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<h2> CHAPTER III </h2>
<p>From the little old cabin of dead Indian Tom, built in a grassy glade
close to the shore of Sucker Creek, came the sound of a man's laughter. In
this late afternoon the last flooding gold of the sun filled the open door
of the poplar shack. The man's laughter, like the sun on the mottled
tapestry of the poplar-wood, was a heart-lightening thing there on the
edge of the great swamp that swept back for miles to the north and west.
It was the sort of laughter one seldom hears from a man, not riotous of
over-bold, but a big, clean laughter that came from the soul out. It was
an infectious thing. It drove the gloom out of the blackest night. It
dispelled fear, and if ever there were devils lurking in the edge of old
Indian Tom's swamp they slunk away at the sound of it. And more than once,
as those who lived in tepee and cabin and far-away shack could testify,
that laugh had driven back death itself.</p>
<p>In the shack, this last day of May afternoon, stood leaning over a rough
table the man of the laugh—Roger McKay, known as Jolly Roger, outlaw
extraordinary, and sought by the men of every Royal Northwest Mounted
Police patrol north of the Height of Land.</p>
<p>It was incongruous and inconceivable to think of him as an outlaw, as he
stood there in the last glow of the sun—an outlaw with the weirdest
and strangest record in all the northland hung up against his name. He was
not tall, and neither was he short, and he was as plump as an apple and as
rosy as its ripest side. There was something cherubic in the smoothness
and the fullness of his face, the clear gray of his eyes, the fine-spun
blond of his short-cropped hair, and the plumpness of his hands and
half-bared arms. He was a priestly, well-fed looking man, was this Jolly
Roger, rotund and convivial in all his proportions, and some in great
error would have called him fat. But it was a strange kind of fatness, as
many a man on the trail could swear to. And as for sin, or one sign of
outlawry, it could not be found in any mark upon him—unless one
closed his eyes to all else and guessed it by the belt and revolver
holster which he wore about his rotund waist. In every other respect Jolly
Roger appeared to be not only a harmless creature, but one especially
designed by the Creator of things to spread cheer and good-will wherever
he went. His age, if he had seen fit to disclose it, was thirty-four.</p>
<p>There seemed, at first, to be nothing that even a contented man might
laugh at in the cabin, and even less to bring merriment from one on whose
head a price was set—unless it was the delicious aroma of a supper
just about ready to be served. On a little stove in the farthest corner of
the shack the breasts of two spruce partridges were turning golden brown
in a skittle, and from the broken neck of a coffee pot a rich perfume was
rising with the steam. Piping hot in the open oven half a dozen baked
potatoes were waiting in their crisp brown jackets.</p>
<p>From the table Jolly Roger turned, rubbing his hands and chuckling as he
went for a third time to a low shelf built against the cabin wall. There
he carefully raised a mass of old papers from a box, and at the movement
there came a protesting squeak, and a little brown mouse popped up to the
edge of it and peered at him with a pair of bright little questioning
eyes.</p>
<p>"You little devil!" he exulted. "You nervy little devil!"</p>
<p>He raised the papers higher, and again looked upon his discovery of half
an hour ago. In a soft nest lay four tiny mice, still naked and blind, and
as he lowered the mass of papers the mother burrowed back to them, and he
could hear her squeaking and chirruping to the little ones, as if she was
trying to tell them not to be afraid of this man, for she knew him very
well, and it wasn't in his mind to hurt them. And Jolly Roger, as he
returned to the setting of his table, laughed again—and the laugh
rolled out into the golden sunset, and from the top of a spruce at the
edge of the creek a big blue-jay answered it in a riotous challenge.</p>
