XXXIII
Whispering eagerly, Virginia told Bill the plan that would give themtheir fighting chance. His mind, working clear and true, absorbed everydetail. "It depends first," she said, "whether or not you can crawlthrough the little window of the cabin."
Bill remembered his experience in the smoke-filled hut and he kissedher, smiling. "I've got into smaller places than that, in my time," hetold her. "I can take the little window right out. I put it inmyself."
They were not so awed by their dilemma that they couldn't have gaywords. "You got into my heart, too, Bill--a great dealer smaller placethan the window," she whispered. "The next thing--are Harold'ssnowshoes in this room?"
"So it depends on Harold, does it? I believe his snowshoes are here.Harold left rather hurriedly--and I don't think he took them."
"What everything depends on--is getting out. Getting out quickly.The longer we stay here, without food, the more certain death is. Iknow I can't walk and you can't see. We have no food--except enoughfor one meal, perhaps--but we've got to take a chance on that. Bill,Harold is waiting, right now--probably in the little cabin where hesleeps--for a chance to get those shoes. He's helpless without them.When he gets them, he can go to the Yuga--enlist more of his breedfriends--and wait in ambush for us, just as he said. He's hopingwe've forgotten about them. I am sure he didn't take the shoes. Theywere behind the stove last night."
To make sure, Bill groped his way across the cabin and found not onlyHarold's shoes, but his own and Virginia's, bringing them all back toher side.
"What's now, Little Corporal?" he asked.
"As soon as it gets light enough for him to see, I want you to go outthe cabin door. Turn at once into the brush at your right, so he can'tshoot you with the rifle. Then come around to the side of the cabin andre-enter through the window. You can feel your way, and I can guide youby my voice, but you mustn't go more than a few feet or you'll getbewildered. The moment he thinks you are gone, he'll come--not onlyto get his snowshoes but to gloat over me. I know him now! I can'tunderstand why I didn't know him before. And then--we've got to takehim by surprise."
"And then----?"
Quickly, with few words, she told him the rest of her plot. It waswholly simple, and at least it held a fighting chance. He was not blindto the deadly three-day battle that they would have to wage againststarvation and cold, in case this immediate part of their plot was asuccess. But the slightest chance when death was the only alternativewas worth the trial.
Very carefully and softly Bill went to work to loosen the window so thathe could take it out. It was secured by nails, but with such tools ashe had in the cabin, he soon had it free. Then he lifted out thewindow, putting it back loosely so that he could remove it in a second'stime. There was no wisdom in leaving it open until morning. The bittercold without was waiting for just that chance.
He secured certain thongs of rawhide--left over from the moose skinthat he had used for snowshoe webs--and put them in his coat pocket.Then he made a little bed for the girl, on the floor and against thewall, exactly in front and opposite the doorway. It was noticeable,too, that he restored her pistol to her hand.
"I don't think you'll need it," he told her, "but I want you to have itanyway--in case of an emergency."
There was nothing to do thereafter but to build up the fire and wait fordawn.
In reality, Virginia had guessed the situation just right. In theadjoining cabin, scarcely one hundred yards away, Harold waited andwatched his chance to recover his snowshoes. He was wise enough to careto wait for daylight. He wanted no further meeting with Bill in thedarkness. But in the light he would have every advantage; he could seeto shoot and his blind foe could not return his fire.
After all, he had only to be patient. Vengeance would be swift andsure. When the morning broke he would come into his own again, withnever a chance for failure. One little glance along his rifle sights,one quarter-ounce of pressure on the trigger,--and then he couldjourney down to the Yuga and his squaw in happiness and safety. Itwould be a hard march, but once there he could get supplies and returnto jump Bill's claim. Everything would turn out right for him afterall.
The fact that his confederates were slain mattered not one way oranother. Pete had gone out with a bullet through his lungs; Virginiahad dealt him that. Joe's neck had been broken when Bill had hurled himagainst the cabin wall. But in a way, these things were an advantage.There was sufficient food in the cabin for one meal for the three ofthem, and that meant it was three meals for one. A day's rations,carefully spent, would carry him the two day's march to the Yuga.Besides, the breeds would not be present to claim their third of themine. He wondered why he hadn't handled the whole matter himself, inthe first place. He would have been fully capable, he thought. As toVirginia,--he hadn't decided about Virginia yet. He didn't know ofher wound, or his security would have seemed all the more complete.Virginia might yet listen to reason and accompany him down to the Yuga.He had only to wait till dawn.
