“They’ll kill us when they know.”
Annette spoke with a little catch of breath that was something feigned. The man responded with derisive laughter. He leaned down with his arms folded on the rail, and one hand fondled the slim fingers of the girl.
“They’ll kill us, will they?” he said, in a low, amused, but wholly watchful manner. He shook his head. “Not on your life. Pideau can hate all he pleases, but he’s not figgering to quit his play for the end of a rope fixed around his dirty neck. And he’ll see to it the Wolf don’t cut off the tide of dollars pouring into his bank roll. No, kid. Beat that stuff out of your pretty head. How’re they to know, anyway? Guess we aren’t shouting things.”
For some moments Annette submitted to the caress of the man’s fleshy hand. She was thinking hard. She was calculating. But more than all, she was battling with the woman she was powerless to deny.
At last she turned. Her big bold eyes were hidden. She drew a sharp breath which had no pretense in it. She had finally made up her mind. It was a tremendous moment, and she would willingly have escaped it. But reckless purpose was all too strong.
“They’ll know—come fall. Everybody’ll know.”
The man’s caresses ceased. But the girl’s clinging hand retained his. Sinclair had straightened up with a jolt. The low-spoken confession had startled him. For want of other attraction his gaze sought again the trader’s store, and derision had faded out of his eyes. The bill was bigger than he had believed possible.
Annette released his hand. Her movement was quick. It was almost rough. She turned her face up and her black eyes were no longer hidden. They were wide and alight with the fire of passion.
“Oh, Ernie,” she cried, her small hands clenching. “I never thought. I just loved you to death. You said there’d be no harm, an’—an’ I believed you, an’—an’ anyway I didn’t care so you loved me. Now I know. Now I can see. An’—an’ I’m scared. Oh, they’ll know before next winter. All the folks’ll know. You don’t know Pideau. You don’t know the Wolf. They’ll kill you. Maybe they’ll kill me, too. If they don’t shoot me to death they’ll turn me out into the snow to herd with the wolves, with—with—our baby. It’s no use. You needn’t shake your head. Say, I know the Wolf.”
“Ernie,” she urged with increasing vehemence, her hands unclenching and grasping the fur covering of the man’s powerful arm, “ther’s just one way. You got to fix it so they can’t. Don’t hand ’em a chance. D’you see? Married, with our baby thing born right, they can’t do a thing. Ther’ ain’t a man or woman in Buffalo Coulee but’ll be right on our side. An’ your folks, your superintendent, all the police. They’ll be for us, sure. It’s——”