<p>But at the bottom of that laugh, if one could have looked a bit deeper,
was something more than the naked little mice in the nest of torn-up
paper. Today happiness had strangely come this gay-hearted freebooter's
way, and he might have reached out, and seized it, and have kept it for
his own. But in the hour of his opportunity he had refused it—because
he was an outlaw—because strong within him was a peculiar code of
honor all his own. There was nothing of man-made religion in the soul of
Roger McKay. Nature was his god; its manifestations, its life, and the air
it gave him to breathe were the pages which made up the Book that guided
him. And within the last hour, since the sun had begun to drop behind the
tips of the tallest trees, these things had told him that he was a fool
for turning away from the one great thing in all life—simply because
his own humors of existence had made him an outcast and hunted by the laws
of men. So the change had come, and for a space his soul was filled with
the thrill of song and laughter.</p>
<p>Half an hour ago he believed that he had definitely made up his mind. He
had forced himself into forgetfulness of laws he had broken, and the
scarlet-coated men who were ever on the watch for his trail. They would
never seek him here, in the wilderness country close to the edge of
civilization, and time, he had told himself in that moment of optimism,
would blot out both his identity and his danger. Tomorrow he would go over
to Cragg's Ridge again, and then—</p>
<p>His mind was crowded with a vision of blue eyes, of brown curls glowing in
the pale sun, of a wistful, wide-eyed little face turned up to him, and
red lips that said falteringly, "I don't think it's wrong for you to kiss
me—if you want to, Mister Jolly Roger!"</p>
<p>Boldly he had talked about it to the bright-eyed little mother-mouse who
peered at him now and then over the edge of her box.</p>
<p>"You're a little devil of iniquity yourself," he told her. "You're a
regular Mrs. Captain Kidd, and you've eaten my cheese, and chawed my
snowshoe laces, and robbed me of a sock to make your nest. I ought to
catch you in a trap, or blow your head off. But I don't. I let you live—and
have a fam'ly. And it's you who have given me the Big Idea, Mrs. Captain
Kidd. You sure have! You've told me I've got a right to have a nest of my
own, and I'm going to have it—an' in that nest is going to be the
sweetest, prettiest little angel that God Almighty ever forgot to make
into a flower! Yessir. And if the law comes—"</p>
<p>And then, suddenly, the vision clouded, and there came into Jolly Roger's
face the look of a man who knew—when he stood the truth out naked—that
he was facing a world with his back to the wall.</p>
<p>And now, as the sun went down, and his supper waited—that cloud
which came to blot out his picture grew deeper and more sinister, and the
chill of it entered his heart. He turned from his table to the open door,
and his fingers drew themselves slowly into clenched fists, and he looked
out quietly and steadily into his world. The darkening depths of the
forest reached out before his eyes, mottled and painted in the fading
glory of the sun. It was his world, his everything—father, mother,
God. In it he was born, and in it he knew that some day he would die. He
loved it, understood it, and night and day, in sunshine and storm, its
mighty spirit was the spirit that kept him company. But it held no message
for him now. And his ears scarcely heard the raucous scolding of the
blue-jay in the fire-tipped crest of the tall black spruce.</p>
<p>And then that something which was bigger than desire came up within him,
and forced itself in words between his grimly set lips.</p>
<p>"She's only a—a kid," he said, a fierce, low note of defiance in his
voice. "And I—I'm a damned pirate, and there's jails waiting for me,
and they'll get me sooner or later, sure as God lets me live!"</p>
<p>He turned from the sun to his shadowing cabin, and for a moment a ghost of
a smile played in his face as he heard the little mother-mouse rustling
among her papers.</p>
<p>"We can't do it," he said. "We simply can't do it, Mrs. Captain Kidd.
