CHAPTER XX OUT OF THE DEPTHS
When Norman Grey flung himself upon the ground at the foot of the rapids he believed that he would be asleep in a few minutes. In this, however, he was mistaken. His body was tired enough, but his brain was too active. The events of the past night were too vivid to allow him the rest he needed. And ever before his mind rose the vision of Madeline. Where was she, and what was happening to her? Was she calling for him? he wondered, or had she given him up, banished him from her mind? While she was near him at Hishu he was content to wait, to find out the truth gradually. But now it was different. She was alone in the wilderness, needing his assistance. Thinking thus he at length passed into a restless slumber. How long it lasted he could not tell, but he awoke with a start, and looked wildly around. Buckskin Dan was sleeping calmly by his side. Grey laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder, and shook him with impatience.
"Wake up! Wake up!" he cried. "For God's sake, wake up!"
With a roar of surprise and apprehension Dan leaped to his feet, and seized the rifle lying close at hand. He looked about as if expecting to see a blood-thirsty enemy almost on top of them. Then his eyes rested upon his comrade's tossed hair and excited face.
"What's wrong, pardner?" he demanded. "What's up this time? Did ye see that sarpint crawlin' among the trees ag'in? P'int me out the spot, an' I'll riddle the place with bullets. Mebbe one will ketch 'im on the fly, an' if it does he'll git to hell quicker than he imagined."
"No, no, not that beast this time," Grey replied. "But I saw her, yes, her, my Madeline, stretching out her hands, and calling to me for help! There she is, look!" and he clutched Dan by the arm and pointed excitedly among the trees. "There she is! Let me go to her! My God! I never saw her look so beautiful, but she's in the midst of serpents, and they're dragging her down to death. Look! look!"
Dan's eyes followed the direction of the finger, and he carefully scanned the forest for some distance around. Then he turned toward his comrade, while an anxious expression crossed his bronzed face.
"What's wrong with ye, laddie?" he questioned. "Are ye goin' daft? I see nuthin' over thar."
Grey placed his hand to his forehead, while a deep sigh escaped his lips.
"Neither do I, now," he responded. "But I did a minute ago. Oh, it was so clear, and terrible. Perhaps my brain is turning. Lack of sleep, and the events of the two past weeks have been enough to unsettle anyone."
"Indeed yer right thar, pardner," responded the trapper. "Few could have stood it. They'd have buckled under long since this."
"But I can't get that dream and vision out of my mind, Dan. I fear there's something wrong with Madeline."
"Mebbe yer right, pardner, an' I guess we'd better git a move on. It's purty light now, an' the moon makes the land almost as bright as day. If ye'll jist bring some water from the river I'll start a fire. We'll have a hot drink an' a snack of food afore we hike outer this."
Seizing the small tin pail in his hand Grey moved toward the river. He had taken but a few steps when he paused in amazement, for a wild cry for help winged through the crisp morning air and fell upon his ears. His eyes sought the rapids, from which the sound came, and as he looked a never-to-be-forgotten sight met his gaze. For an instant he thought it must be another vision, and would vanish like the one he had recently seen. But how real it was—the leaping billows, the dashing spray, and that fair form with uplifted arms gliding through that channel of death. Surely it must be a spirit, or else he was losing his reason, and it was all the strange fancy of a mad man.
When, however, the shock came, and he saw the woman hurled forward he knew it was no dream, but a terrible reality. With Grey to think was to act. With a shout to Dan he dashed forward, leaped down the bank, and laid his hands upon the canoe. As he did so the trapper was at his heels. He, too, had heard that cry, and had seen the wreck in the rapids, and had bounded forward on the instant. Into the canoe they sprang, and without a word sent it reeling from its moorings. It was caught by the swirling current, and carried a few yards down river. But strong arms held the paddles, and forced its stubborn and rebellious prow against the pressing stream.
A nameless fear clutched at Grey's heart as he drove the paddle through the water with great sweeps until the slender blade bent like a reed beneath a tempest. Could it be Madeline? Who else could be in that staring wilderness with such a form as the one he had just beheld? His eyes noted everything ahead. Would she rise, or had she been carried down to the bottom by some swirling eddy, to reappear bruised and lifeless farther down-stream? Only a brief space of time had elapsed since that cry had fallen upon his ears. Yet in that infinitesimal tick of eternity he had endured the life of the damned. For one who has passed through such an experience it would be easy to realise how much is summed up in "the twinkling of an eye" of the Great Judgment Day.
