The Snowshoe Trail

by Edison Marshall

  XXIX

  Harold saw fit to answer the door himself. He threw it wide open;Virginia's startled glance could just make out two swarthy faces,singularly dark and unprepossessing, in the candlelight. Sheexperienced a swift flood of fear that she couldn't understand: thenforced it away as an absurdity.

  "We--we mushin' over to Yuga--been over Bald Peak way," Joe saidstumblingly. "Didn't know no one was here. Want a bunk here to-night."

  "You've got your own blankets?"

  "Yes. We got blankets."

  "On your way home, eh? Well, I'll have to ask this lady."

  Harold seemed strangely nervous as he turned to Virginia. He wonderedif this courteous reference to her was a mistake; could it be that shewould object to their staying? It would make, at best, an awkwardsituation. However, he knew this girl and he felt sure. He half-closedthe door.

  "A couple of Indians, going home toward the settlement on the Yuga," heexplained quickly. "They've come from over toward Bald Peak and werecounting on putting up here to-night. That's the woods custom, youknow--to stay at anybody's cabin. They didn't know we were here andwant to stay, anyway. Do you think we can put 'em up?"

  "Good Heavens, we can't send them on, on a night like this. It isawkward, though--about food----"

  "They've likely got their own food."

  "Of course they can stay. Bill can sleep on the floor in here--youcan take the two of them with you into the little cabin. It will bepretty tight work, but we can't do anything else. Bring them in."

  Harold turned again to the door, and in a moment the Indians strode,blinking, into the candlelight. The brighter light did not reveal themat greater advantage. Virginia shot them a swift glance and wasinstinctively repelled: but at once she ascribed the evil savagery oftheir faces to racial traits. She went back to her work.

  Bill, sitting against the cabin wall, tried to make sense out of aconfused jumble of thoughts and impressions and memories that flooded inone wave to his mind. His few hours of blindness had seeminglysharpened his other senses: and there was a quality of the half-breed'svoice that was distinctly familiar. He had assumed at once that the twobreeds were Joe and Pete whom he had encountered when he first foundHarold. Why, then, had the latter made no sign of recognition? Whyshould he repeat a manifest lie,--that they had been over toward BaldPeak and were traveling toward the Yuga, and that they thought the cabinwas unoccupied? He remembered that he had given these particularIndians definite orders to stay away from the district. Outwardly hewas cool and at ease, his face impassive and grave; in his inner self hewas deeply perturbed and suspicious.

  Of course, there was a possibility that he was mistaken in the voice.He resolved to know the truth.

  "It's Joe and Pete, isn't it?" he asked abruptly in the silence.

  There was no reply at first. Virginia did not glance around in time tosee the lightning signal of warning from Harold to the Indians; yet shehad an inner sense of drama and suspense.

  She had never heard quite this tone in Bill's voice before. It washard, uncompromising, some way menacing. "I say," he repeated slowly,"are you Pete and Joe, or aren't you?"

  "Pete--Joe?" Joe answered at last, in a bewildered tune. Haroldhimself could not have given a better simulation of amazement. "Don'tknow 'em. I'm Wolfpaw Black--he's Jimmy--Jimmy DuBois."

  The names were convincing,--typical breed names, the latter with atouch of French. But Harold's admiration for the resourcefulness of hisconfederate really was not justified. Joe hadn't originated the twonames. He had spoken the first two that had come to his mind,--thenames of a pair of worthy breeds from a distant encampment.

  Except for a little lingering uneasiness, Bill was satisfied. It wouldbe easy to mistake the voice. He had heard it only a few times in hislife. Virginia went on with her supper preparations, and at last thethree of them drew chairs around their crude little table. The twobreeds took their lunch from their packs and munched it, sitting besidethe stove.

  The night had fallen now, impenetrably dark, and the Northern Lightswere flashing like aerial searchlights in the sky. The five of themwere singularly quiet, deep in their own thoughts. Bill heard his watchticking loudly in his pocket.

  All at once Joe grunted in the stillness, and all except Bill whirled tolook at him. He went to his pack and fumbled among the blankets. Then,a greedy light in his eyes, he put two dark bottles upon the table.

  Bill, unseeing, did not understand. His finer senses, however, told himthat the air was suddenly electric, charged with suspense. Virginia wasfrankly alarmed.

