Murder Point: A Tale of Keewatin

  CHAPTER VI

  THE PURSUER ARRIVES

  He was awakened by a man bending over him and holding a lighted matchto his face. Careless as usual of preserving his life, he did notattempt to rise or defend himself, but simply gazed back indifferentand a little bewildered. He did not recognise the man; he was an utterstranger. As if wearied with an inspection which did not interest him,he turned his eyes away, and found that the room had become dark. Howmany hours he had slept, he could not calculate; perhaps nine or ten.He wondered what had made the night return so quickly. He lookedtoward the window, and saw that it was blinded with snow; and, as helistened, could hear the roaring of the wind, and, in the lull whichfollowed, the rustling and settling down of the flakes. Then the matchwent out, and neither of them could perceive the other's face. Grangerarose and pushed back the shutter of the stove, that so they might geta little light. "I needn't ask you to make yourself at home," he said;"you've done that already."

  The stranger did not reply, but surveyed him closely all the while.

  "You must have had good company out there to be so silent now that youhave arrived."

  Then the man spoke. "What's your name?" he asked abruptly. "Is itGranger?"

  "I was always told so, and have as yet found no good reason forbelieving otherwise."

  "Then this is the store of Garnier, Parwin, and Wrath, to which I wasdirected by Robert Pilgrim of God's Voice?"

  "That is right, but I don't often have the pleasure of entertainingguests from God's Voice."

  The stranger paused in doubt, as though choosing the best words tosay; then he blurted out, "But you're a gentleman?"

  "I hope so."

  "An Oxford man?"

  "Yes."

  "What college?"

  "Corpus."

  "Did you row in the Eight?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought so. At what time?"

  "When Corpus went up five places and bumped the House on the lastnight."

  "I was stroke in the 'Varsity boat that year, and rowed at six in theChrist Church Eight that night."

  "Then you must be Strangeways?"

  "Yes, Corporal Strangeways of the Northwest Mounted Police, butStrangeways of the Oxford boat at one time. I fancied I knew you; yourowed at seven for Corpus, and it was you who won that race."

  "I and seven others," laughed Granger; "but what brings you up here atthis time?"

  "We'll talk about that later. At present I'm hungry; I've hardly had ameal since I left God's Voice."

  "Then you're travelling in haste?"

  "Yes, in haste."

  Granger set to work to prepare a meal, while Strangeways talked to himof the Cornmarket, the Turl, and the Hinkseys, running over thefamiliar geography for the sheer pleasure of recalling kindly Oxfordnames. Presently he asked him if he remembered the little maid who hadserved in the river-inn of the King's Arms at Sanford. Granger had hada summer love-affair with that same maid, as had many a youngwater-man before and after him. One quiet Sunday evening, when herfickle passion had reached its short-lived height, he had even beenallowed the felicity of accompanying her to vespers at the quaint oldNorman Church, which lay snuggled away in woods behind the Thames.They had returned to the inn by a roundabout way, through the meadowsbeneath the twilight, speaking all manner of intense things, and, verywonderfully, believing both themselves and their sayings to besincere. When he had entered his skiff and pushed out from the bank,she had called him back and royally permitted him to give her hisfirst and, as it proved, only kiss. But he had not known that, and hadrowed elated Oxfordwards between the hayfields, dreaming his ecstasyon into the future--when it had already achieved its climax, andslipped out of his life. Since then it had come to seem very simpleand absurd, as do all love affairs, however august, which are liveddown--for no love affair was ever outlived. So, because he had beenfond of her, he was glad to listen to Strangeways, even when herelated her newer conquests over more recent undergrads, and her laterromantic history. By all accounts she was a modern Helen of Troy,uncontaminate, forever fair and forever juvenile.

  And all the while he was listening, Granger was planning by whatmeans he might detain Strangeways, and hazarding what progressSpurling had made by this time in his escape. "A life for a life," hethought; "and Spurling once saved my life. Until I have cancelled thatdebt, even though Mordaunt has been slain, I will stand by him."