The canoe was now close to the foaming breakers, where progress was almost imperceptible. Grey's eyes were searching the waters to the right, when a cry from Dan caused him to glance quickly around. As he did so he caught sight of a dark object on the left. Then a hand—oh, so white and small—rose above the surface. With a half-smothered cry Grey dropped his paddle, flung himself into that racing stream, and in an instant sank from view. With titanic strokes he threaded the icy chambers of that watery world. He caught a glimpse of a whirling form a few feet ahead. He reached out one gripping hand; it closed; it held firm, and with his precious burden he rose to the surface with the speed of a nimble bubble.
With a vigorous shake of the head Grey tossed some of the water from his eyes, and endeavoured to look around. A gladsome shout from the left told him that Dan was not far away. Ere long the canoe was a few yards off, then a few feet, and soon the swimmer was able to reach out and seize the trapper's big strong hand. And none too soon, for Grey was almost exhausted, and the helpless form he was supporting was like a great leaden weight.
"Wall done, pardner," was Dan's cheery greeting. "Ye'd better not try to git on board, fer ye'll be likely to capsize the canoe. Jist hold on here to the stern. Thar, that's good. I'll run her ashore now like greased lightnin'!"
Thus Grey clung to the craft with his right hand, while with his left arm he upheld Madeline's limp form. It took Dan several minutes to make land, and by the time the shore was reached they had drifted some distance down-stream.
Grey felt his feet touch bottom, and almost as soon as the trapper had pulled the canoe upon the beach he staggered out of the water with Madeline held tenderly in his arms. At once Dan relieved him of his burden, and carried her up the bank, and laid her upon the ground.
Weak though he was Grey knelt by her side and peered into that drawn, pallid face. No sign of life, however, showed in that drenched form. He called her by name, he pleaded with her to speak, but no response came to his passionate appeal.
"My God! is she dead?" he cried, looking with pitiful eyes into Dan's face.
"Dead? No," was the reassuring reply. "It 'ud take more'n that duckin' to knock out the likes of her. Let me down thar. Mebbe I kin do more good than you."
Dan spoke more cheerfully than he felt in order to encourage his comrade's sinking spirits. His years of practical experience in the wilderness served him in good stead now. He performed the simple method of resuscitation, which he had used on several occasions in the past, and ere long had the satisfaction of seeing signs of returning life, and a faint colour tinge the patient's cheeks.
At length Madeline slowly opened her eyes, and fixed them for an instant upon the trapper's face. Closing them again with a deep sigh, she drifted off into that silent land, whether of sleep or unconsciousness the anxious watchers could not divine.
"We must git her outer this, pardner," Dan remarked. "In her wet condition, and weak as she is, she can't stand much more."
"But what are we to do?" cried Grey, as the helplessness of their position dawned upon him.
The joy of knowing that Madeline still breathed was now replaced by despair. What were they to do with this helpless woman there in the wilderness, with wet clothes clinging to her body? She must be chilled through already, and to remain there much longer would mean certain death.
"Shall I build a fire, Dan?" he asked. "We can lay her close to that, and perhaps her clothes will dry. What else can we do?"
"No, pardner," was the reply. "That won't do; it would take too long to dry clothes as wet as hers. She needs gentle care sich as we can't give her."
"But what—?"
"Jist a moment, pardner," interrupted Dan. "We ain't got no time to waste in words. We've got to act. The last time I was in this region thar was an Injun encampment over thar to the right, on that old cut-off trail, an' mebbe—But hark, what's that?"
"It sounds like the bark of a dog," Grey replied, now standing erect, and listening intently.
"Ay, ay. Didn't I tell ye right? Whar thar's a dog ye may be sure some human critter's not fer away. Come, let's take the lassie an' strike through that openin' over yon. I guess we'll find somethin'."
Stooping, the constable lifted Madeline tenderly in his arms. Dan, however, interposed.
"Ye mustn't do that, laddie. Ye're too weak after yer tryin' experience. Let me carry the lassie."
"No, no, Dan," Grey replied, as he started to leave the place. "Let me carry her for a while. You may take your turn later."
