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  CHAPTER XIX

  "D'YOU WONDER SHE HATES ME?"

  To Morse came Angus McRae with the right hand of friendship the dayafter the battle in the log house.

  Eyes blue as Highland lochs fastened to those of the fur-trader. "Lad,I canna tell ye what's in my heart. 'The Lord bless thee, and keepthee. The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious untothee. The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give theepeace.'"

  Tom, embarrassed, made light of the affair. "Lucky I wasJohnnie-on-the-Spot."

  The old Scot shook his head. "No luck sent ye back to hear theskreigh o' the lass, but the whisper of the guid Father withoot whosepermission not even a sparrow falls to the ground. He chose you as theinstrument. I'll never be forgettin' what you did for my dawtie, TomMorse. Jess will have thankit you, but I add mine to hers."

  In point of fact Jessie had not thanked him in set words. She had beenin too great an agitation of spirit to think of it. But Morse did notsay so.

  "Oh, that's all right. Any one would have done it. Mighty glad I wasnear enough. Hope she doesn't feel any worse for the shock."

  "Not a bit. I'm here to ask ye to let bygones be bygones. I've nurseda grudge, but, man, it's clean, washed oot o' my heart. Here's myhand, if you'll tak it."

  Tom did, gladly. He discovered at the same moment that the sun wasstriking sparks of light from a thousand snow crystals. It was a goodworld, if one only looked for the evidence of it.

  "The latchstring is always oot for you at the hame of Angus McRae.Will you no' drap in for a crack the nicht?" asked the trapper.

  "Not to-night. Sometime. I'll see." Tom found himself in the positionof one who finds open to him a long-desired pleasure and is too shy toavail himself of it immediately. "Have you seen Whaley yet to-day?" heasked, to turn the subject.

  The hunter's lip grew straight and grim. "I have not. He's no' at thestore. The clerk says a messenger called for him early this mornin'and he left the clachan at once. Will he be hidin' oot, do you think?"

  Tom shook his head. "Not Whaley. He'll bluff it through. The fellow'snot yellow. Probably he'll laugh it off and say he was only stealin' akiss an' that Miss Jessie was silly to make a fuss about it."

  "We'll let it go at that--after I've told him publicly what I think o'him."

  Where Whaley had been nobody in Faraway knew. When he returned atsunset, he went direct to the store and took off his snowshoes. He wasknocking the packed and frozen slush from them at the moment AngusMcRae confronted him.

  The trader laughed, from the lips, just as Tom had prophesied he woulddo. "I reckon I owe you an apology, McRae," he said. "That li'l'wild-cat of yours lost her head when I jollied her and Morse broke thedoor down like the jackass he is."

  The dressing-down that Angus McRae gave Whaley is still rememberedby one or two old-timers in the Northwest. In crisp, biting words hefreed his mind without once lapsing into profanity. He finished with awarning. "Tak tent you never speak to the lass again, or you an' me'llcome to grips."

  The storekeeper heard him out, a sneering smile on his white face.Inside, he raged with furious anger, but he did not let his feelingscome to the surface. He was a man who had the patience to wait forhis vengeance. The longer it was delayed, the heavier would it be. Acharacteristic of his cold, callous temperament was that he took fireslowly, but, once lit, his hate endured like peat coals in a grate. Avain man, his dignity was precious to him. He writhed at the defeatMorse had put upon him, at his failure with Jessie, at the scornfulpublic rebuke of her father. Upon all three of these some day he wouldwork a sweet revenge. Like all gamblers, he followed hunches. Soon,one of these told him, his chance would come. When it did he wouldmake all three of them sweat blood.

  Beresford met Tom Morse later in the day. He cocked a whimsical eye atthe fur-trader.

  "I hear McRae's going to sue you for damages to his house," he said.

  "Where did you hear all that?" asked his friend, apparently busyinspecting a half-dozen beaver furs.

  "And Whaley, for damages to his internal machinery. Don't you know youcan't catapult through a man's tummy with a young pine tree and notinjure his physical geography?" the constable reproached.

  "When you're through spoofin' me, as you subjects of the Queen callit," suggested Tom.

  "Why, then, I'll tell you to keep an eye on Whaley. He doesn't loveyou a whole lot for what you did, and he's liable to do you up firstchance he gets."

  "I'm not lookin' for trouble, but if Whaley wants a fight--"

  "He doesn't--not your kind of a fight. His idea will be to have youfoul before he strikes. Walk with an eye in the back of your head.Sleep with it open, Don't sit at windows after lamps are lit--notwithout curtains all down. Play all your cards close." The red-coatspoke casually, slapping his boot with a small riding-switch. He wassmiling. None the less Tom knew he was in dead earnest.

  "Sounds like good advice. I'll take it," the trader said easily."Anything more on your chest?"

  "Why, yes. Where did Whaley go to-day? What called him out of town ona hurry-up trip of a few hours?"

  "Don't know. Do you?"

  "No, but I'm a good guesser."

  "Meanin'?"

  "Bully West. Holed up somewhere out in the woods. A fellow came inthis morning and got Whaley, who snowshoed back with him at once."

  Tom nodded agreement. "Maybeso. Whaley was away five or six hours.That means he probably traveled from eight to ten miles out."

  "Question is, in what direction? Nobody saw him go or come--at least,so as to know that he didn't circle round the town and come in fromthe other side."

  "He'll go again, with supplies for West. Watch him."

  "I'll do just that."

  "He might send some one with them."

