the short northland day was drawing to a close, when stane and helen came in sight of the cabin again. for the first time since he had known it, the man felt that the place had a desolate look; and the feeling was accentuated by the sombre woods that formed the background of the cabin. whilst yet a hundred yards from it he gave expression to his feeling.
"the cabin has a most forlorn look," he said, half-pausing to view it.
helen, who was very tired, replied, "it certainly looks cheerless in the darkness, but that is because there is no light. a few sticks in the stove and the glare of the fire shining through the parchment window would make it seem cheerful and homey enough."
"but——" he broke off suddenly. "hark. what was that?"
"i heard nothing," answered helen.
"listen," he said.
for perhaps twenty seconds they stood perfectly still, then somewhere in the wood some unseen creature barked. stane laughed at himself.
"a fox! i believe i am getting nervous," he said, beginning to move forward. helen moved with him, and they entered the cabin together. striking a match and lighting a slush lamp which he had devised, stane looked round. things were just as they had left them on their departure, and he drew a little breath of relief. why he should do so he could not have explained, any more than he could have explained the feeling of apprehension which had overtaken him. a few minutes passed, and soon the stove was roaring, filling the cabin with a cheerful glow. then whilst the girl busied herself with preparations for supper, he went outside to bring in more wood. on the return journey, as he kicked open the cabin-door, for a second his slightly stooping form was outlined against the light and in that second he caught sounds which caused him to drop the logs and to jump forward, suddenly. he threw the door to hurriedly and as hurriedly dropped the bar in place. helen looked round in surprise.
"what is it?" she asked quickly.
"there is some one about," he answered. "i heard the twang of a bowstring and the swish of an arrow over my head. some one aimed—ah, there it is!"
he pointed to the wall of the cabin, where an arrow had struck, and still quivered. going to the wall he dragged it out, and looked at it. it was ivory tipped, and must have been sent with great force. the girl looked at it with eyes that betrayed no alarm, though her face had grown pale.
"an indian!" she said.
"yes," he answered. "and more than one i should fancy. that fox-bark was a signal. no doubt it gave notice of our return."
"what shall we do?" asked helen quietly.
"do!" he answered with a short laugh. "we will have our supper and wait developments. we can do nothing else. we shall have to wait until daylight—then we may learn something."
helen nodded. "yes, i suppose there is nothing else to do; and a hostile force outside is no reason why we should die of hunger within."
calmly, as if hostile indians were part of the daily program, she continued the preparations for supper, whilst stane fixed a blanket over the parchment window, which was the one vulnerable point in the cabin. this he wedged with the top of a packing case, which the owner of the cabin had improvised for a shelf, and by the time he had finished, supper was almost ready. as they seated themselves at the table, the girl laughed suddenly.
"i suppose we are in a state of siege?"
"i don't know, but i should not be surprised. it is very likely."
"i feel quite excited," she said. "do you think we shall have to fight?"
"it depends what the intentions of our friends outside may be. we shall certainly have to be on the alert."
"you mean we shall have to keep watch."
"that i think will be necessary. they might try to rush the cabin, though i do not think they will. it is pretty solidly built."
"why should indians attack us?"
"i do not know. they may think that we are interfering with their hunting-rights."
"perhaps this hostility explains why the owner of the cabin has not returned."
"that is possible. this is a good fur country; but he may have felt that the furs were not worth the risk."
"yes!" answered helen, and after a moment's silence asked: "do you think those indians up the lake have anything to do with it?"
"that is more than possible, indeed, it is very likely. i did not like that old chief. there was a very cunning look in his eyes and it is very possible that he designs to get rid of both us and anderton. the mysterious visitants we have had, and the man in the wood this morning have a rather ominous look."
"but we shall fight them?"
"of course! if they are going to fight, we shall fight; though for your sake i hope that won't be necessary."
"oh, you must not mind me," was the reply, given with a little laugh. "the truth is that i think i should rather enjoy a fight."
stane gave her a quick look of admiration. "i know you will not be afraid," he said, "and if anderton gets through it may not be long before help arrives. also it must be remembered that we may be disturbing ourselves unnecessarily. that," he nodded towards the arrow—"may be no more than the malicious freak of some hunter returning home, and meant to scare us."
"but you do not think so?" asked helen, looking at his grave face.
"well——" he began, but the girl interrupted him.
"you don't," she cried. "i know you don't. you have already admitted that you think the matter is serious, as i do myself, though i don't pretend to know anything about indians. in a situation of this sort the truth is the best, and i know, we both know, that there is some occasion for concern. is not that so?"
"well," he agreed, "we can't be too careful."
