Adventure, November 1915 — page 86: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ie ‘anand i) if -t BNR oS Bal ~ ‘ NERO ey AGE RN +, nS | TT: | ty ¥ Re. : A tial Pas Ge Peet ies'| o> “he? } . Se ae me Veer ea Cane Pa Ways! iv Rue ROTA SS Denes 5 VCR) buss ¥3 eX v . of »% ant he Cid nae ie ott i ri “hile countenance there was a peculiar look. “The brandy, eed you idiot!” Holland cried. “Et es zere on ze sheli——” “Get it, you fool! What’s the matter with you?” Sylvester Small hurried to the shelf and got the flask of brandy and a glass. He handed them to Holland. But the girl waved it away, struggled from them, and stood up, holding out her arms to the old guide. “‘Pierre—” she began. Well?” “My—my father——” Pierre’s eyes glittered as he turned to- ward her. “An’ what of your —— Mary Ran- cour?” “You must inet once—come to our cabin! He—he has been hurt—badly.” ‘“‘An’ why come to me, Mary Rancour?”’ “The storm—and you were the nearest— you were the only one——” “You come to me because zere es no one else, zen? Ver’ good!” “Pierre, for the love of Heaven! He is unconscious—he may be dying. I got him into the cabin, into his bunk. Then I hur- ried here—five miles through the storm. He—he may die. You must come!” Pierre looked at her for a moment, then turned away toward the fire. . “No, I not come!” he said. “Let heem die!’ — - “QOh!’ The girl’s cry cut to the hearts of those who heard, even into the heart of Pierre, but he gave no sign. “What the devil does this mean?” de- manded .Pearson. ‘‘What is the trouble, Miss Rancour? Your .father——” “Fle was at the edge of the clearing, cut- ting wood,” the girl answered swiftly, sob- bing as she spoke. ‘“‘He slipped on the ice and fell. He—he struck his head, I think. I saw him from the window. I started to runout to him, and then he got up. But he was bewildered, I think. He walked in the wrong direction—toward a precipice; and before I could reach him he fell. I got him back to the cabin——”’ “Your You got him back?” “Yes—I had to. Hewasunconscious. I took my hand-sled and went down into the cafion—almost a mile. I couldn’t bring him back to consciousness though. And so I came—here!”’ Adventure She looked at Pierre again, but he kept his back turned toward her. *““Great Heaven! Pierre, we must do some- thing,”’ Holland said. ‘‘If this young wom- an could make it through the storm, surely wemencan. Let’s get started.” “No!” said the guide. “You may go, m’sieu, an’ your friends. I stay here!” “Afraid of the storm, you coward?” de- manded Pearson. Pierre’s laugh was horrible as he whirled around and faced them. ““Afraid—mer” he exclaimed. “I will start now, an’ walk to ze town—twenty mile—if you t’ink me afraid. But I do not go to ze cabin of Jacques Rancour!”’ “But why, man, why?” gasped Pearson. “Tf he’s in danger—liable to die?” “Let heem die!”’ The girl darted toward him across the room. “TJ am a proud girl, Pierre,” she said, “but I am begging and pleading now—of youl My father would curse me, perhaps, if he knew I came here. He would rather die than take assistance from you. But I came because I love my father, and because I need him, What is to become of me, Pierre, if he dies? You—you loved my mother——” Evidently it was an unfortunate remark, for he whirled upon her again with anger surging into his face. “Yes, I loved your mothaire,” he said, trying to speak in softer tones. Then his voice changed, and the anger came out. ‘“‘An’ so did Jacques Rancour! Wewere frien’s when we were boys, zat fathaire of yours an’ mesel’. We both love her. We are rivals, eh? An’ did he fight fair?” “He fought you for her—and you lost. She loved my father more than she did you. And it was twenty years ago.” “Et es not zat your mothaire love heem better zan me—zat she married heem in- stead of me,” the guide said. ‘You say we fought, eh? But he did not fight fair, ma’m’zelle, zat you know. He beat me afterIam down. Heleavemetodie. An’ I surely do die haf not a hunter find me an’ take me to ze cabin. Today I limp as I walk—your fathaire! Today I haf scar across one cheek—your fathaire!”’ The girl stepped nearer and touched his shoulder with her hand. —VYou loved my mother,” she said softly, “and T am now very like she was then, folks say.” 1 OOOKS @) Eom