The Isle of Retribution

by Edison Marshall

Ned’s instincts had been trained like the rest of him, and they watched over him while he slept. They aroused him from sleep as soon as it was light enough to pick his way over the rough ice that lay in front, yet as if in realization of his physical need of rest, not an instant sooner. He sprang up to find the dawn, gray over the ice-bound sea.

But the miracle of the morning, even the possibility that Doomsdorf had made time while he slept and was now almost upon him did not hold his thought an instant. His mind could not reach beyond the tragic fact that he was alone. Bess was gone, vanished like a spirit that had never been in the gray dawn.

The moment was one of cruel but wonderful revelation to Ned. It was as if some unspeakable blessing had come to one who was blind, but before ever sight came to him, it was snatched away. As sleep had fallen over him, he had suddenly been close to the most profound discovery, the greatest truth yet of his earthly life; but now only its image remained. Bess had been in his arms, her lips against his, but now his arms were empty and his lips were cold.

She had gone. Her tracks led straight north through the snow. The most glorious hour life had ever given him had faded like a dream. Whence lay this glory, the source of his wonder as well as the crushing despair that now was upon him he might have seen in one more glance; in one moment’s scrutiny of his soul he might have laid bare a heart’s secret that had eluded him for all these past weary weeks. But there was no time for such now. Bess had gone, and he must follow her. This was the one truth left in an incredible heaven and earth.

Her last words swept through his memory. They gave him the key: his deductions followed swift and sure by the process of remorseless logic. In a single moment he knew the dreadful truth: Bess had not gone on in the expectation of Ned overtaking her, thus saving a few moments of his precious time. She had not gone east at all. She knew the stars as well as he did: she would have never, except by some secret purpose, turned north instead of east. He saw the truth all too plain.

“Say we became separated somehow on the ice,” she had told him before he slept, “and he should be overtaking me but you’d have a chance to go on to safety!” To quiet her, he had given her his promise to go on and leave her to her fate; and now she had purposely separated herself from him. She had gone to decoy Doomsdorf from his trail.

She had chosen the direction that would give Doomsdorf the longest chase and take him farthest from Ned’s trail. He couldn’t follow them both. The morning light would show him that his two fugitives had separated; and she had reasoned soundly in thinking that their enemy would pursue her, rather than Ned. His lust for her was too commanding for him to take any other course. While he pursued her, Ned would have every chance to hurry on eastward to the safety of Tzar Island.

Had he not promised that if he found he could not aid her, he would go on alone? Realizing that she was holding him back, had she not put herself where it would be impossible for him to give her further aid. It would only mean capture and death, certain as the brightening dawn, for him to follow and attempt to come between her and Doomsdorf. On the other hand, this was his chance: while their savage foe ran north in pursuit of Bess, Ned himself could put a distance between them that could hardly be overtaken. There was nothing to gain by following her—her capture at Doomsdorf’s hands was an ultimate certainty—only his own life to lose.

She had reasoned true. Together their flight was hopeless. Alone, he had a chance. By leading Doomsdorf from his trail she had increased mightily that chance. The affair was all one sided. Yet, not knowing why, he took the side of folly.

Never for a moment did he even consider going on and leaving her to her fate. He could not aid her, and yet in one moment more he had launched forth on her trail, faster than he had ever mushed before. He had no inward battle, no sense of sacrifice. There was not even a temptation to take the way of safety. In these last months he had been lifted far beyond the reach of any such feeble voice as that.