Classic Audiobook Collection - Flower of the North by James Oliver Curwood ~ Full Audiobook [adventure]

Episode Date: January 30, 2023

Flower of the North by James Oliver Curwood audiobook. Genre: adventure On a routine business journey up the Churchill River, Philip Whittemore expects the North to feel familiar. Instead, the farther he travels into the raw, river-cut wilderness of northern Canada, the more the land seems to shift under his feet, as if the map in his mind no longer matches what lies ahead. Drawn by rumor and by a nagging sense that something is being kept from him, Philip follows a fragile trail of hints to an isolated outpost known as Fort o' God, a settlement tucked among rock and timber and guarded by silence. There he meets Jeanne D'Arcambal, a woman whose beauty and quiet strength make her seem like the very soul of the country, and Pierre, her fierce protector. As Philip is welcomed into the settlement's daily life, wonder turns to unease: the people are wary, their pasts blurred, and Jeanne herself is surrounded by contradictions. Caught between desire and doubt, Philip becomes determined to uncover what Fort o' God is hiding, even as the North closes in with its own tests of endurance. Flower of the North blends romance, suspense, and wilderness adventure into a story about trust, identity, and the price of knowing the truth. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:14:23) Chapter 02 (00:30:57) Chapter 03 (00:45:35) Chapter 04 (01:01:02) Chapter 05 (01:23:51) Chapter 06 (01:39:09) Chapter 07 (02:06:59) Chapter 08 (02:31:36) Chapter 09 (02:56:54) Chapter 10 (03:23:30) Chapter 11 (03:46:04) Chapter 12 (04:00:00) Chapter 13 (04:34:39) Chapter 14 (05:02:35) Chapter 15 (05:19:07) Chapter 16 (05:37:22) Chapter 17 (06:05:26) Chapter 18 (06:19:33) Chapter 19 (06:42:21) Chapter 20 (07:07:21) Chapter 21 (07:34:05) Chapter 22 (07:44:39) Chapter 23 (07:57:18) Chapter 24 (08:20:24) Chapter 25 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter i such hair such eyes such color laugh if you will whitmore but i swear that she was the handsomest girl i've ever laid my eyes upon there was an artist's enthusiasm in gregson's girlishly sensitive face as he looked across the table at whitmore and lighted a cigarette she wouldn't so much as give me a look when i stared at he added. I couldn't help it. Gad, I'm going to make a full-page cover of her tomorrow for Burks. Burke dotes on pretty women for the cover of his magazine. Why, damn it, man, what the deuce are you laughing at? Not at this particular case, Tom, apologized Whitmore.

But I'm wondering. His eyes wandered ruminatively about the rough interior of the little cabin, lighted by a single oil lamp hanging from a cross beam in the ceiling, and he whistled softly. "'I'm wondering,' he went on, "'if you'll ever strike a place where you won't see one of the most beautiful things on earth. "'The last one was at Rio Piedras, wasn't it, Tom? "'A Spanish girl, or was she a Creole? "'I believe I've got your letter yet, and I'll read it to you tomorrow.

"'I wasn't surprised. "'There are pretty women down in Puerto Rico. but i didn't think you'd have the nerve to discover one up here in the wilderness she's got them all beat retorted the artist flecking the ash from the tip of a cigarette even the valencia girl hey there was a chuckling note of pleasure in philip whitmore's voice as he leaned half across the table his handsome face bronzed by snow and wind illumined in the lamp glow gregson in strong contrast with his round smooth cheeks slim hands and build that was almost womanish leaned over his side to meet him for the twentieth time that evening the two men shook hands haven't forgotten valencia huh chuckled the artist gloatingly lord but i'm glad to see you again phil seems like a century since we were out raising the old ned together and yet it's less than three years since we came back from south america valencia will we ever forget it when burke handed me his first turn down a month ago and said tom your work begins to show you want a rest i thought of valencia and was so confoundedly homesick for those old days when you and i pretty nearly started a revolution and came within an ace of getting our scalps lifted that i moped for a week

gad do i remember it you got out by fighting and i threw a pretty girl and your nerve chuckled whitmore crushing the other's hand that was when i made up my mind you were the nerviest man alive greggie did you ever learn what became of donna isabel she appeared twice in burke's once as the goddess of the southern republics and again as the girl of valencia she married that reprobate of a caribald bobo-planter, and I believe they're happy. It seems to me there are others, continued Whitmore, pondering for a moment in mock seriousness. There was one at Rio, whom you swore would make your fortune if you could get her to sit for you, and whose husband was on the point of putting six inches of steel into you for

telling her so, when I explained that you were young and harmless, and a little out of your head, With your fist! cried Gregson joyously. gad but that was a mighty blow i can see that knife now i was just beginning my paternoster when chug and down he went and he deserved it i said nothing wrong in my very best spanish i asked her if she would sit for me and why the devil did he take that as an insult and she was beautiful of course agreed whitmore if i remember she was the loveliest creature you had ever seen and after that there were others a score of them at least each lovelier than the one before they make up my life said gregson more seriously than he had yet spoken they're the only thing i can draw and do well i think an editor was mad if he asked me to do something without a pretty woman in it god bless em i hope i'll go on seeing them forever when i can't see beauty in a woman i want to die and you always want to see it in the superlative degree

i insist upon it if she lacks something as donna isabel wanted color i imagine that it is there and she is perfect but this one that i saw to-night is perfect now what i want to know is this-now what i want to know is this who is Who the deuce is she? Where can she be found, and will she sit for a Burke, two or three miscellaneous, and a study for the annual sale? Struck in Whitmore. Is that it? Exactly. You've a natural ability for hitting the nail in the head, Phil. And Burke told you to take a rest.

Gregson offered his cigarettes. Yes, Burke is a good-natured poetic old soul who has a horror of spirit. spiders, snakes, and skyscrapers. He said to me, Gregi, go and seek nature in some quiet, secluded place, and forget everything for a fortnight or two, except your clothes and half a dozen cases of beer. Rest, nature, beer!

Think of those cheerful suggestions, Phil, while I was dreaming of Valencia, of Donna Isabel's, and places where nature cuts up as though she had been taking champagne all her life, gad your letter came just in time and i told you little enough in that said philip quickly rising and pacing uneasily back and forth across the cabin floor i gave you promise of excitement and urged you to join me if you could and why because he turned sharply and faced gregson across the table i wanted you to come because the thing that happened down in valencia and that other at rio isn't a circumstance to the hell that's going to cut loose pretty soon up here and i'm in need of help understand it's not fun this time i'm playing a single hand in what looks like a losing game if i ever needed a fighter in my life i need one now that's why i sent for you greggson shoved back his chair and rose to his feet he was a head-shed a head-shed and he was a head-shed

shorter than his companion of almost delicate physique. Yet there was something in the cold gray blue of his eyes, a peculiar heartiness of his chin, that compelled one to look at him twice and rendered first judgment unsafe. His slim fingers closed like steel about Phillips. Now you're coming down to business, Phil, he exclaimed. I've been waiting with the patience of Job,

or of little Bobby Tucket, if you remember him. who began courting Minnie Sheldon seven years ago and married her the day after I got your letter. I was too busy figuring out what you hadn't written to go to the wedding. I tried to read between the lines and fell down completely. I've been thinking all the way up from Le Pa,

and I'm still at sea. You called, I came. What's up? It's going to sound a little mad at first, Gregie, chuckled Whitmore, lighting his pipe. "'It's going to give your aesthetic tastes a jar. Look here,' he seized Gregson by the arm and led him to the door. The cold northern sky was brilliant with stars.

The cabin, its logs half-smothered in dying masses of verdure, which had climbed about it during the summer, was built on the summit of one of the wind-cropped ridges which are called mountains in the far north. Into that north swept infinite wilderness, white and gray where the starlit tops of the spruce rose up at their feet, black in the distance. From somewhere out of it,

there came the low, sweeping monotone of surf beating on a shore, Philip, with one hand on Gregson's shoulder, pointed with the other into the lonely desolation which they were facing. There isn't much between, us and the Arctic Ocean, Gregie, he said. See that light off there, like a great fire that is half a mind to die out one minute and flares up the next?

Doesn't it remind you of the night we got away from Carabobo, when Donna Isabel pointed out our way to us, with the moon coming up over the mountains as a guide? That isn't the moon. It's the Aurora Borealis. You can hear the wash of the bay down there, and if you're keen, you can catch the smell of icebergs. There's Fort Churchill, a rifle shot beyond the ridge, asleep. There's nothing but Hudson's Bay Company's posts,

Indian camps, and trappers between here and civilization, which is 400 miles down there, seems like a quiet and peaceful country, doesn't it? There's something about it that makes you thrill and wonder if this isn't the biggest part of the universe after all. Listen. Hear the Indian dogs wailing down at Churchill?

That's the primal voice in this world, the voice of the wild. Even that beating of the surf is filled with the same thing, for its rolling up mystery instead of history. It is telling what man doesn't know, and in a language which he cannot understand. You're a beauty, scientist, Gregie. this must sink deep it does said Gregson what the deuce you're getting at Phil i'm arriving gradually and without undue haste to the point

i'm about to tell you why i induced you to join me up here i hesitate at the last word it seems almost brutal taking into consideration your philosophy of beauty to drop from all this from that black blackness and mystery out there, from Donna Isabel's and pretty eyes, down to fish. Fish? Yes, fish. Gregson, lighting a fresh cigarette, held the match so that the tiny flame lighted up his companion's face for a moment. Look here, he expostulated. You haven't got me up here to go, fishing. Yes.

and no, said Philip. But even if I have, he caught Gregson by the arm again, and there was a tightness in the grip of his fingers, which convinced the other that he was speaking seriously now. Do you remember what started the revolution down in Honduras,

the second week after we struck Puerto Barrios, Gregi? It was a girl, wasn't it? Yes, and she wasn't half pretty at that. It was less than a little, girl, went on Philip. Seen, the Palm Plaza at Siba. President Belize is drinking wine with his cousin, the fiancé of General O'Kelly Bonilla, the half-Irish, half-Latin American leader of his forces, and his warmest friend. At a moment when their corner of the plaza is empty, Belize helps himself to a cousinly kiss. O'Kelly, unperceived, arrives in time to witness.

the act. From that moment his friendship for Belize turns to hatred and jealousy. Within three weeks he has started a revolution, beats the government forces at Siba, chases Belize from the capital, gets Nicaragua mixed up in the trouble, and draws three French, two German, and two American warships to the scene. Six weeks after the wine drinking, he is president of the Republic, and facto. And all of this, Gregie, because of a kiss. Now, if a kiss can start a revolution, unseat a president, send a government to smash, what must be the possibilities of a fish?

I'm getting interested, said Gregson. If there's a climax, come to it, Phil, I admit that there must be enormous possibilities in a fish. Go on End of Chapter 1 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 2 of Flower of the North This Libervox recording is in the public domain

Recording by Roger Maline Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerwood Chapter 2 For a moment the two men stood in silence listening to the sullen beat of surf beyond the black edge of forest Then Philip led the way back into the cabin. Gregson followed.

In the light of the big oil lamp which hung suspended from the ceiling, he noticed something in Whitmore's face he had not observed before, a tenseness about the muscles of his mouth, a restlessness in his eyes, rigidity of jaw, an air of suppressed emotion which puzzled him. He was keenly observant of details, and knew that these things had been missing a short time before. The pleasure of their meeting that afternoon,

after a separation of nearly two years, had dispelled for a time the trouble which he now saw revealing itself in his companion's face and attitude, and the lightness of Whitmore's manner in beginning his explanation for inducing him to come into the north had helped to complete the mask. There occurred to him, for an instant, a picture which he had once drawn of Whitmore,

as he had known him in certain stirring times, still fresh in the memory of each, a picture of the old, cool, irresistible Whitmore, smiling in the face of danger, laughing outright at perplexities, always ready to fight with a good-natured word on his lips. He had drawn that picture for Burke's, and had called it the fighter.

Burke himself had criticized it because of the smile but gregson knew his man it was whitmore there was a change now he had grown older surprisingly older there were deeper lines about his eyes his face was thinner he saw now that philip's lightness had been but a passing flash of his old buoyancy that the old life and sparkle had gone from him two years he judged had woven things into philip's life which he could not understand and he wondered if this was why in all that time he had received no word from his old college chum they had seated themselves at opposite sides of the table and from an inside pocket philip produced a small bundle of papers from these he drew forth a map which he smoothed out under his hands yes there are possibilities and more greggie he said i didn't ask you up here to help me fight air and moonshine and i've promised you a fight have you ever seen a rat in a trap with a bloodthirsty terrier guarding the little door that is about to be opened thrilling sport for the prisoner isn't it but when the rat happens to be human i thought it was a fish protested greggson mildly pretty soon you'll be having it a girl in a trap or at the end of a fish line and if i should interrupted philip looking steadily at him

what if i should say there is a girl a woman in this trap not only one but a score a hundred of them what then greggie i'd say there was going to be a glorious scrap and so there is the biggest and most unusual scrap of its kind you ever heard of greggie it's going to be a queer kind of fight and queer fighting and it's possible very probable that you and i will get lost in the shuffle somewhere we're two no more and we're going up against forces which would make a dozen south american revolutions look like thirty cents more than that-that it's likely will be in the wrong locality when certain people rise in a wrath which a helen of troy aroused in another people some centuries ago see here he turned the map to gregson pointing with his finger see that red line that's the new railroad to hudson's bay it is well above lepah now and its builders plan to complete it by next spring it is the most wonderful piece of railroad building on the first place of railroad building on the river the American continent, Gregi. Wonderful because it has been neglected so long. Something like a hundred million people have been asleep to its enormous value, and they're just waking up now. That road, cutting across 400 miles of wilderness, is opening up a country

half as big as the United States, in which more mineral wealth will be dug during the next 50 years than will ever be taken from Yukon or Alaska, it is shortening the route from Montreal, Duluth, Chicago, and the Middle West, to Liverpool and other European ports by a thousand miles. It means the making of a navigable sea out of Hudson's Bay, cities on its shores, and great steel foundries close to the Arctic Circle, where there is coal and iron enough to supply the way, world for hundreds of years. That's only a small part of what this road means, Gregie.

Two years ago, you remember I asked you to join me in the adventure, I came up seeking opportunity. I didn't dream then, Whitmore paused, and a flash of his old smile passed over his face. I didn't dream that fate had decreed me to stir up what I'm going to tell you about, Gregie. I followed the line of the proposed railroad looking for chances. All Canada was asleep, or too much interested in its west, and gave me no competition. I was alone west of the surveyed line. East of it, steel corporation men had optioned mountains of iron, and another interest had a grip on coal fields.

Six months I spent among the Indians, French, and half-breeds. i lived with them trapped and hunted with them and picked up a little cre and french the life suited me i became a northerner in heart and soul if not quite yet in full experience clubs and balls and cities grew to be only memories you know how i have always hated that hothouse sort of existence and you know that same world of clubs and balls and cities has gripped at my throat wrote, downing me again and again as though it returned my sentiment with interest. Up here I learned to hate it more than ever. I was completely happy. And then—' he had refolded the map and drew another from the bundle of papers. It was drawn in pencil. And then, Gregie, he went on, smoothing out this map where the other had been. I struck my chance. It fairly clubbed me in.

to recognizing it. It came in the middle of the night, and I sat up with a campfire laughing at me through the flap in my tent, stunned by the knockout it had given me. It seemed at first as though a gold mine had walked up and laid itself down at my feet, and I wondered how there could be so many silly fools in this world of ours. Take a look at that map, Gregie. What do you see? Gregson had listened like one under a spell. It was one of his careless boasts that situations could not phase him, that he was immune to outward betrayals of sensation. This seeming indifference, his light-toned attitude in the face of most serious affairs, would have made a failure of him in many things. But his tense interest did not hide itself now. A cigarette remained unlighted between a few years. A cigarette remained unlighted between a few. his fingers. His eyes never took themselves for an instant from his companion's face. Something that Whitmore had not yet said thrilled him, he looked at the map. There's not much to see, he said, but lakes and rivers.

You're right, exclaimed Philip, jumping suddenly from his chair and beginning to walk back and forth across the cabin. Lakes and rivers, hundreds of them, thousands of of them. Greggy, there are more than 3,000 lakes between here and civilization and within 40 miles of the new railroad. And nine out of ten of those lakes are so full of fish that the bears along them smell fishy. White fish, Gregson, whitefish and trout. There is a freshwater area represented on that map three times as large as the whole of the five great lakes. and yet the canadians and the government have never wakened up to what it means there's a fish supply in this northland large enough to feed the world and that little rim of lakes that i've mapped out along the edge of the coming railroad represents a money value of millions that was the idea that came to me in the middle of the night and then i thought if i could get a corner on a few of these lakes secure fishing privileges before the road came you'd be a millionaire said gregson

not only that replied philip pausing for a moment in his restless pacing i didn't think of money at first at least it was a secondary consideration after that night beside the camp-fire i saw how this big vacant north could be made to strike a mighty blow at those interests which make a profession of cornering meatstuffs on the other side how it could be made to fight the fight of the people by sending down an unarmamented by sending down an unquestress which could make a profession of cornering meatstuffs on the other side how it could be made to fight the fight of the people by sending down an unlimited supply of fish that could be sold at a profit in New York, Boston, or Chicago, for a half of what the trust demands. My scheme wasn't aroused entirely by philanthropy, mind you. I saw in it a chance to get back at the very people who brought about my father's ruin, and who kept pounding him after he was in a corner until he broke down and died. They killed him. They robbed me a few years later. they made me hate what i was once a moving joyous part of life down there i went from the north first to ottawa then to toronto and winnipeg

after that i went to brokaw my father's old partner with the scheme i've told you of brokaw one of the deepest shrewdest old fighters in the middle west it was only a year after my father's death that he was on his feet again as strong as ever brokaw drew in two or three others as strong as himself and we went after the privileges it was a fight from the beginning hardly were our plans made public before we were met by powerful opposition a combination of canadian capital quickly organized and petitioned for the same privileges old brokaw knew what it meant it was the hand of the trust disguised under a veneer of canadian promoters they call us aliens american money-grabbers robbing canadians of what justly belonged to them they aroused two-thirds of the press against us and yet the lines in whitmore's face softened he chuckled as he pulled out his pipe and began filling it they had to go some to beat the old man greggie i don't know just how brokaw pulled the thing off but i do know that when we won out three members of parliament and half a dozen other politicians were honorary members of our organization and that it cost brokaw a hundred thousand dollars our opponents had raised such a howl calling upon the patriotism of the country and pointing out that the people of the north would resent this invasion of foreigners that we succeeded in getting only a provisional license subject to withdrawal by the government at any time condition seemed to warrant it i saw in this no blow to my scheme for i was certain that we could carry the thing

along on such a square basis that within a year the whole country would be in sympathy with us i expressed my views with enthusiasm at our final meeting when the seven of us met to complete our plans brokaw and the other five were to direct matters in the south i was to have full command of affairs in the north a month later i was at work over here he leaned over greg's level shoulder and placed a forefinger on the map, I established our headquarters, with McDougal, a Scotch engineer, to help me. Within six months we had 150 men at Blind Indian Lake, 50 canoe men bringing in supplies, and another gang putting in stations over a stretch of more than a hundred miles of lake country. Everything was working smoothly, better than I had expected. at Blind Indian Lake we had a shipyard, two warehouses, ice houses, a company store, and a population of 300, and had nearly completed a 10-mile roadbed for narrow-gauge steel,

which would connect us with the main line when it came up to us. I was completely lost in my work. At times I almost forgot Brokaw and the others. I was particularly careful of the funds sent up to me and had accomplished my work at a cost of a little under a hundred thousand. At the end of the six months, when I was about to make a visit into the south, one of our warehouses and ten thousand dollars worth of supplies went up in smoke.

It was our first misfortune, and it was a big one. It was about the first matter that I brought up after I had shaken hands with Brokaw. Philip's face was set and white as he stood in the middle of the room, looking at Gregson. And what do you think was his reply, Gregie? He looked at me for a moment, a peculiar twitching around the corners of his mouth, and then said, Don't allow a trivial matter like that to worry you, Philip.

Why, we've already cleaned up a million on this little fish deal. Gregson sat up with a jerk. A million! Great Scott! Yes, a million, Gregie, said Philip, softly with his old fighting smile. There was a hundred thousand dollars to my credit in a first national bank. Pleasant surprise, huh? Gregson had dropped his cigarette. His slim hands gripped the edges of the table.

He made no reply as he waited for Whitmore to continue. End of Chapter 2. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 3 of Flower of the North. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerrwood. Chapter 3.

For a full minute, Philip paced back and forth without speaking. Then he stopped and faced Gregson, who was staring at him. A million, Greg. "'Reggie,' he repeated in the same soft voice. "'A hundred thousand dollars to my credit in a first national bank. "'While I was up here hustling to get affairs on a working basis, "'eager to show the government and the people what we could do, and would do, "'triumping in our victory over the trust,

"'and figuring each day in my scheme of making this big, rich North deal a staggering blow "'to those accursed combinations down there, they were at work too. while i was dreaming and doing these things brokaw and the others had formed the great northern fish and development company had incorporated it under the laws of new jersey and had already sold over a million dollars worth of stock the thing was in full swing when i reached headquarters i had authorized brokaw to act for me and i found that i was vice-president of one of the biggest legalized robbery combinations of recent years more money had been spent in advertising than in development work hundreds of thousands of copies of my letters from the north filled to the brim with the enthusiasm i had felt for my work and projects had been sent out broadcast luring buyers of stock in one of these letters i had said that if a half of the lakes i had mapped out were fished the north could be made to produce a million tons of fish a year two hundred thousand copies of this letter was a letter was said that if a half of the lakes i had mapped out were fished the north could be made to produce a million tons of fish a year two hundred thousand copies of this letter were sent out but brokaw and his associates had omitted the words if a half of the lakes mapped out were fished it would take fifteen thousand men a thousand refrigerator cars and a capital of five million to bring this about i was stunned by the enormity of their fraud and yet when i threatened to bring the whole thing to smash brokaw only laughed and pointed out that not a single

caution had been omitted. In all of the advertising, it was frankly stated that our license was provisional, subject to withdrawal if the company did not keep within laws. That very frankness was an advertisement. It was something different. It struck home where it was meant to strike, among small and unflaged investors. It roped them in by thousands. The shares were $10 each and non-accessible. Five out of six orders were from one to five shares. 99 out of every hundred were not above ten shares. It was damnable.

The very people for whom I wanted the North to fight had been humbugged to the tune of a million and a quarter dollars. Within a year, Brocaw and the others had floated a scheme, which was worse than any trust, for the trusts pay back a part of their steals and dividends. and i was responsible do you realize that greggie it was i who started the project it was my reports from the north which chiefly induced people to buy and this company a company of robbers licensed under the law i am its founder and its vice-president philip dropped back into his chair the face that he turned to gregson was damp with perspiration though the room was chilly you stayed in said greggson i had to there wasn't a loophole left open to me there wasn't a single point at which i could bring attack against brokaw and the others they were six veritable bismarks of deviltry and shrewdness

they hadn't overstepped the law they had sold a million and a quarter of stock on a hundred thousand dollar investment but brokaw only laughed when i raged at this why philip he said we value our license alone at over a million and there was no law which could prevent them from placing that value upon it or more there was one thing that i could do and only one i could resign declined to accept my stock and the hundred thousand and publicly announced why i had broken off my connections with the company i was about to do this when cooler judgment prevailed i was about to do this when cooler judgment prevailed it occurred to me that there would have to be an accounting the company might sell a million and a quarter of stock but in the end there would have to be an accounting if i was out of the game it would be easily made if i was in well do you see greggie there was still a chance of making the company win out as a legitimate enterprise even though it began under the black flag of piratical finance and fraud brokaw and the others were astonished at the stand i took it was like throwing a big ripe plum into the fire brokaw was the first to hedge he came over to my side in a private interview which we had and for the first time i convinced him completely of the tremendous possibilities before us to my surprise he began to show actual enthusiasm in my favor we figured out how the company if properly devoured how the company if properly devoured could be made to pay a dividend of fifty cents a share on the stock issued within two years.

This, I thought, would be at least a partial return of the original steel. Brokaw worked the thing through in his own way. He was authorized to vote for one of the directors, who was in Europe, and he won over two of the others. As a consequence, we voted all of the money in the Treasury, nearly $600,000, and the remainder of the stock that was on the market for development purposes. Broca then made the proposition that the company buy up any interest that wish to withdraw. The two MPs and a professional promoter from Toronto immediately sold out at 50,000 each. With their original 100,000, these three retired with an aggregate steal of nearly half a million.

Pretty good work for yours truly. eh, Greggy? Good heaven! Think of it! I started out to strike a blow, to launch a gigantic project for the people, and this was what I had hatched. Robbery! Bribery! Fraud! He paused, his hands clenched until the blue veins stood out on them like whip-cords. And? Gregson spoke uneasily. And what? Phillips' fingers relaxed their grip on the table. if that had been all i wouldn't have called you up here he continued i've taken a long time in coming down to the real hell of the affair because i wanted you to understand the situation from the beginning after i left brokaw i came north again i possessed all the funds necessary to make an honest working organization out of the northern fish and development company i hired two hundred additional men added twenty new fishing stations, began a second road bed to the main line, and started a huge dam at Blind

Indian Lake. We had thirty horses driven up through the wilderness from Le Pa, and twenty teams on the way. There didn't appear to be an important obstacle in the path of our success, and I had recovered most of my old enthusiasm when Brokha sprung a new mine under my feet. He had written a long letter almost immediately after I left him, which had been delayed at several places. In it he told me that he had discovered a plot to wreck our enterprise, that some powerful force was about to be pitted against us in the very country we were holding. I could see that Brokaw was tremendously worked up when he wrote the letter, and that for once he felt himself outwitted by a rival faction, and realized to the full,

a danger which it took me some time to comprehend he had discovered absolute evidence he said that the bunch of trust capitalists whom he had beaten were about to attack us in another way their forces were already moving into the north country their object was to stir up the country against us to bring about that condition of unrest and antagonism between the people of the north and ourselves which would compel the government to take away our license. Remember, this license was only provisional. It was, in fact, left to the people of the north to decide whether we should remain among them or not. If they turned against us, there would be only one thing for the government to do. At first, Broca's letter caused me no very great uneasiness. I knew the people up here. I knew that the Indian, the breed, the Frenchman, and the white of this God's country were as invulnerable to bribery

as Brocaw himself is to the pangs of conscience. I loved them. I had faith in them. I knew them to possess an honor which is not known down there, where we have a church on every four corners, and where the word of God is preached day and night in the open streets. I felt myself warming with indignation as I replied to Brocaw, resenting his insinuation as to the open streets, the crimes which a half-savage people might be induced to commit for a little whiskey and a little money.

And then, Whitmore wiped his face, the lines settled deeper about his mouth. Greggy, a week after I received this letter, two warehouses were burned on the same night at Blind Indian Lake. They were three hundred yards apart. There is absolutely no doubt that it was incendiarism. He waited in silence, but Gregson still sat watching him in silence. That was the beginning, three months ago. Since then, some mysterious force has been fighting us at every step. A week after the warehouses burned, a dredge and boat-building yard, which we had constructed at considerable expense at the mouth of the gray beaver, was destroyed by fire. A little later, a premature explosion of dynamite cost us ten thousand dollars and two weeks labor of fifty men i organized a special guard service composed of fifty of my best men

but it seemed to do no good since then we have lost three miles of road-bed destroyed by a wash-out a terrific charge of dynamite had been used to let down upon us the water of a lake which was situated at the top of a ridge near our right of way whoever our enemies are they seem to know our most secret movements and attack us whenever we leave a vulnerable point open the most surprising part of the whole affair is this in spite of my own efforts to keep our losses quiet the rumor has spread for hundreds of miles around us even reaching churchill that the northerners have declared war against our enterprise and are determined to drive us out two-thirds of my men believe this mcdougall my engineer believes it between my working forces and the indians french and half-breeds about us there has slowly developed a feeling of suspicion and resentment it is growing every day every hour if it continues it can result in but two things ruin for ourselves triumph for those who are getting at us in this dastardly manner if something is not done very soon within a month perhaps less the country will run with the blood of vengeance from churchill to the barons if what i expect to happen does happen there will be no government road built to the bay the new buildings at churchill will turn gray with disuse the treasures of the north will remain undisturbed the country itself will slip back a hundred years the forest people will be filled with hatred and suspicion so long as the story of great wrong travels down from father to son and this wrong this crime philip's face was white cold almost passionless in the grim hardness that had settled in it

he unfolded a long typewritten letter and handed it to gregson that letter is the final word he explained it will tell you what i have not told you in some way it was mixed in my mail and i did not discover the error until i had opened it it is from the headquarters of our enemies addressed to the man who is in charge of their plot up here he waited scarce breathing while gregson bent over the typewritten pages he noted the slow tightening of the other's fingers as he turned from the first sheet to the second he watched gregson's face the slow ebbing of color the gray white that followed it the stiffening of his arms and shoulders as he finished then gregson looked up good god he breathed for a full half-minute the two men gazed at each other across the table without speaking end of chapter three recording by roger maline chapter four of flower of the north this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter four philip broke the silence now you understand it is impossible gasped gregson i cannot believe this it-it might have happened a thousand two thousand years ago but not now my god man

he cried more excitedly you do not mean to tell me that you believe this will be done yes replied philip it is impossible exclaimed gregson again crushing the letter in his hand a man doesn't live a combination doesn't exist that would start such a hell loose as this in this way philip smiled grimly the man does live and the combination does exist he said slowly greggy i have known of men and of combinations who have spent millions who have sacrificed everything of honor and truth who have driven thousands of men women and children to starvation and worse to achieve a victory in high finance i have known of men and combinations who have broken almost every law of man and god in the fight for money and power and so have you You have associated with some of these men. You have laughed and talked with them, smoked with them, and have dined at their tables. You spent a week at Selden's summer-born,

and it was Selden who cornered wheat three years ago and raised the price of bread two cents a loaf. It was Selden who brought about the bread riots in New York, Chicago, and a score of other cities, who swung wide the prison doors for thousands, whose millions were gained at a cost of misery, crime, and even death. And Selden is only one out of thousands who live today, watching for their opportunities, giving no heed to those who may fall under the juggernaut of their capital.

This isn't the age of petty discrimination, Gregie. It's the age of the almighty dollar, and of the fight for it. And there's no chivalry, no quagery, no quagery. quarter shown in this fight. Men of Selden's stamp don't stop at women and children. The scrub woman's dollar is just as big as yours or mine. And if a scheme could be promoted whereby every scrub woman in America could be safely robbed of a dollar, you'd find thousands of men down there in our cities ready to go into it tomorrow. And to such men as these, what is the sacrifice of a few women up here?

Gregson dropped the letter, crumpled and twisted upon the table. "'I wonder if I understand,' he said, looking into Philip's white face. There has undoubtedly been previous correspondence, and this letter contains the final word. It shows that your enemies have already succeeded in working up the forest people against you, and have filled them with suspicion. Their last blow is to be—' He stopped, and Philip nodded at the horrified question in his eyes. Greggy, up here there is one law which reigns above all other law. When I was in Prince Albert a year ago, I was sitting on the veranda of the little old Windsor hotel.

About me were a dozen wild men of the north, who had come down for a day or two to the edge of civilization. most of those men had not been out of the forests for a year two of them were from the barons and this was their first glimpse of civilized life in five years as we sat there a woman came up the street she turned in at the hotel about me there was a sudden lowering of voices a shuffling of feet as she passed every one of those twelve rows from their seats and stood with bowed heads and their caps in their hands until she had gone. I was the only one who remained sitting. That, Gregie, is the one great law of life up here, the worship of woman because she is woman. A man may steal, he may kill, but he must not break this law.

If he steals or kills, the mounted police may bring the offender to justice. but if he breaks this other law there is but one punishment and that is the punishment of the people that is what this letter purposes to do to break this law in order that its penalty may fall upon us and if they succeed god help us it was gregson who jumped to his feet now he took half a dozen nervous steps paused lighted a cigarette and looked down into philip's upturned face i understand now where the fight is coming in he said if this thing goes through these people will rise and wipe you off the map they'll lay it to you and your men of course and i fancy it won't be a job half done if they feel about it as i'd feel but he demanded sharply why don't you put the affair into the hands of the proper authorities the police or the government you've got by george you must have the name of the man to whom that letter was addressed philip handed him a soiled white envelope of the kind in which official documents are usually mailed that's the man greggson gave a low whistle lord fitzhew lee he read slowly as though scarce believing his eyes great scott a british peer the cynical smile on philip's lips cut his word short perhaps he said but if there is a british lord up here he isn't very well known greggie no one knows of him no one has heard a rumor of him that is why we can't go to the police or the government

they'd give small credence to what we've got to show this letter wouldn't count the weight of a feather without further evidence and a lot of it besides we haven't time to go to the government it is too far away and too slow and as for the police i know of three in this territory and there are fifteen thousand square miles of mountains and plains and forest in their beat it is up to you and me to find this lord fits you if we can do that we will be in a position to put a cabosh on this plot in a hurry if we fail to run him down what then we'll have to watch our chances i've told you all that i know and you're on an even working basis with me at first i thought that i understood the object of those who are planning to ruin us in this cowardly manner but i don't now if they ruin us they also destroy the chances of any other company that may be scheming to usurp our place for that reason i-there must still be other factors in the game said gregson as philip hesitated there are i want you to work out your own suspicions greggie and then we'll compare notes lord fitzhue is the key to the whole situation no matter who is at the bottom of this plot lord fitzhew is the man at the working end of it we don't care so much about the writer of this letter as the one to whom it was written it is evident that he had planned to be at churchill for the letter is addressed to him here but he hasn't shown up he has never been here so far as i can discover

i'd give a year's growth for a copy of the british peerage or a who's who mused gregson flecking the ashes from a cigarette who the deuce can this lord fitzhue be what sort of an englishman would mix up in a dirty job of this kind You might imagine him to be one of the men behind the guns like Brokaw. But by George, he's working the dirty end of it himself, according to that letter. You're beginning to use your head already, Greggy, said Philip, a little more cheerfully. I've asked myself that question a hundred times during the last three days, and I'm more at sea than ever. If it had been plain Tom Brown or Bill Jones, the name would not have suggested anything beyond what you have read in the letter. That's the question. Why should a Lord Fitzhue Lee be mixed up in this affair?

The two men looked at each other keenly for a few moments in silence. It suggests, began Gregson. What? That there may be a bigger scheme behind this affair. than we imagine. In fact, it suggests to me that the northerners are being stirred up against you and your men, for some other and more powerful reason than to make you get out of the country and compel the government to withdraw your license. So help me, God, I believe there's more behind it. So do I, said Philip, quietly.

Have you any suspicions of what might be the more powerful motive? None. I know that British capital is heavily interested in mineral lands east of the surveyed line, but there is none at Churchill. All operations have been carried on from Montreal and Toronto. Have you written to Brocaw about this letter? You are the first to whom I have revealed its contents, said Philip. I have neglected to tell you that Brocaw is so worked up over the affair that he is is joining me in the north. The Hudson's Bay Company's ship, which comes over twice a year, touches at Halifax, and if Brokhov followed out his intentions, he took passage there.

The ship should be in within a week or ten days. And by the way, Philip stood up and thrust his hands deep in his pockets as he spoke, half smiling at Gregson. It gives me pleasure to hand you a bit of cheerful information along with that, he added. Miss Brocaw is coming with him. She is very beautiful. Gregson held a lighted match until it burnt his fingertips. The deuce, you say! I've heard...

Yes, but you have heard of her beauty, no doubt. I am not a special enthusiast in your line, Gregie, but I will confirm your opinion of Miss Brokaw. You will say that she is the most beautiful girl you have ever seen, and you will want to make heads of her for Berks. I suppose you wonder why she is coming up here. So do I. There was a look of perplexity in Philip's eyes, which Gregson might have noticed if he had not gone to the door to look out into the night. What makes the stars so big and bright up in this country, Phil? he

asked. Because of the clearness of the atmosphere through which you are looking. replied philip wondering what was passing through the other's mind this air compared with ours is just like a piece of glass that has been cleaned of a year's accumulation of dirt greggson whistled softly for a few moments then he said without turning she's got to go some if she beats the girl i saw this evening phil he turned at philip's silence and laughed i beg your pardon old man i didn't mean to speak of her as if she were a horse i mean miss brokaw and i don't particularly like the idea of betting on the merits of a pretty girl replied philip but i'll break the rule for once and wager you the best hat in new york that she does beat her done said gregson a little gentle excitement of this sort will relieve the tension of the other thing phil i've heard enough of business for to-night i'm going to finish on a sketch that i have begun of her before i forget the fine points any objection none at all said philip meanwhile i'll go out to breathe a spell he put on his coat and took down his cap from a peg on the wall gregson had seated himself under the lamp and was sharpening a pencil as philip went to go out greggson drew an envelope from his pocket and tossed it on the table.

