<SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXX"></SPAN><h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2>
<br/>
<p>In that chaotic night in which he was drifting, light as a feather floating
on the wind, John Aldous experienced neither pain nor very much of the
sense of life. And yet, without seeing or feeling, he seemed to be living,
All was dead in him but that last consciousness, which is almost the
spirit; he might have been dreaming, and minutes, hours, or even years
might have passed in that dream. For a long time he seemed to be sinking
through the blackness; and then something stopped him, without jar or
shock, and he was rising. He could hear nothing. There was a vast silence
about him, a silence as deep and as unbroken as the abysmal pit in which he
seemed to be softly floating.</p>
<p>After a time Aldous felt himself swaying and rocking, as though tossed
gently on the billows of a sea. This was the first thought that took shape
in his struggling brain—he was at sea; he was on a ship in the heart of a
black night, and he was alone. He tried to call out, but his tongue seemed
gone. It seemed a very long time before day broke, and then it was a
strange day. Little needles of light pricked his eyes; silver strings shot
like flashes of weblike lightning through the darkness, and after that he
saw for an instant a strange glare. It was gone in one big, powderlike
flash, and he was in night again. These days and nights seemed to follow
one another swiftly now, and the nights grew less dark, and the days
brighter. He was conscious of sounds and buffetings, and it was very hot.</p>
<p>Out of this heat there came a cool, soft breeze that was continually
caressing his face, and eyes, and head. It was like the touch of a spirit
hand. It became more and more real to him. It caressed him into a dark and
comfortable oblivion. Out of this oblivion a still brighter day roused him.
His brain seemed clear. He opened his eyes. A white cloud was hovering over
them; it fell softly; it was cool and gentle. Then it rose again, and it
was not a cloud, but a hand! The hand moved away, and he was looking into a
pair of wide-open, staring, prayerful eyes, and a little cry came to him,
and a voice.</p>
<p>"John—John——"</p>
<p>He was drifting again, but now he knew that he was alive. He heard
movement. He heard voices. They were growing nearer and more distinct. He
tried to cry out Joanne's name, and it came in a whispering breath between
his lips. But Joanne heard; and he heard her calling to him; he felt her
hands; she was imploring him to open his eyes, to speak to her. It seemed
many minutes before he could do this, but at last he succeeded. And this
time his vision was not so blurred. He could see plainly. Joanne was there,
hovering over him, and just beyond her was the great bearded face of Donald
MacDonald. And then, before words had formed on his lips, he did a
wonderful thing. He smiled.</p>
<p>"O my God, I thank Thee!" he heard Joanne cry out, and then she was on her
knees, and her face was against his, and she was sobbing.</p>
<p>He knew that it was MacDonald who drew her away.</p>
<p>The great head bent over him.</p>
<p>"Take this, will 'ee, Johnny boy?"</p>
<p>Aldous stared.</p>
<p>"Mac, you're—alive," he breathed.</p>
<p>"Alive as ever was, Johnny. Take this."</p>
<p>He swallowed. And then Joanne hovered over him again, and he put up his
hands to her face, and her glorious eyes were swimming seas as she kissed
him and choked back the sobs in her throat. He buried his fingers in her
hair. He held her head close to him, and for many minutes no one spoke,
while MacDonald stood and looked down on them. In those minutes everything
returned to him. The fight was over. MacDonald had come in time to save him
from Quade. But—and now his eyes stared upward through the sheen of
Joanne's hair—he was in a cabin! He recognized it. It was Donald
MacDonald's old home. When Joanne raised her head he looked about him
without speaking. He was in the wide bunk built against the wall. Sunlight
was filtering through a white curtain at the window, and in the open door
he saw the anxious face of Marie.</p>
<p>He tried to lift himself, and was amazed to find that he could not. Very
gently Joanne urged him back on his pillow. Her face was a glory of life
and of joy. He obeyed her as he would have obeyed the hand of the Madonna.
