The Lady of North Star
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For the moment he refused to think further about the matter. About him was the gloom of the pines, with their pall of snow, and everywhere the terrible silence of the North. Alone and without dogs to carry his stores, the situation was altogether desperate; and to reflect upon it overmuch was to court madness. So he put the thought of it from him for the time being, and after dragging the dead dogs into the shadow of the forest, resumed the preparation of his evening meal. When he had eaten it, he erected a wind-screen, and lying in his sleeping bag, with his feet to the fire, lighted a pipe, and once more considered the problem before him.
It was at least four days’ journey to North Star Lodge, probably five or six, since he would have to carry the necessaries of life himself, and so burdened would not be able to travel fast. There was food for four days on the sled, and to make sure of reaching North Star, he would have to put himself on rations, and travel as fast as he could. Barring accidents there was an even chance of his getting through, but if any ill-chance arose then – He did not finish the thought. Knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he stretched himself down in the sleeping berth, and presently fell asleep.
When he awoke it was still dark, and the fire was burning low. He looked at his watch. It was five o’clock. He stretched himself a little, and thrusting his arm out of the sleeping bag, he threw a couple of spruce boughs on the fire. The resinous wood quickly caught, and as it flared up he looked round. On the edge of the circle of light, which his fire cut out of the darkness, something caught his eye. He looked again. Two tiny globes of light, about three feet above the ground, appeared to be suspended on nothing. He watched them steadily, and for the briefest moment of time, saw them eclipsed, then they reappeared. He looked further. There were other twin globes of light, scattered all round, and, as the spruce crackled into flame, he caught sight of an animal’s head, and the outline of its form.
“Timber-wolves!” he whispered to himself.
Feeling for his automatic pistol, he lay waiting his opportunity. Undoubtedly, the bodies of his dead dogs had already served the savage beasts for a meal, and now they were watching him, perhaps already counting him their prey.
He did not feel particularly afraid. He knew that the wolf is really a coward, and that unless driven by hunger, it seldom attacks man, but all the same he thought it wise to teach the beast a lesson. So when the shadowy form of one of the beasts moved, he sighted and fired. The wolf gave a yelp, jumped clean in the air, and dropped dead well within the circle of firelight. He looked round again. The watching eyes in the darkness had disappeared. Presently however they returned, and lying perfectly still, he saw a gaunt dog wolf slink out of the shadows towards its dead comrade, and fall on it with its teeth. Another followed and another, and a moment later there was a snarling tangle of furry beasts where the dead wolf had been.
“Phew!” he whistled to himself, as he noted their disregard of the firelight, “they’re mad with hunger!”
He emptied his pistol into the bunch, and the pack fell back, leaving three of its number dead in the snow. Of the first wolf nothing remained but the skull and tail. Behind the trees the snarling and yelping continued, and as he crept out of his sleeping bag, he conjectured that others of the beasts had been injured by his shots, and were falling a prey to their hungry companions. There was a serious look upon his face, as, crossing to the other side of the fire, he picked up the dead wolves, and one by one flung them into the darkness, where as his ears assured him they also became food for their famished pack-mates.
He had meant to commence his journey at an early hour, but the presence of the wolf-pack forced him to reconsider his plans, and to delay until dawn. The interval he filled in by packing his stores in a convenient form for carrying, and with the aid of things from the sled and his sleeping bag he devised a knapsack, which whilst it bulked large was not really heavy. Then he breakfasted, and that done, as the dawn broke, looked round once more. On one side of him the wolves were still in the shadows of the trees, and as he turned to look on the other, his eye caught the package of poisoned salmon roe, which was still upon the sledge. A thought struck him.
“The very thing!” he muttered, and going to the sled, he broke up the food with an ax and then scattered it in small portions about the camping place.
“I shall bag some of them for certain,” he said, as he saw the wolves watching him. “When they find it they’ll bolt it like one o’clock.”
