Isobel Read Online Free Page A

Bible an' my comrade, an' I've known
it was the spirit of the purest and the most beautiful thing in the
world— woman. I—" His voice broke a little. "I— I may be foolish,
but I'd like to have you take it, an' keep it— always— for me."
    He could see now the quiver of her lips as she looked across at him.
    "Yes, I will take it," she said. "I will take it and keep it—
always."
    "I've been keeping it for a woman— somewhere," he said. "Foolish
idea, wasn't it? And I've been telling you all this, when I want to
hear what happened back there, and what you are going to do when you
reach your people. Do you mind— telling me?"
    "He died— that's all," she replied, fighting to speak calmly. "I
promised to take him back— to my people, And when I get there— I
don't know— what I shall— do—"
    She caught her breath. A low sob broke from her lips.
    "You don't know— what you will do—"
    Billy's voice sounded strange even to himself. He rose to his feet and
looked down into her upturned face, his hands clenched, his body
trembling with the fight he was making. Words came to his lips and
were forced back again— words which almost won in their struggle to
tell her again that she had come to him from out of the Barren like an
angel, that within the short space since their meeting he had lived a
lifetime, and that he loved her as no man had ever loved a woman
before. Her blue eyes looked at him questioningly as he stood above
her.
    And then he saw the thing which for a moment he had forgotten— the
long, rough box at the woman's back. His fingers dug deeper into his
palms, and with a gasping breath he turned away. A hundred paces back
in the spruce he had found a bare rock with a red bakneesh vine
growing over it. With his knife he cut off an armful, and when he
returned with it into the light of the fire the bakneesh glowed like a
mass of crimson flowers. The woman had risen to her feet, and looked
at him speechlessly as he scattered the vine over the box. He turned
to her and said, softly:
    "In honor of the dead!"
    The color had faded from her face, but her eyes shone like stars.
Billy advanced toward her with his hands reaching out. But suddenly he
stopped and stood listening. After a moment he turned and asked again:
    "What was that?"
    "I heard the dogs— and the wind," she replied.
    "It's something cracking in my head, I guess," said MacVeigh. "It
sounded like—" He passed a hand over his forehead and looked at the
dogs huddled in deep sleep beside the sledge. The woman did not see
the shiver that passed through him. He laughed cheerfully, and seized
his ax.
    "Now for the camp," he announced. "We're going to get the storm within
an hour."
    On the box the woman carried a small tent, and he pitched it close to
the fire, filling the interior two feet deep with cedar and balsam
boughs. His own silk service tent he put back in the deeper shadows of
the spruce. When he had finished he looked questioningly at the woman
and then at the box.
    "If there is room— I would like it in there— with me," she said, and
while she stood with her face to the fire he dragged the box into the
tent. Then he piled fresh fuel upon the fire and came to bid her good
night. Her face was pale and haggard now, but she smiled at him, and
to MacVeigh she was the most beautiful thing in the world. Within
himself he felt that he had known her for years and years, and he took
her hands and looked down into her blue eyes and said, almost in a
whisper:
    "Will you forgive me if I'm doing wrong? You don't know how lonesome
I've been, and how lonesome I am, and what it means to me to look once
more into a woman's face. I don't want to hurt you, and I'd— I'd"—
his voice broke a little—"I'd give him back life if I could, just
because I've seen you and know you and— and love you."
    She started and drew a quick, sharp breath that came almost in a low
cry.
    "Forgive me, little girl," he went on. "I may be a little mad. I guess
I am. But I'd