The Gun-Brand Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  BRUTE MACNAIR

  Estimates are formed, in a far greater measure than most of us care toadmit, upon first impressions. Manifestly shallow and embryonic thoughwe admit them to be, our first impressions crystallize, in nine casesout of ten, into our fixed or permanent opinions. And, after all, thereason for this absurdity is simple--egotism.

  Our opinions, based upon first impressions--and we rarely pause toanalyse first impressions--have become _our opinions_, the result, aswe fondly imagine, of our judgment. Our judgment must beright--because it is our judgment. Therefore, unconsciously orconsciously, every subsequent impression is bent to bolster up andsustain that judgment. We hate to be wrong. We hate to admit, even toourselves, that we are wrong.

  Strange, isn't it? How often we are right (permit the smile) in ourestimate of people?

  When Chloe Elliston turned to face MacNair among the stumps of thesunlit clearing, her opinion of the man had already been formed. Hewas Brute MacNair, one to be hated, despised. To be fought, conquered,and driven out of the North--for the good of the North. His influencewas a malignant ulcer--a cancerous plague-spot, whose evil tentacles,reaching hidden and unseen, would slowly but surely fasten themselvesupon the civilization of the North--sap its vitality--poison its blood.

  In the flash of her first glance the girl's eyes took in everyparticular and detail of him. She noted the huge frame, broad, yetlean with the gaunt leanness of health, and endurance, and physicalstrength. The sinew-corded, bronzed hands that clenched slowly as hisglance rested for a moment upon the face of Lapierre. Theweather-tanned neck that rose, columnlike, from the open shirt-throat.The well-poised head. The prominent, high-bridged nose. The lanternjaw, whose rugged outline was but half-concealed by the roughly trimmedbeard of inky blackness. And, the most dominant feature of all, thecompelling magnetism of the steel-grey eyes of him--eyes, deep-setbeneath heavy black brows that curved and met--eyes that stabbed, andbored, and probed, as if to penetrate to the ultimate motive. Hardeyes they were, whose directness of gaze spoke at once fearlessness andintolerance of opposition; spoke, also, of combat, rather thandiplomacy; of the honest smashing of foes, rather than dissimulation.

  Ail this the girl saw in the first moments of their meeting. She saw,too, that the eyes held a hostile gleam, and that she need expect fromtheir owner no sympathy--no deference of sex. If war were to bebetween them, it would be a man's war, waged upon man's terms, in aman's country. No quarter would be given--Chloe's lips pressedtight--nor would any be asked.

  The moments lengthened into an appreciable space of time and the manremained motionless, regarding her with that probing, searching stare.Lapierre he ignored after the first swift glance. Instinctively thegirl knew that the man had no intention of being deliberately orstudiously rude in standing thus in her presence with head covered, andeyeing her with those steel-grey, steel-hard eyes. Nevertheless, hisattitude angered her, the more because she knew he did not intend to.And in this she was right--MacNair stared because he was silentlytaking her measure, and his hat remained upon his head because he knewof no reason why it should not remain upon his head.

  Chloe was the first to speak, and in her voice was more than a trace ofannoyance.

  "Well, Mr. Mind-Reader, have you figured me out--why I am here, and----"

  "No." The word boomed deeply from the man's throat, smashing thequestion that was intended to carry the sting of sarcasm. "Except thatit is for no good--though you doubtless think it is for great good."

  "Indeed!" The girl laughed a trifle sharply. "And who, then, is thejudge?"

  "I am." The calm assurance of the man fanned her rising anger, and,when she answered, her voice was low and steady, with the tonelessnessof forced control.

  "And your name, you Oligarch of the Far Outland? May I presume to askyour name?"

  "Why ask? My name you already know. And upon the word of yon scum,you have judged. By the glint o' hate, as you looked into my eyes, Iknow--for one does not so welcome a stranger beyond the outposts. But,since you have asked, I will tell you; my name is MacNair--RobertMacNair, by my christening--Bob MacNair, in the speech of thecountry----"

  "And, _Brute_ MacNair, upon the Athabasca?"

  "Yes. Brute MacNair--upon the Athabasca--and the Slave, andMackenzie--and in the haunts of the whiskey-runners, and 'Fool'MacNair--in Winnipeg."

