Flower of the North, James Oliver Curwood [most popular novels of all time txt] 📗

the woman frozen in the snow. That was the beginning of the long fight--for me. This--what I am about to tell you--will be sacred to you, M'sieur?"
"As my life," said Philip.
Pierre was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, so that he could tell in few words the tragedy of years. Two brilliant spots burned in his cheeks, and the hand which Philip held was hot.
"Years ago--twenty, almost--there came a man to Fort o' God," he began. "He was very young, and from the south. D'Arcambal was then middle-aged, but his wife was young and beautiful. Jeanne says that you saw her picture--against the wall. D'Arcambal worshiped her. She was his life. You understand what happened. The man from the south--the young wife--they went away together."
Pierre coughed. A bit of blood reddened his lips. Philip wiped it away gently with his handkerchief, hiding the stain from Pierre's eyes.
"Yes," he said, "I understand."
"It broke D'Arcambal's heart," resumed Pierre. "He destroyed everything that had belonged to the woman. He turned her picture to the wall. His love turned slowly to hate. It was two years later that I came over the barrens one night and found Jeanne and her dead mother. The woman, M'sieur--Jeanne's mother--was D'Arcambal's wife. She was returning to Fort o' God, and God's justice overtook her almost at its doors. I carried little Jeanne to my Indian mother, and then made ready to carry the woman to her husband. It was then that a terrible thought came to me. Jeanne was not D'Arcambal's daughter. She was a part of the man who had stolen his wife. I worshiped the little Jeanne even then, and for her sake my mother and I swore secrecy, and buried the woman. Then we took the babe to Fort o' God as a stranger. We saved her. We saved D'Arcambal. No one ever knew."
Pierre stopped for breath.
"Was it best?"
"It was glorious," said Philip, trembling.
"It would have come out right--in the end--if the father had not returned," said Pierre. "I must hurry, M'sieur, for it hurts me now to talk. He came first a year ago, and revealed himself to Jeanne. He told her everything. D'Arcambal was rich; Jeanne and I both had money. He threatened--we bought him off. We fought to keep the terrible thing from D'Arcambal. Our money sent him away for a time. Then he returned. It was news of him I brought up the river to Jeanne--from Churchill. I offered to kill him--but Jeanne would not listen to that. But the Great God willed that I should. I killed him to-night--over there!"
A great joy surged above the grief in Philip's heart. He could not speak, but pressed Pierre's hand harder, and looked into his glistening eyes.
Pierre's next words broke his silence, and wrung a low cry from his lips.
"M'sieur, this man Thorpe--Jeanne's father--is the man whom you know as Lord Fitzhugh Lee."
He coughed violently, and with sudden fear Philip lifted his head so that it rested against his shoulder. After a moment he lowered it again. His face was as white as Pierre's after that sudden fit of coughing.
"I talked with him--alone--on the afternoon of the fight on the rock," continued Pierre, huskily. "He was hiding in the woods near Churchill, and left for Fort o' God on that same day. I did not tell Jeanne--until after what happened, and I came up with you on the river. Thorpe was waiting for us at Fort o' God. It was he whom Jeanne saw that night beside the rock, but I could not tell you the truth--then. He came often after that--two, three times a week. He tortured Jeanne. My God! he taunted her, M'sieur, and made her let him kiss her, because he was her father. We gave him money--all that we could get; we promised him more, if he would leave--five thousand dollars--in three years. He agreed to go-- after he had finished his work here. And that work--M'sieur--was to destroy you. He told Jeanne, because it made her fear him more. He compelled her to come to his cabin. He thought she was his slave, that she would do anything to be free of him. He told her of his plot--how he had fooled you in the sham fight with one of his men--how those men were going to attack you a little later, and how he had intercepted your letter from Churchill and sent in its place the other letter which made your camp defenseless. He was not afraid of her. She was in his power, and he laughed at her horror, and tortured her as a cat will a bird. But Jeanne--"
A spasm of pain shot over Pierre's face. Fresh blood dyed his lips, and a shiver ran through his body.
"My God!--water--something--M'sieur," he gasped. "I must go on!"
Philip raised him again in his arms. He saw MacDougall's head appear through the door.
"You will rest easier this way, Pierre," he said.
After a few moments Pierre spoke in a gasping whisper.
"You must understand. I must be quick," he said. "We could not warn you of what Jeanne had discovered. That would have revealed her father. D'Arcambal would have known--every one. Thorpe plans to dress his men--like Indians. They are to attack your camp to- morrow night. Ten days ago we went to the camp of old Sachigo, the Cree, who loves Jeanne as his own daughter. It was Jeanne's idea-- to save you. Jeanne told him of Thorpe's plot to destroy you, and to lay the blame on Sachigo's people. Sachigo is out there--in the mountains--hiding with thirty of his tribe. Two days ago Jeanne learned where her father's men were hiding. We had planned everything. To-morrow night--when they move to attack--we were to start a signal-fire on the big rock mountain at the end of the lake. Sachigo starts at the signal, and lays in ambush for the others in the ravine between the two mountains. None of Thorpe's men will come out alive. Sachigo and his people will destroy them, and none will ever know how it happened, for the Crees keep their secrets. But now--it is too late--for me. When it happens--I will be gone. The signal-pile is built--birch-bark--at the very top of the rock. Jeanne will wait for me out on the plain--and I will not come. You must fire the signal, M'sieur--as soon as it is dark. None will ever know. Jeanne's father is dead. You will keep the secret--of her mother--always--"
"Forever," said Philip.
