up in startling fashion. No shot from a rifle, no mournfulcry of timber-wolf could disturb the spell of nature like the jarringnote of the human voice.

  But it had another effect. It elicited a response no less startling tothe man who had laughed.

  "Ho you, Mac!"

  Ian Ross halted. He had recognized the voice instantly.

  "That you, Steve?"

  "Sure," came back the reply.

  Instantly the Scotsman's lack of self-consciousness became apparent.

  "How in hell did you know it was me?"

  It was the turn of the invisible police officer to laugh.

  "Guess there's only one laugh like yours north of 60 deg.--less a bull moosecan act that way." Then he went on. "Sharp to your left. I'm down hereon the creek. I was making your place and this way cuts off quite apiece."

  Ross turned off at once and his burly figure crashed its way through thebarrier of delicate-hued spruce. A moment later he was confronting theofficer on the bank of the creek.

  Steve's smile was one of cordial welcome.

  "I was figgering to get you before you went back to the agency," he saidin explanation.

  The doctor's eyes twinkled.

  "And I was guessing to get you--before I went."

  Steve nodded.

  "We were chasing each other."

  "Which is mostly a fool stunt."

  "Mostly."

  They stood smiling into each other's eyes for a moment.

  "You were needing me--particular?" Steve enquired after a pause.

  Ross glanced down at the gurgling water of the shallow stream as itpassed over its rough gravel bed.

  "I was needing a yarn. Nothing amiss at the post? You wantedme--particular?"

  The smile in Steve's eyes deepened.

  "No. I was needing a--yarn."

  The doctor's twinkling eyes searched the clearing. A fallen tree wassprawling near by, with its upper boughs helping to cascade the watersof the stream. He pointed at it.

  "Guess we don't need to wear our legs out."

  Steve laughed shortly.

  "That's where the neches beat us every time. You need to sit at apow-wow."

  "Sure. Their wise men sit most all the time."

  They moved over to the tree trunk, and Ross accepted the extreme base ofit and sat with his back against the up-torn roots. Steve sat astridethe trunk facing him. Then by a common impulse the men produced theirpipes. Steve's was alight first and he held a match for the other.

  "You were chasing me up?" he said. "Nothing on the Reserve?"

  "No." The doctor's pipe was glowing under the efforts of his powerfullungs. "Most of the neches are sleeping off the dope. It's queer howthey're crazy for physic. How's Nita and the kiddie? I haven't seenNita since the dance."

  Steve's smile died out quite suddenly. The doctor's observant eyes lostnothing of the change, although the sunshine on the dancing watersseemed to absorb his whole attention.

  "Guess little Coqueline absorbs more bottles to the twenty-four hoursthan you'd ever guess she was made to fit," Steve replied with a halflaugh. "She kind of reminds you of one of those African sand rivers inthe rainy season. Nita's the same as usual. She had a good time at thedance."

  "Yes." The doctor bestirred himself and withdrew his gaze from thetumbling waters. "You had something to say to me," he demanded abruptly,his blue eyes squarely challenging.

  Steve nodded. A half smile lit his steady eyes.

  "Sure. And--it isn't easy."

  The Scotsman returned the half smile with interest.

  "I haven't noticed it hard for folks to talk, unless it is to tell oftheir own shortcomings. Guess you aren't figgering that way. Maybe I canhelp you. I'd hate to be setting out on a two years' trip and leavingMillie to scratch around without me."

  Steve's eyes lit.

  "That's it, Doc," he said with a nod which told the other of theemotions stirring under his calm exterior. "Two years!" He laughedwithout any amusement. "It may be more, a hell of a sight. Maybe even Iwon't get back. You see, you never can figger what this north country'sgot waiting on you. It's up in the Unaga country. And I guess it's newto me. I'd say it's new to anyone. It's mostly a thousand miles I've gotto make, right up somewhere on the north-west shores of Hudson's Bay."

  "A--thousand miles! It's tough." Dr. Ross shook his head.

