For a long time the Indian studied the horizon, nor did he speak until every degree of the arc had been subjected to minute scrutiny.

"I'm t'ink, we com' too mooch far wes'," he observed, "I'm t'ink, we better strike eas', 'bout wan day, tomor'."

"Tomorrow!" cried Brent. "Why not today--now?"

The Indian pointed to the dogs. "Too mooch tired out. Too mooch no good.

We got to res' today. Mebbe-so, travel tomor'!"

A glance at the dogs convinced Brent, anxious as he was to push on, that it would be useless to try it, for the dogs were in a pitiable condition from the three day fight with the storm. He wanted to make up a pack and push on alone, but the Indian dissuaded him.

"S'pose com' nudder beeg snow? W'at you do den, eh? You git los'. You trail git cover up. I kin no fin'. Dat better you wait." And wait they did, though Brent fretted and chafed the whole day through.

The following morning they started toward the southeast, shaping their course by a far-distant patch of timber that showed as a dark spot on the dazzling snow. The ground was broken and hard to travel, and their progress was consequently slow. At noon they cut a dog loose, and later another, the released animals limping along behind as best they could.

At noon of their seventh day of travel, the eighth after the storm, Brent, who was in the lead, halted suddenly and pointed to a small lake that lay a mile or more to the southward.

"I know that lake!" he cried, "It's the one where Snowdrift killed a caribou! The river is six or seven miles east of here, and we'll strike it just below our cabin."

"You sure 'bout dat'?." asked the Indian. "De dogs, w'at you call, all in. I ain' lak' we mak mor' travel we kin help."

"Yes--sure," exclaimed Brent, "I couldn't be mistaken. There is the point where we ate lunch--that broken spruce leaning against those two others."

"Dat good lan' mark," the Indian agreed, "I ain' t'ink you wrong now."

Joyously, Brent led off to the eastward. The pace was woefully slow, for of the seven dogs, only three remained, and the men were forced to work at pulling the sled. "We ought to make the cabin a little after dark,"

he figured, "And then--I'll grab a bite to eat and hit out for Snowdrift. Wonder if she's looking for me yet? Wonder if she's been thinking about me? It's--let's see--this is the nineteenth day--nineteen days since I've seen her--and it seems like nineteen years! I hate to tell her I didn't make a strike. And worst of all I hate to tell her about--what happened on the _Belva Lou_. But, I'll come clean. I will tell her--and I'll show her the bottle--and thank G.o.d I didn't pull the cork! And I never will pull it, now. I learned something out there in the snow--learned what a man can do." He grinned as he thought of Claw and the Captain of the _Belva Lou_, searching the Copper Mountains for his camp, so they could kill him and steal his dust. Then the grin hardened into a straight-lipped frown as he planned the vengeance that was to be his when they came after the girl.

"They won't be in any hurry about starting up river," he argued, "They'll hunt for me for a week. Then, when they do come--I'll kill 'em as I would kill so many mad dogs. I hate to shoot a man from ambush--but there's two of 'em, and I don't dare to take a chance. If they should get me--" he shuddered at the thought, and pressed on.

As he swung onto the river, a sharp cry escaped him and he stooped in the darkness to stare at a trail in the snow.

The cry brought Joe Pete to his side. "Those tracks!" rasped Brent, "When were they made? And who made 'em?"

The Indian stooped close and examined the trail. "Two--t'ree mans, an' a team," he muttered, "An' wan man dat G.o.dam Johnnie Claw!"

"How do you know?" cried Brent, "How old are they?" And leaping to the sled, he cut the pack thongs with one sweep of his knife and grabbed up his rifle.

"I know dem track--seen um on Mackenzie. B'en gon' 'bout two t'ree hour!"

"Bring on the outfit!" Brent called over his shoulder, and the Indian stared in surprise as he watched the man strike out on the trail in great leaping strides.

The distance to the cabin was a scant mile, and Brent covered it without slackening his pace. At the foot of the bank, he noted with relief that the trail swung upward to his own cabin. If they had stopped, there was yet time. His first glance had detected no light in the window, but as he looked again, he saw that a peculiar dull radiance filtered through the oiled parchment that served as a gla.s.s. Cautiously he maneuvered up the bank, and made his way to the cabin, mentally debating with himself whether to burst in upon the occupants and chance a surprise, or to lie in wait till they came out. He stood in the shelter of the meat _cache_ weighing his chances, when suddenly from beyond the log walls came the sound of a woman's scream--loud--shrill--terrible, it sounded, cutting the black silence of the night. What woman? There could be only one--with a low cry that sounded in his own ears like the snarl of a beast, he dropped the rifle and sprang against the door. It flew inward and for a second Brent could see nothing in the murky interior of the room. There was a sound from the bunk and, through the smoke haze he made out the face of the Captain of the _Belva Lou_. As the man sprang erect, their bodies met with an impact that carried them to the floor.

Brent found himself on top, and the next instant his fingers were twisting, biting into a hairy throat with a grip that crushed and tore.

In his blind fury he was only half-conscious that heavy fists were battering at his face. Beneath him the body of the Captain lashed and struggled. The man's tongue lolled from his open mouth, and from beneath the curled lips came hoa.r.s.e wheezing gasps, and great gulping strangling gurgles. A wave of exultation seized Brent as he realized that the thing that writhed and twisted in his grasp was the naked throat of a man.

Vaguely he became conscious that above him hovered a white shape, and that the shape was calling his name, in strange quavering tones. He tightened his grip. There was a wild spasmodic heaving of the form beneath him--and the form became suddenly still. But Brent did not release his grasp. Instead he twisted and ground his fingers deeper and deeper into the flesh that yielded now, and did not writhe. With his face held close, he glared like a beast into the face of the man beneath him--a horrible face with its wide-sprung jaws exposing the s...o...b..red tongue, the yellow snag-like teeth, the eyes, back-rolled until only the whites showed between the wide-staring lids, and the skin fast purpling between the upper beard and the mottled thatch of hair.