  Throughout the winter months all meals were the same at Murder Point,consisting of black tea, salt bacon, and bannocks, which are a kind ofhard biscuit, made of flour and water mixed to a thick paste and thenbaked. This diet becomes pretty monotonous, but is the traveller'suniversal fare in Keewatin. In those far regions men are notparticular how or what they eat; of necessity they abandon therefinements of civilisation as needless and cumbrous. To-day, however,partly to protract his stay and so give Spurling time, partly toassert his waning gentility, the memory of which in its heydayStrangeways shared, he attempted to be lavish, to set a table, and toentertain. For cloth he spread a dress-length of gaudy muslin, such asIndians purchase for their squaws. He opened some tins of canned goodsthat he might provide his guest with more than one course. He built uphis fire, and commenced to cook. All this used up time; and theexpending of time was what he most desired.

  When the meal was finished Strangeways rose up restlessly, as thoughhe had just remembered his errand, and went to the door to see whatprogress the storm had made. The moment the door was opened the windswept in, driving a fall of snow before it.

  "It seems to me," said Granger, "that you're going to be snow-boundfor a time. This'll make travelling dangerous, for the thaw hasalready weakened the ice in places and now the snow'll cover themover, making them appear safe. It's strange, for blizzards don't oftenhappen so late as this."

  "Well, there's one comfort," said Strangeways, "it's the same for allalike; if I'm delayed, so is someone else."

  Granger turned his back on him, and walked over to the window where hestood tapping on the glass, attempting to dislodge the snow which hadspread itself out like a blanket across the panes. "Poor devil," hesaid, "I pity him, whoever he is. He can find no place of shelter inall the three hundred and twenty miles which stretch between God'sVoice and Crooked Creek, unless he comes here or falls in with sometrapper's camp."

  "Then you have had no one here lately?"

  "No, I haven't seen an Indian for over a month. They don't visit me solate in the winter as this; they wait for the open season, when theycan bring in their furs by water."

  "But the man I'm speaking of is white. He drives a team of five greyhuskies, the leader of which has a yellow face and a patch ofbrindled-brown upon its right hindquarters. Haven't you seen such anone go by within the last twenty-four hours?"

  Granger shook his head; "Perhaps you've passed him on the way," hesuggested; "if he knew that you were following him, he may have dodgedyou purposely and doubled back."

  "He knew all right; it was because he knew that I was following thathe fled. I can hardly have passed him, for he was seen by a half-breedten miles from God's Voice, and I've travelled slowly and kept acareful watch between there and here. Besides I tracked his trail towithin an hour's journey of the Point, until the snow came down andobliterated it. He was going weakly at the last; both man and dogsmust have been spent."

  "Then he must be somewhere to the westward, between the spot where youlost his trail and here."

  "Perhaps, but the argument against that is that his trail was at leasttwelve hours old. Anyhow, I shall have to wait until this blizzard isover. During that time he may struggle in from the west, or, if he hasgone by, may be driven back here for shelter by the gale."

  Granger had not thought of that contingency, that Spurling might bedriven back by the weather, might push open the door at any moment andgive him the lie before Strangeways. Perhaps a look of fear passedacross his face, which betrayed him. At any rate, the next thing heheard was Strangeways, saying to him in a careless voice, "Of course,between
gentlemen it is scarcely necessary to ask you whether you aretelling the truth!"

  "It is scarcely necessary."

  "Then I beg your pardon for asking."

  "You needn't. You've got to do your duty irrespective of caste;whatever I once was, you can see for yourself what I am."

  "Yes, a gentleman down on his luck; but still a gentleman. Strange howone gets knocked about by life, isn't it? I little thought when Icaught a glimpse of you, leaning on your oar exhausted at the end ofthat race, that the next time we should meet would be up here. It'scurious the things a fellow remembers. Our boats were alongside, justoff the Merton barge; the first thing I saw when I recovered and satup on my slide was your face, deadly pale, almost within hand-stretch.I don't recall ever to have seen you again until I struck that matchan hour ago and held it to you, and you opened your eyes; then it allcame back. When you were sleeping you looked haggard, just about thesame as you did then. If I'd seen you awake, I don't suppose I shouldhave remembered. . . . I didn't even know where Keewatin was in thosedays. If anyone had told me that it was a village near Jericho Ishould have believed him. I daresay you were nearly as ignorant; andnow we're here in your shack."

