Chapter 38

CHARLIE FINDS A FRIEND

The following morning the camp looked out upon a white world. The threatened snow which began during the night was still falling, and from the windows the dark walls of the clearing could be seen but dimly through the riot of dancing flakes.

It was a constrained and rather glum party that sat down to breakfast shortly after daylight in the room adjoining the office, where two deal tables had been drawn together and spread with a new, white oilcloth.

Ethel Manton had entirely recovered from her syncope of the previous evening, and had offered no elucidation other than that of fatigue. Nevertheless, not a person in the room but felt that there had been another and more immediate cause for the girl's collapse.

Charlie had begged to be allowed to "eat with the men," and the foreman had courteously declined Appleton's invitation to join the party during their stay in camp.

The dismal and sporadic attempts at conversation had slumped into an awkward silence, in the midst of which the door burst open and young Charlie catapulted into the room.

"Oh, Eth! Guess who he is!" he cried. "Guess who's the boss--the man the Indians call The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die'! It's _Bill Carmody_! And I knew him the minute I saw him, if he _has_ got whiskers all over his face and a buckskin shirt.

"And he knew _me_! And he shook hands with me right before all the men--and you ought to seen 'em look! And he's going to teach me how to walk on snowshoes! Oh, ain't you _glad_! 'Cause now you and Bill can----"

"_Charlie!_" The girl's face flamed, and the word seemed wrung from her very heart. The boy paused for a moment in the midst of his breathless harangue and eyed his sister with disgust.

"You know you _do_ love him," he continued, his eyes flashing defiantly, "even if you did have a scrap--and he loves you, too! And that dang St. Ledger's just nothing but a--a--a _squirt_--that's what he is--and if I was Bill Carmody I'd punch his head for him if he even _spoke_ to you again--if you was _my_ girl!

"And I'm going to tell him we _know_ he never swiped those bonds, and you stuck up for him when old man Carmody told you he did."

The last words of the boy's remarks were addressed to an empty chair, for the girl, white and trembling, had fled into the other room and banged the door after her.

Mrs. Appleton, with an unintelligibly muttered excuse, hurriedly followed, leaving her husband gazing from her retreating back to the excited face of the youngster, and muttering: "Bless my soul! Bless my soul!" between the gulps of his coffee, which for once in his life he swallowed with never a growl at the canned milk. A moment later he abruptly left the table and, motioning the boy to follow, led the way to the office.

A half-hour passed, and Charlie left the building under the strictest kind of orders not to mention to Bill Carmody either Ethel or the bonds.

Puzzling his small head over the inexplicable doings of grown-up people, he wandered toward the cook-shack to hunt up Daddy Dunnigan, with whom he had already struck up a great friendship.

"She loves him and he loves her," he muttered to himself as he scuffed his brand-new moccasins through the soft snow, "and each one tries to let on they don't. And Uncle Appleton won't let me tell Bill _she_ does so he'd go and tell her _he_ does; and then old man Carmody and his bonds could go to the _devil_!

"You bet, I hope I never get in love and act like a couple of fools. Now, I bet she'll marry that _sniffit_, and he'll marry Blood River Jack's sister." The boy paused and glanced speculatively at the falling snow. "I wonder if he wants to? Anyhow, I can ask him that much."

Later, in the office, Mrs. Appleton broke in upon her husband's third black cigar. There was no doorway connecting the office with the other two rooms, and the lumberman watched the snowflakes melt on his wife's hair as she seated herself directly in front of him.

"Well, Hubert Appleton, this is a nice mess you have got us into, I must say!"

"_Me!_" grinned the man. "Why, little girl, this is your party."

"I wish you would tell me who it was that suggested leaving out young Mr. Holbrooke, and coming here so that Ethel could meet this _man_?"

"She--er--met him--didn't she?"

"You needn't try to be facetious! What are you going to do about it?"

"Who--me? Oh, just stick around and watch the fun."

"Fun! Fun! Hubert Appleton, aren't you _ashamed_ of yourself? And that poor girl in there crying her eyes out! Fun, indeed--it's _tragedy_!"

"There, there, little woman; don't let's get excited. It's up to us to kind of figure things out a bit; but the young folks themselves will be the real actors.

"Now, just how much--or, how little did she tell you?"

"She told me _everything_. Poor dear, it did her good. She has had nobody to tell--nobody to cry with her and sympathize with her."

When his wife concluded, H. D. Appleton had received a very accurate chronicle of the doings of Bill Carmody from the time of his boyhood until chance threw them together in the smoking-compartment of the west-bound sleeper.

The lumberman listened attentively, without interrupting, until his wife finished.

"Does she think Bill took those bonds?" he asked.

"No. She does not. Even with everything else against him, she cannot bring herself to believe that he is a thief."

"Do _you_ think he took them?"

"Why--I--I don't know," she hesitated.

"Do you _think_ he took them?"

The little woman looked into her husband's eyes as she purposely delayed her reply.

"No," she said at length. "I do not. But his own father accused him."

Appleton leaned forward in his chair and brought his fist down upon the desk-top.

"I don't give a damn _who_ accused him!" he cried. "That boy never stole a bond, or any other thing, and I'll stake my last cent on it!"

"Oh, it isn't the bonds. Ethel does not believe he stole them. But--the other--you heard what the guide said--and Ethel heard it. She never _can_ get over _that_! He may be honest--but he is a perfect _villain_!"

"Hold on, now. Let's go easy. Maybe it isn't so bad as it sounds."

"Not so bad! Hubert Appleton, do you mean to tell me that you would, for a minute, think of allowing your niece to _marry_ such a man?"

