Murder Point: A Tale of Keewatin

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE HAND IN THE DOORWAY

  He picked up a lantern and, having lighted it, left the shack. Goinground the out-building of the store, he made his way through the snowto the cabin where Spurling was imprisoned. As he placed the key inthe padlock, he could hear the rattle of the chains of the man inside.Having opened the door, he halted on the threshold, afraid and ashamedto enter. There was dead silence. Lifting the lantern above his head,he could make out the figure of Spurling, crouched like a beast onknees and hands, with eyes which watched him doubtfully.

  "They have gone," he said.

  Spurling did not answer, but followed his every movement.

  "They have gone," he repeated; "but they have not gone to theForbidden River--they have gone in the direction of God's Voice."

  Then Spurling spoke. "Thank God," he said, "for they'll hang you aswell."

  Granger placed the lantern on the floor and sat himself down."Spurling," he said, "we both of us have some old scores to pay off;at the present moment, I happen to have the upper hand. But this isnot the time to settle them. For instance, you have never told me thename of the woman whom you shot in the Klondike."

  Spurling broke in furiously, saying, "I have told you already, thatit was not a woman I murdered, but a man."

  Granger waved him aside with his hand. "I'm not asking you her name,"he said. "We've not got the time to quarrel, for there is still achance of our saving ourselves. It'll take Beorn and Eyelids at leastfour days to reach God's Voice and come back. But I don't thinkthey'll touch at God's Voice at all; they'll skirt it and go farthersouth. They won't trust Robert Pilgrim, lest he should claim a part ofthe reward. If I know Eyelids, it's the thousand dollars he's after,and he wants it all for himself. Their purpose is to go on until theymeet the winter patrol, so that they may be able to give directinformation to the Mounted Police themselves. Now before they do that,a good deal of time may be lost, for the winter patrol has hardlystarted as yet, and it may go in a new direction so that they'll missit at first. With the best of luck, they'll have to travel threehundred miles, a ten days' journey, before they fall in with it. Whilethey're searching for it, we shall be able to slip by them and getout. If you'll promise to stand by me I'll release you. If you won't,I shall leave you here and go on myself. But I warn you fairly, noman, unless he leaves the gold behind him, can make that journey byhimself with any hope of surviving. Our last chance, whether we wantto reach El Dorado or merely to save our lives, is to stick togetherand persuade ourselves that we are friends."

  "I'll stand by you," Spurling said; "I'm no more anxious to die by therope or starvation than you are yourself. But what are we to do withthe half-breed woman--your wife? To leave her behind us, free to gowhere she chooses, would be suicide."

  Granger eyed him angrily, for he did not like the sinister whisper inwhich he had asked that question. He might just as well have said,"Shall I shoot her while you go outside and scrape out her grave?" Butto have paid attention to it just then would have brought them to highwords at the outset; so he said, "We can't take her with us, for sheis soon to have a child. But I think, when I have explained things toher, she'll give us her promise to keep our secret, and we shall beable to trust her word."

  "Humph! You think that? Well, knock off these chains."

  Granger brought the lantern nearer and was stooping to his work, whenSpurling stopped him, laying his hand upon his shoulder. "Hist! What'sthat?" he said. Granger listened. He could distinctly hear the crunchof footsteps on the snow, moving stealthily away from the cabin.Running to the door, he caught sight of a woman's skirt, disappearinground the corner of the store, and recognised the shadow which wasflung behind as Peggy's. She must have heard all that they had said.

  Spurling waited till his chains were off and he was able to standupright, a free man. Then he asked significantly, "And now what areyou going to do with her?"

  "That is my business," Granger retorted hotly.

  "But I think that it is also mine."

  He knew that it would be unwise to argue the point, so he led the wayto Bachelors' Hall, Spurling limping stiffly behind. So cramped had hebecome with the cold, and the position in which he had been chainedduring his confinement, that he could hardly move a step withoutgroaning. Until he should recover, despite his own weakness, Grangerknew that he was physically the stronger and still had the upper hand.For Peggy's sake he intended to make the best use of his time; hebegan to have fears for her as to what might happen were she left tothe mercy of Spurling's choice.

  "What are we coming here for?" growled Spurling, as they stopped atthe door of the hall; "why can't we go to the shack? I'm desperatelycold and there's a fire there."

  "I'll light you a fire," said Granger, placing his hands on hisshoulders and thrusting him inside.

  "You're mighty anxious that I shouldn't get near your wife," saidSpurling; "she must be very valuable."

