The Land of Frozen Suns: A Novel by Bertrand W. Sinclair
CHAPTER XV--STRANGERS TWAIN
My arm was somewhat swollen, and it throbbed like an ulcerated tooth,when I got up the following morning, but I made shift to build a fire.When the icy chill was banished from the room, I dressed, and wasgetting what comfort I could out of a smoke when Montell knocked at mydoor, bringing a cold gust of air when he entered.
"Oho," said he, "stirrin' round, eh? This ain't much like home, is it?How's the arm?"
I told him briefly, having little inclination to enlarge on thattheme--the pain was sufficient without the aggravation of discussing it.
"Uh-huh," he grunted. "Now you just come along to the shack and haveJess fix it up again. She's pretty near as good as a doctor. And seein'she's partly responsible, it's no more'n fair. There ain't no use youmakin' a hermit of yourself."
I attempted to dodge this invitation, which seemed to savor of command.Montell's semi-jocoseness rather jarred on me. For one thing hisheartiness didn't quite ring true. Possibly I misjudged him. He couldhave had no particular motive for posing on my account. But I got theimpression that his solicitude was of the lip rather than of the heart.While I had passed a very pleasant evening with them, I did notcontemplate making myself at home in the Montell cabin, by any means. Ihad a vague feeling that it involved disloyalty to Barreau. Montell,however, was quite insistent, and as I had no forthright reason forbeing churlish I ended by going with him.
He made a great fuss at helping me off with my coat, and while hehovered over me in his ponderous way Miss Montell came out of the otherroom. She nodded to me and smiled a greeting, whereupon he, busyinghimself with hanging my coat and hat upon a peg, plunged into a jestingaccount of my reluctance to leave my own fireside, relating with muchdetail what he said and what I said, and how I owed it to my arm to haveit well cared for, and so on--till I wearied of his gabble. I don'tthink she listened half the time. She moved about the room, getting abasin and warm water and other first, or perhaps I should say second,aids to the injured. And she washed and bandaged afresh the laceration,with an impersonal absorption in the task that I half resented.
When she had finished, breakfast, hot from the cookhouse, was brought byone of the "breed" women, and Miss Montell seated herself at the tableand airily waved her father and myself to places on her right and left.
That was how I came to break bread with them a second time, and it wasnot the last by any means. In the ensuing five or six days I wore adistinct path between my cabin and theirs. Montell made it a point todescend upon me at some hour of the day, and, after all, I was not soloth. I am constrained to admit that Jessie Montell was the one brightspot in those dreary, monotonous days. With Barreau gone, I was a lonelymortal indeed. Those evenings at Montell's passed away many aleaden-footed hour. After that first time Jessie never challenged me inthat imperious, judicial manner, anent my Benton escapade. We spoke ofit, to be sure, but in terms dispassionate, uncritical. When Montell wasabout, he and I played cribbage. When she and I were alone, we talked.We discovered a similar taste in books, a mutual acquaintance or two inSt. Louis. And we gravely discussed the prospects of getting home in thespring. Naturally, she was a rabid partisan, hating the Hudson's BayCompany with outspoken frankness. Moreover, she spoke confidently of herfather's power to beat them at their own game, notwithstanding thestrong hand shown by the Company so shortly before. Of Barreau's part inthe war for pelts, she seemed profoundly ignorant. His name never passedher lips.
Once the swelling left my arm the torn place healed rapidly. So that bythe end of a week I felt no inconvenience, and it was beyond need of anytreatment save a simple bandage to protect it from the rubbing of mysleeve. Then I bethought me of my neglected snowshoeing, and salliedforth on the track of that free, effortless stride which had so fareluded me. At the gate of the stockade I turned back, on the impulse ofthe moment, and went to the Montell cabin to ask Jessie if she were asnowshoe expert or wished to become one.
