the willow’s back was toward the door when the factor from lac bain entered the cabin, and for a few startled seconds she did not turn. her first thought was of pierrot—for some reason he had returned. but even as this thought came to her, she heard in baree’s throat a snarl that brought her suddenly to her feet, facing the door.
mctaggart had not entered unprepared. he had left his pack, his gun, and his heavy coat outside. he was standing with his back against the door; and at nepeese—in her wonderful dress and flowing hair—he was staring as if stunned for a space at what he saw. fate, or accident, was playing against the willow now. if there had been a spark of slumbering chivalry, of mercy, even, in bush mctaggart’s soul, it was extinguished by what he saw. never had nepeese looked more beautiful, not even on that day when macdonald the map-maker had taken her picture. the sun, flooding through the window, lighted up her marvellous hair; her flushed face was framed in its lustrous darkness like a tinted cameo. he had dreamed, but he had pictured nothing like this woman who stood before him now, her eyes widening with fear and the flush leaving her face even as he looked at her.
it was not a long interval in which their eyes met in that terrible silence—terrible to the girl. words were unnecessary. at last she understood—understood what her peril had been that day at the edge of the chasm and in the forest, when fearlessly she had played with the menace that was confronting her now.
a breath that was like a sob broke from her lips.
“m’sieu!” she tried to say. but it was only a gasp—an effort. she seemed choking.
plainly she heard the click of the iron bolt as it locked the door. mctaggart advanced a step.
only a single step mctaggart advanced. on the floor baree had remained like a carven thing. he had not moved. he had not made a sound but that one warning snarl—until mctaggart took the step. and then, like a flash, he was up and in front of nepeese, every hair of his body on end; and at the fury in his growl mctaggart lunged back against the barred door. a word from nepeese in that moment, and it would have been over. but an instant was lost—an instant before her cry came. in that moment man’s hand and brain worked swifter than brute understanding; and as baree launched himself at the factor’s throat, there came a flash and a deafening explosion almost in the willow’s eyes.
it was a chance shot, a shot from the hip with mctaggart’s automatic. baree fell short. he struck the floor with a thud and rolled against the log wall. there was not a kick or a quiver left in his body. mctaggart laughed nervously as he shoved his pistol back in its holster. he knew that only a brain shot could have done that.
with her back against the farther wall, nepeese was waiting. mctaggart could hear her panting breath. he advanced halfway to her.
“nepeese, i have come to make you my wife,” he said.
she did not answer. he could see that her breath was choking her. she raised a hand to her throat. he took two more steps, and stopped. he had never seen such eyes.
“i have come to make you my wife, nepeese. to-morrow you will go on to nelson house with me and then back to lac bain—forever.” he added the last word as an afterthought. “forever,” he repeated.
he did not mince words. his courage and his determination rose as he saw her body droop a little against the wall. she was powerless. there was no escape. pierrot was gone. baree was dead.
he had thought that no living creature could move as swiftly as the willow when his arms reached out for her. she made no sound as she darted under one of his outstretched arms. he made a lunge, a brutal grab, and his fingers caught a bit of hair. he heard the snap of it as she tore herself free and flew to the door. she had thrown back the bolt when he caught her and his arms closed about her. he dragged her back, and now she cried out—cried out in her despair for pierrot, for baree, for some miracle of god that might save her.
and nepeese fought. she twisted in his arms until she was facing him. she could no longer see. she was smothered in her hair. it covered her face and breast and body, suffocating her, entangling her hands and arms—and still she fought. in the struggle mctaggart stumbled over the body of baree, and they went down. nepeese was up fully five seconds ahead of the man. she could have reached the door. but again it was her hair. she paused to fling back the thick masses of it so that she could see, and mctaggart was at the door ahead of her.
he did not lock it again, but stood facing her. his face was scratched and bleeding. he was no longer a man but a devil. nepeese was broken, panting—a low sobbing came with her breath. she bent down, and picked up a piece of firewood. mctaggart could see that her strength was almost gone.
she clutched the stick as he approached her again. but mctaggart had lost all thought of fear or caution. he sprang upon her like an animal. the stick of firewood fell. and again fate played against the girl. in her terror and hopelessness she had caught up the first stick her hand had touched—a light one. with her last strength she struck at mctaggart with it, and as it fell on his head, he staggered back. but it did not make him lose his hold.
vainly she was fighting now, not to strike him or to escape, but to get her breath. she tried to cry out again, but this time no sound came from between her gasping lips.
again he laughed, and as he laughed, he heard the door open. was it the wind? he turned, still holding her in his arms.
in the open door stood pierrot.
