The Gun-Brand Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  PIERRE LAPIERRE

  A half-hour later, when Chloe again ventured from the tent, allevidence of the struggle had disappeared. The bodies of the two deadmen had been removed, and the canoemen were busily engaged in gatheringtogether and restoring the freight pieces that had been ripped open bythe scowmen.

  Lapierre advanced to meet her, his carefully creased Stetson in hand.

  "I have sent word for the other scows to come on at once, and in themeantime, while my men attend to the freight, may we not talk?"

  Chloe assented, and the two seated themselves upon a log. It was then,for the first time that the girl noticed that one side of Lapierre'sface--the side he had managed to keep turned from her--was battered anddisfigured by some recent misadventure. Noticed, too, the really finefeatures of him--the dark, deep-set eyes that seemed to smoulder intheir depths, the thin, aquiline nose, the shapely lips, the clean-cutlines of cheek and jaw.

  "You have been hurt!" she cried. "You have met with an accident!"

  The man smiled, a smile in which cynicism blended with amusement.

  "Hardly an accident, I think, Miss Elliston, and, in any event, ofsmall consequence." He shrugged a dismissal of the subject, and hisvoice assumed a light gaiety of tone.

  "May we not become better acquainted, we two, who meet in this farplace, where travellers are few and worth the knowing?" There was nocynicism in his smile now, and without waiting for a reply hecontinued: "My name you already know. I have only to add that I am anadventurer in the wilds--explorer of _hinterlands_, free-trader,freighter, sometime prospector--casual cavalier." He rose, swept theStetson from his head, and bowed with mock solemnity.

  "And now, fair lady, may I presume to inquire your mission in this landof magnificent wastes?" Chloe's laughter was genuine as it wasspontaneous.

  Lapierre's light banter acted as a tonic to the girl's nerves, harassedas they were by a month's travel through the fly-bitten wilderness.More--he interested her. He was different. As different from thehalf-breeds and Indian canoemen with whom she had been thrown as hisspeech was from the throaty guttural by means of which they exchangedtheir primitive ideas.

  "Pray pause, Sir Cavalier," she smiled, falling easily into the gaietyof the man's mood. "I have ventured into your wilderness upon a mostunpoetic mission. Merely the establishment of a school for theeducation and betterment of the Indians of the North."

  A moment of silence followed the girl's words--a moment in which shewas sure a hard, hostile gleam leaped into the man's eyes. A trick offancy doubtless, she thought, for the next instant it had vanished.When he spoke, his air of light raillery was gone, but his lipssmiled--a smile that seemed to the girl a trifle forced.

  "Ah, yes, Miss Elliston. May I ask at whose instigation this school isto be established--and where?" He was not looking at her now, his eyessought the river, and his face showed only a rather finely mouldedchin, smooth-shaven--and the lips, with their smile that almost sneered.

  Instantly Chloe felt that a barrier had sprung up between herself andthis mysterious stranger who had appeared so opportunely out of theNorthern bush. Who was he? What was the meaning of the old factor'swhispered warning? And why should the mention of her school awakedisapproval, or arouse his antagonism? Vaguely she realized that thesudden change in this man's attitude hurt. The displeasure, andopposition, and ridicule of her own people, and the surly indifferenceof the rivermen, she had overridden or ignored. This man she could notignore. Like herself, he was an adventurer of untrodden ways. A manof fancy, of education and light-hearted raillery, and yet, a strongman, withal--a man of moment, evidently.

  She remembered the sharp, quick words of authority--the words thatcaused the villainous Vermilion to whirl with a snarl of fear.Remembered also, the swift sure shot that had ended Vermilion's career,his absolute mastery of the situation, his lack of excitement orbraggadocio, and the expressed regret over the necessity for killingthe man. Remembered the abject terror in the eyes of those who fledinto the bush at his appearance, and the servility of the canoemen.

  As she glanced into the half-turned face of the man, Chloe saw that thesneering smile had faded from the thin lips as he waited her answer.

