The Collected Works of James Oliver Curwood (Illustrated Edition). James Oliver Curwood
figure had stopped, evidently on a platform midway up the side of the building. He stood for a moment as if scanning the plain between him and the mountain, then disappeared. Howland had not spoken a word, but every nerve in his body tingled strangely.
"You say Meleese--is there?" he questioned hesitatingly. "And he--who is that man, Croisset?"
Jean shrugged his shoulders and drew himself back into the bush, turning leisurely toward the old cabin.
"Non, M'seur, I will not tell you that," he protested. "I have brought you to this place. I have pointed out to you the stair that leads to the room where you will find Meleese. You may cut me into ribbons for the ravens, but I will tell you no more!"
Again the threatening fire leaped into Howland's eyes.
"I will trouble you to put your hands behind your back, Croisset," he commanded. "I am going to return a certain compliment of yours by tying your hands with this piece of babeesh, which you used on me. After that--"
"And after that, M'seur--" urged Jean, with a touch of the old taunt in his voice, and stopping with his back to the engineer and his hands behind him. "After that?"
"You will tell me all that I want to know," finished Howland, tightening the thong about his wrists.
He led the way then to the cabin. The door was closed, but opened readily as he put his weight against it. The single room was lighted by a window through which a mass of snow had drifted, and contained nothing more than a rude table built against one of the log walls, three supply boxes that had evidently been employed as stools, and a cracked and rust-eaten sheet-iron stove that had from all appearances long passed into disuse. He motioned the Frenchman to a seat at one end of the table. Without a word he then went outside, securely toggled the leading dog, and returning, closed the door and seated himself at the end of the table opposite Jean.
The light from the open window fell full on Croisset's dark face and shone in a silvery streak along the top of Howland's revolver as the muzzle of it rested casually on a line with the other's breast. There was a menacing click as the engineer drew back the hammer.
"Now, my dear Jean, we're ready to begin the real game," he explained. "Here we are, high and dry, and down there--just far enough away to be out of hearing of this revolver when I shoot--are those we're going to play against. So far I've been completely in the dark. I know of no reason why I shouldn't go down there openly and be welcomed and given a good supper. And yet at the same time I know that my life wouldn't be worth a tinker's damn if I did go down. You can clear up the whole business, and that's what you're going to do. When I understand why I am scheduled to be murdered on sight I won't be handicapped as I now am. So go ahead and spiel. If you don't, I'll blow your head off."
Jean sat unflinching, his lips drawn tightly, his head set square and defiant.
"You may shoot, M'seur," he said quietly. "I have sworn on a cross of the Virgin to tell you no more than I have. You could not torture me into revealing what you ask."
Slowly Howland raised his revolver.
"Once more, Croisset--will you tell me?"
"Non, M'seur--"
A deafening explosion filled the little cabin. From the lobe of Jean's ear there ran a red trickle of blood. His face had gone deathly pale. But even as the bullet had stung him within an inch of his brain he had not flinched.
"Will you tell me, Croisset?"
This time the black pit of the engineer's revolver centered squarely between the Frenchman's eyes.
"Non, M'seur."
The eyes of the two men met over the blue steel. With a cry Howland slowly lowered his weapon.
"Good God, but you're a brave man, Jean Croisset!" he cried. "I'd sooner kill a dozen men that I know than you!"
He rose to his feet and went to the door. There was still but little snow in the air. To the north the horizon was growing black with the early approach of the northern night. With a nervous laugh he returned to Jean.
"Deuce take it if I don't feel like apologizing to you," he exclaimed. "Does your ear hurt?"
"No more than if I had scratched it with a thorn," returned Jean politely. "You are good with the pistol, M'seur."
"I would not profit by killing you--just now," mused Howland, seating himself again on the box and resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he looked across at the other. "But that's a pretty good intimation that I'm desperate and mean business, Croisset. We won't quarrel about the things I've asked you. What I'm here for is to see Meleese. Now--how is that to happen?"
"For the life of me I don't know," replied Jean, as calmly as though a bullet had not nipped the edge of his ear a moment before. "There is only one way I can see, M'seur, and that is to wait and watch from this mountain top until Meleese drives out her dogs. She has her own team, and in ordinary seasons frequently goes out alone or with one of the women at the post. Mon Dieu, she has had enough sledge-riding of late, and I doubt if she will find pleasure in her dogs for a long time."
"I had planned to use you," said Howland, "but I've lost faith in you. Honestly, Croisset, I believe you would stick me in the back almost as quickly as those murderers down there." "Not in the back, M'seur," smiled the Frenchman, unmoved. "I have had opportunities to do that. Non, since that fight back there I do not believe that I want to kill you."
"But I would be a fool to trust you. Isn't that so?"
"Not if I gave you my word. That is something we do not break up here as you do down among the Wekusko people, and farther south."
"But you murder people for pastime--eh, my dear Jean?"
Croisset shrugged his shoulders without speaking.
"See here, Croisset," said Howland with sudden earnestness, "I'm almost tempted to take a chance with you. Will you go down to the post to-night, in some way gain access to Meleese, and give her a message from me?"
"And the message--what would it be?"
"It would bring Meleese up to this cabin--to-night."
"Are you sure, M'seur?"
"I am certain that it would. Will you go?"
"Non, M'seur."
"The devil take you!" cried Howland angrily. "If I was not certain that I would need you later I'd garrote you where you sit."
He rose and went to the old stove. It was still capable of holding fire, and as it had grown too dark outside for the smoke to be observed from the post, he proceeded to prepare a supper of hot coffee and meat. Jean watched him in silence, and not until food and drink were on the table did the engineer himself break silence.
"Of course, I'm not going to feed you," he said curtly, "so I'll have to free your hands. But be careful."
He placed his revolver on the table beside him after he had freed Croisset.
"I might assassinate you with a fork!" chuckled the Frenchman softly, his black eyes laughing over his coffee cup. "I drink your health, M'seur, and wish you happiness!"
"You lie!" snapped Howland.
Jean lowered the cup without drinking.
"It's the truth, M'seur," he insisted. "Since that bee-utiful fight back there I can not help but wish you happiness. I drink also to the happiness of Meleese, also to the happiness of those who tried to kill you on the trail and at the coyote. But, Mon Dieu, how is it all to come? Those at the post are happy because they believe that you are dead. You will not be happy until they are dead. And Meleese--how will all this bring happiness to her? I tell you that I am as deep in trouble as you, M'seur Howland. May the Virgin strike me dead if I'm not!"
He drank, his eyes darkening gloomily. In that moment there flashed into Howland's mind a memory of the battle that Jean had fought for him on the Great North Trail.
"You nearly killed