CHAPTER XVIII
In the solitude of her bleak chamber, Nell hastened to take from her mouth the cylinder of paper that Jack had given her. Moist as it was, when unrolled it lay flat, and the writing on the inner side was decipherable without difficulty.
The note lacked address or signature, since neither was needed. But the curt words filled Nell with rapture:
Have found way to escape. Go to Maxwell, ask him for help. Have him somewhere near the village on his side by eleven o'clock to-night.
With the reading, Nell took new heart of hope. She could not guess the means that her husband had devised for his escape from the jail, but the confident tone in which he had written to her gave promise of success. Her own part in the plan was simple enough. It only required that she act promptly in its execution. It occurred to her that Mr. Maxwell might be absent from the cabin, following the line of his traps. The thought of possible delay in the performance of her mission struck a chill to the eager wife's heart. At once, then, she was in a fever of impatience to be off and away.
Nell made her preparations swiftly. At her order, the dogs were harnessed to the sled, and were ready at the door of the hotel, as she issued forth. The news that the murderer's bride was about to start out, spread through the village like wild-fire. The sheriff himself appeared on the scene, as Nell was at the point of departure. He shook his head dolefully; but, to the girl's immense relief, he did not offer to detain her.
THE DOGS WERE READY—AT THE DOOR OF THE HOTEL—AS SHE ISSUED FORTH.
"I dunno," he remarked doubtfully, "what you git by goin', an' I dunno neither what you'd git by stayin', fer the matter o' that.
"Anyhow, a wife can't testify agin her husband, so I hain't got any call to hang on to ye."
That was his valedictory.
Nell wasted neither words nor smiles on the assembly. She had no kindly feeling toward these men, who had dared accuse her husband of crime. Her sole response to the sheriff's statement was a crack of the whip and a lively cry to the dogs, which leaped forward with a speed and surety of movement in the splendidly muscled bodies that made the watchers exclaim admiringly.
There was now no leisurely progress, such as had been that with which she and her husband had traversed the miles together, before death brought tragedy to their bridal-journey. Nell, in two years of her living in the North, had learned the management of these animals, on which transportation over the snowy expanses of the Arctic so depends. She knew well how to get from her team every ounce of speed, and she did not spare them in the least. The crust still held, so that the going was of the best. Mechanically, with the instinct that develops quickly in those who live among the wilds, Nell had noted each salient detail of the route followed by her and Jack. So, now, she was sure of her course, and drove the dogs at full speed on and on, following the levels of interwoven valleys with never a hint of hesitation.
It was late afternoon when, at last, Nell found herself passing along the valley where they had lingered behind the line of the stampede. Hope mounted higher here; for only a few miles still separated her from the man whose aid she sought.
In turn, despair smote her at thought of the possibility that this Mr. Maxwell might be absent—might even not return that night. She had a dreadful vision of Jack, escaped from his prison, yet helpless, without dogs or supplies, doomed to perish in the cold. She resolved that, should other help be wanting, she herself would return alone to meet him. She took a little encouragement from this determination, until it occurred to her that there were limits to the endurance of the dogs. Then, again, desolation fell on her. But, at least, they would be together!... Thus, her thoughts rioted in the stress of anxiety.
Anxiety became an anguished suspense, when, finally, she saw the tiny bulk of the cabin, showing darkly against the white of the valley-slope. As the dogs raced nearer, she stared with fierce eagerness to catch some sign of life. She was in terror when she made sure that no smoke issued from the chimney. One does not sit at home fireless in the Far North. A great fear was on her as she halted the dogs before the cabin-door, and none came forth to greet her.
Nell's misery, like that of most persons in this world of mistaken ideas, was of her own making. Hardly had she clambered down stiffly from the sled, when the cabin-door swung open, and Jim Maxwell stepped out. At sight of his visitor, whom he recognized in the first glance, he uttered an ejaculation of astonishment, and advanced toward her quickly. His thought on seeing her alone thus before his cabin was that some serious accident must have befallen her husband. He was deeply concerned over the girl's plight, and sympathy showed in his face with a sincerity of feeling that touched the girl deeply—so deeply, indeed, that for a few seconds after he was come to her, she could only stand wordless, with her hands in his firm clasp, her eyes glowing with the gratitude and the relief with which his presence inspired her.
Jim Maxwell's voice was softer than it had been in more than a decade of years.
"Why, child, what's the matter?" he asked soothingly. "Whatever it is, we'll make it come out all right. Tell me about it."
Nell choked down her emotion, and presently regained a fair degree of self-control.
"Oh, I'm so glad—so glad you're here, Mr. Maxwell!" Her voice throbbed with feeling. It stirred to a new life a joy long dead in the man's bosom—joy in the realization that some one wanted him. It had been twelve years since any one had wanted him.
"Tell me," he repeated. His tone was even gentler than before. The warmth of it cheered the girl like a draft of rich wine.
