CHAPTER XXIII
THE LAST CHANCE
Since the middle of November he had been back at the Point: it was nowthe day before Christmas, and Peggy was still absent. During the lastsix weeks he had waited anxiously, always listening, even in hissleep, for her returning footstep. It was extraordinary to him tonotice how, now that he had lost her, every other affection that hehad ever known became dwarfed and of no acount in comparison with hislove of her. He no longer thought of Mordaunt or of El Dorado; all hisanxiety was for the half-breed wife, whom he had once despised. Therewas but one ambition, the fulfilment of which he greatly desired, andthat was again to see her and to look upon his child. Somewhereoutside, beneath the grey chaos of white forest and gloomy sky, in thewigwam of a trapper, tended by Indian women, she had faced her ordealand had, perhaps, survived. If ever he was to see her it would beto-night, when her kinsmen had promised to return.
At first, when he had left Dead Rat Portage, he had feared that hewould be overtaken by the Mounted Police or Robert Pilgrim before everhe reached the Point. For six weeks he had remained there undisturbedand solitary.
Watching from his window day by day, he had seen an occasional Indianpass, averting his face and, if he were a Catholic, crossing himselfto avoid the overlooking of the evil eye. When such chance travellersapproached the bend, he had noticed how they seemed to see somethingthere, which he could not see, and climbing out of the river-trail,making a wide circuit, hurried their steps to get quickly by. Thoughhe had spoken to no one for so long a time, he had not beenlonely--watching for Peggy was a continual, if painful, source ofexcitement. And another matter had kept him fully occupied. Being anhonest man, he knew that since the spring of the year he had not donewell by his employers; therefore, since he thought it highly probablethat, at any moment, he might be called away on a longer journey thanany that he had yet undertaken, he had spent a large part of hisleisure in making a report of the trade and contents of the store,which would be of service to his unlucky successor in the post ofagent.
His chief cause for disquiet had been the hidden personality of theman whom he had seen in the sky, and who had afterwards rescued himfrom the blizzard near God's Voice. The haunting recollection of thoseeyes, of which he had caught but a glimpse as the man bent over himand the fire beat up into his shrouded face, had tortured him,allowing him rest from thought neither day nor night. For weeks he hadsearched his memory for some forgotten record, which would account fortheir seeming familiarity. Where had he seen them before? Was itbefore he left England, or in the Klondike? Or had their owner oncecome to trade with him at the store?
Ten days ago, when he was sitting half-dozing by the stove, thinkingof nothing in particular, a face had drifted up from his subconsciousmemory, grouping its features about the eyes. He had staggered to hisfeet, horrified at the significance which this new knowledge, if true,gave to the motive of the crime. Bewildering details, which he hadnoticed in the man's appearance and had not been able to reconcile,now built themselves into the chain of evidence and were readilyexplained--there could be no mistake. He had bowed his head in histrembling hands, giving God broken thanks that he had been spared thefinal remorse which would have come to him had he been successful inhis pursuit of Spurling's murderer. All that night he had prayed,aghast and terrified, that God would protect the assailant fromdetection.
And perhaps God had heard him, for the morning found him strangelyquiet; he thought that he had now discovered a way to go out of life agentleman, though no one but himself and one other would know that hisgallantry was not disgrace.
The short December daylight wore away and night fell. He spread a mealfor four people, with fare which was unusually ample. Having lit thelamp and built up a roaring fire in the stove, he sat down to awaitthe arrival of his guests.
To evade his excitement of anticipation, which was becoming painful,he drove his thoughts back to other Christmas Eves, and tried toimagine and share in the innocent happiness which the season wasbringing to children, still illusioned and unwise, all the world overthat night. He had almost succeeded in beguiling himself into thebelief that he was again a child, when the huskies commenced to howl,giving warning of someone's approach.
Listening acutely, he caught the distant shouting of dog-drivers,coming down-river, across the ice. He ran to the window and saw theforms of two men, stooping down unharnessing their teams at the Point.He recognised them, but did not go outside to make them welcome, sincehe had not yet learnt their purpose. The door opened, and Beorn andEyelids entered.
There was nothing altered in Beorn's appearance; but Eyelids lookedhaggard and fatigued with travel.
