Part 16 (1/2)
The girl faced swiftly away, and at the same moment the Indian at the window staggered backward, dropping his rifle and cursing horribly in the only English he knew, as he clutched frantically at his shoulder.
Chloe turned. MacNair was lacing his boots. He raised himself weakly to his feet, swaying uncertainly, with his hand pressed against his chest, and laughed harshly into the pain-twisted features of the Indian.
”When the last of yon dogs gets his bullet, I can leave this place in safety.”
”What do you mean?” cried the girl, her eyes blazing.
”I mean,” rasped the man, ”that you are a fool! You have listened to Lapierre and you have easily become his dupe. There is no Indian in his employ who would not kill me. They have had their orders. Have you stopped to reflect that the brave Lapierre did not himself remain to stem this attack? To protect me from my Indians?”
The sneer in MacNair's voice was not lost upon the girl, who drew herself up haughtily.
”Mr. Lapierre,” she answered, ”could hardly be charged with antic.i.p.ating this attack, nor could he be blamed for not altering his plans to fight _your_ battles.”
MacNair laughed. ”The idea of Lapierre fighting _my_ battles is, indeed, unique. And you may be sure that Lapierre will not fight his own battles--as long as he can find others to fight them for him. Miss Elliston, this attack _was_ antic.i.p.ated. Lapierre knew to a certainty that when my Indians read the signs, and learned what had happened there on the sh.o.r.e of Snare Lake, their vengeance would not be delayed.” He looked straight into the eyes of the girl. ”Did you arm your Indians?”
”I did not!” answered Chloe. ”I brought no guns.”
”Then where did your Indians get their rifles?”
”Well, really, Mr. MacNair, I cannot tell you. Possibly at the same place your Indians got theirs. The Indians, who have come to me here are hunters and trappers. Is it so extraordinary that men who are hunters should own guns?”
”Your ignorance would be amusing, if it were not tragic!” retorted MacNair. And picking up the gun which the wounded Indian had dropped, held it before the eyes of the girl. ”The hunters of the North, Miss Elliston, do not equip themselves with Mausers.”
”With Mausers!” cried the girl. ”You mean----”
”I mean just this,” broke in MacNair, ”that your Indians were armed to kill men, not animals. With, or without, your knowledge or sanction, your Indians have been supplied with the best rifles obtainable. Your school is Lapierre's fort!” Thrusting the rifle into the hands of the girl, he brushed past her and with difficulty made his way through the intervening room to the outer door, which he threw open.
Chloe followed. Outside the firing continued with undiminished intensity, but the girl was conscious of no sense of fear. Her eyes swept the room, flooded now by the glare of the flaring flames. Beside the stove stood Big Lena, an ax gripped tightly in her strong hands.
The remaining Indian lay upon the floor, firing slowly through a loophole punched in the c.h.i.n.king. At the doorway MacNair turned, and in the strong light Chloe noticed that his face was haggard and drawn with pain.
”I thank you.” he said, touching his bandaged chest, ”for your nursing.
It has probably saved my life.”
”Come back! They will kill you!” MacNair ignored her warning. ”You have one redeeming feature,” cried the girl. ”At least, you are as brutal toward yourself as toward others.”
MacNair laughed harshly. ”I thank you,” he said and staggered out into the fire-lit clearing. Dully, Chloe noticed that the Indian who had been firing from the floor slipped stealthily through the doorway and, dropping to his knee, raised his rifle. The next instant the girl's eyes widened in horror. The gun was pointed squarely at MacNair's back. She tried to cry out, but no sound came. It seemed minutes that the Indian sighted as he knelt there in the clearing. And then--he pulled the trigger. There was a sharp, metallic click, followed by a muttered imprecation. The man jerked down the rifle and reaching into his pocket, produced long yellow cartridges, which he jammed into the magazine.
The horror of it! The diabolical deliberation of the man spurred the girl to a fury she had never known. In that moment her one thought was to kill--to kill with her hands--to rend--to tear--and to maim! For the first time she realized that the thing in her hand was a gun.
Again the Indian was raising his rifle. The girl twisted and jerked at the bolt of her own gun. It was locked. The next instant, with a loud, animal-like cry, she leaped for the doorway, trampling, as she pa.s.sed, with a wild, fierce joy upon the upturned staring face of the dead Indian.
Out in the clearing the flames roared and crackled. Rifles spat. And before her the Indian was again lining his sights. Grasping the heavy rifle by the barrel, Chloe whirled it high above her and brought it down with a crash upon the head of the kneeling savage. The man crumpled as dead men crumple--in an ugly, twisted heap. Fierce, swift exultation shot through the girl's brain as she stood beside the formless thing on the ground. She looked up--squarely into the eyes of MacNair, who had turned at the sound of her outcry.
”I said you would fight!” called the man. ”I have seen it in your eyes. They are the eyes of the man on the wall.”
Then, abruptly, he turned and disappeared in the direction of the river.
CHAPTER XIII