CHAPTER XXXI OLD TRAILS AND NEW
It was late ere the confusion in Hishu subsided. The miners from the hills remained around the store until after midnight. They wished to be sure that Siwash Bill and his two companions had no possible means of escape. When they saw them fast bound within the building, and guarded not only by several of their own men, but by the constable and Buckskin Dan, they gradually drifted away to their little shacks in the village. Grey breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw the last depart, and quietness settle down over the place. He could not trust the miners on guard, for he felt quite sure that as the night wore on sleep would overcome them. They were tired men, and he could not blame them if they slept. Dan, he knew, would not fail him, but he must not leave him alone.
In separate corners of the room huddled the three wretched prisoners. By the faint glimmering light of the candle their dim forms could be seen. Their heads, bowed almost to their knees, told their own tale of miserable despair.
At times Grey opened the door and looked at Dan's cabin. All was still there, and he knew that Madeline and Donnie were resting after the fatigue of the day. As morning dawned he stepped out into the open, and paced up and down before the store. The fresh air was invigorating, and his body throbbed with new life. Slowly the night waned, the east brightened, and the sun rose big and red above the tree tops. Then the village stirred to action. Sounds of axes could be heard as the men prepared their firewood, and smoke could be seen curling from a score of stovepipes stuck through the cabin roofs.
Grey wondered what the day would bring forth. He wished to get away from Hishu as speedily as possible. He knew the trapper would go along to assist with the prisoners. But when he considered the distance to Big Glen and the difficulties of the way he realised what a task it would mean. As he was debating with himself whether he should ask several of the miners to accompany them his attention was aroused by the clatter of hoofs on the trail. Looking up, what was his joy to behold two men of the Force mounted on weary horses riding slowly toward him! They greeted him as one from the dead. Blackbird had wandered back to Big Glen, so they told him, and the Major, fearing the worst, had sent them out to find some trace of the lost rider.
Grey told them very little of what had taken place—he would report first to his Commanding Officer. He told the constables to look after the prisoners, and be ready to start back to Big Glen in a few hours.
During the morning Madeline's mind turned often to Old Meg. She felt sorry now for the poor creature alone in her cabin. Should she go away without one word of farewell? There was another reason why she wished to see her. Perhaps at last she might prevail upon her to reveal the mystery of the past six years, and why she had been kept away in the wilderness. Old Meg had never told her. Perhaps she might tell now.
She and Grey were standing at the door waiting for the trapper and a couple of miners to return with the cayuses, which the gang had rounded up for their own retreat if necessary.
"Norman," said Madeline suddenly, "I should like to see Old Meg before leaving Hishu. Will you go with me?"
"Yes, Madeline," was the reply, "if you wish it. But I should think you had seen enough of that woman."
"I have, Norman. But there is a reason. We have time to go, have we not?"
"Certainly. We shall make time, especially for you."
Donnie was delighted with the walk along the trail, and his little tongue kept up an incessant chatter as he trotted by Madeline's side. Reaching Old Meg's cabin Grey knocked upon the door. Receiving no answer, he pushed it open and entered. All was silent within the building, and Madeline wondered what had become of the old woman. She looked first into the kitchen, then into her own room. Next she softly and timidly opened the door of Old Meg's private room. As she did so, a cry of fear fell from her lips, which caused Grey to spring quickly to her side. There, lying upon the bed, they saw her, with eyes staring wildly before her. Her features were contorted with agony, while her hands clutched convulsively the worn grey blankets.
"Meg, Meg!" cried Madeline, rushing to her side. "What is the matter?"
The sufferer rolled her eyes, and fixed them upon the young woman's face.
"You here?" she replied. "Do you come to mock me?"
"No, no. I only came to see you before going away."
"And so you're going?"
"Yes; to-day."
"I thought so. And that man; he would like to take me. But he won't, no, he won't!" and her voice rose to a shriek. "I knew he would come to take me. But I won't go. He'll never take me alive—oh!"
Here the pain again convulsed her body, and silenced her speech.
"Can't I do something for you?" Madeline asked, taking the sufferer's cold, bony hand. "You know I want to help you. I am sorry for you."
