Part 14 (2/2)

Little Isobel slipped to the floor, and Isobel stood up. She came near to him, as she came that marvelous night out on the Barren, and in her eyes there was the same prayer as she put her two hands up to him and looked straight into his face.

He thought it would be easier. But it was terrible. She did not move.

No sound came from her tight-drawn lips as he told her of the meeting with Deane, and of her husband's illness. She guessed what was coming before he had spoken it. At his words, telling of death, she drew away from him slowly. She did not cry out. Her only evidence that she had heard and understood was the low moan that fell from her lips. She covered her face with her hands and stood for a moment an arm's length away, and in that moment all the force of his great love for her swept upon MacVeigh in an overwhelming flood. He opened his arms, longing to gather her into them and comfort her as he would have comforted a little child. In that love he would willingly have dropped dead at her feet if he could have given back to her the man she had lost. She raised her head in time to see his outstretched arms, she saw the love and the pleading in his face, and into her own eyes there leaped the fire of a tigress.

”You-- you--” she cried. ”It was you who killed him! He had done no wrong-- save to protect me and avenge me from the insult of a brute!

He had done no wrong. But the Law-- your Law-- set you after him, and you hunted him like a beast; you drove him from our home, from me and the baby. You hunted him until he died up there-- alone. You-- you killed him.”

With a sudden cry she turned and caught up little Isobel and ran toward the other door. And as she disappeared into the room from which she had first appeared Billy heard her moaning those terrible words.

”You-- you-- you--”

Like a man who had been struck a blow he swayed back to the outer door. Near his dogs and sledge he met Pierre Couchee and his half-French wife coming in from their trap line. He scarcely knew what explanation he gave to the half-breed, who helped him to put up his tent. But when the latter left to follow his wife into the cabin he said:

”She ess seek, ver' seek. An' she grow more seek each day until-- mon Dieu!-- my wife, she ess scare!”

He cut a few balsam boughs and spread out his blankets, but did not trouble to build a fire. When the half-breed returned to say that supper was waiting he told him that he was not hungry, and that he was going to sleep. He doubled himself up under his blankets, silent and staring, even neglecting to feed the dogs. He was awake when the stars appeared. He was awake when the moon rose. He was still awake when the light went out in Pierre Couchee's cabin. The snow-man was gone from his vision-- home and hope. He had never been hurt as he was hurt now.

He was yet awake when the moon pa.s.sed far over his head, sank behind the wilderness to the west, and blackness came. Toward dawn he fell into an uneasy slumber, and from that sleep he was awakened by Pierre Couchee's voice.

When he opened his eyes it was day, and the half-breed stood at the opening of the tent. His face was filled with horror. His voice was almost a scream when he saw that MacVeigh was awake and sitting up.

”The great G.o.d in heaven!” he cried. ”It is the plague, m'sieur-- le mort rouge-- the small pox! She is dying--”

MacVeigh was on his feet, gripping him by the arms.

He turned and ran toward the cabin, and Billy saw that the half-breed's team was harnessed, and that Pierre's wife was bringing forth blankets and bundles. He did not wait to question them, but hurried into the plague-stricken cabin. From the woman's room came a low moaning, and he rushed in and fell upon his knees at her side. Her face was flushed with the fever, half hidden in the disheveled ma.s.ses of her hair. She recognized him, and her dark eyes burned madly.

”Take-- the baby!” she panted. ”My G.o.d-- go-- go with her!”

Tenderly he put out a hand and stroked back her hair from her face.

”You are sick-- sick with the bad fever,” he said, gently.

”Yes-- yes, it is that. I did not think-- until last night-- what it might be. You-- you love me! Then take her-- take the baby and go-- go-- go!”

All his old strength came back to him now. He felt no fear. He smiled down into her face, and the silken touch of her hair set his heart leaping and the love into his eyes.

”I will take her out there,” he said. ”But she is all right-- Isobel.”

He spoke her name almost pleadingly. ”She is all right. She will not take the fever.”

He picked up the child and carried her out into the larger room.

Pierre and his wife were at the door. They were dressed for travel, as he had seen them come in off the trap line the evening before. He dropped Isobel and sprang in front of them.

”What do you mean?” he demanded. ”You are not going away! You cannot go!” He turned almost fiercely upon the woman. ”She will die-- if you do not stay and care for her. You shall not run away!”

”It is the plague,” said Pierre. ”It is death to remain!”

”You shall stay!” said MacVeigh, still speaking to Pierre's wife. ”You are the one woman-- the only woman-- within a hundred miles. She will die without you. You shall stay if I have to tie you!”

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