She's had hell enough without me taking her into another. And it'd be
that, sooner or later. It sure would, Mrs. Captain Kidd. But I'm glad,
mighty glad, to think she'd let me kiss her—if I wanted to. Think of
that, Mrs. Captain Kidd!—if I wanted to. Oh, Lord!"</p>
<p>And the humor of it crept in alongside the tragedy in Jolly Roger's heart,
and he chuckled as he bent over his partridge breasts.</p>
<p>"If I wanted to," he repeated. "Why, if I had a life to give, I'd give it—to
kiss her just once! But, as it happens, Mrs. Captain Kidd—"</p>
<p>Jolly Roger's breath cut itself suddenly short, and for an instant he grew
tense as he bent over the stove. His philosophy had taught him one thing
above all others, that he was a survival of the fittest—only so long
as he survived. And he was always guarding against the end. His brain was
keen, his ears quick, and every fibre in him trained to its duty of
watchfulness. And he knew, without turning his head, that someone was
standing in the doorway behind him. There had come a faint noise, a
shadowing of the fading sun-glow on the wall, the electrical disturbance
of another presence, gazing at him quietly, without motion, and without
sound. After that first telegraphic shock of warning he stabbed his fork
into a partridge breast, flopped it over, chuckled loudly—and then
with a lightning movement was facing the door, his forty-four Colt leveled
waist-high at the intruder.</p>
<p>Almost in the same movement his gun-arm dropped limply to his side.</p>
<p>"Well, I'll be—"</p>
<p>He stared. And the face in the doorway stared back at him.</p>
<p>"Nada!" he gasped. "Good Lord, I thought—I thought—" He
swallowed as he tried to lie. "I thought—it might be a bear!"</p>
<p>He did not, at first, see that the slim, calico-dressed little figure of
Jed Hawkins' foster-girl was almost dripping wet. Her blue eyes were
shining at him, wide and startled. Her cheeks were flushed. A strange look
had frozen on her parted red lips, and her hair was falling loose in a
cloud of curling brown tresses about her shoulders. Jolly Roger, dreaming
of her in his insane happiness of a few minutes ago, sensed nothing beyond
the beauty and the unexpectedness of her in this first moment. Then—swiftly—he
saw the other thing. The last glow of the sun glistened in her wet hair,
her dress was sodden and clinging, and little pools of water were widening
slowly about her ragged shoes. These things he might have expected, for
she had to cross the creek. But it was the look in her eyes that startled
him, as she stood there with Peter, the mongrel pup, clasped tightly in
her arms.</p>
<p>"Nada, what's happened?" he asked, laying his gun on the table. "You fell
in the creek—"</p>
<p>"It—it's Peter," she cried, with a sobbing break in her voice. "We
come on Jed Hawkins when he was diggin' up some of his whiskey, and he was
mad, and pulled my hair, and Peter bit him—and then he picked up
Peter and threw him against a rock—and he's terribly hurt! Oh,
Mister Jolly Roger—"</p>
<p>She held out the pup to him, and Peter whimpered as Jolly Roger took his
wiry little face between his hands, and then lifted him gently. The girl
was sobbing, with passionate little catches in her breath, but there were
no tears in her eyes as they turned for an instant from Peter to the gun
on the table.</p>
<p>"If I'd had that," she cried, "I'd hev killed him!"</p>
<p>Jolly Roger's face was coldly gray as he knelt down on the floor and bent
over Peter.</p>
<p>"He—pulled your hair, you say?"</p>
<p>"I—forgot," she whispered, close at his shoulder. "I wasn't goin' to
tell you that. But it didn't hurt. It was Peter—"</p>
<p>He felt the damp caress of her curls upon his neck as she bent over him.</p>
<p>"Please tell me, Mister Jolly Roger—is he hurt—bad?"</p>
<p>With the tenderness of a woman Jolly Roger worked his fingers over Peter's
scrawny little body. And Peter, whimpering softly, felt the infinite
consolation of their touch. He was no longer afraid of Jed Hawkins, or of
pain, or of death. The soul of a dog is simple in its measurement of
blessings, and to Peter it was a great happiness to lie here, broken and
in pain, with the face of his beloved mistress over him and Jolly Roger's
hands working to mend his hurt. He whimpered when Jolly Roger found the
broken place, and he cried out like a little child when there came the
sudden quick snapping of a bone—but even then he turned his head so
that he could thrust out his hot tongue against the back of his
man-friend's hand. And Jolly Roger, as he worked, was giving instructions
to the girl, who was quick as a bird to bring him cloth which she tore
into bandages, so that at the end of ten minutes Peter's right hind leg
was trussed up so tightly that it was as stiff and as useless as a piece
of wood.</p>
<p>"His hip was dislocated and his leg-bone broken," said Jolly Roger when he
had finished. "He is all right now, and inside of three weeks will be on
his feet again."</p>
