Wolf Breed Page 11

  CHAPTER XI

  THE WITCHERY OF YGERNE

  Charlie Madden of the Canadian Mining Company wasn't the man tosquander time which might be valuable in idle surmises. Ten minutesafter leaving Drennen he had sent a man on horseback scurrying down thehundred miles of trail to Lebarge. The man carried a letter to theGeneral Manager. The letter ran in part:

  ". . . I don't know whether the man is crazy or not. Having seen hisspecimens I'm rather inclined to think he's not. But he's fool enoughto have shown the stuff before filing on his claim. Send me Luke andBerry and Jernigan on the run. Drennen is laid up with a couple ofbullet holes in him. I'll keep him from filing as long as I can; therest is up to the men you send me."

  Then, his eyes filled with the glint of his purpose, his jaw seeming togrow lean with the determination upon him, Madden made himself ascomfortable as conditions permitted in MacLeod's Settlement and settleddown to a period of unsleeping watchfulness. He took a room at PereMarquette's.

  Before the crowd in the camp had thronged Joe's Lunch Counter towardevening the fever of excitement had grown into a delirium. Maddenhadn't talked; Drennen hadn't talked. And yet the word flew aboutmysteriously that Drennen had asked ten per cent of the stock of hismine and a hundred thousand dollars cash! "God! He had driven hispick into the mother lode of the world!" That was the thing which manymen said in many ways, over and over and over again. The CanadianMining Company was trying to frame a deal with him; Madden had rushed aman to Lebarge with some sort of message; two other big mining concernshad their representatives in town. And Drennen hadn't filed on hisclaim; the gold lay somewhere in the mountains offering itself towhatever man might find it. A man who could not buy his own grubstaketo-day might "own the earth" to-morrow.

  Before darkness came MacLeod's Settlement, seething with restlesshumanity for a few hours, was again pouring itself out into thewilderness in many erratic streams. And no man left who had not firstgone by Pere Marquette's and seen the nuggets which the old man had putinto his one glass-topped show case, and no man but carried the pictureof them dancing before his eyes as he went. Kootanie George, who hadhad no word for Ernestine Dumont since she had shamed him, went withthem. Ramon Garcia, having kissed Ernestine Dumont's hand, went withthem. And, oddly enough, Kootanie George and Ramon Garcia wenttogether as trail pardners.

  The one man who evinced no concern at what was going on was DavidDrennen. His calm was like that of a chip caught and held motionlessfor a little in the centre of a whirlpool while scores of other chipsgyrated madly about him; himself the pivot about which all rotatedwhile he seemed unmoved. There were hundreds of sharp-eyed oldprospectors looking for the thing he had found; if they in turn foundit it would become theirs and be lost to him.

  The Settlement saw more strangers in a week than it had ever seen inthe days of its existence before. The rare opportunity was given totake stock first hand of men of whom it had talked many times, menwhose names meant something. Such a man was Charlie Madden with thefresh cheeks and the way of an old captain of industry. Such was theman who came in behalf of the northwestern company. A man betweenfifty and sixty, big bodied, stalwart, stern faced, silent tongued. Anold prospector from the outside put an end to much speculation byinforming a knot of men that this was old Marshall Sothern; the namecarried weight and brought fresh interest. Such a man was BenHasbrook, little and dried up and nervous mannered, a power in thenetwork of ramifications of a big corporation having its head inQuebec, its tail in Vancouver, its claws everywhere throughout Canada.These men spelled big interests; these were the lions come to wrestaway the prey which the pack of wolves was ravening for.

  Ben Hasbrook trod almost in Charlie Madden's footsteps going toDrennen; he came away almost immediately, tugging at his beard,hot-eyed and wrathful. Marshall Sothern, having had a word with PereMarquette, a word with Lunch Counter Joe, having seen Hasbrook'sretreat, frowned thoughtfully and postponed any interview he may havedesired with No-luck Drennen. He paid for a room at Joe's for a weekin advance, went into solitary session, smoking his blackened pipethoughtfully, his powerful fingers beating a long tattoo upon the sillof the window through which his eyes could find Drennen's dugout. Withfull square beard, iron grey hair, massive countenance, there wassomething leonine about Marshall Sothern. It appeared reasonable thatif he were going into the battle against Madden and Hasbrook, thenMadden and Hasbrook would need their wits about them. He seemed atonce gifted with infinite patience and unalterable will. He did notmove from his window until he had seen David Drennen come out of hisdugout, making his slow way to supper at Joe's. Sothern's eyes, askeen as knife blades, studied the dark face, probing deep for aknowledge of the man himself. It was as though he were making hisfirst move in the game from ambush, as though he felt that the mostimportant thing in the world just now were a thorough understanding ofthe man with whom he must deal. He had had Marquette's estimate andJoe's . . . now he sought to form his own. . . .

