The Valley of Silent Men

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER XV

  For a space he stood where she had left him, staring at the doorthrough which she had gone. The nearness of her in those last fewseconds of her presence, the caressing touch of her hands, what he hadseen in her eyes, her promise to kiss him if he did not revealhimself--these things, and the thought of the splendid courage thatmust be inspiring her to face Kedsty now, made him blind even to thedoor and the wall at which he was apparently looking. He saw only herface, as he had seen it in that last moment--her eyes, the tremble ofher lips, and the fear which she had not quite hidden from him. She wasafraid of Kedsty. He was sure of it. For she had not smiled; there wasno flicker of humor in her eyes, when she called him Jeems, an intimateuse of the names Jim and James in the far North. It was not facetiouslythat she had promised to kiss him. An almost tragic seriousness hadpossessed her. And it was that seriousness that thrilled him--that, andthe amazing frankness with which she had coupled the name Jeems withthe promise of her lips. Once before she had called him Jeems. But itwas M'sieu Jeems then, and there had been a bit of taunting laughter inher voice. Jim or James meant nothing, but Jeems--He had heard motherscall little children that, in moments of endearment. He knew that wivesand sweethearts used it in that same way. For Jim and James were notuncommon names up and down the Three Rivers, even among the half-breedsand French, and Jeems was the closer and more intimate thing bred of it.

  His heart was thumping riotously as he went to the door and listened. Alittle while ago, when she faced him with flashing eyes, commanding himnot to question her, he had felt an abyss under his feet. Now he was ona mountain. And he knew that no matter what he heard, unless it was hercry for help, he would not go down.

  After a little he opened the door a mere crack so that sound might cometo him. She had not forbidden that. Through the crack he could see adim glow of light in the lower hall. But he heard no sound, and itoccurred to him that old Mooie could still run swiftly, and that itmight be some time before Kedsty would arrive.

  As he waited, he looked about the room. His first impression was thatMarette must have lived in it for a long time. It was a woman's room,without the newness of sudden and unpremeditated occupancy. He knewthat formerly it had been Kedsty's room, but nothing of Kedsty remainedin it now. And then, as his wondering eyes beheld the miracle, a numberof things struck him with amazing significance. He no longer doubtedthat Marette Radisson was of the far Northland. His faith in that wasabsolute. If there had been a last question in his mind, it was wipedaway because she called him Jeems. Yet this room seemed to give the lieto his faith. Fascinated by his discovery of things, he drew away fromthe door and stood over the dressing-table in front of the mirror.

  Marette had not prepared the room for him, and her possessions werethere. It did not strike him as sacrilege to look at them, the manyintimate little things that are mysteriously used in the process of alady's toilette. It was their number and variety that astounded him. Hemight have expected them in the boudoir of the Governor General'sdaughter at Ottawa, but not here--and much less farther north. What hesaw was of exquisite material and workmanship. And then, as ifattracted by a magnet, his eyes were drawn to something else. It was arow of shoes neatly and carefully arranged on the floor at one side ofthe dressing-table.

  He stared at them, astounded. Never had he seen such an array offeminine footwear intended for the same pair of feet. And it was notNorthern footwear. Every individual little beauty in that amazing rowstood on a high heel! Their variety was something to which he had longbeen a stranger. There were buttoned boots, laced boots, brown boots,black boots, and white boots, with dangerously high and fragile lookingheels; there were dainty little white kid slippers, slippers with bows,slippers with cut steel buckles, and slippers with dainty ribbon ties;there were high-heeled oxfords and high-heeled patent leather pumps! Hegasped. He reached over, moved by an automatic sort of impulse, andtook a satiny little pump in his hand.

  The size of it gave him a decidedly pleasant mental shock, and,beginning to feel like one prying into a sleeper's secrets, he lookedinside it. The size was there--number three. And it had come fromFavre's in Montreal! One after another he looked inside half a dozenothers. And all of them had come from Favre's in Montreal. The littleshoes, more than all else that he had seen or that had happened, sent aquestion pounding through his brain. Who was Marette Radisson?

  And that question was followed by other questions, until they tumbledover one another in his head. If she was from Montreal, why was shegoing north? If she belonged in the North, if she was a part of it, whywas she taking all of this apparently worthless footwear with her? Whyhad she come to Athabasca Landing? What was she to Kedsty? Why was shehiding under his roof? Why--

  He stopped himself, trying to find some one answer in all that chaos ofquestions. It was impossible for him to take his eyes from the shoes. Athought seized him. Ludicrously he dropped upon his knees in front ofthe row and with a face growing hotter each moment examined them all.But he wanted to know. And the discovery he made was that most of thefootwear had been worn, some of it so slightly, however, that theimpression of the foot was barely visible.