Appleton smiled into the outraged eyes of his wife.

"Yup. I think I would," he replied, and then hastened to add:

"Wait here and I will fetch Blood River Jack. He may have told more than he knows, or he may not have told all he knows. When you come to think of it, from what he _did_ tell, we only jumped at conclusions."

He hurried from the office, returning a few minutes later with the half-breed, who seated himself and lighted the proffered cigar with evident enjoyment.

"Now, Jack," Appleton began, speaking with his accustomed brevity, "tell us about Monsieur Bill and this sister of yours. Did you say he was going to marry her?"

The guide looked from one to the other as if silently taking their measure. Finally he seemed satisfied.

"No," he said gravely, "he will not marry Jeanne."

The lumberman cleared his throat and waited while the man looked out upon the whirling snow, for well he knew that the half-breed must be allowed to take his own time--he could not be "pumped." And Mrs. Appleton, taking her cue from her husband, curbed her impatience, and waited with apparent unconcern.

"It is," the guide began, as if carefully weighing his words, "that you are the good friends of M's'u' Bill. Also I have seen that you know the men of the logs.

"Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, my mother, who is old and very wise, knows the men of the logs, and, knowing them, hated M's'u' Bill, and would have returned him to the river, but Jeanne prevented. For Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, knowing of the fatherless breeds of the rivers, hated all white men, and a great fear was in her heart for the girl, who is her daughter, and the daughter of Lacombie whom, she says, was the one good white man; but Lacombie is dead.

"So always in the days of the summer, when these two would leave the lodge to visit the deserted camp of Moncrossen, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta followed them. Stealthily and unknown she crept upon their trail, and always her sharp eyes were upon them, and in the fold of her blanket was concealed a long, keen blade, and behind the unfailing gaze of the black eyes was the mind to kill.

"Thus passed the days of the summer, and the hand of Wa-ha-ta-na-ta was stayed, but her vigilance remained unrelenting. For deep in her heart is seared the memory of two winters ago, when Moncrossen gazed upon the beauty of Jeanne, and came to the tepee in the night, knowing I was away, and Wa-ha-ta-na-ta fought him in the darkness until he fled, cursing and swearing vengeance.

"Never since that night has the girl been safe, for Moncrossen, with the cunning of the wolf, is waiting his time--and some day he will strike!

"But I shared not the fear of my mother that harm would come to Jeanne at the hand of the great _chechako_, for I have looked into his eyes, and I know that his heart is good.

"Upon the day before his departure for the land of the white man he gave to the girl the skin of Diablesse, and then she told him she loved him, and begged him to remain with her in the country of the Indians.

"But he would not, for he does not love Jeanne, but another--a woman of his own people, who lives in the great city of the white man. And even though this woman sent him from her, he loves her, and will marry no other.

"Listening, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta heard him tell this to Jeanne; but of this woman the girl knew, for he talked incessantly of her, and cried out that she would marry another--in the voice of the fever-spirit, in the time of his great sickness.

"The following day he departed in a canoe, and as he pushed from the shore, Jeanne handed him his mackinaw, and words passed between them that Wa-ha-ta-na-ta could not hear from her position behind a log.

"But, as the canoe passed from sight around a bend in the river, the girl plunged into the woods, and Wa-ha-ta-na-ta returned to the tepee and made up a light pack and slipped silently upon her trail. The girl cut through the forest and came again to the river, and for a night and a day awaited the coming of the canoe.

"The third evening it came and the man camped, and Jeanne crept close and watched him across the blaze of his little fire as he smoked and stared into the embers. While Wa-ha-ta-na-ta also crept stealthily to the fire, making no sound, and she came to within an arm's reach of the man's back, and in her hand was clutched tightly the sheath-knife with its long, keen blade.

"At the midnight the man unrolled his blankets and laid down to sleep, and then it was that Jeanne stepped into the firelight. And in the deep shadow, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta gripped more tightly the knife and made ready to strike."

The half-breed paused while the others waited breathlessly for him to resume.

"Think not that Jeanne is bad. She is good, and her heart is the pure heart of a maiden. But, such is the love of woman--to face gladly the sneers of the world, and the wrath of her people--for she did not ask him to marry her--only to take her.

"But the man would not, and commanded her to return to the lodge. She told him that she could not return--that three days and three nights had passed since they had departed together, and that, if he would not take her, she would go alone to the land of the white man.

"Then M's'u' Bill arose and folded his blankets and made up his pack, and when he spoke to her again it was in the voice of the terrible softness--the softness that causes men first to wonder, and then to obey, though they know not why. He said that he himself would take her back, and that Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, who is old and very wise, would know that his words were true.

"Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, lurking there in the deep shadow, in that moment knew that the man's heart was good. And she stepped into the firelight, and looked long into his eyes--and she broke the knife--and between them there passed the _promise_."

Jacques puffed slowly upon his cigar, arose to his feet, and stood looking down upon the two who had listened to his words.

"It is well," he said, and his dark eyes flashed, "for the heart of Moncrossen is bad, and the beauty of Jeanne has inflamed the evil passions of him, and he will stop at nothing in the fulfillment of his desire.

"But, into the North has come a greater than Moncrossen. And terrible will be the vengeance of this man if harm falls upon Jeanne. For he is her friend, his word has passed, his heart is strong and good, and he knows not fear.

"Upon Moncrossen will fall the day of the Great Reckoning. And, in that day, justice will be done, for he will stand face to face with M's'u' Bill--The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die--the man whom Wa-ha-ta-na-ta has named 'The One Good White Man'!"