The Lady of North Star

“Of our inexperience more than our emotions, I should say,” answered Babette – “of our inexperience and the ruthlessness of those who are prepared to take advantage of them. But here, better than in most places, we can live our own life, untrammelled, and for the most part free from the worser cares. This lodge of ours is like a sanctuary in the wilderness, and the serenity, the woods, the snow and the silences have their own healing for the troubles of life.”

“Yes, but there is something to be said for companionship with one’s own kind. I notice we are always a little excited when we have callers at the Lodge. We – ”

A rifle shot cracked in on her words, and before either of them could speak again, a moose broke suddenly from the woods, and plunged down the steep bank not five hundred yards ahead of them. The wolf-dogs in the sleds gave tongue, and notwithstanding the burden behind them, leaped forward. Joy laughed gaily.

“There’s an end of philosophic reflection. The moose is hit. I wonder who – ”

A man emerged from the woods, dropped on one knee, and sighted the wide-horned beast. Then his shot rang, and the moose toppled over in the snow. The hunter stood up and caught sight of the oncoming party. He scrutinized it carefully for a moment and then waved his hand.

“It is George,” cried Babette, naming an Indian servant. “See, he recognizes us.”

The hunter descended the bank, and instead of going to inspect his kill waited for them to come up. As they did so a smile crumpled his grave copper-coloured face.

“How!” he said. “Very glad to see you, Miss Joy and Miss Babette. My words are not as my heart, for my tongue is not easy of speech. But glad am I to behold you, glad as if your coming were the breath of the south spring wind upon the cheek.”

Joy laughed with pleasure. “Not more glad than are we, George. And you must not belittle that tongue of yours. If you only knew it you talk poetry. But tell me, how are things at the Lodge? All right, I hope, and Nanette and the papoose, they are well?”

“They are well,” answered the Indian. “But we dwell not alone. With us are Rayner and two men of the Kwikpak tribe. They are bad men.”

“Rayner!” as she echoed the name Joy’s eyes flashed fire.

“Yes, with two bad men of the Kwikpak tribe.”

“When did they arrive?” asked Joy quickly.

“At nightfall five days ago. They were very weary, having followed the trail hard and long. Rayner brought word from you that he stay to look for some man, but he brought no word of your coming.”

“No, I dare say not,” answered Joy sharply. “He would not expect us so soon. We also have pushed the trail hard. What has Mr. Rayner been doing since he arrived, George?”

“The first day he rest and smoke and ask many questions.”

“Questions? About what?”

“He asked if Nanette or I have beheld two men, one of whom is Corporal Bracknell, who took the Northward trail when you went southward. He ask if we have seen him since that time, and I answer no, for it is the truth, and Rayner he smile to himself as is the way of a man with a hidden thought.”

“And the second man of whom he asked?”

“I know him not!” answered the Indian, “neither him nor the name of Dick which he bore.”

“Dick!” Joy swung round to her companion. “You hear, Babette. He asks after Dick, whose body, as he told me, he had thrust into an ice-hole. I thought when he told me that he lied and now I know.”

She turned to the Indian again. “And the other days?”

“The other days,” answered the Indian gravely, “he drink much brandy and a little coffee, and the two bad men they go on a journey and return yesterday. They bring news I think, for at dawn tomorrow they depart with Rayner.”

“No! Not tomorrow,” cried Joy, “but this very day.”

“That will be as you desire, mistress. When we return – ”

“Where are they going? Do you know, George?”

“They take the Northward trail. Rayner tell me that when he have drunk much brandy. ‘From North Star to the North Star we go,’ he say, ‘you old graven image, and when we come back the girl shall be ours!’ I do not understand such words, for there is no girl there, but such are the words that Rayner speak.”

Joy looked at Babette. “He knows something,” she said.

“Yes,” answered her foster-sister, “but there is one thing he does not know, and that is a woman’s heart. He surely cannot hope – ”

“I do not know what he may hope. I know what I shall do. My cousin Adrian is intolerable in his pretensions.”

“What will you do, Joy? I begin to fancy that away from the restraints of civilization Adrian Rayner is possibly a dangerous man. And we are ‘North of fifty-three!’”

“I do not care. I am not afraid. There is, as you once hinted, the law of the wilderness, and at least I will be mistress in my own house.” She turned to her servant. “We will leave you one of the sleds, George. You will then be able to bring some of the meat home. I will talk with you again when you arrive.”