The day had well broken when, adjusting his snowshoes, he shouldered his pack, and stepped out on the trail. None of the wolves were now in sight, but he had gone only a little way, when a sharp howl behind him, told him that they were still about. He looked back. A little spur of trees on the bank hid his late camp, but as he glanced back, a wolf leaped on the ice, ran howling a short way, then dropped in the snow. Other yelps of pain came from behind the screen of trees, and as the sounds reached him a sigh of satisfaction came in his eyes.
“It’s working like a charm,” he said to himself. “There’s an end of Mr. Wolf for this trip, I fancy.”
As he journed he kept a sharp look out, turning frequently to observe the trail behind him. Not a single wolf appeared, and through the short day he marched on, the solitary living thing in a landscape that was unutterably forlorn and desolate. The quick night drew on, and he decided to camp. Halting in a sheltered cove he felled a small spruce, gathered some dry twigs and built himself a fire, then he thrust his hand to his tunic pocket for matches. They were gone. He had lost them. For a minute or two he was filled with dismay, and real terror clutched at his heart-strings, for to be without means of making a fire in the desolate Northland, is to have entered the valley of the shadow of death.
Then he recalled an old device of the Voyageurs, and proceeded to put it into execution. With his jack knife he cut some thin shavings of spruce, mixed them with a handful of dead lichen scraped from trees, and biting the bullets from a couple of cartridges shook the powder of one over the little heap that he had made, and with that from the other cartridge made a short train. Then he fired his pistol to light the train. The powder caught, spluttered and burned out without lighting the lichen and the pine-shavings, and the operation had to be performed three times before it was successful. He built up his fire, and when it was well going, and he was congratulating himself on his success a thought struck him. Hastily he examined his bandolier. He had but three cartridges left.
As he weighed the metal shells in his hand, his face grew very serious. Each of them carried a message of death, but to him, as his sole means of making a fire, they were to him the bridge of life, and a precarious bridge at that. With at least three camps to make before he reached North Star Lodge, he recognized that the chances were almost desperate, and that only care and skill and a large slice of luck could carry him through. Very carefully he stowed the cartridges where they would be safe against damp or accidental loss, and then proceeded to cook his meal.
The next morning he started an hour before dawn. Light snow was falling, but he could not afford to regard that, and on snowshoes he pressed forward steadily. It began to blow, and he sought the lee of the river-bank for shelter, then that happened which put a term to his journey. A great tree, well up the bank, collapsed under its weight of snow. Roger Bracknell caught the rending sound of its fall and instinctively leaped aside, but the snowshoes embarrassed him and he fell. A bough of the falling tree alighted on his right leg, snapping it like a pipestem, and pinning him down in the snow.
Under the first shock of pain, he almost fainted, but in a minute or two recovered himself sufficiently to take stock of the situation. It was, as he instantly recognized, very desperate. He sat up, and tried to move the weight from his leg. The bough which held him fast was not a very thick one, but the weight of the tree was behind it, and with his hatchet he began to cut through the branch. Every stroke he made jarred him terribly, and more than once he had to desist, but at last the bough parted, and he was able to push the weight from his leg. He was, however, in little better case, since he could not stand upright; and to crawl would have been futile, even if the deepening snow had allowed the possibility of doing so.
He looked round, and through the falling snow caught sight of the sombre pinewoods. They had a funereal look, and in their shadows brooded the menace of the North, which had surely overtaken him at last. Death was staring him in the eyes. He took out his pocket book, and made shift to write a note to his superior down at the Post. Then he took out his pistol, and loaded it with one of the cartridges that had held his life, but which now carried only death, swift and merciful. It was no use waiting. He held the pistol ready, and for a moment his thoughts strayed to Joy Gargrave. Would she ever hear? Would she guess that he —
His thoughts broke off suddenly. Through the gloom of the falling snow he caught a sound of voices. Some one, it seemed, was urging a dog-team to greater efforts. Was he dreaming? He listened carefully. No! There it was again, and with it came the yelp of a dog cut by a whip. A great wave of thankfulness rolled over him. He shouted and fired his pistol in the air. A moment later came an answering shout, and he called back again. Presently, out of the snow-murk emerged the forms of two men – Indians, and as they bent over him he lapsed into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER XI
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
SIR JOSEPH RAYNER, as a solicitor, was at the very head of his profession, and was supposed to be trusted with more family secrets than any other man in England. The confidence in him was extraordinary, but no one could be found to urge that it was not merited, and it was notorious that he had averted more scandals and saved more reputations than any other half dozen men in his profession. Erring husbands, and wives deeply wronged, sought his advice, and to the husbands he was a man of the world, and to the wives a sympathetic counsellor, always against the extreme remedy of the divorce courts. To prodigal sons he was the dispenser of paternal allowances, and to the men caught in the toils of the blackmailer he was like a delivering providence. As a family solicitor he was unsurpassed, discreet as a cabinet minister at question time, and as secret as the grave. And in spite of his burden of secrets, usually as he walked abroad among men, he wore a jaunty air, as befitted a man with not a trouble of his own in the wide world.
