The Snowshoe Trail

by Edison Marshall

  XXXII

  Was this their destiny,--utter and hopeless defeat in the moment ofvictory? Was this the way of justice that, after all they had endured,they should yet go down to death? They had fought a mighty fight, theyhad waged a cruel war against cold and hardship, they had known the fullterror and punishment of the snow wastes in their dreadful adventure ofthe past two days; and had it all come to nothing, after all? Was lifeno more than this,--a cruel master that tortured his slaves only togive them death? These thoughts brought their full bitterness in theinstant that Bill groped his way to Virginia's side.

  His hands told him she was lying huddled against the wall, a slight,pathetic figure that broke the heart within the man. "Here I am," shesaid again, her voice not racked with pain but only soft and tender. Heknelt beside her, then groped for a match. But whether the injury wassmall or great he felt that the issue would be the same.

  But before he struck the match he remembered his foe without; he wouldbe quick to fire through the window if a light showed him his target.Even now he might be crouched in the snow, his rifle in his arms,waiting for just this chance. Bill snatched a blanket from the cot,shielded them with it, and lighted the match behind it. "He can't seethe light through this," he told her. "If he does--I guess it doesn'tmuch matter."

  He groped for the fallen candle, lighted it, and held it close."You'll have to look and see yourself, Virginia," he told her. "Youremember--of course----"

  Yes, she remembered his blindness. She looked down at the little stainof red on her left shoulder. "I can't tell," she told him. "It went inright here--give me your hand."

  She took his warm hand and rested it against the wound. Someway, itcomforted her. "Close to the top of the shoulder, then," he commented.Then he groped till his sensitive fingers told him he had found theegress of the bullet--on her arm just down from her shoulder. "Butthere's nothing I can do--it's not a wound I can dress. It's cleanernow than anything we've got to clean it with. The only thing is to liestill--so it won't bleed."

  "Do you think I'll die?" she asked him quietly. There was nofear--only sorrow--in her tones. "Tell me frankly, Bill."

  "I don't think the wound is serious in itself--if we could get youdown to a doctor," he told her. "It isn't bleeding much now, becauseyou are lying still, but it has been bleeding pretty freely. It's justa flesh wound, really. But you see----"

  Her mind leaped at once to his thought. "You mean--it's the same,either way?" she questioned.

  "It doesn't make much difference." The man spoke quietly, just as shemight have expected him to speak in such a moment as this. "Oh,Virginia--we've fought so hard--it's bitter to lose now. You see,don't you--you couldn't walk with that wound--you don't know theway, so I could walk and pull you on the sled--and Harold is gone. Hewon't show us the way or help us now. We haven't any food here--thegrizzly has been eaten by wolves. One of us blind and one of uswounded--you see--what chance we've got against the North. If we hadthe grizzly flesh, we could stay here till my sight returned--and still,perhaps, get you out in time to save you from the injury. If you knewthe way to the settlements, I might haul you on the sled--you guidingme--and take a chance of running into some meat on the way down. Butnone of those things are true."

  "Then what"--the girl spoke breathlessly--"does it mean?"

  "It means death--that's all it means." There was no sentimentality,no tremor in his voice now. He was looking his fate in the face; heknew he could not spare the girl by keeping the truth from her. "Deathas sure as we're here--from hunger and your wound--if Harold or thecold doesn't get us first. We've been cheated, Virginia. We've playedwith a crooked dealer. I don't care on my own account----"

  "Then don't care on mine, either." All at once her hand went up andcaressed his face. "Hold me, Bill, won't you?" she asked. "Hold me inyour arms."

  She asked it simply, like a little child. He shifted his position, thenlifted her so that her breast was against his, his arms around her, hersoft hair against his shoulder. The candle, dropped from his hand, wasextinguished. The cold deepened outside the cabin. The white, icy moonrode in the sky.

  The man's arms tightened around her. He lowered his lips close to hers.There in the shadow of death her breast pressed to his, the locks ofiron that held his heart's secret were shattered, the veil of his templewas rent. "Virginia," he asked his voice throbbing, "do you want me totell you something--the truest thing in all my life? I thought Icould keep it from you, but I can't. I can't keep it any more----"

  Her arm went up and encircled his neck, and she drew his head down tohers. "Yes, Bill," she told him, "I want you to tell me. I think Iknow what it is."