She gave orders for one team to push on and one to remain, then as she and her foster-sister recommenced their march she spoke again.

“I wonder why Adrian Rayner has lingered so long at North Star?”

“He has evidently been using the Lodge as his headquarters whilst he made the necessary inquiries. Also there is another possibility,” answered Babette.

“And what is that?”

“I have a thought that he may be desirous of assuring himself that you have arrived here. It is only a possibility, but it is there.”

“I do not see why – ”

“Why do you suppose he wished to marry you?” asked Babette quickly. “Because he loved you? Possibly! But you are a rich woman, and I think that may have more to do with the question than you have yet thought. It may have more to do with his journey here than anything else. Have you made a will, Joy?”

“No!” answered Joy quickly. “I have never thought of it. My uncle never suggested it to me.”

“That is not surprising,” was the answer. “After Dick Bracknell, your uncle is your next of kin. He and your cousin are your only blood relatives. Without a will, your marriage being unknown, your estate would fall to them if you were to die.”

Joy’s face showed a dawning horror. “Oh, but my uncle – ”

“Your uncle is human, Joy, and what is more he has his difficulties. Whilst we were at Claridge’s I overheard two men talking. I said nothing to you at the time, regarding it as mere gossip, but they were discussing Sir Joseph, and one of them said that he had gathered some confounded bad eggs during the last year or two, and that he must be very rich to stand it. Supposing he is not very rich. Supposing the bad eggs are more than he can stand. Then your money – ”

“But I cannot think that of my uncle, Babette; it is monstrous.”

“Of your uncle. No! Perhaps not! But your cousin is another matter. Let us suppose that he knows of Sir Joseph’s losses. We know he is not scrupulous. Knowing of your marriage to Dick Bracknell, he paid you attention. He asked you to marry him. He even stooped to threats, as you told me. Why? Because he wanted to be able to control your fortune, to keep the money, some of which was badly needed. You may shake your head, Joy, but that is at least a possibility; and that is why I suggest that it is possible that Adrian Rayner may be desirous of assuring himself of your arrival here. You are beginning to know him; do you think that after his attempt to lure you into a bigamous marriage, and after his threats, that he will be at all chary of using any means that circumstances may offer of putting him in possession of your fortune? I do not! And he has been drinking, if what George says is true; and drink makes a tempted man dangerous. You must be careful, Joy, even diplomatic if necessary.”

“I shall order him to leave North Star the moment we arrive there!” answered Joy stubbornly. “If there is a shadow of truth in your surmises, there is all the more reason why I should do so.”

“You will do as you please, Joy,” replied her foster-sister, breaking into a smile, “and at any rate we have the big battalions on our side. With the drivers and George, and George’s son, Jim, we shall be able to enforce your will.”

“And I shall do so,” answered Joy. “Here I am strong enough to disregard his threats.”

As it happened, the first person they encountered when they left the river trail and swung into the clearing which led to the Lodge, was Adrian Rayner. He was walking towards the river, with a rifle in the crook of his arm, and as he saw them swinging towards him, he halted suddenly, and remained quite still, until Joy reached him. The look on his face betrayed his surprise, and to Joy it was clear that he had not expected to encounter her before his departure from the lodge. He stood there a little nonplussed and it was Joy who spoke first.

“You have not wasted time, Cousin Adrian,” she said, and there was an unmistakable edge to her tones.

“No,” he answered with an awkward laugh. “I promised you I would find that man who was in the wood when you shot your hus – ”

“No!” she interrupted sharply, “not when I did, but when you shot my husband!”

There was accusation in her eyes, her voice, and Rayner visibly quailed before it. Then he cried —

“What confounded nonsense is this?”

“It is not nonsense,” she answered. “It is at least a possibility. You were in the wood that night, and you had a rifle with you. There were two shots, and one of them hit Dick Bracknell. One of those shots came from my rifle, but from whose rifle did the second come? Yours! I say.”

“Mine!” he cried harshly. “You must be mad. You cannot have thought over what you are saying.”

“No,” she countered, “I am not mad, I am quite sane, and I have thought a great deal over the matter.”

“But why should I shoot Dick Bracknell masquerading as Koona Dick? He was not my husband?”

