The Land of Frozen Suns: A Novel by Bertrand W. Sinclair
CHAPTER VII--THE SEAT OF THE SCORNFUL
"Destiny lurks in obscure places and emerges therefrom to seize upon usunawares."
Barreau launched this epigrammatic sentence in the profound quiet of acell in the MacLeod guardhouse. For that is the pass we came to: a sixby eight housing of stout planks for the pair of us, food of indifferentquality in none too generous rations, and the keen eye of an armed guardin the background. For two days we had brooded in this cage, like anycommon felons.
Of the intervening time there is nothing worthy of chronicling. Duringthe time it took Sergeant Hubbel and his troopers to bring us in werode, ate, slept, and rode again, and little else befell. If Barreau andthe two Sanders worried over the outcome, if they indulged any thoughtof escape, or laid plans to that end, they kept these things tothemselves. I perforce, did likewise. Altogether, we were a company offew words. And one evening, when dusk was closing in, the journey ended,and we lay down to sleep with barred doors and windows between us andother men.
Little as we spoke I gathered stray odds and ends of the affair, andpieced them as best I could. Most of it came from the troopers. Afterall, the thing was simple enough. At that time the sale of liquor wasstrictly prohibited in the Canadian Territories, and naturally whiskywas at a premium. Thus the Sanders ranch, lying just across the Americanline, furnished an ideal base of operations for men inclined to gatherin the shekels of the thirsty. Proof of the traffic in contraband whiskylay ready for use, at least so the Policemen had it--but they couldnever catch the wily Sanders brothers on the right side of the boundary.So with a fine disregard for all but the object to be gained, theyviolated an international technicality. The result justified the raid;that is, from the Mounted Police point of view. My arrest followedlogically, from the company I was in. Barreau's connection, however, wasa little beyond me. "Slowfoot George," as they called him, came in forcautious handling. Not once were his wrists free of the steel bands tillthe guardhouse door closed upon him. From this, and certain pointedremarks that I failed to catch in their entirety, I conceived the ideathat he was wanted for worse than whisky-running. But like the othertwo, Barreau neither denied nor affirmed. Once the sergeant tried todraw him out and the curl of his lip and a caustic word or two cut shortthe Policeman's effort.
Our "apartment" was singularly free from furniture. A wide plank rangedon either side, and a few not overclean quilts served for a bed. Therewas no room for more in that vile box. I had managed to get paper and apen from the guard, and was curled up on my plank setting forth in aletter to Bolton all the unbelievable things that had occurred, whenBarreau uttered his observation anent the workings of Destiny. Somethingin the way he spoke caused me to look up, and I saw that he was lookingfixedly out into the guard-room through the grated opening in our celldoor. There was none too much light, but with what there was I made outa paleness of face and a compression of his lips that were strangely atodds with his general bearing.
"What now?" I asked, wondering at the sudden change in him.
"Something I had hoped to be spared," he said under his breath; more tohimself than to me. Then he turned his eyes from the little window, drewup his knees till his fingers locked before them, and so sat hunchedagainst the wall. Wholly absorbed in my letter-writing I had heardnothing out of the common. Now I distinguished voices, the deep tones ofa man and following that the clear treble of a woman. During a briefinterval of quiet she laughed, and after that I heard footsteps comingtoward the row, out of which our cell faced.
Presently the shadow of them darkened the little window in our door. Thered coat of the guard passed. Barreau shifted uneasily. I, too, leanedforward listening to the light footfall drawing near, for I had a vividrecollection of that voice--or one that was its twin. It did not seemstrange that she should be there; Benton is not so far from MacLeod inthat land of great distances. And my recollection was not at fault. Aninstant later her small, elfish face bent to the opening and she peeredin on us--as one who views caged beasts of the jungle.
But there was none of the human fear of wild things in her attitude.
"So," she said coolly, tucking a lock of hair under the same ridiculouslittle cap she had worn on the _Moon_, "this is how the Northwest wouldhave you, is it, Mr. Bar--Mr. Brown. Alas! 'To what base uses we doreturn.' I cannot say you have my sympathy."
"If that is the least cruel thing you can say," Barreau flung back ather, putting his feet on the floor and resting his hands on the edge ofhis seat, "I thank you. But my trail is my own, and I have never yetasked you to follow in my stumbling footsteps."
She colored at that, and from where I sat I could see the Police guardlift his eyebrows inquiringly. But she had other shafts at hand.
"I grant you that," she replied quickly. "But it is a shock, when oneconceives a man to be something of a _gentleman_; to have some remnantof the code honorable--then, pah! to find his name a by-word on thefrontier. A murderer! Even descended to common theft and dealings incontraband whisky. You have a savory record in these parts, I find. Hownicely this chamber fits you, Mr.--ah--what is the euphonious title?Slowfoot George. Ah, yes. Why the Slowfoot? By the tale of yoursuccessful elusion of the law I should imagine you exceeding fleet offoot."
It seemed to me unwomanly and uncalled for, that bitter, scornfulspeech; even granting the truth of it, which had not been established inmy mind. But it had a tonic effect on Barreau. The hurt look faded fromhis face. His lips parted in the odd, half-scornful, half-amused smilethat was always lurking about his mouth. He did not at once reply. Whenhe did it was only a crisp sentence or two.
