The Promise Page 38

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  IN THE OFFICE

  The setting sun shone weak and coppery above the pines as the bigfour-horse tote-team dashed with a flourish into the wide clearing ofthe new camp on upper Blood River. The men had not yet "knocked off,"and from the impenetrable depths of the forest came the ring of axesand the roar of crashing trees.

  In the little blacksmith-shop a grimy-faced, leather-aproned man bentover a piece of glowing iron which he held in long tongs, and the redsparks radiated in showers as the hammer thumped dully on the softmetal--thumps sharply punctuated by the clean ring of steel as thepolished face of the tool bounced merrily upon the chilled surface ofthe anvil.

  The feel of snow was in the air and over by the cook-shack men werehauling fire-wood on a pole-drag. The team brought up sharply beforethe door of the office which was located at one end of a long, lowbuilding of logs, the two other rooms of which contained stoves,chairs, and a few rough deal-tables.

  Appleton leaped from the wagon and swung the ladies lightly to theground, while the teamster and Blood River Jack, assisted by Charlie,proceeded to unload the outfit. The lumberman pushed open the door ofthe office and glanced within. It was empty. He called one of the menfrom the cook-shack and bade him build a fire in the little air-tight.

  "Well, H. D., your man ain't an office foreman, anyhow," grinnedSheridan, with a nod of approval toward the cold stove.

  Sheridan was a bluff man with a bristling red mustache--the kind thatinvariably chew upon their cigars as they talk.

  Appleton turned to the ladies.

  "Make yourselves at home," he said as the fire roared up thestove-pipe. "Ross and I will look over the works a bit. Where is theboss?" he asked of the man who was returning to the wood-pile.

  "Out in the cuttin' somewheres; er me'be over to the rollways," repliedthe man, laughing. "Big Bill he's out among 'em _all_ the time."

  "By Glory! H. D., we've all got to hand it to you when it comes topicking out men. I'd like to catch one of _my_ foremen out on the workssome time--I wouldn't know whether to fire him or double his wages!"

  Sheridan mouthed his cigar, and the two turned into a skidway.

  Appleton smiled. He raised a finger and touched his eyelid.

  "It's the eye," he said. "Look in a man's eye, Ross. I don't give adamn what a man's record is--what he's done or what he hasn't done. Letme get a good look into his eye when he talks and in half a minute I'llknow whether to hire him or pass him on to you fellows. Here he comesnow."

  Bill took keen delight in showing the two lumbermen about the camp.

  "What's the idea of the ell on the bunk-house?" asked Appleton.

  "Teamster's bunk-house," replied the foreman. "You see, I know how itfeels to be waked up at four in the morning by the teamsters piling outof their bunks; so I built a separate bunk-house for them. The men worktoo hard to have their sleep broken into that way. And another thing--Ibuilt a couple of big rooms onto the office where the men can playcards and smoke in the evening. I ordered a phonograph, too. I expectit in on the tote-wagon."

  Sheridan grinned skeptically and spat out part of his cigar. Appletonmade no comment.

  "Come over to the office, Bill," he said. "I want you to meet theladies--my wife and niece and Mrs. Sheridan."

  "I am afraid I am not very presentable," replied Bill dubiously as theycrossed the clearing in the lengthening shadows; but he went with themwithout hesitation.

  They were met at the door by a plump-faced lady of ample proportionswho was evidently fighting a losing battle with a tendency toward_embonpoint_; and a slight, gray-haired one who stood poised upon thesplit puncheon that served as a door-step.

  "Ladies, this is Bill, the foreman of this camp. Mrs. Sheridan, Bill,and my wife."

  The ladies bowed formally, and secretly approved of the grace withwhich the foreman removed his cap and returned their salute.Nevertheless, there was an icy note in Mrs. Appleton's voice as shesaid:

  "My niece begs to be excused. She is very tired after her rather hardtrip." If Bill noticed the frigidity in the tone he gave no sign.

  "I imagine it has been a very trying trip for you all. However, I willoffer you the best accommodations the camp affords. If you will kindlychoose which of those two rooms you prefer I will have your belongingsmoved in at once."

  "I suppose you brought cots," he added, turning to Appleton.

  "Yes, everything necessary for a tenderfoot outfit."

  "When the ladies have selected their room I will have your gear movedinto the other," said Bill; and, with a bow to the ladies, moved off inthe direction of the cook-shack.

  Alone in the office, Ethel Manton gazed about upon the meagerfurnishings; a desk, the little air-tight stove with its huge wood-box;three wooden chairs, a trunk secured by a padlock, and a bunk neatlylaid with heavy blankets.

  Several pairs of boots, moccasins, and heavy mittens were ranged alongthe floor next to the wall, while from pegs above them hung a fadedmackinaw, a slicker, and several pairs of corduroy trousers.