A hand fell upon his shoulder, and glancing up he saw Snowdrift and realized that she was urging him to rise. As in a dream he caught the gleam of white shoulders, and saw that one bare arm clasped a fragment of torn shirt to her breast. He staggered to his feet, gave one glance into the girl's eyes, and with a wild, glad cry caught her to him and pressed her tight against his pounding heart.

A moment later she struggled from his embrace. She flushed deeply as his eyes raised from her shoulders to meet her own. He was speaking, and at the words her heart leaped wildly.

"It's a lie!" he cried, "You are not a breed! I knew it! I knew it! My darling--you are white--as white as I am! Old Wananebish is not your mother! Do you hear? _You are white!_"

CHAPTER XXI

THE Pa.s.sING OF WANANEBISH

Stepping across to a duffle bag, Brent produced a shirt and an undershirt which he tossed to the girl who, in the weakness of sudden reaction had thrown herself sobbing upon the bunk.

"There, there, darling," he soothed, as with his back toward her, his eyes roved about the room seeking to picture, in the wild disorder, the terrific struggle that had taken place. "Put on those things, and then you can tell me all about it. You're all right now, dear. I will never leave you again."

"But--oh, if you had not come!" sobbed the girl.

"But, I did come, sweetheart--and everything is all right. Forget the whole horrid business. Come, we will go straight to Wananebish. Not another hour, nor a minute will we wait. And we will make her tell the truth. I have never believed you were her daughter--and now I know!"

"But," faltered the girl, as she slipped into the warm garments, "If I am not her daughter, who am I? Oh, it is horrible--not to know who you are! If this is true--she must tell--she has got to tell me! I have the right to know! And, my mother and my father--where are they? Who are they?"

"We will know soon, darling," a.s.sured Brent, drawing her to him and looking down into her up-lifted eyes, "But, first let me tell you this--I don't care who you are. You are mine, now, dearest--the one woman for me in all the world. And no matter who, or what your parents were, you are mine, mine, mine!" His lips met hers, her arms stole about his neck, and as she clung to him she whispered:

"Oh, everything seems all strange, and unreal, and up-side-down, and horrible, and in all the world, darling, you are the one being who is good, and sane and strong--oh, I love you so--don't ever leave me again----"

"Never again," a.s.sured Brent, smiling down into the dark eyes raised so pleadingly to his. "And, now, do you feel able to strike out for the camp?"

"I feel able to go to the end of the earth, with you," she answered quickly, and he noticed that her voice had a.s.sumed its natural buoyancy, and that her movements were lithe and sure as she stooped to lace her snowshoes, and he marveled at the perfect resiliency of nerves that could so quickly regain their poise after the terrible ordeal to which they had been subjected.

"Where is Claw?" he asked, abruptly, as he stooped and recovered his gold sack from the floor where the Captain had dropped it.

"Come we must hurry!" cried the girl, who in the excitement had forgotten his very existence, "He started for the camp, to trade hooch to the Indians--and--oh, hurry!" she cried, as she plunged out into the night. "He hates Wananebish, and he threatened to get even with her! If he should kill her now--before--before she could tell us--" She was already descending the bank to the river when Brent recovering his rifle, hastened after her, and although he exerted himself to the utmost, the flying figure gradually drew away from him. When it had all but disappeared in the darkness, he called, and the girl waited, whereupon Brent despite her protest, took the lead, and with his rifle ready for instant use, hastened on up the river.

A half mile from the encampment, Brent struck into the scattered timber, "He may watch the back-trail," he flung back over his shoulder, "and we don't want to walk into a trap."

Rapidly they made their way through the scrub, and upon the edge of the clearing, they paused. In the wide s.p.a.ce before one of the cabins, brush fires were blazing. And by the light of the leaping flames the Indians could be seen crowding and fighting to get to the door of the cabin.

Brent drew Snowdrift into the shelter of a bush, from which point of vantage they watched Claw, who stood in the doorway, gla.s.s in one hand, six-gun in the other, dispensing hooch. Standing by his side, Yondo received the skins from the crowding Indians, and tossed them into the cabin. The process was beautifully simple--a drink for a skin. As Yondo took a skin Claw pa.s.sed out a drink to its erstwhile owner.

"d.a.m.n him!" muttered Brent, raising his rifle. But Snowdrift pushed it aside.

"It is too dark," she whispered, "You can't see the sights, and you might hit one of the Indians." Breaking off sharply, she pointed toward her own cabin. The door had been thrown open and, rifle in hand old Wananebish stepped out on the snow. She raised the rifle, and with loud cries the Indians surged back from about the hooch runner. Before the rifle could speak Claw fired, and dropping her gun, old Wananebish staggered a few steps forward and pitched headlong into the snow.

With a yell of rage, Brent broke cover and dashed straight across the clearing. As the cry reached him, Claw looked up, fired one hasty shot at the approaching figure, and leaping straight through the throng of Indians, disappeared in the scrub beyond the cabin, with Yondo close at his heels.

Brent was aware that Snowdrift was at his side. "Go to her," panted the girl, "I will try to handle the Indians." For an instant he hesitated, then, realizing that the girl could deal with her own band better without his presence, he hastened to the squaw who had raised herself to an elbow and was vainly trying to rise. Picking her up bodily, Brent carried her into the cabin and placed her upon the bunk.

"Where--is--she?" the woman gasped, as he tore open her shirt and endeavored to staunch the flow of blood from a wound low down upon the sunken chest.

"She's all right," a.s.sured the man, "Claw has gone, and she is trying to quiet the Indians."