Part 44 (1/2)
Without pretense of defense or justification, the man had quietly told her that he knocked the swamper down ”because he wanted to”; and without waiting for comment--as if the fact that ”he wanted to” was sufficient in itself--had gone about his business without giving the matter a second thought.
The flash of anger, which in the first place had prompted her to speak to the man, was but an impulsive protest against what she considered an act of brutality; but that quickly pa.s.sed.
The anger that surged through her heart as she gazed, white-faced, at the spot where the big man disappeared, was the bitter anger of outraged dignity and injured pride.
He had not taken the trouble to find out what she thought, for the very obvious reason that he had not cared what she thought--and so he left her. And when he had gone the girl plodded wrathfully back to camp and spoke to no one of what she had seen. But, deep down in her heart, she knew there had been a reason for Bill's act--and she knew that the reason was good.
That same evening Appleton pushed his chair back from the table and glanced toward Ethel, who had got out a bit of crochet-work. Then, with a sidewise glance at his wife, he remarked thoughtfully:
”I'm afraid I'll have to get rid of Bill. A Canuck swamper named Leduc complained to me that the boss slipped up on him and knocked him insensible with a club. I can't stand for that--not even from Bill.”
At the mention of the foreman's name the girl looked up quickly.
”He _didn't_ hit him with a club! He hit him with his fist! And there _was_ a reason----” The girl stopped abruptly, and a wave of crimson suffused her face. She could have bitten her tongue off for speaking--for defending this man.
”How do _you_ know?” asked her uncle in surprise.
”I saw him do it,” she replied; realizing that, having gone so far, she must answer.
”Why did he strike him?” persisted Appleton.
”You might ask _him_ that,” she said and, with a defiant toss of her head, quitted the room and closed the door behind her.
The Sheridans had been taken into confidence, and when the four found themselves alone they smiled knowingly.
As the days slipped into the second week of their stay, the carca.s.ses of many deer hung from poles in the clearing, and the outside walls of the log building were adorned with the skins of numerous wolves and bobcats.
Hardly a day pa.s.sed but some one, by word or look, or covert sneer, expressed disapproval of the boss; and Ethel, entirely ignorant of the fact that these expressions of disapproval were made only in her presence, and for her special benefit, was conscious of a feeling of great pity for the lonely man.
The indescribable restlessness of a great longing took possession of her; she found herself, time and again, watching from the window, and from places of concealment behind the trunks of trees, while the big foreman went stolidly about his work.
The fact that she should hate Bill Carmody was logical and proper; but she bitterly resented the distrust and criticism of the others. She wished now with all her heart that she had not confided in her aunt, and a dozen times she caught herself on the point of rus.h.i.+ng to his defense.
Not since that morning on the skidway had the two met. Bill deviated not one whit from the regular routine of his duties, and the girl purposely avoided him.
She hated him. Over and over again she told herself that she hated and despised him, and yet, on two or three occasions when she knew he had gone to the farthest reaches of the cutting, she had slipped un.o.bserved into the office and read from his books--not the uncut novels--but the well-thumbed copies of Browning and Southey; and as she read she pondered.
She came upon many marked pa.s.sages; and in her heart the unrest continued, and she allowed her hands to stray over the coa.r.s.e cloth of his mackinaw, and once she threw herself upon his bunk and buried her face in his blankets, and sobbed the dry, racking sobs of her deep soul-hurt.
Then she had leaped to her feet and smoothed out the wrinkles in the blankets, and stooped and straightened the row of boots and moccasins along the base-log--and quickly disarranged them again for fear he might remember how he left them--and rushed from the office.
Of these secret visits the members of the party knew nothing, but Daddy Dunnigan, from the window of the cook-shack, took note of the girl's comings and goings, and nodded sagely and chuckled to himself. For Daddy Dunnigan, wise in the ways of women, had gathered much from the talk of the impetuous youngster.
CHAPTER XL
CHARLIE GOES HUNTING
Blood River Jack halted suddenly in his journey from the bunk-house to the grub-shack and sniffed the air.