The Snowshoe Trail

by Edison Marshall

There was nothing to do thereafter but to build up the fire and wait for dawn.

In reality, Virginia had guessed the situation just right. In the adjoining cabin, scarcely one hundred yards away, Harold waited and watched his chance to recover his snowshoes. He was wise enough to care to wait for daylight. He wanted no further meeting with Bill in the darkness. But in the light he would have every advantage; he could see to shoot and his blind foe could not return his fire.

After all, he had only to be patient. Vengeance would be swift and sure. When the morning broke he would come into his own again, with never a chance for failure. One little glance along his rifle sights, one quarter-ounce of pressure on the trigger,—and then he could journey down to the Yuga and his squaw in happiness and safety. It would be a hard march, but once there he could get supplies and return to jump Bill's claim. Everything would turn out right for him after all.

The fact that his confederates were slain mattered not one way or another. Pete had gone out with a bullet through his lungs; Virginia had dealt him that. Joe's neck had been broken when Bill had hurled him against the cabin wall. But in a way, these things were an advantage. There was sufficient food in the cabin for one meal for the three of them, and that meant it was three meals for one. A day's rations, carefully spent, would carry him the two day's march to the Yuga. Besides, the breeds would not be present to claim their third of the mine. He wondered why he hadn't handled the whole matter himself, in the first place. He would have been fully capable, he thought. As to Virginia,—he hadn't decided about Virginia yet. He didn't know of her wound, or his security would have seemed all the more complete. Virginia might yet listen to reason and accompany him down to the Yuga. He had only to wait till dawn.

But Harold's thought was not entirely clear. The fury in his brain and the madness in his blood distorted it,—just a little. Otherwise he might have conceived of some error in his plans. He would have been a little more careful, a little less sure. His insane and devastating longing for vengeance, as well as his late drunkenness, cost him the fine but essential edge of his self-mastery.

Slowly the stars faded, the first ghostly light came stealing from the east. The blood began to leap once more in his veins. Already it was almost light enough to shoot. Then his straining eyes saw Bill emerge from the cabin.

Every nerve in his body seemed to jerk and thrill with renewed excitement. Yet there wasn't a chance to shoot. The light was dim; the shadows of the spruce trees hid the woodsman's figure swiftly. He was gone; the cabin was left unoccupied except for Virginia. And for all that she had shot so straight to save Bill's life, there was nothing to fear from her. Her fury was passed by now; he thought he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't shoot him in cold blood. And perhaps some of her love for him yet lingered.

He did not try to guess the mission on which Bill had gone. If his thought had been more clear and his fury less, he would have paused and wondered about it; perhaps he would have been somewhat suspicious. Bill was blind; except to procure fuel there was no conceivable reason for an excursion into the snow. But Harold only shivered with hatred and rage, drunk with the realization that his chance had come.

He would go quickly to the cabin, procure his snowshoes, and be ready to meet Bill with loaded rifle when he returned. There was no chance for failure. He plunged and fought his way, floundering in the deep snow, toward Bill's cabin.

He found to his great delight that the door was open,—nothing to do but walk through. At first he was a little amazed at the sight of Virginia lying so still against the opposite wall; it occurred to him for the first time that perhaps she had been wounded in the fight. If so, it made his work all the safer. Yet she opened her eyes and gazed at him as he neared the threshold. He could see her but dimly; mostly the cabin was still dusky with shadows.