The Huntress

"Come on, Joe," said one.

Joe assumed an air of laziness. "What's the use?" he said. "I'll stay here and talk to Stiffy."

When they had gone Joe still sat cudgelling his brain. He was not fertile in expedients. He was afraid to speak even indirectly of the matter on his breast for fear of alarming Stiffy by betraying too much eagerness. Finally an idea occurred to him.

"I say, Stiffy, how does my account stand?"

The trader told him his balance.

"What!" cried Joe, affecting indignation. "I know it's more than that. You've made a mistake somewhere."

This touched Stiffy at his weakest. "I never make a mistake!" he returned with heat. "You fellows go along ordering stuff, and expect your balance to stay the same, like the widow's cruse. Come and look for yourself!"

This was what Joe desired. He slouched over, grumbling. Stiffy explained how the debits were on one side, the credits on the other. Each customer had a page to himself. Joe observed that before turning up his account Stiffy had consulted an index in a separate folder.

Joe allowed himself to be reluctantly satisfied, and returned to his seat by the stove. He was advanced by learning how the book was kept, but the grand difficulty remained to be solved; how to get a look at it without Stiffy's knowledge.

Here fortune unexpectedly favoured him. When he was not adding up his columns, Stiffy was for ever taking stock. By rights, he should have been the chief clerk of a great city emporium. Before the others returned he began to count the articles on the shelves.

He struck a difficulty in the cans of condensed milk. Repeated countings gave the same total. "By Gad, we've been robbed!" he cried. "Unless there's still a case in the loft."

He hastened to the stairs. The instant his weight creaked on the boards overhead the burly, lounging figure by the stove sprang into activity. Joe darted on moccasined feet to Stiffy's little sanctum, and with swift fingers turned up M in the index.

"Musq'oosis; page 452." Silently opening the big book, he thumbed the pages. The noises from upstairs kept him exactly informed of what Stiffy was doing.

Joe found the place, and there, in Stiffy's neat copper plate, was spread out all that he wished to know. It took him but a moment to get the hang of it. On the debit side: "To team, Sambo and Dinah, with wagon and harness, $578.00." Under this were entered various advances to Sam. On the other side Joe read: "By order on Gilbert Beattie, $578.00." Below were the different amounts paid by Graves for hauling.

Joe softly closed the book. So it was Musq'oosis who employed Sam! And Musq'oosis was a kind of guardian of Bela! It did not require much effort of the imagination to see a connection here. Joe's triumph in his discovery was mixed with a bitter jealousy.

However, he was pretty sure that Sam was ignorant of who owned the team he drove, and he saw an opportunity to work a pretty piece of mischief. But first he must make still more sure.

When Stiffy, having found the missing case, came downstairs again, Joe apparently had not moved.

A while later Joe entered the company store, and addressed himself to Gilbert Beattie concerning a plough he said he was thinking of importing. Beattie, seeing a disposition in the other man to linger and talk, encouraged it. This was new business. In any case, up north no man declines the offer of a gossip. Strolling outside, they sat on a bench at the door in the grateful sunshine.

From where they were they could see Bela's shack below, with smoke rising from the cook tent and the old man's tepee alongside. Musq'oosis himself was squatting at the door, engaged upon some task with his nimble fingers. Consequently, no management on Joe's part was required to bring the conversation around to him. Seeing the trader's eye fall there, he had only to say:

"Great old boy, isn't he?"

"One of the best," said Beattie warmly. "The present generation doesn't produce 'em! He's as honest as he is intelligent, too. Any trader in the country would let him have anything he wanted to take. His word is as good as his bond."

"Too bad he's up against it in his old age," suggested Joe.

"Up against it, what do you mean?" asked Beattie.

"Well, he can't do much any more. And he doesn't seem to have any folks."

"Oh, Musq'oosis has something put by for a rainy day!" said Beattie. "For years he carried a nice little balance on my books."

"What did he do with it, then?" asked Joe carelessly.

Beattie suspected nothing more in this than idle talk.

"Transferred it to the French outfit," he said with a shrug. "I suppose he wanted Mahooley to know he's a man of means. He can't have spent any of it. I'll probably get it back some day."

"How did he get it in the first place?" asked Joe casually. "Out of fur?"

"No," said Beattie; "he was in some kind of partnership with a man called Walter Forest, a white man. Forest died, and the amount was transferred to Musq'oosis. It's twenty years ago. I inherited the debt from my predecessor here."

