Part 2 (1/2)

”It would be about a year,” agreed Downey, gravely nodding his head. ”I made this patrol in February.”

”It's just a year--the thirteenth of the month. I'll not be forgetting it.”

”An' have you had no word?”

The old factor shook his head: ”No word. They left in May--with the rivers not yet free of running ice. Two light canoes. Margot could handle a canoe like a man.”

”You'll prob'ly hear from 'em on the break-up this spring. Maybe they'll give it up an' come back.”

Molaire shook his head: ”Ye don't know Murdo MacFarlane,” he said, ”He'll never give up. He swore he would never return to Las.h.i.+n' Water without gold. He's Scotch--an' stubborn as the seven-year itch.”

”I'm Scotch,” grinned Downey, hoping to draw the old man into an argument and turn his thoughts from the absent ones. But he would not be drawn. For a long time he smoked in silence while outside the wind howled and moaned and sucked red flames high into the stovepipe.

”She'd be two years old, now,” Molaire said, ”An' maybe talkin' a bit.

Maybe they've taught her to say grand-pere. Don't you think she might be talkin' a little?”

”I don't know much about 'em. Do they talk when they're two?”

The old factor pondered: ”Why--it seems to me _she_ did--the other Margot. But--it's a long time ago--yet it seems like yesterday. I'm gettin' old an' my memory plays me tricks. Maybe it was three, instead of two when she begun to say words. D'ye mind, Downey, a year ago we played whist?”

”Two-handed cribbage is all right,” suggested the Corporal. But the old man shook his head and for a long, long time the only sound in the room was the irregular tapping of contracting metal as the fire died down unheeded in the stove. The old man's pipe went out and lay cold in his hand. The bearded chin sagged forward onto the breast of his woolen s.h.i.+rt and his eyes closed. Beyond the stove Corporal Downey drowsed in his chair.

Suddenly the old man raised his head: ”What was that?” he asked sharply.

Downey listened with his eyes on the other's face. ”I hear nothing,” he answered, ”but the booming of the wind.”

The peculiar startled look died out of Molaire's eyes: ”Yes,” he answered, ”It is the wind. I must have be'n dozin'. But it sounded like bells. I've heard the bells of Ste. Ann's boom like that--tollin'--when some one--died.” Stiffly he rose from his chair and fumbled upon the counter for a candle which he handed to Downey. ”We'll be goin' to bed, now,” he said, ”It's late.”

IV

Upon a bunk built against the wall of a tiny cabin of logs five hundred miles to the northward of Las.h.i.+ng Water post the sick woman turned her head feebly and smiled into the tear-dimmed eyes of the man who leaned over her: ”It's all right, Murdo,” she murmured, ”The pain in my side seems better. I think I slept a little.”

Murdo MacFarlane nodded: ”Yes, Margot, you have been asleep for an hour.

In a few days, now, I'm thinkin' you'll be sittin' up, an' in a week's time you'll be on your feet again.”

The woman's eyes closed, and by the tightening of the drawn lips her husband knew that she was enduring another paroxysm of the terrible pain. Outside, the wind tore at the eaves, the sound m.u.f.fled by its full freighting of snow. And on the wooden shelf above the man's head the little alarm clock ticked bra.s.sily.

Once more Margot's eyes opened and the muscles of the white pain-racked face relaxed. The breath rushed in quick jerky stabs between the parted lips that smiled bravely. ”We are not children, Murdo--you and I,” she whispered. ”We must not be afraid to face--this thing. We have found much happiness together. That will be ours always. Nothing can rob us of that. We have had it. And now you must face a great unhappiness. I am going to die. In your eyes I have seen that you, too, know this--when you thought I slept. To-day--to-night--not later than to-morrow I must go away. I am not afraid to go--only sorry. We would have had many more years of happiness, Murdo--you--and I--and the little one--” The low voice faltered and broke, and the dark eyes brimmed with tears.

The man's hands clenched till the nails bit deep into the palms. A great dry sob shook the drooped shoulders: ”G.o.d!” he breathed, hoa.r.s.ely, ”An'

it's all my fault for bringin' you into this d.a.m.ned waste of snow an'

ice, an' bitter cold!”

”No, Murdo, it is not your fault. I was as anxious to come as you were.

I am a child of the North, and I love the North. I love its storms and its suns.h.i.+ne. I love even the grim cruelty of it--its relentless snuffing out of lives in the guarding of its secrets. Strong men have gone to their death fighting it, and more men will go--why then should not I, who am a woman, go also? But, it would have been the same if we had stayed at Las.h.i.+ng Water. I know what this sickness is. I have seen men die of it before--Nash, of the Mounted--and Nokoto, a Company Indian. It is the appendicitis, and no doctor could have got to Las.h.i.+ng Water in time, any more than he could have got here. They sent the fastest dog-team on the river when Nash was sick, and before the doctor came he was dead. It is not your fault, my husband. It is no one's fault. There is a time when each of us must die. My time is now. That is all.” She ceased speaking, and with an effort that brought little beads of cold sweat to her forehead, she raised herself upon her elbow and pointed a faltering forefinger toward the little roughly made crib that stood close beside the bunk. ”Promise me, Murdo,” she gasped, ”promise me upon your soul that you will see--that--she--_that she shall go to school!_ More than I have gone, for there are many things I do not know.

I have read in books things I do not understand.”

”Aye, girl,” the deep voice of MacFarlane rumbled through the room as he eased his wife back onto the pillow, ”I promise.”

The dark eyes closed, the white face settled heavily onto the pillow, and as MacFarlane bent closer he saw that the breathing was peaceful and regular. It was as though a great load had been lifted from her mind, and she slept. With her hand still clasped in his the man's tired body sagged forward until his head rested beside hers.