But Harold's thought was not entirely clear. The fury in his brain andthe madness in his blood distorted it,--just a little. Otherwise hemight have conceived of some error in his plans. He would have been alittle more careful, a little less sure. His insane and devastatinglonging for vengeance, as well as his late drunkenness, cost him thefine but essential edge of his self-mastery.
Slowly the stars faded, the first ghostly light came stealing from theeast. The blood began to leap once more in his veins. Already it wasalmost light enough to shoot. Then his straining eyes saw Bill emergefrom the cabin.
Every nerve in his body seemed to jerk and thrill with renewedexcitement. Yet there wasn't a chance to shoot. The light was dim; theshadows of the spruce trees hid the woodsman's figure swiftly. He wasgone; the cabin was left unoccupied except for Virginia. And for allthat she had shot so straight to save Bill's life, there was nothing tofear from her. Her fury was passed by now; he thought he knew her wellenough to know that she wouldn't shoot him in cold blood. And perhapssome of her love for him yet lingered.
He did not try to guess the mission on which Bill had gone. If histhought had been more clear and his fury less, he would have paused andwondered about it; perhaps he would have been somewhat suspicious. Billwas blind; except to procure fuel there was no conceivable reason for anexcursion into the snow. But Harold only shivered with hatred and rage,drunk with the realization that his chance had come.
He would go quickly to the cabin, procure his snowshoes, and be ready tomeet Bill with loaded rifle when he returned. There was no chance forfailure. He plunged and fought his way, floundering in the deep snow,toward Bill's cabin.
He found to his great delight that the door was open,--nothing to dobut walk through. At first he was a little amazed at the sight ofVirginia lying so still against the opposite wall; it occurred to himfor the first time that perhaps she had been wounded in the fight. Ifso, it made his work all the safer. Yet she opened her eyes and gazedat him as he neared the threshold. He could see her but dimly; mostlythe cabin was still dusky with shadows.
"I'm coming for my snowshoes, Virginia," he told her. "Then I'm goingto go away." He tried to draw his battered, bloody lips into a smile.
"Come in and get them," she replied. Her voice was low and lifeless.Harold stepped through the door. And then she uttered a curious cry.
"Now!" she called sharply. There was no time for Harold to dart back,even to be alarmed. A mighty force descended upon his body.
Even in that first instant Harold knew only too well what had occurred.Instead of lying in wait himself he had been lured into ambush. Billhad re-entered the window and had stood waiting in the shadow, justbeside the open door. Virginia had given him the signal when to leapdown.
He leaped with crushing force,--as the grizzly leaps, or the cougarpounces from a tree. There was nothing of human limitations about thatattack. Harold tried to struggle, but his attempt was futile as that ofa sparro
w in the jaws of the little ermine. Only too well he knew thestrength of these pitiless arms that clasped him now. He had learned itthe night before, and his lust for vengeance gave way to ghastly andblood-curdling terror. What would these two avengers do to him; whatjustice would they wreak on him, now that they had him in their power?The resistless shoulders hurled him to the floor. Virginia left her bedand came creeping to be of such aid as was needed.
She wholly disregarded her own injury. Her own countrymen, in warsagone, had fought all day with wounds much worse. She crept with herpistol ready in her hands.
Bill's strong fingers were at Harold's throat by now; the man'sresistance was swiftly crushed out of him. With his knee Bill held downone of Harold's arms; with his free arm he struck blow after blow intohis face. Then as unconsciousness descended upon him, Harold felt hiswrists being drawn back and tied.
He struggled for consciousness. Opening his eyes, he saw their sardonicfaces. The worst terror of his life descended upon him.
"My god, what are you going to do to me?" he asked.
"Why, Harold, you are going to be our little truck horse," Virginiareplied gayly, as she handed Bill more thongs. "You are going to pullthe sled and show the way down into Bradleyburg."
XXXIV
When the dawn came full and bright over Clearwater, Bill and his partywere ready to start. When Harold had been thoroughly cowed and his fullinstructions were given him, the thongs had been put about his anklesand removed from his wrists, and he was permitted to do the packing.That procedure was exceedingly simple; all available blankets were piledon the sled and made into a bed for Virginia, and the ax, candles, andsuch cooking utensils as were needed were packed in front. And thenthey had a short but decisive interview with Harold.
"I won't go--I'll die first," he cried to Virginia. "Besides, youdon't dare to use force on me; you don't know the way and Bill can'tsee. You know if you kill me you'll die yourself."
