The Huntress

"Bela!" he cried roughly. "You bring another box and sit down here."

Sam stared, genuinely amazed at his tone.

"There is no room," said Bela in a wooden voice.

"You bring over a box!" cried Joe peremptorily.

Sam's face was grim. "My friend, that's no way to speak to a lady," he said softly.

This was the kind of opening Joe wanted. "What the hell is it to you?" he shouted.

"And that's no way to speak to a man!"

"A man, no; but plenty good enough for a – cook!"

At Sam's elbow was a cup with tea-dregs in the bottom. He picked it up with a casual air and tossed the contents into Joe's face.

CHAPTER XXII

MUSCLE AND NERVE

A gasp went around the table. Joe sprang up with a bellow of rage. Sam was already up. He kicked the impeding box away. When Joe rushed him he ran around the other side of the table.

Sam had planned everything out. Above all he wished to avoid a rough and tumble, in which he would stand no chance at all. He had speed, wind, and nerve to pit against a young mountain of muscle.

"Will you see fair play, boys?" he cried.

"Sure!" answered half a dozen voices.

Big Jack stopped Joe in mid-career. "Let's do everything proper," he said grimly.

By this time all were up. Of one accord they shoved the trestles back against the wall and kicked the boxes underneath. Every breast responded to the thrill of the keenest excitement known to man – a fight with fists.

Sam and Joe, obeying a clothed creature's first impulse, wriggled out of their coats and flung them on the ground. Joe took off his boots. Sam was wearing moccasins.

Young Coulson came to Sam with tears of vexation actually standing in his eyes. He gripped Sam's hand.

"I can't be present at a thing like this," he said. "Oh, damn the luck! I'd lose my stripes if it came out. But I'm with you. I hope you'll lick the tar out of him! I'll be watching through the window," he added in a whisper. He ran out.

Big Jack took the centre of the floor. "I'll referee this affair if agreeable to both," he said.

"Suits me," replied Sam briefly.

Jack pointed out their respective corners and called for a second for each. Several volunteered to help Joe. He chose young Mattison.

Sam remained alone in his corner. While his pluck had won him friends, there was no man who wished to embrace a cause which all thought was hopeless. Young Joe was a formidable figure. He had calmed down now.

From behind the tall white men a little bent figure appeared and went to Sam.

"I be your man," he whispered; "if you not ashame' for a red man."

Sam smiled swiftly in his white, set face, and gripped the old man's hand hard. "Good man!" he said. "You're the best!"

Mahooley, Birley, and another, abashed by this little scene, now stepped forward. Sam waved them back.

"Musq'oosis is my second," he said.

"Straight Marquis of Queensberry rules," said Big Jack. "No hitting in the break-away."

This was an advantage to Sam.

"Time!" cried Big Jack.

The adversaries stepped out of their corners.

All this while Bela had been standing by the kitchen door with her hands pressed tight to her breast and her agonized eyes following all that went on. She did not clearly understand. But when they advanced toward each other she knew. She ran into the middle of the room between them.

"Stop!" she cried. "This is my house. I won't have no fightin' here!" She paused, shielding Sam and glaring defiantly around her. "You cowards, mak' them fight! This is no fair fight. One is too big!"

All the men became horribly uneasy. In this man's affair they had completely overlooked the woman. After all, it was her house. And it was too dark now to pull it off outside.

The silence was broken by a sneering laugh from Joe. He made a move as if to get his boots again. The sound was like a whiplash on Sam. He turned to Bela, white with anger.

"Go to the kitchen!" he commanded. "Shut the door behind you. I started this, and I'm going to see it through. Do you want to shame me again?"

Bela collapsed under his bitter, angry words. Her head fell forward, and she retreated to the kitchen door like a blind woman. She did not go out. She stayed there through the terrible moments that followed, making no sound, and missing no move with those tragic, wide eyes.

The adversaries advanced once more, Big Jack stepping back. The two circled warily, looking for an opening. They made a striking contrast. "David and Goliath," somebody whispered.

Joe's head was thrust forward between his burly shoulders and his face lowered like a thundercloud. Sam, silent and tense, smiled and paraded on his toes.

"Why don't you start something, Jeffries?" asked Sam.

Joe, with a grunt of rage, leaped at him with a sledge-hammer swing that would have ended the fight had it landed. Sam ducked and came up on the other side. Joe's momentum carried him clear across the room.

