The Challenge of the North Part 13

Old John's hand rested for a moment upon the girl's head. "I promise all that, girl. Surely ye know I can be just. If it is as ye say, I'll more than make it up to him. I promise ye, his name shall not suffer."

"I love you, Dad. I know you are just--but you're a hard-hearted old Scot, just the same. You don't make many mistakes, but you have made two--about Oskar, and about hiring that Wentworth. I told you you'd be sorry."

"Well, maybe ye're right," and John McNabb never blinked an eye.

"See, didn't I just say you were hard-headed? You won't admit you made a mistake even after what Orcutt told you to-day. But tell me honestly, Dad, are you ruined?"

"Well, we won't worry about that, la.s.s. D'ye hear the hoot-owl? I like to hear them of nights. I found one's nest once an' I took the three eggs out an' slipped them under a hen that Mother McFarlane had settin'. It was at Long Lake post, Mother McFarlane was the factor's wife, an' I was his clerk. The eggs had been sat on a long time an'

they hatched out before the hen eggs. Ye should have seen Mother McFarlane's face when she caught sight of them chickens! It was one of the best jokes I ever made."

"And here you ought to be as solemn as an owl yourself, and you are talking of jokes. I don't understand you at all."

"Maybe I should be an owl. D'ye notice in the stories, they make the Scots say, 'hoot'? But about Wentworth, now. If we should meet up with him, don't let on ye know anything about my deal with Orcutt.

Treat him nice an' pleasant----"

"After what he has done to you?" cried the girl, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

"Just so. Be nice an' friendly to him--d'ye know what a poker face is?"

"Why, of course! Everybody plays poker in Terrace City."

"Mind ye, ye're settin' in a big game right now----"

"You mean," cried the girl, "that there's a chance? A chance to beat Orcutt yet? Oh, if you only could!"

"Well, we're still settin' in the game--me an' you, daughter. An'

let's don't neither one of us throw down our hand till after the draw."

XXII

Toward evening of the fourth day after leaving the railway, the two stepped into the broad clearing that surrounded the G.o.ds Lake post.

"Oh, real Indians!" cried Jean, as she caught sight of the dozen or more tepees that were pitched between the lake and the low log trading post.

"Aye, real Injuns, la.s.s--an' good it is to see them again. It will be the remnant of the spring tradin'. 'Tis about over now, but always there's some of the Injuns will hang around the post all summer."

"They're cooking over open fires, and look, there comes one from the lake with some fis.h.!.+ Oh, don't you just love it?"

They were crossing the clearing, and old John glanced at his daughter with approval. "Aye, I love it. An' proud I am that you love it, too.

Ye've taken to the North like a duck takes to water. Ye've trailed like a real sourdough, an' never a word of the hard work an' the discomfort. 'Tis born in ye, la.s.s--the love of the bush--an' I'm glad.

I've come to know ye better the last four days than I have in twenty-one years of school, an' dancing an' all the flibberty-jibbitin'

nonsense ye carry on."

They had reached the door of the trading room, and the man interrupted her laughing reply. "Wait ye here a minute while I see if Dugald is inside."

Oskar Hedin paused in the act of putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on the edge of his belt ax, and as John McNabb entered the room, he rose hastily to meet him.

"Where's Murchison?" asked the newcomer, and Hedin noted that no slightest hint of recognition flickered in his employer's eyes.

Repressing the desire to laugh, he answered in the slow, dull-witted manner of Sven La.r.s.en. "He is in there," pointing to the door of the factor's room.

"Tell him to come out here," commanded McNabb brusquely.

"Do you want to see him?"

"What in the devil d'ye think I'm waitin' here for? Hurry, now, an'

don't be standin' there gawpin'."

Hedin grinned broadly as he entered Murchison's door, and a moment later McNabb's hands were gripped by the two hands of the factor.

"It's glad I am to see ye, John. An' how does it feel to get home once more?"

"Ye'll be knowin' yourself how it feels to a man that's been thirty years out of the bush. But where's Hedin?"

"He'll be here directly," answered Murchison. "John, I want ye to meet my clerk, Sven La.r.s.en. He's the best clerk I ever had."

McNabb glanced into the bearded face that blinked stupidly at him. "Ye haven't be'n over favored with clerks, I'd say, Dugald. But how are ye fixed for quarters?"

Murchison laughed. "I guess we can rig up a bunk for ye, John."

"It ain't myself I was thinkin' about. It's the la.s.s. She's had four pretty hard days on the trail, an' she'd be the better for a comfortable bunk."

"The la.s.s!" exclaimed Murchison.

"Jean! Here!" Strong fingers gripped McNabb's arm, and he stared in astonishment into the face of Sven La.r.s.en. The loose-lipped, vapid expression was gone, and the blue-gray eyes stared into his own with burning intensity.

"You don't mean----? Why, Oskar lad!"

"Sh--sh. But she mustn't know! Promise me--both of you! She will be going to bed early, and after supper I'll see you at the landing."

McNabb studied the face quizzically. "Ye fooled me, all right, but I'm doubtin' ye can fool Jean."

"At least, I can try," answered the clerk. "I'll see you at supper,"

and without waiting for a reply, he ascended the ladder that led to the fur loft.

"Where is the la.s.s? Fetch her in, John." Murchison's eyes twinkled as he stepped closer. "He thinks he's lost her," he whispered. "But tell me, John, d'ye think the la.s.s cares for this d.a.m.ned Wentworth?"

"Who can say?" grinned McNabb. "'Twill not be long now till we can see for ourselves," and stepping to the door he called Jean, who was trying to make friends with a group of Indian children.

"She'll have my room," said Murchison, as he followed McNabb to the door. "An' no bunk, either, but a bra.s.s bed that I bought in Winnipeg out of respect for my old bones an' the weakening flesh that covers 'em. You an' me will pitch a tent, an' 'twill be the first time in many years, John, we've slept under canvas together."

The next moment he was welcoming the girl with a deference he would have scarce accorded to royalty.