CHAPTER VIII
THE LOG SHACK
It struck them as odd that no one appeared out of the shack. For a manliving beside a river generally has his eye unconsciously on the stream,just as a man who dwells by a lonely road lets few pass by unseen.Stonor sent him a hail, as is the custom of the country--but nosurprised glad face showed itself.
"He is away," said Stonor, merely to break the racking silence betweenhim and Clare.
"Would he leave the door open?" she said.
They landed. On the beach lay two birch-bark canoes, Kakisa-made. Onehad freshly-cut willow-branches lying in the bottom. Stonor happened tonotice that the bow-thwart of this canoe was notched in a peculiar way.He was to remember it later. Ordinarily the Kakisa canoes are as like aspeas out of the same pod.
From the beach the shack was invisible by reason of the low bankbetween. Stonor accompanied Clare half-way up the bank. "Mary and I willwait here," he said.
She looked at him deeply without speaking. It had the effect of afarewell. Stonor saw that she was breathing fast, and that her lips werecontinually closing and parting again. Leaving him, she walked slowlyand stiffly to the door of the shack. Her little hands were clenched. Hewaited, suffering torments of anxiety for her.
She knocked on the door-frame, and waited. She pushed the door furtheropen, and looked in. She went in, and was gone for a few seconds.Reappearing, she shook her head at Stonor. He went up and joined her.Mary, who, in spite of her stolidity, was as inquisitive as the nextwoman, followed him without being bid.
They all entered the shack. Stonor sniffed.
"What is that smell?" asked Clare. "I noticed it at once."
"Kinni-kinnick."
She looked at him enquiringly.
"Native substitute for tobacco. It's made from the inner bark of the redwillow. He must have run out of white man's tobacco."
She pointed to a can standing on the table. Stonor, lifting it, found itnearly full.
"Funny he should smoke kinni-kinnick when he has Kemble's mixture. Hemust be saving that for a last resort."
Stonor looked around him with a strong curiosity. The room had a gracethat was astonishing to find in that far-removed spot; moreover,everything had been contrived out of the rough materials at hand. Twosuperb black bear-skins lay on the floor. The bed which stood againstthe back wall was hidden under a beautiful robe made out of scores oflittle skins cunningly sewed together, lynx-paws with a border ofmarten. There were two workmanlike chairs fashioned out of willow; onewith a straight back at the desk, the other, comfortable and capacious,before the fire. The principal piece of furniture was a birch desk ortable, put together with infinite patience with no other tools but anaxe and a knife, and rubbed with oil to a satiny finish. On it stood apair of carved wooden candlesticks holding candles of bears' tallow, awooden inkwell, and a carved frame displaying a little photograph--ofClare!
Seeing it, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm glad I came," she murmured.
Stonor turned away.
A pen lay on the desk where it had been dropped, and beside it was a redleather note-book or diary, of which Clare possessed herself. More thananything else, what lent the room its air of amenity was a little shelfof books and magazines above the table. There was no glass in thewindow, of course, but a piece of gauze had been stretched over theopening to keep out the insects at night. For cold weather there was aheavy shutter swung on wooden hinges. The fireplace, built of stones andclay, was in the corner. The arch was cunningly contrived out of thinslabs of stone standing on edge. Stonor immediately noticed that theashes were still giving out heat.
The room they were in comprised only half the shack. There was a doorcommunicating with the other half. Opening it, they saw that this partevidently served the owner as a work-room and store-room. Cut wood wasneatly piled against one wall. Snowshoes, roughly-fashioned furgarments, steel traps and other winter gear were hanging from pegs.There was a window facing the river, this one uncovered, and under itwas a work-bench on which lay the remains of a meal and unwasheddishes--humble testimony to the near presence of another fellow-creaturein the wilderness. On the floor at one side was a heap of supplies; thatis to say, store-grub; evidently what Imbrie had lately brought down,and had not yet put away. There was a door in the back wall of thisroom, the side of the shack away from the river.
Stonor, looking around, said: "I suppose he used this as a sort ofvestibule in the winter, to keep the wind and the snow out of hisliving-room."
"Where can he be?" said Clare nervously.
They both spoke instinctively in subdued tones, like intruders fearfulof being overheard.
"He can't have been gone long. He was smoking here just now. Thefireplace is still warm."
"He can't have intended to stay long, for he left everything open."
"Well, he would hardly expect to be disturbed up here."