If you should happen to see anyone that looks like her, he said, nodding toward the envelope, kindly put in a word for me, will you? I did that in a hurry. It's not half flattering. Philip laughed as he picked up the envelope. The most bea-he, he began. He caught himself with a jerk. Gregson, looking up from his pencil sharpening, saw the,

the smile leave his lips and a quick flush leap into his bronze cheeks. He stared at the face on the envelope for a half a minute, then gazed speechlessly at Gregson. It was Gregson who laughed, softly and without suspicion. "'How does your wager look now?' he taunted. "'She is beautiful,' murmured Philip, dropping the envelope and turning to the door, "'Don't wait for me, Gregie. Go to bed.' He heard Gregson laugh behind him, and he wondered, as he went out, what Gregson would say if he told him that he had drawn on the back of the old envelope,

the beautiful face of Eileen Brokaw. End of Chapter 4, recording by Roger Malene. this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter five a dozen steps beyond the door philip paused in the shadow of a dense spruce half persuaded to return from where he stood he could see gregson bending over the table already at work on the picture he confessed that the sketch had startled him he knew that it had sent the hot blood rushing to his face and that only through a fortunate circumstance had gregson ascribed its effect upon him to something that was wide of the truth miss brokaw was a thousand or more miles away at this moment she was somewhere in the north atlantic if their ship had left halifax she had never been in the north more than that he knew that gregson had never seen miss brokaw and had heard of her only through himself and the society columns of the newspapers how could he explain his possession of the sketch he drew a step or two nearer to the open door and stopped again if he returned to question gregson it would draw him perilously near to explanations which he did not care to make to the one secret which he wished to guard from his friend's knowledge

after all the picture was only a resemblance it could be nothing but a resemblance even though it was so striking and unusual that it had thrown him off his guard at first when he returned later and looked at it again he would no doubt be able to see his error he walked on through the spruce shadows and up a narrow trail that led to the bald knob of the ridge feeling his way with his right hand before him when the denseness of the forest shut out the light of the stars and the moon until at last he stood out strong and clear under the glow of the skies with the world sweeping out in black and gray mystery around him to the north was the bay reaching away like a vast black plain half a mile distant two or three lights were burning over fort churchill red eyes peering up out of the deep pool of darkness to the south and west there swept the gray starlit distances which lay between him and civilization. He leaned against a great rock, resting his elbows in a carpet of moss, and his eyes turned into the mystery of those distances.

The sea of spruce tops that rose out of the ragged valley at his feet whispered softly in the night wind. From out of their depths trembled the low hoot of an owl. Over the vaster desolation beyond hovered a weird and unbroken silence. more than once the spirit of this world had come to him in the night and had roused him from his slumber to sit alone out under the stars imagining all that it might tell him if he could read the voice of it in the whispering of the trees if he could but understand it as he longed to understand it and could find in it the peace which he knew that it all but held for him the spirit of it had never been nearer to him than to-night he felt it close to him to him, so near that it seemed like the warm, vibrant touch of a presence at his side,

something which had come to him in a voiceless loneliness as great as his own, watching and listening with him beside the rock. It seemed nearer to him since he had seen and talked with Gregson. It was much nearer to him since a few minutes ago, when he had looked upon what he had first thought to be the face of Eileen Brokaw. And this was the world, the spirit that had changed him he wondered if gregson had seen the change which he tried so hard to conceal he wondered if miss brokaw would see it when she came and if her soft gray eyes would read to the bottom of him as they had fathomed him once before upon a time which seemed years and years ago thoughts like these troubled him twice that day he had found stealing over him a feeling that was almost

physical pain, and yet he knew that this pain was but the gnawing of a great loneliness in his heart. In these moments he had been sorry that he had brought Gregson back into his life, and with Gregson he was bringing back Eileen Brokaw. He was more than sorry for that. The thought of it made him grow warm and uncomfortable, though the night air from the bay was filled with the chill tang of the northern icebergs. again his thought brought him face to face with the old pictures the old life with them came haunting memories of a philip whitmore who had once lived and who had died and with these ghosts of the past there surged upon him the loneliness which seemed to crush and stifle him like one in a dream he was swept back over the black spruce at his feet far into the gray misty distances beyond, over forests and mountains and the vast grim silences, his vision reached out

until he saw life as it had begun for him and as he had lived it for a time. It had opened fair, it had given promise, it had filled him with hope and ambition, and then it had changed. Unconsciously he clenched his hands as he thought of what had followed, of the black days of ruin, of death, of the disillusion of all that he had hoped and dreamed for. He had fought because he was born a fighter. He had risen again and again, only to find misfortune still at his face. At first he had laughed and had called it bad luck, but the bad luck had followed him, dogging him with a persistence which developed in him a new perspective of things.

He dropped away from his clubs. He began to measure men and women as he had not measured them before, and there grew in him slowly a revulsion for what those measurements revealed. The spirit that was growing in him called out for bigger things, for the wild freedom which he had tasted

for a time with Gregson, for a life which was not warped by the gilded amenities of the crowded ballroom tonight, by the frenzied bird, Dollar fight tomorrow. No one could understand that change in him. He could find no spirit and sympathy with him,

no cord in another breast that he could reach out and touch and thrill with understanding. Once he had hoped and tried. A deep breath, almost a sigh, fell from his lips as he thought of that last night at the Brocaw Ball. He heard again the laughter and chatter of night. men and women, the soft rustle of skirts, and then the break, the silence. As the low, sweet music of his favorite waltz began, while he stood screened behind a bank of palms, looking down into the clear gray eyes of Eileen Brokaw. He saw himself as he had stood then, leaning over her slim white shoulders,

intoxicated by her beauty. His face pale with the fear of what he was about to say. and he saw the girl with her beautiful head thrown a little back so that her golden hair almost touched his lips, waiting for him to speak. For months he had fought against the fascination of her beauty. Again and again he had almost surrendered to it, only to pull himself back in time. He had seen this girl, as pure-looking as an angel,

strike deeply at the hearts of other men. He had heard her laugh and talk lightly of the wounds she had made. Behind the eyes which gazed up at him, dear and sweet as pools of sunlit water, he knew there lay the consuming passion for power, for admiration, for the froth-like pleasures of the life that was swirling about them. Sincerity was but their mask.

He knew that the beautiful gray eyes lied to him when he saw in them all. that he held glorious in womanhood. He laughed softly to himself, as the picture grew in his mind, and he saw Ransom come blundering in through the palms, mopping his red face and chattering inane things to little Miss Mieson. Ransom was always blundering. This time his blunder saved Philip.

The passionate words died on his lips, and when Ransom and Miss Mieson turned about in a giggling, flutter, he spoke no words of love, but opened up his heart to this girl whom he would have loved if she had been like her eyes. It was his last hope that she would understand him, see with him the emptiness of his life, sympathize with him, and she had laughed at him. She had risen to her feet, there had come for an instant a flash like that of fire in her eyes. Her voice trembled a little when she spoke. There was resentment in the poise of her white shoulders,

as Ransom's voice came to them in a loud laugh from behind the palms. Her red lips showed disdain and anger. She hated Ransom for breaking in. She despised Philip for allowing the interruption to tear away her triumph. Her own betrayal of herself was like tonic to Philip. He laughed joyously when he was a lot of, alone out in the cool night air. Ransom never knew why Philip hunted him out and shook his fat hands so warmly at parting. Philip again felt himself in the fever of that night as he turned

from the rock and began picking his way down the side of the ridge toward the bay. He found himself wondering what had become of good-natured, dense-headed ransom, who had all he could do to spend his father's allowance. From Ransom, his thoughts turned to. to little Harry Dell, Roscoe, Big Dan Phillips, and three or four others who had sacrificed their hearts at Miss Brocaw's feet. He grimaced as he thought of young Del, who had worshiped the ground she walked on, and who had gone straight to the devil when she threw him over. He wondered, too, where Roscoe was. He knew that Roscoe would have won out if it had not been for the financial crash which took his brokerage firm off its feet and left him a pauper.

He had heard that Roscoe had gone up into British Columbia to recuperate his fortune in Douglas fir. As for Big Dan, Philip stumbled over a rock and rose with a bruised knee. The shock brought him back to realities, and a few moments later he stood upon the narrow, boulder-strewn beach, rubbing his knee and calling himself a fool for allowing the old thoughts to stir him up. Out there, somewhere, Brokaw and his daughter were coming. That Miss Brocaw was with her father was a circumstance which was of no importance to him. At least he told himself so, and set his face toward Churchill. Tonight the stars and the moon seemed to be more than usually brilliant.

about him the great masses of rock the tumbling surf the edge of the forest and the bay itself were illumined as if by the light of a softly radiant day he looked at his watch and found that it was past midnight he had been up since dawn and yet he felt no touch of fatigue no need of sleep he took off his cap and walked bareheaded in the mellow light his moccasined feet falling lightly his eyes alert to all that this wonderful night world might hold for him ahead of him rose a giant mass of rock worn smooth and slippery by the water dashed against it in the crashing storms of countless centuries and this he climbed panting when he reached the top his eyes turned to where he saw fort churchill sleeping along the edge of the bay in that same spot a great pool of night glow between two forest-crowned ridges it had lain for hundreds of years he passed the ancient landing-place of rocks built a hundred and fifty years ago for the first ships that came over the strange sea he stood upon the tumbled foundations of the rocks built a hundred and fifty years ago for the first ships that came over the strange sea he stood upon the tumbled foundations of the fork that was still older and saw the starlight glinting on one of the brass cannon that lay where it had fallen amid the debris untouched and unmoved since the days ages gone when it had last thundered its welcome or its defiance through the solitudes he walked slowly along the shore where the sea had lashed wearily for many a year to reach the wilderness dead and where now triumphant the frothing surf bared gun-case coffins and tumbled the bones of men down into its sullen depths and such men men who had lived and died when the world was unborn in a half of its knowledge and science

when red blood was the great capital strong hearts the winners of life and there were women too women who had come with these men and died with them in the opening up of a new world it was such men as these and such women as these that philip loved and he walked with bared head and swiftly beating heart over the unmarked jungle of the dead and then he came to other things the first low log buildings of churchill to the silence of sleeping life new buildings loomed up working quarters of men who were grubbing for dollars the new wharves the skeletons of elevators sullen windowless warehouses the office buildings of men who were already fighting and quarreling and gripping at one another's throats in the struggle for supremacy for the biggest and ripest plums in this new land of opportunity the dollar fight had begun and the things that already marked its presence loomed monstrous and grotesque to philip as if jeering at the forgotten efforts of those whom the sea was washing away. And suddenly it struck, Philip, that the sea, working ceaselessly, digging away at its dead,

was not the enemy of the nameless creatures in the gun-case coffins, but that it was a friend, stanched through centuries, rescuing them now from the desecration that was to come. And for a moment he was resistless to the spirit that moved him about and made him face that sea with something that was almost a prayer in his heart. As he turned, he saw that a light had appeared in one of the low log buildings, which contained the two offices of the Kiwatton Mines and Lands Company. The light and the bulky shadow of Old Pierce, which appeared for a moment on one of the drawn curtains,

aroused Philip to other thoughts. Since his arrival at Churchill, he had made the acquaintance, of Pierce, and it struck him now that just such a man as this might be Lord Fitzhue Lee. The Kiwatton Mines and Lands Company had no mines and few lands, and yet Pierce had told him that they were doing a hustling business down south, selling stock on mineral claims that couldn't be worked for years. After all, was he any better than Pierce? The old bitterness rose in him. He was no better than Pierce, no better than this Lord Fitzhue himself, and it was fate, fate and people, that had made him so. He walked swiftly now, following close along the shore

in the hard stretch kept bare by the tides, until he came to the red coals of half a dozen Indian fires on the edge of the forest beyond the company's buildings. A dog scented him and howled. he heard a guttural voice break in a word of command from one of the tepees and there was silence again he turned to the right burying himself deeper and deeper into the great silence of the north his quick steps keeping pace with the thoughts that were passing through his brain fate bad luck circumstance they had been against him he had told himself this a hundred times had laughed at them with the confidence of one who knew that some day he would rise above these things in triumph and yet what were these elements of fortune as he had called them but people a feeling of personal resentment began to oppress him people people had downed him and not circumstance of him people had downed him and not circumstances and bad luck men and women had made a failure of him and not fate for the first time it occurred to him that the very men and women whom brokaw and his associates had duped whom pierce was duping would play the game in the same way if they had the opportunity what if he had played on the winning side if he had enlisted his fighting energies with men like brokaw and peers fought for money and power in place of this other thing which seemed to count so little other men would have given much to have been in his favor with eileen brokaw

he might have been in the front of this other fight the winning fight the possessor of fortune a beautiful woman he stopped suddenly it seemed to him that he had heard a voice he had climbed from out of the shadows of the forest until he stood now on a gray cliff of rock that reached out into the bay like the point of a great knife guarding churchill a block of sandstone rose in his path and he passed quietly around it in another instant he had flattened himself against it a dozen feet away full in the moonlight three figures sat on the edge of the cliff as motionless as though hewn out of rock instinctively philip's hand slipped to his revolver holster but he drew it back when he saw that one of the three figures was that of a woman beside her crouched a huge wolf dog on the other side of the dog sat a man the man was resting in the attitude of an indian with his elbows on his knees his chin in the palm of his hands gazing steadily and silently out over the bay toward churchill it was his companion that held philip motionless against the face of the rock she too was leaning forward gazing in that same steady silent way toward churchill she was bareheaded her hair fell loose over her shoulders and streamed down her back until it piled itself upon the rock shining dark and lustrous in the light of the moon philip knew that she was not an indian suddenly the girl sat erect and then sprang to her feet partly facing him the breeze rippling her hair about her face and shoulders her eyes turned to the vast gray depths of the world beyond the forests

for an instant she turned so that the light of the moon fell full upon her and in that moment philip thought that her eyes had searched him out in the shadow of the rock and were looking straight into his own never had he seen such a beautiful face among the forest people he had dreamed of such faces beside camp-fires in the deep loneliness of long nights in the forests when he had awakened to bring before him visions of what eileen brokaw might have been to him if he had found her one of these people he drew himself closer to the rock the girl turned again to the edge of the cliff her slender form silhouetted again to the edge of the cliff her slender form silhouetted again against the starlit sky. She leaned over the dog and he heard her voice, soft and caressing, but he could not understand her words. The man lifted his head and he recognized the swarthy, clear-cut features of a French half-breed. He moved away as quietly as he had come. The girl's voice stopped him. "'And that is Churchill, Pierre? The Churchill you're

have told me of where the ships come in yes that is churchill jean for a moment there was silence then clear and low with a wild sobbing note in her voice that thrilled philip the girl cried and i hate it pierre i hate it hate it hate it philip stepped out boldly from the rock and i hate it too he's said. End of Chapter 5. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 6 of Flower of the North. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerrwood. Chapter 6. Scarce had he spoken when he would have given much to have recalled his words, wrung from his lips by that sobbing note of loneliness, of defiance, of half-deckon. pain in the girl's voice. It was the same note, the same spirit, crying out against his world, that he had listened to in the moaning of the surf, as it labored to carry away the dead, and in the wind that sighed in the spruce tops below the mountain. Only now it was the spirit speaking through a human voice. Every fiber in his body vibrated in response to it, and he

stood with bared head, filled with a wild desire to make these people understand. stand, and yet startled at the effect which his appearance had produced. The girl faced him, her eyes shining with sudden fear. Quicker than her own was the movement of the half-breed. In a flash he was upon his feet, his dark face tense with action, his right hand gripping at something in his belt as he bent toward the figure in the center of the rock. His posture was that of an animal ready to spring.

close beside him gleamed the white fangs of the wolf dog the girl leaned over and twisted her fingers in the tawny hair that bristled on the dog's neck philip heard her speak but she did not move her eyes from his face it was the tableau of a moment tense breathless the only thing that moved was the shimmer of steel philip caught the gleam of it under the half-breed's hand don't do that monsieur he said pointing at the other's belt i am sorry that i disturbed you sometimes i come up here alone to smoke my pipe and listen to the sea down there i heard you say that you hate churchill and i hate it that's why i spoke he turned to the girl i am sorry i beg your pardon he looked at her with new wonderment she had tossed back her loose hair and stood tall and straight in the moonlight, her dark eyes gazing at him now calmly and without a fright. She was dressed in rich yellow buckskin, as soft as chamois. Her throat was bare.

A deep collar of lace fell over her shoulders. One hand, raised to her breast, revealed a wide gauntlet cuff of red or purple plush of a fashion two centuries old. her lips were parted and he saw the faintest gleam of her white teeth the quick rising and falling of her bosom he had spoken directly to her yet she gave no sign of having heard him you startled us that is all monsieur said pierre quietly his english was excellent and as he spoke he bowed low to philip it is i whom you must pardon monsieur for betraying so much caution philip held out his hand my name is whitmore philip whitmore he said i'm staying at churchill until the ship comes in and-and i hope you'll let me sit here on the rock for an instant pierre's fingers gripped his hand and he bowed low again like a courtier philip saw that he too wore the same big old-fashioned cuffs and that it was not a knife that hung at his belt but a short rapier

and i am pierre pierre cushier he said and this is my sister jean we do not belong to fort churchill but come from fort o god good-night monsieur the girl had taken a step back and now she swept him a curtsey so low that her fallen hair streamed over her shoulders she spoke no word but passed quickly with pierre up the rock and she spoke no word but passed quickly with pierre up the rock and she spoke to her shorty and she spoke her and while philip stood stunned and speechless they disappeared swiftly into the white gloom of the night mutely he gazed after them for a long time he stood staring beyond the rocks marvelling at the strangeness of this thing that had happened an hour before he had stood with bared head over the ancient dead at churchill and now on the rock he had seen the resurrection of what he had dreamed those dead to be in life he had never seen people like pierre and jean their strange dress the rapier at pierre's side his courtly bow the low graceful courtesy that the girl had made him all carried him back to the days of the old pictures that hung in the factor's room at churchill when high-blooded gallants came into the wilderness with their swords at their sides wearing the favors of court ladies next their hearts pierre stopped standing there on the rock, with his hand on his rapier, might have been Groselye himself, the prince's favorite.

And Jean? Something white on the rock near where the girl had been sitting caught Philip's eyes. In a moment he held in his fingers a small handkerchief and a broad ribbon of finely knit lace. In her haste to get away, she had forgotten these things. He was about to run to the little. the crest of the cliff and call loudly for Pierre Coucher, when he held the handkerchief and the lace close to his face, and the delicate perfume of heliotrope stopped him.

There was something familiar about it, something that held him wondering and mystified, until he knew that he had lost the opportunity to recall Pierre and his companion. He looked at the handkerchief more closely. It was a dainty fabric, so soft that it gave barely the sensation of touch when he crushed it in the palm of his hand for a few moments he was puzzled to account for the filmy strip of lace then the truth came to him jean had used it to bind her hair he laughed softly joyously as he wound the bit of fabric about his fingers and retraced his steps towards churchill again and again he pressed the tiny handkerchief to his face breathing of its sweetness and the action suddenly stirred his memory to the solution of its mystery it was this same sweetness that had come to him in the night that he had looked down into the beautiful face of eileen brokaw at the brokaw ball He remembered now that Eileen Brokaw loved heliotrope, and that she always wore a purple heliotrope at her white throat

or in the gold of her hair. For a moment it struck him as singular that so many things had happened this day to remind him of Brocah's daughter. The thought hastened his steps. He was anxious to look at the picture again to convince himself that he had been mistaken. Gregson was asleep when he re-entered the kid.

cabin. The light was burning low, and Philip turned up the wick. On the table was the picture, as Gregson had left it. This time, there was no doubt. He had drawn the face of Eileen Brokaw. In a spirit of jest he had written under it, the wife of Lord Fitzhue. In spite of their absurdity, the words affected Philip curiously. Was it possible that Miss Brokaw had reached Fort Churchill in some other way than by ship? And, if not, was it possible that, in this remote corner of the earth, there was another woman who resembled her so closely? Philip took a step toward Gregson, half determined to awaken him. And yet, on second thought, he knew that Gregson could not explain. Even if the artist had learned of his affair with

Miss Brokaw, and had secured a picture of her in some way, he would not presume to go this far. He was convinced that Gregson had drawn the picture of a face that he had seen that day. Again he read the words at the bottom of the sketch, and once more he experienced their curious effect upon him, an effect which it was impossible for him to analyze even in his own mind. He replaced the picture upon the table and drew the handkerchief and a bit of lace from his pocket. In the light of the lamp, he saw that both were as unusual as had been the picturesque dress of the girl and her companion. Even to his inexperienced eyes and touch, they gave evidence of a richness that puzzled him, of a fashion that he had never seen.

They were of exquisite workmanship. The lace was of a delicate ivory color, faintly tinted with yellow. The handkerchief was in the shape of a heart, and in one corner of it, so finely wrought that he could barely make out the silken letters, was the word Camille. The scent of heliotrope rose more strongly in the closed room, and from the handkerchief, Philip's eyes turned to the face of Eileen Brokaw looking at him from out of Gregson's sketch. It was a curious coincidence. He reached over and placed the picture face down. Then he loaded his pipe and sat smoking, his vision traveling beyond the table, beyond the closed door to the lonely black rock where he had come upon Jean and Pierre. Clouds of smoke rose about him, and he half-closed

his eyes. He saw the girl again as she stood there. He saw the moonlight shining in her hair. the dark, startled beauty of her eyes as she turned upon him. He heard again the low, sobbing note in her voice as she cried out her hatred against Churchill. He forgot Eileen Brokaw now, forgot in these moments all that he and Gregson had talked of that day. His schemes, his fears, his feverish eagerness to begin the fight against his enemies, died away in thoughts of the beautiful girl who had come into his life this night. It seemed to him now that he had known her for a long time, that she had been a part of him always,

and that it was her spirit that he had been groping and searching for, and could never find. For the space of those few moments on the cliff, she had driven out the emptiness and the loneliness from his heart, and there filled him a wild desire to make him, her understand, to talk with her, to stand shoulder to shoulder with Pierre out there in the night, a comrade. Suddenly his fingers closed tightly over the handkerchief. He turned and looked steadily at Gregson. His friend was sleeping with his face to the wall. Would not Pierre return to the rock in search of these articles which his sister had left behind? The thought set his blood

tingling. He would go back and wait for Pierre. But if Pierre did not return until tomorrow, he laughed softly to himself as he drew paper toward him and picked up the pencil which Gregson had used. For many minutes he wrote steadily. When he had done, he folded what he had written and tied it in the handkerchief. The strip of lace with which Jean had bound her hair, he folded gently and placed in his breast pocket. There was a guilty flush in his face as he stole silently to the door. What would Gregson say if he knew that he,

Phil Whitmore, the man whom he had once idealized as the fighter, and whom he believed to be proof against all love of woman, was doing this thing? He opened and closed the door softly. At least he would send his message to these strange people of the wilderness. They would know that he was not a part of that Churchill which they hated, that in his heart he had ceased to be a thing of its breed. He apologized again for his sudden appearance on the rock, but the apology was only an excuse for other things which he wrote,

in which for a few brief moments he buried himself to those whom he knew would understand and asked that their acquaintance might be continued. He felt that there was something almost boyish in what he was doing, and yet as he hurried over the ridge and down into Churchill again, he was thrilled as no other adventure had ever thrilled him before. As he approached the cliff, he began to fear that the half-breed would not return for the things which Jeanne had left, or that he had already revisited the rock. The latter thought urged him on until he was half-running. The crest of the cliff was bare when he reached it. He looked at it. He looked at it. He looked at his watch. He had been gone an hour. Where the moonlight seemed to fall brightest, he dropped the

handkerchief, and then slipped back into the rocky trail that led to the edge of the bay. He had scarcely reached the strip of level beach that lay between him and Churchill, when from far behind him there came the long howl of a dog. It was the wolf dog. He knew it by the slow dismal rising of the cry and the infinite sadness with which it slowly died away until lost in the whisperings of the forest and the gentle wash of the sea pierre was returning he was coming back through the forest perhaps jean would be with him for the third time philip climbed back to the great moonlit rock at the top of the cliff eagerly he faced the north whence the wailing cry of the wolf-dog had come then he turned to the spot where he had dropped the handkerchief and his heart gave a sudden jump there was nothing on the rock the handkerchief was gone End of Chapter 6. Recording by Roger Maline.

Chapter 7 of Flower of the North. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerrwood. Chapter 7. Philip stood undecided, his ears strained to catch the slightest sound. Ten minutes had not elapsed since he had dropped the handkerchief. Pierre could not have gone far among the rocks.

It was possible that he was concealed somewhere near him now. Softly, he called his name. Pierre, oh, Pierre Coucher! There was no answer, and in the next breath he was sorry that he had called. He went silently down the trail. He had come to the edge of Churchill when once more he heard the howl of the dog far back in the forest. he stopped to locate as nearly as he could the point whence the sound came for he was certain now that the dog had not returned with pierre but had remained with jeanne and was howling from their camp greggson was awake and sitting on the edge of his bunk when philip entered the cabin

where the deuce of you been he demanded i was just trying to make up my mind to go out and hunt for you stolen lost or something like that i've been thinking said philip truthfully so have i said gregson ever since you came back wrote that letter and went out again you were asleep corrected philip i looked at you perhaps i was when you looked but i have a hazy recollection of you sitting there at the table writing like a fiend anyway i've been thinking ever since you went out of the door and i'd like to read that lord fitzhew letter again. Philip handed him the letter. He was quite sure from his friend's manner of speaking that he had seen nothing of the handkerchief and the lace. Gregson seized the paper lazily, yawned, and slipped it under the blanket which he had doubled up for a pillow. Do you mind if I keep it for a few days, Phil? he asked. Not in the least, if you'll tell me why you want it, said Philip.

I will, when I discover a reason myself, replied his friend, coolly, stretching himself out again in the bunk. Remember when I dreamed that Carabobo planter was sticking a knife into you, Phil? And the next day he tried it? Well, I've had a funny dream. I want to sleep on this letter. I may want to sleep on it for a week. Better turn in if you expect to get a wink between now and morning. for half an hour after he had undressed and extinguished the light Philip lay awake reviewing the incidents of his night's adventure he was certain that his letter was in the hands of Pierre and Jean but he was not so sure that they would respond to it

he half expected that they would not and yet he felt a deep sense of satisfaction in what he had done if he met them again he would not be quite a stranger and that he would meet them again he would not be quite a stranger and that he would meet them he was not only confident but determined if they did not appear in fort churchill he would hunt out their camp he found himself asking a dozen questions none of which he could answer who was this girl who had come like a queen from out of the wilderness and this man who bore with him the manner of a court here was it possible after all that they were of the forests and where was fort a god he had never heard of it before and as he thought of jean's strange rich dress of the heliotrope scented handkerchief of the old-fashioned rapier at pierre's side and of the exquisite grace with which the girl had left him he wondered if such a place as this fort of god must be could exist in the heart of the desolate northland pierre had said that they had come from forda god but were they a part of it he fell asleep the resolution formed in his mind to investigate as soon as he found the opportunity there would surely be those at churchill who would know these people if not they would know a fort a god philip found gregson awake and dressed when he rolled out of his bunk a few hours later gregson had breakfast ready you're a good one to have company growled the artist when you go out mooning again please take me along will you chuck your head in that pail of water and let's eat i'm starved philip noticed that his companion had tacked the sketch against one of the logs above the table

pretty good for imagination greggie he said nodding burke will jump at that if you do it in colors burke won't get it replied gregson soberly seating seating himself at the table It won't be for sale. Why? Gregson waited until Philip had seated himself before he answered. Look here, old man. Get ready to laugh. Split your sides if you want to. But it's God's truth that the girl I saw yesterday is the only girl I've ever seen that I'd be willing to die for. To be sure, agreed Philip. I understand. "'Gregson stared at him in surprise. "'Why don't you laugh?' he asked.

"'It's not a laughing matter,' said Philip. "'I say that I understand, and I do.' Gregson looked from Philip's face to the picture. "'Does it—does it hit you that way, Phil?' "'She is very beautiful.' "'She is more than that,' declared Gregson warmly. if i ever looked into an angel's face it was yesterday phil for just a moment i met her eyes and they were wonderful i mean the color said philip engaging himself with the food they were blue or gray it is the first time i ever looked into a woman's eyes without being sure of the color of them it was her hair phil not this tinsel sort of gold that makes you wonder if it's

real, but the kind you dream about. You may think me alone, but I'm going to find out who she is and where she is, as soon as I have done with this breakfast. And Lord Fitshue? A shadow passed over Gregson's face. For a few moments he ate in silence. Then he said, That's what kept me awake after you had gone, thinking of Lord Fitshue and this girl. see here phil she isn't one of the kind up here there was breeding and blood in every inch of her and what i am wondering is if these two could be associated in any way i don't want it to be so but it's possible beautiful young women like her don't come travelling up to this knob end of the earth alone do they philip did not pursue the subject a quarter of an hour later the two young men left the cabin crossed the ridge and walked together down into Churchill. Gregson went to the company's store,

while Philip entered the building occupied by Pierce. Pierce was at his desk. He looked up with tired, puffy eyes, and his fat hands lay limply before him. Philip knew that he had not been to bed. His oily face strove to put on an appearance of animation and business, as Philip entered. Philip produced a couple of cigars and took a chair opposite him.

"'You look bushed, Pierce,' he began. "'Business must be rushing. I saw a light in your window after midnight, and I came within an ace of calling. Thought you wouldn't like to be interrupted, so I put off my business until this morning.' "'Insomnia,' said Pierce, huskily. "'I can't sleep.

Suppose you saw me at work through the window?' there was almost an eager haste in his question saw nothing but the light replied philip carelessly you know this country pretty well don't you pierce been squatting on prospects for eight years waiting for this damned railroad said pierce interlacing his thick fingers i guess i know it then you can undoubtedly tell me the location of fort a god for to what for to god pierce looked blank it's a new one on me he said finally never heard of it he rose from his chair and went over to a big map hanging against the wall studiously he went over it with the point of his stubby forefinger this is the latest from the government he continued with his back to philip but it ain't here there's a god's lake down south of nelson house but that's the only thing with a god about it north of fifty-three it's not so far south as that said philip rising pierce's little eyes were fixed on him shrewdly never heard of it he repeated what sort of a place is it a post i have no idea replied philip i came for information more out of curiosity than anything else perhaps i misunderstood the name i'm much obliged he left pierce in his chair and went directly to the factor's quarters bloodsoe chief factor of the hudson's bay company in the far north

could give him no more information than had peers. He had never heard of Fort a God. He could not remember the name of Couchet. During the next two hours, Philip talked with French, Indian, and half-breed trappers and questioned the mail-runner, who had come in that morning from the South. No one could tell him of Fort a God.

Had Pierre lied to him? His face flushed with anger as this, this thought came to him. In the next breath he assured himself that Pierre was not a man who would lie. He had measured him as a man who would fight and not one who would lie. Besides, he had voluntarily given the information that he and Jean were from fore to God. There had been no excuse for falsehood. He purposely directed his movement so that he would not come into contact with Gregson, little dreaming that his artist friend was working under the same formula. He lunched with the factor, and a little later went boldly back to the cliff where he had met

Jean and Pierre the preceding night. Although he had now come to expect no response to what he had written, he carefully examined the rocks about him. Then he set out through the forest in the direction from which had come the howling of the wolf-dog. He searched until late in the afternoon, but found no signs of a recent camp. For several miles he followed the main trail that led northward from Fort Churchill. He crossed three times through the country between this trail and the edge of the bay, searching for smoke from the top of every ridge that he climbed, listening for any sound that might give him a clue.

He visited the shack of an old half-breed deep in the forest, beyond the cliff, but its aged tenant could give him no information. He had not seen Pierre and Jean, nor had he heard the howling of their dog. Tired and disappointed, Philip returned to Churchill. He went directly to his cabin and found Gregson waiting for him. There was a curious look in the artist's face as he gazed questioningly at his friend. His immaculate appearance was gone. He looked like one who had passed through an uncomfortable hour or two.

Perspiration had dried in dirty streaks on his face, and his hands were buried dejectedly in his trousers' pockets. He rose to his feet and stood before his companion. Look at me, Phil. Take a good long look, he urged. Philip stared. Am I awake? demanded the artist.

Do I look like a man in his right senses? Huh? Tell me! He turned and pointed to the sketch hanging against the wall. Did I see that girl or didn't I? He went on, not waiting for Philip to answer. Did I dream of seeing her? Huh?

By Thunder, Phil! He whirled upon his companion, a glow of excitement taking the place of the fatigue in his eyes. I couldn't find her today. I've hunted in every shack and brush heap in and around Churchill. I've hunted until I'm so tired I can hardly stand up. And the devil of it is I can find no one else who got more than a glimpse of her, and then they did not see her as I did.

She had nothing on her head when I saw her, but I remember now that something like a heavy veil fell about her shoulders and that she was lifting it when she passed. Anyway, no one saw her like that, he pointed to the sketch. And she's gone, gone as completely as though she came in a flying machine and went away in one. She's gone, unless... What? Unless she is in concealment right here in Churchill,

she's gone, or hiding, you have reason to suspect that she would be hiding said philip concealing the effect of the other's words upon him greggson was uneasy he lighted a cigarette puffed at it once or twice and tossed it through the open door suddenly he reached in his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope deuce take it if i know whether i have it or not he cried but look here phil i saw the mail come in to-day and i walked up as bold as you please and asked if there was anything for lord fitzhugh i showed the other letter and said i was fitzhue's agent it went and i got this philip snatched at the letter which gregson held out to him his fingers trembled as he unfolded the single sheet of paper which he drew forth across it was written a single line don't lose an hour strike now there was nothing more except a large ink blot under the words the envelope was addressed in the same hand as the one he had previously received the men stared into each other's face it's singular that's all pursued gregson those words are important the writer expects that they will reach lord fitzhue immediately and as soon as he gets them you can look for war isn't that their significance

i repeat that it is singular this girl should come here so mysteriously and disappear still more so just at this psychological moment and it is still more puzzling when you take into consideration the fact that two hours before the runner came in from the south another person inquired for lord fitzhew's mail philip started and they told you this yes it was a man who asked a stranger he gave no name and left no word now if it should happen to be the man who was with the girl when i saw her and we can find him we've as good as got this lord fitzhue if we don't find him-and we don't find him and mighty soon it's up to us to start for your camps and put them into fighting shape see the point but we've got the letter said philip fitzhue won't receive the final word and that will delay whatever plot he has ready to spring my dear phil said gregson softly i always said that you were the fighter and i the diplomat yours the brawn and mine the brain don't you see what this means I'll gamble my right hand that these very words have been sent to Lord Fitzhue at two or three different points, so that they would be sure of reaching him. I'm just as positive that he has already received a copy of the letter which we have. Mark my words. It's catch Lord Fitzhue within the next few days, or fight.

Philip sat down, breathing heavily. I'll send word to McDougal. he said but i-i must wait for the ship why not leave word for brokaw and join mcdougal because when the ship comes in i believe that a large part of this mystery will be cleared up replied philip it is necessary that i remain here that will give us a few days in which to make a further search for these people greggson did not urge the point but replaced the second letter in his pocket with the first during the evening he remained at the cabin philip returned to churchill for an hour he sat among the ruins of the old fort striving to bring some sort of order out of the chaos of events that had occurred during the past few days he was almost convinced that he ought to reveal all that he knew to greggson and yet several reasons kept him from doing so if miss brokaw was on the london ship when it arrived at churchill there would be no necessity of disclosing that part of his own history which he was keeping secret within himself if eileen was not on the ship her absence would be sufficient proof to him that she was in or near churchill and in this event he knew that it would be impossible for him to keep from associating with her movements not only those of lord fitzhue but also those of jeanne and pierre and of brokhar himself he could see but two things to do at present wait and watch if miss brokaw was not with her father's

if miss brokaw was not with her father he would take gregson fully into his confidence the next morning he dispatched a messenger with a letter from mcdougal at blind indian lake warning him to be on his guard and to prepare the long line of substations for possible attack all this day gregson remained in the cabin it won't do for me to make myself too evident he explained i've called for lord fitzhew's mail and i'd better lie as low as possible until the corn begins to pop philip again searched the forests to the north and went with the hope of finding some trace of pierre and jean the forest people were beginning to come into churchill from all directions to be present at the big event of the year the arrival of the london ship and philip made inquiries on every trail no one had seen those whom he described the fourth and fifth days passed without any developments so far as he could discover there was no fort of god no jean and pierre he was completely baffled the sixth day he spent in the cabin with gregson on the morning of the seventh there came from far out over the bay the hollow booming of a cannon it was the signal which for two hundred years the ships from over the sea had given to the people of churchill by the time the two young men had finished their breakfasts and climbed to the top of the ridge overlooking the bay the vessel had dropped anchor half a mile off shore where she rode safe from the rocks at low tide along the shore below them where churchill lay the forest people were gathered in silent waiting groups

philip pointed to the factor's big york boat already two-thirds of the way to the ship we should have gone with blood so he said brokaw will think this a shabby reception on our part and miss brokaw won't be half flattered we'll go down and get a good position on the pier fifteen minutes later they were thrusting themselves through the crowd of men women children and dogs congregated at the foot of the long stone pier, alongside which the ship would lie for two or three hours at each high tide. Philip stopped among a number of crees and half-breeds and laid a detaining hand upon Gregson's arm. This is near enough if you don't want to make yourself conspicuous, he said. The York boat was returning. Philip pulled a cigar from his pocket and lighted it. He felt his heart throbbing excitedly as the boat drew nearer.

