Very slowly he went up to bed, still wondering. It was in vain that he tried to compose his mind to sleep: he could not, for thinking of what Jethro had said. For an hour he tossed and turned and puzzled and pondered. At last he got up and went to the window, thinking that he might feel sleepy if he sat there for a while.
The moon was very bright now, so that all the little square houses showed plainly, as did the white expanse of the empty street. Nothing stirred in all of the sleeping town; the very quiet and peace did indeed make him feel drowsy almost at once. He yawned a great yawn and was just about to turn from the window when a moving shadow caught his eye. Some one was coming down the deserted street, some one who walked noiselessly but swiftly and with great determination. It was a woman, he could see, an Indian squaw, with broad, bent shoulders and heavy dark hair. Even at that distance and in the deceiving moonlight he felt certain that it was the woman he had seen before, Laughing Mary.
She turned in at the gate and came hurrying up the path, but she did not reach the door. Two men followed her, one lithe and stooping, the other tall and moving with great strides—there was no doubt in Hugh’s mind that it was Half-Breed Jake. He seized the woman by the shoulder and whirled her about just as, very plainly, she was on the point of mounting the doorstep and knocking at the door. There followed an altercation, whispered, yet so full of fierceness and passionate gesture that Hugh, at his window, could feel the fury of their quarrel even there. It was almost like watching a dance of shadows, so noiseless did they manage to be, although now and then he caught a low-voiced sentence, couched in guttural Chippewa, and once, to his surprise, he heard his own name, spoken very distinctly by Laughing Mary.
She was not smiling now but speaking volubly, gesticulating, urging and insisting something, to which Jake slowly and determinedly shook his head. She kept pointing to the bale of furs still under his arm and seemed to be voicing her desire with such violence in the face of his continued refusal that finally, in angry impatience, he raised his arm as though to strike her. She winced and cowered, but still persisted, advancing her dark wrinkled face almost into his to utter her last word. Whatever she said seemed to have effect, for Jake’s arm dropped to his side and, muttering angrily, he stooped down to open his pack and give her what she demanded. What the coveted article was, Hugh could not see, for the Indian husband, Kaniska, was standing in the way.
Then all three went out quickly through the gate, as silent and as swift as ghosts. For the first time, Hugh noticed that Jake, who walked behind, moved with a slight unevenness in his giant stride.
It had grown so late that Hugh in spite of his curiosity and excitement was sleepy at last. He lay down again, going over and over once more the puzzles of the day. What ought he to do? What had these strange people to do with him? Why did Jethro say that he was the only one to go on that impossible errand, why did the fellow not go himself? If there were really a chance of his helping the Edmonds boys, Hugh would have risked anything gladly, but this plan was such absolute madness! No, thought Hugh, he had made up his mind, he would not change it again, he would go to-morrow.
He arose at five, packed his belongings and, on hearing Linda stirring in the kitchen, went down to explain to her. She heard him through in silence and without protest.
“I suppose you must know best,” was her only comment.
When he made an attempt to thank her for all her kindness, she refused to listen.
“The Edmonds boys are my friends,” she said, “and for them I would do much. This was nothing.”