Sam laughed. "Missed that one, Jumbo," he taunted. "Try another."

Joe rushed back and swung again. Once more Sam ducked, this time as he went under Joe's arm, contriving to land an upper-cut, not of sufficient force to really shake the mountain, but driving him mad with rage.

Joe wheeled about, both arms going like flails. This was what Sam desired. He kept out of reach. He kept Joe running from one side of the room to the other. Joe was not built for running. At the end of the round, the big man was heaving for breath like a foundered horse.

Such was the general style of the battle. The spectators, pressed against the wall to give them plenty of room, roared with excitement.

In the beginning the cries were all for Joe. Then Sam's clever evasions began to arouse laughter. Finally a voice or two was heard on Sam's side. This was greatly stimulating to Sam, who had steeled himself to expect no favour, and correspondingly depressing to Joe.

For three rounds Sam maintained his tactics without receiving a serious blow. He was trying to break the big man's wind – not good at the best – and to wear him out in a vain chase. He aimed to make him so blind with rage he could not see to land his blows. To this end he kept up a running fire of taunts.

"I shan't have to knock you out, Blow-Hard. You're doing for yourself nicely. Come on over here. Pretty slow! Pretty slow! Who was your dancing teacher, Joe? You're getting white around the lips now. Bum heart. You won't last long!"

Between rounds little Musq'oosis, watching all that Mattison did, did likewise for his principal.

Finally the spectators began to grow impatient with too much footwork. They required a little blood to keep up their zest. Sam was blamed.

"Collide! Collide!" they yelled. "Is this a marathon or hare and hounds? Corner him, Joe! Smash him! Stand, you cook, and take your punishment!"

Big Jack fixed the last speaker with a scowl.

"What do you want – a murder?" he growled.

The referee's sympathies were clearly veering to Sam's corner. Big Jack, whatever his shortcomings, was a good sport, and Joe was showing a disposition to fight foul. Jack watched him closely in the clinches. Joe was beginning to seek clinches to save his wind. Jack, in parting them, received a sly blow meant for Sam.

Like a flash, Jack's own experienced right jabbed Joe's stomach, sending him reeling back into his corner. The spectators howled in divided feelings. Jack, however, controlled the situation with a look.

In the fourth round Joe turned sullen and refused to force the fighting any longer. He stood in front of his corner, stooping his shoulders and swinging his head like a gorilla. Such blows as Sam had been able to land had all been addressed to Joe's right eye. His beauty was not thereby improved.

Now he stood, deaf alike to Sam's taunts and to the urgings of his own supporters. Sam, dancing in front of him, feinting and retreating, could not draw a blow. Strategy was working in Joe's dull brain. He dropped his arms.

Instantly Sam ran in with another blow on the damaged eye. Over-confidence betrayed him. Joe's right was waiting. The slender figure was lifted clean from the floor by the impact. He crashed down in a heap and, rolling over, lay on his face, twitching.

A roar broke from the spectators. That was what they wanted.

Bela ran out from her corner, distracted. Musq'oosis intercepted her.

"No place for girl," he said sternly. "Go back."

"He's dead! He's dead!" she cried wildly.

"Fool! Only got wind knocked out!" He thrust her back to her place by the door.

Big Jack was stooping over the prostrate figure, counting with semaphore strokes of his arm: "One! Two! Three!"

The spectators began to think it was all over, and the tension let down. Joe grinned, albeit wearily. There was not much left in him.

Meanwhile Sam's brain was working with perfect clearness. He stirred cautiously.

"Nothing broken," he thought. "Take nine seconds for wind enough to keep away till the end of the round. Then you have him!"

At the count of nine he sprang up, and the spectators roared afresh. Joe, surprised, went after him without overmuch heart. Sam managed to escape further punishment.

A growing weariness now made Joe's attacks spasmodic and wild. He was working his arms as if his hands had leaden weights attached to them. A harrowing anxiety appeared in his eyes. At the sight of it a little spring of joy welled up in Sam's breast.

"Pretty near all in, eh?" he said. "You're going to get licked, and you know it! There's fear in your eye. You always had a yellow streak. Crying Joe Hagland!"

