CHAPTER V THE FUR TRADER'S STORE
Grey stumbled rather than walked out of the log cabin. He looked about for the Indian, but he was nowhere to be seen. The evening breeze fanned and cooled his flushed face. He wished to get away somewhere. His throat was dry; he felt he would choke. His brain reeled as he staggered forward. A trail to the left caught his eye, and along this he tottered. Madeline there! Madeline in such a den as that! What did it all mean? Was it only a horrible dream, or was he going mad? Had he been mistaken? Perhaps it was someone else. No, it was all too real. It was she without any doubt! Could he ever forget that face, those eyes, that wealth of dark-brown hair, and the slight girlish figure? It was Madeline, his long-lost Madeline. He had expected to find her some day, somewhere, but not here.
He had reached the forest now, and sat down on a log by the side of the trail. He wished to think, to solve the mystery. Madeline there! Was it possible? Then thoughts, terrible spectres, surged through his brain. Why was she there? How could he associate the pure-souled woman as he had known her with such a life as that? That song, full of intense pathos, that face, that cry of surprise and joy; they came to him again. Madeline was there—only a few rods away, beneath that roof! A great longing filled his heart. Oh, to go to her, to look into those eyes and listen to her voice! He rose from the log, and took a step forward. He would go. He would know the worst at once. But he hesitated. His hand sought his brow in perplexity. He tried to think, to reason. No, not to-night. He would rest first, and in the morning, perhaps, it would be better to go to her.
The bark of a dog aroused him. It made him realise that night was upon him, and he must have food and shelter. Following the direction of the sound, ere long he reached a clearing of several acres in extent. All around he beheld log cabins and frames of numerous tents. Through the midst of these the trail wound, and along this he moved, watching for some sign of life. At length he reached a building larger than the rest, where stood a lean Indian dog which sidled angrily away as Grey approached. In answer to his knock a gruff voice commanded him to enter. Pushing open the door he beheld two men seated before a rough deal table, playing cards. In a corner nearby sat a powerfully-built man, with a long beard, and wavy hair well streaked with grey. He was calmly smoking, and watching the game with much interest.
Across one side of the room ran a rough counter, formed of whipsawn boards, which evidently knew nothing of soap and water. Behind this and arranged along the wall were all sorts of articles from cheap prints to tea, tobacco, beads and candy.
The opposite side of the room was lined with goods, useful in bartering with Indians. Rifles and shot-guns were lying on stands. Sacks of flour, rice and beans were piled in one corner, while slabs of bacon hung from the huge ridge-pole overhead. All this Grey intuitively observed as he stood for an instant near the door.
The players paused in their game, and stared hard at the new-comer, while the man in the corner forgot to take three regular and deliberate puffs of his blackened pipe. A visitor was evidently a curiosity at Hishu.
"Chair, stranger?" remarked one of the players, shoving forward a three-legged stool with his foot.
"Do you own this cabin?" Grey asked as he accepted the proffered seat.
"Reckon so," was the reply. "Paid, and d—high, too, for everything here. Anything I can do for ye, stranger?"
"Yes. I'm dead beat, and almost starved. So if you'll give me a snack of food and a shake-down for the night it will make a new man of me."
"Sure thing," was the response. "You're welcome to the grub, such as 'tis, but can't say about a shake-down. We're mighty cramped for room just now. Anyway, we'll see later how things pan out, and maybe we can do something for ye."
Saying which he turned toward a door at the back of the room, and gave a short, sharp command in the native tongue.
What he said Grey did not know, but almost immediately an Indian woman appeared in the doorway. It was not her sudden appearance which arrested Grey's attention, so much as her strange attitude. Her eyes glowed with defiance, mingled with fear, while a surly expression shrouded her face, which exhibited marks of much natural beauty. A glance was sufficient to show Grey that this was no ordinary, submissive Indian woman standing before him. Combined with her defiance and fear was a haughtiness which could not be concealed. Although partially cowed and curbed, she had evidently known the exhilarating joy of unrestrained freedom. And that same spirit still animated her heaving breast, but in a more terrible form. It was pent up, and liable at any moment to break forth in the wildest fury like a checked mountain stream or the boiling lava of some hidden volcano. But now she listened attentively to the words of command hurled forth, and at once disappeared within the back room.