  "At _my own_ instigation." There was an underlying hardness ofdefiance in her words, and the firm, sun-reddened chin unconsciouslythrust forward beneath the encircling mosquito net. She paused, butthe man, expressionless, continued to gaze out over the surface of theriver.

  "I do not know exactly _where_," she continued, "but it will be_somewhere_. Wherever it will do the most good. Upon the bank of someriver, or lake, perhaps, where the people of the wilderness may comeand receive that which is theirs of right----"

  "Theirs of right?" The man looked into her face, and Chloe saw that thethin lips again smiled--this time with a quizzical smile that hinted attolerant amusement. The smile stung.

  "Yes, theirs of right!" she flashed. "The education that was freelyoffered to me, and to you--and of which we availed ourselves."

  For a long time the man continued to gaze in silence, and, when atlength he spoke, it was to ask an entirely irrelevant question.

  "Miss Elliston, you have heard my name before?"

  The question came as a surprise, and for a moment Chloe hesitated.Then frankly, and looking straight into his eyes she answered:

  "Yes, I have."

  The man nodded, "I knew you had." He turned his injured eye quicklyfrom the dazzle of the sunlight that flashed from the surface of theriver, and Chloe saw that it was discoloured and bloodshot. She arose,and stepping to his side laid her hand upon his arm.

  "You _are_ hurt," she said earnestly, "your eye gives you pain."

  Beneath her fingers the girl felt the play of strong muscles as the armpressed against her hand. Their eyes met, and her heart quickened witha strange new thrill. Hastily she averted her glance and then---- Theman's arm suddenly was withdrawn and Chloe saw that his fist hadclinched. With a rush the words brought back to him the scene in thetrading-room of the post at Fort Rae. The low, log-room, piled highwith the goods of barter. The great cannon stove. The two groups ofdark-visaged Indians--his own Chippewayans, and MacNair's YellowKnives, who stared in stolid indifference. The trembling, excitedclerk. The grim chief trader, and the stern-faced factor who watchedwith approving eyes while two men fought in the wide cleared spacebetween the rough counter and the high-piled bales of woollens andstrouds.

  Chloe Elliston drew back aghast. The thin lips of the man had twistedinto a snarl of rage, and a living, bestial hate seemed fairly to blazefrom the smouldering eyes, as Lapierre's thoughts dwelt upon theclosing moments of that fight, when he felt himself giving groundbefore the hammering, smashing blows of Bob MacNair's big fists. Feltthe tightening of the huge arms like steel bands about his body when herushed to a clinch--bands that crushed and burned so that each sobbingbreath seemed a blade, white-hot from the furnace, stabbing and searinginto his tortured lungs. Felt the vital force and strength of him ebband weaken so that the lean, slender fingers that groped for MacNair'sthroat closed feebly and dropped limp to dangle impotently from hisnerveless arms. Felt the sudden release of the torturing bands ofsteel, the life-giving inrush of cool air, the dull pain as his dizzybody rocked to the shock of a crashing blow upon the jaw, the blazingflash of the blow that closed his eye, and, then--more soul-searing,and of deeper hurt than the blows that battered and marred--the feel ofthick fingers twisted into the collar of his soft shirt. Felt himselfshaken with an incredible ferocity that whipped his ankles againstfloor and counter edge. And, the crowning indignity of all--felthimself dragged like a flayed carcass the full length of the room, outof the door, and jerked to his feet upon the verge of the steep descentto the lake. Felt the propelling impact of the heavy boot that senthim crashing headlong into the underbrush through which he rolled andtumbled like a mealbag, to bring up suddenly in the cold water.

  The whole scene passed through his brain
as dreams flash--almost withinthe batting of an eye. Half-consciously, he saw the girl's suddenstart, and the look of alarm upon her face as she drew back from theglare of his hate-flashing eyes and the bestial snarl of his lips.With an effort he composed himself:

  "Pardon, Miss Elliston, I have frightened you with an uncouth show ofsavagery. It is a rough, hard country--this land of the wolf and thecaribou. Primal instincts and brutish passions here areunrestrained--a fact responsible for my present battered appearance.For, as I said, it was no accident that marred me thus, unless,perchance, the prowling of the brute across my path may be attributedto accident--rather, I believe it was timed."