Joe, missing a wild swing, fell of his own momentum amid general laughter. Derision ate the heart out of him. He rose with a hunted look in his eyes. Sam suddenly took the offensive, and rained a fusillade of blows on the damaged eye, the heart, the kidneys. Joe, taken by surprise, put up a feeble defence.

The next round was the last. Around Caribou Lake they still talk about it. A miracle took place before their eyes. David overcame Goliath at his own game. Jack beat down the giant. At the referee's word, Sam sprang from his corner like a whirlwind, landing right and left before Joe's guard was up.

The weary big man was beaten to his knees. Struggling up, he tried to clinch, only to be met by another smashing blow in the face. He turned to escape, but the dancing figure with the battering fists was ever in front of him.

He went down again, and, stretching out on the floor, began to blubber aloud in his confusion and distress.

"He's had enough," said Sam grimly.

The result was received in the silence of surprise. A few laughed at the spectacle Joe made. Others merely shrugged. The victory was not a popular one.

Big Jack went through the formality of counting, though it was patent to all that the fighting was done. Afterward he turned to Sam and shook his hand.

"I didn't think you had it in you," he said.

This was sweet to Sam.

Joe raised himself, snivelling, and commenced to revile Sam.

"Aw, shut up!" cried Big Jack, with strong disgust. "You're licked!"

Joe got to his feet. "Only by trickery!" he cried. "He wouldn't stand up to me! I could have knocked him out any time. Everybody was against me! It takes the heart out of a man." Tears threatened again.

General laughter greeted this.

"That's all right!" cried Joe furiously from the door. "I'll get you yet!" He went out.

The others now began to crowd around Sam, congratulating him a little sheepishly, slapping his back. A great, sweet calm filled Sam. This was the moment he had dreamed of during his long days on the trail and his lonely nights at Grier's Point.

He had made good. He was a man among men. They acknowledged it. It was like a song inside him. The hideous wound that Bela had dealt him was healed.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. From her corner she was gazing at him as at a young god. Calm filled her breast, too. Joe was gone, and her secret still safe. Surely after to-night, she thought, there would be no need of keeping it.

They heard Joe climb into his wagon outside and curse at his horses. Instead of turning into the road, he drove back to the door and pulled up. Bela turned pale again.

Joe shouted through the doorway: "Anyhow, no woman keeps me!"

"Damn you! What do you mean?" cried Sam.

"You owe the clothes you wear to her, and the gun you carry! The horses you drive are hers!"

"You lie!" cried Sam, springing toward the door.

Joe whipped up his horses. "Ask her!" he shouted back.

Sam whirled about and, seizing the wrist of the shrinking Bela, dragged her out of her corner.

"Is it true," he demanded – "the horses? Answer me before them all!"

She fought for breath enough to lie.

He saw it. "If you lie to me again I'll kill you!" he cried. "Answer me! Is it your team that I drive?"

His violence overbore her defences. "Yes," she said tremulously. "What difference does it make?"

The men looked on, full of shamefaced curiosity at this unexpected turn. One or two, more delicate-minded, went outside.

Sam's ghastly wound was torn wide open again. "What difference?" he cried, white and blazing. "Oh, my God, it means you've made a fool of me a second time! It means I've nerved myself and trained myself to fight this brute only to find he's able to give me the laugh after all!"

"Sam – you so poor, then," she murmured.

It was like oil on the flames. He flung off her beseeching hand. "I didn't ask your help!" he cried passionately. "I told you to leave me alone! You can't understand a man has his pride. You're loathsome to me now!"

Mahooley interfered with good intent. "Sam, you're foolish. What difference does it make? Nobody blames you!"

"Keep your mouth out of this!" cried Sam, whirling on him.

To Bela he went on blindly: "The team is at the Point. I'll have it here in an hour! My credit at the store is yours! You hear that, Mahooley? Turn over what's coming to me to her. The gun, the axe, the blankets I'll keep. I'll pay you for them when I earn it. I'll make you a present of my labour, driving for you. And I hope to God I'll never see you again!" He ran out.

Bela stood in an oddly arrested attitude, as if an icy blast had congealed her in full motion. There was no sense in her eyes. In acute discomfort, the men stood on one foot, then the other.

Mahooley, as the leader, felt that it was incumbent on him to make the first move.

"Look here, Bela," he began. "Don't you take on – "

The sound of his voice brought her to life. She threw back her head with a laugh. It had a wretched, mirthless sound; but a laugh is a laugh. They were glad to be deceived. They laughed with her.