  "Yes, he might do that," admitted Beresford. "I'll keep an eye onthe store and see what goes out. We want West. He's a cowardlymurderer--killed the man who trusted him--shot him in the back. Thiscountry will be well rid of him when he's hanged for what he did topoor Tim Kelly."

  "He's a rotten bad lot, but he's dangerous. Never forget that," warnedthe fur-buyer. "If he ever gets the drop on you for a moment, you'regone."

  "Of course we may be barking up the wrong tree," the officer reflectedaloud. "Maybe West isn't within five hundred miles of here. Maybe heheaded off another way. But I don't think it. He had to get back towhere he was known so as to get an outfit. That meant either thiscountry or Montana. And the word is that he was seen coming this wayboth at Slide Out and crossing Old Man's River after he made hisgetaway."

  "He's likely figurin' on losin' himself in the North woods."

  "My notion, too. Say, Tom, I have an invitation from a young lady foryou and me. I'm to bring you to supper, Jessie McRae says. To-night.Venison and sheep pemmican--and real plum pudding, son. You're tosmoke the pipe of peace with Angus and warm yourself in the smiles ofMiss Jessie and Matapi-Koma. How's the programme suit you?"

  Tom flushed. "I don't reckon I'll go," he said after a moment'sdeliberation.

  His friend clapped an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "Cards down,old fellow. Spill the story of this deadly feud between you and Jessieand I'll give you an outside opinion on it."

  The Montanan looked at him bleakly. "Haven't you heard? If youhaven't, you're the only man in this country that hasn't."

  "You mean--about the whipping?" Beresford asked gently.

  "That's all," Morse answered bitterly. "Nothing a-tall. I merely hadher horsewhipped. You wouldn't think any girl would object to that,would you?"

  "I'd like to hear the right of it. How did it happen?"

  "The devil was in me, I reckon. We were runnin' across the line thatconsignment of whiskey you found and destroyed near Whoop-Up. She cameon our camp one night, crept up, and smashed some barrels. I caughther. She fought like a wild-cat." Morse pulled up the sleeve of hiscoat and showed a long, ragged scar on the arm. "Gave me that as alil' souvenir to remember her by. You see, she was afraid I'd take herback to camp. So she fo
ught. You know West. I wouldn't have taken herto him."

  "What did you do?"

  "After I got her down, we came to terms. I was to take her to McRae'scamp and she was to be horsewhipped by him. My arm was hurtin' likesin, and I was thinkin' her only a wild young Injun."

  "So you took her home?"

  "And McRae flogged her. You know him. He's Scotch--and thorough. Itwas a sickening business. When he got through, he was white as snow. Ifelt like a murderer. D'you wonder she hates me?"

  Beresford's smile was winning. "Is it because she hates you that shewants you to come to supper to-night?"

  "It's because she's in debt to me--or thinks she is, for of course sheisn't--and wants to pay it and get rid of it as soon as she can. Itell you, Win, she couldn't bear to touch my hand when she gave me thekey to the storehouse the other night--laid it down on the table forme to pick up. It has actually become physical with her. She'd shudderif I touched her. I'm not going to supper there. Why should I takeadvantage of a hold I have on her generosity? No, I'll not go."

  And from that position Beresford could not move him.

  After supper the constable found a chance to see Jessie alone. She wasworking over the last touches of the gun-case.

  "When it's finished who gets it?" he asked, sitting down gracefully onthe arm of a big chair.

  She flashed a teasing glance at him. "Who do you think deserves it?"

  "I deserve it," he assured her at once. "But it isn't the deservingalways who get the rewards in this world. Very likely you'll give itto some chap like Tom Morse."

  "Who wouldn't come to supper when we asked him." She lifted steady,inquiring eyes. "What was the real reason he didn't come?"

  "Said he couldn't get away from the store because--"

  "Yes, I heard that. I'm asking for the real reason, Win."

  He gave it. "Tom thinks you hate him and he won't force himself onyour generosity."

  "Oh!" She seemed to be considering that.

  "Do you?"

  "Do I what?"

  "Hate him."

  She felt a flush burning beneath the dusky brown of her cheeks. "Ifyou knew what he'd done to me--"

  "Perhaps I do," he said, very gently.

  Her dark eyes studied him intently. "He told you?"

  "No, one hears gossip. He hates himself because of it. Tom's white,Jessie."

  "And I'm Indian. Of course that does make a difference. If he'd had awhite girl whipped, you couldn't defend him," she flamed.

  "You know I didn't mean that, little pal." His sunny smile wasdisarming. "What I mean is that he's sorry for what he did. Why notgive him a chance to be friends?"

  "Well, we gave him a chance to-night, didn't we? And he chose not totake it. What do you want me to do--go and thank him kindly for havingme whipped?"

  Beresford gave up with a shrug. He knew when he had said enough. Someday the seed he had dropped might germinate.

  "Wouldn't it be a good idea to work a W.B. on that case?" he askedwith friendly impudence. "Then if I lost it, whoever found it couldreturn it."

  "I don't give presents to people who lose them," she parried.

  Her dancing eyes were very bright as they met his. She loved the trimlines of his clean beautiful youth and the soul expressed by them.

  Matapi-Koma waddled into the room and the Mounted Policemantransferred his attention to her. She weighed two hundred twelvepounds, but was not sensitive on the subject. Beresford claimedanxiously that she was growing thin.

  The Indian woman merely smiled on him benignantly. She liked him, asall women did. And she hoped that he would stay in the country andmarry Sleeping Dawn.