Into Old Meg's eyes came a faint expression of softness. She turned them upon the face of the fair woman at her side.
"I'm bad," she replied. "I've wronged you, and do you wish to help me? Are you sorry for me?"
"Yes, indeed I am. And if there is anything I can do to assist you, tell me at once."
"You can't do anything for my body, or to give me peace of mind. But there's something I want you to know before I die. Look. Put your hand under the pillow. You'll find something there."
Madeline did as she was commanded, and brought forth a package of papers tied with a string.
"Open it," Meg ordered. "Yes—no—Ah, that's the one. See the name. That's the man who put me up to this job. He sent me in the ship to spirit you away when we reached America. I thought it would be a hard thing to accomplish, but the storm and the wreck helped me out."
Madeline only dimly realised what the woman was saying, for her eyes were fixed upon the name written upon the paper. It was that of her cousin, living in England.
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "What had he to do with my trouble?"
"Can't you guess? Were not you the only one standing between him and your father's vast estate?"
"Yes. I know that, but—"
"You don't see yet? Your cousin needed money—was bankrupt—driven to the verge of despair—a desperate man—and you alone stood in his way. With you gone, everything would be his."
Swiftly now the horrible truth flashed into Madeline's mind. It almost overpowered her.
"And he hired you to kill me?"
"No, no, not that," cried the woman. "But you were young, and many things can happen in a big city. Young girls can disappear—there are places they can enter, and the world will hear of them no more. But that wreck came. There was a girl drowned. Money did the rest. Money will do anything. There were men willing to swear that you had been drowned—that they saw you go down. The story was believed, and your cousin got what he wanted. Wait," she commanded, as Madeline was about to interrupt her. "Don't stop me. I want to tell my story, for I can't last long. Your cousin knew the truth. I told him everything, and he supplied me with money. But I could not ruin you. I am bad, God knows, but I could not put you into those dens of hell. I fled with you from place to place. But I was always fearful lest I should be discovered. Farther and farther North I sped—to Winnipeg—and beyond, ever Northward—always away from the crowded cities—until we came here. People thought I kept you for an evil purpose. I have fought with men. I have threatened to shoot them. But I kept you safe—and—and—you are pure. You may think it strange, but I loved you. I tried not to show it. I struggled to crush back the feeling. I scolded you. I spoke sharply to you, but I loved you. When you were stolen away by the Indians my heart almost broke. Then when I heard that you were going back to Big Glen, and that I should lose you forever, I could stand no more. How could I live here in this lonely cabin—and you gone! The thought is terrible. I don't deserve your pity—your sympathy, for I am a bad woman. But when you say your prayers to-night put in one little word for Old Meg—the outcast. And see, I wrote it all out before I took that stuff. I thought no one would come to me until I was dead. It's all there—my story is on that paper, though I'm glad I've told you with my own lips, for it makes me feel better."
Tears were streaming down Madeline's cheeks as she listened to the poor creature. She now bent forward, and imprinted a kiss upon the sufferer's brow. Old Meg's face brightened, and she seized the young woman's hands in a firm clasp.
"Don't leave me!" she cried. "I'm afraid to be alone. I'm afraid to die. God, have mercy upon my wretched soul!"
There was a struggle, a gasp for breath, and in a twinkling all was over. Old Meg was dead.
* * * * * * *
One week later a little company moved slowly through the principal street of Big Glen. Horses and riders were weary, for the journey had been a hard one. The three shackled prisoners shuffled along on foot, with heads bent forward and downcast eyes. They had fondly cherished hopes of escape on the trail, but they were doomed to a bitter disappointment. Now they knew that their last chance was gone.
Madeline rode her horse with much ease and grace. Although tired, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. She was again back to the ways of civilisation. No more loneliness in the great wilderness, with all the many longings and heartaches. The stores interested her, and the people on the streets. Men, women and children paused to gaze upon the spectacle. Word passed from lip to lip that Silas Farwell's child had been found, and the kidnappers had been captured. The excitement grew, and the crowd increased. Men left their stores, women their homes, and followed the little cavalcade. Madeline shrank from the curious gaze bestowed upon her, and her face paled. Grey, riding with Donnie before him, noting her embarrassment, reined his horse to her side.
