by Rex Beach
The ice was running when McGill arrived. Had he been two hours later hemight have fared badly, for the ramparts above Ophir choke the riverdown into a narrow chute through which it hurries, snarling, and theshore ice was widening at the rate of a foot an hour. Early in the daythe recorder from Alder Creek had tried to come ashore, but had brokenthrough, losing his skiff and saving his life by the sheer good luckthat favors fools and drunken men. It was October; the last mail hadgone out a fortnight previous; the wiseacres were laying odds that theriver would be closed in three days, so it was close running that McGillmade--six hundred miles in an open whip-sawed dory.
They heard him calling, once he saw the lights, and, getting down to thewater-level, they could make out his boat crunching along through thethin ice at the outer edge. He was trying to force his way inward to apoint where the current would not move him, but the Yukon spun him likea top, and it looked as if he would go past. Fortunately, however, therehappened to be a man in the crowd who had learned tricks with a lariatback in Oklahoma; a line was put out, and McGill came ashore with hisbedding under one arm and a sheet-iron stove under the other. Stoveswere scarce that winter, and McGill was no tenderfoot.
They obtained their first good look at him when he lined up with thecrowd at Hopper's bar, ten minutes later, by which time it was known whohe was. He had a great big frame, with a great big face on top of it,and, judging from his reputation, he had a great big heart to match themboth. Some of the late-comers recalled a tale of how he had lifted thegunwales out of a poling-boat that was wedged in a timber-jam aboveWhite Horse, and from the looks of his massive hands and shoulders thetale seemed true. He was not handsome--few strong men are--but he hadlevel, blue eyes, rather small and deep set, and a jaw that made peoplethink twice before angering him, while his voice carried the rumblingbass note one hears at the edge of a spring freshet when the bouldersare shifting.
"I missed the last boat from Circle," he explained, "so I took a chancewith the skiff."
"Looks like you'd be the last arrival before the trails open," offeredHopper. "I don't guess there's nobody behind you?"
"I didn't pass anybody," said McGill, and it was plain from his smilethat he had made good time.
"Aim to winter here, Dan?"
"I do. Minook told me, four summers ago, that he'd found a prospect nearhere, and I've always figgered on putting some holes down. But it lookslike I'm late."
"Oh, there's plenty of ground open. You've got as good a chance as thebalance of us."
"Any grub in camp?"
"Nope. Ophir was struck too late in the fall."
McGill laughed. "I didn't think there would be; but that's nothing new."
"Didn't you bring none?"
"Nary a pound. There's women and children at the Circle, and therewasn't more than enough for them, so I pulled out."
"There's plenty below," Hopper assured him.
"How far?"
"We don't know yet. There's a boat-load of 'chekakos' bound for Dawsonsomewhere between here and Cochrane's Landing. They'll be froze in now,and tenderfeet always has grub. Soon's we get some more snow we'll dosome freightin'."
Before he retired that night McGill had bought a town lot, and a weeklater there was a cabin on it, for he was a man who knew how to work.Then, during the interval between the close of navigation and theopening of winter travel he looked over the country and staked someclaims. He did not locate at random, but used a discrimination basedupon ten years' experience in the arctics, and when cold weather set inhe felt satisfied with his work. Men with half his holdings reckonedtheir fortunes at extravagant figures; transfers of unproved propertiesfor handsome terms were common; millions were made daily, on paper.
Soon after the winter had settled, two strangers "mushed" in fromdown-river. For ten days they had pulled their own sled through thefirst dry, trackless snow of the season, and they were well spent, butthey brought news that the steamboat was in winter quarters a hundredand fifty miles below. They assured McGill, moreover, that there wasplenty of food aboard, so, a day later, he set off on their back trailwith his dog-team. By now the melancholy autumn was gone, the air wasfrozen clean of every taint, the frost made men's blood gallop throughtheir veins. It changed McGill into a boy again. His lungs ached fromthe throbbing power within them, his loping stride was as smooth as thatof a timber-wolf, his loud, deep laughter caused the dogs to yelp inanswer.