  Granger went off and soon returned with fuel. The stove was damp andrusty, and did not draw well at first, so that all the room was filledwith smoke. Spurling had stumbled over to the shelf and lay therecomplaining. When the wood had caught and was burning brightly,Granger fetched him something to eat and then went out to speak withPeggy, leaving him alone, promising to return again to spend thenight.

  When he had entered the shack, it appeared to be empty. He calledPeggy's name, but she did not reply. Listening intently, he heard thesound of sobbing which she was endeavouring to stifle. Going over tothe berth he found her lying there, with face turned to the wall.Sitting down beside her, he placed his arms about her, and tried tomake her turn his way, but she refused to be comforted.

  "Peggy," he said, "you heard what we were saying in the cabin? Youremember how I said that I was able to trust your word. I want you topromise me that you will not tell anyone that we have left, and thatyou will not try to follow until I send to tell you that all is safe,so that you can come to me."

  "You will never send," she said.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because that man will quarrel with you and kill you on the way out."

  "That's nonsense; you must listen to what I have planned. This summerwe found gold on the Forbidden River."

  "I know that."

  "Who told you?"

  "Eyelids."

  "Why did he tell you?"

  "He found it himself in the spring, when father sent him up thereafter Spurling; and he was angry when he knew that you had gone there,because he wanted it for himself."

  "Did he stop here all summer?"

  "Yes, but father went away. I think he must have followed you. He gotback four days before your return."

  "Humph! I suspected that, for I saw something that was very like himthere. . . . And do you still think that they have gone to tell theMounted Police only in order that Spurling may be arrested?"

  "I don't know; but that's what they said. I chose to believe thembecause that was the only way in which I could keep you for myself."

  "Well, then, listen. No matter what Eyelids and Beorn may intend, ifthe Mounted Police once get hold of me the result will be that I shallget hanged. The one way in which you can keep me for yourself is tohelp me to escape. I can't take you with me as you are at present; youknow that. And I can't strike the trail alone; I must have someone tohelp me take the gold out. There's no one but Spurling. Besides, I'vepromised to stick by him; he saved my life once, and I'm paying backthe debt. When once I've reached Winnipeg, I'll be able to purchasefriends who will hide me, if need be; but I hope to get there ahead ofthe news of my escape, before the police have my description and areon the lookout. I shall strike for the south, and, when the hunt isover and I'm given up for dead, I'll send you word where you can joinme."

  "You never will do that."

  "And why not?"

  "Because you will be dead."

  Granger was losing patience. Whatever reasoning he used, he could notmove her beyond that one assertion.

  "Won't you he
lp me to take the one chance of life that I think Ihave?" he said. "It can't make much difference to you if Spurling doeskill me on the trail; if I stay here, I shall die a few weeks later,more disgracefully."

  She stood up and led him over to the window, through which the moonwas shining, so that he could see her face. She placed her arms abouthis neck, as if she were a white woman. "I will tell you the truthnow," she said; "I have been keeping something back that I might saveyou from yourself. Since you joined with this man and helped him takethe gold from the Forbidden River, Eyelids and my father have bothbecome your enemies. The factor did send his message that your lifewould be spared if Spurling was given up, but I think he was speakingfalsely. I have tried to keep you near me because I alone, if need be,can stand between you and them. If you set out with Spurling, he willkill you; and if you stay here, you will be arrested. But if you willcome with me into the forest, we can join some Indians of my mother'stribe, and they will hide us where you never can be found."

  Granger watched her while she was speaking, wondering whether he washearing the very truth this time. "And, if I do as you ask me, whatwill happen to Spurling?" he said.

  She drew him nearer to herself. "I hate that man," she whispered; "lethim die as he deserves."

  "And why didn't you tell me everything at first?"

  "Because you are not strong enough to make the journey yet; and Iwanted to keep you resting here, till you had no other choice ofsaving yourself but by following me into the forest. While my fatherwas present, I did not dare to tell you--_for his soul is dead_."

  Granger took his eyes from off her face; she tempted him--he had beenso long unused to kindness. He gazed out of the window, far awayacross the frozen forest, and heard the dream of his boyhood callingto him to seek the city out of sight. His choice lay between thiswoman and El Dorado, in whose search he had wasted all his life. Hedid not deceive himself, whatever he might say aloud; his hesitancydid not arise out of unwillingness to desert Spurling, but fromunwillingness to abandon the quest while a fragment of hope remained.With that stolen gold, if he could slip by the winter patrol and carryit out to Winnipeg, he would be able to strike for the south and sailup the Great Amana, past the rocks with the forgotten handwriting,till he came to the lake of Parima, on whose shores the city is saidto stand.