He came towards Granger with a stealthy tread, yet so slowly that heseemed rather to be drawing back. "Where's Peggy?" were the firstwords he uttered. "She's gone away," Granger said. Then, seeing herbrother's genuine concern, he commenced to explain a little of whathad taken place in his absence. He was recounting his discovery ofSpurling's flight, when his listener, taking it for granted that healready knew the rest, broke in impatiently, with "You damn fool!Why'd you kill him?"
Granger smiled. He was amused at the half-breed's new air ofdomineering boldness and the change which it made in his countenance."Oh, so you know that?" he inquired. Eyelids came over and shook himby the arm, as though he thought that he needed awakening.
Speaking rapidly, tumbling over his words, sometimes relapsing intothe Cree dialect, he commenced to give a hurried account of his ownactions. There had been a thousand dollars offered for Spurling'scapture, and he had gone to claim it. It was not covetousnessaltogether which had prompted him to do that; the reward was only anincident. His father was determined to be revenged for the trespass ofthe Forbidden River, and he had accompanied his father, hoping, by sodoing, to save his brother-in-law's life--the handing over ofSpurling to justice would have proved him innocent of complicity inStrangeway's death.
They had had to go a long way south before they had met with thewinter patrol and had been able to give their information. They hadbeen coming back with Sergeant Shattuck to make the arrest, when theyhad fallen in with an Indian of the Sucker tribe. He had given themnews that a month ago a man had been murdered at the Dead Rat Portageby the agent at the Point, where he believed they had quarrelled,though why and what about he could not guess.
Arriving at God's Voice, they had learnt that gold had been found,scattered above the grave at the Dead Rat. And now the Mounted Policewere coming, Eyelids said, to take Granger away to be hanged. He hadheard Robert Pilgrim and the sergeant arranging it together, and hadcome on ahead to give him warning. He believed that the pursuers werenot far behind. His quarrel had been with Spurling, not with Granger;he was emphatic about that. He would not have accompanied his father,had he not gathered from words which he had let fall in his delirium,that Granger hated Spurling as much as any of them. He had thoughtthat he would understand their purpose in going southward, and wouldbe willing to guard Spurling in order that he might be betrayed. Andnow he had come to make him an offer: there was yet time to escape; hewould hide him so securely in the forest that he never would betracked.
Granger thought that he discovered in Eyelids' vehemence theblustering confusion of a repentant Judas.
He shook his head, "No," he answered, "I intend to wait."
Eyelids pressed him for a reason. "I must see Peggy," he replied: "shewill certainly be here to-night. Even if she had already arrived andwere willing to go with me, I should stay."
For a man of Indian training, Eyelids used many words to persuade him.When he saw that he had failed, he relapsed into sullen silence. Beornpaid no attention, but stared grimly before him with his dead-souleyes, as though he had heard nothing. Granger fancied that he mustoften have worn that same expression when, crouched beneath theauriferous ledges of the Fair-haired Annie, he had listened to thepicks of his enemies drawing nearer, and had waited to deal outunhurried and impartial death to the men of the Bloody Thunder Mine.
There
was the sound of long striding steps ascending the mound; it wasnot the tread of Peggy. Without the formality of knocking, the latchwas raised and Pere Antoine towered in the doorway. His garments werefrosted and glistened, so that he seemed to be clothed in a vaporousincandescence. His face was very stern and sad. He said nothing, butgazing full on Granger, he beckoned to him that he should comeoutside.
Casting his capote about him and drawing on his mittens, he obeyed.Antoine led the way to the back of the store, till they stood on theedge of the clearing, where the forest began. The full moon shiningdown on the country made it appear legendary and ghostlike, averitable Hollow land, such as the Indians believed in, entering intowhich a man might wander on forever, without home-coming, and nevertaste of death. Granger felt that he would scarcely experiencesurprise were he to witness, drifting on poised wings from an openingin the clouds, a flight of shadowy angels, voyaging to some newerplanet where they should startle other shepherds, singing to them thetidings of the Christ.
Antoine recalled him, saying, "I may not be doing right, for I cannotguess your motives, but I have come to tell you that I am willing tohelp you to escape."