When he finally burst out of the silence and into the midst of thegold-seekers with tidings of the new camp only a hundred and fifty milesaway they shook off their lethargy and awoke to a great excitement. Hetold all he honestly knew about Ophir, and with nimble fancies theyadded two words of their own to every one of his. They stopped work upontheir winter quarters and made ready to push on afoot--on hands andknees, if necessary. Here was a man who had made a fortune in one shortautumn, for with the customary ignorance of tenderfeet they perceived nodistinction between a mining claim and a mine. A gold-mine, theyreasoned, was worth anything one wished to imagine, from a hundredthousand to a million; thirty gold-mines were worth thirtymillions--figure it out for yourself. The conservative ones cut theresult in half and were well satisfied with it. They were glad they hadcome.
The steamboat captain offered McGill a bed in his own cabin, for the loghouses were not yet completed, and that night at supper the miner metthe rest of the big family. Among them was a girl. Once McGill hadbeheld her, he could see none of the others; he became an automaton,directing his words at random, but focusing his soul upon her. He couldnot recall her name, for her first glance had driven all memory out ofhis head, and during the meal he feasted his hungry eyes upon her,feeling a yearning such as he had never before experienced. He did notpause to argue what it foretold; it is doubtful if he would haverealized had he taken time to think, for he had never known women well,and ten years in the Yukon country had dimmed what youthfulrecollections he possessed. When he went to bed he was in a daze thatdid not vanish even when the captain, after carefully locking the doorsand closing the cabin shutters, crawled under the bunk and brought fortha five-gallon keg of whisky, which he fondled like a mother her babe.
"Wait till you taste it," crooned the old man. "Nothing like it north ofVancouver. If I didn't keep it hid I'd have a mutiny."
He removed a steaming kettle from the stove, then, unearthing some sugarfrom the chart-case, mixed a toddy, muttering: "Just wait, that's all.You just wait!" With the pains of a chemist he divided the beverage intotwo equal portions, rolled the contents of his own glass under histongue with a look of beatitude on his wrinkled features, then inquired,"What did I tell you?"
"It's great," McGill acknowledged. "First real liquor I've tasted formonths." Then he fell to staring at the fire.
After a time he asked, "Who's the lady I was talking to?"
"The one with the red sweater?"
"Yes."
"Miss Andrews. Her first name is Alice."
"Alice!" McGill spoke it softly. "I--I s'pose she's married, of course?"
"No, _Miss_ Andrews."
McGill started. "I thought she was the wife of that nice-looking feller,Barclay."
The captain grunted, and then after a moment added, "She's an actor ofsome kind."
McGill opened his eyes in genuine astonishment. He opened his mouthalso, but changed his mind and fell to studying the flames once more."She's plumb beautiful," he said at length.
"All actors is beautiful," the captain remarked, wisely.
McGill slept badly that night, which was unusual for him, but when hewent to feed his dogs on the following morning he found Miss Andrewsahead of him.
"What splendid creatures!" she said, petting them.
"Do you like dogs?" he queried.
"I love them. You know, these are the first I have ever seen of thiskind."
"Then you never rode behind a team?"
"No. I have only read about such things."
McGill summoned his courage and said, "Mebbe you'd like me to--giv
e youa ride?"
"_Would_ you? Oh, Mr. McGill!" She clapped her hands, and her eyeswidened at the prospect.
He noted how the brisk air had brought the blood to her cheeks, butbroke off the dangerous contemplation of her charms and fell toharnessing the team, his fingers stiff with embarrassment. He helped herinto the basket-sled and then, at her request, tucked in the folds ofher coat. It was a novel sensation and one he had never dreamed ofhaving, for he would not have dared touch any woman without a command.
It was not much of a ride, for the trails were poor, but the girl seemedto enjoy it, and to McGill it was wonderful. He felt that he was makingan awful spectacle of himself, however, and hoped no one had seen themleave; he was so big and so ungainly to be playing squire, and, aboveall, he was so old.
He could think of nothing to say on the excursion, but when she thankedhim upon their return he was more than paid for his misery. As theydrove up, Barclay was watching them from the high bank, and Miss Andrewswaved a mitten at him. Later, when McGill had left for a moment, theyoung man began, sourly:
"Making a play for the old party, eh?"
"He isn't old," said Miss Andrews, carelessly.
"What's the idea?"
"I don't know that I have any idea. Why?"
"Humph! I'm interested--naturally."
"You needn't be. It's every one for himself up here, and you don't seemto be getting ahead very fast."
"I see. McGill's due to be a millionaire, and I'm down and out," Barclaysneered. "Well, we're neither of us children. If you can land him, morepower to you."
"I wouldn't stand in your way," said Miss Andrews, coldly, "and I don'tintend that you shall stand in mine."