"Thank Heaven for a chance to see the outside of this stockade wall oncemore," she cried, in mock fervor. "Will I go snowshoeing? Yea, andverily. I detest being mewed up, and I don't like to wander off alone.This big desolate country is so forbidding. Yes, I've snowshoed alittle--one winter in the Wisconsin woods."
She had more of a mastery over the webbed boots of the North than I, itshortly transpired. We went up the river a mile or two, crossed it, andclimbed to the top of a bald point that immediately appealed to us as anideal coasting-place. We were in something of a light-hearted mood,anyway, and like a pair of children on a holiday amused ourselves bysliding down and climbing back to slide down again. Thus we passed twoor three hours, at imminent risk of frozen cheeks and noses, for it wasbitterly cold, so cold that the snow crunched beneath our feet likepowdered rosin. And when we wearied of that we went trailing home overglistening flats that lay between us and the post. Down on the barebottomlands of the Sicannie a tenuous frost-haze hung in the air. Backfrom the valley edges the great woods stood in frozen ranks, branchesheavy-freighted with the latest fall of snow. To the west towered themountain range, robed in ermine now instead of summer purple; huge,ragged crests, flashing in the heatless sun.
"What insignificant creatures we are, after all," the girl stoppedsuddenly and looked back at the white peaks, and to the north and southwhere the somber woodland stood like twin walls. "For a true sense ofhis own importance in the universe one has only to face--this." Shenodded toward the surrounding forest, and the Rockies crouching againstthe far skyline. "It is so big--and so silent. It gives me a feeling ofbeing pitted against a gigantic, remorseless power--a somethingindefinable, and yet terrible in its strength. Power--when I canunderstand it--fascinates me. But this makes me shrink. Sometimes Iactually feel afraid. They say that men compelled to stay up here aloneoften go mad. I hardly wonder. I don't think I like the North."
"So you feel that way," I rejoined. "So do I, at times."
She assented soberly.
"Perhaps we are blessed or cursed, whichever it may be, with too muchimagination; and give it overfree rein."
"No," I returned, blundering on in an attempt to voice that which I hadoften felt, but could never express. "There is an atmosphere, asomething about these immense spaces that sits hard on the nerves. Wedon't have to imagine these things; they're here. It seems to me thatany wilderness untamed must have that same effect; it overawes one. Andman hasn't tamed this yet. The North is master--and we feel it."
We plodded a few yards farther.
"The North is master--and we feel it," she repeated presently. "I resentthat. I shouldn't care," she murmured thoughtfully, "to be wholly at themercy of the North. It reminds me of the sea, cold and gray andpitiless." And she fell into a silent reflective mood as we trudgedalong to the post.
Just at the gate of the stockade we met two men--two tall men burdenedwith shoulder-packs. I knew the face of every man in the pay of Montell,but these were not of his following. Yet somewhere, sometime, I had seenthem; my memory insisted upon this. But where or when, I could notinstantly recall.
They passed within a few feet of me, their _parka_ hoods drawn closeabout their cheeks. I had only their profiles to spur my recollection.But that sufficed. I stood watching them bear away to the north, and asmechanically I shuffled the cards of memory a picture flashed out clearas the ace of spades in a diamond suit. The two men were those who hadcome to the camp of Three Wolves early in the fall, the same who had satupon the log with Barreau that morning and made overtures for peacefulcapitulation. Once I had placed them, my interest flagged. I turned andentered the stockade. Jessie had kept on to the store. Montell wasstanding on the stoop, as I reached the building, his hands thrust deepin the pockets of his fur coat. By the fixity of his gaze as I turnedthe corner I guessed that he was watching the two men. A backward glanceshowed them just vanishing into the belt of spruce that ran to the browof the hill.
"Well," I greeted, "you've had callers to break the monotony, I see."
"That's what," he replied. "Queer fish, too
I pricked up my ears at that. Someone had fibbed properly. And when itwas on the tip of my tongue to say that they were Hudson's Bay men, Irefrained. That information would keep, I reflected. The more I thoughtof it the less I cared to make any assertions. The men had done no harmapparently. If they had lied to Montell he was probably shrewd enough toknow why. If Montell were lying to me, he likely had good reasons. Idropped the matter forthwith. It was for Barreau to speculate upon, whenhe returned.
