Part 31 (2/2)
MacNair's door flew open to their frantic pounding. The girl thrust the letter into his hand, and with a supreme effort told what she knew of the disappearance of Chloe and Big Lena. Whereupon, she threw herself at full length upon the floor and immediately sank into a profound sleep.
MacNair fumbled upon the shelf for a candle and, lighting it, seated himself beside the table, and tore the envelope from the letter. Never in his life had the man read words penned by the hand of a woman. The fingers that held the letter trembled, and he wondered at the wild beating of his heart.
The story of the Louchoux girl had aroused in him a sudden fear. He wondered vaguely that the disappearance of Chloe Elliston could have caused the dull hurt in his breast. The pages in his hand were like no letter he had ever received. There was something personal--intimate--about them. His huge fingers gripped them lightly, and he turned them over and over in his hand, gazing almost in awe upon the bold, angular writing. Then, very slowly, he began to read the words.
Unconsciously, he read them aloud, and as he read a strange lump arose in his throat so that his voice became husky and the words faltered.
He read the letter through to the end. He leaped to his feet and strode rapidly up and down the room, his fists clenched and his breath coming in great gasps.
Bob MacNair was fighting. Fighting against an irresistible impulse--an impulse as new and strange to him as though born of another world--an impulse to find Chloe Elliston, to take her in his arms, and to crush her close against his wildly pounding heart.
Minutes pa.s.sed as the man strode up and down the length of the little room, and then once more he seated himself at the table and read the letter through.
”DEAR MR. MACNAIR:
”I cannot leave the North without this little word to you. I have learned many things since I last saw you--things I should have learned long ago. You were right about the Indians, about Lapierre, about _me_. I know now that I have been a fool. Lapierre always removed his hat in my presence, therefore he was a gentleman! Oh, what a fool I was!
”I will not attempt to apologize. I have been too _nasty_, and _hateful_, and _mean_ for any apology. You said once that some day we should be friends. I am reminding you of this because I want you to think of me as a friend. Wherever I may be, I will think of you--always. Of the splendid courage of the man who, surrounded by treachery and intrigue and the vicious attacks of the powers that prey, dares to stand upon his convictions and to fight alone for the good of the North--for the cause of those who will never be able to fight for themselves.
”It will not be necessary to tell you that I shall go straight to the headquarters of the Mounted and withdraw my charge against you. I have heard of your lawless raids into the far North; I think they are _splendid_! Keep the good work up! Shoot as straight as you can--as straight as you shot that night on Snare Lake. I should love to stand at your side and shoot, too. But that can never be.
”Just a word more. Lena is going to marry LeFroy; and, knowing Lena as I do, I think his reformation is a.s.sured. I am leaving everything to them. The contents of the storehouse will set them up as independent traders.
”And now farewell. I want you to have my most valued possession, the portrait of my grandfather, Tiger Elliston, the man I have always admired more than any other until----”
Until what? wondered MacNair. The word had been crossed out, and he finished the letter still wondering.
”When you look at the picture in its splintered frame, think sometimes of the 'fool moose-calf,' who, having succeeded by the narrowest margin in eluding the fangs of 'the wolf' is returning, wiser, to its mountains.
”Yours very truly--and very, very repentantly,
”CHLOE ELLISTON.”
Bob MacNair lost his fight. He arose once more, his great frame trembling in the grip of a new thrill. He stretched his great arms to the southward in a silent sign of surrender. He sought not to dodge the issue, strange and wonderful as it seemed to him. He loved this woman--loved her as he knew he could love no other--as he had never dreamed it was in the heart of man to love.
And then, with the force of a blow, came the realization that this woman--his woman--was at that very instant, in all probability, at the mercy of a fiend who would stop at nothing to gain his own ends.
He leaped to the door.
”By G.o.d, I'll tear his heart out!” he roared as he wrenched at the latch. And the next instant the sh.o.r.es of Snare Lake echoed to the wild weird sound of the wolf-cry--the call of MacNair to his clan!
Other calls and other summons might be ignored upon provocation, but when the terrible wolf-cry shattered the silence of the forest MacNair's Indians rushed to his side.
Only death itself could deter them from fore-gathering at the sound of the wolf-cry. Before the echoes of MacNair's voice had died away dark forms were speeding through the moonlight. From all directions they came; from the cabins that yet remained standing, from the tents pitched close against the unburned walls of the stockade, from rude wickiups of skins and of brushwood.
Old men and young men they answered the call, and each in his hand bore a rifle. MacNair snapped a few quick orders. Men rushed to harness the dog-teams while others provisioned the sleds for the trail.
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