<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">CHAPTER XIX</h2>
<p class="pch">HUSBAND AND WIFE</p>
<p class="drop-cap05"><span class="beg">IT WAS THE</span> end of the day, and Joy Gargrave,
kneeling down on a litter of young spruce
boughs, in the shadow of a wind screen,
stretched her mittened hands towards the fire.
Then she removed her face mask and looked at her
foster-sister, who having changed her moccasins
was placing the pair she had worn through the day
near the fire where they would dry slowly.</p>
<p>“Tired, Babette?”</p>
<p>“Not more than ordinary,” was the reply,
“though I will own to having found those last two
miles against the wind a little trying.”</p>
<p>They had been travelling for a week, and were
growing used to the evil of the trail. Body stiffness
no longer troubled them, and having been inured
to the task from childhood, the agony of cramp
brought on by snow-shoe work was unknown to
them, the hard exercise of the trail inducing no
more than a healthy tiredness at the end of the
day. Joy stretched herself luxuriously on the
spruce, and looked round. The darkness of the
woods was behind them, and in front the waste of
snow showed dimly. In the circle of firelight the
Indian George was preparing the evening meal,
whilst his son Jim was feeding the dogs. The girl<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</SPAN></span>
watched them meditatively for a moment or two,
then she spoke to Miss La Farge—</p>
<p>“A little different to the Ritz, Babette!”</p>
<p>Babette looked up from the steaming moccasins.</p>
<p>“What do you mean, Joy?”</p>
<p>Joy waved her hand in a half circle. “Why,
everything—the trees, the snow, the darkness, the
dogs, the camp-fire, George and Jim, and you and I
like a couple of Dianas.”</p>
<p>Babette laughed and looked round appreciatively.
“It makes me think of a picture which I
saw when we were in London. It had a fancy
name—’When the World was Young,’ or something
like that—and whoever painted it knew the
wilderness well. It is, as you say, a little different
to the Ritz—and ever so much better. I wonder
how long we shall be on trail, not that I’m tired of
it. Even hard work has its pleasures and compensations.”</p>
<p>“I do not know how long we shall be. I am content
that we are on the right trail. The strange
Indian with whom George talked today told a
story of a white man, an officer of police, who had
been taken to the winter camp of his tribe with a
broken leg. The leg had healed, and the officer
had departed ten days ago on the trail of a bad
white man, and he went Northward. From the
description given the officer was almost certainly
Corporal Bracknell, and I have an idea that he may
have news of Dick Bracknell and be following his
trail, in which case I pray that we may come up with
him soon; for if there was trouble between them,
and the Corporal killed his cousin, it would be a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</SPAN></span>
very terrible thing, in view of the situation as regards
the succession to Harrow Fell.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” answered Miss La Farge slowly, “but it
is no use shutting one’s eyes to facts. The death
of Dick Bracknell would be a relief to many people—yourself
included!”</p>
<p>“It would be no relief to me if Dick Bracknell
died by his cousin’s hand,” answered Joy in a low
voice. “It would be quite terrible; it is more than
I dare contemplate.”</p>
<p>“Why?” As Babette La Farge shot the question
at her foster-sister she looked at her keenly,
and saw a wave of warm blood surge over the beautiful
face, and as she saw it her own grew suddenly
tender. “No,” she added hurriedly, “don’t answer
the question, Joy. There is no need. I can
guess the answer, which I am sure you would not
give me. I think you are right—for everybody’s
sake nothing must happen between those two men.
At all costs that must be prevented.”</p>
<p>She dropped the moccasins, took a couple of
steps forward, and stopping, kissed Joy’s warm
cheek. “My dear,” she said, “you must not
worry. Time will unravel this dreadful tangle,
and after all you are young yet.”</p>
<p>Joy looked up at her trying bravely to smile, but
there was the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes.