  "An' it comes at a bad time for me," Steve went on thoughtfully. "Still,I guess it can't be helped. You see, it's murder! Or they reckon it is.A letter got through from Seal Bay. That's on the Hudson coast. TheIndian Department don't know where it comes from. It seems to have beenhanded in by an Indian named Lupite. The folks tried to get out of himwhere he came from, but I guess he didn't seem to know. Anyway he didn'ttell them. He said Unaga, and ki
nd of indicated the north. Just thenorth. Well, it isn't a heap to go on. Still, that's the way of thesethings. I've got to locate the things the folks at Seal Bay couldn'tlocate. It seems there's a biggish trading post way up hidden somewhereon the plateau of Unaga. It was run by two partners, and they had a sortof secret trade. The man at Seal Bay--Lorson Harris--reckons it's a hellof an important trade. The names of these traders were Marcel Brand--achemist--and Cy Allshore, a pretty tough northern man. These fellersused to come down and trade at Seal Bay. Well, I don't know much moreexcept this letter came into Seal Bay--it's written in a woman's handand in English--to say her husband, Marcel Brand, and this, Cy Allshore,have been murdered. And she guesses by Indians. She don't seem deadsure. But they've been missing over a year. I'm just handing you this soyou'll know the sort of thing I'm up against. And I've got to leaveNita, and my little baby girl, for two years--sure."

  The kindly doctor nodded. He removed his pipe, and cleared his throat.His eyes were alight with a ready smile that was full of sympathy.

  "Say, you haven't got to worry a thing for them that way," he said."It's tough leaving them. Mighty tough. I get all that. And it sort ofmakes me wonder. But--Say, it's queer," he went on. "I was coming rightalong over to help fix things for you. And I was scared to deathwondering how to do it without butting in. You were coming along over tome to set the same sort of proposition, and were scared to death I'dfeel like turning you down. One of these days some bright darn fool'llfix up mental telepathy to suit all pocket-books. It'll save us all adeal of worry when that comes along. Now if that mental telepathy wereworking right now it would be handing the things passing in your headsomething like this: 'Why in hell can't that damned dope merchant, andthat dandy woman who don't know better than to waste her time being hiswife, come right along and fix something so Nita and the kiddie ain'tleft lonesome and unprotected while I'm away.' That's the kind ofmessage I'd be getting from you. And you'd be getting one from mesomething in this way: 'If I don't screw up the two measly cents' worthof courage I've got, and go right across to Steve, and put theproposition Millie and I are crazy to make, why--why, Millie'll beat mybrains out with a flat iron, and generally make things eternallyunpleasant.' Having got these messages satisfactorily you and I wouldhave set out--on the same path, mind. We'd have met right here: I shouldhave said, 'Steve, my boy, your little gal Nita and that bright littlebit of a bottle worrier you call your baby are coming right over to maketheir homes with Millie, and the gals, and me, till you get back. We'regoing to do just the best we know for them--same as we would for ourown. It's going to be a real comfort for us to have them, and somethingmore than a pleasure, and if you don't let 'em come--well, we'll be mostdamnably disappointed!' And you, being a straight, sound-thinking man inthe main, but with a heap of notions that aren't always sound, butwhich you can't just help, would say: 'See, right here, Doc, I don'tapprove boosting my burdens on other folks' shoulders. That's not myway, but anyway I'll be mighty thankful not to disappoint you, and to goaway feeling my bits of property aren't lying around at the mercy of acountry, and a race of folk that'll always remain a blot on anyCreator's escutcheon!' Having said all this we'd likely go on talkingfor awhile about the folks and things we know, such as the men of ouracquaintance who reckon they're white, and the rotten acts they dobecause rye whisky and the climate of the Northland's killed the onlyshreds of conscience they ever had. And then--why, maybe then we justpart, and go back to our work feeling what darn fine fellers we are, andhow almighty glad we are we aren't as--the other folk."

  The smile which the doctor's whimsical manner had provoked in Steve'seyes was good to see. An overwhelming gratitude urged him to verbalthanks, but somehow a great feeling deep down on his heart forbade suchexpression.

  "You mean--all that, Doc?" he said almost incredulously at last.

  The other raised his broad loose shoulders expressively.

  "I wish it was more."

  Steve breathed a deep sigh. He shook his head. Then, with an impulsivemovement, he thrust out one powerful hand.

  Just for one moment the two men gripped in silence.

  "I'll fix it with Nita," Steve said, as their hands fell apart.

  "Yep. And Millie and the gals will go along over. She can't refusethem."

  Steve flashed a sharply enquiring look into the other's eyes.

  "Why should she want to?" he demanded.

  The doctor suddenly realized the doubt he had implied. His own train ofthought had found unconscious expression.

  "There isn't a reason in the world," he protested, "except--she's awoman."

  But his reply, for all its promptness, entirely missed its purpose. Itfailed completely to banish the trouble which had displaced the smile inSteve's eyes.

  When Steve spoke his voice was low, and he seemed to be speaking tohimself rather than to his companion.