  There was a hard smile upon Sothern's face as Drennen passed on, asmile not without a strange sort of satisfaction, flashing a quicklight into the eyes.

  "By God, I like him!" he burst out softly. "So you're David Drennen,are you? Well, my boy, the hounds of hell are after you . . . that'sin your face. But it's in your face, too, that you can stand on yourown feet. Hm. In this game I'm going to keep an eye on Madden andHasbrook, and both eyes on you."

  But, despite the dynamic possibilities of action and strife and historymaking, the days went by without event. Drennen came his three timesdaily to Joe's for his meals, spent the major part of his time in hisdugout or taking short, lonely walks up and down the river, coaxingback his strength. He saw much of Lemarc and Sefton upon the street,noting that they, like himself, had stayed behind, letting the otherfools go on their fools' errands, sensing that their craft bade themlinger to watch him. He saw Ygerne several rimes, always from adistance, and made no attempt to speak with her. He saw Madden, BenHasbrook and Marshall Sothern, grew accustomed to the knowledge thatthey were playing their waiting game, not unlike Sefton and MarcLemarc, and gave them little attention. They didn't interest him; whenhe was ready he would deal with them and until that time came need notwaste his thoughts upon them.

  But all of the stubborn will of a David Drennen could not keep his mindaway from Ygerne Bellaire though he held his feet back from taking himto her, though he drove his eyes away from her. He had let down thebars once for her to come into his life as he had let them down for noman or other woman in years. He had yielded to a mood, thinking thatit was only a mood and that so far as he was concerned she would ceaseto exist when he willed it. He found himself, however, seeking toexplain her presence here, companioned by such men as Marc Lemarc andCaptain Sefton; he sought to construct the story of her life before shehad come into this land where women from her obvious station in lifedid not come; he wrestled with the enigma of her character,unconsciously striving to find extenuation for the evil he deemed wasin her.

  "We are a bad lot here," he muttered once after long puzzling. "A badlot. Some of us are bad because we are weak and the world has tempted.Some of us are bad because we are strong and the world has driven.Some of us are cruel, like steel; some of us are treacherous, likepoison. Where do you fit in, Ygerne Bellaire?"

  Once only had he met her face to face on the street, many men markingtheir meeting. Coming unexpectedly upon her he had been tugged twoways by his emotions, a division and sign of weakness which was nousual thing in him. But he had caught a quick expression upon her facein time, and had seen that she was going to pass him with no sign ofrecognition. He had deliberately turned his back upon her. He hadheard a man laugh, and a little spurt of venomous pleasure leaped up inhis heart as he knew that she too had heard and as he pictured theblood whipped into her face.

  And now again he came upon her all unexpectedly; this time she wasalone and there were no men near to see. He stopped, staring down ather insolently. She was sitting upo
n a fallen log, a mile from theSettlement down the Little MacLeod, her eyes fixed upon the racingwater with that expression which tells that they see nothing of what isbefore them. She had not heard him until he came quite close to her.She started as she looked up, ready upon the instant to leap to herfeet. Then she settled back quite calmly, an insolence in her eyes notunlike his. She waited for him to speak, and presently, againconscious of the tugging two ways, he did so.

  "There's a man in camp named Charlie Madden," he said with aviciousness which evidently puzzled her until he had gone on. "You'vemet him, I dare say?"

  "Yes," she answered coolly. "He asked me to have dinner with him lastnight."

  Drennen's laugh jeered at her.

  "You don't burn daylight, do you?" he sneered. "The man has money; heis young; he looks quite the pink-cheeked, impressionable pup, as goodas a gilded youth on Broadway. How did he accept the wonder tale ofthe virgin purity of your red lips, Ygerne?"

  "I didn't accept his invitation," she retorted as coolly as before.

  "Why not?" he said sharply, a little hotly. "Couldn't you tell thatthe fool has money?"

  "I didn't like him," she said.

  "Ho, you didn't like him!" His tone drove a little higher colour intoher face, but she kept the serene indifference in her half-smile. "Butyou did dine with me . . . because you liked me, no doubt!"

  "Let us say," she replied a trifle wearily, her eyes going back to theriver, "that I was lonely; and that I was prepared to like you, Mr.Drennen."

  He found himself in a sudden flaring anger. The anger wasunreasonable, but it but burned the hotter for all that. He had soughtto take a joy out of being brutal to the girl, just why he was very farfrom understanding. Now the joy did not come as he had expected it.In his anger there was a sense of insane resentment against her thatshe was just a girl, not a man as he would have her now so that hemight give her the lie and make her suffer physically by beating at herwith his hard fists. In the blind rage upon him he blamed her forhaving come into his life at all even though she were merely a passingfigure through a little corner of it. The years, while they hadbrought no happiness to him, had at least given him a calm indifferenceto all things; now for many days and nights she had broken that calm.In his heart he cursed her, his emotion rising toward a fierce,passionate hatred.

