Chapter VII: The Cloven Hoof

Next morning before Loseis had breakfasted, Gault was back at the Women’s House, knocking deprecatingly at the door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so early,” he said, “but I forgot something last night; and I’m holding my messenger now until I can get it from you.”

“What is that?” asked Loseis.

“May I come in?” he said smiling.

Loseis led the way into her room.

Gault had several sheets of paper in his hand. “If, as I suspect,” he began in the smooth voice which so exasperated Loseis without her knowing why, “Blackburn has sums of money lying in the bank outside, that belongs to you, of course; but you could not draw against it unless the bank was already in possession of your signature. Therefore, in order to save time, I propose to send out several specimens of your signature now. I will put them in the hands of your lawyer, who will in turn pass them on to the bank.”

This sounded all right to Loseis, who proceeded to write her name on each of the four blank sheets that Gault passed her. Loseis had had small occasion to practice the art of handwriting, and it was but slowly that she formed the great round letters of her official name.

_Laurentia Blackburn_

“Laurentia!” murmured Gault in a fond voice. “What an odd name.”

“I believe I was named after a chain of mountains,” said Loseis dryly.

“But how dignified and melodious!” he said. “Laurentia . . . Laurentia . . . !”

She shot an irritated glance at him through her lashes. Had the man nothing better to do than to stand there mouthing her name in that ridiculous fashion! Loseis privately detested her name. Jane would have been more to her fancy.

Gault gathered up the sheets, and made as if to go. At the door he paused: “I say,” he said, like one speaking to a child, “isn’t there something at Fort Good Hope that you would like my messenger to bring back to you? I have a regular ‘outside’ store at Good Hope, you know.”

“Oh, no, thank you,” said Loseis quickly. “Nothing at all!”

“Just the same,” said Gault with that arch smile of his, “I will see if we cannot find something that will please you!”

As he went through the door Loseis involuntarily flung up her arms crying: “Oh, give me air! Give me air!”

Mary-Lou came running in to see what was the matter.

Loseis kicked a fur rug violently to one side, and banged open the little window. “Oh, that man is like a bearskin tied over one’s head; like a feather bed upon one!” she cried. Standing back from the window she angrily apostrophized the receding figure of Gault. “Yes, you! you! If I have to see you every day I shall suffocate!” Turning around and beholding the amazed figure of Mary-Lou, Loseis suddenly embraced her, and dropping her head on her shoulder, burst into tears.

“But what is the matter?” gasped Mary-Lou.

“I don’t know!” wailed Loseis. “I must be crazy! He speaks fair and honest; he is always polite and kind . . . but . . . but I _can’t stand_ the man!”

* * * * *

Before the morning was out Gault was seen returning. Loseis, who had persuaded herself that she was a fool, schooled herself to receive him politely. He was accompanied this time by one of his Crees, who was carrying a neat leather-covered box by its handle. Gault never performed such menial tasks for himself. There was enough of the child in Loseis to be rendered intensely curious by the sight of that box.

The trader dismissed his servant at the door, and brought the box in himself. Upon being laid on the table and opened, a most fascinating and complicated little machine was revealed, all shining with nickel-plate and black lacquer. Loseis had not the remotest idea of what it was for.

“This is the typewriter; the writing-machine,” explained the trader. “I have another one at the Post which I have sent for. In the meantime I want to present this to you. I thought it might amuse you to practice on it; and it will certainly save you time. Now that you are a business woman, you will have many letters to write.”

Loseis’ heart was touched by this seeming act of kindness. She felt remorseful. “That is very good of you,” she said, blushing. “It is true, I am a miserable writer. But I shall never be able to learn this.”

“On the contrary,” said Gault. “It is very simple. Sit down at the table and I will show you now.”

Loseis obeyed; and Gault drew up another chair close beside her. He explained to her how to put the paper in; how to shift the carriage back and forth; how to start a new line. For the rest all you had to do was to strike the proper letters. In ten minutes Loseis had mastered the idea of the thing. She was fascinated with this new toy (she had possessed so few toys in her life) but was made horribly uncomfortable by the enforced proximity of Gault’s head to her own. He was chewing some sort of medicated candy that gave his breath a strong, pungent odor. Loseis hated strong smells of every kind.

“Now let me try it all by myself,” she said.

“Go ahead! Go ahead!” he said, but did not withdraw himself at all. When he saw her at a loss, he would grab hold of her finger and guide it to the right key. Loseis shivered internally.

Finally her discomfort became more than she could bear. “I cannot do a thing if you hang over me like that,” she said.

Gault leaned back in his chair with a great laugh. “So independent!” he said teasingly.