"then tell me what we must do," she said a little reproachfully, "and don't make me feel that i am a child."
he considered a moment, then he replied: "we must keep watch and watch through the night. not that i think there will be any attack. these northern indians are wonderfully patient. they will play a waiting game, and in the end make a surprise attack. they will know that now we are on the alert, and i should not be surprised if for the present they have withdrawn altogether."
"you really believe that?"
"honestly and truly!"
"then for the moment we are safe."
"yes! i think so; and you can go to rest with a quiet mind."
"rest!" laughed the girl. "do you think i can rest with my heart jumping with excitement? i shall keep the first watch, perhaps after that i shall be sufficiently tired—and bored—to go to sleep."
stane smiled at her words, and admiration of her courage glowed in his eyes, but what she suggested fitted in well enough with his own desires, and he let her have her way, and himself lay down on his couch of spruce-boughs, and after a little time pretended to sleep. but in reality sleep was far from his eyes. from where he lay, he could see the girl's face, as she sat in the glowing light of the stove. there was a thoughtful, musing look upon it, but no sign of fear whatever, and he knew that her courageous demeanour was not an assumed one, but was the true index of the gay courage of her heart.
helen was thinking of the face of miskodeed as she had seen it over her shoulder, when they were departing from the encampment up the lake. she had read there a love for the man who was her own companion, and in the dark, wildly beautiful eyes she had seen the jealousy of an undisciplined nature. and as she sat in the glowing light of the stove, she was conscious of a feeling of antagonism to this rare daughter of the wilds who dared to love the man whom she herself loved. she understood, from the feelings she herself was conscious of, what must be the indian girl's attitude towards herself, and was inclined to trace the hostility which had suddenly manifested itself to that source. the girl had been in the neighbourhood of the cabin once, she was sure of that, and might have come again, probably by some short path through the woods, her hand, possibly, had drawn the bow and sent the arrow which had awakened their apprehensions. but in that case, she asked herself, why had the arrow been directed against her companion rather than herself?
that she could not understand, and after a time her thoughts passed to the story which stane had related to the policeman, and the account of the forged bill that the latter had given. the two together seemed absolutely conclusive. what a man had done once on the way of crime, he could do again, and as her conviction of gerald ainley's guilt grew, she was quite sure that somehow he was the moving spirit in her companion's deportation from fort malsun. he had not expected to see hubert stane, and when the latter had demanded an interview he had been afraid, and in his fear had taken steps for his removal. ainley loved her; but now, if he were the last man left in the world, she would never——
a sound of movement interrupted her reverie, and she half-turned as stane rose from his spruce-couch.
"you have heard nothing?" he asked.
"nothing!" she replied.
"i will take the watch now, miss yardely, and do you lie down and rest."
"i will lie down," she said with a little laugh, "but i am afraid sleep will be another matter. my mind is in a ferment."
"you can try at any rate," he said. "i will call you if any untoward thing occurs."
"you promise?" she asked. "i wouldn't miss one bit of anything that is happening—not for worlds."
"i promise," he answered with a smile.
"though i devoutly hope there will be no need for me to keep the promise."
"i'm not at all sure i do," laughed helen, and obediently retired to her screened bunk.
stane lit his pipe, and seated himself near the stove. he had, as he had previously told the girl, little fear of any attack developing that night, and this anticipation proved to be the correct one. the still, dead hours passed in quietness, and when the grey day broke, he cautiously opened the cabin-door and looked out. nothing stirred anywhere, either in the forest or lakewards. he turned and looked at his companion who had just emerged from her sleeping place.
"i think we have our little world to ourselves again."
"whoever made the attack may be lurking in the woods!" said helen.
"that of course is more than possible, but i do not think it is likely. it is extremely cold and a night in the open would be anything but desirable. the attacker or attackers, if from the indian encampment, probably returned there. they must know that we can't leave here, and they will probably try to lull us into a feeling of security, and then attempt a surprise. anyway after breakfast we'll beat the neighbouring coverts, i don't fancy being kept indoors by an enemy who may prove to be very contemptible."
when breakfast was finished and the necessary morning tasks finished, stane, who had been in and out of the hut frequently and had kept a careful watch on the wood and lake, looked at helen.
"do you feel equal to facing the possible danger, miss yardely?"
"i am not afraid," answered helen quickly, "and if i were i wouldn't own it—or show it, i hope."
"i don't believe you would," replied stane with a smile. "we will go out, first on the lake where we can survey the shore; and then along the path in the woods where we saw that man yesterday."
"about that man," said helen slowly. "there was something that i meant to tell you yesterday, but i forgot it again in the excitement of mr. anderton's arrival."
"what was that?" asked stane pausing in the act of slipping on his fur parka.
"well, i had an odd fancy that he was not an indian."
"you thought he was a white man?"
