The Promise Read online

  CHAPTER XXVII

  JEANNE

  Bill Carmody opened his eyes. A weird darkness surrounded him throughwhich dancing half-lights played upon a close-thrown screen. Dully hewatched the grotesque flickering of lights and shadows. He was notsurprised--not even curious. Nothing mattered--nothing save theterrible pain in his head and the racking ache of the muscles of hisbody. His skin felt hot and drawn and he gasped for air. A great weightseemed pressing upon him, and when he tried to fill his bursting lungsinstead of great drafts of cooling air, hot, stabbing pains shotthrough his chest and he groaned aloud at the hurt of it.

  He turned his aching body, wincing at the movement, and stared dullythrough a low aperture in the encircling screen. Beyond, in anotherworld, it seemed, a tiny fire flickered under a suspended iron kettle.

  Near the fire a blanketed form sat motionless with knees tight-huggedagainst shrunken breast. Upon the blanket-covered knees rested theangular chin of a dark-skinned, leathern face, upon which the firelightplayed fitfully, and beneath a tangled mop of graying hair two eyesflashed and dulled like black opals.

  He glanced upward and realized that the close-thrown screen, upon whichdanced the lights and shadows, was the smoke-blackened canvas of atepee, loosely stretched upon its slanting lodge-poles.

  Again he attempted to fill his congested lungs with cool, sweet air,and again the attempt ended in a groan and he relaxed, gasping, whileupon his forehead the cold sweat stood in clammy beads.

  Yet his head was burning hot, and the blankets which covered him wereblankets of fire. Suddenly it dawned upon him that this was a hideousnightmare.

  The blackened lodge with its terrifying shadow-pictures that flickeredand faded and flickered again; the old crone by the fire; the pain inhis head, and the hot aches of his body, were horrid brain fancies.

  With a mighty effort he would break the spell, and from the bunk belowthe rich brogue of Fallon would "bawl him out" for his restlessness--goodold Fallon!

  Vainly he attempted to marshal his scattered wits, and break the spellof the torturing brain picture. The shadows above him took on weirdshapes; grinning faces with tangled gray locks; long snakelike bodies,and tails of red and yellow light twined and writhed sinuously aboutthe beautiful face of a girl.

  How real--how distinct in the half-light, was the face beneath the massof gleaming black hair. And eyes! Dark, serious eyes, into which onemight gaze far into mysterious depths--soft, restful eyes, thought theman as he stared upward into the phantom face.

  From the curve of the parted red lips the perfect teeth flashedwhitely, and from the delicately turned chin the soft full-throatedneck swept beneath the open throat of the loose-fitting buckskinhunting shirt whose deep fringed trimmings only half-concealed the richlines of a rounded bosom.

  The man remained motionless, fearing to move lest the vision fade andthe harsh voice of Fallon blare out from below. "Damn Fallon!" hemuttered, and then the pictured lips moved and in his ears was thesoft, sweet sound of a voice.

  The writhing snakes with the shining tails resolved into flickeringwall-shadows which danced lightly among the slanting lodge-poles. Butthe dream-face did not fade, the dream-eyes gazed softly into his, thedream-lips moved, and the low sound of the dream-voice was music to hisears.

  "You are sick," the voice said; "you are in pain." Bill's throat wasdry with a burning thirst.

  "Water!" he gasped, and the word rasped harsh.

  The girl reached into the shadows and a tiny white-brown hand appearedholding a dripping tin cup. She bent closer and the next instant theman's burning cheek was pillowed against the soft coolness of her baredarm and his head was raised from the blanket while the tiny white-brownhand held the tin cup to his lips.

  With the life-giving draft the man's brain cleared and he smiled intothe eyes of his dream-girl. Her lips returned the smile and there was amovement of the rounded arm that pillowed his head.

  "No! No!" he whispered, and pressed his cheek closer against the soft,bare flesh. The arm was not withdrawn, the liquid eyes gazed for amoment into his and were veiled by the swift downsweep of the long,dark lashes.

  In the silence, a little white-brown hand strayed over his face andrested with delicious coolness upon the fevered brow. Bill's eyesclosed and for blissful eons he lay, while in all the world was no suchthing as pain--only the sweet, restful peace of Dreamland.

  Unconsciously his lips pressed close against the softness of her arm,and at their touch the arm trembled, and from far away came the quick,sibilant gasp of an indrawn breath.

  The arm pressed closer, the tapering fingers of the little hand strayedcaressingly through the tangled curls of his hair, and Bill Carmodyslipped silently into the quiet of oblivion.

  The fire under the iron kettle died down, and the shadows faded fromthe walls of the tepee. Inside, the girl sat far into the night, andthe mystery of the dark eyes deepened as they gazed into the beardedface close pillowed against her arm.

  By the dying fire the old crone drew her blanket more closely about herand glowered into the red embers as her beady, black eyes shot keenglances toward the motionless forms in the blackness beyond the openflap of the tepee.

  On Blood River the logs floated steadily millward, the bateau followedthe drive, and the men of the logs passed noisily out of the North.