_Chapter XXXII_
That night Gloria, listening now to King's breathing, now to thecrackling of her fire, grew restless, restless. Again and again she wentto look out into the quiet moonlight night, across the glitteringexpanses of pure white glistening snow. It was the restlessness of onewho had taken a giant determination; who but awaited impatiently for thetime to do what she was bent upon doing. In her heart was still thatnew-born gladness; in her bosom there was still something singing likethe liquid voice of a bird. It had sung for the first time when firstshe had ministered to King, when she had understood what love's servicewas, when she had gone down the cliffs for firewood, when, because ofher tireless nursing, she had been rewarded by his opening eyes; as thehours wore on it had grown into a chant triumphant. She, Gloria, hadlived to do something that was noble and unselfish and brave; she,Gloria, had been unafraid and unswerving; she had saved a man's life.And that life was Mark King's! She had made amends; she had set her feetunfalteringly in a new trail; throughout her being she was aglow withthe consciousness of one who had gladly done love's labour.
Now she waited only for the hour when again King must have his broth.She gave it to him, smiled at him, commanded him to go back to sleep,promising to talk with him in the morning. And then, when again hebreathed with the quiet regularity of one sleeping, she went eagerlyabout her task.
Now, at her hour of need, she was buoyed up by a great and wonderfulconfidence that she could not fail. Thus far she had accomplished eachduty as it had stood before her, and from successes achieved grew thenew faith that in to-night's task, perhaps the supreme and final labour,she would succeed again. They must have more meat; to-morrow or the nextday, at latest, for the steaks which she had eaten and the strong brothsto maintain and rebuild strength in. King had cut deeply into theirsupply. And she knew Mark King well enough to be very certain that, themoment he could summon strength enough to command his tottering body tostand on two legs, he would go. Now, while he was still too weak toobserve greatly what went on about him and while he slept most of thetime, it was for her to be before him. Fortunately--and were not allomens bright with hope?--it had not snowed since King made his kill; shecould follow in the trail he had made and it would lead her unerringlyto the spot where he had left the rest of the meat. She had everythingready, rifle, small packet of food, knife, even matches and strips tornfrom the sack for her feet. Down in the gorge, clutching her rifle, shestood looking, listening. Always the thought of Benny and the other manwas on the rim of her consciousness, and fear is a basic and elementalemotion. But, though the moon set forth all details in clear reliefagainst the snow, there was no man in sight, and, in the intensedetermination possessing her, she throttled down all fear-thoughts. Sheclung with a deep fervour to the thoughts that she and Mark King had putdisaster behind them, that ahead lay hope and happiness, that God waswith her and about her, and that all danger was gone. Down the canon shesaw the broken, uneven snow where Brodie and his men had left theirtracks, irregular trails up which Gratton had come, down which Benny andthe Italian had fled. Upward along the gorge was one deep, straightpath, wide and hard packed, the track of Mark King's crude snow-shoes.Into this she stepped, thinking even at the time how even Mark King'strail was characteristic of him and different from that of the othermen; it looked purposeful and confident and, like the man himself,driving straight on. There was a sense of comfort in treading where hehad trodden before her.
The world slept, but its quiet breathing she seemed to hear as the airdrew through the pines. She turned up the gorge, a tiny dark figure inan immense white wilderness. The stars shone and she loved them; theywere like bright companionable candles. The moon shed its soft lustreand she loved it; it thrust shadows back and drove out the dark. Thenight was all quiet splendour and peace and serenity. The snow wascrisp, crunching underfoot; sunny days had thawed, clear, cold nightshad frozen, and the crust had begun to form. Before she had gone a dozenfeet she discovered this and its importance to her; where King's weighton the snow-shoes, along a twice-travelled trail, had packed the snowand where now the sun and cold had done their work, there was a crustwhich upbore her slight weight; she could walk swiftly; there was to beno more floundering. She could run!
