Part 17 (1/2)

”I thought you were broken in two,” he muttered.. ”We both fell right on top of you. Ugh!”

He sat down on the tree and rested his head on his bloodstained hands, and Hazel saw that he was quivering from head to foot. She got up and went over to him.

”Are you sure you aren't hurt?” she asked again.

He looked up at her; big sweat drops were gathering on his face.

”Hurt? No,” he murmured; ”I'm just plain scared. You looked as if you were dead, lying there so white and still.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Hurt? No,” he murmured; ”I'm just plain scared.”]

He reached out one long arm and drew her up close to him.

”Little person,” he whispered, ”if you just cared one little bit as much as I do, it would be all right. Look at me. Just the thought of what might have happened to you has set every nerve in my body jumping.

I'm Samson shorn. Why can't you care? I'd be gooder than gold to _you_.”

She drew herself away from him without answering--not in fear, but because her code of ethics, the repressive conventions of her whole existence urged her to do so in the face of a sudden yearning to draw his b.l.o.o.d.y face up close to her and kiss it. The very thought, the swift surge of the impulse frightened her, shocked her. She could not understand it, and so she took refuge behind the woman instinct to hold back, that strange feminine paradox which will deny and shrink from the dominant impulses of life. And Roaring Bill made no effort to hold her. He let her go, and fumbled for a handkerchief to wipe his glistening face. And presently he went over to where a little stream bubbled among the tree roots and washed his hands and face. Then he got a clean s.h.i.+rt out of his war bag and disappeared into the brush to change. When he came out he was himself again, if a bit sober in expression.

He finished his packing without further words. Not till the pack horses were ready, and Silk saddled for her, did he speak again. Then he cast a glance at the dead bear.

”By Jove!” he remarked. ”I'm about to forget my tomahawk.”

He poked tentatively at the furry carca.s.s with his toe. Hazel came up and took a curious survey of fallen Bruin. Bill laid hold of the hatchet and wrenched it loose.

”I've hunted more or less all my life,” he observed, ”and I've seen bear under many different conditions. But this is the first time I ever saw a bear tackle anybody without cause or warning. I guess this beggar was strictly on the warpath, looking for trouble on general principles.”

”Was he after me?” Hazel asked.

”Well, I don't know whether he had a grudge against you,” Bill smiled.

”But he was sure coming with his mouth open and his arms spread wide.

You notice I didn't take time to go after my rifle, and I'm not a foolhardy person as a rule. I don't tackle a grizzly with a hatchet unless I'm cornered, believe me. It was lucky he wasn't overly big.

At that, I can feel my hair stand up when I think how he would have mussed us up if I'd missed that first swing at his head. You'll never have a closer call. And the same thing might not happen again if you lived in a bear country for thirty years.

”It's a pity to let that good skin rot here,” Bill concluded slowly; ”but I guess I will. I don't want his pelt. It would always be a reminder of things--things I'd just as soon forget.”

He tucked the hatchet in its place on the pack. Hazel swung up on Silk. They tipped over the crest of the mountain, and began the long descent.

The evening of the third day from there Bill traveled till dusk. When camp was made and the fire started, he called Hazel to one side, up on a little rocky knoll, and pointed out a half dozen pin points of yellow glimmering distantly in the dark.

”That's Bella Coola,” he told her. ”And unless they've made a radical change in their sailing schedules there should be a boat clear to-morrow at noon.”

CHAPTER XIV

THE DRONE OF THE HIVE

A black cloud of smoke was rolling up from the funnel of the _Stanley D._ as Bill Wagstaff piloted Hazel from the grimy Bella Coola hotel to the wharf.

”There aren't many pa.s.sengers,” he told her. ”They're mostly cannery men. But you'll have the captain's wife to chaperon you. She happens to be making the trip.”