The Barrier by Rex Beach (finding audrey .txt) 📕

before you die?"

"Bah! I'm all right."

"I'll get you a doctor if you'll tell us where she is. If you don't—I'll—let you die. For God's sake, man, speak up!"

The wounded man strove to rise, but could not, then considered for a moment before he said:

"I sent her away."

"Where?"

"Up-river, on that freighter that left last night. She'll go out by Skagway, and I'll join her later, where I can have her to myself. She's forty miles up-river now, and getting farther every minute—oh, you can't catch her!"

The three men stared at one another blankly.

"Why did she go?" said Gale, dully.

"Because I told her who she was, and who you are; because she thinks you killed her mother; because she was glad to get away." Now that he was grown too weak to inflict violent pain, the man lied malevolently, gloating over what he saw in the trader's face.

"Never mind, old man, I'll bring her back," said Burrell, and laid a comforting hand on Gale's shoulder, for the fact that she was safe, the fact of knowing something relieved him immensely; but Stark's next words plunged him into even blacker horror than the trader felt.

"You won't want her if you catch her. Runnion will see to that."

"Runnion!"

"Yes, I sent him with her."

The lover cried out in anguish, and hid his face in his hands.

"He's wanted her for a long time, so I told him to go ahead—"

None of them noticed Poleon Doret, who, upon this unnatural confession, alone seemed to retain sufficient control to doubt and to reason. He was thinking hard, straightening out certain facts, and trying to square this horrible statement with things he had seen and heard to-night. All of a sudden he uttered a great cry, and bolted out into the darkness unheeded by Gale and Burrell, who stood dazed and distraught with a fear greater than that which was growing in Stark at sight of his wounds.

The gambler looked down at his injuries, opened and closed the fingers of his hand as if to see whether he still maintained control of them, then cried out at the two helpless men:

"Well, are you going to let me bleed to death?"

It brought the soldier out of his trance.

"Why—no, no! We'll get a doctor."

But Gale touched him on the shoulder and said:

"He's too weak to get out. Lock him in, and let him die in the dark."

Stark cursed affrightedly, for it is a terrible thing to bleed to death in the dark, and in spite of himself the Lieutenant wavered.

"I can't do that. I promised."

"He told that lie to my girl. He gave her to that hound," said the trader, but Burrell shoved him through the door.

"No! I can't do that." And then to the wounded man he said, "I'll get a doctor, but God have mercy on your soul." He could not trust himself to talk further with this creature, nor be near him any longer, for though he had a slight knowledge of surgery, he would sooner have touched a loathsome serpent than the flesh of this monstrous man.

He pushed Gale ahead of him, and the old man went like a driven beast, for his violence had wasted itself, and he was like a person under the spell of a strong drug. At the doctor's door Burrell stopped.

"I never thought to ask you," he said, wearily; "but you must be hurt? He must have wounded you?"

"I reckon he did—I don't know." Then the man's listless voice throbbed out achingly, as he cried in despair: "She believed him, boy! She believed his lies! That's what hurts." Something like a sob caught in his throat, and he staggered away under the weight of his great bereavement.

CHAPTER XVII THE LOVE OF POLEON DORET

To the girl crouching at the stern of Runnion's boat it seemed as if this day and night would never end. It seemed as if the procession of natural events must have ceased, that there was no longer any time, for she had been suffering steadily for hours and hours without end, and began to wonder dreamily whether she had not skipped a day in her reckoning between the time when she first heard of the strike on her claim and this present moment. It occurred to her that she was a rich girl now in her own right, and she smiled her crooked smile, as she reflected that the thing she had longed for without hope of attainment had come with confusing swiftness, and had left her unhappier than ever....

Would the day never come? She pulled the rugs up closer about her as the morning chill made her shiver. She found herself keeping mechanical count with the sound of the sweeps—they must be making good speed, she thought, and the camp must be miles behind now. Had it been earlier in the season, when the river ran full of drift, they never could have gone thus in the dark, but the water was low and the chances of collision so remote as to render blind travel safe. Even yet she could not distinguish her oarsman, except as a black bulk, for it had been a lowering night and the approaching dawn failed to break through the blanket of cloud that hung above the great valley. He was a good boatman, however, as she gathered from the tireless regularity of his strokes. He was a silent man, too, and she was grateful for that. She snuggled down into her blanket and tried to sleep, but she only dozed for a minute, it seemed, to find her eyes fly wide open again. So, restless and tired of her lonely vigil, she gave a premonitory cough, and said to her companion:

"You must be tired rowing so steadily?"

"Oh, I don't mind it," he replied.

At the sound of his voice she sat bolt upright. It couldn't be—if this were Runnion he would have spoken before! She ventured again, tremulously:

"Have you any idea what time it is?"

"About three o'clock. I fancy."

"Who are you?" The question came like a shot.

"Don't you know?"

"What are YOU doing here, Mr. Runnion?"

"I'm rowing," he answered, carelessly.

"Why didn't you speak?" A vague feeling of uneasiness came over her, a suspicion that all was not right, so she waited for him to explain, and when he did not, she repeated her question. "What made you keep still so long? You knew who I was?"