Nell fumbled at her bosom for a moment, and drew forth the note that Jack had written. She held it out, and Jim Maxwell took it from her, and read it through with growing astonishment.
JIM MAXWELL TOOK THE NOTE FROM HER AND READ IT THROUGH WITH GROWING ASTONISHMENT.
After he had scanned it for a second time, he looked up at the expectant girl, with a puzzled, though no less kindly, glance.
"But what does it all mean?" he asked. "I suppose the note is from your husband?"
"Yes," assented Nell hurriedly. "He's going to escape."
Jim patted the girl's hand reassuringly.
"Now, just take it easy," he counseled. "You must remember that I don't know a thing about it. So, you're going to tell me everything that's happened, and what your husband is going to escape from."
The calmness of the speaker's voice quieted Nell's excitement, and she proceeded to relate without confusion an outline of what had occurred.
"Poor little girl!" her listener said tenderly, when the narrative was concluded. "Well, he did right to send word to me. I owe you two more than I can pay. And don't you worry, my dear. This cloud will pass quickly. The sunshine will be all the brighter after the shadow." His manner changed, and he spoke briskly. "Now, you get into the cabin. I'd only just got back from my line and kindled the fire when you came. The stove, I guess, is about white-hot by now. I'll attend to the dogs."
Nell went obediently, full of happy reliance on the strength of this man, who was at once so courteous and so kind. She smiled over her distress of a few minutes before. Now, a thick column of smoke rose into the still air from the cabin-chimney.
Inside the tiny room, Nell glanced about her with a curious sense of contentment. There was something homelike in the aspect of the place, despite its bareness. It was plainly, even roughly, furnished with a few tables and chairs besides the stove and bunk. The only decorations were the skins that hung on the log-walls. An oil-lamp was on a small table in a corner. On the large table in the opposite corner were some tins of meat, a saucepan, a few pieces of heavy crockery, and the like. Nell could not interpret the strange effect wrought upon her by these surroundings. She had felt it, in some measure, on the occasion of her first visit to the cabin. Now, however, its force seemed vastly stronger. She puzzled over it in vain. She tried to think it was the sense of relief that so affected her. But she knew that this was not the explanation. She had that inexplicable feeling of being at home. There was no visible cause. Whatever the reason, it lay beneath the surface of things. It was something in the atmosphere, some psychic quality.
It seemed to Nell that the impression made upon her by this room in the cabin was intensified by the entrance of the dweller there, who greeted her with his friendly, gentle smile. Indeed, the kindliness of that smile and the look in the grave eyes touched the girl anew to thankfulness that this man would devote himself to her service in the time of need. She thought to herself that Mr. Maxwell must always have been a very kindly man to all, because he smiled so easily, notwithstanding the sadness of his face in repose. She could not know that, through two-thirds of the years measuring her span of life, Jim Maxwell had not smiled at all.
"First," Jim commanded, "throw off the outside things, and make yourself at home. You're going to stay awhile."
Nell would have protested. But the man raised a monitory hand.
"It's no use your arguing about it," he said; and Nell recognized the masterful note in his voice, though he spoke as gently as before. She was rebellious, but she listened patiently while he went on to explain.
"You see, my dear, this is men's work. There might be a hitch somewhere. There might even be a bit of a mix-up. You'd only be in the way then, young lady. We may have our hands full, without you on them. Probably everything will be all right. Anyhow, we'll do our best, and to do it we mustn't be hampered by the presence of a non-combatant. We'll come straight here as fast as my dogs can bring us. That will give you a chance to rest up. You'll just have to wait here till we come. I don't say that that isn't the hardest part of the whole job. But that's woman's work—waiting."
Jim had spoken thus frankly and at length, in the hope of avoiding useless discussion of a matter concerning which discussion could avail nothing, and he succeeded; for Nell yielded at once, very meekly.
"You're right, of course," she said, unhappily. "And you're right, too, about my having the hardest part in just sitting here with my hands folded, while I don't know what is happening to Jack."
"Better unfold them," Jim suggested with a chuckle, "and rustle yourself some grub." He waved his hand toward the larger table. "The larder is quite at your service. As for me, I'll get ready and start at once. That'll get me to the edge of Kalmak soon after dark, so that I'll be all ready and waiting—just like you!—for whatever's to happen."
"Yes," Nell said, and again there was the emphasis of anxiety in her voice, "you must start at once. You must be there, ready for Jack when he comes."
Yet, in spite of this decision on the part of both that the man should start immediately, it was ordained by the Fates that there should be some delay; for this was an hour fraught with momentous things for the two thus cast together in the solitary cabin on the mountainside.
It was as Jim Maxwell began his preparations for the journey that he chanced—or that he was guided—to stand close to the girl, facing her. His eyes were caught by a golden gleam, which seemed pulsing, as it moved in the rhythm of her breathing. His gaze rested there idly at first. And then, a moment later, his attention was drawn to a more careful scrutiny—just why, he did not know. Perhaps, as some maintain, a secret, tenuous vibration emanated from the metal, and moved to response a sleeping memory of old associations in the man's soul. Whatever the cause, Jim Maxwell's eyes were seized and held fast by the locket lying on Nell's breast.
