In the darkness of the pantry she tried to think it out. Was it an inspiration from heaven, or was it a suggestion of the devil? One minute she was imploring Satan to "get thee behind me," and the next minute she was thanking G.o.d and whispering Hallelujahs! A lull in the storm drove her to immediate action.

John Corbett came out into the kitchen to see what was burning, for Maggie had forgotten her biscuits.

When the biscuits were attended to she took "Da" with her into the pantry, and she said to him, "Da, is it ever right to do a little wrong so that good will come of it?"

She asked the question so impersonally that John Corbett replied without hesitation: "It is never right, Maggie."

"But, Da," she cried, seizing the lapel of his coat, "don't you mind hearin' o' how the priests have given whiskey to the Indians when they couldn't get the white captives away from them any other way? Wasn't that right?"

"Sure and it was; at a time like that it was right to do anything--but what are you coming at, Maggie?"

"If Rance Belmont lost all the money he has on him, and maybe ran a bit in debt, he couldn't go away to-morrow with her, could he? She thinks he's just goin' to drive her to Brandon, but I know him--he'll go with her, sure--she can't help who travels on the train with her--and how'll that look? But if he were to lose his money he couldn't travel dead broke, could he, Da?"

"Not very far," agreed Da, "but what are you coming at, Maggie? Do you want me to go through him?" He laughed at the suggestion.

"Ain't there any way you can think of, Da--no, don't think--the sin is mine and I'll take it fair and square on my soul. I don't want you to be blemt for it--Da, listen--" she whispered in his ear.

John Corbett caught her in his arms.

"Would I? Would I? Oh, Maggie, would a duck swim?" he said, keeping his voice low to avoid being heard in the other room.

"Don't be too glad, Da; remember it's a wicked thing I'm askin' you to do; but, Da, are you sure you haven't forgot how?"

John Corbett laughed. "Maggie, when a man learns by patient toil to tell the under side of an ace he does not often forget, but of course there is always the chance, that's the charm of it--n.o.body can be quite sure."

"I've thought of every way I can think of," she said, after a pause, "and this seems to be the only way. I just wish it was something I could do myself and not be bringing black guilt on your soul, but maybe G.o.d'll understand. Maybe it was so that you'd be ready for to-night that He let you learn to be so handy with them. Sure Ma always said that G.o.d can do His work with quare tools; and now, Da, I'll slip off to bed, and you'll pretend you're stealin' a march on me, and he'll enjoy himself all the more if he thinks he's spitin' me. Oh, Da, I wish I knew it was right--maybe it's ruinin' your soul I am, puttin' you up to such wickedness, but I'll be prayin' for you as hard as I can."

Da looked worried. "Maggie, I don't know about the prayin'--I was always able to find the card I needed without bein' prayed for."

"Oh, I mean I'll pray it won't hurt you. I wouldn't interfere with the game, for I don't know one card from another, and I'm sure the Lord don't either, but it's your soul I'm thinkin' of and worried about.

I'll slip down with the green box--there's more'n a hundred dollars in it. And now good-bye, Da--go at him, and G.o.d bless you--and play like the divil!"

Mr. John Corbett slowly folded up the _War Cry_ and placed it in his pocket, and when Maggie brought down the green box with their earnings in it he emptied its contents in his pocket, and then, softly humming to himself, he went into the other room.

The wind raged and the storm roared around the Black Creek Stopping- House all that night, but inside the fire burned bright in the box- stove, and an interested and excited group sat around the table where Rance Belmont and John Corbett played the game! Peter Rockett, with his eyes bulging from his head, watched his grave employer cut and deal and gather in the stakes, with as much astonishment as if that dignified gentleman had walked head downward on the ceiling. Yet John Corbett proceeded with the game, as grave and solemn as when he asked a blessing at the table. Sometimes he hummed s.n.a.t.c.hes of Army tunes, and sometimes Rance Belmont swore softly, and to the anxious ear which listened at the stovepipe-hole above, both sounds were of surpa.s.sing sweetness!

CHAPTER XI.

_THE BLIZZARD_.

When the door closed behind Rance Belmont and Evelyn, Fred sank into a chair with the whole room whirling dizzily around him. Why had the world gone so suddenly wrong?

His head was quite clear now, and only the throbbing hurt on the back of his head reminded him of Reginald's cowardly blow. But his anger against his brothers had faded into apathy in the presence of this new trouble which seemed to choke the very fountains of his being.