  "That's so," he said at last. And Ian Ross knew there was more inSteve's mind than the fear of the common dangers to which his wife andchild would be exposed in his absence. How much he did not know. Perhapshe had no desire to know. Anyway, being a man of some wisdom, beingpossessed of a home, and a wife, and family of his own, he appliedhimself assiduously to the pipe which never failed to soothe hisfeelings, however much they might be disturbed.

  * * * * *

  It was exactly a week from the time he had received his instructionsthat Steve's preparations were completed and the hour of his departurecame round.

  The afternoon was well advanced. Already the brilliant sun was droopingtowards the misty range of lofty hills which cut the western skyline inthe region of the Peace River country. Steve's horse was saddled andbridled, and tethered to the post outside the office door, whereCorporal Munday was seated upon the sill awaiting the departure.

  The "outfit" was already on the trail. That had left at sunrise. Itspreparations had been simple, and even spare. But it was adequate. Steveand his Indians knew to the last fraction the requirements of a journeysuch as lay before them. Year in, year out, they were accustomed topreparations for the long trail. This was longer than usual. That wasall.

  The officer's plans were considered to the last detail. Nothing thatcould be foreseen was neglected. Every stage of the journey to the Unagacountry was measured in his mind, both for time and distance. Only theelements were perforce omitted from his calculations. This was in thenature of things. The elemental side of his undertaking wasincalculable.

  His way lay due north for a while along the course of the great CaribouRiver. This would bring him to the half-breed settlement at the Landingon the great lakes. It would also take him through the country of theHiada Indians. Arrived at Ruge's trading post at the Landing, his horsesand police, half-spring wagons would be left to the trader's care, forbeyond this point their services would be dispensed with.

  The second stage of the journey would be by water and portage. In thisneighbourhood, where the wilderness of sparsely travelled country openedout, he would make for the headwaters of the beautiful Theton River. Theriver of a hundred lakes draining a wide tract of wooded country. It wasa trail which was not unfamiliar; for his work not infrequently carriedhim into the territory of peaceful Caribou-Eater Indians, who so oftenbecame the victims of the warlike, hot-headed Yellow-Knives.

  The river journey he calculated should bring him to Fort Duggan at theheight of summer, and it was without any feeling of enthusiasm that hecontemplated that fly-and-mosquito-ridden country at such a time ofyear. But it was necessary, and so he was left without alternative. FortDuggan was the deserted ruin of an old-time trading post, it was thehome of the Shaunekuk Indians who were half Eskimo. It was also thegate of the mystery land of Unaga.

  Unaga! The riddle of the wide northern-world. The land from which weird,incredible stories percolated through to the outside. They were storiesof wealth. They were stories of savage romance. They were stories of theweird, terrible, and even monstrous. It was a land so unexplored as tobe reputed something little b
etter than a sealed book even to theintrepid Arctic explorer, who, at so great an expenditure of physicaleffort and courage, rarely accomplishes more than the blazing of a trailwhich seals up again behind him, and adds his toll to the graveyardwhich claims so many of the world's dauntless souls.

  Unaga! The land unknown to the white man. And yet--news had come of themurder of two white men within its secret heart. Therefore the machineryof white man's law was set in motion, and the long, lean arm wasreaching out.

  Not less than a thousand miles of weary toil and infinite peril laybefore Steve and his two Indian helpers. And a second thousand milesbefore the little home at Deadwater could hope to see him again. It wasan overwhelming thought. Small blame to the heart that quailed beforesuch an undertaking.

  Steve had no thought for the immensity of the labour confronting him. Hehad no thought for anything but the purpose of his life. He knew thatsuccessful completion of the work before him would set the seal to hisambitions. He would then be able to lay at the feet of the girl who wasthe mother of his child the promotion to Superintendentship which shouldtake her away from the dreary life of hardship which he knew to be sorapidly undermining that moral strength which was not abundantly hers.

  These were the moments of the man's farewell to all that made up thespiritual side of his earthly life. It might be a final farewell. Hecould not tell. He knew the perils that lay ahead of him. But a great,passionate optimism burned deep down in his heart and refused himthought of disaster.

  He was in the partially dismantled parlour with Nita and his baby girl.The last detail for the future of these two had been considered andprepared. At the moment of his going, Nita, too, would bid farewell tothe post. And the precious home, the work of months of happy labour,would be passed on to the service of Steve's successor.

  It was a moment that would surely live in the hearts of both. It was amoment when tearful eyes would leave to memory a picture perhaps tolighten the dreary months to come, a sign, a beacon, a consolation andsupport, a living hope for the painful months of separation when no wordor sign could pass between them. They were moments sacred to husband andwife, upon which no earthly eyes have right to gaze.