"They are friendly, Madeline," he whispered. "They are overjoyed at seeing us back again."
Turning into a side street they at length reined up before the finest residence in Big Glen. Presently a pale face appeared at one of the windows, then the door was flung open and a tall woman with a cry of joy rushed down the steps, seized Donnie in her arms, and fairly smothered him in a sea of rapturous kisses. For an instant only there was a death-like silence, and then from the watching crowd arose three rousing cheers of joy. The people remained until Mrs. Farwell, Madeline and Donnie had entered the house, the constables had marched the prisoners off to the Guard Room, and Grey and Buckskin Dan had headed their horses for the Barracks Square. Then they dispersed to discuss the news, and to await anxiously the detailed account which they felt sure would be published in the local evening paper.
An hour later Grey sat alone with his Commanding Officer. He presented a more respectable appearance than upon his entrance into Big Glen. He gave the Major a complete account of his experience in the wilderness, embellishing nothing, and speaking of himself as little as possible. To Buckskin Dan he gave great credit, and only in speaking of the trapper was he at a loss for suitable words in which to express his gratitude. When he finished the Major stroked his moustache thoughtfully for a few moments. Then he reached over and brought down a letter from a pigeon-hole above his desk.
"It is strange," he began, "how things do work out. Only yesterday I received this letter, and I have been puzzling my brain over it ever since. It says that several months ago a man died suddenly in England, of heart trouble. Among his papers were found letters which aroused suspicion. A cousin of his, and the heiress to a large estate, was supposed to have been lost in the wreck of the Tampan about six years ago. This man, who was next of kin, therefore came into possession of the property. The letters, however, told a far different story. The girl had not been drowned, but had been stolen away by an old woman who was paid liberally by the girl's cousin for her services. The letters of the latest date told that they were somewhere in Northern Canada, and word was accordingly sent to the Mounted Police wherever there is a Division, and in fact to every city or town of any size in Canada, asking for information concerning the missing one. There is now not the shadow of a doubt that the Madeline Normsell mentioned in this letter is the one with the same name you found in Hishu. You knew her in England, so you tell me, and can swear that she is the same person. I cannot commend you enough, Grey, for what you have done, and I am very sorry to lose you from the Force. You may consider yourself discharged with special honours."
Grey found it hard to free himself from his comrades as they gathered at the Canteen to hear the story of his experiences from his own lips.
He escaped at length, however, and made his way to Silas Farwell's house. Many were the thoughts which surged through his mind as he walked along the street. He was free, and Madeline was near, and his.
His footsteps upon the verandah of the house were heard by one who was anxiously awaiting his arrival. Suddenly a vision of beauty stood before him. It was Madeline, dressed no longer in her old tattered garments of the trail, but in a dress more becoming to her trim form. For an instant Grey looked into her flushed happy face, and then enfolded her in his arms.
There was no one to see this sacred meeting, for Mrs. Farwell had taken Donnie away to his own little cot upstairs. Madeline led Grey to a cosy room to the left of the hall, where burned a bright fire in an open grate. In front of this they sat while Grey related his interview with the Major.
"Oh, it is wonderful!" exclaimed Madeline. "To think that Cousin Rob would do such a thing, and that all has come out right at last."
"And we shall go home at once, darling," Grey replied. "We must not delay too long. We can set the wedding day now, and talk and plan for the future."
"But what will become of Buckskin Dan?" asked Madeline. "Perhaps he will go with us."
"Not a bit of it, dearie. His mind is too full of the gold he discovered in that old abandoned mine. He's going back to work it as soon as possible. He wants me to return after affairs are settled in England. He's at the Sergeants' Mess now, and will be here this evening to talk the matter over with us. You won't mind coming back, darling, will you? We shall have a fine house like this in Big Glen, and be so happy here."
"I shall go to any part of the earth with you," and Madeline placed her hand in Norman's as she spoke. "We must never be parted again."
The twilight deepened, and the fire burned low as the two lovers sat and talked of the future. The weary trails of the past were ended, and new ones opened up before them, winding far into the unknown future, shimmering clear and golden in the mystic light of eternal love.
THE END