Chapter V: Yellow-Head

Loseis sat on a bench at the door of the store. The Princess was very pale, and her lips were pressed tight together. In her brave, proud eyes was to be seen the piteous, questioning look of a child: Why must I suffer so much? Just inside the door of the store Mary-Lou was squatting on the floor with her head buried in her arms. Loseis had to be brave for both.

The buildings at Blackburn’s Post formed three sides of a grassy square, the fourth side being open to the river. The store faced the river, flanked by a warehouse on each side. On Loseis’ right was the Women’s House, and opposite it Blackburn’s House and his stable. All the buildings were constructed of logs, and roofed with sods, now sprouting greenly. Nothing could have been rougher, nevertheless the buildings seemed to belong in that place; and there was a pleasing harmony in their arrangement. Out in the middle of the grassy square rose a tall flagpole.

Loseis and Mary-Lou had taken up their abode in the store. At this season of the year the stock of goods was much depleted, and Loseis was in no great concern about losing what was left; but knowing the Indian nature, she was well aware that if the Slavis were not prevented from helping themselves, they would soon get out of hand altogether.

In the store there was plenty of food to their hand; as for water, Loseis obtained it after dark by creeping down to the small stream where it wound around the flank of the little plateau. All night a little lamp burned in the window of the store. Night-attacks were not at all in the Slavis’ line; but Loseis wished them to be reminded whenever they looked that way, that somebody was on guard. All day the door of the store was allowed to stand open; while the two girls permitted themselves to be seen passing unconcernedly in and out, and performing their household tasks out in front. Their only defense lay in this appearance of unconcern.

Three days and three nights of cruel anxiety had passed, and the fourth night was approaching. Loseis had not reflected much on her situation; it simply wouldn’t bear thinking about. She had just gone ahead and done what came to her hand at the moment. During the first night the body of Jimmy Moosenose had disappeared. The Slavis either buried it hastily in some out of the way spot, or threw it in the river. Like the children they were, they believed that if only the body were hidden the crime could never be brought home to them.

None of the Slavis had ever approached the store. Apparently they were pursuing their ordinary avocations as if nothing had happened; the dogs and the children fought; the women fished, cooked the meals, and made moccasins; the men loafed and smoked. As she looked down at them the sight of their inhuman indifference caused Loseis’ heart to burn. Senseless animals! she ejaculated to herself a dozen times a day.

Mary-Lou came out of the store. The Indian girl was unable either to apply her hands to any work or to sit still. Her copper face had become grayish, and her eyes were distracted with terror. She looked down over the tepees, biting her lip.

“More have come,” she said hoarsely.

“You imagine that,” said Loseis. “I have seen nobody come.”

“They not let you see them come,” said Mary-Lou. “Sleep in their friends’ tepees. But I see more canoes in the creek.”

“Well, what of it?” said Loseis with a grand parade of indifference. “They’re harmless.”

“Like coyotes,” said Mary-Lou. “They are sitting down to wait for us to die!”

Loseis sprang up nervously. Her face was working. “You are like a raven croaking all day!” she cried. “That does no good!”

Mary-Lou caught hold of Loseis imploringly. “Let us go from here!” she begged. “All night I listen! . . . My brain is turned to ice. I don’t know what I am doing! . . . As soon as it is dark let us take horses and go. They not know until to-morrow that we are gone. Never catch us then. It is only ondred-feefty mile to Fort Good Hope. . . .”

Loseis detached the clinging hands. “It’s no good going on this way,” she said harshly. “I will not run from Slavis.”

Mary-Lou fell on her knees, clutching Loseis’ skirt, babbling incoherently in her terror. Loseis raised her face to the sky, clenching her teeth in despair. How much of this have I got to stand? she was thinking.

Then she saw the Slavis begin to run to the river bank. “Look! Look!” she cried. “Something is coming up the river!”

Mary-Lou scrambled to her feet. Whatever it was in the river, it was approaching close under the bank. They could see nothing. The Slavis were yelling and pointing.

“It is Conacher!” screamed Mary-Lou.

“NO! No! No!” cried Loseis in a voice as taut as an over-stretched violin string. “It is just a Slavi coming up river. Anything is enough to get them going.”

“It is Conacher!” screamed Mary-Lou. “If it was a Slavi they would run down to the water. They stop on the bank. They are a little afraid. See! they look at us. It is somebody for us. It is Conacher!”

Loseis felt that if she allowed herself to believe it and was then disappointed, it would kill her. “No! No!” she said faintly. “It is too soon!”

And then the yellow head rose above the bank.

Loseis collapsed suddenly on the bench and burst into tears. Her whole body was shaken. Mary-Lou fell on her knees with a scream of joy. “Conacher! . . . Conacher!”

Loseis struggled hard to regain her self-control. “Stop that noise!” she said angrily. “Go into the store. He mustn’t think that we want him so badly!”

Laughing and crying simultaneously, Mary-Lou went staggering into the store.