"Is that the only way you look at it?" Barclay wore an ugly frown thatseemed genuine. She met it with a mere shrug, causing him to exclaim,hotly, "If you don't care any more than that, I won't interfere." Heturned and walked away.
Those were wonderful days for McGill. Instead of hurrying back to hiswork he loitered. With a splendid disregard of convention he followedthe girl about hourly and was too drunk with her smiles to hear thecomment his actions evoked. He had moments of despair when he sawhimself as a great, awkward bear, more aptly designed to frighten thanto woo a woman, but these periods of depression gave way to the keenestdelight at some word of encouragement from Alice Andrews. He did notfully realize that he had asked her to marry him until it was all over,but she seemed to understand so fully what was in his heart that she haddrawn it from him before he really knew what he was saying. And then thejoy of her acceptance! It stunned him. When he had finally torn himselfaway from her side he went out and stood bareheaded under the northernlights to let it sink in. There were no words in his vocabulary, nothoughts in his mind, capable of expressing the marvel of it. Thegorgeous colors that leaped from horizon to zenith were no more gloriousthan the riot that flamed within his soul. She loved him, Dan McGill,and she was a white woman! When he thought how beautiful and young shewas his heart overflowed with a gentle tenderness which rivaled that ofany mother.
Still in a dream, he related the miracle to the steamboat captain, whotook the announcement in silence. This old man had wintered inside thecircle and knew something of the woman-hunger that comes to strong menin solitude. He was observant, moreover, and had seen good girls madebad by the fires of the frontier, as well as bad women made good bymarriage.
There being no priest nearer than Nulato, it was, perforce, a contractmarriage. A lawyer in the party attended to the papers, and it pleasedthe woman to have Barclay sign as a witness. Then she and McGill set outfor Ophir, a trip he never forgot. The sled was laden with things tomake a bride comfortable, so they were forced to walk, but they mighthave been flying, for all he knew. Alice was very ignorant of northernways, childishly so, and it afforded him the keenest delight to initiateher into the mysteries of trail life. And when night drew near and theymade camp, what joy it was to hear her exclamations of wonder at hisadeptness! She loved to see his ax sink to the eye in the frozen firtrunks and to join his shout when the tree fell crashing in a greatupheaval of white. Then when their tiny tent, nestling in some shelteredgrove, was glowing from the candle-light, and the red-hot stove hadrouted the cold, he would make her lie back on the fragrant springycouch of boughs while he smoked and did the dishes and told her shyly ofthe happiness that had come upon him. He waited upon her hand and foot;he stood between her and every peril of the wilds.
And while it was all delightfully bewildering to him, it was likewisevery strange and exciting to his bride. The deathly silence of thebitter nights, illumined only by the awesome aurora borealis; theterrific immensity of the solitudes, with their white-burdened forestsof fir that ran up and over the mountains and away to the ends of theworld; the wild wolf-dogs that feared nothing except the voice of theirmaster, and yet fawned upon him with a passion that approachedferocity--it all played upon the woman's fancy strangely. For the firsttime in her tempestuous career she was nearly happy. It was worth somesacrifice to possess the devotion of a man like McGill; it was wortheven more to know that her years of uncertainty and strife were over.His gentleness annoyed her at times, but, on the other hand, she wasgrateful for the shyness that handicapped him as a lover. On the whole,however, it was a good bargain, and she was fairly well content.
As for McGill, he expanded, he effloresced, if such a nature as hiscould be said to bloom. He explored the hindermost recesses of hisbeing, and brought forth his secrets for her to share. He told her allabout himself, without the slightest reservation, and when he was doneshe knew him clear to his last, least thought. It was an unwise thing todo, but McGill was not a wise man, and the stories seemed to please her.Above all, she took an interest in his business affairs, which wasgratifying. Time and again she questioned him shrewdly about his miningproperties, which made him think that here was a woman who would prove ahelpmate.
Their arrival at Ophir was the occasion for a rough, spontaneous welcomethat further turned her head. McGill was loved, and, once his townsmenhad recovered from their amazement, they did their best to show his wifecourtesies, which all went to strengthen her belief in his importanceand to add to her complacence.