And run she did, when she had crested the first ridge and had starteddown the far side. It was like flying! The crisp air cut her glowingcheeks; her blood leaped along her veins; she breathed deeply, a great,uplifting elation bore her along. Love--God is love--smoothed the waybefore her; the stars ran with her, the great blazing stars to whichagain and again she lifted her eyes. They spoke to her; they came closeto her; when she stopped, resting, they were all about her, bendingdown, and she was lifted up among them. Fervour and the ecstasy of thehour in which was doing to the uttermost, forgetful of pettiness andselfishness and cowardice--she prayed mutely that she was done with themfor ever, that never again would she be such a woman as Gratton had beena man--made her over into a radiant, glorious Gloria. The night stampeditself upon her for all time; out of the night she drew, as one drawsair into his lungs, a new faith that was akin to the man's whom sheserved. For one cannot be alone with the stars and be unmoved by them;they are serene with eternity, refulgent with the perfect beauty of aperfect creation, eloquent to the heart of man and woman of true values.Under the fields of their vastitude, confronted by their infinity,Gloria, like thousands before, understood that man in fevered times isprone to turn to false gods. Gus Ingle's gold--her own gold, oneday--was a thing to smile at. Or, at best, not a thing to expend wildlyfor gowns and gowns and shoes and stockings and limousines; to-nightGloria felt that she had had her fill of vanities like those, that shewas done with them; that if, for every moan and agony and slow death andthought of envy Gus Ingle's gold had brought into the world, she couldcreate a smile here and a hope fulfilled there and a glow yonder, shewould ask nothing else of the yellow dirt. For dirt or rock or dross itwas, and that was as clear as starlight. If her hand but lay in the handof Mark King, what did gold matter? Or dresses--or what people thoughtor said of her or him? A strange little smile touched her lips.
"I love you," she whispered, as though Mark were with her--as in hersoul he was.
Had there not been a great, glowing love in her heart she would havebeen afraid. But there was no room for fear. Had she not felt that hewas with her and that God was with her she must have felt anunutterable, dreary loneliness; but she was upborne at every step andgloried in every exertion.
And exertion, until she came close to the limits of endurance, was to behers that white night; hers the knowledge of supreme endeavour. On andon she went across the immense glistening smooth fields through whichthe trail ahead was the only scar, through groves of black pineswhispering, whispering, whispering, down into shadow-filled canons, outinto the open again, up and down and on and on, a tiny dot upon theendless wastes. Fatigue came upon her suddenly, when she had forgottento save her strength and had gone over-fast. She rested, lying on herback, her eyes closed. She opened her eyes, she saw the stars, she roseand went on. She had gone miles; how many she could not guess. Always,after for a little while she had dropped down wearily, she rose againand went on; she learned that, though beaten down, one might rise again.That was Mark King's way; it would be her way. Despite the rags abouther boots her feet were soon dangerously cold. She passed into theembrace of a forest of black trees casting blacker shadows. Theirbranches seemed motionless, but they sang to her with hushed voices. Andalways there was the trail King had made, leading her on; where he hadgone before, she followed.
Where he had made slow progress, seeking game and breaking trail, shewent swiftly on the packed snow. So, in the full splendour of the moon,she came at last to the final ridge, whence, looking down into thecanon, she saw the end of her trail: hanging from a bent pine saplingwas what she knew must be his bear. Down the steep slope she went, halfsliding, half rolling. In the bed of the ravine she landed softly in thedrift; here she rested, sitting in a nest of snow. And before she hadstirred
to begin the last short span of her journey, there came suddenlyout of the silence a strange, quivering cry, bursting out upon her; asobbing, throbbing scream.
"A woman!" cried Gloria, aghast.
A woman in an agony of terror, she thought. Or a lost soul, thewandering spirit of the dead, or God knew what impossible thing. Suddenterror leaped out upon her, striking like a knife into her heart. Fear,banished all this time, surprised her and clutched at her throat andparalysed her muscles. Blind panic gripped her. Then came the piercingscream again, and with it enlightenment, and Gloria sank back, seemingto melt into the snow about her. Yonder, just upon the next ridge wherethe moonlight carved in fine details the outline of a big bare boulder,stood the thing that had screamed; in this light its great body wasweirdly magnified, so that the entire length of seven or eight feetappeared to Gloria's frightened eyes twice that. Long-bodied and lithe,small-headed and merciless, steel-muscled and chisel-clawed, the big catin silhouette twitched its restless tail back and forth nervously, andfrom snarling jaws sent forth its almost human call to cut across vast,still distances.
Gloria drew back and back where she crouched, her body pressed into thesnow-bank, in a panicky desire to hide. The big cat had smelled themeat, she guessed swiftly. When it leaped upward, seeking to snatch downthe swinging weight, or clambered up the pine, then she must spring upand run, run as she had never run in her life, away from this terrible,murderous thing, back to King. Unconscious of cold and wet, she coweredand waited, scarce breathing. She saw how the big beast put up its headand sniffed; did it in reality smell the meat? Or had it sensed herpresence?