She saw all his questioning.</p>
<p>"You must be quiet, John," she said, and never had he heard in her voice
the sweetness of love that was in it now. "We will tell you
everything—Donald and I. But you must be quiet. You were terribly beaten
among the rocks. We brought you here at noon, and the sun is setting—and
until now you have not opened your eyes. Everything is well. But you must
be quiet. You were terribly bruised by the rocks, dear."</p>
<p>It was sweet to lie under the caresses of her hand. He drew her face down
to him.</p>
<p>"Joanne, my darling, you understand now—why I wanted to come alone into
the North?"</p>
<p>Her lips pressed warm and soft against his.</p>
<p>"I know," she whispered, and he could feel her arras trembling, and her
breath coming quickly. Gently she drew away from him. "I am going to make
you some broth," she said then.</p>
<p>He watched her as she went out of the cabin, one white hand lifted to her
throat.</p>
<p>Old Donald MacDonald seated himself on the edge of the bunk. He looked down
at Aldous, chuckling in his beard; and Aldous, with his bruised and swollen
face and half-open eyes, grinned like a happy fiend.</p>
<p>"It was a wunerful, wunerful fight, Johnny!" said old Donald.</p>
<p>"It was, Mac. And you came in fine on the home stretch!"</p>
<p>"What d'ye mean—home stretch?" queried Donald leaning over.</p>
<p>"You saved me from Quade."</p>
<p>Donald fairly groaned.</p>
<p>"I didn't, Johnny—I didn't! DeBar killed 'im. It was all over when I come.
On'y—Johnny—I had a most cur'ous word with Culver Rann afore he died!"</p>
<p>In his eagerness Aldous was again trying to sit up when Joanne appeared in
the doorway. With a little cry she darted to him, forced him gently back,
and brushed old Donald off the edge of the bunk.</p>
<p>"Go out and watch the broth, Donald," she commanded firmly. Then she said
to Aldous, stroking back his hair, "I forbade you to talk. John, dear,
aren't you going to mind me?"</p>
<p>"Did Quade get me with the knife?" he asked.</p>
<p>"No, no."</p>
<p>"Am I shot?"</p>
<p>"No, dear."</p>
<p>"Any bones broken?"</p>
<p>"Donald says not."</p>
<p>"Then please give me my pipe, Joanne—and let me get up. Why do you want me
to lie here when I'm strong like an ox, as Donald says?"</p>
<p>Joanne laughed happily.</p>
<p>"You <i>are</i> getting better every minute," she cried joyously. "But you were
terribly beaten by the rocks, John. If you will wait until you have the
broth I will let you sit up."</p>
<p>A few minutes later, when he had swallowed his broth, Joanne kept her
promise. Only then did he realize that there was not a bone or a muscle in
his body that did not have its own particular ache. He grimaced when Joanne
and Donald bolstered him up with blankets at his back. But he was happy.
Twilight was coming swiftly, and as Joanne gave the final pats and turns to
the blankets and pillows, MacDonald was lighting half a dozen candles
placed around the room.</p>
<p>"Any watch to-night, Donald?" asked Aldous.</p>
<p>"No, Johnny, there ain't no watch to-night," replied the old mountaineer.</p>
<p>He came and seated himself on a bench with Joanne. For half an hour after
that Aldous listened to a recital of the strange things that had
happened—how poor marksmanship had saved MacDonald on the mountain-side,
and how at last the duel had ended with the old hunter killing those who
had come to slay him. When they came to speak of DeBar, Joanne leaned
nearer to Aldous.</p>
<p>"It is wonderful what love will sometimes do," she spoke softly. "In the
last few hours Marie has bared her soul to me, John. What she has been she
has not tried to hide from me, nor even from the man she loves. She was one
of Mortimer FitzHugh's tools. DeBar saw her and loved her, and she sold
herself to him in exchange for the secret of the gold. When they came into
the North the wonderful thing happened. She loved DeBar—not in the way of
her kind, but as a woman in whom had been born a new heart and a new soul
and a new joy. She defied FitzHugh; she told DeBar how she had tricked him.</p>
<p>"This morning FitzHugh attempted his old familiarity with her, and DeBar
struck him down. The act gave them excuse for what they had planned to do.
Before her eyes Marie thought they had killed the man she loved. She flung
herself on his breast, and she said she could not feel his heart beat, and
his blood flowed warm against her hands and face. Both she and DeBar had
determined to warn us if they could. Only a few minutes before DeBar was
stabbed he had let off his rifle—an accident, he said. But it was not an
accident. It was the shot Donald heard in the cavern. It saved us, John!
