XXXIV
When the dawn came full and bright over Clearwater, Bill and his party were ready to start. When Harold had been thoroughly cowed and his full instructions were given him, the thongs had been put about his ankles and removed from his wrists, and he was permitted to do the packing. That procedure was exceedingly simple; all available blankets were piled on the sled and made into a bed for Virginia, and the ax, candles, and such cooking utensils as were needed were packed in front. And then they had a short but decisive interview with Harold.
"I won't go—I'll die first," he cried to Virginia. "Besides, you don't dare to use force on me; you don't know the way and Bill can't see. You know if you kill me you'll die yourself."
"Fair enough," Virginia replied sweetly. "But take this little word of advice. Bill and I were all reconciled to dying when we thought of you—and we don't mind it now if we're sure you are going along. Don't get any false ideas about that point, Harold. We're not going to spare you on any chance of saving ourselves. We are going to give you a little more foot room, and fix up your hands a little, and then you are going to pull the sled. When we camp at night you're going to cut the wood. Don't think for a minute I'm going to be afraid to shoot if you disobey one order—if you take one step against us. You are at our mercy; we are not at yours. And Bill will tell you I can shoot straight. Perhaps you learned that fact last night."
Yes, Harold had learned. He had learned it very well.
"If I think you're trying to cheat us—to lead us out of the way toward your breed friends—you're going to have a chance to learn it better," she went on, never a quaver in her voice. "I won't wait to make sure—I'll shoot you through the neck as easy and as quick as I'd shoot a grouse. I haven't forgotten what you did last night; I'm just eager for a chance to pay you for it." Her voice grew more sober. "This is a warning—the only one and the last one that you will get. I'm going to watch you every minute and tie you up at night. And the fact that we can't go on without you won't have a jot of influence if you take a step against us. We may die ourselves, but you know that you'll also die."
This was not the sheltered, incapable girl of society that addressed him now. These words were those of the woodswoman; the eyes that gazed into his were unwavering and hard. He knew that she was speaking true. The courage for retaliation oozed out of him as mud oozes into a river.
They lengthened the thong that tied his ankles together, giving him room for a full walking step but not enough to leap or run. They put on his hands a pair of awkward mittens that had been stiffened by mud and water, and lashed them to his wrists. Then they slipped the thong of the sled across his shoulders and under his arms like loops of a kyack. They were ready to go.
The forest was laden with the early-morning silence; the trees stood draped in snow. It was cold, too,—the frost gathered quickly on the mufflers that they wore about their lips. All too well they knew what lay before them. Without food to keep their bodies nourished and warm, they could scarcely hope to make the town; their one chance was that somewhere on the trail they would encounter game. How long a chance it was, this late in winter, they knew all too surely. But for all this knowledge Bill and Virginia were cheerful.