So I went into the store and warmed myself, and, after Jessie went home,spent the rest of the afternoon playing pinochle with Ben Wise. But thesight of those men in buckskin had jarred me out of the peaceful routineof thought that the quiet weeks had bred. I was once more brought upagainst the game of cross-purposes that Barreau and Montell wereplaying, and the Hudson's Bay Company again loomed as a factor. Iwondered if anything had befallen Barreau. He had told me he would beback in four days--the time had doubled. Ben brought me up standing inthe midst of these reflections. He threw down his cards in disgust.
"I quit yuh," he growled. "By gosh, I want to play cards when I play,an' do my dreamin' in bed." So we put up the deck, and I went to mycabin and built a fire.
The cheery warmth of the cabin, after the exertion of snowshoeing, andsitting there in a state of mental passivity, soon begot drowsiness. Ipiled wood on the fire, and stretched myself on the bunk. And the nextminute, it seemed, I was being shaken out of my sleep--but I opened myeyes to candle light, and Barreau standing over me, smiling.
"Come out of the trance, old snoozer," he laughed cheerfully. "I've justgot in. Suppose we go and eat before the cook shuts up shop."
"Amen to that," I replied.
I put fresh wood on the fire, which had sunk to a few dull embers, whileBarreau busied himself with the wash-basin and comb. Stripped of the_parka_ that had cast confusing shadows on his features I saw that hehad suffered attack from the frost. A patch of blackening skin stoodover each cheek-bone.
"I see you got bitten, too," I remarked--and went on to tell him of myclash with the huskies.
"I had worse than husky dogs to contend with," he returned in a matterof fact way. "Our two Frenchmen, the cabin and everything in it, hasbeen spirited away. I went on a scouting trip, thinking I might gettrack of something. I've laid out every night since I left here. Hullfared even worse than I; he may lose some of his toes."
"And you found----" I started to ask.
"Nothing," he replied carelessly. "I don't think the men came to anyharm. But it's one more item on the debit side."
Over in the mess-house we had the long room to ourselves, except for thecook pottering over his fire. And in the midst of the meal I bethoughtme to tell Barreau of the two strangers, and Montell's account of theirmission. He laid down his knife and fork and listened intently.
"Free traders, eh?" he drawled. "Not so bad for Montell, that--or hasthe Company taken a fresh tack, I wonder? They knew I was away. I had afeeling that we were being watched, and so had Hull. Quite an engrossinglittle three-cornered game, isn't it, Bob?"
We left the cookhouse without referring to this again. A light shonedully through the store window nearest us, and we walked toward ourcabin, and just short of the door Barreau turned aside.
"I may as well go and tell him that the brothers Grau have gone over tothe enemy," he said to me. "Come along, Bob, and see him squirm. Healways does when he is stabbed in such a vital point as the purse.That's a veritable heel of Achilles with him."
Montell was alone. He stood with his back to the fire, legs spreadapart, hands clasped behind him. He looked very well satisfied withhimself. His little eyes surveyed us placidly from under the blinking,puffy lids.
"Well, George, you're back, eh?" he observed. "How's everything below?"
"Very well, I dare say," Barreau answered, during the process of makinga cigarette, "from the other fellow's point of view."
Montell's eyelids drew a little nearer together.
"How's that?" he inquired, in his mildest manner.
And Barreau, when he had found a box to his liking and seated himself onit beside the fire, proceeded to tell him very much as he had told me.The two of them eyed each other a few seconds. Then Montell bit the endoff the cigar he had tucked in one corner of his thick-lipped mouth andspat it viciously into the fireplace.
"God damn 'em!" he snarled. But whether the Company or the two Frenchmenhe did not specify--perhaps both. Barreau laughed softly.