<p>He lifted Peter gently, and made him a nest among the blankets in his
bunk. And then, still with that strange, gray look in his face, he turned
to Nada.</p>
<p>She was standing partly facing the door, her eyes straight on him. And
Jolly Roger saw in them that wonderful something which had given his
storm-beaten soul a glimpse of paradise earlier that day. They were blue,
so blue that he had never seen violets like them—and he knew that in
her heart there was no guile behind which she could hide the secret they
were betraying. A yearning such as had never before come into his life
urged him to open his arms to her, and he knew that she would have come
into them; but a still mightier will held them tense and throbbing at his
side. Her cheeks were aflame as she looked at him, and he told himself
that God could not have made a lovelier thing, as she stood there in her
worn dress and her ragged shoes, with that light of glory in her face, and
her damp hair waving and curling about her in the last light of the day.</p>
<p>"I knew you'd fix him, Mister-Roger," she whispered, a great pride and
faith and worship in the low thrill of her voice. "I knew it!"</p>
<p>Something choked Jolly Roger, and he turned to the stove and began
spearing the crisp brown potatoes on the end of a fork. And he said, with
his back toward her,</p>
<p>"You came just in time for supper, Nada. We'll eat—and then I'll go
home with you, as far as the Ridge."</p>
<p>Peter watched them. His pain was gone, and it was nice and comfortable in
Jolly Roger's blanket, and with his whiskered face on his fore-paws his
bright eyes followed every movement of these two who so completely made up
his world. He heard that sweet little laugh which came only now and then
from Nada's lips, when for a moment she was happy; he saw her shake out
her hair in the glow of the lamp which Jolly Roger lighted, and he
observed Jolly Roger standing at the stove—looking at her as she did
it—a worship in his face which changed the instant her eyes turned
toward him. In Peter's active little brain this gave birth to nothing of
definite understanding, except that in it all he sensed happiness, for—somehow—there
was always that feeling when they were with Jolly Roger, no matter whether
the sun was shining or the day was dark and filled with gloom. Many times
in his short life he had seen grief and tears in Nada's face, and had seen
her cringe and hide herself at the vile cursing and witch-like voice of
the man and woman back in the other cabin. But there was nothing like that
in Jolly Roger's company. He had two eyes, and he was not always cursing,
and he did not pull Nada's hair—and Peter loved him from the bottom
of his soul. And he knew that his mistress loved him, for she had told him
so, and there was always a different look in her eyes when she was with
Jolly Roger, and it was only then that she laughed in that glad little way—as
she was laughing now.</p>
<p>Jolly Roger was seated at the table, and Nada stood behind him, her face
flushed joyously at the wonderful privilege of pouring his coffee. And
then she sat down, and Jolly Roger gave her the nicest of the partridge
breasts, and tried hard to keep his eyes calm and quiet as he looked at
the adorable sweetness of her across the table from him. To Nada there was
nothing of shame in what lay behind the happiness in the violet radiance
of her eyes. Jolly Roger had brought to her the only happiness that had
ever come into her life. Next to her God, which Jed Hawkins and his
witch-woman had not destroyed within her, she thought of this stranger who
for three months had been hiding in Indian Tom's cabin. And, like Peter,
she loved him. The innocence of it lay naked in her eyes.</p>
<p>"Nada," said Jolly Roger. "You're seventeen—"</p>
<p>"Goin' on eighteen," she corrected quickly. "I was seventeen two weeks
ago!"</p>
<p>The quick, undefined little note of eagerness in her voice made his heart
thump. He nodded, and smiled.</p>
<p>"Yes, going on eighteen," he said. "And pretty soon some young fellow will
come along, and see you, and marry you—"</p>
<p>"O-o-o-h-h-h!"</p>
<p>It was a little, strange cry that came to her lips, and Jolly Roger saw a
quick throbbing in her bare throat, and her eyes were so wide-open and
startled as she looked at him that he felt, for a moment, as if the
resolution in his soul was giving way.</p>
<p>"Where are you goin', Mister Roger?"</p>
<p>"Me? Oh, I'm not going anywhere—not for a time, at least. But you—you'll
surely be going away with some one—some day."</p>
<p>"I won't," she denied hotly. "I hate men! I hate all but you, Mister Jolly
Roger. And if you go away—"</p>
<p>"Yes, if I go away—</p>
<p>"I'll kill Jed Hawkins!"</p>
<p>Involuntarily she reached out a slim hand to the big gun on the corner of
the table.</p>
<p>"I'll kill 'im, if you go away," she threatened again, "He's broken his
wife, and crippled her, and if it wasn't for her I'd have gone long ago.
But I've promised, and I'm goin' to stay—until something happens.