"But animals?"
"No wild thing would venture close to the fresh man smell. Still, it'snatural to close up when you go away."
"What do you think?" she asked tremulously.
The sight of her wide, strained eyes, and the little teeth pressed intoher lower lip, were inexpressibly painful to him. Clearly it was toomuch to ask of the high-strung woman, after she had nerved herself up tothe ordeal, to go on waiting indefinitely in suspense.
"There are dozens of natural explanations," he said quickly. "Verylikely he's just gone into the bush to hunt for his dinner."
Her hand involuntarily went to her breast. "I feel," she whispered, "asif there were something dreadfully--dreadfully wrong."
Stonor went outside and lustily holloaed. He received no answer.
It was impossible for them to sit still while they waited. Having seeneverything in the house, they walked about outside. Off to the leftImbrie had painstakingly cleared a little garden. Strange it was to seethe familiar potato, onion, turnip and cabbage sprouting in orderly rowsbeside the unexplored river.
Time passed. From a sense of duty they prepared a meal on the shore, andmade a pretence of eating it, each for the other's benefit. Stonor didhis best to keep up Clare's spirits, while at the same time his ownmystification was growing. For in circling the shack he could find nofresh track anywhere into the bush. Tracks there were in plenty, wherethe man had gone for wood, or to hunt perhaps, but all more thantwenty-four hours old. To be sure, there was the river, but it was notlikely he had still a third canoe: and if he had gone up the river, howcould they have missed him? As for going down, no canoe could live inthat rapid, Stonor was sure; moreover, he supposed the falls were at thefoot of it.
Another thing; both his shot-gun and his rifle were leaning against thefireplace. He might have another gun, but it was not likely. As thehours passed, and the man neither returned nor answered Stonor'sfrequent shouts, the policeman began to wonder if an accident could haveoccurred to him. But he had certainly been alive and well within ahalf-hour of their arrival, and it seemed too fortuitous a circumstancethat anything should have happened just at that juncture. A moreprobable explanation was that the man had seen them coming, and hadreasons of his own for wishing to keep out of the way. After all, Stonorhad no precise knowledge of the situation existing between Imbrie andClare. But if he had hidden himself, where had he hidden himself?
While it was still full day Stonor persuaded Clare and Mary to remain inthe shack for a time, while he made a more careful search for Imbrie'stracks. This time he thoroughly satisfied himself that that day no onehad struck into the bush surrounding the shack. He came upon the end ofthe old carry trail around the falls, and followed it away. But it wouldhave been clear to even a tyro in the bush that no one had used itlately. There remained the beach. It was possible to walk along thestony beach without leaving a visible track. Stonor searched the beachfor half a mile in either direction without being able to find a singletrack in any wet or muddy place, and without discovering any placewhere one had struck up the bank into the bush. On the down-river sidehe was halted by a l
ow, sheer wall of rock washed by the current. Hemade sure that no one had tried to climb around this miniatureprecipice. From this point the rapids still swept on down out of sight.
He returned to the shack completely baffled, and hoping against hope tofind Imbrie returned. But Clare still sat huddled in the chair where hehad left her, and looked to him eagerly for news. He could only shakehis head.
Finally the sun went down.
"If he is not here by dark," said Clare with a kind of desperatecalmness, "we will know something is the matter. His hat, hisammunition-belt, his hunting-knife are all here. He could not haveintended to remain away."
Darkness slowly gathered. Nothing happened. At intervals Stonorshouted--only to be mocked by the silence. Just to be doing something hebuilt a great fire outside the shack. If Imbrie should be on the wayback it would at least warn him of the presence of visitors.
Stonor was suddenly struck by the fact that Mary had not expressedherself as to the situation. It was impossible to tell from the smoothcopper mask of her face of what she was thinking.
"Mary, what do you make of it?" he asked.
She shrugged, declining to commit herself. "All the people say Eembriegot ver' strong medicine," she said. "Say he make himself look likeanything he want."
Stonor and Clare exchanged a rueful smile. "I'm afraid that doesn't helpmuch," said the former.
Mosquitoes drove them indoors. Stonor closed the door of the shack, andbuilt up the fire in the fireplace. Stonor no longer expected the man toreturn, but Clare was still tremulously on the _qui vive_ for theslightest sound. Mary went off to bed in the store-room. The othersremained sitting before the fire in Imbrie's two chairs. For them sleepwas out of the question. Each had privately determined to sit up allnight.
