by Jack London
CHAPTER XXVI
Frona woke, slowly, as though from a long dream. She was lying whereshe had fallen, across Corliss's legs, while he, on his back, faced thehot sun without concern. She crawled up to him. He was breathingregularly, with closed eyes, which opened to meet hers. He smiled, andshe sank down again. Then he rolled over on his side, and they lookedat each other.
"Vance."
"Yes."
She reached out her hand; his closed upon it, and their eyelidsfluttered and drooped down. The river still rumbled en, somewhere inthe infinite distance, but it came to them like the murmur of a worldforgotten. A soft languor encompassed them. The golden sunshinedripped down upon them through the living green, and all the life ofthe warm earth seemed singing. And quiet was very good. Fifteen longminutes they drowsed, and woke again.
Frona sat up. "I--I was afraid," she said.
"Not you."
"Afraid that I might be afraid," she amended, fumbling with her hair.
"Leave it down. The day merits it."
She complied, with a toss of the head which circled it with a nimbus ofrippling yellow.
"Tommy's gone," Corliss mused, the race with the ice coming slowly back.
"Yes," she answered. "I rapped him on the knuckles. It was terrible.But the chance is we've a better man in the canoe, and we must care forhim at once. Hello! Look there!" Through the trees, not a score offeet away, she saw the wall of a large cabin. "Nobody in sight. Itmust be deserted, or else they're visiting, whoever they are. You lookto our man, Vance,--I'm more presentable,--and I'll go and see."
She skirted the cabin, which was a large one for the Yukon country, andcame around to where it fronted on the river. The door stood open,and, as she paused to knock, the whole interior flashed upon her in anastounding picture,--a cumulative picture, or series of pictures, as itwere. For first she was aware of a crowd of men, and of some greatcommon purpose upon which all were seriously bent. At her knock theyinstinctively divided, so that a lane opened up, flanked by theirpressed bodies, to the far end of the room. And there, in the longbunks on either side, sat two grave rows of men. And midway between,against the wall, was a table. This table seemed the centre ofinterest. Fresh from the sun-dazzle, the light within was dim andmurky, but she managed to make out a bearded American sitting by thetable and hammering it with a heavy caulking-mallet. And on theopposite side sat St. Vincent. She had time to note his worn andhaggard face, before a man of Scandinavian appearance slouched up tothe table.
The man with the mallet raised his right hand and said glibly, "You domost solemnly swear that what you are about to give before thecourt--" He abruptly stopped and glowered at the man before him."Take off your hat!" he roared, and a snicker went up from the crowd asthe man obeyed.
Then he of the mallet began again. "You do most solemnly swear thatwhat you are about to give before the court shall be the truth, thewhole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
The Scandinavian nodded and dropped his hand.
"One moment, gentlemen." Frona advanced up the lane, which closedbehind her.
St. Vincent sprang to his feet and stretched out his arms to her."Frona," he cried, "oh, Frona, I am innocent!"
It struck her like a blow, the unexpectedness of it, and for theinstant, in the sickly light, she was conscious only of the ring ofwhite faces, each face set with eyes that burned. Innocent of what?she thought, and as she looked at St. Vincent, arms still extended, shewas aware, in a vague, troubled way, of something distasteful.Innocent of what? He might have had more reserve. He might havewaited till he was charged. She did not know that he was charged withanything.
"Friend of the prisoner," the man with the mallet said authoritatively."Bring a stool for'ard, some of you."
"One moment . . ." She staggered against the table and rested a handon it. "I do not understand. This is all new . . ." But her eyeshappened to come to rest on her feet, wrapped in dirty rags, and sheknew that she was clad in a short and tattered skirt, that her armpeeped forth through a rent in her sleeve, and that her hair was downand flying. Her cheek and neck on one side seemed coated with somecurious substance. She brushed it with her hand, and caked mud rattledto the floor.
"That will do," the man said, not unkindly. "Sit down. We're in thesame box. We do not understand. But take my word for it, we're hereto find out. So sit down."
She raised her hand. "One moment--"
"Sit down!" he thundered. "The court cannot be disturbed."
A hum went up from the crowd, words of dissent, and the man pounded thetable for silence. But Frona resolutely kept her feet.
