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The Yukon Trail, a novel by William MacLeod Raine |
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Chapter 13. Diane And Gordon Differ |
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_ CHAPTER XIII. DIANE AND GORDON DIFFER During the absence of Macdonald the field agent saw less of Sheba than he had expected, and when he did see her she had an abstracted manner he did not quite understand. She kept to her own room a good deal, except when she took long walks into the hills back of the town. Diane had a shrewd idea that the Alaskan had put his fortune to the test, and she not only let her cousin alone herself, but fended Gordon from her adroitly. The third day after the dinner Elliot dropped around to the Pagets with intent to get Sheba into a set of tennis. Diane sat on the porch darning socks. "Sheba is out walking with Mr. Macdonald," she explained in answer to a question as to the whereabouts of her guest. "Oh, he's back, is he?" remarked Gordon moodily. Mrs. Paget was quite cheerful on that subject. "He came back this morning. Sheba has gone up with him to see the Lucky Strike." "You're going to marry her to that man if you can, aren't you?" he charged. "If I can, Gordon." She slipped a darning-ball into one of little Peter's stockings and placidly trimmed the edges of the hole. "It's what I call a conspiracy." "Is it?" Diane smiled. Gordon understood her smile to mean that he was jealous. "Maybe I am. That's not the point," he answered, just as if she had made her accusation in words. "Suppose you tell me what the point is," she suggested, both amused and annoyed. "He isn't good enough for her. You know that perfectly well." "Good enough!" She shrugged her shoulders. "What man _is_ good enough for a nice girl if you come to that? There are other things beside sugary goodness. Any man who is strong can make himself good enough for the woman he loves." "Generally speaking, yes. But Colby Macdonald is different." "Thank Heaven he is," she retorted impatiently. Then added after a moment: "He isn't a Sunday-School superintendent if that's what you mean." "That isn't what I mean at all. But there's such a thing as a difference between right and wrong, isn't there?" "Oh, yes. For instance, Mr. Macdonald is right about the need of developing Alaska and the way to do it, and you are wrong." He could not help smiling a little at the adroit way she tried to sidetrack him, even though he was angry at her. But he had no intention of letting her go without freeing his mind. "I'm talking about essential right and wrong. Miss O'Neill is idealizing Macdonald. I don't suppose you've told her, for instance, that he made his first money in the North running a dance hall." "No, I haven't told her any such thing, because it isn't true," she replied scornfully. "He owned an opera house and brought in a company of players. I dare say they danced. That's very different, as you'd know if you didn't have astigmatism of the mind." "Not the way the story was told me. But let that pass. Does she know that Macdonald beat her father out of one of the best claims on Bonanza and was indirectly responsible for his death?" "What's the use of talking nonsense, Gordon. You know you can't prove that," his friend told him sharply. "I think I can--if it is necessary." Diane looked across at him with an impudent little tilt of the chin. "I don't think I like you as well as I used to." "Sorry, because I'd like you just as well, Diane, if you would stop trying to manage your cousin into a marriage that will spoil her life," he answered gravely. "How dare you say that! How dare you, Gordon Elliot!" she flung back, furious at him. "I won't have you here talking that way to me. It's an insult." The fearless, level eyes of her friend looked straight at her. "I say it because the happiness of Miss O'Neill is of very great importance to me." "Do you mean--?" Wide-eyed, she looked her question straight at him. "That's just what I mean, Diane." She darned for a minute in silence. It had occurred to Diane before that perhaps Gordon might be in love with Sheba, but she had put the thought from her because she did not want to believe it. "That's different, Gordon. It explains--and in a way excuses--your coming here and trying to bully me." She stopped her work to flash a question at him. "Don't you think that maybe it's only a fancy of yours? I remember you used--" He shook his head. "No chance, Diane. I'm hard hit. She's the only girl I ever met that suited me. Everything she does is right. Every move she makes is wonderful." The eyes with which she looked at him were softer, as those of women are wont to be for the true romance. "You poor boy," she murmured, and let her hand for a moment rest on his. "Meaning that I lose?" he asked quickly. "I think you do. I'm not sure." Elliot leaned forward impulsively. "Be a good sport, Diane. Let me have my chance too. Why do you make it easy for Macdonald and hard for me? Isn't it because the glamour of his millions blinds you?" "He's a big, splendid man, but I don't like him any the less because he has the power to make life easy and comfortable for Sheba," she defended sturdily. "Yet you turned down Arthur West, the best catch in your set, to marry Peter, who was the worst," he reminded her. "Have you ever been sorry for it?" "That's different. Peter and I fit. It was one case out of a million." She gave him her old, friendly smile. "But I don't want to be hard on you, Gord. I'll be neutral. Come and see Sheba as often as she'll let you." Gordon beamed as he shook hands with her. "That sounds like the Di Paget I used to know." She recurred to the previous question. "Sheba knows more about Mr. Macdonald than you think. And about how he got her father's claim, for instance,--she has heard all that." "You told her?" "No. Colby Macdonald told her. He said he practically robbed her father, and he gave her a check for nearly two hundred thousand to cover the clean-up from the claim and interest." "Bully for him." On the heel of this he flung a question at her. "Did Macdonald ask her to marry him the night of the dinner?" A flash of whimsical amusement lit her dainty face. "You'd better ask him that. Here he comes now." They were coming down the walk together, Macdonald and Sheba. The young woman was absorbed in his talk, and she did not know that her cousin and Elliot were on the porch until she was close upon them. But at sight of the young man her eyes became warm and kind. "I'm sorry I was out yesterday when you called," she told him. "And you were out again to-day. My luck isn't very good, is it?" He