for a long time they stood in the shadow of the cabin, and the sleepy stillness of the night with its soft chirping of crickets and gentle murmuring of the lake surf brought a soothing peace to mona. with peter's arms about her she was no longer afraid. he told her what had happened since she left his father. twice donald mcrae had awakened from his sleep of exhaustion and had asked for her. a thrill of pleasure was in peter's voice as he told her this; it made him happy to know that his father loved her, and that he even whispered her name in his feverish slumber. some day the whole of their prayer would be answered; things would turn out right; and they would all be happy.
not until he had gone, and she was alone in her room, did mona note how swiftly the time had passed. the hour hand of the little clock was at three. she did not undress, but sat down at her window, with her face turned toward the coming of the dawn. and now that peter's love and the unbreakable strength of his optimism were no longer at her side, her thoughts began pressing upon her again, dispelling the comfort he had given her and weakening once more her faith[241] and hope in what the day would bring. she was glad she confided in simon, for he was the rock to which she clung in these hours of her own helplessness. and yet—what could simon do? wherein was he less helpless than herself—or peter? she shivered as she recalled the grim and terrible look that had last rested in his face. and that same look had been in peter's—a flash which he had tried to hide from her! her heart jumped and for an instant her fingers clutched at the sill of her window. would one of them—simon or peter—kill aleck curry?
it seemed to her that a terrible truth rushed upon her all at once and caught like a living thing at her throat until it was difficult for her to breathe. there was no hope for peter as long as aleck lived! the words almost came from her lips. unless peter ran away, wandering and hiding like his father, no power could keep him from going to prison. but if aleck should never leave the little island—if he died there—and no one knew of the fight at the pool——
she bowed her face in her arms. it would be so easy of accomplishment—so terribly and frighteningly easy! peter might do it! and simon—the look in his face—his eyes—what he said——
"no, no, no," she whispered to herself. "anything—anything but that!"
she raised her head to meet the first rose-flush of the dawn. but this morning there was no responsive thrill in mona's breast. a question was repeating[242] itself in her brain. would she be able to go through the day without giving herself away? could she meet pierre and josette gourdon, and marie antoinette, and father albanel, and adette and jame clamart—and not let them see her torture? would it show in her face when she met carter, of the provincial police?
until the first white spirals of smoke began rising from the cabin chimneys she sat at her window. then she rose, and her beautiful face was almost stern in its resolution. she let the sunlight stream into her room, and in its radiance she unbraided her hair and brushed it until it lay about her in the rippling glory that made peter the happiest and proudest of all men. she dressed it carefully, and tried to sing as she made herself ready to help josette with the breakfast—for she always sang in this first hour of the day. but the notes seemed to stifle her this morning.
it was then, looking out from her window, that she saw a grayish haze rising between her and the face of the sun, and the smell of it came to her faintly. it was smoke.
when she went below it was pierre she met first. he kissed her. but anxiety was in his face.
"it is happening again this year," he said. "the forests to the north and west are afire. it will not come near five fingers, but it makes my heart ache to know that a world is being turned dead and black because of someone's carelessness!"
[243]
so it was the fire which gave mona an excuse for what was lacking in her eyes when she went to help josette with the breakfast. and it was this same fire, with its thickening gloom of smoke, which helped her through the day. for to mona a living tree had life and soul, and to see trees destroyed in countless thousands was a tragedy in her life only a little less terrible than the plague of smallpox which had once cast its shadow upon five fingers.
she went to simon's cabin as soon after breakfast as she could make an excuse, and there she met carter. her first glimpse of him filled her with uneasiness and dislike. he was a hawk-nosed, shifty-eyed man in whom nature seemed to have sacrificed every softening quality to an uncompromising sense of duty, and his eyes rested upon her face so intently as simon introduced them that she felt her heart tremble. but if he knew of her previous visit to simon's cabin, or of her meeting with peter, he gave no evidence of it, and after a casual remark or two about the fire he left her alone with the scotchman.
a worried look was in mcquarrie's eyes.
"i've found out more about carter," he said. "he is the best man in this division and is never sent out on minor affairs. leaving us so quickly right now shows how clever he is. he doesn't want to create suspicion. he dropped in to ask me the best trail northwest, and says he is going to leave in half an hour to make a report on the fire. that's another lie.[244] in the woods he is like a cat, and he won't go half a mile from the settlement. he is wondering where peter is, and if he once gets on his trail——" suddenly he drew his hands together, and a grim smile gathered about his mouth. "if carter goes to that fire, i'm going with him!" he exclaimed. "five fingers is interested, and he cannot very well turn me down."
in a few words mona told of peter's visit; and then, standing so near that he could not avoid the directness of her eyes, she gave low voice to her suspicion that either he or peter was planning to kill aleck curry.
the effect of her words on simon startled her. he stood dumb, staring at her. then one of his bony hands reached out and rested on her shoulder. its fingers hurt her. "don't even whisper that anywhere—but here," he said. "you understand? don't! peter won't kill him. and i'm not worrying about aleck curry now. it's carter."
he left her without another word, and went out to overtake carter. there was something so grim and foreboding in his movement that it chilled her, and as she dropped a few steps behind him she noticed his boots. at midnight she had seen them in his cabin, clean and freshly oiled. now they were frosted with half-dried mud to their tops. his sourness, the harshness of his fingers on her shoulder, his silence now and the aggressive hunch of his shoulders, together[245] with the mud on his boots, tightened her breath. had simon already accomplished the thing she feared? was that why he was so anxious to follow carter, go with him—get him away from five fingers? she ran up to him, meaning to demand the truth.