And Marie, waiting her opportunity, fled to us in the plain. DeBar was not
killed. He says my screams brought him back to life. He came out—and
killed Quade with a knife. Then he fell at our feet. A few minutes later
Donald came. DeBar is in another cabin. He is not fatally hurt, and Marie
is happy."</p>
<p>She was stroking his hand when she finished. The curious rumbling came
softly in MacDonald's beard and his eyes were bright with a whimsical
humour.</p>
<p>"I pretty near bored a hole through poor Joe when I come up," he chuckled.
"But you bet I hugged him when I found what he'd done, Johnny! Joe says
their camp was just over the range from us that night FitzHugh looked us
up, an' Joanne thought she'd been dreamin'. He didn't have any help, but
his intention was to finish us alone—murder us asleep—when Joanne cried
out. Joe says it was just a devil's freak that took 'im to the top of the
mountain alone that night. He saw our fire an' came down to investigate."</p>
<p>A low voice was calling outside the door. It was Marie. As Joanne went to
her a quick gleam came into old Donald's eyes. He looked behind him
cautiously to see that she had disappeared, then he bent over Aldous, and
whispered hoarsely:</p>
<p>"Johnny, I had a most cur'ous word with Rann—or FitzHugh—afore he died!
He wasn't dead when I went to him. But he knew he was dyin'; an' Johnny, he
was smilin' an' cool to the end. I wanted to ask 'im a question, Johnny. I
was dead cur'ous to know <i>why the grave were empty!</i> But he asked for
Joanne, an' I couldn't break in on his last breath. I brought her. The
first thing he asked her was how people had took it when they found out
he'd poisoned his father! When Joanne told him no one had ever thought he'd
killed his father, FitzHugh sat leanin' against the saddles for a minit so
white an' still I thought he 'ad died with his eyes open. Then it came out,
Johnny. He was smilin' as he told it. He killed his father with poison to
get his money. Later he came to America. He didn't have time to tell us how
he come to think they'd discovered his crime. He was dyin' as he talked. It
came out sort o' slobberingly, Johnny. He thought they'd found 'im out. He
changed his name, an' sent out the report that Mortimer FitzHugh had died
in the mount'ins. But Johnny, he died afore I could ask him about the
grave!"</p>
<p>There was a final note of disappointment in old Donald's voice that was
almost pathetic.</p>
<p>"It was such a cur'ous grave," he said. "An' the clothes were laid out so
prim an' nice."</p>
<p>Aldous laid his hand on MacDonald's.</p>
<p>"It's easy, Mac," he said, and he wanted to laugh at the disappointment
that was still in the other's face. "Don't you see? He never expected any
one to dig <i>into</i> the grave. And he put the clothes and the watch and the
ring in there to get rid of them. They might have revealed his identity.
Why, Donald——"</p>
<p>Joanne was coming to them again. She laid a cool hand on his forehead and
held up a warning finger to MacDonald.</p>
<p>"Hush!" she said gently, "Your head is very hot, dear, and there must be
no more talking. You must lie down and sleep. Tell John good-night,
Donald!"</p>
<p>Like a boy MacDonald did as she told him, and disappeared through the cabin
door. Joanne levelled the pillows and lowered John's head.</p>
<p>"I can't sleep, Joanne," he protested.</p>
<p>"I will sit here close at your side and stroke your face and hair," she
said gently.</p>
<p>"And you will talk to me?"</p>
<p>"No, I must not talk. But, John——"</p>
<p>"Yes, dear."</p>
<p>"If you will promise to be very, very quiet, and let me be very quiet——"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"I will make you a pillow of my hair."</p>
<p>"I—will be quiet," he whispered.</p>
<p>She unbound her hair, and leaned over so that it fell in a flood on his
pillow. With a sigh of contentment he buried his face in the rich, sweet
masses of it. Gently, like the cooling breeze that had come to him in his
hours of darkness, her hand caressed him. He closed his eyes; he drank in
the intoxicating perfume of her tresses; and after a little he slept.</p>
<p>For many hours Joanne sat at his bedside, sleepless, and rejoicing.</p>
<p>When Aldous awoke it was dawn in the cabin. Joanne was gone. For a few
minutes he continued to lie with his face toward the window. He knew that
he had slept a long time, and that the day was breaking. Slowly he raised
himself. The terrible ache in his body was gone; he was still lame, but no
longer helpless. He drew himself cautiously to the edge of the bunk and
sat there for a time, testing himself before he got up. He was delighted at
the result of the experiments. He rose to his feet. His clothes were
hanging against the wall, and he dressed himself. Then he opened the door
and walked out into the morning, limping a little as he went. MacDonald was