  Granger, anxious to keep Strangeway's attention from his pursuit, andhis own thoughts occupied, inquired, "And what brought you into theNorthwest Territories?"

  "Oh, the usual thing--a girl. She was ward to my father, and was toinherit a considerable property when she came of age. I was in lovewith her, and my father was keen that I should marry her; there wasonly one hindrance, that her opinion didn't coincide with ours. Ifound out that my father was trying to break her spirit, and force herto his will. I couldn't allow that; so, having nothing better to do, Ileft home and came to Canada for a while. Mind you, I'm not condemningmy father; he thought that he was doing the best for both our sakes.But I wish he'd left us alone; if he had, I daresay it would have comeout all right. She was one of those girls of whom the physiognomistssay, 'Can be led by kindness, but cannot be driven.' The moment shewas ordered to do a thing, which in the ordinary course of events shemight have chosen to do of her own free will, she refused and hatedit.

  "When I got to Montreal I was confronted by that stupid superstitionof the Canadians, that every young Englishman who has had a bettereducation than themselves, and is possessed of a private income fromthe old country, must be a remittance-man and a ne'er-do-well--thathe's been sent out because he wasn't wanted by his family. I tried toget employment; not that I needed it, but because I wanted to work.The moment I opened my lips and didn't speak dialect or slang, anddisplayed hands which were not workman's hands, I was shown out. So Idrifted west to Calgary and, after doing a little ranching there,enlisted in the Mounted Police."

  "Do you like it?"

  "Oh, yes, it's rather a lark, arresting the people who at firstaffected to despise you. I can always keep myself cheerful by thehumour of that. If you've lost your sense of the ridiculous, you'dbetter join the Northwest Mounted Police--for an Englishman the cure'scertain."

  "And how about the girl?"

  "She did a Gilbert and Sullivan trick. After I'd left home my fatherguessed the reason of my departure, and instead of giving her a rest,redoubled his efforts to make her marry me, that so he might bring meback. He was fond of both of us; we'd been brought up together, and hecouldn't bear the idea of either of us being separated from himself.He made an awful mess of things, poor old gentleman; he persecuted herwith his arguments to such an extent that one morning he woke up andfound that she had vanished. He made all sorts of inquiries, but tothe day of his death could never get any news of her whereabouts."

  Strangeways paused and commenced to light his pipe. Granger, who hadbecome interested in the story, waited a minute for him to proceed,but when he had kindled his tobacco and still sat smoking in silence,"Well, and what next?" he asked.

  "That is all," said Strangeways; "now tell me about yourself."

  "I went into the Klondike with the gold-rush of nearly five years ago.I travelled with a man named Spurling, and a young chap named JervisMordaunt, whom we chummed up with in our passage over the Skaguay." Hewas conscious that Strangeways had jerked out his foot and was lookinghard at him. He paid no attention to that, but proceeded leisurelywith his tale. He conceived that it would answer his purpose better,in order that he might make the corporal unsuspicious of his share inSpurling's escape, to speak of him in a hostile manner, and to mentionall the small and private faults which he could place to hisdiscredit. He told a story of personal disputes between himself andhis partners over the working of claims, which left the impressionthat Spurling and Mordaunt had always sided together against himself,and that finally he, getting sick of the climate, and quarrellings,and his continuous bad luck, had come outside, travelled to Winnipeg,and taken service with Garnier, Parwin, and Wrath, because he was indanger of starving. Of El Dorado, or his real reason for leaving theYukon, he said nothing.

  When he had ended, Strangeways, who had never for a second removed hisgaze, inquired in a hoarse, strained voice, "And this man Mordaunt,what was he like?"