Joe, seeing that the trader had nothing more of special interest to tell him, let the talk pass on to other matters. By and by he rose, saying:

"Guess I'll go down and talk to the old boy until dinner's ready."

"It is always profitable," said Beattie. "Come in again."

"I'll let you know about the plough," said Joe.

"Hello, Musq'oosis!" began Joe facetiously. "Fine weather for old bones, eh?"

"Ver' good," replied Musq'oosis blandly. The old man had no great liking for this burly youth with the comely, self-indulgent face, nor did he relish his style of address; however, being a philosopher and a gentleman, this did not appear in his face. "Sit down," he added hospitably.

Musq'oosis was making artificial flies against the opening of the trout season next month. With bits of feather, hair, and thread he was turning out wonderfully lifelike specimens – not according to the conventional varieties, but as a result of his own half-century's experience on neighbouring streams. A row of the completed product was stuck in a smooth stick, awaiting possible customers.

"Out of sight!" said Joe, examining them.

"I t'ink maybe sell some this year," observed Musq'oosis. "Plenty new men come."

"How much?" asked Joe.

"Four bits."

"I'll take a couple. There's a good stream beside my place."

"Stick 'em in your hat."

After this transaction Musq'oosis liked Joe a little better. He entered upon an amiable dissertation on fly-fishing, to which Joe gave half an ear, while he debated how to lead up to what he really wanted to know. In the end it came out bluntly.

"Say, Musq'oosis, what do you know about a fellow called Walter Forest?"

Musq'oosis looked at Joe, startled. "You know him?" he asked.

"Yes," said Joe. Recollecting that Beattie had told him the man had been dead twenty years, he hastily corrected himself. "That is, not exactly. Not personally."

"Uh!" said Musq'oosis.

"I thought I'd ask you, you're such an old-timer."

"Um!" said Musq'oosis again. There was nothing in this so far to arouse his suspicions. But on principle he disliked to answer questions. Whenever it was possible he answered a question by asking another.

"Did you know him?" persisted Joe.

"Yes," replied Musq'oosis guardedly.

"What like man was he?"

"What for you want know?"

"Oh, a fellow asked me to find out," answered Joe vaguely. He gained assurance as he proceeded. "Fellow I met in Prince George. When he heard I was coming up here he said: 'See if you can find out what's become of Walter Forest. Ain't heard from him in twenty year.'"

"What this fellow call?" asked Musq'oosis.

"Er – George Smith," Joe improvised. "Big, dark-complected guy. Traveller in the cigar line."

Musq'oosis nodded.

"Walter Forest died twenty year ago," he said.

"How?" asked Joe.

"Went through the ice wit' his team."

"You don't say!" said Joe. "Well! Well! I said I'd write and tell George."

Joe was somewhat at a loss how to go on. He said "Well! Well!" again. Finally he asked: "Did you know him well?"

"He was my friend," said Musq'oosis.

"Tell me about him," said Joe. "So I can write, you know."

Musq'oosis was proud of his connection with Walter Forest. There was no reason why he should not tell the story to anybody. Had he not urged upon Bela to use her own name? It never occurred to him that anyone could trace the passage of the father's bequest from one set of books to the other. So in his simple way he told the story of Walter Forest's life and death in the country.

"Well! Well!" exclaimed Joe. "Smitty will be interested. You said he was married. Did he leave any family?"

"His baby come after," said Musq'oosis. "Two months."

"What's become of it?"

Musq'oosis nodded toward the shack. "That is Bela," he said.

Joe clenched his hands to keep from betraying a start. This was what he wanted. He bit his lip to hide the cruel smile that spread upon it.

"Why you smile?" asked Musq'oosis.

"No reason," replied Joe hastily. "I thought her name was Bela Charley."

"Her mot'er marry Charley Fish-Eater after," explained Musq'oosis. "People forget Walter Forest's baby. So call Bela Charley. Right name Bela Forest."

"Well," said Joe, "that's quite a story. Did he leave any property?"

Musq'oosis glanced at him sharply. His suspicions began to be aroused. "No," he said shortly.

"That's a lie!" thought Joe. Now that he had learned what he wanted to know, he took no further pains to hide his sneers. "I'll tell Smitty that Forest's got a fine girl for a daughter," he said, rising.

Musq'oosis's eyes followed him a little anxiously into the house.

