The Heart of Unaga Part 62

"Why, surely, boy," he cried. "It don't seem to me there's a thing north of 60 to do me hurt."

The two men were standing in the doorway of the store, just where they had met. Outside were two dog trains newly drawn up, and four figures, stranger figures, were moving about them.

Inside the store the clamour of traffic went on undisturbed by the new arrival. Oolak, with his club, continued to shepherd the queer, squat creatures he despised. Julyman was at the rough counter at the command of An-ina, whose outward calm was a perfect mask for the feelings stirred at the unexpected return of Marcel. It was all so characteristic of these people, for all there were momentous words and happenings pa.s.sing, for all Marcel was conveying news of the threat to their lives which had brought him at such speed back to his home.

The older man, broad of shoulder, st.u.r.dy under his rough buckskin, was no match for the youngster who towered over him. And that which he lacked in stature was made up for in the undisturbed expression of his face. Marcel was urgent in his youthful grasp of the threat overshadowing. Steve, while apparently listening to him, seemed to be absorbed in the movements of the strangers beyond the door.

Marcel's story was a brief outline, almost disjointed. It was the story, roughly, as Keeko had brought it to him. He told of the purpose of the man Nicol, bribed by Lorson Harris to steal the secret of their trade.

He told of Nicol's confession to Keeko that he had located the whereabouts of the fort, and his purpose forthwith to raid it, and wipe out its occupants, and so earn the price of his crime. He told of Keeko's ultimate terror of this creature's proposals to herself and of the desperate nature of her flight from Fort Duggan to warn Marcel, and seek his protection.

It was all told without a thought for anything beyond the urgency of the threat, and his own youthful absorption in the girl who had taught him the meaning of love. In that supreme moment he had no thought for the thing that had driven Steve out into the winter wilderness, fighting the battle of his great purpose. He had no thought for the success or failure that had attended him. Steve was there in the flesh, the same "Uncle" Steve he had always known. It was sufficient. An-ina, too, was there, safe and well, and the sight of her had banished his worst anxieties. The lover's selfishness was his. Keeko was outside. She had come with him to his home. She had promised him the fulfilment of his man's great desire. Where then was the blame? Steve had no thought of blame in his mind. And An-ina? An-ina's complete happiness lay in the fact of her boy's return.

"Say, Uncle," Marcel cried in conclusion, with impulsive vehemence.

"It's been one h.e.l.l of a trip. It certainly has. And I'd say a feller don't know one haf the deviltry of this forsaken country till he's. .h.i.t it haf thawed."

"No." Steve smiled at the four figures he was watching as there flashed through his mind the recollection of the journey of a white man, and a woman, and two Indians, and a child at such a time of year a good many seasons ago.

"You're right, Uncle," Marcel went on, without observing the smile. "But it just needed a woman to show the way, I guess," he cried, in a wave of burning enthusiasm. "Keeko had us well-nigh hollering help from the start. She set the gait. She showed us the way. She guessed that warning needed to get through quick, with An-ina here alone. And she meant to save her if the work of it killed her. She's just the greatest ever.

She's the bravest, the best----"

Steve nodded.

"Yes. I guess she's all you say."

The older man's eyes had come back to the handsome face lit with pa.s.sionate enthusiasm. There was a twinkle of dry humour in them.

"I know, boy," he said gently. "I get all that. That's why I want to get right out now and hand her thanks and welcome to your home. Guess it's not my way to have folks who've made near five hundred miles to do me good service, standing around waiting while I'm asked to pa.s.s 'em welcome. Guess I want to shake this white girl, with the queer Indian name, by the hand. I want to make her just as welcome as I know how. Do you feel like helping me that way?"

In a moment a great laugh broke, through the shadow of disappointment that had fallen upon Marcel's eyes at the other's first words.

"You can just kick me, Uncle Steve," he cried. "You surely can. Guess I'm every sort of crazy fool, trying to tell you the thing that's Keeko's to tell. But I didn't think," he added, pa.s.sing a hand across his forehead. "I don't seem to be able to just now. You see--Say come right along."

"So you're--Keeko."

Marcel was standing by, looking on with a smiling happiness lighting his face. But he was not observing. Observation at such a moment was impossible to him. He was feasting his happy eyes on the girl's pretty face under the brown fur cap which had been tilted from her forehead. He was looking for her approval of Uncle Steve, and her smiling blue eyes seemed to him all sufficient.

Had he been less concerned with Keeko he must have discovered that which was looking out of Steve's eyes. It was a curious, searching look that had something startled in it. He must have become aware that, for all the older man's self-restraint, something was stirring within him, something that robbed him of a composure that the dangers and trials of the life that was his had on power to rob him of. Uncle Steve was smiling responsively, a gentle, kindly smile, but it was utterly powerless to deny the other expression.

Keeko withdrew her hands which had been held for a moment in both of Steve's.

"Yes," she said, something shyly. "I'm Keeko."

"Keeko." Steve's echo of the name was reflective. "It's a queer name."