  "And among the oppressed and the down-trodden? Among those whoseheritage of freedom you have torn from them? What do they callyou--those whom you have forced into serfdom?" For a fleeting instantthe girl caught the faintest flicker, a tiny twinkle of amusement, inthe steely eyes. But, when the man answered, his eyes were steady.

  "_They_ call me friend."

  "Is their ignorance so abysmal?"

  "They have scant time to learn from books--my Indians. They work."

  "But, a year from now, when they have begun to learn, what will theycall you then--_your_ Indians?"

  "A year from now--two years---ten years--my Indians will callme--friend."

  Chloe was about to speak, but MacNair interrupted her. "I have scanttime for parley. I was starting for Mackay Lake, but when Old Elkreported two of yon scum's satellites hanging about, I dropped down theriver. By your words it's a school you will be building. If it were apost I would have to take you more seriously----"

  "There will be a--" Chloe felt the warning touch of Lapierre's fingerat her back and ceased abruptly. MacNair continued, as if unmindful ofthe interruption.

  "Build your school, by all means. 'Tis a spot well chosen by yondevil's spawn, and for his own ends. By your eyes you are honest inpurpose--a fool's purpose--and a hare-brained carrying out of it. Youare being used as a tool by Lapierre. You will not believe this--notyet. Later--perhaps, when it is too late--but, that is youraffair--not mine. At the proper time I will crush Lapierre, and if yougo down in the crash you will have yourself to thank. I have warnedyou. Yon snake has poisoned your mind against me. In your eyes I amforedamned--and well damned--which causes me no concern, and you, nodoubt, much satisfaction.

  "Build your school, but heed well my words. You'll not tamper, one wayor another, with my Indians. One hundred and seventy miles north ofhere, upon Snare Lake, is my post. My Indians pass up and down theYellow Knife. They are to pass unquestioned, unmolested, unproselyted.Confine your foolishness to the southward and I shall notinterfere--carry it northward, and you shall hear from me.

  "Should you find yourself in danger from your enemies--or, your_friends_"--he shot a swift glance toward Lapierre, who had remained apace behind the girl--"send for me. Good day."

  Chloe Elliston was furious. She had listened in a sort of dumb rage asthe man's words stung, and stung again. MacNair's uncouth manner, hisblunt brutality of speech, his scornful, even contemptuous reference toher work, and, most of all, his utter disregard of her, struck her tothe very depths. As MacNair turned to go, she stayed him with a voicetrembling with fury.

  "Do you imagine, for an instant, I would stoop to seek _your_protection? I would die first! You have had things your own way toolong, Mr. Brute MacNair! You think yourself secure, in your smugegotism. But the end is in sight. Your petty despotism is doomed.You have hoodwinked the authorities, bribed the police, connived withthe Hudson Bay Company, bullied and browbeaten the Indians, cheatedthem out of their birthright of land and liberty, and have forced theminto a peonage that has filled your pockets with gold."

  She paused in her vehement outburst and glared defiantly at MacNair, asif to challenge a denial. But the man remained silent, and Chloe felther face flush as the shadow of a twinkle played for a fleeting instantin the depths of the hard eyes. She fancied, even, that the lipsbehind the black beard smiled--ever so slightly,

  "Oh, you needn't laugh! You think because I'm a woman you will be ableto do as you please with me----"

  "I did not laugh," answered the man gravely. "Why should I laugh? Youtake yourself seriously. You
believe, even, that the things you havejust spoken are true. They _must_ be true. Has not Pierre Lapierre_told_ you they are true? And, why should the fact that you are awoman cause me to believe I could influence you? If an issue is atstake, as you believe, what has sex to do with it? I have known nowomen, except the squaws and the _kloochmen_ of the natives.

  "You said, 'you think, because I am a woman, you will be able to do asyou please with me.' Are women, then, less honest than men? I do notbelieve that. In my life I have known no women, but I have read ofthem in books. I have not been to any school, but was taught by myfather, who, I think, was a very wise man. I learned from him, andfrom the books, of which he left a great number. I have alwaysbelieved women to be uncommonly like men--very good, or very bad, orvery commonplace because they were afraid to be either. But, I havenot read that they are less honest than men."