laughed pleasantly, but his heart was bitter. He believed Macdonald had won. Some hint of proprietorship in his manner, together with her slight confusion when she saw them on the porch, had weighted his heart with lead. "We've had such a good walk." Sheba went on quickly. "I wish you could have heard Mr. Macdonald telling me how he once had a chance to save a small Esquimaux tribe during a hard winter. He carried food five hundred miles to them. It was a thrilling experience." "Mr. Macdonald has had a lot of very interesting experiences. You must get him to tell you about all of them," answered Gordon quietly. The eyes of the two men met. The steel-gray ones of the older man answered the challenge of his rival with a long, steady look. There was in it something of triumph, something of scornful insolence. If this young fellow wanted war, he did not need to wait long for it. "Time enough for that, man. Miss O'Neill and I have the whole Arctic winter before us for stories." The muscles in the lean jaws of Gordon Elliot stood out like steel ropes. He turned to Sheba. "Am I to congratulate Mr. Macdonald?" The color in her cheeks grew warmer, but her shy glance met his fairly. "I think it is I that am to be congratulated, Mr. Elliot." Diane took her cousin in her arms. "My dear, I wish you all the happiness in the world," she said softly. The Irish girl fled into the house as soon as she could, but not before making an announcement. "We're to be married soon, very quietly. If you are still at Kusiak we want you to be one of the few friends present, Mr. Elliot." Macdonald backed her invitation with a cool, cynical smile. "Miss O'Neill speaks for us both, of course, Elliot." The defeated man bowed. "Thanks very much. The chances are that I'll be through my business here before then." As soon as his fiancee had gone into the house, the Scotchman left. Gordon sat down in a porch chair and stared straight in front of him. The suddenness of the news had brought his world tumbling about his ears. He felt that such a marriage would be an outrage against Sheba's innocence. But he was not yet far enough away from the blow to ask himself how much the personal hurt influenced his opinion. Though she was sorry for him, Diane did not think it best to say so yet. Presently he spoke thickly. "I suppose you have heard that he was a squawman." His friend joined battle promptly with him. "That's ridiculous. Don't be absurd, Gordon." "It's the truth. I've seen the woman. She was pointed out to me." "By old Gideon Holt, likely," she flashed. "One could get evidence and show it to Miss O'Neill," he said aloud, to himself rather than to her. Diane put her point of view before him with heated candor. "_You_ couldn't. Nobody but a cad would rake up old scandals about the man who has beaten him fairly for a woman's love." "You beg the question. _Has_ he won fairly?" "Of course he has. Be a good sport, Gordon. Don't kick on the umpire's decision. Play the game." "That's all very well. But what about her? Am I to sit quiet while she is sacrificed to a code of honor that seems to me rooted in dishonor?" "She is not being sacrificed. I'm her cousin. I'm very fond of her. And I'd trust her with Colby Macdonald." "Play fair, Diane. Tell her the truth about this Indian woman and let your cousin decide for herself. You can't do less, can you?" Mrs. Paget was distinctly annoyed. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Gordon Elliot. You take all the gossip of a crack-brained old idiot for gospel truth just because you want to believe the worst about Mr. Macdonald. Don't you know that people will say anything about a man who succeeds? Colby Macdonald is too big and too aggressive not to have made hundreds of enemies. His life has been threatened dozens of times. But he pays no attention to it--goes right on building-up this country. Yet you'd think he had a cloven hoof to hear some people talk. I've no patience with them." "The woman's name is Meteetse," Gordon said in an even voice, just as if he were answering a question. "She is young and good-looking for an Indian. Her boy is four or five years old. Colmac, they call him, and he looks just like Macdonald." "People are always tracing resemblances. There's nothing to that. But suppose his life _was_ irregular--years ago. This isn't Boston. It used to be the fringe of civilization. Men did as they pleased in the early days. We don't ask a man up here what he has been, but what he is. You ought to know that by this time." "This wasn't in the early days. It was five years ago, when Macdonald was examining the Kamatlah coal-field. I'm told he sends a check down the river once a month for the woman." "All the more credit to him if he does." Diane rose and looked stormily down at her friend. "You're about as broad as a clam, Gordon. Can't you see that even if it's true, all that is done with? It is a part of his past--and it's finished--trodden under foot. It hasn't a thing to do with Sheba." "I don't agree with you. A man can't cut loose entirely from his past. It is a part of him--and Macdonald's past isn't good enough for Sheba O'Neill." Diane tapped her little foot impatiently on the floor. "Do you know many men whose pasts are good enough for their wives? Are you a plaster-cast saint yourself? You know perfectly well that men trample down their pasts and begin again when they are married. Colby Macdonald is good enough for any woman alive if he loves her enough." "You don't know him." "I know him far better than you do. He is the biggest man I know, and now that he is in love with a good woman he'll rise to his chance." "She ought to be told the truth about Meteetse and her boy," he insisted doggedly. "I'm not going to disturb her with a lot of old maids' gossip. That's flat." "But if I prove to you that it isn't gossip." Mrs. Paget lost her temper completely. "Does the Government pay you to mind other people's business, Gordon?" she snapped. "I wouldn't be working for the Government then, but for Sheba O'Neill." "And for Gordon Elliot. You'd be doing underhand work for him too. Don't forget that. You can't do it. You're not that kind of a man. It isn't in you to go muckraking in the past of the man Sheba is going to marry." Elliot rose and looked across at the blue-ribbed mountains. His square jaw was set when he turned it back toward Diane. "She isn't going to marry him if I can help it," he said quietly. He walked out of the gate and down the walk toward his hotel. A message was waiting for him there from his chief in Seattle. It called him down the river on business. _ |
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