For a long time they remained there without speaking.
Stonor had said nothing to Clare about the conclusions he had arrived atconcerning Imbrie, but she gathered from his attitude that he waspassing judgment against the man they had come in search of, and shesaid at last:
"Did you notice that little book that I picked up off the desk?"
Stonor nodded.
"It was his diary. Shall I read you from it?"
"If you think it is right."
"Yes. Just an extract or two. To show you the kind of man he is."
The book was in the side pocket of her coat. Opening it, and leaningforward to get the light of the fire, she read:
"April 29th: The ice is preparing to go out. Great booming cracks havebeen issuing from the river all day at intervals. When the jam at thehead of the rapids goes it will be a great sight. To-morrow I'll take abite to eat with me, and go down to the falls to watch what happens.Thank God for the coming of Spring! I'm pretty nearly at the end of myresources. I've read and re-read my few books and papers until I canalmost repeat the contents by heart. I've finished my desk, and thecandlesticks, and the frame for Clare's picture. But now I'll be able tomake my garden. And I can sod a little lawn in front of the house withbuffalo-grass."
Clare looked at Stonor for an expression of opinion.
The policeman murmured diffidently: "A real good sort."
"Wait!" she said. "Listen to this. One of the first entries." She readin a moved voice:
"They say that a man who lives cut off from his kind is bound todegenerate swiftly, but, by God! I won't have it so in my case. I'll beon my guard against the first symptoms. I shave every day and willcontinue to do so. Shaving is a symbol. I will keep my person and myhouse as trim as if I expected her to visit me hourly. Half of each dayI'll spend in useful manual labour of some kind, and half in reading andcontemplation. The power is mine to build or destroy myself with mythoughts. Well, I choose to build!"
Clare looked at Stonor again.
"That is fine!" he said simply.
"So you see--why I had to come," she murmured.
He did not see why the one followed necessarily on the other, nor did heunderstand why she felt impelled to explain it just then. But it seemedbetter to hold his peace. This revealing of Imbrie's worthy naturegreatly perplexed Stonor. It had been so easy to believe that the twomust have been parted as a result of something evil in Imbrie. He couldnot believe that it had been Clare's fault, however she might accuseherself. He was not yet experienced enough to conceive of a situationwhere two honest souls might come to a parting of the ways withouteither being especially to blame.
For another long period they sat in silence. The influence of the nightmade itself felt even through the log walls of the shack. They wereaware of solitude as of a physical presence. The fire had burned down tostill embers, and down the chimney floated the inexpressibly mournfulbreath of the pines. The rapids made a hoarser note beyond. Clareshivered, and leaned closer over the fire. Stonor made a move to put onmore wood, but she stopped him.
"Don't!" she said, with queer inconsistency. "It makes too much noise."
Suddenly the awful stillness was broken by a heavy thudding sound on theground outside. A gasping cry was forced from Clare. Stonor sprang up,knocking over his chair, and made for the door. Getting it opened, heran outside. Off to his right he saw, or thought he saw, a suspiciousshadow, and he instantly made for it. Whereupon a sudden crashing intothe underbrush persuaded him it was no apparition.
Clare's voice, sharp with terror, arrested him. "Martin, don't leaveme!"
He went back to her, suddenly realizing that to chase an unknown thingbare-handed through the bush at night was scarcely the part of prudence.He got his gun, and flung himself down across the sill of the open door,looking out. Nothing further was to be seen or heard. Beyond the littleclearing the river gleamed in the faint dusk. The canoes on the beachwere invisible from the door, being under the bank.
"What do you think it was?" whispered Clare.
"Something fell or jumped out of that big spruce nearest the back of thehouse." To himself he added: "A natural place to hide. What a fool I wasnot to think of that before!"
"But what?" said Clare.
Stonor said grimly: "There are only two tree-climbing animals in thiscountry heavy enough to make the sound we heard--bears and men."
"A bear?"
"Maybe. But I never heard of a bear climbing a tree beside a house, andat night, too. Don't know what he went up for."
"Oh, it couldn't be----" Clare began. She never finished.
Stonor kept his vigil at the open door. He bade Clare throw ashes on theembers, that no light from behind might show him up. When she had doneit she crept across the floor and sat close beside him. Mary,apparently, had not been awakened.
