And meanwhile the penetration of this whiteman’s country was steadily progressing. Who could say the extent of that penetration? It was southern California over again. And the invaders were only waiting, waiting for the day to dawn when—
The breaking of bush just behind him as he passed on towards the creek brought him to a halt. He faced about alertly and his hand shot into the pocket where his automatic pistol lay ready for use. But it was withdrawn empty almost immediately. The diminutive woman with the slanting, terrified eyes broke from the undergrowth, something breathless from her exertion, and stood before him.
His eyes were smiling with a kindliness he made no attempt to disguise at sight of her. The memory of her devotion to her sightless man was uppermost for all he had fathomed the meaning of their presence on the river. She seemed to him a gentle creature, hopelessly condemned to a task of utter self-sacrifice. And he deplored the painful terror under which she suffered so acutely. The shame and pity of it all touched him deeply.
“Say, mam,” he said, in a re-assuring tone, “you took a big chance coming that way. I’m guessing for the thing that set you worrying to come up with me on the run in a heat liable to hand apoplexy to a brass image.”
But there was no re-assurance in the urgent gaze that looked up into his face. The poor creature’s bosom heaved with obvious emotion. She opened her almost colourless lips to speak, but no sound came. Instead she closed them again and glanced behind her fearfully.
Wilder understood. He had supposed her to be simply a messenger. Now he realised she feared discovery by the blindman she had left behind her.
Presently she turned to him again, and thrust one thin, delicate hand into the bosom of her gown where it remained while she flung a terrified inquiry at him.
“You go so to make it that they come and take him, and kill him, for the killing of the miss—the man, Le Gros?” she shook her head violently. “No, no!” she cried passionately. “He not kill Le Gros! They must not kill him. Sate kill Le Gros, and Usak come and kill Sate, and all the men. He fight to kill my Hela, too. But he put out his eyes. You are officer police. The great Canadian Police. You know good what is right, what is wrong. I tell you all. I tell you all the truth. My Hela not kill no man. It our dead son kill this man, an’ the other. I know. Hela tell me. He tell me all.” The smile had passed from Wilder’s eyes as he listened to the almost breathless, headlong rush of the poor creature’s desperate appeal for her man.
“Did he send you to say this?” he asked, knowing well that the man could not have inspired such acting in her.
“Hela send me?” The woman’s eyes widened. “No! Oh, no! If he know I am come then I—I know no more. Hela send me? No! I come for him. I come so you know all the thing he will not tell.”