"You did your best, and Tom did his; I suppose it is up to me next.
But why do you imagine I would be so glad if the captain was disposed of? I"ve nothing against him."
"No? What"s the matter with you? You"re as soft as a rotten tree!
What were you hanging around Fort Severn for all last summer, without a look for the Indian girls? Why were you singing love-songs under the trees of nights? Why did you cease to eat, and carry around a face as long as a sick fox"s, eh? Ah, you are angry, and you shift! And, yet, you ask me what you have against this McTavish!
With him out of the way, there"s no reason why you shouldn"t--"
"Hush, hush, mother! There are men coming. Don"t talk so loud!"
Seguis moved uncomfortably. "Leave me, now. There"s some truth in what you say. I"ll think it over."
Old Maria, bent and shriveled, hobbled off, croaking, to hide the expression of malignant triumph on her leathery face. Her words had bitten deeper than Seguis cared to admit, even to himself. The short summer months, the hunter"s love- and play-time, had been a season of misery for him, because of Jean Fitzpatrick"s pure and beautiful face. Subconsciously, he knew that in mind and spirit he was her equal; the white strain in him, which now governed all his thoughts and actions, felt the call of its own blood. Hence, it had been with sad, rather than bitter, feelings that he witnessed Donald"s courtship of the girl. More fiercely than ever, he realized the limitations of his kind. The bar sinister was a veritable millstone around his neck which dragged him down to a level he abhorred.
It was with a kind of gnawing hopelessness that he had gone away from the fort in the fall, and endeavored to forget his misery in the thousand activities of the free-traders" brotherhood. For McTavish personally, he had always retained a strong feeling of friendship, as was shown on the occasion of sending the Hudson Bay man forth on the Death Trail. But, now, the old hunger returned strong upon him at his mother"s words, and he resolved to give himself every opportunity for contemplation of the dangerous theme.
Night came without the appearance of the looked-for French supply-trains, and, as usual, the camp retired early. As many of the men as possible used the small rooms in the great log house, which occupied two-thirds of its length. It was in one of these that Donald had been confined during his stay among the free-traders.
A high wind was blowing, and it was intensely cold. Suddenly, during the most terrible hours of the night, a frightened cry rang through the camp. Men, with heads and faces buried under mountainous blankets or in sleeping-bags, did not hear, and the shivering wretch who had tried to give the alarm ran frantically from room to room, rousing the sleepers. Those who were sheltered by shed-tents awoke to see a rosy light spreading across the snow where they lay--a light that was not the aurora. Then, upon the rushing wind sounded an ominous roar and a mighty crackling. The great log house was afire, and the wind exulted in the flames, tossing them back and forth and upward with fiendish glee. Shouting hoa.r.s.ely, the trappers leaped, wet and steaming, out of their covers, and ran to the conflagration.
How the blaze had started was no mystery, for, in the little rooms the men occupied, each was permitted his tiny fire for cooking.
Perhaps, the uneasy foot of a sleeper, perhaps a gust of wind between the c.h.i.n.ks, had sent an ember underneath the inflammable logging of the walls.
Charley Seguis, although heavy with slumber, was among the first to run out of the building. In an instant, he took in the situation.
With a lake like rock, and but one or two buckets, it was utterly impossible to check the flames with water; one or two men were making a desperate attempt to throw snow on the fire; but the wind whirled this away as fast as it was shot into the air. The building was doomed.
"Save the furs! Save the furs!" Seguis commanded at the top of his voice, and set an example by plunging into the council chamber, to reappear in a moment with two small bales of pelts. Instantly, the others followed his example.
Fortunately, the fire had started at the opposite end, so there was a fighting chance to save the valuable skins, although the flames were leaping along the beams with lightning rapidity.
Presently, it was seen that the crowding of men endeavoring to pa.s.s in and out at the same time would be fatal to the contents of the wareroom, and Seguis, with a few rapid commands, formed a chain from the interior to a point well beyond the danger zone. He himself took the post of hazard in the midst of the piled pelts, and with quick thrusts of his arms kept a steady stream of bales flowing.
Such men as could not get on the pelt-brigade, he soon had rescuing bedding, traps, and other valuables from the little rooms, some of which were already seething infernos.
Urged by the high wind, the flames licked hungrily at the dry logs, and presently such a terrific heat radiated from the fire that the snow fled away in tiny rivulets, and the iron ground was laid bare.
Fast as they worked, the men could not outspeed the devouring element. Flying embers clattered upon the tindery roof, and in a moment the whole top of the long structure was ablaze.
Charley Seguis, grabbing bales and pa.s.sing them with both hands, suddenly brushed a six-inch ember from the pack of otter in front of him with a curse, and looked up. Here and there spots of fire dropped among the furs. He said nothing, but redoubled his efforts.
In fifteen minutes, three-quarters of the work was done, and the drops of fire from above had become a steady rain.
"Get the chief out of there!" yelled someone. "The walls will fall on him!"
The man who was standing next the entrance shouted to Seguis, but all he got was a round cursing and a command to stay where he was.