  In her past life she had had intimate acquaintance with strong drink.While it was true that she had never partaken of it beyond an occasionalcocktail before dinner, it was common enough in the circle in which shehad moved. She was used to seeing the men of her acquaintance drinkwhisky-and-sodas, and many of her intimate girl friends drank enough toharden their eyes and injure their complexions. She herself had alwaysregarded it tolerantly, thinking that much of the hue and cry that hadbeen raised about it was sheer sentimentality and absurdity. She didn'tknow that evil genii dwelt in the dark waters that could change men intobrutes: such mild exhilaration as she had received from an unusuallypotent cocktail had only seemed harmless and amusing.

  But she was not tolerant now. She was suddenly deeply afraid. Shelooked at Bill, forgetting for the moment that in his blindness he couldnot see what was occurring and that in his helplessness she could notdepend upon him in a crisis. She turned to Harold, hoping that he wouldrefuse this offering at a word. And her fear increased when she saw thecraving on his face.

  Harold had gone a long time without strong drink. The sight of the darkbottles woke his old passion for it in a flash. His blood leaped, astrange and dreadful eagerness transcended him. Virginia was horrifiedat the sudden, insane light in his eyes, the drawing of his features.

  "Have a drink?" Joe invited.

  Bill started then, but he made no response. Harold moved toward thetable.

  "You're a real life-saver, Wolfpaw," he replied genially. "It's a coldnight, and I don't care if I do. Virginia, pass down the cups."

  Of course there were not enough cups to go around. There were three oftin, however, counting one that Bill made from an empty can. "You'lldrink?" Joe asked Bill.

  The woodsman's face was grave. "Wolfpaw, it's against the law of thisprovince to give or receive liquor from Indians," he replied gravely."I won't drink to-night."

  Pete turned with a scowl. His thought had already flashed to the whiteblade at his belt. "You're damn particular----" he began.

  But Joe shook his head, restraining him. The hour to strike had not yetcome. They must enjoy their liquor first and engender fresh couragefrom its fire. He saw fit, however, to glance about the room and locatethe weapon of which Harold had spoken,--the deadly miner's pick thatleaned against the wall back of the stove.

  Curiously, Virginia's thought had flung to the weapons, too. She hadtaken off her pistol when she had been nursing Bill and hadn't put iton since. Quietly, so as not to attract attention, she glanced aboutto locate it. It was hanging on a nail at the opposite end of thetable,--and Joe stood just beside it. She had no desire to waken hissuspicions of her fear. She knew she must put up a bold front, atleast. Nevertheless her fingers longed for the comforting feel of itsbutt. She resolved to watch for a chance to procure it.

  "Have a drink?" Joe asked Virginia.

  She didn't like the tone of his voice. He was speaking with entirefamiliarity, and again she expected interference from Harold. Herfiance, however, was fingering the bottle. She saw Bill straighten,ever so little, and beheld the first signs of rising anger in the set ofhis lips. But she didn't know the full fierceness of his inwardstruggle,--an almost resistless desire to spring at once and smitethose impertinent tones from the breed's lips. But he knew that he musttake care--for Virginia's sake--and avoid a fight as long as it washumanly possible to do so.

  "N
o," the girl responded coldly.

  "Then there's enough cups after all," Harold observed. "I was going totake the pitcher, if either Virginia or this conscientious teetotalercared for a shot." He chuckled unpleasantly. "I thought I could getmore that way."

  They poured themselves mighty drinks,--staggering portions that morethan half-emptied the first of the quarts. Then they threw back theirheads and drained the cups.

  The liquor was cheap and new, such as reaches the Indian encampmentsafter passing through many hands. It burned like fire in their throats,and almost at once it began to distill its poison into their veins.

  Harold and Pete immediately resumed their chairs; Joe still stood at thetable end. He, too, had seen the little pistol of blue steel hanging onthe nail. At first the three men were sullen and silent, enjoying thefirst warmth of the liquor. Then the barriers of self-restraint beganto break down.

  Harold began to grow talkative, launching forth on an amusing anecdote.But there was no laughter at the end of it. The Indians were nevergiven to mirth in their debauches; both Bill and Virginia were farindeed from a receptive humor.

  "What's the matter with this crowd--can't you see a joke?" Harolddemanded. "Say, Bill, over there--you who wouldn't take a gentleman'sdrink--what you sitting there like an old marmot for on a rock pile?Why don't you join in the festivities?"

  For all the rudeness of Harold's speech, Bill answered quietly. "Notfeeling very festive to-night. And if I were you--I'd go easy on toomuch of that. You're out of practice, you know."

  "Yes--thanks to you. At least, before I came here I lived where Icould get a drink when I wanted it, not in a Sunday-school."

  Virginia suddenly leaned forward. "Where did you live before you camehere, Harold?" she asked.

  There was a sudden, unmistakable contempt in her voice.