MacDougall came into the room, He brought a glass, partly filled with a colored liquid, and placed it to Pierre's lips. Pierre swallowed with an effort, and with a significant hunch of his shoulders for Philip's eyes alone the engineer returned to the little room.
"Mon Dieu, how it burns!" said Pierre, as if to himself. "May I lie down again, M'sieur?"
Philip lowered him gently. He made no effort to speak in these moments. Pierre's eyes were dark and luminous as they sought his own. The draught he had taken gave him a passing strength.
"I saw Thorpe again this afternoon," he said, more calmly. "D'Arcambal thought I had taken Jeanne to visit a trapper's wife down the Churchill. I saw Thorpe--alone. He had been drinking. He laughed at me, and said that Jeanne and I were fools--that he would not leave as he had said he would--but that he would remain --always. I told Jeanne, and asked her again to let me kill him. But she said no--and I had taken my oath to her. Jeanne saw him again to-night. I was near the cabin, and saw you. I told him I would kill him if he did not go. He laughed again, and struck me. When I came to my feet he was half across the open; I followed. I forgot my oath. Rage filled my heart. You know what happened. You will tell Jeanne--so that she will understand--"
"Can we not send for her?" asked Philip. "She must be near."
"No, M'sieur," he replied, softly. "It would only give her great pain to see me--like this. She was to meet me to-night--at twelve o'clock--on the trail where the road-bed crosses. You will meet her in my place. When she understands all that has happened you may bring her here, if she wishes to come. Then--to-morrow night-- you will go together to fire the signal."
"But Thorpe is dead," said Philip. "Will they attack without him?"
"There is another, besides him," said Pierre. "That is one secret which Thorpe has kept from Jeanne--who the other is--the one who is paying to have you destroyed. Yes--they will attack."
Philip bent low over Pierre.
"I have known of this plot for a long time, Pierre," he said, tensely. "I know that this Thorpe, who for some reason has passed as Lord Fitzhugh Lee, is but the agent of a more powerful force behind him. Have you told me all, Pierre? Do you know nothing more?"
"Nothing, M'sieur."
"Was it Thorpe who attacked you on the cliff at Churchill?"
"No, I am sure that it was not he. If the attack had not failed-- it would have meant loss--for him. I have laid it to the ruffians who wanted to kill me--and secure Jeanne. You understand--"
"Yes, but I do not believe that was the motive for the attack, Pierre," said Philip. "Did Thorpe go to see any one in Churchill?"
"I don't know. He was concealing himself in the forest."
A convulsive shudder ran through Pierre's body. He gave a low cry of pain, and his hand clutched at the babiche cord which held the locket about his neck.
"M'sieur," he whispered, quickly, "this locket--was on the little Jeanne--when I found her in the snow. I kept it because it bears the woman's initials. I am foolish, M'sieur. I am weak. But I would like to have it buried with me--under the old tree--where Jeanne's mother lies. And if you could, M'sieur--if you only could--place something of Jeanne's in my hand--I would rest easier."
Philip bowed his head in silence, while his eyes grew blinding hot. Pierre pressed his hand.
"She loves you--as I love her," he whispered, so low that Philip could scarcely hear. "You will love her--always. If you do not-- the Great God will let the curse of Pierre Couchee fall upon you!"
Choking back the great sobs that rose in his breast, Philip sank upon his knees beside Pierre, and buried his face in his arms like a heartbroken boy. For several moments there was a silence, punctuated by the rasping breath of the wounded man. Suddenly this sound ceased, and Philip felt a cold fear leap through him. He listened, neither breathing nor lifting his head. In that interval of pulseless quiet a terrible cry came from Pierre's lips, and when Philip looked up the dying half-breed had struggled to a sitting posture, blood staining his lips again, his eyes blazing, his white face damp with the clammy touch of death, and was staring through the cabin window. It was the window that looked out over the lake, toward the rock mountain half a mile away. Philip turned, horrified and wondering. Through the window he saw a glow in the sky--the glow of a fire, leaping up in a crimson flood from the top of the mountain!
Again that terrible, moaning cry fell from Pierre's lips, and he reached out his arms toward the signal that was blazing forth its warning in the night.
"Jeanne--Jeanne--" he sobbed. "My Jeanne--"
He swayed, and fell back. His words came in choking gasps.
"The signal!" he struggled, fighting to make Philip understand him. "Jeanne--saw--Thorpe--to-night. He--must--changed--plans. Attack--to-night. Jeanne--Jeanne--my Jeanne--has lighted--the signal--fire!"
A tremor ran through his body, and he lay still. MacDougall ran across from the half-open door, and put his