If he had come to him on any other errand than that of his ownpreservation, Granger knew, as he watched the pity struggling with thesternness in his face, that he would have followed him anywhere, toperil and to shame. But now, that was impossible.
"Antoine," he replied, "I cannot. Spurling is dead."
Le Pere surveyed him curiously in silence. "But you--did you do it?"he said.
"You know that I always meant to do it."
"Then you are determined to die?"
"Yes."
"For some one else?"
"Pshaw! For me it is no sacrifice. You know that I would have killedhim, had God given me the time."
Antoine drew off his mitten, and held out to him his bare right hand."You are a noble man," he said; "I will keep your secret."
As they returned to the shack, Eyelids looked up at them inquiringly,as though he were about to ask them what preparations he should makefor their journey. When he saw how, saying nothing, they satthemselves down to wait, he shrugged his shoulders desperately.Presently, with a false show of indifference, he set about playing themoccasin-game, which consists of placing buttons, bullets, andanything small which comes handy, into an empty moccasin, shakingthem up together, and guessing the number which the shoe contains. Itis a gambling game which, in earlier days, was wont to cause muchbloodshed and ruin among the buffalo-runners of the plains.
The hours went by and the night grew late. The meal which had beenspread was still untasted. They did not converse; there seemed solittle to say, and, moreover, their voices might prevent them fromhearing the first warning of Peggy's approach. The roaring of the logsin the stove, and the monotonous clicking of the buttons and bulletsone against the other as Eyelids shook them, and again as he emptiedthem upon the floor, like the ominous tapping of muffled hammers atwork about a coffin, were the only sounds, and these, at last, byreason of their regularity, began to grow nerve-racking. Between theemptying of the moccasin, and the gathering up and re-shaking of thecounters, Granger held his breath. It seemed to him that Eyelids wasgambling with an invisible player, and that the stake which he stoodto lose or win was his own life. It was inconceivable that any manshould have sat playing all these hours at a game of hazard, riskingnothing, having for antagonist himself.
Relief came from without. From far across the river the forest-silencewas shattered by a piercing cry. It reached him distantly at first,but, with each interval that elapsed, it grew nearer. It was like thetortured, desperate complaining of a soul in its final agony. Stealingto the window, he looked out, and saw upon the farther bank theoutline of a timber-wolf. He looked at Beorn; he also had heard it,for he had pricked up his ears like a husky and was listening. Fearingthat the suspense of these long and silent hours might cause him tobehave unworthily, he clutched Antoine by the shoulder, and whispered,"For God's sake, say something. Tell us one of your tales."
Then Le Pere thought awhile, and afterwards, in a low sonorous voice,commenced to recount the story of the founding of the HuronMission--one of the noblest histories in the world, of men who havedied for men. As he progressed, Eyelids looked up from hismoccasin-game and the little tappings, as of muffled hammers about acoffin, ceased for a spell.
He told them of Isaac Jogues, the Jesuit; how he was the most timid ofmen, and how for his love of Christ he became brave.
He told them of his capture, on the second day of August, 1642, by theIroquois, and the patience with which his sufferings were endured. Howwhen he was near dying of hunger and thirst, he used the drops ofrain, which had gathered in an ear of corn which had been thrown him,to baptize two dying men. How when the Indians had grown weary oftorturing him and had cast him out into the March bleakness, he spenthis days in the forest praying, and carving the name of _Jesus_ on thetree-trunks with his lacerated hands.
Then followed the account of his miraculous escape to France and thehonours which were proffered him by Church and State, no one of whichhe would take, save only permission to return to Canada that, as hehad lived, so he might die for men, and the Pope's specialdispensation that he might say the Mass, from which he had beendebarred by his mutilations.
And he told them the story of Brebeuf and the vision which he had hadin the winter of 1640, when sojourning among the Neutral Nation. Howhe beheld in the sky the apparition of a great cross, advancingtowards him from the quarter where lay the Iroquois land. How he hadspoken to his comrades about it, and they had questioned him, "What isit like? How large?" And he had answered them, saying, "It is largeenough to crucify us all."
Granger interrupted him, smiling grimly to himself and whispering,"Yes, and I have seen it in Keewatin--_large enough to crucify usall_."