However, he held himself away from her, and Loseis proceeded with her slow punching of the keys. How strange and fascinating to see the words stand up upon the paper! She had never possessed so marvelous a toy as this. As soon as Gault was out of the way she would start a letter to Conacher. How astonished he would be!

In a minute or two Gault’s head was as close as ever to hers. Loseis tried to ignore the fact, but it was impossible to do so. She was aware, through a subtle feminine sense, that he was not paying any attention to the typewriter now. He was too still. She felt as if something precious were being drawn from her that she had no intention of yielding to any man save one.

“I’ll go on with this this afternoon,” she said nervously. “I have to do something else now.” At the same time she attempted to slide sideways out of her chair.

Gault caught her hand. “Ah, don’t stop,” he said a little thickly. “You look like such a cunning little student, bending over your work. Where did you get that wonderful black hair of yours . . . ?”

Loseis was up like a wild thing then, and backing off to the far end of the room. “How dare you! How dare you!” she said breathlessly. “Take yourself out of here, and your machine too! Or I’ll fling it after you! Did you bring it here only as an excuse to insult me!”

Gault rose also. “Well!” he cried, laughing heartily. But there was an ugly look in his eyes.

His laughter immediately brought about a reaction in Loseis. She realized that she was making far too much of a trifle. This was not the way for a well-born girl to act. She told herself that it was only because she had come to love another man that she found this one detestable. She lowered her head, and a hot blush flowed over her cheeks.

“I am sorry,” she muttered unwillingly. “I am out of sorts this morning. I did not mean what I said.” In the very act of saying this Loseis’ heart accused her of cowardice. She felt hopelessly confused. Oh, how difficult it was to be well-bred and ladylike.

“Why, that’s all right!” cried Gault heartily. “It is perfectly natural at such a time. I’m sorry I displeased you. I assure you I feel nothing for you, but the deepest respect and sympathy! . . . I’ll leave you now. Do amuse yourself with the typewriter.”

As he walked away from the house he murmured to himself: “A skittish filly! I must proceed more slowly. Gad! it’s difficult though!” Thus he deceived himself, as middle-aged gentlemen bent on gallantry are so apt to do. He felt delightfully ardent. At the same time though, a nasty little anxiety continued to plague the back of his mind.

Meanwhile Loseis paced up and down her room, wondering for the hundredth time within the past twenty-four hours, what was the matter with her, that she felt so hopelessly divided. This was a new feeling for her. However the shining little typewriter _was_ fascinating. She presently sat down to compose a letter to Conacher; and forgot her troubles. Another little raft carried her letter downstream.

* * * * *

Every afternoon Loseis opened the store. It was a point of pride with her to comport herself in all respects towards the Slavis as if nothing had happened. She often visited their village, interesting herself in all their concerns, as she considered fitting in a prudent mistress towards her childish and feather-brained servants. They were shy with her, and none came to trade at the store. Loseis, shrugging, was content to bide her time. Hunger would tell in the end. For twenty years now, the Slavis had been accustomed to the white man’s flour, tea and sugar, and the present generation could not do without them.

Loseis and Mary-Lou sat on the bench outside the store. Mary-Lou had been reading aloud, but her mistress had silenced her, because she wished to think. Loseis was unpracticed in the exercise of thinking things over, and she found it both difficult and painful. This was the question on which she split: was Gault a scoundrel? All his acts and words seemed to be above reproach; but Loseis’ heart stubbornly misgave her. Could she trust her heart? She reflected that her father had never betrayed any hesitation in calling Gault a scoundrel; but Loseis had had plenty of examples of her father’s wrong-headedness. She adored him, but had no great opinion of his judgment. It was by his strength and energy that Blackburn had forged ahead, not by wisdom. And so the weary round continued. To one of Loseis’ downright nature it was torture to remain in a state of indecision.

At the door of Blackburn’s House fifty yards distant from where they sat, the Indian Etzooah was to be seen ostentatiously cleaning a pair of Gault’s boots. It suggested itself to Loseis as rather curious that Gault should choose the ignorant Slavi for a body-servant, when he had the more civilized Crees. She recollected that on various occasions during the past few days she had seen Etzooah hanging about looking self-conscious. The thought popped into her head that perhaps Gault had set him as a spy on her movements. Well, supposing that to be so, here was a chance to turn the tables on the trader. Through Etzooah she might be able to learn if Gault had lied to her.

She called to Etzooah in her ordinary manner of offhand assurance. When he came to her cringing and grinning in his imbecile fashion (you could read nothing in that grin of the Slavis) she said coolly:

“I need a man. There are some goods in the store to be moved.”

