The Barrier by Rex Beach (universal ebook reader .txt) 📗

to finish the work Gale had begun, to do it coldly as a matter of justice, for was he not the one who had put Necia into the hands of that ruffian? Greeting Lee mechanically, he said to Gale:

"I can't wait much longer," and sank wearily into a seat. Almost the next instant he was on his feet again, saying to the trader, as he had said it a score of times already: "Runnion comes to me, Gale! You understand he's mine, don't you?"

The old man nodded. "Yes! You can take him."

"Well, who do I git?" asked Lee.

"You can't come along," the trader said. "We may have to follow the hound clean to the States. Think of your mine—"

"To hell with the mine!" exploded the shaggy prospector. "I reckon I'm kind of a daddy to your gal, and I'm goin' to be in at the finish."

Back and forth paced the Lieutenant restlessly, pausing every now and then to peer down the river. Suddenly he uttered a cry, and with a bound Gale was beside him, Lee at his shoulder.

"Look! Over the point! Down yonder! I saw smoke!"

The three stared at the distant forest fringe that masked the bend of the river until their eyes ached, and the dark-green grew black and wavered indistinctly.

"You're tired, my boy," said Gale.

"Wait!"

They obeyed, and finally over the tree-tops saw a faint streamer of
black.

"It is! It is!" cried the soldier. "I'm going for my war bag." And before the steamboat had hove into sight he was back with his scanty bundle of baggage, behaving like one daft, talking and laughing and running here and there. Lee watched him closely, then went behind the bar and poured out a stiff glass of whiskey, which he made Burrell drink. To Gale he whispered, a moment later:

"Keep your eye on him, John—he'll go mad at this rate."

They waited, it seemed interminably, until at last a white hull slowly rounded the point, then shaped a course across the current towards the other bank, where the water was less swift. As it came fully into sight, Gale swore aloud in despair:

"It's the Mission boat!"

"Well, what of that?" said Burrell. "We'll hire it—buy it—take it!"

"It's no use; she ain't got but three dog-power to her engines," Lee explained. "She's a down-river boat—has to run with the current to move."

"We can't use her," Gale gave in, reluctantly. "She'd only lose time for us. We've got to wait for one of the A. C. boats."

"Wait!" cried Burrell. "Good God! we've done nothing but wait, WAIT, WAIT! Let's do something!"

"You go back yonder and set down," commanded Lee. "We'll have a boat before long."

The arrival of the tiny Mission steamer was never of sufficient importance to draw a crowd to the riverbank, so the impatient men at the post relaxed interest in her as she came creeping up abreast of the town. It was little Johnny Gale who first saw Necia and Poleon on board, for he had recognized Father Barnum's craft at a distance, and stationed himself at the bank hand-in-hand with Molly to bid the good, kind old man welcome.

The men inside the house did not hear the boy crying Necia's name, for his voice was small, and they had gone to the rear of the store.

"Understand! You leave Runnion to me," Burrell was saying. "No man shall lay hands on him except me—" His voice trailed away; he rose slowly to his feet, a strange light on his face. The others turned to see what sight had drawn his eyes. In the opening, all splendid with the golden sunlight, stood Necia and Poleon Doret, who had her by the hand—and she was smiling!

Gale uttered a great cry and went to meet them, but the soldier could move nothing save his lips, and stood dazed and disbelieving. He saw them dimly coming towards him, and heard Poleon's voice as if at a great distance, saw that the Frenchman's eyes were upon him, and that his words were directed to him.

"I bring her back to you, M'sieu'!"

Doret laid Necia's hand in that of her lover, and Burrell saw her smiling shyly up at him. Something gripped him chokingly, and he could utter no sound. There was nothing to say-she was here, safe, smiling, that was all. And the girl, beholding the glory in his eyes, understood.

Gale caught her away from him then, and buried her in his arms.

A woman came running into the store, and, seeing the group, paused at the door—a shapeless, silent, shawled figure in silhouette against the day. The trader brought the girl to her foster-mother, who began to talk in her own tongue with a rapidity none of them had ever heard before, her voice as tender as some wild bird's song; then the two women went away together around the store into the house. Poleon had told Necia all the amazing story that had come to him that direful night, all that he had overheard, all that he knew, and much that he guessed.

The priest came into the store shortly, and the men fell upon him for information, for nothing was to be gained from Poleon, who seemed strangely fagged and weary, and who had said but little.

"Yes, yes, yes!" laughed Father Barnum. "I'll tell you all I know, of course, but first I must meet Lieutenant Burrell and take him by the hand."

The story did not lose in his telling, particularly when he came to describe the fight on the gravel bar which no man had seen, and of which Poleon had told him little; but the good priest was of a militant turn, and his blue eyes glittered and flashed like an old crusader's.

"It was a wondrous combat," he declared, with all the spirit of a spectator, "for Poleon advanced bare-handed and beat him down even as the man fired into his face. It is due to the goodness and mercy of God that he was spared a single wound from this desperado—a miracle vouchsafed because of his clean heart and his righteous cause."

"But where is Runnion?" broke in Burrell.

"Nursing his injuries at some wood-cutter's camp, no doubt; but God be praised for that double spirit of generosity and forgiveness which prompted our Poleon to spare the wretch. No finer thing have I known in all my life, Doret, even though you have ever been an ungodly fellow."