When the noise had subsided, she addressed the man in the chair. "Mr.Chairman: I take it that this is a miners' meeting." (The man nodded.)"Then, having an equal voice in the managing of this community'saffairs, I demand to be heard. It is important that I should be heard."
"But you are out of order. Miss--er--"
"Welse!" half a dozen voices prompted.
"Miss Welse," he went on, an added respect marking his demeanor, "itgrieves me to inform you that you are out of order. You had best sitdown."
"I will not," she answered. "I rise to a question of privilege, and ifI am not heard, I shall appeal to the meeting."
She swept the crowd with her eyes, and cries went up that she be givena fair show. The chairman yielded and motioned her to go on.
"Mr. Chairman and men: I do not know the business you have at presentbefore you, but I do know that I have more important business to placebefore you. Just outside this cabin is a man probably dying fromstarvation. We have brought him from across the river. We should nothave bothered you, but we were unable to make our own island. This manI speak of needs immediate attention."
"A couple of you nearest the door go out and look after him," thechairman ordered. "And you, Doc Holiday, go along and see what you cando."
"Ask for a recess," St. Vincent whispered.
Frona nodded her head. "And, Mr. Chairman, I make a motion for arecess until the man is cared for."
Cries of "No recess!" and "Go on with the business!" greeted theputting of it, and the motion was lost.
"Now, Gregory," with a smile and salutation as she took the stoolbeside him, "what is it?"
He gripped her hand tightly. "Don't believe them, Frona. They aretrying to"--with a gulping swallow--"to kill me."
"Why? Do be calm. Tell me."
"Why, last night," he began hurriedly, but broke off to listen to theScandinavian previously sworn, who was speaking with ponderous slowness.
"I wake wide open quick," he was saying. "I coom to the door. I therehear one shot more."
He was interrupted by a warm-complexioned man, clad in faded mackinaws."What did you think?" he asked.
"Eh?" the witness queried, his face dark and troubled with perplexity.
"When you came to the door, what was your first thought?"
"A-w-w," the man sighed, his face clearing and infinite comprehensionsounding in his voice. "I have no moccasins. I t'ink pretty damncold." His satisfied expression changed to naive surprise when anoutburst of laughter greeted his statement, but he went on stolidly."One more shot I hear, and I run down the trail."
Then Corliss pressed in through the crowd to Frona, and she lost whatthe man was saying.
"What's up?" the engineer was asking. "Anything serious? Can I be ofany use?"
"Yes, yes." She caught his hand gratefully. "Get over theback-channel somehow and tell my father to come. Tell him that GregorySt. Vincent is in trouble; that he is charged with-- What are youcharged with, Gregory?" she asked, turning to him.
"Murder."
"Murder?" from Corliss.
"Yes, yes. Say that he is charged with murder; that I am here; andthat I need him. And tell him to bring me some clothes. And,Vance,"--with a pressure of the hand and swift upward look,--"don'ttake any . . . any big chances, but do try to make it."
/> "Oh, I'll make it all right." He tossed his head confidently andproceeded to elbow his way towards the door.
"Who is helping you in your defence?" she asked St. Vincent.
He shook his head. "No. They wanted to appoint some one,--a renegadelawyer from the States, Bill Brown,--but I declined him. He's takenthe other side, now. It's lynch law, you know, and their minds aremade up. They're bound to get me."
"I wish there were time to hear your side."
"But, Frona, I am innocent. I--"
"S-sh!" She laid her hand on his arm to hush him, and turned herattention to the witness.
"So the noospaper feller, he fight like anything; but Pierre and me, wepull him into the shack. He cry and stand in one place--"
"Who cried?" interrupted the prosecuting lawyer.
"Him. That feller there." The Scandinavian pointed directly at St.Vincent. "And I make a light. The slush-lamp I find spilt over mosteverything, but I have a candle in my pocket. It is good practice tocarry a candle in the pocket," he affirmed gravely. "And Borg he layon the floor dead. And the squaw say he did it, and then she die, too."
"Said who did it?"
Again his accusing finger singled out St. Vincent. "Him. That fellerthere."
"Did she?" Frona whispered.
"Yes," St. Vincent whispered back, "she did. But I cannot imagine whatprompted her. She must have been out of her head."