She was about to speak, when the servant George
announced that supper was ready, and she contented
herself with a glance that was full of love
and gratitude.</p>
<p>The next morning, just before they broke camp
the younger Indian, who had been out inspecting<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</SPAN></span>
the trail, returned with news. He had been a
little way up the river and had encountered a
strange Indian in the act of taking a marten from a
trap. He had talked with this man, and when the
latter had heard who his mistress was he had betrayed
considerable excitement, and had asked him
to wait for him a little time, as he might have a
message for his mistress. He had gone away, and
a little later had returned and had then told Jim
that his master—a white man—was lying sick in a
cabin on a creek a little way up the river, and that
he earnestly desired that Miss Gargrave would go
and speak with him.</p>
<p>“Did he give his master’s name?” asked Joy, as
a quick hope awoke within her.</p>
<p>“No, Miss, but he hav’ yours; he say you know
him. And I wonder if he is the man we seek.”</p>
<p>Joy also wondered, wondered and hoped, and
after consideration she nodded her head. “Yes, I
will go and see this man. He may be Corporal
Bracknell, or he may have seen him recently. In
any case it is a Christian charity to visit any
stricken white man in this desolate bush, and it will
mean only a short delay. Where is the creek,
Jim?”</p>
<p>“Up the river a little way, miss. The man he
waits at the point where it joins the river.”</p>
<p>“Then Miss La Farge and I will go on ahead,
and you can come on behind, and if you do not
overtake us, you can await us at the mouth of the
creek.”</p>
<p>The two girls started off, and presently reached
the creek, where stamping his feet in the snow,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</SPAN></span>
Dick Bracknell’s man, Joe, awaited them. Both
of them glanced at him keenly, but he was a
stranger to them, and then Joy addressed him.</p>
<p>“Your master, where is he?”</p>
<p>The Indian pointed up the creek. “Him sick
man, I take you to him!”</p>
<p>Without waiting for further words the man
turned in his tracks and swung up the creek at such
a pace that the two girls had hard work to keep up
with him. Joy questioned the man as to his master’s
name, but the man either did not or would not
understand, for he merely shook his head, and
pressed forward. In a few minutes they reached
the little cabin at the edge of the trees, and maintaining
a wooden face, the Indian swung the door
open and motioned them to enter.</p>
<p>Joy pressed forward eagerly with her foster-sister
at her heels. The Indian softly closed the
door behind them, an evil smile wrinkling his
scarred face, then going to the rear of the hut, a
moment later he appeared with a bow and some
arrows in his hand, and entering the shadow of the
trees, he began to walk towards the mouth of the
creek.</p>
<p class="pn">... As she entered the cabin Joy Gargrave
looked quickly about her. The only light came
through a parchment window and from the improvised
stove, and in the semi-darkness, at first, she
could see nothing. But after a moment she discerned
a tall figure standing but a little way from
her. The face was in shadow, and she could not
make out the features, but as her eyes fell on him,
the man gave vent to a thin, choking laugh.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Good morning, my dear Joy! This is an unexpected
pleasure!”</p>
<p>At the sound of the voice Joy started, and with
a dawning fear in her eyes leaned forward and
stared into the haggard face before her. As she
did so, her fear increased, and she asked suddenly,
“Who are you, that you should address me in that
way?”</p>
<p>“Then you do not recognize me?” asked the
voice mockingly. “I am not surprised. Time has
wrought inevitable changes—but of course, it does
not change the constant heart. Look again, my
dear, and you will see——”</p>
<p>Overwhelming fear surged in the girl’s heart.
She knew who this haggard man was; indeed, she
had known from the first word that he had spoken,
and now she turned abruptly towards the door as if
to flee. The door was closed, and as she stretched
a hand towards the wooden latch, the thin cackling
laugh broke out again.</p>
<p>“The door is fastened, my dear Joy—on the
outside. I remember how you ran from me at
Alcombe, and when I arranged this joyous meeting,
I foresaw that you might be startled, that you
might try to repeat that old folly; therefore I
took steps—and my man Joe keeps the door outside.
But I am glad to see you, dear wife, most
unfeignedly glad to see you, and there is no need
that you should hurry away; indeed, I am afraid
that until I give permission for you to go, you will
have to remain here.”</p>
<p>“What do you want?” asked Joy, striving in
vain to keep her voice steady.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“What do I want?” there was an accent of mock
surprise in Dick Bracknell’s voice as he echoed the
question, and then he laughed again in a way that
made the girl shiver. “What a question to ask a
husband who has not seen his wife since his marriage
morning! Really, my dear, such a question
ought to be quite unnecessary.”</p>
<p>He broke off as his cough took him, and for
perhaps half a minute he was shaken by it, and
could not speak. When he resumed it was in a
different tone.</p>
<p>“Sit down,” he said, “I want to talk to you,
and there is no need that you stand on ceremony
in your husband’s house. I regret the scarcity of
chairs, but there is a log by the fire there—and if
you will accept the advice of an expert you will
throw off your furs.... You won’t? Well, self-will
is one of the characteristics of your sex, and no
doubt you will please yourself. But all the same
allow me to express my gratitude to you that you
should have left your home in mid-winter to come
and look for me. Such solicitude is beyond what I
had ex——”</p>
<p>“I was not looking for you,” Joy broke in.
“You are the last person I was expecting to meet!”</p>
<p>“Is that so?” The mockery had gone out of
Bracknell’s voice now, and there was a dangerous
ring in it. The eyes in the haggard face were blazing,
and to both the girls it was clear that he had
much ado to keep himself in hand. “You dare to
tell me that—me, your lawful husband? Perhaps
you will tell me for whom you did leave your<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</SPAN></span>
home then? Whom you were following and seeking
on a winter trail?”</p>
<p>Joy felt her face flush suddenly. Could she tell
him? she asked herself, and immediately her mind
answered “No!” In the wild mood that was on
him Dick Bracknell would be sure to put a false
interpretation on any explanation that she might
offer him. Realizing this she was silent, and a
moment later he broke out again, wrathfully—</p>
<p>“You won’t tell me? You’re ashamed to tell
me, I suppose. But accept my assurances that
there is no need. I already know. My cousin
Roger is the favoured man, is he not? You start
at that! Then it is all true what I have heard,
that not only is he to supplant me at Harrow Fell,
but in my wife’s affections also? Well, that is not
going to happen. I will have Harrow Fell and
you also—and you first, my Joy, for there shall
be no cuckoo in my nest.... Yes, I will have
Harrow Fell. I can face five years at Portland or
at Parkhurst for that. But first, I will have you.