Antoine, overhearing his words, replied, "I know you have." Afterwhich they fell silent. For perhaps an hour they remained thus, andthe flame of the lamp sank lower and lower as the oil becameexhausted; no one rose to attend to it.
A panting breath was heard outside. The door flew open and a man stoodupon the threshold. "They are coming," he gasped in a rasping voice."My God! they are coming."
No one stirred. They did not recognise his tones and it was too darkto see his face. They were each one wondering who was this stranger,who could find in the death of anyone, save himself, a matter fordistress.
He closed the door; in so doing, they saw that he carried a bundle,like a deformity, strapped across his shoulders. They watched him insilence until, cowed by the coldness of their reception, he wasturning to depart; then Antoine spoke up. "Come nearer the stove, myson," he said, "where you can warm yourself, and we can look upon yourface."
Slowly the man moved forward, casting a long shadow on the wall. Andnow to the four men gazing, the shadow which the stranger cast seemedto have become of more interest than his face--for there were twoshadows, one of which followed ominously behind. While the first umbrawas dim and blurred, the second was dense and well-defined; moreoverit stood by itself, as if cast by an unseen presence, and was in everyway different from that of the stranger. It seemed endowed with aseparate personality; its actions were independent of those of the manand shadow which it followed. In watching it, they felt that therewere six people in the room instead of five.
Recognition came to them each one at about the same time; they rose totheir feet fascinated, and stared like men gone mad. The thing stoodupright, a little way out from the wall it seemed, its head turnedtowards them, as if conscious of their inspection--_and yet it wasonly a shadow_. And it was the shadow of a man over six feet in heightand proportionately broad of chest, who carried his dog-whipleft-handed. It was the shadow which Spurling would have cast, had hebeen alive. And Spurling had cursed Granger merely for suggestingthat, despite their preparations for departure, they might all meetagain at Murder Point on Christmas Eve.
The stranger, being ignorant of what they saw, for whiche
ver way heturned the pursuer stole behind him, and growing alarmed at theirterrified expressions, withdrew from the circle of the lamp andfirelight, willing to hide himself.
Granger was the first to remove his gaze from the wall and to recoverfrom his surprise. He approached the shrinking figure. "Peggy," hecried: and as she turned, he saw that her capote was the one which hehad missed, and that the remainder of her man's dress was his ownborrowed attire.
She came towards him with her arms stretched out and, as she did so,his heart was strangely stirred within him by a little puling cry.
"It was the only way to save you," she moaned; "and it has not savedyou."
"I know, I understand," he whispered. Then he loosed her arms fromabout his neck and unslung the baby from her shoulders. Fear for theircommon safety struggling with the mother's pride and tenderness, shefollowed him to the firelight and allowed him to kneel beside her.Their bodies pressing close together, they wondered at and touchedwith a strange reverence the little weakly creature sprawling in herlap. It commenced to wail, and she bared to it her breasts. To Antoinewatching her, she seemed the Madonna of Keewatin, with her stifledlove, naked passions, and heroic fight for life--and to-morrow wouldbe Christmas night.
In the presence of the child they had all forgotten the shadow,hovering there behind her, and the sorrow which it meant. EvenEyelids, the Judas of the tragedy, stole nearer and, extending hishands, touched shyly this frail body of newborn life, as if by sodoing he could cleanse them. No one interfered with him; they were tooglad. The Man with the Dead Soul looked on unmoved; his countenancewas alone unchanged. He was listening intently.
A wolf-call broke the stillness of the night. Going to the door, hestepped out, threw back his head and answered. It was the sign forwhich he had waited. Eyelids snatched up his gun and placed himselfbefore Granger, prepared to defend him; but Granger took the gun fromhis hand. "No. Not that," he said.
Turning about, he saw that Peggy had risen and, with his child in herarms, was hurrying toward the threshold. Guessing her purpose, hecaught her by the waist and drew her back. He led her to that cornerof the room which was darkest, and, making her sit down, bent aboveher speaking in a low quick voice. For two minutes nothing was heardbut her sobbing, the hissing of his whispered messages, and the slow,deep-drawn breathing of Eyelids and Antoine. They both knew now thathe was innocent since they had seen the shadow. The air was heavy withsuspense. There was a crunching of snow which came nearer, ascendingthe mound toward the shack. There was the sound of several footsteps,as of men taking up positions about the house. The door burst open andBeorn entered, followed by a man who, Granger guessed from his bearingand dress, was Sergeant Shattuck. It was his last chance to redeemhimself.