The warm-faced man in the faded mackinaws then put the witness througha searching examination, which Frona followed closely, but whichelicited little new.
"You have the right to cross-examine the witness," the chairmaninformed St. Vincent. "Any questions you want to ask?"
The correspondent shook his head.
"Go on," Frona urged.
"What's the use?" he asked, hopelessly. "I'm fore-doomed. The verdictwas reached before the trial began."
"One moment, please." Frona's sharp command arrested the retiringwitness. "You do not know of your own knowledge who committed thismurder?"
The Scandinavian gazed at her with a bovine expression on his leadenfeatures, as though waiting for her question to percolate to hisunderstanding.
"You did not see who did it?" she asked again.
"Aw, yes. That feller there," accusative finger to the fore. "She sayhe did."
There was a general smile at this.
"But you did not see it?"
"I hear some shooting."
"But you did not see who did the shooting?"
"Aw, no; but she said--"
"That will do, thank you," she said sweetly, and the man retired.
The prosecution consulted its notes. "Pierre La Flitche!" was calledout.
A slender, swart-skinned man, lithe of figure and graceful, steppedforward to the open space before the table. He was darkly handsome,with a quick, eloquent eye which roved frankly everywhere. It restedfor a moment on Frona, open and honest in its admiration, and shesmiled and half-nodded, for she liked him at first glance, and itseemed as though they had met of old time. He smiled pleasantly back,the smooth upper lip curling brightly and showing beautiful teeth,immaculately white.
In answer to the stereotyped preliminaries he stated that his name wasthat of his father's, a descendant of the _coureurs du bois_. Hismother--with a shrug of the shoulders and flash of teeth--was a_breed_. He was born somewhere in the Barrens, on a hunting trip, hedid not know where. Ah, _oui_, men called him an old-timer. He hadcome into the country in the days of Jack McQuestion, across theRockies from the Great Slave.
On being told to go ahead with what he knew of the matter in hand, hedeliberated a moment, as though casting about for the best departure.
"In the spring it is good to sleep with the open door," he began, hiswords sounding clear and flute-like and marked by haunting memories ofthe accents his forbears put into the tongue. "And so I sleep lastnight. But I sleep like the cat. The fall of the leaf, the breath ofthe wind, and my ears whisper to me, whisper, whisper, all the nightlong. So, the first shot," with a quick snap of the fingers, "and I amawake, just like that, and I am at the door."
St. Vincent leaned forward to Frona. "It was not the first shot."
She nodded, with her eyes still bent on La Flitche, who gallantlywaited.
"Then two more shot," he went on, "quick, together, boom-boom, justlike that. 'Borg's shack,' I say to myself, and run down the trail. Ithink Borg kill Bella, which was bad. Bella very fine girl," heconfided with one of his irresistible smiles. "I like Bella. So Irun. And John he run from his cabin like a fat cow, with great noise.'What the matter?' he say; and I say, 'I don't know.' And thensomething come, wheugh! out of the dark, just like that, and knock Johndown, and knock me down. We grab everywhere all at once. It is a man.He is in undress. He fight. He cry, 'Oh! Oh! Oh!' just like that.We hold him tight, and bime-by pretty quick, he stop. Then we get up,and I say, 'Come along back.'"
"Who was the man?"
La Flitche turned partly, and rested his eyes on St. Vincent.
"Go on."
"So? The man he will not go back; but John and I say yes, and he go."
"Did he say anything?"
"I ask him what the matter; but he cry, he . . . he sob, _huh-tsch_,_huh-tsch_, just like that."
"Did you see anything peculiar about him?"
La Flitche's brows drew up interrogatively.
^Anything uncommon, out of the ordinary?"
"Ah, _oui_; blood on the hands." Disregarding the murmur in the room,he went on, his facile play of feature and gesture giving dramaticvalue to the recital. "John make a light, and Bella groan, like thehair-seal when you shoot him in the body, just like that when you shoothim in the body under the flipper. And Borg lay over in the corner. Ilook. He no breathe 'tall.