A thrill such as he had not known for years came into Norman's heart, as he bore forward his precious burden. Her face was close to his. Oh, if she would only wake, look into his eyes, and speak to him he would forget and forgive everything, no matter what she had been in the past.
The dog still continued to bark, and by the sound they were able to direct their steps. After a while Grey found it necessary to relinquish his burden to Dan, for he was weaker than he had imagined. This gave him an opportunity to speed on ahead, and in a few minutes the trees became thin, and a clearing burst into view. Looking to the left he saw several log houses, with one in the midst much larger than the others, with smoke issuing from a stovepipe stuck out through the roof. Toward this he hastened, glancing back at times to see whether Dan was following.
Having reached the building, he rapped loudly upon the door, expecting to see it opened by an uncouth native. He heard someone moving within; then a hand was laid upon the wooden latch, and great was his surprise to see standing before him a grey-bearded white man, tall and commanding in appearance. Kindly eyes looked full into his, and a voice musical and soft bade him welcome, followed by an invitation to enter.
Briefly Grey related his story, after which the tall man hurried back into the room. By this time Dan had arrived, entered the building, and laid his burden upon a low cot placed against the wall. Just then the long-bearded man reappeared through a door to the left.
"Bring her in here," he commanded. "It will be more comfortable."
Lifting Madeline in his arms, Norman did as he was bidden, and entered a little room, meant evidently for a study. The floor was bare. A rough deal table stood by the window littered with papers. A few magazine pictures adorned the walls, while in one corner were several shelves filled with books.
"Lay her there," and the owner of the house pointed to a cosy cot covered with the soft glossy skins of a bear, wolf and lynx. "I shall be back in a few minutes."
Saying this, he disappeared, and Grey found himself alone with Madeline, for the trapper had remained in the outer room, where he was filling his pipe preparatory to his usual morning smoke.
Norman looked long and lovingly upon that white face embedded among the furs. Within him raged a fierce contest. He desired to stay by her side, to know how she would fare after her terrible experience. The love in his heart told him to remain. She was all he had in the world. In her was his life and hope. But, on the other hand, he was in duty bound to go forward as quickly as possible after that stolen child. There was his duty. And yet, why should he go? Did not love, the care of this helpless woman, have the first consideration? Suddenly be remembered that this was the day of his discharge from the Force. Was he not a free man, no longer bound by exacting, and at times galling, rules? On the other hand, was he free? That could not be until he returned, and received his discharge from his Commanding Officer. But, then, what was duty, when love stood in the way? One voice whispered, "Stay with her whom you love. This is your first duty." But another voice, clear and distinct, could not be silenced. "You are in honour bound to carry out your Commander's orders. He has intrusted you with a sacred commission, and will you relinquish the quest, bring disgrace upon yourself, and dishonour upon the Force? Hitherto no man has ever turned back when given such a command as yours until his object had been attained, and will you be the first? How can you return to Big Glen, face your Superior Officer, and your comrades? You, Norman Grey, have never shirked your duty before, and will you do it now?" "But what about Madeline?" again insisted the first voice.
Grey glanced through the small window facing the south, and his eyes rested upon the tall man hurrying from one of the cabins with an Indian woman by his side. There was the answer to the question. Madeline would be carefully looked after, and what good would his presence be anyway? He would fulfil his commission, and then come back to her—perhaps she would want him then.
He heard the outer door open, and knew that his attention would not be needed. Swiftly he stooped over that quiet form, and his lips touched her lips in one fond, passionate kiss. When the man and the Indian woman entered the room they beheld the constable standing silently by the cot. They knew nothing of the battle which had taken place within his heart, nor of the victory won.
"You will do your best for her?" and Grey turned his eyes full upon the face of the bearded man as he spoke.
He longed to ask him his name, and what he was doing there alone so far in the wilderness. He regretted that he had not examined the numerous papers on the table to see what they contained. Now it was too late. But as he looked at the quiet man, and the clean, matronly Indian woman he felt that he was leaving Madeline in safe hands.
"You need not fear," came the reply to his question. "I am somewhat of a doctor, and Nancy du Nord here is most trustworthy."
"Thank you, oh, thank you," Grey responded, and with one swift glance at Madeline, he passed into the next room where Buckskin Dan was thoughtfully smoking.