"Let us be done with this," he said. "There is neither pleasure norprofit in exchanging insults."
"Indeed," she thrust back, "there can be no exchange of insults betweenus. Could aught _you_ say insult any honest man or woman? But so be it.I came merely to convince my eyes that my ears heard truly. It maytickle your depraved vanity to know that MacLeod is buzzing with yourexploits and capture."
"That concerns me little," Barreau returned indifferently.
"Ditto," she averred, "except that I am right glad to find you strippedof your sheep's clothing, little as I expected such a revelationconcerning one who passed for a gentleman. And to think that I mightnever have found you out, if my father had permitted me to return fromBenton."
"Permitted?" Barreau laid inquiring inflection on the word.
"What is it to----" she cut in sharply.
"Your father," he interrupted deliberately, "is a despicable scoundrel;a liar and a cheat of the first water."
"Oh--oh!" she gasped. "This--from _you_."
"I said, 'let us be done with this,' a moment ago," he reminded her.
She drew back as if he had struck at her, flushing, her under lipquivering--more from anger than any other emotion, I think. Almost atonce she leaned forward again, glaring straight at Barreau.
"It would be of a piece with your past deeds," she cried, "if you shouldbreak this flimsy jail and butcher my father and myself while we slept.Oh, one could expect anything from such as you!" And then she was gone,the guard striding heavy-footed after her. A puzzled expression creptover Barreau's face, blotting out the ironic smile.
"It was a dirty trick of me to speak so," he muttered, after a little."But my God, a man can't always play the Stoic under the lash.However--I daresay----" He went off into a profound study, resting hischin in the palms of his hands. I kept my peace, making aimless markswith my pen. It was an odd turn of affairs.
"Bob, what did I say about Destiny awhile ago?" he raised his head andaddressed me suddenly. "I will take it back. I am going to take Destinyby the nape of the neck. Being grilled on the seat of the scornful islittle to my liking. It was a bit of ill-luck that you fell in with me.I seem to be in a bad boat."
"Ill-luck for which of us?" I asked. It was the first time he hadsounded the personal note--aside from the evening we were landed inMacLeod, when he comforted me with the assurance that at the worst Iwould spend no more than a few days
"For you, of course," he replied seriously. "My sins are upon my ownhead. But it was unfortunate that I should have led you to Sanders'place the very night picked for a raid. They can have nothing againstyou, though; and they'll let you out fast enough when it comes to ahearing. Nor, for that matter, are they likely to hang me,notwithstanding the ugly things folk say. However, I have work to dowhich I cannot do lying here. Hence I perceive that I must get out ofhere. And I may need your help."
"How are you going to manage that?" I inquired, gazing with someastonishment at this man who spoke so coolly and confidently of gettingout of prison. "These walls seem pretty solid, and you can hardly digthrough them with a lone pen-nib. That's the only implement I see athand. And I expect the guard will be after that before I get my letterdone."
"I don't know how the thing will be done," he declared, "but I am surelygoing to get out of here pretty _pronto_, as the cowmen have it."
He settled back and took to staring at the ceiling. I, presently, becameimmersed in my letter to Bolton. When it was done I thrust a handthrough the bars of my cell and wig-wagged the Policeman--they weregood-natured souls for the most part, tolerant of their prisoners, andit broke the grinding monotony to exchange a few words with one underalmost any pretext. Barreau was chary of speech, and the Sandersbrothers were penned beyond my sight. Sheer monotonous silence, Iimagine, would drive even peace-loving men to revolt and commitdesperate deeds when they are cooped within four walls with nothing buttheir thoughts for company.
When he came I observed that the guard had been changed since MissMontell's visit. The new man was a lean, sour-faced trooper. To mysurprise he took my letter and then stood peeping in past me to whereBarreau lay on his bunk. After a few seconds he walked away, smilingqueerly. In a minute or so he was back again, taking another squint.This time Barreau turned over facing the door, and when the troopercontinued his promenade past our cell he got up and stood before thebarred window, completely shutting off my outlook. I could not see, butI could hear. And by the sound of his booted feet the guard passed andrepassed several times.
After a little he tired of this, it seemed, for I heard him stalkingaway to the front of the guardhouse, and immediately thereafter thecreak of a chair as he sat down. Then Barreau sat down on his bunkagain.
"Try this, kid," he said, and tossed a package of tobacco and cigarettepapers to me. I fell upon the forbidden luxury like a starving man uponfood. He rolled himself one out of material in his hand, and in themidst of my puffing changed to my side of the cell--it was but a scantthree feet to move--and sat down between me and the door.
"Fate smiles at last," he whispered. "Blackie passed me in a littletobacco. And--see, here in my hand."
I glanced down at what he was snuggling down out of sight between us, aheavy-bladed knife, a tiny saw, not more than six inches in length, anda piece of notepaper marked with what my reason told me must be a groundplan of the very place we were in.
"The tools of my deliverance," said Barreau in an undertone. "I am forthe blue sky and the sun and the clean, wide prairies once more."