"Tak' on?" cried Bela recklessly. Her voice had a tinny ring. "W'at do I care? I glad he gone. I glad both gone. I never let them come here again. Maybe we have some peace now."

Naturally the other men were delighted.

"Good for you, Bela!" they cried. "You're a game sport, all right! You're right; they're not worth bothering about. We'll stand by you!"

She seemed unimpressed by their enthusiasm.

"Time to go," she said, shepherding them toward the door. "Come to-morrow. I have ver' good dinner to-morrow."

"You bet I'll be here!" "Count on me!" "Me, too!" "You're all right, Bela!" "Good night!" "Good night!"

They filed out.

Only Musq'oosis was left sitting on the floor, staring into the fire. He did not turn around as Bela came back from the door.

"Why don't you go, too?" she demanded in a harsh, tremulous voice.

"T'ink maybe you want talk to me."

"Talk!" she cried. "Too moch talk! I sick of talkin'!" Her voice was breaking. "Go 'way! Let me be!"

He got up. He had dropped his innocent affectations. "My girl – " he began simply.

"Go 'way!" cried Bela desperately. "Go quick, or I hit you!"

He shrugged and went out. Bela slammed the door after him and dropped the bar in place. She barred the other door.

She looked despairingly around the disordered cabin, and moving uncertainly to the nearest box, dropped upon it, and spreading her arms on the table, let her head fall between them and wept like a white woman.

CHAPTER XXIII

MAHOOLEY'S INNINGS

The next day, as far as the settlement was concerned, Sam Gladding had ceased to be. Bringing the team to Bela's as he had promised, he left it tied outside, and the night had swallowed him.

At first it was supposed he had started to walk out around the north shore, the way he had come; but Indians from below Grier's Point reported that no white man had passed that way. They found likewise that he had not gone toward Tepiskow. He could not have crossed the river, save by swimming, an impossible feat burdened with a rifle and an axe.

Those who came in from around the bay said he had not been seen over there, though Joe Hagland had barricaded himself in his shack in the expectation of a visit.

It was finally decided that Sam must be hiding in the bush somewhere near, and that he would come in with his tail between his legs when he got hungry.

There was not much concern one way or the other. Most of the men indulged in the secret hope that Sam would stay away. He was a game kid, they were now ready to confess, but altogether too touchy; there was no getting along comfortably with him. Had he not almost put the resteraw out of business? It was as Bela said – if both the hotheads kept out of the way, they might have some peace and comfort there.

Sergeant Coulson had compunctions. He proposed getting up a search-party for Sam. The idea was laughed down. Nice fools they'd make of themselves, opined Mahooley, setting out to look for a man in good health and in the full possession of his faculties who hadn't committed any crime.

There was a good attendance at Bela's dinner, and a full house at night. To their undiscerning eyes Bela seemed to be her old self. That is to say, she was not moping over what had happened. A wise man would have guessed that she was taking it much too quietly; he would have seen the danger signals in that unnaturally quick eye. Bela had dropped her usual air of reserve. To-night she seemed anxious to please. She smiled on each man in a way that bade him hope. She laughed oftener and louder. It had a conscious, provocative ring that the wise man would have grieved to hear. Competition became keen for her smiles.

When they finished their supper there were loud calls for her to come in and sit among them. Bela shrugged and, picking up a box, stood looking over them. They fell suddenly silent, wondering which she would choose. She laughed mockingly and, turning, carried her box in front of the fire.

From this point Mahooley, in the midst of the general chaffing, unexpectedly received a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder that went to his head a little. He promptly arose and carried his box to her side. Mahooley was the greatest man present, and none presumed to challenge him.

Bela bridled and smiled. "What for you come over here?" she demanded. "I not tell you to."

"Oh, I took a chance," said the trader coolly. At the same time his wicked, dancing little eyes informed her that he knew very well she had asked him over. The sanguine Mahooley was no celibate, and he cared not who knew it.

"You think 'cause you the trader you do w'at you like," said Bela mockingly.

"Any man can do pretty near what he wants if he has the will."

"What is will?"

"Oh – determination."

"You got plenty 'termination, I suppose." This with a teasing smile.

Mahooley looked at her sharply. "Look here, what are you getting at?" he demanded.