You are here, in your husband’s house, where you
have come of your own accord, and here you remain.
Take off your furs!”</p>
<p>To Joy it was clear that Dick Bracknell was almost
insanely jealous, and her face blanched as the
possibilities of the situation flashed themselves
upon her. The man took a step forward as if to
enforce his order, and she shrank back against the
rough logs of the shack. Bracknell laughed savagely,
but the next moment there came an intervention.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Stand back, Mr. Bracknell!”</p>
<p>The speaker was Miss La Farge, and as she
stepped resolutely forward, holding a small but
serviceable looking machine pistol in her hand,
Dick Bracknell came to a standstill.</p>
<p>“What——”</p>
<p>“Do as I tell you. Lay a finger on Joy, and I
will shoot you. She may be your wife, but she is
my more-than-sister, and I will brook no violence
from you.”</p>
<p>Bracknell looked at her irresolutely. It was very
clear to him that she would keep her word, and
after a moment he stepped back and laughed to
cover his discomfiture.</p>
<p>“A she-lynx—and with claws! Well, time is on
my side. You will grow tired of standing there,
and Joe will be back in a minute or two, then I
shall know how to deal with you.”</p>
<p>Babette did not even reply to him. She glanced
at the door and addressed herself to Joy.</p>
<p>“Try and open the door, Joy.”</p>
<p>Joy sprang to the door, and lifting the wooden
latch tugged hard at the door. Dick Bracknell
watched her with amused eyes, and when all her
efforts failed, he spoke again.</p>
<p>“It is no use, my dear Joy. The door is fastened
on the outside. We are all prisoners until
Joe returns.”</p>
<p>“No!” replied Miss La Farge stubbornly. “Not
until then. Our men will be here in a few
minutes if we do not meet them at the mouth of
the creek. Then——”</p>
<p>A sharp cry of agony sounded somewhere outside,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</SPAN></span>
and as it reached them, the girl’s speech suddenly
froze.</p>
<p>“What was that?” asked Joy, looking at
Bracknell.</p>
<p>A deep frown had come upon his face, and there
was apprehension in his voice as he replied, “I—I
do not know. Some one may have been hurt.
I——”</p>
<p>He was still speaking, haltingly, when the crash
of a rifle broke on his words, followed by a shout,
and that in turn by a great stillness. The three
people in the shack looked at one another helplessly.</p>
<p>The girls’ faces were white, and Bracknell’s features
showed wrathful. In silence they waited
and nothing further happened. Half an hour
passed, during which the girls whispered to each
other, and still the silence outside was maintained,
and to those in the cabin it seemed to hold a menace
of mysterious things. Another half hour crept
by, and then Bracknell spoke hoarsely—</p>
<p>“Something must have happened, or the Indian
would have been back before this. And your men—you
said they were to meet you at the mouth of
the creek!”</p>
<p>“Yes,” answered Joy composedly. “And no
doubt they are waiting there now.”</p>
<p>“I am afraid not,” answered her husband.
“Something has occurred—what, we must find
out!” He glanced at the window of skin parchment,
then added, “That is the only way. We
must cut that out. One of us must climb through
and open the door——”</p>
<p>“Joy shall go!” said Miss La Farge firmly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“It doesn’t matter who goes! This is a business
of life and death. There is an axe in the corner
there. If one of you will use it, I shall be
obliged. I am afraid that the state of my lungs
does not permit much exertion on my part.”</p>
<p>Babette looked at Joy, who, finding the ax,
attacked the window, and a moment later the
freezing air drove into the cabin. When the
rough frame was quite clear the man nodded at
her. His manner was now very quiet and betrayed
nothing of the jealous rage which had possessed him
an hour ago.</p>
<p>“Go through, Joy. Take the axe with you.
You may need it to knock out the staple. Have
no fear,” he said as she visibly hesitated. “I give
you my word that this is no trap. Believe me, I
am very anxious for the safety of all of us.”</p>
<p>Joy glanced once at him. It was plain to her
that he was sincere, and two seconds later she
climbed to the window and dropped down into the
snow. A minute later the door swung open, and
she was joined by Babette and Dick Bracknell. All
three stood there looking down the creek. No
sound reached them. Everywhere was the appalling
inscrutable silence of the Northern wilderness.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
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