The Triumph of John Kars Part 23

The Padre was climbing into a heavy overcoat. The night was chill enough, and the little missionary had more warmth in his heart than he had in his blood channels. He moved across to the door to do his part of the work, when Kars' voice arrested him.

"Say, Padre," he cried, "don't feel worried too much. Murray'll fix things."

His eyes were smiling as the priest turned and looked into them. Bill was smiling, too.

"They _are_ twenty miles back--on the river?"

The priest's demand was significant. The smiles of these men had raised a doubt in his mind.

"Sure."

"Then--the position's bad."

Bill Brudenell spoke for the first time.

"The post and Mission's safe--anyway. Murray'll see to that."

CHAPTER XV

FATHER JOSE PROBES

It was a startled community that awoke next morning at Fort Mowbray.

The news was abroad at the earliest hour, and it reached Jessie Mowbray in the kitchen, as she made her appearance to superintend the preparation of breakfast. The Indian wench told her, with picturesque embellishments, such as are reserved for the native tongue. Jessie listened to the story of the descent of the Bell River Indians to the region of the Fort with feelings no less disturbed than those of the colored woman. They were no longer mistress and servant. They were just two women confronting a common danger.

But the news of the arrival of John Kars, wounded, swiftly overwhelmed all other considerations in Jessie's mind. Breakfast was left in the hands of the squaw while the girl hastened to her mother's room.

Ailsa Mowbray listened to the girl's story with no outward signs of fear. She had pa.s.sed through the worst fires that could a.s.sail her a year ago. Nothing the warlike Indians could threaten now could reproduce the terror of that time.

The story of it came in a rush. But it was not until Jessie told of John Kars, and his wounded condition, that the real emotions of the moment were revealed. She implored her mother to permit her to go at once and minister to him, to learn the truth about his condition, to hear, first hand, of the catastrophe that had happened. Nor did she pa.s.sively yield to her mother's kindly admonishment.

"Why, child," she said, in her steady smiling way, "this country's surely got right into your veins. You're like an unbroken colt.

You're as wild as any of those kiddies you figger to teach over at the Mission. It's not for a child of mine to wait around on any man living. Not even John Kars. Guess he's got Dr. Bill and Father Jose, anyway. Maybe they'll get along over later."

The girl flushed scarlet.

"Oh, mother," she cried in distress, "don't--just don't think that way of me. I--love him, and wouldn't help it if I could. But he's sick.

Maybe he's sick to death. Men--men can't fix sick folk. They can't--sure."

The mother looked into the girl's eyes with gentle tolerance, and a certain amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Not even Dr. Bill, who's had sick folk on his hands most all his life?" she demanded. "Not even Jose, who's nursed half the kiddies at the Mission one time or another?" She shook her head. "Besides, you only know the things Susan's handed you out of her fool head. And when Susan talks, truth isn't a circ.u.mstance. I wouldn't say but what John Kars hasn't got shot up at all--till I see him."

For all her easy manner she was troubled. And when Jessie had taken herself back to the kitchen the ominous lines, which had gathered in her face since her husband's murder, deepened. Distress looked out of the eyes which gazed back at her out of her mirror as she stood before it dressing her hair in the simple fas.h.i.+on of her life.

Bell River! She had learned to hate and fear its very name. Her whole destiny, the destiny of all belonging to her seemed to be bound up in that fateful secret which had been her husband's, and to which she had been only partially admitted. Somehow she felt that the day must come when she would have to a.s.sert her position to Murray, and once and for all break from under the evil spell of Bell River, which seemed to hang over her life.

But the shadow of it all lifted when later in the day John Kars and Dr.

Bill presented themselves. Kars' wound was almost completely healed, and Jessie's delight knew no bounds. The mother reflected her daughter's happiness, and she found herself able to listen to the story of the adventures of these men without anything of the unease which had at first a.s.sailed her.

Their story was substantially that which had been told to Murray, and it was told with a matter-of-fact indifference, and made light of, in the strong tones of John Kars, on whom danger seemed to have so little effect. As Mrs. Mowbray listened she realized something of the strength of this man. The purpose in him. The absolute reliance with which he dealt with events as they confronted him. And so her thoughts pa.s.sed on to the girl who loved him, and she wondered, and more than ever saw the hopelessness of Murray's aspirations.

The men took their departure, and, at Kars' invitation, Jessie went with them to inspect their outfit. The mother was left gazing after them from the open doorway. For all the aging since her husband's death, she was still a handsome woman in her simple morning gown of a bygone fas.h.i.+on.

She watched the three as they moved away in the direction of the woodland avenue, which, years ago, she had helped to clear. Her eyes and thoughts were on the man, and the girl at his side. Bill had far less place in them.

She was thinking, and wondering, and hoping, as, perhaps, only a mother can hope. And so engrossed was she that she did not observe the approach of Father Jose, who came from the Indian camp amongst the straight-limbed pine woods. It was only when the little man spoke that she bestirred herself.

"A swell pair, ma'am," he said, pausing beside the doorway, his keen face smiling as his eyes followed the rapid gait of the girl striving to keep pace with her companion's long strides.

"You mean the men?"

There was no self-consciousness in Ailsa Mowbray. The priest shook his head.

"Jessie and Kars."

The woman's steady eyes regarded the priest for a moment.

"I--wonder what you're--guessing."

The priest's smile deepened.

"That you'd sooner it was he than--Murray McTavish."

The woman watched the departing figures as they pa.s.sed out of view, vanis.h.i.+ng behind the cutting where the trees stopped short.

"Is it to be--either of them?"

"Sure." The man's reply came definitely. "But Murray hasn't a chance.

She'll marry Kars, or no one around this Mission."

The woman sighed.

"I promised Murray to--that his cause shouldn't suffer at my hands.

Murray's a straight man. His interests are ours. Maybe--it would be a good thing."

"Then he asked you?"

The little priest's question came on the instant. And the glance accompanying it was anxious.

"Yes."

For some moments no word pa.s.sed between them. The woman was looking back with regret at the time when Murray had appealed to her. Father Jose was searching his heart to fortify his purpose.

Finally he shook his white head.