"Fair enough," Virginia replied sweetly. "But take this little word ofadvice. Bill and I were all reconciled to dying when we thought ofyou--and we don't mind it now if we're sure you are going along. Don'tget any false ideas about that point, Harold. We're not going to spareyou on any chance of saving ourselves. We are going to give you alittle more foot room, and fix up your hands a little, and then you aregoing to pull the sled. When we camp at night you're going to cut thewood. Don't think for a minute I'm going to be afraid to shoot if youdisobey one order--if you take one step against us. You are at ourmercy; we are not at yours. And Bill will tell you I can shootstraight. Perhaps you learned that fact last night."
Yes, Harold had learned. He had learned it very well.
"If I think you're trying to cheat us--to lead us out of the waytoward your breed friends--you're going to have a chance to learn itbetter," she went on, never a quaver in her voice. "I won't wait tomake sure--I'll shoot you through the neck as easy and as quick as I'dshoot a grouse. I haven't forgotten what you did last night; I'm justeager for a chance to pay you for it." Her voice grew more sober."This is a warning--the only one and the last one that you will get.I'm going to watch you every minute and tie you up at night. And thefact that we can't go on without you won't have a jot of influence ifyou take a step against us. We may die ourselves, but you know thatyou'll also die."
This was not the sheltered, incapable girl of society that addressed himnow. These words were those of the woodswoman; the eyes that gazed intohis were unwavering and hard. He knew that she was speaking true. Thecourage for retaliation oozed out of him as mud oozes into a river.
They lengthened the thong that tied his ankles together, giving him roomfor a full walking step but not enough to leap or run. They put on hishands a pair of awkward mittens that had been stiffened by mud andwater, and lashed them to his wrists. Then they slipped the thong ofthe sled across his shoulders and under his arms like loops of a kyack.They were ready to go.
The forest was laden with the early-morning silence; the trees stooddraped in snow. It was cold, too,--the frost gathered quickly on themufflers that they wore about their lips. All too well they knew whatlay before them. Without food to keep their bodies nourished and warm,they could scarcely hope to make the town; their one chance was thatsomewhere on the trail they would encounter game. How long a chance itwas, this late in winter, they knew all too surely. But for all thisknowledge Bill and Virginia were cheerful.
"I haven't much hope," Bill told her when she was tucked into the bed onthe sled. "But it's the only chance we have."
She smiled at him. "At least, Bill, we'll have done everything wecould. Good-by, little cabin--where I found happiness. Sometimeperhaps we'll come back to you!"
The man bent and kissed her, and she gave the word for Harold to start.
Slowly they headed toward the river. The crust was perfect; Haroldcould hardly feel the weight of the sled. Bill mushed behind, guided bythe gee-pole. The white-draped trees they had known so well spoke noword of farewell.
Could they win through? Were they to know the hardship of the journey,starvation and bitter cold, only to find death in some still, enchantedglen of the forest that stretched in front? Was fate still jesting withthem, whispering hope only to shatter them with defeat? Were they toknow hunger and exhaustion, pain and travail, until finally their bodiesdropped down and yielded to the cold? They could not keep up longwithout the inner fuel of food.
Their chance of finding game seemed hopelessly small, even at first.Before they reached the frozen river it seemed beyond the possibilitiesof miracle. Even the tracks of the little people--such ferocioushunters as marten and ermine--were gone from the snow. There were notracks of caribou or moose; the grouse had seemingly buried in thedrifts. The only creatures that had not hidden away from the wintercold were the wolves and the coyotes, furtive people that could not becoaxed into the range of Virginia's pistol. For all her outwardoptimism her heart grew heavy with despair.
They crossed the river, coming out where the old moose trail had gonedown the ford. Here they had seen the last of Kenly Lounsbury andVosper, almost forgotten now. Virginia told Harold to stop an instantas she recalled those vents of months before.
"So much has happened since then," she said, "If only they hadleft----"
Her words died away in the middle of the sentence, and for a moment shesat gazing with wide and startled eyes. For all that sight was justbeginning to return to him, Bill was strangely and unexplainablystartled, too, probably sensing the suspense indicated in the girl'stones. Harold turned, staring.
He could not see what Virginia saw, at first. She pointed, unable tospeak. In a little thicket of young spruce there was a curiously shapedheap of snow, capped by a done of snow that extended under thesheltering branches of a young tree. Instantly Harold understood. Somelong bundle had been left there before the snow came; when it had beenthrown down its end had caught in the branches of a young tree whereonly a small amount of snow could reach it. "See what it is," Virginiaordered.
