CHAPTER XIV
The manner in which Kent stared at Marette Radisson after herannouncement that it was Dirty Fingers who had planned his escape musthave been, he thought afterward, little less than imbecile. He hadwronged Fingers, he believed. He had called him a coward and abackslider. In his mind he had reviled him for helping to raise hishopes to the highest pitch, only to smash them in the end. And all thetime Dirty Fingers had been planning this! Kent began to grin. Thething was clear in a moment--that is, the immediate situation wasclear--or he thought it was. But there were questions--one, ten, ahundred of them. They wanted to pile over the end of his tongue,questions that had little or nothing to do with Kedsty. He saw nothingnow but Marette.
She had begun to take down her hair. It fell about her in wet, shiningmasses. Kent had never seen anything like it. It clung to her face, herneck, her shoulders and arms, and shrouded her slender body to herhips, lovely in its confusion. Little drops of water glistened in itlike diamonds in the lamp glow, trickling down and dropping to thefloor. It was like a glowing coat of velvety sable beaten by storm.Marette ran her arms up through it, shaking it out in clouds, and amist of rain leaped out from it, some of it striking Kent in the face.He forgot Fingers. He forgot Kedsty. His brain flamed only with theelectrifying nearness of her. It was the thought of her that hadinspired the greatest hope in him. It was his dreams of her, somewhereon the Big River, that had given him his great courage to believe inthe ultimate of things. And now time and space had taken a leapbackward. She was not four or five hundred miles north. There was nolong quest ahead of him. She was here, within a few feet of him,tossing the wet from that glorious hair he had yearned to touch,brushing it out now, with her back toward him, in front of her mirror.
And as he sat there, uttering no word, looking at her, the demands ofthe immense responsibility that had fallen upon him and of the greatfight that lay ahead pounded within him with naked fists. Fingers hadplanned. She had executed. It was up to him to finish.
He saw her, not as a creature to win, but as a priceless possession.Her fight had now become his fight. The rain was beating against thewindow near him. Out there was blackness, the river, the big world. Hisblood leaped with the old fighting fire. They were going tonight; theymust be going tonight! Why should they wait? Why should they waste timeunder Kedsty's roof when freedom lay out there for the taking? Hewatched the swift movements of her hand, listened to the silken rustleof the brush as it smoothed out her long hair. Bewilderment, reason,desire for action fought inside him.
Suddenly she faced him again. "It has just this moment occurred to me,"she said, "that you haven't said 'Thank you.'"
So suddenly that he startled her he was at her side. He did nothesitate this time, as he had hesitated in his room at Cardigan'splace. He caught her two hands in his, and with them he felt the soft,damp crush of her hair between his fingers. Words tumbled from hislips. He could not remember afterward all that he said. Her eyeswidened, and they never for an instant left his own. Thank her! He toldher what had happened to him--in the heart and soul of him--from thehour she had come to him at Cardigan's. He told her of dreams andplans, of his determination to find her again after he had escaped, ifit took him all his life. He told her of Mercer, of his discovery ofher visit to Kim's Bayou, of his scheme to follow her down the ThreeRivers, to seek for her at Fort Simpson, to follow her to the Valley ofSilent Men, wherever it was. Thank her! He held her hands so tight theyhurt, and his voice trembled. Under the cloud of her hair a slow fireburned in Marette Radisson's cheeks. But it did not show in her eyes.They looked at him so steadily, so unfalteringly, that his own faceburned before he had finished what was in his mind to say, and he freedher hands and stepped back from her again.
"Forgive me for saying all that," he entreated. "But it's true. Youcame to me there, at Cardigan's place, like something I'd alwaysdreamed about, but never expected to find. And you came to me again, atthe cell, like--"
"Yes, I know how I came," she interrupted him. "Through the mud and therain, Mr. Kent. And it was so black I lost my way and was terrified tothink that I might not find barracks. I was half an hour behind Mr.Fingers' schedule. For that reason I think Inspector Kedsty may returnat any moment, and you must not talk so loud--or so much."
"Lord!" he breathed in a whisper. "I have said a lot in a short time,haven't I? But it isn't a hundredth part of what I want to get out ofmy system. I won't ask the million questions that want to be asked. ButI must know why we are here. Why have we come to Kedsty's? Why didn'twe make for the river? There couldn't be a better night to get away."
"But it is not so good as the fifth night from now will be," she said,resuming the task of drying her hair. "On that night you may go to theriver. Our plans were a little upset, you know, by Inspector Kedsty'schange in the date on which you were to leave for Edmonton.Arrangements have been made so that on the fifth night you may leavesafely."
"And you?"
"I shall remain here." And then she added in a low voice that struckhis heart cold, "I shall remain to pay Kedsty the price which he willask for what has happened tonight."
"Good God!" he cried. "Marette!"
She turned on him swiftly. "No, no, I don't mean that he will hurt me,"she cried, a fierce little note in her voice. "I would kill him beforethat! I'm sorry I told you. But you must not question me. You shallnot!"