Loseis remained on the bench watching, with her hands in her lap. The tears were called in; and she furtively wiped away their traces. Conacher had his two Beaver Indians with him. These lingered to fraternize with the Slavis, while the white man came striding across the natural meadow to the foot of the rise. He was bare-headed as usual. A newcomer in the country, the fame of his curly, yellow pate had already spread far and wide. Alongside the Slavis he loomed like a young giant. Loseis had seen him take a Slavi man by the collar in each hand, and lift them clear of the ground. To the waiting girl he was like a god come in answer to her prayer.

She was very quiet when he reached her, her smile tremulous. The change in her from the arrogant little Princess who had used him so despitefully on his first visit was so striking, that at first Conacher could only stand and stare. They never thought to greet each other. Finally Conacher exhibited the little black streamer, limp from being clutched in his warm hand.

“What does this mean?” he asked simply.

“My father is dead,” said Loseis. “Four days ago.”

“Oh, Heaven!” cried Conacher. “And you all alone here! What did you do?”

“I buried him,” said Loseis, spreading out her hands.

“_Yourself!_”

“There was no other to do it.”

“Oh, my God!”

Mary-Lou had crept out of the store again. “They kill Jimmy Moosenose,” she said, nodding in the direction of the Slavis. “And break into the store.”

“I put them out again,” said Loseis, quickly and proudly.

“Oh, God! what awful things have been happening here!” cried Conacher aghast.

His sympathy caused Loseis to tremble dangerously again. “Oh, it will be all right now,” she said swiftly. “One white man is enough to put fear into the heart of these dogs.”

Conacher looked at that brave and piteous figure, and was caught up in a very hurricane of the emotions. He was mad to enfold her in his arms; to comfort the child, to love the woman, but a feeling of chivalry restrained him. It appeared unseemly to intrude his love in the moment of her grief; he turned away abruptly, searching distractedly in his mind for some expedient to tide him over the dangerous moment.

“I must go fetch my fellows before they are contaminated by the Slavis,” he said in a strangled voice, and strode away down the slope again.

“Ah, he does not love me,” murmured Loseis with extreme sadness.

“You are wrong,” said Mary-Lou. “It was speaking in his eyes.”

“No! No! No!” said Loseis violently. Nevertheless she was secretly comforted.

She went bustling into the store. “Come! we will close up the store now, and go to our own house. Conacher will be hungry. We must cook a big meal. There is still some canned apples and canned butter in the store. Ahchoogah brought in a moose to-day. I will take a haunch of it for Conacher. I will take the biggest fish for Conacher, too. Be quick! Be quick! I will go down and get the other Marys to help you. . . .”

Later, Loseis and Conacher were sitting at the door of the Women’s House, while the appetizing odors came stealing out. A heavy constraint was upon them; they could not meet each other’s eyes. The man, looking down, marveled at the delicacy of Loseis’ shapely hands, lying loosely in her lap. What a rare, fine creature to find in these rude surroundings! Her beauty and her proud manner intimidated him. Who was he to aspire so high? The girl wondered sadly why the man did not speak. He had only to speak!

When he did speak it was not in the tone that she longed to hear. “What are you going to do?” he asked, matter-of-fact.

To Loseis the solution was simplicity itself. Conacher was to stay there, and everything go on as before. But it was not seemly for her to propose this. She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said.

“But you must have thought something about what you would do,” he said surprised. “You can’t stay here.”

Loseis’ heart sunk. She said nothing.

“Fort Good Hope cannot be but a hundred miles or so across the height of land,” he went on.

“A hundred and fifty,” said Loseis.

“I have heard there’s a white woman at Fort Good Hope,” said Conacher. “She’s the parson’s sister.”

“What do I want with the parson’s sister?” demanded Loseis with a spice of resentment.

Conacher looked at her helplessly.

I would go to Fort Good Hope to the parson with Conacher if he asked me, thought Loseis, and a deep blush overspread her neck and face. She turned away her head to hide it.

“You can’t stay here,” he said.

“I am not going to give up my father’s Post, and allow the Slavis to strip the store,” said Loseis with spirit. “Besides, the whole season’s catch of fur is stored in the warehouse, waiting to be shipped outside. It is worth many thousands of dollars.”

“How is it sent out?” asked Conacher.

“Every Spring when the grass is grown sufficiently to graze the horses, it is sent overland by pack-horse to a warehouse that my father has on the prairie near the crossing of the big river. That is three hundred miles. Jimmy Moosenose was always sent with the horses and men. Seventy horses and fifteen men beside the cook. In that warehouse they find the grub for next year and the store goods which are put there by John Gruber, my father’s outside man. They bring the grub back, and leave the fur in the warehouse, and John Gruber gets it afterwards. My father never allowed the Slavis to meet the Crees in John Gruber’s outfit. It is time for them to start now. John Gruber will be waiting many days at the Crossing.”

“But you’ve no one to send now,” said Conacher.

“Then I must go myself,” said Loseis.

“My God! not alone with a gang of redskins!” cried Conacher.

“They would not dare harm me,” said Loseis proudly.

“Maybe not,” cried Conacher violently. “But just the same I couldn’t stand for that!”

Loseis’ sad heart looked up a little. He did care a little what became of her.