He looked at Gregson. The artist was taking short, quick puffs on his cigarette, and Philip wondered at the evident eagerness with which he was watching the approaching craft, until the boat ran close up under the pier, its sail hid the occupants. While the canvas still fluttered in the light wind, Bloodsoe sprang from the bow out upon the rocks with a rope. Three or four of his men followed. With a rattle of blocks and rings, the sheet dropped like a huge white curtain,

and Philip took a step forward, scarce restraining the exclamation that forced itself to his lips at the picture which it revealed. Standing on the broad rail, her slender form poised for the quick upward step, one hand extended to blood so, was Eileen Brokaw. In another instant she was upon the pier, facing the strange people before her, while her father clambered out of the boat behind. There was a smile of expectancy in her lips

as she scanned the dark, silent faces of the forest people. Philip knew that she was looking for him. His pulse quickened. He turned for a moment to see the effect of the girl's appearance upon Gregson. The artist's two hands had gripped his arm. they closed now until his fingers were like cords of steel his face was white his lips set into thin lines for a breath he stood thus while miss broca's scrutiny travelled nearer to them then suddenly he released his hold and darted back among the half-breeds and indians his face turning to philip's in one quick warning appeal he was not a moment too soon for scarce had he gone when miss brokaw caught sight of philip's tall form at the foot of the pier philip did not see the signal which she gave him he was staring at the line of faces ahead of him

two people had worked their way through that line and suddenly every muscle in his body became tense with excitement and joy they were pierre and jean he caught his breath at what happened then he saw jean fall for a moment. He noticed that she was now dressed like the others about her, and that Pierre, who stood at her shoulder, was no longer the fine gentleman of the rock. The half-breed bent over her, as if whispering to her, and then Jean ran out from those about her to Eileen, her beautiful face flushed with joy and welcome as she reached out her arms to the other woman. Philip saw a sudden startled look leap into Miss Broca's face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She stared at the forest girl, drew herself haughtily erect,

and with a word which he could not hear, turned to Bloodso and her father. For an instant, Jeanne stood as if someone had struck her a blow. Then slowly she turned. The flush was not. gone from her face. Her beautiful mouth was quivering, and Philip fancied that he could hear the low sobbing of her breath. With a cry in which he uttered no name, but which was meant for her, he sprang forward into the clear space of the pier. She saw him, and darted back among her people. He would have followed, but Miss Brokaw was coming to him now, her hand held out to him.

and a step behind were brokaw and the factor philip she cried he spoke no word as he crushed her hand the hot grip of his fingers the deep flush in his face was interpreted by her as a welcome which it did not require speech to strengthen he shook hands with brokaw and as the three followed after the factor his eyes sought vainly for pierre and jean they were gone and he felt suddenly a thrill of repugnance at the gentle pressure of eileen brokaw's hand upon his arm end of chapter seven recording by roger maline chapter eight of flower of the north this libravox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter eight philip did not see the hundred staring eyes that followed in wonderment the tall beautiful girl who walked at his side he knew that miss brokaw was talking and laughing and that he was nodding his head and answering her while his brain raged for an idea that would give him an excuse for leaving her to follow jeanne and pierre the facts that greggson had left him so strangely that eileen had come with her father and that instead of clearing up the mystery in which they were so deeply involved the arrival of the london ship had even more hopelessly entangled them or forgotten for the moment in the desire to intercept jean and pierre before they could leave churchill miss brokaw herself unconsciously gave him the opportunity for which he was seeking you don't look very happy philip she exclaimed in a chiding voice meant only for his ears i thought perhaps my coming would make you glad philip caught eagerly at the half-question in her voice

i feared you would notice it he said quickly i was afraid you would think me indifferent because i did not go out to meet you in the boat and because i had stood hidden at the end of the pier when you landed but i was looking for a man i have been hunting for him for a long time and i saw his face just as we came through the crowd that is why i am enrattled he laughed will you excuse me if i go back can you find some excuse for the others i will return in a few minutes and then you will not say that i am unhappy miss brokaw drew her hand from his arm surely i will excuse you she cried hurry or you may lose him i would like to go with you if it is going to be exciting philip turned to brokhar and the factor who were close behind them i am compelled to leave you here he explained i have excused myself to miss brokaw and will join you almost immediately he lost no time in hurrying back to the shore of the bay as he had expected jeanne and her companion were no longer in sight. There was only one direction in which they could have disappeared so quickly, and this was toward the cliff. Once hidden by the fringe of forest, he hastened his steps until he was almost running. He had reached the base of the huge mass of rock that rose up from

the sea, when down the narrow trail that led to the cliff there came a figure to meet him. It was an Indian boy, and he advanced to question him. if jean and pierre had passed that way the boy must surely have seen them before he had spoken the lad ran toward him holding out something in his hand the question on philip's lips changed to an exclamation of joy when he recognized the handkerchief which he had dropped upon the rock a few nights before or one so near like it that he could not have told them apart it was tied into a knot and he felt the crumpling of paper under the pressure of his fingers. He almost tore the bit of lace and linen in his eagerness to rescue the paper, which a moment later he held in his fingers. Three short lines, written in a fine, old-fashioned hand, were all that it held for him. But they were sufficient to set his heart beating wildly. "'Will monsieur come to the top of the rock to-night, sometime between the

hours of nine and ten. There was no signature to the note, but Philip knew that only Jean could have written it, for the letters were almost of microscopic smallness, as delicate as the bit of lace in which they had been delivered, and of a quaintness of style which added still more to the bewildering mystery which already surrounded these people. He read the lines half a dozen times, and then turned to find that the Indian boy was slipping away through the rock. here you he commanded in english come back the boy's white teeth gleamed in a laugh as he waved his hand and leaped farther away from philip his eyes shifted in a quick searching glance to the top of the cliff in a flash philip followed its direction he understood the meaning of the look from the cliff jeanne and pierre had seen his approach and their meeting with the indian boy had made it possible for them to intercept him in this manner they were probably looking down upon him now and in the gladness of the moment philip laughed up at the bare rocks and waved his cap above his head as a signal of his acceptance of the strange invitation he had received

vaguely he wondered why they had set the meeting for that night when in three or four minutes he could have joined them up there in broad day but the central tangle of the mystery that had grown up about him during the past few days was too perplexing to embroider with such a minor detail as this and he turned back toward churchill with the feeling that everything was working in his favor during the next few hours he would clear up the tangle and in addition to that he would meet Jean and Pierre. It was the thought of Jean, and not the surprises which he was about to explain, that stirred his blood as he hurried back to the fort. It was his intention to return to Eileen and her father, but he changed this. He would first hunt up Gregson and begin his work there. He knew that the artist would be expecting him, and he went directly to the cabin, escaping notice by following along the fringe of the forest. Gregson was pacing back and forth

across the cabin floor when Philip arrived. His steps were quick and excited. His hands were thrust deep in his trousers' pockets. The butts of innumerable half-smoked cigarettes lay scattered under his feet. He ceased his restless movement upon his companion's interruption and for a moment or two gazed at Philip in blank silence.

well he said at last have you got anything to say nothing said philip it's beyond me greggie for heaven's sake give me an explanation there was nothing womanish in the hard lines of greggson's face now he spoke with the suggestion of a sneer you knew all the time he said coldly you knew that miss brokaw and the girl whom i drew were one and the same person what was the object of your little sensation philip ignored his question he stepped quickly up to gregson and seized him by the arm it is impossible he cried in a low voice they cannot be the same person that ship out there has not touched land since she left halifax until she hove inside off churchill she hasn't been within two hundred miles of a coast this side of hudson strait miss brokaw is as new to this country as you it is beyond all reason to suppose anything else nevertheless said gregson quietly it was miss brokaw whom i saw the other day and that is miss brokaw's pitcher he pointed to the sketch and freed his arm to light another cigarette there was a peculiar tone of finality in his voice which warned philip that no amount of logic or arguing on his part would change his friend's belief gregson looked at him over his lighted match it was miss brokaw he said again perhaps it is within reason to suppose that she came to churchill in a balloon dropped into town for luncheon and departed in a balloon

descending by some miraculous chance aboard the ship that was bringing her father however it may have happened she was in churchill a few days ago on that hypothesis i am going to work and as a consequence i am going to ask you for the indefinite loan of the lord fitzhew letter will you give me your word to say nothing of that letter for a few days it is almost necessary to show it to brokaw hesitated philip almost but not quite greggson caught him up brokaw knows the seriousness of the situation without that letter see here phil you go out and fight and let me handle this end of the business don't reveal me to the brokaw's i don't want to meet her yet though god knows if it wasn't for my confounded friendship for you i'd go over there with you this minute she was even more beautiful than when i saw her before then there is a difference laughed philip meaningly not a difference but a little better view corrected the artist now if we could only find the other girl what a mess you'd be in greggie by george but this is beginning to have its humorous as well as its tragic side I'd give a thousand dollars to have this other golden-haired beauty appear upon the scene. I'll give you a thousand if you producer, retorted Gregson.

Good, laughed Philip, holding out a hand. I'll report again this afternoon, or tonight. Inwardly, he felt himself in no humorous mood as he retraced his steps to Churchill. He had thought to begin his work of clearing up the puzzling situation with Gregson, and Gregson had failed him completely by his persistence in the belief that Miss Brocaw was the girl whose face he had seen more than a week before. Was it possible, after all, that the ship had touched at some point up the coast? The supposition was preposterous. Yet before rejoining the Brocaw's, he sought out the captain and found that the company's vessel had come directly from Halifax,

without a change or stop in her regular course. the word of the company's captain cleared up his doubts in one direction it mystified him more than ever in another he was convinced that gregson had not seen miss brokaw until that morning but who was eileen's double where was she at this moment what peculiar combination of circumstance had drawn them both to churchill at this particularly significant time it was impossible for him not to associate the girl whom greggson had encountered and who so closely resembled eileen with lord fitzhew and the plot against his company and it struck him with a certain feeling of dread that if his suspicions were true jean and pierre must also be mixed up in the affair for had not jean in her error greeted eileen as though she were a dear friend he went directly to the factor's house and knocked at the door opening into the rooms occupied by brokaw and his daughter brokaw admitted him and at philip's searching glance about the room he nodded toward a closed inner door and said eileen is resting it's been a hard trip on her phil and she hasn't slept for two consecutive nights since we left halifax philip's keen glance told him that brokaw himself had not slept to my life The promoter's eyes were heavy, with little puffy bags under them.

But otherwise, he betrayed no signs of unrest or lack of rest. He motioned Philip to a chair close to a huge fireplace, in which a pile of birch was leaping into flame, offered him a cigar, and plunged immediately into business. "'It's hell, Philip,' he said, in a hard, quiet voice, as though he were restraining an outburst of passion with effort. In another three months we'd have been on a working basis, earning dividends. I've even gone to the point of making contracts that show us five hundred percent profit.

And now this. He dashed his half-burned cigar into the fire and viciously bit the end from another. Philip was lighting his own, and there was a moment's silence, broken sharply. by the financier. Are your men prepared to fight? If it's necessary, replied Philip, we can at least depend upon a part of them, especially the men at Blind Indian Lake.

But this fighting, why do you think it'll come to that? If there is fighting, we are ruined. If the people rise against us in a body, yes, we are ruined. That is what we must not permit. it is our one chance. I have done everything in my power

to beat this movement against us down south and have failed. Our enemies are completely masked. They have won popular sentiment through the newspapers. Their next move is to strike directly at us. Whatever is to happen will happen soon. The plan is to attack us,

to destroy our property, and the movement is to be advertised as a retaliation for heinous outrages perpetrated by our men. It is possible that the attack will not be by northerners alone, but by men brought in for the purpose. The result will be the same if it succeeds. The attack is planned to be a surprise. Our one chance is to meet it, to completely frustrate it, to strike an overwhelming blow, and to capture a surprise. enough of our assailants to give us the evidence we must have brokaw was excited he emphasized his words with angry sweeps of his arms he clenched his fists and his face grew red

he was not like the old shrewd indomitable brokaw completely master of himself never revealing himself beyond the unruffled veil of his self-possession and philip was surprised he had expected he had expected that brokaw's wily brain would bring with it half a dozen schemes for the quiet undoing of their enemies and now here was brokaw the man who always hedged himself in with legal breastworks who never revealed himself to the shot of his enemies enlisting himself for a fight in the open philip had told gregson that there would be a fight he was firmly convinced that there would be a fight but he had never believed that brokaw would come to join in it he leaned toward the financier his face flushed a little by the warmth of the fire and by the knowledge that brokaw was relinquishing the situation entirely into his hands if it came to fighting he would win he was confident of him himself there. But what will be the result if we win? he asked. If we secure those who will give the evidence we need, evidence that the movement against us is a plot to destroy our company, the government will stand by us, replied Brokaw. I have sounded the situation there. I have filed a formal declaration to the effect that

such a movement is on foot and have received a promise that the commissioner of police will investigate the matter. But before that happens, our enemies will strike. There is no time for red tape or investigations. We must achieve our own salvation, and to achieve that, we must fight. And if we lose, Brokaw lifted his hands and shoulders with a significant gesture. The moral effect will be tremendous, he said. It will be shown that the entire north is inimical, to our company, and the government will withdraw our option. We will be ruined. Our stockholders will lose every cent invested. In moments of mental energy, Philip was restless. He rose from his chair now and moved softly back and forth across the carpeted floor of the big room, shrouded in tobacco

smoke. Should he break his word to Gregson and tell Brocaw of Lord Fitzhue? But I, on second thought what good would come of it brokaw was already aware of the seriousness of the situation in some one of his unaccountable ways he had learned that their enemies were to strike almost immediately and his own revelation of the fitzhew letters would but strengthen this evidence he would keep his faith with gregson for the promised day or two for an hour the two men were alone in the room at the end of that time their plans were settled. The next morning Philip would leave for Blind Indian Lake and prepare for war. Brokaw would follow two or three days later. A heavy weight seemed lifted from Philip's shoulders when he left Brokaw. After months of worry and weeks of physical inaction, he saw his way clear for the first time. And for the first time, too, something seemed to have come into his life that he was a time. filled him with a strange exhilaration and made him forgetful of the gloom that had settled over him during these last months that night he would see jean his body thrilled at the thought until for a time he forgot that he would also see and talk with eileen

a few days before he had told gregson that it would be suicidal to fight the northerners now he was eager for action eager to begin and end the affair to win or lose if he had stopped to analyze the change in himself he would have found that the beautiful girl whom he had first seen on the moonlit rock was at the bottom of it and yet jean was a northerner one of those against whom his actions must be directed but he had confidence in himself confidence in what that night would bring forth he was like one freed from a bondage that had oppressed him for a long time and the fact that he might be compelled to fight jean's own people did not destroy his hopefulness his new joy and excitement that he had found in life as he hurried back to his cabin he told himself that both jean and pierre had read what he had sent to them in the handkerchief their response was a proof that they understood him and deep down a voice kept telling him that if he came to fighting they three pierre jean and himself would rise or fall together a few hours had transformed him into greggson's old appreciation of the fighting man long and tedious months of diplomacy of political intrigue of bribery and dishonest financiering in which he had played but the part of a helpless machine were gone now he held the whip hand brokaw had acknowledged his own surrender he was to fight a clean fair fight on his part

and his blood leaped in every vein like marshalling armies that night on the rock he would reveal himself frankly to pierre and jean he would tell them of the plot to disrupt the company and of the work ahead of him and after that he thrust open the door of his cabin eager to enlist gregson in his enthusiasm the artist was not in philip noticed that the cartridge belt and the revolver which usually hung over gregson's bunk were gone he never entered the cabin without looking at the sketch of eileen brokaw something about it seemed to fascinate him to challenge his presence now it was missing from the wall he threw off his coat and hat filled his pipe and began gathering up his few possessions ready for packing it was noon before he was through and gregson had not returned he boiled himself some coffee and sat down to wait at five o'clock he was to eat supper with the brokaws and the factor eileen threw her father had asked him to join her an hour or two earlier in the big room he waited until four and then left a brief note for gregson upon the table it was growing dusk in the forest from the top of the ridge philip caught the last red glow of the sun sinking far to the south and west a faint radiance of it still swept over his head and mingled with the thickening gray gloom of the northern sea across the dip in the bay the huge white-capped cliff seemed to loom nearer and more gigantic in the whimsical light

for a few moments a red bar shot across it and as the golden fire faded and died away philip could not but think it was like a torch beckoning to him a few hours more and where that light had been he would see jean and now down there irene was waiting for him his pulse quickened as he passed beyond the ancient fort over the burial place of the dead and into churchill He met no one at the factors, and the door leading into Miss Brocaw's room was partly ajar. A great fire was burning in the fireplace, and he saw Eileen seated in the rich glow of it, smiling at him as he entered. He closed the door, and when he turned, she had risen and was holding out her hands to him. She had dressed for him, almost as on that night of the Brocaw ball. In the flashing play of the fire, her exquisite arms and shoulders shone with dazzling beauty.

Her eyes laughed at him. Her hair rippled in a golden flood. Faintly there came to him, filling the room slowly, tingling his nerves, the sweet scent of heliotrope, the perfume that had filled his nostrils on that other night a long time ago, the sweet scent that had come to him in the handkerchief dropped on the rock the breath of the bit of lace that had bound jean's hair aileen moved toward him philip she said now are you glad to see me End of Chapter 8. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 9 of Flower of the North.

This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerrwood. Chapter 9. Her voice broke the spell that had held him for a moment. I am glad to see you, he cried quickly, seizing both her hands. Only, I haven't questioned. yet awakened from my dream. It seems too wonderful, almost unreal. Are you the old Eileen who used

to shudder when I told you of a bit of jungle and wild beasts, and who laughed at me because I loved to sleep out of doors and tramp mountains, instead of decently behaving myself at home? I demand an explanation. It must be a wonderful change. There has been a change, she interrupted him. sit down philip there she nestled herself on a stool close to his feet and looked up at him her hands clasped under her chin radiantly lovely you told me once that girls like me simply fluttered over the top of life like butterflies that we couldn't understand life or live it until somewhere at some time we came into touch with nature do you remember i was consumed with rage then at your frankness at what i considered your impertinence i couldn't get what you said out of my mind and i'm trying it and you like it he put the question almost eagerly yes she was looking at him steadily her beautiful gray eyes meeting his own in a silence that stirred him deeply he had never seen her more beautiful was it the firelight on her face the crimson leaping of the flames that gave her skin a richer hue was it the mingling of fire and shadow that darkened her cheeks

an impulse made him utter the words which passed through his mind you have already tried it he said i can see the effects of it on your face it would take weeks in the forest to do that the gray eyes faltered the flush deepened. Yes, I have tried it. I spent a half of the summer at our cottage on the lake. But it is not tan, he persisted, thrilled for a moment by the discoveries he was making. It is the wind, it is the open, it is the smoke of campfires, it is the elixir of balsam and cedar and pine, that is what I see in your face, unless it is the fire.

it is the fire partly she said and the rest is the wind and the open of the seas we have come across and the sting of icebergs ugh my face feels like nettles she rubbed her cheeks with her two hands and then held up one hand to philip look she said it's as rough as sandpaper isn't that a change i didn't even wear gloves on the ship i'm an enthusiast i'm going down there with you and i'm going to fight now have you got anything to say against me mr philip there was a lightness in her words and yet not in her voice and her manner was an uneasiness mingled with an almost childish eagerness for him to answer which philip could not understand he fancied that once or twice he had caught the faintest sign of a break in her voice you really mean to hazard this adventure he cried softly in his astonishment you whom wild horses couldn't drag into the wilderness as you once told me yes she affirmed drawing her stool back out of the increasing heat of the fire her face was almost entirely in shadow now and she did not look at philip i am beginning to-to love adventure she went on in an even voice it was an adventure coming up and when we landed down there something curious happened did you see a girl who thought that she knew me she stopped and a sudden flash of the fire lit up her eyes fixed on him intently from between her shielding hands i saw her run out and speak to you said philip his heart beating at double quick

he leaned over so that he was looking squarely into miss brokaw's face did you know her she asked i have seen her only twice once before she spoke to you if i meet her again i shall apologize said eileen it was her mistake and she startled me when she ran out to me like that and held out her hands i-i thought of beggars beggars almost shouted philip a beggar he caught himself with a laugh and to cover his sudden emotion turned to lay a fresh piece of birch on the fire we don't have beggars up here the door opened behind them and brokaw entered philip's face was red when he greeted him for half an hour after that he cursed himself for not being as clever as gregson he knew that there was a change in eileen brokaw a change which nature had not worked alone as she wished him to believe then and at supper he tried to fathom her at times he detected the metallic ring of what was unreal and make believe in what she said at other times she seemed stirred by emotions which added immeasurably to the sweetness and truthfulness of her voice she was nervous he found her eyes frequently seeking her father's face and more than once they were filled with a mysterious questioning as if within brokaw's brain there lurked hidden things which were new to her and which she was struggling to understand she no longer held the old fascination for philip and yet he conceded that she was more beautiful than ever until to-night he had never seen the shadow of sadness in her eyes

he had never seen them darken as they darkened now when she listened with almost feverish interest to the words which passed between himself and brokaw he was certain that it was not a whim that had brought her into the north it was impossible for him to believe that he had peaked at her vanity until she had leaped into action as she had suggested to him while they were sitting before the fire could it be that she had accompanied her father because he philip whitmore was in the north the thought drew a slow flush into his face and his uneasiness increased when he knew that she was looking at him he was glad when it came time for cigars and aline excused herself he opened the door for her and told her that he probably would not see her again until morning as he had an important engagement for the evening she gave him her hand and for a moment he felt the clinging of her fingers about his own good-night she whispered good-night she drew her hand half away and then saw her hand half away and then suddenly raised her eyes straight to his own. They were calm, quiet, beautiful, and yet there came a quick little catch in her throat as she leaned so close to him that she touched his breast and said, "'It will be best, best for everything, everybody, if you can influence father to stay at Fort

Churchill.' She did not wait for him to reply, but hurried toward her room. For a moment Philip stared after her in amazement. Then he took a step as if to follow her, to call her back. The impulse left him as quickly as it came, and he rejoined Brokaw and the factor. He looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. At half-past seven he shook hands with the two men, lighted a fresh cigar, and passed out into the night. It was early for his meeting with Pierre and Jean, but he went down to the shore

and walked slowly in the direction of the cliff. He was still an hour early when he arrived at the Great Rock and sat down with his face turned to the sea. It was a white, radiant night, such as he had seen in the tropics. Only here, in the north, his vision reached to greater distances. Churchill lay lifeless in its pool of light.

The ship hung like a black silhouette in the distance, with a cloud of jet-black smoke rising straight up from its funnels, and spreading out high up against the sky, a huge ebbin monster that cast its shadows for a half a mile over the bay. The shadow held Philip's eyes. Now it was like a gigantic face, now like a monster beast. now it reached out in the form of a great threatening hand as though somewhere in the mystery of the north it sought a spirit victim as potent as itself

then the spell of it was broken from the end of the shadow which reached almost to the base of the cliff in which philip sat there came a sound it was a clear metallic sound that left the vibration of steel in the air and philip leaned over the edge of the rock below him the shadow was broken into a pool of rippling starlight he heard the faint dip of paddles and suddenly a canoe shot from the shadow out into the clear light of the moon and stars it was a large canoe in it he could make out four figures three of them were paddling the fourth sat motionless in the bow they passed under him swiftly guiding their canoe so that it was was soon hidden in the shelter of the cliff. By the faint reflections cast by the disturbed water, Philip saw that the occupants of the canoe had made an effort to conceal themselves by following the course of the dense shadow.

Only the chants' sound had led him to observe them. Under ordinary circumstances, the passing of a strange canoe at night would have had no significance for him. But at the present time, it troubled him. the manner of its approach through the shadow the strange quiet of its occupants the stealth with which they had shot the canoe under the cliff were all unusual could the incident have anything to do with jeanne and pierre he waited until he heard the tiny bell in his watch tinkle the half-hour and then he set out slowly over the moonlit rocks to the north jean and pierre would surely come from that direction it was impossible to miss them he walked without sound in his moccasins keeping close to the edge of the cliff so that he could look out over the bay

two or three hundred yards beyond the big rock the sea wall swung in sharply disclosing the open water like a still silvery sheet for a mile or more philip scanned it for the canoe but as far as he could see there was not a shadow for a quarter of a mile he walked over the rocks then returned it was nine o'clock the moment had arrived for the appearance of jean and pierre he resumed his patrol of the cliff and with each moment his nervousness increased what if jean failed him what if she did not come to the rock the mere thought made his heart sink with a sudden painful throb until now the fear that jean might disappoint him that she might not keep the trist had not entered his head his faith in this girl whom he had seen but twice was supreme a second and a third time he patrolled the quarter-mile of cliff again his watch tinkled the half hour and he knew that the last minutes of the appointed time had come the third and last time he went beyond the quarter-mile limit searching in the white distances beyond a low wind was rising from the bay it rustled in the spruce and balsam tops of the forest that reached up to the barren whiteness of the rock plateau in which he stood under him he heard growing more and more distinct the moaning wash of the swelling tide a moment of despair possessed him and he felt a moment of despair possessed him and he felt that he had lost suddenly the wind brought to him a different sound a shout far down the cliff a second cry and then the scream of a woman deadened by the wash of the sea and the increasing sweep of the wind among the trees

he stood for a moment powerless listening the wind lulled and the woman's cry now came to him again a voice that was filled with terror rising in a wild appeal for help. With an answering shout, he ran like a swift-footed animal along the cliff. It was Jean who was calling. Who else but Jean would be out there in the gray night? Jean and Pierre. He listened as he ran, but there came no other sound. At last he stopped and drew in a great breath to send out a shout that would reach their ears. Above the fierce beating of his heart, the throbbing intake of his breath he heard sounds which were not of the wind or the sea he ran on and suddenly the cliff dropped from under his feet and he found himself on the edge of a great rift in the wall of rock looking across upon a strange scene in the brilliant moonlight with his back against a rock stood pierre his glistening rapier in his hand his thin lithe body bent for the attack of three men who faced him it was but a moment's tableau the men rushed in muffled cries blows a single clash of steel and pierre's voice rose above the sound of conflict

monsieur he had seen philip rush up to the edge of the break in the cliff and as he fought he cried out again shoot monsieur in a moment it'll be too late philip had drawn his heavy revolver he watched for an opportunity the men were fighting now so that pierre had been forced between his assailants and the breach in the wall there was no chance to fire without hitting him run pierre shouted Philip. Run! He fired once over the heads of the fighters, and as Pierre suddenly darted to one side in obedience to his command, there came for the first time a shot from the other side. The bullet whistled close to his ears.

A second shot, and Pierre fell down like one dead among the rocks. Again Philip fired, a third and a fourth time, and one of the three who were disappearing in the white gloom stumbled over a rock and fell as Pierre had fallen. His companion stopped, picked him up, and staggered on with him. Phillips' last shot missed, and before he could reload, they were lost among the upheaved masses of the cliff. Pierre, he called. Ho! Pierre Coucher! There was no answer from the other side.

he ran along the edge of the break and in the direction of the forest he found a place where he could descend in his haste he fell his hands were scratched blood flowed from a cut in his forehead when he dragged himself up to the face of the cliff again he tried to shout when he saw a figure drag itself up among the rocks but his almost superhuman exertions had left him voiceless his wind whistled from between his parted lips when he came to pierre pierre was supporting himself against a rock his face was streaming with blood in his hand he held what remained with the rapier which had broken off close to the hilt his eyes were blazing like a madman and his face was twisted with an agony that sent a thrill of horror through Philip. My herd is nothing, nothing, monsieur, he gasped, understanding the look in Philip's face. It is jean. They have gone, gone with jean! The rapier slipped from his hand, and he slid weakly down against the rock. Philip dropped upon his knees, and with his handkerchief began wiping the blood from the half-breed's face.

For a few moments Pierre's head hung limp against his shoulder. What is it, Pierre? he urged. Tell me, quick! They have gone with Jean? Pierre's body grew rigid. With one great effort he seemed to marshal all of his strength and straightened himself. Listen, monsieur, he said, speaking calmly. They set upon us as we were going to meet you at the rock. There were four.

one of them is dead back there the others with jean have gone in the canoe it is death worse than death for her his body writhed in a passion he strove to rise to his feet then with a groan he sank back and for a moment philip thought he was dying i will go pierre he cried i will bring her back i swear it pierre's hand detained him as he went to rise you swear yes at the next break there is a canoe they have gone for the churchill pierre's voice was growing weaker in a spasm of sudden fear at the dizziness which was turning the night black for him he clutched at philip's arm if you save her monsieur do not bring her back he whispered her hoarsely. Take her to Forta God. Lose not an hour, not a minute. Trust no one. Hide yourselves. Fight, kill, but take her to Forta God. You will do this, monsieur, you promise? He fell back, limp. Philip lowered him gently, holding his head so that he could look into the staring eyes that were still open and understanding.

I will go, Pierre, he said. I will take her to Forta God, and you, a shadow was creeping over Pierre's eyes. He was still fighting to understand, fighting to hold for another breath or two, the consciousness that was fast slipping from him. Listen, cried Philip, striving to rouse him. You will not die. the bullet grazed your head and the wound has already stopped bleeding tomorrow you must go to churchill and hunt up a man named greggson the man i was with when you and jean came to see the ship tell him that an important thing has happened and that he must tell the others i have gone to the camps he will understand tell him tell him he struggled to find some final word for greggson pierre still loved

looked at him, his eyes half closed now. Philip bent close down. Tell him, he said, that I am on the trail of Lord Fitzhue. Scarcely had he uttered the name when Pierre's closing eyes shot open. A groaning cry burst from his lips, and as if that name had aroused the last spark of life and strength within him into action, he wrenched himself from Philip's arms, striving to speak. A trickle of fresh blood ran over his face.

Incoherent sounds rattled in his throat, and then, overcome by his effort, he dropped back unconscious. Philip wound his handkerchief about the wounded man's head and straightened out his limbs. Then he rose to his feet and reloaded his revolver. His hands were steady now, his brain was clear the enervating thrill of excitement had gone from his body only his heart beat like a racing engine he turned and ran in the direction which pierre's assailants had taken his head lowered his revolver held in front of him on a level with his breast he had not gone a hundred yards when something stopped him in his path with its face turned straight up to the moonlit sky lay

the body of a man. For an instant, Philip bent over it. The broken blade of Pierre's rapier glistened under the man's throat. One lifeless hand clutched at it, as though in the last moment of life he had tried to draw it forth. The face was distorted.

The eyes were still open, the lips parted. Death had come with terrible suddenness. Philip bent lower, and stared into the face of the dead man where had he seen that face before suddenly he remembered he drew back and a cold sweat seemed to break out all at once over his face and body this man who lay with the broken blade of pierre cuchet's rapier in his breast had come ashore from the london ship that day in company with eileen and her father for a space he was overwhelmed by the discovery everything that had happened the scene upon the rock when he first met jean the arrival of the ship the moment's tableau on the pier when jean and eileen stood face to face rushed upon him now as he gazed down into the staring eyes at his feet what did it all mean

why had lord fitzhew's name been sufficient to drag the half-breed back from the brink of unconsciousness what significance was there in this strange combination of circumstances that persisted in drawing pierre and jean into the plot that threatened himself had there been truth after all in those last words that he impressed upon the fainting senses of pierre couche's message to gregson he waited to answer none of the questions that leap through his brain to-morrow some one would find pierre or pierre would crawl down into churchill and then there would be the dead man to account for he shuddered as he returned his revolver into his holster and braced his limbs it was an unpleasant task but he knew that it must be done to save pierre he lifted the body clear of the rocks and bending under its weight carried it to the edge of the cliff far below sounded the wash of the sea he shoved his burden over the edge and listened after a moment there came a dull splash then he hastened on as pierre had guided him End of Chapter 9. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 10 of Flower of the North

This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerwood. Chapter 10. Soon Philip slackened his pace and looked anxiously ahead of him. From where he stood, the cliff sloped down to a white strip of beach that reached out into the as far as he could see, hemmed close in by the black gloom of the forest. Halfway down the slope the moonlight was cut by a dark streak, and he found this to be the second

break. He had no difficulty in descending. Its sides were smooth, as though worn by water. At the bottom, white, dry sand slipped under his feet. He made his way between the walls, and darkness shut him in. the trail grew rougher. Near the shore he stumbled blindly among huge rocks and piles of crumbling slate, wondering why Jean and Pierre had come this way, when they might have taken a smoother road. Close to the stony beach, where the light was a little better,

he made out the canoe which Pierre had drawn into the shadows. Not until he had dragged it into the moonlight at the edge of the water, did he see that it was equipped as if for a long journey. close to the stern was a bulging pack with a rifle strapped across it two or three smaller caribou-skin bags lay in the center of the canoe in the bough was a thick nest of bear-skin and he knew that this was for jean cautiously philip launched himself and with silent sweeps of the paddle that made scarcely the sound of a ripple in the water set out in the direction of churchill jean's captors had a considerable start of him but he felt confident of his ability to overtake them shortly if pierre had spoken with truth when he said that they would head for the churchill river he had observed the caution with which pierre's assailants had approached the cliff and he was sure that they would double that caution in their return, especially as their attack had been interrupted at the last moment.

For this reason he paddled without great haste, keeping well within the concealment of the precipitous shore, with his ears and eyes keenly alive to discover a sign of those who were ahead of him. Opposite the rock where Pierre and Jean were to have met him, he stopped and stood up in the canoe. The wind had dispelled the wind had dispelled the, smoke shadow. Between him and the distant ship lay an unclouded sea. Two-thirds of the distance to the vessel, he made out the larger canoe, rising and falling with the smooth undulations

of the tide. He sank upon his knees again and unstrapped Pierre's rifle. There was a cartridge in the chamber. He made sure that the magazine was loaded and resumed his paddling. His mind worked rapidly. Within half an hour, if he desired, he could overtake the other canoe. And what then? There were three to one, if it came to a fight, and how could he rescue Gene without a fight?

His blood was pounding eagerly, almost with pleasure at the promise of what was ahead of him, and he laughed softly to himself as he thought of the odds. The ship loomed nearer, the canoe vanished behind it. A brief stop, a dozen words of explanation, and Philip knew that he could secure assistance from the vessel. After all, would that not be the wisest course for him to pursue?