But one winter morning as he sat in his private office his brow was black with care, and his demeanour was as far removed as possible from the gay one which his confreres knew. Before him was a small ledger with a lock upon it, and a number of documents, and as he bent over them, from time to time he wrote figures upon a sheet of foolscap. Presently he began to add up the figures, and that done sat staring at the total.
“Ninety-seven thousand,” he whispered to himself. “God! If anything were to come out!”
He sat looking at the figures, tapping softly with his pencil, something like despair shining in his eyes.
“Suppose Adrian’s fine scheme goes awry? Or suppose Joy refuses to sign?”
He rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro, in the manner of a man whom nervousness has made restless. Once he stopped and glanced at the ledger, then nodded his head.
“The others will be all right, if – ”
The whirr of the telephone bell on his desk interrupted his thoughts. Frowningly he picked up the receiver, and gave the stereotyped “Hallo!”
“Is that really you, Adrian? I didn’t know you had arrived… Last night you say… I didn’t get your telegram. I was dining with the Chancellor, and went on to the theatre afterwards… Yes, you are in time, though I have been praying for your arrival for days. Things are very tight, and that banker is getting nervous… Yes, the sooner the better. In half an hour? That will do very nicely. I shall expect you both without fail. How goes your matrimonial scheme?.. Um! Hangs fire a little does it, but you’re certain of the end. Well the earlier it is arranged, the better I shall be pleased. My nerves are not what they were. But we can talk the whole business over later. Thank heaven, I’m her guardian, and there’s only my consent to be obtained. What sort of a savage has she become in these three years?”
As he listened to the reply to his last question a cynical smile came on his face. “Sounds as if you had fallen in love!.. You have, hey? Well, well (he laughed a little), love is as good a qualification for matrimony as anything I know, except a thundering big bank account… Yes, yes, I know… I shall be waiting. That’s all, I think.”
Putting down the receiver, he began to gather up the scattered papers on his desk, and after tying them together with tape, he placed them in a large envelope and sealed them with his private seal. Then he locked the books and placed both the book and the envelope in the safe. Care appeared to have fallen from him like a garment. He even hummed a little catch from the halls as he took from the safe a new set of papers. Any one looking at him would not have known him for the care-ridden man of ten minutes before. Once more he was the Sir Joseph Rayner, whom the city knew, smiling, cheerful, and exceeding prosperous.
“That will do, I think,” he said as he arranged the papers on the desk. “Fortunately the girl has no business experience.”
Then he went to a small cabinet in the room, and helped himself to a glass of port of a favourite vintage, and to while away the time smoked a couple of cigarettes, gazing into the fire with a musing look upon his face. At the sound of voices in the office of the head clerk, he threw away his cigarette and turned to the door. A knock sounded, and the door opened.
“Miss Gargrave and Mr. Adrian, Sir Joseph.”
A moment later he was on his feet welcoming the travellers.
“This is a pleasure, Joy. I did not know that you had arrived until half an hour ago, not having had the telegram which Adrian sent me. You look wonderfully well, and Adrian looks all the better for his vacation. Take this chair, Joy, and throw off your furs! The cigarettes are on the mantelpiece, Adrian, if Joy does not mind.”
He looked at her with a smile and Joy shook her head.
“Not in the least, Uncle Joseph! Adrian knows that!”