  He rose to his feet and continued his inquiry. Of course she hadexpected him to look about. One couldn't help seeing, unless one wereblind. He would have cut off a hand before opening one of thedressing-table drawers. But Marette herself had told him to hide behindthe curtains if it became necessary, and it was an excusable cautionfor him to look behind those curtains now, to see what sort ofhiding-place he had. He returned to the door first and listened. Therewas still no sound from below. Then he drew the curtains apart, asMarette had drawn them. Only he looked longer. He would tell her aboutit when she returned, if the act needed an apology.

  His impression was a man's impression. What he saw was a billowing,filmy mass of soft stuff, and out of it there greeted him the faintestpossible scent of lilac sachet powder. He closed the curtains with adeep breath of utter joy and of consternation. The two emotions were ajumble to him. The shoes, all that mass of soft stuff behind thecurtains, were exquisitely feminine. The breath of perfume had come tohim straight out of a woman's soul. There were seduction and witcheryto it. He saw Marette, an enrapturing vision of loveliness, floatingbefore his eyes in that sacred and mysterious vestment of which he hadstolen a half-frightened glimpse. In white--the white, cobwebby thingof laces and embroidery that had hung straight before his eyes--inwhite--with her glorious black hair, her violet eyes, her--

  And then it was that the incongruity of the thing, the almost sheerimpossibility of it, clashed in upon his vision. Yet his faith was notshaken. Marette Radisson was of the North. He could not disbelievethat, even in the face of these amazing things that confronted him.

  Suddenly he heard a sound that was like the explosion of a gun underhis feet. It was the opening and closing of the hall door--but mostlythe closing. The slam of it shook the house and rattled the glass inthe windows. Kedsty had returned, and he was in a rage. Kentextinguished the light so that the room was in darkness. Then he wentto the door. He could hear the quick, heavy tread of Kedsty's feetAfter that came the closing of a second door, followed by the rumble ofKedsty's voice. Kent was disappointed.

  The Inspector of Police and Marette were in a room too far distant forhim to distinguish what was said. But he knew that Kedsty had returnedto barracks and had discovered what had happened there. After aninterval his voice was a steady rumble. It rose higher. He heard thecrash of a chair. Then the voice ceased, and after it came the trampingof Kedsty's feet. Not once did he catch the sound of Marette's voice,but he was sure that in the interval of silence she was talking. ThenKedsty's voice broke forth more furiously than before. Kent's fingersdug into the sill of the door. Each moment added to his conviction thatMarette was in danger. It was not physical violence he feared. He didnot believe Kedsty capable of perpetrating that upon a woman. It wasfear that he would take her to barracks. The fact that Marette had toldhim there was a powerful reason why Kedsty would not
do this failed toassure him. For she had also told him that Kedsty would kill her, if hedared. He held himself in readiness. At a cry from her, or the firstmove on Kedsty's part to take her from the bungalow, he would givebattle in spite of Marette's warning.

  He almost hoped one of these two things would happen. As he stoodthere, listening, waiting, the thought became almost a prayer. He hadPelly's revolver. Within twenty seconds he could have Kedsty lookingdown the barrel of it. The night was ideal for escape. Within half anhour they would be on the river. They could even load up withprovisions from Kedsty's place. He opened the door a little more,scarcely making an effort to combat the impulse that dragged him out.Marette must be in danger, or she would not have confessed to him thatshe was in the house of a man who would like to see her dead. Why shewas there did not interest him deeply now. It was the fact of themoment that was moving him swiftly toward action.

  The door below opened again, and Kent's body grew rigid. He heardKedsty charging through the lower hall like a mad bull. The outer dooropened, slammed shut, and he was gone.

  Kent drew back into the darkness of his room. It was some momentsbefore he heard Marette coming slowly up the stairs. She seemed to begroping her way, though there was a dim illumination out there. Thenshe came through the door into the blackness of her room.

  "Jeems," she whispered.

  He went to her. Her hands reached out, and again they rested on hisarms.

  "You--you didn't come down the stair?"

  "No."

  "You--didn't hear?"

  "I heard no words. Only Kedsty's voice."

  It seemed to him that her voice, when she spoke again, trembled with animmeasurable relief. "You were good, Jeems. I am glad."

  In that darkness he could not see. Yet something reached into him,thrilling him, quickening his pulse with a thing to which his eyes wereblind. He bent down. He found her lips upturned, offering him thesweetness of the kiss which was to be his reward; and as he felt theirwarmth upon his own, he felt also the slightest pressure of her handsupon his arms.

  "He is gone. We will light the lamp again," she said then.