Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 119: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PRIDE OF THE NORTH. and had only the week before become en- gaged to her second choice. “Wait,” she said, with a happy, hopeful sigh. ‘‘ Ah, but wait, perhaps, until M. Ja- son Kirk comes to pay court! There is a man of men, as even my René himself sayst” ==, This idea, it must be admitted, caused somewhat of a flurry of talk. It was quite true, they all agreed, that M. Jason Kirk, the American gold hunter, was one of his kind among thousands. With his striking blondness, his tall and powerful physique, his clear gray eye, he might be likened to a young god of the olden days. Furthermore, there was none with a cleaner thought, with a more reckless brav- ery, with a hand always ready to help the weak and the unfortunate, and also quite as ready to administer punishment to the oppressive strong and tyrannous wicked. Added to this, they immediately pointed out, was that queer and silent pride of the man that was fully equal—ah, and even greater—than that of the Armagnacs. Yes, assuredly it would be interesting when these two came ‘together. But the women of, Three Fork Landing were served with perplexed disappointment, and the men with that faint glimmer of hope that can never die when a woman like Gervaise is the dreamed-of goal, when the meeting took place. It was close to four months since she had taken up the duties of the Lac Morte post, and she had driven her team into the set- tlement for provisions. There was to be a dance that evening, in honor of the store- keeper’s daughter. He, as well as Hector Campbell and Pére Louvois, had pleaded with Mlle. Armagnac to stay and attend the festivities. She need not enter into them, in her mourning; she might just sit about and watch, and talk. To this she concurred, for she felt under obligations to the Scot and the priest, and did not wish to offend. It was comparatively late when Jason appeared, and some were nervous lest he should fail to arrive. By a fellow pros- pector, he had sent word that he would be there, and had laughingly added to be sure and tell Babette to save a dance for him. 589 He asked for this immediately, as he en- tered the doorway, without even removing his outside moccasins or mackinaw, his fur cap or mittens. As he swung her around in the waltz, he placed a necklace of pure gold nuggets about her neck. But to this, when they stopped breathlessly, her father demurred: “Bah, M. Pompelle,” laughed Jason Kirk, ‘cannot an old friend show his es- teem? Although maybe a bit premature, consider it then as a wedding gift. For you'll lose her fast enough, mon ami, never fear!” It was then, while all eyes were watch- ing, that Pére Louvois signalled him. He was sitting, in a corner, with Gervaise Ar- magnac. They had been discussing the capital of far-off France, which both knew well, and her exquisite face had shown more vivacity than any had been known to see there before. ‘*M. Jason, my son,” began the priest, ‘““T wish to—” But no one in that wide, long, low-ceil- inged room, although the fiddling had stopped and breaths were held, listened to a word of the introduction that followed. They were too busy, too intent, watching the faces of the two in the corner. They saw, for a mere factional second, a strange look pass between the two as their eyes met and held; they saw, as well, a cer- tain almost unconscious swaying forward of their bodies, as if, somehow, by magnets, they were drawn each to the other; and then, suddenly, decisively, they claim that each of these proud beings pulled back, suggesting that their wills had crossed and locked—and remained so. Anyway, the face of Gervaise became cold with hauteur, while that of Jason turned immobile. Very low and very grace- fully, for a man of his towering build, he bowed, and she replied to it with an exag- geratedly deep courtesy. Following this he made his departure, nor did they so much as give one another a word or a single glance the rest of the eve- ning. “Daft, Father, the pair of them—daft with pride!” That was the way that Hector Campbell CommicoooKSsCOmnn