Menotah Part 49

Dave rubbed his coa.r.s.e hand along the girl's smooth neck. 'They don't get her from Dave Spencer. We'll walk our chalks when we hear the bullet stoppers coming.'

Menotah stirred slightly, while a faint groan burst from her lips.

Slowly she was returning from the bliss of insensibility to the awful dreariness of life. Then the Factor bethought himself of offering a.s.sistance to Marie.

So he s.n.a.t.c.hed the bottle from the unwilling Dave, came over and touched her awkwardly on the shoulder. Not for years had he spoken with a 'civilised' woman.

'No darned use in crying, far as I can see.'

Marie dropped her handkerchief a little, but made no reply.

'I reckon tears are sort of unsatisfactory.'

Still no answer.

McAuliffe grew desperate. 'Never mind Lamont. He's not worth troubling over, anyway. See here! this is first-cla.s.s whisky. Have a good pull at it. It'll make you feel fine and comfortable.'

He rubbed his coat sleeve over the neck, then pushed it close to her mouth.

Then she raised an angry flushed face. 'Leave me alone!' she cried.

'You'll have a drink?' said the Factor, blankly. 'It's fine whisky; I'm not fooling.'

'I don't want it,' she said, with a pa.s.sionate movement.

This rendered McAuliffe speechless. The person who refused a drink of good whisky was, in his estimation, something worse than a criminal.

'If you want to do something for me,' continued Marie, 'you can take her out of the house. She has no business here.'

'Reckon none of us have,' the Factor managed to exclaim. Then he comforted himself secretly by means of the rejected bottle.

Here Sinclair b.u.t.toned up his coat and announced his intention of going down to the river. Menotah had sufficiently recovered to walk, so Dave, with a stubborn determination not to have her captured, proposed they should return to the hotel and learn final results the next day.

The others agreed. 'How about you, though?' asked Sinclair.

Marie saw she had been addressed. 'I shall stay here,' she said fiercely. 'I want to learn whether the soldiers have caught that traitor. To-morrow I can go home.'

'She's provided for,' muttered the Factor. 'Come on, Captain. Dave's got his gal.'

They went down the slippery wooden steps, while silence fell again over the frame house where human pa.s.sion had raged so fiercely that night.

Three men, heated with running, wet to the skin by the heavy rain, came to the shelving bank of the Red River. About three minutes earlier another runner had reached that spot. Without hesitation, he had ploughed a rapid course through the mud reach and sought the deeper water. The former had arrived in time to see the latter swimming towards the opposite sh.o.r.e, putting all the force he could muster into the arm strokes.

They stopped at the edge of the mud, with the knowledge that the adventurer had beaten them.

Lightning still played softly across the heavens. The officer pulled his revolver, then fired shot after shot into the deceptive red glow, glimmering over the waters round the indistinct and distant swimmer.

With the shot that emptied the chamber they saw the fugitive drag himself to land by aid of the long willows which swept the stream. For a moment he paused at the foot of the tree-spread bank, to coolly wave his hand in their direction by way of farewell. The next minute he was swallowed up by the dark, pathless line of bush.

'No good following him there,' muttered one of the men resignedly.

The officer swore softly to himself. 'Follow! I should say not. He's as good a bushman as any _nitchi_!

Sullenly they began to retrace their steps, the officer wondering how he could summon courage to face his superiors; but before they had gone far they came across the hunter, tramping stolidly along the rapidly miring trail.

'Where is he?' cried the latter eagerly, as he recognised them.

The officer was sulkily silent, but one of the men answered for him.

'Safe in the bush.'

The hunter's face fell, for he had allowed himself to hope a capture might be made in the mud flats.

'Well, well,' he muttered savagely, as he joined the small band and tramped dismally back with them, 'the White Chief has escaped. That's the devil's business.'

Lamont did not penetrate very far into the dripping bush. He knew there could be no search before daybreak, and by that time he would be in a place of absolute safety. So he rested for some time beneath a bluff of black poplar, the while he planned his future course of action.