McGill was ashamed of his cabin at first, but she surprised him with thebusiness-like manner in which she went about fixing it up. Before hisadmiring eyes she transformed it by a few deft touches into what seemedto him a paradise. Heretofore he had witnessed women's handiwork onlyfrom a distance, and had never possessed a real home, so this wasanother wonder that it took time to appreciate. Eventually he pulledhimself together and settled down to his affairs, but in the midst ofhis tasks it would sometimes come over him with a blinding rush that hewas married, that he had a wife who was no squaw, but a white woman,more beautiful than any dream-creature, and so young that he might havebeen her father. The amazing strangeness of it never left him.
But the adolescence of Ophir was short. It quickly outgrew its age offictitious values, and its rapturous delusions vanished as hole afterhole was put to bed-rock and betrayed no pay. Entire valleys that wereformerly considered rich were abandoned, and the driving snows erasedthe signs of human effort. Men came in out of the hills cursing the luckthat had brought them there. The gold-bearing area narrowed to a provedcreek or two where the ground was taken and where there were ten men forevery job; the saloons began to fill with idlers who talked much, butspent nothing. One day the camp awakened to the fact that it was afailure. There is nothing more ghastly than a broken mining-town, for inplace of the first feverish exhilaration there is naught but the wreckof hopes and the ruin of ambitions.
McGill's wife was not the last to appreciate the truth; she saw itcoming even earlier than the rest. Once she had lost the first glamourand fully attuned herself to the new life she was sufficientlyperceptive to realize her great mistake. But McGill did not notice thechange and saw nothing to worry about in the town's affairs. He had beenpoor most of his life, and his rare periods of opulence had endedbriefly, therefore this fail
ure meant merely another trial. Ophir hadgiven him his prize, greater than all the riches of its namesake, andwho could be other than happy with a wife like his? His very optimism,combined with her own fierce disappointment, drove the woman nearlyfrantic. She felt abused, she reasoned that McGill had betrayed her, andat last owned to the hunger she had been striving vainly to stifle formonths past. Now that there was nothing to gain, why blind herself tothe truth? She hated McGill, and she loved another! There had never beenan instant when her heart had not called.
And then, to make matters worse, Barclay came. He had spent most of thelong winter at the steamboat landing, being too angry to show himself inOphir, but the woman-hunger had grown upon him, as upon all men in theNorth, and it finally drew him to her with a strength that would havesnapped iron chains. Hearing, shortly after his arrival, that McGill wasout on the creeks and never returned until dark, he went to the cabin.Alice opened the door at his knock, then fell back with a cry. He shutout the cold air behind him and stood looking at her until she gasped:
"Why have you come here?"
"Why? Because I couldn't stay away. You knew I'd have to come, didn'tyou?"
"McGill!" she whispered, and cast a frightened look over her shoulder.
"Does he know?"
She shook her head.
"I hear he's broke--like the rest." Barclay laughed mockingly, and shenodded. "Have you had enough?"
"Yes, yes! Oh yes!" she wailed, suddenly. "Take me away, Bob. Oh, takeme away!"
She was in his arms with the words, her breast to his, her arms abouthis neck, her hot tears starting. She clutched him wildly, while hecovered her face with kisses.
"Don't scold me," she sobbed. "Don't! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You'll takeme away, won't you?"
"Hush!" he commanded. "I can't take you away; there's no place to go to.That's the worst of this damned country. He'd follow--and he'd get us."
"You must, Bob! You _must_! I'll die here with him. I've stood it aslong as I can--"
"Don't be a fool. You'll have to go through with it now until spring.Once the river is open--"
"No, no, no!" she cried, passionately.
"Do you want us to get killed?"
Mrs. McGill shivered as if some wintry blast had searched out hermarrow, then freed herself from his embrace and said, slowly: "You'reright, Bob. We must be very careful. I--I don't know what he might do."
That evening she met McGill with a smile, the first she had worn forsome time, and she was particularly affectionate.
Instead of returning down-river, Barclay found lodgings and remained inOphir. He was not the most industrious of men, and before long became afamiliar figure around the few public places. McGill met him frequently,seeing which Barclay's fellow-passengers from below raised theireyebrows and muttered meaningless commonplaces; then, when the youngerman took to spending more and more of his time at the miner's cabin,they ceased making any comment whatever. These are things that wise menavoid, and a loose tongue often leads to an early grave when fellowslike McGill are about. Some of the old-timers who had wintered with theminer in the "upper country" shook their heads and acknowledged thatyoung Barclay was a braver man than they gave him credit for being.