For a moment he hesitated and paddled more slowly. If others joined with him in the rescue of Jean, what excuse could he offer for not bringing her back to Churchill? What would happen if he would happen if he were, he returned with her. Why had Pierre roused himself from something that was almost death to entreat him to take Jean to Forta God? At the thought of Forta God, a new strength leaped into his arms and body, urging him on to cope with the situation single-handed. If he rescued Jean alone, and went on with her as he had promised Pierre, many things that were puzzling him would be explained. It occurred to him

again that Jean and Pierre might be the key to the mysterious plot that promised to crash out the life of the enterprise he had founded in the North. He found reasons for this belief. Why had Lord Fitzhue's name had such a startling effect upon Pierre? Why was one of his assailants a man fresh from the London ship that had borne Elyne Brocaw and her father as passengers? He felt that Jean could explain these things, as well as her brother. she could explain the strange scene on the pier when for a moment she had stood crushed and startled before irene she could clear up the mystery of gregson's sketch for if there were two irene brokaws jean would know with these arguments he convinced himself that he should go on alone yet behind them there was another and more powerful motive he confessed to himself that he would willingly accept to himself that he would willingly except double the chances against him to achieve Jeanne's rescue without assistance and to accompany

her to Forta God. The thought of their being together, of the girl's companionship, perhaps for days, thrilled him with exquisite anticipation. An hour or so ago he had been satisfied in the assurance that he would see her for a few minutes on the cliff. Since then, fate had played his way. Jean was his own. to save to defend to carry on to fort a god not for a moment did he hesitate at the danger ahead of him and yet his pursuit was filled with caution gregson the diplomat would have seen the necessity of halting at the ship for help philip was confident in himself he knew that he would have at least three against him for he was satisfied that the man whom he had wounded on the cliff was still in fighting trim there might be others whom he had not taken into account he passed so close under the stern of the ship that his canoe scraped against her side for a few minutes the vessel had obstructed his view but now he saw again a quarter of a mile distant the craft which he was pursuing jean's captors were heading straight for the river and as the canoe was now partly broadside to him he could easily make out the figure

in her, but not distinctly enough to make sure of their number. He shoved out boldly into the moonlight, and, instead of following in his former course, he turned at a sharp angle in the direction of the shore. If the others saw him, which was probable, they would think that he was making a landing from the ship. Once he was in the deep fringe of shadow along the shore, he could redouble his exertions and draw nearer to them without being observed,

no sooner had he readied the sheltering bloom than he bent to his paddle and the light birch bark fairly hissed through the water not until he found himself abreast of the pursued did it occur to him that he could beat them out to the mouth of the churchill and lie and wait for them every stroke of his paddle widened the distance between him and the larger canoe fifteen minutes later he reached the edge of the huge delta of wild rice and reeds, through which the sluggish volume of the river emptied into the bay. The chances were that the approaching canoe would take the nearest channel into the mainstream, and Philip concealed himself so that it would have to pass within twenty yards of him. From his ambuscade he looked out upon the approaching canoe. He was puzzled by the slowness of its progress. At times it seemed to stand still, and he could distinguish no movement at all among its occupants. At first he thought they were undecided as to which course to

pursue, but a few minutes more suffice to show that this was not the reason for their desultory advance. The canoe was headed for the first channel. The solution came when a low but clear whistle signaled over the water. Almost instantly there came a responsive whistle from up the channel. Philip drew a quick breath and a new sound. sensation brought his teeth together in sudden perplexity. It looked as though he had a bigger fight before him than he had anticipated. At the signal from upstream, he heard the quick dip of paddles, and the canoe cut swiftly toward him. He drew back the hammer of Pierre's rule, and cleared a little space through the reeds and grass, so that his view into the channel was

unobstructed. Three or four well-directed shots, a quick dashed. A quick dashed, and a quick dashed, out into the stream and he would possess jean this was his first thought it was followed by others rapid as lightning that restrained his eagerness the night glow was treacherous to shoot by what if he should miss or hit jean or in the sudden commotion and destruction of his shots the canoe should be overturned a single error the slightest mishap to himself would mean the annihilation of his hopes. Even if he succeeded in directing his shots with accuracy, both himself and Jean would almost immediately be under fire from those above. He dropped back again behind the screen of reeds. The canoe drew nearer. A moment more, and it was almost abreast of him, and his heart pounded like a swiftly beating hammer when he saw Jean in the stern. She was leaning back as though,

He could see nothing of her face, but as the canoe passed within ten yards of his hiding place, he saw the dark glow of her dis shelved hair, which fell thickly over the object against which she was resting. It was but a moment's view, and they were gone. He had not looked at the three men in the canoe. His whole being was centered upon jean. He had seen no sign of life, no movement in her body, not the flutter of a hand and all his fears leaped like brands of burning fire into his brain he thought of the inhuman plot which lord fitzhew's letter had revealed in the same breath pierre couche's words rang in his ears it is death worse than death for her was jean the first victim of that diabolical scheme to awaken the wrath of the north one

in the madness which possessed him now philip shoved out his canoe while there was still danger of discovery fortunately none of the pursued glanced back and a turn in the channel soon hid them from view philip had recovered his self-possession by the time he reached the turn he assured himself that jeanne was unharmed as yet and that when he saw her she had probably fainted from excitement and terror her fate still lay before her somewhere in the deep and undisturbed forest up the churchill his one hope was to remain undiscovered and to rescue her at the last moment when she was taken ashore by her captors he followed close up against the reeds never trusting himself out of the shadows after a little he heard voices and a second canoe appeared there was a short pause and the two canoes continued side by side up the channel. A quarter of an hour brought both the pursuers and the pursued into the main stream, which lay in black gloom between forest walls that cut out all light but the shimmer of the stars. No longer could Philip see those ahead of him,

but he guided himself by occasional voices in the dip of paddles. At times, when the stream narrowed and the forest walls gave him deeper shelter, he drew perilously near, with the hope of overhearing what was said, but he caught only an occasional word or two. He listened in vain for Jean's voice. Once he heard her name spoken, and it was followed by a low laugh from someone in the canoe that had waited at the mouth of the Churchill.

A dozen times during the first half-hour after they entered the mainstream, Philip heard this same laughing voice. After a time there fell a silence upon those ahead. No sound rose above the steady dip of paddles, and the speed of the two canoes increased. Suddenly, from far up the river, there came a voice, faintly at first, but growing steadily louder,

singing one of the wild half-breed songs of the forest. The voice broke the silence of those in the canoes. They ceased paddling, and Philip stopped. He heard low words, and after a few moments, the paddling was resumed, and the canoes turned in toward the shore. Philip followed their movement, dropping 50 yards farther down the stream, and thrust big birch bark alongside a thick balsam that had fallen into the river. The singing voice approached rapidly. Five minutes later, a long company canoe floated down out of the gloom. it passed so near that philip could see the picturesque figure in the stern paddling and singing in the bow kneeled an indian working in stoic silence

between them in the body of the canoe sat two men whom he knew at a glance were white men the strangers and their craft slipped by with the quickness of a shadow again philip heard movements above him and once more he took up the pursuit he wondered why jean had not called for help when the company canoe passed if she was not hurt or unconscious her captors had been forced to hold a handkerchief or a brutal hand over her mouth, perhaps at her throat. His blood grew hot with rage at the thought. For three-quarters of an hour longer, the swift paddling upstream continued without interruption. Then the river widened into a small lake, and Philip was compelled to hold back until the two canoes, which he could see clearly now, had passed over the exposed area.

By the time he dared to follow, Jean-Rourne. his captors were a quarter of a mile ahead of him. He no longer heard their paddles when he entered the stream at the upper end of the lake, and he bent to his work with greater energy and less caution. Five minutes, ten minutes passed, and he saw nothing, heard nothing. His strokes grew more powerful and the canoe shot through the water with the swift cleavage of a knife. A perspiration began to gather on his face, and a sighed. sudden chilling fear entered him. Another five minutes, and he stopped.

The river swept out ahead of him, broad and clear, for a quarter of a mile. There was no sign of the canoes. For a few moments he remained motionless, drifting back with the slow current of the stream, stunned by the thought that he had allowed Jean's captors to escape him. Had they heard him and dropped in to shore to let him pass? he swung his canoe about and headed down stream in that case he could not miss them if he used caution but if they had turned into some creek hidden in the gloom were even now picking their way through a secret channel that led back from the river a groan burst from his lips as he thought of jean in that half-mile of river he could surely find where the canoes had gone but it might be too late he went down in mid-stream searching the shadows of both shores his heart sank like lead when he came to the lake there was but one thing to do now and he ran his canoe close along the right-hand shore looking for an opening

his progress was slow a dozen times he entangled himself in masses of reeds and rice or thrust himself under overhanging tree-tops and vines to investigate the deeper gloom beyond he had returned two-thirds of the distance to the strait water where he had given up the pursuit when the bow of his canoe ran upon a smooth sandy bar that shelved out thirty or forty feet from the shore scarcely had he felt the grate of sand when with a powerful shove he sent his canoe back and almost in the same instant pierre's rifle levelled menacingly shoreward drawn up high and dry on the sand-bar were the two canoes for a space philip expected that his appearance would be the signal for some movement ashore but as he drifted slowly away his rifle still leveled he was filled he was filled more and more with the belief that he had not been discovered he allowed himself to drift until he knew that he was hidden in the shadows and then quietly worked himself in to shore making no sound he pulled himself up the bank and crept along the trees toward the bar there was no one guarding the canoes he heard no sound of voice no crackling of brush or movement of reeds for a full minute he crouched and listened then he crept nearer and found where both reeds and brush were trampled down into a path that led away from the river his heart gave a bound of joy and he darted along the path holding his rifle ready for instant use the trail wound through the tall grass of a dry swamp meadow and two hundred yards beyond the river plunged into a forest

he had barely entered this when he saw the glow of a fire it was only a short distance ahead hidden in a deep hollow that completely concealed its existence from the keenest eyes that might pass along the river stealing cautiously to the crest of the little knoll between him and the light philip found himself within fifty feet of a camp a big canvas tent was the first thing to come within his vision the fire was built against this face of a rock in front of this and over the fire hovered a man dragging out beds of coals with a forked stick almost at the same moment a second man appeared from the tent bearing two huge skillets in one hand and a big pot in the other at a glance philip knew that they were preparing to cook a meal and that it was for many instead of two wildly he searched the firelit spaces and the shadows for a sign of jean he saw nothing she was not in the camp the five or six men who had fled up the river with her were not there his fingers dug deep in the earth under him at the discovery and once more appalling fears overwhelmed him perhaps she had already met her fate a little deeper in the forest he crept over the edge of the knoll and worked himself down through the low bush on the opposite side which would bring him within a dozen feet of the man over the fire there he would have them at his mercy and at the point of his revolver would compel them to tell him where jean had been taken the advantage was all in his favor it would not be difficult to make them prisoners and leave them secured while he followed after their companions

he was intent only upon his plan and did not take his eyes from the men over the fire he came to the end of the bush and crouched with head and shoulders exposed his revolver in his hand suddenly a sound close to the tent startled him it was a low cough the men over the fire made no movement to look behind them but philip turned in the shadow of a tree which had concealed her until now sat jean she was tense and straight her white face was turned to him her beautiful eyes glowed like stars her lips were parted he could see her quick excited breathing she saw him she knew him he could see the joy of hope in her face and that she was crushing back an impulse to cry out to him-he saw him-he saw him-he could see the joy of hope in her face and that she was crushing back an impulse to cry out to him even as he was restraining his own mad desire to shout out his defiance and joy. And there in the firelight, his face illumined, and oblivious for the moment of the presence of the two men, Philip straightened himself and held out his arms with a glad smile to Jean. Hardly had he turned to the men, ready to spring out upon them, when there came a terrific interruption.

There was a sudden crash in the brush behind him, a menacing snarl, and a huge wolfish brute launched itself at his throat. The swift instinct of self-preservation turned to the weapon intended for the men over the fire upon this unexpected assailant. The snarling fangs of the husky were gleaming in his face, and the animal's body was against the muzzle of his revolver when Philip fired. Though he escaped the fangs, he could not ward off the impact of the dog's body, and in another moment he was sprawling upon his back

in the light of the camp. Before Philip could recover himself, Jean's startled guards were upon him. Flung back, he still possessed his pistol and pulled the trigger blindly. The report was muffled and sickening. At the same moment a heavy blow fell upon his head, and a furious weight crushed him back to the ground. He dropped his revolver.

His brain reeled, his muscles relaxed. He felt his assailant's fingers at his throat, and their menace brought back every ounce of fighting strength in his body. For a moment he lay still, his eyes closed, the warm blood flowing over his face. he had worked this game once before years ago he even thought of that time now as he lay upon his back it had worked then and it worked now the choking fingers at his throat loosened the weight lifted itself a little from his chest the lone guard thought that he was unconscious and jean who had staggered to her feet thought that he was dead it was her cry terrible filled with agony and despair that urged him into action an instant too soon his foe was still partly on his guard rising with a caution born of more than one wilderness episode when with a quick movement philip closed with him locked in a deadly grip they rolled upon the ground and with a feeling of despair which had never entered into his soul before the terrible truth came to philip that the old strength was gone from his arms and that with each added exertion he was growing weaker for a moment he saw jeanne she stood almost above them her hands clutched at her breast

and as he looked she suddenly turned and ran to the fire an instant more and she was back a red-hot brand in her hand philip saw it flash close to his eyes felt the heat of it and then a scream animal-like in its ferocity and pain burst from the lips of his antagonist the man reeled backward clutching at his thick neck where jean had thrust the burning stick philip rose to his knees his fist shot out like lightning against the other's jaw and the second guard fell back in a limp heap even as the blow fell a loud shout came from close back in the forest followed by the crashing of many feet tearing through the underbrush end of chapter ten recording by roger maline chapter eleven of flower of the north this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter eleven philip and jean stood face to face in the firelight quick he cried we must hurry he bent over to pick up his revolver from the ground his movement was followed by a low sob of pain jean was swaying as though about to faint she fell in a crumpled heap before he could reach her side you are hurt he exclaimed jean jean he was upon his knees beside her crying out her name half holding her in his arms no no i am not hurt much she replied trying to recover herself it is my ankle i sprained it on the cliff now she became heavier against his arm her eyes were limpid with pain

rising philip caught her in his arms the crashing of brush was within pistol-shot distance of them but in that moment he felt no fear life leaped back into his veins he wanted to shout back his defiance as he ran with jean along the path to the river he could feel her pulsing against him his lips were in her hair her heart was beating wildly against his own one of her arms was about his shoulder her hand against his neck life love the joy of possession swept through him in burning floods and it seemed in these first moments of his contact with jean in the first sound of her voice speaking to him that the passionate language of his soul must escape through his lips for this moment he had risked his life had taken a hundred chances he had anticipated and yet he had not dreamed beyond a hundredth part of what it would mean for him he looked down into the white face of the girl as he ran her beautiful eyes were open to him Her lips were parted. Her cheek lay against his breast. He did not realize how close he was holding her until, at last, he stopped where he had hidden the canoe. Then he felt her beating and throbbing against him, as he had felt the quivering life of a frightened bird imprisoned in his hands.

She drew a deep breath when he opened his arms and lifted her head. Her loose hair swept over his breast and hands. he spoke no word as he placed her in the canoe not a whisper passed between them as the canoe sped swiftly from the shore a hundred yards down the stream philip headed straight across the river and plunged into the shadows along the opposite bank jean was close to him he could hear her breathing suddenly he felt the touch of her hand monsieur i must ask about pierre there was the thrill of fear in the low words she leaned back her face a pale shadow in the deep gloom and philip bent over until he felt her breath and the sweetness of her hair filled his nostrils quickly he whispered what had happened he told her that pierre was hurt but not badly and that he had promised to take her on to fort a god it is up the churchill he questioned yes she whispered they heard voices now and almost opposite them they saw shadowy figures running out to the canoes upon the sandbar they will think that we are escaping toward churchill said philip gloatingly it is the nearest refuge see one of the canoes was launched and shot swiftly down the river

a moment later the second followed the dip of paddles died away and philip laughed softly and joyously they will hunt for us from now until morning between here and the bay and then they will look for you again in churchill philip was conscious almost without seeing that jean had bowed her head in her arms and that she was giving way now to the terrific strain which she had been under not until he heard a low sob which she strove hard to choke back in her throat did he dare to lean over again and touch her whatever was throbbing in his heart he knew that he must hide it now you read the letter he asked softly yes monsieur then you know that you are safe with me there was pride and strength the ring of triumph in his voice it was the voice of a man thrilled by his own strength by the warmth of a great love by the knowledge that he was the protector of a creature dearer to him than all else on earth the truth of it set jean quivering she reached out until in the darkness her two hands found one of phillips and for a moment she held his paddle motionless in mid-air thank you monsieur she whispered i trust you as i would trust pierre all the words that women had ever spoken to him were as nothing to those few that fell softly from jean's lips in the clinging pressure of her fingers as she uttered them were the concentrated joys of all that he had dreamed of in the touch of women he knelt silent motionless until her hands left his own

i am to take you to fort a god he said fighting to keep the tremble of joy out of his voice and you you must guide me it is far up the churchill she replied understanding the question he intended it is two hundred miles from the bay he put his strength into his paddle for ten minutes and then ran the canoe into shore fully half a mile above the sandbar he stepped out in the sea he stepped out into water up to his knees we must risk a little time here to attend to your injured ankle he explained then you can arrange yourself comfortably among these robes in the bow shall i carry you you can help said jean she gave him her hand and made an effort to rise instantly she sank back with a sob of pain it was strange that her pain should fill him with a wonderful joy he knew that she was suffering that she could not walk or stand alone and yet back at the camp she had risen in her torture and had come to his rescue she could not bear her own weight now but then she had run to him and had fought for him the knowledge that she had done this and for him filled him with an exquisite sensation i must carry you he said speaking to her with the calm decision that he might have voiced to a little child his tone reassured her and she made no remonstrance when he lifted her in his arms for a brief moment she lay against him again and when he lowered her upon the bank his hand accidentally touched the soft warmth of her face

my specialty is sprains he said speaking a little lightly to raise her spirits for the instance ordeal through which she must pass i have doctored half a dozen during the last three months you must take off your moccasin and your stocking and i will make a bandage he drew a big handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it in the water then he searched along the shore for a dozen paces until he found an indian willow. With his knife he scraped off a handful of bark, soaked it in water, crushed it between his hands, and returned to her. Jeanne's little foot lay naked in the starlight. "'It will hurt just a moment,' he said gently. But it is the only cure. "'Tomorrow it will be strong enough for you to stand upon. Can you bear a little hurt?' he knelt before her and looked up scarce daring to touch her foot before she spoke i may cry she said her voice fluttered but it gave him permission he folded the wet handkerchief in the form of a bandage with the willow bark spread over it then very gently he seized her foot in one hand and her ankle in the other

it will hurt just a little he soothed only a moment his fingers tightened he put into them the whole strength of his grip pulling downward on the foot and upward on the ankle until with a low cry jean flung her hands over his there it is done he laughed nervously he wrapped the bandage around so tightly that jean could not move her foot and tied it with her foot and tied it with her own he laughed nervously he wrapped the bandage around so tightly that jean could not move her foot and tied it with strips of cloth. Then he turned to the canoe while she drew on her stocking and moccasin. He was trembling. A maddening joy pounded in his brain. Jeanne's voice came to him sweetly, with a shyness in it that made him feel like a boy. He was glad that the night concealed his face. He would have given words to have seen Jeans. "'I am ready,' she said. He carried her to the bower of the canoe

And fixed her among the robes Arranging a place for her head So that she might sleep if she wished For the first time The light was so that he could see her plainly As she nestled back in the place made for her Their eyes met for a moment You must sleep, he urged

I shall paddle all night You are sure that Pierre is not badly hurt she asked tremulously. You would not keep the truth from me. He was not more than stunned, assured Philip. It is impossible that his wound should prove serious. Only there was no time to lose, and I came without him. He will follow us soon.

He took his position in the stern, and Jean lay back among the bearskins. For a long time, after that Philip paddled in silence. He had hoped that Jean would give him an opportunity to continue their conversation, in spite of his advice to her, to secure what rest she could. But there came no promise from the bow of the canoe. After half an hour, he guessed that Jean had taken him at his word and was asleep. It was disappointing, and yet there came a pleasurable throb with his disappointment.

Jeanne trusted him. She was sleeping under his protection as sweetly as a child. Fear of her enemies no longer kept her awake or filled her with terror. This night, under these stars, with the wilderness all about them, she had given herself into his keeping. His cheeks burned. He dipped his paddle noiselessly, so that he might not interrupt her slumber. each moment added to the fullness of his joy and he wished that he might only see her face hidden in the darkness of her hair and the bare robes

the silence no longer seemed a silence to him it was filled with the beating of his heart the singing of his love a gentle sigh now and then that came like a deeper breath between jean's sweet lips it was a silence that pulsated with the voiceless and intoxicating the silence that pulsated with the voiceless and intoxicating life for him, and he was happy. In these moments, when even their voices were stilled, Jeanne belonged to him and to him alone. He could feel the warmth of her presence. He felt still the thrill of her breast against his own, the touch of her hair upon his lips, the gentle clinging of her arms.

The spirit of her moved and sat awake and talked with him, just as the old spirit of his dreams had communed with him a thousand times in his loneliness dreams were at an end now had come reality he looked up into the sky the moon had dropped below the southwestern forests and there were only the stars above him filling a gray-blue vault in which there was not even the lingering mist of a cloud it was a beautifully clear night and he wondered how the light fell so that it did not reveal jean in her nest the thought that came to him then set his heart tingling and made his face radiant even the stars were guarding jean and refused to disclose the mystery of her slumber he laughed within himself his being throbbed and suddenly a voice seemed to cry softly trembling in its joy. Jean, Jean, my beloved Jean!

With horror, Philip caught himself too late. He had spoken the words aloud. For an instant, reality had transformed itself into the old dream, and his dream spirit had called to its mate for the first time in words. Appalled at what he had said, Philip bent over and listened.

He heard Jeanne's breathing. It was deeper than before. She was surely asleep. He straightened himself and resumed his paddling. He was glad now that he had spoken. Jean seemed nearer to him after those words. Before this night, he never realized how beautiful the wilderness was, how complete it could be. It had offered him visions of new life, but these visions. had never quite shut out the memories of old pain. He watched and listened. The water rippled behind his canoe. It trickled in a soothing cadence

after each dip of his paddle. He heard the gentle murmur of it among the reeds and grasses, and now and then the gurgling laughter of it, like the faintest tinkling of dainty bells. He had never understood it before. He had never joined in its happiness. the night sounds came to him with a different meaning filled him with different sensations as he slipped quietly around a bend in the river he heard a splashing ahead of him and knew that a moose was feeding belly deep in the water

at other times the sound would have set his fingers itching for a rifle but now it was a part of the music of the night later he heard the crashing of a heavy body along the shore and in the distance the lonely howl of a wolf he listened to the sounds with a quiet pleasure instead of creeping thrills which they once sent through him every sound spoke of jean of jean and her world into which each stroke of his paddle carried them a little deeper and yet the truth could not but come to him that jean was but a stranger she was a creature of mystery as she lay there asleep in the bow of the canoe he loved her and yet he did not know her he confessed to himself as the night lengthened that he would be glad when morning came jean would clear up a half of his perplexities then perhaps all of them he would at least learn more about herself and the reason for the attack at fort churchill he paddled for another hour and then looked at his watch by the light of a match it was three o'clock jean had not moved but as the match burned out between his fingers she startled him by speaking is it nearly morning monsieur an hour until dawn said philip you have been sleeping a long time her name was on his lips but he found it a little more difficult to speak now and yet there was a gentleness in jean's monsieur which encouraged him.

Are you getting hungry? he asked. Pierre and my father always asked me that when they are starving, replied Jean, sitting erect in her nest so that Philip saw her face and the shimmer of her hair. There is everything to eat in the pack, Monsieur Philip, even to a bottle of olives. Good, cried Philip, delighted. But won't you please cut out that,

monsieur my greatest weakness is a desire to be called by my first name will you if it pleases you said jean there is everything there to eat and i will make you a cup of coffee monsieur what philip there was a ripple of laughter in the girl's voice philip fairly trembled you were prepared for this journey he said you were going to to leave after you saw me on the rock. I have been wondering why, why you took enough interest in me. He knew that he was blundering, and in the darkness his face turned red. Jeanne's tact was delightful. "'We were curious about you,' she said, with bewitching candor. Pierre is the most inquisitive creature in the world, and I wanted to thank you for returning my handkerchief. I'm sorry you didn't find a bit of lace which I lost at the same time. I did, exclaimed Philip. He bit his tongue and cursed himself at this fresh break. Jean was silent. After a moment, she said,

Shall I make you some coffee? Will you be able to do it? Your foot. I had forgotten that, she said. It doesn't hurt any more. but i can show you how her unaffected ingenuousness the sweetness of her voice the simplicity and ease of her manner delighted philip and at the same time filled him with amazement he had never met a forest girl like jean her beauty her queen-like bearing when she had stood with pierre on the rock had puzzled him and filled him with admiration but now her voice the music of her words her quickness of perception added tenfold to those impressions it might have been miss brokaw who was sitting there in the bough talking to him only jean's voice was sweeter than miss brokaw's and even in the lightest of the words she had spoken there was a tone of sincerity and truth it flashed upon philip that jean might have stepped from a convent school where gentle voices had taught her and language was formed in the ripe fullness of music in a moment he believed that something like this had happened we will go ashore he said searching for an open space this must be tedious to you if you are not accustomed to it accustomed to it monsieur philippe exclaimed jean catching herself i was born here

in the wilderness at forta god you have not always lived there for a brief space jean was silent. Yes, always, monsieur. I am eighteen years old, and this is the first time that I have ever seen what you people call civilization. It is my first visit to Fort Churchill. It is the first time I have ever been away from Forta God. Jean's voice was low and subdued. It rang with truth. In it there was something that was almost tragedy. for a breath or two philip's heart seemed to stop its beating and he leaned far over looking straight and questioningly into the beautiful face that met his own in that moment the world had opened and engulfed him in a wonder which at first his mind could not comprehend end of chapter eleven recording by roger maline chapter twelve of flower of the north this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter twelve the canoe ran among the reeds with its bow to the shore

philip's astonishment still held him motionless a little while ago you asked me if i would tell you anything but-but the truth he stammered trying to find words to express himself and this is the truth interrupted jean a little coolly why should i tell you an untruth monsieur philip had asked himself that same question shortly after their first meeting on the cliff and now in the girl's question there was sounded a warning for him to be more discreet i did not mean that he cried quickly please forgive me only it is so wonderful so almost impossible to believe. Do you know what I thought of for three-quarters of the night after I left you and Pierre on the rock? It was of years, centuries ago. I put you and Pierre back there. It seemed as though you had come to me from out of another world, that you had strayed from the chivalry and beauty of some royal court, that a queen's painter might have known and made a picture of you, as i saw you there but that to me you are only the vision of a dream and now you say that you have always lived here he saw jean's eyes glowing

she had lifted herself from among the bearskins and was leaning toward him her face was quivering with emotion her whole being seemed concentrated on his words monsieur philip did we seem like that she asked tremulously yes or i would not have written the letter replied philip he leaned forward over the pack and his face was close to jean's i had just passed over the place where men and women of a century or two ago were buried and when i saw you and pierre i thought of them of mademoiselle d'arcand who left a prince to follow her lover to a grave back there at churchill and i wondered if groselier groselier cried the girl she was breathing quickly excitedly suddenly she drew back with a little nervous laugh i am glad you thought of us like that she added it was groselier le grand chevalier who first lived at fort o god philip could no longer restrain himself he forgot that the canoe was lying motionless among the reeds and that they were to go ashore in a voice that trembled with his eagerness to be understood to win her confidence he told her fully of what had happened that night on the cliff he repeated pierre's instructions to him described his terrible fear for her and in it all withheld but one thing the name of lord fitzhew lee jean listened to him without a word she sat as erect as one of the slender reeds among which the canoe was hidden her dark eyes never left his face they seemed to have grown darker when he finished

may the great god reward you for what you have done she said in a low voice quivering with a suppressed passion you are brave monsieur philip as brave as i have dreamed of men being philip's heart throbbed with delight and yet he said quickly it isn't that i have done nothing nothing more than pierre would have done for me but don't you understand if there is to be a reward for the little i have given i could ask for nothing greater than your confidence and pierre's there are reasons and perhaps if i told you those you would understand i do understand without further explanation answered jean in the same low strained voice you fought for pierre on the cliff and you have saved me we owe you everything even our lives i understand monsieur philip she said more softly leaning still nearer to him but i can tell you nothing you prefer to leave that to pierre he said a little hurt i beg your pardon no no i don't mean that she cried quickly you misunderstand me i mean that you know as much of this whole affair as i do that you know what i know and perhaps more the emotion which she had suppressed burst forth now in a choking sob she recovered herself in an instant her eyes still upon philip It was only a whim of mine that took us to Churchill, she went on, before he could find words to say.

It is Pierre's secret why we lived in our own camp and went down into Churchill but once, when the ship came in. I do not know the reason for the attack. I can only guess. And your guess? Jean drew back. For a moment she did not speak. then she said without a note of harshness in her voice but with the finality of a queen father may tell you that when we reach for to god and then she suddenly leaned toward him again and held out both her hands if you only could know how i thank you she exclaimed impulsively for a moment philip held her hands he felt them trembling in jean's eyes he saw the glisten of tears. Circumstances have come about so strangely, he said, his heart palpitating at the warm pressure of her fingers, that if I believed you and Pierre could help me in an affair of my own,

I would give a great deal to find a certain person, and after the attack on the cliff and what Pierre said, I thought, he hesitated, and Jean gently drew her hands from him. I thought that you might know him, he finished. His name is Lord Fitzhue Lee. Jean gave no sign that she had heard the name before. The question in her eyes remained unchanged. We have never heard of him at Forta God, she said. Philip shoved the canoe more firmly upon the shore and stepped over the side.

"'This fort of God must be a wonderful place,' he said as he bent over to help her. "'You have aroused something in me I never thought I possessed before, a tremendous curiosity.' "'It is a wonderful place, Monsieur Philip,' replied the girl, holding up her hands to him. "'But why should you guess it?' "'Because of you,' laughed Philip. "'I am half convinced that you take a wicked woman. delight in bewildering me. He found Jeanne a comfortable spot in the bank, brought her one of the bearskins, and began collecting a pile of dry reeds and wood.

I am sure of it, he went on. He struck a match, and the reeds flared into flame, lighting up his face. Jean gave a startled cry. You are hurt, she exclaimed. Your face is red with blood. Philip jumped back. I had forgotten that. I'll wash my face. He waded into the edge of the water and began scrubbing himself. When he returned, Jean looked at him closely. The fire illumined her pale face.

She had gathered her beautiful hair in a thick braid, which fell over her shoulder. She appeared lovelier to him now than when he had first seen her in the night glow on the cliff. she was dressed the same he observed that the filmy bit of lace about her slender throat was torn and that one side of her short buckskin skirt was covered with half-dried splashes of mud his blood rose at these signs of the rough treatment of those who had attacked her it reached fever heat when coming nearer he saw a livid bruise on her forehead close up under her hair they struck you he demanded he stood with his hands clenched she smiled up at him it was my fault she explained i'm afraid i gave them a good deal of trouble on the cliff she laughed outright at the fierceness in philip's face and so sweet was the sound of it to him that his hands relaxed and he laughed with her so help me you're a brick he cried there are pots and kettles and coffee and things to eat in the pack monsieur philip reminded jean softly as he still remained staring down upon her philip turned to the canoe with a laugh that was like a boy's he threw the pack at jean's feet and unstrapped it together they sorted out the things they wanted and philip cut crotch sticks on which he suspended two pots of water over the fire

he found himself whistling as he gathered an armful of wood along the shore when he came back jean had opened a bottle of olives and was nibbling at one while she held out another to him on the end of a fork i love olives she said won't you have one he accepted the thing and ate it joyously though he hated olives where did you acquire the taste he asked i thought it took a course at college to make one like em i've been to college answered jean quietly there was a glow in her cheeks now a swift flash of tantalizing fun in her eyes as she fished after another olive i have been a student a teneres annis she added and he stood stupefied that's latin he gasped yes monsieur vohan se no rena olive havin laughter rippled in her throat she held out another olive to him her face aglow firelight danced in her hair flooding its darker shadows with lights of red and gold i was sure of it he exclaimed convinced that's postgraduate latin and senior german or i'm as mad as a march hair where where did you go to school at forta god quick monsieur philip the water is boiling over philip sprang to the fire jean handed him coffee and set out cold meat and bread for the first time that night he pulled out his pipe and filled it with tobacco you don't mind if i smoke do you miss jean he groaned under some circumstances tobacco

was the only thing that will hold me up. Do you know that you are shaking my confidence in you? I have told you nothing but the truth, retorted Jean innocently. She was still busying herself over the pack, but Philip caught the slightest gleam of her laughing teeth. You are making fun of me, he remonstrated. Tell me, where is this for to God, and what is it? It is far up the Churchill, Monsieur Philip.

It is a log chateau, built hundreds and hundreds of years ago, I guess. My father, Pierre, and I, with one other, live there alone among the savages. I have never been so far away from home before. I suppose, said Philip, that the savages up your way converse in Latin, Greek, and German. Latin, French, and German, corrected Jean. We haven't added a Greek course yet. I know of a girl, mused Philip, as though speaking to himself, who spent five years in a girl's college,

and she can talk nothing but light English. Her name is Eileen Brokaw. Jean looked up, but only to point to the coffee. It is done, she advised, Unless you like it bitter End of Chapter 12 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 13 of Flower of the North

This Libervox recording is in the public domain Recording by Roger Maline Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerwood Chapter 13 Philip knew that Jean was watching him as he lifted the coffee from the fire and placed the pot on the ground to cool his mind was in a hopeless tangle.

A riot of things he would like to say, throbbing with a hundred questions he would like to ask, one after another. And yet, Jean seemed to bewitchingly unconscious of his uneasiness. Not one of his references to names and events so vital to himself had in any way produced a change in her. Was she, after all, innocent of all knowledge in the things he wished to know? Was it possible that she was entirely ignorant as to the identity of the men who had attacked Pierre and herself on the cliff?

Was it true that she did not know Eileen Brokaw, that she had never heard of Lord Fitzhue Lee, and that she had always lived among the wild people of the North? By what miracle performed here in the heart of the savage world could this girl talk to him in German and Latin? was she making fun of him he turned to look at her and found her dark clear eyes upon him she smiled at him in a tired little way and he saw nothing but sweetness and truth in her face in an instant every suspicion was swept away he felt like a criminal for having doubted her and for a moment he was on the point of confessing to her what had been in his thoughts he restrained himself and went to the river to wash the pot-black from his hands jean was a mystery to him a mystery that delighted him and filled him each moment with a deeper love he saw the life and freedom of the forests in her every movement in the gesture of her hands the bird-like poise of her pretty head the lithe grace of her slender body she breathed the forests it glowed in her eyes in the rich red of her little head-the red of her little bit and revealed its beauty and strength in the unconfined wealth of her gold-brown hair.

In a dozen ways he could see her primitiveness, her kinship to the wilderness. She had told him the truth. Her eyes smiled truth at him as he came up the bank. No other woman's eyes had ever looked at him like hers. None had he seen so beautiful. And yet, in them, he saw nothing that she would have. not have expressed in words, companionship, trust,

thankfulness that he was there to care for her. Such eyes as those belonged only to the wilderness, brimming with the flawless beauty of an undefiled nature. He had seen them, but not so beautiful, in Cree women. He thought of Eileen Broca's eyes as he looked at Jeans. They were very beautiful, but they were different. Jeans could not lie.

On a white napkin, Jean had spread out cold meat, bread, pickles, and cheese, and Philip brought her the coffee. He noticed that she was resting a little of her weight upon her injured ankle. Better, he asked, indicating the bandaged ankle with a nod of his head. Much, replied Jean, as tersely. I'm going to try standing upon it in a few. minutes but not now i'm starved she gave him his coffee and began eating with a relish that made him want to sit back and watch her instead he joined her and they ate like two hungry children it was when she turned him out a second cup of coffee that

philip noticed her hand tremble a little if pierre was here he would be quite happy monsieur philip she said uneasily i can't understand why he asked you to run away with me to for to God. If he is not badly hurt, as you have told me, why do we not hide and wait for him? He would overtake us tomorrow. There—there was no time to talk over plans, answered Philip, inwardly embarrassed for a moment by the unexpectedness of Jean's question. A vision of Pierre, bleeding and unconscious on the cliff, leaped into his mind, and the thought that he had lied to Jean, and must still make her believe what was half false, sickened him. There was, after all, a chance that Pierre would never again

come up the Churchill. "'Perhaps Pierre thought we would be hotly pursued,' he went on, seeing no escape from the demand in the girl's eyes. "'In that event it would be best for me to get you to Fort a God as quickly as possible. You must be a bit of you. You must remember that Pierre was thinking of you. He can care for himself. It may take him two or three days to get back the strength of his arm, he finished blindly. He was wounded in the arm? And on the head, said Philip. It was only a scalp wound, however, nothing at all, except that it dazed him a little at the time. Jean pointed to the reflection of the fire on the river. If we should be pursued, she suggested.

