Philip Steele of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police | Page 5

was staring
at him when he lifted his eyes.
"This is a mighty strange coincidence, Breed," he said, regaining his
composure. "I could almost swear that I know this writing, and yet of
course such a thing is impossible. Still, it's mighty queer. Will you let
me keep the letter until to-night? I'd like to take it over to the cabin and
compare it--"
"Needn't return it at all," interrupted the factor. "Hope you find
something interesting to tell me at supper--five sharp. It will be a
blessing if you know 'em."

Ten minutes later Steele was in the little cabin which he and Nome
occupied while at Lac Bain. Jack, the Cree, had built a rousing fire in
the long sheet-iron stove, and as Steele opened its furnace-like door, a
flood of light poured out into the gathering gloom of early evening.
Drawing a chair full into the light, he again opened the letter. Line for
line and word for word he scrutinized the writing, and with each breath
that he drew he found himself more deeply thrilled by a curious mental
excitement which it was impossible for him to explain. According to
the letter. Colonel and Mrs. Becker had arrived at Churchill aboard the
London ship a little over a month previously. He remembered that the
date on the letter from the girl was six weeks old. At the time it was
written, Colonel Becker and his wife were either in London or
Liverpool, or crossing the Atlantic. No matter how similar the two
letters appeared to him, he realized that, under the circumstances, the
same person could not have written them both. For many minutes he
sat back in his chair, with his eyes half-closed, absorbing the
comforting heat of the fire. Again the old vision returned to him. In a
subconscious sort of way he found himself fighting against it, as he had
struggled a score of times to throw off its presence, since the girl's letter
had come to him. And this time, as before, his effort was futile. He saw
her again--and always as on that night of the Hawkins' ball, eyes and
lips smiling at him, the light shining gloriously in the deep red gold of
her hair.
With an effort Steele aroused himself and looked at his watch. It was a
quarter of five. He stooped to close the stove door, and stopped
suddenly, his hand reaching out, head and shoulders hunched over.
Across his knee, shining in the firelight, like a thread of spun gold, lay
a single filament of a woman's hair.
He rose slowly, holding the hair between him and the light. His fingers
trembled, his breath came quickly. The hair had fallen upon his knee
from the letter--or the envelope, and it was wonderfully like HER hair!
From the direction of the factor's quarters came the deep bellowing of
Breed's moose-horn, calling him to supper. Before he responded to it,
Steele wound the silken thread of gold about his ringer, then placed it

carefully among the papers and cards which he carried in his leather
wallet. His face was flushed when he joined the factor. Not since the
night at the Hawkins' ball, when he had felt the touch of a beautiful
woman's hands, the warmth of her breath, the soft sweep of her hair
against his lips as he had leaned over her in his half-surrender, had
thought of woman stirred him as he felt himself stirred now. He was
glad that Breed was too much absorbed in his own troubles to observe
any possible change in himself or to ask questions about the letter.
"I tell you, it may mean the short birch for me, Steele," said the factor
gloomily. "Lac Bain is just now the emptiest, most fallen-to-pieces,
unbusiness-like post between the Athabasca and the Bay. We've had
two bad seasons running, and everything has gone wrong. Colonel
Becker is a big one with the company. Ain't no doubt about that, and
ten to one he'll think it's a new man that's wanted here."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Steele. A sudden flash shot into his face as he
looked hard at Breed. "See here, how would you like to have me go out
to meet them?" he asked. "Sort of a welcoming committee of one, you
know. Before they got here I could casually give 'em to understand
what Lac Bain has been up against during the last two seasons."
Breed's face brightened in an instant.
"That might save us, Steele. Will you do it?"
"With pleasure."
Philip was conscious of an increasing warmth in his face as he bent
over his plate. "You're sure--they're elderly people?" he asked.
"That is what MacVeigh wrote me from Churchill; at least he said the
colonel was an old man."
"And his