Of course McGill was the last to hear of it, for he was of the simplesort who have faith in God and women and such things, and he might havegone on indefinitely in ignorance but for Hopper, who did not care muchfor the Barclay person. The saloon-man, being himself uneducated andrough, like McGill, cherished certain illusions regarding virtue, andlet drop a hint his friend could not help but heed. The husband paid forhis drink, then went back to the rear of the room, where he sat for anhour or more. When he went home he was more gentle to his wife thanever. He brooded for a number of days, trying to down his suspicion, butthe poison was sown, and he finally spoke to her.
"Barclay was here again this afternoon, wasn't he?"
She turned her face away to hide its pallor. "Yes. He dropped in."
"He was here yesterday, and the day before, too, wasn't he?"
"Well?"
"He'd ought to stay away; people are talking."
She turned on him defiantly. "What of it? What do I care? I'm lonesome.I want company. Mr. Barclay and I were good friends."
"You're my wife now."
"Your wife? Ha! ha! Your wife!" She laughed hysterically.
"Yes. Don't you love me any more, Alice?"
She said nothing.
"I've noticed a change, lately, and--I can't blame you none, but if youloved me just a little, if I had even that much to start on, I wouldn'tmind. I'd take you away somewhere and try to make you love me more."
"You'd take me away, would you?" the woman cried, gaining confidencefrom his lack of heat. "Away, where I'd be all alone with you? Don't yousee I'm dying of lonesomeness now? That's what's the matter. I'm halfmad with the monotony. I want to see people, and live, and be amused.I'm young, and pretty, and men like me. You're old, McGill. You're old,and I'm young."
Her husband withered beneath her words; his whole big frame saggedtogether as if the life had ebbed out of it; he felt weary and sick andburned out. His brain held but one thought--Alice did not love him,because he was old.
"Don't go on this way," he said, finally, to check her. "I suppose it'strue, but I've felt like a daddy and a mother to you, along with theother feeling, and I hoped you wouldn't notice it. I don't reckon anyyoung man could care for you like that. You see, it's all the loves ofmy whole life wrapped up together, and I don't see, I don't see what wecan do about it. We're married!" It was characteristic of him that hecould devise no way out of the difficulty. A calamity had befallen them,and they must adjust themselves to it as best they could. In his eyesmarriage was a holy thing, an institution of God, with which no humanhands might trifle.
"No," he continued, "you're my wife, and so we've got to get along thebest way we can. I know you couldn't do anything wrong--you ain't thatkind." His eyes roved over the homely little nest and the evidences oftheir married intimacy. "No, you couldn't do that."
"Then you won't make it any harder for me than you can help?"
"No." He rose stiffly. "You're entitled to a fair show at anything youwant. I don't like Barclay, but if you want him around, I won't object.Try to be as happy as you can, Alice; maybe it'll all come out right.Only--I wish you'd known it wasn't love before you married me." He puton his cap and went out into the cold.
During the ensuing week or two he devoted himself to his work, spendingevery daylight hour on his claim, in this way more than satisfyingBarclay and the woman, who felt that a great menace had been removed.But Hopper determined that his friend should know all and not part ofthe truth, for good men are rare and weak women in the way, so he put onhis parka and walked out to the place where McGill was working, andthere, under a bleak March sky, with the snow-flurries wrapping theirlegs about, he told what he had learned. Hopper was a little man, but hehad courage.
"I've heard it from half a dozen fellers," he concluded, "and they'dought to know, because they come up on the same boat with them. Anyhow,you can satisfy yourself easy enough."
McGill moistened his lips and, thanking his informant, said, "Now you'dbetter hustle back to camp; we're due for a storm."
It was still early afternoon when he walked swiftly out of the gulch andinto the straggling little town. On his way down from the claim theblizzard had broken, or so it seemed, for the narrow valley had suddenlybecome filled with a whirling smother through which he burst like a shipthrough a fog. When he emerged upon the flats he saw that it was no morethan a squall and the wind was abating again.
His moccasins made no sound as he came up to his own house, and thefirst inkling of his presence that the two inside received was when thedoor opened and he stood before them. Something in his bearing causedhis wife to clutch at the table for support, and Barclay to retreat withhis back to the opposite wall, his hand inside his coat.
McGill never carried a weapon, having yet to feel the need of
one. Hespoke now in a harsh, cracked voice. "Take your hand off that gun,Barclay."
"Take your hand off that gun, Barclay."]