up. Joanne's tepee was close to the cabin. The two men greeted each other
quietly, and they talked in low voices, but Joanne heard them, and a few
moments later she ran out with her hair streaming about her and went
straight into the arms of John Aldous.</p>
<p>This was the beginning of the three wonderful days that yet remained for
Joanne and John Aldous in Donald MacDonald's little valley of gold and
sunshine and blue skies. They were strange and beautiful days, filled with
a great peace and a great happiness, and in them wonderful changes were at
work. On the second day Joanne and Marie rode alone to the cavern where
Jane lay, and when they returned in the golden sun of the afternoon they
were leading their horses, and walking hand in hand. And when they came
down to where DeBar and Aldous and Donald MacDonald were testing the
richness of the black sand along the stream there was a light in Marie's
eyes and a radiance in Joanne's face which told again that world-old story
of a Mary Magdalene and the dawn of another Day. And now, Aldous thought,
Marie had become beautiful; and Joanne laughed softly and happily that
night, and confided many things into the ears of Aldous, while Marie and
DeBar talked for a long time alone out under the stars, and came back at
last hand in hand, like two children. Before they went to bed Marie
whispered something to Joanne, and a little later Joanne whispered it to
Aldous.</p>
<p>"They want to know if they can be married with us, John," she said. "That
is, if you haven't grown tired of trying to marry me, dear," she added with
a happy laugh. "Have you?"</p>
<p>His answer satisfied her. And when she told a small part of it to Marie,
the other woman's dark eyes grew as soft as the night, and she whispered
the words to Joe.</p>
<p>The third and last day was the most beautiful of all. Joe's knife wound was
not bad. He had suffered most from a blow on the head. Both he and Aldous
were in condition to travel, and plans were made to begin the homeward
journey on the fourth morning. MacDonald had unearthed another dozen sacks
of the hidden gold, and he explained to Aldous what must be done to secure
legal possession of the little valley. His manner of doing this was
unnatural and strained. His words came haltingly. There was unhappiness in
his eyes. It was in his voice. It was in the odd droop of his shoulders.
And finally, when they were alone, he said to Aldous, with almost a sob in
his voice:</p>
<p>"Johnny—Johnny, if on'y the gold were not here!"</p>
<p>He turned his eyes to the mountain, and Aldous took one of his big gnarled
hands in both his own.</p>
<p>"Say it, Mac," he said gently. "I guess I know what it is."</p>
<p>"It ain't fair to you, Johnny," said old Donald, still with his eyes on the
mountains. "It ain't fair to you. But when you take out the claims down
there it'll start a rush. You know what it means, Johnny. There'll be a
thousand men up here; an' mebby you can't understand—but there's the
cavern an' Jane an' the little cabin here; an' it seems like desecratin'
<i>her</i>."</p>
<p>His voice choked, and as Aldous gripped the big hand harder in his own he
laughed.</p>
<p>"It would, Mac," he said. "I've been watching you while we made the plans.
These cabins and the gold have been here for more than forty years without
discovery, Donald—and they won't be discovered again so long as Joe DeBar
and John Aldous and Donald MacDonald have a word to say about it. We'll
take out no claims, Mac. The valley isn't ours. It's Jane's valley and
yours!"</p>
<p>Joanne, coming up just then, wondered what the two men had been saying that
they stood as they did, with hands clasped. Aldous told her. And then old
Donald confessed to them what was in his mind, and what he had kept from
them. At last he had found his home, and he was not going to leave it
again. He was going to stay with Jane. He was going to bring her from the
cavern and bury her near the cabin, and he pointed out the spot, covered
with wild hyacinths and asters, where she used to sit on the edge of the
stream and watch him while he worked for gold. And they could return each
year and dig for gold, and he would dig for gold while they were away, and
they could have it all. All that he wanted was enough to eat, and Jane, and
the little valley. And Joanne turned from him as he talked, her face
streaming with tears, and in John's throat was a great lump, and he looked
away from MacDonald to the mountains.</p>
<p>So it came to pass that on the fourth morning, when they went into the
south, they stopped on the last knoll that shut out the little valley from
the larger valley, and looked back. And Donald MacDonald stood alone in
front of the cabin waving them good-bye.</p>
<h5>THE END</h5>
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