Of a sudden, he started violently. He thrust his head forward, with a movement so abrupt, almost threatening in its seeming, that the girl, in her turn, was startled, and withdrew a step, half-fearful.
"I want to see that locket you are wearing." Jim Maxwell spoke in a tone that Nell had not heard before. It rang with a note of command not to be denied. She gazed affrighted at the change in his face. The kindliness was fled from it. It was imperious, ruthless, with a trace of underlying savagery. The young wife was dazed by the metamorphosis in the man on whom depended now her husband's rescue. And she was afraid, as well—no longer with a doubtful fear, but with a real terror before the expression in that heavily lined face, out of which the eyes stared at her with a cruel insistence.
"I want to see that locket you are wearing," he repeated harshly, and held out his right hand with the palm upward to receive it.
Without a word, Nell took off the chain from her neck, and dropped it with the locket into the waiting palm. Then, she moved a little aside, shrinking from the new being with whom she found herself. But, after a few seconds, she forgot her own emotion, her alarm, her anxiety in behalf of her husband. For she was looking on the soul of a man, bared in agony. So great and so terrible was that revelation that, very quickly, she turned her gaze aside that she might not see.
Jim Maxwell remained with his eyes fixed on the little locket, which bore for an ornament an initial N traced in tiny pearls. He could not doubt. It was the locket that he had caused to be made for his daughter, for Nell—his little girl! Presently, he would open it, to see if the pictures of Lou and of himself were still within. But, in this first burst of emotion, he could only stand moveless there, racked by all the torments of memory. It was the tearing open of wounds, which, though they had never healed, had ceased to bleed. Now, they bled afresh, and it seemed to him that his soul was drowning in the blood.
The fierceness of his first emotion passed. Suddenly, it was as if a cloud lifted from his brain, and he became aware of himself standing there in the cabin. A moment before—or was it ages?—he had been in heaven—and in hell. Now, he was back in the cabin in the wilderness. And he was glad to be there, for it was home....
Again, his attention was caught by the gleam of the gold within his hands. He recognized the locket. But, at last, he was able to accept its presence with some degree of calm.
Jim Maxwell turned to the girl, and addressed her gently enough, but still with that dominant tone which would brook no denial.
"Where did you get this locket?"
"I have had it always," she answered. None could doubt her truth as she spoke, with the clear eyes meeting her questioner's stern gaze squarely.
The severity of the man's expression yielded a little.
"Who gave it to you?"
"I do not know."
Jim frowned at this check.
"But you must know," he insisted.
Nell shook her head resolutely.
"I do not remember who gave it to me," she repeated. "But I don't remember anything about myself when I was a very little girl. I've had the locket always, just as far back as I can remember."
"How far back can you remember?" It was a perfunctory question.
"Papa and Mamma Ross, who saved me from the river, guessed that I was five or six years old. They decided on calling it six."
"And you had the locket then?"
Nell nodded assent again.
"And how old are you now?"
"I'm just eighteen."
As his brain took in the figures, and made a mechanical calculation, Jim Maxwell's form, which had relaxed a little, grew tense again. His eyes searched the girl's face with a strange hunger in the intensity of the gaze. Twelve years! Twelve years ago, this girl here before him, who knew nothing as to her life prior to that time, had been saved from a river. And she had worn the locket that he had caused to be fashioned for his daughter, Nell. And twelve years ago his wife and his daughter, Nell, had vanished. The incredible crowded in his thoughts. Could mother and child, by an evil stroke of fate, have been caught somewhere in treacherous waters? Could one have perished, and the other have escaped? Could this girl, who stood there wondering at him—could she be that child, his little Nell, grown to this splendid womanhood? The thoughts electrified him. Was it possible that there was still left for him in life this supreme consolation—a creature whom he might love with all his heart, who would love him in return?
But Jim Maxwell dared not believe. He was afraid of hope, lest it become despair to destroy him. Yet, the chief influences that wrought upon him were his own desire that this miracle might be truth, and the new and singular yearning of his heart toward Nell.
Presently, Jim Maxwell approached the girl where she was standing a little aloof. He reached out and put his hand on her arm. The girl started at his touch, but, for some reason she could not understand, she did not shrink from him now. He spoke very softly; and in his voice there was a music that penetrated to the girl's soul.
THE GIRL STARTED AT HIS TOUCH BUT SHE DID NOT SHRINK FROM HIM NOW.
"You are my daughter—my little Nell!... God has given you back to me."
The girl did not doubt. As with the man, her own yearning bore witness. She offered no resistance, but yielded with a reverent joy to the caress, as her father turned her about until she faced him, then stooped and kissed her on the forehead.