Part 26 (2/2)

She bestowed a glad pressure on her husband's arm as they walked up the street, Bill carrying the sack of gold perched carelessly on one shoulder.

”Say, their enterprise has gone the length of establis.h.i.+ng a branch bank here, I see.”

He called her attention to a square-fronted edifice, its new-boarded walls as yet guiltless of paint, except where a row of black letters set forth that it was the Bank of British North America.

”That's a good place to stow this bullion,” he remarked. ”I want to get it off my hands.”

So to the bank they bent their steps. A solemn, horse-faced Englishman weighed the gold, and issued Bill a receipt, expressing a polite regret that lack of facility to determine its fineness prevented him from converting it into cash.

”That means a trip to Vancouver,” Bill remarked outside. ”Well, we can stand that.”

From the bank they went to the hotel, registered, and were shown to a room. For the first time since the summit of the Klappan Range, where her tiny hand gla.s.s had suffered disaster, Hazel was permitted a clear view of herself in a mirror.

”I'm a perfect fright!” she mourned.

”Huh!” Bill grunted. ”You're all right. Look at me.”

The trail had dealt hardly with both, in the matter of their personal appearance. Tanned to an abiding brown, they were, and Hazel's one-time smooth face was spotted with fly bites and marked with certain scratches suffered in the brush as they skirted the Kispiox. Her hair had lost its sleek, glossy smoothness of arrangement. Her hands were reddened and rough. But chiefly she was concerned with the sad state of her apparel. She had come a matter of four hundred miles in the clothes on her back--and they bore unequivocal evidence of the journey.

”I'm a perfect fright,” she repeated pettishly. ”I don't wonder that people lapse into semi-barbarism in the backwoods. One's manners, morals, clothing, and complexion all suffer from too close contact with your beloved North, Bill.”

”Thanks!” he returned shortly. ”I suppose I'm a perfect fright, too.

Long hair, whiskers, grimy, calloused hands, and all the rest of it. A shave and a hair cut, a bath and a new suit of clothes will remedy that. But I'll be the same personality in every essential quality that I was when I sweated over the Klappan with a hundred pounds on my back.”

”I hope so,” she retorted. ”I don't require the shave, thank goodness, but I certainly need a bath--and clothes. I wish I had the gray suit that's probably getting all moldy and moth-eaten at the Pine River cabin. I wonder if I can get anything fit to wear here?”

”Women live here,” Bill returned quietly, ”and I suppose the stores supply 'em with duds. Unlimber that bank roll of yours, and do some shopping.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, regarding her reflection in the mirror with extreme disfavor. Bill fingered his thick stubble of a beard for a thoughtful minute. Then he sat down beside her.

”Wha's a mollah, hon?” he wheedled. ”What makes you such a crosser patch all at once?”

”Oh, I don't know,” she answered dolefully. ”I'm tired and hungry, and I look a fright--and--oh, just everything.”

”Tut, tut!” he remonstrated good-naturedly. ”That's just mood again.

We're out of the woods, literally and figuratively. If you're hungry, let's go and see what we can make this hotel produce in the way of grub, before we do anything else.”

”I wouldn't go into their dining-room looking like this for the world,”

she said decisively. ”I didn't realize how dirty and shabby I was.”

”All right; you go shopping, then,” he proposed, ”while I take these furs up to old Hack's place and turn them into money. Then we'll dress, and make this hotel feed us the best they've got. Cheer up.

Maybe it was tough on you to slice a year out of your life and leave it in a country where there's nothing but woods and eternal silence--but we've got around twenty thousand dollars to show for it, Hazel. And one can't get something for nothing. There's a price mark on it somewhere, always. We've got all our lives before us, little person, and a better chance for happiness than most folks have. Don't let little things throw you into the blues. Be my good little pal--and see if you can't make one of these stores dig up a white waist and a black skirt, like you had on the first time I saw you.”

He kissed her, and went quickly out. And after a long time of sober staring at her image in the gla.s.s Hazel shook herself impatiently.

”I'm a silly, selfish, incompetent little beast,” she whispered. ”Bill ought to thump me, instead of being kind. I can't do anything, and I don't know much, and I'm a scarecrow for looks right now. And I started out to be a real partner.”

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