"yes," answered helen, "that idea occurred to me when you spoke of indians. the man may have been a native, but in the fleeting glimpse i had of him he did not give me that impression. of course i may be utterly mistaken."
"but what white man would run away from us?" asked stane, thoughtfully. "what could possibly be his reason for avoiding us?"
"i don't know," answered helen, with a quick laugh. "and as it may be no more than my fancy, the question of the man's racial identity is not worth worrying over. i merely thought i would tell you what my impression was."
stane nodded. "anyway, white or red he is not going to keep us from our walk. are you ready?"
"quite," she answered, and going outside they slipped on their snow-shoes, and then made a bee-line out on the lake.
they walked forward for perhaps half-a-mile and halted at a point whence they got a wide view of the shore. stane looked up and down the lake. its smooth white surface was absolutely without life but for his companion and himself. then he scrutinized the shore, point by point, creek by creek, and helen also looked carefully.
"no sign of any one," he commented at last. "no camp or fire, we might be alone in the world. if there is any one he is hidden in the deep woods, and for the present invisible. i think instead of going back to the cabin we will make a detour to the point where we surprised the stranger yesterday."
stane leading, to break the track in the untrodden snow, they made their way shorewards and struck it well to the north of the cabin, then began to work through the woods, keeping a sharp look out as they went. they saw nothing, however, and when they reached the bushes behind which the stranger had slipped the previous day, there were no fresh tracks to awaken alarm. they stood there looking down between the serried lines of trees. nothing save the trees was visible, and there was no sound of movement anywhere. the silence was the silence of primeval places, and somehow, possibly because of the tenseness of nerve induced by the circumstances of the walk, the girl was more conscious of it than ever she had been before.
"there is something inimical in the silence up here," she said in a whisper, as she gave a little shudder. "one has a feeling as if all the world of nature were lying in wait to ambush one."
"nature red in tooth and claw," stane quoted lightly, "only up here her teeth are white, and her claws also. and when she bares them a man has little chance. but i understand your feeling, one has the sense of a besetting menace. i felt it often last winter when i was new to the country, and it is a very nasty feeling—as if malign gods were at work to destroy one, or as if fate were about to snip with her scissors."
"yes," answered the girl, still whisperingly, then she smiled. "i have never felt quite like this before. i suppose it rises out of the real menace that may be hidden in the woods, the menace of some one watching and waiting to strike."
"very possible," answered stane, flashing a quick look at her. he was looking for the sign of fear, but found none, and a second later he said abruptly: "miss yardely, i think you are very brave."
"oh," laughed the girl in some confusion, "i don't know that, but i hope i am not below the general average of my sex."
"you are above it," he said with emphasis. "and i know that this, even for the bravest of women, must be rather a nerve-breaking walk."
"i won't deny that i find it so," was the reply. "but i am sustained by an ideal."
"indeed?" he asked inquiringly.
"yes! years ago i read about some english women in india who were at a military station when the mutiny broke out. the regiments in the neighbourhood were suspected of disloyalty and any sign of fear or panic would have precipitated a catastrophe. if the women had left, the sepoys would have known that they were suspected, so they remained where they were, attending to their households, paying their ordinary calls, riding about the district as if the volcano were not bubbling under their feet, and they even got up a ball in defiance of the danger. some people would call the latter mere bravado, but i am sure it was just a picturesque kind of courage, and in any case it impressed the sepoys. those particular regiments remained loyal—and it was the behaviour of the white women which saved the situation. and their courage is my ideal. i have always felt that if i were placed in a similar situation i would at least try to live up to it."
"you are doing so," answered stane with conviction. "this situation is not quite the same, but——" he broke off and looked round the silent woods, which might well be the hiding-place of implacable enemies, then added: "well, it is a test of character and courage!"
"oh," laughed the girl a little nervously, "you do not know how i am quaking inwardly."
"i am not to blame for that," he answered laughingly, "you conceal the fact so well."
in due time they reached the cabin without mishap. they had found no sign of the enemy of the previous night. if he still lurked in the wood he kept himself hidden and stane hoped that he had withdrawn for good. but he determined to take no chances, and busied himself in the next few hours with cutting a good store of wood which he stacked in the cabin. he also chopped a considerable amount of ice which he stored as far away from the stove as possible. some cached moose-meat, which was frozen solid as a board, he hung on the rafters of the cabin, which themselves were white with frost.
the short day had almost ended when he had completed these tasks, and he was about to enter the cabin, when through the dusk he caught sight of a figure, standing among the trees openly watching him. the garb proclaimed the figure to be that of a woman, and for a moment he was utterly startled. then, acting on impulse, he started to walk towards the watcher, his unmittened hand on the butt of the pistol at his hip.