  "The brute! Who, or what is the brute? And why should he harm you?"

  "MacNair is his name--Bob MacNair." There was a certain tense hardnessin the man's tone, and Chloe was conscious that the smouldering eyeswere regarding her searchingly.

  "MacNair," said the girl, "why, that is the name on those bales!"

  "What bales?"

  "The bales in the scow--they are on the river-bank now."

  "My scows carrying MacNair's freight!" cried the man, and motioning herto accompany him he walked rapidly to the bank where lay the four orfive pieces, upon which Chloe had read the name. Lapierre dropped tohis knees and regarded the pieces intently, suddenly he leaped to hisfeet with a laugh and called in the Indian tongue to one of hiscanoemen. The man brought him an ax, and raising it high, Lapierrebrought it crashing upon the innocent-looking freight piece. There wasa sound of smashing staves, a gurgle of liquid, and the strong odour ofwhiskey assailed their nostrils.

  The piece was a keg, cunningly disguised as to shape, and covered withburlap. One by one the man attacked the other pieces marked with thename of MacNair, and as each cask was smashed, the whiskey gurgled andsplashed and seeped into the ground. Chloe watched breathlessly untilLapierre finished, and with a smile of grim satisfaction, tossed the axupon the ground.

  "There is one consignment of firewater that will never be delivered,"he said.

  "What does it mean?" asked Chloe, and Lapierre noticed that her eyeswere alight with interest. "Who is this MacNair, and----"

  For answer Lapierre took her gently by the arm and led her back to thelog.

  "MacNair," he began, "is the most atrocious tyrant that ever breathed.Like myself, he is a free-trader--that is, he is not in the employ ofthe Hudson Bay Company. He is rich, and owns a permanent post of hisown, to the northward, on Snare Lake, while I vend my wares under God'sown canopy, here and there upon the banks of lakes and rivers."

  "But why should he attack you?"

  The man shrugged. "Why? Because he hates me. He hates any one whodeals fairly with the Indians. His own Indians, a band of the YellowKnives, together with an onscouring of Tantsawhoots, Beavers, Dog-ribs,Strongbows, Hares, Brushwoods, Sheep, and Huskies, he holds in abjectpeonage. Year in and year out he forces them to dig in his mines fortheir bare existence. Over on the Athabasca they call him BruteMacNair, and among the Loucheaux and Huskies he is known asThe-Bad-Man-of-the-North.

  "He pays no cash for labour, nor for fur, and he sees to it that hisIndians are always hopelessly in his debt. He trades them whiskey.They are his. His to work, and to cheat, and to debauch, and to venthis rage upon--for his passions are the wild, unbridled passions of thefighting wolf. He kills! He maims! Or he allows to live! TheIndians are his, body and soul. Their wives and their children arehis. He owns them. _He_ is the law!

  "He warned me out of the North. I ignored that warning. The land isbroad and free. There is room for all, therefore I brought in my goodsand traded. And, because I refused to grind the poor savages under theiron heel of oppression, because I offer a meagre trifle over and abovewhat is necessary for their bare existence, the brute hates me. Hecame upon me at Fort Rae, and there, in the presence of the factor, hisclerk, and his chief trader, he fell upon me and beat me so that forthree days I lay unable to travel."

  "But the others!" interrupted the girl, "the factor and his men! Whydid they allow it?"

  Again the gleam of hate flashed in the man's eyes. "They allowed itbecause they are in league with him. They fear him. They fear hishold upon the Indians. So long as he maintains a permanent post ahundred and seventy-five miles to the northward--more than two hundredand fifty by the water trail--they know that he will not seriouslyinjure the trade at Fort Rae. With me it is different. I trade here,and there, wherever the children of the wilderness are to be found.Therefore I am hated by the men of the Hudson Bay Company who wouldhave been only too glad had MacNair killed me."