The Frenchman moved uneasily.

"Wal, I don' know; he ain' fight so dam' hard."

"You couldn't find no trace of him?" said Lee.

"No trace whatever," Father Barnum replied; "but he will surely reach some place of refuge where we can pick him up, for the days are still mild and the woods full of berries, and, as you know, the streams overflow with salmon, which he can kill with a stick. Why, a man might live a fortnight without inconvenience!"

"I'll be on the lookout for him," said the Lieutenant, grimly. "To-night I'll send Thomas and a couple of men down the river."

When the voluble old priest had at last exhausted his narrative he requested of Burrell the privilege of a few words, and drew him apart from the others. His face was shrewdly wrinkled and warm with understanding.

"I had a long conversation with my little girl, for she is like a daughter to me, and I discovered the depth of her love for you. Do you think you are worthy of her?"

"No."

"Do you love her as much as you should?"

"As much as I can. They don't make words or numbers big enough to tell you how dear she is to me."

"Then why delay? To-morrow I leave again, and one never knows what a day may bring forth."

"But Stark?" the young man cried. "He's her father, you know; he's like a madman, and she's still under age."

"I know very little of law outside of the Church," the Father observed, "but, as I understand it, if she marries before he forbids her, the law will hold him powerless. Now, he has never made himself known to her, he has never forbidden her anything; and although my conclusion may not be correct, I believe it is, and you have a chance if you make haste. At your age, my boy, I never needed a spur."

"A spur? Good Lord! I'm from Kentucky."

"Once she is yours before God, your hold will be stronger in the eyes of men. If I am wrong, and he takes her from you—well, may some other priest re-wed you two—I sha'n't!"

"Don't worry," laughed Burrell, ablaze at the thought. "You're the only preacher who'll kiss my bride, for I'm a jealous man, and all the Starks and all the fathers in the world won't get her away from me. Do you think she'll do it?"

"A woman in love will do anything."

Burrell seized the little man by the hand. "If I had known more law you needn't have given me this hint."

"I must go now to this Stark," said the Father; "he may need me. But first I shall talk with Necia. Poor child, she is in a difficult position, standing between the love of John Gale and the loyalty she owes her father. I—I fear I cannot counsel her as well as I ought, for I am very weak and human. You had better come with me; perhaps the plea of a lover may have more weight than the voice of reason." As they started towards the house, he continued, energetically: "Young man, I'm beginning to live once more. Do you know, sometimes I think I was not designed for this vocation, and, just between you and me, there was a day when—" He paused and coughed a trifle, then said, sharply, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Together they went into the trader's house.

Back in the store there was silence after the priest and the soldier went out, which Gale broke at last:

"This forgiveness talk is all right, I suppose—but I WANT RUNNION!"

"We'll git him, too," growled Lee, at which Poleon uttered a curt exclamation:

"No!"

"Why not?" said the miner.

"Wal," the Canadian drawled, slowly, then paused to light the cigarette he had rolled in a bit of wrapping-paper, inhaled the smoke deeply to the bottom of his lungs, held it there a moment, and blew it out through mouth and nostrils before adding, "you'll jus' be wastin' tam'!"

Gale looked up from beneath his thatch of brow, and asked, quietly:

"Why?"

"You 'member—story I tol' you wan day, two, t'ree mont' ago," Poleon remarked, with apparent evasion, "'bout Johnny Platt w'at I ketch on de Porcupine all et up by skeeter-bugs?"

"I do," answered Gale.

"Wal,"—he met their eyes squarely, then drew another long breath from his cigarette—"I'm jus' hopin' nobody don' pick it up dis Runnion feller de same way. Mebbe dey fin' hees han's tie' behin' 'im wit' piece of hees shirt-"

"Good God!" cried the trader, starting to his feet. "You—you—"

"—of course, I'm jus' s'posin'. He was feel purty good w'en I lef'. He was feel so good I tak' hees coat for keepin' off dem bugs from me, biccause I lef it my own shirt on de canoe. He's nice feller dat way; he give up easy. Ba gosh! I never see worse place for skeeters!"

Gale fell silent, and "No Creek" Lee began to swear in little, useless, ineffective oaths, which were but two ways of showing similar emotions. Then the former stepped up and laid a big hand upon Poleon's shoulder.

"That saves us quite a trip," he said, but "No Creek" Lee continued to swear softly.

It seemed that Poleon's wish was to be gratified, for no news of the missing man came through in the days that followed. Only at a fishing village far down the river, where a few native families had staked their nets and weirs for salmon, a hunter told a strange tale to his brothers—a tale of the white man's idiosyncrasies. In sooth, they were a strange people, he observed, surpassing wise in many things, yet ignorant and childish in all others, else why should a half-naked man go wandering idly through the thickets holding a knotted rag behind his back, and that when the glades were dense and the moss-chinks filled with the singing people who lived for blood? The elders of the village nodded their heads sagely, and commended the hunter for holding aloof from the inert body, for the foolishness of this man was past belief, and—well, his people were swift and cruel in their vengeance, and sometimes doubted an Indian's word, wherefore it were best to pay no heed to their ways and say nothing. But they continued to wonder why.

Father Barnum found the three still talking in the store when he had finished an hour's counsel with Necia, so came straight to the point. It was work that delighted his soul, for he loved the