God's Country - And the Woman by James Oliver Curwood (most popular novels .TXT) 📕

had slowly and persistently become a part of his mental consciousness. It was a tap, tap, tap at his window. At last he sat up and listened. It was in the gray gloom of dawn. Again the sound was repeated: tap, tap, tap on the pane of glass.
He slipped out of bed, his hand seeking the automatic under his pillow. He had slept with the window partly open. Covering it with his pistol, he called:
"Who is there?"
"A runner from Jean Croisset," came back a cautious voice. "I have a written message for you, M'sieur."
He saw an arm thrust through the window, in the hand a bit of paper. He advanced cautiously until he could see the face that was peering in. It was a thin, dark, fur-hooded face, with eyes black and narrow like Jean's, a half-breed. He seized the paper, and, still watching the face and arm, lighted a lamp. Not until he had read the note did his suspicion leave him.

This is Pierre Langlois, my friend of the Pipestone. If anything should happen that you need me quickly let him come after me. You may trust him. He will put up his tepee in the thick timber close to the dog pit. We have fought together. L'Ange saved his wife from the smallpox. I am going westward.
JEAN.

Philip sprang back to the window and gripped the mittened hand that still hung over the sill.
"I'm glad to know you, Pierre! Is there no other word from Jean?"
"Only the note, Ookimow."
"You just came?"
"Aha. My dogs and sledge are back in the forest."
"Listen!" Philip turned toward the door. In the hall he heard footsteps. "Le M'sieur is awake," he said quickly to Pierre. "I will see you in the forest!"
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when the half-breed was gone. A moment later Philip knew that it was Adare who had passed his door. He dressed and shaved himself before he left his room. He found Adare in his study. Metoosin already had a fire burning, and Adare was standing before this alone, when Philip entered. Something was lacking in Adare's greeting this morning. There was an uneasy, searching look in his eyes as he looked at Philip. They shook hands, and his hand was heavy and lifeless. His shoulders seemed to droop a little more, and his voice was unnatural when he spoke.
"You did not go to bed until quite late last night, Philip?"
"Yes, it was late, Mon Pere."
For a moment Adare was silent, his head bowed, his eyes on the floor. He did not raise his gaze when he spoke again.
"Did you hear anything--late--about midnight?" he asked. He straightened, and looked steadily into Philip's eyes. "Did you see Miriam?"
For an instant Philip felt that it was useless to attempt concealment under the searching scrutiny of the older man's eyes. Like an inspiration came to him a thought of Josephine.
"Josephine was the last person I saw after leaving you," he said truthfully. "And she was in her room before eleven o'clock."
"It is strange, unaccountable," mused Adare. "Miriam left her bed last night while I was asleep. It must have been about midnight, for it is then that the moon shines full into our window. In returning she awakened me. And her hair was damp, there was snow on her gown! My God, she had been outdoors, almost naked! She said that she must have walked in her sleep, that she had awakened to find herself in the open door with the wind and snow beating upon her. This is the first time. I never knew her to do it before. It disturbs me."
"She is sleeping now?"
"I don't know. Josephine came a little later and said that she could not sleep. Miriam went with her."
"It must have been the baby," comforted Philip, placing a hand on Adare's arm. "We can stand it, Mon Pere. We are men. With them it is different. We must bear up under our grief. It is necessary for us to have strength for them as well as ourselves."
"Do you think it is that?" cried Adare with sudden eagerness. "If it is, I am ashamed of myself, Philip! I have been brooding too much over the strange change in Miriam. But I see now. It must have been the baby. It has been a tremendous strain. I have heard her crying when she did not know that I heard. I am ashamed of myself. And the blow has been hardest on you!"
"And Josephine," added Philip.
John Adare had thrown back his shoulders, and with a deep feeling of relief Philip saw the old light in his eyes.
"We must cheer them up," he added quickly. "I will ask Josephine if they will join us at breakfast, Mon Pere."
He closed the door behind him when he left the room, and he went at once to rouse Josephine if she was still in bed. He was agreeably surprised to find that both Miriam and Josephine were up and dressing. With this news he returned to Adare.
Three quarters of an hour later they met in the breakfast-room. It took only a glance to tell him that Josephine was making a last heroic fight. She had dressed her hair in shining coils low over her neck and cheeks this morning in an effort to hide her pallor. Miriam seemed greatly changed from the preceding night. Her eyes were clearer. A careful toilette had taken away the dark circles from under them and had added a touch of colour to her lips and cheeks. She went to Adare when the two men entered, and with a joyous rumble of approval the giant held her off at arm's length and looked at her.
"It didn't do you any harm after all," Philip heard him say. "Did you tell Mignonne of your adventure, Ma Cheri?"
He did not hear Miriam's reply, for he was looking down into Josephine's face. Her lips were smiling. She made no effort to conceal the gladness in her eyes as he bent and kissed her.
