She found him preoccupied, and as a result increased her complaints. But they left him cold to-night. Her lot was happiness itself compared to that of Bess, and yet Bess’s spirit of good sportsmanship and courage was entirely absent in her. But he must not keep comparing her with Bess. Destruction lay that way! He must continue to adore her for her beauty, the charm that used to hold him entranced.
She was all he had asked for in his old life. If they ever gained freedom, he would, in all probability, find in her all that he could desire in the future. They could take up their old love anew, and doubtless she would give him all the happiness he had a right to expect—more than he deserved. Likely enough, if the test ever came, she would show that her metal too was the finest, tempered steel! At least he could continue to believe in her until he had cause to lose faith.
And the test was not far distant now. He was not blind to the gathering storm; at any moment there might ensue a crisis that would embroil all three of them in a struggle to the death. Not one of them could escape, Lenore no more than himself or Bess. She was one of the triumvirate,—and surely she would stand with them to the last.
If the crisis could only be postponed until they had made full preparations for it! Yet in one glance, in which he traced down Doomsdorf’s fiery gaze and found it centered upon Bess, he knew that any instant might bring the storm!
He felt his own anger rising. A dark fury, scarcely controllable, swept over him at the insult of that creeping, serpent gaze upon Bess’s beauty. But he mustn’t give way to it yet. He must hold himself for the last, dread instant of need.
The four of them gathered about the little, rough table, and again the squaw served them, from the shadows. It was a strange picture, there in the lantern light,—the imperturbable face of the squaw, always half in shadow; the lurid wild-beast eyes of Doomsdorf gleaming under his shaggy brows; Lenore’s beauty a thing to hold the eyes; and Bess horrified and fearful at what the next moment might bring. Hardly a word was exchanged from the meal’s beginning to its end. Bess tried to talk, so as to divert Doomsdorf’s sinister thoughts, but the words would not come to her lips. The man seemed eager to finish the meal.
As soon as they had moved from the table toward the little stove, and the squaw had begun the work of clearing away the dishes, Doomsdorf halted at Bess’s side. For a moment he gazed down at her, a great hand resting on her chair.
“You’re a pretty little hell-cat,” he told her, in curiously muffled tones. “What makes you such a fighter?”
She tried to meet his eyes. “I have to be, in this climate,” she answered. “Where would you get your furs——”
He uttered one great hoarse syllable, as if in the beginning of laughter. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You’d sooner walk ten miles through the snow than give an inch, wouldn’t you?” His hand reached, closing gently upon her arm, and a shiver of repulsion passed over her. “That’s a fine little muscle—but you don’t want to work it off. Why don’t you show a little friendship?”