"Not'ing."

"I'm no hand to bandy words. I'm plain spoken. I go direct to a thing."

Bela shrugged.

"You can't play with me, you know. Is there anything you want?"

"No," said Bela with a provoking smile.

As Mahooley studied her, looking into the fire, a novel softness confused him. His astuteness was slipping from him, even while he bragged of it. "Damned if you're not the handsomest thing in this part of the world!" he said suddenly. It was surprised out of him. His first maxim was: "A man must never let anything on with these girls."

"Pooh! W'at you care about 'an'some?" jeered Bela. "Girls all the same to you."

This flecked Mahooley on the raw. A deep flush crept into his face. "Ah, a man leads a man's life," he growled. "That ain't to say he don't appreciate something good if it comes his way."

"They say you treat girls pretty bad," said Bela.

"I treat 'em as they deserve," replied Mahooley sullenly. "If a girl don't get any of the good out of me, that's up to her."

It was the first time one of these girls had been able to put him out of countenance.

"Poor girls!" murmured Bela.

He looked at her sharply again. The idea that a native girl might laugh at him, the trader, was a disconcerting one. "Some time when the gang ain't around I'll show you I ain't all bad," he said ardently.

Bela shrugged.

Musq'oosis was in the shack again to-night. He sat on the floor in the corner beyond the fire-place. Neither Bela nor Mahooley paid any attention to him, but he missed nothing of their talk.

By and by the group around the table moved to break up.

"I'll go with them and come back after," whispered Mahooley.

"No you don't," said Bela quickly. "W'en they go I lock the door. Both door."

"Sure! But it could be unlocked for a friend."

"Not for no man!" said Bela. "Not to-night any'ow," she added with a sidelong look.

"You devil!" he growled. "Don't you fool yourself you can play with a man like me. A door has got to be either open or shut."

"Well, it will be shut – to-night," she said, with a smile dangerous and alluring.

When they had gone she sent Musq'oosis also.

"Not want talk?" he asked wistfully.

She laughed painfully and harshly.

"I your good friend," he said.

"Go to bed," she returned.

He waited outside until he heard her bolt both doors. For an hour after that he sat within the door of his tepee with the flap up, watching the road. Nothing stirred on it.

Bela had obtained Gilbert Beattie's permission to keep her team in the company's stable for the present. After breakfast next morning, without saying anything to anybody, Musq'oosis climbed the hill and hitched Sambo and Dinah to the wagon. Taking a native boy to drive, he disappeared up the road. He was gone all day.

Bela was setting the table for supper when he came in. With an elaborate affectation of innocence he went to the fire to warm his hands.

"Where you been?" she demanded, frowning.

"Drivin'."

"Who tell you tak' the horses?"

"Nobody."

"Those my horses!" she said stormily.

Musq'oosis shrugged deprecatingly. "Horses go out. Get wicked in stable all tam."

"All right," said Bela. "I say when they go out."

"W'at's the matter?" asked Musq'oosis mildly. "Before w'at is mine is yours, and yours is mine."

"All right. Don't tak' my horses," Bela repeated stubbornly.

Musq'oosis sat down by the fire. Bela rattled the cups to justify herself. The old man stole a glance at her, wondering how he could say what he wished to say without bringing about another explosion.

"For why you mad at me?" he asked finally.

"You mind your business!" Bela cried passionately. "Keep out of my business. I know where you been to-day. You been lookin' for Sam. Everybody t'ink I send you look for Sam. That mak' me mad. I wouldn't go to Sam if he was bleed to death by the road!"

"Nobody see me," said Musq'oosis soothingly.

"Everyt'ing get known here," she returned. "The trees tell it."

"I know where he is," Musq'oosis murmured with an innocent air.

Bela made a clatter among the dishes.

After a while he said again: "I know where he is."

Bela, still affecting deafness, flounced into the kitchen.

She did not come back until the supper guests were arriving.

With a glance of defiance toward Musq'oosis, Bela welcomed Mahooley with a sidelong smile. That, she wished the Indian to know, was her answer. The red-haired trader was delighted. To-night the choicest cuts found their way to his plate.

When she was not busy serving, Bela sat on a box at Mahooley's left and suffered his proprietary airs. Afterward they sat in front of the fire, whispering and laughing together, careless of what anybody might think of it.