07-the wife of a king-第2部分

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Stanley　Prince；　the　young　mining　expert；　was　called　into　the

conference　the　following　night　as　was　also　Lucky　Jack　Harrington　and

his　violin。　That　same　night；　Bettles；　who　owed　a　great　debt　to

Malemute　Kid；　harnessed　up　Cal　Galbraith's　dogs；　lashed　Cal　Galbraith；

Junior；　to　the　sled；　and　slipped　away　in　the　dark　for　Stuart　River。






　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　II



　　'So；　one…　two…　three；　one…　two…　three。　Now　reverse！　No；　no！　Start　up

again；　Jack。　See…　this　way。'　Prince　executed　the　movement　as　one

should　who　has　led　the　cotillion。

　　'Now；　one…　two…　three；　one…　two…　three。　Reverse！　Ah！　that's

better。　Try　it　again。　I　say；　you　know；　you　mustn't　look　at　your

feet。　One…　two…　three；　one…　two…　three。　Shorter　steps！　You　are　not

hanging　to　the　gee…pole　just　now。　Try　it　over。　There！　that's　the

way。　One…　two…　three；　one…　two…　three。'

　　Round　and　round　went　Prince　and　Madeline　in　an　interminable　waltz。

The　table　and　stools　had　been　shoved　over　against　the　wall　to　increase

the　room。　Malemute　Kid　sat　on　the　bunk；　chin　to　knees；　greatly

interested。　Jack　Harrington　sat　beside　him；　scraping　away　on　his

violin　and　following　the　dancers。

　　It　was　a　unique　situation；　the　undertaking　of　these　three　men　with

the　woman。　The　most　pathetic　part；　perhaps；　was　the　businesslike　way

in　which　they　went　about　it。　No　athlete　was　ever　trained　more

rigidly　for　a　coming　contest；　nor　wolf…dog　for　the　harness；　than　was

she。　But　they　had　good　material；　for　Madeline；　unlike　most　women　of

her　race；　in　her　childhood　had　escaped　the　carrying　of　heavy　burdens

and　the　toil　of　the　trail。　Besides；　she　was　a　clean…limbed；　willowy

creature；　possessed　of　much　grace　which　had　not　hitherto　been

realized。　It　was　this　grace　which　the　men　strove　to　bring　out　and

knock　into　shape。

　　'Trouble　with　her　she　learned　to　dance　all　wrong；'　Prince　remarked

to　the　bunk　after　having　deposited　his　breathless　pupil　on　the

table。　'She's　quick　at　picking　up；　yet　I　could　do　better　had　she　never

danced　a　step。　But　say；　Kid；　I　can't　understand　this。'　Prince　imitated

a　peculiar　movement　of　the　shoulders　and　head…　a　weakness　Madeline

suffered　from　in　walking。

　　'Lucky　for　her　she　was　raised　in　the　Mission；'　Malemute　Kid

answered。　'Packing；　you　know；…　the　head…strap。　Other　Indian　women　have

it　bad；　but　she　didn't　do　any　packing　till　after　she　married；　and　then

only　at　first。　Saw　hard　lines　with　that　husband　of　hers。　They　went

through　the　Forty…Mile　famine　together。'

　　'But　can　we　break　it？'

　　'Don't　know。　Perhaps　long　walks　with　her　trainers　will　make　the

riffle。　Anyway；　they'll　take　it　out　some；　won't　they；　Madeline？'

　　The　girl　nodded　assent。　If　Malemute　Kid；　who　knew　all　things；　said

so；　why　it　was　so。　That　was　all　there　was　about　it。

　　She　had　come　over　to　them；　anxious　to　begin　again。　Harrington

surveyed　her　in　quest　of　her　points　much　in　the　same　manner　men

usually　do　horses。　It　certainly　was　not　disappointing；　for　he　asked

with　sudden　interest；　'What　did　that　beggarly　uncle　of　yours　get

anyway？'

　　'One　rifle；　one　blanket；　twenty　bottles　of　hooch。　Rifle　broke。'

