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Page 53
Slowly Nepeese lifted her head. A power which she could not resist drew
her eyes up until she was looking into the face of Bush McTaggart. She
had almost lost consciousness of his presence. Her senses were cold and
deadened--it was as if her own heart had stopped beating along with
Pierrot's. What she saw in the factor's face dragged her out of the
numbness of her grief back into the shadow of her own peril. He was
standing over her. In his face there was no pity, nothing of horror at
what he had done--only an insane exultation as he looked--not at
Pierrot's dead body, but at her. He put out a hand, and it rested on
her head. She felt his thick fingers crumpling her hair, and his eyes
blazed like embers of fire behind watery films. She struggled to rise,
but with his hands at her hair he held her down.
"Great God!" she breathed.
She uttered no other words, no plea for mercy, no other sound but a
dry, hopeless sob. In that moment neither of them heard or saw Baree.
Twice in crossing the cabin his hindquarters had sagged to the floor.
Now he was close to McTaggart. He wanted to give a single lunge to the
man-brute's back and snap his thick neck as he would have broken a
caribou bone. But he had no strength. He was still partially paralyzed
from his foreshoulder back. But his jaws were like iron, and they
closed savagely on McTaggart's leg.
With a yell of pain the factor released his hold on the Willow, and she
staggered to her feet. For a precious half-minute she was free, and as
the factor kicked and struck to loose Baree's hold, she ran to the
cabin door and out into the day. The cold air struck her face. It
filled her lungs with new strength; and without thought of where hope
might lie she ran through the snow into the forest.
McTaggart appeared at the door just in time to see her disappear. His
leg was torn where Baree had fastened his fangs, but he felt no pain as
he ran in pursuit of the girl. She could not go far. An exultant cry,
inhuman as the cry of a beast, came in a great breath from his gaping
mouth as he saw that she was staggering weakly as she fled. He was
halfway to the edge of the forest when Baree dragged himself over the
threshold. His jaws were bleeding where McTaggart had kicked him again
and again before his fangs gave way. Halfway between his ears was a
seared spot, as if a red-hot poker had been laid there for an instant.
This was where McTaggart's bullet had gone. A quarter of an inch
deeper, and it would have meant death. As it was, it had been like the
blow of a heavy club, paralyzing his senses and sending him limp and
unconscious against the wall. He could move on his feet now without
falling, and slowly he followed in the tracks of the man and the girl.
As she ran, Nepeese's mind became all at once clear and reasoning. She
turned into the narrow trail over which McTaggart had followed her once
before, but just before reaching the chasm, she swung sharply to the
right. She could see McTaggart. He was not running fast, but was
gaining steadily, as if enjoying the sight of her helplessness, as he
had enjoyed it in another way on that other day. Two hundred yards
below the deep pool into which she had pushed the factor--just beyond
the shallows out of which he had dragged himself to safety--was the
beginning of Blue Feather's Gorge. An appalling thing was shaping
itself in her mind as she ran to it--a thing that with each gasping
breath she drew became more and more a great and glorious hope. At last
she reached it and looked down. And as she looked, there whispered up
out of her soul and trembled on her lips the swan song of her mother's
people.
Our fathers--come!
Come from out of the valley.
Guide us--for today we die,
And the winds whisper of death!
She had raised her arms. Against the white wilderness beyond the chasm
she stood tall and slim. Fifty yards behind her the factor from Lac
Bain stopped suddenly in his tracks. "Ah," he mumbled. "Is she not
wonderful!" And behind McTaggart, coming faster and faster, was Baree.
Again the Willow looked down. She was at the edge, for she had no fear
in this hour. Many times she had clung to Pierrot's hand as she looked
over. Down there no one could fall and live. Fifty feet below her the
water which never froze was smashing itself into froth among the rocks.
It was deep and black and terrible, for between the narrow rock walls
the sun did not reach it. The roar of it filled the Willow's ears.
She turned and faced McTaggart.
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