The Triumph of John Kars | Page 8

abashment or in
anger would be impossible to say. He was prevented from further word
by Murray McTavish who promptly took command.
"Say, there's no time for talk," he said, in his decisive fashion. "It's up
to us to get busy right away." He turned to the priest. "Father, I need
two crews for the big canoes right off--now. You'll get 'em. Good crews
for the paddle. Best let Keewin pick 'em. Eh, Keewin?" The Indian
nodded. "Keewin'll take charge of one, and I the other. I can make Bell
River under the week. I'll drive the crews to the limit, an' maybe make
the place in four days. I'll get right back to the store now for the arms
and ammunition, and the grub. We start in an hour's time."
Then he turned on Alec. There was no question in his mind. He had
made his decisions clearly and promptly.
"See, boy," he said. "You'll stay right here. I'm aware you don't fancy
the store. But fer once you'll need to run it. But more than all you'll be
responsible nothing goes amiss for the women-folk. Their care is up to
you, in your father's absence. Get me? Father José'll help you all he
knows."
Then, without awaiting reply, he turned to Allan Mowbray's wife. His
tone changed to one of the deepest gravity.
"Ma'am," he said, "whatever man can do to help your husband now, I'll

do. I'll spare no one in the effort. Certainly not myself. That's my
word."
The wife's reply came in a voice that was no longer steady.
"Thank you, Murray--for myself and for Allan. God--bless you."
Murray had turned already to return to the Fort when Alec suddenly
burst out in protest. His eyes lit--the eyes of his mother. His fresh
young face was scarlet to the brow.
"And do you suppose I'm going to sit around while father's being done
to death by a lot of rotten Indians? Not on your life. See here, Murray,
if there's any one needed to hang around the store it's up to you. Father
José can look after mother and Jessie. My place is with the outfit,
and--I'm going with it. Besides, who are you to dictate what I'm to do?
You look after your business; I'll see to mine. You get me? I'm going
up there to Bell River. I----"
"You'll--stop--right--here!"
Murray had turned in a flash, and in his voice was a note none of those
looking on had ever heard before. It was a revelation of the man, and
even Father José was startled. The clash was sudden. Both the mother
and the priest realized for the first time in ten years the antagonism
underlying this outward display.
The mother had no understanding of it. The priest perhaps had some.
He knew Murray's energy and purpose. He knew that Alec had been
indulged to excess by his parents. It would have seemed impossible in
the midst of the stern life in which they all lived that the son of such
parents could have grown up other than in their image. But it was not
so, and no one knew it better than Father José, who had been
responsible for his education.
Alec was weak, reckless. Of his physical courage there was no question.
He had inherited his father's and his mother's to the full. But he lacked
their every other balance. He was idle, he loathed the store and all

belonging to it. He detested the life he was forced to live in this
desolate world, and craved, as only weak, virile youth can crave, for the
life and pleasure of the civilization he had read of, heard of, dreamed
of.
Murray followed up his words before the younger man could gather his
retort.
"When your father's in danger there's just one service you can do him,"
he went on, endeavoring to check his inclination to hot words. "If
there's a thing happens to you, and we can't help your father, why, I
guess your mother and sister are left without a hand to help 'em. Do
you get that? I'm thinking for Allan Mowbray the best I know. I can run
this outfit to the limit. I can do what any other man can do for his help.
Your place is your father's place--right here. Ask your mother."
Murray looked across at Mrs. Mowbray, still standing in her doorway,
and her prompt support was forthcoming.
"Yes," she said, and her eyes sought those of her spoiled son. "For my
sake, Alec, for your father's, for your sister's."
Ailsa Mowbray was pleading where she had the right to command. And
to himself Father José mildly anathematized the necessity.
Alec turned away with a scarcely smothered imprecation. But his
mother's appeal had had the effect Murray