he anticipated her intention and spoke almost roughly. "don't ask questions, mona. carter has stopped, and is looking. go home—and stay in if you can't keep control of yourself."
the rest of the morning mona waited anxiously for peter. at noon, when they were at dinner, pierre gourdon talked of little but the fire. it had surely crossed the line of rail thirty miles north, he said, and was traveling steadily eastward. if the wind should quicken and swing into the south there would be danger to the forests about five fingers. but the settlement itself was safe, protected as it was by fire-lines and cultivated fields on three sides, and lake superior on the other.
he wondered where simon mcquarrie was, and asked mona if she had seen peter. he surmised they had gone back to the crests of the high ridges to make a closer observation of the fire. he had already sent out jame clamart and poleon dufresne to guard the northern ridges, and if the fire threatened to break coastward, all the men in five fingers would go out to fight it. he had made preparations. but he didn't like the way peter and simon were missing, without leaving any word behind them. carter was gone, too.
[246]
afternoon saw smoke settling like a thin fog about the clearing. the sun was entirely hidden. animals and fowls came up to the buildings, and men and women gave up their work to discuss with one another the possibilities of the next few hours. a dozen times mona repressed the desire to steal away and go to the little cabin where donald mcrae was hidden. she knew peter was there, and now that the smoke was thickening she believed he would soon leave for the settlement.
she noticed how hot and sultry it had grown in the last hour. scarcely a breath of air was stirring, and in the middle of the afternoon adette clamart insisted that she go with her for a swim down in the inlet. while they were in the water peter came up from the lake in a boat. his sail was down and he was rowing. adette clamart covered her pretty eyes with her two hands while he bent over to kiss mona, and in that moment he whispered, "i want to see you in the cabin." he was acting strangely, mona thought.
a few minutes later she joined him in the cabin.
"dad is better," peter said. "but tonight i'm going to get him away—somewhere. i'm afraid of the fire. with a bad wind it would be on us in an hour or two. right now i want to take some supplies over to aleck curry. then i'll come back and see you before i return to dad. there's a little breeze on the lake, and i can make the island in an hour. have you seen carter?"
[247]
"this morning. he hasn't been here since then."
"and simon?"
"he is gone, too."
she got a bundle she had prepared and said good-by to peter but not until he had promised to return directly from the island by way of the inlet. she watched him until he disappeared in the gray haze that hung over the water, and then looked at the clock to mark the time he would be returning. scarcely had she done this when a figure stalked past one of the windows. instantly she recognized it as simon mcquarrie. he went straight to his cabin, entered it and closed the door. and carter was not with him!
her heart throbbed as she went outside, determined to follow him. but something held her back. then she forced herself to follow her first impulse, and a moment later was knocking at simon's door. there was no answer. she persisted, knocking loudly and calling his name, and still there was no response. then she tried the door and found it locked. where there had been fear in her breast there was now conviction. the tiger in the old scotchman had been at work, and in his own way—and the only way—he had solved the great problem of her life and peter's, and had made the world free again for his old friend donald mcrae. he had rid the island of aleck curry, and had done away with carter. and now he wanted to be alone—alone in his cabin!
not for a moment did she question the reasonableness[248] of her conviction. it seized upon her like a many-tentacled thing, choking back her doubt and overwhelming her with its certainty. it made her steal pantingly to the edge of the forest, and then to the beginning of the long finger of spruce and cedar that reached away out to the entrance of middle finger inlet. half an hour later she was on the sand and gravel beach under the big cliff, waiting for peter's return. and now she noticed a change in the wind. loose tresses of her hair blew seaward. that meant the fire would come over the ridges!
in another quarter of an hour she could scarcely see the farther side of middle finger inlet. a black pall of smoke was creeping closer in the north and west. then, very faintly, she saw something creeping up like a ghost out of the smoke gloom of the sea. she knew it was peter. he was coming with nerve-racking slowness, it seemed to her. yet she did not want to cry out to him until he was nearer. he was using his oars, and at times there was a half-minute interval between his strokes. why was he so slow? was it because of what he had found on the island? surely simon would have left no telltale signs. so far as peter was concerned aleck curry could only be missing—nothing more!
a shudder ran through her. then she cried peter's name. her voice carried strangely clear. there was silence in the boat. the oars were resting without a sound.
[249]
"peter," she cried again. "peter! i am here—on the point!"
he must have heard her, and it was unusual that he did not answer. but the oars rattled again, and she could see the shape of the boat turning slowly, and then growing larger as it came toward her. it was odd, too, that peter did not come directly to the point, but grounded his boat among the big rocks fifty yards below her—a place where he knew it was difficult for her to go. so she stood on the white sand, waiting for him. she could hear his boots on the rocks; then she saw him approaching through a dusk of early twilight thickened by the smoke of the fire.
"here i am, peter," she called softly.
it did not seem like peter, for the figure was grotesquely large, and slower of movement. she held out her arms, and her eyes were glowing. it was the smoke and the dusk that made peter look like that! and then her heart stopped beating. the figure was within ten feet of her. it was not peter. it was aleck curry!