There is no danger, assured Philip, though he had left the flap of his revolver holster unbuttoned. They will search for us between their camp and Churchill. Sittius veni periculum cum contemnitur, remonstrated Jean, half smiling. She was pale, but Philip saw that she was making a tremendous effort to appear brave and cheerful. perhaps you are right laughed philip but i swear that i don't know what you mean i suppose you picked that lingo up among the indians

he caught the faintest gleam of jean's white teeth again as she bent her head i have a tutor at home she explained softly you shall meet him when we reach for to god he is the most wonderful man in the world her words sent a strange chill through philip they were filled with an exquisite tenderness a pride that sent her eyes back to his glowing the questions that he had meant to ask died and faded away he thought of her words of a few minutes before when he had asked about for to god she had said my father pierre and i with one other live there alone the other was the tutor the man who had come from civilization to teach this beautiful girl those things which had amazed him and this man was the most wonderful man in the world he had no excuse for the feelings which were aroused in him only he knew as he rose to his feet that a part of his old burden seemed suddenly to have returned to his shoulders and the old loneliness was beating at the door of his heart he rearranged the pack in silence and the strength and joy of life were gone from his arms when he helped jean back to her place among the bearskins he did not notice that her eyes were watching him curiously or that her lips trembled once or twice as if about to speak words which never came jean as well as he seemed to have discovered something which neither dared to reveal in that last five minutes on the shore there is one thing that i must know said philip when they were about to start and that is where to find for to god is it on the churchill

it is on the little churchill monsieur near waskayawaka lake darkness concealed the effect of her words upon philip for a moment he stared like one struck dumb he stifled the exclamation that rose to his lips he felt himself trembling he knew that if he spoke his voice would betray him near waskayawaka lake and waskaya waka was within thirty miles of his own camp on the blind indian if a bomb had burst under his feet he could not have been more amazed than at this information given to him in jean's quiet voice for to god within thirty miles of the scene where very soon he was to fight the great battle of his life he dug his paddle into the water and sent the canoe hissing up the river his blood pounded like that of a race-horse on the home stretch of all the things that had happened of all he had learned this was the most significant every thought ran like a separate powder flash to a single idea to one great overpowering question were fort a god and its people the key to the plot against himself and his company was it the rendezvous of those who were striving to work his ruin doubt suspicion almost belief came to him in those few moments in spite of himself he looked at jean the gray dawn was breaking and now light followed swiftly and dissolved the last mist in the chill of early morning when with the approach of the sun a cold uncomfortable sweat rises heavily from the earth and water jean had drawn one of the bearskins closely about her

her head was bare her hair glistening with damp clung in heavy masses about her face there was a bewitching childishness about her a pathetic appeal to him in the forlorn little picture she made so helpless and yet so confident in him every energy in him leaped up in defiance of the revolution which for a few moments had stirred within him and jean as though she had read the working of his mind looked straight at him and smiled with a little purring note in her throat that took the place of a thousand words it was such a smile and yet not one of love which puts the strength of ten men in one man's arms and philip laughed back at her every quart in his body responding in joyous vibration to the delicate note that had come with it no matter what events might find their birth at forde god jean was innocent of all knowledge of plot or wrong-doing once for all philip convinced himself of this the thought that came to him as he looked at jean found voice through his lips do you know he said if i never saw you again i would always have three pictures of you in my memory i would never have three pictures of you in my memory i would never never ever see you again i would never have three pictures of you in my memory i would never forget how you looked when i first saw you on the cliff or as i see you now wrapped in your bearskins only i would think of you as you smiled and the third pitcher questioned jean little guessing what was in his mind would that be at the fire when i burned the bad man's neck or-or when she stopped herself and powdered her mouth in sudden vexation

while a flush which philip could easily see rose in her cheeks when i doctored your foot he finished rather uncivorously chuckling in his delight at her pretty discomfiture no that wouldn't be the third miss jean the other scene which i shall never forget was that on the stone pier at churchill when you met a beautiful girl who was coming off the ship the blood leaped to jean's face her soft lips tightened a sudden movement and the bearskin slipped from her shoulders leaving her leaning a little forward her eyes blazing a dozen words had transformed her from the child he had fancied her to a woman quivering with some powerful emotion her beautiful head proud and erect her nostrils dilating with the quickness of her breath that was a mistake she said there was no sign of passion in her voice it trembled a little but that was all it was a mistake monsieur philip i thought that i knew her and-and i was wrong you-you must not remember that i am no better than a wild beast groaned philip hating himself i'm the biggest idiot in the world when it comes to saying that i am no better than a wild beast groaned philip hating himself i'm the biggest idiot in the world when it comes to saying the wrong thing i never miss a chance i didn't mean to say anything that would hurt you haven't interrupted the girl quickly seeing the distress on his face you haven't said a thing that's wrong only i don't want you to remember that picture i want you to think of me as-as i burned the bad man's neck

she was laughing now though her breast was rising and falling a little excitedly and the deep color was still in her cheeks will you she entreated until i die he exclaimed she was fumbling under the luggage and dragged forth a second paddle i've had an easy time with you monsieur philip she said turning so that she was kneeling with her back to him pierre makes me work always i kneel here in the bow and paddle i am ashamed of myself you have worked all night and i feel as fresh as though i had slept for a week declared philip his eyes devouring the slim figure a paddle's length in front of him for an hour they continued up the river with scarcely a word between them to break the silence their paddles rose and fell with a rhythmic motion the water rippled like low music under their canoe the spell of the silent shores of voiceless beauty of the wilderness awakening into day appealed to them both and held them quiet the sun broke faintly through the drawn mists behind its first rays lighted up jean's rumpled hair so that her heavy braid partly undone and fallen and fought her heavy braid partly undone and fought falling upon the luggage behind her, shone in rich and changing colors that fascinated Philip. He had thought that Jean's hair was very dark,

but he saw now that it was filled with the rare life of a Titian head running from red to gold and dark brown, with changing shadows and flashes of light. It was beautiful. And Jean, as he looked at her, he thought to be the most beautiful thing on earth. the movement of her arms the graceful sinuous twists of her slender body as she put her strength upon the paddle the poise of her head the piquant tilt to her chin whenever she turned so that he caught a half profile of her flushed eager face all filled his cup of admiration to overflowing and he found himself wondering suddenly how this girl could be a sister to pierre he saw in her no sign of french or of half-breed blood her hair was fine and soft and waved about her ears and where it fell loose upon the back the color in her cheeks was as delicate as the tints of the bacniche flower she had rolled up her broad cuffs to give her greater freedom in paddling and her arms shone white and firm glistening with the wet drip of the paddle

he was marvelling at her relationship to pierre when she looked back at him her face aglow with exercise and the spice of the morning and he saw the sunlight as blue as the sky above him in her eyes if he had not known he would have sworn that there was not a drop of pierre's blood in her veins we are coming to the first rapids monsieur philip she announced it is just beyond that ugly mountain of rock ahead of us and we will have a quarter-mile portage it is filled with great stones and so swift that pierre and i nearly wrecked ourselves coming down it was the most that had been said since the beginning of that wonderful hour that had come before the first gleam of sunrise and philip laying his paddle athwart the canoe stretched himself and yawned as though he had just awakened poor boy said jean and it struck him that her words were strangely like those which eileen might have spoken had she been there only an artless comradeship replaced what would have been miss brokaw's tone of intimacy She added, with genuine sympathy in her face and voice, "'You must be exhausted, Monsieur Philip. If you were Pierre, I should insist upon going ashore for a number of hours.

Pierre obeys me when we are together. He calls me his captain. Won't you let me command you?' "'If you will let me call you, my captain,' replied Philip, only there is one thing, one reservation. We must go on. Command me and everything else, but we must go on, for time. Tonight I will sleep.

I will sleep like the dead. So, my captain, he laughed. May I have your permission to work today? Jean was turning the bow shoreward. Her back was turned to him again. You have no. pity on me she pouted pierre would be good to me and we would fish all day in that pretty pool over there i'll bet it's full of trout her words her manner of speaking them was a new revelation to philip she was delightful he laughed and his voice rang out on the clear morning like a schoolboy's jean pretended that she saw nothing to laugh at and no sooner had the canoe touched

then she sprang lightly out, not waiting for his assistance. With a laughing cry, she stumbled and fell. Philip was at her side in an instant. You shouldn't have done that, he objected. I am your doctor, and I insist that your foot is not well. But it is, cried Jean, and he saw that there was laughter instead of pain in her eyes. It's the bandage.

My right foot feels like that of a Chinese debutante. Oh, I'm going to undo it. You've been to China, too, mused Philip, half to himself. I know that it's filled with yellow girls, and that they squeeze their feet like this, said Jean, unlacing her moccasin. My tutor and I have just finished a delightful trip along the Great Wall. We'd go to Peking, in an automobile, if I were,

wasn't afraid. Philip's groan was audible. He went to the canoe and Jean's red lips curled in a merriment which it was hard for her to suppress. Philip did not see. When he had unloaded the canoe and turned, Jean was walking slowly back and forth, limping a little. It's all right, she said, answering the question on his lips. I don't feel any pain at all, but my foot's asleep. Won't you please unstrap the small pack? I'm going to make my toilet while you're gone with the canoe. Half an hour later, Philip unshouldered the canoe

at the upper end of the rapids. His own toilet articles were back in the cabin with Gregson, but he took a wash in the river and combed his hair with his fingers. When he returned, there was a transformation in Jean. Her beautiful hair was done up in she. shining coils. She had changed her bedraggled skirt for another of soft yellow buckskin. At her throat she wore a fluffy mass of crimson stuff, which seemed to reflect a richer rose-flush in her cheeks. A curious thought came to Philip as he looked at her. Like a flash the memory of a certain

night came to him when it had taken Miss Brocaw and her maid two hours to make a toilet for a ball. and jean in the heart of a wilderness had made herself more beautiful than eileen he imagined as she stood before him a little embarrassed by the admiration in his eyes the sensation jean would create in a ball-room at home and then he laughed laughed joyously at thoughts which he could not reveal to jean and which she by some quick intuition knew that she should not ask him to express twice again philip made the portage accompanied the second time by jean who insisted on carrying a small pack and two paddles in spite of his determination and splendid physique philip began to feel the effects of the tremendous strain which he had been under for so long he counted back and found that he had slept but six hours in the last forty-eight there was a warning ache in his shoulders and a gnawing pain pain in the bones of his forearms. But he knew that he had not yet made sufficient headway up the Churchill. It would not be difficult for him to make a camp far enough back in the bush to avoid discovery, but, at the same time, if he and Jeanne were pursued, the stop would give their

enemies a chance to get ahead of them. This danger he wished to escape. He flattered himself that jean saw no signs of his weakening. He did not know that jean put more and more effort into her paddle until her arms and body ached because she saw the truth. The Churchill narrowed and its currents became swifter as they progressed. Five portages were made between sunrise and eleven o'clock. They ate dinner at the fifth and rested for two hours. Then the journey was resumed. It was three o'clock when Jean dropped her paddle and turned to Philip. There were deep lines in his face. He smiled, but there was more of haggard misery than cheer in the smile.

There was an unnatural flush in his cheeks, and he began to feel a burning pain where the blow had fallen upon his head before. For a full half-minute, Jean looked at him without speaking. Philip, she said, and it was the first time she had spoken his name in this way. I insist upon going ashore immediately. If you do not land now in that opening ahead, I shall jump out and you can go on alone. As you say, my Captain Jean, surrendered Philip a little dizzily. Jean guided the canoe to the shore and was the first to spring out, while Philip.

Phillips steadied the light craft with his paddle. She pointed to the luggage. "'We will want the tent, everything,' she said, "'because we are going to camp here until tomorrow.' Once on shore, Philip's dizziness left him. He pulled the canoe high up on the bank, and then Jeanne and he set off, side by side, to explore the high wooded ground back from the river.

They followed a well-worn moose trail, and two or three hundred yards from the stream came upon a small opening, cluttered by great rocks and surrounded by clumps of birch, spruce, and banshan pine. The moose trail crossed this rough open space, and following it to the opposite side, Philip and Jean came upon a clear, rippling little stream, scarcely two yards in width, hidden in the open space, hidden in the opposite side, Philip and Jean came upon a clear, rippling little stream, scarcely two yards in width hidden in places under thick caribou moss and jungles of seedling pines it was an ideal camping spot and jean gave a little cry of delight when they found the cold water of the creek philip then returned to the river concealed the canoe covered up all traces of their landing and began to carry the camping outfit back to the open the small silk tent for jean's use he set up in a little grassy corner of the clearing and built their fire a dozen paces from it with a sort of thrilling pleasure he began cutting balsam boughs for jean's bed he cut armful after armful and it was growing dusk in the forest by the time he was done in the glow and the heat of the fire jean's cheeks were as pink as an apple she had turned a big flat rock into a table and as she busied herself about this she burst suddenly into a soft ripple of song then remembering that it was not pierre who was near her she stopped philip with his last armful of bedding was directly behind her and he laughed happily at her over the green mass of balsam when she turned and saw him looking at her

you like this he asked it is glorious cried jean her eyes flashing she seemed to grow taller before him and stood with her head thrown back lips parted gazing upon the wilderness about her it is glorious she repeated breathing deeply there is nothing in the whole world that could make me give this up monsieur philip i was born in it i want to die in it only-her face clouded for a moment as her eyes rested upon his your civilization is coming north to spoil it all she added and turned to the rock table philip dropped his load supper is ready she said and the cloud had passed it was jean's first reference to his own people to the invasion of civilization into the north and there recurred to philip the words in which she had cried out her hatred against churchill but jean did not betray herself again she was quiet while they were eating and philip saw that she was very tired when they had finished they sat for a few minutes watching the lowered flames of the fire darkness had gathered about them their faces and the rock were illumined more and more faintly as the embers died down a silence fell upon them in the banctions close behind them an owl hooted softly a cautious drumming note as though the night-bird possessed still a fear of the newly dead day the brush gave out sound voices infinitesimally small strange quiverings rustlings that might have been made by wind by breath by shadows almost overhead the tips of the spruce and the spruce and the tips of the spruce and the spruce and the

overhead the tips of the spruce and tall pines whispered among themselves as they never commune by day spirits seemed to move among them sending down to jeanne and philip's listening ears a restful sleepy murmur farther back there sounded a deep sniff where a moose travelling the well-worn trail stopped in a sudden fear and wonder at the strange man scent which came to its nostrils and still farther from some little lake nameless and undiscovered in the black depths of the forest to the south a great northern loon sent out its cowardly cry of defiance to all night things and then plunged deep under water as though frightened into the depths by its own mad jargon the fire died lower philip moved a little nearer to the girl whose breathing he could hear jean he said softly fighting to keep himself from touching her hand i know what you mean i understand two years ago i gave up civilization for this i am glad that i wrote to you as i did for now you will believe me and know that i understand i love this world up here as you love it i am never going back again jean was silent but there is one thing at least one which i cannot understand in you he went on nerving himself for what might come a moment later you are of this world you hate civilization and yet you have brought a man into the north to teach you its ways i mean this man who you say is the most wonderful man in the world he waited trembling

it seemed in eternity before jean answered and then she said he is my father monsieur philip philip could not speak darkness hid him from jean she did not see that which leaped into his face and that for a moment he was on the point of flinging himself at her feet you spoke of yourself of pierre of your father and of one other at forta god said philip i thought that he the other was your tutor no it is pierre's sister replied jean your sister you have a sister he could hear jean catch her breath listen monsieur she said after a moment i must tell you a little about pierre a story of something that happened a long long time ago it was in the middle of a little bit it was in the middle of a terrible winter and pierre was then a boy one day he was out hunting and he came upon a trail the trail of a woman who had dragged herself through the snow in her moccasined feet it was far out upon the baron where there was no life and he followed he found her monsieur and she was dead she had died from cold and starvation an hour sooner he might have saved her for wrapped up close against her breast he found a little child a baby girl and she was alive he brought her to for to god monsieur to a noble man who lived there almost alone and there through all these years she has lived and grown up and no one knows who her mother was or who her father was

and so it happens that pierre who found her is her brother and the man who has loved her and cared for her is her father and she is the other at forda god pierre's sister said philip jean rose from the rock and moved toward the tent glimmering indistinctly in the night her voice came back chokingly no monsieur pierre's real sister is at forta god i am the one whom he found out in the baron to the night's sounds there was added a heart-broken sob and jean disappeared in the tent end of chapter thirteen recording by roger maline Chapter 14 of Flower of the North This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerrwood. Chapter 14

Philip sat where Jeanne had left him. He was powerless to move or to say a word that might have recalled her. Her own grief, quivering in that one piteous sob, overwhelmed him. it held him mute and listening with the hope that each instant the tent flap might open and jean reappear and yet if she came he had no words to say unwittingly he had probed deep into one of those wounds that never heal and he realized that to ask forgiveness would be but another blunder he almost groaned as he thought of what he had done in his desire to understand to know more about jean he had driven her into a corner what he had forced from her he might have learned a little later from pierre or from the father at forde god he thought that jean must despise him now for he had taken advantage of her helplessness and his own position he had saved her from her enemies and in return she had opened her heart naked and bleeding to his eyes what she had told him was not a voluntary confidence it was a confession wrung from her by the rack of his questionings the confession that she was a waif child that pierre was not her brother and that the man at forta god was not her father

he had gone to the very depths of that which was sacred to herself and those whom she loved he rose and stirred the fire and stray ends of birch leaped into flame lighting his pale face he wanted to go to the tent kneel there where jean could hear him and tell her that it was all a mistake yet he knew that this could not be neither the next day nor the next for to plead extenuation for himself would be to reveal his life love. Two or three times he had been on the point of revealing that love. Only now, after what had happened, did it occur to him that to disclose his heart to Jean would be the greatest crime he could commit. She was alone with him in the heart of a wilderness, dependent upon him, upon his honor. He shivered when he thought how narrow had been his escape, how short a time he had known her, and how in that brief spell he had, He had given himself up to an almost insane hope.

To him, Jeanne was not a stranger. She was the embodiment in flesh and blood of the spirit which had been his companion for so long. He loved her more than ever now, for Jeanne, the lost child of the snows, was more the earthly revelation of his beloved spirit than Jeanne, the sister of Pierre. But what was he to Jean?

he left the fire and went to the pile of balsam which he had spread out between two rocks for his bed he lay down and pulled pierre's blanket over him but his fatigue and his desire for sleep seemed to have left him and it was a long time before slumber finally drove from him the thought of what he had done after that he did not move he heard none of the sounds of the night a little owl the devil witch screamed horribly overhead and awakened jean who sat up for a few moments in her balsam bed white-faced and shivering but philip slept long afterward something warm awakened him and he opened his eyes thinking that it was the glow of the fire in his face it was the sun he heard a sound which brought him quickly into consciousness of day it was jean singing softly over beyond the rocks he had dreaded the coming of morning when he would have to face jean his guilt hung heavily upon him but the sound of her voice low and sweet filled with the carolling happiness of a bird brought a glad smile to his lips after all jean had understood him she had forgiven him if she had not forgotten for the first time he noticed the height of the sun and he sat bolt upright jean saw his head and shoulders pop over the top of the rocks and she laughed at him from their stone table i've been keeping breakfast for over an hour monsieur philip she cried hurry down to the creek and wash yourself or i shall eat all alone philip rose stupidly and looked at his watch

eight o'clock he gasped we should have been ten miles on the way by this time jean was still laughing at him like sunlight she dispelled his gloom of the night before a glance around the camp showed him that she must have been awake for at least two hours the packs were filled and strapped the silken tent was down and folded she had gathered wood built the fire and cooked breakfast while he slept and now she stood a dozen paces from him blushing a little at his amazed stare waiting for him it's deuced good of you miss jean he exclaimed i don't deserve such kindness from you oh said jean and that was all she bent over the fire and philip went to the creek he was determined now to maintain a more certain hold upon himself as he doused his face in the cold water his resolutions formed themselves for the next few days he would forget everything but the one fact that jean was in his care he would not hurt her again or compel her confidence it was after nine o'clock before they were upon the river they paddled without a rest until twelve after lunch philip confiscated jean's paddle and made her sit facing him in the canoe the afternoon passed like a dream to philip he did not refer again to forde god or the people there he did not speak again of eileen brokaw of lord fitzhew or of pierre he talked of himself and of those things which had once been his life he told of his mother and his father who had died

and of the little sister whom he had worshipped but who had gone with the others. He bared his loneliness to her as he would have told them to the sister had she lived, and Jean's soft blue eyes were filled with tenderness and sympathy. And then he talked of Gregson's world. Within himself he called it no longer his own. It was Jean who questioned now. She asked about cities and great people. about books and women. Her knowledge amazed, Philip. She might have visited the Louvre.

One would have guessed that she had walked in the streets of Paris, Berlin, and London. She spoke of Johnson, of Dickens, and of Balzac as though they had died but yesterday. She was like one who had been everywhere, and yet saw everything through a veil that bewildered her. In her simplicity she unfolded herself to Philip, leaf by leaf, petal by petal, like the morning apios that surrenders its mysteries to the sun. She knew the world which he had come from, its people, its cities, its greatness, and yet her knowledge was like that of the blind. She knew, but she had never seen, and in her wistfulness to see as he could see,

there was a sweetness and a pathos which made every fiber in his body sing with a quiet and thrilling joy. He knew now that the man who was at Forta God must indeed be the most wonderful man in the world. For out of a child of the snows, of the forest, of a savage desolation he had made Jean, and Jean was glorious. The afternoon passed, and they made him. thirty miles before they camped for the night they traveled the next day and the one that followed on the afternoon of the fourth they were approaching big thunder rapids close to the influx of the little churchill sixty miles from fort aga these days too passed for philip with joyous swiftness swiftly because they were too short for him his life now was jean each day she became a more vital part of him she crept into his soul until there was no longer left room for any other thought than of her and yet his happiness was tampered by a thing which if not grief depressed and saddened him at times

two days more and they would be at fort a god and there jean would be no longer his own as she was now even the wilderness has its conventionality even the wilderness has its conventionality and at fort agod their comradeship would end a day of rest two at the most and he would leave for the camp on blind indian lake as the time drew nearer when they would be but friends and no longer comrades philip could not always hide the signs of gloom which weighed upon him he revealed nothing in words but now and then jean had caught him when the fears at his heart betrayed themselves in his face jean became happier as their journey approached its end she was alive every moment joyous expectant looking ahead to fort a god and this in itself was a bitterness to philip though he knew that he was a fool for allowing it to be so he reasoned with dull masculine wit that if jean cared for him at all she would not be so anxious for their comradeship to end but these moods when they came passed quickly and on this afternoon of the fourth day they passed away entirely for in an instant there came a solution to it all they had known each other but four days yet that brief time had encompassed what might not have been in as many years life smooth uneventful develops friendship slowly an hour of the unusual may lay bare a soul philip thought of eileen brokaw whose heart was still a closed mystery to him who was a stranger in spite of the years he had known her

in four days he had known jean a lifetime in those four days jean had learned more of him than eileen brokaw could ever know so he arrived at the resolution which made him too look eagerly ahead to the end of the journey at forta god he would tell jean of his love jean was looking at him when the determination came she saw the gloom pass a a flush mount into his face, and when he saw her eyes upon him, he laughed without knowing why. If it is so funny, she said, please tell me. It was a temptation, but he resisted it.

It is a secret, he said, which I shall keep until we reach for to God. Jean turned her face upstream to listen. A dozen time she had done this day, during the last half hour, and Philip had listened with her. At first they had heard a distant murmur, rising as they advanced, like an autumn wind that grows stronger each moment in the treetops. The murmur was steady now, without the variations of a wind.

It was the distant roaring of the rocks and rushing floods of big thunder rapids. It grew steadily from a murmur to a moan, from a moan to rumbling thunder. The current became so swift that Philip was compelled to use all his strength to force the canoe ahead. A few moments later he turned into shore. From where they landed,

a worn trail led up to one of the precipitous walls of rock and shut in the Big Thunder Rapids. Everything about them was rock. The trail was over rock, worn smooth by the countless feet, of centuries, clawed feet, naked feet, moccasined feet, the feet of white men. It was the great portage, for animal as well as man. Philip went up with the pack, and Jeanne followed behind him.

The thunder increased. It roared in their ears until they could no longer hear their own voices. Directly above the rapids the trail was narrow, scarcely eight feet in width. shut in on the land side by a mountain wall on the other by the precipice philip looked behind and saw jean hugging close to the wall her face was white her eyes shone with terror and awe he spoke to her but she saw only the movement of his lips then he put down his pack and went close to the edge of the precipice sixty feet below him was the big thunder a chaos of lashing foam, of slippery black-capped rocks bobbing and grimacing amid the rushing torrents, like monsters playing at hide-and-seek. Now one rose high, as though thrust up out of chaos by giant hands.

Then it sank back, and milk-white foam swirled softly over the place where it had been. There seemed to be life in the chaos, a grim, terrible life, voice was a thunder that never died. For a few moments, Philip stood fascinated by the scene below him. Then he felt a touch upon his arm. It was Jean. She stood beside him, quivering, dead white, almost daring to take the final step. Philip caught her hands firmly in his own, and Jean looked over. Then she darted back and hovered, shuddering near the wall. the portage was a short one scarce two hundred yards in length and at the upper end was a small green meadow in which river voyagers camped it still lacked two hours of dusk when philip carried over the last of the luggage we will not camp here he said to jean pointing to the remains of numerous fires and remembering pierre's exhortation it is too public as you might say besides that noise makes me deaf

jean shuddered let us hurry she said i'm-i'm afraid of that philip carried the canoe down to the river and jean followed with the bearskins the current was soft and sluggish, with tiny maelstroms gurgling up here and there, like air bubbles and boiling syrup. He only half-launched the canoe, and Jeanne remained while he went for another load. The dip, kept green by the water of a spring, was a pistol shot from the river. Philip looked back from the crest and saw Jeanne leaning over the canoe. Then he descended into the meadow whistling. He had reached the packs when to his ears there seemed to come a sound that rose faintly above the roar of the water in the chasm. He straightened himself and listened. Philip! Philip! The cry came twice, his own name, piercing, agonizing, rising above the thunder of the

floods. He heard no more, but raced up the slope of the dip. From the crest, he stared down to where Jeanne had been. She was gone! The canoe was gone! A terrible fear swept upon him, and for an instant he turned faint. Jean's cry came to him again. Philip! Philip! Like a madman, he dashed up the rocky tree. to the chasm, calling to Jean, shrieking to her, telling her that he was coming. He reached

the edge of the precipice and looked down. Below him was the canoe and jean. She was fighting futilely against the resistless flood. He saw her paddle wrenched suddenly from her hands, and as it went swirling beyond her reach, she cried out his name again. Philip shouted, and the girl's white face was turned up to him. Fifty yards ahead of her were the first of the rocks. In another minute, even less, Jeanne would be dashed to pieces before his eyes. Thoughts, swifter than light, flashed through his mind.

He could do nothing for her, for it seemed impossible that any living creature could exist amid the maelstroms and rocks ahead, and yet she was calling to him. She was reaching up her. arms to him. She had faith in him, even in the face of death. Philip! Philip! There was no monsieur to that cry now, only a moaning, sobbing prayer filled with his name. I'm coming, Jean, he shouted. I'm coming! Hold fast to the canoe!

He ran ahead, stripping off his coat. A little below the first rocks, a stunted bansion grew out of an earthly fissure in the cliff, with its lower branches dipping within a dozen feet of the stream. He climbed out on this with the quickness of a squirrel, and hung to a limb with both hands, ready to drop alongside the canoe. There was one chance, and only one, of saving Jeanne. It was a chance out of a thousand, ten thousand. If he could drop at the right moment, seize the stern of the canoe, and make a rudder of himself, he could keep the craft from turning broadside and might possibly guide it between the rocks below. This one hope was destroyed as quickly as it was born.

The canoe crashed against the first rock. A smother of foam rose about it, and he saw Jean suddenly engulfed and lost. Then she reappeared, almost under him, and he launched himself downward, clutching at her dress with his hands. By a supreme effort he caught her around the waist with his left arm so that his right was free.

Ahead of them was a boiling sea of white, even more terrible than when they had looked down upon it from above. The rocks were hidden by mist and foam. Their roar was deafening. Between Philip and the awful maelstrom of death, there was a quieter space of water, black, sullen, and swift, the power itself, rushing on to whip itself

into ribbons among the taunting rocks that barred its way to the sea. In that space Philip looked at Jean. Her face was against his breast. Her eyes met his own, and in that last moment, face to face with death, love leaped above all fear.

They were about to die, and Jean would die in his arms. she was his now forever his hold tightened her face came nearer he wanted a shout to let her know what he had meant to say it for to god but his voice would have been like a whisper in a hurricane could jean understand the wall of foam was almost in their faces suddenly he bent down crushed his face to hers and kissed her again and again Then, as the maelstrom engulfed them, he swung his own body to take the brunt of the shock. He no longer reasoned beyond one thing. He must keep his body between Jean and the rocks. He would be crushed, beaten to pieces, made unrecognizable, but Jean would be only drowned.

He fought to keep himself half under her with his head and shoulders in advance. When he felt the floods sucking him under, he thrust her upward. He fought and did not know what happened. Only there was the crashing of a thousand cannons in his ears, and he seemed to live through an eternity. They thundered about him, against him, ahead of him, and then more and more behind. He felt no pain, no shock.

It was the sound that he seemed to be fighting. in the buffeting of his body against the rocks there was the painlessness of a knife-thrust delivered amid the roar of battle and the sound receded it was thundering in retreat and a curious thought came to him providence had delivered him through the maelstrom he had not struck the rocks he was saved and in his arms he held jean it was day when he began the fight it was day when he began the fight broad day and now it was night he felt earth under his feet and he knew that he had brought jean ashore he heard her voice speaking his name and he was so glad that he laughed and sobbed like a babbling idiot it was dark and he was tired he sank down and he could feel jean's arm striving to hold him up and he could still hear her voice. But nothing could keep him from sleeping, and during that sleep he had visions.

Now it was day, and he saw Jean's face over him. Again it was night, and he heard only the roaring of the flood. Again he heard voices, Jean's voice and a man's, and he wondered who the man could be. It was a strange sleep filled with strange, dreams. But at last the dreams seemed to go. He lost himself. He awoke and the night had turned into day. He was in a tent and the sun was gleaming on the outside. It had been a curious dream and he sat up astonished. There was a man sitting beside him. It was Pierre.

Thank God, monsieur, he heard. we have been waiting for this you are saved pierre he gasped memory returned to him he was awake he felt weak but he knew that what he saw was not the vision of a dream i came the day after you went through the rapids explained pierre seeing his amazement you saved jean she was not hurt But you were badly bruised, monsieur, and you have been in a fever. Jean was not hurt? No, she cared for you until I came. She is sleeping now. I have not been this way very long, have I, Pierre?

I came yesterday, said Pierre. He bent over Philip and added, You must remain quiet for a little longer, monsieur. I have brought you a letter from Monsieur Gregson, and when you read that I will have some broth made for you. Philip took the letter and opened it as Pierre went quietly out of the tent. Gregson had written him but a few lines, he wrote. My dear Phil, I hope you'll forgive me, but I'm tired of this mess.

I was never cut out for the woods, and so I'm going to dismiss myself, leaving all best wishes behind for you. Go in and fight. You're a devil for fighting and will surely win. I'll only be in the way, so I'm going back with the ship, which leaves in three or four days. Was going to tell you this on the night you disappeared.

I'm sorry I couldn't shake hands with you before I left. Right, and let me know how things come out. As ever, Tom, stunned philip dropped the letter he lifted his eyes and a strange cry burst from his lips nothing that gregson had written could have wrung that cry from him it was jean she stood in the open door of the tent but it was not the jean he had known a terrible grief was written in her face her lips were bloodless her eyes lustreless deep suffering seemed to have put hollows in her cheeks in a moment she had fallen upon her knees beside him and clasped one of his hands in both of her own i am so glad she whispered chokingly for an instant she pressed his hands to her face i am so glad she rose to her feet swaying slightly she turned to the door and philip could hear her sobbing as she left him.

End of Chapter 14. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 15 of Flower of the North. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerwood. Chapter 15. Not until the silken flap of the tent had fallen behind Jeanne,

did Power of Movement and Speech return to Philip. He called her name and straggled to a sitting posture. Then he staggered to his feet. He could scarcely stand. Shooting pains passed like flashes of electricity through his body. His right arm was numb and stiff, and he found that it was thickly bandaged. His head ached, his legs could hardly support him.

He went to raise his left hand to his head, but stopped it in front of him, while a slow smile of understanding crept over his face it was swollen and covered with livid bruises he wondered if his body looked that way and sank down exhausted upon his balsam bed a minute later pierre returned with a cup of broth in his hand philip looked at him with less feverish eyes now there was an unaccountable change in the half-breed's appearance as there had been in jeans his face seemed thinner there was a deep gloom in his eyes a dejected droop to his shoulders philip accepted the broth and drank it slowly without speaking he felt strengthened then he looked steadily at pierre the old pride had fallen from pierre like a mask his eyes dropped under philip's gaze philip held up a hand pierre the half-breed grasped it and waited his lips tightened what is the matter demanded philip what has happened to jean you say she was not hurt by the rocks monsieur interrupted pierre quickly kneeling beside philip listen it is best that i tell you you are a man you will understand without being told all

from churchill i brought news which it was necessary for me to tell jean it was terrible news and she is distressed under its weight your honor will not allow you to inquire further monsieur i can tell you no more than this that it is a grief which belongs to but one person on earth herself i ask you to help me be blind to her unhappiness monsieur believe that it is the distress of the peril through which she has passed a little later i will tell you all and you will understand but it is impossible now i confide this much in you i ask you this because pierre's eyes were half closed and he looked as though unseeing over philip's head i ask you this he repeated softly because i have guessed that you love her? A cry of joy burst from Philip's lips. I do, Pierre, I do, I do, I do. I have guessed it, said Pierre.

You will help me to save her. Until death! Then you will go with us to Forta God, and from there you will go at once to your camp on Blind Indian Lake. Philip felt the sweat breaking out of the world. over his face. He was still weak. His voice was unnatural and trembled. You know, he gasped. Yes, I know, monsieur, replied Pierre. I know that you are in charge there, and Jean knows.

We knew who you were before we appointed to meet you on the cliff. You must return to your men. Philip was silent. For the moment every hope was crushed with you. him. He looked at Pierre. The half-breed's eyes were glowing, his haggard cheeks were flushed. "'And this is necessary?' "'It is absolutely necessary, monsieur.' "'Then I will go. But first, Pierre, I must know a little more. I cannot go entirely blind. Do they fear my men at Forta-God?' "'No, monsieur.'

one more question pierre who is lord fitzhew lee for an instant pierre's eyes widened they grew black and burned with a strange threatening fire he rose slowly to his feet and placed both hands upon philip's shoulders for a full minute the two men stared into each other's face then pierre spoke his voice was soft and low scarcely above a murmur murmur, but it was filled with something that struck a chill to Philip's heart. "'I would kill you before I would answer that question, monsieur,' he said. "'No other person has ever done for Jeanne and I what you have done. We owe you more than we can ever repay. Yet if you insist upon an answer to that question, you make of me an enemy. If you breathe that name to Jeanne, you turn her away from you forever.

without another word he left the tent for many minutes philip sat motionless where pierre had left him the earth seemed suddenly to have dropped from under his feet leaving him in an illimitable chaos of mind gregson had deserted him with almost no word of explanation and he would have staked his life upon gregson's loyalty under other circumstances his unaccountable action would have been a serious blow but now it was overshadowed by the mysterious change that had come over jean a few hours before she had been happy laughing and singing as they drew nearer to forde god each hour had added to the brightness of her eyes the gladness in her voice the change had come with pierre and at the bottom of it all was lord fitzhou lee pierre had warned him not to mention lord fitzhou's name to jean and yet only a short time before he had spoken the name boldly before jean and she had betrayed no sign of recognition or of fear more than that she had assured him that she had never heard the name before that it was not known at forde god philip bowed his head in his hands and his fingers clutched in his hair what did it all mean he went back to the scene on the cliff when pierre had roused himself at the sound of the name he thought of all that had happened since greggson had come to churchill and the result was a delirium of thought that made his temples throb he was sure now of but few things he loved jean loved her more than he had ever dreamed that he could love a woman, and he believed that it would be impossible for her to tell him a falsehood.

He was confident that she had never heard of Lord Fitzhue, until Pierre overtook them in their flight from Churchill. He could see but one thing to do, and that was to follow Pierre's advice, accepting his promise that in the end everything would come out right. He had faith in Pierre. He rose to his feet and went to the tent flap, An embarrassing thought came to him, and he stopped, a flush of feverish color suddenly mounting into his pale cheeks. He had kissed Jean in the chasm, when death thundered in their faces. He had kissed her again and again, and in those kisses he had declared his love.

He was glad and yet sorry. The knowledge that she must know of his love filled him with happiness, and yet with it, there was the feeling that it would place a distance between him and Jean. Gene was the first to see him when he came out of the tent. She was sitting beside a small balsam shelter, and Pierre was busy over a fire, with his back turned to them. For a moment the two looked at each other in silence, and then Jean came toward him, holding out one of her hands. He saw that she was making a strong effort to appear natural, but there was something in his own face that made her attempt a poor one.

The hand that she gave him trembled. Her lips quivered. For the first time, her eyes failed to meet his own in their limpid frankness. Pierre has told you what happened, she said. It was a miracle, and I owe you my life. I have had my punishment for being so careless. She tried to laugh at him now, drew her hand away.

