Part 49 (1/2)

CHAPTER XLIV

THE MISSING BONDS

The walls of the room seemed the restraining bars of a prison, shutting her apart from life and the right to love. She lifted the latch and flung open the door, standing upon the threshold amid the seething inrush of the storm.

The fine snow felt good against her throbbing temples, and she stared into the blackness whose whirling chaos voiced the violence of the heart-storm that raged within her breast. _He_ had conquered the storm!

She s.h.i.+vered as an icy blast sent the snow-powder flying half across the room, closed the door, and resumed her tireless journey to and fro, to and fro, and at each turn she glanced at the sleeping man.

She dropped to her knees beside the bunk and looked long into his rugged face. He, too, had suffered. She remembered the deep hurt in his eyes at their parting. Yet he was not beaten.

She had sent him from her, heartsick and alone into the great world, and he had fought and conquered and earned a place among men.

And as the girl looked, her eyes grew tender and the pain in her heart seemed more than she could bear. When she rose to her feet the savage hatred was gone from her heart, and in its place was determination--the determination to win back the love of this man.

She, too, would fight, even as he had fought--and win. He had not been discouraged and beaten. She remembered the look upon his face as he strode toward her that morning on the skidway in search of Leduc.

Unconsciously her tiny fists doubled, her delicate white jaw squared, and her eyes narrowed to slits, even as his had narrowed--but her lips did not smile.

He was _her_ man! She could give him more than this half-breed girl could give him, and she would fight to win back her own--that which had been her own from the first.

Almost at her feet upon the floor, just under the edge of the bunk where it had been carelessly tossed, lay his mackinaw of coa.r.s.e, striped cloth. The girl stooped, drew it forth, and smoothed it out.

”His coat,” she breathed almost reverently as she patted its rough folds. ”He took it off and wrapped it around Charlie. Oh, it must have been terrible--_terrible_!”

She was about to hang it upon its peg when something fell to the floor with a sharp slap--a long, heavy envelope that had dropped from a ragged tear in the lining where the men had ripped it from the body of the boy.

She hung the garment upon its peg and stooped to recover the packet.

The envelope was old, and had evidently been exposed to the action of water, for the flap gaped open and the edges were worn through at the ends. Upon one side was tightly bound a photograph, dim and indistinct from the rub of the coa.r.s.e cloth.

Her lips tightened at the corners as she stepped to the desk and turned up the lamp. She would see what manner of girl it was who had scored so heavily against her in this battle of hearts. She held the picture close to the yellow flame and stared unbelievingly at the nearly effaced features.

With a swift movement she tore the encircling cord from the packet and examined it more closely. Her heart beat wildly, and the blood surged through her veins in great, joyous waves. For the photograph showed, not the dark features of the Indian girl, but--_her own_!

Worn almost beyond recognition it was, with corners peeled and rolled back from the warped and water-thickened mounting--but unmistakably _her picture_.

”He cares! He does care!” she repeated over and over. ”Oh, my boy! My boy!” And then her eyes fell upon the thick envelope with its worn edges and open flap which lay unheeded upon the desk-top.

Mechanically she reached for it, and her hand came in contact with its thick, heavily engraved contents. She raised the papers to the light and stared; there were five in all, neatly folded, lying one upon another.

The green background of the topmost one was faded and streaked, and a thin, green wash had trickled over the edges of the others, staining them.

A yellow slip of paper fluttered to the desk. She picked it up and read the almost illegible, typewritten lines. It was a memorandum addressed to Strang, Liebhardt & Co., and bearing the faded signature of Hiram Carmody.

A sudden numbness overcame the girl. She sank slowly into the chair in front of the desk and stared dully from the yellowed slip of paper to the faded green bonds.

The room seemed suddenly cold, and she stared, unseeing, at her bloodless finger-tips. She tried to think--to concentrate her mind upon the present--but her brain refused to act, and she muttered helplessly:

”The bonds--the bonds--he took the bonds!”