The dinner-hour was drawing near, but none of the boarders had arrived yet. Joe found Bela putting the plates and cups on the table. Seeing him, she stood fast without fear, merely glancing over her shoulder to make sure her retreat was open.

"Hello!" said Joe, affecting a boisterous air. "Am I the first?"

She declined to unbend. "You got be'ave if you comin' here," she said coldly.

"Got to, eh? That's a nice way to speak to a friend."

"If you don' act decent you can't come here no more," she said firmly.

"How are you going to stop me?" he demanded truculently.

"I tell the ot'er boys," she said coolly. "They keep you out."

"You won't do that," he returned, sneering.

"You find out pretty soon."

"You won't do that," he repeated. "Because I got something on you now."

She looked at him sharply. Then shrugged scornfully. "Everybody know all about me."

"There's something Sam don't know yet."

In spite of herself, she was betrayed into a sharp movement. Joe laughed.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

It was his humour to be mysterious. "Never mind. I know what I know."

Bela unconcernedly resumed her work. "You jus' bluffin'," she said.

"Oh, I'm bluffing, am I?" snarled Joe. He was the picture of a bad-tempered schoolboy. "If you don't treat me right you'll see if I am. I'll out with the story to-night before them all, before Sam."

"What story?" asked Bela. "You crazy, I t'ink."

"The story of how you're paying Sam's wages."

Bela stopped dead, and went pale. She struggled hard to command herself. "It's a lie!" she said.

"Like fun it is!" cried Joe, triumphing. "I got it bit by bit, and pieced it all together. I'm a little too clever for you, I guess. I know the whole thing now. How your father left the money to Musq'oosis when he died, and Musq'oosis bought the team from Mahooley, and made him give it to Sam to drive. I can see Sam's face when I tell that and hear all the fellows laugh."

Bela abandoned the useless attempt to bluff it out. She came opposite to where he was sitting, and put her hands on the table. "If you tell that I kill you!" she said softly.

Joe leaned back. "Pooh! You can't scare a man with threats like that. After I tell the mischief's done, anyhow."

"I will kill you!" she said again.

Joe laughed. "I'll take my chance of it." Hitting out at random, he said: "I'll bet it was you scared the white woman into fits!"

To save herself Bela could not help betraying it in her face. Joe laughed uproariously.

"Gad! That'll make another good story to tell!"

"I will kill you!" repeated Bela dully.

Something in her desperate eyes warned him that one might press a primitive nature too far. He changed his tone.

"Mind you, I don't say I'm going to tell. I don't mean to tell if you do what I want."

"What you want?" she asked softly with glittering eyes.

"Not to be treated like dirt under anybody's feet, that's all," he replied threateningly. "To be treated as good as anybody else. You understand me?"

"I mak' no promise," said Bela.

"Well you know what you've got to expect if you don't."

CHAPTER XXI

SAM IS LATE

On the afternoon of the same day, Sam, clattering back from Graves's camp in his empty wagon, suddenly came upon Musq'oosis squatting like a little Buddha under a willow bush.

The spot was at the edge of the wide flats at the head of Beaver Bay. Immediately beyond the road turned and followed the higher ground along the water into the settlement. It was about half a mile to Bela's shack. Musq'oosis rose, and Sam pulled up.

"Come aboard," invited Sam. "What are you waiting up here for?"

"Waitin' for you," replied Musq'oosis.

He climbed into the wagon-box and Sam chirruped to his horses. The nervous little beasts stretched their flanks and were off at a bound. The whole outfit was in a hurry. Sam was hoping to be the first to arrive at the stopping-house.

Musq'oosis laid a claw on his arm. "Drive slow," he said. "I want talk. Too much bang and shake."

Sam reluctantly pulled his team into a walk. "Anything up?" he asked.

Musq'oosis shrugged, and answered the question with another. "Anybody comin' be'ind you?"

"Not near," replied Sam. "They weren't ready to start when I left. And I've come quick."

"Good!" said Musq'oosis.

"What's the dope?" asked Sam curiously.

"Stiffy and Mawoolie's York boat come to-day," said Musq'oosis conversationally. "Bring summer outfit. Plenty all kind goods. Bring newspapers three weeks old."

"I heard all that," said Sam. "Mattison brought word around the bay."

"There's measles in the Indians out Tepiskow Lake."

Sam glanced sidewise at his passenger. "Is this what you wanted to tell me?"