She　said　this　last　scornfully；　as　though　disgusted　at　how　low　her

maiden…value　had　been　rated。

　　She　spoke　fair　English；　with　many　peculiarities　of　her　husband's

speech；　but　there　was　still　perceptible　the　Indian　accent；　the

traditional　groping　after　strange　gutturals。　Even　this　her　instructors

had　taken　in　hand；　and　with　no　small　success；　too。

　　At　the　next　intermission；　Prince　discovered　a　new　predicament。

　　'I　say；　Kid；'　he　said；　'we're　wrong；　all　wrong。　She　can't　learn　in

moccasins。　Put　her　feet　into　slippers；　and　then　onto　that　waxed　floor…

phew！'

　　Madeline　raised　a　foot　and　regarded　her　shapeless　house…moccasins

dubiously。　In　previous　winters；　both　at　Circle　City　and　Forty…Mile；

she　had　danced　many　a　night　away　with　similar　footgear；　and　there

had　been　nothing　the　matter。　But　now…　well；　if　there　was　anything

wrong　it　was　for　Malemute　Kid　to　know；　not　her。

　　But　Malemute　Kid　did　know；　and　he　had　a　good　eye　for　measures；　so　he

put　on　his　cap　and　mittens　and　went　down　the　hill　to　pay　Mrs。

Eppingwell　a　call。　Her　husband；　Clove　Eppingwell；　was　prominent　in　the

community　as　one　of　the　great　Government　officials。　The　Kid　had

noted　her　slender　little　foot　one　night；　at　the　Governor's　Ball。　And

as　he　also　knew　her　to　be　as　sensible　as　she　was　pretty；　it　was　no

task　to　ask　of　her　a　certain　small　favor。

　　On　his　return；　Madeline　withdrew　for　a　moment　to　the　inner　room。

When　she　reappeared　Prince　was　startled。

　　'By　Jove！'　he　gasped。　'Who'd　a'　thought　it！　The　little　witch！　Why　my

sister…'

　　'Is　an　English　girl；'　interrupted　Malemute　Kid；　'with　an　English

foot。　This　girl　comes　of　a　small…footed　race。　Moccasins　just　broadened

her　feet　healthily；　while　she　did　not　misshape　them　by　running　with

the　dogs　in　her　childhood。'

　　But　this　explanation　failed　utterly　to　allay　Prince's　admiration。

Harrington's　commercial　instinct　was　touched；　and　as　he　looked　upon

the　exquisitely　turned　foot　and　ankle；　there　ran　through　his　mind

the　sordid　list…　'One　rifle；　one　blanket；　twenty　bottles　of　hooch。'

　　Madeline　was　the　wife　of　a　king；　a　king　whose　yellow　treasure

could　buy　outright　a　score　of　fashion's　puppets；　yet　in　all　her　life

her　feet　had　known　no　gear　save　red…tanned　moosehide。　At　first　she　had

looked　in　awe　at　the　tiny　white…satin　slippers；　but　she　had　quickly

understood　the　admiration　which　shone；　manlike；　in　the　eyes　of　the

men。　Her　face　flushed　with　pride。　For　the　moment　she　was　drunken

with　her　woman's　loveliness；　then　she　murmured；　with　increased

scorn；　'And　one　rifle；　broke！'