For what seemed a very long time the gaunt-bodied animal stood as stillas the rock beneath it; then, silent and swift, it turned and, like acat at home leaping down from a table, dropped into the shadows at thebase of the rock, and was lost to Gloria's sight in a little hollow. Shewaited, her eyes staring.
Again, all of a sudden, she saw it. Moving with the stealthy cautionwhich is its birthright, it appeared fleetingly a score of feet lower onthe steep slope, the body and its shadow, a twin for stealthy silence,gone in a flash, reappearing once more still lower on the slope and justbeyond the pine sapling. It was coming on. Fascinated, Gloria sat likestone, with never a thought of the rifle lying across her knees.
The mountain-lion leaped downward softly from stage to stage of thecanon-side, paused under the pine, lifted its head, and sent forth againits hunger-cry. All this time Gloria sat breathless; thefear-fascination still held her powerless. She watched the animal crouchand gather its strength and hurl its lean body upward. The lion fellback, the ripping claws having missed the meat by some two or threefeet, and Gloria heard the low, rumbling growl. Again it sprang; againit missed. And then, for a weary time of silence it sat still, its headback, its eyes on the desired meal. In the moonlight Gloria saw theglistening saliva from the half-parted jaws.
But in the end feline craft found the way, and the cat set its pawsagainst the tree trunk, and began to climb. Limbs broke under the twohundred pounds of weight; the bark was torn under slipping paws, butupward the sinuous body writhed. Swiftly now it would come to King'skill.
King's! Gloria started; this was Mark's kill: he had stalked it, he hadploughed many miles through deep snow to get it. To get it for her aswell as for him. To keep the life in her--now, without it, King woulddie. And now the lion was going to take it, while she watched and didnothing!
"Oh, God, help me!" She sprang to her feet, she jerked up her rifle andfired at the black bulk crawling upward in the pine. "It shall not haveMark's meat! It shall not!"
At the first shot the mountain-lion dropped through crashing branches.She had shot it--she had driven a bullet through its heart. God hadheard her. That was her first wild thought. But in a flash she saw thatit was on its feet again, and that with red mouth snarling it had swungabout, facing her; she saw the cruel white teeth, wet and glistening.
Incoherently Gloria cried out, again sick and shaken with terror. Inanother moment she would have the lean powerful body leaping upon her.She fired again and again, taking no time for aim, as fast as she couldwork the lever and pull the trigger; she was trembling so that it wasall that she could do to hold the gun at all. She prayed and called onMark and fired, all at once.
Never did bullets fly wider of the mark, but never did the roar ofexploding shells do better service. The lion, though ravenous, was notyet starved to the degree to whip it to the supreme desperation ofattacking a human being and defying a rifle; it whirled and wentflashing across the snow, seeking the shadows, gone in the drifts,vanishing.
Gloria gasped, stared after its wild flight a paralysed moment and thenran to the tree where the bear hung. She was shaking like a leaf in astorm; she was still terrified, filled with horror at the thought thatat any second the lean body might come flashing back upon her. Butthrough the emotions storming through her there lived on that onedetermination that would live while she lived: that was Mark's meat andshe was going to save it for him. She began climbing the young pine; shefought wildly to get up into its branches; she was handicapped by therifle which she clung to desperately. She got the gun in a crotch aboveher head; she pulled herself upward; she slipped, and tore the skin ofhands and arms; but hastening frantically she climbed up and up. She gotthe rifle into her hands again, nearly dropped it, thrust it above her,jammed it into a fork of a limb and kept on climbing. At last she waswhere she could reach out and touch the swinging carcass. With King'skeen-edged butcher knife she hacked and cut at the frozen meat, pantingwith every effort. The task seemed endless; the bear swung away fromher; a branch broke under her foot and she almost fell; she was sobbingaloud brokenly before it was done, the tears rolling down her cheeks.But at last there was the thud of the falling meat; below her it lay onthe snow crust. In wild haste she snatched her rifle; holding it in onehand, afraid to let it slip out of her grasp for a moment, casting alast fearful look in the direction whither the lion had gone, she beganslipping down. And in another moment, with the precious burden caught upwith the gun in her arms, she was running back up the ridge, her feet inKing's trail. _The home trail_!
She looked behind her at every step, picturing the snarling catspringing out from every shadow, starting upward from every drift andsnow-bank. But she clutched her meat tight and struggled on up theslope.