"What's the matter with you?" the younger man questioned.
Mrs. McGill's eyes were wide with terror, her frame racked byapprehension, when her husband turned upon her and asked:
"Is it true? Do you love--him?" He jerked his head in Barclay'sdirection. "Answer me!" he rumbled, savagely, as she hesitated.
Her lips moved, and she nodded without removing her gaze from him.
"How long have you loved him?"
When she still could not master herself, he softened his voice: "Youneedn't be scared, Alice. I couldn't hurt _you_."
"A long--time," she said, finally.
McGill leveled a look at the other man.
"That's right," Barclay agreed. "You might as well know."
"They tell me that you and her had--" McGill ground his teeth, and hislittle eyes blazed--"that she didn't have no right to marrywithout--telling me something about you."
The former answered through white lips: "Well? Everybody knew it exceptyou, and you could have found out. I'd have married her sometime,myself, if you hadn't come along."
McGill's fingers opened slowly, at which the woman burst forth:
"No, no! Don't--do that. You can't blame him, Dan. I did it. Don't youunderstand? _I'm_ the one. I loved him in 'Frisco, long before I sawyou, and I've loved him ever since. Take it out on me, if you want to,but don't hurt him."
"I don't reckon I'd have minded it much if I'd known the truth at thestart," said McGill. "Most women have made mistakes at one time oranother, at least most of those I've known have. No, it ain't that, butyou married me knowing that you loved him all the time."
"I tried to quit," cried the wife. "I tried to, but I couldn't."
"And what's the rottenest of all"--McGill's voice was ugly again--"youmade him best man at the wedding, or just the same. He stood up with us.Didn't you, Barclay?"
The wife flung herself into the breach once more with a self-sacrificethat wrenched her husband's heart. "He didn't want to, but I made him. Ithought you had money, and I was mad at him for letting me go, so Itried to hurt him. I wanted him to marry me, but he wouldn't, and I tookyou. When it was over and I saw the kind of man you are I tried to loveyou--honestly I did, but I couldn't. You're so--I--I couldn't do it,that's all." She broke into a torrent of tears, holding herself on herfeet by an effort. Her wretched sobbing was the only sound in the cabinfor a time, then Barclay inquired:
"Well, what are you going to do?"
McGill turned to his wife, ignoring Barclay. "I guess I understandthings pretty well now, and I'm beginning to see your side. Of course Inever aimed to hurt _you_, Alice--I couldn't; but I aimed to kill thisman, and I will if he stays here." Over his shoulder he flung out,quickly: "Oh, the gun won't help you none. You've got to go, Barclay."
"I'll go with him," cried Mrs. McGill, desperately. "If he goes, I'llgo, too."
"That's exactly what you've got to do. You can't stay here now, neitherof you. If he ain't able to take care of you, why, I will as long as Ilive, but you've both got to go."
"It's the best course under the circumstances," Barclay agreed, withrelief. "We'll take the first boat--"
"You'll go to-day, now," said the husband, grimly, "before I have timeto think it over."
"But where?"
"To hell! That's where you're headed."
"We can't go afoot," the woman cried in a panic.
"I've got dogs! And don't argue or I'll weaken. I'm letting him gobecause you seem to need him, Alice. Only remember one thing, both ofyou--there ain't no town big enough to hold all three of us. Now go,quick, before I change my mind, for if the sun ever goes down on Barclayand me together, so help me God! it won't rise on both of us. Thereain't no place in the world that's big enough for him and me, no placein the world."
McGill stood on the river-bank and watched them vanish into the ghostlycurtain that sifted slowly down from the heavens, and when they werefinally lost to view he turned back to his empty cabin. Before enteringhe paused as usual to note the weather--it was a habit. He saw that thesky was strangely leaden and low, and in spite of the fact that the"quick" was falling rapidly, the air was lifeless and close. If McGillwas any judge, that squall had been but a warning, and foretold more tofollow. He sighed miserably at the thought of the night his wife wouldhave to face.
He cooked his supper mechanically, then sat for hours staring at it. Thewind rattling at his door finally roused him to the knowledge that hisfire was out and the room chilly. Being unable longer to bear thesilence and the mute evidences of her occupation that looked at him fromevery side, he slipped into his parka and went down to Hopper's place,where there were life and human voices at least.