"Fine squaw, that," remarked the other player, gazing with admiration upon the retreating form. "How in h— do you manage to curb such a spirit? Your deal, Bill," and he shoved the cards across the table.
Mechanically his partner shuffled and dealt the cards. But his thoughts were elsewhere, and as the game proceeded he shot an occasional furtive glance at the stranger sitting near.
An uncomfortable feeling stole into Grey's heart as he felt those piercing eyes fixed upon him. Once he looked full into their cold depths, and involuntarily recoiled at the sinister expression he beheld lurking there. The player noticed the start, and an oath escaped his lips as he flung his last card down upon the table. Then swinging on his stool he hurled a torrent of Indian words across the room.
In a moment or two the woman reappeared with a rough wooden tray containing some beans, thick bread and a cup of black tea.
"Put it here," demanded her imperious lord, shoving forward the small table. "We're done with our game for the present."
Grey was hungry, and he did good justice to the food set before him. But his mind was not easy. Why had that man given him those keen lightning glances? Did he surmise who he was and the purpose of the visit? Then his thoughts drifted away to that lone house down the trail, to the child and to Madeline. He forgot for a time his surroundings and the sinister-eyed man. He was with her, sitting by her side, looking into her face, and listening to her words of love.
At length he roused from his reverie and looked quickly about the room. The two card players were nowhere to be seen. Only the man in the buckskin jacket was sitting in the corner, pulling away at his old pipe. Their eyes met, and instinctively Grey felt that here was one to be trusted.
"Do you live in this place?" he asked, pushing back the table a little, and turning around on his stool.
Instead of replying the man took the pipe from his mouth, knocked it against the bench on which he was sitting, and examined it carefully. Then from a deep capacious pocket he drew forth a large clasp-knife and a plug of tobacco, and began deliberately to whittle away at the latter.
Grey was surprised at this action, and believed that his question had not been heard. Perhaps the man was somewhat deaf, and it was necessary to speak louder. He was about to repeat his words, when the man suddenly paused, looked carefully around the room, and jerked his bench closer to Grey's side.
"Young man, what are ye adoin' here?" he asked.
So low and full of meaning was the voice that Grey's eyes opened wide with astonishment.
"Just travelling," he replied.
"H'm," ejaculated the questioner, as he carefully rolled the tobacco between his hands. "Prospectin' or trappin'?"
"Oh, anything that turns up. I'm not particular."
Creak, creak. It was the back door, which moved as if shaken by the wind. The buckskinned man gave a slight start and glanced to the left.
"Doin' anything that turns up, eh?" he remarked. "Isn't it rather unsartin bizness? How d'ye expect to live?"
Creak, creak, went the door again. The creaking of a door generally disturbs one's nerves. There seems to be something uncanny about it, as if unseen evil spirits were outside trying to force an entrance. But when one suspects that men are standing there, with ears close to the crack, listening with sinister intent to every word which falls from the lips of those in the room, the tension becomes almost unbearable. Grey was all alert now. The whole place was conducive to suspicion. The sudden disappearance of the two card players, the low warning voice of the quiet smoker, and that creaking door. There was no breeze to cause it to move, for the evening was still, with not a leaf aquiver.
"An' whar will ye stay to-night?"
The question was kindly asked, and the eyes which looked straight into Grey's spoke of trust.
"Don't know," was the reply. "Under the trees maybe, unless the owner of this cabin will give me a shake-down here."
"No, that won't do," came the response. "I've a snug cabin over yon, so if ye'll put up with the accommodation ye're welcome to it, sich as 'tis."
Grey at once rose to his feet, and followed his companion, who was already starting toward the door. They had advanced but a few rods from the cabin when the clatter of hoofs sounded along the trail. In a few moments a horseman appeared, astride a raw lanky cayuse, and drew up before the store. Grey had paused, and was looking back, but his companion clutched him fiercely by the arm, and hurried him along.
"Come, lad," he whispered, "it's no time fer starin' now. Let's git under shelter."