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It was near by and told its tale. And the woman shuddered involuntarily. It was the wolf cry of the mountains; the cry of the human. And, as if in answer, came a chorus from wolfish throats. The last moment had come. Davia caught Jean's arm as though seeking protection. "I will go," she cried, and the man took her answer to be a final submission. The stillness of the day had passed.
"We're goin' to git," he said slowly. And he looked into the woman's eyes as though he would read her very soul. "An' Victor?" said Davia harshly. "Come, we'll go to him." At the door Davia was seized with an overwhelming terror. She gripped Jean's arm forcefully while she peered along the woodland fringe. The man listened. "Let's git on quick," Davia whispered.
"Mad," he said, thoughtfully. "An' he's comin' fer Victor. Wal?" Davia sat up. Her brother's calmness had a soothing effect upon her. "Listen, an' I'll tell you." And she told the story of the mountain tragedy, and the manner in which she watched the madman's subsequent actions until he set out for the store. And the story lost none of its intense horror in her telling.
The men obeyed with alacrity, and we all moved down the ravine, leading our animals. We pressed forward to the opening. A young man, the pueblo servant of Seguin, was ahead of the rest. He was impatient to reach the water. He had gained the mouth of the defile, when we saw him fall back with frightening looks, dragging at his horse and exclaiming "Mi amo! mi amo! to davia son!"
Davia had seen the trader bereft of all, homeless, penniless; and she had gone to him. He turned back at last and looked towards the store; it was almost burnt out now. But he heeded it not, for he saw two figures in deep converse, close by, in the open, and one of them was a woman.
They're dead sweet on her an' ain't likely to 'spect who's got the stuff while she's around." Victor nodded approvingly. His face was less angry. He knew Davia would serve him well. A silence fell again. The stove roared under the forced draught of the damper. Then the big man spoke as though he had not broken off. "But that ain't on'y the reason, I guess. I wanted her to stay.
When all was ready, and they stood outside the house while Jean secured the door, Davia made a final appeal. "Let me stop, Jean," she cried, while a sob broke from her. "I love him. He's mine." "God's curse on ye, no!" came the swift response, and the man's eyes blazed. Suddenly a long-drawn cry rose upon the air. It reached a great pitch and died lingeringly away.
Once or twice he had spoken, but it was more to himself than to Davia, for he was engrossed by what he beheld. But now, as he saw the man rush with frantic haste and disappear within the woods, he thought of the wealth of skins within the burning house. He was a trapper, and, to his thinking, the loss was irreparable. He loved the rich furs of the North as any woman loves her household goods.
That Jean could possibly have scruples or feelings, had never entered his head. Davia had given her love, then what business of her brother's was the manner in which he, Victor, chose to accept it? This is how he argued when he fully realized the position in which he had thrust himself. But his argument went no further. Jean was a man strong and purposeful.
His great hand went out, and he caught the woman's wrist as she was about to strike. The next instant he had wrenched the weapon from her grasp and held her. Now he thrust her out of the hut and secured the door. He believed that what he had done was only right. As they passed out into the bright spring daylight again a change seemed to come over Davia.
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