“Then we can indulge. But how are you? You have not yet told me, though of course there is no need. You have the authentic hue of health in your cheeks, and goodness! what a woman you have become! I could almost find it in my heart to envy Adrian the long journey you have made together!” He laughed a little as he spoke, and glanced from Joy to his son. A slight frown showed itself on the young man’s face, and interpreting it rightly, Sir Joseph deftly took another line.
“You have not found the journey too trying, I hope, my dear Joy? But I forget. Of course you are inured to difficulties and hardships at North Star, and a journey of four or five thousand miles does not daunt you as it would a city man like myself.”
Joy laughed a little. “There was not much hardship once we struck the railway. A first-class Pullman and a state-room on a Cunarder are in themselves alleviations of the tedium of a winter journey!”
Sir Joseph laughed with her. “Possibly! But it is not every one who would find them so. I think I could not undertake such a journey now. And I hope there will be no need for you to do so again. Now we have you this side of the herring pond, I hope we may keep you here for a very long time. Your days of exile are over, and North Star Lodge – ”
“Please, uncle,” Joy intervened quickly. “Please do not say anything against North Star. I think of it as my home. I was born there, you know, and I have not found these three years to be like years of exile – they have been full of happy days.”
“Possibly,” laughed the lawyer, “but there are many sorts of happiness, and after the pleasures of the wilderness you will be the better fitted to appreciate the delights of civilization, since all things, as you know, gain by contrast… But where is Miss La Farge? I thought – ”
“She is at the hotel. She was a little tired, but I think that was an excuse. She knew that I was coming here to do business – ”
“Of course! Of course! Very considerate of her I am sure; but there was no need for her to be so punctilious. But business is really of a very simple nature, merely the signing of a few documents which can be completed in under half an hour.” He waved a hand towards the desk. “I have anticipated your arrival, and everything is in order for your signature.”
Joy glanced at the desk, and caught sight of the papers. “Perhaps you will explain what the situation is,” she said. “I am not sure that I understand.”
“Certainly,” answered Sir Joseph with a suave smile. “It is not very complicated. Your father, as you know, left a very large fortune – something over a million pounds – in trust for you, and by his will made me your guardian and sole trustee. One of the conditions of the will was that for three years you were to live at North Star Lodge, and at the end of that time you were to be free to enter upon your inheritance. You have fulfilled the condition, and you now inherit. Indeed you ought to have done so some months ago, and as my trusteeship ended with the fulfilling of the conditions, there are certain actions of mine that ought to be regularized, and for which I shall require your signature.”
“I do not quite follow,” said the girl.
“It is very simple. You were not here to administer the estate, and though I had no authority from you, I was compelled to do so. Of course as your uncle and guardian there was really nothing else for me to do.”
“Of course! Of course!” answered Joy hurriedly. “And you want my signature to – to put things right.”
“Just that!” answered Sir Joseph smilingly.
“Then the sooner you have it the better,” laughed Joy. “Shall I sign them at once?”
“If you like,” answered the lawyer in casual tones, though there was a little flash of eagerness in his eyes.
“It will take but a few moments.”
He moved towards the desk, and as Joy rose from her seat near the fire placed a chair in position for her. The girl seated herself, glanced carelessly at the first document he placed before her, and then asked, “Where do I sign?”
“Here!” answered the lawyer, indicating the place. Joy signed quickly. There were other papers that she did not even look at, but promptly signed each one in turn, as it was presented to her. When she had finished she laid down the pen with a little laugh.
“I feel quite a woman of business.”
“But you are not yet out of the wood,” laughed Sir Joseph. “There is another important matter to be settled, and that is the future management of the estate. It is now your own to do with as you like. You may wish to carry through all transactions relating to it yourself, in which case – ”
“Oh no! no!” cried Joy protestingly. “I should be worried to death. You must manage it for me in the future as you have done in the past. I could not possibly undertake such a task.”
The lawyer smiled. “I was hoping that you would think of that course, though, for obvious reasons I did not care to suggest it. It will be much simpler for you merely to have monies paid into your account instead of occupying perhaps several hours per week in worrying over investments.” He laughed a little. “You would require an office and at least a couple of clerks, Joy.”