  "In hell's name," he cried abruptly, his voice ringing with a newmenace in it, "what are you doing here? Why don't you go on? What areyou staying here for? Is the world so damned small that you've got tocome and preen yourself under my eyes?"

  For a moment she did not answer. The expression in the eyes turnedupon him changed swiftly. There was a quick fear, gone in a flash inpure wonder. All this he saw clearly as too he saw a flicker ofamusement. And back of the amusement which maddened him were otherthings, emotions hinted darkly, baffling him.

  "The other day," she said steadily in the face of his rage, "youcontented yourself by commanding me to take myself off of the mountainback there. Now you request me to get out of Canada? Or out ofAmerica? Or the western hemisphere, which is it? And, kind sir, _why_is it?"

  Looking up at him, to show him how little he moved her, to make himdoubt if he had read aright when he had thought it was fear in hereyes, she laughed. The laughter, welling up softly, musically, fromdeep in the round white throat, the defiant posture, head thrown back,something of the vague, sweet intimacy in it, affected him strangely.His face reddened. His hands shut spasmodically, clenching hard,lifting a little from his sides. Instinctively she drew back, her ownhand slipping into her bosom, a quick flutter of fear in her heart thathe was actually going to strike her.

  "Why?" His lips were drawn back from his teeth; his face was more evilin the grip of the passion upon him than she had ever seen it before;his voice harsh and ugly. "Because you come when you do now, athousand years too soon or a dozen years too late! Because I hate youas I have never learned how to hate a man no matter what thing he haddone! I don't know what there is in me that is stronger than I am andthat makes me keep my hands off your throat. Do you know what you havedone, Ygerne, with the infernal witchery of you? You have made me loveyou, me, David Drennen, who knows there is no such thing as love in arotten world! I want you in my arms; I want to kiss that red mouth ofyours; I want to kill any man who so much as looks at you! My life wasas I would have it; in a few days I would be a rich man with all of thepower of a rich man; . . . and then you came. Why do I hate you, youreyes, your mouth, your body and your brain? Why?" He broke off in alaugh which showed what his wounds, his sickness, his passion had donefor him, and she drew still further back from him, shuddering. "I hateyou. . . . By God! because you've made of me a fool like the others!because you have made me love you!"

  A frenzy of delirium was upon him. She did not know whether the manwere sane or not; he did not care. But he knew that he spoke thetruth. Twice had he yielded to her, and he was not the man to yieldeasily. Once, and he had thought it a passing light mood, when he hadlet down the bars for her to come in. Now that recklessly he flungopen the flood gates which had dammed his own emotions, allowing theheadlong torrent to sweep away everything with it. It was madness; itwas folly; it was insanity for a man like David Drennen to let hisheart be snared out of him by the girl upon whom he had looked so fewtimes. And yet, be it what else it might be, it was the simple truth.

  "Laugh at me, why don't you?" snarled the man, little beads ofperspiration gathered on his forehead. "Or blush and stammer any ofthe idiotic things which a woman says to the man at the moment of hissupreme idiocy. Or flatter yourself with the vanity of it. Are you agood woman or a bad? I don't know. Are you generous or mean? I don'tknow. Are you loyal and stanch and true--or treacherous andcontemptible? I don't know. I don't know a thing about you, and yet Ilet you slip into my life one day and the next rile up all of the mudwhich was settling to the bottom. Go and brag of it to your twohangdogs. But, by heaven," and his fist smashed down into an openpalm, "you and your dogs keep out of my way. If the three of you arehere another twenty-four hours I'll drive them out and with them anyother man you so much as look at!"

  He stared at her for a moment, grown suddenly silent and white faced.He lifted his arms as though he would sweep her up into them. Then hedropped them so that they fell to his side like dead weights and swungabout, turning his back upon her, going swiftly upstream toward theSettlement.

  Across the river came the call of a robin. A splash of blue fire inthe willows was a blue bird's wing. A solitary butterfly made a halfcircle about him, passing close to him as though to beat him back withits delicate, diaphanous wings. The pale yellowish buds everywherewere changing to a lusty verdant. Air and grass were filled withquesting insect life thrilling upward with little voices. The snowswere slipping, slipping from the mountainsides, the waters rising inriver and lake. The sap was astir in shrub and tree, bursting upwardjoyously. Nature had breathed her soft command to all of the NorthWoods; every creature and thing of life in the North Woods had heardthe call.