Minutes passed, and they heard no sounds except the rapids and thepines. Clare was perfectly quiet, and Stonor could not tell how she wasbearing the strain. He bethought himself that he had perhaps spoken hismind too clearly. To reassure her he said:
"It must have been a bear."
"You do not think so really," she said. A despairing little wail escapedher. "I don't understand! Oh, I don't understand! Why should he hidefrom us?"
Stonor could find little of comfort to say. "Morning will makeeverything clear, I expect. We shall be laughing at our fears then."
The minutes grew into hours, and they remained in the same positions.Nature is merciful to humans, and little by little the strain was eased.The sharpness of their anxiety was dulled. They were conscious only of adogged longing for the dawn. At intervals Stonor suggested to Clare thatshe go lie down on the bed, but when she begged to remain beside him, hehad not the heart to insist. In all that time they heard nothing beyondthe natural sounds of the night; the stirrings of little furry footfallsamong the leaves; the distant bark of a fox.
And then without the slightest warning the night was shattered by ablood-curdling shriek of terror from Mary Moosa in the room adjoining.Stonor's first thought was for the effect on Clare's nerves. He jumpedup, savagely cursing the Indian woman. He ran to the communicating door.Clare was close at his heels.
Mary was lying on the floor, covering her
head with her arms, moaningin an extremity of terror, and gibbering in her own tongue. For a whileshe could not tell them what was the matter. Stonor thought she wasdreaming. Then she began to cry in English: "Door! Door!" and to pointto it. Stonor made for the door, but Clare with a cry clung to him, andMary herself, scrambling on all fours, clutched him around the knees.Stonor felt exquisitely foolish.
"Well, let me secure it," he said gruffly.
This door was fitted with a bar, which he swung into place. At thewindow across the room, he swung the shutter in, and fastened that also.
"You see," he said. "No one can get in here now."
They took the shaking Mary into the next room. To give them a bettersense of security, Stonor tore the cotton out of the window and fastenedthis shutter also. There was no bar on this door. He preferred to leaveit open, and to mount guard in the doorway.
Gradually Mary calmed down sufficiently to tell them what had happened."Little noise wake me. I not know what it is. I listen. Hear it again.Come from door. I watch. Bam-bye I see the door open so slow, so slow. Iso scare can't cry. My tongue is froze. I see a hand pushin' the door. Isee a head stick in and listen. Then I get my tongue again. I cry out.Door close. I hear somebody runnin' outside."
Stonor and Clare looked at each other. "Not much doubt about the kind ofanimal now," said the former deprecatingly.
Clare spread out her hands. "He must be mad," she whispered.
Mary and Clare clung to each other like sisters. Stonor remained at thedoor watching the clear space between the shack and the river. Nothingstirred there. Stonor heard no more untoward sounds.
Fortunately for the nerves of the women the nights were short. Whilethey watched and prayed for the dawn, and told themselves it would nevercome, it was suddenly there. It came, and they could not see it come.The light stole between the trees; the leaves dressed themselves withcolour. A little breeze came from the river, and seemed to blow the lastof the murk away. By half-past three it was full day.
"I must go out and look around," said Stonor.
Clare implored him not to leave them.
"It is necessary," he said firmly.
"Your red coat is so conspicuous," she faltered.
"It is my safeguard," he said; "that is, against humans. As for animals,I can protect myself." He showed them his service revolver.
He left them weeping. He went first to the big spruce-tree behind thehouse. He immediately saw, as he had expected, that a man had leaped outof the lower branches. There were the two deep prints of moccasinedfeet; two hand-prints also where he had fallen forward. He had no doubtcome down faster than he had intended. It was child's play after that tofollow his headlong course through the bush. Soon Stonor saw that he hadslackened his pace--no doubt at the moment when Stonor turned back tothe shack. Still the track was written clear. It made a wide detourthrough the bush, and came back to the door of the room where Mary hadbeen sleeping. The man had taken a couple of hours to make perhaps threehundred yards. He had evidently wormed himself along an inch at a time,to avoid giving an alarm.
When Mary cried out he had taken back to the bush on the other side ofthe shack. Stonor, following the tracks, circled through the bush onthis side, and was finally led to the edge of the river-bank. Theinstant that he pushed through the bushes he saw that one of thebark-canoes was missing. Running to the place where they lay, he sawthat it was the one with the willow-bushes that was gone. No need tolook any further. There was nothing in view for the short distance thathe could see up-river.