Finally, Timmins yawned, and suggested that they turn in. But McTavish was restless. He slipped on his snowshoes, declared he would be back shortly, and left the tent. The nervous reaction of all the excitement of the last day was in him, and he felt that he needed the physical battling and buffeting of the storm to calm the throbbing of his brain and settle him for the night. Drawing his _capote_ close around his face, he bent to the blast, and shuffled along. Suddenly, he felt the nearness of a presence, and raised his head, just in time to prevent going full into the wall of a log cabin. He recoiled with a muttered curse, for there was only one cabin in the settlement, and that belonged to Fitzpatrick.
Yes, it belonged to Fitzpatrick, and now it belonged to some one else also--some one for whom longing had gnawed at McTavish"s heart all day. Once, during the afternoon, when he was secretly arranging for Peter Rainy"s supplies, he had seen her at a distance, and she had waved to him, happily. What did she know? he wondered. Had her father done his worst, and told her? Now, his arms yearned for the feel of her slim, straight body; he yearned to hear her voice, to look into her face.
Suddenly, some one bending to the storm as he had done, b.u.mped full into him, and he heard a sweet voice:
"Oh, I beg your pardon!
"Jean!" he cried joyously, and she raised her head.
"Donald!"
The next Instant, she was in his arms, clinging to him with an abandon of pa.s.sion he had never suspected in her. It thrilled him from head to foot. Presently, he led her from the proximity of the cabin to the shelter of a large tree at the edge of the camp.
"Oh, I couldn"t sleep; I couldn"t even try, so I told father I was going to take a turn or two down the main "street" of tents," she cried, in answer to Donald"s question. "And to think of meeting you! I"m so glad!"
"Are you really glad, princess?" he asked, trying to pierce the gloom and the storm to see the expression of her face. "Hasn"t he told you?"
"Who told me? What?"
"Your father. This morning, he and I had a very unpleasant interview, in which he opened up all his big guns. He finally silenced me entirely. What the trouble was, and what influences he brought to bear, I can"t tell you, Jean. If he wants you to know, he"ll tell you. It is his object to ruin me in your sight. He has the facts, and, I fear, the proofs, that make marriage between us almost an impossibility; at any rate I"m sure your father would shoot me before he would let the event take place."
"Oh, what is it, Donald? You frighten me!" cried the girl. "You frighten me with these indefinite hints and uncertainties. I beg of you to tell me what the trouble is. I"ll stand by you through anything. Do you suppose I care whether my father will allow us to marry or not? No, no, Donald; I think for myself now, as you once said I should. Perhaps, I think too much. I--I--"
"What do you mean, dearest?" The girl had stopped, as though embarra.s.sed.
"I mean--I know you"ll be ashamed of me, I mean--couldn"t we, to-night--Mr. Gates is in camp, and he will--"
"Marry us?"
"Yes, Donald." And she hid her face against him, a face that flushed hotly and excitedly.
He caught her close during a delicious moment, for the storm held a privacy that was almost impenetrable. Then, with a groan, he released her.
"Jean," he said earnestly, "I can"t do it. I would sell my soul to marry you to-night--yes, actually sell it to the devil; but, as a man who pretends to be honorable in his dealings, I can"t. Oh, it simply kills me, this refusal; but the fact of it is that I love you too much to risk your future happiness."
"Oh, boy, boy!" she cried pitifully. "What can be happiness for me but the having of you always? If you"ve done wrong, I want you.
Whatever this awful thing is that is ruining our lives, I don"t cafe. I only know one thing, and that is _I want you!_"
Had he known women as some men know them, Donald would have taken her tone and her pa.s.sion as pa.s.sports to heaven, and hunted up the fat and spectacled Mr. Gates then and there, and this story would have ended. But he did not. He was straightforward and unsophisticated in a manly way, and knew his duty; and he also knew it was not now that Jean might regret her step, but at that important point of life Pinero has so aptly named "mid-channel," when the fire of youth has burned out, and the main concern is with the ashes remaining.