“No,” replied Joy coolly, “but he was mine, and you had somehow become aware of the fact. If I am not mistaken, you yourself aspired to marry me – ”

“Men are sometimes smitten with madness,” he interposed sneeringly. “But there is another possibility that I can suggest to you, of which you do not seem to have thought. That precious corporal who was here; he had a gun! Also, I fancy that he would find the death of Dick Bracknell no heartbreaking business, as it would bring him within a step of the succession to Harrow Fell; and as Jeff Bracknell is now dead, it puts him absolutely on the doorstep. Have you thought of that?”

“There is no need that I should,” answered Joy promptly. “Roger Bracknell had no knowledge that the man whom he knew as Koona Dick was his cousin, until he picked up a note which Dick had written to me, which was some time after the firing had taken place. I know that, and your suggestion is merely preposterous.”

“You think so,” he laughed. “I wonder why?” Something in his tones brought the blood flaming to Joy Gargrave’s face. Her eyes flashed indignantly. Rayner laughed again brutally.

“Not that there is any need for wonder,” he said maliciously. “You seem to be in great vogue with the Bracknells. It must be a family weakness for – ”

“How dare you?” She took a step forward, and suddenly raised the dog whip in her hand. Rayner backed quickly, and instinctively raised his hand. But the long lash smote him on the face, and he gave vent to a savage oath.

“You – virago! Would you?”

He had lost complete control of himself, and what would have happened is only to be conjectured, but at that moment the Indian George stepped quietly from behind some tall bushes. He still carried his rifle, and though there was an impassive look on his brown face, his eyes were blazing. The white man saw him, and as he met those eyes, the wrath in him was checked. The Indian spoke no word, but very deliberately opened the breech of his rifle, as if to assure himself that it was loaded. Then he closed it and looked at Rayner again, and at that second look the white man shivered, for in it he saw something threatening and ominous, which unsealed the springs of fear within him. Joy was the first to speak.

“George,” she said, addressing her henchman, “Mr. Rayner takes the trail in an hour. Anything he needs for his journey he is to have; but he goes within the hour, and never again is he to visit North Star. Do you understand?”

The Indian nodded his head in grave assent, and without another look at Adrian Rayner, Joy turned and went up the road towards the house.

CHAPTER XVI

THE CORPORAL HEARS NEWS

DURING the weeks of his convalescence in Chief Louis’ smoking tepee, Roger Bracknell spent much of his time in reflecting on the news which the chief had given him. Reviewing the story calmly and dispassionately, he could find nothing to weaken the conclusion which the half-breed himself had reached. The dynamite and the winter thunder, with the description of the broken trail and the strange conduct of the unknown man in deliberately over-running Rolf Gargrave’s camp, were almost conclusive evidence. Some one had planned that Rolf Gargrave should die; and his death had been as surely a murder as if the man who had planned it had taken a rifle with which to do the deed. Who was the man?

As often as he asked himself this question, the corporal found his thoughts reverting to his cousin. Had Dick Bracknell, having married Rolf Gargrave’s daughter, deliberately planned the murder of the millionaire? His heart revolted at the thought, but he could not escape from it. Dick had been hard pressed. He was already a fugitive from justice when he had arrived in the North and, so far as the corporal knew, that arrival had been a secret one. He would be quite unknown – even to Rolf Gargrave. No one would suspect him, and the plan he had chosen was itself so novel, that but for the Indians noticing his absence from the camp, and carrying the sticks of dynamite back to Chief Louis, it must have escaped detection.

The more the corporal thought of it, the more black seemed the case against his cousin. Rolf Gargrave was a clever man, and powerful, and he had had his own plans for his daughter. Dick Bracknell must have known that when he heard how Joy had been trapped into marriage, he would be very wrathful, and calculating on the father’s intervention he must have decided to get rid of him, in the hope of sooner or later trading upon Joy’s inexperience of the world. One day, whilst he was reflecting on the problem, unable to touch certainty anywhere, a thought occurred to him, and when Chief Louis entered the tepee he promptly asked a question —

“Louis, when was it that the stranger called at your camp for guides to help him to find Rolf Gargrave? I mean what time of the year was it?”

The chief considered for a moment. Then he answered gravely. “It was two moons before ze ice break up.”

“You are sure?” asked the corporal.

“Certain!”