Leading him inside, she had him shift some bags of flour from one place to another. This done, she presented him with a plug of tobacco, and let him know that he had done all she required. They returned outside, and Loseis bade Mary-Lou go on with the reading.

Etzooah, as Loseis expected, did not leave them, but, making his face perfectly vacant, squatted down in the grass at the other side of the door, and proceeded to shave a pipeful of tobacco from the plug, careful not to spill a crumb. Loseis allowed Mary-Lou to read for awhile, then she started slightly as if a thought had just occurred to her, and motioned to the girl to stop.

“Etzooah,” she said (speaking in the Slavi tongue of course) “it comes to me that I have not thanked you for fetching Gault from Fort Good Hope. That was well done.”

Etzooah grinned. “Gault is a good man,” he said.

“You speak truth,” said Loseis gravely. “How did it come that you set off without telling me?”

“Wah!” said Etzooah, “you were attending upon the body of Blackburn. It was not right for me to go to you at such a time. I just caught some horses and went.”

“It was well thought of,” said Loseis. “How did you make yourself understood to the white men?”

“I speak the Cree,” said Etzooah.

“Wah!” said Loseis politely. “That was not known to me.”

“My father was a Cree,” said Etzooah. “It is well known.”

“I had forgotten,” said Loseis.

Without changing a muscle of her face, or raising her voice at all, Loseis shifted to English. “Etzooah,” she said, “the Slavis are saying to each other that you were false to your own people. They are angry because you brought Gault here. . . . Do not move suddenly or you are a dead man. Mahtsonza is hiding behind the corner of the store with a gun in his hands waiting to shoot you!”

Etzooah’s copper face changed to a livid ash-color. Suddenly with a single movement he bounded to his feet, and inside the door of the store. Loseis stood up with a scornful laugh.

“Go back to your master,” she said, pointing. “I only wished to find out if you could speak English. You are a spy!”

Etzooah slunk away. Still only half convinced that he had been tricked, he kept glancing fearfully over his shoulder.

Loseis was filled with a fierce exultation. Now she _knew_! No more indecision. To be sure, when she reflected, her solitary and desperate situation might well appall the stoutest heart; but at the moment she was only aware of the relief of getting rid of that suffocating sense of futility. Now she would know what to do! Her father was right about Gault; and her own heart had not played her false.

She closed the store, and took Mary-Lou back to their house.

Loseis’ nature knew no half measures. Having recognized Gault as her enemy, she was prepared to fight. She did not blink the danger of her position. She no longer had any illusions about the fate of those letters which the trader had so impressively despatched outside. She realized that Gault himself stood between her and any possible succor, and that he intended to keep her cut off from her kind until he should have obtained what he wanted. Well, she quickly resolved upon a course of action. Her only hope lay in bringing her wits into play. Gault must not be allowed to suspect that she saw through his schemes. Etzooah, she knew, would never dare confess to his master that he had betrayed himself. There was a fatuous side to Gault’s character; and she must play on that. Perhaps through his own folly she might defeat him in the end.

Suddenly Loseis clapped her hands to her head with a cry of dismay. She had suddenly recollected that all her father’s papers were in his desk in the room where Gault was sleeping, and the desk was not even locked! While he was alive of course, nobody would have dared venture into Blackburn’s room uninvited, much less touch his papers. Loseis beat her fists against her head, and groaned in bitterness. What an ignorant childish fool she had been to neglect a thing so important!

She ran to the window to look across at the men’s house. She could not tell whether Gault was within or not. On the spur of the moment she sent Mary-Lou across to invite Gault and Moale to supper with her. Mary-Lou returned to say that the two men had ridden up to the lake (ten miles distant) to have a look at the Slavi village there. Loseis then ventured across herself.

Etzooah was in the kitchen of the house. He received her with his customary witless grin, and edged in front of the door to the inner room as if to keep her out. Loseis caught her breath in astonishment, and her eyes fairly blazed on the man.

“Stand aside, dog of a redskin!” she cried. “This is my father’s house, and Gault is only a guest here at my pleasure!”

To the terrified Indian it seemed as if the little figure had grown a foot. He slunk aside, and Loseis went into her father’s room, closing the door after her.

Upon her first glance at the desk it was apparent to her that Gault had stolen a march on her; though she did not immediately understand the significance of what he had done. The desk was a handsome piece after the Colonial style made by Blackburn himself. It had four drawers below, and a flap which lifted down to form the writing table. The drawers and the flap alike were fastened shut by strips of papers, caught down by clots of sealing wax. Going closer Loseis saw that the wax had been impressed with Gault’s ring.