The half-breed was fighting now for more than a few bales of furs; he was fighting for the very existence of the free-traders. For, should their skins be lost, their value as an organization would be gone; and gone, too, all the labor of months, with its accompanying intrinsic worth.
Now, there were but twenty bales left; now, but fifteen. Seguis"s hands were raw from burns, his fur cap smoldered in half-a-dozen places. But the man at the door was brave, and Seguis kept on.
Ten--five! Could he hold out? Three--two! One! ... Swearing horribly with agony, drenched with perspiration, Seguis burst out of the narrow doorway just as the walls collapsed inward from both sides.
Quick hands wrapped blankets about him, and beat out the fire in his cap. Still holding the last bale in his hand, he stood grimly, watching the destruction of the only free warehouse within five hundred miles. Higher and higher the flames mounted; the circle of men was driven slowly backward by the fearful heat; the surrounding snow was eaten away for fifty yards on every side.
Some activity was necessary lest the flying brands do damage to the shed-tents and the priceless bedding, but the work required only a few hands.
"Well, thank heaven, we saved the furs!" exclaimed the chief, at last.
"You saved "em rather," said a voice admiringly. Seguis interrupted, roughly.
"Tell the cook to make a couple of buckets of tea, and serve it around as soon as possible."
"Pardon!" said the functionary referred to; "but there"s no tea, or any other kind of provision in the camp. What little stock remained was stored in the far end of the building where the fire took hold first. I tried to get to it, but it was no use. There"s no food."
This was a serious state of affairs, for without his eternal hot tea the woodsman is almost as wretched as though tobacco had ceased to grow. And, now, it was almost a matter of life and death, for the men were mostly without shelter, and worn out with their long struggle. Charley Seguis walked up and down briskly for a while, thinking. The fire tumbled in upon itself with a great roar and geyser of sparks, throwing distant trees and forest aisles into quick relief. The first indications of dawn, almost obliterated by the brilliance of the blaze, now made themselves definitely evident.
A few of the men, with rough fishing-tackle and axes, had already started toward the edge of the lake for the morning"s catch.
Seguis watched them with somber eyes, pausing for a moment in his walk. Fish, fish, fish; nothing between starvation and life for forty men except that staple of fish. And suppose the French traders did not get through! Suppose something had gone wrong in that five hundred-odd miles to civilization!
Where, then? Where in this wilderness could he turn for abundant supplies easily secured--except one place. A grim smile set his face into hard lines. ... Yes, he would go there. His mother"s words of the day before returned to him. Perhaps he would _see her!_ He called a man to him.
"Tell the boys to get ready to march. I"ll leave five here to guard the furs. The rest of us are going up to the Hudson Bay camp, and get food. If we don"t, we"ll starve to death, or get scurvy, or something. Tell everybody to be ready at ten o"clock."
CHAPTER XX
AWAITING THE HANGMAN
Stretched on a rough bed of blanket-covered branches, in a low, squat log cabin, a man lay smoking his pipe, and conversing in s.n.a.t.c.hes with two other men who sat by the door, also smoking pipes.
The man on the bed was not yet thirty years old, but his face was furrowed with lines of care--not only lines of care, but of character.
The hair about his temples was sprinkled with gray, a fact that added to the dignity of his countenance. In his whole att.i.tude, as he lay, there was a certain masterful repose and self-confidence, an air of peace and understanding that sat well upon him.
The men at the door, on the other hand, were nervous and miserable, and shifted their positions uneasily now and again. A small fire burned in the middle of the room.
"What time is it, boys?" asked the man on the bunk.
"Three o"clock, Mac," replied Timmins, pulling on his watch with fingers that shook, and straining his eyes in the dim light.
"Four or five hours more. That"s what I hate, this waiting. I"ll be mighty glad when I hear the steps outside."
"Don"t, Mac, for heaven"s sake!" muttered Buxton hoa.r.s.ely, his languid drawl gone for once. Then, he burst out: "McTavish, I can"t stand this--this thing that"s going to happen. It"s murder, that"s what it is! Why don"t you tell all the circ.u.mstances of that night Indian Tom was killed?
"It wouldn"t get me off, if I did. Can"t you see that Fitzpatrick is going to get me, even if he has to do it with his own hands? I did tell about going to Peter Rainy in the woods, and it only strengthened the circ.u.mstantial evidence. If I told of the other person I was with when the shot came, it would only draw out a flood of revelations, and not in the slightest change the verdict.
Besides, it would bring at least half-a-dozen people to their graves in shame and sorrow. No, Buxton, even if I could get myself off, I haven"t any right to do it."
Donald lighted his pipe again and fell into a somber reverie. For two weeks now, he had been in his cabin, awaiting the end. The men that sentenced him to death had ordained a fortnight in which he might change his mind, and save himself, if he would. Now, this was the finish. He sighed with relief. Then, a tender light came into his eyes. Only the day before, Jean Fitzpatrick, white and still with pain, had come to him, and had begged him, on her knees, to save himself at her expense.
"If you don"t confess that I was with you that night, I"ll do it myself," she had cried, beside Herself.
And he had answered:
"Princess, if you do, I"ll deny it."