  "Thank you! Being a woman, I suppose I should consider myselfflattered. A year from this time you will know more about women---atleast, about _me_. You will have learned that I will not behoodwinked. I cannot be bribed. Nor can my silence, or acquiescencein your villainy be bought. I will not connive with you. And youcannot browbeat, nor bully, nor cheat me."

  "Yes?"

  "Yes. And of one thing I am glad. I shall expect no consideration atyour hands because I am a woman. You will fight me as you would fighta man."

  "Fight you? Why should I fight you? I have no quarrel with you. Ifyou choose to build a school here, or even a trading-post, I have nodisposition--no right to gainsay you. You will soon tire of yourexperiment, and no harm will be done--the North will be unchanged. Youare nothing to me. I care nothing for your opinion of me--consideringits source, I am surprised it is not even worse."

  "Impossible! And do not think that I have not had corroborativeevidence. Ocular evidence of your brutal treatment of Mr.Lapierre--and did I not see with my own eyes the destruction of yourwhiskey?"

  "What nonsense are you speaking now? My whiskey! Woman--never yethave I owned any whiskey."

  Chloe sneered--"And the Indians--do they not hate you?"

  "Yes, those Indians do--and well they may. Most of them have crossedmy path at some time or other. And most of them will cross itagain--at Lapierre's instigation. Some of them I shall have to kill."

  "You speak lightly of murder."

  "Murder?"

  "Yes, murder! The murder of poor, ignorant savages. It is an uglyword, isn't it? But why dissimulate? At least, we can call a spade aspade. These men are human beings. Their right to life and happinessis as good as yours or mine, and their souls are as----"

  "Black as hell! Woman, from LeFroy down, you have collected about youas pretty a gang of cut-throats and outlaws as could have been found inall the North. Lapierre has seen to that. I do not envy you yourschool. But as long as you can be turned to their profit your personalsafety will be assured. They are too cunning, by far, to kill thegoose that lays the golden egg."

  "What a pretty speech! Your polish--your _savoir vivre_, does youcredit, I am sure."

  "I do not understand what you are saying, but----"

  "There are many things you do not understand now that perhaps you willlater. For instance, in the matter of the Indians--_your_ Indians, Ibelieve you call them--you have warned, or commanded, possibly, wouldbe the better word----"

  "Yes," interrupted the man, "that is the better word----"

  "Have commanded me not to--what was it you said--molest, question, orproselyte them."

  MacNair nodded. "I said that."

  "And I say _this_!" flashed the girl. "I shall use every means in mypower to induce your Indians to attend my school. I shall teach themthat they are free. That they owe allegiance and servitude to no man.That the land they inhabit is their land. That they are their ownmasters. I shall offer them education, that they may be able tocompete on equal terms with the white men when this land ceases to liebeyond the outposts. I shall show them that they are being robbed andcheated and forced into ignominious serfdom. And mark you this: if Ican't reach them upon the river, I shall go to your village, or post,or fort, or whatever you call your Snare Lake rendezvous, and I shallpoint out to them their wrongs. I shall appeal to their betternatures--to their manhood, and womanhood. That's what I think of yourcommand! I do not fear you! I _despise_ you!"

  MacNair nodded, gravely.

  "I have already learned that women are as honest as men--more so, even,than most men. You are honest, and you are earnest. You believe inyourself, too. But you are more of a fool than I thought--more of afool than I thought any one could be. Lapierre is a great fool--but heis neither honest nor earnest. He is just a fool--a wise fool, withthe cunning and vices of the wolf, but with none of the wolf's leanvirtues. You are an honest fool. You are like a young moose-calf,who, because he happens to be born into the world, thinks the world wasmade for him to be born into.

  "Let us say the moose-calf was born upon a great mountain--a mountainwhose sides are crossed and recrossed by moose-trails--paths that windin and out among the trees, stamped by the hoofs of older and wisermoose. Upon these paths the moose-calf tries his wobbly legs, and oneday finds himself gazing out upon a plain where grass is. He has nouse for grass--does not even know what grass is for. Only he sees nopaths out there. The grass covers a quagmire, but of quagmires themoose-calf knows nothing, having been born upon a mountain.