“That would be March or a little later,” said the corporal thoughtfully. “And Dick fled from England about Christmas. If he came straight through he might do it comfortably.”

“Dick! Who ees dat?” asked the chief quickly.

“He is the one man I know who may have been interested in Rolf Gargrave’s death. You may have heard of him? He is known in the North as Koona Dick!”

“I hav’ not him seen, unless he vas ze stranger mans who come to my camp dat day. But of him I hav’ heard. He is bad mans, he want shooting. He sell whiskey – mooch whiskey, to ze Porcupine Sticks, an’ dey fight till seven be dead in ze snow. Also he take their catch of fur for ze whiskey, an’ when ze winter it come, dey freeze, an’ ze babes die. Yes, of him, I have heard, an’ he is very bad mans. So he is ze mans dat come to my lodges dat day, an’ dat blow up ze trail for Rolf Gargrave so dat he die.”

“I have not said so yet,” answered the corporal thoughtfully, “but I am afraid that there can be little question of it. Some day when I meet him I shall put the question to him plainly, and learn the truth.”

“You know dis mans, Koona Dick?”

“Yes! He is my cousin.”

As he received the information the half-breed flashed a quick glance of sympathy.

“Le diable!” he said. “Dat is strange. But so it does befall. One pup of ze litter he ees a good dog, and he grows to ze collar-work naturally; but anoder he is bad, he snarl like ze wolf, he is a thief, he will not do ze work. So is it with ze sled-dogs and with men! It is passing strange, but I hev’ often beheld it, and it is so!”

The corporal nodded his assent. He had often wondered at the crooked strain which had sent his cousin on wild courses to dishonour, but could find no consolation in the thought that given certain circumstances the way of dishonour was almost inevitable. He rose from the couch of skins, and moving stiffly towards the fire, thrust in a spruce twig, and with it lit his pipe. Then he turned to the chief.

“I wonder how soon I shall be able to take the trail, Louis?”

The half-breed shook his head. “Not yet. Ze leg dat hav’ been broken, it is not good for snow-shoe work. No! It ache like le diable! You must wait – wait till ze ice break up, then you go down ze river in a canoe. Dat will be ze easy way. Yes.”

A mutinous look came on Roger Bracknell’s face. Having so long lived an active life, he was growing tired of the monotony of the encampment, and as he felt the strength returning to his leg was more and more inclined to make the attempt to reach civilization as represented by the police-post. There was news to send to Joy Gargrave, news that might profoundly affect her life, and it was desirable that she should receive it at the earliest possible moment.

“I do not think that I shall wait until then, Louis. They will give me up for lost, at the post, and besides I have news for a certain person – ”

“Is the news good?” interrupted the chief. For a moment the corporal did not reply. Was the news he had to send Joy Gargrave good? In one way, yes! It would suffice to remove any lingering doubt as to the effect of the shot that she had fired when she had gone to meet Dick Bracknell in the wood. He would be able to assure her, on the evidence of Dick himself, that she was not responsible for the mischief that had been done. That assurance, as he knew, would mean the lifting of a weight of apprehension from Joy’s heart. In another way, however, the news was bad. Dick Bracknell was still alive, and that meant that she was still bound to him, and that on the first favourable opportunity he might assert himself. His mind was still balancing the good and evil of the case, when Louis, who had been watching his face, spoke again.

“There is no need to speak. Ze news it is not good! Therefore there is not any cause for haste. Ill news does not grow worse for keeping, and the trail it is bad these days, for there is mooch snow.”

“Nevertheless, I shall make the endeavour, Louis! I will borrow a man and a dog team and meat from you, and in one week I will take the trail. If I find it too much for me, I can return.”

The chief nodded. “As you please. Ze dogs are yours, also ze meat an ze mans, though ze hunters are from ze camp just now. But if you mus’ go, you mus’. It is le diable in ze race that drives you forth, corp’ral.”

“The devil in the race?” laughed Bracknell. “I do not understand, Louis. What do you mean?”

“I mean ze unrest that dwells in ze men of your tribe. It drives them forth, for good or ill, to ze conquest of ze lands. It makes them seek ze stick which runs through ze earth – ”

“The pole, you mean, Louis.”

“Ze pole, yes! And when got, what good? It makes them dat they cannot sit by ze fires in warm tepees, but must go hunt ze bald-faced bear, or dig ze frozen earth for gold dat somewhere white squaw may fling it from ze window.”