And then he spoiled it by adding: “No white man could!”

“We must find somebody to go with you,” he presently went on; “and then you can continue on outside with your father’s agent.”

“There is all the grub and store goods waiting to come in,” objected Loseis.

“That will have to be sold,” said Conacher. “The Company will buy it.”

“There are all my father’s horses across the river,” said Loseis; “many thousands of head. During the summer hay must be cut for them around the shores of our lake; or next winter they will starve.”

“But my dear girl,” said Conacher, “you cannot go on doing business here now that he is gone!”

“Why not?” demanded Loseis.

“Why . . . why . . .” stammered Conacher. “A woman trader! Why such a thing was never heard of!”

“Well, it will be heard of now,” said Loseis.

Conacher ascribed this to mere bravado. What a spirited little thing she was! Like a plucky boy; but with all the sweetness of a woman. “We must send to Fort Good Hope for help,” he said.

“Do not speak to me again of Fort Good Hope!” said Loseis. “Gault, the trader there, was my father’s enemy.”

Conacher knew nothing of the feuds of the country. “Yes, yes,” he said soothingly; “but a tragedy like this wipes out old scores. Gault would not take advantage of your situation.”

“You are an outsider,” she said. “You do not know Gault.”

“No man would!” insisted Conacher.

“I will not hand over my father’s Post to Gault!” cried Loseis. “That would bring my father out of his grave!”

“Not hand it over to him,” protested Conacher. “But just let him advise you. He is the only one that can tell you what is best to do; who can arrange things. There is no other white man within hundreds of miles.”

Then it had to come out. “I already know what to do,” said Loseis, very low. “If you would help me, we could do it all together.”

Conacher groaned, and clutched his head. “Oh, God! you don’t understand!” he cried. “And what must you be thinking of me! What a chance to be offered to a man, and I can’t take it!” He tried desperately to explain to her. “You see, I am not free like the men of this country. I am a government employee, tied hand and foot to my work. My whole Summer’s work has been laid out for me. And my little piece is only a part of a great survey of this whole country. I am appointed to join with another party at Great Slave Lake on a certain date, and we in turn must proceed up the Liard River to another rendezvous on the Yukon. If I fail, the whole fails. Don’t you understand?”

She did not wholly understand. “I heard you tell it,” she said a little sullenly.

Conacher jumped up, and paced the grass in an agony of indecision. He was teetering on the brink. If Loseis had raised her eyes to his face, he would have fallen at her feet, and allowed the government to go to the devil. But she kept her eyes sullenly down. And then before either spoke again, with a smart thudding of hoofs and creaking of saddle leathers, a well-turned out company of six men and several spare horses came down the trail behind the Post, and trotted out into the little plaza.

* * * * *

Gault had caught sight of Conacher’s yellow head as soon as he came over the brow of the hill. He reined up sharply, his face going pinched and ugly. “A white man here!” he said furiously to Moale. “Who the devil can he be?”

Moale drew up at his side. “That will be Conacher,” he said in his unconcerned way. “I have heard talk of his yellow head.”

“A _young_ man!” said Gault; and cursed him thickly and fervently.

“He’s on a government survey down to Great Slave Lake and beyond,” said Moale indifferently. “He won’t be able to interfere with us.”

But Gault rode down the hill with a black heart. The young man had got in his innings first; and now fifty-three must stand comparison with twenty-three, and the dyed black head be measured against the famous golden one.

By the time he rode around the buildings of the Post his face was perfectly composed and solicitous, of course. He sat his horse with conscious grace. Flinging himself off, he tossed the reins to one of the Crees, and came quickly to Loseis.

“Miss Blackburn,” he said, “the moment I heard of your terrible loss I jumped on my horse to come to you. I cannot express to you how shocked and grieved I am. Your father and I were not good friends, but that is all past now. Believe me, I am most completely at your service.”

The watching Conacher considered that this was very handsomely said. How much better than he could do it! he thought with a sigh. He had no reason to share in Loseis’ suspicions of Gault. A load was lifted from the young man’s heart. Gault’s fine outfit inspired confidence. Loseis would be all right now, and he could go on about his work. But before he left he would ask her to wait for him. The idea that this old man might prove to be a rival, never entered Conacher’s honest heart.

Loseis received Gault with a manner no less finished and proud than his own. “You are welcome,” she said gravely. “My father’s house”—she indicated the building opposite—“is at your disposal. If you wish to put up your horses the stable is behind it. Or you can turn them out anywhere. Dinner here in half an hour.”

Gault bowing, expressed his thanks. He then turned inquiringly towards Conacher.

That young man said: “I am Paul Conacher of the geological survey.”

Gault thrust out his hand with the appearance of the greatest cordiality. “I am delighted to meet you,” he said. “It is a great satisfaction to find that Miss Blackburn is not alone here.” He gave Conacher a meaning glance that suggested as between man and man it would be well for them to discuss the situation together.

This was quite in line with Conacher’s ideas, and the two walked off together towards the house opposite. Loseis watched them go under stormy brows. She saw Gault place his hand affectionately on the young man’s shoulder, and her lip curled.