And if you go—now—"</p>
<p>At the choking throb in her throat and the sudden quiver that came to her
lips, Jolly Roger jumped up for the coffee pot, though his cup was still
half full.</p>
<p>"I won't go, Nada," he cried, trying to laugh. "I promise—cross my
heart and hope to die! I won't go—until you tell me I can."</p>
<p>And then, feeling that something had almost gone wrong for a moment, Peter
yipped from his nest in the bunk, and the gladness in Nada's eyes thanked
Jolly Roger for his promise when he came back with the coffee pot.
Standing behind her, he made pretense of refilling her cup, though she had
scarcely touched it, and all the time his eyes were looking at her
beautiful head, and he saw again the dampness in her hair.</p>
<p>"What happened in the creek, Nada?" he asked.</p>
<p>She told him, and at the mention of his name Peter drew his bristling
little head erect, and waited expectantly. He could see Jolly Roger's
face, now staring and a bit shocked, and then with a quick smile flashing
over it; and when Nada had finished, Jolly Roger leaned a little toward
her in the lampglow, and said,</p>
<p>"You've got to promise me something, Nada. If Jed Hawkins ever hits you
again, or pulls your hair, or even threatens to do it—will you tell
me?" Nada hesitated.</p>
<p>"If you don't—I'll take back my promise, and won't stay," he added.</p>
<p>"Then—I'll promise," she said. "If he does it, I'll tell you. But I
ain't—I mean I am not afraid, except for Peter. Jed Hawkins will
sure kill him if I take him back, Mister Roger. Will you keep him here?
And—o-o-o-h!—if I could only stay, too—"</p>
<p>The words came from her in a frightened breath, and in an instant a flood
of color rushed like fire into her cheeks. But Jolly Roger turned again to
the stove, and made as if he had not seen the blush or heard her last
words, so that the shame of her embarrassment was gone as quickly as it
had come.</p>
<p>"Yes, I'll keep Peter," he said over his shoulder. And in his heart
another voice which she could not hear, was crying, "And I'd give my life
if I could keep you!"</p>
<p>Devouring his bits of partridge breast, Peter watched Jolly Roger and Nada
out of the corner of his eye as they left the cabin half an hour later. It
was dark when they went, and Jolly Roger closed only the mosquito-screen,
leaving the door wide open, and Peter could hear their footsteps
disappearing slowly into the deep gloom of the forest. It was a little
before moonrise, and under the spruce and cedar and thick balsam the world
was like a black pit. It was very still, and except for the soft tread of
their own feet and the musical ripple of water in the creek there was
scarcely a sound in this first hour of the night. In Jolly Roger there
rose something of exultation, for Nada's warm little hand lay in his as he
guided her through the darkness, and her fingers had clasped themselves
tightly round his thumb. She was very close to him when he paused to make
sure of the unseen trail, so close that her cheek rested against his arm,
and—bending a little—his lips touched the soft ripples of her
hair. But he could not see her in the gloom, and his heart pounded
fiercely all the way to the ford.</p>
<p>Then he laughed a strange little laugh that was not at all like Jolly
Roger.</p>
<p>"I'll try and not let you get wet again, Nada," he said.</p>
<p>Her fingers still held to his thumb, as if she was afraid of losing him
there in the blackness that lay about them like a great ink-blotch. And
she crept closer to him, saying nothing, and all the power in his soul
fought in Jolly Roger to keep him from putting his arms about her slim
little body and crying out the worship that was in him.</p>
<p>"I ain't—I mean I'm not afraid of gettin' wet," he heard her whisper
then. "You're so big and strong, Mister Roger—"</p>
<p>Gently he freed his thumb from her fingers, and picked her up, and held
her high, so that she was against his breast and above the deepest of the
water. Lightly at first Nada's arms lay about his shoulders, but as the
flood began to rush higher and she felt him straining against it,—her
arms tightened, until the clasp of them was warm and thrilling round Jolly
Roger's neck. She gave a big gasp of relief when he stood her safely down
upon her feet on the other side. And then again she reached out, and found
his hand, and twined her fingers about his big thumb—and Jolly Roger
went on with her over the plain toward Cragg's Ridge, dripping wet, just
as the rim of the moon began to rise over the edge of the eastern forests.</p>
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