Part 54 (1/2)

The wide aisle between the table and the ends of the benches, leading from the door to the improvised altar at the farther end of the room, was carpeted with blankets from the bunk-house, and suspended from the ceiling immediately in front of the altar swung the ma.s.sive horseshoe, fresh and green with sprouting grain.

During the afternoon a warm drizzle set in and the men completed the preparations amid a muttered cursing of the weather.

An ominous booming and cracking now and then reached their ears from the direction of the river where the sullen, pent-up waters threatened momentarily to break their ice bonds, and the men knew that the logs must go out on the flood though the heavens fell.

The drizzle continued, the gray daylight wore into darkness, and with the darkness came the return of good cheer. For rollways must be broken out in the light of day, and the air rang with loud laughter and the rhythmic swing of roaring chanteys, as the men realized that they were not to be robbed of their gala day with its long night of feasting.

The phonograph, with its high-piled box of records, occupied a conspicuous place upon the dais, and upon the long table was displayed an enormous collection of gifts, chief among which was the ingeniously constructed chair with its broad back of flaring moose antlers.

At seven-thirty the men filed in from the bunk-house and found places upon the benches where they sat awkwardly, conversing in loud whispers.

Father Lapre, book in hand, took his place at the altar, and a few minutes later Bill Carmody entered with Sheridan and strode rapidly up the aisle. At the sight of the boss the crew rose as one man and the room rang with a loud, spontaneous cheer.

The little priest held up his hand for silence. At a signal someone started the graphophone, and to the sweet strains of a march the bride appeared, leaning upon the arm of her uncle.

Slowly, with bowed head, in the midst of a strained silence, she traversed the length of the long room, the cynosure of all eyes. When almost at the altar she raised her eyes to the man who awaited her there.

Her quick, indrawn breath was almost a gasp, and Appleton felt her arm tremble upon his.

He stood waiting for her--this man into whose keeping she was giving her life--exactly as she had seen him at the time of their first meeting in the North country when he stood, big and bearded, in the gathering dusk, framed in the doorway of the little office.

In one swift glance she saw that every detail was the same, from the high-laced boots to the embroidered hunting-s.h.i.+rt open at the throat--only his eyes were different--there was no pain, now, in the gray eyes that blazed eagerly into her own--only happiness, and the burning pa.s.sion of love.

And then her uncle retired, and she stood alone with the man, facing the priest. She could hear the voice of the little pink priest and of the big man at her side, and as in a dream she found herself repeating the words of the ritual.

She knew that a ring was being placed upon her finger, and she was a wife. And that the priest, in solemn voice, with outstretched hands, was extending them his blessing.

The voice hesitated--stopped.

In the rear of the room the door was thrown violently open and banged loudly against the log wall. There was a confused scuffling of feet and a sc.r.a.ping of heavy benches as the men craned their necks toward the entrance.

Involuntarily Ethel turned, and there, gliding swiftly toward her up the blanket-carpeted aisle, was the most picturesquely beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Wide-eyed she stared at the newcomer. Her face went deathly white, and the heart within her breast turned to ice, for instinctively she knew, by the wild, intense beauty of the woman, that she stood face to face with the Indian girl--the Jeanne of Bill Carmody's whispered words!

Her brain took in the details with incredible rapidity; and the girl was still coming toward her as she noted the dazzling brightness of the great silvery wolf-skin that was flung about her shoulders and caught together at her soft throat; the ma.s.s of black hair, upon which the mist-beads sparkled like a million diamonds; the dark, liquid eyes, and the even, white teeth that glistened between the curving red lips.

The girl was at her side now, and with a low cry threw herself upon her knees before the man, and stretched her arms toward him gropingly.

”M's'u' Bill!” she cried, and the voice was sweet and soft; the words uttered with imploring intensity. And then in Ethel's ears was the voice of her husband.

”Jeanne, Jeanne,” he said; ”why have you come? Speak, girl; why have you come to me?”

At the sound of the name, the thought that at the very altar this woman's name was upon the lips of her husband, the hot blood surged to her face and the tiny fists clenched. She was about to speak, but was forestalled by the half-breed girl who had leaped to her feet and thrown her arms about Bill's neck and was speaking in short, stabbing words:

”Come! Come now--with me! Oh, do not wait! Come--even now it may be too late!”

The low voice quivered with excitement, and the man's hand patted her shoulder soothingly as he endeavored to quiet her. Ethel took a quick step forward, and the hard tone of her voice cut upon the air like the ring of tempered steel.

”Who are you?” she cried. ”Speak! What is this man to you?”