Loseis smiled bitterly. Her first impulse was to tear open these flimsy seals; but she held her hand. No; the damage was already done; if anything had been abstracted, how was she to know? Better to keep Gault in ignorance of the fact that she had been there. She did not believe that Etzooah would tell him, unless it occurred to Gault to question him. A Slavi never volunteers any information to a white man. The upshot was that Loseis turned around, and went home.

The invitation to supper was repeated later. When Gault came over it was a changed Loseis who greeted him. Her uncertainty was gone. Danger stimulated her; all her faculties were sharpened. She had put on one of her prettiest dresses; her dark eyes sparkled with topaz lights; and she gave Gault smile for smile. The trader was charmed. She is coming ’round, he thought; I knew she would.

Moale saw deeper. His inscrutable eyes followed Loseis with a new respect. Moale served his master very faithfully, but he was like the Slavis in one respect; he never volunteered any information.

Supper was quite a jolly occasion. Loseis listened attentively to Gault’s stories; and was prompt with her applause. The trader visibly expanded; and Moale’s expression as he watched him became even more sardonic than usual. During the course of the meal, Loseis said with an innocent air:

“Mr. Gault, all my father’s papers are in that desk in your room. Will you go over everything with me to-morrow, and explain it.”

He wagged a protesting hand in her direction. “No, no, no,” he said; “nothing must be touched until the lawyer comes.”

“That cannot be for weeks yet,” said Loseis, “and in the meantime I am curious to . . .”

“I have sealed the desk,” said Gault.

“Sealed my father’s desk?” said Loseis, opening her eyes wide.

“My dear girl, consider my position,” he said. “I am an interested party in these matters—or at least I will be so considered; and I have to lean over backwards in the effort to avoid anything which would look like taking an unfair advantage. Imagine my feelings upon retiring that first night, when I found myself alone in the room with all the private papers of my late rival in business! I was shocked; shocked. If the desk had been locked, and the key in your possession it would have been all right; but upon trying it—for my own protection, I found that it was open. Fortunately Moale was in the kitchen. I instantly called him in, and sealed up the desk in his presence.”

“Why didn’t you let me know?” asked Loseis.

“It was late. You had retired.”

“Why didn’t you speak of it next day?”

“I never thought of it. It is customary when a man dies to seal up his papers until his attorney can take charge. I did it as a matter of course.”

“Perhaps his papers are not there after all,” said Loseis.

“Perhaps not,” said Gault, with a seeming open look. “I only moved the cover with my thumb for about a quarter of an inch to find out if it was locked. I know no more than the man in the moon what the desk contains.”

Loseis lowered her eyes. What a fool he must think me! she thought—well, it is just as well that he should think me a fool.

“Did Blackburn possess a safe?” asked Gault.

“No,” said Loseis. “Nobody ever stole anything from my father.”

“I wish I could say the same,” said Gault ruefully. He went on to tell the story of the Scotch half-breed who had brought a black fox skin to his post to trade, and had then replaced it with a clumsy imitation, almost under the trader’s nose. It appeared that he had worked the trick in turn at every post on the big river; but was apprehended at Fort McMaster on his way out. Loseis, smiling at the story, permitted Gault to suppose that it had caused her to forget the sealed desk.

After the meal, Gault sent Moale away on a manifestly trumped-up errand. Loseis was not sorry to see him go. She was a little afraid of his unchanging, watchful gaze. He never spoke unless he were addressed. As for Gault, it was curious that now she knew he was her enemy, she no longer dreaded to be left alone with him.

She drew up the hammock-chair to the fire. “You must take this chair to-night,” she said. “And light one of your delicious cigars. . . . There,” she said presently, “that is just like the happy nights when my father came to sit with me.”

Gault’s smile became a little bleak. He didn’t want to be regarded as a father. He stole a look at Loseis to see if this could be an intentional dig; but her face expressed only an innocent pleasure in seeing him comfortable.

She perched herself on one of the straight-backed chairs beside him, with her heels cocked up on the rungs. “Have you ever been married, Mr. Gault?” she asked.

“No,” said the trader, a little uncertain as to what was coming next.

“Why not?” asked Loseis.

“Well,” said he, looking noble, “I could not bear to expose the kind of woman that I wished to marry to my rude life in the wilderness.”

“How lonely you must have been!” murmured Loseis.

Gault felt reassured. This was the sort of talk a man had the right to expect from a white woman. He settled himself for a comfortable heart to heart talk by the fire. “Ah, yes,” he said with a far-away look; “I have had my bitter times! People call me a hard man; they do not know! They do not know!”

The corners of Loseis’ mouth twitched demurely. “Tell me all about yourself,” she murmured.