So, with the perfume of happiness in his nostrils, he put the temptation from him, and told Jean over and over that she must believe him to be acting for the best when he laid their lives out on such lines of misery. And she, after a while, believed, as he desired, and asked no more. Then, he told her that to know the things against him would make her still more unhappy, since they were not of his doing.
"You"ll hear many things about me that are not true, and never could be," Donald said at the last; "but don"t believe them. For I have done nothing wrong. All I ask is your faith and trust in me. With them, I"ll willingly go through the valley of the shadow, that in the end, some time, somewhere, we may be happy."
"Those you shall have always," was the reply; "and something else, too, whenever you want it."
"What is that?"
"A wife."
He kissed her full upon the lips, and reluctantly let her go.
Through the storm a faint, m.u.f.fled report sounded, as though a rifle had been fired; the two listened intently. But they heard nothing more, and Donald miserably watched Jean push open the rude door of the little cabin. Only when Fitzpatrick"s voice sounded did he turn away.
Next morning, the sky had cleared, and there was a considerable show of activity in the camp, as though some secret orders had been issued. The men had not much more than finished breakfast when a trapper, who had been out still-hunting game at sunrise, came running in at the top of his speed, waving his rifle over his head.
No sooner was he within reach than he was surrounded by a circle of the curious.
"There"s the deuce to pay for somebody, boys," he cried, "for I just found the body of Indian Tom, old Maria"s son, out there in the woods. A bullet hole in the back did the trick. He was carrying a gun, but it"s still loaded and his cartridge-belt"s full, so he couldn"t have done the job himself. I reached him just as he rattled off, so it wasn"t very long ago. Now, I don"t know who had it in for him. He was "way beyond the sentry lines, and we"re twenty miles from the other camp. ... I wonder it any of the boys were out in the woods last night?"
Donald, who had not heard the first of the speech, caught the last sentence, and made inquiries. When he learned the facts, he laughed shortly.
"Well, boys," he remarked, "I was out in the woods last night; in fact, I heard the shot that finished Indian Tom off."
"Out in the woods? What were you doing out in the woods in a storm like that, McTavish?" someone demanded.
Donald hesitated, and bit his lip with vexation. He was trapped.
It was next to the last thing in his mind to let Peter Rainy"s departure and goal become known, and it was the last to let Jean"s name be brought into any of his doings. But he was not a good liar, and he groped frantically for an adequate answer.
"Come on--out with it! Is it so hard to remember?" drawled Buxton.
Still, Donald could not say anything. He laughed uneasily, and a flush mounted to his hair.
"I guess, boys," he finally blurted out, "I"d rather not say; it was a private matter."
The men looked at one another, and were silent. Finally, one, bolder than the rest, cleared his throat.
"Didn"t you give Tom an awful thrashing a little while back?" he asked, significantly.
The flush became deeper on McTavish"s face.
"It"s none of your darned business, my friend," he replied, acidly.
"But I"ll answer your question. I did give him a good licking, and he deserved it. How did you find it out?
"I dunno. It"s just one of those things that drifted in. I couldn"t tell you now who sprung it. But I"m mighty sorry you did it."
"Why?"
"Because, Captain McTavish, there is nothing to do but hold you on suspicion. That"s the least charge that can be made against you.
Andrew, go tell the factor what"s happened, and say we"ll bring McTavish in shortly."
"Look here, boys, you"re not going to try and put that Indian"s death on me, are you?" Donald cried, aghast.
"Sorry, Mac; but what you yourself have admitted is enough to lock you up, accused of murder in the first degree."
"Heaven!" groaned Donald to himself. "Can anything else come to me?"
A little later, as he looked down upon Angus Fitzpatrick, lying on the bed of boughs, it seemed as though the old man had had a turn for the worse. Donald recalled his grip on that wounded shoulder, and smiled inwardly with pleasure, for his spirit was still bitterly vindictive.