He rose up, resting his hand on his wife's shoulder to keep herseated, and stood in front of her, hiding her from view, so that thesergeant should not see that tell-tale shadow behind her. Even whilehe held himself there in breathless silence, taking his first look atthe man who had travelled all those miles only to carry him southwardto his death, he smiled grimly, amused at the Homeric justice ofit--that Spurling should have killed and been killed by a woman indisguise, and that on his head should rest the burden of the shame, hewho throughout his life had never _done_, but had only _intended_.
Then the sergeant spoke. "John Granger, are you there?"
"I am."
"I arrest you, John Granger, on the charge of being concerned in thedeath of Corporal Eric Strangeways, and of the wilful murder of oneDruce Spurling, your accomplice in the latter crime, whom you, wellknowing that he was a fugitive from justice, assisted to escape fromthe afore-mentioned Eric Strangeways."
Peggy half rose to her feet, with a choking cry, and tried to speak;but Granger checked her.
"I plead guilty," he said; "I am ready to come with you. I have onlyone request to make, that you take me away with you at once, settingout this night."
The sergeant looked doubtful; he had made a long journey, and he andhis dogs were tired. But hearing the sound of intolerable sobbing, hethought that he understood, and nodded his assent.
They all stepped out, closing the door behind them, and left Grangeralone with his wife. In five minutes the door opened and he joinedthem. His face was grey and tremulous, but his lips were steady andsmiling. "Large enough to crucify us all," murmured Antoine when hesaw him. Granger knew what he meant--that he was referring to Keewatinand to his sacrifice. He shook his head at him; he was not thinking ofthat. He was thinking of Spurling's shadow, made prisoner by its ownhatred, chained behind the woman weeping in the shack, and of how hehad cheated it of its pitiful revenge. But it was not yet too late forone of his companions, or even Peggy herself, to betray his secret. Hewould not feel that she was safe until Murder Point had been lost tosight. Stepping briskly over to Shattuck he inquired, "Any need ofhandcuffs to-night, Sergeant?"
"Not if you pledge me your word," he replied: but he spokeabsent-mindedly, taking no steps toward departure. Granger grewimpatient; every moment thus wasted might lose him his chance ofmaking a decent exit from life. He had sought for so many things whichhe had not found, that he was now frenziedly covetous of attainingthis last success.
"Sergeant, you remember your promise to me that . . ."
Before he had finished his sentence, Shattuck broke in on himexcitedly, exclaiming, "By God, but it's you that it's wanting. Look,over there, down-river to the northeast."
Turning quickly about to the direction indicated, his eyes fell uponthe bend. There, standing a short way out from the bank on the ice, sothat he could see it clearly, was the figure of a man, _with themoonlight streaming through him_. Granger recognised him by histallness and uprightness. He was waving to him, seeing which he wavedback. As though he had been waiting for that permission, he began tomove up-river with incredible swiftness towards the Point. Having comewithin hailing distance he halted, and putting his hands to his mouthshouted, "Be brave! Be brave! It is only death."
Had Strangeways stepped out from his grave to taunt him with thefutility of his own words, which had been spoken to comfort him in hisdistress? The apparition was growing vaguer. Just before it vanished,it cried again and waved its hand, "Jesus of Galilee! Jesus Christ!"
The sound reached him faintly as a whisper. He thought that his ownmemory must have spoken till, turning round and scanning the othermen's faces, he saw that they also had heard.
"What was it that he said?" asked Eyelids.
"Sounded as though he was swearing," Shattuck replied.
But Granger and Antoine knew better; they knew that it was the deadlover giving his approval of this last act of the rival who was to diefor his death.
The sergeant required no further urging to hasten his departure.Descending to the river-bed, he harnessed in his huskies and set outup the Last Chance, taking with him the independent trader southwards,as he had so often desired,--but to be hanged.
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