In the Carquinez Woods

“I’ve sent away my deputy—the man who brought me here, the fool who thought you were Nellie. He knows now he made a mistake. But who it was he mistook for Nellie he does not know, nor shall ever know, nor shall any living being know, other than myself. And when I leave the wood to-day I shall know it no longer. You are safe here as far as I am concerned, but I cannot screen you from others prying. Let Low take you away from here as soon as he can.”

“Let him take me away? Ah, yes. For what?”

“To save you,” said Dunn. “Look here, Teresa! Without knowing it, you lifted me out of hell just now, and because of the wrong I might have done her—for HER sake, I spare you and shirk my duty.”

“For her sake!” gasped the woman—“for her sake! Oh, yes! Go on.”

“Well,” said Dunn gloomily, “I reckon perhaps you’d as lieve left me in hell, for all the love you bear me. And may be you’ve grudge enough agin me still to wish I’d found her and him together.”

“You think so?” she said, turning her head away.

“There, d—n it! I didn’t mean to make you cry. May be you wouldn’t, then. Only tell that fellow to take you out of this, and not run away the next time he sees a man coming.”

“He didn’t run,” said Teresa, with flashing eyes. “I—I—I sent him away,” she stammered. Then, suddenly turning with fury upon him, she broke out, “Run! Run from you! Ha, ha! You said just now I’d a grudge against you. Well, listen, Jim Dunn. I’d only to bring you in range of that young man’s rifle, and you’d have dropped in your tracks like—”

“Like that bar, the other night,” said Dunn, with a short laugh. “So THAT was your little game?” He checked his laugh suddenly—a cloud passed over his face. “Look here, Teresa,” he said, with an assumption of carelessness that was as transparent as it was utterly incompatible with his frank, open selfishness. “What became of that bar? The skin—eh? That was worth something?”

“Yes,” said Teresa quietly. “Low exchanged it and got a ring for me from that trader Isaacs. It was worth more, you bet. And the ring didn’t fit either—”

“Yes,” interrupted Dunn, with an almost childish eagerness.

“And I made him take it back, and get the value in money. I hear that Isaacs sold it again and made another profit; but that’s like those traders.” The disingenuous candor of Teresa’s manner was in exquisite contrast to Dunn. He rose and grasped her hand so heartily she was forced to turn her eyes away.

“Good-by!” he said.

“You look tired,” she murmured, with a sudden gentleness that surprised him; “let me go with you a part of the way.”

“It isn’t safe for you just now,” he said, thinking of the possible consequences of the alarm Brace had raised.

“Not the way YOU came,” she replied; “but one known only to myself.”

He hesitated only a moment. “All right, then,” he said finally, “let us go at once. It’s suffocating here, and I seem to feel this dead bark crinkle under my feet.”

She cast a rapid glance around her, and then seemed to sound with her eyes the far-off depths of the aisles, beginning to grow pale with the advancing day, but still holding a strange quiver of heat in the air. When she had finished her half-abstracted scrutiny of the distance, she cast one backward glance at her own cabin and stopped.

“Will you wait a moment for me?” she asked gently.

“Yes—but—no tricks, Teresa! It isn’t worth the time.”

She looked him squarely in the eyes without a word.

“Enough,” he said; “go!”

She was absent for some moments. He was beginning to become uneasy, when she made her appearance again, clad in her old faded black dress. Her face was very pale, and her eyes were swollen, but she placed his hand on her shoulder, and bidding him not to fear to lean upon her, for she was quite strong, led the way.

“You look more like yourself now, and yet—blast it all!—you don’t either,” said Dunn, looking down upon her. “You’ve changed in some way. What is it? Is it on account of that Injin? Couldn’t you have found a white man in his place?”

“I reckon he’s neither worse nor better for that,” she replied bitterly; “and perhaps he wasn’t as particular in his taste as a white man might have been. But,” she added, with a sudden spasm of her old rage, “it’s a lie; he’s NOT an Indian, no more than I am. Not unless being born of a mother who scarcely knew him, of a father who never even saw him, and being brought up among white men and wild beasts—less cruel than they were—could make him one!”

Dunn looked at her in surprise not unmixed with admiration. “If Nellie,” he thought, “could but love ME like that!” But he only said:

“For all that, he’s an Injin. Why, look at his name. It ain’t Low. It’s L’Eau Dormante, Sleeping Water, an Injin name.”

“And what does that prove?” returned Teresa. “Only that Indians clap a nick-name on any stranger, white or red, who may camp with them. Why, even his own father, a white man, the wretch who begot him and abandoned him,—HE had an Indian name—Loup Noir.”

“What name did you say?”

“Le Loup Noir, the Black Wolf. I suppose you’d call him an Indian, too? Eh! What’s the matter? We’re walking too fast. Stop a moment and rest. There—there, lean on me!”

She was none too soon; for, after holding him upright a moment, his limbs failed, and stooping gently she was obliged to support him half reclining against a tree.

“Its the heat!” he said. “Give me some whisky from my flask. Never mind the water,” he added faintly, with a forced laugh, after he had taken a draught at the strong spirit. “Tell me more about the other water—the Sleeping Water—you know. How do you know all this about him and his—father?”

“Partly from him and partly from Curson, who wrote to me about him,” she answered with some hesitation.

But Dunn did not seem to notice this incongruity of correspondence with a former lover. “And HE told you?”

“Yes; and I saw the name on an old memorandum book he has, which he says belonged to his father. It’s full of old accounts of some trading post on the frontier. It’s been missing for a day or two, but it will turn up. But I can swear I saw it.”

Dunn attempted to rise to his feet. “Put your hand in my pocket,” he said in a hurried whisper. “No, there!—bring out a book. There, I haven’t looked at it yet. Is that it?” he added, handing her the book Brace had given him a few hours before.

“Yes,” said Teresa, in surprise. “Where did you find it?”

“Never mind! Now let me see it, quick. Open it, for my sight is failing. There—thank you—that’s all!”

“Take more whisky,” said Teresa, with a strange anxiety creeping over her. “You are faint again.”

“Wait! Listen, Teresa—lower—put your ear lower. Listen! I came near killing that chap Low to-day. Wouldn’t it have been ridiculous?”

He tried to smile, but his head fell back. He had fainted.

CHAPTER IX

For the first time in her life Teresa lost her presence of mind in an emergency. She could only sit staring at the helpless man, scarcely conscious of his condition, her mind filled with a sudden prophetic intuition of the significance of his last words. In the light of that new revelation she looked into his pale, haggard face for some resemblance to Low, but in vain. Yet her swift feminine instinct met the objection. “It’s the mother’s blood that would show,” she murmured, “not this man’s.”

Recovering herself, she began to chafe his hands and temples, and moistened his lips with the spirit. When his respiration returned with a faint color to his cheeks, she pressed his hands eagerly and leaned over him.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Of what?” he whispered faintly.

“That Low is really your son?”

“Who said so?” he asked, opening his round eyes upon her.

“You did yourself, a moment ago,” she said quickly. “Don’t you remember?”

“Did I?”