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Page 50
This aloneness to Nepeese was burdened with no thought of danger. There
were times, now, when the thought of being alone was pleasant to her,
when she wanted to dream by herself, when she visioned things into the
mysteries of which she would not admit even Pierrot. She was growing
into womanhood--just the sweet, closed bud of womanhood as yet--still a
girl with the soft velvet of girlhood in her eyes, yet with the mystery
of woman stirring gently in her soul, as if the Great Hand were
hesitating between awakening her and letting her sleep a little longer.
At these times, when the opportunity came to steal hours by herself,
she would put on the red dress and do up her wonderful hair as she saw
it in the pictures of the magazines Pierrot had sent up twice a year
from Nelson House.
On the second day of Pierrot's absence Nepeese dressed herself like
this, but today she let her hair cascade in a shining glory about her,
and about her forehead bound a circlet of red ribbon. She was not yet
done. Today she had marvelous designs. On the wall close to her mirror
she had tacked a large page from a woman's magazine, and on this page
was a lovely vision of curls. Fifteen hundred miles north of the sunny
California studio in which the picture had been taken, Nepeese, with
pouted red lips and puckered forehead, was struggling to master the
mystery of the other girl's curls!
She was looking into her mirror, her face flushed and her eyes aglow in
the excitement of the struggle to fashion one of the coveted ringlets
from a tress that fell away below her hips, when the door opened behind
her, and Bush McTaggart walked in.
CHAPTER 20
The Willow's back was toward the door when the factor from Lac Bain
entered the cabin, and for a few startled seconds she did not turn. Her
first thought was of Pierrot--for some reason he had returned. But even
as this thought came to her, she heard in Baree's throat a snarl that
brought her suddenly to her feet, facing the door.
McTaggart had not entered unprepared. He had left his pack, his gun,
and his heavy coat outside. He was standing with his back against the
door; and at Nepeese--in her wonderful dress and flowing hair--he was
staring as if stunned for a space at what he saw. Fate, or accident,
was playing against the Willow now. If there had been a spark of
slumbering chivalry, of mercy, even, in Bush McTaggart's soul, it was
extinguished by what he saw. Never had Nepeese looked more beautiful,
not even on that day when MacDonald the map maker had taken her
picture. The sun, flooding through the window, lighted up her marvelous
hair. Her flushed face was framed in its lustrous darkness like a
tinted cameo. He had dreamed, but he had pictured nothing like this
woman who stood before him now, her eyes widening with fear and the
flush leaving her face even as he looked at her.
It was not a long interval in which their eyes met in that terrible
silence. Words were unnecessary. At last she understood--understood
what her peril had been that day at the edge of the chasm and in the
forest, when fearlessly she had played with the menace that was
confronting her now.
A breath that was like a sob broke from her lips.
"M'sieu!" she tried to say. But it was only a gasp--an effort.
Plainly she heard the click of the iron bolt as it locked the door.
McTaggart advanced a step.
Only a single step McTaggart advanced. On the floor Baree had remained
like something carved out of stone. He had not moved. He had not made a
sound but that one warning snarl--until McTaggart took the step. And
then, like a flash, he was up and in front of Nepeese, every hair of
his body on end; and at the fury in his growl McTaggart lunged back
against the barred door. A word from Nepeese in that moment, and it
would have been over. But an instant was lost--an instant before her
cry came. In that moment man's hand and brain worked swifter than brute
understanding; and as Baree launched himself at the factor's throat,
there came a flash and a deafening explosion almost in the Willow's
eyes.
It was a chance shot, a shot from the hip with McTaggart's automatic.
Baree fell short. He struck the floor with a thud and rolled against
the log wall. There was not a kick or a quiver left in his body.
McTaggart laughed nervously as he shoved his pistol back in its
holster. He knew that only a brain shot could have done that.
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