Part 37 (1/2)

Grace was by no means pleased at this. Certain observations Esmond had once let fall with a purpose had not been without their effect on her, and she remembered that the girl at the bakery was, it had to be admitted, pretty. It also appeared likely that she was what is now and then termed forward. Grace's displeasure, which she did not, of course, express, might, however, have been greater had there been any delay in the man's answer.

”Then if you will show me the trail I will not keep you. I am getting cold,” she said.

Ingleby took the bridle, and he and the cayuse floundered through what appeared to be a horrible maze of fallen branches and tangled undergrowth. In fact, Grace fancied she heard her skirt rip as they struggled in it. Then the bush became a little clearer, and they went on more briskly, up and down steep slopes and past dim blurs of trees, while soil and gravel alike rang beneath the cayuse's feet. How long this continued Grace did not exactly know, nor had she any notion as to where they were. The only rea.s.suring thing was the glimpse she had of Ingleby plodding on beside her horse's head, which was, however, quite sufficient. Still, civility demanded something, and at last she bade him stop.

”I'm afraid I must be taking you away from the bakery,” she said.

Ingleby laughed. ”I am, of course, not going there now.”

That should have been sufficient, but Grace was not quite contented.

Compliments on her beauty seldom pleased her, but she liked to feel the hold she had upon those she attracted, and was not averse to having it explained to her.

”No?” she said. ”Then where are you going?”

Ingleby appeared a trifle astonished, as though he considered the question quite unnecessary, which was naturally gratifying.

”To the Gold Commissioner's residence,” he said.

”With my permission?” and Grace laughed.

Ingleby did not look at her. He was apparently staring at the forest, which loomed through the whirling haze a faint blur of vanis.h.i.+ng trees, and he flung the answer over his shoulder.

”I think I would venture to go without it to-night,” he said.

This was significant, but although the snow was certainly getting thicker and the cold struck through her like an icy knife, Grace no longer felt any apprehension. She was not unaccustomed to physical discomfort and peril, and there could be, she felt, no doubt of her reaching home safely while Ingleby plodded at the horse's head. He was young, and by no means a.s.sertive, but there were men in the Green River valley who shared her confidence in him. Still, the rough flounder through the brushwood was becoming irksome, and where the trees were smaller she could not avoid all the drooping branches by swaying in the saddle, and at last she bade him pull up again.

”We are a long while striking the trail,” she said.

”Yes,” said Ingleby, without turning towards her.

Grace leaned down and touched him. ”Why haven't we found it? I mean you to tell me.”

The man made a little gesture, for he recognized that tone.

”I'm sorry,” he said quietly. ”We have struck it, and didn't recognize it. In fact, we must have gone straight across and left it behind us.”

Grace sat still and looked at him. She could not see his face; he was no more than a blurred shadowy shape in the haze of sliding snow. Still, she could make out that he was standing very straight with slightly tilted head, and she knew the intentness of gaze and look of tenacity in the hidden face which usually accompanied that att.i.tude. His answer also pleased her. There was no attempt at concealing unpleasant probabilities, for the man spoke frankly as to one whom he regarded as his equal in courage and everything except, perhaps, bodily strength. In the meanwhile, however, they were alone in the wilderness, cut off from all hope of succour by anything but their own resources in a haze of snow, with their limbs slowly stiffening under the Arctic cold.

”Then what are we to do?” she asked.

”Push on,” said Ingleby. ”The river must be close at hand to the right of us. That is why I'm keeping to the higher ground. I don't want to strike until we have pa.s.sed Alison's Sault.”

He wrenched at the bridle; but Grace had faint misgivings as they floundered on again. Sault in that country implies a fall or rapid, and the one in question was called after a prospector who had drowned himself and a comrade there. It swept down to the mouth of the canon in a wild white rush, studded with great boulders that bruised and scarred the pines the flood hurled down on them; and what made it more perilous in the dark was the fact that the trail dipped to the brink of the smaller rapids at the tail of it. Indeed, it was often necessary to splash knee-deep through the slack of them along the sh.o.r.e; and Alison had come by his death through mistaking the big sault for one of the smaller ones on a black night. The man who fished him out of an eddy a week later said that Alison looked very much as though he had been put through a thres.h.i.+ng mill.

It was, Grace fancied, half an hour later when they floundered down a declivity, with the roar of the river growing louder in their ears. It was with difficulty she kept in the saddle, and she was vaguely conscious that her skirt was rent to tatters, though she was too stiff and cold to trouble about that now. Even in the thicker timber the snow was almost bewildering, and it was only now and then she could see Ingleby scrambling and floundering in front of her. He was evidently making his course by sound, for there was nothing that she could discern to guide him.

Then somehow they slid down a bank, and there was a splash that told her the cayuse was in the water. Ingleby seemed to be struggling with the beast, but she could not make out why he did so. Nor did it seem of any moment. She was dazed and bewildered and intolerably cold. There was a further splas.h.i.+ng, a plunge, and a flounder; the water rose to her stirrup, and for a few horrible moments she felt that the beast was going downstream with her. It was evident by the depth that they were in the Sault. She fancied she cried out in her terror and that Ingleby shouted in answer, but the roar of the river drowned the sound. In another few seconds, however, the horse apparently struck rock with its hoofs again; then the water that had lapped about her skirt seemed to fall away, and in a frantic scrambling Ingleby dragged the pony up the bank. The cayuse stood still, trembling, at the top of it, and Ingleby was apparently quivering, too, for his voice shook a little as he answered her half-coherent questions.

”Alison's Sault!” he said hoa.r.s.ely. ”It should have been behind us. I never recognized it until the river swept my feet from under me. I suppose I was dazed by the snow.”