  Chloe, who had listened eagerly to every word, leaped to her feet andlooked at Lapierre with shining eyes. "Oh! I think it is splendid!You are brave, and you stand for the right of things! For the welfareof the Indians! I see now why the factor warned me against you! Hewanted to discredit you."

  Lapierre smiled. "The factor? What factor? And what did he tell you?"

  "The factor at the Landing. 'Beware of Pierre Lapierre,' he said; andwhen I asked him who Pierre Lapierre was, and why I should beware ofhim, he shrugged his shoulders and would say nothing."

  Lapierre nodded. "Ah yes--the company men--the factors and tradershave no love for the free-trader. We cannot blame them. It istradition. For nearly two and one-half centuries the company has stoodfor power and authority in the outlands--and has reaped the profits ofthe wild places. Let us be generous. It is an old and respectableinstitution. It deals fairly enough with the Indians--by its ownmeasure of fairness, it is true--but fairly enough. With the company Ihave no quarrel.

  "But with MacNair--" he stopped abruptly and shrugged. The gleam ofhate that flashed in his eyes always at the mention of the name faded."But why speak of him--surely there are more pleasant subjects," hesmiled, "for instance your school--it interests me greatly."

  "Interests you! I thought it displeased you! Surely a look ofannoyance or suspicion leaped from your eyes when I mentioned mymission."

  The man laughed lightly. "Yes? And can you blame me--when I thoughtyou were in league with Brute MacNair? For, since his post wasestablished, no independent save myself has dared to encroach upon eventhe borders of his empire."

  Chloe Elliston flushed deeply. "And you thought I would league myselfwith a man like _that_?"

  "Only for a moment. Stop and think. All my life I have lived in theNorth, and, except for a few scattered priests and missionaries, no onehas pushed beyond the outposts for any purpose other than for gain.And the trader's gain is the Indian's loss--for, few deal fairly.Therefore, when I came upon your big outfit upon the very threshold ofMacNair's domain, I thought, of course, this was some new machinationof the brute. Even now I do not understand--the expense, and all. TheIndians cannot afford to pay for education."

  It was the girl's turn to laugh. A rippling, light-hearted laugh--thelaughter of courage and youth. The barrier that had suddenly loomedbetween herself and this man of the North vanished in a breath. He hadshown her her work, had pointed out to her a foeman worthy of hersteel. She darted a swift glance toward Lapierre who sat staring intothe fire. Would not this man prove an invaluable ally in her war ofdeliverance?

  "Do not trouble yourself about the expense," she smiled. "I havemoney--'oodles of it,' as we used to say in school--millions, if I needthem! And I'm going to fight this Brute MacNair until I drive him outof the North! And you? Will you help me to rid the country of thisscourge and free the people from his tyranny? Together we could workwonders. For your heart is with the Indians, as mine is."

  Again the girl glanced into the man's face and saw that the deep-setblack eyes fairly glittered with enthusiasm and eagerness--an eagernessand enthusiasm that a keener observer than Chloe Elliston might havenoticed, sprang into being suspiciously coincident with her mention ofthe millions. Lapierre did not answer at once, but deftly rolled acigarette. The end of the cigarette glowed brightly as he filled hislungs and blew a plume of grey smoke into the
air.

  "Allow me a little time to think. For this is a move of importance,and to be undertaken not lightly. It is no easy task you have setyourself. It is possible you will not win--highly probable, in fact,for----"

  "But I _shall_ win! I am _right_--and upon my winning depends thefuture of a people! Think it over until tomorrow, if you will, but--"She paused abruptly, and her soft, hazel eyes peered searchingly intothe depths of the restless black ones. "Your sympathies _are_ with theIndians, aren't they?"

  Lapierre tossed the half-smoked cigarette onto the ground. "Can youdoubt it?" The man's eyes were not gleaming now, and into their depthshad crept a look of ineffable sadness.

  "They are my people," he said softly. "Miss Elliston, _I am anIndian_!"