“Oh dear!” laughed Joy, “that must never be.”
“Then I will take the burden off your hands, and you will have to give me power of attorney.”
“What is that?” inquired Joy, adding merrily, “I am discovering an abysmal ignorance in myself.” Sir Joseph explained, and the girl nodded. “Of course. There is no difficulty about that. It only gives you the right to continue to exercise the powers you have had up to now, and it will save me a great deal of worry. I suppose there will be another document to sign?”
“Yes,” answered the lawyer smilingly. “One more document to sign. Fortunately I anticipated what your wishes would be; and I had it prepared.” He looked at his son. “We must have a witness, Adrian. Just ring for Benson, will you?”
The young lawyer touched a bell, and a moment later a clerk entered.
“Yes, Sir Joseph.”
“In a moment, Benson. I want you to witness Miss Gargrave’s signature.”
He went to the safe, took from it yet another document which he gave to the girl.
“Read it, Joy.”
“If I must,” answered Joy, and ran through it carelessly.
Then she signed it, and the clerk having witnessed it and been dismissed, Sir Joseph gathered all the papers together, and locked them up. “Business is over for the day,” he said. “I’m going to take a holiday. You will lunch with me at the Ritz, Joy, you and Adrian. I shall take no denial.”
“But there is Babette – ” began Joy.
“Oh, we will telephone to her, and pick her up on the way. We shall then be quite a complete little party, and tonight we will dine, and go on to a theatre afterwards. You will not have seen much acting, of late – ”
“None at all,” laughed Joy, “for three whole years.”
“Then we must certainly go,” answered her uncle. “Let me see – ah, yes! There is the ‘Grizzly Cub,’ a Klondyke play, pure American and very strenuous and exciting. I have seen it once, but I should like to see it again, with some one who knows the country of the play. To me it seems very real, and if it has illusions for you who know the life, I shall know that it is really good. We will go there. Adrian, just tell Benson to ring up the Mitre and engage a box for me, and have my car brought round from the garage.”
It was a merry party that lunched at the Ritz. There was not a hint of the care that had betrayed itself in the lawyer’s face in the solitude of his private room. He was the gay, debonair man of the world that all his acquaintances knew, and he exerted himself to make the lunch an agreeable one. But from time to time, he allowed his eyes to stray towards a table where a couple of young men were lunching with a lady. They seemed very interested in his own party, and presently he saw the lady rise from her seat and walk towards his table. At the same moment Joy Gargrave looked up, and as she caught the young lady’s eyes, started impulsively from her seat.
“You, Penelope!” she cried.
“You, Joy!” mimicked the other. “I thought you were dwelling in the forest primeval?”
“I arrived in London last night. I expect to stay a little time in England. The years of what my uncle calls my exile are over.” She glanced at the lawyer. “Do you know my uncle? No! Then I must introduce you. Uncle, this is Miss Penelope Winter, an old – ”
“You are wrong, Joy,” laughed the lady. “This is no longer Miss Penelope Winter. This is Mrs. Will Grasmore of Grasmore Grange, Westmorland.”
“You are married?” cried Joy.
Mrs. Will Grasmore waved a hand towards the table she had just left. “There sits the happy man, whose complete happiness began three months ago.”
“Which – ” began Joy, and then stopped suddenly, as a curious look came on her face. “Of course! I see! The other one is Geoffrey Bracknell, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” laughed her friend, “and he is dying to renew the acquaintance he began in Westmorland four years ago! May I bring him and Will over? I see that, like ourselves, you are almost at the end of lunch. We might take coffee together.”
For the fraction of a minute Joy hesitated. Sir Joseph, who was watching her, noticed that hesitation, though he was the only one who did. Then Joy spoke.
“Well, if you like, Penelope, and if my uncle doesn’t mind. I am his guest, and – ”
“Oh, Sir Joseph will not mind, I am sure,” answered Mrs. Winter, flashing a smile at the lawyer and assuming his consent, hurried back to her own table.
“Did you say that the young man with Mr. Winter was named Bracknell?” asked Adrian Rayner suddenly.