Part 31 (2/2)

”We will live together, you and I. Come and I will show you the place of h.e.l.l.”

Together they journeyed down the crag and along the beach to the place where the gold, the grim G.o.d of this world, was fortressed and bastioned by its victims.

The days went on; the weeks and months ambled by. Still the two lived together. Little speech pa.s.sed between them, save that speech of comrades, who use more the sign than the tongue. It seemed to Pierre after a time that Gaspard's wrongs were almost his own. Yet with this difference: he must stand by and let the avenger be the executioner; he must be the spectator merely.

Sometimes he went inland and brought back moose, caribou, and the skins of other animals, thus a.s.sisting Gaspard in his dealings with the great Company. But again there were days when he did nothing but lie on the skins at the hut's door, or saunter in the shadows and the sunlight.

Not since he had come to Gaspard had a s.h.i.+p pa.s.sed the bay or sought to anchor in it.

But there came a day. It was the early summer. The snow had shrunk from the ardent sun, and had swilled away to the gulf, leaving the tender gra.s.s showing. The moss on the rocks had changed from brown to green, and the vagrant birds had fluttered back from the south. The winter's furs had been carried away in the early spring to the Company's post, by a detachment of coureurs de bois. There was little left to do. This morning they sat in the sun looking out upon the gulf. Presently Gaspard rose and went into the hut. Pierre's eyes still lazily scanned the water. As he looked he saw a vessel rounding a point in the distance.

Suppose this was the s.h.i.+p of the pirate and murderer? The fancy diverted him. His eyes drew away from the indistinct craft--first to the reefs, and then to that spot where the colossal needle stretched up under the water. It was as Pierre speculated. Brigond, the French pirate, who had hidden his gold at such shameless cost, was, after twenty years in the galleys at Toulon, come back to find his treasure. He had doubted little that he would find it. The lonely spot, the superst.i.tion concerning dead bodies, the supposed doom of Gaspard, all ran in his favour. His little craft came on, manned by as vile a mob as ever mutinied or built a wrecker's fire.

When the s.h.i.+p got within a short distance of the bay, Pierre rose and called. Gaspard came to the door. ”There's work to do, pilot,” he said.

Gaspard felt the thrill of his voice, and flashed a look out to the gulf. He raised his hands with a gasp. ”I feel it,” he said: ”it is the hour of G.o.d!”

He started to the rope ladder of the cliff, then wheeled suddenly and came back to Pierre. ”You must not come,” he said. ”Stay here and watch; you shall see great things.” His voice had a round, deep tone. He caught both Pierre's hands in his and added: ”It is for my wife and child; I have no fear. Adieu, my friend! When you see the good Pere Corraine say to him--but no, it is no matter--there is One greater!”

Once again he caught Pierre hard by the shoulder, then ran to the cliff and swung down the ladder. All at once there shot through Pierre's body an impulse, and his eyes lighted with excitement. He sprang towards the cliff. ”Gaspard, come back!” he called; then paused, and, with an enigmatical smile, shrugged his shoulders, drew back, and waited.

The vessel was hove to outside the bay, as if hesitating. Brigond was considering whether it were better, with his scant chart, to attempt the bay, or to take small boats and make for the sh.o.r.e. He remembered the reefs, but he did not know of the needle of rock. Presently he saw Gaspard's boat coming. ”Someone who knows the bay,” he said; ”I see a hut on the cliff.”

”h.e.l.lo, who are you?” Brigond called down as Gaspard drew alongside.

”A Hudson's Bay Company's man,” answered Gaspard.

”How many are there of you?”

”Myself alone.”

”Can you pilot us in?”

”I know the way.”

”Come up.”

Gaspard remembered Brigond, and he veiled his eyes lest the hate he felt should reveal him. No one could have recognised him as the young pilot of twenty years before. Then his face was cheerful and bright, and in his eye was the fire of youth. Now a thick beard and furrowing lines hid all the look of the past. His voice, too, was desolate and distant.

Brigond clapped him on the shoulder. ”How long have you lived off there?” he asked, as he jerked his finger towards the sh.o.r.e.

”A good many years.”

”Did anything strange ever happen there?” Gaspard felt his heart contract again, as it did when Brigond's hand touched his shoulder.

”Nothing strange is known.”

A vicious joy came into Brigond's face. His fingers opened and shut.

”Safe, by the holy heaven!” he grunted.

”'By the holy heaven!'” repeated Gaspard, under his breath.

They walked forward. Almost as they did so there came a big puff of wind across the bay: one of those sudden currents that run in from the ocean and the gulf stream. Gaspard saw, and smiled. In a moment the vessel's nose was towards the bay, and she sailed in, dipping a shoulder to the sudden foam. On she came past reef and bar, a pretty tumbril to the slaughter. The spray feathered up to her sails, the sun caught her on deck and beam; she was running dead for the needle of rock.

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