I wasn't beaten against the rocks like you, but... It was terrible, interrupted Philip, remembering Pierre's words and eager to put her at ease. You have stood up under it beautifully. I am afraid of after-effects. You must not collapse under the strain now. Pierre heard his last words, and a smile flashed over his dark face as he encountered Philip's glance. it is true monsieur he said i know of no other woman who would have stood up under such a thing as jean has done mon dieu when i found a part of the canoe wreckage far below i thought that both of you were dead philip began to feel that he had foolishly overestimated his strength there was a weakness in his limbs that surprised him and a sudden chill replaced the fever in his blood jean placed her

hand upon his arm and thrust him gently toward the tent. You must not exert yourself, she said, watching the pallor in his face. You must be quiet until after dinner. He obeyed the pressure of her hand. Pierre followed into the tent, and for a moment he was compelled to lean heavily upon the half-breed. "'It is the reaction, monsieur,' said Pierre. "'You are weak after the fever.'

if you could sleep i can murmured philip dizzily dropping upon his balsam but pierre yes monsieur i have something to say to you no questions not now monsieur philip heard the rustling of the flap and pierre was gone he felt more comfortable lying down dizziness and nausea left him and he slept it was the deep refreshing sleep that always follows the awakening from fever when he awoke he felt like his old self and went outside pierre was alone a blanket was drawn across the front of the balsam shelter and the half-breed nodded toward it in response to philip's inquiring glance philip ate lightly of the food which pierre had ready for him when he had finished he leaned close to him and said you have warned me to ask no questions and i am going to ask none but you have not forbidden me to tell you things which i know i am going to talk to you about lord fitzhou lee pierre's dark eyes flashed monsieur listen demanded philip i seek your confidence no further but i shall tell you what i know of lord fitzhou lee if it makes us fight do you understand i insist upon this because you have as good as told me that this man is your enemy and that he is at the bottom of jean's trouble he is also my enemy and after i have told you why you may change your determination to keep me a stranger to your trouble if not well you can hold your tongue then as well as now

quickly without moving his eyes from pierre's face philip told his own story of lord fitzhue lee and as he continued a strange change came over the half-breed when he came to the letters revealing the plot to turn the northerners against his company a low crue cry escaped Pierre's lips. His eyes seemed starting from his head. Drops of sweat burst out upon his face. His fingers worked convulsively, something rose in his throat and choked him. When Philip had done, he buried his face in his hands. For a few moments he remained thus, and then suddenly looked up. Livid spots burned in his cheeks, and he fairly hissed at Philip. monsieur if this is not the truth if this is a lie he stopped something in philip's eyes told him to go no further he was fearless and he saw more than fearlessness in philip's face such men believe when they come together it is the truth said philip with a low strained laugh pierre held out his hand as a pledge of his faith i believe in you monsieur he said and it seemed an effort for him to speak do you know what i would have thought if you had told this to jean before i came

no i would have thought monsieur that she threw herself purposely into the death of the big thunder rocks my god you mean that is all monsieur i can say no more ah there is jean he cried more loudly now we will take down the tent and go jean stood a dozen steps behind them when philip turned she greeted him with a smile and hastened to assist pierre in gathering up the things about the camp philip was not blind to her efforts to evade him he could see that it was a relief to her when they were at last in pierre's canoe and headed up the river they traveled till late in the evening and set up jean's tent by starlight the journey was continued at dawn late the following afternoon the little churchill swept through a low woodless country called the white fox baron it was a narrow baron and across it lay the forest and the ridge mountains behind these mountains and the forest the sun was setting above all else there rose out of the gathering gloom of evening a single ridge a towering mass of rock which caught the last glow of the sun and blazed like a signal fire the canoe stopped jean and pierre both gazed toward the great rock then jean who was in the bough turned her face to philip and the glow of the rock itself suffused her cheeks as she pointed over the baron m philip she said there is for de god end of chapter fifteen recording by roger maline chapter sixteen of flower of the north

this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter sixteen there was a low tremble in jean's voice The canoe swung broadside to the slow current, and Philip looked in astonishment at the change in Pierre. The tired half-breed had uncovered his head, and knelt with his face turned to that last crimson glow in the sky, like one in prayer. But his eyes were open. There was a smile on his lips, and he was breathing quickly. Pride and joy came where there had been the lines of grief and exhaustion. His shoulders were thrown. back, his head erect, and the fire of the distant rock reflected itself in his eyes. From him Philip turned, so that he could look into Jean's face.

The girl, too, had changed. Again, these two were the Pierre and Jean, whom he had seen that first night in the moonlit cliff. Pierre seemed no longer the half-breed, but the prince of the rapier and broad cuffs, and Jean, smiling proudly at Philip. made him an exquisite little curtsy from her cramped seat in the bow and said, Monsieur Philip, welcome to Forta God. Thank you, he said and stared toward the sun-capped rock. He could see nothing but the rock, the black forests, and the desolate barren stretching between.

Forta-God, unless it was the rock itself, was still a mystery hidden in the gathering gloom. The canoe began moving slowly onward, and Jean turned so that her eyes searched the stream ahead. A thick wall of stunted forest shut out the baron from their view. The stream grew narrower, and on the opposite side a barren ridge, threatening them with torn and upheaved masses of rock, flung the heavy shadows of evening down upon them. No one spoke. Philip could hear Pierre breathing behind him,

something in the intense quiet in the awesome effect which their approach to forda god had upon these two sent strange little thrills shooting through his body he listened and heard nothing not even the howl of a dog the stillness was oppressive and the darkness thickened about them for half an hour they continued and then pierre headed the canoe into a narrow creek thrusting it through a thick growth of a thick growth of wild rice and reeds. Balsam and cedar and swamp hazels shut them in. Overhead, the tall cedars interlaced and hid the pale light of the sky. Philip could just make out jean ahead of him. And then suddenly there came a wonderful change. They shot out of the darkness as if from a tunnel, but so quietly that one a dozen feet away could not have heard the ripple of Pierre's paddle. almost in their faces rose a huge black bulk and in that blackness three or four yellow lights gleamed like mellow stars the canoe touched noiselessly upon sand pierre sprang out still without sound jean followed with a whispered word philip was last pierre pulled the canoe up and jean came to philip she held out her two hands

her face shone white in the gloom and there was a look in her beautiful eyes as she stood for a moment almost touching him that set his heart jumping she let her hands lie in his while she spoke we have not even alarmed the dogs monsieur philip she whispered is not that splendid i am going to surprise father and you will go with pierre i will see you a little later and-she she rose on tiptoe and her face was dangerously close to his own and you are very very welcome to forde-god monsieur she slipped away into the darkness and pierre stood beside philip his white teeth were gleaming strangely and he said in a soft voice monsieur that is the first time that i have ever heard those words spoken at forta god we welcome no man here who has your blood and your civilization in his veins you are greater than a king with a sudden exclamation philip turned upon pierre and that is the reason for jean's surprise he said she wishes to pave away for me i begin to understand it is true that you might not have received that welcome which you are certain to receive now from the master of forde-god replied pierre frankly so we will go in quietly and make no disturbance while your way is being paved as you call it he walked ahead with philip following so closely that he walked ahead with philip following so closely that that he could have touched him. He made out more distinctly now the lines of the huge black edifice

from which the lights shone. It was a massive structure of logs, two stories high, a half of it, almost completely hidden in the impenetrable shadow of a great wall of rock. Philip's eyes traveled up this wall, and he was convinced that he stood under the rock upon whose towering crest he had seen the last reflection of the evening's sun. About him there were no signs of life or of other habitation. Pierre moved swiftly. They passed under a small lighted window that was a foot above Philip's head and turned around the corner of the building. Here all was blackness. Pierre went straight to a door and uttered a low word of satisfaction when he found that it was not barred. He opened it and reached out a guiding hand to Philip's arm.

Philip entered, and the door closed softly behind him. He felt the flow of warm air in his face, and his moccas and feet trod upon something soft and velvety. Faintly, as though, coming from a great distance, he heard a voice singing. It was a woman's voice, but he knew that it was not jeans. In spite of himself, his heart was beating excitedly. The mystery of Forta God was about him, warm and subtle, like a strange spirit, sending through him the thrill of anticipation, a hundred fancies, little fears. Pierre advanced, still guiding him, then he stopped and chuckled softly in the darkness.

The distant voice had stopped singing, and there came. in place of it the loud barking of a dog, an unintelligible sound of a voice, and then quiet. Jean had sprung her surprise. Pierre led the way to another room. "'This is to be your room, monsieur,' he explained. "'Make yourself comfortable. I have no doubt that the master of Forta God will wish to see you very soon.' He struck a match as he spoke and lighted a lamp. A moment more and he was gone. Philip looked about him. He was in a room fully 20 feet square, furnished in a manner that drew from him an audible gasp of astonishment. At one end of the room was a massive

mahogany bed, screened by heavy curtains which were looped back by silken cords. Near the bed was an old-fashioned mahogany dresser with a diamond-shaped mirror, and in front of it a straight-backed chair adorned with the grotesque carving of an ancient and long-dead fashion about him everywhere were the evidences of luxury and of age the big lamp which gave a brilliant light was of hammered brass the base of its square pedestal was partly hidden in the rumpels of a heavy damask spread which covered the table in which it rested the table itself was old spindle-legged glowing with the mellow luster endowed by many passing generations, a relic of the days when the originator of its fashion became the favorite of a capricious and beautiful queen. Soft rugs were upon the floor.

From the walls, papered and hung with odd bits of tapestry, strange faces looked down upon Philip from out of heavy gilded frames. Faces grim, pale, shadowed, men with plated ruffles and curls, women with powdered hair who gazed down upon him haughtily as if they wondered at his intrusion. One picture was turned with its face to the wall.

Philip sank into a huge armchair, cushioned with velvet, and dropped his cap upon the floor. And this was for to God. He scarcely breathed. He was back two sandser. centuries, and he stared as if each movement he expected some manifestation of life in what he saw. He had dreamed his dream over the dead at Churchill.

Here it was reality, almost. It lacked but a breath, a movement, a flutter of life in the dead faces that looked down upon him. He gazed up at them again and laughed a little nervously. Then he fixed his eyes on the opposite. wall. One of the pictures was moving. The thought in his brain had given birth to the movement he had imagined. It was a woman's face in the picture, young and beautiful, and it nodded to him, one moment radiant with light, the next caught in shadows that cast over at a gloom. He jumped from his chair and went so that he stood directly under it. A current of warm air

shot up into his face from the floor. It was this air that was causing movement in the picture, and he looked down. What he discovered broke the spell he was under. About him were the relics of age, of a life long dead. Rubens might have sat in that room and mourned over his handiwork, lost in a wilderness. The stingy Louie might have recognized in the spindle-legged table

a bit of his predecessor's extravagance, which he had sold for the good of the exchequer of France. A goblin might have reclaimed one of the woven landscapes on the wall. A Groselier himself have issued from behind the curtained bed. Philip himself, in that environment, was the stranger. It was the current of warm air which brought him back from the 18th to the 20th century. Under his feet was a furnace. even the master of forta god stern and forbidding as philip began to imagine him might have laughed at the look which came into his face groselier the cavalier had he appeared philip would have accepted with the same confidence that he had accepted jean and pierre

but a furnace he thrust his hands deep in his pockets a trick which was always the last convincing evidence of his perplexity and walked slowly around the room. There were two books on the table. One, bound and faded red vellum, was a Greek anthology, the other Drummond's Ascent of Man. There were other books on a quaintly carved shelf under the picture which had been turned to the wall. He ran over the titles. There were a number of French novels, Eli's Socialism, Sir Thomas More's Utopia, st pierre's paul and virginia and a dozen other volumes there were balzac and hugo and dante's divine comedy amid this array like a black sheep lost among the angels was a finger-worn and faded little volume bearing the name camille something about this one book so strangely out of place in its present company aroused philip's curiosity it bore the name too which he had found worked in the corner of jean's handkerchief in a way the presence of this book gave him a sort of shock and he took it in his hand and opened the cover

under his fingers were pages yellow and frayed with age and in an ancient type once black the title the meaning of god in a large masculine hand some one had written under this title the accompanying word a black skin often contains a white soul, a woman's beauty, hell. Philip replaced the book with a feeling of awe. Something in those words, brutal in their truth, something in the strange whim that had placed a pearl of purity within the faded and worn mask of the condemned, seemed to speak to him of a tragedy that might be a key to the mystery of Forta God. From the books he looked up at the picture which had been turned to the wall.

The temptation to see what was hidden overcame him, and he turned the frame over. Then he stepped back with a low cry of pleasure. From out of the prescribed canvas there smiled down upon him a face of bewildering beauty. It was the face of a young woman, a stranger among its companions, because it was of the present. Philip stepped to one side so that the light from the lamp shone from behind him and he wondered if the picture had been condemned to hang with its face to the wall

because it typified the existent rather than the past. He looked more closely and drew back step by step until he was in the proper focus to bring out every expression in the lovely face. In the picture he saw each moment a greater resemblance to Jean. the eyes the hair the sweetness of the mouth the smile brought to him a vision of jean herself the woman in the picture was older than jean and his first thought was that it must be a sister or her mother it came to him in the next breath that this would be impossible for jean had been found by pierre in the deep snows on her dead mother's breast and this was a painting of life of youth of beauty and not of death and starvation he returned the forbidden picture to the position in which he had found it against the wall half ashamed of the act and thoughts into which his curiosity had led him

and yet after all it was not curiosity he told himself that as he washed himself and groomed his dishe shelved clothes an hour had passed when he heard a low tap at the door and pierre came in in that time the half-breed had undergone a transformation he was dressed in an exquisite coat of yellow buckskin with the same old-fashioned cuffs he had worn when philip first saw him trousers of the same material buckled below the knees and boot moccasins with flaring tops he wore a new repair at his waist and his glossy black hair was brushed smoothly back and fell loose upon his shoulders it was the courtier and not pierre the half-breed who bowed to philip monsieur are you ready he asked yes replied philip Then we will go to Monsieur d'Arcambal, the master of Forta God. They passed out into the hall, which was faintly illumined now, so that Philip caught glimpses of deep shadows and massive doors as he followed behind Pierre. They turned into a second hall, at the end of which was an open door through which came a flood of light.

At this door Pierre stopped, and with a bow allowed his own. companion to pass in ahead of him. The next moment Philip stood in a room twice as large as the one he had left. It was brilliantly lighted by three or four lamps. He had only an instance vision of numberless shelves loaded with books, of walls covered with pictures, of a ponderous table in front of him, and then he heard a voice. A man stepped out from behind the door, and he stood face to face with the master of Forta God. End of Chapter 16, recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 17 of Flower of the North.

This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Flower of the North by James Oliver Curwood. Chapter 17. He was an old man. Beard and hair were white. He was as tall as fit. his shoulders were broader, his chest massive, and as he stood under the light of one of the

hanging lamps, his face shining with a pale glow, one hand upon his breast, the other extended, it seemed to Philip that all of the greatness and past glory of Forta God, whatever they may have been, were personified in the man he beheld. He was dressed in soft buckskin like Pierre. His hair and beard grew in wild disorder, and from under shaggy eyebrows there burned a pair of deep-set eyes of the color of blue steel. He was a man to inspire awe, old and yet young, white-haired, gray-faced, and yet a giant. One might have expected from between his bearded lips a voice as thrilling as his appearance. A rumbling voice, deep-chested, sonorous. and it would have caused no surprise.

It was the voice that surprised Philip more than the man. It was low and trembling with an agitation which even strengthened pride could not control. Philip Wetmore, I am Henry Darkambal. May God bless you for what you have done! A hand of iron gripped his own, and then, before Philip had found words to say, the master of Forta God suddenly placed his arms about the... the shoulders and embraced him. Their shoulders touched. Their faces were close.

The two men who loved Jeanne Darkanbal, above all else on earth, gazed for a silent moment into each other's eyes. "'They have told me,' said Darkambal softly. "'You have brought my Jean home through death. "'Except a father's blessing, and with it this.' He stepped back and swept his arm. about the great room. Everything, everything would have gone with her, he said. If you had let her die, I should have died.

My God, what peril she was in. In saving her, you saved me. So you are welcome here, as a son. For the first time since my jeanne was a babe, Forta God offers itself to a man who is a stranger, and its hospitality is yours, so long as its walls hang together. And as they have done this for upward of two hundred years, Monsieur Philip,

we may conclude that our friendship is to be without end. He clasped Philip's hands again, and two tears coursed down his gray cheeks. It was difficult for Philip to restrain the joy his words produced, which, coming from the lips of Jeanne's father, lifted him suddenly into a paradise of hope. For many reasons he had come to a way. expect a none too warm reception at Forta God. He had looked ahead to the place with a grim sort of fear, scarcely definable. And here, Jeanne's father was opening his arms to him.

Pierre was unapproachable. Jean herself was a mystery, filling him alternately with hope and despair. D'Arcambal had accepted him as a son. He could find no words adequate to his emotion, none that could describe his own happiness, unless it was in a bold avowal of his love for the girl he had saved. And this his good sense told him not to make at the present moment. Any man would have done as much for your daughter, he said at last, and I am happy that I was the fortunate one to render her assistance. You are wrong, said D'Arcambal, taking him by the arm.

You are one out of a thousand. It takes a man to go through the big thunder and come out at the other end alive. I know of only one other who has done that in the last 20 years, and that other is Henry Darcombal himself. We three, you, Jean, and I have alone triumphed over those monsters of death. All others have died. It seems like a strange pointing of the hand of God. Philip trembled.

we three he exclaimed we three said the old man and for that reason you are a part of for to god he led philip deeper into the great room and philip saw that almost all the space along the walls of the huge room was occupied by shelves upon shelves of books masses of papers piles of magazines shoulder high scores of maps and paintings the massive table was covered with books there were piles on smaller tables chairs and the floor itself covered with the skins of a score of wild beasts were littered with them at the far end of the room he saw deeper and darker shelves where gleamed faintly in the lamplight row upon row of vials and bottles and strange instruments of steel and glass a scientist in the wilderness a student exiled in a desolation these were the thoughts that leaped into his mind and he knew that in this room jean had been created that here between these centuries old walls amid an environment of strange silence of whispering age her visions of the world had come here separated from all her kind god nature and a father had known had made her of their handiwork. The old man pointed Philip to a chair near the large table, and sat down close to him. At his feet was a stool covered with silvery linkskin,

and D'Arcambal looked at this, his strong, grim face relaxing, into a gentle smile of happiness. "'This is where Jeanne sits, at my feet,' he said. It has been her place for many years. When she is not there, I am lost. Life ceases. This room has been our world. Tonight, you are in Forta God. Tomorrow, you will see D'Arcambal House. You have heard of that, perhaps, but never of Forta God. That belongs to Jeanne and me, to Pierre, and you. Forta God is the heart, the soul, the life's blood of D'Arcumbal House. It is this room and to or three others. D'Arcambal House is our barrier. When strangers come, they see D'Arcambal House, plain rooms of rough wood, quarters such as you have seen at posts and stations,

the mask which gives no hint of what is hidden within. It is there that we live to the world, it is here that we live to ourselves. Jean has my permission to tell you whatever she wishes a little later. But I am curious, and being an old man must be humored first. I am still trembling. You must tell me what happened to Jean. For an hour they talked, and Philip went over one by one the events as they had occurred since the fight on the cliff,

omitting only such things as he thought that Jean and Pierre might wish to keep secret to themselves. At the end of that hour, he was certain that Darcambal was unaware of the dark, cloud that had suddenly come into jean's life the old man's brow was knitted with deep lines and his powerful jaws were set hard as philip told of the ambush of the wounding of pierre and the flight of his assailants with his daughter it was to get money the old man thought the half-breed had suggested that and jean herself had given it as her opinion why else should they have been attacked at churchill Such things had occurred before, he told Philip. The little daughter of the factor at Nelson House had been stolen and held for ransom.

With a hundred questions he wrung from Philip every detail of the second fight and of the struggle for life in the rapids. He betrayed no physical excitement, even in those moments of Philip's description when Jean hung between life and death. But in his eyes there was the glow of red-hot fires. at last there came to interrupt them the low musical tinkling of a bell under the table d'arcambal's face lighted up suddenly ah i had forgotten he exclaimed pardon me philip dinner has been awaiting us this last half-hour and besides he reached out and touched a tiny button which philip had not observed before i am selfish he had hardly ceased speaking when footsteps sounded in the hall and in spite of every resolution he had made to guard himself against any betrayal of the emotions burning in his breast philip sprang to his feet

jean had come in under the glow of the lamps and stood now a dozen feet from him a vision so exquisitely lovely that he saw nothing of those who entered behind her nor heard d'arcumbal's low happy laugh at his side it seemed to him for a moment as if there had suddenly appeared before him the face of the picture that was turned against the wall only more beautiful now radiant with the glow of living flesh and blood but there was something even more startling than this resemblance in this moment jean was the fulfilment of his dream she had come to him from out of another world she was dressed in an old-fashioned gown of pure woman white, a fabric so delicate that it seemed to float about her slender form, responsive to every breath she drew. Her white shoulders revealed themselves above masses of filmy lace that fell upon her bosom. Her slender arms, girlish rather than womanly in their beauty, were bare. Her hair was bound up in shining coils about her head, with a single flower nestling amid a little cluster of curls that fell upon her neck.

After his first movement, Philip recovered himself by a strong effort. He bowed low to conceal the flush in his face. Jean swept him a little curtsy and then ran past him, with the eagerness of any modern child into the outstretched arms of her father. Laughter and joy rumbled in the beard of the master of Forta God as he looked over Jean's head at Philip. "'And this is what you have saved for me,' he said. Then he looked beyond, and for the first time Philip realized there were others in the room.

One was Pierre, the other, a pretty dark-faced girl, with hair that glistened like a raven's wing in the lamp glow. Jean left her father's arms and gave her hand to Philip. "'Monsieur Philip, this is my sister.' "'Mademoiselle Couchet,' she cried. Pierre's sister gave Philip her hand, and behind them D'Arcambal laughed softly in his beard again, and said,

"'Tomorrow, in D'Arcambal house, you may call her Othiel, Philip. But to-night we are in Forta-God. Oh, sheen, sheen, what a witch you are!' "'An angel,' breathed Philip, but no one heard him. "'And this witch,' added the old man, "'you are to take into supper, Monsieur Philip.

"'To-night I suppose that I must call you Monsieur, "'but to-morrow, when I have on my leather leggings "'and my skin-cap, I will call you Phil, "'or Tom, Dick, or Harry, just as I please. "'This is the first time, sir, "'that my jean has ever gone into dinner "'on another arm than mine or Pierre's. and so i may be a little jealous proceed as jean's hand rested in his arm and they went into the hall philip could not restrain himself from whispering i am glad of that

and the dress monsieur philip exclaimed arkambal behind them in the voice of a happy boy it is an honor to escort that to say nothing of the silly girl that's in it that dress sir belonged to a beautiful lady who was called Camille and who died over a century ago. Father, please do be good, protested Jean. Remember? Ah, so I will, said her father. I had forgotten that you were to tell Mr. Philip these things. They entered another room, illuminated by a single huge lamp suspended above a table spread with silver and fine linen.

The room was as good. greatest surprise as the other two had been, it contained no chairs. What Philip mentally designated as benches, with deep cushion seats of greenish leather, were arranged about the table. These same curious seats furnished other parts of the room. From the pictures in the walls to the ancient helmet and cuiris that stood up like a legless sentinel in one corner, this room, like the others, breathed of extreme age. Over a big open fireplace, in which half a dozen birch logs were burning, hung a number of old-fashioned weapons, a flintlock,

a pair of obsolete French dueling pistols, a short repair similar to that which Pierre wore, and two long swords. Philip noticed that about each of the dueling pistols was tied a bow of ribbon, dull and faded as though the passing of generations had robbed them of beauty and color to be replaced by the somberness of age during the meal philip could but observe that jean was laboring under some mysterious strain her cheeks were brilliantly flushed and her eyes were filled with the lustrous brightness that he had never seen in them before their beauty was almost feverish several times he caught a strange little tremor of her white shoulders as though a sudden chill had passed through her he discovered too that pierre was observing these things and that there was something forced in the half-breed's cheerfulness but d'arcumbal and o'teele seemed completely oblivious of any change their happiness overflowed philip thought of his last supper at churchill with eileen brokaw and her father

miss brokaw had acted strangely then and had struggled to hide some secret grief or excitement as jean was struggling now he was glad when the meal was finished and the master of fortagarde rose from his seat at d'arcumbal's movement his eyes caught jean's and then he saw that pierre was looking sharply at him jean owes you an apology and an explanation m philip said d'arcombal resting a hand upon jean's head we are going to retire and she will initiate you into the fold of forde god pierre and o'tiel followed him from the room for the first time in an hour jean laughed frankly at Philip. "'There isn't much to explain, Monsieur Philip,' she said, rising from her seat. "'You know pretty nearly all there is to know about Forta God now. Only I am sure that I did not appear to value your confidence very much, a little while ago. It must have seemed ungrateful in me, indeed, to have told you so little about myself and my home,

after what you did for Pierre and me. But I have father's permission now. It is the second time that he has ever given it to me. And I don't want to hear, exclaimed Philip, bluntly. I have been more or less of a brute, Miss Jean. I know enough about Forta God. It is a glorious place. You owe me nothing, and for that reason.

But I insist, interrupted the girl. Do you mean to say that you do not care to listen? when this is the second time in my life that i have had the opportunity of talking about my home and the first didn't give me any pleasure this will a shadow came into jean's eyes she motioned him to a seat beside her in front of the fire her nearness the touch of her dress the sweet perfume of her presence thrilled him he felt that the moment was near when the whole world as he knew it was to slip away from him, leaving him in a paradise, or a chaos of despair. Jean looked up at the dueling pistols. The firelight trembled in the soft folds of lace over her bosom, it glistened in her hair, and lighted her face with a gentle glow. "'There isn't much to explain,' she said again, in a voice so low that it was hardly more

than a whisper. But what little there is I want you to know, so that when you go away, you will understand. More than two hundred years ago, a band of gentlemen adventurers were sent over into this country by Prince Rupert to form the Hudson's Bay Company. That is history, and you know more of it probably than I. One of these men was Le Chevalier Groscelier. One summer he came up the Churchill, and stopped at the great rock on which we saw the sun setting tonight, and which was called the sun-rock by the Indians. He was struck by the beauty of the place, and when he went back to France,

it was with the plan of returning to build himself a chateau in the wilderness. Two or three years later he did this, and called the place Forta God. For more than a century, Monsieur, Forta God was a place of revel and pleasure in the heart of this desolation. Early in the 19th century,

It passed into the hands of a man by the name of Darcy, and it is said that at one time it housed twenty gentlemen and as many ladies of France for one whole season. Its history is obscure and mostly lost. But for a long time after Darcy came, it was a place of adventure, of pleasure, and of mystery, very little of which remains today.

Those are his pistols above the fire. He was killed by one of them out there beside the big rock in a quarrel with one of his guests over a woman. We think, here, from letters that we have found, that her name was Camille. There is a chest in my room filled with linen that bears her name. This dress came from that chest. I have to be careful of them, as they tear very easily.

after Darcy the place was almost forgotten and remained so until nearly forty years ago when my father came into possession of it. That, monsieur, is the very simple history of Forta God. Its old name is forgotten. It lives only with us. Others know it as Darcambal House. Yes, I have heard of that, said Philip. He waited for Jean, and saw that her fingers were nervously twisting a bit of ribbon in her lap. "'Of course, that is uninteresting,' she continued. "'You can almost guess the rest.

We have lived here, alone. Not one of us has ever felt the desire to leave this little world of ours. It is curious. You may scarcely believe what I say, but it is true that we look out upon your big world and laugh at it and dislike it. I guess that I have been taught to hate it since I can remember. There was a little tremble in Jean's voice, an instant's quivering of her chin. Philip looked from her face into the fire and stared hard, choking back words which were ready to burst from his lips.

In place of them, he said, with a touch of bitterness, in his voice and i have grown to hate my world jean it has compelled me to hate it that is why i spoke to you that night on the cliff at churchill i have sometimes thought that i have been very wrong said the girl i have never seen this other world i know nothing of it except as i have been taught i have no right to hate it and yet i do i have never wanted to see it i have never cared to know to know know the people who lived in it. I wish that I could understand, but I cannot, except that Father has made for us, for Pierre and O'Tiel and me, this little world at Forta God, and has taught us to fear the other. I know that there is no other man in the whole world like my father, and that what he has done must be best. It is his pride that we bring your world to our doors, but that we never go to it, he says that we know more about that world than the people who live there, which of course

cannot be so. And so we have grown up amid the old memories, the pictures, and the dead romances of Forta God. We have taken pleasure in living as we do, in making for ourselves our own little social codes, our childish aristocracy, our make-believe world. It is the spirit of for to God that lives with us, and makes us content. The shadow, faces of men and women who once filled these rooms with life and pleasure, and whose memory seems to have passed into our keeping alone. I know them all, many of their names, all of their faces. I have a daguerreotype of Camille Poitier, and she must have been very beautiful. There are the tiniest slippers in the world in her chest, and ribbons like those which are tied about the pistols. There is a painting of

Darcy in your room. It is the picture next to the one that has its face turned to the wall. She rose to her feet, and Philip stood beside her. There was a mist in her eyes, as she held out her hand to him. "'I would like to have you see that picture,' she whispered. philip could not speak he held the hand jean had given him as they passed through the long dimly lighted halls at the open door to his room they stopped and he could feel jean trembling you will tell me the truth she begged like a child you will tell me what you think of the picture yes she went in ahead of him and turned the frame so that the frame so that the picture the face of the picture smiled down upon them in all of its luring loveliness. There was something pathetic in the girl's attitude now. She stood under the picture, facing Philip, and there was a tense eagerness in her eyes,

a light that was almost supplication, a crying out of her soul to him in a breathless moment that seemed hovering between pain and joy. It was Jean, an older Jean, that laid. looked from out of the picture, smiling, inviting admiration, bewildering in her beauty. It was Jean, the child, waiting for him in flesh and blood to speak, her eyes big and dark,

her breath coming quickly, her hands buried in the deep lace on her bosom. A low word came to Philip's lips, and then he laughed softly. It was a laugh, almost under his breath, which sweeps up now and then from a soul in a joy an emotion which is unutterable in words but to jean it was different her dark eyes grew hurt and wounded two great tears ran down her paling cheeks and suddenly she buried her face in her hands and with a sobbing cry turned from him with her head bowed under the smiling face above and you you hate it too she sobbed they all hate it pierre father all all hate it it must it must be bad they hate her every one but me and i love her so

her slender form shook with sobs for a moment philip stood like one struck dumb then he sprang to her and caught her close in his arms jean jean listen he cried to-night i looked at that picture before i went to see your father and i loved it because it is like you jean my darling i love you i love you she was panting against his breast he covered her face with kisses her sweet lips were not turned from him and there filled her eyes a sudden light that made him almost sob in his happiness. I love you, I love you, he repeated again and again, and he could find no other words than those. For an instant her arms clung about his shoulders, and then, suddenly, they strained against him,

and she tore herself free, and with a cry so pathetic that it seemed as though her heart had broken in that moment, she fled from him and out of the room. End of Chapter 17. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 18 of Flower of the North. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline.

Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerwood. Chapter 18. Philip stood where Jean had left him, his arms half reaching out to the vacant door through which he had fled. His lips parted as if to call her name. name, and yet motionless, dumb. A moment before he was intoxicated by a joy that was almost madness. He had held Jean in his arms, he had looked into her eyes, filled with surrender under

his caresses and his avowal of love. For a moment he had possessed her, and now he was alone. The cry that had wrung itself from her lips, breaking in upon his happiness like a blow, still rang in his ears, and there was something in the exquisite pain of it that left him in torment. Heart and soul, every drop of blood in him, had leaped in the joy of that glorious moment when Jean's eyes and sweet lips had accepted his love, and her arms had clung about his shoulders. Now these things had been struck dead within him. He felt again the fierce pressure of Jean's arms as she had thrust him away.

saw the fright and torture that had leaped into her eyes as she sprang from him as though his touch had suddenly become a sacrilege. He lowered his arms slowly and went to the hall. It was empty. He heard no sound and closed the door. It was so still that he could hear the excited throbbing of his own heart. He looked at the picture again and a strange fancy impressed him with the idea that it was no longer smiling at him, but that its eyes were turned to the door through which jean had disappeared he moved his position and the illusion was gone it was jean looking down upon him again an older and happier jean than the one whom he loved for the first time he examined it closely in one corner of the canvas he found the artist's name bourret and after it the date eighteen eighty eight

could it be the picture of jean's mother he told himself that it was impossible for jean's mother had been found dead in the snow five years later than the date of the canvas and pierre the half-breed had buried her somewhere out in the baron so that she was a mystery to all but him even the master of forde god to whom he had brought the child had never seen the woman upon whose cold breast pierre had found the little jean with nervous hands he replaced the picture with its face to the wall and began to pace up and down the room wondering if d'arcambal would send for him he had hope of seeing jean again that night he felt sure that she had gone to her room and that even d'arcambal might not know that he was alone in that event he had a long night ahead of him filled with hours of sleeplessness and torment he waited for three-quarters of an hour and then the idea came to him that he might discover some plausible excuse for seeking out his host he was about to act upon this mental suggestion when he heard a low rustling in the hall followed by a distinct and yet timid knock it was not a man's knock and filled with the hope that jean had returned philip hastened to the door and opened it he heard soft footsteps retreating rapidly down the hall but the lights were out and he could see nothing something had fallen at his feet and he bent down to pick it up the object was a small square envelope and re-entering his room he saw his own name written across it in jean's delicate hand his heart beat with hope as he opened the note what he read brought a gray pallor into his face monsieur philip if you cannot forget what i have done please at least try to forgive me

no woman in the world could value your love more than i for circumstances have proven to me the strength and honor of the man who gives it and yet it is as impossible for me to accept it as it would be for me to give up for to god my father or my life though i cannot tell you why and this i know you will not ask after what has happened to-night it will be impossible for me to see you again and i must ask you as one who values your friendship among the highest things in my life to leave for to god no one must know what has passed between us you will go in the morning and with you there will always be my prayers jean the paper dropped from between philip's fingers and fell to the floor three or four times in his life philip had received blows that had made him sick physical blows. He felt now as though one of these blows had descended upon him, turning things black before his eyes. He staggered to the big chair and dropped into it, staring at the bit of white paper on the floor. If one had spoken to him, he would not have heard. Gregson, in these moments, might have laughed a little nervously,

smoked innumerable cigarettes, and laid plans for continuance of the the battle tomorrow. But Philip was a fighter of men and not of women. He had declared his love, he had laid open his soul to Jean, and to a heart like his own, simple in its language, boundless in its sincerity, this was all that could be done. Jean's refusal of his love was the end for him. He accepted his fate without argument. In an instant he would have fought ten.

Ten men, a hundred, naked-handed, if such a fight would have given him a chance of winning Jean. He would have died, laughing, happy, if it had been in a struggle for her. But Jean herself had dealt him the blow. For a long time he sat motionless in the chair facing the picture on the wall. Then he rose to his feet, picked up the note, and went to one of the little square windows that looked out into the night. The moon had risen, and the sky was full of stars.

He knew that he was looking into the north, for the pale shimmer of the aurora was in his face. He saw the black edge of the spruce forest, the baron stretched out, pale and ghostly, into the night shadows. He made an effort to open the window, but it was wedged tightly in its heavy sill. He crossed the room, opened the door, and went silently down the hall to the door through which Pierre had led him a few hours before.

It was not locked, and he passed out into the night. The fresh air was like a tonic, and he walked swiftly out into the moonlit spaces until he found himself in the deep shadow of the sun-rock that towered like a sentinel giant above his head. He made his way around its huge base, and then stopped, close to where they had landed in the connoisse, There was another canoe drawn up beside Pierre's, and two figures stood out clear in the moonlight.

One of these was a man, the other a woman, and as Philip stopped, wondering at the scene, the man advanced to the woman and caught her in his embrace. He heard a voice, low and expostulating, which sounded like Oteal's, and in spite of his own misery, misery, Phillips smiled at this other love which had found its way to Forta God. He turned back softly, leaving the lovers as he had found them. But he had scarce taken half a dozen steps when he heard other steps, and saw that the girl had left her companion and was hurrying toward him. He drew back close into the shadow of the rock to avoid possible discovery,

and the girl passed through the moonlight almost within arm's reach of him. at that moment his heart ceased to beat he choked back the groaning cry that rose to his lips it was not o'tiel who passed him it was jean in another moment she was gone the man had shoved his canoe into the narrow stream and was already lost in the gloom then and not until then did the cry of torture fall from philip and as if in echo to it he heard the sobbing break of another voice and stepping out into the moonlight he stood face to face with pierre cuchet it was pierre who spoke first i am sorry monsieur he whispered hoarsely i know that it has broken your heart and mine too is crushed something in the half-breed's face in the choking utterance of his voice struck Philip as new and strange. He had seen the eyes of dying animals filled with the wild pain that glowed in Pierre's, and suddenly he reached out and gripped the other's hand, and they stood staring into each other's face. In that look, the cold grip of their hands,

the strife in their eyes, the bare truth revealed itself. "'And you too! You love her, Pierre,' said Philip. "'Yes, I love her, monsieur,' replied Pierre softly. "'I love her, not as a brother, but as a man whose heart is broken.' "'Now I understand,' said Philip. He dropped Pierre's hand, and his voice was cold and lifeless. "'I received a note from her, asking me to leave for to God in the morning,' he went on, looking from Pierre out beyond the rock into the white baron.