There were plenty of friendly half-breeds in the immediate vicinity. In one of these huts or dug-outs he could safely hide for a day or so, with his former disguise resumed. For he could make up and act the part of the native Indian to the life. Then he would steal or borrow a _s.h.a.ganappi_ pony and ride some night to the States, only forty miles distant in a bee-line across prairie. After, he would escape from that continent at his leisure.

'There's a rising in Brazil,' he muttered thoughtfully. 'That will be a good place for me to try my hand in next. A new rifle, and then for the strongest side. Besides, there are fine women among the Creoles.'

He laughed quietly to himself in the glory of this unexpected freedom and new life, then gathered up a handful of the clammy red clay which had earlier given the great river its name. He squeezed forth the moisture, then rubbed the soft slime across his features.

Next he sc.r.a.ped some powder from the roots of the black poplar and applied this also in carefully arranged markings. The change was startling. It would have required a very keen eye to have penetrated that disguise. Then he made his cautious way into the bush, destroying his trail as he went. There were no bloodhounds in Garry, very few Indians or breeds would lend a.s.sistance to track the White Chief Even so, none of them were better bushmen than himself. He was entirely safe from pursuit.

Once he thought of Menotah, but then he only laughed at the weak foolishness of a loving woman; he thought, indeed, more of Marie, but then he frowned with a longing to get her again within his power.

So he pa.s.sed on until he came to a place of shelter.

Shortly before autumn, he made safe landing at Rio Janeiro.

CHAPTER X

McAULIFFE'S RESOLUTION

By the side of the Great Saskatchewan it was darkness and chill evening, with dead leaves spreading upon grey rocks, and sharp sting of frost along the breeze. For winter was again drawing near, closing round the land that year earlier than usual. The following day would witness the departure of the last boat, and after that dreary event the days would roll monotonously one into the other, until it became a matter of difficulty to reckon the actual flight of weeks. Christmas and New Year would pa.s.s unrecognised, the February blizzards would shriek, and the ice hills raise snowy caps to a leaden sky. Thus all would remain in desolation, until spring, rising with warm breaths from south and west, should disperse the snow palaces, break the ice fetters and bring new life to earth.

Within the fort a light shone dully. Presently the door opened and McAuliffe appeared. Somewhat wearily he gazed at the heaving line of bush ahead, with the black points of rock between. Soon he perceived the full moon, just rising above the tree tops, defining strongly the tapering summit of each sombre pine. He s.h.i.+vered, then b.u.t.toned his worn coat tightly. The frost crept noiselessly along, stiffening each gra.s.s blade, while not an insect stirred down the biting air.

Ma.s.sive in proportion though the Factor still was, he appeared thinner than on that well remembered night of the fight. Also a careworn expression had settled over his face, while the grey in hair and beard was certainly more p.r.o.nounced. When he stepped out to the open and commenced to pace up and down, it might have been noticed that his step had lost much of its former briskness, that the body leaned forward at a decided angle. He was growing elderly now, and neglected to give the body such care and attention as the years demanded.

A few hours earlier, he and Dave Spencer had quarrelled with such bitterness that Justin had been compelled to interfere. Menotah was the bone of contention. She had prevailed upon Dave to bring her back across the lake, that she might bid a last farewell to the land of her fathers.

Then she would return with him to Selkirk, as the slave to do his unpleasant bidding. The time had now arrived. The boat was about to leave, so Dave had commanded the girl to be in readiness to sail with him early on the following morning. She had consented, asking only a single favour--that he would give her that last night entirely to herself. She wished to sleep in the hut, where she had spent the happiest days of youth; to go over again each hallowed spot; to revisit the inanimate objects, each of which brought back some sacred a.s.sociation. _In the morning she would be his, and he might do with her whatsoever he desired._

When sober, McAuliffe's heart was large and sympathetic. He was sorry for the changed girl in his rough way, also secretly disgusted at the constant manner of Dave's bullying. Besides, he did not want to lose her from his district. So, as absolute despot of that part of the country, he had ordered Dave to relinquish his claims. The natural result followed, and the Factor came very near to smas.h.i.+ng Dave up, as he had threatened. The sequel was that Dave, ejected from the fort after the manner of Denton, found himself compelled to seek shelter for the night within the boat.