"Don't let your angry passions rise," he sneered. "Temper always inducesapoplexy in fat people. A man of your beefy tendency should be verycareful."
Montell's heavy jowl quivered slightly, and his jaws clamped together.Aside from that he kept an impassive front. With that last shot Barreauturned his gaze to the fire, and as Montell stood staring intentlybefore him there was an interval of silence. In the hush a scufflingsound arose in the rear of the store.
"Them darned rats," Montell muttered.
He cocked his head aside and stood in a listening attitude, I, watchinghim unobtrusively, saw his glance flit furtively from me to Barreau andthen to a table standing just back from the hearth. For the first time Inoticed then that a rifle lay upon it, the general direction of themuzzle toward Barreau. Again he looked swiftly from me to George, andthen stared straight away into the black shadows that shrouded the farend of the long room. Once more the rustling and scraping sounds couldbe heard.
"Them darned rats," he repeated. "They'll eat us out before spring."
He left the fire and stole softly back among the shadows, whencepresently came the noise of something being thrown, followed byMontell's voice cursing the rats.
Barreau had not once turned his head. But I had watched Mr. SimonMontell as much because his actions interested me as because I expectedanything to happen. And I distinctly saw the rifle shift its positionwhen he passed the table end; as if he had accidentally brushed againstthe projecting stock. Accidentally or otherwise, the muzzle then pointedstraight at Barreau. I have a deep-rooted aversion to seeing thebusiness end of a gun directed at a man unless such is the intention ofthe man behind it. Loaded or empty, my father taught me, never point agun at anybody unless you mean to hurt him. And so I reached over andgave the rifle a hitch that pointed it toward the opposite wall, just asMontell returned from his rat hunting.
"By thunder, I'd oughto took that to 'em," he declared--as if he had butnoticed the rifle.
He placed himself before the fire again. In a minute or so came thesubdued rustling of the rats. Montell winked at me, picked up theWinchester, cocked it, and went tip-toeing toward the rear. Barreau cameout of his study at the click of the hammer. He flashed a quick glanceafter Montell. Then quietly he moved his box backward till his body,when he seated himself, was no longer clearly outlined in the firelight.
The rat activities ceased. After a time Montell came poking back again,carrying the rifle in his right hand. As he reached the end of thetable, so close to me that I could have touched him, and within six feetof Barreau, he stumbled, pitched sharply forward, and the report of thegun made my heart leap.
With the forward lurch of Montell's body Barreau cast himself backwardlike an uncoiled spring, and fell full length, thus escaping the bullet.He made no attempt to rise, simply rolled over on his side. For aninstant a pistol glinted in his hand, and his thin lips were drawn backfrom his white, even teeth. As quickly as he had drawn it he thrust thesix-shooter back out of sight. The habitual unruffled expression cameback to his face as Montell got upon his feet, leaving the rifle uponthe floor. Barreau sat up then.
"By the great horn spoon," Montell stammered. "I--I oughto be kicked. Bygosh, I thought that hammer was down. Darn me for a careless fool,runnin' round with a loaded gun and stumblin' over a little piece ofwood. I'd no id
Barreau laughed, a cold-blooded unmirthful sound. He got up from hissitting posture, laid hold of the rifle, and stood it against the wallbeside him. Then he sat down on his box, and felt with his fingers tillhe located the bullet hole. It was embedded in the log, on a level withhis breast.
"Clumsy?" Barreau said, in a voice nearly devoid of inflection. "Well,yes; it was rather clumsy."
Montell was facing the light now. Barreau got up from his box again, andMontell took a step backward. Thus for a half-minute the two faced eachother silently, gray eye pitting itself against cold, steel-blue.Montell weakened under that direct contemptuous glare. His glance soughtme in a furtive way, and the fat, pudgy hands of him began to fidget.
"Don't do it again, Montell," Barreau said slowly, and his tone was likea slap in the face.
Then he sat down upon the box and rolled himself another cigarette.