I will go to-night. It is best, said Pierre. I have left nothing in Forta God, so there is no need of even returning to my room, continued Philip. Jean will understand, but you must tell her father that a messenger came suddenly from Blind Indian Lake, and that I thought it best to leave without awakening him. will you guide me for a part of the distance pierre i will go with you the whole way monsieur it is only twenty miles ten by canoe ten by land

they said no more but both went to the canoe and were quickly lost in the gloom into which the other canoe had disappeared a few minutes ahead of them they saw nothing of this canoe and when they came to the churchill pierce headed the birch bark downstream. For two hours, not a word passed between them. At the end of that time, the half-breed turned into shore. "'We take the trail here, monsieur,' he explained. He went on ahead, walking swiftly, and now and then, when Philip caught a glimpse of his face, he saw in it a despair as great as his own. The trail led along the back, backbone of a huge ridge, and then twisted down into a broad plain. And across this they traveled, one after the other, two moving, silent shadows in a desolation that seemed without end. Beyond the plain there rose another ridge, and half an hour after they had struck the top of it,

Pierre halted and pointed off into the ghostly world of light and shadow that lay at their feet. "'Your camp is on the other side of this plane, monsieur,' he said. "'Do you recognize the country?' "'I have hunted along this ridge,' replied Philip. "'It is only three miles from here, "'and I will strike a beaten trail half a mile out yonder. "'A thousand thanks, Pierre.' "'He held out his hand.

"'Good-bye, monsieur.' "'Good-bye, Pierre.' Their voices trembled. Their hands gripped hard. A choking lump rose in Philip's throat, and Pierre turned away. He disappeared slowly in the gray gloom, and Philip went down the side of the mountain. From the plane below, he looked back. For an instant, he saw Pierre, drawn like a silhouette against the sky. "'Good-bye, Pierre!' he shouted.

good-bye monsieur came back faintly light and silence dropped about them end of chapter eighteen recording by roger maline chapter nineteen of flower of the north this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north to be alone even after the public domain rger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter nineteen to be alone even after the painful parting with Pierre was in one way a relief to Philip, for with the disappearance of the lonely half-breed over the mountain, there had gone from him the last physical association that bound him to Jean and her people. With Pierre at his side, Jean was still with him. But now that Pierre was gone, there came a change in him, one of those unaccountable transmutations of the mind which make the passing of yesterdays more like a short dream, than. a long and full reality. He walked slowly over the plane, and when he came to the trail beaten

by the hoofs of his own teams, he followed it mechanically. In his measurement of things now, it seemed only a few hours since he had traveled over this trail on his way to Fort Churchill. It might have been that morning, or the morning before. The weeks of his absence had passed with marvelous swiftness now that he looked back upon them. They seemed short and trivial, and yet he knew that in those weeks he had lived more of his life than he had ever lived before, or would ever live again. For a brief spell, life had been filled with joy and hope, a promise of happiness, which a single moment in the shadow of the sunrock had destroyed forever.

He had seen Jean in another man's arms. He had read the confirmation of his fears in Pierre's grief-distorted face, in the strange tremble of his voice, in the words that he had spoken. He was sorry for Pierre. He would have been glad if that other man had been the lovable half-breed, if Jean, in the poetry of life and love, had given herself to the one who had saved the spark of life and life her chilled little body years and years ago.

And yet, in his own grief, he unconsciously rejoiced that it was a man like Pierre who suffered with him. This thought of Pierre strengthened him, and he walked faster and breathed more deeply of the clear night air. He had lost in the fight for Jean, as he had lost in many other fights.

But, after all, there was another and a bigger fight ahead of him, which he would begin to. tomorrow. Thoughts of his men, of his camps, and of this struggle through which he must pass to achieve success, raised him above his depression, and stirred his blood with a growing exhilaration. And Jean, was she hopelessly lost to him? He dared to ask himself the question half an hour after he had separated from Pierre, and his mind flew back to the portrait room where he had told Jeanne of his love, and where for a moment he had seen in her eyes and face the sweet

surrender that had given him a glimpse of his paradise. But what did the sudden change mean? And after that, the scene in the starlight? A quickening of his pulse was the answer to these questions. Jean had told him there were only two men at Forta God, Pierre, and her father. Then who could be this third? A lover whom she met clandestinely? He shivered and began loading his pipe as he walked. He was certain that the master of Forta God did not know of the trist beyond the rock, and he was equally certain that the girl was unaware of Pierre's knowledge of the meeting.

Pierre had remained hidden, like himself, and he had given Philip to understand that it was not. not the first time he had looked upon the meetings of jean and the man they had seen from the shadow of the rock and yet in spite of all evidence he could not lose faith in jean suddenly he saw something ahead of him which changed for a moment the uncomfortable trend of his thoughts it was a pale streak rising above the level of the trail and stretching diagonally across the plain to the east with an exclamation of surprise philip hastened his steps and a moment later stood among the fresh workings of his men when he had left for churchill this streak which was the last stretch of road-bed between them and the surveyed line in the hudson's bay railway had ended two miles to the south and west in a little over a month mcdougall had pushed it on the trail and well across it in the direction of gray beaver lake in that time he had accomplished a work which philip had not thought possible to achieve that autumn he had figured that the heavy snows of winter would cut them off at the trail and mcdougal was beyond the trail with three weeks to spare something rose up in his blood warming him with an elation which sent him walking swiftly toward the end of the road bed. A quarter of a mile out on the plane he came to the

working end. About him were scattered half a dozen big scoop shovels and piles of working tools. The embers of a huge log fire still glowed where dinner had been cooked for the men. Philip stood for a few moments, looking off into the distance. Another mile and a half out there was the gray beaver, and from the gray beaver. And from the gray jubes, beaver there lay the unbroken waterway to the point of their conjunction with the railway coming up from the south. A sudden idea occurred to Philip. If McDougal had built two and a quarter miles of roadbed in five weeks, they could surely complete this other mile and a half before winter stopped them. In that event, they would have fifteen miles of road linking seven lakes,

which would give them a splendid winter trail for men, teams and dogs to the gray beaver. And from the gray beaver, they would have smooth ice for 20 miles to the new road. He had not planned to begin fishing operations until spring, but he could see no reason now why they should not commence that winter, setting their nets through the ice. At Lobstick Creek, where the new road would reach them sometime in April or may, they could freeze their fish and keep them in storage. Five hundred tons in stock, and perhaps a thousand, would not be a bad beginning. It would mean from forty to eighty thousand dollars, a half of which could be paid out in dividends.

He turned back, whistling softly. There was new life in him, burning for action. He was eager to see McDougal, and he hoped the bro-car. would not be long in reaching Blind Indian Lake. Before he reached the trail, he was planning the accommodation stations where men and animals could find shelter. There would be one on the shore of the gray beaver,

and from there he would build them at regular intervals of five miles on the ice. He had come to the trail and was about to turn in the direction of the camp when he saw a shadowy figure making its way slowly across the plain, which he had traversed half an hour before. The manner in which this person was following in his footsteps,

apparently with extreme caution, caused Philip to move quickly behind the embankment of the roadbed. Two or three minutes later a man crossed into view. Philip could not see his face distinctly, but by the tired droop of the stranger's shoulders and his shuffling walk, he guessed that what he had first taken for caution, was in reality the tedious progress of a man nearing exhaustion. He wondered how he had missed him in his own journey over the trail from the ridge mountains,

for he had made twice the progress of the stranger, and must surely have passed him somewhere within the last mile or so. The fact that the man had come from the direction of Forta God, that he was exhausted, and that he had evidently concealed himself a little way back to avoid discovery, led Philip to cut out diagonally across the plane so that he could follow him and keep him in sight without being observed. Twice in the next mile the nocturnal traveler stopped to rest. But no sooner had he reached the first scattered shacks of the camp,

then he quickened his steps, darting quickly among the shadows, and then stopped at last before the door of a small log cabin within a pistol shot of Philip's own headquarters. the cabin was newly built and philip gave a low whistle of surprise as he noted its location he had to a certain degree isolated his own camp home building it a couple of hundred yards back from the shore of the lake where most of the other cabins were erected this new cabin was still a hundred yards farther back half hidden in a growth of spruce he heard the click of a key in a lock and the opening and closing of a door a moment later a light flared dimly against a curtain window philip hurried across the open to the cabin occupied by himself and mcdougal the engineer he tried the door but it was barred then he knocked loudly and continued knocking until a light appeared within. He heard the Scotchman's voice close to the door. "'Who's there?' it demanded.

"'None of your business,' retorted Philip, falling into the error of a joke at the welcome sound of McDougal's voice. "'Open up!' A bar slipped within. The door opened slowly. Philip thrust himself against it and entered. In the pale light of the lamp he was confronted by the red face of McDougal and a pair of little eyes that gleamed menacingly.

And on a line with McDougal's face was an ugly-looking revolver. Philip stopped with a sudden uncomfortable thrill. McDougal lowered his gun. "'Lord, preserve us, but that's the time you almost drew a perforation,' he exclaimed. "'It isn't safe to cut up in these days. any more not with sandy mcdougall he held out a hand with a relieved laugh and the two men shook in a grip that made their fingers ache is this the way you welcome all of your friends mac mcdougall shrugged his shoulders and laid his gun on a table in the center of the room can't say that i've got a friend left in camp he said with a curious grimace what in thunder do you mean phil i've tried to reason something out of it but i can't philip was hanging up his cap and coat on one of a number of wooden pegs driven into the long wall he turned quickly reason something out of what he said

your instructions from churchill replied mcdougal picking up a big black-bowled pipe from the table philip sat down with a restful sigh crossed his legs loaded his pipe and lighted it thought i made myself lucid enough even for a scotchman sandy he said i learned at churchill that the big fight is going to be pulled off mighty soon it's about time for the fireworks so i told you to put the sub-camps in fighting shape and arm every responsible man in this camp there's going to be a whole lot of gun-work before you're many days older great scott man don't you understand now what's the matter mcdougal was staring at him as if struck dumb you told me to arm the camps he gasped yes i sent you full instruct two weeks ago. McDougal tapped his forehead suspiciously with a stubby forefinger. You're mad, or trying to pull off a poor brand of joke, he exclaimed. If you're dreaming, come out of it.

Look here, Phil, he cried a little heatedly. I've been having a hell of a time since you left the camp, and I want to talk seriously. It was Philip who stared now. He fairly thrust himself upon the engineer. Do you mean to say you didn't get my letter telling you to put the camps in fighting shape? No, I didn't get it, said McDougal, but I got the other. There was no other. McDougal jumped to his feet, darted to his bunk, and came back a moment later with a letter.

He thrust it almost fiercely into Philip's hands. a sweat broke out upon his face as he saw its effect upon his companion philip's face was deadly pale when he looked up from the letter my god you haven't done this he gasped what else could i do demanded mcdougal it's down there in black and white isn't it it charges me to outfit six prospecting parties of ten men each arm every man with a rifle and revolver, viddle them for two months, and send them to the points named there. That letter came ten days ago, and the last party, under Tom Billinger, has been gone a week. You told me to send your very best men, and I have. It is fairly stripped of the camp of the men we depended upon, and there are hardly enough guns left to kill meat with. I didn't write this letter, said Philip, looking hard at McDougal.

The signature is a fraud. The letter which I sent to you, revealing my discoveries at Churchill, has been intercepted and replaced by this. Do you know what it means? McDougal was speechless. His squared jaw was set like an iron clamp, his heavy hands doubled into knots on his knees it means fight continued philip to-night to-morrow at any moment now i can't guess why the blow hasn't fallen before this he quickly related to mcdougal the chief facts he had gathered at fort churchill when he had finished the young scotchman reached over to the table seized his revolver and held the buddougal the chief facts he had gathered at fort churchill when he had finished the young scotchman reached over to the table seized his revolver and held the bud

of it out to Philip. Pump me full of lead. For God's sake, do, Phil, he pleaded. Philip laughed and gripped his hand. Not while I need a few fighters like yourself, Sandy, he objected. We're on to the game in time. By tomorrow morning we'll be prepared for the war. We haven't an hour, perhaps not a minute, to lose.

How many men can you get hold? of tonight whom we can depend upon to fight. Ten, or a dozen, no more. The road gang that we were expecting up from the Grand Trunk Pacific came three days after you started for Churchill, twenty-eight of them. They're a tough-looking outfit, but devilish good workers. I believe you could hire that gang to do anything.

They won't take a word from me. It's all up to Thorpe, the foreman who brought him up. and they won't obey an order unless it comes through him. Thorpe could get them to fight, but they haven't anything to fight with, except a few knives. I've got eight guns left, and I can scrape up eight men who'll handle them for the glory of it. Thorpe's gang would be mighty handy in close quarters if it came to that.

McDougal moved restlessly and ran a hand through his tawny hair. I almost wish we hadn't invited that bunch up here, he added. They look to me like a lot of dollar thugs, but they work like horses. Never saw such men with a shovel and pick, and fight? They've cleaned up on a half of the men in camp. If we can get Thorpe, we'll see him tonight, interrupted Philip. Or, to be correct, this morning. It's one o'clock.

how long will it take to round up our best men half an hour said mcdougal promptly jumping to his feet there are roberts henshaw tom cassidy lecoe the frenchman and the two st pierre brothers they're all crack gunmen give him each an automatic and they're worth twenty ordinary men a few moments later mcdougal extinguished the light and the two men left the cabin philip drew his companion's attention to the dimly lighted window of the cabin to which he had followed the stranger a short time before that's thorpes said the young engineer i haven't seen him since morning guess he must be up we'll sound him first said philip starting off at mcdougal's knock there was a moment's silence inside then heavy footsteps and the door was flung open sandy entered followed by philip thorpe stepped back he was of medium height yet so athletically built that he gave the impression of being two inches taller than he actually was he was smooth-shaven and his hair and eyes were black his whole appearance was that of a person infinitely superior to what philip had expected to find in the gang foreman his first words and the manner in which they were spoken added to this impression good evening gentlemen good morning replied mcdougall nodding toward philip this is mr whitmore thorpe we saw your light and thought you wouldn't mind a call philip and thorpe shook hands just in time to have a cup of coffee invited thorpe pleasantly motioning toward a steaming pot

on the stove. I just got in from a long hike out over the new roadbed. Been looking the ground over along the north shore of the gray beaver, and was so interested that I didn't start for home until dark. Won't you draw up, gentlemen? There are mighty few who can beat me at making coffee. McDougal had noted a sudden change in Philip's face, and as Thorpe hastened to lift the overboiling pot from the stove, he saw his chief, make a quick movement toward a small table and pick up an object which looked like a bit of cloth in an instant Philip had hidden it in the palm of his hand a flush leaped into his cheeks a strange fire burned in his eyes when Thorpe turned i'm afraid we can't accept your hospitality he said i'm tired and want to get to bed in passing however i couldn't refrain from dropping in to compliment you and the remarkable work your men are doing out on the plane. It's splendid.

They're good men, said Thorpe quietly. Pretty wild, but good workers. He followed them to the door. Outside, Philip's voice trembled when he spoke to McDougal. You go for the others and bring them to the office, Sandy, he said. I said nothing to Thorpe because I have no confidence in liars, and Thorpe is a liar. He was not out to the gray beaver today, for I saw him when he came in from the opposite direction. He is a liar, and he will bear watching. Mind that, Sandy, keep your eyes on this man, Thorpe, and keep your eyes on his gang. Hustle the others over to the office as soon as you can. They separated, and Philip returned to the cabin

which they had left a few minutes before. He re-lighted the lamp, and with a sharp gasp in his breath, held out before his eyes the object which he had taken from Thorpe's table. He knew now why Thorpe had come over from the mountains that night, why he was exhausted, and why he had lied. He clasped his head between his hands, scarcely believing the evidence of his eyes. A deeper breath, almost a moan,

fell from his twisted lips, for he had discovered that Thorpe, the gang foreman, was Jean's lover. In his hand he held the dainty handkerchief, embroidered in blue, which he had seen in Jeanne's possession earlier that evening, crumpled and discolored, still damp with her tears.

End of Chapter 19. recording by roger maline chapter twenty of flower of the north this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter twenty for many minutes philip did not move or look from the bit of damp fabric which he held between his fingers his heart was chilled he felt sick each moment added to the emotion which was growing in him an emotion which was a composite of disgust and of anguish jean thorpe an eternity of difference seemed to lie between those two jean with her tender beauty her sweet life her idyllic dreams and thorpe the gang-driver in his own soul he had made a shrine for jean and from his knees he had looked up at her filled with the knowledge of his own unworthiness he had worshipped her as dante might have worshipped beatrice to him she was the culmination of all that was sweet and lovable in woman transcendently above him and from this love this worship of his she had gone that very night to thorpe the gang-man he shivered going to the stove he thrust in a handful of paper dropped the handkerchief in with it and set the hole on fire a few moments later the door opened and mcdougal came in he was followed by the two swarthy-faced st pierre's the camp huntsman

philip shook hands with them and they passed after the engineer through a narrow door leading into a room which was known as the camp office cassidy henshaw and the others followed within the next ten minutes there was not a man among them whose eyes faltered when philip put up his proposition to them as briefly as possible he told them a part of what he had previously revealed to mcdougal and frankly conceded that the preservation of property and life in the camp depended almost entirely upon them you're not the sort of men to demand pay in a pinch like this he finished and that's just the reason i've confidence enough in you to ask for your support there are fifty men in camp who we could hire to fight but i don't want hired fighters i don't want men who will run at the crack of a few rifles but men who are willing to die with their boots on i won't offer you money for this because i know you too well but from this hour on you're going to be a part of the great northern fish and development company and as soon as the certificates can be signed i'm going to turn over a hundred shares of stock to each of you remember that this isn't pay it's simply a selfish scheme of mine to make you a part of the company there are eight of us give us each an automatic and i'll wager that there isn't a combination in this neck of the wood strong enough to make you a part of the company there are eight of us give us each an automatic and i'll wager that there isn't a combination in this neck of the wood strong enough to do us up in the pale light of the two oil lamps the men's faces glowed with enthusiasm cassidy was the first to grip philip's hand in a pledge of fealty

when hell freezes over we're licked he said where's me automatic mcdougal brought in the guns and ammunition in the morning we will begin the erection of a new building close to this one said philip there is no reason for the building but that will give me an excuse for keeping you men together on one job within fifty feet of your guns which we can keep in this room only four men need work at a shift and i'll put cassidy in charge of the operations if that is satisfactory to the others we'll have a couple of new bunks put in here we'll have a couple of new bunks put in here so that four men can stay with mcdougal and me every night the other four who are not on the working shift can hunt not far from the camp and keep their eyes peeled does that look good can't be beat said hanshaw throwing open the breach of his gun shall we load yes the room became ominous with the metallic click of loaded cartridge-cliff and the hard snap of released chambers. Five minutes later, Phillips stood alone with McDougal. The loaded rifles, each with a filled cartridge belt hanging over the muzzle,

were arranged in a row along one of the walls. I'll stake everything I've got on those men, he exclaimed. Mack, did it ever strike you that when you want real men, you ought to come north for them? Every one of those fellows is a northerner, except Cassidy, and he's a fighter by birth. They'll die before they go back in their word. McDougal rubbed his hands and laughed softly.

What next, Phil? We must send the swiftest man you've got in camp after Billinger, and get word to the other parties you sent out as quickly as we can. They'll probably get in too late. Billinger may arrive in time. He's been gone a week. it's doubtful if we can get him back within three said mcdougal i'll send st pierre's cousin that young crow feather after him as soon as he can get a pack ready you'd better go to bed phil you look like a dead man philip was not sure that he could sleep notwithstanding the physical strain he had been under during the past twenty-four hours he was filled with a nervous desire for continued action only action kept his

him from thinking of jean and thorpe after mcdougal had gone to stir up young crowfeather he undressed and stretched out in his bunk hoping that the scotchman would soon return not until he closed his eyes did he realize how tired he was mcdougal came in an hour later and philip was asleep it was nine o'clock when he awoke he went to the cook's shanty ate a hot breakfast of griddle cakes and bacon drank a pint of strong coffee and hunted up mcdougal sandy was just coming from thorpe's house he's a queer guinea that thorpe said the engineer after their first greeting he doesn't pretend to do a pound's work notice his hands when you see him again phil they look as though he'd been drumming a piano all his life but love a mighty how he does make the others work you want to go over and see his gang throw dirt that's where i'm going said philip is thorpe at home just leaving there he is now at mcdougal's whistle thorpe turned and wiggul's whistle thorpe turned and wiggul's whistle thorpe turned and waited for Philip. "'Going over?' he asked, pleasantly, when Philip came up. "'Yes, I want to see how your men work without a leader,' replied Philip.

He paused for a moment to light his pipe, and pointed to a group of men down in the lake shore. "'See that, gang?' he asked. "'They're building a scow. Take away their foreman, and they wouldn't be worth their grub. "'There are men we brought up from Winnipeg.' "'Thorpe was rolling a cigarette. Under his arm he held a pair of light gloves. "'Mine are different,' he laughed quietly. "'I know that,' rejoined Philip, watching the skill of his long white fingers.

"'That's why I want to see them in action, when you're away.' "'My policy is to know to a cubic foot what a certain number of men are capable of doing in a certain time, explained Thorpe, as they walked toward the plane. My next move is to secure the men who will achieve the result, whether I am present or not. That done, my work is done. Simple, isn't it? There was something likable about Thorpe. Even in his present mood, Philip could not but concede that. He was surprised in Thorpe, in more ways than one. His voice was low, and filled with a certain companionable quality that gave one confidence in him immediately.

He was apparently a man of education and of some little culture, in spite of his vocation, which usually possesses a vocabulary of its own as hard as rock. But Philip's greatest surprise came when he regarded Thorpe's personal appearance. He judged that he was past forty, perhaps forty-five, and the thought made him shudder inwardly. He was twice, almost three times as old as Jean. And yet there was about him something irresistibly attractive, a fascination which had its influence upon Philip himself.

His nails dug into the flesh of his hands when he thought of this man and Jean. Thorpe's gang was hard at work when they came to the end of the rock bed. scarcely a man seemed to take notice when he appeared. There was one exception, a wiry, red-faced little man who raised a hand to his cap when he saw the foreman. That's the sub-forman, explained Thorpe.

He answers to me. The little man had given a signal, and Thorpe added, Excuse me for a moment, he's got something on his mind. He drew a few steps aside, and Philip walked along the line of line of, laboring men. He grinned and nodded to them, one after another. McDougal was right. They were the toughest lot of men he had ever seen in one gang.

Loud voices turned him about, and he saw that Thorpe and the sub-forman had approached a huge, heavy-shouldered man, with whom they seemed to be in serious altercation. Two or three of the workmen had drawn near, and Thorpe's voice rang out, clear and vibrant. You'll do that, Blake, or you'll shoulder your kit back home. And what goes with you goes with your click. I know your kind, and you can't worry me. Take that pick and dig, or hike. There's no two ways about it.

Philip could not hear what the big man said, but suddenly Thorpe's fist shot out and struck him fairly on the jaw. In another instant, Thorpe had jumped back and was facing half a dozen angry, threatening men. He had drawn a revolver, and his white teeth gleamed in a cool and menacing smile. Think it over, boys, he said quietly. And if you're not satisfied,

come in and draw your pay this noon. We'll furnish you with outfits and plenty of grub if you don't like the work up here. I don't care to hold men like you on your contracts. He came to meet Phil. as though nothing unusual had happened. That will delay the completion of our work for a week at least, he said, as he thrust his revolver into a holster hidden under his coat. I've been expecting trouble with Blake and four or five of his pals for some time.

I'm glad it's over. Blake threatens a strike unless I give him a sub-formanship and increase the men's wages from six to ten dollars a day. Think of it. A strike. Up here. It would be the beginning of history, wouldn't it? He laughed softly, and Philip laughed from sheer admiration of the man's courage. You think they'll go? he asked anxiously. I'm sure of it, replied Thorpe. It's the best thing that can happen. An hour later, Philip was back in camp.

He did not see Thorpe again until after dinner, and then the gang-forman hunt. hunted him up. His face wore a worried look. "'It's a little worse than I expected,' he said. Blake and eight others came in for their pay and outfits this noon. I didn't think that more than three or four would have the nerve to quit. "'I'll furnish you with men to take their places,' said Philip. "'There's the hitch,' replied Thorpe, rolling a cigarette. "'I want my men to work by themselves.

put half a dozen of your amateur roadmen among them and it'll mean twenty per cent less work done and perhaps trouble they're a tough lot i concede that i've thought of a way to offset the loss of blake and the others we can set a gang of your men at work over at gray beaver lake and they can build up to meet us philip saw mcdougal soon after his short talk with thorpe the engineer did not disguise his pleasure at the turn which affairs had taken i'm glad they're goin he declared if there's to be trouble i'll feel easier with that bunch out of camp i'd give my next month's salary if thorpe would take his whole outfit back where they came from. They're doing business with the roadbed all right, but I don't like the idea of having them around when there are throats to be cut, one side or t'other. Philip did not see Thorpe again that day. He selected his men for the gray beaver work, and in the afternoon, dispatched a messenger over the Fort Churchill route to meet Brocaw. He was confident that Brocaw and his daughter would show up during the next few days, but at the same time he instructed the messenger to go to Churchill

if he should not meet them on the way. Other men he sent to recall the prospecting parties outfitted by McDougal. Early in the evening, the St. Pierre's, Lecoix, and Henshaw joined him for a few minutes in the office. During the day, the four had done scout work five miles on all sides of the camp. Lecoix had shot a moose three miles to the south and had hung up the meat. One of the St. Pierre saw Blake and his gang on the way to the Churchill. Beyond these two incidents, they brought in no news. A little later, McDougal brought in two other men whom he could trust and armed them with muzzle loaders.

They were the two last guns in the camp. With ten men constantly prepared for attack, philip began to feel that he had the situation well in hand it would be practically impossible for his enemies to surprise the camp and after their first day's scout duty the men on the trail would always be within sound of rifle shots even if they did not discover the advance of an attacking force in time to beat them to camp in the event of one making such a discovery he was to signal the others by a series of shots such as one might fire at a running moose. Philip found it almost impossible to fight back his thoughts of Jean. During the two or three days

that followed the departure of Blake, he did not allow himself an hour's rest from early dawn until late at night. Each night he went to bed exhausted with the hope that sleep would bury his grief. The struggle wore upon him, and the faithful McDougal began to note the change in his comrade's face.

the fourth day thorpe disappeared and did not show up again until the following morning every hour of his absence was like the stab of a knife in philip's heart for he knew that the gang foreman had gone to see three days later the visit was repeated and that night mcdougal found philip in a fever you're overdoing he told him you're not in bed five hours out of the twenty-four cut it out or you'll be in the hospital instead of in the fighting line when the big show comes to town days of mental agony and of physical pain followed neither philip nor mcdougal could understand the mysterious lack of developments they had expected attack before this and yet ceaseless scout work brought in no evidence of an approaching crisis neither could they understand the growing disaffection among Thorpe's men. The numerical strength of the gang dwindled from 19 down to 15, from 15 to 12. At last, Thorpe voluntarily asked Philip to cut his salary in two, because he could not hold his men. On that same day, the little sub-forman and two others left him, leaving only nine men at work. The delay in Broca's arrival was another puzzling.

to Philip. Two weeks passed, and in that time Thorpe left camp three times. On the fifteenth day, the Fort Churchill messenger returned. He was astounded when he found that Brocaw was not in camp and brought amazing news. Brokaw and his daughter had departed from Fort Churchill two days after Pierre had followed Jean and Philip. They had gone in two canoes up the Churchill. He had seen no signs of them anywhere along the route. No sooner had he received the news than Philip sent the messenger after McDougal. The Scotchman's red face stared at him blankly when he told him what had happened. That's their first move in the real fight, said Philip, with the hard ring in his voice.

They've got Brokaw. Keep your men close from this hour on, Sandy. hereafter let five of them sleep in our bunks during the day and keep them awake during the night five days passed without a sign of an enemy about eight o'clock on the night of the sixth macdougal came into the office where philip was alone the young scotchman's usually florid face was white he dropped a curse as he grasped the hand of a chair with both hands it was the third or fourth time that philip had heard mcdougal swear damn that thorpe he cried in a low voice what's up asked philip his muscles tightening mcdougall viciously beat the ash from the bowl of his pipe i didn't want to worry you about thorpe so i've kept quiet about some things he growled thorpe brought up a load of whisky with him i knew it was against the law you've set down for this camp but i figured you were having trouble enough without getting you into a mix-up with him so i didn't say anything but this other is damnable twice he's had a woman sneak in to visit him she's there again to-night a choking gripping sensation rose in phillip's throat mcdougal was not looking and did not see the convulsive twitching of the other's face or the terrible light that shot for an instant into his eyes a woman mack a young woman said mcdougal with emphasis

i don't know who she is but i do know that she hasn't a right there or she wouldn't sneak in like a thief i'm going to be blunt damned blunt i think she's one of the other men's wives there are half a dozen in camp haven't you ever looked to see if you could recognize her haven't had the chance said mcdougal she's been wrapped up both times and as it was none of my business I didn't lay in weight. But now it's up to you. Philip rose slowly. He felt cold. He put on his coat and cap and buckled on his revolver.

His face was deadly white when he turned to McDougal. She is over there tonight? Sneaked in not half an hour ago. I saw her come out of the edge of the spruce. From the trade. that leads out over the plane? Yes.

Philip walked to the door. I'm going over to call on Thorpe, he said quietly. I may not be back for some time, Sandy. In the deep shadows outside, he stood gazing at the light in Thorpe's cabin. Then he walked slowly toward the spruce. He did not go to the door, but leaned with his back against the, the building near one of the windows. The first shuddering sickness had gone from him. His temples throbbed. At the sound of a voice inside which was Thorpe's, the chill in his blood

turned to fire. The terrible fear that had fallen upon him at McDougal's words held him motionless, and his brain worked upon but one idea, one determination. If it was Jeanne who killed, came in this way, he would kill Thorpe. If it was another woman, he would give Thorpe that night to get out of the country. He waited. He heard the gangmen's voice frequently, once in a loud, half-mocking laugh. Twice he heard a lower voice, a woman's. For an hour, he watched. He walked back and forth in the gloom of the spruce, and waited another hour. then the light went out and he slipped back to the corner of the cabin after a moment the door opened and a hooded figure came out and walked rapidly toward the trail that buried itself amid the spruce philip ran around the cabin and followed there was a little open beyond the first fringe of spruce and in this he ran up silently from behind and overtook the one he was pursuing

as his hand fell upon her arm the woman turned upon him with a frightened cry philip's hand dropped he took a step back my god jean it is you his voice was husky like a choking man's for an instant jean's white terrified face met his own and then without a word to him she fled swiftly down the trail philip made no effort to follow for two or three minutes he stood like a man turned suddenly into hewn rock staring with unseeing eyes into the gloom where jean had disappeared then he walked back to the edge of the spruce there he drew his revolver and cocked it the starlight revealed a madness in his face as he approached thorpe's cabin he was smiling but it was such a smile as presage's death a smile as implacable as fate itself end of chapter twenty recording by roger maline chapter twenty one of flower of the north this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter twenty one as philip approached the cabin he saw a figure stealing away through the gloom his first thought was that he had returned a minute too late to wreak his vengeance upon the gang foreman in his own home and he quickened his steps in pursuit

the man ahead of him was cutting direct for the camp supply house which was the nightly rendezvous of those who wished to play cards or exchange camp gossip the supply house a glow with light was not more than two hundred yards from thorpes and philip saw that if he dealt out the justice he contemplated he had not a moment to lose he began to run so quickly that he approached within a dozen paces of the man he was pursuing without being heard it was not until then that he made a discovery which stopped him the man ahead was not thorpe suddenly looking beyond him he saw a second figure pass slowly through the lighted door of the supply house even at that distance he recognized the gang foreman he thrust his revolver under his coat and fell a little farther behind the man he had mistaken for thorpe so that when the latter passed within the small circle of light that came from the supply-house windows he was fifty instead of a dozen paces away something in the other's manner something strangely and potently familiar in his slim lithe form in the quick half-running moon movement of his body, drew a sharp breath from Philip. He was on the point of calling a name, but it died on his lips. A moment more, and the man passed through the door. Philip was certain that it was Pierre Coucher who had followed Thorpe. He was filled with a sudden fear as he ran

toward the store. He had scarcely crossed the threshold when a glance showed him Thorpe leaning upon a narrow counter, and Pierre close beside him. He saw that the half-breed was speaking, and Thorpe drew himself erect. Then, as quick as a flash, two things happened. Thorpe's hand went to his belt. Pierre's sent a lightning gleam of steel back over his shoulder. The terrible drive of the knife and the explosion of Thorpe's revolver came in the same instant. Thorpe crumpled back over the counter, clutching at his breast.

pierre turned about staggering and saw philip his eyes lighted up and with a moaning cry he stretched out his arms as philip sprang to him above the sudden tumult of men's feet and excited voices he gasped out jean's name half a dozen men had crowded about them through the ring burst mcdougal a revolver in his hand pierre had become a dead weight in philip's arms help me over to the cabin with him mack he said he looked around among the men it struck him as curious even then that he saw none of thorpe's gang is thorpe done for he asked he's dead replied someone with an effort pierre opened his eyes dead he breathed and in that one word there was a tremble of joy and triumph take thorpe over to his cabin commanded philip as he and mcdougal lifted pierre between them i will answer for this man they could hear pierre's sobbing breath as they hurried across the open they laid him on philip's bunk and pierre opened his eyes again he looked at philip monsieur he whispered tell me quick if i must die mcdougal had studied medicine and surgery before engineering and took the place of camp physician philip drew back while he ripped open the half-breed's garments and bared his breast then he darted to his bunk for the satchel in which he kept his bandages and medicines throwing off his coat as he went

philip bent over pierre blood was oozing slowly from the wounded man's right breast over his heart philip noticed a blood-stained locket fastened by a babiche string about his neck pierre's hands groped eagerly for philip's monsieur you will tell me if i must die he pleaded there are things you must know about jean if I go. It will not hurt. I am not afraid. You will tell me. Yes, said Philip. He could scarcely speak,

and while McDougal was at work stood so that Pierre could not see his face. There was a sobbing note in Pierre's breath, and he knew what it meant. He had heard that same sound more than once when he had shot moose and caribou through the lungs. five minutes later mcdougal straightened himself he had done all that he could philip followed him to the back part of the room almost without sound his lips framed the words will he die

yes said mcdougal there is no hope he may last until morning philip took a stool and sat down beside pierre there was no fear in the wounded man's face. His eyes were clear. His voice was a little stronger. "'I will die, monsieur,' he said calmly. "'I am afraid so, Pierre.' Pierre's damp fingers closed about his own. His eyes shone softly, and he smiled. "'It is best,' he said, "'and I am glad. I feel quite well. I will live for some time. time? Perhaps for a few hours, Pierre.

God is good to me, breathed Pierre devoutly. I thank him. Are we alone? Do you wish to be alone? Yes. Philip motioned to McDougal, who went into the little office room. I will die, whispered Pierre softly, as though he were achieving a triumph. and everything would die with me monsieur if i did not know that you love jeanne and that you will care for her when i am gone monsieur i have told you that i love her i have worshipped her next to my god i die happy knowing that i am dying for her if i had lived i would have suffered for i love alone she does not dream that my love is different from hers for i have never told her it would have given her pain and you will never let her know as our dear lady is my witness monsieur she has loved but one man man, and that man is you." Pierre gave a great breath.

A warm flood seemed suddenly to engulf Philip. Did he hear right? Could he believe? He fell upon his knees beside Pierre and brushed his dark hair back from his face. Yes, I love her, he said softly. But I did not know that she loved me. It is not strange.

said Pierre, looking straight into his eyes. But you will understand now, monsieur. I seem to have strength, and I will tell you all from the beginning. Perhaps I have done wrong. You will know soon. You remember Jean told you the story of the baby, of the woman frozen in the snow?

That was the beginning of the long fight for me. This, what I am about to tell you, will be sacred to you, monsieur. As my life, said Philip. Pierre was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, so that he could tell in few words the tragedy of years. Two brilliant spots burned in his cheeks, and the hand which Philip held was hot.

Years ago, twenty-year. almost. There came a man to Forta God, he began. He was very young and from the south. D'Arcambal was then middle-aged, but his wife was young and beautiful. Jeanne says that you saw her picture, against the wall. D'Arcambal worshipped her. She was his life. You understand what happened. The man from the south, the young wife, they went away together pierre coughed a bit of blood reddened his lips philip wiped it away gently with his handkerchief hiding the stain from pierre's eyes yes he said i understand it broke d'arcumbal's heart resumed pierre he destroyed everything that had belonged to the woman he turned her picture to the wall his love turned slowly to hate.