  "Oh, he was a slim little fellow; we nicknamed him 'The Girl' becauseof his ways, and because he was so slight."

  "How old was he?"

  "He couldn't have been more than eighteen when we first met him, forhe never had to shave."

  "Did he ever tell you anything about himself, where he came from, whowere his family, or anything like that?"

  "Not that I remember; he was always very close about himself. But whatmakes you ask these questions? Do you think that you recognise him?"

  Strangeways rose up and paced the room, betraying his agitation, butwhen he spoke his voice was level and restrained. "By God, I hopenot," he said.

  Every moment Granger dreaded that he would hear him say that Mordauntwas dead, and yet he wanted certainty. He watched Strangeways pacingup and down, and longed to question him, yet was fearful that in sodoing he would betray his own secret. At last he could bear thesuspense no longer; that regular walking to and fro tortured him, itwas like the constant swinging of a pendulum and made him giddy tolook at. When he spoke, it was in a voice so shrill that it surprisedhimself.

  "Tell me once and for all," he cried, "has anything happened to him?Is he dead?"

  Strangeways halted, and regarded him with a look half-stern,half-compassionate.

  "As for Spurling, you hated him, did you not?" he inquired.

  Granger clenched his hands and his voice trembled. "I hated him somuch," he said, "that there were times when I would gladly have struckhim dead."

  "Then, why didn't you?"

  Granger started; the question was spoken so fiercely, and was sosearching and direct. It aroused him to a sense of his danger, andhelped him to recover himself.

  "In the first place you would have hanged me, and in the second therewas Mordaunt." As soon as he had said it, he knew that he had made aslip.

  "And why Mordaunt?"

  He hesitated a minute, gathering himself together. He could feel thescrutiny of Strangeways' eyes and was conscious that he was breathinghard.

  The question was repeated, "And why Mordaunt?"

  "Because Mordaunt was such a clean fellow that I couldn't do anythingshabby in his presence," he said.

  "How clean?" Strangeways persisted.

  "Why, in every way; he was so honourable."

  "But I thought you said just now that he always sided with Spurlingwhen it came to a dispute?"

  "So he did in a sense. He never seemed to think that the thing wequarrelled about was worth while, and treated it all with a well-bredcontempt. Spurling was usually the one who was unjust, and I the onewho complained; so I was usually the one to start the wrangle.Therefore, though he despised Spurling, he always seemed to blame mefor my pettiness."

  Strangeways turned on him his honest, manly gaze, as if he were aboutto ask again, "Is that the truth?" But he did not say it. Granger felta cur for lying, but he was determined to fight for Spurling's life,an
d, if that were necessary, for his own revenge.

  "And you have not seen Spurling go by the Point?" asked Strangeways.

  "No." He said it quite ordinarily, as if he were answering acommonplace. Then he realised that he had been caught in a trap andhad not manifested enough surprise. He slowly raised up his eyes,shame-facedly, like a schoolboy detected cribbing, when the mastersteals up behind.

  "I'm afraid, after all, that you are not a gentleman," was all thatStrangeways said.

  Granger shrank back and flushed as if he had been struck across theface; he did not attempt to defend himself or expostulate. The windhad died down outside; it was evident that the storm had spent itself.In the silence which followed he could hear the padding steps of thehuskies going round the house, and the sound of them sniffing aboutthe door. Strangeways, who had been fastening on his snowshoespreparatory to departure, walked across the room and raised the latch.He stepped out, leaving the door open behind him. A bar of moonlightleapt instantly inside, as it had been a fugitive who had been keptlong waiting. Then he heard the voice of Strangeways calling,"Granger, Granger."

  He rose up hurriedly, thinking that perhaps Spurling had been drivenback by the blizzard and was returning to his danger. When he reachedthe threshold he saw only this--the moon tossing restlessly in acloudy sky, shining above a shadowy land of white; Strangewaysstanding twenty paces distant with his back towards him; and, seatedon their haunches between Strangeways and the threshold, five lankgrey huskies, one of which had a patch of brindled-brown upon itsright hindquarters and a yellow face.