Part 26 (1/2)

They were so little, seemingly so inoffensive: these dark berries in the shadows of the covert. They were scarcely to be noticed twice. But not even the savage grizzly was of such might; storms or seas were not so deadly. There they were, inconspicuous among their sister plants, waiting for her hand.

It was right that they should be black in color. Their blackness was as of a black night without a star s.h.i.+ning through,--a black cloud with never a rainbow to promise hope. She could not turn her eyes away! How black they were among the green leaves--lightless as death itself.

A handful of them meant death: her father had warned her about them long ago. But half a handful--perhaps a dozen of the sable berries in the palm of her hand--what did _they_ mean? Just a sickness wherein one could no longer guard a prisoner. They were a powerful alkaloid, she knew; and a dozen of them would likely mean hours and hours of deep, dreamless sleep,--a sleep in which one could take no reckoning of hands fumbling at a cartridge belt! Half a handful would, in all probability, fail to strike the life from such a powerful frame as Ben's, but would certainly act upon him like a powerful opiate and leave him helpless in her hands.

Eagerly her fingers plucked the black berries.

x.x.xIII

In one of the tin cups Beatrice pressed the juice from the nightshade, obtaining perhaps a tablespoonful of black liquor. To this she added considerable sugar, barely tasting the mixture on the end of her finger.

The balance was inclining toward the success of her plan. The sugar mostly killed the pungent taste of the berries.

Then she concealed the cup in a cl.u.s.ter of vines, ready for the moment of need. Her next act was to procure from among the supplies the little cardboard box containing half a dozen or so of her pistol sh.e.l.ls. The way of safety was to destroy these first. The effect of the poison might be of only a few minutes' duration, and every motion might count. Under any conditions, they would be out of the way. She was careful, with a superlative cunning, to take the box as well as its contents. She foresaw that in all likelihood Ben would seek the sh.e.l.ls as soon as he fired the few that remained in his pistol magazine; and an empty container might put him upon his guard. On the other hand, if he could not find the box at all, he could easily be led to believe that it had been simply misplaced among the other supplies.

She scattered the sh.e.l.ls in the heavy brush where not even the bright, searching eyes of the Canada jay might ever find them. Then she hastened up the ridge to meet Ben on his way to the cave.

She waited a few minutes, then spying his stalwart form at the edge of the beaver meadow, she tripped down to meet him. He was not in the least suspicious of this little act of friends.h.i.+p. It was quite the customary thing, lately, for her thus to watch for his coming; and his brown face always lighted with pleasure at the first glimpse of her graceful form framed by the spruce. She too had always taken pleasure in these little meetings and in the gay talk they had as they sped down toward the cavern; but her delight was singularly absent to-day. She tried to restrain the wild racing of her heart.

She knew she must act her part. Her plan was to put him off his guard, to hide her treachery with pretended friends.h.i.+p. To meet him here--far distant from the poison cup hidden in the vines--would give her time to master her leaping heart and to strengthen her self-control.

Yet she had hardly expected him to greet her in just this way,--with such a light in his eyes and such obvious delight in his smile. He had a rather boyish, friendly smile, this foe of hers whom she was about to despatch into the very shadow of death. She dispelled quickly a small, faltering voice of remorse. This was no time for remorse, for gentleness and mercy. She hurried to his side.

”You're flushed from hurrying down that hill,” he told her gayly.

”Beatrice, you're getting prettier every day.”

”It's the simple life that's doing it, Ben! No late hours, no indigestible food--”

”Speaking of food--I'm famished. I hope you've got something nice for lunch--and I know you have.”

She _had_ been careful with to-day's lunch; but it had merely been part of her plot to put him off his guard. ”Caribou tenderloin--almost the last of him--wocus bread and strawberries,” she a.s.sured him. ”Does that suit your highness?”

He made a great feint of being overwhelmed by the news. ”Then let's hurry. Take my arm and we'll fly.”

She seized the strong forearm, thrilled in spite of herself by the muscles of steel she felt through the sleeves. He fell into his fastest walking stride,--long steps that sped the yards under them. They emerged from the marsh and started to climb the ridge.

At a small hollow beside the creek bed her fingers suddenly tightened on his arm. A thrill that was more of wonder than of joy coursed through her; and her dark eyes began to glitter with excitement. The wilderness was her ally to-day. She suddenly saw her chance--in a manner that could not possibly waken his suspicions of her intentions--of disposing of the remainder of his pistol cartridges.

On a log thirty feet distant sat an old grouse with half a dozen of her brood, all of them perched in a row and relying on their protective coloring to save them from sight. They were Franklin's grouse--and they had appeared as if in answer to Beatrice's secret wish.

These birds were common enough in their valley, and not a day pa.s.sed without seeing from five to fifty of them, yet the sight went straight home to Beatrice's superst.i.tions. ”Get them with your pistol,” she whispered. ”I want them all--for a big grouse pie to-night.”

”But our pistol sh.e.l.ls are getting low,” Ben objected. ”I've hardly got enough sh.e.l.ls in the gun to get 'em all--”

”No matter. You have to use them some time. There's a few more in the cave, I think. We'll have to rely on big game from now on, anyway. Don't miss one.”

Ben drew his pistol, then walked up within twenty feet. He drew slowly down, knocking the old bird from her perch with a bullet through the neck.

”Good work,” Beatrice exulted. ”Now for the chicks.”