Part 9 (2/2)

The gang numbered, all told, upward of two hundred of the hardest characters upon the frontier. Only Lapierre knew its exact strength, but each member knew that if he did not ”run straight”--if he, by word or act or deed, sought to implicate an accomplice--his life would be worth just exactly the price of ”the powder to blow him to h.e.l.l.”

A few there were outside the organization who suspected Pierre Lapierre--but only a few: an officer or two of the Mounted and a few factors of the H.B.C. But these could prove nothing. They bided their time. One man _knew_ him for what he was. One, in all the North, as powerful in his way as Lapierre was in his. The one man who had spies in Lapierre's employ, and who did not fear him. The one man Pierre Lapierre feared--Bob MacNair. And he, too, bided his time.

CHAPTER VIII

A SHOT IN THE NIGHT

As Lapierre made his way to the camp of the Indians he pondered deeply.

For Lapierre was troubled. The fact that MacNair had twice come upon him unexpectedly within the s.p.a.ce of a month caused him grave concern.

He did not know that it was entirely by chance that MacNair had found him, an unwelcome sojourner at Fort Rae. Accusations and recriminations had pa.s.sed between them, with the result that MacNair, rough, bluff, and ready to fight at any time, had pounded the quarter-breed to within an inch of his life, and then, to the undisguised delight of the men of the H.B.C., had dragged him out and pitched him ignominiously into the lake.

Either could have killed the other then and there. But each knew that to have done so, as the result of a personal quarrel, would have been the worst move he could possibly have made. And the forebearance with which MacNair fought and Lapierre suffered was each man's measure of greatness. MacNair went about his business, and to Lapierre came Chenoine with his story of the girl and the plot of Vermilion, and Lapierre, forgetting MacNair for the moment, made a dash for the Slave River.

For years Lapierre and MacNair had been at loggerheads. Each recognized in the other a foe of no mean ability. Each had sworn to drive the other out of the North. And each stood at the head of a powerful organization which could be depended upon to fight to the last gasp when the time came to ”lock horns” in the final issue. Both leaders realized that the show-down could not be long delayed--a year, perhaps--two years--it would make no difference. The clash was inevitable. Neither sought to dodge the crisis, nor did either seek to hasten it. But each knew that events were shaping themselves, the stage was set, and the drama of the wilds was wearing to its final scene.

From the moment of his meeting with Chloe Elliston, Lapierre had realized the value of an alliance with her against MacNair. And being a man whose creed it was to turn every possible circ.u.mstance to his own account, he set about to win her co-operation. When, during the course of their first conversation, she casually mentioned that she could command millions if she wanted them, his immediate interest in MacNair cooled appreciably--not that MacNair was to be forgotten--merely that his undoing was to be deferred for a season, while he, the Pierre Lapierre once more of student days, played an old game--a game long forgot in the press of sterner life, but one at which he once excelled.

”A game of hearts,” the man had smiled to himself--”a game in which the risk is nothing and the stakes---- With millions one may accomplish much in the wilderness, or retire into smug respectability--who knows?

Or, losing, if worse comes to worst, a lady who can command millions, held prisoner, should be worth d.i.c.kering for. Ah, yes, dear lady! By all means, you shall be helped to Christianize the North! To educate the Indians--how did she say it? 'So that they may come and receive that which is theirs of right'--fah! These women!”

While the scows rushed northward his plans had been laid--plans that included a masterstroke against MacNair and the placing of the girl absolutely within his power in one move. And so Pierre Lapierre had accompanied Chloe to the mouth of the Yellow Knife, selected the site for her school, and generously remained upon the ground to direct the erection of her buildings.

Up to that point his plans had carried with but two minor frustrations: he was disappointed in not having been allowed to build a stockade, and he had been forced prematurely to show his hand to MacNair. The first was the mere accident of a woman's whim, and had been offset to a great extent in the construction of the trading-post and store-house.

The second, however, was of graver importance and deeper significance.

While the girl's faith in him had, apparently, remained unshaken by her interview with MacNair, MacNair himself would be on his guard.

Lapierre ground his teeth with rage at the Scotchman's accurate comprehension of the situation, and he feared that the man's words might raise a suspicion in Chloe's mind; a fear that was in a great measure allayed by her eager acceptance of his offer of a.s.sistance in the matter of supplies, and--had he not already sown the seeds of a deeper regard? Once she had become his wife! The black eyes glittered as the man threaded the trail toward the camp, where his own tent showed white amid the smoke-blackened teepees of the Indians.

The thing, however, that caused him the greatest uneasiness was the suspicion that there was a leak in his system. How had MacNair known that he would be at Fort Rae? Why had he come down the Yellow Knife?

And why had the two Indian scouts failed to report the man's coming?

Only one of the Indians had returned at all, and his report that the other had been killed by one of MacNair's retainers had seemed unconvincing. However, Lapierre had accepted the story, but all through the days of the building he had secretly watched him. The man was one of his trusted Indians--so was the one he reported killed.

Upon the outskirts of the camp Lapierre halted--thinking. LeFroy had also watched--he must see LeFroy. Picking his way among the teepees, he advanced to his own tent. Groups of Indians and half-breeds, hunched about their fires, were eating supper. They eyed him respectfully as he pa.s.sed, and in response to a signal, LeFroy arose and followed him to the tent.

Once inside, Lapierre fixed his eyes upon the boss canoeman.

”Well--you have watched Apaw--what have you found out?”

”Apaw--I'm t'ink she spik de trut'.”

”Speak the truth--_h.e.l.l_! Why didn't he get down here ahead of MacNair, then? What have I got spies for--to drag in after MacNair's gone and tell me he's been here?”

LeFroy shrugged. ”MacNair Injuns--dey com' pret' near catch Apaw--dey keel Stamix. Apaw, she got 'way by com' roun' by de Black Fox.”

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