"It was a hard night, dear."
"Terrible," she whispered. "Mother told me what happened. She is stronger this morning. We must keep the truth from HIM."
"The TRUTH?"
He felt her start.
"Hush!" she breathed. "You know--you understand what I mean. Let us sit down to breakfast now."
During the hour that followed Philip was amazed at Miriam. She laughed and talked as she had not done before. The bit of artificial colour she had given to her cheeks and lips faded under the brighter flush that came into her face. He could see that Josephine was nearly as surprised as himself. John Adare was fairly boyish in his delight. The meal was finished and Philip and Adare were about to light their cigars when a commotion outside drew them all to the window that overlooked one side of the clearing. Out of the forest had come two dog-teams, their drivers shouting and cracking their long caribou-gut whips. Philip stared, conscious that Josephine's hand was clutching his arm. Neither of the shouting men was Jean.
"An Indian, and Renault the quarter-blood," grunted Adare. "Wonder what they want here in November. They should be on their trap-lines."
"Perhaps, Mon Pere, they have come to see their friends," suggested Josephine. "You know, it has been a long time since some of them have seen us. I would be disappointed if our people didn't show they were glad because of your home-coming!"
"Of course, that's it!" cried Adare. "Ho, Metoosin!" he roared, turning toward the door. "Metoosin! Paitoo ta! Wawep isewin!"
Metoosin appeared at the door.
"Build a great fire in the una kah house," commanded Adare. "Feed all who come in from the forests, Metoosin. Open up tobacco and preserves, and flour and bacon. Nothing in the storeroom is too good for them. And send Jean to me! Where is he?"
"Numma tao, ookimow."
"Gone!" exclaimed Adare.
"He didn't want to disturb you last night," explained Philip. "He made an early start for the Pipestone."
"If he was an ordinary man, I'd say he was in love with one of the Langlois girls," said Adare, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Neah, Metoosin! Make them comfortable, and we will all see them later." As Metoosin went Adare turned upon the others: "Shall we all go out now?" he asked.
"Splendid!" accepted Josephine eagerly. "Come, Mikawe, we can be ready in a moment!"
She ran from the room, leading her mother by the hand. Philip and Adare followed them, and shortly the four were ready to leave the house. The una kah, or guest house, was in the edge of the timber. It was a long, low building of logs, and was always open with its accommodations to the Indians and half-breeds--men, women, and children--who came in from the forest trails. Renault and the Indian were helping Metoosin build fires when they entered. Philip thought that Renault's eyes rested upon him in a curious and searching glance even as Adare shook hands with him. He was more interested in the low words both the Indian and the blood muttered as they stood for a moment with bowed heads before Josephine and Miriam. Then Renault raised his head and spoke direct to Josephine:
"I breeng word for heem of Jan Breuil an' wewimow over on Jac' fish ma Kichi Utooskayakun," he said in a low voice. "Heem lee'l girl so seek she goin' die."
"Little Marie? She is sick--dying, you say?" cried Josephine.
"Aha. She ver' dam' seek. She burn up lak fire."
Josephine looked up at Philip.
"I knew she was sick," she said. "But I didn't think it was so bad. If she dies it will be my fault. I should have gone." She turned quickly to Renault. "When did you see her last?" she asked. "Listen! Papak-oo-moo?"
"Aha."
"It is a sickness the children have each winter," she explained, looking questioningly into Philip's eyes again. "It kills quickly when left alone. But I have medicine that will cure it. There is still time. We must go, Philip. We must!"
Her face had paled a little. She saw the gathering lines in Philip's forehead. He thought of Jean's words--the warning they carried. She pressed his arm, and her mouth was firm.
"I am going, Philip," she said softly. "Will you go with me?"
"I will, if you must go," he said. "But it is not best."
"It is best for little Marie," she retorted, and left him to tell Adare and her mother of Renault's message.
Renault stepped close to Philip. His back was to the others. He spoke in a low voice:
"I breeng good word from Jean Croisset, M'sieur. Heem say Soomin Renault good man lak Pierre Langlois, an' he fight lak devil when ask. I breeng Indian an' two team. We be in forest near dog watekan, where Pierre mak his fire an' tepee. You understand? Aha?"
"Yes--I understand," whispered Philip, "And Jean has gone on--to see others?"
"He go lak win' to Francois over on Waterfound. Francois come in one hour--two, t'ree, mebby."
Josephine and Adare approached them.
"Mignonne is turning nurse again," rumbled Adare, one of his great arms thrown affectionately about her waist. "You'll have a jolly run on a clear morning like this, Philip. But remember, if it is the smallpox I forbid her to expose herself!"
"I shall see to that, Mon Pere. When do we start, Josephine?"
"As soon as I can get ready and Metoosin brings the dogs," replied Josephine. "I am going to the house now. Will you come with me?"
It was an hour before Metoosin had brought the dogs up from the pit and they were ready to start. Philip had armed himself with a rifle and his automatic, and Josephine had packed