The man drew the sled nearer and with desperate energy began to knockaway the snow. His first discovery was a linen tent,--one that wouldhave been familiar indeed to Bill. But digging further he found a heavybundle, tied with a rope and rattling curiously in his arms.
At Virginia's directions he laid it in the snow and pulled the sled upwhere she could open it. Bill stood beside her, not daring to guess thetruth.
"Oh, my darling!" she cried at last, drawing his head down to hers. Shecouldn't say more. She could only laugh and sob, alternately, as mightone whose dearest prayers had been granted.
The bundle was full of food,--dried meat and canned goods and a smallsack of flour. They were some of the supplies that to save himself thework of caring for, the faithless Vosper had discarded when, with Kenly,he had turned back from the river.
* * * * *
At the end of three bitter days, Bill Bronson stood once more on thehill that looked down upon the old mining
camp. The twilight wasgrowing in the glen beneath; already it had cast shadows in Virginia'seyes. She sat beside him on the sled.
It had been cruel hardship, the three days' journey, but they had madeit without mishap. At night they had built great fires at the mouth oftheir tent, but they had not escaped the curse of the cold. The dayshad been arduous and long. But they had conquered; even now they wereemerging from the dark fringe of the spruce.
Virginia was on the rapid road toward recovery from her wound. It hadnot been severe; while she was lying still on the sled it had had everychance to heal. A few stitches by the doctor in Bradleyburg, a thoroughcleansing and bandaging, and a few more days in bed would avert allserious consequences. Bill's sight had grown steadily better as thedays had passed; already the Spirits of Mercy had permitted him, atclose range, to behold Virginia's face.
A half-mile back, just before they approached the first fringe of thespruce forest, they had met a trapper just starting out on his line; andhe had gladly consented to take Harold the rest of the way into town.It is one of the duties of citizenship in the North, where thepopulation is so scant and the officers so few, to take an active partin law enforcement,--and this trapper was glad of the opportunity toassist them in the care of the prisoner. He was to be lodged in prisonat the little mining camp to face a charge of attempted murder,--acrime that in the northwest provinces is never regarded lightly.
"And you weren't drowned!" the trapper marveled, when he had got hisbreath. "We've been mournin' you for dead--for months."
"Drowned--not a bit of it," Virginia answered gayly. "And don't mournany more."
The trapper said he wouldn't and hastened off with his prisoner,delighted indeed to be the first to pass the good word of theirdeliverance through Bradleyburg. Bill was well known and liked throughall that portion of the North, and his supposed death had been a realblow to the townspeople.
Bill felt wholly able to follow the broad snowshoe track the half-milefarther into town. The footsteps of the men had grown faint and diedaway,--and Virginia and he were left together on the hill.
They had nothing to say at first. They simply watched the slowencroachment of the twilight. Lights sprang up one and one over thetown. Bill bent, and the girl raised her lips to his.
"We might as well go on," he said. "You're cold--and tired."
"Yes. I can't believe--I'm saying good-by to the spruce."
"And you're not, Virginia!" The man's voice was vibrant and joyful."We'll have to come back often, to oversee the running of themine--half of every year at least--and we can stay at the old cabinjust the same. The woods are beautiful in summer."
"They're beautiful now."
And they were. She told the truth. For all their savagery, theirfearful strength, their beauty could not be denied.
They saw the church spire, tall and ghostly in the twilight, and Bill'sstrong arms pressed the girl close. She understood and smiled happily."Of course, Bill," she told him. "There is no need to wait. In a fewdays I'll be strong enough to stand beside you--at the altar."
So it was decided. They would be married in the quaint, old town ofBradleyburg, in the shadow of the spruce.
They would return, these two. The North had claimed them--but had notmastered them--and they would come back to see again the cariboufeeding in the forest, the whirling snows, and the spruce trees liftingtheir tall heads to the winter stars. They would know the oldexultation, the joy of conflict; but no blustering storm or wildernessvoice could appall them now. In the security and harbor of their love,no wind was keen enough to chill them, no darkness appall their spirits.
The Northern Lights were beginning their mysterious display in thetwilight sky. Far away a coyote howled disconsolately,--a cry thatwas the voice of the North itself. And the two kissed once more andpushed on down to Bradleyburg.
The Snowshoe Trail Page 33