It was two years later that I came over the barons one night and found Jeanne and her dead mother. The woman, Monsieur, Jean's mother, was Darkenbal's wife. She was returning to Forta God, and God's justice overtook her almost at its doors. I carried little Jean to my Indian mother and then made ready to carry the woman to her husband. it was then that a terrible thought came to me jean was not d'arcombal's daughter she was a part of the man who had stolen his wife

i worshipped the little jean even then and for her sake my mother and i swore secrecy and buried the woman then we took the babe to ford a god as a stranger we saved her we saved d'arcumbal no one ever knew pierre stopped for breath was it best it was glorious said philip trembling it would have come out right in the end if the father had not returned said pierre i must hurry monsieur for it hurts me now to talk he came first a year ago and revealed himself to jean he told her everything d'arcambal was rich jean and i both had money he threatened we bought him off we fought to keep the terrible thing from d'arcambal our money sent him away for a time then he returned it was news of him i brought up the river to jean from churchill i offered to kill him but jean would not listen to that but the great god willed that i should i killed him to-night over there a great joy surged above the grief in philip's heart he could not speak but pressed pierre's hand harder and looked into his glistening eyes pierre's next words broke his silence and wrung a low cry from his lips monsieur this man thorpe jean's father is the man whom you know as lord fitzheel lee

he coughed violently and with sudden fear philip lifted his head so that it rested against his shoulder after a moment he lowered it again his face was as white as pierre's after that sudden fit of coughing i talked with him alone on the afternoon of the fight on the rock continued pierre huskily he was hiding in the woods near churchill and left for forta god on that same day i did not tell jean until after what happened and i came up with you on the river thorpe was waiting for us at forta god it was he whom jean saw that night beside the road it was he whom jean saw that night beside the rock but i could not tell you the truth then he came often after that two three times a week he tortured jean my god he taunted her monsieur and made her let him kiss her because he was her father we gave him money all that we could get we promised him more if he would leave five thousand dollars in three years he agreed to go after he had finished his work here and that work monsieur was to destroy you he told jean because it made her fear him more he compelled her to come to his cabin he thought she was his slave that she would do anything to be free of him he told her of his plot he told her of his plot how he had fooled you in the sham fight with one of his men how those men were going to attack you a little later and how he had intercepted your letter from churchill and sent in its place the other letter which made your camp defenceless

he was not afraid of her she was in his power and he laughed at her horror and tortured her as a cat will a bird but jean A spasm of pain shot over Pierre's face. Fresh blood dyed his lips, and a shiver ran through his body. My God, water! Something, monsieur, he gasped. I must go on. Philip raised him again in his arms. He saw McDougal's head appear through the door. You will rest easier this way, Pierre, he said.

After a few moments, Pierre spoke in a gasping whisper. You must understand, I must be quick, he said. We could not warn you of what Jeanne had discovered. That would have revealed her father. D'Arcambal would have known, everyone. Thorpe plans to dress his men like Indians. They are to attack your camp tomorrow night. Ten days ago we went to the camp of old Sashigo, the Cree, who loves Jean as his own daughter.

It was Jean's idea to save you. Jean told him of Thorpe's plot to destroy you and to lay the blame on Sashigo's people. Sashigo is out there in the mountains, hiding with thirty of his tribe. Two days ago, Jean learned where her father's men were hot. hiding. We had planned everything. Tomorrow night, when they moved to attack, we were to start a signal fire on the Big Rock Mountain at the end of the lake. Sashigo starts at the signal, and lays in ambush for the others in the ravine between the two mountains. None of Thorpe's men will come out alive. Sashigo and his people will destroy them, and none will ever know how it

happened, for the Crees keep their secrets. But now, it is too late for me. When it happens, I will be gone. The signal pile is built, Birch bark, at the very top of the rock. Jean will wait for me out on the plane, and I will not come. You must fire the signal, monsieur, as soon as it is dark. None will ever know. Jean's father is dead.

You will keep the secret of her mother, always. Forever, said Philip. McDougal came into the room. He brought a glass, partly filled with a colored liquid, and placed it to Pierre's lips. Pierre swallowed with an effort, and with a significant hunch of his shoulders, for Philip's eyes alone,

the engineer returned to the little room. mon dieu how it burns said pierre as if to himself may i lie down again monsieur philip lowered him gently he made no effort to speak in these moments pierre's eyes were dark and luminous as they sought his own the draught he had taken gave him a passing strength i saw thorpe again this afternoon he said more calmly d'arcambal thought i had taken jean to visit a trapper's wife down the churchill i saw thorpe alone he had been drinking he laughed at me and said that jean and i were fools that he would not leave as he had said he would but that he would remain always i told jean and asked again to let me kill him. But she said no, and I had taken my oath to her. Jean saw him again tonight. I was near the cabin and saw you. I told him I would kill him if he did not go. He laughed again and struck me. When I came to my feet, he was half across the open.

I followed. I forgot my oath. Rage filled my heart. you know what happened you will tell jean so that she will understand can we not send for her asked philip she must be near no monsieur he replied softly it would only give her great pain to see me like this she was to meet me to-night at twelve o'clock on the trail where the road-bed crosses you will meet her in my place when she understands all that has happened you may bring her here if she wishes to come then to-morrow night you will go together to fire the signal but thorpe is dead said philip will they attack without him there is another besides him said pierre that is one secret which thorpe is kept from jean who the other is the one who is paying to have you destroyed yes they will attack philip bent low over pierre i have known of this plot for a long time pierre he said tensely i know that this thorpe who for some reason has passed as lord fitzhou lee is but the agent of a more powerful force behind him have you told me all pierre do you know nothing more nothing monsieur was it thorpe who attacked you on the cliff at churchill

no i am sure that it was not he if the attack had not failed it would have meant loss for him i have laid it to the ruffians who wanted to kill me and secure jean you understand yes but i do not believe that was the motive for the attack pierre said philip did thorpe go to see anyone in churchill i don't know he was concealing himself in the forest a convulsive shudder ran through pierre's body he gave a low cry of pain and his hand clutched at the babiche cord which held the locket about his neck monsieur he whispered quickly this locket was on the little jean when i found her in the snow i kept it because it bears the woman's initials i am foolish monsieur i am weak but i would like to have it buried with me under the old tree where jean's mother lies and if you could monsieur if you only could place something of jeans in my hand i would rest easier philip bowed his head in silence while his eyes grew blinding hot pierre pressed his hand she loves you as i love her he whispered so low that philip could scarcely hear you will love her you will love her-you will love her Always. If you do not, the great God will let the curse of Pierre Couchet fall upon you.

Choking back the great sobs that rose in his breast, Philip sank upon his knees beside Pierre, and buried his face in his arms like a heartbroken boy. For several moments there was a silence, punctuated by the rasping breath of the wounded man. Suddenly this sound ceased, and Philip felt, felt a cold fear leap through him. He listened, neither breathing nor lifting his head.

In that interval of pulseless quiet, a terrible cry came from Pierre's lips, and when Pierre looked up, the dying half-breed had struggled to a sitting posture, blood staining his lips again, his eyes blazing, his white face damp with the clammy touch of death, and was staring through the cabin window,

It was the window that looked out over the lake, toward the rock mountain half a mile away. Philip turned, horrified, and wondering. Through the window he saw a glow in the sky, the glow of a fire, leaping up in a crimson flood from the top of the mountain. Again, that terrible, moaning cry fell from Pierre's lips, and he reached out his arms toward the signal that was blazing. forth its warning in the night. Jean, jean, he sobbed. My jean! He swayed and fell back.

His words came in choking gasps. The signal! He struggled fighting to make Philip understand him. Jean saw Thorpe tonight. He must change Trin. plans. Attack to night. Gene. Gene. My jean has lighted the signal fire. A tremor ran through his body, and he lay still. McDougal ran across from the half-open door and put his head to Pierre's breast. Is he dead? asked Philip. Not yet.

Will he become conscious again? Possibly. Philip gripped McDougal by the arm. The attack is to be made tonight, Mack, he exclaimed. Warn the men. Have them ready. But you, you, McDougal, attend to this man, and keep him alive. Without another word, he ran to the door and out into the night. The signal fire was leaping to the sky,

eye. It lighted up the black cap of the mountain and sent a thousand aurora fires flashing across the lake. And Philip, as he ran swiftly through the camp toward the narrow trail that led to the mountain top, repeated over and over again the dying words of Pierre. Jean! My jean! My jean! My jean! End of Chapter 21. Recording by Roger Maline. chapter twenty two of flower of the north this libravox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter twenty two news of the double tragedy had swept through the camp and there was a crowd in front of the supply house philip passed close to thorpe's house to avoid discovery ran a hundred yards up the trail over which jean had fled a short time before

and then cut straight across through the thin timber for the head of the lake he felt no effort in his running low bush whipped him in the face and left no sting he was not conscious that he was panting for breath when he came out in the black shadow of the mountain this night in itself had been a creation for him for out of grief and pain it had lifted him into a new life and into a happiness that seemed to fill him with the strength and the endurance of five men jean loved him the wonderful truth cried itself out in his soul at every step he took and he murmured it aloud to himself over and over again as he ran the glow of the signal fire lighted up the sky above him and he climbed up higher and higher scrambling swiftly from rock to rock until he saw the tips of the flames licking up into the sky he had come up the steepest and shortest side of the ridge and when he reached the top he lay upon his face for a moment his breath almost gone the fire was built against a huge dead pine and the pine was blazing a hundred feet in the air he could feel its heat the monster torch illumined the barren cap of the rock from edge to edge and he looked about him for jean for a moment he did not see her and her name rose to his lips to be stilled in the same breath by what he saw beyond the burning pine through the blaze of the heat and fire he beheld jean standing close to the edge of the mountain gazing into the south and west he called her name jean turned to the heat and fire he beheld jean standing close to the edge of the mountain gazing into the south and west he called her name jean turned toward him with a startled cry and philip was at her side the girl's face was white and strained her lips were twisted in pain at sight of him

she spoke no word but a strange sound rose in her throat a welling up of the sudden despair which the firelight revealed in her eyes for one moment they stood apart and philip tried to speak and then suddenly he reached out and drew her quickly into his arms so quickly that there was no time for her to escape so closely that her sweet face lay imprisoned upon his breast as he had held it once before under the picture at forta god he felt her straining to free herself he saw the fear in her eyes and he tried to speak calmly while his heart throbbed with a passion of love which he wished to pour into her ears listen jean he said pierre has sent me to you he has told me everything everything my sweetheart there is nothing to keep from me now i know i understand and i love you love you love you my own sweet jean she trembled at his words he felt her shuddering in his arms and her eyes gazed at him wonderingly filled with a strange and incredulous look while her lips quivered and remained speechless he drew her nearer until his face was against her own and the warmth of her lips her eyes and her hair entered into him and near stifled his heart with joy he has told me everything my little jean he said again in a whisper that rose jess

above the crackling of the pine. Everything! He told me because he knew that I loved you, and because—the words choked in his throat. At this hesitation, Jean drew her head back, and with her hands pressing against his breast, looked into his face. There were in her eyes the same struggling emotions,

but with them now there came also a sweet faltering, a piteous appeal to him, a faith that rose above her terrors, and the tremble of her lips was like that of a crying child. He drew her face back and kissed the quivering lips, and suddenly he felt the strain against him give way, and Jean's head sobbed upon his breast. In that moment, looking where the roaring pine sent its pinnacles of flames leaping up into the night, a word of thanks, of prayer, rose mutely to me. his lips, and he held Jean more closely, and whispered over and over again in his happiness,

Jean, Jean, my sweetheart, Jean! Jean sobs grew less and less, and Philip strengthened himself to tell her the terrible news of Pierre. He knew that in the selfishness of his own joy, he had already wasted precious minutes, and very gently he took Jean's wet face between his two hands and turned it a little toward his own. Pierre has told me everything, Jean, he repeated. Everything, from the day he found you many years ago, to the day your father returned to torture you. He spoke calmly, even as he felt her shiver and pain against him.

Tonight there was a little trouble down in the camp, dear. Pierre is wounded and wants you to come to him. Thorpe is a little. is dead for an instant philip was frightened at what happened jean's breath ceased there seemed to be not a quiver of life in her body and she lay in his arms as if dead and then suddenly there came from her a terrible cry and she wretched herself free and stood a step from him her face as white as death he is dead yes he is dead is dead. And Pierre? Pierre killed him?

Philip held out his arms, but Jean did not seem to see them. She saw the answer in his face. And Pierre is hurt, she went on, never taking her wide, luminous eyes from his face. Before he answered, Philip took her trembling hands in his own, as though he would lighten the blow by the warmth and touch of his gregers. great love. Yes, he is hurt, Jean, he said. We must hurry, for I am afraid there is no time to lose.

He is dying? I fear so, Jean. He turned before the look that came into her face and led her about the circle of fire to the side of the mountain that sloped down into the plane. Suddenly, Jean stopped for an instant. Her fingers tightened. about his. Her face was turned back into the endless desolation of night and forest that lay to the

south and west. Far out, a mile, two miles, an answering fire was breaking the black curtain that hid all things beyond them. Jeanne lifted her face to him. Grief and love, pain and joy, shone in her eyes. They are there, she said chokingly. It is Soshigo, and they are coming, coming, coming. Once again before they began the descent of the mountain, Philip drew her close in his arms and kissed her. And this time there was the sweet surrender to him of all things in the tenderness of Jean's lips.

Silent in their grief, and yet communing in sympathy and love in the firm clasp of their hands, they came down the mountain, through the thin spruce forest and to the lighted cabin where Pierre lay dying. McDougal was in the room when they entered

and rose softly, tiptoeing into the little office. Philip led Jean to Pierre's side, and as he bent over him and spoke softly, the half-breed opened his eyes. He saw Jean. Into his fading eyes

there came a wonderful light. His little, lips moved, and his hands strove to lift themselves above the crumpled blanket. Jean dropped upon her knees beside him, and as she clasped his chilled hands to her breast, a glorious understanding lighted up her face, and then she took Pierre's face between her hands, and bowed her own close down to it,

so that the two were hidden under the beauteous halo of her hair. Philip gripped at his throat to hold back, a sob. A terrible stillness came into the room, and he dared not move. It seemed a long time before Jean lifted her head, slowly, tenderly, as if fearing to awaken a sleeping child. She turned to him, and he read the truth in her face before she had spoken. Her voice was low and calm, filled with the sweetness and tenderness and strength. that come only to a woman in the final moment of her great sorrow. Leave us, Philip, she said.

Pierre is dead. End of Chapter 22. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 23 of Flower of the North. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Flower of the North by James Oliver Kerrwood. Chapter 23.

for a moment philip bowed his head and then he turned and went noiselessly from the room without speaking as he closed the door softly behind him he looked back and from her attitude beside pierre he knew that jean was whispering a prayer a vision flashed before him so quick that it had come like a ray of light a vision of another hour years and years ago when pierre had knelt beside her and when he had lifted up his wild half-thought prayer out in the death chill of the snowy barons and this was his reward to have jean kneel beside him as the soul which had loved her so faithfully took its flight philip could not see when he turned his face to the light philip could not see when he turned his face to the light of the office for the first time the grief which he had choked back escaped in a gasping break in his voice and he wiped his eyes with his pocket-handkerchief he knew that macdougal was looking upon his weakness but he did not at first see that there was another person in the room besides the engineer the second person rose to meet him while mcdougal remained in his seat and as he came out into the clearer light of the room philip could scarce believe his eyes it was greggson i am sorry that i came in just at this time phil he greeted in a low voice philip stared still incredulous he had never seen greggson as he looked now the artist advanced to no farther he did not hold out his hand there was none of the joy of meeting in his face his eyes shifted to the door that led into the death chamber and they were filled with the gloom of a condemned man

with a low word philip held out his hand to meet his old comrades gregson drew back no not now he said wait until you have heard me something in his cold passionless voice stopped philip he saw gregson glance toward mcdougal and understood what he meant going to the engineer he placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke so that only he could hear she is in there mac with pierre she wanted to be alone with him for a few minutes will you wait for her outside at the door and take her over to cassidy's wife tell her that i will come to her in a little while he followed mcdougal to the door speaking to him in a low voice and then turned to gregson the artist had seated himself at one side of the small office table and philip sat down opposite him holding out his hand to him again what is the matter greggie this is not a time for long explanations said the artist still holding back his hand they can come later phil but to-night now you must understand why i cannot shake hands with you we have been friends for a good many years in a few minutes we will be enemies or you will be mine one thing before i go on i must ask of you i demand it whatever passes between us during the next ten minutes say no word against eileen brokaw I will say what you might say, that for a time her soul wandered and was almost lost.

But it has come back to her, strong and pure. I love her. Some strange fate has ordained that she should love me, worthless as I am. She is to be my wife. Philip's hand was still across the table. "'Greggy! Greggy! God bless you!' he cried softly. i know what it is to love and to be loved why should i be your enemy because eileen brokha's heart has turned to gold and she has given it to you greggie shake wait said gregson huskily phil you are breaking my heart listen you got my note but i did not desert you so abominably i made a discovery that last night of yours in churchill

i went to irene brokaw and to-morrow some time if you care i will tell you of all that happened first you must know this i have found the power that is fighting you down below i have found the man who is behind the plot to ruin your company the man who is responsible for thorpe's crimes the man who is responsible for that in there he leaned across the table and pointed to the closed door and that man for a moment he seemed to choke is brokaw the father of my a-fianced wife good god cried philip greggson are you mad i was almost mad when i first made the discovery said gregson as cold as ice but i am sane now his scheme was to have the government annull your provincial license thorpe and his men were to destroy this camp and kill you the money on hand from stock over six hundred thousand dollars would have gone into brokaw's pockets there is no need of further detail now for you can understand he knew thorpe and secured him as his agent it was merely a whim of thorpe's to take the name of lord fitzhue instead of something less conspicuous three months before brokaw came to churchill he wished to get detailed instructions to thorpe which he dared not trust to a wilderness mail service he could find no messenger whom he dared trust so he sent eileen she was at forde god for a week then she came to churchill where we saw her

the scheme was that brokosh had bribed the ship's captain to run close into blind eskimo point at night and signal to thorpe and irene who would be waiting it worked and irene and thorpe came on with the ship at the landing you remember irene was met by the girl from fort aga god in order not to betray herself to you she refused to recognize her later she told her father and thorpe and brokaw saw in it an opportunity to strike a first blow brokaw had brought two men whom he could trust and thorpe had four or five others at churchill the attack on the cliff followed the object being to kill the man but take the girl unharmed a messenger was to take the news of what happened to for de god and lay the crime to men who had run up to churchill from your camp chance favored you that night and you spoiled their plan chance favored me and i found eileen it is useless for me to go into detail as to what happened after that except to say this that irene knew nothing of the proposed attack that she was ignorant of the heinousness of the plot against you and that she was almost as much a tool of her father as you phil for the first time there came a pleading light into gregson's eyes as he leaned across the table phil if it wasn't for irene i would not be here i thought that she would kill herself when i told her as much of the story as i knew she told me what she had done she confessed for her father in that hour of her agony i could not keep back my love we plotted i forged a letter

and made it possible to accompany Brocaw and Eileen up the Churchill. It was not my purpose to join you, and so Eileen professed to be taken ill. We camped, back from the river, and I sent our two Indians back to Churchill, for Eileen and I wished to be alone with Brocaw in the terrible hour that was coming. That is all. Everything is revealed. I have come to you as quickly as I could, to find that Thorpe is dead. In my own selfishness I would have shielded Brocaw, arguing that he could pay Thorpe, and work honorably henceforth.

You would never have known. It is Eileen who makes this confession, not I. Phil, her last words to me were these. You love me, then you will tell him all this. Only after this, if he shows us a mercy which we do not deserve, can I be your wife. There is only one other thing to add. I have shown Brocaw, a ray of hope.

He will hand over to you all his rights in the company and the $600,000 in the treasury. He will sign over to you, as repurchase money for whatever stock you wish to call in, practically his whole fortune, $500,000. He will disappear, completely and forever. eileen and i will hunt out our own little corner in a new world and you will never hear of us again this is what we have planned to do if you show us mercy philip had not spoken during gregson's terrible recital he sat like one turned to stone rage wonder and horror burned so fiercely in his heart that they consumed all evidence of emotion

and to arouse him now there came an interruption that sent the blood flushing back into his face a low knock at the closed door a slow lifting of the latch the appearance of jean through her tears she saw only the man she loved and sobbing aloud now like a child she stretched out her arms to him and when he sprang to her and caught her to his breast she whispered his name again and again and stroked his face with her hands love overpowering breathing of heaven was in her touch and as she lifted her face to him of her own sweet well now and treating him to kiss her and to comfort her for what she had lost he saw gregson moving with bowed head like a stricken thing toward the outer door in that moment the things that had been in his heart melted away and raising a hand above his head he called softly tom greggson my old chum if you have found a love like this thank your god my own love i would lose if i destroyed yours go back to irene tell brocaw that i accept his offers and when you come back in a few days bring eileen my jean will love her and jean looking from philip's face saw greggson for the first time as he passed through the door end of chapter twenty three recording by roger maline chapter twenty four of flower of the north this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter twenty four both philip and jean were silent for some moments after gregson had gone their only movement was the gentle stroking of philip's hand over the girl's soft hair

their hearts were full too full for speech and yet he knew that upon his strength depended everything now the revelations of gregson which virtually ended the fight against him personally, were but trivial in his thoughts compared with the ordeal which was ahead of Jean. Both Pierre and her father were dead, and with the exception of Jean, no one but he knew of the secret that had died with them. He could feel against him the throbbing of the storm that was passing in the girl's heart, and in answer to it he said nothing in words, but held her to him with a gentleness that lifted her face, quiet and beautiful, so that her eyes looked steadily and questioningly into his own. "'You love me,' she said, simply,

and yet with a calmness that sent a curious thrill through him. "'Beyond all else in the world,' he replied. She still looked at him without speaking, as though through his eyes she was searching to the bottom of his soul. "'And you know,' she whispered after a moment. He drew her so close she could not move, and crushed his face down against her own. "'Gene, jean, everything is as it should be,' he said.

"'I am glad that you were found out in the snows. I am glad that the woman in the picture was your mother. I would have nothing different than it is, for if things were different you would not be the jean that I know, and I would not love you so. You have suffered, sweetheart, and I too have had my share of sorrow, god has brought us together and all is right in the end jean my sweet jean greggson had left the outer door slightly ajar a gust of wind opened it wider through it there came now a sound that interrupted the words on philip's lips and sent a sudden quiver through jean in an instant both recognized the sound it was the firing of rifles the shots coming to them faintly from far beyond the mountain at the end of the lake

moved by the same impulse they ran to the door hand in hand it is sasheigo panted jean she could hardly speak she seemed to struggle to get breath i had forgotten they are fighting mcdougal strode up from his post behind the door where he had been waiting for the appearance of jean firing off there he said what does it mean we must wait and see replied philip send two of your men to investigate mac i will rejoin you after i have taken miss d'arcumbal over to cassidy's wife he moved away quickly with jean on a sudden rise of the wind from the south the firing came to them more distinctly then it died away and ended in three or four intermittent shots for the space of a dozen seconds a strange stillness followed and then over the mountain top where there was still a faint glow in the sky there came the low quavering triumphal cry of the crees a cry born of the four itself, mournful even in its joy, only half human, almost like a faraway burst of tongue from a wolf pack on the hunt trail. And after that, there was an unbroken silence. It is over, breathed Philip. He felt Jean's fingers tighten about his own.

No one will ever know, he continued. Even McDougal will not guess what has happened out there tonight. He stopped a dozen paces from Cassidy's cabin. The windows were aglow, and they could hear the laughter and play of Cassidy's two children within. Gently he drew Jean to him. You will stay here tonight, dear, he said. Tomorrow we will go to Forta God. You must take me home tonight, whispered Jean, looking up into his face. I must go, Philip. send some one with me and you can come in the morning with pierre she put her hand to his face again in the sweet touch that told more of her love than a thousand words you understand dear she went on seeing the anxiety in his eyes i have the strength to-night i must return to father and he will know everything when you come to forta god

i will send mcdougal with you said philip after a moment and then i will follow with pierre yes with pierre for a brief space longer they stood outside of cassidy's cabin and then philip lifting her face said gently will you kiss me dear it is the first time he bent down and jean's lips reached his own no it is not the first time she confessed in a whisper not since that day when i thought you were dying after we came through the rapids five minutes later philip returned to mcdougall roberts henshaw cassidy and lecoe were with the engineer i've sent the st pierre's to find out about the firing he said look at the crowd over at the store Everyone heard it, and they've seen the fire on the mountain. They think the Indians have cornered a moose or two and are shooting them by the blaze. They're probably right, said Philip.

I want a word with you, Mack. He walked a little aside with the engineer, leaving the others in a group, and in a low voice told him as much as he cared to reveal about the identity of Thorpe and Gregson's mission in camp. Then he spoke of Jean. I believe that the death of Thorpe practically ends all danger to us, he concluded. I'm going to offer you a pleasanter job than fighting, Mack.

It is imperative that Miss Darkambal should return to Darkambal House before morning, and I want you to take her, if you will. I'm choosing the best man I've got because... Well, because she's going to be my wife, Mac. I'm the happiest man on earth tonight. McDougal did not show surprise. Guess it, he said shortly, thrusting out a hand and grinning broadly into Philip's face.

Couldn't help from seeing Phil, and the firing and Thorpe and that half-breed in there. Understanding was slowly illuminating his face. You'll know all about them a little later, Mack, said Philip Sop. softly. Tonight we must investigate nothing, very far. Miss D'Arcambal must be taken home immediately. Will you go? With pleasure!

She can ride one of the horses as far as the little Churchill, continued Philip, and there she will show you a canoe. I will follow in the morning with the body of Pierre, the half-breed. A quarter of an hour later, McDougal and Jean set out over the with a river trail, leaving Philip standing behind, watching them until they were hidden in the night. It was fully an hour later before the St. Pierre's returned. Philip was uneasy until the two dark-faced hunters came into the little offices and leaned their rifles against the wall. He had feared that Sashigo might have left some trace of his ambush behind. But the St. Pierre's had discovered nothing and could give only one reason for

the burning pine on the summit of the mountain. They agreed that Indians had fired it to frighten moose from a thick cover to the south and west, and that their hunt had been a failure. It was midnight before Philip relaxed his caution, which he maintained until then, in spite of his belief that Thorpe's men, under Blake, had met a quick finish at the hands of Sashigo and his ambushed braves. His men left for their cabins, with the exception of Cappins, with the exception of cassidy whom he asked to spend the remainder of the night in one of the office bunks alone he went in to prepare pierre for his last journey to forde god a lamp was burning low beside the bunk in which pierre lay philip approached and turned the wick higher and then he gazed in wonder upon the transfiguration in the half-breed's face pierre had died with a smile on his lips and with a curious thickening in his slid's throat, Philip thought that those lips, even in death, were carved in the act of whispering

Jean's name. It seemed to him, as he stood in silence for many moments, that Pierre was not dead, but that he was sleeping, a quiet, unbreathing sleep, in which there came to him visions of the great love for which he had offered up his life and his soul. Jean's hands, in his last moments had stilled all pain. Peace slumbered in the pale shadows of his closed eyes. The great God of his faith had come to him in his hour of greatest need on earth, and he had passed away into the valley of silent men on the sweet breath of Jean's prayers. The girl had crossed his hands upon his breast. She had brushed back his long hair. Philip knew that she had imprinted a kiss upon his.

the silent lips before the soul had fled, and in the warmth and knowledge of that kiss, Pierre had died happy. And Philip, brokenly, said aloud, God bless you, Pierre, old man! He lifted the cold hands back, and gently drew the covers which had hidden the telltale stains of death from Jean's eyes. He turned down Pierre's shirt, and in the lamp glow there glistened the golden locket. for the first time he noticed it closely it was half as large as the palm of his hand and very thin and he saw that it was bent and twisted a shudder ran through him when he understood what had happened the bullet that had killed pierre had first struck the locket and had burst it partly open he took it in his hand and then he saw that through the broken side there protruded the end of a bit of paper for a brief space the discovery made him almost forget the presence of death pierre had never opened the locket because it was of the old-fashioned kind that locked with a key and the key was gone

and the locket had been about jean's neck when he found her out in the snows was it possible that this bit of paper had something to do with the girl he loved carefully so that it would not tear he drew it for There was writing on the paper, as he had expected, and he read it, bent low beside the lamp. The date was nearly eighteen years old. The lines were faint. The words were these. My husband! God can never undo what I have done. I have dragged myself back, repentant, loving you more than I have ever loved you in my life,

to leave our little girl with you. She is your daughter and mine. She was born on the eighth day of September, the seventh month after I left for to God. She is yours, and so I bring her back to you, with the prayer that she would help to fill the true and noble heart that I have broken. I cannot ask your forgiveness, for I do not deserve it. I cannot let you see me, for I am.

I should kill myself at your feet. I have lived this long only for the baby. I will leave her where you cannot fail to find her, and by the time you have read this, I will have answered for my sin, my madness, if you can have charity regard it so. And if God is kind, I will hover about you always, and you will know that in death,

the old sweetheart and the mother has found what she could never again hope for in life. Your wife. Philip rose slowly erect and gazed down into the still, tranquil face of Pierre, the half-breed. Why didn't you open it? he whispered. Why didn't you open it? My God, what it would have saved! For a full minute he looked down at Pierre,

as though he expected that the white lips would move and answer him. and then he thought of jean hurrying to for to god and of the terrible things which she was to reveal to her father that night she was d'arcumbal's own daughter what pain what agony of father and child he might have saved if he had examined the locket a little sooner he looked at his watch and found that jean had been gone three hours it would be impossible to overtake mcdougal and the girl unless something had occurred to delay them somewhere along the trail he hurried back into the little room where he had left cassidy in a few words he explained that it was necessary for him to follow jeanne and the engineer to d'articampal house without a moment's delay and he directed cassidy to take charge of camp affairs and to send pierre's body with a suitable escort the next day it isn't necessary for me to tell you what to do he finished you understand cassidy nodded six months before he had buried his youngest child under a big spruce back of his cabin philip hastened to the stables and choosing one of the lighter animals was soon galloping over the trail toward the little churchill in his face there blew a cold wind from hudson's bay and now and then he felt the sting of the little little churchill in his face there blew a cold wind from hudson's bay and now and then he felt the sting of the sting of the little of fine particles in his eyes.

They were the presage of storm. A shifting of the wind a little to the east and south, and the fine particles would thicken and turn into snow. By morning the world would be white. He came into the forests beyond the plain, and in the spruce and the cedar tops, the wind was half a gale, filling the night with wailing and moaning sounds

that sent strange shivers through him as he was, he thought of Pierre in the cabin. In such a way, he imagined, had the north wind swept across the cold barrens on the night that Pierre had found the woman and the babe. And now it seemed, in his fancies, as though above and about him, the great hand that had guided the half-breed then was bringing back the old knight, as if Pierre, in dying, had wished it so. For the wind changed. The fine particles thickened and changed to snow. And then there was no longer the wailing and the moaning in the treetops, but the soft murmur of a white deluge that smothered him in a strange gloom and hid the trail. There were two canoes concealed at the end of the trail on the

little Churchill, and Philip chose the smallest. He followed swiftly after McDougal and Jean. He could no longer see he. either side of the stream, and he was filled with a fear that he might pass the little creek that led to Forta God. He timed himself by his watch, and when he had paddled for two hours, he ran in close to the west shore, traveling so slowly that he did not progress a mile in half an hour. And then, suddenly, from close ahead, there rose through the snow-gloom the dismal howl of a dog, which told him that he was near to Forta God. He found the black opening that marked the entrance to the creek,

and when he ran upon the sandbar a hundred yards beyond, he saw lights burning in the great room where he had first seen D'Arcambal. He went now where Pierre had led him that night, and found the door unlocked. He entered silently and passed down the dark hall, until, on the left, he saw a glow of light, that came from the big room. Something in the silence that was ahead of him

made his own approach without sound, and softly he entered through the door. In the great chair sat the master of Forta God, his gray head bent. At his feet knelt Jean, and so close were they that D'Arcambal's face was hidden in Jean's shining disheveled hair. No sooner had Philip entered the room,

than his presence seemed to arouse the older man he lifted his head slowly looking toward the door and when he saw who stood there he raised one of his arms from about the girl and held it out to philip my son he said in a moment philip was upon his knees beside jean and one of d'arcambal's heavy hands fell upon his shoulder in a touch that told him he had come too late to keep back any part of the terrible story which jean had bared to him the girl did not speak when she saw him beside her it was as if she had expected him to come and her hand found his and her hand found his and her nestled in it as cold as ice. I have hurried from the camp, he said. I tried to overtake, Jean. About Pierre's neck, I found a locket, and in the locket was this.

He looked into D'Arcambal's haggard face as he gave him the blood-stained note, and he knew that in the moment that was to come, the master of Forta-God and his daughter should be alone. I will wait in the world. the portrait room, he said in a low voice, and as he rose to his feet, he pressed Jean's hand to his lips. The old room was as he had left it weeks before. The picture of Jean's mother still hung with its face to the wall. There was the same elusive movement of the

portrait over the volume of warm air that rose from the floor. In this room, he seemed to breathe again the presence of a warm spirit of life as he had felt it on the first night, a spirit that seemed to him to be a part of Jean herself, and he thought of the last words of the wife and mother, of her promise to remain always near those whom she loved, to regain after death the companionship which she could never hope for in life. And then there came to him a thought of the vast and wonderful mystery of death, and he wondered if it was her spirit that had been with him more than one lonely night when his camp-fire was low, if it was her presence that had filled him with transcendent dreams of hope and love, coming to him that night beside the

rock at churchill, and leading him at last to Jean, for whom she had given up her life. he heard again the rising of the wind outside and the beating of the storm against the window and he went softly to see if his vision could penetrate into the white twisting gloom beyond the glass for many minutes he stood seeing nothing and then he heard a sound and turned to see jean and her father standing in the door glory was in the face of the master of forta god he seemed not to see philip he seemed to see nothing but the picture that was turned against the wall he strode across the room his great shoulders straightened his shaggy head erect and with the pride of one revealing first to human eyes the masterpiece of his soul and life he turned the picture so that the radiant face of the wife and mother looked down upon him and was it fancy that for a fleeting moment the smile left the beautiful lips and a light soft and luminous pleading for love and forgiveness filled the eyes of jean's mother philip trembled jean came across to him silently and crept into his arms and then slowly the master of forta god turned toward them and stretched out both of his great arms my children he said end of chapter twenty four recording by roger maline chapter twenty five of flower of the north

this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by roger maline flower of the north by james oliver curwood chapter twenty five all that night the storm came out of the north and east hours after jean and her father had left him philip went quietly from his room passed down the hall and opened the outer door he could hear the gale whistling over the top of the great rock and moaning in the spruce and cedar forest and he closed the door after him and buried himself in the darkness and wind he bowed his head to the stinging snow which came like blasts of steeled shot and hurried into the shelter of the sun-room rock, and stood there, after that, listening to the wildness of the storm and the strange whistling of the wind, cutting itself to pieces far over his head. Since man had first beheld that rock, such storms as this had come and gone for countless generations. Two hundred years and more had passed since Groscelier first looked out upon a wondrous world from its summit, and yet this storm, to-night, whistling and

moaning about him, filling all space with its grief, its triumph, and its madness, seemed to be for him and for him alone. His heart answered to it. His soul trembled to the marvelous meaning of it. Tonight this storm was his own. He was a part of a world which he would never leave. Here, beside the great sun-rock of the Crees, he had found home, life, happiness his god here henceforth through all time he would live with his beloved jean dreaming no dreams that went beyond the peace of the mountains and the forests he lifted his face to where the storm swept above him and for an instant he fancied that high up on the ragged edge of the rock there might have stood pierre with his great gaping hungry heart filled with pain and yearning staring off into the face of the Almighty. And he fancied, too,

that beside him there hovered the wife and mother. And then he looked afore to God. The lights were out. Quiet, if not sleep, had fallen upon all life within. And it seemed to Philip, as he went back again through the storm, that in the morning tumult of the night,

there was music instead of sadness. He did not sleep until, nearly morning and when he awoke he found that the storm had passed and that over a world of spotless white there had risen a brilliant sun he looked out from his window and saw the top of the sun-rock glistening in a golden fire and where the forest trees had twisted and moaned there were now unending canopies of snow so that it seemed as though the storm in passing had left behind only light and beauty and happiness for all living things trembling with the joy of this philip went to his door and from the door down the hall and where the light of the sun blazed through a window near to the great room where he expected to find the master of forda god there stood jean and as she heard him coming and turned toward him all the glory and beauty of the wondrous day was in her face and hair like an angel she stood waiting for him pale and yet flushing a little her eyes shining and yearning for him her soul and the tremble of the single word on her sweet lips philip jean no more and yet against him each other, their hearts told what it was futile for their lips to attempt. They looked out through the window.

Beyond that window, as far as the vision could reach, swept the barons, over which Pierre had brought the little jean. Something sobbing rose in the girl's throat. She lifted her eyes, swimming with love and tears, to Philip, and from his breast she reached up both hands gently to his face. They will bring Pierre to-day, she whispered. Yes, today. We will bury him out yonder, she said, stroking his face,

and he knew that she meant out in the baron where the mother lay. He bowed his face close down against hers to hide the woman's weakness that was bringing a misty film into his eyes. You love me, she whispered, you love me love me and you will never take me away but will stay with me always you will stay here dear in my beautiful world we too alone forever and forever he murmured they heard a step firm and vibrant with the strength of a new life and they knew that it was the master of forda god always we too forever whispered philip again the end end of chapter twenty five end of flower of the north by james oliver curwood