  The door opened and Steve passed out into the smiling sunshine. Hissteady eyes were dull and lustreless. His firm lips were a shade moretightly compressed. For the rest his limbs moved vigorously, his steplacked nothing of its wonted Spring.

  As he left the doorway his place was taken by Nita, who bore the wakinginfant Coqueline in her arms. Both were dressed ready to pass on totheir new home.

  Steve was clad for the summer trail, and his leather chapps creaked, andhis spurs clanked as he passed round to the tying post at which hishorse was tethered. Force of habit made him test the cinchas of hissaddle before mounting.

  He spoke over his shoulder to the man who had risen to his feet at hiscoming.

  "Guess you got everything right, Corporal?" he said.

  "Everything, sir."

  "Good. My diary's right up to date," Steve went on. "Things are quietjust now. They'll get busy later."

  He swung into the saddle and held out a hand.

  "So long," he said, as the Corporal promptly gripped it.

  "So long, sir. And--good luck."

  "Thanks."

  The horse moved away and Steve passed round to Nita. He drew reinopposite the door but did not dismount.

  "Let's--get another peck at her, Nita," he said, and it almost seemed asif the words were jerked from under the restraint he was putting onhimself.

  The girl had no words with which to answer him. Her eyes were wide anddry. But from her pallor it was obvious deep emotion was stirring. Shecame to his side, and held the baby up to him, a movement that hadsomething of the tragic in it.

  The father swept his hat from his head and bent down in the saddle, andgazed yearningly into the sleeping child's cherubic face. Then hereached lower and kissed the pretty forehead tenderly.

  "She'll be getting big when I see her again," he said, in a voice thatwas not quite steady.

  Then a passionate light flooded his eyes as he looked into the face ofhis girl wife.

  "For God's sake care for her, Nita," he cried. "She's ours--and she'sall we've got. Here, kiss me, dear. I can't stop another moment, or--orI'll make a fool of myself."

  The girl turned her face up and the man's passionate kisses were givenacross the small atom which was the pledge of their early love. ThenSteve straightened up in the saddle and replaced his hat. A momentlater he had vanished within the woods through which he must pass on hisway to Ian Ross and his wife, to whom he desired to convey his finalword of thanks.

  Nita stood silent, dry-eyed gazing after him. He was gone, and she knewshe would not see him again for two years.

  * * * * *

  The woodland shadows were lengthening. The delicate green of the treeshad lost something of its brightness. Already the distance was taking onthat softened hue which denotes the dying efforts of daylight.

  Nita was passing rapidly over the footpath which would take her to hernew home. She was alone with her child in her arms, and carrying a smallbundle. Her violet eyes were widely serious, the pallor of her prettycheeks was unchanged. But whatever the emotions that inspired thesethings she lacked all those outward signs of feeling which few women,under similar circumstances, could have resisted. There were no tears.Yet her brows were puckered threateningly. She was absorbed, deeplyabsorbed, but it was hardly with the absorption of blind grief.

  She paused abruptly. The startled look in her eyes displayed realapprehension. The sound of someone or something moving in thelow-growing scrub beside her had stirred her to a physical fear ofwoodland solitudes she had never been able to conquer.

  She stood glancing in apprehension this way and that. She was utterlypowerless. Flight never entered her head. Panic completely prevailed.

  A moment later a man thrust his way into the clearing of the path.

  "Hervey!"

  His name broke from Nita in a world of relief. Then reaction set in.

  "You--you scared me to death. Why didn't you speak, or--or something?"

  Hervey Garstaing stood smilingly before her. His dark eyes hungrilydevouring her flushed face and half-angry eyes.

  "You wouldn't have me hollering your dandy name, with him only justclear of Ross's house? I'm not chasing trouble."

  "Has Steve only just gone?"

  "Sure. I waited for that before I came along."

  The man moistened his lips. It was a curiously unpleasant operation.Then he came a step nearer.

  "Well, Nita," he said, with a world of meaning in eyes and tone. "We'rerid of him for two years--anyway."

  The girl started. The flush in her cheeks deepened, and the angry lightagain leapt into her eyes.

  "What d'you mean?" she cried.

  The man laughed.

  "Mean? Do you need to ask? Ain't you glad?"

  "Glad? I--" Suddenly pallor had replaced the flush in the girl's cheeks,and a curious light shone in eyes which a moment before had been alightwith swift resentment. "--I--don't know."

  The man nodded confidently, and drew still closer.

  "That's all right," he said. "I do."