  "I love you. That's it; it never was and it never can be anythingelse." The words, long pent-up, poured from his lips in a flood."Virginia, I love you, love you, love you--my little girl, my little,little girl----"

  She drew his head down and down until her own lips halted the flow ofhis words. "And I love you, Bill," she told him. "No one but you."

  All the sweetness and tenderness of her glorious and newly wakened lovewas in the kiss that she gave him. Yet the man could not believe. Thehuman soul, condemned to darkness, can never believe at first when thelight breaks through. His heart seemed to halt in his breast in thisinstant of infinite suspense.

  "You do?" he whispered at last, in inexpressible wonder. "Did you saythat you loved _me_--you so beautiful, so glorious--Don't tell methat in pity----"

  "I love you, Bill," she told him earnestly, then laughed softly at hisdisbelief. She kissed him again and again, softly as moonlight fallsupon meadows. The man's heart leaped and flooded, but no more wordswould come to his lips. He could only sit with his strong arms everholding her closer to his breast, kissing the lips that responded sotenderly and lingeringly, swept with a rapture undreamed of before.Ever her soft, warm arm held his lips to hers, as if she could not lethim go.

  The seconds, thrilled with a wonder ineffable, passed into minutes.Virginia had no sensation of pain from her wound. The fear of deathoppressed her no more. She knew that she had come to her appointedplace at last, a haven and shelter no less than that to which the whiteship comes in from the tempestuous sea. This was her fate,--happinessand peace at last in her woodsman's arms.

  * * * * *

  They were no different from other lovers such as cling and kiss in theglory of a summer moon, in gardens far away. Their vows were the same,the mystery and the wonder no less. The savage realm into which theywere cast could not oppress them now. They forgot the drifts unending,the winter forests stretching interminably from range to range aboutthem, the pitiless cold, ever waiting just without the cabin door. Evenimpending death itself, in the glory of this night, could cast no shadowupon their spirit.

  In the moment of their victory the North had defeated them, but in theinstant of defeat they had found infinite and eternal victory. No blowthat life could deal, no weapon that this North should wield againstthem, could crush them now. They were borne high above the reach ofthese. They had discovered the great Secret, the eternal Talismanagainst which no curse can blast or no disaster break the spirit.

  They had their secret, whispered exultations, like all lovers the lengthand breadth of the world. Virginia told him that in her own heart shehad loved him almost from the first day but how she had not realized it,in all its completeness, until now. Bill told her of the wakening ofhis own love, and how he had confessed it to himself the night they hadplayed "Souvenir" in the complaint of the wind.

  He tried to explain to her his doubts and fears,--how he had looked ather as a being from another world. "I could imagine my loving you, fromthe first," he told her, "but never you giving your love to me."

  "And who is more worthy of it--of anybody's love--than you?" shereplied, utilizing a sweetheart's way, much more effective than words,to stop his lips. Then she told him of his bravery, his tenderness andsteadfastness; how there was no feeling of descent in giving h
er love tohim. She told him that in fact his education was as good as hers if notsuperior, that his natural breeding and gentleness were the equal ofthat of any man that moved in her own circle. She could find protectionand shelter in his strong arms, and in these months in the North she hadlearned that this was the most important thing of all. He could providefor her, too, with the wealth of his mine,--a point not to beforgotten. Her standards were true and sensible, she was down to thesimple, primitive basis of things, and she did not forget that provisionfor his wife was man's first responsibility and the first duty of love.

  Only once did Bill leave her,--to cover the crack of the door andbuild up the fire. When he returned, her warm little flood of kisseswas as if he had been absent for weary hours.

  But her thoughts had been busy, even in this moment. All at once shedrew his ear close to her lips.

  "Bill, will you listen to me a minute?" she asked.

  "Listen! I'll listen to every word----"

  "Some way--I've taken fresh heart since we--since we found out weloved each other. It seems to me that this love wasn't given to us,only to have us die in a few days--from this awful wound and you fromhunger. We're only three days' journey--and there must be some wayout."

  "God knows I wish you could find one. But I can't see--and you don'tknow the way--and we have no food."

  "But listen--this wound isn't very bad. I know I can't walk--itwill start bleeding if I do--but if I can get any attention at allsoon, I know it won't be serious. Bill, have you found out--you cantrust me, in a pinch?"

  Remembering that instant when the match had flared and her pistol hadshot so remorselessly and so true, he didn't hesitate over his answer."Sweetheart, I'd trust you to the last second."

  "Then trust me now. Listen to every word I say and do what I tell you.I think I know the way--at least a fighting chance--to life andsafety."