  "Being a fool, the moose-calf soon tires of the beaten paths. Heventures downward toward the plain. A wolf, skulking through the scrubat the foot of the mountain, encounters, by chance, the moose-calf.The calf is fat. But, the wolf is cunning. He dares not harm themoose-calf hard by the trails of the mountain. He becomes friendly,and the fool moose-calf tells the wolf where he is bound. The wolfoffers to accompany him, and the moose-calf is glad--here is afriend--one who is wiser than the moose-kind, for he fears not toventure into the country of no trails.

  "Between the mountain and the plain stands a tree. This tree the wolfhates. Many squirrels work about its roots, and these squirrels arefatter than the squirrels of the scrub, for the tree feeds them. But,when the wolf would pounce upon them, they seek safety in the tree.The moose-calf--the poor fool moose-calf--comes to this tree, and,finding no paths curving around its base, becomes enraged because thetree does not step aside and yield the right of way. He will chargethe tree! He does not know that the tree has been growing for manyyears, and has become deeply rooted--immovable. The wolf looks on andsmiles. If the moose-calf butts the tree down, the wolf will get thesquirrels--and the calf. If the calf does not, the wolf will get thecalf."

  MacNair ceased speaking and turned abruptly toward the river.

  "My!" Chloe Elliston exclaimed. "Really, you are delightful, Mr. BruteMacNair. During the half-hour or more of our acquaintance you havecalled me, among other things, a fool, a goose, and a moose-calf. Irepeat that you are delightful, and honest, shall I say? No;candid--for I know that you are not honest. But do tell me the rest ofthe story. Don't leave it like The Lady or the Tiger. How will itend? Are you a prophet, or merely an allegorist?"

  MacNair, who was again facing her, answered without a smile. "I do notknow about the lady or the tiger, nor of what happened to either. Ifthey were pitted against each other, my bet would be laid on the tiger,though my sympathy might be with the lady. I am not a prophet. Icannot tell you the end of the story. Maybe the fool moose-calf willbutt its brains out against the trunk of the tree. That would be nofault of the tree. The tree was there first, and was minding its ownbusiness. Maybe the calf will butt and get hurt, and scamper for home.Maybe it will succeed in eluding the fangs of the wolf, and reach itsmountain in safety. In such case it will have learned something.

  "Maybe it will butt and butt against the tree until it dislodges a limbfrom high among the branches, and the limb will fall to the ground andcrush, shall we say--the waiting wolf? And, maybe the calf will butt,learn that the tree is immovable, swallo
w its hurt, and pass on, givingthe tree a wide berth--pass on into the quagmire, with the wolf lickinghis chops, as grinning, he points out the way."

  Chloe, in spite of herself, was intensely interested.

  "But," she asked, "you are quite sure the tree is immovable?"

  "Quite sure."

  "Suppose, however, that this particular tree is rotten--rotten to theheart? That the very roots that hold it in place are rotten? And thatthe moose-calf butts 'til he butts it down--what then?"

  There was a gleam of admiration in MacNair's eyes as he answered:

  "If the tree is rotten it will fall. But it will fall to the mightypush o' the winds o' God--and not to the puny butt of a moose-calf!"Chloe Elliston was silent. The man was speaking again. "Good day toyou, madam, or miss, or whatever one respectfully calls a woman. As Itold you, I have known no women. I have lived always in the North.Death robbed me of my mother before I was old enough to remember her.The North, you see, is hard and relentless, even with those who knowher--and love her."

  The girl felt a sudden surge of sympathy for this strange, outspokenman of the Northland. She knew that the man had spoken, with nothought of arousing sympathy, of the dead mother he had never known.And in his voice was a note, not merely of deep regret, but of sadness.

  "I am sorry," she managed to murmur.

  "What?"

  "About your mother, I mean."

  The man nodded. "Yes. She was a good woman. My father told me of heroften. He loved her."

  The simplicity of the man puzzled Chloe. She was at a loss to reply.

  "I think--I believe--a moment ago, you asked my name."

  "No."

  "Oh!" The lines about the girl's mouth tightened. "Then I'll tellyou. I am Chloe Elliston--_Miss_ Chloe Elliston. The name meansnothing to you--now. A year hence it will mean much."

  "Aye, maybe. I'll not say it won't. More like, though, it will beforgot in half the time. The North has scant use for the passing whimso' women!"