  She saw that his will was wavering and that his choice was goingagainst her. Seizing his hands in her own and pressing them to herbreast, "I am only a poor half-breed girl," she cried, "but I am soonto be the mother of your child; and our child will be nearly all whitelike yourself. You can't think what my life was before you came to me;for, though my body is half Indian, my mind has become a white woman'ssince I went to school in Winnipeg. I am so white that I would die foryou to-morrow, if I could give you life by doing that. I could nottell you this before, while my father and brother were present;somehow, with their silence they stifled my words, and made me silent.But don't judge me by the past months, believe me now."

  "Peggy," he said, "what should we do in the forest, if we went thereand joined your mother's tribe? We should starve, and grow sullen; andyou would be treated as a squaw, and our child would grow up anIndian."

  "But I should not mind that if only we were together."

  "But we shall be together if my plan works out and I manage to escape.Then there's Spurling; however much I hate him, I cannot break mypromise to him and leave him to die."

  She dropped his hands and drew away from him. "You are going to meetthe white woman," she said; "you had planned to desert me whateverhappened."

  "Who told you that?"

  "Your lips told me, when you were sick and they moved of themselves."

  "But I promise you now that, when I am safe, I will send you word sothat you can find me. If I ever did think of deserting you, it wasbefore I knew that we were going to have a child."

  "You will not send for me," she said; "but I promise that I will donothing to you that will hinder you from going out."

  "But what will you do when I am gone, and you yourself will be needinghelp?"

  "I shall go, like any other squaw, to the Indian women of my tribe."

  There was nothing more to be said; she had given him what he hadasked. Bidding her good-night, he left the shack.

  On returning to the Hall, he found Spurling very restless. "What haveyou been doing all this time?" he asked. "I'd got a good mind to comein search of you. I thought you must have struck the trail with yoursquaw, leaving me behind."

  Granger pretended not to notice his ill-nature, but told him what hehad arranged. They talked matters over and determined to make a starton the following night. Neither of them were in proper condition totravel, but they knew that they had no time to waste. Before they laydown to sleep, Spurling altered his position, spreading his fursbetween the stove and the entrance, with his head so near thethreshold that the door could not be opened wide enough to permit ofanyone passing out without his being wakened; Granger smiled grimly,wondering how long it would take them to quarrel at that rate, whenone of them thought it necessary to take such precautions. Spurlingwas soon snoring, but Granger could get no rest. The night wasbitterly cold, and the fire needed constant replenishing. It seemed tohim that no sooner had he piled on more wood, and wrapped himself inhis blankets, and laid himself down, than he would feel thetemperature lowering, and a chill passing over his body like an icyhand, beginning at his feet and working up to his head. Shivering andwith teeth chattering, he would raise himself up on his elbow, only tosee that the wood was again burnt through and that the fire was goingout.

  At last he determined to give up the attempt to sleep. Pulling a boxnear the stove and using it as a back-rest, he gathered his blanketstightly round him and lit his pipe.

  Across his shoulders, through the window behind him, fell a shaft ofmoonlight; in front of him, dazzling his eyes, was the redness of theglowing charcoal, and the yellow of the jumping flames; withinhand-stretch to the right lay Spurling, with his feet toward the fireand his head within six inches of the threshold. In the greatstillness which was outside, nothing was to be heard save the rustlingof the snow as it bound tighter, and the occasional low booming of thetrees as the frost, acting on the sap, bent their branches.

  With his accustomed passion for fairness, he commenced to examine hisdealings with Peggy and to try to regard his actions from herview-point. In his recent conversation with her she had revealedqualities the existence of which he had not suspected; he had notreckoned her at her true worth. He began to be uncertain even now asto whether he was doing right in leaving her. Perhaps she, for all herignorance, was wiser than himself. But of one thing she had made himcertain, that of all creatures which walked, and talked, and ate, anddrank, upon the earth, she alone stood by him in his crisis for anunselfish reason, and loved him for himself. He knew now, though hehad not realised it until that night, that he loved her in return,half-breed though she was, and could not do without her. He waswilling to own to himself that, in his treatment of her, he had notalways been just and, because of her race, at times had beendespising. He'd been more or less of a fool, and had refused a gooddeal of available happiness.

  He looked towards the door; if it had not been for the unpleasantnessof awaking Spurling, he would have gone at once to the shack and saidto her, "I don't mind who you are, I love you better than any whitegirl, and would prefer you from amongst them all, were I again givenmy choice." Before he set out, he would like to have her believe thathe was going, at least partly, for her sake.