The startled look had pa.s.sed out of his eyes. But his intent regard remained almost embarra.s.sing. Then, quite suddenly, as the girl turned a little helplessly, and her gaze settled itself upon the great figure of Marcel, he seemed to become aware this was so. He, too, promptly glanced away, taking in the three Indians standing beside the dogs.

"Here, say," he cried authoritatively. "Unhitch those dogs and fix the sleds. You boys best get the sleds unloaded."

Then he turned again to Keeko.

"I want to hand you a big show piece talk, Keeko," he said with quiet ease. "I want to say how glad I am you came along with this boy of ours, and to thank you for the things you figgered to do for us. I guess we aren't going to let the thought of this feller--Nicol--worry us grey.

And Lorson Harris, big as he may be in Seal Bay, don't cut much ice up here in the heart of Unaga. We've the measure of most things taken that's likely to hand us worry. There's a home right here for you, for just as long as you two fancy. I take it you've fixed things up between you. Guess it scared me when I first heard tell of you, and I don't need to tell you why I was scared. Now I've seen you it isn't that way. No,"

he added, in contemplative fas.h.i.+on. "I kind of thank Providence. He sent you where you found our boy, and later made things so you came along--to home. My dear, I'm just glad." Then he added in response to the wonderful light which his words brought into the girl's pretty eyes: "Say, just come right in. An-ina's inside. She'll get you rested and fed. And she'll hand you a mother's welcome, same as I do a--father's."

The girl made no movement to obey. The tenderness, the simple kindliness that rang in Steve's tones, was so utterly different from anything she had ever listened to in the hard years of nomadic life she had been forced to live. In contrast, the memory of her days at Fort Duggan left her shuddering. The memory of the pitiful subterfuges to which she and her dead mother had been forced to resort in the hope of saving her from the merciless hands of the beast of prey who had ruined so utterly their lives, was something that seemed to belong to some hideous nightmare.

For perhaps the first time since the iron of life had entered into her woman's soul she wanted to fall to a-weeping. In her speechlessness tears actually rose to her eyes. She was weary, weary of limb with the hards.h.i.+p of her journey. But now, in the reaction of Steve's welcome, she realized, too, an utter weariness of mind. But her tears were saved from overflowing. She looked to the smiling Marcel, and, with a little helpless gesture, held out her hands.

It was all so unlike the woman who had faced every hards.h.i.+p on the trail. It was all so unlike the strong courage which Marcel knew. He caught her hands in his, and drew her to his side. Then, together, they pa.s.sed on to the store, while Steve's eyes followed them, and the Indians remained at the work they had been set.

Once Keeko and Marcel had vanished within the store there was no longer need for disguise. Steve's smile pa.s.sed out of his eyes. A great light of startled wonder took its place. Unconsciously he turned in the direction of the store-house, concealing its great burden of Adresol--and that other.

For a while he stood there. Then a sound broke from him. It was a single, low-muttered word.

"Keeko!"

He moved away. He pa.s.sed on to the open gateway of the stockade and gazed far out towards the south-west. The sunlight upon the melting snow was well-nigh blinding. But it troubled him not at all. His eyes were no longer seeing. They were absorbed in a deep contemplation, visualizing scenes that rose up at him out of the dim, distant past. He was thinking of that moment of parting, when he had gazed down into the great blue eyes of his baby girl as she was held up to him by her erring mother.

"Keeko!" he muttered again. "Coqueline!" Then, after a long, almost interminable pause: "Nita!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE GREAT REWARD

Years ago Steve had drunk to the dregs a despair that left life shorn of everything but a desolate existence. The effect of that time had remained in him. It would remain so long as he lived. But it was a reverse of the picture which despairing human nature usually presents.

It had deepened the reserve of a nature at all times undemonstrative. It had hardened a will that was already of an iron quality. It had deepened and broadened a fine understanding of human nature, and finally it had succeeded in mellowing a tolerance that had always been his. For him those bitter moments had proved to be the cleansing fires which had produced nothing but pure gold.

Now the memory of those dread moments was stirring afresh. But despair had no place in the emotions it provoked. It was all the other extreme.

A world of glad hope had taken possession of him. A gladness unspeakable, almost overpowering. A great impulse drove him now. It was a sort of wild desire to yield to the amazing madness of it all, and cry from the house-tops of his little world all that was clamouring for unrestrained expression.

But the man had no more power to yield to this wild surge of feeling than he had had power to yield to the despair of former years. So, for a while, his voice remained silent, and only his lighting eyes gave index of the thought and feeling behind them.

With the departure of Marcel and Keeko for the mother welcome of An-ina, Steve also returned to the store. He came to release the willing creature, yearning for that moment when she could revel in the joy of the contemplation of her boy's happiness.

Steve took his place in the traffic that was going on, and nodded soberly to the eager, dusky woman.

"Get right along, An-ina," he said kindly. "Guess they're needing you."

"Oh, yes? Marcel--Keeko." An-ina's eyes lit.

"Sure--and Keeko."