The night was yelling with a million voices when he stepped out. Thebitter wind snapped his fur garment as if to rend it to ribbons, thewhirling particles of snow rasped his face like the dry grains from asand-blast. Boreas had loosed his demons, and they were lashing thenight into chaos. McGill felt a sudden tender concern for the woman, aconcern so great as almost to destroy his bitterness, but he reflectedthat he had seen to loading the sled himself, and among the otherparaphernalia had included a tent and a stove. Unless Barclay was afool, therefore, Alice was perfectly safe. There was wood aplenty, andthe spruce forests offered shelter from the gale. The thought awakened amemory of those night camps he had made on that dreamlikewedding-journey and brought forth a groan. How old and spiritless he hadbecome; he could scarcely stand against the wind!
Of course the story had gone broadcast, hours before, for other eyesthan his had watched the man and woman take the outbound trail thatafternoon, so when he came stumbling into Hopper's place a suddensilence fell. He went directly to the bar and called for straight"hootch," to drive the cold from his bones, but, although it warmed hisflesh, his soul remained numb and frozen. Inside him was a great achingemptiness that even Hopper's kindly words could not reach.
"Looks like the worst night we've had this year," said the proprietor."Better have a drink with me."
McGill's teeth rattled on the glass when he put it to his lips. "She'sgone!" he whispered, staring across the bar, "and I didn't kill him. Icouldn't--on her account."
Hopper nodded. "I'm awful sorry it came out this way, Dan."
McGill shivered and drew his head down between his gaunt shoulders."Talk to me, will you?" he begged. "I'm hit hard."
His friend did as he was directed, but a few minutes later in the midstof his words the big man interrupted:
"There wasn't room for all of us here," he declared, fiercely. "I toldher that, but she wanted him worse than her own life, so I had to givein."
They were still talking at midnight, after all but a few loiterers hadgone home, when they heard a man's voice calling from outside. Aninstant later the front door burst open and a figure appeared; it wasCochrane, the trader from down-river.
"Here! Give me a hand!" he bellowed through his ice-burdened beard, thenplunged back into the hurricane to reappear with a woman in his arms.
"I thought I'd never make it," he declared. "There's a man in the sled,too. Get some 'hootch' and send for a doctor, quick."
McGill uttered a cry, while the hand with which he gripped the bar wentwhite at his pressure. "Where did you get them?" he questioned.
"Ten miles below," said Cochrane. "I was camped for the night when theirdogs picked up my scent. They were half dead when they got to me, and hewas in mighty bad shape, so I came through. I've been five hours on theroad."
Two men brought in Barclay, at which McGill flung out a long arm andcried in a loud voice, "Is that man dead?"
No one answered, so he strode forward, only to have the weakenedtraveler raise his head and say:
"No, I'm not dead, McGill. But we had to come back."
The wife was calling to her husband, wretchedly: "Don't do it, Dan. Wecouldn't help it. We'll go to-morrow. We'll go. Ple
ase don't! We'll go."
The onlookers, knowing something of the tragedy, drew back, watchingMcGill, who still stared into the face of the man who had robbed him ofeverything.
"Do you remember what I told you?" he questioned, inflexibly.
Barclay nodded, and the woman shrilled again:
"Don't let him do it, men. _Don't!_"
"There ain't room for us here," went on McGill.
"Only to-night," supplicated his wife, the frost-bitten spots in hercheeks no more pallid than the rest of her countenance. "He _can't_ go.Don't you see he isn't able? Wait, Dan; I'll go if you want me to"--shestruggled forward. "I'll go, but he'll die if you send him out."
"It's always him, ain't it?" said the miner, slowly. "You seem to wanthim pretty bad, Alice. Well, you can have him. And you can stay, both ofyou." He drew his cap down over his grizzled hair and turned toward thedoor, but Hopper saw the light in his eye and intercepted him.
"I'll go home with you, Dan," said he.
"I ain't going home."
"You mean--"
"There ain't room enough in Ophir for Barclay and me and the woman."
"My God, man, listen to that blizzard! It's suicide!"
But McGill only repeated, dully: "There ain't room, Hopper. There ain'troom!" and with the gait of an old man shambled to the door. When heopened it the storm shrieked in glee and rushed in, wrapping him up tothe middle in its embrace. He closed the door behind him, then wentstumbling off into the night, and as he crept blindly forth upon thefrozen bosom of the river the bellowing wind wiped out his footprints anarm's-length at his back.
THE BRAND