"Then Bella open her eyes, and I look in her eyes, and I know she knowme, La Flitche. 'Who did it, Bella?' I ask. And she roll her head onthe floor and whisper, so low, so slow, 'Him dead?' I know she meanBorg, and I say yes. Then she lift up on one elbow, and look aboutquick, in big hurry, and when she see Vincent she look no more, onlyshe look at Vincent all the time. Then she point at him, just likethat." Suiting the action to the word, La Flitche turned and thrust awavering finger at the prisoner. "And she say, 'Him, him, him.' And Isay, 'Bella, who did it?' And she say, 'Him, him, him. St. Vincha,him do it.' And then"--La Flitche's head felt limply forward on hischest, and came back naturally erect, as he finished, with a flash ofteeth, "Dead."
The warm-faced man, Bill Brown, put the quarter-breed through thecustomary direct examination, which served to strengthen his testimonyand to bring out the fact that a terrible struggle must have takenplace in the killing of Borg. The heavy table was smashed, the stooland the bunk-board splintered, and the stove over-thrown. "Never did Isee anything like it," La Flitche concluded his description of thewreck. "No, never."
Brown turned him over to Frona with a bow, which a smile of hers paidfor in full. She did not deem it unwise to cultivate cordiality withthe lawyer. What she was working for was time--time for her father tocome, time to be closeted with St. Vincent and learn all the details ofwhat really had occurred. So she put questions, questions,interminable questions, to La Flitche. Twice only did anything ofmoment crop up.
"You spoke of the first shot, Mr. La Flitche. Now, the walls of a logcabin are quite thick. Had your door been closed, do you think youcould have heard that first shot?"
He shook his head, though his dark eyes told her he divined the pointshe was endeavoring to establish.
"And had the door of Borg's cabin been closed, would you have heard?"
Again he shook his head.
"Then, Mr. La Flitche, when you say the first shot, you do not meannecessarily the first shot fired, but rather the first shot you heardfired?"
He nodded, and though she had scored her point she could not see thatit had any material bearing after all.
Again she worked up craftily to another
and stronger climax, though shefelt all the time that La Flitche fathomed her.
"You say it was very dark, Mr. La Flitche?"
"Ah, oui; quite dark."
"How dark? How did you know it was John you met?"
"John make much noise when he run. I know that kind of noise."
"Could you see him so as to know that it was he?"
"Ah, no."
"Then, Mr. La Flitche," she demanded, triumphantly, "will you pleasestate how you knew there was blood on the hands of Mr. St. Vincent?"
His lip lifted in a dazzling smile, and he paused a moment. "How? Ifeel it warm on his hands. And my nose--ah, the smoke of the huntercamp long way off, the hole where the rabbit hide, the track of themoose which has gone before, does not my nose tell me?" He flung hishead back, and with tense face, eyes closed, nostrils quivering anddilated, he simulated the quiescence of all the senses save one and theconcentration of his whole being upon that one. Then his eyesfluttered partly open and he regarded her dreamily. "I smell the bloodon his hands, the warm blood, the hot blood on his hands."
"And by gad he can do it!" some man exclaimed.
And so convinced was Frona that she glanced involuntarily at St.Vincent's hands, and saw there the rusty-brown stains on the cuffs ofhis flannel shirt.
As La Flitche left the stand, Bill Brown came over to her and shookhands. "No more than proper I should know the lawyer for the defence,"he said, good-naturedly, running over his notes for the next witness.
"But don't you think it is rather unfair to me?" she asked, brightly."I have not had time to prepare my case. I know nothing about itexcept what I have gleaned from your two witnesses. Don't you think,Mr. Brown," her voice rippling along in persuasive little notes, "don'tyou think it would be advisable to adjourn the meeting until to-morrow?"
"Hum," he deliberated, looking at his watch.
"Wouldn't be a bad idea. It's five o'clock, anyway, and the men oughtto be cooking their suppers."
She thanked him, as some women can, without speech; yet, as he lookeddown into her face and eyes, he experienced a subtler and greatersatisfaction than if she had spoken.
He stepped to his old position and addressed the room. "Onconsultation of the defence and the prosecution, and upon considerationof the lateness of the hour and the impossibility of finishing thetrial within a reasonable limit, I--hum--I take the liberty of movingan adjournment until eight o'clock to-morrow morning."
"The ayes have it," the chairman proclaimed, coming down from his placeand proceeding to build the fire, for he was a part-owner of the cabinand cook for his crowd.