"Well, it's the first time I ever took you on a midnight row, and I wanted to enjoy it."

The mockery in his voice quickened her apprehension. Of a sudden the fear of being misjudged impelled her to end this flight that had become so distasteful in a moment, preferring to face the people at the post rather than continue her journey with this man.

"I've changed my mind, Mr. Runnion," she said. "I don't want to go down to the Mission. I want you to take me back."

"Can't do it," he said; "the current is too swift."

"Then set me ashore and I'll walk back. It can't be far to town."

"Twenty-five miles. We've been out about three hours." He kept on rowing steadily, and although the distance they had gone frightened her, she summoned her courage to say:

"We can make that easily enough. Come, run in to the bank."

He ceased rowing and let the boat drift with dragging sweeps, filled his pipe and lighted it, then took up his oars again and resumed his labors.

"Please do as I ask you, Mr. Runnion. I've decided I don't want to go any farther." He laughed, and the sound aroused her. "Put me ashore this minute!" she cried, indignantly. "What do you mean?"

"You've got a fierce temper, haven't you?"

"Will you do it or not?"

When he made no answer, except to continue the maddening monotony of his movements, she was seized with a rash resolve to wrench the oars out of his hands, and made a quick motion towards him, at which he shouted:

"Sit down! Do you want to upset us?"

The unstable craft lurched and dipped dangerously, and, realizing the futility of her mad impulse, she sank back on her knees.

"Put me ashore!"

"No," he said, "not till I'm ready. Now, keep your seat or we'll both drown; this ain't a ferry-boat." After a few strokes, he added, "We'll never get along together unless you tame that temper."

"We're not going to get along together, Mr. Runnion—only as far as the Mission. I dare say you can tolerate me until then, can you not?" She said this bitingly.

"Stark told me to board the first boat for St. Michael's," he said, disregarding her sarcasm, "but I've made a few plans of my own the last hour or so."

"St. Michael's! Mr. Stark told you—why, that's impossible! You misunderstood him. He told you to row me to the Mission. I'm going to Father Barnum's house."

"No, you're not, and I didn't misunderstand him. He wants to get you outside, all right, but I reckon you'd rather go as Mrs. Runnion than as the sweetheart of Ben Stark."

"Are you crazy?" the girl cried. "Mr. Stark kindly offered to help me reach the Father at his Mission. I'm nothing to him, and I'm certainly not going to be anything to you. If I'd known you were going to row the boat, I should have stayed at home, because I detest you."

"You'll get over that."

"I'm not in the humor for jokes."

He rested again on his oars, and said, with deliberation:

"Stark 'kindly offered' did he? Well, whenever Ben Stark 'kindly' offers anything, I'm in on the play. He's had his eye on you for the last three months, and he wants you, but he slipped a cog when he gave me the oars. You needn't be afraid, though, I'm going to do the square thing by you. We'll stop in at the Mission and be married, and then we'll see whether we want to go to St. Michael's or not, though personally I'm for going back to Flambeau."

During the hours while he had waited for Necia to discover his identity, the man's mind had not been idle; he had determined to take what fortune tossed into his lap. Had she been the unknown, unnoticed half-breed of a month or two before, he would not have wasted thought upon priests or vows, but now that a strange fate had worked a change in her before the world, he accepted it.

The girl's beauty, her indifference, the mistaken attitude of Stark urged him, and, strongest of all, he was drawn by his cupidity, for she would be very rich, so the knowing ones said. Doubtless that was why Stark wanted her, and, being a man who acknowledged no fidelity to his kind or his Creator, Runnion determined to outwit his principal, Doret, Burrell, and all the rest. It was a chance to win much at the risk of nothing, and he was too good a gambler to let it pass.

With his brusque declaration Necia realized her position—that she was a weak, lonely girl, just come into womanhood, so cursed by good looks that men wanted her, so stained by birth that they would not take her honestly; realized that she was alone with a dissolute creature and beyond help, and for the first time in her life she felt the meaning of fear.

She saw what a frail and helpless thing she was; nothing about her was great save her soul, and that was immeasurably vexed and worried. She had just lived through a grief that had made her generous, and now she gained her first knowledge of the man-animal's gross selfishness.

"You are absolutely daft," she said. "You can't force me to marry you."

"I ain't going to force you; you'll do it willingly."

"I'll die first. I'll call the first man we see—I'll tell Father Barnum, and he'll have you run out of the country—it would only take a word from me."

"If you haven't changed your mind when we get to his place, I'll run through without stopping; but there isn't another priest between there and St. Mike's, and by the time we get to the mouth of the river, I guess you'll say yes to most anything. However, I'd rather marry you at Holy Cross if you'll consent, and I'm pretty sure you will—when you think it over."

"We won't discuss it."

"You don't understand yet," he continued, slowly. "What will people say when they know you ran away with me."

"I'll tell them the truth."

"Huh! I'm too well known. No man on the river would ever have you after that."

"You—you—" Her voice was a-quiver with indignation and loathing, but her lips could not frame an epithet fit for him. He continued rowing for some time, then said:

"Will you marry me?"

"No! If this thing is ever known, Poleon will kill you—or father."

For a third time he rested on