The Lady of North Star

“What have you done to the tribe,” asked Joy curiously, “that all of them should be against you?”

Bracknell laughed shortly. “I am afraid I cannot unfold the record of that particular sin for your gaze. It was a wild, mad thing, but it seemed all right at the time. Now I think I shall have to pay for it – and you too. I seem to be your evil genius,” he added penitently.

Joy did not reply. She was watching the proceedings of the Shaman, who after listening to their captors, tottered up to Bracknell and surveyed him with eyes that were gloating and cruel. Joy shuddered as she read the evil triumph in the old savage’s face, and looked at her husband. Apparently he was altogether composed, and there was a contemptuous look on his haggard face. Joy was conscious of a certain thrill of pride as she looked at him. Dick Bracknell might have many weaknesses, but cowardice was not one of them. Then the Shaman spoke, mumbling through toothless gums, and though she did not understand a single word of what he was saying, Joy caught the rasping menace in his voice and shuddered again. The Shaman laughed as he broke off, a throaty, croaking laugh, which seemed unutterably evil; and a moment later they were hurried to one of the tepees and the skin door was thrown together and lashed outside. In the darkness, Joy spoke.

“What was that old savage saying to you, Dick?”

Bracknell laughed shortly. “Oh, he was promising himself pleasure and me pain, indeed my pain was to be his pleasure.”

“Ah! You mean they are going to torture you?”

“I shouldn’t wonder!”

“Will they be long before – ?”

“Tonight, I fancy! It seems the tribe is in luck. A couple of moose were killed this morning, and a potlatch – sort of tribal bean-feast, you know – is arranged for tonight and most of them will gorge. The Shaman will no doubt arrange some form of entertainment in which I shall take a star part!”

“Oh, it is dreadful!” cried Joy.

In the darkness she heard Dick Bracknell draw his breath sharply, and a second later a hand touched hers. She did not shrink, but remained quite still, and then heard him speak in a broken, stammering whisper —

“My dear … I’m infernally sorry … to have brought you into this mess, I … I – ”

“We shall have to get away before,” broke in Joy’s voice. “We can’t remain here and wait for a thing like that to happen.”

“What will it matter?” he asked lightly. “It will be the end – for me. But if it will save you, I do not care.”

Joy did not answer, she knew that he was sincere, but she did not know what to say, and presently he spoke again —

“I do not know what we can do. If we try to get away they will follow, and they will travel faster than we shall. And besides, with the food gone the attempt would be hopeless. One cannot go into the wilderness without grub.”

They sat discussing the situation quietly, and outside, the clamour of the camp grew. Once Joy, finding a small hole in the tent, peeped out. On the edge of the encampment a great fire had been lit, and around it a number of women and men were engaged in trampling the snow hard. She guessed that it was there that the potlatch was to be held, and wondered what would happen when the Indians had feasted. The uncouth figures moving to and fro, and cut out from the deepening darkness by the glow of the fire, seemed inconceivably wild and grotesque, and once, when the strange form of the Shaman shuffled into view, and stood gesticulating and pointing to the tepee, she shuddered.

She knew that these men were as the men of the Stone Age, that pity was a quality to which they were strangers, and that they would do things which, merely to think of, made her shake with terror.

“Oh,” she cried sharply, “is there nothing that we – ”

“Hush!” broke in Dick Bracknell’s voice peremptorily. “Listen!”

All three listened. Some one was fumbling at the back of the tent, then presently there came a ripping noise, and a voice whispered, “Are you there?”

Even at that moment Joy Gargrave’s heart leaped as she recognized it.

“Yes, Corporal Bracknell. Your cousin, Babette and myself are here.”

“Can you move? Are you free?”

“Quite free.”

“Wait a moment, then.” The sound of slitting hide was heard once more, then came the corporal’s voice again, “You must slip out through the hole I have cut. Quickly! There is not a moment to lose.”

Joy felt herself propelled forward and thrust through the opening which the corporal had cut, and whilst another pair of hands guided her, caught Dick Bracknell’s whisper, “Now – Miss La Farge!”

Babette slipped out, and two seconds later Dick Bracknell followed.

“This way,” said the corporal quickly. “As silently as you can.”

He led the way through the darkness to the river bank, and as they began to descend he whispered to Joy —

“Your boy Jim, and my man Sibou, are waiting for us with the dogs, a little way off.”

“Then Jim is safe?”

“Yes, he found me, and told me what had happened to – By George, listen!”

An ear-splitting yell sounded from the direction of the encampment. It was followed by another, and that by a great clamour.

“They have discovered our escape,” said Dick Bracknell grimly. “Hurry! where are you taking us, Roger? Have you a rifle?”

“Yes! I have a rifle – ”

“Then give it me. Listen to that! The hunt is up. Give me the gun. I’ll hold the pass.”

As he spoke he laughed a laugh that sounded harshly in the night, then broke off. “Great Scott! They’re in front of us already! Look there!”

The dark figures had appeared on the snow in front, but the corporal quickly dispelled the fears their appearance had awakened.

“My man, and the boy Jim! Hurry! Those beggars behind are following fast.”

Dick Bracknell looked round. Against the red glare of the great camp fire half a score of dark figures showed plainly. They were running towards the fugitives. An exultant yell told the latter that they had been seen.

“For God’s sake, give me the rifle, and get the girls away, Roger, old man. I’m crocked, and can’t travel fast, but I can hold those devils back.”

“But – but – ”

“Can’t you see this is my chance of doing the decent thing? For God’s sake don’t deny me, man!”

Roger Bracknell looked into his cousin’s haggard face, and understood. Silently he put his rifle into his cousin’s hand, and unbuckling his bandolier, threw it on him.

“Thanks, old man! Thanks, awfully!”

“I’ll send my man to back you, and when I’ve started the girls I’ll return myself.”

“No!” replied Dick Bracknell. “You go with them. You must! It’s necessary.” He lifted the rifle as he spoke and sighting at the foremost of the pursuers pulled the trigger.

“One!” he said exultantly, as one of the running shadows toppled into the snow. “The beggars aren’t thinking of the light behind them… Go!” he said again. “Go with the girls and send your man. Let me play the hero for once… Man!” he blazed suddenly, “can’t you see it is all that is left to me.”

“Yes,” replied his cousin, “I can see it, and I’ll go. But you must promise me that you won’t stay longer than – ”