  Tacked to the wall above the desk was a large, highly colored calendar,while upon the opposite wall hung a rifle and a belt of yellowcartridges. Her woman's eye took in the scrupulous neatness of the roomand the orderly disposition of the various articles.

  For the first time in her life she was in a man's room, and she felt akeen thrill of interest in her surroundings. Upon the top of the deskbeside the little bracket-lamp was a short row of books.

  "It is too bad," she muttered, "that he couldn't have been _nice_. HowI would have enjoyed talking with him and telling him how splendid itis that he is _making good_!

  "Maybe somewhere a girl is wondering where he is--and waiting day afterday for word from him--and worrying her very heart out. Oh, I hope shewill never know about this Jeanne--ugh! An Indian--and Uncle Appletonsaid he is a _gentleman_!"

  She paused before the desk and idly read the titles of the books; therewere a logger's manual, a few text-books on surveying and timberestimating, several of the latest novels, apparently unread and awell-thumbed copy of Browning.

  "Browning! Of all things--in a log camp! Now I know there is agirl--poor thing!" Open, face downward upon the surface of the deskwhere it had been pushed aside to make room for a rough sketch of thecamp with its outreaching skidways and cross-hauls, lay a small volume.

  "And Southey!" she exclaimed under her breath, and picked up the book.It was "Madoc," and three lines, heavily underscored, stood boldly outupon the page:

  "Three things a wise man will not trust, The wind, the sunshine of an April day, And woman's plighted faith."

  Over and over she read the lines, and, returning the book to its place,pondered, as she allowed her glance to rove again over the little roomwhose every detail bespoke intense masculinity.

  "I might at least be nice to him," she murmured. "Maybe the girl _was_horrid. And he is 'way up here, trying to forget!" Unconsciously sherepeated the words of her Uncle Appleton: "He _has_ made good."

  And then there flashed through her mind the words of the guide: "She isbeautiful, and she loves him. She accompanied him for three days andthree nights on the trail to the land of the white man, and he promisedthat he would come again into the woods and protect her from harm."

  "This Indian girl," she whispered--"she loves him, and he persuaded herto accompany him, and when they drew near to civilization he sent herback--with a promise!"

  Her lips thinned and the hot blood mounted to her cheeks. No matterwhat conditions sent this man into the woods, there could be nojustification for _that_. She shuddered as she drew her skirts awaywhere they brushed lightly against the blankets of his bunk, and turnedtoward the door.

  And just at that moment the door opened, and in the gathering darknessa man stood framed in the doorway. She drew back, startled, and withthe swiftness of light her glance swept him from the top of his cap tothe soles of his heavy boots.

  He was a large man whose features were concealed by a thick beard
. Hisfringed and beautifully embroidered shirt of buckskin was open at thethroat, as if to allow free play to the mighty muscles of hiswell-formed neck.

  Only a few seconds he stood thus, and with a swift movement removed thecap from his head.

  "You will pardon me," he said, and his eyes sought hers; "I did notknow any one was here."

  At the first sound of his voice the girl started. One quick step, andshe stood before him, staring into his eyes. She felt her flesh growcold, and her heart seemed gripped between the jaws of a mighty vise.

  "_You!_" she gasped, and swayed unsteadily as her hand sought herthroat. Her voice came dry and hard and choking as she repeated theword: "_You!_" And in that moment the man saw her face in the deepeninggloom of the room.

  "_Ethel!_" he cried, springing toward her with outstretched arms. Then,when she was almost within their grasp, the arms dropped, for the girlshrank from his touch and her eyes blazed.

  Thus for a moment they stood facing each other, the girl--white,tense--with blazing eyes, and the big man, who fought for control ofhimself. Finally he spoke, and his voice was steady and very low.

  "Forgive me, Ethel," he said. "For the moment I forgot that I have notthe right--that there is another----"

  With a low, moaning cry the girl covered her face with her hands. Evensince she faced him there the thought had flashed through her brainthat there might be some mistake--that the man might even yet be as heappeared to be--big and brave and _clean_.

  But now--from his own lips she had heard it--"there is another"--andthat other--an _Indian_!

  A convulsive shudder shook her whole body, the room seemed to reel; shepressed her hands more tightly to her eyes, as if to shut out the sightof him, and the next instant all was dark, and she pitched heavilyforward into the arms of the man.

  For one brief moment he held her, straining her limp body to his. Thehands relaxed and fell away from her pallid face, and the bearded lipsbent close above the soft lips of the unconscious girl--but _only_ fora moment.

  Without touching the lips, the man straightened up and, crossing to thebunk, laid the still form upon the blankets. With never a backwardglance, he passed out through the door.

  It was dark in the clearing, and a couple of steps brought him face toface with Appleton, who was coming to tell his niece that the ladies'quarters were ready.

  The foreman paused and looked squarely into the face of his employer.He slowly raised an arm and pointed to the open door of the office.

  "Miss Manton," he said, "has fainted." And without waiting for a reply,passed on into the night.