The Wilderness Trail Part 26

"We've found the provisions under a tent near the other cabin,"

he said.

"Quick, then!" the half-breed snapped. "Get them out as soon as you can. If we can get away without being seen, so much the better."

But in this, Seguis had counted without Buxton. Because of the pa.s.sive actions of the two men upon his appearance the half-breed considered them cowards, and, after disarming them, had kept a careless watch over their movements, though always holding them in sight. In relieving them of rifles and revolvers, he thought he had silenced them, but Buxton was provided against just such an emergency. Beneath his outer garments, he wore a second belt, which permitted the suspension of a revolver in such a position that it could be neither seen nor felt in a hasty examination. Now, when the opportunity offered, he secured this weapon, and fired rapidly a number of times into the air.

Almost immediately tent doors were opened, and men, carrying weapons, burst out, bewildered, but aware of danger from the signal. By previous arrangement, they gathered around the factor's cabin, where Buxton had already taken his stand. In a moment, he had told them what had happened, and then the factor himself appeared. In the three weeks that had elapsed, he had recovered sufficiently to leave his bed, and his shoulder was almost healed. Now, he took command. In the meantime, Seguis's men, having secured a goodly supply of provisions, were making all speed into the forest.

Fitzpatrick, dazed at the audacity of the free-traders, gave vent to an explosion of fury.

"Fire!" he commanded gratingly. "Kill every one of 'em. Fire!" And the leveled rifles of almost fifty men spoke with unerring aim.

Three of those last to leave the camp fell, but the others, now in the protection of the forest, fled away on their snow-shoes at top speed.

"After 'em!" snarled Fitzpatrick. "Don't let one of 'em get away.

We'll end this matter here."

Instantly there was a rush for tents and belongings, for none of the men had had the opportunity to slip on snowshoes. Fifteen minutes later, the pursuers struck out, led by the aged factor, whose rage seemed to lend him almost superhuman strength. In vain, Jean had besought him to stay in camp, saying that the others would do just as well without him. At last, he had promised reluctantly to return in an hour. Two men who had been wounded previously were ordered to remain, and to put the storehouse in order.

When Charley Seguis heard the pistol of Buxton give warning, his first impulse was to turn upon the man, and shoot him dead. But his second--and Seguis usually listened to the second--was to get away peaceably with all the provisions possible. Consequently, his order rang out short and sharp, and was obeyed, for it was the principle of the free-traders to strike no blow except in defense.

In his mind's eye, the intelligent half-breed reviewed the scene that must shortly ensue. After that first volley, he could picture the pursuers in their rush for equipment, the hasty start, and the deserted camp. Seguis had come hither for two purposes--to secure food, and to see Jean Fitzpatrick. He had accomplished the first; now to accomplish the second. Putting one of his trusted men in charge of the party, with directions to head for Sturgeon Lake, and explaining he was going to reconnoiter a little, Seguis struck sharply to the right, and began a long, circular detour. Half an hour brought him to a spot behind the Hudson Bay camp, where a considerable hill, with a few scattered trees, sheltered it from the northern storm blasts. Cautiously, and without a sound, Seguis climbed this hill, dodging from tree to tree. At last, he reached the summit, and, lying down on his stomach, peered over... His heart stood still. Not twenty yards away from him, slightly down the declivity, stood Jean Fitzpatrick. Her back was to him, and her eyes were glued to a pair of field-gla.s.ses. Evidently, she was trying to discern signs of the pursuit in a clear s.p.a.ce several miles away.

Seguis looked beyond her interestedly. There was not a sign of life in the camp. The men who had stayed behind to right the storehouse were now in the woods, picking up any supplies that might have been dropped. Fortune had again favored him. Very cautiously, he stood upright, then slowly advanced. So intent was the girl upon the pursuit that she did not hear the delicate crunching of the snow-shoes. When ten feet away, he drew himself to his full height, and spoke her name, softly:

"Miss Jean."

She whirled upon him swiftly, and shrank back Into herself, as though he had aimed a blow at her. He, on his part, could hardly believe his eyes when he looked into her face. This was not the happy, care-free, girlish Jean Fitzpatrick, who had laughed her way through the brief summer months. He saw, now, the face of a woman, who had learned much and suffered much. There were gravity in the eyes and a seriousness across the brow that served as the badges of this new realization; but there was no fear. After the first shrinking of surprise, she looked him coldly up and down.