Musq'oosis shrugged.

"Out with it!" said Sam. "I want to get a word with Bela before the gang comes."

"Don't stop at Bela's to-night," said Musq'oosis.

Sam frowned. "So that's it! Why not?"

"Goin' be bad trouble I t'ink."

"I know," said Sam. "Joe's been talking big around the settlement all day. Mattison told that, too."

Musq'oosis looked at him surprised. "You know it, and you want go! You can't fight Joe. Too much big!"

"Maybe," said Sam grimly; "but I'll do my damnedest."

Musq'oosis was silent for a moment. Evidently this contingency had not entered into his calculations.

"Bela can't have no trouble there," he finally suggested. "If the place get a bad name Gilbert Beattie put her out."

Sam was taken aback. "I'm sorry!" he said, frowning. "I never thought of that. But I've got to consider myself a little, too. I can't let Joe bluff me out. Nice name I'd get around here."

"Nobody 'spec' you fight big man lak Joe."

"I've got to do it just the same."

"Only to-night."

"What good putting it off? To-morrow it would be the same. I'm just beginning to get on. I've got to make good! Lord! I know what it is to be the under dog! No more of that! Joe can lay me out cold, but I'll never quit!"

"If Beattie put Bela out, she got no place to go," pleaded Musq'oosis.

Sam scowled helplessly. "What can I do?" he asked. "Bela's nearly done for me already up here. She shouldn't ask this of me. I'll put it up to her. She'll understand."

"No use stoppin'," said Musq'oosis. "Bela send me up road tell you not stop to-night."

Sam, in his helplessness, swore under his breath and fell silent for awhile. Finally his face cleared a little. "Tell you what I'll do," he said. "I won't stop now and let them find me there. I'll drive on down to the point and fix my horses for the night. Then I'll walk back. By that time everybody will be there. They will see that I'm not afraid to come, anyhow. The rest is up to Bela. She can refuse to let me in if she wants. And if Joe wants to mix things up, I'll oblige him down the road a piece."

"All right, I tell Bela," said Musq'oosis. "Let me down now. Not want anybody know I talk to you."

Sam pulled up. As the old man was about to get down he offered Sam his hand.

"Ain't you little bit scare of Joe?" he asked curiously.

Sam smiled wryly. "Sure!" he confessed. "I'm a whole lot scared of him. Hasn't he got thirty pounds on me, weight and reach beside. It's because I'm so scared that I can't take anything from him. Do you understand that?"

"I on'er stan'," the old Indian said pithily. "Walter Forest tell me lak that long tam ago. You brave lak him, I t'ink."

Sam shook his head. "'Tisn't a case of bravery, but of plumb necessity!"

From the window of the French outfit store Sam was seen driving down to Grier's Point.

"Scared off!" cried Joe with a great laugh. "Lucky for him, too!"

An hour later Bela was feeding the largest number of men that had ever gathered in her shack. Except the policeman on duty, and Gilbert Beattie, every white man in the district had been drawn by the word passed from mouth to mouth that there was "going to be something doing to-night."

Even Musq'oosis, who had never before ventured among the white men without a particular invitation, came in. He did not eat at the table, but sat on the floor in the corner, watching and listening with bright eyes, like some queer, philosophic little ape.

As time passed, and Sam did not turn up, the company was frankly disappointed. They abused him thoughtlessly, forgetting in their chagrin at losing a sensation, that Sam might have declined a contest so unequal with entire honour. Bela kept her eyes down to hide their angry glitter at the men's comments.

Joe Hagland was in the highest spirits. In him this took the form of boisterousness and arrogance. Not only did he usurp the place at the head of the table, but he held everybody off from the place at his right.

"That's reserved," he said to all comers.

As in every party of men, there was an obsequious element that encouraged Joe with flattery. Among the sturdier spirits, however, Big Jack, Mahooley, Coulson, an honest resentment developed.

In particular they objected to Joe's changed air toward Bela. He was not openly insulting to her, but into his voice had crept a peremptory note apparent to every ear. He called her attention to empty plates, and otherwise acted the part of a host. In reality he was imitating Sam's manner of the night before, but the effect was different.

If Bela had shown any resentment it would have been all up with Joe. They would have thrown him out in less time than it takes to tell. But Bela did his bidding with a cold, suppressed air. The other men watched her, astonished and uneasy. None had ever seen her like this.