“Yes!” laughed the corporal. “You put the truth – rather brutally. We are rather given that way. But it isn’t the devil, Louis, it is the genius and instinct of our race for conquest that drives us – that and the dream of the home-woman, I suppose.”

Chief Louis nodded. “Oui! maybe; and you haf’ ze dream corp’ral.”

Corporal Bracknell stopped his perambulation of the hut, and stared at his companion.

“Now how the dickens do you know that, Louis?”

“I have seen it in your eyes. You speak of Rolf Gargrave, an’ twice, only twice you hav’ speak of Gargrave’s daughter, but there were dreams in ze eyes then, and a soft note in ze voice, and I know dat she is what you call ze home-woman. Oui! I know dat is so.”

The corporal’s face flushed, and he did not deny it. For one moment as he stood there, he had a vision of Joy Gargrave, young and beautiful and a fit mate for any man, and in that moment there were dreams in his eyes. Three seconds later realities asserted themselves, and the soft light died from his eyes. He gave a little bitter laugh, and without speaking resumed his perambulations. Chief Louis watched him for a moment then he said tentatively, “There be difficulties ahead, corp’ral.”

“Yes,” nodded Bracknell, “grave difficulties! What would you do, Louis, if you wanted a maid to wife?”

“I should offer a large price – blankets, guns, tobac!”

Roger Bracknell laughed at the notion of offering a large price for Joy Gargrave, and then mooted the real difficulty.

“But if it was not a matter of price, Louis, rather of another man! What then?”

“Then I would him fight. Always maidens are caught with strength. They love a man. Dat is ze law of life and of mating. Ze strong wolf in ze pack he hav’ ze pick an’ ze strong bull-moose he hav’ ze herd; an’ ze strong man he take ze maid. I have looked on ze world and so is it! Yes! Love like all dings else is ze spoil of ze strong!”

Bracknell did not reply for a moment. In that hour the law of the primeval wilds appealed to him strongly, but he knew that it was not the way for him.

“Yes,” he said, “it is the law of the wilds, but not of my race. I carry a law that is the law of man, and he who kills whether for love or hate dies therefor. The thing is impossible!”

Chief Louis grunted disapprobation. “Ze law of ze wild is better. For dat reason I dwell in ze lodges of my mother’s people, where ze strong rule.”

He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and without adding more passed out of the tepee. Roger Bracknell still continued his perambulations, exercising his injured leg, and as he walked his mind was busy with what he felt was to become the problem of his life. He loved Joy Gargrave. He confessed it frankly to himself. He had loved her since that day when in the woods at North Star she had offered him her hand as a token that she counted him among her friends! But what good was it? The whole thing was so hopeless so long as Dick Bracknell lived. And if he died, would the outlook be any the less hopeless? He could not tell, but he was afraid not; for friendship was not love, and Joy Gargrave, as he was sure, was not a woman to give her affection easily.

As he thought despair gripped him, and the tepee’s skin walls seemed too narrow a prison-house. He threw on his fur coat and mittens and went outside. Driven by his thoughts, he left the encampment, and, walking stiffly, moved down the river trail. He had walked perhaps a mile and a half, when out of the woods broke a couple of laden sledges, and two men of the tribe. They were from the hunters, and as they passed they saluted him gravely, according to the manner of their race.

“How! How!”

He responded in kind, and continued to walk on. He had proceeded but a little way however when a thought occurred to him. These men had been away on the main river. They might have news of the outer world. Instantly as the thought came to him, he turned in his tracks and began to return to the encampment. When he reached there the two hunters were not to be seen, but when he entered his own tepee he found Chief Louis sitting by the fire, smoking. There was an impassive look on his face, but in his eyes was a light that could not be hidden, and the white man knew that the chief was excited. The corporal did not remark upon the fact, however, but deliberately filled his pipe, and seating himself, smoked on as if he had noticed nothing. After a little time Louis spoke.

“Ze hunters they hav’ sent meat, mooch meat!”

“Yes,” answered Bracknell. “I met two men of the tribe just now.”

“There is meat for a potlach (feast), but dat is not ze way of my people. We are not as ze wolves which eat all, even ze bones, an’ then run hungry until a new kill is made.”