　　So　the　training　went　on。　Every　day　Malemute　Kid　led　the　girl　out

on　long　walks　devoted　to　the　correction　of　her　carriage　and　the

shortening　of　her　stride。　There　was　little　likelihood　of　her

identity　being　discovered；　for　Cal　Galbraith　and　the　rest　of　the

Old…Timers　were　like　lost　children　among　the　many　strangers　who　had

rushed　into　the　land。　Besides；　the　frost　of　the　North　has　a　bitter

tongue；　and　the　tender　women　of　the　South；　to　shield　their　cheeks　from

its　biting　caresses；　were　prone　to　the　use　of　canvas　masks。　With　faces

obscured　and　bodies　lost　in　squirrel…skin　parkas；　a　mother　and

daughter；　meeting　on　trail；　would　pass　as　strangers。

　　The　coaching　progressed　rapidly。　At　first　it　had　been　slow；　but

later　a　sudden　acceleration　had　manifested　itself。　This　began　from　the

moment　Madeline　tried　on　the　white…satin　slippers；　and　in　so　doing

found　herself。　The　pride　of　her　renegade　father；　apart　from　any

natural　self…esteem　she　might　possess；　at　that　instant　received　its

birth。　Hitherto；　she　had　deemed　herself　a　woman　of　an　alien　breed；

of　inferior　stock；　purchased　by　her　lord's　favor。　Her　husband　had

seemed　to　her　a　god；　who　had　lifted　her；　through　no　essential

virtues　on　her　part；　to　his　own　godlike　level。　But　she　had　never

forgotten；　even　when　Young　Cal　was　born；　that　she　was　not　of　his

people。　As　he　had　been　a　god；　so　had　his　womenkind　been　goddesses。　She

might　have　contrasted　herself　with　them；　but　she　had　never　compared。

It　might　have　been　that　familiarity　bred　contempt；　however；　be　that　as

it　may；　she　had　ultimately　come　to　understand　these　roving　white

men；　and　to　weigh　them。　True；　her　mind　was　dark　to　deliberate

analysis；　but　she　yet　possessed　her　woman's　clarity　of　vision　in

such　matters。　On　the　night　of　the　slippers　she　had　measured　the

bold；　open　admiration　of　her　three　man…friends；　and　for　the　first　time

comparison　had　suggested　itself。　It　was　only　a　foot　and　an　ankle；　but…

but　comparison　could　not；　in　the　nature　of　things；　cease　at　that

point。　She　judged　herself　by　their　standards　till　the　divinity　of

her　white　sisters　was　shattered。　After　all；　they　were　only　women；

and　why　should　she　not　exalt　herself　to　their　midst？　In　doing　these

things　she　learned　where　she　lacked　and　with　the　knowledge　of　her

weakness　came　her　strength。　And　so　mightily　did　she　strive　that　her

three　trainers　often　marveled　late　into　the　night　over　the　eternal

mystery　of　woman。

　　In　this　way　Thanksgiving　Night　drew　near。　At　irregular　intervals

Bettles　sent　word　down　from　Stuart　River　regarding　the　welfare　of

Young　Cal。　The　time　of　their　return　was　approaching。　More　than　once

a　casual　caller；　hearing　dance…music　and　the　rhythmic　pulse　of　feet；

entered；　only　to　find　Harrington　scraping　away　and　the　other　two

beating　time　or　arguing　noisily　over　a　mooted　step。　Madeline　was　never

in　evidence；　having　precipitately　fled　to　the　inner　room。

　　On　one　of　these　nights　Cal　Galbraith　dropped　in。　Encouraging　news

had　just　come　down　from　Stuart　River；　and　Madeline　had　surpassed

herself…　not　in　walk　alone；　and　carriage　and　grace；　but　in　womanly

roguishness。　They　had　indulged　in　sharp　repartee　and　she　had

defended　herself　brilliantly；　and　then；　yielding　to　the　intoxication

of　the　moment；　and　of　her　own　power；　she　had　bullied；　and　mastered；

and　wheedled；　and　patronized　them　with　most　astonishing　success。　And

instinctively；　involuntarily；　they　had　bowed；　not　to　her　beauty；　her

wisdom；　her　wit；　but　to　that　indefinable　something　in　woman　to　which

man　yields　yet　cannot　name。　The　room　was　dizzy　with　sheer　delight　as

she　and　Prince　whirled　through　the　last　dance　of　the　evening。

Harrington　was　throwing　in　inconceivable　flourishes；　while　Malemute

Kid；　utterly　abandoned；　had　seized　the　broom　and　was　executing　mad

gyrations　on　his　own　account。

　　At　this　instant　the　door　shook　with　a　heavy　rap…rap；　and　their　quick

glances　noted　the　lifting　of　the　latch。　But　they　had　survived

similar　situations　before。　Harrington　never　broke　a　note。　Madeline

shot　through　the　waiting　door　to　the　inner　room。　The　broom　went

hurtling　under　the　bunk；　and　by　the　time　Cal　Galbraith　and　Louis　Savoy

got　their　heads　in；　Malemute　Kid　and　Prince　were　in　each　other's　arms；

wildly　schottisching　down　the　room。

　　As　a　rule；　Indian　women　do　not　make　a　practice　of　fainting　on

provocatio