"What do you want?" she said.

"To speak with you."

"Did you come for that purpose especially?"

"Yes." Seguis smiled a little, with satisfaction. In searching Timmins, he had found a letter addressed to Jean, in McTavish's handwriting. He might have to use it, and he might not.

"Keep your distance, sir," the girl commanded, haughtily, "and we will talk. If you make a step nearer to me than you are now, I'll scream, and those men in the woods will hear me. And, if they hear me, and learn the trouble, it will go hard with you. Now, what do you want?"

Seguis had expected to find a fluttering, fearful youngling, somewhat impressed with his graces and courage. This businesslike disposal of his case caused his active mind to change its tack, as soon as it sensed the veer of the wind.

"I am here," he said, "to present my compliments to you, along with those of a certain other man."

"Whom do you mean?" Jean's voice was now a little tremulous, despite her discipline of it.

"Captain McTavish."

"Oh!" she said, and she was silent for a moment, collecting herself.

"But why do you, of all people, come with this message?" she added.

"No reason at all, except that I saved his life this morning, and thought you might want to learn the facts, and perhaps an inkling of his whereabouts."

"Was that really your reason?" she asked, more kindly.

"It was one of them," he answered, significantly.

It was now Jean's turn to look at her companion with some interest.

He spoke with a certain dignity and reserve that she had never noticed in him before. His eyes were firm and steady when they met hers; his bearing was courteous. With a sort of horrible pleasure, she recognized that this was Donald's half-brother, and looked for a family resemblance. She found a very strong one, in the eyes and general stature. Mercifully for her feelings, the shape of the head was hidden in the swathed _capote_ and fur cap.

She wondered vaguely if he knew of the relations.h.i.+p.

"Where is--Captain McTavish?" she asked, finally.

"On his way to Sturgeon Lake."

"Did he leave any message for me?"

"A letter that I have in my pocket."

"May I see it?" she asked eagerly, involuntarily stretching forth her hand.

"How can I hand it to you, if I have to keep this distance?" Seguis asked, quizzically, and met her stare with humorous eyes.

"I'll come and get it," she announced, "when you have it in your hand, ready for me to take."

"You haven't thanked me yet for saving his life," the half-breed reminded her. "If it hadn't been for me, he would now be--"

"Don't!" she cried sharply, going pale of a sudden. "Don't ever make any reference to that!" She paused, then added: "I can't thank you enough though, Seguis, for the fact that you saved his life.

Why did you do it?"

"I'll tell you later," was the non-committal reply. "In the meantime, here is your letter." He reached inside his s.h.i.+rt, and drew forth a dirty envelope, on which the girl's name was inscribed in pencil. He held it toward her without a word, and the girl clutched at it eagerly.

"Just a moment," he said, withholding it. "You must read it here and now. I want to take it away with me. I must ask your promise in this matter."

"Why?"

"You will learn that later, too. Will you promise?"

For a minute, the girl struggled, and then love won. Better to read the bitter parting message and lose it than not see it at all.

"Yes, I promise," she said, quietly; and he immediately put the envelope in her hands.

Her trembling fingers picked at the flap as she turned away.

"You will pardon me?" she announced rather than asked, turning her back upon him. No living being must see her expression as these last words met her eye.

"Certainly."

With seeming nonchalance, Seguis filled his pipe from a skin tobacco-pouch, and began to smoke. The men gathering up scattered stores at the edge of the woods below moved slowly and painfully because of their wounds, he noticed. A snow-bunting chirped from a drift near by, and faintly to his ears from the deeper woods came the chattering scold of a whiskey-jack, or jay. He noticed these things during the first few whiffs. Then, he looked once again at Jean. Her back was still turned, but presently she faced him slowly, her cheeks flushed, and her blue eyes starry bright, though wet.

He appeared unconscious of her emotion, a thing for which she mentally thanked him. In fact, she found him less offensive every moment. He was different from any half-breed she had ever known, but he was only less offensive than others. He could never be anything better.

"Now, tell me why you want this letter back?" she asked, clinging to it desperately, as though it were her lover's hand.