One terrible fact smote him with crushing force--Evelyn had left him and gone with Rance Belmont. She said she hoped she would never see him again--that she was done with him--and her eyes had blazed with anger and hatred--and she had stepped in between him and the miserable villain whom he would have so dearly loved to have beaten the life out of.

He tried to rage against her, but instead he could think of nothing but her sweet imperiousness, her dazzling beauty, her cheerfulness under all circ.u.mstances, and her loyalty to him.

She had given up everything for him--for his sake she had defied her father, renounced all share in his great wealth, suffered the hardships and loneliness of the prairie, all for him.

Her workbag lay on the table, partly open. It seemed to call and beckon to him. He took it tenderly in his hands, and from its folds there fell a crumpled sheet of paper. He smoothed it out, and found it partly written on in Evelyn's clear round hand.

He held it to the light eagerly, as one might read a message from the dead. Who was Evelyn writing to?

"_ When you ask me to leave my husband you ask me to do a dishonorable and cowardly thing. Fred has never_"--the writing ceased abruptly. Fred read it again aloud, then sprang to his feet with a smothered exclamation. Only one solution presented itself to his mind. She had been writing to Rance Belmont trying to withstand his advances, trying to break away from his devilish influence. She had tried to be true to herself and to him.

Fred remembered then with bitter shame the small help he had given her.

He had wronged her when he struck Rance Belmont.

One overwhelming thought rose out of the chaos of his mind--she must be set free from the baneful influence of this man. If she were not strong enough to resist him herself, she must be helped, and that help must come from him--he had sworn to protect her, and he would do it.

There was just one way left to him now. Fred's face whitened at the thought, and his eyes had an unnatural glitter, but there was a deadly purpose in his heart.

In his trunk he found the Smith and Wesson that one of the boys in the office had given him when he left, and which he had never thought of since. He hastily but carefully loaded it and slipped it into his pocket. Then reaching for his snowy overcoat, which had fallen to the floor, and putting the lamp in the window, more from habit than with any purpose, he went out into the night.

The storm had reached its height when Fred Brydon, pulling has cap down over his ears, set out on his journey. It was a wild enough night to turn any traveller aside from his purpose, but Fred Brydon, in his rage, had ceased to be a man with a man's fears, a man's frailties, and had become an avenging spirit, who knew neither cold nor fatigue. A sudden stinging of his ears made him draw his cap down more closely, but he went forward at a brisk walk, occasionally breaking into a run.

He had but one thought in his mind--he must yet save Evelyn. He had deserted her in her hour of need, but he would yet make amends.

The wind which sang dismally around him reminded him with a sickening blur of homesickness of the many pleasant evenings he and Evelyn had spent in their little shack, with the same wind making eerie music in the pipe of the stove. Yesterday and to-day were separated by a gulf as wide as death itself.

He had gone about three miles when he heard a faint halloo come down the wind. It sounded two or three times before the real significance of it occurred to him, so intent was he upon his own affairs. But louder and more insistent came the unmistakable call for help.

A fierce temptation a.s.sailed Fred Brydon. He must not delay--every minute was precious--to save Evelyn, his wife, was surely more his duty than to set lost travellers on their way again. Besides, he told himself, it was not a fiercely cold night--there was no great danger of any person freezing to death; and even so, were not some things more vital than saving people from death, which must come sooner or later?

Then down the wind came the cry again--a frightened cry--he could hear the words--"Help! help! for G.o.d's sake!" Something in Fred Brydon's heart responded to that appeal. He could not hurry by unheeding.

Guided by the calls, he turned aside from his course and made his way through the choking storm across the prairie.

The cries came nearer, and Fred shouted in reply--words of impatient encouragement. No rescuer ever went to his work with a worse grace.

A large, dark object loomed faintly through the driving storm.

"What's the matter?" called Fred, when he was within speaking distance.

"I'm caught--tangled up in some devilish thing," came back the cry.

Fred hurried forward, and found a man, almost covered with snow, huddled beside a haystack, his clothing securely held by the barbs of the wire with which the stack was fenced.

"You're stuck in the barbed wire," said Fred, as he removed his mittens and with a good deal of difficulty released the man from the close grip of the barbs.

"I hired a livery-man at Brandon to bring me out, and his bronchos upset us and got away from him. He walked them the whole way--the roads were heavy--and then look at what they did! I came over here for shelter--the driver ran after the team, and then these infernal fishhooks got hold of me--what are they, anyway?"

Fred explained.