She was trembling. He had never seen her excited like that before, andas she stood there before him, he knew that he was not afraid for herin the way that had flashed into his mind. She had not spoken emptywords. She would fight. She would kill, if it was necessary to kill.And he saw her, all at once, as he had not seen her before. Heremembered a painting which he had seen a long time ago in Montreal. Itwas _L'Esprit de la Solitude_--The Spirit of the Wild--painted by Conne,the picturesque French-Canadian friend of Lord Strathcona and MountRoyal, and a genius of the far backwoods who had drawn his inspirationfrom the heart of the wilderness itself. And that painting stood beforehim now in flesh and blood, its crudeness gone, but the marvelousspirit it had breathed remaining. Shrouded in her tumbled hair, herlips a little parted, every line of her slender body vibrant with anemotion which seemed consuming her, her beautiful eyes aglow with itsfire, he saw in her, as Conne must have seen at another time, the soulof the great North itself. She seemed to him to breathe of the God'scountry far down the Three Rivers; of its almost savage fearlessness;its beauty, its sunshine, and its storm; its tragedy, its pathos, andits song. In her was the courage and the glory of that North. He hadseen; and now he felt these things, and the thrill of them swept overhim like an inundation.
He had heard her soft laugh, she had made fun of him when he thought hewas dying; she had kissed him, she had fought for him, she had clung interror to his hand when the lightning flashed; and now she stood withher little hands clenched in her hair, like a storm about to break. Amoment ago she was so near that he had almost taken her in his arms.Now, in an instant, she had placed something so vast between them thathe would not have dared to touch her hand or her hair. Like sun andcloud and wind she changed, and for him each change added to the wonderof her. And now it was storm. He saw it in her eyes, her hands, herbody. He felt the electrical nearness of it in those low-spoken,trembling words, "_You shall not_!" The room seemed surcharged for amoment with impending shock. And then his physical eyes took in againthe slimness of her, seized upon the alluring smallness of her and thefact that he could have tossed her to the ceiling without great effort.And yet he saw her as one sees a goddess.
"No, I won't ask you questions, when you look at me like that," hesaid, finding his tongue. "I won't ask you what this price is thatKedsty may demand, because you're not going to pay it. If you won't gowith me, I won't go. I'd rather stay here and be hung. I'm not askingyou questions, so please don't shoot, but if you told me the truth, andyou belong in the North, you're going back with me--or I'm not going.I'll not budge an inch."
She drew a deep breath, as if something had greatly rel
ieved her. Againher violet eyes came out from the shadow into sunlight, and hertrembling mouth suddenly broke into a smile. It was not apologetic.There was about it a quick and spontaneous gladness which she made noeffort at all to conceal.
"That is nice of you," she said. "I'm glad to hear you say it. I neverknew how pleasant it was to have some one who was willing to be hungfor me. But you will go. And I will not go. There isn't time to explainall about it just now, for Inspector Kedsty will be here very soon, andI must dry my hair and show you your hiding-place--if you have to hide."
She began to brush her hair again. In the mirror Kent caught a glimpseof the smile still trembling on her lips.
"I'm not questioning you," he guarded himself again, "but if you couldonly understand how anxious I am to know where Kedsty is, how Fingersfound you, why you made us believe you were leaving the Landing andthen returned--and--how badly I want to know something about you--Ialmost believe you'd talk a little while you are drying your hair."
"It was Mooie, the old Indian," she said. "It was he who found out insome way that I was here, and then M'sieu Fingers came himself onenight when the Inspector was away--got in through a window and simplysaid that you had sent him, when I was just about to shoot him. Yousee, I knew you weren't going to die. Kedsty had told me that. I wasgoing to help you in another way, if M'sieu Fingers hadn't come.Inspector Kedsty was over there tonight, at his cabin, when the thinghappened down there. It was a part of Fingers' scheme--to keep him outof the way."
Suddenly she grew rigid. The brush remained poised in her hair. Kent,too, heard the sound that she had heard. It was a loud tapping at oneof the curtained windows, the tapping of some metallic object. And thatwindow was fifteen feet above the ground!
With a little cry the girl threw down her brush, ran to the window, andraised and lowered the curtain once. Then she turned to Kent, swiftlydividing her hair into thick strands and weaving them into a braid.
"It is Mooie," she cried. "Kedsty is coming!"
She caught his hand and hurried him toward the head of the bed, wheretwo long curtains were strung on a wire. She drew these apart. Behindthem were what seemed to Kent an innumerable number of femininegarments.
"You must hide in them, if you have to," she said, the excited littletremble in her voice again. "I don't think it will come to that, but ifit does, you must! Bury yourself way back in them, and keep quiet. IfKedsty finds you are here--"
She looked into his eyes, and it seemed to Kent that there wassomething which was very near to fear in them now.
"If he should find you here, it would mean something terrible for me,"she went on, her hands creeping to his arms. "I can not tell you whatit is now, but it would be worse than death. Will you promise to stayhere, no matter what happens down there, no matter what you may hear?Will you--Mr. Kent?"
"Not if you call me Mr. Kent," he said, something thickening in histhroat.
"Will you--Jeems? Will you--no matter what happens--if I promise--whenI come back--to kiss you?"
Her hands slipped almost caressingly from his arms, and then she hadturned swiftly and was gone through the partly open door, closing itafter her, before he could give his promise.
The Valley of Silent Men Page 15