When the dinner was fairly under way it transpired who the vacant place was for.

"Come and sit down, Bela!" cried Joe. "Lend us the light of your handsome face to eat by. Have something yourself. Don't be a stranger at your own table!"

Big Jack scowled into his plate, and Coulson bit his lip. Their hands itched for Joe's collar. Unfortunately among men, no man likes to be the first to administer a public rebuke. The least sign from Bela would have been sufficient, but she gave them none. She made believe not to have heard Joe. He repeated his invitation in louder tones.

"I never sit," she said quietly.

"Time that rule was broken!" cried Joe.

"I busy."

"Hang it, let the old woman serve! Every man has had one plateful. Come and talk to me."

All eyes were on Bela. She hesitated, then went and sat as Joe commanded. The other men could scarcely believe their eyes. Bela to take orders in public like this! Her inscrutable exterior gave no indication of what was passing within.

There was, perhaps, a hint of pain, anger in her eyes, but hidden so deep they could not see it. The obvious inference was that Joe had won her at last. She went down in their estimation. Every man shrugged, so to speak, and let Joe have his way.

That youth swelled with gratified vanity. He heightened his jocular air; his gallantry had an insolent ring. "Say, we'll pay double if you let us look at you while we eat. You'll save money, too; we won't eat so much. We'll take you for dessert!"

The other men were uneasy. If this was Joe's and Bela's way of making love they wished they would do it in private. They were slow-thinking men, accustomed to taking things at face value. Like all men, they were shy of inquiring too far into an emotional situation.

Bela did not eat, but sat still, silent and walled-up. At such moments she was pure Indian. Long afterward the men recollected the picture she made that night, still and dignified as a death mask.

Joe could not leave Sam alone. "I wonder where our friend the ex-cook is to-night?" he inquired facetiously of the company. "Boiling his own pot at the Point, I suppose. He don't seem to hanker much for the society of men. That's as it should be. Men and cooks don't gee."

Anyone looking closely would have seen Bela's breast rise and fall ominously, but no one looked closely. Her face gave no sign.

"Sam was a little too big for his shoes last night," Joe went on. "To-day I guess he thinks better – "

"Hello! Somebody talking about me?" cried a cheerful voice from the door.

Sixteen men turned their heads as one. They saw Sam by the door smiling. Bela involuntarily jumped up, and the box she was sitting on fell over. Joe, caught up in the middle of a sentence, stared with his mouth open, a comic expression of dismay fixed on his features.

Sam came in. His eyes were shining with excitement.

"What's the matter?" he asked, laughing. "You all look as if you saw a ghost!" To Bela he said: "Don't disturb yourself. I've had my supper. I just walked up for a bit of sociability before turning in, if you've no objection."

He waited with a significant air for her to speak. There was nothing naive about Sam's light manner; he was on the qui vive for whatever might come.

Bela tried to answer him, and could not. Her iron will was no longer able to hide the evidences of agitation. Her lips were parted and her breath was coming fast. She kept her eyes down.

There was a highly charged silence in the shack. All knew that the turn of the drama depended on the next word to be spoken. They watched Bela, bright-eyed.

By this time Joe had partly recovered his self-possession. "Let him go!" he said roughly. "We don't want no cooks around!"

Sam ignored him. "Can I stay?" he asked Bela, smiling with a peculiar hardness. "If you don't want me, all right. But it must come from you."

Bela raised her eyes imploringly to him and let them fall again.

Sam refused to take it for an answer.

"Can I stay?" he asked again.

"Ah, tell him to go before he's thrown out!" cried Joe.

That settled it. Bela's head went up with a jerk, and her eyes flashed savagely at Joe. To Sam she said clearly: "Come in, my house is open to all."

"Thanks," said Sam.

Bela glared at Joe, defying him to do his worst. Joe refused her challenge. His eyes bolted. He scowled and muttered under his breath.

Sam, taking in the situation, walked quickly to Bela's place, and picking up the box sat on it, and smiled directly into Joe's discomfited face.

That move won him more than one friend in the shack. Young Coulson's eyes sparkled with admiration. Big Jack frowned at Sam, divided between old resentment and new respect.

Sam quickly followed up his advantage.

"Seems you weren't expecting me this evening," he said quietly. "I wouldn't have missed it for a lot. Heard there was going to be something special doing. How about it, Joe?"

Joe was no match for him at this kind of game. He looked away, muttering.