Her whole body was shaking; she closed her eyes, overcome withfaintness. There was a faint wind stirring and it cut like a knife,probing through her garments where they were damp. She shivered andstruggled on and on. She felt that she could run all night withoutstopping. She stumbled and fell and arose, panting and sobbing, and ranon. She no longer looked behind her: she had fallen when she did that.Again and again from far behind her came the clear, merciless scream ofthe mountain-lion. Time passed; half-hour or hour or two hours, she hadlittle idea. Time itself was a nightmare of running, falling, rising,staggering, running again until the blood pounded in her temples,drummed in her ears. The cry came again, as near as before--nearer?Throughout the night as she struggled on she could always fancy thestealthy, silent feet following her, keeping time with her own. Cautiousnow, would its caution slowly subside as its hunger grew and as shealways fled from it? The thought came to her that such a menace wouldfollow one day after day; that it would wait and wait; that in the endit knew its time would come when sleep or exhaustion broke down itsprey's guard. Then it would leap and strike.
Her rifle had grown a heart-breaking weight, until it seemed that itwould drag her arms from their sockets to hold it up; the pack of meaton her back was like lead.
She wondered if King had missed her; if he were awake and wondering ather absence. She wondered if he would miss her soon; how soon? At thefirst glint of dawn? Would he begin to see, that she was at least, andat last, trying? Well, she had tried; though she died, still she hadtried. She was cold to the bone; her teeth chattered, her body quaked.Yet she kept on. She fell; she lay with the tears of exhaustion rollingdown her face; she struggled to get to
her feet; she fell again. Butalways she rose and always she kept on. And so, in the fulness of time,after long frightful, hellish hours, Sec.he came to the last terror of thenight.
The new day was bright on the mountain tops when she felt at first adull sort of surprise and then a sudden, stimulating gladness, notingthe familiar look of the ridge ahead. Yonder the cave would be. The caveand King, success and rest. She straightened up a little, brushing herhand across her straining eyes, making sure that she was right. Sheheard the insistent scream behind her, but now she did not heed it, forin front of her, stock-still in the trail, was a man. It was Benny.
To-night she had thrilled to an ecstasy descending from the stars,welling up in her own heart, and she had shivered with fear and haddropped with weariness akin to despair. Now suddenly all emotions wereupgathered into searing anger. Her thought was: "He will take the meatfrom me! The meat I have brought for Mark." She grew rigid in hertracks. She jerked up her rifle in front of her; her tired eyeshardened. She had gone to the limits of endurance in a labour of love;she had succeeded; and now she would fight for what she had broughtback.
Then she noted that Benny had not seen her. Though he was in full viewon the ridge, he had had no eyes for her. He was stooping. She saw thathe had a small pack on his back; food, no doubt. On the ground by himwas a second pack, something in a crash sack; Benny was struggling tolift it to his shoulders. It must be very heavy. Gloria drew backhastily, glancing about her, found the only hiding-place offered, andslipped behind the big rock.
Presently Benny came on. She heard him from a distance; he was talkingto himself excitedly, jabbering broken fragments of sentences, twicebreaking into his hideous dry cackle of laughter. She shivered; hisutterances sounded mad.
And mad they were. Perhaps his drug had run out; certainly for a nervousman there had been ample cause for jangling nerves. He jabberedconstantly, his mutterings at last coming to her in jumbled words asBenny drew on.
He was talking about "gold," and he chuckled. He mentioned names,Brodie's and Jarrold's and Gratton's and another name, and he chuckledagain. Gloria peered cautiously from the shelter of her rock. He wasvery near now, struggling with the smaller pack and his rifle and theheavy bundle in his sack. She thought that he was going to pass withoutseeing her. But just as he passed abreast of her hiding-place somethingprompted Benny to jerk up his head. He saw her and stopped suddenly; shesaw his eyes. And she knew on the instant that if the man were not starkmad, at least he was not entirely sane. She lifted her rifle, cold allover; if he came another step nearer she would shoot....
"It's mine!" Benny shrieked at her. "Mine, I tell you!"
He broke into a run, passing her, leaving the trail, floundering downthe ridge the shortest way. His rifle encumbered him; she saw it fallinto the snow, while Benny, clutching his gunny-sack in both arms,stumbled on. He fell; he rose, shrieking curses. She watched,fascinated. The pack on his back slipped around in front of him; Bennytore at it and cursed it and hurled it from him. Still hugging his goldhe was gone, far down the steep slope. Gloria shuddered and stepped backinto her own trail. She could hear Benny cursing faintly. Like an echocame another cry across the ridges; the cry of a starving cat.