  The smoke from the burning wood made his eyes grow heavy; he began todrowse. He dreamt that he had taken Peggy's advice and had gone withher into the forest, having joined himself to the people of her tribe.It must have happened years ago, for their child was a sturdy boy whoran beside them. She was leading the way through a dark wood, holdinghim by the hand. He asked her where she was going, and for answer shelaid her finger on his lips and only smiled. On and on they went, andthen, far away in the distance, he began
to see a little light. Itgrew brighter and more dazzling as they approached, so that he had toclose his eyes. Presently she halted and told him to look. He wasstanding on the edge of a precipice, in the side of which steps hadbeen hewn out, and far below was a silver lake which he knew to beParima; and far away was a gleaming of domes and spires which herecognised. He was about to speak to thank her, when he tottered andhis feet sank from under him. As he fell, he stared up at her; thelast thing he saw was the expression of agony that was in her eyes.

  He awoke with a start, but his instinct warned him not to stir. Theshaft of moonlight had been blotted out, and he knew that someone,standing outside, behind him, was gazing in through the window. It wasnot Spurling, for he lay breathing heavily, fast asleep, over to hisright. As he crouched there motionless, he ran through the list of allpossible assailants in his mind. It might be Beorn or Eyelids. Itmight be Robert Pilgrim. It might even be the Mounted Police, arrivedbefore their time. It might be only a renegade trapper of the HudsonBay Company, who had come by night, that he might not be discovered,to see if the private trader would offer a higher price for his catchof furs. Then the darkness was removed, and the light shone in again.Quickly turning his head, he looked toward the window, and saw nothingthere. Very quietly he rose to his feet, tiptoed to the window andlooked out. At first he could see no one; then he saw the outer edgeof a figure, pressed close to the wall of the house, standing uprightbeside the door-jamb. He crept back from the panes, so that he shouldnot obscure the little light he had. Moving over to the right, hehalted mid-way between the window and Spurling.

  He could hear the muffled breathing of the person outside and couldalmost feel the pressure of his body against the wall on the otherside. In the few seconds' respite, while nothing happened, he glancedround, taking in the situation and trying to forecast the probablesequence of action. Since Spurling had lain down, he had altered hisposition, so that now his body stretched across the entrance, with hishead in the corner where the two walls met, forming an acute anglewith the threshold so that, though he prevented the door from openingmore than two or three inches, directly it was opened his person wouldbe visible, and exposed to attack.

  Gently the latch was raised and, by slow degrees, the door began toswing inwards. The slit which it made let in a narrow ray ofmoonlight, which, leaving Spurling's face in shadow, fell slantingacross his neck. If he had not moved in his sleep, his head would havebeen farther out from the wall, and the light, striking on his eyeswould have aroused him; as it was, he was undisturbed. Alert with thehorror of it, Granger watched to see what would follow next. Theperson on the other side, peering through the opening, had been warnedby the same sight of the exposed bare neck, and, desisting frompushing the door wider, was deliberating.

  When a short interval had elapsed, he saw a hand thrust through thecrack; it gripped a trapper's hunting knife, with the blade pointingdownwards, and was poised about to strike. Granger was unarmedhimself; there was but one thing that could be done to save hiscomrade's life. Flinging all his weight upon the door, he closed it,imprisoning the assailant's hand above the wrist joint. The knifeclattered to the floor, where it stuck out quivering, grazingSpurling's cheek as it fell. The hand tried to wrench itself free, thefingers opening and closing convulsively, but there was no sound fromoutside.

  Spurling awoke with a cry, and clapping his hand to his face found itwet with blood. He rose to his feet with his fists clenched, and thelook of a wild beast at bay in his eyes. His lips were working withnervousness and desire to fight. "What is it?" he whispered. "Havethey come to take us?"

  Granger signed to him to stand back and keep quiet. Then he followedthe direction of Granger's eyes, and he also saw the hand. Bendingdown, with his back against the door, Granger examined it. It wasbrown and slim--far too small for a man's hand, and far too dusky tobelong to a person who was white. The light, stealing in through theaperture, showed it plainly and fell along its length; the fingers hadceased to writhe and were extended, as if the thing had died.

  While Granger had been looking, Spurling also had seen and hadsurmised. Coming swiftly forward, he stooped to pick up the knife.Granger read his purpose and, as he leant forward to pluck it from theboards, kicked him heavily in the chest, so that he lost his balanceand fell sprawling on his back. Before he could recover himself, hehad opened the door and released the hand. Possessing himself of theknife, he set his back against the door again to prevent Spurling fromfollowing. There was a little cry of gladness, and the sound offootsteps rustling the snow as they hurried away.

  For the remainder of the long night, he stood guard over the man whomhe had rescued. When the dawn broke and he visited the shack, he foundthat Peggy had vanished.